Preschool

Most people in our lives know that Lilah Rose has been on a waiting list for Drayton Avenue Co-op Preschool since Fall. I fell in love with the school when I learned about it and contacted the staff. They believe in learning through play. There is a teacher (who was once a student herself), an assistant teacher, and at least 3 parent volunteers in a class of 16. I was delighted with the ratio of adults to children. Dano and Lilah visited the classroom and she cried when she left. I took that as a good sign this was the school for her.

She was placed on the list and I was told I would be contacted if a spot opened up. At the beginning of the year, she was Number 5. I fretted on and off about Number 5. I knew there were good children and good teachers at local public preschool programs. But even the best teachers could become overwhelmed when they had 30 students to contend with. I was on the fence between wanting her to adapt like an American and wanting her to have in school a small measure of the attention we'd given her all her life.

Out of nowhere toward the end of November, I received an email from the school. A student had dropped. Lilah was in. I was terrified and overjoyed. I had to go to a general school meeting and pay her tuition the very next day, as well as sign up for working days (all parents are required to volunteer 2 days a month in the classroom, as well as serve on a committee, participate in a major classroom clean once a year, and bring a monthly snack and drink). I went to the meeting full of trepidation. I stood off in a corner as droves of parents filed in with hugs of greeting to one another. Everyone looked so happy. I was wide-eyed, white-faced, tight-lipped. Someone at a table motioned over to me. "Are you..." she glanced at her paper. "Alexanders?" I forced a quick smile and nodded. She had a ledger with names and totals due. I saw my name and my total and handed her my check. She waved me on to a woman taking down names and dates of working parents. I was third to get there so I got third pick for dates. I signed up for convenient dates and removed myself to my corner. I was followed by several mothers who introduced themselves and proceeded to answer any questions I had (but I hadn't actually asked a single one). It was more like "You must be wondering how this works." They ushered me into the meeting and I found a seat with my program, the minutes, and my growing collection of parent email addresses. The meeting consisted of parents updating the parents on the states of the committees and fundraisers. The teacher, Mrs Fuller, went over the curriculum for the next two months. She also warmly but sincerely chided the parents at expecting so much of their little ones. They played alphabet games, learned how to use a calendar, created patterns. Countless early literacy and math skills. However, the main focus of preschool was and should be social skills and peer interaction. Those were skills adults took for granted that someone, somewhere taught them.

Afterward, Mrs Fuller introduced herself and asked about Lilah. I told her how relieved and refreshed I was to hear her views on teaching the children. I left feeling so much less apprehensive about her starting. On her first day, she was dressed to the 9's in a new dress and tights. She was nervous. I was near tears but still smiling. Dano would spend her first day with her and I had no call to be nervous. She was pacing the floor, suggesting that maybe she could just wear her new dress at home and watch movies. I kissed her and told her she'd be fine. I couldn't do it. I couldn't cry and heap all my anxiety on that tiny, braided, blonde head. I couldn't tell her how scared I was. She'd feel even worse. I swallowed it all and left for work. I cried at my desk instead.

Of course she had a wonderful day. Of course she was brilliant. She had fun, made 6 friends, used play dough, made a painting, and had an amazing day. Every day since has been better. She announced to me that she was planning to marry a little boy named Ira, and was going to tell him of her intentions the next day at school. This announcement went over decently with Ira, who reportedly said, "Okay I guess," then agreed to hold a doll while she brushed its hair. She's learning about Hanukkah, shapes, colors, seasons, friends, days of the week, and how to dress a bear for any weather. I hear stories of her little friends. One day she absconded with another child's show-and-tell frog only to be caught by her assistant teacher to return the frog. Tomorrow is show-and-tell and Lilah is taking Merida. She is asking a little girl named Frances Rose to come over and make Christmas cookies. Somehow I have glided effortlessly from them mother of a cute, babbling, rosie-cheeked baby into the mother of a beautiful, betrothed preschool frog-thief. Our life, our family is evolving before our eyes.

Election Day

We're a passionate but not overly political family. We believe in "Do unto others" and tend to back candidates who feel the same. In the days leading up to the morning of the election, Lilah was all questions after hearing the debates and listening to us discuss everything from candidates to proposals. We made sure to avoid names where we could. I don't believe in indoctrinating kids no matter how worthy the cause.

"So you and Daddy are going to go vote today."
"Yes. It's our responsibility since we live here in America."
"So what do you do?"
"You go in the building and they hand you a piece of paper called a ballot. You write the name of the man you want to be in charge. Then you put the piece of paper in a secret box and it gets counted. The man with the most papers wins."
"Can I vote for Daddy?"
"First, you're too young to vote. Second, you can vote for whoever you want, but most people just vote for 2 guys and the guy who wins gets to be in charge."
"But Daddy says he's in charge."
"He's only in charge of you."

While I worked, Dano took her down to the Ferndale Activity Center to vote. It took about an hour to get through the line, but they made it. When I got home, we scarfed down some tacos before walking to the Activity Center for my turn. I had debated leaving dinner to simmer while we buzzed down and quickly voted, but the nurse in me wouldn't do it. Suppose the house burned down? After we ate, we walked with Lilah chattering the entire 3 blocks.
"We're going to write down our guy, put it in the box, and get a sticker that says we voted! And if it's still light out, we'll play at the park!" Revisions, revisions.

We got up to the building and I saw a lot of cars in the parking lot. "Darling, we might have to wait a little while. It will be no fun, but we still have to do it. If you're a good girl with no screaming or fits, I'll give you..." Brain wracking, brain wracking... "A sucker when we get home." She clapped her hands. Dismayed, I saw that the line snaked around the building. I hesitantly asked a couple leaving the building with a fussy baby, "How long?" The man shook his head.
"We just left and it was over 2 hours. They lost a ballot earlier in the day and it took them an hour to find it. Now they're behind." I queued up in the cold and, looking down at my bundled up daughter in her wool coat and mittens, holding a doll and a ball, sighed to myself.
"I'm not sure I can do this." She gasped.
"But Mother. We have to vote. It's our job!" Nothing like your own italics getting tossed back at you. I told her she was right and settled in to answering her usual thousands of questions. "What's he doing? Voting? I wonder if he's voting for my daddy. Is she on her phone? Is she gonna vote? What's her name? Can we go inside yet? Is it our turn? Can't we go up there? But what if I say, 'Excuse me'? Really? Not even then?" A woman behind us was stamping to keep warm and entertaining herself on her smart phone.
"How old is she?"
"3 1/2."
"Our youngest is too, but...he doesn't ask so many questions." Lilah grinned at her.
"Well, she's an only child, so it's how she learns."
"I think it's nice. She must be very smart." We made our way inside the building down a narrow hallway packed 3 lines of people shoulder to shoulder. I had to kick her out of her stroller, as there was no room to push it. She stayed close to me at first, clinging to my legs and talking to her doll. Her eyes were wide and darted about anxiously at so many people being packed so close together. She narrated every foot of ground we covered and made sure everyone around us knew we were here to vote because it was our job.

One woman grumbled that the map was already pretty blue, so she might just leave. Another woman turned around and said, "If young men and women can fight overseas for our freedom, we can stay in line to vote." The first woman shifted uncomfortably where she stood, but didn't leave. An exasperated-looking girl smiled fondly at Lilah.
"If that little one can still manage a smile, I have no right to leave this line. If she isn't on the floor kicking and screaming, how can I throw a fit?" Lilah tilted her head and smiled sweetly back at her.
"Hi. I'm Lilah Rose. I'm 3 1/2." She tossed her ball back and forth with me, and borrowed the penlight off my keychain to examine her doll's eyes and throat. "Mummy! I think she's sick! She has dry eyes!"

There were only a few other kids in line. Almost all were older, and every single one had either a tablet or a smart phone to play with. In fact, most of the adults did as well. At about the hour mark, batteries started to die. The volume of the kids went up. Lilah Rose played on. She tried to kick her ball to a little boy but he wasn't having any of it. The adults grew restless too. Not Lilah. She went person to person in a 5 foot radius encouraging them, totally unprompted. They could make it, they were almost there, and wasn't it great? They were getting to vote. I received so many compliments on her behavior. I beamed with pride and informed them this was her second time through this line today and we were lucky to have such a good girl. One man asked with a smile who she was voting for. She considered this.
"Maybe my daddy."
"You know, I haven't decided yet. Maybe I'll vote for your daddy too. What's his name?" She looked puzzled.
"It's Daddy! He's 26. Will you vote for him?" I shushed her and told her we didn't tell people how to vote. She nodded solemnly. "Sorry, Mother." Another hour passed. We were in the home stretch. She continued to entertain herself. I had a handful of sea-glass in my purse, which she sorted and held up to the light, pretending it was treasure. She found a pen and spare piece of paper in there too and wrote up her own ballot. "I'm voting for starfish!" We were queued on a handicap ramp leading up to the voting area. She fidgeted and I assured her we were almost there. She kicked her ball up the ramp, and a couple of nice people kicked it back. She squealed with delight and ran after it. This continued until more than 10 people were playing. If she disappeared around a corner chasing it, everyone craned their neck and assured me she was in sight and headed back. More and more people got in on the game until the entire queue was laughing along with her. She took a break to celebrate how close we were to voting by doing a dance. Other voters clapped too. Those with dead smartphones (and many others) thanked me profusely for bringing her along, saying she made the time fly by.

2 1/2 hours and we were next in line. The polite, friendly gentleman who'd been ahead of us the entire time was getting his ballot and receiving an apology for his wait. He smiled tiredly. "Honestly, if it hadn't been for her," he gestured toward Lilah (who was clapping in excitement that it was almost our turn), "I'd have been out the door." I blinked happy tears out of my eyes. We got our ballot and made our way to a table. She sat next to me with her starfish ballot and voted. I voted at lightning speed and wearily headed over to the ballot box. We received our stickers and Lilah got 2, since she'd voted twice today. Her starfish ballot was taken and slid into a box for shredding paper (many people had been informed of the starfish ballot) while the smallest voter in the room stood gravely by. My actual ballot made it into the box and we retrieved the stroller and headed for home.

I knelt in front of her while I buckled her in and didn't stop the tears. "Lilah Rose Marie Alexander. I have never been more proud of you in my life. You were better than good. You were perfect." She was glowing with pride.
"Do I get a sucker?"

