In My Daughter's Eyes

This is one of those songs that I haven't listened to in years, that periodically pop up on my iPod and turn me into mush. That happened last Friday night while I was driving home. Tears were just streaming down my face.  I had a particularly rough time last week. I was feeling like I had had "enough," without really knowing what that even meant. I just felt fed up, used up, chewed up and spit out, whatever cliche you choose. But what to do about it? There really is nothing to do about it. You have to keep on keeping on, right? But I'd had about enough of that stoic little attitude, too.

Enter this perfectly timed reminder. In my daughter's eyes, I see what is important. I see the reminder that life is about "hanging on when your heart has had enough, giving more when you feel like giving up." If I hadn't hung on and given more, my daughter wouldn't be here in the first place. She is my incredible, perfect miracle. She is my blessing. And I would give anything for her. And some day, she will be grown, she will be gone from my home, and these hard days will be a hazy, happy memory with the difficult times thankfully whisked away with the paint brush of time. And I will miss them, intensely, I'm sure. I hope that I will still be (or be again) her hero. I know she'll be mine.

In my daughter's eyes I am a hero
I am strong and wise and I know no fear
But the truth is plain to see
She was sent to rescue me
I see who I wanna be
In my daughter's eyes

In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal
Darkness turns to light and the
world is at peace
This miracle God gave to me gives me
strength when I am weak
I find reason to believe
In my daughter's eyes

And when she wraps her hand
around my finger
Oh it puts a smile in my heart
Everything becomes a little clearer
I realize what life is all about

It's hangin' on when your heart
has had enough
It's giving more when you feel like giving up
I've seen the light
It's in my daughter's eyes

In my daughter's eyes I can see the future
A reflection of who I am and what will be
Though she'll grow and someday leave
Maybe raise a family
When I'm gone I hope you see how happy
she made me
For I'll be there
In my daughter's eyes

Contortions on the Tightrope

** Disclaimer #1: This post is about my thoughts and decisions and struggles as the parent of a girl. It is not a judgment of anyone else's choices. We all do our best as mothers and parents and your decisions for your daughters are your's to make.
** Disclaimer #2: This post is all over the place, I'm sure. It is a jumble of thoughts and perspectives that, three years into having a daughter, I am still working out, and probably will be working out until she is 30.

As I promised on Facebook last week, I have been reading Cinderella Ate My Daughter by Peggy Orenstein.  It's a continuation of my decades-long discussion with myself about girl culture, aided by books like The Body Project, Survival of the Prettiest, Pink Think, Reviving Ophelia, Wasted, Dying to be Thin, Growing Up Girls, Daughters of Suburbia, Delinquents and Debutantes among others. Mostly, I've been having this discussion with myself in order to figure out where my own adolescence derailed enough to drive me to an eating disorder and other whacked out thinking. It's the journey that lead me to be interested in human services and make the decision to minor in Women's Studies in college. I wanted to help adolescent girls who were struggling with those same tough issues I dealt with. It's not where I've ended up, but it's still where my heart is. But this may be the first time I've purposefully mulled over little girl culture and what impact it is having or will have on my own daughter. Oh, of course, I've thought about it, as I've made purchasing and media viewing decisions for her. But I'm talking about analyzing those spur of the moment, gut-led decisions and the influence, good and bad, they have on her. And this is the first time I've really, really taken a hard look at little girl culture versus adolescent girl culture. Because that's where it all begins, of course, with each and every interaction she will have with society and society's expectations of her. Even as a little girl.

Even before I knew I was pregnant with a girl, I had made it known that I really wasn't down with the Disney Princesses. For reasons I couldn't even necessarily verbalize competently, they just seemed to send all the wrong types of messages to little girls. When I did find out I was going to be raising a girl, I made promises that those princesses wouldn't find their way into my house. Guess what? They sneaked in anyway. We have a DP playmat with four princesses in coy profiles. Somehow, Giuliana knows all their names. She has pink pom poms adorned with DPs on the handles. We have a few of the movies, The Princess and the Frog, Cinderella, and Snow White. The Princess and the Frog DVD broke recently, and though it's probably my favorite of the bunch given it's comparatively positive quasi-feminist messages, I'm not heartbroken to see it go. Confession: I personally ordered Cinderella on eBay and Snow White used to be mine as a kid. Since they are both VHS, they don't get much play time and I'm ok with that. But I ordered Cinderella for her because, another confession, she enjoyed the book so much.

We have other non-Disney princess paraphernalia in our house. She has a shiny silver tiara with glittering pink gems. A frothy pink tutu that, yes, I bought and coerced her into wearing one Halloween. She puts that on when she wants to be a princess. And of course, we have a pink Little People castle with a prince and a princess.

Pink. Pink, pink, pink. That's another taboo I thought I could vanquish. Nope. I purposefully decorated her bedroom in neutral colors. Green, blue, yellow. A touch of hot pink for a bold, fun statement (though my mother smirked over that choice given my aversion to anything pink for my little girl. But I was thinking, you know, cotton-candy-Barbie pink. Anyway...) But her Nana lovingly made her a cotton-candy pink blankie which is her favorite thing, and I wouldn't have it any other way. When I bought her big-girl bedding for her twin bed, I wanted polka-dots for my circle loving kid, and there was very little escaping more pink. She recently was given a play doctor set...in, you guessed it, pink.

And "girlie." Our house is stuffed with "girlie" toys. Shopping carts, kitchen sets, purses, necklaces, baby dolls in strollers. Domesticity, fashion and mothering.

So what does all this mean? Have I failed as a feminist mother? Have I compromised my principles? I don't think so. But I am learning that compromise can't be avoided. And probably shouldn't be avoided. For all those pink, girlie, princessey toys, she also has firetrucks and toy cars, a rocket ship, musical instruments of every variety, blocks, trains...typical "boy toys." This past Halloween she chose to be a "Firefighter Giuliana" and was so proud of her fire engine red hat, boots, coat, and real siren. This past weekend she had a sleepover with her cousins at Nana's house where the girls played princess dress up and put on makeup (while I sat at home reading my book! Irony...) But when I asked her what her favorite part of the weekend was, she told me it was playing with the train set.

What I worry about, of course, is not the individual toys and movies, but the messages they subliminally, and overtly, send to my daughter about her role in society. Is she a princess to be adored for her beauty? Is pink the only color she is allowed to enjoy? Is there anything wrong with enjoying playing mommy and grocery shopping, two things she may well end up spending a significant portion of her life actually doing? I don't know. I know I don't want her to spend as much time as I have (and, honestly, still do) thinking about appearances and how her body measures up to impossible standards. I made a pledge to myself before she was born to never criticize my body in front of her. So far, I've done pretty well. And I made a pledge to myself shortly after she was born not to comment on her body in anything other than a positive manner. No teasing little comments about being too skinny or her tiny little tushie. Even though I worry to myself sometimes that she needs to eat more, that she is on the skinny side. I worry about that from a health stand-point, but when I'm being honest, I can admit that I'm secretly glad that, so far, it appears that she hasn't inherited my tendency to overweight. God, I'm disgusted with myself for admitting that, but there it is. (By the way, if you read Cinderella Ate My Daughter you will find several similar comments in there. Peggy and I were sooooo on the same page.)

