Gratitude, a Struggle

Typically, I am an easily-thankful person. I recognize blessings, angels in disguise, general good fortune, what-have-you. But, today, guys, I had an internal issue.

Today, my husband was going to hang out with our toddler son so that I could take our teenage daughter out for lunch. We haven't been out or even at home alone together in months (I don't think a trip to the doctor's office for lab work really counts), and we were both looking forward to it.

So, this morning, as I was getting ready, I found myself overflowing with gratitude toward my husband for his "willingness" to hang out with a sweet little kid who can, admittedly, be a handful, especially if he's not happy, and especially especially if he's not happy about being unhappy that I'm not around.

I know, looking at this picture, you'd not believe he could have an off moment, right?

So my issue was this: When I realized how EXTREMELY thankful I was to my husband, and I realized that in my thanking him, I was almost treating it like he was doing me a huge favor, I started to get mad at myself. After all, he's the child's dad. He SHOULD do stuff with him. Alone, even.

Then I felt like a jerk for second-guessing my gratitude. Then I felt kind of resentful that I honestly did feel like my husband was doing me a solid on a pretty big scale to be "game" to try to occupy the boy for a couple of hours.

Meanwhile, my husband never treats it like he's "helping out," but he does, I can tell, kind of get a little pre-freaked-out about being alone with our son. Then, of course, he does fine, and it's all good. So everything in my mind is just that: in my mind. But I was thinking, even before I went, that James would be worn out after this, and that I'd probably need to let him rest after (he *did* take a nap).

And that's when it's the worst kind of struggle, because I don't want to think, "Must be nice! I never get a nap!" as 1) I'm not a martyr and 2) we've made it a deal that we won't try to compete over who works hardest/is the most tired, etc.

All of this to say, I did thank him several times for... see? I was going to say "letting" me have some alone time with the teen, but that makes me roll my eyes. Do you see what I mean? I can't even write this blog post because it's making my head hurt.

I have a great husband. Let's leave it at that. His wife? Maybe less awesome. Maybe. Just a little.

Two kids, two stories

A couple of things I wanted to note for posterity's sake:

1) This morning, Mal was in the living room watching a video while I was tidying up his room. He'd been in there with me, but decided he wanted to sit in his awesome recliner, I guess. Anyway, at some point, he ran into his room, ran up to me, and just hugged me. Put his legs around me, sitting on my lap in the floor, and gave me a big hug. Did not try to nurse. Just hugged. Then he got up and went back in to watch the rest of his video. <3 <3 <3 That was a first!

2) A couple of nights ago, after Mal and James were asleep, I decided to go show D my new tablet. I lightly knocked on her door, then opened it. The light was on, so I was saying something about why I was there when I realized she was asleep. Her eyes opened a bit to look up at me, and I asked, "Do you want me to turn off your light?" This is the conversation that followed as I gathered up some trash and dishes:
"What?"
"Do you want me to turn out your light?"
"I don't understand what you're asking."
"Your light" (pointing up) "is on. Would you like for me to turn it off?"
*general look of confusion* "I still don't..."

I decided she was asleep and hit the light on my way out. As I shut the door, I heard, "No, thanks, Mom, you can just leave it off. Thank you for asking."

Gosh, I love these two kids!

D at the Las Vegas Natural History Museum, and Mal at Chick-fil-A.
Pretty much the same age, 23ish months.

Growing Kids

Hello, Internets!

This pleasingly dichromatic picture brought to you by my letting the boy hang out diaperless on the bed too long.

As you might remember, we have not one, but two children. I wish I could give you loads of updates on both, but one of them is a teenager who is very private, very introverted, and wisely wary of what ends up on the internet in regards to herself (this she did not get from me). I will say that, while she might not recognize this, having her as a child has made me and is making me a better parent and a better person, slowly and painfully, but we're getting there.

One big thing is that it's cured me forever of ever even thinking, "Gosh, if that were my kid, here's what I'd do..." You don't know. You never know. And things might not make sense to anyone looking in, but really, I'm learning that the best support you can be for another parent is to listen, only throwing in tips if they're requested, and even then being very aware of the other family's parenting style, and being totally prepared for them not to take your advice at all. In order to be the best support, though, I think that you have to keep listening and sympathizing without being frustrated that the other parents are not doing it "right" or "different" or "better." I hope I can be this kind of friend to everyone else. Feel free to spill if you need an ear.

Now, the other kid. I try to be cautious of what I put online regarding him, so it's not too intrusive. There are things that crack me up that I won't share here because they cross a line. But I don't think this does, so here.

Because why wouldn't you?

Mal is growing up so much, and parenting him is in many ways so much easier than it was. But his opinions are strengthening, and he is very very determined to make us understand him and to bend us to his will that he will often cry over an issue for an hour or more, over and over, re-upsetting himself after calming down -- and these are things we cannot fix for him, like the fact that it's after 6 PM and the apartment office is closed (they have marshmallows), or that we don't have McDonald's French fries, we only have frozen ones that we have to cook (and, yes, one weekend, James and I each took him through the drive-through at McD's on a Saturday, and this might have ruined him!).

This next thing I'm hesitant to mention, because I truly don't find it important in terms of development or indication of future mental prowess or success, but I'm still going to note it so that I'll remember and because it so well illustrates that unschooling works in that kids learn whether you sit them down and force feed them or not.

Mal knows some letters. Some by name, and some phonetically. He knows "b" and sometimes "d" but also sometimes says "b" for "d." "B" he gets right every time. He knows "i" and "y" (he says "by"). He says "ssss" for "x" and "mum" for "m." Sometimes, he'll just surprise us by pointing to something with a letter on it and saying the letter or its sound. Did we teach him this? Um, no. He has picked it up from watching his favorite videos over and over again.

I reiterate: this is apropos of nothing, but just kind of funny.

Regarding "mum," this is also what he calls the moon. We'll be outside and he'll point up, saying, "Mum! Mum!" He will also point at the Death Star decal on his wall and say, "mum" while shaking his head "no." In other words: "That's no moon."

He will know all of the Star Wars memes before he ever sees the movie. In the book "Epic Yarns: A New Hope" that some friends gave Mal, he does several things: He breathes asthmatically when we see Darth Vader. He points to Greedo on the page introducing Han Solo and says, "Die!" And when we get to the garbage scene, he says, "waycanebeee," which, of course, is translated, "3PO! 3PO! Where can he be??"

Back to his videos: He usually watches compilations that are a half hour to an hour long. Lately, though, he will pick out a particular song and ask for us to "rewind" it so he can watch it over and over and over. Later, we'll often catch him acting out parts of the videos. James is sure when we were on the train that he was doing a cadence from "Walking in the Jungle" by Super Simple Songs.

Thing is, the next day, or even later that day, the video he watched 40 times in a row is repugnant to him, and the one he insisted we skip is the one upon which he lavishes his attention.

I'm going to treat you to something special. It's the freaking weirdest video on the definitely weirdest channel he likes (that I let him watch; Videogyan would be one in the rotation, but I have my limits).




Yeah. Explain that to me, if you will. On second thought, don't. Some things are better left a mystery. (P.S. These are the dudes behind these videos, if you can believe that. Not a bunch of Einstein-baby-moms, huh?)

When I bought Mal's car seat, I didn't realize it had an upper weight limit of 40, something he is approaching rapidly. I went ahead and got him a replacement seat, and yesterday we received it. I had not anticipated how sad this would make him. He cried and cried when he saw it, begging to go see his old car seat. We went down to the van and I put the new seat in the captain's chair beside the old one, asking him if he wanted to get in the new seat. He didn't. He sat in the old one, wanting to be strapped in (we were only going to the mailbox, but I did it). He kept crying and saying, "Bye bye... bye bye." So I guess we'll use the old one until he's definitely 40 pounds. He still has a few pounds to go. I'm going to keep the new seat in the car so he gets used to it and maybe that will help the transition.

