Summertime and the livin's easy

You guys, you know what today is? Wednesday, right. But not just any Wednesday. Last lunch bunch of the school year Wednesday.

Sob...sob...sob.

The school year is ending. It's happening regardless of what I say or do. I thought I was powerful, turns out I'm not. I do not have the power to stop school from ending. See, here's the thing. I love Alice to pieces, and I love the boys. But, if I'm being completely honest, I'm a tiny bit scared of the summer. Day in day out, Alice and Owen best of friends, worst enemies. I'm not sure who's gonna kill who first, me or them.

Don't misunderstand, I love summer. The long days spent primarily outside soaking in the sun, the freedom to spend the day at the zoo or a museum with no looming school pick up time hindering our fun, and the pool. I do so love spending hours at the pool playing. But I can see it now, to spend the day at the pool I need a certain amount of time to pack all the shit required for a days worth of enjoyment. I can hear the unsupervised screams of, "She hit me," "He kicked me first," "Crosby's wrecking my train," "I'm hungry, I'm thirsty!" Never ending whining and yelling all so I can get us the hell out of the house. Maybe it's not worth it, oh but it is...to stay home is worse. Constantly having to find entertainment to keep everyone happy, otherwise an impromptu game of "beat each other with plastic arrows" might break out.

Yesterday, I spent nap time googling summer schedule, stay at home mom schedule, homeschooling schedule, etc. I'm craving order and it's not even summer, school hasn't even ended. I've downloaded and printed fifty or so schedule cards with pictures of the days activity. Somehow I feel if I glue them to pretty card stock and involve the kids in following our daily schedule I will prevent war from breaking out. Maybe if they have less down time, there will be less opportunities for creative mutiny. Time will tell. I want to have a good summer, an enjoyable summer filled with fantastic memories of adventure and nature, of daily outings and happy togetherness...peace love blah blah blah.

What's your summer secret? Share, I need all the advice I can get!

Juicing

I'm juicing. Not like Lance Armstrong or anything. Fruits and Vegetables. Today is day three of nothing but juice, herbal tea, and water. And I freakin want a triscuit so bad I can taste it. Ooh, I wish I could taste it. Last night I asked Hattta if he thought if would be cheating if I just licked the cracker. Mmm, salt. I also want black olives. Every damn time I open the fridge I see them, so pretty in the jar. I wanna drizzle olive oil on 'em and sprinkle with oregano. The weather has been beautiful lately, yesterday nearly 90 degrees, today should definitely reach it. I love sitting on the back deck with a homemade margarita, maybe muddle some cucumber in it. I want to walk down to the Avenue and sit outside any of the restaurants and drink and eat and celebrate spring's arrival. But I can't.

I've committed myself to this and I'm seeing it through. I have a tendency to start strong and never finish. The bag of yarn and knitting needles staring at me on the hutch is proof. I took a knitting class last summer, learned how and never knitted a thing. I had grand plans to knit Alice a doll hat and a matching hat for her, I don't even know if I'm on the second row. I will finish this. Before I started, I decided I would do a seven day juice fast. Then I upped it to ten days, and now that I'm in it full swing, I'm saying I can't stop until five days. After five days I will assess the situation and make a decision. Five days of nothing but juice will make me proud of myself.

I've been told by the countless success stories I've read, day three is the sweet spot. Some have used words like euphoria, clear headed, and even high as a kite. Fingers crossed on that one. Right now, I feel nothing other than a headache. Caffeine withdrawal is a bitch, and I had gradually weened myself down before I started the fast. I'm just waiting, any moment I'm going to feel amaaazing I just know it. I'm going to wake before Alice, feeling rested with a sparkle in my eyes. I'll have a new spring in my step, a new thirst for life. I dunno. Maybe I have to do the thirty day fast for that one.

At the present moment, I'm drinking a glass of one pear, one beet, two inches of ginger, and a quarter of a pineapple. To be honest, it's not my favorite juice so far, but it's better than the V28 recipe I made yesterday, that juice sucked. Do you guys eat beets? I never had prior to this, and I guess technically I'm still not eating them. Anyway. Beets make bathroom time rather interesting. Give it a try if you haven't. Thanks to the fast I'm familiarizing myself with the entire produce section of the market. I'm buying things I never knew existed. And even if I never enter the euphoric state, that in and of itself is a huge benefit.

When the fast is over, I intend to continue juicing. I will incorporate juice into my life while eating fruits, vegetables, and nuts and smaller portions of meat and dairy. I will eat healthier. I will still indulge in unhealthy eating every now and then, life is meant to be lived well after all. But, a diet of junk is not a life well lived.

The D Word

I haven't written in a week. I haven't read a book in months. I haven't been to the gym in an equal number of months. I've cooked a handful of "real" dinners in many more months. I haven't finished any of the projects I've started in a very long time. Hearing all of this, I have a sister that would be whispering the dreaded D word, suggesting maybe I seek help.

depression

I don't know if she's right. Maybe she is. Maybe she's not. Personally, I don't even know if it matters. I know I have the power to fix all of this laziness. See, that's the thing, I see all of the above as a laziness rut. I was successfully blogging, reading, exercising, and laughing not so long ago. Things weren't great then and things aren't great now. The only difference, I stopped holding myself accountable. I stopped demanding more of myself. I allowed the holidays to be one great big excuse.

I thought 2013 would be a swift kick in the ass. I'm afraid I was wrong. Even though my actions haven't changed much, I have felt a mental shift trying to take hold. I've used my crockpot a few times recently. I've been baking. I've renewed my gym membership. And today I start reading again. I'm taking a class at Alice's school on promoting social emotional competence in children and my friends I'm required to read a book. Slowly but surely I'm taking control of my actions. I don't know if I'll be able to shed the D word from some people's perception of me. Like I said, maybe they are right. But, with every post I write, every mile I run, every chapter I read I feel better.

