All Along the Watchtower

The Jehova's witnesses came to my door again this morning. It was the lady's second visit; the first time she brought her two kids and a nanny, I think. I was home with the girls and it was a slow Saturday, we were all still in our pjs. The words, "Jehova's Witness" never came out of her mouth, but I knew from experience who she was, they used to come by our house when I was growing up (once, I left my friend Meg on the phone while I went to answer the door for one, I listened to her rap, sort of lost my train of throught, and left poor Meg hanging on the phone wondering who came to my door and snatched me away. She stayed on until I went to the phone to call her several hours later and, well, she was already on the line! Quel surprise!).

During the lady's first visit, Annie, in her Ariel pj's, and her daughter, in her Church clothes checked eachother out through the door. The women tried to connect with me on a parenting level, read a passage from her bible about parenting, handed me the literature, and left. Annie was very confused about the logistics of a girl her age coming to the house, but not staying to play. I tried to explain who the people were but I could tell she didn't get it.

After mentioning it to Brian later that day, I didn't give them a second thought. But when they pulled into the driveway today, I knew exactly who they were, though several months have passed. Today, she came with her husband. I think the kids were in the car. I was mortified to realize that even though it was 11, there we all were in our pjs. Mine, charmingly, consisted of my Simpsons flannel pants and a t-shirt that simply reads, "beer'. Cuh-lassay.

So, I heard her out again as she repeated her schtick: play the parent card, read passage from bible, hand out literature. Only this time I am chuckiling within as I think of how I must look to this lady. I must look like someone who needs a nice religion to set things right. I mean, 2 trips to the house, no sign of a husband, in pj's at all hours with my dirty girls hanging on me (well, Mary's face was messy from her cereal bar snack--Annie was more like...unbrushed) and my dirty hair (guilty as charged). And beer shirt. Yeah, I might look like a saving wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

Both visits, I have tried to find the words to tell her that I have a religion, thank you very much and even though there are things about it that make me angry, it is a part of me. Then again, she isn't exactly asking me to come over to her team. She just swings by, hits the high points, and leaves.

Brian thinks I am nuts for not shutting her down. And I agree with him that by not doing so, I am basically rolling out the red carpet for her return in the future. I don't want her to come back. But I kind of feel like, well, who am I to mess with something she feels called to do? She probably gets a lot of doors slammed in her face for just...doing something that she belives in. So maybe that's where my religion and hers meet. Mine has taught me to treat others kindly, the way I like to be treated. And because of that, I'll continue to listen to hers.

But I am totally getting dressed earlier on Saturdays.

Rush

I hope I can describe this accurately.

Nearly every time I have breastfed Mary, and at this point we are talking about over a thousand or more times, right? I have gotten this rush. It's not the let down, that is something very boobule-related and that particularly strange feeling stopped happening months ago. No, this rush I am talking about is an emotional one. Every time it happens I am struck by the strength of it. It's like this combination of joy and heartache and it's just a big OH! felt right in my heart. It causes me to take a deep breath and to sort of gulp. Or maybe gasp.

Do I sound crazy? Since it's so hard to describe, I've never asked any of my breast friends (snerk) about it. But if you've felt it, tell me. Insanity loves company. It cleans the house and makes pink lemonade for it.

Answers

Have you tried Yahoo Answers yet? It's awesome. It's a forum where you can ask any manner of question and anyone can answer. I am not a big asker but man, am I suddenly an expert on everything when it comes to answering. My know-it-allism knows no bounds! It's really a blast. So far today I have told a woman that her boyfriend's baby is not "behind" because she is just starting to crawl at 10 months, I rewrote a sentence for some high school kid, and helped someone whose avatar is a thumb with the lyrics to Smells Like Teen Spirit. All this, before 10:30 a.m.!

Yah, it's slow at work. And due to certain factors that I shan't write about from here, my will to pretend to care has wavered. Yes, I have found myself in the asylum and the inmates are most certainly running the joint.

Mary turned one. Naturally, she has an ear infection on her birthday, so we celebrated afterwards. We gave her a tickle me Elmo. The TMX. Toys have model numbers now, apparently. Anyway, this Elmo is technology's greatest triumph. He doesn't just laugh. He guffaws... he is actually the definition of the most hated internet speak: ROTFLOL. He rolls around and smacks the ground as he laughs. But most amazingly, HE GETS BACK UP. This, my friends, is a glorious time in which to live!

So, I wrote Mary a first birthday letter, just as I did for her marvy sister. I do share:

Mary-it’s your first birthday! I don’t get how you can already be one-it seems like you just got here. When Annie turned one, it felt like we had had her for ages but you still feel so new. Maybe it’s because you cried less than Annie or because I wasn’t working for most of your first year or because I worried that I might not get to have you. Whatever the reason, you are still a new surprise for us all, even after a full year.

