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?