Mal continues to be really interested in music and instruments. He has his ukulele as well as an "air piano" (like a recorder, but with keys, so it sounds a lot like a harmonica) and a little novelty keyboard with about 8 notes on it. He will pull out James' guitar and whatever other instruments he wants to use and have us all pitch in to make really horrible music while he strums his ukulele ("la la") and sings happily. He gets really upset with me when he hands me James' guitar and I try to coax something vaguely musical out of it, one string at a time. So I just strum randomly with him and that usually placates him.

James can really play, though. Mal's interest has sort of forced/accommodated James' practice almost every day (some work days are just too long, though). I love hearing him play. He's really good, and classical guitar is just lovely.

It will be interesting to see whether Mal ends up playing one or many instruments. I think he'd love a drum set, but we'll probably have to wait until he understands earphones and get him an electric kit or else his big sister, the day sleeper, might just have a conniption. Incidentally, she had a little drum kit when she was 5ish, but there were no other kids to complain about the noise.

I can tell nap time is wrapping up, so until next time... (as they say in that video) Bye byeeeeeee!

Anxiety, My Child, and My Family: Things I'd Like You to Know

At least one of my kids has some extreme social and personal anxiety. She's had it about varying things over time, and as she hit puberty, it intensified. She works really hard at dealing with it on her own terms, but sometimes that's more effective than other times. This isn't a blog post about dealing with anxiety, because I don't really know how one would deal with it. I have been anxious in my life about different things, but it's not a persistent reality in my life. This also isn't a blog post about parents dealing with their kids' anxiety, because I'm making this up as I go, and I don't often do the "right" thing (if there is a "right" thing; maybe I don't always do the best thing). This is a blog post about you, since if you're reading this, you're probably a family member or close friend. This is about some things you might not know, and hopefully it will make things easier for all of us.

1. "Is she going to be okay?" (Something I've seriously been asked, in hushed tones and with looks of extreme concern.) Of course she will. She's okay now, or she'd be in the hospital. She might not be "typical," but that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with her. She handles stress about different situations more intensely and differently than a lot of people do. That's it. It's perplexing at times, because it's all new, but she's good. She's happy in her life. She is happiest doing the things she loves, and that isn't usually the same things that make other people happy (getting out, seeing friends, going shopping, taking a hike). She's artistic and has an extremely unique point of view. She is exceptionally empathetic... toward some people... and a lot toward animals. She takes pretty much everything to heart, even if it doesn't show on the outside. So, yes, she's a special snowflake, just like all of our kids, and I could not love her more.

2. Please don't tell me, "Just make her. You're the parent." (Something else people have said and/or implied when I mention that she doesn't want to go do something with the family.) There are several reasons this is a bad idea.

The first is basic respect. Sometimes, James wants to go to breakfast on Sunday morning. It's difficult for me to try to do that and THEN get Mal to sit through any of church, too. How would I feel if James said, "But I'm your husband and I want you to come have breakfast with me, so you will. Let's go. Oh, and be pleasant or else"?

We pick our "you have to"s very carefully. For example: When we go on vacation, she'd be perfectly happy staying home by herself, but since she's only 14, that's just not an option. So she goes with us, and sometimes she chooses to get out and about (she did quite often in San Antonio) but sometimes, she'd rather just hang out at the hotel (like she did on our most recent trip). Neither James nor I would INSIST that the other do something we didn't want to, just in the name of family togetherness. Sometimes, we willingly subject our preferences in the name of relationship, but that comes from a place of genuine love and some more maturity. We respect her "No"s. (It's taken a while, and sometimes I still get irritated, but more on that in a minute.) She needs to know that her declination means something to us, and it should mean something to people she encounters in the future. Might does not equal right (despite what Dolores Umbridge might have you believe).

The second reason I wouldn't just make her do something that she'd rather not is that it's not therapeutic and would likely reinforce her anxiety. Think about something you HATE. Let's say you don't like heights. Is it going to be helpful if someone pushes you out of an airplane to skydive against your will in order to face that fear? It might, but it might make you even MORE terrified. Are spiders your thing? Would it be kind and helpful for someone to sit you in a crate and dump a bunch of tarantulas, daddy long legs, wolf spiders, orb spiders, and a whole other host of arachnids on you in order to assist you with overcoming what some might see as an unreasonable fear? Of course not.

Some people want to face their fears to overcome them. Some people drive out of their way not to have to cross bridges. We adults typically get to choose how we deal with the things that cause us stress. My daughter gets the same privileges. She knows herself. She knows her limits. She knows how to care for herself better than I do. She has coping mechanisms, and I don't feel right removing those from her. I want her to eventually emerge into the world on her own terms, feeling comfortable and confident, having solidly made her way herself. She needs the time and space to do that. Otherwise, she just shuts down and there can be no progress.

The third reason I won't "just make her" is that I've done it and it doesn't work. It took me about a year after she started wanting to stay home to learn to let her. I'd say, "We're going out as a family; come on." And she'd go. Then she'd sit at the table at dinner, not order food, and look down with tears welling up in her eyes the whole time. My response to that wasn't always flattering. My response was, at first, something to the tune of, "You're bringing us all down! Can't you at least try to participate in the family?" I see now that was unfair. She hadn't chosen to participate, and she wasn't purposefully being a downer; she was overwhelmed and dealing with it.

Slowly but surely, I've learned to read her and know when her "I'd rather not" means NO and when it means "You're going to make me anyway, aren't you?" with a grin. And sometimes, especially if she wants something, she will request an outing. Then, she's emotionally up for it, prepared, even excited. It's just that typically, she'd rather be on her own. So I let her be. She's growing up so fast; I'd rather spend the time dealing with her on relaxed terms, with trust that runs both ways.

3. Just know that there won't be pictures. Social media is fun, and I post a lot of pictures... but there won't be many (if any) of her. She doesn't want it. I feel like every human being deserves the right to determine whether or not their picture is taken, and if taken, shown anywhere in public. For me, pictures are a way to preserve memories. I want them, and I enjoy looking at them ten minutes after I took them or six years later. For her, they're uncomfortable. She doesn't like looking at pictures from when she was younger, and she doesn't want pictures taken of her today. I don't understand it. But I don't have to understand it to respect it. Would I like vacation pictures with the four of us smiling in front of whatever we're seeing? Of course. I'd love an updated family portrait (our last one was taken in September 2013, so way before bebe). But I already look back on enough pictures and see my girl smiling, but feel stabbed in the gut knowing how much pain she was in, and how much she was faking it. I'm not forcing pictures.

4. It's not sad. We're not sad. We're not put upon or that much different than your family or anyone else's, so you don't need to feel sorry for us, or assume we'll be relieved when this "blows over" or whatever. We love each other. We relate. We have fun. We're happy. It just doesn't look like everyone else. But it works for us. Do I sometimes wish it were easier just to run out and have a good old time? Sure. But right now, that would mean having a totally different kid, and I want you to know one thing for damn sure (I'm trying to cuss less, but this warranted it): I do. not. want. a different kid. I want my kid. I want that kid how she is, however she is. So I don't spend much time wishing things were another way. They are this way, and she is amazing. She's such a gifted artist, and at this point, except for when we have our dinner together every week night, she pretty much takes care of herself. She's learning so much about managing her time, and the life skills of cooking and nutrition, and research, and... she's just incredible. She could move out tomorrow and be fine, if she had a source of income. I'm glad she doesn't. I want her around for at least another half decade; maybe much longer, if she opens up to the idea of babysitting.

