Time Out

Yesterday, Grover was being really naughty. He kept pushing Babar and Milo. Then he had to go to time out. Repeatedly. I only know this because 1) Milo kept tattling on him to me and Jason and 2) I kept walking past the very spot where we put Milo in time out, and poor naughty Grover was flopped there in a blue heap, no doubt contemplating his misdeeds. Or revenge.

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.

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.