Whirling Dervish

Last year you were the baby Buddha for Halloween and it was my intention that you would be a whirling dervish for Halloween this year (I am concerned that we stay with the world religions theme we started last year). We actually did teach you to spin around a few weeks before Halloween but I couldn't get my act together on an outfit in time. And honestly, if people thought you were Ms. Muffet last year was there any hope they would get a whirling dervish this year? I think not.

In the month since Halloween, however, you have perfected the skill of whirling to the point it seems a shame that Halloween doesn't fall in December. I think we could win an award for best costume. Some nights you just twirl and twirl for twirl until the spinning in your head gets the best of you and your crumple to the floor laughing so hard you get the hiccups.

You have become a force--a whirling, tornado like force that keeps us all on our toes. As I sit in the living room this afternoon I am completely surrounded by bits of your creative storm. Paper and pens, books, empty boxes, clothes we had set aside to give to Goodwill, cords and other unsafe object are scattered across the floor. In the bathroom there are bits of toilet paper you dipped in Peanut's water hardening on the floor and your wet washcloth drips on the floor mat. Downstairs numerous Christmas tree ornaments have found their way to the trashcan and Momma G's room. Your oatmeal is under the chair in the breakfast room and a wasabi pea--inexplicably one of your favorite snack foods -- just fell out of my shirt. I have put you down for an early nap today in the hopes that I might get some of this put away before anyone comes home.

It seems silly that I haven't written more about all your new tricks but honestly, they are coming almost too fast to document. Language is such fun for you right now and you try to repeat anything we say. Finally, it seems like you know who Momma and Poppa are (of course I don't get tired of hearing you say these words) and sometimes I turn on the monitor and listen to your private conversations just before you go down for a nap because the sound of your voice almost bring me to tears.

Of course, the thought of scraping hardened toilet paper and oatmeal off the floor also makes me want to cry. So while you sleep, my little tornado force toddler, I'll try to get the world set back on it's end again. Then, when you wake up, we can have fun knocking off together.

Another Saturday Night and I Aint Got Nobody

For the first time since you were born we will not wake up together. Today you, Poppa and Peanut drove to the lake house and I stayed home because I'm waiting for a baby to be born. It occurred to me when I decided to go through doula training that there would probably be a few scheduling conflicts. Sure enough, first birth, first conflict. The entire Ramke clan (minus Antenna) has gathered to celebrate Grandmother's 90th birthday and I'm feeling awfully left out.

I miss you sweet girl. I miss giving you post-nap hugs and checking on the chickens. I miss watching you crawl up into Momma G's lap for dinner treats (although she tells me you scored some filet mignon tonight...lucky). I miss bath time and goodnight kisses. And tomorrow morning, when the chickens start to cluck at sunrise I'll to miss the feeling of you curled neatly in the curve of my chest and stomach.

Sweet dreams Marian.

Pumpkin Picker

It seems impossible that we would have a picture of you from Halloween last year. I mean, didn't you just get here? But the proof is in the picture--there you are laying fast asleep in the pumpkin patch at Glenn Memorial. I used to work that pumpkin patch when I was in youth group, basically I volunteered with the hope that some cute guys from Druid Hills would have the same shift and we could flirt. That never happened.

We went yesterday, just two days before the big event, so the pickins were a little slim but you still had a ball. You found the perfect pumpkin, I found a warty one I'm sure will make a good witch and we brought them home. Hopefully Nona and Grandaddy who are visiting right now will help us carve later this afternoon.

And even though a lot has changed in a year (i.e. you can run around from pumpkin to pumpkin vs. sleeping through the whole experience) some things remain the same. One, you look good in orange. Two, Halloween once again seems to have brought on a stuffy nose. You don't need the manufactured "green slime" you've got it for real! Three, I still think you're all treat and no trick.

Mugshot

I knew we shouldn't have let you on that reality TV show. Another child star gone bad.

Moonlit Reflection

Marian, it's been a long time since I've written about just how deeply crazy I am about you. I've covered some of the milestones, the miles traveled and some of your funny quirks of personality. Somehow, I've forgotten to slow down and just write about the wonder of belonging to you.

