Friday's Five: Donaldson and Scheffler

One easy way to find great children's books is to pick a library book that you really like and then look for other titles by the same author. One of our favorite discoveries started because Junius likes the word "spiffy" -- our first pick quickly became a favorite, leading us to add more books to our collection.

Here are five great children's titles by author Julia Donaldson and illustrator Axel Scheffler. All have great rhymes and interesting, detailed illustrations.

1. The Spiffiest Giant in Town: In addition to letting you repeatedly use the word "spiffiest," this book also lets you sing along as George becomes the sweetest, kindest, most helpful giant in town.
2. The Gruffalo and The Gruffalo's Child: These two books tell a funny tale about the relationship between the mouse and the gruffalo. What? You've never heard of a gruffalo? Hmmm, better get the book and find out.
3. Charlie Cook's Favorite Book: This clever story winds through book after book after book to bring you right back where you started.
4. Room on the Broom: Highly recommended by a friend, this book tells the tale of a witch and the friends she makes as she rides on her broom -- and about what happens when they crash.
5. The Snail and the Whale: This is next on my list -- so fun to have another one to discover! Sounds like it will have all the fun and rhyme of the other books, with an important lesson about how little people can be strong, too.

Thankful Mama and a Sweet Baby Girl

According to my husband, that last post crossed the TMI line toward the end there. Sorry about that. The good news is that the plumber came the next morning and had everything fixed and running properly within an hour. I really should have trained to be a plumber instead of a teacher or a journalist -- better pay and very appreciative clients.

Anywho, I got a strong reminder yesterday that if my biggest problem is that I had to go overnight without running water while I waited (inside my toasty warm house with my loving husband and sweet children and plenty of bottled water) for the plumber to come in the morning (so that I could write him a check without worry and without having to crawl under the house in the puddles myself), then my life is really good. I have wonderful family and friends, my health and a great new year ahead -- and I am thankful. A little bad luck here and there shouldn't change that.

So instead of giving some kind of rant today about the crazy school board that just did away with assigning students to year-round schools without any review of the economic impact of that decision, I'm going to write a happy little Pippi post instead.

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This morning while I was getting dressed, Pippi was playing in her room -- she's just now getting old enough that she's figured out she can do that. I love listening to her talk to herself and her toys, alternating between random snippets of songs ("Row, row, row,... ream..." followed by "Bimble bell, bimble bell, bimble bell, way!") and general gibberish.

At some point, I realized she was calling for me, so I peeked into her room to find her holding Elmo by the hand (which makes him sing the "Sesame Street" theme in Spanish) with her pretty monogrammed burp cloths spread all over the floor. She had pulled a diaper and a new package of wipes from the changing table and had been wiping Elmo's bottom, but she couldn't fasten the diaper by herself.

"Emmo dia-puh?" she asked, handing me the diaper and placing Elmo's tushie squarely on one of the burp cloths. After I got him properly suited up, she took Elmo into her arms, cradled him with a kiss, then tossed him over the side of the crib. "Night night, Elmo," she called, before dumping every book in her room on top of him, one at a time.

As I struggled not to laugh in front of Pippi (she was being so earnest about taking care of her "baby"), I realized I couldn't remember Junius doing this when he was her age. Maybe I've just forgotten -- and he certainly "mothers" his baby bear -- but the baby-doll instinct (or at least the impulse to keep a diaper on anyone small, which I certainly understand) seems much stronger in my daughter than in my son. Don't get me wrong -- she'll play with cars and balls and blocks, too, but she really loves to put on her dress up shoes, hook a little purse over her arm, and push that diapered Elmo around the house in her stroller.

Crazy stuff, this parenting -- but it's a funny show to watch.

Friday's Five: That Lovin' Feelin'

Just in time for the holidays, here's a super mushy mama post for you...

Too often, I find myself wishing time away, wishing that my kids were older so that they'd be less needy, so that I could go to the bathroom without an escort, so that I could sleep past 7 a.m.

And then I realize that they're doing just that -- growing up way too quickly -- and I remind myself to savor the sweet moments that I know will disappear all too soon.

