Limbo ~ October 2010

Poop, Pee & Farts: Things I Think About Everyday

2010-05-30T00:59:00.006-06:00

Because Lauren is so much better at dealing with urine than I, she's often the one who remembers to wake Payton at around midnight and have her use the toilet. If Payton goes, it is almost a certainty that she will not have an accident all night. If we forget, it's definitive that I will throw a tantrum first thing in the morning and say the word PEE at least 34 times.

Tonight Lauren walked into Payton's room, and she startled, opening her eyes. "C'mon Bug, lets go potty, okay?" Payton agreed, got herself out of bed, but then walked into the living room where I was ~~being really productive~~ sitting on my ass. I looked at her face, eyes still glazed over with sleep in them, cheeks flushed from how warm she sleeps. "Mom, I'm ready to fart now" she said.

Uh.

What?

Payton's new thing is to declare everything is POOP and that all activities include farting. I don't understand why it's so hysterical to her, but it is. And sometimes I engage her when I shouldn't, like when she told her dad that his new shirt looked like Poop. She had a point. But usually I try to remain indifferent, like the time she said goodbye to her friend Chloe, but said it like, "Goodbye Poop!" I don't want her thinking poop is some horrible, awful thing (you can refer to her history of constipation and then her history of REFUSING to go number two at all) but I also don't want her to think it's hilarious. Listen lady, I'm all about dirty jokes, but comedians have to do a little more with their act than reference a smell bodily function.

I thought she was making another joke to me, but she didn't laugh afterwards, and Payton ALWAYS laughs at her own jokes.

"You're ready to fart now?"

"NO?!" She gave me a look like "Why would you ask me such a thing?" A look that resembled my grandma's whenever someone mentioned farts. According to her, the word alone, FART, is a deadly sin punishable by eternal damnation. If my cousins or I said the word she would ask us why we 'had to talk so nasty' and that certain things weren't worth mentioning. Of course, when you're seven, little else is worth mentioning.

"What did you say, baby?"

"Fart now... now. Ok. Mom."

Then she collapsed into my arms, eyes closed, ready for sleep. I don't know if she was sleep walking and talking -- and if so, does the kid really DREAM about the nasty F-word? -- or if she was too tired and delirious to laugh at her own joke. All I know is that when she collapsed into me, she might've pushed on my tummy a little harder than was necessary, which may have resulted in me, uh, well, letting one fly.

And because we're all a little like our 4-year-old selves at times, I might have laughed a little bit, too.

Month 48

2010-05-15T23:28:00.005-06:00

Payton Kay,

As I type this you are pouting because instead of accepting the cartoon Toucan on your birthday gift bag -- selected for it's Hawaiian theme to match your birthday party, I might add -- that has a red beak as ART, you prefer to whine and insist that toucans do not wear lipstick. Had I known that you would suffer from such a crisis as a cross-dressing toucan, I wouldn't have bought the bag. I tell you that some birds, like the one in question, may actually have a reddish beak, not all, but SOMETIMES. And that's why this particular bird is so neat! original! exciting! because it's different. However, you, like your mother, are stubborn. It's wearing da lipstick! Birds don't do that, I don't like it!

Aside from revolting against discolored winged creatures you appear quite excited about the idea of ditching three and welcoming four. The ceremonious cake might have something to do with it all, maybe, but I've also been building this up for you for the past few days as a huge, spectacular event. And it will be, on a 4-year-old level. I made a conscious effort to include as many people as possible in this celebration knowing that that may not have the opportunity to spend next year's party with you while we're living in Portland. Tomorrow, I will be your paparazzi, miss Gaga, and I will document every second, including any meltdowns about improper usage of a primary color. I got your back, babe!

This year has been one of MAJOR, MONUMENTAL change, which has seemed the norm' since you were born. I used to hate it. I thought kids needed structure, routine, and they do, absolutely, but they also need discovery, adventure, exposure to learn and grow. How very boring our life would be without any change. What would be the point? This year has miraculous. You have transformed, have become a being with unique ideas, your own style of reasoning, a personality as big as your generous heart that wants to adopt every stray kitten, dandelion, and passerby. Hi, I'm Payton, and that's Krissa, my mom, but I call her mom. We live right der, in dat house. You can come inside if you want, I can show you my room! I have lotsa toys! Every month I write these letters and tell you how much you've bloomed since the last time. Every little thing you learn teaches me a lesson about life, about humanity, about what it means to love with your whole heart. Because of you, I am a better person. The more you grow, the deeper I love.

It is a constant struggle to teach you what is "in the box" and then encourage you to think beyond it. Toys must go in the toy box. Mail is in the mailbox. Your crayons -- though I've asked repeatedly are still poking out of the cushions of the couch like staked-out sniper soldiers waiting for someones unsuspecting bum to lower itself and POW! -- still need to be put back in the box. Together we build ancient magical castles out of sand in the sandbox. Boxes keep things organized, it makes life easier, cleaner. But why must everything be contained, have a proper place, be so damn easy? Why do I try teaching you that anything is possible, anything you can DREAM can come true, while I continue to limit your creativity, your imagination -- you? Why can't birds wear lipstick?

You're the most amazing person I've ever known. I want to give you the world; I don't want you to conform to it. I want to teach you about life, and not from a book. I want to color outside of the lines, to build sandcastles in the bathtub, decorate the inside of a closet, watch the ending of a movie before the beginning, go down the slide on our backs. The very nature of motherhood is backwards from any other relationship: I loved you before I met you, I felt you move before you took your first breath, I would have laid down my life for yours before I even settled on your name. Life's paths do not always start at the beginning, nor are the roads whose scenery never changes the best roads to take. It's an adventure, a discovery, sometimes a risk, often without logic, full of surprises, alternate endings, and the gift to make each moment your own. No box. No instructions. No "How To" guide. Just you.

Tomorrow we congregate at a park in honor of you, our blessing, and your 4th year. But don't ever forget that the WORLD is your playground, Payton. Every obstacle a chance to rise above, go further, succeed, and reach all of your goals, taste all of your dreams. Don't be afraid if you don't recognize the path at times, if your surroundings aren't what you imagined. The journey continues, so will you. I felt your toes growing, tickling between my ribs, and I assisted those tiny feet with your first steps. I will continue to do so, so that you can experience the best of what life has to offer, no matter what. That is my gift to you on your birthday, all of your birthdays, all of your days. I will always be there, even if you can't see me, loving you.

Happy Birthday, Sweetness.

Love,
Mom

Snugglebaby

2010-05-05T15:49:00.002-06:00

Last night as I was lying in bed finishing the last chapter of Rebecca Woolf's book Rockabye I thought about how lucky I am to have Payton. Obviously, having a child has been a blessing for me, but having her -- particularly her -- has been amazing. My favorite parts of motherhood besides the fun things like watching her perform a new exercise for the very first time or celebrating holidays together has been the mother/daughter intimacy I have with her. When she was still an infant, she would rest in the crook of my arm, a bottle in her mouth, her eyes locked on mine and her entire hand wrapped around one of my fingers. The last bit was the clincher; if she didn't have a firm grasp on my finger, she wouldn't make eye contact, she wouldn't lie still, she couldn't achieve that level of comfort without it. So that's what it means to bond with your baby.

Like other kids, Payton grew and developed her mobility. She didn't want to sit and snuggle with me anymore. There was a pet's hair that needed to be pulled, a dishwasher full of clean dishes that had to be gutted, and a toy box stacked well above the brim that ached for it's contents to be emptied onto the floors of bedrooms, living rooms, even hallways. But when she was tired, had exhausted herself with that day's discoveries, she wanted her blankie, she wanted the crook of my arm, my eye contact, and her hand, now big enough to wrap over two of my fingers, in mine.

She's going to be four in a couple weeks, has blossomed into a happy, spunky, sassy, and sweet little girl. She's not a baby anymore. She's not a toddler anymore, either. Yet she still pushes her chubby cheeks against my lips when I kiss them, not only a sign of acceptance but of encouragement. She still likes my kisses. She wraps her hands around my neck and refuses to let go when I try placing her into her bed after she's fallen asleep on my lap well past her bedtime. I think "Oh, what am I going to do with you" when she won't just let go, when really I wouldn't know what to do if she did. Some kids don't make eye contact with their parent, don't find comfort in being close and kissing and being held. She looks to my eyes for approval, for safety, for whatever message she's looking for, I can look at her and she knows.

My favorite part of motherhood is the love I have for my daughter and the love my daughter has for me. Nothing compares.

Living Up To Her Name - Payton means "Of royal birth"

2010-04-18T21:24:00.006-06:00

I was the bossiest kid I have ever known. All of the little kids who lived in the same apartment complex knew this, and fortunately for me, they still wanted to play together and be friends. Each summer I would fly from Oregon to Montana with two missions at hand: one, swim as much as humanly possible in my grandma's in-ground pool, and two, boss my cousins around. A long day of playing dictator inspired my dad to remind me for the zillionth time in my life, "If you keep being bossy, no one will want to play with you." I stood in my normal stance, both hands on my hips, and told him, "Yeah they will. I'll make them."

My bossy nature has transformed since childhood into a full-blown independence and hard-headed stubbornness now, which has been as much of a demon as a priceless quality. You don't have to do it my way, but I'm going to.

My daughter was not left unscathed. She has inherited this boss-gene of mine, and she gives orders to everything. Random children at the playground, family member's pets, family members, inanimate objects, me, and of course, her cousins. If she believes you have the ability to do something OTHER than what you're currently doing, she'll demand you do it. Now.

My cousin flew in from out of town with her two young daughters, one older and one younger than Payton. Payton plays well with other kids, but not without telling them what they should play with, how and when they should play. After bossing around one of her cousins, my grandmother asked Payton in jest if she was "The Princess."

Payton pointed to her cousin sitting next to her and said, "She's the Princess. I'm the QUEEN."

Month 47

2010-04-16T15:21:00.008-06:00

Payton Kay,

In one month you will be four. This milestone, your excitement about everything Tinkerbell, and my obsession with spoiling the living crap out of you has created a trifecta of Bat Shit Insane for this house. Our poor, innocent bystander roommate has had to endure countless conversations that have started with, "I can't believe my BABY is going to be FOUR," or "Oh my god, Gertie, I'm going to be the mother of a FOUR YEAR OLD!" or the most recent, "Payton has such cute little knees. I've watched them change over the years with a close, watchful eye, and these are the cutest they've ever been." She usually rolls her eyes or nods her head, but that last one, she said she puked in her mouth a little.

I'd like to share with you all the neat and new things you've done this year, but first I'd also like to bring up the things you've done that have caused me to age faster than any 24-year-old should. For example, the time you puked all over Red Lobster's restaurant. "I'm so UPSET with her right now, mom!" I bellowed into my poor mother's ear. "Karissa, I know how embarrassing it is when things happen like that in public, but you can't blame her for being sick." "She wasn't SICK, MOM, she was being THREE!" And that's the damn truth. You wanted to take advantage of the free refills of chocolate milk, so when I suggested you actually, I don't know, ingest some FOOD, you were appalled. I cut up the crab linguini the way you like me to -- not too long so that it takes you your childhood to slurp it up, but not as short as a bull dyke's hair length either. Y'know, somewhere in between -- and removed all traces of the crab that previously adorned the side dish (because I can't convince you it is chicken like I can with turkey, hot dogs, roast beef, and steak). You weren't amused. You clenched your chocolate milk cup for dear life as I put that bite of noodles in your mouth. You glared at me. I glared back. You pretended to gag. I gave you the look that read DON'T YOU DARE. You dared. I cried. We left.

I'm telling you that story for two reasons. One, I want you and everyone else to know that you're a well-balanced kid. In most of these of these entries, I speak of you so highly, some have asked if I was aware that you were the second coming of Christ. And secondly, because you are so damn awesome, I want you to know that this was the worst experience with you in your TERRIBLE THREE'S. Every mom says three is way harder than two, and I agree completely. But if four is easier than three, then I've got this in the bag. If puking alfredo noodles into my lap is the most damage you could cause, I'm considering myself blessed by the gods. Not that I don't already consider myself blessed regardless of a pukey lap.

I'll admit, I was ready for battle when you blew those three birthday candles out. In my experience, you can never be too prepared for what is in store with a cranky toddler. You were easy as pie. Yes, you've been more sassy than ever, but its mostly directed at inanimate objects. Stupid shoes, weird toys, I HATE DIS COLOR! For the most part, you've expressed yourself exceptionally well for a child your age. And again, I don't take any credit for that. That was all a blessing that had nothing to do with me.

The summer immediately following your third birthday, we spent a lot of time at Brittnie and Eric's house, and you grew a lot closer to their daughter, Chloe. Those are some of my favorite memories of all time enjoying the cool evening summer nights with them.

For Halloween you were a butterfly, and you were absolutely PISSED OFF that even with your costume wings, you STILL couldn't fly. You were the cutest winged insect ever, and I'll never forget your skinny legs poking out the top of those clunky bright green boots.

Christmas with you was exceptional -- our best year yet.

This winter was also more tolerable than the last few have been despite the lower than usual temperatures. We watched a lot of movies, ate a lot of pasta, and built a lot of snowmen.

Easter was magical, watching you tear into basket after basket of toys and candy, and hunt Easter eggs all over your Great Grandma's house. I had the most fun dying eggs this year than ever before.

You went to your first movie in a theater this year, Tim Burton's remake of Alice in Wonderland. You barely made a sound, just munched on your popcorn and drank your Sprite. (You were so excited about that sprite, that I actually consented to let you drink pop.) You also wore your very first pair of flip-flops to that movie. They were bright blue 5 dollar specials from Walmart.

Aunt Destiny took you to the circus where you rode your first elephant. I asked if you enjoyed your elephant ride and you said, "I didn't ride on the elephant, I just sat on he's back and he walked me around." There's a word for that kind of thing, sweet pea. It's called a RIDE.

You did so much this year -- called your Grandpa Mark's elk a deer (that's like some redneck fighting words right there), told your Grandpa Mike to "relax" (that was epic), announced to the Thanksgiving table nonchalantly that you were picking your nose, started pooping in the toilet rather than your SpongeBob panties (thank GOD), got a big girl bike with training wheels, you got your very first scar from a water slide accident with daddy, got your bangs trimmed for the first time, went camping with Papa Mark and fishing with Papa Farrin, lived with Murphy for one month and fed him at least two years' worth of dog treats, went to Yellowstone park and was more than disappointed at the lack of swings and slides, wrote your name for the first time AND your Grandma Carol's, bought a fish and named it 'Larry', and had your photo shoot complimented by the company's district manager for being so damn cute and easy to photograph. I'd say three years old was good to you, my love.

The next time I write to you, you'll be four. My only hope is that four is at least half as incredible as three. I promise you, it will be. I'll make sure of it.

Love,
Mom

Month 46

2010-03-25T02:38:00.003-06:00

Till now, I always got by on my own
I never really cared until I met you;
Now,
Nothing else matters
You make it real for me
This is our fate;
I'm yours
God blessed the broken road
That lead me straight to you
You've got a smile that it seems to me
Reminds me of childhood memories
Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky
Now and then when I see your face
It takes me away to that special place
Where if I stare too long
I'd probably break down and cry
I got an angel
She doesn't wear any wings
She gives me presents with her presence alone
Everything I am, and everything in me
Wants to be the one you wanted me to be
I'll never let you down
Even if I could
I'd give up everything
If only for your good
I live to let you shine
I carry a smile when I'm broken in two
And I'm nobody without someone like you
Because when you love someone
You'll sacrifice
Giving everything you've got
And you won't think twice
I cross my heart
And promise to
Give all I've got to give
To make all your dreams come true
In all the world
You'll never find
A love as pure as mine
No moment was more true
Than the moment I first looked at you
I saw God today
I'll see it all in my baby
From the first breath she breathed
When she first smiled at me
Oh, I loved her first
Emotional touch,
Touching my skin
Oh it's a beautiful thing,
Don't think I can keep it all in
My heart's beating faster
Felt it melt
'Cause I knew I loved you
More than life itself
You're everything;
You're the sweetest thing to me
Girl you're so damn precious
I was made to love you
I was made to find you
I was made just for you
Made to adore you
Just the two of us
The truth is plain to see
She was sent to rescue me
In my daughter's eyes

*A poem of song lyrics featuring Heart, Metallica, James Morrison, Mraz, Rascal Flatts, Guns N' Roses, Jack Johnson, 3 Doors Down, Gregory And The Hawk, Babyface, Bryan Adams, George Strait, Britney Spears, Heartland, Tim McGraw, Hinder, Will Smith, Shane Piasecki, Toby Mac, and Martina McBride.

Payton, in two months you'll be a 4 year old, which is causing my insides to twist and turn in horrible knots. I'm not ready to be the mother of a child that is FOUR, nor am I ready for my newborn to be four, because you know you're still my newborn, RIGHT? Then again, it's exciting, and watching you grow and learn new things makes me as proud as a Rocket Scientist's mom must be. "Oh, your kid is a lawyer, doctor, saver of the rainforester? Mine is a ROCKET SCIENTIST. FTW!"

My feelings are clearly torn. No doubt, to be a parent is to be perpetually bi-polar.

If I haven't made it clear in any of these letters up until now, my purpose for all of this, my purpose for BEING is to make sure you know that you are loved. And since I love you more and more everyday, I suppose I can get past the fact that my newborn will be four. Past it, sure, but I may not believe it. How could it be?

Payton Kay, you are the reason I get out of bed in the morning, the reason I'm still here and trying, the reason for all that I do and don't do, my heart, and my soul. You're loved beyond any comprehension of the word, and beyond any musician's feeble attempt to put it into words.

It barely scratches the surface.

But it is an idea.

Love,
Mom

Future Zoologist

2010-03-15T02:05:00.006-06:00

Easter For Kids in the Hood

2010-03-08T12:37:00.003-07:00

Lauren: Payton, guess who came to see me today?

Payton: Who?!

Lauren: The Easter Bunny! And he brought me something for you.

Payton: The Easter Brother?

First Park Trip Of The Year

2010-03-07T02:24:00.003-07:00

*The pictures upload blurry for reasons unknown to me at this time. If you click on them, a non-blurry version will open.

I've started calling this Payton's Grandma face. Doesn't it look like she lost her teeth? My little sister used to make this same face when she was little. Oh the wonderful things you'll do because of your genetic makeup! Hopefully she doesn't chew her toenails like one of my crazy aunts.

I present to you, THE HAIR. Payton is particular about having her hair washed or brushed, and by particular I mean it's not allowed. She doesn't want to cut it, either -- and even if she did, uh, OVERRULED Sugar Shorts -- she just prefers the Rastafarian look of dreads, I guess. This also runs in the family. I tried my hardest to escape the Fate of the Comb, but my parents were masterminds; ever bed in the house was a WATER BED, which meant I couldn't hide underneath one like Payton often does. My crazy, cave woman-esque locks earned me the nickname Wilma. I can only smile with pride at my Pebbles.

Last Thursday the gods of Montana weather decided they'd relent a little bit and bestow upon us something we hadn't seen much of this summer -- SUNSHINE. They also went one step further and allowed the temperature to reach higher than 45! I would've been satisfied with anything above zero. The beautiful weather gave us the opportunity to spend more than 4 seconds outside, at a park, with one of Payton's best friends, Chloe. Thank you, weather gods.

Introducing, the beautiful miss Chloe Bella. She recently turned two and decided for the first time that she'd like to talk. The kid went from mute to majoring in communications with a part-time job as a public speaker OVERNIGHT. She also has the cutest little helium-like voice ever, so you really can't get enough of her talking. At the park, there's an old steering wheel attached to a wooden post that Chloe LOVES to "drive". I asked her where she was driving, and before I could get the 'ING' part of 'DRIVING' out of my mouth, she shouted "CHUCK-E-CHEESE!" The kid knows what's up.

After the park, we headed to Baskin Robbins because the weather was THAT gorgeous. Payton, or as Chloe calls her, Pee-Tin, has been talking about that afternoon ever since. "I went to da park with my frien' Chloe Bella, and we ate da ice cream at da store!" I think as much as Payton adores the snow, she got a taste of summer and caught my Spring Fever. Soon she'll exchange snow angels for butterflies, both of which remind me of Makenzee. I put them on the picture above because I call Payton, Chloe, and Makenzee "my girls".

Always, my girls.

Relativism

2010-03-04T01:43:00.004-07:00

My sister Desiree asks why Payton has enough energy to build a 9 foot sand castle grain by grain yet has refused food for 7 hours straight.

"Payton is like a snake," I begin, "she eats one good meal a week, and that's good enough for me!"

If You Let A Child Buy A Cookie

2010-03-04T00:53:00.010-07:00

After an hour of shopping Target's dollar items thus forcing myself into bankruptcy, Payton let me and the roommate know she was itching to eat by her habit of asking questions related to what she currently wants. "Mom, do you like food?" Yeah, Payton, I love it. "Yeah, me too. We should have some sometime." We decided on Fudruckers, the home of the best hamburger bun I've ever tasted. I just edited that sentence after previously stating they had the best "buns" ever. Given the context you shouldn't have conceived anything inappropriate, but I don't know who reads this stuff. You could all be very hairy and very sweaty, balding, perverted middle-aged men who still live in their mother's basement. That's exactly how my dad views each and every person on the internet. But that's another story for a different day.

I learned something tonight. If you don't frequent a restaurant often, and by often I mean more than once in a two year period, you probably shouldn't trust that you still have the menu memorized. THINGS CHANGE. I blindly ordered a number two, specified how I wanted it cooked and with what type of cheese before skipping away to select a fountain beverage. The roommate got close to me, lowered her voice, and I anticipated some sweet gossip, maybe a joke about the buns I noticed cooling on the counter. "Dude, are you going to eat all of that?" She could tell by the blank expression on my face that I was confused. Like the look I gave her when she asked why the bathroom was covered in poop. "I don't know, I don't have any idea. Payton was in there, I told her to wipe and get out." She stops me. "You told Payton to WIPE her OWN ass?" Suddenly Bob Sagget's role in Dumb & Dumberer is hitting far too close to home and I'm reciting, SCREAMING the word SHIT! over and over in my head. SHIT! because there's so much, well, shit. And SHIT! because I should have known better.

She continues. "1/2lb burger?! Seriously? You must be hungry."

I just want to interrupt all of this for a second to reflect on what I've done here, just now, mixing a post about food with some tidbits about poop. It really doesn't bother me, especially after having a kid. I think that's why mom's get "comfortable" and "let themselves go" and maybe pack on a few more pounds. Losing our appetite because of poop talk? Psh, if that happened, all moms would be a size 2. Better not talk about puke or drool, we'd be goners.

Again, I continue with the dumbfounded look, the long droopy face of a basset hound thinking harder than any basset hound should be asked to think. "I ordered WHAT?" There you have it, folks. A half of a POUND of hamburger. For me. Because I thought I knew better.

Again, with the interruption: perhaps us mom's are packin' on a few more pounds because nothing phases us AND because we've memorized menus from the days when we actually ate at restaurants and y'know, PORTIONS HAVE BECOME OUTRAGEOUS.

I hate half of that thing and loaded the other half into the Explorer by use of a cherry-picker. I was damn proud of eating that half, too. After loading it with all the glorious toppings and dabbing into the side of fries, I thought the Jaws of Life was going to make a trip to widen the front door frame so I could squeeze out. The best part about all of this is when Payton finishes her grilled cheese sandwich -- which she looks up at me and says, "I don't think I like this" and I assure it is part of her two basic food groups, bread and cheese, she'll LOVE it -- and discovers the coupon for a free cookie.

We make our way to the bakery, examine the three types of cookies, and draw conclusions. M&M cookies? Payton is very finicky about the mixing of M&M's with anything else, so that's a no. The chocolate chip cookie looks wonderful, but what is that? ORANGE frosting? On a SUGAR cookie? Just like Great Grandma Sharon makes? Folks, we have a winner. Payton is handed the cookie in exchange for her coupon. She runs back to the table where Lauren is sitting and belts loud enough for the entire restaurant to turn, stare, and smile, "LAUREN! I BOUGHT A COOKIE! My very OWN cookie with my very OWN money! This is the best cookie EVER!"

I don't care about poop. The half side of beef napping on my plate doesn't matter, either. The happiness and pure joy that kid gets from a stupid stinkin' cookie absolutely blows me away. I'm going to be giving that kid more options to spend "money of her own" on her "very own" items. I'm also going to try harder to experience happiness in her eyes. Pure, holy, my-cup-overfloweth type of happiness.

And of course, I'll try eating the rest of that hamburger as soon as I walk it in from the car. The damn thing is so huge it might as well be moo'ing and I need to make sure its house-broken before it steps foot on this carpet.

Let The Childhood Resentment Begin

2010-03-01T14:01:00.003-07:00

Waylon, what are you doing?

I'm participating in 'coloring'.

WHAT?!

