Okay, Okay This is Ridiculous

Marian:
It should be clear to you by now why your mother never made it as a freelance writer. If cannot find the time to sit down and write about my most favorite subject (that would be you) I'm never going to find the inspiration to sit down and write a best-selling book. I'll offer no excuses, it just turns out that the longer you don't write, the harder it is to convince yourself to sit down and do it. Even if it's just a few lines. So it's just after midnight and I've gotten disgusted with myself enough to open the computer and type. I'll put down more tomorrow (I promise).

First, I'm sorry to report that you've turned a little bad. At around 18 months your strong opinions about things grew even stronger. About two weeks ago, you started biting again. This was a habit I thought we'd managed to break you of when those teeth finally came in. You get a terrible gleam in your eye as you head for the stairs and look back over your shoulder to watch me scrambling after you. A few weeks ago you daintily dangled your foot over the curb (when I had repeatedly told you that you could NOT go in the street) so that just your big toe was scraping the asphalt. You knew exactly what you were doing.

And yet, you are the cutest, sweetest, funniest little girl. You love to say thank you. You give kisses and backrubs and think it's hilarious to tickle us in the morning when we're all cuddling in bed together. The words are literally tumbling out of your mouth these days and you understand EVERYTHING. When I was driving too close to the curb the other day and one wheel hit, I heard you say, "oh shoot" from the backseat. There are worse things you could have said...

Last week we went to Mississippi to celebrate Mardi Gras. Your aunt took a ton of photographs and Poppa just told me that I could lift them off of Facebook and add them to my blog. That was my inspiration for writing tonight. I'll put a few on and add others later.

I love you. Even if you are a little rotten sometimes.

Anything is Possible.

It's 10:30am and in one hour and 30 minutes Barack Obama will be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. I'm sitting at home right now, glued to CNN and wiping tears off my cheeks every few minutes. You are at London's house playing with trains.

It's not too much of an overstatement to say that today I place much of your future in this man's trust. And at this moment, I can't help but believe we're all going to be okay. He isn't a savior, or a magician but I believe in him. And, after watching this country elect him and then rally around him, I believe in us.

Today, anything is possible. The world is wide open to you my sweet girl.

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.