Uppercase Woman

23 Months

My Darling Tori Anne,

You are 23 months old. Do you know what that means? Next month you will be TWO. I can't believe it. Unlike last year at this time, I have done no thinking about your birthday party at all. No, really, not a bit. However, your Daddy wants one thing for sure at your party: a pony. Yes, he's quite serious.

Several things have changed this month. One of the biggest changes didn't come from you, it came from us. We made the decision to stop letting you run roughshod all over us, and actually begin practicing some discipline and instituting--and honoring--some boundaries. We decided that you cannot be trusted to walk on the sidewalks unrestrained (after the third time you ran into the street) so we got you a leash. OK, not really a leash, but a little backpack that we buckle on to you that has a, well, leash attached to the back. It's been wonderful, because you don't seem to mind it and now when we walk there is NO STRESS. It's wonderful. Our new focus on keeping you safe includes the three "R's": restraint, restrict, and redirect. It has made a huge difference, and honestly, I think you are happier too. Luckily, all those times we let you watch Dora have come in handy; whenever we have to put the leash on you, we just sing the backpack song, and you happily don the contraption. See, there is a point to that annoying show after all.

You continue to be the bravest little girl I know, running far and fast, climbing high at the playground, and flinging yourself down slides while yelling "Whee!" at the top of your lungs. Nothing holds your attention for too long, however, unless there are other kids involved. Your favorite thing to do is to trick the older kids into chasing you. You love that, and when it happens, you laugh and laugh and laugh.

We took you to the zoo again recently (you hadn't been in almost a year) and WOW did you love it. It was amazing for you to see in person all those animals you've read about in your books and seen on television. You especially loved the monkeys, running up to them all yelling "Monkey!" and then making monkey sounds. It was adorable, but the monkeys just looked bored.

I know I say this every month, but your language skills have gone CRAZY. You say at least five new words a day, or at least words I haven't heard you say before. You repeat almost everything we say, which I learned the other day when you dropped your sippy cup in the car and said, "Oh fuck." You parrot sounds, songs, and words with frightening accuracy and your understanding of the words is amazing. You frequently speak in short sentences now (just the other day you said, "Mommy, sit on couch!"), and are more and more able to make your demands very, very clear.

You have also been able to grasp much more complex ideas over the last few weeks. You understand now what we mean when we say "later" and you always remember what we promised to do. Some of the concepts you get now are challenging, particularly the idea of "mine." EVERYTHING is yours. Luckily, since you know what something means when it's yours, you are also getting much better at understanding when something is NOT yours. Lucky for us. You are much better at leaving my laptop alone now (except for that time you pulled on the cord while it was charging and pulled it to the floor--fun times).

You are still great at two things--two BIG things. You are a great sleeper (12 hours a night uninteruppted plus a two+ hour a nap every day? And you sleep until 7am most days? We are SO LUCKY), and you are a good eater. Although you almost never eat vegetables. Unless we sneak them into something. Luckily, I read about a million blogs by mothers of toddlers, and you are just like every other child in the world--subsisting entirely on a steady diet of chicken nuggets. Luckily, you eat fruit and fruit strips, and you happily eat your "candy" every day (it's actually a vitamin; someday I'll tell you). You are growing fast and furious, and are cuter every single day.

Tori, you have lit my life up from the inside out. Each day with you is a wonder, and I cannot thank you enough for giving me back the small things in life: the beauty of dandelions, the joy of blowing bubbles, and the simple peace of cuddling on the couch. You are a dream come true, and I cannot wait to show you the rest of the world. I love you more and more each day.

Love,

Mommy

One of Those Annoying Mothering Confessions

So, I've become a yeller.

This is the last thing I want to be. It's not like I have a family history of it either; my mom faced plenty of hurdles raising me and I have to say, I have no memories of her yelling much until I was a teenager (then, alas, said yelling was sadly deserved). But me? I yell. I yell at Tori constantly.

And I hate myself for it.

Plus, it's completely ineffective.

Even as I type this I want to explain myself, and blame Tori--blame her spirited ways (and yes, before eight million people say it, I will get that book), her challenging sheer physicality, her incredible curiosity, and her grabby grabby grabbiness (a couple of days ago she climbed up onto a dining room chair, onto the table, found the salt shaker, and salted the entire first floor. Then danced in it). I want to throw up my hands and say, "It's not my fault! I just don't know what else to do!"

