Sprite's Keeper

Preening for a (play)date

In direct contrast to yesterday's events, one amazingly good thing has come out of my rantings about WoW. (Damn it. And I swore I wouldn't mention it again! Dollar for the "Don't Say It" jar.)

One of my self-described lurkers came out of hiding last year and became a regular commenter. Soon after, she started her own blog and I started stalking her.

Have I ever told you how awesome Rachel is? She is awesome. Have I ever told you how much Sprite adores her two daughters Lilli and "Lissie-beth" (Elizabeth)? She does.

We've met for a number of play dates, usually at the playground nearby, where our children could run free (yet contained, always a bonus) and we could start (and pause) an unlimited number of stories while running to the aid of three girls whose imaginations could kill them. (and us if they tried..)

Taking the plunge, I invited Rachel, Elizabeth, and Lilli over to our house for a playdate. We set the time for last Friday evening, a pizza dinner, some cookies, a movie, and of course, lots of play time. I had a week to get the house ready and thought I would attack things bit by bit so it would all be done by Date-Day.

Oh, life. Why must you mock me? (And the crank calls are just bad form. Really.)

Due to the art project I will subject you to tomorrow, I was caught up and tied down and constantly playing defense to a toddler who was hell-bent on 1. joining my art project  2. taking my art project and 3. making improvements to my art project. ("No, Sprite. Macaroni and cheese should NOT go in the paint." "No, Sprite. The paint is NOT ketchup. And since when have you ever seen pink ketchup?")

Friday morning, I looked around at the debris from the past week, the dust bunnies which had banded together with the dog hair and was currently waging war on EVERYTHING, and the toys which had become more of a sidestepper than a picker-upper in our daily obstacle course. And Sprite's room? Ha! I had resigned myself by Tuesday to just clearing a path to her bed, the shoved toys now creating a rocky knoll of tossed aside treasures.

There was no way my house was date ready.

I couldn't cancel. No! This date was as much for me as it was for the kid who I'd been psyching up all week and had glowed when I woke her up and confirmed that, indeed, Elizabeth and Lilli would be coming over this evening.

I snuck out of the office at lunchtime to clean. That's right, I cheated! I hurried home, got out the Dyson, (yes, we've had it for almost 6 years and I still refuse to refer to it as a vacuum. Now hush. You'll hurt its feelings.) made Sprite's bed while shoving nice looking toys into appropriate places to encourage playing, and the rest under the bed, (the bed may have raised a few inches, but it was sturdy enough. I checked.) and tackled the dust before it could tackle me.

All doors to destinations too messy to travel into were closed and the couches were covered for possible food related injuries.

Finally pausing to take a drink, (and, you know, breathe) I looked around, satisfied at the result. My house may not be ready for its close up (ever), but the Hazmat suits wouldn't be needed. And our guests would never know that I had spent the better part of my day making it look like it was all so effortless.

Rachel and her girls arrived to a somewhat neat home at 6:30. Sprite's somewhat neat room was completely trashed by 6:31. I admitted my clandestine cleaning to Rachel by 6:32.

We had a great time. We ate, decorated cookies, saw three Cinderella's vye for "Who Wore it Best?", and even took in a movie.

Rachel and I made promises for a Mommy's Night Out so we could finish those started stories without the girls needing help with a Princess or a Pony.

And no one mentioned the few stray bunnies that were forming an alliance in the corner.

The perfect ending? Sprite was asleep within minutes of Rachel's car pulling out of the driveway. (Rachel, your plan for a pj theme worked out so much better than you can imagine.)

So that WoW post did more than I thought it would. I may have gotten a troll, but I also got a friendship I treasure. (And ANOTHER dollar for the "Don't Say It" jar..)

Pony Express

Ah, Disney, you've done it again.

Our first day at Disney World found us in Disney Village, an area full of shops all attuned to the magic of the Mouse.

We entered the toy area, looking for possible holiday gifts destined for our nieces and nephews when Sprite was drawn to a low table set up in the middle of the store. On the table was an array of My Little Pony figures and assorted outfits.

"Pony!" Sprite breathed and was hooked. (Of course, this is the same kid who received a My Little Pony for her birthday last year from my sister and played with it maybe a few times before it was dismissed to her toy box.) While she played with the free entertainment and John supervised, I walked the perimeter of the store, finding the source of the Pony mayhem and a birthday gift for Elizabeth. Now, here's where WE were hooked. (Damn them!) For eighteen bucks, the store gives you a box and the opportunity to fill it with up to three Pony's, a bed, mirror, and as many outfits as you can squish into the smallish space. We were also given hints as to how to fill the box by a Cast Member who preferred to remain nameless.

John and I looked at each other while Sprite couldn't contain her excitement with the mountain of "Pony!" related possibilities in front of her. We agreed the price was pretty damn good for A LOT of items. We found every Princess outfit, accompanying shoes, hats, a Minnie Mouse get up, on and on, and filled the box to the rim, barely closing the top, a requirement to get all the items within for the alloted amount.

