I hold it.

Now that Henry is talking more and more, he has developed his own way of expressing particular feelings. For example, Henry wants lots of things - balloons, school buses, firetrucks, cereal, and really anything that is brightly colored and shiny. Instead of loudly demanding these items (well, he does from time to time loudly demand these items, who am I kidding?), he has a unique approach. He offers to take those pesky treasures off of your hands, or off of their shelf, or off of the road, or off of store shelves and selflessly carry them himself.

While grocery shopping several weeks ago, Henry's eyes locked on a most amazing sight - a 3-tiered bright purple and green cake in the bakery display case. Our local grocery store conveniently positioned the bakery display case with cakes, donuts, cookies, chocolate dipped strawberries and other assorted deliciousnesses directly across from the produce section. So, while you at least pretend to shop for fresh fruit and vegetables with your child, they can be taunted by the fabulous baked goods. Oh, and just to really be evil, the bakery entices children over by offering them free cookies. This cake, though, was too much to resist for Henry. Not only was it the purplest cake I have ever seen, it was jungle themed so it was decorated with exotic animals and jeeps. Oh, and it was $80. And did I mention that it was 3-tiers high? Henry immediately started to point - and lean over the cart as if to will the cart over towards the cake display. To get from the produce section to the meat case of the store, one has to stroll in close proximity to the cake display case (really, the store designer thought of everything). I tried to distract him while we passed, but no luck. Henry looked at me, looked at the cake, and smiled sweetly. "Cake, Mama."

"Yes, I see the cake."

"I have cake?"

"No, sorry, we don't need the cake."

Long pause. Wheels are turning.

In a quiet voice, "I hold it. I hold cake."

Then, in a bright, friendly tone, with a big smile, as if he were doing me a HUGE favor, "Mama! I hold cake." Then, he gestured with his hands as if he were holding a cake. "I hold cake for you, Mama."

Yes, because the reason we weren't buying a large, $80, overly frosted, 3-tiered jungle cake for no special reason whatsoever, to be consumed by 3 people only, was because I couldn't be bothered to hold the cake myself.

A Chin chopper Announcement and a really long story.

Since my post in August about Henry liking cheese, he continues to consume cheese with gusto and is also stringing more and more words into sentences. Those halcyon cheese-discovering days seem so long ago to me, though, because since that moment, someone in the house has been sick. And 93% of the time, that person has been me. You see, I am expecting another little chinchopper! Another little boy chinchopper! Yay - big news! But enough about them - this is about me. With pregnancy comes unmitigated nausea, exhaustion, and immunosuppression. I have had a sinus infection since the beginning of August. And when you are pregnant, you are not allowed to take any medication that might actually, well, help. The doctors give you suggestions for natural remedies like cough drops, tea with honey, and the Neti pot. I tried all of those remedies, and, unlike the good stuff that requires a prescription or at least proof of age, those "natural remedies" are easily accessible to everyone for a reason - they don't work.

[And, if I may, allow me to take a moment to comment on the Neti pot. If you are unfamiliar with the Neti pot, it is small pitcher that you fill with warm saline. You then pour the saline in one nostril, allow it to infiltrate your entire sinus cavity, and then endure the disgust as it “drains” out the other nostril. According to the fervent believers, the Neti pot is a miracle – your sinuses will thank you and you will breathe freely. The fact that I even tried the Neti pot is a testament to my misery. I positioned myself over the sink and began the saline infusion. I could feel the warmth penetrating my upper sinus cavity and then… nothing. Nothing came out the other side. About 1 cup of fluid went it, but none of it came out. I stood with a craned neck for several minutes, I jiggled my head, I jumped up and down – the fluid remained inside my head! Mike said, “It will probably drain out slowly just give it some time.” After an hour I went to bed – still with at least a cup of fluid sloshing around in my head. About 30 minutes later, I woke up with a horrible, relentless earache. It felt like the ear pressure from airplanes but 100 times more intense. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t lie down – the only position that was even slightly tolerable was sitting up completely straight with my head cocked ever so slightly in the direction of the painful ear. After about 5 hours of misery, and I mean tear-inducing misery (although, admittedly, the crying was mostly self-pity mixed with sheer exhaustion), slowly, my ear started to open gradually, the pressure released, and I could once again hear and return to bed. Naturally, Henry woke up about 10 minutes later. To this day, I don’t know what became of that saline. It must still be sloshing around up there in my head. So, if you are desperate enough for the Neti pot, consider yourself warned and best of luck.]

