Barely avoiding use of "Terrible Twos"

I don't believe in the terrible twos, which is not like saying I don't believe in God (which is a question of faith) or I don't believe in global warming (which is scientifically inaccurate). It is more an issue of I don't believe that this process of individuation and development is terrible. But still. I look around the grocery store and see other twos sitting peacefully in their shopping carts and think, What's going on? I'm starting to think this is who she is. And when I think about how it will not end at 3, I'm frightened. Hold me!



Taking dog for a walk:

Me: Wouldn't it be fun for you to ride in your backpack?
TM: No, mama. I walk, too.

Me: We should probably change that diaper that you've been wearing all night before we leave.
TM: Stop! No mama. I watch cah-toons.

Me: What about if I bribe you with a yogurt?
TM: Okay.

At the pool:

Me: Sweetie, you can pour that bucket of water on my foot!
TM: No.

Me: Sweetie, we need to go home and feed Mr. Gabe. Are you ready, please?
TM: No.

Me: Check out this sweeeeet truck!
TM: Stop it, Mama.

At bathtime:

Me: How about I read The Napping House while you bathe?
TM: No! Read. Read, um, read Jabberwocky!

Me: That's in your room. What about Where Are My Friends?
TM: No. Jabberwocky, mama.

Are/Were your twos similar?

Contemplating mortality. Travels. And other things.

Well, friends, it's been a long wired-less week. TM and I were in Savannah with my family for a couple of reasons: 1) I wanted to spend some time with my grandmother, who is grieving the loss (in June) of my grandfather (Here she is, snapping peas with TM):



and 2) my brothers and I were 50% responsible for packing up (and dividing) my other grandmother's home (she died in July).

Let it be stated that packing up a house that has been collecting dust for over three years whilst keeping track of a 2-year-old will always end in the onset of something very Plague-like (for which one would need to recover, alone, at Canyon Ranch or some other faraway destination for the very tired). My Grandmother was bedridden for some time before her death, but she was never a meticulous housekeeper. We threw away bills from the 1980s--- fashion magazines from earlier than that. There were pennies and bags and shoes and purses and Halloween decorations. Things that meant something to her at one point but were of no particular interest to us.

My grandmother had a lot of beautiful porcelain and silver that we will keep in our families for future generations. Her aunts, two of whom never married, left all of their earthly possessions to her. We picked out the things we treasured most and, afterwards, invited her in-home caretakers over to collect items they'd want to keep for themselves (or their families). I contacted an auction house to pick up the furniture and other collectables that weren't claimed. In the end, it looked like her house had been ransacked.

It was a busy time. I'm certain there are things we left in her house that we would like to have taken. Under the circumstances, I had no choice but to leave things behind. In additional to porcelain and silver pieces, I was able collect favorite pictures of my dad and a few of the paintings my grandmother did of us. All of her jewelry was stolen over those years she had so many strangers coming in and out of her home.

Death was a theme of the week, though not in a burdensome way. It was just that more now than ever, I sense that things can't always be like this. It's like I've been frozen in time, young and ready to conquer the world, and all of a sudden things are picking up speed. I lost two grandparents this summer, and every minute in my dead grandmother's house served as a reminder that my dad is dead, too. Part of what has been so difficult for me is the idea that life goes on, you know? That people pick up and continue to go about their days, dividing "assets" and making final decisions, eating breakfast and brushing their teeth. Like putting pieces of her furniture in a storage unit so that it can sit until Thanksgiving, when I drive it back to St. Louis and find a place for it in my home, isn't utterly depressing?

My other grandparents' home is like my home, too. That place is a sanctuary. They've been there since before I was born. With the exception of a few updates, that house has remained the same. A consistent presence for me, a place where I have always gone for most major holidays. We've celebrated and mourned there. I have a bed and I know that when I open the drawer in the bedside table, there's an obituary for my grandfather's best friend who died over 15 years ago. My grandmother is doing really well, despite the fact that she's just now, at 82, learning how to handle their finances. We sat on the floor of her bedroom and went through file after file of bills and financial statements---just trying to make sense of it all. She was totally overwhelmed. She can't talk about my grandfather without crying. I can't even imagine what it would feel like to lose B after 61 years of marriage. We agreed that TM is a major mood enhancer---and she totally supports my plan to bottle the scent of TM's sweaty head. She loves my girl.

We had some good times. We spent one evening out at dinner---MeMe, Gambi, TM, and me. When TM was finished with her meal, i.e. after one bite of chicken and one macaroni, MeMe helped her climb this lookout:



We also went swimming with Cami and Brian, TM's most favorite cousins:



And as always, I have a lovely report of my flight experience. This one with Northwest Airlines. A dialogue report seems most appropriate here:

Background details: Flights booked at FULL PRICE for me and TM in early July on Orbitz. With seat assignments.

Me: (Arriving at Savannah airport. Check-in for flight. See that I have to get seats at gate for layover flight from Memphis to STL. Curious.)

Me: (Arriving in Memphis after being trampled upon and kicked by TM. Still cool, but less so. Approaching gate attendant for seat assignments). Hi there, I need seat assignments for my daughter and me for our flight back to St. Louis.

Him: Do you have your tickets?

Me: Yes. Here you go.