When we arrived at the register, the Cast Member asked, "Are you sure you got all the items?"

"Well, we could only fit two ponies in."

"You can have three though."

I considered this, "Um, I think two is okay."

She then rifled through the very full box. "You're missing shoes, some barrettes, a teacup.." As she spoke, she tossed more items in. I smiled as I thought of the various choking hazards my vacuum would face when these little shoes and such would be left helter skelter all over my house. (Although Harry would have a field day chewing on colorful plastic pieces.) (I think some of that chewing is in direct retaliation to the number of times Sprite has cornered Harry with a doll brush and rubber hair bands proposing to "do his hair".)

We finally left with Sprite's new fifteen minutes of fun and brought her back to the hotel where she spread her wealth out all over her bed. She formed a quick attachment to the blue Pony.

"What's the Pony's name?" John asked.

Sprite thought about it and then crooked an eyebrow. "Pony."

John rolled his eyes at me. "How about Colby?"

"Colby?" I questioned, fiddling with the Mouse ears barrette on the pink pony's mane. How flipping cute WAS this stuff?!

Sprite tested the name out. "Colby."

This Pony became her new best friend, an even better best friend than the Princess Minnie doll she had declared her love for when we first stepped onto Disney property. The Pony accompanied her to dinner, to sleep, to breakfast the next morning, to the park...

Yes, the park. Sprite had decided to "feed" Colby lunch while at the Character Play And Dine buffet, (which was amazing by the way, I have a post coming out about Disney on a whole for The Locals Love It on September 22 and I will venture further into the variety of diet killers we came across) and when John took her outside for some air while I paid the bill, she accidentally left the Pony on a patio chair in the middle of one of the busiest areas of Disney's Hollywood Studios on one of the busiest days of the year and said nothing about it until we were in the Pre-Show area of The Little Mermaid attraction on the other side of the park when she asked for her Colby.

I looked in her backpack. No Colby.

"Did she leave it at the restaurant?" I asked John, who frowned in response. I thought back to the visual sweep I usually do at a table before we vacate. Nothing noticed.

"No, she brought it outside... outside. Crap, it's probably gone by now-"

"What time is it?" I interrupted.

He looked at his watch. "12:40. The show starts in less than twenty minutes."

"I'll be right back."

I ducked out of the theatre and weaved through the queue, excusing myself and apologizing as I sidestepped others. (Others whose toes I would probably be stepping on once more when Sprite demanded in no uncertain terms to leave the show before Ariel finished her aria.) Once free of the population throng, I broke into an all out run across the main area of the Studios, backtracking to where we had (maybe?) last seen the Pony, still watchful for any familiar bright blue toys with shockingly pink sparkly hair, yet pessimistic that another child would possibly pick it up before I could rescue it and claim it for their own. I could only think of the disappointment and ensuing tears when Sprite realized Colby was never coming back. (And yes, I also thought of the possible second trip to Disney Village I would need to make for Colby to magically reappear that night.) (And how that eighteen dollar deal wasn't looking so good anymore..)

Once in the vicinity of the restaurant, I rushed to the grouping of tables on a lower level of the area and scanned the chairs. Nothing. Damn it.

Then my eyes landed on a Custodial Cast Member standing near the railing overlooking the lake, watching me, smiling, and holding our saving grace in his left hand.

"Little girl?" he asked, as he noticed my eyes light up with excitement and relief. He explained how he had found the Pony about five minutes before and decided to wait for the owner to show up before he turned it into Lost and Found.

I blew out the rest of the breath I was huffing out. "Thank you so much!" I panted, taking back the object of Sprite's affection and the possibility that the day would go well.

I ran back, somehow sure that the very people who questioned my running by the first time now understood my sprint had everything to do with the prize I now gripped tightly in my hand.

Manuevering back into the Pre-show area, I handed Colby over to an unassuming Sprite amid John's surprised "You found it?!".

I wiped the sweat off my brow, bending over to catch my breath. "Can I just tell you how much I love Disney World?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quick sidenote: Sprite hung onto that Pony for the rest of the day and even proudly showed it off to Abigail the next morning when we arrived at the Katz Cradle for Brunch. Of course, she promptly forgot the damn horse again when we left and didn't start moaning about it until we got home. Um, yeah, I couldn't handle a run that far, so the love of her life "Colby" arrived at our home Monday morning through a different kind of Express thanks to another understanding mother. Becca, I owe you.

Oh, and Becca? Did you have to mark the item down as livestock since it is a horse and all?

I'm not sure if it's allowed, but I completely intruded again on Travel Tip Thursday over at Pseudo's! Click the link and check out some other travellers while making yourself increasingly jealous that you can't see the kind of scenery out your window that Pseudo looks at EVERY DAY.
Don'tcha just hate her a little? Maybe you should Spin THAT up..

