Two

The little animal is two today. I really want to write a stupid sentimental post about the joys of being his mother and how he's the most perfect baby ever and I love him so much my ears tingle and couldn't you just put him on a bun. But that's the kind of post that will give people hairballs. And besides, he's no longer a little animal or a baby. Sigh. He's a person, one of my favorite people, which is good because I spend a lot of time with him.

Here's a quick interest inventory for those of you wanting to get to know Milo — the person — better.

Favorite toy: "Guys." Playmobil, Lego, whatever little plastic dudes might be around (all cast-offs from Lu). "Guys" was probably his tenth word and "MY GUYS!!" is his favorite sentence. Which is why, when it came to decorating his cake, I just stuck guys on it, sweetly reminded of when Stacy put a ceiling fan on Jameson's birthday cake because, well, that was his favorite thing. Favorite activities: Arranging guys, driving trains and cars, headbutting, kissing and making up. Best personality traits: charm and persistence. The scene below from today sums it up... Milo, Attempting to Get More Cake Hopefully: More cupcake? Sternly: More cupcake. Coyly: More cupcake? Desperately: MORE CUPCAKE. Fiercely: Want! More! Cupcake! Coyly: More cupcake? Favorite travel destination: Pie's house. As in, EVERY DAY AFTER SCHOOL, "I go Pie house? I go Sy (Solly) house?" Favorite book: the first one third of the first one he chose, followed by the middle third of the other three nearby. He has little patience for books. Favorite accessories: sunglasses, hats and the occasional markered-on mustache (either by self or sister). Oh, and guys, of course.

Once Milo's English is better, we'll have an actual interview. In the meantime, for the fact that I didn't subject you to the post about how he still has one dimple and I see the stars reflecting in his blue eyes like so many dreams, (agghck) you're welcome.

Happy Anniversary to Me

One year ago today, I had a little ceremony. I sat down at my desk, a desk as thrillingly blank and organized as any desk of mine has ever been. My vintage cup steamed with hot coffee from my own maker. My black-and-white composition notebook was full of ambitious to-dos which I'd filled out with my then-favorite pen. I stood, armed with school supplies, on the precipice of something of wonderful and terrifying. I dove...

I landed just fine. I've been busier than I ever imagined — largely thanks to one amazing long-term client, I am a well-kept woman (do what you will with the analogy that begs to be here). And there's an abundance of work beyond that if I want it.

The moral of this story: be brave and you will be glad.

Dream

Today on the way to school, Lucy asked me, "Mom, what's your dream?" Stunned by her question, I said, "Well, um, I guess to write a book."

"Oh, well, I AM writing a book. Except sometimes I get writer's cramp, and I don't know what to write."

"You mean writer's block?"

"Yes, but I call it writer's cramp because it hurts."

Hurts, indeed.

Second

What struck me most about today:1) How big her teeth are — way too big for her mouth, how will there ever be enough person for those giant, bumpy chiclets? 2) How big her feet are — those giant, sneakered fins want to kick things! They want to be tall! 3) How small she still is — she was nervous, she clung just a tiny bit at the door.

What To Do

My brave friend April has been on a crazy ride the last 13 days (really, her whole life — so much more than we've all known) and while we who love her have tried to accompany her on the journey, she's been on her own. With a broken-ass ticker and some very tired lungs. What to do what to do what to do. I would stand in her room and sing camp songs until I lost my voice if I thought it would do any good or the hospital would let me. I would light a lantern and hold it up so she can find her way to peace or war or whatever combination serves her. There is so much I would do. And so little I can.

So tomorrow we do what we can again. Coffee and laughter and holding hands.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

You know when you look at the J. Crew catalog and think, "That's cute and all, but who the hell ever wears a swimsuit and a sweater at the same time? Who are these people?" Well, these people are summer people — cool in every sense of the word (and also they are models, but nevermind that). For one glorious week, we were summer people. Courtesy of Andy and Megan, we had the pleasure of being those (slightly less gorgeous) sweater-and-swimsuit-lakeside types in one of the prettiest place I've ever seen, in the north woods of Minnesota.

Even with the 12-hour cholera that swept through our bunch (Glendaloch's revenge), we were like a postcard. Wish we were there...

I Need Some April Weather

Whenever my friend April sees me (or anyone she loves), she grins, throws her arms open, cocks her head to the side and offers herself. No one is ever happier to see me: I am the most special person on earth. And despite my perfect specialness in that first moment (or any moment she listens to me), I know there are dozens of people she makes feel that same way. It's easy to forget how special April is because she is so damn busy making you feel special. So when I went to see her in the hospital today, where she lay intubated and small and sick, and instead of her usual spectacular greeting, I received just a squeeze of my hand and quiet tears, her eyes desperate, I worried.

