It's not like I don't know that my child is an actual person. It's just that it surprises me at times. Like, what goes on in her little head all day? What is she thinking about? How does the world look to her? Is it really possible that she has an entire secret life all her own, thoughts I won't ever hear of, feelings I can't share? Don't answer that. I know it's true, but it seems impossible.
The other day, Ricardo was driving in the car with Cali while I was at work. Suddenly, out of the blue, she said, "No not that way! Don't wanna go that way!" When he asked her why, she said "We go this way. We see Cali's house." Baffled, he went the way she pointed, and they passed a house with a For Sale sign, and she announced "That's my house. Grandma's going to buy it for me."
What the heck? Where did this idea even come from? This is not a house we have ever pointed out or talked about, although we pass it often since it is in our neighborhood. Did she get this idea from a book? Something her nanny said to her one day when they were walking by the house on the way to the park or something? Not to mention, the only grandparent she refers to as "Grandma" is someone she hasn't seen or spoken to in months.
Then, the next day, just to see what she would do, he pointed to the house as they passed and said "what's that?" And she said again "that's Cali's house." Apparently Cali's secret thoughts are dominated by real estate ambitions.
And here's another interesting conversation I had with her.
"Mama, what's that noise?"
"It's the washing machine next door."
"Oh, at H an T's house?"
"Yep, at H and T's house."
"Oh, is H's clothes getting washed?"
"Yes, her clothes are probably getting washed."
"Oh no, H is nakey!"
She was unconvinced when I told her I was sure H still had some clothes left to wear. The laundromats in Cali's world must be very interesting places.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Gift
 |
| From Jul 6, 2011 |
Sometimes life slips one of those days into your hand, as if you've been running your fingers through rough grass and they catch upon a wildflower that you didn't realize was there. A day where you don't have to try so hard to be happy, where you don't even realize you are happy because it isn't a giddy, self-conscious feeling, but rather a simple contented sense of peace.
Remember last year, my manic search for holiday fun? Well, this year's Fourth of July was better. I haven't completely lost my neuroses, don't worry, but I really was able to let things happen much more spontaneously. And we had a really great day. This was in large part owing to our amazing neighbors, who have a little girl exactly Cali's age. To say they love each other would be an understatement. They are crazy about each other. So they came over for a BBQ (and I was even mellow enough to serve nothing but leftovers from the last two days) and then we lit a fire in our fire pit and we roasted marshmallows, and the girls had their first taste of s'mores. They liked them okay, I guess.
After that, we snuggled the girls together in the big stroller and walked out to the cliffs to watch the fireworks. Our city doesn't have a city-sponsored show, so everything is illegal. Usually most of them are shot off on the other side of the harbor, but this year people were shooting them off on our side of the cliffs and they were literally exploding right over our heads. Even I was nervous, and poor little H (Cali's friend) was terrified and sobbing. Cali, usually unperturbed at anything except dogs that might want to lick her (apparently she is unaware that their TEETH pose the larger threat), said nervously "I wanna go home. Let's try again tomorrow." So we left (just as the police pulled up with their lights off and sneaked up on the culprits). As we walked home, the booms faded and the girls calmed down and started enjoying the distant blossoms of light in the sky. Although, I have to say, when fireworks are going off incessantly, it becomes unnecessary to say "that's a firework!" every time you hear one. Even if you are only two and it is really cute the first 200 times. I swear, as she drifted off to sleep with the sounds of revelry still coming muffled through our windows, she mumbled "that's a firework, mama."
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Resolution
Okay, one more list post. (Sorry, guys. I know this is the third one in a row.) I'm not usually big on New Year's Resolutions, because I feel like they set you up for failure, but I'm taking the plunge this year. And I'm going to write them down, so I can look back on them at the end of the year. Here they are:
1) Write every day. My paper journal, this blog, other pieces or one large piece (ahem novel). Doesn't matter. Just write every day.
2) Be more patient with Cali. More deep breaths, less TV. Yesterday I got down on the floor and played blocks with her, and the way she laughed and laughed as we knocked the towers down was better than anything else I could have been doing.