Though your sister taught me many of the lessons I needed to survive a baby’s first year (namely patience, patience and more patience), I learned a lot from you, too.

You have been my little kangaroo baby, hanging on me for a year now. For the first 5 months you slept with Dad and me in our big bed. It was easier that way as there were no cold walks downstairs to fix you a bottle and cuddle you in the family room when you awoke crying. Since you breastfed, I simply nursed you back to sleep. Because of this I never suffered from the sleep deprivation that makes having a new baby so hard. This helped us like each other more, I think. You still breastfeed-my little baby bird nursing off to sleep or into wakefulness. I am not worried about this ending, our bond has been long formed and you are ready to let go, I think.

Always a mom’s girl, my little bean, but you are never out of smiles for everyone else. You were such an early smiler-and it wasn’t just the gassy grins, either. You smile and bounce as you seek out the attention from Daddy, Ryan and Annie and you smile and bounce when inevitably this attention comes your way.

Though you look more and more like your sister as the days pass, you are really such a little YOU. You are so consolable, regardless of what upsets you, but when you are upset you make it very clear. You love to laugh. Love it. Giggle diggle we say to you. You love swings. You love eating. You love when people talk to you (but you sly girl, you act like you don’t as you bury your head into my shoulder trying to conceal your obvious smirk). You love your bag of tricks, both new and old: clapping, waving (and now saying “bye bye”), standing, stairs, combing your own hair, it’s all so much fun.

There is something about you that I don’t really have a handle on yet. I feel like you still have a lot to show us as far as your personality goes and I can’t wait to see who you become.

Best. Mother. Ever.

Where should I begin? I could tell you about Mary's double ear infection-probably brewing for a couple weeks but undisgnosed until last Friday. Or I could describe a week and a half's worth of the diarrhea she has had. Or that she has been fussing frequently lately, kicking out her legs and rocking her body and sxcreaming every time I put her down.

But instead, let's just focus on this morning. Brian is in California, so it's just me against them. Did I say against? I meant and. Yeah. Mary woke up at 6, crying. So I nursed her in bed forever as this still calms her. Somehow, 2 hours later, I have not managed to leave the house. So I kick it in to high gear and hustle the girls out the door. When we got to "school" Annie has realized that we did not bring one of her stuffed cats. I had realized this on the way to school but at that point it was too late to turn back. So she's in tears. Luckily, awesome Miss Joanne scooped her up and calmed her with the promise of getting her choice of school stuffies. Annie did manage a weak, "Bye. Love you." through her drying tears.

So, off to the infant room! Here it was business as usual as Mary started clutching me harder once we entered the room. As I tried to set her down to take of her jacket, she would not detach. Not even a teacher's offer of crackers would calm her. But I had to go! I was running late for work and and hanging out would only delay the inevitable. So I handed her to crackerteacher and left to the sound of her crying. I was 2 for 2.

Lots of things are bothering me but mostly it's the feeling that I had forgotten about working and being a mom: You can't really ace both. Oh, some days you can, sure. But mostly, you will come up short on one or the other or both whether it's forgetting a stuffie or not knowing what's wrong with your little chum, you will fell terrible and failtastic.

What is wrong with Mary? I'll call the doctor again but even with my bosses out of town, I can't leave early for an appointment. I left early last week for her appointment and with such a small office, I have to be here today. Tomorrow, maybe I can take her. But what do I tell the doctor? She isn't herself? She seems to be in some sort of pain with the kicking and screaming. It can't be the ear infections anymore because she's been on the antobiotics for 5 days now. Although it looks like two big, honkin' teeth are coming in, she's not worrying her mouth at all. It msut be related to the poopsters. Sigh. I swear she's been sick since I started working again.

A Tale of Two Babies

Trouble doesn't find Mary. She goes looking for it. Annie was the opposite. You know that entire aisle of Babies R' Us that is intended to scare the HELL out of you? The one with outlet covers, gates, handle covers and barbed wire? Never went down it when Annie was a baby. Never had to. But with Mary? We're going to need 2 carts.

She got put in time out this week at "school". Miss Pam said that she would not stop unpacking the diaper changing area. All of the babies' wipes, diapers and creams kept ending up in a floor with Mary in the middle, smirking. So she got a time-out.

She's stealth, too! You think by her hugs and calm demeanor that she won't give you a moment's trouble, but then you turn your back for a moment only to realize she's got the aim and flame up to a cigar that's been jammed in the cat's mouth. Or somesuch.

Do you watch Intervention on A&E? They moved it to Friday nights. As I joke weekly (to the amusement of only myself), I need an Intervention intervention. I am addicted to it. What rips my heart out nearly every week is when they show the childhood pictures of the addicts. And they could me anyone's kids; happy, mugging for the camera, celebrating this holiday or that. And yet, what they become...well, it's hard to imagine.

