Getting In Touch

(Disclaimer: This post..It's long and convoluted. I'm kinda laying it all out there, Internet, so please bare with me.)
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So, I started a Facebook page last week. I know. I'm severely late to the game. I have this blog that I've faithfully kept since August '08 and a more recently introduced Twitter account. I'm out there, on the web, broadcasting my life. A few years ago my husband jumped on the bandwagon and started a MySpace page(and tried and tried to convince me to make one) but I resisted. Back then all my friends had a MySpace page too. I did not. And I did not want one. Then everyone switched to Facebook, where all the cool kids hang out. I resisted. My sisters-in-law, my best friends, my MOTHER even, all tried to convince me that I needed to be on Facebook. The argument went something like this..."Only people who know about your blog can access it. You would be able to update so many more people on Facebook." Ummm, exactly.

And there you have it. The true reason I resisted the world of Facebook. There are people out there. Lots of people. Lots of people who knew different versions of me in previous versions of my life.

I have spent the last few day thinking a lot about what I think about myself. I tend to think of my life in stages. Not necessarily 1.) Childhood, 2.) Teenager, 3.) College...and so on. More like this:

1.) Church girl
2.) College flaky
3.) Someone's girlfriend
4.) Short-lived marriage
5.) Discovering myself
6.) True love
7.) Mommy/Family.

In each of these stages I have been a somewhat different person, a different version of myself. I admit that the reason I was so resistant to Facebook is the fear that people who knew me at each different stage might not like me now. They might not even recognize me, and I'm not talkin' about my face. I kinda felt like I was "hiding out." Out there, in my own private way, but only visible if people knew where to look.

And this blog...it's where I show myself. I always feel like I am bearing a little piece of my soul when I put up a post. Yes, even when it's just a post with pictures of my daughter. Because she is part of my soul, too, a large part. And when I put up a post like this one...I am really letting it all hang out. And that's scary to me. What if people don't like what I have to say. What if it changes their opinion of me? But I love this blog. This blog and I, we have a complicated relationship, actually. There are days when I feel like it is hung around my neck...haven't posted in days, must think of something to write, must take cute pic of G, people are wondering where I am. And there are other days when I can't stop thinking in post titles, composing entire paragraphs in my head before I ever get near the computer. Like a lot of bloggers I kept copious journals for many years. Now they are buried somewhere in the basement (don't you worry, I know exactly where they are) and this blog serves as my journal most of the time. And I don't want to feel like I need to censor myself. Or censor my feelings because of how someone might react to them. So, the dilemma...how "out there" do I put myself?

I finally caved in on Thursday. It seemed like all signs in the Universe were pointing toward "Time for Kami to join Facebook." I'm only partially kidding. I broke down, I signed up, and it had a slightly fateful feel to it. Weird? Yes. Maybe I'm reading too much into it? Maybe. But maybe not. As I'm finding out, it's fairly impossible to be anonymous on Facebook. You become friends with one person who is friends with someone else you used to know....and yada, yada, yada- 5 days later you already have 40 Facebook friends. I accepted one friend request and Boom! Five people I haven't talked to in a few years located me. I friended my mom (yes, my mother was on Facebook before me...I know, how lame) and Bam! People I hadn't talked to in more than a decade found me.

And you know what? It wasn't as scary as I thought. I was a little apprehensive at first. But it took a surprisingly short time to get over it. And then I began to enjoy catching up with people. So, next, I went out looking. And I found my best friend from college, some friends I grew up with, people from high school. People who, in their own ways, have changed just as much as I have. But still remain great people. People who don't seem to expect that I have stayed the same, either. People who I've really missed! And it's starting to feel ok to let people see me, the Me I am right now. I am very proud of the life I have made. I love my husband. We have a rock-solid relationship. I have a beautiful, sweet-as-pie child who is the light of my life. I am happy. If others who "knew-me-when" make some judgment about me that I disagree with, that doesn't make it true, it doesn't make them right. And it doesn't mean I can't be happy anyway. In many ways I feel like I am getting in touch with myself as I get in touch with others.

