Sugar and Spice

I’m sure you’ve all seen that Subaru commercial where the dad is ticking off a vehicle safety checklist to his daughter who is seated in the driver’s seat. At first glance, he seems to be talking to a cute fidgety toddler. It’s only at the end of the commercial, that you realize he was only seeing her as a toddler and that she is, in fact, his beautiful grown daughter. It gets me every time. Every. Single. Time. That commercial is always followed in our house by tears, nostalgia for years that have not even passed us by yet, and, if she is close enough, a big and usually unwelcome squeeze of Pumpkin. This morning I had a completely opposite experience. As I’m sorting laundry, I look up and, lo and behold, Pumpkin has draped a sports bra around her neck and is holding a set of car keys in her hand. I felt like her whole life had flashed before my eyes. I was no longer looking at my 19-month old, but at my 19-year old. Granted, I hope when she is 19-years old she is wearing he

Give me your poor, your tired, your huddled babies trying to breathe without the nebulizer, but please God keep your vomiting, stomach-bug infested babies from now on. Boy, I didn’t know how good we had it with the wheezing and the breathing treatments until last Thursday when Pumpkin was hit with “the stomach bug.” That’s right, not “a stomach bug” but THE stomach bug. From 11 PM until 7 AM we dealt with violent projective vomiting every thirty minutes like clockwork. I had spoken in hyperbole before about being “up all night” but this time we were literally, Up. All. Night. Not only were we up, but we were disgusting, shameless wretches of our formal selves. Once her own bed was declared a hazardous waste zone, I moved her to ours. Being that she is still too young to explain the concept of hurling off the side of the bed into a trash can, I laid there watching her little limp body for the first sign of distress at which point I would cup my hands under her little mouth. The t

I almost don’t even need to write this blog entry and you can probably guess how things have been. Pumpkin has been battling respiratory illness, I’ve been battling the Children’s Clinic, yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m sure it’s getting old to my faithful readers; God knows it is getting old to me. But after the third diagnosis by the same doctor in a two week period, and my subsequent dismantling of his opinion on WebMD I got to wondering how in the world people parented before technology. I’m not even referring to days of yore when kids were bred for working and you lost a few to diphtheria along the Oregon Trail. I’m talking about a mere 20 years ago. I’m talking about MY lifetime. Like, how did my parents do it? How did they survive? Better yet, how did I survive? What in the world did people do when they didn’t have Google, WTE.com, Facebook, and portable DVD players? My research started with a consultation with my own mother. First question: how did you ever go anywhere more

We are loving the cold air and the holiday cheer and are looking so forward to Pumpkin’s second Christmas (the first one where she may have some teeny tiny idea of what is going on, or at least how to rip open gifts). It truly is the most wonderful time of the year. We just spent a great week with our Florida family, complete with Ganny-spoiling, Thanksgiving gluttony, and early Christmas presents. Unfortunately, coming back to the real world was, well…real. It started with my losing my driver’s license somewhere between Ganny’s house and the airport. It was one of those “bright ideas” to save time at the security line I would put my license in my back pocket so I could whip it out at a moment’s notice. Well, having put that plan into action, I then proceeded to fold myself up onto Pumpkin’s new tricycle and “ride” down Ganny’s cul-de-sac (much to Pumpkin’s sheer delight). Unfortunately, all of the yoga-like positions I had to get into apparently pushed my license out of my pock

Pumpkin’s latest obsession is personal hygiene. I thought children typically hated to leave playtime to tend to those pesky necessities, but this child of mine literally begs to take showers and brush her teeth. Not only that, but one would suspect torture to overhear her being dragged out of the shower to dry off. In fact, a few nights ago after several long minutes of tooth-brushing, I pried the brush from her tiny Vulcan grip only to have her fall to her knees screaming “TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETH.” I was just taking her toothbrush, not ripping her teeth out of her gums, but it was a horrifying enough scream to cause Hubby to come and check on us. Similar bellowing cries are evoked every night when I make her get out of the “showw-showw.” Of course, it’s hard to discipline or discourage a child who WANTS to brush her teeth and who WANTS to take a shower. On the other hand, I can’t have her wrinkle into a prune and as much as I’d love to, I can’t just stand in the bathroom while she b

I bet you’re thinking the title of this blog post refers to Pumpkin, but with all humility I must admit that this one is about yours truly. Seems that I am irresistible. Of course, I’ve always known this, but now I have a little 25-pound, 18-month old Pumpkin to confirm it. It started last week out of nowhere. It was like any other Monday. We rise, we shine, we give God the glory, glory and then we’re off to school. After those first few weeks, we hadn’t shed a tear. Then, Monday morning, I put her little feet on the ground and her face screws up into the tightest little ball of sadness you have ever seen. The hysterics escalated from what we dealt with before and included her actually trying to pry the door open as I was pulling it shut and sticking her red, teary face out of it to scream at me as I left the building. Guilt, much? So this went on the entire week last week. Her little classmates got in on the comforting action, trying to hug her and give her open-mouth slobber

