Confession

This week was the fall party at Addie's school. While I didn't get her gussied up in a costume, I did, in an attempt to be an adequate mother, sign up to bring in cupcakes.

It is a well known fact that I love cupcakes. I love the frosting, the perfect portions, the spongy cakey goodness. I am not as obsessive as Michelle, but I do find them to be a tasty treat.

For my thirtieth birthday some of my girlfriends brought me out on a girl-date, with one-month-old Addie in tow, and fed me cupcakes at Sweet Mandy B's. Oh how I loved the red velvet cupcake with the sugary cream cheese frosting. It was delectable...even Addie looked in awe at my treat.

One winter evening in Chicago was spent sitting in my living room sampling a variety of cupcakes from Angel Food. The frosting was so colorful and gooey. Perfect little cups of happiness. It also helped that those cupcakes were paired with lots of wine and laughter.

And then there are the cupcakes at Southport Grocery. Moist, sweet, amazing - every 'ladies who lunch' date there ended with a vanilla cupcake slathered in white frosting. Sugary, cakey, make-my-belly smile good. In fact my affection for Southport Grocery's cupcake is so well known that since we moved from Chicago I have received at least two picture mails on my phone of their cupcakes. Yes, my friends are a tiny bit cruel.

So, Wednesday night I put the little lady to bed and whipped up her cupcakes - or as she calls the 'pupcakes'- for school. I made 12 regular sized ones and 12 mini ones. Don't for a minute think I was fancy, I simply ripped open that box of Funfetti and followed the instructions. Oooh, but how delicious they looked. How scrumptious they smelled. How pretty they were when frosted.

Thursday Addie came home from school with a only one pigtail still in place and a goody bag of treats - candy, crayons, bubbles and one mini cupcake. She was sleeping.

She didn't even know that the cupcake was in her bag.

I quickly unwrapped it and popped it in my mouth. SO GOOD...so not on my low carb diet.

I guiltily spit the cupcake out into a napkin and threw it away. How naughty of me. Eating a forbidden food and stealing from my two year old.

I think I have hit a new low.

Morning

This morning it was pitch dark out.
I was snuggled under the down comforter with my face buried in the pillows.
It was wonderfully quiet - no early morning bus backing up down the lane, no one in front of my house chattering and playing before school, no alarm clock beeping.

And then a warm, gentle pressure on my face. Cool hands on my cheeks and a tiny, cautious voice whispering "Toons, mommy? I Up. Toons, please. I love you."

So I threw back the covers, made room for a my pajama clad snugglebug and got a sweet morning kiss.

And I decided it was bound to be a good day.


Afternoon

It was cloudy, but we went to the zoo anyway. Just the two of us and her amoxicillin. The Bobcat was pacing, the Lynx were playing and the Snow Leopard was awake.
I let her run the show. We went in the Cat House, the Bug House, the Nocturnal House. We rode on the Merry Up Down - me on a panther, her on a zebra.
We went to see the Manatees, one of her favorites, but it turns out they were released in the wild. She was a tiny bit sad and kept saying "Where Manatee go Mama? Ocean?".
She told me, after we went searching, that the Orangutans were shy and hiding. She tried to wake the Black Bears up. She ran up the hill to the train - only to find out the train was out of service. She pouted for a minute and then said "Silly train broke!".
We said goodbye to the Gibbons, the peacocks and the Elephants.
In the parking lot I got a huge hug and kiss.
Before we hit the highway she was snoring in the back seat, her hand wrapped around her mini-pumpkin the zoo keepers were handing out.
She is asleep.
I am about to eat a delicious sandwich.
The kitchen and the living room aren't a mess.
So far, what a good day.


Evening

Rylan came over for a bit and they played. Together. Well and kindly. They chased and giggled and conspired.
I cleaned my room and put away laundry and spied on them.
Andy was home perfectly on time - met by a happy daughter and an unstressed wife.
I tried a new recipe from Cooking Light and didn't botch it. Amazing! Dinner was delicious and easy and healthy. Two very rare points for me.
Dinner was followed by shrieking giggles as they played and I happily tidied the kitchen.
I thought I had poo filled diaper to change, and it ended up being pee filled instead. No dirty diaper and a kiddo in pjs by 7 p.m.
Downstairs a fire was roaring in the fireplace.
I am contemplating a wine spritzer, because I'm fancy like that.
The house is put together. The little lady is in bed. Cupcakes are about to be made for 'school' tomorrow and Top Chef is on tonight.

