Sweet Tooth

This one we named Mr. Wiggles.  He'd been loose for two months!

You're so proud when they fall out!

Number two came out 6 days later!  The Tooth Fairy Comes Tonight again!

Your tooth falling out are so special to me.  Not for the reasons of First Grade Readiness, as Gertrude Steiner of Waldorf fame might suggest...It excites me to see you growing with such obvious indicators.  Your sweet baby teeth being pushed out of the way.  You're in those in-betweens, and your adult teeth that have come in look large and awkward in your mouth..there are so many awkward changes coming in our years together.  When I look at your face, though, it's those eyes that are the same...the same baby eyes that first met mine.  I love you, my sweet girl.  That's a constant you can always rely on through all these changes.

Ana is SIX

Now I am Six.
I'm as clever as clever.

I think I'll be Six now forever and ever.

   -from The End by A.A. Milne

You on Being You:

3 words that describe you? Cute, smart, creative

What do you want to be when you grow up? An artist

What is your favorite thing about school? Recess and PMK

What can people do to make the world a better place? Pick up litter

Favorite color: pink

Favorite song: "Here in my House"

Favorite poem:  "30 days" because it's easy; "Give me the Sun" (Whitman) because I just really love how the poet wrote the poem. It's really beautiful.

Favorite book: Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl

Favorite animal: turtles

I'm good at paying attention and monkey bars.

Your teachers tell me you are a leader, a sought-after playmate, adept at interpreting complex passages of text, even to your 1st and 2nd grade classmates...and what makes me most proud: You are sunny, happy, and LOVE learning.  A joy to teach.  On the day of the Thanksgiving celebration, your teacher, who is not prone to sentimentality, squeezed my arm and said, "Thank you.  THANK YOU.  For Ana."  Oh, if I could take credit for you...but you are just your own unique person.  And to whom can I say Thank you.  THANK YOU.  for you?
My dear, you fascinate me. Each step of this journey, I see you making connections, forming questions, establishing your values, questioning what you've been told, striving to fit in, demanding justices big and small...all the while loving the tickles between your toes, the kisses on your kissing spots (don't call them moles, or you get REALLY mad), the beauty of language, and the joys of creating relationships.  I watch you, and I wonder what you're thinking...and before I can get carried away by my thoughts, you mount the monkey bars and hang upside down and call to your friends down below, smiling with gummy holes.  I can't help but tell you that you are lovely, lovely at least once a day, and that I love you, love you each time we meet or part.  And while you are Oh So Six, and pushing limits, questioning, negotiating, fixating, and fitting, you are so remarkably kind, thoughtful, giving, and optimistic.  I know that your heart will be your beacon, and guide you in tough spots.  You are a champion of the underdog, and always expect and relish those happy endings...

You love making connections--studying Japan + Japanese strangers at Fulton Street =new friends (Mom, can we take a picture with them?  They were such good sports!)

You love having your teeth fall out!  Here you are minus two on the bottom row.  You've lost the bottom two, and the front top ones are loose!!

Your brothers are your loves, driving you mad while being your best friends at the same time.  Elliot and you play so nicely together...and when you thought a neighborhood boy was teasing him, he got your 6 year-old cold shoulder...even though he was 10.  Oliver is your baby.  You join Daddy and me in enjoying his silly moments, you save him from peril several times a day, and tickle his rolls while being swallowed up in his smile.  You have so much love to give, and you love your family, and family life. 

Is it too early to think about having "the talk?" and taking you to New York on a girls weekend?  And wiping your tears when some jerk has broken your sweet heart?  Yes, it is too early.  I think I'll just log off this thing, and go kiss you on your tummy, while it's still the same color and softness of tortilla dough before we make baleadas.  I'm in love with you. And while I can't believe you are that same little baby with a shock of black spikey hair who we fed from our finger those first few days, each day together feels like a part of that same crazy wonderful miracle.  Thank you for just being you.