Last night I leaned over your crib (yep, that's right, you sleep in one of those now) and put my hand on your back and my head on the side of the bed and just fell into the rhythm of your breathing. The moon was full outside and it lit up the room enough for me to see you clearly as you twitched just a little bit under the lightness of my hand. I was overwhelmed by my love for you, my little baby, sleeping with one hand curled around Douglas the Dog and your legs all tucked underneath you.

It seems impossible that just over a year ago you were tiny enough for me to lift with one hand, that you couldn't talk or walk or bite. All this seems to be moving so fast and I'm well aware that in what will seem like a few months you'll be graduating from high school. That's why I'm definitely holding you back in kindergarten for three or four years.

If I could suspend time, I think I would be tempted to freeze it right now. I know I said similar things when you were four months, at six months, etc. I remember thinking that it just couldn't get any better than this--and then it did. You wake up every day and do something new, funny, smart (and often frustrating, like when you meticulously filled my tennis shoe to the brim with water from Peanut's bowl). Watching you grow is the most interesting thing I've ever witnessed and I anticipate the ways we'll both be challenged as you continue to question and learn. I love you in your active moments and I love you in the stillness of the night when the sound of your breathing and occasionally a little sleep talking sounds like a symphony. Being your mom is the sweetest job in the world.

San Francisco Images

Here you are clearly channeling Poppa Joe's tourist aesthetic

You're on a cliff and while it looks like the water is close enough to touch it's actually way, way, way down there.

At the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park

This is your windblown look

With Antenna and the Golden Gate Bridge in the background.

The Double Crown: Sign of a Traveler

I think I've mentioned before that you have a double crown; instead of just one swirl of hair on the back of your scalp you have two. Someone told me many months ago this is the mark of a traveler. The thought of you leaving me one day to traipse across the globe (no doubt to dangerous places where there are lots of insect borne diseases) sends shivers down my spine. However, after your first plane ride (cross country), a week spent traveling by subway, boat, car and foot and rarely sleeping in the same room more than two nights in a row, I'm ready to admit there's something to that superstition.

We returned last night from 10 days in San Francisco, Marin, Napa and Sonoma. Your dad and I agree that this is perhaps the nicest vacation we've ever had, thanks in large part to the hospitality of your Aunt Anna (heretofore known as Antenna) and Parker (Mr. Austin). With the help of their car we were untethered and free to roam on our own schedule. We spent time lounging at Golden Gate park, sampled the delights at Marin County Farmers' Market, lived the life of the rich and famous in Napa pretending we were wine snobs, stood in awe at the height of the Redwoods in Muir Woods and celebrated Tatyana's wedding at Fort Mason this past Friday followed by an excursion to Angel Island. The weather was absurdly perfect, even when they said it would surely rain, it didn't.

You made friends at every turn and seemed to trust that every time we put you in the car seat you would end up in some magical and fun place. You loved hiking, you tolerated the winery stops and you nearly exploded every time your Poppa asked if you wanted to go swimming. You ate your first sushi and loved it and didn't protest a dinner of two cereal bars and oatmeal on the plane ride home yesterday. You spontaneously started clapping after the pilot put the plane down on the runway and you greeted Peanut with squealing and (mostly) gentle pats on the face when we returned home. Momma G got lots of kisses too.

There are lots of pictures to post and more stories to tell. I just wanted to get something up before too much time passed by. You've certainly lived up to the expectations of a double crown.

A Rolling Stone

It's Monday morning after a weekend trip to Alabama and you are sleeping soundly. For the past few days you played your heart out while Poppa and I cut trees, hauled brush and pulled fallen trees out of a fish pond that may not have a lot of fish but sprouts algae like you wouldn't believe. It was stinky business but good, honest work and I'm feeling a little sore all over today. You are just worn out from playing with a host of indefatigable playmates (Mur, Nona, Grandaddy, Charles, Alyssa, Grandmomma, Jane, Lyn, Trent and Owen).