You see Karissa, you say I should color with her, y'know, to be INVOLVED and all that. But I really don't enjoy coloring. In fact, I really HATE to color.

Waylon. She's coloring your STOMACH.

Not just my stomach. Look at the sun she drew on my left pec. Nice skills, right? These are washable markers; it's not hurting anything. She gets to color, I get to be involved and spend time with her, it's actually a win/win situation.

Do you have any idea how much therpay she's going to need? "Father's Blonde Chest Hair Scars Daughter For Life."

Karissa, it's not that serious. Ohhhh, good Paytie Baby! A smiley!

Flattery

2010-03-01T13:56:00.002-07:00

Our family's dinner prayer tradition is as old as any of us can remember.

Come Lord Jesus,
Be our guest,
And let these gifts
To us be blessed.
Amen.

Instead of "Come Lord Jesus", Payton begins with "Hello Gorgeous."

I still haven't corrected her.

Month 45

2010-02-22T17:33:00.005-07:00

Payton,

I'm not sure what's happened this month, or why things feel differently around here, but they do. I'm able to see you as more of a tiny adult than a big baby, and that's bittersweet, of course. I've had to deal with the fact that you aren't ALWAYS going to be a baby, completely dependent on me for everything, and always willing to smile, laugh, and snuggle when I want. But I didn't consider the other inevitability, that I will have to adjust to someone with their own personality, likes, dislikes, and preferences. Instead of picking out clothes to wear that day and simply saying, "Lets get dressed!", I have to negotiate with you between clothes that are itchy, too soft, not the princess shirt, and please not those pants, mama, they show my butt-crap (crack). I bought you a few belts to help with that last complaint, but for the most part, it's been difficult. Not the negotiating part, but realizing that this is just the beginning. I'm really not looking forward to the days when you want me to cease shopping with you altogether, because, like, you have friends to do that with, duh.

Speaking of friends, you're officially on the waiting list for -- drum roll, please -- PRESCHOOL. Meaning, as soon as they conjure up enough short people who are discovering their preferences, you'll be able to join the class. Once again, BITTERSWEET. I always wanted to be a stay at home mom with you from the moment I knew of your conception. But after two years, I decided that maybe a little break from you wouldn't be the worse thing to happen. And now that I've had breaks with you staying with family members that love you so much, Payton, that they can't control themselves when you ask for foods you shouldn't have or when you cry about having your hair brushed, I'm excited and relieved that you'll be in an environment where people will care about MY wishes and wants for you more than your adorable puppy dog eyes. No more will I have to endure conversations like, "I'm sorry about those 2 glasses of chocolate milk I gave her, but I don't think it'll hurt anything, right?" I swear on everything that is holy, Payton Kay, that the next person who gives you anything dairy and then excuses it with "I don't think it'll hurt", I'm calling them at 4AM when you're awake and screaming of stomach cramps. Then I'll scream into the phone, "LOVE HER ENOUGH TO SAY NO!" and hang up.

Wait, did I say Preschool was bittersweet? Never mind all that. This is going to be AMAZING.

You'll make new friends, you'll be on a regular schedule instead of this grandma this day and that grandpa the next day. Your hair will be combed by me everyday so that you do not accumulate a beaver's dam on the back of your neck. You stayed with Grandma Carol for three days last week -- three WHOLE days -- and you returned home with DUST BUNNIES in your hair. No, more like full grown dust RABBITS. It was as if your grandmother used your rat's nest as the bag AND filter for her vacuum cleaner. And then vacuumed the entire state of Massachusetts. I'm not even exaggerating; in fact, it was much, MUCH worse.

But jokes aside, it really is bittersweet. I didn't have the opportunity to spend this amount of quality time with ALL of my grand and great grandparents like you. You have a beautiful, unique, and special bond with each person. You love how Papa Mark teases you and laughs at all the funny things you say. You snuggle the best with your Papa Farrin, as if he has the most comfortable arms of all. Grandma Carol gets on your level and plays with you -- barbies, babies, legos, school, whatever -- until you're worn out and not a moment before. Grandma Willow inspires your imagination and creativity by feeding into all the silly stories you tell. And you of course love your Grandma Jackie who you've had a special relationship with since the minute you were born -- since SHE delivered you. I'm not taking these wonderful connections and bonds away from you or them; instead, I'm trying to give you more.

I'm learning to never say never, that things come together and fall apart as quickly as you do, and that you don't understand a damn thing until you're presently in the situation and forced to make a decision or choice. Once the mother that wouldn't dare DREAM of putting her child in a daycare environment, I'm now advocating for you to attend. Though I said I never wanted to work unless it was from home so that I could be around you constantly, I'm now realizing the importance it is for you to spend time with other people other than me. You're growing up, your needs are changing, and I have to change my mindset (once in a while) to correspond with you. You are an incredible human being, Payton, and I don't only say that because you're mine. Everywhere we go, I'm complimented on how well-behaved you are, how you have your emotions in check, and how sweet and friendly you are to all you meet. I'm ready now to let others be spectators to the amazing person you are. I know your Preschool is going to love you just as much as you love it.

Here's to the next step, Bug.

Love,
Mom

How I Know I'm Only Days Away From Chugging Prune Juice

2010-02-16T14:53:00.003-07:00

I don't know what's happening to me, but suddenly, I'm old. No really, here's the proof! In the last week, I've:

1. Had 2 nights -- TWO! Like, in a ROW! Like, UNHEARD OF! -- as a childless mama. And not even once did I take a sip of an alcoholic beverage. Or even fix myself up and leave the house.

2. Found seven gray hairs.

3. Bought a perfume I liked that most 40+ year old women are wearing. Red Door, you are simply divine.

4. Laughed at a comedian on Comedy Central when he made fun of the youth of America instead of feeling a bit guilty that I fell into that category.

5. Am overly excited about trading my dad the Eddie Bauer edition Ford Explorer -- y'know, the one with all the bells and whistles, the 5-CD disc changer, the HEATED leather seats, the sweet 4-wheel drive, etc. -- for a newer, albeit much less cooler (even with the tinted windows suited for the previous owner who was a private investigator) M.I.N.I V-A-N!

The van makes sense, because even as cool as the Explorer is, it's a drivable piece of crap at the moment. Waylon's drunken wreck did a number on the poor thing after the previous wear and tear of several thousands of miles. The van will be better on gas, it'll be trustworthy for trips that require more milage than a quick run to the grocery store or visit at my mom's (which are the only places I go anymore, hense the OLD BAT factor), and as my dad put it, "I feel more comfortable with you escorting my grand-daughter in the van." Ta-da! OLD.

I'm comfortable with this change, though. For once, my sobriety is more of a priority than a consequent hangover, no matter how much fun it is to get 'naked drunk'. That's not saying I'll never drink again, it's just comforting to know that I can enjoy a day off at home without an 18 pack. To myself.

Don't get it twisted, though, I'm still as young as the next 24-year-old. Check it out:

1. Jay-Z.

2. I'd rather watch horrible reality t.v. than something educational.

3. I have more invested in my cellphone than I do my retirement.

4. I'm still young enough to think Vince Vaughn is a "funny, older guy."

5. I'm Payton's favorite person to play with.

I'm comfortable with this balance.

Thinking...

2010-01-29T14:08:00.003-07:00

I really can't handle people who are one way ONE minute, and another way ANOTHER minute. Who are you? Could you please pick a fucking mood and stick with it?

Just This Week

2010-01-29T12:56:00.006-07:00

I took a bubble bath with Payton last night. I can't remember the last time I bathed with her in the tub, (I'll usually drag her into the shower with me if I'm in a hurry, which is never that fan) nor the last time I took a BUBBLE bath, but let me tell you this: After singing Ariel's "A Whole New World" while playing with an under the sea princess castle and interrupting our play every so often after the bubbles have collected on our chins to roar "HO HO HO!", I highly recommend them.

I also encourage you to get your children and your grandparents together at every opportunity. Payton is funniest when she's retorting after being subtly picked on by my grandma, happiest when her great papa Mike does something she enjoys like piecing together puzzles or playing catch with one of great grandma's hand sewn pillows. Grandma Sharon gallops through the kitchen, her arms extended behind her, hand-in-hand with Payton who follows singing, "Chug-a-chug-a-CHOO-CHOO!" You can't tell which is having more fun. Papa Mike mimicks a childlike attitude of frustration when he can't find where his puzzle piece goes. "Papa Mike, you needs to relax," Payton soothes. We all laugh, even Papa.

Be wary of the excuses you give your children for why they can't do something. Adjacent to the restaurant where we had dinner this past week was a casino. After eyeing the flashing lights on the Keno machines, Payton informed us that she loved those lights, the lights were beautiful, she wished SHE could play with those lights. Finally she asked if she could go in there and play. I told her no, and when she asked why (for the zillionth time that day), I told her "because you're not 18. When you're 18, you can play in there, okay?" She hunched back into her seat, defeated, hung her head and said solemnly, "Well, my heart is 18." The next day, while her great grandparents were babysitting her, she informed them of all the things they couldn't do -- play with pillows, touch her toys, go upstairs, eat her crackers -- because they weren't 18.

I can only IMAGINE what my grandparents were thinking. How did she learn THAT? What is Karissa doing around her?

Payton still hasn't quite reached that stage where she has the "wants" everytime we go into a store. Sure, she'll acknowledge the Dora the Explorer blanket, tell you how much she adores Dora, but that's as far as it goes. She doesn't want to drag it into the cart, take it home, have it for keeps. Not yet, anyway. So I thought it was odd when we were sitting down together watching t.v. and after an Aveeno lotion commercial came on, Payton leaned into me slightly and said, "I think I need some moisturizer."

Playful, funny, loving & curious.
When I count my blessings, I count you* a few times.

Life is good.

Precious Introduction

2010-01-25T13:14:00.002-07:00

A neighbor girl, upon meeting Payton for the first time says, "Hi, I'm Alexis, but my friends call me Lexi."

Payton, perplexed, turns back around and yells, "Lauren! My friends call me Payton, right?"

The Warmth in our Heart This Winter

2010-01-22T18:05:00.007-07:00

As it gets closer to the anniversary date of my best friend's daughter's death (you can read about that here and here), I'm right back where I was a year ago: angry, sad, guilty, appreciative, helpless. I look at my child, my healthy, growing little girl, and I wonder why my friend was not blessed in the same way. Hundreds of children are abused and mistreated everyday. Why wasn't this incredible mother who did nothing short of fight for her daughter's life every day for over a year granted more time with her precious baby? I still don't and never will understand.

What makes it easier to deal with, however, are the moments when Payton's curiosity runs wild. "Does it snow in heaven?" I had never considered the weather in heaven. Heaven is characteristically described as "perfection", but one man's idea of perfect is far from anothers. I, like my mother, go into hibernation mode when the temperature drops below 20 or a single snowflake hits the ground. Turn the heat up, warm that cocoa, give me a snuggie, please! I'm not going anywhere. My dad and Payton are complete opposites. The minute the fall weather transitions into full blown, frozen boogered winter, my dad is ready to take a drive, go sledding, perhaps walk up and down mountains all day hunting for something worthy enough to hang on the wall. I had two Saint Bernards a few years ago and those dogs wouldn't come alive until there was snow on the ground. Once they saw it, they'd run around in circles until they were exhausted, lie down with their noses buried in white powder, huge feathered tails wagging tail-angels in the snow behind them.

I hope it snows everyday in Saint Bernard heaven. I hope I never see it except for a far distance on mountain peaks in mine.

"I'm not sure, baby. Do you want it to snow in heaven?"

"Yes, please!"

"Then perhaps it will."

Whenever Payton asks about heaven, I always think of Makenzee. I have experienced death in my family, but never anyone so young, not that I can remember anyway. My great grand parents passed away after they had lived good, long lives, raised their children, even got to meet their great grandchildren and treat them to their stash of Snicker bars. Makenzee is the only child I know who has passed. She's also the only person Payton has met that is no longer with us. Though I know it may just be a childlike curiosity about this paradise called heaven, I like to think Payton may be thinking of Makenzee, too.

It makes me believe that somehow, through us, we keep her alive.

Living in our hearts.

Month 44

2010-01-17T21:14:00.004-07:00

Payton,

When you were a newborn, only days after daddy and I brought you home from the hospital, unless you were snuggled just so in the crook of someone's arm, you didn't sleep. You would have brief 20 minute naps here and there, long enough for me to take a shower or think, "Wow! So this is what it feels like to carry around only the weight of MY body and not the swaddled leech I gave birth to." You were abnormally alert for your age. At 2 weeks old, you would sit in your swing, eyes wide open, and stare at me with your scrunched up forehead and persed lips, like "what the hell? Am I supposed to like this? Did you forget I'm a leech? I want to be held, damnit!"

You crawled at 7 months, talked at 9, walked at 10, and was off the bottle by 11 months old. It seemed like you were either right on time (according to the "average" baby) for your milestones or even early. I thought for sure you were going to be the next Einstein, possibly solving the healthcare crisis or curing the poverty epidemic, or figuring out the global warming issue, maybe even a cure for cancer. When other kids were still learning how to eat with a utensil, you were reciting your ABC's, counting to 15 in Spanish, recognizing shapes like "hexagons" and dinosaurs like "tricerotops". Surely you were only a few milestones away from ending the war in Iraq and even making SENSE of it when it came time to begin your potty training.

That's when you gave me the proverbial finger.

"Look at your Winnie the Pooh potty! It even sings when you flush it! Look at these Dora panties! Aren't they prettier than your generic diapers?" We did everything to encourage your use of the toilet. Singing, dancing, clapping, sticker charts, computer playtime, park visits, I even bribed you with another sibling one night. "Mama, I wants a widdle brudder." "Really?" I said, "Well I want you to use the potty. Do we have a deal?" You said we did, but you never stuck to it. I think you secretly knew I wouldn't have stuck to my end of the deal, either.

We eventually came to terms with your inconsistent digestive track after a brief situation at the Emergency Room when you REFUSED to go number two. For three days. At your grandma Carol's house. You don't know this now, but given your keen intuition it won't take long before you discover what a neurotic nut job your grandma Carol is. She's an amazing woman, loves you to death, but believes every scratch on your body will become infected, your limbs will fall off, and you'll live the rest of your life as a quadrapalegic in a hospice bed. She's not exactly rational.

After learning of your bouts with constipation, your need for an extremely high fiber diet, and how all the foods you eat -- the only ones we can ever get you to eat -- all needed to be significantly reduced if not eliminated from your diet, we devised a plan. And our plan failed. And then we fell back on our plan B, and you pooped alright. Right into our Cheerio's. That's when Great Grandma McDunn came up with a plan, and I won't discuss that plan here for YOUR sake, but after 2 months of sticking to the freakin' plan, my God, I never thought I'd say this -- even had nightmares of you going to prom in a pull-up -- Payton Kay, you are POTTY TRAINED.

(Que the raining balloons, confetti, and marching band music.)

That doesn't mean you don't have the occasional accident if you're too engrossed in a Tinker Bell movie that you don't want to take a bathroom break, and of course you still need a pull up at night. Dealing with poopy underwear was a hell of a feat for me, but not as difficult as watching you struggle with something you couldn't quite figure out. It isn't often that things don't come easy for you. It was heartbreaking listening to you tell me Japanese words and their translations while still pooping your pants. And shamefully so -- ashamed of myself, that is -- I felt a bit of motherly competition, as if I was somehow losing a parenting race because my child required more time and effort for a milestone than most. It isn't easy to admit something like that, and I know it sounds as irrational as something Grandma Carol would dream up. I also know that it's common for moms to feel that way.

Some moms will lead you to believe they are the perfect caregivers, a child's dream. Some pride themselves on knowing it all, buying the most expensive clothes, paying the most in PreSchool tuition. They tell you their child "never had that problem" when you try to relate to them, wanting you to have the impression that their kids are perfect, their techniques are perfect, their entire life is perfect. It makes us "normal" moms feel inadequate at times. It gives us a competitive edge. It's ridiculous.

I want you to know that parents and kids, we're all in this together. I'm learning with you, I'm trying to understand just as much as you, and I want to do right by you in the same way you want to please me. You're not a perfect kid -- even though I've often been convinced otherwise -- and I'm not ashamed of that. I don't ever want you to feel that I hold you up to impossible standards; rather, I want you to know that I can see the extent of your potential, that I believe in you. And even though I'm not the perfect parent, that I don't know all the techniques, that I don't buy you every toy you want, that I refuse to pay more for your school tuition as a PreSchooler than I will for your college education, I want you to respect me for having the courage to say that. I want you to recognize me not only as a mom but as an imperfect human being.

Sometimes I might need a little longer than normal to come around, to see things from your perspective, to understand you. It might take longer for you to get through to me, and I might exhaust your patience, but never give up.

Sometimes I need more time.

I'm hoping you won't be ashamed of me, either.

Love,
Mom

Pets

2010-01-15T16:03:00.004-07:00

Because I didn't feel as though I had quite enough chaos in my life, Lauren, Payton and I decided we needed a pet. Lauren wants a dog, but having been a dog owner before, I know that apartments aren't ideal for large dogs. And having a small dog? That's out of the question. Our landlord has asked us nicely not to have a cat, though I know if we really wanted one she'd allow it. But "Litter Box" is all you have to say. No thank you.

Maybe a hamster? I had two hamsters once. My dad let me feed them as often as I wanted, mostly because it shut me up, and partly because he didn't care about hamsters anyway. They eventually died of obesity, their fat round fuzzy bodies toppled over one another, their cheeks still storing a couple ounces of food. And then there was a time in my life when I owned over 10 rats. TEN. RATS. My parents had given me a pair of rats as a birthday present, presumably both female. But because in vitro fertilization wasn't as popular for lesbian couples back then, I think one was a male because one got knocked up, and it kept shooting out kids like pez every few months or so. Pretty soon the rats were taking over our lives! I remember having two rat cages because Papa rat -- named 'Peanuts Jr.' -- had to be separated from Mama rat and baby rats or he'd eat them. I thought my rat was in need of serious mental help until I learned that this behavior was in their nature. Peanuts Sr. was named by a previous owner, my dad's friend Sweeny, who told me, "This here is a lucky rat." I suppose if one is known as Sweeny, its probably not all that strange that he'd have a pet rat. "He followed me home from the bar one night and made sure I didn't get a DUI. So you take really good care of him, okay?" I shit you not, those were his exact words.

Oh children of the 80's, how did we ever survive?

I definitely don't need anymore rodents in my life. I passed on the thought of birds, too. I had a pair of parakeets once, until one pooped on my dad. After that they magically escaped their cage and flew right out the backdoor. Come to think of it, I've had quite a few lucky, magical pets.

We decided to get something that wouldn't stink up the house, that was cost efficient, easy to take care of, and wouldn't break our hearts if it happened to, y'know, die. We settled on a small fish tank, a goldfish for Payton, a beta fish for me, and a snail for Lauren.

"Payton, what would you like to name your fish?"

"Larry."

A few days later, Lauren noticed Payton's fish sucking on the small hairlike fins on my fish. My fish was a female beta, not the male, so instead of the long flowing fins she had a short fluff of fins like a patch of grass that went down the length of her body. Those tiny fins, we found out, were perfect for collecting small particles of goldfish food flakes, and Larry was having a hay day.

We named the beta, Hairball.

For the first few hours of the snail's occupancy in our new tank, it was inactive. I thought for a minute that we should return the empty shell and get our 54 cents back, but then he emerged like a firecracker, sliding himself up one side of the tank, over, and down the other. This was the fastest slow creature I'd ever seen. We named him Rocket.

The fish were doing really well until our friend Robert decided to have a birthday party. And then he invited me. We had drinks, another drink, and a few more drinks. By the time I got home, I had forgot that I had already fed the fish that morning. Immediately, I fell back into my old roots (poor hamsters!) and figured since I was hungry, they had to be, too.

I fed them about 3 days worth of food.

When I woke up, Lauren informed me that Larry didn't make it through the night. I saw Hairball shooting around the tank, through the fake seaweed, under the air filter, between two decorate rocks, and back up to the top. She was trying desperately to burn off the energy from all that food, but she wasn't successful. A few hours later she was belly up, her "hair" more like a fro of last night's feast of flakes.

But since the snail lives off other fish's poop, he was striving, growing bigger and licking the sides of the tank clean. I didn't want him to overdose on all that poop and such, so I cleaned the tank. I noticed that not only had Rocket been thriving, he... or she had MULTIPLIED! There was a tiny black snail stuck to the top of Rocket's shell. I'm not sure if snails are A-sexual, if the baby snail was there the whole time, maybe living in Rocket's shell until now, or what. It sure is cute!

Now the tank is clean, Rocket and Lil Dark Chocolate are enjoying the tank alone until we make a trip to Petsmart, and we've learned an important lesson in life. A little pet chaos makes "the house" or "the apartment" feel a little more like home.

Month 43

2010-01-10T16:51:00.003-07:00

Payton,

I did something I never thought I would do, had even vowed to myself that no matter what the circumstances were that I would NOT budge, would fight through, and would keep myself from allowing it to happen. But then life happened. No, it’s not like the time I said I’d never smoke a cigarette, or that brief lapse of judgment when I dated a guy without a car… or a job, or a sense of humor, or a decent haircut. Yeah, I’ve done a lot of stupid things that I swore I’d never do. This is different. This is like the time when I swore to myself that I would never have children, not because I didn’t like them -- far from, I love spoiling kids and sending them right back to their parents -- but because I was terrified of being a parent. It’s a job that you continue working for the rest of your life; there is no such thing as “retirement” in the Parenthood career. You don’t get weekends off, you work when you’re sick, you even work overtime on holidays. Your job comes first before any other thing in your life. That being said, I could never express to you how much I love my job, and how thankful I am that God placed you into my life. So what was it that I vowed? I promised myself I wouldn’t miss a month after I began writing you these monthly newsletters. I wanted my consistency with them to be something you respected, knowing that I always took the time and effort to write to you regardless of the chaotic way life works sometimes. I broke that promise.

Mom and Payton, Halloween 2009.

Shortly after Halloween, when you dressed up as the cutest butterfly the world has ever seen, we moved out of Erik’s home and into Great Grandma and Grandpa McDunn’s. It was the best option for Erik to sell the house considering he’s still living in Washington. It was just so sudden! Moving was a blur for me, as I was still trying to maintain my sales position at Best Buy despite the significant decrease in hours. I started looking for another job when JC Penney’s came through. Before I knew it, we were moving out of our grandparents’ home and into our new apartment on December 1st. I still have no idea where November went, and therefore there isn’t a November newsletter. I’d like to say again that “life happened”, but it was more than that. God happened. He removed us from a stressful situation, He provided our family to support us and open their home to us, He blessed us with a spacious apartment at the best time possible with the best price possible. I don’t want you to think of me missing a month as a sign of poor dedication, rather an example of how good the Lord is to us, and how He provides better opportunities than we could have imagined.

Painting at Great Grandma McDunn's, November 2009

The move was difficult for you in a way that I could see that maybe wasn’t as obvious to anyone else. You told Grandma Sharon, “I want my potty chair in my OWN bathroom”, and I knew you meant the bathroom at Erik’s house. The OLD bathroom. The first time we viewed the apartment, I showed you the room you would have if we moved in. I admired the space and the colorful girlish painting on the double closet doors. “I don’t likes it” you said. On the car ride over to the new place where I had just moved in your bed, dresser, and a few toys, you said, “I had a Winnie ‘da Pooh room before.” I confirmed, “Yes, you did,” remembering how bare your room looked when we moved out, the purple painted walls stripped of any cartoon paraphernalia. You sat quiet for a minute and asked, “I will has a Winnie ‘da Pooh room again?” I told you that you could if you wanted, or you could have a Dora room, or a Wow Wow Wubzy room, or a Princess room. Anything you wanted. “I think I will likes a Princess room” you said, and I felt you starting to come around.

We celebrated Tony and Jessica’s wedding reception last night at Chuck-E-Cheese of all places, and of COURSE you had a ball. Later on that night after your bath you asked, “You had a good time tonight?” I told you I did, even though Chuck-E-Cheese is more of a headache than a happy hour for me, and you said, “Me too. I likes hanging out witchu.” Someday when you’re a teenager and it’s no longer cool to be seen with me, I’m going to remind you of this story. In front of your friends. Wearing a moo-moo and lipstick on my teeth. Just as a little payback for all that time spent at Chuck-E-Cheese.

I absolutely adore hanging out with you, too. I’d rather spend time with you than anyone, even if we’re in some kind of parental torture chamber like Chuck-E-Cheese, or snuggled up on the couch watching Polar Express for the 8th time that day, or playing with you and catching pretend fish with a pretend fishing pole and clapping at how HUGE that one is, and Oh my goodness -- that one has blonde hair just like YOU and this one’s wearing a PRINCESS HAT! Maybe God happens at the same time life happens. Maybe forgetting to write your letter is a message that at the moment, I was too busy doing what was best for you. Tonight you told me, “I just LOVES my new room.”

