Earrings

Yesterday, I went with one of my girlfriends to an upscale thrift store. We perused about, while Coral instructed me as to which dress I should wear. She picked out the shiniest, most brightly colored dresses in the store. She went for the sequins, the lace, the shimmery, the colorful, most ungodly things from decades past.

With the wardrobe that she picked out for me, I could probably do the entire Dancing Queen musical on my own.

She was getting kind of cranky, so I asked her if we should buy her a necklace. With an affirmative answer, we headed to the jewelry section. The necklaces were okay; most were either too heavy or too fragile for her. But then I noticed an entire rack of clip-on earrings.

And she chose these:

Each of the three pieces is fuzzy and covered in animal print. The back side if reflective metal. They're long enough that she can stick the bottom piece in her mouth. She's been wearing them non-stop. She'll just walk around the house, holding them. And then she looks at me with those big, brown eyes and tells me thank you for buying her the pretty earrings.

Asleep in peace

Any good mother knows the heartache that I'm feeling now.

I haven't nursed Coral since Friday. Friday, March 12th. 711 days since she was born. I nursed her for almost two years.

And I'm damn proud of it.

But it was time to quit. It was time me to sever my body from hers. My body has sustained her body since I became pregnant in the summer of 2007. My belly grew, my body nourished hers. She was born in March 2008, and I nursed her body. But she doesn't need my body any more. She needs my love, my encouragement, my mind, my voice, and even my discipline. But my body will no longer nourish her body.

And I'm okay with that.

But it's not easy. The past few nights have been challenging. She has, for the most part, objected to the new routine of sleeping in her bed and without 'boobie'. Sleep eventually overcomes her, and she gives in.

But the nap thing; that's a different story. For the past three days, she has conveniently fallen asleep in the car, and I've left her in the car to sleep, afraid to wake her, lest she want the boobie again.

Today was the day that I decided that she needed to learn how to put herself to sleep for her nap, just as she has done at night. She said that she wanted to take a nap, so I took her into her bed. I laid there, squished between a safety guard and pink sheets, and tried to convince her to sleep.

She cried. She screamed. I kept trying. I read her a book, and that settled her down. When the book was over, she cried. She screamed. I cried.

And this is where the mother in you remembers that feeling. I can't hardly describe it. It's like, if there were a hundred crying babies in a room, I could find her blindfolded. It's that urge to drop whatever I'm doing and comfort her when she cries. It's the inability to do anything else if she's crying.

I remember when Coral was just a few weeks old; we were driving home. Coral was crying and Steve was trying to argue with me about something. I couldn't even listen to my husband speak because she was crying. I told him to stop talking, because I wasn't hearing a word he said.

And nothing has changed. When she cries, it breaks my heart. I know that some of her tears aren't out of true despair. I know that she's not in imminent danger, I know that she's not starving. But that doesn't make it any easier.

The rationale and logic of my mind cannot overcome the desire of my heart and soul to want to comfort her. But today, I had to resist. I could have nursed her. My boobs are giant and swelling with unused milk. But I didn't.

The boobies need to take a permanent nap, and she is learning to fall asleep on her own. I have faith that it will get easier; I know it will. But in this metaphorical dark hour, where my heart aches from hearing her cry, it's difficult to peer into the peaceful future.

I finally got her to sleep by promising that, once she woke up from her nap, we would go buy her a new book. She told me to go (presumably to buy her a new book). So I walked out of her room and sat on the floor, away from her view. I cried as I listened to her rustle and moan, before she finally, finally, finally, fell asleep in peace.

She's a big girl now

Last night, Coral slept in her own bed for the entire night. And, she has not nursed since Friday. That's right, my boobs have been all mine for more than 72 hours.

That's not to say she was happy with it.

She's actually fallen asleep in her own bed two nights in a row, but I wimped out Saturday night and brought her into bed with me when I went to sleep. But last night, she did it! And I slept on her floor, because I wanted to wimp out but knew that I could find a happy medium on her floor.

Zuli slept on her bed, and this morning, I found Zuli and Coral sleeping right next to each other. In the blurry photo below, you can see Zuli (the big, black mass in the forefront) and Coral (see head at the left and some blobs with spots on them in the middle).

