Click on title bar to help victims of Katrina.

I am finally sitting down to watch television coverage tonight. I have no words.

May the victims find strength. And help.

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Sept. 1

Why aren’t people being fed?

I can’t bear it.

Did anyone watch Keith Olbermann tonight?

This is not a politically motivated question. I really want to know.

Why aren’t people being fed in the convention center in New Orleans? Babies, children, seniors, are dying there. No one is giving them food or water. They are not looting. They are grouping together and pleading for help.

My anniversary present finally arrived and my husband set me up last night. I sat in bed with my ear phones in and a big grin on my face, reaching over to pat his hand and offer little kisses of thanks.

Where have I been, folks? This ipod was made for me. I could never keep track of my CD’s. I’m just not organized enough. And playlists? Well, I often didn’t have patience to listen through a track of songs I didn’t like just to get to one or two of my favorite songs.

When I was out east, my husband spent his extra time downloading our CD collection onto his computer and everything is on my ipod. Simply amazing. There is more than 6 days of continuous music on this little guy. Morever, I can now begin to catch up music that I’ve missed in recent years and fill in other gaps in our collection.

There is one problem I’m running into. The Desperado syndrome. If you are a Seinfeld fan, you might remember the episode where Elaine is dating a guy who has to stop whatever he is doing everytime the song Desperado comes on. Elaine gets jealous and decides she needs her own song. She picks Witchy Woman. What I have been doing with my playlist (which is way to long to be considered a playlist anymore) is to pick only songs that make me want to stop what I’m doing and just listen. There’s no down time.

Below is a sample of songs that are on my playlist. I know this is boring, but I like pretty songs. A good melody is really important to me, whether it’s classical, rock, blues, or whatever. Soulful is something else I look for. I prefer singers that sing on tune and hit notes dead center. That’s the singer in me. These aren’t hip songs, but the whole point of an ipod is being able take ownership of what you like without worrying about that right? Pretty, soulful, on-tune. Got it?

Over the Rainbow, Ray Charles & Johnny Mathis
Vincent, Don McLean
California Dreamin’, The Mamas & The Papas
Where Is Love, Pam Laws
And I Love You So, Don McLean
My Father, Judy Collins
My Father’s Wildest Dream, R Ritchie
My Father’s House, Bruce Springsteen
(I’m sensing a theme here)
I Hope You Dance, Lee Ann Womack
Child of Mine, Carole King
A Minor Incident, Badly Drawn Boy, About a Boy Soundtrack
Something to Talk About, Badly Drawn Boy, About a Boy Soundtrack
Your Smiling Face, James Taylor JT Rock
Moon River, Audrey Hepburn & Henry Mancini
I’ll Fly Away, Alison Krauss & Gillian Welch “O Brother Where Art Thou”
Dimming Of The Day, Bonnie Raitt
You, Bonnie Raitt
River, Joni Mitchell
I Cried For You, Billy Holiday
I Am Weary (Let Me Rest), The Cox Family “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”
Fever, Ray Charles And Natalie Cole
Do I Ever Cross Your Mind?, Ray Charles & Bonnie Raitt
Don’t Explain, Etta James
The Heart of Saturday, Tom Waits
Wounded Heart, Bonnie Raitt
The Last Word, Mary Chapin Carpenter

(I know, I know. These playlists need to be shorter.)

(I just want to kiss and hug this photo.)

I would like help from all of you. Your favorite playlists? Favorite songs? Tips on making a perfect playlist? Bonnie, I need to build up our classical collection, so any suggestion from you would be great. What’s a good classical playlist?

So please leave me a comment with your recommendations. Expand my horizons. Nudge me out of my Desperado syndrome.

I was a little shy to tell you the whole “No Ba” story yesterday, but I’m feeling braver today, and punchy to boot.

So here I go. (If you are lost, go and read the previous post.)

When Hannah stopped wanting to take baths a few weeks ago, Dad was the bath giver and approached the problem the way Dads often do. Pick her up, put her into the tub and let her scream. In a sense, it worked. She got clean. However, her fear of the bath did not get better. In fact, one could possibly argue it got worse. Not that I would argue such a thing.

This week I ever so gently suggested that we might want to try a new approach. How about letting her decide whether and when she was ready to go in. Dad suggested that I was free to give it a try if I wanted to take over. So we tried it for a few days. I became the bath giver. Rachel got in and played. Hannah didn’t want to get in. She wanted to sit on the potty instead. So she sat, and she sat. Every time I asked her if she wanted to get in she would tell me about “poo-poo” in the bath. Finally I washed her with a washcloth while she stood by the tub. She did not go in.

This routine was repeated for a few days. After I wiped her down each night, she would always want to sit on the potty with a towel wrapped around her. Up until that point she had never peed or pooped in the potty. She just liked to sit. Over these few days that I let her sit the bath out I started to remember that when Rachel was Hannah’s age she had gone through a similar fear of baths and I, pregnant at the time, got in with her occasionally to coax her in.

