Sprite's Keeper

Stoic doesn't live here.

He wouldn't say it outright. Not with Sprite sitting right there and "examining" her own rest friend, a puppy named Rosebud.

I couldn't understand it at first. We both talked around the elephant, trying to keep it as light as possible for the "I'm almost six years old"'s ears, but the more I asked, the more his answers became clear.

That little fatty tumor that had been sitting so quietly on her side for so many years, dismissed as "something beagles get, don't worry about it", had become active and spread into her lymph nodes. Sometime over the last two days, it began to feed histamines into other areas until they became noticable in the one bulge I spotted on her belly this morning after picking Blue and Harry up from the boarders.

I had called the vet and got her an appointment for early afternoon and then called the pet hotel to ask if anything had happened this weekend. Surely, another dog must have caused this. Or Blue had fallen. Anything of the outside variety. A bad bug bite? Hernia?

No, nothing, they said. Blue was great. The only time she made any noise was when they took Harry out without her.

I thought back to the first moments when I had brought Blue in to be checked, babbling at random about that stupid fatty tumor, her epilepsy, her heart murmur. Other than being incontinent over the last few months, the only issue I had noticed was that her lower belly had become loose on Friday evening. Maybe her bladder was dropping, maybe that was why she was having accidents ten minutes after going outside. Old age, right? I should expect this with a twelve year old dog.

The vet said one had nothing to do with the other. What I had seen on Friday was the precursor to today's issue.

By the time he inspected her, the one mass was now two. She yelped in pain when he lifted her to the table for a better look.

They brought her back to run a test and I could hear her howl from the exam room where we sat. Sprite grasped my hand. "That was Blue!"

"Yes, they're running a test to see what's wrong. Sometimes, it has to hurt to get better."

He came back minutes later with an answer. It was quick. So quick. That had to be good news.

The tumor was very aggressive. Her body was filling with histamines. They could give her something to stop the pain, but she would go into shock before long. She was having a reaction like an allergy patient would have to a bee sting or peanut butter. She would continue to swell up until her body couldn't take it anymore.

This was not going to stop with or without our intervention.

I asked about time. He shook his head and advised they could medicate her to lift the pain, but she only had about 24 hours at the most if we took her home. Sprite having to see her decline, Harry having to see her decline, I wouldn't be able to handle seeing her decline. Stoic doesn't live in my heart. I would crumble immediately.

John came to the office to hear it himself and we both tried to explain it to Sprite as Blue sat quietly by us.

We would be honest with her about it. We had to. We talked about Blue going to sleep and not waking up. We talked about there being no more pain. We talked about Blue being so sick, this was the best way to help her stop hurting.

I cried. I couldn't hold it together. She watched me cry, her only response being, "but I want two dogs."

She didn't understand.

She gamely waved goodbye to Blue and gave her a last pat on the head, this dog who had loved her and had been loved so heavily by her since the day she could first grab onto Blue's soft fur.

I rubbed her under her jowls, felt her impossibly long ears. I couldn't be there for the last minutes. I couldn't do it as a sixteen year old when we had to say goodbye to our old dog Daisy. I couldn't do it now, even though I felt like I was deserting her.

We walked out, two hours to the dot had passed since we walked in with our silently sick dog.

Sprite and I entered the house, releasing Harry from his crate. I lost my composure once more as he raced through the house, looking for Blue, maybe she had wormed her way under the bed without him. We let him out, watching him bark his way around the yard, calling out for her.

He wouldn't touch his dinner, waiting for Blue to come try to stake her claim first, waiting to growl at her, because that's what they did twice a day. It was their routine. Only when the hunger got to be too much did he relinquish his post and eat.

It had happened too quickly. The words kept coming back to me, the written words "poor prognosis" and "euthanasia" the vet had scribbled on a sheet of paper to keep those epiphets away from young innocent ears. Had we made the right decision?

Our resolve not to play God, something we had discussed a while ago, were we playing God now by signing that paper to end her life?

My mom's best friend explained it to me in a phone call later that evening, "you're not ending her life, you're ending her pain. You did her a favor."

We let Sprite into our bed as we settled down for the night. She cuddled close to me. "Blue is at the vet's."

Her earlier comment to John, "Blue will be at the vet's forever" rang in my ears.

"Honey, Blue won't stay at the vet's." The tears came again.

