There was so much to do today.  Drop off library books, laundry; donate blood; make arrangements for spending the weekend at my friend’s fishing camp; buy wine glasses and cookbooks.  It was a loose script of a day; the kind Sun and I like.

As we drive into the French Quarter, the rain started to come down in buckets.  The streets began to flood as I was looking for a parking spot.  Rain in the French Quarter is something I LOVE.  It quiets and cleanses the streets.  It slows folks down even more.  After finding a spot close enough, we hop out of the car and immediately step in puddles over our ankles.  And the pelting rain is soaking our clothes.  We dash the block and into La Maison d’Absinthe.  Sun and I look at each other, each looking like we were fished out of the River, and laugh.  We look ridiculous.  And for what? Wine glasses.

Last time I was here, I’d spied these fleur de lis wine glasses that match the glassware we registered for when my husband and I married.  I bought the only two they then had and this was my return trip to get six more.  When the clerk gave me the total, it was too low.  I repeated the amount to her as a question.  She explained everything in the shop was TWENTY FIVE PERCENT OFF.  I swooned.

But for already having so many items from here, I’d have been in SERIOUS trouble.

Tara and Brian, this one’s for you two.

They had cool rock glasses similar to the wine glasses I was buying but with dragonflies on them.  Had they had them with the fleur de lis, they’d have been mine.

I kept scouring the store for anything that I may have overlooked in the past or that I now cannot live without.  Many items tempted me.  Mostly this one:

I don’t burn the sugar that goes into my absinthe.  I don’t always even include sugar.  But this cool match holder/striker, oh, how I coveted.  And now I am scratching my head as to WHY I passed it up.  Dammit.  Soon, it shall be mine. Maybe tomorrow? Ugh.

Once we had our glasses wrapped securely, the rain had stopped.  Of course.  We walked back to our car with the water glistening all over the Quarter.

I wish I could say our next stop, Kitchen Witch, was as equally decadent.  But, sadly, it was not.  I really, really want to love this store.  But their local collection is just so-so, and their customer service needs serious tweaking.  For example, if your website says you have a book in stock, and I cannot find it, and your clerk cannot find it, the proper clerk protocol is NOT to hand me a business card and tell me to call next week because you expect to order some soon.  And in the past, when I’ve called to check their inventory and they’ve had to call me back, THEY NEVER HAVE. Ever.  Yes, this has happened more than once.  In a world where we can find rare, out-of-print books online so readily, a brick-and-mortar store has one advantage: physical contact and thus the opportunity for top notch service.  Kitchen Witch is SO not that place.  They could be.  And I hope they want to be.  But will I be calling next week to see if the book I can order online came in? Sadly, no.  Not unless it coincides with my return visit to La Maison d’Absinthe; in that case, I MIGHT give them yet another chance.

“Mom,” Sun sings as she steps out of the bathroom, clean and damp.  Her mother lay in her darkened room too tired to respond.  “Mom!” Sun happily runs through the rooms, seeking.  Still, her mother stays quiet.  “Mommy,” Sun insists as she leaves the front rooms, diligent in her search.  “Mommy. . . ” Methodically, Sun reaches her mother’s room.  Her mother smiles and opens her arms; Sun enters the embrace, never doubting her mother was steps away all along.

*     *     *

Potty training makes no sense.  How does a child learn how to listen to her body as to WHEN she needs to potty based on being placed on the potty every, say, 10 minutes?  Just because she in fact does sit on the potty when the moment strikes and she thus does pee in the potty, how does that translate itself in her head that the moments leading up to that are what she has to learn to feel next time?

For Sun, it’s not much different than other children.  She makes progress, then regresses.  But it’s two steps forward and one back.  She should be fully out of diapers soon.

I hope this is the best story I’ll have to relay to her when she’s older:

Sun was practicing with no diaper–just a skirt.  She came out of her playroom and explained that she “had spilled.”  We cleaned her up and replaced her skirt, socks and shoes.  She returned to her playroom.  “Poopies. Gross!” She exclaimed.  “What?” I asked, having checked where she had stood after her “spill.”  “The cat pooped!” she explained.  And there it was–three feet from where I thought she’d spilled.  A poopie. But clearly not from the cat.