I don't know what we did to deserve a daughter like this, but I'm continually amazed at how much of the world she comprehends. I wanted to turn around and leave, as I'm sure so many others did when they grew impatient with the wait. It only took one tiny smiling face encouraging them to stay and do their job as an American to make all the difference. We don't believe in raising her using a screen as a babysitter. Those parents who do aren't wrong. It's just not our style. I did notice that the kids who were glued to screens had absolutely no idea how to handle the waiting once their batteries inevitably died. Then again, neither did the adults. There's a quiet, graceful simplicity to Lilah Rose that I admire so much. She's perfectly at peace in her own beautiful mind and she doesn't mind having nothing to do. She makes up her own entertainment. Those people who say to me, "Why an only child? Won't she be lonely and bored?", those people don't understand how many friends she has in her head, and how busy she keeps herself with her games. One 3 1/2 year old kept a queue of hundreds entertained with a ball, a doll, and an indomitable spirit. I can't think of anything more American.

Power struggle

I've been deliberately putting off blogging for awhile. Blamed business, migraines, the common cold. I have felt completely exhausted as a mother lately. "Dog tired". Every day has seemed to be a new struggle. I'm battling wills with someone smaller, more energetic, and undoubtedly smarter. I have no idea how some parents wait until they're reasonable ages and have responsible careers underway before having children. If I hadn't accidentally had a baby at an irresponsibly young age, I'd be (more) grey-haired and decrepit by now.

First came Dano's return to classes and Lilah beginning preschool. She's on the waiting list for her preschool, so Dano has been spending 3 half-days a week on a schedule that mimics her future preschool's. They spend 5-10 minutes on each subject. I plan the curriculum a week ahead of time. Her body, mind, imagination, coordination, and tummy all get nurtured. We're not focusing on rote memorization. She has her whole life for that. As usual, we're focusing on learning-through-play, language arts, communication, handling emotions, and coping mechanisms. Science is hands-on experiments (Pouring hot water on ice cubes to watch them melt into water), math is usually environmental ("Find 5 squirrels in the backyard."), and imagination runs wild (bear dens built out of pillows and blankets to prepare for hibernation). She is loving it and learning a lot. Dano enjoys is as well.

However, upon instituting scholastic pursuits for the family, Lilah began having accidents. Being the nurse I am, I took a sample into the office. No UTI. We took her potty every half hour. Still puddles. I was at the end of my rope. Dano and Lilah were in near-daily shouting matches over potty use and my water bill was astronomical from loads of laundry. Out of desperation, I went to her doctor and one of the other nurses with adult children. Both smiled knowingly at me as I described our problem and my concerns over her bladder and my husbands sanity. Both suggested that Miss Lilah Rose was exercising control in one of the only ways she was able. She had control over what went into her body and what came out. I had a very hard time believing it. That is, until the night I had to take a quiet phone call, so I locked myself in the bathroom for exactly 6 minutes (Come on, fellow mothers. You've all done it). I came out to an angelic smile.
"Her hands are dirty. You should wash them."
"Whose hands?"
"Eloise's hands." The doll lay in a puddle outside the bathroom door.
"...Lilah Rose Marie. Why are Eloise's hands dirty?"
"Because I peed on them, Mama," she beamed at me. I put her in her room and shut the door, telling her Mama needed a time out so I wouldn't lose my temper (i.e shake her silly). I cleaned everything up and took the advice of her doctor. Dano and I sat down with her.
"We made a mistake and thought you were ready to be a big girl. Big girls pee on the potty. It looks like you aren't ready yet, and that's just fine. We're putting you back in pull-ups until you decide you're a big girl again." We effectively took the power away from her and placed it back in our hands. Barring a few incidents, the problem was solved. We kept her in pull-ups for a month.

A short time later, Lilah and Ephraim were upstairs in her room and quiet (silence: what a parent fears most). When they were discovered, they had taken her "Forest Friends" (the wall decals I bought her as a special present) off her wall. They were reusable only if immediately placed on another wall. Their sticky backs had been placed on the carpet. Lilah knew she'd done something wrong because she hid them in her skirt. When everyone left, Lilah's lower lip quivered as I tried to put them back on the wall. No luck. I was angry she had destroyed something special I'd done for her. I was disappointed she'd been deliberately destructive. Dano saw how upset I was and tried to reassure me he'd only learned not to be destructive to his toys after breaking one beyond repair and being very sad it was gone. I slowly, sadly, threw her Forest Friends away. Lilah was aghast.
"Where are they going?"
"In the garbage."
"When are they coming back?"
"They aren't. You ruined them. They have to go away forever now." She paled. Her blue eyes filled, her lips quivered, but she didn't shed a tear. I was actually fascinated with her composure and that her tears could possible teeter on the brink of her lids so perfectly.
"Well can I say goodbye to them?" I was taken aback.
"Sure, sweetheart." Dano and I had to watch as she sat by the garbage cradling her cardboard box of ruined friends.
"I'm very sorry I ruined you. Ephraim and I were just trying to move you. I love you. Maybe if I'm a very..." she choked. "Very good girl, Mama will buy me new Forest Friends at the store one day. Goodbye." She hugged the box and I threw them away. She nodded and allowed Dano to walk her solemnly upstairs to bed.
When he came back down, he said, "That was the most heartbreaking thing I have ever seen." Neither of us could hold back tears.

Several days later, Max was over and we were putting Lilah to bed while Dano was at class. I forgot to tell him to make sure the cat exited Lilah's bedroom before shutting the door. She'd only been up there 5 minutes before a tympanic-membrane-perforating scream came from the upstairs bedroom. The cat (who enjoys waiting until Lilah is hovering between sleep and waking, then pouncing on her in the dark) flew down the stairs and skittered downstairs and into the shadows where all demons go. I was left to calm my hysterical child. Dano got home and tried to calm her as well.
"I'll kill the cat, sweetheart."
"DON'T KILL HER! I LOVE HER!" Nothing helped. Every time we calmed her to put her back in her bed, she would wail in fear again. It finally came out that she had formulated this weird notion like kids do, that her Forest Friends protected her from bad things at night and watched over her while she slept. And what happens shortly after the Forest Friends Funeral? The cat goes on a mischievous rampage in the dark, tossing our peace of mind into the atmosphere like the most skillfully tossed pizza crust into the air. Only this crust doesn't come down. It gets stuck on the ceiling, to be peeled down one sticky glob at a time, forever leaving a greasy mark to prove it had been there. As if to say, "I fucked shit up" for all eternity. Lilah eventually sobbed herself to sleep. After what seemed like years but more than likely was probably more like a week or two, Lilah had been especially responsible and good. Dano told me to go buy more Forest Friends. We went back and forth, but it came down to, "Aranel, I don't think 3 is the age for her to make a mistake she feels like she can't come back from." I conceded. Even with the Forest Friends in place and Lilah Rose overjoyed, it had only taken that one night of screaming for her to realize that it was a jolly way to get out of bedtime and bring her parents running.
"I'm afraid of owls! I'm afraid of the crack in my wall! I'm afraid of the cat! I'm afraid of sleep!" We decided to be hard-ass parents to salvage what was left of our sanity. We acted like everything was normal for naps, even though she screamed the entire 2 hours she was up there. After 2 hours, I peeked in on her swollen, tear-streaked face.
"Hello there! I'm glad you're up! How was your nap?" She looked totally bewildered.
"But...I was...crying...because...I was scared."
"Oh. I didn't hear that. I was watching tv. That's too bad. Want to come down now?" We repeated this every time she went to sleep and the screaming time got shorter and shorter.
"I HAVE TO PEEEE!" Dano would lead her quietly to the toilet with no eye contact or words, then take her straight back upstairs after. She got the picture that excuses weren't getting her out of sleeping anymore. I can absolutely see how parents just cave and wind up sleeping with their kids until they're in college. Something about your willpower seems to chips away when faced with unceasing screams from a tiny person you created. We both figured if we gave in now, the next struggle would be even worse and last even longer. She was trying to get out of bedtime after a legitimate scare at first, but now she was milking it a week later. Day by day, the screams dropped off minute by minute. After a total of 10 days, the sleep issues were solved. We had bags under our eyes and were biting each other's heads off, but we won. We won?

The next challenge was much shorter lived. When she realized that we had bested her in rounds 1 and 2, she pulled the last trick out of her hat. What else does a 3 year old have control over after bodily functions and sleep? Why, eating of course. And it started with her having a cold and me placing her dinner plate in front of her.
"I'm not hungry." We let it slide because she had was congested. Then night after night, if we even hinted at eating,
"What sounds good for dinner, Dano?"
"I'm not huuuuungryyyyyy," chirps Lilah in a sing-song voice while coloring. At first, we fought her on it (rookie mistake, we're finding out. It basically shows her our hand and she plays us like a violin from there). Then we bargained with her (it's like the 7 stages of death and dying, I swear to God). Finally, just like the potty, just like the bedtime, we were assholes and outsmarted her.
"Oh you're not hungry? Good, good. I'm starving. As soon as I finish my plate, I'm eating yours. I'm so glad you're not eating. But you do have to sit in your chair nicely and talk to us while we eat. But you're definitely not allowed to eat your dinner." Dano prodded her broccoli.
"This looks great. I'm going to eat this one." Lilah's expression morphed from sassy to angry to defiant. She tossed her blonde hair.
"I am going to eat all my dinner. Right. NOW." And she gobbled it up while we feigned outrage at our second helpings being eaten. She grinned, teeth full of broccoli. Problem solved, to this day.

I swear, my shoulders are droopier. I've found a few grey hairs. I'm achey where I broke my collar bone 20 years ago when there's a storm coming. I have dark circles under my eyes. All of these things are true. Brought on by stress and a busy flu season or premature aging due to excessive mental battery at the hands of a halfling? I'm sure they'll argue it at my wake. For now, I don't know how I'll ever keep up. The older she gets, the more things she's supposed to assume control over. What does that mean for us other than more limits being tested? She's a hundred times happier and better adjusted after a week of testing limits that she finds to be firmly in place. At least then she takes a few days off before inventing something else to push at. It's just hard not to feel like a loose tooth she's intent on extracting for her well-earned Tooth Fairy dollar.

Story Hour

Tonight, I had a brilliant idea. I'd ask a friend to pick us up, and go to Royal Oak with Dano at 6. Barnes and Noble was down the street from the college and they had story hour at 6:30. Half an hour of train table, an hour of stories, crafts, and a snack, then home in time for bed.