A very good day indeed.

Just Today

It's a cold rainy day.

Seventy minutes spent at the doctor's office, hearing hacking coughs and staring at a sea of face masks.

My pumpkin self-destructed minutes before I finished my masterpiece.

I haven't worked out since Saturday.

The house is a wholly mess and I'm dying for a glass of wine.

My shoe is making a sticky noise when I walk across the kitchen floor.

I am choosing to believe that it's my shoe that is dirty, not my floor.

Last night I hid in the bath tub during dinner time.

This morning I found myself being annoyed at two very tiny, very cold feet pressed up against my belly.

I picked up my friend from the airport and darn near ran out of gas on the way there, making me late to pick up a lovely, punctual, pregnant lady.

My headache keeps returning and my child is considered contagious.

I can't find a way to keep my feet warm and there are six piles of laundry on the basement floor.

During nap time I uploaded pictures from last week, when the sun was shining, and remembered, in spite of it all, to smile.

After all, it all could be worse.

A walk in the woods

A walk through the woods has always helped to clear my mind. I love the crunch of the leaves under my feet, the twitter of the birds and squirrels. I like getting lost in the quiet and in my thoughts. Growing up I spent hours at a local bird sanctuary - walking, running, skiing. It was one of my sanctuaries.

As much as a I loved the lakefront in Chicago, it was never as peaceful or quiet as the woods. And I've yet to really find a place as calming here. And then today I went to Sharon Woods. There was a brisk, babbling brook. There were hills and trails and trees exploding in Autumn colors. There was a lake with paddle boats and playgrounds hidden among the foliage. It's a bit of a drive from home, but definitely worth it. Beautiful. Relaxing. Calming.

Or so I thought.

Today, I wandered into the woods with Kimmie, Rylan and Addie for a picturesque fall photoshoot. A chance to catch these two cuties playing and laughing and being adorable.

Do you think today they could love each other? Or that they could handle holding hands or hugging? Could they frolic like carefree children in the leaves? Could they, for one minute, not be crying or yelling or antagonzing each other?

Uh, no.

There was hitting and pushing and tripping. If one was smiling the other was scowling. If one was being playful the other was pouting. There were screams and cries and tears and drama. Oh, peaceful woods, why wouldn't your magic work?

Not to mention, Addie has an epic-sized cold, replete with a hacking cough, a river of green boog, and a chapped face from endless tissues. And Ry has a moderately swollen lip and facial scratches from a dog bite. Here's to hoping Photoshop can work a little magic.

I lurked behind our lovely photographer and tried to grab a few shots of our "peaceful" day in the woods. I snagged one or two, and have great hopes that the photographer had a quicker more skilled eye than me. Maybe she got their sweet smiles. Maybe she captured the quick hug. Maybe they both looked at the camera.

But I doubt she got this graceful shot of Addie ----------------------->

So, head-clearing woods, your magic did not work today. While I loved your smell and sights, the soundtrack of whining toddlers thwarted you. After our adventure today I was blessed with a borderline migraine and a child who misplaced her ears. And now, at 9:20 p.m. I am going to crawl up to bed and rest up for another day of nose wiping and cough covering.

With any luck there will be less whining and

more laughter. Less scolding and more cuddling.

Maybe a bit less coughing too. Maybe my shirt won't be repeatedly used as a tissue. Maybe my little darling will be back to her wonderful self.

Maybe.

Her

If you are lucky enough, you have one of Her. Or maybe even more than one. Her being that friend who knows you - knows your secrets and your flaws. She has stood beside you during the roughest times and celebrated with you during the joyous times. I have been fortunate in that I have several friends who are Her. They are the ladies who laugh with me and at me. They understand me when I don't make sense and they straighten me out when I need it.

But there is one, in particular, who has been doing these duties for longer than I care to think about.

Kate and I met when we were in grade school - her grandparents lived across the street from my babysitter. She thought I was bossy. I thought she was timid. She was right, I wasn't.

