The After Party

Here's a Violet funny: At a family wedding this weekend, someone was asking me how it was going with two kids instead of one. Clearly they think Violet suddenly dropped into our lives as a nearly-two-year-old toddler... Anyway, my answer is the same answer I usually give, "Aww, she's the easiest baby ever made, so it was no problem."

Her little ears had perked up when she realized I was talking about her, so she nodded and agreed, "Yes, I eassy!"

I kissed her plump little pink cheek and told her, "You may be easy, but that's not something you brag about, Sweet Pea..."

*****

This past weekend was the celebration of the marriage of my youngest cousin. He's 24 now, 12 years my junior. I vividly recall his infancy as I was the perfect age to babysit when he was little -- at least until I moved away to college. I say this because it was a little strange being at his wedding. It made me feel old, but not really in a bad way. Old in that way that also makes me really glad I'm not 24 again and not just testing the waters of adulthood. I'm so glad that I have outgrown angst and insecurity and traded them for more experience and, yes, dirty diapers.

There were 11 Baker kids that were born in 12 years to my dad and his two brothers. Now, after a very tragic death, there are 10 of us. 6 married, 2 on second marriages, 1 divorced and 1 never-been-down-the-aisle (yet). Between us, we have 9 children and one stepchild. Plus two on the way (yay for babies!). And weddings aren't what they used to be, that's for sure!

Mine was the first and only two of us were of legal drinking age, so I can honestly say that it was the tamest wedding to date. My cousin (who counts as the divorced one in the tally above) was married next and his wedding was dry, but the after party... well... My uncle had turned the bathtub in the hotel into a cooler and it was probably a really good thing that we were all staying in the same place as I don't know that any of us who were old enough for driver's licenses could have driven. You know the wedding was insane when the father of the groom says, "Yeah... I need a drink after THAT."

The next few weddings really represented the "Golden years" as far as cousins whooping it up can go -- the majority of us were out of high school, some married, some not, but no kids on the scene yet. And party we did... The guys drank and the girls danced...and drank and danced and danced and drank. No one cuts a rug like the Baker Girls! To be fair, four of us studied dance for decades and shed all semblance of performance anxiety when the music is on... we joke that we're all Dancing Princesses until we marry and then we're Dancing Queens.

But the focus has shifted with the last three weddings. Why? The Baker Generation, Part II has arrived, though I'm guessing our parents see it as Part III, but that's something George Lucas has to figure out for us. Simply put, we've all got babies or babies on the way now. Well, most of us. Some have two and I'm working on three.

Instead of grooving on the dance floor with my close-as-sisters cousins, we're bouncing joyously around the parquet tossing shrieking, giggling toddlers into the air. My own Milo got his groove on like none other, even going so far as trying to line dance with a large group. Instead of joining us for a dance or two, our parents watch, smiling and nodding as we twirl our awe-struck daughters around the Princess Bride. You know, that whole Circle of Life thing...

I don't mind, in fact, I can honestly say I don't miss tipsy wedding dances, sweaty dresses and blistered bare feet. I don't want to go back to the days where I would roll my eyes at a sappy father-daughter dance song. I kind of like wiping tears as I watch my husband bouncing in time to the music his sweet baby girl on his knee, her profile outlined in fuschia from the DJ's lighting rig. I love partnering my young son as he enthusiastically mashes my toes under his feet, grinning ear to ear and trying to sing the words to songs he's never heard. Go ahead, Milo, play that funky music!

I know I'm not the only one. I caught my little brother, a soon to be daddy, holding his adorable wife from behind, rubbing her belly as they snuggled close, wrapped in a moment of time all their own. I saw my sister happily serenading her chubby little cutie and my cousin cheerfully encouraging his kids through a limbo line. For a moment, I was doubly blessed as I balanced my sweet, pale Violet with my cousin's dark Maya -- one on each hip, swaying to the music -- our tiny Dancing Princesses in training.

Who knew that life after the after party could be so sweet?

