Ten Month Update

Dear Samantha,

You experienced some big changes in the past month, not the least of which was turning 10 months old in a new house. If it sounds sudden, well it kind of was. You see, in mid-June your father and I went out with my second cousin and local real estate guru to casually scout out homes and neighborhoods in Peachtree City. We checked out three houses that ran the spectrum from sort of gross to not bad and then, BAM! We walked into the fourth house and instantly fell in love. It was a house that had everything we wanted and then some. A house that we could see you and your sister growing up in. A house that had just been listed at a bargain foreclosure price and, even in this terrible market, was sure to sell quickly. So, your father and I did something that was kind of crazy for us. We made an offer before even putting our old house on the market. Then we made another offer when a bidding war ensued. And we walked away with the keys to the house of our dreams.


I’m still not sure how things worked out so perfectly, but we sold our old house in record time, managed to paint the bedrooms in the new house (with help from Poppy!) over the course of a couple weekends, and found ourselves packing a moving truck by early August. We sent you to Granny and Poppy’s house the night before the big move so we could disassemble your crib and keep you out of the moving day chaos. Lana, on the other hand, remained at home so she could witness the move. She had lots of questions for us and the movers, like what kind of foods do the movers eat to get so big and strong? The answer? Vegetables, of course! She was also more than happy to help unpack all the toys in our brand new playroom.

By the time you arrived to the new house in the late afternoon, we had all the furniture in the house setup and the upstairs rooms all ready for you and Lana. The very first move you made was toward the stairs, of course. You climbed straight up them like an old pro and then crawled as fast as you could to the playroom. I wish now that I had videotaped the look on your face when you entered the room with all your toys, many of which had been boxed up due to a lack of space at our old house, spread out around you. Your squeal of delight made all the stress and turmoil of the preceding months completely worthwhile.

It took us no time at all to feel at home in our new place and, for you, that meant spending a LOT of time climbing the stairs. You were really great at going up the stairs and I’m sure you could have gone down even faster, but my strong desire to keep you in one piece forced me to gate them off as much as possible. This just forced you to seek out other sources of danger, though. You became increasingly fascinated with the toilets in the house. The little stools positioned in front of each one (for big sister) made them far too accessible. One day I caught you standing on top of a stool with your head half way in the toilet bowl, just centimeters from touching gross toilet water. Did I mention that your sister is also not the most reliable flusher? Such a bad combination!

Since I kept foiling your attempts to play in the toilet, you tried very hard to make the most out of your baths each night. You splashed until every surface in the bathroom was soaked and you made a game out of repeatedly standing up and sitting back down very quickly to make even more bathtub waves. During one round of this, you managed to lurch forward and catch the corner of a bath toy directly with your face. It left an instant black eye and slowed you down for almost an entire minute. Then it was right back to splashing.

Your black eye lasted for almost a week and was far more traumatic for me than for you. Every time I took you to the store I feared judgment and accusatory looks, but apparently many of the kind folks of Peachtree City have similar experiences with kamikaze babies. I got lots of sympathy and “been there, done that” stories from other parents and grandparents. Days went by and the Department of Family and Child Services did not come knocking on our door. So I was feeling pretty good as we finished settling into the house and began preparing Lana for the start of Pre-K. One of our assignments was to record her responses to a questionnaire about her likes and dislikes. When I asked her to respond to the statement, “I feel sad when…” she looked me square in the face and responded, “I feel sad when no one will give me anything to eat.” NO SHE DIDN’T. Your ridiculously skinny sister, who would probably be the only kid starting Pre-K at barely 30 lbs, was asking me to write down on a school form that no one would feed her. My head swiveled from her skinny frame to your shiny black eye and I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I did not spend the last three years begging Lana to eat, the last three months moving you kids to a house in a good school district, and the last month rescuing you from the toilet to have you become wards of the state. So we wrote that she feels sad when we won’t let her watch television. Because that thing will rot your brain and we never allow it unless Shrek, Tinkerbell, Yo Gabba Gabba, Monster’s Inc., Madagascar, Word Girl, or one of those awesomely bad Barbie movies is on.

This will have to go down as one of the craziest months in the Mayes family history, but we survived it (mostly) intact and ended up settled in a home that we can enjoy and grow in for many, many years to come. Just keep your head out of the toilets, my sweet baby girl.

Love,
Mama