Our conversations kindof go like this...

(on trip back from music class-abridged):

G: walk, walk, walk! (bobbing side to side)
M: Yes, you ARE walking.
G (beaming): YES!
G: Flower. Yellow Flower.
M: And what color is that flower?
G: Purple!
M: That's right!
G (standing next to the sidewalk, pointing down): Grass! Green grass!
M: Gilly, you have to hold my hand to cross the street. Ready?
G: Car. Gilly Boom! (giving me her hand; this reply showed me she remembered the reason why I make her hold my hand when we cross the street (cars can hit you and make you go boom, which I had told her several weeks before that and which we had not spoken of since-I found that interesting))
(train passes by on the elevated track)
G: CHOO-CHOO!!!!!!!!!!!! CHOO-CHOO!!!!!!!!!! More? More Trains?
M: I bet there will be in a minute. It's rush hour. (and there were lots more)
G: RED car! (one favorite walking game is "what color is that car?")
M: Yep.
G: YEP! (nodding) YES!!
G (sitting on a building entry stair): Mama, sit?
M (sitting): Taking a rest?
G: Aye.
G: Doggie! White Doggie!
G: Mama's shoes. Gilly's shoes. PINK!
M: Your shoes ARE pink! Ready to go?
G: Aye.
G (pointing): Flower! (picking flower). More flowers (picking more).
M: What color are your flowers?
G: WHITE! and GREEN flowers!
M: Yep.
G: YEP!
G: (singing song from class and moving her arms while stomping): Go, Go, Go....STOP!
M: We're gonna go, go, go, we're gonna go go go, we're gonna go, go go and.....
G: STOP! (laughing and jumping during the exclamation-this continues in varying speeds, which she adjusts her arm and stomp motions for)
(I grab her Elmo and run up to the corner of a building ahead and hide, letting Elmo peek around the corner at her)
G (delighted): ELMO! Peek-aboo Elmo!
G (holding Elmo and putting her hand over his face and taking it off): peek-aboo! Peek-aboo! Peekaboo ELMO!!!! Hand? (taking one of Elmo's hands and giving me the other, so we're walking down the sidewalk holding his hands)
G: one, two, wheeeee! (swinging Elmo like we swing her when we are both holding her hands)
M: Wheee Elmo! Want to go again?
G (emphatic nodding): Yes!
M: one, two, threeeeeee!!! Wheee!
G (laughing): Silly Elmo!
M: Silly Gilly!
G: We're home!
M: Yes, we are home.

Something good and something not so much

The Good

We started with potty training last Sunday, and to make it stick, decided to "teach" G's stuffed Doggy to pee on the potty. In an oh-so-clever Jedi Mind Trick fashion, I soaked a wash cloth and squeezed it under and behind Doggie's fuzzy rump to make "pee". Gillian made him a potty by taking the little bowl out of hers so they can both pee at the same time. It goes down like this. I say, "Can you show Doggie how to peepee on the potty?", and make sure everyone is situated on their respective potty. Sometimes all of us. I squeeze the washcloth in Doggie's potty. Gillian makes an effort, then checks Doggie's potty. When there is pee, she exclaims with delight "DOGGIE PEE!!!!" and dumps his pee in the big potty so he can try again. The past four days or so, she has made substantial pee at the same time as Doggie.

So, we have spent some time in the bathroom for the past 6 days letting Doggie go peepee (this occurs while Gillian sits on her potty as well). I am delighted to report that last night when reading her book before bed, Gillian said "Peepee? Potty?" and off we went. She made a substantial deposit to said potty, not a drop in her diaper. She got to wipe with her prized toilet paper. I was busting with pride. "My, how the things that make me proud have changed", I remarked to an equally proud Sean. We had a similar experience tonight.

I bought her some underpants today at Target. She seriously digs the underpants. She likes that she is like Sean and I, all grown up. She said "Mama's pants", "Papa's pants", "My pants"!!