In addition to the respiratory infections, and all 3 of us have had multiple bouts since August (Mike and Henry get over their "colds" in about 3 days. My colds last, well, I still have one...), August/Sept were tough months for us because every week, either Mike or myself had to travel for work. I usually feel like we barely have things under control when all cylinders are firing - two healthy adults, no crushing work deadlines, no out of the ordinary circumstances - but when just one of the cogs is missing, the house of cards comes tumbling down (how many metaphors can I use in one sentence?). So, with only 1 adult present most of August/Sept, 2 sick parents, and 1 sick kid - we crumbled*. Poor Henry, he really suffered through some lax parenting. How many times did we beg him to watch TV while we shivered under 3 blankets during the hottest month of the year in one of the hottest cities in the country? But no, he wanted "to play outside." How many times did we feed him cookies for breakfast because we were too exhausted to assemble a nourishing breakfast? (Actually, I don't know the answer to this question, but one time Henry seemed so indignant that he couldn't have cookies for breakfast it made me wonder if I had ever fed him anything but cookies for breakfast?)

During this period of fever hazes and all night coughing fits, I had to go to the mother ship to give a talk at a conference. The morning that I left home, I woke up blind in my left eye. Literally, I couldn't see anything. I could tell by the horrified expression on M’s face that either my eyeball had popped out during the night and was dangling from the optic nerve or something even more disgusting had happened. My eye was sealed shut and taken over by conjunctivitis. Coincidentally, Henry also woke up with his left eye completely sealed shut. After prying our eyes open with crowbars, we both had one hugely swollen, red, leaky, puffy eye. I sighed. I had to get on a plane that morning and then give a talk the very next day. "What am I going to do?!" Mike answered quickly, "Wear an eye patch over that eye." He said it as if an eye patch was the most obvious and natural solution to the problem. I protested, "I can't give a talk wearing an eye patch - I'll look like a pirate!" Mike got a far away look on his face, and I could tell he was visualizing me giving my presentation as a pirate. He beamed.

So, off I went to the airport wearing my sunglasses all the time so people would assume that I was a celebrity who was flying incognito instead of a pregnant sick lady who was so congested that mucus was coming out of her eyes.

The next morning, the morning of my talk, I woke up blind in my right eye. Well, at least now my eyes were even - they were both equally puffy, red, leaky, and swollen. In addition to my eyesight, I also woke up to discover that I had lost my voice. Another sigh. Ok, well, I thought, I will use a microphone, it will be fine. Wouldn't you know it - at a conference center of all places - the podium had NO microphone? So there I was preparing to give the first talk of the first session** of the day-long conference - in a room that suddenly had become standing room only - in front of 200 + people, with NO voice and NO microphone.

I began my talk. And by "talk", I mean my phlegmy croak. I don't know why people stayed. Perhaps because it was the first talk of the first session and there was free coffee, people felt obligated to attend at least one session instead of meandering the hallways and checking their email (which I did during the 2nd half of the conference). After a few introductory statements, I came to the first slide that contained actual data, a data table, in fact. I turned and gestured toward the screen to explain, when lo and behold, the screen was completely blank. Empty. ALL of my figures were missing. In some sort of Mac to PC transitional error, the conference room did not display ANY of my figures. Normally, this would be one of my worst nightmares. In a way, I had been bracing myself for this moment since high school when I had to give my first talk. I am terrified of public speaking, but somehow I have survived many talks without fainting, vomiting, crying, (the big 3) and now I was faced with a legitimate reason to do all three. However, and this is the most unbelievable part, at that very moment, I had never felt more calm and comfortable in front of a crowd. In fact, at that very moment, standing in front of 200 people with no voice, leaky eyes, and now, no real information to present, my life suddenly made sense. It was as if my life to that point had been practice for this moment of awkwardness and humiliation. I smiled and laughed. And the audience did too. And I continued with my talk. I explained what the audience should have been seeing and somehow, thankfully, my 15 minutes of fame ended, and my talk was over.

* We didn't crumble entirely. We had help - thanks to Erin and Amy for their visits during what was a very difficult time!

**As an aside, presenting the first talk of the first session at a conference, even a small conference, even when I had no voice, limited eyesight, and uh, no real data to present, is a minor triumph for me. One time, I had to give the very last talk of the very last session of the very last day of a conference. The only people in the audience were my bitter co-presenters, and they all had their luggage with them and were constantly checking their watches so they could get to the airport in time to get on the standby list. The facilities team was waiting impatiently in the back of the room so that they could pack up the chairs and vacuum the floors. At least they were kind enough not to turn the vacuum cleaner on while I was talking.

Happy Halloween!

I realize that it has been a very long time since I have posted. I apologize, and I do have lots to report. For now, though, I am just going to throw up some pictures of Henry on his 3rd Halloween! This year, my mom and I made his costume - a little wizard. And when I say "my mom and I" made the costume, I mean that she let me hold the scissors when she wasn't using them. Henry attended a Halloween festival on Saturday at his school. He went on a scary wagon ride, decorated his own cookie and danced to some live music. On Sunday, we went Trick or Treating in the neighborhood. He was a little hesitant at first, but soon, out of nowhere, we ran into a giant mob of costumed kids and their parents. It was like Brigadoon - The Halloween Special. Kids of all ages appeared - we had never seen that many people outside in our neighborhood at one time. Henry barely recognized 1 or 2 of the kids, but that didn't stop him. He immediately and happily joined the gang and started running up to houses and following their lead. He was laughing and having a wonderful time. Now, every time we are outside in our neighborhood, he looks around forlornly and says, "Where did all the people go?"

