Hey lady! You’re two. I think I’m supposed to say that time flies, but good gracious, this day feels like an eternity ago. So it didn’t fly. It kind of chugged along slowly on a rickety wooden track, uphill and bumpy – start and stop and red and green – but Bee, you know how much I love a great train ride.
I found a remnant of blue Play-Doh on my shirt yesterday, and I cannot remember the last time Bee and I played with Play-Doh, and certainly not the blue color. We haven’t had the blue color in tact for quite awhile – months? – because after a long summer, there is no color distinction. It’s mixed and marbled and speckled and dried, kind of like that feeling in your stomach when you’re caught in a lie, or the moment before the champagne pops open. It’s blurry, blobbish, brown. So now, a new parenting development: I need to wash my clothes at the end of every day.
I used to not have to do this. I’d wash my clothes like, every 2-3 wears, and would rely heavily on this organic alcohol laundress spray that probably doesn’t really do the trick but makes me feel as if I’m being proactively clean, in the lazy sense. Proactively Clean In The Lazy Sense should be a poster, or a movement, maybe. Probably a movement.
OK, potty-training. I’m doing it wrong, for sure. Because here’s how potty-training was explained to me:
“It’s totally no big deal. You just hunker down for three days, OK? Do it in the summer so your kid doesn’t need to wear any pants, then set the timer for every ten minutes. Give them a Skittle every time they go successfully. Done! They’ll be potty-trained in no time.”
And then. Here’s how it worked for me:
So, I don’t watch the Bachelorette, but I’d totally give July a rose, absolutely. The weather has been spectacularly moody, vacillating between angsty teenage thunderstorms and polite 70-degree afternoons and hey, as a minor coffee addict, mood swings are something I can get behind. The rain makes the sun brighter, is that how the saying goes?
Bee and I went to the library yesterday, the big one downtown where I have to parallel park the minivan (my gosh, what an adult-sounding sentence). I picked the spot with the broken meter, but it was OK because then I realized I don’t keep any spare change for the meter anyway. When Ken and I lived in L.A., I kept a coin purse in the glove compartment and it would clink-clink-clink when I hit the speed bump in the grocery store.
It’s funny, the things you remember.
You and I, we struggle with balance. (Here’s a secret: everyone does.) You hoard pool noodles and stuffed animals and plastic bowls, begging to be filled with your latest finds from around the house. You want to wear both headbands, use every sticker, eat the whole bag of pistachios. You want your sippy cup filled all the way – overflowing – “just in case” you say.
And I’m much the same. I hoard memories and moments in a futile attempt to seize the day before it passes too quickly. I want to wear both hats, use every gift, eat the whole bag of pistachios. I want my cup to overflow, too.
Ever since we returned home from Singapore, Ken and I have been seeking out more local activities to carry on the spirit of travel in our own backyard. We’ve been trying new restaurants, hitting more farmer’s markets – anything to keep the adventurous momentum alive and well in our wee family of three…
I remember the first time I saw a kid in my 4th grade class blow a bubble within a bubble while they were chewing gum. It was fascinating to me, like how could something so flexible and thin – weak, I thought – possibly become a home for something else? How could there still be room in there? It just… defied logic. And now, here you are. Doing the same for me, 20-something years later.
The temperature hit 70, so we grabbed a picnic blanket and our sunnies and jetted out to the backyard. The thing about spring in the Midwest is that it waffles often between extremes: 55 one day, 85 the next. A sunny-and-70-degree day is a rarity, and it’s one worth celebrating.
Here’s what your mother is really, really bad at: (1) Operating chopsticks, (2) Negotiating in person, (3) Singing on key, and (4) Living in the moment. It’s not that I’m living in the future, because truly, I’m not. I’m as far from Type A as you can get in this department as I have very little future plans solidified other than to do my best to not be an a-hole to the people I come in contact with on a daily basis.