Three years old and blaming smelly accidents on the innocent, old cat without as much as batting an eyelash.

A heart is not measured by how much you love but how much you are loved by others.

~ Wizard of Oz

Love is a funny thing.  It makes us do funny things.  But in my case, it tends NOT to bring tears to my eyes.

When CS got down on bended knew in a horse-drawn carriage under the blue shooting stars in Celebration in the Oaks to ask me to marry him, it was love.  He still rolls his eyes that I didn’t shed a tear of joy.  When he and his friend returned months before our wedding after a three-week trek in Europe, the friend’s girlfriend cried as she ran to her beau’s arms.  I just sheepishly smiled and ran to CS’s arms.

Don’t get me wrong, I love deeply, and my love for CS is unending.  It’s just, that, well, I’m not a warm and fuzzy person.  For example, if you are a friend and break down in tears in front of me, I WILL hug you, but I will say “I’m going to hug you” before I do so as not to startle you.

This is true for my love of my friends, my husband, my family.  I’d do anything for anyone I love, but give a big HUG or sweet little nothings?  Just not the way I roll.

With one exception.  Sun, of course.

When I first set my eyes on her in the operating room, I wept.  And I couldn’t even see her that well because my glasses weren’t on.  But all the concern I’d had for her growing in me, all the love I’d honed for those 35 weeks of pregnancy, all the overwhelming emotion welled out of my eyes and I cried unabashedly.

But that was SO three years ago.  I now have a toddler on my hands.  One that is learning to sometimes be sassy or rude or petulant or spoiled.  But who also has that innocence that only a child can possess.

I lay with her each night in her new big full size bed.  I read stories to her; I sing to her; I show her pictures of when she was a baby.  And it never fails, never, that my heart grows a bit each night.  My heart feels like a partially deflated balloon, and each night another wrinkle is blown taut.

I know that being three, Sun is still earning love for me to put in the bank that can be drawn upon when she’s older and testing me further.  But I cannot help but feel that she is the external manifestation of my heart.  And her daddy’s too.  And I suppose all parents of toddlers feel the same way.

Children are the best hope we have in the world.  They are our future.  And to believe in them; to allow the fullness of our love for them to be recognized; to wallow in the joy of their open-eyed wonder is a most precious gift.

Sun will be three years old in a couple of weeks.  You may not remember when I first wrote about her birthmark, or when I followed up on her treatment when she was just over a year old.  If you do remember, or if you are new to this story, here’s another installment.

In October of 2008, Sun had an appointment with her dermatologist for another laser treatment. Since starting treatment, this was the first time I almost cancelled because I didn’t think it was necessary any longer.  But we kept the appointment.  When the doctor saw her leg, he surprised us and recommended we NOT do a treatment.  It was a huge relief.  Even better, he didn’t want to see her for a year.

So, after a year, we returned to her dermatologist.  He was delighted with her improvement.  Her case was closed.  He informed us that she’d no longer need any treatments, but that her skin would be puckery when it was all said and done and that if, when she was older, she was self-conscious about it, she could opt for cosmetic laser treatment at that time.

That was over six months ago.  And her mark continues to look lighter, to lay flatter, each month.  Here’s what it looks like now:

Amazing, eh?

Let me show you both legs together to compare:

If you don’t know it is there, you wouldn’t see it.  But *I* know it’s there.  And I still love that it reminds me of the day she was born and placed into my arms for the first time.  That mark is unique unto her and all her own.  I hope she comes to appreciate that it’s the differences among us that make us beautiful.  Because I hope she never wants cosmetic treatment to make it disappear entirely.

That question stops me in my tracks.  It makes the blood in my veins turn to ice.  It is the single most thing I have worried about, revisited, decided, started over, anon since Sun was born: Where will she attend grammar school?

For over a year, the decision has been at a smallish Catholic school near where she currently goes to daycare.  Let’s call it Academy of Nagging Gnawing STress (or ANGST for short).  It’s not our parish, but it had the right “feel” and all the appropriate awards, certifications, etc. AND an amazing library.  All the perks were in place–I like the staff, the other parents I’ve met, music classes weekly, etc.

