Two points make a line

That is, two data points make a pattern. (she says hopefully).

Bryn has slept by herself two nights in a row. Technically, she's slept by herself more than that, but not knowingly, and when she would wake to discover it, we would hear considerable commotion.

We were wondering how to turn the corner on this "have-to-lay-with-her-until-she-falls-asleep-and-likely-fall-asleep-myself-in-the-meantime" situation that we had fostered over the years.

One night, Beau just did it. First, a couple of nights he read stories and then said he would come back to check on her in a little while, after needing to clean the kitchen or something. She started to get used to the idea that the day was coming. Then Sunday--it happened--no pretense, only mild protesting--just books, lights off, night-night, love you, sweet dreams. Done. Not a peep afterwards. We laid in bed for about 15 minutes just talking about how proud we were of her.

Beau was out with a friend last night at bedtime, so it was really a big test for me to hold the line. Bryn, rightfully, views me as a bigger pushover, but I was determined. We wouldn't be able to recreate this momentum for awhile, so it was important. (Kind of like the time I rounded up cattle with Beau and his uncle...but the story of that character-testing moment another day.)

As we walked up to bed after dancing the evening away in her Cinderella gown and glass slippers, Bryn gave a casual pitch on arrangements: "Maybe you can sleep with me, Mommy." "Well, Bryn, I'm going to read you stories, but then you're going to sleep by yourself again tonight. You did such a great job last night." "Yeah, Daddy was proud of me," she says. "Yes, we were both very proud of you. I hope you were proud of yourself, too."

So, after two books and lights out and night-night and all that, I went back downstairs and she went to sleep. As I was heading to bed, I checked on her and she was all the way scooted onto "my" spot on the bed with the quilt all catty-wonkus. I tried to straighten it up, but must have disturbed her a little. After standing statue-still for a few minutes, all was well again. Got ready for bed, snuggled in myself, and about 10 minutes later...

WHAM! BAWL!

Bryn had imaginary-snuggled herself right off the bed. Ouch. Fortunately, she wasn't all the way awake so I rocked her a little bit and then laid her in the MIDDLE of the bed this time.

About 1:30, I hear, "Mommmmmmy. Mama. Mommmy. Mommy, I need to show you something." I try to lay very still through all of the calling, thinking she'll go back to sleep when denied other stimulus. But it was the "I need to show you something" that piqued my curiosity, so I got out of bed to discover that she just wanted to ask again if I wanted to sleep with her. There was really no "showing" involved. Duped.

She woke up again in the 4:00 hour, but I ignored the calling that time.

The lesson here (again based on two data points) is that she sleeps like a rock when Daddy puts her to bed and very restlessly when I do. I think we should continue to test the theory some more to be sure, but Beau may have just inherited the task permanently.

Our Disney trip in 15 pictures or less

The fun really started at the airport...


Polite signage notwithstanding. (Come on, you don't build a bench that allows little girls to sit with Snow White and then not let them climb on it. That just doesn't make sense.)


The weather was slated to turn cold during our trip, so we struck out for the Magic Kingdom the only day that was planned to have reasonable weather. And it was GORGEOUS...not too hot, humid, or sunny. Just absolutely delightful for trekking across the many "lands" and standing in lines to meet and greet characters.


This is literally Bryn's reaction upon seeing Cinderella's castle. It was priceless. I think she even said, "Oh, my gosh!" before covering her mouth in disbelief.






First up was the carousel....good times for Bryn, me, and Beau's mom. Beau sat it out, and his stomach thanked him profusely.
















It was lunchtime, following the horsey ride. But..uh-oh.....can you say "happiest place on Earth?"





Bryn was VERY sad because she wanted to ride the elephants. (Dumbo ride) She was outvoted and very sad about that.