Him: Yeah, well, this flight is overbooked. I'm going to have to ask for volunteers. If you have a seat, you can listen for my announcements and watch the standby list. But there are a few people before you, so...you will probably need to catch the next flight, which leaves here at 6:30 PM.

Me: I'm sorry, WHAT? I'm flying to St. Louis on THIS flight.

Him: Yes, if you make it through standby.

Me: Here's the deal, SIR. I'm getting on this flight. Your airline's policy of overbooking for profit has nothing to do with me. I have a baby with me and it is WELL beyond her naptime. I'm NOT catching the next flight. You're going to get me on this one. Okay?

Him: I didn't overbook this flight, ma'am.

Me: (Silent. Stare).

Him: Well, sit down and let me take a look at the list.

Me: (Seething.)

Ten minutes pass.

Him: Ma'am, here you go. Looks like you get to get on this flight after all.

Me: (Huh? Well, YES.) Thank you.

Moral: Don't mess with me when I am flying with my daughter. Just don't.

Getting To Know Me

I'm copying Cecily here and using this momentary lapse of creative energy to tell you about me. First of all, welcome to The Redheaded Lefty! This is my home on the web. And this is me (and my Toddler Monster):



I've been writing here since June 2004, when life was all about spontaneity and evenings out. Posts were frivolous. In 2005, I married B and we started growing a baby (known here as TM). I was in graduate school when TM was born. I FINISHED GRADUATE SCHOOL while my daughter (age 0) was still nursing. That was crazy. I was certifiably insane, of course, and felt---for a long time---that I had lost my stable foundation. I cried a lot. I was very sleep deprived.

At that time, I was reading a lot of blogs---mommy blogs---before I knew they belonged in a separate category. I read Dooce a lot. In fact, I've always wanted to tell her how much her postpartum posts meant to me. Really. But I also read Kicky Boots, Daymented, Drowning in Kids, and Don Mills Diva. Two of those (the first two) had their babies right around when I had TM. We were in a pregnant bloggers' network together. The other two write in a way that I love---very honest and emotional. Blogging is cool, okay?

I finished graduate school in December 2007 and am in the process of doing a post-graduate training program at a psychoanalytic institute. I like working with people. Problem is, babies throw a wrench in our well-thought-out plans and, like so many other moms, I don't want to miss the good stuff. She's under thirty pounds and I carry her everywhere. We snuggle a lot. She won't always want to spend all of her time with me, right? Plus, I married someone who has his summers "off." When we can escape the heat of the St. Louis summertime, we do.

Here he is with his Toddler Monster (the same one):



In March 2008, after I had had all I could take of the part-time job search, I got an email from a BlogHer advertising network producer saying she'd read my post(s) about employment disgruntledness and, "Would you like to work for BlogHer from home?" Oh yes. So, I feel very fortunate. I get to work part-time from home. The life.

And without futher delay:

100-ish Things

Late twenties.
First-time mom.
Blogger since 2004.
Love dogs. And all animals, really.
Adopted Mr. Gabe from a rescue shelter.
He eats other dogs like they're popcorn.
And sleeps with us---between us---at night.
Love to travel.
Love personal details.
That's why I love blogs.
Social worker.
Without a social work job.
Am concerned about advocacy for my profession.
Don't believe in all that astrology stuff
but can say with certainty that a lot of social workers have brown auras.
Or am I projecting?
Don't know what color my aura is.
My aura is not brown.
Have never dieted.
Have a lot of ambivalence about working outside of the home.
Internet sleuth.
Not a vegetarian, but sometimes scared of meat.
Sleep-deprived.
BlogHer ad network editor.
Am a twin.
Also have a 6-years-younger brother.
I'm the over-responsible, control freak firstborn.
My twin is really good at the facade---but he's a lot like me. Only quieter.
My little brother fits the 3rd child stereotype.
From Georgia.
Like folk music.
Like to do other people's hair.
Hate action films.
Love baths.
Love to get together with old friends.
Think college was blissful.
Am not entirely convinced that the world will be a bad place when my daughter is older.
Am not sure I am not just in denial about that.
Worry about the day my daughter goes to college.
Scared to raise an only child,
but not ready to have another.
Am a self-help book junkie.
Don't love idle time but wish I had more of it.
Hate violence on TV/in movies.
Can't decide whether I prefer the mountains or the beach.
Or hot or cold.
Am competitive.
Love my parents-in-law (and am loved back).
Feel sad when I see people eating alone.
Love old people.
Do not like people who assume they are funny
and then dominate conversations with jokes.
I never think pre-packaged jokes are funny
but I always try to laugh.
I am terrible at ending conversations.
It pains me to see other people feel awkward.
Like to do things my way.
Never want to be just mediocre.
Get joy from running, but only afterwards.
Love to read.
Read to escape.
Can't picture myself in old age.
Am obsessed with NY Times Sunday Styles.
Don't think that makes me stupid or overtly feminine.
I don't read Sunday Business or Technology.
Hoard bath products.
Find music therapeutic.
Will only use red nail polish. Darker makes me look goth and lighter makes me look gray.
Can never find the right sunglasses.
View nature as my higher power.
Find peace in solitude.
Grew up in an alcoholic home.
Used to steal pot from my dad.
What could he say?
Have 1 living grandparent.
Married to a college professor.
He had a ponytail when I first saw him.
I loved him a whole bunch, right away.
I don't think white sunglasses look good on anyone.
Like good socks.
Have lots of pillows.
Am a pro at vacuuming.
Am constantly trying to organize my life.
Feel guilty about having my daughter in daycare.
Use "preschool" rather than "daycare."
Prefer the in-between seasons.
Am scared the in-between seasons are disappearing.
Was a debutante.
Thought being a debutante was fun, but entirely without meaning.
Have never been in trouble with the law.
Would describe my body as strong.
Am in a psychotherapeutic training program.
Love my Canon Rebel XTi and take it everywhere.
Fold my husband's laundry.
He cooks.
Wish I had a paintball gun to shoot rude people.
And people who run stop signs in my n'hood.
Am nostalgic about everything.
I scrapbook.
Like flowers but can't keep them alive.
Hate mayonnaise.
Prefer not to get suntanned.
Love David Sedaris.

