Cooking with kid? and other stuffs....

Ok, ok, I KNOW this blog's been a little schmoopy lately, and I KNOW I've barely been writing anyway, but I promise you, oh ye faithful reader(s??), I am hard at work creating a site focused more on writing and less on kid stuff, and also am putting the finishing touches on my book so that I can send it out into the ether to get mean rejection letters (from which I will learn BIG THINGS, I am sure...).

But I just have to share this one more sweet Zoe story because it makes me happy. Maybe it make you happy too?

So...here goes...

Charles had to work late tonight, which used to be grounds for me to panic. Back in the day, it was terrifying...a late afternoon by myself when I'm already exhausted from work, and Zoe is cranky from a full day at school? Too much to handle. (I have nothing but the utmost admiration for single parents, by the way...I don't know how y'all do it!)

Tonight, we really didn't have much to do. I'd decided on homemade personal pizzas for dinner, and didn't feel all that rushed to get anything done.

So I picked Zoe up from school, and she was in a fabulous mood. We giggled the whole way home (mostly over nonsense words). When we got home, we took care of the dogs, did a little cleaning up, and then it was time to start dinner.

I'm not typically one to stop and smell the roses. I always feel rushed, like there's not enough time to get everything done well, so I have to half-ass most things. This is sort of ironic considering one of my favorite movie quotes is the famous Ferris Bueller line: Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Usually, when Zoe "helps" me with something, it stresses me out because I know it's actually going to take twice as long for us to do together as it would for me to do it on my own. It's not a personal trait of which I am proud.

But for some reason (perhaps making it through a super-stressful meeting at work today?), I was super-chill tonight. Even Zoe noticed and told me I was relaxed (which sounds REALLY WEIRD from the mouth of a three-year-old). And so, I let her help me cook.

While I sliced onions, she pulled the stems out of mushroom caps. While I sliced mushroom caps, she watched and directed. When I spent ten minutes trying to open a jar of artichoke hearts, she cracked up hysterically because Mommy wasn't strong enough.

By that time, there were mushroom crumbles all over the counter and floor, but I didn't care. Floors are easily cleaned, right? And when it was time to assemble the pizzas, I let Zoe do most of the work.

She spread sauce. She sprinkled onions and cheese. I handled the artichokes (ok, I drew the line at oily artichokes...I do have my limits, you know), but then she decorated with the mushroom slices. She even spread the Feta on top (For the record, Zoe would eat a whole box of Feta in one sitting if I let her. I had to watch carefully to make sure ANY Feta made it to the pizzas!).

By then, the cat was enjoying a feast of dropped cheese, I was happily drinking red wine, and Zoe was having a great time! And so was I! I was actually, legitimately cooking with my kid!!

Who knew?

So....my advice to those of you who are always too busy (like me)...take some time and relax sometimes. You'll have an unexpectedly good time! I *almost* promise!

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

And by the way...did you SEE that USA vs. Brazil soccer game on Sunday? Charles and I watched it and it was AMAZING! Seriously, when the US scored that goal in the closing seconds of the second overtime...I almost cried. The hell with people who say women's sports aren't exciting - that was the most exciting sporting even I've ever seen!! USA! USA!!

ANDDDD....Charles ordered me George R.R. Martin's latest book, A Dance With Dragons, and even though it's officially released tomorrow, thanks to Amazon.com's brilliance, I have it in my hands TONIGHT!! Charles is officially my hero, and I'm taking a night off from editing so I can just....go...read.

Good night!

FIREWORKS!!!

Hello, and happy July 4th to you! I hope this day has found you happy and healthy!

We've had quite the holiday weekend. Each day has included beach or pool, and I'd almost say I'm finally a blonde again.

I am...utterly exhausted.

But today was...fabulous!

So...having July 4th fall on a "school night" is kind of rough when you're a working parent with a three-year-old. You want to let them experience the full effect of cookouts and fireworks and the awe that you (ok, I...) remember as a child. But you (I) know how quickly 6 a.m. comes, and how hard it will be to get your kid out of bed the following morning. So you (I) are (was) torn.

I was excited when Charles agreed to host a small cookout at our place, but we still went back and forth over fireworks. I wanted to drive about 30 minutes to watch the professional shows from the back porch of the house in which Charles's mom and grandfather grew up, which is today owned by his cousins. He wanted to shoot off some fireworks in our back yard instead.

That option...sort of made me nauseated.

Because I grew up in New JERSEY, where fireworks set off by anyone without a license and a county-sponsored show are ILLEGAL, and even SPARKLERS are ILLEGAL and it just doesn't feel right to light my own damn fireworks.

But that was the option that won, and it turns out one of our neighbors is a certified pyromaniac, so she had a STASH of fireworks to add to the little $30 kit we purchased yesterday on our way home from the beach.

So we had our cookout, which was super-fun. Charles's mom even got out to play some soccer with Zoe, and our neighbors and their kids had a great time hanging out in our back yard. We all ate a lot, and I only had one glass of wine due to a mimosa incident yesterday, and all was well.

Then the sun went down. Charles and our neighbors Monica and Jamie took turns setting off fireworks. And Zoe was delighted.

And I? Well, I got a bucket of water. I got out the fire extinguisher. I even contemplated getting Zoe to put on her Spiderman bicycle helmet. I jumped at every boom. I flinched as each bottle rocket flew off in a different direction.

But then...it got better. I got a bit more comfortable, especially when I realized practically ALL our neighbors with children had made the same choice, and fireworks were going off all around us, and really, if they could do it, why couldn't we?

The only time I paused for a moment was when I came inside about halfway through to check on the dogs. Quentin, my 'fraidy-cat dog who panics at the slightest rumble of thunder, was relaxing calmly in our laundry room. He gave me a look as I came in..."Whatcha worried about, Leah??"

So then I went looking for Molly. She wasn't downstairs. I headed upstairs, expecting her to be hiding next to my bed.

Nope.

I started to get a little worried. "Molly? Molly?" I couldn't find her, so I called louder.

Then I heard a rustle in Zoe's bathroom. I found Molly, shaking, terrified, laying in the bathtub. I think that if she'd been able to, she'd have had a bucket of water nearby. She'd have had a fire extinguisher. I have no doubt she'd have had a helmet on.

I could TOTALLY understand.

But at least I knew she was safe. I patted her on the head and said something that was, I'm sure, not even remotely soothing, and went back out to watch the rest of the show. Even if we stopped our show then, the neighborhood would still be booming.

And now? It's 10:30. Zoe is in bed, but not yet sleeping. I figure we have a 50/50 shot of actually making it to school and work on time tomorrow. But you know what? DIY fireworks are actually FUN! No one got hurt (well, Charles *does* have that one burn on his hand...), and we had a great time.

All without the crowds on the beaches, or having to deal with drunk drivers on the roads, or getting home even later because we are stuck in traffic...

So I have a feeling we'll be doing this again next year. Bigger and better, as Charles just informed me.

A cure for a case of the Mondays

A co-worker told me today that he and I both had a case of the Mondays. Considering the fact that it's Tuesday, well....it was as bad as it sounds.

So with that in mind I'm going to throw out the post I had in mind for today, which was meaningful and important (I swear), and instead share a story from this afternoon that literally had me rolling around on my living room floor, laughing uncontrollably.

So...here goes...

Zoe's a pretty good eater for a three-year-old. Give the kid a plate of broccoli or some green beans and she's excited. Eggs, bacon, sausage, all kinds of fruit. It's mostly easy to cook for her.

But still, she has her limits, and I was pretty surprised this afternoon when I looked out the window into our back yard and saw Zoe sitting on a lawn chair with Charles, happily munching on a banana pepper like it was...well...a banana. She devoured it, then came in bragging that she ATE a BANANA PEPPER from OUR GARDEN! Whew!

