Twinkle Twinkle, little two year old. Now quit making me cry!

I'm not sure what happened at book club last night except my friends got Hannah all lit up on chocolate peanut clusters right before we left but in the car on the way home she was singing something over and over and I just couldn't get what it might be. Hannah's only song so far has been a song I think her Daddy came up with "Mommy, Mommy woo woo woo" or any permutation with Mama, Hannah, Daddy, or Car-Car (Claire). I asked Claire what Hannah was singing (she sometimes speaks Hannahese) and she didn't understand it either. Hannah's longest sentence so far has been about 4 words and most generally she uses one or two word commands (as you see at the end of her video when she says "I see! I see!!") AFter we said good night to the moon on our way in the door it finally it hit me that she was singing that perennial preschool favorite Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and my heart skipped a beat and then quickly filled with joy. Claire was just a few months younger when I captured her singing the same song, just a few days before Hannah was born. I double dog dare you not to cry, people. Double dog dare.

It's four o' clock and all is well enough to go to bed for three hours

People, what are you dreaming about? Send some this way, will you? I've been up all night so far, dozing holding Hannah, and now that I feel she has enough blood sugar to get her through until she wakes, of course I am so awake I need a blog and a snack. I don't feel entirely comfortable taking a sleep aid in case the human vomit comet fires up the engines. It's funny how every time Hannah has any risk factors for an MCADD metabolic crisis all thoughts of the ass face of stroke or CP or cloudy indistinct brain damage all fly right out of my head and I am paralyzed with fear that I won't guess correctly and Hannah will expire because I didn't take her to the ER. However, the two times I've been to the ER in the middle of the night she did stop puking by 2:00 a.m. but we were held hostage until at least 6:00 only to get sent home. Once they utterly failed to follow the emergency protocol outlined in her emergency letter (written by the genetic metabolic docs at that very hospital) and the second time they only failed to follow about 30% of the protocol. Each time I felt I may have jumped the gun, that if I'd waited two hours I'd see that she would start to keep fluids down on her own if given in small doses, and as long as I kept at her she'd be fine and not spend one more night as hospital baby but instead just as baby down for an evening but well cuddled in the arms of Mama. And yet the smaller she is, the shorter period of time she can safely fast so things only get better for us with the passage of time. But now I don't have breast milk to give her, not that the hospital wanted me to last time because "milk is not easily digestible." Last time we were told we could go home when she could keep down Pedialyte, which tastes like ass (purple ass, but still ass) and I gave folks a lecture about how it was unreasonable to expect that a child who doesn't like the taste of ass should be asked to consume it after vomiting her guts out and that breast milk was actually made for her and not by Monsanto and was more digestible than anything else available to her. I'm pretty sure that got me an "uncooperative wacko mom" note in the file but I did actually later lodge a complaint and request for additional training after the nurse who discharged us advised me to give my daughter nothing but apple juice for at least 36 hours. I had reminded her of my daughter's specific diagnosis and how diarrhea could be as devastating as vomiting for her risk of hypoglycemia and she said even breast milk was just a really bad idea for anyone who had suffered from vomiting. When I talked to the on call genetics doc the next day he wisely (I thought) told me that a physician he trained under said "no human condition is improved by hunger." I've begged the docs we see to give me greater guidance about how to know Hannah's sugar is dangerously low, and are they sure I shouldn't test her sugars, and all of that and what they keep sticking to is how she looks/acts/presents when other indications are she may be low. Once they said she could go as low as about half her normal intake for a while but not for too long (isn't that nicely specific) and they tell me to keep cake decorating gel on hand to squish inside her cheek if I think we are in danger and need time to transport to get her an IV. Didn't I tell you this disorder was strange? So after one barf before dinner, a happy perky child running about later, three changes of bed linens and two for my shirt/bra, I just sat in the nursery chair with her nestled happily on me on the giganto extra large boppy on my lap, and we dozed on and off and had sips of apple juice and Gatorade and she kept telling me off for trying to sing the wrong songs or telling her to sleep. She has ten ounces of liquids containing sugar on board and hasn't hurled for more than two hours. My neck and back are screaming in pain but she is now snoring peacefully, back in a clean crib and smelling only faintly of vomit, and I have hung my hat entirely on how she kept reaching about to pat my cheek, forcefully insisted I sing the Hannah songs only and pulling back to look me in the eye in the dim glow of the night light over the diaper pail (that makes it sound more romantic, right? Like moonlight on a river but somehow more fundamental) with BOTH hands on my cheeks and smiled delightedly at getting to go to sleep on Mommy over and over and over.  I'll keep you posted, please send positive thoughts of clean laundry and a dearth of extra bodily fluids.

