Finally

Oh my. I can't believe I left that lame Starbucks post as top billing for over a month, but I was without Internet last month. It nearly killed me but somehow I pulled through. I hope people will come back and read. While I brew up a presentable post (which I should have been doing during my month-long hiatus, I know), here are some recent pictures of my lovely daughter. She is 18 months old now. She has more hair, a few more words, and a lot more sass.

Here she is making some Coconut Frosting with mama.
In order to get any baking done (which I honestly love to do), I have to let her "help."
She is especially good at cleaning up, as you can clearly see in this picture.
(A joke! Could you tell?)



Bundled up and oh-so-happy on her first sled ride. (Good mom, capturing a "first"!)
Chad bought her a sled months ago, and they were both way too excited to use it.
I took some pictures and ran back inside while they played.
I felt dizzy from all the fresh air and activity and had to retreat to the couch and my book.

Month Fifteen

Ella is now officially fifteen months old. I cannot believe this, that fifteen months have passed since she came splashing out of my belly, but the calendar usually doesn't lie. This month has been one of big changes. Ella has definitely left babyhood behind and is fast entering toddlerhood.



Her whole body looks longer and leaner each day. The delicious rolls of baby fat around her thighs have mostly redistributed themselves, and the awkward, bowlegged baby crab-walk has straightened out. Her neck is leaner and her face a little less round. Her feet have flattened out. She looks like a kid instead of a baby, except for the bald head.

She has adopted a white teddy bear as her Number One Friend. The bear was a birthday gift from Chad's friend David, and she left him laying around for a while before she decided he was The One. Now he goes everywhere with her, and she hugs him and feeds him and kisses him and gives him her milk. She calls him "Beah," like "bear" without the "r." His white fur is dingy and stinky, but I haven't yet figured out how to wash him without Ella losing her shit. Beah cannot be out of her sight.

Tantrums are a daily occurrence now, but they're not so bad. I understand that it's all about her asserting her new found independence, and I'm excited about that. I have found this incredible patience inside me that I honestly did not know I had. Sometimes I have to walk away for a minute to find that patience, but it's always there, and once I tap into it I can usually distract her or just ride it out.

I can see some of myself emerging in her personality. She's a people-watcher. She's a little reserved at first, but warms quickly to strangers. She likes to sit outside and just look around. She likes to sleep. I wonder how much of this was there from the beginning, hardwired into her little baby brain, and how much of it is learned, since we are together much more than we are apart.

Tantrum in Pink

There is really a thousand things I should be doing right now, so today I offer two photos snapped yesterday. I was trying to get a photo of her entirely pink outfit because it is such a rare occurrence, and instead I got photos of a tantrum erupting.

Vicious

Butch and Ella sharing a blanket.

Bento #1

Today I created Ella's first bento box. It's really more of a snack than a lunch. We took it to the park and she spent the afternoon eating and playing with her cousins.




The star in the center is cut from a pancake, and there is a second one underneath. The "rays" shining out from the star are green beans. Below the star I crammed in a bunch of blueberries, and the area above the star is filled with multi-colored goldfish crackers. The box itself is just a small 300mL Rubbermaid Take n' Toss container (I paid $2.50 for 5 of them) and I spent ten minutes putting it together.

It was a big hit with the kid. When I handed it to her she looked at me like, "All this goodness, for me?" Then she sat in my nephew Erik's stroller and ate most of it.

Photographic Evidence

I think my Mom just follows Ella around with the camera the entire time she babysits her. This is good for me because I get a disk of fabulous photos when I pick her up. And we all know how unreliable and sporadic I am with the taking of the photos.

Behold, the beauty that is my offspring, who is 13 months old today. (These pictures were taken on 6/17/07, last Sunday).

An ad for the wholesome farming lifestyle, no?

Here she just discovered the cows mulling about the field.

My sweet angel face.

Enjoying the Fruits of Our Labor

Last week, Chad and I got inspired to finally clean off the front porch and make it a comfortable place to relax. After a few days of sorting, throwing shit out, and convincing our visitors that they needed to take something with them when they left, we have a clean porch, with chairs and toys and everything. It's like a new living room. Ella and I spend our mornings out there putting around, and the three of us relax out there before the bedtime hour.

Here is Ella last night, enjoying her favorite book in her new favorite chair.

Letting It Go

Our dog Blue has been missing since May 17 and I still cannot let it go. I still think about her every single day, and I have been dreaming these heart-wrenching dreams where I wake up and expect to find her there beside me in the bed. Why am I so torn up over this?

I have decided to renew my search for one more round, this time posting signs that offer a reward for her return. If I don't find her by the end of June, I will have to let it rest. I will have to make my mind stop conjuring up all these awful situations where she is waiting for me to find her. I will have to be comfortable with not ever knowing what happened to one of my best friends, because really, that's what she was. A constant companion and a best friend.