5. No, she's not seeing a therapist right now. Therapy only works if the person involved is motivated, and she doesn't want this right now. I'm sure there are ways she could learn to deal with her anxiety with input from someone uninvolved, but just as she's done with her art, she's trying to make her own way. She picks out fiddle toys and things to do to distract her. She listens to music. She has security "blankets." She wants to understand herself and is trying to work with that. She did go to come counselling a couple of years ago, when I found out I was expecting and a lot was changing in her world. I thought it was nice for her to have someone to talk to, and the counselor gave me some good things to think about. But when I ask her if it helped, she shrugs and declines to have another go at it. No big deal. Her life at this point is such that she can avoid her "triggers" quite often, if allowed to do so. And maybe, just maybe, as she gets older, they'll stop stressing her so much. Or she'll figure out the perfect way to fold them up and tuck them away so that she can do the things she wants to do. Right now, she does exactly what she wants to do. I hear her in her room giggling as she reads or watches videos. When her favorite cousin comes over, they have raucous conversations (honestly, this mom might be a tad jealous) and a great time. So I think she's doing great.

6. I wish I were a better mom almost every second of every day.

When I was about 12, I remember telling a favorite relative, who had just gotten married, about a heartbreak I'd experienced at school. She said breezily, "Oh, you'll see in a few years that it wasn't that big of a deal." I just smiled, but inside, I thought, "Shut up. You just got married and you're happy. What do you know?" And I swore to myself that I would never belittle a young person's feelings just because they didn't "seem" big to me. I think I've done a pretty good job of that, and have never told my child, "That's not even a thing! Why are you so upset?" Because I don't believe that there's such a thing as objectively "not a big deal." If it feels like a big deal (like my son had an emotional breakdown FIVE DIFFERENT TIMES in half an hour last night as he asked for an apple and I told him we were out; it was just as upsetting to him the final time as the first, and he was destroyed by it), it's a big deal.

However, it takes way too long for me to think outside of my own point of view most of the time. I default to interpreting what my child does through my understanding, and that often makes me short, frustrated, and graceless. Also, sometimes, if people talk to me about her, I might come off as very rude (I believe my mom said once, "You can tell me what you mean to say without yelling," even though it didn't feel like I could at that moment). I don't mean to, so I apologize in advance for that. When you worry that you're not doing your best, everything anyone says, even things that might be benign, feels like an accusation.

I want my child to feel like her family is a safe place. I am certain that it is. I love her unconditionally, and I accept her the exact way that she is (even though she definitely doesn't need my approval). I don't think that always comes out in the things I say and do. But, Lord knows, I'm trying.

That's about it, at least for now. So many of these posts are ended out of necessity, as I have another child who is trying to wake up from a nap. I'm glad he stayed down long enough for me to share these things with you. Thanks for reading! <3

Another Day, Another Gymnast?

Photo Credit: Gabrielle Grafrath

"I think it's stupid that I have to smile, even if I don't feel like it." 8-year-old Daphne, on her gymnastics performances.

*****

It's happening again. The same comments I got when D was about Mal's age I'm now getting about Mal: "When he gets older, he needs to be in gymnastics." For some reason, my kids were apparently both born with a sense of balance, agility, and athleticism that I do not have.

Daphne was just under 2.5 when she started a little tumbling class at a community center in Las Vegas.

Sorry for the blur;trying not to flash in her face.

D was in the class for about two months before we moved away, and her teacher, who had been a gymnast in Russia, told me, "You need to be sure she gets into a gymnastics program wherever you move."

Sitting om her circle.

So we did. And she was in the same gym from the time she was just pre-3 until the summer we moved, when she was just pre-11.

Today, not for the first or second or even third time (I guess I've lost track), someone told me that I needed to get Mal into some sports program "like gymnastics." People usually start the conversation after watching him scramble up a slide or jump around on the trampoline with no characteristic toddling. When I say he's 20 months, they're shocked (also, he's really big for a not-yet-2-year-old; like, I need to get to get some 3T clothes because his 2Ts are getting way too short-waisted) and mention that he is going to be some kind of athlete.

So today, I started thinking forward to when Mal might be old enough to start a class. Right now, he can't follow instructions (an email I got on development recently said that one way to avoid stress at this age is "don't expect your child to do what you ask... but keep asking, anyway." So he's right on track). When he can, it'll be fun to see what he can do. He accidentally did a somersault the other day, and James just went crazy because it was such a shock. So Mal decided to "flip" again, by putting his head down on the ground and kind of falling over to the side. Every time he did it, he'd expect us to clap and cheer just as enthusiastically as when he'd really done it. But we do know he has it in him.

When D was in gymnastics, I read Little Girls in Pretty Boxes and Chalked Up and they kind of run together in my memory, but I think it was Jennifer Sey who talked about how girls kind of age out of competitive gymnastics by the time they're 16 or 17, but because of how males develop, they don't really hit their stride until about then. She mentioned the competitions where there would be a bunch of 14-year-old girls and 22-year-old men, and I was glad Daphne wasn't on track for the Olympics.

Anyway, I got to thinking about how naturally powerful Daphne was, and how she made up in force what she might have lacked in finesse. She had to work very hard to get the dance portion of the sport down, and until today I don't really think I considered the difference in how men's gymnastics and women's gymnastics are scored. When I got home, I looked it up and couldn't find exactly what I was looking for. But what I read did talk about how women's floor routines include more dance moves and jumps whereas men's floor routines have more gymnastic skills.

But even without it in writing, Daphne got a few messages about aesthetics: 1) Smile, always. Think about it, the girls in the national competitions do it, too. Smile and wave and be adorable. That's part of women's gymnastics. Daphne believed, even if she were never told this directly, that points would be deducted if she did not smile at the end of each "thing." 2) No one can be able to tell that you're wearing undergarments. Daphne told me that if their bra strap showed or you could see any bands or whatever that there would be deductions taken, too.

Okay, both of those: How effing stupid. Seriously?! A girl just tumbles her heart out and if she doesn't look like Little Miss Sunshine at the end, she's not going to be judged as "good" as someone who cheeses it up convincingly? Do you see men grinning like giddy kids when they do their gymnastics? Then why should girls have to? Did she do the skill? Then she gets the points. I understand aesthetics like control of fingers, toes, legs symmetrical, etc. I get maintaining a tidy posture, graceful, even. But to feel like if you wear adequate support and someone can tell, you're not going to place as high? What the heck?

I told Daphne that she should be glad she did gymnastics when she did, because if the smiling thing were actually written down somewhere, today I'd probably lead some charge to have it removed.

I was always very sensitive to the messages Daphne was getting from gymnastics, as I knew the horror stories of body-shaming, berating, negativity, etc. And we were SO fortunate to find a place that was completely absent of any of that. It was a fun place, and they had the girls' whole-person formation as the priority instead of just doing well at this sport and looking nice doing it. It was treated like a genuine sport, not a beauty pageant plus some tumbling, and as difficult as it was for Daphne to make friends (she was always quite a bit younger than much of the team), the fact that it was a safe environment for her to learn was never something I took for granted. (Shout out to Gymnastic Sport Center in Sherman!)

As an aside, I remember a radio disc jockey in Las Vegas saying that anything that has to be scored subjectively isn't a sport, so that basketball, football, soccer, and hockey are sports, but that gymnastics, ice skating, cheer leading, and even boxing if it's not a KO or TKO. But I digress. You can discuss that amongst yourselves...

So, the sexist reality is that I don't have any of those fears for Mal if he ends up competing in gymnastics. Some things are just easier for boys.

