Today You Are Three

Dear Punky,

I can hardly believe how quickly the last three years have gone.  It seems like we brought you home from the hospital just yesterday.  If I close my eyes, I can still feel the tiny baby curled up in my arms.  I can still hear the hungry newborn cry.  I can still smell the baby powder in the air.  I can still see the beautiful, little face that changed my world forever.

I can think of no better use for the term "mixed emotions" than to describe motherhood.  It's amazing how every single step on this journey makes me equally happy and sad at the same time.  Both excited and nervous.  Proud, yet fearful.  Watching you grow and learn has been an incredible experience.  And this year brought many great firsts in your young life.

Out of necessity, you started daycare in January and faced the world without us for the first time.  Soon after, I came to realize that you truly are your own little person.  Suddenly you had a life all your own that existed outside the safety of our home and miles away from the two people who love you most.  You had a new world of friends, teachers, and experiences.  Until that point, I told your story; now you had your own tales to tell.  

Dinner time on school days is one of my favorite things.  You are so eager to tell me about your day and you spare no details.  I know that Derek always yells at the table, Gavin spits too much, Lily pees on the potty only after nap time, sometimes you cry at the library, Miss Courtney is your favorite teacher, and you broke Miss Diane's red crayon, but it was an accident and you are very, very sorry.  I know that Jackson said a bad word, Alex hit Storm because she took his toy, music class is your favorite part of the day, you don't like the rice they have at lunch some days, and, thanks to your demonstration, I know the exact way Miss Betty holds the book when reading a story so everyone can see the pictures.  I love your stories and never tire of them, no matter how many times I've heard about the letter of the week, the name of the school's pet rabbit, or all the different bikes in the gym.  Keep telling me your stories, little girl.  I'm always listening.  Now and forever.

In February, you had your first and only opportunity thus far to play in the snow.  Starting daycare unfortunately unleashed a a firestorm on your immune system and you were constantly sick until summer.  You battled virus after virus, and ear infection after ear infection.  With all the neon pink antibiotics you downed in those months, I'm surprised you didn't glow.  Mother nature has been kind to us this season, no snow to speak of, but don't worry.  It's coming.  I can guarantee it.  And you'll have the chance to romp in the snow once again.

You reached a major milestone in March when we bid farewell to your crib and transitioned to your big girl bed.  While it was hard for me to adjust to that change, you had no problem whatsoever.  I anticipated a struggle.  I thought you'd never stay in it long enough to fall asleep.  I thought you'd be playing with toys or roaming the house at two in the morning.  But, none of that happened.  And while you still prefer to sleep with me, and do so fairly often, you give us no trouble at all sleeping in your bed when you need to.  Well, except for your irrational fear of your curtains.  We'll continue to work on that.

In April, you had your first attempt at roller skating.  It did not go well.  You cried, and screamed, and begged to go home, partly because you were exhausted and frustrated that you couldn't do it, and partly because I was stupid enough to take you to a loud, dark, crowded, roller rink after a day already packed to the gills with physical activity during which you managed to eat only a few bites of pizza and a pretzel.  While I accept full responsibility for that bad experience, I haven't attempted it again.  And you haven't asked to go either.  Maybe we'll try again someday soon.

In May, you managed to blow my mind and take me back to my own childhood when you attempted to jump into a story book.  For the first time, I truly saw myself in your eyes.  And I felt an even deeper connection to my beautiful, little girl than I ever thought possible.  In that instant, I understood you on a whole new level.  

June brought the excitement of your first real vacation and I couldn't be happier with the result.  I had some hesitations taking a trip like that when you were only two, but if it really exhausted and overwhelmed you, no one was the wiser.  The extremely long car ride, the blazing heat, the constant on-the-go days, the total change in routine, all the different rides and attractions...and you handled it all with ease.  You were so happy, so brave, and so full of wonder on that trip.  It was worth every penny and I'm so glad we didn't wait until you were older.  As long as I live, I will never forget the moment you met Goofy.  

You learned to pedal your tricycle in July, and while that was a fantastic milestone moment, the month brought an even better one, even if we didn't know it at the time.  As it turned out, July was the very last time you had an ear infection.  It was the last time you drank antibiotic chasers after dinner.  You've had your share of colds since then, but none have resulted in the nasty ear infections that plagued you for months.  We suspected one the very next month, but no.  And the doctor's theories were far worse.

August.  I still shudder when I think about August.  "Something's wrong," the doctor said.  I've relived that doctor visit a hundred times in my nightmares.  My world was shattered, my heart was broken, and I experienced a fear unlike any I had ever known.  The possibilities were terrifying.  How could something be wrong with my perfect, little girl? 

While our visit to the children's hospital in September left us both relieved and frustrated, you stepped up to the plate and provided us with the perfect distraction.  The biggest milestone of the year by far.  All of a sudden, out of the blue, you were potty trained.  Something just clicked on that cool, fall morning, and there was no turning back.  You were ready, and so were we.  I can honestly say that of all the things I so desperately miss about having a sweet little baby, changing diapers is not one of them.  And I'm so very proud of you.

In October, you got to experience real door-to-door trick or treating for the first time.  You didn't mind the dark, you didn't mind the cold, you didn't mind all the strange people asking you questions.  And I was reminded that for as many ways as you are like your mother, there are just as many ways you are not.  My feelings for Halloween aside, there has never been a more adorable lion in the history of the silly tradition.

With the holidays approaching, in November we wrote your very first letter to Santa Clause.  Those are fifteen minutes your dad and I will surely never forget.  Every time we are arrogant enough to think we know you inside and out, you manage to throw us a curve ball.  Full of surprises, that's our girl.  And we wouldn't have it any other way.  

This month brought your very first real train ride and more encounters with Santa than any kid needs in one year.  You were so caught up in the magic of the season, decorating the tree, the music, the lights, the shows, and the anticipation of Christmas morning.  I have more great Christmas memories than I can count, but the memories of this year with you trump them all.

So, we made it.  We survived the infamous terrible two's.  I already know that three will be a challenging year for all of us as you continue to exert your independence and discover your place in the world.  The only thing I ask of you this year is more of the same.

Keep giving me the best hugs and kisses I've ever had.  Keep singing with the most beautiful voice I've ever heard.  Keep smiling with a twinkle in your eye bright enough to light my entire world.  Keep dancing like no one is watching.  Keep learning with an insatiable hunger for knowledge.  Keep challenging your world. 

