Badges of Honor

Lady on the leg press machine: I can tell you're a mom.

Me: Oh? How?

Lady: You have stickers on your back.

Ainslie's first joke

She actually made this up at the pediatrician's office on October 23, and she says it the same every time. The inspiration was a picture of a bunch of different nursery rhyme characters. A cat just happened to be sharing the wall with Humpty Dumpty.

Without further ado, here is the joke:

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a...cat!
(beat) (beat)
I didn't know he had a pet! (followed by hysterical laughter)

Seven months today

Seven months today since our house was listed...
I never dreamed it would take this long. If we'd known, we wouldn't have done this; which in a strange way makes me feel that actually we are where we're supposed to be. Again, things were looking bleak, and then today something happened. Something small, but meaningful, and I choose to take that as a sign to hang in there a little longer.

I really, really wish the house would sell NOW for an extra reason, and that is we agreed with Aunt Barb to find a different realtor if the house doesn't sell by the end of the year, and I hate to fire family. I KNOW she has done everything she can do to help us, and I know she is a pro with an excellent record over the past 25+ years, but on the other hand, we have to sell our house, and changing to a more local agent is the one thing we haven't tried.

So. Baby Steps. Living with family has actually become somewhat easier, but the Not Having My Own House issues are seriously causing me a little bit of what I can only guess is depression. I feel a little blah--and I don't think drugs will help because I KNOW what will make it go away. So, I take baby steps. Today was our mom's group Christmas party and it was very fun, and so nice for Ainslie to be with a bunch of kids her age where she can just run and play. A week from today we leave for KC. Week after that we have a few things going on, then I have to go home to Chicago to interview agents, I guess. Then we leave for our cruise. Hopefully after that I'll have to go back to Chicago to pack...

A service of Lessons and Carols

Parenting is an awesome responsibility, fraught with tough decisions, lessons to teach, battles to pick, etc., all in the hopes of raising loving, responsible, productive members of society.

Today, it's been just plain funny.

Today, we had two Hilarious Teaching Moments while out running errands, both in response to me overteaching the meaning of some Christmas carols.

First, "Do You Hear What I Hear", as we searched for parking...

Me (getting her out of the carseat): Did you hear that? A child shivers in the cold! Do you know who that child was? It was Baby Jesus! Remember, how he was born in a barn?

Ainslie: Yeah...

Me: It must have been cold, being outside (never mind that it was the Middle East...). And here He is, a little baby, and people are bringing him gifts of silver and gold...

Ainslie: Holy Cow! That's Amazing!

(I can only attribute that response to Veggie Tales. She routinely babbles to herself, "That was amazing. I laughed, I cried, it moved me, Bob.")


Then, in Dick's Sporting Goods, we heard "The Little Drummer Boy". I was singing it as we shopped, and I explained that the little boy was poor, but he still wanted to give something to Jesus, so he used his Gift of Music to play a song, and that made Baby Jesus so happy that He smiled at the little boy.

Ainslie: But mom, could Baby Jesus talk to the little boy? He was just a baby.

Me: You're right. He was a baby, so he couldn't talk, but he smiled because he liked the music and He was happy the little boy shared his music with Him.

Ainslie: Um hmmm.

Me (pushing it for a 2-yr old): Do you know what that means? It means that we should use the things we are good at to make God happy. So, if you are a really good singer, you should sing joyfully to the Lord! (borrowing from one of our Bible Story books). And....if you are really good at gymnastics, you should...ummm...you should always do your best!

Ainslie: I should do a straddle roll for Him!

Yes!

Books and Covers

While I am in a blogging mood (or maybe I am incredibly BORED, hence the handmade Christmas cards you may have received...), let me talk about some houses we are interested in. With the drop in our asking price, what we can afford has also dwindled a bit, although luckily, the market here trails the Chicago trends by just enough time that we should come out ok. Anyway, there are three houses we are interested in right now.

House Number 1 is gorgeous from the outside. It has a beautiful circular drive and these cute little brick posts with gaslights around the drive. It has a True 3-car garage and a beautiful sloping back yard that abuts (did I spell that right?) a cornfield. There is a nice brick patio going the whole width of the house. It is the most spectacular house in our price range, from the outside. Inside, it is fine. It's large enough. Once we finish the basement (which we would be able to do right away) we would have all the rooms we want. But. But there are some weird things in the floorplan (the powder room and laundry room are right off the family room, on the front of the house) and the kitchen is as tiny as our Chicago kitchen, although I think in time we could open it up a bit. There are a lot of great things about this house, I love the neighborhood and I love the upper floors (yes, floors-plural, it has a wonderful finished attic with windowseats!), and it looks great from the street, but I think the main floor would bug me a bit.

http://www.caaronline-mis.com/spi/jpg/267849.jpg
http://www.caaronline-mis.com/spi/jpg2/267849.jpg

Then there is House Number 2. Ugly from the outside, although with the price reduced nearly $60,000 from when we looked at it, not quite as ugly as I originally thought. By ugly, I really mean, Not What I Would Pick. Dark on the outside, 70's brick arches....but I love the floor plan (despite some unfortunate carpet and wallpaper choices that would have to go before we move in). It is so spacious, and the basement is already finished, and the backyard--gorgeous! A great screened porch leading out to a large deck and then a huge yard backing up to a running path! So, great on the inside, but would I be embarrassed about it from the outside? Is that so shallow?
http://www.caaronline-mis.com/spi/jpg/263999.jpg
http://www.caaronline-mis.com/spi/jpg2/263999.jpg


Then there is House Number 3, which we've never actually looked at. Same neighborhood as House Number 2, but better looking on the outside. Much Better Looking. Great price, bad wallpaper according to the online pics, but a $5000 decor allowance at closing. Floors look good (new hardwood), several French Doored rooms (we love that.) Someday we should actually GO inside.

http://www.caaronline-mis.com/spi/jpg/265533.jpg
http://www.caaronline-mis.com/spi/jpg3/265533.jpg

Anyway, here we are, trying to teach Ainslie never to judge books by their covers, and doing the same thing over inanimate objects. Who wants to live in an ugly house? Would you sacrifice cooking space for curb appeal? Can you have Ugly on the Outside if you could afford to makeover the spacious inside to your exact specifications?

Points to ponder while we wait for this young couple to make an offer. Please?

Please let our house be the Bride this time!

We had two showings over the weekend. One couple is very interested, although they had questions like why has the price been dropped so drastically...? (Ever lived with your in-laws--or anyone-- for 7 months?) Anyway, we are on their Short List. We've been on several lookers' Short Lists before but so far have been Bridesmaids. HOPING for a Christmas wish come true. We bought this house in December, it could happen again!

Meanwhile, here are a few photos of Ainslie at gymnastics last week:

One man's Bacon is another's Meat.

One of my favorite fiction books is called, "Lamb, the gospel of Biff, Christ's childhood friend" by Christopher Moore. This book, while some may find it irreverent at times, really touched me and in one especially poignant scene, brought the Point of my faith out in stunning relief. Basically, for those intrigued by the title, it is the (obviously fictional) account of where Jesus was and what He was doing during the years the Bible doesn't tell us about. In Moore's view, He was learning all the things he needed to know in order to take on the burden of the crucifixion and resurrection. Biff is his very, very human, affable friend who is sent to stay with Jesus (nicknamed Josh) through his travels. Being Jewish, they are not supposed to eat pork, but as they grow and learn, Jesus tells Biff that many parts of the Law are Just Bacon. They are rules that are or were there for a purpose, but are not necessarily the Meat of the Jewish faith.

Craig loves this book too, and we use the term, "Bacon" quite a bit as we discuss our own faith. We were both raised Protestent, but Craig was raised decidedly more High Church (he would be Catholic if I'd let him) and I way more Low Church, and though we have compromised over the years, we both feel more at home in the type of church we grew up in.

So here's my quandary. We have been members of a couple Lutheran ELCA churches over the past few years and I have been pretty happy with them. We have found some good congregations, we love that there is Communion every week, and we feel this denomination's stance on social issues meshes with ours. There is also a ELCA church here that we like--for all the above reasons, plus it runs one of the biggest preschools in town and the congregation is positively teeming with little kids. However, at this church, there is one piece of Bacon (to me, Meat to others) that is specifically spelled out.

My question is this--can one belong to a church and not share faith of one key tenant of that denomination? To me, the tenant is bacon, to them, it is absolutely meat. I do feel it is lying to pledge membership to a church, knowing you don't share this particular belief. On the other hand, I also believe that, well, it is Bacon...

Just some Food for thought, I guess.

Happy Half Birthday!

I had this whole entry planned out for today, about what I have learned over the past two and a half years, it was going to be kind of funny and sweet, but instead...

This morning, in a futile attempt to get Ainslie to go back to sleep at 5:45, I crawled into bed with her, to try to get her to be quiet. She snuggled up to me and said, "I love you, Mommy." I responded with, "I love you, Baby." To which she responded with her very typical (these days), "I'm not a baby, I'm a Big Girl." So I responded with my usual, "but you'll always be my baby girl."

This one was new---her next response was, "Welllll (another new vocabulary staple), I'm a big girl now but in a minute I'll be a grown-up."

I almost started crying right then. She's right.

Happy Half-Birthday, My Baby Girl, and please, please, please stay two-and-a-half for your full allotted time.

Mary Lou Who?

This is going to be a sugary brag, so brace yourselves.

This morning at gymnastics, Kathy asked me, "WHEN does she (meaning Ainslie) turn 3?"

