Our Holidays

This was the first Christmas since Sami was born that Michael didn't have to work on Christmas day. What a treat! Our Christmas was simple and sweet. It was just the 3 of us, and we scaled back on spending like most people I know.

Sami's Aunt Bec did her usual overachievement in the gift-giving department much to Sami's (and our) delight. Sam started opening her gifts around 8:30 in the morning and by 11am was still at it. Not that she had that many (well... except for from Aunt Bec), but because she was so deliberate in her gift-opening. She really took the time this year to understand who each gift was from, and she was so gracious about each of them. Making thoughtful comments and really looking each one over, and then exclaiming heartfelt thank-yous with many "It was just just what I wished fors" sprinkled in.

Her "big" gift this year was a classic Radio Flyer red wagon. She hadn't expressed any previous interest in one, and I'll admit it was self-serving -- but she was thrilled with it and said, "I saw one on tv before and I really wished for one!" Even though she had never actually mentioned one before. I wanted it because I missed the days when I could plunk her into her stroller and take long walks on nice days to either go to the library or grocery store or whatever. And now that she can bike and ride her scooter, she always wants to do that on the long walks. Or she'd just walk. But inevitably we'd get to our destination and halfway home she'd peter out and ask me to carry her bike or scooter. Or her. None of which is an option with my hurty hips. Well, and she weighs over 40 pounds now. So... this is a way for us to head out on long walks again with a vessel for bringing home groceries, books, and 4 year olds too tired to walk any further. We already got to use it on New Years Day (almost 60 degrees! woo hoo!) when we all went out for nearly 3 hours of walking and playing at the parks.

Other big hits for her were a realistic dolly named Lilly Bragg and all the accoutrements. We took Lilly in the wagon with us to the big park and left her in the wagon bundled in a blanket while we walked to the opposite end of the park. Later we ran into a guy that had walked by it and when he figured out that it was ours, he told us how it freaked him out when he came upon it because he thought someone had abandoned their baby in the wagon. Funny stuff.

She also got the Candy Land Castle game. This one is a gem for no other reason than it plays quickly. A whole game with 3 players takes less than 5 minutes. Anyone who has suffered through the regular Candy Land board game with a 3 or 4 year old knows why that is a very good thing indeed.

Her daddy found her a Princess bouncy ball. (What are these things supposed to be called anyway? A hippity hoppity ball? I don't know.) The kind with the handle on it where they sit on it and then bounce along? Well good grief. She has lived on that thing ever since. We have plenty of open space in the house for bouncing. And she even bounces all the way to the park. About 3 days after receiving it, as I was drying her off from her shower and dried her legs, she goes, "Ouch. My legs hurt from bouncing." She actually had sore muscles from it. :-) She takes it in her room at night while she's sleeping. She has taken it into the bath with her. She loves the thing.

She also got other small things: a stamper set, replenished paints, bath gels, etc.

Sami and I got Michael 2 books about the Corsair planes and their pilots, like his dad flew in WW2. And some new slippers for his delicate little feet lest they suffer from the debilitating cold of our hardwood floors. :-D And a watch. And a few bottles of "nicer" wines.

And perhaps most importantly of all, I got a GORgeous gold bracelet. Michael has bought me a couple of others over the years, and for some reason I seem to be a bit hard on my jewelry, and both of them have long since broken. This one is heavy and strong and I can wear it all the time without fear of wearing it out in a few months. And I have a couple of "charms" that I want to put on it. A heart that signified our wedding, and a teensy gold ring with Sami's birthstone in it. So that thrilled me. Oh, and he's learning to catch my hints -- I also got new oven mitts. Fancy ones. And some new kitchen towels that he deemed necessary for my "gourmet" cooking. He fancies the idea of me throwing one over my shoulder while cooking ala Emeril.

So all the gifts were nice? But it truly was just the family time that rocked our Christmas and New Years. I worked until 2pm on Christmas Eve, then we came home and had a fairly simple dinner and got Sami to bed early. I HAD NOT WRAPPED A SINGLE GIFT BEFORE THAT NIGHT. Honestly. What was I thinking? But time was not in abundance this year. Anyway, so then I lit into that task, and Michael assembled the wagon. And the wee replica of the big wagon. And when we were done, we arranged everything under the tree and it looked so beautiful. I actually like the idea of having gifts under the tree ahead of time so that the excitement builds for Christmas morning. But with our crazy chewing Katie the cat and the rambunctiuus Jazzy the dog, it seemed best to put them all out at the last minute this year. Oh, and thanks Katie for chewing through the prelit Christmas tree lights so that my only-2-year-old tree now has 3 bands of darkness. Just what I wanted. A stripey Christmas tree.

On the night of Christmas day, we had a very special dinner of prime rib roast with a really good bottle of wine.

I took a vacation day for the day after Christmas too, and while I really wanted to take the tree down, Sami and Michael prevailed. Alas, it is STILL up. Maybe tonight. I'm really quite over it at this point.