But the one worrying doubt I have about ANGST is that I don’t known any child, or the parent of any child, that is a student there.  I’ve since met a few parents, but I don’t “know” them well enough to ask what their process was in selecting ANGST, nor do I know them well enough to have a high value of their decision.  If I had just one friend that I could get that resounding, YES, WE LOVE IT! I’d be done.

Instead, the few people I know that are “in” the grammar school world (ie, teachers, speech pathologists, administrators, etc.) say very little about ANGST.  It seems not to be on the radar.  Why is that? It’s so frustrating!

Today, in casual conversation with my sister’s sister-in-law, a speech pathologist that works with children, said she that several ANGST fourth-graders and up are her patients.  *Sigh*

This friend has young children, one with a slight hearing impaired problem.  Her older is in high school (one I’d happily send Sun to), and the younger (with the hearing condition) at a very small private school that is necessary for her special needs.  She mentioned a school I hadn’t considered because it is not close enough to our house.  She said that school was a “high school prep school.”  I’d never heard that expression regarding grammar schools.  Weren’t all “high school prep schools”?  Apparently not.

I tossed out the names of the other schools I’d batted about previously.  One in yet another distant suburb got good marks from her.  The others made her raise the question of whether I’d considered two schools that go from Pre-4 through 12th grade.  I’d honestly not even considered these.  And now I am.

And here is where I am now.  Struggling to pin down what it is I REALLY want in the way of education for Sun.  To say “I want the best for her” isn’t saying enough, or anything really.  In other words, what would I want for Sun’s education if location and money were not issues?  Let’s start there.  Without limitations, what would be the ideal school for her?  Would it be ANGST or would it be one of those prestigious schools that costs twice what ANGST costs?  If not, then am I settling for ANGST?  Is that fair to Sun?

I don’t know.  I have been to one of the prestigious schools but not two of the others.  The one I went to was not right for Sun, tuition aside.  Do I owe it to Sun to check the other two?  What if I get that warm fuzzy “it” feeling at one and realize we cannot afford it?  Do we send her anyway and cut expenses elsewhere?  Or do we admit that it’s a good lesson for her to learn to live within her means?

So here I am, back to asking: What do we REALLY want in the way of education for Sun?  Here’s my checklist:

1. A solid education;
2. To be educated in a grammar school that feeds to the very good high schools in the area;
3. To have friends that will hopefully be in her life for the rest of her life;
4. To have extracurricular activities that focus on being a child and not boosting your resume;
5. A school that is close enough to the house that she’ll easily be able to spend time with her friends after school and on weekends.

Ugh.  Am I overdoing it?  Is that even possible?  Do I settle on the decision I’ve already made for Sun to attend ANGST (next year) or do I go to Open Houses again this winter?  What can that hurt?  If I stay settled and two years from now realize ANGST isn’t a right fit, will it be detrimental to then move her  such that I’ll wish I’d have more thoroughly searched NOW?

CS is willing to look anew but feels that many schools are “good enough” and paying more may not do her any better in her life.  Top scholars nor top schools guarantees success.  Look at us, he’ll show as Exhibit A, we were moderate students in moderate schools.  And we are both considered successful in our fields, in our lives.

So what the hell do I do??!?!?!!

That is the title of the first “Treme” episode.  The series that starts tonight.  All of New Orleans is hyped about it.  And we hope it doesn’t disappoint us.

In my hotel room in Arkansas in the early post-Katrina days, my mind keep playing Louis Armstrong’s song “Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans.”  My mind wasn’t the only one fixated on that song.  It became the City’s unofficial anthem for while.

And five years later, things are more or less back to life without thought of Katrina.  Her scar will always be there, but it is no longer on the front of our collective brain.

Today, we went to the French Quarter Fest.  A most typical New Orleanian activity.  We ate brisket from Tujaque’s and had snowballs from Plum Street.  We listened to Jazz at the Louis Armstrong stage and saw art in Pirate’s Alley next to the Cathedral and we heard the whistles blow from the boats on the river.

While waiting for a friend to meet us, I walked Sun to the rail of the Moonwalk to see the Mighty Mississippi.  She watched cargo ships and barges go by.  She couldn’t take her eyes off of the river’s roiling muddy waters.  When our friend showed up and it was time to head to Jackson Square, we had to pry Sun away from the rail, with her wailing all the while.