I told her June--she won't even be 2.5 until this Sunday. Kathy says, "Wow--well when she's 3, as long as she has the maturity to behave, I think she can skip KinderGym 1 and go straight to 2--she's already got half the skills for KinderGym 2"

KinderGym 1 and 2 are for 3 and 4-yr olds, respectively. My little gymnast may be skipping a grade in gymnastics!

She really loves it, too. Who knows if she'll stick with it, but for now, it's great for large motor skills as well as learning to take turns, think about safety (running around the gym, jumping OVER the practice beam when someone else is using it...) and to respect the efforts and triumphs of her classmates.

I'm so proud!

Fun--thanks Annie!

I stole this link from your blog, Annie.

You Belong in London

You belong in London, but you belong in many cities... Hong Kong, San Francisco, Sidney. You fit in almost anywhere. And London is diverse and international enough to satisfy many of your tastes. From curry to Shakespeare, London (almost) has it all!

What European City Do You Belong In?

Oh, the things I said I'd never do

1. Purchase Licensed Character Merchandise
Caved: 15 months. Ainslie needed her first pair of 'real' tennis shoes for playing and I resolved to buy some nice generic-ey ones --until she charmed me with shrieking, "Mehlmo Zhues!" in the Toddler Shoe aisle at Kohls. It was so cute. Elmo Shoes it had to be. Since then, we have had Dora and Tinkerbell.

2. Lick my finger and dab the face.
Caved: Shortly after birth, I'm sure.

3. Willingly feed a child McDonalds
Caved: When I realized she would do anything for a french fry. Now it's even worse. I bought her a McDonalds fake food set (which also violates #1) for a stocking stuffer. Why? Because I know she'll get a kick out of it. It encourages pretend play, right?

4. Get into Disney.
Caved: I can't even remember. I think that sneaky Disney marketing just got to Ainslie, despite the fact that she doesn't watch that much tv, and virtually no commercials.

5. Get a dvd player for the car.
Caved: Friday. I realized earlier this year that it isn't even about entertaining the child(ren); it's about protecting the sanity of the parents on long trips.

I'm sure the list will only get longer.

57 days until our vacation

But who's counting?

I'm hanging on to this because I am hopeful that after we look forward to it for so long, then go and come home, our house will have sold and we can focus on moving, thereby avoiding serious clinical depression.

I will miss Ainslie terribly. I will worry. I might cry.

BUT

I will sleep past 6:30 am.
I will read books without pictures.
I will probably gain 10 pounds because I only have to feed myself.
I will not blow on anyone's food.
I will get ready to go somewhere (like to another buffet) in less than an hour and a half.
I will have conversations with Craig and other adults that do not include shouted interjections about climbing, jumping, yelling, or riding the dog.
I will nap.
I will wear makeup.
I will drink. Probably more than is prudent.
I will engage in adult activity without being paged, loudly.

Ah. I will miss my sweet, funny little girl, but today I am counting 57 days.

One slight edit to the post below

I should have told nosy people to back off, regardless of their work/parenting status. :-)

On the other side of the (de)fense

My mom is patently (if subconciously) prejudiced against mothers who choose to work outside of the home. I don't need to watch Dr. Phil to surmise that this is largely because she never did (and never had a "career" because she never finished college and feels somewhat inadequate or whatever about that...but mother/daughter issues are a completely different rant.) She will say things about So-and-So having a large house or taking fancy vacations, and then qualify it with, "Of course, she *worked* (as if the work in question was prostitution) when her kids were growing up." When I mention preschool or some part-time daycare for Ainslie so that I can take on more work, I am met with, "oh, but you'll miss SO much" ...and I am talking 6 hours a week.

Anyhoo. I am not thusly prejudiced. I think we all just do the best we can for our children. Some moms are better moms for working out of the home, some are better at home. I'm thrilled to be able to work on my terms right now.

BUT.

File this under, "Why can't people who have no idea keep their big mouths shut?"
OR
"Why on earth does this bother me so much?"

Lately, I been feeling the reverse SAHM discrimination. Why on earth don't I work and how could I deprive my child of 40 hours of daycare a week? Despite the fact that I DO work about 20 hours a week in my field, I suppose the usual uniform of yoga pants and solid long-sleeved tees give me that Mommy Chic (or NOT) look, so people assume I am a FT SAHM, which is a FINE job description by itself. Why then, if I am FT SAHM would I be dropping off some assignments for students at the college I teach at?

URGH. So here comes today's real story. I had to drop off some tests for two students to make up. I don't teach on Mondays. I run errands and work out on Mondays (because I have no home to clean, etc). I am with Ainslie all day on Mondays. So, I arrived at the building wearing black yoga pants, a shirt, and a zipped-up fleece jacket, hair and face looking ok (not Totally Done but not Just Rolled out of Bed), holding Ainslie's hand and carrying the papers. Ainslie, by the way, had chosen a dress with matching tights and her hair was Done. (She always looks better than I do.) ANYWAY, the women working in the resource center today was probably a full-time faculty member (big whoop, btw, this isn't exactly Ivy League) and after I explained what I was dropping off, she turned to Ainslie and asked her where she went to school. Ainslie said, "I don't go to school yet." very clearly--Ainslie knows about school and that she will go to preschool and then Big School someday.
This woman says, in a very condescending voice, "You don't? How do you learn?" I said, "well, she is not even 2 and a half yet. She learns from me." So then the woman drones on about, "do you go to daycare to play with friends?" "it's so important at this age to play with other kids." "Do you have friends, honey?" Ainslie responds with, "I have my friend Cawowine, and Anna, and..." But I was already completely annoyed. Pardon my French, but WTF?

WHEN did going to daycare become the preferred activity? WHO decided daycare is better than parents? Who did this woman think she was, passive-agressively questioning my choices to my 2-yr old, when she knows nothing about me or Ainslie?


Ainslie will probably go to preschool. For now, she knows a heck of a lot more academically than most other kids her age I've met. She rides a trike and a scooter like a pro, she holds a crayon *almost* the right way, and she can sit cross-legged, that benchmark of preschool skills. She sight-reads quite a few words, she knows how to share (not that she does it), she pretends a lot, she gallops, she...well, not being in daycare doesn't appear to have hindered her.

So, Moms who work outside of the home, BACK OFF. I was once one of you--I support you and your choice, but until you know MY child and her gifts, abilities and schedule, SHUT UP. Apparently, way back when, SOME preschools didn't put enough emphasis on polite conversation.

Pride goeth before Santa Claus

I had one of those, "I'm so proud of my daughter and today I feel I am doing a good job with her" moments as we strolled past a large nativity display in that ultimate Stuffmart, Sam's Club. "Look Mommy, it's Jesus!" Ainslie exclaimed. My heart swelled. Despite the fact that we have put off finding a church home until we get moved, she is learning about God. The Veggie Tales, the songs, the books and the talking are working. Hooray! I was beaming. She gets it!

Three aisles later..."Look Mommy! It's Santa Claus!"

Did you hear my bubble pop?

We'll get it figured out. Hey, I like Santa too, and there is a lot of good to be learned from believing in the guy with the beard.

Jabberwocky

First, let me just state a disclaimer: I know how blessed and lucky I am to have Ainslie; a child in general, and Ainslie in particular. This is not a complaint. It may be a cry for help, or at least, a cry.

For all my exclaiming about her perfection over the past 29 months, I have, sadly, found a chink in her armour. She did not come factory eqipped with an Indoor Voice or an Off Button. The child's normal voice is a quiet scream, and she uses it approximately 12 hours a day, which translates roughly to Every Waking Moment.

Now, she says some amazing and hilarious things---she remembers everything and also has the ability to synthesize information into new thoughts and put things together with logic and say all sorts of things that just astound me. She is also very adept at narrating the events around us to a harrowing degree of minutia. She also monitors my response like a drill sergeant; if I don't respond immediately to a comment about the red car next to us, I am met with a frantic, "MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! DERE'S A WED CAR WIGHT NEXT TO US! EE IT? EE IT?"

Then there is the endless Pretend Play. Again, I AM thrilled that she is so good at this for her age, I mean, I can tell she knows what is real and what is pretend, but she will carry her games over so they overlap with reality, in almost a tongue-in-cheek way. For instance, she knows the Disney Princesses are wearing thin with me, so we'll be out somewhere and she'll mention they came too, but in their own car. The trouble here is that once we start using pixie dust to dance or fly, we aren't allowed to stop. For anything.

Who knew how exhausting it could be just to hear someone talk all day? By the time she goes to bed I am zapped. I want complete silence. TV doesn't even offer any sort of soothing. I just want some peace.

Again, this isn't really a complaint--I would much rather be here than be worried that my child wasn't speaking or having pretend play. I guess I'm just looking for a little commiseration, and a little reassurance that this too, will pass, and someday I'll want her to talk to me so bad that I'd endure all those princesses being around.

BOO!

Thought I'd post some pictures of our Halloween festivities...
Saturday morning we went to the Farmer's Market parade, where we met up with Caroline and Samantha. It was freezing, so after some pictures at home, we had to put on a jacket under the M&M suit.




















Sunday afternoon we went to Zoolie Ghoulie at the zoo here (and I use the term Zoo loosely, lol, they had goats...) It was a really fun event, though--they had 23 Trick-or-Treat stations throughout the zoo. It was still chilly, so we added a pumpkin hat to the ensemble.

Then, the big event--Trick or Treating. We headed out for a little loop as soon as it got darkish, and Ainslie had been practicing, so she had the process down pat.
"Trick or Treat"
"Thank You."
"Can we go to anudder house?"

