Cold Spaghetti

About 10 years ago, my cousin Ellen found this little dog, named her Honey, and took her home to love forever.  Like she has many times before, Honey obediently traveled to Pennsylvania while her Mommy got married.  But unlike past trips, this one meant facing Kate.  For four days straight.

Kate was head-over-heals in love with Honey from the moment she saw her.  Every few minutes, one of us would have to restrain Kate to give Honey enough of a head start to hide from her admirer.

Even from the car, Kate let her intent of being with Honey be known.  Kate quickly recognized the winding road to my Uncle’s house (a charming drive that includes passage on a one-lane bridge) — and from a 1/2 mile range of my Uncle’s house would begin to call HOOOONNNNNNEYYYYYY!!!!!! loud enough to blast the eardrums of anyone else sitting in the car.

The anticipation of seeing Honey! was too much for Kate to hold in.

Kate loved Honey SO MUCH that she even shared her blanket.  She doesn’t even let Elmo share her blanket.

Our children are good at many things.  But going to sleep at night is not one of them.

Well, maybe that isn’t quite true.  Somewhere around age 2, Will became an award-winning, champion sleeper.  Even now, he’s still pretty good about going to bed when told.  Yeah, he politics and rationalizes all the reasons why he shouldn’t go to bed, but when we are firm he typically listens.  This is particularly when Kate isn’t around.

Kate does not like to sleep.  In truth, she’s never liked to sleep.  When she was a baby, I would lay nursing  her on our bed with a leg thrown over her legs and an arms thrown over her body — holding her down as delicately as we could — until she stopped moving long enough to nurse and fall asleep.  This is when she was 4 months old.  It’s only gotten worse since then.

Looking back at some of the milestone posts I wrote about Kate, each one I’ve found says something about her inability to get to sleep and stay asleep.

At some point this past summer, Paul and I took on the near-death experience of teaching Kate to go to bed.  We used this Supernanny-inspired hint of wisdom with Will and found it to be a stroke of genius, without the psychologically damaging side effects of other methods.  The idea is you stay in the room and each time the child gets out of bed, you put them back in.  The trick is that you must do this, without stopping, for about 5 hours.  You don’t eat, sleep, talk, use the bathroom, and after awhile, you don’t even think… you just desperately wish for someone to remove you from your misery.

Somewhere in the second week, we found that Kate was able to actually go to sleep after our bedtime routine.  Granted, she wakes up a few hours into her sleep each night with night terrors — but as this has been a constant in our lives for nearly a year, we were okay with it.  I do plan on asking her pediatrician about it when we can figure out how to actually see a doctor again… best guesses on this timeline is when I have enough time to wait outside the free children’s health van for the uninsured.  It’ll take all day for the 10 minute consult, but that’s okay; it will give me plenty of time to think of some really good fake names.

Regardless of how many times she woke up, we were completely blissed out over having successfully conquered a Bedtime Routine that lasted under 2 hours.

We must have been high on life, because we quickly destroyed it all by going on vacation.  And then spending a week in Mobile, evacuated from our home due to Gustav.  We kissed all that hard-earned work right out the window.

And now, even though we know what is Right and what is Wrong, and even though we really know what we have to do next… what we really want to do is whip them both soundly and send them to bed.

Three animals Kate adores:

Dragons, Dinosaurs, and Tigers.

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At 3 days:

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Three things Kate will tell to “GO AWAY” when she sees them lurking around the house:

– Monsters, Bears, and Buggies.

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At 3 weeks:

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Three things Kate will enthusiastically eat an entire container of, in one sitting:

– Mac & Cheese, Cookies, Raspberries

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At 3 months:

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Three topics of conversation Kate never tires of:

– Smoke detectors.  “Has a red light.  Makes loud noise.  Get out of the house!”

– Fireworks.  “Don’t touch them!  Big ow-ee.  I stay over here.”

– Baseball.  “Man throws ball.  Man runs.  I eat hotdogs.”

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At 13 months:

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Three books Kate likes to reference in conversation:

– When Sophie Gets Really, Really Angry.    – Barnyard Dance.   – Pajama Time.

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2 years, 3 months:

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Three phrases recently said of Kate:

– “She tells the funniest little stories” (Kate’s new teacher at Ecole Bilingue.)

