Tiller's Christmas Pageant

Unless you are a grandparent, Aunt, Uncle, or someone else with a deep attachment to the girl, you can just stop reading now. The pageant went off without a hitch, so there are no tantrums, crying jags, meltdowns or otherwise entertaining portions of the video. Just a bunch of little kids shaking bells and singing.

Just posting it for Todd and the family, since none of them could make it. (Yes, I am feeling a little guilty about Tiller getting the second-child treatment.) Video for your viewing enjoyment:

Spirit

There is no sweeter sound than the sound of one's child and husband singing "Jingle Bells" together. I keep on thinking we should cancel the whole Christmas season, what with all the extra work it creates, but I don't really mean it. Christmas has not been this magical for me since the horror of finding out about Santa.

That is a lie. There was no one moment when the Santa jig was up - it was more insidious, a creeping doubt that became stronger and stronger, until i just didn't believe anymore.

But now I remember how vivid everything was, how fascinating each decoration and ornament. Everything about December as a child was a winter wonderland. Mom and Dad, thanks for making me believe in magic. I hope i am working the same magic for Tiller and Rollie. I know they are giving me back a little Christmas spirit, and a whole hunk'o joy.

For Todd, Who Left Forever Ago

In case you miss us a little, in your Fat Tire stupor. . . things have been a little like this:



But mostly like this:



We miss you, too.

Hope

I hope my daughter never loses the nerve and desire to stand up on a bench in the playground and sing and dance her little guts out. At what point did we lose that?

A Town With Church Bells Ringing

This past weekend, we spent a couple of days with my parents at the lakehouse. It was cold and windy on Sunday, but we couldn't all six stay cooped up in the little two-bedroom cabin together, so Todd and I took the kids into town to play at the park. Tiller and Rollie ran around on the playground while Todd and I sat on a bench and read. About ten minutes after we got there, it came upon eleven o'clock and the church bells started ringing.

The town is antebellum, set in squares, with a university and many beautifully-restored homes. There is a small downtown area with a few restaurants and bars, two bakeries, and a wonderfully inviting coffee shop.

As I sat in the cool, windy October morning, listening to the sounds of my children squealing on the playground, and the church bells pealing out over the town, I thought, I could live here. I could live in a town with beautiful old houses, a college library, a great coffee shop, a park, and a few bars. I could live in a town with church bells helping me keep time.

And did I mention the new barbecue place? It's Pig in a Pit*. It's good. And with those church bells, you will be able to beat the Baptists to lunch.

*Link provided solely for the purpose of Jason B. seeing what a pink pig mascot looks like riding a four-wheeler.

Three Years

Dear Tiller,

Yesterday, you turned three years old. Yes, I was too busy to write this on your birthday, but don't think for a minute that throughout the day i wasn't constantly reminded that it was three years to the day that you had come into our lives.

It is hard to look back on a year and remember all of the things that have changed in your life and ours in just one year. A lot has happened to us this year - We have lost your Meemaw, and Pop is in Assisted Living. That is very different. I am so glad that they have been a part of your life. I never knew a one of my great-grandparents. We moved this year, from the house in East Atlanta, where you came home and danced and sang your way into our lives. And boy do you dance and sing. You make up songs about any and everything, and sometimes I am amazed at the lyrics you come up with. You have discovered princesses. The damn Disney crap. (And yes, your mama cusses, too.) Princess dresses, tiaras, little plastic heels, and jewelry. You also love babies - You carry two or three around at a time, and we all pretend to take care of them, and your face just lights up when you realize we are playing along. This is the year that the dog and cats have realized that they like you - they are no longer scared of you, and the cats will sit next to you when you watch tv. Let's see - Shows you like are still Dora, and Franklin, and Max and Ruby. You like Rollie's Speed Racer cartoons on DVD. We have started making you watch Sesame Street in the mornings, just because we wanted you to learn to recognize letters when you see them. We also let you play the ABCs on starfall.com. I am amazed that you picked up using the touchpad on the laptop so quickly; I think you are better at it than your grandma.

You sleep so well, and go right to sleep at night. Well, sometimes you sing yourself to sleep, but you do not fight us when we put you down. You and Daddy and Rollie get up in our bed and read at night, and this year, Daddy started reading The Tale of Despereaux to you, and you wiggle and don't really get any of it, but i think it is pretty neato the way y'all pile up every night. I still sing the medley to you some nights. Some nights you want me to make your bear talk to you, so I do that instead. But i still love singing Bitsy, Sunshine, and Twinkle to you. I will be sad one day when I realize it is the last time I sang it to you.

We moved out of the old house in February, and we didn't have the new house yet, so we lived at the lake for a month. It was very strange living there, but you and Rollie and I explored middle Georgia, and went on lots of "adventures" where you learned about nature, and got dirty, and threw rocks at trees, and found bugs. I was glad, because I worry that you and Rollie have nature deprivation sometimes.

You have a cute room in our new house, green and pink. You are in a big girl bed, with one of the twin beds that came from the lake when Dad bought the iron queen bed for up there. Rollie has the other one in his room, but someday I'd like for you to have them both for sleepovers. Dad says that Grandma and Pop got those twins out of an old house in Macon, but I don't think they are that old.

You started a new preschool this year at a local church. You love it. You go three days/week, and are one of the oldest in your class, which means that you are a lot bigger than some of them. Last year, you called the little ones in your class "my babies," but you don't do that this year. I miss that.

One big thing that happened this year is that you learned to go potty. You wear big girl undies and once you got started, you really took off with it. It makes my life so much easier, but sometimes I miss the closeness that comes with having to change someone's diaper. I know that sounds crazy, but it is true. You and Rollie just don't need me that way anymore. It is a milestone, albeit a strange one.

Another huge thing that happened this year is that you learned to swim! You are my little fish girl, and can hold your breath underwater. I was so proud of you.

We had a birthday party for you on Sunday. it was a costume party, and you were a princess. You changed your mind about five times about what you wanted to be. A rat, a dog, a princess, dora. We had black and orange cupcakes. You ate two. Guests at the party were your Johnson grandma and papaw, Lyle and Denise, Lisa, mark, and Dash. Grandma and Papaw palmer were at a family reunion. Jason and Elle came - she was a princess, too. As was Trisha. Her brother Nolan was Boba Fett. Leah and Sydney came, too. I think Sydney was Luke Skywalker, and Leah was Dorothy Gale. Charla and Julianne were fairies. Scarlett was Batgirl. Her mama was a kitty cat! It was much, much fun. We decorated the backyard and had the party out there, because the weather was so nice. We ordered a pizza later, and stayed up way too late for a school night, but it was fun. Last night was your birthday, and so we made your meal request: Mac and cheese, oranges, and green grapes. They had to be green. We had chocolate cake for dessert. You blew out the candle like a flash.

One day, if you are a mother, you will understand that women are like salmon and their bodies remember and their minds go back yearly to the days their offspring entered the world. Ten or twenty times day before yesterday, I thought, "oh, this is about the time I called Todd, because I just felt a little off," or "funny that I am in the car at six p.m. tonight. I remember leaving Rollie with Lisa and going out to the cul-de-sac and getting in the red tiger wagon to go to the hospital." It was a Friday, rush hour in Atlanta (doesn't that just figure) and your father put on a CD he had made with mellow songs on it. The song was "The Scarlet Tide" from the Cold Mountain soundtrack. Yes, I have probably written that to you before, but it still makes me laugh, and i promised your father I would never let him live it down; He put a song on about blood and death and carnage as he drove me to the hospital in labor. I remember thinking before I went to bed that it was about the time they gave me the benedryl and told me to get some sleep, that it would be four or five hours til you were ready to come out. It was only almost two, and i was so tired when they woke me up. I remember thinking, "just a few more minutes of sleep." I had done this before. I knew i would get no sleep for a long time. We had to shake your daddy to wake him up. It was five til midnight when they readied everything for you, and Ruth said if we hurried, we could have a baby on the 7th, and if we took our time, on the 8th. You came on the eighth, but just barely.

Your birth was a blessing and it was the way I imagined birth should be, and I am so grateful that you gave that to me in your coming into the world. Rollie's birth I sometimes go over in my head like a car wreck, like i do the accident that your Daddy and I had one Memorial Day, when I hit my head and can't remember a huge chunk of time. I go back to that over and over, trying to find those lost moments, and never can. I go over Rollie's birth and try to remember when it started going wrong, and how it felt, worrying it like a little hole in a blanket. But not yours, yours is just a succession of happy thoughts: Laughing with your father before you came out, the funny deer-in-headlights look on his face when I brought up changing your name at the last minute, holding you right when you came out and no one worriedly waiting to whisk you away from me, and the first time you latched on, right away, like we were made for each other.

Knowing that you were my Matilda, my daughter, just like I am Virginia's Annie, born in that very same hospital, and mama was Vivian's Baby, born in Chattanooga, and that one day my grandma was her mother Ida's baby, come into the world in Lee County, NC. I remember thinking that we are a chain, unbroken, but each a charm, dangling and flashing in the sunlight, and in the darkness, too.

Tiller from two to three years, on my Flickr.

Dogwood Girl Garden. Again. Plus Cats and the Spawn

Yesterday afternoon, Todd called me out to look at some yard work he was doing. Turns out that one of the shrubs we've been basically ignoring until it is cool enough to prune is actually a really huge fall-blooming Camellia. It has about a kajillion buds on it, and just a few blooms yet.

We spent two years at the old house, not wanting to do too much work on the place since it was for sale, but my whole being was aching to dig in the dirt. And now we are here, and we haven't done a ton to the outside yet. (Well, i haven't. I just did a small garden this spring for tomatoes; Todd did a HUGE job clearing out the ivy in the back third of the yard. No small undertaking.)