After collecting more candy than we need, we headed home to wait for Ben and hand out candy, which was just as exciting to Ainslie as Trick or Treating; she loved seeing all the kids at the door and was adamant that she stay in costume to man the door. Here are some pictures of the cousins enjoying some Halloween time:
















All in all, a fun weekend; mostly because Ainslie is old enough to enjoy dressing up and taking part in the different activites. Hope you all had a "Happy Haddoween" too!

Today I love this age

Today I have to post an "I love this age" entry about Ainslie. Last night I could have just as easily posted an, "Urrrrggghhh this age where they talk, talk, TALK for HOURS at a time!" entry, but today is better. :-)
I love this age. I love seeing her progress with her "reading" and with her imaginative games. This morning while I was getting myself ready she was reading to Baby. She has just about all of her favorite books memorized, so she just imitates me. It was downright heart-melting that she even sings, "Pajama Time" instead of reading it. If she can't remember the words on a particular page, she narrates by using the picture. Pretty darned resourceful I'd say!

I remember doing the same thing, and I remember Carrie doing that too, especially with Mother Goose rhymes. You don't realize it at the time, but those rhymes are actually good for you--rhyming words, memorization...good stuff! Ainslie is so proud of herself when she can either 'read' or recite a whole Rhyme. Her Humpty Dumpty is Oscarworthy, I tell ya, and she also does a mean Little Miss Muffett. Doesn't she wonder what the heck a tuffett is, or is she "using context to gain meaning?"

The other thing that has me laughing is the pretend play. This morning, all the Disney princesses (except Jasmine--too far? Too rough a time change?) came over, introduced themselves, and then got into the van (Ainslie drove) to go to Bob Evans for cinnamon rolls and coffee, although Ainslie also ordered her staples of mac and cheese, broccoli, chicken fingers and french fries, with milk, juice, and water. Guess I should have fed her a better breakfast. After Bob Evans, they all went to Washington Park, where they played on the various equipment, before getting bored and driving to Rotary Park (aka Rodeo Park if you're 2.) Finally, I had to drive everyone home to the castle, and Ainslie decided to go live at the castle too. That was hard. I'll sure miss her.

Blessed am I Among Sisters!

If you died today, how many people would mourn you? Possibly a great many. If you died today, how many people would come back to mourn you 10 years from now?

At Carrie's visitation 10 years ago, I was astounded by the number of people in line to say goodbye. Our large church had a massive line snaking out the door. She had so many friends. She was that rare kid who was really popular but also very real, and nice to absolutely everyone. There was no class or clique distiction to her. Well, maybe that is unfair to say since I know she was also very perceptive, but she didn't let some of the meaner social rules pertain to her.

One of the saddest things I have ever seen is the number...the horde...of teenagers crying on her casket at her graveside service. Of course, she died at such a golden age--16. She was a cheerleader, honor student, friends with everyone, of course they mourned her then.

But Now! On Saturday a stone was dedicated to her in our town's new Children's Memorial Butterfly Garden (sad and beautiful place...shudder) and I was astounded and humbled by the number of her friends who came! They came from everywhere! All over the midwest, Texas, NYC---all these "little kids" who are now men and women and husbands and wives and parents and professional people--they came back for Carrie! They still miss her. They still cried. They still love her and consider her a part of their lives! I'm 18 years older than she was when she died and I don't think I have affected nearly as many people. What a spirit she has!

Here are some pictures from the weekend.

After the race Saturday morning, the Educational Foundation presented us with this quilt, made from each logo from the race t-shirts for the past 10 races. My parents were so touched, and my mom did such a graceful job of accepting it! Here we are with it, Carrie's mom and dad, sister, brother-in-law, niece, uncles, aunt, and cousin.




Here is the stone in the garden. It was such a nice event, named Carrie’s Party by two wonderful friends of the family who thought of doing this when the garden was first being planned. It was a gorgeous day, the garden was full of friends, a quartet sang, and I missed Carrie terribly, but at the same time I was so happy to be there, as her sister. How did I get so lucky? It’s a little bit funny (and Carrie would have thought it was very funny,) but the date of death on the stone is actually off by a month—they reordered it and it hadn’t come in yet!



So here we are 10 years later and I am still being inspired by my little sister, to live so large as to be remembered and missed 10 years later; not just by family and close friends, but by a community that has grown and grown.

Grateful

Today I am thankful for:

1. The fact that I do not have peanut allergies. No Thai food or pbjs would not be much fun.
2. Work! Enough work that is 'what I do' to contribute almost as much as before to the family coffers!
3. The Hyundai is still limping along.
4. We have the means (by robbing Peter to pay Paul, albeit) to replace the Hyundai, weekend after next.
5. We are going to Lee's Summit for Carrie's race next weekend.
6. I got to be Carrie's sister.
7. Ainslie is spunky. (today I choose to be grateful for that)
8. We have a roof over our heads.
9. Chocolate chip cookies.
10. The Philadelphia Chickens CD
11. The fact that I could list 10 things without even having to stop and think.

Preschool or Not to School? Lots of Questions.

I've been thinking a lot about preschool lately, mostly because a sleep-deprived toddler whining at you (when you, as a result, are also sleep-deprived) will send your thoughts in the direction of outsourcing.

I don't really know how I feel about preschool at this point. I think that Ainslie should, at some time, attend one, but with the news that there is in fact a reputable preschool nearby that takes 2.5 yr-olds, a decision seems imminent, mostly because if I continue to teach 2 mornings a week, I need to decide whether to continue to mooch off the grandparents, or find a different situation, and either way, there are pros and cons.

Academically, Ainslie is way ahead of the curve. There. I said it. She knows all the letters and the sounds they make, she sight-reads a few words and she memorizes Everything. (Even the obscure Mother Goose rhymes that nobody really knows so we tend to skip over in the book...? Bat, Bat, Come Under My Hat? She knows it better than I do.) Anyway, if you ask her what sound a word starts with, she can correctly identify the letter, even if she can't pronounce it correctly, which is quite amusing.

Me: What sound does Wiggle start with?
A: Wuh. Dubble-woo.
Me: What about Race?
A: Ewww, Awe. (for those that don't speak fluent toddler, she is saying Errrr, R.)

She can count to 20 (although 18 sometimes immediately follows 11), she knows her shapes and colors, including deliniations of darker and lighter. If you ask her favorite color these days, she will tell you it is Light Blue. In short, what is a preschool program designed for 2.5 yr olds going to offer her academically?

Then there is the social aspect. If I hear one more person (and mostly a particular person) tell me that Ainslie needs to socialize because I stay at home with her and therefore runs the risk of being a creepy loner, I may go all Homeskooled in Ruby Ridge on them (her). First of all, she is TWO, and she plays with or alongside other children in the way they all do at that age. Of course I want her to learn to play well with others. I also want her to learn to follow directions, even when she doesn't want to. I'd like her to actually be quiet when I tell her to be quiet. I guess my 'thing' here is that Ainslie is 30 months old and has been going to various Mommy and Me programs since she was 15 months, so yes, I think she is getting adequate social time with her peers without spending 40 hours a week in day care. Since when did day care become the preferable option for tiny kids?

So...I don't know. Six hours a week of preschool certainly will not kill her. I just worry that that on top of gymnastics (which she loves and excels at) is a lot for a not-even-three year old, plus there is a music class here that I think she would enjoy. She plays in the kids' room at the Y a few times a week and we just started hanging out with a group of other moms and 2-yr olds on an informal basis...but then what about the days when I need to work? Then there is the fact that she has 17+ years of formal education in front of her, do we really have to start them earlier and earlier?

I'm rambling. I don't know what the answer is. I don't have to figure it out today. Maybe I won't even be assigned a daytime class next quarter. Maybe she and I will start reading Shakespeare and acting it out in the driveway.

Just Babbling

Teaching this morning was so FUN! A real school with real students, not like the college-in-a-box that hired me last fall. I was afraid I would run out of material and I barely got through everything I wanted to say about the chapter we were discussing. It was so fun to put on real grown-up clothes and lipstick(!) for a couple hours too (although I jumped right back in to the shorts/t-shirt ensemble when I got home.) I think this is going to be a great experience and I hope they hire me again next quarter. Doesn't hurt that this will pay for our medical insurance either!

I'm finally getting around to scheduling check-ups for Ainslie and I. I am overdue for my annual and Ainslie needs a shot sometime before she's 2 and a half. Yikes. She is almost 2 and a half. It's hard to pick a pediatrician here because we have the 'other' network, so even though we o know a handful of kids, nobody has a good recommendation. I will ask at our new gymnastics class tomorrow and see if anyone knows. Luckily, we don't have any special needs. Knocking on wood, since Ainslie has always been healthy and hearty.

Speaking of sick kids, my heart just aches for C and Z and all they are going through right now. I never want to be in the position of seeing my child suffer like that. It broke my parents. 10 years later, and they are still not who they used to be. That has been a major turning point in my life; the moment I realized something was so broken that mom and dad couldn't fix it. Of course they have happy times, and Ainslie is a brilliant bright spot--they have friends, they take trips, but I know that there is just this constant weight on their hearts that nothing will lighten.

Continuing on my stream of babble, mom and dad are coming through town tomorrow. Yay. I keep hoping that next time, they can stay at Our House! In the meantime, Ainslie likes going to see them in the hotels with indoor pools.