Here are five of my favorite baby moments to savor, some already passed and some that I'm still (literally) holding onto:

1. Nursing: After the first few awkward weeks, nursing came easily with both my babies (thankfully). That's Pippi in the photo, fresh at the hospital. We were still getting the hang of it there, but nursing felt like the perfect connection to me. (Side note: If nursing doesn't work for you, don't do it and don't feel guilty about it. I loved it because it was easy -- but that's another post.)
2. Sleeping on my chest: Junius mostly liked to be held when he slept as a baby -- there were certainly times when this was exhausting, but it was also such a sweet feeling with the weight of his little body all warm and snuggled against me.
3. Tucking baby's head into my neck: Whether it's the newborn snuggle under my chin or the toddler tucked into the side of my neck, I love this move -- feels like a hug, even when they're too young to know how to give one. Plus, you get to smell their sweet little heads. And where they're old enough to slide one hand around the back of my neck, it's even more lovely.
4. Reading in my lap: Pippi never has been much for the snuggle nap -- but now that she'll finally sit long enough to read a book, I get to enjoy the weight of her leaned back against me in the rocking chair before bed. It's about the only time she gets still all day.
5. Holding hands: There's something about that tiny hand tucked into mine that just melts me. It's a sign of complete trust that they have in me -- such an amazing responsibility.

And now I think I'll go pat their sweet little sleeping heads one more time for good measure. Before I know it, they'll be teenagers and I'll be that mom telling stories of how they used to fit on my lap and want me to cuddle with them before bed. Sigh.

Friday's Five: Pippi's Reading List

I've written a lot about favorite books to read with Junius, but haven't written much about what Pippi likes to read. That's partly because she doesn't sit still for books the way he always has, which is probably (partly) because she's been so much easier to put to bed than he ever was.

So, in my continuing effort not to leave out the Pip, here are five of her favorite books these days -- as she gets older, she's finally starting to request certain stories when we sit in her rocking chair before bedtime, which makes me really happy:

1. The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle: A classic and lovely book -- I'm assuming you've all read it. I think she mostly likes turning the little pages and sticking her finger in the little caterpillar hole-punches.
   
   
2. Ten Wishing Stars by Treesha Runnells and Sarah Dillard: This counting book about sheep wishing on stars at night has ten raised stars with star-shaped cutouts -- and the stars glow in the dark. Again, I think her favorite part is touching the stars.
   
   
3. Baby Faces by Margaret Miller: We like to pretend she can read this one because she's memorized each baby's expression, saying "stinky" and "boo-hoo" and so on. It's way cute.
   
   
4. Corduroy by Don Freeman: Another classic and sweet story. It's probably the longest book she'll sit still-ish for.
   
   
5. Chicka Chicka Boom Boom by Bill Martin Jr, John Archambault and Lois Ehlert: This alphabet story involves letters racing up and then crashing down from a coconut tree. I don't know why, but "chicka chicka boom boom" is just plain fun to say.

Round 1 Goes to the Pip

Today I thought I would be writing a post about how I spent my first night away from Pippi last night -- I had to be out of town for a meeting, so she and Junius were home with my husband and my in-laws. Although I've spent a few nights away from Juni, it was the first time that Pippi and I slept under different roofs in her entire little life.

But as it turns out, my night away was pretty uneventful for both of us -- and I had to be up so early for the meeting that I didn't even get to enjoy some extra sleep.

So instead, I'm going to write about this cute little outfit (shown at left), which is what Pippi was supposed to wear to preschool today. As it turned out, she wore the pants -- along with the pajama top she'd slept in the night before.

Why? Because she flat-out refused to take off her pajamas. I wasn't here to witness the struggle, but apparently neither my MIL nor my husband could wrestle her out of the jammie shirt. My husband (wisely) determined that it was not a battle worth waging.

After I stopped laughing at the vision of Nonna and Daddy trying to pin down our not-yet-two-but-thinks-she's-a-five-year-old daughter, I tried to figure out two things:

1. What about the cute outfit was so offensive to her? Did she remember that (although it's a Carter's brand) I bought it at Costco? Does she think mixing pink with chocolate brown is too trendy? Was she worried the leggings made her tushie look big?

2. How many battles are she and I going to have about her clothes over the next 16 years? And will I have enough sense to let her win the ones that don't really hurt anything so that I have the energy to conquer her stubbornness in the wars that make a difference?

At the end of the day, it really didn't matter what she wore to preschool today. In fact, some of her toddler clothes aren't so different than her pajamas -- and I'm sure her teachers love her no matter what she has on. But I can see the day coming when what she wears (or doesn't wear) Is going to make a difference in how others see her -- a skirt that's too short, a shirt that's too tight, a face-piercing. Ugh. I am so not ready for her teen years.

So I think I'm going to start working out now. Because clearly I'm going to need to be a lot stronger than she is if I'm going to win the wrestling matches yet to come.

Seconds Have Firsts, Too

After my recent post about firsts for Junius, one of my readers wisely observed that the real challenge is to capture the same moments with Pippi. As a first-born myself, I'm sensitive about the tendency to over-do things for the first baby and under-do them for the second -- maybe it's lingering guilt over having my parents all to myself for the first four years.