She said it, she finally said it!

My favorite PT, the Angel of PT as we call him, taught Hannah to say "I do!"   We can say "who loves butter?!?"  "I do!" she says.  Who loves Mama?  Who loves doggie?  " I do, I do!"

Tonight, during our nighttime cuddles while I put her to sleep, when she gets all generally squirmy and excited at first because she has her Mama's undivided attention and then snuggles happily into the breasts of comfort and joy, I said "I love you" and she repeated it.  She really did it.  It sounds like "I yuvyou" and it made my heart melt.
I love you too, honey.

Sing a song of sixpence, and heroin, and studs

My daughter Claire never stops talking. Or singing. My husband has an addiction to YouTube and plays videos through pretty much every meal, and after until I tell him to stop and do something else. You expect Claire to sing a song of sixpence, or other children's ditties, at age four. You expect her to sing a few verses of her parents' favorites or her favorites (although I never picked up much from Wagner's Ring cycle, but my parents weren't very cool). Currently, Tom Petty's The Waiting is her favorite song, and she has yet to catch on that every time she asks her dad to play that on the laptop that he makes her wait. On Saturday in the car we played most of the soundtrack to Oh Brother Where Art Thou going to and from Hannah's hippotherapy, and not unsurprisingly, she declared Big Rock Candy Mountain her new second most favorite song. But the current song you most hear from her is the Mighty Mighty Bosstones' Royal Oil, which I am fairly certain is about heroin. I find it somewhat disconcerting that she is popping around the house singing "sleep down in the soil, nothing comes from nothing comes from royal oil."

For reasons no one can really explain, all little girls love the film Grease. Maybe a young hot John Travolta explains it, but I digress. Claire's little friend who is roughly her age has Grease and MamaMia and loves to watch her movies and sing along. I imagine we are celebrating an anniversary of the film, but a theatre in our area will be showing Grease the Sing Along movie, and so along with my friends, and Claire's friend we are planning to take Claire to see the film. I don't really expect her to follow the story entirely, but we have in the past shown her the video on YouTube of We Go Together and she thought it delightful, so I agreed to take her because I thought she'd be highly entertained by a theatre full of people singing along to every song (I will). So, to help her know the songs better so she could join in, we decided to school her in some of the numbers she didn't already have familiarity with. First up, Lord Honey picks You're the One That I Want, which begins with Olivia Newton John saying "tell me about it, stud." Immediately Claire says "his name is Stud!". I try to downplay things, tell her it is just a nickname, like when I call Daddy "Muffin." Next we played Summer Nights, and my face turned a funny shade of pink watching the hip thrusts. Lord Honey offered to play Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee and I had to put a stop to it.

I'm telling myself she'll focus on the popcorn.

Friday Haiku - A birthday is coming soon, but not soon enough

In other home news
Claire has learned to do zippers
Am I obsolete?

Alas, I am not
throughout the house one can hear
Mama, wipe my butt!

I'd rather she did
or at least use the word bum
I'm not successful.

Three is much harder
than terrible twos as claimed
I'm glad she'll be four.

Perhaps she will stop
calling me poopy Mama
and laughing wildly.

Go go goggle

And the word of the day from Hannah is Goggle! Yesterday she said "more" and "baby" and rode on a ride on tractor toy at the Children's Museum. Today she squiggled until I put her down near the playground equipment Claire was on at the day care, and then she made me walk her over where she grabbed on and pushed my hand away. She cruised to the stairs and showed every inclination to climb on up. She's just like a regular baby! Mostly what I wanted to say was "who are you and what have you done with Hannah?" and mostly today what she wanted to say was "gogogoggle."

Is there a humungous fungus in Salt Lake City?