Enough babbling. Ainslie will be up from her nap soon. She had a big morning with Grandpa. I came home and she was eating a happy meal (with a really cool Ariel crown), had a new stuffed animal, and had ridden the merry-go-round. Twice.

Oh, speaking of Ariel, one more thing. I'm pretty sick of those princesses. They don't do anything. Blech. That said, I will probably purchase the Little Mermaid dvd in the next couple weeks because I do think Ainslie would enjoy it, and watching dvds is an effective bribe at the moment.

Static Status Quo

I'm really, really trying to Bloom Where I am Planted. I got a job. I've put Ainslie in activities, we have an offer in on a house; but you know, there is still that overwhelming feeling of Real Life being on hold. It's amazing how much being in your own space defines what you do and how you do it. Here we are, reticent to join certain organizations, even a church, because we don't know for sure where we will be living and when we will be living there.

Should we move forward even more? I really think that putting an offer in on a house was a good step--we're taking control of the things we can control, to some degree, but now what? We pray, we wait, we hope, we lower the price.

In some ways it's like waiting for Ainslie to be conceived. Ok, THAT was much harder and more agonizing, but it was always a question of, "when we have a baby..." Now, it's, "when we are in our new house..." There are hopes and dreams and decorating schemes we can't wait to get started on, yet we have to.

I have some friends who have been through similar situations (both with babies and houses) and I know it'll work out. I know it will. When I start to doubt our decision to move here, something always happens to reassure me, but still...how much longer?

Overheard from the back seat

Hey iddle-iddle
Cat ad a fiddle
Cow jump obeh the moon
Good Job, Cow!

Dogs, Cats, and Vegetables

As if four adults, a toddler, and nine (yes, nine) animals were not enough, for the past couple weeks this house has also been home to two vegetables, namely Bob and Larry. For the uninitiated, that would be Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber.

I love this toddler imagination. I love that Ainslie invented Mimi the cat and BagoBago the dog months ago. Today, in the vet's office, I told Ainslie that someday she could have her own cat, and she looked at me rather quizzically and said, "I have Mimi."

So anyway, I don't even remember what prompted Bob and Larry to come live with us, but they just pop up everywhere. The tend to travel on my elbow, so to amuse them, I spin around and give them rides. In the car, they ride in the cupholders. When Ainslie sets them down, they hop along wherever we are going. They like to sleep in Ainslie's pockets.

Honestly, I didn't come up with any of this--it's all Ainslie. I love this kid.

Carrie Jane Foresee June 1, 1980-September 3, 1996

Carrie-Bear,

I really can't believe it's been a decade today since you passed away from us. I remember thinking at the time that someday it would get easier to bear; at some point I wouldn't miss you so much. I realize now that is foolish, for although I carry you with me always, you are always too far away, and I miss you terribly.

I still believe you were there with me that night, in our old room at home. I can still remember so vividly the weight (your weight) on the bed as you told me that you would speak to me in dreams so we could remain close, and you have, although maybe not as much lately, when my mind is so full of other clutter.

I've never felt sorry for you; you are perfect, full of knowledge and with the Lord. I know Heaven is a much funnier place with you there. I do, however, feel sorry for myself almost daily, and I'm sorry if that is selfish, but there are so many things I wish we could share in this life. Of course I wish you were here to be a real, tangible part of Ainslie's life. Although she does still look primarily like Craig, she is looking more like me, and if you put pictures of all three of us at age 2 in a row, we all look like the same girl. She has your sense of humor. She thinks Booger is a hilarious word. She has some of your facial expressions, which is such a blessing, but also a constant reminder that you are not here with us. She almost has your birthday, and she was conceived on a cycle that began September 3rd. I wonder if you and she met before she came here.

I often wonder what you'd be doing in your life by now, at the ripe old age of 26. Your friends are getting married and having babies. Sometimes I think you'd be a globetrotting educator, like Heather, and other times I think maybe you would have been perfectly content to live in Slater like you talked about...but I think you'd be seeing more of the world.

I'm slowly turning into Mom, and you are not here to slap me like you always said you would.

You know, I learned so many lessons from you, the Much Littler Sister, and I am still learning from you and your exuberance. Somehow, at 16, you knew what was really important and what was just silly. Fortunately, we all learned that sometimes the silliness is what is really important.

Today really shouldn't be sadder than any other day; it's just such a milestone. 10 years. In 6 more years you will have been gone as long as you were here, yet your time here will always seem larger. Until Ainslie, you were the one person in the world genetically most similar to me, and even with our age difference, you know, we just had that connection. We get each other.

As much as I miss you, mostly I am terribly grateful that of all the sisters in the world, I got to be yours. I'll see you someday--I expect you to be right there to teach me some more.

Love You Always,
Sissy

My Yucky Day, by Ainslie Wilson

Sometimes it is so hard to be 2 years old.

I woke up this morning, ready to play, but not remembering how tired and behind in my sleep I am. I managed to hold it together through breakfast and some playing with Mom, then I became incredibly sleepy and wet my pants, I mean full-out peed in my shoes, for the first time since I can remember. I swear, I just couldn't get the words out in time. After having a bath at 9:30 am, I felt quite ready for lunch, so I ate my leftover chicken and fries and let mom put me down for a nap.

This was all fine, except I awoke at 11 am with no intention of resting at all for the remainder of the day. Instead, I just felt like crying about everything. Mom got mad at me for my continuous crying, and that just made me feel worse, so I cried more. And louder.

Finally, around 3pm, mom said we could go to the Y. Something about she needed just 30 minutes to herself with no one demanding anything from her...? Anyhoo, we got there and my frazzled mom realized that the kids' room re-opens at FOUR, not one o' clock as she had thought, so I didn't get to play with the kids and Miss Keisha, instead, I had to go to the grocery store.

However, things seemed to be turning around. For once, there was a race car cart available and mom let me ride in it. We got all the things I like: bananas, cereal bars, yogurt, and then mom said we could go to Sam's. I love that place! Today we got to try some brownies and ice cream. Good trip.

When we came out of Sam's, the sun had finally come out and Mommy and I both felt we could make it until Dad came home, and ultimately, bed time. When Daddy came home, he wanted to ride bikes with me, hooray! Mommy said she had work to do (?) so she didn't come, but I rode my bike and Daddy walked to my pretend church around the corner where the sidewalk ends. I got off my bike, took off my helmet, folded my hands and sang, "Jesus Loves Me" and said Peace to all the pretend people. Then, I went up for a blessing and a mean, horrible, stupid BEE stung me on the eye. THAT HURT!

By the time Dad ran me back home and Mommy gave me 2 kinds of medicine, I just wanted this day to be over. I ate a little bit, cried some more, and finally went to sleep. Tomorrow just has to be better.

Greener grass?

Sorry to shock anyone, but being a part-time-contract-work-from-home-stay-at-home-mom is MUCH more physically demanding than going to an office job all day. When I worked out of the home all day I got to sit on my derriere most of the day, eat and drink whenever it was convenient for me, and rarely had to bathe someone in the middle of the day because that person had eaten too many mandarin oranges the day before.

Yesterday, for example, my schedule may have sounded simple: do normal Ainslie things, stop by Robert Morris to pick up books and syllabi, be on a conference call at 9:30, work while Ainslie naps. OK...

Get up at 6. Take care of hyperactive blind diabetic Labrador. Put contacts in, along with workout clothes that I did not get to put to use. Get Ainslie out of bed, juiced, fed. Bring laptop downstairs. Create a play-doh station, coloring station, and put in a dvd to facilitate me being on the phone. Participate in conference call, explaining that the noise in the background is Disney's Cinderella.

Wait for client to send documents. Download them, while wrestling Ainslie into clothes. Change my clothes, realizing the dream of working out today is just that.

Go to Robert Morris. Become secretly mortified that my new boss-to-be (who is thankfully a grandmother) is pushing Ainslie around in an office chair to occupy her. Run to packing place to fax back a contract. Get home, feed Ainslie lunch, put her down for a nap, sit down to work. Wish I could take a nap.

I'm not complaining; I feel very, very lucky that I am able to earn some decent money doing things I am actually educated to do and still get to spend so much time with Ainslie. I'm just setting the record straight. Physically, working outside of the home is less demanding.

It's true

ballerinas actually (Ainslie's new favorite word) don't poop in their pants.

Ainslie hasn't had a daytime pee accident since May, but the pooping, well, she just didn't seem to mind going in her pants. If she really didn't get it, I wouldn't mind, but she does get it, since she would also poop on the potty.

So, I told her we could take ballet (or bal-Yay, as she says, which is actually more correct in French) IF she stopped pooping in her pants forever. So far, so good... heck, I'd promise her just about anything right now.

Overheard Toddler Talk

"Actually, Grandpa, I'm not hungry."

"I'm doing math." (as she holds her 5 fingers out in front of her)

"Then we'll go to Ice Deli. How 'bout that?"

"It not Bop, it's TTtttttttop! With an S!"

"...and ballerinas don't poop in their pants."

"oh, it nice of Grammie get me this big girl bed" (as she is supposed to be napping in it)

"Prince not a singer, he with Ellaella!" "And No White."

Any Day Now

I am reeeaaallllyyyyy trying to be optimistic here. We are beyond ready to move into our own house. I won't go into detail, but really, it is so beyond time. You know, for awhile this spring, everything seemed to just be falling into place for us, making us sure this move was the right decision. Well, after a horrid last couple of weeks, I decided the other day to really try to *listen* again and to be optimistic.