But I don't want to keep doing it, and, like I said, IT DOESN'T REALLY WORK.

The underlying issue is fear, of course. Tori has now not once, not twice, but three times run into the street. She is very fast, refuses to hold our hands (she cries and lies down if we try) and when carried lunges about so strongly that both Charlie and I think we have concussions from being head butted. So if we are walking to the playground (a mere block away), we have to try to herd her to keep her out of the street. And if we come to a driveway, she sees the downhill slope and is all like WHEE! and runs right down it into the street. Honestly, I don't think it should require the full attention of two adults to walk a toddler a block.

But see, I'm doing it again, I'm explaining how it's Tori's fault, her over exuberant behavior that causes both me and Charlie to frequently exclaim "TORI! NO!" at top volume. Tori's reaction? About 50% of the time, she turns around to see what the excitement is all about.

Gah.

This whole thing is made to seem even worse by our wonderful neighbors who have a boy about six months older than Tori that Tori loves to play with.  We spend a fair amount of time either in our front yards or in their back yard. These neighbors never yell. They admonish their son gently and with love and he responds to it every single time. Even though they just had a second baby, they still never raise their voices. Admittedly, when they gently admonish Tori, she completely fucking ignores them the same way she completely fucking ignores us. 

I don't know what to do. I'm not sure I'm asking for advice here; in fact, let's just say I'm not, that instead I'd prefer sympathy and empathy. Right now advice would feel a bit too much like punishment (I'm having a sensitive day, what can I say--I just stopped taking birth control pills so my hormones are whacked and I'm turning 40 Saturday!).

I will say that whole "talk to your toddler like a Neanderthal" thing does work with Tori occasionally. Using short word combinations I know she knows and looking her dead in the eye can get her to respond (mostly "No kick Mommy!" and "Slide? Playground? Eat lunch!" that sort of thing). But even that is useless in communicating to her that if she runs into the street when a car is coming... I can't even think about it.

My options seem to be to restrict her further--like not allow her on the front lawn unless we fence it in (which NO ONE in our neighborhood does, I'm sure it would NOT go over well), put her on a damned leash, or just not go outside. I could put her in the stroller to walk the block to the park except the only thing she hates more than holding my hand is the stroller (plus, the whole point is to get her to exercise, and walking is good for her!).

Damn it. I just want my daughter to be safe, and that's why I yell, because she terrifies me with her fearlessness and bravery and curiosity.  But the yelling is just increasing MY anxiety and not improving her behavior, so it's got to go.

Man. Just tell me that this gets easier soon, OK?

22 Months

My Darling Tori Anne,

I swear this month went by faster than I thought possible. It's been a busy month, a good month, and you've changed a lot, and all in very good ways. Last month I thought I'd tear my hair out in frustration at your antics, but in the last couple of weeks something has broken through in that noggin of yours and you've gotten much easier to cope with. We've had some really good times lately and you seem to have settled back in to being home and doing things with us quite easily.

We still have a couple of disagreements: you still run at the pool, which is a no-no, and you don't come when we call, and you don't like holding our hands when we cross the street OR being picked up (apparently you prefer the third option, being mowed down by a car, but we'd rather skip that if that's OK). But over all, you can focus on activities more these days be in drawing, painting, or playing ball (the rare times we can play ball at home, when the dog is out).

We've discovered that while the YMCA closest to us doesn't have afternoon swim hours, one that shares membership privileges not too far away does and we have been taking full advantage. You love swimming, and you jump in fearlessly, and wade in up to your chin fearlessly, and will duck your head underwater fearlessly. Indeed, other adults say that word more about you than any other: fearless. Frankly, we could use you having just a touch MORE FEAR. But the swimming has been a great way to tire you out and get all of us some exercise, and we all enjoy it, although we haven't gone as much this week cause this is Mommy's migraine week. Hopefully when you are older you won't remember these horrible weeks of Mommy's migraines. With any luck they will be a dim, dim memory even for Mommy.

We've also been trying to encourage Spring's arrival by going out and hiking more. You always like the first part of the hike and will gamely walk along for about a mile or so, and then you prefer to stop and do things like ride the dog, or, oddly, comb your hair with a muddy stick. We haven't exactly figured out how to handle the last part of the hike where you no longer want to walk, or be carried, yet. We'll get there.

