happy mother's day!

Britton's daycare class always makes Mother's Day gifts, and every year they are a hoot. Last year I got the decorated flower pot and purple flower (still alive!). This year I got a coupon book - good for "one free hug" and "breakfast in bed," a construction paper flower, and a construction paper flower basket.

The best part was this questionnaire. Britton's teacher Ms. I told me Britton's answers were her favorite, and I have to agree - her answers made me happy!

This morning, Britton wandered into our room at 6:51 am (oh, the humanity!) and the hub reached over and handed me my card and present. He gave me a gift card for a massage, facial, manicure, and pedicure! I'm calling tomorrow to book it, as I've been whining about needing a massage for months, and my feet look like a giant callus. True story. So, we spent the day hanging out, and the hub made breakfast and wrangled Britton most of the morning. Late this morning we went to Lowe's for a new tree (one of ours out front has been replaced three times, and we're just giving up on its location).

 But this afternoon Miss Britton turned into a royal pain, and I was at my breaking point with her. She kept "having accidents" even though we had asked her repeatedly if she had to go to the bathroom. Then she would refuse to change out of her wet clothes. I was sick of hearing her say "no" and I was about to show her how much, when the hub talked her into some cooperation and an apology. I took her outside to distract her from her mood, and remembered a little spray bottle I had in my cleaning supplies. We took it outside and sprayed down chalk drawings to darken their color. This provided some entertainment for the rest of the afternoon, and no more whiny obnoxious behavior out of Britton.

Britton's "artwork."

Happy Mother's Day!

working from home...a pictorial

I've been working from home since August, and while it was a huge adjustment at first, it's been relatively normalizing since. Of course, back then (when I didn't know any better) I promised myself I'd still do "all the things I do for work now." I may have even believed it, or at least pretended to. But, no, it started to slip.

First was the make-up application.  Not anymore.  And cute clothes?  Ha!  My poor beautiful work clothes are all lined up in the closet, while I alternate among a pair of jeans, some capris, and various tee-shirts.  No stretchy pants...yet.  No pajamas either.  With the make-up went the jewelry.  It's just hard to put effort into your appearance when no one sees you.

See how she's wearing make-up and brushed her hair and is dressed well?  This woman does not work from home!

I still do shower, though if my hair's a little greasy and I don't feel like taking a shower, then I don't.  Basically because there is no office full of people to notice that my hair could hold itself in a ponytail without the help of an elastic band.  

When people find out I work from home, I inevitably get some form of "How wonderful that you get to be home with your daughter all day!"  And I reply, "Actually, she goes to daycare."  And insert the awkward pause here because people find it odd that I stay home to work but I don't keep my daughter with me.  Truth is, these judgers have no idea what it is I do from home.  I am an oil and gas title attorney.  I read title documents to determine who owns what minerals and how much each person owns.  This requires me to read hand-written deeds from 1840, apply intestate succession and distribution laws to the facts, and write an opinion that is 100% correct.  I can't do that and entertain Britton.  Neither would turn out well.

Let's be honest - this woman is not getting any work done with those kids throwing Cheerios at her computer screen

Working from home always seems like a win-win when I have to get Britton to a doctor's appointment, or an emergency comes up, or I want to run an errand, like go to the post office, when it's not lunchtime and overflowing with people on their lunch breaks.  When Britton forgets her Winnie at home, I can take it back up to the daycare without "being late to work."  Britton gets more sleep in the morning, gets picked up earlier from daycare, and now spends over an hour less a day in daycare than she did when I worked outside the house.  No longer do I listen to traffic reports with trepidation - my commute to daycare is less than 5 miles away, and once I'm home I'm technically at work.

But..............it's not all sunshine and roses.  Because while I get a flexible schedule, I also no longer get work lunches, daily socialization, and the connection with other people who don't live with you.  Saying hello to Britton's daycare teacher doesn't count as actual human interaction (and neither do my conversations with Sadie the Wonder Dog).  

"Barb, this fruit salad is delish!"

So I inevitably rely too much on the hub or my sister or anyone who mistakenly calls my phone to give me an outlet for socialization.  I play music to distract from the fact that I don't hear another person's voice for nine hours, until I go pick up Britton.  When I actually do speak out loud during the day, it startles me.  This, coming from a person who used to argue in court all day long, and not so long ago.  

