The Memory Keeper's Daughter

If you're planning on reading this book and don't want key plot points revealed, don't read this. I am going to start spoiling all over the place. You have been warned!

Okay, here's the story. It's 1964, and during a wintery night, accompanied only by a nurse named Caroline, David Henry delivers his twin children. The first is a boy named Paul, born strong and healthy. The second, an unexpected surprise, is a daughter named Phoebe. David needs look at Phoebe only once to see that she has Down Syndrome. Since it's 1964, David's wife, Norah, is not awake for either birth and doesn't know what's happening. David asks nurse Caroline to take Phoebe away to an institution. He tells Norah that their second child was stillborn. David's own sister was born with a heart defect, so he knows the heartbreak that can be caused by the slow death of a beloved child and believes that he is saving Norah from all of that.

This decision, of course, sets a huge chain of events in motion. Caroline takes Phoebe to the institution, but cannot leave her there. She has felt like she has been waiting for her life to start, and in that night, it does. She takes Phoebe away and raises her as her daughter. Norah is distraught at the loss of her daughter. The joy of having a new baby doesn't diminish that pain. She is confused by David's seeming unwillingness to mourn Phoebe. His secret drives a wall between them. Norah throws herself into her career (and a string of affairs), while David develops a passion for photography, photographing nature and parts of the body in harmony.

David believed he made his decision because it was best for everyone, but truly he did it because he thought it was best for him. He didn't want to repeat the tragedy of his sister's death. But the people around him were stronger than he realized. Caroline was a wonderful, patient, and loving mother to Phoebe. She fought for Phoebe to have the right to attend public school and to make her as independent as she could be. Phoebe wasn't the kind of person who could just be locked up in an institution; she was stronger than that, and so was Caroline. Norah's tenacity and success in her workplace was fueled, in part, by a feeling of emptyness. That void certainly could have been filled by the demands of caring for Phoebe. Paul felt a distance from his father, sensed the secrets between them, and was never as close to David as he should have been. David thought he was protecting those he loved, but he was really only protecting himself. In so doing, he utterly failed.

In the end, David dies unexpectedly, before he can share his secret with anybody. Caroline finds Norah and tells her what happened. As the book ends, Norah and Paul are navigating what it will mean to have Phoebe in their lives. Both of them learn a lot from Phoebe in just a short time. Norah learns that Phoebe doesn't need to be rescued and is happy with her life as it is. Paul is fascinated by Phoebe's approach to life. Phoebe lives in a world in which strange and unexpected things, like meeting your birth mother and twin, are the kinds of things that happen every day. She accepts them with a minimum of angst. Paul, following his sister's example, realizes that he loves her in an uncomplicated way.

The strengths of this book are its very concept and some outstanding characterization. It has two weaknesses. One is that it is a little too long and would benefit from a bit of editing. The other is that I was never clear as to why David told Norah they had a second child at all. She was unconscious during Phoebe's birth, so why tell her about it? Why not spare her all of the heartache? I was distracted by that question for quite a while until I had no choice but to willingly suspend disbelief. Nevertheless, this was a story that will stay with me.

Ultimate Spider-Man, Volume 7

My review of Ultimate Spider-Man, Volume 6 was kind of lukewarm. While there were fun elements of it, I really felt like Brian Michael Bendis shied away from the more emotional aspects of the story.

I'm happy to say that with Volume 7, Bendis shows what he can really do. Now this was a good story. Spidey meets Hobgoblin, and what a mess that is for the poor guy. The guy is scary psycho crazy and dangerous, but he is also Peter's friend Harry Osborn. Peter wants to help him, but can he? And in the next story, there are guest stars gallore in a big gang war with the Kingpin. We see Iron Fist, that boring kung-fu guy, Moon Knight (somewhat less lame than the regular Marvel universe version of him), Elektra, Black Cat, and Hammerhead. We see some cool fights, but we also see Peter grappling with whether or not he should follow Kingpin's wishes and take out Hammerhead. After all, Hammerhead is no doubt a bad guy, but is he really going to do what Kingpin wants?

What makes this book so much stronger than the previous volume is what happens in between all of the action scenes. Mary Jane, it turns out, used to date Harry and never told Peter about it. She manages, yet again, to find herself in peril, in part because she didn't heed Peter's advice to stay away from Harry. Peter decides that he loves her too much to put her at risk, so he breaks up with her. Both of them are utterly heartbroken. Peter starts to question whether it shouldn't be "Spider-Man no more," but rather "Peter Parker no more." If he can't handle having both identities, maybe the super heroic one is the one to keep. Can he truly be close to anybody? And where is he without people he loves like MJ and Aunt May? This story had a lot more heart to it, and that made all the difference.

Non-Evil Gift Bag

I have had issues in the past with Jack getting gift bags from school. But last week, Jack received a rare non-evil gift bag.

School was closed for Valentine's Day, so the kids had their celebration the next day. As soon as I picked Jack up at school, he said, "Hi, Mommy," but then more urgently said, "Bag!" Sure enough, Jack had a bag of Valentines that he knew he was going to get as soon as, but not before, his mommy arrived to pick him up. I got the bag off the shelf, and Jack and I were immediately swarmed by other little kids who were yearning for their own bags. I told the other kids that they'd get bags when their mommies or daddies came to get them, but you could tell they didn't quite believe it. Jack basked in the glow of finally having his beloved bag.

As we walked to the car, Jack, clutching the bag, started happily chattering about how he was going to go home and show his bag to Daddy and to Chew Chew Bacca. At home, he was so engrossed by his bag that I was actually able to cook dinner without him hanging, barnacle-like, from my leg.

I also discovered that Jack has now developed the skill to unwrap candy on his own. We adults have a very different approach to eating a sucker than Jack does. I pretty much figure once I put it in my mouth, I am committed to finishing it right away. Jack would beg to differ. He'll enjoy his sucker for a few minutes, but then there is absolutely no reason not to just go ahead and put it back in his bag for a while. The resulting sticky mess does not phase him in the least.

But even more than the candy, Jack was interested in the cards. We looked at each one, and I told him -- just once, mind you -- which of his friends they were from. Then, he'd go through the cards and hold each one up, telling me who gave it to him. Blew my little mind that he was actually able to tell me, for example, that the Cars card with Sally on it was from Brandon and the one with Doc Hudson on it was from Donovan. My boy is a genius. A genius covered in sticky sap, but a genius nevertheless.

Happy Valentine's Day

Yesterday was an incredibly unromantic Valentine's Day.

Our plans were definitely not the stuff you put in the movies. We didn't want to find or pay for a babysitter... and truth be told, we were pretty excited to watch American Idol and Lost... so Steve and I were planning to get a spinach salad, shrimp cocktail, and some kind of fabulous dessert from Costco and have a Living Room Picnic while we indulged in some fun TV. That's called making the best of it, people, and we were happy about it.

Then we got a bunch of nasty snow and ice. All three of us were home on Valentine's Day, and there was no way we were going to brave the trip to Costco (a whopping three miles away) for food. Instead, the three of us spent the day together and ordered a pizza for dinner. Jack has been talking for days about "Mommy Daddy Pizza," so this was very good news for him.

It ended up being one of the most wonderful and special Valentine's Days I've ever had.

Before we had Jack, and maybe even for a while after we did, my idea of a perfect Valentine's Day would definitely not have involved pizza or spending the day with a toddler who'd need to be entertained so he didn't tantrum all over the house he was stuck in. But for whatever reason, my thinking has changed.

The boys and I didn't do anything really big yesterday. We played with Play-Doh, out in the snow and ice, and Steve and I watched TV while Jack took his nap. When he woke up, we gave Jack his Chew Chew Bacca action figure (oh, sweet Yoda did he love that thing) and went to Starbucks for coffee and cupcakes. The cupcake, by the way, prompted Jack to sing "Happy Birthday" several times. He also amused himself by trying to balance Chew Chew Bacca on a caution cone, all while clutching Roary under his arm. Steve gave Jack a bath, and I went to the local Italian place, packed with couple having romantic dinners, for our pizza.

The three of us had pizza, I read Jack a couple of books, then Steve and I watched our TV shows and had some tiramisu.

Really, really unromantic, right? But it actually wasn't. I didn't feel like I was making the best of a situation in which I couldn't go with my husband to a romantic restaurant and gaze at each other over a bottle of wine, holding hands. Instead, I felt like my whole house was just full of love. I was able to spend the day with the two people who mean more to me than anything else in the universe, and I was just so happy. I also felt incredibly close to Steve, the man with whom I've created this happy family and wonderful life. In the end, I can't think of anything more romantic and special.

