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one (and every) morning

04Nov09

“HALP! Help! Oh, no, HALP! Mumma, where ARE you? MUMMA!”

Her cries of ”help” are overdramatic and drawling, her sometimes-Southern accent procured who-knows-where. My eyes are bleary with sleep as I check the clock. 6:45am. I have a few choice words for Ben Franklin and his Daylight Savings idea, but I keep them to myself as I head across the hall to her room.

She’s standing up in her crib, her fleece sleeper unzipped past her navel (thanks, Carter’s, for removing the button closure that covers the zipper fob on sleepers 2T and up).

Upon seeing me, she points to her bare belly and begins to tell me all about it, rapid-fire. “Oh NO, Mumma, OH NO! Itsa ZIP! And then-a BELLY! Itsa BELLY! HI BELLY! Pants! Wet pants, YUCK. PANTS! No sleep, okay? No nap? All done! All done? Where’s-a SUN? Where-a go? Where-a Dada? He seeping? Dada work, okay. Up? Up, Mumma? HI!”

We head back to my bed, where we cuddle in to snuggle and watch Blue’s Clues.

:::

Suddenly it’s 7:20am and I really need to get moving. We are content, truly bugs in a rug under the covers. She is holding my hand and I hate the thought of moving. I contemplate calling in, but I know I can’t do it. Or that I could, but I won’t because there’s just too much there that needs to be done.

Here, too, there is much to be done… why does this place, this time, get second billing? This is the thought I push aside every morning.

“Okay, Maddie-girl, Mumma’s going to take a shower now.”

“NO! OH NO! OH NO!” Wailing, spineless backbending, arching so as to nearly throw herself from the bed in her misery. “NOOOO! Mumma, NO! Pees?”

We snuggle a few more minutes, me inadvisedly giving in to what she wants (which, admittedly, is something I’d characterize more as a need, but that’s because I’m something of an attachment hippie). It’s 7:32am then, and I get up for the shower. She follows behind, chattering, happy again.

:::

“Here’s your coat! Let’s get your coat on, it’s chilly-willy-penguin outside!” (Some days, I still cannot believe that this is my voice speaking these words. Non-sarcastically, even).

“Ooh! Coat with flowers! Flowers!” she approaches, then once within a foot of me takes off, skittish like a cat. “NOO! NO coat, Mumma! No flowers! No hat!” She runs circles around the kitchen island, giggling. It’s twenty degrees outside today, and this subject is not currently open for debate.

I catch her on her third trip ’round, pull her into my lap as she struggles to free herself. “Time for your coat now,” I say. “It’s so cold out, you need your coat.”

“Brrrr…” she mock shivers, wiggling in my lap. She spots the coat. “Oh, with-a flowers! Buttons!”

“Yes, buttons,” I tell her, snapping them and counting them off. “One…”

“TwothreeFOURFIVE!” she hurries to finish. “Buttons, yep.”

:::

“Oh NO, where-a DORA go? WHERE-A DORA?”

She is casting about for her little figure of Dora, the one I brought back from Orlando. She dumps the entire backpack onto the floor, scattering the other, cast-off figures (Elmo, Abby Cadabby, and their entourage) as she seeks Dora. Each morning she must have Dora and Boots in her hands before she’ll leave the house.

Dora isn’t there, so I join her in the search and we finally locate her in the couch.

“HI, DORA!” she cries, delighted. “Mumma, up! Let’s GO!”

Okay, then. We go.

Filed under: Madeline, working mom | 7 Comments
Tags: morning routines, parenting

excerpted

01Nov09

The following is an excerpt from a letter that I’d written to one of my best friends, Loni, on July 18, 2005. I’ve been going through lots of boxes marked “sentimental” in our office at home and have found some hilarious and touching things – pictures I’d forgotten about, notes originally passed in eighth grade, that sort of thing. It’s been really fun to go through, and I apologize but you’re all about to be subjected to lots of old ramblings that I want to keep.

What follows is cheesy – I’m working on a writing a recap of the day while the memory is still fresh, something for us to keep, and I think that what came out while writing to you is the beginning of that….

We had so much fun at the wedding. There were so many moments that truly (and this is so cheesy) took my breath away, because they are “moments” that I’d been waiting so long to have: that first sight of his face at the end of the aisle, the feel of his hand in mine at the altar, the first dance, cutting the cake, all of it. All of those little moments are so completely surreal, and when it was over it seemed as though it was something I’d made up – as though it didn’t really happen to me. Watching the video is like watching a movie – I feel really detached from it, as though that girl in the white dress couldn’t possibly be me.

But the end of the night was the best – getting into the car and driving away and recapping everything with him. The moments we’d caught, stuff he had done that morning, what it was like for me getting ready – all of it. And then going home (no hotel, just home) and getting sopping wet from the car to the house because it was raining so hard.

Standing in the living room, sopping wet in that huge dress and veil, Jimmy gone to get me towels, I finally was at peace. I was truly, legally, guilt-free home. There was another vase of roses (white, this time) on the table in the living room. Once I read the card, I knew the feeling of “home” was mutual – it read simply “Welcome home, Mrs. [redacted]!”

It was the best feeling – total calm and comfort. Great day, but that was one of the best moments of all. Funny how we planned all that hoopla, and the best moment was spent alone, in the quiet.

Filed under: marriage | 2 Comments
Tags: letters, marriage, wedding

4 years

30Oct09

Grandpa,

It is unbelievable that it’s been more than four years now since I last saw you and heard your voice. More than four years have passed since the last time I got to give you a hug. It seems like it’s been forever and like it was just yesterday – like these things always do, I guess. Cliches are cliched for a reason – they’re true, or at least they feel that way.