We walked from the parking garage to Barnes and Noble hand in hand on a beautiful Fall evening. Lilah Rose played at the train table wonderfully, interacting well with the other kids. Most were younger than she was. Everyone shared, used manners, and said "excuse me" when bumped. There was an adorable little bilingual girl with dark brown eyes and hair. From the navy satin headband to the silver pacifier holder to the patent leather navy shoes, her outfit was designer and easily cost over 70 dollars. She looked like a doll and bobbed her head and spouted adorable little Spanish phrases. Her parents were equally beautiful and beamed proudly from the corner. They asked Lilah her named and she said, "Lilah Rose Marie. What's her name?" They told her it was Amelia. "AMELIA POND?!"

When story hour started, I noticed that the sweet, college-age hippie girl who used to run them had been replaced with a 50 year old version after a life of hard knocks. Same long hair and floral skirts, but grim expression and little patience in place of warm smile and easy manner with children. All the kids got settled on their tiny benches. I told Lilah the rules - listen to story, don't move around or bother people, don't get on the stage, do a craft, and have a snack. Or go home. There were three blonde, curly haired sisters who looked to be about 7, 5, and 2. The older two sat down on Lilah's bench. Her face lit up. "They want to be my friend!"

The mother bent over them and said, "Make room for your sister." They scooted until Lilah was displaced from the bench. She tried to find a spot, then made do with pulling a spare bench close to her new "friends". They looked at each other and sighed, moving to the floor. Away from Lilah. She told me her friends were moving so she needed to move too. She sat by them. They moved to a bench across the floor. She sat with them. They moved to the floor close to the teacher. I had already instructed Lilah she wasn't to go over there. She looked over at me.
"Can I sit with them over there?" I shook my head. She fussed at me. "Why? Please?" I looked over at the girls. They were grabbing the book out of the teacher's hand so they could see the pictures better.
"They're being naughty, sweetie."
"Will their mama put them in time out?" I looked. Their mother was cooing over how sweet they looked and taking pictures on her iPhone.
"She should. But your mama will put you in time out if you don't listen." She fussed, but returned to the bench. She made several more attempts to sit by/play with the two girls. They moved and even rolled their eyes a few times. One of the other mothers with twin daughters scoffed and watched wide-eyed as they continued to be mean to Lilah and act like brats during the story.

After the teacher read 2 she asked, "Craft or another story?" Every child shouted for craft. "Well...craft time is later. We have time for another story." All the kids were fidgety by the time the final story was done. She passed out the craft - paper scarecrow pieces and a glue stick to hold them together, then glue straw to the hat at the end. I tried not to judge a craft with a skill level far beyond the mostly 1-2 year group present. The older kids swarmed to the front of the line. Lilah was pushed to the back next to a pudgy 6 month old who was way more interested in how her toes tasted than making a scarecrow. Lilah looked up at me.
"Wait until those kids move, then we'll get your pieces to make a scarecrow."
"Can I use a glue stick?"
"Yes." She played with the baby until the herd cleared, then made her way to the front again. She was ignored by the teacher who looked obviously overwhelmed. Lilah looked around her, and picked up a discarded glue stick from the floor, then pushed a little closer to the front, smiling at the teacher. She was given a handful of straw. Lilah came back and sat on the bench, trying to make sense of what to do with straw and a glue stick. She looked at all the other colorful scarecrows the other kids were making, and put glue on the straw. Having nothing else to do, she set both aside and said, "Can I go play trains again, Mama?" I was angry. I wasn't sure what exactly I was angry at. Maybe that my unassuming, friendly daughter had been shoved aside multiple times by multiple people. Maybe that I wasn't the best mother in the world, but I was trying to teach my daughter to be considerate and conscientious of the children around her - how they were feeling when she was too loud for them to hear the story - when no one else seemed to teach their kids the same values. When did empathy become outdated? I led her down the escalator with clenched fists.

I told the story quietly to Rob when he picked us up. Lilah had told me she had fun, so I didn't want to taint her good time with my anger. She was too young to understand those girls were being mean. Too young to realize she'd been cheated out of a craft as a reward for being patient and unwilling to push to the front. I took her to Easy Like Sundae, more out of my own determination she should be rewarded than because she needed it. I thought about all the times I can remember Dano cheerfully telling me to "take the high road" when I knew we were being walked on or taken advantage of. "Karma's a bitch, Aranel." It's always easier for him than for me. If I barely manage to do it myself, how am I going to handle "do unto others" when it's my kid getting slighted?

At home while getting pajamas on, Lilah Rose snuggled in my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. "Thank you for story time and the bookstore, Mama." I made a noise like a choked bird and teared up. "What's wrong, Mother? Are you sad." I swallowed my tears and shook my head.
"No, honey. I'm really glad you had a good time. You were really good, and listened to Mama. That means I'll really want to take you back again next time."
"Some girls didn't listen to their mama. Some girls were naughty."
"You're right. But even when other kids don't listen, it's important that you do. Even if they do naughty things. That doesn't mean Lilah Rose does them. You always try to be a good girl."
"Why didn't they get a time out? I should put them in time out." I sighed. She's so much like me. Always looking for justice at the expense of my own peace of mind. Dano always tells me to spend less time worrying about the rest of the world and only worry about the family. They're not our business.
"You know honey, it's not our job to give them a time out. That's their mama's job and we don't need to worry about it. All we need to worry about is you..." I poked her nose. "And me..." She poked my nose. "If we're good and listen and do what we know is right, then good things will happen to us."
"And I'll get to go to story time again because I listened. And play with the trains!"
"Exactly right. So don't worry about naughty kids. Just worry about you being the best girl you can be."
"I'm grand!" And she is. I so worry for her. I worry the world will eat my sweet girl alive. But I have to reassure myself that in addition to the sweetness, there's a fierce spirit in her that won't put up with any abuse. She will be the one sticking up for the kid who's teased, not joining in on the bullying. I think about my nephews. At their absolute worst, they would never do to a younger child what those girls did to Lilah. There are plenty of great kids as well as the terrible. And the good ones will change the world for the better.

DIY

I had completely forgotten about the DIY Street Fair until the day before. Last year, we walked there on a Friday evening, listened to some bands, and walked back. This year, I decided to look at what the kid area had to offer and was astounded. Free admission and free activities all weekend for kids. How did I miss this last year?

I told Lilah the night before that we would go the the fair the next day.
"The fair? To do what?"
"Well, I was looking at all the things we can do. The DIA has a craft tent. And there's face painting. And you can make your own snack to eat. And there will be music and games and good things to eat. And there will be a tent with different animals. Toads and a tarantula and...kestrels!" She knew all about kestrels from Doctor Who.
"Kestrels! Love a kestrel!" Apparently the kestrels sealed the deal.

She talked about the fair all through breakfast. We cleaned up and I walked down with her. Dano stayed to mow the lawn and meet us later for lunch. She chattered the entire way there. "Look, a girl! What's her name? Oh! A dog! What's he doing?" It was a long mile. When we got there, we made our way through the midway and weaved through all the vendors to get to the library courtyard that housed the kid area. Lilah Rose made it very clear that before anything else, she needed to make some art.

At the DIA tent, the volunteers gave her the usual brown paper bag with a sticker to carry her art, and instructions and supplies to make heraldry symbols. I cut out a shield-looking shape and she colored a flower, an L, and some random squiggles in pink, green, and purple. I asked her several times if she was finished when I noticed her staring off into space. She would just sigh heavily. "Mom. I'm just thinking. About art." My mistake, clearly.

When she was finished, we went to the music tent where an assortment of instruments were set up to play. Lilah ignored the drums and guitars and as usual, went straight for the piano. After making some feigned adjustments to the settings, she played the keyboard happily while a line formed behind her of other children who wanted a go at it. When mothers started to tap their toes impatiently, I told Lilah her turn was over and removed her from the keyboard. She proceeded to lie down in the grass and sob. I patted her back and told her other kids wanted to play, and she could play again later. She wailed louder.  "Well honey, I'm going to go have a snack. I'll catch up with you later." I walked away. She sobbed and followed me.

She forgot her heartbreak when we got the Whole Foods tent. They handed her a tattoo of a grape wearing a rocket pack, a ziplock, a sticker, and a spoon. She chose dried apples, peaches, mangoes, and strawberries, pumpkin seeds, and yogurt-covered raisins. We sat on a stone bench to eat the concoction. A band started to play, and there was a rush of children to the stage like screaming girls to a Bieber concert. There were bins full of bells, shakers, and rainsticks. Lilah asked if she could go and I waved her on. After a careful selection process, she chose the best shaker possible. She called loudly from the stage. "Mother. Mother! Motheeeeeer!"
"WHAT?!"
"Is this a good one?"
"Yes. It's the best shaker I've ever seen."
"Should I shake it like a polar bear?" She's heard the Outkast song "Hey Ya". Where it says "Shake it like a polaroid", she thinks it says, "Shake it like a polar bear". We just go with it.
"Yes, darling. You should shake it like a polar bear." And she shook it. For an hour. An hour. I asked her several times if she'd like to go, tempting her with treats, food carts, and kestrels. I was finally able to drag her away with rumors of an ice cream tent somewhere.

We met Dano and Rob at the rock climbing wall. Lilah was a good 20lbs too light to attempt it, I informed her.
"That's okay. I don't want to climb it. I would be too scaried." We got Dano and Lilah sliders, fries, and Faygos from the Emory/WAB tent. I wavered heavily at the Howe's Bayou tent, lusting after blackened catfish and jambalaya. I decided on the taco truck instead, nabbing a burrito as long as my arm and a lemonade for Lilah. After eating, we walked around awhile. I took her to the animal tent where she watched caterpillars and cockroaches, pet a tarantula, and was completely taken with a screech owl. She watched for 20 minutes as it yawned, turned its head, and screeched a few times. The keeper mentioned having kestrels and an assortment of raptors and eagles the next day. "So we'll come back tomorrow to see kestrels." I didn't correct her. Instead, we scored owl and newt tattoos.

Lilah worked on an ice cream from Treat Dreams while we watched a local reggae band perform. She bopped along happily. An officer at the Ferndale Police tent gave her a package of crayons, two coloring books, and a fistful of badge stickers. She pet horses named Guinness and Asher. Guinness really liked her (or the ice cream all over her hands and shirt) and nudged her affectionately. We walked an exhausted, sticky, happy child home. Lilah had a dry pull-up and peed on the potty when we got home. Sleepy-eyed and covered in police badge stickers, she took a long nap and woke up in a fantastic mood. At the moment, she is having tattoos lovingly applied by her dad and eating a homemade bagel. Anyone with kids should hit up this festival next year (lots of adult events in the evenings as well). One of the many reasons I love raising a family in Fabulous Ferndale.

