Buzz Buzz

Today just felt like Fall.

The house was freezing when we woke up. Both Addie and I bundled up in our robes and headed to the warmth of the basement. After laundry and coffee and milk we headed out to face the day.

I wanted to be in a pair of comfy jeans and a fleece, but instead I wrestled myself into my work out clothes and off to class Little Miss and I went. I ran and side shuffled and did push ups and crunches. Addie chased Elise and Max and skipped circles around us sweaty, grunting moms.

Apparently the blue skies and breeze put me in good mood and I took Addie to the playground to run off more energy with Elise.

She went down slides, and tried climbing big ladders, and giggled and jumped. She barely paid attention to the toddler play ground. Instead she ran off and attacked the play ground for the five year olds. She didn't care if she could see me. She was feeling fearless. And then...

A mean, horrible, pesky yellow jacket attacked her. She was just minding her own business, playing and being fearless, when she got stung in the wrist. There were tears and drama, most of was quieted by a kiss, some water, and a CareBear band-aid.

She survived, her nap didn't, and I have heard more about her *bumble bee boo boo* than you can even imagine.

But that's okay - bumble bee boo boos suck and deserve cuddles and kisses and hugs, and those were doled out by the hundreds on this gorgeous Fall day.

Putting junk in the trunk

When Addie was a newborn I went through nursing hell, because I was convinced it was best for her. When she moved on to solid food I decided to make my own. I pureed mangoes, avocados, spinach, broccoli.
Ick, I even pureed chicken.
I had decided since I was home I could afford to spend the time giving her a good nutritional foundation. That doesn't mean we didn't slip here and there - while she ate her smashed bananas and avocado, she also snuck in sips of chocolate shake, bites of rainbow sherbert and a Dorito or two. Overall, however, she was a baby who know much of healthy food and little of snacky junk food.

As she has turned into a toddler that standard has been harder to maintain. She appears to have a palate, as well as an opinion. She'll scarf down asparagus, flank steak, mushrooms, cheese and peas. She still turns her nose up at green beans and broccoli. Now, however, she has also discovered the pure joy of processed, less healthy food. Mmmmm, goldfishies. Mmmm, animal crackers. Mmmmm, Nutrigrain bars. Mmmmm, macaroni and cheese. Mmmmm, mmmmmm, mmmmm pepperoni.

But her latest food jag has been based around two wonderfully nutritious products: hot dogs and pizza (or as she says peacepah). She can't get enough of either.

Addie, what would you like for breakfast? Ahhh, hot daawg?

No, that's not breakfast food. Would you like eggs? Mmmmm, peacepah? Ya, peacepah.

*Repeat this conversation four times for each prepared meal*

I manage to shove some eggs or yogurt into her at breakfast, but most lunches and dinners have been including a hot dog or a piece of pizza. And when she's done inhaling her junk, she begs for our shrimp or asparagus or chicken. But, seriously, when push comes to shove, give her some hot dog, a squeeze or two of ketchup and mustard, and damn, she's beyond content.

I have to go make her eggs and sausage before school, but trust me, she just told me twice that she would like a hot dog.

Crap

This

resulted in this face by 3 p.m.,

which resulted in this right after her dinner was done,

which resulted in a lovely quiet evening after an incredibly hellish day.

**Ignore what a holy mess her room is. On hellish days cleaning a bedroom is not even on the priority list.

My Game, Mommy

Last week I mentioned Addie's new game. To the rest of the world it's called Chutes and Ladders to Addie it is her game. Addie's game, mama? Mommmmyyy, Gaame? Gaaaame, Mom?

She doesn't really get the concept, it's still a tad too old for her. But, she does love the colors and the slides and the pictures. She sees that there are pictures of good decisions and that there are pictures of bad decisions. She hearts the spinner, even though she struggles a bit with actually working it.

The first time she played she and Grandma named the board pieces - Elise, Amy, Ray and Bruce. I am not sure how, beyond Elise, those names were agreed upon, but they have steadfastly remained. Elise, is Addie's BFF - she's four and therefore super cool and adored. Addie apparently decided to honor their friendship by making Elise a major player in her new game.