It wasn't until we entered the precarious world of middle school that Kate and I became friends. And to tell you the truth, I don't even know how it happened - I am just thankful it did.

We spent hours together, daily, being girls. We huddled around the lunch table, we told secrets at recess, we watched each others' backs. Most weekends involved a sleep over at one of our houses.

We got in trouble together - whether it was breaking curfew in high school or sneaking into R rated movies in middle school, we would usually be together and we would usually get caught. Her parents became mine, my mother became hers.

One of the best things about our friendship is that, except for our occasional bitchiness, we are really not similar.

She spent high school in the drama department, emoting. If she wasn't on stage at school, then she was at the local theater company or had her nose shoved in a book. I spent high school doing sports and editing the yearbook, being annoyingly upbeat. She is tall and thin and graceful. I am short, occasionally a bit round, and klutzy.
When I thought she was too wrapped up in a play and not taking care of herself, I would come back to school in the evening and leave a meal in her locker. When I was working on yearbook deadlines late into the evening, she would deliver copious amounts of caffeine. We never liked the same boys. We shared most of the same friends, although we each had our own. She had a crush on my older brother, I was jealous that she had a sister. At graduation, I wore stylish sandals - she wore green Doc Martens.

We headed off to college with promises to be in touch. She went to NYU to tackle the world of drama. I headed off to Loyola, in love with Chicago. When her parents said good-bye to her, she sobbed in an elevator. When my mom drove away, I cried on a curb.

We emailed each other and called when we could. School breaks were filled with the same familiar laughter, swapping stories of city adventures, and reminiscing.

She told me when she thought my boyfriends were dicks, but gave my now husband the stamp of approval.

We've mourned losing friends too young and have celebrated major milestones together.

She held my hand while my mother had a radical mastectomy. She stood at the altar when I said "I do". She called me when Addie entered the world.

These days we live in drastically different worlds.

She splits time between New York City and Paris. She acts and models and works her tiny little ass off. She wears two-and-half-inch high heels and a vintage fur coat.

I split my time in middle America between laundry, cleaning, story time and a mommy and me workout class. I remind myself, as I read Lizzy's Do's and Don'ts for the four thousandth time, that I have a masters degree. On a good day I am in clogs and a fleece.

It's our differences and our memories that keep our friendship so vibrant. The fact that we live in different worlds keeps it grounded and real. After over 20 years of witnessing each others' triumphs and bad choices, of worrying and rejoicing together, we just get each other. It's effortless. We don't talk every day, or week, or even month. We're lucky if we see each other once a year. But even now, far removed from the angst of middle school, we've still got each others' backs.

Lucky me.

Lucky her.

But most of all, lucky Addie - how many little girls this day in age get to have a Fairy Godmother?

Not many.

And not one as fabulous as Kate.

Pumpkins and a Kitty

Last year, when we went to the pumpkin patch, it was 80-some odd-degrees out. Addie was a little apprehensive of the penned up animals and she was wearing a sundress. We picked out a big pumpkin, rode a cow train and walked a kiddie maze. It just didn't seem right to be wandering a pumpkin patch and sweating.

At Gramma's house, this year, it was much different. She loved seeing sheep, goats, the cow and the horse. She climbed hay bales, rested on pumpkins, got her face painted and rode a pony. She wore her fall coat.
I'll let the pictures do the talking...Our day at Whitney's Farm Stand

A is for Apple

When I was growing up almost every fall would be marked by a trip to the apple orchard. In my memory, Mom would cram us (us being anyone in arms' reach) into the orange Oldsmobile or stack us into the minivan and we would drive to Kinderhook, NY.

The orchard we would go to allowed us not only to pick our own apples, but the trees were big enough that we could climb. And believe me, I was quite the tree climber as a kid. Height did not phase me. Bird nest, whatevs. Power lines, no biggie. My brother and I would scramble as high as we could, pick apples off the branches and toss them down to my mom. We would have picnics, gorge ourselves on fresh apple cider, and have rotten apple wars. The orchard we went to allowed dogs, and inevitably our silly mutt, Chemo the wonder pup, would run off and smash deer poop into her ears. Between that and the amount of cider we drank, it was often a bit of a stinky ride home.