For New Year's Eve we again had an (if I do say so myself) a fairly simple dinner that turned out amazing. I made shrimp and pasta, but I poached the shrimp in a buerre monte butter sauce (I find it spelled both ways on the interwebs -- buerre and beurre. So whatever.) that I read about on another blog earlier in the week. Woo. Tasty stuff. Then another early bedtime for Sami. Michael and I opened a bottle of champagne and actually made it all the way to midnight this year to toast in the new year.

New Year's Day was when we enjoyed being outside for most of the midday. It was so beautiful and unseasonably warm. Then that afternoon we had an early dinner of surf (wee lobster tails) and turf (ribeyes). At the end of this dinner we were sated and just sitting there basking in the enjoyment of it. And reflecting on how much good food we had enjoyed beginning at Thanksgiving when it seemed like every single thing turned out so good. On through to all the other meals we'd just had in the past week. And then we talked about how blessed we are and I always have to offer up how grateful I am that we're all healthy. (Especially in the face of some heartbreaking news a co-worker received about a child relative.) And that we're both still employed (so far). And that for now, we're still able to pay our bills and buy groceries whenever we want. Yes, times are tough. We're deinitely in cut-back mode. And we're certainly not likely to ever complete the dream scenarios we had laid out 3 years ago for our housing plans, but it is what it is and we're doing fine.

I'm back

Whew. Um. So I kind of went missing for a few months.

Just. Busy.

Our house is on the market, and precluding that was much time spent sorting through belongings and cleaning up storage areas and even whole garages. And cabinets and drawers and any other places I could envision my happy potential home-buyers snooping. But our happy home-buyers haven't found us yet. And so we wait. And have our lives interrupted constantly to stop and make the house presentable in the midst of 4 year old mayhem and a dog with an ugly bed on every floor of the house. So that's, you know, where I've been.

Sami seems so, so grown up to me. To us. Michael and I comment on it all the time. Just like whoa! How'd she get that tall?

She's in official preschool and adores it. She pronounces regularly to anyone that will listen that home days (meaning no school on those days) are just "BORin'." I think we can all imagine how she's coping 4 days into her 19 day Christmas break. Gah.

She's enjoying the wintery cold snap we're in much more than she did last year. She loves having me "bungle" her up so she can go to the park with Daddy when he takes Jazzy out to run each morning. She returns so brightly pink-cheeked that you just want to plop her into a cup of hot chocolate and drink her up.

She's lost most of her mispronounced baby talk. Like, when her teacher finally taught her how to properly say "yellow" instead of "lellow," I'll admit it wrenched my heart a little. But she still assures me she has "sensible" eyes and ears when she spots or hears something I may have missed. I'm sorry. I'm not correcting these. They're too adorable and they'll be gone soon enough without my assistance.

Maybe I cherish them so much because she has a pretty amazing (to me, who has not hung out with 4 year olds previous to my own) vocabulary. When she was but a wee infant I took it upon myself to always answer her questions and to talk to her like I would anyone else. I don't try to be overly complex or anything. But I also don't hesitate to use "big words" if it is required to properly explain a concept. And she uses some really big words in exactly the right way which never fails to amuse me. And humble me to think of the miracle of the human brain to be able to learn like it does even at 4 years old.

She is also strong-willed. The inherent stubbornness abundant in both her father and to somewhat much lesser degree in her mother seems to have multiplied exponentially in her. Good Lord. Trying to work our way through these last months has been the most challenging part of being a mom that I've yet experienced. Tantrums. Hissy-fits. Demands. Call it what you will, but we're still coping with them. And this is from 2 adults who made up their minds early on that they would never give into a tantrum since any sane person knows that only begets more tantrums. Sami? Tantrums? THEY DON'T WORK!. Why oh why do you continue with them? Why? I'm going to be ultra-eccentric when I grow old just to get back at you. So there.

She is so fricking excited for Christmas this year. Thank God for her present & surprise-gifting over-achiever of an aunt supplementing the Christmas presents this year. Times are tough, and a 4 year old shouldn't have to be aware of it at Christmas time. I'm not saying she should have EVERYthing she asks for by any means. And I've been making her gently aware of the cost of buying "things" and trying to explain that's why Momma and Daddy work -- to earn money, etc. And how that all works. But I'm just saying -- having Aunt Bec doing her thing delights more than just Sami. (Thank you, Aunt Bec.)

I feel very humbled and blessed this season. First and foremost for all our good health. I've seen and heard such heartbreaking stories recently -- I can't say it enough. I am so, so thankful for that. And for all of us being together. And after that, really what does much else matter? Anything else dished out to us, somehow working together we'll get through it. With that said, I'm very thankful we both still have our jobs. But I'm smart enough to know that that could change at any time. For now we still have a beautiful house, 2 fairly reliable vehicles, and I only have to be a little careful when grocery-shopping. :-)

There. I've gotten the stopped-writing-for-months- first-entry-back-is-intimidating thing behind me. So let's leave off there.