The Bad

Bad news is that Gillian had a seizure Thursday. Again. #4 and counting. I thought we were supposed to be done (most kids only have 3 of them in their toddlerhood and we have a lot more toddlerhood to go). This happened on Anna's watch. We told Anna this could happen, but I don't think she understood how terrifying it is. Gillian had a low grade fever, from teething we assume (still has it) since she has no other symptoms of illness except not eating (also could be from teething). Given her history of wanting to retain symmetry, I can only assume the are some molar tectonics going on on all four sides of her mouth. Anyhoo, apparently Anna was holding her (she is needy with the teething) when she stiffened, cried that awful cry, and began convulsing. Anna tried calling Sean three times before she got him (his basement shop has bad reception), but luckily he was working here that day. He said she sounded panicked the way a person would be panicked if they believed someone else's child was dying in their care and they could do nothing to stop it. She did everything I would have done, and I am officially sure that I couldn't have chosen a better person to care for Miss G. I left work early and got here, and Gilly was super needy and quiet. Anna told me what happened. When she left I gave her a giant hug and thanked her for doing such a wonderful job. She started explaining, tearing up, that she should have given Gillian medicine sooner, or noticed how warm she was getting faster. I told her I, as Gillian's mother, can't even prevent this. I remember how harrowing the first seizure was, and it is no less scary the subsequent times. At any rate, I have spent a lot of time thinking about the blessing that Anna and her sweet girls are to us and how happy I am to know how much Gillian's nanny loves her back.

A little bit of perspective

Today, my friend Lara had a little BBQ and invited some new parents she knows from work, her birth class, and her neighborhood. The kids generally ranged in age from 5 to 8 months old. Gillian, it seemed, was light years older that the other kids. Hearing the conversations around me made me consider where my head was at when Gillian was 8 months old (gestational months).

Back then, I was excited because we had recently started her on solid food (I had no idea the Sainthood I would earn in dealing with her and her love/aversion for putting things in her mouth and swallowing them). I just started back to work full time. We were nursing all the time when I was home, and I pumped three times a day at work (which makes me tired to think about). I was simply gushy over motherhood. Glowing with it. Loved to eat, breathe, and sleep it. So, for me, seeing these moms being glowy and gushy was sweet. Kids are generally so easy at 8 months old. I mean, you can still eat with both hands, your baby doesn't throw fits/try to channel Houdini at restaurants, they don't have such an opinionated determination about getting what they want (except the basic necessities, which aren't rocket science to read (like hunger, dirty pants, or sleepiness))....they will fall asleep in public places, they don't talk back (there are many other wonderful things about 8 month olds, but these are the major ones I can think of). I would love to hear the conversation in a year. It's a whole different ballgame then. No more discussing when someone's kid started sitting up, or which type of fruit they're on in purees, the change in the consistency of baby poop with solid food, or whether or not they actually move forward when commando crawling (while they sit there, smiling serenely, at a tri-colored sock). When your kid is almost two, it's all about how long it's been since your kid acted enough like a human being to actually sit in a restaurant for more than 5 minutes, or why it takes 65 minutes to walk 4 blocks (e.g., stroller aversion), or how you can stop your kid from drawing on the furniture, or teach them to refrain from pooping on the carpet.

I think one of the people might have gotten worried when she left her baby with me to go get some food. She came back and Gillian was trying to feed another baby some grass (I was distracted, per usual) and her kid, not quite able to sit up alone, was leaning precariously sideways because I was turned around dealing Old McDonald. Another couple of people asked me questions which I started to answer and stopped talking mid-sentence (I realized later at least two instances where I actually remember this happening) to pay attention to Gillian for one reason or another. The take home message here is: IT IS VERY VERY VERY HARD TO HAVE A CONVERSATION when you have a toddler, and NO, I DON'T HAVE ADD. We Moms of Toddlers can still hear you, we just have to take a second (ok, many seconds) to acknolwedge our Very Busy Child (or keep them from being destructive or hurting themselves or someone else). Now, that is not to say that when Gilly and I are with other kids her age that we don't manage fine, but that's because if the kids are all the same age, they can get it as good as they give it and you don't have to worry so much. Gillian was the oldest at this shin-dig, and at my most basic level, I was just thrilled she decided that babies were no longer for slapping (in fact, she decided she wanted to hold a real live baby (petting her and looking at me saying "Gilly, gentle"-relief-it DID sink in eventually!), and it was very sweet). When we are with other toddlers, all of us moms have conversations that are erratic, non-fluid, partly nonsensical, but we totally keep up with what eachother has to say. An indoor party of 5 toddlers is pretty much the max a reasonable person can manage, and that is pushing it (think: cat herding, except the cats are hellbent on getting into absolutely everything, every second). Fetes any larger can only be reasonably accomplished outdoors, where mayhem can reign supreme and your house isn't destroyed at the end of the day.

