not that you asked...

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

So guess what? I'm going on vacation! Which means I'm going to pretend like I don't know what “vacationing” with two children is really like and ask you for book recommendations again. Last year I made it through ONE MEASLY BOOK because of Lucy's poor LIVING habits (kid didn't sleep at night or nap worth a crap AND she was at the developmental stage where she didn't want to crawl but she couldn't walk and basically she spent four hours on the beach every morning clinging to the rolling cooler and shouting angrily at us about it) but this year I think things will be much improved. This year, for example, we got a house with a rocking chair! A ROCKING CHAIR. Do you know how awesome it will be to have a rocking chair in case my child wakes up in the middle of the night and needs to be soothed back to sleep? Have you ever tried rocking a child back to sleep SEVERAL TIMES A NIGHT for SEVEN NIGHTS IN A ROW without a rocking chair? I thought after the first two days that maybe there was a chance I'd at least come out of it with really hot abs, but all I ended up with was a killer backache that plagued me until Christmas. I am going to invent a portable rocking chair someday. I am CERTAIN there is a market for such a thing. (Also certain there's a market out there for mittens with a soft, cotton strip built in for nose wiping when you're outside in the cold, but I haven't really done anything about it yet.)

Anyway! The cool thing about asking for book recommendations this year is that I don't have to ask for them in six weeks in advance so I can order cheap books from Amazon and have them delivered with the free shipping option. This year, I own a Kindle. Oh, the BEAUTY of this thing, you guys. I don't have to go ANYWHERE to buy a book. I can finish a book on the beach and get myself another one WITHOUT GETTING OUT OF MY CHAIR. I won't even have to walk back into the house and wash the sand off my feet! It is a lazy person's answer to prayer. Don't give me that crap about how a book smells and how lost you'd feel not being able to turn pages blah blah blah. The Kindle is a LIFE CHANGER. Yes, yes, also a bank account changer. That's definitely a negative.

So the deal is that I'll tell you what I've read and loved or hated, and then you can do the same for me in the comments. It's awesome for everyone who is involved because EVERYBODY likes hearing about things they should be reading, am I right? I'll go first.

One Day, David Nicholls: LOOOOOOVED THIS. Read it in two sittings, could not put it down. Funny and heartwarming and engaging and downright fantastic. I could say more but I seriously, I might make old Mr. David Nicholls blush.

The Forgotten Garden, Kate Morton: Good story. Not as predictable as I originally thought it would be, but no groundbreaker, either. By the time I hit the middle, I kind of found myself reading just so I could find out what happened, not because I was in love with the characters or the storyline. Also I recommended it to my mom, because there weren't any swear words.

The Book Thief, Markus Zusak: This book was recommended to me several times last year, and I only got around to reading it a few months ago. I thought it was well written and haunting, but I didn't get so sucked into the story that I cried. Also, I did find the relationship between the girl and the dude a leeeetle creepy. A little, okay? I just didn't quite understand why a grown man would be so taken with a thirteen-year-old girl but maybe I missed something? I mean, yes, she's caring and talented but... I don't know, did anyone else think the same thing? Would definitely recommend, though.

The Lonely Polygamist: A Novel, Brady Udall: Um, hmmmm. I thought this would be a little bit more exciting, but it turns out polygamists are just like you and me, they just have three times as many wives and kids and as a result, are three times as boring. I kept waiting for something BIG to happen, and then when it did, I didn't feel like it was what I WANTED to happen. So I was disappointed in the storyline and the pace of the storyline. Scale of one to ten, this gets a five. Tops.

Little Bee, Chris Cleave: SAAAAAD. Really really good, really well-written, really really REAL and also tragic and upsetting. Just so you know. Would recommend, as long as you have a strong stomach.

A Reliable Wife, Robert Goolrick: MEH. Another one where I kept reading just to find out the ultimate result, even though I didn't really care how it ended up. Frankly, it kind of bored me, and it isn't a very memorable read, because I can't remember much about it just a couple of months later.