I want desperately for her to be proud of herself - of her talents, strength, ambition, independence, intelligence, and, yes, of her body. The whole package, not just pieces of it. And I want her to find strength in herself in ways that honor the fact that she is a woman, not distort or exploit it. I spent some time the other night on youTube watching various girl-power music videos, and I have to say, emphatically, that if this is girl-power

we have a long, loooooong way to go for our daughters' sake.

I knew these issues would crop up when she hit those weird tween years. I guess I just didn't expect to be fighting this battle on her behalf so early. Influences to be thin, demure, and hyper-sexualized seem to begin practically in the womb these days. And it's certainly not just the Disney Princesses. Take my beloved Strawberry Shortcake for instance. I loooved SS as a kid. I had a whole little set with Strawberry, Huckleberry, Blueberry Muffin, the Purple Pie Man and Sour Grapes. I was thrilled to they were staging a comeback and I could introduce them to my daughter. I knew they had changed over the years and was fine with this variation

but this one

(the version all of Giuliana's actual Strawberry Shortcake toys come in) gives me pause. Why so tall and thin all of the sudden, Strawberry? Why do you suddenly, after 30 years of being a sweet little girl, have to look all sweet-16? What was wrong with being a little girl, you know, your target audience? And it's not only SS, either. As Peggy Orenstein points out, what happened to Dora? This,

to this.

Most Dora merchandise comes in the latter form nowadays. And though they say they wanted Dora to grow up with the girls who fell in love with her, who are now tweens and teens, that's not who they're marketing her toward. They still target little girls. So why all this rush and pressure to grow up? Why can't little girls just enjoy being little instead of all these quiet, subtle messages that it would be so much cooler if they were older, prettier, thinner, and maybe even sexier? Those are NOT the messages I want my daughter to absorb, but sometimes I feel I don't have a lot of control over it.

I do my best to walk that tightrope of being a good role model, making good choices for her, and not falling off on one side or the other of hyper-femininity or banning all things pink. Some days I feel like I have to contort myself to stay in that narrow space I've tried to carve out, the space to allow her to enjoy being a girl without falling into the trap of only being a "girl."

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Edited to add: After re-reading this several times, I want to make one point clearer.It's not that I want to keep Giuliana from any and all images of femininity. I do think it's important for her to be able to integrate femininity with all the other aspects of her personality. And I don't "hate" the Princesses. I actually like most of the movies...they are fun, I enjoy the songs, the humor is cute. But I don't want that to be the over-arching representation of femininity in her life at this impressionable age. What I am afraid of is if I give into all the Princess hype and marketing, that it will make a stronger impression on her that I would like. Does that make sense?
Also, as I was re-reading this post last night, G crawled up into my lap and saw the pictures of SS and Dora. She wanted to look at them, so I scrolled over them several times. She did not recognize "new Dora" as being Dora. She said, "Whose that, Mommy?" She has definitely seen "new Dora" several times before, so I am glad that "old Dora" still has the stronger impact. (BTW, I did NOT show her the "Lady Marmalade" video :)

Catching Up

My new evening ritual involves sitting in the upstairs hallway with a book, the light from the bathroom spilling out just enough to read. Not that I actually spend much time reading. No, I spend anywhere from 2 to 3 hours reminding Giuliana to go back to bed, putting her back in bed, rocking her and then putting her back in bed, chasing her around her room and then putting her back in bed, getting her more milk and then putting her back in bed. You get the idea. Last night I cleaned smeared Vaseline from her changing table, her legs, the floor, and then put her back to bed.

She, suddenly, doesn't sleep. It's been hot and our central AC is on the fritz. But this began before the hot weather. But it doesn't help. I blamed it on too long naps at my mother's but then Grandma was gone for a week and Giuliana didn't take a nap for 6 straight days. Still her nights were spent being chased back to bed. Some nights I finally fall into bed, exhausted from this new, unwelcome ritual, only to have her almost immediately crawling in beside me, her hot, wiggly little body smooshed against me despite the heat.

She is a wise little girl, though. She knows how infinitely cute she can be. "Giuliana, go back to bed," I state from my perch in the hallway as she peers out at me from the crack in her door. She yanks open the door and rushes to my side. She plants a big, wet kiss on my mouth and says, "Mommy, I wuv you!" Then she sits down and begins to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," with hand motions, while I crack up, forgetting I'm supposed to be stern and consistent about ushering her back to bed.

I keep telling myself it's only a phase. She'll eventually go back to quietly winding down and settling in by herself. If it's not a phase, please don't tell me. I prefer to believe this won't last. I confess to getting pretty frustrated around hour two of this little game. I start saying things I don't like to hear myself say. "Giuliana, you HAVE TO go to bed. I've had enough." "Giuliana, you aren't listening to Mommy and you're being naughty. Now go to bed." I check myself, though. Usually after only a moment or two. And I go back and gently put her back in bed. Give her her 4 millionth kiss of the night, wish her sweet dreams...again. I don't want to yell. I don't want to punish her because she can't unwind. But I do want her to go to sleep. I do want to have at least an hour to myself at the end of the day.

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It's potty training time at our house. It probably should have been potty training time a month or two ago. Giuliana is more than ready. She talks about the potty. She sits on the potty. She asks, begs to sit on the potty. She hasn't actually done anything on the potty yet, but she begs to sit there, none the less. But I have been putting it off. When it's warmer, I've told myself. When she can run around the house in just a pull-up and a tee-shirt. When I have more time to spend pumping her full of liquids and parading her up to the bathroom all day. But really, I'm just procrastinating. I don't know how to start, how to help her understand what she's supposed to do, how to explain. I'm worried the newness will wear off quickly and then she will begin to protest spending 10-15 minutes sitting and looking at books, no matter how fun I try to make it. I'm sure she'll be trained by the time she's ready for college. But no promises.


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PS: Has it been nearly two months since I wrote even a "Hello" on here?? How can that be? I just needed a break, it seems. I had absolutely no desire, no guilt over not posting. But now? I miss you all. XOXO

Aspects of Her Emerging Personality

This little girl here, even smeared in spaghetti sauce and chocolate pudding, is my heart. She is the largest part of my soul embodied, walking around outside of my body. I would give my life for her, in a heartbeat. She is my future.

