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.