Yeah….
Just maybe.

Love,
Mom

More Amused With Pocket Lint

2009-10-27T04:18:00.005-06:00

Payton has never been the overly excited child that bubbles with anticipation and shakes with anxiety about Christmas presents. She's the kid that finds it utterly annoying that she has to UNWRAP her gifts. Seriously? You people spent time wrapping this just so I could waste precious time ripping it off? The wrapping paper used to be her favorite part, and now its the nuisance that keeps her from seeing what her gifts are, immediately. She'd rather you didn't wrap a thing; instead, remove the toy from the box, assemble it, install batteries if needed, and then hand it to her as so. Otherwise, she won't bother with it. On Christmas morning last year she sat in my Grandmother's kitchen eating fudge while I opened her presents. Whenever anyone would try summoning her into the room -- like, Payton, your presents are so PRETTY, how FUN, why aren't you acting like a NORMAL kid? -- she would yell back, "No thanks. I likes shock-lit." Shock-lit is chocolate, and as far as she knows it grows wild on Great Grandma's counter tops. No un-wrapping required.

For the 4th of July, I worried if Payton would be frightened by the booms and cracks of the fireworks, or if she'd love them as much as I did, and still do. But she was neither excited nor scared. More like unimpressed. My mom asked her if she liked them, and all she said was, "Theys is ugly." UGLY. Of all things she could have said, she thinks the colorful bursts lighting up in the sky ONE DAY A YEAR are ugly. I'm beginning to feel like the child in this relationship.

So I don't know why I would be surprised that Payton would detest carving a pumpkin, but I was. Payton and I have never carved a pumpkin together before. I was always worried about her trying to eat the slime and then gagging and puking, or choking on a pumpkin seed, or cutting herself with the carving tools, and I thought coloring pictures to hang on the windows was more age-appropriate. But this year I felt she was ready for the carving experience. I was WRONG. I tried to get her to help me scoop the gooey guts out, but she said it was "icky" and "sticky" and "STOP IT, MOM! THAS GROSS!" So then I asked if she'd be interested in separating the strings of goo from the seeds, so we could later on bake the seeds and eat them. I might as well have asked her to lob off her own head, because EAT THE SEEDS? EAT THEM?! What the hell was my problem, how could I suggest something so inhumane, that's just AWFUL, eating the pumpkin's SEEDS! I smelled defeat, but I continued to carve that pumpkin's face, and when it was done I didn't have a festive feeling toddler, but more of a "Yeah, that's nice, or, whatever. Can we have dinner now?"

Later on in the night, after I had already put Payton to bed, I turned off all the lights and lit the candle that sat in the pumpkin's belly, illuminating it's cheery, toothless grin. I called Payton out to see it, which I thought she would LOVE. Excusing her from her bed AFTER bedtime? What kid wouldn't be tickled about that? Especially to see the sight of a big smiling pumpkin? Payton trudged into the dark dining room, barely glanced at the pumpkin, yawned without covering her mouth, and then muttered, "I have to get to bed now" as she walked off.

This is why parenting is so hard.

Why I'm Going to Miss Her

2009-10-09T22:19:00.004-06:00

Mom, how is you dis mornin'?

Oh I'm a little sleepy, but I'm great. How're you?

Pretty.

----------------------------

Posts will resume shortly after the 14th.

Month 41

2009-10-07T16:22:00.004-06:00

Payton Kay Strebig,

Today marked the first snow of the winter season, and whereas I woke up in a piss poor mood -- because that's exactly what it sounds like when bloated, wet snowflakes melt on impact of the roof, drain into the gutters, and then pour out onto the side of the house with the elegance and grace of a drunk bum taking a leak -- you glanced out the back door, raised your arms into the air, and shouted, "SNOW, MAMA! IT'S SNOWING!" I suppose I might be a tad bit more enthused about winter if I wasn't the one paying the electric bill for all that electric heat we'll have to use, or if I wasn't the one chopping wood and burning my fingers when I decided to use the wood stove instead of paying out the ass for a bit of warmth, or if I wasn't the one who had to drive on the crappy roads with a city full of what appears to be Driver's Ed. Drop-Outs. Nah, even then I'd rather have sunshine, a fading sunburn, and a picnic table at which to eat my hamburger fresh off the grill. I'm going to miss the summer.

All day I've been reflecting on the amazing summer we had together: the mornings we spent chasing each other from room to room before finally finding your matching shoe so we could get out of the house and on with our day, the nightly visits we paid to Brittnie and Eric's house for great conversation with wonderful friends, how you told Soup And Hot Dogs that you'd have your mama spank his butt if he didn't stop offering his hat for you to wear, your adorable pudgy tummy in your two-piece swimsuit, spending time on the back porch as the day cooled into night with a bucket of sidewalk chalk for you and a budlight for me, watching you tell your grandma Carol that you would only spray the side of the house with the hose so you could "clean" it, but the minute she believed you, you had her drenched and laughing. Together we survive the winters, but we truly live during the summer.

Sunny D, one of our Sunday morning rituals this past summer.

Every year our routine changes just enough to let us know we're not re-living the same moments. Sure, we still have to get up for the day, get dressed, part our separate ways until the evening, have dinner, baths, and bedtime stories before sleeping and starting all over again. But subtle changes have been made, like the size of your pajamas and shoes, my hair color and style, Desiree's education building from public High School to Baptist College, Destiny's mode of transportation from ChevroLEGS to an Oldsmobile Alero, even the friends we see on a frequent basis have evolved from dinners with Brandon Rausch and Ashley LaMere, to afternoons with Auntie Kassie and Makenzee, now to Wednesday night get-togethers with Uncle Eric and Aunt Brittnie. In a way, we are a lot like seasons, and fortunately, we have all FOUR seasons instead of only two like Montana: construction and snow. We have construction alright, the times when we're tearing down the old things and replacing them with newer, better ones, and yet in the moment it just looks like a roadblock mess from hell designed to torture us. Although I hate winter, I'm trying to embrace change as a positive, for both of us.

In three days I'm flying myself across the country so I can keep Lauren company on the drive to Billings, to our house, her new home. This is going to be another change for us, another season in our lives, more beautiful memories made. In fact, with her being here, the friendships I've made this past summer, and of course and most of all YOU, I feel a lot more prepared to handle this winter than I did the winter before (you know, the one filled with depression and tears?) Even though its cold outside, my heart is warm about the transition. I just want you to know that if there is such thing as a constant in your life, its going to be me. I will always be here for you, ready to warm your heart even on the coldest day. I will always help you navigate through construction season so that you can find an even better alternative route. I will do all that I can to make your life crisp and colorful between inevitable life changes like the spring and fall. But my favorite season will always be the summer, when we can lie on our bellies in the grass and ponder why ladybugs aren't very ticklish like Paytie Bugs. I didn't even know life had seasons until I met you; I thought only the weather changed. But now I know that everything changes, except what you do for me. As you are the center of my universe, it's only apropos that you'd be the constant sunshine of my life.

Camping in the Russian Flats, July 2009

Even on a chilly, dreary, overcast winter day.

Love,
Mom

A Three Year Old's Day Out on the Town

2009-09-30T18:16:00.004-06:00

Oh with all that I've done wrong, I must've done something right
to deserve a hug every morning
and butterfly kisses at night.

Kids: they dance before they learn there
is anything that isn't music.
~William Stafford

We've had bad luck with our kids - they've all grown up.
~Christopher Morley

Women gather together to wear silly hats, eat dainty food
and forget how unresponsive their husbands are.
Men gather to talk sports, eat heavy food
and forget how demanding their wives are.
Only where children gather is there any real chance of fun.
~Mignon McLaughlin

There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child.
There are seven million.
~Walt Streightiff

Every child comes with the message that
God is not yet discouraged of man.
~Rabindranath Tagore

Thanks to Auntie Destiny for taking Payton to Saturday Live.
We BOTH appreciate it!

She's So Sweet... When She's Sleeping

2009-09-23T15:59:00.005-06:00

Welcome to my morning routine, please feel free to scream or cry or pull your hair out, since most mornings those are the only options I'm weighing. To function at our best, it is imperative that I roll out of bed no later than 8 o'clock. However, due to a number of obstacles such as sleeping through the alarm for half an hour because it's part of my dream like the time I pulled the fire alarm in an abandoned warehouse so that I could escape from my captor. After I escaped and was safe in the car with my 2nd grade teacher and Ozzy Osbourne, because ya know, that's how dreams work, I'm asking Shrek who's driving Cher to her hair appointment in the next car over, "Dude, don't think I'm crazy, but is it just me, or do you hear that alarm, too?"

There's also the snooze button that gets hit once or twice or for a fifth time because in my tired state I've forgotten how many times I've hit the stupid button. And then there's those mornings when I wake up to my gorgeous daughter lying next to me even though I distinctly remember tucking her into her own bed last night, wrapping those princess sheets up under her chin and draping her fleece Dora blanket over her feet the way she likes. But here she is, her tiny warm body nestled against mine, her golden curls decorating my pillowcases. I tuck my arm around her for just a minute, just long enough to smell the baby shampoo in her hair and the fading lotion scent of her skin. Then I open my eyes and realize 25 minutes have passed and, OH MY GOD, I can't afford to be late today!

Our mornings are like the clips they have in movies set to fast forward to emphasize just how much needed to be done in a blink of time. You see me, getting her dressed, myself dressed, her teeth brushed, my teeth brushed, her face washed, my face washed. Then you see me applying makeup while Payton stands directly behind me. After that, I'm on my hands and knees looking for Payton's shoes under her bed while she stands directly behind me. There you'll see I'm turning off my fan from the night before, twisting around abruptly and smacking Payton in the face who was standing directly behind me.

"Payton, stop following me. Go get your bag and get something to eat, you don't need to stand right behind me."

I go back to the bathroom to fix my hair before calling Payton in to do whatever it is she'll allow me to do with her hair that day. As soon as we're all done, I emit a sigh of relief that we aren't going to be late after all! We both go on walking towards the living room together to gather our things before leaving the house and locking the door behind us. Payton stops suddenly in the hallway, turns around and looks up at me, her sleep-filled eyes still not completely adjusted for the day which triggers an urge for me to call in sick so that I can lie in bed and snuggle with my angel baby all day.

"Mom, stop following me."

On second thought, we'll save the snuggling for a different day.

Payton Breaks Wind

2009-09-22T21:10:00.002-06:00

Why are you crying? What's wrong?

I'm so sorry, mama. I very didn't mean to!

Didn't mean to what? What happened?

I broke the wind.

You what? You farted?

I knocked it over.

(Further examination of her bedroom ensues. Spotted on the floor is the fan, still plugged into the wall, its blades whirling around on high speed.)

See, mama? I hurt the wind.

Month 40

2009-09-17T23:50:00.001-06:00

I know that this is different than the monthly letters I usually write her, and judging by last month's post you might think I've given up on writing to her entirely. But as she gets older and the content gets, maybe, slightly embarrassing or deeply personal, I'd like to keep those posts between the two of us. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop sharing her letters with everyone. I've vowed to try my hardest to make this next month's letter public friendly so that I can continue sharing bits and pieces of her with all of you.

In the meantime, I'm still posting public friendly material in place of those letters that still commemorate her age. I hope you enjoy the VERY SHORT slideshow -- kept short simply because I love the song and HAD to use it. I could've used others along with it, but then the slideshow got too long, and... well, trust me people. I did my best! Hope you enjoy.

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

The song is called Angel by Jack Johnson.

I've got an angel
She doesn't wear any wings
She wears a heart that can melt my own
She wears a smile that can make me wanna sing
She gives me presents
With her presence alone
She gives me everything I could wish for
She gives me kisses on the lips just for coming home

She could make angels
I've seen it with my own eyes
You gotta be careful when you've got good love
Cause the angels will just keep on multiplying

But you're so busy changing the world
Just one smile can change all of mine
We share the same soul
Oh oh oh oh oh ohhh
We Share the same soul
Oh oh oh oh oh ohhh
We Share the same soul
Oh oh oh oh oh ohhh
Oh oh oh oh oh ohhh
Umm umm umm uhhhhhhmm

Payton's Edible Panties

2009-09-07T17:37:00.002-06:00

Me: Paytie, I love your panties.

Payton: Candies?

Me: Panties. You look like a big girl!

Payton: Where's candies?

Me: Panties! Your underwears!

Payton: Candy underwear?

Me: Uhhh, not 'til you're 18, Payton.

Lauren: More like, not 'til you stop shitting your drawers, Payton.

E-I-E-I-O

2009-09-06T01:32:00.003-06:00

It's amazing how deeply emotional some of my blogs can be. I'll make it easier on myself and take a page out of Jamie Foxx's book to blame that on the a-a-a-a-alcohol.

Onto more important things than family woes and suicide attempts: BODY ODOR, specifically the kind that lingers on public transportation vehicles, namely the bus. Living in Montana, it's uncommon for someone who ownes a vehicle to opt for the bus in effort to conserve energy and less pollution, recycle your sandals, please, and save the fucking WHALES ALREADY! But I did take a bus from Denver, CO to Billings, MT which was approximately 10 hours long. Nevermind the man with poorly doctored stab wounds sitting to my immediate left who keeps threatening the bus driver's life or the four year old sitting directly behind me, kicking the back of my seat even though there's a good, oh, FIVE ROWS OF VACANT SEATS OVER THERE! The stench is what drives you mad. Dirty asses and armpits, bad breath and soiled clothing. The infant 7 rows back who shit his pants an hour ago but his mom clearly used her last ten bucks on a crack rock instead of some Pampers. Finally! Someone is saying something! I'll quote here this article.

(09-03) 16:02 PDT Honolulu (AP) --

The proposal to bar smelly people from Honolulu buses turned out to be a stinker.

The Honolulu City Council had considered making it illegal to have "odors that unreasonably disturb others or interfere with their use of the transit system." Anyone convicted of being too smelly could have been fined up to $500 and/or given a six-month jail term.

But officials and others wrinkled their noses at the plan during a hearing Thursday.

Lawyers from the city and the American Civil Liberties Union said it was vague and could lead to unconstitutionally subjective judgments. Members of the public pointed out that bad odors could be produced by disease, or be carried from a person's workplace.

The council's transportation committee then shelved it.

But the idea still seems to be wafting around. Councilmen Rod Tam and Nestor Garcia say they may make revisions to their bill and reintroduce it later.

It makes me wonder what kind of job you're working where you regularly go home smelling like a week old roadkill carcass in 100 degree weather. There is a HUGE difference between work-related sweat and foot odor, and someone who hasn't seen a bar of soap since Reagan's inauguration, between having onion breath from your salad at lunch and forgetting to change your underwear for a year. HUGE.

But now, because I don't want you to leave this blog thinking that I am just the bearer of horrible news -- first stolen cameras then lost friends and, god, did I HAVE to write that last entry? I'd delete it if it weren't so damn true -- feast your hungry-for-happiness eyes on this. I promise, it'll make your day. It made my entire Saturday night.

This is why you should have children.

Month 39

2009-08-27T15:02:00.003-06:00

Chasing butterflies in a multi-colored dress
Long blonde hair bouncing against your shoulders in two braids
Deep blue eyes focusing on a dead dandelion as you're blowing the seeds
You smile at me

Swimming around the pool in your arm floaties
Squinting in the sun and throwing the ball for the dog
Tilting your head to catch most of your dripping ice cream cone
You smile at me

Singing "the itchy itchy" spider in a hot pink carseat
Asking me to paint your toe nails while you're showing me your hands
Screaming out of frustration that Papa Shane is your grand-daughter
You smile at me

Not being able to sleep with me without skin-to-skin contact
Not wanting the radio on at all if its not blaring through the speakers
Not wanting to get in the tub and never wanting to get out
You smile at me

Innocent questions about where rainbows go at night, what IS heaven and why is Makenzee there, and why does great grandma's breath stink
Tough questions like where is daddy, where are the brothers and sisters, and why Papa Mark works so far away
Wondering together
You smile at me

Frustration, arguments, crying, separation, divorce
Child support, new jobs, new houses, mommy and daddy's new friends
Daycare, the absence of being there with you, for you full-time
Before I give up
You smile at me

Pictures of "circles wit da eyes and all da hairs" covering the fridge
Dolly's, forgotten popsicle sticks, even dinosaurs litter the livingroom floor
The smell of baby lotion fumigating the bathroom
Everything that matters to me
You smile at me

Deep blue eyes focus on a dead dandelion as you blow the seeds
They swirl around and land, but never stay for long
Constantly moving, floating, discovering new ground
Some landings softer than others
It continues its journey
I hold your hand
I smile back

What Kind of Park Doesn't Have Swings?

2009-08-21T18:23:00.005-06:00

I mentioned before that my friend Lauren from Richmond, Virginia was coming to visit for about a week. She's lived in Hawaii, the Philippines, Southern California, and all the way over to the East Coast. She's traveled to New York, Alaska, Amsterdam, etc., but never had any sort of inclination to visit Montana until she met me. Lauren and I met online well over a year ago and since she had never seen Yellowstone Park and already had a free place to stay and a tour guide that could be payed off with Sunkist and gummy worms, the trip was on. "It's not going to be total hickville is it?" she asked. "Well, not TOTAL," I replied honestly. "Like, is there going to be a corn husking festival or something?" Seriously? Is that the reputation Montana has with the rest of the country? Because they're goddamn close.

"Seriously? There's no husking festivals?"

"Not that I know of, no."

"Well someone has to husk it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah. Someone's husking the fucking fuck out of that corn."

I picked her up from the airport and she said her immediate reaction to me was, "Aw, she's a dork. How cute!" Uh, gee. Thank you? My immediate reaction to her was, "What is with all these accessories? Did she rob The Icing before she boarded the plane?" Needless to say, meeting wasn't awkward at all, and before five minutes passed I felt like I'd known her forever. She's a very outgoing and warm person, though. I imagine it'd be difficult not to.

She took pictures of everything including an overweight woman wearing a wife-beater with no bra riding on a Vespa. Thanks for representing us Montanans so well, ma'am! We went to the river and swam, spent an evening at the fairgrounds walking around and eating various fried foods -- Lauren's new favorite, the Rocky Mountain Oyster -- had a BeerBQ at my place with about 20 of my closest friends, and on the last day we drove through Yellowstone Park and saw nothing but buffalo. Not a SINGLE ONE. Afterwards we understood why: Obama and his family had been at the park that weekend. Payton was disappointed by the whole thing, not because of the lack of animals, but because every five minutes she'd ask, "Uh, are we at the park yet?" And I'd say, "Yes, honey, this is the park." And she'd look around and say, "So, where are the swings?"

Lauren enjoyed Montana so much -- me (well, duh, like anyone couldn't), Payton, the group of family and friends of mine she did meet, the area and size of the city -- that she's planning to come back, for good. She's had the itch to move for awhile but couldn't make up her mind if she wanted to try something new or go back to something familiar. I think she'll really like it here. I think I'm really going to like having her around even more, helping her survive her culture shock.

Here are a few more pictures of our trip, mostly taken in Yellowstone, Red Lodge, and Cook City.

Honest or Modest

2009-08-21T11:36:00.004-06:00

I was probably around four or five when I learned that brutal honesty hurts people. "Why are your legs so fat?" I had questioned my grandma one summer evening after watching her work in her garden in a pair of cut-off sweats with the ends rolled up. She laughed as my dad towered over me with that parental YOU ARE GOING TO BE SO SORRY FOR THIS LATER look, and I sat there like, so? I just asked a legitimate question, I think it deserves an answer, people! I don't remember the talk my dad and I had after that little incident, but whatever was said, I think it was enough to keep me minding my P's and Q's for the rest of, well, my life. Most times its hard for me to completely honest to someone if I think the whole truth is going to hurt them. No one wants to be told their legs are fat, or that you hate their new haircut, or that their favorite shirt that they're wearing four times a week actually makes them look like more of a heffer than the rest of their wardrobe. Loved ones have an obligation to be honest with one another, but I think there's a limit after you've already expressed nicely, "It's a nice color, but I think neutral colored fabric would make nicer curtains." You don't go on to say, "Seriously, all of these bold, busy, obnoxious colors? They're going to make it look like someone threw up the Sesame Street gang all over your living room wall!"

Payton is in the beginning stages of being entirely too honest and EMBARRASSING THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME. She sees a particular grandparent much less than she visits the rest, so already she's not entirely comfortable around them. And now to top things off, when she does have the opportunity to spend time with them she doesn't want kisses, or to even be held or played with by the grandparent because, as she put it, their "breaf stinks." I know exactly how she feels, which makes it difficult to try engaging her with the grandparent on a "just ignore it" basis. Sometimes bad breath is so bad beyond the ability to ignore it. I went out on a couple dates with this guy who looked great on paper -- excellent job, superior education, responsible with finances, respected, etc. -- but his breath was so bad, it was unbearable. He was one of those types who always had his mouth open, even if he wasn't speaking -- a mouth breather, if you will. It didn't dangle at the jaw or anything crazy, but it was open enough that even while in a confined area, such as the car, I'd have to roll down the window before I started making involuntary faces. Once he tried to kiss me after dinner and I made the excuse that our first kiss should taste better than garlic bread and french onion soup and oh, how much better would it be if both of our teeth were brushed! Then he whipped out a box of ORANGE tic-tacs and said, "problem solved!" Except nothing was solved. It actually became much, much worse, like a flowery can of room freshner in a bathroom full of shit stench. It doesn't hide or reduce the scent of poop; it adds another obnoxiously strong smell right into the mix creating the "poopourri" from hell.

I never saw him after that traumatizing event, which I know hurt him since he left about 55 messages on my MySpace. Maybe it would have worked out if I could have told him, "You're a great guy, but your breath is kickin' like Bruce Lee and my breath is more of a lover, not a fighter." I guess now we'll never know.

So, I'm trying to parent Payton with the idea that brutal, cold, hard honesty will not end the world. Asking people why they're fat or calling them ugly or any other ridiculous thing about someone's appearance is unacceptable because its just plain hurtful. But why should my child have to suffer while ol' roadkill breath breathes all over her? I want Payton to be kind enough to offer a co-worker or friend a stick of gum if she thinks it'll help their situation. But I also want her to be badass enough that if they decline, she politely lean in and quietly say, "Dude, you have Zactly Breath. It smells 'zactly like your ass. Go on, it's okay. Take the gum."

Month 38

2009-08-06T11:27:00.003-06:00

Jasmine,

You address yourself and everyone around you by the names of your favorite Disney and cartoon characters. Your obsession has been that of Aladdin, and should anyone refer to you as Payton you’ll kindly inform them that you are to be known as Jasmine and, as a matter of fact, you’d like to change their names to Genie or Abu. Papa Mark came over this afternoon to manicure our lawn of dead grass, weeds, and broken tree limbs so that it doesn’t look like a hooker’s gynecological exam anymore. You ran out to greet him and shouted, “Genie! Come in my house so we can ride on the magic carpet!” I love your imagination, like one hell of an acid trip.

You spent the 4th of July with Grandma Jackie at her friends’ barbeque and played with your friend, Montgomery. Grandma said you had a great time, enjoyed the whole evening except for the fireworks, which really baffles my mind. It’s like going to a water park and saying, “I loved it here! Except for those slides and all that water. Wasn’t my thing.” How can you NOT like fireworks on the 4th of July? Grandma asked you, “Did you like the fireworks, Payton?” and you replied, “No. They’s ugly.” Not loud, or scary, or even uninteresting. You think they’re ugly.

We went camping during Papa Mark and Aunt Destiny’s birthdays, and you had a blast. I wasn’t sure how well you’d adapt to sleeping in a tent since you’re partial to any sleeping area that isn’t your bed, or how you’d like eating food cooked over a campfire, having to be cautious of a campfire, using a port-a-potty that lacks the one great thing about actually pooping in a potty and not your pants -- the FLUSHER -- and all those bugs, noises, etc. But you handled it all remarkably well. Each night you slept between Destiny and me on the air-mattress and would tell Destiny, immediately after she brushed her teeth, “Yous breaf stinks.” You paid little attention to the fire at all, except you loved throwing your garbage into it and watching it melt away as fast as you could toss it. You rode the 4-wheeler, fly-fished, touch your very first fish (a cut-throat), and walked a mile hike all by yourself. Some people don’t like taking little kids camping, for obvious reasons, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget those four days when I watched you chase butterflies and pick wild flowers. There’s a calmness you feel in the middle of nowhere, a sense of peace and right and comfort, almost as if being that high in the mountains has brought you closer to God himself. And on the last day, as we were packing up camp to head home, a butterfly landed on your hand and stayed there despite you running, jumping, and flailing yourself about. There’s an old poem about butterflies floating free in the meadows and how they are our loved ones passed, and for a brief moment I thought of Makenzee.

