Learning to Not Care

Recently, Aunt M had an epiphany. She was walking from our car to my house, and she was feeling a little frumpy in her sweatpants and sneakers. But suddenly, she decided to simply NOT CARE. 

She said it felt so good not to worry about what anyone was thinking, because it just didn't matter. She said it was a liberating moment, that little walk from the car to my house. A small weight had lifted from her chest.

I understood completely and applauded her for this milestone. I had a similar experience to Aunt M's ... albeit, the circumstances were a bit different.

Both she and I (and a handful of our closest friends) attended Miami University. The school is widely known for its history (founded in 1809), its academic excellence, its superior business school, and its student body that is primarily comprised of gorgeous, stuck-up blondes named Katie.

My freshman year, Meagan (my roommate and BFF) and I spent most of our days feeling intimidated by the pristinely perfect girls that we attended class with. We would carefully choose our outfits to wear to class and critique each other before stepping foot outside our dorm room.

It was ludicrous.

Why did we care what other people thought of us? I still don't know the answer to that. But, over the next few years, this feeling dwindled and we both stopped caring so much about what others thought of us. THEN! ... I went and got pregnant while I was still in college, and what do you know? I SUDDENLY DIDN'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING except for the welfare of the child growing inside of me. Somewhere around the latter part of my first trimester of pregnancy, I officially said screw it. I'm PREGNANT for Pete's sake. If I want to, I can just heave my round body out of bed, splash some water on my face and walk out the door wearing my pajamas, and NO ONE WILL CARE.

So that's what I did. And I was RIGHT.

It was so completely liberating to not care what anyone thought of me. 

(Although, I may have taken this notion a bit far when I accidentally dripped breast milk all over the floor while pulling an all-nighter in the Architecture Building with fifty other people and one very gassy baby. Looking back, I probably should have "cared about what others thought" and rectified that situation before it turned disastrous. But, hey ... you live, you learn.)

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And a bonus! I've found that sometimes not worrying about what you look like has its benefits. I usually slap together my work outfits in 12 seconds, and I end up walking out of the house with mismatched socks. But, today, I took an extra five minutes and actually matched my belt to my shoes and tucked my blouse into my trousers, and you wouldn't believe all the compliments I got. At least five separate individuals mentioned that I looked especially nice today. And I thought to myself, GOSH, if I matched my belt and shoes every day, no one would ever compliment me. No. This is SPECIAL, you see? It pays to be mostly-scruffy-but-sometimes-not.

La gets it. Her outfits are always creative, and she never cares what anyone is going to think about her pairings (including her mom). Occasionally she will take an extra moment to consider her ensemble and will make an adjustment that just makes the outfit REALLY STAND OUT. And then she will parade around like she's the Queen of the Universe. 

Because she is. 

I'm glad she's figured out this "not caring" thing so early in life. I just hope it sticks.

Stephanie and Rob

On Saturday morning, my parents, Aunt M, La and myself drove up to Milwaukee, where we had the distinct pleasure of seeing my cousin Stephanie marry the love of her life, Rob.

The ceremony was touching and sweet (I cried), the reception was splendid, and the bride was absolutely breathtaking.

Steph and Uncle Dick during the father/daughter dance

La was officially obsessed with Stephanie. She kept coming up to me and saying, "Mom I just saw THE BRIDE." or "Oh my goodness THE BRIDE just talked to me!"

And I was officially obsessed with the dancing skillz of the father of the bride. Uncle Dick can GET DOWN, that's for sure. Boogie boogie!

The reception took place at the War Memorial, which is part of the Milwaukee Art Museum. The room was incredible.

And so was La's prom hair, if you ask me.

Her interpretive dance moves were, um ... interesting. 

... but they sure did tucker her right out. 

It was a lovely day. 

Steph and Rob, congratulations on "officially" beginning your lives together. You are both beautiful, wonderful people and we are so, so happy for you.

And thanks for throwing such a rad party!

Terms of Endearment

My parents are in town visiting. They came in Thursday evening to see Aaron's two games at UIC yesterday. (both of which were lost to the UIC Flames. Dang.) Today, we're going up to Milwaukee to see my cousin Stephanie get married. La is beside herself with excitement.