But day by day she is becoming, or perhaps I'm just realizing, her very own person. She is NOT a part of me, not really. She is a separate and unique being. She makes decisions without me. She goes places I don't go. She has thoughts and reactions I don't like. She is Giuliana, her very own.

Oh, she has so many wonderful qualities. She's so brilliant. Very funny and silly. Adorable in every way. She is loving and affectionate. She's creative. I don't want you to get the idea I'm not aware of all of these things. I truly am. And I love her more than I ever would have believed possible. But this girl, she has me at a loss...already. I'm honestly a bit nervous for her teenage years. She's becoming quite a handful.

She's two, and I know that. I'm sure that a lot of what I'm seeing these days can be attributed to that fact. I've read about sweet little babies morphing into wild aliens on their second birthday. I guess I just didn't think it would happen to me.

But more than that, I feel like I'm discovering certain aspects of her personality that trouble me. I fear for her a little bit. It seems she has an independent streak a mile long. She wants to do EVERYTHING herself. She does not want anyone to come near her while she tries to do whatever it is, and, tonight, she didn't even want us to look at her. She does not handle instruction AT ALL. I mean it, at. all. You can't show this girl anything. She expects that she knows how to do it and can and will do it herself, even if she's never even seen the thing done before.

Exhibit A: Tumbling Class. If you follow me on Facebook you know I recently signed Giuliana and I up for a Mommy and Me toddler tumbling class. We began on Saturday. Now, the major reason I decided to enroll us in this class was not for the exercise, not from some desire for G to become a gold-medal gymnast, not even so much for the opportunity to be around other kids (though that was definitely a factor.) My motivation was largely to get this kid in some sort of mildly structured environment so she begins to develop an understanding of how to listen, how to behave when someone is teaching her how to do something. I've also recently begun investigating preschool options and I had a revelation the other day. Holy Crap. If I don't start now with helping her learn how to behave in a class setting, she's going to shove a glue stick up the nose of the first teacher who tries to help her make a collage.

So, tumbling class. It went predictably. Giuliana was bouncing on her trampoline when it was time to leave the house. I'd prepped her all morning, but of course she didn't want to stop bouncing and go the gym. Cue screaming and crying. Ok, I get her in the car, I talk up how much fun we're going to have. She calms down. We arrive. She's shy and nervous at first. But then we enter the gymnasium and she eyeballs all the fun equipment.

"I do! I do it! I do the tunnel!!" She skips asking, heads straight for whining. It went downhill from there. We attempted to sit in a circle with the other kids and their parents and the instructor and do some easy stretches. She wanted nothing to do with it. She would NOT let anyone show her how to do a somersault. She refused to allow anyone to teach her how to hang on the bar. She didn't want to do the obstacle course, she only wanted to climb through the tunnel. And she was whining and stomping her little feet the whole time to a chorus of "I do it, I do it!!"

The part that breaks my heart a little bit is that the few times I coaxed her into listening and she actually tried something she was so proud of herself. She bent down and touched her toes with all the other kids and her face just lit up. She jumped and smiled and beamed pride. But she wouldn't repeat it. It wasn't her agenda.

The other part that breaks my heart? When she can't do something. She seems to think and expect that she knows how to do everything. All by herself. No help required. But, well, she's two. So obviously she can't. And she is so easily disappointed in herself. She bursts into tears, the whining dissolves to wailing, "I can't do it, Mommy. I can't do it. I never ever do it. I sorry I can't do it." She's so very hard on herself.

These are the personality traits I fear. Yes I know that it's typical for little kids to want to do things themselves, to be stubborn and never want to do anything according to Mommy's plan. But this insane NEED to be completely independent, this over-the-top expectation of herself scares me. I worry she's going to have a rough time of it. And I have absolutely no idea how to help her. I've tried giving her a wide berth, lots of time to try to do things herself before I ultimately have to help her. I've tried setting a short time limit and letting her know I'm going to help her after a certain amount of time. I've tried the 1, 2, 3 trick. I've gotten stern when the tantrum gets out of hand. None of it has made a bit of difference. She decides she wants to do something and she starts yelling and whining about doing it herself, before anyone has said a word contradicting her. She dissolves into a stomping, tantruming mess and doesn't even try to do whatever it is she wants to do, she just argues. Even when no one is arguing. Sometimes I can say "Go ahead, you can do it" enough times that she actually tries/does it. But often she just keeps it up and I end up having to step in. And of course that never ends well.

I just don't know what to do next. I feel like I'm missing a puzzle piece. There's something here I'm not getting. If I could only figure it out I could make things so much easier for her. So, friends, I'm asking for your advice. How do I help little G help herself? How do I structure her day/my requests so she can be successful and feel good about herself? Help!

The Pout Has Begun

The other day Giuliana threw her first, honest-to-goodness pout. Oh, she's whined and stomped and thrown a few (thousand) super-loud fits in her day. But this? Was a for real P-O-U-T.

One of my birthday gifts from John was a little steel drum. I love it! So does G. I let her play it most of the time when she asks, but we have firmly explained to her that it is MOMMY'S drum and she must ask if she wants to play.

So this time, she asked and I let her play for a little bit. Then I asked if we could share the drum.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I do it myself!"

Insert parental discussion on sharing here. Next thing I knew, she gently placed the drumsticks on the table (at least she knows better than to throw them) and then ran into the other room. I peak in there, and there she is, chin to her chest, arms crossed around her middle.

"Hrmph. It's not fair. Not fair. I don't wanna share."

I had to duck my head back around the corner before I cracked up. I could hear her continue with her pouty little rant.

"Giuliana play Mommy's drum. Not fair. I play. I not gonna share."

I picked up the drumsticks and began playing the drum. She came running out to see, then turned around and headed back into the other room. Again with the chin to chest "not fair" drama. But a minute or two later, with me pounding away on the drum and bellowing, "Gee, I wish I could share this drum with someone. That would be waaaaay more fun" she came around.

Oh geez. I'm so glad I have a little girl. I really am. But the drama! We are so in for it.

How To Break A Mother's Heart (Toddler Version)

I know I'm not the only parent to resort to The Stern Voice from time to time. Like when your child is being especially exasperating. Yeah. I know I'm not alone.

Here's the scene: Giuliana is fresh from her bath. For some reason this is a particularly touchy time for her. Probably being cold and wet doesn't help the situation. But for whatever reason, she gets really cranky about having lotion put on. She wants it on, and she wants to do her tummy by herself. This gets no argument from me. I'm flexible, she can do her tummy-no problem. But she gets in one of her moods. Oh, I dread and hate this mood. Nothing makes her happy. She has decided she wants to do something herself and no amount of "Go ahead" or "It's OK, you can do it" or "Giuliana, I'm not arguing with you, stop yelling at me, go ahead and do it yourself" pleases her. For whatever reason, she is expecting an argument and she's ready for it with a good, loud whine and cry session. So, even though I give her the lotion and encourage her to rub her tummy and tell her what a good job she's doing, she's wailing through the whole thing.