You’re starting to talk more and tell crazy outlandish stories about things that have never happened before. I can relate to this, since I once told my babysitter that when I was naughty my dad would hang me upside down in the closet by my toenails or some ridiculous thing. People convince themselves that “children don’t just say things” but I’m proof -- and you, too -- that sometimes, they do. It’s hard to be put in that position, as a parent, to distinguish between a tall-tale you’re making up, the total truth, or maybe even a half-truth. I think a smart parent is cautious of everyone who is alone with their child, even family and friends -- ESPECIALLY family and friends -- because trusting anyone too much makes it easier not to notice things that should be easily seen. I don’t think anyone has hurt or harmed you in any way, obviously, because I’m not in prison for seeking revenge. But I am becoming aware of the things you say, like, “He hurt me” or “She don’t like me” or “I scared of them”. All of this is the beginning of what will commence to being an open conversation you and I will have over and over again about good touch vs. bad touch, and that should anything happen, no matter how minor you think it is, I WANT TO KNOW. I have to know, I need to know, so that I can protect you. I tried the conversation out on you today, and this is how that went:

“If someone is mean to you, mean to Payton -- er, I mean Jasmine, or Payton -- you have to tell mommy, okay?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah, you tell mommy if anyone touches you, okay?”

“Touch me?”

“Yeah, on your no-no spots. You tell mommy, okay?”

“Yeah!”

“Alright, so if someone’s mean to you, what do you do?”

“Uhmmm….. Can I has a popsicle?”

So clearly, you understood everything I was saying and it was a really deep, outstanding conversation that made me feel all safe, warm, and fuzzy inside. I’ll keep the dialogue flowing, though, and I’m sure you’ll understand it soon.

In a twist of irony -- right about the time you start telling me things that I question -- Michael Jackson dies of cardiac arrest. I think of him as more of a pop icon in my parents’ day and age, but because of his crazy shenanigans in the media and his creepy interviews about how he didn’t find it the least bit inappropriate to let little boys sleep with him in his bed, EVERYONE is familiar with Michael Jackson and his peculiar appearance. Some think of him as the King of Pop, bigger than the Beatles, whose unique dance moves have set trends that are still being followed. Others simply see a man who never had a childhood and had grown into a monstrosity of insecurities and questionable behavior. I think its safe to say that things happened during his childhood that affected him as an adult, much like any type of child abuse will affect a person well into adulthood, even for the rest of their life. I have watched it happen to someone extremely close to me, watch them transform from one person to another after such a traumatic event. You are my little acid trip, my bubble of joy and happiness that never shuts up, my innocent wellspring of love, beauty, and acceptance, whose heart is so pure and good that even while hopping and skipping a butterfly considers you safe enough to land upon. You have a fire inside of you that burns so bright, people can’t help but be warmed by your glow. I don’t ever want you to lose that, I don’t ever want anyone to strip you of that. Thank you for your tall tales, for opening my eyes that I need to be aware of your surroundings even more, for not letting me forget that I have to protect you even in the safest of environments. I hope you’re always honest with me so that I can keep you safe, and I put my trust in God that he gives me the knowledge to know when you’re just reciting lines from a cartoon or expressing real fear.

I love you, Jasmine, my little princess. But just because you call me the Genie and ask for three wishes, doesn’t mean I’ll always say yes. I’m still your mom, and wishing for things like a THIRD FUDGSICLE in a row just can’t be granted.

Love,
Mom

When Selfishness is Still a Tiny Bit Cute

2009-06-22T11:57:00.003-06:00

"Dats Mine!"

"You have to share, Payton."

"Share?"

"Yes, share. You have to let other people use it, too."

"It's mine?"

"Yes, its yours."

"Gimmie it!"

"There are 9 other pieces of sidewalk chalk right there. Why do you have to have THIS one?"

"Actually, 'cuz its MINE."

Month 37

2009-06-20T11:42:00.000-06:00

Payton,

I'm not entirely sure if this statement is true, but I think this is the latest I've ever written to you. I mentioned in a previous post that your newsletters are generally early because it's just too hard waiting an entire month to delve into all the adorable and not-so-adorable things you've been doing the past month. I want you to know that this letter wasn't any different even though its four days late. It wasn't that I put off writing because I wasn't excited to share YOU with, well, you. In fact, there really isn't a reason why this letter is so late, other than I hadn't even realized an entire month had gone by so quickly until just yesterday when I looked at the date and shook my head in disbelief that June was going to be over with so soon. I apologize for my absent-mindedness, but I want you to know that your due date was the 12th, and despite my jumping jacks, walking two miles a day until my feet were so swollen I could barely remove my flip-flops, and eating every food in the book of Old Wive's Tales that supposedly induced labor, you wouldn't present yourself until you were darned good and ready -- four days late. I think you can cut me a little slack, right?

Last month the entire family kept asking you, "Payton, are you going to have a birthday? When? How old will you be?" And I would prompt you to respond with the correct information. Now you think that's normal chit-chat with everyone you meet. You asked a woman at the post office, "When your birt-day?" She told you the month and you said, "How old you gon' be?" She admitted that she was going to be 68 before you opened your eyes real big and shouted, "SIXTY-EIGHT?!" and then gave her a look that was a mixture of worry and horror. She patted your head as she nodded and said, "Yeah, honey. I know."

Each month -- or maybe even each week -- a little more of your personality unfolds before my eyes. You've revealed to me how sweet you can be through your relationship with Makenzee. You've demonstrated your independence when you started dressing yourself and choosing your own breakfast cereal. And you've shown me how exceptionally smart you are when I hear you talking in complete sentences or carrying on a conversation with me while other kids your age or older have difficulty doing so. But this month you're letting me in on your wild side. The side of you that came from the Eating An Eighth Of Shrooms And Staring At Aunt Kassie's Face For Three Hours Thinking She Was Made Of Peanut Butter side of me. It's okay, sweetheart; I blame myself.

You enjoy pushing my buttons if only to see how much I will allow you to get away with. Removing things from the shelves at the grocery store is one thing, but painting you, the coffee table, the hardwood floors, and the couch with maroon nailpolish is quite another. "Payton. Kay. STREBIG! What in the HELL are you DOING?" I asked, and you put your hands on your hips, cocked your head to the side, and said with an attitude that resembled Aunt Destiny's all too well, "Uh, PAINTING." Like, duh mom. What does it look like? The night before I had watched the new 'Friday the 13th' movie -- probably part 60 or some junk; seriously, how many are they going to make? -- and I'll admit that at first glance of you covered in maroon polish I nearly suffered cardiac arrest until you held out your hand and said, "Look, mama. I paint my nails, too." I wanted to scream, cry, run away, call your dad and tell him I couldn't cope with this right now as I was already late for work and damn it, he's your parent, too! But I didn't. I gave you a smile that was a mixture of worry and horror and said, "I think you may have smudged a little."

I also blame myself for the nail polish, even though I had put it up onto the computer desk shelf assuming you wouldn't climb over the desk and all of the junk cluttering it, nor did I think you'd even be able to open it by chance you did. Oh how I hath underestimated Thy Paytster. I think its safe to say that I hate the times when I don't give you, your curiousity, or your intelligence enough credit and you go on and cover a basket of freshly folded laundry with an entire tube of toothpaste. Tonight as we were enjoying the cool summer weather, me in the lawn chair reading Cosmopolitan and you swinging on your porch swing, you noticed I had gum in my mouth. "Mama, I hasta go potty, okay?" you said, walking through the backdoor and into the house. "Okay, good girl!" I cheered you on. You walked out about half a second later and said, "Okay, I done!" Since I knew it was impossible for you to have done your business in such a short time, I inspected your shorts for any sign of accident. None. "You didn't go potty," I told you, but before I could finish you yelled, "Yes I did! I go potty! And I like da color pink, and gum is pink. You has pink, mama? Oh I see it! You do! I can has some now?" I love it when you think you're being slick and pulling the wool over my eyes. One day you will succeed and that may just piss me off. But right now, it's just adorable.

Its my hope that even as a teenager, I will have raised you in a way that I won't have to be concerned about underestimating how sneaky you can be behind my back, with matters more pressing than nail polish of course. I often think to myself that I can't wait for you to be a little bit older, so that I don't have to worry about things like toothpaste soiled laundry or whatever other pranks you pull on me. But I do know that as you get older, the pranks will get more serious, more intense, scary. I look at the temptations my little sister has to deal with at the age of fifteen, and I cringe at what the world will be like when you're at that age. I suppose I'd like to believe that I will have a relationship with you to where you won't have to do anything sneaky, won't want to be conniving, but I'm also aware that I'm raising a human being, not programming a robot. All I want you to know is that whether its a ruined couch, a load of clothes I had to re-wash twice that STILL smell like mint, a 5 cent piece of gum, or any other mess or mistake you make or song and dance you try to pull on me, you're still my baby. There is nothing that you could do to make me love you any less. I never heard that, in those words, from my parents, so I'm not sure I understood that until I was already moved out of the house. But I want you to know it, to believe it, to understand it entirely, that though I may be upset with you, angry with the choices you make, and disappointed in you for making those choices you knew better than to make, my love for you will never change.

And now, I'm not even KIDDING, I have to end this so that I can save the cat from your dresser drawer where you stuff him and giggle until you're shaking as he meows and scratches frantically to get out. Oh, my sweet, sweet 3-year-old. Thank you for keeping me on my toes. And for allowing me those extra four days to prepare.

Love,
Mom

A Compliment is a Compliment

2009-06-12T15:00:00.002-06:00

Desiree and Destiny had just walked into the room, their eyes still adjusting to the light and everything about them looking tired and disshelved.

Payton: "Aunt Dezzaway, I like your hair!"

Desiree: "Thank you."

Payton: "Aunt Dessney, I like your hair, too!"

Destiny: "Thanks, Payton. I like yours, too. You actually let your mom brush it today."

Payton: "Thanks!"

Puzzle

2009-06-07T15:14:00.004-06:00

The Little Mermaid used to be my favorite movie (followed by JAWS) and I could sit and watch it for hours. Now, two seconds into the film I wonder outloud, "How can she breathe under water or be able to go up to the surface and breathe there, too? Does she have gills in her fin as well as lungs? How is any of this even remotely believable?" Payton looks at me, rolls her eyes and screams "Quiet! I wantsta hear 'bout the DINGLE HOPPER!" When did I get so out-of-touch with my favorite childhood movie? I feel so old.

"Fine, Payton, I'm sorry. And someday, when I think you're READY, I'll teach you about dingle berries."

"Like a star-berry?"

"Yeah. Kinda."

Favorite Mispronunciations

2009-05-30T23:09:00.003-06:00

"Mama, I cans carry dis?"

"No, that's way too heavy for you, babe."

"Oh. What is dis?"

"It's a watermelon."

"Oh, yeah. Water-women."

Pissy Paytie

2009-05-29T19:40:00.004-06:00

Every night after I pick Payton up from the babysitter's house and we're loading ourselves into the car she asks, "Are we going home?" I always answer that yes, we're going home, because Mommy is so tired that all I can think about are all the nice comfy places in which I can lay down with my feet up. "Are we gon' watch cartoons?" she'll ask in such a way that if I were originally going to say no she's giving me the cute face so that I'll oblige. "Maybe," I say, because sometimes its just too late by the time we get home. "Can we watch PongePob Wear Pants?" I've talked about me not having cable t.v. anymore a few times, and I've gone over that with Payton a few zillion times, but she obviously thinks its necessary to ask. "No, baby, I'm sorry." Trying her luck she'll ask for Dora. "I'm sorry baby, I just can't." So last night, even though it was late and we were both exhausted -- me from work, and her from the beautiful sunshine and heat that she played in all day -- I asked if she wanted to watch a movie. "This is called 'The Lion King'. I used to watch this all the time."

She jibbered and jabbered like she always does, as if shutting her mouth is a crime, up until the movie started with the 'Circle of Life' song and the scene of the dawning horizon. Then she was dead silent. I was asking her who all the animals were, getting her to name them off correctly, which was much more fun for me than it was for her. I found myself sitting there for a good 20 minutes drilling her about animals and colors when she finally said, "Shhhh. I watch 'Da Big Kitty' all by myself now." Apparently, I unintentionally annoyed a 3-year-old, something I didn't think was at all possible unless I was threatening things like Bedtime and Brushing Hair. If she's acting this way now, what do I expect at age 13? So I kissed her forehead, knowing she'd eventually fall asleep to the movie, and thought about how cute it was that she had called it, 'Da Big Kitty'.

I've been working earlier than usual the past couple of days, so she hasn't been waking up on her own. I walked into her room just as she was trying to tell me to stay out. I flipped on the lightswitch -- something I HATED that my parents did to wake me up instead of just sweetly cajolling me (as if that were an option, HA!) -- and she snapped. "TURN OFF DAT LIGHT RIGHT NOW! I sleepy, mama! I no want get up YET! Go out!" I smiled and said, "Now you know how I felt those first four months of your life when you woke me up far before I wanted to see the light of day. And just like me, you ARE getting up. Sorry, babe."

I love sharing movies with my daughter that I enjoyed during my childhood. I love that she enjoys them as much as I did. I hope she continues to appreciate the same movies I have/do and we can stay bonded in that respect. However, if she'd like to lose the irritability and the hate for early mornings (like me, of course), I wouldn't mind a bit. I guess I still don't mind, for the time being, because her annoyance is so damn cute. I just hope it goes away before it gets ugly.

Nawayway, Days!

2009-05-23T12:34:00.005-06:00

"Okay, count with mama, alright?"

"Okay! One, two, free, four, five, siss, seben, eight, nine, TEN!"

"Goodjob, baby! Now lets count in Spanish."

"Uno, dos, tres, quatcho, cinco, seis, settay, nawayway, DAYS!"

"Yay, Payton! You're an excellent counter!"

"I know, mama!"

"Now lets try drawing a circle."

...

"Good job! Now draw a square."

...

"Looks like a rectangle, but close enough! Now help mommy write your name, okay?"

"Okay!"

"P..."

"A..."

"Y..."

"TEN!"

"Ten?"

"Eleben, twelb. ALL DONE!"

Typical Conversation with a 3-Year-Old

2009-05-23T12:25:00.002-06:00

"Mama, I wan' talk on the phone!"

"Okay, who do you want to call?"

"Gramma JACKIE!"

"Okay. It's ringing. Few more seconds."

(I tell my mom that Payton wants to talk to her real fast, and she happily says, "Oh, okay.")

"Hello."

"Hi Hunny, how are you?"

"Hi Gramma Jackie!"

"What're you doin'?"

"I stay home and play wit my toys."

"Well that sounds fun! You have lots of new toys, huh?"

"Gramma, when's your birtday?"

"Its in October."

"How old you gon' be?"

"I'll be 41."

"FOURTY ONE?!"

"Yup."

"Okay, bye Gramma."

Quantity of Parents vs. Quality of Time

2009-05-22T02:14:00.003-06:00

I babysat my friend Kristina's two kids tonight, Paxton who is 2 and Savannah who is 5 months. They're great kids to watch. Paxton plays really well with Payton, and Vannah is the calmest baby I've ever been around. I've never heard the kid cry before, she's THAT calm. I had a great time kissing on Vannah's chubby cheeks -- I'd bet there's only a couple pound difference between her and her older brother -- and watching Payton try to make use of all those boy toys. She picked up Paxton's toy toolbox and called it her "purse". Paxton cocked his head to the side, examining the box thoroughly like, "Really? Is it?" Then he shook his head at her and looked up at me. "That not purse!" he said, with enough exclamation points behind it to fill the entire space of this blog.

Kristina thanked me for watching them once she got home, and told me that she had been acting as a single parent for 10 days at a time while Matt had been working out of town. "I don't know how you do it," she said, "but having a job AND being a single parent is really hard. I'm not liking this at all." Granted, she has two kids and I've only one, and my only child does not require to be burped or arrive at every destination with an 80lb diaper bag full of every possible scenario's antidote.

I think I was prepared for single parenthood long before it ever came to that. Waylon would work for weeks, sometimes even months at a time. Usually his hours were so rotten that we'd be lucky to talk every other day less one of us be deprived of desperate sleep. It was hard then, and that was before I had a job. So after we split, and I went back to work, it's gotten a little more difficult, but not much. I remember the days of saying, "Will you change this diaper?" or "Go ask daddy to do that" or "You pooped in the tub again? I'm not cleaning it this time." Now I have no choice; now, I have no one to share all the responsibility with.

But the hardest part of being a single parent, to me, has nothing to do with having to take on all the responsibility most of the time or atleast lacking a helping hand. It's when she and I are spending time together somewhere and I think, "Waylon is missing out on this." Or when I pick her up from Waylon's house and she tells me about her trips to the zoo and the park to feed the ducks. It stings a little, to know that I wasn't there, too. Or when she says to me, "Oh mama, you're such a DEAR" after I fix her some breakfast. Waylon is good about making himself available to me whenever I need him, via cellphone atleast, so I always call him immediately after an 'Outburst of Adorable' like that, but relaying the story is never the same as being present. It's not about all the extra lengths you have to go through for your child when there's only one parent to get the job done; It's about the moments you know you're missing out on when you have to divide your child's time between two households.

On the flip side, I love having all the quality one-on-one time with her that may or may not be possible if her dad and I were still together. I did everything with my dad when I was younger, I don't even remember being babysat. I was with him while he was elk hunting in Oregon, him telling me every 5 seconds to "walk quieter" while I was more interested in catching the salamanders off every moss-covered tree. I was with him during weekend trips to the river where we'd have bonfires on the sandy bank and burn driftwood all night. I was with him every friday night when he'd let me pick the place we'd go out to eat, and when we were finished he'd always let me steal the silverware. I want Payton to have those special memories of just me, and of just Waylon.

"Atleast you're getting in a lot of quality time," I told Kristina, and I'm not sure what was said after that, but I hope she sees it that way, too. And I hope she reminds Matt the moment he gets home that she's in fact NOT a single mother and that shitty diaper over there? It's not going to change itself.

A Dose of Cute

2009-05-21T02:10:00.003-06:00

Taken three days before her 3rd birthday. Me and my love bug.

Taken while shopping with Grandma Carla, wearing the big birthday hat!

Taken at her birthday party. The wings were a gift. Cute, right?

Her Dora birthday cake. Albertson's always does a great job.

Taken yesterday wearing her "Easter Chick" shirt her Great Grandma Sharon made her.

Projects

2009-05-21T00:54:00.002-06:00

I'm going to start a journal for Payton where I write down different quotes for her to read when she gets older. I'm not sure when I'll give it to her -- hell, by the time she's old enough to appreciate them I'll probably have 14 of the suckers filled out. I love hearing inspiration quotes, quotes about irony, or even beautiful song lyrics or funny movie lines. Hopefully she'll like them, too, and if not, I wouldn't mind having them for myself.

I'll either start it with this:

Maureen Hawkins:
Before you were conceived I wanted you
Before you were born I loved you
Before you were here an hour I would die for you
This is the miracle of life.

Or this:

Art Linkletter
Each generation has been an education for us in different ways. The first child-with-bloody-nose was rushed to the emergency room. The fifth child-with-bloody-nose was told to go to the yard immediately and stop bleeding on the carpet.

I like both!

Month 36

2009-05-17T16:05:00.008-06:00

Payton,

Yesterday was your third birthday. I usually write these letters a few days in advance to your actual month date, mostly due to me being impatient about having to hold onto an idea or thought or whatever else that I'm dying to tell you for so long. But this month I waited until after your party so that I could talk about it in clear detail while the memory is still fresh in my mind. I'm glad I had waited; I learned a lot yesterday.

Your birthday party was again hosted at Chuck E. Cheese's as it was last year. The atmosphere is overwhelming -- screaming kids, dancing kids, crying kids, dancing Chuck E. Cheese, games, toys, tokens, pizza, cake, relatives, presents, etc! For someone who is currently taking anxiety medication, it's a place that allows one to see just how MUCH the medication is helping. But I enjoy the location because your dad's family and mine are so focused on YOU and the surrounding environment that no one feels secluded, no one is uncomfortable with being on anyone else's turf since it's a public place, no one feels out-of-place or awkward as we all gather around a single table and watch you eat cake, open presents, and dance with 15-year-olds in a mouse costume. Everyone is simply there to enjoy watching you celebrate your birthday, and that's exactly what I want for you, every year.

You wore a white, spaghetti-strapped sundress with blue and purple flowers and had your hair braided in pigtails that laid on your shoulders; as usual, you looked adorable. We got a Dora cake for you this year, since that's the cartoon you've been drawn to most these past few months. I'm now more likely to answer to Dora than I am to mom, mama, or mommy. I was on the phone with a friend when you were repeatedly asking for my attention and I was repeatedly ignoring you, hoping you'd eventually learn that interrupting me will get you NO WHERE. "Mom? Mama? Mom? MAMA! Mommmmmmmmmmm!" Finally we made eye contact, and because I was tired of hearing you scream for me, I was going to answer you. "Dora!" "What, Payton? I'm on the phone right now." You carried on with what sounded like stuttering gibberish, and I nodded and said, "Oh, okay." My friend, who had overheard the conversation, asked me, "Did you just respond to 'Dora!'?" There are many things I never knew I'd do -- wipe the snot off your nose with the inside end of my t-shirt while at a softball game because I had no other option, scoop floating turds out of a bathtub, or have the urge to cry when you pronounced "ballerina" as "maberima", because isn't that the most precious thing you've ever heard? -- so being called and then responding to 'Dora' is about as odd to me as a 3-year-old who draws on the walls.

You got a nice variety of gifts: clothes, toys, furnature, electronics, a bike, musical instruments and CD's, pools and beach balls, etc. A few days ago I had bought some Twizzler's Pull-n-Peel licorice and had it sitting on the counter. You walked into the living room where I was sitting and asked, "I can has some lick-ish?" I stared at you for a while, asking you to repeat what you had said, wondering and a little scared at what you might be calling "lick-ish". I eventually said yes and followed you to wherever you were going, hoping it wasn't an adult bookstore. After you reached for the candy, and I understood what you had been saying, I couldn't stop laughing. I told the story to anyone who would listen, and consequently you got three different bags of "lick-ish" for your birthday as well.

You still call your aunties -- Dezway and Dessney -- Little Bill and April, and your grandma Jackie is Widget and you are Wubzy unless you're with grandma Carol -- then, she's Ruby and you're Max. If you're with grandma Willow, you're Tasha, I'm Uniqua, and grandma is Tyrone. And of course, when its just us, I'm Dora and you're Boots. (I'm just thankful I'm not The Map. Man, I hate that map.) It's interesting that you've given the girls in your family nicknames, but not the men. However, in general conversation with someone, its your grandpa's that you talk about most. "Papa Mark at work," you always say, even he's not working at all, because you know him as the papa who isn't regularly in town due to working. "Papa Shane say I full of bologna!" you said on Mother's Day. You talk about Papa Farrin spoiling you with double-stuffed oreos, Papa Mike takes you to church where you have to be quiet, and you think your uncle Josh is really your big brother that lets you play on his skateboard. You have a unique relationship with everyone.

I love knowing that you are enriching others' lives even a fraction of how much you've enriched mine. You are a little light that is powered by love, generates love, and gives it away freely. Your birthday party really helped me see that; all of us are different and may have different feelings for each other -- such as my family versus your dad's family, or blood relatives versus step-relatives, or the attention of one grandma versus the other, etc. -- but whatever our differences, you love everyone, and not one more than the other. You are the string that keeps so many people connected, and if all we have in common is our love for you, that's all we need to be peaceful, to be harmonious, to accept each other's places in our lives. God is love, and He says that the Kingdom of Heaven is made up of children, and I never fully understood that until today. You are love, too, and my wish for you is that you always stay that way.

Love,
Mom

Payton's Got Jokes

2009-05-01T12:18:00.002-06:00

"Knock, Knock, mama."

"Who's there?"

"Um... cow!"

"Cow who?"

"Cow say MOO! Haha."

"Ohhh, that's so funny!"

"Mama, say 'knock, knock'."

"Knock, knock."

"Shhhh, I trying to sleeps."

"Aren't you supposed to ask who's there?"

"SHHHHHHHHHHH, Mama! Jeez."

My Reason For Getting Up Every Morning.. and The Reason I Wake Up to Spilled Milk Every Morning

2009-04-29T23:57:00.003-06:00

Payback is a B-Word

2009-04-29T10:51:00.002-06:00

(Last night)

"Did Payton eat well tonight?"

"Yeah, she ate great! She had a couple chicken nuggets."

"And... that's it?"

"Well she had a few other things, too."

"What other things?"

"Oh, a couple cupcakes, three oreos, and just a slice of a kit-kat bar."

"EXCUSE ME?"

"Hey, it's her grandpa's fault. I told him only TWO oreos!"

---------------------------

(Just now)

"Mama, I no want take a nap today."

