Milo Knows My Name

If I ask him my name, he says, "Mommy," but sometimes he says "Cupcake" — maybe because Kate sounds like cake which he always calls cupcake? And cupcakes are awesome. If you ask him his name, he will say "Mino" or "cracker." (At which point I tell him, "Baby, you just look like a cracker, but you are really quite diverse.")

He knows the names of his teachers. He talks almost constantly. Today at Central Market, he lost his balloon and said to it, "Uh oh, balloon go bye bye. Bye, balloon, byeeee." He kept pointing it out to me: "Balloon up there? Balloon go bye bye?" And then when we left the store, long after that balloon was out of sight, he said, "Bye, balloon."

S.M.A.R.T.

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.