Still A Mess

After yesterday's tirade, I still feel unsettled. Today has been at best, a difficult day and at worst a terrible day. Currently, it is fair to middling, but it ain't over yet.

Poor Don has a massive sinus infection and didn't sleep AT ALL last night, but he still left early to see the doctor and worked most of the day. Poor Alec is either teething or going through separation anxiety or both - whatever the cause, he is either ON me or crying. Actually, he is so miserable that sometimes he is crying even if I am holding him :-/ Poor Me is emotionally exhausted and physically a wreck - my arms and back ache from holding Alec so much, and my temper is on a hair trigger. Poor Lily Ruth is convinced that I am trying to pawn her off out of spite and that she is going to miss out on something. *sigh*

After Alec's morning nap, I attempted to corral the troops and get ready for a run to the grocery store. That weekly menu plan isn't going to shop for itself, people! I managed to dress Alec, style my hair and apply the only 2 cosmetics I have time for these days - concealer and mascara. I was attempting to dress myself when Alec crawled over to the dog water dish and soaked himself head to toe in less than 3 seconds. I shrieked at him which caused him to begin screaming in a truly epic fashion. I picked him up and apologized. He continued screaming. I stripped off his sopping wet clothing while crooning sweet things in his ear. He kept up the crying, and began rubbing impressive amounts of snot into the shirt that I had just barely managed to put on. I gave up and sat down to nurse him for the umpteenth time.

Since today was going so poorly, I called my (step)Dad and asked if he could take Lily Ruth to lunch. It was my intention to get her out of the House of Misery and give her some quality fun time with someone who loves her very much. Instead of seeing it that way, her first response was " 'out you, right?" (I love that despite her daily vocabulary and word usage growth, she still has a few Little Girl foibles in her speech! 'Out for without. Comote for remote...) When I confirmed that Alec and I would be staying home, she immediately balked and announced "that's not what I want to do." I dismissed her refusal, got her dressed and zipped her into her coat, but before we could get out to the car, she announced that she wasn't going to eat. She just wasn't hungry. I buckled her in to the carseat anyway, and waved as they drove away.

While I bounced and walked with Alec, I composed a scolding speech to Lily Ruth in my head. One that I knew that I wouldn't ever give, but I organized my thoughts nonetheless. I was inwardly ranting on and on about how important it is to spend time with family. How important it is to get to know them and to just be with them... then I stopped... because I felt like a total hypocrite. I spent yesterday convincing myself that I didn't need part of my family. That it wasn't important. That they weren't worth the emotional risk. So where do I really stand? Do I care or not? Will I risk or not?

Oh, Lawdy! I wish I had answers. I wish I felt stronger. I wish that I felt like a better version of myself. One who could push past years of little girl wishes and big girl disappointments and just be the bigger person who always does the right thing. That's who I want my babies to see me as.

In Which I Am A Mess

My brains are mush, ya'll. I am a mass of wildly swinging emotions, and all I want to do is sleep. No, I am most definitely NOT pregnant, so there's only one other thing that makes people act like this, right? Family.

My hope is that in writing and editing this, I can make some sort of sense out of the information I have, and how I feel about it.

My mom dropped an emotional bombshell on me last night. I love that woman. I love her deeply, madly, truly, fully... but DAMMIT! I have no idea if she is aware of this, but she drops bombs about my biological father and his family when I can't do anything about them. Like the time we went for pedicures. Two and a half hours side by side. Not a peep about anything 'heavy'. On the way home, she starts talking about how crazy busy the rest of her day is going to be. Two blocks from my house, she blurts out that my paternal grandmother has colo-rectal cancer, and it's always best to be aware that these things are lurking in our family trees. Then she basically shoves me out of the car at my door and races off down the street...

A bit of background: my parents married when my mother was 17, and my father was not much older. He was, however, being shipped off to Vietnam. While I was that age, I was working in restaurants, drinking too much, meeting my husband and making bad decisions that only impacted me. My dad was fighting a nasty, horrible war and jumping out of aircraft. My beautiful, feisty mother was alone on army bases far from everything she knew and trying to make a home out of everything she found. When he came back, things fell apart. They were divorced before I was born. My mom never said anything bad about my dad when I was growing up. He just wasn't around.