This was about the last time I had bathed with either of my children. I was desperate now, though. Should I try it? As I headed into the bathtub to start our sitting-on-the-toilet-with-a-towel-on-routine, I announced “Hannah is going to take a bath with me in my bathtub (which is a much larger bath). Everyone was excited. Rachel was going to take a shower (I thought) as we bathed. I started the bath. Before I had time to think about it, the plan changed. Rachel wanted to join us. She ran to get some new bath toys that some good friends had given the girls. I got in and pulled Hannah in with me. Rachel got in.

Immediately Hannah started crying and screaming, “Noooooooooooooooo. Pooooooooo-poooooooooooo,” and clamoring wildly to get out. I sat in the tub furiously wiping her down and grabbing her slippery body until I finally called Dad and asked him (with no irritation in my voice I assure you) to grab her. He took her. She started crying out to sit on the potty. He put her on. Then she started crying out for the towel. From the bathtub I was shouting instructions. “She wants the towel wrapped around her while she’s sitting on the potty!” With no irritation in his voice (he assures you), he told me that he didn’t need any further input.

So I shut up. And looked around me. I was sitting in the bathtub with bath toys floating about. Rachel was across from me playing and smiling at me. Then she said, “I like your breasts, Mom. Do you like mine?”

I stared at her blankly and said, “Uh-huh. I’m getting out now.”

As I was drying myself off with the towel I heard her say, “How come no one is in the bath with me? Dad? Are you getting in?”

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Hannah actually peed on the potty today for the first time. I don’t think she quite knew what had happened or why I was clapping and shouting.

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Something sweet to end with:

When Rachel heard Hannah on the monitor this morning she said, “I hear my friend, Hannah, on the thermonitor. She is waking up.”

“my friend” *sniff-sniff*

For the record, when her Dad corrected her pronunciation she said, “Well, I say thermonitor. What do YOU call it again?”

From the mouth of my four year old:
(Looking at our shadows) “Mom you look like you are 200 years old! And I look like I’m eight! We both look like we have those shoulder things that a prince wears.”

(Later in the day. After I said excusez-moi) “What was it that you just said? Excuse me Wa?”

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I tried googling it. Nothing pertaining to my problem showed up. If I had an Iguana instead of a toddler I might be getting somewhere.

What I googled was: “Fear of pooping in the bathtub.”

Here are three of the hits that turned up in the top five of my search results:

1. You Know You’re Ig-Wipped When…
It seems normal to have a 4 foot ig[uana] swimming and pooping in my bathtub….link

2. Pugs Story (I checked it out. Pugs is an iguana too.)… Even though I had given him liquids he had been pooping them all out…link

3. Green Iguana Society Quick Help
Constipation/no pooping - Constipation is when your iguana is not pooping regularly….These may help you and your iguana deal with the initial fear…link

All I can say is, thank goodness I don’t have an Iguana. Iguanas and pooping? Well, you just don’t want to know.

What I have is a toddler who currently has an intense fear that she is going to poop in the bathtub. Intense, I said. How many times in her life has she pooped in the bathtub? Not more than three times. When was the last time she pooped in the bathtub? I think it was over a month ago.

Ask her if she wants to take a bath, she’ll tell you, “No ba (bath). Poo-poo.” Put her anywhere near a bathtub and she’ll point to the tub and say “poo-poo.” Take her diaper off and put her in a tubful of water and watch her go into panic mode: “Noooooooooooo! Poo-poooooooooooooooo!”

Two weeks ago she was pulling her diaper off any chance she got. Now her biggest fear is having her diaper off and pooping.

*Sigh*

It would be funny if I didn’t feel sorry for her.

Okay, it’s kind of funny.

As I get ready for bed my heart is overflowing with both angst and joy.

Angst because there are so many tonight scrambling (or perhaps even unaware) as Hurricane Katrina makes its way towards New Orleans. They are scrambling as I sit in my comfortable bed.

Joy, because of a glorious post from this wonderful lady. I left a scattered, awkward, frantic comment at her site last week: “Bonnie, I’m 37 and can’t decide if I want another child. Help me! How do you do it and not lose yourself? If you have time to give your thoughts e-mail me.” Her response, her post, was simply stunning. Bonnie you are the best! I will respond. In time.

Joy, because I had an amazing weekend doing nothing with my family.

There is so, so much I could write about, but as I said, my heart is full. I don’t want to think. Tonight I will just feel.

There are travel stories There are fear-of-poop stories. There are tantrum stories. There are sublime and not-so-sublime conversation stories. There are knock-knock joke stories. An i-tunes playlist post. A technical question post. There is even a mildly-political post (way down the line). There is a “Is Two Enough?” post. All brewing in this crazy head of mine. I don’t know which will make their way here. We’ll have to wait and see.

Okay, I may be PMSing, but it’s not all hormones. I promise.

There is so much power in the world and I am feeling it.