It is really fun to go through a whole year's cycle and have surprises pop up. We came in April. Since then, we've had a surprise Weigela (sp?), some shrub with a form similar to the weigela or a Forsythia, but with little white flowers on it that bees LOVE. A number of old daylilies that obviously need to be divided, but that i was just ultra-excited were there. Some kind of spring-blooming fruit tree. A cherry, maybe? Awesomely huge tulip poplars that remind me of the old Saddle Creek house. Tons of Azaleas and Hostas. Probably 6-8 Dogwoods. (Dogwood Girl's natural habitat!) We also have two birdbaths that just came with the house. And a windchime. Anyway, i was v. excited to come across the Camellia and the Pyracantha (I think that's what it is) and I am really looking forward to seeing what the winter garden presents me with - I foresee a lot of Holly and Nandina. There is a lot to be said for buying an older home and it's established garden.

Oh, and because THEY deserve equal facetime, here are my kitty cats, watching birds and chipmunks out the window today.














And a few pictures of something else i've been growing, my ultra-cute* kids. I really couldn't pick just one of these shots.




































*They beat the crap out of each other in a wrestling match seconds after I snapped these shots.

First Day of School

I realized on Tuesday morning, as I got Tiller ready to go to her first day at the new school, that we almost forgot to take any pictures. I really wanted to never forget to take pictures of her, what with her being the second child and all. So, we rushed around, and took a picture and a snippet of video, and then the memory card was full, even though there was seemingly nothing on it, and then Todd spent a half hour figuring out the problem, and Gee, isn't it great that technology makes our life so much easier.

Anyway, here is the video and a pic of the Tills. Notice that she is holding her new tote bag. Her school doesn't allow backpacks. At first, I was about to get all riled up, like they were worried that her bag might contain a handgun, and the tote would make it easier for Security to check her bag while they were frisking her for bodily weapons, but alas, it seems that it just makes it easier to slip her artwork in and out. Which i get. So, instead of buying their stupid ten dollar churchy bag (you want my kid to advertise for your church, you better give her an endorsement deal), I bought her the cute Target one with the record player on it. Take that, bitches!

Daily Dash

I feel pretty lucky to live so close to the Little Man, Dashiell. He and Lisa visited yesterday and i took a couple of decent shots of Dash and Tills together. (You try getting a 2 year-old to hold a newborn, and for both of them to look remotely close to the camera without someone's head getting dented!) Please note how much Dash is starting to look like Uncle Mark, down to the ugly orange outfit.

Twinkle Dance

Tiller: What are you doing, mama?

Me: Listening to music. What are you doing, dancing?

Tiller: No, I'm doing my own dance.

Me: What kind of dance?

Tiller: The twinkle dance. You pretend you are the rock and I will be the twinkle.

Me: Okay.

We dance.

Tiller: I'm the star. Between the moon. We are all there. Except Lisa. She can be on the moon.

Um, okay.

Bad Kids

I think i have posted this before, but a friend was pondering if it was bad that his young daughter knows all the words to the song, "Greased Lightning." I wanted to find the video of my kids dancing and singing to the Black Lips song, "Bad Kids." Couldn't find it on my blog, so I'm just posting it again for good measure. It still cracks me up, especially that Rollie knows the "Timeout" and "A Penis on the Wall" parts so well. Not bad dancing, either. That boy loves the Dance.

Anyway, Pierce, if you are bad for teaching your daughter about gettin' tit and pussy wagon, well, then, call DFACS on me. The lyrics go a little something like this:

Bad kids all my friends are bad kids
product of no dad kids
kids like you and me

Bad kids aint no college grad kids
livin life out on the skids
kids like you and me

In Class
We are a minority
Got no
Respect for authority
And won't
Play well with others
And steal
From all your mothers
They'll try
To give us pills
Oh wait
Give us all the pills
Go cry
Mom I gotta go to court
Dad won't
Pay his child support

Well you gotta understand
we only do these things because all we are is

Bad kids all my friends are bad kids
product of no dad kids
kids like you and me

Bad kids aint no college grad kids
livin life out on the skids
kids like you and me

At home
he throws a hissy fit
Time out
he doesn't give a shit
Got drunk
Off all of grandmas schnaps
Got caught
Runnin from the cops
Toilet
Paper on the yard
Six f's
On my report card
Smoke cigs
In the bathroom stall
Spray paint
Penis on the wall

Well you gotta understand
we only do these things because all we are is

Bad kids all my friends are bad kids
product of no dad kids
kids like you and me

Bad kids aint no college grad kids
livin life out on the skids
kids like you and me

Because Steph Brought Up Potty Training And We Won't Be Outdone!

Concerning Dagny, Steph and Doug's little girl, and her fellow October birthday girl, Tiller, we are also on the Potty Train. I just got completely fed up with all things diaper - Changing them, smelling them, buying them. We bought a buttload of undies (pun intended) - Hello Kitty, Dora, etc. At first she was resistant, and at this point, she is peeing on the potty regularly, but we are having poop problems. She comes to us and says "I want to poop on the potty." We check her and she has already pooped in her undies. We tell her poop goes in the potty. She cries and says, "But i want to poop on the potty." We say, "You already pooped in your pants!" She falls on the ground and kicks her legs and flails around on the ground like a fish out of water. Repeat at least once a day, sometimes twice.

I know that sooner or later she will get it, but so far, we got nothin.' We're sticking with it, though, because as soon as we are off diapers, we are also going to stop getting the stupid plastic Kroger bags that we currently use to dispose of dirty diapers, and instead, we're gonna be all green, with cute totes to take to the grocery store.

That's what I call parental incentive to stick with potty training. It's all about the cute bag. Like this bitchin' number made by our friend Nikki in Seattle. She is very crafty, that Nikki. . . .

Computer Literate Two-Year Old

Me: "Tiller, you wanna watch t.v. while Mama gets dressed?"
Tiller: "Yes, Dora, please. It's on pbskids. . . "something garbled that I couldn't understand.
Then it occurred to me.
Me: "On Pbskids.com, Tiller?"
Tiller: "No, Mama," shaking her head as if I'd said the silliest thing ever, "it's on pbskids.ORG!"

I look at her in amazement as Todd busts a gut laughing from downstairs.

A Happy and Safe 4th!

What is everyone doing for the 4th? We're off to the Lake for the weekend, but here's hoping everyone has a safe and fun 4th of July. Good luck to my peeps running the Peachtree!

A few pics from 4ths past . . .

On the Genetics of M and M Sorting

We've been using M&Ms to bribe Tiller into using the potty. (I don't want to hear the "you are going to give her an eating disorder" comments, either.) So far, it's not working well, but I can totally use them as good-behavior-inducing after-dinner treats. I've been counting Weight Watcher's points again, hoping to kick my weight loss back into gear (working out alone just doesn't do crap for me), but when i saw the diminutive little individual bags, i thought, "Oh, I'll just have one and count the points later." Big mistake: Four points!!!! They are the devil.

I went into the den, turned on Jeopardy, opened the bag and dumped them out on the coffee table. I separated the M&Ms into colors, then put each color group into a little line, so that i could see how many of each color I had. Then, i ate from the colors with the most candies, until i had evened out the lines. Then, I proceeded to eat the m&ms one at a time, taking one from each color line (brown first) until they were all gone.

At some point, Tiller came in, having inhaled her M&Ms, asking for more. "Nope," I said, "you need to go put your dishes in the sink and then go up and wash your hands." Finishing up my own neatly-ordered portion, I realized I hadn't heard much out of Rollie. Cleaning up my wrapper and grabbing my drink glass, I walked back into the kitchen, belting out a "Rollie, what are you doing, buddy? It's time to clean up and hit the showers!"

"Mama, I'm not finished yet!" he yelled back.

I looked at the kitchen table and came to a screeching halt. Rollie was intently looking down at his M&Ms, all laid out neatly in piles, organized by color. I watched him for a moment.

"Rollie, what are you doing?"

"Eating my M&Ms!"

"You put them in little piles?"

"Yup."

"By color?"

"Yup."

"I used to do that when i was a little girl."

"You did, mama?"

"Yeah, I did," I said with a smile. "You come on up and get ready for a bath when you get done with the M&Ms, okay?"

"Okay, Mama," he replied, not once taking his eyes off the little colored piles, his eyes scanning them, as he carefully picked one and popped it into his mouth.

Sometimes genetics are just downright weird. And sometimes they are kind of sweet.

My Little Engine

Lately, we've been reading The Little Engine That Could. Not the short dumb versions, but an old complete edition that was mine as a little girl, with brilliant illustrations and lots of repetition of the phrase, "I think I can."

So, the other day, a neighbor brought by two small girls' bikes that her daughters had grown out of, to see if Tiller might be interested in them. Um, yeah, she's interested!

I planned to go back in and finish some work, but the kids saw the new bikes and any idea of working was out the window on two wheels. "NEW BIKES!!! BIKES FOR ME? MOM, NEW BIKES!! MAMA, DID YOU SEE THE NEW BIKES!? WHY DID THAT LADY LEAVE TWO NEW BIKES? WHY SHE NOT WANT BIKES?"

Indeed, why would someone not want a bike? Certainly not because of the complete chaos-inducing nature of bikes upon those under five.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon in the driveway, Tiller practicing a loop that involved arcing through the back of the garage, down the slight incline of the drive and into the sharp right turn of the sidewalk leading to the front door. (I am not sure what they do once they are at the front steps, but it usually is imagined as Grandma's house, or the bakery, or the MACDonald's drive-through. Frighteningly, Rollie can do an exact impersonation of me at the drive-thru, down to all of our exact orders.) Then Tiller would come whipping back around the corner, with a big grin under her Hello Kitty helmet, ready to fly back into the garage for another loop.

Except that when she came off that sidewalk onto the drive, she would slow down, her little legs struggling to crank up the incline into the garage, and, i realized after a few loops, whispering to herself, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can . . . " and "I did it!" (Dora the Explorer-style, of course) when she made it to the peak and into the garage.