"You just woke up. What are you worried about a nap for?"

"I NO WANT NAP!"

"You know what, sweetie? You don't need a nap today, mama said so. Okay?"

"No nap? THANK YOU, mama."

"You're welcome, baby. I'll be sure to let Grandma Carol know you already took one before I drop you off. Ahhhh, the sweet sound of revenge is going to sound a lot like a whiney Payter Tot."

Douched The Car Today With a Little April's Eve.. Smells Like Pine.

2009-04-25T23:04:00.004-06:00

If you have a toddler you are probably aware that you are generating atleast 50 percent more car crumbs than you were pre-parenthood. Even your crazy college days of fast food from Hardees at 2AM and 4AM Denny's trips that send you home with boxes of greasy leftovers never left your backseat looking like the ground below a birdfeeder. "There is shit EVERYWHERE!" I exclaimed, pulling my daughter out of her carseat this afternoon. "Where do all of these crumbs come from?"

Of course I know the answer to that. Payton is annoying me from the backseat while I'm trying to do errands? Give her some french fries. Payton is screaming to take a "left" when I just took a left that was completely unnecessary and totally out of my way JUST to appease her? Time to reach for the snacks out of the diaper bag. Payton is just short of clawing off her own face because for some reason, whenever mama drives, THE TREES NEVER HOLD STILL? Something about grabbing food to get her to shut up already.

So after last night when I picked up my friend Kaycee from The West where we had been reading bible verses and sipping on apple cider -- my mama wishes -- and she took one look at the floor of my car and said, "So like, I can just step on all of this junk, right?" I decided it was time to clean the car. I went to The Wave and got the most expensive carwash I could get, complete with garbage bag, dust cloth, and pine air freshner (why oh WHY did I choose pine?), then raced home to start working on the inside. I pulled out two garbage bags worth of things that were not garbage but had no use in the car. Like a pair of underwear, and 14 pens, and three costco-sized bottles of lotion, and two strollers (I HAVE ONE KID!), and an extention cord that I've been looking for for months, a photo album of my late saint bernard, a Christmas card from Cory from Christmas 2001, and the bumper set to my daughter's crib that she stopped sleeping in over a year ago. In other words, all VERY necessary and practical things that EVERYONE should have in their car -- just in case.

Then I pulled out a single bag of trash filled with crumbs, rocks, broken toys, half-eaten cookies, dried-up french fries, and empty cartons of Viva 1 percent chocolate milk. I pulled the shop vac out of the back of the garage where it was coated in spider webs as thick as dryer lint that hasn't been changed in a century. I used the extention cord -- see what I mean? PRACTICAL! -- so that it would reach out into the driveway and sucked up dirt and dust for over an hour. Then I lubed up the leather interior with armor-all and wiped the fog drawn penis shapes off the inside of my windows with windex (thanks friends!). I have to say, it looks a lot better now, but no one's car should take them over three hours and 20 dollars to clean. Ridiculous.

I learned today that I can't just wait for my friends to ask, "Hey, if I sit in here, I'm not going to get Hepatitis C, am I?" before it even occurs to me that maybe swimming through Payton's snack discard before I can fit the key in the ignition might be a problem. Of course I'm exaggerating the hell out of this story -- yet, not really -- but I did learn that if I pay a little more attention to the inside of my car and less attention holding onto 8-year-old Christmas cards I might not have to frighten my friends before the drive. Forget that I had been drinking before getting behind the wheel -- MY FRIENDS FEET WERE AMONG SUBWAY WRAPPERS THAT CIRCULATED IN '02! Blasphemy.

PETA

2009-04-24T03:13:00.003-06:00

"Mama, kitty eyeball hurt."

"Why does his eye hurt?"

"I poked him's eyes."

"Paytie Bug! You have to be nice to the kitty. Pet him and kiss him, don't hurt him."

"I sorry, mama."

"It's alright, just be careful."

(Later on that night while driving home after picking her up from Waylon's.)

"Oh SHIT!"

"Mama, don't say that! That's naughty, NAUGHTY word!"

"I know, I'm sorry, baby, but I think I hit a rabbit!"

"No hitting, mama. Gotta be nice to the rabbit. Pet the rabbit."

"You're right, but he ran right out in front of me."

"Gotta be careful, mama."

Sorry Tim Burton, My Kid's Just Not That Into You

2009-04-21T00:11:00.002-06:00

(After watching 'The Nightmare Before Christmas')

"Mama, I hate dis Christmas."

How A Sweetheart Asks For a Face Wash

2009-04-19T22:26:00.001-06:00

"Wow, babe, you really uh... mutilated that dilly bar."

"I know, mama. Is goooooood. You wipe my face now? My smile is dirty!"

Joy

2009-04-19T17:24:00.002-06:00

Smiles, tears of happiness, warm embraces

skin-to-skin contact both fresh out of the shower and sharing a sunny afternoon nap together while you were still small enough to fit on my chest

holding hands while we walk through the park and the tiny strand of blonde hair that wisps in front of your face as you bend down to capture the perfect stone to cast into the tiny moat of water

your little legs try to run so fast and your long curly hair bounces across your shoulders and down your back as I chase you down the hallway with threats of tickles and kisses

lying together in the dark on those nights you refuse to sleep in your own bed and insist on keeping me up all night by touching the tips of my fingers and counting them in spanish.. always needing to be reminded that 'Siete' comes after 'Seis'

the way you wake up in the middle of the night and cry out for me -- only me

how you refuse to try a hamburger

putting your hands on your hips and dancing.. spinning yourself around and around with your head tilted back and a huge smile on your face with your eyes closed...

the way you hop instead of walk, or how you'll bob your head to a classic rock song and ask that I change the radio station on certain hip hop songs

the way you pronounce "eskimo kiss" while you lean in closer and brush your tiny nose against mine

watching you hide under a blanket and shake with laughter while I pretend to have no idea where you are

singing songs with you while you play with your bath toys.. and the way you look up at me so trusting while I lean you back into the water and cradle your head with my hand.. rinsing all the shampoo out of your hair

surprised that the cat doesn't scratch you even though you drag him around the house by his tail for punishment for not following any of the commands you've ordered him to do

watching you sleep and the way your bottom lip and eyelashes look fuller than they do while you're awake

putting on your socks in the morning and knowing that those perfect little toes used to cause me such agony when you tried pushing them between my ribs

remembering the first moment I saw you and how you immediately stopped crying when we made eye contact and for once in my life, I was so happy, I couldn't even cry tears of happiness

the way I felt watching your dad -- who wouldn't hold a baby without feeling uncomfortable, awkward, or scared -- run to the nursery to scoop you up and show you off to all of his friends who took the time to come visit you at the hospital

how you would scoot yourself backwards instead of forwards before you learned how to crawl and the way you looked when you smiled and only had two bottom teeth in a mouthful of gums

when you wouldn't drink your bottle unless you were holding onto my finger

how you used to cry whenever I set you down -- even just to make dinner or take a quick shower

your first time in the swimming pool and how it didn't scare you at all

the sound of your baby lullaby music echoing in the baby monitor for the first 5 months of your life -- you couldn't sleep without it

the way I cried on our first night home together -- so happy you were finally here

how I would put the basinette right next to the bed so I could stare at you until my eyes burned from lack of sleep

how I felt the first time I watched you get your immunization shots

the way you are fascinated with puzzles, numbers, shapes, music and colors more than baby dolls, stuffed animals, blocks, and dress up

how everything you say has such perfect comedic timing

the way you fill my life up with hopes and dreams and smiles and nothing but happiness

You have pushed every boundary in my life -- caused me to love someone I had never met before, felt incredible about my body that I could successfully birth a healthy and beautiful child, gave me purpose and shed light in areas of my life where I only knew darkness, introduced me to what love really was and saved me from the pretentious, arrogant, judgmental, selfish person I once was.

I love you more than anything or anyone. You alone are my life's joy; everything else is just a bonus.

Love,
Mom

One Thing At A Time

2009-04-19T17:02:00.003-06:00

"Here's a piece of gum, but you have to promise me you won't swallow it. You chew it. Okay? Do you promise?"

"I promise, mama."

(After noticing 5 minutes later that she's still standing in the same place and position where I gave her the gum)

"Is something wrong, baby?"

"I no want chew gum no more. I wanna play!"

Month 35

2009-04-13T23:55:00.004-06:00

Paytie Bug,

This newsletter starts out differently than any other before it. You are convinced that your name is no longer Payton, and demand that everyone address you as Paytie Bug. I refered to you as my love bug while we were still in the hospital a day after you were born, and your dad looked at me like I was insane. "Love bug?" he asked, half disgusted at how adorable it was and half confused because I am more afraid of a microscopic insect than I am a 12ft Python that hasn't been fed in a year. But the nickname stuck. I eventually started calling you Paytie Bug because it reminded me of "lady bug", and I envision love bugs to look like lady bugs, the only bug in the world that doesn't scare the crap out of me.

You're either too little or have the courage of a superhero, but you are very indifferent about bugs. Not scared, but not exactly drawn to them either. I was running late for work and had just gotten out of the shower, searching frantically for my work pants -- something I do often, go around the house looking for my clothes because you enjoy taking them off my bed where I have them nicely laid out, and then putting them on and wearing them until they eventually fall off your tiny body -- when I saw you poking at something on the floor.

"What are you doing, Payton?"

"I not Payton; I Paytie Bug."

"Yes, Paytie Bug, what are you doing?"

"Spider doesn't wanna wear your pants."

I immediately flipped out, grabbed you as though I was saving you from having been tied to train tracks while a speeding engine raced toward you, dropped you on the couch and went in search for a flip-flop to use as a fly swatter. The spider was actually a large box elder bug that was lying on its back, feet curled under in the air. That's when I took into consideration what you had said about the bug not wanting to wear my pants.

"Did you put my pants on this bug?"

"Yes, but he no like it."

I tried explaining to you that you shouldn't put clothes on bugs, imagining I'd wake up some morning to pull on a t-shirt and discover a few minutes later that you had used it to "dress" your bug friends. You nodded as though you understood, but you do that a lot -- nod just to shut me up. In the meantime, however, I've been violently shaking out all of my clothes like rugs before putting them on. I think my next child will have a different nickname, like, Martha Loves To Do Dishes, or Brian Scrubs The Toilet.

You're growing quite the personality, and I know that is a redundant theme in your newsletters lately, but it gets bigger and better every month. You are absolutely the coolest little kid I've ever known. You told Grandma Jackie this month that her house was YOUR house, all the while your hand was on your hip and your nose was snubbed in the air accordingly. You can be such a diva. You also prefer to use the biggest word you know to describe things. While trying to put a puzzle together that was more difficult than the ones you're used to, you told Grandma Carol that you were "frustrated" with it. After asking me for a cup of juice and I handed it to you, you let me know you had changed your mind when you said, "Uh, actually, I want milk." I don't know any other 2-year-old who has your extensive vocabulary and uses their words so well in the right context.

You told Brittnie's husband, Eric, that you and your Papa Shane took a bubble bath and then played tea party. Then you told Kassie that you loved when Papa Mark came to see you because he always says, "Hi Sweetheart!" Listening to you talk about those things is so adorable, I could cry! I absolutely love that you are now remembering these good times you're having and can talk about them afterward. My favorite memories of my childhood were spent with my grandparents, so it that much more rewarding for me to know that you are not missing out on that. And in fact, you are close to ALL of your grandparents unlike me, so even better.

If children are obnoxious, spoiled, ill-mannored, disrespectful or behave poorly, its easy for others to direct the blame for the way those children act to the parents of the children. Either the parents act the same way as their children, or they've failed their child the proper disciplining necessary to raise decent, normal kids. I suppose the opposite would be true as well -- good parents raise good kids -- but I have to say, you're making my job incredibly easy. You are such a joy to be around, you wake up happy and in a great mood every single day, and unless you're tired beyond reason, you carry that attitude until you fall back asleep again. I feel humbled when people compliment me for you being such a great kid, because I know that you are naturally this way. I have had influence on you, of course, but especially now, after watching you come into your OWN personality, completely unique and of yourself, no one else, regardless of me or your dad or anyone, you are just a beautiful soul. Every moment spent with you is a gift, and I am so thankful to have your sunshine and sweetness in my life.

Love,
Mom

Easter Basket

2009-04-13T00:05:00.003-06:00

"Mama, what is this stuff?"

"It's called Easter grass."

"I LOVE EASTER'S ASS!"

She Might Be Her Dad's Kid Afterall.

2009-04-10T18:37:00.002-06:00

"Payton, you ate all your mac-n-cheese, good girl!"

"Tastes like chicken."

"Chicken. Interesting. Well here's a cookie that mommy made special for YOU. Isn't it yummy?"

"Tastes like wood."

Man Boobs. Moobs.

2009-04-04T23:43:00.001-06:00

"Papa Mark, where your boobies?"

"I don't have any. Boys don't have boobies."

(Payton stares questionably in Waylon's direction.)

"Papa Mark, WHERE YOUR BOOBIES?"

Future Paleontologist

2009-04-03T15:18:00.002-06:00

Grandma Carla: Payton, here's your surprise from the grocery store! Its a dinosaur, a three-horn like Sarah from the Land Before Time, and it's purple to match your jammies.

Payton: Its not three-horn, its triceratops!

Papa Mark: How did she know that?! Kid is scary sometimes.

I learned it from Aunt Desiree

2009-04-01T13:57:00.004-06:00

My sister, Desiree: Wow, look at my eyes in this picture. I look high.

Me: You?! I look like some wanna-be hoodrat. Just look how I'm standing, all female gangster-like.

Payton: Auntie Dezway, you looks high?

Me: Ohhh, leave it to the sweet Christian girl to teach my daughter about getting stoned!

Not the same last name, but definitely my kid

2009-03-28T18:14:00.004-06:00

(While we were watching cartoons and eating our breakfast.)

Payton: What's my name?

Me: You know your name.

Payton: Yup, I's Payton Strebig.

Me: Very good! What's my name?

Payton: Um... Mama Strebig?

Me: I'm Mama McDunn.

Payton: I'm done, too! Lets go shopping.

Chocolate: It transcends love

2009-03-27T13:18:00.002-06:00

"Papa Mike, I loves you."

"You do?!"

"Yup. You gives me shock-lit."

No Bedtime Fuss

2009-03-23T00:09:00.002-06:00

(Laying on the couch together, watching t.v.)

"Payton, I'm so tired. It's bedtime, okay?"

"Me too, mama, I tired. Please carry me."

I love nights like these.

The Obvious

2009-03-18T13:23:00.002-06:00

(After placing Payton into the bathtub.)

Payton (screaming): MOM!

Me (scared that I might have run the water too hot and burned her or a million other heartbreaking possibilities): WHAT?!

Payton: I'm getting all wet.

Month 34

2009-03-14T23:04:00.003-06:00

Payton,

This past month has been as equally challenging as it has been rewarding. I haven't been as eager to write this last month's newsletter or update, or whatever the hell it is that I do here. I think "Brag About Blonde Child's Cuteness" is more of an accurate description than anything, but refering to these letters as your Bragging Blog just doesn't have the same ring to it. Besides, I hardly ever have to brag about you; you do a fine job of exposing your amazing personality all on your own. I am constantly hearing from everyone -- everyone who assumes you probably don't have a Pediatrician that tells me the same thing -- that you're "large" for your age. You're tall and, though you're not overweight by any means, you are solid, muscular. "Holy cow, she's only TWO?" people exclaim, staring at you in shock and awe. "I thought for sure she was atleast four when she said, 'Ni-hoa [pronounced knee-how]' and when I stood there with a blank expression on my face she told me, 'it mean "hi" in Chinese!'" And I'd like to think that because of me you're also pretty gosh darn smart. But it isn't at all because of me, more like your cartoons. You're so excited about learning, you go nuts for the educational toon channel, the one that most identifies with teaching preschool. Of course you do have your occasional turn-your-brain-to-goo obsession with a little toon known as Sponge Bob, which I cannot stand. But I allow this little splurge of yours from time to time. You have a yellow sponge who lives in a pineapple under the sea; I have a show about 7 strangers who stop being polite and start getting real.

Since your last letter, we have suffered a great deal of loss when Makenzee went to live with baby Jesus, as I've been telling you. "Where is baby Jesus?" you asked, and when I said that Makenzee was with him in heaven, you told me an hour later, "Makenzee with Jesus in diamond." I corrected you, "No, not diamond. They're in HEEEAAVVEENNN" sounding out the word slowly for you. You smiled real big and yelled, "Oh my goodness, I LOVE HEAVEN!" It's clear that you don't understand much about heaven or baby Jesus or why Makenzee has left us, but you do realize that she isn't around anymore to smother with kisses. This afternoon while we were at Kassie's I was changing your pull-up and was using some of Makenzee's wipes to clean you up. You looked at me and whispered, "These is Kenzee's wipes." I corrected you, "Yes they ARE Kenzee's wipes, but that's okay, we can use them." Then you smiled and said, "I love Kenzee." I do, too.

I'm not sure if you will remember her by the time you reach adulthood, but she was your first female friend. When Kassie would bring her over, you'd spend the first half of the visit buckling and un-buckling her carseat straps, and the second half piling every stuffed animal you owned onto her head. Kassie and I would tell you that it was nice to share, but even better to BREATHE. You tried sharing your juice and snacks with her all the time, and loved giving her kisses. If I were holding her you wouldn't get jealous like you normally do when I hold another kid, you'd ask if you could hold her now. You were always so gentle and sweet to her, unlike your typical behavior to other kids where you are the boss and that's final -- which you definitely got from me. You knew she was precious and you treated her that way. You were even quiet as a mouse once her funeral service started, which is compeltely unheard of. And not only that, you were sitting with your dad, someone you have wrapped so tightly around your finger you could've gotten away with murder if you had wanted to. But you sat on his lap and didn't make a sound. That says something, I'm not sure what, but something. You might not remember any of this, but I will never forget.

Your potty-training and eating habits are about the same as usual, except I'm not worrying myself about them anymore. I don't fight with you to try this or that, I simply fork over the strawberry yogurt and ritz crackers. I don't force you to sit on the toilet through buckets of tears and screaming protests, even though I know for a fact that you were just trying to sneak into the kitchen and fill your pants in private. I know that you won't go to college still pooping your drawers and never having tried a hamburger or salad. I'm learning -- maybe on my own, through my on-going battle with anxiety/depression, or maybe through this experience with Makenzee -- that I am not in control of the universe, and that sometimes things happen when they're good and ready to happen, and it has nothing to do with how much I worry. Sometimes you can grab life by the throat and squeeze the very breath right out of it, suffocating it with all your worrysome might. Or you can let go and just live, allowing life to take its course.

I'm not going to worry anymore about why Makenzee was taken or what I was supposed to take from the experience -- what possible lesson I could have learned. I'm going to trust that its not in my hands, its out of my control, and no amount of worry will change a thing. I need to trust that one day we will see her again, and you will remember just how precious she was. However, she better run in the opposite direction when she sees me and my smiling face running toward her, unless she won't mind me making up for all those lost hours of cheek kissing.

Love,
Mom

N-N-N-N-Noah

2009-03-13T03:09:00.004-06:00

Remind me that while visiting my best friend I should remain in the room with Payton at all times when said best friend's cousin, Noah, is also visiting. Otherwise I'm likely to hear such things come out of my daughter's mouth like:

"Once you go back, you never go black."

Close enough. I need a valium.

What A Life To Take... I'll Be Missin' You

2009-03-05T01:33:00.003-07:00

Tomorrow -- or, later on today, rather -- is Makenzee's funeral. To commemorate her life, I made a slideshow for my friend who liked it so much, she'll be featuring it for the funeral service. I tried uploading the original video I made, but apparently I broke about 12 copyright laws, so youtube, vimeo, and myspace wouldn't allow it (and I nearly had my myspace account shut down because of it! THE AUDACITY!) So, I changed out the songs and deleted some nifty parts and sacrificed nearly ALL quality it had and uploaded again to youtube. The video is below, but do not say I didn't warn you. The audio and picture quality are HORRENDOUS, at best. But atleast you get an idea of what it is I'm talking about.

The first two slides say "Makenzee Marie Rose Fonseca" and "February 6th, 2008" -- her full name and birthdate. The last three slides say "In Loving Memory of Makenzee Marie Rose", her birth and death dates, and then a verse from Isaiah that says "They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not be faint."

I've also had people ask me about Makenzee's condition and what it was exactly. She was born with Holoprosencephaly, which causes the brain to be under-developed (her brain is a single mass instead of two separate hemispheres) and can also cause facial deformities. She was born with a cleft lip that was later repaired in the late summer of 2008. Due to complications she was flown to The Children's Hospital in Denver, CO and stayed for a little over a month, I believe. They discovered that she had problems with her thyroid and pituitary gland that were causing her kidneys to malfunction. Despite the doctor's offering Kassie the option to cease treatment and allow Makenzee to pass, she felt that if she still had the ability to keep her alive, that it was up to God and His will after she exhausted her efforts. Kassie faught for her daughter's life, and they both returned home in early September. Makenzee, besides the condition she was born with, seemed healthy. But she passed away at her home, in bed, while asleep only 22 days after her first birthday. She was well-cared for and extremely well-loved. Everyone who has had the blessing to meet this special baby will be missing her.

Rest in peace Kenz-a-benz beeber. Your Auntie Rissa can't wait to see you again.

Typical Breakfast with Payton

2009-03-04T13:58:00.004-07:00

Payton: I'm hungry, mama, I wan' waffle.

Rissa: Alright. You want anything, Waylon?

Waylon: I want whatever she's having.

Payton: Daddy, say waffle.

Waylon: Waffle.

Payton: Noooooo, say WAAAAAAAAFFLE.

Waylon: WAAAAAAAAFFLE.

Payton: No! Say waaaaffffflllleee.

Waylon: You're full of it, Payton.

Payton: No, I hungry, I NOT FULL!

Makenzee Marie Rose Fonseca, R.I.P. Angel Baby

2009-03-01T18:02:00.003-07:00

I write a lot of B.S. here, most of which I find myself re-reading later on, shaking my head, and then deleting it. "Karissa Marie," I say to myself -- and yes, I use my full name, but only when I'm upset -- "why do you insist on blogging in such a fashion that people are wondering if you had to reach around your bong to add the punctuation?" I have a warped sense of humor and think irony is the funniest thing ever... like when someone who used to regularly email me porn asks me to please censor my SHITFUCKDAMN'ism on my blog. Watching a twisted and graphic version of Genie from Aladin screw Jasmin with his well-endowed, blue cartoon penis is one thing, but emphasizing how horrible your daughter's attitude was today by using such choice words as 'SHITTY' is just going too far. SOME PEOPLE HAVE STANDARDS, KARISSA MARIE.

But today isn't like that. Today is much different, on a sour, morose, morbid note (unlike the happy, skippity-do-da, parade it is around here normally, right?). My best friend's daughter, who also happened to be my god-daughter and shared my middle name, passed away yesterday afternoon. At risk of this sounding like an insensitive obituary, she was suffering from a condition that has way too many syllables for any doctor to know anything about. It was a rare condition for a one-of-a-kind child, the most precious little girl I've ever had the pleasure to know. I loved her like she was my own daughter, often sealing my lips to her face for the duration of her infrequent but always a good time visits. I was the second person, besides my best friend's mom, to hold her. I was the first person, besides the nurses, to change her poopy, black tar diaper. Besides the nurses and her mother, I was the first person to spend the night with her, to burp her, to take pictures of her and post them like an obsessed maniac all over my myspace. To say I had a bond with her sound ridiculous; I wouldn't just say that I have a bond with my own daughter, would I? She was very much a part of my life, a major part, a part that no other will ever replace. I think about how deeply this has affected me, and I can't even begin to understand how her mother, my best friend, must be feeling. I don't want to.

I look at my own daughter and feel guilt for still having her here, even though it was common knowledge that my friend's baby would not be around for long, whatever that meant. Her life expectancy was unknown, and I always assumed that to mean "Sometime, but not soon". Whether we knew it was coming or chose to ignore it, it was still a shock. It's like a bad dream from which I'm still waiting to wake up and escape. And then I feel lucky the next minute, knowing that my daughter is still here and healthy, because I have seen the alternative, and know how truly BLESSED I am. Then I feel anger for any of this happening at all to such good people, sadness for my friend and her family, helpless because I only know how to say the wrong things at the worst times. What do you say to someone who loses a child? I'm so sorry for your loss? She's in a better place? I'm here for you? After sitting through rounds of that with her yesterday, being greeted in some way with the comments above, I wanted to rip my eyeballs out, imagining if it were ME being told those things. You're sorry? Me too, jackass! She's in a better place? Thanks, but I'd much rather her in my arms! You're here for me? Really appreciate that, but you don't understand a DAMN THING I'm going through! Those irritated thoughts ran through my head while I waited for the babysitter to bring the baby back home. But she never came back.