Just Living Life

I haven't posted in a few days. Obviously. We've had some internet troubles, a.k.a it hasn't been working at all and it makes me want to pull my hair out well. After spending a couple of extra hours getting work done, I just haven't had it in me to be creative post. Really, things have been pretty mellow and sweet around here. We had a bit of a reprieve yesterday from the unbearable heat, so last night we met up with friends and headed over to the MOBOT. The band was playing a bunch of oldies---the kind you hear when you're 80, playing shuffleboard on a cruise ship. In other words, good times.

In other news, B had an appointment with an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist about his hearing (which, in one ear, has gone from bad to worse) and his vertigo. You remember how I complained for a year straight that he couldn't hear the baby when she got up at night? Oh, how that steamed me. She's sleeping well, now, so there's softness in my heart where the rage used to be. The audiologist has suggested he consider a hearing aid. Here's the discussion we had about that:

Him: Should I get one?

Me: Yes, if it helps.

Him: You wouldn't feel like you were married to an old man?

Me: Well, no. And besides, they're flesh-colored.

Him: Flesh colored? Don't you mean Caucasian-colored?

Me: Whatever, dawg. They'll sorta blend in.

He has an MRI this afternoon to rule out anything else.

As summer looms large…

…on the morning horizon, we are thinking, what are we going to do today? A day with young children is divided into sections: there is morning, with breakfast, cartoons, and getting dressed; there is the Morning Activity (capitalized for its importance); the Nap (see previous), which can last from 1 to 3 hours; the Afternoon Activity; the Pre-dinner/Dinner time, when we're usually home, trying to fight the magnetic pull of the television; and the post-dinner/dancing/bathing/bedtime routines. The best day is one that is so action-packed when, at the end of the day, we're thinking, we were just so busy today! The worst? When we're home, bored as hell, watching the clock. Makes me c-c-c-crazy.

The in-between seasons are best for this type of schedule, primarily because we don't have to take subzero or 100+ degrees temperatures into account. But when it's August 2^st, and you're looking at this?

Saturday	Sunday	Monday	Tuesday
HOT	HOTTER	HOTTEST	HOTTESTER

Well, you have to be creative. And trust me when I say that we have done everything here. We're like tour guides, which I think is due (in no small part) to our not being from here. Because when you're from here, you go to grandma's pool or drop the kids off with Aunt Sue so you can get stuff done. Or you can spend time with your crazy relative, whom you only call once a year when you've exhausted all other options, who complains all the time that the heat is oppressive and thinks that it is perfectly okay to sleep until fall comes.

If you're like me, you get all freaked out when you think of spending the entire afternoon and early evening at home, indoors. There just isn't enough to do. I end up alternating between entertaining TM and cleaning the house. The dog just stares at me, wanting to go out because he has to go to the bathroom, but not wanting to go out for fear that he just wouldn't make it. I explain it to TM like this: "You know how we wear shorts and t-shirts when it's hot outside? Well, Mr. Gabe wears a fur coat, all year. Can you imagine wearing a fur coat in this heat?" Our backup plans include the library (there are three close by), the Science Center, and the St. Louis Children's Museum.

There's also this really frightening place called Monkey Joe's. Really, if you look up "suburban" in the dictionary, there's a picture of this place next to it (although they claim to have a "core belief"). It's a chain. One of those places you find in strip malls that will probably vanish in the next couple of months? They have those big blow-up castles and things and a section for children under 3. Get this: There's a place for parents to watch television on a big screen TV and a computer area for them to check their email (No, we have not done that). There's really nothing right about it, and it takes a lot of strength to go. But it's pretty fun, OK?

Thing is, there are people who don't mind the heat. They're at all of MY favorite places, clogging MY view of the sea lions, or taking MY parking spaces. Visiting the Chimpanzees yesterday, we overheard the super-tanned teenage girl (wearing little more than the tiniest pair of white shorts ever) behind us joke, "Look! It's dead. Ha. It ain't moving. And that one there doesn't even know it!" Who was she talking about? The mother and baby Chimpanzee. The baby's about 4, so small, and so sweet. It was giving its mother kisses while she pretended to be sleeping. And that teenager, the one who will likely be cursed with a baby who doesn't sleep for 13 months, has no idea what it is like to have to entertain a child all day---in the heat of summer, no less. Otherwise, she would have gotten the situation.

Bedtime.