I am so bad at this.

"Where will she go?"

Just get it over with, Jen. "Sprite, Blue passed away today."

"Why?"

"Because she was sick. She had an owie that hurt too much."

"They didn't fix her owie?"

"They couldn't."

"So will she come back?"

I hugged her tighter. "No. When I say she passed away, what it means is she died."

"Blue's dead?"

"Yes."

We both grew silent for a while before I heard her voice again.

"Does Harry know she passed away?"

"I'm not sure. I do know he misses her though."

"So do I."

"Me too."

"She's a good dog."

"Yes, she is."

 

 

 

Spin Cycle: And the year's only just begun...

Four weeks into the academic year and already, I'm being schooled.

First of all, let me apologize for the scant posting of late. I have been busy with Sprite, her lessons, and even that pesky thing called a job since I now work longer hours in order to score every other Friday off so I can be available to volunteer at Sprite's elementary schoool.

Yes, I'm one of those moms. I even joined the PTA (I can almost hear the "unfollow" button being pressed on Google Reader now.) which hasn't had its first meeting yet since the school is brand new and still trying to find its pace. I knew from the beginning, that I would be this involved, not necessarily so I can spy on my kid, that part is strictly icing, but to help the teacher when needed, see the kids in action, and even more importantly, reinforce the examples I see the teacher setting.

I'm not going to frost this Spin with how my kid is so smart, bright, intelligent, adjective, adjective, adjective, is she done boasting yet? because I am frustrated.

Let me set the scene for you:

I'm sure every school has its own behavior charts and how the kids are expected to behave. This particular school has three colors; green, yellow, and red that set the standard. Green is good, yellow means at least two warnings had already been issued and the child still decided to sing "Baby Got Back" while in line for lunch, and red means the kid basically held the class hostage for a caseload of twinkies and a thousand dollars in small bills, since a Kindergartener can only count by ones anyway, which is usually accompanied by a call home to Mom or Dad. And to top it all off, the elusive blue, the color that comes with butterflies and unicorns bearing its ethereal weight, a color which can only be earned by going above and beyond, maybe building the teacher a footrest or teaching the class Spanish when you're done with your own work, rounded off with a trip to the treasure chest while everyone else looks on in envy and plots your demise at recess tomorrow. Only one child in her class has earned this blue, and was sadly never heard from again.

Sprite has achieved every color EXCEPT blue.

Now, I can pretty much explain the red. Or John and I think we know the reason. It's only happened once, a Wednesday about two weeks ago, when we woke up a bit on the late side. Rushing to get her out the door and to drop off, we gave her the go ahead to have a school breakfast. (It's free in our county.) I dropped her off on time and set off for work myself.

Around 11:30 in the morning, my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, I should probably admit here that I had programmed Tom Hanks' voiceover of "Houston, we have a problem" for the school's ringtone, but that would just spell out how cheesy I am, so I didn't expect Sprite's teacher to be telling me what a hooligan (my word, not hers) my child had been all morning and how, even after only being with her for two weeks, she could tell that Sprite was not acting like herself. She placed Sprite on the phone, who immediately started crying and seeking forgiveness from both her teacher and myself.

Once the call ended, I couldn't concentrate on my work anymore. I know what Sprite is capable of, I know how far she pushes the limits when she really wants to, but this was completely unlike her. Why had she acted out so brazenly, laughing at the teacher, jumping out of her seat? I remembered that she had had the school breakfast and immediately looked at the county website to see what the menu had set for that morning.

Notables. Do you know what Notables are? If I could write a review, I would give it a bitch slap. These bags of breakfast include cereal, graham crackers or some other sweet snack, and a juice, which accompanied with milk provided by the school, are supposed to round out a complete nutritious breakfast. I looked up the sugar content from what she had decribed to me that evening and had to stop at 40 grams since I couldn't find the nutrition values for the strawberry milk she had so thoughtfully picked to drown her cereal in. 40 grams of sugar. In one meal. This is more sugar than she has in an entire day, if not two since we limit the sugar intake for the most part and banish the processed junk from our house.

By the time she came home, she was so tired, both emotionally and physically, even into the next day. So, yes, I am blaming the red on the fact that she basically overdosed on Malt-o-Meal Marshmallow Mateys.