Top Ten from Austin

10.  The mexican freetail bats emerging at dusk from under Congress Avenue Bridge.

9.  Zilker Botanical Gardens.

7.  Watching Ana create two items out of glass.

6.  Great shopping!

5. A late, debaucharous (sp?) night of dancing with a skirt that was too short, with no concerns whatsoever.

4.  Witnessing Becky and Jon marry.  Beginning a life together is a big deal.

3.  Seeing my 75 year-old dad in a tuxedo for the first time (he gave away the bride), and asking him to dance.  Damn, he's pretty smooth.

2.  Watching my daughter recite a poem (below) during toasts in front of 100 people.  She's so brave, and I am tremendously proud.  4 days with her was such a tremendous gift.

1. Coming home to my 2 sweet boys, and my honey of a husband.

***
In poems, our earth's wonders
Are windowed through
Words
A good poem must haunt the heart
And be heeded by the head of the
Hearer
With a wave of words, a poet can
Change his feelings into cool, magical, mysterious
Mirages
Without poetry our world would be
Locked within itself--no longer enchanted by the poet's
Spell





Peter Keslo



****

First Steps

Late August is a time for first steps for our kids...all big steps, all towards greater independence.

Today, Oliver, my 11 month-old hubba bubba, took 2 steps, then three in short succession. Ana, Elliot and I were all there to cheer him on, and he gave his trademark big-mouthed grin, with nose crinkle and eye twinkle. I know that by the end of this week, he'll be walking wherever he wants to. Including up the ramp to Abeona House, where he started this past week. He's adjusting there quite well, but some days are harder than others. And with such a generally cheerful guy, I find myself burying my head to hide the sounds of him crying. When I talk about how difficult it is with him in particular, with his temperament, Gwen shakes her head and laughs, "You were the same with Elliot. In fact, you were worse."

Which brings me to my big 4 year-old boy. This week, Elliot starts a 4 year-old program at Hazel Pa4k. It's a public school that seems to have it's act together. In my search for schools, I was amazed at what people pay for in parochial and private schools: worksheets, teacher-led learning...Jefferson parish schools had some of the very few constructivist, hands-on approaches to learning. With a good mix of teacher-led experiences in a typical classroom, with therapies on-site (that *still* subscribe to the pull-out special ed model that I hate), I know Elliot will get everything he needs. But oh, the trust of that, with my sweet boy. My sweet boy who 3.5 years ago was the reason I took my current job--I just had to be there, close to him, making sure he was getting what he needed...and he got so much more than I ever could have imagined. I can only hope that the loving teachers I met will fall under his spell--he's pretty irresistable. But as he leaves Abeona, he's also leaving his Friends. And Friend is a word that's being used around there quite a bit, as the boys move towards FOUR, they are declaring their unwavering loyalties, threatening each other with the withholding of affections, and squeezing each other with unspeakable intensity of emotion. He will be missed. And he will miss. And I will miss.

And my Ana dear, took a big step into big school--and man, is it BIG--it's a CAMPUS, populated by children as young as 2 and as old as 17. But I am ever-validated in my choice of this program for Ana...coming into her classroom, we were warned by the teacher, "Mind there's a bunny hopping around. Don't let him out!" Are you kidding me? As we entered, I saw the other animals near the windows that led to outside: guinea pig, cockateil cage, fish...as the teacher gave us the brief tour, she lifted the paper that hid the beehive, where bees were harvesting honey--from the side, I could see the acrylic tube that led to the butterfly garden...oh, my naturalist, you are home! Montessori activities were scattered here and there, intriguing any child who walked by...2 chess tables set up...the math center displayed the gears of a beautiful old music box, an old brass kaliedoscope, hour glasses of different lengths/times, colorful liquid elements floating at different temps on a suspended numberline...This made the traditional palatable--the calendar math, the desks for the 1st and 2nd graders who are in the mixed age room that face the board...a perfect blend of approaches--the labor of love of this amazing teacher who obviously has read and applied best practices over many many years...I'm excited about another place, another step where the focus is LOVE of Learning! No grades, good relationships...I just believe in this stuff...Since that bunny twitched his nose our way 5 days ago, you've shared nothing but excitement and intrigue over your new big school...and the more folks I meet, the more I realize that I'm going to be as awkward as I allow myself to be...people are people.