I love my dog. It's like, she knew that Coral needed some company, or she just wanted to watch over our precious little one. Every since Coral was born, Zuli has been like Nana, the dog in Peter Pan. I'm pretty sure that I could leave Coral with Zuli while I went to the store and I'd come home to find that Zuli had opened the fridge, cut up some strawberries, and gave them to Coral, right after she changed Coral's diaper.

Anyway, it's emotional for me. There's probably something to do with my hormones changing from not nursing, but it's more than that. It's the acknowledgment that she is growing up.

For 714 days, Coral has slept in my bed, right next to me. I have nursed more than 6,200 times (yes, I did the math). And now it's over. It's like a blank slate. We're on day two of Coral sleeping in her own bed. And we're on day three of Coral not nursing.

These are great changes. Just about two weeks shy of her second birthday, Coral is growing up more than she knows.

Spiral Jetty

When I took my class with Terry Tempest Williams last semester, we had planned on going to both the Sun Tunnels and the Spiral Jetty. We ditched the latter because of time constraints. Terry had told us that she had never seen the Spiral Jetty, and that the time was now (or then). However, apparently it wasn't in the stars for her to see it, but on Friday, I put it in my stars to see the Spiral Jetty.

Just as was the case with Sun Tunnels, I was less than impressed. I enjoyed the Spiral Jetty far more than I did the Sun Tunnels. I'm not sure if it's because I enjoyed it vicariously through Coral, or if it was because the Sun Tunnels are incredibly lame and the Spiral Jetty hits closer to home, sitting on the other side of the Great Salt Lake.

Coral had a lot of fun while I took pictures of our earth with my classmates. We're taking more pictures in anticipation of our invitation to the Understanding Sustainability: Perspectives from the Humanities conference in May.

Naturally, Coral found the sand, and played with it. It was desolate at the Spiral Jetty, we were the only ones there. I wouldn't have had it any other way.

My friend, Meaghan, found a bunch of dead crickets. "Mommy's friends" showed Coral, and she was so interested. She studied them for quite a while.

My classmates also marveled at the dried-up salt. Having grown up next to the Great Salt Lake, I wasn't as interested or impressed, but Coral had a wonderful time eating and licking the salt. She told me that it was really yummy.

Coral also enjoyed walking on the "sparkles" (the dried-up salt), and she absolutely loved walking on the water. There were pools of shallow water, maybe 1/2" deep, that she was running through. I had to stop her though, because the 1/2" of water quickly turned into 2-3" of water. Had it been summer, I wouldn't have cared so much. But Spring is a tease, and it was too chilly for care-free summer antics.

This final photo is one of my favorites. I'm hardly ever in pictures, because I'm usually the one behind the lens. My friend, Ross, took this photo. I love it.

Adult in a little body

Coral has been mimicking Steve and I. And it's hilarious. And she's saying the funniest things.

A few days ago, she went to the back door and requested to go outside so that she could "talk with boys".

She got a Dora the Explorer sticker at school the other day and she wore it on her forehead for the entire day. Steve had taken it off when he gave her a bath, and he had placed in on a book. The following morning, she requested to read that book, and when she saw the sticker, she wanted it back on her forehead.

The other day, when I was lost in a parking garage, I stopped and said, "oh, crap". Coral said, "mommy says crap". Crap.

Last night, she grabbed one of our grocery bags and proceeded to tell Steve and I that she was going to the store to buy balls for Zuli. Then she got mad when I wouldn't let her open the front door.

Then she said, "mommy, coral going to store, buy diapers". So I set up a little store with diapers, and told her that she had to pay me in kisses if she wanted to buy the diapers. So she did, and she carried around the grocery bag full of gDiapers all night long.

I think that Coral's teacher summed her up perfectly: she's like an adult trapped in a little body.

All because of a bean

Coral is learning about gardening this month in school. Today, her teachers taught her class about how, if you put a seed into soil and water it, a plant will grow. They planted their own classroom seed, and then gave each student a bean to take home so that they could plant it.

Coral was absolutely in love with her bean. It's black, small, and hard. The first thing that she said to me when I picked her up is that she got a bean from her teachers. She clutched the bean with her tiny fist like it was a magic bean and she knew how magical life would be once it sprouted. She valued that bean so much that, when I tried to take it away, hell almost broke loose.

Our plan today was to pick up some lunch and share it with my mom at her office. But it did not happen, and it's because of the bean.

I stopped at a restaurant, intending to pick up lunch. And that's where it all fell apart.

