Journal changes

Hey, I know a couple of you are confused as to why I haven't been updating this journal. I have begun journaling once more for BabyCenter, and in a week or so my open, public journal will be there. I will also have a private, password-protected journal for friends and family. Please email me (leave a comment if you don't have my email address) and I'd be happy to add you to the list of people who can get on it.

Carrot killer

We are walking to the playground when Violet rounds on me and informs me "I am a bunny, hop hop. An Easter bunny. A big big bunny with big candy." This is all fine and well, but the she tells me "And you are a carrot! Run little carrot!" I dash off down the street, keeping an eye on her in case any cars come. She catches up with me and bites me on the butt, growling.

"I eat you, little carrot! Wait, you are lettuce! No, you are cabbage! Run, little cabbage!"

A drive to the drugstore

We need diapers and a new toothbrush for Violet so we're driving to the Walgreens with the parking lot.

"Mom? Do you like cheese?"

"No, I don't."

Reflectively to herself. "I do I do I do like cheese."

"Yes, you like cheese. Most people do. It's kind of weird that mommy doesn't like it, but I don't."

"Daddy likes cheese. Granddaddy likes cheese. Gaga likes cheese, Michael Michael (this is sometimes what she calls her Uncle Mike) likes cheese. You don't like cheese?"

"Well, I like some cheeses. I like the hard, grating cheeses like romano and parmesan."

"PU, you like stinky cheese! Your cheese stink, PU."

No wonder she never wants me to grate cheese on her spaghetti anymore. .

Then: "I want underpants," she announces. My heart leaps. I have been waiting for her to make up her damn mind to use the potty. She's been resistant.

Carefully, I say: "Do you want to buy some underpants and not wear diapers, and use the potty?"

She squints at me in the rearview mirror. "Waaah waaah I not use potty! I tiny baby! Please, I want diapers, no use potty!"

Sigh. "OK hon, it's not a big deal. You'll be ready to use it when you're ready." And let it be soon, Lord. Let it be soon.

In the drugstore, I also found that she has reached a horrible new milestone. She kept grabbing stuff and asking for it. "Mama, I want new sippy cup. Mama, I want bag of boons (balloons). Mama, I want Swede Fish (she has had exactly one Swedish Fish in her life, and it was almost eight months ago, and she is only 28 months old. WTF??)!" I bought her a slinky and a Dora toothbrush, I nixed everything else. She was happy enough when I refused. But still, she asked. Ugh, I knew this was coming, the "I wants." And the equanamity at not getting what she wants won't last either, I know.

Door Tickler

Violet is chasing me around with the Surprise Tickler, a cat toy with green feathers on a long stick, so named because when we first got it she enjoyed sneaking up on Bobo and tickling his belly, yelling "Surprise!" to his great displeasure.

"Tickle tickle! Tickle tickle!" I run through the living room and onto her bed, where I roll from one side to the other like a bullet-dodging cop in an action movie. She catches me on the far side. "Tickle tickle, mama!" She pokes it firmly into my open mouth.

"Violet, I have to go to the bathroom!" I slam the bathroom door and then peek out. She's on the other side, tickling the door with the Surprise Tickler. "Hee hee hee hee!" I say for the door, slamming it.

"Tickle tickle, door!" she tells it, tickling from the outside. I open the door and tee-hee for it, then slam it shut and am silent. Open door, giggle. Shut door, silence. Violet is choking with laughter. "Tickle tickle, door! You laugh, funny door!" she instructs the door. This is fun.

Waaah waaah I'm a tiny baby

Violet likes to play that she is a little baby. Sometimes she is Kiki or Finn, two baby dragon characters from "Dragon Tales." Other times she is a baby cat, or even just a baby human. She likes to cuddle in my lap and fake cry. "Waaah! Waaaah!"

"Oh, it's a little baby!" I try to act surprised, even if it is the 11,000 time we have played this game. "The baby is sad. What does the baby want?"

Sometimes the little baby will cry "Milk! Cow's milk!" or perhaps "I want Mama sing a song!" in a breathy, high little baby voice. But usually I have to guess. "I think the little baby wants a hug! Oh, I like to hug little babies, here you go baby." And then I hug her close until she soothes down. Then she wriggles happily on my lap.

Whoops thought I was going to write more, but she just woke up from her nap, more later.

Date Day

This really was as perfect of a day as I can imagine having. We got out early this morning and went to the new, amazing, renovated children's park in Golden Gate Park. It has sculptures of sea animals you can sit on (Violet told me she was going to go sit "right on the turtle's neck," and did!), a climbing wall shaped like an ocean wave, a giant rope sculpture to climb, and many other glorious features, including a swinging plastic chair in which you can recline. Nice. We spent a few hours there, then realized the carousel was open nearby. It's only $1.50 for adults, and free for kids under six. So we rode twice. Once I rode a pig while Violet rode the sea serpent, and then she rode a doggy and I got the horsey. I had such a happy feeling on that carousel, such a perfect-moment feeling with Vi and Phil laughing beside me, our rides rising and falling gracefully.

Afterwards, Iraya came to babysit and me and Phil had a date. We drove out to China Beach; I was hoping the blackberries might be ripe, but they weren't. We picked and ate a few sour ones anyway, then walked down to the beach and rolled up our pants. The water, for once, was only cold enough to make you scream, not cold enough to turn your feet into actual ice cubes. I stood with my feet in the waves, letting the sand suck my toes down, examining the pretty smooth granite stones on the beach. The sand here is different from the orange-y pulverized coral sand of Daytona. It has small, glamorous grains of quarts and mica; it shines and sparkles darkly. I sifted it through my fingers. "Joyce!" called Phil excitedly, pointing to where dolphins were frolicking together out in the waves. We watched them. A seal poked his head up and watched us right back. I held Phil's hand and trained my eyes on the horizon, trying to find the exact place where the ocean turned into the sky. I could hear my slow, steady heartbeat in my ears. Phil squeezed my fingers. There are times when I forget how much I love him, and then moments when it comes rushing back, making me a little woozy. He's the only one I want with me on the beach.

Yesterday was my dear Aunt Jean's birthday. Happy birthday, Jean! And Dave and Kiki are having a romantic weekend at Daytona, I hope they're having fun.

"Oh no, my song!"

When Violet is enjoying a song, she never wants it to end. "Oh no, my song!" she'll exclaim sadly. She likes it best when we leave songs on repeat, which is why I have listened to "Lollipop, Lollipop" 12 times in a row (and 17 times two days ago, followed by 9 renditions of "Mr. Sandman). It is such a Faustian bargian. While she is listening to her song, she dances around playing happily by herself. When I try to shut off the damn din, shrieks follow. It is like a mean genie showed up and said "You can sit and read your 'Entertainment Weekly' in peace, but you will be bitten by insistent mosquitoes the whole time." My neighbors must think I am insane.

But all this is a million times better than this morning, when, during a shared bath intended to relieve her constipation, she pooped all over me. "Phil, get the BLEACH!" I screamed from the bathroom. Yuck. The bathtub is very clean now.

We will, we will gas you

No one ever fricking comments on this journal. I know you're reading! but you're not talking!

In the other room, my little neighbors Rhianna and Assante are taking care of Vi, I am paying them $2 and $7 an hour to be here. They are listening to Radio Disney, which is playing "We Will Rock You," and they are punctuating each downbeat with a firm blast on the whoopee cushion. Awesome!

I had a nice little birthday gathering for myself last night. We played Pictionary and ate the killer, flawless pineapple upside down cake I made. I successfully drew "parade" by drawing a line of stick figures with batons, but my "torpedo" looked like an octopus. I forgot they should be going sideways, not up in the air like a rocket. I never am able to make the drawings in my head come out on the page. Ms. Iris was quite good at guessing what I was doing, however, she is a smart kid. And a better drawer than me.

OK I'm paying for this time, I'm going to stare into space. That is worth $9 an hour, how sad.

Sweetness

Had to go to the grocery store today, no bread, no milk, no yogurt, no apples. So we went. Somehow going always reminds me of when V was small and it was so hard, oh, so hard, with me sweating actual panic sweat in the aisles, trying to placate her in a million ways and still always having to leave before I got all the way through the aisles. For one thing, part of my PPD nightmare is that I believed if we were in a public place and I took my hands off her, or even off the grocery cart when she was in it, somebody would rush up and kidnap her. Sure, NOW I know this is insane. At the time, not so much. Perhaps that is why Violet would always save her most horrific baby tantrums for the grocery store. One time I remember actually weeping my way through the checkout, helplessly sobbing along with Violet as everyone in the known universe stared at the mom losing her mind. I'm so tired of being other people's cautionary example.

I think those early trips were so hard because Little Violet did not like being strapped down. Bigger Violet, who understands the reason she is constrained in the cart, and who is big enough to understand that she gets a balloon and stickers at Trader Joe's, is a perfect angel in the store.

"Do we need apples, baby?" Yes, we do. I hold up a selection for her. "Pick the prettiest."

"Dat one, dat one, dat one," she points at two Pink Ladies and a Gala. "I hold?"

"No, honey, if you drop them it'll ruin them," I say. "Take this instead," I tell her, handing her the bag of avocadoes and a strawberry yogurt (28 grams of sugar!!! that is 7 teaspoons. But just this once.).

She receives the yogurt happily. "Yummy yummy strawberry yog. You sit right over hyah. Here's this guy," indicating the avos "and that guy," talking to the yogurt. "Dey jump up, down. 'Hey you, you sit over hyah by me,'" Violet says in her high squeaky voice, talking for the yogurt. "I like you, my straw friend."

