Heavenly Fodder

Tonight, for the first time, Rain said a prayer herself before she went to sleep. She has on occasion mimicked the act, but has never actually said anything understandable. Tonight, she said, quite clearly:

Heavenly Fodder,

Thank you.

For my house, Isaiah [her cousin, pictured above], Tete [nickname for Rain's best buddy, pictured above],

Mommy, Da-ee [Daddy], Me-ma [Grandma], Weeta [Abuelita, great-grandma], and Nemo and Dori [from Finding Nemo].

Amen.

There are many things I could say about this moment. I wish I had more time to write of all the things that have changed for me in the last two years. For those of you who kindly followed my pregnancy and checked in on Rain's toddlerhood, thank you. For those who have a baby on the way for the first time and have found some comfort that I have survived so far: trust me, everything is going to be OK.

Amen.

Potty Draining

Last night Rain had a nightmare. She tossed and turned, but because she's only seen G-rated movies in her life, her brain didn't have much frightening material to work with, apparently. So, she shouted words like "shoes" (she hates when she can't go with us everywhere, and often demands her shoes so she can follow), "papas"(the Spanish word for potatoes, her code word for food in general, meaning she's hungry), and finally "pee-pee."

Pee-pee. Yes, mommy would categorize "pee-pee" as a nightmare, too.

Potty training is the last major test of wills between a parent and a toddler. After, of course, begins the test of wills between a parent and a full-grown kid then a parent and a teen, but still, let's not lose focus.


At first, Rain's potty training seemed to be going smoothly. We bought her a little potty, and she showed no signs of resistance. She wasn't afraid to sit on it like some kids are. In fact, she would sit a long time on the potty and do nothing. No pee, no poo--nothing. Fine, I thought, we'll just get her used to sitting on it, and that little accomplishment will be all that's needed for the week.

We bought her a second potty (you know, to cover our bases), and put her in Pull-Ups. She peed in the potty several times, and we cheered like madmen. Quickly, she was in regular panties, and I truly believed she was on her way to toilet independence.

At some point, Rain realized how dear potty training had become for me. I pine for the day we won't have to buy packages of over-price Pull-Ups and wipes. When I would try to coax Rain to use the potty, she began to tell me things like, "No, thanks!" Her rebuffs were cheerful at first. Then she would say angrily, "No pee-pee!" and run away. I would put her on the potty, she would sit there for five minutes, walk away, and then pee in her pants.

This was maddening. After two weeks, she got a tummy ache one day, and that brought us back to step 1 all over again.

Last week we had our carpets professionally cleaned, because though I thoroughly cleaned each of Rain's disaster, I wanted a fresh start, if you will.

Rain's gotten a bit fed up, too. Not only did her cousin (1 month older than her) get the process down in less than a month (no accidents in a month, too), Rain has gotten embarrassed about the whole potty thing. She tries hiding her wet Pull-Ups (won't let me change them), and will NOT poop until she's entirely alone. I know where this comes from, and it's partly my fault. Though I've never razzed her for "accidents" I do sigh deeply when I have to clean poo from her pants (c'mon, wouldn't you?). I give a feeble, "C'mon, Rain, please put poop in the potty. It's right here, see? Just let Mommy know if you need help ..."

I shouldn't have commented at all. Now she thinks the actual act of pooping is what's disgusting, not getting it all over the carpet. So, she tries to hold it or hide when she needs to go. Now we're going to have to start all over again.

I comfort myself with the fact that there aren't too many five-year-olds running around with diapers, so just statistically, Rain should get this thing down eventually. But the thought of this going on for even another month, let alone years, is ... Well, I'll just have to keep the carpet cleaner number handy (*sigh*).

Twit-urrr

If I had a Twitter account, my uh, twits today would've gone as follows:

- Using public bathroom. Rain ran to different stall. Locked me out. Unrolling toilet paper.
- At clothing store. Rain lost. Again. Found snuggled up in bedding display.
- In waiting room. Caught Rain trying to eat cashew. Used cashew.
- Must cut down Starbucks visits. Rain got her 'usual' (chocolate milk carton) from drink counter herself.
- Rain demanding I draw WALL-E on back of Target receipt. Can't remember if WALL-E has mouth. Rain corrected drawing.

As Mr. Billy Joel said, "And so it goes ..."