The Story I Don't Get to Tell...Yet

Driving on the beltway my brain was writing a post. Selecting choice words and metaphors to tell the story I just knew I was going to be able to write after I left the doctor's office. With great confidence my story went something like this...

Girl takes a test. Doctor calls. Girl retakes test. Doctor calls. Girl's worried. Girl has to have a more invasive test. Doctor tells girl everything looks fine. Doctor and girl smile in relief. Girl gets ice cream to celebrate results.

Unfortunately, I don't get to tell that story. I didn't celebrate with ice cream after yesterday's doctor visit. Instead, I get to wait and worry six more months. For six months I get to stew about the cells in my body, anxious abut what they are doing, wondering if the abnormal cells have been eliminated yet. For six more months I will tell myself the same as the past three, odds are in my favor and everything is going to be just fine. Except it isn't always.

All Good Things Must Come to an End

Today's the day. January 2nd. The day I have been waiting for with equal parts of fear and loathing mixed in.

2012 was not a horrible year. Sure, I have written a handful of posts that would like to convince you otherwise. But, truly, in the grand scheme of life it wasn't horrible. I have a nice warm house to play in, I never go to bed starving, and Alice was fortunate enough to have a very good Christmas. I will not complain.

With the start of a brand new year, it's natural to reflect on the previous one. As far as personal achievements, I did good. I made reading a priority. I committed myself to exercising on a regular schedule, and in doing so rediscovered the old Nelly. I made having adult fun a crucial part of my life. I no longer believe I am just a mom. I did all this for the better part of 2012...then I started slacking. A little slacking here and there turned into a shit ton of slacking with a large heaping of laziness on the side, and before I knew it I was no longer going to the gym at all. I wasn't reading or writing. I was enjoying the holidays with reckless abandon. I had a very good and somewhat legitimate excuse to eat and drink all I cared to and then some. By Decemeber my "damn your ass looks good in those" jeans no longer fit. I had resigned myself to leggings, yoga pants, and two pairs of fat jeans.

Life was good. Until today.

Today I begin 2013 with determination to fix what I broke. Here goes, hold me accountable blogosphere.

• I will not bite my nails. I will not use the excuse "I'm just biting the skin." I will take the time necessary to have pretty fingers.
• I will blog. I will stop making excuses. If I have time to search YouTube for Y&R episodes, I have time to write.
• I will exercise. Regulary. All year long.
• I will organize my finances. This does not mean straighten the money in my wallet. I probably don't even have any money in my wallet.
• I will organize my house. Again, no more excuses...see above, regarding Y&R episodes.
• I will read books. Not only glorified porn. There has to be more than smut on my iPad.
• I will do what's necessary to take care of myself in as many ways as necessary. Seems vague, but I do it for Alice. If her skin is dry, I take the time to lotion. If her socks are getting too small, I make it a priority to buy new socks. I will wax because smooth makes me feel better. I will paint my toes because a pop of color can brighten a dreary day. I will take care of my skin because its the only skin I will ever have. I will spend money on new bras because they make me feel pretty. I will buy makeup when needed, doing so does not make me a lifetime member of the Sephora Club kind of girl.

I'm not normally into New Year's resolutions. And really, these aren't so much resolutions as a swift kick in the ass. I had a good thing going over the holidays, but gluttony doesn't fit me well.

Almost Heart Broken

"Forrest doesn't want to play with me anymore Mama," Alice said with a sad tone.

"What do you mean? Did he tell you that?"

"Uh huh. He said he wouldn't play with me at the potluck dinner after bed tomorrow."

"He said he wasn't going to play with you at the potluck dinner on Saturday? Why? What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Well. Did you two have a fight? Were you not nice to him today? Did you guys get in trouble?" I asked trying to make sense of her story.

"No. He just said he wouldn't play with me at the potluck dinner. I'm so sad, Mama. I really like playing with Forrest."

You will be happy to know Forrest played dollhouse with Alice the very next day and even tried to cheer her up when she pricked her finger on a pipe cleaner during craft at the potluck dinner. They are merely four and friends are flighty and temperamental at this age. Even though she was upset and a touch heart broken at the time, no real harm was done.

The episode did, however, make the heartache I know is just ahead on the horizon appear a whole hell of a lot closer. I dread the moment when my girl puts herself out there to someone else only to have them dis her. And worse yet, the moment when a boy she gives her heart to turns around and stomps on it. I know the pain in store for Alice. Childhood can be hard, kids can be mean. Love at its worst is agony.

And what if my daughter's the one causing someone else unnecessary pain. I can remember a time, I was twelve, I was a mean girl. There was this girl my same age, a daughter of a family friend. We had very little in common, yet we often played together out of convenience. One day, with my friends by my side, in the cafeteria, I told this girl I no longer wanted to be her friend. And then, with a flip of our hair, we walked away. At the time I saw nothing wrong with my behavior, now I look back on it and feel awful. I'm sure this girl was very hurt by me. I'm sure I caused her pain. I was mean.

Every day I try to teach my daughter to be nice. I talk to her about bullying and what to do if she sees someone else bullying. I hope with every conversation we have she's one step closer to never being a mean girl. I pray she has the courage to stand up to her friends if they turn out to be mean girls. I want her to make the right choice because she doesn't want others to hurt. I want her to think of how her actions affect the feelings of other people. I want her to be a nice girl. That's the best I can hope for.

Strength in Numbers

In everyone's life there are usually a few moments when they feel they can not possibly make it, they can't go on, they just can't do it.

For me, the birth of my daughter comes to mind. By hour twenty I wanted to give up. I didn't think it was humanly possible for me to continue. I didn't know how I was going to endure any more pain, exert any more effort, push any longer. I wanted to quit. I was begging for help. I wanted the doctor to save me from my hell by insisting a caesarean was necessary. I didn't say it out loud, but I wanted to. I imagine many first time marathon runners experience a similar feeling at some point during the race. That point at which you don't think it's even possible to take one more step.