3) Exercise more regularly. I'm not going to commit to one workout regimen, and although I'd love to get back into running 5Ks, I really just want to move every day. Walk, run, ride my bike, hike. If that leads to getting back into serious running, or taking a yoga class, then that's great. But as long as I'm moving my body nearly every day, I'm going to count it as a success.
4) Work harder at maintaining my friendships. Go out to lunch with friends, have people over, call people, don't be a recluse. I'm meeting a friend for coffee today, so it's a good start.
5) Be more accepting of myself. Sorry if that sounds hippy-dippy, but it's important. I want to be more satisfied with who I am, and at peace with what my life looks like day-to-day. That's what this blog, and my other journaling, has been about from the beginning for me. Appreciate the stillness of life, even as it's moving, and remembering to appreciate the roses.
1) Write every day. My paper journal, this blog, other pieces or one large piece (ahem novel). Doesn't matter. Just write every day.
2) Be more patient with Cali. More deep breaths, less TV. Yesterday I got down on the floor and played blocks with her, and the way she laughed and laughed as we knocked the towers down was better than anything else I could have been doing.
3) Exercise more regularly. I'm not going to commit to one workout regimen, and although I'd love to get back into running 5Ks, I really just want to move every day. Walk, run, ride my bike, hike. If that leads to getting back into serious running, or taking a yoga class, then that's great. But as long as I'm moving my body nearly every day, I'm going to count it as a success.
4) Work harder at maintaining my friendships. Go out to lunch with friends, have people over, call people, don't be a recluse. I'm meeting a friend for coffee today, so it's a good start.
5) Be more accepting of myself. Sorry if that sounds hippy-dippy, but it's important. I want to be more satisfied with who I am, and at peace with what my life looks like day-to-day. That's what this blog, and my other journaling, has been about from the beginning for me. Appreciate the stillness of life, even as it's moving, and remembering to appreciate the roses.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Old Year, New Year
The New Year came in in a quiet, melancholy way here in my household. I heard some sad family news on New Years Eve, and stayed at home with Cali instead of going to our neighbors as planned. At midnight we went outside and showed Cali how to bang on a pot with a wooden spoon, but the firecrackers were too scary for her, so we went back inside, where she continued to bang her pot cheerfully.
Despite its sad and mellow ending, there were some beautiful moments in 2010 that I'd like to remember:
The cold nights in early January when Ricardo would bring Cali to me at my midnight lunch break at the ER, and I would nurse her in the car, while the lights from the passing ambulances washed over us.
The February night when I first arrived with Cali in our little apartment in the lemon tree house, which still smelled like the new paint they used in between tenants. The living room was completely empty except for an air mattress, but it still felt like home.
The day in March when Cali turned one. We took her to her favorite place, the "dut park" and she danced around on the grass in a little white tutu.
A day in April, when I was driving along with Cali in her car seat, and she kept saying "uh-oh, uh-oh". I finally realized that she hadn't dropped anything, but was actually singing along with Regina Spektor to "on the radio, uh-oh, on the radio."
Beautiful May days watching Cali learn to climb and slide and swing in the sunshine, when the weather was so beautiful we went to the park every afternoon.
The few nights in June when my best friend came to visit with her kids and we stayed up late into the night talking and drinking wine, and spent the days taking the kids to the beach and the boardwalk.
The night we took Cali to see fireworks for the fourth of July, and the many July afternoons spent watching Cali eat plums and berries in the sunshine.
The August afternoon when the little girl next door came over to play for the first time, and she and Cali fell immediately into friendship, despite certain bickerings over a ball. And the very next day when they saw each other and squealed with delight.
The hot September day we took the girls apple picking, and the way Cali's hair looked so blond in the sunshine.
The way Cali looked so round and fuzzy in her little Halloween monkey costume, and the way she said "ticky teets" so soft and shy.
Cooking turkey and delicious stuffing, ruining a pumpkin cake by putting it in the oven at the same time as the fish, enjoying the wonderful company of our neighbors and friends, and watching the world's worst ever horror movie on Thanksgiving.
Sitting quietly in the semi-dark, with only the Christmas tree lights on, and listening to Cali sing me "twinko twinko litto stor".
Happy New Year, everyone.