Never stop telling your story.

Happy birthday, Julia Allyn.  Today, you are three.

I love you.

Our Bouncy Christmas

Christmas went off without a hitch this year with no puking and good weather for traveling.

As planned, we started our celebration the night of the 23rd.  Punky was excited to have both of her half-brothers spending the night in anticipation of Santa's (early) visit that night.  Her dad made a delicious pasta dinner for us and then we let her open one little gift from her brother.  Before bed, we sprinkled reindeer food on the lawn and filled a plate with cookies and carrots for the big guy.  Last year she licked each and every cookie left for Santa; this year she chose three special cookies, and then ate two of them herself. 

We thought it would take forever for her to fall asleep, and the trampoline assembly just couldn't wait till the wee hours of the morning, so I took her in our bedroom and locked the door behind us while her dad, brothers, and one brother's girlfriend all got to work in the living room.  Punky was super-excited, of course, and a bit distracted by the giggles and chatting outside the door, but when we heard a loud bang I used it to my advantage.

"Mommy, what was that noise?" she queried.

"I think that was Santa's sleigh landing on the roof!" I whispered. "Quick! Close your eyes and get to sleep because he won't come in if you're still awake!"

To my utter surprise, it worked.  She was out like a light in under two minutes.  I waited ten more, just to be on the safe, and headed out to check on the assembly. 

While they toiled away for the next hour and a half, I dug out the other gifts that were scattered around the house and arranged them neatly under the tree.  I took pictures of them struggling to wrap all the stretchy bands around the base.  I stuffed her stocking.  I set the coffee up for the morning.  I took pictures of them trying to figure out how to secure the netting to the sides. I packed a few things for our trip the next day.  I did my checkbook.  I took pictures of them attaching the big red bow to the front of the trampoline, and more of the finished product and tree surrounded by presents, and we finally called it a night around two.

Then I couldn't fall asleep; I was too excited.

Punky and her favorite Santa gift

We were up before seven because we had to be, not because we wanted to be.  We had a long day ahead of us and time was of the essence.  I went in to wake Punky about a half hour later while her dad got the video camera ready.  I thought for sure she'd jump out of bed and run for the tree, but no.  She didn't want to move.  It took plenty of coaxing to get her out of bed, but she was wide awake once she caught sight of the trampoline. 

I was right, the look on her face was absolutely priceless.  She screeched and did a little happy dance before running over to investigate.  Within minutes, she was in bouncy heaven.  And we spent the next few hours forcing her to come out periodically to catch her breath and open one of her other presents.  

Shortly after noon, we were on our way to his mom's house.  Punky told everyone the news: Santa brought her a trampoline!  We ate dinner and chatted for a while, then headed back home to pack the truck for our trip.  Punky was exited to have twenty more minutes to jump before saying goodbye to her new present for a few days.  By four, we were on the road and we arrived at my mom's just in time for her traditional Christmas Eve dinner.  We spent Christmas morning with Punky's godfather, who spoiled her rotten again this year, and then we headed to my sister's for the rest of the day.  As planned, we came back home Monday afternoon.

It was a nice Christmas, with plenty of food, wine, and gifts.  My nephew, niece, and Punky got more presents than they knew what to do with, but that's how it should be.  We can't afford to spoil them year round, nor would we want to, but Christmas is a magical day for kids.  As long as they grow up learning to be thankful and appreciative for what they have, there's no harm in it.  

Now I'm just struggling for a place to put it all, and her birthday is yet to come.  I've already started packing a box of old toys and books to donate to her school.  She helped me pick out some things she no longer plays with, and I'm so proud of her for that.  I'd much rather do it this way than sneakily tossing things in the trash when she isn't looking.  Hopefully she's learning a lesson that will stick with her the rest of her life.

Finished

I finished my Christmas shopping yesterday.

Yes, I said finished.  Ten whole days before the big event.  

I'm still waiting for a few packages to arrive, but everything in my possession is wrapped.

Yes, I said everything.  

While I'm awfully proud of myself for accomplishing this for the first time in my entire life,  I also realize it's no big feat given that I started the beginning of September.  I actually thought I'd be finished sooner, but I ended up with a bad cold that severely cut into the one day we planned to shop for Punky.  I took last Wednesday off so we could send her to daycare and finish all our shopping, but I was so sick and barely survived the toy store.  The mall was simply out of the question.  I just couldn't do it.

When we got home, Punky's dad was a real trooper.  I wanted to get all her stuff wrapped and hidden before we picked her up at school, but I needed the couch.  Badly.  He tackled the project all by himself while I wallowed in my misery and wrote her name on the tags.  He finished the job with fifteen minutes to spare.  

I was able to order most of the remaining gifts I needed online, and I finished the last bit with a trip to the liquor store on my lunch hour yesterday.  I'm not much of a drinker and, unfortunately for those in my life that are, I tend to shop for wine like I'm remodeling the living room or naming a puppy.  The woman at the store tried to help me but quickly discovered I was a lost cause.  She was throwing all kinds of technical wine jargon at me and getting responses like, "The picture on that bottle is so beautiful!" and "That's a cute name for a winery!"  

The plan for this Christmas is the same as last year.  Santa will be visiting us one night earlier than the rest of the world because are traveling again for the holiday.  We will open our presents Christmas Eve morning and somehow manage to be out of the house around noon to go to his mom's for lunch with the family.  Then we will make a quick stop back here to load the truck before making the two hour drive down for Christmas Eve supper with my family.  We will be with Punky's godfather on Christmas morning and then at my sister's for the rest of the day.  And on Monday we'll drive back home and watch Punky open the rest of her gifts.

I plan to wake her by eight that morning, but she'll only have about four hours to open her presents and play with her new stuff before we have to rush out the door.  Take off another hour for eating breakfast, brushing her teeth, getting dressed, and making her morning pee.  I'm not sure she's at the age yet where she'll rip through her presents at lightening speed just to see what's inside them.  I think she's more likely to open one and insist on playing with it first before opening another.  If she even opens any at all, that is.  One present, that will be fully assembled in the middle of the living room, may distract her from all the packages waiting for her.  

Yes, we did it.  We caved.  We ordered her a trampoline.  I'm sure it's no surprise.

