Recently there was an article about people who go around paying off people’s layaways at Christmas time, calling these people “Christmas Angels”. Recently I’d been in a bit of a funk, knowing Cancer is breathing down our necks this year, just waiting for the right moment (which is the wrong moment) to strike.

A member of one of my mom’s groups posted the article in our forum and mentioned how much it touched her. This in turn started a domino effect in our group of 60 women (we all met online in a diamond lover’s forum), and we all donated to one Mom’s account- over eight hundred dollars to help out families who put things on layaway for their kids. She then took the donations (errrr… “gifts”, I hesitate to use the word “donation” considering the bullshit Regretsy had dealt with regarding the difference between “gift” and “donate” buttons) to her nearby KMart and paid off some of the delinquent accounts that held gifts for children.

Unfortunately/Fortunately, other people must have been bitten by the “I need to help someone” bug, as there were only a few accounts left- and we specifically wanted to target FAMILIES.  The way layaway works, people choose things, put their downpayments on them, and the actual item goes into a bin with their name on it. Our ElfMom was able to look in the bins for toys and kid’s items, and found a few that had things like leapster games, a robe, and playdough.

Now, here is where it really hit me. Play-doh is not dirt cheap (like .99 cents), but it’s not expensive, sets can go from 6-15 dollars. These people couldn’t afford to buy a few containers of play-doh at one time, and were applying payments to something that costs less than a week’s worth of coffee at Starbucks. Friends, this broke my heart. While we all knew we were going to help some folks out (as it was we only were able to pay off two accounts- leaving a few cents so they come back to make a payment and find that they had mere pennies left- paying the account in full will close the account- because another/others had gotten there first), knowing what we helped to buy for families made it that much more real. These folks were hoping they were able to get their child play-doh for Christmas, and a few even had delinquent accounts, they couldn’t finish paying for their baby robes and moondough.

After we paid off that one store, ElfMom transferred the rest of the money to two other ElfMoms in different parts of the country, and those Elfmoms will be paying off a few more accounts in Pittsburgh and Cleveland. I can’t help but be SO proud of the group I’m a part of. I am SO happy to know that there are families out there who will be arriving to give the money they worked so hard for – sometimes paying for the toys before a bill just so their kid can have at least a small hope that Santa cares about them- only to find someone helped them.

See, I remember my Mom getting things on layaway. I remember being with her to shop, not really understanding why we were “buying” something that I couldn’t have right away. I wish there had been people like us back then, when my mom was struggling to give us a Christmas she could be proud of. And now, now that I have my girl, I think about just how fortunate we are. Sure, we don’t take pricey vacations, we don’t spend a ton of money on clothes for any of us. but we have money to buy her small gifts that she can enjoy. It’s not a new bike or a leappad, but Piper will not be wanting for anything, where some kids might have been in those three towns we were able to hit.

Right now, I’m pretty damn proud to be a Christmas Angel with this wonderful group of my friends. Knowing some little kid out there is going to have a present under the tree with their name on it because of the kindness of random strangers is something that warms my heart.

Every year we visit four houses at a minimum on Christmas day, as you can imagine, this is quite a hit to our wallets! This year I was debating spending for most of the people, I was trying to find a way out of having to gift 40+ people (yes, you read that right), trying to find other options like baking (still doing)  making infused vodkas (hell yes still doing), and garlic oils and crap.

Then, about a month ago, we found out Paul’s uncle’s prostate cancer had returned. His aunt invited us over for Christmas, and even as recently as yesterday I thought about stopping by. Then, this morning I got a call from Paul’s cousin, his Dad was in the hospital after coughing up blood on Sunday. Some of the most horrifying words ever came out, “The prognosis isn’t good.”. It was then I decided without a doubt that we’d be blowing off Christmas with my family in order to spend it with Paul’s aunt and uncle (who should be home then).

It’s funny, because just this morning I was thinking how quickly 12 days is going to go by, having to buy so many Christmas gifts. Then today, I was thinking, “Man, 12 days. That is so long. I hope he holds on for us.”

You know what, Cancer? You are an ASSHOLE. You affect EVERYONE, in EVERY SINGLE EFFING WAY. You don’t give a shit about the holidays, if anything you seem to strike more during the time when everyone’s guards are down- by the way, thanks for all the past Christmases you have screwed us in one way or another- I appreciate it. Cancer doesn’t change it’s plans, Cancer doesn’t care that you have family and friends who desperately need you, who really don’t need their Christmases to be tainted by the memories of losing the people they cherish most. Cancer, you strike at random, and without cause. You hurt every single person who comes into contact with you, and you leave stains, you leave scars on what had previously been pure. You ruin lives. You ruin holidays, you ruin families. You make life about YOU, when it’s NOT. It’s about love, it’s about living every single day to the fullest, it’s about family and friends who hug you and love you despite your bitchy attitude and despite how truly awful a person can be. So today, instead of worrying what the next 12 days will bring, I’ll count each day as a victory against you- against your filthy, ragged and rotting touch.

