Shopping excursion

It's so strange. I gave birth to a baby and somehow I'm looking at a kid. They can't possibly be the same person. I wrestled her into my lap yesterday and told her, "Did you know that for the first two months you were alive, you wouldn't take a nap during the day unless you were laying on your mama or daddy? Hours I spent holding you. Did you know that?" She glared at me and said, "Yeah."

We went to the mall last week to go shopping for Fall clothes. It was perfectly lovely. I shopped mostly at the Carters outlet. She played at the table of blocks in the middle of the store and I shopped. I have to admit it made me so anxious to have her out of my sight, I wouldn't go around the backs of the racks. She played happily with another little girl. Well, more played next to her than played with her. We got lots of nice outfits and moved on. Gap had nothing to write home about. Gymboree was mostly just frightening. So was the Children's Place. Both stores had more toddler/kid than infant clothing, and what they did have looked like it had come straight out of a Hannah Montana episode. Lilah doesn't wear anything with writing on it (special exceptions are made for things like the "Save Some For Me" shirt her Grannie got her, with a picture of the Earth on it). But my child is not the one you'll catch wearing the "Brat" or "Princess" t shirt, or anything with sequins or glitter. The clothes I buy for her are bright, colorful, usually mix-and-match outfits (buy less and end up with more!), and the only writing you'll find on anything I just bought her is a tiny embroidered "adorable" on the sleeve of a dress I just bought her. It was so small I didn't even notice it until I came home.

I was feeling more than disgusted by the baby mini-skirts and sequined vests decided to call it a day after wandering the Children's Place. We were making out way through the veritable mob of well-dressed mothers, miserable fathers, and carefully groomed children when I heard a small peep from the front of the stroller. "Hat!" Lilah is decidedly anti-headwear, and not for lack of her mother trying to change her mind. She takes hats off and flings them. I looked and saw she was pointing to a row of hats on a shelf. "Yes, those are hats, Lilah."
"My hat!" I sighed. 'I wish!' I thought.
"No, love. You hate hats."
"Hat, Mama!" I picked one up and handed it to her. She jammed it on her head over her eyes. I laughed. It did look adorable. She took it off and handed it to me. "Hat." I put it on her head. She pulled the brim over her eyes and giggled, then pulled it off. "Peek!" We played that game for a few minutes before she put it on again and kept it on.
"Do you want this hat, Li?"
"Mine."
"Well, okay. Your hat." I was actually overjoyed. Not only did she have excellent taste, but she was already making her own clothing decisions at a year and a half. My mother still tried to dress me in coordinated outfits when I was 11, and had more than what could be considered a healthy say in my wardrobe at 16. We endured a line of unpleasantly conventional people to get to the register. I didn't see one person ahead of me that spent less than $150.00. Most spent much more. And we were checking out with a solitary hat. I laughed a little to myself about it. Lilah grabbed the ten dollar bill out of my hand and I helped her hand it to the check out lady, who looked like someone had, to borrow an expression from my friend Melissa, "pissed in her cornflakes". We left the Children's Place victorious, hat in tow.

We decided on a victory lunch at a little cafe. I got a great turkey and artichoke flatbread and Lilah had a three-cheese flatbread, orange slices, and as a special treat she even got an apple juice. I informed her of this (her first doctor always said, "Let her eat her fruit, not drink it," so juice is very rare), and she started bouncing in my arms. "Appa juice, Mama! Appa juice! Juuuuice!" She was very excited. I watered it down 50/50 and she never knew the difference. We chatted over lunch and I reveled in how great our day had been. One of the things that had been drilled into my head over and over as a child/teen/adult was my mother saying, "I hate shopping. I'm not a girly-girl and I hate girl stuff." Strangely she grew out of this when Gracie was born and became to her the mother I had always wanted but had resigned myself to never getting, believing her to be truly incapable of it. Apparently, it was just me. It was always me. Lilah and I are not "girly-girls" by any means. She loves her ride-on firetruck above all her other toys. She roars like a demon and eats dirt like a champ. But she genuinely enjoyed spending a day at the mall shopping for her clothes with her mama, and even started picking out her own things and inserting her own tastes and opinions. So I'm really thankful for a little white hat and a sweet little girl and a trip to the mall.

An outing

One of my favorite things to do with Lilah now is go shopping. It can be for anything. Groceries. Toilet paper. Milkshake run at Sonic. I love taking Lilah Rose and I love making it an adventure. She's so inquisitive and happy. She drinks in the world around her and I'm just happy to be a part of it.