At a loss

It's been a rough couple of weeks. Dano headed back to class, which is always hard on Lilah Rose. Since we were put on this earth to attend her needs, wait on her hand and foot, entertain, feed, clothe, and nurture her, we have no business pursuing higher education. Last semester, she started slapping me for no reason. We nipped that in the bud pretty quickly and emerged victorious. This year was different.

We noticed gradually that Lilah had gone from 99% potty trained (with the occasional overnight accident) to wetting her pants frequently. Being the nurse that I am, I took a urine sample in to work and dipped it. It looked just fine. Accident upon accident. Laundry load after load. We tried everything. We make Lilah clean it up, take off her wet clothes, and put new clothes on. The doctors stressed the importance of making her take responsibility for the accident. We put her on the toilet frequently. She just smiled and chirped, "I'm done!" before hopping off 3 seconds later. More accidents. We were running out of clothes, towels, detergent, and patience. Mostly Dano. She didn't do it as much when I was home in the evenings. A coworker suggested taking her potty every half hour, to "catch" her before she got too engaged in playing and forgot to go. Dano did it religiously. Lilah revolted against being interrupted every 30 minutes to waste time on the toilet. "I just went!" On one of the 30-minute mornings, Lilah peed on the floor at the 15 minute mark. Dano is a saint for not losing it. One night I went in the bathroom to take a phone call, and when I came out, she was standing there, grinning.
"Her hands are dirty."
"Whose hands?"
"Eloise." Eloise is her doll.
"Why are her hands dirty?"
"Because I peed on them." And she had. She had taken her pants off to pee on her doll. I honestly thought about slapping her. She went through the drill of cleaning up, and I put everything (and Eloise) into the washer. She cried because it was dark in there and Eloise might be scared. I told her if she was scared, it was Lilah's fault. She cried harder. I took it a step further and told her if she ever peed on a doll again I'd give it away to her cousins forever. She sobbed. I felt no remorse. But at the same time, I felt out of control. Like a terrible mother. What kind of kid pees on toys and floors? Dirty kids. The oppressed and abused kids. Handicapped kids. Not mine.

I called the head nurse, who has successfully raised 3 children into adulthood and none of them are still having accidents. She mildly suggested it was a behavior issue. I scoffed a bit. "Well, what goes into her body and when it comes out, that's all she has control over in her world. And what can you do to stop her? Just totally ignore it and leave her alone. The more you push it, the more she'll push back." I had a hard time believing my 3 year old child could be that manipulative, but I suggested it to Dano. The very next day she was still having accidents and he was still frustrated and losing his mind. Lilah's pediatrician came to ask me to do something for her, and I broached the subject.

"We're having a behavior problem."
"You? At home? Oh boy." I gave her the rundown of the past week, her laughing the entire time. "Well, she has you guys pretty much figured out. She's so clever. What you have to remember is, she's craftier than both of you. This is all about control, and right now she has it all." I realized how emotional Dano and Lilah would get at each other over it all and knew she was right. He had said earlier that day he'd never been more frustrated with her.
"So what should we do?"
"Do nothing. Put her back in a pull-up and when you're all three calm, tell her that you realize she's not ready to be a big girl and go on the potty and that's just fine. She can wear a pull-up until she's actually ready to be a big girl. And let it go. Don't talk about it. Don't do anything. Just leave it. 90% of the time, that solves the problem. The only time it doesn't is when the child is school-aged and the schools won't let them do that." I called Dano on lunch and talked to him. "You know, come to think of it, the time she peed on the floor 15 minutes after I took her to the  toilet, it was a few seconds after I told her she couldn't watch another episode of the Munsters." I facepalmed in the middle of the lunch room. Seriously? I had dedicated the past 4 years of my life to growing and nurturing this tiny life, giving it the best of me and her father, all so she could try to weasel her way into an additional episode of the fucking Munsters by peeing on the floor?

Dano put Lilah Rose in a pull-up and we put it all on the back burner. I came home that night and asked Dano how it had gone. Guess who had taken herself to the bathroom the entire day, taking her pull-up off to pee on the potty? Lilah Rose Marie.

Just some things

I've been noticing lately that Lilah is growing more social. For anyone who has been around her, it may seem obvious because she's been an endless string of chatter for 2 years. It seems different now, though. She really engages with people and has blossomed into a social butterfly. She is incredibly observant of the world and people around her and seems to be at ease in every situation.

We were at Found Sound, Ferndale's newest record shop, a few weeks ago. They had a projector playing the T.A.M.I Show (quite loudly) and chairs set up theater-style with an aisle down the middle. Lilah Rose meandered around the store, asking about various cut-outs and record sleeves. Then I blinked and she was gone. I had a momentary flash of panic before realizing she had only ventured 3 feet from my side. To the middle of the theater aisle. And was positioning herself in the middle row, sandwiched between couples trying to watch in peace. I debated hauling her out so as not to disturb them, but opted to see how Lilah did solo. Smokey Robinson and the Miracles took the stage. She watched for maybe 30 seconds, then was inspired to get down. As in groove and dance and stomp in time to the music. Between each song, she cheered wildly and clapped. People around her didn't know how to take her at first. This tiny person was standing on a chair swaying and clapping to James Brown and the Supremes and hollering her enthusiasm between songs. At one point, I truly believe she sensed the crowd's uncertainty. She looked around the room and assessed faces. One or two acted put out. A few nodded at her. Most didn't meet her eye and pretended to watch the movie. Some children might shrink down in their chairs, discouraged. Most would have lost interest after the first song. Not my kid. She kept scanning faces until she saw mine. She pointed to the screen, and made an exaggerated show of clapping and grooving to inform me she intended to continue to boogie. I smiled and gave her a thumb's up. Her face lit up and she went back to it. Only this time, apparently bolstered by my approval, she turned around in her chair and pointed to the couple behind her. "Hi. What are you doing?"
"Watching the movie."
"Me too. And I'm dancing." She paused, then commanded, "Clap."
"Oh, well we're just watching quietly now." Her little blue eyes narrowed.
"You clap. Like this." She showed them, slowly and condescendingly, how to clap. Emphasized every motion, just in case they'd never learned how. They gave in and clapped. "Yay! Now dance."
"No thanks, but you can keep dancing!" She sighed.
"No, you dance. Like this." She bopped up and down and weaved her head, hands in the air. Threw a twirl in for good measure." The couple looked at each other, then around to see who was watching, and shrugged. They started to bop a little. Lilah clapped her approval and pointed to the people across the aisle. In a loud whisper, "HEY! CLAP!" And the whole thing started over again. She had 75% of the small crowd engaged in some kind of action by the time Dano was finally done shopping at the other end of the store. The owners of the shop were laughing and taking pictures. I watched the entire display, alternating between wondering whether I should allow my 3 year old to force a group of adults to kowtow to her whims, and amusement that she was able to very confidently gain command over a small army in under 10 minutes.

It was the same today at the park. I was knitting on a bench and Lilah was playing on the structure when some more kids came to join her. They appeared to range in age from 4 to 1. The youngest had a parent in tow, and the older boys went off together to climb things. Lilah was thrilled to see other kids around, and wasted no time running over.
"Hi! I'm Lilah! Is that your baby?" She pointed to a girl probably hardly younger than she was. The man holding her hand nodded. "And you're her daddy?" He nodded again. "Okay! Bring your baby over here. She wants to play with me." He hesitated, then followed. Lilah played with the little girl, who was much more interested in playing alone. "Come up here, baby!"
"No." Lilah pointed at the man.
"Your baby said no. Put her up here." And he did. It went on that way until we left the park to go to dinner

We went to Found Sound after we ate, and as soon as we walked in, Lilah pulled me to the counter. "Hold me, Mama!" I picked her up, and she laid her head on my shoulder. "Hi. Do you have a gift card for my Daddy?" I was amazed. She and I had stopped in a week ago to ask about a gift card for Dano's birthday. A week ago. They didn't then, but had told us to check in again soon because they planned to have gift cards available. The employee tonight apologized and told her they didn't have them in yet.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Daddy's just going to buy records with real money instead." She sighed.
"Fiiine." She raised her hand and greeted the owner as he walked in. "Hey. What are you doing? Do you have your dinner? Are you going to eat it?" She pointed to bags in his arms that smelled strongly of Chinese takeout.
"Yep! Hi."
"Ok! See ya later!" I laughed and shrugged at him.
"Apparently you two are best buds, at this point."
"Well yeah, we are!" She tried to engage with a little girl her age in the shop, but the she hid behind her mom and wasn't having any of it. Lilah talked to her mom instead. "She's a baby, and you're her mama, and that's her daddy shopping like my daddy, and that's her...cousin?" Pointing to a little boy. Lilah couldn't have cared less that the little girl clearly wanted to be left alone. She was making a friend, come hell or high water.

We left Dano to his shopping and walked to Easy Like Sundae. We walked in and I handed her a full punch card. One free frozen yogurt! She walked over to the counter. "May I please have a cup for my frozen yogurt?" The employees "awww'd" in unison and one walked over and handed her a cup.
"Have you been here before? Do you know how it works?" Lilah nodded. Easy Like Sundae is one of her favorite haunts.
"Yes, ma'am." The "awwws" resounded yet again. We've been fine-tuning her manners lately. She chose her flavor and pulled the lever (her tiny mind was blown when she realized you could swirl two flavors). She chose her toppings (M&Ms, kiwi, blueberries, candy eyes, and whipped cream. Yum?) and handed the employee her punch card. "This was Daddy's card, but he gave it to me so he could shop." We took her treat outside to the white, beachy Adirondack chairs. I always sit to the right, Lilah to the left. We ate frozen yogurt and watched downtown Ferndale. She asked about the shops, cars, dogs, and people. Where they're going, what they're doing, do I think they have a cat. We sat until the sun started to go down and Dano came to take us home.

It just amazes me to watch her. It scares me a little and I have to keep such close tabs on her in public because of how friendly she is and how awful some people are. All in all though, she charms people to death within 5 minutes of meeting them. She isn't always so charming at home, but the more I see her in public and even thrust into brand new situations some kids would shy away from, I see how strong her little spirit is and how she finds her place no matter what. She's going to grow into such an amazing little lady. I'm so proud she's ours.

The times, they are a changin'

Since my last post, I have made more changes to our family life than I can count. I ended up having a bit of a melt down recently. In Meijer. While shopping for food. By myself. I might have gotten emotional. There's a possibility I threw some bread. Reports differ.