FUCK YOU, Cancer. I’m SICK of you in my life. SICK.

Piper has been on this planet for two Christmases. For her first one, she was only a month old, and there was no such thing as Santa, no image of him in stores to attract her attention, no hearty “ho ho ho” to hear as a commercial played. That Christmas was about surviving with a one month old and learning how to function on little to no sleep at night. It was also about getting to know our new family, snuggling in the mornings, kissing over her sleeping head at night. Looking back, that time was literally- literally- the best time of my life. The three of us huddled inside our tree-lit house, as rain fell outside. Paul was off for Christmas break, I was still on my maternity leave. Our days and nights were entirely up to us, we could do as we pleased. Of course, because we had just been out of the hospital a few weeks when Christmas came, we didn’t bother buying Piper any gifts, as we knew she would be showered with gifts that Christmas from the various households we visited (and we so were right about that, holy Moses), and although we had a stocking for her (bought during a Pottery Barn sale to match the stockings Paul and I had already, all three of our stockings remained empty that year, and Santa did not make an appearance- I’d like to think we had already received our “big gift” a month earlier that year.

For Piper’s second Christmas, Santa didn’t show up that year either. Whether it was just from being completely unorganized and having no time to go shopping, or maybe it was because we were already flush with gifts from Piper’s first birthday party, or perhaps it was just important to be together with our loved ones- either way, there were no lovely gifts wrapped like candy beneath our tree. Don’t get me wrong, we love love love Christmas in our house, and we will always have lights up, the (live) tree in the corner, the star shining brightly atop our tree as Christmas songs play in the background. So it’s not that we’re Grinch-like in our home, no, we just chose to focus more on family than gifting amongst ourselves (and as I mentioned, Piper was lavished with gifts at her birthday party a mere month before so kid was NOT missing out on anything). Piper still sat on Santa’s lap on his “sleigh” (a sleigh float type of thing comes through the streets in our neighborhood with a posse of cops with their sirens blaring preceding him), and cried her eyes out, So that was a tradition still upheld. Woohoo.

This year, we’re going full Santa attack. Santa will be wrapping her trinkets and gifts in her stocking, he’ll be giving her the “big” gifts (and getting all the glory), we’ll be pushing the Santa Effect. No, not the “Elf on a Shelf” (which scares the hell out of Paul!), but the bit about Santa visiting good boys and girls for Christmas. Piper is still too young to try to pull the “Santa is watching and knows if you’re not being a good girl!” bit, but I’m not fond of scare tactics for kids anyway. Does this mean I won’t make use of this particularly handy tool later? Nope.

Why am I choosing to go the Santa route? Because as a child, there were so many wonderful years of writing letters to Santa, making my list, setting out the cookies and milk (and carrots for the reindeer) for the Jolly Old Man. I remember the magic of waking up Christmas morning to see the cookies had been partially eaten, the milk drunk, the gnaw marks on the carrots. I remember jumping out of bed to see what Santa brought us. I remember waiting for my Dad to wake up so we could open presents- and I remember busting into their room to wake him up because I COULD NOT WAIT ANY LONGER!! After the gifts were open, the new socks I received in my stocking pulled onto my chilly feet, after the packages were torn open, batteries scavenged for, and my magazine was read, I’d call my cousin and we’d tell each other what we got. After that, I’d call my Grandma and tell HER what I got (even though I’m sure she had an idea about some of it, she probably helped fund some items- as always, Thank You, Grandma). Then our family would get ready to head out to my Aunt’s house for the typical Hispanic Christmas tradition of tamales. After we unwrapped tamales and presents, we’d head to my Dad’s sister’s house, where our families would open gifts one by one. Finally exhausted from a busy day of celebrating, my brother and I would drag ourselves off to bed, knocking out the second our heads hit that pillow.

Since I have such crazy wonderful memories of Christmas, it’s not even an option to not introduce Santa to Piper. I refuse to deny her the magic of hearing about this jolly old elf, of Dasher and Dancer, of cookies and milk, and watching the path of his sleigh on NORAD. Many consider telling your children about Santa is telling them a lie. Many will even tell children about Santa- and how it’s really your parents doing the work (seriously). I don’t think it’s a lie, really. Just because it’s something you choose to believe (like religions- you can believe Jesus was reborn, you can believe you’re a direct descendant of Jesus, you can believe that Jesus was a prophet and not the Messiah, you can refuse to believe Jesus even existed- it is YOUR choice, but something you still believe!), and something you want your kids to believe, what difference does it make that a man comes down your chimney or not, how does that not make this one tiny FIB worth it?