Ever since I went back to work, oh, and maybe even before, I have had no time. I don't have time for that. Or that. Where does the time go?

Lame-o was her name, oh!

Yeah, I'm pretty lame. I love to blog. I dream about blogging at night and wake up all sweaty and smiley. And yet, I never blog. My excuse:

I started work this past week. Yup, I gots me a job. Not just any job but the job I wanted. To wit: a 15-minute commute. No travel. A 5-person ad agency. Casual dress. A boss who brought in a million little bags of Sun Chips for everyone yesterday. After my foray into corporate America, this is really great. Yeah, it tortures, maims and kills me that most of my paycheck goes to daycare and health insurance but this is life.

Now, after hearing from 36 people that putting Mary in daycare after our 10-month honeymoon together would hurt me more than it hurts her, I was saddened to see that no, she is hurting worse. Sure, I cried every morning when Brian took her out the door, but it is Mary who comes home at the end of the day looking shellshocked and boogery, wondering what the hell she did to wind up in juvie. Seriously, by day two she was sick. So much for breastfeeding ratcheting up the old immune system. Yes, I know she'll adjust but for now, this is killing me. She isn't herself and I am sick about it. What I keep thinking of is the Simpsons episode where at we finally see the caption on Maggie's picture on Homer's desk at work, "Do it for her". I work for the girls. It makes a better me and it'll keep us out of the poor house. To quote Brian's favorite saying, "this too shall pass".

Sigh. And I think I really will like my job. And it was HARD and exhausting staying home with the girls, even with Annie in school three days a week. But just, sigh. AS long as I am tossing out the favorite quotes, here's mine, of late, "It's hard to be a woman". Who dat from? Tammy Wynette? Loretta Lynn? Well, thanks old country-type lady. Big ups.

The icing on the cake

Duuudes,

The problem with the cake was that I forgot to frost in between the layers. There was no creamy frosting oasis amongst the sweet, sweet cake. Just more cake. So I brought out the extra can of frosting and we dipped. Yummy!

The blanket above is the Woven Moments one I was talking about. It came out great, didn't it? And it's thick, too. I just sent them a picture of Dallas and 7 weeks later the blanket came in the mail. Brian loved it, naturally. And since in the picture Dallas is sitting on the family room rug, and we keep the blanket in the family room, it matches perfectly. It's the circle of life, if life were color coordinated.

Mary is also pictured above, just cause. I have never changed the name of the file that I keep her pictures in on the computer. It's still called "MJ", her in utero name, short for Mary James, The Baby of Uncertain Gender. Just as Annie was AJ for the months preceding her debut. Mary still isn't cruising. Mostly, she can't even lift her tummy off the ground when she crawls. "Git that belly offa the ground yew yellow-bellied maggot!", I goad, to no avail. But girl can MOVE. And she finds trouble. One minute playing with parent-sanctioned baby toy, the next mouthing Henry's kong. Nice. For all her early personality flaws, Annie was not a trouble-seeking baby so this new vigilance is taking some getting used to.

Because I am slow, February is when my New Year's resolutions are going to take effect. Of course I want to lose weight. Will that be easier once I stop breastfeeding (the great myth of breastfeeding having been the weight that supposedly just falls off)? Or will this take a concerted effort to stop eating potato chips? And I want to blog more, cause I like to. And my e-mailing has really been falling off. And this JOB thing. Great, now I'm depressed.

Get well soon, Big D

I know. Totally lame, I am. But I was busy with playing Santa and then home to Chicago for New Year's and the cat ate it and I got a flat tire and blah blah blah.

So Happy New Year, y'all!

It was good to be home. I miss my family and friends and I miss Lake Michigan. It probably wasn't a good idea to ever move away from the Lake. It was my anchor growing up. No wonder I feel so rudderless here. How am I supposed to have a sense of direction when my absolute East doesn't exist?

As you can see, it's game, set and match on the girly shite with Annie. Sigh. I even let her buy The Little Mermaid yesterday at Target with the money her Grandma and Pop-Pop gave her for Christmas. Later, Brian and I had to call her Ariel. I know when I'm beaten. But I am signing her up for Spring soccer this week; the dark side shouldn't go unchecked, after all.

I still had trouble making amends with all the STUFF my girls got for Christmas. It makes my stomach hurt a little to think about it. There's the things that Santa brought, of course. Then between the 2 of us, Brian and I have 10 siblings. Plus the grandparents. Just so much stuff. I think that's why I might be overreacting a wee bit when Annie asks for ANYthing these days. I just never want her to take receiving gifts for granted. But she's only THREE, says the devil's advocate that rents in my brain. She doesn't know from spoiled. The whole thing left me feeling unsettled and I am still trying to work out why.