The point is, the two of them are staying with me. And my dad wanted to go for a run today. The problem is that it's COLD today, and he only brought shorts with him. Oh, and long underwear.

Snazzy.

He walked out of the bathroom looking like this:

He says it doesn't matter if he looks ridiculous because he already has "His Hot Woman." He then sauntered over to where my mother was sitting, rolling her eyes. He kissed her and said, "Goodbye Hot Woman."

To which she affectionately replied, "Goodbye Little Dork."

Four Letter Words

Yesterday morning, on our way out the door, La turned to me and asked, "Do you know what fork means?" 

She asked this question with a lift of one brow and a mischievous tone, suggesting that SHE knows what it means, but does MOM? For a minute, I was horrified ... worried that she had somehow heard a certain four-letter word and had swapped out a couple of the letters with an o and an r. And now she was seeing if I knew what it meant. 

Oh dear heavens.

My response: Are you talking about the fork you eat with?

La: No silly! The one that means LOOK OUT BECAUSE A BALL IS COMING AT YOU AND IT IS ABOUT TO HIT YOUR HEAD!

Me: Um, I think the word is "Four."

Phew.

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Update:

I just got this email from my dad:

Dear Miss Correct Your Father's Grammer, (um, it's grammar by the way. Oh, the irony!)

The word is "FORE!"

Love, Daddy

And to that, I respond: Well, shucks. I just didn't know it was spellded that way!

EMO

Chatting on the phone with dad

Lately, La has been, oh ... just a TAD dramatic. It's like she's suddenly morphed into an overly-emotional, histrionic, pubescent teenager. 

I had to take her to school at 7:00 this morning, which is almost an hour earlier than usual, and by the enormity of her protest, you would have thought I was asking her to walk barefoot over a bed of flaming hot coals. Such an insurmountable task, this waking up at 6:30 thing! Unless it's a Saturday, of course. And then walking out the door at 6:55! THE SHEER HORROR.

We arrived at school at the same time as her friend Kendra. When I left, she was looking a little melancholy, but I had to be at a downtown doctor's appointment at 7:30. I could not dilly-dally. So I kissed her little lips, told her I loved her like the dickens, and whisked off to catch the bus.

I ended up seeing Kendra's mom on the way back home this evening, and she informed me that La started crying huge crocodile tears the minute I left the school this morning. She said that she asked La why she was crying, and La told her, "I'm so worried about my mama. She is going to THE DOCTOR right now!!! I don't know if she's going to be OK." (um, just to clarify, I was going to the ear doctor. Terrifying.)

When I got to the school this evening, Miss Trisha (after asking me if I was in good health ... since someone was spreading the word that MOMMY IS NOT WELL! all day long) told me that La had a few more dramatic episodes than usual today. One of these incidents took place when La told Miss T that Timmy was irritating her. Miss T told La to go to Timmy and politely tell him to leave her the heck alone. But, as La began speaking to Timmy, she suddenly burst into tears. When Miss T went over to ask La what the problem was, she responded with "Timmy is just RUINING MY LIFE!"

He's three La! You're five! You can't let younger men get to you. You just can't ... Or older men for that matter.

Oh, and JUST NOW — I kid you not! — She walked into the room and sneezed. I turned to her and said, "Bless you!" and she looked at me with very serious eyes and said, "Thanks. I ALMOST DIED."

I'm hoping that this is just a phase that started up this morning and lasted until 7:34 pm this evening. And that the two of us will be able to look back on it tomorrow morning and have a good chuckle.

Weebles Wobble But They Don't Fall Down

I wish that were the case for La. 

She's always on the run. And she's not always careful. The child is clumsier than anyone I've ever known. (except maybe myself) ... And this is an endless source of worry for me.

She got to wear SHORTS to the park the other day! (and I brought band-aids and Neosporin in my purse)

My dad would call it a serious case of READY, FIRE, AIM. I wish that I could just tell her to stop being so clumsy before you knock your own teeth out. But she's already done that. 

Friday morning, after I had just locked our front door, I heard a thump ... thump ... THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP and turned around to see her turning cartwheels down our hallway staircase. The poor thing did at least four somersaults down the stairs, and landed on her back on the landing below. 

I rushed to the bottom of the stairs, where she had begun to scream at the top of her lungs. But, within minutes, she was laughing hysterically about the whole ordeal. Thank goodness she was wearing a poofy winter coat, because she was left with just one tiny bruise on her hip. She was lucky.