Such was the question Claire posed over breakfast. I hardly knew what to say. Still don't actually. This is yet more proof that anything I say can and will be used against me later. Who on earth said such a think to my daughter? I bet this came from listening to her dad's talk radio drivel in his car, right? How did I come to have children with a man who listens to talk radio? How? Well, they are appealing children, anyhow.




After I read a book to Claire she often likes to "read" it back to me. This is Claire's version of Beauty and the Beast (board book edition).

Once upon a time there was a kind and beautiful girl named Belle.

There was a prince and his dungeon cast a spell on him and made him a beast.

That's Belle and her dress is yellow.

And then they had soup.

And she is not a teapot anymore, and he is not a cup anymore, and she is not a candle anymore. And he is not a beast anymore. And when Belle wears the yellow dress, she gets babies.


Now I know how I got those girls. I am getting rid of my yellow dresses ASAP.

x-mas

Twas the night before Christmas, about 2:00. The presents were arranged, the stockings hung by the chimney with eggnog and an overabundance of chocolate consumption to fuel the final stages of preparation.



Opening presents requires great concentration. Notice the right hand in action? Daddy set that up, but still, action.



Look Ma, no hands. And a lolli-lobotomy.



Hannah was fascinated by the dog eating a Christmas treat.



Holly studies up on Lego building codes.



Nice niece.



The iPod Touch is much more fun once you get it loaded up with stuff.



So many manuals, so little time.



Again, Daddy on the technical manuals and Barbie set up, while Mom runs the camera and attempts to load an iPod with loathsome games. Fail to mom, score for Dad.



I told you "One day, my prince will come. Why does he look like a beach bum?"




I had told Claire that Santa gave some presents and Mommy gave others. A few days after Christmas Claire came to me unbidden and said "Thank you for the robe, Mama. I really love you. But who gave me the Barbie?"

Did you miss me?

My sister did. I remember last year when I had started reading blogs regularly and I read some through November and I LOVED NaBloPoMo when it wasn't my job to post every day. I started this post on Wednesday and still have not hit publish. So be it.

Claire has been exceptionally, heart wrenchingly funny. She was naked and getting herself dressed when she said, as if she were quite annoyed, "Godsakes, it's cold in here." I decided not to correct her and tell her no dear, you say "For God's sake" because, well, correcting her use of profanity or expletives just doesn't seem quite right. The next morning Jason was trying to get her to say it again, asking her if she was cold (she said yes and put her coat on) and to describe how cold she was (very). After demonstrating her ability not to fall for her Daddy's ploys, that evening as I was driving the girls home from day care she leaned towards Hannah and said in a stage whisper "TAKE THE BAIT!" After I recovered I asked her why she told Hannah that, and she said "Mom, I was watching Madagascar today," as if that explained everything. Next day she crawled into bed with us in the morning, and said "Mom, where do ladies get husbands?" so I told her how I met her father. "Where will I find a husband?" I gave her some ideas, like college, in about twenty years, but she is thinking she'd like to get married and have babies in the next two years.

Hannah is an eating, pooping machine, apparently in a growth spurt. I live in fear of her metabolic clinic appointments, where I am terrified someone will tell me I am not up to snuff and that I can't keep Hannah. will I ever let go of this fear? They always tell me she could be bigger (I'll discuss that with her) and that her diet has too much fat (hello, breast milk) and then they poke her to get some blood and I cry all over her head. Good times, good times. So Monday will kinda suck that way and then I can return to pre-Christmas madness and power knitting.

Of sticks and tails and compasses

Claire to me: Mama, I see your bum.

Me: Yes.

Claire: Daddy goes pee-pee standing up.

Me: Yes.

Claire: Why?

Me: Because he can.

Claire: My friends have a stick there, but you and I don't, huh, Mama?

Me: That's right.

Claire: It's like a tail.

...

Claire: It's sunny, Mama. But it is dark on the other side of the earth.

Me: Yes, honey.

Claire: We are sharing the sun with the other peoples, huh Mama?

Me: Yes.

Claire: I don't want to share.

Me: Well, we don't have a choice, honey, we have to share, every day.

Claire: We have a beautiful sun, Mama.

Me: Yes.

...