I love my best friend with no less emotion or loyalty than I do my sisters. What happened yesterday was unfortunate even if it was inevitable. I wish I could make sense of it all, but death, it seems, doesn't make any fucking sense. Kassie, I loved Makenzee so much, and I love you too. I know we've talked in the past about religion and that if I had to choose a label, I'd probably be agnostic. But its moments like these, times like this, when I don't have a choice but to believe that SOMEONE can make sense of all of this, and that Makenzee is lying peacefully in the arms of her creator. I have to believe that. I think we all have to.

Papa Shane

2009-02-28T11:43:00.003-07:00

Payton has been refering to everything and everyone today as Papa Shane. Payton, would you like some waffles for breakfast? Those not waffles; those Papa Shane. Payton, will you please quit pulling the cat's tail? That not cat; that Papa Shane. And then just now I overheard her playing in her room, explaining to her dolls that SHE is the grandma, and this baby here? That's her granddaughter, PAPA SHANE.

Honest Mistake

2009-02-25T03:53:00.003-07:00

Payton: Hi, I'm Payton!

Random woman with a British accent: Hi Payton, I'm Natty.

Payton: Nice to meetchu, Nasty!

Subliminal Advertising

2009-02-24T15:56:00.002-07:00

Mama: Old McDonald had a farm...

Payton: E-I-E-I-O!

Mama: And on his farm he had a...

Payton: COW! Moo moo here, moo there, moo everywhere!

And over the course of the next five minutes he had a sheep, chicken, monkey, and a lion, too.

Mama: And on his farm he had a...

Payton: Uh... CHOCOLATE!

Like, yeah mom, we should totally have chocolate now -- here, there, chocolate EVERYWHERE!

Snow bunny snuggle bug

2009-02-22T20:39:00.002-07:00

Almost Three Going On Thirteen

2009-02-20T01:26:00.005-07:00

Rissa: Payton, I'm trying to read. Would you please be quiet?

Payton: (Rolling her eyes and sulking away to her bedroom because I won't let her scream like a shotgun-wounded hyena, mumbling under her breath...) No, YOU be quiet.

This is Why 2-Year-Olds Don't Have Valentines

2009-02-15T23:16:00.003-07:00

Since I was loveless this Valentine's Day -- thus forcing my daughter to be my Valentine, otherwise I'd feel pathetic, and also because she doesn't have a say-so anyway -- I spent a good portion of the day shopping for myself. "Wow," I thought, examining all the girly paraphenalia, "this is so much easier than picking out a romantic gift for a dude."

One of my favorite places to shop is Ross because not only do they have things in the style/size/brand that I like, IT'S CHEAP! Granted, I do have to sift through 10 hideous shirts that look like a 1974's wallpaper pattern had sex with a 1986's acid-washed jean jacket and produced the peculiar pile of material that preceded the pair of spandex-waisted mom-jeans BEFORE I find something decent. But it's not just decent. It's AMAZINGLY GLORIOUS because it only breaks my wallet about $8 per item. This isn't a clothing store; this is where frugal people party.

Another great thing about Ross is their children's clothing department, which is exactly where I was looking through the size 4T jeans. It still baffles my mind that my daughter is almost in 4T, because seriously, just YESTERDAY she took her first step, I SWEAR. A woman who appeared to be my mom's age walked past us, and Payton said, "Hello!" The woman smiled down at her and replied the same. "That's a nice grandma," Payton said to me before the woman was even 3 feet away from us, at the most. Payton refers to EVERYONE as either a grandma or a grandpa -- even the 21 year old in the frozen food section at Walmart was a grandma. But I'm always worried about people taking this habit of hers personally and rushing away from us to the nearest cosmetic section, wiping their tears while they search for non-oil based anti-aging cream.

"Yes, she's a nice lady," I covered for her, trying to push my cart away to avoid the awkwardness, but the lady had turned around and started following me. And right then Payton crashed my frugal party and turned my face into a typical Valentine's Day Hallmark card, covered in shades of red. "She's a great, great, great, great --" pause for big eyeball effect and a new, fresh breath of air, "great GREAT GRANDMA!"

Because your awesome cannot be contained in ONE single post

2009-02-10T04:41:00.001-07:00

An extension to your monthly letter...

P.S. Last night while we were at Olive Garden eating with Uncle Cory, the waitress stopped at our table to ask how everything was tasting.

"Hola!" you chimed."

Well hello there!" the waitress answered back, charmed to be greeted by a spanish word coming out of a blonde and blue-eyed body.

You repeated yourself again, "Hola!" and then followed up with, "I love talk Chinese."

The entire restaurant roared with laughter and many commented about my "small-sized comedian." You inherited that from your dad--both the confusion of ethnicities and races, and the comedic wit--and better that you inherit the ability to make people smile than his ability to put an entire can of chew between his lower gums and lip.

I love you, silly girl.

Month 33

2009-02-08T21:01:00.002-07:00

Payton,

Sometimes when I write these letters to you I struggle for content, NOT because you don't have a personality big enough that, if ignited, could explode and wipe out the entire human race as we know it, but because it's hard to limit myself to just ONE letter. I've found that my best research papers were on topics that were so narrowed and to-the-point that the amount of information I had on the subject was a few paragraphs worth at best. Topics with an abundancy of information (like that one paper I did on Human vs. Animal Cloning, The Pros and Cons, which I had a hell of a time limiting to 23 pages) are always more difficult for me to write. Some would say that processing an overload of information would be more difficult to me; I think I'm just good at filling in the blank spaces with pure bullshit. And judging by the size of your personality (your imagination ALONE), you're definitely going to inherit that from mama. You're welcome, baby girl. This particular skill may also reveal to you a compelling urge to argue, all the time, with anyone, for any reason, just as I experienced pre-parenthood. I even enrolled in college and chose "PreLaw" as my major, certain that I would one day be a lawyer, getting PAID to baffle people with my half-true bullshit. I've since changed my mind about pursuing such a career after having a baby, and not just ANY baby, a baby that takes after me in many, many ways. Nowadays, the only time I can win an argument is when I say, "I'M THE MOM, YOU'RE THE KID, THEREFORE I WIN!" I hate saying that to you, though, partly because I obviously can't find any other way to out-wit a 2 YEAR OLD, and partly because I know how much I hated it when my mother used to say that to me. I guess I'll finally admit that now, to you and to her, that she really DID win. Damn.

The potty-training is coming along nicely, but its not due to you finally understanding how disgusting it is to sit in your poop, oh NO! You're completely comfortable sitting in your poop, even if your smelly ass is creating a suffocating shit-fume-SMOG throughout the house with a stench only comparable to that of a porta-potty sitting in 120 degree weather that hasn't been cleaned in a century. Even the cat looks at you like something it wants to bury in its liter box. Yeah, it's THAT BAD, and you walk around as though you're completely unaware. Since convincing you that poopy drawers are uncomfortable has been useless, I've tried bribing you to use the potty with M&M's (which you pronounce "yum-yums") and sips of mountain dew. I know, I know, I shouldn't bribe you with food and sugar and treats and blahblahblah, but the happy dance, the sticker chart, the new toys, the computer play time, and the getting to go bye-bye tricks DIDN'T WORK. This works, and its working well. I've found your weakness! Now everytime I see M&M's I think of the poop I DON'T have to wipe off your ass or fish out of your carebear underwear. Yes, M&M's are potty-training my child, and I don't feel guilty about it one bit. However, now that you've discovered you receive a single M&M after every successful trip to the potty, you'll try telling me every 3 minutes "I go potty!" Then you'll come back and expect me to dance around the room like a crazy person, praising you and hugging you. After I've calmed down a bit you'll say with a patronizing tone, "Yeah, good job Paytie, Mmmmmmkay.... I has yum-yum now?"

The other night while driving to Gramma Jackie's we ran over a set of railroad tracks, and since mama's air-ride suspension has (pun fully intended) taken a poop, it was so bumpy that it felt like we were the little white balls bouncing around in those machines they use to select the lottery numbers. Immediately after everything settled back into place you said, "Jeeeeeeez, mama." I laughed a little bit and apologized to you, but that wasn't good enough. "Why you do dat?" you asked, thoroughly irritated that I would subject you to such a thing. I apologized again, and clearly it STILL WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH because you felt the need to thoroughly embarrass me when we arrived at gramma's. Since you were wearing big girl panties, I was asking you every 2 seconds if you needed to go potty. "No." Well do you need to pee? "No danks." Do you need to poop? "Nah." And, just to spice things up I asked if you needed to fart atleast? "Mmmm.... Later." We were all laughing at your gas passing schedule when you piped up with, "Mama go poop today." Jeeeeez, Payton. Why you do dat?

You've started giving people nicknames from the cartoon character's you watch everyday. You've refered to your Gramma Jackie as 'Widget' atleast once or twice, you call Gramma Carol 'Ruby' and you've called your dad a Disney Princess half a dozen times. Last night you were calling Auntie Destiny 'Lil Bill' and Auntie Desiree 'April', who is Lil Bill's older sister (appropriate, no?) The funny thing about it is that you insist on these nicknames, even in times of distress like when Auntie Destiny is carrying you to the potty and you're screaming for Gramma Jackie. "STOP IT, LIL BILL!!!!!! I NO WANT GO POTTYYYYY!!!!!" Your imagination grows by the hour. Today you were running from the kitchen to the living room, catching imaginary ladybugs in your fisher price bath net. "Look my ladybugths" you said with your adorable lisp. "Wow, they're so pretty!" "They crying." "Why are they crying?" "They miths their momths and dadths." "It'll be okay," I said to the ladybugs. You took a step forward so your big blue eyes were directly in front of mine, our noses touching. "You tickle dem and say 'Goochie Goochie' and they no cry no more." So I tickled the imaginary ladybugs, saying "Goochie Goochie" while you sat back and smiled, fully satisfied.

I was talking to a friend of mine who was expressing to me her longing for another baby. Me, being unable to comprehend such desires for ADDED responsibility, LESS money, and MORE stress-induced hair loss asked, "Why?" She said that when she and her husband are sitting at the dinner table with their son or loading everyone into the car or planning a vacation she looks around and feels in her heart that someone is missing. I thought for a moment about the weekends you spend with your father, and though I'm out of the house enjoying myself among friends, I sometimes get a sudden feeling of guilt or loss, because you are not with me, and I feel lonely even though I'm surround by many good friends. I understood her after that and suggested she try for another baby, even though she was unsure about the timing. There are many things I'm unsure about; many things I thought I was sure about but have since turned out differently or fallen apart completely. In fact, nothing right now is the way I had imagined it to be when I was pregnant with you. I've started to let that go, let go of the dreams and images and assumptions I once had about what defines a "family". Do I live with a sense of disappointment? No... I live with beautiful surprises.

Love,
Mom

Month 32

2009-01-12T00:00:00.003-07:00

Payton,

Another month has passed, and this is probably the quickest one yet. My grandma says her favorite age of her kids' lives were always the age they were presently. And I'm not sure if I'm going to agree with her on that or not (since my baby's lifetime has been a couple short albeit amazing years, and her baby is now over 40), but right now, this is my favorite age of yours. You don't scream if I'm not holding you like you did at 2 weeks; you don't crawl all over the floor, an act that had me sweeping/mopping/vacuuming like I had some kind of sick fetish for textiles just to keep you free of germs and dirt; you don't even remove your clothing in public anymore. You're a better communicator, you're learning more at a faster pace than before, you're simply growing up. It is bittersweet for me, as your mom watching her baby grow so fast, and as a woman who does not plan on having anymore children. You are it for me. You're all I want. You're all I need.

Recently my cousin Tom and his wife Ashley were told the sex of their 3rd child who is due in May. They already have two sons and were obviously hoping for a girl this time (well, atleast Ashley was hoping... Tom might have been thinking about the intimidating artilery he may have had to purchase.) I'm sure you could imagine Ashley's disappointment (and maybe even Tom's) when she learned that her dreams of experiencing a mother/daughter relationship with a daughter of her own were becoming less and less likely. I'm sure at this point she's feeling much differently, but certainly it was something she had to deal with. I've said it to you before, but I want to reiterate the point that even if it takes you awhile to be accepting and happy with the cards you are dealt, you must know that it is to our ADVANTAGE that we don't get to plan every detail of our lives, even the major ones. It is often what we don't plan, maybe even what is contrary to our plan, the things we love most. Four years ago I was an average college student with a wild social life, and if someone had said, "You're going to be potty training a very opinionated and bossy 2.5-year-old in 4 years, and not only that, you're going to clap your hands voluntarily when you find turds in the toilet" I would've asked for their dealer's number because I would've wanted whatever they were smoking. But that's exactly what I did today. I watched you relieve yourself into your toddler potty about 8 times today and I clapped, jumped up and down, and kissed your chubby cheeks until you pushed me away and said, "Das enough, mama." I ooo'd and ahhh'd over your elmo panties, and I even baked a cake--the first cake I've ever baked, mind you--just so I could properly reward you. No, I didn't plan my life to be like this... I wasn't even the type of girl who thought I would be excited to live a life like this... so I feel blessed to have been given this opportunity anyway. And I know that Ashley is going to feel much the same when she bonds with her new baby boy. Life has a way of working out. It always works out.

Recently at Papa Mark's house you were admiring the bear skin rug hanging on the wall. Gramma Willow asked if you'd like to touch it, but you shook your head while looking at the bear's claws. "No thank you. Him has long scratch," you said.

Christmas this year was very hectic for you, and I felt so sorry that you were dragged to 7 different houses in 2 days to open gifts. By the time Christmas morning rolled around, you were over it. The only part of Christmas you wanted to celebrate at that point was the fudge, and you and your great Papa Mike sat together munching down on some while you kept telling him after every bite, "Mmmm, I like shock-lit." Your Auntie Wendy--who describes chocolate as "the other food group"--and your cousin Chrystal--who wanted to deduct the ice cream from the whole "sundae" experience and asked for simply "chocolate on a plate"--would be so very proud, I'm sure.

Whether you are potty-training or I am job hunting, whether you are learning to write your name or I am learning to live independently, whatever our goals are, whatever our struggles are, I enjoy spending my life with you; I feel blessed to be spending my life with you. You are it for me. You are all I want. You are all I need.

Love,
Mom

Month 31

2008-12-18T05:18:00.001-07:00

Payton,

For Thanksgiving this year we went to great grandma and grandpa McDunn's house, after much deliberation. I don't know why, but being around any extended family (lately) has made me feel anxious, causing me to watch the clock the entire time I'm there until an appropriate time has passed before I can leave, promptly. It's my issue, obviously, not my family's, but it had me considering alternative options this year: eating with Willow, since my dad was out of town hunting, or perhaps spending Thanksgiving with your dad's family, however awkward that might've been. Thankfully I made the right decision and spent the day with my own family. I was slightly anxious the beginning of the day, but that all changed when Grandma Jackie asked you what you were doing and you replied frankly, "Picking my nose." You, as you can see, are the coolest fucking human alive.

You say the funniest things these days, in the right context, so wise beyond your years. After a day of running around and doing errands (where you spent most of your time in the car so I didn't have to drag you in and out of every store), that your day was "soooo boringgggg." You even rolled your eyes when you said it, just to put the icing on the cake. You're starting to refer to things as "cool"; Dora is cool, my cellphone is cool, plugging the Christmas tree in by yourself is cool--bedtime is "not cool, no thank you."

You're very curious about your anatomy lately. "Is these my legs?" you'll ask me while staring down at your legs while you walk, which usually makes you run into something since you're not looking ahead. "Yes, those are your legs," I'll say, and you'll reply with, "oh." Then you'll ask me another question about a different body part, I'll answer you and so on. Sometimes, if you're pointing to your lips or whatever and asking me if those are, indeed, your lips, I'll switch things up and say, "Nope, those are your buttcheeks." You'll laugh a little and say, "NO! THOSE NOT MY BUTTCHEEKS!" And if you're reading this and thinking, "That's not very nice of you to do to your daughter," well, Payton, you got me back. I was just stepping out of the shower, hadn't even reached for my towel yet when you came storming into the bathroom. As I stood there, getting ready to dry myself off you asked, "Those is your boobies?" I said, "Yep, they sure are." You laughed so hard you snorted and said, "NO! THOSE NOT BOOBIES!" You win, you little shithead.

I'm making a slideshow for great grandma McDunn for Christmas featuring her, her kids, her grandkids and her great grandkids, and I didn't have enough pictures so I went out to her house tonight to get more and visit for awhile. Great Grandpa Mike and I got on the subject of his parents and how they treated him, how they were as people, etc. He told me that his parents divorced and didn't speak to each other for 40 years, because his mom held onto so much animosity towards his dad. They were in the same nursing home together and she was bed-ridden, after suffering a heart-attack that paralyzed her entire left side. Everyday, he would try to bring her the newspaper, and everyday, she would throw it out. Finally, after 9 years of being in the same nursing home together, him bringing her the paper everyday, she allowed him to come into her room and read the paper together. She forgave him that day, and then died a few days later. He died 9 days after she did. Grandpa closed his story with, "The good lord wouldn't let her die until she had forgiveness in her heart." There are a lot of conclusion you can make.. considering how they died only 9 days apart... how he offered her the newspaper every day for 9 years... but most importantly, how she wasted 40 years of her life holding a grudge, being scornful and bitter.

I look at you everyday, and everyday you change, transform, morph into something smarter, bigger and more of a pain in the butt. :) As the end of the year is nearing, its tradition to set new resolutions or goals that you'd like to achieve in the upcoming, new year. Its a great idea, but most people don't follow through after a few weeks or months, and its just a forgotten achievement they once wanted. I want you to have resolutions for your life, not just for the following year, and I want them to be more meaningful to you than cutting back on junk food, recycling more or spending more time at the gym. I want you to learn from my mistakes just as much as your own. I want you to appreciate the smallest things in life like when your two-year-old announces to Thanksgiving dinner that they're picking their nose. I want you to have forgiveness in your heart at all times, because I don't want you to waste a minute of your life being unhappy when you have the power to control it. And my resolution this year, my gift to you this Christmas and always, is to help you reach those goals, to keep reminding you of them so you never forget.

You don't forget those things, and I promise I won't forget you totally dissing my boobs. "Not cool" Payton. "No thank you." :)

Love,
Mom

Month 30

2008-11-13T05:20:00.001-07:00

Payton,

This year your dad and your grandma Carol took you Halloween shopping (which really made me sad, that I wasn't present, but your dad thoroughly enjoyed his time alone with you, and I realize that you two having one-on-one time is important, for both of you.) They searched frantically, roaming the Halloween aisles at several stores before finally coming across the a decent-enough Dinosaur costume. It was green (not purple; I didn't want you to look like Barney. I love you too much to do that to you) and had cute yellow spots running down its back and along it's plush, squishy tail. When your dad showed it to you, however, you shook your head and grabbed the lady bug costume hanging next to it. "You want to be a lady bug?" your dad asked, confused since the two are not alike. At all. "I Paytie Bug!" you said proudly. And that was that.

Grandma Jackie was getting you to repeat her while she tried teaching you the proper trick-or-treating etiquette. You repeated "trick or treat" just fine, but when she asked you to repeat "smell my feet" you looked at her and said, "No, grandma." I can understand your position on feet smelling, though, since the Almighty Smelly Footster Waylon (ASFW trademark) happens to be your dad. One whiff of his stench is enough to burn the hair out of your nostrils and make your eyes water uncontrollably. I promise you, my love, not everyone's feet smell like they've been using carcasses as shoes.

This year daddy and I took you trick-or-treating with Grandma Jackie. We walked around grandma's neighborhood, like last year, and probably went down one block before your bucket was filled with candy and growing heavy for your little arms. I asked you repeatedly if you'd like me to hold it, but you'd say "No, no, NO THANK YOU, my candy! MINE!" You would have been perfectly content to go home after the first house, after receiving your first treat, so you could eat it as soon as possible, but soon learned that every house was giving away candy! But you weren't greedy about it, you were capable of stopping at any time, and I think you more so enjoyed meeting the people who were handing out the candy than you did the treat itself. I so appreciate this age you're at right now; you're friendly and sweet and outgoing and so innocent. And you are inspired by and excited for the smallest, most simple things. I hope you stay this way forever.

Some new things you've done this past month: you gave yourself your first bloody nose by falling off the coffee table (AKA: a rock-n-roll stage for you to perform for your audience, and by audience I mean your babydolls and the cat) and landing face-first ontop of your rocking moose. There haven't been many instances when you've been hurt and had blood to show for it, so when I first saw the splatters of blood on your moose I became a crazy lunatic lady. When you noticed my reaction you stopped crying and stared at me like, "What the hell, mom? I'm a kid, I do this crap. I'll live!" But I wasn't certain, so I held my little rockstar in my lap, where I knew you'd be safe, and we read stories for the rest of the day.

I absolutely cannot stand Dora The Explorer. Half the time, I want to pronounce her name "Dore-er" because that rhymes with "explore-er" and you'll say, "Thas not dore-er! Thas dore-UH!" And I'm all, "Oh yeah? Pronounce 'disestablishmentarianism'." And then you're all, "I'm thirsty." Ha! I win! But its not that I don't like what the cartoon is teaching you, I just can't stand the repetative nature of it all. For instance, when Dore-UH is lost and needs direction, she reaches into her backpack for the map. And I'll bet money that whoever was making these songs for this show got paid for how many times they could use the word "map" because that's the entire song -- I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the map, map map map my brain is turning to mush maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap. However, the other day your grandpa Mark was over here and because your grandpa Mark loves to torture you by pulling your hair, pinching you, poking you, staring at you when you tell him not to, etc., he was dangling you by your ankles and swinging you about. You called out for me and said, "Mommy! Help me! Help! Ayúdame! Ayúdame!" We all sat there and looked at you like confused rednecks. "Did she just say one of them there words that are in that there Spanish speakin' language?" And uncle Cory said, "Yeah. Ayúdame means "help me" in Spanish." Because you have learned to say phrases in Spanish, phrases that I don't even know, I allow my sanity to be shaken by the map song. I just happen to mutter "ayúdame" everytime I hear it.

On November 4th I did something I've never done before: I voted for the Presidential Election. Before you were born, I didn't care much about politics or the ways this world was governed or who was doing it and which policies they supported, etc. I was happily ignorant from that entire "mess" (and it really is a mess.) But since having a baby, I am instinctively making myself aware of your surroundings, your atmosphere, your world, and I am responsible for making it the best it can be. I don't look at it now as a mess that I'd rather allow other people to worry about; I look at it as something that needs to be taken care of to ensure YOU, and your children, and your children's children are properly taken care of and can inherit an even better world, an even better government than the one I had. I voted on account of the best possible future for YOU and who I thought best represented my ideals for exactly that, YOUR future. It was a historic moment, and everyone in the world knew it, not just us Americans. A black man is the President of the United States, and had the election gone the other way a woman would have been the Vice-President of the United States. Let that be a message to you, a sign to you, that whatever you dream, it is possible, and you are not bound by your sex, your sexual-orientation, your religion, your skin color, even your name. And whatever you set your sights on, I'll be your biggest campaign. I'll support you no matter what. Even if we don't always see eye-to-eye on every single issue, you'll always have my vote, baby.

When I went to vote, I could NOT remember where Faith Evangelical church was. I started driving slowly, looking from left to right, unsure which side of the street it would be on. I even had to call your dad and ask where the hell I was going. "I should have google mapped this before I left the house," I thought to myself. And I shit you not, that song popped into my head just to piss me off: I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the map....

Love,
Mom

Month 29

2008-10-14T06:19:00.001-06:00

Payton,

I know I say it in every letter, but I'm still unsure where all the time goes. Surely it hasn't been a whole month since I've last written you? It feels like just yesterday you were scooting around on the floor, wearing out the toe-tips of your shoes on the carpet, and rolling over from your back to your stomach with such enormous effort... which is exactly what you were doing 2 years ago this month. I love that I have written everything down so I can look back on it. And when I read what I've written, purposely saturated with fine-print details, I can almost relive those moments entirely. My baby sure is growing up!

Whereas you used to have a habit of peeing on Cory (even with a diaper and clothes on, which most would consider impossible) you now have the habit of addressing every man we meet in public as "Daddy." I usually interrupt you with, "Oh, where's daddy? He's at work, we'll see him later" to save myself the embarrassment of someone really thinking that my child doesn't know who her daddy is, that anyone could be her daddy, she needs a daddy, are YOU her daddy? It's ridiculous because you know exactly who your dad is; it isn't like you're CONFUSING these men with him, because none of them even resemble your dad.