Thank you all for your well wishes today and yesterday. I am feeling better!

Our bout with stomach flu was fast and furious. It didn’t last too long. I won’t go into the details because my stomach is still a little weak. I’m trying to move on as I nurse my gingerale.

Despite our stomach problems, we have a houseful of fascinating eats here. My almost-18 year old niece has been here for the past three days. Before the stomach flu hit, I took her grocery shopping with us at Costco and we ended up with all sorts of interesting treats. Toquitos for instance. Who would have thought to buy them and yet, my kids really like them. She also picked out those sour-movie candies (can’t remember the name) for our movie night last night. Not bad. Absolutely addicting. As much as I enjoyed all of her grocery picks, I sent her home with lots of the leftover junk food tonight when we said good-bye.

I was 19 years old when my niece entered the world. I had just started dating my husband. She is not a blood relative, but my niece through my husband. Still, we are connected as strongly as if we were blood relatives. Just yesterday, it seems, she was four years old calling me and blabbing away on the phone aimlessly with little attention to what I was saying on the other end. I have a photo of her and I on her grandma’s bed: me sitting Indian style in my nightgown, and she jumping away in her little nightgown. Many wonderful things have come to me from connecting with my husband’s family, but none more magnificent than having nieces and nephews in my life before my own children. There are no words to describe what these bonds have meant to me.

K, the niece that was visiting this week, has been having a rough few years due to her parent’s divorce. I am so proud of who she is fighting to be that I have tears in my eyes right now. I can still feel the child that she was on my lap; I can hear her sweet voice on the phone. There has always been an incredible freshness to her. For a very long time, she seemed oblivious to anything negative in the world.

K is very much a teenager. She talks on her cell-phone way too much for my taste. She is quieter now and is carrying more weight on her shoulders than she did as a girl. The trauma of the past few years have taken a toll. But when I listen to her talk when she is lit up, I am amazed. While my brain has become dull and fuzzy, she’s sharp as a tack-and thoughtful and wise, and kind-hearted. And the little girl that never saw any of the hardness around her is still alive in her.

An hour before she left us tonight, she asked me to French braid her hair. This has been a tradition with us. My nieces on my husband’s side of the family as children always wanted me to French braid their hair. They are all teenagers now and still ask me to do this for them. Each time they ask it is so touching to me. I awkwardly try to live up to their expectations. I am an improbable hair stylist. When they wwere children my skills were impressive, butnow I am afraid they will see me for what I am–just adequate as a French braider. No magical powers.

Tonight we sat in a line–me braiding K’s har and K braiding Rachel’s hair. K has two brothers. When I was pregnant with Rachel she told me she was hoping it was a girl so she could French braid her hair.

K, I don’t think you know about this blog, but if you should happen across it one day, I want you to know that I love you. I love the person that you were. And the person that you will struggle to become in the next years. I love that despite all that you have been through there is a part of you that remains fresh. You are loyal and wise and generously loving. You’ve got to learn when to get off the phone, but I love you. You have blown me away these past two years with your ability to express your feelings about the pain that you sometimes feel. That gift will pull you through if you let it.

I love that you still love me.

And I hope you have a daughter someday so I can French braid her hair. Or if my magical powers cease to amaze, I can at the very least sit in my rocking chair and watch Rachel do it.

And if you have a son….we’ll either have a go at braiding his hair or get creative.

xo

Stomach Virus Hit at 4:30 AM.

Museum Temporarily Closed.

Did your parents have a routine conversation–one that they repeated frequently while not being conscious that the conversation was routine? My parents did. When they lived in Manhattan just about every night at about 8:30, my Mom would say, “I just need a little something….something chocolatey.” She didn’t really like sweets, she would explain, but every once in a while liked bit of dark chocolate. As soon as she’d make these observations, my father would jump up and say, “I’ll go out and get some.” (Great thing about NYC is that there’s a corner store on every block with lots of gourmet treats.) He’d come back and we’d all enjoy the chocolate together.

I wasn’t a huge chocolate fan back then. I mean, I would eat and enjoy it, but I didn’t have a voice coursing through my veins telling me I need chocolate NOW. Like I do every night now. Some nights I’m lucky. I’ll just happen to have a Haagen-daas chocolate/dark chocolate bar. Or….like when I was back east and my sister had “Death by Chocolate” ice-cream in her fridge. It’s a good thing I don’t find these in my freezer often because I still have some baby weight to lose. When I don’t find “Death by Chocolate” I’m left foraging the baking cupboards hoping to find…..something…”just a little something chocolatey.” One time I hit the jackpot with chocolate chips. That bag lasted about a week….with me nibbling every night……at about 8:30. I haven’t had much luck in that cupboard lately.