But then there's the yellow and the bruxt of my conundrum. (Finally, gah, I can be so long winded!) The yellows have been just as often as the greens. The yellows usually mean talking when the teacher's teaching, yelling out when you should be using indoor voices, and trying to break into the teacher's lounge during music class. Sprite is mostly guilty of the first two. (I found the school's blueprints pretty quickly and destroyed them so I think she's too lazy to draw up another set..)

When Sprite comes home with a yellow, she loses dessert or television. She also writes a letter of apology to the teacher she's wronged, today she got to write TWO. I'm happy to say my child knows how to spell the word "sorry" even though that won't be a sight word for a good year or so, but I'm a big believer in owning up to her actions when she does them and I think letters are a good way to reinforce that.

I know she's a kid, five at that, and that I should anticipate a yellow now and then, but a yellow two days in a row like yesterday and today starts a trend which concerns John and me. So, I'm asking you veteran moms and dads out there. Are we expecting too much out of her? Is this behavior, even if she consciously spews out the correct answers when we quiz her on how she should behave, just par for the course in Kindergarten?

(Now's where I get to boast. Interim grades are in for the first quarter and my kid is acing reading and math. If she excels in grammar, I may have her start proofreading my blog!)

You know the rest. Please visit Gretchen and the other Spinners over at Second Blooming and even draw up your own Spin about education!

What, you thought the topic was about behavior? Now who's getting schooled?

 

 

Little Fish, Big Pond

I thought the first day of Kindergarten would be more emotional than this.

Thinking back to the Facebook updates I had seen in the past, I thought there would be the tearful walk to the new classroom, the picture of her trying out her assigned seat for the first time, a memory of her taking in the placement of it all. A snapshot of her hugging her teacher, someone who would take on a starring role in a year's worth of stories she would most definitely bring home, maybe once in a while to be upstaged by Elijah, who would pull her hair in Music class because he hates girls, yet picks on her specifically. (Elijah, you may be a figment of my imagination right now, but hands off, punk.)

I rushed the three of us out the door on the early side, determined to get my pictures of Sprite in the driveway since, after reading all the forms and the parent handbook, and yes, I read every page and filled out every line, I wasn't sure if we would have any time at all to even sneak a "goodbye" in, as nothing had mentioned we would have opportunities for those Facebook brag book moments on the first day.

Sprite posed, with and without her backpack, giving me every shot I asked for, her turtle bow, an homage to her new school mascot, sitting front and a little askew in her newly flat ironed hair.

Yes, she had asked for her hair to be flat ironed the night before, the first question of vanity to ever pass her lips. This from a child who had never once asked to play with make up. As I obeyed her request last night, she asked for a second favor, a coat of pink for her nails. Somehow she knew. In the sea of uniforms, she would find her own way to stand out.

There was no cajoling or yelling this morning to get her moving. She was ready. She wanted this day to happen.

There was no fighting over what she would wear, the school district had decided this for her. Her sneakers went on readily, brand new, and colorful enough for her to be proud of them.

She shrugged on her backpack, grabbed her lunchbag, unaware of the message I had placed in there the night before, a love note from her dad and me, in carefully chosen words that she would need no help in understanding.

Her Pinterest inspired present for her teacher and our friend, another of the Kindergarten teachers, had already been handed in when we went to the school earlier in the week to sign her up for the afterschool program, (Very cool idea, if you're interested. Sorry, I forgot to get a picture of it, but one of the items for donation was a tissue box. Sprite had been looking over my shoulder and noticed a Pinterest item which showed a tissue box decorated with pictures complimenting the teacher's choice of decoration for the class. For instance, my friend Mary Jo, the other Kindergarten teacher at our school, is using owls as her theme. Sprite picked out three cartoonish pictures of owls and colored them in. I then cut them out for her as some of the shapes were intricate enough to need a delicate hand, and then she pasted them onto the box. Her own teacher's theme is Western, so her box received boots, a hat, and a sheriff's star, with the teacher's name printed onto it.) and she was excited to see them on the teacher's desk.

The kid was ready.

We took the eight minute drive to her school, then proceeded to sit in the sea of minivans, waiting to crawl to the front of the building for drop off. I watched some vehicles pull into parking spots, parents and strollers and cameras and kids spilling out immediately. New students walked toward the cafeteria's exterior door, holding tightly to the hands of their elders.