Long Time, No Write

I've allowed a horrible gap in my posts here, but undaunted I shall simply pick up in the present so as not to delay myself further by trying to cover past ground.

Wow. Last night my dear husband took me on a date. A few weeks ago he surprised me with tickets to Chorus Line, and last night we got to go. It was awesome. Sami's sitter Mewanie (Melanie to most) came by early allowing us to head downtown for dinner and a martini before showtime. The "dinner" part consisted of really bad service and terrible food, but it didn't even bother us much. We had a great table outside on a balmy night where we could people watch, and we amused ourselves dissing our waitress in the long gaps between her visits.

Then on to the show which was absolutely captivating. Now going to any kind of a Broadway-type musical is my absolute premier choice of outings. I usually start crying the minute the opening number swells up out of the orchestra pit... just because I get overwhelmed that I get to be there. It makes me happy. And last night the performances were so good, I swear my eyes watered through the whole thing. I'm such a weiner.

I called home as we left the show and Melanie reported that while Sami was terribly sleepy she kept saying she wasn't. Obviously she was waiting up for us.

When we got home she did her little number whereby she won't talk or acknowledge us for a little bit. I get this in her. What it really reveals is that it is difficult for her to cope with both Mom and Dad being gone. And when we get home she's so relieved that she's kind of overwhelmed and can't face it. Anyway, while a part of her adores Melanie there is the part where she's just not used to not being with one of us. About an hour before Melanie was due, Sami was uncharacteristically sitting down. Just sitting. Not doing anything. Um... she just doesn't do that. I waited. I knew something was coming, when finally she says, "I don't want to talk to Melanie." "Hmmm. Why, Honey?," says I. "I just don't want to talk." I took her on my lap and hugged her and said, "Well okay. But that will be kind of weird, don't you think, since you'll be spending the whole evening with her?" No answer. It was the indication that a pending babysitter night was stressing her out in her own little way.

But she did fine with the whole thing. And then when it was time for bed she asked to sleep in our bed. And then asked me to lie with her. I really wanted to continue my husband-date but something about her pleadings was more pronounced than just the regular "I'm going to whine and fake cry to see if I can manipulate Mom into hanging out with me longer." I stayed and laid down with her, and we cuddled up close--her with one arm thrown rakishly across me as insurance against me sneaking away.

About 15 minutes later, she's all, "I'm ready to go to my own bed."

Sometimes ya just need some Mom time to put everything straight again. I get that.

She says funny stuff

Daddy bought Sami Crayola's Color Explosion thingie, and in it comes a pad on which she outlines lines with a clear marker and colors appear. Then it also includes some glitter pens to add glitter later. But she can only remember them as 'grease.' So she tells me while she's drawing... "Momma? I'll do the lines part now, and then later we'll add grease." Yes indeed, honey. That will look lovely.

Vivaldi

The other night as we were waiting for Michael to come home from work, I was watching the tail end of the Miss American Pageant. I know, I know. Just shut up. Anyway, it was the talent portion. And let me digress for one moment here. I didn't get to see all of the performances, but on the next round of axing some of the girls, Miss Iowa got cut. Now, as she's gracefully departing what should I see? Batons. Batons, people. Did she honestly twirl effing batons as her talent? Pageanteers still do that?! I'm sorry. I thought that went out in the 80s. Or should have. Batons. She deserved to get ousted. Even if I'm partial to Iowa in general.

I'm back now. Anyway, as Michael comes in the door I'm watching Miss So-and-So who was kind of one of those big-boned gals you hear about, balleting about in a less than graceful manner. But it was ballet so it caught Sami's attention for a moment. And I go (and only because it was captioned beneath her), "Oh she's dancing to Vivaldi. Mommy likes Vivaldi."

Sami runs off and throws over her shoulder, "I have Vivaldi!"

Michael and I are chatting a bit, and Sami comes tearing back around the corner and hands me a Vivaldi CD. "See? I have Vivaldi."

I sat there. Trying to grasp.
She can't read.
She has about 40 CDs.
I've never played Vivaldi for her. Let alone played it and identified it as Vivaldi.

Michael said one day a few weeks ago he took that CD to work to listen to on his drive. And she must've seen it and heard him call it Vivaldi.

But she's got crazy recall skills. Or she's secretly taught herself to read but doesn't want to reveal it due to the whole 'read me a bedtime' story ruse she's got working for her.

Soupy

Oh marketing people at Campbell's, you are savvy, savvy folks what with your Dora and your Shrek and your starry, starry soups.

Now there are worse things for a 3 year old to nag for in the store than soup. With carrots! And I get that. Earlier this week she went grocery shopping with her dad, and because he's a notoriously easy mark she got him to buy her about 3 different varieties. But then she conned me into the very same thing on Saturday's shopping trip. I didn't know I'd been had until we came home and put them into the pantry and I see all the cans in there that I had not bothered to notice previously.

So we're, you know, totally stocked up on kiddy soup. Whatever.