Despite its sad and mellow ending, there were some beautiful moments in 2010 that I'd like to remember:
The cold nights in early January when Ricardo would bring Cali to me at my midnight lunch break at the ER, and I would nurse her in the car, while the lights from the passing ambulances washed over us.
The February night when I first arrived with Cali in our little apartment in the lemon tree house, which still smelled like the new paint they used in between tenants. The living room was completely empty except for an air mattress, but it still felt like home.
The day in March when Cali turned one. We took her to her favorite place, the "dut park" and she danced around on the grass in a little white tutu.
A day in April, when I was driving along with Cali in her car seat, and she kept saying "uh-oh, uh-oh". I finally realized that she hadn't dropped anything, but was actually singing along with Regina Spektor to "on the radio, uh-oh, on the radio."
Beautiful May days watching Cali learn to climb and slide and swing in the sunshine, when the weather was so beautiful we went to the park every afternoon.
The few nights in June when my best friend came to visit with her kids and we stayed up late into the night talking and drinking wine, and spent the days taking the kids to the beach and the boardwalk.
The night we took Cali to see fireworks for the fourth of July, and the many July afternoons spent watching Cali eat plums and berries in the sunshine.
The August afternoon when the little girl next door came over to play for the first time, and she and Cali fell immediately into friendship, despite certain bickerings over a ball. And the very next day when they saw each other and squealed with delight.
The hot September day we took the girls apple picking, and the way Cali's hair looked so blond in the sunshine.
The way Cali looked so round and fuzzy in her little Halloween monkey costume, and the way she said "ticky teets" so soft and shy.
Cooking turkey and delicious stuffing, ruining a pumpkin cake by putting it in the oven at the same time as the fish, enjoying the wonderful company of our neighbors and friends, and watching the world's worst ever horror movie on Thanksgiving.
Sitting quietly in the semi-dark, with only the Christmas tree lights on, and listening to Cali sing me "twinko twinko litto stor".
Happy New Year, everyone.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
100 Things
I've never done this, and I need a reason to get my blog going again, so here we go:
1. My favorite color is red. A rich velvety red, not an orangey or a pinky-red.
2. I am the only one of my siblings who was born in a hospital.
3. One of my earliest memories is going trick-or-treating the year I was 2. I was a cowgirl, with little cowgirl boots and a Western shirt with little rosebuds on it.
4. My kindergarten teacher was a man.
5. The first sentence I ever read was "Gus is a bug." I remember it vividly.
6. My mom caught me reading Clan of the Cave Bear in the guest bedroom when I was six and took it away from me. I was on page six and I never finished the book until I was 27, but the earthquake scene always stayed with me.
7. In Jr. High I used to hide in the girls bathroom and read during P.E.
8. I always thought I was terrible at sports until I discovered running in high school and ended up the captain of my cross country team.
9. One of my biggest regrets is quitting the violin when I started high school.
10. I love music, but I don't play any musical instruments.
11. Maybe I'll take fiddle lessons.
12. I met my husband when he lived downstairs from me in our college apartments.
13. He invited me over or dinner and cooked pasta with sundried tomatoes and goat cheese.
14. He cooked me the same thing 2 years ago for my 29th birthday dinner.
15. He used to be a far better cook than me, but I've since caught up.
16. The first summer we were dating, I told him that I had spent the Thanksgiving before all by myself in my apartment eating ramen and watching TV, so that night he cooked me a Thanksgiving dinner, complete with turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes in the middle of July.
17. We ate it outside in the backyard.
18. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.
19. I still want to be a writer when I grow up.
20. I read the entire Anne of Green Gables series, all 8 books, about once a year.
21. It's better than therapy.
22. I'm a Catholic, but I'm not sure I believe in God.
23. I'm also a liberal feminist, so there's a lot of irreconcilable differences between me and the Pope.
24. But I love religious iconography and the smell of incense.
25. I think if there is a God, He, She and the Universe are all the same thing.
26. As you can see, I am something of a heretic.
27. I think those mandarins with the wrinkly skins smell like Christmas.
28. If I couldn't live in California, I'd like to live in Spain.
29. I spent a summer in Barcelona when I was 21 and decided that I was coming back there to live.
30. It's been almost 10 years, and I haven't been back. But I suppose you never know what life has in store.
31. There was this little falafal place in the Placa Reial that was amazing. The flatbread was thick and fluffy sort of like naan. I hope when I go back that place is still there.