When I “just need a little something chocolatey” (every night), my husband doesn’t jump up and go running out for chocolate for me. This isn’t Manhattan. However…..we’ve got our own routine that I just noticed last week. At least twice a month we go to salad buffet restaurant. I never order a drink because I’m busy dealing with the kids, he always orders a coffee cup for his after dinner coffee. Do you know what our quirky routine is? Everytime we get to dessert, he comes back to the table with HIS coffee mug filled with decaf and he places it in front of ME. Yes, me. I drink his decaf coffee. I bet he’s done this at least 15 times and I always happily accept the cup without much thought, until last week. I noticed.

Now I’m actually a little sad because it would have been kind of neat if we had carried on this quirky routine for at least ten more years. Then our girls could have made fun of it behind our backs. (Yes. I know they will find something else to make fun of. I’m not that naive.)

The truth is, now that I’m conscious of it , I think I’m going to have to order my own coffee cup next time. Decaf coffee tastes awfully good with triple chocolate brownies and ice-cream.

Leave a bunch of girls together and what happens? Yes, you guessed it. After eating ice-cream we all end up crying and hugging each other.

This is what happened. My husband had a work-related dinner tonight and I had to take Charlie out for a walk after dessert. Hannah and Rachel started playing with their toy car-seats, strollers, and babies as I cleaned up. I had to change Hannah before we left for our walk. She didn’t like this proposal at all. “No wanna diapa.” I tried coaxing her with no luck. Finally I had to forcibly pull the stroller away and lie her down to change her. She started crying as if her heart was broken–screaming actually–big tears rolling down her red cheeks. Suddenly Rachel rushed over to us. “I don’t like it when Hannah is sad,” she said as her face crumpled into tears and she dissolved onto the floor. Then she knelt down to Hannah, crying herself, soothing her with her hand and saying “I love you, Hannah” as tears rolled down her own cheeks. What do you think happened next. Yup. My eyes filled up with tears.

Then I finish changing the diaper and pick Hannah up to hold her close and wipe her tears away and Rachel, still weeping, says she needs a cuddle, too. Then as I’m still kneeling on the floor, we’re all hugging each other, wiping tears, rocking away.

Women and drama. You gotta love it.

I do.

Oh. My. Gosh.

What took me so long?

This weekend I announced to my husband that I was ready to have him show me how to use iTunes.

Someone put me on an allowance quick! I’m in heaven.

I finally have my very own playlist. It’s not long, but its mine and it makes my heart purr.

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From the mouth of my four-year old:

– (When she saw her Dad moving our swing-set.) “Dad!!! You’re as strong as an ANT!”

– (To me) “Why do you only call Dad, “The Dadster,” when he’s not around?”
(Ummmm….because it’s a dorky thing to say?)

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I’ve just discovered Carol who has started an imaginary Friends of the Friendless Band. She plays an imaginary tuba. Can you go comment on her site. My thought is any Friends of the Friendless Band should be large and loud. Tell her what instrument you want to play. Thanks!!

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Some travel posts coming soon……..

You thought I forgot I promised travel posts? Oh, I see. You had forgotten about them. Well, they’re a comin’.

UPDATE: I wanted to get to the bottom of the headfreeze issue so tonight I asked Rachel what a headfreeze is.

She said, very seriously, “Do you mean a freeze head?”

I almost lost it.

Apparently a freezehead, aka headfreeze, is what happens when you eat frozen yogurt or something.

Then why does she get it when she sits in her car seat?

I’m so confused.

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“I know lot about kids, you know? Because I’m a kid.” Rachel announced this morning.

“You do, too.” she said. “Because you’re a kid. You’re your mommy’s kid. You’ll always be a kid, right?”

Maybe I’m a kid, but I think she knows more than I do. For instance, have YOU heard of a head freeze?

In the car this morning, she said, very seriously, “I have a head freeze. I get them all the time. Right in the back of my head. Everytime I sit in this seat I get one. A head freeze. Hannah gets them, too. I just know she does.”

I started thinking about that cup of coffee sitting at home that I hadn’t finished.

I can’t quite keep up. This is my life. A little off beat. A little bizarre.

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Hannah continues to talk away. I’m not sure how much of what she says can be understood by the outside world. Often I even have trouble knowing what she wants to tell us. Yesterday she kept pointing to a bowl of water in the backyard. “Dadaiee’s Wawa!” She must have said it about 10 times. “Stinky water?” I asked, knowing that wasn’t quite it (dinky wawa would have been the proper phrase).

Finally, I got it.

“Charlie’s water?”

She stopped fretting and looked at me with her big beautiful eyes-a look of gratitude, relief and wonderment that I had finally understood. The world stopped for a minute as we smiled at each other.

Most of the time, I’m too busy just staring at her and kissing up on her to care if I understand or not. She’s gorgeous, this toddler of mine. I could eat her up.

Sometimes I wish I really could stop the world for a time.

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When I was younger I was generally a little (translation: a lot) defensive. These days I usually don’t have time to indulge this part of me. My husband might tell you a different story.

A few weeks ago, my husband said, ‘Within a weekend, you’ve gone from mama to mommy.”