Seems like it has been a long time since last I posted – so much has happened. Our little Pumpkin has had her first hair cut, climbed in her first tree house, played in her first rain storm (looking very Zen, I might add), worn her first pony tail, been to the beach, played in the sand, and attended Uncle Poly and Aunt Corey’s wedding. Sheesh, now I know what they mean by a picture is worth a thousand words – I refer you to the attached photos for all of that. And speaking of a thousand words, Pumpkin’s vocabulary is quickly approaching that mark. Every day she amazes me by clearly articulating some need or desire. Last night she pointed out “dada’s choo choo” in the driveway (read: daddy’s truck). I’m quickly realizing that perhaps more important than her talking is me actually listening. Anyone who knows me realizes how difficult that sometimes is for me. It slapped me in the face just last week while we were in Florida and as I was carrying her down the steps of the beach ho

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a very scheduled person. Spontaneous is just not something I’ve ever been mistaken for. In addition to being scheduled, for the vast majority of my life, I’ve also been very punctual. Let me take that back. I’m not punctual, I’m habitually early. I can’t stand tardiness. I take it as a personal assault if someone is late for something I plan (other than those things you are SUPPOSED to be “fashionably” late for, of course). My staff loves this about me. My family, maybe not as much, but they adapt. All of them except for Pumpkin. Since Pumpkin’s arrival I’ve had more and more difficulty being on time, much less early. Yet, however hard Pumpkin has railed against my promptness, I have subconsciously battled back to ensure that even if I can’t be on time to any social functions ever again, I am always on time to work. Let me correct myself again, that I am always EARLY to work. This feat is especially difficult considering Pumpkin lov

It was hard to come to work this morning. Not just because I had a case of the Mondays. Not just because it’s absolutely gorgeous outside and I would rather be anywhere than in an office. And not because I have a to-do list that is a million items long and I only seem to be adding to it and not taking away. The real reason it was so extremely, painfully hard to come to work is that we had such a wonderful weekend with our little Pumpkin. Enough cannot be said about the amazing weather we had this weekend. It was beautiful. It was cool in the morning, which called for staying in our PJs a little longer than usual and having Pop cook us a big breakfast. But then the glorious sun broke free and it warmed up to a perfect 80 degrees. Perfect temp. We stayed outside for most of the day Saturday and there is simply no denying my girl’s absolute LOVE for the outdoors. We played on the swing, the slide, dragged the wagon, pushed the wagon, rode the wagon, filled the wagon with scaveng

While we are on the subject of being spoiled and somewhere in that same universe, is the idea of excess. Last night, I got a little confirmation that we may be headed down that road. Or, at a philosophical minimum, I'm convinced that my child loves cake. I don't typically quote 50-Cent in a blog, but there simply were not more appropriate words to call this story. Yesterday was Pop's birthday and we had lots of fun in store for him, including a trip to the new waterfront restaurant an hour away and a delicious homemade (not in my home) red velvet cake (which, I learned last night over cake, he likes but is not his favorite despite my convincing myself it was). In any event, all of these festivities on a Thursday and a monthly dog grooming appointment had me home a little early with my arms full. Prioritizing those things which could and could not stay in the car by themselves, I quickly deposited Pumpkin at my side in the front yard, one eye on her; let the dog out to

While many of you already know the answer, I’ll spare the rest of you inquiring minds and just cut straight to the chase. Pumpkin’s ears are fine. Actually, let me rephrase that and quote the chief of otolaryngology at Baylor School of Medicine…her ears are “perfect.” Yes, perfect. Because of the tubes, you might ask. Oh no, in spite of the tubes. Yesterday our visit to Texas Children’s was simultaneously one of my best and worst mother moments. The facilities and staff are amazing. If you ever need medical care for a child – and I hope you do not – this is the place to go. Except for the two minutes that a needle was in her arm and blood was being sucked from her body, Pumpkin didn’t shed a tear. She actually enjoyed the visit. Me, on the other hand…well, I can agree that the fish and the colors were nice, but the rest of the visit sent me into a frenzy of emotions ranging from utter joy, to sadness and guilt, to red-seeing rage. It all started when the dear, sweet, brillia