Dallas had surgery the day after we returned home. She had had these fatty growths for almost as long as I've known her. They might appear, disappear and reappear over a period of time, but none ever grew to be too large until recently. Three pretty big ones came and didn't leave plus one hard one, lime-sized, on her tummy that we really didn't like the looks of. The vet ended up removing 6 sizable lumps and biopsied the tummy one. I already kind of know that it's malignant, though we won't find out for sure for another week or so. I don't say that lightly, but part of loving Dallas so much has always been trying to brace myself for eventually losing her. She's a big dog and twelve years old and I can do the math. Since we had everything removed though, I think we bought (and paid dearly for, money being no object with regards to our beloved D)her a couple more really good years. OH, Plus? We got her teeth cleaned and it's a miracle...she has like no breath at all! Her breath used to smell like the inside of Nickerson's Fish Market but now it's the carbon monoxide of breath, totally odorless. But poor dear is all staples and bald spots.

Timely, then that I got Brian a woven blanket with Dallas' image on it for his birthday, which is tomorrow. Well, Dallas and I went in on it. It looks pretty good, though the picture I submitted was a little dark, in retrospect. Tomorrow I will make him a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting because that's what he wants and he obviously doesn't know any better because anyone who knows anything knows that white cake wtih chocolate butter cream icing is really the finer cake.

The Babysitter Cometh

We finally gots us an outside babysitter! Once Brian's niece went to college (a full year and a half ago) we were really strapped for sitters and consequently, didn't go out. Ever. Anywhere.

We managed to hook up with the daughter of our old next door neighbor. She is a junior, will have her license in 25 days, and looks to be just awesome with kids. I like her because she jumped right in to play with Annie the other night. Oh, and she assured us that she doesn't go out much because either her friends don't want to do anything, or they want to drink which does not interest her. Are y'all jealous yet?

But wait! There's more! She has already told her mother that she does not want to go away to college so we are talking at least 5 more years of availability here, people. And, come summer, she wants to get a job at Annie's "school". But we will have already staked our claim to her by the time other parents come sniffing around.

I never thought finding a sitter would be so hard. I see why it is though. While I was babysitting at 13 (making a whole one dollar an hour), I must have been a horrendous sitter. I always liked kids but I am fairly certain I wouldn't have picked up after us and if anything bad had happened, I don't know if I was qualified to handle it. In short: I wouldn't want me or anyone like me to sit my kids. Once when I was sitting the Smiths, they were so bad that I called up my dad and had him act like he was Santa and threaten them with coal. Another time, I was babysitting for a neighbor's grandchildren. After they fell asleep I remembered that they had a daughter that died and I got it in my head that she died in their house. Then I heard noises coming from the room the baby was sleeping in and no one bothered to tell me that they had a cat rattling around upstairs and I had to call my sister to come over and keep me company.

I used my first Santa threats on Annie yesterday. She is going through a bad phase of collapsing and whining every time she doesn't get her way. By 10 a.m. yesterday morning she had had three such collapses and I played the Santa card. These collapses make me INSANE. She comes off as such a spoiled child when she does it, and that's one thing I simply can't abide by. And she is starting to act bratty in stores when I tell her she can't have something. How did that happen? I have been so careful to not get her everything she asks for and yet she acts as though she'll die if she can't have something. It makes my blood absolutely boil.

Oh, hey, don't take your kid to see Happy Feet. Out local rag attributed its PG rating to "minor peril" but the movie was scary! And dark. And NOT funny. The animation was at times quite breathtaking but it is not a movie for the very young. Plus (middle age lady alert), when did movies get so LOUD?? Good lord, my teeth were shaking. Even in parts of the movie that weren't scary, the music builds to such a crescendo at such high decibals that my heart was pounding. Turn it DOWN, ya whippersnappers!

Annie usually loves the movies, too. She perches her popcorn on her lap and methodically plows through it, only pausing for an occassional wave of the hand that indicates she is ready for her beverage to be brought to her lips. Heh-can't imagine why she's spoiled! I could tell the movie was making her uneasy, though she held it together. Until we went to the bathroom in the theatre afterwards and the freakin' hand driers sounded like goddamn freight trains and then she sort of broke down a little on the way out. I promised her that next time we'd go to a more gentle movie. A friend suggested Charlotte's Web but I know what happens at the end and no thank you.

Stinky pink

This afternoon, as I watched Annie perform her umpteenth interpretive dance with vocal accompaniment, it occurred to me that I might not want to bank on her getting a basketball scholarship. Something strange has happened to her recently. Annie has become a pink girl.