We get all the way out with no tears, not even any whining. Violet gets a pink balloon. "What will we name it?" I ask her.

"Pink boon. Pink boon kite. Pink."

"What about Fred? Or Myrna?"

"No, pink boon," she tells me, brow furrowed.

"No problem."

"My mama says no problem!" she says, burrowing into her carseat. "New carseat," she reminds herself. It is two months old, but she can't get over it. Thank God she didn't see Mary and Peter carting off the old one for their kid, Dash. She woulda never gotten over it.

Back home we have lunch in pieces: the yogurt, slices of actual fresh strawberry, peanut butter spread on apple slices and the seed bread I made last night. I sit with Violet. "Eat my yogurt!" she commands. "No! No! Don't eat!"

"OK," I say, defeated.

"Mama, eat my yogurt!" she says, dimples flashing. You can't win with her.

After lunch it's time to cuddle her into her nap. We twine together and I read her the personalized book my Auntie Jean got her; Violet likes it because it has textures to feel. Bobo crawls under the covers with us, in between us. He and Violet are starting to be good friends. "Oh, Bobie!" she says in surprise when she feels his fur against her bare legs. "He good cat!" she tells me. Yes, I know. The sky is gray and foggy outside, but we're warm and snug inside, sleepy, warm, all together.

Halloween is my Christmas

A kids catalogue with pages of Halloween costumes came today, and Violet was very excited.

"What that guy?" she asked, pointing at a ladybug costume. "Oh! A bug!" she answers himself. A caterpillar costume is "a bug, NOT a caterpoozle!" A cowboy costume was "ee hah! ee hah!" She was most enchanted by the Elmo costume "Elmo, Elmo, I love Elmo!" she ranted, looking like one of those girls screaming at the early Beatles concerts. She also loved the dragon costume, and was confused by my explanation of the devil costume.

"Why costume?" she wondered.

I explained "It's a holiday in October when kids wear costumes and walk around at night. And you get candy for wearing your costume!"

"Candy! I want BIG candy. That sounds like fun! I wear costume on Halloween!"

I can't even say how much that means to me, to hear that. How is it that everything I love is so much bigger and brighter and better with Violet to share it with?

Post-prandial

Pudding for supper. Again.

My lil Keith Moon

I love when Violet starts banging wildly with sticks. She really goes nuts. She just wails on that chair, and squinches her eyes shut in rock ecstasy, and shakes her head back and forth. She looks like Keith Moon. Pow pow pow pow! You go, you wild untamed rebel! When Phil isn't home, I let her scream loudly while she plays as well.

"EEEEEEEYEAAAH!" she'll scream, and I'll scream back at her. "YOW! Good one, Violet, but can you do it LOUDER?"

When Daddy is home I say "people don't like loud noises in the house." I don't mind them so much, but they make a little pulse throb alarmingly in Phil's forehead.

Today we went to go see Lee and Ron's adorable new baby, Spencer. He was like a tiny screwed-up rose petal. Ron let me hold him, he was sleeping, and I sniffed him rapturously. New baby smell is even better than new car smell. Violet was 100 percent perfect. I had told her before we arrived that she couldn't touch the new baby, she had to just look with her eyes, and she was so good, she just looked. And she was nice and quiet and didn't wake him up. When we got home she wrapped her doll baby up in her skirt and told me solemnly "This my baby, you just look with eyes."

Phil's taking off work tomorrow and we're going camping. It's Games Weekend! Scarlett is going to be there for Violet to play with, and mama's going to get lots of lovely time off so I can put my feet up and play Apples to Apples and Pictionary. I am particularly excited about the Pictionary.

Nice try, toots

Violet just tried to outsmart me...two year olds are so NON stealthy. I'm letting her watch her morning dose of "Dragon Tales," and she watched the one about the caterpoozle and started demanding her own caterpoozle. It's a rainbow caterpillar with a pink nose, and it gets lost all the damn time. Violet! I can't keep up with 9,000 toys and be able to produce them on a dime!

Anyhoo, I tried to put her off with "Daddy will find it when he wakes up," and then of course she wanted to wake up Daddy. Whom I'm letting sleep in a bit, so no you don't, little missy. Then she tried to slowly back from the couch to the bedroom door, holding my gaze the whole time. Did she think I wouldn't notice her moving backwards?

"Violet, what are you doing?" I ask in my you'd-better-watch-it tone.

"I'm just standing right over hee-yah," she answers, very unconvincingly. Yeah, sure, you love to just stand in the hall. That could be true.

I'm so very, very proud

While Phil was brushing Violet's teeth tonight, she spontaneously broke out with a chorus of "Copacabana."

"At the Copa, Copa bana!"

All of my many hours of belting out songs to her have not been wasted! I dashed over to finish the song, lifting my arms Broadway-style, voice volume level 10. "Music and passion were always the fashion at the Cooooooooopa--don't fall in love with herrrrr!" Violet lifted her arms with me. Hurray! I've got a lil singer!

In other news, when she took a bath tonight she was watering her foam apple and saying in wonder "It growing! It getting bigger and bigger! It growing!" Then when she got out and I baby burrito'd her, we sang the ABCs together all the way through.

In other other news, she just went to bed with Phil and forgot to demand her sleepytime nursing session. Fluke or some kind of sign?

There's an echo in here

I love how Violet repeats after me. She's a total little myna bird. We were on our way to a 6-year-old's birthday party, and I was telling her there was going to be a carousel, and she was doing her usual "No no no, too 'cary, I fall," jazz when I said "But you LOVE the carousel." Then she shut it with the whining and said repeatedly "I LOVE carousel! I LOVE carousel!" When I got sick of that, I put on the CD Cole and Chris made her for her first birthday. It begins with Cole saying hi and happy birthday and he loves her. She made me repeat that track upwards of 20 times, and each time sang out "Happy birthday!" in concert with Cole. "It's my birthday! My birthday! Yaaay! I have cake! And candles! And blooooow! Yaaaay!"

"Mama," she interrupted herself. "Can I take off toos?" (shoes)

"Yeah, sure go ahead."

"My mama says, yeah sure go ahead take off toos! Yeah sure, go ahead. Go ahead!"

It is a very agreeable state of insanity.

Fashion baby

Tonight I went to a Project-Runway themed event at the Castro. Carole was there with Iris, who got to meet Santino from Season Two.

I can't WAIT until Violet is old enough to do such things with me. Imagine! I will have a partner in crime!

In some parts of the world, love means strangling tigers

In the car:

"Cole, do you love me?"

"Yeah, I love you like I want to PUNCH you!"

"No, I love you like I want to hug and kiss you."

Silence. Then:

"Joyce, do you know that if you were in San Francisco and a tiger came after you, I would strangle him for you."

"Oh my. My. That is very...sweet. I think."

Now I'm sitting listening to Violet talk to her toys.

"Go up there. Not in the swimming pool tonight. It's just pink. It says pink...peek a boo! Peeeeek a boo! Time to get out. OK, OK, no baby. Baby, baby, go on the swimming pool tonight--" (Violet was very impressed that I let her swim in the hotel swimming pool at Daytona well after dark). "Poozy, it's poozy upside down! You come with me. One, two, three, jump! One two, free, whooo! It cold. Whooooooo! Here come me!" She is clearly acting out pool fantasies. She got a lot out of swimming in Daytona; she also got fixated on the motorboat game. Of late, she wants me to play Motorboat Motorboat with her, and she revolves around in a circle saying "Motorboat motorboat, upside down. Motorboat motorboat step on gas!" and then I pick her up and whirl her around.

An email from my mama

Hi,

I couldn’t let Aunt Pat take the credit for Strawberry Shortcake. I bought that and I think when I first saw it I didn’t like it either. Remember the night Violet stayed up to midnight and started watching it again before she fell to sleep? I didn’t like the Pie Man getting a bad rap either. Perhaps the Country Bears that Aunt Pat actually brought (if you got home with it), would be much better.

I guess by now you know the doll didn’t make it back either. Tell Violet I put her to bed in her bed to wait for her return. She is going to have a nice long nap. I read all the latest blogs and I don’t want you to be blaming Pattie for the Shortcake thing. In all fairness, who would let a Pie Man be a villain??? You don’t get to view these things before buying. I think Strawberry Shortcake should be retired.

Love,
Mom

She loves me!

Violet told me she loved me for the very first uncoached time today. I was carrying her into the mall, we were meeting Carole and the girls at Chevy's for lunch, and when I picked her up she started kissing me softly on the lips, rubbing her nose against mine. "I love you, Mama! I love you! I love you!" Right there in my parking lot of JC Penney's my heart shot out of my chest and into the sky.

When I was pregnant and heaving myself meatily from one point to another on the 38 Geary bus, I saw a mother with her daughter on her lap. She was about 2. They were making faces at each other, ridiculous faces imitating each other, and then they'd laugh uproariously. Like no one else in the world was on that bus. Oh, how I envied that mother! How I wanted what she had! And now I have it. What a blessing on my head, what great good luck raining down on me.

Strawberry Shortcake deconstructed

Violet has become obsessed with the movie "Sweet Dreams," no, not the Cheech & Chong movie about pot. Not even the Patsy Cline bio-pic. This is a full-length animated feature purchased for her by her indulgent Aunt Pattie (Violet really has an embarrassment of riches, toy- and DVD-wise) featuring Strawberry Shortcake and her desserty posse (Angel Cake, Apple Dumpling, Lemon Meringue, Blueberry Muffin, etc. etc.).

Pros of Strawberry Shortcake movie:

Violet will stay quiet and focused on it for more than an hour.