Following lunch...as promised she and I rode the pink Dumbo. And all was again right with the world. Fortunately, that was the only melt down of what could be a torturous day for a three-year-old. We didn't get a stroller, so she was on her feet all day. Clearly, with so much to see and do, she didn't get a nap, and don't get me started on lines. By all accounts she was a trooper and I've never experienced Disney as I did through her eyes.

(While we're on the subject of lunch, I've got to give mad props to Disney nutritionists for figuring out how to feed children responsibly. For kids' meals, you had to opt in to french fries and sodas. Bryn had PB&J, grapes, applesauce, and milk. I was eternally grateful that we didn't have to layer crappy food on top of an exhausting day. I believe in my heart that that meal gave her the energy she needed to keep going...and going...and going.)




Following Dumbo, we took off to stake out a location for the afternoon parade. Again, I alternated between pictures of the parade and pictures of Bryn's reactions to seeing her favorite characters. Whenever I was pointing the camera at her, she would just about come unglued trying to get me to focus on the parade. "MOM...Look! Look, Mom. Mommy. Look, it's Cinderella's mice! Look, Mom." I could hear her gears turning while she thought, "geez, woman, you're missing the whole thing. Turn around! It's THAT way! Why do I have to keep telling you that?" Of course, she had a pretty sweet viewing spot...atop Papa's head. So she could see the floats well before any of us could--and let us know that.







Bryn was also pretty excited about the fireworks. (Yes, we stayed until the fireworks. Like I said, she was a total trooper.) Her reaction to the firework display (besides "oh my gosh" and hand-over-mouth) was the very descriptive observation that "they are painting the sky." Indeed, Bryn.

The next night we were fortunate to be able to go to a Character Dinner hosted by Cinderella and Prince Charming. The prime rib wasn't bad, but it was totally awesome to see Bryn interact with the characters. She told Cinderella she was a ballerina, so after she made the rounds of the dining room, Cinderella came back to Bryn to dance with her. Prince Charming (AKA "Cinderella's special boy") was also in attendance and was moving in on Beau's territory a little bit.



























One of the other highlights of the trip was a little place called the Bibbiddi-Bobbiddi-Boutique. One of Bryn's requests for Santa was to dress up as Cinderella (her aforementioned favorite princess). Santa didn't bring her a blue dress as she expected, but he (through GG) did line up a makeover fit for a princess.

(A little stage-setting may be in order. We had a 10:10 appointment for which we had to be there by 9:50. We were cutting it close when we pulled out of the driveway. Got about a half mile away and the tire pressure light came on. So we turned around to switch cars, but that also required moving the car seat. The transfer speed would have made any pit crew proud, but we were now on the later side of fashionable. Fast forward about 15 miles, and I look down. Bryn is staring off into space turning an unfortunate shade of green. This isn't my first rodeo with this girl, so I start looking for something to catch the breakfast that was shortly to reappear. As always, my hands seem to be the only tools that present themselves. Maybe fortunately (if you squint enough) Bryn had only had water and juice to drink, so no milk was in there to curdle on the way back up--which if you've not lived it is unpleasant to say the least. So, all that came up was liquid and some poorly chewed blueberries. Beau says I have an iron stomach, and in many respects I must. HOWEVER, my breaking point is when otherwise unoffensive liquid starts overflowing my hands and running down my sleeve. Bryn felt better when we got to the place, but was--shall we say--in need of some freshening up before her princess transformation. Thanks, in part, to a similar scare the night before on the way to the character dinner, I had the foresight to pack a change of clothes in my backpack.)



She had an absolute blast getting her hair done, nails done, makeup done by Nelly, a (I swear this is her title) fairy-godmother-in-training. She had lots of choices--type of hairstyle (fortunately she thought better than to go with the "Punk Princess Diva" 'do), colors of eyeshadow, nail polish, lip gloss, and stick-on face decoration (they must have a name, but can't think of a more sophisticated name at the moment.)