Last week we went grocery shopping at Walmart, and while I was paying the cashier you asked her, "What's your name?" She was probably in her early 50's, and slightly resembled your great grandma Sharon. She answered, "I'm Dorothy." You smiled real big and screamed, "Oh, HI HORSEY!" She laughed it off while I corrected you and started putting our bagged groceries into the cart. Since DOROTHY was going to lunch, another employee was getting ready to take over for her. He was very tall, very skinny, very black and very, VERY gay. He smiled at you and you smiled back. "That's GREAT grandma" you informed him, pointing to Dorothy. Dorothy laughed and said, "Oh I'm not that old, come on!" Then she pointed at the black man and asked you, "Who is he?" You shot back without a second thought, "That's daddy!""Needless to say, your dad didn't appreciate that story very much, just like he didn't like it when mommy drew you a picture of a princess that you named "daddy."

You're in the beginning stages of emulating people, and I love it when you try and talk as an adult to everyone around you. Auntie Desiree asked you what you were doing, and you answered casually, "Chillin with mommy and daddy."

You did something you've never done before just a few days ago: you ate a sandwich. You don't like peanut butter, so pb&j is out of the question. You only like tuna in small doses (meaning you'll tolerate a few bites), so that's usually ruled out as well. You WILL eat a grilled cheese, but since that's not exactly the nutrition you need, I don't often go that route. But I made myself a ham sandwich, purposely kept it plain (ham and mayo, salt&pepper) and cut it diagonally twice, into 4 triangular pieces. At first you were so stoked that I said you could actually EAT the triangles, but then much to your amazement (and mine!) you LIKED it! I almost cried tears of joy watching you eat that sandwich, because getting you to expand your diet of yogurt and goldfish crackers to ANYTHING ELSE is always a huge battle. And I always lose. Not anymore, dammit. I'm on a mission to prepare all dishes in triangular-shape form in hopes for more positive feedback. I'll keep you posted.

You have a slight obsession with dinosaurs (DIE-SORES) and if you're not particularly ready to go to bed (which is, always) you like to tell me that there are die-sores in your room, or that you can't sleep because it smells like die-sores (my favorite), or that there are NEVER die-sores in my room, so you think it'd be best if you slept in there. It'd be amusing to me if it weren't true, but since it is, it's rather annoying. To further indulge you in your die-sore obsession, grandma Carol bought you a die-sore egg that, after placed in water for x-amount of days, hatched a raptor-like die-sore. You were so excited for that dinosaur to hatch, you asked about it every single day, and because kids are bi-polar creatures by nature, the minute your dinosaur hatched and I showed it to you, you screamed and wanted nothing to do with it.

And because kids like to make liars out of their parents, when I asked you what the yellowish/orangeish die-sore's name was, you didn't say it was daddy. You answered with a random color like papa Mark does when he doesn't understand the question. "Uhhhh... black."

With you, I've learned to expect the unexpected, and for a person who usually likes a strict schedule with concrete plans and not much leniency for random crap, it's been a hell of a journey for me, because most of my life now fits into the category of "RANDOM CRAP." And even though the minute I get used to the new YOU, you go on and transform again right before my eyes, I'm enjoying this evolution. You are so many things to me, and entertainment is certainly one of them.

Two years ago you were a chubby little fairy for Halloween, dolled up in ruffles, glitter and angel wings. And if you don't completely change in the next few weeks, I'll bet you'll be a die-sore this year.

Love,
Mom

Month 28

2008-09-14T11:27:00.001-06:00

Payton,

I can't believe we've gone ANOTHER month so fast! I guess time really does fly by when you're having fun. :)

This past month you've started hearing songs on the radio that you recognize, and often times you'll start singing along with it, too. You'll sing "get like me" (David Banner) and "no one, no one, NO ONE!" (Alicia Keys) It's adorable, and for a second I could envision you on American Idol or The Disney Channel, the starting point of a highly successful singing career. Well, I'm not ruling it out as a possibility for the future, but I think potty-training is a more realistic achievement at this point. We'll focus on that for now!

You love to play hide-and-seek, but you'll only tolerate counting to THREE until you're ready to search for someone. Because you don't count long enough, you turn around just in time to see whoever you're playing with dashing for anything nearby to hide behind. You laugh and pretend you don't see them until you're practically touching them and then scream, "CAUGHT YOU!" You and Willow played in the backyard for a good hour one night and none of us could stop laughing. You love to entertain.

You have such a strong personality that keeps getting stronger everyday. You know what you want and you usually want it RIGHT NOW. You know what you don't want, and heaven forbid anyone try to change that. You asked me for yogurt (you are ADDICTED to strawberry banana yogurt) and after I got you situated with it, you asked for applesauce. I told you not until you finished your yogurt but you were persistent. I finally budged (bad mom, I know) and gave you both. You mixed them together and then took a big, hefty bite. I watched you struggle with yourself.. wanting so bad to spit it out, but determined to eat it because you asked for it. I could almost see the logic you were going for. If applesauce is good and yogurt is exceptional, then applesauce AND yogurt would be exceptionally good! But much to your disappointment, that just wasn't the case. You never spit it back out, you actually swallowed that disgusting bite, but afterwards you told me, "No good. I done."

I realized something this month that was similar to your story, that I didn't even recognize until just now, writing it. But whereas I had hope for some kind of reconciliation with daddy, I now know that it's over. It's a relief to have that closure, because now I can atleast move on instead of being stuck in a state of uncertainty. Atleast now I can learn to accept it. I was having a difficult time understanding how he and I can be such great friends to each other and yet not such great companions for each other. But it's much like your story with yogurt and applesauce. Your dad is applesauce and I am yogurt (because I'm exceptional, duh :D) and separately, we're easy to "digest." Mixed together, we just don't work. We're too different to compliment each other like strawberries and bananas do. We spoil the enjoyment of ourselves and each other when we're together, and that's not fair to us, or to you. So to keep our family from being completely spoiled, daddy and I have decided this situation was "no good" and we're done.

I write down a lot of things for you, because I want you to know how I was feeling at certain points and during certain situations. I want you to be able to see where I was coming from, and know that I've never done anything without thinking it through. I'm over-analytical by nature, and whereas most people act before they think, I think and think and think and then rarely act. I'm practical, I'm responsible, I'm an advocate for avoiding bad consequences at any cost because I can't stand unnecessary drama. And I think after reading most of what I write to you, you'll understand how much I have considered you and your feelings and outlook on life, and how much I just want to keep you happy and safe. Everything I do and don't do is directly related to you. I don't live my life for me anymore, I live it for you. YOU are my LIFE, and always have been, and should you ever doubt that or need reassurance, I hope what I've written to you.. and what I will CONTINUE to write for you.. will illustrate just how much I love you.

Love,
Mom

Month 27

2008-08-18T19:41:00.001-06:00

Payton,

Usually, I write down cute things you've said or funny stories about you that have happened inbetween these letters, but this past month has been so crazy around here that I never got around to doing so. Instead of getting caught up in having to DOCUMENT our moments together, this past month has been an eye-opener for me in that... you can't just photograph the good times, you can't just write them down to remember them later .. you have to actually LIVE it. Even without 'proof' or materialistic things to serve as reminders of such memories, having the experience with you is the best part.

Kassie and Makenzee have been in Denver for almost a month now. Makenzee was flown from St. V's to Denver in an effort for her to receive professional care from different types of doctors who are more accostumed in helping children with special needs. Kassie went along, of course, with only the shirt on her back, 3 dollars and a stick of gum in her pocket. Her parents eventually made their way down after Kassie was asked the most unsettling question a parent could ever hear -- should she or should she not continue to fight for Makenzee's life?

I'm not a person who easily talks about the skeletons in their closet, I don't aire my dirty laundry for everyone to discuss like an episode of reality t.v., and I'd much rather keep my "personal" business exactly that -- personal. But I am going through some things in my life right now that are anything but easy, and I've had a not-so-good time trying to put all the pieces together. However, to put everything on its respective scale, it doesn't TOUCH the magnitude of what Kassie is dealing with. It doesn't compare. It's hard to feel sorry for yourself when you watch something bigger and far more important happening to someone else, let alone the best friend you've ever had. It's hard to feel sorry for yourself when a baby you love just like your own is struggling with life. It's hard to feel sorry for yourself when you have no reason to.

I started thinking about things differently. Instead of losing a lousy husband, who I now get along with a LOT better, I've gained a great friend. Instead of breaking up my daughter's home and feeling guilty, I feel stronger and more independent, and am proud of who I am and what I have accomplished for my daughter and me. She isn't acting as the happy medium between two bickering adults; she's now the connection between two happy friends who can now focus more on their daughter than their petty differences. Life doesn't turn out the way you expect or the way you want, but it DOES turn out to be pretty damn good. It's all in how you CHOOSE to observe and learn.

Kassie has been doing this type of observing since the moment Makenzee was born. She has seen a situation for what it was, and always taken the positive route, even now, even when things have seemed hopeless and she was offered the "easy way out" (as she states it.) She didn't expect to be in this situation, I'm sure she doesn't want to be, but she IS, and now it's only a matter of CHOOSING to live as happily as possible from here on out. She is such an inspiration to me that this world is not perfect -- FAR from -- but you don't have to walk around feeling sorry for yourself.

There's so much more to life than the picture-perfect moments or the silly stories that make us unique. Sometimes its the boring things I do everyday, like washing your clothes, sitting on the couch with you and watching Wow Wow Wubzy, braiding your hair, watching you sleep, getting you that 90th glass of milk per day, or telling you to please stop screaming because that's not singing and nice girls sing quietly. It seems so boring, so mundane, so "routine" ... and yet its become my way of life, the BEST parts of my life, that I cherish far more than anything.. that make up for all the negativity. Sitting at home on a friday night, pumping you full of meds to alleviate the symptoms of your cold and wiping snot from your nose every 20 minutes seems HARDLY like the life I would have chosen for myself... so thank God you don't get to choose everything about your life, because I never would've known how wonderful that could be, or that it would be one of the greatest times of my life because it was spent entirely with you.

Life is not easy, but its easy to feel disappointed when it doesn't go your way. Nothing is ever going to be perfect, but I'm always going to be here, trying to get you to see things positively.. and when I can't find anything positive to say, you can just call up Auntie Kassie and ask her.

Love,
Mom

Month 26

2008-07-18T19:29:00.001-06:00

Payton,

These last couple weeks with you have been a breeze, and they have certainly flown by! You've spent a weekend with Great Gm'a and G'pa McDunn while daddy and I traveled to Tom & Ashley's wedding. They love having you and laughing at all the silly things you say. You were talking jibberish to G'ma Jackie one day & said something about a "little brother." G'ma asked if you wanted a little brother, and you said "of course" in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. Where do you learn these funny things?

So far, you've been swimming in G'ma's pool, Laurel pond and Cooney Dam. You LOVE the water and aren't afraid to jump in! Cory and I took you swimming just a couple days ago and you were trying to push me away so you could do it yourself. I figured I'd let go of you for a second to show you just how much you needed my assistance, and you of course gulped up a ton of water. I was talking to you afterward while you were coughing, telling you "See, this is why mommy has to hold you!" and you choked a little before saying, "Sorry, bugs." I then came to the conclusion that you not only swallowed a ton of water, but I think you swallowed some kind of insect, too. :(

While Cory and I were still swimming, you were enjoying some vanilla wafers with great g'pa's dog, Murphy. You would take a bite, he would take a bite, and then you'd put the wafer back into the box & dig for a fresh one. Subsequently, g'ma decided that you could take that box of wafers HOME.

You and I went to dinner the other night, and a baby seated near us started to cry. You pointed your finger at the mother and said, "You make da baby CRYYYY!!" in your stern voice, scolding her. It had me laughing so hard, I couldn't tell you to stop until after someone noticed and was chuckling right along with me. You're so entertaining, all the time, and I'm beginning to embrace the moments I'd otherwise be embarrassed about.

You're starting to distinguish between cars, trucks and busses. Because we live in Montana, it's not often you see motorcycles except for this time of year. While we were waiting for a stop light to turn green, I pointed to the large man on a motorcycle stopped next to the car. I said, "What is that, Payton?" and you looked at me in disgust and said, "Fat." Wasn't exactly the answer I was looking for!

I love how you discipline your babies with the same words you're used to hearing yourself. I stood outside your bedroom door while you rocked your babies in the cradle G'pa Mike made for you, saying "Don't do that! Stop that right NOW!" and then in a very calm voice you said, "Chillax, babe."

I've had my mind on so many different things this past month: your dad fried the engine in the car and we had to have it replaced, I've been applying for jobs and have been rejected by the ones I wanted most, your dad and I have been going through some rough times in our relationship and he's not currently living with us, etc. It's all been quite hectic for me, but you never cease to be excited about life and consistently happy, no matter what is going on around you. I'm trying to keep you as the calm in the eye of this storm I'm in right now, and hoping that you won't be negatively affected by it all. So far, so good. You're such a warm spirit, Payton, always in a good mood and smiling. You are an inspiration to me to keep going, keep trying, keep living.. because you make every hardship in my crazy life absolutely worth it. Thank you for keeping the atmosphere around here so light-hearted, even when I have so much weighing me down.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray....

Love,
Mom

Month 25

2008-06-21T14:32:00.001-06:00

Payton,

I'm a little late writing this, but I'm glad I am. Since you change and evolve so quickly from day-to-day, you just started some new behaviors yesterday that are obviously still fresh in my mind and easy to write about. You're such a character, all the time, and I love it. If asked what your name is, you respond with what you're called the most -- cute. If that's not conceited enough, you often tell grandma that you're neither fat nor skinny, you're "perfect." I just know your dad and I are going to save a fortune for all those self-esteem coaches we won't need to consult.

Yesterday was auntie Kassie's sister's graduation party. Because alcohol was being served and your mother is a glutton for a weekly hangover, I thought it'd be best if you enjoyed your night with Gwamma and Papa Shane. They were already out to dinner, but they wanted me to drop you off with them. I asked your Gwamma where they were, and she replied "Famous Daves." So, I did the really crazy thing and actually drove to Famous Daves to drop you off. Inside, the hostess asks if I need a table for two. I tell her I'm there to drop my baby off with a party that's already been seated, so she tells me to look around for them.

There I am, wandering around with you & your carebear mini-duffle bag, when I finally notice the eyes of every customer staring at me, like I'm some kind of mental patient trying to select a kind looking stranger to leave this baby with. A little flustered and embarassed, I whispered under my breath, "Where the fuck is gwamma?"

All of a sudden you grabbed my face in your hands, glared at me and yelled, "DON'T YOU SAY THAT WORD!" Instantly I got a flashback of the weekend before, when I was at Perkins with uncle Cory and auntie Kassie. Cory was accused of saying the f-word by an off-duty cop which ended up with us being asked to leave the ever-so high-class environment that Perkins (at well after 2AM) has to offer. Let that be some advice for you, darlin: unless you WANT that sort of embarassment, do NOT speak too loudly about cheap, one-ply toilet paper and how it offends you so. Others are listening, and they probably have a shitty (no pun intended) sense of humor.
Anyways, after you threw a fit I wanted to run out of the restaurant at that moment, but a waitress delivering food to a table was blocking my exit and I had no choice but to wait.

"THAT'S NO NO, MAMA!" you continued. "NAWTIE MOUTH, MAMA!" People were smiling, snickering, and staring at us, probably wondering what that awful potty-mouthed mommy had said. I smiled back and raised my eyebrows like, "Oh yeah, isn't she cute? You think so? Good. Want her?"

It turns out your Gwamma was actually at the Outback, which was more of a relief than an inconvenience. I couldn't imagine you or I going back in there after the scene we just caused. If there's one thing you're good at, its making scenes in public places, like when that older gentleman farted loudly in the shoe aisle at WalMart. You kept screaming, "Pew, Mama! FART!" until I seriously thought I was going to die of embarassment. Or when we were in the checkout line and the woman behind us was screaming on her phone. You peeked around me to look at her and said, "SHUT UP!" I was actually proud of you for that one.

But you definitely get the gold for your ability to make a mess. The other day you were playing so quietly in the living room, hardly making a sound, so I knew you were up to no good. I crept around the corner and there you were, black smears covering your face, arms and belly. I noticed that you were holding my brand new tube of mascara. I was unhappy, but before I slapped your hand for getting into things you know better than to get into, I asked what you were doing. "Blowing bubbles" you said innocently. I had a hard time disciplining you after that, since I knew your heart was in the right place.

I'm actually going through some things right now, some adult things that you don't understand at the moment. And I'm making decisions that will affect you for the rest of your life. I don't have a rulebook or a guideline set out for me, telling me what my best choice would be. I have to make those decisions on my own and hope that I did the right thing. I just want you to know that when it comes to you, my heart is ALWAYS in the right place. I always have the best intentions for you and your life, and I spend my days trying to navigate through this crazy life protecting you, teaching you, and making you happy. I love you with my WHOLE existance, Payton. Even if you don't understand that or agree with my choices, just please know that I'd never steer you wrong, and that I have always had your very best interest at heart. I promise you, you can depend on that.

Love,
Mom

Month 24

2008-05-16T16:07:00.001-06:00

Payton,

It's May 16th today, your birthday. You're two years old today, even though when I asked you, "How old are you?" you quickly said "one!" When I tried to correct you, you shouted at me, "ONE!! ONE!! ONE!!" You're only a year old, and already you know you don't want to grow up. I feel you there, darlin. I'd do just about anything to rewind the time and enjoy my childhood once again. It seems that kids spend their entire childhoods wanting to be adults, and adults spend their entire adulthood wishing they were kids again. It's that old "greener on the other side" theory, and it's absolutely true. But in some cases, I really enjoy being an adult, and not just any adult--the adult that gets to be YOUR mom.

My childhood wasn't the greatest, and that is not a statement unlike anyone else's. Who had the perfect childhood? No one. All-in-all, people may be satisfied with how they grew up, but I wasn't and I'm still not, which is why I have created an atmosphere for you completely different from my own. Your parents are together, there are no drugs or alcohol surrounding you, you aren't suffering from lack of sleep because you could hear your dad and 15 of his friends partying all night, your mother (myself) will ALWAYS be around you--probably more so than you'd like--and your dad and I, though he may work at long distances for many days in a row, will NEVER miss the important events in your life.

Volleyball games, spelling bees, track meets, the volleyball tournament I played in after having a perfect record all season and then went onto winning the whole championship, choir concerts, dance recitals, karate events, musicals and plays, birthdays, school dances and holidays, even the birth of my first born child all took place at one point in my life without one of my parents present. Most of the time, neither of them were there.

Right now your dad is being put in a difficult position because he has asked (okay, more like DEMANDED) for time off so that he can make it to your birthday. He's an apprentice, a new guy, fresh to the trade, so he's the punchline to many jokes (the kind of jokes that grandma would NEVER laugh at) and that's okay with him. It's expected. It's just part of the initiation process. But when he's being "picked on" (more or less) for choosing to sacrifice a work day for his child's birthday party, it bothers him. It's all fun and games with your dad until you touch something sensitive inside, and then it's game over.

Someone suggested celebrating your birthday 3 weeks from now (when your dad's out-of-town job is finished), and I considered it, but your dad said "absolutely not." He said that it's your birthday TODAY, not almost a month down the road. Two years ago TODAY was the happiest day for both me AND your dad. Two years ago TODAY our entire lives changed, for the absolute better. Today is what is special to us, so that is when we celebrate.

It might not seem like a big deal to you when you read this, as you probably won't remember your 2nd birthday party anyway. And it might not seem like a big deal to a lot of people reading this. But it matters to me FOR you because I know how it feels to be dropped as a priority on such a special occasion in your life. You will never know what that is like, Payton--not by me, anyway. And that is one of the best gifts I could ever give you.

Happy Birthday, Bug.

Love,
Mom

Month 23

2008-04-16T23:46:00.001-06:00

Payton,

You're now 23 months old, only one more month until you turn two. I can't believe how fast these months are flying by, even though they've always flown by. But just recently I began looking at you differently, and it wasn't due to the fact that you enjoy dressing yourself, so naturally you look like a, uhm, freak of nature... but because you have transitioned from babyhood to toddlerhood before my eyes, and I just now noticed. Your constant want for independence is probably the first, biggest and most profound change in you. Like I said, you prefer to pick out your OWN clothes, and even though I have them in the drawer as outfits (matching shirt with matching bottoms), you mix and match until you find an outfit that lacks so much fashion sense that my eyes begin to water and say, "Pretty? Good? OKAY!!!!" No, you don't wait for my response. Your independence allows you to answer for me.

Your obsession with clothes doesn't stop there, however. You also like to REMOVE your clothing, usually at really innappropriate times, like while going out to eat, or sitting in the car, or right after I got you ready for the day and am already late and need to just GO RIGHT NOW .. you're standing there naked again and asking to take another bath. Most of the time I just let you run around naked, even though it makes me slightly uncomfortable, as if I'm living in a nudist colony, but it's also refreshing to see how free a child can be, how unashamed you are to be what you are, how the days will eventually end when you don't care about how your hair looks, what your weight is, and what brand of clothes you're wearing. Life's short. Play naked.

And other than your sparkling fashion sense that you insist on having carte blanch over, you've also learned that grown-ups get to go bye-bye when they put their shoes and coats on, so by default that means that anytime you put your shoes and coat on that I should promptly place you into the car and begin driving. You always have three destinations you choose from: GRANDMA'S, PARK (or, because you are your mother's daughter) SHOPPING!!!!!

Your grandma Stamm watched you tonight for a few hours while she was waiting for Desiree to get done with Youth Group, allowing your dad and I to have a nice, quiet dinner out by ourselves. The dinner was nice, and don't get me wrong -- it was WONDERFUL to be able to just sit and eat my food without telling you to sit down, don't eat those crayons, quit calling every old person that passes by "Grandpa!" and please oh PLEASE, leave your clothes on!!! -- but it's strange the way being a parent works out. It honestly makes you miss the moments where you go bat-shit crazy, because silence is just over-rated.

We returned home and found you cuddling with grandma on the couch. I asked how everything was, and grandma immediately started crying. She was flustered, and she was scared. Apparently she tried giving you a drink out of a squirt bottle and may have accidentally squirted too much into your mouth, which caused you to throw up.. and then choke. She patted your back, she picked you up and patted harder, she turned you upside down and patted even harder. Still, you were choking and gasping for breath. Because we no longer have a home phone (just our cellphones), grandma grabbed you to rush you to the neighbors so she could call for help, but as soon as she jerked you outside you seemed to stun yourself out of it and were back to normal.

After that, she put you in the tub, where you splashed her with water until she was sopping wet, and then -- to top it all off -- fell and bumped your head against the side of the tub. I don't know why you were acting like a suicidal maniac for the brief 115 minutes we were away, but I know that you scared your grandma, a woman who could handle 12 newborns at a time and still cook dinner, fold laundry and read a 500 page novel.

I just want to tell you, even though you know this, and you'll ALWAYS know this.. but your grandma loves you very much. You have been the most exciting, precious, WONDERFUL thing to her since the moment she knew of your existance. Why else would I have named you after her? You are just as much her pride and joy as you are mine, but thankfully you haven't scared me before the way you scared her tonight. Accidents happen sometimes.. and luckily you were in the best hands to have handled that situation.. because I don't know what I would have done. All I know is that we've thrown away all squirt bottles.

You are growing into your own person, and it's amazing to see who you're becomming. I am merely a spectator to you, a guide to keep you on the right path and a provider for all your essentials and most of your wants. I am learning from you just as much as you're learning from me. You are my entertainment as well as my frustration, and I know I am the same to you. I know that I annoy you when I don't let you jump off the coffee table after screaming "ROCK AND ROLL!!" I know that I frustrate you when I ask you to repeat all the animal noises when you only want to say "Moo!" I know I'm really old fashioned when I make you wear your seatbelt in your carseat the PROPER way. But I do all of this because I love you, and want what's best for you.. and I figured I'd tell you this now as long as you still might possibly believe me.

Love,
Mom

Month 22

2008-03-19T15:11:00.001-06:00

Payton,

You’re now 22 months old & I can positively say that the last month with you has been the easiest yet. You don’t ever eat anything anymore besides easy mac, crackers, string cheese and yogurt, so feeding you is rather easy and inexpensive. You must be going through a growth spurt, because you seem to be sleeping at least 10 hours a night and then again another 2 or 3 hour naps in the afternoon! This has especially made my life easier, since I like to sleep in. I think you get that from me. Recently, when waking up, you’ll shake the side of your crib so loudly that the cat starts freaking out and scratches on MY door relentlessly, which I’m sure is his way of saying "HOLY HELL! YOUR KID IS FLIPPIN’ OUT!" It takes me a minute in the morning, to realize I’m not in a Jurassic Park film, I just live with a 2 year old - OH YEAH! And by that time you’ve already started to chant, "LET ME OUT! MOMMY, GET UP! LET ME OUT!" It sure was funny the first couple times, but now I feel like I wake up in toddler hell. Every day.