Tiller: My Little Engine The Could

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose!

I've written numerous times about my mixed marriage. The kids are completely on the fence. They see a G on a car in front of me and yell, "Bulldogs!" or "Georgia for you, Mama!" or they see that AU on a car and say, "Auburn!" Course, Rollie says, "Aubrun," and Tiller actually says, "Bullgogs." Which is really cute.

If they see a G and Todd is in the car, they will ask? "Daddy? You like Bulldogs, right?" And we are good parents, who try to consider if certain things we say might interfere with a child's self-esteem; Who knows if Todd telling Rollie that he doesn't like GA, when Rollie likes both UGA and Auburn, will harm R's burgeoning self-worth?

So we lie.

The standard answer for this from Todd is "Yes, I like them. I like Auburn the best, and then my second favorite team is whoever is playing Bama that week, and then Georgia." Very diplomatic, and not really untrue.

Standard answer from me is also the truth: "Yes, I like Bullgogs first." "Then Tigers, mama?" I think for a minute.

"Well, Bulldogs first, then Panthers, then Tigers.

Everyone in the car, even my 2-year-old, look at me like I am crazy.

"Panthers? Who are Panthers, mama?"

"Dillon Panthers, baby. Dillon Panthers."

Yeah, I seriously have a Friday Night Lights problem, and it's not just about the hot Coach Taylor, either. I cried last night watching them win state in the first season finale. No, I'm not kidding.

Plus, it gives me satisfaction to choose a fictional high school football team over Todd's Tigers. Always the rivalry exists.

Is it Bad?

That I really, really want to teach my two-year-old daughter to say:

"Konichiwa, Bitches!"

Go ahead and call DFACS.

Mama's My Heart

"Mama's my heart!" It was very sincere, too. None of that sarcasm exhibited in other women in the family.

That's what Tiller just said. Cute-o-rama. Also? She can get away with wearing carrots on her pants. Not all girls can get away with a look like that. . .

First Snow

A little video from our brief snow experience last night.

Things I Forgot About Snow

"Mama, when i was outside in the snow, I made a ball and I threw it on you and it was fun."

Yes, Rollie, it was. It was the most fun I've had in ages. I threw an icy, wet snowball today. But it was a snowball. And I showed you how to make a really sad snow angel. And I showed you how the best place to get a snowball from is a clean surface like the car and then we tried to throw snowballs at Daddy in the bedroom window above while he was on a conference call, while Quint did the low-butt run around the cul-de-sac, like he was a pup.

I had forgotten that snow had a sound and a smell, and that it made dogs frisky, and toes tingle and eyelashes frosted, and that it made little kids and big kids giggle like they were being tickled.

p.s. Mom, I'm real sorry about that mess me and Lisa and Matt and Karen and Sean made in the house, like, every day, throughout the winter in Rochester for two years in a row. We musta been about the biggest pains in the ass ever.

Resolution Broken

One thing that I don't like about having kids is that even on Saturday morning, I sometimes only drink about half a cup of coffee before having to do something like mop the whole kitchen after the kids dump their milk all over the floor for fun. This of course happened while I was in the bathroom for all of about one minute. Look in kitchen and it's perfectly clean. Go in bathroom for a minute, and come out to hear that "not good" silence that all parents dread. Walk into kitchen to find Tiller sitting at the table eating, surrounded by milk everywhere: Covering the table, in both chairs, all over the floor in an approximately 10X10 foot space. Rollie is nowhere to be found, but I finally locate him hiding inside the pantry doors, a sure sign of guilt if I have ever seen one. He proceeds to blame Tiller for the whole thing, and like a good little sheep, when asked about it, she says yes, she did it.

riiiiigght.

Spent the next 30 minutes cleaning the milk up, then mopping, all the while breaking one of my New Year's Resolutions, the one about raising my voice to the children.

Snow White*

This one goes out to our peeps in Huntsvegas!

*Disclaimer: Just because I call the ubiquitous Disney stuff "fucking Disney Princess Shit" doesn't mean we don't appreciate the gifts.

Winning the Lottery

You probably would not know it, even if you know me pretty well, but sometimes I get depressed. It's never enough to make me unable to function (well, there was that one time after I had the baby, but that was just the hormones), but I just get down. Blah. Uninterested. Bluesy. I don't really want to leave the house. I don't really want to clean the house I don't want to leave. I don't want to do anything at all. It reminds me of when I was a kid, and it would be raining, and there was nothing to do, and I kept on driving my mom crazy, but whatever she suggested sounded like absolutely no fun to me, and the feeling was just pure frustration.

When I get this way, i think I hide it pretty well from everyone but my sister and my husband. God knows, Todd has certainly been seeing the ill effects of my recent melancholy in the sorry housekeeping I have been doing. But for the most part, I really try to overcome my down days, to find things to do to pull me out of the depression, or at least keep me busy until it passes. Which I guess means that I am not truly depressed at all, because I can still function, can still see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Well, it just seems like lately i have have been bored, depressed, whatever. Maybe it's the holidays, maybe it's watching both mine and Todd's parents deal with their own aging parents, when they should be enjoying their retirements and their golden years. Maybe it is feeling helpless at not being able to make all of the people I love just have it easier, or just get a damn break once in a while.

I am still feeling a little down, but you know what helps? When one of your oldest and dearest friends calls and asks if you can drop everything and help her out by going to New York with her for the weekend. All expenses paid. Because her husband was supposed to go with her and something came up with work and now she will have to go by herself.

Um, okay. I guess so. What? Hells to the yeah, I'll go! What depression? What boredom?

Who won the lottery?

I did. When I was born to the most awesomest, givingest Mama ever. When I started playing rec-league b-ball with Mealby "Take a Look at My Choices" Barron, and when I met the most understanding, laid-back, fun-loving, hysterical - and yet responsible - man EVER and made my smartest life move yet - Marrying his ass.

My Dad and sister and kids and cutest dog in the world? They are icing on my life cake.

Coffee, Santa, Margaritas, and Rudolph = Bliss

Good, hot coffee at Joe's. Tiller and Rollie sitting on East Atlanta Santa's lap, with not a tear. Meeting nice new people in my great neighborhood. Margaritas with the Reids and my family at La Casita Cantina. Mmmm. Pork Carnitas. . . .

Coming home and cuddling on the couch with my eldest, dozing to the sounds of him watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Bliss.

Bitsy Bitsy Fighter

Tiller thinks the words to "Itsy Bitsy Spider" are "Bitsy Bitsy Fighter." Cute as all get-out. When we put her to bed, she likes to be held and sung to for a minute. When she was tiny, I started singing "Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star" to her. We still do that one, but she has started requesting other songs, and now we have three regular ones. I hold her in the dark of her room, and whisper, "You want a a song?" She says, "Bitsy," which is what she calls "Itsy Bitsy Spider." When I finish it, she says, "Sunshine." ("You Are My Sunshine.") Finally, we do "Twinkle."

I love all three of the songs so very much now. They are the soundtrack to a little girl laying her head on my shoulder, her heart beating fast next to my own, totally at peace with her world, and secure in my love for her.

Typical Tiller

Tiller is the kind of kid that yells out, "Mama, I'm stuck!"

I walk around the corner to the entryway and see that she has put her head through the balustrade. She is on the first step, and crying her eyes out, and saying over and over, "Mama, I'm stuck."

My first instinct is panic. That is a lie. Panic is my second instinct. First instinct was to stare at her and then laugh. I yell up the stairs, "Todd? Can you come down here, please?" in the same faux-calm voice my father used one summer day in the 80s, when we were supposed to leave in a couple of hours for a week's vacation at the lakehouse. I believe his exact words from the parquet hallway at the bottom of the stairs, up to my Mom, were: "Honey, can you come down here? I had a little accident with the lawn mower."

He had, in fact, cut his toe off with the lawnmower.

We walked downstairs to find him standing in a pool of his own blood. He then yelled at me to go out in the yard and look for his toe. I never did find that thing.

Okay, so Tiller was not bleeding, but she was screaming, and crying, and trying to pull her head out of the balustrade, and getting a little panicky when it wouldn't come out. I was on the floor of the entry, talking to her, and trying to feel around her head to see just how tight it was, and as Todd came down the stairs, he probably heard me mutter, in true Mother-of-the-Year fashion, "Baby, how the fuck did you manage to do this?"

I told Todd to go get dish liquid from the sink, thinking we could slick her head up with soap and push it back through. He ignored me, walked between Tiller and me, and then gently pushed her head right back through. Much crying ensued, but we think little to no brain damage.

Then we rocked her and held her and looked at each other over her head, shaking our heads and both thinking to ourselves, Typical Tiller. This will not be the last.

Sir Duke: Tiller Pitches a Royal Fit

Dragging a kicking and screaming Tiller, age two, into Publix. As I lifted her into the buggy, trying to force her legs into the holes of the seat as she attempted to keep them straight and throw herself out onto the cement floor at the same time, the first notes of Stevie Wonder's ever-so-cheery "Sir Duke" came on over the store music system. As my Mama says, sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying.