We've got a routine around here. That routine includes reading stories to TM before bedtime. Tonight, I read Goodnight Maine, a book her grandparents bought for her. Cute book. But her favorite part? Has everything to do with being two. The whole experience is different. Here's how it went tonight (when we were reading the first page, where there is a lobster boat---in the ocean---surrounded by buoys). I am not exaggerating for emphasis here.

Me: Good morning, Atlantic Ocean. Are you ready to share a wonderful day?

TM: What's dat, mama? (Pointing to a buoy).

Me: That's a buoy. Good morning...

TM: Dat? (Pointing to another buoy, CLEARLY the same thing).

Me: That's a buoy. ...Fisherman...

TM: What's dat, mama?

Me: That's a buoy.

TM: Dat, mama?

Me: That's a buoy. Good morning, whales' tails...

TM: Mama, what's da-at?

Me: That's a buoy (Not wanting to discourage her inquisitive nature but gritting teeth, nonetheless). ...Rising out of the waves.

TM: Mama, what's dat?

Me: A buoy.

TM: And dat?

Me: A whale's tail. WE'RE TURNING THE PAGE, THANK YOU.

In the last 1.5 hours.

1. Woke up to "Mamama! MAMA! AHHHHHHH!" At 6.
2. Performed rescue operation. But not without "baby and doggie, peaz."
3. Retrieved three yogurt tubes for TM.
4. Attempted to eat Grape Nuts with about a tablespoon of whole milk because we're out of ours. Couldn't stomach it.
5. Moved rooms to "watch caw-toon, peaz."
6. Sat in big, comfy chair. Thought, "I'm actually not tired this morning, but if I sit here long enough, I bet I'll fall asleep."
7. Watched the Wiggles. Wondered, for the millionth time, "Who ARE they?"
8. Thought, "Okay, I am definitely getting sleepy again. Got to get up and do something."
9. Removed a finger from my bellybutton.
10. Made coffee. Considered scooping one of her birthday cookies (the ones with the sickening amount of sugar) out of the garbage can and eating it.
11. Refrained. Barely.
12. Helped with a puzzle.
13. Went upstairs to wake up "dada."
14. Dumped TM on him. Lots of hugs.
15. Back into her room.
16. Read Barnyard Boogie (a.k.a. the most annoying children's book ever) while she sat on her toilet.
17. When she picked up the bowl part of her potty to investigate for findings, had to say, "Sorry, sweetie, there's nothing in there yet. Wanna read another book?"
18. Did that forever.
19. Back downstairs.
20. Put diaper on while she was standing, distracted by more important things.
21. Am still in PJs.

So far.

Toddler Monster Is Two Today

When I was young(er), I knew I wanted to be a mom. I knew I wanted the experience of loving and caring for a child, watching them grow. I could never have guessed what parenting is all about. I was naive and totally clueless. Because the magnitude of the experience, how it takes over, is all-consuming. You are the single most compelling thing that has ever happened to me.



You came screaming into this world, on this day, two years ago. The nurses were all, “You sure do have a spirited one on your hands.” I get it, so don't you worry. You weren’t ready to be born. I’m convinced of it. The doctor was wrong when she estimated when you were conceived. She just was. When she said I was 41 weeks pregnant, she was wrong. I think you could have stayed in for another week, easy. And if we’d left you in there to make your own choice about coming out? If they hadn’t induced and used those giant salad tongs? Maybe you wouldn’t have spent the first two years of your life with your finger in my bellybutton or otherwise tucked into some crevice you’ve discovered elsewhere on my body.

You are a joy. Your trust in us knows no bounds. I have been lucky enough to be with you almost every day of your life. I know everything about you---from before your first day. And I love you so, so much. In your words? How big is my love? Soooooooooo big. You're funny and curious---and you always like to be the one in charge. Your personality grows bigger and bigger every day. When you sang The Itsy Bitsy Spider in the car today, I almost exploded with pride.

Issy biss spider
down RAIN
Wash ouuuuttttt

Your dad and I took our sweet time adjusting to life with an infant---have I told you he suffered some sort of stress-induced hearing loss? And that I developed a semi-phobia of the nighttime? There were many days when I nursed you for over 14 hours. Forget nipple pain---I would have endured far worse for some peace of mind and a good night's sleep. When you were tiny and noodly, you were all screams. Here’s the thing, though: At about 6 months, you started sitting up and (almost) as soon as you recognized the slightest ability to function independently, you started smiling. And you haven’t stopped since.



Already we have done so much. You are the world's best traveler, for sure, although I can say with complete certainty that I have never had as much anxiety as I do when we're on our way to the airport. And you know that's saying a lot. The hypervigilance? The anger when I am asked to move seats because someone somewhere (who definitely flies first class, if not charter) has decided that a flotation device for a toddler is something that would work? Or when United Airlines tried to tell me I had to wait all day with you in the Atlanta airport? Three times I scoff. But those things have nothing to do with your fabulosity, okay? Because each and every time we fly, you are the most fun person on the plane. Period. And if anyone else wants to hold you and see how fun you are, that'll work!

Last night, I read you a book about a boy and his "best friend." You said best friend, and I asked you who your best friend was. Because I was there (or because you really mean it), you said "MOMMY!" And you were so excited about it that you stood up, soaking wet and naked, demanding a hug. And I pulled you into a tight squeeze because otherwise I may have burst into tears at your utter lack of modesty and shame. You are this whole, beautiful person in this tiny, precious body.