There are many redeeming things about Gillian and the age that she is at (independence, ability to communicate, more able to interact and be creative, etc.), but today I was struck by how much I have learned in the past year. I was reminded of what a very, very, very long road the past 22 months has been. Then I thought people are completely out of their mind to do it again given the amount of work it is to do once. *yawn* I am going to bed.

A thought about Motherhood

As I contemplate the complexities of Motherhood, I think, “Well, at least I’m not a Squirrel”.

Let me back up and tell you the whole story. When it rains either a) the raindrops hit our air conditioner, in the most irritating fashion to keep us from sleeping or b) the rain drips off the air conditioner in the window above ours Tell-Tale Heart style and rattles our sleep. So, to remedy this, we put an old pillow on top of our window unit. A simple fix, to be sure, but it works.

Well, until the Squirrel decided to live in it while we were on vacation. And who can blame it? If one digs through the outer material, there’s a wealth of warm and fuzzy stuffing to nestle into. I would say this Squirrel is not only industrious, but smart, making the universe work for her that way and all.

I say her because Wednesday morning, we noticed that she had birthed three tiny pink squirrels (see pics). Originally, they were nursing happily (when we saw them). I counted the three when she left to forage, anyway. Two weren’t looking so good by the afternoon. The third was pink and twitching, dreaming baby squirrel dreams. Later, I noticed only one baby and that Mama Squirrel was cleaning another (I saw her holding one up by the legs and cleaning it). Ooops, then I realized she was EATING it. I was horrified. I rationalized immediately...maybe it was dead anyway, and maybe she was hungry, so there was dinner, conveniently located in the nest. Obviously, she had already “taken care of” the third baby, which was nowhere to be seen. Later that afternoon I was a little concerned about her leaving the remaining healthy baby to go find food, until I realized she had eaten it too.





This was very disturbing, as you might imagine. I wracked my brain wondering why the two, happily nursing in the morning, were blue by the afternoon. Why did she eat the healthy one? Was it because she wondered what the point was of raising one measly baby if the others had died? A web search tells me that she might have eaten the babies for a few reasons, the first of which instills some serious guilt: she was afraid. My cats have found endless entertainment swatting at the squirrel through the window, and God knows I would have tried controlling that if I thought it would lead to a triple homicide. The others are a little more intuitive- not enough food around to feed everyone, too young of a mother, or maybe she knew she would have to move soon, and didn’t want to deal with a bunch of squalling pups (can you imagine-eating your baby if you didn’t want to hear it? Jesus, the animal world is HARSH). I looked for signs of remorse on her small, furry face. None. Not a tear shed, no moment of self reflection, nada. I think I saw her chatting it up with another squirrel, flirting in the tree across the sidewalk later that evening. Heartless. Seriously.

Anyhow, this was sobering, and surreal. Particularly as we are considering the idea of trying to have another baby. What an ingrate that Squirrel was to thumb her long, twitching nose at God who blessed her with THREE babies, all at the same time (of course, she might have thought the real blessing was to have the best meal she’ll eat all year). Doesn’t she know that some squirrels struggle to have even one?

Vacation (v.2)

Many of you are aware that Sean, Gilly, and I had our first vacation away (not related to holidays, which aren't terribly relaxing anyway) in about three years from June 19-29. We had the good fortune of being able to vacation with Nonni and Grandaddy, which not only entertained Gillian to no end, but freed us up to sleep, do yoga (me), and relax a little. OK, a LOT. They rented an absolutely gorgeous condo on the beach, which was ocean side and sported a massive porch where we spent lots of time talking, bonding, reading, and just thinking, sipping some variety of fruity beachy cocktail.