As most of my friends have agreed, when we found out our parents were Santa, we weren’t destroyed. We weren’t hurt that they had lied to us, angry that we had been “living a lie”. It was more of an, “Aaaaaah, that makes sense.” If anything, it made me appreciate my parents more- because they went to so much effort to show me that there are still reasons to believe. They were okay letting the big guy take all the credit, and yes, to let Santa take the heat when I was denied AGAIN that kitten I so desperately wanted (asthma and allergies would likely have killed me). Santa was a huge fixture of my childhood, and because I know I enjoyed it, I can’t wait to experience this through Piper’s eyes.

A quote I read:

“There are three stages of a man’s life: He believes in Santa Claus, he doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, he is Santa Claus.”
- Author Unknown

I read that and teared up, because it is so true.

While I don’t care if others don’t tell their kids about Santa- I DO care that one of those kids will likely be the one MY kid finds out about the truth from- possibly before it’s “time”, and even thinking about that pisses me off. So I beg of you- if you tell your kids there is no Santa, don’t let them tell their friends. Because honestly, in 4 years from now, should Piper come home crying because little Josie told her there was no Santa, I will KICK YOUR ASS. My future self will be so much buffer. So yeah, a small plea from a mom who chooses to believe, even if it means staying up late to use wrapping paper ONLY for Santa gifts (and hiding it from prying eyes) and a different handwriting, and even if it means drinking – eeeew- milk and yaaay- eating cookies.

I want Piper to have those great memories that I had. And if it takes a tiny “fib” to get her those, I’m down.

And now, in the spirit- “Yes, Virginia, There IS a Santa Claus”

Eight-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York’s Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history’s most reprinted newspaper editorial, appearing in part or whole in dozens of languages in books, movies, and other editorials, and on posters and stamps.

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

By Francis P. Church, first published in The New York Sun in 1897. [See The People’s Almanac, pp. 1358–9.]

We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor—

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O’Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

About the Exchange

Francis P. Church’s editorial, “Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus” was an immediate sensation, and went on to became one of the most famous editorials ever written. It first appeared in the The New York Sun in 1897, almost a hundred years ago, and was reprinted annually until 1949 when the paper went out of business.

Thirty-six years after her letter was printed, Virginia O’Hanlon recalled the events that prompted her letter:

“Quite naturally I believed in Santa Claus, for he had never disappointed me. But when less fortunate little boys and girls said there wasn’t any Santa Claus, I was filled with doubts. I asked my father, and he was a little evasive on the subject.

“It was a habit in our family that whenever any doubts came up as to how to pronounce a word or some question of historical fact was in doubt, we wrote to the Question and Answer column in The Sun. Father would always say, ‘If you see it in the The Sun, it’s so,’ and that settled the matter.

“ ‘Well, I’m just going to write The Sun and find out the real truth,’ I said to father.

“He said, ‘Go ahead, Virginia. I’m sure The Sun will give you the right answer, as it always does.’ ”

And so Virginia sat down and wrote her parents’ favorite newspaper.

Her letter found its way into the hands of a veteran editor, Francis P. Church. Son of a Baptist minister, Church had covered the Civil War for The New York Times and had worked on the The New York Sun for 20 years, more recently as an anonymous editorial writer. Church, a sardonic man, had for his personal motto, “Endeavour to clear your mind of cant.” When controversal subjects had to be tackled on the editorial page, especially those dealing with theology, the assignments were usually given to Church.

Now, he had in his hands a little girl’s letter on a most controversial matter, and he was burdened with the responsibility of answering it.

“Is there a Santa Claus?” the childish scrawl in the letter asked. At once, Church knew that there was no avoiding the question. He must answer, and he must answer truthfully. And so he turned to his desk, and he began his reply which was to become one of the most memorable editorials in newspaper history.

Church married shortly after the editorial appeared. He died in April, 1906, leaving no children.

Virginia O’Hanlon went on to graduate from Hunter College with a Bachelor of Arts degree at age 21. The following year she received her Master’s from Columbia, and in 1912 she began teaching in the New York City school system, later becoming a principal. After 47 years, she retired as an educator. Throughout her life she received a steady stream of mail about her Santa Claus letter, and to each reply she attached an attractive printed copy of the Church editorial. Virginia O’Hanlon Douglas died on May 13, 1971, at the age of 81, in a nursing home in Valatie, N.Y.

And this, my dear friends, is what I want for our family.

Sooo, hey there everyone. I kind of fell off the face of the Earth there for a while, didn’t I? Sorry about that. For some strange reason, since Thanksgiving/Piper’s second birthday, things got crazy hectic. And not in that “I need to start getting ready for Christmas” kind of way. No, after P’s birthday, my mom got a cold, and I had to bring Piper to work with me for something like four consecutive days, which meant no blogging. By the time I got home, I was sooo exhausted from non-stop Mommying that I couldn’t bring myself to do anything more than get on the computer and browse Pinterest for things i want to do but will likely never do, and hang out on Facebook like a loser. Hahaha. Luckily, Piper was SO well behaved those three days. She went down easily for her naps, she acted sweetly during her wake-time, ate well. No fights, no tantrums. A model toddler, my girlie.