The thing is, the kid has incredible balance. She can stand on one foot, on the tip of her toes, stretching her other leg out behind her. She can ice skate. She can ski down a bunny hill without falling. She can do stuff like this:

But, when it comes to, you know, WALKING, she's a bit challenged. All I can do is hope that this is just a stage, and that she will one day learn to look before she leaps.

Beautiful Ohio

I'm not being facetious either. For the past few days, it has been completely gorgeous in Cleveland Ohio. IN MARCH! I was there and saw it with my own eyes.

Aunt M, La and I got into town Saturday afternoon and immediately hit the town with Granny Lin and our pals Marci (in town from TX) and Stephanie and their moms. We shopped at our favorite boutique, Banyan Tree and then went to dinner at Lolita, where Marci will be having her wedding reception in August. 

Oh my goodness THE FOOD!!! And the company was even better. (Even though we DID discuss politics and we DID discuss religion. Look at us! This photo was taken at the end of the night, post-discussion, and there are no black eyes.)

Sunday was, er ... hectic. And fun! But hectic. Yeah.

My mom had arranged for a little birthday party at the local bowling alley for La, and I'll just say this: I do not do well with children's birthday parties. I get all sweaty and stressed out and then I start getting hives on my face. 

Thank goodness my mom and sister were there to alleviate the madness.

When we first got to the lanes, I noticed that La's name was not on the board that lists "Today's Birthday Parties." I didn't panic. I just acted as if this little slip-up was no indication of whether or not my child was actually having a birthday party. I started setting up her party at the table behind the lane we were assigned to. UNTIL ... the kind man whose job was to manage the calamity came sauntering over to tell me that La does not have a table reserved. That I was overtaking some other child's birthday party. That whoever reserved La's party requested the "pizza and pop" package which only comes with the little tables located inside the actual lane. (Hello! If my mom had known this, she totally would have requested something else!) Then he motioned over to the lane, pointing to two round tables that were indeed located inside the lane.

They were each exactly one foot in diameter. 

These tables were so miniscule that if a bowler would perchance desire to place his beverage AND his basket of chicken wings on one of these tables AT THE SAME TIME, he might have to stack them to do so. This guy wants me to host an ENTIRE BIRTHDAY PARTY for a FIVE YEAR OLD on a table the size of a FRISBEE.

At that point, I glanced at my mom with a look of sheer panic and quietly pleaded, "PLEASE. FIX. THIS. OMG. OMG. OMG." 

She totally kept her cool and figured the whole thing out while I sat with my back facing the fiasco, taking deep yoga breaths, and attempted to calm myself by performing a mundane, controlled task. Which was untying twelve helium balloons that had become irreversibly intertwined during the car ride over.

And, what do you know? When I had finally freed those twelve balloons and had the guts to turn around, my mom and sister had untied an even bigger tangle. A nice, big table had been pulled out from the bar, the cute polka-dotted tablecloth had been placed, and the High School Musical party favors, plates and napkins had been arranged. All I had to do was walk over and plop the balloon bunches down on the table.

The party ended up being a total hit (I think). La had a fantastic time, anyway. And that's all that really matters.

Monday was La's actual birthday, and she got to do something she has never done before, but has always wanted to do.

My mom, sister, La and I went shopping with Marci to find a dress for her August wedding. And, boy, did that girl look beautiful in wedding gowns. La looked equally as gorgeous in a flower girl dress (she'll be in three weddings this year).

On Tuesday, La got to help plant Grandpa's garden.

And then we went out to Youngstown to see Aaron and to watch the Penguins play ball. (they lost. shoot!) 

It was nice to spend time with the whole family. It was nice to be back in Cleveland for a few days. It was nice that the weather felt more like Florida than Ohio.

And now it's nice to be home.

Five.

Dear La,

Today you turn five years old. FIVE YEARS OLD! I can't believe I just typed those words. It seems impossible to fathom that you have been here this long. Just the other day I was waddling around my college campus, pregnant OUT TO HERE, anticipating your arrival.

You were born on a Tuesday evening during one of the biggest snow storms of 2004. The doctor had to yank you out with forceps because your heart rate was dropping with every contraction. You weighed 5 pounds, 15 ounces, but you toted a 100-pound attitude.