For approximately half of her life, Annie has specified what kind of clothes she wants to wear each morning and those clothes had (see the past tense? It's foreshadowing) to be "cool". Annie's idea of cool, and I honestly do NOT know where she got this, was t-shirts with writing on them, shorts, or sweat pants. And I was fine with this. I grew up a tomboy and could really get behind the idea of a mini-me. So we stocked up on t-shirts and sweats and called it a wardrobe.

Then about 2 months ago a switch happened. And it was a complete, sudden switch. Cool was out, pretty was in. The only bits that could be salvaged from her old wardrobe had to have something "pretty" somewhere (a heart, bow, or the color pink). Along with the switch came a lot of princess talk. Suddenly, Annie wants to be a princess. And her bootie shaking dance moves have been replaced by a 3-year old's perception of what a ballerina might dance like. Is this what daycare is doing to her??? She sure as heck isn't getting it from me.

Attending her Halloween parade shed some light on the problem. My little black cat was awash in a sea of princesses. I thought I was going to vomit taffeta.

But Annie is conciliatory-she knows not to discuss the whole princess thing too much in front of me as I have told her that I am not a fan of princesses. She'll even allow that when she grows up first she'll be a basketball player, later, a princess. But the career of a pro ball player is short. That leaves a lot of years to deal with my daughter, the princess.

When did little girl things become so PINK? The clothes, the toys. Pink, pink, pink as far as the eye can see. I really can't wonder why my little roughian has been sucked in.

Why are primary colors the domain of boys while little girls are left with the weaker pastels? What exactly is there to admire in being a princess...what qualities does, say, a Cinderella have that I might want my wee bird to emulate beyond being pretty and liking the hot guy? I am stymied.

I suppose this is my first test in accepting my kids for who they are. And I'm not exactly passing with flying colors.

The week that was

The best thing I heard this week was that for a period of time my friend's son's imaginary friend was William Howard Taft, our county's 27th president. That's awesome just on it's own but it does get better. Since Taft was our most corpulent prez, there was always a concern about making enough room for Taft, say at restaurants or in the car. How great is that?

I haven't been able to impress upon Annie the importance of Halloween with regards to free candy. This year she has again cut trick or treating way short. I think the parade and party at school wear her out. Next year I think we'll have a couple of dry runs to help her learn how to pace herself. The parade at school was bedlam, it exhausted me just watching it. When I picked Annie up that afternoon, Kayleigh, my little informant, let me know that Annie cried after the parade. I guess it was too much to see Daddy, Mary and me at the parade and then to have us gone, poor dear.

My favorite Halloween costumes are the superhero ones with the built-in muscles. I mean, YEAH! It's Halloween! Go on with your little buff selves.

Over the past year, Brian and I have watched exactly two movies. Both sucked and I am bitter. Capital S Sucked. Must Love Dogs. Chee criminy, how does that even get made?? John Cusack, you changed, man. But at least you haven't become a MONSTER like your sister Joan, featured in the other crapulent movie of my year; Friends with Money. Oh, calm down, I love Joan Cusack for all the right reasons but damn, girl looks like witchipoo! I hate movies where I can't find one character to cheer for, admire or at the very least relate to.

It occurs to me that I am reading 4 books right now. Okay, 3. I finished Shang-a-Lang this week. Shang-a-Lang is the autobiography of Les McKeown, the lead singer of The Bay City Rollers. I love dishy, trashy autobiographies. This one however, was just plain depressing. Would you believe that Les wasn't friends with any other Roller? Not even dear little Woody. The book was really Scottish too with it's woudnae and couldnaes. Apparently, I don't do well with the Scottish.

I have the latest John Irving in paperback in Mary's room to read while I nurse her before naps and bed. She has started grabbing at the pages now that she distracts more easily and today I realized I hadn't picked it up in over a week.

In my bathroom (oh shut UP, you read on the potty, too) I have Julie and Julia. This is the book about the woman who cooked all of The Art of French Cooking in her apartment. I gave it to my mom last Christmas and the last time she visited she lent it to me.

Next to my bed is the latest Janet Evanovich hardcover. I am having trouble with this one. Every summer, I buy the latest Stephanie Plum (the main character in the Evanovich book) paperback as soon as it comes out. Reading it is a part of my summer kickoff ritual. So, this summer I read Eleven on Top and had earmarked Twelve Sharp for next summer. Then Jules Berg sent me the Twelve Sharp in hardcover. Very thoughtful, she knows I read them and turned me on to them in the first place. But it's just all wrong. These are pretty fluffy books, the only mysteries I read, and they don't fit into my fall. So, I may have to squirrel this away until June.

I am off to watch Shopgirl on Tivo. Please Steve Martin, don't let me down.

She says talks to animals...they call her out by her name

I know it's weird, but I have always had pets that talk.

I think this started with my brother Bill who's imagination was, is and always will be huge and endless. For unexplicable reasons, he started calling our cat Midnight, Muchas Buchas (aka Muchas Buchas Puddinhead) and along with this silly nickname, she got a voice. It was kind of Morris-like but more feminine. And when your cat gets a voice, well, you have no choice but to talk to her.