All Hallows Eve

Halloween was ultra fun. We carved the pumpkin (yes, I am a total slacker and waited till the last minute) and then went and had pizza at Grant Central. After that, we walked around East Atlanta Village for the Eav-O-Ween celebration.
All of the shop owners hand out candy to the local kids, and the people-watching is pretty fun. The kids were pretty cute, and I have to say that kids don't get hipper than those who trick or treat The Earl and The Flatiron. Nothing like seeing your little ones waltz right up to a bar for trick or treating. Definitely beats the toothbrushes we used to get from Dr. Grove, the dentist who lived down our suburban street growing up.
After that, we came home and Todd traipsed the kids down the street, while I stayed back to drink beer, er. . . hand out candy. There is something so heartstring-tugging about seeing your husband walking down the street, holding hands with the costumed kids, their other hands gripping the pumpkins so tightly and with such purpose. I had a lovely time talking with the neighbors and then Todd and the kids returned, the kids dove into the candy, and we sat around talking some more, while handing out candy. Halloween in the hood is a little different than in the 'burbs. The first few years, you are kind of put out by the older kids trick-or-treating (as one neighbor put it, if you are out on a date, you are probably too old to trick or treat) and the lack of discernible costumes, but you start to realize that it's just the way that folks do things here, and you get into the spirit and go with the flow after a while. And I dare say that this year, it seemed like more people dressed up and that they were trying just a little bit harder.
Todd hosed the children down from layers of stickiness and put them both down. About nine, we closed up shop (lights out, candles out), and Todd walked down the street to check out the Gay Superheroes. It seems that the money house (what I call the neighbor's house where everyone meets to party while handing out candy every year - a jackpot for the trick or treater) was doing a Superhero costume theme this year. I am sure they went all out and I should have sent the camera. Damn.
I'm drinking beer, fucking around with the Halloween photos, and listening to my Creepy mix. Decemberists' Leslie Anne Levine is on right now. Awesome song. Awesome holiday.

Dispatch from Hell

Hell is the wonderful municipality of Warner Robins, GA, a town built up around an air force base. It is full of concrete and really ugly buildings. My father said he would never come back here after he finished high school and moved back to Savannah, where he was born. He is back, because no one counted on my grandfather making it to 92 years old, and Pop still lives here. So, now, mom and dad do too. My sister and I are in complete agreement that once Pop dies and Mom and Dad get out of this hell hole, we will never come back again. EVER.

We are watching Pop this weekend while Mom and Dad get away for a couple of days. So far, today:

5 a.m. I wake up to hear Rollie and Pop talking on the baby monitor. Pop has gotten up to go to the bathroom, which we were under the impression he can no longer do on his own. Evidently, he can, and the walker woke up Rollie, who thought it was Lisa and yelled out, "Lisa!" which promptly woke both Lisa and Tiller. I run upstairs, wondering what the hell is going on. Everyone is awake. Pop is sitting on the toilet with the door open (awesome) and Tiller is crying out and Lisa is asking me what I am doing upstairs. We get everyone calmed back down, with admonitions to Rollie that he shouldn't get out of bed until the sun comes up.

5:15 a.m. I am back downstairs in bed with the dog. My stomach hurts like shit. I am trying to go back to sleep. I realize that my stomach hurts because it is upset and then I spend the next 3 hours in and out of the bathroom. I never fall back asleep.

8 a.m. Everyone is up and clamoring for breakfast and the dogs need to go outside and i feel like crap. I slap raisin bran on the table for the kids, while Lisa takes the dogs out, because I just can't risk being that far away from the bathroom.

8:15 a.m. Pop calls and wants someone to get his breakfast and his insulin shot for him. He gets the shots at every meal and before bedtime. Lisa takes pity on me and takes both kids and her Jack Russell Terror, Emily, with her. I lay on the bed with Quint and try to enjoy quiet despite cramping stomach.

8:20 a.m. My mom calls. So much for my stolen moments without children. She wants to know what Lisa wanted. I don't know, but will have Lisa call her.

8:30 a.m. Lisa yelling, "No, Emily! No! No!" Lisa is saying over baby monitor.

8:40 a.m. Everyone comes back downstairs, except Pop, who never leaves his Lazy Boy. Lisa freaking out. Emily ate rat poison. After determining that children never came in contact with rat poison, I google "Dog ate rat poison."

8:50 a.m. Lisa and Emily get in car to go to vet, where she will be given something to make her puke up the poison, and a shot of something to counteract the effects of the poison.

8:55 a.m. I venture out to the carport so that Rollie can ride his bike and Tiller can play with sharp and poisonous stuff, of which there is a ton, because my grandfather has not thrown out a single item since about 1935. Quint gets his leash caught up in the porch furniture he is tied to while I chug Pepto Bismol. Tiller runs around at breakneck speed with a stick and then falls and skins both knees, just as Rollie barrels down the slope of the driveway, narrowly missing my Grandma's c. 1980s Cadillac with 19,000 miles on it. Yes, Grandma has been dead for five years, but why get rid of a perfectly good Caddy only driven to the Beauty Shop on Thursdays and church on Sundays? Swerving to miss Caddy, Rollie's bike flies out from under him and he lands smack dab on his ass, then gets up wailing. He climbs up into my lap for consolation, as I juggle Pepto and a dog leash, and Tiller then comes over to give him a hug, too, which was sweet, but only makes him shriek in my ear.

That's just a taste of a few moments in the alternate reality that is my Grandfather's house. Things have gotten better since about ten. Emily is going to make it, and the medicine might even make her sleep for the afternoon. Lisa took Tiller and Rollie to the store to get stuff for dinner and to give me a break from them. Both dogs are sleeping. Pop doesn't need lunch and a shot until 1:30. Lunch for him is easy, because he eats the same lunch every day: 1 pimento cheese sandwich, one small can of baked beans, and one can of Vienna sausages, all cold and out of the can. Puke-O-Rama.

Certainly things will continue on this upward trend until 3:30, when Cocktail party kicks off, at which point Bulldogs will disappoint me, and I will hopefully be over my stomach deal, so I can drink my sorrows away with a few Saturday afternoon beers.

Hope everyone else is having an awesome Saturday. With less poison, poop, barking, and did I mention the pooping? than we are experiencing here.

Tiller Turns Two

Dear Tiller,

Today you turned two. We celebrated your party on Sunday. It was a Hello Kitty themed party. Aunt Lisa and Papaw Palmer couldn’t make it, but your Grandma Palmer was there, and also your Johnson Grandparents. Uncle Mark showed up, even though Aunt Lisa didn’t make it – I think he is either in love with you, or cupcakes. Maybe both. Other attendees were Mama and Dada, Rollie, Ned, Vanessa, and Scarlett. We had chocolate cupcakes, and some with colored icing, but everyone wanted chocolate. We ate pizza for lunch, and you received way too many gifts. You received a stroller, baby bed, and infant carrier, a couple of baby dolls, two cel phones (just what a little girl needs), a stuffed dog on a leash, a vacuum cleaner that really vacuums, a tea party set, a doll case, and a ton of clothes. You are a very lucky girl to have so many friends and so many people who love you.

I remember when Rollie was two, and you were about to be born. It seems like just yesterday, and now he is four and you are two, and I am really, really a mother. You have learned so many amazing things in the last year. You learned to walk a little after you turned one. Now you are running and hopping. Of course, you don’t actually leave the ground yet, but you say "I am hopping!" and do a lot of bending at the knees. You like to do whatever Diego and Dora are doing – All the actions: Climbing, swimming, rowing, hopping, swinging, climbing. Thanks to Dora and Diego, you intersperse your English with Spanish words. Sometimes I have to act out actions to figure out what you are saying to me.

Your talking is just amazing – what a vocabulary! You string so many words together in run on sentences and your dada and I just look at each other, wondering what it is you are saying, because we just don’t understand all of it. That doesn’t matter to you, though. You just keep on talking, and are so expressive when you do it, nodding your head convincingly, or holding your hands palm up when asking a question of us. You repeat everything that we say, and think that Rollie’s word is God. If Rollie says or does it, you want to say or do the same thing.

You are starting to show a bit of stubbornness. When we say “time to change your diaper,” or “Let’s put on pjs” your first reaction is to take off running. We spend a lot of time chasing you down. You love the water and will pour water over your own head when in the bath and then laugh and laugh. You are the laughingest goofball of a child I have ever known. Your sense of humor is corny and quick. You love to sing in goofy voices and then laugh at yourself. Did I mention the dancing? You love music and singing and love to dance. Your dances are a sight to behold, too – You do one where you move your arms around. I couldn’t explain it if I tried, but will have to show you the video someday. Your favorite songs are “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,“ “The Wheels on the Bus,” “You Are My Sunshine,” and “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.”

You love animals and babies. You crack us up, because when you talk about the other kids in your Mommies’ Morning Out class, you call them “babies,” but you think you are a big girl, even though you are all the same age. You started the MMO this fall, and I was worried you would miss me, but you love the class, and the other kids (Kai, Claire, and Abby) and your teachers, Miss Betsy, and Miss Janet. You cry on the days when Rollie has class, but you don’t.

You are kind of a bruiser. Sometimes I am in another room, and I hear Rollie screaming bloody murder and I walk in, and you have him in a headlock, or you are lying on top of him and won’t get off. I am hoping you will turn out to be a gentle soul, but it is nice to know that you stand up for yourself, too.

You love swimming. I am amazed at how much you love the water. You laugh and laugh in pools, and you love the kiddie pool at the lake. When we take you in the lake, you lie back as if you could just float on your back, all by yourself.

When we go to the park, you like to swing, swing, swing. You are not scared to climb or slide, but swinging is where it’s at for you. I have pushed you on a swing for almost an hour at a time before. You cry when I make you get out of the swing.

In the mornings, you scream and cry, “Mama” or “Daddy, come get me.” “Mama, Help!” You sound pitiful and sick, but as soon as we walk in, you start chirping away in your excited, sweet morning voice, asking "Where's Dada?" or "Where's Rollie?" You start talking in a waterfall of words and if other people in the house are still sleeping, I try to shush you, and you just won’t quiet down. It is endearingly annoying. When you wake up from your nap, you are the same way, except crankier, just like your Mama and Aunt Lisa, and Grandma Palmer. I carry you down the stairs, you crying the whole way, and when we get to the bottom, I ask if you want a snack, and you turn the tears off immediately, a smile breaks across your face, and you say, “Sack” while nodding your head at me.