I met him for the first time when I was in high school. We ran into each other a few times in the next few years. He made it to my high school graduation, but not to my wedding. We never had direct contact, and eventually, my mother grew tired of playing go-between. She announced that if we wanted to communicate, we could buck up and do it ourselves. Neither of us seemed capable of figuring it out, so we let it drop.

Last May, just after Alec's birth, mama mentioned a call from him, but never said anything about it's content. Last night, as we stood in her kitchen making birthday dinner for the incredible man that I now call Dad, she leaned in and confided that she (the inveterate worrier) had "found something new to worry about." "Lay it on me" I belted out; confident that it had to do with Alec and something that we had failed to baby proof or are completely unprepared for - the field is vast as we are genuinely completely unprepared for a LOT of things. Instead, she told me that my paternal grandfather was diagnosed with congestive heart failure last May, and she hates to think that I might never meet him. "Do you think you might need to meet him?"

Wait, WHAT!?

She stirred the mushroom sauce and talked sotto-voice about how wonderful he is and where he is from. She mentioned that my dad has a half brother from his dad's second marriage who is also pretty great. I clutched my son and inwardly swooned.

"There might not be too much more time. Or maybe there is. What do you think?"

What do I think? I lost it a little bit. "What about the part where I'm FORTY YEARS OLD and none of these people have said a word to me!?" Why is this MY responsibility? Do they even want to talk to me? If so, why have they waited so long? It's not like I'm hard to find. "Shame," she said. "I think it's shame."

Some other portion of our family and our evening intervened, and we both let it drop.

I found a wine glass, and made it mine.

When we got back to our house, I started my rant. My poor husband. He of the toothache and case of exhaustion. He finally stopped me and said "I think that you have all of the dads and grandpas that you need." He hugged me and kissed the top of my head. Then he led me down the hall so we could put our children to bed.

I slept like a baby - up every hour, and restless in between.

As a child and a teen who had an occasionally adversarial relationship with her step-dad and two younger brothers that felt like two too many, I just knew that my dad would treat me differently. I had overblown fantasies of him coming to take me away and make me feel special. As a twenty-year-old, I decided that I had no need for this mysterious figure that I knew only through a handful of old photos and meetings that I could count on one hand. In my thirties, I found that I was no longer angry, but I wasn't interested in being the one to pursue a relationship, either.

So. Here I am. A forty-year-old, long-time married, mother of two. A planner and organizer. An avid reader. A novice writer. A teller of tales. A lover of ridiculous adventures. An excellent friend. A massage therapist. Pretty good at making things. Even better at cooking. Surrounded by those who love me.

And ya know what? This is where I choose to stand. I am not going to put myself out there and risk. Not this time. In this relationship, I am the child. I am the one they chose to walk away from. If they're so great, and I'm missing out, they can take the risk. If they choose to make the first move, I'm right here. In my nest of crazy love.

Fish Soup

I have no idea what brought this story to the front of my exhausted brain, but here it is...

When my younger brother Lucas was much younger than he is now, we lived in an "established" (read: not new or fancy or suburban) neighborhood. A nice little house with a backyard just right for make believe adventures and plastic splash pools.

Being an older house, it was hot in the summer and cold in the winter. One winter, we had goldfish. Well, we probably had goldfish over more than just one winter, but this is a story about a particular instance of having goldfish in winter, not a log of goldfish-having experiences. This particular winter, Lucas was old enough to be really mobile, and to really think about things. One of the things he spent a good deal of time pondering was the goldfish bowl and it's occupants. To be fair, we all spent at least part of the day thinking about the fish as their bowl resided on the kitchen counter.

Our regular babysitter had also given some thought to our fish. She gave us a small heater for them. It perched on the lip of the bowl, and dangled into the water. We kept it's dial set between one and three, and it kept the fish water at a nice lukewarm temperature. One night, it got really cold. The kind of cold that we just don't get down here very often. The kind of cold that grown ups talk about all day. The cold became something that a small boy was giving a lot of thought to. Something that worried him mightily. By the time night rolled around, he was worried how the cold would affect the fish. He made a plan.

He crept out of his warm, snuggly bed and padded his little footed sleeper clad way into the kitchen. He carefully pushed a chair up to the counter, and contemplated the fish. He decided that yes, indeed, they were cold. He decided that this observation required action. He reached his tiny fingers up and turned the dial of the fishbowl heater up and up and up again. He may or may not have turned it all of the way to eleven. Then he maybe (just maybe) gave the bowl a satisfied pat or two and (definitely) climbed carefully down. Then that sweet, thoughtful, sleepy boy made his way back to his bed.