Brontophobia: Fear of Storms

My little Violet is hitting that age. That age when a toddler develops fear. And I can say that I think I hate this more than any other thing a toddler does. While the protesting, arguing, hitting, and willfulness are annoying, I know that they are happening because my children are growing up and thinking for themselves. I get that, and while I might not really enjoy it, I understand the necessity of this to their intellectual and emotional development.

I don't understand the cloud of fear, though. In the last few weeks, poor Miss V has started becoming afraid of several things. Like sudden loud noises. And lying down on a changing table -- though sitting, standing, and climbing on the same changing table seem to be fine.

At first it seemed to be the hair clippers -- when Scott gave Milo a recent shearing, Violet hid in the bathroom, peering around the door frame with her eyes wide, ducking inside the room if Scott so much as motioned in her direction with the clippers. OK, that's fine -- I'm not planning to let her get a clipper cut, anyway -- in other words, this is just a spring rain.

The fear was contagious, though, and it spread to the vacuum cleaner. It's much more difficult to avoid a vacuum cleaner, particularly during shedding season as our beloved mutts drop fur in hunks. I cannot abide by furry clothing or furniture, so I vacuum daily during summer shedding season.

Next up was the fan Scott used to inflate the air mattress in the tent. Again, this isn't an instrument used regularly, so avoiding it shouldn't be difficult.

Now we include power tools. Poor little babe ran screaming to me when we were out at Scott's parents' helping with their new siding. She did it every time grandpa cut a new piece of siding. We eventually went inside the house where she was less affected.

After being in Chicago, or 'Cago as she says, the noisy item at the top of the list is hand driers. Since she's not using a toilet, she was only in and out of public restrooms for diaper changes. This created the Perfect Storm of terror for my poor baby: screaming hand driers and changing tables.

Trying to get her diaper changed was painful for both of us. The minute we approached a restroom, she would tense. Washing her hands was fine and fun, provided we chose to air-dry, which I generally do. But if we walked past the sinks and she noticed me looking around for a Koala Care station, she started whining. If I dropped the changing table into position, she cried outright, "No! no! no! No, mama, I 'cared!"

The final diaper change of the weekend had both of us in tears as I just couldn't make it any better for her and simply refused to change her on the floor of a freeway exit McDonald's. I had refused one other diaper change at Shedd Aquarium -- after I'd watched not one, but two mothers change poop blow-outs with an inadequate number of wipes and was thoroughly disgusted. Thankfully, Scott jumped to the rescue and was in and out of the men's room in no time.

As I pushed the door into the restroom, she tried to vault over my shoulder for Scott as if she thought he would save her from the hurricane of whirring hand-driers. I set her gently on the changing table and she quickly scooted nearly off the end of it. "No, mommy! No! No diaper! Its 'cary! I 'cared!" She was flinging her little arms about, reaching for anything she could use to haul herself off of her back and back into my arms. Talk about heartbreaking... She cried, I cried...

As soon as she noticed me crying, though, she subdued quickly and swiped at my tears as I was wiping hers. "Okay, mommy... Okay. I luh loo..."

She was trying to comfort me they way I comfort her, by holding her tightly and saying, "It's okay, baby... it's okay... I love you..." Not surprisingly, this had the opposite effect of what she'd intended and blinked faster, trying to hold back more tears.

And maybe that's why there is this kind of developmentally appropriate fear -- to teach a child compassion. To help her recognize when someone is giving her everything they have in a moment to help her stay intact. For that moment when she was concerned for me, her fear subsided. Even if the fear wasn't quelled, clearly the love is getting through and touching her, keeping her light shining brightly through the storm, a lighthouse in a dark port.

So maybe I get it. It doesn't mean that I like sailing in this weather.

The Jedi Academy Doesn't Allow Moms

While on vacation, Milo told me this little gem:

"Mom! The moon says it loves me!"

The moon was, in fact, smiling down on us brightly, hanging in the sky like a slice of ripe melon. The cosmos was celebrating with us.