So...first I had an awesome second interview to teach at Robert Morris College. This was a pretty unexpected thing to fall into my lap and it looks like I will start there at the end of September. Ok...then I get an email saying that a large project I was supposed to get through Intulogy fell through. Well, crap, I was counting on that in our budget, but trying to stay optimistic, I noted that at least travel for that project would not interfere with teaching, and hopefully, moving.

Yesterday, I noticed that a house that has been for sale Forever had a SOLD sign on it. Good sign.

Barb called to say that the state has instituted some funky process for obtaining a loan in several test areas in Chicago. The areas border our block ever so closely but do not include our house. Good news if someone is deciding whether to live on 102nd place or 103rd place. Ours is now easier.

Got a call this morning for a super-quick, easy design project that will net me personally the same $ the lost project would have, with no travel and frankly, less intense work.

Can an offer be far behind?

I know God doesn't give us more than we can handle.

"Excuse me, is this the E Room?"

"Eh?"

Ainslie nearly has the entire Letter Factory dvd memorized. Maybe because she watches it at least once a day; this morning she watched it twice in a row. I get so excited watching her perfect her knowledge of letters and sounds, and pick out words she has memorized, mostly from the BOB books. She has also taken to talking to herself a lot, and these little 'lessons' about letters or snippets from Sesame Street are what she babbles about.

I have come to realize that what makes me so excited about her pre-reading isn't the fact that she is ahead of the curve for her age (well, ok, so that is part of my excitement), it is really the fact that I can begin to share a passion with someone I love. I love to read, and it makes me so happy to think that Ainslie may very well be a reader too.

To me, there is a chasm between People Who Read and People Who Don't Read. People who read, in my opinion, have higher expectations from life, because we know all these fabulous stories about wonderful characters and exciting places that I can't imagine life without. I hate to think of my life so far without my travels and tribulations with the Ingalls family. I feel like I really know more about the holocaust than what history books teach because I experienced it with Anne Frank and Corrie Ten Boom and Elie Weisel. I've had wonderful adventures in Oz with the Baum books and also with Wicked. Of course, my friend Harry P. has given me hours and hours of adventure, and so has my pal Bridget Jones.

I love the language and double entendre of Shakespeare, the tragic story of Tess of the d'Urbervilles, the unfair treatment of Hester Prynne.

I could go on and on about how much richer a love of reading has made my life. I have pretended to be a princess with Sara Carew as I suffered through my own girlhood "crises". I've traveled across the Atlantic inside a peach. I've seen redemption from a guillotine, and cried tears of bitterness, tragedy, loss, and laughter. I once got myself caught in grade school giggling at something funny in an outside reading book that I was reading instead of paying attention in class. My teacher was actually happy; she said that that was one of the happiest sounds she knew.

So, yes, I hope Ainslie is an early reader. There simply is not enough time to go on all the adventures life and the library have to offer.

Little Things That Crack Me Up About Ainslie

This entry is mostly for Doe and Jena and other friends who don't see Ainslie much and wonder what she is up to. Here are just a few things that crack me up lately.

* She now sings with, nearly word for word, the songs she knows. What is hilarious, is that her current favorite song is, as she says, "Daddy's grampa is 95." The real name of this song is "Dance, Dance, Dance" by the Steve Miller Band, circa 197something. Great choice for a 2-yr old, but I'll tell ya, she does know most of the words, including, "pick on!"

* She has taken to starting many sentences with, "Remember..." and "When I was a little girl.." Of course, now that she is almost 20, I guess she can say that. A few weeks ago, we were talking about birthdays and I was informed, "I be 3 and get gum and make-up!"

* When we were in Lee's Summit, she bounded into my mom and dad's house, declaring, "Here come me, Anee Ilson!" If you ask her her full name, it is Anee Nane Ilson.

* Fruit snacks have 2 other aliases, Boot Nacks, and BobLarrys. BobLarrys comes from the fact that we used to get a brand of fruit snacks that had VeggieTales character shapes.

*Speaking of VeggieTales, Doe, you and Ainslie now share the same favorite Larry moment; the Larry Go Round. She gets it. :-)

* When she goes to look at houses with us, we make her walk with her hands up in the air, like she is being held up, so that she won't touch anything. It also makes us laugh.

* She has started telling me she has questions, but I don't think she actually knows what a question is. For example:

A: Mommy, I have a question.
C: Ok, honey, what is your question?
A: It's about No White (or EllaElla)
C: What about Snow White?
A: I have a question.
C: What is it, honey?
A: About No White
etc

I have never pushed princesses or any character on her, but she loves the Disney princesses, and she informed me today in Target that No White and EllaElla and Minmiss Belle are all friends.

*Speaking of characters, Nick Jr should hire Ainslie to do a cross-promotion with Kelloggs. Here is how she sings the Go, Diego, Go song:
"Eggo, Go, Eggo, Go!" Think of what they could do with that?

There are a million other things she does that crack me up, but these are what come to mind today. There are also things that make me want to run screaming back to a full time job just to drink a cup of coffee in peace, but those aren't the fun things to read about.

Somewhere between Plymouth Rock and Vegas

Lately, our Sunday routine has gone like this: try a church, try a breakfast, look at open houses. I really enjoy this routine because we need to find a church, we need to know who in town has the best breakfast, and I am nosy and like open houses. Oh, and we need one of those too.

Anyway, I want to focus on churches here. Of course, we have kind of a short list of possibilities. It would almost be easier if we had both been raised in the same denomination and that denomination was one that teaches that they are IT. Thou shalt not attend any other brand of church but me. Well, ok, it wouldn't actually be easier because I couldn't belong to a church like that, because, well, darn, the whole thing is cyclical, and that leads to the list of qualifications:

Must be completely ecumenical. Must be accepting of all lifestyles and leave the judging to God. Must offer communion every week. Must have lots of young children. Must like children.

Must like children? What kind of church wouldn't like kids? Well...

So, a couple weeks ago we tried an Uberchurch that people just rave about. Now, don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't like contemporary praise worship, it's just, well--I'll get there in a bit.

So, there is special parking for "1st and 2nd time visitors only." Ok. Nice--except someone met us, literally, in the parking space to usher us inside and show us around. Some would say this is welcoming and helpful. Others might think it's a tad over the top. I guess it depends on whether you like to stand out as a first-time visitor in a crowded auditorium (I'm sorry, I mean Worship Center, not sanctuary) of 1000+ people, or if you prefer to be somewhat anonymous, but our guide was very nice and friendly. He showed us where to sign Ainslie into the children's center and obtain a security number for her. The only shadow passed over our guide's face when we said Ainslie would sit with us, this first time, because that is what she is used to. He quickly showed us the cry room, just in case.

Once we sat down with our glossy brochure (not a mere bulletin) we understood. On the back it states that, "Main worship is not designed for children." Hmmmm.

Ok. Soon, the lights were dimmed and the show began. So here's where I get into the whole Praise thing. I like it. Within reason. Our current church in Chicago offers a choice of traditional or praise services and we attend both. I don't think, however, that a show, in which people are constantly just *performing* is the spiritual experience we are looking for. It also really bothers me when church is held in a Worship Center that looks remarkably like a theater (and that was my major so I'm pretty keen on what one looks like) and has NO CROSS visible. That really bugged us. I mean, what is the POINT?

Then, the kids issue. Worship is not designed for children? On a purely practical nature, how do little ones learn what is expected of them if you don't take them places? Ainslie is certainly not perfectly quiet in church, but she's pretty good for a 2-yr old (most of the time) because we've always taken her. On a more important note, though, HELLO? No kids allowed? Craig thinks it is because the actors and singers don't want their show interrupted. One more thing on the kids. I'm too Protestant to be a proponent of infant baptism, but that is another post. I do, however, like the idea of Baby Dedications. So, this couple comes down with their infant (don't know how they got the kid through security) and the pastor basically says, "Welcome to parenthood. Now sit back down." Of course, he was probably tired after his 40 minute one-man show--sermon. No "Let us welcome this child into our fellowship." No, "Let us guide this child..." etc.

Anyway. Not a great fit for the Wilson family.

This leads me to something else I've been thinking about for a few years. Is the whole Christian Experience different for someone who finds God as an adult than for someone who is brought up in faith? It seems like people I hear speak who find God later in life are more full of wonder, or something, and I think that is great. I guess when you grow up knowing Bible stories and understanding who Jesus is, it maybe isn't as exciting as discovering Him later? Not that my faith isn't renewed, tested, and twisted from time to time, but I just have been thinking about this. The part of this that bugs me though, is the claim of being a Born Again Christian. By baptism, we are all born again, and I don't think there is any special distinction for being more born again than someone else. That just bugs me.

Ok, so I will close with a genuinely happy thought, and I'm not being sarcastic. I have always thought it a particulary neat trick of God's that He gave us minds, and therefore we *can't* really all worship Him in the same exact manner. I do think it's great that we are able to find Him and worship Him in a way that is meaningful for each of us.

Meanwhile, for Craig, Ainslie and I, back to the short list.

You know it's going to be a long day when...

"Mommy! My toes are pink!"

These are the first words I heard from Ainslie yesterday morning. I thought she said her nose was pink, so I rushed across the hall, thinking maybe she was having a nosebleed. Nope. She had somehow reached a little makeup bag that I keep in that room (I like the light and she can play while I get ready) and had painted her fingernails, toenails, arms, legs and nightgown OPI Bubble Bath.