You are also so much more a kid now. I took you to story time at the library yesterday (where, oddly enough, I was treated no differently with the pink hair--still, no one talked to me) and you were much more interested in the games and activities and other kids than you were a few short months ago. You also finally have become interested in that tutu your Internet auntie made for you and have been wearing it and dancing about in it, which is just too adorable for words (and we won't tell her about putting it on the dog, OK?).

You are an amazing child. Yesterday I found at the store for a mere $20 a kid's laptop and in a desperate hope that if you had a toy laptop maybe, just maybe, you would leave our laptops alone, I bought it. It said it's for 3-5 year olds, but I decided not to care, and OH MY GOD you love it. It's your new favorite thing. You wanted to take it to bed last night. You'd rather play with it than eat. And I had no idea that you knew which was the number seven, and yes, you will sit and play with it while we work, which is HEAVEN.

Watching you grow up is such a joy, but it is going by so quickly already! I feel like it's spinning faster and faster and I'm already forgetting important little details that I will be so sad to not remember. You continue to push and challenge us, but you also continue to make my heart grow and grow. I am so filled with love for you sometimes I can barely breathe. You are my wonderful, fantastic, spectacular little girl. I love you, Tori Anne.

Love, Mommy

PS: I couldn't help but include some video clips this month. :)

Scarred Hands

The Sunday after Easter is often the time, in Christian churches, when the story of doubting Thomas is told. If you are like me and are either a really shitty Christian or not a Christian at all you may not know that the phrase "doubting Thomas" comes from the story in the bible where the apostle Thomas refuses to believe that Jesus has risen from the dead until he, personally, "sees the wounds in his hands and touches the wound in his side." Naturally, as it works out, Jesus shows up yet again and the lucky bastard does get his proof and is gently admonished by Jesus who says, "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet still believe."

Of course, this is where the rest of us are. We are the ones who have not seen, whether it's Jesus or whatever form of God or God-like spirit you want to believe in. Imagine how much easier it would be to believe? It seems to me that the apostles had it rather easy, eh?

I've been a pretty strong doubting Thomas since the boys died. Worse, I've been all "Yeah, God might exist but he doesn't love ME." It's been an uphill battle changing my own mind about this the last few years. My minister on Sunday closed his sermon with a story that touched me profoundly. He told about a young boy living on the frontier with his grandmother, and how one night their house caught fire. Because it was a frontier town, there wasn't much of a fire department, so although the grandmother tried to rescue the boy on the second floor, she was overcome by smoke and perished on the first floor. The boy was upstairs yelling for help as a crowd gathered, not knowing what to do. Finally, a man in the crowd pushed his way forward and began climbing up the iron drainpipe to rescue the boy. The drainpipe, of course, was searing hot from the fire, but the man managed to get into the room, put the boy on his back, and climb back down while the crowd cheered.

After the fire burned out, and things had settled down, a town meeting was called to decide where the boy would live. The whole town came to see to the boy's fate. A farmer stepped forward, and said, "I'll take the boy; I can teach him a valuable trade!" Everyone nodded with approval. Then the town's teacher stood up and she said, "He can live with me; I'll make sure he gets a wonderful education!" More heads nodded. The town's banker stood up self-importantly and said, "I'll make sure he lives in the largest house in town!" Everyone seemed to think that was splendid.

Finally, the meeting leader asked if there was anyone else. There was a pause, and then, from the back of the room a man stood up and said, "I can't offer much. I can't teach a trade, or provide a big house or a great education. All I can offer is my love." Then he pulled his hands out of his coat pockets and showed the scars covering them and of course it was the man that had climbed the drainpipe and rescued the boy. The boy ran into his waiting arms, and the meeting was over, because the decision had been made.

...

This story was, of course, compared to Jesus. My minister compared the burns on the man's hands to the scars from Jesus being nailed to the cross. I must confess, while I remain steadfast in my refusal to fully succumb to the allure of Jesus-ness (Jesus-ocity?), I was moved. Deeply moved, and deeply humbled.

I realized that God doesn't promise us much; not big houses, not great educations, not even the rescue of our loved grandmothers that burn to death below us--or, if you will, the loss of our twin boys. But God did sacrifice something--I'm not sure what (Christianity says God sacrificed his son; interesting parallel there, no?) to bring us that love.