Then it was time for dinner, and Zoe had a plate full of goodness - broccoli, chicken and even a few French fries! But still, sometimes parent have to resort to tricks to keep their kids eating.

Tonight's trick involved another of Zoe's favorite foods: boiled peanuts. To my Yankee friends...I, too, cringed the first time I heard the words "boiled" and "peanut" back to back. Yuck, right? But no...they are one of my favorite things about living in Charleston. Cooked overnight in salted water with hot peppers and Cajun spices...YUM! And Zoe LOVES them.

We had some left over from a Memorial Day cookout, and Charles had the bag on the table, but Zoe hadn't noticed it. She'd cooled off on her dinner a bit, taking only sporadic bites, when suddenly Charles pointed to the back door and shouted, "Oh, wow, what's that?"

Zoe whipped her head around, and while she was distracted, Charles dropped a peanut on her plate.

Holy cow, that girl was DELIGHTED when she turned around and found it!

"Oh MY, Daddy! Mommy, where do you think that came from?"

The sincerity with which she then believed that the "Pink Witch" (Glinda from The Wizard of Oz) had dropped off that peanut, and the many that followed, was both hilarious and intense. And then, knowing that the Pink Witch was nearby, Zoe began to look out for the "Green Witch" (the Wicked Witch, of course), making the task of dropping more peanuts on her plate much easier, and also funnier.

"Mommy, there's the Green Witch!"

"Go away, Green Witch!"

By the time Zoe would return to the table from a trip to the window or the front door to scare away the Green Witch, there'd be more peanuts on her plate. In order to eat the peanuts, she had to eat more chicken or broccoli, but she was laughing, squealing and wholly distracted from the normal dinner-food the whole time.

"Look Daddy! More peanuts! Where do you think they came from?"

(To be honest, I know it's possible that she knew we were messing with her, but if so the joke's on her anyway, since she ate a big dinner and had a fun time doing it!)

So, by then, all three of us were laughing hard, and talk of cookies had begun. We don't mind if she has a small treat if she eats a good meal, so suddenly, Charles distracted her again, then mouthed to me, "Cookie."

I sprinted to the food closet to pull out a cookie and sneak it onto her plate, which was no small feat as the cookies were wrapped up in the loudest plastic bag EVER, and when she returned to the table, she almost fell over.

"A cookie, Mommy! Daddy, look! A cookie!"

That Pink Witch was really on a roll, though, and she soon struck again. The very next time Zoe's back was turned, I grabbed a can of whipped cream from our fridge. (Note: I LOVE whipped cream - whether it's fresh or from a can or from a tub, it's all AWESOME in my book! Zoe shares this love.) I shusshed a mound of it atop her only remaining piece of cookie, and when she came back to the table...well...

"Wow, look!" And she reached out...and grabbed...the pile of melty, mushy whipped cream. It squirted EVERYWHERE! Across the table, onto her face, over to Charles sitting three feet way. Everywhere.

And the look on Zoe's face...surprise, wonder, excitement, confusion. It was priceless.

I had to leave the room. I was done. The Pink Witch had left the building, laughing too hard to continue.

Happy Tuesday! Hope your work-week started better than mine! :)

Zoe's Big Birthday!!!

Insomnia, how I never miss you when you're blissfully away. But how familiar and almost comfortable you are whenever you come back.

Sigh. It's 3:44 a.m.

To be fair, I do know that whenever my routine is off (like when my best friend, Amy, and her daughter Gabby are in town for Zoe's birthday bash weekend - which is fabulous, but means life is a bit...hectic...right now), I have a very hard time sleeping, which is probably why I cling so hard to my routine, because I hate not sleeping. And now, for Zoe's birthday party, which is in approximately 7 hours and 15 minutes, I will look like I have two black eyes.

But tomorrow will be better, especially if I think to buy some Melatonin, which really helped me in London when said routine was completely shattered. (Charles, when you go out in the morning to get beer for the party, will you also see if you can find some Melatonin? It's an herbal supplement...it'll be in the pharmacy section of Publix...with the vitamins...k, thanks!)

Anyway, enough about sleep (or lack thereof). I am going to take these quiet minutes to write about Zoe's Big Birthday!! W00t!

She had such a fun, such a full, such an EXHAUSTING day! (Why is it, by the way, that all the most fun days are utterly exhausting? You never hear anyone say, "Wow, we had a great day, so much fun at the park and the beach...now let's go for a ten mile hike!" Instead it's typically, "Wow, we had a great day, so much fun at the park and the beach...and now...I cannot...move...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz..." But I digress...)

Zoe woke up on Thursday morning and came downstairs to find a display not-unlike a modest-Christmas. But instead of a tree, there was....a basketball goal! Hooray! She's been asking for one since Charles suggested she might possibly want one for her birthday. Anyway, it stood there, towering over our living room in its four-foot-tall glory, with other gifts arranged impressively around its base.

You'd have think Zoe got a million dollars, she was so excited about the basketball goal. Sweet. Good job, Charles.

Other gifts of note included a soccer goal from her Aunt Mary and an original painting of pretty things by her Uncle Jonathan. The gift that was thrown aside? Clothes...that I picked out...of course..but they are CUTE, DARNIT!!

Our longstanding (if you can call three years longstanding) birthday tradition has been to take the day off and take Zoe to the South Carolina Aquarium here in Charleston. This year, the tradition seemed to be failing, as earlier in the week, Zoe wanted to go to the beach instead. But on the morning of her birthday, when we asked what she wanted to do, the Aquarium won handily so we got cleaned up, watched a bit of Annie (a slightly more successful gift I selected), and headed out.

(I should mention here that we are having Major Improvements done to our yard this week and next, so mixed with in the "get cleaned up" part of the story was Zoe being TERRIFIED to go outside due to the Scary Workmen...)

The Aquarium was fantastic this year. We had to dodge school groups but managed to see things like: one of the otters showing off how close to the glass tank walls he could swim, so I could almost give Zoe an anatomy lesson; an escalator; super-big sharks with super-sharp-looking teeth, also swimming eerily close to the glass by our faces (those eyes....so creepy!); a scuba-diver in the big tank who waved at Zoe and tried to touch her hand through the glass. So cool.

Another longstanding tradition is that on her birthday we take Zoe to the gift shop and let her pick out anything she wants. In the past, this has led to our acquisition of a stuffed opossum (named Oliver) and a plastic, grabby iguana thingie that helps us get stuff from under Zoe's bed. This year, we came home with...wait for it....a rubber snake and a plastic red-eyed tree frog, "so they can play games," according to Zoe. "Games" seems to mean that the two creatures take turns pretending to eat one another...fun times indeed.

The rest of her birthday included going out to lunch (Triangle Char and Bar in West Ashley - mighty fun place, I must say!), no nap for Zoe, more yard work and Scary Workmen, and a lot of dirt in which to play. By the time my dad showed up for dinner, Zoe was one GIANT mess. By the time we sat down to dinner, her cute pigtails had flopped completely down, and instead of her pretty birthday dress, she was in comfy shorts and a t-shirt. Her eyes were dark from exhaustion. Her feet were brown with mud.

Charles took some pictures when she blew out the candles on her birthday cake. I haven't seen them yet, but I know they will be classics.

OK. Enough said. I may be ready to go back to sleep now. And if not, China Mieville is calling me to read...

'night, world!

Mah mah mah mah poker face...or lack thereof...

I. Am. Dramatic.

Always have been. Probably always will be. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, and most thoughts on my face.