My little buddy had a fantastic fourth birthday in California. It was pretty much any kid's dream birthday as we went to Disneyland to take advantage of the "Free admission on your birthday" promotion. Because Violet is not yet two, the four of us got in for the price of two tickets! Not bad!

There were two things which we were interested in doing at the Happiest Place on Earth -- meeting Cinderella and watching and maybe participating in the Jedi Academy show. Well, the line to meet Cinderella was 90 minutes all three times we checked on it, so we decided that since Violet didn't know she was going to miss seeing Cinderella, we would skip it and save the princess meet-and-greet for the next trip. After our first attempt at seeing the royalty, we checked the show schedule and determined that one of the presentations for the Jedi Academy was concluding and that if we bustled over to Tomorrowland, we could score some prime real estate at the front of the crowd for the next presentation.

Milo and I sat down on the terrazzo floor in front of the stage while Scott, Violet and our dear friends Carol, Alex and Hannah grabbed some lunch. While we waited the 45 minutes for the next show, Milo and I talked about what we were going to watch and I told him that they would pick some kids from the audience (aged 4-11) to participate and learn how to be a Jedi.

"You mean like learning how to use a light saver? And the Force?"

Yes, exactly that. Milo's eyes widened.

Now, as I've blogged before, he's been struggling with some social anxiety for the last 15 months or so; I really thought that he would balk if I suggested that he volunteer to be a Jedi. I asked him, "Would you like to learn how to be a Jedi?"

"You mean go up there and use a light saver? We could do that!"

"No, buddy, I mean YOU would go up there and do that -- they don't let mommies come to the Jedi Academy."

"No! I couldn't do that if you won't come." He paused, "But I can already use a light saver and the Force."

"Yes, you can. I think you could do a great job if you wanted to be a Jedi!"

"I do want to be a Jedi! I think they should pick me!"

He was coming around to the idea of volunteering. Just then, Scott brought him some lunch and a little sign that said "It's my 4th birthday!" Milo asked what the sign said and why he had it. I told him that it might help him get picked to be a Padawan. He considered it, then propped it in front of him, leaning it against his scuffed green shoe. Scott returned for a third time, this time bearing Milo's clone trooper baseball cap -- or, in Milo-ese, his "clome stooper" hat.

The sound guys made their way back to the booth and the familiar strains of the Star Wars theme pierced through the crowd noise -- the Jedis were arriving! First up were two assistant Jedi instructors that warmed the crowd and offered the advice that if a kid wanted to be picked for the Jedi Academy, he/she needed to show lots of enthusiasm. Suddenly, from the back of the house, the Jedi Master came running! Milo squealed and cheered!

The Jedi Master took the stage and said something that I can't remember -- I think both Milo and I were getting excited about the selection process. He started picking kids from house left to house right and we were sitting just right of center. As his gaze moved towards us, I grabbed Milo's hands and the sign, started cheering loudly, yanking him off his feet with my excitement. The Jedi Master looked our direction and I bellowed, "It's his BIRTHDAY!"

"How old is he?" inquired the Master.

"Four!"

"Yes, we'll take him!"

Milo couldnt' believe it -- he balked for just a moment when the assistant tried to bring him to the group, but I knelt quickly and said, "You can do it! You can be a Jedi!" He nodded and went with the assistant, slipping his hands in his mouth with anxiety.

It is in the best interest of the entertainer to put a cute little kid front and center, so naturally Milo was the Padawan closest to the Master. They had slipped a brown robe over his shoulders as he ascended the stairs to the stage, his white hat was pulled low over his eyes until the Master looked at him, smiled, adjusted the hat so we could all see his face and said, "Let's get started, Milo!"

I think Milo had forgotten that he was wearing a button with his name on it, but he was completely impressed that the Jedi Master knew his name. So impressed, in fact, that he wasn't aware that they were repeating a Jedi oath. He chewed his fingers, peering through the crowd to find first me, then daddy, to whom he gave a thumb's up smile.

