Life's a beach.

Here are some photos from our long weekend at my parents' beach house. The next batch will be from my mom, so they will be in focus.


Grace had a little energy for a change.


Gabba can always calm her down. Almost always.


A man and his dog at the beach.


"Never turn your back on the ocean, Gracie, okay?"


I think my mom's having fun here.


Max and his humans enjoy a beachy moment.


They love each other, but Max was tired and Brady had a headache.


Tuckered out on the drive home.

The potty training isn't going so well.

Grace isn't very interested in using the potty, but she loves turning over the step stool and pretending it's a cart. I think it's cute she's so creative, giving her doll a ride and all, but at some point the HOURS we've spent watching "Elmo's Potty Time" better start paying off for her, because John and I have the potty thing pretty much nailed.

I want to be ALONE.

I sometimes think Brady looks sad, and I assume she'd like more attention. I'm starting to wonder if all the wrestling we do with her at bedtime just annoys her. She's probably thinking, "Here we go again. My humans need more love. And I never get any treats afterwards."

Being a parent is HARD.

Yesterday Grace asked to take a nap at 11:30 — before lunch and two hours prior to her usual nap time. John and I were all, "Uh, okay sweetie, if you insist." Then she woke up from her nap with a fever and clearly miserable. But what the hell is a fever when there are no other symptoms other than EXTREME crankiness? A dose of ibuprofen seemed to help, but she wanted to be on one of our laps at all times and to know where the other parent was even if we were peeing in the bathroom ten feet away and she could hear the tinkle. So she fussed a bit in the middle of the night (morning, whatever), but ibuprofen quieted her and today she seemed okay for a while.

But then again today she wanted to go "nappy" before lunch, and when she woke up she had a bloody nose. When I say "bloody nose" I don't mean a little trickle; I mean blood POURING out of her left nostril. When I held a tissue up to stop it, she (naturally) thought I wanted her to blow. Ugh. So I did what any forty-year-old mother would do in this situation — I called my mommy. She and my dad got online and gave us the Mayo Clinic's guidelines for how to stop a bloody nose. It worked. Then she got a fever again and was all miserable. More ibuprofen — magic.

I'm still a mess and all I can say is that I'm so happy my parents are around to help in emergencies. THANKS, MOM AND DAD! Also, it's easy to think of something more difficult than being Grace's mom — not being Grace's mom.

The wonders of nature

My mom shared this educational video with me. It's fascinating.

Late night

A couple of months ago I spilled water all over my desk, and it ruined my keyboard. You think, "It's just water, it'll dry." But no, the keyboard was a goner. When I took it back to The Apple Store and mentioned the extended warrantee I'd purchased, Ducky (this was the nice young man who sold me my computer) said, "No problem--UNLESS YOU SPILLED SOMETHING ON IT." At this point, I might have just said, "No, it just stopped working." But I cannot lie, you see. Not unless I have had DAYS to come up with something plausible. So I hung my head and resigned myself to buying a new keyboard. BUT THEY DIDN'T SELL THAT KEYBOARD ANYMORE. They did, however, sell a more expensive version, which I would have been happy to purchase except that it was SILVER and didn't match my white iMac. (Seriously, what were they thinking?) Anyway, because I'm cute in a pathetic sort of way, the manager rummaged around in back and found some reject keyboard like my own and gave it to me — FREE. When I got it home I noticed the space bar was funky, and I discovered someone had popped it in upside down. Once I fixed that I was a happy camper. Lesson learned, right?

Tonight I spilled beer on my desk. I dove for the keyboard first, of course. I think it's okay. Guess how I'm celebrating? With a fresh beer. Cheers.

Over the moon

I don't know that the lunar eclipse (below) had anything to do with it, but Grace and Julian finally succumbed to the chemistry that has been building for years. Notice how his hands gently cradle her head. Really, it was too romantic.


(Photos courtesy of Julian's mom, Justine)

Sunshine!!!

We had a fun walk today, and I finally remembered to bring my camera. This happens so rarely that I took a LOT of pictures — way more than I'll subject you to here.


My nuclear family. Their backsides, anyway.


Those big blue eyes make me forgive her for hitting me today.


Finally got around to having my legs lengthened.


Handsome devil.


Sometimes Brady actually comes when called, and she does it the same way she does everything else — with conviction.


Grace loves the moon, and points it out if it's visible anywhere in the sky, day or night.


We showed her how to put her hands in her pockets. For some reason, this seems terribly mature and I find it hilarious.

D'ya think it has poop on it?

This morning I woke up with a headache (might have something to do with last night's wine consumption), and while I lazed in bed with a cold pack on my eyes, I overheard this conversation between Grace and John:

"What's this?"
"That's your brown shirt."
"Does it have poop on it?"
"I don't think so."
"What's this"
"Those are your white pants."
"D'ya think they have poop on them?"
"No, I don't think so."
"What's this"
"That's your red shirt."
"It's dirty."
"Yeah. That's why it's in the hamper."
"What's this?"
"Those are your pajamas."
"D'ya think they have poop on them?"
"No, they're just dirty."
"What's this?"
"Those are your green shorts."
"Do they have poop on them?"
"Yes. They definitely have poop on them."
"What's Mommy doing?"
"I think she's laughing at us."

