I finished Natalie's outfit tonight. I cut out the star emblem and affixed it to her shirt. It looks awesome. I even cut out a spare, in case she works that one off in the course of trick-or-treating. Her cape is ready, her boots are in place, and she will look like WordGirl. Yay! She's getting excited-- they've been speaking about trick-or-treating at school, and singing spooky songs. She came home singing something about a pirate with a cough (WTF?), and something that ends with her screaming, "BOOOO!" at the top of her lungs. Jay had a half day at school today, so he picked her up from school. She was thrilled. I'm sure her teachers were relieved to see a competent parent pick her up-- this morning, I dropped her off with her shoes on the wrong feet. The shoes were put on the wrong feet BY ME. And she TRIED TO TELL ME THEY WERE WRONG and I blew her off. Sigh. Her teachers laughed, and Mrs. Nestor (whose daughter is in Nan's class) told me her daughter was wearing mis-matched socks this morning. Glad to know I'm not the only incompetent parent. As Jay's on fall break now, he and Nan are visiting the Children's Museum tomorrow. She's super excited to see the dinosaurs-- she says SHE'S a dinosaur, and she's going to go back to the museum to see her dino brothers and sisters. Silly girl.

Halloween is creeping up, and I've got a lot to do. I have to put the finishing touches on Nan's WordGirl outfit, and I have a lot of cooking to do for our Halloween party on Saturday. (Yes, it's the day AFTER Halloween, but I wanted to have a party. So there.) I have a tendency to take on too much, because I am a control-freak beyond all control-freaks. I have delegated a few tasks, but I'm taking on the brunt of the food. I'm cooking chili-- meatful and meatless-- and cornbread, a few appetizers and a grownup dessert. And possibly 18 sugar cookies if no one else steps up to bring them. I am crazy. Oh, and I'm planning the crafts for the children and the decorating. The list-making alone has made me nuts. Why, oh why, do I do this? Because I love it. I love getting people I love together, to eat and laugh and drink and play. I love seeing the kids I haven't seen in almost a year, I love watching the pack of children run around like lunatics. We usually do this at Christmas time, but it's gotten so busy at that time of year that we decided to move it to Halloween. I am looking forward to a more casual, laid-back meal, and hopefully I can get everything done.
Nan keeps changing her mind about her outfit-- she has decided to be a pumpkin, a pirate, and a cucumber, just today. I keep gently guiding her back to the outfit that we've already put together-- she WILL BE WORDGIRL. Too damned bad, kid. Next year, you get a little more autonomy re. your Halloween costume. For now? I still have some say in her ensemble. Thank god.

Nan's on fall break this week-- no school on Wednesday or Friday. It was sorely missed, to say the least. But, frankly, her immune system could use a break. She can't shake this nasty cough-- it sounds like she's been smoking for forty years-- and she's got a perpetual runny nose. So, I called the doctor. Again. I was looking for a refill on the cough syrup. Instead, I got an 8:30 am appointment. Argh. We can barely get to school at 9, let alone anywhere before that. I scheduled the appointment for Thursday, the day we planned to go to the pumpkin farm with my mom and dad. Or, as I explained it to Nan on Thursday morning, "HEY! We're going to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and then to the PUMPKIN FARM! But first, we've got to make a quick stop..." Poor kid. I didn't tell her 'til we were in the parking lot of the doctor's office that she had an appointment with Dr. O. Of course, the tears started, and I had to drag my limp rag of a child into the office. She was fine when we got in there, and was an excellent patient. Here's the funny thing-- the doctor thinks she has allergies. That isn't funny, of course-- what's funny is she suggested Nan might be allergic to our cats. You know, like Jay talked himself into believing so he could soothe his conscience when we decided to find new homes for the kitties. Whatever gets my archnemesis, Miles, out of the house. I hope it helps Nan feel better. I know I'll feel better when there's not cat pee in my hallway. Anyway, Nan's now on an extensive regimen of allergy meds. We're to revisit the doctor in a month and reassess her condition. But, when I laid her down for her nap that afternoon, I realized-- she was still. coughing. After a drastically curtailed nap, I called the nurse back and begged for some sort of relief for my kid and myself. She recommended an OTC cough syrup, and that helped a little. She's exhausted, and snotty, and only wants me. It's nice to be loved, but right now I'd love nothing more than to leave her at my mom's for a night or two without a backward glance. That wouldn't be fair to her OR my mom at this point-- everybody would be miserable. My mom made a half-hearted offer to keep her last night, but I could see the fear that I would take her up on it in her eyes. I told mom to bring her home at bedtime.
After the visit to the doctor (complete with flu shot-- I really AM evil), we went to Grandma and Grandpa's, as previously advertised. My dad had gone out and bought doughnuts in honor of our visit, and we'd definitely earned them. So we scarfed our doughnuts, and headed to the farm. Nan got to experience her first hayride. Her face was priceless-- she was amazed, and enthralled. She tossed hay in the air, and grinned from ear to ear. We chose our pumpkins, and after we purchased them we went to the barn to visit the baby animals. My sweet girl squatted down by the baby goats, and sang them the lullaby I sing her every time I put her to bed. So cute. All in all, a lovely outing. My parents enjoyed the time with Nan, and she thought it was extra-special to have Grandpa along. My dad is something of a workaholic, and doesn't get to go on outings like that very often. They had a ball.
Damn. She's coughing again, and crying for me. Off I go, to rock and soothe...

