Officially a Big Girl

“At what age were you/your kids potty trained?”

When I talk to people about having a daughter with Down syndrome, ages always factor significantly into the conversation. Although we expected these things to come much, much later- if ever - my daughter talked and walked when she was 1, knew her letters and numbers at 3, and was potty trained . . .

Some of our friends have different approaches to potty training than I do, and that’s fine. Certainly there is room for different opinions here. But until Ellie was able to tell me when she needed to go, walk to the potty herself, pull her pants up and down herself, and go days at a time without accidents, I didn’t consider her potty trained.

In fact, I decided not to put Ellie in big girl underpants until I thought she was ready to be nearly accident-free. She’s been comfortable using the potty since she was 18 months old. That’s 2-1/2 years, folks, that she remained in diapers after learning to use the potty. But consistency has been our big problem: she gets distracted and doesn’t remember to tell us when she needs to potty.

Also, it took a long time for her pull her own pants on and off; unlike many toddlers and preschoolers, she has never been interested in self-dressing or even dressing her dolls, so potty time remained a parent-help-required experience.

Another big hurdle has been parental reluctance. Neither Paul nor I were excited about consistently taking Ellie to the potty every hour for days on end, so we didn’t. There were huge benefits to us in this period. It’s lovely to be told once or twice a day when our daughter needs to go potty (no more poopy diapers!) and we could then change wet ones at our convenience. I got to avoid most public bathrooms and run errands or attend public events without patronizing horrible conveniences like the ubiquitous Johnny-on-the-Spot.

Did I mention that Ellie BM trained herself over a year ago? We've had very few poopy diapers since then, and absolutely no BM accidents at all since we moved to big girl underpants several weeks ago.

Eventually, for all of us, it was time to force progress. I found a book whose system I was comfortable with. It’s research-based, and was designed in the 1970s by psychologists working with institutionalized and severely developmentally disabled adults. (The book is also very much a product of its time, so consider yourselves forewarned.) It was then adapted for use with typical children, with an appendix added on for dealing with children with disabilities (this was the 70's; they use the "r" word). “Success” is measured by a child who recognizes the need to go, takes down own pants, goes, wipes, pulls up pants, empties potty bowl into toilet, and washes hands independently.

Interestingly, this was the same book my mom used to potty train me. She found it enormously frustrating – though it worked – and she pitched it rather than using the same approach with my younger sisters.

I was 2, by the way. Ellie was 3.

It took more than a day, and I still help out as needed, but she meets my criteria for being officially potty trained.

We’re so proud of you, Ellie.

Potty Training in Less than a Day by Azrin and Foxx

Glad to Meetcha

I've been active in online communities for many years, participating in email listservs until I discovered online discussion boards 7 years ago, and began blogging 3 years ago.

Lots of people from my online communities meet up from time to time. I've not been really into that. At national conventions and local meetings, I never made the effort to introduce myself to online personas from my listserv days. I attended exactly one bulletin board meet up ever (with two other women at a local coffee shop mid afternoon, a very low-key affair). And I haven't sought out many blogger interactions, either.

I have no idea why. I'm certainly not one of those people who thinks that online friendships aren't real; I know better than that. And I present myself as honestly as I can in my writing, but it's still a big leap to go from considered words on a screen to face-to-face interaction.

I've been reading Moreena, from Falling Down is Also a Gift, and now, The Wait and the Wonder. And, as is the way with these online things, I felt like I really knew her. I really cared. Even in that odd, one-sided sort of way that online relationships (and celebrity watching, and book reading, etc.) can foster. But if one of your friends were really sick, you'd bring over a casserole, right?

While Annika was in the hospital in Chicago a couple of years ago, I was in Chicagoland too, visiting family. So I put together a care package for Moreena - lots of people were sending things to Annika, but I've briefly been a PICU mom, and I figured that Moreena could use a few things for herself too - and took it up to Kohl's House.

Annika was very very sick, and Moreena didn't really have the time or inclination to pop over to a local coffee shop and gossip with me for hours. That was absolutely OK with me; I'd made the terrifying leap; I'd initiated a meet-up; I'd moved from thought into action.

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from Moreena saying that they were coming down to St. Louis for a quick weekend visit. Was I interested in meeting up?

I was. Quick thrill of fear.

We went to Grant's Farm, and I wish I could say that it was perfect: a lovely fall day, the girls immediately bonded as tightly as if they'd been born conjoined quadruplets, the parents relaxing, laughing, and chatting together while sipping cider through a straw.

Not quite. It was really really really hot that day. And I'm a lot fatter than I like to be for leaving the house, let alone meeting new people. And Ellie was not fully potty trained. Which means that I was in a constant state of anxiety and pants-watching. Both of my girls were sleepy and a little cranky. There wasn't much opportunity for actual adult conversation. I'd pulled two all-nighters that week with sleepless Ada. And I was plagued by self doubt: I'd chosen the wrong activity! Is anyone having fun?

But I'm glad that we did it. It will be easier to do it again next time. And I really do hope that there is a next time: I've already got ideas for things to do and places to eat. After all, planning things to do with other people is a lot easier once you get to know them a little. Like, in person.

Paul, Ellie, Ada

Anni, Frankie, Ellie (who's not really as short as she looks in this odd shot)

Ellie is Four

Ellie turned 4 last week and had, I think, a perfect birthday.

She awoke terribly early, and her parents allowed her to crawl into bed with them. We all went back to sleep, taking a relaxed approach to the morning routine. (This wonderful morning moment brought to you by overnight pull-ups: ahh.)

When Ellie got up for real, she discovered birthday decorations in the family room/breakfast nook and we had doughnuts for breakfast.

Then there was school. Yay! And Nemo cupcakes for all! Double Yay!

Then the bus ride home!

And when mommy asked what she wanted for lunch, she asked for pizza pockets, then pizza. And got both!

Then nap, which didn't suck because mommy curled up in bed with Ellie and read Mother Goose until she fell asleep, smiling.

After nap, there was homemade lasagna for dinner! With a favorite friend joining us, and garlic bread, and corn.

Then gymnastics!
And treasured bath time!
And phone conversations with grandparents and aunts!

And more cake, this one with Nemo made out of black and orange Halloween M&Ms on top.


And, finally, bed.

My little Eleanor is proudly 4 years old, and happy to tell you so. There will be a party in a couple of weeks, when more family can be here.

Merry-land

I had a post (or twelve) that I really wanted to write last week (when Ellie turned 4! Stay tuned!) but didn't have time before we left town for our 4-day weekend mini-vacation.

We flew east to visit Paul's sister and her husband for their daughter's baptism. I really like Paul's sister and brother-in-law, and would even if they weren't family, and the parents of my new niece. Their 4-month-old is incredibly adorable, and very sweet. We had a lot of fun. Paul's folks flew out too, and it was nice to have the whole family all together. I've enjoyed the (at least) every-other-month thing we've been doing this year. It's particularly remarkable considering how widely spread we are: Wyoming, Missouri, Maryland.

Speaking of geography, here's a guilty admission: I was in high school before I realized that it was Wyoming with a "g". My father pronounces the name of that state as though it ends with a "y". I do know, however, that those periods should be inside of the parentheses. But it's just dumb and I can't do it. Dad also says "myoozim" and "nekkid." He was working on his doctorate when I was in elementary school, and I remember members of his thesis committee coming out to listen to him preach, and insisting that he work on his "accent." That was for his first doctorate. I guess once you've got one, you can talk however you like, since it didn't come up with the second, as far as I know.

It's not like I didn't know that there was a Wyoming, of course. I probably just never put the two places together, just like I knew that there were "or derves" served at parties, as well as "hors devors," but took a long time to realize that these two appetizers were actually one and the same (hors d'oeuvres, just to prove that I can spell it now). I'm thinking of a couple of other examples, but surely I've embarassed myself enough for the evening.

Back to family. I think it's possible that having a niece-in-law could be even more fun than having a regular old niece. Like there are some advantages to being a sister-in-law. By which I mean that although we're the same age, I don't feel the same competitiveness with Paul's sister that I feel with my next-youngest sister. We're missing all that history growing up. Likewise, I don't worry as much about when my niece-in-law (hereafter: niece Abby) reaches her milestones compared to when my children do. I suppose that there's still a part of me that's competing with MiddleSis for my parents' love, for my children as well as for myself.

Have I mentioned that I can't remember the last time I slept for 4 hours in a row? Surely, that's relevant here.

Both the girls were wonderful travelers this weekend. We had fun. Pictures to come. Good night!


Three little girls and their Nana, who's looking away from the camera because I haven't asked her permission.

Ellie petting Uncle Rob, face visible because he posts pictures of himself on his blog

"Huh. I never wanted a pacifier before, but I've developed a sudden and intense interest in yours."

Still Growing Up

When I turned 32 last September, I liked vanilla and I had straight hair. I didn't believe in therapy.