Cutting for Stone, Abraham Verghese: I want to marry this book. This is the best book I have read in AGES. It took a while to get into it (a few chapters, I think) but once I did, I didn't want it to end. I didn't want it to end! It was so moving, and the story was so beautifully woven together (think Owen Meany, you've read that, haven't you? Even if you didn't love it, remember how it all came together with a big, resounding BOOM at the end? REMEMBER?) and I loved, really loved, the characters. It is set in Ethiopia, a country I knew nothing about, but I remember when I finished this book I wanted to visit. I wanted to see it. This book is the kind of book you want to read over and over. I simply adored it. Also, it's kind of technical and involves lots of medical jargon (the setting is a hospital). But I am a sucker for medical stuff, so I loved it. It wasn't gory, just clinical at times. I highly highly HIGHLY recommend this. I couldn't give it enough stars if I tried. I INTERRUPTED A LADY READING IT AT THE POOL JUST TO GUSH OVER IT, you guys. I am INSANE for this book.

Also, three books I can definitely recommend, but that everyone seems to have the same high opinion of all over the internet: Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout; The Help by Kathryn Stockett; and Half Broke Horses: A True-Life Novel by Jeannette Walls (read her first novel, The Glass Castle first, if you haven't already). (WHY HAVEN'T YOU READ IT, THOUGH, SERIOUSLY? Amazing book, The Glass Castle.)

Okay, your turn!

My brother said he's going to teach him how to spell "boobies" on a calculator next

One of the best things about my kids getting older and more self-sufficient is that I am pretty much at liberty to take a shower whenever I please. I no longer have to squander precious minutes of naptime frantically scrubbing at my armpits while simultaneously keeping an eye on the monitor perched on top of the shower surround. These days I just shut the gate at the top of the stairs, announce that I will be getting in the shower and command the kids to play together nicely and not kill each other and to come and find me IN THE SHOWER, WHERE I'LL BE IF YOU NEED ME. The SHOWER, OKAY?

And do you know what? They NEVER NEED ME. They can totally hack it for fifteen-ish unsupervised minutes, and I leave the door to the bathroom open so that I can hear murderous screaming or unsettlingly loud head bumps and that's it. It is so FREEING, this ability to take a shower when I need a shower. If I take the kids out in the stroller for a five-mile walk on a hot day? I don't have to wait until Dave gets home to do something about the stench. It is so nice. SO, SO NICE. You people with the babies and the young toddlers who think you'll never get back to this way of life ever again? IT WILL HAPPEN. You might need to have a second kid to keep the first one entertained (hey, it's working for us) but it WILL happen. (And it will be SO NICE when it does.)

Anyway, on Saturday afternoon, I took Asher and the dog out for such a walk while Lucy was napping, and when we got home, Dave had taken her out for an impromptu father-daughter outing. So I took a shower! Asher was upstairs with me, playing in his room, and as always, I announced where I was going and where he could find me. I had gotten into the shower and lathered up when he announced his arrival in the bathroom.

“Hi Mama,” he said casually. “I'm just going to try to poo poo. So if you need me, I'll be right here.”

If there is ever an argument for having more than one bathroom, THIS IS IT. The delightful smell of my shampoo is rendered NULL and also VOID when it's up against something as pungent as a preschooler's bowel movement. In a steamy bathroom. A steamy TINY bathroom (four feet by five feet, I KID YOU NOT). And then, approximately six seconds into this delightfully aromatic adventure, before I can even wrap my brain around the fact that my kid is taking a dump on one side of the shower curtain and that on the other side of it, I AM COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY NAKED, he announces he is done! He has pooped, Mama, come see how big it is!

I know we say it all the time, about how there are things you never could have imagined doing before you have kids, but HONESTLY. Please, anyone out there who has had to wipe a three-year-old's butt while standing in a running shower, lathered up with soap and shampoo? I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW. I ended up turning the shower off, but I didn't want to climb out (there isn't enough room for two people to stand up in our bathroom, FOUR by FIVE, REMEMBER?) so I'm trying to get him to bend over so I can wipe his butt, but he's too far away for me to reach, so he's backing up while bent over which means he can't see where he's going and suddenly he's almost BUMPING UP AGAINST ME with his dirty butt and I'm trying to reach over him for the toilet paper which is all the way across the room and I'm dripping soap suds on his head and his back and FOR PETE'S SAKE, you guys, it was just about the most awkward thing you can possibly do in a tiny bathroom with a preschooler present.