The assistants gave each child a light saber, then Milo focused on the task at hand -- learning a light saber combination of attacks. It proved a little funny that he could engage his light saber, but not necessarily disengage it -- he couldn't do that as fast as the other kids, so for a while, he was JUST getting the light saber disengaged when it was time to engage for the next kata. So cute! In fact, that's what I overheard a woman saying about him, the littlest Padawan.

Suddenly, just as the lesson was finishing, the ominous Darth Vader theme boomed through the speakers and the Jedi Master sent all of the kids stage left. Storm troopers marched down the center aisle with Darth Maul. Darth Vader emerged from under a lift in the stage, shrouded in fog. They were under attack!

Thank goodness all of those kids had light sabers and had just learned a choreographed attack! The Jedi Master indicated that the kids on the stage, including Milo, were to take on Darth Vader and the kids on the floor were to battle Darth Maul. Milo was second in line for Vader.

The Jedi Master called him forward by name, he scooted quickly to his side, light saber drawn prematurely. Once again, he had just managed to get it disengaged when the master called for him to engage. Indicating where Milo was to attack, he ran Milo through the set of blows they had practiced, Milo did an especially good "Duck!" maneuver. As he finished his combination, he got a "Good job!" and was escorted to the floor, where he took a seat along with the other finishing Padawan.

He searched for me, beaming with pride, and gave me a thumb's up smile. Then he said, "I want to battle Darth Maul, too!" I laughed. Eventually, battling 25 kids proved to be too much for the baddies and they retreated -- the Jedi had saved the day!! The kids were all marched up onstage where they were presented with a certificate of achievement and disrobed (they were disarmed after the solo fights).

Milo came running back to me, thrilled that on his birthday he had beaten Darth Vader in a light saber battle! Thankfully, I had been snapping pictures like a sports photographer on speed, so I did capture his battle in between the cheering and tearing up.

I can't say how proud of him I was for participating -- both Scott and I thought there was a real chance of him bolting from the stage, paralyzed by anxiety, but Milo did it! He conquered not only Darth Vader, but a tiny bit of that anxiety that has been his dark side for the past year...

And me? Well, I got the exquisite experience of watching my little man taking a big step forward right in front of my eyes -- and the entire crowd.

Live Long and Prosper

Yesterday was the thirteenth anniversary of our wedding -- happy anniversary to my dearest love. Lucky thirteen years!

We celebrated by going to the new Star Trek movie. I must preface this by saying that Scott had been helping his parents re-side the house on Saturday when his cousins dropped a piece of siding on his head. He went to an insta-care and ended up with three staples in his head and a tetanus booster. Apparently, he's having some odd side effects from the vaccination as he's been chilled to the bone since then. He's not feverish, but he has been bundled up like a sumo wrestler on ice. So, he was clothed in a dark sweater, dark pants, and a dark stocking cap (because his hair hasn't been washed in three days) and shivering, so I apparently spent my anniversary with a man who looked like he was a junkie in withdrawal. Classy, huh?

So this post should probably be one about my darling husband and the wonderful love we've had for each other through the years, but it's going to be about Star Trek instead. Not necessarily the new movie, though I did enjoy it as an action flick. But as in the iconography of Star Trek and how that has impacted my life thus far.

"Space... the final frontier..." Well, yes, this is true. But not a frontier that this person can fathom, nor enjoy exploring. I enjoy looking at the startling images brought back to us by the Hubble telescope, but the enormity of the universe frightens me and thinking about the distance involved in space travel sort of makes me feel like I'm drowning a bit, so space is not my likely frontier.

So what is? Where can I "boldly go where no man has gone before?" Aside from the rather obvious entendre, I get stuck on BOLDLY. I am not a bold person. I don't know that I ever have been bold. In fact, I think that I am rather introverted. I really don't like the telephone and my preferred method of communique is email. My handwriting really stinks and I'm a much better and more fluid typist than I ever expected to be. So I think the only bold you'll see from me goes with Crtl b.

