Little Bird Baby Bird

Girl Scout Cookies!

2011-02-28T19:00:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Natalie and I joined Daisy Scout Troop 3105 to sell Girl Scout cookies outside Wal-Mart.

By the appointed time, I had dismissed scores of excuses for not showing up and decided to just suck it up and Be The Mother. So my shy little girl and I set up shop with Natalie's friend Kalei and her lovely mom Pam.

Kalei and Natalie are perfect for each other. Quiet, sweet, unassuming. And terrible saleswomen.

Neither of them dared to make eye contact with anyone who approached our table, despite Pam and me urging the girls to at least look up, or say thank you.

Enter Christine, their fellow Daisy. Christine is not shy. She came to our table near the Garden Center from her post at the main entrance, where she had been pulling in one sale after another.

She showed the quiet girls how it was done. She even let them hold her handmade Girl Scout Cookies sign, on the corner of which she had printed: "Don't touch my poster."

After a little peer mentoring, Natalie began to come out of her shell.

After an hour, her shell was nowhere to be found.

Email

2011-02-26T12:43:00.000-08:00

Out of the hundreds of emails that buzzed across my iPhone this week, the one Natalie sent me this morning is by far the best. Succinct, spelled correctly, true to herself and with an enthusiastic subject line. As a communications professional, I approve.

Subject: Love,Natalie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cinderella
Jasmine
Belle
Ariel
Snow White
Sleeping Beauty
Mulan
Pocahontas
Tiana
Rapunzel

Dear mama,
I love you

She loves me more than gum

2011-02-14T20:56:00.000-08:00

Look what I pulled out of Natalie's folder tonight.

Swoon.

Not only does she love me more than gum. She loves me more than mac 'n' cheese AND dresses.

Oh, I love that little girl.

Tonight the three of us - BM, LD and BG (that's Big Mama, Lizzy Daddy and Baby Girl) - went for pizza. We got a giant pizza and a big carafe of wine and some antipasto.

When we got home, we took the dogs for a walk around the hood and LD got the hiccups. He sounded like a wino.

Then we came home and read Junie B. Jones - Natalie says "She is sooooo bad!"

A good Valentine's Day on the whole.

More than gum!

Field trip

2011-01-25T06:22:00.000-08:00

I recently chaperoned Natalie's class on a field trip.

I don't like tight spaces with a lot of people - Costco makes me crazy - or lots of noise. I am a Highly Sensitive Person. (Are you?)

So this trip was a bit challenging for me. I recorded 15 seconds to share with Tony, so he could praise my not leaping out the window.

It was 35 minutes just like this. Can you hear the Disney music over the din?

Good help

2011-01-23T10:42:00.000-08:00

Good help is so hard to find these days.

That is why I employ little girls in princess dresses who aspire to be Cinderella.

Here is my helper. San Diegans may recognize the orange towel. It came home from the Y in the Mister's gym bag (whoops).

Actually, I don't pay her at all. This is Natalie at play.

"Mama, can I clean the floor?"

"Hmmm. Well. All right. If you promise to eat all your dinner tonight."

Look at that shine!

She can eat hard food now

2011-01-04T20:16:00.000-08:00

The top front tooth that Natalie's been babying for weeks finally came out tonight. Which is really terrific because it's felt like having an old person living with us. Soft food only!

This tooth has tormented her! No apples, having to bite a PB&J with her canine and first premolar. Can you imagine her relief?

She suggested Tony and I go to bed early tonight, so we don't scare away the Tooth Fairy.

She looks like a real kid now. Not so much my baby anymore.

I'm back!

2011-01-02T08:56:00.001-08:00

I'm baaaaack!

And it's all thanks to my two faithful readers, Thyme and Kristine, who were standing out there in the dark, holding their lighters up for me. Let me tell you, when I get complaints from 20 percent of my readership, I take it seriously.

So, the last two months, in a nutshell:

1. The new job continues to be awesome and sometimes exhausting. Some days I am literally (I hate it when people say "literally," but I want to be clear I'm not exaggerating) running from one meeting to another. But it's exhilarating and amazing to feel such purpose in my work again. Someone I admire recently told me: "This is going to be the best job you'll ever have."

2. Natalie is loving ballet (see photo above) and she has signed up for tap, following in her mother's footsteps. We plan to take a Mommy & Me tap class this summer. Between tap and Natalie and I joining Daisies (little Girl Scouts), I'm in mother heaven.

3. We went to Wisconsin for Thanksgiving. It was very cold!

4. I went skiing with my dad in Aspen - my first time on skis in 15 years!

And first time on shaped skis. We had a great time. Saw a bald eagle from the chair lift! I actually missed Natalie's ballet recital because I was on a plane to Aspen. Terrible!

5. We might get a puppy. A chocolate Labradoodle. Oh they are sooo cute! We drove up to Norco last night to see them and fell for two - a boy and a girl. Now I am tormented between them. Tony says either one will be a great dog and I won't regret whatever we choose. He is always so reasonable about these things.

The boy:

The girl:

6. Natalie is getting funnier and funnier.

The other day she asked when she'd have lunch with the principal again. Lunch With the Principal is an honor at school for kids who are doing well in class.

"I think that was just a one time deal, honey," I said.
"Oh."

"Though I don't know for sure. Do kids get to go back?"

"Yeah, if they left something in there."

I called the Mister right after to tell him.

There was another funny one. Recently at school, Natalie pointed out a kid to Tony.

"That's Ronnie. 'Cept his nickname is Ronald."

7. My 38th birthday is next Saturday. I feel good about it mostly because I have a wonderful job and family. Last year I had a classic birthday of self-loathing where I said to myself: I'm 37 years old and what am I &%$##@! doing with my life?? I would feel better about it if I didn't have all these gray hairs, which I suddenly see because I had the great idea to grow out my highlights. Guess who's getting highlights again?!

8. I have a new nickname here at Mill Peak Road. Big Mama. And we live at Big Mama's House. Natalie and Tony both think it's hilarious.

That's all for now. I will try to post more regularly, Thyme and Kristine. Or I will just see you at the next Kevin Faulconer event!

Halloween

2010-10-31T15:04:00.000-07:00

We had a nice Halloween this year, beginning with a rainy trip to the pumpkin patch and carving these two beauties, which we named Pumpkinseed and Steve.

Sadly, Pumpkinseed and Steve only lasted a few days before their teeth curled in and they started to stink up the house.

Natalie, shocking everyone, veered from tradition and eschewed her Cinderella dress (worn the last two years), opting instead for Tinker Bell. Here she is dressed for the parade at school.

On Saturday night, Tony and I dressed as our favorite TV couple from our favorite TV show, "Friday Night Lights." Coach and Tami Taylor set a much better marital example than our choice last year: the totally dysfunctional, but extremely stylish, Don and Betty Draper from "Mad Men."

Here's Coach in his East Dillon Lions gear. He even got Croakies for his shades. Authentic!

And here's Tami. Wish my hair was longer, but I think I captured her Texas spirit. That silver and turqoise belt belonged to my grandmother. The boots were an impulse purchase that I justified by telling myself I would have them for life and they were the same brand worn by Teddy Roosevelt.

After we snapped this photo, we went next door to our neighbors' house. Dwayne and Manya and their friends spent the entire day dressing up the house with spiders and centipedes and cobwebs. It was the best Halloween house I'd ever seen. Oh! And someone brought a cake in a kitty litter box, with a scooper for serving and Tootsie Rolls on top. Gross, but tasty!

I think we might keep up the TV couple theme for next year. I was thinking Archie and Edith Bunker, but Tony had a better idea: Lucy and Ricky Ricardo! I'm going to start looking now for a red wig...

Happy Halloween!

My littie gril

2010-10-16T07:40:00.000-07:00

A favorite time of day for me is pulling Natalie's folder from her backpack to see what Mrs. Evins has sent home from Room 1.

The other day, it was a picture with a story below. Natalie wouldn't let me read it until she'd grabbed her crayons and finished the drawing at the dining room table.

Then she read it to me. And when she was done, she looked up at me, over her glasses like an adult would pausing from the newspaper.

"My name is Natalie. I am six yrers old. I am a littie gril. I like to go to the zoo because it is fun. I like to do my best."

Natalie and me on the grass; the sign says pink "because me and Mama like pink"

Of course I told her I loved it.

"You do like to do your best, don't you?" I asked.

She nodded.

The day before I started my new job I told Natalie I was nervous. She considered this, and then gave me a piece of advice I have followed every day of the last two weeks - during which much of the time I've had no idea what people were talking about and felt like I'd parachuted into a foreign country.

"I was scared for first grade. But I'm not scared anymore," Natalie said.

"Just do Mama's best and work hard."

So every day I'm doing Mama's best. I'm so proud of my littie gril.

Curly hair

2010-10-07T06:41:00.001-07:00

The new thing around here is braiding Natalie's hair at night, when it's wet. In the morning, when we take out the braids, her hair is "curly" for school.

Actually, it's crimpy. Very retro '80s. I told Natalie that when I was a little girl, I slept with rollers in my hair. (Really, it was just two for the bangs, the rest of my hair left straight. Great look.) I shouldn't have told her about rollers because now she wants them.

I usually manage about six or seven braids and then call it quits. There's no way I'm doing rollers.
Last night Natalie was so excited about the braids and her curly hair, she imagined what her little school friend might think.

"Maybe my hair be so curly, Calista not know I'm me!"

Milestones and hope

2010-10-01T10:39:00.001-07:00

It took me awhile before I could drive past Rady Children's Hospital and not think of the night I stood at the pay phone in the ER waiting room and cried into the receiver, telling my mother in Wisconsin that my new baby daughter had suffered two violent seizures and a CT scan of her brain showed that it was atrophied.

Not only would she be paralyzed, as we had been told the day of her adoption just a week earlier in China. She might never be a normal child or functioning adult.

I can still see the parents in the waiting room. I thought them so lucky; their children had fevers or a broken leg. They looked away as I sobbed into the phone. The next morning I drove home to find dinner on the table as we'd left it, plastic wrapping from the paramedics' instruments on the floor, and the phone on the coffee table, where I'd dropped it after calmly telling a 911 dispatcher that my year-old daughter was unresponsive.

But later that morning, I returned to the hospital to find a kindly neurologist, and then an animated neurosurgeon who reminded me of Guy Smiley. And within a few hours the diagnoses from the night before and China were dismissed. They were replaced with theories about the mysterious scar at the base of Natalie's spine and why her brain's ventricles were so large - along with the physicians' guarded hope for a normal development. There would be more visits to the ER, but we had begun the ascent.

My mom and Natalie

There were many visits to Rady Children's over the next several years. And as Natalie sat up, and then learned to crawl and walk on the padded mats of the physical therapy department, those terrible memories of that night, when I thought everything was lost, started to fade. When I'd approach the hospital on the freeway, I didn't feel sick anymore. I felt happy. This was the place that was fixing my daughter, and fixing me, too.

It had become a place of comfort, compassion, camaraderie - and most importantly: milestones and hope.

On Monday I start my new job there. I can't think of another place I'd rather be.

All aboard!