Happy Valentine's Day, boys.

The Force Is Strong in This One

Once again, Jack is proving that we brought the right kid home from the hospitial. Last week, he was having a tantrum, which seemed to me to be a fine time to watch some TV. Sure enough, the last 15 minutes of The Empire Strikes Back were on HBO. Score! I was home. Jack immediately stopped his tantrum, sat on my lap, and began an endless chorus of "What's that?" He tends to echo whatever I say, so it was awesome to hear his little boy voice saying Bobba Fett, lightsaber, Stormtrooper, Lando, and Artoo.

He was most facinated by Chewbacca, who he calls "Chew Chew Bacca." Every time Chewie was on the screen, Jack got excited and would cry, "Chew Chew Bacca!" We snuggled and watched the movie, and I'd explain things as they happen, like that Darth Vader cut off Luke's hand and that it was a bad boo boo. Jack suggested that Luke needed a band-aid. Lando told Chewbacca to go work on the hyperdrive (darned thing was always breaking on the Falcon). A few minutes later, Jack turned to me and said, "Chew Chew Bacca bye bye. He work." Cub was totally following the story and knew where Chewie was and what he was up to.

Since then, Jack has been checking out Star Wars action figures at Target and looking at the Star Wars picture books that I gave Steve as a present when I was pregnant. Chew Chew Bacca remains his favorite.

Last night, we "read" the picture book of Return of the Jedi. There are a lot of words in the book for a kid his age, so I just gave him the highlights, with lots of sound effects ("beep!" "Yub, yub!") and spent lots of time talking about Chewie and Yoda, who he also loved. Han Solo, by the way, is "Chew Chew Bacca friend" and the Falcon is "Chew Chew Baccca spaceship."

Jack was also fascinated by Jabba. He told Steve this morning all about the book. ("Yoda nigh-nigh," "Chew Chew Bacca help Han. Han Chew Chew Bacca friend") He also told Steve repeatedly that Jabba is "not nice" and claims that, in addition to keeping Han frozen in carbonite, humiliating Leia, and trying to throw everybody to the Sarlac, that Jabba bit his finger.

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and I do have some treats for my tiny little cupid. Steve and I have a card for him with a tiger on it, and I'm going to get him a balloon with either Dora or Elmo on it. And best of all, we have a Chew Chew Bacca action figure for him. It's a big one, so it's safe for him to play with. Jack's Uncle Dan gave it to him when he just two months old, and I've had it packed away for him. I told Dan about this, and of course, he was thrilled. Dan said that people might have laughed at him for buying an action figure for an infant, but he knew our boy would need him.

Creativity

One of the things that I am love, love, loving about Jack lately is that he is getting to be so creative. He and I decorated sugar cookies last week (I should post photos of the delightful sugary mess), and it was great to see the many color combinations of sprinkles that he put together. Naturally, he's a kid, and one of the Immutable Laws of Kid-dom is More Sprinkles Is Better, but to combine blue, purple, pink, and hearts on a pink cookie? Gorgeous.

A few nights ago, Jack got out his book-blocks and started carefully lining them up in a long line. He told us that it was a choo-choo train and "no touch." Never have we shown him how to make blocks into a train; he came up with this himself. Then, he dismantled his train and grabbed some utensils from his kitchen. The choo-choo was now pizza, which he served to us. Oh, but it was hot, so he had to blow on it before we could eat it. In Jack's vast collection of plastic food, he actually has pizza, but he didn't go get it, preferring to pretend with the blocks. Very cool.

Jack also loves pretending to be various animals. His favorites seem to be the frog -- lots of jumping -- and the horse, which involves vigorous gallopping.

I was then talking to Steve about how imaginative Jack has been lately. Steve added that Jack shows lots of creativity, imagination, and pretending with Roary. He talks to Roary, Roary answers him, he feeds Roary crackers, and so on. All of this, Steve said, is developmentally important, and something that the kids he works with often don't display. He's right of course... but because I'm a wee bit nuts, I consider talking to your stuffed animals to be completely normal.

The Big Love

No, not those fun-loving cult members on HBO, but rather a novel by Sarah Dunn. My mom got me this book for Christmas, part of a stack that she got for pennies at a yard sale, and I was casting around looking for something to read and picked this up.

The Big Love is chick lit, good for beach reading, and took me a whopping two days to get through. But there are definitely levels of chick lit. This one is about a million times better than, say, Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons or any of the Shopaholic books, but not quite to the levels of Jennifer Weiner or Marian Keyes.

The story is pretty typical. Alison gets dumped hard by her boyfriend Tom, who goes out to buy mustard for a dinner party, then calls her and says that he's in love with somebody else and never comes back. She even works as a columnist, as all heroines in these books have something to do with writing or publishing. But what makes Alison interesting is her background. She grew up an Evangelical Christian, which means that she certainly does not have a Sex and the City kind of liberation about sex or relationships. Even though she's more or less abandonded her faith, you can't completely shake all of the things she's grown up with, and she's in a state of panic about the prospect of never getting married that is a lot more complex and believably coming from her than from other heroines in books like this. She is also very flawed, one of the most neurotic people you'll see, and you can really understand why Tom went running away from her. She's not a total victim and he's not a complete ass. The result is engaging and at times quite funny. This was Sarah Dunn's first novel, and I look forward to reading more from her.

Ultimate X-Men Volume 6

When I posted my last write-up of a comic, I had responses from not one, but two fabulous readers. Super cool. So, here is another write up of my latest comic reading. I got Ultimate X-Men, Volume 6 in the same gorgeous hardcover format as the latest Spidey I read. It's by Brian K. Vaughn, and he completely rocks. BKV writes some of my favorite books -- Ex Machina and Y: The Last Man. The guy really knows how to tell a story. Per Marvel mandates, he writes in arcs, so as to be trade-friendly, but he also makes sure something happens in each and every issue. His stuff works both in trades and monthly, which is apparently no small feat.

There were some great stories in this arc. There was a story about Charles Xavier, rarely featued in anything other than an advisory role, foiling a bank robbery -- and showing signs of having a bigger agenda than many of his students are aware of. And a story between Rogue and Gambit, a couple that I'm not really in love with, that completely engaged me. But the big story -- one involving both the X-Men and a group of students from a rival school lead by Emma Frost -- totally rocked. I absolutely loved this book, no misgivings at all.

Saving Face

Since the Great Food Crackdown of 2007, Jack's snack of choice has been cereal bars. They're reasonably healthy, plus it's convenient to just hand him one to eat before school. For whatever reason, Jack prefers to have the cereal bar partially in the wrapper. The one time I unwrapped it completely and handed it to him, he completely wigged out. There's typically no logic to be found in the world of a two-year old.

Yesterday, he asked for his morning cereal bar, and let me tell you, I could not get that thing to him fast enough. As I reached into the pantry for it, Jack got impatient and had a semi-fake tantrum about it. His new technique is to get face down on the floor, but it's like he read in a book that that's how you have a tantrum, because he totally phones it in. He doesn't throw himself to the floor screaming. He more gently and carefully arranges himself on the floor. It's like when we play "Ring Around the Rosy." When I fall down, I don't really fall so much as carefully move to the floor.

He got up off of the floor when I handed him the cereal bar, but when I offered to open it for him, he said, "No, Mommy. Mommy no eat. Mommy no bite. Roary no eat." Then he took it and ran into a corner, shrieking, "Noooo!"

Fine. I could wait that out, because no way could he open the thing himself and would soon come crawling back to me.

In the corner, Jack struggled with the wrapper. I could hear him getting more and more frustrated, but every time I offered to help, I was met with a resounding, "Nooo!"

Eventually, I guess he gave up, because he came over to me, holding the still wrapped cereal bar. Jack surely didn't want to ask me for help, especially after he'd refused me, and perhaps because he was convinced that treacherous Mommy would steal his precious bar and eat it all for herself. He needed to save face, and he also needed someone loyal, someone he could trust.

Jack held out the cereal bar and said, "Ro open. Ro help."

"You want Roary to open the cereal bar?"

"Yep."

Roary eagerly ripped open the wrapper and handed it to Jack. "Thank you, Ro," Jack said, and happily ate the cereal bar.

In other news, remember the blue cupcakes from Wednesday? Well, yesterday, ever single kid in Jack's class had technicolor poop as a result of those things. Jack's hiney is now stained blue. Lovely.

Gift Bags

Steve and I went to pick Jack up from school this evening, and quickly got hints that it was going to be a wild ride. For starters, Renee, one of the directors told us, "Your son is a Smurf." Why? Because today was Nicholas's birthday, and he brought cupcakes with royal blue, Smurf-hued icing. And Jack proceeded to spread said icing all over his face and hands. That icing tinted his skin.