When Addie plays her game, which is several times a day, I hear a lot of: No Amy! Ray's turn. Oh no, Eliiiiissssse. Addie likes to tell me all the bad decisions that she's made that the players have made too - taking cookies off the counter, drawing on the wall - and then point out what she or the players should have done.

Occasionally we play it together, but mostly she and the cat play while I pick up our endless mess. Last week, after a game of Chutes and Ladders in the front hallway with Michelob, Addie came running into the kitchen repeatedly saying:

Oh no! Mommy, oh no. Oh no, Elise. Elise broke Mommy.

It was the last statement that concerned me the most. What possible could have happened to Elise that she was broken?

My concern was justified, it indeed appeared that Elise took a heck of a spill off one of those ladders. Poor Elise.

Rah Rah for a GG

I adored my grandparents. My Dad's parents were loud and loving. They spoiled me, as the only granddaughter, with toys and dolls and attention. Gramma always had jell-o pudding pops in the freezer and Grampa gave out huge bear hugs.

My Mom's parents were kind and caring. They loved having us come for visits and would travel 12 hours to come see us, even though my grandfather never shared in the driving. Boo never skimped on cookies or love and Pop Pop always had a pocket full of change for us to visit the corner store with.

My grandparents were nothing short of wonderful in my eyes. I know that they had flaws, and that there were hard times - I've heard the stories. But for me, they were warm and affectionate and made me feel special.

Addison is blessed with amazing grandparents as well. She has grandmothers and a grandfather who think that she is the most precious, smartest, sweetest, sassiest little girl in the world. In their eyes she can run faster, jump higher, hug harder and smile more than any other girl around. It's the right of all grandparents to think their grandchild is the most amazing and it is the right of every grandchild to bask in that kind of adoration.

But Addie has someone that I never had, and I am a bit jealous.

Addie has a great grandma - her GG.

And GG showers her in love and kisses and hugs just as much as her grandparents. GG spoils her rotten with ice cream, and clothes, and purses and toys and books, and lip gloss. And as much as GG loves Addie, Addie loves her GG.

Yesterday, after a delay or two, we finally celebrated GG's 75th birthday. The whole fam damily sloshed on to a yellow school bus and headed down to Great American Ball Park on a rainy Sunday to cheer on the Reds. Addie even wore red shoes to support the team (no worries, she is first and foremost a Cubbie, but she always has her GG's back). The rain came and went and came again.

We cheered. Fireworks went off for a home run or two. Rosie Red came to hangout in our cheering section and most importantly for GG, the Reds won. Addie loved the ballgame, and GG seemed to love having her family at her side.

Not everyone gets to have a GG and I feel blessed not only that Addie has GG, but that we do. She is patient and insightful. She is steady and calm. She is generous and supportive. She makes our lives a little better and she makes Addie's world that much richer.

Kind of a Downer

Today, while Addison ate her delicious lunch of turkey cheese dogs and goldfishies, I let my mind go numb by scanning Facebook.
Facebook is the devil - but I am hooked.
I have learned to limit my time on it, but the amount of time is sucks from me is astounding. I can go blind reading other people's useless information.
I was scanning who was eating what, and how everyone felt about Friday, and who jumped to the next level in Mafia Wars when I got slapped in the face by one update.
A mentor of mine's posting announced a memorial service for an amazing guy that I on occasion worked with in my previous life.

I had no idea that he had passed. At 37. Unexpectedly. The father of a one year old.

I ushered Addie off to her nap and then sat down to read about Joe. And everything I read reminded me exactly of the person I collaborated with. Full of energy, dedicated, motivated, passionate, funny and focused on bettering the lives of kids.
I sat a few more minutes, and then I wrote a letter to my old mentor (his former employer) with my condolences. I wrote a memorial check to his scholarship fund.

And I felt quietly sad.