Let’s see. What else:

You sleep well at night, usually going to bed between 7:30 and 8, but you aren’t a great napper. Most of your naps are 35 to 45 minutes long. I am thankful when you give me a whole hour.
You never let me fix your hair, which I guess is part of the curse. I never liked having mine fixed either.
You love eating. I have been lucky that both kids have healthy appetites. I try to feed you healthy stuff, and you do a pretty good job with it. You do love gold fish. You call them, “Olefish.” So cute.
You are starting to love to read, and we read to you every night, but you also will grab a book and sit down with it, turning the pages and pretending to read.

Since your birthday party, you have been walking around saying, “I’m a baby!” and then “I’m a big girl!” You may be growing up to be a big girl, a young lady, but you will always be my little baby girl, even when you are fifty. I am so lucky to have you for a daughter. I knew that being a parent was special, but I never knew how amazing it would be to have a boy and a girl. Mom always said that there was something so very wonderful about having a daughter, and now I understand what she meant. You are sweet and mercurial, tough and sensitive, beautiful and ornery, girly and tomboyish, smart and silly, all wrapped up in the cutest, roly-poliest package I have ever seen. You are a little like your father, and a lot like me, and better than both of us put together. I have learned so very much from you and Rollie. Having a little girl, though, is a slightly more daunting task for me. I know that I am your foremost role model, the woman from whom you will learn so very much in your life. You bring out so many things in me that I didn’t know I had inside. You make me a better person. You make me want to be someone you can look up to, someone you can learn valuable life lessons from, and someone you can respect. I hope that I do as wonderful a job as my Mom did. I hope that I set an example for you that will make you as proud of me as I am of you.

Happy Birthday, Baby Tiller.

With love,
Mama

Thanks to Uncle Mark for the cute Tiller with Stroller vid.

"

What to Be For Halloween

This morning, I asked Rollie what he was going to be for Halloween.

"Spider Man," he replied.

"Tiller, what are you going to be?" I said.

"Bida Mon." [Spider Man. She mimics everything Rollie does.]

I said, "Well, what am I going to be?"

Rollie didn't even look up, but stated very decisively, "A cow."

Um, thanks.

Back to School

I cannot believe that I dropped off my little Tiller for her first day of school today. Okay, not real school, but the Mommies' Morning Out program. She goes Tuesdays and Thursdays for three whole hours. She was so excited to put on her big girl backpack. Keep your traps shut about the fact that it is Rollie's hand-me-down backpack; He got a brand spanking new Diego backpack for his birthday, and it just seemed ludicrous to throw the old one out, so I just crossed out his name and put hers on the backpack. I also drew her a nifty flower to girl it up a little. Then I felt guilty for not drawing anything on Rollie's backpack, so I drew him a car. Two more fun things about being a Mom - 1) You can guilt yourself about just about anything where your kids are concerned and 2) You will need a Sharpie. Often.

Both kids got out of the van, with Todd's help. He followed us over to school for her first day, since we did it last year for Rollie's first day. Yes, Todd is the best Daddy ever. They were so cute, with backpacks and raring to go. They humored me while we took some pictures to commemorate the big event. Rollie was cracking me up, saying hello to the Pastor and to his friends from last year. We took him to his classroom first. He went right in, found his hook, hung up his backpack, and started playing. He said, "Hey guys!" when he walked in the room. Tiller followed him in at a run, with her backpack too big for her body, and mimicked big brother with a very cute, "Hey, guys!" to the big kids in Rollie's class. Luckily, she was not upset when we put her in the room with kids her own age.

We walked her down to the room, and the door was shut. She went right in, starting to play before we could get her backpack off her. We showed her where her hook was and hung up her backpack, because she wasn't able to reach the hook yet. She went right back to playing with cars. Todd and I said bye-bye, and slipped out. No tears, not even a glance.

Then I went to meet Lisa for coffee and unadulterated adult conversation (can adult conversation be unadulterated?) for over two whole straight hours. It was good. Really, really good.

Strange

It is very strange to watch the bonding experience between a 22-month old little girl, and a 91-year-old man. They don't have a lot to talk about, and she can't enunciate well, and he couldn't even hear it if she did. They both like food. And they hug a lot, which is not at all how I remember my grandfather being with me and my sister when we were little. He keeps on telling her that she is such a sweet little girl that we should've named her "Love." Who is this man?

This was the man that when you told him, "Goodbye! I love you, Pop!" would grunt in reply. I think he is either dying or possessed. The funny thing about him, though, is that I honestly think he thinks he is going to live forever. He told her tonight that it was good she liked books, because maybe she would get a scholarship, and that he would help her out with tuition. That's like 16 years away. He would be 107.

The sad part is that i could sooner see him living till 107 than actually paying for all of someone's college. He is that stingy. He cuts one paper towel into four pieces, then uses one piece for days on end. I put tin foil over his dinner and then threw it in the trash can; He pulled it back out and then washed it and folded it up for later.

You can't make this shit up. Someday I'll have to write about the mountain of fast food jelly packets he was hording. Good stuff.

Taking Me Down a Notch

A funny thing about kids is how they take you down a notch, at just the right time, usually when you are feeling really good about yourself.

Yesterday, rather than do my usual run, I decided to do a little test of myself. My friends Natalie and Steph are both running the Hansgrohe Triathlon in a couple of weeks, and I had thought about doing it, but decided that I was taking on too much too soon and declined. I have always wanted to do one, because I love swimming and because I get bored easily, and I think training for three sports sounds a lot more fun than training for only one. In fact, before Nat and Steph decided to do this one a couple of months ago, I was already eyeing one for either May or June of next year (there are a couple that time of year just for beginners). In preparation for that, I had already starting swimming and biking on my cross-training days in my run schedule.

When I found out they were doing this one in August, I was so tempted to try it with them, but I am pretty glad that I decided to wait until next year. Travel, knee pain, and a host of other engagements between that time and early August would have made me a basket case. That being said, I have been following their training and getting very excited for them. Their last couple of posts have been about estimating their times in the race, based on trials they did in the last few weeks.

Well, I have many flaws, and one of them is a highly competitive nature; I haven't met many games, matches, fights, or challenges that I didn't like. Obviously, this can be a good thing at times, and it is not to say that I am not a graceful loser, because I am. One of the many lessons learned by playing sports as a kid is that there is always someone better. (I wonder at those professional athletes who are so good that they never had to learn this very valuable lesson.) But I really don't like to lose, and I love the act of playing, racing, and meeting in competition. (By the way: One thing I do not like is to be chased, as in a game of Hide and seek or Kick the Can. It scares the bejeesus out of me, even if it is just a game. It is right up there with snakes, flying, and wet paper.)

An interesting thing about running was that I first took it up to a) lose weight and b) to give myself some competitive goals to shoot for, because I so miss the competition that I was constantly experiencing growing up. I am mentally a better person when my body is physically worn out. Odd but true. As I ran more and more, though, I realized that I was slowly morphing into a more competitive runner. I am not a good runner when compared with those who have been doing it for years, or people who are in tip-top shape, but I am slowly and surely beating my expectations for myself; I am improving.

Anyway, the point is that I saw that they were testing how well they were going to do in this triathlon, and I immediately felt the need to know a) if I could even finish the distance and b) what my time might actually be. So, when I got to the gym, I did the distances required to finish the sprint triathlon that they are running in August.

I didn't push myself as hard as I could have, because I didn't know how my legs would react to it on the run. I definitely could have done the swim faster. By the bike, i was worried about the run, so I put it on random hills, level 8 (because I remembered that is what Nat had done, I believe) and took it pretty easy, not remotely doing it at top speed. Also, riding a stationary bike is, frankly, fucking boring. I got distracted from my mission, watched a little Oprah, and forgot to push it very much. It didn't matter that I took it slowly, because either way, my legs felt like i was wearing concrete fucking ski boots by the time I got to the run. That first half mile was sucky beyond belief, but after that, the legs seemed to come back to me and I actually ran pretty well.

My results:
Swim - 400 yds - 7 mins 49 secs
Bike - 13 mi - 39 mins 50 secsRun - 3.1 mi - 35 mins 02 secs

Steph posted a link to a site that calculates your estimated triathlon time based on time trials and your weekly training mileage. I could barely figure out how to use the thing (what the hell is a 20 minute time trial, and are they even talking about the bike?), and I haven't really been training or keeping up with my biking or swimming mileage, but this is what I came up with. I plugged in my above times, except that for the bike, I had to figure out at what speed I could do 20 minutes of biking, based on how fast I did the 13 miles. (Why don't they just have you bike the 13 miles and put that time in?) I put in the minimal allowed training mileages.

I came out with a final time of: 1:37:15. Not exactly on par with Nat's or Steph's estimated times, but then I didn't expect to be on par with them - they run ridiculously fast compared to me. Evidently, the calculator also adds time in for the transitions, or something.

I really wasn't shooting for a particular time. I really just wanted to do the distances and see how it felt, if it was harder or easier than I thought it would be. Mostly, I wanted to know that I could finish it. I learned both that I could pretty easily finish, that I have a lot of room for improvement through just giving it more, especially on the bike, and that my ability to improve on the run would vastly improve my finish time. Running is definitely my weak link - there are people who run 7 and 8 minute miles and I am still doing more than ten minute miles. And then there is the weight. I need to lose at least a good 30 pounds. All in all, though, I kind of like the idea of having plenty of room for major improvement. I also looked at the 2006 results for the triathlon they are doing, and I was a little stunned to see that I was right around in the middle of the times. I could do this, and not come in last. I could do well. So, of course, I am a little bummed now that I'm not doing it, but I'm just telling myself "think how much better I could be in another eight to ten months."