– “She’s really got this thing figured out, hasn’t she?” (Parent observing her on her second day of school.)

– “I have to marry Kate because I love her so much more than anyone and will love her forever”  (Will.)

They go all crazy when the video camera comes out.  Solution: use my digital voice recorder.  They have no idea it’s around.  As a result, I got some audio action of Will helping Kate get dressed.  (Click on the link below for the MP3.)

willdresseskate

I knew they were tourists before we climbed inside.  Even with Will boldly clutching the $2.50 for the driver, I was still weighed down with a large tote bag, stroller, and Kate, all in my arms.  If they were from here, I wouldn’t have so much as put one foot onto the unfolded step before someone soundlessly took an object from me to help us on board.  It’s just the way things happen here.

Eventually the kids and I stumbled into the Streetcar and rambled down the isle to an open seat.  Two open seats, actually, as the kids took turns hopping between empty benches on each side of the isle, changing with each stop.  It is July in New Orleans and it is hot: both kids wanted the breeze from the open windows and to be out of the sun.  Their seat experimentation was just them working to find the coolest space available.

“This area doesn’t look like it got hurt by the storm,” the lady in front of me says.  “Oh, right,” her companion incorrectly chimes in, “but the Garden District got it real bad.”  Definitely tourists.  I am about to ask them where they are from, to chat them up and welcome them here, to be that friendly spot of hospitality one expects here for good reason.  But then the stroller I’ve laid beside our seat comes to smack me in the shin; the companion sitting in front of me is pushing it back, away from where one end has rolled into her personal space.  I decide to say nothing, listening instead to the women periodically comment on the “interesting” and “unusual” and occasionally “beautiful” architecture that unfolds before us as we roll along the tracks.

Finally, we turn the corner to Carrollton Avenue, where the Streetcar driver announces: “End of St. Charles, Carrollton Avenue, Camilla Grill!”  Everyone around us gets ready to depart.

One of the women asks, “Isn’t this it?  Camilla Grill?  Is this where we go?”  She is looking around as if her expectations weren’t quite being met.

“I’m not sure.  I guess so.  Everyone else is,” her friend answers.

Then Will, who has been silently looking out the window snaps to attention.  “Get a Cheeseburger.  They’re the best here.”  He says it right to the women, who take a moment to realize from where this sage advice has come.

“Really?” the first woman responds, “cheeseburgers?”

“And a chocolate milkshake,” Will remembers.

“Cheeseburger,” Kate adds.

For a split second I find myself wistfully wanting a third child, one who would pipe up and offer that last bit of important advice, “and get it dressed.”

For the past two weekends, we have attended Baybears baseball games, where your ticket comes with two free hot dogs.  Kate was into the hot dogs.  You mention baseball, she’ll channel Yello and in that ‘oooh yeaah’ voice, will tell you HOT DOOOOGGGG.

Click on the audio link below to hear Kate discuss baseball over dinner.  (I’ve taken to audio capture dinner, since it’s when she talks the most.)  Listen for the HOT DOG at around 2:50.

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But, as Kate points out in her discussion, there are more than hot dogs with the Baybears.  You could also be one of the lucky kids to get a coupon for a free taco by chasing the giant taco across the field between innings.

Popcorn and drinks have free refills.  And if some random football player that I’ve never heard of (which means any past or present footballer) can throw the pigskin out of the park, everyone gets a coupon for a free Hardee’s sausage biscuit.  Folks in Mobile are serious about their junk food.

I got in a little sports photography.

And a few of the kids, when we weren’t wrestling Kate or keeping Will from ODing on diet Pepsi.  (I did do the good Mommy thing and bring smuggled in drinks for the kids… they just didn’t last long.)

Kate.

After a ‘tribute to the services’ where each branch of service has their musical moment and standing recognition, there are fireworks.  Pretty darn decent fireworks, all things considered.  I didn’t have the tripod the first week.  But I was able to get Kate’s face lit up from the explosions reflecting on the glass.  The first weekend this was possible because there weren’t as many people in the stands.  The second week, with the tripod, they let me on the field during the fireworks, but there were too many people to really get what I wanted… which was more of this picture below, just better.