And I snap. I break out The Stern Voice. I look her right in the eye and say (rather loudly) "GIULIANA. Stop yelling." Well. Has anyone ever known that to actually work? Because it sure doesn't work with my kid. I have know idea why I resort to it. Some maternal gene-pattern, no doubt. Anyway, she just cries and whines louder. And I figure it's still all about the non-existent argument over the lotion/tummy issue.

Then she starts repeating, over and over, "It's not fair, Mommy. Not fair. 'Giuliana.' It's not fair. I crying. No, 'Giuliana,' Mommy."

At first I don't get it. What's not fair? Finally, after she repeats it about a dozen times it dawns on me. I ask her, "Do you mean it's not fair that Mommy yelled at you and said, 'Giuliana' when you were crying?"

"Yeah. I sad."

Stab me in the heart! I hurt her feelings. For real. Not just 'cause I wouldn't give her a lollipop before dinner or let her climb up into her car seat by herself because we were running late. I hurt her feelings because I yelled at her when she was crying.

I apologized a few thousand times and told her that I loved her very much and I was sorry for hurting her feelings. She told me "It's o-tay, Mommy" and gave me a hug and we're all cool now. But, man! That one? That was rough. I know I'll stop and think before giving into my frustration the next time.

Scientific Conversations With A Two Year Old

The Scene: 8:15pm Monday night, driving home along the highway after Nana’s birthday party…waaaay past her bedtime, but she’s too hopped up on cake to sleep.

“Mommy, I can’t see the moon! Where the moon go?”

“I think it’s hiding behind all the clouds, honey.”

“What’s the matter, Giuliana?” she asks in a fake pouty voice, her cue for me to ask that question (subtle, huh?)

I bite. “What’s the matter, Giuliana?”

“Oh, no! I lost my moon! Mommy find the moon.”

“Oh, I don’t think I can, sweetie. The moon is very far away and we can’t see it because there are a lot of clouds in the way. It’s hiding behind the clouds.”

“Clouds up inna sky? The moon is faaaaaaaaar away. I don’t see the moon. I don’t see stars. I don’t see the sun.”

“Good job, Giuliana. The sun, moon, stars, and clouds are all up in the sky. Far away. We can’t reach them.”

“I don’t see the sun. Where the sun, Mommy?”

“We don’t see the sun at night time, when it’s dark. The sun goes to bed when it’s dark.”

“Sun sleepy. Goodnight sun. Mommy, look! Green sign. Blue sign. I see green signs.”

Apparently, we’ve exhausted the astronomy lesson for the night. But she has more surprises for me.

“That’s right. There’s another green sign. I see lots of green signs.”

“I do! I do! I see the green signs. Look, a blue sign. An’ a yellow sign! Look, Mommy, ‘L’ an’ another ‘L!’ Look, ‘E’ an’ ‘T!” She’s reading the exit signs.

We exit off the highway close to home. There are several stoplights before we get there.

“Stop, Mommy! Red stop light.”

“How’d you get so smart?! Good job, Giuliana! Can you tell me when it changes to green?”

“There it is! Green, go, go, go!”

This girl amazes me.

“Another red. Stop again, stop again.”

She points out each red light along the way. I turn right on red at the intersection.

“Why no stop, Mommy? Red light. Stop!”

“We don’t have to stop at that one, honey. We’re almost home.” I don’t know about her, but I’m too tired to explain the whole concept of Right On Red to a two-year-old.

“Here we are. All done. This is Giuliana’s home.”

“That’s right, baby girl. We’re home.”

Letting Her Go (just a little bit)

Giuliana is growing up so fast, it literally makes my head spin sometimes. Just a second ago I was struggling with nursing and buying size 1 diapers. Now I have a girl who runs around the house playing "Twinkle Twinkle" on her kazoo and is practicing climbing in and out of her (really HIGH) big Big Girl bed.

I posted this picture on Facebook the other day and my friend (Hi, Kate!) wrote back, "cute pics of a little girl, but where is Giuliana...I don't see a baby anywhere?" AHHHH! She's so right! Look at that face-no trace of a baby anywhere!

Lately I've been trying to let myself allow her to grow-up a little bit. Just a little bit. She's such a good girl. She's so careful. And she enjoys her freedom. But, man, is it hard to let go. I've been allowing her to play by herself for short periods of time, even if I can't see what she's doing. I've even permitted her to be on a different floor of the house by herself for a few minutes! I'll admit, putting that in print fills me with anxiety. Am I a terribly negligent mother?!? What do you mean you don't have your eyes on her EVERY MOMENT! But then I remember, again, she's not six months old anymore. She is growing up and deserves the freedom, and responsibility, of a little independence.

Right at this moment I am sitting in her bedroom, on the laptop, while she plays her toy piano and sings "Old MacDonald." She sings about good Ol' Mac and his duck, and she stops suddenly and asks where her little toy duck is.

"It's downstairs, I think" she says, "I go get it, be right back!" And then she runs away.

"Be careful," I call out as she heads for the stairs.

Be Careful. I must say that a hundred times a day. Enough that she often looks at me as she is about to do something risky and says, "Be careful, Giuliana!" just to save me the effort, I guess. But then she usually does take her time with whatever it is she is trying to do and is careful about it, so the reminder must stick somewhere in her brain.

I know it's just a matter of time before she is driving away on her own. I just want to make sure she's always careful, whether I'm there to remind her or not.

Fun In A Box

When I was a kid, my cousins and I had in the toy room an ancient steamer trunk that was filled with tossed off dresses, scarves, hats, shoes, purses, necklaces, gloves, and other assorted and random articles of clothing from my mother, grandmother and aunts. There were even a few donations from my grandfather in there. Our dress up box looked exactly like this.


Now, I can't tell you what my grandma and my mom were thinking when they put this monolith in a room dedicated to our toys and imagination, but I can tell you that none of us ever lost a finger or suffocated climbing in and out of this thing. And we did climb in and out of it on a regular basis. I can also tell you that playing dress-up for hours on end with my cousins is my very favorite childhood memory. We would spend all day creating different outfits for each other, playing "house" and "school" and "store" in full regalia. We would eventually string up an old sheet on the front porch and drag all the adults out to the driveway to watch our costumed "plays."

I played dress-up when I was alone, too. I lived with my parents in my grandparents' house, so I had the advantage of having the toy room and all its treasures to myself most of the time. I vividly remember donning "gowns" and bedazzling myself in necklaces, bracelets, and a glittering gold scarf and spending the afternoon running around the yard pretending I was Maid Marion ala Robin Hood.