Bring It

I went to the mall today (I know, I'm a sadist). My sister-in-law and I took the kiddos (Rain and her two cousins, ages 2 and 3) to play in the mini park inside. Anyway, I've read enough parenting magazines to know the kind of drama that happens at playgrounds (bullies, accidents, and--gasp--children running around without sunscreen), but we decided to go anyway.

We get there, and Rain is excited. She takes off her shoes (following the rules) and runs off like mad. I'm feeling pretty good, because the place is enclosed, air-conditioned, and all the parents are sitting right there.

Strangely enough, it's that last item that actually makes the playground scene uncomfortable. Because parents are sitting in full view of their kids, this makes for some weirdness. When kids start shoving each other, for instance, you expect a parent to intervene, and when one doesn't, it's like, "Wha??" Then the other observant parents are sitting there staring at each other like, "What are we gonna do about this nonsense?" or "Did you notice that kid's not wearing any sunscreen?" Or if a kid freaks out at the top of the slide and blocks the line from moving, where's the mom to get things started again? There are all kinds of mediocre issues like these that demand attention, you know?

So. For quite a while, I was pretty impressed that Rain and her cousins played politely with all the other children. It's not that our band is a sinful little bunch, but when you work daily to mold and discipline kids, it's easy to forget that the hard work eventually brings results. Trust me, after Rain throws a fit at home, I find myself delving out punishments thinking, "Am I going to be on TV some day explaining to the public, 'I did the best I could with her?'" I digress. Anyway, it didn't take me long to notice that there was a little boy running around the playground pushing by others, yelling, and fighting with his equally evil siblings (a boy and another girl far too old to be swinging around in a playground). Though Rain and Celeste (Rain's cousin, who is only a month older than her) happened to play far away from this boy, I sensed there would be trouble eventually. After half an hour, though, I let my guard down and began perusing a magazine (of course, I did the sporadic mom thing: read one paragraph, check on kids, read another paragraph, check on kids ...).

At one point, I hear the girls chanting. I look up, and Rain & Celeste are sitting on a nearby bench side by side. Together they shout, "____, no!" I can not make out exactly what they're saying, but they're passionately chanting it in unison. At first, I think, "How cute--they're singing ... I think." Then I notice they're leaning forward, brows furrowed. Puzzled, I move to the side and realize that a piece of playground equipment has hidden from me the focus of their ire.

The little boy who had been trolling the grounds for trouble had finally engaged them. He looked to be 2 or 3 years older than Rain, though he carried a stuffed horse (what gives?). He screamed, and to his obvious surprise, the girls screamed back. In a move of a solidarity, they decided that instead of running from this brat, they were going to provoke him to put his horsey where his mouth was. He shouted again, and they chanted at him with a tone that amounted to, "Bring it!" The boy stepped closer and screamed again. Already my leg was twitching as I debated, "Should I let them handle it? Is this going to amount to character building or a cock fight?"

The girls chanted again, and the boy came closer. He was furious that they would not run. He stepped within two paces of them and raised his hand. That did it. My sister-in-law could take no more. She rushed over there, but the boy only swung his toy in anger. Once he saw that a mom was on duty, he scurried away. The girls were like, "Yeah, and don't come back!"

The boy's mom, of course, never once paused in her conversation with a friend to correct her son. So, what did I do? I sat back and picked up my magazine. Maybe it was smug, but I felt a bit sunnier knowing when it came down to it, the girls weren't going to be punked out by some bully. And if the kid runs around in public with a stuffed toy at his age, you know his mom doesn't make him wear sunscreen, either.

"Kids Today ..."

Since Rain has turned two, I find myself thinking more and more like my parents. Phrases like, "Do you want me to give you a reason to cry about?" and "Fine! But don't come crying to me about it when you fall off!" seem to come around more and more in circulation. Today I went out into the mall for the first time in forever, and I found myself thinking a lot of "Kids today this" and "Kids today that." The one that went more than a few times around the block was, "Kids today--what are they wearing??" For your convenience, I've broken down the main categories of fashion sense (hair included) available at the mall, for those who like to mentally prepare:

1. HOMELESS
This kid gives new meaning to the words "holey moley." Everything he wears is a combination of (1) ratty, (2) black, or (3) ratty black. Never mind he has the newest iPod and a seemingly Marinara Trench-deep account for hair dye, the boy walks about like he's about to ask me for a buck. Which he may do.

