Noni's Ravioli

When Rick and I started dating, he had a wild boar leg that he had hunted, cured it for prosciutto, and stored it in his cupboard to shave off bit by bit for snacking. He had a fresh rotisserie chicken ready to eat after a night of drinking. His fridge had the predictable contents of lettuce and veggies to make a salad, rib eye steak, and a whole roaster chicken, some A1 sauce, ketchup, and a few Coors Lights. Basic. Simple. When I came into the picture, things got a lot more complicated in the kitchen. The fridge has more condiments and leftovers than is necessary. Every cupboard is filled with gidgets and gadgets. But one thing that has remained the same is the yearly tradition of making Noni's Ravioli from scratch. The process has changed since the first time I was allowed to participate in making the coveted secret recipe. The first time, I was only allowed to help assemble the ravioli after the filling had been made. The second year, I was able to help procure the ingredients, but not allowed to look at the recipe. The third year, I was able to see the recipe and help make the filling. The fourth year, I was able to make the filling, while he made the dough. And since then we've found our place in the tradition of ravioli making. I make the filling, Rick makes the dough and rolls the dough. Rick fills the dough, and I cut the squares and pack them into boxes. It takes most of the day, and it's actually hard work. Harder work when you factor in babies and naptime, playtime and snacks. The paper the recipe is written on has yellowed and frayed. The writing is starting to fade. I'll eventually have to rewrite it, before it's lost forever. This year, Sophia showed some interest in the process. It was one of those moments where I realized that this is a tradition I hope she and Ava carries on. I know her Noni would be proud of that, and I'd like to believe her great-Nonis would be pretty proud too.

Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,
I've been a good girl. I really have. So I am begging you to work a little miracle here and let those two front teeth break through for Ava. If she could speak words, I know she'd ask for them too. I think we all have that on our list to you, that all Ava wants for Christmas is her 2 front teeth. Can't be too hard to remember for you, right? I mean, it's a popular song this time of year. I hope you read this and it's sticking in your head like the Lexas commercial song is stuck in mine. Sophia actually put on her list that she wants you to bring Ava a sweater. I'm not sure where she came up with that, so it might be a little misleading to you. She needs those teeth to break through!

Wait, so would that be Ava's present or mine? Because if it's not too much bother, I really want a Tuff Shed. I asked my husband for one and apparently that was the worst offense to a contractor. He can't understand why I'd want to PAY for someone to come in and build something in 1 day, paint it, and then leave. Finished. Done. In 1 day! He knows he can build one bigger and better. It may take all of his little free time, it might not have a roof until 2013 or get painted until 2014, but it will be so much better. Oh, and it will have room to put his stuff, too. I'm not sure he understands that I just want a little shed to hold only my stuff. We share the garage now, and somehow my stuff always ends up in the rafters, with no ladder in sight. So if one of your elves could just drop off the Tuff Shed in the place my husband has taken 2 days to clear out the space for his, I mean "my" future shed to go in that would be awesome.

I know you've gotten Sophia's letter by now. I bet you got a little chuckle that she had a dinosaur, baseball and football on her list. And we can't forget Ava's sweater, haha. One of your elves mentioned that she'd be getting that dinosaur. Cool. Does this mean she'll be hunting with Daddy when she gets older? Because I'm seeing a trend here and I just want to be prepared for next year when she's asking for a mini clay pigeon set or something. What happened to Barbie and Baby Feels So Real? Her Daddy calls her a chip off the old block. I guess I'm just a little jealous that she'd rather work with Daddy than want to change Ava's diaper and be Mommy's Little Helper.

Oh and Rick was super easy. Like he is every year. Work boots. Really? I bet you have that wrapped up and ready to go before anyone else on the list. Does he really want work boots or is this a metaphor to something? I just can't imagine that there isn't some hidden message there somewhere and I'm not getting it.

Santa, I know you are working hard right now so I'll keep this short. Remember...All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth. All the other stuff, that can wait.

Love,
Cara

Life lesson: don't go into Hallmark if you're already weepy

I was having an off day. There were too many not-so-right things happening, adding up to a perfect storm of emotions and fragility. I should know better to hunker down and let it pass. But then again, this new emotional me is still so, well, new. Rick was home for an unexpected afternoon, so I jumped at the opportunity to run quick errands without the girls. (Two girls in car seats does not a quick trip make.) I needed to keep it local for the quickness part, so off to the local mall I went. Let me just tell you I'm highly disappointed in our town these days. I've been highly disappointed in our fellow citizens who make very bad choices in their life that significantly impacts how safe I feel for my family. I just feel like people are doing desperate things during desperate times. I will step of my soap box about it, because this is not the place to rant about local crime. Our local mall is not the best place to go on a good day, and this wasn't a particularly good day for me. But again, quick and efficient was my plan for errands. I had a few ideas I wanted to entertain in Hallmark. Focused on the prize, I simply had tunnel vision. But then the prize was not to be found and I had to browse for other options. This is the life lesson part. I started reading inspirational placards and looking at those Willow Tree angels and my mind traveled quickly to not so pleasant places. Now here was the true test: fight or flight? I could have walked right out of there and booked it straight home to do what I should have done in the first place--hunker down. But then I was already here and I needed to get those things checked of the Christmas list. So I made myself a compromise; keep it together until I found my purchases and then go home without another errand to run. And that's what I did. The drive home gave me plenty of time to pull it back together and get on with the mommy duties. But you better believe I will not walk into Hallmark again if I have the slightest bit of emotions running through my blood. I'm still trying to put my finger on what set things spiraling into an emotional free fall in the first place. It's almost like a window opens up in my brain and releases such intense pain and sorrow, and then with all my effort and will I inch that window closed and go on with the day. I wonder if that's how one would feel all the time--that intensity of emotions--if one actually used their whole potential of brain? I'll stop now, so as not to get too philosophical and Pink Floyd on everyone.

I do know that something in my subconscious conjured up thoughts of Julia. I have this milestone coming up of when Ava came home from the hospital and I was able to start tagging happy memories to certain things again. It's been almost over a year of haunted memories and I'm looking forward to the happy ones diluting the sad ones a bit. I find that as Ava gets older, the conversation is shifting to a more comfortable level of small talk with other parents at the park or just public places that put strangers in the path of conversation. "Is she starting to walk?" replaces "Where did you give birth?" and all those other newborn baby questions that are seemingly innocent unless you are faced with someone dealing with loss and the struggle of a premature baby in the NICU. Where I would silently place Julia in parenthesis when talking about my pregnancy and only talking about Ava while feeling disingenuous for not mentioning Julia, or saying "she" when my mind screamed "THEY." Now questions about Ava's place as a little sister or teething or crawling, all that fun stuff is in the forefront of idle chat. I never really had a staged answer in those days of newborn-ness, and I'm sort of relieved that the frequency of that awkward conversation has passed. But I'm now reminded that as those topics become more infrequent, the feeling of loss doesn't along with it. And as I used to brace for those inevitable questions, now when one comes out of the blue I feel sucker punched.