Seriously though, how could we not?  It's all she's talked about for weeks.  It was number one on her list.  She told three different Santas for heavens sake.  It was a tough decision for us but ultimately we just can't break her little heart.  

The one we picked is a small indoor/outdoor one meant for kids her age.  Although it's only forty-eight inches round and fourteen inches high, it still has the full net enclosure that you see on full-sized trampolines.  It has some type of interactive sound module that will drive us completely mad while we count down the days till spring.  As much as I hate the thought of a trampoline in my living room for months, I can wait to see the look on her face.  I hope I still feel that way when winter seems to last forever.

So, judging by how she was with the rocking horse last Christmas, she may just spend her morning bouncing like a maniac and ignoring her other gifts.  If that's the case, she'll finish them on Monday.  Then she'll have her birthday two days later and her party on the weekend.

When I think about the wall of stuff about to hit this house in the next few weeks, I want to throw up.  We may need to put the couch on the lawn.

More Encounters with the Big Guy

Last Sunday evening, my mom and I took Punky on the Santa Express.  It is run by a local railroad as a special treat for kids this time of year.  I heard about it through a friend at work and quickly purchased tickets.  From the adult perspective, it was actually kind of lame, but Punky had a great time.

I was never on a real train before, at least not that I can remember.  When we boarded, we passed through a dining car and then into a coach car to find a comfy seat.  The kids were asked to wear pajamas and bring a favorite blanket to snuggle.  Once we departed the station, Santa's elves came through and talked to the kids.  They passed out pictures for them to make with stickers and sang a Christmas song or two.  A mere fifteen minutes down the tracks, we arrived at the North Pole.

From the hype, I kind of expected more than just painted, wooden cut-outs of buildings, reindeer, and presents, but the young kids were in awe of all the lights and the sight of Santa waving to them sparked giggles throughout the train.  Then we stopped briefly while the big guy himself boarded to hitch a ride with us.

When Punky saw him appear in the aisle, she was dying to run right to him.  Waiting your turn is extremely hard when you're two.  Once I got a good look at him, I got really nervous.  He looked nothing at all like the Santa she chatted with at the mall just a week earlier.  Mall Santa was much older, thinner (not skinny, just a naturally chunky man with no extra padding needed), he had a short, real beard and glasses.  This one was maybe early forties or so with the stereotypical fake wig and excessively long beard and an obvious pillow stuffed in his suit.  Punky had looked at the mall picture at least fifty times that week; surely she would notice the difference. 

I held my breath as he approached our seats, but she didn't notice a thing.  She greeted him with the same enthusiasm as mall Santa and took the opportunity to remind him that she wants a trampoline for Christmas.  Their interaction went off without a hitch, and he stayed right next to Punky while he chatted with the group of kids behind us.  Six siblings, all old enough to know the truth about Santa, took turns visiting with him and getting their pictures taken.

This Santa had a sense of humor and joked around a bit with these older kids.  He teased one about trying to impress the girls with his Justin Bieber haircut.  It caused a mighty chuckle between the siblings and the mom quickly spoke up and revealed why: she was a little girl, not a boy.  It was obvious that Santa felt like a big jackwad, but in his defense I must say I thought she was a boy, too.  Then the mom felt the need to add, "This is the second Santa this year that thought you were a boy!"  And I wanted to smack her.  No regard whatsoever for the little kids on the train.  Second Santa this year.  Idiot.

Anyway, after he had a chance to visit with all the kids, we dropped Santa back off at the North Pole and returned to the station.  It couldn't come fast enough for me.  As soon as Santa was out of sight, Punky turned into a total brat.  The last twenty minutes on that train lasted an eternity.

Today I took Punky to the children's Christmas party hosted by my company.  I never hesitated to take her anywhere because she was always so well behaved, but lately I have my reservations.  I did not want a repeat of the train episode in front of all my co-workers, that's for sure.  The poor kid had to endure multiple lectures from us before we left this morning, and I even went as far as to threaten to cancel Christmas at our house if she acted up at the party.  I know that seems harsh, but I was desperate and it worked.  She was an angel.

Of course no children's Christmas party would be complete without a visit from the big guy, and I definitely thought I was pushing my luck introducing Santa number three in a two-week period, but again she didn't notice a difference.  This one distracted her right away with a real present before she even sat on his lap, but it didn't make her forget about the trampoline.  She wasn't taking her chances; to my dismay, she reminded him once again. 

December is the Season for Vomit

I've been dealing with a bout of insomnia again lately, so I was only asleep about forty-five minutes when Punky's loud yell echoed through the monitor only six inches from my head. 

"Mommy! Daddy! I have to cuke!" 

I glanced at the clock.  Five-thirty.  Her dad hadn't left for work yet.  I rolled over and prayed it was only a dream, but no such luck.  Ten minutes later he woke me up because he had to get ready to go.

"Did she throw up?" I whispered, with both eyes still tightly shut.

Thankfully he had gotten her into the bathroom before the eruption.  He said it was only a little bit, and she said she was fine afterward and wanted to go back to bed.  "Do you want her in here with you?" he asked.

Not really.  I wanted to sleep, dammit, but experience has taught me it's rarely a one and done type of deal.  I knew my reaction time would be delayed by my utter exhaustion and I envisioned the mess it could make.  "Yeah, help me put some towels down and you can bring her in."

Ten minutes later she was in my bed and sound asleep once again.  Maybe I got lucky this time.  Maybe it was just something she ate.  I heard her dad leave for work and glanced at the clock once more.  Six on the nose.  I closed my eyes and quickly fell asleep.

"Mommy! I have to cuke!"

I jumped to my feet and ran for the garbage can in the corner of the bedroom.  While she heaved repeatedly into the bucket, I noticed the clock on the dresser.  Four minutes after six.  I managed to sleep a whole four minutes.  And now I had a puke bucket to clean.  

Not two minutes later, she was settled and back to sleep.  By the time I rinsed the bucket, suppressed my own urge to vomit, and found a comfy spot again in bed, the clock read six-thirty.  I prayed that was the end of it and drifted off to sleep.

"Mommy! I have to cuke!"

I repeated the same jump and dash for the bucket.  Six-forty.  This time I managed ten minutes of sleep, and she was out cold again in no time.  This time I said screw the bucket.  I set it down next to the bed and went back to sleep.  Good thing, because this time she only made it a few minutes.  She was heaving again at six fifty-four.  