We're all growing up. I'm making friends as are you...you just seem better at it than I am, Ana...maybe a tire swing would help the grown-ups?

My sweet children. Watching you grow is equal parts delight and dread. You are so beautifully perfect in your ways of seeing the world...I hope the world will return the favor.

Ms Big Stuff

Dear Lil' Miss Vegetarian obsessed with Judaica,

I just ordered the backpack you picked out for big school.
I'm very excited about all the things happening for you. I'm wondering what treasures you'll put in this bag each day....I'm happy to be on this journey with you.

Love you,

Mama

Moving on

Ana's last day at Abeona was Friday.

*sigh*

Elliot's last day will come at the end of July.

We had a ceremony where kids asked that we not take their sunshine away.

*lump in throat*

That night, we went for sushi, and Elliot discovered Shrimp Tempura, Oliver enjoyed his muse of noodles, and Ana relished her California Rolls. And Kevin and I held hands over hot tea, and came home trying to catch frogs under the crescent moon, and wondered at how quickly our little ones have grown.

Again and again, how many times will we have this feeling? This sad longing at these moments passing by?

Financial Aid

It's not official, but it looks like we'll have enough aid to get this tuition within striking distance.

At the very least, the tuition will be the equivalent of a low-moderate Catholic school. And with such a good fit between child and curriculum and environment, there's no reason not to.

The paperwork will be sent off in the am.

*whew*

One down, two to go.

Now for part 2.

Ana got in C0untry Day! I'm very excited, but tentative. We still need to learn about the financial aid.

Kinder Roulette

Step right up, people. This is the greatest show on earth!

High Drama! Teeth-chattering suspense! Death-defying feats! All right before your very eyes!

On Thursday, we'll find out if our first choice for Ana's kindergarten will work out. Will she "be accepted???" Will our family still be able to buy groceries after the "tuition contribution?" Will she be scarred for life from this choice???

And if the answer to the first two is NO--
then,
-What will we do???
-Where will she go??? Which mediocre program will we sign up to join?
-What more could I have done??? Clearly, two choices is NOT enough???

And of course, the answer to number three, the "scarred for life" one, will never be YES.
Our daughter is confident, smart, creative, loving, and thoughtful.
No matter what happens with this schooling choice, this week or later this year, Ana will be fine.

Ana will be fine.

Of cementing teeth

I find myself struggling with one of my fundamental parenting beliefs coming to light. I've often said, maybe too casually, that "parenting is the process of letting go of your children over time."

Easy to say when two of my young children are essentially under my direct supervision every day, as charges in the childcare center I direct. They've been right there, with me, the Fly on the Wall, who'd buzz loudly when things could be better or different.

But things are definitely changing from within, and from without. I'm gonna need someone to hold my hand.

In this, the year that I turn 35,
-My oldest daughter will go to kindergarten. There was a dawning of her growth into another phase of her childhood around her 5th birthday last December. Despite the elongating of her features, and changing of her body, it was the cake with the bold number FIVE on it that screamed to me, "She's growing up, dummy!" Every day, just growing up. Around this whole period, I've learned so much about her...looking at SO many kindergartens that just wouldn't fit. I could feel their academic preparedness squeezing the creativity, and imagination, and Ana-ness out of her. Beyond the fear of not making the right choice for my little one, there is the fear of the move into big school itself. The move away from me, my eyes, my influence. Into a space that's all about her.

-This daughter of mine has lost a tooth. And the one next to it is wiggling. This was the tooth we watched grow a millimeter at a time. The one we celebrated, photographed, showed off, and brushed...the lone inhabitant of her gummy baby grin. I would rather her have cavities, I think, than proudly display the whole in her smile where her "baby tooth" used to be.

-My youngest boy, our wonderful surprise, has a tooth coming up in the same spot where Ana's jus fell out. And the tooth next to it is crowning. This is the tooth that we are watching grow, one millimeter at a time. The one we will celebrate, and photograph, show off and brush...the lone inhabitant of his gummy baby grin. *Sigh* Do you see where this is all leading?