Cons of Strawberry Shortcake movie:

The villain of the story is the evil Pie Man. I can not be OK with a movie that demonizes pies. It's like setting the American flag on fire. He just wants to make a little pie. Is that so much to ask?

In other news, one of the first things Violet said this morning was "I miss Gaga." I gulped a little. I miss her, too.

Damn you, Funtainer!

I have conceived of an unreasoning hatred for the Funtainer, which is a small and cleverly designed thermos with a pop-up straw that young children find easy to use. I bought Violet a Hello Kitty one some months ago, and just before we were about to leave on our vacation, the Funtainer rolled off the sofa and heavily onto my foot. Argh. Oh man, it hurt so bad, and worst of all was the knowledge that this was all caused by a damned thermos. Just a thermos! Not a car accident, or an anvil landing on my foot. A thermos.

Two weeks later, my foot is still swollen and painful. I never want to see that Funtainer again. I have hidden it away on the shelf. I'm punishing it with a time out. Maybe someday when my foot is healed, I can face it again.

Back home

Phil says Violet's talking much better. I guess it's true; it just happens so gradually I don't get a shock of it. Today while we were eating our strangely timed lunch/dinner (dunch?) at the table, Violet said "Mama I want sippy cup with milk on it! From refrigerator! REFRIGERATOR!" That is not a sentence that could have come out of her a few months ago.

Now we're home and even though she's blue-circled from tiredness, she's not giving up. She is manipulating the remote control, hoping to make "Dragon Tales" come on. Sorry, Violet, that is the VCR's remote control, and the VCR doesn't even work anymore. Now she has sat down on the rug, she's gone and gotten Pinky, and she's set him up on the rug next to her. She puts her arm around Pinky. Now she grabs him by the throat and takes him to the bookshelf. Now she's sitting on the milk crate of CDs. Why do we have our CDs in a milk crate anyway? Pathetic. Soft music is playing on the radio, and we're all sitting staring into space. Phil's mouth is open 1.5 centimeters. We are all smudgy with tiredness, but when we tried to lie down and sleep, Violet kept prying Phil's eyes open and screaming "Goodbyes!" (which she thinks means "surprise!")

Now she has grabbed Phil's hand. "Sit over here," she instructs.

"Now what?" says Daddy.

"Sit like this, sit like this!" They face the window.

"Should we face the bus?" Phil asks, as the 21 Hayes goes by outside. "My, what tiny toes you have!" he says admiringly, twiddling her sweet pink feet. She squirms away.

"Watch TV?" she suggests. Phil doesn't take the hint. "You a baby now," she tells him. "You a baby." She stuffs Pinky into his shirt. Then she puts him in his hoodie hood. Phil's face is impassive. "Walk little baby, walk!" she demands of Pinky, then runs in a circle around Phil.

The whoopee cushion is out. She steps on it. Sometimes when she does this, she will make a shocked face and exclaim "I faht," or perhaps "My butt! Faht!" But now she just treads on it silently.

Beached

I missed a couple of days, and now I’m at my mom’s house in Tampa. She and my Aunt Pattie came out to Daytona and shared a hotel room on the beach; Dave and Kiki stayed in another room.

It was really a lovely little vacation. I had no idea how much Vi would like the beach. In the mornings, I would slather her with sunscreen and sausage her into her little yellow bathing suit and we’d go right on down. There were beach chairs and umbrellas for rent, but the guy didn’t come around for the $25 until 1 p.m., so mostly we just sat there until lunchtime for free and then cleared out. Tacky! But $25, hey. Dave and Kiki would appear around 10, and we’d all go into the water for a while. Dave kept bringing little gadgets for Violet to play with, like waterguns.

“Don’t you shoot me!” he warned her. “Don’t you shoot!” And of course she would, laughing mightily. I think her relationship with Uncle Dave caught fire this trip. She was afraid of him last time; now whenever he walked away from her she’d shrill “Uncle David, Uncle David!” She had fun with her aunt and uncle, digging a little swimming pool on the beach.

“Ah, what are you dooooing?” said Kiki, mock-upset. “You have to take the dirt out of the hole. Out! Don’t throw it back in! This is no way to run a railroad.”

“Run railroad,” agreed Violet, nodding her head. “Swim poo.” She put her feet in and tromped down the sand gleefully.

I miss the beach already. I haven’t washed Violet’s hair yet and she smells like the seashore; I’ll be sad when that smell’s gone and the last of the beach with it. Back here in Tampa it’s been raining, and I feel worn out. My mom, however, is a champion; she cooks for us and is the only human on earth besides Phil who actually offers to change Vi’s diaper, or “her pants,” as mom calls it. She’s so good at playing with Violet that I can get long strings of things done; books read, food made.

Last night I cut the potatoes while Mom and Vi played in the living room. “Let’s get in the car and go to the store,” suggested Mom, indicating the swivel chair. They sat together. “What will we get?” Mom asked. “Nanas, milk, bokly,” answered Violet. “OK, then! Bananas, milk and broccoli! Here we go!” They swivel together.

“Toot toot!” says Mom, blowing the horn. “Toot toot,” echoes Violet, faintly. "I need my baby!"

"Of course, of course, we must bring the baby," says Mom, hauling one of twelve stuffed animals up to the "car." Violet wails. "Whoops, guess I got the wrong one," says Mom.

"Don't you ever get tired of being so very very wrong?" I retort from the kitchen.

Mom brings Pinky onto the chair, and Violet is satisfied. The good friends have their heads together, laughing. I make a picture in my head, this I want to remember.

1-2-3-wheeee!

We spent almost the whole entire day at the beach. David and I had a big fight in which we each accused the other of not making time to spend together, so I was determined to relax about her nap schedule and just hang out with the fam. Lovely! Violet was too freaked out by the big water to go back in; she mostly sat underneath the beach umbrella and dug in the sand. At lunchtime I traipsed down the beach to get a burger and brought her back a popsicle from the ice cream man who'd just driven by (they let you drive on the beach here, crazy). By the time I returned I found that the ice cream man's trajectory had already sent them past Vi, and David had bought her a Sponge Bob ice cream treat she was allowing to melt down her arm. Ha. I helped her eat the popsicle.

Later V dug a big hole in the sand. The other day Dad had helped her dig a hole and had claimed they were going to dig to China.

"I hear them down there!" he said, cocking his ear. "Helloooo? Ding sing soo chow hoy!" he answered himself back faintly.

Violet was very impressed by this, so much so that today she kept trying to talk down into her hole, covering her face with sand. "Hello? Chinee peep?" she calls. Perhaps there is a small Chinese child doing this exact same thing on a beach in China.

When she got grouchy, I took her over to the pool where she made a two year old friend. She'd want me to take her into the center of the pool and throw her into the air "1-2-3-wheeee!" style. Then she wanted to go back to Olivia and hold hands with her. Getting thrown, holding hands, an inexorable cycle I repeated 11 times.

Almost lost her

We were out in the waves, and I noticed things were getting choppier. Tide's coming in. It'll swallow our stuff on the beach if I'm not wary; the guy who rented us a dune buggy the other day told us a story about someone parking is Jeep where the tide came in, and the water took it away into the ocean "just like it was a boogie board!"

"I think we'd better go in," I tell Violet, who is hopping up and down against me.

"No no no!"

"OK, two minutes." I hop over the swell of one wave, but don't see the big one behind it. Before I know it it's towering over me, big, inescapable, like my tsunami nightmares. BAM! It slams into us, knocking us down, knocking my glasses off, knocking her out of my arms. I grab on to one edge of her T-shirt and hold on to my glasses with the other hand. I hold on so tight, the whole ocean couldn't drag her away from me. When the wave recedes she is screaming and sobbing, water in her eyes and nose. I stagger up on the beach and lie on the sand. My heart is pounding, toes and fingers tingling. I almost lost her that time. I can't breathe. "It's OK, Vibee. it's OK. It's OK." And it is, but it isn't. We spend the rest of the morning up at the pool.

Mermaids

Last night, just before I went to sleep, they set off fireworks along the beach. I went out to the balcony and sat there to watch them flowering in the sky, reflected on the water. Inside Violet was sleeping peacefully in the big bed in the nice hotel room we got. I missed her. Nothing is as good without showing it to Violet. I imagined her oohing and aaahing with me. They had yellow and purple fireworks that shot into the shapes of triangles. How would one do that? I think I need to learn more about fireworks. Then there were the crackling ones. Those are my favorites, I love the sizzle.

This morning I got up and (grumpily, I stayed up too late) hustled Dad and Susan and Vi down to the beach. Dad sat down under a beach umbrella, but I just threw my stuff down and took V right down to the water. Heaven! Every single time I go to the west coast beaches I expect it to feel like the Atlantic, lapping non-threateningly at my toes. It never does. The water was foamy and grey-green, a little cooler than the air, perfect. Violet was scared by the waves.

"No no no no no!" she started to run back out of the water.

"I'll hold you," I told her. My mom used to do this exact thing to me. I got out above my waist, hopping up every time a wave came. Violet relaxed against me, clinging like a monkey.

"See, first you feel the water sucking you in," I let us drift towards the wave, "then you see the wave gathering up, then you hop right over the wave!"

"Hop, Mommy, hop!" she screamed gleefully. She laughed her gurgling laugh every time I hopped. So I hopped more, and I danced and twirled. "Whennnn you are in looooooove, it's the loveliest night of the yeeeeeeear," I sang. People all around. Sorry, people. Daddy is watching from the beach. He looks relaxed and content; I'm suffused with gratitude to be here right now.

A stray wave hits Violet in the face, so I bring her back up the beach. "See we'll sit right here and let the little waves break over our toes," I explain to her.