When I turned 33 this September, I liked chocolate and I had curly hair. I think everyone could probably use a little therapy.

I wonder what changes this year will bring!

2006 hair


2007 hair

Is This Possible?

Ada's new favorite word seems to be "Ada."

I've heard her say "Mama." (I really think she said it at least once, though it's definitely not part of her daily routine, yet.) She says "Dada" in appropriate contexts all the time. This morning, at 5:30, while she was reaching for him, was an especially appropriate context, in my opinion.

Ada sometimes repeats words she's hearing, too. At dinner, I might ask her if she's thirsty and wants water, and she'll say, "wawa." I was praising Ellie for having dry underpants recently, and Ada said, "dwy!" while clapping for her sister.

Today I held her up to a mirror, and she reached for her reflection, saying, "Ada!" (She also said Ada while reaching for her book later, and just as a noise to make from time to time.) She says her name the way Ellie does, which is slightly different from the way that Paul and I say it. The "A" is less of a hard sound, is almost a short "a."

Ada is 8 months old.

[Edited 10/15 to add that this morning, in response to a toy she couldn't see going "quack, quack, quack," Ada said "duck." Three adults heard her. That's a big cognitive leap: from labeling or repeating to knowing who makes what animal sound. Abstract!]

Down Syndrome Awareness

Everything, everywhere is pink right now. The grocery store, the lapel pins, The Ellen DeGeneres Show. A cure for breast cancer - or, even better, prevention - is certainly imporant.

But did you know that October is also National Down Syndrome Awareness Month?

If not, here's a great post about developmental milestones charts.

Proud Alumni

Until I had kids, I always kept my car scrupulously neat. My parents' cars are so full of junk (stacks of papers, books, gallons of water, cases of Diet Coke) that it's hard to find a place to sit. In reaction, the only non-standard thing visible in my car was usually dog hair.

Since kids, it's been much harder to keep a neat car. I don't have the free hands to carry clutter inside with me, nor the inclination to go back outside (leaving child unattended inside) to clean up right after returning home from every errand. So the car has become a bit more cluttered.

I don't put much on the outside of my car, either, and that's easier to keep tidy. In 2004 I had a Kerry sticker, but that came down on election night. I used to have a double helix-shaped Down Syndrome Awareness magnetic ribbon, but that stayed on the Passat and didn't transition with me to the Odyssey. The only other form of decoration I had on the Passat was my Washington University in St. Louis: College of Arts & Sciences window decal.

Now that Paul's driving the Passat, the alumni sticker has been bugging him. He's a Wash U grad too, but from the School of Engineering, and he doesn't want to be associated with the School of "Arts & Crafts." I don't blame him; I wouldn't want an Enginerd sticker on my car.

Paul gave a couple of talks at Wash U this week, and he picked up a new window decal for each of us (the ones we had weren't transferable, though they are removable). He's already affixed the "School of Engineering" sticker to his back window, but I find myself oddly reluctant to put my new sticker on the van.

It's not because I'm ashamed that I've grown up to be a minivan mom. (Well, I am, perhaps, a little, but that's not why I haven't put the sticker on the back window.) It's that I associate college stickers on the backs of minivans with where the children of the driver have gone, rather than the driver herself.

Which is a very interesting thing, actually.

Protect Historic Kirkwood! Or Not

For the past couple of months, I've been seeing red and white signs around Kirkwood:
Protect Historic Kirkwood
Preserve Our National Historic District
Don't Buy 407 E Argonne (now removed due to threatened legal action)
Taller Than Allowed Downtown?!?
Please Build It Lower!
and so forth
I find myself oddly on the other side of this issue.

Normally I'm the one railing against big box stores breaking up neighborhoods, the unfriendliness of suburban design toward walkers, and the ugliness of contemporary subdivisions.

But I am in favor of infill building.

I do not love urban sprawl, and I think it's sad the way that older, urban neighborhoods often empty out as people move to increasingly distant suburban areas. (Of course, the business and tax revenues tend to follow the people, over time.) Also, many older homes lack modern conveniences. Like adequate closet space and being free of lead paint. When managed well, new construction in established communities keeps the residential areas alive and desirable.

To that end, I support rigorous zoning laws, requiring a certain amount of green space on each lot, with the homes set back a certain distance from the street (and neighbors). I also believe in maintaining the look of the community, with homes of various ages and styles nestled comfortably next to one another.

When we were community shopping, one of the things that Paul and I loved about Kirkwood was the fact that there were often very large and very small homes on the same blocks. Neighborhood diversity was a big selling feature for us. And we definitely loved how the houses had a lot of variety: very unlike cookie-cutter subdivision homes.

Many of the infill homes I've seen in Kirkwood are beautiful. I'd love to live in a big Victorian home one day; I grew up in one and that feels like home to me. But I also want a big kitchen; convenient, off-street, covered parking; large closets; modern baths; updated wiring; and no history of lead paint (I'm really serious about the paint). If I had $750,000, I could live in my dream house today, in a huge Victorian with historic charm and modern luxuries, within walking distance of downtown Kirkwood.

Also, Kirkwood lost St. Joseph's Hospital. Bummer. But I think that the proposed "Active Living and Wellness Community" will be a wonderful use of the hospital's former site, even with the two four-story buildings (gasp).

I suppose I should be glad that people in the community care so much. It's likely that's part of what makes it such a lovely place to live . . . most of the time.

Way Up High

Apples, apples, way up high
I can reach them if I try
Climb a ladder, hold on tight
Pick an apple, take a bite
Apples, apples, way up high
I can reach them if I try.

This is the very first new song that Ellie learned in preschool and came home singing, expecting me to join in with her. But I couldn't, because I didn't know the song. I sat in on "closing circle" one day last fall and learned the tune, then looked up the lyrics on the internet when we got home, and we've been singing it together - complete with Ellie-led hand gestures - ever since.

It's so wonderful, as she learns things that I haven't been teaching her. And it's so scary, too, not least because I'm often not very good at understanding her yet, though she tries so earnestly to tell me so very many things.

It's scarier still that I'm so much better than others at understanding her, as she increasingly makes her own way in the world. But we're busy celebrating successes here today, and "apples" is one of the words that Ellie can say very clearly indeed.

"Apples" were the theme for the September STLBloggers Carnival.

14 Months is Way Too Long

"All good?"

"Couldn't be better!"

My friend's husband is safely back from Iraq, and they're enjoying a quiet week together in Hawaii. That text exchange (yes, we insist on using both capitalization and punctuation when we text) is the first and last I hope to hear from her until I am alerted to pick her up from the airport.

Amen.

I am breathing a sigh of relief and filling up my Tivo with America's Next Top Model, Private Practice, and Grey's Anatomy for us to watch together when she gets back. For while she will be coming home all-too-soon, he'll be stationed elsewhere for a while. She won't have to worry quite as much every day, but she won't have her husband home with her, either, so I'm sure she'll still need a little bit of juice box and guilty pleasures television.

Adding Patriotism to Our Daily Routine

Ellie's sitting on the potty:

"Mommy, puag! Pooag, mommy!"

"OK, Ellie. You say it with me this time. I pledge allegiance, to the flag . . . "

I wonder if I should add some Red, White, and Blue to the bathroom decor?

8 Months

I have not been particularly amazed by the ages at which Ada has reached various milestones so far.

Part of that is because I think we tend to forget how helpless little babies are, which is part of why we expect (and, often, receive) more rapid progress from younger siblings than first children. They have older child role models, and parents who are used to children exercising a bit of independence.

Ada has always been developmentally ahead of the curve: she held up her head securely the moment she was born (and could lift it while being on her tummy). She rolled over, sat unassisted, started crawling, grew 8 teeth, all of that pretty quickly. She also learned peekaboo, patty cake, and fake coughing,

But Ellie learned all of those things too, and if maybe a month or two or more later on some of the motor tasks, well, she was turning pages of books earlier, and playing the social games at least as well, as quickly.

I have enjoyed watching both of them progress, but I haven’t had too many set expectations of either girl, so I was pleased but not amazed when Ada started exhibiting her natural strengths.

No, the biggest surprise for me has been the trajectory of progress within a specific skill, rather than the expected differences in age at first reaching a milestone.

One day, I walked in and found Ellie sitting up in bed. “Did I leave her sitting up?” I wondered. I must have done, because it didn’t happen again for a while. Then it happened once more. Then again. Long pause. Several occurrences. It was quite a while before it was a mastered skill.

With Ada, I saw her sitting up in bed one morning, and then every nap and morning from then on. From emergence to mastery oh-so-quickly!

Ada turned 8 months old last weekend. She’s really getting quite chubby, and loves this whole solid food gig. She’s also getting too long for many of her 6-9 month outfits already, and she loves pulling herself up and trying to cruise on anything that will stand still long enough.

She goes to bed around 7:00 pm at her own insistence, wakes to eat around 5:00 am, goes back to sleep, then gets up for the day around 7:00. She might or might not nap a little throughout the day.