Point of View

She'll like the Little Mermaid attraction. She has to. It's the Mermaid. Her favorite movie of late. The line shouldn't be too bad since the shows are continuous.

So far, so good. There are plenty of other children her age in line. She doesn't even mind standing on her own.

Lots of things to look at in the holding area, but she's getting a little nervous. Better start prepping her for the show... Nope, she's more interested in watching another kid. Maybe there's nothing to worry about.

Okay, find a seat toward the rear, the more distance between her and the stage the better. I can feel her tensing up watching others dive for available seating. I should hold her a little tighter. Once we sit down, she will be able to look around and gain some confidence.

She's not calming down. The lights are going down and her whimpers are going up. She's not liking this. She won't even lift her head from my shoulder. Oh, bubbles! Point out the bubbles!... No, she doesn't like that either. Just wait until a familiar character comes out. Then she'll relax.

Sebastian! Look, Sprite! It's Sebastian! Please pay no attention to the pitch black nothingness behind him...Flounder? No? Just hold on tight, Ariel is coming...she's coming... Oh, thank goodness, look, Sprite! It's Ariel!

One look at Ariel and she's crying again. This is not working. People are staring at us. Please, Sprite, please, just realize that nothing is going to happen to you. No one will touch you. Just look and see your favorite characters... Ouch, Ursela is a lot bigger than I remembered. Have her eyes always glowed that brightly? Has this show always been that scary?

We give up. We have to. She's ruining the other guests' experience. WE'RE ruining the other guests' experience. I am so sorry, I am so sorry, I am so sorry, Damnit! Does this row ever end? What did I just step on? Where's the door?.... Sunlight!

Of course, the exit doors dump us right into the merchandise area. That Ariel doll she's eyeing may make her stop crying, but it will make me start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mommy! See? It's Ariel! Mermaid! The mermaid is right there! Daddy! Did you see Mermaid? I'm going to see the Mermaid!

Look at all the other kids! This is so exciting! Put me down! I want to stand with the other kids.

Oh, this place is kind of dark and there's a lot of people standing around. Pick me up, please... Wait. There's a boy my age playing with a video game. Um, put me down. I want a better look.... Okay, what happened with the lights? It's getting darker. The noise is getting louder. I don't like this. Pick me up! Up!

Please don't pick that row. I want to be at the back. Do we have to sit?  No, I don't like this. I don't want to look at the stage. I want to see the sun. I want to go outside. I want to be anywhere but here.

The noise! It's too loud! It's too dark! A bubble touched me! No! I don't CARE if the Mermaid is on the stage! I don't WANT to see Sebastian! This is NOT like the movie! They don't look right!

Please, I want to take a nap! I want to be outside! I want to go to my room! I want a TIME OUT!

Please take me outside! No, I WON'T calm down! I WON'T be quiet! I DON'T LIKE THIS! CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?

Oh, thank you. Thank you for getting me out of there. I can see the sun. I can see everything in front of me.... I can see.. the Mermaid! I want the Mermaid! Can I have Ariel?

Please?

(To anyone whose toes John or I may have stepped on while booking it the hell out of the Mermaid attraction on Sunday, I apologize. And an extra apology for my butt being in your face, that was just cruel...)

MY bedtime stories don't require a charger, but I'm picking my battles.

"John, is Sprite asleep yet?"

"I haven't checked on her lately, but the monitor is quiet. I'd say that's a yes."

"Did she give you any problems during bedtime?"

"Uh....no."

"How many stories did you read her?"

"Just one."

"Really? She didn't fight you for more?"

"Mmm...nope."

"Did you give her anything else?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm just surprised that she went down so easily.... She didn't take a dog hostage?"

"Just trust in the fact that I know how to put my own daughter to bed, thank you."

"Okay. Sorry."

Right.

I wasn't aware bedtime stories came by way of applications these days.

Oy to the Oink

(Ooh, a rant! I haven't had one of these in a long time!)

Last week, Sprite's class had a sign up on the door touting their upcoming Hawaiian Luau to take place on Friday. Of course, parents needed to sign their child up for various items in order to feed the luau participants something other than ice pops. As I collected my daughter on Wednesday, I signed Sprite up for cookies and looked over the rest of the requested selections to see what the kids would be eating. No poi to be found anywhere (What kind of Hawaiian theme are they trying to get away with here?), but they were looking for ham.

Noting this, I turned to ask the assistant teacher, "Is there anything besides ham for Sprite to eat?"

The blank look in her eyes told volumes.

"Because she doesn't eat ham," I provided, nudging her memory a bit.

"She doesn't?"

"Nope."

"Does the main teacher know?" she queried.

"I hope so. It's in her file," I responded, then decided to dig a little deeper. "When you have your sausage and pancake lunches, is Sprite being fed the sausage?"

She paused. "I'm not sure."