However, once we got home it was apple recipes galore. Apple crisp, apple pie, apple sauce, and my fav, apple squares. I love everything about apple picking - the arrival of Autumn, cool air, blue skies, fallen leaves, laughter, family tradition. I love Autumn - I love jeans and long sleeve tees. I love the need for a sweatshirt in the morning. I love the smell of baking apples. And I am trying to impart this love to my little lady.

So, needless to say, I was thrilled to finally take my little Bean apple picking. The orchard we went to had gorgeous views of mountains, fresh apple cider donuts and pumpkins. The trees at the orchard were too small to climb, but that didn't deter us from having a blast. Addie plucked apples off the trees and chucked them into our bag - resulting in tons of bruised apples. The few apples that weren't bruised? Those were licked or bitten into courtesy of our little harvester.

She ran the rows of trees. She scarfed down a cider donut. She picked out a 'mama' and a 'baby' pumpkin. She watched cider ferment. And she, like me, loved it all.

A little of this and whole lotta that

Guess what I am humming right now?

Okay, Under the Sea was a good bet, but no. I am humming We are the Champions. Why? You may ask - because, my friends, Addison went to bed last night. On the first try. And stayed in bed until 7:15 a.m. Whaaa? Holla, friends, holla! I hypothesized with my friend Kate that perhaps the reason for our success is that we admitted to having a problem. Isn't that the first step in recovery, admitting you have a problem? With any luck we won't have a relapse tonight. Relapses suck.

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So, back to our pastoral week in the Berkshires with Gramma. Often times when we make the trek home, it is overwhelmed with visitors and events and going-ons. It's awesome to see everyone we get to see, but sometimes it feels like our "vacation" never occurred. There have been many times, while driving to the airport that Mom says "It went by too quickly" or "There never seems to be enough time". This was NOT the case this time around. This time by the time we were headed to the airport, Gramma looked like she need a spa get away.

Maybe it was because we were there for nine days. Or because my mom had the entire week off. It may have been that we went out and explored and played, now that Miss Thang is no longer a baby. It doesn't hurt that she had all but sworn off naps, allowing us to do more.

What ever it was, our trip home was relaxing (although not restful) and unscheduled and lovely.

In addition to Sean and Ali (who I am no longer on speaking terms with) Addie got to visit with my college pal and his brood, my godparents, my cousins and her fairy godmother. She loved the attention, the energy, the newness of everyone.

The beginning of the week was kicked off with most of the Papchristos clan coming to play. Hazel and Theo are 3ish and 5ish, respectively. They are curious, confident, hysterical and smart as heck.

Theo couldn't be bothered much by the girls, opting to teach my mother what he has learned at his Chinese Immersion school and tackle her Brain Quest game.

Hazel and Addie, however, became pretty fast friends. They spun in circles. The swung in the hammock. They meowed at other. And they giggled and giggled and giggled girly giggles.

After about an hour of the three kids' endless energy , which may have been enhanced by the amount of candy corns they inhaled, us adults decided it was more than time for a mimosa...sweetest mimosa I've ever had, I swear.

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The week ended with The Johnsons driving up from Connecticut and Fairy Godmother Kate popping in from New York City (more on her later). Addison decided to bring out her A-game for everyone. Last time Jay and Sara saw our little babe, she was horribly sick and not at all fun.

This time she did everything in her power to make up for it. She danced. She paraded. She sang. Puzzles were put together, books were read, and a lot of salami was eaten.

She had five adults so wrapped around her finger, that it was comical. They sang along with her. They boogied by her side. They joined her silly parade. On demand, a room full of adults broke out in The Itsy-bitsy Spider and Edelweiss.

I loved watching her get to know my family and finding them as entertaining and ridiculous as I do. But what I loved most was helping her host her first official tea party. Every year for my birthday my Aunt Janet would give me a tea cup. Not some crappy Target tea cup either - real bone china. I have 17 of them wrapped up at my mother's house. Since many of my fondest memories of being with Aunt Janet revolve around sharing a cup of tea, I thought I should get Addison in on the fun.

After dinner was devoured, and too many desserts were served, the menfolk had coffee, and us ladies sat down for a proper tea party, using my cups. Addison beamed - she thought she was so fancy and grown up.