We inched along, the clock on the dash silently warning me that she needed to be in class in the next ten minutes. Yes, I wanted my Facebook shots, but I was not about to breach any rules.

We made it to the front of the building, three minutes left, Sprite now itching to get out of the car, she had seen her friend Skylar from daycare and wanted to say hello before they were separated by class role call. A teacher, playing traffic cop, gave the all clear for us to open the door and hand her off to Kindergarten.

Sprite tried to bolt, stopped only by a last plea from John and me for a kiss, a peck of luck for the day.

She smiled that smile of hers to the teacher, the smile that says, "I got this", and waved at us cheerfully before turning and walking tall into the building, never once looking back.

An older boy rushed by her, dwarfing her in comparison. But she didn't care. She knew what she needed to do.

We didn't cry.

We drove home, proud of ourselves for not giving in to the emotion, the time passing quickly, and I sat down to edit the pictures we had taken this morning.

Then I cried.

Good luck, Little Fish. You've got this.

 

I guess Summer Camp has a class on Current Affairs..

"Tomorrow is America's birthday. We should buy a present."

"America kind of already has everything. What would you suggest?"

"....A hug. America needs a hug."

"Aw, that's sweet, Sprite!"

"But for my birthday, I want a Fur-Real Pet."

And THERE'S the Sprite I know.

 

Have a happy and safe 4th, everyone!

Keeper Q and A

What do you do when your five year old is at her grandparents' for the entire week and shows no sign of wanting to come home as evidenced by video texts and Facetime?

You answer tag requests, of course!

(Or you curl up with a good book, movie, drink, catch up on a nap, finally earmark some time for the treadmill, hey, when's the last time you rode your bike?, maybe now would be a good time to clean the kid's room from top to bottom while she can't thwart you?) (Yeah, do all that too.)

I was tagged with questions, 22 in all, but Alaina over at View From Down Here and Vandy over at The Testosterone Three and Me. Anyone who has been reading this site for a while knows I hate memes, but I will make an exception for these two ladies since I adore them and want them to friend me on Facebook.

Oh, wait, they already have.

..Why am I doing this again?

On with the questions!

From Alaina:

1. What is the one thing that makes you smile no matter what? When Sprite smiles. Innocent or guilty, her grin travels up to her eyes every time and when those brown beauties start to sparkle with happiness, my own somber expression is doomed. (Damn, I miss her.)

2. What is the biggest adventure you've ever taken? I lived on a cruise ship for a year, traveling with other twenty-something'ers, having WAY too much fun for my own good.

3. What is something that was always a fear of yours that you finally conquered? Spiders. Once I conquered the quick hand with using the extension on my Dyson, I don't fear spiders anymore. They fear the Brit who designed my favorite household appliance.

4. What is the one question you can't stand people asking? When are you going to have another baby? We've been trying for so long and giving the same answer year after year, that it's beginning to sound like an excuse to cover an even bigger problem.  (It's not.)

5. What's the biggest social media pet peeve you have? "I made several cuts to my friends list. If you can read this status, you made the cut and are a good friend of mine! :-)" Every time I see one of these, I smirk. Usually the friend who spared me the Facebook guillotine is someone I haven't seen in years. Maybe I should axe everybody on mine and just start holding auditons for my "friends?" Or would that be presumptive of me?

6. Do you think Facebook is a good thing or a bad thing? Can it be both? It's a major time suck, but it's also as close as you can get to being a fly on the wall without getting swatted.

7. What's the one song you hear on the radio and you can't help but belt it out? All Night Long by Lionel Richie. I sing it better than he does. (Okay, now THAT was presumptive.)

8. How would you describe your blogging style? Now with (fifty) percent more parentheses!

9. What's the best piece of advice you would give those who want to start blogging? Don't listen to me.

10. In Truth or Dare, do you prefere truth or dare? I refuse to play the game. I've seen way too many good people become very bad people playing that game.

11. Besides my blog, of course, what is your favorite blog to read? If I comment on your site, you're a favorite.

And now the questions from Vandy:

1. What's your favorite family game, or game to play with friends? I used to love Uno as a kid. Now that Sprite is old enough, I'm going to invest in a deck and teach her the game this summer.

2. Do you enjoy cooking or find it to be a colossal chore? I enjoy cooking. I even enjoy cleaning as I cook. John loves that more than my cooking.