My favorite time with you is just before and after you sleep, when I'm holding you and you're all warm and squishy. You snuggle and we just fit together. Sometimes I stand in the middle of the room, holding you (or, in your words, "I hold you, mama."), and you rub my back and quietly sing. There will come a time when I can't hold you like that anymore (or that's what they say, at least, but I bet we do this for a while). And I guess that will mark a definite transition to a new stage of greater independence for you (cue violins). And more anxiety for me?

For so many reasons, I wish you could stay little forever. At the same time, I am so excited to see you grow and change. Every day brings something new. Yesterday? You put on your own shorts (and actually your shirt, too, on your legs. You have little buddies now and you say hi (and wave) to strangers that pass us on the sidewalk. I love you, love you, love you.



Happy Birthday, sweetie!

Mouth and Metal Don't Mix

TM got ready with me this morning, which means she splashed water all over the bathroom counter (while I dried it), broke two eyeshadows (while I swept the broken blush), and mouthed a bottle of Excedrin Extra Strength (while I screwed the cap back on my toothpaste, after she tried to eat it).

She was dressed, although that, too, came with its fair share of drama. While I picked out her clothes, she stood by her crib saying, "I get in bed, mama! I get in bed!" We do this a lot. She gets in her bed and pretends it is time for sleep, asks me for a blanket, and then peeks up at me through one half-closed eye while I rub her back and say, "Goodnight, baby." When she asked me to close the door (like I do when it really is bedtime), I did. And then she stood up and screamed bloody murder in the crib. "Mamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Nooooooooooo! Mama, up! UP!" She wasn't amused.

So, while I pulled my two-day-old bedhead into a scrawny ponytail and changed from a large sleepy T into something a bit more daytime (a medium sleepy T), she rummaged around in my closet for *just the right pair of shoes,* i.e. something with a high, spiky heel, something black. After she'd emptied everything from the closet onto Gabe's dog bed (covered in fur), she lost interest.

At this point, I was putting on deodorant (my one accessory) and getting ready to scoop her up to go downstairs. When I saw that she had one of my hangers in her mouth. One of the poofy ones that you could hang a lightweight sweater on (maybe)? The part that hangs? In her mouth. I snuck up all cat-like, all, "Sweetie (soft voice, almost a whisper), put the hanger down. Can mommy have that hanger?" But when she tried to take it out of her mouth, the end snagged on a tooth?, perhaps, and she had to wrestle with it. And it hurt. ME. I checked for cuts, etc., and I didn't see any. And I think it is safe to say she won't do that again. But she was upset and I was upset that I hadn't seen it happen in the first place.

And how weird is that story? I mean, that her boo boo came from a hanger? And I had to explain that to her preschool teachers, who responded with, "That's odd."

Sad.

What they do to us...

I just got off the phone with my sister-in-law, whose daughter will be 15 this year (same birthday as TM!). Apparently, my niece is starting to show an interest in boys. Inviting them over to the house, going bowling with them. You know, the usual stuff. As always, I am super-impressed with my SIL’s parenting skills and overall presence in her kids’ lives. What girl, at 14, wants boys to come over to her house to hang out with her parents? See?

She is having a mini-freakout because she realizes that this is something huge---something she went through, something that comes with a whole lot of pain and heartbreak.

SIL: “Ashley, really, it just kills me. She is just beginning, you know?”

Me, getting really anxious all of a sudden. Imagining TM at 15, but staying strong for SIL: “I know. But it’s so exciting! And all of our experiences are so different.”

SIL: “Yeah…”

Me: “Really, this is good, because at her age I was making cocktail stew out of Crème de Menthe and Tequila. And she’s watching scary movies with soda in your basement! You’re AWESOME!”

SIL: "Don't SCARE me!"

Today, she’s totally feeling the pangs of mommyness.

Yesterday, TM and I went to a birthday party for a friend of hers (gotta love that, right?). TM had a great time at the party. There were mats and beams and balls and bubbles and all of those other things that make 2-yr-olds squeal with delight. There was also a really loud annoying lady trying to herd them all into one place (whom I seriously contemplated smacking with a pool noodle or two).

When it was time for pizza and cake, TM sat in her little seat and waited patiently for her food.

I got this picture of her then. I think she was exhausted and a little bit overwhelmed by all of the activity and noise, but when I saw this, my heart felt like it weighed about 60 lbs and was---any minute---going to spill out of my chest. She was just waiting, so patiently. Shortly thereafter, I realized the little girl sitting next to her had spilled her entire Hawaiian Punch onto TM, who was s-o-a-k-e-d. So here I am, taking pictures of my soaking wet daughter, who was hungry and tired and maybe a little bit sad?

And I had a moment of mommy pangs.

Happy Father's Day, Beatle.

It's raining. Can I take pictures?

It's officially an addiction. Someone please add it to the list. I am at the computer right now with three separate windows open: one for buying photo mats, one for ebay (for an external flash), and one for my blog (where I get to right about my addiction to taking pictures).

On those mornings I've been over at our friends' fabulous bookshop/art gallery, I've walked around and checked out some of the photographs for sale. And ours are good, too. The ones we have of the area. So I'm matting them and taking them over to sell. If they'll allow it, of course. It's not really about the money. It's more, "Do you think these are good, too?"