Sad because he was an inspiring, intelligent man.
Sad because I barely knew him and thought highly of him - what possibly could his family and friends be feeling?
Sad because hundreds of children benefited from his spirit, but even more will never have the opportunity to know him.
Sad because remembering working with him made me miss my old existence - in the thick of the chaos, mess and joy of other people's children.
Sad because he had recently become a professor of social work, and had much to offer the field.
Sad because he had a one year old and a wife.

Sad because there is a shortage of amazing men in the world.

And it made me take stock of the amazing men I am fortunate enough to know. The men who come home and play with their children even though they are tired. The men who know a foot massage or a bottle of wine can brighten the day of their wife. The men who show up to work everyday during chemotherapy. The men who mow lawns at dusk, who grill dinner and who take bath time duty. The men who teach, who coach, who care.

I know that my mentor will honor Joe's spirit with her organization. I know that there are many children whose lives were changed for the better because of him. And I am sure that out there, somewhere, there are other men who are amazing and dedicated and motivated and passionate - just like Joe.

One more thing

They've never gotten along.


She's a loud, shedding ball of of orange fur. He wears dark pants to work and doesn't like to be woken up in predawn hours by meowing. She wants to sleep on the quilt, he wants to sleep under it. Neither is willing to share.



He gave her to me as a gift, and has regretted it ever since. When he stopped traveling for work and lived with us full time, she developed an attitude.

She's gotten an over the top, expensive bladder issue. He is not amused.


She needs to get better, fast. There is minimal patience (his and mine) for urine soaked bath mats, or changing pads, or laundry. The 4:15 a.m. wake-up meow is wearing thin. The frequent, expensive trips to the vet is blowing our already stretched budget.

But here is the problem, she is her best pal. She gets told secrets, gets hugs and kisses, is endlessly fun, and has become infinitely patient with her. She is missed while we are on vacation and is told ni-night each day. She is looked for each morning and after each nap, and is allowed to share her favorite things.

They are sorta BFF - maybe because they understand each others' inability to exercise bladder control?

What's going on

One more wedding down.

Liver failing? Indeed.

Three weekends in a row away from home, check.

Still coughing, sniffling and feeling like poo-poo-ca-choo - yeppers.

But enough about me, let's talk about her.

She loved school. When I picked her up we went to Steak n' Shake to share a milkshake and she said to me, eyes wide, More school, Mama? Pweeese.

She dropped us off at the airport for our kidless weekend and she said Buhbye Mommy. No tears, no please stay. Just a buhbye and a look of excitement as she leaves to spend a day with the Genna.

She had a great weekend with Grandma - she went to story time, played with Rylan, and snuggled in Grandma's bed.

And, as of today, that cough and sniffle she had? Those occasionally feverish eyes and the weird bumps that showed up on her arms and legs? That, all of that, turns out to be walking pneumonia.

Please feel free to nominate me for the Mother of the Year award. Not only did I let my daughter walk around for a week with pneumonia, but I went away for a weekend while she was sick. Maybe tomorrow to assure that I receive the MOY award I'll let her play with steak knives and lick the electrical sockets.

And in case you are wondering what a two year old with walking pneumonia looks like, here you go:

A reminder to breathe.

A reminder to revel in the little moments.

A reminder to slow down and take it all in.

Swinging in the front yard tree at the end of the day. Bliss.

On my own

My neighbor, a saintly mother of four, told me about Mother's Day Out last March. It was one of those early Spring days when Addie and I had wandered across the street for her to play and for me to talk to someone who could string a sentence together.

My neighbor must have seen the crazed, I've been couped up with a toddler, look in my eyes. She suggested that come Fall I should enroll Addie in MDO. Her three-and-a-half year old son would be attending, and her older kids had gone as well.

I hemmed and hawed about it. Did I really need my two year old to go to "school" for four hours once a week just to regain my sanity?

Isn't my job to stay home and teach her, and nurture her, and prepare her for her Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech?

I talked it over with my mom, Andy's mom, my friends in the education field and pretty anyone who would listen...the majority vote was ENROLL HER NOW.