Today my one of my big parental fears was realized; my kid was in trouble, and I couldn't help her. Let me explain. We met friends at McDonald's for lunch, and the kids were climbing on the Playland structure like crazed monkeys. Nan was apprehensive about coming down to eat, but my friend's five-year-old son helped to guide her down. We ate, and the kids went back to their play. After 20 minutes or so, I asked Alex to go and guide Nan back down again. He helped her down from the very highest level, but she landed hard on her butt on the descent. This shook her confidence in his helping abilities, so she started to cry for me. From the top of the crazed hamster-maze of the playstructure. There is no way an average adult could squiggle her way up through the tiny spaces, and I particularly couldn't navigate these platforms. It was heartbreaking-- she stuck her fingers through the protective netting, and screamed for me. And all I could do was flail helplessly below her, pleading with her to follow Alex. She just clung harder to the netting and cried like her limbs were being severed. All the other parents looked on with sympathy, but there wasn't anything any adult could do. Finally, finally, a sweet seven-year-old boy offered to go up and help her. He was just big enough so she felt comfortable with him picking her up. He gently lifted her and carried down each level, as she wailed for me. It was the longest ten minutes ever. It seems silly and melodramatic now, but I can't describe the terrible feeling of her needing me, and me not being able to come to her aid. When she finally got down, she clung to me like a monkey. And I was hanging on to her for dear life, too. The whole way home she spoke about "the SCAREDY place". She was eager for her nap, and she slept for a long time. She didn't need me to sit in her room today-- but I needed to sit there for awhile.

It has been a busy week. And Nan and I are slogging through cold# 9,632. We've had a lot of just-the-two-of-us time this week, and I'm amazed by my daughter's ever-increasing vocabulary. And her comprehension. Car rides are particulary enlightening these days. For instance, this week I learned:
1) Dogs eat mustard. All dogs. This is, apparently, their primary source of nutrition according to my daughter. I have no idea where this came from-- she's never willingly eaten mustard, I doubt she could pick it out of a line-up of condiments.
2) She is a princess-girl. As in, "I not a (fill in the blank), I a PRINCESS-GIRL, MOMMY!" (I believe I said, "Okey-dokey, Artichokey", leading to "I not a ARTICHOKEY, MOMMY, I a PRINCESS-GIRL!") This makes me laugh.
3) There is a lot of weeping at pre-school, and it generally isn't her. She always has a tale of woe about some poor child weeping. And it's always told with great drama, complete with gestures and facial expressions.
4) When we get rid of our cats later this week, it's going to be ugly. For various reasons, we've decided to post ads on Petfinder to find the cats new homes, where they will be happier and get more attention, and we will have less cat hair/dander/ cat pee in the hallway. (Jay thinks some of our frequent colds could be allergy related-- I am willing to entertain this idea, especially as it rids our house of my archnemesis, Miles the peeing cat.) However, this decision has coincided with her new love affair with our pets. She spent the whole car ride home from school discussing the fact that Phoebe sometimes meows in the bedroom, and Daddy tells her to hush. We had to reenact this-- sometimes I was Phoebe and she was Daddy, sometimes I was Daddy and she was Phoebe-- and it nearly broke my heart and made me reconsider. Then, I stepped in two separate piles of barf and found cat poop on the bathmat in the space of six minutes. This stiffened my resolve.