Anyway, that happened. Piper had her second checkup, and our suspicions were confirmed- Piper grew! Not in a regular “This is right on track for her” way, but in a way where our pediatrician actually exclaimed, “Wow, she jumped up five percent!” when going over the growth chart. As a tiny-statured person married to a tall guy, this is music to my ears. I can’t even tell you how much I think about this. It’s not that I’m worried for her, if she’d be short, not at all. I was short, I survived. If anything, I was treated better and kinder because I was tiny. People want to protect small people like me. I always drew the attention of taller guys, something about being a shortie makes them want to be your protector. It also makes people think you’re not capable of doing things that need a bit of height, it makes people think you’re younger than you are (when you’re young enough to hate that), and kind of baby you. It blows. This is why I want Piper to be average sized. I’m not asking for above average height, I’m not looking for a long-legged glory, simply because that’s just asking for too much with my 200 years of short genes to contend with, you know? We are thrilled to find out that Piper went from either tenth or fifteenth percentage (meaning she’s taller than only ten to fifteen percent of other kids her age) to twenty percent! How exciting is that! When we first started taking Piper in for her visits, our pediatrician told us the age up to one year is all about putting on weight. Once they hit a year, she said, that’s when you can begin to see the pattern of growth. In her stats book, you can see she typically followed the same pattern, always 50th percentile on weight and 10th or so for height. I’d look it up, but I’m lazybones right now and really don’t want to get up from my cozy couch nest. I’m super excited about this, because recently we have noticed she can reach things she couldn’t before, and we had known she had grown a bit, some hand-me-downs were beginning to fit a little better than even just a week before, and her GAP jeans (still tiny for her age, they’re 18-24 months) now can be worn without being cuffed. Even after that appointment last week (the second of December), she appears to have grown a little bit more!

Speaking of growing, in the last week or so (seriously, I asked Paul if it was just my imagination and he agreed with me), Piper has started getting into EVERYTHING that is on a table, or on a shelf. It’s a weird thing to discover, because Piper never really was one of those kids who got into crap. She never put stuff in her mouth, never tried to stick forks in electrical outlets, never got into cabinets and crap. Well, because of that, it appears we’ve gotten sloppy with “toddler-proofing”.  We’ll put scissors and knives on the previously unreachable counters to turn around to grab the peanut butter or something, and the next thing you know, Piper has grabbed them and is preparing to put them safely in her purse, along with my heart, which fell right out of my mouth. Just this evening, a few things went from the table and counters into the trash, into the Christmas tree stand, into her purse. Note to self: put crap away immediately. This is all especially frustrating as we got our Christmas tree today, and I can only imagine how the tree will fare with Piper and her quick hands. I guess we’ll see. Today the tree is up (and she’s used to it now but it’s currently bare, so tomorrow is the test), tomorrow we’ll decorate it. Give me strength.

For her second birthday this year, I ordered her an ice cream cake. It was the most delicious thing ever. Cookies and cream ice cream with devil’s food cake. Why does cake always taste better when it’s under some ice cream? It’s like the cake turns into a poundcake that way. After giving slices to my parents, one for Paul, one for me, and Piper got a big ol’ wedge, there was plenty left over for another slice the next day for Piper, then I took the rest of the week and finished it off. Hey, Paul had his Thanksgiving leftovers (turkey, potatoes and stuffing etc….), and I had mine.

Here is Piper getting ready to blow out her candles. It was just Paul, my parents and I, and despite the small size of the group singing to her, she freaked out mightily when “Happy Birthday” was sung. Poor thing, she was torn between covering her eyes (for the singing, like she didn’t want to see us singing to her?) and watching the cake with its brightly lit Number Two candle shining as her dad walked it over to her in her high chair. In the end, the flame of the candle was too much to avoid, and dropped her hands to blow it out. Oh, by “blow it out” I mean aim her bottom lip so any and all air was huffed upwards, as if trying to blow a piece of hair out of her face.

I don’t know what it is about this picture, but something about it makes me tear up a bit every time I see it. Perhaps it’s just because it’s obviously my baby turning into a big girl.

The day after her actual birthday was Friday, and I had to work. Paul had Piper all day, but I only worked for three hours, so it was perfect. The Saturday after her birthday, despite a parcel full of car issues, we managed to get to my aunt’s house, where they gave Piper cupcakes, ice cream and balloons to celebrate her birthday.