I was already feeling overwhelmed that day. Not only did I have to get two weeks worth of food on a very limited budget that month, but I also needed cleaning supplies. I was relieved at a huge sale going on for bread and buns. I got my all-natural cleaning supplies and started to gather my food. By the time I got the organic produce that I have to get (or I'm kept up at night with terrible thoughts of Lilah Rose contracting some terrible, pesticide-induced disease), my budget was strapped. The bread and buns were 10-for-10 dollars. I grabbed a loaf of Meijer brand whole wheat bread and a package of wheat buns. 2 dollars. I tossed them in the cart and they landed upside down. One word on the ingredients list. High fructose corn syrup. I lost my mind. I tried so hard. I just wanted to get good food for my family. I just wanted them to not die. I just wanted them to be healthy. I even picked the whole wheat bread. High fructose corn syrup. I might as well have been handing my daughter McDonalds, for all I was concerned. Over-processed, over-modified corn sugar has no place in my home. Unless I'm making popcorn balls. My eyes settled on the hotdogs in the cart. The healthy turkey dogs. One word. Second ingredient. High fructose corn syrup.

I picked the baked goods up and hurled them back on the shelves through tears. I took a minute to compose myself because I was truly on the verge of losing it. I threw the hotdogs too. I chose new bread products. It took 4 brands to find some that contained either sugar or honey as a sweetener AND whole grain flour AND a respectable amount of fiber. Each loaf was well over 3 dollars. Triple the price of the sale bread.

At home (and after purchasing no-nonsense hotdogs from Trader Joe's), I completed re-invented not only my grocery list, but my methods as well. I won't skimp on shoddy produce. I won't buy crappy meats. I won't buy chemicals to clean my house that can hurt my family. Where can I save? I went over my meals, my grocery lists, my food budget, my receipts, my free time, and what I threw away at the end of the week. Something had to change. I saw that my biggest expense (competing with meat and produce, amazingly) was baked goods. Breads, bagels, buns, garlic bread, baguettes. I'd made bread before but remembered it being tasty but impractical for sandwiches. I make homemade garlic bread, but bagels could only be made by professionals. Or could they? I googled "is it cost effective to bake your own bagels". Not only was the resounding answer "yes", but the search yielded many recipes for me to try. I did a similar search for bread. Same answer. If I could find the time to pull it off, I'd be baking for about 44 cents a batch/loaf rather than 3+ dollars. That's less than half the cost of the corn syrupy bread.

The first baking day was a Sunday, and I was nervous. In fact, I had a package of store bought buns, bagels, and bread sitting in the fridge as a backup so we wouldn't starve. Lilah Rose pulled up her "spot" (small red stool), I turned on Pandora, and we set to work. I opened the page I was looking for. "Are you reading a recipe, Mummy?" I nodded. "Are there eggs to crack?" I shook my head. She heaved a sigh. "Well. What can I do?" I measured out dry ingredients for her to mix together. I taught her (while teaching myself) how to proof yeast. We learned how to work dough differently for bagels than for bread. She screamed while kneading and ran to the bathroom. "My hands are dirty and sticky!"
"No daughter of mine is going to run off like a pantywaist! Get back here! Get your hands dirty!"
"Sweetheart, don't call Lilah a pantywaist." (From the other room)
"She started it."

We had a great morning together. We ended up cleaning the kitchen while we worked, so we finished with a clean kitchen and 15 cream puffs, 2 gorgeous loaves of whole grain Amish bread, and 8 golden New York-style bagels in 3 hours. We spent excellent quality time together. I didn't feel exhausted. Just proud. And in a way, relieved. I felt like I was actually taking care of my family instead of just shoveling food at them. One was 3 and one was a vacuum. They'd eat anything I put in front of them. The responsibility to give them something better was on me. I grew up canned vegetables and Hamburger Helper. There was nothing fresh or nutritious. Boxes of Chips Ahoy. Packages Little Debbie snack cakes. No one ever stayed healthy that way.

Since then, I've made all my baked goods at home. I knead doughs in between episodes of tv Dano and I watch when Lilah goes to sleep. I knit a few rows of the winter hats I'm making for the family while the formed bagel rounds rise for their final 10 minutes. I have tea parties with Lilah while the bread rises for its hour. My house smells like fresh bread. It smells like home. I've saved money and peace of mind. I spend a little of my time, but I'm working hard to budget it more wisely so I actually have more of it. After tasting my sandwiches at lunch, I'd never go back to the dry slices of cardboard we had before. And I haven't eaten out during lunch time in weeks. Even my dinner leftovers are much more satisfying.

As for other ways to save money, I don't just buy "what's on sale" and what looks good. I plan my menus for 7 days at a time, breakfast-lunch-dinner. 21 meals plus snacks. I base those meals around the weekly store ads and what's in season. I made tomato sauce and paste with home-grown tomatoes and herbs. Dark chocolate zucchini bread was made with home-grown zucchini. I buy from the store only what I need for the week. I ended up averaging a dollar a person per meal. Good cuts of beef for teriyaki beef and noodles. Home cooked bean and smoked ham soup. We are eating better than we ever have for cheaper than fast food. I've never felt more proud. I talked to one of the doctors today when he brought in bagels about how I make mine. "You cook, you bake, you knit hats. You really are something." And I kind of am. This is the person I always wanted to be. And I'm closer every day.

48 hour

Dano was gone from 5:30 Friday to 5:30 Sunday this weekend. Very few times since Lilah's debut have I had to handle her unassisted. I worried a bit because she usually listens better to Dano than to me. We had a pretty awesome weekend, all things considered

Friday night, we made grilled turkey and cheese sandwiches and headed out shopping. I figured the less we were in the house, the less we'd miss Dano. We went to Trader Joe's to stock up for the week. Between greeting and conversing with every store employee we encountered, Lilah managed to score mango tea, brown rice, an ice cream sandwich, and a sucker. She was a happy girl when we left to go to Holiday Market. The sucker was gone by the time we pulled in the parking lot. She spent the time between licks telling me that everyone liked her so much because she was such a good listener and the best helper. "I'm your girl, Mother." At Holiday, she sampled crackers with peach chipotle preserves. I was pleased she didn't fuss over the heat of the preserves. I thought it was just right. Another employee offered her a hunk of cocoa honey cake and asked her opinion. She nibbled and regarded it thoughtfully. "I think it's just fine." The baker laughed and said she was glad for that.

"You know, she can also have a free cookie if she'd like."
"Would you like a cookie Lilah?" She raised her eyebrow at me and gave me the "Duh," look. The baker handed her a sugar cookie. Lilah nibbled both out of each hand. She made friends with the manager at the liquor aisle while I gathered mojito supplies. We made our way home and read stories until bedtime.

Saturday morning, we gathered a couple of her cousins and headed to the park after breakfast. Lilah was the shark-monster and they ran from her. One point for bopping Lilah Rose with a ball, one point for each cousin tagged. The game ended Cousins 2, Lilah 1. Not too bad for 2 against 1. The rolled balls up the hill and ran back down. Lilah usually ended up head over heels in the grass. We went back to the house to eat shrimp pasta and watch Kiki's Delivery Service. Lilah napped, then we loaded up and headed to our friends' house for a barbecue. She played with their cats and dog while I visited and ate. It was really nice, but Lilah tried to pee twice and was too afraid to go on a big toilet. She refused to go in her pull-up, so I had to take her home. She took a baking soda bath after being out in the weeds and tall grass all day, then gladly went to bed. I sent Dano a short email telling him how thankful I was for everything he did around the house and for Lilah. I had seen how quickly dished and clothes piled up, plants wilted, the cat whinged for water, and all the other little things that went wrong on a daily basis.

This morning we went to breakfast with Kim and the boys at Pete's Place (my favorite Ferndale diner). Lilah and I went grocery shopping after that, then she actually got a nap on time. We played and snuggled all afternoon, then when the hottest part of the day passed we headed outside. During a bathroom break indoors, I came across a few old party balloons in a drawer and filled them with water. She had fun tossing them around the yard and was totally shocked when one burst at her feet. We spent the next 20 minutes popping the rest of them. Dripping and muddy, we fell on the grass laughing. I had a vision of how Dano's surprised face if he got out of the car and was pelted with water balloons. A tentative plan formed in my head. "Lilah Rose, do you want to get more balloons and try to kill Daddy?" Her face lit up. I knew he would be home in 20-30 minutes, and we were out of balloons. I grabbed my keys and some money and threw her in her carseat. She fussed at me that her buckles weren't tight enough, but we were only going a few blocks to CVS. We got out of the car and ran barefoot into the store, combing the summer aisles. We had to ask an employee. She pointed them out to us and Lilah felt the need to explain.

"They're for killing my dad." She ran them to the check out, slammed them on the counter, and shouted loudly, "Where is the lady? We gotta go!" A woman hurried to check us out. "They're for killing my dad." She laughed and examined the balloons.

"I didn't even know we had these. Huh..."
"Hurry! He's coming!" No one said a word about our bare feet. I drove home a breakneck 30 miles per hour and we raced to the kitchen to fill them assembly line-style. I filled and tied, she handled and bagged. We got the camera and headed to the front porch to plan our attack. We would aim for the head. No cars. Andy was off-limits, but Uncles Adam and Maxwell were fair game. We pretended the tree was Daddy.

"Aim for the head!" She threw with all her tiny might. It landed near the roots.
"I did it!"
"Okay, sweetie. Well done." She sat patiently(ish) to wait for the car to pull in. She nearly nailed the neighbors at one point but I stopped her. "That's not them!" When they finally did pull in, the attack was short-lived and I'm not sure who won. Uncles dipped into the bag of balloons. Andy did get a balloon to the chest, but it mostly got his car (Lilah gaped at this, someone else having broken two of the rules). She spent the rest of the evening snuggled on the couch with her dad, happy as can be. We decided he wasn't allowed to leave again anytime soon.

Life as usual

I'm actually thankful to report that there's nothing to report! Life has been pleasant, happy, and good. We stopped house-hunting, divorced our realtor, and focused on what matters - us.

I have a good balance (for now) going on between work, home, friends, me. One thing I've been repeatedly thankful for is my healthy, happy daughter. I heard one of the doctors talking about putting a 4 year old on a diet. A 4 year old. It blew my mind. An obese child. Every kid I know runs around all summer and wants to be outside come rain, hail, or snow. I watch Lilah gobble up carrots and hummus, broccoli, asparagus, basically any fruit, and gulp down water and coconut milk. Her appetite seems insatiable, but she eats like she moves - constantly. Don't get me wrong, my kid asks for cookies for breakfast and cake pops nearly every day of the week. The difference is, she doesn't actually get them. She's been denied suckers at the doctors' office (yes, the one I work at) for being naughty. She's thrown fits over desired cakes or cookies, but she still doesn't get them. As we speak, I'm watching her "sneak" around the corner (in full sight of me still) and scoop hummus out of the container she was asked to put away. Straight into her mouth. Our eyes meet.