The final round came at seven thirty-eight, after which we both slept soundly until eleven-thirty.  Finally a few continuous hours of sleep, but I still felt like I was hit by a train when we crawled out of bed.  And, of course, the first wonderful task at hand was cleaning the bucket.  

I guess December will forever be the month for puke-fests in this house.  Unlike last year, this bout didn't result in a trip to the emergency room.  I didn't have to wash sheets in the middle of the night or scrub vomit out of the carpets; she made the bucket every time.  I didn't have to miss a day of work, but we did have to pass on the annual tree lighting and Santa parade in town this afternoon.  

Now we just sit back and wait to see which of us vomits next.  

Damn stomach bugs.  

Thirty-Five Months

As we enter the last month of the terrible twos, I'm sad to see it end.  Yes, she can be a real handful these days, but truth be told, I wouldn't change a thing.  She's acting up, acting out, acting downright annoying at times, but she's acting exactly as she should at this age.  The only way to learn the limits is to test the boundaries, and she's an excellent tester.  She's sneaky.  She's intelligent.  She thinks outside the box.  She's a challenge.  She's perfect.

I mentioned before that I wondered if something triggered her sudden change in behavior.  I think I got my answer.  A few weeks ago, the daycare sent their seasonal newsletter home.  We discovered that the rest of Punky's group moved on to the next class, so to speak, but Punky stayed with her old teacher and three younger kids moved up into her group.  This transition occured mid-September, and the behavior change hit hard by the start of October. 

When Punky started daycare in January, they wanted to keep her with the babies.  She had just turned two the week before, and it was their policy for kids age two and under to be in one room.  Of course we fought it, and once they realized we were telling the truth about her ability to count, and recognize all 26 letters and numbers one through ten, and her knowledge of all the colors and shapes, they quickly agreed that she would not do well in a room full of newborns and baby toys.  In the next group, the closest child to her age was almost eight months older.  At her evaluation two months in, her teacher told us that her biggest challenge was teaching the other kids because Punky would answer before any one else had a chance.

So now, all of her friends have been moved to a new group and she's left behind to repeat the exact same curriculum she had last year.  She has to be bored out of her mind.  As much as it angers me, I have not said anything to the daycare director because I don't think it would change anything.  I'm sure they would argue that she's right where she should be based on her age.  Plus, the other group now has around twelve kids the way it is while Punky's only has four, including her.  And it's not like she has no contact with her friends from her old group.  They only spend around two hours a day in their groups; all of the children are together for the rest of the activities and free play time.  But, I still think this change at daycare was a catalyst for her sudden behavior shift. 

I know she's the exception, not the rule, but I still wish they could spend more time really working with her on her level.  This month, the lights started to flicker.  Sounding out words for reading is beginning to click.  She's very interested in written words right now, and can read/recognize around twenty.  She always wants to know what stuff says, like the signs on the highway, the banners at the store, or any random piece of paper that mysteriously ends up in her hands even though she was told sixteen times not to touch the pile of mail on the edge of the counter or the novel on my headboard that's been collecting dust since before she was born.  At this rate, I probably won't read it until retirement but I want the pages to remain unwrinkled until I do.

Thanksgiving and Such

This year for Thanksgiving we decided to do something unusual: not travel.  A quiet, long weekend at home for a change.  It wasn't quite the relaxing time I envisioned, but it was still nice to be home.

Wednesday night we went shopping for a new Christmas tree, artificial of course.  We had been using only a four foot table-top tree previously, but we gave it back to my mom after last year.  We figured we'd need to graduate to a bigger tree this year with Punky getting older and more excited about Christmas.  We ended up buying a seven foot, pre-lit tree, but it's on the narrow side.  Space is definitely an issue in this house.

We went to his mom's on Thursday for Thanksgiving dinner, but it's only three miles away and we were only there about two hours.  Punky was dying to get home and decorate the new Christmas tree.  We had originally planned that for Friday's project, because only crazy people go shopping that day, but her enthusiasm convinced us to get the ball rolling.  

We spent the next six hours assembling and decorating the tree, unpacking and displaying my vast snowman collection, scattering other random Christmas decorations around the house, cleaning up the huge mess we made in the process, and drinking beer.  Us, not Punky, on that last one.  Alcohol is a rarity in this house, but two hours in to the decorating devastation, he ran out for a six pack.  Good thing the tree was pre-lit or we may have needed a twelve.  When we finished, the house looked nice, Punky was happy with our new Christmas tree, and I was a bit buzzed.

Friday, which should have then been a lazy day with the decorating all done, turned into a busy one as well.  I tackled all the necessary chores like laundry and cleaning bathrooms and balancing checkbooks, and he decided to cook our own mini Thanksgiving dinner since his oldest son and his girlfriend were coming to visit.  They stayed until almost eleven that night. 

We planned to do some shopping on Saturday, but my sister called early and said they were coming up for the day.  They arrived about three hours later and stayed till nine.  The kids destroyed the house, but they had a great time.  Punky adores my nephew, and has to do everything he does, but the tide changed a bit this visit.  My nephew spent a good amount of time playing with legos by himself, and Punky played with my niece more than she ever has.  Every chance they had, the two of them jumped like monkeys on the bed in Punky's room, and we had our first indication of exactly how much trouble they are going to be together as they get older.  They are only seventeen months apart, and in another year or so, that age gap will seem like nothing.  I can only imagine the phone conversations my sister and I will have when they are fifteen and sixteen.  I don't even want to think about it.

As much as I wanted a day to sit home and relax, with no cleaning, no company, and no showering, we headed to the mall today.  We really needed to tackle more shopping, plus it was the perfect opportunity to get the yearly Santa photo.  As usual, I was a bit nervous as we approached the the red guy. Even though she never freaked out or cried before, there's always a first.  A year had passed since her last encounter with Santa, and she has a better understanding now, and her two-year-old personality seems to go from one extreme to the other these days.  I was prepared for the worst.

And once again, I worried for nothing.  There were no kids in line ahead of us, and she ran right to him with open arms.  Lots of hugs for Santa, and she talked his ear off while we were busy choosing which incredibly over-priced photo package to purchase.  The pictures were beautiful though, and we actually had a hard time choosing between the four shots they took.

And when Santa asked the magic question, she gave him the same enthusiastic response she gave us: "A trampoline, Santa! I want a trampoline!" She even did the boingy fingers for him, too.