Here’s another shot from Thanksgiving, wearing her “Birthday Girl” shirt, her tiara, and her purse and necklace (as a bracelet). I love this girl more than anything in this entire universe.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the future, about her preschool, about our second and final child. And while I wish I could be pregnant right now, and planning on finding out the sex of a new baby right now, I’m so so so happy we get to share this time with Piper alone right now.

A two year old is so special, with so many things changing every day (and yeah, some tantrums that suck) that I worry that with already having to work with her two days a week, I might be overcome with the stress of it all, rather than the feeling of just how freaking amazing it is to be a parent. And with all that rushing around, and thinking about the daily “How the hell am I going to do this with TWO, one of which is a needy newborn??”, yeah, I just can’t imagine it. Still, when that second kid DOES come along, I can NOT WAIT.

 

Okay, I know, I’m so not a celebrity. I’m not even D list. I’m like, W List. Whatever.

I’m featured on my buddy Nicole’s blog over at Pampers and Pumps, please go visit her blog and learn about where the name of my blog came from, the grossest things I have dealt with as a mother, and handy tips for Moms to be.

Here’s the link to the feature: Pampers and Pumps: Celebrity Guest!

Look around on her blog and leave Nicole some awesome comments, wouldya? Thanks everyone.

Dear Piper,

Hello, my dearest girl. If someone had told me back in January of 2009 that I would end that year holding a precious little bundle made of all the best things your daddy and I had to offer I wouldn’t have believed them. No, I would have shaken my bitter head and remarked, “No, it will never happen. We’re not that lucky.” But you know what, sweetheart? We ARE. We are so, so incredibly lucky to have you.

At first, we were lucky that you were such a mellow newborn. Sure you’d break into fuss storms should we ever even THINK of putting you down, but whatever, I can think of worse. Then, you became an awesome infant, who laughed early (like a cough) and found joy in pretty much everything. Eventually you started eating solids and crawling around, and you kept that up for awhile- the crawling.

Your first birthday approached like wildfire, consuming everything in my life, a sort of “These are the things I want to have done by the time Piper is a year”. We learned our lesson about having outdoor birthday parties at the end of November- not going to do that again.

The whole of your second year of life began. You looked like this:

As you can see, your poor eyes were watering from the cold. I didn’t really get to spend much time with you that day, I was too busy being hostess. This is why this year is different, but I’ll explain that in a minute.

Then Christmas snuck up on us. You barely had any time to spend being a one year old before the holidays came and we brought in our Christmas tree, and took some pics for our Christmas card. These are some of my favorite pictures of you.

And this one, my sweet girl.

Then there was the picture of us as a family, our family of three.

At Christmas  you didn’t really understand why people were giving you things. All  you knew was that everyone it seems you’ve ever known was constantly holding you, hugging you, and handing you gifts.

Your godmother took pictures of you, something we are so grateful for. You already looked so much older than just a month earlier at your party.

The Christmas extravaganzas continued.

We rang in the New Year quietly, because we had just sleep trained you. As much as we adore you and want to spend every second with you, that kind of doesn’t imply at 3am. Sorry sweetie. Luckily, you took to it as if you had been waiting for that kind of thing to happen, and aside from two nights when we were on vacation in April, you have slept every night in your crib, from bedtime to wake-up (which can be pretty early sometimes, btw). We are so thankful for this, because at 13 months, Mama needed some sleep, baby girl.

January came, this was when we began to realize bathing you in the whale of a tub on the kitchen table was starting to come to an end. We took this picture, and showed it around, trying to point out just HOW MUCH hair you had.

February came and went, and I left you for the first time ever. Your grandma watched you for a few days while I dealt with an IRS audit at work. Baby, as much as I know it should have been done sooner and it was a good thing, it was the hardest day of my life.

I cried so many times that day. I knew I’d see you later in the day, and that you didn’t cry when I left, but it broke my heart to leave the house without you beside me. Especially because you still didn’t walk yet. You crawled allll over the place and it was so sweet, but could I really leave you? You were so helpless. Sure, you took one step towards me and decided it was “meh” and continued crawling, you wanted to get where you were going that much faster, and walking just wasn’t doing it.

Then came the day when Grandma was was watching you, after you started getting more and more used to her. I got a phone call from Grandma who sounded very pained. She had tripped over Woofie and popped her shoulder out of the socket. We were so worried! Poor Piper fending for herself while Grandma was in agony on the couch. When we got there Grandma told us you had brought your blanket over and laid it on her lap and put your head on it, as if comforting her. It broke my heart to hear that, my sweet girl. One good thing came out of that day- you began walking in earnest. As if you realized sometimes you just had to suck it up and do what needs to be done.

After you began walking, we could not stop you. Crawling was never revisited.

Pretty soon the time began to pass, you grew steadily.

Even at a year and a few months, you only had two teeth. But you were such a happy girl!