I like cheese.

It was simple, succinct, and sincere. "I like cheese" was Henry's first sentence. This statement was followed quickly with two supporting comments: "Dada like cheese. Mama like cheese." He led a coherent discussion about our family's enthusiasm for cheese. Until a week ago, Henry was using one word at a time. I noticed on Saturday that he started stringing two words together, mostly nouns and modifiers, such as "Dada truck. Bye-bye Dada. My Dada." All of his two-word phrases mostly had to do with his father. I think I got a vehement "Mama NO!" when I suggested a diaper change.

It was surprising when he announced that he liked cheese because it was the first time he had strung three words together, used the pronoun "I", and used the verb "like." In fact, it may have been the first time he used a verb ever. Although we are bursting with pride that our kid can speak in sentences (remember, he is our first - we unabashedly burst with pride and marvel at his every accomplishment), Mike was hesitant about my publishing that Henry's first sentence was about liking cheese. "And why not?!" I exclaimed. I love that his first sentence was about cheese. Cheese is very important to me and, apparently, to Henry.

Haircut

This picture was taking on my phone so the quality is poor and lighting is bad, but I just think Henry looks so sweet wearing the smock and sitting in the firetruck patiently during his haircut. He will no longer allow Mike to cut his hair, and he cries the whole time at the barbershop so we took him to a place that specialized in kid's cuts. I was skeptical at first, but it didn't cost that much more than a regular barber and he was quiet and even babbled happily at the stylist.

Wisconsin

We went to Wisconsin to visit Mike's family in early July. It is the perfect time of the year to visit Wisconsin - the weather is beautiful. This year's trip was no exception. I can say with total confidence that Henry loved the trip. His grandparents' house is basically Disneyland for little boys. Dogs, fireworks, tractors, fields with bales of hay... what is not to love?

One of the dogs is a Great Dane, which is by far the biggest dog that Henry has every seen. When he first met Sofie (the Dane), I prompted Henry, "What does the doggie say?" Henry looked Sofie up and down and said, "RRRoarrrrr!" He thought she was a lion. When he wasn't sprinting through the fields or playing London Bridge by walking through Sofie's legs, Henry could be found in his Grandpa's machine shed. Tractors, riding lawn mowers, an ATV, yes, it just kept getting better and better.

Henry also had a wonderful time playing with all of his cousins. He played frisbee with Isaac and took walks with Elizabeth and gave hugs to baby William. He went to the Wild West rodeo show with the big boys, and he even got to pet a horse! In the evenings, he did a little singing and dancing to ham it up for the crowds. There was a lot to explore, and Henry did not rest until he had seen everything and met everyone. Literally. He didn't stop moving the entire time we were there. He would fly through the house, always stopping for a quick touch and go hug to Grandma, and then he was off again to play with his cousins, blow some bubbles, sit on the tractor, pet a dog, run down the lane... needless to say, Mike and I were a little exhausted from all of the Henry wrangling.

We stopped in Madison for a day and a half so we could relive the glory days, so to speak. I didn't get my fried cheese curds, but I did get some Babcock ice cream and some Great Dane artichoke dip. We spent an afternoon at the terrace (read: we spent a couple of hours trying to stop Henry from jumping in the lake). And we reconnected with a lot of friends, which is always something we look forward to during our annual trip.

On our drive back to the Milwaukee airport to return home, while Henry snacked on fresh berries from his uncle's garden, we started to plan for next summer's trip to Wisconsin.

Wisconsin

I am behind - Stay tuned for pictures from our trip to WI.

First Day of School

Since we moved, we have been on the waiting list for the daycare center at M's work. This is a good center with an excellent reputation, which explains the absurdly long waiting list. We were informed about 2 months ago that the earliest H could enroll would be June 2011. Until then, we had something that resembled a childcare plan - H's wonderful babysitter would continue to come through August and then he would start at a neighborhood daycare full-time for a few months. When June 2011 rolled around, we would re-evaluate the situation and enroll Henry into the daycare at M's work. Although not a perfect plan, I anticipated having the whole summer to prepare for the transition into full-time daycare.

While M & I were in CA just a few weeks ago, we received notification that a last minute spot had opened up at the daycare at M's work - to start immediately. Oh, and we were given 24 hours to make up our minds! I had not even seen the facility yet. This message was met with mixed emotions. Yay - he got a spot at the well-regarded daycare located at M's work! Boo - he has to start immediately and we have very little time to consider our options! Mike convinced them to extend our decision deadline for a few days - at least until we returned to the state. They obliged, and as soon as we returned home from CA, we visited the facility. We brought Henry with us.