The characters from the original Star Trek series are as familiar to me as my uncles. Star Trek was one of the shows (and later movie series) that my whole family would watch. If someone were to ask me "Star Trek" or "Star Wars," my easy answer is Trek. By a mile.

In college, Scott and I watched "Star Trek: The Next Generation" and "Deep Space Nine." In graduate school, it was "Star Trek: Voyager." I even went one Halloween as a Klingon. We used the music from the end credits of Star Trek 4 as our wedding recessional. I will admit that I've never seen en episode of "Enterprise." Life got too busy to make it appointment TV.

I did, however, realize that I am a Spock kinda girl, particularly after watching the updated movie. I have always found the journey that Spock goes on as a character to be the longest and most difficult. Sure, Kirk got all the glory, but, oddly enough, Spock had all the heart.

I think that, as a tween, I sort of saw my father in the rakish Kirk -- he'd talk about his escapades as a kid and I could see some of that "Oh, yeah? You wanna make me?" rebellion in him. He was a smart kid masquerading as an average student, a pioneer as an early baby boomer. I often wonder if he'd been just a bit more bold himself, if he wouldn't have run with the counterculture, ditching the security of his Iowa home for the romance of following Route 66. That maybe with a little nudge, he'd have stepped into another universe. With his sandy blonde hair and round baby face, it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine my dad as Captain James T. Kirk.

And yet, still Kirk was not my favorite. I think that as I was entering those formative teen years, the struggle and angst not unusual to a pubescent girl drew me towards the conflict Spock felt as an inter-species love child. The part of me that wanted to be so dang grown up and capable was the Vulcan, the little girl who was afraid of growing up, changing and becoming a person unto myself, then Earthling. As I said, the usual teen angst. That whole ego/id struggle, you know.

And then during my parents' divorce, my perspective changed -- about nearly everything. I began to see what I thought was silence and disconnect from my father as the Vulcan in him, bravely trying to hold the all-too-human in him back, to reign in the fear, loss, and yearning. Captain Kirk had lost his way, and Spock had come to find him. Never again have I regarded his slow intake of breath as disinterest -- I realize now that my father's love is so consuming that one drop over the dam would start a flood. That all of the times I was searching for a word of encouragement or display of pride, that all he could safely muster was a hug and a pat on the back -- to show more would betray his passion.

Thankfully, as Spock ages he finds no need to reign in the human influence over his heart -- and the same can be said for my father. Getting to know him as an adult has been one of the best things in my life. Perhaps this is the final frontier... knowing one's self. I think it might be mine and I think I want to go exploring, boldly or not.

And Scott? Well, I must admit that I did marry a Scottie -- he's got a solution for everything if you just give him a minute, his sense of humor flaps behind him like a superhero's cape, and he's never met a donut he couldn't refuse. Live long and prosper, my love!

Figuring

I cannot believe that nearly a month has elapsed since my last entry. Bad girl!

It has been quite a month, too. Scott has made several trips -- Nashville (Ass-ville, according to Milo), Connecticut, and now Cincinnati. I've taken on increasing responsibilities at work, culminating in the visit of a guest speaker/author/physician today. And we have interviewed three candidates in four working days for my supervisor's position. My first choice was offered the position and she *eagerly* accepted on the spot. I am thrilled!

Violet is talking more and more. Last night, she had a fit because while the kids were bathing in the tub, I was pawing through the clean clothes in the dryer to find clothing suitable for an indoor day at daycare. In the process of looking for clean clothes, I pulled out a pair of her new pajamas, then put them back in the dryer. When the kids were done with their baths, I was drying her off, Milo was shrugging into his new pajamas and I reached for the pair she'd worn the night before. She saw them, glared at me, crossed her arms so that I couldn't slip them into her sleeves, and said, "No! Nunnah! Nunnah!"