Yep, still screwed.

Santa Is So Screwed

And by Santa, of course, I mean us. 

Tonight we sat with Punky and wrote her very first letter to Santa.  We started with the usual stuff, my name is... I've been a good girl this year... do you have cable at the North Pole, and then moved on to the meat and potatoes of every Christmas letter: the list.

Over the past few weeks, we've discussed it many times.  We told her to think hard about the stuff she'd really like to have most, because Santa can only bring her a few things.  He has to make sure that every kid in the world gets something for Christmas.  It wouldn't be fair to ask him for everything under the sun.  (Parental translation: our house is small, we have too much crap the way it is, and we simply can't afford to go crazy buying presents.)  She listened to our speeches, and our suggestions of things we think she would like, but apparently she had her own ideas brewing.  And she kept them a secret until tonight when she blindsided us with her list.

"Okay, sweetie, now we get to tell Santa the things you'd really like to have for Christmas.  I know you've been thinking about it for a while, so let's start with the thing you want most.  That should go first on the list."  Green crayon in hand, I was poised to write what I expected her to say.

"A trampoline, Mommy! I want a trampoline! You jump on it and it goes like this: Boingy! Boingy! Boingy!" Her little fingers were like a miniature pair of legs bouncing up and down on the kitchen counter.

"A trampoline?" I asked as I scribbled out the "D" I had written in anticipation.  She launched into another rendition of bouncy fingers and boings while her dad and I had an entire conversation with only our eyes and facial expressions.

Where the hell did she get that idea? I have no clue. Where would we put a goddamn trampoline? I have no clue. Aren't those things expensive? Yes. And dangerous? Very. Did you ever hear her talk about a trampoline before? Nope. She's never even been on one, has she? Not that I know of.  What the f**k happened to the drum set?

"Are you sure, sweetie? That's what you want more than anything?"

"Yes! I want a trampoline!"  She stared at the paper like she was waiting for me to write it down. 

"Okay, a trampoline," I said and wrote with a sigh.  "What else would you like Santa to bring you?" 

"A ping ball set!" she chirped, just as enthusiastically as she said trampoline.

"A what?" Her dad and I exchanged a confused glance.

"A ping ball set!"

"Do you mean a pin ball machine where you shoot the little balls and they bounce off all the stuff inside?" her dad asked, grasping at straws.

"No! The one with the tennis rackets where you hit the ball like this!" Punky replied as she swung her arm back and forth.

"A ping pong table?" I asked, hoping I misinterpreted her motions.

"Yes, Mommy! That's what I want!" 

Where the hell did she get that idea? I have no clue. Where would we put a goddamn ping pong table? I have no clue. Could she even see over the top of one? Barely. Did you ever hear her talk about a ping pong table before? Nope. She's never even seen one, has she? Not that I know of.  What the f**k happened to the drum set?

I struggled to maintain an air of enthusiasm as I wrote down her second request and hesitantly asked, "What else should we put on your list?" 

"A drum set!" she said, still smiling from ear to ear.  Finally the thing we were expecting her to say.  She drummed on the counter while I added it to the list.

 "I think we should give Santa a couple more ideas," I said, praying for some realistic suggestions.  Three items in, we had squat.  "Is there anything else you would like?"

"Yes, Mommy, paints! Like they have at the resource center with the big paper and paint brushes!"

"But you already have paints," her dad said, pointing to the tray on the kitchen window sill.

"No, honey, she's not talking watercolors." He's never been to the resource center so I had to explain the big easels, the endless supply of giant paper, the cups full of paint, and the paintbrushes of all sizes.  

"Well that sounds kind of messy," he replied.

"You think?" I shot him a sarcastic look as I wrote it on her list.  

Don't look at me in that tone of voice. It's not my fault she's asking for all these crazy things. I know, but what the hell are we going to get her for Christmas? I have no clue. With the way this is going, do we dare ask her for more ideas? I don't think we have a choice. She needs to get something from Santa that she actually asks for, or we may as well tell her he's fake right now! 

"Okay, sweetie. You have some great things on your list, but how about we give Santa some smaller ideas, you know, in case he can't fit all of these big things in his sleigh," I said, fingers crossed.

"Like what, Mommy?"  Her dad and I enjoyed a mutual eye roll.  How about something that can actually fit inside our house?

With some prompting, we managed to add new crayons, new books, and new clothes to her list.  She also asked Santa for a new ladder for Daddy, and new clothes for Mommy, and she colored a picture of a Christmas tree to send with the letter.

When she ran off to play, her dad and I discussed the list. She's obviously too little for a trampoline and we're technically not allowed to have one where we live.  She's obviously too little for a ping pong table and we would need to buy a new house to fit one.  The drum set was expected, and we already decided to buy her one, but we planned to save it for her birthday just three days after Christmas.  We thought Santa would have plenty of other ideas to choose from, and although she may be a bit disappointed at the time, she would be that much more excited to get one for her birthday.  We really didn't want Santa to steal our thunder on that gift, as selfish as it sounds.  And the paints?  Just think about it for a second.  No further explanation is needed.  

Of course, we already bought the new crayons, new books, and new clothes.

Can someone please remind my child that she's two?

Santa is so screwed.

It's Fun to Play at the YMCA

Young man, there's no need to feel down.
I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground.
I said, young man, 'cause you're in a new town
There's no need to be unhappy.

It's fun to stay at the y-m-c-a.
It's fun to stay at the y-m-c-a. 

Go ahead, do the arm motions.  You know you want to. 

Punky and I went home this past weekend for my nephew's sixth birthday party.  It seems like just yesterday I listened to his birth on speaker phone, my office packed with colleagues all waiting with me to hear that first sweet cry.  Six years ago.  I can hardly believe it.  Anyway, it was a quick trip for Punky and I, down on Saturday and back on Sunday, but well worth the drive. 

My sister had his party at the YMCA.  Now that he's in kindergarten, with a class full of kids to invite, she opted to keep the madness out of her house.  Wise choice.  Time constraints aside, the Y turned out to be a great place for the party.  

For the first hour, the kids ran around like a pack of wild animals.  Two huge bins of balls provided plenty of entertainment, and they made sure every single one was in play.  The gym floor was a sea of colorful, round objects as balls were rolled, kicked, and hurled in every direction.  Big balls, little balls, basketballs, soccer balls, beach balls, bouncy balls, and even footballs.  And nobody managed to take one in the face.  Unbelievable.