I’m leaving her with someone other than Paul or myself for short periods a couple of times a week, and the separation anxiety seems to be getting a little better.

Already she’s so huge. My little baby is much closer to being a toddler than an infant, now!

A Note on Politicians

The fallout from 2000 and 2004 has lasted a long time for me: I'm still burned out on politics. The relatively good year in 2006 didn't help it, and I'm just plain disgusted with most politicians. I hate their extreme weaknesses (bribery, prostitutes, pedophilia, inability to be honest and principled, etc.). It's all an image game, with people who want to be politicians playing to their audiences, saying what they think people want to hear, stating their "opinions" based on polling data.

That said, I do think we treat them unfairly. Politicians, like other celebrities, are asked to live their lives almost entirely under public scrutiny. Flashbulbs in their faces, reporters grilling their families and friends, no real escape from being on display.

Clearly, it takes an extraordinary sort of person to be willing and able to live this way. But then we judge these people by normal standards.

There's no excuse for breaking the law, your marriage vows, and standards of basic decency as many politicians seem prone to do.

However, we can't elect a guy who's charismatic and open in front of the cameras, then later accuse him of being addicted to seeking out that limelight.

And, dare I say it?

We can't elect somebody because he seems like a good ole boy we'd like to have a beer with, then complain that he doesn't have a sophisticated grasp of foreign policy.

It's been written before that we look for something different in candidates than we require of elected officials. That's certainly true, and so often we vote based on what we think we want. What we need to do is to be more realistic about what we're looking for in a president. Do we need to know all the details of his or her private life, or is it enough that she or he is a law-abiding citizen?

And certainly we need to know how our potential leaders really feel about the issues of the day - and whether their inconsistencies are proof of continued growth and understanding, or are rather a shameless chasing after votes. But we should definitely look beyond those willing to give pat answers to complicated questions, calling soundbites "leadership."

Silent Pens

This is hardly breaking news, but I'm still feeling a touch melancholy about it.

James Oliver Rigney, Jr., more commonly known as Robert Jordan, died on Sunday. He was only 58 years old. He seemed really happy before his diagnosis with cardiac amyloidosis. And he wasn't done with his life's work; he had so much left that he was planning to do. Very very sad. Lots of people die every day, and there's a war going on. So why does this matter so much?

Perhaps because, as a writer, he touched a lot of people. Sure there are valid critiques of his work. Still, I have read many hundreds of pages of his writing, and so someone I know - however distantly - has died. Too soon, too soon.

Madeleine L'Engle (LENG-el, Mom, I was right) also died this month. She was 88 and died of "natural causes." She had a robust body of work, comprising writing for adults and children, poetry and prose, fiction and nonfiction. Her work touched me too, probably more so than Jordan's. L'Engle's husband and son were already dead, and she had moved into a nursing home. Over the course of her slow decline, she had osteoporosis and a cerebral hemorrhage. She accomplished a lot in her life, and did some really interesting things. It's not such a terrible way to end.

I had other thoughts, about the disparagement of fantasy literature and its importance in our society, but it turns out that I don't want this to be part of a larger point. Two writers died. I find myself celebrating the life of one, and mourning the loss of the other. That's your time. Pens down.

Still Legal, Just More of Me

The Department of Motor Vehicles opened at 9:00 this morning, and Ada and I were out of there by 9:10 with my new driver's license - less than a week after the old one expired! We've been running errands all morning, and as I open my wallet to pay for things, it's weird to see a different picture of myself peeking up from my wallet; I'd had the last one for about 6 years.

But it was a momentous occasion not just because I got my picture taken, but because I finally changed my driver's license weight. I'd already decided to do it, though I wasn't sure which "goal weight" I'd choose.

After I sailed through the documentation presentation (passport, previous driver's license, current bank statement, and social security number), vision test, and identification of street signs portions of the process, she began asking me the usual questions:

Do you wear contacts, or just your glasses?
Are you registered to vote?
Do you want to be an organ donor?

(Both - though not at the same time, yes, yes)

Then:
You're 5'4"?
135 pounds?

She was looking right at me! With a straight face!

I laughed and told her what I weighed when I got pregnant with Ada, which is, presumably, a realistic goal.

Sea Turtles and Other Notes on Crawling

I'm at a bit of a crossroads with my blog, and I've been here before and found it just as frustrating. I like to take what's happening in my life and write little essays that tie pieces together, sometimes getting the general as well as the specific. But I also like to just jot down the day-to-day quirks and milestones of my daughters' lives, and I'm frankly not energetic enough to keep two records. So the way this works out is that in the first year or two, there are more blog entries that are just records of what the babies are up to, and fewer of the pieces of writing that I'm proud of. Because, while I prefer a more considered style of writing, it takes a bit more mental energy to turn milestones into enjoyable prose.

Today, Ada learned to crawl! She didn't take off like a shot, but she certainly moves a few feet at a time across the floor, grinning with pride or crying for her out-of-sight mama.

She also sat up all by herself for the first time today. I went in to pick her up out of her crib, where she'd been rolling and scooting around, and found her sitting, ready to be picked up.

She loves to wave now, whenever she sees someone she knows, or hears someone say, "Hi!" The even cuter part is that she does it backwards, opening and closing her palm toward herself. I think it's like she's so excited by her new skill that she doesn't want to miss a bit of it. My friend, Ada's "sponsor" (godmother by another name, I suppose) thinks she looks like Morpheus from The Matrix, saying, "Bring it." That too, I suppose. 7 days. 7 days until her husband leaves Iraq. Praying, praying.

Unfortunately, Ada is also dealing with some intense separation anxiety. And she's really past the age where I can easily take her with me wherever I go. I mean, of course I could take her along to my book club, haircut, birthday dinner date, marriage therapist, Sunday School class, etc. But I won't get nearly as much out of the events as I would if I weren't spending 90% of my energy entertaining the baby, who requires relatively little daytime sleep. I've learned that mama who goes out and does fulfilling things is a much better, happier mama. But Ada screams whenever I leave her, which leaves me with a dilemma: which of my friends do I trust enough to care for my baby but hate enough to put them through an hour or two of her screaming? Right now we're employing a rotating schedule, and hoping that Ada grows out of this phase soon.

We had a busy weekend. Saturday was the Great Forest Park Balloon Race, which we did not attend this year - something had to give! But on Friday night, we had friends over for dinner then drove into U City to pick up the light rail (two stops on the new line of the MetroLink) and take it to Forest Park for the Balloon Glow.

The next morning we went to the parade portion of the Kirkwood Greentree Festival, before heading home for the girls and Paul to nap. While they were snoozing, I went to the mall for lunch and shopping with girlfriends. After the family woke up and I got home, we headed back to the Greentree Festival, then did some shopping at Target. By bedtime, the girls were so over-stimulated that one or both of them were up every hour all night long.

Sunday morning was Sunday school and church, then brunch with friends, and in the evening we left Ada with a friend (see above) and took Ellie to see Finding Nemo on Ice, which she loved. $22 per ticket I could stomach. The costumes and special effects were good, as I would expect for a Disney show. But the souvenirs! Fortunately, Ellie was happy to drink in the experience, and didn't need a cheaply made, ugly plastic or plush takeaway to remember the experience. Silly flashing Nemo on a plastic stick? $20. Small plush baby sea turtle? $15. Sno-cone in plastic Nemo cup? $10. Ridiculous! And nearly every kid in the place had at least one souvenir.

I didn't even suggest a nap time today, for either girl. Ellie finished supper before the rest of us and asked to be excused. She headed into the front room to put her dolls to bed, and this is how we found her 10 minutes later:

"Secular Liberal"

Tonight, I am too tired to get into my incredibly busy weekend - much of which involved my church community - so I'll just jot off a little political rant. I listen to NPR (whenever Ellie lets me). I read Newsweek. I check the Google and Yahoo! news headlines. I watch The Daily Show. It might not be great, but it's what I do to keep informed.

Just so you know, I am so over the whole "secular liberal" as opposed to the "religious right" thing. So over it!

1) There are lots and lots of liberals who are religious.

2) Liberalism, when taken to heart, should be very tolerant of others' beliefs, even when they're not shared beliefs (indeed, aren't liberals often criticized by conservative talking heads for being "sympathetic" to Islamic extremists?).

3) Plenty of "conservative" political positions (especially regarding public assistance, immigration, and the environment) aren't terribly Christian at all.

When the media uses this language (over and over and over and over) what it says to me is that the media itself is fostering a divide, fracturing the debate from something that can be more nuanced into a either/or issue that doesn't reflect the complicated realities of our world.

It's sloppy reporting, journalistic short-hand, and anyone who finds him- or herself using the term "secular liberal" or "Christian conservative" should take the time to reexamine. Is the adjective necessary to the sentence? Are you talking about a specific subset of liberals, of conservatives? If so, make that perfectly clear.