Finally we got the situation sorted out and he flushed and went on his way (the smell, however... the smell LINGERED) and I was able to finish showering but not without first shaking my head and thinking that this was probably one of the most bizarre spectacles in my parenting career. Not so much difficult or challenging or nervewracking. Just... ridiculous. Absolutely RIDICULOUS.

Later that afternoon we did have a proud moment of sorts, when Asher was pressing buttons on his ABC Text & Go toy and made his very first Improper Potty Joke. The toy announces each letter when you press it, so naturally, because first and foremost and above everything else he is A BOY, he was pressing the “P” key repeatedly. Because what is funnier than making something say PEE PEE? No, seriously, tell me! WHAT IS FUNNIER THAN THAT? Oh, I don't know. I really can't think of anything except... maybe... wiping someone's butt while you're taking a shower? YES. That's right. I STILL WIN.

Book Review: What We Have, by Amy Boesky

 
 

Oh, you guys. YOU GUYS. Listen to me when I tell you that this book, without a doubt, is one of the best books I've read in the last few years, and I like to think I read a respectable amount. (I mean, I'm no Elizabeth, but I think I've read close to 40 books since January of this year.)

Full disclosure before we begin: I have a real soft spot for memoirs. I big-puffy-heart love memoirs. I suppose one reason I love them so much is that they're so similar to blogs (except with way better editing and cover art). And that's what draws me to them – the best ones are the ones about ordinary-ish people. Screw biographies – I don't want to hear why OTHER people thought someone was important. I want to hear from ordinary people who become extraordinary people because of the beautiful or hilarious or gripping ways they tell their stories. This book is all of those things, and Amy Boesky is undeniably extraordinary.

Amy does not have one single female relative who lived past her mid-forties. They all (yes, ALL) died of ovarian cancer. That fact alone means she has a big, fat Ovarian Cancer target sitting right on her back. She and her two sisters know what that means for them: they need to get a head start on falling in love, getting married and popping out babies so that they can all get complete hysterectomies as a preventative measure before they hit the magical age of 35, when their cancer risks skyrocket. Ovarian cancer is often asymptomatic, which means it is usually diagnosed late and five-year survival rates are shockingly low – only 45 percent.

But then something happens that changes everything, and suddenly, ovarian cancer isn't the only thing these women have to fear when it turns out that the gene they have is also responsible for causing breast cancer, too. Unfortunately, the subtitle for this book is “One Family's Inspiring Story About Love, Loss, and Survival” so while I technically won't spoil anything for you, I will tell you it isn't easy to read (also fine, maybe I also feel the need to tell you YES YOU WILL NEED KLEENEX AND LOTS OF IT). It's heartwrenching, and sometimes it feels like a suckerpunch to the gut and there are so many small tragedies surrounding the bigger tragedy, and oh, how I wanted to reach through the pages and give Amy a hug and a big plate of homemade cookies at the end of every chapter.

But the way this story is written; the beauty in her choice of words... it isn't whiny or self-important or pitiful. It is touching and meaningful and the attention to detail is breathtaking. I really felt like a part of Amy's life. Sometimes I was sure this book must be spanning thirty years because surely no one could piece together this kind of detail, but this book really only spans a few years, at most, with the major focus on one transformative year, and yet it was never tedious or slow. Quite the opposite – it was engrossing. She describes the first few months of her daughter's life in such clarity that I could feel that old frustration bubbling up inside me – you know, the way you feel when you bring that bundle of joy home and suddenly the breastfeeding goes to crap and the diapers leak all over the couch and all the kid does is scream and scream and you have no idea HOW TO SHUT IT UP and WHY DID YOU EVER DECIDE TO DO THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE? Yeah. That. Except she writes in this totally personable way; her writing feels like a long, catch-up telephone call between two old friends. I really LIKE Amy. I kind of want Amy to come over and hang out. I'll bake those cookies I mentioned! What do you say, Amy? I LIKE YOU.