I was pretty elated when I got to the restaurant for dinner afterwards. Todd had an after-work drinks thing, and I decided I was too tired to go home. We headed over to La Casita, where i ordered a modest, weight-watcher's friendly meal, and a beer (not so WW-friendly, but light!) The kids ate their weight in beans and rice. I was feeling good, full of endorphins and accomplishment. I knew that if I wanted to do the triathlon, I could do it, and that I even had a base time to work from and strive to beat. I looked forward to taking the kids home, giving them baths and putting them to bed, and then showering and lounging on the couch, making love to Tivo and a couple more beers.

I paid the check, stood up, downed the last of my beer, and took Tiller's hand to help her down the step on the patio where we were eating. As we came down to the lower level of the patio, she pulled up, stopping in her tracks. Then she projectile-puked all over the patio floor, with about six patrons looking on and in smelling distance. Like I said, just when you are feeling good, kids know how to take you down a notch. Fucking awesome.

Memorial Day. Lake. Again.

We pretty much go to the lake every Memorial Day. Especially now that we have kids. It is free, sunny, and not home.

Todd and kids with vintage Coleco Turtle pool (mine and Leelee's as a kid). Yes, I watch too much Antiques Roadshow.

Tiller and Rollie in Pool. If I could only get both of them to look at the camera at one time, much less both to smile.

Some pastimes are classic and affordable. Like blowing bubbles, running races, and eating melon in the grass.

Tiller wearing "Grandpa's Sidekick" hat.

Hope everyone had as lovely a holiday as ours.

A Couple of Firsts

Rollie had his first field trip today. I had my first experience chaperoning a group of three and four year olds. Me being in charge of a group of kids is kind of funny, as I think I still need a guide when I am out in public. I had total flashbacks of my middle school getting kicked out of the Atlanta Symphony Hall one year for bad behavior.

It was also pretty scary to put other people's children in my car and drive them around, even if I do drive like a Grandma. I had two other kids in my van, in addition to Rollie and Tiller, who seemed thrilled to be hanging with the big kids.

Note to parents: If you want someone else to take your kid in their car, do that person a big favor and know how to install your own car seat.

Note to self: Next time you volunteer to chaperone a group to a puppet show, or to anything else for that matter, don't stay out till one a.m. drinking wine with the girls the night before.

I thought sleep-deprivation and a slight hangover were bad with two kids. If I had three-year-old triplets, i would never touch a drop of alcohol ever again for fear of experiencing what I experienced on the 15 minute ride to the puppetry theater. Every time I write "puppet," i keep thinking Metallica's Master of Puppets, which my friend Owen blasted for a good year in the car on the way to high school, which was actually quieter than what I experienced this morning. Those three wouldn't shut up for a minute. There was one point where I was trying to merge onto 85 South and all four kids were screeching and screaming at top volume, and I thought momentarily about driving the van off an overpass just to shut them up.

Also, while one kid was a joy, the other one kept saying things like, "Rollie, why does your Mom drive so slow?" and "My Mom's car is faster than yours" and I know it is not a sign of maturity that I wanted to tell the kid to shut the fuck up before I kicked his mom's ass. Instead, I made myself feel better by telling him in a sweet voice, that "Yes, I think your mom is fast."

Tiller: 17 Months

Tiller, you are 17 months, and I have been pretty bad about documenting your milestones. You started walking a while back and now you are on fire, hurtling forward so quickly on your not-so-steady feet that I fear you will fall face-first into whatever is in front of you. Sometimes you do, but often you recover, and I laugh at my nervous stomach afterwards. You have learned to climb stairs and just started coming back down on your own (backwards on hands and knees, of course.) Thank God, because I was getting pretty tired of coming up the stairs to rescue you at the landing when you got up there and then cried, realizing you couldn't get back down. I am amazed by the way you little ones push the envelope, exploring everything, even when you don't know what you will find, or how you will return. It is like a person choosing to fly a plane without knowing how to land, or climbing a mountain without knowing how to come back down. You are pretty fearless.

You are talking up a storm. It started very slowly, mostly "Dada." Then: "ball," "bear," "bowl." Other words: dog, kittycat, book, moon, balloon, elmo, shoe, ear, milk, hello, bye-bye. Now you are chatting us up, and the other day you said your first two-word phrase: "My Dada." You are Daddy's little girl already; I almost feel sorry for him, for he has no idea how much a little girl can love her Daddy and how much suffering she will put him through later. Most of the time, though, I just roll my eyes, because you and Rollie both prefer him to me. You would think Jesus Christ was walking through the front door every afternoon, the way everyone flips out and brightens and dances in the streets. I mean, come on, I change the poopy diapers all day, and plan the meals, and pick up your coveted damn Goldfish at the store - Show your mama some love.

I am kidding, though, because you are the lovingest thing I have ever seen. You love to hug, and kiss and get kisses. You pat us on the back when we hold you. Rollie and you have hugfests, where you hug, he kisses you on the head, and then while still locked in the hug, he drags you around until you both fall over and you hit your head on the floor. Then the tears begin, but it is hard to get mad at you guys for hugging each other so vigorously.

You are very adamant about whatever you want. At dinnertime, once you realize food is in the picture, you cling and cry and follow me around, saying "bowl" which seems to be your all-purpose word for anything having to do with food or drink. If you can get your hand on a bib or bowl or cup, you bring them to us to tell us you want to eat. Now. If I am in any part of the house and the words snack, dinner, lunch, or breakfast come out, it is all over. You are ready to be picked up and taken downstairs, or you will rush straight and with purpose into the kitchen, ready to be fed. Same thing with "outside," or "go." You hear those and go find your shoes and jacket and bring them to us, ready to be dressed for whatever journey we embark upon.

Bathtime? Bedtime? Same thing. You love the bath and you love being naked. I have no idea where you got that. :-) The only thing that makes you run for cover? The word diaper. You will run like the wind to avoid having to lay down and put on a diaper and pjs. Once we have pinned you down and dressed you for bed, though, you are all business. It is story time and you will not be swayed. You bring us your favorite books and then go walk over to the rocking chair to climb up and be read to. Right now, your favorites seem to be "Goodnight Moon" and "The Moon in My Room." You also like the Sandra Boynton books and the duck book whose name I can't remember. You sit up in our laps as we rock and read, clutching your bear, pointing out your favorite things in the books, and twirling your hair, which is what you do when you are sleepy. When we finish reading and turn out the light, we hug or talk or sing for a minute, then put you down. You start twirling your hair again, clutching the bear as we shut the door. You never make another peep.

You have a funny little laugh, and you think Daddy is the funniest, then Rollie. You like to sit with us and play games. You LOVE to dance. Sometimes we have dance parties before dinner, but often a song you like will come on the radio, or the computer or the t.v. You will start turning circles to it, then look at us with big smiles to make sure we see what you are learning to do.

We see it all, and every bit of it is as thrilling as watching Rollie do it for the first time. I just wish I had more time to treasure it all, to make sure you know how important these little milestones are, and how much prouder we are of you with every step you take.

Call Me Tipper

Yesterday, Tiller and I dropped Rollie off at school, then headed for the gym. We were coming through Oakhurst and were on 2nd Ave. We stopped at the four-way stop at Oakview. This intersection is across a two-lane street (Oakview) which has a grassy median in the middle. So, when you are crossing on 2nd, you go across one lane of traffic, then there is an area that cuts between the grassy median, and then you cross the other lane of Oakview. We were the first car there, then two other cars pulled up: One at the Stop to our left, and one at the Stop directly across from us. There was no one at the Stop sign to our right. We began to cross and as I reached the beginning of the middle of the intersection, a truck (Ford F150-sized, I'd say) came blowing through his Stop sign on my right. He was going about 40-45 miles and hour and didn't even slow for his Stop sign. I slammed on my brakes, and skidded a few feet in the median section, coming to a stop only a few feet from where the truck passed. I sat on the horn, taught Tiller how to give the bird, and then started shaking. If we had been one second faster, the truck would have hit the front, right side of my van. Another two seconds, and it would have t-boned us on Tiller's side of the van. Either way, it would have fucked us up, if not killing her.

I spent the next hour or two just thinking about the tenuousness of our existence on this earth, the preciousness of a baby girl, and how quickly the rug can be pulled out from under us, control completely out of our reach. I was FREAKED. Today, I am not so shaky and wigged out, but still kind of scared and angry when I think about it.

Anyway, we picked up Rollie from school and found out that he has been acting out in class. He is hitting, kicking, pushing, and won't stay in line. They also informed me that Rollie was the most difficult child in the class. Great. Just what a conscientious mother wants to hear. Sure, the teacher added that it was most likely his age - he is the youngest child in his class, and he is within a week of the birthday "grade cutoff" in the state of Georgia.

We have been seeing some of the same behavior at home. Todd and I have been at our wits' ends (albeit, our wits don't encompass that much distance) trying to figure out the origin and the solution. Along with this more physical behavior, he has been saying things like,

"I wanna be first."

"I win."

"I wanna be in front."

"You are a joke!"

Rollie continues to bump and cut in front of us. Not a big deal for us, as I know who is going to win if we have a Rollie/Daddy collision; A little bit bigger deal when wobbly, only-walking-for-a-few-months Tiller is the one being bumped and cut off. We have tried taking away privileges and toys. We have tried consistent time-outs. We have, on occasion, tried spanking for extremely blatant and strong physical behavior. Nothing has worked.

He has also been asking us repeatedly "Mama, why do cars bump?" We would answer, "It is not nice to bump." We had long conversations about how good cars do not bump, and that bad cars bump, and that we will not accept the behavior. In one ear and out the other. He still asked about why they do it, as if I am capable of explaining good and evil?

It became obvious to me after talking to the teachers yesterday, and giving good thought to his behavior at home. It is the influence of that seemingly-innocuous, Oscar-nominated movie "Cars." His favorite movie. The one he once watched three consecutive times in one day while sick on the couch. The one that is going to break his heart, because we are not letting him watch it anymore.