Giuliana's dress-up box is currently housed in an old picnic basket. I have plans to upgrade her collection of accoutrements to a larger trunk-style home eventually, but haven't found the right combination of steamer-trunk-without-the-threat-of-potential-dismemberment-and/or-death yet. And for now, it all fits nicely.

The other night Giuliana ran to her dress-up box and, all by herself, whipped up what I already know is going to be one of my very most treasured memories of her toddlerhood. We had finished dinner and she had cuddled up on the couch to watch a little pre-bath Max & Ruby. Max and his bossy big sister were playing "detective" and searching for clues to solve a mystery. They were decked out in trench-coats, hats and magnifying glasses. The moment the show ended Giuliana jumped up and raced to her dress-up box. She started throwing scarves and purses left and right out of her way until she dug up her own magnifying glass. Next she located one of her hats, a pair of sunglasses, and a scarf. She asked me to get out her coat, and I finally realized what she was doing. I handed her her tweed trench-style coat out of the closet and helped her put it on. She accessorized herself and then began running around the house looking for clues with her magnifying glass and trying to solve a "miss-ry!"

Sigh. (Sorry for the blurry picture, but I couldn't get her to stand still for more than 3 seconds.) I love this girl. And I love her childhood.

Sleepless Nights

Posts have been few and far between on this little ol' blog lately. I'm sorry for that. To be truthful, I've just been too exhausted to contemplate writing. And, no, it's not pregnancy induced exhaustion (to stave off all those well-meaning but totally wrong comments.) The exhaustion? It stems from Giuliana's new nighttime pass time. Namely, running into our room two or three times a night between the hours of 2-4am for a little snuggle, a little chatter, a whole lot of wiggling and bed hogging. Toddler Sleep Regression. If it's not a real thing, I'm making it up and labeling it that anyway. It's real enough in our house.

It all began with her recent illness. We spent a lot of time curled up on Mommy and Daddy's bed, wrapping ourselves in the comforting accouterments of blankie, "nice piw-whoa" (her warmed up corn pillow to ease her aching ears), a sippy of orange juice or perhaps "cha-co-late milk", with Dora and Boots adventuring with pirates and super spies on DVD. If you are two, this is as good as it gets, apparently. I cuddled with her sweaty little body, warm pillow on my chest, her head on top of it, soothing her pain with whatever made her happy. And of course, most nights she either started or ended the night ensconced in the safety and comfort of our bed as I monitored her fevers and dosed her with all those medications at every un-Godly hour.

Now, she's all better. Much to her chagrin, I think. She has, since infancy, toted her Nana-made Blankie around with her wherever she goes. Now it is accompanied with Nice Pillow, her new best friend. She requests it at bed time, of course, and naptime (so we have to make sure it makes the trip to Grandma's house every day.) She wants it warmed and waiting for her during her TV time in the evening. And she drags it with her when she sneaks into our room in the wee small hours, Blankie clutched firmly in one hand, Nice Pillow in the other.

The dog is the first to hear her. Like an alarm bell, he jumps up from his position in the hall, long tail excitedly whacking back and forth between the walls, smacking doors and generally creating both a noisy racket and a gauntlet for G to wend through. She makes it, maybe suffering a few painful whips of the dog's tail to her face, and runs up to my side of the bed (lucky me, I sleep right next to the door.)

"Mommy! Mommydaddy bed, peeeeeeeeeeas? Mommydaddy bed!" She climbs up, blankie, nice pillow and all, usually kissing me and snuggling her head under my chin while she croons "Mommy, mommy" in a sweet little voice that makes it impossible for me to return her immediately to her bed. She knows my weak spots. I tell her it's still bed time. She can snuggle for a few minutes, but then she has to go back to bed. I tell her it's time to be quiet and go back to sleep. She buries herself between John and I, usually anything but quietly, making sure her blankie made the climb over my body with her, and telling me where she wants nice pillow positioned. Some nights I'm lucky and she falls right back to sleep. Most nights, though, she's chatty and wiggly.

"Giuliana, shush. It's bedtime. You need to be quiet."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Shhhhh."

Then she spends the next several minutes alternating between shushing herself and, if she can't contain it, whispering her chatter, eventually getting louder until I quiet her down again. After five or ten minutes of this I gather her up and tell her, "Ok, it's time to go back to bed now. It's still nighttime, you need to go back to sleep."

Generally she goes fairly willingly, often requesting some milk along the way. I have caved on that request a few times, usually after the second or third trek back to her bed with her. But mostly I try not to give in to this plea. I'm not entirely dumb. I don't want this nightly habit to escalate into a full-blown intricate routine that has me running all over the house at 3am every night. Sometimes, if she's really awake, I open one of her curtains so a little moonlight spills across her bed and tell her she can look at one of her books until she falls asleep. Eventually she succumbs and spends the rest of the night in her own bed, and I'm left to toss and turn as I try to do the same. Somehow, most of this entire scene is accompanied by the soundtrack of my husband snoring away blissfully unaware. Hrmph. What is it about the male genome that allows them to sleep through the squalls, cries, whispers, even wiggles of their offspring while we mothers wake up to the softest sneeze 30 feet away in another room?

So, dear readers, Kami is a tired mommy these days. You will forgive me for not keeping up with you all for a few weeks, yes? Thank you.

Reflections

My little family has survived another week.

That's about the only way to sum up our crazy life lately.

I went to work 14 hours this week. Giuliana had both pneumonia and a severely acute (no, that's not redundant or hyperbole) double ear infection. John had electrical devices implanted in his back. I've taken to providing a sound track for him every time he moves: "na-na-na-na-naaa," ala The Bionic Man. (Google it, I'm old. I know this.)

So, what, you might ask, is life like with an acutely sick toddler? Oh, let me tell you. For one, I am on Nick Jr. OVERLOAD! She hasn't had much energy for playing, so the TV has been on pretty much constantly. I couldn't take it anymore and called for TV-Free Day today. I got my wish for the most part, with a concession to my headache. I let her watch Sesame St. On Demand while I napped on the couch. Also, for two, the whining? It has hit all new levels. A two year old with a fever and a constantly painful earache is rarely happy. And lets you know it. She screamed at me because she wanted to do everything herself. Then she screamed at me because I wasn't helping. Then she screamed at me when I tried to help. Lather, rinse, repeat. For 2 WEEKS. For three, remembering to dose this child with Tylenol every 4 hours for her fever, Motrin every 6 hours for her pain, 2 different antibiotics every evening, homeopathic ear drops, fill her sippy cup with juice on demand (which felt like every 5 minutes) and heat her "nice pillow" (one of those microwavable corn pads) for her ears every 10 minutes just flat out wore me down.