"Yeah, toes," she returns. "Big water."

The rough waves uncover little mollusks that bury themselves rapidly in the sand when the water washes away. It's neat to see them go under. One second it looks like the beach is covered with pebbles, the next all you see are clam butts disappearing under the ground. As I have just discovered (I love the Internet), these are coquina clams. here is a lovely picture. Also according to the Internet:

"Coquinas (Donax) live at the surf line and between the pounding waves use their muscular foot to burrow into the sand like mole crabs to feed on microscopic creatures between the particles."

They are reportedly good eating, used in chowders and broths. But whatevs, they're pretty to watch. Yay coquinas.

The only one in the pool

Dad and Susan were unspeakably nice to me today, paying for an hour massage in a posh spa. I lay there having my muscles kneaded, selfishly silent. Then I went in the hot tub, and sauna and finally finished up with a swim. The sky was dark; it was about to rain. The clouds boiled up in the sky, looking like a pit of elephants. I did 20 laps as quickly as I could, willing my ever-present stress away. Most times I can feel it at the base of my neck. It feels like bees buzzing, with my brain following it in circles: "Don't forget to pay your credit card bill! Isn't it time to make a doctor's appointment for Violet? Shit, I forgot to call somebody back yesterday, I know it!" Etc. etc. My neck feels light now. My arms are tired from swooping through the water.

I float on my back in the pool, watching the sky. No one is around. I am the only one in the pool. It is like the images I focus on to make myself go to sleep; my favorite one being me alone on a beach with only my footsteps disturbing the smooth, white sand. It is silent. All I hear is the ebb and flow of water in my ears. It's only when I get a relief from the stress that I realize how much I carry; sometimes in the afternoons I feel like my heart's beating too fast, like I'm dizzy. I'll never get it all done, I'll never have the laundry finished and dinner done and the kitchen floor clean and my editing work done perfectly, and Violet happy at the same time. It's not too much to do, but somehow it feels like it.

I float. Wind paints my cheeks and ruffles the water. Thunder sounds and I reluctantly scramble out of the pool. It's 5 o' clock, the hour I designated for myself as the responsible hour to return home. When I get there, my cousin-by-marriage Lori is there with her two kids, my second cousins, Kyle, 14, and Hannah, 10. Violet's so excited to play with them that she gives me a perfunctory hug and rushes right back over to them. They pick out bead necklaces for her to wear and wrestle her gently. They're so sweet to Violet. She's in heaven. Sitting here, slumped on the couch, the buzzing bees seem far away. I experience joy.

I wish there were a way to tell Dad and Susan how good this feels, how huge it is to lay down the 100 ton weight I carry every day. "Thank you" doesn't seem to cut it. Instead, I made some decisions in the pool, where I could finallly think. I'm ready to make some changes. I don't like living with this stress, feeling secretly like I'm almost always ready to burst into tears. It's too much. It's time to do something about it.

Granddaddy tells a story

I'm lying in one of the twin bed while Granddaddy and Violet are in the other. Phil usually puts Vi to bed at home (we started this system when we no longer wanted her to nurse after she brushed her teeth for fear of further decay), and she chose Granddaddy to sub for him tonight. But after 45 minutes of him reading and snuggling and telling stories, she's started demanding "I want my mama!" and crying. He bargains with her. She agrees to go to sleep if I just come in the room. So here I am. Dad's got a flashlight he's training on the ceiling.

"When I was a little boy," he starts his story, "I had these weird growths on my back."

I'm already laughing. I know where he's going with this story. "And everyone was worried about me. But one day I said to them, these aren't growths, they're wings! And I can fly, just like a bird!" Dad makes shadow wings on the ceiling and Violet flaps her arms excitedly. "Just like bird!" she agrees.

"And I would fly all over the city," says Granddaddy, his shadow wings flapping. "Sometimes I would swoop down and see animals, like, um, what can I make here? A dog!"

"Ruff ruff!" says Violet.

"And um, a duck! Quack quack!" Dad's duck looks more like a dinosaur.

Violet is laughing and excited. She'll never go to sleep this way. But how can I interrupt this moment? He wiggles his two fingers in the air. "These are two little bugs! Barney and Betty. And they're bun bugs! They want to run right into your little butt!" She is cackling madly as the "bugs" run up her leg to tickle her.

"No, no!" she says. But I think she likes the little bugs. And her Granddaddy, who tells such good stories. His eyes are soft when he looks at her. He nestles down next to her happily, exactly where he wants to be. I know just how he feels.

Naked and out of town

I'm in Jacksonville visiting my Dad and stepmom right now. I just got in at 8 a.m. and though we had nearly perfect flights (Violet slept during the five hours of our longest flight; slept the whole way! I had to wake her up to deplane!), I had only slept a few hours last night. I was pretty pooped today. Hopefully I wasn't too cranky. I'm really happy to be here.

We went to the library today, which was fun. Got a huge stack of books for Violet. Later when we were at the house, one of those huge Florida rainstorms started up. I took Violet outside to watch the rain and lightning. She excitedly requested she "go naking in the rain." I took off her clothes and gave her an umbrella; she didn't much like the driving rain, but when it died down a bit we went squelching through the puddles in the yard. We worked our way through the back yard and into the front, but neighbors kept driving by and looking shocked at the naked baby in the yard. So I took her back to the back yard. There was a huge rainbow in the sky, a great big arch. "Rainbow!" said Violet, every time she caught sight of it, excited anew each time. "Rainbow!"

While Dad was grilling salmon for dinner, he asked Violet who she liked and she said "I like my Mama best," making me cry. Then 20 minutes later I asked her if she loved me (never ask!) and she said "I like my baby" (meaning Pinky) "best." Ouch. She was really sweet today though, playing with her granddaddy, dumping a small trash can full of Mardi Gras beads over his head over and over again and giggling cutely. Mimi and Granddaddy are her adoring slaves. What is it you want, Violet? Strawberry jelly instead of peach? Two eggs instead of one? Twelve books read to you one right after another? Your word is our command! She accepts the attention regally, like the spoiled only child she is. Grownups are for serving kids, did you not know that?

Pie day

Busy day today. I worked extra on my writing/editing work; I want to get ahead for our trip to Florida next week. Phil took Violet away to his mom's house, where she reportedly chatted to the animal figurines and put them to bed over and over again. That's her favorite activity these days. She lays them down, and she covers them up and says "Go sleep, baby!" Then she hunches over them and shushes you if you talk, or if you absentmindedly break into a chorus of "Ghostbusters," which, I can't help it, goes through my head a lot. Who you gonna call? That's one catchy song.

While they were gone I also went up to the store to get my pie supplies. I'm having a pie party tomorrow, and I'm making two strawberry-rhubarb pies, a Fritos pie and a coconut cream. So I bought a gigantic bag of groceries and an extra pie plate at the Goodwill up the street and lugged it all home and made piecrusts. It was foggy and cold outside and cozy inside as I puttered around toasting coconut and smushing up graham crackers.

Later, Cait came over to babysit. Phil and I went to see the movie "Once," it was really fabulous. Afterward I wanted to go for a cocktail or some Indian food but Mr. Excitement was tired so we just came home. That's about it.

Accident

The underpants experiment ended when she peed on her bedroom floor and cried and begged for a diaper back on. I never criticize her for going, but today I did tell her "The feeling you have to know is just before you go. That's when you go to the potty." She cried and cried.

It's probably my fault she went, the timer had just dinged and I'd asked her if she wanted to go and she'd said no so I let it go. Next time I'll just take her. This is a learning thing for me, too.

She also begged for her chocolate chips and I really wanted to bend and give them to her, but what kind of lesson is that? I have to make her want to go to the potty if she's ever going to learn. I'm trying to strike a middle ground between encouraging her and doing nothing. I don't want to veer over to shaming her. But I do want to motivate her. Hopefully I'm doing OK. We'll see! There's a little pair of Elmo underpants hanging over our shower rail, drying out. We'll try again, Violet! But not today, today we're going out to the Yerba Buena Gardens Festival to hear a mariachi band. Arriba!

Underpants!

Violet is being so cute right now. We're trying out underpants! She is running around the apartment in Elmo underpants, three necklaces, and her purple crocs. I have the timer set so every hour it dings and we try to go to the potty. Nothing yet, but she gets one chocolate chip every time she tries, and she'll get 5 if she goes pee and 10 for a poop! Ha ha ha! She says "Peeeee! Five chokit chips!" when she is on it, to try and fool me. but I am not fooled. She has to get up so I can check. There's still dust inside the potty. Somebody told me about a lady who gave her son a Matchbox car every time he went poop on the potty and one day he managed to go 12 times. Wow.

I'm in the living room, she's in the bedroom. I think I'll type what she's saying.

"Thanks! Thanks! Thanks you, thank you. Cake! Is cake! Cuck [this means "cut] cake, want piece. One piece, two piece. No! My piece, no your piece. I put my picture..mm mmm. Mom? I put on my shirt, mommy!" oh wait, she wants me. She wants a shirt.

Actually, she wanted a dress. I got her the dress, the purple one with red spots, and she said "Raisins, please."

"Do you want them in your monkey bowl?"

"No, little box." Months ago I bought a bag of little raisin boxes, and I've been refilling them from the bulk bag ever since.

Listen to this cool thing she said yesterday. I was making a list of people who love her "And Granddaddy loves you, and Gaga, and Nonna and Mimi..." and she mentioned Cassie from Dragon Tales "Oh, does Cassie love you?" I asked. She wrinkled her nose and laughed and said "No, on TV."

"Meaning she's far away or not real?"