"He had fun," Renee continued, "And he has a gift bag that he can't wait to get his hands on."

Gift bag? Oh, no.


Every once in a while, a kid in Jack's class has a birthday. They bring cupcakes, which is cool, but they also bring these crappy little plastic gift bags. In the gift bags are crappy little items that Jack becomes hideously obsessed with. It's about 75 cents worth of junk that makes me want to drink about $20 worth of wine. As soon as he gets his hands on one, I am plotting when I can divert his attention and throw the damned thing away.

This particular gift bag contained a lollypop, a small notepad (which apparently Jack needs to jot down ideas for the story he's writing for the school paper?), a Thomas the Tank Engine noisemaker, and a superball.

Jack ate the lollypop on the way home, making his hands sticky, in addition to being blue. He then spent a tremendous amount of time taking the stuff in and out of his gift bag. If only his success matched his determination, because he repeatedly couldn't get it to work, prompting him to whine and cry. He then likes to rip the plastic bag into little shreds, getting pissed when static electricity makes them stick to his hands. Usually the noisemaker gets all slobbery, rendering it a useless pile of cardboard pulp.


Today's superball rendered the gift bag even more of a problem than usual. I hate to be the kind of person who complains about this stuff, but a superball is a freaking choking hazard. Jack popped it into his mouth, and I confiscated it, causing a huge screaming tantrum fit. I was about ready to join him, though as Jack wailed, "Baaaalll!" I was going to wail, "Damn you, Nicholas's mommy!"

The good news is that I got the bag away and threw it in the trash before Jack became best friends forever with it. Roary also enjoyed the icing.

And Jack's dinner of tomato soup combined with his blue flesh to make a very interesting hue.

Are You My Mother?

It seems that Jack's discovery of the Secret Hidden Backup Roaries had more of an impact than we initially thought. Luckily, he is not demanding more Roaries. But Roary has suddenly become very interested in mommies and daddies. Roary sees his mommy and daddy all over the place.

Every night when we read Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See, Roary gets very excited when we come to the page with the purple cat, declaring, "Mommy Daddy!" He did the same thing when he saw pictures of both tabby cats and tigers in Jack's animal picture book. And when Steve was home with Jack, Roary told him that Jack's Fisher Price lion was his daddy.

I don't think that Jack is traumatized by the appearance and disappearance of "Ro Daddy." I prefer to think that Jack really loves his mommy and daddy and wants his best buddy to have the same thing.

Ultimate Spider-Man Volume 6

That's right, babies: I read stuff other than novels. Most recently, I read the sixth hardcover volume of Ultimate Spider-Man by Brian Michael Bendis and Mark Bagely.

I absolutely love reading comics in this format. The book is larger than a comic, so the art really pops. The paper is nice, and the quality is great. And since Bendis writes in story arcs, rather than individual issues, this is an appealing way to read his stories.

This book was kind of a mixed bag. The first story was about Carnage, a Spidey villian made up of Peter Parker's spider-altered DNA. The most notable part of this story is that it features the death of Gwen Stacy. Gwen Stacy's death in the normal Marvel Universe was a watershed moment, a kind of end of innocence. The same was the case, I thought, for this story. I really wasn't expecting Gwen to die, at least not like this, and the result was horrifying.

Disappointingly, though, Bendis skipped out on the aftermath of Gwen's death and its affect on Peter Parker. The next issue skips several months in the future, so We never really see how Peter reacts to Gwen's death. What should be a pivotal moment in his life is seriously glossed over.

In fact, the remaining issues in the book are really a lot of fun, focusing on guest appearances from Wolverine, The Ultimates, Dr. Strange, and the Human Torch. They are enjoyable (with a sad misfire of an ending to the otherwise fun Wolverine story), but I really felt like Bendis should have shown us Peter's mourning to a greater extent. He had the meat-- Gwen's death -- and skipped right to the dessert.

Still, this was an enjoyable read. I have the next volume on my bookshelf and will undoubtedly dive into it soon.

The Great Food Crackdown of 2007

Jack is a typical toddler in his eating habits. That is to say, they are random and very limited. Jack might pound down chicken and rice as fast as he can one day, then refuse to eat it the next. And unless you count frozen waffles as a vegetable, Jack really doesn't eat vegetables.

We have had enough.

Steve and I recently initiated The Great Food Crackdown of 2007. We cleaned out the pantry of junk like crackers and yogos. Now if Jack wants a snack, he can pretty much either have fruit or a cereal bar -- that's about as junky as it gets. We are now making an effort for all of us to have the same thing for dinner. Because I don't want to eat nothing but yogurt and because Jack doesn't want to leap into the magical world of roasted red peppers and the like, I'm trying my best to find some middle ground.

Here are our new policies:
1. Goldfish and Yogos are "all gone." Until Jack learns to eat a little more normally, they are not an option.
2. All snacks are healthy.
3. The three of us will all eat the same thing at meals, or at least close to it. For example, if we were having pork chops and baked potatoes, Jack would get the potato and chicken nuggets.
4. Jack will have something new offered to him, but with old standbys as backup. The other night, I made a FABULOUS butternut squash risotto with a side of broccoli. Jack got that, along with a yogurt. I bet you can guess what he ate, but hey -- I'm going to keep trying.

The good news is, we've already found some new foods for him. Jack loves tomato soup, chicken soup (particularly if the noodles are shaped like letters or Dora), grapes, dried tropical fruit (pineapple, mango, and papaya), Craisins, rice, and quesadillas. Here's hoping we get something green on the list soon.

In other, more adorable news, Jack has learned how to say (drumroll) COFFEE! The other morning, Steve was getting him dressed. Jack started talking about his day, saying, "Jack eat waffles. Jack milk. Mommy coffee. Coffee hot."

Self Help

Self help books have never really been my thing, but here I am, having just finished two of them. The books are The Speed Trap and Slowing Down to the Speed of Life. I didn't go out and buy them myself -- they were a Christmas gift from my boss, which is actually a fine example of how supportive she can be. The books promise ways to help you simplify and slow down a fast-paced and stressful life. I actually found several things in them that I think will ultimately help me.

The books are based on a philosophy called Psychology of Mind, which sounds totally Tom Cruise crazy to me, so I'm going to gloss over that part and focus on their main messages, which are:

• To recognize negativity and stress as just thoughts
• To learn to think not just analytically, but also in "free flowing mode."
• To live in the moment

Let's look at these one by one. Everybody experiences stressful situations and feelings. But how stressful things are and how much they affect you can really depend on your point of view. I am making an effort now if, for example, I'm stuck in traffic, not to focus on how it sucks and I'm going to be late. I accept that there's nothing I can do about it, find some soothing music to listen to, and focus on enjoying that, rather than freaking out about the craziness around me. It really works, new age-y as it sounds. Similarly, I recently had a conflict with someone who was being really unreasonable. At one point in our argument, that person stormed off, refusing to talk to me, and saying, "Don't worry about it. Just whatever." I thought, "You know what? I won't worry about it." The thing that person was upset about had nothing to do with me. I don't want to let someone else's bad mood bring me down, so I decided really and truly to take her sarcastic comment to heart and not worry about it. It was a weight off my shoulders, to be honest. I'm now trying, when I start to experience stress (or what the books call "a low mood" to change the course of my thinking and help myself get out of it. I've been a lot less short-tempered since I started doing this.

"Free flowing mode" is something that I think will really help me at work. Ever notice how you can sit and stew over a problem, come up with nothing, only to have something pop into your head while you're in the shower? That's because when you put that problem on the back burner, your brain will work away at it, and you'll come up with a creative solution. Taking an analytical approach will be less successful. I've already started incorporating that philosophy into our brainstorming sessions at work, and it's really going well for us. On Friday, we spent a few minutes talking about a project we're going to do. We agreed on the analytical facts -- budget, timeline, audience, etc -- and then just let it go. Yesterday, we reconvened, and had not one, but two great and workable ideas to use. You have to trust in your own talents and creativity and be confident that you'll work things out. It seems that it actually works.

Finally, living in the moment really makes life more enjoyable. The night before last, Jack woke up at 10:00 absolutely freaking out. He was sobbing and would not go back to sleep, then conned us into letting him go downstairs, where he sat with me while I wrote my Apprentice recap, then scored a bonus episode of Elmo. We put him to bed again, and he kept crying and did not want to go to sleep.