That night after the mall experience, when the girls were tucked in to sleep, all I wanted to do was zone out to some light TV. Rick asked if I was coming to bed soon and I told him I just needed to decompress a bit. He sat down next to me and asked if I wanted to talk about it. This was a huge step for him. In the past, we've tiptoed through these moments and then I'd give him my full wrath of anger that he avoided me during the time I needed him. I should have told him how I was feeling but instead I just told him I didn't want to talk about it. He did exactly what I wanted him to do and I did the exact opposite of what I should have done in response. I guess it goes to show that there is no right answer, only the in-this-moment type of reaction. And you know what's amazing about Rick, what is exactly what I needed at that moment? He went to bed, and he never held it against me. I would have confronted him with it, would have thrown it back in his face that we had talked about this before. So as much as I chide him about those "man" things I have to put up with, I really do appreciate that he is just that sometimes. Another life lesson to wrap up my Hallmark day.

Crafts bust

The ants got to the gingerbread house (which totally looks like a train, Kathy! I get it. Or a mobile home. Ha!) Sophia was super bummed she wasn't going to get to eat the whole thing. I didn't break it to her that she never actually would get to eat it, so I guess she probably took it better that the ants got some instead, and I got to avoid the inevitable meltdown if it went straight from display to the trash. The ants are her friends, you know. I'm usually all about telling children how it really is. I don't go into detail, but I don't usually lie. I keep it simple, to the point. Questions like, "Mommy, where is your daddy?" Are answered very simple: "My daddy died." And if she wants to know more, I give more simple answers. She's actually told me that my brother is now my daddy, since I need a daddy. Um, no thanks. Ah, this is a fun age. Anyway, back to the ants. We've been trying to keep the ants out, but at the tiniest hint of precipitation, those suckers come marching right in and making themselves at home. Quite cozy they are, with a baby that eats off the floor and a preschooler that leaves crumb trails wherever she goes. So at first we told Sophia the truth about what we were doing with the ants. She wailed, "Those are my friends! Don't kill my friends!" Well, now we say we are feeding them, so they won't try to take our food. Not really a lie, because they are eating the "food" but it keeps her from knowing the end result. I should have known they would seek out the candy display no matter where I put it. But again, could have been worse. Could have had a resentful child adding one more thing to her list of things to hold against me. I'm still getting glared at for throwing away her Halloween candy.

Now about the bird feeder. I'm sure it would work great if it were in a different place. Mainly, away from the house. I know the birds are eating it, so it's not a total bust. We just can't enjoy them eating it because they fly away as soon as we creep towards the window. Can't hang it in the tree, too many squirrels.

Stay tuned for the reindeer food. I'm sure there will be a story about that one too.

Calendar enforced crafts round 1

Deck the halls

You know how when you have this perfect scene in your head about how you want your day to go and then it goes just not the way you plan? That's pretty much what I face every time I try to capture a moment. I'm not spontaneous, go with the flow, roll with the punches. I need to know what is going on when and plan accordingly. I need to set expectations and have them met or I get a little twitchy. I'm not proud of this, although it made a mean project and product manager in my past life. With children, this does not fly. I think Rick began easing me into the reality of the here and now way before children. We are both the sign of the Leo, have our birthdays one day after the other, but are complete polar opposites when dealing with a planned event. I must show up on time, he must eventually show up. I must know where, what, why and when, and he is happy to get in the car and start driving. I'd like to say we've both adapted slightly to each other's personality, but that's not really the case. It's more like we've mostly accepted that it's the way it is. But when my camera comes out, the opposing forces rear their ugly head. If my camera comes out during a special occasion, watch out. He'd like to live in the moment and I'd like to capture the moment. Oh I see how silly it sounds writing this out; I sound a little nuts. So Friday we had decided would be a good day to pick out the tree and decorate. Last year I was preoccupied with Ava in the NICU, and while we did everything the same, my heart wasn't fully in it. This year, I wanted to make it big. Big mistake right there. Expectations set super high. Wouldn't you know that on the day we set to pick our tree would be mid 70 degrees, and my long sleeved shirts designed for the girls to wear would be almost sweltering? But they wore them anyway. The visit to the lot was so short actually, that I think we beat last year's record. The very first tree we saw happened to be perfect. Deal done, Rick wanted to book it home. I wanted to capture the moment.

While he ran off with the tree tag to pay, I attempted to take some pictures of the girls at the lot, in blinding sunlight, not the perfect setting for taking pictures. I found some shade, but still not ideal.

When we got home, we realized the tree was way too tall for the space assigned, so off went about 1 foot of beautiful tree, which made the rest look a little trim and lean. But roll with it I did. And then came time for decorations. Wouldn't you know I am highly allergic to our tree this year? Sneezing, wheezing kind of allergic reaction during decorating. The allergens must have traveled to the vents, because I have an attack now every time the heater comes on. After the hot spell, it became quite cold. The heater is on most of the day now. My nose is chapped. So while decorating the tree, I have made it tradition to drink hot chocolate. I really wanted a picture of Sophia drinking the hot chocolate after the tree was trimmed. I told Sophia we could try to make a white chocolate peppermint and she was so excited. I handed her the mug and told her to sit next to the tree. I ran out of the room to get my camera and during the few seconds I was out, she had put the cup down to get better purchase of her makeshift seat. Wouldn't you know it upset the cup of hot chocolate, ensuing a full blown temper tantrum.

Of course I made her a new cup because I had only made enough for one round. If I were better at making lemons into lemonade, or turning half empty glasses into half full during all of those little things that go wrong, I would probably have less gray hair and lower blood pressure. But the amazing thing that happens after a few days go by? I laugh at those things. And then years later? I look back at the one picture that actually captured the moment I wanted it to be, and I get all warm and happy. I even look at the bad pictures and they don't look all that bad--cute really. So maybe it's not immediate gratification, but I know I will have those memories forever. Even though it may be shaving years off my life in the process.

Sophia says...

dry cold air really does wonders to Sophia's hair while jumping on the trampoline

At dinner tonight I make the comment I always make. "Sophia, don't just eat your bread." She replies, "I'm not. I'm trying to eat the butter."

We were going to a dinner that Santa was attending the other night. Sophia tells me I need to get ready. "Mommy, you need to go get ready so you can look beautiful." I was in my sweats, glasses, hair up in pony tail, the usual for a Saturday. I ask her if she thinks I'm beautiful the way I am. She replies, "No. You need to go get pretty right now."