The pictures above are a smattering of the activities you enjoyed while at Mur's Resort and Fun House. There is some evidence that you pitched in to help rake some leaves but for the most part you colored, practiced walking up steps, and played gorilla. You were also not the least bit interested in watching your television debut Saturday night on HGTV; you went to the back bedroom and watched the fish screen-saver on the computer monitor. It's nice to see that fame has not gone to your head.

This month is one marked by travel every weekend. Last weekend (photo-less, how did that happen?!) we were in Nashville visiting a whole host of friends and watching Poppa play a game of Aussie Rules Football. We didn't make any trips to the ER so by all accounts the weekend was a raging success. You got to visit with your buddies Kate and Amanda and took up a new obsession with pushing a stroller everywhere you go.

In just five days you board your first aircraft for a trip across the country to San Francisco. Your Poppa and I are so, so looking forward to this long vacation and traveling with you. Again, you'll have plenty of entertainment--Aunt Anna is so excited to play with you -- and you'll attend your second wedding. We're hoping the time change doesn't totally wreck your sleep schedule and we apologize to anyone who may lose five or six hours of sleep each night (that would be you Anna and Parker...rest up now!).

In all, you're still the great little traveler that you've been since you were born. I am amazed at the ways you'll entertain yourself on the highway. You talk constantly (I am sure this will be annoying in a few years but now I just love it) read books, eat Clementines (a new favorite, even when I judge that they are completely dry and tasteless), loop Mardi Gras beads around your toes and sing songs with us. I'm not sure how many states you've visited (I think it's about 10 or 11) but you've seen quite a bit of this country in less than a year and a half with no sign of slowing down. Next stop, Hartsfield Jackson Airport!

Dinner

This may be the shortest blog entry yet.
Last night for dinner you ate smoked herring and pickled okra. Wow.

DIY

There are TV channels and websites devoted entirely to the DIY (do it yourself) lifestyle. In a few minutes you can learn how to make a fabulous holiday centerpiece or refinish old cabinets. There is DIY backyard chicken coop building (something we're getting ready to learn a thing or two about...shhh...don't tell Momma G) and DIY plumbing.

You are a huge devotee of DIY feeding and, increasingly, DIY dressing. The dressing bit has me tickled, the feeding less so. Somedays you feel like wearing panties, a bikini top and a fly pair of new shoes. Somedays you don't. That's fine with me.

I've learned never to dress you before the first bowl of oatmeal. Unless it's one of those days that bikini top and diapers is all you want to wear.

Into the Great Wide Open

One of the highlights of our trip to Ocean Springs was the trip we took to Folsom, LA and the Global Wildlife Center. Here are a few photos from the visit:

When heading on safari, one must dress for the part. Thanks to Sugar Bo (that's Aunt Rachael to me) for the elephant dress.

You've got your grandparents all in a row and pretty securely wrapped around your finger. That's your friend Jaqueline making sure you're well hydrated.

Feeding a giraffe out of my hand was pretty cool--you were only slightly concerned.

Watusi cattle can do cool tricks with their tongues.

You make sure we don't miss a thing. I have a death grip on your thigh.

I think I know the feeling my friend...

Hong Kong Delivers! We've got photos.

A leftover birthday picture..this was your third cake for the celebration over the fourth of July at the lakehouse. You're making your now famous surprised face.

Nothing's more surprising than another road trip!

You've become quite a happy traveler.

Jackson, your friend from Silver Spring, was just a few days old when you last saw him and it turns out he's a lot of fun--and very mobile! We enjoyed his visit, although very brief, this week and wish we lived a little closer.

You're a really great helper. Especially on plumbing projects.

Things were okay until we hit the interstate...
To avoid calls to DFACS please note that the car was stationary and Poppa's hands were on you at all times.

Another beloved hat!

I Feel Your Pain

Last night, in a fit of domesticity, I was zooming around the house trying to get the garbage and recycling to the curb before you opened the drawer with the vitamins in it again or managed to crack another bottle in the pantry. As I lifted the recycling bin a large cement block fell and cracked me on the shin, taking a nice chunk of my skin off as it slid down and eventually hit the deck.