From the minute you were born, you were able to stand on my lap while holding onto my fingers. The nurses were baffled by this. You would look to your right and to your left and then back at me while standing on my lap. This was your favorite position to be in, and I think it's because it allowed you to take the world in on your own terms. Your five-pound physique was entirely comprised of muscles and loose skin, and you had a super-stong neck. You were never one of those babies that had to have their head supported at all times because it would flop around. In fact, if I put you into a position that would involve me supporting your neck, you would throw a world-class fit.

From day one, you were determined to know everything and to find it all out on your own.

The wonderful attending nurse, Lynn, picked up on your little 'tude, and coined a new name for you: Miss La. Every time you protested anything, she would say "Yes, Miss La." or "At your service, Miss La."

The day after you were born, all you wanted to do was sleep. That's probably because you were awake THE ENTIRE NIGHT before. You weren't crying all night or anything. You were just awake and alert and staring at me through your little plastic bassinet. You were so curious. I would flip over in my bed, unable to sleep, and would catch your gaze through the plastic. Every time this happened, I would obsessively check for your breath to make sure you were still alive BECAUSE YOU WOULDN'T STOP STARING AT ME. And you weren't really blinking either.

During the days, after staring at me all night long, you just wanted to sleep. Grandpa was the only person you would open your eyes for during the day.

You've always been Grandpa's Girl.



Two weeks after your birth, I drove you down to school with me, five hours away from home. Having you there with me, living in a house with seven other girls, taught me more than I ever could have learned in my four years of college.



You learned a lot at college too. You learned to sleep through the night, you learned to cry REALLY LOUDLY, you learned to smile, and you learned to pay attention in class.

And then we graduated.

And you continued to learn at lightning-quick speeds. Except for the hair-growing technique. You didn't master that one until you were about three.

You said "mama" at seven months.

You learned to walk at 10 months.

You learned to talk in complete sentences when you were one-and-a-half.

You tried to ski when you were three. You mastered it at four.

You will learn so much at five. You'll go to kindergarten. You'll make me so proud.

La, you came into my life unexpectedly. You were a surprise and a delight right from the beginning. I have been blessed over and over again by your presence these past five years. You have made my life happier than I ever thought it could be.

And it just keeps getting better.

Happy Birthday, La. I love you all the way to the moon and back.

Some might call it frugal. I call it JUST PLAIN CHEAP.

Once a year I have my highlights professionally done. The rest of the year, It's up to little ol' me to keep my roots in check.

This time, I put WAY more bleaching powder in the mixture, but the same amount of developer and toner. I was thinking, heck, it's going to be spring soon. Why not lighten the mop up a couple more notches? But now I'm thinking I hope I'm not burning chemical holes through my hair.

Grandma Dale (AKA: hair stylist extraordinaire) is stifling a scream right now. I just know it.

Time to rinse!

La's Late Winter Collection Getting Rave Reviews (from her mama)

Shrug sweater: La's Florida trip, Aunt Ashley or Grandma Dale | Dress: The Second Child | Boots: Gymboree

Hat: Janie & Jack | Jacket: Gap online sale | Gloves: Disney Store | Skirt: Target, 4 years ago | Shoes: Gap online sale

Explaining electronic fund transfers a four-year-old

A conversations La and I had over a scoop of homemade mint chocolate chip at Bobtail Ice Cream earlier this evening:

La: Mom, what's that thing?

Me: Oh, that child-munching machine over in the corner?

blank, terrified stare

Me: Just kidding! It's called an ATM and it's where people get money.

La: So, you can just go there and ... GET MONEY? (eyes light up as if she's just discovered the answer to all the world's problems)

Me: No, you have to have money in your bank account to get money from that machine. For instance, mommy keeps all her gobs and gobs of money in the bank. When I need to get some out, I can go to an ATM.

La: And your money will fly through the air from the bank and come out of that machine?

Me: Um. No. It already has money in it and gives you some. And later on, it takes it out of the bank. But, if you don't have any money in your bank, the machine knows and won't give you any.

La: It knows?

Me: IT. KNOWS.

blank, terrified stare

La: What else does it know?

Me: EVERYTHING.

It's a miracle that Aunt M has not lost her marbles.