2. FAN HAPPY
Fan Happy haircuts often go hand-in-hand with Homeless guys, but not necessarily. If you've seen this cut, you know I'm not exaggerating when I say that it looks like there's a fan blowing on this guy's hair from the side all the time. The bangs go across they face (over the eyes) unreasonably low to create this permanent swipe of hair that doesn't occur in the natural world. Not even fledgling reporters in a tornado-force gust of wind have this look, so what's the deal? I pity these guys and girls--I do. They get little sleep at night because all day they're building this crick in their necks from tilting their heads to the side to keep the look.

3. SCARY SKINNY
Ok, please for the love of all that's good: young men, please stop wearing skinny jeans. Seriously, please. Maybe I'm old school, but who wants a man who is so scrawny he can share share jeans with you? Man up! I say again, man up!

4. BABY MAMA
Skank, I know, is a perennial favorite in fashion, so this doesn't qualify as new. What is continuously shocking to me is how much younger these girls are who are running around like they're 21. I'm so not morally judging them, because I for one think it's totally cool for a 10-year-old to look 21 ... as long as she plays the part all the way. Like move out of mom and dad's. Get a job. Pay rent. Buy your own food. Take care of your baby. Did I mention get out of mom and dad's?

Ok, gotta go--there's a kid over here looking for a buck.

Upendow

Rain's favorite word is "octagon." Whenever she sees a stop sign or a tiny, angular MasterCard logo on TV, she shouts, "Octagon!" Tim's original reaction to her saying this word several weeks ago was so impressive (he said, "Wow!" which for Tim, is pretty emotional), that Rain will say this word whether it's necessary or not (*points to light fixture* "Mommy--octagon!").

Her language is developing along nicely, which is a relief since four months ago I had her tested for verbal issues (another case of "parent"noia). The problem now is she still very much has her baby accent. This wouldn't be a big deal, but now she knows she's saying real words. When I don't understand her, she gets frustrated. Example:

Rain: (points to the toy iPod in her hand) "Mom, upendow."
Tim: "What, Rainbow?"
Rain: "Upendow."
Me: "Hmm. Do you mean 'octagon'?"
Rain: (*sighs*) "MOM, upendow."
Tim: (whispers) "What's she saying?"
Me: "I don't know, but she's saying it the same way each time."
Rain: (slowly) "Mom, uup-enn-dowww.
Tim: "Did she just say it--"
Me: "Slow like we're stupid? Yeah."
Rain: (more sighing, pointing again to iPod): "UPENDOW!"
Me: "Sorry, honey, but mommy doesn't understand."
Rain: (looking frustrated, hurt): "Upendow."

The next day, Rain was playing with her toy iPod again (plays like 6 songs or something), and she keeps singing one of the songs again and again. I stop and listen. Then I get it. She's singing "The Wheels on the Bus."

Rain: "Wheels on bus go upendow, upendow, upendow ..."
Me: "Oh! You mean, 'The people on the bus go up and down, up and down!"
Rain: (pointing happily to her iPod) "Upendow!"

I try to be patient during this process of learning vocab, but there are just times I say, "Sorry, kiddo, but until you stop speaking baby, I'm not going to be able to guess what you're trying to say."

What's maddening is she says other things perfectly clear.

Me: (dumb smile on my face, pom-poms at the ready) "Rain, ready to try going to the potty? Huh, huh?"
Rain: "Nope."

Me: (frantically preparing dinner while keeping Rain and her cousins from dangling off the stove--no hands to spare) "Guys, please give me just a second to finish!"
Rain: "Mom! Juice! Cookie!"

Then, when you least expect it:
Me: "Love you, Rain."
Rain: "Yuv you, too."

Guess it's a fair deal after all.

Arr!

Rain turns 2 on the 27th. We celebrated her birthday today. The lessons I have learned from hosting 2 toddler birthday parties:

1. No matter how many times you tell yourself, "The child has only a vague idea of what's going on. Let's not make this a big to-do," the larger the party gets.

2. As soon as you invite ONE person to a toddler's birthday party, it is officially an affair. Invitations, decorations, party games, and stress soon follow.