See, the problem is my car key. The button that should lock the doors of my car stopped working when Coral was about five months old (right around the time that she slobbered and slobbered all over those keys). So, to lock my car, I need to actually, physically lock it with my finger. What I normally do is go around to the passenger side of the car and open both doors. I lock the car, with both doors open, then I grab Coral. Once Coral is on my hip, I close her door, grab my purse in the front seat, and close the final door, before hearing the glorious beep that my car tells me to know that I don't have to worry that some stranger is going to steal the free passes to the Museum where I work.

So today, I was right in the middle of that little routine of mine when the bean dropped. My daughter was on my hip, and I had just closed her door. I was going for my purse, when I heard my daughter say, "uh-oh, bean dropped". So, I dropped the keys into my purse and began to look for the bean.

In that ten seconds that it took me to get a visual on the bean, I thought of all of the disasters that would ensue if said bean couldn't be found. I'd have to call her teachers to find out what kind of bean/seed they gave her. I'd have to go to a gardening store and buy dozens of these beans. There would be tears.

But I found it. It had fallen and rolled about a foot in front of the passenger door. So, I closed the car door to get to this little bean that meant so much to my daughter. Just as I reached for this precious treasure, I heard the beep.

The beep.

The car doors were locked and everything - my purse, my phone, and MY KEYS - were inside.

So, I went inside the restaurant and used their phone to call Steve. "Oh man," Steve kept saying, over and over, "ooooooh, man". He picked Coral and I up, and I got the Best Parent of Year Award for driving home with Coral in the front seat, on my lap, buckled with the adult-sized seat belt. Steve dropped us off, ran to the Subaru dealership and got a ghost key, and we all drove back to my car.

So it wasn't that big of a deal. I didn't have to break a car window, I didn't have to pay any money, and Coral was a good munchkin the whole time. But Steve had to take a few hours off of work, and I didn't fulfill my lunch date with my mom. And my mom was convinced that Coral and I had gotten into a terrible car wreck, because that's where my mom's mind goes.

I had even phoned my mom at the restaurant and left a message, explaining what was going on. But my mom didn't pick up because she didn't know the number. I called her again while Steve ran to the Subaru dealership. I just barely got a landline (isn't is backward that adding HBO and a landline makes my cable and internet cheaper?) and hadn't given her the number yet. She only answered because she was convinced that it was probably going to be a cop letting her know that her daughter and granddaughter had gotten into a terrible, terrible car accident. But it was me. And I reminded her that we were fine, and that we're always fine.

But it was all because of a bean.

Spring is a tease

The forecast for this week is high-forties. The birds are singing so loudly that I can hear them from inside my bedroom. Grass is peaking through the wood chips, and my chives from last year revitalized themselves and their long, tall blades are now in excess of six inches.

But will it last?

Two years ago, there was a huge blizzard the morning that Coral was born on March 31st.

Is Spring here? Or is it just teasing me?

I've been thinking a lot about Hawaii the past few days, especially with the threat of a tsunami wiping out my former home. I'm glad that there was no disaster in the Aloha State, but I also remembered the weather. It was so predictable; I could have been the meteorologist and had huge success. All I would have had to do is predict this weather every day: mid-eighties with a chance of light showers in the afternoon, partially breezy; and I would have been right ninety percent of the time.

But a meteorologist in Salt Lake City doesn't have such success. It's hit or miss here, which leads me to skepticism. Am I just being teased by these singing birds and budding green?

Pretty dress marathon

 Since my mom bought Coral this pretty pink princess tutu, she has worn it daily. It has been a struggle to get her to sleep in pajamas, since she wants to sleep in her "pretty dress", as she calls it. She wakes up in the morning and, as I struggle to get functional clothes onto her body, she begs to wear the pretty dress.

 

The sparkles on the mesh fascinate Coral. She is so detail oriented. We can be out in the middle of a crowd and she'll spot the one kid wearing a Yo Gabba Gabba shirt, and point it out. This kid of mine sees all the details; even the ones that I don't notice. And her sparkles get noticed, big time.

She also requested to wear bows. So, we went into the bathroom, and I asked her to pick out the elastics. They were, of course, all purple (her favorite color). I gave her one bow, and she wanted more. I gave her two bows, and she wanted more. I gave her a third, and she wanted more. After all four bows were in, she was happy.

It's just a really good thing that Coral's pretty dress is a size 3/4, so it'll hopefully last a few years.