We made a special visit to the Children's Museum today. We had Breakfast With the Witches-- it was a special event in honor of Halloween, and it included breakfast as well as a play and a trip through the Museum's Haunted Train. It was awesome. Breakfast was so-so-- the witches aren't very good cooks, I'm afraid-- but Natalie loved the play, and the train was cool. She was completely unaffected by the train until we reached the last car. We walked through cobwebs, past skeletons, and various other scary sights and she didn't even seem to notice them, but something scared her in the last leg of the trip. We couldn't figure out what made that different from every other thing we saw, but it was cool-- she just rode in Jay's arms for the last bit, and she was fine once we were out of there. I'm a little afraid she'll have nightmares tonight, and I'll regret my decision to take the toddler through the Haunted Train, even during the lights-on, friendly hour. We shall see.

I'm sitting in the quiet of Nan's room. She's having trouble falling asleep, so I sit. I sit and I rock and I type. This is a chance for me to study my girl close-up, without her speeding away. She's looking less like a baby and more like a girl every day. There are still traces of baby in her cheeks, and her sturdy legs, still... but she's growing up. And I'm generally okay with that. As long as I can sometimes sneak in and study her. It's hard to give up my baby. But I'm infinitely proud of the girl she's well on the way to become. I'm proud of her kindness, her sense of humor, her sweetness. I'm proud of her stubbornness, even when it's me she's stubbornly fighting. I'm proud of my big girl. She's finally settling into her nap, so I could head back to my desk. But I think I'll sit for a bit longer. For now, I'm welcome in her room. I know the day will come when my presence will be an irritant. But for now... I rock. And I sit. And I study.

I managed to finish my book club book late last night. I am reaffirmed in my choice of Tom Robbins' "Skinny Legs and All"-- it is a truly fantastic book. It's fun, and funny, and full of things that make you think. This is a wonderful quality for a book to possess-- except when
it's 11:45 p.m. and you're ready to sleep. I ended up lying in bed, awake,
for far longer than I wished, thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking. My brain is always busiest in the dark, when it SHOULD be resting. I mentally compose emails, write grocery lists, and extensive to-do lists. People to call, chores to accomplish. My husband lays down at the end of the day, closes his eyes, and sleeps. I am absolutely incapable of this. I think of all the things going on for the next few weeks, and try to plot more fun stuff. Then, I move on to the worries. Money, the potential slow leak in the slab in the master bathroom, money, Natalie's NEVER-ENDING cold, money, the stupid cat who pees in the hallway, money, the apparent oil leak in my car, and, of course, MONEY. I've already started the midnight fretting about our trip to Arizona at Christmas time-- how will Natalie travel? How much will the rental car cost? How much will I have to work while I'm there? Where will Natalie be sleeping there, now that she's outgrown the crib? Yes, I understand it's over TWO MONTHS away, but it's never too soon to fret about it. If I start the fretting now, it's possible I'll come up with solutions to some of the issues. At least that's my theory.

My daughter just brought me her faux fur stole, and the matching faux fur hat, and her feathered fan, and declared it her Pirate Outfit. She put the hat on, asked me to drap the stole (or the pirate scarf) over her shoulders, and waved the fan in front of her, shouting "ARRRRRRRRRR!" as she ran in circles. Toddlers are hilarious. Not sure what kind of pimp-looking pirates she's been seeing, but she's sure she's in proper pirate attire. Oh-- her stick horse has just been added to the ensemble. And fairy wings. Ahoy, matey.

Nan seems to be feeling better. She's a /little/ fragile, especially when she gets tired, but the sneezing is significantly reduced, and the coughing is better, too. I hate it when she's sick; it makes me feel so helpless. I would much rather be sick myself than watch her suffer. It gives me new perspective on my own mom-- she has had to watch me undergo several surgeries, and suffer in ways small and large on a daily basis. I didn't understand how this hurts her until I had my own baby. I can't imagine her hurting as I do, it makes me teary to think of it. I now have a better understanding as to why my parents have both, at different times, brought me "miracle cures", ranging from shark cartilage (eeewwwww... imagine dumping fishy powder into your morning juice-- GAG) to undiluted persimmon juice. They're both hoping to alleviete some of the pain. My dad suggests different strength building exercises, and my mom comes over and quietly does chores that I find difficult to do when Jay's not around. I used to get impatient with them and their well-meaning offerings, but now I accept them with a smile. Hell, I'll even try them. It makes my parents feel better, and it might make me feel better, too.