A coach from the Y took over the second hour of the party.  Armed with only a whistle, this brave man stopped the chaos and managed to get all the kids to clean up the balls, line up against the wall, and be quiet.  I was impressed.  Then the real fun began.  One full hour of extreme physical activity cleverly disguised as fun, that is.  Game after game, race after race, activity after activity, those kids were in constant motion.  

Red light/green light left them running, and jumping, and dancing, and crawling, and spinning.  A version of tag made them chase each other in circles in an attempt to steal flags from one another.  As they raced back and forth on gym scooters, they were forced to rely on those hidden leg muscles that you don't even know exist until you pull one.  And just when they seemed to be running out of steam, he pulled out an enormous parachute to refuel their excitement and make them run some more.  Fun and games my ass, these kids got a total body workout.

Punky and Emmy, ready to race the big kids

And my little girl kept up with them.  She listened to the coach and followed his instructions.  She played the games, and ran her tiny butt off, and didn't get discouraged when she was the last one across the gym, or when she had her flag stolen first, or when she fell off her scooter and cracked her head on the floor.  It didn't matter that most of the other kids were four years older, she was in it to win it.  She had a great time and I'm so proud of her.

My Little Drummer Girl

Rock on!

Given the opportunity to play with blocks, most kids build towers.  Houses.  Castles even.

Not mine.

My kid builds drum sets.

A footstool, her sunglasses, and two pencils - not sharpened, of course - set the stage for her solo rock concert.

And the drumming can last hours.

We've actually been kicking around the idea of buying her a real one.

I know, we're crazy. 

But it's not like we ever have silence in this house anyway.

Ten Minutes in the Bathroom

Once Punky finally got to sleep on Halloween night, I headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed myself and had a startling revelation.

My period was late.

Before I had Punky, my cycles were anywhere from 25 to 33 days.  But, I could always feel ovulation and it would start exactly two weeks after, like clockwork.  Since Punky's birth, my body has been running a classic, textbook cycle, 28 days on the nose.  Maybe once or twice it was 29, but hardly a reason to panic.

By my calculations, it was already two days late at that point.  Normally I wouldn't think much of it since we tend to have dry spells that last for months, but the last few weeks were far outside that norm.  My heart started to race.

When there was still no sign of anything on Tuesday, I gave Punky's dad the stats.  I could see the panic in his eyes as the color drained from his face.  Needless to say, it was the topic of conversation for the next forty-eight hours.  We talked about our fears, the impact it would have on our lives, and how physically hard it would be on both of us.  But we also talked about how beautiful Punky is, how fast she has grown up, and how likely it is that, given our ages, she will be all alone in the world by the time she's my age.

By Thursday, we needed to know.  One way or another, we needed a definitive answer.  He grabbed a test at the store, and proceeded to ask me fifteen times over the course of the next two hours if I had to pee yet.  Truth is, I had to, but I didn't want to.  I knew the rest of my life hinged on that pee, and I held it in as long as I could.

When Punky was occupied with her crayons at the kitchen counter, and he was distracted on the internet, and my both my courage and bladder were as full as they could be, I slipped into the bathroom to face the music.  I could hear my heart pounding in my chest as I read the instructions.  I started to sweat.  I felt dizzy.  I wanted to throw up.

I peed.

I put the test on the floor and sat there for a few seconds to catch my breath.  Within thirty seconds, I knew what the result would be, but I gave it the full two minutes as instructed before calling him in to see for himself.

He was white as a ghost when he walked in the room.  He looked at the test, looked at me, looked at the test again, and burst out laughing.  We both did.  We giggled a bit, sighed at the relief of finally knowing, and then we cried a bit.  Real tears.  Not for us; for Punky. 

The test was negative.  

And I knew what the results would be because my period started at the very moment I took the test.

But we learned a lot in those ten minutes in the bathroom.  While we would both prefer not to have another child, it wouldn't be the end of the world if we did.  We were equally relieved and disappointed by the test result, both happy and sad at the same time. 

We returned to the kitchen to find green crayon scribbles all over the counter, and vowed to be more careful in the future.

Punky's Roaring Halloween

As soon as I got home from work today, we got Punky dressed in her costume and headed to town.  She was so excited to go trick or treating; she'd been practicing for weeks.  This was her first year going door to door and I didn't know what to expect. 

I've always hated Halloween.  Trick or treating, for me, was borderline traumatic.  In my town, people didn't give you candy for no reason; you had to earn it by singing a song, or telling a joke, or otherwise embarrassing yourself.  For an extremely shy kid like me, it was brutal.  I hated making a fool out of myself in front of total strangers.  I was uncomfortable in their houses.  Just knocking on the door was enough to scare me half to death. 

Roar!

When we approached the first house, I saw no hesitation from Punky.  Her dad's outgoing nature seems to have trumped any shy genes she may have inherited from me.  She went right up the steps and knocked on the door.  When it opened, she let out an excited "Trick or treat!" followed by a very convincing "Roar!"  I, on the other hand, felt the same lump in my throat that I did as a child.  Just watching her made me feel seven years old all over again. 

We hit about fifteen houses in the next half hour.  Each one went off without a hitch; she was scared of no one.  Not of their houses, not of their masks, not of their barking dogs.  Nothing but roars and smiles from my adorable little lion.  And she couldn't get over the amount of candy piling up in her pumpkin.  She was in her glory. 

We decided to run up to his mom's house for a few minutes so she could see Punky's costume and we could sneak a bathroom break.  We stopped at three more houses on the drive home and it was obvious Punky had her fill of trick or treating.  She was getting antsy, it was getting cold, and she was dying for a bite of candy that we wouldn't let her have until we had the chance to check it over at home.  So, we called it a night. 

She had a great time and she's already looking forward to next year.  We didn't even have the lion costume off when she announced her desire to be a dinosaur next year.  As promised, we checked the loot and let her enjoy a few pieces of her treasure.  She spent the next two hours bouncing off the walls and driving us nuts while we patiently waited for the sugar high to wear off so we could get her to bed.

Once she finally fell asleep, I faced a Halloween scare of my own.  I don't think I'll get much sleep tonight.  The explanation, though, will have to wait.