"Okay, I need to find this out then. Can you talk to the teacher and make sure Sprite isn't eating pork?"

She agreed and I let the conversation drop there.

The next day, 5:15 PM:

"I spoke to the teacher and she wasn't aware that Sprite is allergic to ham or sausage."

(Pardon me, I'm a total outsider and all, but aren't ham and sausage pretty much the same thing?)

Even now, I must admit, I must have looked formidable when I spoke, "So you're saying that you've been feeding Sprite sausage at lunches."

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I come in to the class after nap time when lunch is already over, but the head teacher told me she wasn't aware of any allergies."

"It's not an allergy. Sprite is Jewish."

Again, a blank look.

"Pork isn't Kosher."

Blink. Blink.

I was fed up. Another teacher stuck her head into the classroom while we discussed our Kosher Crisis and overheard. "Oh, no, Sprite isn't eating any ham or sausage!" she interjected, "I make sure of it."

Now, this new participant in our conversation has known Sprite since her days in the infant room and is well aware of Sprite's dietary restrictions, but offering her two cents on a discussion that's already in debt will not help matters. I also happen to know that this knowledgeable teacher is not present for every meal, but I decided to not go there and just went to the front desk instead and had a quick relay with the director, a very nice woman herself who assured me that this wouldn't happen again.

I feel like I have officially stepped into the "bitch" mode at Sprite's daycare. Any time something goes wrong or seems to be a problem, I speak up. And damn right I should, but I have to wonder how daycare teachers look on us parents airing our grievances or concerns about how our kids are being handled and whether or not they roll their eyes once we breeze out of the room and complain to their counterparts about us. ("So, THAT'S where Sprite gets her attitude...") (Frankly, they're right. They should only wish she had John's personality.)

Normally, after "speaking my opinion", it takes a few days for the air to clear and for the teacher to stop looking at me with fear in her eyes for what else I might deem wrong with my child being in their care, but the VERY NEXT DAY...

"Hey, Sprite!"

"Mommy!" She ran over and gave me a hug. Seeing her clothes were different from those I had dressed her in that morning, I knew an accident had happened. We collected her artwork and my laundry chore for the night and headed out. As soon as we got home though, I started going through her clothes and putting them in the washer as I went. Now, they package every accident in its own baggie and the time the accident happened. One of the baggies had her name on it, but the clothes and underwear were not familiar to me. They had given me another child's soiled garments.

AND!!! AND!!!!

One of the baggies contained a pair of underwear, but did not include the words "BM" which would warn me of any hazardous material. I dumped the underwear in with the rest of the full load and set it to start. Only when the load was done and I was switching the laundry out did I catch evidence of the, er, evidence. An entire load ruined. And according to the amount of, um, evidence I was able to pull off the washer's drum surface, ("JOOOOHHHNNN!! GET ME A WIPE NOOOOW!") I had enough for a freaking sample. And a load of laundry to wash AGAIN.

Now, I know daycare employees are limited in how much they HAVE to do when dealing with a BM, but, oh, I don't know, shaking some of the residue into the toilet is really not as bad as wiping it off a kid's bum and THAT needs to be cleaned completely every time. (Although, thinking about it, I think that if I were the daycare employee, I would probably be standing smugly behind my center's policies even as Mommy Dearest blew her top.)

So, there's my rant. This happened last week and I needed a few days to clear my head about it before I went off on them (and you, unfortunately).

I feel better! So, thanks.

I blame it on the pig.

"I'm just too far from where you are, I wanna come home."

A Buble' song is looping through my thoughts as I work to control the tears brimming my lashes. I know I'm sappy, but I'm ready to be home.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are now free to move about the cabin. Welcome to Florida."

The words are lost on me. Why would anyone come to my state voluntarility in the summer time? I restlessly wait for my turn to grab my carry on and make my way off the plane.

John's text tells me they're waiting near Security. My steps quicken. My heart races. I must see them. I must touch them.

Following the prompts, I keep scanning the crowd as I happen upon the Security area. Where are they? Did they go to Baggage Claim to wait there instead? Why aren't they HERE?

I walk quickly now, still watching for two brunette heads and listening for John's telltale whistle if he should spot me first. Nothing.

I'm breathless now, but focused. Sidestepping a few slow travelers, I take my place on the escalator, descending to the first level. Will they be excited to see me? Will Sprite hug me as hard as I want to hug her? Will John hand over the child and run as fast as he can for the precious freedom he has been denied since I left him with a toddler who had only been in the throes of potty training for four days?

In front of me, I see a row of chairs. My two loves are sitting there in friendly companionship and sharing crackers. John looks up and spots me as my ride down comes to an end and I race over to stand in front of them.

Shucking my backpack, I bend down to stare more closely at my daughter. "Hi, baby! I missed you!"