I think I have mentioned here before that I have never been a very social person. I am naturally shy and introverted. I'm awkward at parties. I hate talking on the phone. I'm terrible at keeping up with people (ummm, that's why there are so many people who I've lost contact with...the picture, it becomes clear!) But I have noticed that this year I seem to be...well, let's just be corny for a second, blossoming socially. I think, no, I know, that this blog has helped that process. And I feel very strongly that stepping into Facebook is another phase. It's the phase where I get to reclaim all those versions of myself and really own them. I can embrace them as Me and not be scared about what that says about me. And, with that, I can embrace all those people who were with me along the way and not be scared that they won't like me now. Because...well, they liked me then. And I'm still me. Just an older, wiser me.

So, Hi! How have you been? I've missed you!

If you need us, we'll be spending the summer down at the creek...

"See-Hee"

Dear Giuliana,

You, my dear, are a silly, goofy little girl. You make me laugh so hard sometimes I get tears in my eyes! You seem to delight in making your father and I giggle. And you are just So. Darn. Cute! You love to be the center of attention, and why not, you have been your whole little life. You make random strangers smile on a daily basis, so it makes sense that you would also excel at entertaining those who know you the best.

Last night is a perfect example of what I'm talking about. We were in the middle of eating dinner (pizza, you lucky girl, and cherries.) You were feeling in rare form; I'm guessing it was the joy of eating pizza. So, there, in the middle of dinner, you decide that cherries would be the perfect "topping" to accompany dinner. Meaning...on top of your head. I know some babies delight in smearing their food all over their face and hair, making a general mess of themselves and their meal. (You are certainly not above that, exhibit #1:


October 2008, The Sweet Potato Incident, exhibit #2:


December 2008, The Hershey's Mini Incident.) But that is NOT what I am talking about this time. You had simply decided that cherries, and then pizza crust, would make an absolutely perfect dinner hat. In fact, you told me it was a "ha-aa." (You really have a thing for hats, exhibit #3:


January 2009, The Eating Chalk Whilst Wearing a Hat Incident, exhibit #4:


April 2009, The Grandpa's Orange Hat is a Great Easter Bonnet Incident.) When I giggled at you and told you you were silly, you seemed perfectly content to agree with me..."see-hee," and continued to pile more things on top of your head. Then you shook your head so they all came tumbling down..."uh-oh!" Uh-oh my foot. You know exactly what you are doing. What a little goof. Of course, when Daddy got the camera out you stopped being silly. You know better than to let yourself get caught on film for posterity.

Anytime you can be a goof and get away with it you jump at the chance. Laughing and running away when I tell you to "come here," playing the "parts of the face" game or the "blowing raspberries" game when I am trying to rock you to sleep and giggling like a hyena because you know you're getting away with being cute, running around with Daddy's socks yelling "saaaahks" when he is trying to get ready in the morning, getting into the dog's face and giggling so he will give you a "kiss" (yuck!), just your random everyday cuteness, anything that will prompt a laugh from us.


You enjoy pointing out when other people are being "see-hee," too. When Daddy tickles you at bedtime or blows raspberries on your neck, you immediately accuse him, with a little finger pointing in his face "See-hee, Da dee! See-hee!" You point and laugh at Steve on Blue's Clues for being silly, and you laugh at Mommy, too. You have a finely tuned sense of humor, Chicaboo, even at this young age. I hope you keep laughing and giggling for a long time. It makes me smile.

Love,
Mommy

Late Wordless Wednesday

Hey, it's still Wednesday. I've got 2.5 hours. These are the pics my mom finally (ok, she sent them last week, I was too lazy to download them till now) sent me from Easter.

Tag! You're It.

This weekend John and I played a rousing and exhausting game of Tag-Team Parenting. It went something like this: G is playing happily, but under the surface, not unlike an iceberg, there is lurking a screaming, whiny, over-tired almost 18 month-old. Soon, the calm breaks, the storm rolls in. Whoever had been entertaining her most recently tries to hold down the thunder to a dull rumble utilizing any means possible: singing, tickling, Blue's Clues...whatever works. When that fails (as it inevitably does) the tag happens. "I can't take her screaming at me anymore, you make it better. Thanks."