My defenses were up. What did he mean? I assumed he was talking about some existential transformation I’d gone through. What?!!

Instead he was commenting on Hannah’s speech. I’m “mommy” now, not “mama.” He was right.

I forgot. Men are simpler than we are. And that’s not always a bad thing.

My four-year-old is still excited that I bought the Harry Potter books. She wants us both to read our books at the same time: she reading her Little Women chapter book; me reading Harry Potter.

The problem is she can’t read more than a few words. Her book has no pictures. She just wants to look at the words. In the end, that would keep her attention for about 3 minutes tops.

Another problem is that I have to finish 100 Years of Solitude by Friday for my book club. I’m on page 8. It’s dense and very long. Sigh.

Since Hannah is with us, the hope of a quiet reading session this morning is just a pipe dream anyway. Good thought though. I like your pipe dreams, kid.

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Meme answers are in comment section in previous post.

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Meme Update (Wednesday)

I have officially finished the meme. It was actually kind of fun, but I still think it’s evil. The answers are in the comments section. You’ll have to search. I did them from bottom to top in the order I received the comments. I hope I didn’t miss anyone. I’ll double check this afternoon. I did the meme for anyone who commented on this post yesterday. No one is obligated to do it on their own blog, but of course, I’d be tickled to know what you have always wondered about me…..

I’m happy to say the meme here is officially closed. Now I’m on to tackle the things I SHOULD have been doing last night.

FYI: From here on out, I do not do memes unless one happens to inspire me.

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Meme update (late, too late, on Tuesday night)

I have decided to curse the person who created this meme. It is evil. I’m only half way through and it is past my bedtime so I will have to finish up tomorrow. Sorry. I hereby proclaim that no one has to do this meme unless they want to.

Alright, It’s kind of fun. But the Jello question has got to go.

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I came into Rachel’s room after putting Hannah down for a nap. I saw that she (after undressing herself (sigh) ) had put on a really well put together, sensible outfit (unlike the outfits she picked out when she was two and three) and was tucking a necklace into the pocket of her shirt, preparing for her nap. I was filled wih a sense of “Wow!”–you know, the pride thing. I kissed her and said, “You’re a great kid, you know that?” She smiled and said, “You’re a great Mom!” Then she gave me a wry smile and said, “You’re the princess of your mommy’s heart.”

And then she said with a goofy smile, “You’re your mommy’s baby and you have to wear a BIG diaper.”

I thought things were getting a little too sweet around here. Never for too long.

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This is a thank you to my mother-in-law (who reads this blog faithfully) for the birthday money she gave me way back in June. I want you to know, B, that I went shopping for books today with your gift. I was going to buy my upcoming book club books, which I did, but a five-volume set of the early Harry Potter books also caught my eye. Rachel is always pointing to the newest book and saying, “Mom! You have to buy the Harry Potter book and read it!” I always tell her that I can’t because I haven’t read the earlier ones. She was VERY excited today knowing that I have committed to the Harry Potter series. She started imagining a whole scenario where her older cousins are visiting and see my Harry Potter books and say, “Hey! Look, the Harry Potter books. I haven’t read those in a while. I’ll read those now.” She acted it out with all the dialogue and everything.

I also bought two books that I read in my childhood and have a very soft spot for: A Tree Grows in Brooklyn; and To Kill A Mockingbird. Sigh. Love them.

My book club books, if you are interested are One Hundred Years of Solitude; and Time Travellers Wife.

When will I find time to read these? I have no idea.

Thank you, B! You’ve made my week. Or year (which is how long it will take me to get through them all).

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I am not big on memes, but I can only blame myself for this one. I participated in the following meme at True Jersey Girl’s place. Apparently, I have to do the same thing here or I think a curse will be put on me or something. It’s a little unclear. Anyway, thank you, True, for doing such a great job with yours.

This is how it goes:

1) Put your name in my comments, and I’ll respond with something random about you.

2) I’ll tell you what song/or movie reminds me of you.

3) I’ll pick a color/flavor of jello to wrestle with you in. (Maybe)

4) I’ll say something that only makes sense to you and me.

5) I’ll tell you my first memory of you.

6) I’ll tell you what animal you remind me of.

7) I’ll ask you something I’ve always wondered about you.

8) If I do this for you, you must post this on your blog. You MUST. It is written.

But you see, I don’t know how to put curse on a person, so I think you are safe if you don’t keep this meme alive. Besides, the madness has to end somewhere, right? (Looking to see if lightning will strike) I’m not big on meme rules.

You may put your name here even if you think I don’t know you well enough to do this. You may be surprised.

Warning: Most of my music knowledge is pre-1990. You’ll have to bear with me.