Oh, it's been such a long time since I could feel that so clearly.

I hope I'm telling this right. It's so hard to communicate it effectively. I've been trying to impart a tiny piece of this truth, or maybe this hope, to our friend Fred (remember Fred? the guy from my church that was working for us?) who is continuing to struggle. He's not struggling so much with his sobriety these days, but that's only because he has no money to buy drugs with.

I've been trying to explain to him the idea of pride, and the idea of humility. I've had some good lessons in humility lately, such as my unattractive reaction to the woman that attacked me last week (respond, don't react--I'll file that one away), and the gentleman that took me aside at one of my meetings and asked me to share more kindly about my husband (ack), among others. For me, my spiritual journey is a constant battle of humility and pride.

Fred's battle with pride seems unlikely, considering that he's homeless. He was kicked out of living at the church (for good reasons I won't get into here). He briefly went into a rehab, but left after a few weeks. He recently was offered a dishwashing job but had a communication issue with the boss (primarily because he doesn't have a phone and uses ours) and took that as a reason to not take the job), and actually said he was better off sitting outside on a bench than washing dishes.

I got so angry with him. When I told him to practice some humility, what he hears is he has to eat shit. When the jobs he wants won't hire him, he says to me, "Do I have a sign on my forehead?" and I think, yes, Fred, you do, you have one that says, I won't take any shit and that make bosses not want to hire you. He cannot see that the situation he's in is one of his own making and that he has to bow his head and act humbly if he wants his life to change. Even though the only time he eats is when he's here (I just found this out yesterday, and it makes my heart hurt). Even though he gets maybe five hours of sleep a night at the shelter.

He cannot see God's love. He does not see the scarred hands. All he sees is the lack of the nice house, and the good education, and the job. He only sees deprivation. He refuses to see the abundance, although it's hard to blame him--it's got to be difficult to see abundance when you only eat four or five times a week and you are living on the street.

I do not know how to give this to him. I do not know how to impart humility. I do not know how to give the gift I've been given--the ability to see past all the pain, and instead see the joy. I have been given a great gift! I have such an amazing life, and somehow, after all my railing against it, all my self-pitying bullshit, I still have God's love. What a wonder.

But no matter what I do, I cannot take Fred's face and force it into the light. I do not see good things for him right now. I do not want to withdraw my helping hand, yet I do not know how much more I can do. He sees our helping hand withdrawing and it only makes him more bitter, more sure that God has rejected him.

It's hard work, being the only tenuous connection someone has to God. Especially when you aren't sure if that is what you are actually doing; if instead, what you might be doing is helping someone continue to tread water when they should actually be swimming to shore.

But I digress. I wanted this to be a happy post about how I felt so sure that I could once again feel God's love; and it is, and I do. Oh man, I really, really do. But that makes it all the more clear that some people don't feel that same love, and that hopelessness I feel from Fred is so stark and awful I can almost not bear it.

So, I'll ask a favor of you all. Pray for him. Think good thoughts for him. Because I think the end of this road for him is coming; either he will turn toward the light or he will turn toward, well... the place that addicts and alcoholics go when they don't: jails, institutions, death. But I hope he turns.

Because MAN is this a great place to be.

On A Much Lighter Note: The New Hairdos

I finally have pictures of Tori's splendid new hairdo, thanks to my awesome friend Danielle:

Sorry for crappy photo quality. I've had a bad photo week.

And, once again thanks to the wildly amazing gifts of my friend Danielle I present Cecily's pink hair do-over, 25 years later:

Children openly stare, teenagers are green with envy, and adults carefully look past me. It's hilarious. By the way, she dyed my eyebrows too which is why they look twice as big and I look kind of pissed off (and why I had to don sunglasses for this photo--much plucking must happen).

I must say, it has cheered me immensely. Nearly 40 is the PERFECT time for pink hair, because it's just for fun and not for rebellion. It rocks.

Video!

As my thanks for being kind enough to answer that very awkward survey (much less awkward if you are a blogger, I must say), here are two miscellaneous clips of Tori. One features Tori singing with Charlie, and one is of Tori attempting to use chopsticks. Perhaps I'm cruel to include that one, since it ends so badly, but it's just so damned funny to me because, frankly, I wish I was still allowed to respond that way when things didn't work out for me either. Heh.

