Life is a Banquet

Cleaning with the Crank

Sorting the Towels for Clanna
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

I am 100% sure that Tavy is my daughter. Biologically. Her little swaddled up won-ton package never left my or Freak's arms the entire time she was in the hospital. And yet . . . I wonder . . .

Me: What to do we do next? (expecting no reply and fully expecting to head for my coffee)
T: CLEAN UP! (frantically starts gathering up clothes from the playroom floor) Dirty shirt! Dirty Bants! Dirty Hat!
Me: Mama's hat is NOT dirty.
T: CLEAN hat! (Plunks on my head, and not needing a sunhat in the playroom, I remove it).
T: (stern face) No! Clean up hat! (puts back on my head). Clean wif Hat!
Me: It's a little early in the day for prepositions, don't you think.
T: Wittle Early. Clean up! CLEAN UP!
(I move to start cleaning the various puzzle pieces from the heap. For the past year, puzzles are cleaned by me giving her the pieces for the appropriate bin).
T: NO! IE DO! IE DO! (And proceeds to place the piece with the correct Melissa and Doug's puzzle). Oh no! OH NO! (points to missing pieces).
Me: Tavy do THAT too. (handing her the rubber maid bin for that puzzle).
T: NO! NO! IE DO! (runs off to fetch one of her play purses and frantically stuffs all the pieces for that puzzle in that bag.)
Me: Can we put the bag in the bin!
T: NO! IE DO! (Takes her bag and shoves it in a changing table drawer) ALL DONE MAMA!
Me: Okay! Good Job!
T: HARRRRD JOB! (Clanna taught her this phrase).
Me: Dirty pants for the dirty pile!
T: CLEAN pants! (Ignores pants I am holding out and removes her pants). Oh NO! DIRTY SHIRT! (Looks down at the minsicule stain from breakfast on shirt.) SHIRT OFF! SHIRT OFF! SHIRT OFF NOW!
Me: Shirt is CLEAN.
T: NO! NEED CLEAN SHIRT!
Me: How about we put some books on shelves instead?
T: (toddles the books to the shelf, then looks down at shirt again). DIRTY SHIRT (shakes head like she can't believe I have allowed this injustice to go on).
T (now shirt less): DIRTY dish!
Me (point to the doll dish box): In the Tavy dish box . . .
T: Need NEW box. IE DO!

21.5 months and she's already choosing her own storage containers. Anyone want to guess what tween room cleaning will look like in a few years? OH NO! IE DO!

Over Sharing

It's MY Drink.
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

It seems like just the other day that we were wondering when Tavy would figure out how to put two words together. Then I had my gallbladder out on May 29, and she said, "SEE MAMA" for six hours straight. Over the next month, she started attaching owners to all items and tasks. "Mama bag!" "Mama Sit!" and then great galloping gizards, by Uncle Monkey's wedding on the 27th of June (less than a month!!) she was putting together little sentences pretty reliably and using words with purpose and inviting conversation. "Mama rock?" "Need Iss-You! (tissue)" "Nanny read book!" Around that time, she decided to name herself. "I" seemed too formal for Miss T while "Me" seemed so barbaric. And Tavy has T which she can't handle yet, so she named herself "IE" (EYE-EE). In the last week, she pretty much repeats or attempts everything we say, which is amazing to watch.

One of her latest words is "share." She says this like CHAR with an commanding tone envied by drill sergeants everywhere. It's like she is charbroiling her world with her caustic demands. To wit:

Scene: In my kitchen, I'm pouring my coffee and adding milk.
Tavy: Mama Milk! Mama YaYa!
Me: Yep. Having my milk in my mama water. Not for babies. Not for Tavy.
Tavy: Mama CHAR milk! (Keep in mind that we have been unable to convince her to drink anything other water with any regularity, but hope springs eternal).
Me (pouring a tiny mug of milk to match my coffee mug): Tavy's Milk!
Tavy: IE CHAR! IE CHAR MAMA MILK! (And thus milk banks are invented . . .)
FIVE SECONDS LATER . . .
Tavy: CHAR?
Me (distracted): No, I have my own . . .
Tavy: Oh no! Sit Sit CHAR! Sit Sit CHAR Milk! Oh no! No CHAR! No CHAR!

Commence the crying over split milk.

Floating

Several years ago, I went on a trip to Florida that changed my life, and my enduring memory of the trip is laying in the Ocean, eyes closed, floating for what felt like hours every day. When I was a tween, my aunt and uncle took me to Brighton Beach, but I have no real memories of the place, just floating in the Atlantic, disregarding everything I had been told about the filthy water and just floating until I imagined myself miles away.

When I was pregnant, I was blessed to get to swim frequently, and the whole last trimester is defined in my memory by floating. I have never loved my body more than I did in that warm pool, Buddha belly triumphantly out, alone with Beta-now-Tavy.

Today, I took a nap that wasn't and lay on the bed, craving that sensation of floating with a piercing longing. I am reminded of the other kind of floating, the floating that carries me back to dark places I never want to traverse again. The hours I used to float pre-Tavy waiting for a lightening bolt of clarity to rouse me back to myself, back to the person I really am.