The Greatest Snow On Earth

We planned to go home this weekend for a visit, but I had some hesitations while packing the car on Friday.  The weather forecast for that part of the state looked grim.  Snow was on the horizon and they were calling for at least six inches yesterday. 

I debated a bit, but ultimately decided to go.  We had tickets for the circus and Punky was looking forward to it all month.  I couldn't bring myself to disappoint her.  Plus, we both had a haircut scheduled for Friday night and cancelling would have led to a disastrous tango with the scissors.  We both needed it so badly and it couldn't be put off another month.

When we woke up on Saturday morning, the snow had already started and was sticking to the roads.  I made sure we were ready and out the door early.  My sister and her family were coming with us to the circus but they weren't quite ready to leave when we got to their house.  The circus was a half hour drive away, and I wanted to take it slow, so I told them we'd meet them there.

The ride up was uneventful.  Once we came down off the mountain, the roads were only wet.  We arrived in plenty of time to wait in the car for a half hour until they finally opened the doors to the arena, but better safe than sorry I suppose.  

The circus itself was a bit disappointing.  I had never been to one of that magnitude and I expected it to live up to it's name.  It didn't.  It was far from the greatest show on earth.  It had a few exciting moments but they were few and far between.  The kid in me really looked forward to the trapeze act, but when it finally came time they had only one guy, all alone, jumping back and forth between two swings that were ten feet apart at most.  Talk about under-impressive. 

Punky was so excited to see the circus; we talked about it all month.  I really expected it to hold her attention, but twenty minutes in she seemed as bored as I was.  While I was content to sit there and watch anyway, she opted to jump around in the aisle, kick the chairs of the people in front of us, and harass her cousin instead.  By intermission, I was ready to leave.  When the circus was finally over, I wished I had.  

By that point, a couple inches of snow piled up on the cars and the roads were no longer just wet.  Just thinking about the drive home made me shiver.  If it was that awful in the valley, I could only imagine how much worse it would be as we made our way up the mountain.  Unlike the circus, it lived up to my expectations.

The roads were terrible, the snow was blinding, and people were driving like idiots.  I was so thankful Punky fell asleep for the ride; I needed the silence to concentrate on not killing us.  In one particularly rough spot, I had a brief anxiety/panic attack but I managed to talk myself out of it instead of just pulling off the road and waiting to die.  The half hour drive in good weather turned into an hour and a half return trip, but we finally made it in one piece.

My sister wanted us to come over when we got back into town, but I wasn't facing the snow any more that day.  I had enough.  Plus, my niece was very sick and I wanted to keep Punky's exposure to a minimum.  She's been doing well lately, a minor cold here and there but no unexplained fevers and such.  So, I offered to have my nephew over instead so the kids could spend the day together and play. 

They really don't get to see each other very often since apparently my sister would rather die than make the two and a half hour ride up to visit us, even though I used virtually every hour of my vacation time each year for three years to go visit her when she lived across the country, but that's another post entirely.  The important thing is that the kids had fun together and my nephew ended up spending the night with us.  

By this morning, the snow finally stopped.  The official total?  Sixteen inches.  I was more than ready to get packed and leave the winter wonderland.  It still amazes me that we live over one hundred and fifty miles north, but get a quarter of the snow they do back home.  One call to Punky's dad confirmed what I suspected: not a single flake was on the ground at our house.  

So, the circus was a bust, the weather was atrocious, and I didn't get to spend any time at all with my adorable niece, but we had a nice visit with my nephew and Punky's godfather, plus a delicious lunch with my mom before heading back home today.  

And we both got kickin' haircuts, as Punky told her dad when he met us at the door this evening.

Thirty-Four Months

This month can be adequately summed up with one small word:

No!

No! I won't eat my dinner! 

No! I don't like that! 

No! I won't hug you! 

No! I don't want to do that! 

No! I won't take a bath! 

No! I don't want to wear that shirt!

No! No! No!

And the one that cuts like a knife...

No! I don't love you, Mommy!

Ouch.

We made it almost to the end of the infamous terrible two's with very little terrible, but apparently she's been saving it up for one magnificent grand finale.

Seriously, I have no clue what happened to my sweet, loving, agreeable, little girl.  It's like someone flipped a switch this month.  She disagrees simply to disagree.  No task is easy these days.  Mundane routines that went off without a hitch for months are now individual battles of wits.  She fights with us over every little thing for the sake exerting her independence.  I know she's trying to understand and confirm her identity in the world, but these power struggles are getting old quickly.  

I've always tried to let her make decisions when possible.  Instead of asking her open-ended questions, I offer her choices of a few acceptable acceptable answers.  When she picks one, it's a win/win.  She feels like she is in control of her world and she ends up eating something healthy for a snack.  This tactic has worked so well that I smugly thought I had it all figured out, but she turned the tables this month.

"Sweetie, do you want an apple or banana for a snack?"

"I want cookies!"

Shit.  She cracked the code.  Thankfully, reverse psychology is still working to a degree.  She is so determined to drive us mad, she'll choose anything that we don't offer.  

"Do you want to wear your pink jacket or the purple one?"  Both are light and it's really getting too cold for her to wear them now.

"No! I want to wear my princess coat, Mommy! That's the one I want!"  Her heavy winter coat, the one I wanted her to wear in the first place.  Success in this case, but it's not a fool-proof method.  It's backfired several times.

I really hope she gets through this stage quickly.  We both hate to resort to yelling but at times she gives us no other choice.  She tantrums, and cries, and screams over the silliest things, and the only way to get her attention is to yell louder than she is.  It takes forever to calm her down and get back to the task at hand.  She completely tunes us out and refuses to listen to anything.  It's exhausting. 

I know it's probably normal and something she just needs to work through, but I still can't help but wonder if something triggered this immediate turn in her behavior.  By no means is it constant but we can count on a few outbursts each day.  Her dad asked the teachers at daycare about her behavior and she's had a few incidents there, too.  

Other than her sudden over-appreciation of the word 'no', everything else is going well.  Potty training is a thing of the past and diapers seem like a distant memory at this point.  We are about seven weeks into this new world and there has been no signs of regression whatsoever.  She's had no accidents, night or day, so I think it's a done deal.  I gave all my leftover diapers to my sister for my niece, the changing table is gone from her room (well, actually I'm using it in her closet for storage), and I've thrown away the diaper bag.  There's no going back now.