-And my son Elliot, our lover and our fighter, will likely go to a program for 4 year-olds. He will be placed with typical 4 year old children in a school with a special needs preschool, in case he struggles too much. His teachers will have his IEP, and I'm to trust that it will be implemented. I will put him in the car, and I will bring him to his classroom, and I will leave him there for the day. Hopefully, someone will tell me what kind of day he had, what he learned, what therapies were implemented, if he made a friend. And I'm to trust that he is treated with compassion, that he will not be teased or harmed, that when he's stuck, someone will help him. When he can't hear, someone will notice. When he is sad, someone will care. The drive away from this place? I don't think I can make. I think I will be in the bushes, or apply to be the cafeteria lady. Almost everything I've done since Elliot has been about Elliot. And now, there he goes. And please don't tell me he'll be fine. And please don't tell me "parenting is slowly letting go of your children," because I won't be able to control my tongue. I don't know if I can let that baby go. I really really don't.

So what do I do, when cementing their teeth won't change this: they are growing, and moving slowly away from me. There is a hole in my smile.

4 headlines, 2 stories

Headlines:

• Ana's lost a tooth where Ollie is growing a new one. She's really growing a tad too fast for me these days.
• We're pulling together plans for summer camp for Ana.
• I successfully took the three kids out to eat. By myself. And had a nice time.
• Our plans for Honduras are almost finalized!

Stories:

-Elliot is pre-registered for a typical 4 year old class at Haze1 Park Elementary in River Ridge.

-I have no plan C for my daughter's kindergarten if plan B falls through. Feeling less on top of it than I was in early January.

Show's Over

I love that, upon exiting a kindergarten admissions-related Play Date,

Ana yanks the two elastic bands that tightly bind her braids,

throws them at me, and shakes her hair out while running towards the playground.

If only

Wanted:

-Stimulating K-8 school that embraces developmentally-appropriate, hands-on curriculum driven by ideas and contemporary thinking rather than NCLB

-Differentiated instruction for children at all ability levels, mainstreamed environment

-Colorful collection of parents of diverse economies with simple New Orleans values

-Strong administrative practices where teachers are led by a common philosophy, and have a support system for guidance

-Free, and open to children in any parish

Who knew this would be such a tall order?

Having just received Ana's WPPSI test results, and read many pages of positive superlatives, percentiles, words like "subtests", "coding", and "standard score" regarding4 our creative and talented child, the phrase that nags, that is the cause of stress is this one:

Behaviorally, this youngster came through as being an endearing, independent, mature, confident, and highly motivated 5-year-old. Ana’s overall testing profile indicates that she should excel within an enriched academic program.

Where the hell is this enriched academic program? Does this make it MORE impossible to live the dream that my daughter and son will attend the same school? I do not know, but apparently, I won't rest until I find out. This is exhausting.

Slender drops of rain

Since seeing Ratatouillie, that is how Ana describes the taste of grapes.

When she bites into something delectable (like white nectarines), it goes something like this:
Mama, close your eyes. Think only of the taste. (she bites)
Hmmm, I think I'm getting a little bit of something there (the one-eyed grimace as she chews is priceless),
There's a little tartness in there. Delicious!

Love it! Do we have a future food critic on our hands? I would say so if she wasn't knee-deep in bugs.

Carnival Time!

I can't believe it's only 20+ days til Fat Tuesday. We had a blast last year, and I can't wait for the Greatest Free Show on Earth.

To add to the excitement of shouting for trinkets with old friends and new, there's the Krewe of Abeona, rolling down Oak Street, February 1st at 10 am.

With this year's Queen: Ana!!!

This is perfect, given that dress up is her favorite game dujour.

And who else should accompany her for this once-in-a-lifetime event but her good friend

King Will!!!!

Here are the two at the drawing of their names:

I can't wait!

To Ana, who is 4

Lately, your dad and I keep passing photos of you as a baby back and forth to each other. It's hard to believe that you're turning FOUR. That we're buying you a bicycle for Christmas, that we're talking about "Big School," and that we've had hard conversations about so many things that we'd hoped you'd never know. And in the same silly way my girlfriends and I joke about feeling old at 33, you're still my baby. The road ahead is, God willing, a long and exciting adventure. Each day with you now is a wonderful journey.