In every scenario it ultimately goes one way or another. Either you take one more step, push one more time or you don't. You either will you body, your mind to go on or you stop.

In my story, the birth of beautiful, stubborn baby Alice was made possible by a wonderful support system. Left to my own devises, I would have quit. I would have waved the white flag insisting someone else do the work I couldn't. Thankfully I had the most supportive and powerful coach in my OB doctor. I can still, four years later, hear her booming voice demanding "Hard as you can! Hard as you can!" She was not allowing me to quit. My doula was at my side just about every minute of the twenty one hours. She made me feel so brave and strong. She showed complete faith in my ability to birth my daughter. Hatta was there, scared and unsure, but in awe of my strength. Together they told me how wonderful I was doing and what an amazing woman I was. I didn't believe them, if I had been doing so wonderful wouldn't she be out by now? But it was still the encouragement I needed to keep pushing. The marathon runner, I imagine if he had to run the race entirely alone completion would be unlikely. Even those that aren't running with friends find strength in the comrades running around them. Together a lot more is possible.

You may remember a few posts ago when I stated I was swimming in heavy, heart crushing thoughts. I'm still there, barely staying afloat. I was informed last night that not everyone enjoys my analogies, and if this is true for you, I really am so sorry, but I'm afraid I'm sticking with the swimming one. For, I am anchored in this pool. All around me, as far as my eye can see is heartache. And I am stuck. I don't know where to go, or even which direction is shortest. I remain where I am, treading water. I know I must swim soon. But where to? I could always swim back to the shallow end, I'll still be stuck in the pool, but at least I know I won't drown. Or I could take a leap and swim toward the edge and hope I make it. Hope I have the strength to swim.

I wish someone else could save me. I want someone to dive in and pull me to safety. End the pain I feel. If only it worked that way. Even though I don't want to, I have to do this on my own as hard is it may be.

What I hope more than anything, is that I have a few people poolside cheering me on, shouting words of encouragement when I need it most. I'm afraid once I start swimming, I may find the journey too treacherous. I may find it easier to quit, allow my head to sink beneath the waterline or swim back to the shallows. I pray that if this happens I have a friend who recognizes the distress I'm in and throw's me a life ring, if even just to momentarily hang on to until I can swim again. I know I will not make it alone.

Fading Dreams

I've been struggling lately with the notion of dreams and failures and what should have been and what could have been but wasn't. Years ago, when I was younger and full of hope, I imagined my life would turn out a certain way. I dreamed the white picket fence dream.

"Our house is a very, very, very fine house. With two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard. Everything is easy now 'cause of you."

I've been chasing my dream for over ten years. Every decision I've made since college has been working toward the goal, that white picket fence and everything it meant to me. Somewhere between then and now, I felt the dream slipping.

"Don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing is gonna be alright."

I continued on in the quest for my ideal life, ignoring the feeling that it was trickling through my grasp like grains of sand. I was so close to fulfilling my dream, if I just persevered I could make it happen. I couldn't admit defeat. This is my dream, after all. If I stop seeking it now...then what?

"You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away and know when to run."

Is now the time? Is today the day my dream changes? We're supposed to play the hand we're dealt. Maybe I haven't been dealt the white picket fence. Maybe the dream I've been working so hard for isn't intended for me. And if I walk away from my dream, what takes its place?

So...I struggle. It's hard. I see my hand, I know I should fold, but I'm still playing the game. I don't want to give up on my desires. I don't even know how. I've wanted it so long, I simply can't imagine saying "Oh we'll. C'lest la vie," and moving on. Maybe moving on, formulating a new dream is some of the fear. I can't possibly let go of one dream unless I have another waiting in the wing. I can't wander around through life dreamless, an empty hole in my heart where hope used to reside.

I have no idea what's next for me. I have no profound enlightenment. Instead, I have more lyrics...from Animal Liberation Orchestra (ALO) a band I've enjoyed listening to since my dream formulation days.

"And in this life we're free to dream whatever we want to
But that doesn't mean that your dreams are gonna come true
Instead as a way of getting us to move
Life dangles your dreams in front of you
And unable to resist the temptation, we continue

And it's clear to me that this life is gonna be
All about the dangling possibilities that keep turning in and turning out
Yes it's clear to me that this life is gonna be
All about the dangling possibilities

The road is long and windy
Full of twists and turns
But before you can rise from the ashes
You've got to burn baby burn

Welcome to your barbeque
Where we roast all the dreams
That never came true

Welcome to your barbeque

Pig out and dream a new"

So...maybe one day soon I will officially invite you, fine friends to a kick ass barbeque. A dream roasting hootenanny!

Not Torture, an Educated Parenting Decision

Monday night I wrote this post. And then I had this twitter conversation.

After that, I proceeded to spend hours lying in bed, not sleeping, second guessing my decision to take Alice to the butterfly conservatory. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was, in fact, torturing Alice.

Don't worry, even in my sleep deprived state I returned to my senses. I was making an educated parenting decision to follow through with my butterfly conservatory plan. I appreciated the opinions of well-meaning friends, but in this instance I had to go against them.

Let me be clear, when I tell my stories of life and parenting Alice, I do so with a humorous slant. The meat of the stories are true, but I find life easier to handle with a sense of humor. The humor, to some, may have been lost on my most recent post. Please know in everything I do, I absolultely have Alice's best interest at heart.