Next, our puppy Samantha came with a voice. With the evolution of our talking animals, more personality traits came into play. For instance, Samantha was a photography student who preferred being pet with bare feet to being scratched with the hands. She was also exceptionally nerdy and needy. In high school my friend Kerry came over and we walked into the TV room where Sam was sitting. Sam had manners and greeted Kerry. Later, I reminded myself that perhaps Kerry hadn't known that it was Sam who was greeting her...that perhaps she thought that I was re-greeting in an effort to be an extree warm hostess. It is to larf.

I was reminded of this when the twins and their mom came over to play a couple of weeks ago. The mom was petting Dallas and Dallas (this time with Brian's, er, assistance) directed, "scratch my tummy" and I immediately jumped in with, "Uh, that was Dallas, by the way, NOT Brian". I mean, you can't just assume, right? I knew the mom was cool, or at least adaptable, when she directed a response right to Dallas. Nothing bothers me more than people who won't speak to my pets directly. It's rude, it is.

Although my speaking with animals is as normal a part of my life as wearing socks, I have become a little self-conscious about it because I have warped Annie to the point where she wants me to create a voice for everything, so maybe we are waiting at the pediatricians and her foot might say to mine, "Hi mommy!" and I don't want to be all, "hey kid, be cool" because it's best if she doesn't know we are too weird for public consumption, and yet I can't exactly have an all out mommy-and-baby foot conversation in front of the public at large, can I?

I knew that O would be my friend for life the first time we visited her and not only did her Jack Russell have a voice, she was also an alcoholic (martinis) with a smoker's rasp. When our then babies first sat down together, I felt as though I found family as Annie and Max, though only a few months old, had clear, defined voices and personalities to match. Sometimes it's the little things that choose your friends for you.

A rookie mom’s year’s worth of lessons

I was cleaning out my inbox tonight and came across the letter that I wrote to Annie on her first birthday. I was happy to see it. We are currently mired in fixing Mary's sleep issues and her debut at daycare is likely to happen sooner than later and I needed this to remind me that each crisis passes, and quickly.

Here is goes:

A rookie mom’s year’s worth of lessons

What I want is not important. What I want to do, where I want to go, and when I want to leave has become irrelevant. I am on Annie time now-she’ll let me know when it’s okay. There’s a word for this-patience. I had heard of it before but never knew its meaning until now.

This to shall pass. And this. And that other thing, too. Every new phase that feels like the end of the world ends just as I have learned to adjust to it. What I’ve learned from this is there is no reason to panic-the current disaster will give way to something new.

Um-that passes too. The perfect series of days comes where you think you have graduated from the hardest trials of babydom. Her nose is not runny, she doesn’t scream at bath time and everything you do is like the funniest thing…ever. Complacency sets in. For five minutes. Until the hellbeast returns and makes you long for bedtime.

Though it seemed as though you were trying to split up your dad and me I kind of see now how you might could maybe have brought us closer together. We definitely are learning how to act like a team now-one picks up when the other has run out of steam. Also? You look at your dad like he hung the moon (it’s okay, everyone at our house looks at him this way) and help me see new ways to appreciate him constantly.

I learned that a baby’s smile is the best thing since…since…a fat cat’s snuggle. Oh how you light up when you see your brother-and he in turn lights up right back atcha. You squeal for the people you love best (always preferring the company of men, you little such and such) and they pull everything from their bag of tricks to get you to smile even more. And me? I practically run from my car to the door of Little Learner at the end of the day because when you see me you will smile goofily and happily and widely and make me feel like a won the lottery.

Family means more when you have your own family. I now gaze at my own mother who has made me nuts the past few years, with admiration. How did she do this six times over? How did we have clean clothes, home cooked meals, hugs, and bedtime books when she must not have had time to sit? And how did she do it all maintaining friendships, hobbies, and social work? And my sisters…what good mothers they are…how could I not notice? My brothers-one of whom I swear adores her as much as I do…the other who will, once she’s older and less of a mystery. And my Dad who wanted us to have everything and whose quiet adoration of us set a standard that I hope to live up to.

American Pie is a great song to sing when you are losing your mind. See, we had a deal during the worst days of the colic. You WILL stop crying by the time I get through the final verse of American Pie. The length of time of American Pie roughly equals the length of time that a person can carry a screaming, tomato-faced baby. If this hasn’t been proven scientifically, it should be. And an addendum to this: If you don’t stop crying by the time I finish, I will start crying. Then I’ll start from the top.