Being second doesn't appear to be all bad. One advantage -- in addition to having more relaxed parents and a really entertaining older brother -- is that Pippi gets to tag along and join in experiences earlier than we did with Junius. Several of his firsts have also been firsts for Pippi, like the football games.

Here's Pippi loving her first stadium hot dog (like mother, like daughter) at her first college football game at N.C. State...

Here's Pippi trying to pick up as many pom-poms as she can possibly hold in her chubby little hands at her first UNC game...

This past Saturday was her first real time trick-or-treating. We took her along last year, but she couldn't walk yet, so I don't think it counts. Here she is, very nervous, at her first door...

After the first house, she quickly figured out the routine. The main thing that kept slowing her down was her intense desire to stop after each house and eat the candy right there in the driveway. Girlfriend comes by her sweet tooth honestly.

And then last night, tugging on my husband's pants leg and smiling up at her daddy, she said her first unprompted, unscripted, more-or-less complete sentence: "Ca cor peese."

Translation: "Candy corn, please."

Her father, so impressed by her politeness and her new-found ability to communicate, happily obliged her request. Don't think for a minute that she doesn't know exactly what she's up to.

Friday's Five: Motherhood is Hard

Today's Friday's Five takes a different approach -- not favorites this time, but still a list of five things you might need to hear. Or that I, at least, need to get off my conscience.

A friend called me a few weeks ago and I knew the minute I heard her voice that something was wrong. Long story short, her 1-year-old daughter had fallen down the stairs, she was panicked about what to do and immediately called me. Why me? I'm not a nurse, pediatrician or doctor of any sort -- but I am a mom who had done something we moms don't do often enough. I had admitted to my friend, about a year ago, that Pippi had fallen down our stairs -- so I was the first person my friend thought to call.

In our ongoing efforts to be Super Mom (and Super Wife, Super Friend, Super Daughter, Super Sister and Super Employee, all rolled into one), I think we often forget (or are afraid) to confess our disasters to friends who need to know that we're not as perfect as we're trying to be. But the truth is, none of us is alone in these failings -- and it's so much easier to bear when we know that.

So when Pippi fell down the stairs that day -- after she had stopped crying and I had recovered from the agony of watching her tumble and bounce 14 times onto the (faux) wood floor, racing behind her but unable to catch her -- I called my friend, told her the story, and said, "One day, this, or something like it, is going to happen to you and Baby L. And you will cry and gnash your teeth and think that you are a bad mother. And then you will remember this conversation, you will remember that it happened to me, and you will know that babies with very good mommies still sometimes get bumps and bruises."

It turned out that Baby L, just like Pippi, was fine -- and it took both of us moms much longer to recover than it did our daughters. But after the fact, Baby L's mom reminded me what an important gift of friendship it was to know we are not alone in our less-stellar parenting moments.

And now, in the spirit of friendship, five failings in my 4+ years of motherhood so that maybe you'll feel less alone in yours:

1. Pippi fell down the stairs: I think we've covered that story, but it was totally my fault and I can still see her face as she fell. Thank goodness she has such a hard head.
   
2. Junius fell off the bed: He was probably about 18 months, jumping on my bed. I reached to grab him, he thought we were playing chase and tumbled off the side, hitting his head on the table on his way down. A heart-breaking sound.
3. Pippi fell off the couch: She was less than 6 weeks old. I don't know how she wiggled off, but she did. Face plant on the hardwood floors. Even as a second-time mom, I was terrified that I had broken her forever.
4. Junius rode in the car unbuckled: He was a few months old, riding in his infant car seat snapped into the stroller through the mall. I unbuckled him to nurse while we were shopping, then put him back in. When we got home, I realized I never clipped the seat belt back and had driven home that way. The "what-ifs" nearly drowned me.
   
5. Pippi ran into the parking lot: We were at the N.C. Farmer's Market with friends, all four kids playing so nicely. Suddenly, my friend shouts Pippi's name and I realize she's somehow about to step into traffic. Don't know how she got there, but I nearly broke my ankle racing to snatch her out of the road. Took hours for my heart rate to slow back to normal.

I am so thankful that all of these disasters had happy endings. I'm touching, knocking and pressing on wood now in hopes that I haven't jinxed myself. Feel free to leave comments of your own moments to share, but find solace in knowing you're not alone.

Making Music Together

When I was four years old, my mother took me to Kindermusik classes -- some of the first in the U.S. My mom then became my first piano teacher, starting me on lessons that would last through three other teachers until I graduated high school. I also studied flute and sang in school and church choirs. Later, my mom became a Musikgarten teacher, singing and dancing with other moms and babies.