We woke up the next morning to a fishbowl of roiling, boiling water, and two very warm fish.

------------

On a completely unrelated fish note, we went to the zoo yesterday. Alec D is as much in love with petting goldfish as his big sister is. He holds as much of his arms as he can reach into the pond and waits for the fish to come up and lip his fingers gently. When they do, he hoots excitedly, bounces like crazy and splashes like mad.

Viruses, Bacteria and Travel - Oh MY!

how long has it been since we spoke? A week? Three weeks? A year?Just two weeks? Well, that's better than I thought. As usual, life has continued around here. NOT as usual, things have been a bit hectic. Alright, FINE - hectic is our usual, but this was even MORE hectic.

I started out by working (don't fall over in shock) at the spa for two days IN A ROW. By the time I was done, I was absolutely beat, and I had (unbeknownst to me at the time) contracted pink eye. For any of you not acquainted with the bacterial awfulness that is Conjunctivitis, bravo to you. For those with intimate knowledge, my deepest sympathies. The rest of the series of events is best summarized by a time line like those seen on police dramas (my favorite? Castle. LOTS of dry erase time lines plus Nathan Fillion). I'll draw one for you:

To sum up:
1) We visited my step-dad and his wife out at their ranch-ita. Had a wonderful time. Great visiting, great playing and giggling, cows (!), step-dad borrowed a patient horse for us to ride (!!!!!) - all around great.

2) PINK EYE!!!! Miserable. Scratch on my eye - miserable. Finding out that I'm allergic to hydrocodone in the process - also miserable.

3) I made a Starbucks-style cup and donut out of felt! Tutorial to follow... I also accidentally dropped the cup in my mama's yard, and it spent the night getting wet.

I made a new one, and it was EVEN BETTER.

4) Lily Ruth has new rain boots and my hopelessly urban kid who refuses to walk through tall grass is newly in love with jumping into puddles!

5) My baby caught Hand Foot and Mouth again. Way to sneak up on us, Coxsackievirus. Well played. Last year's case was mild. This year's case was NOT. Diaper rash, mouth ulcers and lots of tears.

She refuses to take medicine, and was refusing to eat, drink or speak because her mouth hurt so much. It was awful. When she caved and started drinking, we were able to sneak in some Tylenol and it made her more comfortable. She still has a few mouth ulcers, but is improving daily.

6) Even with her virus, she was so distraught about missing her trip to see her grandparents that I ignored my better judgement and packed her into the car. I don't really want to talk about most of the rest of the trip. Thank goodness for wonderful husbands and delightful long-time friends. I will break my silence long enough to tell you about the butterfly exhibit - Amazing. I loved it. Lily Ruth was freaked out that there were literally butterflies everywhere - it was just too much for her. She would try to be a good sport and pose for a picture, but then another butterfly would flit past and she would shriek and flinch. *sigh* Parenting means that you occasionally sprint when you would rather saunter or even stop...

oh, and 7) My friend loved my essay! I finished editing it today, and it will either be published next week or in the middle of next month. I'll let you know when and where as details become available!!!

Kisses and hugs to you all - unless you're not a toucher. If you're not a toucher, then air kisses and waves!

Is It On The List?

As you may have deduced from my personality type, I love lists. I love to have my tasks laid out in an orderly fashion. I love to check things off as they're done. The whole process soothes my monkey brain into submission so that I can actually complete the tasks on the list. I have been (lovingly) mocked in the workplace for my daily to-do lists, but when I take my lists and move on, they're sorry :-P

I like lists so much that I even love spreadsheets. I've created spreadsheets for restaurants, architects, spas and just for me. When I began my massage career, I even made one that tracked each massage appointment that I had by type, commission and tip then totaled the appointments by shift, week, paycheck and month... o.k., that sounds obsessive, but a) it sounds more complicated than it really is and b) when you work solely off of commissions and gratuities, it's important to keep track so that you are compensated appropriately by your employer :-P

I even keep old lists. I pleases me to look back on past lists and remember the occasion that warranted such planning and organization. Like Thanksgiving 2007 - it was my first time to host a major holiday on my own :-)

... and my house was a WRECK. This is actually page 1 of 2. The second page has a 2-week countdown on it. I barely finished in time!