Which is exactly how I always felt when Aunt Janet poured me a cup of tea...Welcome to a wonderful tradition, Miss Thang.***************************************************************************************************

I promise, simply to avoid the wrath of Grandma Patty, to update you on our adventures at the pumpkin patch and apple orchard tomorrow.... Right now I've got a a little Ry to entertain.

Powerplay

Oh my word, the expectations on this child. Speaking foreign languages? Getting accepted to Harvard? Landing a modeling contract? You people are stressing her out.

At this point, none of those things have occurred. Instead, she has figured out how to checkmate her mom. She has penetrated the barrier. She has entered the next stage. She fully understands power - she has kissed the crib goodbye.

Oh, I know, a few weeks back she had jumped ship, or crib as it might be, on video. But after that one day, she stayed safely inside the confines of her crib. If that is where I put her down, that is where I would find her. A certainty that I, mistakenly, took too lightly.

In the span of nine short days she went from Addie E., Bean, Miss Thang and Babydoll (too many nicknames for a kid? maybe) to The Night Stalker. Let me rewind a bit and set the stage:

There I was drinking a martini, eating cheese and laughing. I was confident that my daughter was having a great time with Gramma and I knew I was in for a great time with Sean and Ali - as we all now know, too good of time.
While I played, Gramma went about the business of getting Miss Thang ready for bed. She ate her hotdog, played with her toys, explored Gramma's house. She splashed in an extra long bath, got in her pjs, drank her milk, listened to her stories and snuggled down in the port-a-crib. From what I hear, Gramma kissed her goodnight, left the door cracked and headed downstairs.

Gramma reported that by the time she reached the bottom step she had a 33 inch tall shadow, hugging a giraffe behind her. All the tucking in rituals were repeated. Gramma kissed her goodnight, left the door cracked and headed to her own room - only to turn around and find that shadow again.

Gramma: It's time for ni-night little lady.
Miss Thang: No.
Gramma: Yes, sweetie. Do you want Gramma to rock you?
Miss Thang: No Gramma. Gramma's bed.
Gramma: No Addie. No Gramma's bed - how about Gramma rocks with you?
Miss Thang: No. Gramma's bed. Let's watch the news.

By some trickery or skill Gramma got Addie back into the port-a-crib, without watching the news, where she slept soundly 'til morning. And that was last sound night of sleep that she or anyone else has gotten.

After breaching the port-a-crib a few more times during Saturday's nap time, we decided to pull out the trundle bed, outfit it with a bed rail and pray. Our prayers, sadly, were completely ignored.
Addison spent every evening at Gramma's playing the Try and Make Me Sleep game. For those of you who haven't played that game, it totally sucks and you never win. And I love winning.

I would read to her. Sing to her. Rock her. Hold her hand. I would shut the door. Leave the door open. Keep a nightlight on in the hallway. Leave the hallway pitch black. No matter what I did, it failed.
We put up three different safety gates, one of which was taller than her by almost two inches. If she was unable to knock them down, she found a way over them. On average, I would walk her back up to bed eight or nine times. She would sneak downstairs and hide behind a chair to watch TV, not realizing that I could see her little feet. She would slink into the living room and sit in her rocker, in the dark, singing. She traveled with supplies - blankets, giraffe, baby kitty and maybe even a book.

When I would finally triumph, and she would pass out, I knew my victory would be short lived. Without fail, in the wee hours of the morning, she would pad into my room with her her supplies, crawling into bed next to me and falling back asleep.

And snoring like a 75 year-old man with severe sleep apnea.

A sunny baby after a sleepless night.

This lovely trend has continued to the great state of Ohio. Our first night home she jumped the crib four times before finally falling asleep. And she was curled up next to me by 4 a.m.

Sunday we converted her crib to a toddler bed and talked about what a big girl she was and how fun it is to have big girl bed, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
Sunday night she fell asleep as I read to her. I eased her into the bed, tiptoed away and hoped for a good night sleep. Sadly, between 11:55 p.m. and 1:38 a.m. The Night Stalker came to visit over a half dozen times. She cried. She pleaded. She threw herself on the floor. Each time I walked her back to her room and tucked her back in. At one point I thought I was in the clear, until I saw her come down the hallway with her supplies and set up camp in my doorway. Again I walked her back to bed - where she finally stayed until morning.