I don't know; am I even doing this book justice? I am all disjointed because I don't want to give you specifics about the storyline but I want you to understand how beautifully written and inspiring it really was. (And I'm not saying that because the subtitle said it first.) This is a book that I will stand behind 100 percent. I can't imagine anyone reading it and NOT loving it. That's a hard thing to say about a storyline that involves grief and tragedy and heartache, but throughout the hard things, it is so rewarding to turn the page and watch a family grow and communicate and learn to love each other differently through challenging circumstances.

I have one copy of this book to give away! All you guys have to do is leave a comment if you'd like to read this (AND YOU WOULD LIKE TO READ THIS), and I'll choose one winner at random and will have the book sent to you courtesy of TLC Book Tours and Penguin Group. I promise you, PROMISE YOU, you don't want to miss out on this book. (And if you STILL don't believe me, you can go here to Amy's website to read an excerpt.) (Then you can go here to order it when you realize I'm so totally right.)

Edited to add: I will be closing comments (and the contest!) at noon on Monday, August 23. Thanks to everyone for all the interest and feedback!

Updated to add:

The winner is comment number four, Laura! Thanks to all who entered! I'll have another review and giveaway in September!  

In which I let Lucy take the reins in the name of capitalism

So listen, you guys! I got a sweet new gig writing for Huggies at their Tumblr blog, Highchair Critics, a blog written for babies, by babies, to promote Huggies Little Movers Diapers. I'll be posting there once a week for the next seven weeks (and linking appropriately when I do) but I had to agree to give Lucy, who is thankfully the only person in our household who still wears diapers, an introductory post here first. SOOOOOO (deeeep breath)... without further ado. (So help me, Lucy, DO NOT SCREW THIS UP.)

***    ***    ***    ***    ***

Hello Internet! It is I, Lucy Claire, star of this blog. You remember me, right? I don't get as much airtime as my brother did when he was my age. This is somewhat distressing, but I know it isn't because I am any less adorable than he was. If there is one thing I am intimately acquainted with, it is adorableness. So what if I can't type the alphabet yet? (Stuff it, Asher.) AM ADORABLE.

Remember me when I was freshly born?

  
No, no wait. Let's try that again, after I've been bathed and clothed in very tiny garments. This is a family website. Lordy.

 
I, Lucy, was the size of my television remote. This is actually the closest I have ever been allowed to come to the television remote. I tend to... how do you say it? Screw everything up. When I touch the electronics, at least.

You may remember I also used to have a real knack for screwing with certain people's emotional stability. For a while there I was getting my parents up and out of bed something like seven times a night. ON AVERAGE. Have you ever seen what someone who gets up seven times a night looks like the next day?

 
Sorry for that. Yeah, so that's kind of why I quit doing it (for the most part). Not only was that face really hard to look at every morning (you should see this mug in color), but also, the quality of life around here went way down. There are only so many macaroni and cheese dinners a toddler can take, you know? If this woman didn't get some more sleep, were headed straight towards RICKETS or something. She was too weak and weepy and exhausted to figure out how to open up a can of green beans every once in a while.

These days, though, I'm almost totally grown up. I sleep through the night, I eat neatly with a fork, I say words, and I frequently climb onto the dining room table all by myself and stand up until someone yells at me.

Also, I am already setting a career path for myself. I'm thinking something along more creative lines. Body art, maybe. Tattoo school.

 
Weird, isn't it? They let me draw all over myself like this without worrying about the mess (I COLORED DIRECTLY ON THE CARPET AND NO ONE BATTED AN EYE) but when I try to eat a popsicle they make me eat it in the bathtub. The very same bathtub that has a permanent ring of mold; the one they keep telling me they're going to replace as soon as they can. (LIES.) Not exactly the kind of ambience I'm looking for while I eat my dessert. 

 
I assume this is a kind of payback for all those nightwakings? Dude, you want to see some REAL payback? HIT THE DECK!