I was telling my mom about how awful I feel, and this was her reply: "I was walking in the state game lands once and found a dead beagle. It didn't look like it was shot or anything, it just looked like it laid down and died." You might think this is morose, and you might wonder why my mom told me such a fucked-up story when I really didn't need to hear it. But this is my mom's way, always with the gloom and doom.

Fun with Rice

Moving on from yesterday's whiny post ...

I discovered this fantastic blog called in the trenches of motherhood where a mother of seven (!!!) children shares her Great Mother Wisdom. I really like her dry wit and off-handed style. She acts like it is no big deal to be raising and homeschooling seven kids which, shit, makes me quake in my flip flops.

While I was poring over Chris' archives, I found this post on the joys of rice. So simple, yet such fun for a kid. Rice! To throw and scoop and throw and sit in!

Inspired, I gave Ella a box of rice, a big plastic bowl, and a cup. She played with it for over 45 minutes which, for those of you who have toddler-babies know, is a VERY LONG TIME. I played alongside her for a little bit, scooping the rice up in my hands and letting it sift through my fingers back into the bowl. I thought about those little tabletop Zen gardens where you tend to the sand with a little tiny rake. Then I took a gazillion pictures of Ella playing in the rice. (Good mom! Document all the precious moments!) Then I came to my senses and realized that she was occupied on her own and did not need my intervention, so I slipped away to the computer and got some work done.

The rice was easy to sweep up with a broom, it didn't stain any clothes, it wasn't sticky, and Ella couldn't hurt herself or the dogs with it. It entertained her for much longer than all those Leap Frog games with the flashing lights and annoying music. Rice just may be the best toy ever.

Red Wagon

We gave Ella a red wagon for her first birthday, which was yesterday. Here are two photos of her enjoying her first ride. I tried to be a good mom and capture the moment.

Karma Dog

Yesterday I saw a scraggly little mutt wandering along a busy road. He was obviously lost and far from home, so I pulled over and coaxed him into the car with my McDonald's Crispy Chicken Snack Wrap. He had tags on his collar but I don't have a cell phone, so I found some guy mowing his lawn and used his cell phone. The dog license official was able to give me the dog owner's name and address.

When I returned the little mutt to his home, the old lady who answered the door said, "Oh, that little shit. Yeah, he's ours," and she shut the door. No happy reunion, no thank you, no offer to let the dog inside, nothing. I rooted around on the porch and found a chain, which I used to anchor the little guy to his home. I even gave him my second McDonald's Crispy Chicken Snack Wrap because I felt bad for him. I wondered if maybe I should offer to take him home with me.

My dogs ran away last Thursday. The following Friday, we got a call from the vet saying that someone had found Free wandering along a very busy road, injured. The kind soul put him in her car and took him to the vet, where he was scanned for his identifying microchip and we were notified. I am so eternally grateful to that kind, anonymous person who cared for my dog, who wasn't afraid of his scary bulk or his serious look, who helped him get back home.

Our second dog, Blue, has yet to be found. She has been gone for 6 days. I woke up this morning crying, missing her warm, sleek little body beside me in the bed. It is our game in the mornings - she waits until she hears Chad start the shower, then she tip-toes past the bathroom door and hops up in the bed with me, where Chad never allow her to be.

Free has been very meticulously burying scraps of food and bones and treats on different parts of the property. When he finds something worth burying, he begins jogging with his eyes trained on the spot where he will dig, clearly on a mission. Chad says that he is burying these treats for Blue, which makes my heart break a little. Animals are funny like that though. My Mom had a beloved horse who died and they buried him on her property. When she was walking past the spot months later with her dog Jack, he laid down on the spot and howled and refused to get up. He knew by some sixth sense that his dead friend Booker T. was buried under that unmarked piece of ground.

My hope for Blue's return dwindles with each passing day, and it kills me to know that I may never discover what happened to her. When I drive down the road that Free was found on, I think to myself, "Blue could be laying injured five feet off the edge of this very road, and I can't find her to help her." This is incredibly rough for me.

It is even more difficult to deal with because I am forced to face my irresponsibility as a pet owner. Blue is not spayed. Blue is not licensed. Blue has no identifying tags on her collar. Blue has no microchip. If someone did find her, I can only hope they would call the Humane Society (who are probably tired of hearing from me at this point) or happen to see one of the gazillion posters I have posted at various gas stations and stores.

Maybe somehow karma will reward me with Blue's return for returning that scraggly little mutt to this home yesterday.

Reflections

Tomorrow, May 12, I turn 28. That is two years away from 30, and yet I still feel like a teenager playing house, pretending I am a real adult. Will I ever feel like a real adult?

***

Last year for my birthday, Chad wanted to take me out to dinner. I was hugely pregnant and the only thing I wanted was McDonald's. So, like the white trash that we really are, we went to McDonald's and I celebrated my 27th birthday by eating three cheeseburgers and a large container of fries.

I only ordered two cheeseburgers and when I asked Chad to go get me the third, he hesitated. My hugely pregnant and wildly hormonal self thought his hesitation was because he thought I was fat enough already and did not need the third cheeseburger. I pitched a little fit and insisted that he go right now and get me the third, which he did. When he returned to the table I asked him if he thought I was fat, and he said no, he thought I was pregnant. Smart one, that boy.