32. Nine-eleven happened only a couple of weeks after I came home from Spain.
33. Someone called us and told us to turn on the TV. We were still in bed.
34. It seems like everything was different after that, in the world and in my life.
35. I have one sister and one brother.
36. They are both younger.
37. My sister has a little boy. He is the fifth person in his family to bear his name.
38. I was there when he was born. It was raining. It was beautiful.
39. It took four years for me to get pregnant with my daughter.
40. She was born at home.
41. Giving birth was the hardest thing I've ever done. I don't think I want to do it again.
42. Actually, sometimes I just say that to hide the fact that I'm afraid I'll never be able to have more children.
43. I named my daughter California because it is the most beautiful place in the world.
44. I've had the same best friend since I was 3 years old and we lived in the same neighborhood.
45. We lost touch for several years when we were in our twenties, but now that we have kids, we're closer than we've ever been.
46. I wish she lived closer to me.
47. She has a little girl who is three months younger than Cali, which is exactly how much younger my friend is than me.
48. Our next door neighbors have a little girl two weeks older than Cali. They are best friends.
49. I hope someday they will still be as close as my best friend and I am.
50. This is taking a long time and I will have to finish it tomorrow.
51. Turns out it took me over a month to get back to this list.
52. I guess you could say I'm a procrastinator.
53. I hate watermelon. Other than that I'll eat pretty much anything.
54. Summer is my favorite season. I like the idea of winter, the cozy intimacy of long nights inside listening to the rain, but the reality of it usually gives me the blues. I need more light.
55. I like the Christmas season, but generally don't enjoy the actual day. Holidays make me neurotic and miserable.
56. I hate that about myself. My rigid expectations about certain things make it impossible to just relax and enjoy them.
57. Having a child has helped. I have to slow down and savor every moment.
58. Sometimes I do feel like I waste too much time wishing bedtime would arrive, though. It makes me feel horrible, like I'm wishing away my child's life. I have the rest of my life to read books undisturbed and only a couple of years with my daughter as a toddler.
59. It makes me sad that I was so depressed after Cali was born that I have trouble even remembering the first year of her life sometimes. I'm so glad I wrote a lot of it down.
60. I made a New Year's resolution to write more. I'm burying it on this list where no one will see it if I fail.
61. I love my friends deeply, but I have weird social anxiety issues that make it hard for me to maintain relationships well.
62. I'm trying to do better, because some people are too beautiful to lose.
63. This is why my husband is my best friend; he doesn't let me hide from him.
64. I love the house I live in. Every morning I wake up and try not to take it for granted.
65. It is only two blocks from the beach.
66. Almost every day last summer, Cali and I took a walk along the cliffs after dinner. Those are some of my best memories.
67. The last walk we took it got dark before we got home, and Cali discovered stars for the first time. Since then, it's been too dark to walk after dinner.
68. I love to drink Jameson neat.
69. I love to eat tomatoes raw, but only in the summertime. Winter tomatoes aren't really tomatoes.
70. I'm afraid of failure, and I've still failed quite spectacularly in my life at times. I can't even list those failures here, because thinking about them gives me anxiety.
71. I hate small talk. I hate going to parties where I don't know anyone. You'd never know it, though. I'm good at hiding it.
72. I taught myself to knit, and I love it.
73. I'm teaching myself to sew.
74. I used to be a pretty decent artist, but I haven't drawn or painted in years.
75. Sometimes I take photographs.
76. My husband made me resolve to write one page a day on my novel every day next year.
77. I find the resolution exciting and terrifying.
78. I'm afraid I'll find out the reason I've never committed to writing a novel is because I'd totally suck at it.
79. Being sucky at things is a huge fear of mine. I'd rather not do something than do a sucky job at it.
71. Probably why there are so many things left undone in my life.
72. See, even writing about this feels ridiculous. The idea of me, an untrained, unpublished nobody writing a stupid novel that no one will read, is ridiculous.
