Neglect

I promise that any and all neglect for this blog represents priceless hours spent with you.

Yesterday you grew up a little. I don't know when it happened exactly, but it did. You started looking at me and talking to me in a whole new way. It's as if you realized that you can actually communicate.

For weeks now you've been talking up a storm. There are the words in there that I always recognize...

boo-juice

shoe
peez-please of course
tatoooo-thank you, said with the most amazing inflection
hand-usually meaning, take my hand mom and let's walk

hep-help

hooyay
yeah

...and many others. And then there are the surrounding words, the stories, the sentences and even songs said with perfect intonation and language patterns, but without the form. I can often tell what you mean, kind of, but most of the time I just laugh and play along and get you to tell me more. I can't get enough of your earnest little talking.

In the last two days, I want to just play with you and listen to you and watch you because you're changing so fast. You are turning into a little boy who knows what he likes and is starting to understand how to ask for it.

Just today I had two different people ask if I like being a mom and all I can say is-- Yes! I was made for it. But I don't know how anyone who got to be your mom could ever feel differently.

I love you Vanny.

Happy

I think that's what you're saying. Or puppy. Or happy puppy. Or something like that.

But it really does sound like happy. You say it all day long in between strings of jibberish punctuated with barks at Reggie and any other dog you see or hear.

I don't know if you know what it means, but to me you are what it means. You are happy. You smile all day long at everyone you meet and you don't stop until you are deeply asleep.

In the morning, when we hear you talking from your bed, Daddy comes to get you. It's his morning treat to scoop you out of your crib and listen to your waking up sounds. He brings you into me on our bed and you grin and kick with such excitement that I can't help but feel excited for the new day too. Everyone should greet the day with someone who is so happy to see them.

Then, all day long you talk to me. You point at things and ask me questions. You clap and run and never seem to tire of playing the piano and chasing Reggie. Until you do.

Then I take you to your room with a bottle and a book and we sit and sing and read and rock until your milk is gone and you are a bit tipsy. Then I turn you around and you look at me with a cuddly, drunk smile with milk dripping from your chin and you say "Mama" and gently pat my chest and lay your head down for a quick cuddle.

After your nap. We do it all again. We play and talk and laugh and tickle and sing and take everything out of every cupboard and every bucket just in time for Daddy to come home. Then you run to the sound of the key in the lock and clap your hands as Daddy walks through the door.

You grin as you eat your "Tasta" and you laugh as you splash in the bath and scribble on the walls of the tub. Your little mouth smiles through our family bedtime cuddle and it only seems to deepen as I lay you in your bed and you wiggle into your blankets.

Yes, happy. That must be what you're saying.

Screaming Banchee

You. You love to hear those loud piercing screams. And you know I don't. I can tell by that crooked smile that you know. And then I have to laugh and tickle you until those screams turn into giggles.

It must be fun to find your voice the way you are. You talk and babble all day long. You talk to everyone you meet. You call out (across the chapel of course) to anyone who looks your way. Your bright blue eyes and your big toothy, drooly smile make it impossible for them to resist waving or smiling back.

You are finally coming close to expressing all that spirit inside of you. You've been waiting a long time to be able to share it. I know. I've been watching you, waiting. I'm so excited to hear what you have to tell me.

Thoughts on Being Brave

This morning as we were walking dad to the subway for the last time I had a thought. A thought I wanted to remember to share with you when you get bigger.

Well, since my memory can't be trusted for that long, I want to tell you now:
Many things worth doing take a little extra effort.

I know it may sound like something you've heard before, but let me explain what I mean. Last night I went to a ballet class with my friend Valerie. I haven't taken a ballet class in at least five years. Maybe more.

We'd been talking about taking a class at this place for quite a while now, but things kept getting busy and then dad was working on the nights of the class, so it just hadn't happened yet. So we decided a couple of weeks ago that once dad wasn't working at night anymore, we would go and try it out. Last night was the night.

All day yesterday I kept thinking:
I should be doing something else with my evening, to get ready for the move.
GK is running late. There's no way we'll make it. I should just cancel.
I look silly in my leotard. Maybe we should all just go out to dinner.
etc.
etc.

Probably fifty times or so, I had thoughts full of excuses as to why it wasn't a big deal if I just stayed home.