Back in high school, when I was a freshman, a senior girl signed my yearbook and told me that I had a "fun, child-like quality about me" and that I should always keep it. I think I maybe took it too much to heart. My moods today are very much the same as they were back then. Quick, fierce and like that of a three-year-old.

I'm not good at hiding much of anything.

Which is fine, usually. Most of my friends and family are used to it. Typically, Charles deals with it like a champ.

But there's a new little person in my world, one who is VERY affected by just about anything I do. Can you guess who it is?

Yep. My Zoe.

I've been working hard on keeping my moods to myself lately, with minimal success. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get through putting Zoe to bed without snapping at least once. It's true that bedtime is currently frustrating, with multiple requests for the potty and for water and for Just One More Kiss...but I also know that it hurts her feelings when I snap. And all too often, that is the last thing she sees of me before she goes to sleep.

So, I'm trying. I'm aware of the problem and I'm trying SO HARD to correct it. I promise.

Of course, being an open book like me has other issues as well. For one, I tend to giggle a lot. Yesterday in the car on the way to school, Zoe wasn't behaving, so I took away her favorite car-toy, a Magna-doddle shaped like Elmo. She got SO MAD that she screamed at the top of her lungs for as long as she possibly could. It was so high-pitched, so shrill, that I think I felt like I was shot in the head. Have you ever seen Aliens? You know how Newt screamed? Same thing.

I know I should have behaved myself, kept quiet, even said a stern word or two...it was not ok behavior.

Instead, I cracked up. I couldn't help it. I found it so utterly hilarious that she'd screamed like that, that she's ruptured all our eardrums over a piece of red plastic, that I just laughed and laughed. Poor Charles had to dole out the discipline that time, and I think that's a trend in our house.

And then, sometimes my freak-outs can spawn Zoe freak-outs, so I'm working on that, too. Last weekend, when Zoe woke up from her nap, her right ear was filled with rusty, nasty goop. YUCK. I cleaned it out, trying hard not to get too grossed out, and decided to keep an eye on it.

Later that evening, she was not wanting to go to bed. When I checked on her at one point after she'd been fussing, she was rubbing at that ear. I leaned closer to her, and I could just smell something nasty. GROSS.

I called Charles upstairs, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I'm a big girl, I thought. I can handle this, whatever THIS is.

He brought me a q-tip, and I rubbed it around the yucky ear. It came away BRIGHT RED! Blood! Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, my baby's ear is bleeding, was all I could think at that moment in time. An "Ohmigosh" actually escaped my lips, and I know my face must have reflected my momentary panic.

Zoe started, looked scared, and opened her mouth to say something.

FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE, I got myself under control. "Oh, it's nothing baby," I said calmly. <Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, my baby's ear is bleeding...ohmigosh....> "Just an ear infection. We'll clean you up and you can go to sleep."

Calmly, collectedly, I cleaned the rest of her ear, lay her back down and tucked her into bed.

Then I calmly, collectedly went downstairs and CALLED THE DOCTOR'S WEEKEND SERVICE BECAUSE OHMIGOSH MY BABY'S EAR WAS BLEEDING!!!!!

It was just an ear infection. Nothing major. But at least in that moment...for once...I acted like a big girl.

Maybe I'm learning?

Passover, Easter and me: all served up with a big old slice of double standard

A long time ago, Charles and I agreed to raise Zoe in a multi-cultural, multi-religiously educated house. We agreed not to label her, to let her choose her religious ideals as she grew up and into them.

With that in mind, yesterday I almost posted on the Internets that I was an equal opportunity book buyer - I'd just purchased a Passover and an Easter book for Zoe. Clearly, I'm non-biased and am educating my child equally about multiple religions/traditions at once.

But yeah...tonight I was glad I didn't post that, because really...not so much.

The Passover book was called "Max's Four Questions" and we read it tonight. It told the tale of a little boy named Max as he negotiated a big family Passover Seder. He asked the Four Questions (Why is this night different from any other night: Why do we eat Matzoh? Why do we eat bitter herbs? Why do we dip the bitter herbs in salt water? Why do we eat reclining?), and through the answers to the questions, he learned the basics of the Passover story. Jews were slaves in Egypt; they escaped; their bread didn't have time to rise and baked into crackers in the hot sun; the bitter herbs remind us of both spring and the bitterness of slavery; the salt water is a reminder of tears; we recline because we are free and we can.

It's really a brilliant little book and I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to learn the Passover story in a kid-friendly way. I even learned a bit, or at least got reminders, and this is a story that I've known and embraced since childhood.

So...that was my Passover education for Zoe. I even made a (terrible!) attempt at singing the Four Questions for her in Hebrew. I felt like a good person.

Then, I took a look at the Easter book I'd bought...

Yep. The Easter Beagle Egg Hunt. Snoopy and the gang went on an Easter Egg Hunt...

Shit.

I honestly did look around the Barnes & Noble for a slightly more educational Easter book, but they all...started with the word Jesus. Sigh.

All the stories from the Old Testament have been a part of me for my whole life; the New Testament? Not so much. I don't know how to frame Jesus and his teachings for my not-yet-three-year-old daughter. I'm not comfortable buying books about Jesus.

And I realize that this is a total double-standard in that I expect Charles to be ok with me teaching Zoe the religious side of the Jewish holidays, while I teach her the secular side of the Christian ones. Zoe knows all about Santa Claus and his reindeer, but she also knows what each letter on the dreidel means. She knows about the Easter Bunny, but also about Jews escaping slavery in Egypt. She knows nothing of Jesus.

This is not balanced, and I get that, but I don't know how to fix it. And I'm sorry about it. I am, really. I wish I had it in me to be more balanced.

But to tell you the truth, I think I'm just all kinds of muddled about what Zoe is and how to raise her. Tonight, right before bed, this happened:

Me:

Zoe: Mommy, are you Jewish?

Me: Yep, I am.

Zoe: Am I Jewish?

Me: Um...hmm...ummm...yeah, sort of, technically, but we'll talk about it more as you grow up.

I don't know what to call her, teach her or tell her, but we'll figure it all out as we go...I think? Help?

Imagination mayhem

Ohmigosh, it's a HANDFUL having an imaginative little girl. I love it, for the most part...after all, I'm a writer, right? (I'm still practicing saying that and not making a snarky-face...I. Am. A. Writer. I think...) And writers appreciate imaginations, right?

Zoe has been busy over the last few weeks coming up with new ways to make herself laugh, and freak herself out.

Not long ago, we were home alone on a rainy Friday afternoon when, desperate for a new form of entertainment that did not involve a puzzle, I pulled out Zoe's Sock Monkey Tea Set (cutest tea set EVER!). We sat down at her little table in the den, and Zoe immediately set to making some tea. With her tea set. Fancy that!

Anyway, it wasn't so much the fact that she was making tea that was strikingly creative...it was all about the ingredients which which she chose to create her teas. I watched, speechless, laughing, before I thought to grab a little notebook to record her recipes. Here's they are:

• watermelon, peanut butter and jelly
• chocolate, vanilla and orange juice
• vanilla, ice cream and whipped cream (seriously, I wished that one was real!)
• almond, cranberry and apple juice
• chocolate, a plate, vanilla, milk and Doozer (our cat)
• banana, strawberry, pear and a musical instrument
• chocolate, a cup, vanilla, strawberry, orange and some Legos
• coffee, vanilla, a plate, an octopus, a helicopter, a rocket ship and a handful of monkeys.

As she said each ingredient, she picked up an imaginary something from the table or the floor near-by. Then, she'd carry the cup of "tea" over to our bookshelf, where she set it down to cook. I had to "drink" each cup, even the one that included an octopus, and pretend it was amazing. It was a fabulously fun game for both of us.