What I Know:
*That you used to listen to the Glenn Miller Band with your brothers on your homemade crystal radio late at night.
*That you wrote a song with your brothers–a pretty good one. Someone famous sang it on the radio. I don’t remember his name.
*That you got in your first fist fight when a classmate made fun of you after hearing your family band on the radio the night before. You were defending your mother. Her voice cracked on the air. You played the accordion, the piano and the clarinet.
*That you got wounded in the army when someone slid into you with cleats on during a baseball game.
*That your mother told everyone this wound was caused by shrapnel.
*That you had your first profound thought looking at the water from a ship when you were in the army.
*That your military experience was a very positive one for you.
*That you dedicated the rest of your life to creating a world where nations understand how to work together.
*That you felt a calling as strong as I’ve seen in anyone I’ve ever met.
*That you always regretted not talking to your father about his beliefs and political history. My grandfather was a Wobbly union man (I.W.W.) in his youth, but then had to hide that part of his past to keep his job and feed his large family.

What I Wish I had Asked You Then:
*What was that profound thought that you had on that ship?
*What did it feel like to have a calling like that?
*If you could travel back to your youth, which days would you relive?

What I Wish I Could Ask You Now:
*Am I doing enough?
*Are any of my profound thoughts the same as yours were?
*When my daughter asks me whether you can hear her talking, what is the best way to answer her?
*What would you like to ask ME now?

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What would you like to ask your Dad? Even if he is still living. In fact….especially if he is still living.

UPDATE: It just occurred to me that this question doesn’t have to be limited to father’s. Perhaps you have questions for your mother instead.

Rachel has about thirty dresses. Some we bought . Some her Grandma bought. Most of them, however, have come from her older cousins. They are all really nice.

Still, she has been insisting that I have more “pretty dresses” than she does. I tell her that I don’t. I’ve been slowly getting rid of clothes I don’t like and when I buy new clothes they are usually not dresses. I do enjoy the compliments I get from her everytime I wear a dress. I’ve been wearing casual summer dresses lately. One day when I put on a black rayon summer dress, her eyes got wide and she asked, “Mom, is that your wedding dress?!!” She’s been good that way to me. When she was two it didn’t matter what I wore. It could be an old worn out night gown and the first thing she’d say when I’d walk into her room in the morning was “Pretty nightgown, Mama.” Or when I was changing and wearing a homely looking nursing bra, she’d exclaim, “Pretty brawl, mama!” I’d even get “Pretty breasts!” once in a while. I can’t complain. She’s been good for my ego.

The other day however, after we were discussing our dress collections, she walked into the office after having been in my closet, with an astonished look on her face and said, “Mom! You were right. You only have three pretty dresses!”

I’m a little hurt. I think I have at least four that are pretty.

All of the big impending deadlines on my desk have been met. I’m catching up on laundry. Now I’ve just got all the annoying things to worry about…the filing, cleaning the garage, deciding what to do with the overgrown slope in our backyard, matching up all the toy parts found in little nooks and crannies around the house (can you say PULL MY HAIR OUT and ARGHHHHHHH!!!). Oh, and did I mention cookies. Getting those chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. I’ll be right back.

Summertime is supposed to be relaxing, right? For me, it is and it isn’t. No rush to drive Rachel to preschool. Nowhere particular we have to be. And yet, no time to take care of the annoying details. Things slowly start piling up.

I keep Rachel out of summer camp because her school (a wonderful school) has a requirment that she is enrolled in a five morning a week program. She is so happy there that it is worth it, but I like having lazy time with her in the summer, even though she gets a little bored of me. Don’t you remember getting bored as a kid? I vote for making getting bored a requirement of summer break. Don’t you remember staring at your dirty, mulberry-stained bare feet and wondering when school was going to start? I do.

I have kept Hannah on her two morning a week babysitter schedule so I can get SOMETHING done, and also so I can get some alone time with Rachel. We don’t get enough of that during the school year.

I feel like I set myself up for telling gritty stories last week, and today the story that keeps coming to mind is sacharin sweet. I’m just going to have to come out with it and get it over with. It’s blocking up my flow of stories. Bear with me.

The other day Rachel remembered that a while back we referred to a dear friend of the family as being “like a cousin.”. She was curious about that distinction this week and asked us to explain . I told her this friend was “a cousin of the heart.” What makes a friend a “cousin of the heart,” she seems to want to know. Every once in a while, she says “[insert friend’s name]. He’s a cousin of the heart, right?” If I were honest, I’d say, “This “cousin of the heart” thing is really all about Mom and Dad. It’s not about your heart at all.” If it were about her heart, we would have 20 more cousins to add to the roster. Maybe that’s not so bad, considering that I literally have 36 blood cousins. Can you believe it?

I wasn’t going to write about this next part, because it is SOOOOOO sicky sweet. But I bet anyone with a four-year old girl has had at least one conversation as silly as this one. They just don’t want to admit it. This afternoon, I picked Rachel up in my arms to put her into bed. She looked so sweet, and for some reason I said, “Good-night, my princess.” She asked, “Am I a real princess?” I thought about it and said, “You are a princess of my heart.” She said, “Am I the only princess of your heart.” I thought about it and said, “You and Hannah are the only princesses of my heart.” Then she thought about it and said, “Are you the Queen of my heart and the princess of your mother’s heart?” I smiled and agreed. Then she said that her Dad and I were the “King and Queen” of she and Hannah’s hearts.