I started to get really stressed out. Was Jack sick? Did he have an ear infection? Because if he did, he'd either not get antibiotics and have to tough it out, or he'd get them and have his horrible babboon butt diaper rash. And I'd have to stay home with him the next day, because Steve had a full schedule of meetings. That meant I'd be up with him all night, which meant I'd be home with a sick kid and cranky myself because of lack of sleep, and I was out a day and a half from work last week, and...

Then I realized those were all negative thoughts. Just thoughts, not reality. None of that stuff had happened, and if it did, I'd deal with it. Instead of focusing on all the crazy mind races, I decided to focus just on that moment. I pulled Jack onto my lap, helped him get comfortable, and rocked him. If I started to think about how long it would take him to fall asleep, and when I could quit rocking him, I made myself stoop and just enjoy cuddling with my sweet little guy. In that moment, if I didn't think about the next day or any possible consequences, snuggling with Jack and kissing his little head was wonderful. I didn't feel stressed out; I felt happy and peaceful. Jack relaxed too and fell fast asleep, and when I crawled into bed, I did the same thing. And you know what? He slept just fine the rest of the night and was in a great and healthy mood the next day. All of those things I'd been worried about were just thoughts.

This has turned into a long entry, but I have to say, I'm happy I read these two books. I intend to learn from them, and I think it'll be really good for me.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Big crisis at Stately Wasser Manor yesterday. As my faithful readers know, Jack absolutely adores Roary, his stuffed tiger/security object/BFF. I secretly have four Roaries, so when one needs to be washed, one of his bretheren is ready to fill in. Jack doesn't know that there are more tigers... or at least he didn't. Imagine my surprise when I went downstairs and found this:



Me: Uh-oh.
Steve: I know.
Me: What happened?
Steve: He followed me into the laundry room and spotted the second one. I had to give it to him; I had no choice.
Me: I understand. What did he do?
Steve: He was delighted, and the two tigers immediately started talking to each other. I don't know about what, but one of them seems to be Daddy.

Jack proceeded to carry the two tigers around, happy as could be. I tried to sneak one out of the crib during his nap, but Jack woke up and caught me as I was coming in the room. I was able to remove a tiger when he was distracted. Of course, he later noticed its absence. Jack asked, "Where Ro Daddy?" I deliberately misunderstood and told him where both Roary and Daddy were. He seems to have accepted that Roary's daddy was just visiting.


In other news, it finally snowed! One benefit of the weather being so warm for so long was that I was able to get tremendous bargains on snow gear. I got Jack a pair of boots and a pair of snow bibs for a mere $13 at Target. Jack was so excited about the prospect of playing outside that he was actually willing to put on all this stuff without wailing and fighting me. That's always a plus. I spent a lot of time talking about his new boots as he got ready, so as we were about to step outside, Jack smiled at me and said, "Mommy Dora." I immediately got what he was talking about and asked, "Mommy is Dora and you're Boots?" Jack was so pleased that I understood him. He gave me a cheerful "Yep" and danced like a monkey all the way outside. He spent a lot of time running around saying, "Snow!" Then he joined Ryan, our three-year-old neighbor, in a toddler snowball fight. That is, they'd each scoop up a handfull of snow (which was totally powdery and would't pack if they knew how) and yell, "Snowball" and fling it in each other's general direction. This was good fun for quite a while. Then Jack made the mistake of removing his mittens and picking up a handful of snow. The cold upset him, and we'd been out for a while, so it was time to go inside.

Once inside, Jack learned something that every kid should know. That is, after you play outside in the snow, your mommy will make you hot chocolate. He loved it.

Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons

I probably can’t be fair to this book right now. Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons is an entertaining bit of fluff. It’s beach reading, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Unfortunately, since I’d just read The Time Traveler’s Wife, it’s fluff felt a little too fluffy for me. It was like eating filet mignon and having cotton candy for dessert.

The book follows the decades long friendship of Slip, Faith, Audrey, Merit, and Kari, who are the members of a book club called Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons (AHEB for short). The characters, though likeable enough, lack depth. There’s the spunky one, the one with the secret past, the sexy one, the beautiful one, and the maternal one, and not a whole lot of nuance beyond that shorthand.

The women have problems and challenges to overcome, but those problems get solved in an awfully tidy way. Kari confesses to her adopted daughter Julia that her birth mother is Kari’s niece, Mary Jo. Julia is upset by the deception and doesn’t talk to her mother for months, filling her with anguish. That anguish, though mostly happens off camera, and the two of them work it out with little fanfare. More egregiously, Merit is abused by her husband, but having her friends witness one time what she’s put up with for years is all it takes to make her decide to get out of her marriage. It’s all a little too simple.

This book read like countless other books I’ve read about women with long friendships and offered nothing new. In a month, I’ll have forgotten all about it.

Mess? Yes!

Mary P. recently wrote about "Mrs. Immaculate," who threw a fit any time her son completed a day of daycare looking anything less than picture perfect. I think that's absolutely ridiculous. If you want your kid to have a chance to explore, to be curious, to LEARN, not to mention to have fun, they're going to get messy in the process.

Last night, Steve looked at Jack's sneakers, and they painted a picture of exactly what he'd been up to that day. The bottoms were coated in a sticky mix of Play-Doh and rice. We laughed about it and agreed that it looked like Jack had a great day. This morning, I shared that story with Ms. Marzia, one of Jack's new teachers. She said that they have the kids help make Play-Doh, and that they get even messier on that day. I think that's so cool.

Jack doesn't own a single article of clothing that can't be thrown in the washing machine, and that includes even his dressiest outfits. I remember back before I had the Cublet, I was shopping with my mom. She held up a tiny white dress, embroidered with blue flowers. It was beautiful, but, I said, any child of mine would immediately get chocolate ice cream right on that pretty little dress.

In other news, now that I've been at this Mommying gig for two years, I feel a lot more confident and competent than I did before. Sure, Jack will throw me for a loop every now and then, but my 2006 New Year's Resolution that I am in charge and know what I'm doing is proving true. This morning, I woke Jack up and found his face and sheets smeared in blood. He'd had a bloody nose in the night.

I think in the first year or so, this would have really worried me. I'd have called his doctor, looked up nosebleeds in at least two books, done a Google search, and posted a missive to the Mommy group. But this time, I shrugged, figured it was because he's got a cold and the air is dry, and washed his face. If he keeps getting nosebleeds, then I'll worry about it, but I don't think this is any big deal. It's nice to feel competent.

Getting Dressed

Me: Okay, Jack. Time to put on your shirt.
Jack: Noo!
Me: Come on, Cub. Put on your shirt and we'll go bye bye.
Jack: Noooo!
Roary: I'll wear the shirt. It looks nice.
Me: Roary, you can't wear Jack's shirt!
Jack (laughing): Ro!
Roary: It's going to look good.
(Roary puts on Jack's shirt)
Me: Oh, Roary. Oh, no.
Roary: What? It's nice?
Me: Jack, come look at this.
Jack: Too big, Ro.
Me: Jack, do you want to put on the shirt?
Jack: Yep.

I can then repeat this little scene over and over again for each and every article of clothing. It sure would be easier if that little nutball would just let me get him dressed, but at least "too big, Ro" works.

The Time Traveler's Wife

I'm in two book clubs right now. That's a lot of reading, which is fine because I read fast and read a lot. It also means that I wind up reading books that I might not have picked up otherwise. Sometimes, that's not a good thing. In my brief membership in what I called the Everybody's Mormon But Me book club, I read two books and hated both of them. But usually, I read books that I absolutely love and might not have grabbed off the shelves otherwise.

I might well have read The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger, and I'm glad that my Bad Genious Book Club picked it so I would. It was an absolutely beautiful story that I can't stop thinking about.

Henry is the time traveler of the title, and Claire is the wife. Henry has a genetic disorder (explained in adequate, but not boring detail) that causes him to travel back and forth in time, usually during times of stress. He can't control when he time travels or where he goes, but he tends to go to places or to meet people who are important to him. As a result, he travels frequently to meet Claire, his future wife.

The first time Claire meets Henry, she is six and he is in his forties. They have clandestine meetings throughout Claire's childhood and adolescence, and Claire falls in love with him. Henry, however, doesn't meet Claire until he's 28 and Claire is 20. It is fascinating to see how time folds in on itself. In the earlier meetings, Henry knows much about their future; in later meetings, Claire does.

The book made me think a lot about free will. Henry has discovered that you cannot change your past. His mother dies horribly in a car accident, and Henry time travels repeatedly to that scene, but finds himself powerless to change it. But does Claire have free will? If she hadn't known from an early age that she'd end up marrying Henry, would she have asked him out when she meets him at 20? If she hadn't known that one of the most trying periods of their life would turn out well, would she have handled it differently? If Henry hadn't told her that as an adult, she loves coffee with cream and sugar, would she have?

