So after the Saints’ execution of the Texans today, we went out and bought Sun a Cinderella costume. But NOW she’s bent on her daddy and me dressing up too. And, sadly, much of what is available for adult women is on the “naughty” side. You know, naughty nurse, naughty witch, naughty Alice in wonderland, etc. It’s actually pathetic that plain ole scary witch outfits are so outnumbered by the naughty ones.

Then I saw this and thought BINGO:

I shall go as the Cheshire cat. Brilliant, think I, of its minimalist qualities. Slap some cat makeup on my face and voilà!

As we are driving home from the costume store, Sun starts in on me. “Mom, you can’t go as the Teshire cat. It’s NOT a tostume.” To that argument, I pointed out that in the book, sometimes the cat himself was nothing more than a smile. I’d draw that smile on my face and have it PLUS ears and a tail. Score: Mom 1, Sun 0.

Sun, undeterred, argued on: “But Mom. You CAN’T go as the Teshire cat. I am not going as Alice. [Sun 1, Mom 1.] And if you want to go as a cat, then you need to go as Lucifer, the mean cat of Cinderella’s stepmom.”

Well, now, damn. That has the one thing I cannot out-argue: LOGIC. Which brings the final score to Sun 2, Mom 1.

I simply can wear black ears and tail and snarl at people all night AND be in step with Sun’s costume. So even though Sun out-argued me this time, I get to dress as a scary (not naughty) black cat.

And if you look closely, you’ll see that I’m grinning like the Cheshire cat.

I have hesitated to write in the moment of any particular upset because the upsets are not mine; they are Sun’s. Sure, they impact me, bear on me, effect and influence me. But I do not have the starring role in these dramas. And I know Mommy Bloggers the world over will snub me once and for all for stating that the details of my daughter’s ups and downs, as seen through my eyes, are not, in my humble opinion, blog-worthy fodder. Fertility treatment to get pregnant for Sun? Laser treatment for Sun’s birthmark? My woes with nursing? I don’t see these topics bothering Sun were she to read about them in ten or twenty years time.

But the particulars of why she struggled in her first days of class? And how that drove me off the cliff of sanity for a stint? I just don’t find that fair to her down the line. And although I have used this blog as a personal diary of sorts, it was of MY thoughts, fears, experiences.

I get that as a mother, I have my own thoughts, fears and experiences that relate to parenting. But it is a fine line between MY experiences as a parent and my daughter’s experience at, well, life. And me blogging about my parental observations of my child’s life experiences has been something altogether unappealing to me.

Maybe it’s the lawyer’s sense of client-confidentiality that’s kicked in. But as Sun grows and becomes more SUN and less MY DAUGHTER to the world at large, I find it increasingly more difficult to write blog posts, humorous or serious, about matters relating to her. And since my life currently is comprised of work and Sun with very little drinking-in-the-New-Orleans-lifestyle, I’ve found that I have less and less to blog about these days.

I’m not pulling the plug on my little corner of the internet. But I did feel it worthwhile to share WHY there’s less content on this blog for the time being. And although nothing would tickle me more than for this post to actually cause a dust-up among Mommy Bloggers, I know it won’t; they stopped reading me years ago.

Next month is Sun’s fourth birthday. We’ve all settled on her wanting a swing-set for her birthday. So today I asked if she wanted to join me to look at some — let her weigh in on which one she liked best. After a failed stop at Toys R Us, we regrouped and headed to Lowe’s.

Looking back, I am really not sure what had Sun so ready to explode. Sure, the trip to the toy store didn’t go the way she’d hoped, but it wasn’t epic. The tears had dried and she was happy as we hopped out of the car. It may be that she was still hoping to score a toy. As we entered Lowe’s, she said, “They don’t sell swings,” as she pulled me towards a Spongebob plant book.

I steered her away from the bookrack and to the outside plant area. She fought me the whole way, screaming she needed a basket. I insisted she didn’t since we were just LOOKING and I’d carry her if she didn’t want to walk. Which I did — carry her. As we went down the proper outdoor-furniture aisle, her eye spied the beloved car-basket. And she HAD TO BE IN IT. Problem was, a guy was using it. And the screaming began. She wrestled to get out of my arms and I fought to hold on tighter. And all the while her yelling escalated. And so did my resolve. I marched her right out of the store and to the car.

And this is where it got ugly. Out of earshot from other folks.

Sun: I don’t WANT to leave!
Me: Well, too bad. You weren’t listening and were screaming at me.
Sun: Don’t leave! I don’t want to leave! DON’T!
Me: Good. The fact that you don’t WANT to leave makes this better. Maybe next time you will listen and we won’t have to leave.

This escalated more along these lines–with her expressing simply that she didn’t want to leave and me telling her all that she did wrong, in not so kind, patient words.

And then that moment arrived. That moment that I KNEW I had my opponent crushed if I but squeezed. And, oh, I wanted to squeeze. I am happy to report that, today, I did not squeeze.