You love a good story. It's been a year and a half since I introduced ToraLora to you, and she is the way we talk about love, fear, loss, and friendship. This year, Halloween Monster and Halloween Witch joined our repertoire in a growing pantheon of made-up characters. And now, it's not just a bed-time ritual. Now you ask for "my story" when we get in the car, even for the short ride to school or home. When I don't feel like it, we look at the window for ideas for our stories, and you talk about the process of getting ideas. "Look at that bird right next to the horse. (to yourself) Look for ideas out the window."

Great words you use: Curiousity, dramatically, soonly (my favorite).

You go through periods of requesting scary stories, and sometimes it seems like ToraLora is more Nancy Drew than ordinary girl. But in many ways, she is you, and you are her. I love her, too, and those moments in the dark when your eyes glow like two moons peeking from the edge of your quilt, are precious to me. You are my story.

You are willful and independent. You negotiate, or attempt to negotiate, most everything.

Me: We're leaving in 5 minutes.

You: No. 6 minutes.

Me: (raised eyebrow, teacher look).
You: Mama, can we please leave in 6 minutes?
Me: Ok.

We joke that you'll one day be a negotiator for the UN. Or a lawyer. Truth is, all I want is for you to be happy. Right now, your happiness is greatly defined by getting your way. And you work to understand the world by putting things into discrete categories: right/wrong, my fault/your fault, yes/no. When I explain something that doesn't fit into either, I'm met with thoughtful silence. Like learning about how mean people were usually treated badly themselves, or never knew love.

You are adventurous, and sometimes fearless. You climb trees and monkey bars relentlessly. The couch is your jungle gym. The neighbors raise eyebrows at your crepe myrtle climbing, but you have yet to fall, and are so skillful dad is threatening to build a loft in the Japanese Magnolia in the back yard.

You are competitive. And you love being "the rotten egg." You believe that the first one there gets the unique privilege. If anyone else is the rotten egg you get mad.

And while you're all over the place pushing the limits, you heed my warnings about what's safe and not. I simply say "Parking Lot" and you put your hand on the car, and in my hand and slow down. "Street" has the same effect. I hope my neuroses about this doesn't make you into an anxious adult. But I don't think so. I think you trust that I have your best interests in mind. Like when you tell Tita that what is on TV at her house isn't appropriate for you. It amazes me, and her that you are as interested in protecting yourself as we are.

You rarely play with toys, and prefer to explore everyday objects or create elaborate imaginary worlds. Among your top favorites these days are tent houses from pieces of fabric which you fill with pillows and collected items from around the house. I love looking though these baskets to see what you've assembled: a snowman sock, a mismatched earring, a roll of tape, a CD cover, a pink wig. You are content to do this on your own, although Elliot loves hiding, and will often conspire with you in your hideaway world for quite some time.

One of my favorite things to do with you is cook. You love trying to cut and peel vegetables, and are an excellent egg-cracker. Making stock for soup and baking cakes are some of our best moments. You love to eat the batter, and raw noodles, or take a mouthful of brocolli, or uncleaned carrots, and like any good chef, you're eating while you're making. You and Tita make baleadas on Saturday morning, and bring them over to us after your sleep overs. I'm glad that you're learning how to make those delicious tortillas directly from the source.

You have tremendous compassion for others. You ask about people who are homeless and hungry, or who lose their pets and loved ones. You willingly give old toys and books to those who don't have what we do. I'm tremendously proud of your caring that inspired our Heifer fundraiser.