Back to the addiction though. So I'm looking out this giant window at the rain and I'm thinking to myself, "I could probably get in the car and go down to the harbor, open up the back of the wagon, and get a great shot of the boats and lobster buoys in the rain. Then I could Photoshop the picture to almost black and white, mess with the exposure/contrast, and that'd be a contender. Right?"

This while TM, and, oh boy, is she TM today, naps. Speaking of the MONSTER, she was all about putting on pants by herself this afternoon. For 20 minutes I sat and smiled while she giggled and made honest efforts to get her little bigfoot into her pant legs. It didn't happen and, frankly, I was done observing. The twos are here, folks, 'cause when I took over, she thrashed about and screamed like I was torturing her soul. And then promptly fell asleep. At lunch today, she was banging her spoon on her plate. When I asked her to please, STOP!, she scoffed at me and continued on. I offered her the option of eating lunch ONLY or getting down from her seat. She was super-offended and, again, scoffed at me. And continued with the spoon. When I lifted her out of her seat, she hit me. Boo.

Anyway, rain keeps me inside, dreaming of photography.

A parade and lots of time to play.

Memorial Day started off right, with a local parade that was super-short and a funny dude that had a very sarcastic wit (peppered with profanity). I'm posting pictures here because its really important that you see the mini fire truck (which I, of course, love, as I love all miniature things) and the tiny little orange newt, which I found while I was weeding.

Somewhere between last night and now, I discovered a rash on my old, wrinkly man hands (really, y'all, I could bathe them in butter and they'd still look irritated). B's mom has it, too. Has, in fact, since last month. I hadn't noticed it until I sat under a reading lamp, but she told me her rash itched AND NOW MINE DOES, TOO. Damn. Does that ever happen to you? We're thinking we got the rash from wearing the same old gardening gloves. Sweet.

Here's a picture from a pond close by the house. The good thing about a lot of Maine is that pictures are just good. Period. Aesthetic beauty here. Which is, as I've discussed in previous posts or somewhere familiar, a big inspiration for me (and for others, I presume).

Lady and a horse. Carrying a flag. Happy Memorial Day, right? I think this one speaks for itself.

Here I am with the Schnitzel. I like this picture of me, OK? The high school band had just passed and I was thinking, "I wonder if they aren't jaded and are happy to be a part of this tiny parade. Or do they think this is stupid and that my waving is indicative of my age?"

B and Wynn, on the way to sand beach.

Here's one of the Eastern Newt. I was digging through leaves and saw a tiny little ball of orange gum that turned out to be this guy. I love him. He just sat quietly on my finger (no doubt petrified of all of us) until I gently placed him back onto the ground, where he moved slowly back into a balled position under leaves. Do newts get cold? I want to bring him in and spoon him.

Let's go fly a kite...

She liked the idea of the kite right away.


B taught her how to hold the kite with two hands.


The kite was so happy to be flying, it danced.


She was all about chasing the kite.


Trying to talk her into flying away from the kite.

LOST and Loving Life.

I am watching the last two weeks of Lost right now because 1) We got rid of our cable at home 3 weeks ago, 2) We're in Maine with cable, and 3) Tomorrow night is the season (and forever?) finale. Good LORD, this show is good. We started watching after our friends, the Dormans (whose opinions we definitely trust), said it rivaled Arrested Development. I was shocked---but people, it does. And for the record, there is something weird about Juliette (even if I totally believed her after seeing the show that highlighted her past). B thinks Juliette is the most attractive female, but it's clearly either Kate or the redheaded girl.

I got up at 5 AM this morning to get work done and, because this seems to be coming together as a list in my head, I'll tell you (in list form) why I was able to do that. (My words, pre-baby: "6 AM is the middle of my night").

1. There is light then. Good GOD. The sun is up.
   
2. Gabe's butt was on my head because I couldn't convince him to move.
   
3. The drive to Ellsworth is pretty. I mean really pretty. And when the sun is coming up and I'm looking out at the ocean, I'm pretty much OK. That's what I've decided.
   
4. Oh, and when you drive in the morning, there's a chance you will see a moose. And the way I feel about that is sort of how David Sedaris feels about never seeing baby squirrels, i.e., Where do they go?
   
5. I had to go before TM was up or she'd attach herself to my leg and never let go.
   
6. I slept strangely. It was hot, so my dreams were crazy and my sheets ended up in a wad, beside the bed. I covet sleep, but not sleep interspersed with bouts of agonizing wakefulness.
   
7. Oh, and I get to sit in my car in a parking lot to do my work (before the coffee shop opens, at 8), though they've been letting me in early 'cause they're lovely.
   

Shoot. I just don't have a lot to write about tonight---the day was great. We were over in Bar Harbor for lunch and a morning hike (TM: "Hike! Hike! I hike!") and back home this afternoon. B bought a kite and TM flew it by herself. She was very proud, and really, who wouldn't be? We've had a very relaxing 5 days---I cannot express to you how nice it is to have familial help. Just with things, you know?

Flotation devices for toddlers? Yeah right, airlines.

Weird---I am having one of those moments when a word doesn't look like a word. Do you ever say a word over and over again in your head until it sounds weird? That's how I feel right now about far. Anyway, we're in Maine, which is so far away, in fact, that it took me one cab, two planes (with a 2-hour layover in Philadelphia), a hotdog, a spilled milk, and an extra hour and a half to get here. B drove with G-thing (all 27 hours) and I flew with the Toddler Monster, because, apparently, moms get to do the hard work.

