Memorial Day Getaway

We decided to get a hotel room on Cocoa Beach for 2 days over the long weekend. We asked some friends to come out and hang at the pool with us for an afternoon. They ended up getting their own rooms for the same days as us. Fun!

We also celebrated my sis's birthday and had the family come out for cake and swimming on Monday. Also fun!

Now for the down side.

Getting Brooklyn to sleep in the hotel room for naps and bedtime was half hilarious and half nightmarish. In the afternoon John had this brilliant idea that he would put her in her pack-n-play with all the lights out and then we would hide behind the dresser so she would eventually go to sleep. In the evening she would not go to sleep as long as she saw us in the room. Which was a hard problem for us to fix because...um...well...we wanted to sleep too.

Picture this:

9:30pm.

All the lights are out.

Everyone is in bed.

"Mommy, cha-doin?"

"Brooklyn, I'm going to sleep. Now you go to sleep."

Lays back down. Sings quietly to herself "Marching boom boom boom!" (her version of The Ants Go Marching.)

This goes on for like 20 minutes.

Finally I go pick her up and she points to my bed.

I put her in bed with me.

Here is where the nightmare begins. She's tossing and turning and kicking me and yelling "If you're happy and you know it shout HU-RAAAAAAAY!" and John is giggling his butt off over in the next bed. (The front desk gave us two double beds. Yay us.)

Yes, it's funny. But it's also late. So I'm getting annoyed that this cute little Tazmanian Devil won't settle down.

So I put her back in her bed. That experiment was a FAIL.

We continue to hear her singing quietly to herself and every now and then a loud "HU-RAAAAY!"

Around 10:15 I don't hear her singing any more.

Then at 10:17..."HU-RAAAAAAY!"

Dang it!

Now at 10:30 I think she's finally asleep.

THANK GOD.

The Week Of Fear is over.

We replaced her crib with a toddler bed. Bring on the first-time-parent anxiety.

All the stories mom told of us getting out of bed and cracking eggs all over the kitchen floor flash to the front of my mind. Is this do be my new daily morning surprise?

What happens when she realizes she doesn't have to stay in bed at night if she doesn't want to? Do we now have to deal with a cranky AND tired two year old?

Crap.

John bought a gate to put in her doorway and a screen along the side of her bed so she wouldn't fall out.

She's been sleeping in her bed now for going on her third week and all is well. The first night was a major adjustment for her (and us!) but she adapts extremely well.

So proud.

Flight of the Butter Bean

So Brooklyn decided to Greg Louganis out of her crib this morning. I walked in the room just in time to see her fling her leg over and catapault onto the floor with a thud.

It happened so fast but I ran to her in time to catch only her lower half...not enough to keep her from hitting her head on the faux wood flooring.

She screamed. I scooped her off the floor, wishing we could go back in time 10 seconds and still in utter shock of what I had just witnessed. Did this really just happen? I am hating myself for not having better reflexes.

I hugged her and rocked her until she stopped crying...which was only for a minute or two.

What do I do now? Is this one of those times when you take your kid to the ER? My mind went racing back to January 22, 2010 where she suffered a brain injury during a car accident that landed her in the children's hospital for 9 days.

While I'm reminiscing that nightmare, she asks to read her ABC book. Okay, good. At least this way I can see whether or not she shows any sign confusion. Like I'm a doctor now or something.

She named off every object in the book that she normally knows. That seems like a good sign, right?

So after about 10 minutes we go into the kitchen to get her some milk and we are playing on the floor and chatting.

Then she says "Brooklyn's bed. Boom." Reminding me that she just fell and went boom. I said "Oh really. Can you show me where you fell?" She went right into her room and pointed at the floor saying "boom boom." (I guess she learned 'boom' at school.)

I'm still trying to decide if a trip to the hospital is in order. She hasn't vomitted, and she's behaving quite normally, so I'm thinking it will be okay.

But then the crippling paranoia kicks in. What if something is going on inside her head? What if her brain is swelling right now and she dies in two hours?

Yes...this is the way my brain works.

Then rational thought takes over. She's acting fine and kids jump out of bed all the time. John agrees with me and so we go along our merry way.

To be on the safe side, I called the nurse practitioner and she told me as long as Brooklyn isn't demonstrating any unusual behavior, no need to bring her in.

Relief.

Just Talking

John: I look old and fat.

Me: Honey, seriously....you DO NOT look old.

John: Hey...

Me: Don't. I knew it the second after I said it.

Dear Brooklyn,

I found this poem and want to use it on a scrapbook page some day.

How Do I Love You?

How do I love you?
Let me count the ways;
I love you on your very best
And very worst of days.

I love to see you laughing
And dancing in the rain;
And even if you make a mess,
I love you just the same.

I love to hear you sing,
I love to see you smile.
I love the way you take each day
In your own unhurried style.

I'm happy when you're happy.
I'm sorry when you're sad.
And even though it may not show,
I love you even when you're bad.

I love to watch you sleeping,
Tucked away in dreams.
I love to hear you whisper
All your future hopes and dreams.

I love to watch you play
And all your silly ways.
I'm sure you'll never know
How much I love you more each day.

How do I love you?
It's impossible to say;
For if I had a million days
And time enough for all the praise
I couldn't tell you all the ways
I love you.

LOVE

Muthahood - are you in it?

Life After Death

So last night was the first time I have been back to my Grandma's house since she passed away nearly a year ago. Was very weird being there.

I have SO many thoughts.

I was told to go through what is left of her things. Take anything you want. I didn't really want anything.

1) To me the items were still Grandma's. Her paintings and quilts. Endless pictures in frames. Her figurines and dishes. Her jewelry and books. I felt like a vulture. Picking over the remnants determining what had value and what didn't. Just doesn't seem fair.

2) A knick knack will not keep her close. A punch bowl will not help me remember the smell of her perfume. If it falls and smashes into tiny bits, will I forget how much she loved Holstein cows? Not likely. Her memory lives on in my mind and photo albums.

Don't get me wrong...I can appreciate that some are comforted by having these things. Nothing wrong with that. No judgement here.

But what do you do with the rest of the stuff. So much stuff.

I looked in all the closets, remembering her wearing certain outfits or necklaces. The kitchen...dishes and silverware reminding me of all the holidays.

Drawers and boxes filled with pictures. I've never seen so many pictures. All family. Son, daughters. All the grandkids and great grandkids. The years frozen in time.

Then we found her box of video tapes. I had no idea.

My sister and I playing our instruments, 1987. A snippet of news coverage from 1990....the anchor interviewed my sister who had won an essay contest when she was 13 or 14 years old.

I had no idea mom sent these tapes to her. That she kept them.

Wait a minute...why am I just now learning that she DID care? All these years of me thinking her unconcerned. I should have known from the piles of pictures she always had sitting out on every available surface.

Makes me sad to realize how little I really knew her. How similar we are.

She didn't need the trinkets either. She only needed the pictures.

The people in the pictures.

Brooklyn Said It

Dropped sippy cup.

Daddy picks it up for her.

"Good girl, Daddy."