I walked into the kitchen where you were "helping" with dinner and got your Poppa's attention by saying "that's really gonna hurt." You took one look at my leg and burst into tears. I was not writhing in pain, I was not screaming I was simply standing there waiting for the medics to arrive with an amazing degree of self-restraint (I thought).

The minute you started to cry I forgot all about the leg. You knew something was wrong with your Momma and it upset you and all I wanted to do was assure you that everything was okay. I swooped you up, hobbled to the closest chair and just repeated over and over again that "Momma was okay." We also talked about bumps, something you know a thing or two about and you quickly picked up a new sign: bumping your palm against your forehead while saying "bum...bum" which is, of course, totally adorable. Things calmed down and you eagerly supervised the wound clean-up, watching as your Poppa poured peroxide and tea tree oil over the gashes. Convinced that the leg would heal just fine, you turned your attention to your dinner of peas and mango.

To feel the pain of others seems like such a grown up thing. While I'm sorry the sight of my bloodied leg upset you, it melts my heart that you were worried enough to be upset by the vision. In a strange way, it also makes it a little easier to mother you, a child who seems bent on keeping a permanent black and blue spot on her forehead. I feel your pain at least five or six times a day as you plop down too hard, get your head stuck under the table or fall off your little truck. I think my stomach might be permanently lodged in my throat; it's odd to think that you might know that feeling.

And empathy is perhaps one of the character traits I would most like to instill in you. Of course I don't want you to harbor the pain of others as your own, but recognizing and attempting to respond to the pain of others makes you fully, wholly human in the best way. And there's no better way to instill that value in you than to see it reflected in the lives of those you spend the most time around. Thanks for the reminder.

Did I mention that the power cord I bought for my computer was being shipped from Hong Kong? There are now an overwhelming number of pictures on my camera and stories to tell about visits with relatives and friends. We'll just have to spend an afternoon loading them once that trans-oceanic power cord arrives. You are now playing with my lipstick and making long distance phone calls (trans-oceanic, perhaps?) on my cell phone. I love you.

Unplugged

For the past few weeks we've been living in technology limbo-land. The plug to the computer broke and because we've committed to another year of buy-nothing-new I couldn't walk into the Apple Store and pick up a new one off the shelf. I also couldn't walk in and buy a new iPhone although roughly 60 percent of Atlantans were doing just that the day we went in to have the problem diagnosed. Sadly, you weren't impressed with the ultra-cool atmosphere, started screaming and got us "thrown out" of the store. The hipster Apple employee suggested politely that we move because he was trying to teach a group of nouveau Apple lovers how to use their spanking new phones. Baby, PCs are not an option for us, please lay off the yelling at the Apple store.

So, here we are on the back porch on Mama G's computer without access to the trillions of amazingly cute pictures I took of you when we went to the wildlife conservation center in Louisiana last week. Giraffes and camels and Watusi cattle...oh my! I also cannot upload video from our first trip to the aquarium; you would have thought it was Halloween with all the "BOO! BOO!" exclamations. Your father, who taught you that fish say "boo", is exceedingly proud.

Here are few updates, without any visual aids which I will add as soon as the ebay purchased power cord arrives:
1) You are officially a walker. You now prefer this method of transportation to crawling. This development has only increased the number of bumps and bruises on your forehead but you seem to think it's worth it.
2) You pick up new signs at an alarmingly fast rate. Our favorites are gorilla (beating your chest and saying ahhhh) cat (whiskers on the face) and night-night (blowing a kiss). I'd say you have a signing of vocabulary of over 30 words, it's amazingly cool to watch you talk.
3) You have six teeth and you know how to use them. Nona is concerned that we will have problems getting into preschool if you're still biting by then. We must work on this.
4) You had baby herpes and you handled it like a champ. I got such a kick walking around telling people you had "the herpes." The YMCA didn't think it was so funny. Honestly, it's a very common, temporary and relatively minor sickness, also known as Roseola, and now a distant memory.