Sprite licks some of the Cheez-it dust from her lips and smiles up at me as if I had just come back from the restroom instead of four days away. "See my shoes?" She points down to her Ariel flats, the too big pair obviously high on her list of priorities.

"Very pretty," I respond, my heart breaking a bit. Where's the hug? The tears? The words "Never leave us again!" pouring from her pouty lips? Even the emotional scene she displayed when John returned from his weeklong trip in June? Was I not absent long ENOUGH?

John picks up on my vibes as he lifts my bag and leans in for a kiss. "Trust me, she missed you. I missed you. WE missed you."

We walk over to the carousel to look for my bag, checking off the last item for my trip to truly be complete.

Sprite turns to step in front of me, blocking me from proceeding, and lifts her arms. "Mommy, up!"

Finally.

I pick her up, settling her familiar weight on my right hip, brushing a kiss over her cheeks, lips, breathing in the very same scent I've known for her lifetime. Her head nestles into my neck and I feel the warm breath of her silent sigh, her body relaxing within my arms as her arm comes up to rest possesively across my chest.

"Welcome home, Jen," John says, slipping his arm around us and I smile back.

Now the tears can come.

No, I'm not, but I want to be.

"What are you taking, Jen?" my dad asked as he watched me shake a pill into my hand from the container.

I held out the bottle, lettering outward, so he could read for himself.

I've never seen my father do a double take before now.

"What? Why? Are you-" he sputtered.

I capped the bottle of prenatal pills and placed it back into the cupboard.

"Not yet."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, we're trying to conceive.

Honestly? Because I can be honest with you, right? We've been trying since March. John and I finally arrived on the same page of life and are looking to create a new chapter with a sibling for Sprite. Not that Sprite has any say in the matter. (I'm sure if she did, I'd be picking Princess shoes out of my hair for a while.) (And she may take it out on the dogs too... You know, come to think of it, we'll just keep her in the dark until it's time to bring the baby home and she's stuck with it.)

Unfortunately, the humor I was going for in last week's TMI may have fallen a little short of the mark since it seemed to raise more questions of "Are you pregnant?" rather than the expected "Oh, my husband/boyfriend/significant other does that ALL THE TIME! You would think they would just glance at the clock and think, 'Oh, I have to get up' instead of getting something ELSE up! Bah! Men!" variety.

I counted more comments of "Are you?" and emails of "OMG! How far along are you?" than those stupid Facebook automated emails that flood my in box telling me that Julio, Juan, and Stacey commented on the same status I did five hours/days/weeks earlier. (Okay, I know I could disable it on the site, and John has told me how to do it, but I have a very serious condition called "Techismustwreckis" in which my fingers suddenly spasm and cause me to do insane things like navigate my browser to People.Com instead of taking the few seconds to un-check the little icon. I can't afford the physical therapy to fix this problem so it will have to remain as it is until John goes in and does it himself.) (John? That was your hint.) The Facebook frenimies would also explain why I normally don't respond to emails until a week later since I have another condition called "UghdoIhavetodealwiththisnow?AceofCakesison!" which is serious enough that it's the only condition in the AMA to have a question mark AND an exclamation point in it. Anyways, this condition stops me from deleting those Facebook foes until the counter on my unread list skyrockets to "Are you even interested in keeping this email alive, you lazy ass?" status, which is somewhere above 200.

Poor John even had to hear it from some of his pals at work (I know they know who they are and now I know they know I know, you know?) about how I had not only shortchanged him that weekend, but outed his rejection on the Internet. He's okay with it now, mostly, but I do need to seek permission on certain topics before I let go of any more scandalous details. (Such is the life of a blogger.)

But yes, that revealing conversation really did happen. I even omitted some of the more risque content like "that's not a horn you're honking, it's a hooter" so it wouldn't besmirch my usual PG friendly content. (No, I'm not explaining it.) (And it's probably going to embarrass John further.) (In fact, I can't think of anything else I've written here that would embarrass him more. Hm, I've been slacking on that. I need to whip up another WoW post..)

Truth is, I've been popping prenatal pills since the beginning of this year to show John how serious I am about the subject. In fact, during our first official month of trying, I even had a small pregnancy scare which turned into a disappointment. When I was officially "late", I went to the doctor to have some tests done since the EPT came up with a "Nope, not knocked up" result. Ironically, the morning of the scheduled appointment, guess what came to town? So, I went anyway since I was due for a check up.

Of course, one of the questions asked of female patients upon every visit is, "Are you pregnant or trying to conceive?" I answered in the affirmative on the questionnaire and got grilled immediately once I was alone with the nurse.

"How long have you been trying?" she asked, her eyes not leaving the sheet.

"We've only started this month," I replied, sitting as still as possible in the paper gown lest a breezy thought blow the panels wide open.

She peered up over her glasses. "Are you pregnant?"

I smiled, wondering if she even looked at the chart, the chart which would confirm, um, no."No, I just got it -"

"But you want help with it, right? Fertility drugs?"