I tasted it. It isn't horrible. But like so many other kid-type foods, it is really quite bland and of questionable nutrition. And Sami's developed a fairly diverse palate -- some of the stuff she'll eat is surprising to me. Like she would eat me out of half my weekly income in freshly grated parmesan (the 'real' kind; don't even think about that green can in my presence) if I let her. And parmesan (the 'real' kind) is not a mildly flavored cheese. Plus she'll eat blue cheese crumbles. Straight. I know a lot of adults who can't handle those strong flavors. Anyway, I digress.

So yesterday I spent a good deal of the afternoon putting together a homemade vegetable soup. And when I make soup, I make a vat full. I like lots to put in the freezer in individual portions for simple, fast, healthy lunches. Into this particular vat went first my luscious turkey stock carefully preserved from the abundance that was Thanksgiving to serve as my soup base. Then I added: green beans, white and yellow corn, cabbage, lima beans, edamame, carrots, celery, cauliflower, broccoli, tomatoes (frozen, but from our own garden), onion, yellow and green bell peppers. That might be it. Anyway, it turned out divine. Just what I was hungry for. And surprisingly satisfying for a vegetable-only soup. I could just feel the good health in store for us all in the coming weeks.

But today I was going to heat some for Sami and I to have for lunch with our turkey and lettuce wraps, and she Wouldn't Hear of It. Must. Have. Shrek. Soup. I wasn't in the mood for a battle, so instead I tricked her handily. I made the stupid Shrek soup, but I ladled several spoonfuls of delicious tricky vegetables out of my soup into hers. Ha, little one. Ha.

Dear Sami,

You are now 3 years and 3 months old. And you are probably the funniest person I know. Both on purpose and not on purpose. You are sometimes so endearingly quirky that I can't help myself from indulging your nonsensical demands.

For instance today. I was working at my desk and you were watching Playhouse Disney and doing whatever else it is you do to so nicely amuse yourself. I announced that I was going to go find us a snack. When I got to the pantry, I found an item purchased by your Aunt Bec when she was here recently that didn't get thrown out when she left like I did the 2 cartons of ice cream none of us need. It was some chocolate dipped pretzels. I'm not a huge fan, but you are. So I chose those. I put about 4 in a cup for myself, and because you seem to enjoy the eating of the pretzels straight from the bag, and since we were at the bottom of the bag, I thoughtfully trimmed off the top scrunchy part of the bag to facilitate your handy grabbing of the bottom contents of the chocolicious pretzels.

I returned to the Man Room area triumphantly to present you with your snack. And you freaked out because (gasp) I had cut the bag. Yes. You informed me tearfully that you only loved the big bag. You did not like the cut bag at all. Whatsoever.

My mind told me you were tired and that I should just let you work through this little upset. Or not give you any pretzels to teach you that, um, what? That if you melt down over silly things you get no pretzels I guess? But my heart could see that you were in one of your heartfelt moments. I can read heartfelt emotional crying on your face and tell very easily the difference from the 'I'm being kind of sassy and naughty and seeing what I can get away with here' crying. And this was the former.

So I by God went upstairs and mumbled disbelief to myself as I TAPED THE TOP HALF OF THE BAG BACK ONTO THE PART CONTAINING THE END OF THE PRETZELS. I did.

And you were happy.

Catching up

I can't let myself get so intimidated by having not posted Sami stuff in a timely fashion in like, forever. It builds up and makes me keep not posting. So here I go. I missed the first few days of November, but from here on out I'm going to try to post something daily in honor of NaBloPoMo.

Sami is 3 years and 2 months old now. She has moments of the most extreme cuteness, cleverness, and humor. And she just recently started having moments of the most extreme fit-pitching imaginable. I'm hoping that just comes with the 3 year old territory, because the depth of her emotions frightens me sometimes.

I've taken her to dance class 3 times now. The first 2 times were all I could muster to get through. I could see she was scared, uncomfortable, and upset by being there. But her dad and I had decided it was time for her to take instruction from someone that isn't Mom or Dad. And to just begin getting used to doing something outside her comfort zone. Plus, she loves to dance and sing at home, so it seemed like a good place to start. So we stuck it out. And just went back for week 3 this past weekend. Finally. A smile. Some laughs. And even 2 episodes of acting silly. Yay! She enjoyed it. When we first got there on Saturday and I helped her to go potty, as we were getting ready to go back out and put on her tap shoes, I saw the lip begin to tremble and my heart just ached for her when she told me, "Mommy? It is too scawy." I tried to reassure her that she knew exactly what to expect and that she'd have fun. And she did! We're going to keep at it until at least the fear factor is out of it for her. Then, if she's having fun, we'll continue. If I truly believe she is not enjoying it, we'll then try something else.

Arms

So, the other night Sami was in our bed and in the middle of the night she had a whimperfest where it is one of those where she's semi-coherent but not enough so for you to actually reason with her? And it went on for like 10 minutes which in the middle of the night is 3 hours.