Countdown Christmas

Let the countdown begin! 25 days until Christmas, starting tomorrow. The countdown to Disney was such a hit, I decided to up the challenge on my craftiness and make an Advent calendar out of felt. I saw an idea in a popular store magazine and decided "hey, I can do that!" so I did. I'm actually pretty happy with the results, given that I had all the accessories to make the embellishments in my sewing kit, Sophia's crafts, and leftover odds and ends from party stuff. Oh, and my trusty glue gun! My sister in law sent me some ideas for the days, which I mixed up with some days including activities and some days including chocolate kisses. I started to panic thinking that I'd have to commit to 25 days of activities that I know Sophia would absolutely hold me accountable to, so I threw in a chocolate reprieve here and there. Here's what I came up with for Sophia's activities (not in any particular order:

• Hang wreath outside


• Make reindeer food for Santa’s reindeers


• Pick out Christmas tree and decorate


• Drive around to see holiday lights


• Make sugar cookies and decorate


• Paint nails red


• Make bird feeder out of pine cone


• Watch Christmas TV special


• Take picture with Santa


• Write letter to Santa


• Make paper snowflakes


• Decorate cards for teachers at school


• Read Christmas book


• Starbucks for hot chocolate and treat


• Gingerbread house project

Grandma's girls

Fall flavors

Mushroom Pate
I got the hankering for some Fall foods last week. We had gone to a dinner party, and I had wanted to contribute something. I started to think about something light yet satisfying, and wanted it to taste like autumn. Mushrooms. I flipped through some ideas in my cookbooks, went online to Food Network for some inspiration, and settled on a mushroom pate posted from Emeril's recipe. But I don't follow recipes, so if you do then I think Emeril's looks great. If you want some inspiration to make your own concoction, here's what I did. I soaked 1 package of dried porcini mushrooms and 1 package of dried crimini mushrooms until tender. Reserve the mushroom broth, after draining out any sand or dirt. Put a large saute pan (any deep, wide pot would work) on medium high and added 2tablespoons of butter, 1 large shallot and 1 clove of garlic to saute. I added to my Cuisinart in batches the following: 2 prewrapped packages mini-bellos, 2 prewrapped packages button mushrooms, 4 portobello mushrooms, and then the reconstituted dried mushrooms. Blend until finely chopped, and then add to the saute pan. I added 1 heaping teaspoon of thyme after the mushrooms had cooked for a few minutes, and salt and pepper to taste at this point. Saute until very well cooked, about 10-15 minutes on med. high. Add some reserved broth if they don't give off a lot of juices on their own. Add 2 heaping tablespoons of cream cheese and mix well. I think Emeril's recipe used goat cheese, but I didn't want any competing flavors. At this point, I added everything back to the Cuisinart and blended until it reached a "pate" texture. It didn't look pretty, but I loved the intense mushroom flavor from the porcini. For extra decadence, drizzle truffle oil over before serving. I served on toasted crostini.

Mushroom Ravioli
We had lots of leftover mushroom pate and I didn't want it to go to waste, so I used it for filling in a ravioli. I added 1/2 cup of grated parm cheese to the 2 cups of filling. I set up the flat pasta dough attachment to the Kitchen Aid, only to discover it must have broke during our last ravioli marathon. So I hand rolled the dough for the ravioli, not something I was too happy about adding another step. Sophia helped make the dough and knead it.
I used the simple pasta dough recipe in Joy of Cooking, and found it to be a better texture than the recipe we use from the Kitchen Aid cookbook. I made a very light cream sauce with sage that Sophia picked (sage was her idea, my little chef in the making) from the herb garden, and also added some lemon zest to brighten up the flavors. I was thinking I could have made something similar except in lasagna form next time, maybe add a ricotta layer and spinach.

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Pumpkin Pie
We had 7 pumpkins from our garden this year, so I had to do something with at least one of them. Sophia wanted pumpkin seeds, and I decided to roast the flesh for pumpkin pie, maybe use some of the leftover flesh for Ava to eat. I don't typically bake, so pumpkin pie from scratch was a learning experience. Next time, I will let the pulp drain overnight. It was too runny straight from the blender. The leftover flesh that I cubed and stored in the fridge overnight had a lot of excess moisture, so lesson learned there. However, the pumpkin pie had a good flavor, just not the texture I was used to. I see why the canned pumpkin is so popular.

Pumpkin Risotto
I had at least 5 more cups of pureed pumpkin, so I made a risotto, using 1 cup of the puree that I added to the chicken broth. I also added some of the Cocoa Spice Rub from Napa Style at the last minute, which gave it a sweet savory taste. This would make a mean rice pudding with some heavy cream, hold the onion.

Giving thanks

I could probably copy and paste what I wrote last year with a few additions and notations. I find that this time of year may be more difficult than last year. Last year I was still riding high on adrenaline, hormones, and sheer will to survive the whole chaos of Ava in the NICU and my Mom's ailments and hospital stay. We were sure a messed up sort. So many parts of this time last year are a blur, or lost completely. We somehow managed to drive up to my Mom's before her surgery to celebrate an early Thanksgiving dinner, unsure if that would literally be her last meal or if she would be able to avoid the colostomy. Everything I did was centered around visits to Ava at the NICU, a constant feeling of being pulled in the wrong direction, needing to be with Ava and needing to be with Sophia, not being able to place myself in two places at the same time (or 3 places, when I nervously waited for a phone call to find out how my Mom's surgery went).
Thank goodness for pictures of Sophia, or this last year would have felt like I completely missed how quickly her hair grew, how her faced thinned out from toddler to preschooler. I get angry that almost an entire year feels robbed of enjoying Sophia grow during that time. And then I get angry at myself for feeling that way, because it all could have been worse. And I remind myself how thankful I truly am for all of the support we had, the people that helped with Sophia so that I could spend time with Ava, to heal from surgery, to just focus on what had to be done then.
It may be awhile before I get around to individually thanking everyone for their donations to Cincinnati Children's hospital. I want to properly thank everyone, and while the holidays are so busy I am afraid it may get lost in the shuffle. So this is my temporary place card to you. And while I was focused of the memory of Julia, some of you reminded me that Ava is to be honored, too. It was a delightful surprise to read those donations in Ava's name as well. She is such an honor to all of us. Her spirit is so big, it feels like it's just bursting out of her in the form of determination and will (my aching back and toned biceps are proof to it).
A big THANK YOU for all of your continued support, and for sharing this journey with me.

Dinner for Grandpa

My grandpa Lee turned 91 last week. I can tell you many moments of awesomeness from this man. He is inspiring. He grew up dirt poor, without even the bare necessities. He had to hunt for his food. He worked for "old man Coors" in Colorado. He was a fighter pilot in WWII, and to this day when questioned about driving, he'll give a curt "I was a fighter pilot, so don't tell me how to drive." He logs everything in his journal. He can tell you how much electricity they used in the house in 1982, or how long it to him to walk 4 miles yesterday--up to the very last second. When he retired, he didn't slow down. He always has a list of projects, and a schedule that he keeps each day. He still has his office, as I imagine it looks similar to how his office looked at work. I remember when I was younger, probably 10 years old, maybe I had stayed the night or our family was over for the day. Anyway, I knocked on the ajar door and there he was behind his desk, reading the paper. He looked over the top of his bifocals and said, "Come in Cara, have a seat," as he gestured to the chair opposite of his on the other side of the desk. "What can I do for you?" I imagine this is the same reaction he'd give one of the employees under his charge. He is a simple man. Never complains, never fusses. He is stubborn. He has endless love and patience for his grandchildren and great grandchildren. We all look up to him.