2010-09-17T13:44:00.001-07:00

A quick post here as momentarily we will be boarding our train to Santa Barbara for the weekend to see my parents. Look at our old station in San Diego. Isn't it cool? I always thought it'd be a great place for a wedding. That's the train we're taking - the Surfliner.

This will be Natalie's first train trip other than the kids train at Balboa Park that she's ridden 9,000 times with her dad.

Not sure how many times Tony has been on a train. Lots and lots of times for me, starting when I was little.

My dad and I took the train to the Grand Canyon, where he had me stand on the edge and point into the abyss for a snapshot. We sped past moose and deer and stood between the cars shivering to see the moon. I took a train with my mom to visit my aunt in Sacramento. A mustachioed cowboy named Bart took a shine to my pretty mother with her long, strawberry blond hair, but he and his guitar got off in Cheyenne, Wyoming and that was the end of Bart.

Then there were train trips on my own as a child, from Milwaukee to spend weekends with my dad in Chicago. I was so scared of falling asleep and missing my stop. I knew Glenview, which I called Gwendolyn after my school friend, was my warning that downtown Chicago was next.

As a young adult, I took trains across Europe and through the British countryside and stared out the window,watching the landscape rushing by and thinking deep thoughts, typically with headphones on. Trains are great for deep and dramatic. I can't help but think of Dr. Zhivago and his family on that train winding through the Ural Mountains. And then, Strelnikov!

This afternoon will be a whole new experience. Cold cuts and salads from Little Italy, a bottle of wine and my two favorite people in the world. And the best part: my dear dad waiting at the station in Santa Barbara.

The hawk and the ham hock

2010-09-16T06:18:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke from a harrowing dream.

I was on the edge of a woods, with Natalie and Tony and I think a couple of my coworkers.

I looked up to see a large hawk circling low. He swooped down for a landing 100 yards away and I shouted to him.

"Hawk!"

I expected him to know his name. And sure enough, he turned, tucked his wings back, and walked toward us. He was huge.

I thought: he is much bigger than a hawk. This is an eagle! I could see his big talons and his giant, hooked beak and I thought: maybe this wasn't a good idea.

"Go away!" I shouted.

He screeched and unfolded his wings and I realized as he grew closer and I backed up that he wanted something from me. And that he was taller than Natalie. Was he even an eagle?

Conveniently, I realized I had a ham hock in my hand. I threw it as far as I could, and the bird followed. I rounded up my family and coworkers and as we began to run I looked over my shoulder to see the hawk/eagle/prehistoric scary bird with the ham hock in his beak.

Then I woke up.

A little more on the ham hock: I used two for my bean soup on Sunday, and they remained in the refrigerator until last night, when Tony gave one to the dog. She went outside to eat it and gnawed on it with her hackles up.

Big girl

2010-09-15T09:42:00.000-07:00

Natalie is now a first grader.

It's been a little rough.

New school. New teacher. All new kids. New after-school program.

And... no naps.

Which all adds up to an over-tired, overwrought little girl who falls asleep moments after I kiss her goodnight at 7:30 p.m. Last night, big tears rolled down her face when at the dinner table we asked her to say "please."

On Monday Natalie ran from her line for class, screaming "Mama, don't leave me!" and wailed as I pried her fingers from my pant leg. She sobbed and waved to me through the chain-link fence as I strode away, waving and smiling: "Have a great day, honey!"

By the time I reached my car, I was crying, too.

I recalled the first time I left her at daycare - for two hours. When I returned her shirt was off under her tiny overalls. She had cried and sweated so hard for those two hours, she'd soaked her shirt. For months after I went back to work, I'd have to drive us home with one hand on her little leg, because she couldn't stand any more time apart - not even in the back seat.

But she got used to it. In fact, she grew to love everything about that place. Eventually, I'd have to coax her to the car at the end of the day. This summer at the lake in Michigan she waded deep into the water as I watched from the shore, so proud of my fearless girl.

It feels now like we are starting over. But like we did back then, we try and try again. And each day gets a little bit better.

When you were a baby

2010-09-01T20:17:00.001-07:00

Lately I have found that if I want Natalie to do anything, I appeal to her sense of nostalgia.

We went to Gordon Biersch last night and to head her off from requesting macaroni and cheese, I recalled the time when she ate there as a baby and oh how she loved the jasmine rice and steamed vegetables. In fact, the rice was all over the floor because she was grabbing it by the fistful. Silly baby!

She beamed.

"Let's order that tonight!" I said.

"Yeah!"

I remember at my baby shower Matt's sister wrote to me in a book of advice from my friends and family that I should do whatever works until it doesn't work anymore.

So right now, what's working is "When You Were a Baby ..."

e.g. At bedtime tonight: "When you were a baby you loved it when Mama read this book." (Short, easy book NOT about princesses.)

This actually is very fitting because I am quite nostalgic. As long as I can remember, I've loved looking at old pictures, old letters, recalling times passed. My college boyfriend used to tease me about it.

"You're the only person I know who wants to reminisce about the day before," he'd say.

In other news, we spent part of the afternoon painting ceramics and all I could think about was this video:

Step off little girl, that's my ...

Back to the '60s

2010-08-13T17:11:00.000-07:00

Last weekend Tony and I went to a '60s party at the Del Coronado Hotel. It was hosted by his new men's club, the Rest and Aspiration Society, which is a fancy name for drinking and talking smart. But they are a nice bunch.

Every year they have a party that the wives attend. Which is really so weird and antiquated to me that the '60s theme seemed perfectly fitting. I happen to adore the style of the '60s and have a few vintage dresses - from a great store called Frock You! and from my grandmother's closet.

Here I am at Halloween, dressed as Betty Draper.

The day of the party I tried on this dress, but it seemed to have shrunk in the hips while hanging in my closet.

I had a backup, a green sheath from Gimbel's that my grandmother once wore. I pinned a great big brooch on it and I was ready to go.

I wore heavy black, liquid eyeliner and pale lipstick. I had my hair done, too. Here I am waiting for my martini.

The hair quickly fell though. (That $%#@! sea air.)

Tony was handsome as always.

Sadly, though, we were no match for the McNallys.

Upon arriving we were greeted by members of the host committee, dressed as flight attendants. That's my friend Stephanie on the left. Isn't she darling?

We drank martinis, ate Waldorf salad and danced to a great '60s band. We did the Twist. We slow danced. It was romaaaantic.

Here we are with our candy cigarettes.

When I left the ballroom for the Ladies Room, I turned a few gray heads. I think I reminded them of the old days.

When the party wound down and the ballroom cleared out, we started to gather up the centerpieces. I slipped off my shoes and went from one table to the next, and passed an older man.

"Barefoot and cleaning!" he said. "I need you over at my house!"

See? This '60s party was authentic!

He just keeps on livin'

2010-07-27T06:48:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend we had house guests: Merlin and Kitty.

They live with Natalie's dad. Natalie and Matt went to the Bay Area for the weekend to see his parents in Bodega Bay and also join the 5th annual reunion of families with whom we traveled to China to meet our daughters.

Poor Merlin is winding down.
He is a dog's dog. A regal animal. The benevolent alpha male who defends Natalie and me, and graciously allows children to pull on his ears and tail. On walks with Lizzy, who is a quarter his size, Merlin walks out in front, his leash taught. Lizzy walks off leash, but keeps a respectful distance behind Merlin. She knows he is the leader, and our protector.

The Merleman has bone cancer, and Matt was told back in January that Merlin didn't have long to live. His face is totally gray now and a man we passed on a walk last night called him Grandpa.

Matt and I found Merlin in the newspaper 12 years ago. We brought him home and tried not to panic as we realized we now shared a one-bedroom, second-floor apartment with an 85-pound dog. Now he is 13, and spends much of his time during the warm months in an Elizabethan collar because his skin allergies make him so itchy he bites himself until he's bleeding.
When I take off the collar, which we call the cone, Merlin is very happy.

Let me tell you, the visit was exhausting. I am tired. Tie-urd.

I felt like I had a newborn. Except I never had a newborn. But I did have an extremely sick baby and sometimes wondered if, when I went to her crib, she'd still be alive.

The other morning - after sleeping in the guest room with Merlin, who rose to pace and pant and bark at nighttime noises every two hours - I went to make coffee. When I returned, he was in the same position, like a dead deer on the side of the road.

"Merlie?" I said.

He was still.

"Merlie!"

Nothing.

I bent down and stroked his big shoulder, running my hand along his flank, now bumpy with tumors. And he raised his head and smiled at me as dogs do. Moments later he was in the yard chasing birds, as I mixed medicine and turkey meatballs into his kibble.

After he ate he rolled around on the rug, happy with a full belly and free from the cone.

One of the best things about Merlin is that he follows me everywhere. Back when he was a pup I put him on a leash and tied it to my waist. So wherever I'd go, he'd have to follow. It was a great way to keep an eye on him and teach him to stay with me.

So for all these days of his visit, I had a constant companion who waited patiently for me while I dressed, while I cooked, while I read. Which is a nice treat because Lizzy, despite my giving her affection and treats and long walks, really just gives me the High Hat in return. She is Tony's dog, through and through. But we were both able to fake it for that fireworks video.

By the way, Kitty spent the whole time either in a corner of Natalie's room, or under the guest room bed. She once was very sweet. She used to crawl up the screen door and cuddle and play. But now all she does is hiss. So rude!
Smokey, as usual, was a good sport. He likes his big brother Merlin. Likes to sniff his tail, too.
Last night Matt picked up Merlin and Kitty and I was really sad. I worry that's the last time he'll be at our house. But then, I thought that in the springtime. But the old guy just keeps on livin'.

Tooth Fairy

2010-07-20T16:52:00.000-07:00

Natalie’s tooth fell out the other night. Actually, I yanked it out.

She cried on and off all night, begging me to pull it. I think it was driving her crazy.

“It’s not ready to come out,” I told her.

“Please Mama. Check again.”

So after her bath, when I dry her and hug her and comb her and lotion her up – oh how I love this time of day – I reached in and pulled that sucker out. It resisted at first and I cringe typing this, but then I felt the tearing release of gum and fleshy strands holding it there (more cringing) and in an instant blood was welling in the little hole where the tooth had been.

She was wide-eyed and grinning. And relieved.

Later, in bed, the tooth in a baggie under her pillow, she asked: “Is the Tooth Fairy real?”

My heart sank a little. I thought about being her age when some punky classmate told me there was no Santa.

“Of course she’s real.”

“Mama saw her?”

“Yes, but not when I was a little girl. I was a grown up lady, but not a mother yet.”

“Mama tell the story?”

And so I told her how one night I happened to be looking out my window and saw what I thought was a star. But it was moving, closer and closer to the Earth, until finally it came down to a neighboring house – and stopped at the window to a bedroom where a little girl slept.

I saw then it was a fairy, about the size of Tinkerbell, and she slipped through the window into the room. And behind the drawn curtains I could see the light dancing for a moment or two. Then, the fairy was back outside the window and flew off as fast as she had come, back up into the sky, disappearing into the stars.

Natalie seemed satisfied. The next morning, at 5, she called from her room, waking me from a dream.

“Mama! “ she yelled through the dark. “The Tooth Fairy came!”

Baby talk

2010-07-12T07:27:00.000-07:00

Lately we’ve been talking about having a baby.