3. Every child believes himself to be the Big Cheese. Kids don't have the patience or desire to clap for another kid's joyful gift opening. At some point, he's gonna want to know, "Where the heck is MY gift??"

4. By the end of the party (usually only 1/3 of the way through), something you care for will be broken, torn, stained, or left bleeding. Guard your pets.

5. Just buy the cake. Oh, you have a great idea for a cute poodle marshmallow cake with gumdrop eyes that you think you an whip up the night before? Just buy the cake. Oh! Your mother offered to help you make the poodle cake? Great--buy the cake. Sorry, I didn't realize you used to bake for a local cafe, because if I had known that, I would've told you to let it go and just buy the cake.

Rain had a fab piratey birthday, don't get me wrong. We watched a pirate-themed Backyardigans cartoon about 5 times while she ate hotdogs and chips. She said, "Arr!" a lot, and at one point, was rolling around in a mud hole she made in our yard.

The worst thing about Rain's party, honestly, was me. I had decided to break rule #5 above, and I paid a dear price. I had read some far-fetched, fantastical parenting magazine (I should have been on guard at that point) that explained how easy it would be for me to make a pirate ship birhday cake. Violent seaman ravaging port cities and defenseless civilian watercraft? I'm all over it!

So, last night I buy all my ingredients. The recipe called for 2 tubs of frosting. I'm thinking that they had some intern in the cooking department put frosting on the cake with a toothpick, 'cause I used up 2 tubs of frosting quick-like and was whimpering, "My poop deck is still bare!!"

I started baking at 11 PM. At 4 AM, I had the following:
- Boat-like cake shape
- Sunken bow
- Headache

I had not started decorating, because the front of the ship was too low. Right about then I was wondering why I hadn't just bought a silly cake. Tim goes to the grocery store and returns with more jars of frosting and a package of Oreos (to soothe me). I would not take his trinkets, because I was busy attending my own pity party.

Tim went to take a shower. All seemed lost. There I was stuck with several chocolate-covered spatulas, a busted cake, and the knowledge that Rain would wake up at 7 AM.

Then, in a moment that can only happen in one's desolate kitchen at 4:30 AM, I heard the chords to an 80s love song that I can't remember the words to (something about an eagle and a mountain top, I dunno), and I had my epiphany: Love lifts us up where we belong, and so do cookies.

So, to the person who ate a piece of cake today that had a stack of mystery Oreos under it: be comforted that I will now abide by rule #5.

Mr. Jerky Pants

Texas has plenty of long, straight roads. Every once in a while at night, I find myself in this daze (cover your ears, Texas Department of Transportation), following the car lights in front of me like some licensed mosquito. Miles later, I'll stir from my stupor and think, "How did I get here?"

Being a mom is kind of like that. I've gotta a toddler, but hey, I'm still cruising along on my young woman highway. Then one day, I look up from cruise control, and bam! I'm 30, and momisms are slipping out of my mouth.

Yesterday, I was alone in the car and late (as always). This guy decides to spin out into my lane from a side street, and I have to do some fancy break-action (not like a Bond movie or anything, but tricky for a sedan). To express my dismay towards this reckless individual, I slam my wheel and bellow, "Thanks a lot, Mr. Jerky Pants!"

Yep, that's what I hollered. What am I gonna say if Tim ever cheats on me? "How could you, Mr. Bad Britches? "

What's next? "Goodness me" and "Bless my heart?" After that comes holiday vests and Christmas pins. Matching animal print pantsuits, here I come! Aghhhhh!

(*breath, breath*)

Ok, maybe I'm getting paranoid, but it's time to take off the cruise control, or I'm gonna be sporting a pilgrim vest by Thanksgiving.

What Will You Learn?

I'll start with honesty: the first time I heard about homeschooling, I thought, "That is the dumbest idea I've ever heard." I mean, why homeschool when public school is free, right? Not only that, I pretty much had the same objection that, I think, a lot of people do: how will the child get any social skills?

At that time, I did not know any homechooled kids, let alone "unsocialized" homeschooled kids; but who needs evidence when you've got the verdict, right?

I finally did meet homeschooled kids. Where? In the public art classes I used to teach and a few at church. What surprised me most about these kids--I realize I'm generalizing here, but the similarities were pretty striking--is that they were not anti-social at all. In fact, they were quite talkative and open, especially to adults. Why is that?