Why wouldn't she nap this weekend? I tried valiantly both days. She caught about 20 mins in the car on Sunday. N-O-T-E-N-O-U-G-H! To top it off, we were at a friend's BBQ on Sunday, with other peoples' family, people who had never met G before. She's cute. But that only gets her so far. I'm afraid she didn't make a very accurate impression of herself. (Sorry Colleen!)

Thank God I have someone to hand her off to when I just need a break! What do you do when all your excellent parenting skills fail at the mercy of an exhausted toddler?

Midnight Mothering

1:01 AM

The baby monitor crackles, then howls with a startling cry. I am jolted from sleep and immediately get up and go into the next room. There has been noise coming over the monitor off and on all night. Soft moaning and crying that is typical when she is teething, the cycle of waking and self-soothing and sleeping that, though often disturbing to my own sleep, I am used to. But this cry is the other. The one my heart immediately knows; "I am needed."

She is only half-awake herself, crying from a bad dream, or sore mouth, or tummy ache, I'm not sure. I lift her out of the crib, shhhing and cuddle her close. She continues to cry. I notice a very heavy, soggy feeling to her diaper. I think, "she had that second sippy cup just before bed," and lay her on the changing table. She does not want to go through this routine right now. Neither do I. But if I don't change her diaper now I will be changing sheets in the morning.

I try a current favorite, "Row, row, row your boat..." I warble in my sleep dulled voice. She doesn't stop howling for a second, doesn't join in with "rororororororororo." I stop singing. My mind can only focus on one task at this hour of the night. I reassure her we are almost done, almost done. I snap her onesie and put her foot back in her pajama leg. She still cries. I didn't put her foot all the way in the footie and as I move to the other leg she struggles to try to fit her foot through the elastic herself. She is getting so big! So independent, helping to dress and undress herself in small ways. I assist her with the neglected foot and zip her up. Still howling in that slightly paniced voice.

I settle her down with me in the rocking chair and she cuddles close but continues to cry. This is unusual. She is normally settled by now. I ask her, through her tears, does her tummy hurt. She stops all noise for a second, then says shakily, "no," and resumes. I ask, does her mouth hurt...sob, "no." We rock for a few second while my mind tries to remember what to do. I start with an old favorite, a cheerful little tune, "I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck..." She still cries through it, but, thankfully, she can't hold out much longer. She tearfully repeats "dodododododo" after me, as usual. This is my trick. She never could hold out from a good sing-along. We cycle through the tune a few more times and she faithfully chimes in at the end. And then she quiets, readjusts herself into my neck and returns to sleep. I rock her a few minutes more for good measure then softly lift her and carry her back to the crib. She gently stirs when I lay her down, but the sleep continues.

These are our moments together. I climb back in bed, feeling a bit smug. And kind of warm and fuzzy. The fuzz may just be sleep deprevation. I was able to offer a measure of comfort, motherly love and affection. I am a good mother. She will not always need me in that way. Someday my little tricks will be futile to stem the tears. She will be too big to cuddle up in my lap. She may choose someone else to provide that sense of "all is well." In fact, she must, at some point. She must grow up.

But not tonight. Tonight, I fit the bill. I'll take it.

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Edited at 7:30am to add:

4:12 AM

The wailing breaks out again. I get up and go see what's wrong, bleary and not-with-it. I remember little wet fingers stuffed in her mouth last night. Teething. My nemesis. I give her homeopathic teething tabs, little miracle pills. We rock, I sing. It's not working this time. She falls into a fitful sleep on my shoulder twice, but immediately cries out, in that loud, loud cry, as soon as I place her in the crib. Daddy comes in to see if he can help. But really, what can either of us do? I say, "please go turn on the heat, I'm freezing." There is a frost tonight. I bring her into bed with us. She cries. She kicks. She falls asleep for a few minutes. Daddy has to go downstairs, he can't sleep because he is in pain. As soon as he leaves the bed she sprawls. Then awakes again, and the loud crying begins.