Here’s Paul and Will.  BOOM.

The weekend of the Fourth, Emily and Skip were in town!  Will was Uncle Skip’s Mini-Me.

I had the tripod and was able to get some standard fireworks shots… but there were too many people to get the crowd shot I wanted.  I like this one because it reminds me a bit of the final home run in ‘The Natural’.

This is the best I could do at getting everyone’s faces lit up by the fireworks.

The last three weeks.

We had a week-long visit from:
Nana. Who brought presents, time, patience, and recipes. The day she left, Kate wandered around calling “Naaaaa-Naaaah, Where ARE youuuuuuu?” (Subtext: “Save me from these crazy people!”)
Having a third adult in the house was a huge relief. It was also well-timed, because the day she left and returned us to a house of two adults, we downloaded a child.

He was thrilled to be spending almost a week away from home, his parents, and his particularly his sister. In Will’s words: “Mommy, I needed a break from that crazy girl. She’s too much for me.” I dropped Will off with my Mom in Gulfport (our half-way meeting place) and he joined Granna and PapPap on a trip to visit my brother and sister-in-law. (My incredible sister-in-law, who by all accounts spent 5 hours a day on the floor re-reading the same books and cards so patiently to the-ever-curious-Will, has posted adorable photos from the trip.)

While Will was away from home for the longest time ever, Paul turned 38 on May 5th. This is remarkable only because I told at least 3 people that he was turning 36. I also wrote that I was 30 on a doctor’s form a few months ago and only realized the mistake because “date of birth” and “today’s date” were close enough together to make me do the math. I’m not forgetting little things, I’m actually forgetting years. It must mean that it’s time for us to have some sort of life crisis.

Also on Cinco de Mayo, our friends Alex and Dawit were married. (The wedding date was chosen because it’s Alex’s birthday, too.) In between a day of picking up tiles, switching cars, dropping off kids, and buying paint, I took photos of the event and you can see them here.

Meanwhile, back at the station, the house continues.

Drywall took a long time. There were delivery problems. Supply problems. And daily layers of drywall dust… dirty, gritty, drywall dust… ALL OVER the bedrooms and hallway each evening to mop, dust, polish, and wash off. And, we’re back to no washer and dryer. Still, the crew (comprised of a husband and wife) did a very good job.

Here’s the site of the future cat-door to Scout’s litter-box “room” under the washer and dryer.
Outside, Paul spent a good 20 hours on the roof over 2 days. It’s done, although these pictures show it as still-in-progress.

Now that it’s done, I’m thinking we may finally be able to remove the ever-present can of Goo Gone from our shower?
We discovered that Kate can work the garden hose. WATCH OUT.
Note that Will’s head is soaking wet. Coincidence with that last picture? I think not.
Kate also discovered an obsessive love of ice. Workers (read: Daddy) must carefully guard their precious cups ice water, lest it be plundered by the Sweet Pea with the dirty hands.
Also: Kate loves Crabby Jack. Oysters. Shrimp. And duck. (Domilise’s for Roast Beef, though, of course.)
Kate turned 2 and got presents. Including ELMO UNDERWEAR from Gwen & Co. Here she is, putting on Every Single Pair.
And dancing.
My Fellowship Year officially began with our Orientation Retreat. At first it was going to be an overnight event, but it was shortened to a Really Long Day in Baton Rouge. Who knew the LSU campus was so darn pretty??? The group is inspiring and interesting; I left the day feeling an unexpected excitement for the coming year. We did a variety of team-building exercises, including ropes. I surprised myself by having fun, and realizing that my recently-developed fear of heights is more extreme than I thought. I was Very Impressed with the folks that climbed the 60 foot pole, stood up, and jumped for the trapeze. Here’s Jonathan, the only one to touch the bar, in one of my favorite pictures from the day:
This one of Kemi is probably my favorite:
Meanwhile, back at the station, drywall finished. Tile started.
Tomorrow, the base of the washer/dryer platform will be grouted and trimmed… so we’re hoping to have these back by Wednesday?Paul ALMOST finished the plumbing today while I wrangled kids and house. The tub plumbing is hooked up and tested perfectly. The ONE LEAK in his intricate shower plumbing? It wasn’t from a failed joint… it was a failed PIPE.
The darn elbow had a crack and hole. When Paul went to Lowe’s to get another elbow, he came home with the wrong kind. When he went back to trade, they were closed. As was Home Depot. Plumbing to Paul is like Cryptonite to Superman. Utterly defeated and forced to wait until the morning… because, after all, tomorrow is another day.