I immediately liked the place. And so did Henry. He was running around, awed by the trucks, stage, trains, puppets, books, fort, slide, kiln( yes, they even have their own kiln!). We met his teachers, and they pointed out the giant construction crane that could be seen outside the window. The kids had drawn pictures of the crane and had been reading stories about cranes and trucks. All in all, the place was nearly perfect. I was so relieved. I felt good about the place, but now we had to survive the lead up to his first day of school.

I dreaded the first day of school and kept wishing that it would be over - just rip off the band aid already! Because it all happened so suddenly, we had very little time to talk to Henry about this life changing event that was about to happen to him. He has been in daycare previously, and he did great there, but his last full-time day care experience was almost a year ago and I wasn't sure if he would remember.

M & I were so anxious and jittery that we didn't sleep the night before the first day of school (just like old times...). The next morning, I am sure Henry was a little perplexed by the chipper yet self-contradictory tone of conversation. "Morning Henry!!! Today is a big day! But not that big - don't worry. Not that there is anything to worry about. Why would anyone be worried? But if you do, that is ok. But you won't. You will be fine. Not that you need to reassured. It will be fun. Time will fly by. But that implies that you want time to go by quickly. You won't - you will want to savor the day. Because you will be having fun. And mommy and daddy will pick you up at the end of the day." No wonder the kid practically leaped out of the car when we pulled up to the school.

Update - its been a few weeks into the "school" year now. Henry has adjusted well. I will admit that not every morning drop off went as smoothly as the first day. He has shed a couple of tears. This week, however, he is cheerfully waving "bye-bye" when I leave. When M picks him up, Henry is in no hurry to leave. Henry loves the food at the school and he is called the "water boy" because he reminds everyone to take their water bottles with them during outdoor playtime. He is also learning many new words and can drink from an open cup (versus a closed, sippy cup).

We apologize for this delay.

Climbing the stairs for the 17th time at Lambert.


After our trip to CA, we returned to STL to pick up Henry from his grandparents' house. Our flight the following day was scheduled to leave at 5PM and arrive at 7:30PM. We were aware that flying with a toddler, during that dreaded window between 5PM and bedtime (aka the witching hour), on the Friday 5pm flight of a 3-day holiday weekend was possibly asking for trouble (or at least some angry glares from other passengers), but it was the only flight home that we could find with 2 seats together. After my parents dropped us off at the airport (and then presumably proceeded directly to happy hour after spending one week with a toddler - at least, that is what I would have done), we were promptly informed that our flight was delayed by 45 minutes. Since we were already pushing the reasonable limits of Henry's routine, any type of delay was taking us dangerously close to meltdown. However, on the plus side, a delay gave us a little time to stroll around the terminal and burn off some energy. It was not long before we received our 2nd notice of another delay - now our flight was delayed 1.5 hours.

Being stuck in the airport with a toddler wasn't really all that bad. We found sections of the terminal that were unoccupied and Henry roamed freely. In fact, I wish I had a pedometer strapped to him that night because I suspect he walked several miles. The delay announcements kept coming.* Mike said jokingly, "We may not arrive home until 2:30 this morning!" Truer words were never spoken, because, as predicted, we didn't arrive home until 2:30 AM the next morning.

We decided that we should save all of our provisions in case the delay continued for hours (which it did) and that we should treat ourselves to a real meal for dinner. Every time we did a lap around the terminal, looking like gypsy caravan with a stroller piled high with backpacks and diaper bags, Mike and I would wistfully glance toward the only bar/restaurant, but, not only did it not have any high chairs, the harried serving staff and exhausted patrons shot us looks like "Don't even think about it."

So, we went outside of security in search of better dining options. Bingo! A Pasta House in the main terminal - Henry could have spaghetti and mommy and daddy could have a much needed adult beverage. Henry must have worked up an appetite from all of his airport laps because I have never, ever, seen him eat as much spaghetti as he did that night. It was unbelievable. Finally, we had to cut him off because it just didn't seem possible to stuff any more pasta into his tiny little body.

By the time dinner was over, we had received notification that our flight was again delayed 'til 10 PM. It was now technically past Henry's bedtime, and he showed no signs of slowing down. All of the pasta just gave him the energy to climb 30 flights of stairs. Literally. Henry found a flight of stairs to the upper level of the main terminal, which he could climb and quickly return to the lower level on the escalator (with assistance, of course). So, Henry and his dad completed that circuit 30 times in a row. I counted because I had nothing else to do. Ok, so by now, Henry has walked, more like trotted, through the terminal for 3 hours straight and has climbed 30 flights of stairs. Surely, by now, he was ready to fall asleep and stay asleep until we gently laid him in his crib at home? Nope. He remained wide awake.