 

TO THE VICTOR BELONG THE SPOILS.

 
Do you SEE this wrath? People, if I can take down a LAMB and a PANDA, there's no telling what's next. Take a look at these guns! Also note my expression of APATHY. I'm a dictator waiting to happen. I'm a super mean and capable dictator wearing a Hello Kitty shirt. Holla!

Now TELL ME I'M ADORABLE. Do it. DO IT. Or I'll happily run you down on my frilly pink ATV and I'll do it TOPLESS. Am wearing aforementioned Huggies diaper which also makes me SUPER FAST and WAY LESS WADDLE-Y thanks to the shaped fit which doesn't bunch up in my super-personal area. In other words, I can so totally take you down.

 
ANYWAY. Let's all say it together now that I've threatened you with vehicular manslaughter. Adorable. Now we can forget all that nonsense above and focus on this. We're nearing perfection over here, if someone could maybe, just POSSIBLY, photoshop out the booger situation.

 
Wait wait wait...

 

MUCH better.

(See? Adorable. Don't you forget it.)

Disclosure: I have partnered with the Huggies brand to help promote Huggies Little Movers Diapers. I have been compensated for my time commitment to the program, which includes writing about my family's own experiences from my daughter's point of view and/or their experiences with diapers. However, my opinions are entirely my own and I have not been paid to publish positive comments.

I am seeing the preschool light

We are having a difficult week around here. Everybody has a cold, no one's been sleeping all that great (middle-of-the-night nosebleeds lead to middle-of-the-night laundry) (yes, nosebleeds) (yes, PLURAL) and I've been the lucky recipient of both an ocular migraine AND my period and all of this is occurring during a week where I've got seventy billion new writing deadlines. Ok, so maybe some of these deadlines are self-imposed, but we're going on VACATION in another week and a half and I do not want to deal with DEADLINES while I'm on VACATION. I want to deal with things like sand in small people's buttcracks and tangled kite string and kicking the person who borrowed my Kindle and let the battery run down and YES, I will GLADLY take an opportunity to pee on your jellyfish sting in plain view of the general public if it means I don't have to open up a Word document and use correct punctuation or look up the appropriate meaning of “assuage” before I include it in a sentence. (For what it's worth, I already knew how to use the word “assuage” - I was just DOUBLE CHECKING.) The hardest part of accepting paid work (for me, anyway) is figuring out how to fit it into my schedule. Right now I feel like I'm squeezing it in wherever I can, and that makes me feel stressed, and while I don't particularly like being stressed, I generally feel better when the paycheck rolls in.

The paychecks should start on Friday. I'm using mine to buy a pitcher of sangria, I think. (And sadly, not much more. It's just my FIRST WEEK, okay?)

Lucy, thankfully, is over her shadow situation. Today she LAUGHED at it, which is a complete 180 from what she was doing on Saturday, which is running and screaming and refusing to be put down. She even knows the WORD “shadow,” so we had to start spelling it, but then Asher would say something like, “Are you spelling 'shadow' so Lucy won't hear it?” and she'd start flipping out all over again. It's helpful, having a child who can practically read. Except when it isn't, which is when I want to SPELL something instead of SAYING IT. I thought my parents spelled things until I was at least 14. Maybe I'm remembering that wrong?

Asher, on the other hand, is going through a neverending difficult phase and Dave and I are actually worrying less about whether or not he will ever turn back into his normal self and more about whether all this yelling we're doing is going to give us a brain aneurism. I have never met a more stubborn child. I reiterate that there is nothing – NOTHING – I can do with this kid to motivate him to do anything he doesn't want to do. OH YOU CAN NAME IT, WE HAVE TRIED IT. You guys, a couple of weeks ago I even made a sticker chart. I knew a sticker chart wasn't going to work, in my heart of hearts. But I did it anyway, because everyone was all “Sticker charts worked for me!” and I thought maybe I could convert my child to The Way of the Sticker but it was seriously the most unmotivating thing I've ever tried with him, and it got to the point where Asher would do something and I'd be the only one who even THOUGHT about the stupid sticker or the stupid chart and I'd force myself to dance around and clap and exclaim things like, “I'm so proud of you! And now you get to put a sticker on your chart!” and he'd be all, “What sticker?” I mean HONESTLY. Never again with the sticker chart. NEVER. AGAIN.