My smile grew stale as I continued to stare at her. How did she interpret a quest for help from my phrase "We've only just begun"? Did she think I was going to hit her up for prescriptions? Would she check my skin for Clomid track marks?

"No," I finally answered, "I know how it works. I know how long it can take."

"It says here that you have one child."

"Yes."

"How long did it take to conceive the child?"

So impersonal. "We got lucky with her on the first month, but I understand that it-"

"And now you think that you can just hit the jackpot again and have another as soon as you begin?"

"What? No, not at all. I-"

"You just need to let God hammer out all those details and be happy when it happens. The doctor will be in shortly."

She left me and my sputtering dignity behind as she closed the door.

Of course, as soon as the doctor entered and began the exam, I heard, "So, I hear you want some help in conceiving."

Seriously?

So, there you have it. I'm charting days, counting cycles, flipping pennies into the pond, and asking all of my pregnant friends to send me a sample of their water. For research, of course..

I'll let you know when/if it happens, don't worry about that. Of course, I'll have to tell the family first.

And John. He should be in on it as well.

 

Surge

"Banana!" Sprite cried, going for her standard homecoming snack. I quickly peeled one, gave her half, and set the other half down on the counter so I could answer to the two whining dogs who were yelping from their crates to get relief from captivity and to relieve themselves in the grass outside.

Distant sounds of thunder rolled into hearing range and I looked toward the East. Gray, but not ugly. Satisfied that we would most likely not have to deal with a big lightning storm, I secured the leashes and left the dogs to roam for a bit in the backyard while I got Sprite and her quickly disappearing banana settled and started dinner.

"Do you want to watch Sesame Street-" CRACK!

The thunder sounded louder and more insistent. Sprite's eyes widened. "Do you hear it?"

"Yes, I hear it. It's thunder," I replied, heading back out to retrieve Harry and Blue, who had also heard it and didn't want to be anywhere near it. (Both dogs are afraid of thunder and frequently pant and vie for lap space when the thunder is fierce. During violent storms, they're a lot of fun.)

"Flounder?"

"No, honey, THUNDER."

"I wanna see Flounder."

"What?"

"Ariel," she pressed, "I see Ariel. Yes?"

"I watch Ariel again on the DDD." (I refuse to correct her on this. It's much more fun watching others try.)

"Um, sure." I grabbed the remote controls (because apparently, we need three to be able to toggle back and forth between cable and DVD and radio and cosmic messages from beyond, SERIOUSLY? This is why people shouldn't be surprised we lose remotes so quickly! If one were to be removed, it would probably take a week for us to notice it missing.) and started to prep the DVD (already in the player as this week's movie du jour) when the lights flickered. "Oh, no."

"Mommy? Turn on Ariel?"

"Hold on, Sprite. The power went out." The power surged back on, but something was amiss. I looked up at the pocket lights in the kitchen and they glowed dimly. If the electricity was back on, it was definitely phoning it in.

"Mommy, turn on Ariel." Sprite's voice became agitated with impatience.

I sighed, pressing on the remote to try getting her beloved sushi loving redhead (Now, here's a thought. Has anyone ever wondered if Sebastian or Flounder ever feared for their lives when Ariel got hungry? Just me? Never mind.) while worrying that the half-caffeinated power would not be enough to make dinner.

The lights flickered again, like the street's transformer was trying to make it up the hill of electricity, then went out completely as the transformer gave up.

Sprite and I stared at each other in the darkened house, the late afternoon light not strong enough to illuminate anything more than Sprite's consternation. "No! Don't turn off the light!" She ran over to the wall and flipped the kitchen switch. Nothing. "Mommy! Turn on the light."

"I can't, honey. The power is out."

"PLEASE?" This tacked on question usually got my approval for whatever request she lobbed my way, but I was powerless to help her. And the house was powerless too as she vainly flicked the switch up and down to bring back the voltage.

"Sprite, the power is out. We don't have any lights."

She marched back over to me. "Turn on Ariel."

"I can't." I emphasized the "can't" as if this would clue her in to the limits in my feeble powers.

Her temper surged. "I do it," she announced, and turned to the remotes where she started pressing buttons. "Ariel, come on," she commanded, looking back to the silent TV with every move.

I watched, not even close to controlling the fit of giggles that came up. Sprite, in her anger, glared at me and cried, "No! Get Ariel! I want Ariel!"

I didn't know what to do. I knew the problem. I understood she was upset. I just couldn't make her understand why I couldn't fix it.

Bending down, I picked up the dissolving child and tried once more. "Sprite, we had a power surge. We have no power. No power, no Ariel. I'm sorry. I can't make it better right now."

Her eyes filled with tears as if I was punishing her. "My Ariel?"

"Sorry, kid."

Her cries became louder and her eyes squeezed shut as the tantrum took over. And I hugged her tight and wished I could plug some of her frustrated energy directly into the wall so she could have every damn Princess she wanted at her viewing disposal.