Otherwise you're just cheapening the discourse and wasting space.

Another Year

In my family, my mother said "I love you" with wonderful, thoughtful birthday and holiday celebrations. She didn't always spend a lot of money, but all the details were creative and showed that she'd made a significant effort for each of us.

Before your birthday, she'd ask you to name your favorite meal. The morning of, you'd come downstairs to the kitchen to find streamers, happy birthday signs, and doughnuts. Doughnuts! (We normally had a very healthy home.)

We were encouraged to celebrate in the ways that made us comfortable - I usually wore a tie to school and called it my "birthday suit" - and for dinner we had our most favoritest foods homemade by mom.

There were presents, too, great ones, not brand name dolls or jeans, but surprising things she'd discerned that we'd really love to have just from listening to us talk to each other and watching us play.

And we had great birthday parties, though my parents never rented a bouncy house. My mom made an amazing, incredible, creative cake (always strawberry for me!), decorated the house, and invited as many children as the birthday warranted (9 on my 9th, etc.). She had great timing, starting new a game just before we lost interest in the current one. All our friends loved our parents, loved birthday parties at our house.

It's not that Paul forgets my birthday - how could he, with all the electronic reminders prompting him to remember? But it's just that it's so hard for him to do the things that I consider "thoughtful," to show me that he loves me in the language that I learned as a child.

And it's hard for me to understand that he really does care, that he struggles to find ways to show it.

Toddlerisms

Today was a difficult day, as my continued refusal to get adequate sleep is taking its toll. But it was also a lovely day: brightly sunny with an early fall crispness to the air.

Ada and I went to church this morning for her first MusikGarten class. My normally interactive daughter was stone-faced and solemn the whole time, just soaking it all in. It was not a terribly overwhelming experience, either, with only one other baby in the class this early in the year.

After "nap," we went back to church for Ellie's age-appropriate MusikGarten class, and Ada seemed slightly more comfortable. Ellie was almost unbearably excited the whole time, and there was lots of vocalization ("ehhhh!") and hand-flapping. These behaviors are becoming more frequent as she ages, which both puzzles and concerns me. As a baby/young toddler, she didn't do this at all. I'm being patient and hoping that part of it stems from her expressive language not quite keeping up with her emotional range at this point.

From the moment yesterday when I told her what today's schedule would be like, she's been talking about "Shoo-kick-Gar-en." By the end of today's class, she was already saying something that sounded a lot more like "music-garden."

For a long time, Elmo and Nemo were both "Elmo." Now they have their own names, or occasionally they're both "Nemo."

It's always a little sad when Ellie loses a cute little toddler way of saying or doing something. But, with Ellie, it's a bit of a relief, too, since it often takes her longer to reach each milestone, and a part of me wonders if she ever will.

What if her language never gets more understandable than this? What if she never does learn to jump? What if she never walks independently? That last is a reminder to myself that, of course, she did learn to walk, and before she even turned two. Likewise, she will jump someday, and she will continue to improve her enunciation and pronunciation, and someday I'll have moved on to wondering if she'll ever master keeping a safe following distance and using her turn signals reliably.

How's the writing going?

Well, since you asked . . .

I've been to bed earlier than 2:00 am exactly twice in the last couple of weeks. I can't remember the last time I was asleep before 1:00. This is largely a symptom of my own disorganization and poor prioritization/time management, but, nonetheless, it's exhausting.

Currently, I'm feeling enormous pressure to write (all of it self-inflicted). Simultaneously, I'm so tired that I feel numb and uninspired. As is the way of such things, it's hard to keep perspective and realize that one day I will be rested again, and I will have the energy to write. Because all of this is compounded by crippling self-doubt, where I'm so very afraid of failure that I can't even begin.

I know the correct steps to take to make things better: get more sleep, exercise more, make modest and achievable writing goals.

But if I had an easy time doing those things, I wouldn't be the person who's always running late, showing up with wet hair and bags under my eyes.

Calling?

I don't remember when I was last in a Cokesbury store, but after many years of subconscious avoidance, I dropped by today to pick up some books for the adult Sunday School class I'm leading again this fall.

I was wearing Ada in the sling and having a really good time, imagining myself buying and using everything in the shop. About this time, I noticed that I was clenching my right hand so tightly that my nails were digging into my palm. I started to feel a little panicky.

I felt like I had been running away from something for a long time. I felt like I was ignoring a calling, the most obvious calling, one of the first careers I ever considered (and rejected and considered and rejected). What child doesn't imagine herself, however briefly, following in her parent's footsteps?

But this is not what I want to do! This is not how I want my life to be!

And then I found myself in the marriage section, looking for a gift for a newly married friend, perhaps a book about adjusting to seeing herself as a spouse. And the books I found weren't what I expected for a United Methodist ministry. My choices tended heavily toward Dr. Dobson and an entire book built around dancing imagery - with the husband leading and the wife following.

And all I wanted was out. I paid for my books and headed for the door as quickly as possible. Fortunately, the urge has (mostly) passed. Again. For now.

Ellie's Family

Both of my daughters are so beautiful to me; I can happliy sit and look at them for hours. Ada is a classically beautiful child; people on the street tell me so. (More on that later.)

Ellie is just as beautiful, but in a completely different way. She is so different from me: her skin is so fair, and is missing the yellow pigment that underlies my own. Her hair is light, where mine is dark, and her eyes - her eyes! - are the most amazing, clear, bright, beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. My eyes are warm brown, with flecks of green and gold, nothing like hers.

My face is pretty traditional; people are always telling me that they know someone who looks just like me.

But Ellie's face is so unexpected. She has these flat planes to her cheek bones, and these beautifully tilted eyes, that look so exotic when combined with her unexpectedly fair coloring. The effect is - to me - mesmerizing.

Surely every child deserves a mother who thinks she's the most beautiful child in the world, and has no cognitive dissonance applying that superlative to each of her children at the same time.

I have a friend who once talked about using an egg donor to conceive a child. Both of my daughters are genetically my own, so I can only imagine how that must feel. I feel like I have a small window into that world, however. Perhaps we each do: our children might be genetically our own, but they're also half other, our spouse's family.

And for me, with Ellie's Down syndrome, there's another peep hole in the wall. Ellie is obviously my daughter in so many ways. She is as much a part of my family as I am. But, when we're out somewhere with other people with Down syndrome and I'm noticing all the similarities between her features and theirs, it's always felt a little bit like she belongs to this other family as well to to mine, to me.

Surely parents feel that way as their children grow up and make decisions on their own, beginning to live their own lives. Like when I rebelled and dated a Republican for three years.

But different, too, because I've always felt this way, from the moment in my pregnancy when I learned about Ellie's trisomy 21. I brought a daughter into this world, into my family, but into another family too, one I can visit but never truly belong to.

Literalist

Recently, I wrote about what Ada's been up to lately. Here's an update on where Ellie is these days.

"MOMMY! Bye, bus! MOMMY! Bye, bus!" Imagine an adorable 3-year-old grinning and alternately hugging my leg and turning to wave goodbye to her bus driver, and you've got the mood of our new daily ritual.

When we get into the house, it's potty and hand washing time, then I open Ellie's backpack and we attempt to talk about her day. (Her contribution often involves a lot of non-specific talk about the bus.)

One day last week, I pulled out a piece of paper colored heavily with marker on both sides, explaining the way she's looked upon arriving home recently. How do you get marker on the backs of your own thighs while coloring? I can only imagine.

"This is beautiful, Ellie! Can you tell me about the picture?"

She looked at me consideringly, then replied, "Blue." And, pointing at various other places on the page, "Brown, yellow, orange, red. Green."

Well, yes.

The next day, she came home marker-free and with a piece of artwork that involved shapes pasted onto a piece of construction paper. When I asked her about it, she said, "Glue." I pressed for more details, and she counted the shapes, telling me that there were 6 items glued to the paper. Then she told me the name of each the shape and its color.

Her dolls are all named, "Baby." Or, "Doll." Or "Baby Doll." Or, for variety, "Dolly."

I love this kid.

I've been frustrated with my purse, so I went out recently - without the children! - to buy a new one. The next evening, Paul opened my new purse to get out the checkbook, and Ellie grew very concerned. It turns out that my new purse looks rather like my friend's, and she thought that daddy was getting into Elizabeth's purse! And that would be wrong! The next day, she commented on it a few times to me, in her Ellie way, obviously thinking it unusual that I was carrying around Elizabeth's purse.

I've often chuckled about Ellie's enjoyment of handbags - particularly the time when she packed for a road trip by placing 7 purses on her arm and walking to the car with that arm held stiffly out in front of her - but I never realized how much attention she paid to my purse and the purses of other women she sees. I thought her interest was focused on her own, Ellie-sized, fancy little bags.

Once again, Eleanor surprises me with how much she knows, how much she understands, and how thoroughly she processes what's going on around her.