When we were little, Sunday drives were common. We would often include my grandparents, the endpoint being dinner at a restaurant. The first time I saw a rack of lamb was one they ordered after a day trip to Capitola. It came to the table with those funny hats on each end of the bone, and mint jelly on the side. It was the oddest thing to see, from the eyes of a young child. So last night, I decided to make rack of lamb. I didn't use those funny caps, but I did include mint jelly. I started the meal with fennel and onion soup, served with mushroom pate on toasted baguette. Our salad was of mixed greens with goat cheese, glazed walnuts and dried cranberries, with a simple lemon vinaigrette. The lamb chops were served with roasted root vegetables. I made a mud pie for dessert. We had a great time talking about the past, about the present, and just being goofy with Sophia and Ava. It's rare to enjoy time with only my grandparents these days. Its typically the big events that bring us together, among the chaos of large crowds and chasing children. We don't really get the chance to have relaxing conversation. Last night delivered, and it was awesome, just like my grandpa Lee.

Tis the season for colds

Sophia and Ava didn't wait long to welcome the cold and flu season. This is probably what prompted my "Do you ever..." post the other day. It's been, um, challenging to say the least, around here. It's not really the cold symptoms that is the challenge. Well, besides Ava. It's really hard to get that thick snot wiped up or sucked out (yuck, just writing "sucked out" makes me gag). Ava is superhuman strong when she puts up a fight, so I guess she is physically challenging. Sophia is mentally challenging. She is not the type to lay back and watch TV when sick. I think a cold actually gives her more energy. Makes for a really bad situation when cooped up in the house. I've discovered that Ava also doesn't let a cold slow her down, and she is the "get out and about" type of girl. There is no getting out and about now that the weather has turned downright cold (add rain to today's forecast). I'm beyond the creative, "I've got an idea for a project!" and moved into the brooding, "I may need to call Super Nanny if I have to take one more day of this" stage. Good thing both girls had an awesome night of sleep last night. The human spirit is so amazing that just one night of good sleep completely wiped out the desperation of the last entire week of piggyback wakefulness between Ava and Sophia, including the hacking cough that kept me awake, in tuned to their fight to breathe. Oh, and I had the flu the week before so I guess that would be almost two weeks of very little sleep. But last night was awesome. And this morning was amazingly calm and whine free. So we are turning a corner here, in the house of sickness. Only to be reminded that this is just the beginning and the fact that it's Sophia's first year surrounded by classmates, that maybe I should stock up on tea and coffee for the long winter haul.

Do you ever...

• Avoid eye contact with your child while they are playing happily by themselves in fear that they'll notice you made eye contact and then immediately start screaming for attention?


• Say no to a messy project or play dough for the day of and next day following mopping your floors?


• Base your menu around how clean your kitchen is or what your kid is wearing because you just don't want to change those clothes or bust out the vacuum or broom to clean up after?

In the chill of the night...

She arrives just in time! Spider Girl, Spider Girl; friendly neighborhood Spider Girl.
Sophia was the fearless super hero until we happened upon a haunted house, complete with zombies. Then she jumped into daddy's arms and announced that trick-or-treating was over. She wanted nothing to do with anything after those zombies. In the car on the way to Noni's, Sophia proclaimed that she no longer liked Halloween. I think her aunts managed to change her mind once at Noni's house. It was the nightmare before Christmas over there, complete with much loot and goodies. Glad to have left Noni's until last, hopefully giving her a happy ending after the fright.

Ava was as snug as strawberry in a strawberry patch. I feel redeemed after having failed with Sophia's first Halloween costume, in which she absolutely refused to wear the bunny outfit. Ava was very compliant, and didn't even bother trying to take off the hat.

I, on the other hand, feel like Halloween is a bit cursed for me. I woke up that morning with the flu. Oh, I powered through it all. No way I was going to let some body aches and weakness mess up my Halloween. But come on, can I just have one year where I am completely whole in body and spirit? Last year I was recovering from the c-section, having just been released from the hospital the day before. The year before, I had just found out I was pregnant on Halloween, which ended in an ectopic pregnancy. The year before that, I was pregnant which resulted in a miscarriage. The year before that, I was pregnant with Sophia which was very exciting and also not so much fun to be pregnant on Halloween. So needless to say, I was determined to make this year very un-reproductively focused, even though my right ovary might as well have had a neon sign with "Open for Business" and huge blinking arrows pointing to it, ovulation was that obvious a few days ago. Which seriously, if I were a glutton for punishment, probably would have meant I'd have implanted on Halloween. So NO THANK YOU this year, I wanted to enjoy both my daughter's Halloween stress free. And along came the flu, because apparently something had to mark the occassion. So next year? Next year better be pretty damn spectacular or I may have to change my mind about it being my most favorite holiday.

Happy Birthday Ava

Ava's First Year from Cara on Vimeo.

Ava crawls commando style

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

Back from Disneyland! Just a "taste" of one of our character dining experiences while we were there. The wolf motioned to Sophia that he was going to eat Ava. I think Ava understood what he meant, too. More of our trip to be continued...

One serving of paper a day

Some people read the morning paper. Ava eats the morning paper. She gives a new meaning to juicy tabloids when she gets ahold of my magazines.

In Julia Bea's Memory

The one year angelversary of Julia is quickly approaching. I have wanted to do something in her memory, and to honor the people that work in the field to end the horrible tragedy of miscarriage and stillbirth. Also, to honor the families that silently suffer through miscarriages and stillbirth, and families that are putting every ounce of their being into saving their unborn child(ren).

Looking back, I was fortunate to have such great care and resources to make the decisions we were faced with for both Ava and Julia. Because of this, I believe it is our turn to pay it forward. We have decided to donate to the Fetal Care Center, a part of the Cincinnati Children’s Hospital. This is the place that correctly determined the best path to take for our girls growing inside me at the time, regardless of the fact that they would have made a great case study in a medical journal. Instead of looking at making a name for themselves, they looked at our best interest. I know now that we would not have Ava if it were not for them. Sometimes the best decision is really to let fate decide. I imagine that’s a tough call for a surgeon who the main goal is to try to fix things. It is care and giving like that that deserves an acknowledgement. I have included a link to their online donation and form here if you would like to join us in acknowledging the great work of this hospital and staff.

We are also participating in a Remembrance Ceremony through John Muir hospital of Walnut Creek on October 15th for National Pregnancy and Infant Awareness Month. I feel that it’s necessary to bring awareness to such a lonely grief of losing a baby through miscarriage or still birth. And I'm dragging Rick along for support, because although he doesn't say much, I know he suffers in his own way through all of this. We are both not very "public" people with stuff like this, so it's stepping out of our comfort zone to attend. It would mean a lot to us if your thoughts were with us this day.

Julia is with me in my thoughts every day. It's been particularly tough to plan Ava's first birthday, knowing that Julia isn't physically here to be next to her sister when we sing happy birthday and blow out that candle. It's been hard to create the slideshow like I did for Sophia's first birthday, knowing there are parts intentionally left out for all of our well being. But it's also been a healing process that I'm forcing myself to face head on. And I know there will be a lot of good that will come out of our tragedy, with work yet to do for people that are faced with situations like or unlike ours that are working to make sense of it all. So for this year, it's a start for things to come to honor Julia's memory.

"When I get older..."