"I'm just tasting it, Mama." Raised eyebrow. "Well...you said it was good for me." Touché, little bird.


We were eating dinner tonight and she started completely scarfing down her baked vegetable chips, so we made it into a teaching point.
"Are those good?"
"Yeah! I like them!"
"I'm glad, babe. It's good that you like them. But do you know what happens when we eat food we like really fast?"
"What, Mama?"
"We don't get to enjoy it. It goes straight down into our tummies and skips our tongue. And our tongue is what helps us taste food. So we eat it, but we don't enjoy it."
"I want to to enjoy my chips, Mama!"
"I do too. Let's practice slowing down, okay?" And we did. Took small bites, chewed well, swallowed. She beamed at me.
"It tastes better!" I smiled back. "Can I enjoy a cookie?" It's hard not to laugh when she tries so hard to be crafty.


While out and about, Lilah has been more often making use of what I've been telling her since she could speak. She asks questions faster than I can answer them, so I always tell her, "Tell me what you see." I like forcing her to observe the world around her. And she notices everything. In the car next to us today: "What's that girl doing, Mama?"
"Brushing her hair, it looks like."
"What kind of a girl is she?"
"I'm not sure, sweetheart. I don't know her. What kind of a girl does she look like to you?"
"A smart girl. You know why? She's a smart girl because she's makin' her boy drive." Sure enough, the male companion was driving. I'm not sure what that says in light of feminism, but she knows I dislike driving! I'm thankful every day for our wonderful family, our private rituals, and our happy summer evenings together. There's nothing terribly exciting going on lately, but after the "excitement" last summer, I'm happy to revel in the mundane.

Brave

Lilah Rose and I had a mother-daughter-date. We have been giddily looking forward to the premier of Brave for over a month. Dano opted out. I was just hoping to make it through one Pixar movie without crying. On the way to the movie, we went over the ground rules of the movie theater - 1) We don't ever scream. 2) We don't ever run away. If Rules 1 or 2 are broken once, she gets a warning. If broken twice, we go home regardless of how much more movie there is left. She told me she understood.

She was jumping up and down and squealing while we were still in the parking lot. Flocks of other little girls made their way inside. I guessed they weren't on their way to see Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter. Lilah made friends with pretty much all of them.

Once inside, we picked up our tickets (which Lilah insisted on holding) and made our way to the concession counter. She only gets to go to a movie once every couple of months, so we go all out. She got her kid pack of fruit snacks, lemonade, and a tiny bag of popcorn in a happy meal-esque cardboard box. She asked me to carry her tickets so she could carry her armload of snacks and try to find Theater 14. At least 4 people told me how cute she was with her pile of treats as big as she was and her blonde pigtails.

Lilah sat through at least 30 minutes of previews while munching on popcorn and emitting shrieks of commentary. "MINIONS!" "What's a vampire?" "I want to see a movie about a Princess now."
"That isn't about a Princess. What is that, Mama?"
"The Hobbit, baby. When we're done with Ramona, we can read that story book."
"What is that?"
"It's Gollum."
"Can we see that movie?"
"Absolutely."

The traditional Pixar short was La Luna, a beautiful animation of a little boy on the moon.  During the actual film, she was fine.

 Lilah had only two instances of leaving her seat, both to use the bathroom. The toilet seat was too big and she was scared to use it so changed her mind. The second time, I was a bit insistent that she at least try. She tried to gesture with her hands just how much she did not want to use the giant toilet, when she fell in. Our eyes met and it was understood that she would not be using the theater toilet anymore.

Back in the theater, she crawled into my lap, cradled her lemonade, laid her head on my shoulder, and we watched. The movie was unexpectedly lovely. It was primarily about the relationship between mother and daughter so it was great for us and our girls' night. The headstrong teenager just wants her mother to change so she can have her own way and live her own life. In the end, she has to teach, grow with, love, and protect her mother in order to fulfill her destiny. She realizes that her mother spent her whole life loving and believing in her. Princess Merida risks everything to repair the bond that was broken between her and her mother. Lilah and I nuzzled our noses at the same time and she poked at me for the tears on my face. I have cried in the past over movies like Whip It that portray a strained mother-daughter relationship, but they were always tears of anger and bitterness. These were tears of love and happiness to have my sweet daughter. All the old bitter sting is gone from my life, eradicated as if it were never there in the first place.

There was a mother this week whose 21 month old son was dying in the hospital. Rather than accept gifts and flowers, she asked everyone to go out and make a memory with their child. Feed them a banana split for dinner. Do something fun your kids will remember. We took Lilah out yesterday and gave her ice cream for dinner. We talked about how she was blessed to be a healthy little girl with a strong body and doctors who take good care of her. It was difficult to explain that some children were born without healthy, strong bodies and they don't get better when doctors try hard. We were giving thanks for our healthy girl and sending good, happy thoughts to all the children who were sick. Lilah kept calling it our blessings dinner. Ice cream because we had blessings. I ignored the judgey looks from our server when I asked him to bring ice cream before our food and just took comfort in having my family happy and healthy. I know there will be moments when she's angry at me, hates me even. But I'm hoping that like Merida in Brave, she realizes that everything I did, I did for her. Even when mistakes were made and I regretted harsh words, I always loved her more than anything. She's my miracle girl.

Pure joy

It all started with a movie.

Lilah and I were scanning HBO Go for something new to watch. I saw the movie Ramona and Beezus. My mind flashed back 17 years.

There was a kindergarten open house at Pansophia in Coldwater. My brother Zachary was talking to the teacher, along with my parents. I don't remember where Nicholas was. I just remember feeling mentally weary. I can't remember why. Weary down to my bones at the ripe old age of 8. There'd been a fight of some sort in the car on the way over. Maybe I was weary of the fights.

I was wandering around a classroom when I spotted several cardboard boxes full of chapter books. There must have been a sign or something indicating they were free. I remember falling to my knees and going through every single one of them. Touching. Smelling (nothing smells better than a worn book). Reading dust jackets and backs. I lit up like a firefly and the rest of the room melted away while I lost myself in choosing as many new books as I could carry. For whatever reason, we weren't a library family and there weren't a lot of books in the house aside from those meant for small children. That night would be the start of me building a sizable personal library. I left feeling alive again, reading something magical and sympathetic to the woes of childhood by Beverly Cleary. That library was very tragically lost to me when I moved out at 17. In the dorms in Ohio I didn't have room for any books or the time to read them, and when I moved to my own apartment in Nashville I wasn't allowed to take anything my parents bought me. While this did not include most of my books, there had been so much fighting over the subject I didn't take them. I painfully regret that choice now. The magic, beauty, and escape my eyes had been opened to that night when I was 8 changed my life forever. What began with Ramona and Beezus evolved into Great Expectations and Robinson Crusoe into The Lord of the Rings and The Scarlet Letter into 1984 and The Song of Ice and Fire.

Fast forward to 2012 and movie night with my 3 year old daughter. I looked at the title Ramona and Beezus with doubt. Should I take the risk of letting any film with Selena Gomez ruin a precious childhood memory? As my offspring wriggled and fussed next to me ("Moooovie Mamaaaaaa!") I resigned myself to disappointment and called out, "Play Ramona and Beezus." The Kinect did my bidding and we settled in to watch.

After the credits rolled, Lilah clapped in my arms and I hastily swiped away about 45 tears that had sneaked out of my eyes like jerks. The movie was the perfect portrayal of a precocious, imaginative, often-misunderstood child in a world without facebook or cell phones. Lilah Rose asked to watch Ramona and Beezus literally every day (this request was not always granted) until HBO took it down. She and I went to the Ferndale Library and I took her to the fiction section. I have to admit, when I handed her a well-loved copy of Ramona to check out, a few more sneaky tears escaped my eyes when her beautiful face gleamed and she hugged it to her chest.

I was astonished that a 3 year old was even interested in a chapter book with hardly any pictures. Almost every week night, we've spent 30-60 minutes snuggled on the couch reading 30+ pages of Ramona's life. I can ask her questions after we finish or even the next day, and she'll answer me. I know she's comprehending it. The only reason we stop each night is bedtime's insidious approach. We were at a garage sale today and I found another Ramona book in a bin. She squealed, "Ramona!" with bright eyes. She clutched it tightly in one hand and held a dollar in the other, handing it to the girl selling the books. When they couldn't make change, they handed the dollar back to her and said the book was hers to enjoy. You'd have thought she'd won the lottery. Or whatever the preschool equivalent of winning the lottery happens to be.

When Lilah Rose was having a bad night a few days ago, she put her head in her hands (dramatically of course), sighed, and looked up. "I'm frustrated. I just want to feel happy, Mama."

Don't we all, little one, I thought. "What makes you feel happy, pumpkin?" She considered carefully.

"Daddy does. And you do. You make me feel happy." We've spent the 2.5 years since this child started talking trying to get one point across to her - we can meet her needs better and faster if she uses words to tell us how she's feeling in lieu of shrieks and wails. And 9 out of 10 times, she does a truly spectacular job for a 3 year old. We are lucky parents to have so little guesswork involved when it comes to what she wants. I told Dano just the other night, "Even when we have terrible nights, the fact that she answers 'Daddy and Mama' when we ask what would make her happy says we're doing something right. Not toys or candy. Her family makes her happy, and going to the park and reading her books. She's great." Nothing brings me greater happiness than reading Ramona to Lilah for an hour and having her sad to go to sleep because she's caught up in a story. She could have grown up wanting to play sports or video games, and she still might choose to try those things. If she does, she'll be amazing at them. But the fact that she chooses to lose herself on Klickitat Street at such a young age brings me nothing but pure joy.