Given that history, and the fact that my kids really love all sorts of music and dancing, I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that I finally took Junius and Pippi to our first music class last week. But better late than never -- all three of us had a great time singing, playing, dancing and jumping along with Ms. Angela and the nine other mommies and 12 other children. In addition to being great fun in a musical learning environment, it's also one of the few activities I could take the kids to at the same time -- not a lot of kids programs are open to both a 4-year-old and a 19-month-old.

During the class, Ms. Angela encouraged all the mommies to sing regularly to their children. "No matter what you think your voice sounds like," she said, "your children will think it's the most beautiful sound they've ever heard." I liked that advice and decided this was a good time to stop listening to NPR in the car and start singing along with our new Music Together CD.

So on our way to Nanna and PopPop's house last week, I put in the disc -- the kids were smiling and clapping and trying to sing along. And I'm thinking what a great mommy I am that I can take them to this fun class and then sing with them in the car and how happy they must be to hear my beautiful voice.

Then Junius pipes up from the back seat. "Mommy," he says. "When you are singing...?"

And I'm waiting for him to say how much fun it is when I sing and he can sing and Pippi is learning to sing and how much he loves me...

"Mommy, when you are singing," he says, "I can't hear the music. Mommy, please don't sing."

His comment left me speechless, thus having the desired effect.

I'm just hoping he won't complain when I start singing even louder in class this week.

Image from Music Together.

Friday's Five: Girl Reads

My paying job took me to an elementary school media center yesterday, which gave me an opportunity to wander around the shelves remembering all the books I loved when I was a young reader. It's funny how just the book cover can bring back so much of each story, probably because I read them all again and again.

Here are five books I loved when I was a girl, before I graduated to the Sweet Valley High series (admit it, you loved Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield, too) -- maybe boys read them all, too, but I think of them as being "girl reads." Hopefully one day Pippi will enjoy them, giving me an excuse to read them again.

1. Anastasia Again by Lois Lowry: Of the series of novels about Anastasia, this was my favorite -- and the one that made me want to live in an old house with a turret. I adored Anastasia and her little brother Sam as if I had known them in real life.
   
   
2. Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery: Another great series with another mischievous girl, I had the box set with the first three novels in it. I think I liked these more than the Little House books, but not sure.
   
   
3. Homecoming by Cynthia Voigt: I had forgotten the title of this book (the first in a series that includes Dicey's Song) until I ran into it again on the shelf -- but I hadn't forgotten how amazing and brave I thought Dicey was.
   
   
4. Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume: Is there a girl in America who grew up in the 80s and didn't read this book? How else would I have known about training bras and menstruation?
   
   
5. Nancy Drew Mystery Stories: I don't have a favorite one, but I still have four Nancy Drew books in my collection (two of which were my mother's, now on Pippi's shelves). Always just the right amount of scary, with a matching sweater set.

Did you love these, too? Or were there other favorites on your shelf in 5th grade?

Handsome Guy Wins Heart of Younger Girl, Romance Ensues

News of Patrick Swayze's death this week has no doubt prompted thousands of blog posts. This post comes by specific request from one of my BFFs, with whom I watched Dirty Dancing many times and who emailed me yesterday to say, "If I still had a Netflix subscription, I would move it to the top of my queue."

When Dirty Dancing came out in 1987, I was in 9th grade. It was an awkward, but hopeful time for me. As a high school freshman, the movie played nicely into my imaginary world (along with Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink), where the handsome, popular, older guy suddenly noticed quiet, smart, younger (and let's be honest, somewhat dorky) me and swept me off my feet and into the time of my life.

Sadly, that never quite happened in high school. But it didn't stop me from watching Dirty Dancing over and over and over again, particularly at sleepover parties with my girlfriends. Although we never discussed it, I assume we were all thinking the same thing:

"If it can happen to Baby, it can happen to me! No one will put me in a corner!"

As it turned out, the handsome, popular, older guy did notice me in (grad) school one day, years later when I'd convinced myself that those things didn't happen in real life. There was less leaping and dancing in my version (and fewer cut-off jean shorts), but just as much knee-weakening and heart-fluttering. Now when Pippi is old enough to watch Dirty Dancing, I'll be able to tell her -- after she finishes mocking the 80s -- to believe in the dream, to trust that true love will find her, to know that she is beautiful.

Of course, then I'll tell her that she has a 10 o'clock curfew and isn't allowed to go anywhere alone with a boy. And just like that, I'll find myself identifying less with Baby and more with Baby's parents. Wow.

Photo from Virgin Media.

Back to School

Is it tacky to do a big dance in the preschool lobby after dropping your kids off for the first day of the new year?