3. What is your preferred weekend activity? Snuggling on the couch with Sprite and John for a movie.

4. What is your bad habit? CAPS LOCK.

5. What is your guilty pleasure? Disaronno and cranberry. John, we're out. You've been warned.

6. Do you have a must see TV show? Big Bang Theory. I love nerds and geeks.

7. Do you have pets? I often wonder if other dogs wander up to Blue and Harry in a social setting and ask, "Do you have people? What kind of people?"

8. Tea or coffee? That fact that this question placed tea before coffee offends me.

9. What is your favorite summer evening activity? That sliver of time when the hot hot sun dips down behind the tin roof of the house across the street (yes, I have spied cats up there and I'm still trying to get a picture of one) and the temperature settles down a bit, before the mosquitoes start coming around, when John and I can sit in our chairs at the edge of the driveway and watch Sprite ride her bike or master the hula hoop while we deflate from the day's events.

10. What is your favorite go to quick dinner that's not take out? Breakfast for dinner. Throw some eggs in the pan, maybe some chicken sausage for the adults, a frozen (homemade) pancake for the kid into the toaster, and a fresh fruit chaser. Easiest "Shit, we forgot to take something down!" meal ever.

11. What is your favorite animal? I'm a dog lover. But only my dogs.

 You are NOT tagged! You are however tired of my oversharing. Please move on and enjoy the rest of this fine Wednesday evening.

Inspirational..

"Mommy, can I have a snack?"

"What would you like?"

"Graham crackers."

"Okay. One for you."

"Um, can I have two?"

"No, one is enough."

"But Simba wants one."

"Simba is a rest friend. Rest friends don't eat real food."

"So how do I give him one?"

"Why don't you draw him one?"

"Great idea!"

Five minutes later.

"Mommy, can I have a graham cracker?"

"You just had one."

"But Simba needs his snack."

"Sprite, I just told you to draw him one."

"But I ate it before I could draw it. I need another one for inspiration."

"....Draw him a carrot. Rest friends need their vegetables, would you like a few sticks for inspiration?"

"Can I have a drink instead?"

"What about Simba's snack?"

"He's not hungry anymore. He can wait until dinner."

 

Spin Cycle: iLove..

iPhones!

Thanks to my iPhone, I am able to join this week's Spin Cycle which is "Things I love".

Since time is short for me lately, not loving that, let's start with the obvious:

Yeah, what's NOT to love about these two? Just read the preceding thousand plus posts on this blog to cement that fact.

Tonight, we dance! (I wish I could remember what movie that line is from. It drives me crazy every time I quote it, which is often considering the kid loves her some dance class.) Sprite has been enjoying dance class for two years now, happy to be there, even if she's not the best in the class. And I've been enjoying dance class for the fact that I would get to spend the hour wait with two other moms, one of them my awesome friend Rachel. Now that we're in summer break, I am very bummed that my Friday evenings have nothing to look forward to now, but Sprite has more than made up for the fact that dance class is on break with DANCE CAMP! Yes, folks, this is the only camp in the country that makes you flash the jazz hands every time you sign in your camper. We're rounding out the first week and Sprite is still thrilled every morning with spending her entire day in a place where they encourage you to dance your heart out. Debugging her before school starts may prove difficult, but I'm choosing to let it lie for now.

We spent Memorial Day weekend with my mom and dad at Disney World, using the last dates of our season passes and giving Sprite some honest to goodness vacation before cashing in our hermit cards for the rest of the summer. Everyone knows we love Disney World and everyone knows Sprite loves Disney World, just the fact that she is known as the resident Disney expert everywhere she roams is evidence enough. Not only did we get to see our favorite Orlando family, the Katz's, we finally got to give Sprite something she's been asking for for years. A Princess breakfast. Oh, how she loved it. And how we loved her expression every time a royal would pass by our table. (Not too lovey dovey with the bill, these things are EXPENSIVE with a capital "I can barely afford to even spell it", but this is a post about things we love, so ignore this parentheses.)

I just love this picture. That's enough. (By the by, it should be noted that I captured this shot while standing on the merry go round, going backwards. Folks, I cannot handle any rides that go around and around. I get queasy looking at a circle sometimes, the backwards thing is as close as I'll ever get to EXTREME stunts, but I will always forget any negative when seeing the happiness in my child's eyes.) (Until I read that last parentheses later on and remember, oh, yeah, that was the night that dinner almost wasn't..)