Case in point, the hours I spent lying awake contemplating why I was taking Alice into a situation I knew full well could have a bad outcome. It's very simple. Alice doesn't just fear butterflies, she fears all insects. This affects her daily life. It's debilitating. In case you hadn't noticed, bugs are everywhere. In the ballet room, in gymnastics, in her house, on the porch, in her playhouse, et cetera, et cetera. If I allowed Alice to succumb to the fear then I would be enabling her. Instead, Hatta and I (and the extended family) take the approach that insects are a part of our life and certainly nothing to be frightened about. And see, the thing is, Alice doesn't enjoy being afraid of bugs. It gets in her way of playing, she's wise enough to realize that. She wants to overcome her phobia. She wants to believe us when we tell her that the majority of the bugs are not looking to harm her. So, I provide Alice with opportunities to test out her insect threshold. In the garden, she's by my side, curious about the worms and the roly polies. Not interested in touching them, she keeps her distance to test the theory.

I saw the butterfly conservatory as merely another step towards Alice's freedom. It was a controlled environment with beautiful, fascinating insects that do not bite. My job was to support Alice and reassure her she would not be harmed. The only way for the experience to be a success was to go. To stay home would be giving into the fear. That was something I was not okay with. I do not think living your life around fear is healthy.

I asked Alice, the morning of the adventure, if she wanted to go.

"Yes. But I might be afraid if they want to land on my head," she replied.

"Well, that's okay. I won't let them land on you."

"Even if they don't, I still might be a little bit scared," she told me.

She wanted to face her fear. And, my friends, it paid off. We entered the greenhouse with her in my arms and we just stood there. I allowed her a few moments to take it all in before we moved. She was hesitant when I knelt down to observe a nearby butterfly and to place her on the ground. But, just like that, her curiosity took over. She didn't want to be unhappy. She trusted me to keep her safe and that allowed her the freedom to check her fear at the door...well, mostly. There was one instance when a butterfly attempted to land on her head and sent her into freak out mode. I quickly handled the situation and she didn't let it ruin her experience.

All in all, the butterfly effect was a success. She's still afraid of bugs...this morning she wouldn't sit still on our front steps for first day of preschool pictures because bugs were flying about. But, I believe each positive insect experience helps her to be one step closer to overcoming her phobia for good.

Man Eating Butterflies

Tomorrow, after preschool orientation, I'm taking Alice on a very special outing. "Where to?" you ask.

Wait for it........wait.......keep waiting.....

The Butterfly Conservatory! Ah hah haha!!

To the average fairy loving, little girl this would be a treat. As you've come to learn, my Alice is anything but average. She's petrified of butterflies. Terrified. Butterflies, spiders, houseflies, mosquitos, fruitflies, bees, ladybugs, wasps, moths, gnats, ants, cockroaches, beetles...the list is endless, my girl's scared of all of them. Bat-shit crazy scared. This is not an aversion, it's a full blown entomophobia!

I took her to the conservatory last year and it was beautiful. The butterflies were stunning and vibrant and everywhere. I had no idea she was going to freak out. I don't know why I didn't expect it, but I was caught off guard. I spent the entire time trying to convince her the butterflies were harmless, when clearly they were MAN EATING BUTTERFLIES! For the love of all things good why was I torturing her! I was persistent if nothing else. After she cried and sobbed, swatted and screamed for the first 30 minutes, the ENTIRE 30 FREAKING MINUTES, we took as break for lunch. Re-energized with a full tummy, I was convinced butterfly hell round 2 would go much smoother. I was wrong. It was every bit as horrendous. My only goal was to capture one moment where she was not visibly panic stricken. Camera shot after shot of Alice with a pained expression.

A well intentioned lady spoke up, "Are these really the pictures you want to have of your little darling? Is this how you really want to remember it?"

Right lady, as if I had some other choice. I was documenting the experience. If I had settled for only capturing smiles, I would have left with a blank memory card. Those fearful shots tell the best story ever!

So, tomorrow I embark on this butterfly adventure. I'm armed with no new tactics. No brilliant advice to help my baby overcome her fear. I am much wiser, though. I know what to expect. I'm not kidding myself into thinking she's going to love it. She's going to hate every freaking moment of it. In my head I will laugh. A lot. Carrying my dear girl, because walking in a butterfly paradise would be too treacherous, I will giggle inside at her rediculous unexplained fear. I can't say I will take pleasure in torturing my daughter, because that's not socially acceptable to say, but come on, it's butterflies! I'm not redecorating her room with clowns or forcing her to have pet snakes.

Preschool. Wednesday. Yay.

Preschool starts on Wednesday. I think maybe I've mentioned it before, but incase you didn't read it on twitter or sprinkled in and out of practically every post I've written since they accepted our application...I'll tell you again, Alice starts her first day of preschool next Wednesday. I'm excited. Alice is excited.

Up until last night that's as much thought as I've given it. "Thank the dear lord this little bitty, blonde hair ball of defiant energy is starting preschool soon! HALLELUJAH! There is a heaven after all and it opens at 8:45 five days a week! Sweet Jesus!"

Then last night it hit me, my baby is going to preschool...five days a week...sigh. Sob. Sob. Sob. For five enitre half days I will miss my baby. Well, maybe I won't miss her all five days. I'm sure that first morning when she's insisting she's not eating breakfast or getting dressed, screaming NO! at me, and throwing her toys...yeah, I imagine I won't miss her much that day. Or the morning I come downstairs to marker on the kitchen floor, it's likely I'll leave drop off skipping and whistling a tune. And the first morning I get to watch Regis and Kelly...wait, I hear since the last time I was able to watch the show Regis left, what is it now, just Live with Kelly? Anyway, I digress. The first morning I can sit peacefully with my coffee and drink it hot without having to microwave it three separate times, I think I'll still be rejoicing that day too. But mostly I'm going to miss my little sidekick.

Since the moment the OB stopped screaming "Hard as you can! Hard as you can! Hard as you can!" and placed the tiny 6lb 15oz baby on my chest we've been inseparable. We do everything together. We go everywhere together. We have a bond that only her and I share. She wants to be just like me, complete with lines on her forehead and the ability to roll her eyes effortlessly. And I want to be like her, to see life as one big playground where the goal is to have as much fun as you can. We've taken on every adventure that comes our way together. Every challenge, together. Together we provide each other with comfort. Together we are strong and can do anything.