I'll probably wait until 2017, and maybe even until he's 3, then see if he wants to take a beginner class. Until then, we'll be at My Gym a couple of times a week, brushing up on those core skills.

Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name

There are days, and I'm having quite a few of them lately, when I am profoundly disappointed by my inability to make close friends in Austin like I did in Sherman, and like I thought I did in Las Vegas (but after I moved realized I really hadn't).

However...

There is definitely something to be said with being so very comfortable with a group of people that you know and who know you so that you don't have to explain things. Inside jokes and obscure references and all that.

For example, a few months ago, D and I were talking when Mal got upset and started wailing (remember: he doesn't have a "middle," he only has glowingly cheerful or full-tilt breakdown). I could see D blanche and start to head back to her room.

I hollered after her, "So you're just like Voldemort?"

Grinning, she said, "Yes. Exactly that."

Then more recently, I went into Mal's room to tidy up and saw some plastic change from his cash register sitting on the floor. I picked it up, opened the register, and called to James, "I'm afraid this register till is going to be our smiley face mushroom." James laughed from the other room, and my heart fluttered.

It's so centering to be able to throw things out and just have them "gotten," and then to feel gotten myself. Home is the most important place, and I'm so blessed to share my home with people I actually enjoy as people. They make up for everything else that I might feel tugging at my heart sometimes. 

So... There's a line in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, just as, in a flashback, Voldemort is about to try to off Baby Harry, that says, "He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage—" And that's how D is like Voldemort. Well, that's one way.

The other thing is a lot more obscure. 

First: Mal has a cash register. When we were setting it up, there was some disagreement about how to put the money in the drawer. My inclination was to put it with the big bills and big coins on the left, going down to the pennies and one dollar bills on the right. It seemed like that's how we did it when I was a cashier. James' inclination was to do it left-to-right like you'd write numbers 1, 5, 10, etc. I looked it up and, yeah, the proper way to do it is how I wanted to do it. This pretty much never happens with numbers and me, especially when James is involved.

However, James still likes it the other way better, even knowing it's not the way a standard cash register would be set up. Consequently, almost any time he's alone with Mal playing in Mal's room, he will rearrange the money in the drawer. Then I have to re-rearrange it correctly when I notice this.

Second: Go WAY back in time to high school. I often peppered my notes with smiley faces (actually, I still do this). My smiley faces are just two vertical lines for eyes and a half-circle for a smile. Like this...

Well, one of my friends like to do this thing. He'd add three lines to my smiley face, thusly...

Then turn it upside down and, voila:

MUSHROOM!

Don't ask me why, because I don't have an answer, unless it's that I was a hormonally-charged teenage girl, but his defacing my smileys made me inordinately angry. It just miffed me to bits, and I would blanche and get really hot and bothered and seriously, if I want to do it, I can mentally go back there and kind of feel the dark cloud gathering above my head. 

Thank God I'm so mature now, though, right?

But my point is this: James knows my stories. I think he knows all of them. I get so sad sometimes (again, lately I've been pretty maudlin), wishing we could have been together all of this time -- especially on days like today when I decide that the bb cream I'm using actually accentuates my pores and wrinkles and I wish James had had years to look at my face back when my freckles were still flat on my face and my skin was all one consistent color.

However, we must have gotten something right, because I think we managed to tell each other everything and catch up on twenty years before we had Mal. That's a good thing, because we barely finish sentences anymore, much less whole trains of thought. 

There's not really a point to this post; just wanted to remind myself now and in the future that I have good teammates on this journey. I'm so glad.

The Feed

Even among those of us who consider ourselves "whole life unschoolers," there are authoritarian hold-outs, typically in those areas parents consider "health and safety" issues. These most often present themselves in the form of: use of technology, food choices, seasonally-appropriate clothing, and hygiene. There might be valid reasons for a parent not to partner with their child in these areas, but to dictate what must or must not be done, but it never hurts to take a look at these and question why we are holding them so tightly and whether or not it's working for our families.

I want specifically to address the food choice topic, as it's come up frequently with Christmas, Valentine's, and Easter tumbling on top of each other.

First, there's this: There's no such thing as "healthy" or "unhealthy" food. Food can't be healthy. It can be nutritious, more or less or not at all nutritious. But not healthy. WE can be healthy or unhealthy, and "healthy" is about more than what food you consume. It's about activity and environment and attitude and so many other things. Some people genuinely take joy from making brownies that contain only dates, cocoa, spinach, and black beans (and insist, "You can't tell the difference as long as they're cold!). That's great for them! For me, I'd rather make fudgy brownies all the way, with a chocolate chip cookie dough crust and homemade marshmallows on top. That is a lifestyle choice that brings me great joy and contributes to my health, even though the food itself might not be incredibly nutritious.

Because of my outrageous sweet tooth, we often have desserts in the house. My kids know about them. I don't restrict what my kids eat. At all. Well, I have a fourteen-year-old and an eighteen-month-old, so the younger one is automatically restricted by his height, his inability to open some (but not all) doors, and other procedural things like that.

But I decided when I knew I was expecting my first that I was not going to hand down the food issues with which I'd struggled most of my life. Nothing was going to be off limits. All food had a noble purpose, even if it was just to look nice in a bakery case.

This bothered my firstborn's dad a bit. He insisted that we shouldn't have tempting items around on a regular basis. He cited some relatives who were nutritionists both by vocation and avocation. Once, when we were with their family, he asked their two older teenaged daughters if they felt that being raised as they were, with access only to nutritious, meticulously-planned food had kept them from falling prey to tempting junk.

They both laughed and looked a little guiltily at each other before explaining in very good humor: "On the one hand, when we'd come back from summer camp and all of the other kids would be begging their parents to take them to McDonald's, we knew better than to try pulling that! But on the other hand, we'd hide candy bars in our bedroom and eat them when our mom was outside mowing the lawn or something. We'd listen in fear that she'd come in and catch us."

Those girls are both adults now, and are extremely healthy, like a wide variety of foods, and take care of themselves. So their parents totally did right by them by introducing them to all of the flavors and options that they did. That's one way to do it. But it's not the only way to ensure that your kids will make wise food choices on their own.

For Easter, my older got a *lot* of candy. I guess because sweets are my love language. At the end of the day, I suggested that she take it to her room to keep the toddler out of it. The following day, she brought it into the kitchen and found a safe place to stow it up and toward the back of the pantry. She said, "I knew that wouldn't work when I put it in my room. I don't know why I did it. I don't want to think about it all of the time."

Is that interesting to anyone else besides me? My daughter knows herself and what she needs. She has listened to her body, and knows enough not to totally trust her own willpower, so put her candy in a common area. Now, we don't care if she goes in there fifteen times a day to get a bite, but apparently just having to parade up to the kitchen in front of us is an external accountability... that she put in place by her own choice.

Like her cousins, my daughter has been exposed to a wide variety of foods and cuisines. Not on the same level as her cousins, of course, especially not when we're talking homemade. But I love that she will frequently ask me, "Do we have anything even vaguely nutritious?" when she's snacky (even as I roll my eyes, because a) of course we do and b) you could totally look yourself), and that she is in tune enough with her body to know when she needs some veggies.

And I love that, rather than hiding "comfort" food from me, my daughter's biggest concern might be that I'd want her to share.

Incidentally, more than one pediatrician has told me that a balanced diet for a child isn't what they eat every 24 hours, but over a two-week period. That gives you some breathing room, doesn't it? Some days, my little boys eats only fruit, and other days, he only manages crackers. But over a two-week period? Yeah, he's getting a bit of everything. He's a little light on protein, so I keep trying new things with that until we hit on something he likes, but I plan to do with him what I did with his sister: Let him eat what (and when) he wants.