My approach this time around is decidedly more lax.

Recently I was to have my thumb X-rayed. It had been swollen and throbbing ever since that hike in Kauai, perhaps from when I fell into the hole, or the river, or slid across the mossy rocks, desperately grasping at wet ferns trying to stay alive. Lots of possible thumb trauma scenarios there.

As is the routine, the X-ray tech asked if I was pregnant.

“No,” I told him. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No. Probably not.” I told him.

He cocked his head.

“Have you been trying to get pregnant?” he asked.

“Well. We haven’t been trying to avoid it.”

He laughed – “haven’t been trying to avoid it!” - and shook his head and walked me back to my doctor’s office to get a pregnancy test.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had women find out they’re pregnant this way,” he told me in the elevator.

So I took the test and waited for the nurse and was a bit surprised to find that that old, gooey, nervous hope rising in my belly. And then, the familiar dump of disappointment.

All for the stupid thumb that wasn’t even broken.

But now, five years into being a mother, the disappointment wasn’t crushing like I remember. No tears. No hating myself and my useless body and wondering what I ever did to deserve being denied what I then considered the most fundamental experience of being a woman.

This time, I got a breakfast burrito and was over it.

The most frustrating thing about all of it back then was that everything was officially fine. All the tests said so. It just wasn't happening.

Will it now? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I do know things are different now. I don't have that hole in my heart that I used to have. I feel happy with my life. I like being a mother. I have an incredible child and I'm proud of the mother that I've become. I think I will be alright either way.

Mostly, the discussions have been light and jokey, and centered on maintaining our current lifestyle. Could we send the baby to Natalie's dad's house when she's over there? Maybe we should adopt a 5-year-old because small children are really so much more enjoyable than infants. Or, we could just opt for a Golden Retriever, because that you can leave alone at home. Much more conducive to keeping the fire aflame.

Recently we floated it past Natalie.

"Would you like a baby brother or baby sister, Natalie?"

She didn't take much time to think.

"Noooo," she said.

"I already have a baby... Baby Miss Ann."

Hot cheese

2010-07-08T08:58:00.000-07:00

Natalie celebrating her shared birthday with my Dad

We have been discussing differences of late.

Last night Natalie dug into a bowl of leftover macaroni and cheese, and I sat with a glass of wine, watching her. Natalie calls mac 'n' cheese "hot cheese." It's her favorite dish.

She swallowed a bite and looked up.

"Fahd does not eat pork," she said of her classmate. I nodded.

"Fahd is from ... near China."

She looked at me expectantly, as she does when she comes to an unfamiliar word while reading aloud.

"Afghanistan?" I offered.

"Yeah, there." She took another bite, chewed.

"Some people eat pork. Some people not eat pork."

This reminded me a conversation we had last week, after a boy asked why I was white and she was brown. ("Some people dark, some people brown, some people light. Everybody different," she said.)

Natalie was quiet for a moment as she chewed, and then added:

"I eat hot cheese."

The big time

2010-07-02T17:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday our dog Lizzy and I got the big break we've been waiting for.

Bedtime beatbox

2010-06-30T17:52:00.000-07:00

Lately bedtime has gotten a lot more fun because of the beatbox.

Each night I read a story to Natalie, or she reads it to Tony and me. And then Tony tells a story.

This is how it went when I was growing up, except for the beatbox part. I’d say to my dad: Tell me a story and read me a story! And he'd always oblige. His stories were often about Spot, a bluegill, and Spike, a perch. And each story began the same way:

“This is a story about Spot and Spike. One day, the two friends were swimming in the lake.”

If I complained about the familiar beginning, he started over - the same way, of course.

Spike was the leader; Spot, the follower. That’s because bluegills have narrow heads and therefore can’t be very smart. They had all sorts of lake adventures, such as running into the leeches, who like carnies operated a ferris wheel and didn't have the best reputations.

Anyway, Tony’s stories typically involve a girl and her mother, a girl and her friends, or a girl and a princess. Often they end with a dance party, something Natalie learned about during kindergarten when the children would dress up and dance to the soundtrack of Alvin and The Chipmunks: The Squeakquel.

When Natalie senses the story is going to end with a dance party, she sits up in bed.

“And all the girls wore pretty dresses and there was popcorn and juice … and …” His hands go up to his mouth and Natalie shrieks and the dog barks and Tony’s forehead gets red as he busts out some very special beatboxing.

It’s become the best part of the night. And a great way to motivate Natalie: “Do you want dance party? Then brush your teeth.”

Tonight on the way home from school I asked Natalie whether she wanted Tony to tell a story.

"Yeah!" she said. "Dance party! A LOT of dance party."

Peace out.

Those questions

2010-06-28T13:09:00.000-07:00

Natalie was running to meet me at the playground gate, right past the little boy who sat at the base of the tree and shouted to her:

"Hey! Why is your mom white?"

She didn't hear him, or she ignored him. This child has been unkind and aggressive to her and others before, so perhaps she smartly tunes him out.

He tried again. But this time to me.

"Why are you white and she's ... brown?"

I followed my daughter's example and ignored him. I took Natalie's hand and as she skipped along I asked whether she had heard that boy and what he said.

She hadn't, so I repeated it. And told her he was rude. That people ask questions when they don't understand things and when they see something that doesn't match what they have in their own life.

"Yeah. Some people dark, some people brown, some people light. Everybody different," Natalie said. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged for emphasis.

"My Green Team friends never say that to me," she said of her kindergarten class. The offending boy was in another class.

So as we drove home we talked about China and her birth parents and how she came to be here with us. And she listened to the story for the hundredth time and asked questions that she knows the answers to but loves hearing anyway. And then, she was all done with it. The conversation turned, as it often does, to Baby Miss Ann, who didn't want to take a nap that day despite her mother's urging.

Yet I was left to think. About how all those questions, until now always aimed at me (What's she mixed with? Where'd you get her? Is your husband Asian?), are now going to be directed at her. About how it's hard to be different. And about what do I have to draw on from my own life, except being an odd child who spent an inordinate amount of time alone, in snow forts and trees and didn't quite fit in with the rest? At the end of the day, a woman who looked like me picked me up from school.

I thought about seeking out more families like ours. I thought about making her strong and sure of herself. About coating her with a Teflon confidence to repel rude questions and comments.
But I have a feeling she will be just fine.

I caught Natalie's eye in the rear view mirror.

"You're smart and you're kind and you're beautiful," I told her.

"Yeah, I know," Natalie said. "Mama is, too."

Bye, Green Team!

2010-06-18T09:29:00.000-07:00

Natalie's dad has done it again with this video about Natalie's kindergarten class, the Green Team. In September, Natalie will start first grade.

We'll really miss the children and of course, the incomparable Mrs. Solomon. What a wonderful year.

Something new

2010-06-15T14:25:00.001-07:00

The other day on the way to my spin class I passed a room of little girls in pink leotards, tights and ballet slippers, following their teacher, also in pink, around the room.

And I thought: I must enroll Natalie!

And then: Maybe there's a ballet class for me! I took ballet as a child, and then later as an adult. But now? I realized that would be too Zelda Fitzgerald.

So I kept walking.

Still, I'm thinking it'd be so nice to take a new class. Photography? History? Writing?

Once I took a short story writing class and I wrote an awful story about a young, distracted wife of a deployed soldier who mows down a homeless man collecting cans on her street. It was my first and last foray into fiction. Yet it wasn't all for naught. I met my amazing friends Betsy and Jean in that class.

The thing is, I need new.

I'm reading Gretchen Rubin's "The Happiness Project," and she says that people are happiest when they are learning something new. How true!

So I'm on the hunt. And you, my 11 readers? Any classes you've taken that you really liked?

What matters

2010-06-04T05:48:00.000-07:00

I haven't been writing much here because all of my creative energy has been devoted to perfecting my resume, a cover letter and answering online questionnaires about my experience and qualifications. And then there have been two interviews. One with three people. The other was a seven-person panel (I felt like Sonia Sotomayor!). Tomorrow I have another interview, and on Wednesday, my fourth.

I think I've gotten pretty good at promoting myself without sounding like an arrogant jerk or Stuart Smalley (I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggonit people like me!).

None of these leads has come from Monster.com, or cocktail party networking. All of this job hunting has been within my own office. A massive reorganization is underway, and we were told: Apply for everything!

So for weeks there have been closed doors, and scheming, and jockeying, and so much constant whispering it's like the jungle in Lost. We're now in the fourth week of interviews.

It's hard not to get totally wrapped up in the drama. But on Sunday I was able to pull away. And I realized some things.

1. Work, while important to me, doesn't have to define me.

2. We might want to get a bigger pool.

The girly girl toughens up

2010-05-28T06:41:00.000-07:00

Natalie is a girly girl. She wears a dress everyday, often with sparkle shoes, and she sings princess songs to herself while twirling around to make her skirt fly out.

I may have contributed to this by painting her toes, buying all those dresses and generally being quite a girly girl myself. Yet I will unhesitatingly grab for a lizard in the backyard. Natalie recoils.

I wasn't always girly. As a child I was short-haired and scabby, got into fights and spent a lot of time outside in my snowfort, or in the tree in front of our second floor duplex, watching my mother watch television inside. One day on the stairs at school, a passing girl asked: "Are you a boy or a girl?"

But a few years later the boobs came, and with them the boys, and that was the end of that.

Because I think Natalie is so girly and because she doesn't get much exercise at school and because I worry she suffers from Nature-Deficit Disorder, I have decided to act.

Last Sunday was the day. We'd join our friend Donna on her trip to a small, backyard farm to buy free-range eggs. The farm also has baby chicks, goats and bunnies. "Less of an ick factor," Donna said, comparing them to lizards. And then, Tony and I would take Natalie on her first hike.

Natalie was excited for the farm, even obediently changing out of her dress into pants for the trip.

As we made our way to the goats, Natalie asked "What smells, Mama?" And to emphasize her disgust, she pinched her nose.

She wasn't interested in petting this cute little kid.

And wouldn't even offer a finger to stroke this two-day-old bunny's head.

"Look at Aiden," I told her. Aiden lives at this farm. But his example didn't mean much to Natalie.

I don't have any pictures of Natalie because she was never in the same frame as the animals, but rather wrapped around my thigh or holding her nose.

But here she is safely back in the comfort of our good-smelling home with the eggs we bought.

After a lunch of curried egg salad sandwiches and a nap, it was time for Phase Two. I had prepared for this with the purchase of new hiking shoes for Natalie. Of course I made sure there was some pink involved. Cute, right? She totally dug them.

We chose Cowles Mountain for our inaugural hike. It's close to home and a mile to the top, where on a clear day you can see for miles. I kept my expectations low: 20 minutes up?

She was timid at first, unsure of her steps, as she clutched Tony's hand and mine.

But slowly, she began to let go.

And enjoy the view.

We climbed about a third of the way up, and took a break for a snack. We'd made it much farther than I had hoped we would.

And then Natalie said, as she often does when she tires of something: "Mama? I go now."

So we brushed off the crumbs from the pretzels, took another swig of water, and then, something magical happened.

Natalie led the way back down.