And starting Wednesday, all that will be just a little bit different. See, my baby is growing up. She's ready and so am I. We need it. It's time for both of us to spread our wings just a touch. As excited as I am for this next chapter in our mother daughter relationship, I am equal parts sad and maybe even a fraction fearful for what's next. She is too. We will adjust to the newness and who knows, maybe our relationship will flourish with a few hour break from each other every day.

And to Alice, since I know one day you will read these words written about you, you have no idea how much I love you, how proud I am of you. You have become an amazing little girl. You're clever and resourceful, beautiful and sophisticated. You stop a room when you walk in. It's always been that way. When you were a baby, I couldn't go anywhere without complete strangers telling me how beautiful and porcelain doll like you were. The gerber baby people said. At Gymboree your early speech mesmerized the other parents. Your emotional sophistication has always astonished me. You understand complex thoughts and feelings that some adults struggle with. You make me so very proud to say I am your mama. Dear, sweet Alice...you are my sun and my moon and I thank the heavens every day you are in my life.

Hell Weekend Do-Over

I'm a glutton for punishment. It's the only logical explanation. You recall hell weekend, right? I've agreed to a do-over.

Shaking my head in disbelief.

Tomorrow morning we will load beach chairs and sand toys, suitcases and duffle bags into my new car (yup, I finally got the new car. Another post, another day.) I will drive us nearly three hours to attempt to have a relaxing few days.

I used to be a faithful Oprah viewer and I can still hear her, "When you know better, you do better." I'm not sure if this exactly falls under that quote, but I know better than to expect the next few days to be a breeze. In order to fully embrace realism, I give to you my expectations for the next few days.

• I expect Alice to force herself to stay awake on the ride to the beach. We will leave home at nap time and do everything under the sun to provide optimal sleeping conditions. She still will not sleep. Hatta and I will threaten severe punishment if she doesn't allow her body to fall asleep. No nap will be taken by Alice. She will start our "vacation" tired and irritable. Hatta and I will start our "vacation" stressed and on edge.
• Alice will not eat for two and a half days. Food will be prepared for her that isn't identical in color, texture, and consistency to the foods I prepare for her at home. Family members will beg Alice to eat, convincing her that she is running the show and calling the shots. I will spend double the days when we return home reminding Alice that she is in fact NOT in charge.
• Sleep will be lost. Alice will stay up too late and wake up too early. Unfortunately, the same will be true for Hatta and I. Sleep deprived Alice will become grumpier and bossier as the days pass. I will spend an equal number of days trying to help her catch up on sleep when we return home.

Oh friends, I think I'm having my very own Aha! moment right this second. Pertaining to this trip, I think I fully understand the quote. I know better than to expect this trip to go smoothly, so I won't. I will not stress about it. I know how it's going to shake down, why do I get upset when it goes exactly how I predicted?

So let me try again, now that I'm all enlightened and shit. My expectations for the next few days...

• I will enjoy the long drive in my new car. I will caress the new leather and learn the feel of all the buttons. I will provide Alice with hours of video to watch in hopes of not hearing a peep out of her.
• I will eat well. Screw everyone else!
• I will sunbath on the beach and allow everyone else to ensure Alice's safety.
• I will drink good beer and wine. No Coors light and Ménage a Trois Red for me.
• I will drink good beer and wine often.
• I will drink a lot of good beer and wine.

Wish me luck!

You Can Lead a Horse to Water

You know the old saying, "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink the got damn pink medicine." So that's not exactly how it goes, close enough. That's been my life since Friday. Words do not do justice to what my sick life with sick Alice and sick Hatta has been. Let me share the ailments as they pertain to the individual, starting with Hatta: strep, bronchitis, and conjunctivitis, myself: strep, mild swimmer's ear (wtf?) severe inner ear infection, and sinus infection, and lastly, Alice: strep, stubborn, strong willed, defiant, bullheaded, relentless, persistent...shall I continue?

The list of ailments required medication: eye drops, ear drops, antibiotics, and perscription strength cough syrup. I shudder at the thought of how much, as a family, we've dropped at CVS in the past week. Alice was prescribed one simple antibiotic, Cephalexin, the pink medicine. In her previous years, my daughter worried me with her strong love for drugs, pink medicine included. She always wanted more. She'd fake an illness just to take more purple medicine. I thought surely we had a drug addict in the making. Suffice it to say, I'm not longer concerned.

I've struggled to get Alice to take her antibiotic, wait...I think that's a bit of an understatement. It's vastly greater than an understatement. Over the course of the weekend, I learned even though she is small I can no longer control what she does or does not do. To my novice, childless readers who are questioning my words right now, who think surely you can be the parent and make her...to you I say, if only it was that simple. Yes, I can force her to lie still. Yes, I can force her mouth open. Yes, I can force the medicine into her mouth. That's the point in which I no longer have control. What happens once the pink gooeyness hits her tongue is up to her. No matter how much I attempt to close her mouth, she still has the power to spit it out. All over my hands, all down her hair, all over the floor.

Plan B, hide that shit! First attempt, smoothie. Success. But, I can't make her drink two smoothies every day for ten days. Maybe I can reason with her. That was where I went wrong. Hatta warned me; I chose not to listen. I ruined the secret. I told her she had taken the pink stuff when she drank her smoothie. Alice was ecstatic! She was overcome with joy and wanted her morning medicine in a smoothie for sure. Seriously. I'm not being sarcastic. There was high-fiving all around. The next morning the warm and fuzzy feeling of the previous night was replaced with an air of gloominess as Alice began what would become a three day fast. No food. Little water. She was boycotting life. The mention of medicine would send her running to bed. From her mouth I heard, "No. I don't want to. I don't like it. I wanna go to bed." That's it, on repeat for three days. I offered her a chocolate milkshake. Wouldn't take a sip. Vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup and Reese's Pieces. Spoon didn't touch it. I found myself attempting to bribe her with the new Princess Tianna doll complete with carriage or a new Barbie is she just took the medicine. Nope. She was standing her ground, her coughy, achey, fevery, sick ground.