But all of that pales in comparison to having to hold your daughter down three days in a row while she sobs and pleads with you as the nurses puncture both of her little thighs with a painful dose of antibiotics. Or lying in bed with her fevery little body smooshed up against yours, sweaty and shivery, as she thrashes back and forth in pain you really can't do anything about. Or the terror that grips your heart when you pull the thermometer out and read the temperature- 104.5. That can't possibly be right, can it? Strip her down to her diaper, give her cool juice. Sit and sing and pretend you're not freaking out. Coax her into a bath and lean over the edge and hug her while she cries and shivers and grips you tightly and generally breaks every inch of your heart. Or making the decision to allow the doctors to place your precious child under anesthesia and lance her eardrums.

Yeah. Those. Those are not good times. Especially when those things coincide with your husband traveling 400 miles round-trip to have surgery on his back and have electrical leads places on his spine. A trip you were supposed to take with him, to help him, to talk to the doctor and get the straight story. A trip you ended up having to skip and trust his father to get the straight story while you sat at work for 8 of those 14 hours worrying and fretting.

But, we all made it through a very long and unenjoyable week. John and his dad drove down to Manhattan early Thursday morning and made it back by 12:30 Friday morning with wires running from the middle of his back to a device he carries in his pocket. He dragged himself out of bed again at 5:30 AM so we could take Giuliana to the hospital for her surgery. And today, we've all caught up on our sleep, no one had a fever, medication regimens were much less stringent, and Thank God the TV was off. The whining subsided throughout the day, there were more giggles and less tears. Next week. There is hope for next week to be much better than this week.

****************

I thought I was finished with this post. I sat back and re-read it. And a horrible thought occurred to me. My little family survived another week. There are many families that didn't survive this week. They weren't anticipating not seeing each ever again. They didn't get to comfort each other. Some didn't even get to worry and fret over each other.

My little family survived another week. For that, I am blessed. For that, I am grateful. For that, I'll take what life hands me. Just as long as we all survive another week. Together.

Bathing Beauty

Giuliana is loving bathtime lately. Her usual schedule is every other night, just before bedtime. But for her birthday she received the toy she lovingly calls "Dora-Boots castle" and well, it's rocked her world. She is begging for a bath several times a day, and anytime she is in the bathroom and sees the "Dora-Boots castle" it's a fight to get her to leave it alone. We've added some Little People and Elmo to the mix, as well as all her "old" bath toys. But the castle remains, well...king.

I've been using more big-girl bubble bath with her, too, because she likes to pop the bubbles. She "swims" and blows bubbles in the water. She hides her toys under mounds of bubbles and then makes you search for them. She kicks and splashes and is generally silly.

We've introduced the shower. I began using the shower head to rinse her hair months ago and she hated it. She put up with it, but protested...loudly. She is finally beginning to like the feel of the shower. She leans her head back and lets the water run over her head and face, she even asks for it on occasion.

It's the little things like this that give me pause. The little, unexpected, totally familiar little girl things that she does. Every day, it seems, she becomes more kid and less and less baby. The first time she layed on her stomach in the bath and told me she was "swimming," for example. I REMEMBER doing that as a kid. She's just two, but she's already advanced to levels of play that I can recall from my own childhood. This is just a little scary to me. Up till now I've been seeing things through her eyes, for the first time, the world is all new experiences, yada yada. Very cool. But now she's moving on and doing things that I vividly remember about being a kid. Still cool. Slightly unnerving.

Welcome To My House

"Lunchtime!"

The shout rings out from the living room as I am unpacking our bag at the end of the day. More like dinnertime. But not in the living room at the dollhouse. There, it's lunchtime with Giuliana directing "Boy" and "Girl" to wash their hands at the kitchen sink.

"Mommy! Sit down wi' me! Play."

How can I resist and invitation like that? Actual dinner can wait, it's lunchtime for Boy and Girl.


"Help, Mommy. Boy sit. Chair."

I bend the little legs so Boy and Girl can sit at the table.

"How 'bout...mac an cheese!" She pinches her fingers together and pretends to feed tiny pieces of macaroni and cheese into the tiny doll mouths. "Ummm, umm, mac an cheese good!"


Now it's playtime. "Girl hide," she says as she stuffs the girl doll under the kitchen stairs.

"Boy find. Giii-rrrlll!?? Are you?" She hollers while hopping the boy doll from room to room.

"Here? No. Here? No. Under table? No. Baftub? No."

I play along. "Is Girl in the kitchen cabinet? No. Is she in bed? No."

"Here is! Found you!" She yanks the girl out and begins to stuff the boy under the same stairs.

"Boy hide."

This is a variation of our own Hide and Seek game. She doesn't quite get the concept yet, but likes to play anyway. For one, she always wants to be the "hider." For two, she always hides in the same place, under the kitchen island. Last week I finally convinced her to count and let me hide. I ran to the first landing on the stairs while she counted loudly from the dining room. Then I heard the tell-tale scraping of the kitchen island. I waited a few moments.

"Giuliana??"

"Yes, Mommy?"

"Are you going to come find me?"

"No, Mommy."

"Do you want me to come find you?"

"YEAH!!"

Eh. She'll get it eventually.

Circle Party

I don't know if you'll notice...

but we had a theme for Giuliana's second birthday party...



it involved lots and lots of circles...

Not shown: meatballs, round chicken nuggets, mini round pizzas, and multi-colored paper plates (also circles, get it?) stuck all over the walls.

And we also had one cute circle chick who didn't want me to take her picture.


She kicked the party off by playing blocks and dress-up with the first arrival of the afternoon, Cousin Rosie.

And running around in...a circle. This was pre-sugar ingestion.


The gift opening, was, in a word, chaotic. Which is how it should be, I guess, when you have lots of cousins who want to "help."



BTW, see that Little People "Pink Castle, " as it's known in our house? She likes to put the prince in the highest tower and then yell, "Help! Help! Ayudame!" She has the princess come and save him. I did not give her that idea, I swear. Just good parenting, I guess!!

The party was so very fun. Giuliana giggled and smiled ear to ear the entire way through "Happy Birthday To You!" She was absolutely delighted to have all her friends and family singing just to her. She leaned over and blew out her candles without any prompting (we've been practicing. We sing "Happy Birthday" to the dog on a regular basis.)

Life so far with a two-year-old? Bliss.

"Mmmeee-seeege You-oooo-ooo"

Little G has been enamored with this video and song lately.

I love that Nick Jr. has it in heavy rotation. I stopped dead in my tracks the first time I saw the video, mixed in amongst The WonderPets and Nai-Hao, Kai-lan. Bob Marley? On Nick Jr.?? Really? How insanely cool!