Significance

Saturday, December 19, 1987: I was in seventh grade, and I was feeling miserable. This didn't seem unusual; it's hard to be 13, in the first year of junior high, and not be miserable. It had been a rough semester so far; for weeks I'd been locked in a secret competition with the most popular girl in my class to see who could go the longest without repeating an outfit. No one knew about this contest, including my competitor, which did give me a slight edge. But she was so good at never repeating an outfit exactly, that I was forced to wear some pretty embarrassing ensembles just to keep up.

On this particular morning, however, I felt unusually uncomfortable, and teary, and awful in a more-than-the-usual-teen-angst way. And I really really had to go to the bathroom. 5 of us shared one upstairs bathroom, and eventually I got my turn.

"Mom!" I called.

I'd gotten my period. This was exciting and all, but mostly I just wanted to die. We were supposed to drive to the new mall that had just been built a mere 20 miles from where I lived. How could I walk around the mall with my family in my new condition?! I went downstairs and lay face down on the floor, trying disappear.

Then things got worse. My father came up to me and patted me on the back, saying, "Congratulations!" I decided to never get up again.

Have I mentioned that I'm the daughter of a minister?

The next morning, at the fellowship hour after church, I was putting in my obligatory face time amongst the throng of faithful Presbyterians, when my mom's best friend spied me from across the room.

"Sarahlynn!" She ran over to me and clasped me in a big hug. "You're a woman now!"

Shockingly, it got even worse from there.

"You know," my mother mused, "you were conceived exactly 14 years ago. December 19, 1973."

Thanks.

The theme for the STLBloggers Blog Carnival this month is "What is/was the most important/significant day of your life?" I decided to follow in my elder daughter's footsteps and get all literal with it.

Wii Would Like to Give a Gift to You

I am a long way from being done with my Christmas shopping, but I've started, so I'm feeling OK about that. I like to save some shopping for December, since I'm always in a spend-spend-spend mood then, sucker for seasonal marketing that I am. But I like to spread out my shopping as much as possible, so that each person gets a thoughtful gift rather than whatever was on sale as I walked through the mall on Christmas Eve.

I've also gotten a good start on planning Ellie's 4th birthday party, which will be in October. I know what we're doing, have a theme, have a general idea for the cake I plan to design, and am mulling over homemade invitation ideas. Every year the planning gets a bit more complex, though the parties are still pretty simple (here at the house, no hired entertainment).

Before Christmas and Ellie's birthday, however, is my birthday. I will be 33 this year, but not until the middle of next month. Since my birthday feels like fall, it still seems to me that it's a long way off. It's still swelteringly hot and dry here, and it's August. Nowhere close to fall! This year I keep forgetting about my birthday entirely, mentally moving on to bigger holidays later in the year.

Everyone else, however, really seems to be thinking about my birthday. Oddly, I've already gotten most of my presents. First, my mom took me to get a pair of Dansko clogs. These are ridiculously expensive, and she knew that if she just sent me the money I'd never get around to buying myself the shoes, so she took me shopping while she was visiting a few weeks ago.

Next, Paul got me a Ninteno Wii. I have been waiting for this console for a long, long time and am so excited to have it. The house is a mess and Paul and I are both sleep deprived, but we're having lots of fun. (Since we can only play after the girls go to bed, that seriously limits the all-consuming nature of this particular pastime.) I got this present early because Paul thought it would be much harder to find than it was, and once he got it he had to give it to me immediately.

In the mail yesterday, I got a book from my youngest sister, which I haven't opened yet, but the packing slip assures me that it will help me get over missing Harry Potter.

In the mail today I got a really wonderful greeting card organizer that I've been eyeing in catalogs for a long time. I have no idea who it's from!

I know why my friend E is longing for fall: her husband is scheduled to redeploy from Iraq soon.

But I have no idea why everyone else is showering me with wonderful, amazing gifts this summer. I'm not complaining! I could get used to this sort of treatment.

I See the Moon and The Moon Sees Me

But not for much longer. I have two kids who will be up in a couple of hours, but I'm up this late to see a lunar eclipse? Am I nuts? I must be. Sure, the waiting has been fun, with the baby sleeping since 7:20, my book club tonight, then the cookie dough eating, Nintendo Wii playing, and assorted more adult games back in the bedroom. But now I've read all the Parents magazine that I can handle for the day (what did you think I meant? Well, maybe that too.) and I'm exhausted. The weather is perfectly clear - great view - and our air conditioner is repaired, so I'm cool and comfortable. Hurry up, moon.

Cute Pug, But . . .

Yesterday, I got up with Ada at 5:30, then put her back to bed and lay back down myself a little after 6:00. Around 7:00, I was awoken by Ellie, who's touching my face and smelling dreadful.

"She must have spit up," said Paul. (Ellie still spits up occasionally; it's part of the low-tone that so often accompanies Down syndrome.)

"No, I think it's worse than that," I said.

I was torn between trying to wake up - too many late nights this week - and trying to hide my head from what I could already tell was going to be a challenging start to the morning.

Paul gave me status updates as he checked things out. "Ellie's pants look fine" (Good! No blow-out! Maybe we caught it in time . . . ) "But somebody pooped in Ellie's room!" (Huh? She managed to pull her pants down, then back up, but she can't . . . )

Here's where it starts to get really fun; put down the pumpkin loaf and prepare yourself.

Lizzi the pug, who hasn't had an "accident" in months and has never ever had one anywhere other than the front room - her "accidents" are very behavioral - has defecated in Ellie's room. Which we did not straighten before bed last night, so there are toys, dolls, and books scattered all over the floor. And Ellie has been awake, playing in her room for a while.

She voluntarily went in there and shut the door, a rare occurrence in the early mornings, so we should have been suspicious, but we were just so excited to have a little extra sleep.

Have I mentioned this interesting little quirk Lizzi came to us with (6 years ago, from pug rescue)? When she goes "potty," she spins in a circle several times first. It made her really easy to finish housebreaking, but when she can't wait to poop, it can make for some disastrous results.

So the morning started with some excitement. Paul took care of poop removal, cleaning carpets, and stripping the beds. I went through dozens of Clorox wipes, thoroughly cleaning everything that can't be dropped into the washing machine. But many things (even some dolls and stuffed animals) will be stuffed into the washing machine.

Granted, it wasn't actually touching any of Ellie's stuff. But, I figure, she might have touched it, then played with her toys. Poop is sort of fascinating, after all, when not confined to the toilet where it belongs. Especially when it's such an unexpected find!

Paul thinks I'm a little "obsessive" about the cleaning; he thinks that picking up the actual poop is enough, he just humored me by steaming the carpet and changing the sheets (and quilt, and comforter).

And then we all got bathed and changed. And then we started our day, somewhat later than usual but still to preschool on time.

I believe that dogs are family members. You can't just get rid of them when they piss you off. I'm going to need to keep reminding myself of that so that I don't commit canicide.

Adelaide's First Half Year

Tomorrow, Ada turns 7 months old. In her first six months, Ada has been busy being the most beautiful baby in the world. But somehow she has found the time to accomplish so much!

She's currently cutting her 6th tooth, with more obviously on the way. With these teeth, she really really enjoys eating solid food. And I don't just mean fruit and vegetable purees. She also really likes eating real, table foods, like chicken, ground beef, peas, green beans, and Cheerios. She scarfs this stuff down, even while staring fixedly at her older sister's pizza, obviously coveting the really good stuff still to come.

She also loves to drink water. Is it too early for this? I hope not. She will take a glass or bottle (think: Aquafina) of water, pull it to her mouth and, with a little assistance, drink. Both of my girls love water, odd little ducks.

For several weeks after returning from Scotland, my perfect little sleeper was hopelessly off schedule, but she seems to have resumed her previous sleep habits. Alleluia!

Adelaide sits independently, and can get down into a lying position without falling over. She rolls with ease, although she does still occasionally get stuck with on an errant shoulder when trying to get off her stomach. Unless she has something to brace against, she's not yet making much forward progress on her belly, though she's beginning to try. Paul says that she was "cruising" around her LeapFrog table today, but I'd definitely list that skill as "emerging."

My favorites: Ada loves to laugh and talk, and scold us when she's mad. She's also a big fan of gaming. She's proficient at handling the cloth herself during peekaboo, and yesterday she invented a variation where she hides her face on the couch, then pops up, grinning, for the big reveal. She sometimes waves when people say "Hi!" to her, and she's big into imitation, especially clapping.



She loves her big sister, who, completely typically, loves to steal her toys.

Her cousin is the same height, and more than 3 pounds heavier. Amazing!

WE'RE DONE

with Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I think the experience of reading it aloud together - although frustrating at times - was vastly improved by the experience of reading it a bit more slowly, and having someone on-hand with whom to bounce around theories as we progressed through the story.

I really really enjoyed it. The magic lasted straight through that last, climactic scene in the Great Hall.