So I did.

And today my baby headed off to "school". She was excited, and maybe a bit nervous. She wanted to wear her purple shoes. And she skipped to car after smiling for the camera.

I packed her bag with extra clothes, diapers, a lunch and extra tissues for that runny nose of hers. We hopped in the car and off we headed.

I walked her into her class - 13 two-year-olds, two teachers and one aide. Several kids were crying and screaming. A few were holding their blankies or a stuffed animal. Some were sitting at the table sipping apple juice and munching on a snack.

I led her to an empty chair. She sat down, but would not let go of my finger.

I squatted next to her, told her to have a good time and asked for a kiss.

She let go of my finger, gave me a kiss and waved as I walked out.

I spied through the door window for a minute. She looked around the room wide-eyed. Held her hands together for a moment and then dug into her snack of cheerios and raisins. She was just fine. Brave and ready.

She was just fine, and as I walked to my car, I cried.

Sniffle Sniffle

It's silly I know. But when I don't feel good I want to be taken care of. I want to be made Acini di Pepe with Parmesan. I want to curl into a ball and watch mindless television. I want to sleep until I feel like waking up. I want to moan and complain and not feel guilty about it.

I am not one of those people who gets "sorta" sick. Usually, when I am sick, I am down for the count.

I have the knack for being stupidly sick. A cold that lasts days, a flu that lasts weeks. In mid-January, like clockwork, I get my arse kicked by something that forces me to stay in bed, chewing Halls, blowing my nose a thousand times, sweating and shaking with the chills. It's lovely.

And lucky me, over the past four-ish days I have been sick. Jessica sick.
I woke up in Cleveland with sore throat on Sunday. At lunch it was a wickedly uncomfortable throat. By the time we were driving south on I-71 it was on fire. And I was clammy. And achy. Then the sneezing started, and the endlessly running nose.

Oh, and did I mention that my mini-me was coughing? And sneezing? And had a green river of goo flowing out of her nose? And had sad, glassy eyes?

Turns out when you're sick, and you're the mommy, and your kiddo is sick...there is no time for you to be taken care of. You've got to be a little tougher. You drop $45 in medicine and tissues and cough drops at CVS. You watch The Lion King because it makes the little one happy and less snuffly. And you go to bed at 8:45, fifteen minutes after the kiddo goes to bed, and you don't feel guilty about it.

It also turns out that the little one bounces back faster and doesn't particularly care if you have bounced back or not. She wakes up at 6:30 ready to take on the world. She wants to color, to play her game (more on that game at another time), she wants to jump and hop and go to the park and story time and down the slide in the back yard.

So I've learned, when they bounce back, you fake it. You go to park, and story time, and into the backyard armed with hand sanitizer, and Halls, and tissues in your purse. And you remember fondly the days when your mommy would rent you The Princess Bride and let you lay on the couch and take care of you.

And you get over it, because there is a nose to wipe, and it's not yours.

Flower Girl

We were on the road again this past weekend...straight up I-71 to the land of Cleveland.


I don't have much of an opinion about Cleveland, good or bad - I've been there for the Christmas Tree lighting ceremony; I've taken in an Indians game; I've had a few beers at The Winking Lizard. But this weekend we wandered up there for our friends' wedding and I found Cleveland to be quite lovely. Our hotel was adorable, the weather was beautiful, and the time spent with friends was, as always, wonderful.



Addie and Andy were in the wedding - he was the best man, she was the flower girl. He was tall dark and handsome in his tux, she was adorable in her dress. I know that weddings are all about the bride and a little about the groom...but when your daughter is the flower girl, turns out it is all about her.


I fretted about her hair, her shoes, her attitude. I worried whether she would make it down the aisle, behave during the ceremony, manage to keep goo off her dress. I ironed her dress, sprayed her hair, painted her toes. I prepped her for her job, kept her calm, held her hand. Turns out, I didn't need to do any of it. She knew her job, and she did it with finesse. She floated down the aisle with her fellow flower girl and ring bearer. She smiled and beamed and focused on being adorable.