73. I'm still going to try, though.
74. I drink way too much coffee.
75. I don't exercise enough.
76. My favorite food is soup. My first sentence, at 15 months (so says my mom) was "I love my soup". After having had my own fifteen-month-old, I find this hard to believe.
77. I like to follow politics, but doing so exacerbates my anxiety, because politics are so fucking depressing (excuse my French).
78. My favorite movie is "It's a Wonderful Life." It always makes me cry.
79. I like happy endings.
80. But I like sad endings, too.
81. I cry easily, but not as easily as I used to.
82. I am the worst passenger ever. Seriously. You'd probably rather not drive with me. Especially if it's raining.
83. I don't get carsick, though. I can read in the car like nobody's business.
84. I love long car trips. I'm not sure how that works with the driving anxiety, but it does.
85. I've read most of the Harry Potter books aloud to my husband during road trips.
86. I love reading out loud. I can't wait until Cali is old enough to read longer books to.
87. If I had one wish, it would be to never again disappoint anyone that loves me.
88. Well, I'd also wish that my husband wasn't allergic to cats.
89. I love cats.
90. I HATE being cold. Our heating bill does not make my husband happy. Oh well. Being cold does not make me happy. Good thing we live in California.
91. I look more like my brother than my sister.
92. My brother is seven years younger than me. We didn't become close until we were adults. We are so alike and so different. I love him very much.
93. My sister and I are so different, and not so much alike. I'm five years older than her. I love her very much.
94. I miss living near them.
95. But I also enjoy the privacy of living farther from my family.
96. I am a very private person.
97. That's why I bear my soul to the entire world in this blog, ha ha.
98. I need to go to sleep. I hate going to sleep. That's probably where my daughter gets it from.
99. I'll probably go to bed and read instead.
100. I love to read.
1. My favorite color is red. A rich velvety red, not an orangey or a pinky-red.
2. I am the only one of my siblings who was born in a hospital.
3. One of my earliest memories is going trick-or-treating the year I was 2. I was a cowgirl, with little cowgirl boots and a Western shirt with little rosebuds on it.
4. My kindergarten teacher was a man.
5. The first sentence I ever read was "Gus is a bug." I remember it vividly.
6. My mom caught me reading Clan of the Cave Bear in the guest bedroom when I was six and took it away from me. I was on page six and I never finished the book until I was 27, but the earthquake scene always stayed with me.
7. In Jr. High I used to hide in the girls bathroom and read during P.E.
8. I always thought I was terrible at sports until I discovered running in high school and ended up the captain of my cross country team.
9. One of my biggest regrets is quitting the violin when I started high school.
10. I love music, but I don't play any musical instruments.
11. Maybe I'll take fiddle lessons.
12. I met my husband when he lived downstairs from me in our college apartments.
13. He invited me over or dinner and cooked pasta with sundried tomatoes and goat cheese.
14. He cooked me the same thing 2 years ago for my 29th birthday dinner.
15. He used to be a far better cook than me, but I've since caught up.
16. The first summer we were dating, I told him that I had spent the Thanksgiving before all by myself in my apartment eating ramen and watching TV, so that night he cooked me a Thanksgiving dinner, complete with turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes in the middle of July.
17. We ate it outside in the backyard.
18. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.
19. I still want to be a writer when I grow up.
20. I read the entire Anne of Green Gables series, all 8 books, about once a year.
21. It's better than therapy.
22. I'm a Catholic, but I'm not sure I believe in God.
23. I'm also a liberal feminist, so there's a lot of irreconcilable differences between me and the Pope.
24. But I love religious iconography and the smell of incense.
25. I think if there is a God, He, She and the Universe are all the same thing.
26. As you can see, I am something of a heretic.
27. I think those mandarins with the wrinkly skins smell like Christmas.
28. If I couldn't live in California, I'd like to live in Spain.
29. I spent a summer in Barcelona when I was 21 and decided that I was coming back there to live.
30. It's been almost 10 years, and I haven't been back. But I suppose you never know what life has in store.
31. There was this little falafal place in the Placa Reial that was amazing. The flatbread was thick and fluffy sort of like naan. I hope when I go back that place is still there.