"Not real," she said, laughing. Is that kind of advanced? To know the difference between fantasy and reality? I don't know if she does, I just thought this was weird.

Bunny hole

Today after Violet woke up from her nap I crawled into bed with her, pulling the quilt over our heads. "We're little bunnies," I told her quietly. "And we're in a little bunny hole, deep in the earth."

"Bunnies in hole!" she exclaimed, going to grab her purple stuffed bunny and crawling back under the covers. "Bunny hole! Hop hop! Hop hop!"

We nestled together, our legs entertwined. "And we can hear all the noises all around our bunny hole," I told her. The hiss of the radiators. The ocean wave noise machine. Violet's steady in and out breathing. She looked at me and whispered "Baby bunny," crinkling her noise and smiling her #1 best smiley smile, the one that makes my heart feel literally like it is throbbing with love. We snuggled, two warm bunnies. I was as happy as I'd ever been in my entire life, feeling her chest rising and falling, breathing in her sweet breath.

On another note, I made the most incredible dinner. Pinto beans with bacon and mushrooms, collard greens, and these crazy popover things that puffed up like big bubbles. Mmm. Even Violet couldn't complain, but she still did.

Happy Fourth

My wish came true! Rusty has footage of me waving my tiny American flag and singing my festive Independence Day song, which goes like this (to the tune of the Washington Post March): "I have a flag, I have a flag, I have a flag flag flag. I have a flag and I wave it like thiiiiiis. I have a flag I have a flag I have a flag flag flaggy flag flag a flaggy flag I have a flag!"

Now those are words to make tears well up in your eyes, as you remember the men and women who fought and died for their freedom. So that I could sit on the curb on Central Street in Alameda with a really excellent carne asada burrito in one hand, and an American flag in the other. It was a wonderful parade. I had told Violet earlier than there were going to be animals, whereupon she worried "They bite me? They lick me?" I quickly revised that to "cats and dogs," although there were actually no cats. There were horses, however, including one miniature pony and a crazy piebald horse with one blue-white eye. There were also fire trucks, high school marching bands, and local businesspeople aboard floats with live music. Excellent!

I do have one criticism, however. Why is it that I never hear patriotic American music during parades anymore? Today, instead of hearing "America the Beautiful" (which always makes me cry) or "This Land is Your Land," I got "Sweet Home Alabama," "California Dreamin'" and selections from "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" (soon to come from the Alameda Light Opera Company!). What the hell? Years ago I had a similar experience at the Chinese New Year Parade in SF, where legions of schoolchildren paraded by using their traditional Chinese instrument to play "Eye of the Tiger!" Appropriate music is important, people. We listened to my CD of marching band songs all the way to Alameda and back, in order to get in the proper mood. I want brass in my parade! I want dudes with piccolos and tri-cornered hats!

I tell you one thing, holidays are sure more fun with the Lil Missus around. She was so happy today, bopping around next to Scarlett (Rusty's kid, also age 2), both of them loaded down with stickers and bead necklaces and little parade doodads. One of them always likes the other one more. Today it was Violet's turn to worship Scarlett more, even though at home when I told her we were going to Scarlett's house she huffed "No play my toys." She kept grabbing Scarlett's hand, and looking her lovingly in the eyes, and trying to hug her around the neck and knocking her over.

At one point I took them both by the hand and into the 99 cent store to cool off a bit. Violet was wearing red-white-and-blue-striped shorts, and a red t-shirt, scarlett had on a white dress. They both looked so festive. And if you want to appreciate the coolness of everyday objects, take a couple of two-year-olds to a 99 cent store. Practically every object I handed to them had them agog. Whoa, paper plates with faces on them! Flowers made of PLASTIC! Fuzzy rainbow dusters, far out! They took the dusters and swept them all over the store, giggling. Everything felt perfect. I was smiling, they were smiling. I felt like Super Mom.

One last complaint. Our American Flag is kind of ugly. I like the colors, but, well...the World's Flags Given Letter Grades gives us only a C, sniffing that our flag is "too busy" and has "too many stars." Americans, I think we're ready for a new flag. Let's take a look at what Turkey and Japan have done. Exemplary. Any inspiration here?

Nice to meet you

Violet: "Oh, kitty!"

Lexie: "That cat's a little shy. She just needs to meet you and then she'll feel more comfortable and you can pet her."

Violet: "Nice meet you. My name Violet."

Me: "Oh my God. We've been working on introductions."

Lexie: "That's not bad!"

Me: "She's got a good handshake going too, but maybe she'll leave that one off for now."

Tomorrow we're going to a Fourth of July parade! I'm so excited! I have been singing patriotic songs and marching around all week. My only wish is that we could have a little American flag to wave. I've been explaining the flag to Violet too, she knows it's the American flag and all. But she's more interested in my tracing her hand on a piece of paper to make a Hand Flag, which we then decorate. The symbol of Violetonia is a hand flag decorated with green and purple dots.

Tired

This was such an exhausting day. Up at 6. Took Violet over to the Talk Line playroom today; she played with Mr. Potato Heads and dress-up shoes while I sat in a rocking chair and read a book. We got home at 1:30 and she went almost immediately to sleep. I was going to make lunch for myself, but I had some work to do. And before I'd even finished, she was already awake! An hour later, I had to go pick up Cole for Shelley. The two of them fought me all the way to the car. And then came home and made a shambles of the house. It's 9:45 and I finally just got my dinner! Ugh. Cole said at dinner, in the middle of Violet pitching a fit over something or other (and dropping food onto the kitchen floor that I scrubbed on my hands and knees yesterday), he said "I'd really like to not hear any more crying today." Amen, Cole!

I'm so tired. I just really want some time to myself now, but I have more work to do before I go to bed.

Today Violet made me laugh, I came out in a green skirt and a green-and-brown top. "Do you like my outfit?" I asked Violet.

"Not shirt," she said grimly.

"No?"

"No! Take it OFFFFF!" she shrieked. My first fashion critique from Violet. Mom, you're embarrassing me.

Voyeur

We were gone all day to a free concert in San Francisco, the Stern Grove Festival. We got there late so the only seating was high up on a hill. We spread out our blanket, ate our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and watched the band. Eventually Violet wanted to dance, we'd brought her special dancing ribbon toy for just that reason. Phil took her down to a level spot on a little wooden bridge. I was watching them dance together when the band started playing a jazz version of "You Are My Sunshine." I got such a stinging in my eyes. My mama used to sing that to me. It seems like yesterday. Now I sing it to Violet. And I was up on the hill crying because I wondered if the years would pass as quickly for her as they have for me, if it would all pass in a blink of an eye and small Violet would be lost to me forever. I want so much to hold on to this time but it just slips through my fingers like water, gone forever. I want to soak in every second, I want to drink her up. My little Violet, dancing on the bridge with her Daddy. She looked so happy. I wiped away my tears before I went down to join them.

Night time ritual

Every night before she goes to bed, after the last nurse and diaper and pajamas, after toothbrushing and the selecting of a sticker to put on the calendar ("do you want a star or a bee or a ladybug?"), Violet will come out to me and open her mouth for inspection. I look inside.

"Looks good in there," I tell her. Then I put my face out for a kiss. "Goodnight, honey!"

"Go night!" says Violet.

"I love you!"

Nothing. She has only told me she loved me twice, under extreme prompting. Tonight, though, she ran over to the couch and grabbed a few pillows, plumping them beside my arm.

"Pee yo right hee ya," she told me, patting me. "Go night! Go night!"

"You're trying to make mama comfortable," I said. "I'm going to cry!"

"Happy mama!" she says sternly. "No waaaah mama."

No waaaah mama! I totally agree.

Today Phil and his brother went shopping with the babies. I got the day off to go to Lee and Ron's baby shower, and hang out with Steve and Mariana. Lots of babies, lots of talking about babies. I missed my baby. When she finally got home, at 6, I squatted down and held out my arms, expecting her to rush into them, but she went on by. I got such a chill in my heart. How long will it be before she's embarrassed by my wanting a hug? Surely my heart will break.

We reconnected after dinner. I finished nursing her, and she hopped on top of me while I was lying on her bed.

"I ride!" she suggested. "Need hat." She often selects different headgear for different purposes. She particularly likes to wear the red cowboy hat on the rocking horse, but this time she went for the brown velvet riding helmet.

I bounce her up and down to the Lone Ranger theme. I do quick sharp bounces, and heavy slow bounces. I shake from side to side. I roll in slow circles. Her face, above me, is round like the moon. She is smiling so hard. My legs are so tired, but I have to keep it up, have to see more of that smile. It's like a drug.

Fish store

"It stinky," said Violet, pinching her nose shut. She's been saying this a lot. I guess she's sensitive to smells? Sorry, Princess, we live in a city, there's gonna be times we're passing the corner of Pee Stench Alley and Warm Garbage Avenue.

We silently rolled through the store. I could tell they were antsy about us being there so I wanted to be fast. Everybody hates a toddler, even parents of other toddlers. She's quiet, I want to tell them. She's a good girl. She keeps her hands to herself. She knows just to look with her eyes. But they glare at me, and I can't help feeling funny. I keep her in the stroller and go fast around the aisles.

"Lobstah!" she says in front of a tank full of tiny ones. "Baby turtle!" There are fish with iridescent patches on their butts, fish the color of pink cotton candy and gingko leaves in the fall. Long darting fish. Fish with ruffled tails. Shiny silver fish like Susan B. Anthony dollars.

Why do they look like that? Why are some bright and others dull? What kind of damn camouflage is it to be purple with neon green spots?

I think we need to go to the library to find out more about fish. I just don't know enough to teach her.