It’s hard to be the baby. Seriously. Who would want to be a baby? You crap your pants. No one understands you. Much of your food consists of a liquid that smells like burnt rubber. You can’t GET anywhere. And when you can, the places you most want to go are off-limits. Why wouldn’t you be hell on wheels? Even when I want to send you to live with Uncle Jerry, I understand that your life is no picnic.

A Top 8 List

What...you think lists are a copout? Oh, she believes this actually counts as an entry? Slackass, you think to yourself.

Relax, you.

This is my list of top eight songs people have written for their own or someone else's kid. And when I say people, I mean men and women. Har-I say that, and only Old Friend M will get it, but it's from a brochure written and distributed by a man that used to bartend at the diviest dive on campus. It was about how a 250 pound bartender (him) stayed in such great shape. Throughout the pamphlet, every time he used the word people, he'd follow it with men and women leaving us all to wonder what in the world else would be meant by the word people??? Men and snakes? Smoked meats and women? The mind it does wonder.

Anyway, here's my list.

1. Gracie-Ben Folds
Oh, this is the best. He captures little girls of a certain age just dead on. The first line, "You can't fool me I saw you when you came out" sets it up perfectly and the rest? Knocks it down. My favorite part goes:

With your cards to your chest
Walking on your toes
What you got in the box
Only Gracie knows

I had a thought while I was compiling this list. I started thinking that maybe 10 songs was too ambitious and about how I might fill in some spots (later I pared the list down to eight). To me, the most obvious song for this list is one that I don't really love, Stevie Wonder's Isn't She Lovely. I mean, in spite of the fight he and I are in because of the very existence of I Just Called to Say I Love You, I do loves me some Stevie. Just not so much the grating repetitiveness of the song for his kid. But, I was running through it in my mind anyway, seeing if maybe I might like it now and I got to the line, "Less than one minute old" and I thought of how silly that sounds, as if he gave a quick how do you do to the baby and then jetted off to whip out a song. Where'd Stevie go? Oh, he's he's just GOT to rhyme wonderful with one minute old.

Don't mind me.

2.) Little Miss Magic-Jimmy Buffet
Constantly amazed by the blades of the fan on the ceiling
The clever little looks she gives me can't help but be appealing

3.) Sweet Baby James-James Taylor
To me, this one is a classic lullabye. It was written for JT's nephew. I used to sing this to Annie when she was colicky, crowding in Sweet Baby Annie at the chorus. You know, to keep her interest. I have known this song for as long as I can remember.

For reasons I can't explain, I also used to sing Copacabana to Annie and I now sing it to Mary. It makes me larf to sing, "Your name is Mary, you were a showgirl. But that was 30 years ago when they used to have a show. Now it's a disco, but not for Mary". Ah, good times.

4.) Oh-Dave Matthews
I'm cheating. This sounds like it was written for an old friend rather than a child. But when I worked for publisher B I had a Mac that had iMovies so I downloaded a bunch of pictures of Annie to it and added this music so that this song always reminds me of her, of being at work but thinking about her.

I love you oh so well
Like a kid loves candy and fresh snow
I love you oh so well
Enough to fll up heaven, overflow, and fill hell

5.) Beautiful Boy-John Lennon
Contains the single best 2 pieces of advice ever smooshed into a couplet:

Before you cross the street, take my hand
Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans

6.) Raina-Peter Himmelman
When I met O's friend and her daughter Raina I was all, "Like the song, right?" but she hadn't heard of the song. Even though I tried to impress upon her that she really should, I didn't want to be annoying about it even though that was my inclination. I doubt she sought it out. Jerk.

There's so little in this world that's true
I have boundless dreams for you

7.) Just the Two of Us- Will Smith
I'm such a honkey but I just love Will Smith's music. People used to tell Brian that he'd like this song when it was just him and Ryan together. It's very cute and I imagine that this kid will smile to himself quite a bit over it when he's older.

Five years old, bringin comedy
Everytime I look at you I think man, a little me
Just like me Wait an see gonna be tall
Makes me laugh cause you got your dads ears an all

8.) Bedtime Girl- Ralph's World
Kids' music is so much better now than when I was little. Growing up, we had this album of Thumbelina for kids and I can remember this maudlin song all about, "When the weeping willows stop weeping, when the bluebirds stop being blue". And we had the 45 of "It's a Small World after All" I mean, if ever a tune made a kid want to slit their wrists more, I don't know it. So, at an early age, I'd sit in my older sisters' rooms listening to their Beach Boys, Beatles and America records. Now, though, there is so much children's music, and so much is so very listenable for kids and adults. Anyway, Ralph's World is really just Ralph Covert who has a very alternative sensibility that he brings to his kids' songs. Bedtime Girl is a very sweet, hooky updated lullabye.

How's about a smile from a bedtime girl
Sweetest little monster in the world
Hush-a-bye hug friom my little angel
Sail away upon your pillow

See? I didn't just list the songs, I said a little sumphim' sumphim' about them. If I know you and you want me to burn any of these for you, lemme know. I'm good that way.