32. Nine-eleven happened only a couple of weeks after I came home from Spain.
33. Someone called us and told us to turn on the TV. We were still in bed.
34. It seems like everything was different after that, in the world and in my life.
35. I have one sister and one brother.
36. They are both younger.
37. My sister has a little boy. He is the fifth person in his family to bear his name.
38. I was there when he was born. It was raining. It was beautiful.
39. It took four years for me to get pregnant with my daughter.
40. She was born at home.
41. Giving birth was the hardest thing I've ever done. I don't think I want to do it again.
42. Actually, sometimes I just say that to hide the fact that I'm afraid I'll never be able to have more children.
43. I named my daughter California because it is the most beautiful place in the world.
44. I've had the same best friend since I was 3 years old and we lived in the same neighborhood.
45. We lost touch for several years when we were in our twenties, but now that we have kids, we're closer than we've ever been.
46. I wish she lived closer to me.
47. She has a little girl who is three months younger than Cali, which is exactly how much younger my friend is than me.
48. Our next door neighbors have a little girl two weeks older than Cali. They are best friends.
49. I hope someday they will still be as close as my best friend and I am.
50. This is taking a long time and I will have to finish it tomorrow.
51. Turns out it took me over a month to get back to this list.
52. I guess you could say I'm a procrastinator.
53. I hate watermelon. Other than that I'll eat pretty much anything.
54. Summer is my favorite season. I like the idea of winter, the cozy intimacy of long nights inside listening to the rain, but the reality of it usually gives me the blues. I need more light.
55. I like the Christmas season, but generally don't enjoy the actual day. Holidays make me neurotic and miserable.
56. I hate that about myself. My rigid expectations about certain things make it impossible to just relax and enjoy them.
57. Having a child has helped. I have to slow down and savor every moment.
58. Sometimes I do feel like I waste too much time wishing bedtime would arrive, though. It makes me feel horrible, like I'm wishing away my child's life. I have the rest of my life to read books undisturbed and only a couple of years with my daughter as a toddler.
59. It makes me sad that I was so depressed after Cali was born that I have trouble even remembering the first year of her life sometimes. I'm so glad I wrote a lot of it down.
60. I made a New Year's resolution to write more. I'm burying it on this list where no one will see it if I fail.
61. I love my friends deeply, but I have weird social anxiety issues that make it hard for me to maintain relationships well.
62. I'm trying to do better, because some people are too beautiful to lose.
63. This is why my husband is my best friend; he doesn't let me hide from him.
64. I love the house I live in. Every morning I wake up and try not to take it for granted.
65. It is only two blocks from the beach.
66. Almost every day last summer, Cali and I took a walk along the cliffs after dinner. Those are some of my best memories.
67. The last walk we took it got dark before we got home, and Cali discovered stars for the first time. Since then, it's been too dark to walk after dinner.
68. I love to drink Jameson neat.
69. I love to eat tomatoes raw, but only in the summertime. Winter tomatoes aren't really tomatoes.
70. I'm afraid of failure, and I've still failed quite spectacularly in my life at times. I can't even list those failures here, because thinking about them gives me anxiety.
71. I hate small talk. I hate going to parties where I don't know anyone. You'd never know it, though. I'm good at hiding it.
72. I taught myself to knit, and I love it.
73. I'm teaching myself to sew.
74. I used to be a pretty decent artist, but I haven't drawn or painted in years.
75. Sometimes I take photographs.
76. My husband made me resolve to write one page a day on my novel every day next year.
77. I find the resolution exciting and terrifying.
78. I'm afraid I'll find out the reason I've never committed to writing a novel is because I'd totally suck at it.
79. Being sucky at things is a huge fear of mine. I'd rather not do something than do a sucky job at it.
71. Probably why there are so many things left undone in my life.
72. See, even writing about this feels ridiculous. The idea of me, an untrained, unpublished nobody writing a stupid novel that no one will read, is ridiculous.
73. I'm still going to try, though.
74. I drink way too much coffee.
75. I don't exercise enough.
76. My favorite food is soup. My first sentence, at 15 months (so says my mom) was "I love my soup". After having had my own fifteen-month-old, I find this hard to believe.