Today, Lilah and I went to Target and Kroger for everyday things. She was dressed in a pretty 1960s throwback dress. It was yellow with white hems and neck, and had black flowers on it. Her hair was in a ponytail (which isn't just a bean sprout anymore!) and the not-quite-hair-but-longer-than-bangs strands were restrained with a black headband. She had yellow knee socks and looked beautiful as usual. The ride to Target was short. We listened to Colin Meloy Sings Live. I sang along and Lilah tried from the backseat - "Ba pa pa pa!" The songs were punctuated with a British man's voice giving us directions from the GPS on the dash. When we got to Target, I said, "We're here!"
She said, "Get out, Mama?"
"Yes, love. We're getting out." I settled her into the cart and strapped her in. We were barely through the automatic doors before her sneaky little butt had done a 180 in the cart (while still buckled in) so she was on her knees facing the back of the cart. She grabbed my list and pen out of my hand and tossed it on the ground, and started bouncing up and down on her knees and saying "Hi!" to literally every passerby. Most were charmed and said, "Well, hi there! Aren't you beautiful?!" Or something along those lines. She'd say, "Yeah!" and smile to show of her pretty white teeth. Every single person who interacted with her got lost in those wily blue eyes.

We went to the shoe aisle. She needs good shoes to support her almost-walking. She's taking 6-8 steps independently now. I looked at a lot of them and chose three pairs that were cute, comfortable, and functional. I held them up. "Okay. Choices, Lilah. Pick two pairs of shoes please." We've been trying to offer her choices between two things lately to foster a sense of independence and control. We do not want a snotty toddler. I made a mistake by offering her three items to choose from on a trip where she was already feeling sassy and busy. She cocked her head and lifted one pair of black shoes out of the box. I secretly hoped she would change her mind about them. She got a devious smile on her face and tossed them on the ground. "Uh-oh, Mama!" *Giggles*. I sighed and knelt down to pick up the shoes.
"So I'll take that as a..." *Thunk*. A pair of little brown mary janes hit me on the head followed by hysterical laughter from the cart.
"Uh-oh, Mama!" More laughter. We ended up with two pairs of shoes, a bump on my head, a cart full of stuff, and we moved on to Kroger.

We loaded up the cart with fruit and bread, since that's what we came for and I can't seem to keep any of those items in my house. I showed her a pretty cake with a daisy on it. "Bite, Mama?"
"No, love. It isn't your cake."
"...Bite, Mama? Mine?" We moved on to the produce section. I picked a cantaloupe.
"Melon, Lilah. It's tasty." I sat it in her lap. She took a bite of the rind and made a face. I sighed.
"Yuck."
"Yeah, yuck. It's not peeled. We still need berries, grapes, kiwi, and something else." We can't say the word 'banana' around Lilah unless we're prepared to produce one for her consumption instantly. She was busy trying to pry open the carton of strawberries when we passed the banana aisle. I prepared myself for what was ahead. As soon as she spotted them, she started rocking back and forth like a crack addict and reaching for them.
"Nana, Mama! Nana! Nana!"
"Yes, Lilah. You can have one as soon as we get in the car." We went to check out and the lady was nice but a little flustered. Her bagger was late so she was going back and forth between bagging and checking out. I told her I could bag my own. She asked if I was sure. "Yeah, it's not a problem." She looked relieved. Lilah started chatting with her. It was so strange. I watched the stress and worry melt off her face as she continued exchanging words with my daughter. Before we left, she said,
"You're just a little ray of sunshine, you know that? I needed you today. I could use a few more things as good as you to brighten up my days." We thanked her and left.

On the way home I got to thinking about how many grouchy, unhappy-looking people I frequently noticed in the world, and how many happy, smiling people I had encountered today. The world probably wasn't getting more carefree. It was the effect my sweet little baby had on the people she interacted with. Her smile lights up the people she graces with it. Sullen-looking people can be moping about their day, and it all changes when one little girl says, "Hi!" I think that's pretty special.

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight..."

"...and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." ~Oscar Wilde

I am, by nature, a dreamer. My mind is usually a jumble of stress and emotion during the day, but for some reason manages to sort and file itself into an almost recognizable and damn-near functional human psyche after I slip into The Dreaming (as Neil Gaiman calls the twilight world). Consider the following...

My dad asked me to call him on my birthday. We kept missing each other, and he emailed again a couple days ago to pinpoint a more exact time that would be good for both of us. I had talked to Nick about it already, who shared his sunshiney opinion - that my dad was starting to see things from a different light and wanted to turn over a new leaf. I was more inclined to a slightly less optimistic point of view - perhaps he had a terminal illness and wanted to make amends, or perhaps early-onset Alzheimer's and wanted to talk to me before he forgot how.

My heart was pounding and I tasted metal on the back of my tongue as I dialed on the way home from work. He picked up, and his tone was strained. We weren't more than a few words into the conversation before I realized I didn't need to clear my calendar for Thanksgiving and Christmas just yet. Here are some highlights -

He was less than impressed with my 13 year old brother contacting me a few months back and me not immediately reporting his disobedience to my parents. Apparently my duty was to rat out a troubled little boy to the people who forfeited any communication with me 3 years ago, and by not doing so, I proved to them that I would still prefer a sneaky, dishonest state of existence to an above-board relationship. I "set Mason up to fail." If I had made a "better" decision, the long-awaited conversation with my dad would have been 100% different according to him. Got to hear the same old sob story about how my mother will take my words and actions to the grave and re-lives them every day. He said, "Do not have any sort of contact with my minor children. I'm sure, as a parent now, you can understand..." and that's really the last thing I actually heard. My mind flashed back to countless arguments in my childhood that had ended with, "When you're a parent, you'll understand." The problem is, now that I'm a parent I understand even less. In fact, I find their words and actions appalling. Here are some of my responses -