Do you know I got up at 4:30 AM today? Our cab came at 5:40. Our flight was at 7:20. We sat for an hour on the tarmac. Thank god for the man with the teacup Chihuahua puppy. Loved him. The Philadelphia airport has a Gap that almost suckered me into buying something, until I saw that all of their t-shirt tees had the same wrinkle from where the supergigantic assembly machine malfunctioned and folded them incorrectly. I hate that all of their stuff looks like s-t-u-f-f. You know? They had this cute white and green jacket that drew me in until I discovered its price---could it at least have been lined? I scoff!

On the way to Maine, TM got her own seat. KARMA, PEOPLE. This is the second time it's happened, and she's a lap baby. Oh, I don't think I would have made it otherwise. She spent the first flight lounging dramatically across my lap, demanding, "I nurse! I nurse!" I'm sure at least 3 people saw my boob. On flight #2, she was only interested in the seatbelt. Somewhere along the way, she learned how to unbuckle and buckle it by herself. And was very proud.

Today was a good travel day, if such a thing can be said about traveling with children. And I don't think it can. We were asked at some point to move over to the other side of the plane so that we would have an extra flotation device for TM in case of a crash. Ok, really, if I am going to move, we are going to have a conversation about how ridiculous it is that you think my 22-month-old could survive a plane crash and then hold onto a flotation device. Boo.

We had a long layover, which worked out well because our earlier flight had been delayed. My bags were heavy, so I would have been stormy had I had to run like crazy with TM in tow. She needed that time. People were very friendly and accommodating and all of our airports had family restrooms (gotta have those!). I'm exhausted now and will probably wake up tomorrow with The Plague, but we made it---and that's really all that matters.

If Only I'd Known...

First car trip, originally uploaded by theredheadedlefty.

This was on our trip home from the hospital. Both B and I were traumatized by the car trip home. Every little tiny Ford Escort was a honking 18-wheeler out to smush our precious cargo.

Look at her little leg---are you serious? They send these things home with people? Without certification? Could someone have, at the very least, let me know that she was going to cry for 6 months?

We leave on a plane for Maine on Friday. Yes! I've been going nuts rearranging this blog. I love it---but the time flies and here it is 11:41 PM, 4 minutes before I promised myself I would STOP.

Cheers.

Blips in parental togetherness.

Every so often, I have a moment of parental freakout. An example of this (because I can't describe it better than to say it is sort of like a brain freeze) happened the other day when I was walking Mr. Gabe (leashed, of course) and Toddler Monster (unleashed, of course).

Picture this: In our n'hood, we take walks on a boulevard, where there is a lovely grassed area between the lanes where TM can run and hide behind trees. We usually walk with Mr. Gabe on the street because traffic comes from only one direction (and we can see it coming from a ways away). TM runs in zig zags, so on walks I'm usually on heightened alert---she moves quickly from the sidewalk to the road to the grassy center between lanes.

She does this thing where she climbs up onto the sidewalk and then pretends she is leaving us.

"Bye bye," she waves. This while running straight ahead and looking sideways.

*Sigh*

Anyway, this one day she decided to climb some steps to a long, dark alley, where she could see a dog barking in someone's backyard. Sweeeeet.

"Doggie dog!" And she was off to investigate.

"Hold on," I said. "I can't come back there with Gabe! Wait just a sec, sweetie! STOP!"

She keeps going. Of course.

Thoughts running through my head at that point included:

1. I can't take Gabe back there because there will be a dogfight.
2. And then she will be traumatized by that.
3. And what if that dog is aggressive with children?
4. She will try to pet the dog through the fence.
5. I have to get back there NOW before she does.
6. And she's almost there.
7. And I have Gabe.
8. What will I do?
9. I have to bring him.
10. Damn it.

"C'mon, Gabe! NOW. Let's go." Tightening the leash. Running. "WAIT!"

She looks back, laughing, because this is really funny.

At this point, Mr. Gabe spots the other dog and starts doing loopdy loops in the air. I'm flying to get TM, so I basically throw my 90-lb dog over my shoulder and hang him there. He is still. When I finally get to her (and I've written this out, so it seems longer than it was, OK?), I go to scoop her up, and I slash my hand on a wire fence. She is still laughing.

"When mommy tells you to STOP, you need to STOP. Do you understand? Mommy was very scared. This is not our yard. You cannot run down a dark alley without me, OK? Do you understand? Please say yes."

"Shess."

"Thank you."

And so this is the moment of parental freakout, when I wonder, "WHY is she laughing? WHAT is wrong with this picture? I almost lost a hand. And a child. And a dog. There could have been a lawsuit. I'm BLEEDING. This is the opposite of funny. Are the people inside the house watching this? I'm a moron."

Mama? Mama? MAMA!

Pouffy., originally uploaded by theredheadedlefty.

Dear Toddler Monster,

You're pretty much lucky. That's the thing. I like you a whole bunch. Tonight, when you jumped in all of those nasty puddles and I worried that microscopic worms were crawling through your socks and making dreaded contact with your baby feet? I let it go because you were having fun and I didn't want to interfere with that. You fell onto the grass and made an "Ugh, that's disgusting" face. You wouldn't touch the grass with your hands because it was wet. I watched you do the worm to get back on your feet. You knew I thought it was funny, so you did it again. And again.