What? Do you think I plan these conversations? At least I’m coming clean on this one. I never would have thought I’d have this much pink in my house, and I never thought I’d be calling my daughter princess occassionally. But, it happened today and was actually quite touching.

We still have gritty going on here, though. I’ve been looking in my toddler books trying to find THAT chapter. You know the chapter about the stage when a toddler starts pulling off her diaper but is no where close to potty training. That’s my life right now….and possibly for the next year and a half. We haven’t had too many accidents so far, but chasing a toddler around with a diaper in your hand all day is enough to drive a person batty. You would think she would keep the diaper on. The child is afraid of her own poop. Seriously. Life would be a lot less traumatic for you, Hannah, if you kept your nappie on. Wise Man says: “She who screams at the sight of her own emerging poop should not pull diaper off.”

If I were to write that chapter I was talking about it would go something like this:

“There are several approaches that you can take to meet your toddler’s development. 1) Move into the backyard; 2) Have sod installed in your living area; or 3) Go upstairs and take a very long nap….(How long do you think? Twelve months?)

Am I punchy or is this actually funny?

(It’s a doormat)

I found it while flipping through a catalogue today. A really cheesy catalogue.

I think I’m punchy. I better get back to work.

That’s all I have for you right now. Perhaps it will be more interesting around here tomorrow.

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Speaking of doormats, I had to go check on Petroville this morning–water the plants, etc. The key was under the doormat. I left a guest post there. Go and read it. There is a lot more going on there than here.

Last night I finally tackled the piles in my office. Now I have a neater office and a manageable but sizeable pile of real projects to dig into. I’m going to steer away from blogging tonight, but if all goes well will be sneaking over to say “hi” during my breaks.

I want to tell you a secret, though.

Come closer.

I went into the city today and saw MommaK and her two girls. We had a wonderful time. I’ll be guest posting at her place later this week and will tell more!

Shhhhhhhh!

I love a good movie, but I rarely get to see one. I don’t get to the theater enough, and many of the movies that we rent turn out to be losers. We get so discouraged we rarely rent movies. The other problem is we tend to return movies late. Yes, we tried Netflix for several years. We got so bad at updating the movie list that we’d end up with a couple of movies so dry that we would never be in the mood to watch them. Rather than sending them back right away, we’d sit on them for three months. Of course, neither of us would ever remember putting them on the list, so we’d blame each other for the ones clogging up the flow. Then we finally got smart and went back to the local rental store. The threat of late fees keeps us in line.

This weekend, we had good luck with rentals. My husband came home with In Good Company on Saturday. I didn’t have high expectations because I hadn’t heard of it, but I loved it. It was funny, touching, and incredibly well acted. The script was deeply moving. Go see it, especially if you have daughters. It was directed by Paul Weitz, who also directed About a Boy–one of my favorite movies. The leads were played by Dennis Quaid, Scarlet Johansson, and Topher Grace. Great performances, especially by Topher Grace. I can’t say enough about his performance. You’ll just have to go see it, won’t you? And I’ll have to look out for the next Paul Weitz movie. I seemed to be one of the few people I know who thinks About A Boy is a great movie, so maybe Paul Weitz movies either hit you or they don’t. Weitz and I must have similar sensibilities.

On Friday night we watched Rainmaker, which was also very good. Matt Damon won me over with this movie. I wasn’t a huge fan of his before watching it. Wonderful performance. I always enjoy John Grisham movies, and this may have been my favorite.

For tonight, we have “Supesize Me”. I hear it’s good, but I’ve been putting off watching it because I object to the premise. The rule was, this guy had to say “Supersize Me” everytime he placed an order at McDonalds (and if you don’t know this already, he had to eat all of his meals there for a month or more.) I’ve never said “Supersize It” in my life. Of course you’re going to balloon up if you are eating three Supersized meals a day. Right? Do they think we’re stupid? There’s got to be more to it. I’ll let you know.

I know you’ve probably all seen these movies ages ago. I’m in a bit of a time warp. Bear with me. Just smile and say “Oh really? I’ll have to go see that.” and then find an excuse to go talk to someone who actually goes to a movie theater more than three times a year.

While you’re walking away, call out a few good movies tips over your shoulder. What else should I see?

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Update: My thoughts on “Supersize Me?” It is a valuable movie and raises many important questions about who is in control of the health of our country and our children. I still have a problem with the premise, but his experiment was an important one. I was wrong about one thing. He only had to eat a Supersize meal when the cashier asked him if he wanted to Supersize the meal—which was OFTEN.

I met you nineteen ago. I married you fourteen years ago. Thank you for sharing my journey. It has been an amazing adventure!

Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How Do I Love Thee
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight.
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, –I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Since I’ve been running off at the mouth like a crazy woman lately, I’ll try to keep this one short.