She also drained a liquid eyeshadow, painted the case to my blush and unscrewed the lid to my mascara. Mercifully, she didn't actually open the mascara. I didn't know whether to punish her or laugh, she looked so proud of herself, yet she had that gleam. Of course she knew better. As for how she reached the darned thing, I still can't figure it out. Apparently she's been watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The worst part is, for a 2-yr old, she did a pretty decent job on her nails.

The killer was, when we went downstairs, she told her grandpa, very seriously, "Grandpa, I'm a mess."

Where are the Olympics in 2020?

If you avoid reading blogs where people brag about their kids without restraint or respect for basic decency, you'll want to skip this one.

Ainslie is so STRONG. Seriously. She is the best in her gymnastics class (and the youngest, by half a year from the next youngest kid), and today, we made up Tuesday's class since we were all recouping from the ER nightmare on Tuesday and guess what? She's the best in this class too.

In Chicago, her class was mostly large motor play with some gymnastics thrown in; this one is much more focused on actual gymnastics skills. At first I was put off and was all set to try another place here in town that seemed to do more of the singing and games and stuf, but she loves this class.

Today on floor, they worked on forward and backward rolls and straddle rolls. Ainslie does forward rolls by herself all over the house, she does the backward ones with just a little push, and although they do the straddles on a wedge in class, she just needs a little push. They also worked on handstands (aka Donkey Kicks) and again, Ainslie kicks up high and understands supporting herself with her arms. She is the only one who will start from a standing position, arms over her head.

On beam, she is the only one who can walk forward and sideways with no help, and today they did forward rolls on the beam. Of course they were heavily spotted (ok, carried, lol), but Ainslie was the only one who was Beaming after her turns. She is also the only one the teacher lets 'dismount' (ok, jump off the end of a practice beam) all by herself.

On bars, once she is jumped up and hanging from the bar, she can swing her own feet up, either in a pike or a straddle, and she will swing herself. The teacher counts while the kids hang and Ainslie hangs way longer than the others (like 4-5 seconds longer) AND she counts with the teacher, lol.

My favorite thing, though, is that she is getting better at participating in the class. This is the one area where she has certainly acted like the youngest, but this morning, she only had one outburst of wanting to do something *else*, she mostly listened and did what she was supposed to do.

I'm just so proud. I've been blessed with a child who is strong and smart (and gorgeous!) and good at everything she's tried so far. I hope we can encourage her the right way to be the best at the things she really likes.

If you are about to gag on all this bragging, let me temper this whole nauseating post by saying that we went to the Y afterward and my Super Pottytrained Child had a poop blowout in her new unitard, and had to wear some yucky left-in-the-nursery-at-the-Y donated dress and a Buzz Lightyear Pullup home. Nobody's perfect.

When the Dog Bites

Well, I can still say we haven't had an ear infection yet, but I can't say we've never been to the emergency room. Devid bit Ainslie last night. He was unprovoked, just irritable.
She is fine, and there should be no scarring. He got her right under the eyebrow, a nice deep puncture on the upper cheek and tore a little flap on the top of her ear. Devid will no longer be living here.

Ugh. I held her in the car (flame if you want, I'd do it again), and told her that the doctor was going to fix her boo boos. She told me "My ace urts" a few times and then started singing, "I'm Not Perfect." Made me cry. Oh, Lord, Thank You for this not being worse, thank you for her eye not being torn. I carried my bloody child (I didn't realize I had dried blood down my face and neck too) into the ER wearing only her underpants (I did have clothes for her in the diaper bag, thank goodness) and other people in line to check in let us go ahead--I guess we looked pretty pathetic.

Once they got her vitals, we were put in a little ER room and the wait began. By now, the wounds were pretty dried, and Ainslie was enjoying the bed "ride", going up and down. As doctors and nurses came in to check her, she spoke up and was such a little trooper. One funny moment was when a nurse asked if she could see her ear, and Ainslie pointed to her ear, and said, "it's right Here!"

Finally, she was wheeled into a suture room and this is where it got hard for everyone. My poor girl had to be IV'd and hooked up to all sorts of monitors and then they gave her morphine and some other stuff to knock her out. Too bad these medical professionals didn't know who they were dealing with. Ainslie doesn't go to sleep until she's good and ready to go to sleep, and despite all the drugs (and the local she was given) she didn't go to sleep until after we got home.

One funny thing we learned, and that is that Ainslie is a loving drunk. We had to wait an hour after the stiches to be released so her vitals could be monitored and my little 2 year old was high as a kite. As she lounged in my arms, she told me she loved me, then she told Grandma she loved her (Daddy was out getting the Rx for the antibiotic filled), then a man wandered through on his way to another room and Ainslie says, "I love you, Man!" I told her she was loopy and she says, "I love loopy." Frankly, I could use some loopy right about now.

Today she is fine. Everyone else's nerves are pretty shot, but she is fine. Thank God. I realized that I don't love dogs all that much. I've decided that once Lily is gone (and Lily wouldn't know how to bite someone) there will be no more dogs in our nuclear family until all kids are at least 10 or 12 years old. I'm not going to listen to another small child scream, "Mommy! Mommy!" so pitifully while they are having holes in their face stitched up.

File under: Everyone Should Be More Like Me

Last I checked, air conditioning was invented to keep people more comfortable during hot summer months, not to kill them slowly during the summer by causing their bodies to adjust to a metabolic rate found only in hibernating bears. Don't get me wrong, having grown up in the middle of the midwest, I would never buy a house without central air (or a basement, but that's another post) but ple--ease. It seems the further south you go, the colder people keep the AC. I've noticed, being a whopping 200 miles south of Chicago, people in Springfield seem to favor a temperature in restaurants that completely negates the concept of a hot meal. I'll admit, I'm a Woman Who is Always a Little Cold, but Craig, who is always warmer than I am, had his winter pajama pants out the other night. We went to our Vacation Home in Chicago last weekend and revelled in the thermostat set at 76.

I was in Florida last week and really, people, must you overcompensate so? My hotel room's thermostat was set at 60. I LIKE summer. If I liked being that cold, I'd move north, where they don't have central air.

In Honor of Jacob

It keeps hitting me. Something is terribly wrong today. A friend whom I’ve never met in person, yet feel so much love and empathy for, is going through the worst thing I can imagine today, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. This isn’t one of those “oh, how horrible” things that you hear about and then forget, this is truly the most frightening and incredibly unfair ordeal I’ve ever had a friend experience.

The only reason I’m even writing about this today is because I feel I must somehow mark the day, although nothing I write will come anywhere close to expressing the grief I feel, and the overwhelming darkness of days I know are to come for her and her husband.

Saying “I’m sorry” sounds so woefully inadequate. “It’s God’s will” isn’t what anyone wants to hear today. I honestly don’t think there are words that can make it even a little bit better today. Maybe in days to come, but not today. There simply are no words.

Jules and Brian, I hold your sorrow as my own as you welcome sweet Jacob Daniel briefly into this world, as you hold him and love him, and wipe your tears. If love could fix it, he would be healthy and whole and with you the rest of your life.

Everything I need to know I learned from my Trike

As Ainslie and I were outside riding bikes this morning, I thought to myself that many of life's lessons are learned through learning to ride a bike: protect your head, turn toward the direction you want to go, and push hard over the bumps. As I was standing there, pleased with my profound thought, Ainslie was what seemed like miles in front of me, peddling, laughing and yelling, "Byebye, Mommy, A-nee go byebye by my Elf!"

Why am I teaching her these things again? So she can go byebye by herself? I don't think we'll be riding bikes much more. She's far too young. :-)

Home is where you live with your own little family.

You never really know what you have until it's gone. So true. I never realized how much I love my bath mat. It's just a plain purple rectangle, but now that I don't have it, I miss it. Same goes for my favorite morning coffee mugs, my outdoor furniture, and my dresser, in which I have 4 luxurious drawers all to myself.

Living with other people, even other people who love us and have bent over backward to make us comfortable, is wearing thin. My phone just rang with an agent wanting to show our house. PLEASE let this be it! It's not that we are unhappy, it's just, well...we need our own house. I want to plan paint colors. I want to lovingly decorate each room. I want to get into a routine in our new town and start to put down roots and make some friends. It's just harder when you don't even have an address to give people. Sigh.

Of course, things could be so much worse. We could be renting an apartment and paying a mortgage, or worse, Craig and I could be living apart full-time, so I feel like a whiner for whining, but we need a home for our little family. It is exciting, wondering what lies ahead, but it is really starting to be time for things to start happening.

Maybe this is it? The people are coming to look at 12:30. By 5:00 we could have an offer. Hypothetically.

We have a Broker's Open Thursday too.

Wish us luck?

On the right side of the law

One of Ainslie's favorite ways to pass the time in the car (once she's already removed her shoes) is to try to unbuckle the chest clip on her carseat. Exasperated, I told her that if she takes those straps off and a policeman sees her, Mommy will have to go to jail. That has elicited a very serious "no policeman gets me" every time I buckle her in now.

So this morning, she was watching me get dressed, and as I was adjusting a bra strap, she delightedly announced that no policeman will get Mommy! I had my shoulder straps on, you see. Whew.

Happy Birthday!

Dear Ainslie,

I have been composing parts of this letter to you in my head over the past few months, and now I'm afraid I'll forget something. You are two years old, although you've been telling people you are two for a couple months now. When we try to tell you you're still one, you correct us, saying, "no, two!"