"Do you want chicken nuggets?"

The tears streamed down her cheeks. "Ye-eh-eh-es..."

"Good, because I hear Daddy outside. We're going out to eat."

"Watch Ariel in blue car?"

"Yes, love. You can watch Ariel in the blue car."

As John's key slid into the door lock, her stormy face brightened and she wiped away the watery evidence. She bounced down from my arms and ran to see John, who was a little surprised to find us in the dark. "Daddy! I get chicken nuggets! I watch Ariel in the blue car!"

John looked up from her excitement. "Power out?"

"Yup."

He knew no power usually means a hellish night with toddler. I married a smart man.

"Let's go then."

Homecoming

He was home. His business trip was finally over.

I hung up with him as I turned into the airport's entrance.

"Okay, Sprite. Daddy's here. Wanna go get Daddy?"

I peeked at the rear view mirror and saw her staring dimly at the DVD player. It was late, too far past her bedtime, way too far past her logic's threshold. We were both running on fumes by now and  I had the feeling that I could have dangled the Princesses in front of her face and her reaction would have stayed the same.

Once we parked, the tired child immediately demanded a ride in my arms as we steered toward Baggage Claim.

I looked around, slowing my steps down, trying to peer through the throng of people  congregated around the only working carousel. "I wonder where Daddy is." Sprite's head stayed glued to my shoulder, not interested in my one-sided conversation.

Then she heard it. A whistle coming from about 100 feet ahead of us. She straightened and looked into my eyes. "Daddy?" Her voice sounded hopeful after a week of only seeing him through the computer camera.

The whistle sounded again. This time, I spotted him in the crowd.  Stopping, I put her down and pointed him out to her.

"Daddy!"

She had spotted him. Forgetting about the distance and the people she would have to navigate to get to him, she bolted.

He leaned down, his arms opening wide while I fumbled for my camera to try to capture the moment they made contact with each other. I didn't quite get what I wanted.

 

I watched them embrace and heard her scream with excitement and him exclaim over her dress and her hair, compliments he knew she wanted to hear, the musical voice he knew she loved. He pulled a Belle doll out of his carry-on bag to present to her, but the doll played second fiddle to him. She was much more interested in him.

I walked over to the two of them lost in their greeting, one spilling over with words she didn't quite understand to fill him in on everything he had missed in her week, and the other studying her closely for any signs of change that may have possibly happened while he was away.

Reaching them, I stole a kiss for myself, happy that my partner was back, my co-pilot in parenthood. We secured his luggage and walked out of the airport quickly, as if that would expedite out return to normal, at least the normal we knew.

A few moments later, I realized they had stopped. I turned around and caught them still chatting and soaking up each other's essence. This time, my camera captured exactly what I wanted to see.

 

Only he can make her smile like that. And only she can make him smile like that.

Happy Father's Day, John. Sprite and I love you very much.

And a happy Father's Day to everyone else out there too, especially if you can make your kids smile just by coming home.

Despite her enthusiasm, she's definitely not a fish.

I got a few comments here and there since Friday asking for an update on Sprite's swimming lessons. I thought I would add a quick snatch of how the lesson went in yesterday's RTT, but tangents got in the way and it became it's own long winded post, instead of a long winded paragraph. So, sorry. And you're welcome for sparing you from its wind on Tuesday.. (I care.)

Saturday was busy enough as it was. We began with a birthday party which we literally ate and ran from just to get to the YMCA's pool in time. Poor kid was asking for her share of the birthday cake along the way as I had been teasing her all week about how she would be able to sing "Happy Birthday" to someone other than "Friend" (which is usually what she fills the name in with when she has the song in her head) and get in on some sugar action, and then we cut her good times short by throwing her some cheetos and pushing her out of the park's pavilion before she could sing for her sweets. (We know, we're mean.) But any sour mood she sported from our refusal to let her have any fun (I know! We're mean! Consider the motion approved.) lifted when we pulled into the parking lot and the pool came into viewing (and smelling) distance. I carried her over and as soon as she saw the bobbing blue, the chattering began.

"I see the water! See the water? Do you SEE it? I swimming? Mommy!" she slapped her hands on my cheeks and turned me to face her full on. "I swimming, Mommy? Yes?"

"Yes, you're going swimming, Sprite." I put her down in the shady area where parents and children were starting to stake out territory for their towels and such. Not even a second after her feet hit the floor, she bee-lined for the water.

"Oh, no. Not yet." John grabbed her and parked her on the bench table so I could attack her with the SPF, which she objected to. (Yeah, cry now, kid. Are you going to be thanking me later when you are skin cancer and burn free? Of course not!) (So ungrateful..) While John and I took turns getting into our water attire, we both dealt with her repeated efforts to gain access to the agua.