A side note here: I could go on about how well-read and obviously intelligent these kids were. I could also talk about how wonderful most public school teachers and administrators are. But, neither of these things are my focus at the moment.

Tonight (or shall I say, early this morning?), my thoughts are troubled. Over the last few days. I've been thinking a lot about some teenagers I know. Recently, I was introduced to a pair of teenage girls I had not seen for many years. Now, let's be real here. A lot of times (at least in the U.S.), teens can be a bit standoffish when they interact with adults. Some are openly hostile when goaded--mainly, by their parents--to speak with anyone over 21. So, I was expecting the usual forced politeness and short answers when I met the aforementioned girls.

I was a bit stunned, therefore, when they began freely talking about their lives, future goals (one wants to be a Navy pilot, and the other a classical musician), and family. A minute into the conversation, I realized why these girls were so easy at conversation: they were homeschooled. By now, I've had enough interactions with homeschooled kids to know that they have this weird (by that, I mean uncommon) outgoing way with conversation tinged with (here's the odd part) a sort of innocence.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that the homeschooled kids I've met aren't jaded. It's taken me several years to put my finger on it, and that's it. Even after all the bright homeschooled kids I met, the thing that has me seriously concerned about public school is I don't want Rain to be jaded.

Again, I'm not downing public school or even discussing the level of education here. As a product of public school, however, I'm gonna lay it out there: the years from junior high to high school are cruel and unusual punishment. We all know it.

Truthfully, I had a great time in high school. But, I do wonder how much more meaningful and rich an experience I would have had if I had not dealt with all the drama. I know several teens in high school now, and all I can think is, "How did your self-esteem get so low? Where is your confidence? Why won't you let yourself excel like you know you can?"

But I know the answer already. Those of you who have had enough time away from high school to have a different perspective can probably admit the truth, too. Public school is like filming on location in Lord of the Flies.

Yeah, I could blow it off as, "Well, the kids who are strongest will survive, and the rest will just suck it up and manage somehow."

But that's the thing: some don't manage. They become withdrawn, angry, depressed, and even suicidal. If nothing else, we have a bunch of kids pessimistic about Life before they've ever had a chance to really live one.


My problem with all of this is that I don't want Rain to be one of those kids. I don't want her to have to "perform" to an audience of her peers rather than educate herself. Again, I know some will brush this off as, "Well, they have to learn how dark the world is some day, so they might as well start now."

Really? First, the world isn't completely filled with darkness, so how about we focus and expand the points of light we have? Second, why should they learn about the cruelties of the world at an age when they don't have good tools to handle them?

Some of these teens, especially girls, do not have the skills it takes to overcome criticism and search the horizon for better days. Many come from broken homes. Others have low self-esteem (which is to be expected, since TV and magazine ads basically say, "We know what's wrong with your body! Buy this ____, and we'll fix the problem!"). Some teens are simply lost. I don't like the idea of throwing these kids together for eight hours a day and hoping for the best.

Is private school the answer? Homeschooling? Part-time public schooling? I don't know, but I'm definitely starting to ask questions.

Growing

The hard part about being a mom, for me anyway, is that Life has accelerated. Rain is changing, and I have to change, too. The pace of growth from newborn to toddler is insane. One day, we brought this baby home, and she was pretty much a cute sack of flour. She didn't talk, move, or show any real preference for things, but she was irresistable.

Almost two years later (Rain's birthday is next month), she is unrecognizable. She runs like a gazelle, she calls, "Ma!" like a teenager, and if there are peas and chocolate on a plate, chances are good, she'll eat the peas first (Tim finds this shockingly embarassing).

She is everywhere, and I live in a state of controlled panic. If the house is quiet for 3 minutes, I know she is either:
1. Playing in the toilet water
2. Running on top of our long bathroom counter
3. Eating dirt
4. Trying to change her own Pull-Up (as helpful as this sounds, it always ends in disaster)
5. Rolling on the floor in a tussle with her cousin

This goes on all day long. Every few days, she gets inventive, and I'm left thinking, "She's found a new way to kill herself! That makes eighty-seven!"