Sophia is a bit fixated on growing up these days. Many of her statements start with, "When I get older..." It started a few weeks ago when she said, "When I get older I want braces on my teeth." And the other morning it was, "Mommy I'm growing bigger and bigger right?" Uh huh, I replied, knowing what was coming next. "Am I old enough to drink coffee now?" Um, no. Later in the day we were at Costco and she pointed to the beer. "Mommy, what's that?" Beer, I replied. "Mommy, when I get older I'm going to drink beer!" Another proud moment, this time witnessed by others. Some things are pretty funny. "When I get older I'm going to grow hair on my chest just like Daddy" or "When I get older I'm going to have huge nipples!" This morning she made me measure her on her growth chart in her bedroom. She's grown 2 inches in just 6 months! She exclaimed, "I'm almost older now, so I can ride the spinning wheel (Ferris wheel) next time." Today at Target she told me she wanted to be older so she can be in high school. I'm not sure where this fixation comes from right now. Maybe it's a stage? I just know that I really CAN wait until she gets older. And I also hope she won't be drinking beer or coffee when she gets older (or have hair on her chest like Daddy).

This many days until Disneyland

Last week we started talking to Sophia about our upcoming trip to Disneyland. I should know better by now to mention that we are going to do something at a later date. She is relentless about asking a zillion times if it's that day yet. I've only heard about a billion times so far, "Are we leaving for Disneyland tomorrow?" So today I decided we'd make something to represent how many days until Disneyland, and cut each loop off until "the day" starting tonight. She totally got on board. Hopefully this will keep the questions to a minimum. I'm almost to the point of telling her I'll send her down there early and hand her a 1 way plane ticket. Just kidding. OK, I'll admit that I'm getting pretty excited about the trip, too.

So long Spotty

Not that this will come as a shock to anyone, but Spotty met her (his?) demise shorty after I posted the latest cannibalistic treatment from Cleo. Cleo seems pretty smug of him (her?) self and happily swims alone. Sophia had a brief outburst of tears when we told her Spotty was in heaven, quickly followed by, "Mommy, we need to get THREE more fish now." Sorry sweetie, Cleo is bad company.

There is a cannibal in the tank

And I thought Cleo and Spotty had become fast friends while stuck in their small baggy for hours. It turns out Cleo has a taste for goldfish fin soup. Spotty is currently missing a flipper, which as entertaining as it is to watch her wobble when she swims like a drunken sailor, it's quite disturbing as well. Sophia asked this morning, "Mommy, what's wrong with Spotty?" And here we go. Flush or wait till the float?

Cleo and Spotty

Sophia "won" two goldfish on Saturday. The game was a slam dunk, guarantee to win and I had been steering her clear of it from the moment I heard about the inevitable prizes we would acquire. I am less than thrilled to welcome our new inhabitants.

After Sophia went down from her sugar induced coma of a nap, I grudgingly made a trip to the pet store to look for the cheapest goldfish bowl I could find. As I started to add up the expense of a bowl, some gravel, a fake plastic plant, and the food, I realized that the all included kit was actually just as expensive AND you get a filter. The filter would save me a few tank cleanings a month--score. The pet store sales assistant happened by as I was contemplating the cheapest solution to our (I'm fairly certain sure short term) resident's luxury water condo. She asked if I needed help and I told her I just needed the cheapest setup they offered, explained my predicament, and of course I added how I felt about the whole thing. She replies, "Well goldfish can actually live up to 30 years and grow to be 3 feet long, so we would recommend starting out with a 29 gallon tank for the two goldfish you have. Also, you should let the tank cycle and build up the proper environment for at least 2 weeks before adding the fish." I laughed and told her she had to be kidding. She didn't find it too funny. Actually, she handed me a brochure full of goldfish facts, care and maintenance to back up her claim. Not heeding her advice, I grabbed the 1.77 gallon tank boasting "just add water and fish!" on the box, and marched on over to the checkout. The clerk was a little more amused with my laments on our new pets and sent me away with good luck wishes.

Setting up the tank proved to be a little more than "just add water and fish!" It turns out you need a chemist background, or at the very least the ability to deal with division and metric units. Neither which fall under my ability. After adding 5 cap fulls (the equivalent of 25 mL) of some environmental tank agent, I realized the smaller print of the already small print read that the dosage was for a 50 gallon tank. Again, math skills aren't great, but I assume that's just way too much for a 1.77 gallon tank. So I dumped out the water and refilled the tank, figuring whatever residual agent left in the tank would suffice. 2 hours later, the tank was humming along. The tank instructions recommended that the fish stay in their happy little baggy for at least 3 days. Sorry again, but at this point these little (insert profanity here) are literally going to sink or swim. I wasn't actually wishing them an immediate death sentence though, having gone through all this crap to get them a home. So we waited 3 hours and let them free into their new home.

I am happy to report that almost 48 hours later, they seem to be adjusting fine. I'm still nervously awaiting their demise and the sad reality of teaching Sophia the first lesson of life and death. Oh, and how thrilled is Sophia, you might wonder? Sorry, I guess it's not all about me. She really just wants to feed the fish. Rick suggested we put the tank in her room; let it be her responsibility. Actions speak louder than words, and shortly after making this comment we found Sophia trying to lift the tank and shake it. So if we do have 30 years of this, I'd say in maybe the next 5 years, I'd happily move the tank to Sophia room. But for now, Cleo and Spotty will reside in the family room under watchful eyes.

Sophia's first day at preschool

OK, I admit I was a little more nervous than I had expected about Sophia's first day at preschool. She was so nonchalant the night before, telling Rick and me to stop talking about her big day. I think she internalizes stressful or exciting things. It's another thing she inherited from Rick; I just don't understand internalizing any emotions.

The next morning, I made her a breakfast I thought she would want to eat--pancakes. She hardly touched them. And instead of getting ready for school, she did everything in vain to thwart all efforts. So I figured she must be a bit nervous. Or a typical three year old. When we finally got her ready, she was good to go and off we went. We were one of the first ones there, and waited outside until they opened the doors. Sophia immediately wandered into the play area to explore.

She was confident, curious and ready to start her first day. My hands shook a little as I signed her in. After about 10 minutes, I looked around to see if other parents were leaving and most were still there. I asked one of the teachers when we should leave and she said it was up to me, if Sophia felt comfortable. I asked Sophia if it was OK that I left and she said it was. I asked her if she had any questions and she asked, "Are you going to pick me up from school?" I told her I would. She seemed fine so I gave her a kiss and walked out the door.

I told the teachers to call if there were any problems. When I got home, I literally walked around in circles, trying to figure out what to do with the time I had left. I kept looking at the clock and time seemed to have slowed down. It didn't take long to direct my focus to cleaning up after our hectic holiday weekend, but I kept thinking how weird it was to have Sophia away with strangers for the first time ever.

When I picked her up from her school, she ran over with a big hug and a smile. She told me she wanted to go get a smoothie. She seemed completely unfazed by her big day. I got her in the car and asked her a ton of questions on the drive home. So many questions, that she told me at one point, "Mommy you are driving me nuts." So I stopped asking. What I gathered is that she played the whole time, sang some songs, had rainbow goldfish crackers for a snack, it was fun, and there were a few kids that cried the whole time and wanted to go home. But she didn't cry. We go for day two tomorrow. I will try to act cool and composed, just like my big girl.

Stop running with those scissors!