The last remaining unresolved mysteries for me are:
1) What do Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny do?
2) What on earth was Aberforth doing with the goats?

So, what did you think, now that I can finally talk to those of you who finished it weeks ago?

Anniversaries

This weekend we traveled to Valparaiso, Indiana for a 50th anniversary party.

I've always thought that the renewal of wedding vows was a silly ceremony. It seemed to me that most vow renewals were about: Look at meeeeee, I miss being the briiiiide.

And I figured that the vows don't need repeating. "As long as we both shall live." I said it. I meant it. That's that.

But now I feel different. I've always been told that the mind is like a steel trap, and as we age it tends to try to close, so an increasing effort is necessary to continue to force it open.

I do notice that in myself at times, and certainly in others, especially as people age. With the increasing fragility and fear that can come with becoming elderly, it seems that many people hold tightly to certainty and judgement, as though those things will keep them safe, will keep the world familiar and less threatening.

For myself, however, I become more comfortable with who I am year by year, and am less certain of everything over time. "I could never . . . " "How could anyone . . . "

Oh, that's how!

Empathy. And from there, growth and understanding, even of situations I've not been in. It's a work in progress, I'm a work in progress.

But back to anniversaries and vow renewals.

Many (most?) marriages go through periods of stress. What's wrong with recommitting? What's wrong with saying to your partner that you choose him, all over again?

And what's wrong with celebrating the commitment it takes to make a partnership work over the treacherous terrain of life, year by year, child by child, paycheck by tax season, tragedy by success, whatever your marriage's stresses are?

I think we should focus less on marriages and more on anniversaries.

I think we should celebrate life's happenings, more than life's promises. I think we should party more at funerals, should eulogize our loved ones while they're still alive, should throw big anniversary bashes and for-no-good-reason parties for those who make our lives richer. And for ourselves, too. I think that an accomplishment doesn't always come at the conclusion of anything: a graduation, a career, a marriage, a life.

At the vow renewal and anniversary party we attended this weekend, my friend Sam said that he'd had two goals in life: to outlive his father, and to live long enough to celebrate his 50th wedding anniversary. He achieved both, and better than he could ever have imagined; he still loves to just hold his wife's hand, she still takes his breath away.

Sensual

I have often found motherhood to be a sensual, which is not to say sexual, experience. There's the nursing, of course. Ada and I spent a lot of time side-lying, with her latched onto my nipple while kicking me lovingly with a sharp foot. Beyond that obvious example, I love the indescribable softness of baby skin, with its underlying baby fat. I love the smell of baby head and milk-fed baby breath. I love the sound of funny baby noises: squeaks and snorts and giggles. I love the look of an innocent baby face sleeping, and the lights in a laughing baby's eyes.

A lot of the same wonders apply to toddlers, too. I love the smell of my toddler's breath, the sight of her sweet face, relaxed and trusting in sleep, or lighting up at the sight of me, arms opened wide, shouting, "Mommy!" I love hearing, "I love you." I love the funny little things she does with language. I love the way she caresses me with her beautiful hands. I love seeing scrapes and bumps and bruises on her skin whose origins are mysterious to me; I love her emerging independence.

Ellie just woke up, with a dry diaper, because she needed to potty. Then she went right back to sleep uncomplainingly. Despite a very long, no-nap day, I am flush with love for my daughters.

A funny anecdote, then, to cut through the syrupy feeling in here.

I was lying on my bed with Ada later this afternoon, who was waking from the short nursing nap she'd taken while Ellie had her snack in front of Curious George. Ellie stopped by Paul's bedside table before climbing up into bed with Ada and me. She brought up our little Homedics massagers. We hadn't had these out in a few months, and the girls enjoyed playing with them. Ellie enjoyed games like, "Put the massager on your . . . elbow! Foot! Chin!" Ada loved the colorful glow and the weird sensation of pressing the vibrating plastic against her mouth (she's working on her 6th tooth).

After a while, Ellie disappeared 'round Paul's side of the bed again and resurfaced with these massager things my mom got Paul for Christmas a couple of years ago. They're plastic sticks with what look like racket balls on the ends for wacking your loved one on the back. Feels great, and I taught Ellie how to hit mommy - gently, and just on the back, no, not on your sister's head!

Ellie disappeared and resurfaced again, this time with these two things.

I shut daddy's bedside table and decided we'd had enough of that game for the afternoon!

Dry Coughs and No Sleep

I'm exhausted, and I can't bring myself to think anymore about sleep and potty trials tonight, let alone write more about them.

Instead, I'll say that the Paul & Sarahlynn Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows couples' read got off to a rocky start, with Paul falling asleep in the middle of the big escape/battle scene at the beginning, and not being able to stay completely awake through the end of that chapter the next night, either. We rallied tonight, however, and are up to Chapter 8: The Wedding. For the record, the correct reaction to Voldemort flying beside Harry - broomless! - is not a sudden and unintentional head bob.

I'd also like to compliment the wonderful, thoughtful, selfless administrator who decided that it would be a good idea to start school in the middle of August. I'd forgotten how much easier it is to have just one child for a few hours in the morning. Especially as the other child comes home afterwards exhausted and wanting to - nap!

Before I go, a word on my mad mothering skillz: I can now multitask. Specifically, I can sing familiar lullabies to a baby who needs soothing while simultaneously reading. Reading Newsweek, that is. I do tend to stumble and miss lyrics when I read something startling or distracting. But still, it's a pretty cool skill when dealing with a rough patch. I've long been able to perform various parenting skills at once, like nursing Ada while reading to Ellie, or dancing to music while holding a baby and picking up scattered toys, but this new skill allows me to have something very like leisure time. Huh.

I Like to Travel

We hope to have our house paid off by the time we're in our mid-40's, which should allow us an increased ability to travel. We love taking trips, and I often start planning a new one even before we've taken the next one we have planned. We're not planning a Disney World trip this year, unlike last fall and the year before that, but I still find myself on the Disney website from time to time, scoping out package prices.

Although we do lots of flying vacations now, we still enjoy the updated classic car vacation too (with the addition of car seats and DVD players). When I was a kid we too long driving vacations every summer, so it seemed natural to plop both girls into the new van (5 months old with 8 thousand miles already) and drive out to Wyoming.

When I saw this little map thingie, I had to plot all the states I've visited. I know that I missed some, particularly states in which I've spent very little time - my dad had a fondness for briefly detouring into neighboring states so that we could say that we've been there - but this is a good start . . . and a to-do list!



create your own personalized map of the USA
or check out ourCalifornia travel guide

Kirkwood Farmer's Market

"You live in Kirkwood. Get over to Tropical Moose and have the chocolate cream snow cone."

"Saralynn, you're not a true Kirkwoodian! You've never been to Tropical Moose? For shame!"

"you can't call yourself a true Kirkwoodian if you've never been to Tro Mo."

Well, I'm not a true Kirkwoodian, but we finally did go to Tro Mo tonight, and it was good.

After dinner, Paul, Ellie, and Ada were playing in Ellie's room while I read a chapter of Harry Potter 5 (that Dolores Umbridge!). Ellie came charging out of her room saying, "Tima go! Time-uh go!"

She wouldn't share with us exactly where we needed to go, but since we're indulgent parents and the girls and I were cooped up inside all day today (over 100 degrees and miserable out there, ugh) we all grabbed shoes and loaded into the cool car for a drive.

Ellie directed us at the intersections: left, right, right, straight, until it became apparent that she mainly wanted to drive around and listen music. Then we drove into Kirkwood for shaved ice. I had wedding cake, Paul had chocolate, and Ellie chose not to partake of hers - too cold.

Then we drove around looking for our dream house for a while before heading home to start the two-hour battle to get our girls to sleep. Paul and I play the house game differently. He restricts himself to houses that are actually for sale, which certainly cuts down on the size of the pool. I figure that since this is fantasy shopping anyway, why bother with a technicality like a for sale sign, anyway?

But back to the sleeping for a moment. This absolutely sucks. Ada was the world's best sleeper until Scotland, and we've been struggling to get back on track ever since. It's been more than 6 weeks since we returned to our native time zone. Ellie was putting herself to bed wonderfully - we'd read stories, say prayers, kiss her goodnight, then leave - until the baby was born. We allowed her the luxury of one of us lying with her while she fell asleep in the months after Ada came home because she seemed to need it. Now we're trying to break that habit and it is not going well at all.

Also? There are people who will train your pet for you. Why not your child? I would give pretty much anything in my possession for someone to come over and finish off this potty training business.

A Little More About Cats

I mentioned that we're having a problem with pet cats roaming the neighborhood and litters of kittens hunting in our yard (and on our patio, until Paul resecured some screens that Ellie enjoys loosening). An interesting discussion followed via comments.

There are a couple of separate issues here.