Yep, it seems that Rollie is questioning us about the behavior, because he can't watch the movie and tell that some of the cars are good, and some are bad. He is not capable yet of drawing that line between acceptable and non-acceptable behavior. And so it begins: We have now censored what he watches to the extent that we are not allowing him to watch something that he wants to watch. As I type, he is laying on the couch watching that little PBS pussy, Caillou. Sigh.

Wow. Call me Tipper.

Tiller: 15 Months Old

I cannot believe it. It has flown by.

She still doesn't walk regularly, although she can. She just takes a couple steps, then crawls. I guess it is faster that way. She still wants to be held all the time. She is addicted to pushing things - her pushcart, a shopping cart, any chair that isn't nailed down. She has a hysterical laugh, and is completely and totally in love with Todd now. I think he likes her a bit, too. She loves playing peek-a-boo, and the first time she said "mama" to get my attention, it was because i had stopped playing peek-a-boo with her to answer the phone. She was not happy.

She is going to be on debate team next year, because she LOVES to talk. She doesn't really have a lot of words yet, but tons of babbling sounds. She does say, Mama, dada, kittykat, doggie, elmo, milk, cup, book, ball, bath, bear, and she has tons of funny repetitive sound effects. The funniest one is something she picked up from Rollie. Todd taught Rollie to say "redrum" and "rollie isn't here" in a The Shining voice, and Tiller can't say those things, but tries to do the voice. It is hysterical.

She smiles a lot, but when she is in a new place, she is very serious until she has checked everything out. She just today started screaming and screeching, just to hear herself do it, and hopefully that will be short phase, because she's got some pipes.

She eats an enormous amount. The other day, she ate two pieces of pizza in one sitting. Large, new york-style pizza slices. Her little tummy is so distended after she eats. It is cute. She will beg or take food if she is out and someone else has it. Her hair is starting to grow out and she looks like a girl, even when she is wearing rollie's hand-me-downs. Lisa and I cut her bangs last month, though, because they were in her eyes and she had a bit of a skate rat thing going.

She loves to read more than Rollie ever did at this age. He destroyed so many books. She loves the Sarah Boynton books and has a particular order she wants you to read them in at bedtime. She is no shrinking violet - she speaks up when she wants something.

She still only has five teeth, so i have plenty of those to look forward to.

At bedtime, she splashes like crazy in the tub, and we are having trouble disciplining her, because she doesn't listen to No. She knows it, but ignores it. We just have to take her out of the situation when she does something, and that is usually a big screaming fit. In the bathtub, when she splashes, we say no, and she laughs maniacally and keeps doing it. She is going to push my buttons hard in about 10 years.

Another cute thing she does is the Nestea Plunge. She is so trusting of us, that if we are anywhere near her she will fall straight backwards and expect us to catch her. It is nerve-wracking, and I know she is going to crack her head sooner or later. We can't figure out how to teach her not to without letting it happen.

The best thing about her? She LOVES to hug. Over and over. She is starting to give kisses, too, but they are open-mouthed and wet. She will also pat you on the shoulder while you are holding her, as if to comfort you. The hugs, though? They kill me, they are so sweet.

I never thought that my heart could hold two. I thought it would explode with just one. I was so wrong; The heart expands to accommodate what you find to love.

More photos of the girl are here.

Free Santa!

On Saturday, we took Rollie and Tiller to see Santa at St. Paul's Methodist in Grant Park. Although I am unsure about my thoughts on God, I am sure about one thing; I love old, beautiful churches. St. Paul's is really gorgeous, but in a lived-in, non-museum-like way. You actually feel welcome and warm when you are there.


Santa was upstairs in a back room and you had to wait in a not-too-long line to see him. The line wrapped out the door and down the stairs. Rollie and tiller were excellently-behaved, much to my surprise; I guess they were mesmerized by all of the other kids. Living in East Atlanta, I often feel cut off from other people with children, until we attend something like this Santa event. Then I realize just how many young children are living and being born here and I realize that in ten years, this will probably be a really family-friendly neighborhood, and a great place to raise kids. I sometimes wish that I had the confidence to make my children urban pioneer children, working to make the schools in this area better, but I just don't think that is going to happen, nor do I think I am the Mom to attempt it. I just don't want my precious little ones to be guinea pigs in an experiment that might fail. Selfish, I know, but also my decision and we are the ones responsible for their educational raisin', as they call it here in the South.

I digress. We finally entered the Santa room, and then rounded the corner, where we could actually see Santa. He was a great-looking Santa in a traditional Santa suit with the belt and all. He had his own Santa chair and a Christmas tree and we were allowed to take pictures with the digital camera for free, which is really more in the Christmas spirit than those mall Santas. Plus, less waiting in line.

When it was our turn, Rollie hopped up in his lap without hesitation (unlike last year - tears and more tears, making for hysterically funny Santa pics) and told him what he wanted for Christmas (choochoos and cars). We snapped some pictures of them together, then threw Tiller up with them. She was surprisingly good, too, and in fact just seemed enthralled with his beard and stared at him. We had a hard time getting both of them to look at the camera, and of course, our camera acted up throughout, so the shots aren't great. But hey! They are free!

Cheap Santas are great. Free Santas are the best.