It's what works for us.

My Apologies to the Parents I Judged

Oh, you sweet mamma and dah-dah. I was wrong about you. I was so wrong. I might not have said anything to you, but I totally judged you in my heart, and that was a huge mistake. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.

When your toddler was running around the restaurant and I assumed that he behaved that way because you let him, that was some now-laughable hubris. I hope you'll forgive me, understanding that at the time, I had a kid who just naturally sat in a high chair for upwards of an hour with no problem. I didn't understand that some kids just don't. sit. still. Or that no amount of training can "fix" them, that it just takes time and maturity. If I rolled my eyes, I hope you didn't notice or that you just didn't care.

When you mentioned that your child slept with you, and I genuinely thought you were "creating a monster," oh my goodness... I did not get it. The study about genes playing a role in how babies sleep hadn't been conducted yet. My own anecdotal experience was that, sure, babies might not love sleeping on their own in a crib, but after a while, if you just insist, they'll get used to it and be just fine. For this one, I am so humbly sorry and hope you will accept this apology, knowing that I get it now.

When I saw this cover, I was certainly opinionated enough about it. I'm very sorry. I wasn't able to breastfeed my first, so I never thought about nursing for a year, or past a year, or all the way to the age of three or four, and this picture was way too evocative for where I was at the time. I am also sorry that the magazine didn't portray you and your cohorts the way that you thought they would; you seem like very thoughtful women, wanting to normalize breastfeeding. I get it now. I'm there now. And I would resent being judged the way that you were, the way that I judged you.

When your kid was running away from you, throwing a fit, doing that thing you'd asked them not to do six times already, you pleasantly picked them up, you were smiling even, and I thought you were obviously not taking this parenting thing seriously enough. I repent in sackcloth and ashes for this biggie. I had no idea how much determination it took to keep a pleasant demeanor when your kid isn't listening and won't do the safe thing. I didn't realize how much easier it would have been for you to show your frustration, make sure your kid knew, and use that anger to bully your kid into "minding." I never thought that you might have made a deliberate choice at some time in the past to treat your child the way you were treating him, and that it might take huge sacrifices and self-discipline to do that.

If it makes any of you feel any better, I am experiencing all of everything now. So much of what I thought was just good parenting was actually having an easy kid. I realize that now. I guess I'm glad that I realize it? No, I am. Glad. It's humbling, and I needed it. It is making me a better person. It is making me a more sympathetic person. It's making me less judgey. Sorry I ran into you before the change.

Monday Morning Madness

Happy Valentine's Day!

We had a great weekend...

Saturday morning, I got out with Mal and we picked up TJ to go to the RV Expo. Went downtown, parked in a garage, walked about a mile, got to the convention center... and the expo is next weekend!

Fortunately, crepes were only a block away. I accidentally took this picture of TJ's arm and Mal's face while we waited to order at Le Crepe Cafe. I kind of love it.

They were busy, maybe normally for a Saturday morning. But we waited almost half an hour to order, and then go get our food. Mal doesn't do sitting for that long, so he kept getting up. I let him. It made people nervous. Actually, his standing up in the high chair made one guy so nervous, he startled me as he'd gotten up and was at my shoulder when I noticed him.

Here's where Mal was playing, bothering no one. Still. I had to make sure my eyes were very obviously ON him, as people were craning their necks to see where his neglectful parent might be... about four tables away.

Mal met two dogs, and he decided it was time to leave about fifty times, each of which I had to go chase him down and bring him back to the table. He cried and fought some of the time, so to get him to sit, I let him play with a lidded cup of dressing. He got the lid off and spilled the whole thing in his lap, but fortunately I had an extra outfit in a Ziplog bag in my purse (I don't always, but I should!). I think at that point, the family at the table next to us was saying, "I can't believe this is happening, but it is," because I pulled his clothes off right there to put the new clothes on. Ehh.

After our unanticipatedly-long brunch, we walked to the Google Fiber space (past JW Marriott, which is hugely swanky), then to Toy Joy. I found Valentine's cards for James and Daphne, and got D a pair of macaroni and cheese socks.

TJ was a great sport about not going to the RV expo. Oh! We ran into a team from Aspire Beverages and they gave us free drinks in exchange for letting them take their pictures with us for a scavenger hunt. That drink came in handy toward the end of brunch, when I'd been sitting in the sun for an hour!

After Mal had had a good nap, we went to Bee Cave and ate an early dinner at Mandola's Market, a selection we made largely because they had a playscape. The food was legit, and Mal had fun playing.

I will say, if eating out with Mal is typically a challenge, doing it when James is on crutches (plantar fasciitis), is way harder! EVERYTHING is harder.

Sunday, I was going to take Mal to the gym before church, but he ended up working off so much of his energy that he fell asleep in the car. I went to Taco Cabana to get James and me lunch, and it took FOREVER, but Mal got a good nap.

For Valentine's Day, Mal colored a rock for Daphne. It was really pretty! I made a cheesecake for James and Daphne, and James got Daphne and me our own boxes of See's Candies. And for Mal... I made him warm fresh milk all day long.

Sunday evening, we went to Waffle House, where I had made us all reservations. They had a Valentine dinner special, and it was really cute. They'd put red and pink tissue paper on the white lamps throughout the diner, red tablecloths, candles, champagne flutes (plastic!) at each table, centerpieces, placemats, etc. It was nice. Ther "T-bone for two" meal was enough for all four of us.

We came home, and Mal wanted to go on a walk, so we "hiked" in the greenbelt behind our house. He thought of his dad halfway through it, though, and wanted to come back to check on him. When we got to the apartment, though, he wanted to ride my bike. I went on one round of the apartments, and he kind of cried and fussed on the downhill portion. I thought he wanted to come back, but when we rode down the sidewalk, he cried AGAIN. So we went one more round, and he fussed and cried some of the way, again... I decided we were done.

He was kind of weepy the rest of the night, and I put him to bed earlier than usual. He cried a lot going to sleep, and it took a long time. Then at one o'clock this morning, he got sick. At first, I thought it was just like when he was coughing up post-nasal drip, but he was actually sick for the first time.

Hey, remember what I said about James not being able to put any weight on one foot? There I was, trying to unzip the mattress cover from our king memory foam bed in the dark while James was sitting in the recliner holding Mal, who was fussing for me. James suggested that we wait until the morning to do that, but I couldn't sleep in the chair that long.

I got the bed remade, minus the mattress cover, and we laid down. Within a few minutes, he was sick again, but I could tell it was coming that time and caught most of it. So Mal and I got into the bathtub together and had a bath at one o'clock.

Sweet James was hobbling around on his crutches getting diapers, towels, pajamas, whatever we needed. He settled on the recliner in the living room and Mal and I laid on the couch. In a couple of hours, Mal was sick again, and I was having difficulty getting comfortable enough to sleep, so we moved to the recliner in our room.

That worked for a couple of hours, but then I needed to lie down. I spread an old quilt out on our denuded bed, covered my lower half with a small blanket Daphne got at church camp, and used a towel to cover my top. At this point, I'd given up on clothes for Mal or me; we'd already changed twice in the night.

He got sick one more time in the bed, and I had to sit him on the bathroom cabinet and give him a sponge bath that time. It was starting to get light when we both got back into bed, and I thought I'd never get to sleep, but I did. I even dreamed.

Mal's been sick twice again this morning, but I'm almost caught up on the laundry, and it's been five hours since he wasn't able to keep food down. Let's hope that means he's on the mend. I have no idea what was wrong with him. He had no other symptoms and didn't seem to feel bad, just tired and confused about what was going on with his body.

