R.I.P. Ga

Folks, Ga is gone. If you know Carly-or me-you know that Ga has been a part of our family for a very long time. He was a baby gift to Carly when she was just 6 weeks old. He was Gaga before Lady Gaga. Carly gave him a persona of his own as soon as she could talk and they were instant friends. He had a birthday (May 4th, just like Carly's Uncle Scott and cousin Jack); he had a sense of humor (often looking out the window of Carly's room to say "hi" to the students across the street or hiding himself in precarious spots just for a laugh); he was a crazy Notre Dame fan, able to "hum" the words of the fight song when Carly was just 2; he was trustworthy and he loved her unconditionally. Most important of all, he was her first best friend and playmate. And, boy, did they play. He traveled to Florida, Michigan, and Massachusetts every year, often her main companion on those long flights and roadtrips. He has been Carly's guardian during all of life's boo-boo's, her sounding board as she worked through a myriad of complex preschool social situations, and her most attentive and flattering of audiences as she did endless performances for him. He had a scratchy face, a torn elbow, and--as she mentioned to me yesterday through her choked-up 6 year-old tears--his sewn-on mouth could move up or down, so she could make him him happy or sad to match her own mood. He came up missing one day at the Rock a few weeks back. We spent a week and a half retracing her steps, but no luck. Her heart is broken, as is mine, for I know what it is like to lose a precious loved one. And I know what it is like to say goodbye to that special someone at the Rock. And I know what it's like to pull out of the driveway there thinking life will never be as good again. And I know that, as her mom, I cannot protect her from all the heartbreak and loss that awaits her in life. So as I read Velveteen Rabbit again this week, tears streamed down our faces because we both recognized that her love really did make him REAL. We are sure now that he grew cute green legs and is living among the other frogs and bunnies and deer at the Rock on the shores of Lake Michigan, a perfect spot where Carly will always be back.

O.C.

Under the boardwalk. Down by the sea-eeeeee. Yeah.  On a blanket with my baby is where I'll be. 



No, literally. 

Classic Greg

So the same guy who ordered and ate my lunch at the hospital when I was in with Patrick, who wore sneakers to Christmas Eve mass because he "had a sore toe", and who sat across the aisle from me and the three kids (one on my lap) on the way home from Florida and thought he was helpful (see photo) just booked a family trip for the weekend of Mother's Day. We are going to stay at a beach condo, an item we bid on at a preschool auction two years ago that we never used. When I asked him where we are going, he admitted he does not know where it is. Neither the city nor state. Classic Greg.

Helluva week

One day I will look back at this moment in my life and long for the chaos and excitement and exhaustion that I'm feeling. But for now, all I can do is memorialize it. A few of the big events that transpired over the weekend include Patrick starting solids, Carly getting a bob haircut and losing her first tooth, Greg getting hit by a car and Teddy starting to shave.

We survived. Greg and Teddy are fine so far, although both lost a little blood. Some have suggested that Greg's accident was karma paying him back for his own reckless driving. I decline comment. Carly's hair is adorable. She lost-lost her tooth, as in she has no clue where it went, but it was wiggly one moment and MIA the next. Just in case the tooth fairy wasn't paying attention, she left her a note explaining the situation. Patrick's enthusiasm for food is hilarious. As Lyle Lovett says "fat babies have no pride". Peas, pickles, cucumbers, avocados. Perhaps time to start with another color. Eh, next week.

Party Girl

So I have been working under the assumption that birthday parties are only significant events for 1-5 year olds. Perhaps this has been wishful thinking by someone who tends to over think parties in general. I definitely don't blow a huge budget on kids parties, but I admittedly spend an embarrassing amount of energy planning the venue, food, guest list, invitations, tablecloths, napkins, cake flavor, cake salutation. Well, you get the idea.

Based on my many conversations with wiser parents of older kids (I'm talking about you JQ), I became convinced that the birthday charade was coming to an end for my eldest child who will be six this summer. In this fantasy, she would be engrossed with a smaller circle of friends and have more modest party goals. Movie with friends. Ice cream outing with a few soccer buddies. Scavenger hunt in the backyard with the kids of my closest friends along with a lovely spread of wine and cheese and non-kid tunes spinning on the iPod.

Folks, I was wrong. Although we are still 4 months out, Carly brought up the topic innocently enough.

"Mom, what is a surprise party?"

Then I fell for the trap:
"Well, it's a party where everything is a surprise...the guests, food, games are all a big surprise for the guest of honor."

Without a second of hesitation:
"Great. I'd like a surprise party for my next birthday."

I'm screwed.

Spring

My dad used to caution against peaking too soon. But in the case if cherry blossoms, the earlier the better after a lonely winter. Cheers to an early and long spring!

Hello spring!

Scratch that. Hello summer! We need sunscreen and flip flops stat!