You may wonder how Nelly got Bryn's hair to stay up in a neat Princess bun when she's only in training as a fairy godmother and Bryn has pretty short hair. The answer, my friends, is hair gel and loads of hairspray. Bryn had a hard time figuring out the clever face shield, but when it was all over....her hair was up there to stay, dadgummit. Notice in this picture, the small tiara that hugs the sweet bun Nelly carefully crafted. In the next photo, that adorable (small) one is dwarfed by the Miss Universe crown.

All dressed up and no place to go.

Or so one might think. Turns out that is the perfect ensemble for TGI Friday's for lunch on the way home. (Have to say I offered up many prayers on the way home, that lunch would not be revisited all over the "do not clean" princess gown.) Fortunately, following a day of beauty, Bryn was appropriately tuckered out.

Bryn lost the huge tiara in exchange for Minnie Mouse ears (a nice touch with the princess gown) for our dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. She likes to share.

And if you wonder what hair gel and spray look like the next day on a busy sleeper....wonder no more.

The one where we come full circle...

Remember my "recent" post about what a great mom Bryn thinks I am?

As anticipated, that feeling has vaporized over the Christmas break.

Now, her catch-phrase is "Mommy, be nice to me." Sometimes she mixes it up and says, "Don't be mean to me, Mommy." Usually that last one is offered up through very dramatic tears.

In the spirit of full disclosure, these pronouncements usually occur after I've had to get on to her about something. The most common somethings of late are not listening, not obeying (aka taking one's own sweet time to comply), not being safe in the street, and the like. Given the weight of those infractions, I think I'm more than within my rights to raise my voice a little. I am an exceedingly patient person...until I get pushed WAY too far. I suppose it would be more fair to her for my breaking point to have some sort of signage, but still....I'm certainly not being MEAN to the child.

So when she starts with the "be NIIIIce, Mommy...don't be me-ee-eeaan to me, Mommy" stuff...I have even less patience for her 'tude.

Last night, we were driving to grab some dinner...talking about our upcoming trip to see GG and Papa...and all of the sudden Bryn squeals with delight. I naturally assume it is related to her delight about going to see all the Princesses....

Nope. She just says,

"I'm so excited that you're being nice to me!"

Honestly...

PHOTO UPDATE: Christmas Day Shenanigans

What began as a perfectly normal, delightful Christmas day, quickly turned into one head-shaker after another. See if you can tell when the day took a turn. It was hard to tell when I was living it, but--man--by the end of the day, I was whooped and ready for bed.

1. Bryn slept late, but fortunately Santa didn't mind. That allowed me to start some "breakfast" (also known as Pillsbury quick bread) to cook while we opened gifts.

2. We opened gifts. Glee abounded.



3. We ate the "breakfast"--but I had to be stingy with the milk because I only had about an inch of it left in the jug (more on this later). If anyone older than 3 asked for milk, I had to quickly assess if they really meant it--and by how much--as that affected my choice of glasses. Luckily, we made it through breakfast without incident.


4. Bryn received an electric car for Christmas. Naturally, she wanted to hit the road in it. After grazing both of our cars, she made it to the "open sidewalk" and when she went to turn---one of the wheels fell off. OK, that's a slight exaggeration, but it did slip off the axle in such a way that the car wouldn't turn properly. Soooo, within 3 minutes of having the thing---it was back in the shop. The adage that a car depreciates dramatically when you drive it off the lot apparently holds for Disney Princess convertibles as well. But...Dad and Papa got her up and running again pretty quickly, so she took a quick spin around the sidewalk. (technically, we have A LOT of work to do on steering, lest we take out the neighbors' landscaping more noticeably.)

5. GG and Papa left to drive back to Florida.

6. We lounged for a bit while deciding what to do for lunch. Our Christmas lunch will require a separate post--mainly because I'm still a little traumatized and can't speak of it just yet. Suffice it to say, it was a head shaker, too.