21 Months

My darling Tori Anne,

Yesterday you turned 21 months old. But everyone agrees that you are mature for your age, and that you, in fact, have hit what folks like to call "the terrible twos." I'm not going to say that you are terrible. No, I'm not that kind of mother. I'm just going to say that you are, well, demanding. Challenging. Exasperating. OK, wait, even that sound too negative. It's just that your brain is firing on 25 cylinders, and I only have 12, and I can't quite keep up. It's not your fault, it's just that the world is such that toddlers aren't able to be raised in the wild where they can run all day long at will anymore, and as a result, we grown ups that are in charge of you can't quite cope with your incessant need to pry, poke, twist, climb, and pull on everything in the universe. We don't get it. Basically, you need to go live at a place like the Ikea foam ball bin until you are four or five. Then it will be fine.

Are you familiar with the old Celtic Myth of the changelings? This is a myth where parents believed that faeries or elves replaced human children with their own, leaving in their place a much wiser and more wily child that they would have to raise. Sometimes the human parents would take these kids and leave them outside for several days in the elements until they were so weak with hunger that they believed that the elves had switched the children back and they would bring the kid inside again. I think this was really all about the start of the so-called terrible twos because, honestly, one day you were this sweet cuddly and mostly rational child with reasonable requests and then suddenly a switch was flipped and you became this maniac that we could not seem to please. I find myself suddenly being somewhat empathetic with parents that created a myth that involved leaving their child outside for a few days until they become a bit quieter. Not that I'd ever do that to you--I promise, I would NEVER. But if you see me standing in the corner of the room banging my head on the wall because you just yelled "No! No! No! No! No!" and threw the third meal I'd offered you to the floor and the dog ate it all and now you are crying because it's gone, know that I'm doing that because I love you and the head banging is my alternative to surrendering you to the elements.

You've become very fussy about food in the last month. Sometimes you chow down on anything--when we were on vacation (we'll get to the vacation in a moment) you ate a LOT of beans and rice, and luckily, we were in a place where that was very easy to get. But you've developed a great deal of very specific preferences lately, such as food must be in its wrapper--if you are eating a fruit leather strip (very healthy, organic, I promise), and it falls out of the wrapper, you become completely dismayed and demand for us to fix it. And when you get to the last bite--you know, the one you can't get out without taking it out of the wrapper? Well, then it's just the end of the world and we have to give you a NEW piece of fruit leather. So our lives are full of half-eaten things now.

But you've also become much more playful and silly in the last month. You like to dress up a lot more, wearing your cowboy hat and your tiaras a lot more, and wearing my shoes around the house and doing very cute and silly things like putting pants on your head.

As I mentioned we did take you this month on an extended vacation, and I have to say, as difficult as it was for you, you were really pretty awesome. Your daddy and I really should have planned to take more time for ourselves so we got a bit less stressed out, and your mommy got pretty sick on the trip too, but overall, you really were a trooper.

By the end you were done with being in hotel rooms and away from home, but you tolerated eating out three times a day (we only had to leave two restaurants the whole trip because you couldn't take it anymore, and that's amazing in two and half weeks), crappy hotel cribs, and constant long car trips. You met new people every day including new relatives and even managed to bring out the kid in my rock-n-roll buddy Dave.

Since we've been home, things are slowly returning to normal. We're adapting to your new preferences, which are pretty clear: you hate airports, holding my hand or your daddy's hand for any reason (especially when you need to go down stairs or cross a street), eating with baby utensils (you prefer an adult fork if possible), and you prefer to get your own toys when you fling them rather than have us find them for you. We do our best to accommodate these, except the hand holding on the street. That's non-negotiable.

The only thing that's been a bit crazy lately is that you are very, very attached to your mommy right now. I'm not surprised since you just stopped nursing this month, but really, your daddy is special beyond measure and you have no idea how lucky you are to have him. He loves you more than anything in the world and plays with you constantly, so be sure to treat him gently. He's crazy about you.

Tori, you do continue to delight me on a daily basis. You are the cutest and sweetest baby I know most of the time, and those times you aren't adorable are so rare that's why they stand out. I do understand that you are just at a development point where you are exploring your world, and I'm trying to keep you safe and that's why we're clashing. I expect we'll do this for the rest of your life. But that's why I'm here. To love you and keep you safe to the best of my ability.