I did the best I could with a difficult situation and handled it in the way I felt was most right. I had a troubled sibling reaching out to me and didn't turn him away or sell him out. I acted like a big sister. I still felt like I'd made the right decision and was sorry he disagreed, but that was the nice thing about us both being adults - we could make decisions the other disagreed with. Just the fact that he considered Mason talking to me "setting him up to fail" spoke volumes about how his opinion really hadn't changed. I was really over a happy relationship with my family being the proverbial carrot always dangled in front of me. He hadn't called to start over. He'd called to tell me that once again, he thought I'd fucked up and was disappointed and I had so many other things going on in my life right now, I really couldn't be bothered with all that. As far as my mother was concerned, I told him that I asked for forgiveness for my actions and apologized years ago. I had forgiven them and moved on to lead a healthy, happy life. It wasn't any concern of mine that she chose to relive it until it ate her alive like a cancer. My responsibility ended years ago. The rest was on her. "And as for me being a parent, all I understand is that as a parent, I could never let one of my kids slip through the cracks, so I'm pretty sure we can leave my child out of this. You're going to think what you want about this, so there's really nothing left to say. I love you, despite what you may think." He hung up.


I pulled the car into a parking lot so I could cry properly. I started to drive home again when I could see the road again. Now I'm not saying this for worry or sympathy, but I saw a car in the oncoming lane and I was too far over because my eyes were still blurred. I swerved out of the way and pulled onto my street, but I thought, "Maybe I should have just let them hit me. Maybe things would be different then." I banished the thought as fast as it slithered into my head and realized just how poisonous my parents still were if they could instantly inspire such unhealthy emotions. Dano held me when I got home and told me he was proud of me, that I'd done and said the right things. I said I should have known better all along and trusted my suspicions that he had ulterior motives. Dano reminded me that I had shared the same suspicions when Nick had emailed and I was wrong then. That made me feel much better. I had sharp pains in my stomach and felt nauseated and had a headache. Par for the course after a conversation with one of my parents. I thought, "Feeling like crap physically - check. Feeling like crap emotionally - check. Self-esteem hanging in around zero - check. Oh yeah. Same old Dad."


I went upstairs and ran my hand over a sleeping Lilah Rose and swore before all the universe for the thousandth time that I'd never leave her. I got into bed and Dano held me until he drifted to sleep. I was restless and tossed and turned. Tears sneaked out of my eyes even when I screwed them tightly closed and I cursed my lachrymal glands. I tried feeling sad, angry, sorry for myself, and no emotion consoled me. I thought, "I bet my dad's not sleeping well tonight either, after all this." So I closed my eyes and meditated, emotionally reaching my arms out for a daddy who always loves me, never leaves me, and always heals me when my heart breaks. I asked to grant my dad a peaceful rest and a calm mind. As soon as I started asking good things for my dad, the hurt started to soothe a little and the scar tissue started to form again where my heart had just been wrenched open. I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed. 


I felt like I was falling, but not fast. I was more drifting down through an inky blackness, a dark so deep it was thick and palpable. It wasn't a scary darkness. It was calming and friendly. I fell into a dream where I had planned an elaborate party in the woods down to the last detail. I'm not sure what I was celebrating, but I had cooked all of this amazing food and made a bunch of handmade delicious candies. I made just enough for everyone I knew was coming. I was exhilarated, proud of my work, and excited. My dad and little brothers Noah and Mason (at the ages I saw them last) came along uninvited and ravenously devoured everything. My decorations were ruined, the food was gone, and they mocked my efforts. "Who has a party in the woods anyway? That food wasn't even good." I ran deep into the woods crying and threw myself at the base of an ancient oak tree. I felt strong arms around me and I opened my eyes. For some reason, I was still me, but I was also an acorn. I was covered in pine needles and looked almost like a hedgehog (I was me, but I could also see me. It was one of those dreams). I thought I'd open my eyes to a man holding me (they were man-arms) but I saw I was being held lovingly in the branches and boughs of the tree. I was surprised and curious. With hands that looked like branches and leaves but felt like hands, the tree brushed off the dirt and needles from my skin. "Why am I an acorn?" I asked the tree.
"Because you've always been mine."
"Who are you?"
"You were theirs for a time, but you've always belonged to me."
"But who are you?" All around me, and yet only in my head, I heard a line from the song "The Hazards of Love 4 - The Drowned". It went "And painting rings around your eyes, these peppered holes so filled with crying. A whisper weighed upon the tattered down where you and I were lying. But I pulled you and I called you here, and I caught you and I brought you here."
"You brought me here? Why?"
"Because you're mine. I love you and you're mine. They had you for their time but we have taken you back." I looked around the canopy. 
"Who is 'we'?" It was just understood that it was the same tree, but that tree was connected to all the other trees in the forest, the soil and water with its roots, the heavens with its highest branches, the universe itself.
"You aren't theirs anymore. Now grow." And I was planted between two mountainous roots at the base of the ancient oak tree.


Then I woke up.