Plan C, finally the pediatrician has given the okay to switch antibiotic, since to date she has consumed merely one full dose and a couple partials. A new prescription has been called in, more money added to the shudder inducing total. The new drug is a capsule that when opened the tasteless powder can be sprinkled on anything. Thrilled to find out how tonight goes! Thrilled I tell ya!

Technology, Ain't it Great

Growing up, in my family, I was always known as the computer savy one of the bunch. I was the youngest, so computers had been a part of my life longer than my eldest sister. I remember the good old Commodore 64. I loved playing Double Dare and Family Fued on that big clunky machine. My love of computers caused my mother to send me to Computer Science summer camp, or commonly referred to by my sisters as Dork Camp. In high school, as a member of the year book staff, people came to me for Photoshop help. In college, I took a class where our semester long project was to create a website using html. I got an A and enjoyed every freakin moment of it. I was good with technology, you could say.

Let's get back to now, shall we. Somewhere between graduating college and present day I lost my tech savy-ness. And once again, I didn't even know it. I'm starting to think I lost my pre-baby brain when I lost my pre-baby body. See, one day, I was having a conversation with a friend. He was likely on his iPhone and I was likely on a cell phone that flipped and had an antennae. For some reason, the topic of wifi came up. At that moment, I knew as much about wifi as I did about space travel. I suppose I had no need to educate myself about it, my laptop in its condition wasn't even compatible. It was soo old. Like, turn the computer on, go make breakfast, settle down with the paper, enjoy the meal, and when you were done it was finally booted up. Anyway, where was I? Wifi, right. So the friend on his fancy schmancy phone was mocking me for not having wifi in 2011. I ignored him. As you should when someone begins mocking you. Several months later, the same friend asked how the wifi was coming. Yet again, I think he was mocking me. He was on to me and my wifi ignorance, knowing damn well how it was coming. Meanwhile, old laptop died and we inherited a slightly newer hand-me-down model from my in-laws. This one could handle wireless. But still, we remained tethered to the wall. The rest of the free world was sitting on their couches perusing the Internet, skyping with loved ones from the comfort of their beds. Not me, I was standing strong on my refusal to join the 21st century. Then, I got an iPad. You know how awesome it is to buy an iPad, bring home the sleek and sensual, thin piece of power...only to not be able to use it? For two weeks, I "borrowed" wifi from the nearby Radio Shack. It was spotty and in the evenings I was out of luck completely. It was not a good plan. I needed wifi. And I, still, was clueless. Tail between my legs, I crawled to the knowledge of my friend who, for the record, is not smarter than me. Turns out it's pretty damn easy to have your very own wireless connection these days. One simple amazon purchase and I had taken my house into a whole new world.

Since then, my house has exploded with technology. New phones, new tablets, new cameras! All we need to update is the laptop. Someday, when money allows a nice new MacBook.

Today, searching for a picture on my camera, I became lost in picture land. When I found myself looking at pictures of Alice and our dog, Marley, in the snow, it occured to me I have a new technology problem. Pictures. When it's 100 degrees outside I shouldn't have snow pictures on the camera. I loathe our computer, so I never log on to unload the memory card. Never a problem, unless it's Christmas morning and the card is full or until I actually want to do something with these great pictures I take. Who am I kidding? It's a problem. I have years and years worth of pictures just sitting on a hard drive. That's a big problem. One day I'll tackle the task of ordering prints and creating albums. One day. Until then, it turns out it's pretty easy to solve the memory card situation. I didn't even need to ask for live help, that's how smart I am. I just googled. For a low, low price of $30 I can buy an iPad camera connection device.

It's my new goal, I'm putting it out there for the world to hold me accountable, to take more pictures, unload them in a prompt fashion, and use them however I see fit. My mother was a picture taker. She always had her camera with her and took pictures often. She would stage ridiculous photo shoots of my sisters and I. Candids were her thing too. It shocked me, sorting pictures after her death, how many pictures she took of us just riding in the car. She documented everything. If my mother was still alive today, she would fully support this goal.

Major Accomplishment

Back in May I enrolled Alice in a one week, two and a half hour Fairy Camp at her dance school. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Yesterday morning, trying to get Alice out of the house by 9:15, didn't seem like such a good idea.

What the what was I thinking? Summer mornings are not for rushing to get out of the house by a required time. But there I was, rushing. Being the optimistic person I am, hehehe, I looked at it as a nice trial run for school in the fall. I don't work outside of the home. Alice doesn't go to daycare. We have never had to leave the house five mornings a week and arrive at our destination on time.

Let me tell you, I'm kicking ass at this being on time for ballet camp business. Two days in a row we have walked in the dance school door before camp started. Alice has eaten breakfast both days, I hear that's uber important for school. I managed to remember the dance bag both days, which I have been known to forget in the past. We arrived at camp dressed in proper attire, neither of us in pajamas. And today, not only was her hair brushed, I even decided to be a show off and french braid a section and bun the remaining loose hair up. I made those other moms look like novices today.

If this is a sign for what's to come in the fall when preschool starts, I'd say we're made in shade, baby. Golden.

What is that you veteran mom's are saying? Two days of being on time for camp has nothing to do with being on time for school every single effing day? I hear you, you parade rainers. Can't I just have my moment? Let me bask in the glory of being on time for just a little bit. That, in and of itself, is a major accomplishment. Matter of fact, I'm going to go make myself a cocktail right now to celebrate my achievements!

I Hope You Dance

I witnessed something today that left me without words, silently staring with a million emotions swarming my brain.

