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).

Magic and Make Believe

Gillian gives me a lot of credit. She thinks I have magical powers and can conjure anything in the universe. When I point out a butterfly she says "More! More! PLEEEASE?!?". Or flowers. Or ants. Or helicopters. Or Airplanes. When another one crosses her line of vision she gets that satisfied little smile that says "I knew you could do it!" Really, she loves just about anything, and usually, the last thing she does as she watches these things travel out of sight is blow a kiss and tell whatever-it-was "bye-bye _____[fill in the blank]." Like the playground today, and every day. "Bye-bye playground!" with a amiable wave of her little hand. Then a kiss blown in the direction of the beloved swings.

Which brings me to the make-believe part. Today Gillian insisted that I push a Goldfish cracker in it's own swing. Not just one swing, but the one next to her. And she had to swing in every swing at the playground. So, we picked up the Goldfish and he got to swing on lots of swings like Gillian did. And she looked over to make sure he was swinging high enough and having a good time. Unfortunately for him, he didn't get a chance to express his gratitute before she ate him, but such is life.

When we don't have anything else to swing, she insists that I push all the swings at one time. Empty swings are friends too. Like many toddlers, Gillian has a great imagination and everything is alive, and her friend. (e.g., "Hi ants! (blow kiss)"). But the swing thing isn't the first time that has happened. Her ball, her shoe, her sippy cup, her Lamb, and her baby have had their own swings for months. Every one of them is alive to her, and it is endearing to see her attribute human qualities to things. This morning she was on the little horse at the playground and I showed her a ladybug, which fascinated her, until she kissed it and it disappeared in the mulch (knocked loose from its perch). Then she looked at me, quite solemnly, and whispered "More ladybug?"

When we read books, and she hears that one of the characters is sad (like Gossie the Gosling who loses her red boots that she likes to wear every day) she gets very empathetic and gives the character a kiss and strokes them gently. The first time I showed her that Gossie was sad and cried, she held the page from being turned for a long time looking and feeling sad for her. She is really quite fascinated by Happy and Sad right now. If she hears a baby crying she says "Baby Cry..." and points to her own eye. If she is crying, she seems not to differentiate what is happening and what she is making happen. She seems to stop, observe herself crying (as if it is happening to her and not that she is actually doing it herself), and mournfully says "Gilly cry..." At this moment, I suppose most kids don't have much control over their emotional reactions, but it is interesting to observe her reacting to her own sadness.

Imagination (besides general cuteness) has always made me love the young, so I watch her sometimes, transfixed by what she perceives as real or what she is pretending is real. I mean, it's obvious to her that when she takes a drink out of an empty cup or pretends to eat and says "Mmmmmm!" that she is pretending. I just wonder where the line is between real and imaginary for her. My favorite part of her imagination, at this exact moment, is her singing. She subsitutes words in familiar melodies. The first of these was "No" to the tune of the ABC song (this is when we decided to make a real effort to use NO as little as possible). Another example is "This Old Man" with the lyrics that go something like this: "Ma Ma Papa, Ma Ma Papa, Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Papa (and so on)". But, I have to say, we are thrilled that her ear is developed enough to sing recognizable songs, correct lyrics or not.

I think one of my important focuses as a parent is to allow her the latitude of imagining and to do my best to cultivate her creativity. Where would the world be without the beautiful things contributed by the artists among us? And what kind of society would we have without those who appreciate beauty?

Reflecting....

I forgot how much I loved this movie...we caught the tail end, and I have had a lot of time to think these past five days. I have watched Gillian running along the beach. Gillian in Sean's arms, mouth open, rushing toward me in the water, utterly delighted. Gillian, sleepy, just waking up, hungry for a haven in my arms to rest her innately sweet, incandescent self. Gillian squatting on the ground looking for shells to toss into the ocean. Gillian, so beautiful and pure and in love with everything...and I can't stop thinking that one day that won't be the case. She won't be here at this place anymore, and all I will have is these memories of her in times where she loved us like this.

We can't stop the marching of the seconds, and minutes, and hours, and days that are rushing past us. We can't have these days ever again. So they have to count, each one. I won't be able to scoop Gillian up, smelling her baby smell and burying my face in her sweet head, forever. I desperately try to preserve every moment like that, so aware I am of the ticking of time. How sweet and how sad, and how heavily to take this thing of raising another human being... all I can wish for her are all these angels to guide and keep her and all the love on earth to give her peace and build her truth.

"It’s hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world.
Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much.
My heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst.
And then I remember to relax and stop trying to hold on to it.
And then it flows through me like rain.
And I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life."
-American Beauty, 1999

Febrile Seizure #3

At 1:30 this morning, Gillian's Tylenol wore off and her temp shot up to 105 degrees. She had another seizure, which I am sorry to say, we didn't witness (i.e., she was all alone convulsing, which is more than scary to me) because we only heard her strange monotone moaning afterwards in the monitor. We ran in, and she had vomited in her bed, was covered in sweat and blazing hot, unresponsive, and unable to move her limbs or head on her own (she really didn't move on her own until she woke up this morning). We called the doc on call at the clinic and talked about whether or not we should take her in to the ER, and decided if we could get her temp down we would avoid the scariness and hassle that the ER is.