Then your molars snuck up on us without even a hint to the pain it must have caused you!

As you got taller, we got you a new carseat for Grandpa’s car. You really liked sitting in it at home, like it was some kind of easy chair!

I was able to finally get a shot of you walking. I was so proud.

You were almost a year and a half when you threw your first public tantrum. Apparently you really didn’t want to go back to the office!

You got to have fun on Easter with Grandma and with your cousins and your other grandma! ]

And this was your first egg hunt! Daddy tried not to help you too much.

You had a grand old time chucking around some baby powder.

We began going to the park by our house a lot, and it was good because we made a new friend for you AND Grandpa got some good pictures!

You found a new favorite  hat, one that all three of your cousins wore.

Your new trick was yelling “Cheese” when you were being photographed. Well, it sounded more like, “Cheeeeeee!”

Daddy had a summer camp at work, and even though you were too young to attend, he made sure you had the proper uniform!

We bought you a futon to relax in, and it was one of the best purchases of your life so far.

A favorite past time of yours at work was getting up on Charlie’s desk and making phone calls. You didn’t actually call anyone but you liked to pick it up and talk into it.

We took you to the beach for the first time with your cousins!

You had a taste of ice cream, and then your filthy face went to Grandpa’s to play in his yard.

As the year progressed, we had some sad times, too. We said a final goodbye to your uncle at a glorious farewell party where you rode on your first boat.

Even though it was a sad day, it was also a celebration of life. What better way to celebrate the life of a loved one than at a sailor dress and balloons?

At the end of August we moved out of the office you had spent all but 6 weeks of your life. I was so incredibly sad as it meant things were changing and you wouldn’t be coming in to the office with me. I was sad that you wouldn’t have many memories of the time you spent there, especially as you took your first step there, rolled over, sat up… so many firsts there, all so easily forgotten. You enjoyed laying in the empty, dusty shelves, though.

And you FINALLY got all your teeth in. The canines were the last ones to pop through.

You transitioned well to the new office!

You have shared your first soft-serve cone with daddy…

Spent some time at the touch pools, where you mostly splashed instead of touching any of the sea life.

AND you went to Disneyland!

Before too long, Halloween was approaching.

We took you shopping for pumpkins!

You were a monarch butterfly, and so unbelievably cute.

We went trick or treating at the mall, which was a let-down. Next year we’ll go house to house!

Over the year you had a few playdates. You two are so cute.

Life continued as usual. We had lunch together at work.

And at the tail end of one years old, you caught the worst cold yet. You were a sick baby and it hurt my heart. Thankfully you’re better now!

Today your birthday was on Thanksgiving. I had intended to get you a turkey cake, but I found out it was only ice cream. Why call it a cake? Lame. Instead I ordered you an ice cream cake which I hope you like just as much. We’re just going to have Thanksgiving dinner at home with Grandma and Grandpa, you’ll blow out your candle (and hopefully not spit on the cake), you’ll wear your “Birthday Girl” shirt, and you’ll be wonderful. I’m hoping you’ll eat your turkey, as well as the green beans and mashed potatoes and stuffing, and I know you’ll love the pumpkin pie.

Piper Jane, today you are two. The past two and a half years of my life (including when you were “baking”) have been the happiest time of my life. Every day you do something wonderful, something funny, and yes, something a little bit bratty. You make your Daddy and I the happiest people, and you make us love each other more than we thought possible. Everyone who meets you falls in love with you instantly, you are that much of a gift to this world.

I know hard times will happen, I know the supposed “terrible twos” are soon to affect us, and I know we have yet to tackle potty-training, but as long as I have that smile looking my way every day, it will be okay.

I know the day will come someday when you can’t stand to be around me, and I know the day will come when you slam your bedroom door in my face. We’ll deal with that when the day comes, but until then, I’m going to enjoy our daily snuggle times when Daddy comes home, and I’m going to enjoy your newest habit of feeding me the literal crumbs off your food. I’m going to thank God above for giving us this light in our lives that is YOU.

While this is a Happy Birthday letter to you, it’s also a bit of a love letter, because I am hopelessly, head over heels in love with you, my sweet, smart and gorgeous daughter.

Thank you for giving us purpose, for giving us hope, and for giving us the happiest time of our lives.

Love you forever,

Mama (and Daddy and Woofie, of course)

To quote the Rhythmettes in The Wizard of Oz (as Dorothy and crew are leaving the bewitched poppy area):

You’re out of the woods
You’re out of the dark
You’re out of the night…

Piper is well. Weeeell… Piper is getting back to normal. She still has a cough that is most painful sounding early in the morning (which is expected), but she is now back to her antics of pretending to fall down on the floor and going, “OH NO!”