***

Today, May 11, is the day that Ella was supposed to make her arrival last year. But she didn't want to meet us yet, and she stayed in my fat belly until May 23. We had to bribe her to get her out of there: I was induced three times before she actually came out.

When I was pushing her big head out of my crotch, the doctor kept telling me I was doing good, keep pushing, there is her head! I didn't like the doctor and I didn't believe a word that came out of his mouth, so I asked Chad if he could really see her head. He was holding my foot and he had tears running down his face and he said yes, she's here. I will never, ever forget that moment.


***

This year, instead of planning for Ella's arrival, I am planning her first birthday party. I already forget so many things about our first year togther. How old was she when she started crawling? What was her first food? How long did it take my boob milk to dry up? When did she start sleeping all night? I feel like I need to take more pictures, write more down, document her life in more detail, or else I will forget everything. She's growing so fast, even though her hair isn't.

Photos Not Words

Because today my house smells like a pet store and I really, really, really have to clean, I leave you with some recent photos in lieu of real words.

Ella in her cage - I mean Exersaucer - sporting her new hat,
a gift from my friends. Tres chic, no?

Ella feeling the bark of a cherry tree
that has been laying, half chopped, in our front yard
for almost a year now.

A collection of things that live on my kitchen windowsill -
the cigarette-smoking cupcakes and letterpress letters from Shaney,
the tiny glass jar from Chad,
and the porcelain hen with chick and turtle from Shaney and Bonnie.

Home Again

And so I am home from sunny, hyper-real California, having parted ways with the most wonderful friends a girl could have. Each time we get together, I feel rejuvenated, inspired, refreshed. I feel beautiful and funny and creative. Gone are the insecurities about looking frumpy, the hesitation before I speak lest I say something totally wrong. We girls radiate off each other, making each other shine like the gems that we are.




It is always so hard for me to hold onto that inspiration and glow once I return to Real Life where the girls don't live, to dishes and diapers and clothes to be washed. To overflowing coffee filters and dog hair everywhere and not enough space or time for me to spread my wings and create.

This tension between being creative and being a responsible mother and being a loving girlfriend is sometimes difficult for me to navigate. But I think I may have come home from this trip with a clearer map for finding my way. At least I hope I have.

***

Regarding Chad and Ella, as it turns out the house does not entirely fall apart in my absence. Sure, the coffeepot overflowed and the dishwasher needs run and the clothes need washed. But I hear that she was fed and bathed and dressed in clean clothes most of the time. And apparently they had a good time together. Which I can now illustrate for you with a photograph, because Blogger has ceased being a fucker. (edited 4/20/07).

On Dogs

Tonight I was outside with the dog and her teeth were chattering. I have never, ever seen a dog's teeth chatter before. It was the strangest thing. But it was also very funny because it was involuntary, as shivering and teeth-chattering usually are, and it would catch her by surprise each time.

***

I once read a statistic about how many dogs end up in animal shelters because "We're having a baby." Of course I don't remember the exact numbers, but it was a lot and the fact stuck with me.

I almost did that too - got rid of my dogs because of the pending kid - but I was very picky about who a suitable owner would be and so we never gave them up. We did give one dog to my Dad because he was very nervous and would have completely lost his shit with a baby in the house (the dog, not my Dad). I don't feel too bad about giving him up though, because I still see him nearly every day and my Dad is a very suitable owner.

That leaves us with two dogs and one kid - one dog is male, one dog is female, and both dogs are full-blooded Pit Bulls. (Please, if you'd like to tell me how awful Pit Bulls are, be prepared for a serious argument because I will defend the breed as kind, intelligent, and funny.) (And the kid, she is a female human. Also kind, intelligent, and funny, but I don't expect much of an argument on that.)

I think giving up your dog(s) because you are having a kid is just crazy. Dogs and childhood go together like peanut butter and jelly. Dogs make wonderful companions for children. Already, at 10 months old, Ella likes to play peek-a-boo with Blue, our female. The thing with dogs and kids is that you have to be consistently diligent about supervising their time together, especially in the beginning. You have to create good habits in the dog and in the kid, so their interactions will be well-mannered.

Besides the fact that dogs make good companions, they also make excellent vacuum cleaners. This is probably the most important fact about dogs - they will "sweep" the floor for you, making post-dinner cleanup a lot faster. Free and Blue will find and eat every single tiny little piece of food Ella drops on the floor. I never have to pick up the yucky chunks, and I never have to worry about stepping on a nasty smooshed piece of banana. If it hits the floor, they are on it. (They are not allowed to eat from her hands, though she often tempts them by holding out her cheese- or graham cracker-filled fist. Maybe I should let them lick her hands clean too, so I could avoid the whole fight over wiping her hands and face clean ...?).

***

I love how the dogs will move around the kitchen floor to lay in the shifting patches of warm sunlight. I especially love it when they share a warm spot.