Although he refused to sleep, Henry did eventually zone out in his stroller. At close to 11PM, we finally boarded our flight, which meant that we had been in the airport for 7.5 hours. Once we were in the air and the cabin lights were out, he finally, finally took a little nap - about 45 min. As soon as we landed, he was wide awake again. Remarkably, when we arrive at 1:30 AM at ATL, it was as if it were 1:30 PM. The place was a zoo! Storms had delayed every flight to/from one of the busiest airports in the world and there were tired, strung out passengers EVERYWHERE. We heard a few horror stories about being stuck on the tarmac for 3 hours (at which point planes are required to return to the gate) and we were grateful that, although we were stuck for hours, at least we were in the airport. I can't imagine what we would have done being stuck on the plane with Henry for that long - no deserted terminals to explore, no flights of stairs, no spaghetti, and no diapers!

We got our luggage, took the shuttle to the car lot, and drove home. We pulled in to the driveway at exactly 2:30 AM, and Henry was awake for all of it. Fortunately, he went to sleep the instant we placed him in the crib. We went to bed soon after that. The next morning, we woke up at 9:30 AM and I could have sworn that it was 6 AM. Henry slept in. Finally, at 11:30 AM, we decided that we better wake him up or else this was going to cause some significant schedule disruptions.

The 3 of us spent the rest of the day in a haze. All things considered, M and I were starting to feel like we got away with something. We left him for a week with his grandparents and he was fine; we survived a very long airport delay and, not only did he not cry, he even had fun in the airport; he stayed up until 2:30 AM and was contentedly playing the next day; so, yes, we were lulled into a false sense of confidence, even self-congratulatory in nature, when...

The moment of reckoning was upon us. At exactly 6:22 PM on Saturday, 16 hours after returning home, Henry hit his breaking point. The earth shook. The thunder roared. The wind howled. And so did Henry. It was time for his apparently much needed and unavoidable MELTDOWN.

Oh, and who, in his estimation, was to blame for all the recent crimes against him? Me. Who was the target of his fury? Me. Who did he banish from his room? Me. (how soon he forgets about the time I saved him from that poisonous snake...) The meltdown subsided after 45 minutes of solid wailing and then he fell soundly asleep. It was uncharacteristic of Henry, but I am certain he had a lot of pent up frustration and confusion to let out. Message received. The next morning, we all woke up at the usual time, in our own beds, and breathed a sigh of relief.






*As an interesting aside, we received updates frequently from the airline regarding our flight status but Mike and I never received them at the same time, in the same way, or with the same information. For example, M would receive a text from the airline informing of a new estimated departure time and about 15 minutes later, I would receive a recorded voice message from the airline with an even later time of departure. It was as if the airline planned to alternate status updates - one for me, one for Mike. Perhaps the airline thought that it would be too irritating if we received simultaneous texts/voicemails? Or maybe the airline thought that by staggering the update method and recipient, it would give us something to talk about and thus be the glue that held us together during what was certain to be a stressful period?

Henry goes on a trip.

At the grocery store.

At the children's museum.

In May, M and I were able to coordinate our work schedules so that we both attended the same conference in San Diego. In addition to the conference, we both had secondary meetings in CA so that meant we were in San Diego for a total of 7 days. Because it was a work trip, we left Henry with his grandparents in Edwardsville who had graciously offered to take care of him for an entire week. Since he was born, one of us has been with Henry every night of his life so this trip was momentous in that it was the first time that Henry would be on his own, so to speak. We had no idea what to expect - would he be mad at us? would he be scared without us? would he cry the whole time? would he be comfortable with his new surroundings? I was anxious about this trip, but I also felt that it was a necessary and important hurdle for him (me) to overcome.

Because we do not see our families regularly because of the distance, we began preparing for the visit by skyping with Grandad and Nana (Note: there has been an evolution of the grandparent nomenclature but H now says "Nana" when he sees my mother's picture so I think Nana will stick) on a regular basis. The skyping seemed to help because Henry seemed familiar with my parents when we arrived. Also, we tried to talk to Henry about our upcoming trip at least once per day in the preceding month. Just a quick statement like "You are going to visit Grandad and Nana while Mama and Dada go to a conference, but we will be back soon."

I think the pre-visit preparations helped because Henry did a great job on his visit. I think all of us were kind of holding our breaths waiting for the moment when Henry, after waking from a nap, looked around and realized that his parents had abandoned him. Turns out, that moment didn't really come. He was happy and content with his grandparents. They took the week off from work and planned all sorts of fun activities.

Henry played with his cousin Ellie, he went to the zoo, the Edwardsville children's museum, the park, the Missouri Botanical Gardens. He spent some time with his Aunt Amy at her new house. And he went to the grocery store nearly every day. As he is eager to do, Henry established a new routine immediately. He learned some new words (like juice) and developed a great appreciation for honking horns. We talked to him on the phone a couple of times a day (excessive? maybe. But we are first time parents. I am sure the time will come when we dash off a postcard at the airport while misspelling his name).

When we returned to pick Henry up after having been gone for 1 week, we were certain that there would be anger, distrust, tears, or something. Henry greeted us with a cheerful "Dada! Mama!" And that was that. (Or was it... ) In fact, Henry did so well with his grandparents that we have decided to take advantage of this opportunity and send him to stay for a few days every month.