1) Roaming pets. If my dog is outside my yard without a leash and scares someone who is afraid of dogs, even if she does not physically harm anyone, I'm being negligent. If I walk my dog around the block and let her defecate in my neighbor's yard without cleaning up after her, I'm being a negigent dog owner. (Or it's intentional, mild vandalism, depending on your political signage.)

I understand that many people feel that their cats are different, need to get out and hunt, hate to be cooped up in the house all the time, or are impossible to pen in with a typical fence.

I'm not sure that freely roaming cats are completely harmless, however. I'm a little afraid of cats, particularly around my children. An unknown cat might have claws and teeth and be aggressive, especially if she has a litter of kittens nearby. I'm also very allergic to cats. Further, I don't enjoy the smell of cat piss, and sometimes neighborhood cats seem to enjoy marking the same spots over and over again.

2) Spaying and neutering. I feel a little like Bob Barker here. I understand that surgery costs money, but when adopting from The Humane Society, most local shelters will help with the cost. At the least, it seems only responsible to me that if you have a pet that might be fertile, that pet should be kept inside or otherwise confined so that she can't have a litter of kittens in the wild.

I am totally willing to hear how I'm wrong or haven't thought these issues through all the way.

In my specific situation, the one neighbor I know of who lets her cats roam freely also lets her dog out without a leash. Annie the golden retreiver is never out without a parent, even if she's a few yards away, exploring on her own. This doesn't bother me, and wouldn't even if Annie were a cat. Annie doesn't pee next to my front door or spent hours unsupervised in my yard. Annie has lost several feline siblings in the last few years to traffic (we live on a very quiet street, but the cats roam far), poison, and attacks from larger animals.

Specific responses:
- CCW, Taking the cats to a shelter myself isn't really an option. I have no idea how I'd catch them; I can't do it easily since I'm so allergic; I'd have no way to transport them, etc.
- Kristi, feel free to come over and kitty shop!
- Cate, fantastic idea to ask our vet.
- Sarah, I fear that you are right about the feral colony.
- Camera and Amanda, I was afraid of that.
- Brooke, I think I'd feel the same way.
- Thanks, PK. And that sounds like a great party!
- I will call my neighbor before I call a shelter of any kind, but currently I'm busy hiding my head in the sand. Figuratively, of course. The sandbox isn't really safe with kittens nearby (Paul changed our sand after the kitty caper). I'm thinking that even if the parent cats aren't hers, she might be more willing to search them out and possibly even trap them. She does love cats.

I did have animal control called on me one time, and it was terrible. My parents' neighbors didn't like that they had two big black labs (inside dogs) so they waited for my parents to go away on vacation then called animal control, saying that my parents had left the dogs unattended in the backyard while out of town in the summer heat. I was 19 years old and home by myself that week. Fortunately, when the animal control lady came back for her second visit, to take the dog (she'd come by the first time while I was at work and the older dog was in her pen outside) she met me at the door and found it obvious that Cleo was a loved pet rather than an abandoned dog. I do not take pet ownership lightly, and nor to I take the destruction of pets lightly.

'arry Potter

Some of you might have noticed our obsession with all things Harry Potter. I am aware that Rowlings's books are not exactly high art, but they are fantastic nonetheless. Perhaps the prose isn't always magical, but the storytelling is wonderful and the world she's created, well, it's hard to beat for creativity and blessed escapism.

Paul and I read the aloud books together, and we regularly host parties. Here's a shot of the invitation to the last Potter party we hosted, at my parents' house for the release of the 4th movie.

Not the aged parchment, complete with burned edges. I also sealed each envelope with wax stamped by a lightening bolt.

We enjoyed the 5th movie a great deal last month, even more than the small feast we had afterwards comprising butter beer, pumpkin bread, banana bread, Bernie Botts Every Flavor Beans, licorice wands, and a dark chocolate cake shaped like a castle.

We're behind on our reading this year, though. With the addition of children to our social schedule, and the books getting longer and longer, it's increasingly difficult to find time to read together. We haven't begun book 7, so we're assiduously avoiding spoilers and hoping for the best.

A few days before the new book published, I started over reading Book 1. On our way up to Iowa for Paul's family's reunion, we started listening to Book 6 on CD. We're still not quite done with that, but I'm up to Book 5 rereading independently, and we should be ready to start Book 7 in a week or so. We're very excited.

I've given up several things to make room for all this Potter (note that Harry himself is one of my least favorite characters). Like another of my obsessions, Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. Also, sleep (see next paragraph). And I've spent so much time lying on my right side nursing Ada and reading lately that I developed painfully blocked ducts on the left. (Better now, but I'm back to nursing while sitting up for a while.)

All that background and I lost my point. Alas.

Instead, I'll ask an unrelated question. They're not the owls on Privet Drive from Book 1, but we're a bit over-run by cats here. We have some neighbors who let their cats run free about the neighborhood, which frustrates me. And it seems that perhaps some of these pets are not spade or neutered, because there's a young litter of kittens living across the street, and an older litter hunting in our yard, chasing our cardinals. Last night, they broke into our screened in porch. My next door neighbor (like me, not a cat person) complains that just outside her front door smells like a litter box, and she's got a point. I'm getting annoyed. What should I do about this cat problem?

Summer Vacation

School starts in about a week, and I'm looking forward to it. I've enjoyed having Ellie with me everyday, but I need a break from my summer vacation! I'm picturing quiet mornings reading in bed while Ada nurses or naps. These might not happen, but at least we'll probably be home a bit more.

For much of the summer, whenever we were in town and not hosting visiting family members, our weekly morning schedule looked a little like this: once a week we went to church, once we went out and did an activity as a family, once I got together with an at-home friend, twice we went to playgroups, and one morning a week the girls and I stayed home. Playgroups and other outings might to be a friend's house, the zoo, botanical gardens, Grant's Farm, a park, etc., all in the St. Louis summer heat. After afternoon nap, there was a session of swimming lessons, weekly therapy appointments, church and social engagements, etc. And, of course, the usual errands to be run. I'm beat! On the other hand, we all seem pretty healthy, without the usual influx of preschool germs.

"Where'd You Go to High School?"

I will never be considered a native St. Louisan, though I've lived here for 14 years, long enough that I have become more like a local than an interloper.

When I was 18, I moved here to go to Washington University and then stuck around afterward. When I graduated from college, my boyfriend was still an undergrad so I looked for a job here. When he graduated, I already had a job so he looked for a job here. Then after we were married (here) we both had jobs here so this is where we bought a house. Now we have children who will indeed be native St. Louisans.

During college, our friends were from all over, and our first exposure to large groups of St. Louis natives came after graduation, with our first jobs. "Where'd you go to school?" was the first question we noticed people asking each other at parties, rather than the more commonly heard elsewhere "What do you do," and "How do you know the bride and groom?" Or, in my family, "Who'd you vote for in the last election?" and "What's your favorite NPR program?"

I didn't use to understand the high school question, but now I do. St. Louis is, more than many other cities, truly a city of neighborhoods, and residents are categorized by which part of the metro area they're from. I could try to explain that, but this does a better job than I ever could. Suffice it to say that if you move here, expect to be confused for about 5 years. Also, pick someone you really like and live near her family, because your neighborhood will become your identity pretty quickly.

St. Louis is also a Catholic city. I understand this much less, not being Catholic myself. Basically, whether or not you went to Catholic school says a lot about you, and there is a hierarchy within the parochial schools, which helps place you as well.

Some people from out of town try to answer accurately when asked where they went to high school. I always say that I'm from away, which stops the line of questioning immediately. No one cares what state I'm from; there's no important frame of reference outside the St. Louis metro area.

Given the importance neighborhood plays in St. Louis living, school district was definitely a part of the consideration when we were house shopping. We're still a little flummoxed. We don't want our children to grow up to be Hoosiers (it's hard for me to accept that this is a pejorative term here, raised by a proud Indiana native as I was). We don't want our children to go to unaccredited schools. We believe in the importance of art and music in the curriculum. But we don't want our kids to grow up surrounded by over-privileged kids, either. There's only so much that occasional community volunteering and church work camps can do to counter-balance a life of being surrounded daily by kids who have so much.

We're still figuring it all out. But at least we have a few years until the kids are in high school.

[This blog post is part of the first St. Louis Blog Carnival, topic: High School.]

Ferragamo

I like nice things. And I like to spend money, especially on food, travel, and gifts. I'm also cheap, especially with clothes, accessories, and cosmetics.

1999

When I got engaged, my mom took me to the little wedding dress shop in the town where my folks live, where I graduated from high school. This was a practice shopping trip, before we headed into Chicago to look for my dress. We never made it to Chicago. For form's sake, I did try a couple more shops, but I got my dress at Sisters Bridal. Although I had ideas about current fashions, one of the sisters who owns the shop took one look at me and brought me a dress.

"This is your dress, honey," she said. It was nothing like what I'd planned to wear, but it was absolutely perfect on me.