Another recent game she's developed includes one of her other favorite tasks: drawing. Zoe takes one of her Magna-Doodles and draws a random shape or two (frequently two joined circles, but sometimes she branches out). She then thrusts the doodle in my general direction.

"TurnitintosometingputthewordsonitMommy."

The first time Charles heard her say this, he made Zoe repeat herself three times until he got it. Turn it into something. Put the words on it, Mommy.

I am supposed to turn her random shapes into some sort of recognizable picture and label it with the appropriate word. I draw cats, boats, dogs, rockets, ice cream cones, armadillos, and so on and so forth. I tend to get stuck on animals, and we tend to laugh a lot when playing. But the great thing about this game is that now, before she even turns three, she can sight-read about a dozen words. Cat. Hat. Dog. Turtle. Mommy. Daddy. And a bunch of others. It's FABULOUS. She understands what she can do, and wants to learn more. I can't wait until she can read more! And this all came about because she made up a silly little game.

Of course, you may know that there's another side to the imagination coin, right? And that's the sheer terror that comes with not quite being able to draw the line between real and make-believe.

Last week, when Zoe was sick, we watched a LOT of TV...it's not my favorite pass-time for her, but when you have a feverish child, there are only so many books you can read...so we watched Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, both of which are well-equipped with a terrifying evil witch. Then, this week, Charles put in The Wizard of Oz, after Zoe and I spent some time singing the songs in the car on the way home from school. And, well, the Wicked Witch of the West is maybe one of the scariest bad-guys in children's movie history, right?

So now Zoe is looking for witches everywhere she goes...she will no longer go into her closet on her own, and when going into a new room, she has to yell at the top of her voice, "Go away witch!!"

So far, we haven't had to deal with any nightmares, but I do know that's coming. She is my child, after all, and I've had nightmares my whole life, probably due to watching scary movies before I was quite ready for them...

You'd think I'd learn, right? But really, I love my child's imagination, and I'll take the bad with the good, any day. I love her.

Picketing a six-year-old?? For reals?

It's been weird, being home most of this week. I've had time to watch the news and keep on top of laundry, oddities for a working mom like me.

So yesterday, I caught this story while watching CNN's American Morning (my fave news program - I have it on right now, in fact).

Basically, parents in a Florida school are pissed off because there's a little girl with a sever peanut allergy in their children's first grade class. To attempt to ensure that one girl's safety, all the children are being asked to wash their hands before and after lunch and occasionally rinse out their mouths.

These aggrieved parents are actually picketing the school, attempting to have this SIX YEAR OLD GIRL removed from their children's class because these clearly overwhelming precautions (Seriously - washing the hands of small children before and after eating? Excessive, right?) are impeding their precious children's learning time.

Ok, all snark aside...are you kidding me? Washing hands is taking away from learning time? Zoe's class (pre-school, I know, but still...) has entire routines around washing hands in an attempt to keep the kids from spreading germs. Most six year olds I know have grubby hands at most points in the day, so having them wash their hands sounds like a good plan to me, life threatening peanut allergies notwithstanding. How can anyone argue against such simple steps to help keep any number of children safe?

I was happy to see that the CNN commentators were equally appalled by this situation and had a few snarky comments of their own in support of that little girl who was unlucky enough to be born with what amounts to a disability - peanut allergies are nothing to mess around with. They are dangerous and limiting and scary.

And I'm just left wondering about those picketing parents...if any of THEM had a child with an allergy like this, would they stop at anything to keep that child safe? Probably not. I think this is a situation where stepping into the other parents' shoes would hopefully make the picketers stop, look around, and realize they're being idiots.

Yes, I just called them idiots. There's no other word for it. Do what you can to help your neighbors, people! Help keep kids safe.

Sick days indeed

Last week, Zoe and I had a cold. It was our first one in a while, though, so I felt like it wasn't so bad. Neither of us missed school or work, and by Wednesday, we were fine.

Then, Friday came. I had a friend coming to dinner with her husband and 16-month-old son. This was a college friend who I hadn't seen in years and years, and I was SO EXCITED about it! They came, and Zoe was having a great time running around, showing off in that way she does...hopping, spinning, dancing and singing.

We were all hanging out while I cooked some shrimp and grits, when suddenly Charles came into the kitchen. "Um, Zoe has a fever of 101."

Denial set in. Immediately.

"No she doesn't," I said, so sure I was right. "No way. She's just overheated. It's hot in here and she's running around."

(In my defense, it was in the 80s that day, and our house was rather warm since I was cooking like a madwoman.)

Two of ours dinner guests were pediatricians, and both shot me funny looks. "No, kids don't run fevers from running around."

D'oh!

They were cool and relaxed about it, though, which made me feel better. But, that afternoon, before the fever came on, Zoe had hung around with a nine-month-old who lives on our street, and we saw a one-month-old baby as well (she didn't get close to that baby, though). And then my friend's son, too.

I felt like she was Typhoid Zoe, spreading her evil germs across the land.

Sigh.

That night, we had our first ever middle of the night fever spike - it was up to 104 by morning, even with Advil. It was awful.

The whole weekend was spent in the house, dealing with poor Zoe's fever. The doctor thought it was viral, but on Sunday we started her on an antibiotic, thinking it was a sinus infection. Sure enough her fever dropped, and yesterday she was fever-free.

But today? Yeah, fever again. I have no idea what's going on, but we'll be home again today, and I'm apparently on a mini-vacation from work. I love all the cuddles (she's a cuddly-sick-girl), but I think we're all ready to return to normal.

When one Facebook update just isn't enough

My day started at 4:00 a.m., when Zoe woke up to pee and refused to go back to bed until about 5, when Charles went down to get his coffee. Zoe climbed back into the bed with me and we fell asleep for about 45 minutes more.

Needless to say, though, that wasn't high-quality sleep, so it's been a long day. I ran, cleaned bathrooms (ugh...), ran by the office for a meeting, and ran some other errands. Then I picked up Zoe from school and we went to the park for a while.

Since the point when I left the house, I've had at least four status updates that I thought about making to Facebook, but I never had the chance to make them. And now, I want to make all of them, but that would be a bit excessive.

So I'm blogging instead.

Here goes:

• Today, I had to run to the bank to deposit checks, buy "neutral" Chuck Taylors for Zoe, and pick up toilet paper. What actually happened, though, was that when I ran to the bank, I hadn't endorsed the checks I was depositing, and I didn't have a pen, so I left with checks in hand; I got Zoe red and black ladybug sneakers instead of the black or beige Charles requested; and I forgot toilet paper. So it goes.

• Today, for Show and Share at school, Zoe brought a plastic Daschund dog dressed up as a hot dog, left over from Halloween. On the way outside with her class (they were seeing if their Show and Share items fit inside the school mailbox), she dropped the dog, and it broke into multiple pieces. Zoe's teacher said they could take it to Mr. Ray, the school handyman, to see if he could fix it. Zoe looked right up at the teacher and said, "Yes, Mr. Ray has to screw the dog to fix it." Huh....

• Zoe had a tremendous fall from a ladder at the park today. She'd climbed it twice before, and was shooing me away from my nervous-mom-stance underneath her. So I stepped about three feet away and was talking to another mom while she climbed. She made it about four rungs up when she slipped and tumbled, and I was not fast enough to catch her. She flew down about 5 feet and thankfully landed on her booty in the soft sand. It was traumatizing for both of us - even thinking about it is making me choke up. But do you know what? As soon as she'd settled down, before she'd even let me wipe the tears away (but after I'd made sure she could walk and wasn't seriously injured), she walked right back up to that ladder and, determined as ever, climbed right up to the top. I was AMAZED by her courage. She is incredibly brave.

