The Tail

Today Johnny called me over to the bathroom, presumably to help with the wiping situation (because even when your kid is potty trained, you still have daily proximity to poop for several more years). I obligingly headed to the bathroom to see my little boy, naked, with a wad of scrunched up toilet paper between his butt cheeks. "Look, Mom, I have a tail!"

Time travel

I was digging through old papers to find a hard copy resume (brushing it up for that perfect 2-day a week dream job that is just around the corner). Anyhow, I spent the rest of the evening reading old journals, letters, and report cards. To open those same notebooks that I frantically scribbled my moment's drama, to turn those same pages I cried over and rejoiced in!! Not only did I write my thoughts, but stories of that time, complete with dialogue, as well. It was a magical transport to a younger self!

When Matt and I first started dating, I remember one night we were up so late talking about meaning of life type stuff. It had gotten so dark and we never bothered to turn on lights. Not even a street light shone into the room it was so black. All we could hear were each other's voices emerging from nothingness. The subject matter and the fact that it was about 2 in the morning all contributed to this feeling that we were not bodies sitting on couches talking, but two souls floating in space.

And that's how I felt listening to my former self's words. A teenage soul floating above the page. Anxious, unsure, naive and overwhelmed by seeing the bigness of the world for the first time. It certainly wasn't all bad, and I was even happy to find out that the things I was interested in then are still interesting now. But permeating the beginnings of a woman excited to meet the world was a teenager scared of making a mistake, scared to be something other than what was expected, scared of her own sexuality, needy and wanting to be loved. Much of what I wrote about was petty garbage, who I liked, excuse me, LOVED, that week, who snubbed me, and why it was always the other person's fault. If you've never read your own journal, proceed with caution. It's a very humbling experience.

Now, if only I could take myself now, or better yet, my self that I am aiming to become, and float that soul above the page to have a chat with the 17-year old, we'll be all set. Except that when you're 17, you don't listen to anyone. :) Better to take that old soul who knows no boundaries and set it firmly into my 31-year old self to dissolve the last vestiges of self-doubt.

New Furnace

We have air, for the first time in almost a month. Ahhhhhh. I think I'm going to stand in front of the vent all day.

Shoes

So I just ran to Target and bought some shoes for Ellie. She is no longer a poor neglected child.

Marshalls

Ellie hates shoes. She takes them off when I put them on her. So I don't. I think a barefoot baby is just fine, so I haven't given it another thought. Until today, when I was shopping for socks and underwear at Marshall's. She was really angry at being in the cart, so I took her out so she could play with the socks while I looked for what I needed.

A saleslady walked by and said in a terse voice, "She needs shoes." And walked away.

So then I'm wondering, does she mean she needs shoes to be allowed in the store? Does no shirt, no shoes, no service apply to babies? Then I suddenly realize that she is looking at us thinking how sad it is that there are parents in this world who don't buy their kids what they need and the poor babies have to go without because of the stupid parents. And then the smoke starts pouring out of my ears and my face turns red with anger. I have now had three babies who hate shoes. I didn't put shoes on a single one of them as babies, and I think they have turned out just fine (well, most days anyway). If someone else feels the need to always have shoes on their baby, that's fine with me. But I don't need to have someone imposing that on me.

So when the saleslady returns, I say to her, "I guess that's your theory that she needs shoes. I don't think she does."

And she quickly corrected herself, saying, "No, I mean that there's a lot of pins on the floor that she could step on."

I immediately feel stupid and terrible for jumping to conclusions that she is criticizing my parenting. "Oh, I see. Sorry, I'll put her back in the cart."

Then the saleslady walks away and mumbles, "I would never let MY child be barefoot." My ears perk up and I say, "What was that you just said?" Eyebrows raised, tounge in cheek, she did not respond.

"You would never let YOUR child be barefoot?" I say. She looked at me and dared me to go on. I accepted the challenge. "I think I'll talk to your manager about this."

"Good. She'll probably say the same thing to you."

I talked to the manager, blah blah blah, this kind of treatment doesn't make me want to patronize this store (yes, this fine establishment with pins on the floor and clothes you need to dig through to find what you need). And then I told her I would like an apology from the offending employee.

What a bitch I am! Not for standing up for parents of barefooted babies everywhere, but for demanding an apology. I guess I went a little too far. Lesson learned: let the steam out a little at a time instead of all at once. And I realize how insane I am as I'm standing there with my purchases (because after spending 45 minutes picking out socks and underwear, I couldn't just leave it there. I had to buy it and then complain about how NEXT time I won't patronize this store). And so, as the manager was talking to the employee to try and get her to aplologize, I told the cashier there was somewhere I needed to be (a lie) and quietly made my exit.

Ellie walks!

Just one step last week when we were on vacation, then yesterday and today she has taken multiple steps. Hip hip hooray! Everyone in our house can walk!

Heavenly Cottage

We just got back from a little 10-day vacation. We went to my in-laws in Door County for the weekends, and I spent the weekdays in Green Bay at the cottage where my family vacationed in the summers. The cottage is a true cottage, with thin walls, 3 tiny bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a living room and dining room with windows all around to look out onto the bay. From the yard, you can sit and watch the sunrise, the sunset, and an inky black sky speckled with millions of shimmering stars. The waves lull you to sleep at night and provide endless entertainment during the day with the help of some very nice friends down the street and all their water toys. Each year as the car approached the bay, the birds grew louder and the air felt cleaner and my heart woud beat with excitement to experience the yearly ritual of swimming, skiing, getting sunburned, watching the sunset, and sleeping on cots.

Over the last decade, I have become much more of a city-girl. My fear of spiders has grown as my tolerance of dirt and mismatched furniture has shrunk. One might say that this is an irony, considering the 100-year old house I live in, with hand me down furniture and dirt that never seems to come out of some of the crevices of the floors. Fodder for future post. Anyway, something happened this time at the cottage and I connected with it in a way that I haven't in a decade. Or maybe ever. Returning there, I walked in to see the same baskets hanging on yellow walls in the kitchen, the same green sea lantern that provided soft light for midnight bathroom visits, the same map on the wall that announced permanancy to the location. I was comforted by those walls that held the stories of my childhood, the waves that have been and will continue to be the heartbeat of the shore. As my mom and I stayed up late one night and looked out into the milky way and contemplated the size of the universe, I remembered a little picture hanging on one of the walls inside, "Heaven is a little closer in a house by the sea." And I think it's true.