May

Sam was in Cleveland for a conference this weekend. I made an extra effort to take mental notes of things the girls and I did, things Allison Clare said, etc., to tell him each night, and the exercise made me realize how much I wish that I were better at writing things down. I kept a journal for Allison Clare of her first year, but I haven't done as well with the one I began for Gillian--thankfully, a friend gave us a calendar that has helped me try to preserve at least little glimpses of her first year too. Clearly, keeping after the two little girls has not been compatible with much time for writing (or thinking or personal grooming, for that matter).

Anyway, thinking about it today, I decided that for the month of May, I would try to write down all the tiny moments of sweet joy, utter hilarity, and public humiliation that make up our lives right now. I was planning to write them in the girls' journals, but instead, I think I'll put them here because I know their Mamaw and Grammy will love them and it is, after all, Mother's Day next Sunday. :)

So here goes:

Friday (not technically May yet, but whatever): I put Gillian down for tummy time in her crib. She doesn't get a lot of tummy time because I'm always afraid Allison Clare will step on her, or worse. It was kind of chaos upstairs because Sam was packing to leave, the babysitter was arriving downstairs, and I was getting both girls ready. Gilly was lying on her tummy, and Allison Clare (having not seen her sister facedown very often before) was peering through the crib bars, yelling at her, "Turn around! Turn around!" What a cheerleader. I took AC down to the babysitter and Sam went off in search of something he wanted to pack, and when I came back up to Gillian, she was still struggling to lift up her head and looking a little confused, like "Where did everybody go?"

Saturday: I took the girls out on errands in the morning. Babies-R-Us to buy a shower gift and then Barnes & Noble for a treat. "Would you like a scone--see, this triangle?--or a muffin, Allison Clare?" "COOKIE!" She is definitely her father's daughter. There happened to be a story hour beginning, so I thought we would try it out. All the other kids, both younger and older than AC, were sitting on miniature benches next to their mommies, silent and rapt as they listened to the story. Allison Clare, however, immediately attempted to climb up onto the stage to get to the guy reading the story--all cheerfulness and determination. I ended up having to pull her back and put her into the stroller, which of course caused tears of devastated disappointment, which in turn made us leave the story hour, which turned the tears into rage. Outside, we had a little talk. "Allison Clare, what did you do that was bad?" "No yelling. No crying." "That's right. Can you be good if we go to another store, with no yelling and no crying?" "Yeah. Perfect!" Aim high, sweet one. 

We later went out for ice cream, and then Allison Clare got to watch more of The Sound of Music, her first real movie. She loves the kids singing and dancing and has already memorized some of the songs, singing them to herself while we were getting ready for the bath. She wanted to watch the puppet show scene again, which she indicated by telling me she wanted to watch "lady baby doll" again. She also love the "cuckoo song," especially when Liesl says, "Yes?" and her father says sternly, "No!" Allison Clare acted out both parts for me running around the bathroom in her diaper, "Yes? No!" (giggles).

That night was kind of hairy because I discovered Gillian had a low-grade fever, and because she is under 12 weeks (by just a few days even), the after-hours nurse pretty much ordered me to bring her to the hospital. She said if it were a bacterial infection, it could get very bad very fast, so I shouldn't even wait until morning. It was bedtime, so I called a couple of friends to see if AC could stay with them possibly, but they were probably putting their kids to bed and I didn't get hold of anyone. In the meantime, I kept checking, and Gillian's temperature went down to normal. I was strongly motivated to avoid the hospital because we had had a similar event with AC when she spiked a temperature, we were instructed to bring her in, her temp was normal by the time we got there, and yet they wanted to do all kinds of due diligence--she had a chest X-ray, blood work, and we stopped them from doing a lumbar puncture since her temperature was normal. So I called them back and I didn't have to take Gillian in, thankfully--she was her smily, cool, rosy self again. I think she might have just been overheated from the hot day we were having, and the sun in the sunken room shortly before I took her temperature.

Today: Took the girls to church. Allison Clare cried for me in the nursery, so they brought her out to me, and I kept her in the service with me for as long as we could manage. Then she wanted to "find girl"--Elizabeth, the 5-year-old little buddy she adores, who was probably in her own Sunday school class--or "go downstairs" by which she meant upstairs, onto the stage where our pastor was preaching. I held her hand and let her walk around in the back of the auditorium for as long as I could, and then when she kept talking too loudly (pointing at the lights on the walls and naming the shapes: "Star! Square! Triangle! YAY ALLISON CLARE!"), I whispered, "Allison Clare, do you want to go get a doughnut?" And she said, again overly loudly, "OH WOW!," grabbed my hand, and trotted off to the door. I scooped up Gilly, peacefully sleeping away in her carrier, and we were off.

After stopping for doughnuts, we went to the grocery store, where AC got to fulfill a long-and-fervently-held wish to ride in the cart that is shaped like a car. It is also the size of an SUV and hard to push around the store, but she was almost the most excited I've ever seen her, as if it were an amusement park ride. Gillian rode in the big basket, and AC sat in the driver's seat. She twirled the two steering wheels, telling me, "Mommy, two circles!" and when we paused for me to pull something off the shelf, she bounced up and down in her little driver's seat and yelled, anxious for us to keep going, "Mommy, drive away! Drive away!" like we were fleeing the scene of a crime.

She often needs to be reminded to say "please," but she has gotten "thank you" down (though the "th" sound escapes her), and hearing her say it could break your heart, like when she woke up crying from a nightmare, and as I left after comforting her, she sleepily called out "Fank you, Mommy."