Go visit Michele and see my guest posts. If it’s Friday when you read this, I’m playing Michele for the Day. What an honor!

Here is something I wrote about Michele in March:

“I love Michele’s spirit. Going to her website makes me feel like I’m all dressed up and at this great party where I get to play games and meet really interesting people. And there’s this great hostess at the party that, without having me realize it, has me exchanging viewpoints comfortably with people that have very different views than me. And the most amazing thing about going to her parties is that I’m having conversations that have nothing to do with my kids! Now that’s a great hostess.”

She is also one of my Fairy Blog Mothers. Read about it here.

I didn’t start blogging because of Michele, but if I hadn’t found her, I would have quit months ago.

Big hug to you, Michele!

I have not been commenting on your blogs as much as I’ve wanted to this week. I’ve been lurking as much as I can, but seem to get pulled away before I can write anything. I’ll try harder. I promise.

Do you know the feeling that you are spinning in place and unable to get anything done? That’s me this week.

Why do I feel like I’m spinning?

1. I’ve been going to bed too late. This started a week or so ago when I tried to post photos during one of blogger’s photo eating, post-destroying periods, which seem to occur anytime blogger is busy. I was a sucker more than once, but now I’m playing it safe and using Flickr again. On another night I was up until midnight watching some reality show that I can’t remember one thing about. Last night, I was trying to pay my fees for a course I’m taking in the Fall. The class is my first class in an archival studies program. I couldn’t find the really crucial letter with my ID and PIN number for this mostly online class. The deadline for paying fees is tomorrow. So I was up late searching through the piles of papers in my office and thinking what I loser I would sound like calling today to tell them that this archivist wanna-becould not find the crucial document that they had sent her. Did I mention I also spilled a drink on my desk while I was looking. Shhhh. Don’t tell. Archives 101 will teach me never to put a drink on my desk and I will never waver again. (I did get that ID today and paid the fees.)

2. The weather has been fabulous. I would much rather be outside than inside putting laundry away and organizing my office.

3. Rachel does not have preschool or summer camp. Enough said.

4. My toddler locked herself in the house on Monday morning. I could tell the whole story. Rachel and I talking to her through the various glass doors, trying to get her to pull up the latch she had just pushed down. The panic in my voice. How Rachel almost started crying, but pulled it together when I told her Hannah might start crying if she did. How Hannah looked so sad and confused and kept saying “Mama” in this anxious voice, but didn’t start crying. How I was so scared and proud of my girls at the same time. In the end, I borrowed a cell phone, running across the street like a crazy woman when someone appeared from their house, and I called my husband who told me where an extra key was. Thanks, honey. Next time, though, let me know where you are hiding it before the emergency occurs.

7. The same toddler has been waking up after her naps with an aversion to wearing diapers. She sits on a potty with my help once in a while but has never put anything but toilet-paper in one. Consequently, I have a poop story for you. It involves this very same toddler rushing to the toilet but not knowing how to get on it. (I was nearby but not with her at that moment) This toddler screaming with fright when she poops without a diaper on. On the floor. I won’t discuss the next part, but involves a disappearing poop and a dog who despite her recent teeth cleaning is being called stinky face again. How can it be possible to feel such pride and revulsion simultaneously. My daughter tried to go poop in the potty.

8. Conversations like these while I’m driving: (This one took place this afternoon on the way home from the Farmer’s Market.)

Rachel: I wish I could see Cindy more often. Cindy, Jacob’s mom. Actually I really want to play with Sydney. Could you ask her if I could go over to her house?

Me: Sydney?

Rachel: No, mom, I mean Sydney, not Cindy.

Me: Yes, I was just repeating. Sydney.

(Pause)

Rachel: Why did you just say beating.

Me: No, I said repeating.

Rachel: No, you said beating. (Pause) (Takes quick breath due to insight) I know! Like the beating of a drum in music.

Me: (Starting to laugh) No, I said repeating.

Rachel: Why were you beating?

Me: I wasn’t beating.

Rachel: Yes, you were.

9. I have three or four different posts I’m writing in my head today. One of them is for Michele. I will be Michele for the Day on Friday. Quite exciting, but how on earth do I live up to that? Another one is for my husband. It’s our anniversary tomorrow. I love you, honey, but the anniversary post will be a day or two late. Looking forward to our dinner tomorrow, though. The third and fourth posts? Well, you’ll just have to wait and see.

10. Do I need a 10th reason. I’m just plain old frazzled. (Actually I just re-read this post and there are not ten reasons here. I skipped quite a few numbers. See I’m frazzled.)

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I have to add one more thing because my friend, Stephanie, made me that cute-o-meter I was asking for. Thank you, Stephanie!

Here’s one for the cute-o-meter:

Discussing a walk we were about to take.

Me: “It’ll be fun. Like an adventure.”

Rachel: “Oh yeah. An x-covery (discovery). I’ve had an x-covery before.”