Norway

2010-05-26T10:03:00.001-07:00

On the way to school this morning, after we'd taken turns singing princess songs and moved on to another favorite topic, all of Natalie's babies, I asked:

"Is Mimi Chinese?"

Natalie and Mimi at DisneyWorld, 2008

"Nooooo. Mimi from Norway."

I think she said Norway. Norway?? How would she know about Norway?

"What, honey?"

"Mimi from Norway, same as Baby Miss Ann."

"Oh. I did not know that," I said. "Did you go and get her?"

"Yyyyyep. When she was one. Really, really small."

Hmmm. This story sounds familiar.

Then I grewed up

2010-05-18T11:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Natalie's sixth birthday.

The night before was the fifth anniversary of the day when her dad and I first held her.

So at bedtime that night, I told her the story of that moment. How it was so hot and muggy in Nanchang that the windows of the hotel were fogged, how her bus was delayed for hours and how, despite only seeing a months old photo of her, I knew her the second the orphanage director walked through the door.

I told her how I jumped up from my chair and went to her, how her warm little body felt in my hands, and then against my chest. How her head smelled and how she stared up at me. How she clutched the identification card hanging by a yellow string around her neck; it was her only possession.

And then I told her how I held her, and handed her to her Daddy. And how we took pictures and we went back upstairs to our room, where I gave her a bottle, and she fell asleep on our rock hard Chinese bed, still clutching her ID.

And how it was the happiest day of my life.

I pulled the covers up to her chin.

"That's it?" Natalie asked.

"Yes, that's it," I said.

"Then I grewed up. And now I'm too heavy to hold," she said.

"Yes, you've grown up a lot."

I brushed the hair from her face, kissed both her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her chin and her lips.

"But you'll never be too heavy for Mama to hold."

The mister is 40

2010-05-11T10:52:00.000-07:00

Today is Tony's 40th birthday. So I'm posting this picture, which I know is mostly of me .. but I look happy. Happy with him. And, Tony really likes his fade.

That's the Ocean Beach Pier behind us. We were on the end of it one day when I put my hands on his shoulders, looked him in the eye and told him for the very first time: I love you.

Happy Birthday, honey!

(Photos courtesy of katiegardnerphoto.com)

Mother's Day love

2010-05-05T15:11:00.000-07:00

At first when Natalie started kindergarten I thought her teacher Mrs. Solomon was a little intense. There was a syllabus every week, with vocabulary words and a homework assignment and notes to the parents about what was happening in class.

I resisted at first. I didn't believe in homework for kindergarteners. But now my child, who used to hide behind me and refuse to speak or look at anyone, is reading, writing stories, and reading to the class! She is becoming the girl to everyone else that I always knew her to be.

So now I am a Mrs. Solomon devotee. And this week I was delighted to find the following in this week's syllabus.

Homework:

1. Be a great listener for your mom.
2. Help your mom with chores around the house.
3. Give your mom a hug.
4. Give your mom a back rub.
5. Give your mom more hugs and kisses.

She gets it. Oh does she get it.

Yesterday when I picked up Natalie, she asked for my purse and my keys.

"Why, honey?"

"Because it's almost Mother's Day. I want to help Mama." And she leaned forward under the weight of my purse like a sled dog straining on his line.

This morning, she climbed into bed and rubbed my back.

I read recently that the benefits people get from a vacation are mostly in the months and weeks leading up to trip. It's the planning and thinking about the enjoyment to come that makes people most happy.

I'm feeling the same about Mother's Day, which happens to be my favorite day of the year. All the love and attention and feeling so special without having to think, like I do on my birthday: I'm ^%$#@! 37 and what have I done with my life???

Yes, Mother's Day is grand.

The power of Nie

2010-05-04T11:35:00.001-07:00

I'm not Mormon. Or very religious at all.

But I believe in NieNie. She inspires me to be a better mother, a better person, every day when I read her posts on The NieNie Dialogues.

She will inspire you, too. Check out this video posted today by her sister, CJane.

My crowning achievement of motherhood

2010-05-03T06:15:00.000-07:00

When we bought the house Natalie's room was painted an awful green for the previous owners' baby boy, and decorated with large, navy blue decal circles which the wife gravely told me would not be part of the sale.

They also painted another bedroom orange. And throughout the house they refused to use tape, preferring to do everything freehand, so there is paint on the ceiling and on the baseboards and the light fixtures. It looks real nice.

They also left us a drawer full of beard trimmings in the master bathroom.

I am not their number one fan.

Anyway, we moved in, my half-Greek husband sprayed everything with bleach and I promised Natalie I would paint her room lavender. Here's an aside, though: Did you know that the color pink can have a calming effect, but after a while it actually intensifies emotions? So little girls' rooms and pink walls should be avoided at all costs. I learned this during a really neat work seminar about group dynamics with a psychologist. My job comes in handy sometimes.

Months later, the room is painted lavender (leaning more toward blue than pink). Natalie was a good little helper.

Now I have finally finished decorating it, the coup de grace being the dresser I planned to assemble myself while Tony was out campaigning for his boss on Saturday. Doing my part to reelect Kevin Faulconer! But then I unpacked everything.

Including this ridiculous bag of screws.

And so we called Angel, our amazing handyman who was going to be here installing the new garbage disposal. Sure, no problem, he said on the phone.

He laughed when he saw it. But he's a great sport. I fed him warm, fresh baked cobbler to ease the irritation. Three hours later, he was finished. It would have taken me two days.

So now the room is finished!

It may be my crowning achievement of motherhood.

After I put the tree on the wall, I stepped back and ... teared up!

I had finally done something perfectly. For once. Which made me feel much better about all my failings as a mother: working full-time, not being a kindergarten room parent, not sewing, skipping pages while reading bedtime stories, all my foot stomping and exasperated, exaggerated sighs.

I'm going to add crown moulding and then it will beyond reproach. I may win Mother of the Year! And I imagine that will buy at least a couple years' worth of stomping my feet and sighing.

Natalie likes her room. She had just one adjustment to make, and that was to the dresser top. Now, it's juuuust right.

Those hikers on the evening news

2010-04-29T11:55:00.001-07:00

Since we have been home from our honeymoon on Kauai people ask us how our trip was and if we have time and we gauge them as a receptive audience, well then we tell them about The Hike.
Our first day in Kauai it rained, so we spent much of the day at the Love Shack which was perfect because hey, we're newlyweds and also we were tired from our trip. The next day we were ready to be outside, but the weather still wasn't great. So Tony suggested a hike of the Na Pali Coast, which everyone said we had to do.

We'd hike two miles to the beach, have lunch and decide whether to continue to the waterfall another two miles away. The hike to the beach, the guide book said, was strenuous. To the falls: "treacherous."

Guess what we decided to do?

Let me just say here that I am not a wimpy hiker. I've done 20-milers through the desert and Sierra, and lugged a machete and plastic bag full of Coca Cola through the Amazon.

So I was ready to knock out eight miles in Hawaii. See?

As I mentioned, it had been raining. Which made the trail a little muddy.

Tony carried a big walking stick because a woman called Deborah from Detroit whom he met in the parking lot told him to. I told him the stick wouldn't help him in the mud and stayed about ten paces behind because whenever he'd slip, he threw his arms into the air, along with the stick.

But the stick wasn't much help. Was it?

So we slipped and slid up and down the trail and at one point I felt as though I was cross-country skiing. Also, it was very windy. See how windy? (You might also notice the red ties on the root. The State of Hawaii marks the trail with red ties. Here the red ties tell us not to walk off the cliff. Some red ties would have been very helpful later in our story.)

It took us two hours to slide to the beach, where we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and watched this little guy and his twin approach us for scraps.

The sun was coming out and our bellies were full of peanut butter. Anything was possible! So off we went to the falls.

There was bamboo.

And very slippery rocks.

The trail crossed the river several times. I fell in. As did my new Nikon D-SLR.

But two hours after leaving the beach, we were at the falls. The spray took my breath away as I snapped photos of Tony swimming in the pool.

We were very happy. Invigorated! In love. And my expensive camera was still working! All was right with the world.

And that is the last picture of the hike. Because on the way back, no one was thinking about taking pictures.

For the first 20 minutes of our return trip, we heartily greeted each passer-by, Tony saying "Only a quarter-mile now. It's totally worth it!"

Remember those red ties? Well when it's time to the cross the river, there is a red tie that tells you so. But it's not necessarily in your field of vision. It could be hanging off a branch in the middle of the river and you just walk right on by, following the trail worn into the brush by so many hikers before you who made the same foolish mistake.

After a while, we stopped. I don't remember any of this, I said. Me neither, he said.

But we were tired, and I had just walked into a low-hanging branch and bit my lip. My legs were starting to shake like they did in college when the mean rowing coach made us run stadium stairs for an hour. "The Hour of Power," it was called. Anyway, we pressed on. We could still see the river, so we knew we were heading in the right direction.

Soon, the brush grew heavier. A man overtook us and my spirits lifted. We followed him, but he was too fast and I cursed him as he disappeared ahead.

Should we turn around? I asked. Tony shrugged, and we pressed on.

Much to my relief, five hikers caught up to us. We told them we lost the trail.

They were stone faced. The group was a married couple and their teenage daughter, and a couple in their early 20s. We forged on together as a group, the leaders warning the followers of slippery rocks and deep brush where the ground was obscured. We were in it together, by God!

But I could feel it splintering. I stopped.

"I don't want to be those hikers on the evening news," I said.

The young man looked at me, wide-eyed. "Me neither!"

He called to his girlfriend: "Let's turn back!"

"It's too late!" she returned. He turned to me.

"I think we should go back."

I thought about leaving with him while eyeing Tony up ahead, who called back to us that he could see the beach. We only needed to keep following the river. The look on his face implored me to trust him. Just like he had when he held out his hand earlier, telling me to take hold, to trust him, and I grasped it and fell into the river - with the Nikon.

He came back to me. We decided as a group to go from rock to rock, slowly making our way back to the beach.

I turned to Tony. This wasn't good.

Let me just say here that I am not one to panic. I am cool in a crisis. Give me a seizure, choking, earthquake, massive brush fire. I've been through them all and I kept my wits about me.

"We're fucked."

He said nothing.

"This is going to end badly."

He swallowed hard. I could see him rising to the occasion. He was going to get us out of here!

A moment later one leg was in a hole and I was pulling at ferns to get out. I could feel the skin peel away from my shoulder as I found my footing and Tony hoisted me up.

I looked to the sky for signs of sightseeing helicopters. Thought about how much water we had. Cursed that man again for leaving us. And of course thought about this. (How can you not while "Lost" in the jungle in Hawaii?)

We were in the river now, reaching from one large boulder to the next, the water rushing past waist-high. Tony was leading the way, testing the water's depth and finding rocks strewn close together. The father pointed to a mossy bank of rocks. Too slippery, Tony said. Someone might fall and hit their head.

Minutes later, the teenager spotted a clearing over the river. The trail! We scrambled up over roots and rocks and sure enough, there was the bamboo!

We cheered! We hugged!

And once again we were passing people headed in the opposite direction to the falls. Except now, all Tony said was hello.

He also said, "Honey, tomorrow how about you decide what we should do?"

Me resting at the Hyatt with three of my 16 bug bites.