But while you're in the phase, you'll have to forgive me for thinking that right now, the easiest part of my day comes when you decide to go to sleep. Luckily for me, you are an easy kid when it comes to bedtime--you go right down without a fuss. When you go to bed at night, sometimes your daddy and I just sit still and don't move for a whole hour thankful that we all made it through another day without anyone getting injured.

Tori Anne, I know it sounds like I didn't like you very much this month, and that couldn't be farther from the truth. Toddlers are challenging, and I hope that someday you get to find that out for yourself. But I love you more than anything, and you are the sunshine that brightens my day EVERY day, no matter how difficult and frustrating some moments can be. I love you, you are my bunnyboo--and you always will be, my darling girl.

Love,

Mommy

Monkey Girl

Before I cop out on an easy post today, Kate mentioned in the comments that Obama has "scary Nation of Islam connections." Now, I googled that, and all I came up with is blowhard Sean Hannity (well known for spouting half-truths and flat out lies) blathering about it-- NOT ANY ACTUAL PROOF. Obama has a tenuous connection to a church that gave the head of the Nation of Islam an award that Obama denounced, but he, in fact, does NOT have any connections.

Come on, if you are going to say something like that you HAVE to have more than Fox TV commentators to back you up. Please.

Anyway, on a lighter note.

We've had a couple of days of nice weather and since Tori feels pretty good in the middle of the day (unlike at night, where she spikes fevers--last night was 103.2--yikes. God bless infant ibuprofen), we've been hitting the playground. Remember when I talked about the climbing? Well, here's your proof. Tori is not only able to climb to the very top of the big kid slide, but she's now also taught the rest of the under two set at our local playground how to do it as well. :) You'll note the quick shot of Charlie kicking the ball for Hammer, the best dog ever™, in the background at one point. Oh, and my shortness of breath is related to my leftover bronchitis from the trip. Heh.

20 Months

My Darling Tori Anne,

Yesterday you turned 20 months old. We still call you the baby, but the truth is, you really aren't a baby anymore. You are a full-on child, a kid, a toddler--and a handful. You have grown into the smartest, wiliest, most clever toddler I've ever seen. The ladies at the morning care program where you spend three mornings a week put it euphemistically this way: "That child has enough personality for three kids!" It's true. You do.

Over the last month two major changes have taken place; first off, you talk. A LOT. You say full sentences quite frequently, but only about a third of those sentences are in English so no one knows what you are talking about. You tell us, however, at great length about various things that have gone on or that you've witnessed. For instance, when I came home with a new hairstyle the other day, you had nearly as much to say about it as the internets, and judging by your smile, you were nearly as complimentary. You are clearly going to take after both of your parents and be a chatterbox. Neither of us are capable of ever shutting up. It's going to be very loud in this house.

The second change is the CLIMBING. Oh my GOD do you CLIMB. At first, it was just the couch. Then it was the chairs. Then it was the piano bench. But then all of a sudden we turned our backs for two seconds and you were on top of the piano. NO, I MEAN ON TOP. ABOVE THE KEYS. You nearly gave your daddy a heart attack. You've climbed up on the dining room table, onto the ottoman, onto the window sill above the couch. You've attempted to climb on top of the television, the fireplace, the refrigerator, and the dog. None of those has worked out quite yet. THANK GOD. Both of us have no idea what to do about the climbing. We've hidden the piano bench, but unless we remove all of the furniture from the first floor all we can do is tell you to sit down and tell you no. You continue to think "no" is very, very funny. We'll often run toward you trying to stop you from some dangerous climbing you are attempting and you will quickly sit down and say "sheet." As if, all along, you were only planning to sit.

You've also gotten much more clear ideas of what you want over the last month, but what you want, sadly, often clashes with what we want or need. So this has led to more crying and whining and fussing than we are used to seeing from you. Oh, and HITTING. The hitting? Not so much fun for mommy. Lots of face slapping going on (you, slapping me, not the other way around). Luckily, you are also still adorable and that balances things out.

You've gotten into dress-up lately. You play with hats, with tiaras, and with all the very cool necklaces your internet auntie Stacey sent you from Mardi Gras in New Orleans (you especially love the rubber duckie one). In an odd sign of your intuitiveness, you seem to have connected Mardi Gras beads with female nudity because right after they arrived, you began taking off your shirt. No, really. You've been running around the house topless wearing nothing but beads for several days now (unfortunately, by the time I get the camera you take off the beads and come running over to see Sarah because you believe she lives in the camera).