There are, of course, elements of science fiction to the book, but first and foremost, it is a love story. Claire is a Penelope, waiting for her traveller to return to her, and Henry is Odysseus, trying desperately to get to her. How they make their unusual lives work is a real testament to their love.

I can't wait for book club discussion to begin. In the meantime, Steve is reading the book and I am loving talking about it with him. This was a great start to 2007's reading.

Hey, Mickey!

Steve and I made the bold move today of taking Jack to Chuck E. Cheese for the first time. Would it be a morning of family fun? Or would it be a hell of tantrums that we paid a small fortune for? We were brave enough to find out.

When we pulled up to the restaurant, Jack spotted the picture of Mr. Charles E. Cheese and delightedly shouted, "Mickey!" The kid is obviously going to be a blast when we go to Disney World this fall. Inside, we headed to the small toddler-geared section in the back. Toddler World was made up mainly of the kind of rides that I remember going on in the mall for 10 cents. You know - sit on the horsey, be gently rocked back and forth. Jack was a big fan of that, in particular the one featuring a purple dinosaur who shall not be named (at least it wasn't the Teletubbies one).

He then checked out a toddler version of Wack-A-Mole, several other little kid games, and had a great time watching the other kids play. He especially enjoyed trying to put his tickets (oh yeah, we were big winners, and if we do as well next time, we can redeem our tickets for a pack of Smarties) into all of the machines. He loved the merry go round best of all, riding it about seven times.

The place truly is like a kid Vegas, with risk of sensory overload everywhere. At one point, we were thisclose to a tantrum. Jack handed me his tickets, and like a fool, I took them. He then proceeded to say, "MINE!" and was about to cry. I got down to his level and said, "It's okay, Jack," and I could see in his face that he was about to lose it but really, really didn't want to. I picked him up and asked if he needed a break, and he nodded and said, "Yep."

In a stroke of luck, that's exactly when our pizza was ready. We had a table in a relatively quiet corner, and amazingly enough, Jack ate incredibly well. He had a ton of pizza, as well as several chunks of melon. I remember when he was a baby, I didn't ever feed him in a room with a ceiling fan, because who can eat with that kind of excitment around? We have come a long way.

After we finished eating, Chuck E. Cheese himself came out to make the rounds. Jack cried, "Mickey!" and we went to say hi to him. Jack gave the mouse a high five and probably baffled the guy by saying, "Hi, Mickey." With that, it was time to go. Amazingly, Jack did not have a tantrum, as we repeatedly told him that Mickey went bye bye.

In the car, Jack was still thrilled about this amazing experience he'd just had. He kept saying, "Mickey! Pizza! Neigh! Mickey bye bye!" Then, he made every cent we spent worth it by saying (unprompted), "Tank oo, Mama. Tank oo, Daddy."

So Long, Sippies...

One of the advantages to being a bad mommy and sending my kid to daycare is that I don't have to spearhead every single transition Jack makes. As I mentioned earlier this week, Jack is currently making the transition to the big exciting world of Group 3. He's been spending a little more time there every day, and it seems to be going really well. When I ask him if he likes it, he says, "Yep," and "More Amy," since I told him that he'll be seeing his friend Amy more often. (I think that Jack likes Amy because of her resemblance to Dora the Explorer.) The teachers say that he is happy there, even comforting another kid who was crying. And this morning, a squeaky voiced Roary said that he likes it too. All good news.

I was a little worried, though, that things would be done differently over there. They have real tables and chairs, not the chairs attached to tables thing that his current room has. That's no big deal, since Jack shunned the high chair a few months ago. My biggest concern was about naps. I got the good news this morning that Group 3 also takes naps at noon, "long naps," according to the teacher. The only change besides the tables, she told me, is that they don't use sippy cups any more. They can hang onto them for a few weeks, but then it's time for a regular cup.

Jack can drink out of a regular cup. He's been able to for quite a while, actually. The problem is that Jack enjoys taking a few swigs out of the cup, then pouring the rest on the floor. I cannot tell you how delighted I am that someone else can help me break him of this habit.

Defending Angelina

Angelina Jolie, bless her heart (which my friend Jon correctly figured out is a disclaimer that allows you to say anything bad about someone, such as “She doesn’t have the sense God gave a rock, bless her heart) needs to be careful what she says. Recently, she told UK Elle this:

"I think I feel so much more for Madd and Zee because they're survivors, they came through so much. Shiloh seemed so privileged from the moment she was born. I have less inclination to feel for her...I met my other kids when they were 6 months old, they came with a personality. A newborn really is this...Yes, a blob! But now she's starting to have a personality...I'm conscious that I have to make sure I don't ignore her needs, just because I think the others are more vulnerable."

As you can probably imagine, people have a lot to say about it, most of it pretty negative. Lotta from Mom-O-Matic (who is awesome and funny and I have nothing but respect for) says this:

“Mostly, I don't like that her children are being assigned status within the family. Love is love, is love, is love.”

I get where she’s coming from, and I can understand why people are up in arms about this statement. But the thing is this:

Angelina Jolie, I get you.

Angelina Jolie has three kids. One of them is gorgeous, white, and American and was born to ridiculously wealthy parents. The other two she saved from orphanages in third world countries. When your own tiny baby is born, it’s obvious that said tiny baby really needs you. But you might feel even more need when you see a baby in Africa or Cambodia who needs you. Maddox and Zahara needed her in totally different ways than Shiloh does.

It’s not like she doesn’t love Shiloh, it’s just that she loves her differently from her other kids. I think the same would be the case if you had two kids, one who had a disability and the other who didn’t. Obviously, you’d love them both. But you’d feel like the kid with the disability needed you more, or at least in different, clearer ways. You would have to make an effort to give the kid without a disability as much love and attention, since his needs would seem less immediate.

And the other thing? A newborn baby kind of is a blob. For the first several months, you’re not getting much out of that kid other than dirty diapers and crying. No smiles, no laughing, to say nothing of the joy that is a Flying Tackle hug while yelling, “Mama!” You do spend lots of time marveling over the tiny fingers and toes, and just staring at this amazing creature who is now yours. That’s wonderful. But there really is something special about the time when they’re able to give something back to you.

I’m sure it will come as a great comfort to Angelina Jolie that I am on her side. Give me a call, Ange, and we’ll go out and be sexy together while Brad and Steve stay home with the kids.

Definitely My Kid

When Jack was first born, he looked nothing like me at all. He was a tiny, miniature Steve, and frankly, I did not appreciate it one bit. I don't recall Steve retching for several months, having pain in his siatic nerve, or developing giant purple stripes on his butt. Nor do I recall him experiencing several days of labor pains or having this child sliced out of his body. But whatever; I happen to think Steve is a pretty good looking guy, so having two of them around is not such a bad thing.

But as Jack's gotten older, he is starting to look more like a mix between us. His eyes are blue like Steve's, but the shape is the same as mine. He also has my nose, and sometimes when I look at him the right way, he reminds me of my brother, who of course resembles me.

But even more importantly, there are things he does that make it very clear that he's not just a Mini Steve, but that he's got lots of his mom in him. There is his tendency to sweat like a male member of the Green family (sorry about that Jack, but at least you escaped the eyebrows). His love for all things created by Jim Henson (Sesame Street, Muppets, Fraggles, etc) is definitely from his mommy.

But even better, he has recently developed a habit -- no, a skill -- that is all me. And that is... making his stuffed animals talk. When I was a kid, each and every one of my stuffed animals had a name (and not some punk name like "Teddy" or "Kitty") and its own distinct voice. Jack is moving in the same direction. Frog Rattle has a deep grown. Big Bird (pronounced "Bi-dah") moves his beak to say hi to Jack. And Roary has more to say than any of the others. Sometimes Roary just nods his approval, but now he also talks, in a voice even higher than Jack's. This morning, Roary was apparently very interested in the story we were reading, pointing to pictures on the page and saying, "That's a cow" and "Baby Deer."

This is definitely my kid

It's a Boy

I'm trying to get better about writing up books that I've read. Steve asked me how many books I read in 2006, and I had no idea. He, of course, has a tidy little list, and that's part of what I intended this to be. So, without further ado...

I recently finished It's a Boy: Women Writers on Raising Sons. As you can guess from the title it is essays written by women who are, um, raising sons. There have been many times when I've watched Jack run around the house like a maniac yelling, "RAAARRR!" when I have wondered if things might be different around here if we had a girl. It's not like I encouraged him to run around roaring rather than sitting quietly. Well, the women who contributed to this book tend to be liberal women like me who don't want any gender stereotypes anywhere near our kids. If our boys want to play with dolls or wear pink feather boas in dress up, that's fine and we'll support them. But despite these open-minded attitudes, many of the women found that their boys were... boys. Instead of being accepting of their sons' desire to play with dolls, they had to accept their desire to not play with dolls.