We paused for a long time in front of the saltwater tank. I long for a tank full of anemones, pink and orange and green. They grow and shrink, did you know that? When they're hungry they can get as tiny as a pencil eraser, then grow to the size of an appetizer plate once they've eaten. They're magic things. But taking care of a saltwater tank is a huge pain in the butt; I'm not up for it. I couldn't even keep our polka dot plant alive. My friend Miles used to have a pink anemone, well, several. His name was Oscar. Oscar kept dying, but he'd replace him with a new pink one every time because, he told me, he knew I loved Oscar so much.

"Anemones," I said dreamily. "Anemones."

"Nem knees," repeated Violet.

The fish store guy was scooping out a fish. "Do you want to see it?" he asked, squatting in front of Violet. Nice guy! I could kiss him. I love it when people engage with her. "See, he scoops up the sand in his mouth, and then it blows out of his gills!" He holds the fish out in a cup for her to see it.

"He cleans it! Cool!" I said, impressed.

Violet says nothing, but her eyes look at the fish. The sand-eater. She is taking it all in, making wrinkles on her brain. How happy I am. How wonderful this is.

Something exciting

I ran into a woman I know from a swim class we used to take, and she told me about a really cool organization that's right up the street from here. It's called the Talk Line, and it's a sort of clubhouse for kids and parents. They have drop-in playgroups, moms, support groups, counseling, lots of good stuff. I went to the website to check the schedule, and there at the top it said "Parenting is the toughest job in the world! You don't have to do it without help!" And I started crying like the big baby I am. I am pretty tired of doing it alone. I mean, there's Phil, but all day I'm by myself, unless I make efforts to make plans (and I do, but other times I don't). I feel like I've been trying for two years to make a best Mom friend. I have lots of mom friends, but I haven't been able to find #1, someone who has a girl Violet's age and who stays at home, and who I really connect with. Maybe I will find her at the Talk Line.

I've actually had a connection with the Talk Line before. I called them, they have a toll-free hotline, and I called one day when I was seriously losing my mind and just cried. Then later, I passed by the office when I was walking with Violet, feeling so exhausted and strung out, and realized what the office was, and silently thanked them for being there for me the night I needed them so badly.

I've been finding out about more and more of this stuff, city programs, cool places to go, free things to do with kids. I feel like my social life is blossoming. For a long long time I had to confine myself to our apartment and the playground; now we're busting out and I'm finding what I can do with her. A lot, really. It's nice.

Fishy!

At breakfast (turkey bacon, avocado, and apples), Violet was complaining that she had to poop and couldn't.

"No poop!" she yelled. "Hurt baby gina!" She means, she feels a general pain in her nether regions, that's what she says when she's having trouble.

"Let's go take a bath," I suggested. "It helps to sit in the warm water."

In the tub she sweetened up, feeling better.

"I baby way-ul," she told me, swimming the plastic killer whale towards me. "No! I mama whale. This baby whale," indicating the toy. "And here fish!"

"What color is this fishie?" I asked her, brandishing the squirty fish.

"Purp! Yellow!"

"Fish come in all sorts of colors. Red and blue and green and silver and gold. Would you like to go to an aquarium and see lots of different fish?"

She would! So we're going to a fish store. How fun, how fun; she gets interested in something and I can show it to her.

Do we have to go through the same thing every night?

I made the most gorgeous tortila espanola tonight. You didn't know whether to eat it or date it, it was that gorgeous. Violet likes every single ingredient in it: eggs, potatoes, onions, salt, oil. But when I sat it down in front of her, she pushed her plate away so hard it splattered onto the floor.

"No like it!" she huffed. "No eat it! Never never."

I would like to throw her damn plate right out the window. But instead I have to be patient mom.

"Oh honey, just sit here with Daddy and I then and talk to us. You can drink your milk, and just sit. You don't have to eat."

Two minutes later, she'd tried the tortilla. "Like it, mom!" she enthused. "Eat! Eat eat eat!"

Why can't we go there first? Why is there always a no before there's a yes? When I want her to take anything I have to ask her twice. Water, Violet? No? What about now? And she almost says yes the second time I ask. What is that?

Time for me to chill out a bit right now, I'd better get off the computer. Phil's put Violet to sleep in the other room and fallen asleep himself; in a few minutes he'll come out and we can spent some couch time together.

Wrong side of something, anyway

Violet's first words when she got up from her nap: "I don't wanna!" I hadn't asked her anything! I was in the other room, working. She woke right up from her nap and decided she didn't want to do something. I wonder what it was. She was definitely voting yes on no today. It's great when she gets in that "no" frame of mind. You know how salespeople talk about getting potential customers in a "yes mood?" She gets in the no mood. And then she'll repeat whatever you say, negating it.

"Violet, do you want some apple?"

"No apple."

"Should we go the playground?"

"No playground."

"But we're going to have fun."

"NO fun!"

Violet, what are you saying? No fun? What is wrong with you, child? Fun is what we live for.

Violet discovered the concept of glow-in-the-dark at 4:17 p.m. We took a stick-on star under the blankets and admired it glowing. Then Violet wanted it "up in air, mama" so we strategized on how to suspend it from the ceiling. Eventually a lightbulb went off over my head and I went and got the helium balloon she got from Trader Joe's. I taped the star to it, hoping it would rise. The star was too heavy. But V was impressed anyway and dragged the star balloon down on the ground for a long time.

Went and saw Karen and Matthew tonight, at their house. Brenda was also over. Her last name is Cole, and she is soon to marry a man named Kevin O'Neill and he would like her to take his name. We were suggesting possible mashups such as Brenda O'Cole, or O'Brenda Cole-Neill. I'm partial to O'Brenda myself. Emmett was looking big, and cute. He is 8 months now. Time, flying. He was wearing the shirt I gave him, I was proud to see. Perhaps they did this on purpose. When it was time to put him to bed, Matthew just pretty much swaddled him and laid him down, and Emmett just went off calmly to sleep. There are apparently children who do this!! Perhaps I will get one of these someday.

Scary

Violet (sitting on my lap languidly): "Time go, mama."

Me: "You want to go outside?"

Violet: "No, I want to go INside," zooming a hand into my mouth.

An important concept

We have just built Violet's first fort, out of two chairs and a fleece blanket.

She has been in there for at least ten minutes, quiet. I think she's putting her babies to sleep, but awesome, yay forts.

Just back from Trader Joe's

"OK, honey, we're home!"

"Homey, homey." She doesn't move.

"Violet, are you ready to get out?"

"NO! No go in house."

"Honey, it's lunchtime. I have turkey meatloaf and that risotto from last night. And nectarines. And green grapes. Lunch is going to be delicious. Let's go on in and eat."

"No! NOOOOOO! No leave car!" A fusillade of kicks on the back of my seat. Her screaming reaches a pitch I am certain will shatter the windshield.

"Violet, I gotta pee. And the freezer foods are melting. And we can't live in the car."

"Yes, yes, live in car!"

"Don't you want to go and see Bobo?"

"NO! No go see Bobo! Live in car! No go 'side."

"Don't you want to see Judith?"

"No!"

"Rocking horse?"

"No!"

"Your balloon kite?"

"No!"

Somehow I managed to get two bags of freezer-bound groceries (the shelf stuff can stay in the car until Phil gets home, I'm not killing myself), my purse, Pinky, Violet's jacket, her Funtainer water, and screamy ol Violet herself up the street. It took 17 minutes to go not quite a half block, what with having to stop and scream "NO NO NO NO go 'way! Go 'way!" every two steps. Sometimes parenting her is so incredible and I am filled with so much joy, and other times, it feels like I'm trying to pull a schoolbus out of my nose. I am exhausted.

More realtime reporting

Violet has her pink feather boa and the miniature sock monkey. She is winding the boa around and setting the monkey on top.

"Here you go, Monkey! Can I get on? Yes! Thank you!"

She hits Bobo with her hand.

"Did you just hit Bobo? The rule is, we don't hit Bobo. What is the rule?"

She looks at me from under a glowering brow. "I like hit Bobo. I hit Bobo riiiight...now!" She hits him with an open hand. Bobo scratches her. She wails.

"Violet, Bobo's just defending himself."

"No no no no nooooo! Monkey on back! Monkey on back!"

Does she have a heroin jones? No, she means it literally, and tries to stick the monkey on my back. He falls off. "Monkey here!" She tries again. Falls. Cries.

"Monkey egg!" she frowns, piling up the boa. "Super egg!" She lifts her arms into the air.

"Is it an egg?" I say enthusiastically, trying to fit in with her game.

"NO!" she shouts. "NO EGG! Bad, bad egg!" She pulls the boa up. Why am I always so wrong? Why am I the wrongest wrong ever to exist in the world? Thank God she finds her Baby Bright Ball and entertains herself playing "Merrily We Roll Along" over and over again.

I forgot to mention how proud I was of Phil on Saturday. Someone had brought a Fisher Price Corn Popper to the park and left it there, broken. Mr. Wizard over here just happened to have a screwdriver in his pocket, and took it apart, and fixed it using a stick to stand in for a broken piece of the toy. I was so proud. I walked around the whole playground track popping the corn. Pop pop pop pop! Now that's fun! My man is handy!

Violet's non-busy hands

Pretty much every time I ask a childless friend if Violet can come along to a visit to their house, they flutter nervously that they the place isn't childproofed. Which is so sweet! But you know what? Violet doesn't need childproofing. Is she such a strange kid? She doesn't..mess with stuff. When she was really small, she never put stuff in the mouth the way other kids did. And then she never messed with the light sockets. And now she doesn't bother to de-shelve books or empty her bins onto the floor crashingly. Is she just mellow in this way? Or is she smart? Or is it because she's a girl? I didn't train it out of her. She just never did it.