Once they took the vent tube out, she was better: charming the staff, wanting to laugh a little, savoring her breaths. But then her blood pressure started dropping again, putting her back into the same cycle that had landed her in ICU in the first place. The rest of the day was up and down, and she withdrew to the quiet place we go when we are deeply tired and suffering.

So. Tomorrow! Tomorrow, I am aiming for something even a little more like my usual greeting. A smile, a hug, a bit of the special she reflects. We could all use some beautiful April weather.

Lu York City, Day 3

Waking up to the street sounds of New York, snuggling Lu as she slept between me and Jason in the king-size bed (pretty comfortably, as we are not big people), I thought, this is life for city people. I sat up to the crash of a dumpster being emptied and surveyed the hotel room, flannels and plaids and industrial fixtures cast in a little strip of dawn that made it decidedly less romantic than in the hipster dark. I thought, my god, this would be our apartment — where would we even put Milo? Lu, charmingly exhausted, continued to sleep while we stirred. We finally got her moving with the promise of pancakes and a "fancy dress show." After breakfast at Penelope, Lucy and I went to the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the Met (thanks to Meg and Grandma Susie for the recommendation!), for which I'd bought the special "Mondays at the Met" tickets when the rest of the museum is closed.

The retrospective was exquisite: one of the most dramatic and interesting things I've ever seen at a museum. Lu was less impressed. At one point, she partially lay down in the exhibit, clutching a phantom pain in her side that seemed to correlate strongly with boredom, exclaiming, "I can't go on." (Dear serious museum patrons who paid $50 a head for the private ticket to the McQueen exhibit, I am sorry. You should talk to the management about instituting some kind of culture stamina quiz so this kind of seven-year-old riffraff doesn't get in.) When we got to the end, she wanted to go back to see a few more things, like "the dress that looked like seaweed" and "that red one with the feathers." She did like it, but if I'd wanted the full experience, I'd have gone with Meg or Grandma Susie: alas, Lu did her best.

The rest of the day was magic with Dad: FAO Schwarz and chocolate and a nap in the king-size bed. When I met up with them later, she was even a good sport about eating at Momofuku, the land of much strange and wonderful food.

Lu York City, Day Two

After brunch at Sarabeth's (Goldie Lox anyone?) we headed to Central Park, where I went for a run and Jason and Lu went to the city's best playground to meet John, Jess, Grace and Maddie, a bunch of Austin friends we'd serendipitously run into on the flight (worthwhile side note: these are good pals that we can never coordinate with because we are mutually busy and disorganized — leave it to fate). I tagged in after my run, then Jason left to meet Mary for the Yankee game (Yankee loss, Jason victory over beer and hot dogs). Despite the heat and the walking, Lu enjoyed the playdate with Grace, the carousel ride and lots of carnival fun (Central Park is days of discovery, and we'd allotted a mere morning). The heat and stimulation took its toll: by the time I hustled her back to the hotel to get ready for Mary Poppins, we were both pretty beat. No matter. The show must go on. Or at least that's what I was telling myself as I carried a 40-pound kid on my back halfway uptown. While wearing silk. In 100 degree heat. In fairness, she walked most of the way herself (WITH GREAT COMPLAINT).

We made it with minutes to spare and found ourselves ensconced in AC and stage lights. A spoonful of overpriced Sprite (or Chardonnay) helped the medicine go down, indeed. Cue music and ... she was rapt. She sat on the edge of her seat and sang along, her attention never flagged and she spared me any of those I-paid-good-money-for-you-to-have-the-time-of-your-life-so-you-better-dammit moments. Getting autographs at the stage door was even better.

After that we subjected her to a fancy-hipster seafood meal at The John Dory, rewarded her with Shake Shack (original location), then bed for everyone at 9:30.

Lu York City, Part One

Last week we took Lucy to New York! For years she's been begging to go, knowing that her two conditions were that she 1) be able to walk a lot and 2) try new foods. At last, we decided she was ready, and she did not disappoint. She walked miles through the city, including a big swath of Central Park and a hasty thirteen-block trek up to 42nd street for a show. She ate, among other things, raw Spanish mackerel with charred jalapeño and grapefruit and steamed pork buns. Here's a video report on Day 1:

She forgot to mention that we spent our first evening (in bars!) with some dear friends, two of whom are Austin transplants to New York, relishing the city like exchange students, along with our friend Mary, who has a love affair with New York unlike anyone I know. It was Mary who wrote me and Jason our first personal New York guide, the inside track that started our own love affair with the city. As Mary walked with us up Fifth Avenue toward dinner, she told us that she was seven when her parents first took her to New York. I think we are off to a good start.