Last night she fought us again. It was a double parent intervention. The Thinking Stool made an appearance. There was crying, and blubbering, and screaming, but after an hour or so she walked her self into her room and went to bed. Triumph!

At 3:40 a.m. I found a sweet-smelling, cuddled-up little girl curled into me.
At 3:41 a.m. she was walked back to bed.

At 8:30 a.m. I brewed a six cup pot of coffee.

Sean + Ali = Vomit

Let's start at the very beginning....it's a very good place to start....

Almost two weeks ago I checked off the travel list:
Portable DVD player. Check.
Bag full of toys. Check.
Healthy snacks. Check.
Packed suitcases. Boarding passes. Check, check.

Off Addie and I flew to New England for nine autumn days with Gramma. Four planes later, we're back at home, readjusting to sleeping schedules and wishing Gramma was still around to change diapers and pour wine.

I mentioned last week that there are tales to be told...and the first one has very little to do with Addie. Nope this one is all about me, my poor decision making ability and my questionable choices in friends.

After arriving at Gramma's, late in the night, Addie wrapped herself around giraffe and snuggled up in the port-a-crib, snoozing blissfully until morning. On Friday we putzed around and lamented a rainy day, but I knew that rain was not going to ruin my plans. See, luckily for moi, two very good friends of mine live about 45 minutes from Mom, in Albany, New York. She is there finishing her ER residency and he is there desperately trying to figure out a way to get fired from his job. They're both counting the seconds until they can return to sweet home Chicago.

Ali drove over the mountains and met me at the outlets for some shopping before we headed back to their place for some drinks, dinner and fun. Addie kissed me goodbye and mom practically shoved me out the door in anticipation of one-on-one time with her littlest lady. Freedom.

Ali and I shopped and chatted and shopped some more. We drove to Albany, with my overnight bag, and uncorked some wine. We ate cheese, laughed, had a martini, laughed. We watched Sean make us dinner and we plotted our night ahead.

Dinner was lovely - rosemary roasted potatoes, smoked beer butt chicken and salad. Our martinis gone, we delved into two bottles of red from their impressive arsenal of wine. We laughed at each other and with each other and at our shared friends. It was lovely. By 11:45 I was in bed...In my pjs under the covers. Honk shoo honk shoo.

When I woke up I was groggy and had a bit of head ache, but okay. I showered, took up residence on their couch and waited for our day to start. Big plans for burgers and bloody marys were awaiting....but first....I hurled.

Yep. I christened their toilet in their newly refinished bathroom. Embarrassing? Yes. Par for the course if I have a tad too much to drink these days? Yes.

Hurling done, I was ready for lunch and feeling great.

Then the waitress but my burger down in front of me. I got a little hot feeling. I could hardly bare to smell or look at it. I excused myself to the oddest bar bathroom ever (all covered in chrome, mirrors and yellow) and I hurled some more.

Yep. I hurled in a public place. A lot. Did I want to hide my face? Yes. Was I a little more than embarrassed? Yes.

It was time to trek back to the Berkshires - I was feeling good enough and thinking about the mimosas Ali and I would sip. We got in their new car. It was shiny. It smelt like new car. It had all sorts of fancy buttons and screens - and I hurled again. In a bag, in their car, as we were heading to I-90.

Mortified. Check.

And then again, 5 miles from my Mom's house. And then two more times in the house I grew up in. I was feeling a little icky but overall decent, talking and laughing, and then bam - hurling. My stomach rejected Friday night's fun, three bites of a burger, a Pepcid and bottles of water.

I was BROKEN. While curled in a fetal position, demanding Ali use her doctor skills to fix me, I surrendered my rock star card.

Once and forever.

The days of mixing alcohol - gone. The days of drinking multiple martinis - gone. The days of bouncing back - gone. The days of being awesome - gone.

I say it loud and I say it proud - I am a Mommy NOT a rock star.

Ali and Sean broke me. Maybe permanently. But that isn't really the big story about those 36 hours - the big story is that Addison made a decision on Friday night that has pretty much changed my entire world.

But more on that later.