I love the fact that my child adores coloring. Lately, it's been the kick in our house. When Sprite gets home from school, camp, or just back from the bathroom, she loves to sit down and color. Her souvenir of choice during our vacation was a coloring book which she is meticulously filling out, page by page. Our fridge isn't visible anymore behind the "Pin this one up!" artwork. To be completely transparent, she's not showing any signs of genius in her scribblings, but I can at least recognize that she knows how to draw a house, a dog, and Mommy's belly. (Thanks for that, kid. I put that one in my special drawer.) She just loves to pick up a crayon or marker and go to town, and as long as it stays on paper and off my furniture, I love getting to sit down for a few minutes to pick up a book.

Oh, how I love DIY! Three dining stools now sit in front of this backsplash tile covered counter wall which frankly spoil the gorgeous view. Yes, my best friend and I did this on our own, surprisingly easy, and I still love it. I just wish I had the money to do the actual backsplash now, but I would probably go with different tiles...

I love looking through the photo gallery on my phone and finding photos I didn't expect. Obviously, Sprite was having some fun with Blue that day and Blue was fine with it, as long as she didn't have to leave her pillow. But our bedroom does get some strong sun in the mornings, so SPF Sprite to the rescue.

And finally, we're loving up on Gretchen and the Spin Cycle, who used this week's topic to remind us of the things in life that made us smile. So click the link and start compiling your liat of loves!

Transfer of Title

"You want turkey for sandwiches when you start summer camp?"

Sprite looks over from her perch in the "cab" of the shopping cart. "Yes! And goldfish crackers and juice and an apple because you have to have fruit in your lunchbox." Ever the voice of five year old reason, even if she is parroting "Sid the Science Kid", you can tell she's excited about the prospect of bringing her own meals to her summer session.

Looking at the options before us, trying to determine if any of the "ON SALE TODAY ONLY BUY THIS NOW" packaged meats are nitrate free, I'm tapped on the shoulder.

"Hey, you should go to the deli!"

I turn to the man who is waving his plastic purchase in front of me and immediately feel a small hand cover mine on the shopping cart handle.

He's smiling, his face animated. "They're having a buy one get one in the deli for ham, you should get that! It's so much better than the junk here," he waves his hand across the selection of Oscar Meyer to punctuate his point.

"Mommy?"

"Hold on, sweetie." Turning my attention to the informed shopper, I ask, "do they have the same deals on turkey?"

"Mommy?"

"Oh, I'm sure they do. In fact, the woman in front of me-"

"MOMMY!" Her hand is squeezing mine now, her entire body trying to vault over her seat and into my arms.

"Sprite, what?" I hug her to me, more in an exasperated effort to stop her from abandoning ship than in affection.

She doesn't say anything, just stares at the man who is paying her no mind, her cheek fully pressed against mine.

"Thank you," I say to the man, "I'll head back there and check out the deal."

He moves on to the freezer section, leaving me to turn Sprite back into her seat. "Sprite, what happened?"

"Nothing. I want turkey. Ooh, and can I have almond butter sandwiches too?"

Regarding her now, I can't detect the urgency she was just pulsating with moments ago. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Do you have to use the bathroom?"

"No."

I push the cart forward, glancing down when her hand sneaks back to lay gently over mine, her body turned so she can keep me in her peripheral.

Ok, okay. I get it.

Gone are the days where I would grab her hand before walking into any environment, not only to keep her safe, but to tell the world, "she's mine". Even at parties, even subconsciously, I would keep her close by at first, so that everyone would know who she would be leaving with.

Now she grabs my hand. Now she silently informs anyone who approaches me, especially people she doesn't know, "she's mine".

 

Spin Cycle: Confessions of a Mother

Would you believe that one of the first thoughts that registered with me about my baby daughter was:

"Gah, she blinks like an alien."

I lose my Mommy mug now, don't I?

I will completely admit it. I'm not a fan of newborns. Oh, sure, I love their smallness, the scrunchy way their body conforms to you, like trying to cocoon into your shoulder blade while you fold your own arms ten times around their body in an effort to keep them stable, warm, and non-wriggly. I love the little feet, the tiny fingers, the way they instintively close around your pinky, like a Venus Fly Trap who's missing teeth. I love the little mewling cries and even the attitude laced "get your nipple over here before I eat my blanket, woman!" yowls that accompany weeks old infants throughout their first days.