But here’s my dilemma. It’s in my DNA to argue to that crushing point. And I am TEACHING Sun to argue just as ruthlessly, no differently than my protege taught me — not intentionally but by experiencing the receiving end of it. And sometimes “crushing” isn’t the point, is it? There are many arguments I know I can win, I can crush it, but I will still lose. Sometimes they are worth the crush; sometimes as a parent, as an adversary, making the point, winning the argument, is all there is: no playing in traffic or with fire; no screaming in restaurants because all-of-a-sudden-you-don’t-like-toast; no hitting me because you don’t get your way. But there are other times when arguing MISSES the point entirely.

Why didn’t I just take the moment to look at the stupid Spongebob book? I know the answer is that had I looked, Sun then would have wanted me to buy it. And my message to her today was that not every time we step into a store is an opportunity for her to become an allegory of WANT. We don’t always get what we want; we don’t always get something we didn’t-know-we-wanted-’til-we-walked-in-the-store-but-now-that-we-are-here-I-must-have-it; sometimes we leave with nothing. And such a not-getting is NOT an excuse for a temper-tantrum.

So, what I really ask myself isn’t why didn’t I stop to have a four-year-old try to convince me why she needed me to buy her junk, but rather, why did I let this escalate to the moment where I had to stop myself from figuratively crushing her? I can all but see her on the couch telling her future therapist, “My mother was a violently angry person. And she saved the worst for those she loved best.” And she’d kinda be right. Because not every time will I be able to stop myself from the crush, especially as Sun, and her own mad arguing skilz, mature.

This is my toughest struggle as a mother: I must struggle with the urge to argue ’til I crush Sun. Crush Sun and our relationship. And I must struggle to keep Sun from learning from the best, as I did, how to argue so ruthlessly.

Driving over, I started to get that sick pit-in-the-stomach feeling over whether this was really, REALLY, REALLY the best school we can offer Sun.  It isn’t the most expensive; the most exclusive; or other such things to make it the MOST BEST.

We’ve been talking to Sun about how this will be her new school soon.  We’ve done this in an attempt to ease the transition this will be.  We’ve taken her to events here to let her see the school often so that it won’t be new and unknown when the time comes to switch.

All that doubt I had about this not being the perfect school bubbled up as we sat in the gym with terrible acoustics listening to the school’s band play off tune.  So when Sun announced she needed to potty, I was happy to escape all that evaporating air.

As we walked down the hallway of the pre-4 and kindergarten classes, with the oh-so-familiar art of snowflakes made out of palm impressions and snowmen made of cotton balls, Sun asked, “Mom, is this my new school?”  “It will be,” I responded.  Sun looked back at that hallway, pleased, and asked, “Where are all my new friends?”

Her question stopped me in my tracks.  I got down on my knees, looked Sun into her most trusting, open-minded eyes, and hugged her.  “They’ll be here when you start, honey,” I managed to squeak out as I held back tears.

Because, like parents, schools are not perfect.  The idea of a perfect school is a myth that serves only to foil parents’ efforts by making them feel they aren’t doing the best they can for their children unless they find the scholastic atmosphere of top academics, racial composition, character-building, friend-making, much-homework-but-not-too-much, feed-to-a-perfect-high-school-and-in-turn-college.

School is but one component that will contribute to my child being an amazing, successful, well adjusted adult.  And all of the few schools we’d whittled it down to will serve her well.  And if this school turns out not to be a perfect fit, we have the freedom to move her later.

I don’t recall ever having the confidence, lack of fear of the unknown that Sun has about starting this new school.  She sees this new experience as one filled with new friends and joy.  And if Sun gets some of those other elements that my husband and I found so important in selecting this school, well, then our homework will have paid off.

My muscles are getting softer and my bones more brittle.  Being the youngest gives me the ability to look ahead 2, 5, 6, 7 years and see what predicaments into which my body will be getting me.

My mother started to “shrink” about 15 years ago.  We laughed that we were all getting taller than her even though we were no longer growing.  Then arthritis, bursitis and bone spurs started to demand her attention.  Now she’s just undergone shoulder replacement surgery.  Overall, my family is healthy.  But there are certain, common, ailments that we are slightly more at risk over–like osteoporosis.

I feel like I am falling apart–that I will follow the slow road to decline if I don’t TAKE ACTION NOW.  I simply MUST exercise more, eat more green leafy vegetables, practice more yoga, walk my dog more often.  Because unlike my mother who has already lived to raise her children and see grandchildren and great-grandchildren, I must stay together just to be sure Sun gets through school with me still in tack.

I was not ready to be a mother until I became one, at the age of 38.  I have no real regret over not getting there sooner–it just wasn’t the hand I was dealt.  But being an older mother does bring with it a bitter-sweetness: I, personally, am a better mother BECAUSE I am an older mother–I am more mellow, wiser, more patient–but BECAUSE I am an older mother, I have great trepidation about Sun’s future without her parents.

In 40 years, when Sun in my age, she will have, at best, two elderly parents and no siblings.  When we die, she’ll be an orphan.  Not to be melodramatic, but coming from a large family, it greatly pains me to think of my darling Sun alone.  All alone.  When these thoughts creep in, and they do often enough, I push them away by having faith.  Faith that Sun will make the right kind of friends to see her through her entire life so that when we are gone, she’ll have her own family and a lifetime of good memories in which to seek comfort and love and strength.

But between now and then, I have GOT to get my ass in shape so that I can make the most of my life with the ones I love.

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.

*     *     *

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.

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.

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??!?!?!!