“I know, Sun, I know.  That ole river is in your soul, isn’t it?  Don’t worry,” I told her, “It’s always here for you and you’ll see it again soon.”  Soothed, she allowed herself to be taken away from the river.

Even a going-on-three child Knows What It Means.

I lay in bed last night greedy in utter darkness. Since having Sun, we keep a nightlight on in her room and sleep with our bedroom doors open. It’s never dark enough for me at night anymore. Or quiet enough. Every time I stir in the middle of the night, I automatically look for that light and listen for the quiet to know Sun is soundly sleeping.

Sun spent the last two nights at my sister’s house, and I’ve had the luxury of darkness. And quiet. A quiet that is different from the quiet that comes from a soundly sleeping child. This quiet was of the knowledge that your child was soundly sleeping and that someone else with whom you have complete confidence is charged with the duty of listening for that break in sound sleeping. I didn’t have to keep my ears cued, my arms ready to welcome a Sun awoken by a bad dream (maybe of an evil witch in her fairy tales?), my eyes adjusted to having a light in them all night.

I lay in quiet thinking, “This used to be the quiet I heard every night.” And although at first blush it may sound the same as the quiet of a soundly sleeping child, any parent can tell you (while holding back a chuckle) that it is NOWHERE near the same.

I miss my Sun. And am delighted to be seeing her in a couple of hours. But, oh, how I miss my nights of darkness and quiet.

I drop Sun off at daycare once a week. Last week, there was an, er, incident. I thought I’d blog about it and then decided to let it pass. And it stayed with me and came up again today in conversation. Considering it is STILL bugging me, I thought I’d throw it out here.

After walking Sun to her classroom, I left the building to return to my car. The personnel at the front door let me out and locked the door behind me. Just as she does for every person coming or going into and out of the school.

As I am approaching the corner, I see a man standing on the grass between the sidewalk and the street. I need to pass him. He’s alone, and his neck is bent such that he cannot hold his head up fully erect. And he’s looking down the street back towards the school.

My Mommy Radar went up. But so did my You-Are-Making-Something-Out-of-Nothing Radar. I sized him up and kept walking. I got in my car and debated. Do I DO something? Why is he standing on the corner? Alone, with NO CHILD? Looking back at the school?

“Dammit,” I thought. I decided to at least call the school to let them know of him. They reassured me the doors stayed locked and they’d keep an eye out for him. I didn’t feel better having called. Actually, I felt worse. What was I assuming? Based on what facts?

As I turned my car around to leave and approached that corner, I gave the scene another hard look. May as well be able to describe this guy, eh? And then I noticed he was standing next to a pole. A pole with a sign on it. A pole with a bus stop sign on it.

This innocent man was waiting for a bus, watching the street in the direction the bus would come.

I was mortified.

I don’t need to be told I did the right thing and that it’s better to be safe than sorry. I get that on some basic level, I was being a Mama Bear.

But seriously, folks, what kind of world do we now live in where a mother ASSUMES the worst about a neatly dressed man, alone, waiting for a bus, who happens to have some minor physical ailment? Would I have been less judgmental if his head did not droop? If he’d have made eye contact with me and smiled?

Did I mention this is at 9am on a bright Wednesday morning, and the school was totally following its safety protocol?

I am not happy with myself, with my behavior, with my quick-to-negative judgment. What happened to being neighborly and taking the first step to give someone the benefit of the doubt? Why didn’t I smile and say “good morning” to him? Why didn’t I look for a legitimate reason for him to be standing on a corner?

I think a lot has to do with what American news is about these days. We are told that there are 800,000 missing children reported each year. Well, damn! No wonder I am on the hyper-alert, right?

But according to a Slate article, this number is misleading:

It’s true that 797,500 people under 18 were reported missing in a one-year period, according to a 2002 study. But of those cases, 203,900 were family abductions, 58,200 were nonfamily abductions, and only 115 were “stereotypical kidnappings,” defined in one study as “a nonfamily abduction perpetrated by a slight acquaintance or stranger in which a child is detained overnight, transported at least 50 miles, held for ransom or abducted with the intent to keep the child permanently, or killed.” Even these categories can be misleading: Overstaying a visit with a noncustodial parent, for example, could qualify as a family abduction. Some individuals get entered into the database multiple times after disappearing on different occasions, resulting in potentially misleading numbers.