Call me

2010-04-15T11:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday when I picked up Natalie from school we were walking toward the car when she remembered something.

"Wait, Mama!"

She darted back into her classroom, reached into her cubby and came running to me, her cardigan falling from her shoulder and with a piece of paper in hand.

"Fahd's phone number," she explained, picking up her princess back pack.

"Let me see."

I wanted to snatch it from her and ball it up and throw it over the fence and yell: No no no no you are not calling a boy, you are not calling anyone, you are too too young!!!

But I calmly held out my hand and smiled.

Sure enough. There was his number.

At least it wasn't on a matchbook.

Now that this note has been memorialized here, the paper is in its rightful place: the wastebasket.

And nothing against Fahd, who is a very sweet boy and would probably make a fantastic boyfriend in 20 years. Which is about when I will let Natalie make a phone call.

Extreme Makeover: Smokey Edition

2010-04-11T20:23:00.000-07:00

Who doesn't love a good makeover? Whether at the Sephora counter or on the Today Show.

Well our cat Smokey is a different man now.

Here is Smokey's Before:

And his After:

His new haircut means less grumbling by Tony during his nightly vacuuming of Smokey's Red Couch, and extra petting by Natalie and me because he is velvety and looks like a stuffed animal, thereby making him more lovable. Everyone is happy.

Just goes to show the power of a good makeover.

The Baby Bag

2010-04-08T17:38:00.000-07:00

Baby Miss Ann in the Baby Bag

I spent my lunch hour today taking Baby Miss Ann over to Daddy's House. She had been waiting patiently in my car in the front seat, tucked into the Baby Bag which also was carrying Natalie's and BMA's matching cherry sundresses, a princess early reader book, a pair of hot pink sparkle shoes and about 25 tiny princess dolls and their outfits. All of life's necessities.

I was on the phone with my dad in the car.

"I'm taking BMA to Matt's," I said.

"Such is life after a changed relationship," he said.

I decided I'd never be the divorced parent who sent her kid to school with a bag of belongings for her days away at the other parent's house. I'd always make things easy on Natalie. This, afterall, was my problem. Not hers.

So every Thursday, in preparation for Natalie's stay with her dad, Natalie and I drop BMA and the Bag at Daddy's. Mostly in the mornings before school, so he can run out and give her a kiss and crack a few jokes. The dog normally comes outside, too, and he bounces around the yard and maybe even lets loose a howl.

But this morning I was running late. So at lunchtime I drove up from Downtown to University Heights and hung the Bag on the boat parked in the driveway. And then I said a quick little prayer asking God not to let the crazy guy from around the block steal Baby Miss Ann.

I would much rather hang the Bag on the back door, protected by a locked back gate. But I no longer have a key.

Such is life after a changed relationship.

The best mother - comma - ever

2010-04-07T11:14:00.000-07:00

On Easter Sunday Natalie wrote a note to Baby Miss Ann.

I have two things to say about this letter.

1. Natalie is really into commas. (Two weeks ago it was question marks, e.g. this recent sentence: The frog is in the mom's purse?)

2. She is going to be an excellent mother.

Helen

2010-04-05T14:38:00.000-07:00

My engagement and wedding rings (photo courtesy of katiegardnerphoto.com).

When I was a little girl, my grandmother used to let me try on her wedding ring.

I'd slip it on, fan out my nail-bitten fingers, hold my hand out at arm's length. One day, Grandma would say, she'd give the ring to me. Which is when I'd promptly take it off and drop it into her palm, hating to think of when or why that day would come.

When Tony and I decided to get married, I asked my dad - and my aunt and cousin - for Grandma's ring. It was tucked away in his attic since her death several years ago.

It was pretty dingy when it arrived by FedEx. Yet after a visit to the jeweler for cleaning, it looked brand new. I gasped when Tony opened the box, where it sat snug next to my engagement ring, which we rebuilt to sit flush with the band.

Now when I look down at my fingers typing, I see her ring, and almost her hands. But though I long ago stopped biting my nails and now paint them a shade similar to her favorite, my hands aren't nearly as lovely.

The other day, a story I wrote a few years ago about my grandma appeared here at The Women's Colony. It was perfect timing.

My great aunt Ryann and her sister Helen, my grandmother. She's wearing the ring.

Spring Sing

2010-03-28T08:40:00.001-07:00

Natalie gave a fantastic performance during her last Spring Sing at Children's Growing Center. Next year it's off to first grade. We are sad. But also quite happy because Natalie is a big girl now and Spring Sing is a kind of a drag.

It's a fundraising thing that involves an hours long auction and drawing. Normally we sit through this and get more and more agitated. But this year we were smart. We dropped Natalie off at her classroom and then met Natalie's dad at a neighborhood bar, arriving back at school for the tail end of the auction and Natalie's class performing "Wild Thing."

Natalie sang and danced and she was super cute in her zebra print skirt. My friend Jennifer said it was her Swan Sing.

Great job, Natalie!

Married!

2010-03-27T12:55:00.000-07:00

Photos courtesy of the delightful and talented Katie Gardner.

We have Natalie's spring pageant this afternoon, the plumbers are tearing apart the walls, and we leave for Kauai tomorrow morning, so ... more later! Oh and I need to ice my back. Fell flat on it yesterday in what could have been described as the worst day ever - until we got married. Then everything was perfect.

Who's that?

2010-03-23T09:43:00.000-07:00

Every morning I scan the TV news Web sites for any stories that mention the County of San Diego. Not the geographical locale, but the government entity - you know, my employer.

Yesterday I landed on KUSI and its lead story, which featured a still of San Diego Mayor Jerry Sanders and Councilman Tony Young.

But I was interested in someone else. The guy in the back to the left. Who's that?

I looked closer and realized ...

It's my boyfriend!

Well how do you like that? Reminds me of a time when I was meeting Tony for lunch and I drove by the restaurant to see a man sitting outside. I craned to get a better look. He was cute. I looked again. He was my BF!

Yes, I look. Don't we all? My coworker Tammy says: It's like a cute handbag. How can you not look at it?

But isn't it awesome that the cute guy is him?

Wild Thing

2010-03-23T06:38:00.000-07:00

For their marquee performance, Natalie and her classmates will sing and dance to "Wild Thing."

Handily, we have the music at home, in a card that Tony gave me for my birthday. Here Natalie shows me her moves.

A good friend of mine

2010-03-21T12:27:00.000-07:00

So for this year's Spring Sing, Natalie's class will be singing "Wild Thing." And then "Joy to the World."

But you'll notice that the school changed the line about helping Jeremiah the Bullfrog drink his wine to the more kindergarten-friendly helping him catch his flies. Here Natalie gives us a peek at Spring Sing.

We have a match

2010-03-17T08:42:00.000-07:00

Five years ago today the adoption agency called Natalie's Daddy at work to tell him we had a daughter. Matt paged me, and I called him back from a payphone at the mall, where I was having lunch with a coworker. My heart beat so hard I was sure my shirt was fluttering.

He was elated; I didn’t know what to think. I said nothing to my coworker when I hung up, and didn’t hear a word he said as we walked back to the office.

By the time I returned to my desk, an email from Matt was waiting for me. He had researched her town and the meaning of the baby’s Chinese name.

“So here's everything I know,” he wrote.

“Her name is Ling Wan Hui. Ling is the equivalent of a surname, usually given to the babies by the orphanage. Wan Hui is her first name. Wan means gentle/gracious, Hui means bright/intelligent. I think it's pronounced sort of like "won hway".

Her birthday, or the estimate at least, is May 17. She's from the city of Shangrao, in Jiangxi Province. Basically southeastern China. I believe that's just a little inland from Guangzhao, which is where we'll go to get everything finalized at the US Consulate. I looked online and saw there's an orphanage in Shangrao; that's probably what they mean when they say that's where she's from.

We will receive all the info and the photo on Saturday; they are sending it without requiring a signature, so we'll get it even if we step out for a while. They hope to get our travel dates confirmed in two or three weeks; right now they're estimating we'll go by the middle of May (if so, it would be just in time for a birthday party).

I know you were hoping she'd be a little younger, but the lady at Holt said she is "very beautiful." My guess is that's why that's why they matched her to you. Combine that with gentle, gracious, bright and intelligent... it sure sounds like your daughter to me!"

Two days later her photos came by Federal Express, along with her medical records, which we scrutinized for an afternoon on the couch, the dog asleep at our feet.

She was healthy, happy, and developing normally, it said. (We later found that not much of that was true.) She responded to her name being called, played with toys and laughed. And she was in foster care, which meant she was with a family, receiving much more contact and stimulation -- and most importantly, bonding -- than she would in an orphanage.

The photos clearly were months old. She had to be younger than six months. She was bundled up, in the Chinese way of layering on children’s clothes to ward off the cold – even in warm weather. She looked like a tiny Michelin Man, immobilized by the layers that made her arms stick out straight. She had big, brown eyes and a little rosebud mouth, rosy cheeks and a delicate nose.

Matt was in love. I was still waiting. I’d read that this was supposed to be The Moment, when the love for your new child just washes over you. At least that’s what it said on the adoption message boards that I checked every day. “I’m head over heels!” these soon-to-be parents would gush.

But to me, it was just a picture. I kept thinking she’s just some kid. Some other woman’s child on the other side of the planet, who some faceless bureaucrat decided, for God knows what reason, would be my daughter. It seemed so random. And I was just supposed to go along with it.

This whole process, begun a year before, had been a long lesson is relinquishing control. Inviting strangers into our personal lives, our finances, our medical records, allowing ourselves to be judged, and ultimately, approved for parenthood.

I stared at the pictures. One, and then the other, and then back to the first.

“She’s just some kid,” I said to Matt. “How do you feel?”

He smiled. “I feel great. She’s beautiful. I love her.”

I slid lower on the couch. “It’s ok, Lizzie” he said, gently taking the pictures from me. “There’s no script we have to follow.”

Two months later, we were in China, and Natalie was finally in my arms, her sweaty little head on my chest. She'd stare into my eyes as I gave her a bottle, wrapping her fingers around my thumb. And she watched my every move from her crib.

And then, like Matt, I was in love, too.

A lot of teeth

2010-03-15T14:06:00.001-07:00

Natalie lost her first tooth the other day. Daddy had asked to check on the loose tooth and in Natalie's emphatic refusals, her tongue popped it right out.

The Tooth Fairy left Natalie a gold dollar for the tooth, which Daddy says is so small it looks like a grain of rice. Natalie dropped the coin into her piggy bank, but she may decide to spend it.

Yesterday on the way to school, she discussed her options with me.

"Little princess dolls cost three dollars. Big dolls cost 12 dollars. And a princess dress costs 20 dollars."

Yes, I told her, 20 dollars.

She looked out the window.

"I need a lot of teeth come out to buy princess dress."

Spring cleaning

2010-03-11T11:14:00.000-08:00

I wish I were as happy as Bugs with his carrot.

But I am grouchy. Why? Because I am depriving myself of all the things that make me happy. Well, not all. But they are important! And they give me such joy. Coffee, alcohol, wheat, dairy - and for the next 6 days all animal products. (#$@^%$!) This is very difficult to fathom for a girl who comes from the Land of the Butter Burger.