I mean, I know that it can be a tough day for mommies (and daddies) taking their little ones for the first time. I remember that day, three years ago -- Junius was delighted with all the toys, but all I could think about was that my baby didn't need me anymore.

But today, I am positively overjoyed to take them both to their very lovely preschool with their very wonderful teachers and come home to get some work done for paying clients. And it's not their first year, which made the dropping off even easier. So yes, I did a little dance groove on my way out of the school, humming the Sesame Street "Preschool Musical" song to myself.

This summer I learned that I'm really not cut out to be a full-time, stay-at-home mom (I had already suspected it, but this was my first extended period of time home with two children when we were not in the midst of moving). Most of the time I'm okay with that, but occasionally I have pangs of guilt and inadequacy about not wanting to be with my children all day every day. Then a friend reminded me yesterday that being a SAHM is a skill (and a talent), one that she and I have never had to develop because we've always been working a part-time or full-time job. Those moms who do it -- and do it well (bless them!) -- know that it takes serious effort to make that time at home work for everyone. My friend assured me that we could both learn how to be full-time SAHMs (without the help of preschool) if we had the opportunity.

It made me feel better to hear her say that. For now, I'm going to trust that she's right. And I'm going to say a little prayer that I not have the opportunity to prove her wrong.

P.S. The photo above is one of several I tried to take this morning before we left for preschool. Why oh why is it so incredibly difficult to get both kids facing the camera at the same time? I'm not even asking for smiles -- just both of them showing me their faces. Argh.

The Perfect Storm

In the weeks leading up to our beach trip, I was increasingly nervous that our annual vacation would be ruined by a hurricane. The summer's weather had been strangely quiet despite predictions of a rough season, so I feared Mother Nature was storing up for a disastrous storm.

As it turned out, the weather was mostly beautiful while we were at the beach. But I was right to be worried -- although it may not have made the news where you are, there was a big coastal tempest by the name of Hurricane Pippi:

Hurricane Pippi brought sunny skies and nice breezes, but also 5 a.m. wake-up calls, nap strikes and perpetual motion accompanied by serious teething. When she wasn't chasing the sea gulls or running into the ocean, she was attempting to remove her swimsuit, rolling in the sand, stealing our friends' snacks, yelling at the top of her lungs and tasting shells.

And as if that weren't enough, there was the Friday evening adventure to urgent care to check her wrist that may or may not have been sprained by her mother (who was holding Pippi's hand and jerked on her arm to keep her from sticking the other hand in a bag of poopy diaper -- you know the move because you've done it a million times before). She was fine by bedtime, but her anguished sobs and complete refusal to use her left hand had us scared for a few hours.

All in all, it was a wonderful vacation with family and friends. But now I need a week to recover from Hurricane Pip. Thank goodness preschool starts on Wednesday!

My Body, Myself, My Daughter

When I was about 12 or 13 years old, we were visiting my grandparents on the Chickahominy River one summer. I vividly remember walking out onto the pier in my one-piece swimsuit, when my Nana saw me and declared, "Why, dahlin' -- look at you! You've got hips!"

In retrospect, I am certain that Nana meant it as a compliment. At the time, I was mortified. Horrified. Wanted to melt into a puddle and slide off into the river and sink deep down into the muddy bottom. At that age, I was self-conscious enough about my body and the effects of puberty (or lack of effects, in some areas) that the last thing I needed was to know that someone else was noticing me -- even if that someone was my grandmother who loved me very much.

Now, more than 20 years later, I'm still afraid that people might look at me in a swimsuit and critique what they see. The truth is that probably no one is paying that much attention to me and that I am my own worst critic.

But I'm trying hard to get over that -- after two babies, I'm starting to realize that I actually looked great in my 20s, so I trust that I'll think I looked good in my 30s when my 40-ish self is looking back at photos. That's the thought that motivates me to put on a bikini when I'm at the beach -- that, plus the fact that it makes my husband very happy to see me in one.

But what worries me even more than how I look is how my body-image issues might affect my daughter.

Right now, Pippi is roly-poly round and absolutely gorgeous -- her toddler belly pops out in front of her, she has tan-lines in the pudgy creases in her forearms and thighs, and every ounce of it is beautiful. She's also completely uninhibited (see photo -- she's preferred to be topless at the beach all week, too) and has no thoughts about what her body should and shouldn't be. I want so much to help her stay like that, to always believe that she is beautiful and that her body is exactly how it should be.

But given that I haven't managed to feel that way about myself in three decades -- and given all the forces around her that will shout about the need to be thin or have big breasts or look a certain way -- how do I teach her to hear a different, stronger voice inside her head?