The next morning after we'd been up for a bit I asked her about her hard time in the night (that's what we've taught her to say to help her express when she's having problems controlling her emotions); asked her what was going on and such.

Me: Honey, you had a very hard time in the night.

Her: Yeah.

Me: Do you remember what was bothering you so much?

Her: I didn't know where to put my arm.

Me: (Huh?) Oh! What do you mean?

Her: I didn't know where to put my arm.

I dropped it for then. And then about 20 minutes later I thought I'd try again to see if I could glean a little more detail.

Me: So honey, when you had that hard time in the night what was it again that got you upset?

Her: (consistently) I didn't know where to put my arm.

At this point I figure she's just having a difficult time articulating the problem. So a couple hours later I asked again and got exactly the same answer. Which was totally amusing me. So I shared the story with her father.

Him: (nonchalantly) "Oh. I had a time I remember--it was for like a whole day--when I was about 8 or 9 or so I guess, where I didn't know what to do with my arms. So I kind of know what she means."

Me: (with giant wide open eyes sensing a bit of insight into the inner-workings of his mind) Hm.

Him: (apparently feeling encouraged by my stoic interest in the story because I'm not smirking...yet) Yeah. It was like, 'My arms! What do I do with them!?' It felt like they were just kind of dangling there and in the way and I didn't know what to do with them.

Me: BRAW-HA-HA... what?!?! What are you talking about?

Him: (sensing I've ambushed him by playing along straight-faced only to get to the really funny part) Well....

Me: Okay. Wait. You didn't know what to do with your arms? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Him: I just didn't.

Me: But just for that day?

Him: I guess.

That's just the sort of thing that amuses me no end. I laughed about it then. I laughed about it about 4 more times that day when it would come into my head as I went about my housework. I laughed about it when I related it to my sister on the phone. I have continued to laugh about it even as I type it here.

Last week as I'm driving to an after work party at my boss's boss's boss's house in a loaner car because mine is in the shop:

Me: (calling home from my cell) Hi. I was just driving to the party in this loaner car, and it is making me crazy.

Him: Why?

Me: Because I'm so used to my manual transmission car, and in this automatic I don't have to shift and I find I don't know what to do with my arm. BRAW-HA-HA.

Him: I'm glad I provide so much amusement to you.

Me: Me too. Thanks. I'll be home early. Love you.

Him: Good bye.

Conversation in the car...

A conversation in the car after we had to pull over on Colorado Blvd. for an ambulance to go by, sirens and lights blaring:

Sami: That's a fire truck, Mom.
Me: Actually, no honey. It is like a fire truck, but it is called an ambulance.
Sami: No. That's a fire truck.
Me: They're very similar. But a fire truck goes to fires, and an ambulance helps people who are hurt. That was an ambulance.
Sami: It is a fire truck.
Me: They look alike, don't they? And they both have sirens and lights. But an ambulance is a little smaller than a fire truck and does something different. So that one was an ambulance.
Sami: But it is a fire truck.
Me: No, really. It was an ambulance.
Sami: Oh call it whatever you want.

Yesterday Morning

Me (having just gone #2 in the basement bathroom then discovering I had no toilet paper (Michael wasn't up yet): Sami! Com' 'ere! I need your help.
Her: I can't. I'm busy.
Me: Busy doing what?
Her: I'm on the monkey bars. (This is what she calls swinging and balancing around on the treadmill.)
Me: Well, com' 'ere. I went potty and I don't have any toilet paper. I need your help.
Her: But I'm so busy.
Me: Seriously. I really need your help.
Her (as she comes into the bathroom smiling devilishly): Sowwy. I'm too busy.
Me (suppressing a laugh): If you ever want to see a home-cooked meal again during your formative years, you will get 'not busy.'
Her: (Just grins. She knows she has me.)
Me: Really now, Sami. Just go upstairs and bring me this much (holding out my hands) toilet paper.
She leaves and is gone for over 5 minutes. I can hear she's not on the main floor but has gone on upstairs.
Me: Sami! Where are you?
Her: No. No. No! Jazzy!
Me: Sami. Get down here and help me, will ya?
Her (showing up with a whole new roll of toilet paper and now sporting a headband): Here you go.
Me: Where'd you get this?
Her: My bathroom. (I didn't even know there was a package of tp in there.)
Me: Thanks! How did you know that was there? You're awesome. Thanks for helping Mommy. And how lovely that you stopped and took the time to select and put on that headband too.
Her: (Twist-mouth smile.)

Awww

And look at this photo I found while poking around on my hard drive...

Eeek! Doesn't my dear husband look so very sexy here?

Why does he have his shirt off while holding Sami when she was about 3 hours old? Not so sexy. She had just puked all over him for her very first spit-up. :-)

Reasons aside? I adore this photo.

Actually?