She refused to nap after the ceremony and partied like it was her job at the reception...and at the end of the day, by the grace of god, her dress was still white and her smile still in place.

The bride was beaming and the groom was gorgeous...but that flower girl?

She was something else.

The End of a Wednesday

After some fabulous, saucy, deeeeelicious deep dish Chicago pizza for dinner tonight, Addison decided we needed to head outside and work off some calories. Well, she worked them off, I watched, manned the camera and was generally amused.

She tooled around in her pink car, until she ran over her foot.

She sped along on her tricycle, until the inevitable.

She pushed around on the scooter, until it was time for a break....and a run for some ice cream.

Just another wonderful summer evening in southwest Ohio.

High-fiving Me

My new favorite fight to have?

That is the nap time fight.

I almost always win it, which usually is followed by me high-fiving myself with a triumphant dance. It's a shame that there is never anyone around to witness my victory dance, it is quite awesome. It involves a lot of shaking this and that and silently hooting and hollering.

Back to the issue at hand: The nap time fight normally occurs after the noon hour, in the car. Most of the time we are headed home from story time or an early lunch. Addison usually decides it is no longer my turn to listen to music, or talk on the phone, or breathe. She then determines that she would like not to go home and she would very much like not to go ni-night. She communicates her decisions to me in a high pitched, shrieking chorus of:

No home, Mama. Noooo hoooooome. Mommmmmmeeeee, No home.

No ni-night, Mom. Mama? Mama? Noooo ni-night. No nap, Mommy. Noooo hoooooome.

This chorus is repeated about six times. And the way I have learned to win? To answer her the first time. To hang up the phone and turn off the radio and try to be silent and still.

After awhile she puts her head back and gazes out the window. Then she holds her hands on her lap. Then her eyes slowly close and waaalaaa, I have WON.

Yes, home.

Yes, ni-night.

Yes, nap.

YES!

*Don't worry - I was at a red light. Really, I was.

My Kind of Town

Five hours up the road (okay, up a couple of roads) is Chicago. Everyone knows my love of Chicago.

College in Chicago lured me away from home. It is where I met some of my very best friends. It is where I fell in love, married my husband, bought my first home and gave birth to my daughter. Chicago taught me the how truly amazing a hot dog can be, how to be a fanatical baseball fan and the beauty of a well made martini.

Moving away broke my heart, but returning for a minute or two makes me smile from ear to ear. I love to see the fountain in Grant Park, the boats in the harbor, the sun sparkling off the skyscrapers. I love the little neighborhoods, the shopping and the energy. My family. My friends. The freaking pizza.

Me + Chicago = an endless love.

Addie and I escaped the debaucherous boys football draft in Cincinnati and fled to Chicago this past weekend. We primarily played with Grampa, Gram, Emmett et al. But we managed to sneak in a visit with some Chicago pals ~ Addie played with Sam's toys, sat on Tool's lap, learned from Karen how to put her coat on all by herself (side note: she learned this skill because in Chicago it was cool enough to require coat!) and sat outside wrapped in a Snuggie with Michael. We met Baby Seamus, scarfed down mini corn dogs at Riverview and were reminded what great friends we have.

And as much fun as we had in Chicago, we had equally as much fun hanging in Glenview. Addie scarfed down sweet treats from Gram and Grampa. She ran wild in their yard, played with the sandbox and wore off energy with her "baby" cousin Emmett.

On Saturday we went with Grampa to Wagner Farm and the Farmers Market - both of which little lady loved. At the farm Addison adored the fake cow that she could milk, the pen of roosters and geese and with the old fashioned ice cream parlor (mmmm, double chocolate milk shake).

At the market she helped herself to more than enough free samples of cheese, smelled the fresh flowers and checked out the bins of tomatoes. A perfect Saturday by our standards.

The rest of our visit centered around playing and laughing and having fun with family - all of which was done in abundance.