Eventually, the roster was called and the teacher, Ms. Carol, had everyone in the parent/child group (age 6-36 months) join her in the pool. As we walked toward the steps, I noticed most of the other parents still huddled under the shade acting like we were getting ready for the final oral reports in high school Speech class and no one wanted to be called first. Screw that, I thought. I need to get there before Sprite tries to dive in herself. The fifteen or so toddlers waded in with their parents and the tears started. Some whimpered. Some cried. Only Sprite cried with joy, her screams echoing off the water as she looked all around her, excited for the experience of being submerged.

The lesson itself was very informal, just parents getting the kids used to the water, maybe introducing them to kicking, working on climbing onto the wall to escape the water, blowing bubbles, CPR lessons for the toddlers, an Algebra pop quiz, you know, the usual beginner's stuff.

John and I swapped out regularly as we led Sprite around the shallow end, noticing that she wasn't really interested in kicking, raised an eyebrow at our clownish looks when we tried to teach her the blowing bubbles, and seemed to think she had a handle on this whole swimming thing herself as she kept trying to escape my clutches in the middle of the pool.

"I swimming," she would cry, then push away from me. Her head would then disappear for a count before I could reach in and bring her to the surface, where, you know, the AIR was. She would sputter for a few seconds, wipe the water from her eyes, smile big, and try again. (Well, at least she's not a quitter.)

The teacher made her rounds and is probably regretting making a left toward us instead of a right for another couple and their 9 month old son, who doesn't quite talk yet.

"Look, Sprite, it's Ms. Carol," I began, thinking it would be a good idea to directly introduce Sprite to her teacher who may or may not be ultimately responsible for traumatic chlorine swallows in her near future. (And I was totally prepared to point fingers when the blame game began.) I barely closed my mouth when Sprite launched herself right out of my arms and into her teacher's.

"Hi, Carol! I swimming! This is my mommy! My daddy," she shouted, pointing toward John, "and I have Tinker Bell!" Her hands slapped her chest in an effort to get the Tinker Bell picture emblazoned on her swimsuit into the conversation. "Carol, are you blue?"

Ms. Carol (poor Ms. Carol) looked at us for a second with a blank smile on her face. "How old is she?"

"Two and a half," I replied, smiling in the hopes that she would find Sprite's verbal assault cute.

"And why is she asking if I'm blue?"

"It's the color you have on. She just forgets to add 'wearing'."

Ms. Carol nodded and beamed at Sprite. "We're gonna be good friends this summer, aren't we?"

Ms. Carol, you have no idea.

The overwhelmed teacher took her for a few moves and complimented Sprite's willingness to climb out of the water and jump back in. She offered us some pointers on helping Sprite learn to kick, cuz, you know, that's important to swimming survival and stuff, and blow bubbles. "Just let her blow bubbles in the bathtub. (Um, Carol, do you know that we've been trying to stop her from swallowing bath water for a while now? And now we are to encourage it? Forget Sprite being confused. My hand is raised.)

Ms. Carol tried to pass Sprite back to me, ending our turn with her, but Sprite would have none of it, and all of Ms. Carol. She clung to the woman and cried, "No! I want Carol!"

"Honey," I coaxed, "MS. Carol needs to help other kids. She'll come back later." I finally disentangled Sprite from the instructor who swam away. "Let's work on climbing out, okay?" I waded over to the wall and released Sprite who grabbed for the ledge.

She no sooner lifted her tushy to rest on the step when she started shouting, "Carol! Hey, Carol! Come here, Carol!"

John intervened. "Sprite, she's busy. Here! Come jump into Daddy's arms!"

Sprite didn't acknowledge him as she continued calling out for her new friend. "Carol! Carol! GET BACK HERE, CAROL!"

"Sprite, use your indoor voice." (Yes, I know we were outside. Trust me, I felt stupid saying it, but was pulling at strings to get her voice lowered. And the acoustics on the water's surface? Gives the term "voices carry" a whole new meaning.)

The rest of the lesson sped by with us alternately playing spotter to Sprite in the water and keeping Carol out of harm's (Sprite's) way.

Finally, we noticed the shady area becoming very crowded and realized we were alone in the pool. Sprite tried to stretch out on the ledge despite our requests to leave.

"Go way, Sprite sleeping. Come back later." She turned her head away from me as she tried to lay down on her tummy in the inch of water on the step.

The teacher made her way over. "Hey there, Sprite! It's time to go! Don't you want to go?"

Sprite looked up at Ms. Carol and smiled. "I sleeping."

"Well, that's not very comfortable on that concrete. Why don't you let Mom and Dad get you dry and warm? We'll see you back here next week, okay?"

Sprite slowly released her grip on the aquatic dream and let us reel her in.

As we walked back over to the tables for our things, Carol came over and softly said, "She's going to be one of my more memorable students this summer, huh?"

Sprite lifted her head off my shoulder and grinned that toddler watt smile.

Ms. Carol, you have no idea...