For some reason, Tony and I thought it would be a good idea to do a cleanse. It may be that we are getting married this month and so this is an out-with-the-old-in-with-the-new thing. Or maybe we want to look good when we check into the Love Shack on Kauai. We are being assisted by the lovely Jutta Kuhn, who was my acupuncturist/herbalist for some time and is now my delightful friend.

Last night I made pistachio chicken for dinner. The other night I made salmon with garlic and cilantro.

They were excellent meals. Though they would have been even better with wine and a brownie for dessert.

The thing about the cleanse is that I feel great. I'm sleeping well. I have energy. Tony says how pretty I look (I think that is just a motivating tactic, but I like it anyway). But I am spending an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about this:

Image via ComeUndone on Flickr

Warm, crusty sourdough bread with salty butter. I love you so.

BFFs, the next generation

2010-03-04T14:45:00.001-08:00

My best friend in the whole world is Laura. I call her Laursie. We met waaay back in graduate school in Washington D.C. Back then I called her Boobs Bruno, because Bruno is her maiden name and she's a bit chesty.

Boobs Bruno and I used to be quite a pair. By day we were studious aspiring journalists. At night we danced on the bar.

What I remember best is how we hit it off immediately, and we were inseparable. Like a couple falling in love, we made plans for our future, like how one day we'd push our strollers together through the park.

But then I moved to California, and she to New Jersey. And that's where each of us has stayed.

But we are still dear friends. And now we both have daughters. They met last weekend. And guess what? They immediately hit it off.

What do you know, they both love princesses.

Natalie was happy to share her dress and Amelie was happy to be Natalie's living doll. Except when Natalie hugged her so hard and Amelie would say: "Don't pick up Amelie!" But Natalie can't help it. She loves Amelie just like I love her mama.

It was pretty wonderful seeing our girls together. I want them to be just like us. But maybe not the dancing on the bar.

Like mother, like daughter

2010-03-01T19:10:00.000-08:00

Check out Natalie and BMA. They match!

Marshall's, 16 bucks for the set!

Trouble is, now that dress is all Natalie wants to wear.

Right on time

2010-02-25T07:02:00.000-08:00

Self-portrait by Natalie

The other night, during the name standoff, Natalie opened her mouth to let out a feeble cry of frustration. And I caught a glimpse of something in her mouth, behind her teeth.

"Hang on, honey. Open your mouth real wide."

She obliged and I could see that what I'd mistook for food was a giant horse tooth pushing its way through the gum behind her lower front teeth.

"You have a grownup tooth coming in! And a loose tooth, too! Give me your finger, so you can feel it."

Her eyes went wide. And then we were back to the matter at hand: her name in exchange for the Tiana dress.

I've been thinking a lot about that tooth. For a few months now, as her classmates show up at school with gaps in their smiles, she asks: "Mama, when my teeth come out?"

I've told her that it's probably soon. That it's different for everyone.

Natalie has always lagged behind in the most obvious of milestones: sitting up, crawling, standing and walking. And there's her speech, which she still works on twice a week with a therapist. But she is clever and inquisitive, intuitive and funny. And she reads and writes as well - if not better than - her peers.

All along, as I fattened her up with Boost, drove her to and attended countless physical, occupational and speech therapy appointments, argued with her school to enroll her in kindergarten rather than repeating preschool, my goal was this: for her to enter first grade with all the trappings of a typical 6-year-old.

Due in large part to her incredible kindergarten teacher, Natalie has become more confident, more comfortable in taking risks. I no longer need to serve as interpreter when she's talking to our friends.

And now, the tooth. A great big ungainly tooth, just like the other kids.

It feels so nice to be right on time.

Victory!

2010-02-24T07:43:00.000-08:00

It was touch and go there for awhile, folks.

But in the end... she cracked!

As planned, we went to Target last night. The deal: if Natalie would finally say her name for me, I'd buy her a Princess Tiana dress on the spot.

First stop: princess aisle. I took the dress of the rack, held it in front of her, saying nothing.

She stared at it, then looked at me.

It was on.

After much hand-wringing, Natalie decided she'd rather wait until her birthday in May. Even though, I told her, her birthday was awfully far away. But ok, that's fine. And I pushed the cart away, fighting the urge to bargain and plead.

She sat there in the cart, biting her lip and then her fingernail, silent as I shopped. By the time we'd finished with my list, she was asking to go back upstairs.

"Ok, honey, you going to say your name?"

She nodded, her brows furrowed. Back among princesses, I again took the dress off the rack. My heart quickened. This time I put it in her lap, let her little fingers touch the sequins and feed the lust in her heart.

"You can have the dress right now. You can wear it tonight." I could feel her resolve weakening as she imagined coming to the dinner table dressed as Tiana. Is this the thrill interrogators feel when the suspect starts to crumble?

She said she was scared. I told her I believed in her. I knew she could do it. She asked if I'd help her. But she wanted to say her last name first.

So we sounded it out together, whispering: Fitz - si - mons. Over and over until we were saying Fitzsimons together and then she was saying it all by herself. I kissed her forehead, told her what a good job she was doing.

"Ready to say Natalie now?"

And so together we said it softly, our faces just inches apart: Na - ta - lie. Over and over once again.

And then she said the whole darn thing herself. Natalie Fitzsimons. And I was about to do backflips down the aisle. But I remained calm, even managing not to cry so as to not totally freak her out.

I raised my right hand instead.

"Gimme five, baby. You just scored yourself a Tiana dress."

Say your name

2010-02-23T13:48:00.000-08:00

I have a very stubborn child.

In May she will turn 6, and I still have not heard her say her own name.

Her kindergarten teacher has. And so has her speech teacher. Her friends, too. But not me, or Daddy, or Tony.

Daddy: When are you going to say your name?

Natalie: When I'm 10.

We have come close. Natalie has a friend at school named Natalia. I often tried to coax her to say Natalia, but she wouldn't fall for it, instead calling the girl "My-friend-who-has-name-same-as-me-but-not-same."

But now she says Natalia because on Christmas morning Natalie opened up a box to find a new baby doll from Tony's parents. What will you name her? we asked.

Tony: How about Baby Natalia?

Natalie: Natalia??? Hahahahaha. Natalia??

We gasped. Then quickly acted as if nothing had happened and when she wasn't looking mouthed HOLY SHIT! to each other.

Natalie with her namesake, Baby Natalia

But she is dug in on Natalie. I've explored different tactics.

Gentle encouragement.

Begging.

Ignoring the issue.

Trickery.

And now: Bribery.

Tonight Natalie and I will be going to Target for a few things. I made her offer that I thought she couldn't refuse: a Princess Tiana dress. All she has to do is say her name. I made this offer over my shoulder while driving us home last night.

I watched her in the rearview mirror mulling it over. Poker-faced. No telling what tonight will hold.

All I know is she would have made a great POW.

Really old

2010-02-18T10:51:00.000-08:00

Merlin, aka Ah-ah-ah, in better days

The family dog Merlin is dying.

Natalie calls him Ah-ah-ah. We haven't told her he's dying. But she can see it. His face is gray and he's limping. He has an aggressive tumor on his front leg that's eating away at the bone.

"Ah-ah-ah is really old," Natalie says. "I not know when he die."

I tell her that yes, Merlin is very old. And I don't know either when he's going to die.

She nods and then shrugs. And moves on to another topic. But I see that she has been thinking about death, as much as she can understand it. I can see her anxiety, her fear of being left.

It's not exactly new, though. This is a child who stood at my parents' window, whimpering for hours while Tony and I were out. A child who runs through the house in an anguished search for me if I'm not in my bed when she wakes. It's getting better, though. She's gaining confidence. Yet there is Merlin now, and he is really old.

This morning she came into bed to cuddle as Tony was shaving.

"Is Mama old?" she asked.

"No, I'm still a young woman. And you're a little girl." She pulled back to look at my head on the pillow we'd been sharing.

"Mama has gray hair."

"Yes, but it was just one strand and I pulled it out."

"Oh." She then asked whether my mother was really old. ("No, just older than Mama.") And what about Tony, because he has gray hair on the side of his head. ("No, he's the same as Mama. Still young.") Daddy? ("Same, honey.")

"I have gray hair when I get old?"

"Yes. When you have gray hair, I'm going to have a lot of gray hair. But I will still be your mama and you will always be my baby, even when you are an old lady. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mama. Always, always, always," she said.

"Yes, always."

"Best for last"

2010-02-15T07:00:00.000-08:00

Nearly three years ago I wrote the story of Natalie's adoption, mainly the day I called the Best and Worst Day of my Life. I'd never been happier, or more heartbroken.

In my arms, at last.

It was May 17, 2005 in Nanchang, China, Natalie's first birthday, the day her adoption was finalized, and the day her father and I were told she'd never walk. The adoption agency made an offer: Did we want to exchange her for a healthy baby?

In May 2007 I sent the story to The New York Times, and it was published in the Modern Love column on Mother's Day.

Afterward I heard from hundreds of people around the world. Mothers, fathers, people who had been adopted and people who had nothing to do with adoption. It was amazing. A really lovely experience.

Yesterday, a Facebook friend posted a link on my page. It was a Valentine's Day Modern Love column, written by Modern Love editor Daniel Jones. In it he answers questions about love, the last one being, "What is love, anyway?"

"Ah, best for last," he writes. And then he tells my story. You can read his piece here.

I normally read Modern Love every Sunday. But yesterday I didn't because I was rollerskating - with the baby who was never going to walk. What a Valentine's Day. What a gift.

Here's the original story.

The morning after an agonizing night. Everything was different, but nothing had changed.

It hurts to watch

2010-02-13T15:16:00.000-08:00

My two Valentines. I love them so.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Not a last resort

2010-02-02T15:55:00.001-08:00

At times I have been approached to be a spokeswoman for adoption. Not an official spokeswoman. But a resident expert. A friend of a friend who will answer questions and share advice.

Often, the pitch goes like this:

"My sister-in-law/cousin/coworker/niece's best friend has been trying to get pregnant for 2/3/5 years and has gone through 1/2/3 unsuccessful attempts at IVF and has gotten to the point where she's thinking about just adopting. Can I give her your email address?"

At which point I say sure with an exclamation point and hope the person never writes, while privately making finger-down-the-throat puking gestures.

Or, friends will say they are going to start trying to get pregnant. But, if God forbid - God forbid! - they can't have their own child, they won't have a problem adopting.

Wow, how big of you, I think, while smiling and thinking "God forbid" is for terminal cancer, a car crash, the death of your mate. God forbid you will do the greatest thing I've done with my life. And I'm doing the puking thing again.

Because:

1. Adoption is not a last resort.

2. Adoption was not my last resort.

3. No child should ever be a last resort.

Even if it is your last resort, don't say it. Don't tell people you tried everything else first. Don't tell people that the wait time is almost like a pregnancy, which it's clear you would prefer. Did you marry your husband because you couldn't find anyone better? I'm sure not, but if so, you probably don't say it.

Respect the parent you will be, the child you will have, and all the families made possible through adoption. Think about your life with this child, how others may consider your relationship lesser than theirs with their birth child, despite your not being able to imagine a deeper love or stronger bond than yours. Think of your teenager. Will you tell him you couldn't have your "own" child, so you settled for him?