So I guess I'm still figuring out how it works.  And if it will work.  But for now, it works.  Just, please - if I start wearing stretchy pants, please someone stage an intervention, will you?

surprises in my mailbox

Should I start with the good surprise? I will. Memaw and PawPaw now live quite close to the birthplace of Smuckers jellies and jams. The last time the hub was in the area for business, he stopped by their giftshop and loaded up on cherry jam and his childhood favorite red plum jelly. So, come Thursday, there was a little package in the mailbox for Britton...

 Socks!  Don't lie - you want these in your size.

And a "Cupcake" apron...

Britton wasn't as excited about modeling the apron as she was about the apron itself! After all, Dora was on.

So, that was a nice surprise in the mailbox. What was the not-so-nice surprise? Indulge me on the long story, if you will. I recently signed up Britton for ballet at daycare. Their recital is May 21st, as in about four weeks after she started ballet! If I had known, I would have delayed signing her up, but she's in the class now and that's that. For their recital, they have to wear a white short-sleeved leotard, white tights, and a pink tutu. The tutu is provided by the ballet school, but we have to buy the leotard and tights. The tights were easy to find at Target. The white leotard, not so much. So I ordered one. It arrived, a size too small, so I had to return it and order a bigger size. It was scheduled to be delivered on Thursday too. The hub brought the mail in, and this was in there...

"Damaged in Handling.  Please accept our apologies."

I promptly investigated and found that not only was the original packaging ripped open, but the leotard had been run over by a tire!  And perhaps someone in the postal services arena has a grudge against ballerinas, because I swear that black dirt was ground into the leotard.  And there were holes.  And see that price tag?  It was ripped up too.  I think you'd have to really want to inflict this kind of damage.

This was on the back - it's long and will make you angry if you read it while holding your daughter's destroyed leotard.  My favorite part is the line, "We hope you understand."  My second favorite part is the giant heading, "WE CARE."  See, the post office cares!  They may have destroyed my leotard, but it's fine because they CARE!

The leotard.  Done.  Destroyed.  I went to the post office, receipt in hand, and you know what happened next.  There's nothing they can do!  Say huh?  Because the shipping company didn't insure the package, it's not their problem.  Seriously.  The post office worker told me it was the shipping company's fault for not using a box!  Apparently I have to buy insurance from the post office in case the post office is incapable of doing their job.  Think about that for a minute, will you?  Do restaurants sell you health insurance in case their food gives you food poisoning?  Do airlines sell you life insurance in case your flight crashes?  No, and frankly it pisses me off - they are making money off selling the insurance, when in reality I have every right to expect that the very essence of their job - getting a package from here to there - is done correctly.

So I called the dance company, and explained what happened.  Having already paid for shipping three times (on the original small leotard, the return, and now this bigger leotard) I was in no mood to make an $11.95 leotard into a $50 one.  Luckily, they are shipping me a new leotard.  And the customer service lady's last line to me was priceless.  "Yes, ma'am, we're shipping out a new leotard.  BY FED EX."

thirty-three months old

Britton is all of 33 months old today! I write this while looking at the baby monitor, and seeing the little girl I put to bed over 40 minutes ago sneaking back into her bed with a book. She is flipping the pages, and I can't really be mad because at least it's a book. Plus, my sister and I used to read "Sweet Valley Twins" and "Babysitter's Club" until the wee hours, so I get it. The "new bed" seems to be going well (at least, until tonight!), though Britton really does not like the sheets on her. And she's mastering the potty training, having barely any accidents during the day. She still wears a pull-up at night because I'm not excited about doing any more laundry than I have to!

Britton is still eating well, and brushes her teeth by herself every night. We spend a lot of time playing outside, going to the park, and watching Dora. And Britton is into painting and coloring and as always, stickers.  She loves Sadie so much now, searching her out for playing.   And Britton's newest interest is brushing my hair!  She puts in bows and pony tails and just has a blast.

Likes: lemonade, sunglasses, chapstick, skirts and dresses, flip flops, Sadie, and flowers


Dislikes: napping, being rushed in the morning, and having someone else wash her hair (and rinse her hair, but I just have to because there's usually shampoo left)


Books: "If You Give a Cat a Cupcake" by Laura Numeroff; "Dora and the Enchanted Forest;" "Dora's Big Pony Race;" "My Book of the Seasons" by Stephanie Calmenson; and "Do Princesses Wear Hiking Boots?" by Carmela LaVigna Coyle

Funny story - I went out last night to get some shirts at Hollister for my nephew's birthday, and Britton saw the bag this morning. She pointed at it and said, "That girl doesn't have a shirt. She needs a shirt!" Ha!

the bed has arrived

UPS descended upon our house on Thursday, delivering the bed guardrails, the bedding, and the bed! Britton was very excited about the bedding, and insisted on opening the packages so she could spread it all out. I even kept the labels from the bedding to put in her memory book. Here she is showing it all of to Sadie...