After living through your brother at the age of 3, I became totally cool with the “terrible” twos. Not a problem, I thought, bring it on. So as you have approached age 2 and started to show independence (read: pushing tired parents to their limits of sanity), I have been feeling pretty laid back about it. I’ve done it before, so I figured it would be easier this time around.

I forgot the Number One Rule of parenting. NOTHING EVER GETS EASIER.

I am realizing that a toddler at age 2, when accompanied by an older 4-year old sibling, is a Very Different Experience. Just like how watching all that water spill down Niagara Falls from the Canadian shoreline is a very different experience from, say, rolling down the falls in a barrel. In one, you can admire the power and majesty in relative safety. The other could kill you.

It is impossible to talk about how you are changing and growing without mentioning your brother. He is your best friend, your constant advocate, your watchdog… as well as your bully, your punching bag, and your collaborator in the grand plan to Break Mommy. I admit that it’s all my fault that you both are bent on my destruction; I set it all up myself. I’ve thought about this, ruminating on how you have identified my weaknesses and have pinned it to the moment when I found you happily eating cat poop. There you sat, brown smears all over your face, and watched enthralled while my entire body went boneless and my tongue fell out of my mouth, and I had to fumble around for 10 minutes groping for words, cleaning supplies, and whatever drug erases memory. In stark contrast was your Dad, who sort of looked over his shoulder, like, ‘what? cat poop? dude, I ate WAY worse in college.’ You realized two things then and there: 1. that I am an easy target; and 2. the melt down is totally worth it.

I figure this is proof positive that you are The Brain to Will’s Pinky, because I swear I didn’t have nearly as many break downs when he was this age. And it’s not YOU. And it’s not HIM. Separately, both of you can be quite pleasant. It’s THE TWO OF YOU, TOGETHER. You’ve worked out each and every one of my buttons so well that working together, the pair of you can naturally and seamlessly move between one area (say, grossing me out) to another (like, flirting with dismemberment) without pause.
This is not to say that you aren’t a challenge on your own. Mostly, your challenges come from the fact that you are stubborn and can seriously hold a grudge. Case in point: when I took you inside at dusk and removed your wet dress to ready you for the shower. The following pictures document a solid 15 minutes of Conniption Fit, where you picked up your dress from the floor and worked hard to put it back on, growing more angry the more tangled you got. Two days later, when I took this dress out of the laundry to hang it up, you grabbed it from the hanger and threw it to the ground. Whoa, I thought, THAT is an impressive grudge.

Now that I think of it… the dress has little flowers on it, which is making me wonder if you are associating your anger with the dress on my petunias, since your “helpful” dead-heading is kept primarily to new, fresh blooms?
For someone that knows how to keep a grudge, you are amazingly forgetful about your own transgressions. It goes like this: you and your brother are locked in some kind of epic tickle or bouncing or running event and someone (read: your brother) gets hurt. Or alternatively, you just walk right up to him and smack him on the head. Either way, Will ends up crying and you end up apologizing. We ask you, “Kate, did you hurt Will?” And you blink all blank-face and say, “yeah,” in this ‘did I do that?’ way that makes it hard to keep a straight face. Will is ready and set to brood for at least 10 minutes, but you recover in an instant. Like, ‘I know I totally just power-drived you into the floor, but hey, let’s go empty Mom’s sock drawer and see if we can make her face split open to the bone, ’cause that is totally cool.’ And in an instant, you’ve turned him around. Because no one can stand mad at you.