And please don't say or think "just adopt." You are talking about me and Natalie and your child, who, once you hold her in your arms and she one day says Mama, won't ever be "just" anything to you.

My child was born half a world away, and I have God, Fate, or the Red Thread to thank for bringing us together, and for guiding me. I knew she was out there. Our hearts were connected, and always will be so.

She was never a last resort.

So if you want to adopt, commit to it. Forget everything else. Don't settle for this path.

Choose it.

The best _____ ever

2010-01-28T15:00:00.000-08:00

On my wedding day, my grandfather proudly stood up, made sure he had the attention of my 80 guests and pointed to my husband.

"He's the luckiest man in the world!"

Lots of awwws from the crowd. Then, he turned to me.

"This is the best day of my life."

A year later, my dad took Grandpa fishing. It was spring, warm, the fish were biting. Grandpa looked at Dad.

"This is the best day of my life."

I may have inherited the overstatements.

"This is the best cheeseburger of my life!" (In 'N' Out, Culvers, a burger from my grill)

"It's the best movie I've ever seen." (Dr. Zhivago, The Shawshank Redemption, The Princess and the Frog)

"You are the smartest, most beautiful girl in the world." (To Natalie, which to any of you who know her is obviously just a statement of fact.)

So I have earned a reputation as an overstater. No one believes me anymore. I've tried to tone it down. But the other night I came home from dinner with a new friend and told Tony:

"I think she could be it! My new BFF!"

He told me to slow down honey.

And I knew what he was thinking, that I was just caught up in the moment.

But I don't care. Because my wedding day WAS the best day of my grandpa's life, and so was the day he went fishing. And so were all the other days when he was happy and and the people he loved were happy and the fish were biting and everything was perfect.

"Well that's how it feels," I said.

And then I had a thought, which I shared with him.

"How come when I say you're the handsomest man in San Diego, or that I prefer you over George Clooney (George Clooney!) or that you're the love of my life, you believe me? How come?"

And you know what? He didn't have an answer. He just takes it as the truth.

So there. I'm now going to see if I can find the Best Cup of Coffee.

There's a new princess in town

2010-01-24T13:59:00.000-08:00

In Natalie's world, I am ...

Like Cinderella, I am blond, cheerful and kind and often seen scrubbing the floor.

Natalie sees herself as ...

Like Snow White, Natalie has short brown hair, a rosebud mouth, surrounds herself with little people and talks to woodland creatures.

Recently Daddy introduced Natalie to his new girlfriend. Natalie liked her very much. She described her as looking like ...

See, Daddy's friend has dark hair like Princess Jasmine and an exotic name. She is cinnamon to Cinderella's vanilla.

My heart sank.

I felt uneasy.

Scared.

Threatened.

And then I reminded myself of what I'd told Daddy when I started seeing Tony.

"No one will ever replace you. You're her father. That will never change. The more people who love Natalie, the better."

Tony and I stood in the kitchen that morning, after I'd picked Natalie up and she told me about tea with Daddy and his friend.

"She said she looks like Princess Jasmine," I told him.

"Oh honey," he said. He hugged me, then put his hands on my shoulders.

"You're her mother. Her mother. Nothing's going to change that."

He's right. And after all it could be worse. She could be ...

Mulan!

That, my friends, would be very hard to take.

Happy to be home

2010-01-13T12:07:00.000-08:00

Last night as Natalie and I were getting off the freeway, we put the windows down.

It was a warm night, the sun was just setting and we were happy to be returning home. So happy in fact that Natalie felt compelled to announce her approach as we made our way down Del Cerro Boulevard.

"Baby Miss Aaaaaaaaann! I come home righ naaaaaaaaaaah! Baby Miss Aaaaaaaaaann! I come home to youuuuuuuuuuuu!"

I was happy, too. A barking dog, a purring cat and a handsome man still in his suit and tie greeted me at the door. And the view wasn't too shabby, either.

It's so nice to come home.

Now

2010-01-12T10:32:00.000-08:00

One of the best parts of my birthday last week was visiting Trolley Barn Park, also known as Baba Two Swing (Baba=playground; Two Swing=the two operable baby swings, as opposed to Balboa Park/Baba One Swing, where for an entire year there was just one in operation).

At Baba Two Swing, we swung and played hide and seek. And then we laid on the grass in the long shade of a big tree and watched the clouds. This is something I did a lot as a kid, but not so much anymore.

We laid like that for a long time. The clouds seemed frozen.

The grass was cool, the breeze was warm. Tony and I put our heads together; Natalie rested hers on my belly. ("The grass itches me, Mama.")

And for a moment I had a fleeting, euphoric feeling of being totally clear and unencumbered by all that clutter and noise that surrounds nearly every action and thought and follows me to bed at night.

But soon it was time to go. It was getting late, and we were hungry. I wanted to stay there forever.

"Come, Mama."
I thought: so this is what I was reading about in this book, currently collecting dust on my night table.

I keep meaning to return to the book. I think it could change my life! But then I think: I will do it later, which is not a very good grasping of the power of now.

Not anymore. I am doing it now! Or, tonight after I put Natalie to bed. And watch "How I Met Your Mother," which we recorded last night and is supposed to have a very funny musical number. Also need to gather up some financial documents to load the details into mint.com, and make flash cards for Natalie's new vocabulary words...

Limi hits the road

2010-01-07T19:32:00.000-08:00

The smallest of Natalie's babies is Limi.

When Tony drove to Phoenix to visit his brother, Natalie offered him Limi to keep him company.

She looks even smaller in Natalie's car seat.

The guest bed at Uncle Mike's was very comfortable.

"I love you, Limi," says Uncle Mike. Uncle Mike is also known as Uncle Bad, because he once pushed Tony into the pool at the Mission Bay Hyatt as Natalie watched, mouth agape.

Limi had a fine time on the road, but she was happy to be home with her brother and sisters and her very busy mother.

Looking good, Antonio

2010-01-05T11:07:00.000-08:00

Living with a man means being embarrassed sometimes. Sorry, but it's true.

Like when your guy goes outside to take the trash down to the street and he's dressed in long johns and a down parka. Or when he dresses for a walk in baggy track pants, gloves and a beanie pulled down past his eyebrows like he's Eminem trudging across the Alaskan tundra. (And it's sunny and 60 degrees!)

He is undeterred, despite being told:

"You look like a rapist."

"You look like a homeless person."

"Please! Can't you put on some real pants??"

This would cause any reasonable woman to shudder, look the other way, maybe even walk a few feet ahead so passersby wouldn't think they're actually together.

But then he walks into the kitchen like this. And well hellllooo, what do we have here?

My favorite gray suit, a lavender shirt and navy tie. And, his Matt Lauer shoes. They're pointy. See?

I wish we had somewhere to go today. But I'm home with a cold and he's at the office. Jacket on and keys at the ready, he's dutifully checking email here:

That's my guy. Almost makes the rapist/homeless/Eminem experience bearable. Almost.

A nice change

2009-12-31T09:44:00.000-08:00

Being the mother of Natalie, a freakishly beautiful 5-year-old Chinese girl with a speech delay, sometimes involves having to address or avoid answering inappropriate questions or comments.

"Do you know where her mother is?"

"Is she yours?"

"Couldn't you have your own children?"

"Is she just learning English?"

And sometimes even Natalie is dragged into it. Recently a woman asked her: "Do you like your mommy?" As if I were on loan.

I try to be gracious. I smile, and gently correct them. If I can't think of what to say, I simply pretend I hadn't heard. These comments usually come from basic curiosity, ignorance, or biases that grew out of some personal experience. Sometimes I'm able to shake them off. Sometimes I let it torment me for hours afterward.

The other day I took Natalie with me to get a haircut. She followed me to have my hair washed, and stood next to me as the woman worked shampoo into my hair and I watched a fashion show on the overhead bank of televisions.

As Natalie chattered about hair and princesses, the woman washing my hair said, "My cousin adopted a baby from Russia ..." And I thought: Oh, here we go. I'm always braced.

I tensed up a little.

"And hearing your daughter. Wow, she's so advanced, compared to my cousin's son. Probably from you talking to her in the womb."

In the womb. So advanced.

Well what a nice change. I smiled. Closed my eyes. And felt her fingers on my temples and neck and then the rush of hot water on the back of my head.

"Don't worry," I told the woman. "He'll catch up just fine."

Desperately Seeking Sleeping Beauty

2009-12-30T16:12:00.000-08:00

Here's Natalie yesterday, just returned from the eye doctor with dilated pupils and wearing her Sleeping Beauty dress. Here's how our arriving home ritual typically goes: we set down our things, let the dog out and Natalie puts on a princess dress. Yesterday she also added a crown, necklace, bracelet and ring. (And wore all this to the park to play fetch with the dog.) I snapped this pic before we took off.

And today, the more I looked at it, the more I realized that she looked like someone I'd seen before.

An excellent idea

2009-12-23T15:13:00.000-08:00

I stumbled upon Nathan Bransford's blog today. He's a literary agent and writer in San Francisco. And today he's got this excellent idea.

For each comment his readers post today, he will donate $1 to Heifer International, my favorite kind of organization - one that doesn't just give, but empowers. Heifer International provides families around the world with livestock and training so that they can make a sustainable living. And part of the deal is that they must pass along one of the offspring of their goat or cow to a friend or neighbor.

So I am following Nathan's example. Since I have so few readers (Hi, Dad!), I'll contribute $5 for every comment to this post, up to $100.

And if you'd like to contribute yourself, here is Heifer International's gift catalog. (You can buy a flock of chicks for $20!)

I know times are tight, but it doesn't take much to make a big difference to someone who really needs it.

Merry Christmas!

Snow White in my kitchen

2009-12-23T10:41:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Snow White came to bake us some Christmas cookies.

I didn't know Snow White baked, I said.

"Yeah, Snow White makes pies and soup."

All that's missing is a little bird perched on her finger.

Natalie's Dad

2009-12-21T11:10:00.000-08:00

This is Natalie's dad.

He's holding the famous Baby Miss Ann. (He calls her BMA.) He brought Baby Miss Ann to Natalie's Christmas pageant so Natalie would know that her baby saw her perform. It takes a special kind of guy to carry a baby doll, nevermind pose with one on his lap. (It's way worse than carrying a purse.)

He's a great dad.

By the way, don't you think I look like The Penguin?

JRBCAXWJZYKY

Like Your Girlfriend

2009-12-19T16:15:00.000-08:00

Moving in together, into the new house, has not been 100 percent dreamy.

We've both been stressed. We've both been busy at work. And we've both been a bit scratchy. Not a lot of romance on Mill Peak Road of late.

Today, we went hunting for a fireplace screen, and having found nothing we could stomach spending hundreds of dollars on at a fire place accoutrements shop in La Mesa, we decided to check Target, which never fails us and didn't today.

But on the way to Target, as I stared out the window, sick of the dry heat and my itchy skin, missing my family, feeling in a rut, I felt the car take a hard right. And I looked up to see a flower shop.

I assumed he was taking a shortcut through the lot, but he pulled into a parking space.

I looked at him.

He smiled. "Let's get you some flowers."

"Really? Ok!"