Clearly confused, I said, "It's time for your jammies!"

"Noooo! Nunnah! Nunnah!"

I realized she wanted something else. I let her down from my lap and she scrambled up the step and into the bathroom, where she pointed at the dryer, calling, "Nunnah! Nunnah!" I fished out the new jammies and held them up to her. She beamed, nodding and approving, "Huh! Huh!" Apparently, eighteen months is the time at which girls become insistent on their appearance...

Milo, on the other hand, is finding himself seeing the world through the eyes of his best friend. Particularly when it comes to what he's wearing. If I suggest something, he'll answer, "Yes! Mark likes that shirt!" or "No. Mark doesn't like that..." He feels too young to be concerned about what the world is thinking of him, but this anxiety has been coming on for about a year and I don't see it abating. He is still very afraid to enter a room full of strangers for fear that they are looking t him. He is fine entering or leaving s store or a place where he is anonymous, but anywhere I need to introduce him makes him petrified. He tenses his entire body, flushes, and climbs me like a tree.

I don't want him to be so concerned with the rest of the world -- but he wants to do things right and worries that he'll make mistakes. I try to point out to him all of the times I've made mistakes and have no issue in making mistakes, correcting myself, and pointing it out to him, but his inner perfectionist is growing louder and louder. I know how he feels -- I was that kid, and so was Scott. Scott doesn't believe me, but I think that his intellectual development is just enough ahead of his emotional development that he's struggling because he understands more than his emotions can handle. He is a bright and perceptive child. He asks outstanding questions about his world and observes so many things that I miss or overlook. But I think with that ability comes caution and he's very cautions of new situations. He doesn't like to try anything until he's certain that when he DOES try, he'll get it right. So we've introduced the concept of practicing to him. It helps some.

Violet, on the other hand, seems to have not a care in the world. Oh, sure she's got opinions and prefers it when she gets her way, but her general attitude sort of suggests that she knows no one is really paying THAT much attention to her (in the grand scheme of things) and that as long as she looks like she knows what she's doing, she is probably doing it right. I never really see her fail at anything, though, because she has an unusual combination of persistence and patience. She'll keep at it until she gets it because she is generally not frustrated by much. She's a very capable toddler, for certain, dressing herself and feeding herself -- she prefers an open cup these days to a sippy and properly uses a spoon and fork (most of the time).

It is so very interesting to me to watch them become the people that they are -- someone said to me today, "Having another child seems crazy at this point -- I feel like I just got this one figured out!" I guess if you have them close enough together you don't get that feeling of having figured a child out -- I know I haven't gotten Milo completely figured out and certainly not Miss Independent. Then again, I'm not sure I have ME figured out yet...

Scents without Sensibility

This weekend has whirred by... I'm not actually sure if I got anything I intended to do DONE. Of course, I was partially felled by my dang tonsils. Officially diagnosed this morning by a doctor dubious of the negative results from the fast-check strep test. My tonsils, renamed "something alien" by my astounded husband, who stuttered, "Oh, good, God! There's something alien in there... are they supposed to be tiger striped?" Funny thing is, they don't really hurt, but they are swollen and pressing on my uvula, therefore making swallowing quite difficult.

My children were just thrilled that I brought back "Mr. Da-donald's" for lunch. I chugged the vanilla milkshake I'd ordered with Scott's food on the fifteen minute drive from the golden arches to my brown house. Who am I kidding? I drank it in about five minutes flat. The toast that I'd eaten for breakfast didn't have enough protein to anchor my blood sugar for an entire morning, I had foolishly expected to get right in at the doctor's. Nope, not so much. I had a two-hour wait, long enough, in fact that the receptionist had suggested I come back in a couple of hours to wait for my name to be called. So I spent 9:00 - 10:30 prowling Target. And returned at 11:10 to fill my prescription -- for pills so large I couldn't think how I was supposed to swallow them with my angry swollen throat. I guess it's a good thing that I have next to no gag reflex. The only time I've ever been gaggy was when pregnant with Violet. And, after the nurse swabbed my toes through my mouth, I'm happy to report that I am, once again, in control of my gag reflex.