• We've had a mole problem in the backyard for months, years even. They dig these little underground trenches that make our grass weirdly soft and lumpy. I can't stand them. And I've encouraged my dog, Quentin, who spends lots of time out there, to dig them up and eat them, but he never has. Today, Charles's dog, Molly, the Dalmatian, stayed out in the yard and when Zoe and I came home from the park, Molly came trotting to the door, mole in mouth. She'd finally found one. There are several large holes in the yard now, but at least we are one mole less thanks to Molly's tenacity. So yay for her, but then...moles are kind of cute when you actually look at them. Darnit!

OK, those were stories. Please know that, had they been actual Facebook statuses, they'd have been shorter and maybe funnier. But still...that all happened today. Really. Today.

Dispatches from London, Part 2

Ah, insomnia, you are not my friend.

I always have a hard time sleeping when I'm away from home, but my first night here I was so wiped out that with a little help from some melatonin, I was down for the count all night. I slept until almost 10:00 local time, which *would* be a record for me, until you consider that it was really only almost 5:00 in my normal, home time...

Now, it's about 4:30 local time and I have been up for a while. And since the rest of the house is asleep (although I think my brother-in-law will be up shortly as he has to travel for work today), it seems a good chance to reflect on my trip thus far.

More random observations include the fact that Cadbury chocolate from the UK is FAR superior to Cadbury chocolate from the US. That said, I still am a devoted fan of all things Cadbury, particularly Cadbury Mini-Eggs around Easter. Also, I've noticed that every family with small children here places a clear plastic tent over babies' strollers, forming little bubbles that protect said babies from rain, wind and the rest of the environment. I've never seen such a thing in Charleston, but then, it doesn't rain quite this much in Charleston, and when it does, most people stay home. There doesn't appear to be a choice here, though, about the weather. You go out, even in the cold, damp drizzle, which is what we did yesterday.

OK, enough random observations. More about what we *did* instead.

We hopped on the underground again (good thing I bought a week-long, all-encompassing Underground pass, innit?) to head to South Bank, which is where you can find things like Big Ben, Parliament and Westminster Abbey. (Yes, I had my all-American, Chevy Chase moment, and did say, at least twice, "Big Ben...Parliament...Big Ben...Parliament...") The Abbey is actually closed on Sundays to tourists, so we walked around the Cloisters, which were amazing. It's incredible to stand on stones that were laid hundreds and hundreds of years ago, and to look at the intricate brickwork and try to fathom how it was all built. Crazy to contemplate.

We walked down the banks of the River Thames, and although the weather left a LOT to be desired (chasing us into a Starbucks at one point for sandwiches and hot drinks just to thaw out a little), it was still really beautiful at times. At other times...all I can say is TOURISTS!! I was surrounded by tourist-traps, but we mostly just skirted those areas.

There's a cute little used-book place where I looked for old British printings of Kurt Vonneguts, but found none. Rats. I would have loved to have found something cool for Charles there. I did, however, find an old British printing of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, and I grabbed that for my own collection.

We toured the rebuilt Globe Theater(re), which was pretty lovely. They have some nice exhibits, and it was cool to be in the theater itself and pretend to be from Elizabethan London. Of course, that suspension of disbelief would be easier if the floors weren't concrete, but what can you do, right?

We took a quick walk through the Tate Modern, where we saw an exhibit of millions of tiny, porcelain sunflower seeds, which was kind of bizarre and kind of cool. I could have spent a million dollars in that gift shop on books and cool t-shirts for Zoe, but I restrained myself; most of the books could be gotten cheaper online, I'm sure, and what kid wants a cool t-shirt in exchange for losing their mother for five days? No, she's going to get cool toys when we go to the toy museum later today.

By the end of an exhibit or two at the Tate, we were all exhausted, so we headed back to the flat, made some dinner, watched a documentary about Madagascar, and I've been tossing and turning ever since. So tonight, I'll pull out the big guns...Benadryl, here I come!!

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

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Charles and Zoe are still having a great time. The weather has still been wonderful for them, and I'm happy about that.

But when we skyped this morning, the first thing Zoe said to me was, "I was crying this morning because I wanted you." Nothing like an accidental two-year-old guilt trip. Then, this afternoon, the internet connection here was spotty, and I could see and hear Zoe, Charles and my mom, but while they could see me, they couldn't hear me, which freaked Zoe out. So that was a less-than-satisfying conversation.

So I'm definitely getting homesick and am missing my cozy little family a ton. I'm glad they are getting on so well without me, but I'm starting to daydream about getting back to them.

Solidarity

Back in November, a post written by a mom with an infrequently-read blog went viral. It was about her decision to allow her five-year-old son to dress up as Daphne (from Scooby Doo) for his pre-school's Halloween party, and the repercussions that followed.

I wrote briefly about this post when it was originally in the news, trying to show my support.

Now, the mom is back, filling us in about further ramifications from her original post, and letting us know about the bullying of which she's been the target, FROM HER CHURCH.

All I can really say is....uuuuggggghhhhhh....

The idea that a pastor at a church would try to push around a mother who wrote a simple essay to VENT HER FEELINGS about people who potentially HURT HER SON....it makes me sick.

Look, for most of us, "mom-blogging" is a pretty thankless job. I know I am not going to get rich writing this blog. I know I don't have a ton of readers. But I also know that I feel compelled to write, and if I were faced with a similar situation, a similar frustrated rant would likely grace this blog as well. And it would not be written with the intent to attack; rather, it would be a form of catharsis. As I imagine it initially was for the mother at Nerdy Apple Bottom.

To me, a church (or any religious institution) should be welcoming, loving. The fact that her church is punishing her for the fact that the rest of the country was so touched by her story that we all read it and posted and re-posted it...well, that seems unthinkable to me.

So to the unnamed pastor of some unnamed church which I do not attend, who needs to wake up and see what his actions are doing...poo on you. Grow a pair and learn right from wrong before you try to lead your flock any further, ok?

And to the anonymous writer of Nerdy Apple Bottom...I am with you, sister. I hear you and I feel for you and I am supporting you from afar.

Good luck and happy thoughts to you and yours.

Arms of steel

I really don't understand why my arms aren't ripped. I carry around 27lbs of child all day. My arms should be as defined as a body builder. Perhaps that is a bit extreme but at the very least, more tone than they currently are.

This morning Max and I took a trip to the Children's Museum downtown Charleston. It was a lot of fun and Max ran around like a mad man playing, climbing and touching everything. When it was time to leave Max was exhausted and wanted to be carried out.

I walked out of the museum and down a block to the parking garage. It was only then that I noticed the "cash only" sign. It somehow hid itself from me when I pulled into the garage. Max rested his head on my shoulder and I adjusted the 2lb diaper bag across my shoulder and set out to find an ATM.

Three blocks later my arms began to burn. I would have brought the stroller but lately Max's new favorite thing is to push the stroller, not ride in it. Not wanting to deal with a tired child and the ultimate battle that would ensue, I chose to leave the stroller in the car.

Six blocks later, I found an ATM. I tried to put Max on the ground so he could stand beside me but he curled his legs up and refused to stand. While holding the 27lb sandbag, I had to rummage through the diaper bag to find my wallet.

Six blocks back to the parking garage and I saw the "out of order" sign on the elevator. Even though it was 51 degrees outside, I was breaking a sweat. By the time I climbed two flights of stairs and walked to the back of the garage, I was ready to strip off clothing.

Mornings like this are a regular occurrence with me. Somehow ATMs are always far away and elevators are always broken. One would think I'd be sporting well defined arms by now. The fact that I'm not might depress me, but when I arrived home and decided to open a new jar of peanut butter, the top popped off like the cap on a milk jug.

My arms may not look like a body builder but they're pretty strong. I can live with that.