I guess the really question is DO I NEED TO PUT HER IN A HERMETICALLY SEALED BUBBLE UNTIL SHE OUTGROWS THIS PHASE?!?! Maybe not that dramatic, but she definitely DOES need to be kept away from kids that have an illness involving fever (inasmuch as that is even possible). But really, with the potential for exposure to a virtual petri dish every time we go to the playground with fomites galore, it's anyone's guess how you begin to protect your kid from fevers. And given the fact that Tylenol wears off after 4 hours, there's a pretty good chance for Gillian to have a seizure over the course of the night. The lesson is that we will necessarily wake her to dose her from here on out.

Now I will turn my sights toward begging the Powers That Be to let her feel MUCH better before setting foot on the plane on Thursday. I still have the audacity to hope for an uneventful, stress free vacation.

SENTENCES!

The past couple of days, Gillian has started putting words together! The monotony of the word "More" is being peppered with more complex word patterns, like "Mama sit, too" as she points to a spot next to her, or "Gilly go playground", or "MY Mama, MY Papa". This new step in communication makes her feel so accomplished, and at times it almost feels like an honest-to-God conversation (with words in lieu of words and gestures).

Those baby days are speeding quickly by, and we have a full fledged little girl. We watched some videos of her when she was much younger while ruminating on Fatherhood yesterday, and marvelled at the time warp the past two years have been.

In other news, she had a fever last night and has the beginnings of a nasty cough. This is particularly irritating because a) we are travelling to Florida for a family vacation in a few days, and the only thing worse that travelling with a toddler is travelling with a sick toddler; b) this will make yet another visit where Gillian is not feeling well for Bill and Suzi (the past two she has been sick as well); and c) WHY ARE WE STILL GETTING COLDS IN MID JUNE?!?

Other than that, we couldn't be more deliriously happy with the weather, we have so enjoyed the beach with Gilly the past two weeks, and there is absolutely no place like Chicago in the summer. I can barely remember the pain of February.

Technobaby

I believe it is no exaggeration to say that Gillian's has to be the most overdocumented generation in the history of the world. I can honestly say I have hundreds, maybe thousands, of video tapes Gillian since about a week after she came home from the NICU, and have photographs beginning the day she was born. It's obscene how many photos we have. Probably many thousands.

I think about my pitiful collection of photos growing up, and it doesn't even fill half of a 20 page photo album...most likely because I was a third child AND because it probably cost my parents as much as dinner would have to develop a roll of film... A roll of film that required you to buy every photo, whether or not they were under exposed, over exposed, a close up of your thumb, you name it. How simply uncivilized. What a waste! How many millions of pictures of unidentifiable media are piled in landfills across the world because we didn't have digital cameras?

At any rate, I can click click click away until the cows come home, or until my camera is full (which takes a really long time). I can take 300 pictures to try and capture the perfect minute, and delete 299. I can take 300 pictures, and it costs me $.19 to print the perfect one at a kiosk and no one ever has to see our pictures but us. I like that a lot. Luxurious privacy. 'Cause I use to work at a photo lab and lab people would look at pictures people ordered. Sometimes we would even make duplicates of ones we really liked (like trips to places we had never been). For real. I had this idea to make a book of photos and call it, "The Book of People I Have Never Met" and make up stories about every person in it. I would get the pictures from the reject pile at my photo lab. (alas, I never got ambitious enough to do it, but I could have done it in the time it took me to think about doing it).

Not only do We Parents of the Most Overdocumented Generation in the History of Humankind photograph and videotape our children ad nauseum, we then blog about it. I like to say this isn't all self-indulgence. I also think we live a lot farther from home, often settling in different states or parts of the country from our families than previous generations did. So, many of us blog to keep those family and friends in the loop that we don't get to visit every day.

In addition to all of that, some of us go that extra ridiculous mile and have video telephone calls on the internet a couple of times a week. Let me be clear: WE LOVE SKYPE. Skype is amazing. If you and someone at the other end of the phone have a webcam, then you can have face to face conversations over the internet. and it's free. Yes. FREE. We have found that the sound quality and the continuous stream are pretty excellent, and are thrilled with what we get for literally nothing. So, Gillian sees Nonni and Grandaddy twice a week on Skype. Nonni teaches her songs. She gives them hugs and kisses (she kisses the monitor. soooo cute!), she shows them her new shoes. They get to watch her play, and talk, and grow up, and when they come to visit or we go to visit, there is no awkwardness and she doesn't skip a beat with them. She acts like she saw them yesterday. And sometimes it was yesterday. On Skype!

Exhibit A:


Oh, and here is just a cute dancing video. Note how she changes the style of dance with the music, and how she clogs when she hears the banjo. That is no mistake, by the way. We dig the clogging!