I think it might start with me, my voice, and the voices of other people who love her. Maybe if her father and I and her grandparents and our friends all talk about being healthy and confident, then she'll have some defenses built up to fight against those other voices.

When she was a newborn, my dad would hold her and say to her, "You are SOOOOOOOO beautiful," in this sweet, sing-song voice. She always smiles at him when he says that, like she knows exactly what he means. Hopefully, when her Nanna and Nonna comment on her pre-teen body one day, she'll smile and say, "Thank you -- I think I look so beautiful, too."

You Might Be Cute, But Your Sh*t Still Stinks

When Junius was about 10 weeks old, we took him to my cousin's wedding. Because he was prone to spitting up in quantities that defied his tiny body, I didn't dress him in his fancy clothes until we were in the church parking lot -- didn't want to ruin the look. It was one of those beautiful white, pintuck oufits that requires ironing and has impossibly tiny buttons up the back -- one that my husband had worn when he was a baby and his mother saved for us. Completely impractical, but Junius looked so sweet.

So sweet, that is, until his enormous pooplosion leaked out all over the fancy clothes (did I mention it was white?) and onto my husband's suit. Thankfully, we had a change of clothes in the car so that Junius didn't stink at the reception (see photo of him dancing with Nanna) -- and that turned out to be the worst of Juni's poop messes, even counting potty-training last year.

Pippi, however, is another story.

Today, when she woke up from her afternoon nap and started crying for me to come get her, I was on the phone with her Daddy. Apparently, in the few minutes it took for me to get upstairs, she had despaired of ever being rescued and decided to stage a protest... by removing her diaper, squatting on her blanket for a poop, and then smearing it all over everything in her crib. Seriously -- her diaper was clean, but her sheets, blankets, lovey, books and stuffed animals were covered in shit (pardon my French).

After scrubbing her down in the tub, putting on a dry diaper and taking her downstairs to play with her brother, I headed back upstairs to deal with everything in the crib (did I mention it was even on the books? and the pashmina blanket that we got as a gift for Junius and I never let him touch it but thought it was so sweet and girlie for her to have her own baby pashmina?).

I'll spare you the details from here (and be grateful I didn't stop in the midst of all the crap to take a photo -- you don't want to know). But I'm hoping against hope that this is Pippi's one poop disaster. Is it a bad sign that I'm already afraid about potty training with her?

Now it's your turn to share a poop disaster story so that I can feel better (or at least not alone) about my parenting. And feel free to make your own puns about hitting the fan.

Lost in Marbles

As Pippi strolled past me with her miniature grocery cart, I waved to her and she tossed me a big flirty grin. Then I turned back to Junius, who was fixing a plastic breakfast of eggs, bacon and spaghetti with meatballs.

After a moment, I noticed that Pippi hadn't circled back to us when she got to the corner, so I stood up to check on her. That's when I realized there was no corner, just another opening that connected to the rest of the play area. And Pippi was nowhere to be seen.

It was a busy Saturday morning at Marbles Kids Museum, the kind of day when I would have preferred to go to the pool and avoid the crowds. But Junius had asked so nicely and I was tired of always saying no. So we went, just the three of us.

My eyes darted around the chaotic space, searching for her shaggy little head among all the other toddlers -- how do you find someone so short in a crowd? I raced around the loop twice before grabbing Junius by the hand for fear that he might disappear, too. After a third frantic circle, Juni struggling to keep up with me, I could feel myself starting to panic.

Surely she was in here somewhere, I tried to rationalize. But what if she'd followed someone out of the gate and they hadn't noticed? How far could she wander without being stopped? What if someone had taken her?

We dashed to the information desk, telling the woman there that I'd lost my child. I started spouting out details, which she relayed through her earpiece to the other staff members -- 18 months old, sandy hair, pink shoes, flowered dress. As I described her, she sounded like any one of a million little people playing in the museum. I wrestled with my lungs to make my breathing stay at a normal rate.

After making Junius promise he would stay at the desk, I darted back into the play area to search again. Another staffer met me there, saying, "I think someone found her." I looked up, expecting to see her crying for me, searching as desperately for her mommy as I had been for her.

But she was playing happily at the little cash register, just a few feet from where I'd been sitting for our pretend meal. She must have been two steps behind me the whole time I was searching for her, not even knowing that she was lost.

When I scooped her up, thanking the staff and heading to the desk to retrieve Junius, it felt like she'd been missing for hours. In reality, it had been less than five minutes -- but it was the longest one of my children had been lost, and it was more than enough time to leave me shaking and exhausted.

