If this doesn’t get you into the Christmas spirit, you are dead inside.
Posts Tagged ‘Tiller’
Santa Claus Is Coming to Town
Monday, December 10th, 2007Coffee, Santa, Margaritas, and Rudolph = Bliss
Monday, December 10th, 2007
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
Monday, November 12th, 2007
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
Thursday, November 8th, 2007Tiller 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
Wednesday, November 7th, 2007Dragging 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
Thursday, November 1st, 2007
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
Saturday, October 27th, 2007Hell 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
Monday, October 8th, 2007Dear 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.â€Â
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
Friday, October 5th, 2007This 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
Tuesday, September 4th, 2007
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.