I'd say that it is delirium that has me wandering all over, describing a simple case of tonsillitis in such detail, but it's really boredom. After the doctor and the shopping and the brief sushi interlude called lunch -- don't tell me you thought that I fell off the diet wagon and ate McDonald's? Nope, I splurged for a half-moon combo from the Target sushi counter instead. Anyway, now I'm in hour 4.5 of proctoring a practice MCAT exam. I've read Water for Elephants -- and enjoyed it, for the most part. I checked and updated facebook. I wrote an email to a friend. And now I'm sitting here, really needing to use the bathroom, but hanging out while two students remain focused on their computer screens, calculating and recalculating, editing and re-editing their practice tests, breathlessly waiting practice results.

My children have been extra sweet and extra funny lately. Violet is downright demanding when it comes to her state of dress. She's taken off and put on shoes enough times that she can balance on one foot while holding the door frame as she slips her tiny foot into a fur-lined snow boot. She doesn't always get tops and bottoms on the right halves of her body, but socks are tugged appropriately onto her feet and hats perched carefully on her head. I did get a great laugh out of her skipping around the corner wearing a pair of Scott's clean boxer briefs. She'd stepped into one leg and pulled it up over her shoulder, toga-style. She beamed and declared herself to be "unna-lella." Cinderella. She chirps excitedly about her clothes, her hair, her baby and several other things that SHE clearly thinks I understand, though I cannot decipher all of the words she says. She tips her head and nods when I look her in the eye, mesmerized by the gray-green-blue-brown iris. Though her personality is forming, her eyes haven't picked a color yet, they waffle chameleon-like with her clothing and surroundings. Although the color isn't set, the intensity of her gaze is powerful. She is precise, she is strong, and she is clear in her ambitions and goals. She will become a force...

Milo has been playing daddy's birthday present -- Lego Indiana Jones Wii game. He's alternately proud and crushed as his skills are tested. He is boisterous in his success, coolly crowing, "Yeah, baby! Wock and Woll!" and equally desperate when he can't make the avatar jump the stones in the right succession, hopping madly, crying, "I can't DOOOooooo it! I can't DOOOoooo it!" until he can do it, then he's cool as a cucumber, with a little swagger in his step.

A funny one, he is. I can see hi battling perfectionism already -- his tender little heart takes entirely too much too seriously and his expectations for himself are higher than our expectations for him. He is embarrassed if he can't get something right, and more embarrassed if he's corrected. His sensitivity to correction makes discipline hard -- he understands too much and he views correction as personal failure. I remember those days, myself -- sitting in class, trying not to make any mistakes, frozen in my spot if I answered something incorrectly. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, yet it is staring me straight in the heart, growing up right in front of me. It's not surprising, that relentless perfectionism is a trait shared by both of his parents -- and the intensity of emotion that goes with it. It is difficult to be bright, to understand more than your emotions can handle. I know this, Scott knows this, and Milo will learn it. It's not a lesson that I have wanted to teach, though, nor is it a lesson learned from instruction -- only from experience.

Oh, my boy... I hope that you can let go of some of this and enjoy life the way you do when you are playing with your Star Wars guys, oblivious to anything around you, anchored in your extensive imagination, creating worlds. Or when you nest in the crook of my arm, feet pulled up, small as an egg, your head tucked under my chin. I can smell you, then, and you still smell to my heart the way you smelled as a newborn. I can smell you and I can smell Violet and in your scents I am transcendent, open to the universe, connected to history, woven into the fabric of time itself. I grow dizzy smelling you. It turns me inside out, stops my thoughts, catches me still, unbreathing and whole. Something awakens, something primal that screams, "my babies, my babies, my babies!" I know that this is the way it is supposed to be.

I know this as I sit, now five hours into the test, missing you... missing my family...