Now he's awake and raring to go, so I'm going to go play with my boy!

Ponderings at the PO

Yesterday, I was sitting on the concrete at the postal house for our apartment complex while Mal tried confidently to open several mailboxes with our van key.

First of all, he knows which mail box is ours. He runs right up to it as soon as we get down the hill. Secondly, I hand him the key ring with the correct key in position, and without fail, he looks around until he finds the van key and tries that. Thirdly, he gets angry when I finally "help" him by putting the correct key in.

So I was giving him time to try out his theory on as many of the other boxes as he wanted. I'm getting over being sick, and feeling better yesterday was great, but it also allowed me to truly realize how exhausted I am. I didn't mind at all taking a seat and letting him have fun. We usually spend fifteen minutes or so down and the mail house, anyway. More, if lots of people come to check mail. Mal's like the welcome wagon down there.

As I was looking into the woods beside the post boxes, I considered my daughter, a quarter mile away, in her room, possibly still asleep, though I'd awakened her as she requested earlier in the day. And it hit me: Mal will not remember that we used to spend almost an hour a day walking down to the mailbox, looking at dogs, trying to learn not to touch cars that don't belong to us, happily opening empty parcel boxes that have already been unlocked and playing with the spring in the door.

He won't remember the hours I spend sitting in his floor reading to him, playing the air organ, making up silly games, generating the kinds of noises that usually have Daphne closing her door so she doesn't have to try to listen to her music over our nonsense.

He will have no recollection that he cracked open an egg yesterday, and it got all over the counter, so I put the mixing bowl under the lip of the counter and scooped it in; or that I let him try again, and managed to shove the shell over the bowl just as the egg spilled out that time. Or that I was trying to rush him out the door to get my meds because I could not breathe, just as he grabbed the coffee decanter and spilled (fortunately cold) coffee all down his front, and over the counter, cabinet doors, and floor. OR that I was trying to do something he wanted to and hadn't realized he'd shaken my drink, so it exploded all over his bedroom floor when I tried to catch a quick gulp before we did his thing. Or that, unlike many many other times, I actually remained calm and in good humor for each of those incidents, cleaning quickly and moving on without drama.

When Mal's Daphne's age, he might not know that I used to sit in the car with him for five or ten minutes each time before we went anywhere, just to let him play around in the car and decide for himself to get into the car seat. Daphne doesn't remember it. I could tell her, but it wouldn't matter to her today.

So why do I do it?

Why do I kiss Mal and tell him I love him every time he wakes me up because he wants to nurse? Why do I stop and let him take his time even when I'm cold or I really want to sit down or I genuinely have to go to the bathroom? Why do I let him try things that stress me out and make more work for myself? Why do I try any harder than I absolutely have to to keep him alive and functional?

The most simple answer is that I love my kids and genuinely enjoy being around them. I can't think of a way I'd rather spend my time... well, usually, anyway.

But beyond that, I think it's because I want to lay a foundation for them that the world is an interesting place, and that the way that they are in that world is good. Thinking about it over the long term, I'm not always the best at this. I want my kids to grow up believing that they're exactly who they're supposed to be, and that it's a delightful thing. I know I've come short on many occasions. But I hope that's their foundation.

Also, I'd be lying if I didn't admit to hoping that it will have a long-term payoff in good relationships with both of them as they grow up and become whoever it is they're supposed to be. That'd be great. Even if neither of them remembers how exhausted I was and just assume that I've always had the life of leisure they'll notice when they're older and I don't have to be quite as hands-on.

Will Mal remember this?

Probably about as much as D remembers this (which is to say not at all).

Our weekend

Spoiler alert: unless you enjoy discussing bodily fluids and the like, you might want to take a pass on this one.

Hello, everyone. How are you? This is a picture of my son and me from Friday.

See how he's cuddling on the couch with me? He doesn't ever do that. In case the face doesn't give it away, he wasn't feeling well. Neither was I.

This weekend, our whole family pretty much died. Too dramatic? I don't think so.

There's a little "blessing" about living in Austin called "cedar fever." It's actually an allergic reaction to the juniper ashei, also known as mountain cedar. The pollen is spiky (on a microscopic level) and can cause inflammation even in people without allergies. Well, most of us in this house have allergies, too, so we're having a lot of fun with the spike in levels that just hit.

D caught it first and has been struggling with it the longest. This weekend, she was spitting up blood. Fun. Good, fun times. She's been drinking a lot of chocolate milk and tea, and even consented to a dose of Flonase. It's a work-in-progress.

Mal started getting it next, followed quickly by me. His actually started as congestion and drainage due to teeth-cutting. In the past three weeks, he's gotten both of his top molars and at least one of his top eye teeth; the other one might be coming in, but he doesn't let me look in his mouth very much.

He's had a hard time sleeping, because he'll get choked on his drainage and cough and reposition... and then want to nurse. We're talking every fifteen minutes or so, awake or sleeping, actually. I'm pretty worn out and sensitive in the chestral regions.

Then, I started... sneezing at first, and literally blowing through all of our handkerchiefs (repurposed wipes James' mom made) in one day. I've gone through one roll of toilet paper since then. After the two days of sneezing, it became coughing. Coughing to the point of gagging and almost passing out. In the meantime, I've taken Claritin, Flonase, and bronchodilator pills every day.

This morning was the first time I've ever had asthma symptoms so awful that I couldn't do something with my kid that he wanted to do (all the way back to when Daphne was a baby; it never stopped me playing with her). He wanted to "ride the pony" by sitting on my hips whilst I lay in the floor. But I felt like I was going to suffocate and after one round of bouncing him, I had to get up. I hated it.

(Note: before you tell me I need to see a doctor, let me explain something: Every doctor I've seen gives me crap about refilling a rescue inhaler. They say I need to manage my asthma better so that I don't have to use the rescue inhaler, which they say should last more than a year and which I tend to go through in about three months when it's bad like this. A maintenance inhaler is $500 a month without insurance, and more than $300 WITH insurance. I'm not dying. I'm bothered and inconvenienced and my back hurts and it ticks me off, but I'm not dying. I can't spend $500 a month on a maintenance inhaler. Thank you for respecting that.)

I have learned that I can help my progress when I start coughing either by getting on my hands and knees if I'm in the floor or by putting my hands on the countertop and leaning over if I'm standing. It usually shortens the fit from coughs until I nearly black out to two or three good ones.

Meanwhile, Friday morning, I needed help. I needed more sleep, and I asked James to take Mal when he first woke up so that I could get just twenty minutes more sleep. But guess what? Yep. It had gotten to James, too, at this point. As an added bonus, James also got some kind of stomach bug, so spent a good deal of the weekend excusing himself from our company.

In the interim, I might have yelled at a lady from Chase who encouraged me to call back "on another phone" because she couldn't understand me as our connection was bad, after I'd been on hold 30 minutes, to find out why our HSA card wouldn't pay for our OTC Flonase - although I assume it's because they changed the rules to apply only to prescription drugs... AFTER THEY ALREADY HAD OUR MONEY AND THERE'S A PENALTY TO REMOVE IT. I asked her if I could call back without having to wait again, and she very cheerfully said, "Yes, ma'am; you can just call back on another phone." And I might have hollered something like, "I DON'T WANT TO CALL BACK ON ANOTHER PHONE. I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO WAIT AGAIN SO THANKS FOR NOTHING."

Then, as an added bonus, I immediately looked at my husband (remember the one who hadn't been able to help me with Mal that morning?) and said, "I NEED HELP AND NOBODY WANTS TO HELP ME."