Two More Days

Oh you just wait.
There will be stories and pictures and tales to come. Tales of traveling with a two-year-old. Stories of picking apples and going to the dentist. Tales of a mommy who has to retire her rock star card officially and forever (think vomiting in a moving vehicle). Pictures of playing in New England, and going to a pumpkin patch and riding a pony. Oh, and the famous story of the Night Stalker...my daughter who no longer sleeps.

They are all coming, I swear....but for now we are going to enjoy the next 40 hours of Grandma being in charge. Grandma who makes breakfast. Grandma who changes diapers and loves bath time. Grandma who tries to scold, but can't stop laughing. Grandma, whose eyes just keep twinkling "I told you would have daughter just like you...ha ha ha ha ha", as she sips her pinot grigio.

For the second time in recent weeks, Genna and I let the girls sit together at a restaurant. Of course we plied them with crayons and markers and doodle paper - but the point is they sat next to each other. Across the table from us. Not hanging on our arms or trying to sit on our laps. Giving us an opportunity to have an almost coherent conversation.

And they were great, by the standards of a four and two-year-old.




In my everyday life I don't marvel enough at the daily growth of my little Bean. My mom always sighs that she's getting so tall or that her hair is so long and I absent-mindedly agree. But today, watching the girls share and eat their lunch, and not argue and not get covered in ketchup or milk, it dawned on me that Damn, they are growing up.

On our way home, as Addie snoozed in the back seat, I couldn't help but think about how much the girls have grown since last Fall.

So I scrolled through our pictures and confirmed it...and then felt just the tiniest bit misty.

Last Fall at the Zoo

This Fall at the park.

Shhhh, the baby is sleeping

A big theme in our house these days is SLEEP. Or, more accurately, the lack there of it.

Don't get me wrong, at night we have been getting good quality sleep. Addie has been going down for bedtime without a fight - a few books, a song, a couple of cuddles and a rock or two in the chair, and waah laah - asleep.

Nap time, however, is a definitively different experience. It usually has a lot of No ninight mama. Nooooo ninight, pweeese. No nap mommy. NO NAP. Which is then followed by a lot of crocodile tears and pleading. Which is then followed by very slow process of picking out her nap time book. The book is then read. The songs are sang and rocking happens.
I get a hug and kiss and an I love you. And waah laaah - total fake out.

Almost every time, over the monitor I hear her talking to giraffe and pulling the musical toys that are still attached to her crib. I can hear roll around, play with her covers, and name the stuffed animals sitting on her shelf.
And then I start to hear the creaking.
Creeeak, crrrreeak, creak, creak, Creak, CREAK. The lovely rhythm of her forcefully jumping up and down in her crib. Creeeak, crrrreeak, creak, creak, Creak, CREAK. Creeeak, crrrreeak, creak, creak, Creak, CREAK.
And then the tears and loud pleas to. be. LET. DOWN. DOWN MAMA. Down Mama. DOOOOWWWWN.

Today after thirty minutes of my attempting to ignore her, I finally gave into her shrieks. I climbed the stair. I half stomped down the hallway and I opened her door.

Only to find my wide awake, overly energized daughter, jumping up and down, giggling.

Naked as the day she was born.

Not a stitch of clothing. On the floor around her crib - her pants, her shirt, her diaper.
On her face? A huge smile.

One year later

This will be a hard, quiet day every year...and I didn't think that I was going to be able to say much of anything on the blog today. But Kim gave me a bit of inspiration, mixed with tears and a smile.

So while we do our thing today: toasting, telling stories, remembering, I have no doubt that this is what, appropriately and softly, be floating through my mind.

"...With a holy host of others standing round me

Still I'm on the dark side of the moon

And it seems like it goes on like this forever

You must forgive me

If I'm up and gone to Carolina in my mind

In my mind I'm goin' to Carolina

Can't you see the sunshine

Can't you just feel the moonshine

Maybe just like a friend of mine

It hit me from behind

Yes, I'm goin' to Carolina in my mind."

Because, truly, if there is a heaven, I have no doubt it is the shores of Carolina, and his feet are in the surf.

Are you kidding me?

What happens at 6:05 p.m. when a two-year-old forgoes her nap two days in a row.