You’ve also recently started pooping in the tub. I’m not sure why you feel compelled to do this, but it’s been an everyday thing for nearly the last two weeks, and I think -- with absolute disgust -- that I’m actually getting used to it. The minute you release your bowels into the water, I drain the water, capture the "floaters" with toilet paper and flush them, then scrub the hell out of the tub. Before you were born, I could count on one hand how many times I’d cleaned a tub or chased around someone’s turds with a fisherprice bath toy fishing net. But now that I have you, it almost seems like part of my life’s daily routine. You have made me a poop fisherwoman. Your behavior these days is far from the days when I received cards congratulating me for my "beautiful miracle." I guess you’re still my miracle -- my beautiful, disgusting, poop lovin’ miracle.

Recently this month you got to spend the night at your grandma Stamm’s house with the company of your second cousin, Jasslynd (Nathan’s daughter) who is a little more than a year older than you. It always intrigues me how you interact with other kids, since you don’t interact with other kids very often (just your dad), but you always do surprisingly well. You’re social, never shy; you’re willing to share with them and aren’t really heartbroken if they’re not willing to share with you. However, I’ve learned that I might not be as comfortable with you around other kids as you clearly are.

I don’t like little kids taking away your toys when you had it first, even if you could give a shit less. I don’t like little kids telling you "NO-NO!" even though you’d rather not anyway. At those times, I like to do overly childish things to get back at those snotty brats, like offer you a piece of gum. When the other kids ask if they too can have gum, I tell them that, ah shucks! It was my last piece, SO SORRY. Or I let you play with something you’re usually not supposed to have, like my cellphone or my car keys, and if anyone takes THOSE from you, I have no problem saying "No, no, that’s just for HER to have." I know it’s malicious, I know it’s childish, I know I probably have some mental issues. But just because you’re the coolest kid there ever was, doesn’t mean I have to be okay with your passiveness. ....Right?

I had a bruise on my arm awhile ago, and while we were snuggling on the couch together after your bath (and more poop fishing) and it was nearing bedtime, you touched it and said "owie?" I said, "Yeah, mommy’s owie." And you touched it so gently for a long time before finally kissing it. I don’t know why, but that impressed me, maybe because I don’t recall having ever kissed YOUR owies before (and that’s not because I’m an evil mother who doesn’t kiss owies, I’m just usually running around frantically making sure you’re not bleeding, giving you a physical, and trying to soothe you with a nice cup of "APPO-JUICE.") It was really neat, having watched your first display of empathy for another person, and how lucky I am that it was me. That touched me, a lot, and I just wanted you to know.

Love,
Mom

Month 21

2008-02-21T13:46:00.001-07:00

Payton,

As of the 16th of this month, two days after Valentine's Day -- which you just LOVED -- you turned 21 months old. Not many understand the complexity of "21 months" like a mother does. When I tell people your age in months, many of them (mostly men) look at me like, "What the hell? Is that supposed to be funny? Is this some sort of MATH equation I have to decipher?" And then they think for a minute before saying, "So, a little over a year and a half, right?" That's right. Why couldn't I just say that? Because every month is different, every week, even every DAY is a whole new experience with you. I remember each of those days & weeks & months VIVIDLY, because they have been the hardest and happiest months of my life.

Recently at 21 months, it's as if someone has flipped a switch inside of you, you're suddenly: VERBAL! Ta-da! You talk endlessly, to anyone who will listen to you, and you will repeat everything, too. The other day we were on our way to Grandma Stamm's house, and I had made the mistake of telling you that beforehand, so all I could hear in the backseat was "GWAAAAAAMMA, GWAAAAAAAMMA!" I was finally adjusting to your bellowing, switching it in my head from shreiking to simply background noise, when a car full of young teenagers swerved into my lane. Had I not slammed on the breaks as quickly as I did, they would have broadsided us. That's how you know you've reached "MOTHER" status, when through the repetitve shrilling chants of an excited toddler, thinking about what you're going to make for dinner, and glancing down at your floorboard thinking "God, I should clean this car" -- you can STILL manouver your vehicle safely through a crazy obstacle of shitty drivers without your 21 month old skipping a beat. "GWAAAAAAAAMMA!"

As we neared the stoplight, the teenagers moved over to the lane next to me. You also know you're still a woman in her early 20's with no patience or tolerance for anyone's CRAP, except that which you delicately wipe off your baby's behind, when you roll down your window, extend to the teenagers your middle finger & then give them a little bit of advice like, "LEARN HOW TO DRIVE, ASSHOLE!" Suddenly the car was very quiet & I peeked at you through the rear-view mirror, wondering what stole your attention away. You looked back at me, in the mirror, and smiled, your hair lit up by the streetlights, and said "ASS-HOOOOOOOOO!" And to muffle my laughter, and hopefully keep you from repeating yourself over & over, I turned up the radio.

Most of the time, however, your mouth is pretty CLEAN (so long as mommy's mouth is clean AROUND you, and you're certainly helping me improve my language.) You're very polite, always saying "pees" and "tank-two" for everything. You also recently say "bwess you" after someone sneezes, which is so dang cute. The cat was sprawled out in the computer chair, trying to sleep as you were poking his nose, pulling on his tail & pinching his ears. Finally you decided YOU wanted to sit in the chair, so you were screaming, "NO, CAT! GET DOWN!" and pointing to the floor, where he SHOULD be, duh. This went on for awhile, you screaming at that stupid cat, pulling and tugging on his fur every few minutes, until he sneezed all over your face. I watched, very intently, like something miraculous was going to happen, waiting for your reaction. You just looked at the cat & said, "Bwess You!" and then clapped your hands, like he did a magic trick or turned broccoli into string cheese.

This month, aunt Kassie had a baby girl and named her Makenzee. You got to meet her on Valentine's Day, but you weren't very interested in her. You were more interested in snacks & slinkey's (sometimes, there is just NO question that you are your father's daughter) but you did kiss her head a few times, even though you wanted to kiss her full on the lips. Earlier this month, you also kissed Brittnie's daughter, Chloe. We visited them (well, daddy and I visited; you entertained) and you and daddy got to meet Chloe for the first time. While mommy held her & OOoo'd and Ahhhh'd over her gorgeous eyes & precious facial expressions, you wrestled with your dad over goldfish crackers, repeated "mack daddy" and "peace douche" (dude) until our sides hurt from laughing so much.

This month you've done a few new things you've never done before: fell asleep in your high chair while eating, went potty in the big girl potty a few times, climbed OUT of the bathtub (I never thought I'd see you WILLINGLY leave the tub!), etc. You grow and change so much, though, always perfecting your speech, adding new words to your vocabulary, discovering how things work (like how to open doors! I admire your intelligence, but some things are better left UNdiscovered), and how to interact with others (you like to pull people to your bedroom, tell them to "SIT" and then show them all your toys, one by one.) You're often times quite a challenge, constantly "getting into things" and making messes; I've started calling you O'Paytie Bin Laden, since you are certainly the terrorist of this house. But I like to think that it's because of your wild imagination, your deep creativity, and your strong desire to learn and explore that makes you so uncomfortable with sitting quietly and playing peacefully. Screw that noise; let's attack the dishwasher!

Well, I should probably end this now. I've been watching you walk past me, naked, wearing multi-colored crocks & a hot pink scarf draped nicely around your neck, sweeping the floor, but now you're no where in sight and not answering me. I can only imagine what you're up to.

Love,
Mom

19 Months

2007-12-30T15:33:00.003-07:00

Payton,

It's been over a month since we've updated, and since then a few things have happened in the name of POOP. One day we let you run around without your diaper on and introduced you to the Winnie the Pooh potty your grandpa Farrin gave to us at your babyshower when you weren't even a week old. It's never too early to stop shittin' them drawers. You ended up going poo-poo in your potty, and a few days later we tried the same technique of placing the potty in the kitchen, close to the fridge magnets you're forever playing with. However, on that particular day you were more interested in the pots and pans than the letters, numbers and animals on the fridge, and when I bent down to pick up the pans and put them away I noticed that you had done your business in one of the pans. It scared me at first and I dropped the pan onto the rug and ran to get your dad. I wasn't sure what I had just seen, a cockroach? A dead rat? After your dad stormed into the room, furious that our daughter could have been playing with a dead rodent, he said to me, "Karissa, you shouldn't scare me like that. It's just POOP." After I stopped laughing I was sure to take a few pictures of the incident, if only to use those photographs as blackmail. I had to wash that poopy pan, I think you OWE ME a little blackmail material.

You're starting to talk really well and imitate most of what people say, even the bad words that OF COURSE we don't say around you. Sorry grandma Sharon, if you're reading this. But most of your "potty mouth" is centered around just that -- going potty. You're obsessed with people using the toilet and going poop. Great Grandpa Jack came from Kalispell and was staying at Grandma Jackie's to spend Christmas with us. You were looking him over while we sat on the couch, observing the way he talked and moved when you suddenly pointed to his butt and said with concern, "POOP?"

You did really well this Christmas, still not excited about the opening of presents, but excited because everyone around you seems to be. Your dress this year was red and sparkly with a sewn black belt and buckle around your middle and white cottony fleece lining the long sleeves and bottom. You looked like Mrs. Clause won a beauty contest and I'm just sad you can only get away with wearing it once during the year. You sat at the table like a big girl and ate turkey with Papa Mike. It's so nice to watch you engage in our family traditions and be at the age where you can really ENJOY them instead of just being present. You're growing up so fast, every day is different. I like knowing that you can depend on having a beautiful Christmas dress every year and the chance to eat turkey with your Papa. It's our traditions that keep us grounded when we're growing and changing so fast. Remember them. I know I'll never forget.

Love,
Mom

18 Months

2007-11-24T15:34:00.000-07:00

Payton,

If asked how old you are, you'll hold up a single finger and say with a sing-song voice, "Ooooone!" You and your uncle Josh spent an afternoon making a snowman together and ever since you like to point to each flake of snow and say "Snowman." Your daddy is out of town working at the moment, but he'll be home in a week and I can't wait for him to witness the new things you've learned. Everyday I call him, more excited than any one person should be without a lottery check or new car in their driveway and gush about all the adorable things you've said and done during the day. I know he's jealous that he isn't here to see it as often as I am, but the daily updates remind him what he's working for and why he has to miss out on some of the day-to-day joys of being a parent. It's funny how fast he forgets the diaper changes and whining when he's away. But that's alright, because the day he comes home I'm always willing to refresh his memory.

Thanksgiving this year was pretty good if by good you mean that you didn't eat any traditional Thanksgiving foods. You instead indulged on a bowl of whipped cream (skipped the pumpkin pie) and refused turkey or any stuffing. You repeated the word "turkey" though and gobbled like one too, so, good enough.

More updates later.

17 Months

2007-10-21T15:35:00.000-06:00

Not much has happened this past month, other than a few new behaviors you've picked up. hehe. You like to smell things and then say "Pewwww!" as if it stinks even if you're smelling flowers themselves. Anything that can be smelled stinks. It's hilarious especially when you smell relatives you've never met before and they think you're giving them a hug only to be screamed at with "PEW!" It's not so funny when you think your dinner "stinks" and refuse to eat it or your clothes stink and you refuse to wear them.

You have a new obsession with other peoples' shoes. When they walk through the door you'll ask them to sit down and please remove their shoes so you can walk around in them, usually on the wrong feet. Papa Mark and Gramma Willow love indulging you in this game and are always more than happy to offer their shoes to you. There was that instant, however, when Papa Mark came over after working around various scary chemicals all day that if inhaled would probably leave your first born with a single arm and 8 legs. You wanted so bad to remove his shoes and wear them, but Papa is much more persistent than you. Since then you act as though you have to sneak someone's footwear away from them, like a shoe troll. You don't fool anyone; everyone knows exactly what you're up to, but to appease you they turn a blind eye. All I know is that I hope you outgrow this fetish sometime soon because at the rate you're going, I'm going to be broke when you hit high school and want to gallavant in a new pair and style everyday.

More updates later.

16 Months

2007-09-28T15:36:00.002-06:00

Payton,

You have a new kitty, and you're really fond of him. You walk around the house saying "meow," trying to find him. So far, he's done really well with you, too. He allows you to pick him up by his face and then toss him to the ground when you're done with him without a scratch or bite left on your body. He was licking you the other day, and you were laughing so hard at the consistency of his tongue against your skin, I started laughing right along with you. We were both in tears laughing so hard and the cat laid there, frequently closing his eyes like, "Damn this baby tastes good."

Your favorite thing to dance to is LL Cool J's "Headsprung." The minute it starts, you know its your song and you start shakin' your booty like an extra in Sir Mix A Lot's "Big Butts" music video.

A few days ago you were watching football with daddy, and before daddy could react to the play, you shouted "TOUCHDOWN!" You really have no idea how happy that made him.

You've been talking a lot more lately! You say Kassie, sit, chair, juice and shoe regularly now.

I've been busy the last few days trying to find my cellphone that I can bet quite positively YOU LOST. I've looked everywhere, in every possible place, even behind the fridge and the t.v. thats built into the wall. Someone brilliant told me to just call it and listen for the ring, but clearly they don't know your mastery of LOSING things FOREVER, because you only wait until the phone has died before you go on losing things, making that tip completely USELESS. Thanks anyway.

The last week or so you've had a really bad fever probably due to teething. You're getting all 4 of your first molars, and it's so painful for you, it breaks my heart. Your gums are swollen and you're crabbier than the family cat was when me and 5 of my cousins decided to shove it into a 5 gallon bucket and give it a bath with the gardening hose. You can't sleep properly at night because you're in so much pain despite my efforts to keep you drugged up on tylenol, teething tablets and orajel. Nothing is helping. Two have already popped through, so as soon as the other two do, I think you'll be feeling MUCH better.

Today was probably one of the worst days of motherhood yet. You went to bed at 5AM, finally (after hours of crying) and woke me back up at 9AM without a chance in sight that you'd be falling back to sleep anytime soon. Then, while you were taking a nap (and I was taking mine, too) you removed your clothes AND your diaper. When I got up from my nap, already scared to endure the rest of the day with a cranky, teething baby, I walked into your room and was suddenly hit by the smell. You had gone poop and wiped it all over your crib, blankets, toys, the wall, and stuffed animals. And you were playing with it. It's one thing to wipe shit off your ass; it is QUITE ANOTHER to watch you mash it between your fingers like a baby digging into their first birthday cake.

We went shopping with Kassie yesterday to get some babyshower gifts for Brittnie. We're pretty excited for her lil girly! And Kassie finds out what she's having soon, so we'll have another baby to shop for. I'm excited for you to have new friends soon, a female friend even, someone for you to get into shit with (no pun intended.)

Love,
Mom

15 Months

2007-08-24T15:39:00.000-06:00

Payton,

You've been doing really good lately, except for your new found source of amusement--the DISHWASHER! You like to open the door and sit on it while pulling out dishes and silverware and tossing them on the floor, almost causing some to BREAK. You love it, and you hate being told "no" -- you'll even yell back at me or your dad, "NO NO NO!"

You're also beginning to press buttons on the computer keyboard and tower. You like it when I'm really busy with work and am editting a lot of files when you decide to press the power button and turn the computer off. I've been really lenient about this in the past, but today you got your hand slapped. It was the worst thing ever. I don't know if you'll be touching that pretty blue button anymore, but atleast you still have the dishwasher.

You also got into the bathroom supplies today and wasted an entire box of Q-Tips in the toilet and a whole roll of toilet paper, too. I took that well, though.. just muttered something about how I couldn't wait until you went to bed and then began preparing for my Q-Tip fishing trip. You also unfolded two loads of laundry that I had JUST FOLDED while I was busy fishing grooming supplies out of the toilet!

Why do people have more than one kid?

We took you to the Emergency Room last Friday because you woke up around 4:30AM with a swollen eye full of goop. You looked like you had been in a boxing match. I was extremelly emotional about the whole ordeal because I had an eye infection when I was a little older than you that, if it had progressed any further, could have left me with permanent brain damage. We got to the doctor's immediately and you were diagnosed on spot with Pink Eye and sent home with some antibiotics and eye drops. I gave you the medicine right away and your eye cleared up almost instantly. After we all settled back into bed and got a few more hours of sleep you woke up looking like your usual self. You have no idea how relieved I was to see that you were okay.

You're getting so big (25.5lbs!) you're starting to outgrow your 12 month clothes because they're so tight against your round belly. You give tons of kisses to everyone, love to receive high-5's (don't quite know how to give them yet) and being chased is your favorite game. You're very smart and well-mannored. You just learned how to say "thank you" and its the cutest thing I've ever heard -- tay tu.

Love,
Mom

14 Months

2007-07-17T15:41:00.001-06:00

It's been almost 2 months since I've written anything, but with the planning of the wedding I've been a little swamped. My apologies! Speaking of the wedding, I think YOU looked the most stunning in your pastel purple dress garnished with lace, toole, and matching hair clips. Auntie Kassie walked you and Carlito down the aisle and escorted you both to your grandmothers. A week before the wedding, you, your dad and I took a trip to Kalispell to camp, fish, go boating, visit relatives and to especially see and say goodbye to your great grandma Loretta. She was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and I wanted to see her before she passed away, since I knew it wouldn't be long... and that she wouldn't be able to make it to my wedding. A few days after the wedding and a special chat with Grandma Stamm, she died in peace at her home among her closest family. She will be very missed.

You say "hi baby" to every little kid you meet, and often times they're older than you. Your 1st birthday was a blast. You weren't sure about your cake; you never dug your hands into it and made a mess (and I wouldn't allow anyone to force your hands into it, either.) You were very delicate with the frosting, scooping a little off the top at the time. And after a few licks, you wanted to wash it down with a glass of milk and totally forgot about the cake. You got some really cute presents and had a nice, small party with close guests only. (Kassie, Brittnie, Grandma Stamm, Grandpa Stamm, Destiny, Kyli, Grandma and Grandpa McDunn, Aunt Wendy, Grandma Carol and Grandpa Farrin, Grandma Birtie and Uncle Josh, Ashley, Brandon and Carlito, Kristina and Paxton, Me and Daddy. It was a great time!)

Since the last update, your godfather Erik was in town for a week and the two of you spent a lot of time together. He played with you and gave you every second of his attention. I bought purple paint and a Winnie the Pooh border with wall stickers last night so I can start decorating your room the way I had planned for quite some time now. I got the paint on the wall but the border will have to wait until I'm feeling energetic again.

You've started referring to yourself as "pitty" (pretty) and will often put a necklace on and sway from side-to-side saying "Oooooo!" You're also crawling on and off the couch by yourself now, which scares me to death that you're going to fall off and land on the hardwood floors, so there is always a comforter on the ground in front of it. However, once or twice the blanket has defeated the purpose of protection as I've tried walking on it only to have it slip on the floor beneath it. Thank goodness there was a couch there to break my fall.

More Later.

12 Months

2007-05-16T15:51:00.000-06:00

You got a new carseat the other day, and you like it a lot better than the old one. You're walking so good these days, you've got a great sense of balance! You been teething for awhile now, which is hell for you and everyone around you, and I'm just as eager to have those teethers pop through as you are, trust me. I let you feed yourself today for the first time, and you actually did pretty well! You got food EVERYWHERE and made a huge mess, but I think you ate more than you normally do, so that was good.

We visited daddy at his hotel room in Colestrip where he's been working for awhile now. He'll be home for your birthday party tomorrow and then straight back to work! You were so excited to see him, you missed him so much. You ran up to him with your arms extended in the air until he picked you up, then you layed your head on his shoulder -- something you don't do very often. You were a great baby during the long car ride, both on the way up and back. As long as you have your Lil Cheddar Crunchies, you're good to go.

More later.

One Year

2007-05-14T15:52:00.002-06:00

Payton,

In two days you will officially become a one year old. How exhilarating this must be for you! In only one year you have accomplished more than just the normal things babies learn like holding your head up, walking & talking. You have created a personality for yourself, you have learned that you have a sense of humor, much like that of your dad’s--which is a terrific thing to inherit. You have learned the meaning of the words no, bye bye, baba, grandma, mama, cracker, dadda, dance, and kiss. You have developed a strong liking towards warm baths, swinging at the park on a windy day, turning the lights on and off until I feel like I‘m about to have a seizure, walking in the damp grass barefoot, and eating lime green popsicles in 90 degree weather. You have decided on things you don’t like and will not tolerate such as drinking smoothies or eating peas, having your face washed, sitting still long enough to have your hair braided, unwarranted kisses from uncle Josh, and being told “NO” when all you want to do is hunt for hidden treasures in the garbage can. You have also acquired the love of more people than you’ll ever know, and I am undoubtedly one of them. In fact, I’d say I’m your biggest fan.

You are such a blessing for me, sweetheart. You will never know what it’s like for me until you have your own child, and it’s okay if you want to wait about 40, 50 years until you discover that for yourself. Mommy appeared to have a lot going on for her at that time, but the truth is that you are my saving grace. I was slipping between the cracks, and no one was noticing. I was falling apart, crumbling under the pressure of trying to please everyone and at the same time rebelling against their expectations, shedding faith in the things I had once trusted completely, sinking behind the borderline of disappointment into a deep pit of depression, where I had unhealthy alternatives to living like that. But you came just in time. “I need some distraction, oh beautiful release.” I listened to that song on repeat the day I found out I was pregnant with you. “Pulled from the wreckage of your silent rivalries.” I felt like you were speaking to me. My angel sent to me to change my life around, to tell me that I’m better than what I’m doing, that someone has bigger plans for my life, and that if this hadn’t happened, I never would’ve known how amazing my life could really be. “…and the endlessness that you feel.” Someday I’ll tell you the whole story with every bit of juicy detail, and you will understand, but until then you’ll have to deal with a very mushy mother whose over-protectiveness will drive you nuts and probably force you to rebel at an early age. And even then, through gritted teeth, I’ll still be thanking God for having you in my life. Probably. :)

In your first year of life, you have also saved my relationship with my own mother, which is one of the best things that has ever happened to me besides you and daddy. I held so much resentment towards my mom for things that happened such a long time ago. I made her out to be the villain of my childhood, and that just wasn’t true. I regret having those feelings at one time, feelings of abhorrence and abandonment and spite towards the woman who gave me my life. One day you’ll learn that everything you “know” from your earliest memories is generally skewed due to the fact that you were too young to comprehend what was really going on, and that you were only glancing at the surface. My mom never deserved how I felt about her, she didn’t deserve to be viewed as a woman who “left” her child. And I now know this because since the moment I knew I had life inside of me, I have confided in my mom more than anyone. She has become my very best friend. Had you not come, I believe I’d still be wallowing in my child-like perceptions, and feeling sorry for myself because of them. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to love my mom the way a daughter should, and to respect her the way she deserves. Grandma is a remarkable woman, and I think you love her just as much as I do, probably because she lets you do whatever you want. Thanks, mom! She comes home acting like a spoiled brat, and now I know why. “Karissa, I don’t discipline her.“

Payton, like I said before, you have accomplished so much in your short little life, and it seems like it’s all a gift for me. You are truly my angel, who left her wings in heaven to help me out down here when only a miracle could get my life back on track. Nothing and no one else would have -- could have done what you’ve done for me. In return for all these things you‘ve done for me, I like to spoil you & show you my appreciation. I let you eat ice cream and have sips of mountain dew every once in a while, even if it‘s right before bed. I also let you stay up way past your bedtime when you’re behaving nicely, and let you get away with not sharing your favorite toy. I wash your favorite pajamas every other day so you can wear them as much as possible, and I take a million pictures of you daily so you will know how beautiful you have always been and how much I adore your smile. Someday I will let you play a game with the big kids even though it‘s dangerous and you‘re too little, go to a PG13 movie even though you’re only 11, go out on a school night even later than your curfew, get something ridiculous pierced, and say it’s okay for you to wear a bikini just as long as you don‘t tell your dad. But most of the time, you will be expected to follow the rules, to listen to what I have to say even if you don’t agree with it, to reach your highest potential in all you do, and to be respectful towards me and everyone else in your life. Your gifts to me are only paralleled to that of a happy childhood, a wonderful life with potential and possibilty, and the skills to become a well-mannered, respectful, intelligent, beautiful inside and out, privileged, dignified person. And I promise you that I will give you the opportunity to be just that. That is my gift to you, not only on your birthday, but for all the days of your life. Not as payment for the things you’ve done for me, but because I love you that much.

Watching you grow and learning everything all over again, through innocent eyes full of wonder and hope, has been so amazing for me. I hope for happiness on your birthday and all the days and years of your life to come. You are an incredible person already, and I can’t wait to see what is in store for you. I love you, Paytie Bug.

Love,
Mom

11 Months

2007-04-13T15:59:00.000-06:00

You can walk now! You started taking steps on April Fools day and have been walking all over ever since. You also give kisses now, too. It's the cutest thing ever. Daddy loves giving kisses back and asks you for them atleast a zillion times a day. You hold your dollies and snuggle them close to your chest while patting their butt. You're getting so big, Payton. Please, slow down!