All the while, days and weeks pass, and before I know any better, a month is gone. Carolyn Hax said it best: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/05/22/AR2007052201554.html

Two days ago, Rain said, very sweetly, "I yuv oo." I, seriously, sort of blushed. You love me? All the crying, kicking, screaming, pooping in your pants, eating dirt stunts, and you really love me? I know this makes me pathetic, but it was worth it. When something around Rain bothers her, when she's scared, she comes to me and hides in my arms. She knows that I will protect her. It is the first time in my life anyone has expected and completely trusted that I could do such a thing.

Every time I put Rain down to sleep, I stare at her for a second and think, "How did this happen? How did you just show up one day and become necessary?" Rain is essential. I don't know how babies do it, but if you let them, they plant themselves in your life and grow into every aspect of it. Before long, the only scary thought is how far you would go to keep that baby safe and growing.

To all the newbie 'rents out there with screaming infants in their hands: may God bless and have pity on our floundering souls! Hold fast, and you, too, may hear the words that soften every parent's heart:

"I'm moving out."

Er, I mean, "I yuv oo."

XOXO

Diary of a Desperate for Love Mom

March 13, morning: I run over a safety outlet plug with the vacuum cleaner on accident. I immediately turn off the vacuum, put it on its side, and check for damage. Rain comes running, sees the vacuum on its side, and asks it tenderly, "Are you OK?" It's the first time she shows verbal concern for an object, animate or inanimate.

March 13, afternoon: Rain willingly, for whatever reason, kisses me for the first time.

March 17, morning: Rain wakes up, and asks loudly, "Mom, where are you?" A complete sentence + sentiment of love = miracle.

When Rain was born, I imagined that some day, my hard work would be rewarded with hugs and kisses. Something to make me feel it was all worthwhile. How 'bout a whole lotta NO? Rain, until four days ago, did not give kisses. When I kissed her, she would give me this look like, "Seriously? Get what you need and leave me alone." It wasn't just me, either. Nobody got kisses from Rain. Nobody.

Part of me wanted to believe that it was just her age and she was too young to pucker up. But, my niece who is a month older than Rain, has been puckering up since she was 12 or 14 months old. Rain was never a cuddly-bear-hugs kind of kid, and after a while, I just gave up trying to get some love.

Then two weeks ago, we finally started to break some ice. First came her agitation when Tim & I went on a date and left her under the care of my brother. Normally, Rain has no problem hanging out with my family. This time, however, my brother said she searched room by room for us, and finally, she buried herself in our bed covers and waited for our return. When we came home, we found her asleep, still in our bed. Huh?

Then last weekend Tim, Rain, & I went to dinner. Tim went to the restroom, and Rain said, "Daddy? Daddy? Where's Daddy??" She immediately became agitated and went to look for him. I sort of laughed, because she has never reacted that way. When he came back, she smiled and clapped. Weird.

Then, on March 13, she smiled, leaned forward, and kissed me. There was only one thing I could say:

"Give Mommy another kiss, please! I have a cookie right here ..."

Raincloud

Hush-a-bye,
Don't you cry,
Go to sleep, my little Raincloud,
When you wake,
You shall have,
All the pretty little horses.


Rain is sick with an on-and-off fever, cough, congestion--the works. I put her to sleep just now, and I was thinking about what an old friend told me the other day as she looked fondly at Rain:
Enjoy this time now. You don't know it yet, but these are the best years of your life."

I don't know what the future holds. Maybe I've got 60 more years of fantastic happiness, maybe 30, maybe 1 (eeks). But, I sang Rain her lullabye as I ran my fingers through her still-baby-fine-sparse hair. She curled up next to me, and she looked so peaceful and content. After only a few verses, she was asleep. Her dark, curly lashes always remind me of what my sister-in-law called her when she first saw her as a newborn: muñeca. Doll. A living doll.

I kept touching her hair. Someday, she will think I'm the biggest annoyance ever, and that all I do is yell at her to get off the phone, finish her homework, quit talking back ...

But right now, I am the coolest person she knows (granted, her social circle isn't that big, but still). She will do anything as long as I'm with her.

I know that tomorrow, at some point, I'll be bemoaning my lot in life as she defiantly throws her chocolate milk on the floor, but right now, I'll enjoy the thought that she may be the sweetest, best life I'll ever be a part of.

WW III

Earlier today, my niece Celeste grabbed a handful of Rain's hair. She shook her like a maraca. Rain punched her in retaliation.