Lilah, Illuminator

For any of you who haven't seen The Book of Kells on Netflix, you should. Lilah has been enthralled with the film for well over a year now. The premise is Ireland during the Dark Ages. The Vikings were invading, the "North Men". A young monk named Brendan lives in the monastery of Kells. His uncle the abbot is determined to protect the monastery by building a wall around it, rather than fleeing for safety as residents of the other monasteries have done. Brendan is forbidden to leave Kells or venture outside the wall for any reason. He assists the brothers in translating and transcribing the Gospels. The brothers all lament at their limited skill and wish for a "true master" illuminator. Brendan divides his time between helping his task-driven uncle with the wall and his true passion - time in the scriptorium with the books. Without books, people would have no hope and it's their job to bring hope to the people in the dark days before them. All the brothers' dreams are realized when a master illuminator named Aidan seeks refuge in Kells after fleeing the Vikings in Iona. On the tiny island, he had been working on the Book of Iona, a book to turn darkness into light. "Sinners are blinded after looking at it, for to gaze upon the book is to gaze upon heaven itself". Aidan takes Brendan as his apprentice against his uncle's wishes. Aidan realizes he is aging and his hands aren't as steady as they used to be. He begins instructing Brendan on beginning the "Chi Rho" page, the most important page in the entire book because it contained the abbreviation for "Christ". Aidan encourages Brendan to leave Kells - both to find the rare ingredients to make the richest ink and to find inspiration in the surrounding forest. Aided by a faerie girl name Aisling (pronounced Ashlyn) and a white cat named Pangur Ban, Brendan fights for illumination against his uncle, ignorance, stubbornness, fear, Vikings, and the pagan deity Cromm Cruaich that still lurks deep in the forests of Ireland.

Lilah adored the film from the first time she saw it. It was up for an academy award, but it lost to Up. Her infatuation with it has been growing lately. Strangers in our home would more than likely be extremely puzzled by her odd behavior. A few months ago, I came upon her marching solemnly up the stairs carrying a plate full of pretend tea cakes. When I say solemnly, I mean no smile, total focus, one foot in front of the other, like a funeral procession. She stopped at the top of the stairs, turned slowly, and said, "I'm going into the darkness now." I couldn't form words to appropriately convey all the questions I had for her. "Into the cave of the Dark One. Cromm Cruaich. To feed him." She nodded toward the cakes.
"And...where is the cave of the Dark One?" She sighed.
"Under my bed." So a pagan god lived under her bed and enjoyed tea cakes?

More recently, the DIA hosted a drop-in workshop to make your own illuminated text. When I told Lilah about it, her little blue eyes were shining. "I can have my own Book of Kells? I can make it? With ink?!" She talked about it for a week. We went, and we made a page with an ornate gold and green letter L. She was thrilled.

Other Kells related events include her carrying around a marble, looking through it with one eye. I asked her what she was doing. "From a humble little berry comes the most beautiful emerald green ink." Of course.

She was sitting on a chair while I swept the floor around her, coloring. I asked her what she was coloring. Heavy sigh. "I'm not coloring, Mama. I'm working on the Chi Rho page."
"Okay then. Look at you!" She looked around.
"I'm on an island. In the sea. Where all islands should be. On a tiny island called Iona."
"Right."

She calls our cat Pangur. She talks to an imaginary Aisling. Everything lately is Kells related. I'd love to take her to Ireland to see the book itself. My plan when we get a house (if we get a house?) is to paint the walls to look like the trees surrounding Kells. Her only goal in life at the moment is to grow up to become an illuminator. "Lilah the Illuminator" she told me today. I don't have the heart to tell the child that there are no illuminators anymore. She'll figure that out eventually. In the meantime, I let her sing and play and transcribe. Even if it means marbles become berries and glass ornaments become the Eye of Columkille. In her heart, she is a master illuminator.

She's...3?

My daughter, my sweet baby girl, is 3 years old. Her Auntie took her out for a birthday lunch and sent me a photo of them eating hummus. I burst into tears at work and demanded of one of the billers, "How old does this child look?!?" Bewildered, she answered 2 or 3. To me, she looked 15.

On the day of her actual birthday, I got up and made her strawberry pancakes per her request. She looked around and asked where her puppy was. Apparently I'd missed the memo that on one's 3rd birthday, one was automatically presented with a puppy. We had a quiet day at home playing, snuggling, and talking. Her grandpa came over after her nap and played some more. He took her to Target to get her a brand new "fedder peelo" (feather pillow). She's been asking for one for ages. We grilled burgers for dinner, and Lilah got a nice piece of grilled salmon (also her request). We watched the Muppets with Grandpa, and Erin and I made cake pops after she went to bed. It was a calm day, but very enjoyable. It made the transition easier on me. She'd moved from toddler to preschooler before my very eyes.

The day of her party, I dressed her in the black and white dress with polka dots and pink trim that just screamed "Lilah Rose" when I first saw it. I thought back to the day she was born as I brushed her long, blonde hair and weaved it back into a little crown. She was so little. Even after going through labor and delivery, she still blinked up at me with those big, blueberry eyes so full of peace and tranquility. And now she was 3. A little lady, no longer a baby. I didn't know how I'd cope.

Her party was lovely. She was so happy to have family and friends there to celebrate her special day. She loved her cake and gifts and spent most of the time running round barefoot in the yard with her cousins and friend Anya. There was minimal cleanup, hardly any stress (other than the chaos surrounding opening presents), and an overall great day. I felt blessed to have people in our lives so willing to celebrate the life of my child.

Her 3 year physical with Dr Kolin was yesterday. She was 2.75 inches taller and 1.25 pounds heavier than her last visit 6 months before. I was amazed. The child had grown that much in half a year? Where had I been? Why had I been such a jerk, yelling at her every other day for growing out her her pants and shoes? My increasing grocery bills and never-ending shortage of fruit and coconut milk suddenly seemed justified.

Other than a slight duck-walk to compensate for flat feet, her physical was perfect. Dr Kolin was most concerned with making sure we paid close attention to her education, since she was "precocious" and extremely advanced in her language and social skills. She showed some concern over us living in the Hazel Park school district, but we assured her we'd be very involved in her education and were willing to transport her to whatever school district could best meet her needs. Dano acknowledged we would probably meet with some opposition, but that we had discussed at length the possibility of home-schooling Lilah Rose during her middle school years. Dr Kolin was surprisingly supportive, saying she thought middle schools shouldn't be co-ed. "As long as she's actually taught, I think it's a good idea. The only thing you learn in middle school is how to study and use your time wisely." I wasn't expecting any support for this tentative idea of ours. I was pleasantly surprised. When we (mostly I) expressed concern about her not knowing her shapes, letters, colors, etc. Dr Kolin shrugged it off and thought her brain was processing things at a higher level than green squares. Every parent thinks their child is exceptional. It was nice to hear an educated medical professional agree that Lilah Rose Marie had big things on her horizon as long as we provided her with the opportunities she needed.

With every year, I love her more. She grows more into a wonderful little person. The further away from a tiny, helpless baby she gets, the more of the"Lilah" comes out. I think of how she's going to be at 10, 15, 20, 30. It scares and excites me. I know she'll be wonderful. I know it will be challenging. Even so, I can't wait.

Spring is here

Amidst the busy house-hunting and birthday party planning, Spring has crept up on us. It's been a lovely combination of cooking outdoors, open windows, fresh air, singing birds, early sunrises, flowers blooming, long walks, and sidewalk chalk.

Tonight, Lilah Rose and I chatted and had a spaghetti dinner while she (inaccurately as always) recounted her day with her father. "Yeah, and then he yelled at me. Well. He really just talked to me. And I talked to Susan."
"From Monsters vs. Aliens?"
"Well, I talked to Derek (Dano's classmate). He and Daddy watched me run. They read stories."

After dinner, we walked down to the park. We played on the slide for awhile and Lilah tried hard to bond with a school-age boy who smiled at her but didn't want to engage in play with a toddler. We saw a commotion at the top of the big sledding hill, so we made our way up to see what it was all about. We found about 15 people of various ages gathered to watch a man harnessed to what looked like a paragliding wing. When the wind would pick up, he'd pull the strings and try to ride the breeze. He made it off the ground a few times, but the wind was too weak.

There was a gaggle of middle school girls dressed in Abercrombie shorts and expensive-looking shoes. I pondered the practicality of white leather flats on a dusty hill at the park and unwittingly overheard the terrible conversation that wafted away from them. The majority of them had situated themselves on the other side of the railing from one girl in sweatpants and a t-shirt. They taunted her about nothing in particular and she pretended to smile and read a magazine. When the other girls turned back to watch the athlete try to fly again, the lone girl surreptitiously wiped a stray tear away. I wanted to walk over and hug her. Tell her it would all get better and someday she'd be gloriously successful, well loved, and have an amazing life. I wanted to grab a fistful of the ring-leader's hair and throw her down the hill by it. In settling down in a good spot to watch, Lilah and I passed by the girl. We made eye contact and I smiled as warmly as I could at her. She smiled tremulously back and scooted 6 inches toward us. Lilah waved and smiled as well.

Feeling a little ill and protective of my daughter's innocence, I herded Lilah away from the vipers and back toward the park. She waved at the paraglider and called out behind her, "Good luck!" I laughed. She informed me she thought he was going to make it, going to fly. And then she would fly too, fly in the sky like a bird.
"My baby bird!"
"I'm not your baby bird, Mama. I'm Lilah!"
She held my hand cheerfully and I vowed to myself to do everything possible to shield her not from the world, but from the hateful, calloused bitterness that contemporary young girls seem to be more frequently acquiring.

Back at the park, Lilah ran wild on the slides. Two little girls about 9 years old were playing and Lilah watched shyly. A little blonde girl named Sarah was clearly the head honcho. The brunette named Kristin held fast to a sea shell about 4 inches wide. She kept filling it up with water and emptying it down the slide. She said it was special food she was collecting. The blonde approached bashfully. Lilah put her hands behind her back and beamed at the little girls. "Can she play with us?" I was enchanted by the polite, friendly girl. Lilah looked at me.

"Of course, love." Sarah helped Lilah up the high parts of the structure while Kristin, still vying for Sarah's attention, continued trying to make a water slide. She caught me looking at her in amusement and felt the need to explain.

"We're playing Indians." I nodded and pretended I had some idea what was going on. They played for an hour and the girls doted on Lilah. I wondered what happened to change adorable, playful little girls into vapid little harpies. What inspired cruelty to replace innocence? Is it a rite of passage, feeling out adulthood and working out identities? Is it avoidable? Could I do anything to preserve my sweet little child?