Makes you wonder if the differences between boys and girls aren't all gender typing by society, but if there are some inherent differences. Sure, the fact that it is nearly impossible to buy an outfit for a baby boy that is not blue and does not have trucks, sports equipment, or tools on it contributes in part to this, but I think if we raised these kids in the wild, away from the influence of Carter's, there would still be behavior on the spectrum that we expect.

The essays were funny, sad, heartbreaking, and just plain interesting. I'd recommend this to all of my fellow Mothers of Boys.

Jack Wasser, Boy Genius

I’m going to ignore some brat-tastic behavior that Jack engaged in over the weekend and focus on the really good stuff. The boy does tend to occasionally act… like a two-year-old… but you know what? I still really like the guy.

On Friday, we got the news from daycare that Jack is, as we put it, Going To The Show. That is, he’s moving up to the big exciting world of Group 3, where they sit at little chairs that are not attached to the table, speak in sentences, and sometimes even do fancy things like use toilets. I think he’s ready for the change (well, not the toilet part, but the rest is good), and I’m happy to hear that his friend Hannah is probably going to make the move with him. It’ll be good for Jack to have a buddy.

Now that Jack is on his fantastic kick of using more and more words, I have been amazed at some of the stuff he’s been able to say. Recently, he picked up his copy of My Oh My Oh Dinosaurs and started “reading” it. That is, he’d point to the picture and say the last word on the page: Happy! Sad! Good! Bad! If he couldn’t actually say the word, he’d at least use the exact inflections that I do when I read it. The kid has apparently been listening to me all this time (mental note: must be careful about the swearing). Even more amazingly, he can count to ten. I have to get him started, but if I count two of the ducks or sheep on the page, he’ll fill in the rest of the numbers. So cool!

Yesterday, he and I started a class called Giggles and Wiggles that’s offered at a local rec center. It’s a lot like Gymboree or My Gym, but because it’s offered by the county, it’s $7 a class as opposed to $20. Jack was the youngest kid in the class, but he was also the least shy and most confident. The other kids either clung to their parents or hid in a corner crying, while Jack happily hopped like a frog, sang “Itsy Bitsy Spider,” or enthusiastically fluttered theh parachute. Now, I know that my kid isn’t going to be the valedictorian of Giggles and Wiggles or anything, but I can’t help but be proud of how self-assured he is, how willing he is to play with new people and try new things.

I am really thrilled about the improved talking. I can now kind of have a conversation with him, at least more than I used to. Last night we were at the gas station, and he kept pointing and saying “Choo choo.” I finally figured out that he was pointing to a big silver truck that was full of gas. I said, “That does look like a choo choo train, but it is a truck. It’s delivering gas to the gas station.” Jack shook his head and said, “Is no a choo choo, Mama. Is truck.” Can’t argue with that.

In Which Betsy Reluctantly Enters the Mommy Wars

So, last week I was hanging out with the Wondercub at playgroup, having a rare and delightful Friday off of work. One mom was talking to another, and I wasn’t really paying attention until I heard her raise her voice slightly to give a sort of disclaimer.

She said that everybody does things differently for their families, and that’s fine. That maybe, for example, cosleeping is okay for you, but I don’t want to do it. And that for her, not staying home with your kids was totally not okay. Not that she was judging.

Except that she absolutely was.

She went on to say that it seems totally unreasonable to her to leave her kids in daycare when they’re too young to express themselves. After all, a baby can’t tell you if someone is hurting her, so by putting your child in daycare, you are potentially putting an innocent in harm’s way. Why would you work when you’ve got these precious children at home? To her, that’s unimaginable… not that there was anything wrong with that for other people.

I realized that her “I’m not judging” disclaimer was directed at me, since at the time, I was the only woman in the room who works outside the home. I was there to have a good time, so I ignored it, but inside, I was seething.

I worked very hard to find a supportive, loving, and nurturing environment for Jack to go to every day. And don’t just hand Jack off and race off in the morning. I’m a presence there. I spend a few minutes chatting with the directors and his teachers. I know all of the teachers in his classroom, as well as most of the kids. I play with Jack at school for a few minutes before I leave. Steve does the same thing in the evening. And we drop by unexpectedly, just to spy on him through the windows. If anything untoward were happening, I would know.

I also think there are tremendous advantages to having Jack in daycare. Although he doesn’t have an siblings, he has a host of other kids to play with and to be forced to share toys with. One of his teachers speaks Spanish to him all day, so he can say several words in a foreign language. Even more importantly, I think it’s wonderful that Jack knows that there are more than two people (Mommy and Daddy) who can take care of him. He’s a lot more independent as a result.

And why do I work when I have this precious child? I don’t have a high powered career, nor do I make piles and piles of money. I do love my job and find it fulfilling, but that’s not the primary reason I get up early and drive to work every day. It’s so that I can afford little luxuries like a house, diapers, and groceries. It must be lovely to have the choice to stay home with your kids, but it’s unfair to assume that everyone has that same choice. It would be great if all children had a parent who could devote themselves to their full-time care, but if only people who could afford that had kids, that would leave out a lot of very good parents.

I’m sure the other mom didn’t mean to be as critical of my choices, but she was. I hate the concept of “The Mommy Wars.” Parenting is a tough job, and working moms and stay at home moms have more alike than they’re different. As women, we need to support our sisters, not tear down their choices to rationalize our own.

Catching Up, Part 2: Christmas

I was loving and sympathetic about Jack’s stomach problems on Christmas Eve, but even more so when I found myself experiencing the very same problem. Nooo! The last thing I wanted was to feel sick on Christmas, especially with a house full of family coming. Steve surveyed his pitiful sick family and promised that as an extra gift to me, he’d take care of everything that needed to be taken care of. That of course, is a pretty big gift, especially since we needed to make dinner still. Check us out, looking like hell:



But more importantly, I didn’t want to miss anything. Jack was feeling fine, and I didn’t want to be pathetically stationed in bed or on the couch while he gleefully ripped through all of the presents from Santa. I decided to do my best to get my strength up. I sipped a cup of very weak coffee, then while everyone else dined on chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, I took tiny bites of one of Jack’s Dora The Explorer yogurts. Amazingly, it worked, and I felt okay again.

Jack was thrilled at the piles of presents downstairs, shouting, “Santa!” He’d open a gift, then upon seeing, say, Fisher Price animals, beg, “Abra! Abra!” Then, as I attempted to rip out the freaking vacuum sealed, multiwired creatures from their package, Jack would move on to the next gift, which he also needed someone to abrir.

Big hits from Christmas included the aforementioned little plastic animals, Elmo DVDs, a Sesame Street CD (“Bye bye? Ernie? Duck?”), and, amazingly, a set of flash cards. The flash cards have pictures on them and the corresponding letters of the alphabet. Jack is fascinated by them. We talk about the letters some, but since he’s really working on trying to learn the words for absolutely everything around him, he loves talking about what the pictures are. Thanks to the flash cards, Jack can now say words such as mitten, mouse, yo yo, and zebra. Pretty cool. He also loves shoving the cards into his shape sorter, between the cushions of the couch, and onto his airplane.

The massive amount of presents were a bit intimidating to the Cub, so we took a break midway through so he and Steve could go for a brief walk outside. We also saved some gifts for the next day. No sense in having Christmas magic include a tantrum.

Christmas gets more fun with the kid every year. The first year, Jack’s Christmas included such fun things as his first ever bath, lots of sleeping, and having his dad stumble through diaper changes. Hey, he was only one day old! The next year was a blur of presents and craziness. But this year, I got to hear Jack say, “Santa!” in reverent tones, request Christmas books, and even sing carols (if you count yelling “Hey” during “Jingle Bells” which I obviously do).

Catching up, part 1: Christmas Eve

Inexplicably, my tiny baby boy is now two years old. It is amazing to think of all of the ways he's grown and changed over the past year. A year ago, he'd only been walking for a month and was working out the finer details of not falling on his face. Now he can walk, run, walk using silly steps, jump, climb, and moonwalk. When he was one, he communicated by crying and grunting. Now he's busting out all kinds of words, in English and Spanish, two and three word phrases, and even showing us simple sentences. ("No more nigh-nigh, Daddy. Daddy up.") He developed a fierce loyalty to his stuffed tiger Roary, saw the ocean for the first time, and got to give Elmo a hug at Sesame Place. He can scribble with crayons, sing to himself, dance like a loon, climb into a chair, and eat an astonishing amount of pizza. He can climb up the stairs to the big slide at the playground, then rush down face first. He can indentify most of the things in pictures in his books, and he can even fill in words in books that he reads often. If you ask, "How old is Jack," he gives an enthusiastic, "Two!" Oh, and did I mention that he can fall asleep by himself and sleep all night? Because believe me, that's a big one!