So we went in and didn't see anything we liked until he spotted a greeting card with a great big bouquet of Gerber daisies stuffed in a Mason jar. We handed it to the florist, and returned an hour later to pick up the arrangement.

I held it on my lap on the way home.

"I love them. I feel like your girlfriend," I told him.

"Were you starting to feel like my roomie?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"You're my girlfriend. You'll always be my girlfriend."

Awwww.

When we got home the cat ran away.

But after scaling the hillside and shaking his food bag, we found him and he's safe at home now. AND we're going on a date to the movies tonight. How do you like that?

This day turned out much better than I expected.

Full Credit

2009-12-15T14:30:00.000-08:00

I can't decide which part of this I like more: Natalie reading or me getting the credit. She may have a future in PR.

(And doesn't she turn the pages with such purpose?!)

Notes from Mom

2009-12-01T10:05:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I leave a note in Natalie's lunch.

When I was little, my mother wrote on my napkin. Or drew curly hair and pointy eyebrows on the shell of my hard-boiled egg. I really liked that.

Recently I left this note, after a particularly successful swim lesson at the Y.

She must have liked this note, because it came home from school with her empty bowls and dirty napkin. She asked me to read it a few times, and then we posted it on the refrigerator.

This morning, while straightening Natalie's papers on the dining room table, I found this.

Three more bites

2009-11-04T15:31:00.001-08:00

The other night Natalie wanted to leave the dinner table.

"Three more bites," I said. And then I returned to eating and thinking. And soon she pulled me back from my drifting.

"All done, Mama." Had she eaten three bites? Really?

"Yes, three." I didn't believe it.

"Are you fibbing, Natalie?"

"Nooooooo."

"It's not right to fib. Did you really eat three bites?"

"Yyyyyyep!"

I sized her up. She held my gaze. What now?

"You know God watches over us. Right, honey?"

"Yyyyyyep!" She goes to kindergarten at a Methodist church, after all.

"He's always watching us. Always."

She kept her eyes on mine. And then a smile spread across her face.

"I eat one more bite, Mama."

The Filipina Ladies Room

2009-10-29T11:29:00.000-07:00

There is a ladies room on the second floor of the County building that I sometimes use because it's a little farther away and so involves a short walk and therefore more time away from my desk. It's the little pleasures.

Anyway, every time I visit, there are typically two or three ladies already there. And they are invariably Filipina. They are County employees and they are speaking Tagalog.

And while I am there I quietly listen to their conversations as they wash their hands and fix their hair, never understanding a single word that they're saying.

And then I walk back to my office wondering why that ladies room and not some other ladies room has become the Filipina Ladies Room. I think about a ladies room surveillance, noting from where the ladies come and to where they go after. I wonder how and why they all started using those facilities.

By the time I return to my desk I've usually forgotten about it. But not today! I'm going to get to the bottom of this. No pun intended.

Lost and Found

2009-10-26T14:50:00.000-07:00

Tony was having a feng shui attack on Saturday. I sat on his bed as he hoed out his closet, and carried bags of clothes, including a green and purple leather/satin reversible Mighty Ducks jacket, to the VFW Post. (Its time had definitely come.)

In the car, he was still stricken by the attack. He pulled out papers from the glove box and center console. And to pass the time, I read a magazine in the passenger seat. When he pulled a tube of hand cream from the console, I took the opportunity to slather some on, removing my engagement ring and placing it on my lap, in the open magazine.

Which I promptly threw into the bag of trash Tony was collecting. With the ring still inside it.

Except I didn't realize this of course until I stood up outside the car and noticed my bare ring finger.

I patted my sweatshirt pockets and my shorts pockets and I think I said something like: "My ring! My ring! Where is it? Help me! Help meeeeee!"

Tony calmly looked around the car, under my seat and then asked if I was sure I had taken it off in the car.

"Yes! No... I don't know!"

He then sat back down in the driver's seat. And as my heart raced and my mouth went dry, he methodically removed one item at a time until he heard a clink. And caught a glimmer. And followed the flash of light to a little nook by the door where my ring sat waiting to be picked back up.

He put it back onto my finger. I cried and hugged him.

"I thought it was goooone." I cried.

But it's not! And I'm not taking it off anymore!

Homework

2009-10-08T15:31:00.000-07:00

It used to be princesses. Princesses in the morning, at night, all the live long day. "Sleeping Beauty" on the portable DVD player, fast-forwarding through the scary parts. Lengthy discussions on Cinderella's step-sisters and her various outfits: brown dress to scrub the floor, blue to the ball, white to marry the Prince.

Since Sept. 8, the DVD player has not been turned on. Not even once. Sept. 8 was the first day of kindergarten.

And now, Natalie has a new addiction. It's more intense than her love for princesses. And harder for me to understand. (You see, my success has come despite my work ethic, not because of it.)

It's homework.
Yes, homework in kindergarten. I cursed it. I railed against it. But then I saw how much Natalie liked it and how much she was blossoming. It was just another part of this amazing burst of confidence. And now, I use it to my advantage.

Last night, she wouldn't undress for her bath. And I had to ask her three times to clear the table. She just couldn't tear herself away from her homework.

Then I had what Oprah calls the "Aha Moment."

"Natalie, if you don't get into the bath right now, there's no homework tonight!"

She was in that bath in two minutes flat.

Mama Wear Yellow Dress, I Wear Yellow Dress

2009-09-18T16:09:00.000-07:00

I was worried about telling Natalie that I was getting married.

It actually produced quite a lot of anxiety for me.

That is because, before agreeing to marry Tony, I had promised to marry Natalie. She had the wedding all planned out. She would wear Mama's White Dress, a traditional gown that I wore to marry Daddy that now resides in a box in her closet. And I would wear my blue Cinderella dress, which was a great hit with the pre-schoolers at the Halloween carnival last year.

Whenever she talked about it, she'd remind me: "I wear Mama's white dress; Mama wear Mama's blue Cinderella dress."

I took off my ring when I first saw her, waiting for the right moment to break the news. When I'd found the moment, buckling her into the car after school, I showed her the ring. She grasped my hand, drawing it close to her smudged glasses.

Then she looked at my other hand and asked why Tony had only given me one ring. I told her what the ring meant, that Tony asked me to marry him and I said I would. She studied the ring, and then looked up.

"I wear Mama's White Dress and Mama wear Mama's blue Cinderella dress."

"Yes, baby. That's right."

Nothing would change that, I told her. And then I told her what marrying Tony meant. That we'd pick out a new house and paint her room lavender and that we'd have a party to celebrate. Which meant that we'd dress up.

Natalie thought about that as I drove us home from school. And then she told me her new plans.

"I know, Mama! Mama wear yellow dress, I wear yellow dress!"

She has one in particular in mind.

Watermelon

2009-09-10T13:17:00.000-07:00

It's the universally flattering nail polish shade preferred by three generations of Fitzsimons women.

Natalie's World

2009-09-02T15:13:00.000-07:00

Mornings around here can be a little hectic.

We get up early enough: 5:40 in order for Natalie to be at school and me at my desk by 8.

Nevertheless, we are often running behind. We lie in bed cuddling. We swaddle Baby Miss Ann and talk about our dreams. We plan our outfits. We make coffee and chocolate milk and smoothies and sausage and oatmeal.

And then about 25 minutes before we're supposed to leave, I get into the shower. And while I'm doing my makeup, Natalie brings her tea set into the bathroom. While I'm drying my hair, she stands at the door, her little lips moving, but I can't hear a thing. This is all very stressful for Mama.

Enter the camera. Lately, Natalie will disappear for five minutes, returning to ask: "Mama, I take peek-peek my babies?" She has arranged her babies just so and now she wants to photograph them.

So I give her the camera, grateful for a moment's peace. And later, I look at what she's shot, and as I click from one frame to the next I see Baby Miss Ann - lots of Baby Miss Ann - and her other babies, and me, and Elmo, and the apartment.

I see what Natalie sees. I see her sweet little life.

A New Member of the Family

2009-08-29T12:30:00.000-07:00

The other day when I picked up Natalie at school, she ran through the playground gate without kissing me hello and straight to her classroom cubby.

"Look, Mama! My pet rock!"

We took the rock home and in the morning, Natalie went to check on her new pet. Natalie painted her blue, green and purple.

She has eyes.

And a tail.

And you'll never guess her name.

This Is a Drill. This Is Not a Drill.

2009-08-19T20:03:00.000-07:00

Part of my job is practicing for disaster. Any kind of catastrophe that you can imagine, except for tornadoes, we are prepared for. It's a lot of pretending so that when the real disaster comes - an earthquake, a fire, an outbreak of a deadly virus - we know what to do.

Yesterday, I was in Irvine, part of a dress rehearsal for a drill scheduled for September, during which we will pretend there's been some kind of calamity at the San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station - which we call SONGS. All the while, serious representatives from FEMA will be standing over our shoulders, making notes on a clipboard. We get downgraded if we slip up. Like not giving the correct address of the evacuation center, or not saying "This is a drill" at the start and finish of every conversation.

"Good morning. This is a drill. My name is Elizabeth Fitzsimons and I'm representing the County of San Diego. The County has declared a local emergency and established an evacuation and decontamination center at Carlsbad High School...This is a drill."

Even when I called our County's Emergency Operations Center to ask a question.

"EOC. This is Yvette. This is a drill."

"Hi, Yvette. This is Elizabeth. This is a drill."

You get the idea.

Around noon as we were giving our third pretend news conference to the pretend news media, a SONGS representative stepped up to the microphone.

"This is not a drill," he said gravely.

CHAOS!

No, we just stood there and waited.

Turns out, someone at SONGS, who was simply to pretend sounding the sirens that tells residents of the seaside town of San Clemente to run for their lives, actually sounded them.

So we had to suspend the drill to allow the the public information officers from San Clemente and SONGS to put together a news release telling the residents of San Clemente that, no, they did not need to evacuate. I imagined the release's headline: NEVERMIND; OUR BAD.

Not sure what the FEMA man with the clipboard thought of this, but it certainly made the day more interesting. And now we are prepared for the event of the nuclear power plant's alarm going off when it's not supposed to.

My Meow Small Now

2009-08-12T15:24:00.000-07:00

Last night Smokey came home from Daddy Waas and on the way he peed in his carrier in Daddy's New Car. Daddy was mad.

But not as mad as Smokey when Mama put him in the bath to wash off all the pee.

Natalie watched from the doorway, handing me the baby shampoo - No More Tears! - and then the camera. Her lip was quivering.

"What's wrong, honey?"

She shook her head. Her eyes welled.

"My meow small now," she said.

"Yes, but he isn't hurt," I told her. "He just doesn't like the water."

I toweled off Smokey and he ran into the dining room, where he hid under a chair.

He then spent the next four hours licking himself.

Being Here

2009-07-31T22:15:00.000-07:00

Too often my head is down. Dinner, dishes, bath, bed. Breakfast, dishes, school and work. I check my watch. I tell Natalie to hurry.

"Quickly, please!" I say, keys in hand, shifting from one foot to the other as she stops to inspect a leaf, or search the trees and power lines for the bird whose singing she hears.

This movie, made by Natalie's dad, made me stop.

And now I remember what I often forget. That no chores, no routine, is more important than what's right in front of me, if I'd only look up.