A 5 year old found my achilles' heel

The first time my heart physically hurt for Annie happened this summer. She had taken up with the neighbor girl, a really gorgeous, sassy 5-year old who I won't name but suffice to say her name rhymes with bratty and she shall be referred to here as such for reasons you will soon understand.

Annie was and is totally infatuated with Brattie. She wants to play with her all of the time and Brattie does come over to play with Annie often. The two of them played all summer in our kiddie pool or on the slip and slide. Brattie would pull Annie in her wagon and then they'd take turns blowing bubbles.

But trouble arose. For starters, the difference between being a 3 year old and a 5 year is vast. In some ways it's really the difference between being a baby and a little girl. So Brattie would boss Annie. Or ignore Annie. Or say things to me like, "how come Annie talks funny?" Um, because she's three, bitch. I'm totally kidding. About the bitch part, anyway. This was all small potatoes compared to what was to come. What I like to call the alienation of Annie.

Brattie has two other friends in the hood. The first is a the four year whiose family is extrememly close with Brattie's. Kristin does Brattie's bidding. The two of them would completely gang up on Annie, pouring buckets of water over her head until she'd beg them to stop (as she laughed all the while) or make up games designed to allow the sanctioned bossing of Annie. For example, they might suggest to her, "we'll be the mermaids and you be the baby fish and we'll tell you what to do" or ""We'll be the sharks and you be the whale and we'll tell you what to do". See the pattern here? Worse was when Brattie and Kristin would leave Annie out completely, seeking out activities for two with Annie begging to play. This was where my heart would rip a little. See, Annie would just ask over and over again so sweetly, "can I play?" not really understanding that these girls were being small versions of females at their worst, having sussed out the weakest among them, they must now set about asserting their power.

The other neighbor friend is older, a sophisitcated 7. She used to adore Annie, ringing our bell to play just with her. Their 4 year age difference didn't seem to bother her as she was always so patient and kind that it warmed the cockles of my cold, cold heart. But now that she's a big second grader, Emma is now entering a hoochie mamma/cool girl phase complete with hip hop dance moves and gymnastics lessons. Now when she comes over, she is usually accompanied by her lacky, Brattie, and the two of them whisper rudely while Annie politely waits for them to finish so the playing might commence. A few times I have seen them simply walk away from Annie, leaving her in our yard to ask me where they went and if I think they'll be back. Oh, god, my heart can't take it.

I have intervened. I have scolded. I have gone so far as to tell these girls that if they want to come play with Annie that's great but if they feel like they can't be nice to her, maybe they should go home. Here's the killer part. While I die a thousand deaths at the cruelty I see against my little angel, Annie remains unflappable. See, she isn't aware that they aren't being nice to her. Wonderfully and beautifully, she doesn't know that "being mean" exists. But I am . And I'll be watching out for her for as long as I still can.

Dodging the infertility bullet

When Annie was about a year and a half old, I had a miscarriage. I had planned that I might get pregnant so that Annie would have a sibling 2 years younger than her. Just as with Annie, I got pregnant right away. To make a long story short, the pregnancy was never quite right and it ended about 7 weeks in.

Afterwards, my body started doing some pretty funky things in the womanly bizness department. Periods that had come right on time since puberty started showing up late. I bled at strange times. I wanted to get pregnant again as soon as possible but my body was telling me to chill. Dude, you're coming up on 40, it said. So I started worrying.

I also started a pen-and-paper journal where I wrote things like: I am scared and pessimistic and hopeful and doubtful. And: If I am never to be a mom again I understand that I am already blessed in spades. And then cryptic infertility codes like: A positive OPK last night which means I o today or tomorrow which means if I get AF when abada abadoo blah blah blargh.

I started reading things and did things like take my temperature each morning and pee on certain sticks that would increase my chances of conceiving. I joined a group of women online who were trying to become pregnant but they were all so young and all got pregnant so quickly that I had to leave. I complained to my friend O constantly until she got pregnant and then I just felt jeaous and small that I couldn't be happier for her. I ignored Brian's admonishings that I was worrying over nothing and that it would take time and everything would be okay. As revenge, I had him get his whatnots counted and evaluated. Wait, no, the doctor recommended that. They were fine. actually, I believe supersonic was the medical term (HI BRIAN!).

My doctor prescribed clomid. It made me cranky and then pregnant. Mary came April of this year, just about a year after the baby I had initially hoped for was due.

Yes, it did take my minor run-in with infertility to really be able to empathize with couples who try years to have a baby. Though I adored Annie from the moment I laid eyes on her, it has been Mary who has shaken the last vestige of the non-mom me from my body and replaced it with a love and appreciation purer than I had known before.