You're a very happy baby, and that makes me happy, too. Other people say you are spunky, which warms my heart. I think what they mean is stubborn, because you definitely like to do things your way (I'm not projecting here, either). That comes as no surprise, considering your father is the same exact way. Good thing I am sugar and spice and everything nice and (generally) a real breeze to get along with. Anyway, I think it is an important trait to possess, because you won't get anywhere in this world if you're mousy.

You're talking now and, for the first time, saying things I am having trouble understanding. That kills me, because I know YOU know what you need. It makes you mad, mad, mad. You wanted more yogurt this morning when we were cuddling in the chair, so you pushed me and said, "Go!" I scoffed at you. We get along OK, though, and good times like tonight (when all three of us were singing "Choo choo train" on the way home from the grocery store) happen all of the time.

Sometimes I marvel at how well you've worked your way into our hearts and lives and hope, hope, hope you aren't all conflicted during your teenage years (like I was). That'll be a real doozy, but something, for sure, we can discuss over Ben & Jerry's' Phish Food, OK? I love to talk about details.

One more thing, and this is a big one. I used to be an individual, too, before you came along. I didn't have a baby and wasn't a mother. Imagine that! I liked Mother's Day cards and always called my mom and grandmother on Mother's Day---but I didn't get the real meaning until you came into this world. Mother's Day is a big day. You can't yet thank me for waking up 5 times a night for 13 months, so I'm writing about it here so that we can talk about it later (when you're conflicted, perhaps?). Ask your father or your fairy godmother how much I used to sleep and that'll give you an idea of my love for you. Which is immeasurable.

Happy Mother's Day to me.

I love you.

Just. So. Tired.

Mama's tired, okay? I haven't yet figured out how to juggle like a pro and am currently fantasizing about a 36-hour nap. Exhaustion has become sort of a baseline for me. Here's the thing: I used to be a BIG sleeper. If I got nine hours a night, I'd be up for a nap after work before I hit the gym. I didn't have trouble sleeping when I was pregnant, and no one told me how difficult the postpartum sleep deprivation would be on my psyche (and attitude, relationships, attention, mood, and appetite). Why wasn't this one of those things people talked about at the baby showers? I appreciate truth.

After baby, I developed a legitimate phobia of nighttime that lasted for about 6 months. When the sun went down, I started getting all weird-like (It's almost her bedtime. She's screaming. I'll give her a bath, which she loathes. Then I'll nurse her for an hour and put her down, but lightly, because if she awakens, she'll freak. And then it will be at least 30 more minutes. She'll sleep for two hours, and then she'll wake me up. I'll nurse on only one side and hope that she goes back down. Then I'll creep down the hall and down the stairs and sit in the kitchen---in the middle of the night, with a snack---and pump the other breast. So that B will have milk on the days he's home with her. Then I'll go back to bed. And she'll be up in two more hours. When she cries, I feel like my heart has been jolted with a shot of adrenaline---for the record, I'm certain it's biological. This happens over and over until the sun comes up, for which I am eternally grateful.) Because I was nursing, and because she wouldn't take a bottle, and because when B got up I couldn't sleep anyway, and because I am nuts, I kept up the frequent night feedings until she was 13 months.

Public Service Announcement: Graduate school (and/or any professional expectations) and parenting a newborn well do not mix.

I'm a person who likes more information. I have all of the books and I ask all of the questions. During her first year, a mosquito bite equaled a visit to the pediatrician's office. I admit, it was over the top. But when you're in it, you can't do anything about it. And worst of all, I was finishing up my master's degree in social work (and learning a lot about attachment, early childhood mental health, and family therapy) and participating in a psychotherapeutic training program at the psychoanalytic institute, where they support the notion that daycare is the equivalent of parental neglect. THAT was no small thing. I will probably never get over the fact that we have to put her in daycare. And I know it is good for social development and, quite frankly, important to have some limits and, and: she puts her toys away and learns things very early, so there. But I also worry about food, TV, reading books, exercise, sleep, boo boos, diaper rashes, non-irritating lotion, other caretakers, play, music, and so on. Everything. It has taken over. And that makes me tired.

I wouldn't describe myself as laidback anyway, at least about certain things. Other things are like nothing, but I won't go into them now. It's just that my hypervigilance has been kicked up beaucoup notches, and I feel like I live in an anxiety cloud. I focus on caring for the baby and everything else comes next. And sometimes time for next never comes. I can put it this way: I cannot, CANNOT, remember things, EVER. I will take a list to the grocery store and forget about it. I put peanut butter in the refrigerator and leave keys in the lock, outside the door. I tell people I'll call them back and I don't. I miss doctor appointments. And I can't do two things (or more) at once---especially if one of those things is having a conversation. Exhaustion. Does this happen to you?

Today I'm wondering if I have allergies (Seasonal? Never had them. Do they come later in life?) or if I am actually sick. Pretty sure my immune system is on the fritz. I know I need rest, some SLEEP or I'll die, so I'll be going to bed early this week, for sure. And I know that I won't be sick at all in Maine---because we have help and help is HUGE. Ever long for the time when people just lived around their people? B and I want our village. Where's our village?