Sometimes my past holiday and event lists help me to prepare for future events as my shopping and task lists are already laid out. Sometimes they're a reminder of what went wrong or what I should do ahead of time.

Then there are the things I've tracked just since becoming a mother. The breastfeeding log that was meant to be kept up for a week or so to soothe new parent's concerns about intake and output. I obsessively kept it up until she was almost 8 weeks old:

Oooooh, here's a good one! Look at this timeline:

Looks a bit crazy, doesn't it! I see new parents who are so sleep deprived that they devise a complex system to track baby's movements in order to discern ANY possible pattern of sleep with the hope of turning that pattern into a habit. My heart goes out to those two - that was a rough time. Now we've learned our lesson - she either sleeps or she doesn't.

I almost showed you my current ongoing list that tracks our bills just like a spreadsheet but with more elbow grease because I'm pretty proud of it. Then I realized that putting all of my service provider names along with amounts and due dates would be incredibly unwise. Don't worry, I trust YOU, it's that one over there that I'm worried about :-P

I come by this naturally. Friday was my dad's birthday. Saturday, my mom hosted  a small dinner to celebrate. When we spoke Friday, she said something about not being able to go to the store until in the morning, but that it would be just fine. I could hear her list beginning in my head. When I got to her house  to help set up, I kept my eye out for it. As we puttered along, she said 'maybe we should write down what we have left... you know... just to stay organized.' The notebook was procured, and the new list was begun. As we went along, she'd say things like 'add wash dishes so I can cross that off when I'm done' or 'did you add bread dough in machines? Good - cross it off.'

It's just one of those things that I share with my maternal kin. Like our eye shape, our hands and our inability to make anything less than too much salad. We like lists. We like to lay out our tasks and our projects. We like to cross things off as we go. We like the feeling of completion when the list is done. I like that we share this small compulsion. I like that our same-ness is more than skin deep.

Existential Lily Ruth

Lily Ruth has a new obsession. Aside from her fascination with 'Mama Mia', her daddy's eyes, and the fact that her new play shoes have velcro:

She has fixated on the word 'soul'. Granted, she's singing Mama Mia when she does so (... there's a fire within my soul... Mama Mia - here I go again), but she gets stuck there. 'My SOOOOUL'. She draws it out and savors it.

My mama recently said to me that she wants to buy a book or two for Lily Ruth about God. She wants Lily to have a frame of reference for talking about God before she forgets all of the things that she was born knowing. My mom says stuff like this. The instant that she says it, I usually realize that she has just verbalized something that I believe. She has done a lot more studying about faith and God than I have. In the past few years it has been something that really calls to her. The path that she has chosen to accomplish this has been a beautiful one. Instead of a 'traditional' religious path that calls for rote memorization and blind faith, she has found a community of curious, interpretive minds who basically insist (in a very loving way) that you understand what you are following.

I love that she wants this for Lily Ruth as well. I love the idea of Lily always relishing the word soul. Of it always being something that she draws out and savors.

Oh Brother

I have a sort of estranged relationship with my brothers. I left home when they were about 13 and 11, and we haven't all lived in the same city since. It's slowly changing, but in my mind's eye, they are still little boys.

When I started seeing them on a more regular basis a few years ago, I had dreams about them being very small, but I'm an adult. I am always supposed to be taking care of them in these dreams, and I always let them down. Very stressful. Luckily, the dreams faded as we spent a bit more time together. These days they are adults. Grown men with careers and responsibilities. They don't need for me to be in charge. They don't have expectations of me, so I can't let them down. Very liberating.

My brothers are both very good men. Honest. Honorable. Funny. Handsome. They live in the same city, but their paths don't often cross these days. That seems so strange to me because I remember them as small boys who slept in a pile like puppies. I can so clearly see their bright, blue eyes and silly grins as they moved (tumbled, ran, yelled, laughed...) through childhood together. I was always the one on the outside. I was older. I was a girl. I was often in charge... and in truth, I kept myself distanced from them. I wanted nothing to do with their boyish noise and energy. I desperately wished to be an only child.

It's nice to get to see them now, but it's kind of weird to feel our way toward a bond. We're waaaay too old to fall back on remembered behavior patterns - which is a blessing. We have to forge new ways to communicate and are forced to look at each other with new eyes.

I am grateful that our bond wasn't completely severed by time and inattention. I hope that they like grown-up me as much as I like grown-up them.

Yippeeeee!