This was brought home to me today when we went to go visit Liko today. Liko is a few months older than V, and his mom, Ollie, and I went to college together. Liko is a darling little boy who I think is actually probably on the gentler end of the spectrum of boys, as he is polite and hugs Violet and shares his toys, etc. etc. But still, we'd walk into a room and he'd immediately upend a basket of toys and gleefully jump on top of them in a way V has never done. It's so crazy, the differences between kids.

Still, I feel like I'm a worm of cleanliness, moving through the house to absolutely no effect. I notice the toilet is a mess, I clean it...and meantime Violet has pulled out her Play-Doh barrel and there's little balls of dough all over the floor. I take the time to do the dishes and she's pulled out all the hats and is trying them on one by one. I bend and straighten and pick up and wipe off and put away and hang up and oh my God, she left the sippy cup on its side and milk has dripped down the table legs and onto the floor.

What cute thing did she do today? She drew an apple! It was really cool! I drew one, and then she picked up a reddish crayon and did a shaky circle right next to mine, with a little line at the top for a stem. I think that's kind of amazing for a two year old. It was a recognizable apple! What else? When we were at Liko's, Liko's friend Argus was over, Ollie babysits him sometimes. Argus starting keening for his mom. He got upset and was crying over and over again, "I want my mom! I want my mom!" It felt so heartbreaking I picked him up and put him on my lap and told him "I'm not your mom, but I am a mom," and snoogled him onto my chest. And Violet came right over and instead of saying "My Mommy!" and pushing him off like she usually would, she patted his back. I thought that was sweet. Poor ol' Argus. Ollie called his mom and she came back early, whew! He was inconsolable. I got tears in my eyes I was so sad I couldn't help him. Ollie and I sang songs to pass the time until she came, and he would be OK until the end of every song, but then he'd cry again. Poor lil guy.

Fun day

We were attempting to make it to a Muppet movie at a local art museum today, but we didn't get there until too late due to the gay pride parade preventing us from crossing Market Street. I hope you gay people are proud of making us miss our movie!

So instead, we decided to go to the awesome awesome playground by the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts. It has a manmade stream, a fountain the kids can get into with water running out of a hippopotamus' mouth (oh man did Violet ever love that! "Miss Hippo! Miss Hippo!" she screamed happily), gigantic slides, a xylophone made out of metal pipes. Way to go, San Francisco! SF spruced up all its city parks in the last few years, right in time for us to have kids. I really appreciate them knowing we were about to procreate, and getting the parks ready for us.

We met up with Gren and Alison, Phil's friend from high school and his wife, as well as their two kids. The kids all ran around the playground, and then we went over to Beard Papa, the absolutely stunning cream puff store. I had a vanilla eclair so good I literally couldn't concentrate on any conversation until I'd eaten the whole thing and licked my fingers clean. Way to go, Beard Papa! Nice name for that store, right? Their mascot looks like Santa. Like a merciful Santa of fresh butter and cream, not that scary dude that has a list of children whose houses he will invade and leave a hunk of carbon.

Violet was tired on the way home, and sad because we wouldn't buy her the $18 pig-shaped flashlight she was coveting at the SFMOMA museum store. "My pig! My pig!" she wailed disconsolately up the street. I amused her by sitting in the backseat with her and squeezing my nose while saying "beep!" After a while, Violet demanded "Beep my nose, mama," which is a sentence I could listen to over and over again happily. I was also "stealing" her nose, and she started stealing my nose, and then she began replacing my nose with her nose. "My nose your face!" she told me happily. Excellent, Violet's nose is way cuter than mine.

Noisy Noises

Violet got me up too early and now I'm on the couch typing this with my eyes closed. I can identify every noise in the house! That clink clank is Bobo pulling the drain out of the tub and batting it back and forth. The slurp suck sound is Violet slugging on her sippy cup. I can hear the click of dog nails outside on the sidewalk. And I hear Phil snoring in the bedroom. Oops and there's the song at the end of Dragon Tales, time to pay attention to Violet.

I'm in heaven

Phil took the baby to his mom's house today. He drove down with his brother, and our nephew, Noah. I've been alone in the house all day. I straightened up our family files, and now they're all neat and spare and organized. There is a gigantic box of paper ready to throw away. OK, Phil, I love you, but why would you save an Office Depot receipt from 1996?

I could be doing a lot of other things right now. The kitchen floor is disgracefully dirty, dinnertime is looming, there's always editing or writing I should be doing. But it's so quiet. It's dim in our room, and the noises of cars drifts in to me as I lie here mounded in blankets on Phil's side of the bed. My ceiling is perfectly white. I stop between every sentence and admire it. There is no one prodding me and demanding that I get up, there is no one discordantly playing a harmonica right next to my head, I am not being forced to pour milk or skin apple slices. I believe I will just continue to lie here, staring at the calm white ceiling. It is really quite lovely. To hell with the floor. And there is a really quite good pizza shop right downstairs from here. Pizza! Surely fate would not place this pizza shop right in our building if we were not meant to eat from it several times weekly.

Violet's happiest day ever

Due to my total lack of parental judgment, Violet got not one but two desserts today. We went over to the weird York Street Park, which has a big mosaic Quetzlcoatyl (sp?) and water fountains that come on and off unpredictably, proving this fact today by being shut off entirely. It was so hot out. It was so hot out that I took my shoes off and then hastily put them back on because the playground flooring was scorching. And there was the St. Francis Soda Fountain sending me its neon come-on from right across the street. I asked for a small chocolate malt, and it was indeed very small (particularly considering it was $4), and we shared it, sitting on a hump of the Quetzlcoatl and slurping contentedly.

Then later I had to go by Dianda's bakery. It's my friend Janet's bachelorette party tonight and thank the Lord she's not having some tacky affair with strippers and penis-shaped straws (you would not believe some of the accessories that come in penis shapes. I used to have a job where I worked on this party bus leading around drunk bachelorette parties from Martinez, and those girls would have penis tiaras, penis bubble guns, giant blow-up penises, deely-bopper antennae with penises on the end, t-shirts featuring penises or sometimes Life Savers that gentlemen at the club were invited to lick off the shirt. A suck for a buck, they'd say merrily, those drunk bachelorettes. So klassy. But I digress.) We are all going to a mutual friend's house for dinner and pedicures. Now isn't that nice? So much nicer than strippers. I promised to bring something sweet to the dinner, so I stopped at Dianda's and got a couple of pounds of pine nut cookies. And after Violet had spent 20 minutes patiently waiting in the bakery line, rocketing around the display and informing me that "I wan this one and this one, this one, this one," I couldn't not give her a cookie. They're the size of a thin mint anyway, how bad could it be?

A Milestone

Today, for the very first time ever, Violet told me she was big.

"Violet, you can't climb up like that," I bustle over to Violet, who is attempting to imitate Quirin's climbing on the fence above the pond. "Quirin is a big girl, and she can do it just a little better. You might fall."

"I big," said Violet, drawing herself up to her full height. "I big girl."

Of course, she still couldn't climb up like Quirin could. But it was the first time she ever identified as a big girl. Usually when you ask her if she's anything else (are you a big girl? are you a tiny soft little rabbit in a rabbit hole? are you mom's precious crumb doughnut?), she will glare at you and affirm "I baby. Just baby." She is really uptight about it. Even when you ask if she's Violet, she'll say "Juuuust baby!" like you are an idiot. But if you ask her what her name is, she will tell you "Vi-let." You go figure it out.

Of course, later on when I tried to get her to repeat her big girl affirmation to Phil, she giggled and said "I just baby." So I dunno, maybe she'll go back and forth on the issue for a while. It caught at my heart a little, to hear her say that. She is a big girl already, whether she knows it or not. But she's still my little baby.

Hop Hop

This morning when Phil was shaving, Violet leaned slowly around the jamb of the door, caught his eye, and said solemnly to him, "Hop hop! Hop!" And then she "hopped." She cannot hop. Her feet do not leave the ground. And then she said "I have milk now."

Today we went to a nature preserve thingy in San Mateo. I had to drive down El Camino Real to get there, because when I go on the highway I get so panicky it takes me a long time to calm down afterwards. It took like twice as long! And was ten times as fun. There was even a See's Candy on the road, but Violet was asleep, so I couldn't stop and get three raspberry cremes and one peanut butter cup. I wish I could just leave her in the damn car for the two minutes it would take to buy these gorgeous items, but I just know that the minute I leave her in the car is the minute a giant truck will smash into the parking lot, taking out the car. If the giant truck has to take out the car, I need to be in there with her. Similar logic prevents me from leaving V alone in the house when she's napping, even to nip downstairs to the coffee shop located in our apartment building to get some tea. I mean, what if a bomb were to go off just in my apartment? When the bomb goes off, it has to get both of us at once.

Anyhoo, we went to the nature preserve with Sena and Quirin and Thora. Vi has quite the obsession going with Baby Thora in theory. Ever since she made acquaintance with her on a camping trip, Violet has come to us with clasped together palms, claiming that she was holding tiny Baby Thora in her hands. "Baby Thora my hand!" she might say, for instance. But in person, Violet was much more excited by 4-year-old Quirin then 9 month old Baby Thora, and spent much of the day trotting after Quirin, trying to do everything just like Quirin. Which was cute when Quirin was running in circles around the aviary's waterfall, not as much when both girls kept dipping their hands into the spitty still water of the outdoor water fountain and running their wet hands through each other's hair.