If you know me you likely know that I'm not a huge reggae fan, unlike some of my besties. I can get into it for short periods of time...but a whole concert? I'm out. Sorry. However, I love this song. So simple and sweet. And I especially love watching G sing "mmmeeee-seege you-oooo-ooo!!" So. Freaking. Adorable.

She literally begs for "Three Birdies." So, inevitably, it has made it's way onto her Christmas list. The "B is for Bob" cd will be in her stocking Christmas morning. I can't wait. I think I may even find myself dancing along, too.

Two

Happy Birthday, Chicaboo!

You know you're the "birf-day guw" today, you've been talking about it all week. We've practiced singing "Happy Birthday" and you know how to blow out the candles. I think you know you're getting presents, too...you don't miss much and you've been to a few birthday parties lately. You were looking at a toy catalogue the other day and kept saying everything was a "birf-day toy!"

I can't wait to throw you your circle theme party later today! I haven't talked much about the circles to you, I want you to be surprised when the downstairs in transformed with circles. You have seen your party dress with circles on it, though, and you get sooooooo excited everytime you see it, wanting to hold it and hug it. Thursday night we went to the grocery store to buy food for your party. You helped me pick out decorations for your cake. And I found circles wrapping paper. You wanted to hold it throughout the rest of the store and you told me, completely unprevoked, "Gi'a yeuv circles!" When I laughed in delight you continued, "Gi'a aaaaaaaaaways yeuv circles!" Your passion for circles is something else, my girl. It cracks me up.

Now that you're two we've been putting away the last of the baby things. I'm sad to see them go, I have no qualms admitting that. But I'm so excited for you, too! You love your "big-guw" bed and you have only had one night where I've had to be firm and lead you back to bed multiple times. Every other night you happily climb in bed and stay there.

You're vocabulary is amazing. You are loosing some of your babyish pronounciations. You say "double-u" now, not "double." (That's still your favorite letter, too.) You speak in full sentences most of the time. You are so polite, too. You almost always ask "pees" when you want something (depending on your mood, of course). You say "thanks" and "no thank you" with out prompting, though you lately have decided that if you politely decline a request that means you should not have to do it....even when it was not a request to begin with, like changing your diaper. Thursday night when Daddy and I were putting you to bed you wanted us to sing you "Jingle Bells." After we serenaded you you said, "thank you so much." That just about did me in, Little Girl! I was in tears!

You have learned to do many things by and for yourself. You like to climb into and out of your car seat by yourself. You love to try to change your clothes by yourself. You pick out your own snacks. You would even change your own diaper if you could figure out how. I've developed little tricks, though, to avoid the screams of "Me, me, ME!" or "Gi'a SELF, Mommy! No!" I just step back, put up my hands and say, "ok, go ahead." Most of the time you work at it for about 5 seconds and then say, "Mommy, help you." If that doesn't happen I often conjole you that we can do it together and then burst into, "What's gonna work? TEAM-work!" ala The WonderPets. That usually gets your cooperation. However, you love to remind me that I don't have a flyboat. I guess that's your way of saying, "you're no WonderPet, mom."

Speaking of that, girl, that's one more thing I want to remember about you right now. You love to point out what everybody has and doesn't have. You are constantly saying things like, "Gi'a necklace." But then you say, "Daddy, HAVE a necklace" when what you mean is Daddy doesn't have a necklace. You forget to say "doesn't" but you reeeeeeeally stress the "have" instead, as your way of saying someone doesn't have something. I love it, even though I repeat it and add "doesn't" to help you learn. I know one day you'll lose that cute phrase and I will miss it. Another favorite topic for you is listing all the fun things in your life. I love that, too! You say "fun, Uncle Jimmy! Fun, Gramma house!"

Chicaboo, I love you. I know you love me, too, you tell me all the time now. I can't get enough of you! I'm so lucky that I get to watch you learn and grow. I often don't feel like I have much to do with it, you learn so fast, all on your own. I don't know exactly how or when, for example, you learned to count to ten in Spanish. But you do it all the time. You know several Spanish words, actually, and use them appropriately. I credit Dora with that. You call "ayudame!" when you need help, or say "enpujen" when you are pushing your doll stroller around. You didn't learn any of that from me. I wish I could take credit for all that you know. But it's all you, baby. You are amazingly bright. I'm so proud of you.

Happy Birthday, Little Girl. I can't believe you're TWO!

Big Girl

Can you find two amazing things in this picture?

I'll give you the answer. The crib has been converted to a toddler bed, and this photo was taken in the middle of the day. Meaning she was NAPPING! At home! I don't know which is a bigger deal. Also amazing, she has now slept in the converted bed three times, and so far, she hasn't gotten out of bed ONCE!


And, she's been eating at the table in a booster seat. I haven't actually put the high chair away yet. But we've only used it once in the last two weeks.

There's a lot of growing up happening over here.

The Cute, the Demanding, and the Terrifying

"Hi-lo? Oh!, Oh-tay! Bye-bye. Here Daddy, Daddy!" She passes her little plastic phone from her ear to Daddy's. Daddy pretends to talk on the phone, too, but by then she's off to something else. She's pushing her little people mini-van around.

"Car! Skooo. Bear, skooo." Pretending all the little figures on off and on their way to school, a concept I'm not even sure how she learned. Then her attention is drawn to a poster high on the wall.

"M'Up, Daddy, up!" Daddy picks her up and she points to each letter on the poster.

"E! M! B! ABCD, Oh yes. All done!" He sets her down.

"No, Daddy. Up, up! ABCD!" He picks her back up. "All done. Down."

And so it goes. All afternoon. Up. Down. Mo' SIT DOWN! P'ay! Me, me, MEEEEEEEEEEE!


She climbs up into my lap, insistant on my attention.

"Hi, Mommy! Hi." She sits herself on top of the laptop. "Mo' p'ay, Mommy. Peeees?" Then she's down, and a sneaky little finger snakes up and punches the power button on the laptop before I can stop her. Well. That's one way to get my attention. Then she's dancing and singing, being unbelievably adorable, making me smile and wonder, for the 40th time today, how I was blessed with this perfect little girl.


The scene changes as suddenly as lightening, though. I notice she has a dirty diaper. "Come, on, Baby Girl, let's go change that icky diaper."

"No, no, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" And she's off and running. She's quick, too. She runs around the circle of the living room, dining room, kitchen. I head her off at the pass and catch her. She yells at me all the way up the stairs. Sometimes she willingly climbs up the stairs, sometimes it's like this.

We get to the changing table. I wrestle her pants off.

"No! Mommy, no diap!" I tell her that little girls who don't want to wear diapers need to learn to use the potty. We haven't actually tried this yet, but we're working up to it. She sings, "Paah-teee, paah-tee!" I try to talk up how exciting and "big-girl" it is to use the potty.