Still No Basement Post: My Day

12 a.m. - Wake up to Todd shaking me, Rollie crying. Go into Rollie's room, give him some water and vaseline for his chapped lips. Go back to bed.
3 a.m. - Rollie cries again. Complaining of his cheek hurting. Realize he probably still has the ear infection for which he has already been through two rounds of antibiotics; Give him Ibuprofen, go back to bed.
7:30 a.m. - Wake up, pee, brush teeth, put on deodorant, put hair in ponytail, pull on jeans and tee-shirt, go into Tiller's room, pick her up, grab one diaper, one pair of jeans, one tee, one pair socks, one pair shoes. Carry all downstairs. Todd already has Rollie eating breakfast at table in pjs.
7:45 a.m. Change Tiller's diaper, realize pants are too small, put on her teeshirt, put her in highchair, throw down Cheerios for her, open fruit cup and dump it on tray. Run upstairs to get Rollie's school clothes and another pair of pants for Tiller.
7:55 a.m. - Kiss Todd goodbye, start coffee, bolt down breakfast bar, change Rollie's diaper and put on his clothes, including shoes.
8 am - Pour cup of coffee, read email from Honey.
8:05 a.m. Pack Rollie's backpack for school, pack my diaper bag for Tiller, gather starlight mints for Rollie's teacher to use for gingerbread houses.
8:10 a.m. - Realize Quint hasn't been let out. Let him out.
8:13 a.m. - Sit down to finish cup of coffee.
8:15 a.m. - Turn on Thomas the Tank Engine dvd so Rollie will shut the hell up about it.
8:20 a.m. - Realize Rollie has dirty diaper, then pick him up and realize he feels slightly warm. Remember ear infection suspicions. Run upstairs to get thermometer and vaseline, along with Ibuprofen, just in case.
8:22 a.m. - Take rectal temperature (always wait till after first cup of coffee), 100.9, dose with Ibuprofen and decide to send to school anyway.
8:25 a.m. Put dog in crate, turn off lights, pour coffee into travel mug, turn off coffeemaker, look at house that looks like tornado hit it and pray that buyers do not come to look at house while I am gone.
8:30 a.m. - Pick up Tiller off floor, along with shoes she has taken off, put diaper bag over shoulder, finger through keychain, put rollie's jacket on, then his backpack, which he insists on wearing, even though we are only walking out the door and to the car, where we will have to take it off again before getting in carseat. Hit alarm, get Rollie to open door, because my hands are full with diaper bag, keys, coffee, Tiller, and Starlight mints.
8:32 a.m. - Lock door, tell Rollie to stop trying to open automatic door on van while I am trying to unlock it, put Tiller into her carseat, then walk around to strap Rollie into his.
8:33 a.m. - Put diaper back and starlight mints into passenger seat. Get in car. Start car. Get back out of car to walk around to tiller's side of car where I left coffee sitting on roof of car. Get back in car.
8:34 a.m. - Leave neighborhood. Drive to Rollie's school in Decatur.
9:01 a.m. - Arrive at school. Get out, get Rollie out, walk around to Tiller's side, get her out.
9:02 a.m. - Talk to parent of child in Rollie's class about whether I am pissed about decision to split 3 and 5 day kids into two classes.
9:03 a.m. - Drop Rollie into class. Remove backpack and jacket and help him wash hands, all while holding Tiller at the same time. Kiss Rollie goodbye.
9:10 a.m. - Drive to new primary care physician's on N. Decatur road. Park, get Tiller and stroller out of car, put her in stroller, find doctor's suite.
9:20 a.m. - Check in with receptionist for 9:30 a.m. appointment. Sit down and try to keep tiller occupied.
9:30 a.m. - Receptionist asks for insurance card, driver's license, and for me to fill out new patient paperwork. Pay $40 co-pay. Attempt to fill out paperwork, while keeping 13 month old occupied in boring waiting room. Get stared down by humorless, crotchety old people. Cough a lot.
10 a.m. - Wonder if Tiller and I will grow old in waiting room of unseen doctor's office. Watch every fucking old person in Decatur get called in before us.
10:30 a.m. - Get called back. Nurse takes temperature, pulse, bp. Tiller seems okay. Nurse leaves and shuts door.
10:45 a.m. Tiller starts crying.
10:46 a.m. Crying becomes total freakout. I take her out of stroller and walk her for 15 very long minutes, back and forth, three little steps to a length of the room. Sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Starkle Starkle Little Twink (a post unto itself), Jingle Bell Rock, and Winter Wonderland. Big yellow snot comes out of her nose and runs all over my shirt, which was dirty when I put it on this morning anyway.
11 a.m. - Realize I have to pee, that Tiller will not be falling asleep, and that I am tired of holding her. Open door in frustration to see pitying look on nurse's face. I say i have to pee. Nurse takes Tiller while I go to bathroom, then when I come out, they are gone, so i start looking down hall. Find Tiller with nurse in a doctor's office and they give her a bear. Nice gesture, big points for nurses, big fucking lot of good it does me, though, as I still had to wait another 25 minutes for doctor to show and by that time she had lost interest in bear and was crying again.
11:25 a.m. - Doctor comes in. Immediately likable, as he looks like real-life Santa Claus, but it becomes quickly evident that reason he made me wait one hour and 55 minutes is that he likes to talk. A lot. Doctor talks to me about symptoms, his grandchildren, get up on the table, look at ears, nose, throat, What is the little princess getting for Christmas this year?, you obviously have bronchitis, a lot of malflora (sp?), and a grungy tonsil, and back in my day, we made our own Christmas gifts. We made boomerangs, and we would cut them out of plywood, and boy, if you throw one of those up and it comes back, you don't want to be in the way, and here is your prescription.
11:45 a.m. - Finally get out of black hole doctor's office, get back to car, go through drive through pharmacy at kroger to drop off prescription, then drive to Rollie's school.
12:00 a.m. - Get Tiller out of carseat. Pick up Rollie at school. Bring both back outside, strap Tiller in, then Rollie. Drive back to Kroger on N. Decatur to pick up Pharmacy. (Only bright side to day - Kroger on n. Decatur has parking spaces especially for Walkup Pharmacy, so you can walk to the window and not have to take kids out of car.) Go up. Pay for prescription. Walk back to car. Open bag and realize only one prescription was filled. Go back up to window (Praise Jesus for walkup pharmacy window and walkup pharmacy window parking!!!!). Explain to Pharmacist about two prescriptions rather than one, then wait while he searches for script. Wait while he fills script. Pay for another prescription. Go back to car.
12:15 Drive back to East Atlanta.
12:45 p.m. - Get back to house. Rollie has fallen asleep. Carry Rollie into house and put on couch. Rollie wakes up and requests pillow, blanket, Thomas dvd. Obviously doesn't feel good. Go get screaming Tiller out of car. Bring her in and plop her on floor.
12:50 p.m. - Make pbj for Rollie, cheese toast for tiller, soup for both. Serve all of this, plus two waters (because I didn't get to go to grocery because fucking Dr. Santa wanted to discuss handmade toys for an hour), which Rollie then proceeded to lecture me about: "Water is for snacks. Milk is for lunch and dinner." Heat up pasta from last night for me. Bolt down. Start getting requests for blanket fixing and more dvd.
1:30 p.m. - Go to fluff Rollie's pillow, realize he is burning up. Change both kids' diapers, and take Rollie's temperature - 103.9: Fucking awesome.
2:00 p.m. - Call Pediatrician for sick visit appointment. Make appointment for 3 p.m. Put poor dog in crate. Go through same rigamarole about packing shit up, minus backpack and starlight mints and coffee. Put kids in car. Drive to Sandy Springs.
2:45 pm. - Arrive for appointment. Get both kids out of car and put Tiller in stroller, then Rollie says he needs to be carried, so I carry 36 lb son while pushing 26 lb daughter in stroller. Fucking awesome.
2:50 p.m. - Check in. Go through more insurance shit, even though i have already been there twice this week for flu shots, and the week before that for ear infections, the week before that for the first of the ear infection, and the week before that for the first goddamn flu shot. Take kids to sit down. Rollie's tylenol kicks in and he starts jumping around like his not sick at all. Tiller starts screaming because she has either been in a carseat, a highchair, or the fucking stroller all day and who the fuck can blame her?
3:30 - Finally get taken back, 30 minutes after appointment time. See nurse practitioner; ear infection still remains, and she prescribes another (3rd) antibiotic. We check out at front desk (40$ co-pay!) and head for the car.
3:45 pm. - Sit in traffic all the way back to East Atlanta, where we go to Edgewood Kroger.
4:45 p.m. - Hit Kroger right at the same time as everyone else. Drop off prescription at Pharmacy. Go do grocery shopping. Amazingly have few fights between kids sitting in the car shopping cart together. Usually, someone would have an eye gouged out or something. Go back to pick up prescription. Deer in headlights look on pharmacists' faces. "This medicine, after insurance, is going to cost you $90 dollars." I am speechless, and then let loose with a "holy shit." Say excuse me to old black lady wearing "Southern Belle Chattanooga" hat. She says, "Honey, I woulda said a whole lot more than Holy shit." I feel ya, sister. DAMN.
5:00 pm. - Pay for prescription, which of course I have to pay for at pharmacy, then still sit through checkout line to pay for groceries.
5:10 pm. - Rollie has meltdown over cheap dumptruck toys set up right by checkout counters (those fuckers!). Check out and take groceries to car. Put groceries in car, then kids.
5:15 pm. - Sit in traffic on Moreland.
5:45 pm. - get Home. Unload kids. Set Rollie up on couch with Thomas dvd and blankets. Tiller follows me around, trying to hold on to my legs while I put away groceries I unloaded from car, and while I try to put dinner on (fish sticks and frozen french fries). Cut up pear for health purposes, and nuke broccoli. Balanced meal.
6:00 p.m. Attempt to right disaster that is house, especially kitchen. Unload dishwasher, and do dishes from both lunch and breakfast. Lunch dirty dishes are still at the kitchen table where I left them when I realized Rollie had high fever. Everything looks disgusting. Cannot believe people are not trying to look at house right now, because that is just the way it usually is.
6:20 Throw kids up at table with culinary masterpiece. Sit down with glass of water and then plug in Christmas tree, so as not to want to blow brains out.
6:40 - Kids finish meal. Get them down from table, then tell Rollie to clean up. Proceed to clean up kitchen from dinner, then help Rollie clean up his toys. Take kids upstairs.
7:00 pm. Contemplate not bathing kids tonight, but then realize that really need a HazMat crew to come in and hose us down after all the doctor's offices we have been in today. Throw kids in bathtub. Scrub them too hard and make them cry. Get Tiller out, then put her diaper and pjs on. Go back in. Get Rollie out, help him brush his teeth. Fold towels, clean up tub. Help Rollie rinse. Brush his hair. Give him Tylenol. Realize I forgot to give him golden antibiotics. Go back downstairs, measure 1 teaspoon of meds, come back upstairs to have him insist on doing it himself. He spills the whole fucking thing on the bathroom floor. Go back down to get another dose. Take dose back upstairs. Force him to take it from me, amidst vocal protest.
7:20 pm. - Get his diaper, temperature stuff, and pjs and take into Tiller's room, where the two of them have pulled all of the socks out of her lowest drawer and are now pulling her toys out of her closet. Take his temp (101) while fending her off as she tries to get into vaseline jar, then put on his diaper and pjs.
7:30 pm. - Read duck book and Goodnight Moon to Tiller while Rollie complains that HE wants to read the duck book. Ignore him. Put her down. Thank god.
7:35 pm. Go to his room. Read four fucking longass Thomas the Tank Engine stories, while he interrupts me the whole time. Try to shortchange him out of his usual three stories. He insists on the duck book too, which he has taken from Tiller's room and brought into his room. I start to read it, and he argues with me about the fucking number of ducks that swam over the pond and far away. he also adds fifth quack to Mother Duck's refrain, which everyone knows is only four quacks. I humor him, because sometimes it will be over faster that way.
7:50 pm - Kiss him goodnight, turn off light, tell him to sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite.
8:15 pm. - Finally sit down to eat dinner. Eat quickly. Take decongestant. P0ur glass of wine. Watch two old episodes of Supernatural.
10:30 Pour another glass of wine. Post about this stupid day, because somehow complaining about it makes me feel better.

Or maybe it's the third glass of wine.

Rollie's First Snow

Only in Atlanta would a child's first snow be faux. Todd, Tiller, Rollie and I headed over to the Atlantic Station California Pizza Kitchen last night for dinner, then headed out to see their huge Christmas tree and the 7 P.M. snow machine display. I really thought it would hokey, and it was, but also a little contagious. At first, Rollie didn't like it very much and was maybe even a little scared, but I picked him up and we practiced catching snow on our tongues and shook it out of our hair, chanting "Snow head! Snow head!" at one another.

It was pretty fun to run around, chasing him around the tree in the snow. Tiller just looked sleepy. I had a coughing fit afterwards that gave me a headache.

Here's to my cough going away soon, and to having a real snow this year.

I Don't Know What to Say

That's why I haven't written anything this week. See, I mostly write about what I know: The little things my kids do every day that drive me crazy, or make me laugh, or make me cry; the things that make me angry about this world; the things that scare me about the future; A book or movie I enjoyed; Fun trips and events.

All of that stuff seems unbelievably small and inconsequential in the face of the death of a child. A close friend of mine lost her nephew to bacterial meningitis this past week. A mother and father lost the center of their world. A child lost a brother he will never know, much less remember. Anything I write here, even the most irrelevant little tidbit, like what shape pasta Rollie and Tiller ate for dinner, will be something that the child's family will never be able to write about him again.

So, i have spent these last few days talking, and hugging, and kissing a little bit more than usual. I have been more forgiving, and more patient, and more lenient, and more indulgent; I have cherished.

Why don't I do this every day? I should do this every day for the rest of my life.

Tiller Tricks

Day before Thanksgiving. Too busy to blog, but here is a little Tiller zen*. . .

*Warning: Gratuitous cuteness.

NOOOOOOOOOOO!

Fuck.

No ma'am. You DO NOT KNOW HOW TO CLIMB STAIRS. I will not have it. I will tie your ass down to the floor with back-to-back episodes of Sesame Street. The allure of Elmo will be too great, and you will never learn to climb stairs, and I will be able to continue child-proofing the downstairs, setting you down on the floor, and lying down on the couch to read while you explore.

That is the way it is going to be.

Oops . . . Must go get daughter off upstairs landing before she plunges to her death.