Spring pictures

Pa and Sonny out working the fields.

Yes, I put bunny ears on him. But only for a moment. I really wanted to put the bunny ears on the cat (goes without saying), but, as you may imagine, the cat didn't like it. Also, my face has been scratched off.



Hunting for eggs.

On his first merry-go-round ride. We were at the zoo. Actually, Henry has been a man about town of late. The zoo, the city park, the museum. He is a perennial favorite in the society pages.

The stuff of legend?

The other afternoon, while I was working, the babysitter said with a somewhat alarmed, high pitched tone: There is a snake...
Me: AAAHHH!
Sitter: ... in your carport. Don't worry - it is kind of small.

I ran to the sliding glass doors in the kitchen that look directly into the carport. Sure enough, there was a snake, smallish, but a snake nonetheless. And, much to my horror, the snake was banded. Having recently lived in a snake infested swamp, I have seen more snakes than I care to remember and they all were, with the exception of one memorable encounter, solid black. The snake slinking about in my carport had a brown banding pattern. Banding patterns on snakes is not a good sign.

I have a deep and abiding fear of snakes. I once screamed so piercingly at the sight of a snake that the snake itself actually froze with fear, and Mike, who was outside, on the other side of the house, listening to headphones, thought to himself, that shriek of terror can only mean one thing.

The carport is our primary access point to the house. The carport is where we park the cars, Henry's stroller, and his favorite outdoor toys. A snake, even a small snake, in the carport meant that we were being held hostage in our own home. We could never leave again.

After about 5 minutes of watching the snake slither around the carport and listening to my nonstop tirade against snakes, the sitter volunteered helpfully: I do see baby snakes all the time when I run around here. They're pretty common... but this snake isn't that small.... Most of the snakes around here are harmless. But this one looks different. This one looks like, well, a copperhead.

A copperhead! A copperhead in my carport!

Meanwhile, Henry, who didn't seem to notice the snake, was antsy to play outside with his lawnmower and trucks. Henry and the sitter exited the house through the seldom used front door. Henry was all too eager to play with his toys housed in the carport so he charged around the house toward the carport. I quickly ran outside to block him from the carport. Already, at that point, I have positioned myself closer to a snake than I have ever willingly been. The snake was terrifying close to Henry's toys. I screamed. The sitter screamed. Henry stared in bewilderment.

Quickly, I grabbed a shovel. I decided to use the shovel to push Henry's toys out into the driveway and away from the the snake. But then, as if taunting me, that damn snake slithered up on top of Henry's toy lawnmower. On top of his toy lawnmower! I screamed. The sitter screamed. I rattled the mower with the shovel and the snake slid back onto the carport floor. Again, more screaming. I released the mower, the dump truck, and just as that damn snake was taking a suspiciously keen interest in H's stroller, I was able to roll that out from the carport, too.

The sitter cheered: Henry, your mom is a hero!

I flashed forward - how will this end? A poisonous snake just can't make the carport its home. I can't stand here all day and night waiting for the snake to slither off into the sunset. And if it does, what if it slithers back tomorrow? If I don't personally see this snake slither out of the carport and then get picked off by a bird of prey and KNOW that the snake is no longer a threat, I will never be able to go into the carport again. I will never be able to let Henry touch any of his outdoor toys for fear that the snake has curled up inside of them and will unexpectedly spring out and attack our faces. I will insist on selling the car - what if the snake crawls up into the car and lays baby copperhead eggs? Moving is really the only safe option but we have a few months left on the lease. What if the snake finds a crack in the brick and makes its way inside the house? What kind of mother am I to just let a venomous snake slither all over her child's toys and to take over our lives.

So, I did something that I never thought I would do. Ever. I'll spare you the graphic details, but let's just say that I am confident that the snake is no longer living in our carport. And it won't be back. I am not proud. (OK, I am a little proud.), but I had to defend my family against a possibly poisonous snake.

I do wonder what Henry actually witnessed. I would like to think that Henry will remember that moment as the time that I courageously and selflessly overcame my debilitating fear, sounded my warrior battle cry, and single-handedly saved the family from a large, venomous snake. This version of reality is preferable to his remembering the time his mommy shrieked like a crazy lady and attacked what appeared to be a large worm.

Mack n' cheese

Henry and I have a little tradition. Whenever Mike is out of town, we have macaroni and cheese for dinner. We both love it, and it is our favorite comfort food. Henry loves feeding himself with utensils now and refuses to let anyone help him. Here, he is working diligently on loading mac n' cheese onto his fork. Last night, while we feasted on our Kraft dinner, we listened to one of H's favorite songs - Mack the Knife. This classic became one of his favorite songs after he enjoyed countless repetitions sung by a dancing shark wearing a satin vest and a pocket chain.

Spring Cleaning*

Henry is very helpful and seems happy enough to tackle plenty of chores - so why not encourage this at a young age? Above, he is with his rake to help with the yard work. Every morning, Henry carries the cat food over to the cat's dish, I add the cat food to the dish, and then Henry returns the food to the cabinet.