Later, my generally sweet nephew (seriously, two weeks ago, we joked how peaceful-Gandhi-ish this kid is) took one look at Rain (who was standing on our ottoman) an knocked her right off. She went flying and hit her head on the bottom of our sofa.

Rain is no saint, either. She has a sixth sense for knowing a child's MVT (Most Valuable Toy) and can find no greater joy than hijacking one as she runs around the room like, "You want it? You want it? COME GET IT!"

There are weak moments throughout my day where I imagine calling my sister-in-law and saying, "Our happy Switzerland has broken out into World War 3--can you please ask the doctors to release you? Feel free to bring your back brace."

Seriously.

My poor sister-in-law is currently doing physical therapy (a good sign, actually) in a place where she is the youngest patient. She has broken her back in two places and has a hairline fracture in her pelvis. Her standard attire is PJs and a back brace, so she is itching to come home (the fact that she has a crabby suite mate factors in as well). She actually wants to come home to our war-ravaged Switzerland.

The truth is, her kids miss her, and it's affecting the oldest (the 3-year-old boy) in a negative way. The youngest one has slipped into a blissful ignorance about her mother's sudden displacement, but the oldest ... well, he's decided to make us all pay a hefty price until his mother returns. He's just plain mad. It shows up all the time about everything. He wants to have an argument about every detail of his routine. This morning he had a fit about whether he wanted juice with his breakfast or not. C'mon!

He's become obsessive with answering the phone, getting his way, and saying "No!" just to get a reaction. But just when I think I'm going to explode, he falls back into his ultra-sweet personality. He's the kid with the dinosaur undies who trips and says comfortingly, "I'm OK!" He has a fantastic smile, and every day he greets me with, "GOOD MORNIN'"! He shakes the hands of the adults at church and says politely,"How ya doin'?"

And for cryin' out loud, he's the only kid in this house who can use the toilet!

The other day, after a long visit, he started to leave his mom's room. Then suddenly he ran back. He had tears in his eyes and just stared at his mom lying in bed. He stood there crying quietly. His mom pulled the tough cookie act ("I love you, too, and it's going to be OK. Don't cry, don't cry ..."). He pulled the tough little guy act and finally left the room.

They both cried again afterwards. So, we all soldier on ....

A Mom Again ... and Again ...

I will not replay all of yesterday's events as they continue to trouble me. I will, however, touch on the basics as necessary.

Let me begin by saying I love my family. I have eight nieces & nephews, and 4 of them are under the age of 5. These five (Rain included) are a tribe of miscreants and minions, but they are also loving and charming.

For the next few months, Tim & I, along with all members of my family, will have to step up to the plate and help take care of my brother's two children (a boy who is 3, and a girl who is Rain's age). My brother is a good guy, but he's going to need the help.

Yesterday, his wife (whom we all love dearly and is a very petite, sweet girl) was in my attic looking for a box she wanted. To make a painful, long story short, she lost her footing and fell through the attic. She landed in our garage, back first.

I can not adequately describe the child-like, shrill she made when she hit the floor. All I will say is her brother, who saw her fall and was helpless to stop her, took a few hours afterwards to seem coherent again. I was at the other end of the house when it happened, and it took me a moment to understand who could be making such a sound.

The paramedics took her to the hospital, and I left Rain and her two children wailing at home with a family member.

My sister-in-law is still in the hospital today. She broke her back in two spots and they are awaiting more tests to see what other damage was done to her pelvis. In the meantime, her kids are at home with me. Both have looked at me several times since yesterday, troubled, and said, "Mommy? Mommy?"

I told them, "She's coming," but that's all. Until then, and for many months from now, we will all be doing things for her kids that I know my sister-in-law would rather be doing herself. Hugs, play time, racing games, even holding them up--all of that is out of the question.

For the time being, I'm stuck with troubling thoughts. I mean, let's be honest here: I'm hanging by a thread trying to keep up with Rain--how am I going to be able to watch over two others? What if I drop the ball and one of the kids sneaks off and gets hurt? What if my patience falters?

Troubling thoughts, indeed.

Work With Me!