Be mine.

Grace got her first Valentine at school Thursday. It was from Nate, a boy she adores. At first I thought he'd singled her out, and I was impressed by his excellent taste, then I realized that EVERYONE got one. Grace didn't seem to mind, but I was annoyed that Nate's mom is so together that she thought to do something so sweet for the kids.

The next day we had a play date with Maxwell and his mom, Deborah. He gave Grace a HAND MADE Valentine, but I have no picture because Grace carelessly left it at their house. It was lovely, and I suspect a bit of Deborah's impeccable taste crept into its design. John and I are ready to seal the deal on Maxwell's and Grace's future marriage, and we're building her dowry. I'm not sure Deborah and Matt are on board yet. Maxwell is quite a catch and probably wants to keep his options open.

That's it, hand over the camera.

Other than caring for and feeding this little cutie, I have done NOTHING today. She's sick again and I woke up with a slamming headache, so we even skipped Music Together, which is a high point of her week. I'm still in my pajamas and haven't showered. While she was napping, I sent a couple of email queries for The Book, which was EXHAUSTING. When I took this picture she was watching her fourth Elmo DVD of the day as a frozen pizza cooked for dinner, and I recalled a time when I worried that John would let her watch too much TV when I wasn't home. That was probably around the same time I intended to make her baby food from organic produce and always feed her "whole foods." Stop laughing.

Are those horns, or is it just me?

Gracie loves her bath, all except for the part where I actually wash her. Then it's like trying to bathe a cat, only louder. I try to get the shampooing and body scrubbing over with first, and every now and then I clip her nails. Then I sit there (soaked) catching my breath and watching her splash all the water out of the tub. But maybe I'm doing it backwards. Maybe if I wait until she's all relaxed and then catch her off guard, she'll be too surprised to fight me. Either way, I love it when she says, "I'm pruny!"

Couch potatoes

Grace woke up screaming around 4:00 this morning. Despite our best efforts, we could not get her back to sleep. As luck would have it, it was my morning to sleep in, so John got the short end of THAT stick. Plus, he spent another weekend being Mr. Mom so I could write. So when he went to walk the dog this morning (I swear I do stuff, too), Grace huddled at the door wailing because Daddy was gone for MORE THAN FIVE MINUTES, and she was stuck with this strange lady she's seen only in passing the last day or so.


A rare (but brief) moment with her thumb out of her mouth.

Monkey see, monkey do

Brady is on the job 24/7, making sure the family is safe and the security of the compound isn't breached. Someone coming to the door is an obvious code red, but she's also on the lookout for subtler threats. For instance, if a human being walks by, particularly with a dog, or -- the ultimate emergency -- a CAT ventures onto our front patio, Brady tears to the long vertical window by the front door, slams into the glass and barks like she's gone mental. Then, if a broader view is needed, she'll jump on the chair in front of the big window and continue her doggie alarm.


Now Grace mimics her, barking and all. I can't decide if this is really clever, or if I should have her evaluated. Either way, if I wanted two dogs barking, I'd have gotten another dog. I got Grace so I'd have someone to cuddle, and, eventually, to do chores.

The body, she ages.

We joined a health club recently. It has everything, including child care. No excuses. I'm going to keep track of how often I go, and amortize the monthly expense of membership, per visit. This will result in public humiliation -- in my opinion, the most effective motivation when it comes to being healthy. Okay, health, shmealth. I just want my tummy to look a bit less like hers. No offense, Gracie. On you, it's fabulous.

Girl stuff

I saw a bumper sticker the other day that looked just like this: boobies.
This reminded me that, having turned 40 last year, I still needed to schedule my first... wait, I'll give you a hint: it starts with an "m" and rhymes with "spammogram". When I made the appointment, the woman asked if I had implants. That made me giggle. I explained that nobody had ever asked me that before, but I don't think she was amused. Anyway, the slammogram was quick and not too bad, but someone might have warned me that the best time to have this delightful procedure is NOT when you are experiencing the joys of PMS.

Back in the plastic bubble, kiddo.

Cough? Check. Fever? Check. Lethargy? Check. Wait a minute -- lethargy? That's when I took her to the doctor, because the only times Grace is still are when she's sleeping or strapped into her high chair, eating. Poor little bug has pneumonia, but she's even tougher than I thought. She spent two days on the couch watching "Elmo's Potty Time" over and over, but after just a couple days on antibiotics, she's demanding to be taken to the park. (It's, like, 40°.)

I've slept on the floor with sick pets, in our barn when my horse was having her first foal and, of course, spent nights taking care of friends who had, uh, overindulged and thought it would be fun to run outside naked. (I'm not judging. More than a few friends have done the same for me.) But sleeping next to Grace Wednesday night to make sure she wasn't having "too much trouble breathing" (doctor's words) was truly terrifying.


Going...


going...


gone.

We've decided to keep her.

