Here and Now

Awk I’ve been delinquent about getting in here. But since I can’t possibly catch up on everything now, I’m allowing myself just to pick up in the present so I’m not overwhelmed. So there.

Sami's a parrot now. She will try to say anything I ask her to. And she is hilarious doing it. My favorite is when she thinks she has a word down perfectly, and so repeats it very clearly over and over. Like “oppus.” As in, “Mommy work inna oppus?” You know. It’s a room in our house. And she loves to page (and I mean it – she browses through the plethora I receive page by delicate page—thanks MyCokeRewards.com) through mazzagines.

And suddenly, instead of asking “Whassis?” She now waves her hand in an impatient fashion, and demands to know, “Whassis’bout?” About EVERYthing. A stain on my shirt? Whassis’bout. A sack full of groceries? Whassis’bout. A new card I opened during her nap and added to the Christmas card holder? Swear. Two seconds into the room, and she notices it, and needs to know whassis’bout.

She’s a fashionista. She can spend hours trying on her shoes. Her favorites are the sandals from last summer that she outgrew but that I haven’t yet boxed up for Goodwill and instead threw them all into an otherwise empty drawer in her room. Her toes stick out the end about an inch. Divine. And oh. Belts. And for the past two days, she drug out her little one piece swimsuit, and has me help her put it on over her clothes. She was happy wearing it for hours yesterday. So convenient at diaper changing time, too.

She loves to shop. And if I happen to try something on with her in there, she’s so complimentary. “Ohhhh. So cute, Mom.” And of course, she encourages me, “Get tit, Mom? Get tit?”


Today she had a freak little stumble that made her kind of fall into a rocking chair in my oppus. With the dog on top of her. And the chair cross rail had broken off some time ago, leaving a bit of a sharp wooden point, and of course, her head hit that.

Michael was on the phone, and I could hear the long, long intake of breath that indicates a ‘real’ injury, and after the long, long intake we know to anticipate a really hearty scream. I ran with her into the bedroom to try to keep the noise from Michael’s phone call. And I did what I’ve done dozens of times, and that is to hold her to me and rock back and forth, trying to soothe her. Only this time, feeling the wetness that I assumed were her tears, when she finally calmed down and I pulled my hand away, it had blood all over it. I was pretty calm I guess, but went back into Michael, and together we found that she had only a tiny nick on her scalp. But my word! By the time I got a wet cloth and cleaned up her hair, my hands, and her scalp, it looked like I had mopped up a small murder scene. So that’s my lesson in case she gets a worse cut on the head in the future. They bleed a LOT. I want to remember that so I don’t freak out and assume lots of blood indicates lots of injury.