Sophia is going to start preschool next week. You may hear me yelling, "See you later suckers!" as I peel out of the parking lot. I kid. Sort of. I think it will be a good thing for the both of us. As much as I joke about her spirited personality, I do believe she is going places. And when you are in that ray of her focus, it's like nothing else matters. She has something special, that girl. But sometimes that intensity she brings is just so exhausting. Today we went to drop off some paperwork for Ava's high risk program. That could be another post entirely. Anyway, on our way into and out of the building, we met a total of 3 individuals. Each remarked at how smart Sophia was. Boy do these preschool teachers not know what's coming for them. The man we spent the longest time with (the case worker guy for Ava's program) told me as we walked out the door, "I can tell you have a lot of patience. You are blessed. You really are. And that Sophia is so smart." Ha, I have a lot of patience? My empty threats are growing by the day. "Don't make me..." "If you don't knock it off right now missy..." "If I have to come over there..." "I'm going to count to three and then...one, two..." I honestly don't know what the end of those threats are. It's enough for Sophia to hear the first words and then she usually hightails it. Which brings me to my latest yell, "Stop running with scissors!" I'm already yelling at her for running with scissors? How did she grow up this fast? And she can do some scissor work, that one. I have daily piles to clean up now. The recycling bin is going to take a beating this week.

In preparation for preschool, I've found that I am entering uncharted territory with clothes shopping. We have been incredibly lucky that my best friend's girls and my nieces are just old enough where we had a steady rotation of great clothes. Well, that gravy train has officially ended now that Sophia is the same size as all of them. I'm not a great shopper as it is, so this has given me some anxiety. I don't even know my own style, let alone trying to figure out style for Sophia! Oh, and figuring out how many pants, dresses, tops, etc. is a little overwhelming too. But if that's my only concern these days, then we have it pretty good right now.

It was one of those nights

I had a bad night the other night. It started around midnight, when both of my arms fell asleep while crossed under my pillow that my head was resting on. I was laying on my stomach, and couldn't turn over. I had to wake Rick for help. I can laugh about it now, but oh man was it scary. Once I gained full mobility of my arms and convinced myself I would not be one of those freak situations where I have to have both arms amputated, I dozed back to sleep. About an hour later, Sophia climbs into bed. She had already started out restless, so I anticipated her visit, but not quite so early. Her restlessness continued, and I soon felt feet digging into my neck. After an hour or so, Ava started crying. Lately Ava has been wetting through her diaper, PJs, and bedding. She is a side sleeper and I think the diaper just doesn't do its thing for side sleepers. She wakes up cold and wet and, being lazy in the middle of the night, I typically just deal with what's wet on her and bring her into our bed instead of changing her bedding. But with Sophia in our bed at that point, it was already pretty cozy. So I changed the bedding and brought her into bed just to get her settled back to sleep. When I picked her up to transfer her back to her bed, she wet again, this time getting our bedding wet. I threw a blanket down over the wet spot, got her cleaned up again, and snuggled her into our bed. Cozy as clams we were. Not. I could not get back to sleep.

I'm not good with the middle of the night thoughts. They are haunting. I haven't had to deal with middle of the night thoughts in a while, since Ava is such a star sleeper and no longer requires midnight feedings. However, on this night, those thoughts creep into my head.
Julia
My heart has such a big empty void where Julia should be. She should be waking me up too. She should be physically creating her own little chaos in my night of chaos and frustration. Instead the thought of her fills my mind of what could have been. And I know these are romantic notions, but I can't stop my mind from thinking them. One of the big things I need to get past is that there is no filling the void. With each miscarriage, although painful in so many ways, that void ended up being filled. I wouldn't have had Sophia if I didn't suffer through my first miscarriage. I wouldn't have had Ava if I didn't suffer through the others. But I would have had Julia, had she been able to make it. She was tangible; she was part of a package deal. She was real. I touched her. I held her in my arms. But I didn't get to keep her. And it haunts me. And it frustrates me, because I know she wouldn't have made it, had she survived until birth. But your mind doesn't like reason in the middle of the night. It likes romantic notions.

But then I finally fall asleep with my thoughts, and wake up to a new day. And things seem hopeful and much clearer. It's a bad time of year for me. This is the time when we were going back and forth to Cincinnati, to all the tests and big decisions. I can't believe it's been a whole year. We're working hard on a plan to honor Julia. I want her to be remembered, and I want to make it special. I know that I can't have her, but I can honor her and the meaning of her. I'll let you know when I get it all together.

Late blooming garden

This year we did a few things differently in the garden. Rick set up a drip system to most of the vegetables. Our new inhabitants to this year's garden feature pumpkins (and lots of them), peppers, and cantaloupe melon. Our regular fare includes beans, tomatoes, 3 kinds of squash, and basil, strawberries and wild blackberries. Our grapes decided to come in this year, too.

Things are finally starting to happen in the garden. It was a late season, the weather has been really mild. However, it's turning out to be worth the wait. I love the drip system, and I think Rick has come around to love it too. He's more of a purist with gardening. He believes things should be watered individually, and by hand. And then I got involved with the gardening (i.e., I was home now so it fell onto me), and well, it seems like lots of very crazy things happen in my life around this time. So in the past few years the plants died, or got over watered, or rotted. And then I think he put 2 and 2 together, and decided maybe the less I have to deal with it, the better. Anyway, crossing my fingers here, but this seems to be our best garden yet. Because I only go out to pull the occasional weed, and to pick what's grown.

Dinner has been easier around here now that the vegetables are coming in. We'll have grilled zucchini squash tonight, sauteed crooked neck squash tomorrow night, and stuffed scalloped squash the night after. Sophia better get used to this, because it seems like squash is on the menu for awhile. I read that you should serve something up to 10 times before the kid agrees to eat it. I believe we are past #10 now. The beans have started to come in, so we'll probably go through the same thing with those. I can't wait to get my hands on some fresh tomatoes. These guys are teasing us at the moment.

So whats for dinner? A whole lot of vegetables!

Ava kneads me

I try to make a point of laying down with Ava for one nap, or while putting her down for the night. It's a time that I make for just me and her, because there's not a lot of one on one time throughout the day, and Sophia usually calls the shots. It's the squeakiest wheel kind of thing around here, and Sophia sure is squeaky.

Ava likes to knead. She does this when she's in that hypnotic trance rhythm of sucking down her bottle. She grabs at my clothes, just like a cat does. Pretty fitting or a baby who came out mewling like a kitty. But when I'm feeding her the bottle, she can only grab so much. when we are laying down, side by side, she has much more real estate and easier access. My cheeks, my nose, my hair, my shirt and my chest are all within range. It's a good indicator of when she needs her fingernails clipped, for sure. It reminds my of the old Looney Tunes cartoon when that kitty kneads the back of the old bull dog and he just sits there and takes it, because as annoying as it was, he loves that little kitty and wanted to make her happy. That's how I feel. It makes her happy. After a few minutes of that, she slips off to slumber and I get to watch her and enjoy the sleeping baby sweetness for a few minutes.

Speaking of needing (yes, I enjoy the use of puns now and then), Ava is sure making things hard for Rick and I to get away for a bit. It's funny how she is such an easy baby (compared to the squeaky one mentioned above) for me. But she is not so easy when left to the in-laws. We get there, I set her up so that she's happily playing on the blanket on the floor, and then we leave. Apparently once she realizes we are gone, she cries the whole time until, by exhaustion, she falls asleep. Which is what we usually come back to--her sleeping peacefully. And I just never see that side of her. I joked that I need to install a video camera over there just to see how it all goes down. I hope this is a stage, but I have a feeling it's just another difference in personality.