For one thing, she's sick, which I imagine reduces her resale value. Also, she's being fun today, probably because John is home and he could make her laugh if her arm were cut off and blood was squirting across the room. (That would be the funny part, get it? He'd be all, "Squirt, squirt!")



Here she is playing peek-a-boo, which still slays her.


And fun in the tub. Who could resist that smile? (I hope she's not laughing because her doll is drowning.)

Shopping is fun!

I don't really view shopping as recreation, at least not since my girlfriend Ella moved to Connecticut and Grace was born. (Yes, I had Grace to fill the void left by my absent friend.) But yesterday John and Matt, Maxwell's dad, took the kids to OMSI, and Maxwell's mom, Deborah, suggested we shop. My first thought was, "Shop for what?" Then I thought, "Freakin' relax, Laurel." So we wandered in and out of shops in a funky area of Mississippi Ave. for hours. I bought stuff that I didn't need, just for the fun of it. Thanks, Deb, for a lovely afternoon. Here are a few of my finds.


I like to wrap presents, and you can never have enough ribbon.


Apparently this little train is dyed with spices, as opposed to lead paint, and the lacquer comes from some sort of insect. I could have done without that last bit of info, but isn't it cute?


I think this hat looks better on Brady than on me. I vow to wear it, though.

This will teach her.

I wasn't going to share this picture, but as punishment for today's toddler atrocities, here it is. During our play date with Jake last weekend, note how Grace tries to EAT the wooden food while Jake cleverly uses the knife to cut things. Guess who's the genius in this pair?

Kid for sale. Cute, a little moody.

Grace is RELENTLESSLY contrary these days. She broke my spirit today. (I thought it was supposed to work the other way around.) With the exception of a thirty minute tumbling class this morning, it seemed that her agenda was to injure herself, torture Brady, hurt me and alarm ANYONE WITHIN EARSHOT. As I listened to her scream while I was in the shower, I thought, "I'm forty and she's two and a half. Why can't I outsmart her?" She's lucky she's cute at least some of the time. But check out the attitude in this photo. Seriously, is this normal?

So I wrote a book.

Today I got my first rejection letter from a literary agent, a woman with whom I could imagine sipping martinis in Manhattan while we discussed my next novel. It SUCKED. I'd post a picture of me crying, but I look really weird when I cry. It's a good book. Really, even my friends and my mom think so.

Two, and already boy crazy. Oy.

Grace has been taking an unusual interest in boys lately. She can name all the kids in her class, but she generally focuses on the boys and this week said to me, out of the blue, "I think Zander is cute." In her defense, he is a looker, but how do I explain to a two year old that looks aren't everything? We also went to her first tumbling class yesterday (which was hilarious), and she quickly zeroed in on the most adorable boy and stood staring at him the way I look at Clive Owen or Viggo Mortensen. Or Jude Law before he shagged his nanny. My point is, isn't this premature?


Today she had a play date with Jake, who has it all. He's cute, sweet and a little genius. He was her first kiss over a year ago (it was all a blur, below). Moms do this thing where they get their opposite sex kids together and try to get a picture of them kissing. I don't think it's just me and my mom friends. Right? So today we couldn't resist trying to recapture the magic. Honestly, I don't think his heart was in it, probably because she didn't want to share her two favorite toys (her shopping cart and Elmo). Or maybe he's just not that into her.

No picture. Almost no words.

I hope I can do this story justice, because it far and away tops the recent Target incident with Grace. One of my friends (let's call her Ms. X for the sake of anonymity) left her 3 year old son at the Playland while grocery shopping. The little boy ("J.") is in the process of potty training, and store policy is that the child must be able to communicate any bathroom needs so the mom can be called to tend to the situation. On this day, Ms. X received no call. When she went to fetch J., however, the Playland attendant informed her that J. had pooped his pants, but the TURD ROLLED OUT OF HIS PANT LEG ONTO THE FLOOR, where she was able to pick it up and dispose of it. Hence, no call. Just a lot of judgement, and, of course, embarrassment and guilt for poor Ms. X.

I will say this: I peed a little when she told me this story, and I have been potty trained for 37 years.

Flora

My mom has a plant that actually blooms this way. Click here, for more beautiful flower pictures she has taken.

Always sunny at Gabba & Gampa's

"How long's it been since someone cut this grass?"


"I can do WAY bigger slides, but this will have to do."

I like dogs

For so long, I've been trying to capture Brady's snout and lips (digitally) in an effort to explain why I force her to let me kiss her, even when she smells REALLY BAD. My mom finally got the perfect shot.


Max, too. He's special. And he's happy to kiss me anytime... (see below)


...as long as I've just applied lip balm, and no matter how greasy my hair is.

Holidays Part Two

(My mom takes better pictures than I do, so I should have waited for hers before I shared our holiday experience.)


Grace loved the tree once it was up, but there is no describing her meltdown while Mom and I tried to purchase it.


"Where have you been all my life?"


"Tastes better than the food Mommy tries to make me eat."


"That's what I'm talkin' about — MORE ELMO!!!"