>>>Edited to add: Mal was in the kitchen playing and started yelling random babble. Nice.

(Do you see a pattern here? I think I'm getting fragile in my old age. Actually, I've always been a little bit like this. I can hold it together though a lot... until I can't. Then, good god, it's messy.)

Now, I'm not proud of this, but James immediately emptied the dishwasher. Guys, he's a good man, and he puts up with my craziness, and I love him. He helps all of the time, and I'm totally in danger of taking that for granted. My pity party had nothing to do with him, except maybe my total lack of empathy for his illness since I kind of wanted my own space to be sick and have everyone else do everything so that I could lie down. I don't think that can happen again for several years, honestly.

Then, as an extra added bonus, I started my period last night. Which I hope explains my utter inability to deal with anything this weekend.

So... today, I haven't coughed much. I've blown my nose a lot, but no coughing. James went to work. Daphne's still asleep. Mal's been very very very very clingy and "nursey" and I keep trying to clear his nostrils, but he isn't very keen on that. I'm trying to distract him every time he asks to nurse, but once he starts crying and won't take orange juice, yogurt, a banana, cereal, or anything... I just let him. I'm sure I'll get the feeling back in my boobs some day.

There you go. There's the romantic weekend we had.

Just to let you know, we also went to breakfast Friday (which James had off) at an awesome barbeque trailer near here, then took a 3/4 family trip to the grocery store; we went to Mal's gym and later to Target to get James jeans and D a Minecraft gift card; and Sunday, the kids and I went to church. So we haven't just been rolling around in our misery. We're still living the life. It's just been a lot more intense the past few days. I'm ready for it to get boringer again.

An Open Letter to My Mom Friends with LGBTQ+ Kids

(Seriously, if you're not a mom with a kid who is LGBTQ+, this post isn't for you, so you can go read what a baby I was on vacation, or you can check out my hair dye reviews or return to whatever else you were doing before you got here. I love all of my friends, but this post is special and it has a very specific audience. If you want to read, then by all means... but  please try to respect what this is. If you disagree, that's fine, but I don't need to hear from you; I want to hear solely from the ladies I'm addressing this time. Thanks!)

Dear Friend,

Happy New Year! Hope this entry finds you and your family well. I don't see you a lot these days, but we've been friends for a long time and, thanks to social media, we're able to keep up with each other.

You don't go into too much detail about your kid's path (and why would you; it's private... except not too much these days is truly private), but I know. I might know because I follow you on Snapchat, where you feel a little freer to post things that disappear in 24 hours. I might know because I follow your other kids on Instagram. I might know because my own experiences have given me a highly sensitive gaydar. Regardless, I know, and I've been thinking about you so much over the past few months.

I've considered contacting you privately, but don't know where you are on your journey, of if you're ready to hear from anyone. So I'm posting this here in hopes that you'll read it and know what I want you to understand: You have a friend in me.

I have no idea what kind of support system you have, or if it's actually supportive at all. I hope it is. I don't know what your church teaches or how your day-to-day mom friends feel or what input you're getting from extended family members. I can't imagine. But whatever else, please know that you have at least one person who's on your side and who supports you and who prays for you and your family.

There are a couple of things I want to make clear up front:

1) I do not pity you. I don't feel sorry for you, nor would I speak in hushed tones about your precious child. I do not think you are living "every parent's nightmare." I'm certain every parent's nightmare is to lose their child, either physically or relationally. I see that you and your kid love each other and are involved in each other's life. That means you're winning at the parenting thing, friend. I'm proud of you! Way to go, sweet momma. I hope I will see the same kind of relationships with my kids when they're grown.

2) I won't nature/nurture you to death. Some people indulge in conjecture about "If only x hadn't happened" or "You have that one weird aunt" or "His friend probably influenced him" or "If you'd taken her to this church..." and try to reason "why." That kind of armchair psychoanalysis does nothing to honor where you are now. I'm here for you in the today (and the future). God help us all if we think it's our job to try to explain how most of our kids ended up the way that they did. Your child is the person they are. That's enough. That's good. That's great. It's not a blemish to cover up or explain away. Don't let people make you feel that way. Remember the relationship part? I admire you! You did great! Your kid's doing great.

3) I want to celebrate with you! Social media is full of pictures of kids' weddings and of grandbabies and the happier moments of life. Maybe you don't feel like you can post celebrations like "everyone else" does. Well, please, by all means, give me the chance! Your son and his husband about to have a baby? Send pictures! Your transgender daughter going out on her first date? I wanna see!

Maybe you're not "there," celebration-wise... That's okay. I am always available as an ear, or a shoulder, if you need one.

When you read this, I really really hope you think, "Whatever. That's nice but I have plenty of people on my side!" That would be amazing and awesome. I genuinely hope that's the case. But if it's not? Feel free to message me on Facebook, or email me at laura dot gatannah at hotmail dot com. I'll stand with you. I'm for you, and for your beautiful kid.

Much love,

Laura

Daphne Turns 14!

Yesterday, my daughter turned fourteen! Why does that sound so much older than thirteen?

Heh... she blew the candles out in James' face! :) Yes, it's a cake surrounded by KitKats and covered with candy corn.

On Sunday afternoon, 4/5 of her Austin cousins came over to help her celebrate. They brought a care package of some of her favorite foods: Promised Land chocolate milk (if she can't have that, she makes it herself because she detests all over chocolate milks... so she makes it a lot, because $$$), mini peanut butter Ritz crackers, Velveeta shells and cheese... Goodness, do they know her or what?

TJ stayed after everyone else left, and he and Daphne had fun playing games, watching videos, and then messing around with Mal's toys. They're fun! They played made up ball games about the last hour and a half, and I'm so glad Mal was able to go to sleep even with balls hitting the wall and door of our room; I didn't want to have to tell them to stop.

In honor of her birthday, I wanted to share a story about Daphne from about nine years ago. It's poignant to me on several levels, which I'll explain in a minute.

For now, let's go back in time to August 2006, when Daphne was 4 (almost 5) years old....

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It was Sunday night and we'd had small group at our house. Before everyone left, the parents always had their kids "straighten" Daphne's room, which basically amounts to getting things out of the middle of the floor, since when it's not your room, you don't really know where stuff goes. At the time, we were in a group with seven or so kids besides Daphne, and they'd really gone to town. When the house was empty, I changed into my pajamas and went into D's room to put things where they belonged and to help her get ready for bed.

I literally cried. Someone had taken the Lite Brite onto her top bunk and had poured all of the pegs out, so that they were all in the bed, around the mattress, having fallen into the parts of the bed I couldn't access due to its construction, etc.

The kids liked to use the back part of Daphne's bed as a fort or hiding place, which was great because half of it was empty and there were doors on both sides. However, one side had all of her board games in storage. Although technically you *could* crawl in one side and out the other, neither Daphne nor her other friends had ever done it because: wall of games. But apparently it was tried this night. Boxes that had previously been pristine were crushed, and pieces from Monopoly and Don't Spill the Beans and Hi Ho Cherry-o were everywhere, along with Matchbox cars and cards and play money, and just a huge mess of busted boxes.

Someone had decided to have a "real" tea party with Daphne's tea set. She had a table and chairs in her room, and an en suite bathroom. They'd gotten water and had spilled it all over the place, which would have been okay if it had just been on the table and carpet. But there were books, probably a dozen, that were water-logged and bloated.

Literally everything that was not "normal" clothes had been pulled out of her closet (dress-up, jewelry, toys, etc.)

I have always wished I had the gift of hospitality, but it was clear in that moment that I didn't. I was so miffed by what I perceived as disrespect of our stuff (really normal kid stuff, but, gosh, what a mess) that I just wept during the almost hour it took me to right her room, put game pieces together, tape boxes, etc.