After awhile, Lilah's new friends took to hiding behind a wall and shouting insults at some scrappy little boys who were monkeying around on the structure. We took our leave of the park as the sun started to set and walked the two blocks home. It was a long two blocks. Lilah Rose stopped to inquire after every dog, cat, child, yard toy, flower, flowering shrub, stick, miscellaneous rock, and interesting-looking yard statue. An alarmed mother rushed out of her house having heard someone talking to her preschool-aged daughter who had been bouncing a ball in the fenced yard. Fearing a strange adult, she instead found a curious toddler with her face pressed to the fence after hearing a ball bouncing. The relief was visible on her face, and we chatted for a few minutes. "Hi. I'm Lilah. I'm 2." Her social skills are blossoming.

A few houses down, she was timidly admiring a couple yappy dogs when their owner called out the window, "Wait right there!" She grabbed one and brought it out to see us. He was a 4 month old puppy named Romeo. He licked Lilah's face and hands and she giggled rather than shrieked like a banshee. She's made progress with her dog fear this past year. We continued on home and she asked to see if Frank was open at the coffee shop. The door was open, so we stopped in to say hello. He was having a class so was open later. He offered me a drink but I declined, it being almost 8 and I did have plans to sleep tonight. He asked Lilah what she'd like and she cast me a sly glance and said, "Hot cider, please." I shook my head. "I want a cider, Mama!"
"I know, love, and I understand. But it's too late in the evening for a juice. You can have an ice water if you'd like." She fussed, the look on her face clearly giving away the inner struggle between fit and acceptance.
"Pleeease, Mama?"
"Thank you for asking so nicely, but no. You may have water or nothing at all." Heavy sigh from the child.
"I'd like water please. Excuse me, Frank. I'd like a water with one ice cube." He laughed and filled a cup.
"Here. Have two." We thanked him and made our way home. She was exhausted but happy. We'd had a lovely, neighborly evening and I knew she'd sleep well. I knew the social strife she'd been totally oblivious to would stick with me far into the night, worrying out some way to protect her, or at the very least equip her to deal with it. I'm doing the best I can so she can be all she can be. There's a whole lot of person-potential bottled up inside my daughter. More comes out every day, and I love seeing it. As I settled into the silence of home with Lilah occupied by a chocolate chip cookie, I remembered a recent study that claimed the more oppositional and opinionated a child was with their parents, the less likely they were to give into social pressures later in their teenage years. I smiled at the tiny, chocolate-smeared person sitting next to me. She'd do just fine.

I got big plans...

For pretty much everything in my life, I have a plan.

We're in the throes of the home-buying process. To ease my anxiety over a series of events I have no control over, I lie awake at night thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong. Then I think up a back-up plan for that scenario. Then I think up a back-up for my back-up. It never helps me sleep. It barely even makes me feel better. But that's what I do.

My career plans and directions are always in the back of my head. What I want to do. How long it will take me to do it. What it will take to get it all accomplished.

My plans for the current week are kicking around in there too. Bills due, chores needing to be done, cooking and baking to complete, commitments I've made.

Gardening and sustainable living plans have been at the forefront of my mind lately, as well. What I'll plant, how much, where, when (all complicated by the simple fact we don't know where we'll be living next month). I take pride in my abilities as a planner and multi-tasker. I'm good at it. I keep lots of plates spinning at once without letting them fall and shatter.

It seems like more and more lately, I've been taking a step back to admire all my spinning plates. I give myself a pat on the back for a job well done. No disasters. No crises. No broken plates. Everything's moving along nicely and I'm doing my best to be patient at the things I can't control and let the universe work itself out. However, upon taking that reflective step away from the wonderful chaos that is my life, I realize there's an aching emptiness in my heart. This sounds absurd, I'm aware. I have an incredibly fulfilled life. I have a husband who grows more awesome with every passing year. I have a daughter who I couldn't love more as she grows up into an amazing little lady. My cat is simultaneously the bane of my existence and the dearest little animal there is. We have a house, good food, a great family. I am in a career field I love and feel blessed to be a part of. The emptiness I feel is purely selfish on my part.

Before Lilah, I had this awesome group of friends. Classmates and coworkers, I had a different activity and friend for every day of the week. After a long shift at Red Lobster, I'd go out with the best, most drama-free servers I've ever met. We didn't party or get crazy. We went to Fridays for 4 dollar appetizers, talking and laughing until we were almost too tired to drive home. At school, I had a tight-knit group of no-nonsense girls. We were in it for the piece of paper and actively shunned the nonsense that went with a class of mostly females. The instructors loved us for saying what they couldn't to our ridiculous classmates. I can't think of a single area of my life where I didn't have something to look forward to. Home was a place of rest and relaxation with my husband and the occasional friend who stopped by. It was a much-needed contrast to our crazy schedules and busy social calendars. And I was thriving that way. I build my home as a sanctuary, and this is still how I operate.

The problem is, we made choices no one else made. We got married (too) young. We started careers. We (accidentally) started a family. Instead of doing whatever made us happy, it almost seemed like our choices were being made for us by the path we chose (and are still so happy with). But nights like tonight, when I'm sitting at home alone, I'm painfully aware of the world around me. While my baby girl sleeps soundly and my husband is at class, I'm alone on my couch. Every time I log into Facebook, I just get one more reminder of which friend of mine is doing something awesome tonight. Who's going out for drinks. Who's got big shopping plans. Who's going to the casino. Who has a vacation planned. Bonfires. Bike-rides. Hikes. Adventures. Concerts. Movies.

I spend my spare time planning crafts and activities to engage a toddler-brain. I love it. It's just the almost 25-year old in me tonight that's crying selfishly. She's the one who wants peers again. I just want a handful of couples who know what it's like to live for your family and their happiness and don't mind that some days you don't get to shower or look cute or have new clothes. Sometimes all your scrubs and shoes have holes in them because groceries matter more, even if snotty girls at work make comments about not wearing old shoes so much. Sometimes planning a great dinner your family is excited about is all you have to look forward to at the end of the day, and it's still enough to light you up after a stressful time at work. Sometimes you realize with a start that at almost 5 years of marriage, you've still never once been on a vacation with your spouse because you hit the ground running as a couple and have just never stopped. None of our friends understand that. They awesomely make concessions for us. They come over here, knowing we can't go out. They invite us out individually so we can still be social if we "take turns". But none of them get it. I work with nurses in their 50s and 60s, or MAs who are single and happy that way. Dano goes to school with mostly 18 year olds who are fresh out of high school and don't care. Where do you go to meet people you have something in common with at this stage of our lives? Basically, you don't. You deal with it. And you have the occasional bad night in a mostly awesome life, because you know you wouldn't do anything differently even if you had the chance.

Outing, Take 2

So true to my word, I took Lilah Rose swimming last night. I'd been building up to it for two days, so I was really hoping the Warren Community Center was all it was cracked up to be. To hear me talk, it was a veritable oasis of childhood fun. We picked up Zedd after I got out of work. They'd both been fed, and I was driving while choking down a BLT lovingly prepared by my husband. Zedd had no idea where we were headed, Kim having kept it a surprise. On the way there, he was asking very probing questions.

"Does is have to do with goggles? I heard Mama ask where the goggles were." I laughed.

"Sounds like someone is playing detective." He just stared at me with those big blue eyes.

"No, I've never played that game before." I griped a bit about the cold weather to distract him. "Auntie, the groundhog did see his shadow." I rolled my eyes. How can I argue with a 7 year old?

"Well, the Michigan groundhog didn't." I navigated to the community center and hesitantly found a parking spot in the busy lot. I said, "Lilah, where are we going for our special night?"

"To the DIA!" *Sigh*

"Lilah, the DIA is downtown Detroit. This is Warren, where my Daddy works," Zedd informed her. We made our way inside, but I started to doubt myself when I saw the huge building, walls full of bookshelves, and 8000 kids and their parents. Maybe it was a school. I asked a determined looking older woman with a power-walking stride and an "I mean business" countenance if we were in the right spot. She took a deep, patient breath and directed us to follow her. She gave me a very judgmental look that seemed to ask why I had shown up there if I didn't know where I was going, so I made up some story about meeting someone but not being sure we were in the right place. Then Zedd gave me a very judgmental look, presumably for lying to an old woman. Thankfully he kept his mouth shut. She kindly showed us to the pool area and I thanked her. We signed in and made our way to the locker room.

Have you ever tried to change and shower yourself, a toddler, and a body-shy 7 year old? It's ill-advised if you haven't. I stripped Lilah down and sent her and Zedd into the shower while I stood outside and changed.  Lilah was prodded out by Zedd, now in the trunks I had to hand him while looking the other way. Lilah sat next to the drain and proceeded to splash and play in the "puddle" while I rinsed off. Zedd packed our stuff in a locker, and I dragged out of the locker room a fussing Lilah, who was convinced that her life couldn't get any better than splashing in a locker room drain puddle.

Cue awed little faces. 

The water was a foot deep and almost 90 degrees. There were about 6 life guards doing everything from circling the pool area to removing a punk 10 year old who thought it was funny to spray my daughter in the face and knock her down while his dad looked on and laughed. They intervened before I had to step in and drown the kid, so go them. The kids ran and splashed and played for almost 2 hours. Zedd has perfected the ear-shattering shriek, which he liberally employed. Lilah let out a few of her own and looked at me for my reaction. I opened my mouth to tell her not to shout, but I realized that they were essentially "outside" and should be allowed to get their shouts out now.

When they were closing the pool and I tried to fish Lilah out, she cried. "I'm not done in the bath!" Back in the dressing room, I tried to dry and change the children as fast as possible. Lilah let out a final shriek, and I told her we were back inside, and those noises have to stay outside. Zedd asked why.

"Because there are a lot of older people in here and when kids scream inside, they think there's something wrong." This was accepted. Lilah was near passed out in my arms from sheer exhaustion.

"Mama? I need...I neeeeeeed..." Water? Sleep? More bath time? "Pizza." I laughed. We navigated our way to Buddy's Pizza where we ate our fill of pepperoni and pineapple pizza and stuffed ourselves with fried mushrooms, cauliflower, and zucchini. The server was friendly and excellent, so when our check came I'd already made up my mind to tip her very well. I handed her a coupon I had, and she told me to keep it and beamed at me.

"Those two ladies sitting behind you paid for your dinner." I was in shock, but I found myself smiling. I asked if she could at least charge us for a drink so we could tip her, and she said, "Trust me, they took care of that too. You are all set."

On the way home, Zedd asked why they would do that if they didn't even know us. We all talked about the power of doing good for a stranger. He proceeded to tell me that if everyone did something nice for someone else, there would be no more robbers in Hazel Park.

"Or anywhere else," I added. "There are good and bad people everywhere you go. More good than bad. The more nice things we do for other people, the world will be a very nice place."

"Like Chazzanos!" Lilah piped up.