There's a party in my tummy

Rick is gone for dinner. It's a guy's night type of thing. Sophia was pretty bummed, so I thought I'd make a special dinner for her. Ha, I guess this covers the dinner part of the blog, huh? Anyway, I decided to use up the really healthy whole wheat bread I got the other day, by doing something really unhealthy to it. (Side note: Rick fixed a meatloaf sandwich with this bread today and said, "This bread isn't good. Please don't get this bread again. Sophia doesn't like it either." Um, wrong! Sophia now likes it now. Continue reading to see why.) I made a grilled Nutella and strawberry jam sandwich. Yes, I slathered it with butter, chocolate and strawberry jam and fried it. Sophia took a bite and exclaimed, "There's a party in my tummy...so yummy, so yummy!" She got that cute phrase from her cousin Alyssa during the houseboat excursion. I'm not sure where Alyssa gleaned that from but it's used often here now. I had to agree with Sophia; I felt the same way about our dinner--so yummy! I also agree with Rick. Unless the bread is doused in butter and filled with really bad-for-you-stuff, it's way too healthy for our tastes.

Chompers

We had a busy week last week. That's my excuse. Laundry, packing, grocery shopping, packing, shopping for the kayak and life jackets and sunscreen, more laundry and then more packing (side note: with all that packing, you'd think I would have remembered to pack my own underwear. Good thing swimsuits were the fashion of the week. However, I packed enough clothes to stay for at least a month, for all of us--maybe even longer.) Throw in Rick's birthday followed by my birthday--the day before we were to leave. Needless to say, it was very hectic.

In hindsight, I should have noticed teething signs from Ava. The day before we left, she had projectile vomited on my mom. At Noni and Papa's that night she had been really fussy. she felt a little warm to me that night but I was in denial because I really didn't want a sick kiddo on vacation. She didn't sleep all that well the first night on the houseboat, but I chalked it up to new environment. The next day she seemed fine, her normal chipper self. I was helping her with her cracker. As I pushed the sticky goop that once was a crispy Mum Mum back into her slobbery mouth, she bit down (hard) on my finger tip. That's when I discovered her tooth had broken through. It literally jumped out and bit me! Followed shortly by the second tooth the next day. Ava has her two bottom teeth now.

S'mores

When I was a little girl, we did our share of camping as a family. My Grandpa Jack always had a boat or RV or both, and my summers were about going on the lake and campfires and S'mores. It was the summer between kindergarten and first grade that my grandpa told me on one particular camping trip, while roasting marshmallows by the dying fire, that he invented S'mores. I took that literally. For our first Show and Tell day at school, I told everyone that my grandpa invented S'mores! I explained what they were and how to make them. To my surprise, some of my classmates had tried them before, and even made them on their camping trips. My grandpa was a genius AND famous! I'm not sure how that bubble got popped, maybe the teacher shared it with my mom during Open House or maybe I shared my excitement with my mom and she set me straight. However, that did not dampen my enthusiasm for S'mores.

Sophia has been talking about camping for a good six months. She saw an episode on one of her programs where the kid goes camping and they make a fire and roast marshmallows. Marshmallows=camping in her mind. So last week while I was shopping for our houseboat vacation with our family, I made sure S'mores was on the menu one night. And we just so happened to find a halfway decent place to moor for the night, with plenty of dried wood to make quick of some hot embers. The older cousins learned that they are old enough to earn their reward and collected the wood, under the nervous watchful eye of their mother. (It was a pretty steep slope, but not that steep, jeesh.)

The sun had set, dinner was done and dishes were washed. I had set up exactly how this first S'more experience was going to go down with Sophia. The fire was started.

I anticipated the perfectly browned and gooey marshmallow between the graham cracker and chocolate. And then Rick stuck a marshmallow on Sophia's stick and thrust it into the flames. Out pops a charred marshmallow, everyone is barking at me to hold the graham cracker and chocolate plate towards them, and in the chaos of eager hands, Sophia gets that S'more and starts chowing down. This is not going as planned. And we all know "the best laid plans of mice and men often go astray" so I was going to try to recapture my own experience. After I took some pictures of Sophia, obliviously enjoying her first S'more no matter what shape of form the S'more was in.

I head back out to the campfire in search of a stick. Everyone was finished with their S'mores and had thrown their sticks into the fire. I settle for the best stick in the shortest amount of time and stick two plump marshmallows on the end. No sooner had I roasted half of the marshmallows to brown perfection, my brother runs out with a fire extinguisher and douses the fire out. It was a nice finale to my quest for the perfect S'mores experience. (I think my sister in-law may have the fire extinguishing in action...I was too busy trying to salvage what little marshmallow and patience I had left.)

I'm sure there will be plenty more S'mores experiences. I bet it wasn't the highlight of her trip anyway. How could anything trump the glorious four days of non-stop play with her cousins? I know this makes a much better story than the scene I had imagined in my head while shopping for the supplies. I'm still bitter that my brother used the damn fire extinguisher on what was turning out to be a pretty good marshmallow roast.

Developmental assessment

All is good. All is better than good, actually it's fantastic.

I remember so acutely being in the hospital the day Ava and Julia were delivered, getting prepped for the c-section and the Neonatologist coming in to discuss expectations for a 27 week delivery. As I laid there uncontrollably shaking, she listed off a number of things that we might encounter upon the delivery. It was the worst case scenario. "The best we can do" was echoing in my head, making all the other crazy scary things she was rattling off feel like a whisper of things to come. Her face was somber, and I feared the worst. In hindsight, probably not the best approach to take with me. I always fear the worst, so by saying all the things that can go wrong I automatically think it will go wrong. Imagine my surprise when Ava came out mewling like a newborn kitty. When Rick turned to me and said, "She looks really good." When instead of whisking her away to the NICU where machines were set aside for her, the team spent some time in the delivery room with her assessment and let Rick take a few pictures. From that day on, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I looked for signs of cerebral palsy, for sight or hearing issues, muscles too tight or too limber. I dreaded her first cold, fearing that it would turn into bronchial pneumonia and we would end up staying long past her release from the NICU--or if at home--back in the hospital. I waited, and I held my breath, and I feared and I worried. When everyone told me she looked great, she was doing great, she was better than great, I still feared and I still worried. But that voice inside my head told me everything is going to be OK. I just didn't want to really listen to that voice.

As of today, I actually believe everything is going to be OK. I still held some nerves going into this assessment, even after being reassured last Friday from Ava's pediatrician that she looks great, and that she will have no issues. Still, the glass-half-empty person that I am had anxiety about this appointment. Ava had no hesitation proving the miracle that she is. She was textbook perfect. She did everything that was expected of her and more. The Dr. and nurse repeated what so many had before, they couldn't believe she was born at 27 weeks. Leaving the appointment, I felt such relief. I know how lucky I really am (we all really are). I know how much worse it all could have been.