Punky has been been really into coloring again lately, and I've had to buy her some new books and tablets.  I swear she colored for six hours off an on one day recently.  She tries to draw letters and shapes.  Sometimes she's close, sometimes she scribbles, sometimes she uses her imagination and sees things no one else would even consider in her works of art.

Our bedtime reading has been taken over by longer and longer books these days and by a greater variety than she's allowed in the past.  She's taking a greater interest in words and can recognize a handful on sight now.  I still say she'll be reading before age four.  

Here's to hoping next month brings an end to her sudden defiant streak.  My hair is graying far more quickly than I'd like.  If this behavior continues, I'll need a full dye job by Christmas.

Priority at the Pole

Determined to keep the ball rolling, I tackled more Christmas shopping yesterday.  Before hitting the stores, Punky and I went for lunch and chatted about the holidays.

She keeps asking for one specific toy and I keep putting her off, partly because both Christmas and her birthday are coming up quickly, partly because I don't want her to expect a toy every time we go shopping, and partly because the toy is extremely loud and annoying and I'd rather not listen to it for the next two weeks straight until the batteries suddenly die (meaning one of us removes the damn things because we can't stand it any longer). 

So, when she mentioned the toy again over lunch, it was the perfect opportunity to tell her all about making a list for Santa.  I explained how we'll write a letter to tell him she's been a good girl this year, and that in the letter she can tell Santa a couple wishes she has for Christmas.

"Christmas is still two months away," I told her, "but we need to get started on your letter soon.  It will take a long time to get to where Santa lives."  In other words, we need time to shop.  

"Can we mail it to him?" she asked.

"Yes, that's exactly what we'll do.  When we finish the letter, you can put a stamp on it and we'll take it to the post office.  You can put it in the mailbox all by yourself."  

 

"Wow!"  That peaked her interest.  "But how will it get to Santa?" she asked.

"I'm not sure, sweetie.  Santa lives so far away, the letter may travel by truck, boat, train, and plane to get all the way to the top of the world.  But don't worry, Santa will get it in time for Christmas."  

Her blank stare told me I needed to elaborate a bit more.  She has a ball with a globe printed on it.  Many times we've talked about where we live, where we went on vacation, where China is, etc.  I thought it may be a good reference.

"Think about your earth ball," I said.  "When you look at the globe, Santa lives all the way at the tippy-top of the world at the North pole, so your letter has a long way to travel to Santa's house."

I could see the wheels spinning as she thought for a minute.  I waited patiently to hear what questions she would have about the North Pole and Santa's house.  And once again, my child managed to leave me speechless.

"Mommy?" she asked, "Does he get cable?"

So, either I'm the proud mom of an extremely smart two-year-old who thinks way outside the box for her age, or I've failed miserably as a parent by allowing her far too much time in front of the idiot box.  Think what you will, but I'm going with the first one.

Much Needed R & R

Before Punky came along, our relationship was still fairly new.   Her dad and I dated a while, but we were only living together about four months when we conceived our perfect, little girl.  And those four months went as you would expect with any couple who recently moved in together.  Sure, we started noticing the little things that can typically cause spats, but they were easily overlooked with the passion of a new relationship.  We had discussed the possibility of a baby down the road, but by no means were we trying at that point.  Given the outcome, I guess we weren't really trying to prevent it either.

His hesitations stemmed from his age and the fact that he already had two older boys, ages 12 and 19 at the time.  He'd been down the new baby road before, he had a much better understanding of the changes it brings to a relationship, and his days of diaper changes and three a.m. feedings were long behind him.  He wasn't sure he wanted to start all over again.  My hesitations were fueled by the fear of another loss.  While I truly believed another pregnancy would end that way, I also knew I would never go the medical intervention route.  I applaud women who have the strength to endure loss after loss, treatment after treatment, and even failed adoption after failed adoption in their pursuit to become a mother.  I didn't have it in me.  I just didn't.

But nevertheless, there we were, completely in shock, just staring at the flashing pregnancy test.  Ready or not, we were strapped into the roller coaster and it departed from the station.  We hung on tightly through the ups and downs those nine, long months.  There were plenty of curves along the way and I, of course, was fully prepared for derailment at any point.

The first eight weeks postpartum went well as we adjusted to life with a newborn.  Yes, we were tired but at least I was off work so he managed to get enough sleep to function at his job.  When I had to return to work full time, things started getting rough.  It broke my heart when I had to leave Punky every day, but staying home wasn't an option.  We simply couldn't afford it.  I sunk into a deep depression as the months passed and her dad and I grew further apart with each passing day.  We were both exhausted.  I was miserable.  He was angry that I had basically written us off at that point.  Then when Punky was six months old, right about the time I started this blog, he got laid off from work and financial trouble was added to the pile of discontent.

Over the last two years, we've had our share of disagreements.  We've had extremely rocky times, followed by periods of indifference, followed by peaceful times.  It's cyclical, really.  Each of us blames the other, of course, but there is some truth on both sides of the argument.  I've struggled with my own identity since becoming a mom.  At times I'm so focused on that role, and I've let many other aspects of my life simply vanish in the wake.  Our relationship was one of those things that got pushed to a back burner.  I just needed to put it on low and let it simmer while I worked through the new world of motherhood.  

On the flip side, he wasn't content to simmer.  The more I withdrew into my own world, the more he felt neglected, and the higher he turned the heat. Once in a while the pot would boil over.  A few days of yelling, a few of not speaking, a few more just existing.  Eventually the water would return to warm and we'd like each other again.  We would kiss and make up, so to speak, and things would be calm for a while.  But then life's pressures would bear down once again, and I'd retreat into hiding, and tensions would build, and the cycle would repeat.  We just couldn't seem to fully reconnect post baby.  We just couldn't get it right.

The last few weeks have seemed different.  We're taking life less seriously.  We're working like a team instead of playing tug-of-war over every little thing.  We're making time to spend together, alone.  We're flirting through text messages like silly teenagers.  We're laughing more.  We're talking more.  I can't even remember the last time I thought about whizzing a steak knife his way.  It's a whole new type of calmness around here these days. 

Nearly three years in, maybe we finally figured it out.  And maybe we haven't.  I can't pinpoint an exact cause, nor do I care to.  Maybe it will last; maybe it won't. 

For now I'm simply enjoying the R & R.  In this case, reconnection and romance.  By my calculations, rest and relaxation are still years away.