Much like his namesake, Henry loves to mow. He would push that lawnmower all day if he could. Henry is passionate about the environment. Recycling is another one of his favorite activities. He loves to deposit empty cans, bottles, etc into the designated recycling container in the kitchen.


Henry and Mike washing the windows.

*Seriously though, we are not spring cleaning. Sorry, Mom. It isn't happening.

Thanks for the visit, Grandad!

North Face jacket? Check
Knapsack? Check
Rail Pass? Check

Grandad is all ready for his summer of backpacking through Europe.

And a snowman too!

Snow!?!

For the second time this winter, it has snowed here. Real snow. I know, I know, it is nothing like the snow that all of you have experienced this winter, but this is unusual for the south. Mike told me that he heard on the radio yesterday that there was snow on the ground in all 50 states (it snowed a bit in Northern Florida yesterday).

Although there was not much accumulation, when you live in a large metropolitan area that has a total of FOUR snow plows (2 of them not working), narrow, windy streets, steep hills, and inexperienced drivers, well, it shuts down the city. We are "snowed in" today not because we couldn't get our vehicles out of the driveway, but because we simply don't want to risk our lives with the other cars on the streets. It is kind of nice. Mike made stew and it is simmering in the slow cooker right now. Henry has been able to get outside and play in the snow. Our neighbors even made a snowman. And I finally have a reason to wear those rain boots that I bought on clearance at Target.

Walking in the snow.

Here is a short clip of Henry walking through the snow.

New bike.

Although he is still too small to reach the pedals, Henry loves riding his new bike (a Christmas present). This was taken on one of the colder days we have experienced. You can even see snow in the background - a rare event in Atlanta. We push the handle of the bike, and Henry rides along, ringing his bell from time to time.

Christmas Morning.

I know that I have posted since the holidays, but I didn't really publish any pictures of Henry at Christmas. He had a great time - lots of new toys, books, clothes. Here, he is taking a moment to reflect on his good fortune, health, and family.


Mike and Henry on Christmas morning. We awoke to a dusting of snow. However, this was not Henry's official first snowfall. He first saw snow when he was only 6 weeks old, in Wisconsin (in October). Although he is currently a southern boy, he has deep midwestern roots - he loves the outdoors and seems impervious to the cold.

My own milestone.

I experienced my own milestone this holiday season. It was my first time traveling alone with Henry. Mike flew back from my parent's house on the Sunday after Christmas, and Henry and I stayed until New Year's Eve. My travel logistics were relatively straightforward: direct flight, no connections, short flying time (just over one hour). My parents escorted us as far as they possibly could, and we were met by Mike upon arrival just outside of the security barriers.

Nevertheless, I was nervous about the experience. My anxiety was centered on three specific fears:

1. How do I remove Henry from the stroller, fold up the stroller, place all of our belongings on the x-ray belt, set off the metal detector alarm (thanks titanium hip!), and get my special security wanding all while wrangling a 15 month old? (Answer: I am still not sure how I managed to do that while keeping at least one hand on Henry at all times. FYI, if you are carrying a child when you set off the alarms, the child needs to be wanded, too.)

2. How am I going to change a diaper on a plane? (Answer: Didn't need to! Dodged that bullet.)

3. What do I do if Henry starts crying, screaming, flailing, whining, kicking, vomiting, or all of the above at the same time? (Answer: he didn't do any of that! He was sweet, happy, content, and mellow the whole time.)

On the flight, Henry was a tad squirmy but not resistant to being held. Really, he was near perfect - no fussing, no whining, nothing. (Of course, perfection would have been his falling asleep during take off). The only sounds he ever made were little giggles and delighted engine sounds to mimic the plane. He drank out of his sippy cup like a gentleman, read his books and even thoroughly perused that pamphlet that alerts one to the location of the exits, etc. Although one would think that sitting on a plane and holding a toddler isn't all that much to do, I felt like I was working hard. I was constantly monitoring the mood and environment at all times to detect signs of hunger, impatience, boredom, irritation, anything that might lead to a slight rise in his voice.

About halfway into our flight, I was feeling pretty good about myself. I was a competent parent who could fly alone with a toddler. My child was not the one who was screaming a few rows back. My child was not the one who was whining incessantly across the aisle. And I was not the mother who spent the entire flight saying, "Just stay in your seat. Stay in your seat. STAY. IN. YOUR. SEAT." I started to relax and began to think that I may actually be able look at a magazine. Then, out of the blue, the man seated in front of us turned around and said, "PLEASE STOP KICKING MY SEAT!"