Now, I have a toddler who says "Open Door! Mama! Open Door! All Done Nap!" And I cease my bed floating and go off in search of my happy. I wonder why I feel so adrift right now, and why with drama swirling all around me, all I want to do is float. Really float. Arms out, buoyant, hours passing in minutes. The kind of floating that cleanses my soul instead of bringing in more soot.

I.

Just.

Want.

To.

Float.

The After Picture

June 09 After
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

This came out WAY darker than I was anticipating, but I swear there are actually a TON of highlights, some of which are bleach blonde, some of which are purple, and some of which are red, but the base shade of chocolate makes photographing a challenge.

The cut though is made of awesome.

Freak, however, thinks that this doesn't match the dress I will be wearing to the wedding. So we'll call this a partial win?

Happy Father's Day

Or as we like to call it around here, "Happy Weekend Where Daddy Gets to Sleep In."

Happy Father's Day to the man who makes me fall more in love with him every time I watch him with our daughter:

Create a Free Slideshow

Hair I am: Your input needed!

My current hair situation is nothing short of horrid. HORRID:

Now, I have a date with a lovely hair salon next week while Clanna (!!!!!!!) is in town to watch Hurricane Tavy while I get my hair did. I usually go my own color, but I'm really craving serious highlights, and since that worked so well last time at home (see horrid, awful home hair color that induced labor), I thought I would splurge on getting it done at the salon. I can't decide exactly what look I'm going for. Here are a few images that are inspiring me right now. Thoughts? Suggestions?

Choice A: I'm thinking that I would need less golden tones given my rosacea, but LOVE:

Choice B: I'm tempted to go this radical, but would probably use one of the other cuts unless you can make an argument for me and bangs becoming close personal friends.

Choice C: I'm digging the cut, but it might be too high maintence for me. Am I going to need a blow dry and product EVERYDAY? Cause no.  Also, adding much more visible highlights?

Choice D: Radical, but do you see how totally happy, confident, and in love with her fluffy self this woman is? I'm VERY tempted to just go for it and top it off with radical highlights. Talk me out of or into it.

Ode to Uncle Nanny

Even before recent events, I've been in a bit of a funk the last couple of months. Nothing as bad as depressions of yore, but I didn't really realize it until I looked around and realized ta gray pallor that had descended since Uncle Nanny abandoned us for the bright lights and big city. Sure, he's a measly hour's drive away. A drive that I don't make without Freak. And a drive that he requires public transportation for (and given recent cutbacks, an act of God). But, I miss him. And, he doesn't read my blog, but I want to give him a shout out anyway. Next Sunday is all about the Dads, but I'm hereby declaring tomorrow Fabulous Uncle Day. 

I miss the routine we had going. I was really nervous about him moving out here. After all, the last time we shared living quarters he was a quirky 12 year old who couldn't keep his junior high locker combination straight. And the last few years have had their ups and downs for both of us, and neither of us is great on the phone. But, he came, and it was full of awesome as he jumped right into Tavy's life with unbridled enthusiasm. She was just learning to walk, and he would lead her around. And around. And around. He patiently sorted flash cards with her, hunted for baby baby, and played telephone. Their natural rapport after just the first week made my heart hurt.

I actually miss the time before he found work. I miss the quiet afternoons with just the three of us. I miss the time I spent grading or working on class prep with them playing on the floor of my office. I miss the spontaneous trips to the store and downtown. He made me see my city with fresh eyes. Also, his eyes were my eyes reflecting a shared history that made me instantly realize that Tavy needs a sibling so that she can experience what it is like to be with someone who gets you on that level.

I miss his love of my cooking, and his willingness to whip my kitchen into shape. My house has deteriorated in recent weeks. Thanks to MoxieClean I'm finding my MoJo again, and just makes me appreciate him all the more. I miss how he finds everything amazing from gluten free pizza to Weeds to Tavy's first real words. He watched her become a toddler each day, and I will always associate this time in our lives with his living here.

We spent a beautiful memorial day with him, and its obvious that he's thriving in the urban environment. He's a city guy, and this was never going to be a long term thing. Our relationship is evolving into something new, and its still wonderful--he shows us greek grocery stores, and we show him state parks that we hadn't explored before. Tavy soaks up each visit with him and talks about him constantly. Today she was experimenting with three word sentences, and they all involved him. Nanny {she says his actual name} eat food! Nanny go Big YaYa! Nanny eat soup! {which sounds suspiciously like a curse} Nanny go outside! Nanny go bye! Nanny eat rock! {she's all about learning rules right now}. Nanny clean up! {Thanks for giving me credit, kid} Nanny phone Mama! {All this stemmed from ONE voicemail message} {Don't ask why I'm loving brackets today} She runs to his door every so often, and I want to weep at her hopefulness. She sobs when she first sees him now, like a kid being picked up from daycare because it is finally safe to express those emotions. I have hope that their special bond will continue.