The dangers inherent in childhood programming

I never knew what a lifesaver a television could be when you have a toddler in the house.

Does that make me a bad mom?

Hear me out...when kids are sick or over-tired, or when you just. need. a. break. there is nothing better than just letting them relax in front of a show.

I also never knew how easily my own feathers (and Charles's) could get ruffled by the things which appear on TV, or by the things which come out of my own mouth (and Charles's). It's insane, how much I want to keep Zoe the sweet and innocent little booger that she currently is, and how much life seems to combat that desire!

Think about it. Zoe currently loves (LOVES!!!) the movie Annie, and I know I loved it when I was small, too. I remember belting out "Tomorrow" nonstop when I was three, and I totally wanted to be an orphan. I was thrilled that Zoe loves it so much, too.

But then, the first time Charles sat down to watch it with us, he (an Annie virgin) was actually, literally horrified. And, to his point, I sort of get it. Mrs. Hannigan is an absolute trollop, dancing around in her nighties and her pancake makeup, trying to get Mr. Bundles to take a roll in the back of his laundry truck. The sweet little orphans beat each other up and dance suggestively around their rooms, mocking their sole caretaker. And Rooster - he actually tries to KILL ANNIE!!

Ohmigosh, how can I let my sweet little goober watch that anymore?

And then tonight, in an effort to keep an overtired Zoe (two days in a row without a nap at school, God help us all!) from melting down after her bath, I randomly started singing another song I remember loving when I was little. Without even thinking, I belted out:

"There was an old lady who swallowed a fly...I don't know why she swallowed a fly...perhaps she'll die!"

And then I looked around guiltily, hoping against hope that Zoe wouldn't ask, "What does die mean?"

I just wasn't up for that conversation.

My mom would say that kids Zoe's age only understand what their little brains are capable of handling, and that she'll take a lot of good out of movies like Annie and songs like the old lady song. And I tend to agree...but then...

I remember...using her own (good) logic, my mom never censored (within reason) what we watched or read as kids. I started reading Stephen King's It in the seventh grade, and it took me all year to read, since I could only read a chapter or two before being SO SCARED that I had to put it away for a couple weeks...I got a lot more out of that book than I imagine my mom guessed...

So what if...my little innocent Zoe starts dancing suggestively or trying to wear pancake makeup and dance in little nighties? And what if that sweet turkey wants to know what it means to die? I'm still not ready for that conversation.

But then, as I started to go crazy about the implications of all this STUFF, I realized...Zoe is walking around belting out "Tomorrow" at the top of her voice, and her favorite part of Annie is when Punjab climbs down his turban and plucks the Annie from the top of the railroad bridge. And when I sang the old lady song, all Zoe cared about was the spider wriggling and jiggling, and that she had NO IDEA why that crazy old lady swallowed that fly in the first place.

I think she's going to be ok.

Still, though...I dropped the "Perhaps she'll die" line every time I sang. I'm not risking that conversation just yet...

Running out of words

Here's some self-analysis for a Saturday night.

(Speaking of analysis, have you ever seen Fame? I can't think of any sort of therapy/analysis without picturing Montgomery MacNeil talking about his analyst...I love him, and wish he was my friend. Ralph Garci? Not so much...but I digress...)

Anyway...as a mom who works (almost) full time (i.e. 32 official hours per week), I have come to realize that I talk a lot. A LOT. I mean it. Even though my job involves a lot of sitting at my desk, quietly testing software, I still go to meetings and have co-workers with whom I enjoy chatting. Plus I have a very verbal, precocious (everyone thinks their kid is precocious and very verbal, right?) two-year-old who thinks that if she is conscious, she should be talking. And she requires responses. All the time.

I also have a husband with whom I really like talking, parents, dogs, cats...the list could go on. It sometimes feels like I never really stop talking. Ever.

And I think of myself as a fairly quiet person, so that's been a bit of an adjustment for me.

Typically, by Thursday afternoon, I feel like I'm running out of words. Conversation starts to feel more forced, I start to be more irritated by just about anything said to me, and I begin to run out of the clever responses that tend to make people smile. But then usually, I have Friday off, and even if I keep my chatty Kathy child home with me, there's a whole naptime worth of quiet-time for me to regroup a little.

What a luxury! Sometimes upwards of two hours in which I DON'T HAVE TO TALK! I never knew how beautiful silence could be.

It's funny, because I know Charles must run into this as well. He is, after all, an officially full time working dad. But he's maybe a bit smarter about things than I am, and he grabs his quiet time in dribs and drabs throughout the week. An hour downstairs before Zoe or I get up each morning; lost in a book while we girls play a game outside. He's got the hang of it.

Anyway, when I start to run out of words, I simultaneously start to notice all the other things in my life which feel stressful. My dog whines a little more forcefully; my cat throws up a little more loudly. And the laundry feels more pressing, as do the fuzzies covering my carpet.

In other words, I get pretty grumpy, when I start to lose those words.

This week, I ran out of them sooner than usual. It was a busy week, and I was sick, and every night we went somewhere after work (to Charles's mom's, to a friend's shower, down to the farm where my parents keep their horses - all fun, but all SOMETHING). I was running out of words by Wednesday morning.

Then I worked Friday, and had a birthday party for one of Zoe's classmates this morning, where I had to make friendly small-talk with people I don't know very well (NOT a skill-set of mine). Zoe wore herself out, and was therefore completely needy/weepy for the rest of the day, even after a nap.

"Mommy, I NEEEEEEEED you."

I am so completely out of words, even carrying on small-talk with Charles now seems like an insurmountable task. I couldn't even summon the energy to ask what he was watching on the computer a few minutes ago (it sounded interesting...honey, what was it??), and I can barely grunt in response to any questions.

The good news is I am planning on running in the morning. Five miles, so about 50 minutes, alone with my iPod? Heaven! It should be just enough so that I can find my ability to converse on at least a basic level again.

Wish me luck!

The curious existence of Bobby Booby...

A few months ago, Zoe borrowed a doll from her Nana (Charles's mother). On the ride home that day, I asked her, "What's his name?"

Her answer? "Bobby."

Um...ok. She knows no one named Robert, Bob or Bobby. She's never seen an episode of The Brady Bunch. Where'd she come up with that name? I wondered...

A week or two later, we bought her a new baby of her very own. On the way home, I asked her, "What's the new baby's name?"

Her answer? "She doesn't have a name."

Oh. "Zoe, when will you give her a name?"

"When October comes."

It was November 2nd. October was a long way away.

Zoe has stuck to her guns regarding the names of both baby dolls, and still asks about Bobby, who has long since gone back to Nana's house. The new baby still doesn't have a name.

Also, we've been watching Annie a lot over the past few days - it's her new favorite show. She gets very concerned when a bearded man throws a bomb into Mr. Warbucks' house, and wants to know who that man is. In the movie, they call him The Bolshevik. Zoe spent a bit of time yesterday trying to say this new word..."Vol-vick? Bod-a-nick? Vold-e-nuke?" She never quite got it, but she says a different word each time, giggling at herself and her own creativity.

So I'd say life with a very articulate toddler is entertaining, to say the least. Zoe has her own way of looking at the world, and her own way of talking about it, and it changes, daily.

I see this most when Zoe gets to playing her new favorite game, which she created herself. The name of this game? Well, it changes, of course. Some days, it's "Bobby Booby." Others, it's "Blobby Blooby." Where does this come from? I have no idea...but it's her favorite.

"Mommy," she says, typically while I'm making dinner or folding laundry. "Will you come play Bobby Booby with me?"

"Sure, I'll come play Bobby Booby."

"No, Mommy. It's Blobby Blooby."

"Oh."