Well, the ABs survived their trip to Florida and except for a violent stomach bug that spread to half the family and a killer diaper rash, they are no worse for the wear. I like to think Hubby has a newfound appreciation for me (or at least the second pair of hands I provide) after maneuvering luggage and stroller through the airport solo and changing a stinky diaper in the tiny airplane lavatory. Although they were only gone for a total of 48 hours, I swear Pumpkin grew and changed into even more of a little toddler-person than she already was. As I was watching her last night (my nightly entertainment) I started to think about all the amazing things she is learning. It’s little things like answering the telephone when it rings, or helping to put the dogs back in their kennels. Things we do every day – often begrudgingly – and never think twice about (unless the second thought is to begrudge, of course). So we all know (and God knows I’ve written about it), that Pumpkin is learni

When last we met, Pumpkin was having a hard time adjusting to her new class and new schedule. For two solid weeks I would drop her off in tears, then start my own round of tears, and we’d do it all over again when I picked her up. It was miserable. I considered switching teachers, “holding her back” in the baby class, and even home-schooling. I tried different drop off and pick up times, I called the principal, I did everything I could think of and was getting very frustrated with my once-happy baby’s new sad outlook on school. I was settling in for a long 17 years. Then, one morning when I dropped her off, I sat her down on the floor like I always do and saw her face start to crumble. It starts in her forehead, then her lip juts out just before those little eyes brim over with tears. Yet, this time it stopped with the lip. Right as she started to conjure up another Academy Award winning set of waterworks, Miss Lana called to me from across the room: “Don’t you believe that, sh

What a trying couple of weeks these last have been for our precious Pumpkin. Between the double ear infection, the three rounds of antibiotic shots, the packing up of her toys, and the new class, she’s been through the baby ringer. The first ¾ of that list we have nipped in the bud, but the new class has continued to be a struggle for both of us. On Monday I decided to stay and play a while, thinking maybe she’d warm up. The tears did not start immediately, so I thought I was on to something. Unfortunately, about fifteen minutes in to our play, Pumpkin got wind of what I was up to and laid her little head down in the crook of her arm on the table and wept (literally – wept). I ran out in a frenzy, watched her cry on and off all day on the webcam, and walked in to pick her up to be greeted by full-on hysterics. That’s the crying that really gets me – the pick-up crying. I can understand a few tears when mama drops you off, but when I’m there to get her? Really? Shouldn’t she

Sometimes being a working mom is the pits. I’m not talking about the early morning meetings on less than a few hours of sleep or the late night ones which prevent me from bedtime prayers and tucking in. I’m not talking about working with a baby on one hip and a phone on one shoulder, or with spit up on my documents or, better yet, my blouse. I’m not even talking about the pangs of guilt I feel every time she comes down with something “she caught at daycare.” It’s something much deeper than that. Something that I know I have to fight to overcome. It’s the overwhelming sadness of not being there to witness every discovery, kiss every boo-boo, and rock her every time the world is not perfect. It’s the feeling of having to say goodbye, even if just for a short time. I guess that feeling isn’t unique to working moms. I think it’s something every mom feels at one time or another. Working moms just get it earlier…and maybe more frequently. Even those moms who are home right now

As all of you are probably well aware, I do not like change. Now, I know most people don’t necessarily like change, but I REALLY don’t like change. You can ask Hubby, I get frenetic when things don’t go as I had planned. When my best laid plans go astray (as we all know they do), I go right with them. Of course, all of my resistance to change has, itself, changed since Pumpkin was born, but I digress. The real point I want to make is that just like her mama (or, baba, if you will), Pumpkin hates change. And, as you have probably guessed, this wouldn’t be much of a blog if her little world wasn’t changing in some major (and highly resisted) ways this week. The biggest change this week was her promotion to the toddler class. My resistance to the change started last week when I got the “promotion” letter. I welled up with tears and could hardly tear myself away from her baby class on Friday when I picked her up for the last time. Hubby is already highly concerned for how I

Our little Pumpkin is growing up so fast. I feel like every day I look over at her and she is doing or saying something absolutely, incredibly “grown up.” Take, for instance, the photo of her chowing down on a ham and cheese sandwich in a booster chair (not a high chair) at a restaurant. Sooooo grown up. All these realizations, however, caused me to get a little ahead of myself this weekend with a brilliant idea I’ll call “Project Project” (and, which, at the end of this blog you will see was really Project Fail). It all started with our little darling being eaten half-alive by mosquitoes (reference prior post about car filling with mosquitoes, etc.). Seriously, her little arms and legs look like an urgent connect-the-dots game-gone-wrong. I try to keep her slathered in alternating all natural (read: ineffective) bug repellent, and then Benadryl spray and calamine lotion but I just cannot seem to stop them from flocking to her and, in turn, her from scratching. Now I’ll