A picture is worth a thousand words

New Mexico

Going to New Mexico this past weekend was more than just a vacation. New Mexico represents the seeds that my life grew from. In New Mexico, I learned how to live on my own. I made friends that expanded my mind and my heart. I fell in love with the man that is now my husband.

As we drove into Albuquerque, everything rushed back to me in a flood of memories. The highways have a reddish hue to them from the sand. The sky is so incredibly close that I could almost stretch on my tippy toes and touch the clouds. I had forgotten about these things; these things that distinguishes New Mexico from any other state. Then, I remembered.

The first friend that I saw was Erin. She came down to our hotel in Albuquerque and we spent the day eating good food from Trader Joe's (oh, how I miss that store), drinking excessively responsibly, and playing with Coral. For the trip, I bought Coral some cool paint markers. She quickly figured out that she could paint her nails, my nails, Erin's nails, Steve's nails, and her belly button.

The following day, my friend Lizzy came to Albuquerque. We picked her up from the train and spent a long time looking for the zoo. It was like a vortex. Steve just got a new phone with a GPS feautre, so we plugged the address in and ended up at the botanical gardens and aquarium. Someone working there told us to turn around and follow the signs. So, we turned around and drove and drove and drove. There were a few zoo signs, but they were small and misleading. After driving through the ghetto, we finally found the zoo. It was closing in an hour from then, so we briskly whisked through the zoo. Coral loved the kangaroos, the tigers, the monkeys, and the giraffes.

When we got to the chimpanzees, Coral randomly said, "monkeys, little poops". From then on out, Coral commented on the size of each animals' poops. Monkeys have little poops. Giraffes have big poops. It was fun.

Steve took really great pictures while Lizzy and I reminisced. Then, we headed back to the hotel. We spent the afternoon eating good food from Trader Joe's (oh, how I miss that store), drinking excessively responsibly, and playing with Coral. Her husband, Levi, came down, and we went to dinner. Finally, at 2:30am, we decided to call it a night.

We spent the following morning with Lizzy and Levi, and they bought us a delicious Valentine's brunch. We went to the Petroglyph National Monument, and it was pathetic. But it didn't matter. Coral loved playing in the sand and we enjoyed each others company.

On President's Day, we headed north. I met Erin and my friend Mary Beth at Jackalope, on of my most favorite stores in the world. Then we headed to the Cowgirl, one of my most favorite restaurants in the world. After lunch and margaritas, I said my goodbyes and we went to Taos. We spent the night with Steve's friend, Serena, her beau, Bo, and their son, Lakai. Coral and Lakai (who is four) had fun playing in Lakai's awesome playroom, and it was great. We woke up early the following morning and spent the day driving back to Salt Lake City.

It was so rejuvenating for my soul to see my girlfriends again. They got to meet Coral, and they all adored her (duh). Going back to New Mexico made me remember how much I love it there. When I moved away from New Mexico, it was because Steve had gone to live in California, and I was lovesick. At that point, I had hated New Mexico because it lacked one of my favorite parts of the state (Steve). But after going back, I remembered how much I loved it. And, with my in-laws planning on buying a house in Santa Fe, it looks like we'll definitely be going back. I can't wait.

The real reason that we went to New Mexico, though, was to help Steve's friend. The story is so complex, that it's not really worth mentioning the details. But this friend found a girlfriend, and a few months ago, he picked up her heroin habit. When we saw this friend, I could tell that he was high. He kept closing his eyes half-way. When he had dinner with us, he would take a bite of food, chew two or three times, then just let his mouth hang open. He would tell Steve that he would hang out with us, then an hour later, we couldn't get in touch with him. Then, he'd call the following day and apologize. Then he wouldn't show up again. And then he'd show up, all jacked up on heroin.

It was awful. Again, I don't want to disclose too many details. I have to remind myself that the internet is free and open to anyone. Sure, I'll display pictures of my daughter and my friends, but there's something different about revealing too many details about someone who is in an unstable mindset. All that matters is that this friend is definitely high on heroin. He's an adult, so no one, not his mother, not Steve, can force him to go into rehab. It's heartbreaking. In many ways, I can't even think about it too much. I start thinking about this situation, and my mind wanders into really dark places. I just wish I could do more. But I can't save him from himself. I can only support Steve and offer whatever else I can when I am asked. I just hope that he's around when we're old enough to retire and take vacations with friends. I hope.