Speaking of the things you say, holy cow, you're a talker! I am so proud of your verbal skills. Before your 15-month check up I counted about 60 words in your vocabulary (although only I could actually understand many of them) and now, well, you pretty much say whatever you want, and you make complete (if not 100% grammatically correct) sentences. Some of your special Ainslieisms include "buttcakes" for "cupcakes" (this is my favorite), "Goosh" (an elision of "goldfish"), and "uggleuggle", which means you want to "snuggle-wuggle." That one melts my heart.

You are a sweet, sweet girl, and you tell us you love us out of the blue. That said, you have a keen sense of humor and a good dash of mischief in you. I wouldn't have it any other way. You love to try to stay up just a "dittle bit" longer each night before bed with promises of needing to potty one more time (you use the potty already!) or wanting to read books (you know we have a hard time saying no to those 2 particular things.) Yesterday, I overheard you chanting your own version of the Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear jumprope chant. You version apparently goes (and this was all on your own...)
Teddy Bear, teddy bear turn around,
Teddy bear, teddy bear touch the ground,
Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn out the light,
Teddy bear, teddy bear...stay up!

You are such a little helper. You follow us closely, and must do everything we do. It never occurs to you that some jobs may be too big---unless there is something you don't want to do! You love to play with the kids on the block, and though you are almost the youngest, you try to do everything the bigger girls do. You are the only 22 month-old I've ever seen do straight somersaults all by herself. Speaking of gymnastics, you also will hurl yourself to the floor or grass, stick one leg up and proclaim that you are doing a cartwheel. You are truly the reason monkey bars are thusly named. I can't believe how strong you are and how you can climb!

You love to go to the park, you love to run, and you love to dance. Many nights we will put music on and the three of us will dance like fools. You also love to play "Ana-eena", which, according to you, means you have to put on a dress, because everyone knows ballerinas need nice full skirts. I have no idea where you've seen an actual ballet, but you leap off one leg, and do your darnedest to spin in the air.

I could go on for days about all the ways in which you delight me. Just this morning, as we were walking Lily, you told me that you want a new baby girl. When I told you we need to pray for a new baby girl, you stopped, clapped your hands together and said, "Amen!" Amen, indeed, Monkeypants.

As far as I'm concerned, now that you are potty trained, you can stop growing up so fast. No matter if or when we get that other baby, you are my first, my oldest baby, and my special, special girl.

Love,
Mommy

Random Observations from The Road

1. I doubt I'm the only person going through security at several airports with a pair of size 2T underpants in her purse. (Ainslie is daytime/pee trained! Hooray!)

2. Does anyone actually buy USA Today and read it if they are not staying in a hotel? Does anyone subscribe to it? Why?

3. The DaVinci Code is a fun work of fiction. Why are people so bothered by a work of fiction? Many of the people who are upset about The DaVinci Code seem to read and write editorials to USA Today.

4. If you know enough to take your laptop out before going through security, why don't you know to take your shoes off?

5. If you are in the back row of the plane you will never, ever make it out of the plane before the person sitting in the front row.

6. When you give the same presentation day after day, it really doesn't matter if you can't remember what city you're in.

7. Things really do get palpably different when you cross the West Virginia state line.

8. I miss my family.

9. Never reserve the class of rental car you actually want. Reserve the tiniest car you could possibly stand, because chances are they will only have bigger cars available anyway. Today I had an Aveo reserved. I'm driving a Taurus.

10. There are people everywhere worse off than you. Be grateful.

Heart Transplant

Ainslie and Craig are spending the week in Springfield next week. Without me. I have to travel for work 2.5 days, and Grandpa is retired, so it makes sense, but...

She'll be fine. She'll have fun. I already can't wait until next weekend.

Be Still

The title may imply this post is about the almost-2-year-old who lives here, and it would be an apt title; but this one's about me.

Mom and Dad have always accused me of being a "hardheaded kid" in terms of my stubborness and inclination, from a very young age, to do things my way, preferably by myself. Of course this personality trait has resulted in more than a few bumps and scratches, physically and otherwise.

But. You know, after all these years I just might be starting to understand that I am not in control. I am not the only person capable of doing the things I do. Most importantly, I do not have to worry about every eventuality the future holds. Some things are simply not up to me. With all the changes in our lives so far in 2006, I have really been praying for guidance, and more importantly, the ability to wait, listen, and follow. Wow. Funny how if I really try and do my part, God is doing his.

I have really been trying to slow down and listen to His directions, and to that still, small voice that tells me All Shall Be Well. Of course I'm still busy and overwhelmed somedays, but things really do sometimes work out if you just sit back and wait for prayers to be answered. I find myself furiously making plans, and then--listening--and telling myself to hold off just a couple more days...

I find myself more willing to let people help me, and guess what? Most other people are every bit as capable as I think I am. Go figure.

Thanks.

Random Ainslie Updates and Stories

This girl cracks me up. As we were driving to Missouri 2 weeks ago, she slept all of 40 minutes out of 8 hours. The rest of the time she talked. And sang. We ALL know our ABCs now. We also know that someday we will go on an airplane with Baby Ben to see Bo Bite and Pooh Bear. We also discussed the intricacies of birthday parties, which has been a popular conversation ever since 1. we made cupcakes for my mom's birthday and 2. It was Boots' birthday on Dora. We will each have 2 blue "butcakes" and sit in chairs. Ainslie will sit in a chair. Daddy will sit in a chair. Baby Ben will sit in a chair. Etc.

Who knew a Veggie Tales dvd could be such a diverse learning aid? Not only has King George and the Ducky taught us that selfishness is wrong, the Silly Song with Larry has uncovered a latent but prevalent interest in manatees. We look at the "amatees" on the computer at least once a day. Where do manatees live? Swimming!

I think it was Suzi who wrote something to the effect of you know when your child is approaching two because she is in a perpetually bad mood. Uh, yeah. Don't get me wrong, she is still usually so easy and fun, but the, "NO, MINEs" and the "NomommynomommynomommyNOs" will get to you.

A fire hydrant is a "lilypeepeepottymikepeepeepotty." In case this makes no sense to you, I once told her not to touch hydrants because doggies go potty on them.

She has learned to take most articles of clothing off. Not much luck getting them back on.

She loves dancing and movement songs/games. She sometimes will arrange her Little People in a circle and sing, "ashes, ashes, we all fall down!" We usually have a family dance party in the kitchen as we clean up after dinner.

I am amazed at her mind. She puts so many more things together and figures things out more than I expect her to. And the memory! She remembers everything--there is no way you can promise her something and then not deliver, she will call you out on it. If you tell her before her nap we will do something later, she wakes up asking for it. She remembers taking her shoes off in the airport when she flew in October!

She knows all her shapes (including trapezoid and pentagon) and colors, and she will include color and number in her description of nouns. She uses verbs and prepositions almost all the time now. She knows most of her letters and sounds and she counts to 10--and she actually counts objects.

In short, Ainslie is perfect.

Walmart is not good for PMS

Most people who know me know that I despise Walmart. I think the corporation is a souless money-machine masquerading as a neoconservative, down-home, neighborhoods-first hero. Essentially, I think they are a big Wolf in Sheep's clothing. Oh, and I generally find the stores to be dingy, poorly lit, and organized as if someone Ainslie's age was asked what should go where.

BUT--they just built one exactly one mile from us. I resisted for over a month--but it was inevitable. When you are down to 1 cup of milk and half a roll of TP in the house and the weather sucks and you just made the much longer drive to Target yesterday, what are you gonna do? Now, today's visit wasn't my first. I am ashamed to say it was my fourth. Each time I've been in there I have left with roughly half the items on my list because they either didn't have such an inoccuous item as Suave hair gel, or the price was significantly higher than I pay elsewhere.

I digress. PMS both sucks and blows, as many of us are aware. Ainslie has taken to getting up at 5:45, I have cramps, it's the first day of Spring but a blustery, raw, 35 degrees and I'm generally disgruntled.

We enter Walmart. Amazingly, they had everything I needed, except a flagpole (our metal one literally blew in half during the wind storms last week--thank goodness it didn't break the window.) I even bought Ainslie some black patents because they were cute and significantly less expensive than anywhere else. Then we went to check out.

Tell me--why are some stores consistently slower on the checkout than others? Can you feel the hormones flowing yet? FIFTEEN freaking minutes in a line with 2 people with a moderate amount of items. Ok, we get out. Breathe. We get to the car. The wind is howling and I'm trying to get Ainslie out of the cold without damaging anyone's car with the cart. The *&^%^$@$#^% buckle on the cart is broken. It's freezing cold and I can't free my child from the shopping cart. Back in we go--by now I'm talking like a crazy cat lady in my outdoor voice about how much I hate Walmart. You know how everything is just that much worse when the progesterone is surging? Finally, we find someone to help us. Finally, she admits she needs scissors. Ugh.

Ok. Any store could have a faulty buckle. Between surges I can admit that.

The best mirror

I don't think you can ever find a more accurate mirror than a toddler. Nothing will show you how you really come across better than a person with no penchant for deception and a straightforward sense of mimicry.

I never knew how my speech is cadenced until I heard Ainslie repeat things I say. I never even realized some of the things I say, and the way I say them. Apparently, in talking to her, I have a tendency to be redundant. I say this because she often says, "Yes, ok," or "Yes, uh-huh, " or "no, uh-uh." I must hesitate sometimes when deliberating her requests, because she's taken to answering with, "ummm..."

One funny anecdote. Last night I was getting her ready for bed, and every reply to me started with "ummm."