This kid is hilarious. This weekend she started saying, “I love you, too!” and “You’re welcome”. These are all things we don’t necessarily teach her to say (meaning no, “Piper, say ‘You’re welcome’!”), but they’re things she picked up. I have to tell you, in the last month, her vocabulary has exploded. While it’s still a little difficult to pin down what she’s saying a lot of the time, if she repeats it (and 2 year olds repeat EVERYTHING, especially when asking for something) enough I can get what she’s saying. It’s pretty awesome, especially because I kept getting these notifications a few months ago from BabyCenter, What to Expect, the Bump, all those sites that show you how to be neurotic and freak out that your kid is a weirdo who will NEVER EVER TALK unless it’s to bark like a dog at strangers,  about how she must be having a huge growth in her vocabulary. I’d read that and be like, “What? She HAS no vocabulary.” Then I’d read posts from other moms whose kids were younger than mine (and some who were boys who are supposed to be a little behind girls when it comes to vocab) and see that their little ones were asking for things, explaining things, pointing out items that are like, crazy hard words (Like celery. CELERY?? Piper’s “please” sounds like “cheese”!). I’d wonder if we were doing something wrong, then I’d look at her insane hand eye coordination and figure maybe that’s the thing, she can use a fork, use a knife, she colors like a kid years older than her (I’m not gloating here, it’s something that made me feel better about her lack of language skills), she can throw a ball better than I can (which is both awesome and sad for me).

A little bit of me, though, kept expecting a huge burst. Like all of a sudden she’d just start speaking in sentences, more than the typical, “Here he is!” Or “Where Mama?” I was thinking it’d be more like, “Can I have more cheese, please?” (Which translates to “Can I have more cheese, cheese?”) It never came. But, almost overnight, we’re hearing a slew of new words. New “phrases” like “One more, please.” (holding up one finger). Piper has begun to count; one, two, nine, E. It’s pretty hilarious. She knows turkeys say “Gobble gobble” and she knows what an owl says (that’s my girl). She requests bathtime, says a very clear “Grandma” and “Grandpa”. She still has the most heart-smashing “Thank you” you will ever hear a toddler say, for Piper has the highest little voice and it just warms you to hear it.

Piper turns two on Thursday. She’s had quite a year, our little bug. We’re so proud of her, so happy to be her parents. I know there will come a time when I’m begging her to just STOP TALKING already, but right now, I treasure every single “I love you, too” (“I yub oo, TOO”).

Sorry it’s been quiet around here, Piper was hit with her first bad cold that culminated in some sleepless nights, painful coughing and frequent gagging (as well as a fever). Poor thing doesn’t know how to be sick.

We’re not quite sure where she got the sickness from, as it wasn’t anyone who spends time with her, but boy, this crap has lasted for at least a week. It began with a random cough, which escalated the next day to a runny nose and phlegmy sounds in her chest. Then the next day was all about laying around the house and trying to help her cough up the bad stuff (which, btw is hard to do when she’s a baby, how do you teach that??), spending time in the steamy and menthol-scented bathroom playing in the tub to loosen the crud in her chest.

Sunday was by far her worst day, she was sneezing, coughing up a storm (it hurt to hear it), and her poor eyes were red and watery. I had been giving her the honey cough syrup from Whole Foods (Only for children one year and older), and alternating with tylenol. My poor girl was miserable. She’d have random bursts of joy and squeals, but the squeals and laughter would quickly turn into coughing and she’s start crying. HEARTBREAKING. Every cough brought tears.  Again, I gave her another menthol scented bath (and yeah, with the recent shit about Johnson’s and chemicals at that point I was just like, I DON’T GIVE A SHIT, my baby needs to BREATHE), and continuously wiped her nose when it ran. At dinner that night she fought anything we put on her plate, but was almost constantly drinking water. I made a few popsicles for her out of juice we had, since it was something she could tolerate eating/drinking and it seemed to cool her fever.  After dinner, it seemed some of the phlegm that had been loosened from the bath started trying to come up, and I knew it was so painful for her. She would cough, gag, spit up, cry, throw up, gag, cough… Paul picked her up and held her as she gagged repeatedly and threw up on his shoulder what little food she had consumed. It was quite honestly heartbreaking. Watching her gasping for air as the crap in her body was trying to evacuate reminded me so much of my early asthma years that I immediately went from sadness to fear to panic. Exactly what a good mom does, right? Lord. Paul took over as head caregiver while I stood by crying as Piper cried. I’m the strongest.

That night was her worst night of sleep ever. She coughed and cried and moaned and shrieked until 11:15 (after going down at 7:30), then finally conked out until 6am. That day and night, luckily, was the worst, as she has only continued to improve. Me, on the other hand? Not so good. I caught her bug, fun times.

Anyway, hopefully Piper will get back to her usual eating and sleeping schedule soon, she’s got some turkey to eat!