Realtime reporting of Violet's antics

I'm sitting on the bed with the laptop, watching Violet play. Dunno how long she'll let me type, but while she does, I have to relate how weird she is being. She has lined up all of her stuffed animals on the bed, facedown (they look like a little row of executed prisoners), and on top of them she has put other stuffed animals facedown. Then in front of each pair she has placed a book. Now she's getting out other dolls.

Violet: "This one. This one. Me...I don't know. Two babies. TWO! BABIES! Come over here! There you go! No! OK! Just with me. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow --" to the tune of the alphabet song. "Come here! Just me. Two babies. OK. OK." Then she stands up and lifts her arms heroically up into the air. "Aaaaand GO!"

Now she's over at the toys again, shaking her egg shaker and playing the harmonica at the same time. Wild drumming! Gene Krupa over there, drumming on the toybox. Pow pow de pow POW!

Violet: "Oh, come out. Why? Why?" She's looking for more stuffed animals now. There are 12 lined up on the bed.

Violet: "How do you do it? Please do it. I'm pink. Doh-doh, baybeee. Otay. Otay. With my baby. I don't know? Hey-ee."

This is like a lunatic talking. This is like yesterday when we were on the bus and out of nowhere this kooky guy crunching ice across the aisle asked me about the musical "Jersey Boys" and how he didn't *really* think it was the real Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons playing in S.F. and that sent him into a whole rant. It sounded sort of like Violet does now.

Violet: "Ready and set and go!" Throws one stuffed animal across the room, then stares at the others menacingly, swaying her hips back and forth. "Sorry, Mommy. Pants....aha!"

Violet. "I'm deeaaaad." Holding the black Bratz doll. Oh man! I knew it was a mistake to get her that book about the dead bird. "Open that, open that." The grave??? Creepy.

Runs to the toybox, grabs plastic food. Runs in a circle. "Round n round n round." Ooops now she's saying "Mama git up! Mama git up!" This entry may be over. No wait, she's over by the plastic kitchen, shoving the plastic food in the microwave. Banging it together. "Git up, Mama, git up!" OK I gotta go.

Sometimes I still feel young

There are nights, like tonight, when I go out to meet someone for dinner, and I don't feel so tired it's like my face is sagging right off my skull. I'm able to order a drink, and I'm able to find something besides Violet to talk about. And then me and my friend walked down the street to the bar, feeling for all the world like two carefree and sassy young ladies. We had a couple of drinks...we ran into some old college friends...we talked about old times. Then I hailed a cab and went home, appreciating the hills and houses of my beautiful city as we drove through the dark streets. Some nights the horrendous rent we pay to live here is still worth it, and I still feel like the vibrant girl I once was. And still, very rarely, sometimes still am.

Meanwhile, at home, Violet is having an uncomfortable number of tantrums. Today was a huge one. Vi had awakened thirsty from a long deep nap.

"Want milk, mama!"

"Cow's milk in a sippy cup, or mama's milk?'

"Cow milk."

"Honey, you've had lots of milk today. I'm worried you're going to get constipated. I'm going to bring you some water too."

"No water! No water!" Violet shrieked shrilly.

"It's not a big deal hon, I'll bring you two cups and you'll drink from both." I went to the kitchen to fill the cups. God I'm sick of washing out sippy cup parts, it'll be a happy day when she uses regular damn cups.

Meanwhile, she's in her bedroom ranting. "NO water! No water! No WATER!" Going completely nuts. By the time I come in with the milk (and the water), she's backed up against her dresser, screaming. I try to get her to calm down.

"Look," I say, flopping on the bed. "There's the milk, right there on your art table. If you don't want the water, just don't drink it. "

No! That's not enough! The water still exists, and it's still on her art table, and that just cannot be borne. She continued to scream "NO WATER!" at the top of her lungs for a good seven minutes while I stared at her, mystified, trying not to laugh as she turned as red as a stop sign. I finally got her to come over and I hugged her and blew on her poor hot head as she cried in my arms.

"You don't have to drink the water," I said, helplessly. Giving in, as always.

"Water please!" she said cheerily. And she took the water glass and drank it, and ignored the milk. I was exhausted. She was happy. Children are strange. What was that all about?

She Freaks Out Over the Smallest Things

I was playing on my computer today, ignoring her as she watched "Dragon Tales." From 5 to 6 is TV time, Mom-gets-a-break time, and sometimes, on the worst days, it's-finally-time-for-a-cocktail time. But Violet wanted attention.

"Stand up!" she hectors me. "Get up! Get up! Get up!" I get the feeling I could sit here for 100 years and she'd just keep saying it every two seconds. "Get up! Get up!" I get up. She wants to hold my hands and spin in a circle.

"Are we dancing?" I ask her. No, we are not. We are spinning in a tight little circle, and I'm getting vertigo. Also, I'm not holding her hands right. "Like this?" I ask. She rips her hands from mine. "Nooooo!"

"Like this?" I grab her wrists. That's not right either. "Like this?" I hold her fists in my hands. That is so wrong, so very very wrong that she has to hurl herself onto the purple chair.

"Nooooo!" she rants. "Noooooo! Nooooo!" Hey, I remember this! This whole thing where she has a really clear idea about what needs to be done, only she can't do it. I remember this from 18 months! And then I thought she grew out of it. But I guess she didn't. She beats her little fist on the purple chair with fury. She goes and hits the edge of the door (which is blameless, but hey) in pure fury. "NO! NO! NO!"

I agree with you Violet. I vote yes on no.

Translation Services Provided

I understand just about every word Violet says, but no one else does. How could they? I'm the only one who knows that "jah pees" means "pajamas," and "dad-o's" means "please turn on Dragon Tales right now, Mom, or I will begin a keening wail that will take the finish off the furniture."

This was brought home to me Sunday, when Rusty came over for a visit. I couldn't understand Scarlett at all! But Rusty did.

Me: "Scarlett, would you like some nuts? Some pistachio nuts?"

Scarlett:

Rusty: "She said she's not sure if she's hungry."

Me: "Violet, what about you? Nuts? Pretzels?"

Violet: "Yeah yeah prets in dunkee bow."

Rusty (laughing): "What?"

Me: "She said she wants pretzels in her monkey bowl."

Scarlett: "I too pret ah my pa."

Me: "What?!"

Rusty: "She says she wants the pretzels on her plate."

It was like working at the U.N. Violet and Scarlett are very lucky to have their translators at the ready, to communicate important news to the world. For instance, Violet needed her milk in the PINK sippy cup. Not the blue one. This was highly vital, as communicated to me by wide-open eyes and very loud "NO NO NO NO NO"s. NOT THE BLUE CUP. THE PINK ONE. Luckily, since I had already given the pink cup to Scarlett, Violet was completely OK with taking the blue cup, since toddlers are so flexible and easygoing. HA HA HA HA HA.

I Know We're Wasting Time

We're supposed to be nursing, I know. But she's being so cute. Phil is in the kitchen, banging things around. He's in a hurry to get her into bed. He's Had Enough. I'm sorry, Phil, I can't resist.

Violet's eyes are wild. I grab her left arm and lift it up. "Boooop!" I say with a rising tone. And then I bring it back down. "Booooop." Falling tone. Violet grabs my arm back. "Boooop! Boooop!" We lift our arms together up and down. She laughs so hard I can see the blank space in her mouth, where the teeth used to be. I am getting used to the way it looks; she looks kind of like Tiny Baby Violet again, not such a bad thing.

"Let's point!" I tell her, tiring of the arm-lifting game. "We can point up! And down! And now I'll point at you!" She swats my hand away, complaining "No point!"

"OK then, you point at me!" I suggest. She likes that. She points right into my mouth.

"I dentist," she tells me.

"Baby dentist. Baby dentist, DDS." I obediently open my mouth so she can check me.

"Nursing, nursing!" she demands, pulling at my shirt.

"Violet, ask me nicely." This is something we're working on.

"Nursing please, this side," she says, her eyes so honest and limpid and pure that I want to cry.

"Yes, baby, yes, my nursing baby. Mamas love to nurse their babies, that's what mamas love to do." I snuggle into her hair. What does she smell like? Juicy Fruit gum? Cotton T-shirts and nutmeg? Her hair is soft silky wisp, baby hair still.

"Meow!" she meows. She told me earlier this week that her cat name is Sophie.

"Sophie cat! You came to visit me! Do you want a cat treat?" She giggles and gobbles from the palm of my hand. She is wearing the new pajamas we bought her for $1 at a garage sale, weird looking Japanese ones with propeller-beanie-wearing robots marked "Robot A" all over them.

"I love your new pajamas, Sophie cat!"

"Meow, yes!"

"Can you talk in a robot voice, Robot A?" I ask in a robot voice.

She clears her throat. "Yes. I robot." She deepens her voice. "IIIIII robot." It's not a bad robot voice, considering.

"Robot A, is that your name, Robot? Robot A?"

"Yes, robot."

"Violet, are you ready to brush your teeth?" Phil intrudes. He hears us giggling from the kitchen.

"No Daddy, nursin'," says Violet. But the second Phil walks out she begs me for "Two mon, mama! Two mon!" That means she wants me to walk my fingers up and down her stomach. She laughs rapturously.

"Hey, I think this is a cave! Echo, echo!" says one of the two men, in his high squeaky voice, pausing by her ear. "And I think this is a bird's nest," the other one offers. "let's go to sleep!" They snore.

"Wake up!" shrieks Violet suddenly, with her big booming toddler laugh. I reach under her and roll her on top of me. "I'm awake! I'm awake!"

I never want this kid to go to sleep. I could do this all night.