(in the car, coming home from day care, talking to her coat that bears, inexplicably, an attached compass, which I find odd on a 24 month sized article of clothing that is prone to be washed with some frequency)

Claire: My name is Claire Elizabeth, what's your name?

(slightly different voice) I'm a compass. Compasses don't talk!!

Heard at the house of Ginger

Mama, are you old?
Not yet.

Mama, are you going to die?
I hope not to die for quite a long time.
Why?
I don't think it will as much fun as I'm having now, with you.
I don't want to die either.

Mama, I am going to have a baby.
When will the baby come?
In a couple weeks. No, maybe in five years when I am big like you, and I have big nursies like you have.
Will it be a boy or a girl?
A girl named Hannah, and she has a big sister in my belly too.
Will the sister be born at the same time as the baby?
Probably the next day.
Will the big sister be older than baby Hannah?
Silly Mama, big sisters are always older than little sisters!

Mama, here, wear my Minnie Mouse ears.
I can't, sugar, they don't fit me.
Mama, you have a big, fat head.

update on girls

I have been unable to post lately, since I keep finding myself too angry, anxious, or tired to share the thoughts bouncing in my head. For example, tonight when I came home my husband had been trenching the back yard to install a conduit for electricity for the new garage, cut a sprinkler line, and had to shut off all the water while he fixed the pipe. Immediately Claire and I were desperate for water, just because we had none, had to squabble over the half liter bottle I dug out of my gym bag out in the car, and then I had to cook and clean up without water. So I will simply update the blogosphere on the girls. Easier and more palatable.

Here they are in all their sisterly glory, posing on the sofa I was getting rid of, Claire was quite concerned when I told her I was getting rid of furniture as well as getting new things - I'd asked her to pick up toys with me to clear a path and she said "Mama, if they take these toys with the sofa I'm going to be very mad" quite matter of factly. She spent the rest of that day speculating what I'd be getting rid of next, including Hannah.



The face of an angel hiding the secrets of the universe. On Sunday she saw a picture of Barack Obama sternly observing an Israeli-Palestinian handshake of suspicion. We had a nice time when she asked me "What's Obama doing" and I gave her a brief lesson in the intractable nature of mid-East politics. She skipped off singing her newly minted Obama song, which made me glow with pride. After I sorted out all the girls' summer clothes she spent the rest of the day asking me what she could wear for fall. Today she told me "I don't want to go to my birthday, Mama, because I want to stay new." She has been very concerned about being old, and thinks avoiding birthdays is the way to handle the issue. Middle aged women might agree.



Hannah is as always charming, charming, charming and binky flinging just for fun. And she wants all the broccoli. I am fairly certain she is saying "bo" for book, and I think I heard her say "no" but I wasn't sure why. Despite balance and strength issues she is actually able to stamp her tiny foot in aggravation.



Alien daughter mind-melt vs. infantile death grip. Death grip wins.



Come closer, might I poke you in the eye or examine your teeth? Using my super sharp claws? Look into my eyes. Do you feel sleepy? Look deeper, deeper. I'm going to head bang your mouth! Squee!



OK, I have to go worry about how I can't refinance my mortgage due to plummeting home values, wonder why I have booked a family trip in late October as the suspected pandemic might hit full swing, and obsessively Google vaccine related issues on an internet bogged down by everyone else doing the same damn thing. Please excuse me.

According to the girl in the know

Dinosaurs are big. They are scary and they say this "RAAAAAAARR!" So you have to stay on the school bus if you see one. But Miss Melanie has a gun and she will kill the dinosaur.



I knew that Claire knew about dinosaurs, because here in Utah we have a bounty of fossil sites so all kids' museums have related exhibits. I knew Claire learned that all dinosaurs were dead, although we have not talked about extinction, per se. And I can see that a well meaning school bus driver would want to reassure the kids in her care that she would take care of them should any unexpected and dangerous situation arise, such as, say, a dinosaur attack. I did not know Claire knew the word gun.

Last night, at a birthday party for one of her school classmates, while seated near the cake as it was being served, Claire asked the friend's mommy "Do you have a husband?" "No" said V., "but I'd like to have one." "You'll have to go get one" Claire helpfully suggested. "Where should I go to get a husband?"

"Go to the desert. You can get a husband in the desert."