In between all the climbing, you continue to display musical talent that is very exciting. You sing more now, mostly with that crazy screaming DORA!, but also with me sometimes. You've also become even more cuddly, and one of your favorite things to do is to sit on Daddy's lap and watch videos of trains on the computer. If you see the laptops come out, you yell, "Choo choo!" and demand to come up so you can see the trains. And by the way, I will tell you what the "DILF" on Daddy's shirt means when you're older.

We didn't get the chance to take you on too many new adventures this month because we've been working hard and also we've been busy trying to help someone who doesn't seem to want much help. Plus, we're planning on taking you on your biggest adventure yet, one that involves airplanes and deserts and the Grand Canyon and meeting your real life aunts and uncles and cousins!

We got your hair cut this month, and we had to actually get you a real honest-to-god hairstyle because you were beginning to resemble the feral kid in the Mad Max movie. It was tough for the hairdressers because kids your age don't usually have quite this much hair and you HATED getting it cut and cried and cried and cried. It was so sad. And they even had Nemo playing right in front of where you were getting the cut! I wanted to leave it long, but you no longer tolerate ponytails or barrettes of any kind, so I wanted something that looked neat and clean. Oddly enough, you now resemble a famous celebrity baby. But, of course, WAAAAAAY cuter.

Tori, you are a willful, smart, challenging little girl these days. I can't believe we are going to get on a plane and fly across the country with you. I get tired just thinking about it. But I love you more fiercely all the time, and you continue to amaze me with your awesomeness. You are a great little girl, and I am so glad you are mine.

Maybe We Should Just Discuss Politics

What a fascinating discussion in the comments in the last post. I'm sorry some folks got their feelings hurt, and I'm leaving that discussion over there. OK then. Moving on.

So, someone said here in a comment a while back that they felt sorry for Tori because they thought I would be ill-equipped to deal with her Princess phase thanks to my rampant and raging feminism. Well, as you can see from the new photo in the side bar over on the left, Tori is already developing Princess qualities and I have to say I am secretly enjoying it immensely. See? Here's proof:

OK, perhaps not QUITE so secretly.

She's clearly enjoying dressing up already; she was given a string of Mardi-Gras beads by a drunken Mummer at the Parade on New Year's Day and she LOVED it until she lost it at morning care (she insisted on wearing it there every time she went), so I finally went and got her a new necklace and the only one they sold came with a tiara. She loves wearing it, and I have no issues with her doing so.

I'd love to live in a world where Sammy, our next door neighbor's son, could also enjoy wearing a tiara without recrimination, but considering the fact that you can't even get "gender neutral" toys with a kid's happy meal, I don't think we're going to get there any time soon. They love me at fast food places because when they ask whether or not I want the boy or girl toy I demand to know WHAT the toys are before telling them I actually need the one for under-three-year-olds (although sometimes we get the boy toy if it's cool). Heh.

Tori's toys are balanced, I'd like to believe. She has a bunch of neutral stuff, a train puzzle, a tiara, books, stuffed animals, a pull wagon with giant lego-type things that was clearly marketed to boys, and one of those cool popper toys that's pink (not because I didn't want to buy the standard primary color one, but the pink one popped much more satisfactorily).

But things I don't want to see in our house are looming on the horizon. Things like this. Or god, worse even--this new line of Barbie dolls (it's like they are competing--who can bring more skank?). I used to think my mom was crazy for not letting me play with Barbie dolls, but man--now I totally fucking get it. If I even go down those aisles at the store with Tori--or god forbid, a fucking rack of the dolls is somewhere you don't expect it (like I came across one at a bookstore for some reason), Tori's face lights up in a most alarming way. I don't want her to feel the same sort of lack and longing that I did--and lord knows, I got a pretty fucking distorted body image without a single Barbie doll in my house--but STILL. Ye GODS.

So what do you do? I don't mind dress up, and letting her be a girl--but I really don't want her to fall prey to all the shit that's out there, you know? Not to mention there are all kinds of other issues such as there aren't enough dolls that look like real people, there aren't dolls of color, etc, etc, etc. There is so much about this gender and toys crap. How do you balance this in your house?