Makes Mama Proud

Sweet Nothings

Earlier this week, John and I celebrated our eighth wedding anniversary. In previous years we’ve celebrated by vacationing in such lovely locales as Maui, Barbados, Seattle, and Aruba. No such luck this year. With no vacation time and no sitter for the evening, we decided to take Lana along and dine at the most romantic of Stockbridge eateries, the Chick-fil-a Dwarf House.

About half way through the meal, a couple of waitresses began to smile and wave at Lana. It was absolutely no surprise that she immediately acted shy and buried her head in my shoulder. What was a surprise were the words she whispered into my ear: “I’ve got dookie on my hiny.”

Who says that romance and kids don’t go together?

24 Month Update

Dear Lana,

Happy Birthday! You turned two years old on Friday, and we’ve been celebrating ever since. We began Friday morning with presents – an enormous Shrek doll from Clay and a tent from your Granny and Pop. You lugged Shrek around all morning and at one point gathered both Shrek and your Shrek Baby into your arms for a “family hug.” We continued the festivities with a trip to IHOP for lunch, where you gobbled up some pancakes and charmed the waitresses. Word spread that it was your birthday and suddenly the entire wait staff appeared to sing “Happy Birthday” and deliver an ice cream sundae. You were a little afraid of the singing strangers at first, but as soon as they finished the song and dispersed you began requesting, “Let’s do it again!” – a phrase we heard repeatedly in the last month.

By the time your dad arrived home that evening you were in a most excellent mood. You ran and grabbed him by his legs, giving him barely enough time to drop his things before dragging him into your new tent. The two of you politely shared pasta noodles in the tent while I finished dinner. I couldn’t help but laugh when your father expressed amazement at your wonderful temperament. You see, generally when he arrives home in the evening you are, how do I say this nicely? Oh yes, a GROUCH. You are either tired because you didn’t nap at school, hungry because you didn’t eat much lunch, upset because I won’t serve you a dinner of Cheetos and Popsicles, or just plain hysterical because Heavy Baby looked at you wrong or the ceiling fan refused to “GO AWAY!” So it turns out that the key to keeping you happy all day is to shower you with presents and fill you up with pancakes and ice cream. Who would’ve guessed?

To keep the merriment going after dinner, we presented you with our present – a pink Schwinn tricycle. You were beyond thrilled with your “motorcycle,” as you called it, even if you didn’t quite get the hang of pedaling. While you pushed yourself along on the trike, a boy that recently moved onto our street proceeded to crash his bicycle in the middle of the cul-de-sac. As he lay on the pavement crying and his mother rushed to check on him, you pointed and yelled, “Boy fall down! Bump his head! I don’t touch him!” You repeated the story of the boy’s harrowing fall long after he went inside for treatment and then reemerged to sit on his driveway and contemplate whether or not he would ever ride again. I’m sure he found comfort in your pointing and excited retelling of his accident to all the other neighbor folk. I, on the other hand, was a bit perplexed by this “I don’t touch him” business. Later in the weekend, as we read from Fancy Nancy (a wonderful gift from your pal Andra), you took special interest in the part where Nancy falls down and once again assured me that “I don’t touch her.” I finally realized that this must be something learned at school, an automatic denial to assure you are not blamed for someone else’s misfortune. I imagine it goes something like this: a boy falls down in the classroom, begins to cry, and twenty little arms go up in the air and a chorus of “Not me! I don’t touch him!” rings out. Your teacher surely deserves a medal of some sort.

Returning to our birthday tale, Saturday morning found us getting ready for your Shrek-themed party at Baby Power and Forever Kids. I made the unfortunate decision to let you see the Shrek Castle cake an hour or so before the party was set to begin. The sight of those luscious green cupcakes worked you into an immediate frenzy. You began yelling, “I wanna have it! Wanna eat it! Want my party!!!” and became wild-eyed like a tiger sensing fresh meat. You literally began gnawing on the corner of our dining room table when it became apparent that I wasn’t going to LET YOU HAVE IT, LET YOU EAT IT no matter how hard you begged.

Somehow we talked you down and managed to make it to the party with both you and the cake intact. Despite the presence of seven toddlers, the party was without any major drama or incidents. You enjoyed playing in the gym with your friends, Abby, Alexandra, Andrew, Ava, Layla, and Preston, but still snuck away several times to “check” on your cupcakes. We eventually moved to the party room for refreshments where I expected you to tear into the cake before we finished singing “Happy Birthday.” Instead you were a little spooked by the singing and clamped onto my hand for reassurance. That was perfectly in keeping with your changing needs for comfort in the past month. We went from “Hold you” to “Hold my hand,” almost overnight, which is fortunate now that you are nearing 30 lbs and also a little sad, because my baby is almost gone.

Once I freed my hand and blood returned to my fingers, we handed out the cupcakes and watched as different personalities manifested through cupcake eating styles. Preston was the most enthusiastic of the bunch, tearing into his cupcake with the same energy he devotes to all his toddler pursuits. You, on the other hand, were downright prissy in the way you bit into yours ever so carefully and stopped periodically for us to wipe your hands. After cupcakes the party began to wind down. We handed out our Shrek-emblazoned gift bags and the party hostess started passing out balloons for each child to take home. Big mistake. You began to cry almost instantly for everyone to “PUT THEM BACK! PUT THEM AWAY” – quick, before we all DIE! Your friends, busy yanking on the strings of their shiny new balloons, showed little concern for the impending doom or interest in putting the balloons back, so you continued to cry until everyone dispersed. I’m not sure what set off this sudden fear of balloons but I will admit that I too had a balloon phobia as a child. I couldn’t stand the sight of those ticking time bombs, waiting to explode and traumatize some innocent child. So, I guess it’s safe to say you acquired at least one crazy neurosis from me. The prissiness, on the other hand – well, you’ll have to thank your father for that.

The day after the party we met all of your grandparents for a final birthday celebration at Bugaboo Creek. You had been to the restaurant several times before and found it immensely enjoyable due to all the animals mounted on the walls. They are mostly fake, thank goodness, and animated to talk and move at various points throughout a meal. You were, however, on this evening particularly fascinated with a real deer/buck/Bambi hanging on the wall above us. You wanted to know, “Where’s his tail?” and then, “Where’s his daddy?” The answer to the first question was far too sad for dinner conversation, so your father chose to focus on the positive and told you, “His daddy ran faster and got away.” In case we didn’t have enough animal heads with our evening, the waiters came out with a moose costume head and serenaded you one more time with “Happy Birthday.” You looked slightly less terrified and sat through the entire song without clinging to an adult, so I guess we made some progress over the course of the weekend. You did, however, refuse to kiss the moose and hooray for that. Even two-year olds deserve some dignity.

So, to summarize a particularly long and winding update, we spent three days celebrating your first two years of life. You’ve not been with us long, my love, but you have packed some of the most defining and spectacular moments of my life into that short timeframe. I love you more than you can possibly imagine. Now get busy planning 33 days of celebration for my next birthday. Here’s a hint – less balloons, more jewelry.

Love,
JMo (aka Mommy)