So. Today two speech therapists came to see Rain. Yes, I said speech therapists. Because the doctor wants to make sure Rain is developing well verbally (since she's so quiet), he signed her up for both a hearing test (as discussed in my last post) and a session with speech therapists. I'm not sure how long Tim can bear to let this madness go on ("But there's nothing wrong with her!" he says. Actually, Tim would never say anything with an exclamation point, so it's more like, "There's nothing wrong with her." <*patient sigh*, continues sipping coffee>).

Anyway, so the speech therapists are doing a two-day visit which began today. I had high hopes, because for the last month, Rain has spent extensive time with her same-aged cousins. She has spoken more in the last few weeks than she ever has, so I was hoping she'd show off some of that verbiage to the therapists.

Rather than go into the details of what happened today, let me just explain it this way.

Do y'all remember that frog character on Looney Tunes?


He used to sing ragtime and dance all kinds of nuts. It always happened that some guy would come along and see the frog dancin', and he'd catch him. The man would race to show the miraculous creature to an audience, thinking all the while of the cash he would soon be swimming in. But as soon as the man pull the curtain to reveal the frog, the frog would sit there all limp, practically dead. He wouldn't move, let alone entertain. But, as soon as the man and the frog were alone again, the frog would start toe-tappin' all over the place.

Rain is my very special frog. For an hour and a half while the two therapists were here, she said not one word. Not one.

When the therapists said goodbye, Rain would not even say, "Bye!" which she says ALL THE TIME. I closed the door behind the good women, and Rain turned to me and said, "Mommy?" I was like, "Oh, now you can talk??" She then said, "Papas?" (the Spanish word she uses for food).

I fed her. After, we went for a walk outside. Rain laughed and babbled the whole way, and I wondered when she was going to start her ragtime numbers.

Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3 ...

Last Wednesday, we took Rain to an ENT specialist. Now, I see "we," because Tim insisted that he should go, though the appointment was flat in the middle of a work day. Even though we both decided that this test was clearly going to be a waste of everybody's time, somehow it was still important that we both be there. I think, deep down, I had this peep of paranoia that whispered, "What if this turns out to be a very big deal? What if Rain can't hear as well as we think?" These thoughts perhaps played in Tim's mind as well, so off we all went to the appointment.

The specialist gave Rain a hearing test in two parts. If you've never witnessed a toddler taking a hearing test, prepare yourself.

Rain, in her defense, has never been very ... um ... baby-ish. She's not one for cutesy faces and noises from adults, and there's nothing we can do about that. The specialist, however, decided early on that the way to get Rain to do his bidding was to cajole her with a sing-songy voice.

Picture this, if you will: Rain is sitting on Tim's lap in a sound booth. She can not see me. There is one window directly in front of her. All she can see is the specialist at his controls looking directly at her. The test begins.

Specialist: [high-pitched-adult-to-baby voice] "Raaaain! Where am I?"
Rain:[turns to look at one of the box speakers in the room where the voice is coming from]
Specialist: "Raaain! The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round! Where am I?"
This is the part where I had to look away. I could only picture Rain's expression of irritation. Tim confirmed her reaction.
Rain: [Says nothing, but looks dead straight at the guy in the window. Probably wondering why he's asking the same question when the man clearly hasn't moved.]
Specialist: "Oh, Rainbow!"
Rain: [Turns to look at speaker box to humor the guy. The specialist rewards her by, no kidding, turning on the light in a shadowed box in the sound room that has ...



That's right. A Stephen King-ish horrifying clapping monkey! From that point, Rain was justifiably terrified.]

Upon leaving the sound booth, Rain decided she wanted nothing to do with this man. I have never seen her give someone the cold shoulder the way she did to him. She did not flail about, but she simply would stare off to the side every time he talked to her. I mean, she would not look at him. Her stare was focused and dismissive. Ouch.

On a happy note (no pun intended), Rain's hearing is fine.

Can You Hear Me Now?

Rain is all over the place. She paints, she sings (if shouting in one long note while holding a songbook counts), she chases--she's everything a toddler is supposed to be.

When I go to her wellness visits at her doctor's office, I don't worry. I know they will tell me she's fine, and I'll nod approvingly at some growth chart and that will be that.

And then a few weeks ago, she doesn't pass some little test, and it's time to take things a bit more seriously. Or is it paranoia and preemptive health care? No matter. Whatever the doctor suggests, I know we'll end up doing.

First stop, the ENT (Ears, Nose, & Throat specialist).