4:23 AM
4:42 AM

The kicking, yelling, crying, squirmy-worminess continue. We both doze for a few minutes at a time. She cracks her hard little skull into my browbone. Ow.

5:27 AM

We both fall asleep, finally.

5:51 AM

My alarm begins to chirp. I quickly locate it, reaching gently over her to quiet it before it wakes her again. She is sound asleep. An angel. I get up and take a shower. Hello, Wednesday.
The smugness, it is gone. All I feel this morning is numb exhaustion.

The Great Outdoors

When I arrived at my parents' house yesterday to pick up Giuliana she was outside with my mother in the garden, as she has been most sunny afternoons of late. She was happily digging in the gravel. I was wearing heels, so I took them off and left them on the porch and made my way through the yard barefoot. Ah, bliss.

I spent the majority of my childhood running around that yard in bare feet; exploring, hiding, hiking, climbing, digging, wading, pretending. It's a HUGE yard, with a creek(ish), lots of trees, a mountain, a pond, and even a large swamp. G has just begun discovering the joys of playing in the yard. After I picked her up and gave her a kiss, she squirmed to be let down and took off "running" (as fast as a 17 month old can run on uneven ground, up hill) toward the tree swing. It brings weepy emotions to think of all the fun she'll have sharing the same play space that I enjoyed as a kid. And as for me, it's been a long (too long) time since I walked around that yard in bare feet. It felt great!

We don't have that kind of yard at our house. We have a small fenced in yard with a big patio. But we make the best of it. And we have been spending large, large amounts of time out there lately. We also have a park a block away with a huge sandbox and a great jungle gym. Though different, I still think it's a pretty neat place to be a kid.

I often stop and think about the kind of memories G will have about her own childhood. Memories of that great big yard and our little one, too. Memories of bubbles and sidewalk chalk and the sandbox. Memories of running free and feeling the grass between her toes and climbing trees and going on scavenger hunts in the woods.

I am so glad that some day we will be able to share similar memories from different childhoods. And memories that we made together in her childhood.







(That's chalk dust and bubbles all over her shirt. You can't see it, but there is chalk dust in her hair from emptying the chalk tub and putting it on her head like a hat. Priceless.*)




* Please ignore our ghetto fridge on the patio...that's the old one that is going to John's Dad's...SOON!

Monday Drivin'

Spent the afternoon on a (paid) relaxing country drive. I had to go visit a client who lives way, and I mean waaaaaaaaaaay out in the country. What a beautiful way to spend a Monday afternoon! I had the window rolled down, the Ipod cranked up, my camera phone ready...I live in a fairly metropolitan area (stop snickering, it is, comparatively) so it is always nice to get the chance to go for a long, sunny drive and sort of...stretch out, ya know? And all while getting paid for it, even better!

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Hope all my mom readers had a fabulous Mother's Day! Mine was busy, but, as I discovered last year on my first official Mother's Day...very enjoyable! Who knew it would be so nice to be "honored?" I was surprised at how emotional and sweet Mother's Day really is when you're a mom. I never knew! Giuliana made a finger-painting for me that my mom turned into a card. I may have cried when I opened it....OK, I did. My husband, who ROCKS!, made two of my dreams come true when he bought me the weed-whacker I asked for, and then went a step (leap!) further and also bought me a new fridge! Yippee!! Anyway ladies, Happy Mother's Day, a day later.

Time In A Bottle

January 2008

Sitting in the doctor's office waiting room, killing time and fighting exhaustion, John and I had a brief and disturbing conversation. I was flipping through a back issue of Parenting magazine, or maybe it was Parents, I don't know, I just know I am seriously behind in both and they are piling up on my living room table and I grabbed one to read while killing time at the doctor's office.

ANYWAY.