MY DAD IS O.K.!!!!! He's going to have to make some lifestyle adjustments (but frankly, we ALL need to do so...) like diet and exercise, but he's GREAT!

Whew!

I don't know how you guys handle these situations, but I actually seem to become more calm after the doctor takes over and the procedure begins. I told my mom that it's like I don't have to be in charge any more. Perhaps the lesson in this is that we should be able to turn stuff over to The Big Guy in the same way that I turn it over to the doctors. That's what he wants us to do... why am I so convinced that I have more control than he does?

Sweep It Clean

There is a cold front (rapidly) moving in. The wind is almost fierce and the temperature is dropping, but the light is still bright and sunny.

I have the windows and doors open so that Mother Nature can curl and swirl and blow through the nooks and crannies of my home and my head. I need for her to sweep out the detritus of negative thought and fear. I ask that she bring her fresh breath of life and light and love to our darkest corners. She's doing a pretty great job of it so far.

I also ask that you guys keep my family in your hearts and prayers in the next few days. My dad is going in for a tune-up. While we know that he is in incredibly competent hands (both physical and divine), it's still hard to stay focused and calm.

Simplicity. That's what I'm praying for.

Simplicity of thought so that we can stay focused on the love that we have for our family.

Simplicity of word so that we can clearly convey our love, our support and even our needs during this time.

Simplicity of deed so that we can accomplish the things that need immediate attention and leave the rest for another time.

Simplicity of breath so that we can breathe in the blessings of this day, and breathe out the things that we cannot control.

Cooking for Two... or Three... or Forty...

This afternoon, I was throwing together another batch of the lasagne recipe that I made up recently, and it struck me - next week, I will have been married for FOURTEEN YEARS, and I have never figured out how to cook for just two people! When I started that recipe, I was genuinely trying to make a small pan of lasagne for 2 people and a tiny baby. I ended up with a 11 X 7 pan that fed 6 adults & 1 baby and I still had leftovers for 3 lunches. Sadly, that was one of my better efforts at cutting back. I would have normally ended up with a 9 X 13 pan PLUS either an 11 X 7 pan or a loaf pan. Oh dear.

Obviously, this is not a new issue. It goes back (waaaay back) to my childhood. My mama is an excellent cook (as is my grandmother). She can take what a lot of people would see as an empty fridge/pantry, and make a tasty meal. By the time I was old enough to really help in the kitchen, there were five people in our family, and two of them were young boys who were growing like weeds. So while I was learning how to cook, everything that my mama and I made was whipped up in fairly large quantities. When I moved out on my own, I seemed to have cooking for one down to a science, but it was because I was so limited on funds and that it sort-of happened on it's own. When Don & I married, and I started to really cook, our portion sizes spiraled out of control very quickly. By choosing to stay home most nights - eating in instead of out - we each put on (at least) 20 pounds in the first year or so of our union. Our fridge was constantly full of leftovers... a trend that has not abated over the years...

*le sigh* It's just that I love to eat, and I love to cook. It pleases me enormously to see large quantities of fresh, beautiful foods become meals for the people I love under my hands.

I think that maybe I need to learn other ways to express my deep and abiding love for my family. The absolute LAST behavior that I would want to model for my daughter is a poor body image/low self esteem. So this is it. Time to put up or shut up. Time to either lose weight and stay there, or become completely comfortable where I am so that Lily Ruth never sees me panic when I put on clothes. Oi, the responsibility!

You know, I started this post with a very different twist to this theme in mind. I can't even fit it in now. It just won't go... I'm just so very tired. I even made myself sick - anyone want to join me for one of my semi-bi-annual sinus infections? I feel a bit overwhelmed. When I feel like this, it's easy to lose sight of what's important. Like the fact that my husband is NOT abandoning me so he can go party like a rock star out of town every week. He is, in fact, working his ass off so that I can stay home to raise our daughter. Or the fact that I am incredibly lucky to have this time in my life, with this family, in this house, in this body. Or even the fact that Lily Ruth will not always want to sleep with me. It feels like an imposition on my time, good will and sleep to have her want so desperately to be near me, but there will come a day when she will want nothing more than to sleep alone in her own space and I will idealize this time in my memories.

It's time again to step back, center, breathe and give thanks. Even if the best take on this that I can manage tonight is 30 minutes to myself with a small glass of wine and a 'hug' from my dog. It'll be enough... and tomorrow I will manage more.