Our celebration of Jack's second birthday didn't go exactly as planned. The poor little man was sick the day before (in spectacular technicolor in front of the entire family) so we decided to take it easy. We spent the day doing Jack's favorite things around the house -- watching Sesame Street, playing, and going to the park. Then he opened his presents. His big present from us was a kitchen, and he absolutely loves it. Jack has since spent many the hours making us fries in his oven, then cutting me off with a "No more fries, Mama."


Although he seemed okay all day, Steve and I decided to play it safe and not go out for pizza for dinner or to Build-A-Bear. I did, however, make Elmo cupcakes for him. Jack absolutely loved his cupcake... right until he threw it up, again in front of everybody.

You've got to admire his tenacity, though: As I grabbed him so we could go upstairs to clean up, Jack said, "More cake?" He's going to be great in college.

Happy birthday, big guy. I love you and am proud of you.

Christmas Miracle

Last night, I witnessed a true Christmas miracle: Jack behaved himself at the grocery store. Below is a picture of the last time that happened, taken in May of 2006. It was a surprise then, too.

Usually, Jack stays home while I go shopping, and we are much better friends because of it. But tonight, there was just no getting around it -- we needed food, and Steve was working late. Armed with bribes and distractions (raisins and Roary), I took the plunge, planning to handle the inevitable whining with a zen-like calm.

Jack immediately selected a car cart and happily started driving and munching on raisins. His interest in the car ended at exactly the same time as he ran out of raisins and he asked to get out. Fine, since by that time we were almost done shopping. He didn't want to sit in the cart, preferring intead to "help" Mommy push the cart.

I was pretty sure it was a bad idea, but hey -- zen-like calm, so I gave it a shot. Surprisingly, that worked out okay. He became very interested in a box of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter, probably because he thought it contained the blueberry muffins printed on it. He then made several attempts to heave large cartons of ricotta cheese into the cart, stopping only when he bumped his head on the cart. I picked him up and gave him kisses, but he stopped crying when Roary took over and roared at the cart, called it a jerk, and kicked it for hurting Jack. I then figured out that he wasn't hinting that I make lasagna, but rather thought the cartons were of yogurt. I let him pick whatever kind he wanted, and naturally he chose the stuff with Boots (and Dora) on it.

Jack astonished me by continuing to behave while I paid for the groceries. For all of this, he was rewarded not only with praise and kisses, but also with dinner from McDonald's. Hey, he earned it!

As I pulled into Donald's, Jack started pointing at the building and enthusiastically saying, "Eat! We eat!" Then he declared, "Fries!" I asked him if he also wanted apples (because, yeah, the apple dippers TOTALLY make a happy meal a healthy choice). "Apple!" he responded enthusiastically. He then chose milk instead of juice, and as we pulled in to the drive through, started a chant of, "Fries! Apple! Milk! Eat!" He gave me a yep in response to my suggestion of chicken. Then he added, "Cake."

Cake?

I told him that he was a silly monkey, that they didn't have cake. I turned around, and he was grinning at me -- he knew he was being funny. We went home and the two of us had a celebration: chicken, fries, apples, and milk for him, wine for me.

Ovations

Yesterday, we took Jack to see Sesame Street Live. I had a conversation not long ago with some other moms about taking your kids to things like this, Wiggles concerts, princesses on ice, and what have you. The debate was whether or not it's worth it. Is it worth the money, the effort, and all for an experience that your kid is not likely to remember?

To me, obviously, it is.

Maybe when Jack is 30, he won't specifically remember going to Sesame Street Live. He won't remember the music, the moment when Bert came out dressed like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, the french fries we ate at intermission, or any of the details. But I do think that he'll come away with certain feelings about his childhood. That mommy and daddy did fun things with him and wanted him to have experiences he'd enjoy. That the three of us did special things together. I think that's important.

The other side of it is that the experience wasn't just about Jack being excited to see Elmo up on stage just a few feet away from him (I got us really good seats). I cannot tell you how happy Steve and I were watching Jack's face when Bert and Ernie came out on stage for the first time. The joy we saw when he stood up and cheered during the finale, the way he yelled, "Hi, Ockers!" every time Oscar's trash can was wheeled out, the way he frantically waved bye bye to each character in turn... all of that made for a really wonderful experience for all three of us.

I-I-O!

Sometimes, you'll hear a song that just speaks to you. You want to listen to it over and over again, learn the lyrics, blast it in the car, sing it in the shower. For me, right now, that song is "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers. For Jack, it's "Old McDonald."

Jack loves "Old McDonald" beyond all reason. When he plays with his barn or tractor, he'll happily arrange the animals, singing, "I-I-O!" to himself. Steve's parents got him some CDs of kid music. He isn't interested in listening to "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt." He just wants me to skip to "I-I-O."

Even more, Jack wants Steve and me to sing him the song pretty much all the time. In the bathtub, after dinner, and especially in the car. He'll say, "I-I-O?" and request specific verses: "Ernie?"

That's right, Ernie. There are a lot more characters living on our farm than just cows, pigs, and horses. Considering how often we have to sing the song, Steve and I have decided to get creative. Jack's favorite is Ernie, who he always insists be followed by Bert, then duck, for Rubber Duckie. Roary likes to sing along with the tigers on the farm. Steve added Santa Claus, and because we're very mature, we always giggle a bit with, "Everywhere a ho, ho!" I also like singing, "And Yoda he had on this farm! E-I-E-I-O!"

Word Up

Jack is in a huge learning spree, rapidly increasing his vocabulary. Just this weekend, he learned three new words (that I can think of; there may be more). Jack can now say pretzel, cupcake, and every little (and big) boy's favorite word, pipper.

Besides that he can now tell us about his pipper while he grabs it during diaper changes, I am really glad that he can talk more. I think Jack's difficulty communicating with us has been a real source of frustration for him. Jack believes that "Mah!" clearly means, "Excuse me, pretty Mommy, but may I please have some yogurt," and must think I'm a complete idiot for not getting it for him. The other night, he said, "Ro? Tiger?" to me, to make crystal clear that he wanted me to get Roary for him.

I also heard Jack having a semblance of a conversation with Roary on Saturday. We got to the car after swimming, and Roary (with a little help from me)asked Jack what he did.

Jack: Agua.
Roary: You went in the agua?
Jack: Yep. Duck.
Roary: You played with the ducks?
Jack: Yep. Spider!
Roary: You saw the picture of the spider?
Jack: Yep.
Roary: Was it fun?
Jack: (Vigorously nods yes)
Me: Roary, did you miss Jack?
Roary: (Vigorously nods yes)

And now, here is a picture of Jack with Stitch, my dad's kitten that he took such a shine to over Thanksgiving.

Rub-A-Dub

Last night was a good night for me and the Cubbers. It has been one week since his surgery, which also means one week since his last bath. It's a good thing he's just a little kid and that it's not a hot sweaty summer, or he'd be pretty ripe by now. Jack has been asking for a bath for a long time, and probably thought I was nuts when I told him no.

After dinner, I asked, "Do you want to go upstairs and take a bath?" Jack said no, then said, "Bath?" Like, "Wait a minute, I retract my reflexive no. You finally have a good idea, woman. Let's go!"

He scrambled up the stairs, then planted himself, fully clothed, in the empty bathtub. It was hilarious. I didn't even bother trying to take him out of the tub to undress him, figuring he'd think I was going back on my word and that he'd be pissed. I stripped him down, then turned on the water. Jack said, "Agua! Yay!" He then happily splashed, used his tub crayons, played with his Sesame Street toys, and got clean until he was a wrinkly little raisin and the water was cold.

In other adorable news, I attempted to get Jack to say Pappy, since Steve's dad and stepmom are visiting today. Jack misunderstood and got very excited talking about his Poppa. I said, "Jack, do you love Poppa?" Jack said, "Yep. And Stitch." I swear, that little kitten made quite the impression. Jack then said, "Poppa, Stitch, ball." Yes, Jack. Good point. Poppa and Stitch do like to play ball.

I think we might need to get this kid a kitty.