Firsts Night

Saturday night was a momentous one filled with "firsts" for our little family. The big event was Junius's first camping trip -- he went to Hanging Rock State Park with his dad and Grandpa (my FiL). They hiked to a waterfall (see photo of Juni and Daddy), rowed in a boat and slept in a tent during an overnight rainstorm. Juni had a blast, and the big guys had fun sharing the experience with him and each other.

Pippi and I stayed with Nonna (my MiL) while the guys were out roughing it. We took naps (or at least they did while I got some contract work done), went shopping, ate dinner in a restaurant and slept in our beds. It was lovely and civilized -- and too bad that Pip isn't yet old enough for pedicures at the salon.

But even though we weren't out camping, Pippi and I still had our share of firsts...

• It was Pippi's first night without Junius since we brought her home from the hospital. Seems funny to imagine, but in her whole life (minus the first couple days), she's never had dinner without her brother, never had breakfast without her brother, never gone to bed without her brother in the next room. She had an unusually tough time in the restaurant during dinner -- could have just been crabby, but I honestly think she was starting to miss Junius. She was VERY excited to see him when they returned home on Sunday.
  
  
• It was possibly my first night in almost nine years without saying goodnight to my husband. We've certainly spent nights apart because of business travel or weekends with friends, but I don't think I've ever gone to bed without at least saying goodnight to him. Felt really strange and kind of icky.
  
  
• It was probably the first time I went 24 hours without talking to my husband. I expected to get a call sometime during their trip since both my husband and Grandpa had their cell phones with them. When I didn't hear from them, my brain leapt straight into the deep end -- car wreck, bear attack, rock slide, lightning strike, whatever irrational disaster you can think of. The rational part of my brain told me they simply didn't have any reception in the park (which turned out to be true), but sadly that tiny part was no match for all the crazy scenarios that nearly drove me over the edge waiting by the phone. I was so relieved to see them arrive home on Sunday that I proceeded to yell at my husband for not making a Herculean effort to call me and tell me that they were neither injured nor dead.
  
  
• It was only my fifth night away from Junius (out of 1,483 days in his life) -- of the other four, one was a getaway with my husband (so luxurious and restful!) and the other three were spent in the hospital when Pippi was born (neither luxurious nor restful). Don't get me wrong -- I'm looking forward to a night away from both of my children sometime this year, but it still just felt weird not to see him, tell him good-night, tuck him under his blanket before I went to bed.

The good news about all of this is that Junius has convinced his dad that they should bring Pippi and me along on the next camping trip -- might be the ONLY way I'll ever get invited to camp again with my husband (I'll save that story for later, but let's just say the first trip didn't go well and may have caused him to reconsider his intentions to marry me). Honestly, I'm not a huge fan of sleeping on the ground, but at least I won't be waiting by the phone if I get to go along for the ride.

Friday's Five: Girl Names

Among the many difficult things about having a baby is deciding on a name for the little pumpkin. In fact, this was one of the most stressful parts of becoming a parent for me.

So much pressure to find just the right name that suits the child and recognizes the family and works with our last names and isn't too strange or too common and something we could both agree on.

My children remained nameless for their first day in the world while we got to know them and tried to decide, finally caving under the pressure of the repeated calls from the person in the hospital's birth certificate office.

Several of my friends are expecting new babies in the coming weeks and months -- got me thinking about all the names we didn't use. Here are five of my favorite girl names that didn't make it onto Pippi's birth certificate:

1. Leland: This name from my husband's family had been used for men and women in his South Carolina heritage. I liked that it sounded like a girl's name without being girly. And it's also the name of a town we pass on our way to the beach, which makes me happy. But somehow it just didn't suit our baby girl when she arrived.
   
   
2. Tallulah Clare: We (I) chickened out and didn't use this one, but we seriously considered it. Not sure if we would have ended up calling her Tallie or Lula or TC. I loved how sweet and Southern it sounded, plus the names were a nod to each of our families (Lula from my husband's side and Clara from my side). But in the end, I worried it was too much and wussed out.
   
   
3. Zella: I always liked Ella, as in Fitzgerald, and also thought it would be really cool to have "Z" as an initial. Then I started hearing all these new babies named Ella, Bella and Stella (all great names) and worried that it would be too confusing.
   
   
4. Lila: This name just sounds so lovely in my ear and feels so sweet in my mouth -- it's so beautiful. I thought it was a nice compromise for Lula, but couldn't sell my husband on the name.
   
   
5. Carson: Boy names as girl names are fun, although I'm sure some people (mostly the boys with those names) find it an annoying trend. Having a rather girly name myself, I often wished for a more neutral name like Spencer or Carson. Plus it worked for author Carson McCullers, but we knew too many boys named Carson and I couldn't convince my husband to go for it.

What's your favorite girl name that you couldn't or didn't get to use?