When we were done, I realized that Daphne was up past her bedtime. Also, that I was hungry. And I had no energy to make anything.

So I asked Daphne if she wanted to go to Taco Bell with me, and she did.

 Daphne, rocking her Faith Weaver Friends t-shirt and Dora the Explorer house shoes.

Me, in the pajamas I just wore two nights ago (I keep clothes forever) and my Mickey Mouse house shoes (sadly, trashed). I love and miss my dog purse.

We decided to entertain ourselves by taking pictures making stupid faces while we ate. Here they are.

Bonus adorbs picture.

Obviously, we giggled a lot during that meal, and by the time we left, I wasn't even mad anymore. It was a stressful night turned fun because we made fun of it. It's one of my sweetest quirky memories of Daphne's growing up.

::::HARRY POTTER SPOILER IN THE PARAGRAPH BELOW::::

The pictures are bittersweet to me. I really do miss the days when Daphne wanted to go places with me. It didn't matter if I wanted to take her for a bean burrito at 9:30 or just run to the grocery store. She even enjoyed driving around all day to hit 8 mystery shops and put 200 miles on the van while we listened to Harry Potter on audiobook. (I'll never forget coming back to the car after a reveal portion of a shop and her telling me that the headmaster was dead. What?? And then who killed him. WHAT?! I had to back it up and listen to it myself.)

::::SAFE TO RESUME::::

So that part stings a little, but I know this is a season, and when she grows up a little bit, she'll want to go out to eat with me or do other things. Maybe not until she's out and on her own and the whole away-from-home dining thing isn't so readily available, but I'll take whatever I can get!

However, these memories also fueled my flagging energy during the first year of Mal's life. As tired and spent as I ever was, I knew from experience that better days were coming. Fun days. Days of silliness and friendship. Days of mutual support and making each other smile. And I knew it because of my sweet girl's childhood.

I am grateful to have been chosen to be Daphne's mom. In every stage. It's an honor and a privilege and I'm glad we get to share a roof for the next few years. <3

Romance vs. Reality, Halloween Edition

Lots of people have been posting their pumpkin-carving pictures (at first I didn't hyphenate that, and the thought "pumpkin carving" pictures is interesting and marginally terrifying to me) on social media. James actually got a pumpkin from his office last Friday, but we've been waiting to carve it until tonight, the evening before his work Halloween party.

They're having a costume contest (adult and kid divisions), pumpkin carving contest, Halloween-themed treat contest, and a trivia game. There are prizes in each division, and I had a great idea for the treat contest, the prize for which is a cooking class at Whole Foods!

I had big plans for our entries and for our evening. Our first family Halloween activity! (Last year, we were too tired.)

My first idea was to make a Hello Kitty cake. It'd have white fondant, I'd pipe Hello Kitty on the top, and write, "Hello Kitty," then surround the cake with red frosting stars to match the kitty's bow. People would see it and think, "Well, okay. It's cute, but not really Halloween-themed." Then when it was time to eat, I'd cut the first piece and it would start "bleeding." I'd act like it wasn't supposed to do that, and try to staunch the "blood" with my hands, continually touching the cake so that the white fondant would end up covered in "bloody" fingerprints. Then after I'd cut the piece out, all that would be left of the writing would be "Hell Kitty."

GENIUS, right?! Well, except that when I moved the cake (it depanned fine), it cracked. I thought, hoping against hope, that if I used a thick enough coating of frosting, maybe I could make an escape-proof container for the blood. A lot of examples I saw online used plastic bags, but I really didn't want to put a plastic bag in my cake. Now I see why they did. Because it was fine... I poured the blood in and topped the cake. It held. But when I plopped the frosting down on the top, I guess that did it. The crack separated and... Well, the effect was pretty awesome.

So I immediately decided for Plan B, I'd make the cute "candy corn" fruit cups I'd put together a few weeks ago for Rework.

Probably wouldn't win a prize, but would be a cute entry. I didn't have time to go to the store, so I ordered from Instacart. Then I missed the shopper's call and got her voice mail when I called back. The store didn't have any ghost Peeps. Whatever. But she said she needed to replace the pineapple tidbits with crushed pineapple. I told her that wouldn't work and I would rather have chunks than crushed (I used chunks in the above example), but I guess she didn't get the message in time. We were in the middle of carving the pumpkin when the delivery guy came, and I realized then that I had 8 (8!!!) tiny cans of crushed pineapple. They made it right before I caught it, refunding the money for all of them. However... they also didn't get clear cups like I asked. They got those cheap plastic translucent cups. I will use all of it because I don't have the time to go to the store to get what I need (or I would have done that in the first place) and I hate to throw bad money after good. So, grr on that. Whatever.

As for our super fun family activity, we converged on the patio. Once James had taken the top off of the pumpkin, the two of us dug in. Daphne would only reach in wearing foodservice gloves, and Mal was having none of it. When D was his age, she at least went for it a couple of times.

Slimy...

...Yet Satisfying.

Good grief, that was more than 13 years ago. Anyhoo... Not Mal. He stood on the goo and slipped around. He tried to stir our pumpkin seed cache with his sand box tools. But no hand go in.

Yeah... no.

While we were doing this, I realized that Mal had a dirty diaper. Like, it-has-to-be-changed-now-or-else dirty, so I carried him in... carefully. I didn't hold him to me or put any pressure on his backside because, eww. I realized as I was lying him on his changing pad that my left hand was still covered with pumpkin guts. Oh well. I cleaned him up as best I could while he cried, miffed that I'd taken him away from the fun, and he ran back outside before I could get the diaper on. Daphne was not amused, making it a point to look away.

She drew the eyes and mouth for us, then James decided to get his drill out to make removing the face holes a little easier.

Daphne went inside at this point to do something, and Mal retreated to the other side of the patio. He does that when I vacuum or use the blender sometimes, too, so I wasn't concerned... Until a few moments later, he kind of approached me and I could see that his bottom lip was quivering and he was terrified. I put my arms around him and held him, and he started crying for real. The drill was traumatic for him. I put his head against my shoulder to cover one ear, and covered the other with my hand. I assured him that it was okay, but he was so so sad. I decided to bring him in for a quick bath while James finished up with the power tools.

D asked if she could stay inside until we went back out, but I asked her to see if James needed any help. Mal was distracted during his bath. I tried to keep the water on pretty full blast, but he could still hear the drill and was torn between being scared and wanting to climb out of the tub, I suppose to help save his dad.

After Mal's bath, we went out to finish decorating the pumpkin. My idea had been to use candy corn for teeth, and I was hoping to find these gummy eyeballs that Daphne got one year for Halloween.

Two days before this sweetie turned 5.

But, no. We couldn't find those. So, once again, we had a Plan B. But we hadn't counted on the dang candy corn being so picky and splitting when we tried to impale them on the toothpicks. And our idea to use drill holes for the Red Vines hair didn't really pan out, either. Daphne had a headache or something, so I eventually cut her loose. And Mal wanted to eat a lot of candy corn, but I cut him off after two pieces, not just because he seemed to think it was fun to chew but then just spit it out on the patio. I told James that, in hindsight, the pumpkin carving might have been something to do after Mal was in bed. Except for the drill part. That will likely give him nightmares as it is.

So, anyway, we ended up with a janky Rastafarian pumpkin. I know someone's going to have like a 3D rendering of Ron Burgandy or something, and we don't have a chance of winning either of the contests now, but whatever. All of you people with Pinterest-worthy posts... good for you. I guess that's just not how we roll here at Team Dave's. Even if we wanted to.

Terrifying on so many levels.