I miss you every day. I miss you most when I see my dad – your son – being such a fantastic grandpa to Madeline. I know that you would have loved her, and she you. I’m sure that, where you are, you love her already, have loved her since you first knew of her just as I have. She loves Grandma - calls her “T!” – and asks to visit when we drive by in the mornings. She loves to chatter at her, and tell her all sorts of stories.

But oh boy, does she love her Bampa. Sort of reminds me of the way I always felt (still feel) about you. He takes her for bike rides and he gives her hugs and kisses. He roughhouses with her on the floor, and watching them I can remember viscerally how it felt to be little and teasingly trapped and tickled. I can see that she will have the same happy memories of him, and I’m so glad.

October is still kind of hard for me. I wave at passing beet trucks, and I think of you. I’ve been telling Madeline stories about you as we drive to Denise’s in the morning – I’m sure you’ve heard - and she listens intently, interrupting me only to shout “Tractor! TRUCK! BEET!” as we pass the fields. We sing about the doggy in the window, and most mornings it’s enough to move me past the lump that sometimes builds in my throat as I watch all the fields come down.

I’ve stopped worrying about the things that happened just before and just after your death. I don’t worry about whether you knew how I felt, or wonder if I ever told you the right things. I know now, after feeling you so many times in so many places, that you have heard every word and know it all. I think that maybe you did know it even before, and that it was silly of me to worry. Regardless, I tell people that I love them a whole lot more now. I don’t want to leave any room for that doubt.

I still have moments when I forget that you’re gone, and I’m sure that you know most of those too. At the craft show on Saturday we spent some time in a booth that was displaying baby doll beds and high chairs, and Madeline was trying out her dolly in each piece. I thought to myself this looks like something that Grandpa could make – I bet he has made this type of stuff before my brain clicked to a sudden stop on the realization that your hands are finally at rest. I was able to smile, remembering all the lovely things that you made, and thinking of how Dad has carried that on.

I hope every day that I’m making you proud, wherever you are. The last few years haven’t been easy, and I don’t know that I have always made the right decisions, but I am trying. When I am struggling with a hard choice I sometimes get out my wedding video to hear your voice: “You done good, kid.” I treasure that moment, those words. Thank you for all the moments you gave me to keep, to hold close to my heart when I am missing you most. Thank you for being my Grandpa, and for this family you and Grandma created that surrounds me.

Between now and then, until I see you again, I’ll be loving you… love, me.

Filed under: missing Grandpa | 5 Comments

a few things

28Oct09

Thing the first: QUIDDITCH! Jonna went to a real, live Quidditch game! (There aren’t enough caps or exclamation points IN! THE! WORLD! for this, so I’m trying to maintain a low-key thing here. QUIDDITCH!) I mean sure, the brooms didn’t FLY or anything, but still. I want to know how I can coerce the local colleges into setting up some sort of league so that I can go and watch. Local college students! Do my bidding!

Thing the second: – and have I not said this before? I can’t believe it, if not – did you know they are building HOGWARTS at Universal Studios in Orlando?

HOGWARTS!

(HOGWARTS!) I’m sure that those of you without Muggle tendencies recognize those lovely turrets in the distance. I took these when we hosted a dinner at Margaritaville when I was in Orlando, and sadly, I was pretty far away. Our event manager shared my Harry Potter geekery, but still could not let me into the park for “just a peek” unless I purchased a ticket.

Killjoy.

Anyway, my mom, sister Laura, and I are ABSOLUTELY heading there when it opens next spring (date to be announced) to have Butterbeers and buy wands. Who’s with us?

(I just lost all my readers, didn’t I? That whoosh of air was the DELETE button from everyone’s feeds. Dammit).

Thing the third: Paint! I painted the bathroom. Really, I finally did.

Valspar Smoke Infusion - bathroom

I don’t want to talk about what still has to be done. Progress, baby steps, etc.

Thing the fourth: H1N1. I know, I know, I don’t want to talk about it either, but I think it needs to be recorded here since I want Madeline to know that yes, we DID think about it and discuss it (endlessly, actually).

Look, I’m a vaccinator. We followed a slightly modified schedule (not exactly Dr. Sears’, but one we were comfortable with). But this? Nope, not a chance. Not happening. I don’t know if that makes me a “bad mom” (the media certainly wants me to feel that way), but I can’t in good conscience do it. I know that all flu vaccines are manufactured on an accelerated schedule similar to this one, but why the removal of the preservative restrictions (primarily, thimerosal)? It feels like a scare tactic, all this rushing and media coverage and the declaration of a “national emergency” and I don’t like it a bit. Not a bit. We’ll be careful about germs, we’ll make sure our girl is eating right and getting her rest, but we won’t be lining up for the shot. I’d love to hear your thoughts on it though – I’ve been really impressed to read all the different opinions and rational discussions going on all over the place.

Thing the fifth: Twitter hates me. No, really, it does. I had a small freakout and deleted my account, then tried to restore and now it won’t let me in because my password is “invalid.” When I try to use the “Forgot Password?” link, it takes me to a no-man’s-land with the Fail Whale, where I feel I may be destined to remain forever. I would like to return to Twitter, but I would like to do so as bessieviola. So… Twitter? Are you listening? Let me back in, please! I miss everyone!

Filed under: daily, me, the money pit | 9 Comments