To play this game, we sometimes dance, holding hands. We sometimes chase each other around. There are always rules, they always change, and I never seem to follow them.

"No, Mommy, you have to lean this way!" or "No, Mommy, you're not listening! Go to timeout!"

I can't tell you the number of times I've been sent to timeout for breaking the B(l)obby B(l)ooby rules...

One day, while Zoe was sick last week, she was sitting on the ground, exhausted and run-down. "Mommy, can we play Blobby Blooby sitting down?"

This time, the rules involved wiggling on one's booty while holding hands and making weird faces...

So, the name changes, the rules change, and I am frequently in trouble. Sort of sounds like a two-year-old's perception of the world, huh? Hmm...I'll have to ponder that possible conclusion...

What a difference a year makes...but not really...

It's 2011. Holy cow, it just took me three tries to actually type the correct year. I am amazed by the fact that, when I went to go renew my passport this week, I realized twelve years had passed since I first got it! I looked like such a BABY in that picture!

So, eleven years ago I was still in college in New Jersey. Now I'm married to my Southern boy and I have a kid. CRAZY.

That said, even just a year ago, life was SO different. Or was it? Just for kicks, I thought I'd compare year-to-year, 2010 to 2011.

2010, MLK week...oh, this was SUCH a bad week. Zoe was a little older than 18 months old, and not really talking much (her best words were "Beep boop beep boop" as a response to the question, "What does R2D2 say?"). We'd recently become completely disenchanted with her day care and had decided to switch her to her current school, the Cadillac of pre-schools in Charleston. This was the week the switch happened.

So, a little background, too. Charles and I work for a software company that releases our products cyclically. When we release, there is always drama with loooooooong hours, and one or the other of us typically has to work late a few times a week. The week of the school switch, this week last year, was a release week. Charles had just become a manager, and he had to work late almost every night.

And to top things off, I had the worst case of bronchitis I've ever had. I. Felt. Like. Garbage. It was awful. I could barely stand up, but I was forcing myself to go to work, to take care of Zoe, do do all the things I typically do. It did not go well.

So we had a sick Mom, a busy Dad, and a new school for Zoe, and that transition was NOT easy. At all. She cried for hours each day in her new class and didn't nap much. When I picked her up each day, she was exhausted and miserable, sort of like I was feeling. And I was on my own.

I made my mom come over a couple days that week, and thank goodness she did - she basically rescued Zoe and me from certain doom. (OK, that is a little dramatic...)

It was awful.

So now, 2011, MLK week. This year, it's Zoe who has bronchitis...again. Yes, I think it's a relapse of the same bout she had two weeks ago, and it's pretty awful. I've never heard her cough like this. But today we got some new antibiotics, and even though she's coughing as I type, she's already at least a little better. On the mend, I hope. Zoe and I will be staying home again tomorrow, on our own, and I'm looking forward to a day on the couch, under blankets, and with the TV on, so she can hopefully sleep it off.

It's a release week at work. Again. Charles will be working long hours, and again, I probably can't due to the work/life balance...which is fine with me. I like my job, but I love my family. And that said, I will probably call my mom tomorrow to see if she wants to come hang out after work until Charles gets home...frequently, an extra mom is a great thing.

And finally, we found out last week that even though we followed the rules for re-enrollment at the Cadillac of pre-schools, we didn't follow them well enough, and her enrollment is now in question for the next academic year. Apparently, a lot of the half-day three-year upped their enrollment from half-day to full-day, and since we waited till the last minute to turn in our paperwork, we wound up on the wait-list.

Um...WHAT??? Are you kidding me?

I'm optimistic enough to think that it'll all work out and we won't have to find a new school for Zoe (ohmigod, I don't want to leave this school!!!), but still. It's a stress I don't need this week.

So there you have it...one year later, and we have another case of bronchitis, perhaps my mom to the rescue, and another software release week. Oh, and enrollment issues for Zoe.

Weird...times change, but not really sometimes.

All that said, Zoe herself is WAY different this year. Some recent cuteness...

1. Her favorite song is "Hey Jude" and she sings it. All the time. I love it. In fact, today she sang it for the P.A. at the doctor's office. SO sweet.

2. Sometimes, at the end of her bath, she sits on a little toy boat and refuses to get out, even though all the water has been drained. Why, you might wonder? Because she's "stuck in traffic," as she will tell me over and over. She'll only get out if Charles comes upstairs to see her.

3. When we're talking about things to do, she'll suggest something, and then look at me and say, "Is that a great idea?" or "Is that a option?" Super-sweet.

4. She can look at a book and tell you all the letters (provided they are CAPITAL), and then say, "Mommy, what did I spell?"

What a difference a year makes...but not really...

It's 2011. Holy cow, it just took me three tries to actually type the correct year. I am amazed by the fact that, when I went to go renew my passport this week, I realized twelve years had passed since I first got it! I looked like such a BABY in that picture!

So, eleven years ago I was still in college in New Jersey. Now I'm married to my Southern boy and I have a kid. CRAZY.

That said, even just a year ago, life was SO different. Or was it? Just for kicks, I thought I'd compare year-to-year, 2010 to 2011.

2010, MLK week...oh, this was SUCH a bad week. Zoe was a little older than 18 months old, and not really talking much (her best words were "Beep boop beep boop" as a response to the question, "What does R2D2 say?"). We'd recently become completely disenchanted with her day care and had decided to switch her to her current school, the Cadillac of pre-schools in Charleston. This was the week the switch happened.

So, a little background, too. Charles and I work for a software company that releases our products cyclically. When we release, there is always drama with loooooooong hours, and one or the other of us typically has to work late a few times a week. The week of the school switch, this week last year, was a release week. Charles had just become a manager, and he had to work late almost every night.

And to top things off, I had the worst case of bronchitis I've ever had. I. Felt. Like. Garbage. It was awful. I could barely stand up, but I was forcing myself to go to work, to take care of Zoe, do do all the things I typically do. It did not go well.

So we had a sick Mom, a busy Dad, and a new school for Zoe, and that transition was NOT easy. At all. She cried for hours each day in her new class and didn't nap much. When I picked her up each day, she was exhausted and miserable, sort of like I was feeling. And I was on my own.

I made my mom come over a couple days that week, and thank goodness she did - she basically rescued Zoe and me from certain doom. (OK, that is a little dramatic...)

It was awful.

So now, 2011, MLK week. This year, it's Zoe who has bronchitis...again. Yes, I think it's a relapse of the same bout she had two weeks ago, and it's pretty awful. I've never heard her cough like this. But today we got some new antibiotics, and even though she's coughing as I type, she's already at least a little better. On the mend, I hope. Zoe and I will be staying home again tomorrow, on our own, and I'm looking forward to a day on the couch, under blankets, and with the TV on, so she can hopefully sleep it off.

It's a release week at work. Again. Charles will be working long hours, and again, I probably can't due to the work/life balance...which is fine with me. I like my job, but I love my family. And that said, I will probably call my mom tomorrow to see if she wants to come hang out after work until Charles gets home...frequently, an extra mom is a great thing.

And finally, we found out last week that even though we followed the rules for re-enrollment at the Cadillac of pre-schools, we didn't follow them well enough, and her enrollment is now in question for the next academic year. Apparently, a lot of the half-day three-year upped their enrollment from half-day to full-day, and since we waited till the last minute to turn in our paperwork, we wound up on the wait-list.

Um...WHAT??? Are you kidding me?

I'm optimistic enough to think that it'll all work out and we won't have to find a new school for Zoe (ohmigod, I don't want to leave this school!!!), but still. It's a stress I don't need this week.

So there you have it...one year later, and we have another case of bronchitis, perhaps my mom to the rescue, and another software release week. Oh, and enrollment issues for Zoe.