While flipping through this shall-remain-nameless magazine that involves parenting advise, I stumbled across an article with tips on weening your kid from their bottle. And I realized, and in a slightly panicked state yanked John's attention away from his mp3 player long enough to make him realize and share in my panic a little, that it is just about that time. Time to think about weening poor little G away from her bottle. What? YIKES.

One point made and well-taken in said article is that as much as G probably loves her bottle, I probably love it more. And that is probably true. For a while, the bottle and I, we were at odds. I wanted with all my heart to breastfeed my child. I had read up like a good little feminist on how much better breast milk is....yadda yadda, I won't go into all that here. Suffice it to say, I was not able to nurse. I have a hormonal imbalance that made it impossible. Oh, how it broke my heart, even though it was my secret fear throughout my pregnancy (this was after getting over the secret fear that I wouldn't be able to get pregnant, which, obviously, though difficult, untrue.) So, after 4 weeks of trying to nurse, G loosing weight, pumping like crazy only to get 4 oz max, I had a long heartfelt conversation with John, and I gave up, gave in, whatever. We introduced formula and never looked back. That bottle was a kind of symbol of my failed attempt to be an "all-natural" mother. But as G gained weight and thrived, I got over myself. And I guess I kind of developed an attachment to that bottle.

At one year G switched to whole milk and we started reducing the number of bottles that she drinks in a day. She has had a sippy cup for-ever that she drinks gallons of juice and water from with delight. She can drink out of a "big girl" cup (that's a regular cup to you and I) like a pro if I don't mind changing her outfit afterward. But whenever I try to sneakily give her milk in a sippy cup, or even a big girl cup, she takes a few sips, and....that's it. Milk, it's for the bottle, Mom.

Bedtime and naptime. This is our routine. We sit in the cozy rocking chair in her bedroom, she snuggles close on the boppy pillow and cuddles with her blankie, and I (or John, or my mom) give her a bottle, read a story, possibly sing a song. And she falls asleep. Or doesn't. But she relaxes and it is comforting. Routine. It's all the cultural representations of parental love and care, isn't it? What to do now?

The article advised pushing the milk in the sippy cup issue a little harder than I have been. It suggested giving her water in her bottle so that she stops associating it with milk. And it recommends doing away with the naptime bottle first, then finally tackling the bedtime bottle. All good, solid advice, I'm sure. And advice I will probably use. But that panic, it's still there. Sitting on my chest.

Here's a few of the panic inducing thoughts:

1.) How is it possible that she is nearly 18 months old already. A year and a half. A toddler. A child who is getting too big for a bottle. THAT'S what I want to "bottle" (oh, come on! you knew that pun was coming, I gave you the title!) Her babyhood. It's slipping away so fast. Everyday she is a little more grown-up, a little bigger. She is talking more, getting better at climbing/running/jumping/playing, being a kid. When she stops taking the bottle, when our routines change, she will be even that much less of a baby.

2.) How do I get her to go to sleep, now?? Bedtime, actually, is not that big of a deal. She is used to being put down still awake. She plays, talks to herself, sometimes cries a little, but all in the name of "self-soothing." And she eventually falls peacefully asleep. She does get excited after her jammies are on and she gets her blankie. She know a bottle is coming. But I think she can work through that. It's naptime that I'm so worried about. This girl does NOT willingly go down for a nap. She takes her bottle. We rock. We sing. She (hopefully) falls asleep before the bottle runs out. If not, it's a car ride. How am I ever going to get her to take a nap if I take away my not-so-secret weapon?

3.) This next one is silly, but I worry just the same: Will she ever adjust to drinking milk from a cup? She just doesn't seem to want it from a cup. But she's still so little. She needs milk, it's an important part of her diet. Do you think I should entice her with chocolate milk in a sippy cup? Will that work?