It happened at the gym. Thirty minutes into my work out I found myself near the one-way glass windows of the daycare room. Like always, I paused to look inside. This morning they were engrossed in parachute time. I smiled, seeing the excitement on the faces of the children. I looked from kid to kid around the parachute circle, all the while the colorful chute went up and down. I didn't see Alice anywhere. I looked towards the corner she usually plays dolls in, she wasn't there either. Thinking she must have been underneath the parachute, I scanned all the little bodies again until finally I found her. She stood a foot behind the parachute, just watching. A smile on her face, not touching the chute, merely watching the fun taking place.

I was so torn with emotion. My heart broke for her. I knew the fun she would have if she allowed herself to participate. I knew if I was by her side as her security, she could have joined in. And at the same time I was proud of her for knowing her limits, knowing how much she could handle and still feel comfortable and safe. Proud that she was not holed up in a little corner playing alone. She had gotten as close to the action as she could handle, I'm sure. I watched her face as the other kids took turns, obviously having fun, running onto the middle of the parachute as the group continued to raise and lower it. I saw the longing in her smile, though unable to conjure enough bravery to take her turn. One time the parachute brushed her hand, I thought for sure she would take it as a sign and hold on. She didn't, she simply took two steps backwards to ensure it wouldn't happen again.

No mother hopes her child will be the one standing on the sidelines watching life, and the excitement it brings, pass her by. I quote a popular lyric by Lee Ann Womack*, "And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance. I hope you dance."

I hope that for Alice. I watched her through the window having a good time, but not entirely. The rest of the children laughing and squealing with delight at the activity, I couldn't help but wish Alice could experience it the same as them. All chidren are different, though. And this was too far outside of Alice's comfort. I can only hope that I teach her to be brave and step outside her comfort zone every once in a while to experience something exhilarating. It's always worth it.

* Let it be known, this will likely be the only time I quote country music. Growing up on a farm, I was surrounded by country, but proudly my iPod is practically void of it today.

Going Commando

I have taught my daughter a lot of things. A LOT!

I taught her to walk by bribing her with a box of off limit small chokey items. I taught her to dress herself. I taught her Spanish. Wait, no. That was Dora. I did teach her the ABC's and her numbers and all that smarty-arty stuff. And let me tell you, she's smart. Too smart sometimes, you know, for being 4. Given all that, I have never been as proud of her as I was today.

A shining moment of motherhood.

Alice and I were preparing to go to the gym. I was sitting on the top step lacing my running shoes while she was going pee. When she finished, she came to join me on the stairs. She stood before me, lifted her sundress and said, "Look, Mama. I put on underwear. Ariel ones."

I smiled so big, a tear of joy almost formed in the corner of my eye. I was ecstatic. I had finally taught her quite possibly the most important life lesson a girl can learn...when you're wearing a skirt or a dress, put on undies before you leave the house.

See, Alice dislikes wearing underwear. She loves underwear! She has more pairs than I could ever dream of. Elmo, Zoe, Dora, Ariel, Cinderella, Aurora, and Rapunzel to name a few. She hates wearing them. It's nothing for her to walk around the house, lift up her dress and surprise! Vagina! Or she'll lay back on the couch and her skirt will fall up and, oops, naked vagina. It's so common place in my house, the surprise, that our close friends aren't even caught off guard anymore. It's a way of life around my house, toys on the floor and naked 4 year old vagina.

With all the nakedness, I've been concerned for future Alice. I think it's technically called the Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton crotch shot phobia. These girls were not taught the life skill I was determined to instill in Alice. To prove this, I contemplated posting pics to these girls exposed out in public crotch shots. But then, this isn't that type of blog. You can google if you don't remember or live under a rock. The last thing I want for my daughter is to be photographed because her vajay-jay is out for all to see. Now, I know the odds of Alice being famous enough for people to care if she's going commando under her mini skirt are low. It doesn't matter. Good girls wear underwear under skirts and dresses. Period.

Unless, of course, you're married and trying to spice things up a bit on a date. Then, maybe the out in public surprise is acceptable.

Until then, I'm glad she finally caught on to my begging and pleading and put on undies unprompted.

Digging Myself Out Of The Trench

After adjusting the laces on my shoes, I stepped on, set the treadmill, and started to run. With my iPod in hand, I scrolled through the artists and found what I was looking for, an oldy but goody recently added to my new iPod, Damian Jr Gong Marley, and pressed play. I ran for a few moments, my thoughts racing from my to-do lists to my worries, and then the chorus kicked in. Just like that, I was transported back six years ago. To a time when things were different. I was different. And in that moment, running, all thoughts disappeared but one.

I'm back.

You often hear new moms talk about the dream of getting back into their pre-baby clothes, and don't get me wrong, I wanted the same. After six months I was there...mostly. But, without even being aware, what I needed most, was to get back to the pre-baby me. That has been a horrendously long journey. Alice just turned four and I can finally say I'm there...mostly.

In that moment, running, I felt it and it felt terrifically familiar. The it being the old me. She was there and finally shining through.

At my baby shower, four plus years ago, seasoned veterans offered advice like sleep when the baby sleeps and take all the help that's offered. Everyone made it out like all you needed to be concerned with is the window of time when your new child is a baby. It came off to ignorant me like life would return when the baby started to sleep through the night. People neglected to inform me that not only would life never be the same again, I would lose myself in the process.

Lose myself I did.

I wasn't even aware. That may have been the worst part. I was no longer me and I didn't even know it. It has taken several years and unique circumstances for me to finally shine the light on myself and examine what I have allowed myself to become. I had given in to the role of mom and become nothing but. I had allowed myself to become unimportant. I was a mother, nothing else. I can see how it happened. I became so engrossed in the infant stage, survival mode in the trenches so to speak, and every stage of motherhood thereafter brought new and equally urgent requirements. I never stopped for a moment to look out of the trench, look around at life and see it all going by.

