well...

'can we go to the beach, mom?'

'no, vi. it's night time.'

'well...it isn't windy!'

'can i have a cupcake?'

'i don't have any cupcakes.'

'well... i will just have a little one, then.'

'can i have a drink of your tea, mom?'

'just one, vi, it is almost bed time.'

'well...i will have only 2 then.'

and so on...this is my day.

beach bum.

Violet was a dyed-in-the-wool Alaskan girl. She was born in mid-April, and it snowed on the way home from the hospital.

She traipsed in furry boots and ski coats and toques. She threw her first snowball before she was 2, she has hiked the Chugach Mountains and petted Iditarod sled dogs. She seemed impervious to cold, lamenting a jacket if the weather was above 60.

I wondered how she would do in the sweltering heat of Florida.

But as I look at her in jean cut-offs and a tank top, ridiculously golden brown, I think I had nothing to worry about.

She refuses shoes unless absolutely necessary; when she does wear them, they are flip-flops, in which she can run like the wind. She smells of sunscreen and sand and little girl sweat, of playgrounds and beaches and sunny, happy days.

She initially shied away from the ocean, but now wishes with all her heart to be a mermaid. She and her father will spend hours wading and floating; he is so patient with her as he gently teaches her to swim in the lovely Gulf. She digs holes for crabs and builds sand castles and fills up her watering can and waters the beach. She searches for stones and shells and whatever treasures the ocean brings her.

If allowed, she would spend every day, all day frolicking along the sugar beaches of this place.

My girl, she is a beach bum.

Violet, sunny self portrait

4 month post, oh, hey, look, it is late AGAIN

I do love you, CJ, really. But the thing you have to learn about your mother is that she is a bit of a procrastinator when it comes to things that aren't staring her in the face. Like her blog.

You had your well-baby visit today. You are 25 inches long and 13 lbs, 11 oz. Which is about what your sister weighed at this age, but she had a couple of inches on you. I am afraid, darling, that you are going to be looking up to her for awhile.

You doctor was amazed at your muscle strength. You hold your head with nary a wiggle, you try to pull yourself up to sit. You scoot stupendously for a babe your age, and have quite the grip, my dear.

And you are still my bubbly girl. You already babble more than Vi did at 6 months, and you don't care if anyone is listening to you. But if they ARE, you reward them with your huge, open mouth grin. And if they get close enough to you, your growl slightly and attack their face with drooly, mouth-wide-open kisses.

As long as you are fed, you are content. You will hang out on a blanket on the floor, watching your sister or trying to roll over to your toy placed strategically juuuuust out of your reach. Or I will hold you up on your feet so you can dance, and you laugh and laugh and laugh.

We started feeding you brown rice cereal. It is a little early, yes, but it helps you will this slightly (very) gross spitting-up habit you have. Mama got tired of changing your clothes 6 times a day. You love LOVE the cereal. You chase the spoon, you laugh and wave and giggle, and get cereal from your ears to your toes. Sometimes (most times) I end up finding dried cereal in some nook about an hour later.

All in all, we find something new to love about you every day, whether it is your zombie tendencies or the faces you make to make Violet laugh. You are the ray of sunshine in our lives.

You have only been around 17 weeks or so, but we can't imagine life without you.

blerg is all i can manage.

spent the week volunteering at a junior camp.

my feet look like they have leporsy from the bug bites.

my legs and back and neck ache.

i have an odd farmer's tan.

cj came back with a bug, and has only recently stopped puking.

violet was a camper.

i had no idea a child could be so filthy.

she was the youngest by 4 years.

she joined in nearly everything and had a blast.

I forgot how much i love to go to camp.

I am really psyched i went.

but i am now really psyched to be back in the land of air conditioning and street lamps and target.

and did i mention air conditioning?

Princess Face.

So.

Yeah. This weight loss thing. Still kicking my butt.

I know the blame belongs solely to me, and if I really wanted it bad enough, I would do it. I just haven't found the motivation. But I think I am making strides.

See, I had a reward program set up according to percentage of weight lost. But I keep justifying things. Like, if I don't exercise, maybe I'll just eat less later. But I don't, see. I just eat what I would anyways. Dumb, I know. But that is me.

So my new rewards program is according days worked out. Every day I go for a jog, I earn one day towards my prize. They won't be consecutive, but I am aiming for 3-5 times a week. 30 days gets me a new haircut (concave bob!); 60 is my second lobe piercing; 90 is for my conch piercing (a silver ball nestled into the bowl part of your ear.)

I am hoping this will help. Because it really doesn't have to do with my weight. Obviously, the weight will come off with exercise; but I mainly want health. I want to be 50 without diabetes and arthritis. Heck, I want to be 30 without those things. I want to be active for my kids, and when they (finally :) ) move out in 18 years, I want to enjoy my time with Jason. So I need to take steps now.

so, I guess we will see what happens in 30 jogging days.

compassion.

I used to work for Children's Services. I was merely a clerk, but the unit I worked for saw every case that came through the department. I loved the people I worked with; we were a tight group of 6, and really believed in what we were doing.

The problem was that I had to see details of every horrible thing that came along. I was the assistant for 4 wonderful people that facilitated meetings that decided what direction the cases would take. We didn't make the decisions, just acted as mediators for the people involved in the case. Some wonderful things would happen: parents would clean up their act and, with the help of truly amazing community helpers, were reunited with their kids.

But sometimes, really awful things would happen to kids. We would have to hold emergency meetings to find places for kids who had been removed from horrific situations, find resources for these completely innocent kids who had been subjected tot he worst kinds of abuse. And, though we did a lot of good, I had to leave the unit. When a bad case would come through, I would be affected for days, weeks, not able to get them off my mind.

Today, 2 and a half years later, I stumbled across a story of a girl who was horrifically, ridiculously abused. I couldn't breathe. I turned off the computer, and tried to occupy my mind. Violet and CJ are at my mom's for a couple of days, I couldn't hold them and ease my soul, so I tried reading, watching TV, taking a bath with a new magazine. But I couldn't let it go.

So I went back to the story. I read it all the way through; the abuse was bad, some of the worst I have ever seen. But at the end, I read that the 'parents' are in jail, and will stay there. And though it may make me a bad person, I have to admit, I enjoyed reading that they have had to have transfers because they were getting it as bad as they gave.

But the best part, the part that has balmed my soul, was the people commenting. People as outraged as I am. People petitioning for proper burial for this poor baby who was tortured so. People making sure the 'parents' stay in jail for a long time.

I know that there are more good people than bad. I know that this world may have some hideous people in it, but that they are outnumbered by people willing to sacrifice and work to make sure that children don't have to grow up in a place where they cannot find happiness.

Thank you, general public. Thank you, good citizens, for doing what you can. For being outraged at bad behavior. For reminding me that for every bad person out there, there are hundreds of good people to make the world right. For proving that compassion is not dead, and we are not a culture of people immune to the suffering of others.