And each time I thought:
You'll be happy if you go. It's only an hour and a half.
You can pick GK up at the train and he can drop you and Valerie off at the studio.
Just try it. This is your last chance at this one, for real.
etc.
etc.

It may sound like a little thing Van, but when it was done, I was glad I went. I did look a little silly in my leotard. But sometimes as I danced I thought of you. I thought of the things in your life that will bring you the joy that dancing brings me. And then I danced.

I hope you're always brave enough to do what you love. Especially when there are reasons not to.

Blessings

So Vanny, I have to tell you a funny story:

We do a lot of our shopping at Costco here in New York. The truth is, we'll probably always do a lot of our shopping at Costco, as long as there's one nearby. It's kind of a fun place. You love it there, maybe because of the hotdogs, maybe because the people who run the escalators always tell you how beautiful you are. This is all aside from the family loyalty we feel since Mimi has worked there for so long.

Well, when you shop at Costco, things come in really big packages. We're moving from here in less than a week now so we've been resisting purchases of enormous quantities unless we can finish them off here.

We can make it through an enormous amount of cheese or eggs or milk for example. We can even polish off a fair amount of broccoli. But it takes us several months to make it through a Costco-size package of toilet paper.

A couple of weeks ago towards the end of July, we came down to our last roll of toilet paper. I put it on my list and just thought I would grab a couple of rolls at the "regular" grocery store (Steve's C-town). But when I got there, it was expensive! So I didn't buy any. I didn't have an alternate plan, and you can't just live without toilet paper, but I couldn't bring myself to pay those prices!

So we ran out. For a couple of days we used baby wipes (too much information?) torn in half so as not to be too extravagent. And then came Youth Conference.

We believe that "There is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated- And when we obtain any blessing from God it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated." -D&C 130:20-21

I also personally believe that when you are trying your best, and working hard, God has a sense of humor and throws in a little something extra that you may need. Like toilet paper.

At the end of Youth Conference, I found myself up to my ears in stuff. Extra pens, fabric, markers, books, papers, folders, wristbands that didn't get used. As I sorted through the piles of junk, I came across the extra supplies from the games. Among them, five or six rolls of unused, unopened toilet paper. Just enough to get us through.

Don't ever let anyone tell you that serving in the Church doesn't pay.

Nervous

I'm sitting among boxes, thinking about packing, thinking about tidying and cleaning and preparing. But I just had to stop to write a little something.

We have finally passed the event that marked the end of the summer, the thing that stood between us and moving: Youth Conference. It was hard work. It was scary and overwhelming and at times felt like more than we could do. But it was a total success.

You handled it like a champ.

So this morning I woke up and knew that it was time to shift our focus onto packing up our little place, your first home, and getting ready to move accross the country. Close to family, close to the mountains and the ocean we love.

There are a million things to do and to plan and to think about. But as you rest, I just wanted to tell you that I love you. Tomorrow, you are finally going in for an MRI on your beautiful, big head. Your head has been growing more quickly than most babies and the doctors are worried. I keep thinking that if they knew you, how curious and friendly and smart and active you are, they'd know you need that big head to make a space for everything going on inside. But they just want to make sure. And I'm grateful they care.

I hope my feelings are confirmed. I can't help but feel a little bit nervous.

Tonight

Tonight, I'm really tired and a little bit discouraged.

But do you know what I do when I feel this way? I sneak into your room and I watch you sleep. Sometimes I set on our chair in the dark and just watch the silhouette of your cozy little body rise and fall. Sometimes I stand over you, or stroke your hair, or talk quietly to you and remind you about all the fun things we did today.

Like crawling around in the muddy grass at Union Square until your hands and feet were filthy.

Or going into the fabric district and finding fun summery fabrics and some bright orange thread (which you thought tasted pretty yummy)

Or going to Wendy's with Valerie to get a Frosty (which you also thought was pretty yummy)

Or watching people sing on the street corners

Or passing the peddlers with their art

Or laughing. That was my favorite part of the day. Valerie and I had gone into a fancy paper store just west of Union Square called "Kate's Paperie". You were ready to be done with your stroller and were not being subtle about it. You started in with your high pitched squealing scream. So I danced for you. I ran in place with scissor legs and arms and danced like a fool and you thought it was so funny. You laughed from your belly showing all your fancy teeth, and I laughed too because my heart wanted to pop with love for you.

Yeah, that's what I think about when I feel this way. And then I feel- good.