We brought the caterpillars home over Thanksgiving and watched one take it's first flight. We watched it a little too long, and saw a bird come take a bite, and take off a wing. You wanted to call the police and the vet. After we tried tending to the butterfly for the rest of the day, we let it out. I closed the door. I couldn't bear to watch another National Geographic moment. Days later, she returned (or never left?), and you held her on your finger and let her crawl on you for an hour. We tried feeding it sweet fruits. At some point, the butterfly struggled a great deal, then became still, and lifeless. Elliot grabbed at it, and you ran to me with this horrified look on your face. I held the monarch and announced it dead, and asked you if you wanted to kiss it goodbye. As soon as your lips touched it's wings, it opened them again! It was magical, and we all thought you quite powerful at that moment, as did you. You're bonded to that butterfly now. And are so gentle and concerned about how she grows.

Today, you gave me a necklace you made at Tita's house. It has each of our names on it. You love to string things, and make collage, and PAINT. Your graphic depiction has recently exploded and you're drawing suns, flowers, hearts, people (body-less, with wide eyes and long legs), and your name in a nice neat line. I feel like we'll be lost in all the paper of yours that I want to save.

Elliot is now your best friend. He's grown up too (and is overdue his birthday letter), and his defiant insistence has gained him some credibility in your book, it seems. You and he can play together for hours happily. As long as you aren't building something, or playing with something that's just too good to share. It amazes me how readily you DO share with him...your popsicle, or purse, or tent, or game. In the last week, you've taken turns comforting each other during massive meltdowns. And succeeded in calming the other. Something I couldn't do, despite my efforts. You hold hands in the car. You ask him to use lefty, and ask him what the kitty says. You are his cheerleader, and look out for him when he's getting into a bad situation. Sometimes, you prod us into moving a little quicker...Mom, Elliot's fussing to get out of his crib. I think he's ready to get out. I never imagined the joy I'd feel watching the two of your together. You are an amazing sister to him at only four. That seems like when the role would be the hardest, but you relish it, because you love him so.

You tell me you love me throughout the day. You fill my pockets with treasures: rocks, loose beads, smooth stones, pieces of string or branch, flowering weeds. I know that you are always thinking of me, and it fills my heart, because I, my dear, am ever thinking of you. I am grateful of the opportunity to watch your imagination at work, and enjoy the spirited and loving person you are. And I'm so proud of you. Happy Birthday, Ana! I love you.

The valley is low

My friend Holly's struggles with her three year old (Ana's big buddy) prompts me to write today...of course, I can't comment on her blog, so Holly please regard this as a response to your entry, and my own need to get some support.

Months ago I remember waxing on Ana's angelic behavior at a social gathering, and the feeling of pride at her mastery, after many months of social skills and manners and potty training--all galvanizing on this one night in particular. Ah...that seems like an eon away these days. But I knew it would.

Ana regresses intensely, and these periods throw us for a loop. Although this time, I'm worried that there is something deeper happening.

Ana has begun lying. Most of the time to keep from getting in trouble. Many times about her pottyaccidents. Which are many these days. Particularly when she doesn't nap. Which is everyday. She believes anything we say is negotiable, and is now effectively using the phrase, "Tell ya what..." She has intense fits when she doesn't get her way (which is often). She says hurtful things that I thought I'd have to wait until adolescence for. And here's what makes me think there's some deep-seated anxiety (although I think I've made a pretty good case so far): she now bites her fingernails, and picks at her toenails. She does this mostly at bed time. Which she can no longer face alone. Even if we can manage to get her to sleep in her bed, she ends up in ours. For months, she's been telling me about the "Dark Shadows" that chase her in her dreams, and try to grab and touch us (not in any place forbidden. Yes, I asked.)...all of us. I ask her some nights, when we are lying in the dark, "Is something bothering you? Is everything OK? Do you want to talk about anything?" She doesn't share anything that I think would cause such stress.

She's also strangely and beautifully devoted to me...her distracted and often disheveled mother. She tells me she's in love with me. She holds my face in her hands, and tells me she loves me "anywhere and everywhere, up to the moon eight and six times." My way of parenting, which is fairly strict, is usually effective with her...but unfortunately, I feel like my first few attempts at getting her to do something in a kind voice usually don't work. She doesn't listen anymore, until I get very strong with her. Still, she wants her mama so much...and her daddy, who asks for hugs and kisses and I love yous much more than I, she slightly shuns in a playful way. They play this strange cat-and-mouse...

