grandma

We spent a great week in Mesa visiting family and friends, and staying with the always generous and incredibly fun Pearce family. Kathy and Lester were gone most of the week, but spoiled us rotten at every opportunity. This conversation tells the story:

Lauren: "Where did grandma go?" (Mom had not yet arrived from Washington.)

Me: "Which one?'

Lauren: "The one in the pink shirt."

Me: "Sister Pearce?"

Ella: "Actually, Lauren, she's really more of an assistant grandma."

S.O.S.

It all could have been avoided with better planning. We had a busy day, no naps, and 4 p.m. swim lessons. We were destined for drama. 

Sure enough, Lauren and Ella both shed tears during their swim lessons, and Ella was particularly unreasonable. She resisted nearly every request made by her very nice and capable teacher, and finally broke down, refusing to swim at all, sobbing, "I can't, I can't." I apologized and took Ella to a poolside table for a chat. She wrapped herself in a towel, sat down forcefully in her chair and, before I could say a word, blurted out, "I need a swim teacher who respects me!" 

perfect patient

It was a busy afternoon on the 4th of July. To get everyone ready for the firm's annual rooftop party, we put the girls in the shower together as usual. It was just a few moments later that Audrey started crying and we saw the blood. She'd somehow manage to grab my razor and, in doing so, had sliced off the diagonal tip of her index finger. We applied pressure to stop the bleeding, but without success.

Kim dropped Audrey and me off at the ER and took the girls to the party. (There was no reason for all of us to sit in the waiting room on the 4th of July.) Amazingly, even as I applied firm pressure to her wound for over an hour while we waited to be seen by a doctor, she didn't make a complaint. The people seated around us were amazed, as was the doctor who took care of us. One-year-old Audrey sat patiently while the doctor examined her and applied a styptic gauze that would eventually stop the bleeding. A half-hour later, she held her hand perfectly still while her hand was bandaged and wrapped up to look like a little white mitten. And when it was done, she clapped. The nurses declared her their best little patient ever.

We took a taxi home, had something to eat, and then I put Audrey to bed. I went to check on her a few minutes later and was amazed by what I saw. She was asleep on her back with her her forearm resting against the bars of the crib, and her wounded hand elevated. A perfect patient, indeed.

wax on, wax off

If I can get it on video, I will. 

Lately, if you try to put Audrey's binky in her mouth while she's still in her crib, she'll bat away your hand with surprising speed and agility. It's as if, with every circular swipe of her hand across her furrowed brow she's saying, "Don't. Think. I. Don't. Know. What. You're. Doing. I'm. Not. Going. Back. To. Sleep." The instant you take her out of her crib, she smiles and opens her mouth.

artistic direction

We were driving along a dirt road in the Virginia countryside when Ella, who was coloring in the backseat, yelled, "Thanks for making all these bumpy turns, Mom!" 

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"It's really helping my artwork," she said. "It's making it fascinating!" 

let's make a deal

In our desperate search for Ella's other black ballet flat, I offered a reward. "Whoever looks very hard for the shoe gets some Swedish fish. And whoever finds it gets a dollar!"

Ella was distraught. "What if Lauren finds my shoe!" she cried. "I won't get the dollar!" 

"Just do your best," I said, "Maybe you'll get it." She sulked to the basement where I heard her say,

"Lauren, if you give me the dollar, I'll give you 25 cents." 

Update: The shoe was located two days later, inside a giraffe boot. Ella found it and very happily claimed her prize. 

cake points

For this year's Independence Day barbeque, I decided to make Ina Garten's flag cake -- a vanilla sheet cake decorated with (a lot of) buttercream frosting, blueberries and raspberries to resemble the American flag. I was placing the berries on the cake when two kitchen chairs with little girls on them appeared on either side of me. "Wow," Ella said. 

"That is amazing," added Lauren, "You are a good baker." 

"Thanks, girls," I said, continuing with my work.

"No, really, Mom," Ella assured me. "You are a really good baker."

"The best," Lauren beamed. "And you are the best mom!"

They went on, and on, and on until it was finished. And while I ordinarily would have been a bit annoyed trying to work in the midst of their incessant chattering, I have to confess: I loved every minute. 

At the barbeque, I mentioned to Adrienne that the girls really enjoyed watching me make the cake and she said, "Oh, I know. Ella came up to me and said, 'Did you see the cake my mom made? Isn't it extra-ordinary?'" 

A tradition is born. 

happy birthday to me

Today I'm 33. Not much to celebrate, except the love of my sweet family and friends. My favorite gift this year was from Lauren. When I woke up, she was standing next to the bed, waiting to give me her homemade card. I rubbed my eyes and could just make out a couple of stick figures underneath some circular scribbles. "Who is this?" I asked.
"You and me."
"What are we doing?"
"Just looking at the clouds."

I took the girls to the park to read a book about clouds and watch the clouds go by. Once. Four months ago. It's the little things they remember. And being reminded of that fact is a wonderful gift, indeed.