Um, wait a minute ... maybe she has.

Aunt M spent almost the entire weekend with La and I, and she hasn't bitten a hole though her bottom lip or developed a stutter. Albeit, she has resorted to alcohol once or twice ... but, then again, so have I.

We started the weekend by going on a "date" with La to our favorite French Bistro, Mon Ami Gabi (Dad, before you give us the "economy" lecture, you should know we had a gift card). We got semi-gussied-up for the occasion. La wore a gorgeous plaid dress with black tule that Aunt Ashley bought for her to wear at christmas time. I even put a string of pearls around her neck. 

She may have looked pristine, but she sure as heck didn't act that way. 

Half of the evening she was lying on the floor under the table. Most of the time that her head was above the table linens, she was staring at the people at the next table over. I mean STARING. Not even blinking. I had to keep turning her face toward OUR table and telling her it was rude to stare, to which she would respond, "sorry mom" while simultaneously turning her head to resume her creepy staring position.

All-in-all, it turned out to be a pleasant dinner. The food was delicious, and the company (La) was tolerable.

We had a sleepover with M Friday AND Saturday nights. Then, on Sunday, we got to see Aunt Karen and Uncle Mark who came all the way from Neenah, Wisconsin.

La was tickled. Especially since they gave her an early birthday gift!

The reason they were in Chicago was because their son (my cousin) Joel was in town for a bug conference. You heard me right. He's working on his PhD at Berkeley, and apparently one can learn a lot about human beings by studying the DNA of a good old fashioned fruit fly. He tried to enlighten me on this novel concept, using words I've never heard before. I just nodded and smiled and pretended I knew what in the heck he was talking about.

It was great to see everyone and to spend an entire weekend with Aunt M. And it's a good thing Aunt M still has her sanity. 

I think. 

Hmmm. I did speak to her this evening and she was cooking shrimp for dinner. SHRIMP! FROM THE SEA PEOPLE! AUNT M! SEAFOOD! WHAT THE ... ???!!!

Maybe we did finally put her over the edge.

Happy Birthday Mama!!!

A birthday rhyme for my mommy:

Today you turn forty-eight, 

that means you're almost fifty.

You may think that you're darn old

but I think that you're nifty!

You're cute and cool and young-at-heart

—a spirited young gal.

And even though your politics stink,

you're one of my best pals.

I wish that we could come to town

and help you celebrate.

We'd drink some wine and eat some cheese

and stay up really late. (like PAST MIDNIGHT!)

But, since we can't I'll just say this:

You really are a gem.

We love you much and miss you lots

and soon you'll need Depends™.

Marilyn La-nroe

When La was in Florida for Christmas, she got to spend some quality shopping time with Aunt Ashley and Grandma Dale (lucky!). One afternoon, they took her to an outdoor market with different vendors at each stand. It was at one of the kiosks that La spotted something that she ABSOLUTELY HAD TO HAVE. 

It was a photograph of Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell sitting on Charles Coburn's lap. And La was in love with it.

So, naturally, Grandma Dale bought it for her.

As soon as La came back from Florida, she yanked it from her bag and insisted that I hang it in her room. It is currently displayed inside her mirror hanging on the wall, tucked into the frame edges.

Sometimes, after her evening bath, I will walk into her bedroom to find her standing on her bed, striking luscious "Marilyn" poses as she gazes into the mirror, admiring herself.

And now, thanks to Grandma Dale's purchase, I can say that La's bedroom décor is complete.

Introducing the latest addition to La's eclectic wardrobe: The Muumuu

I ordered this lovely dress from gap.com the other week. I spent less than $100 and got 12 springy/summery items for her (including a swimsuit, two pairs of shoes and a few dresses). Everything came from the "Sale" page, of course. I can't decide whether I dig or despise this ensemble. 

I'm leaning towards the latter.

I know what my mom will say about it: You KNOW this kid does not look good in yellow. It absolutely washes out her skin tone and makes her look like she just crawled out of a vat of Elmer's Glue. So pasty! And that shape does nothing for her figure. Why, oh why would you buy this thing for her?

Mom, the answer is that she insisted that I add this "beautiful gown" — in this specific hue — to my shopping cart. She would not get off my lap until she saw it included on the Order Summary page. 

She loves the thing.