And then Saturday morning the hub and I took Britton to the mattress store to get a mattress. We laid on three different mattresses, comparing support and cushiness and durability. None of which you can really be sure of after only five minutes of laying on a mattress! The salesman, Mr. I Know Everything About Everything, suggested the pillow top and we had already been leaning that way. But I worried that the pillow top would make the mattress so tall that the guardrails wouldn't keep Britton in the bed!

We decided to just put in the mattress and box spring, and hold off on the bed until she gets used to the whole thing. Luckily we had time for her to try it out during nap (when she spent thirty minutes on and off and on and off and on and off the bed) and she never slept. But come bedtime that night, she snuggled in ready for her new bed. She did ask me what happened to her old bed, and I told her we still had it, but we were trying out the new bed for at least one night. I wanted to give her an "out" if she wasn't ready. And we only referred to the bed as her "new bed," not "big girl bed" so if she didn't want it anymore she wouldn't feel badly about it. A few extra hugs, an extra book, a turned-down request for me to sleep with her (not going down that road!) and she was asleep.

And she never got up until Sunday morning, perched at the end of our bed!

creepy crawly yucky

Have I mentioned my many many many issues with living in Texas? Sure, it's always hot, and no one can drive well or at least legally. But have I mentioned the........ SPIDERS the size of your hand? Or the SNAKES that like our driveway? Let me explain.

 A couple of weeks ago the hub found a snake sneaking up our driveway, so he promptly killed it with a shovel. We figured it was a one-time thing, you know? Well, later we went walking to the park, and our neighbor showed us a glue board he had stashed in his garage. There was a snake trapped on it. Our neighbor said that snakes like to get in on the sides of the garage door so he uses rat glue traps to get the sneaky snakes that make it in. The hub and I decided that we should put a couple out too. Just in case. 

Two days ago Britton and I were leaving the house through the garage to go to the park. I got her into her wagon, and we were pulling out of the garage when I noticed a snake curled up next to the garage door edge. It wasn't in a glue trap, it was just sunning itself next to the door.  Not wanting to freak out Britton, I told her we had a quick pit stop before our walk, and went to my next-door neighbor's house. He wasn't home, and neither was the next neighbor. On our third stop we finally found someone at home! I explained that the hub was out of town and I don't deal with snakes well and I just needed someone to make it go away. They came over but the snake was already gone and we couldn't find it. We searched and searched but there was no sign of it. So I thanked them for their help, and Britton and I went on our walk. She asked where the snake was and I told her he left. She then said, "He went home to his family. To eat dinner." Already emotional from the snake fiasco, her explanation made me almost cry!

 Well, I tried to forget about the whole thing, but I couldn't so I spent the night researching how to get rid of snakes. I went to Lowe's the next morning (out the front door, not the garage) and bought new glue traps and mothballs (snakes hate the smell apparently), and when I got home I went to put them all out. Except, I saw this...

And these....

I freaked out. Just lost it. I could in no way deal with a snake and two huge spiders. Even writing this makes my skin crawl. Eventually I went out to see if the snake was still alive. I didn't want to kill it, I really didn't, because snakes are fine if they just leave me alone. And you can release them from the traps by pouring vegetable oil on the snake to dissolve the glue (of course, taking the trap and snake far far far away from your house first).  But really, that snake was kind of flat and if not dead it was close to it. So in the trash it went. The spiders too. Then the trash cans went to the curb. Now I have 100 glue traps all over the garage and it stinks like an old attic in there from the mothballs!

 Sadie got a crown for not attempting to "play" with the used glue boards.

becoming mortal

My college roommate Carrie taught me the art of the scrapbook. We would go out, us and half the floor of our dorm, go out to parties and bars and places I never perfectly described to my mother so she wouldn't worry. Then, the day after, or the day after that if we couldn't lift our hung-over heads from our pillows, we dropped off film for one-hour development and waited. Pictures spread all over our tiny room's floor, and magazines and scissors at the ready, we filled magnetic-page albums with proof of our lives. I remembered the introduction page to my album documenting the year after I graduated college, and I would like to share it:

  "On July 16, 2001, I set out for Richmond, Virginia hoping to see the big city, tall skyscrapers, millions of lights, and even more people. In other words, to find everything Blacksburg could not be because even after being there only four years, small is small. 