When I saw the love of the family who surrounded the grieving parents this parent, I was struck anew by how precious my family is. Those near and those flung far. Two years ago, I was alone here, craving biological connection. Now, I am doubly blessed. And I've resolved to work on affirming our connections and establishing new traditions as we work out what it means to be a family without an elder to guide us. I also have my family of choice, the friends who surround me, and I'm glad that Uncle Nanny gets to see this me too.

Here's to you, Uncle Nanny. I miss you. I'm so happy and proud of you. You are turning into the most amazing adult. You are living your dream and creating new ones, and I'm your biggest cheerleader. My dishes still miss you though.

Memorial

  There were flowers. So many flowers all triumphantly, majestically ALIVE awaiting planting in a memorial garden where they will live on for the one who cannot. There were speeches, the beauty and eloquence of which defies quotation. There were friends, too numerous to count, the devotion of whom was unquestioned and the love unconditional and unending. There was a tiny picture that embodied perfection.

And still.

There was no sense.

None.

The injustice of the universe was stunning.  Stunningly awful. One of the speakers spoke about the etymology of the word awful, both "awe inspiring" and "horrid." And that's exactly what this was.

It was one of the most beautiful events I have ever attended, and the outpouring of love was indeed awe inspiring. And it was also horrid. I didn't want to be anywhere else, and yet I did. not. want. to. be. there.

My pink peony bushes are overflowing right now, touching the earth with their bounty, and earlier in the week, I had thought how I would sneak over to my friend's house this weekend and leave her a large vase to welcome the new arrival. Instead, yesterday, I carefully selected a plant that will bloom delicate purple blossoms each June. The sticky sweet smell of peonies as they wilt is making me ill right now.

Today is also my mother's birthday, and like the day itself, it seemed both fitting and bizarrely macabre. When I called my mother at midnight, I couldn't make it through happy birthday. Instead, I spent most of the phone conversation alternately railing at the universe and marveling at the sheet stupid luck of my own good fortune.

There is no sense in the senseless. But, there is love. So much love for my sweet, sweet friends. I'm so sorry that I never got to meet their beautiful little girl whose arrival was awaited by so many and whose passing is mourned by a multitude.

If you would like a tangible way to share the love, please consider donating to the one the raffles benefiting the families.

My heart is heavy

My heart is breaking for a dear friend right now. Her sweet baby died during delivery last night, and the family can use all the prayers and thoughts they can get right now. They can also use all the support too. Another friend has put together a raffle to raise funds for the family's expenses with this tragedy. Please click here and donate if you are able.

My Village

Oh . . . wait . . . I know I'm forgetting something . . . something I should do at least three times a week . . . oh yes. I have a blog. Hello, poor neglected bloggy friends. After several weeks of debate, I've give my gallbladder its notice, and it is being evicted on Friday. As a result, my crazy is in overdrive, and I'm convinced that Something Terrible will happen. Thus, welcome to the first in a series of maudlin posts wherein I weep like a Senior at graduation about the fact that I may never see you again. And, OF COURSE, I know that is not true. However, tell that to google (a little tip: NEVER google Gallbladder Surgery Risks). But my wise mind knows that I have no room for complaining, so onto the gushing.

I feel guilty moaning about my gallbladder because so many of my friends are hurting now. In fact, MoxieClean is having surgery today, and its a far more serious situation than mine. Her cleaning blog is still in its infancy, but I've known her IRL for almost four years now. She's loud and hilarious, and she makes me believe that I can tame the jungle that is my house, no maid required (Oh, lottery winnings, where fore art thou?). 

Katie from Mendy Lady (picture above) is also having a rough month. May brought suckage, not flowers to her house. A year ago, she and I were two names on a list serve passing on the digest in the night. What difference a year makes! Her beautiful daughter will turn one this weekend (giving me reason not to languish in bed milking my recovery for all the novels I can), and a week after that, I can celebrate the anniversary of meeting one of the most special people in my life. She's an honorary Auntie to Tavy, and she makes my life infintely more sane.

Also a year ago (May is pretty significant in the history of my life), I met D and her son S, and they too have become an important part of my life. Oregon feels a little greyer each time they abandon us for the cool kids of California. Last Spring I also started going to my mothering meet-up group, and I have met so many amazing ladies through the group, many of whom I now consider my closest friends. I discovered our local babywearing group (and a new addiction), and I met even more like minded mamas. And before the meet-up group, I still had my knitting friends, writing friends, and neighbors. I had this blog and all of you who give me an audience for my ramblings. Prior to having Tavy, Freak and I dreamed of moving to a particular small quaint town (the same one we drove to avoid our large hospital's 60% C-section rate). Now, I can't think about living anywhere else.

It's the fifth anniversary (see what I mean about May!) of closing on this house, and the sixth anniversary of meeting Freak, and I've now been a professor longer than I was a practing attorney. My life is filled with the sort of richness I spent the first 3/4 of my life longing for. In the day to day stress of juggling motherhood and toddlerhood and professorhood and would-be writerhood, I often lose sight of just how lucky I am. I spent hours lamenting how I need in-town grandparents to make my life easier, but I fail to see the village all around me. Without you, I would be mothering from a cave, writing in the dark, and talking to myself.