On Saturday, Sami and I went to Big Lots for, um, let’s see – what would it have been? Oh yeah. Birdseed. We hung up birdfeeders in our back ‘messy’ yard where I don’t really care if the resulting weeds sprout from beneath the barren grass-free dirt beneath our big pine tree anyway. So yes. Birdseed. Cheaper at Big Lots, donchaknow? Except, I always end up buying 50 dollars worth of other stuff there too. Like, Saturday, we found two books for Sami for a couple bucks apiece. One was a wipe-off marker book, and the other a lift-the-flap book. She was pretty distracted when I put them in the cart since I let her play with something else while we shopped. Then, I was also stealthy at check-out and she didn’t acknowledge at least, that she had seen them.

Which is all well and good since I like to have something—ANYthing—new to break out during Mondays and Tuesdays when I work from home with her there.

Today (Monday), I remembered I had those as my trump cards hiding in the toy bin, stashed away for when she ran out of entertainment today. I couldn’t wait to see how long I could go before I had to break them out.

Then? Early afternoon, and Sami strolls into my office from playing in the spare bedroom with her stuffed bunny and giant stuffed panda. (I don’t know what she was playing because every time I tried to spy on what I suspected was cuteness, she pointed her finger and ordered me out. She was talking to them, though, and I never could catch what the whole scenario was. Dammit.) She goes, “I have 2 new books.” Holding up two fingers at the same time. I was so taken aback that a) she had noticed them b) that she was suddenly remembering them c) just in general. I said, “What?” Blink. Blink. I was stalling to try to figure out if she actually KNEW it, or had just blundered into a lucky guess. Because, come on – she’s two.

She goes, “I’d like to read my two new books.” Well alrighty then. I went and got them for her. How the hell did she know they were in there? What other things does she ‘get’ that I think is over her head?!

She ‘read’ them for a while herself, then invited me to join her, and I couldn’t resist.

And in the lift-a-flap book, it was the alphabet with pictures behind each letter, ya know? Under the ‘P’ flap, they had a pail. Only, we’ve always called her sand vessels ‘buckets.’ So I’m ‘reading’ it and I say, “’P’ is for…pail.” She repeats it as ‘pay-oh.’ Then, she pauses and goes, “Actwee? It’s a bucket, mom.” Gently. So as not to embarrass me that I got it wrong.

But that little well-placed, “Actually?” Her delivery slays me.

This not-talking-baby-talk-to-her is really paying off. Some of the ever so proper things she says, but still in the sweet pronunciation of her 2 year old self, is just priceless.

Father's Day

So Michael had to work on this his Father’s Day. But we tried to make the best of it. We got him two boring shirts that he seemed to act pretty excited about. But really, they were just for work to wear under his uniform. And we got him an excessive amount of wine glasses. But we love our wine glasses so we got him these stemless ones, and these classic ones to replace some we had broken (and no, we weren’t likkered up when we broke them—just innocently washing/drying them usually) and these because we didn’t have any like them. And well we needed them. And then we got him one of these rings with my name and Sami’s name inscribed inside. And I got myself one with his name and Sami’s name inscribed inside. About that ring, he says, “Does this mean I’m doubly married? Wearing a ring on each hand?” I said, “No. It says, ‘I’m married. And I like it.’”

We had his gifts all wrapped and waiting out for him with a card from each of us on the kitchen island. And when we were setting them up, Sami said, “Daddy will say, ‘What’s all this?!’” when he comes down. And so when he came down and said, “What’s all this?!” she couldn’t have been prouder. Then she handed him the first one and said, “That’s your shirts, Daddy.” Next he reached for a box with the wine glasses in it. “What’s this?” says he. “Your cups, Daddy!” And before he could even ask, she handed him the envelope with the ring, and said, “And here’s your ring, Daddy.”

Above right is how he looked about all that disclosure.

We had gotten up early and took Sami and Jazzy to the park to run and play.

Then we came home and I made a quiche (prepped the night before) which we enjoyed on the deck. Our pretty, pretty deck-yard that we love.

After Sami woke up from her nap, I go in to get her and she says, "Mommy? Raindrops are falling down."

Me: Yes Honey. It is raining. Isn't it nice and cool? I'll open the curtains so we can see.
Me: Humm. Your windows are closed again. No wonder it is so stuffy in your room.
Me: Why did your father close those windows again?
Her, in a groggy trance-like voice because she just woke up: Because he's a goober.

Indeed.

Perspective

My work is done on this second work-from-home day this week. And it is lovely and cool and raining outside my 4 open windows (after being a stifling 96 yesterday which equates to about 106 in this office). And Sami is starting on hour 3 of her nap. And all I have to do this evening is laundry. And I don't even mind that. And I'm feeling about a bazillion times calmer than yesterday.