The view (sunrise, morning 1):

Our lazy days started with waking up when we felt like it (Nonni said "I'll get Gillian up" and we said "twist our arms!"). But, in spite of that, I woke up pretty early every day. I couldn't leave my internal clock at home, unfortunately. That was not an issue for Sean. We would do yoga before everyone else woke up (me), have a leisurely breakfast, read the paper, drink coffee (Sean) and chat in the morning. Then Sean would go down and set up our umbrellas, chairs, and toys at the perfect spot (right in front of our porch, but on the water), and we would mosey down there somewhere around 10. After a couple of hours of playing in the sand and swimming in the fabulously warm ocean (which I appreciate even more after this morning's trip to the beach and experiencing the NOT EVEN CLOSE TO WARM lake), we would leave our stuff down there, take G to the pool to rinse off and work on her swimming skills, and come back in for lunch, and naptime (definitely for G, but for anyone if they also needed a nap after ALL THAT WORK). Of course, this was my opportunity to read the first novel I have read since Gillian was born, sipping on a Stawberry Daquari or some other bit of blissfull fluff, lounging on the magnificent porch. Sometimes I would languidly dose, lulled to sleep by the beautiful peace of the melodic sound of breaking waves that stretched out before my cozy vantage point. When Gilly would wake, she had lunch, and we went back out for round 2 of beach time, with more fruity beverages, fresh fruit like pineapples or berries, and a whole different mindset and work and life seemed to float away. Repeat pool, then showers, dinner, and maybe a walk on the beach at sunset to complete the perfect day of doing absolutely nothing. I could get use to it, living that way. I bet I could do it at least a month before losing my mind from boredom. It was fantastic, and was exactly what a vacation is supposed to be.

We got to visit with family, spent much quality time with Nonni and Grandaddy, had a great night of dinner and talking with Sean's Grandmother one night and uncle Shep and Aunt Eleanor another night, and got to visit with Sean's sister Kim for dinner a couple of nights. My brother's wife, Dawn, and her sister came over to visit us one evening as well.
Sean and I each got to visit with old best friends as well, and we are all parents, so that was a blast, too. Marti, who I have known since the ripe old age of 14, and her husband Ty and beautiful daughter Laurel (who is a few months younger than G (birth age), and only 1 month (gestationally) younger) stayed with us for a couple of nights and enjoyed the beach with us. We had hoped for magical linking of their spirits like ours are linked, but I think they're not there just yet. Gillian was a little aggressive and jealous of Laurel being in her space, and Laurel was a bit shy and reserved, so we are thinking mystical bonding might be more realistic when they are a little more cognitively developed and interact a little more. Marti and I had plenty of mystical bonding-over fat-free brownies (not an oxymoron any more, my friends, as she showed me the light!), not fat free doughnuts, tantrum throwing children...er, um I mean the Joys of Motherhood, a more picturesque sunset walk, and an evening overlooking the ocean (the only not magical thing was the visiting roach friends that were hanging out on the walls and were about 2 inches long (interesting they didn't bother us, but I remembered one more thing that is great about living in Chicago-we haven't seen a roach up here in almost 7 years). Either way, we were so happy they were able to join us, and we finally got to meet eachother's girl. We marveled at the fact that somewhere in continuum of this existence, are two 16 year old us's that are snorting and rolling their self-righteous eyes at our grown-up, sell-out selves. All those poems we wrote about finding truth, and searching the ends of the Earth to obtain it...all that soul searching at Sanibel Island, and in State Parks, all that wild abandon, and heartbreak, and we found peace in what we once considered mundane. Who knew that real Love, real Truth, would be found in the everyday? Ahhhh....so, at last, we realized that THAT is what the Great Masters meant. I have so loved our journey, my dear friend!


Sean's old friend Andy and his wife Erin and their sweet, quiet little boy James came by for dinner one night as well. It was so nice to catch up and visit with them.

In general, with the exception of some attachment issues, it couldn't have been more fantastic, more ideal, more comfortable, and more enjoyable (they could try recycling at Jax Beach, but I digress). Many thanks to Suzi, who is the über Grandmother, mother, and mother in law, and who made everything perfect for us and for Gilly (and who, trying to cheerfully kiss Gillian goodbye at the airport, made me understand what the Pain of Separation really is (this is why I had a lump in my throat-know that she loves you just as much)). And many thanks to Bill, whose warmth, wisdom, and stories make every visit feel as comfortable as an old shoe. I believe Bill told me once that the recipe for a happy life is Family, Faith, and Purpose. We are so lucky to have such abundance.

(more pics, should you want to see MORE, are here).