So, 115 per year of the type of abduction that is a parent’s worst nightmare? That’s too many, to be sure. But is it reason enough to cast a judgmental eye on a guy at a bus stop?

For me, after having giving this MUCH thought, it is not. No more than it is to fear your home will be broken into because a lone black man is walking down your street on a random weekday afternoon.

Our fellow man deserves better than that.  I owe more than I gave.  And it’s time I admitted it and began to do better to judge less.  Being a mother is NOT an excuse to such behavior.

Are you with me?

Summer’s over.  How do I know?  I am returning to my “normal” work schedule.  Since returning from maternity leave 2+ years ago, I’ve worked in the office Monday, Wednesday and Friday of each week.  For the summer, we started Sun in official daycare twice a week–Tuesdays and Thursdays, the days I usually watched her.  So I worked in the office Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays all summer.  Starting next week (Sun’s “school” is closed this week), I return to my MWF in the office/TTh home with Sun routine.

I never got used to my summer schedule, nor did the folks in my office.  So I think we are all glad to return to normal.

Sun LOVES her daycare, and so do we.  Aside from the first-six-months-expect-her-and-us-to-be-sick, we are all very pleased with daycare entering our lives.  So much so, in fact, that I’ve begun to consider returning to a five-day-a-week-in-the-office schedule come January.

Except every time I get serious about it, I get a stomachache.

I LOVE my time spent with Sun on T-Th.  I love that my work life is able to handle this flexibility.  And I want to believe that even if I return to five days a week, I’ll leave early each day so that Sun’s not in school from 9 til 6. That way, I’d be giving more to my office-time than I am now, but still not 40 hours a week.

I hate that money is a part of this equation.  But it is.  A part. Not the entire decision.  Yes, I’ll earn more, but it will also cost more to have her in daycare every day.  But my increased earnings should more than make up for that.  We need work done around the house: we’ve put off several big necessary projects because of money.  And when our water heater broke this week, it mattered how we’d pay for it.

As it is, I see no vacations for the next 16+ months, or at least none that will require airfare and a hotel.  Because I’d rather get things done around the house than travel. And that’s whether I return full time to the office or not.

Money aside, I feel it’s my duty to “hit the pavement” more to bolster my practice.  To transition into a senior partner, one that provides herself and at least one associate attorney with enough work for each to earn well and be consistently busy.  Somewhere in me, this IS my professional goal.  I am not completely content where I am, capable of not being in the office more than I am now.

I stand here today ostensibly having it all–the perfect balance of a work life and a personal life with very healthy relationships in each.  And yet there is a quiet rumbling within.  A rumbling that is rising to the surface, getting a wee bit louder each month.

Maybe that stomachache is fear.  Is that weird?

Sun’s first day at daycare was yesterday.  During the summer, it’s called Camp.  I did my best to hide my nerves from her.  I knew she’d be fine, that in fact she’d like it.  But I couldn’t help but feel this was the first true test of a parent’s job: prepare your child to fly away from you.

I felt a lot of guilt about putting her in daycare at such a young age.  And I know many, many parents must put their babies in when they are but weeks old.  And I know I had an amazing setup for Sun’s first two years (eternally thankful to SoMo).  But this is me and my feelings of inadequacy.

The drop off went smoothly, overall, as did her first day.  I picked her up at 4:15 instead of 6pm just to make the transition easier for us all.  She did not run to me when I walked in the room.  And she was verrry quiet on the drive home.  I think she was thinking about the fun day she had.  And she yawned a lot.

My little bird! They told me she was a “delight,” that she was quiet, ate well, and took a good nap.  Not news to me.  But meaningful to hear it from a stranger that spent the day with her without us.

There will be many more nest-pushing-outs to come in Sun’s future.  And I suspect they may actually get harder.

But yesterday evening, Sun and I hugged each other a bit closer, we were happy just to be together maybe a bit more than we were Monday.

And now today, Wednesday, is one of my two days a work-week with Sun.  She’ll be at Camp only twice a week for the summer.  There’s still so much time she and I have to frolic and live and love together.