7. As imagined, Bryn wanted to ride her car when we returned. As I mentioned, I was traumatized a mite, so I thought resting was a better idea. We cracked into her Cinderella movie that she got for Christmas--with the promise that she didn't have to sleep. I took my cell phone to the playroom to make some holiday calls while we were at it. As Bryn sat transfixed at the sight of her favorite (a word that somehow doesn't seem adequate) princess, I decided that it was rude to talk through her first viewing of such a classic. So I promptly fell asleep.

8. Following Cinderella, we (read: Beau) made good on the promise to take Bryn and the Princess convertible to the parking lot of the neighborhood school for a little joy ride/steering lesson. While they were gone, I attempted to pick up the house from our guests and Christmas morning, etc.

9. Beau and Bryn return. Bryn was wailing; Beau was steaming; my "hey-how-much-fun-was-that" grin was suddenly very inappropriate. As I helped her out of the truck, Beau told me that she needed to go straight to her room. EEK. Was getting the impression that it was, in fact, NOT a fun trip to the parking lot. Apparently, Bryn declined Beau's "request" to put her jacket on in the sharp wind, and when Beau required it, she basically made a run for it in her car. (Beau still cannot speak of the fit-of-epic-proportions, so I can't confirm any of this....but my mind's eye pictures Bryn driving around erratically in circles with Beau chasing her like a little kid trying to catch a football that doesn't bounce straight. I'll be sure to correct this image if I'm way off--when he's up for it.)

10. Back to Bryn in her bedroom...very upset...she knows that she's in trouble because she didn't listen and wouldn't put on her jacket...she basically proposes a "do-over" which isn't going to happen since dad's still steaming and the whole affair required loading up the electric car into the truck and hauling it elsewhere. I leave her to calm down on her own and go to try to calm Beau down.

11. Bryn gets very quiet, and Beau decides that they should make up. Next thing I hear is "Honey, what are you doing?". My gut says "grab the camera," and I head upstairs. Bryn has a small aquarium in her room. When I turn the corner in her room, I hear: "The fish were hungry. ... Look, Mommy! It's snowing! Only it's not snow, it's food!" She was so proud of herself. In the quiet of her mind, she had decided that the fish really needed some food---all of the food. It truly was a blizzard of orange flakes, and little "food drifts" were forming on the bottom of the tank. The fish (although you could hardly see them for all the "snow") were swimming around in seeming ecstasy. I can see how she thought they would just LOVE some extra food for the holiday. Beau proceeded to siphon out all the food, but in the process had to take out more water than is good for the fish. Basically, we were going to kill them with too much food or too much new water. Don't know which is the worse way to go. (I can happily report that all seven fish are alive and well at print time, however.)

12. After our big lunch, we weren't really hungry, so we poked around for dinner. And afterwards, I decided to get back to making my phone calls to family. Remembered my cell phone up in the playroom, so off I went to retrieve it. Didn't see it on the couch or on the blanket I was using, so I started to feel around in the cushions. I kind of, sort of felt something WAAAAYYYY back in the cushion--but it could have been anything....a pen, a piece of Bryn's plastic food, or a telephone. My fingertips aren't highly calibrated...and I just barely caught a feel of the thing before it fell off the back of the cushion. Geez, I thought. So I moved the couch to see what fell behind there. That's when I realized that whatever it was had fallen INTO the couch, not behind it, and that the bottom was sealed up with fabric. I called down to Beau to call me...I wasn't up for retrieving any fake eggs or pancakes. While I waited for Beau to call, I just stared at the couch...waiting for it to ring. And it did. ARGH! Went back to the top of the stairs and asked Beau to come help...and bring a knife. Minor surgery (and the creation of a cool hiding place) under the couch and my telephone was reborn.

13. 10:00--I was exhausted and ready to call it....try to start again the next day. I put on my pjs and just went to bed.

Merry Christmas to all....and to all a good night.