Me: Ainslie, do you want pink jammies or purple jammies?
A: Ummmm. Purple jammies.
Me: Which foot do you want to put in first?
A: Ummmmm. This foot. Right here.
Me: Ok, do you want to zip it up?
A: Ummmm, ok!
Me: Do all of your answers begin with Ummmm?
A: (deadpan) No.

The moral of this story is to be very, very careful. They watch. They listen. She attempts to do everything I do. I don't want to show her my impatience with running on Toddler Time, because I do not want her to immitate me being impatient with her. I do not want to be critical of her attempts at new things, because I do not want to see her hestitate to try. I do not want to criticize anyone's appearance (even my own) because I never want her to find fault with hers. Thank goodness she is also a quick mirror--so if I see myself making mistakes I can try to fix them quickly.

One of the Big Questions

This has been weighing on my mind for months now, and I really don't know who to talk to about it.

Why doesn't Little Bear wear clothes? Mother and Father Bear both wear clothes, normal clothes, like you'd expect a bear to wear. Mother wears a dress and apron and Father wears a 3-piece suit, which makes perfect sense, since he is a fisherman by trade.

Once, we saw an episode in which Mother Bear was going through the attic and came upon Little Bear's baby clothes. Wait a minute! You mean they used to dress him, and then they stopped? Why? Given that most of the show's viewers are humans, and not bears, I wish the writers would address some of the finer points of Bear culture and garb. I'd just like to know.

Whine. Worry. When?

I used to think roller coasters were fun. Maybe it is just age, or a Type A personality that shows itself a little more all the time, but I'm sick of waiting for things. Show of hands: Who is good at waiting for the next phase of life to unfurl? C'mon, no matter how much you believe that you shouldn't worry and that things will be as they are meant to be, who is actually good at it?

Where has the girl gone who used to feel measurably more optimistic just singing along with "Something's Coming" from West Side Story? When did I start worrying so much? When did I start to believe that nobody can do things as quickly or as well as I can? Am I alone? Do we all do this?

Specifically, Will We Move? When? When can we fix the things that need fixing? Will we have another child? When? Will we be able to replace my car? When? Will Spring come soon? Will it rain tomorrow?

Do I KNOW that it is not my job to worry about these things? Yes. But. Well, c'mon...raise your hand!

I am That Mother

I am , unabashedly, That Mother. You know, the one who thinks her child is IT. Brighter, better looking, funnier, stronger, more coordinated, more advanced, more Everything than other children. I hate Those Mothers. I have wanted to slap Those Mothers, and here I find myself smiling and nodding when other mothers tell me that Ainslie is a good jumper for her age because she clears the floor with both feet, as I nastily think to myself, "and she has for months and months." I find myself feeling sorry for the moms of children who can not point out "Two birds on top" of the Shell sign as we drive by. I shake my head for the poor mothers with 21 month- olds who can not yet point out most of the letters of the alphabet and make the correct sound. How on earth do people parent children who are not good at pretending Kitchen, Baby Ainslie, and the Stuck Game? How hard it must be to get all the way through a shopping trip without someone commenting on your child's radiant beauty!

I am blessed and lucky. Ainslie has been nothing but easy, and we get each other. I think she even gets the competitive streak that I try to hide from her.

Of course being That Mother is not socially acceptable, and allowing Ainslie to act like That Child would be completely grotesque, but after waiting so long for her and having those painful years to plan all the experiences I wanted to give her, I think I'm somewhat entitled to some of my smug satisfaction in her perfection.

On the Right Path

Do you ever have periods of your life when you feel you are Being Led? It's funny, me quitting my job was scary, but little monetary "good things" kept happening. I got a ton of consulting work last summer, then we got a sizeable escrow refund...then the crap hit the fan a few weekends ago up to and including Craig losing his job. BUT, again, I have some great-paying work, Craig is free to stay with Ainslie, we are getting a REFUND from the IRS (which has never happened in our married lives), and we are planning to move to Springfield.

I have so much to do to get this house ready, especially if Craig starts a job soon (he's already got 1 interview!) and I can't even start until March because I'm just not home, but I don't feel overwhelmed; I feel strangely energized.

I think we are on the right track here. I think we are making the choices we are supposed to make. Like my friend Tammy, I am re-reading the Mitford series, and oddly, I find facets of the story speaking directly to me. Phillipians 4:13, for Pete's sake!

They're ok without me!?

This month is going to be long. I'm traveling 14 days between February 1 and March 2. One of my babysitters is newly pregnant and may have to back out of some of the dates; my mom will be home with Craig and Ainslie for extended periods. My heart is in southwest Chicago, playing happily with other people. How did I ever find the strength to leave her every work day? Of course, she is fine--she is getting to play with Daddy and Xander, and in the next few weeks, Grammie. We've been having this conversation a lot lately:

Ainslie: Mommy airplane?
Me: Yes, mommy has to go in an airplane.
Ainslie: No Ainslie Airplane. Mommy airplane.
Me: That's right, mommy has to go by herself. Who are you going to play with while I'm gone?
Ainslie: Xander. Suzi. Xander toys! No Ainslie airplane.

Bless her heart, she almost understands!

So, here I am, halfway through Trip 1 and they are Fine. I'm so relieved. I miss her so much. I got to hear, "Awoo Mommy." last night. Awoo too, Baby, more than anything!

One small dream fulfilled

In the midst of all the crappy stuff that's happened this past week, I got to do something with Ainslie that I've always visualized doing with my children--we baked! It helps (in this particular instance) that she is very much into "Help Me" (which in her mind is turned around--she is saying, "Me Help.") right now and wants to do whatever I'm doing. She stood nicely on a kitchen chair and ate a snack in between helping me stir. We sampled our frosting along the way to see when we had used enough powdered sugar.

As much as it always irks me a bit to see myself slowly turning into my mother, I have such great memories of doing the exact same thing as a child. Sitting on the yellow folding stool, cutting out cookies, then slowly transitioning from being the helper to being the supervised baker.

It's not that I'm a fabulous chef (the cake was from a mix, but we made our own frosting AND pudding to use the yolks--again, just like Mom!), but there is something comforting to the soul about repeating traditions with your children. Sure, my car may be near death's door and we had a purely HORRIBLE weekend to recoup from, but for that 30 minutes or so, my little girl and I made dessert and it was sweet.

Lord Help Us, We're Getting Dumber

Forget about all those reports that say American schoolchildren know less than their foreign counterparts—you don’t need a report to see that people in this country are losing brain power by the second. This is probably going to be an Everybody Should Be More Like Me entry, so if you read on, at least you were warned.

First of all-- television. It would be hypocritical of me to say that we shouldn’t watch tv, because I personally love the dang thing, but really, over the past few years, 8 out of 10 new shows is a reality show. How creative is that? Fear Factor? Come on! For the few moments I’ve ever spent watching that, I could feel myself becoming dumber. Trading Spouses? You have GOT to be kidding. Do we really need to watch more people make fools of themselves trying to find love on a glorified game show? Meanwhile, Arrested Development, one of the funniest shows ever written, is apparently over the heads of many Americans. The scripts are tight and full of double and even triple entendre, and nobody watches. Why? Is Fear Factor Blind Date Edition on at the same time? Arrested Development runs away with an Emmy and can’t stay on the air, but Fox’s new, post-Arrested lineup includes both Skating and Dancing with minor celebrities.

Then there is public school, or rather, the people who pay taxes to support them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of a public education system. I would like to use one, but because I love my child, I can’t send her to a Chicago Public School. If we lived somewhere where the children actually learned, and didn’t have to wear bulletproof vests, I’d send her to a public school without a problem. What kills me, is that in cities that support public schools, there are people complaining that they shouldn’t have to pay taxes toward schools because they don’t have children using them. SO YOU WANT TO CREATE MORE STUPID THUGS????? Do you want these uneducated people to grow up to live on welfare and have the house next door to you converted to Section 8 housing? Does this somehow SAVE you money?

Hmmm. Well, we’ve backed ourselves into a bit of a corner with the whole Iraq deal. Gas prices are up to stay (a situation the rest of the world has been enjoying for a decade.) So, wait, by Jove, we’ve got it! Don’t worry about being more fuel-effiecient, let’s just drill in Alaska, in one of the last pristine places on earth! The best part is, it’s already ours!

I s’pose this close to New Year’s, I should still be feeling more optimistic, huh?

Potty chair 0, Alphabet 2

All the way home from K-Mart, we talked about the Potty Chair and how we were going to use it. We talked about the Dora underpants we would consider buying next time we went to the store, we even called Grammie from the car to tell her about Boppy Chair. When it comes to toilet training, Ainslie seems to be more about theory than action. We’ll keep trying. She likes to sit on it, on the floor (we got the 3-in-1 thing), fully clothed. Maybe in a few days we’ll work up to sitting on it with her pants off.

Meanwhile, this past week I resolved to teach her 2 letters and their sounds each week. She has completely mastered A and B! Yay! Ask her what A is for and she will tell you it is for Neenee and bapple! B is for Baby, bubbles and bath! She will pick them out of her Letter Factory magnets (best toy ever) and…ok, this was a TOTAL fluke, but she asked me to draw a B on her magnadoodle, so I did, distractedly, and upside down, then I told her to draw one (I was folding laundry and not really totally engaged) LOOK AT THIS:

Mine is the big one (remember I was doing it upside down, my penmanship is somewhat better usually ;-) ) but HOLY COW—she drew the one inside it! Of course I kept asking her to draw more Bs and of course this was a fluke, but I am still so amazed.

So, I figure, at least when she does learn to potty, she can read to herself.