This scene would be funny, in a sit-com kinda way, if I weren't scared of a repeat of last night. Last night was no good. John was changing her diaper last night, getting her ready for a bath. She was in one of her "Me, me, me, memememeeeeeeeeeeee!" moods and yanked the diaper off her own tush. A very dirty diaper. Let's just say, it was providential that she was headed into the bath. Otherwise, she would have been anyway. Poop. Everywhere. On her head. Hands, legs, on Daddy. No, we don't want a repeat of last night.

I get a clean diaper on her little body and then. Oh, and then. The moment I have really been dreading. Pulling her pants back on. The last few weeks, there has been a Toddler-Monster lurking under the surface, jumping out at the most inopportune times, especially whenever she's getting dressed. And then it happens.

"Me!!! Mememememememeeeeeee, Mommy! No, me!!!"

"Ok, ok. You can try to put your pants on all by yourself, Chicaboo. Go ahead." I say this in very soothing tones. It doesn't work. For whatever arguement is going on in her little head is still being waged. She doesn't seem to get that I gave in.

"MEMEMEMEME! Gi'a do! No, Mommy. No! MEME, Gi'a self!" She is red in the face, screaming at me, wriggling and throwing her body around the table. Possessed. I try to calm her, let her know she can do it herself.

Eventually, I get a little irritated, I'll admit it. I use the "Stern Mommy Voice." She's crying. Real tears. Still red and screaming.

Eventually, I lift her from the table, legs kicking out at me, at nothing, and we go sit in the hall. Time Out.

We sit as she continues to yell at me. I talk in soothing tones.

"I know you want to do it yourself, Chicaboo. I know it's hard to be almost two. Sometimes you just need a little bit of help. It's ok to let Mommy and Daddy help. We can do it together."

She calms down a little bit. I take her back into her bedroom and lay her down. I hand her the pants and she struggles for a few minutes trying to get them over her feet. Still sobbing, but quietly. Those little jagged breaths that break my heart. She hands the pants to me. "Mommy? He'p, peees?"


Our days are variations on this theme. She wants undivided attention. We are conjoled and commanded to play with her, no matter what we are in the middle of. Most of the time, I happily oblige because I love playing "skooo bus" for the 1376th time. But, eventually, dinner does have to be made, a bath does have to be had, a diaper (shudder!) does need to be changed. And then, that unpredictable Toddler-Monster is upon us.

She's cute and unbelievable smart. She started counting 1-10 in Spanish the other day. Out of the blue. (Thanks, Dora, and Sesame Street!) But that temper! It is unbelievable how much fight she has in that little body!

Her father looked at me the other night, as she came down the stairs, pants in her hand, face red and tear-streaked. "I don't like this at all," he said. "I don't like this 'me, mine' stuff at all."

"She's almost two," I said. That's all I could say. "She's almost two."

Another Frightening Look Into My Brain

I’m not saying that I’m OCD or anything. But I love me a good, ol’ fashioned obsession now and then. Don’t you?

Past obsessions have ranged from major life altering events: “Here Comes The Bride,” “Let’s Buy A House,” “BABY! Baby, baby, baby…” To smaller time-suckers: “This Old Blog,” “Our Gross Yard,” “What Color Should I Paint The Living Room?”

My current, post-Halloween, obsession has become “Planning Giuliana’s Second Birthday Party.” I am a planner, you see. And I’m a little disconcerted that I only have 4 weeks to plan. But I have been living in denial of the fact that, yes, indeed, this kid is going to keep having birthdays. So, it snuck up on me. There are invitations to pick-out (obsess, obsess, obsess…) buy, fill-out, send. A birthday party dress splurge on (check! Did that last night.) A cake to agonize over decorating (I am not a baker, I just play one in my kitchen.) Decorations to make (I am, however, crafty.) So much to do! At least, there is if you live in my head. I think my husband is wishing that he didn’t. Live in my head, that is. I like to torture him by sharing all my obsessive thoughts, at all hours of the day and night. For example, this morning, as he was getting out of the shower and toweling off, I walked in and described, in detail, my ideas for using paper plates as hanging decorations. Lucky guy, my husband.

A “theme” has also been checked off the To Do List. We decided on that a couple of days ago. It was actually John’s idea. I asked him to think about Giuliana’s favorite things and list them off to me. There were the usual Elmo, Abby Cadabby, Dora ideas. But I don’t like the idea of using doing a character theme. Then, he hit upon the perfect one. I’m not going to share it just yet. But, for those of you who know my little girl, when you see it, you’ll understand.

Geesh! Look at the time. I should be googling cake decorating tips! Oh, and working. Gotta go!

The Luckiest Ballerina

We had an enchanted Halloween! I hope you did, too.

In case there was ever any doubt about what a lucky little girl Giuliana is, I think yesterday cleared them all away. She was surrounded and adored by her very favorite people all day. Giuliana has some fantastic people in her life, and she is blessed for it.



The rain threatened, but ultimately held off until after our neighborhood Halloween parade. Our friends Kate and Nick (G's Godfather) and Giuliana's Nana joined us for the trek around the neighborhood. G was determined to walk the whole way...when she wasn't persuading "Uncle Nick" to "fly" her in the air (she's got mile-long eyelashes and knows how to use them!) The parade is sponsored by the West Endicott Volunteer Fire Department and the Ladies Auxillary. The firetrucks are out in all their bright red splendor and we gather at the station house at the end for cider, doughnuts, and, of course, candy. It's one of my very favorite things about the neighborhood.







After the parade and an irresistable romp in a pile of leaves, our exhausted ballerina took a break for some lunch and a rest.

We bundled up and braved the rain to Trick or Treat. We stopped over at Nick and Kate's house for a special Halloween treat then off to Nanni and Papa's for more holiday fun.


Finally, the "main event" of the evening. Nana's house for real Trick or Treating with her older cousins.


We got a little wet, but for the most part the rain held at bay. After the "short" circuit around the block the Luckiest Ballerina was pooped, her pumpkin was overflowing, and her ballet slippers were drenched. We walked back to Nana's while the other kids forged on, collecting massive amounts of candy at every stop. We dried off, changed into jammies, ate candy, and played with Nana and Grandpa until every one got back. The night dissolved into a chaos of scaring each other with ghost and goblins, tickling and running wild. A perfect end to a perfect Halloween.


Giuliana is a lucky girl. She is loved and adored. She is smart and funny and well-behaved and beautiful. As we were walking back to Nana's after Trick or Treating I reflected on how lucky, and blessed, that makes me. I could not ask for a better daughter. She is the joy of my life. She's got the world in her hands, can go anywhere and be anything she wants. She is joy and potential personified. She is love. And for a short time, she is mine. I suppose she'll always be mine. But not in the way she is now. And for right now, that makes me the luckiest mommy. I don't want to miss a second of this, this perfect moment.