One of the most exciting parts of being with you these days is your incredible language development. You blow everyone away with your words, which is impressive considering that no one understands more than 25% of what you say. When you really get on a roll, babbling on and on about this and that, gatos and doggies, Emmy and Elmo (favorite points of conversation), I run for the camera. I am so eager, desperate even, to capture these precious moments of your turn from toddler to child. Which explains why the emergence of the camera always causes you to shut right up.
It is amazing that you speak as much as you do, mostly because you still spend a lot of time with your pacifier stuck in your mouth. We have high hopes of potty training you in the next few months, so between that and starting a new school, we’ve decided to hold off on pacifier removal until the fall. Even mentioning our desire to wean you, partially or completely, from the Thing causes your Granna great distress: she’s certain that the root of every problem Will has or is going to have for the rest of his life is connected to our weaning him from the pacifier at age 3. But we have a plan. Although your brother is still 3 years away from having permanent teeth, he has already been given a referral from our dentist to see an orthodontist. We intend on forwarding on all orthodontia bills to Granna and figure that this will bring drastic change to her extreme support of the pacifier. But it will be okay. You are the strongest kid we know and will do fine without the Abby (your name for the pacifier, why, we have no idea). Although I admit that seeing you with it makes me feel that you are still my baby, at least, for a little bit longer…

On Saturday afternoon, we made Paul clean himself of debris from the back and walk around the block to Octavia Books, a local bookstore that also was one of Will’s first words. (He loved walking in the bookstore during our walks around the block and would request “Octavia Books!” as a way to tell us he wanted to go for a walk.)
Here is Kate. Storytime had ended and we were waiting for The Big Event.
MEETING ELMO. WOW.

Elmo “signed” a book (a bookstore clerk stamped it with Elmo’s signature) and I took some pictures.

Then, the day continued. Paul and Will went to the back to work on the house and Kate and I walked hand-in-hand to Whole Foods. We had just walked into the parking area when Kate saw The Dog. I had to tighten my grip on her as she tried to run with all her might towards the animal, who had noticed Kate and was equally struggling to reach her. The dog was probably a year or younger, of medium size, golden like a retriever with a fluffy tail and with big floppy ears. Very Cute. The dog and Kate finally met at the door, where they kissed and hugged and squealed with delight. I said to the woman holding the dog’s leash, “What a cute dog.” She hopefully replied, “Oh, the dog is up for adoption. He needs a home.” I looked down at Kate loving on that puppy. Uh-oh.

“We have a cat,” I quickly replied and scooped her up. We said goodbye and went into the store. Kate was great in the store, but I was worried about having to walk past the dog again. Then, I saw the dog’s keeper in produce — so I assumed that the dog had already found a home.

WRONG. We left the store and found the dog and woman again; she’d put the dog in the car for a second to get him a some watermelon. The Kate-dog love fest began again, with even more intensity. Seeing the dog was even more exciting to her than seeing Elmo, if you can imagine such a thing. I was getting desperate.

“My oldest got bit by a dog when he was little and is deathly afraid,” I lied, knowing full well that Will has been begging for a dog for weeks.

This time, when I scooped up Kate, she began to cry. “Doooooooggggggg, Nooooooo, DOOOOOOGGGGGG!” She wailed, reaching with all her might over my shoulder.

And then, the dog started to whimper. Over her cries, the garage filled with his whimpers… followed by (and I am not making this up) his HOWLING. So there I am, holding a snack of groceries and a squirming, crying Kate who is reaching behind me calling out to this dog who is whimpering and howling to her.

I am pretty sure this puts me in striking distance of “The World’s Worst Mommy” award. But we are not getting a dog!!!

When walking with Kate, one must be very careful. This is because she will move, as fast as possible, toward any animal she sees… especially if it’s a dog. This includes, but is not limited to, dogs walking down the street, dogs walking across the street, dogs in a house down the block, dogs whizzing by in a car, and dogs that Kate makes up in her imagination.

To interrupt Kate’s love-fest with a dog, you will need to physically remove her from the animal. This will result in THE POUT.THE POUT may last an especially long time, at least until she is re-united again with her animal love, or is found a suitable replacement. Her brother qualifies as a suitable replacement. As does her family “gato,” Scout. Her Daddy and Mommy do not.

When faced with THE POUT, one needs constant vigilance. THE POUT gives her certain super-powers aimed at circumventing all attempts of control. This includes, but is not limited to, kicking, running, fussing, wiggling, and going boneless. Note picture below: she is Assuming The Position. Prepare for defensive maneuvers.