I know I shouldn't be yelling so much but I don't know what else to do. Yelling isn't like, my first order of business or anything, but it is my last resort and lately I always ALWAYS get to that last resort. I offer choices, I speak calmly, I give time outs, I take away toys, I insist with a VERY STERN VOICE and once, I even CRIED, and... nothing. This child does not budge. And it will be like this for a few weeks and then suddenly, Poof! He'll change back into the kid I recognize, who has a fit once a week instead of every 30 minutes and who says things like please and thank you instead of I WANT YOU TO DO IT NOOOOWWWWW and stomps around the kitchen with the flames of injustice shooting out of his mouth. I know that he has a cold right now. I know that he's still adjusting to living life (mostly) without naps. I know that his sister gets a lot of attention for being cute or being terrified by her own shadow or putting her entire head underwater and I'm sure that jealousy has a lot to do with his actions.

But just this morning, for example, Asher wanted to lay on the couch with his flashlight. He wanted me to turn all the lights out. I said no, because I needed to fix breakfast and fold laundry and other tasks that somehow fall to me and I cannot do them with the lights off, or else Dave will get Thomas underwear in his stack of clothes and HE WILL PROBABLY END UP WEARING THEM. Also, Lucy is really hungry in the morning and I didn't want her mistaking a shoe for a pancake or something. Anyway, there was a fit about this, but Dave and I both calmly explained that even if we turn all the lights off, the room won't get dark because the television is on AND the sun is shining through the window. Well, obviously this is not an acceptable solution. More kicking and “but I WANT to turn the lights off!” and so we calmly presented ANOTHER solution which is that he can go into the bathroom or his bedroom where it is dark and shine his little flashlight to his little heart's content and yet, this very calm, very ingenious solution was ALSO met with kicking and huffing and screaming about HOW HE WANTS THE LIGHTS OFF. So then it was calmly requested of him (DO YOU SEE THE RUNNING THEME?) to please stop screaming and throwing this fit or else the flashlight would be taken away.

Spoiler alert! The flashlight was taken away. And then someone was sent to his room for a time out, because he wouldn't stop screaming about the injustice of a parent who FOLLOWS THROUGH ON A THREAT.

See? I mean, I know I did the right thing this morning, but I am so tired of fighting every battle this way, 800 times a day. Is this the way all three-year-olds are? I mean, I expected at some point that I'd be able to reason with him. I understand it's probably too early to expect TOTAL understanding, but surely this turning the lights off thing made sense to him? He was just too emotionally invested in wanting to be in the dark, playing with his flashlight, and he probably couldn't communicate exactly what he was feeling in response to what I said. I totally get that. But I also want my kid to respect what I tell him, especially if I'm telling him something in a reasonable, calm way. HOW MUCH LONGER DO I HAVE TO WAIT FOR THIS? I am tired of threatening. I am tired of rational explanations that get me nowhere. I am really REALLY tired of “BUT I DON'T WANT TO” because then I end up saying something like, “But I want you to, and I'm the mom so you HAVE to.” I will take pouting over this shouting thing, honestly. Pouting! It's so passive! And quiet! And annoying in it's own way, yes, but it would be a NICE QUIET BREAK from all the other crap.

Yeah. Preschool. Not sounding quite so scary/weepy/terrifying after living through this last week.

Shady (updated with bad parenting video!)

Yesterday my mom and I took the kids to the pool for the afternoon. Going to the pool with the kids is actually an activity I very much enjoy in the summer, as long as I can remember two things. Number one is that I am there for their safety and enjoyment. This means that I do not even let myself THINK about the things I'd much RATHER be doing at the pool. Like relaxing in a lounge chair with a margarita and a book while my children happily entertain themselves. And two, that I do not try to keep my hair dry.