It's a head game, this baby making stuff. If you are one of the unlucky ones to have experienced a miscarriage or fertility issues, it's a constant battle of positive over negative thoughts. "I just want to be able to get pregnant" turns into "I just want to make it past the first trimester" and then graduates into "I just want to make it to 24 weeks" and if you are lucky to have that then you can pray that the baby has 10 fingers and 10 toes, is born healthy, you know...all that normal parental worry stuff. And the kicker is, it's just the beginning of worry. You don't really understand what worry is until that baby is now outside of your body and what little control you may have felt you held is now completely out of your control. With Ava, the stakes were higher, the worry was just plain harder. But I am starting to put that all behind me now. It's such a burden, this constant worry. It turns your hair gray, adds wrinkles, makes your muscles and head ache and your back stiff. And it's hard to let go of. It's not something you want to define you. You have to work to tamper it out. I'm working hard. Today boosted my resolve to another level. Maybe that other shoe doesn't have to drop. Maybe it's OK to feel like things are going to be just fine.

Sophia says...

Night time routine varies around here. Rick is usually the one telling Sophia bedtime stories and tucking her in. Last night, Sophia decided she wanted some mommy time after all that. So she creeps into the bedroom and asks me to come cuddle with her. Gladly. So she gets into her bed and I lay down beside her and start to brush her hair out of her face. She says, "Mommy, don't touch my hair, don't rub my back, don't put your arm around me. Don't breathe on me! Just lay there and be still." Ha, sounds a little bit like what I say when she crawls into our bed at 2am!

Ava is 9 months old

Ava is 9 months (6 months adjusted) old today. It's the three month incremental milestones that really get to me; so much changes from 3 months to 6 months and then to 9 months. In Ava's case, it's like we added another quarter to our year for a total of five 3 month increments. Are you following my logic here? While most others ask if she's "catching up" yet, I feel like she's just a normal 6 month old doing what a normal 6 month old should do.

Ava's new thing is rolling over from back to front, front to back...making her way over to an interesting item. This item is typically off limits to her, usually some small bead or choking hazard Sophia has left on the floor. Funny how Sophia is just at that age where all her interests are the tiniest of toys. The exact opposite of what I really want her to play with while Ava has discovered she can be mobile. Ava's seemingly got Rubber Man arms too. Her reach is unbelievable. She can knock her cereal out of her bowl or out of her spoon on the way to her mouth, when I swore it was out of harms way. Oh, she's eating lots of variety now! Prunes were the first on the list once rice cereal was established. I learned the hard way the other day that there is too much of a good thing with prunes. We had her first major blowout of epic proportions.

We have her 9 month wellness appointment at the end of the week, followed by her first development assessment at the hospital on August 1. I'm a bit nervous for this assessment, even though I feel like she's doing what she should be doing. This is the first of a number of studies she will go through to determine if there was any neurological damage due to her premature birth. The home nurse still does her monthly visits, and while she feels like Ava is doing well--and even exceeding expectations--something about taking her to the clinic makes my stomach feel jittery when thinking about it.

But today I celebrate. I celebrate the strong, solid, beautiful little girl Ava is today. And I also grieve. Julia is so heavily weighing on my heart, but each day seems to get a bit easier with gaining perspective.

The lost blankie

See that blankie Sophia is cuddling? That is her very favorite blankie. It's her "good" blankie, the one she turns to when she's fallen, having a meltdown, sad, told "no" about something, sleeps with for naps and night time. She will come into our room in the middle of the night if she wakes up and can't find her blankie, to have us find it for her so she can go back to sleep. It's been with her since she was born. We go nowhere without it. As of last Sunday, while at a friend's for dinner, she lost the blankie at their house. She was devastated. It was nowhere to be found. In a panic state, I tore through the house in search of it. I miss that blankie, too. We have a backup blankie but it just doesn't do the job. Now almost 1 week later, I have mixed feelings about its return if it ever does show up. We've made it past the hardest part of withdrawals. The first night, I slept with Sophia, who fell asleep sobbing for her blankie. The second night she told me she loves me, but she loves her blankie too. Each night has gotten better. If that blankie is found, do I dare reunite them?

Change of scenery

My eyes were hurting from my last blog design so I thought I'd simplify a little. I think it's a stage right now, because lots of simplification is going on in the kid's room.

NICU reunion

We had Ava's NICU reunion last week. The hospital hosts a party every year for the graduates of the NICU since it's inception. That's 20 some years of graduates, which amounted to about 450 people attending this year. Needless to say it was a little overwhelming for Ava and I, for different reasons--overstimulating for Ava, emotional for me. Sophia had a blast; it was a Curious George theme, and that girl loves Curious George. The Man in the Yellow Hat was actually a woman, which was pretty curious (and pretty confusing to Sophia who pays attention to detail).

I was already emotional going into this whole event. It was the first time we had been back to the hospital since Ava was sent home. I wasn't sure what to expect, and I really wasn't sure why we were going. Closure? To show Ava off to the nurses and doctors for a pat on the back of some sort, maybe validation? To tell the "Barbara Walters" of the NICU Social Worker that I did in fact break down after all and I wasn't the cold hearted bitch that she thought I was? Maybe all of the above. What I realized is that while everyone was joyful and hugging and talking about how well their kids were, I was fighting back tears, feeling completely disconnected, with this really silly smile on my face to try to make it seem like I was alright. And maybe this exact behavior is how I got myself into the emotional mess I was feeling then and there.

I talked to a couple that were in the NICU with their twins while Ava was in there. The mother said she was also a little emotional that morning, so happy that they were at a great place after the scary NICU experience. I couldn't take my eyes of the twins. And this is probably why I felt disconnected. There were a ton of twins in the NICU during our stay. I had a lot of resentment for that. And really, I have so many mixed emotions about the entire stay in the NICU that I just can't go there. So basically just scratching the surface here, I wonder how my experience would have been different had I allowed myself to FEEL during that time. I did go up to the social worker and tell her that I had a bit of an emotional breakdown a few months ago and I'm forever changed. And she was the one who made the "glad you aren't a cold hearted bitch" statement which wasn't exactly an appropriate response in my opinion.

The reality of it all is that I can't go back to that time and ask for a do-over. Would I really want to anyway? And for who would I be doing this? And who is to say that my handling of things wasn't right at the time? Wasn't it right for me, for Sophia, for Ava, for Rick and my family as a whole? Who would it have benefited breaking down and falling apart? Possibly the social worker, but why do I care so much about other people and what they think? My only conclusion and takeaway from this is that usually a family is dealing with the reality of a sick baby in the NICU. I was dealing with a sick baby and the death of a baby.


I'm not trying to say that my pain was greater or that I should have any more right than these other families, it's just that I can't truly relate to these families that were there. So my experience really was sort of a lonely one. The one woman I was hoping would be there wasn't. She had a similar experience of losing her twin while the other was forced into the world. I think about how she is doing, but I don't know if I would have actively pursued a friendship out of our bond. It seems too painful now. I was just disappointed that she wasn't there to ask if she's feeling similar things. Maybe it's for the best. So next year? One of the nurses told me that most people come the first year and then drop off until their kids are old enough to want to participate. And I think that will probably be us, if Ava shows interest down the road.