Immediately, I felt guilt and shame - my face turned red, my heart raced, and my eyes welled up. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He turned around quickly, and I was left feeling guilty and embarrassed by the scolding. Then, I realized, no one was kicking his seat. Henry wasn't kicking, and I certainly wasn't kicking his seat. (Although, I wanted to at this point). What was this guy talking about? Did he just assume that a toddler would be kicking his seat? I caught the confused looks and sidelong glances of the other passengers in my row. What was going on? Had Henry been kicking away at the back of this person's seat, and I just didn't notice it? Henry reached for his book again in the seat pocket in front of him, and the man turned around again with an exasperated sigh. Then, it hit me. I was so focused on preventing actual kicking that I didn't realize that Henry's playing would be disruptive. Apparently, reaching for books in and out of the seat pocket felt like violent kicks to the person in the row in front of us.

I adjusted Henry in my arms so he would no longer have access to the seat pocket. But since I readjusted his angle, he quickly began to focus his energies on the poor girl sitting next to us. She was watching a movie on her iPod and that looked like quite a lot of fun. He tried to grab it. I repositioned him again. He twisted. He began to get frustrated. His squirming increased. My heart was racing, and my anxiety returned. Henry was going to get frustrated and start to really kick. Then, what will happen? The man in front of me will complain to the flight attendant. I'll be publicly reprimanded over the PA system. I checked my watch. We were getting closer. I tried for the umpteenth time to lull Henry to sleep with gently rocking and shushing. He wasn't interested. He decided to pet my hair. That was ok except every time he reached for my hair, some of it fell out of my ponytail. Since I had to have both arms on him at all time to prevent his kicking towards the front and reaching towards the side (thank God we were not in the middle row!), I couldn't fix my ponytail. So, gradually, I developed the harried mom look with my hair sticking out in all directions and falling out of my messy ponytail. I gave Henry some snacks. Of course, I had stored the snack pack in the seat pocket at the beginning of the flight so I had to ease the snack pack from the seat pocket as slowly and carefully as possible lest I set off the passenger again. This maneuver was difficult to manage while simultaneously keeping Henry as far from the seat pocket as possible. Oh, and I did I mention that Henry loves to open and shut the seat back tray? I can only imagine what the passenger would have thought of the constant open and slamming of the tray so I was also trying to divert Henry's attention from that tab. After a bit of a snack, Henry started to settle in and I could feel him getting heavier in my arms. He turned to look out the window. We were now descending. The wheels dropped, we landed safely, and as we were taxing to the gate and everyone was checking their cell phone messages, Henry fell sound asleep.

During the entire second half of the flight (and since then), I obsessed over the man's scolding. I felt bad and, as usual, felt like I had an inadequate and completely unsatisfying response to the situation. Should I have apologized? Should I have tried to explain that my child wasn't actually kicking the seat and that I didn't even realize that the seat pocket could cause such disruption? Then, I got upset. Wasn't he being a little harsh? He made me feel awful. Did he even pause and consider his options before he turned around? I bet he didn't spend the rest of the flight (and beyond) obsessing about his comment.

I realized that the man was sitting in the exit row. The exit row. He volunteered to sit in the exit row. Then, I got mad because, as a passenger, I take exit row responsibilities very seriously. When you request to be seated in an exit row, you are nominating yourself to be strong, cool, and selfless in an emergency. You are responsible for helping fellow passengers, who are mere strangers to you, find their way to safety.

Now I realized that I had to rely on this gentleman, the self-appointed action hero of my flight, to help me and my annoying child exit the plane safely and calmly in the event of an emergency. So I am supposed to believe that the person who was so disturbed by infrequent, gentle acupressure from a quiet, content one year old that he could not demonstrate one ounce of empathy, patience, or simple generosity of spirit (during the holiday season, no less!) was going to help me and my child off of the plane in an emergency? Right. How can I possibly trust a person who can't tolerate the slightest inconvenience to think of anyone but himself in an emergency?

At this point, I was (and still am!) silently fuming. I am smoldering with righteous indignation. But, ultimately, I am the one to blame. It is my child and therefore my responsibility that is causing the inconvenience. I try very hard to consider life from his position. Maybe he has a really sensitive back? Like, it is so sensitive that even the slightest pressure from the thumping of the elastic pocket is enough to cause excruciating waves of pain to travel through his spine. Maybe he is listening to self-hypnosis programs on his headphones? Perhaps his back is so tender and sensitive that he needs self-hypnosis and the extra leg room of an exit row just to endure a 1 hour and six minute flight? Wait a second ... Why does someone with such an extreme back condition and low pain threshold volunteer to sit in the exit row? I mean, you should at least have average to above average back strength to sit the exit row - don't you have to be able to lift 40 lbs? Ok, back to righteous indignation.

I learned a lot from my solo traveling experience. I learned that even if your child is not kicking, throwing, screaming, whining, talking loudly, or fussing that he can still be really annoying to the person in front of you. I learned that writing a long blog entry is a great way for me to express those thoughts that I was thinking but wouldn't dare say in the heat of the moment. I learned that it is probably worth it to buy an extra seat and strap your kid into a car seat even for a short flight. I learned that those days of listening to my headphones while thumbing through a gossip magazine on a plane are long gone.