4.) I have never taken anything away from her. Not in the long-term, permanent sense. She had pacifiers when she was littler, but she was never a big fan. She would take it if given to her, but she never asked for it, never cared one way or the other. So, when I finally decided, eh, I guess she doesn't need this...no big deal, she could have cared less. Other than that, we have always been introducing new things not taking something away. So far her world has been all wide-eyed wonder and discovery. Not disappointment. Not missing something that is comforting and, well, essential. (Except Mommy and Daddy, when we're at work, I guess that counts.) I have real fear and regret that I have to get her used to the idea losing something. It seems a harsh lesson for someone so young, so new.

I know I am totally over thinking this whole thing! (I tend to do that. Hi, have you met me?) It has to happen sooner or later. 18 months seems to the generally accepted "appropriate time." I suppose I don't have to listen to all those experts, but she can't be drinking out of a bottle at 18 years old (well, not that kind of a bottle...let's not go there!) So, I have to face up to it and tackle it at some point. I just don't want to.

She Picked Me A Smile

This afternoon, when we got home, I grabbed a basket and some shears and took Giuliana out to cut some of those beautiful lilacs. She stopped at the edge of the driveway and knelt down. At first I thought she had stumbled. Then she reached over and picked a dandelion. And put it in my basket, with no prompting, I swear. My first hand-picked bouquet from my beautiful daughter. Even prettier than my lilacs.

Stopping To Smell The Lilacs

This morning, I hurried to get myself ready for work, as usual. I hurried to change Giuliana's diaper, give her her medicine, and get ready to go to Grandma's, as usual. I hurried to say both "Good Morning!" and "GoodbyeIloveyouHaveagreatday!" to my husband, as usual. I ran out the door toting G, blankie, pocketbook, diaper bag, keys, and coffee, as usual. I balanced all of it while opening the gate, unlocking the car door, unlocking the rear car door, and getting G into her car seat, without dropping anything, especially kid or coffee, as usual. I got G securely strapped in her seat, gave her our morning car-ride kiss, as usual, and shut her door.

And then.

I stopped.

And I noticed one of my very favorite things about spring at my house. Indeed, another one of those top reasons why we fell in love with this house. Our lilac bushes are in bloom. It was that fragrant whiff that first caught my otherwise preoccupied attention. And then I turned and saw the glorious purple curtain that envelopes my back yard this time of year. It only lasts a few day, perhaps a week if we're lucky. That beautiful, splendid, aromatic, blooming mass that gets me all dreamy, in love with the impending summer and the possibility of flowers! And warm weather! And sunshine! Even though this morning is a rainy mess. That riot of lavender that gets me to stop in my busy tracks and just breath in their heady fragrance for a second. To just breath for a second.



My lilacs.



My parents' lilacs, and apple trees, and rose bush.

Enjoy your scenery today!

Here I Am

Hi folks,

Just thought I'd stop by the ol' blog and say "Hi! I'm alive!" Hey, who keeps this thing up, anyway? It is looking pretty bare these days!
What's that? Oh! It's me?!? You mean this thing doesn't just update itself? Well, that sucks. Can I get someone to do it for me? No? Hmmmm.
Well, sometime between taking care of a recovering baby, going to a gazillion doctor's appointments, actually going to work (I know! geez!), cleaning my house, weed-wacking my yard (there's an update! I've finally convinced John that we really, truly do need to own a weed-wacker!! We're buying one this week!), helping my husband get ready to go back to work on Monday (oo! oo! another update!), grocery shopping, staying on top of all the piles of dog hair that infest my floors, getting another pedicure with Kate (yes, Kate! I hear you! we do need to do this soon. Rose and my MIL want in, too) spending 5 minutes with my husband, and uh, sleeping...I'll try to whip up an interesting, maybe even scintillating post. I know you will be excited.

Miss you!
Kami
xoxoxo

Hell Hath No Fury

Have you ever tried to have a coherent, meaningful conversation with a doctor while there is a screaming, crying, red-faced wild child in your arms, hitting you in the face and arching her back so she almost falls on the floor? No? You really should try it. 3 times in one week, if you can. I totally recommend experiencing a 17 month old in all her might and fury all the while attempting to maintain your half of a rational conversation. And getting any useful medical advice out of it.