This is Piper, doing what she did for four days straight (I stayed home from work to care for her).

A friend recently pinned this post and I couldn’t help but get teary-eyed at a few posts. Okay, like, 99% of them. Paul is a wonderful dad, a very sweet and caring dad who never stops showing just how much he adores Piper. I’m lucky that I married a man like this (although I knew he’d be like this from day one of our relationship, I’m happy to be right!), but I thought Paul might enjoy reading about what other daddies think about being the father of a daughter, and I hit the motherlode when I read this post.

A few rules that immediately touched my heart (go to the post for the pictures that accompany these rules, they’re heart-stopping):

8. Go ahead. Buy her those pearls.

13. Make pancakes in the shape of her age for breakfast on her birthday. In a pinch, donuts with pink sprinkles and a candle will suffice.

18. Tell her she’s beautiful. Say it over and over again. Someday an animated movie or “beauty” magazine will try to convince her otherwise.

25. Letting her ride on your shoulders is pure magic. Do it now while you have a strong back and she’s still tiny.

29. If her mom enrolls her in swim lessons, make sure you get in the pool too. Don’t be intimidated if there are no other dads there. It’s their loss.

30. Never miss her birthday. In ten years she won’t remember the present you gave her. She will remember if you weren’t there.

34. Somewhere between the time she turns three and her sixth birthday, the odds are good that she will ask you to marry her. Let her down gently.

42. Let her know she can always come home. No matter what.

43. Remember, just like a butterfly, she too will spread her wings and fly some day. Enjoy her caterpillar years.

Each of these rules, and the others I haven’t listen go for both parents, but I think it speaks more to the protector aspect of a daddy with his daughter. My dad was always the strongest, most talented, nicest and funniest man out there. I want Piper to have that with Paul, and I know it’s likely she will… reading this list has given me so many things to tell Paul, so many things he can share with Piper as a special thing for just them.

Throughout your pregnancy you think back to your own childhood, you think of things you want to do with your own children, you think of things you would never subject your kid to, as well. But then you get caught up in the day to day rigamarole that you often forget these things that you promised  yourself you would do when that baby came out. Luckily, there are so many things to remind us, blog posts, photographs, lists we made when we were waiting for that baby to FINALLY be born- things that jumpstart your memory.

While I think I wrote a blog post for Piper’s first year birthday, I plan on writing a handwritten note for her second, and each year following. Perhaps I’ll post it here, I don’t see why not (well, maybe I’ll edit out a bit of it just for privacy’s sake).

Reading this list has given my heart wings today. It’s making me blissful knowing so so so many wonderful years of witnessing Paul be a father are ahead of me. Knowing that he’ll be the one dancing with her at her wedding, that he’ll be the one who takes her to her first daddy-daughter dance/dinner/whatever, and  that he’ll be overjoyed for it… well, it just makes me know that despite whatever misgivings I had about Paul back when we dated the first time (but I DO deserve a break on that because we were 18!!), I know that there is not one thing in this world that can make me doubt that I picked the best possible man to marry and to start a family with.

I can’t wait for Piper to get older so I can watch the already close relationship blossom. Well, yeah, I can wait for her to get older, but man, it’s starting to be quite a competition to see what wins out: my baby staying a baby forever, or getting to see her grow to see what she’ll become.

I love being a mom. Every second of every day. And boy, am I glad to have found this post to share so you all can let go of that horrid day of misery you may be having, or you can embrace whatever your wonderful child has done today, or you can look ahead to the day when you might have children yourself, and maybe make a list just like the one above to remind pregnant you what you wish to experience later.

 

 

 

Hey folks! I’m here to harass you. I’m kidding. I’m here to ask you to do me a tiny favor. Piper’s Godmother Tina (the very person who has chronicled Piper’s first two Christmases and um…  her 3rd or 4th week of life- I spoke about her in this post here) has a facebook page now!

The link to it is embedded in this here sentence, so go ahead and visit her page and like it, please!

Tina is a fantastic photographer, a wonderful Godmother in training (we haven’t baptized Piper yet, but Tina was our choice from day 1), and an amazing friend. If it wasn’t for Tina, we would seriously have no photos on our walls. I’m not even joking.

When Piper was just born, Tina flew home from Washington D.C. to take pictures of our little munchkin when we couldn’t afford to pay her. How freaking awesome is that? While we don’t get to see her too much because of the distance between L.A. and D.C., I really want Tina to hit it big photography-wise (even if it means we’ll NEVER be able to afford her!). After dedicating years to helping others (she was in the Peace Corps. before she began law school- all funded by herself), I really want her to be able to flourish in photography, something you can tell she loves.

Having a few of my friends here like her page, and maybe take a look at her site and mention her to their friends is just a tiiiny way I’m hoping I can begin to pay her back for the lifetime of memories her photos have given us.