This sounds so stupid, but I am protective of my hair when it is dry. I have very wavy hair naturally, so when I take the time in the morning to wash it and dry it and straighten it, I feel very INVESTED in keeping it that way. I don't know exactly why this rule still applies when I'm at the pool; why does it matter if I have shiny straight hair if I smell like a winning combination of body odor and sunscreen and chlorine? But I confess, for a VERY LONG TIME, I was inappropriately concerned about my hair staying straight throughout my entire pool experience. I didn't want to get it wet only to watch it dry all frizzy and crunchy and TRIANGULAR in the sun. Even though I have never, to my best recollections, had somewhere to be after an afternoon at the pool that would require me to have nice hair. AND IF I DID have somewhere to be, I WOULD TAKE A SHOWER BEFORE I WENT. I would have built some time into my schedule for that, right? I realize how ridiculous this sounds as I am writing it down but for some bizarre reason I kind of want you to know.

Anyway, all that to tell you my pool visits are so much more relaxing now that I sacrifice my own wants and needs, dive in and give up. You know, just as I do with my daily life. I no longer care if my kids splash me in the face or pour buckets of water over my head or want me to go underwater and come up spitting water out of my mouth like a fountain a thousand times in a row or until I get some sort of pool-related infection. I RUIN MYSELF FOR YOU CHILDREN.

At one point yesterday, my mom was assisting Asher and his pink Dora float in the big pool, so Lucy and I decided to hit up the deserted baby pool. I walked ahead of her to unlatch the gate, but when I got there she was still fifteen feet behind me, frozen in place, contemplating something. “Come on, Lucy!” I called to her. Then I turned back, unlatched the gate, and swung it open, except then I heard...

SCREAMING.

Panicked, hysterical screaming. Cold-blooded MURDER screaming. Coming from my daughter. I whipped back around and LORD HAVE MERCY, you guys, there she was, high stepping and dancing in place and jumping up and down at a feverish pace and SCREAM SCREAM SCREAMING with her eyes squinched tight and her fists clenched and at first I thought the pool deck was burning her feet but I also quickly rationalized that it wasn't burning mine and in the next two seconds her panic rose to the point where she threw herself at the first human-looking thing she could find, which was a pair of passing legs (NOT MINE) and she held on to those legs for all she was worth until I finally had the sense to rush over and pry her off. But she kept screaming and yet somehow, in the middle of all that insanity, I was able to discern exactly what was going on and... well, I couldn't help it. I started laughing. I think the teenage boy I pried her off of was horrified by my reaction (even teenage boys know you don't make light of a TERRIFIED, TREMBLING CHILD) but you guys!

Lucy saw her shadow.

AND SHE DOES NOT LIKE IT.

Oh, it is pitiful. Hilariously pitiful, though. I don't know how you DON'T laugh at something so cliché. My daughter! AFRAID OF HER OWN SHADOW. And the way she was trying to shake it off... I've never seen anything like it.

I do feel a little bad for her, since this fear isn't something I can easily explain away. Asher tried numerous times to tell her not to worry, that it was just a picture of herself (which was a pretty excellent explanation, if you ask me) but it made no difference to her, obviously. And once she'd seen it, she couldn't help but see it EVERYWHERE. In the car. In the hallway. In the bathtub. And she got frightened and cried every time. (And I laughed, just a little, every time.) (Because HONESTLY. Afraid! Of her SHADOW!)

Even tonight, I stepped out of the bathroom to grab her towel and I heard her start to whimper... she'd discovered the thing all over again, lurking beside her on the moldy fiberglass tub surround. Dave actually had to give the kids a bath with the shower curtain pulled across the tub (and his back) to block the light. How long is this going to last? I'd heard of kids who had fears of being sucked down the bathtub drain and YES, FINE, I made fun of them in my head and now it's payback time and I've got a kid who can't go outside in the sun without howling in misery. She's like a little bitty VAMPIRE, you guys. What do I do?

(Bonus video footage coming as soon as I can upload it.) (Yeah, so I took her outside and showed her the shadow again so I could capture the reaction but COME ON, her future fiance is so totally going to want to see that.)