Weird...times change, but not really sometimes.

All that said, Zoe herself is WAY different this year. Some recent cuteness...

1. Her favorite song is "Hey Jude" and she sings it. All the time. I love it. In fact, today she sang it for the P.A. at the doctor's office. SO sweet.

2. Sometimes, at the end of her bath, she sits on a little toy boat and refuses to get out, even though all the water has been drained. Why, you might wonder? Because she's "stuck in traffic," as she will tell me over and over. She'll only get out if Charles comes upstairs to see her.

3. When we're talking about things to do, she'll suggest something, and then look at me and say, "Is that a great idea?" or "Is that a option?" Super-sweet.

4. She can look at a book and tell you all the letters (provided they are CAPITAL), and then say, "Mommy, what did I spell?"

What I really think about Andrew Wakefield...

I spent a summer during college working as an aide in a summer school program for developmentally delayed pre-schoolers. Their issues ranged from Austism spectrum disorders (from PDD to much more severe variants) to Downs Syndrome to other unspecified delays.

This was simultaneously the hardest and most rewarding summer of my early working life. I spent most of my time working one-on-one with a cherubic little boy with white-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Chronologically, he was three, but his delays set him back at least two years, and I found myself changing diapers, holding his hands while he learned to walk, and helping him learn to feed himself small bites of food with his fingers. I loved our time together, and was extraordinarily proud when he was walking unassisted around the classroom by summer's end.

The challenge came in seeing the obstacles faced by all the children in the room, particularly those with spectrum disorders. They struggled so much just to communicate - one little girl couldn't even look a person in the eye, an essential communication tool that is frequently lost on those children. For many of them, their frustration-induced tantrums were epic, and frequently frightening. Several wore helmets to protect their small, developing skulls from the hard tile floor when they threw themselves violently backwards during a freak-out. It was so hard to witness, and to stand helpelssly by while these children turned themselves upside down and inside out due to their anger.

That summer taught me a lot, but it also made me nervous. Would I be strong enough if I were to ever have a child with one of these disorders?

Perhaps I was doing myself a disservice. Now that I have Zoe, I know that I could and would love her and care for her through anything.

But still, I was afraid. When I first became pregnant in 2008, it was at the height of the autism/vaccine link discussion, and I considered not vaccinating my baby, at least until her little body was big enough to process all the potential toxins hiding in the vaccines. I considered possibly allowing her to be exposed to other life-threatening illnesses (measles, rubella, hepatitis), all in the name of increasing her odds against autism.

So imagine my dismay, my outright fury, when I read today that Andrew Wakefield's original study linking the two was a deliberate, elaborate hoax. It was frustrating enough when the study was debunked last year, but I accepted that mistakes are made. Now I read it was deliberately false? Are you kidding me?

I am furious! To think that I considered putting my child in harm's way, just because this "doctor" claimed that the vaccines themselves were inherently dangerous?

How can parents make informed, education decisions for their children when major studies can so easily be a hoax? People have based decisions on this man's claims, and perhaps their children have gotten sick because of it.

Now, I don't doubt that there are many other arguments to be made both for and against vaccinating children, but this exact study was the basis for my own confusion and questioning. So I am angry.

And I am also very grateful to Zoe's pediatrician who, when I quoted stats from that very study to him one day while questioning the need for vaccination, pointed out very gently and firmly (though he had surely been faced with the same question hundreds, if not thousands, of times already) that it was only one study, that the ingredient that could have *possibly* been at issue was removed from all vaccines, and that other studies proved no such link. I proceeded with Zoe's vaccinations, and I'm so glad I did. Because if I'd decided not to, based on the fear-mongering of Andrew Wakefield, it's a decision I would now be deeply regretting.

Having said all of that, if you are interested in the learning more about kids with spectrum(ish) diagnoses, I encourage you to check out these two blogs that I love. I admire these women, love hearing about their children, and hope that, if the shoe were on my foot, I would be as great a mom as they both are.

Amalah

stark.raving.mad.mommy

Santa et. al.

It's been a bad week for politics, in my opinion, so rather than dwell on the negative, I thought I'd share some more happy holiday stories.

Every town or city probably has its own holiday wonderland spot, and Charleston's is pretty lovely. The Festival of Lights at James Island County Park is three miles of rather excitingly cool Christmas lights (My favorite is a rendition of the Old Cooper River Bridge that transforms into the new one. I remember driving over the rickety old bridge, and the reminder is nice and nostalgic, even for a transplant like me.), plus a Winter Wonderland area for kids (including the kid in Charles and me).

The park is about thirty minutes from our house, and we took the Jeep, hoping the novelty of our *other* car would keep Zoe happy even on a long-ish car ride. It didn't quite work, and by the time we got to the park, even the amazing, flashing, beautiful lights were not distraction enough for Zoe.

"I want to get OUT! NOW!" She demanded this repeatedly, only occasionally distracted by a super-cool light setup.

So we moved quickly to the play area, congratulating ourselves (rightfully so) on our good timing - we'd gone just at dusk, as the park opened, so that we didn't have to wait in any lines or deal with crazy parking issues.

Zoe was absolutely tickled by the marshmallow roasting pits - $1 per marshmallow stick wasn't a bad price, in my mind, for the happy, marshmallow-covered Zoe-smile that followed. After a quick wash-up in the bathroom, we went to visit Mrs. Claus, who was getting set up for a story-time session, but was talking to kids while she waited. Zoe was dubious at best, but stood near enough to get a candy cane.

It was when we moved to the additional play area that her night vastly improved. First, she rode on a beautiful old carousel, her first ever amusement park ride, and she thought it was the COOLEST THING EVER. She initially sat on a Dalmatian (Molly-dog), but then wanted to move to a horse. I moved her, since it was less than a step away, but when she saw the giraffe on the other side, I put my foot down. We stayed on the horse, and the ride started, and Zoe learned about the fun up-and-down-around-and-around of a good merry-go-round. And I only got a little dizzy.

Then, we saw the big man himself. Yep, Santa Claus. St. Nick. Father Christmas.

Now, I should say here that Zoe has never successfully seen Santa up close and personal. Her first year, we made a conscious decision that we didn't want one of those screaming-babies-on-Santa's-lap photos that grace web sites like Awkward Family Photos. Then last year, she was terrified of him.

This year, she was starstruck. She saw him and ran over to his stage, and waited less-than-patiently on line as other children had their turn with Santa.

When it was her turn, she ran up to him, probably her first-ever time running up to a stranger. She took his hands, and only got a little nervous when Santa set her on his lap. She chatted with him, and we actually have some photos of both Zoe and Santa looking at the camera and smiling. The one we chose to have printed shows them deep in conversation, Zoe's finger in her mouth, thoroughly engaged. It's my new favorite picture EVER.

Then, finally, we let our girl get on the carousel one more time, and she was so excited to sit on her giraffe that she was practically shaking as we waited for our turn. To the giraffe we flew, as soon as the gate was opened.

Zoe was in heaven, and we raced the other animals, patted the giraffe on the neck, and in general had a delightful ride that was over just a minute too soon.

As we left, Zoe cried, afraid other children were now riding *her* giraffe. I tried explaining that it wasn't exactly hers, but when that didn't work, Charles and I tacked right.

Me: "Yes, Zoe, that's your giraffe. I put a sticker on it with your name."

Charles: "So no other children will ride on the giraffe again."

It was a selfish way to end a really pretty night, but sometimes avoiding a two-year-old tantrum is worth a little white lie.

Anyway, I think we've started a new family tradition, and I'm glad of it. I had an amazing time with my family and I think Zoe and Charles did, too.

Thanks for a great night, guys! Love you!