77. I like to follow politics, but doing so exacerbates my anxiety, because politics are so fucking depressing (excuse my French).
78. My favorite movie is "It's a Wonderful Life." It always makes me cry.
79. I like happy endings.
80. But I like sad endings, too.
81. I cry easily, but not as easily as I used to.
82. I am the worst passenger ever. Seriously. You'd probably rather not drive with me. Especially if it's raining.
83. I don't get carsick, though. I can read in the car like nobody's business.
84. I love long car trips. I'm not sure how that works with the driving anxiety, but it does.
85. I've read most of the Harry Potter books aloud to my husband during road trips.
86. I love reading out loud. I can't wait until Cali is old enough to read longer books to.
87. If I had one wish, it would be to never again disappoint anyone that loves me.
88. Well, I'd also wish that my husband wasn't allergic to cats.
89. I love cats.
90. I HATE being cold. Our heating bill does not make my husband happy. Oh well. Being cold does not make me happy. Good thing we live in California.
91. I look more like my brother than my sister.
92. My brother is seven years younger than me. We didn't become close until we were adults. We are so alike and so different. I love him very much.
93. My sister and I are so different, and not so much alike. I'm five years older than her. I love her very much.
94. I miss living near them.
95. But I also enjoy the privacy of living farther from my family.
96. I am a very private person.
97. That's why I bear my soul to the entire world in this blog, ha ha.
98. I need to go to sleep. I hate going to sleep. That's probably where my daughter gets it from.
99. I'll probably go to bed and read instead.
100. I love to read.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Conversation with Cali:
"What does a cow say?"
"Mooon!"
"What does a frog say?"
"Wubbit wubbit"
"What does a dog say?"
"Woowoo"
""What does a cat say?"
"Meeeooo"
"What do YOU say?"
"Pease."
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Poor Sick Baby
Poor Cali Girl has been sick. I knew it two days ago, when, after a perfectly normal day of typical rambunctious climbing-ness, she crawled into my lap at six o'clock and fell asleep. Fell asleep, I tell you, the child who never spontaneously falls asleep, and who has to be wrestled to sleep each night, which is something between an hour-long and an all-night ordeal. I woke her up after a few minutes because she I was afraid she would wake up at bedtime and not go back to sleep, and at first she seemed okay. But my initial instincts were correct. By nine or ten she was burning up, and then woke up and vomited profusely all over the bed. As I'm sure you other parents know, tiny children can hold quite a bit of puke. Poor baby.
I have to tell you, having a mildly sick child makes me feel such incredibly profound awe over parents of truly sick children. Tears spring to my eyes when my own feverish girl wakes up disoriented and glassy-eyed and says, with a desperately insistent voice "dog? dog?", then looks around and starts sobbing with confusion and misery. Then I feel so grateful and almost ashamed of feeling sorry for myself and my sick baby when there are so many children that are truly, horrifyingly ill. My heart just cracks open with pity and sadness when I think of it. And of course, there's that tiny grain of fear that lodged itself deep in my chest the moment I first became her mother, the basic fear that can't be put more simply than this: that she might die. It doesn't haunt me or take over my life, but it is always there. That other people actually have to experience the reality of this fear is something that is hard to reconcile in this world. I've been keeping those who have sick children in my thoughts these past few days, and my heart has been aching for them.
I have to tell you, having a mildly sick child makes me feel such incredibly profound awe over parents of truly sick children. Tears spring to my eyes when my own feverish girl wakes up disoriented and glassy-eyed and says, with a desperately insistent voice "dog? dog?", then looks around and starts sobbing with confusion and misery. Then I feel so grateful and almost ashamed of feeling sorry for myself and my sick baby when there are so many children that are truly, horrifyingly ill. My heart just cracks open with pity and sadness when I think of it. And of course, there's that tiny grain of fear that lodged itself deep in my chest the moment I first became her mother, the basic fear that can't be put more simply than this: that she might die. It doesn't haunt me or take over my life, but it is always there. That other people actually have to experience the reality of this fear is something that is hard to reconcile in this world. I've been keeping those who have sick children in my thoughts these past few days, and my heart has been aching for them.
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