BONUS VIDEO FOOTAGE YESSSSSSS:

Getting back into the swing of things

I'm pretty relieved that Blogher is over for another year. I'm sorry I wasn't able to go, in most respects. I would have loved (LOOOOOVED) to hang out with women I've loved from afar for years. I would have loved to dance at parties and drink fancy cocktails and wear heels and take a whirlwind tour around the city and yet, it wasn't right for me this year. This is new for me, this thing of understanding what is meant to be and what isn't and sticking to my instincts and feeling at peace about it.

I think I would have been overwhelmed at Blogher this year. I would have been overwhelmed by the size of the attending population, yes, but I could have gotten past that. I might even have reveled in it after a day or so (I'm an extrovert by nature). But the size of the attending population PLUS being in New York City would have done me in. I felt overwhelmed just THINKING about going. It's the pressure of trying to meet everyone and and remember everyone's names and hang out with everyone and do everything and attend the important things at the conference AS WELL AS feeling like I should make the most of an opportunity to be in a huge, amazing city without my kids in tow and wanting to eat awesome food and see things I haven't seen before and go shopping in edgy parts of the city and and and and AND. Add in the fact that we're not exactly rolling around in cash these days and I started to feel burdened by having to be extremely reasonable about money while I would be there, knowing that I couldn't spend three nights in a row consuming $15 martinis or buying anything more than a shoelace on Fifth Avenue and that's not even considering the cost of a hotel room and a plane ticket and a cab ride from one to the other and the CONFERENCE TICKET and really, it wasn't long before it just started to seem like a really bad idea for this particular year.

They're never going to hold Blogher somewhere like Peoria, Illinois, for obvious reasons (sorry, Peoria! I don't personally know if you suck or not!), but part of me wishes the conference WOULD move somewhere smaller so that the sole focus could just be people. No outside pressure to DO and SEE things; no need to make reservations for dinner. A (decent) group of restaurants and a hotel, that's all I really want, because all Blogher really is for most people (myself included) is getting the opportunity to spend time with people they admire and love and enjoy being with. I see no reason why you couldn't also network in Peoria, Illinois, do you? As long as they have Wifi and AT&T service, I THINK WE'LL BE FINE. Also, no networking for me, thanks. It makes me feel funny and weird and there is no phrase I am less comfortable with than the phrase “self-promotion.”

Anyone? Peoria?

Anyway, around here we've been busy just enjoying summer. I am not even THINKING about fall yet, that's how much I've been enjoying the weather and the sunshine and the hot dogs. Maybe it's the fact that last winter involved something like four entire feet of snow, but I am hoping fall holds off as long as possible. You people who are wishing for the onset of cool weather and long-sleeved wardrobes and things like SCARVES? You people are INSANE. The best thing about summer is the simplicity! No socks. No jackets. No MITTENS. Wait, no LOST mittens. Fruit and ice cream for dinner! Considering a swim in the pool as a bath because chlorine kills bacteria! Come fall, I am absolutely dreading having to wrestle my children into anything more complicated than shorts and a t-shirt and a pair of sandals every day. DREADING. I love summer. Not enough to move to Florida, or anything (I will welcome fall at SOME POINT, I suspect, as there are limits to the amount of 87 percent humidity one ultimately can tolerate) but I'm not ready for it quite yet. We still have creeks to wade in and beaches to run on and puddles to stomp in and bikes to ride and walks to take and skinned knees to kiss and popsicles to melt and lightning bugs to catch and fireworks to set off and books to read by the pool and yes, obviously, MORE HOT DOGS TO EAT. (Smores, too.)

    
It makes for way less blogging, but I suspect the pace will pick up around here once I start freaking out about PRESCHOOL, OMG THE PREEEEEESCHOOOOOOOOL. I know you all promise me that it will be fine and we will all love it and life will be all chirping birds and dancing squirrels and all that crap and I WANT TO BELIEVE YOU, I SWEAR I DO, but you know I have to go through all the hard parts first. And I am not looking forward to going through the hard parts first.