 I thought how incredible it would be, diploma in hand, to get a "real job," room with Jennifer Clark, go out every weekend in a town of more than 10 bars. But I never thought that I wouldn't be able to find a job and without a job, it doesn't matter how many bars a city has to offer. Besides, I was a college graduate - doesn't that count for anything? Not really, unless you have the golden word of employment: experience. 


 Bartending in college may have given me extra cash and free drinks in Blacksburg, but here in Richmond it became what I used to do. And Virginia Tech became the school I used to attend. And Blacksburg became the place I used to live. 


 Suddenly, rushing towards the real world, towards forty-hour work weeks, bedtime at 10:00 p.m. and still being tired when the alarm rings at 7:00 a.m., towards medical insurance, dental insurance, car maintenance, paying rent, researching long-distance calling plans, and dropping off dry cleaning seemed second rate, the way you view Busch Gardens when your parents promised Disneyland. Spending eight hours a day at a job fit for a high school dropout so I can pay rent on the apartment that I never spend time in because I have to go to work. 


 And then I remember back when college was new, and sleeping in meant that you didn't see the sun that day. When going downtown on a Tuesday night wasn't frowned upon, but encouraged because class wasn't until noon, so why not? When the only thing that made life worth living was the fact that your 21st birthday was only 3 months, 2 weeks, and 27 days away. When responsibility was considered something that people with 4.0s and children had, definitely not people like us. 


 But you know what? Life isn't lived looking behind you, wanting to change certain things, hide little details, or wishing you could go back. Have you ever walked looking behind you? Eventually, and sooner than later, you either run into someone or something. So, my eyes are looking out and around, memorizing my nephew's hands that will never be that little again, studying the tree in front of my apartment that rivals any tree on Skyline Drive, looking in a mirror at the face that uses wrinkle cream and zit cream every night, and neither is doing its job. But that's life. So, why write an introduction to this scrapbook and not the others? Well, this is one from the first year of my life as an (almost) adult." 


 I remember when I wrote this, because at the time life felt very long to me. Everything up until that point seemed to last forever - getting to middle school, first dance, first kiss, driving, drinking, graduation, college. It felt like I had been in those places forever. It was a time when life was easy to remember.

 I told the hub the other day that I know why some people choose not to have children. Simply, it makes them immortal. We all have friends, family, siblings, parents, co-workers even, that continue to live and change along with us. New job, marriages, divorces, moves to this state or that - we all change but the thing is, we're all changing at the same time. There is an inherent selfishness to a childless life, indulgent of what we want, when we want it, whether we need it or not. But having children is different. I don't care how hard your job is, or how difficult your new college is, or law school, or how long your commute in a new city is. Nothing will alter your world so profoundly, and so permanently, as having a child. Because unlike most things in our lives, children are forever.

And it's with that realization that we parents become mortal. Because with that realization we also become aware of our own responsibility in not just producing a child, but producing a child that is a benefit to society, a society of which we won't be a part of in the future. A child that contributes without destruction, a child that seeks to learn and educate, a child that desires to make things more beautiful, more clean, more more. 

A legacy. And cruelly, while we are coming up to an age where dreams are scrapped for reality. I can no longer move to New York City. Or become a new artist rep for a record company. Or compose music. Or travel the world. Regardless of if I ever actually wanted to do those things, I am now at a place in my life where I have to shake those ideas off the "to-do" list. Not bitterly, please understand. And certainly not all dreams. The real dreams, the ones you hold to your core, the ones that make you get up in the morning - they persist. It's the fanciful, what-if dreams that get replaced. 

 I am becoming increasingly aware of how fast time is moving now. I see it in Britton's monthly pictures (time for that again?? We just took it!) and in how the hubs and I discuss when Britton will start preschool and in ordering big girl beds and Britton using the big potty all on her own without a peep about needing help. I hear it when strangers remind me to "enjoy every minute! They grow up so fast!" and I nod and say, "They sure do!" because it is actively happening in front of me.   And I know that there will come a time that I am no longer in her world - when I will pass the baton and hope I did it all right.