Today's Random Tidbits - 4

Ahhhhhhhhhhh, Family! That's not sarcasm, Folks. I genuinely love to spend time with the people that I'm related to.

My aunt, uncle & cousins watched a tired and pissed off Lily Ruth for us while we went to the Cowboy Mouth show on Wednesday night. Not exactly 'together time', but it definitely deserves a shout-out.

We had a wonderful dinner last night with my parents. I made a Chicken, Rosemary, Mushroom, Veggie & Pasta Soup with cheese quesadillas on multi-grain tortillas and peach & blackberry fruit salad. If I get enough sleep tonight, I'll add the soup recipe... don't hold your breath...

My grandmother, aunt, daughter & I went to the Farmer's Market this morning. I bought squash, onions, pinto beans, culinary lavender and yukon gold potatoes. I also managed to send my grandmother into a mild (yet good-natured) tizy by allowing Lily Ruth to chew on a squash while we walked around. As Grandmother Ruth tells it, when her kids dropped something, it had to be BOILED before you gave it back to them (per Dr. Spock). Side note - she also LOATHES it when the dogs kiss the baby :-)

And last but not least, my in-laws arrived this afternoon! My mother-in-law and I bought Lily Ruth 2 new bathing suits - one for cute and one with the SPF 50 3/4 sleeve top. Then she jumped on board the tiny-fridge-magnet-toy train with me and we went CRAZY! SInce the 3 I already made were DUDS (the magnets were too weak to stick to the fridge), I sent them to live with the tiny cat (he's been playing with/ruining them anyway)... correction - I sent two of them with the kitten. The other one is MIA. So far, we've made a (new) fish, a star, a pear, an eggplant and a crook-neck squash. Side note - here's a sign that you're slightly OCD: you creep out of bed at oh, 11:00 at night to finish blanket-stitching a felt squash because you couldn't leave it undone and still fall asleep...



p.s. The tiny cat found a new home! It was harder than I thought it would be to hand him over. I kept telling them stupid stuff about how to take care of him even though they have their own cats already. Even though internet courtesy dictates that I delete their e-dress and never contact them again, I plan to e-mail them later and ask how he's doing.


p.p.s. My daughter is awesome.

A Glimpse into Lily's Future

We had dinner at The Homestead (my parent's and grandparent's house) tonight. It was wonderful - as always. Even when one (or more) of us is exhausted or cranky or just 'off', coming together for a meal makes us feel good.

Tonight, we had our Friday night staples. There was steak for my dad (Friday is ALWAYS steak for him), and everybody else had whatever meat they were in the mood for... we brought chicken because that saved me a trip to the store... and we had a veggie and some pasta. By default, the pasta tonight was a Paparadalle - a long, flat, wide noodle. I had very carefully cut pasta, broccoli, carrots and chicken into Lily Ruth-sized pieces before we sat down, and placed them just out of her reach. As we began to eat, my beautiful mother began feeding Lily food off of HER plate, completely bypassing the 'baby plate'. I started to panic as she handed Lily Ruth a long pasta strand, but Mama has successfully raised not one, not two, but three infants to adulthood, so I took a breath, and watched the show.

As usual, the entire family was entranced by Baby Lily's performance. She slurped, bit, yanked and waved that noodle all around. The majority of it made it's way into her tummy, and none of it obstructed her airway. Nanny handed her another.

Someone (perhaps Grandmother Ruth?) suggested that Lily Ruth should enjoy this, as she would not always be the center of attention the way she is now. Someone else countered that she just MIGHT always be this popular :-) Her Daddy chimed in with 'Do the noodle trick, Lily... - she's 30, and we're still asking...' the table erupts in laughter. 'Lily, it's your favorite!... I was a BABY, what do you expect!?'. 'Just do the toes thing! Put your cute toes up here on the edge of the table like you used to!' Oh, the laughter was out of control around the table as we pictured a 'tortured teen' being exhorted to perform the 'tricks' of her babyhood... I personally pictured her in goth/emo make-up with a sullen boyfriend in tow in order to make it more embarrassing... All the while, the current darling is twirling loops of pasta in the air (occasionally hitting herself and/or her Mama in the bangs with butter & Parmesean covered noodles) and hooting softly.

This is why we're here, folks. The moments like this. These times are irreplaceable, and precious. Acknowledge and treasure them... and save them to torment a teen with...