I had a lot of work work to get done yesterday. Stuff people were waiting for. And Sami was in a Mood. At one point she asked for some cookies. I brought her chocolate Teddy Grahams -- the only cookie in the house. She told me those weren't what she wanted and described the ones she wanted. I explained to her that those other ones were all gone last week. She FLUNG the bowl of cookies I'd brought her. I very calmly told her how angry and sad that made me, and picked them up and put them out of her reach. She then came in and wanted to sit on my lap while I was working. I told her I didn't want to sit with her right then since she had made me so sad about the cookies. She flew into a rage. Her little face got bright red, and she grabbed the under side of my upper arm and just dug in her nails. It hurt so bad and I could barely break her grip. I stayed calm but that just seemed to make her madder, and before I knew it, she grabbed me and bit me in the lower back on the side. Hard. It hurt so, so bad. I put her on the floor. Told her she was absolutely NEVER to bite or pinch. And told her I had to spank her for it. I popped her on the diaper so softly it did nothing; except humiliate her. Well, and even humiliate is too strong a word. It just put an exclamation point on what I was trying to tell her. Then I picked her up and put her in her crib in her room and shut the door. Mostly I did that because I needed to have a break from her--needed a little space between us. It was a day filled with things like that. Her flinging things in anger and just being a brat.

Now, last week Michael and I had a talk about discipline matters. And how we kind of think we're letting her call a few too many shots around here as a result, I believe, of our exhaustion at times. Like, it is easier to just give in and let her have her way with small things like watching f-ing Barney, or having pretzels an hour before dinner, or little things like that. So we decided to be a bit more strict and steel ourselves for her little meltdowns instead of allowing her meltdowns--or the promise of an ensuing meltdown--to aggravate us into letting her have her way. So I think she's sensed this clamping down a bit plot. And she's rebelling against it.

She seems to be testing to see just what will and will not fly at this point. But geesh. She just uses up all my patience and tolerance and then I find myself snapping at Michael over nothing.

Anyway, when all was said and done and she was calmed down and I talked to her about the very visible bite on my side, she started crying all over again but this time I could see she was embarrassed and feeling badly about it. I hugged her and held her and told her we all lose control of our emotions and have hard times, and that it was okay. She melted into me in that heavy way and stayed that way for an extra long 'hold.' And trust me, it's true. We do all have hard times with controlling our emotions.

Anyway, no time for a lengthy entry. But maybe it takes days like yesterday to make me so appreciate days like today. Maybe I need the perspective.

All manner of things

The past 3 weeks have been chock full of …what. Life I guess. Good stuff. Just chock full. Well, mostly good stuff. Except for the fact that I literally have not caught up on my laundry for going on a month now. But that’s because I can’t be bothered with laundry when there are more fun things to do. Important fun things.

First Sami’s Aunt Bec came from Iowa for a visit. I took the whole week off from work, and we just hung out together. Shopped a lot. Ate whatever we wanted whenever we wanted. And had a ball. Sami took no time at all acclimating herself to being comfortable around Aunt Bec. In fact, she decided she wanted to sleep with her the very first night Bec was here. Sami got so caught up in the Fun that is Bec that she just didn’t want the attention to end at bedtime.

The second night as we all wound down for the night in our finished basement where my sister’s bedroom was, I noticed Sami was particularly busy. Remembering things she needed upstairs, etc. And then I noticed her sitting by herself quietly on the stairs, off by herself.

I went over and (this makes me feel like such a mom) suddenly got this sense… I just ‘got it.’ I said, “Sami, can I talk to you?” And I sat down by her. And I gently asked her if she wanted to sleep with Mommy and Daddy tonight instead of sleeping with Aunt Bec again. I think she got it into her head that once she made that choice the first night, that she was kind of obligated to stick with it. And I could tell she didn’t want to. It was kind of heart-breaking, because she didn’t want to say anything. When I asked her about it and told her she could sleep wherever she wanted, you could just see the load lighten. She brightened and was relieved. I’m glad I figured it out.

She did decide a few nights later to sleep with Aunt Bec again one night, though.

Anyway, then after my sister left, Michael had a week and a half vacation. I worked part of it, but that meant he was home each evening and we actually had family time for more than 3 evenings a week. It was heavenly. Sami again stalled at bedtime (she’s a master at it, too). This time I think because she so enjoyed being around both Mommy AND Daddy so much that she was afraid she’d miss out on something by retiring.

But that’s what caused me to get so far behind on housework. I too couldn’t tear myself away from the family unit to go do boring laundry. And so I didn’t. And neither did anyone else, oddly. So there you have it – lots and lots of laundry. Insurmountable laundry. Coupled with the fact that during this time our weather turned unmistakably summerish, and I had to switch out my closet and Sami’s from winter to summer. The winter stuff still isn’t all packed/stored away in the off-season closet in the basement.

But, when I took a couple of days off with Michael, we achieved glorious results outdoors. Michael moved the rock displaced by the building of my raised vegetable beds last summer and replaced the bark out front so that both sides of the front have rock now, instead of the ugly unkeepable bark crap. And we built an addition to our deck to house our grill. It came out so very lovely we still go out there nightly to gaze adoringly upon our work.