Sigh.

It's the head.

Sorry, folks.

Most babies, born naturally or via help, have a face only a.... well, let's not go there.

Sprite came out by C-section and didn't have to put her features through the ringer that is vaginal birth, so she was spared the brunt of the "Wow, she looks just like your uncle Jerry!" comments. (And everyone who knew Uncle Jerry, knew that the giver of this compliment was just being polite.)

So Sprite looked, in all essence, like a Gerber baby.

Until she blinked. Which creeped me out.

Granted, the first few days, she snoozed through a majority of everything, didn't even stay up late enough to catch an episode of Friends, so getting eye contact was a rare experience. She was also suffering from Jaundice, so the incubator they kept her in when we had to check her back into the hospital on her fourth day was not helping the bonding moments either. One evening, while I was reaching through the holes in the hard plastic box to touch whatever part of her I could get to, she turned her head toward me and opened her eyes.

Eye contact! "Hi, Sprite! You're so beautiful, you're ador-"

Her lids snapped closed like a camera shutter, then opened again, and I stood there, transfixed, as I thought I saw a film of something, like second eyelids retracting just after, so her very large inky pupils could fixate on me.

She was planning my destruction right then and there, wasn't she?

I sheepishly admitted my observations to John, who immediately blamed it on the hormones, don't worry, you can't even see the scars anymore, and Sprite did outgrow the alien blinking thing, becoming my favorite age in the whole world, four months.

I love four month olds! Everything is funny. Everything gets a smile, Their eyes crinkle in the corners with the chubbiness of baby fat, content to just sit in your arms and watch the world around them. There is no such thing as an ugly four month old.

And the whole second eyelid thing has completely resolved itself by then too.

Okay, now that I've lost you, go find some better reasons to love being a mom over at Second Blooming! We're celebrating Mother's Day!

 

Spin Cycle: It's Not the Words Getting in The Way

Yikes, Thursday evening is staring me in the face...along with the promise I made to the lovely Gretchen... "I will spin this week! Promise!"

Multitudes of ideas still sit in my head, in fact, the weight of those words alone are probably what's contributing to the frequent headaches I've been suffering through lately, updates to our lives from the last month or so, a little weekend excursion to the zoo that ended in us completely skipping the zoo altogether and STILL seeing nature at its most exposed finest. Our complete revamp of fiscal life as we know it, pulling the belt straps a bit tighter again after loosening them for the last year, re-thinking our budget, re-thinking our strategies, re-thinking the organization in our kitchen cabinets. (Yeah, I'm that kind of person. I will try to upgrade everything in my way, even if it has nothing to do with the problem at hand. Multi-strategizer, yo.)

The words of these posts, yet to even be composed, (as evidenced by the Compose button in Typepad snarkily groaning in ecstacy when I clicked on it for the first time in weeks) pictures yet to be uploaded, they're all trapped in the ether that exists between my ears.

I told myself I would find a weekend this month and just exile myself to a Barnes and Noble or our guest room, even the bathroom if it's unoccupied, and just slam out a bunch of half-finished posts, a way to unload the ideas, even if terrible, and then come back when my thought process is more tangible and less tangent-y, to polish them. Free my mind of the clutter, for while the house is getting attacked, you can't multi-task mental organization. I've tried this before and John usually ends up getting dis-jointed commands to switch out the dogs and walk the laundry.

Sure, it's funny when it happens. And funny later too, I suppose..

But, alas, this month's calendar has filled up with recitals, VPK graduation, the start of summer camp, and a scrapped, yet salvaged plan to take Sprite to Disney World for one last hurrah before becoming an honest to goodness school kid, complete with homework!

So, with this, I will leave you with a promise, that I will post, just don't plan any life or death decisions on my posting schedule, for I'm afraid the ICU will pull the plug before I even get around to the time Sprite almost drowned on our cruise.

Oh, you wanted that story? Would you believe it's been six months since the cruise and according to my blog, we've only just gotten on the boat?

Sorry.

I'll try harder.

And here's some pictures to end this Spin on a better note than Sorry:

Am I back on your good side? Wonderful! Now go get on Gretchen's good side. Click here!