How Not to Behave at a Funeral

I’m sure there are plenty of parenting resources out there that explain how one should approach the subject of death with a three-year old. Having none of those resources around, I found myself incredibly short of words and ideas the week of Thanksgiving. We had a death in the family—a great uncle whom Bryn and I had never met—so we loaded up the family and traveled to Oklahoma for the funeral. I tried to explain where we were going and why, and why Daddy and Grandmother were sad and would appreciate us being as helpful and nice as we could be. But in saying the words “Grandmother’s brother died,” I realized that those words—to a three-year old—probably sound no different than an explanation about why the batteries in the remote control don’t work anymore. Obviously the implications are dramatically different.

The Southern rule book indicates that you always attend funerals and weddings to support your friends. Attending funerals—I believe—is all about empathy, and I’m not sure when people hit that developmental milestone. Some people never develop much of it, I guess. But three years old may be a little early to have a robust empathetic bent. I was pleased when Bryn showed some signs of understanding, telling Grandmother one time (unprompted) “I’m sorry your friend died.”

In other cases, she was just taking it all in the festivities with seemingly no grasp of the weight of the situation. After we filed into the chapel for the service, she was settled preemptively between me and Beau’s mom. Her response to my request to be very quiet can only be described as a poorly executed stage whisper. As the last of the family was seated, Bryn whispered, “Is the show about to start?” Me: “Yes, honey. Now, please. You must be very quiet.” Bryn: “oh-KAY.”

But, being very still is clearly a different request than being very quiet. I hadn’t covered that in my “how to behave at a funeral” crash course that morning. She wanted to stand in the pew (to better see the show—no doubt) and was quickly yanked back into my lap. So began the struggle to stay seated without too much hub-bub. I tried to sit very still to compensate for her movement, but that worked about as well as when my sister and I would get the giggles in church and try not laugh and instead our heads would bob uncontrollably and the entire pew would shake. I’m sure—to those behind us—we were a bonafide mess. I’d be surprised if all the extended family that we didn’t know weren’t thinking “who brought the zoo and elected to sit up front?”

I had promised that I would take her out if she needed to go, so I had to debate the exact moment that her behavior in the service was so intolerable to justify the shrieking that was inevitable if I were to forcibly remove her. Oh, and I forgot to mention her unbelievably inappropriate outfit. It’s really most important at this point in the story. She received a dress for her birthday that was navy blue corduroy with a sweet white turtleneck underneath. The weather was quite cold and rainy so I thought it would be our best option: dark color and relatively warm. I hadn’t had Bryn try it on, but when I put it on that morning, it was REALLY short—as in barely covering her bottom. Ok, I’m rounding up…it really didn’t cover her bottom all that reliably. Add to that the fact that she “declined” the tights that I brought to keep her warm-ish. So, as I escorted her out of the service—shrieking for GG and other family members—her pink princess panties were on glorious display.

At the end of the day, our real comfort in times of loss is the next generation. I would like to think that Bryn’s spirit brought some comfort to people in the room, (she says hopefully). At any rate, I’ll still be tiding up my “rules of behavior” manual in the meantime.

A New Trick

I think--without question--this photo speaks for itself.

Happy Birthday!

Today is my sister's birthday. And since I have generally not been able to pull together a package (or even a card) in a timely way, I will substitute a birthday haiku in honor of my sister.





Hope today serves you
Pampering, remembering
You are loved by all.

Happy Birthday, Sis.
Many years in the making--
Funny, Smart, Older.



Honestly, my sister is my best friend--always has been. Even when we were growing up, I can remember only ONE fight that we ever had. I still have the note of apology that we were required to write to each other. Even though I could have easily been the annoying younger sister, she never treated me that way. I was welcome to hang out with her and her friends even when she was in high school and I was a dorky junior higher.

Wendy, I want you to know that you are hilarious, brilliant, creative, an incredible author, mother, wife, friend--an inspiration. I know lots of people have been blessed by having you in their lives, but I am incredibly fortunate to trump nearly everyone on "time on task". I've had the joy of your company for most of your years. Thank you for being such an awesome sister to me.

I love you.