The learning curve is still steep and everyday I'm amazed watching you soak in the world. I love your determination, your explosive joy and your willingness to entertain yourself and the grown-ups. For the past hour or so you've been hanging out on the porch with me toddling around (with no head-bangers) and slowly pouring water out of your sippy cup. If that's all you need to be happy, we're in good shape.

Vroom Vroom

I had not quite finished uploading the picture for the blog post last night when I heard you fussing in the bedroom. This was about 11:00pm. I picked you up, nursed, rocked and sang "Bye Bye My Baby." You didn't go back to sleep. Nona came down when she couldn't stand the sound of your crying anymore and took you out to the porch swing. You went to sleep out there but woke up the minute you hit the sheets in the bedroom. For the next hour and a half you tossed and turned and tried to go back to sleep. Finally, you decided you might as well get up and read for a while. Book after book after book and you still didn't get sleepy enough to lay down and close your eyes. I, however, got plenty tired but decided it was a bad idea to fall asleep while a 13 month old crawled around on top of the bed. Finally, I asked you what you needed and you said very clearly, "vroom, vroom." So at 1:30 am we hopped in Nona and Granddaddy's mini van and hit the street. You were asleep three or four miles later and I got you back inside and into bed without a peep.
Sometimes, it pays to ask what you want.

What Do You Dream About?

We're in Ocean Springs--a magic place, really. In Ocean Springs you have french fries and chicken strips, Ritz crackers with peanut butter, the Wiggles and Sesame Street. We do not have these things in Atlanta. You are never alone, the living room is covered in toys and there is always someone available to read a book over and over and over again.

The real miracle, however, is what Ocean Springs does to your sleep habits. You've gone to bed each night around 8:30 and slept peacefully for the most part. I've slept pretty well too, if lightly, and I've got a couple of theories about why you might be sleeping so well:
A) you're exhausted from the constant playing
B) you're in a food coma; stuffed to the gills with roast beef, potatoes and cornbread
C) you're a bed-hog who is finally able to stake your claim on a queen sized bed

Personally, I think it's option "C." You've flipped and spun, twisted in the sheets and gone from lying horizontally to vertically three of four times during the night and amazingly, stayed asleep during these acrobatics. These level of activity begs the question: just what are you dreaming about? Last night you sat straight up, exclaimed "HAT!" and then fell back down to sleep. I love the idea that you might be doing hat inventory at night--there are so many hats you've known and loved (as long as they're not on your head) and I'd like to think you spent time exploring them all last night as we snoozed away. I hope all your dreams are so sweet, so innocent and simple as exploring a make believe world of hats. I would ask that you find a way to explore that world without doing gymnastics.

And on a side note: It's been a full month since I've written. Bad Momma. Bad Momma.

SHE'S ONE!!!

Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl!

We've been celebrating since yesterday when we had your friends Molly, Lisa, Robert, and Sarah Harper (almost 10mos) and the twins Clare and Erin (11 mos) and Uncle John and Kristen over for a birthday breakfast. You loved the coffee cake and laughed your way through your inaugural outside ride on your new tricycle (we've been riding inside for days...it's hard to keep something that fun a secret).

Last night you were awake with me at 12:41 (not necessarily my choice but it was sweet all the same). We slept on the couch (again, not necessarily my choice) and I woke up this morning to you clapping your hands together and asking to read a book. Since it was your birthday we read it over and over and over again, as you requested.

Birthday breakfast consisted of your dad's biscuits from yesterday which were just as good the second time around and the opening of presents. Momma G bought you a cow (farmers in Africa will take care of it for you) and a small wooden cow to commemorate the purchase. We love the Heifer Project and think that was a great gift. Nona and Grandaddy pitched in for the tricycle and we all feel better now that you have a seat belt and you love the loud bell. Books, new outfits and sweet cards from far and wide were the icing on top of the cake.

Now, we're off to the lakehouse for the week. Poppa will catch up with us on Thursday but GUT and GUB (two of your biggest fans from Silver Spring) are going to spend a night with us at the cabin before heading back to Maryland. Three and a half hours in the car might be a perfect place to take a long birthday nap, don't you agree?

What a great, great day. We love you.