To me, it's like she has no doubt that Daddy loves her, but needs to know on a regular basis, that I do. Yes, I know this is typical working-mom guilt. Somehow, despite all I do, am I communicating my love to my children, and giving them the best that I can. I'm not sure what's the cause here...I just feel I should put it all out there. Am I letting her know that she's OK? That's she's a good person?

Tonight, for the first time, I withheld a Toralora story. All other consequences for behavior seem to have no effect on her. And tonight, I couldn't muster the energy or creativity after a litany of disagreements based mostly on her not listening to anything I say. These stories are like the mortar in our foundation, and she railed against me for this. And now as I write this, I wonder if I betrayed her in some way. I made it clear to her: I love you. No matter how terrible you may act sometimes. Now until forever. But my story to you is a gift. And I can't give you a gift after today.

But the beauty of our story, it is where we explore the challenges of being a human being, and it opens up the dialogue about our day, and our own struggles. I don't know if I can do that again. But frankly, I don't know what to do.

Is her behavior typical? Should I consider getting her some help? Is this what regression looks like at this age, or is my child stressed out? SOS.

Rites of Passage

In a move parallel to my own preschool stylings, today Ms. Ana got a bead stuck up her nose. She was "trying to show Gabby a trick." Some trick. It reminded me so much of the popcorn kernel I got stuck up my own nostril at Kiddie Kollege, I don't even think I responded with the appropriate alarm.

I could touch it from the opening, and imagined it being a small Mardi Gras beading number. She was squirming and panicking. What could I do? Thinking of calling her pediatrician, I thought about our Abeona expertise, and deferred to Gwen.

Ms. Gwen seemed hesitant to share her problem solving method, but then said it plainly. "Just blow into her mouth. That will get it out."

Sure enough, I laid Ana down on the floor, covered her mouth with mine, and with one strong puff of air, an enormous pink pony bead flew into my cheek with a sting.

Ana's nose no worse for the wear. But I believe that her eyes grew two-and-a-half sizes from watching this all happen.

That Ms. Gwen. What a gem.

I'm quite certain that my mom had to pick me up and bring me to Dr. Casey when this happened to me.

Another reason why McDonald's is dangerous

For those of you with sensabilities about children watching TV and fast food, you may want to skip this...

For the rest of you, you may need to be in PBS Kids viewing public.

Have you seen the new McDonald's commercial with the 5 year old girl building up her courage (and earning her Happy Meal) to hang from her knees on the monkey bars?

THis commercial has Ana riveted the two times she's seen it. And yes, today my little daredevil ventured it herself, hanging from Ms. Mary's Monkey Bars with such delight and revelry, that I thought her tummy muscles would bust.

She was so proud. I was too. But alas, we did not celebrate with a burger.

What a brave girl you are Ana.

What I know about parenting

What I know about parenting (maybe the only thing I know) is that it's hard--that children go through these phases that make me question their whole development and character--and then it gets easier--and it's all rosy and lovely. And that I'd better appreciate the lovely because the pain of growth is coming right behind it.

Ana is simply lovely. Erin and Chuck had a crawfish boil today, and I was so proud to be her mom. She looked the role tonight. Cherry dress, red hair ribbon, electric blue satin chinese shoes...Ana is developing social skills. In the past, coming into a party in progress always spelled trouble. She would hide in the layers of my skirt, especially if anyone got to gooey, or close, and wanted to talk. Even family members who she sees often. Now she is making eye contact (we work on that all the time) and saying hello, and learning about good manners and how to respond to people.
-Hello there. I love your barrette.
-Thank you.
For example.

Tonight she got the hiccups in front of Erin's newlywed friends. My darling said "Excuse me" after each of a series of 5 hiccups. At that point, I took her outside for some fresh air. It seemed exhausting, always either hiccupping or saying something. I didn't want her to pass out.

But truly. Her lovely manners and emerging social skills showed how much she's grown. And we all noticed. Looking good, Ana. I know the rough patch will be coming soon, but I see who you are through it all. Smart, loving, and kind. Keep up the good work!