New Music Monday: Driving with Children

Okay, so it's not really Monday. But I composed this post in my head on Monday, so I think it still counts.

Will be spending a lot of time in the car with my children this week -- first, a quick trip to Nanna and PopPop's while I have work meetings, then an extra-long weekend at the beach with dear friends. All good travels, but Mommy has to do something to keep everyone entertained in the car since we won't have Daddy with us.

Here's what we'll be listening to while we cruise I-40:

• Rockin' the Suburbs by Ben Folds: Junius likes listening to "Chuck's brother" -- and I do, too, despite the fact that I have to sing loudly to edit over all the cussing. We'll probably have to stop listening to this one soon (Juni's ears are too good and I really don't need him dropping the f-bomb at his Baptist pre-school), but the drums and piano are really fun for now. Need to talk with Big Bang Boom about recording a kid-friendly version of this album.
  
  
• Greatest Hits by The Bangles: We have a lot of Manic Mondays at our house, so this just seems appropriate. And I figure this is a good opportunity to teach my children about the brilliance of the 80s. Or at least prepare them for karaoke.
  
  
• Quick by Eddie From Ohio: EFO makes great car music, so you just can't go wrong with them. Plus this album features a gorgeous a capella song called "Great Day" that we played as we entered our wedding reception, so it always makes me happy.
  
  
• Dear Mr. Sinatra by John Pizarelli: Junius refers to this one as the "Ring-a-Ding-Ding" song. Always need a little something jazzy in the car -- and I love watching their little baby heads bounce in the back seat while they pretend to play trumpet.
  
  
• Cry Cry Cry by Cry Cry Cry: One of my sweet neighbors brought me this CD over the weekend -- have only listened to the first few tracks so far, but they're some really good covers by Richard Shindell, Lucy Kaplansky and Dar Williams. I'm hoping by the time we get to this one, the kids will be snoozing and I can just listen and enjoy.

Why Yes, Thank You, My Hair IS Adorable

"J-Fest 2009: Turning Four" update coming soon, but in the meantime I'll give you a little story about the Pip:

Although we waited until his birth to see if Junius would be a boy or a girl, we decided to find out in advance with Pippi. When the ultrasound tech said, "It's a girl," we were stunned into silence. Somehow, we'd both convinced ourselves it was another boy -- and we were excited about having a matched pair. We didn't tell anyone for at least a week, it was that much of a shock.

I was immediately terrified by visions of a moody, dramatic, teen-aged daughter whining and complaining and hating me for no good reason. I knew from experience that even daughters who really love their moms are sometimes unreasonably snotty to their mothers without cause (Mom -- I am so sorry!), and I just didn't want to deal with that.

Thankfully, my mama-friends with daughters talked me down off the ledge, so that by the time Pippi arrived I was delighted to have a baby girl. She's already a moody drama queen at age 16 months, so I'm sure the teen years will bring plenty of challenges (ahem, I mean growth opportunities?) -- but she's silly and sweet and sassy and snuggly in ways that are different from her brother, which is fun to watch.

She also brings with her all the fun, girly stuff. I mean, let's be honest -- girl clothes are soooo much cuter than boy clothes.

And then, this past week, our first experiment with pigtails...
Sadly I don't have a picture of her admiring her hair-do in the mirror, but I think the laughing photo gives you an idea of just how impressed she is with herself. Looks like we'll be waiting a little longer for that first haircut this time around.

What would happen if I just put my hand here?

Last weekend we took Junius to see the N.C. Symphony's Summerfest concert with Cirque de la Symphonie. It was a big night out for the three of us -- we left Pippi at home with a friend from the babysitting co-op because we knew she'd a) never sit still for the concert and b) need to go to bed about the time the show was starting.

The amphitheater was packed when we arrived and got more crowded as the night went on. But despite the lack of space and lack of a clear view (more on that in another post), we had a nice time eating our picnic and watching the show.

If you're not familiar with Cirque de la Symphonie, it's kind of like Cirque de Soleil in front of a symphony -- acrobats, dancers, jugglers, and the like. The performers are mind-bogglingly (did I just invent an adverb?) strong and graceful, dangling from the ceiling on ribbons and hoops or balancing on tiny stools and each other.

So here are my questions: After you've done all the strength training and gymnastics training and so on, how do you make the leap to saying to your friend...

"Just hold still --
I'm going to do an upside-down one-armed push-up on your head."

Or "I think I can spin three *more* hoops..."


Or "I'm sure I could wrap these sheets
around my wrists and fly..."

For more photos and a video to get the full effect, go here. In the meantime, I'll be training with Junius and Pippi for the next tour. I'm pretty sure I can juggle both of them at the same time.