"You look exactly like a woman is supposed to look," one of my parents' friends told me during my wedding reception. And she was right that the dress was very very flattering. And comfortable. And inexpensive. It was on sale. And I got a discount for ordering my bridesmaids' dresses through the shop. And for something or other else too. In the end, I don't think my wedding dress even cost $200.

I did, however, have an expensive engagement ring that I loved, by a name-brand designer. I didn't think this was quite fair, so I wanted to buy something comparable for Paul. I nixed his suggestion for a laptop: um, no, something that will a) be outdated in a year, and b) distract you from the glory of my company? I think not.

We went to Neiman Marcus and I bought him a nice Hugo Boss tuxedo that he still squeezes into for special events. (Unless I become terribly ill, I will never successfully squeeze into my wedding dress again, lovely though it is.)

When he went in for his first fitting, he needed shoes to go with the tuxedo. The salesman brought him some, he tried them on, then agreed to buy them on the spot, too embarrassed to ask the price.

Paul is the proud owner of a pair of Ferragamo tuxedo shoes that cost more than twice as much as my wedding dress. Fortunately, his feet haven't changed size. Unfortunately, he doesn't find very many opportunities to wear tuxedo shoes.



Cut to 2007.

I needed new glasses, so I went to Lens Crafters. I carefully avoided the lovely frames in the section that was padlocked, and carefully deliberated about exactly what quality my lenses needed to be. I spent about $250 on new glasses, after insurance.

A couple of months later, Paul went in to get himself a new pair of glasses. In his defense, he has bad eyes and has to pay more for some sort of unusually thin lens (not just the usual Featherweights). Also, he decided that he absolutely must have sunglasses as well.

A short month after our big BudgetFest, wherein we decided that we were never ever going to go into credit card debt again (so far, so good, somehow) Paul spent $750 on new glasses.

And, yes, the frames are Ferragamo.

2 Days

I'm hoping it's just two days.

Yesterday morning, my visiting in-laws offered to watch both girls so that I could grocery shop on my own. But . . . well, neither of my girls is much of a sit-on-your-lap-and-relaxer. Sometimes they require a more . . . creative and energetic parenting approach. It's hard to go from zero to full-on parenting two kids, so, I ended up taking the baby with me to the grocery.

The shopping went fine, as long as I carried Ada in the sling the whole time. But it's hard to unload groceries that way, so I propped the cart against the back of the van and slipped around the side to strap her into her carseat. I reassured her that we'd be home soon, short drive, etc., then looked up for my cart. Gone. I walked around the back of the car, looked up and down the parking lot - nothing! Nowhere!

Eventually, a woman about halfway down the aisle (I was in the first spot nearest the building) said, "Ma'am, your cart rolled past me down the hill here."

I looked further down and indeed, saw that a grocery cart had rolled all the way down the Schnuck's lot, jumped the cement barrier, and smashed over on its side in the Walgreens pharmacy drive-thru.

I didn't ask her why she - or one of her middle-school-aged children - didn't try to stop my cart, alert me, or help me pick things up. I just fumed and worried (she offered to stand near my car and "watch the baby" for me, which actually made me more anxious).

My new purse was on the bottom of the mess, which included an exploded case of caffeine-free Diet Dr. Pepper, a smashed gallon of orange juice, and a dozen shattered eggs.

Later that afternoon, I was moving Ellie away from the entertainment center for the 49th time ("No movies until Friday night, Ellie") and grabbed her hand to keep it from getting smashed in the closing glass door.

She started crying and favoring the arm: nursemaid's elbow, caused gradually by her father and I swinging her between us (we foolishly through it was safe to start this super-fun game at age 3-1/2) and popped by my relatively gentle tug on her hand.

This has happened to Ellie a few times before, when she was a younger toddler, and it's always the same. She cries, favors the arm, falls asleep, and wakes up a couple of hours later feeling just fine. It's typical for the condition to fix itself, so the doctor doesn't want to reduce it unless it's been about 24 hours. This time, Ellie was up, crying intermittently, until about 4:30 am.

Paul and I were, of course, miserable, guilty, and exhausted.

This morning, Ellie really wanted to go swimming, so Grandpa and I (mostly Grandpa) set up the kids' new pool and let her splash around in a swim diaper.

She had a blow-out poopy diaper that I didn't recognize until we were back inside and she was running all over the house, sitting and dripping on the floor.

Bath. Ellie picked up the hair-rinse cup and started pouring water on the floor while my back was turned briefly. Darling daughter, please go outside to swing with Grandpa until I'm feeling a bit saner. Daddy, please come home at lunch and bring a carpet steamer with you.

Tonight. The girl who's been pleading to go to swimming lessons all day refuses to stop crying and hanging onto me like I'm a tree trunk and she's a baby monkey while we're at the pool. We give up after 10 minutes and go out for enchiladas.

The rest of the time has been great, but I've had some bad moments over the last 2 days. I really, really hope this streak has ended.

Christmas in July 2007

This past weekend, Paul's sister, her husband, and their newborn baby flew out to St. Louis. We all piled into the "cool car" and drove north to Iowa for the annual Paul's-Mom's-Family reunion.

My mother-in-law's older sister and her husband own a home on a fair piece of land in a lovely rural area. Their three daughters and 4 grandchildren live nearby, so we head up to visit them each summer. Christmas time got too chaotic as the families grew and spread, so we started celebrating in the summertime when weather is better.

Ellie loves these visits, where we sleep in a camper in the driveway.
Here she is enjoying a drive around the backyard with her 3-year-old boy cousin. Since she's the passenger, she's free to chat on the phone.

Here she is napping with her same-age girl cousin.

And even though this year's visit included a memorial service, it was a lovely weekend indeed.

Mamamamamama!

Paul says I'm lying through my teeth, but my mom is here to back me up.

"Well, it did sound a lot like that," she said.

Paul and I went out to dinner tonight, taking advantage of my mom being in town to watch the girls. Both girls lit up when they saw me walk into Ellie's room, where they were cuddled up with my mom, reading stories.

When she saw me, Ada broke into a huge grin, reached out both arms to me, and said, well, you know. Something that sounded a lot like "Mamamama!" Precocious 5-month-old!

Both girls are doing amazing things lately.

Ada: As soon as we got back from Scotland, in late June, Ada promptly cut her first two teeth, one a week before the other. Of course, she enjoyed spending much of this time chomping on my nipples.

She's also learned to flip over from her front to her back, though she's far less accomplished at the reverse maneuver. This resulted in a sleepless night or two while she compulsively flipped over and then cried for me to come right her so that she could repeat the process.

Sitting is still an emerging skill. It goes well until the inevitable slow topple. She loves shaking a rattle at her interactive Eeyore doll, making him sing and flap his ears at her.

Ellie and Ada share the same favorite toy, a very odd-looking and skinny stuffed chicken with lots of textures, crinkles, etc. It's a baby toy, and when I pulled it out of a little used toy box to give to Ada, Ellie said, "I love dis chicken!" and promptly took it off to her room. Now, Ada whines for it in turn, and they share it - if somewhat grudgingly.

Ellie is doing amazing things too. For one thing, she can run now! Faster than I can walk! She's also talking up a storm, carrying on conversations, lying, bossing, all that good three-year-old stuff. Some of her favorites (and mine):
What dat sound?
No tankyou.
I Eleanor.
I sweepy too.
I ant some too."
Ahm OK (even when she's still crying)
She used to say, "OK" for "yes," then "oh," for one odd day, and now, "Oh, sure"
Oh, hi!
"muzzz" has become "shoe-kick" (music, as in "diffnt shoe-kick!" or, "I like dis song" - she's currently into Sugar Ray)
"Elmo" for "Nemo," her favorite movie.
Unfavorites: Wookame (look at me, usually a whine) and "Mamahelpme"/Dadahelpme/Grammahelpme (always a whine!)

Edited to add a couple more.
While Ellie can say "yes," she prefers synonyms of her own devising, the latest of which is, "Of course!" With a grin.
And just today (Thursday) I deciphered another Ellie-ism. "Wishawishawishawee" is actually, "open this, please." Very useful! Her oldest words are often the hardest to understand, as she has gotten used to saying them in her own special (adorable) ways.

She's taking swimming lessons - still parent child, I'm afraid - and really enjoying the water this summer. Up next: the back float!

What's Real

I'd had some relaxing massages. (I had one on Saturday, in fact, to help recuperate from the vacation.) I've had some great sex. I've had some exhilarating athletic experiences.

But nothing feels better than the touch of a small child. An infant, stroking my arm as she nurses. A preschooler, idly playing with my fingers as she sits on my lap listening to me read her a story. Nothing feels better than this.

If only a kiss or a touch from Mommy could fix any problem, always and forever.

I am encouraged by where my marriage is right now. There are still big problems, huge hurdles, no assurance of success. But, finally, there's progress. Finally, I'm beginning to understand what happened, what went wrong. I am someone who needs to understand, who needs to know. So this is important progress for me.