Until I did.

When I finally woke up and realized the old Nelly was gone, it was a relief...sort of. It sucked, but at least I was aware. It's like being sick for years, being told countless times we can't find anything wrong, and finally having a diagnosis. At least I could begin to work to dig me out from underneath the mom mountain I had created.

It's taken awhile and many changes, but seeing myself in the mirror, running, listening to Jr Gong, I saw me. I saw Nelly, not just Mama. And when I had finished working out, I retrieved Alice from daycare. As we walked out of the gym, her hand in mine, talking about the butterfly she had made and the bug that had been on the step the day before, she took my hand and wiped her nose with it.

And all was good.

Two Birds With One Stone

Sound the horns, beat the drums...I've finally killed two birds with one stone. Sort of. I didn't actually kill any birds. Though, in the spring, when the weathers nice and I'd like to sleep with the windows open, but I can't because the mother lovin birds in my neighborhood wake up at 4am, I'd like to kill birds then. I digress. Let me try again. I've finally accomplished two goals and I did them at the exact same time. I wanted to share the news with you sooner, but I didn't want to jinx it. I'm a bit superstitious. Ask me about the number 8 next time you see me. Second thought, don't. It might just prove I'm crazy and I'd surely lose readers.

I think I've had too much coffee today.

I joined the gym and Alice has been babysat by complete strangers, i.e., gym daycare. This is big, people. Huge. Both feats.

Prior to growing a human inside me, I exercised regulary. I ran. A lot. I had a 6-pack. I fit into a dress that looked like a Barbie doll could wear. The pink, floral dress still hangs in my closet taunting me. Then, I didn't get pregnant as quickly as I wanted and my cycle started to become irregular. My ob doctor, concerned I was becoming too under weight, blaming my trouble concieving on it, suggested I cut back on the amount I was running. So I did. Fast forward to now, nearly 5 years later, I have a beautiful, brilliant daughter and a 2-pack at best. I haven't exercised with any regularity and it shows. I can accept that my body may never look like it did before, I was in my 20's and now I'm not, I've birthed a child, things change. However, I have not admitted defeat regarding my growing ass. I finally redeemed the Groupon I bought for a gym down the street. I'm proud to say, I'm addicted again. I think my lazy ass, stagnant streak is over.

Now, about the daycare. Some friends I talk to think it's bizarre that Alice isn't in daycare or preschool or hasn't been babysat by anyone but family yet. I see their point, she is 4. But, up until now I've never needed outside of family help and I was never comfortable with the idea anyway. The idea of some stranger in my house, snooping through my desk, riffling through my pantry never exactly thrilled me. I know one day we will hire a college kid to watch Alice and it'll be fine, we just haven't needed to yet. This all means Alice is extremely used to me. And I'm very comfortable knowing she's safe. Cut to the first day at the gym. I walked her in the daycare room. It looked fun, the kids were playing Play-Doh. I'm sure my heart was beating just as fast as hers. This nervous, excited feeling for both of us. She clung to my leg as I talked to the teacher and pointed out the fun she was bound to have. I told her I would be back soon, and I separated her clingy arms from my leg and walked out of the door. That was it. She wasn't screaming. She didn't cry. She just stood there for awhile, flabbergasted I think. In shock that her mother actually left her with strangers. I'm sure she doubted my judgement call. I went about my exercise regime with only minimal concern for my child. Every now and then, I'd peek in the window at her, always happily playing dollhouse or barbies, but always alone.

This will be good for us, as individuals and as a mother-daughter duo. I'll get back to my pre-pregnancy self and, with any luck, into that dress, and she'll have a nice introduction in separation before preschool in the fall. A win win if I do say so.

Patting myself on the back for a job well done.

Moss Is Cool, Right?

I'm a bit odd, quirky even. I'm the first to admit. I'll never be one of those people, convinced she's normal when everyone around her thinks otherwise.

Take, for example, my newest oddity, I'm giddy about moss. Right. Moss. Just simple moss. I'm like, smile ear to ear, do a little dance excited about moss. I don't even know why. I'm really so very weird. Normal people are delighted when they see puppies or roses, but moss is what gets me off.

Proudly, I have passed the love to my daughter. She takes great pleasure in pointing moss out on our dog walks. She's got the eye, that one. She can spot it a block away, hidden in a crack on the sidewalk. She'll stop whatever she's doing to talk about it. Alice was skipping enthusiastically when I took her and Hatta on a mission to steal moss from a nearby hiking trail.

I know, who steals moss? Who even wants moss? Aren't most people trying to kill it? All very normal questions, but I've already admitted I'm not completely normal.

Living in a city rowhome, my front yard is small and flanked by insanely large ginkgo trees. It's shaded, very shaded. Grass barely grows. For two years I have tried growing a lush lawn that would make the neighbors jealous to no avail. This year, I'm embracing my individualism and going against the grain. I'm growing a moss lawn.

I flirted with the idea after a three day rain spell this spring when moss began growing in a low spot in the middle of the yard and in between nearby sidewalk cracks. I wondered what the kind neighbor, who mows everyone's lawn, would think when he got to mine. Would he be stumped or incredibly thankful to have one less yard to mow? I fantasized what passersby would think when they saw moss in place of grass, "Wow! She's a genius to think out of the box. Look at them finding such an easy solution to an unsightly lawn. And so green and plush!" In my head, it's all accolades.


Reality...

Not nearly as impressive as in my mind.

I'm pretty sure I know what people think when they walk past my house, "What in the world is this plot of dirt supposed to be? Why does that silly girl keep watering the dirt?" I'm not concerned. I'm sure by next year my little plot of dirt moss will be the talk of the neighborhood. I will be a point of reference. "Go pass the house with the moss lawn..." People will be jealous of my no water, no mow, soft, vibrant yard.

I'll still be quirky, and my lawn will be impressive.