And we planted and planted and planted. Perennial flowers aplenty in our deck yard. 64 (!) baby tomato plants. Annuals in baskets and pots. Oh my, ours is a lovely little slice of heaven. We got our fountain set up in the deck yard, and it is bursting with our perennials planted the past 2 years, plus filled in with new ones. Oh we love it so.

Sami’s certainly—how do I say—pushing to see what the boundaries are lately. Read: bossy and whiny and sassy. Fun too, and funny. Don’t get me wrong. But whew – this molding of her little psyche is exhausting work. By nature I am not a tolerant, patient, understanding woman. But of course, one needs to be in this parental role. Very exhausting. On some things, she’s maturing and can be reasoned with and I see light at the end of the tunnel. On other things, she’s as 2-year-oldy as she can be.

But the good news is, she falls down much less than last year. Why is that good, you ask? Well not only for her good health and not-so-scraped knees, but also because when they’re nearing 2 and falling down constantly, dresses are highly irritating to them. Because when they go to stand up and stand on the hem it makes them scream. Fast forward one year? Oh, my sister and I had such fun buying pretty little sundresses for her. And she loves them this year. Oh joy! And she loves her necklaces, and her bracelets, and her anklets, and shoes, and all manner of things fashion. What fun. What very good fun.

She's got conscience

The other night I was working in our finished basement to clean up and organize our spare bedroom in anticipation of my sister’s visit. (! :-D) Sami was helping me. And by this I mean as soon as I’d get a storage bin filled with shoes and properly labeled, she’d immediately set to taking them all out and trying them on—parading out in front of Daddy who was watching tv in the Man Room next door but occasionally popping his head in to check on us. Cleaning with her takes double duty. But it is still more fun than doing it alone.

Anyway, during one of his checks he and I were chatting when I suddenly noticed Sami had unplugged a little nightlight lamp and was preparing to plug it back in. I reacted way too strongly and shouted too loudly at her. I envisioned her having her fingers on the metal part of the plug and getting shocked to the bejesus. But at least it got her attention I guess. I sort of startled her, but then I sat down in front of her at her level and took her hands in mine and explained how doing that could really, really hurt her. And I harkened back to the day when I told her over and over not to touch the hot iron while I was ironing clothes but she did it anyway on purpose. She retains that reference very well because I use it to describe what can happen when she does things she’s not supposed to and she well remembers that it scared and hurt her.

In the middle of my calm explanation part, I saw her chin start to tremble and her little mouth curled down and the bottom lip came out and her emotions overwhelmed her and she began crying. It was the first time I’d seen that. Where the thoughts in her own head, in her little conscience, made her feel so bad that she cried. It was heartwrenching for me but at least I knew I had gotten through to her. Albeit a bit more so than I intended.

Today, she was playing in her room next door to my home office and having an absolute ball with an indoor tent I'd set up for her after stumbling across it while cleaning out some storage areas. Then she came in to me at my desk and asked for juice, which is not unusual. I said, “Okay honey, in a sec I’ll go get you some more.” Then out of the blue it happened again. Something in her thoughts caused the same facial expressions—the curled lip and trembly chin—and she just dumped herself forward onto me to be held and started crying and touching her mouth and saying while crying, “I need more juice. I need more juice.” This is not her usual modus operandi when asking for juice at all. So I said,”Sweetheart? Did you put something in your mouth that you wish you hadn’t?” See because the only other time I’ve seen her touch her mouth like that and ask for juice is when she’s eaten something a little ‘picy as she calls it. “Ye-esss.” More tears.

I felt kind of panicky inside while I ran through in my mind the items she might have gotten into in her room. But they’re few. And I didn’t believe she’d be that compelled to taste Eucerin or Aquaphor which are about the only remotely bad things in her room. I picked her up and went in there and kept trying to get her to tell me what she’d put in her mouth. But once I’d made that big a deal of it she was done answering me in any coherent fashion. I asked about buttons, hair deals (barrettes), etc. And checked to see the Eucerin or Aquaphor were indeed untouched on the changing table. Hmmm. I told Daddy the story on the phone and he guessed bug. At any rate, I went and got her the juice and it was naptime anyway, so we changed her diap and I watched her carefully and smelled her breath. But I don’t think it was anything serious. Just something yucky maybe.

And I made a point of telling her how proud I was that she told me about it even though it was something bad. Which, okay, technically she didn’t really tell me about it. But she kind of conveyed it, and I wanted her to know that if she does do something bad in the future but then needs help, that she can come to me and I’ll help her best I can and act as calm as I can.

Anyway, seeing her crumble like that just about broke my heart. My little sweet thing is beginning to have feelings of conscience, and of right and wrong that come from inside. It makes me want to be able to have her never feel bad. To never have to deal with the consequences of a bad decision. I know how things like that eat at me even after I try to forgive myself for them. But I know she has to learn that for herself. Awk. I can’t stand when her feelings hurt. How the hell am I going to cope with her growing up with so much darkness in the world? I know, I know. It is better not to attempt to protect them from it—she’ll be stronger if I teach her how to cope with it as it comes. But geez.