Tough Mommying

On Wednesday, I took Jack to see his surgeon, Dr. Jafaar, whose name sounds evil. First, it took us an hour to get the approximately 20 miles to the doctor's office. Then we had to wait for an hour, much of which I spent trying to convince Jack that it was not time to go bye bye. When Evil Dr. Jafaar was able to see us, things got harder. He had to clean Jack's incision with alcohol, and some of it got in Jack's eye. Jack started screaming and crying, just in time for us to have to remove the stitches. A nurse and I held him down on a table, Evil Dr. Jafaar unwrapped a very sharp object and told me to look away. Happy to oblige! While Jack screamed and struggled, I sang "Old McDonald" to him and told him it was okay.

But, God, it did not feel okay at all. My little guy was screaming and fighting. He was scared, and I don't blame him. I would be too, if someone was working a scalpel by my eye. I wanted to just grab him, run out of there, and maybe remove the stitches myself using nail scissors while he was asleep.

Finally, it was over. Evil Dr. Jafaar told Jack he did a good job, then patted me on the shoulder and said, "You did a good job, too, Mommy." I think he was genuinely impressed, because believe me, I was totally putting on a brave front.

After another hour of driving to get home, I decided I'd done enough tough mommying work for the day and engaged in some excellent lazy mommying: I put Elmo Saves Christmas on and cuddled with Jack until Steve got home.

The good news is, Jack healed great, and we can put this whole episode behind us. I am really proud of how well my little guy did with what had to have been a very stressful and scary situation.

Perfect World

It appears that, for a few days anyway, we at Stately Wasser Manor are living in a perfect world. Here's how our days are going:

I wake up in the morning, chug some coffee, and go to work. I arrive at the unYodaly hour of 7:00. There I remain until noon, when I head home.

Meanwhile, the boys are having Guy Time, hanging out, and having fun. Steve puts Jack down for his nap, so he and I have time to have a leisurely lunch together and to talk without anyone requesting that we sing "Old MacDonald."

While Jack naps, I do both work-work and work around the house-work. When he wakes up, I'm refreshed, energized, and ready to have fun. He and I then have Mommy-Son time until Steve gets home from work at 6:30-ish.

It is a fabulous balance between work and home, allowing me to get done just about everything that needs to be done. Alas, this Brigadoon will soon vanish. We are only on this abbreviated schedule for another day. When Jack gets his stitches out tomorrow, he's back to daycare, and Steve and I are back to normal life. And really, I can only get away with doing my work-work in five hours instead of eight for only so long before it'll pile up and bury me in an avalance.

But in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy it. Also, here are some more pictures of a Perfect World: me and Jack snuggling on the sofa over Thanksgiving and my dad feeding Jack a doughnut.

Relief

Good news! Jack's surgery is over, and he did great. Yeah, he looks a little rough in this picture, but I mainly chose it because I'm sure he'll think it's badass. The surgery was on Thursday, and Jack somehow did not notice that we didn't let him have breakfast, not to mention his daily glass of milk, which he seems to crave like I crave coffee. We met with the surgical team, and all went well. Then the anesthesiologist gave us a sedative so that Jack wouldn't freak out when they put the mask on him. He promised it would knock him out in about 10 minutes.

Thirty minutes later, Jack was a little dopey, but still totally awake. The kid has the tolerance of a wolverine, I swear. I kept asking him if he wanted to lie down. He'd quickly say no, then go back to turning the little TV on and off. Finally, it was time for him to go. It was hard handing him off to the doctor, but at least I was able to hold him until the last minute, rather than just putting him on a gurney.

The surgery took about an hour. We were in the recovery room when Jack woke up. I'd read that many kids are scared and upset when they wake up from anesthesia, and Jack was no exception. He completely freaked out, crying and yelling. He yanked off his eye patch and threw it on the floor in disgust, then yanked off the band-aid that was under it, as well as Roary's matching one. We then had to fight him to keep him from ripping out his IV. It was no fun at all seeing him so upset, but at least I was prepared for it, so it wasn't as hard for me as it could have been.

We headed home, and Jack fell asleep in the car. A six hour snooze later, and Jack was awake, cheerful, and completely his normal self. The incision doesn't seem to hurt or bother him at all. So much for our concerns that he'd mess with it and pull out a stitch.

The only little wrinkle is that poor Jack really wants to take a bath, and we can't let him. The stitches have to stay dry, and that kid loves to splash. Last night, we were upstairs, and he pointed to the bathroom door and said, "Bath?" I told him no. Jack probably figured I didn't understand, so he tried another tactic: "Agua?" Again, I said no. Jack must have thought I was nuts. What kind of Mommy won't give their kid a bath? Finally, he grabbed his bottle of shampoo and handed it to me. Poor little man. I compromised by taking him downstairs to watch Elmo.

And now, for a Thanksgiving update!

Road Trip: I do not recommend taking a 16+ hour car trip with a crazy-ass toddler. Jack was as good as could be expected, but all three of us were worn out by the time it was all over.

Almost Heaven? One of the more challenging aspects of the trip came on Tuesday morning, when Jack got carsick and projectile vomited all over himself and his car seat. Luckily, we were near a drug store, so Steve got the little man in clean clothes and went to browse while I bought paper towels and Febreze to clean it all up, as we couldn't exactly wash the cover right then and there. I used my Super Mommy Powers to do the cleaning -- it was incredibly gross, but at the time, I was fine.

Ockers: At the drugstore, I bought Jack a "Hey, I'm Sorry You Puked" present in form of a small stuffed Oscar the Grouch. Jack took an immediate shine to it, and kept asking for "Ockers."

The Amazing Race: My brother and Ariel also drove to Illinois for Thanksgiving (from Baltimore). During Driving Day 1, Andy and Steve talked on the phone and we ascertained that we were several hours ahead of them. When we went to bed that night in scenic Santa Claus, Indiana, I was confident we'd arrive in Murphysboro several hours ahead. Andy, on the other hand, drove and drove, then woke up at the crack of dawn in order to get there an hour before we did. Steve and Ariel were all, "I didn't realize this was a race." Dumbasses. Of course it was!

Riley: I got to meet my new three-month old nephew, Riley. He is a cutie, and probably the most laid-back baby I have ever seen. I think I heard him cry once. Jack was fairly interested in him, and would point to him and say, "Baby!" or "Riley!" He also would bring Riley his binky, which was nice. Especially since he totally could have stolen them.

Stitch: My dad has a new kitten named Stitch that Jack was totally in love with. It took him about two seconds to learn how to say "Stitch" which is a bit disturbing considering that he still refuses to say "Grandma." He'd follow the cat around the house, play ball with him, and generally adored him. Several times, I had to tell him, "No, Jack. The kitty doesn't want a sticker."

Battle of the Green Bean Casseroles: Seeing as how we are from the midwest, a staple of our Thanksgiving table is green bean casserole. It consists of canned green beans, cream of mushroom soup, and french fried onions. It is awesome. Andy decided to make a snobby, pretenious version of it that he found in Cook's Illustrated magazine, while Jenny made the traditional version. The battle was on! Jenny spent about ten minutes making hers (open cans, stir, bake), while Andy spent roughly an hour on his, chopping the fresh green beans, mincing shallots, making the mushroom soup from scratch, and so on. Everyone agreed that Jenny's version was superior.

Film Critic: We always go to a movie with the kids the day after Thanksgiving, and this year, we decided to see if Jack would go, too. We went to see Happy Feet. Jack absolutely loved the previews, and was especially psyched about the one for Charlotte's Web ("Spider!" "EIEIO!") The movie started, and after about two seconds of it, Jack decided that he'd had enough. He grabbed my hand and removed me from the theater, making it clear that any other response from me would result in a tantrum. We returned to the theater with about two minutes left, and it was pretty clear that the movie was teh suck. My cousin Rob announced that Jack has a future as a film critic.

Ho, ho, ho! Luckily, the movie theater was in a mall, so we had good places to kill time. We took Jack to see Santa, after Jack pointed at him and excitedly yelled, "Ho, ho, ho!" To the surprise of no one, Jack was not at all afraid of Santa.

Out of mixers: We ended up staying up late on Friday night drinking with my cousins, which is always fun. Unfortunately we ran out of wine. Then beer. Then fruit juices for mixers. We wound up squeezing fresh oranges to make rum drinks, which was freaking awesome. Sure, it was a lot of work, but far be it for us to stop drinking.

Danny isn't here, Mrs. Torrance: On the drive home, Jack adopted a new Creepy Voice™, which sounds a lot like the one Danny used in The Shining. Best of all, the phrase Jack says in Creepy Voice™? "Bye, bye, Daddy!" It is awesome. And creepy.