Chit chat

Hi sweet girl,

You have become quite the chatter box. Most of the time you chatter in a language that we don't understand, but you do have an arsenal of new words at your disposal.

Take "eat" for example. You say eat sometimes, but most of the time you say "bite," as in, "Ava, do you want a bite?"

So you've replaced eat with bite in your vocabulary.

After watching Baby Einstein videos, your knowledge of animals has grown tremendously. These are your latest words:

cow (bow)
mouse (mow, like cow)
butterfly (buh bye)
kitty cat (giggy ga)
doggie (dah-GEE)

There are many more, and I will add them as I remember.

Speaking with your hands

Hi sweet girl,

At long last after my months and months of signing "more" and "eat" and "elephant," you are signing back to me.

You are doing lots of other things like sliding the mirrored closet doors back and forth; feeding me with your fork when you have any food except bananas; you point at my mobile phone and say "bay-bee" because you know there is a picture of you in my phone.

You have also, to my complete amusement, started picking up two paper bags and putting the handles in the inner crook of your elbow and then grab your plastic keys and walk to the front door saying "bye bye." I respond with "Bye bye, I'll miss you, come back soon."

There aren't words to tell you how funny this is.

But I was talking about how you use sign language to talk to me, and went off on a tangent as usual. "Off on a tangent" was a phrase that was invented for your Mommy, you'll find out soon enough.

You sign all kinds of things these days. You often confuse "more" for "eat" and when I ask if you want to eat, you sign more. You do, however, sign more when you want me to read your book again, and again, and again.

The big accomplishment, as I see it, is that I've taught you to sign "help." It took me no less than thirty-three years to ask anyone for help, much less know how to say it in sign language. Asking for help, baby, it's what makes the world go round. Now when you start to get frustrated because you can't do something, I ask you, "Ava, do you want help?" as I sign help. You pause, look up, and pat your chest or tummy with both hands (which is your approximation of the sign I'm using for help).

This is utterly and completely fabulous.

To top that off, last night I taught you to sign "please" when you were getting frustrated and wanted me to read your book again. "Can you say 'please'?" I asked you, while moving my hand in a circle on my breastbone. You looked straight at me and signed "please" right back. Then I had to read your book to you at least five times because you kept signing "please." That's okay, I'm willing to read it a dozen times if you ask nicely, even if you are doing it because I'm reading my own book.

Sign language, this is some miraculous stuff!

I love you sweet girl,
Mommy

Mommy time

Hi my little love,

The one thing it is so easy to forget as a Mommy is to take care of myself. I remember to feed you, change you, entertain you, but forget all about me in the process. I know without a doubt that I can only take care of others well if I take care of myself first, so I have been trying for a little bit each day to take time for me.

I've started writing again, nothing fabulous or meaningful but just my average three pages a day. I started meditating again, just a little bit. Fifteen minutes yesterday; ten minutes today. These are precious little slices of time I am giving to myself. Yesterday morning when I got up, I finished my writing and went downstairs to meditate on the red chair. Your Daddy came down to see what I was doing, you wanted to come down to see what I was doing, when really I was doing nothing. I heard the door shut upstairs and found out later that you and Daddy went for a ride to the store to get breakfast. Daddy figured if he stuck around the house that he'd just want to bug me.

As I said, precious moments of time. I didn't want to drive my behind to yoga, I just wanted a break, in my own home, in my pajamas, to breathe. I've figured out in the last few years that if I want something it usually shows up, just not on my schedule. If I want a break I don't usually get the break right at that moment, I usually get it in the next day or so. I figure this is someone teaching me how to be patient.

Anyway, my hope is that by seeing me take care of myself, you will learn to do the same. Helping others is good, but not if it costs you too much of yourself.

love always,
Mommy

As you wish

Hi little one,

Tonight was one of those nights. One of those rainy, thunder, lightening, dark kinds of nights that I was exhausted by the time I got home. I was driving Maz, your daddy's red truck in heavy traffic across the bay bridge, and after resting half an hour realized I wanted pajamas instead of going out to a movie with my friends.

Your Daddy headed out to meet friends, and I told your Nana that she could go home. Nana was nervous and restless from the lightening and you were full of chaotic nervous energy. After she left we split a grilled cheese sandwich and a yummy pear, I tidied up a bit, put you in pj's and we headed downstairs.

"We need a movie..." I said to you. But what kind of movie do we need? I dismissed the Disney animated movies, dismissed my typical girl choices like "When Harry Met Sally" or "How to Make An American Quilt" and saw it. The right choice:

"The Princess Bride"

See, I adore this movie. I love the danger, the irony, and the fabulous word tango.

"Stop rhyming, I mean it." "Anyone want a peanut?"
"My way is not very sportsman like."
"Death can't stop true love, the most it can do is delay it for a while."
"Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die."
"You were mostly dead all day."
"To the death!" "No, to the pain!"

Of course the part I don't like is that Buttercup is so helpless, that she can't even beat off the ROUS'es in the fire swamp when she's holding a big stick, but I can forgive that part. If I wrote the movie, she'd kick ass too.

The book is even better than the movie, and when your book attention span lasts more than five minutes, I promise I'll read it to you.

My movie had the right affect, it calmed me down, calmed you down, and now you are fast asleep on the floor.

All my love,
Mommy

Nineteen months

Hi sweet girl,

You will be nineteen months tomorrow and I am celebrating by taking off for the weekend with my friend Tracey and leaving you at home with Dah-DEE. This is the best present I could give you, even better than 500 cookies piled on top of 1000 tortillas, because on Sunday when I come home I will be a happy, grateful, new improved Mah-MEE who has missed you and talked about you all weekend.

I wish I could think of all the new things you're doing lately. You have now figured out how to get out of your big girl bed in the morning and then make noise with all the toys on your bedroom floor. You also now get really upset when I take something away, even when that something is a pair of scissors that I left too close to the edge of the table. No matter, I have a secret weapon: distraction. Whenever that bottom lip puckers out and quivers and the wailing begins, I start to play with something, anything, and you look up, wander over, and come play with me. Distraction, it's a powerful tool for my Mom-belt.

Words...you're saying some new words but I don't remember what. You say 'bite" with alarming regularity when I ask you if you want a bite of whatever I'm eating. "Bite!" you respond, although you omit the "b".

You like to (try to) put your own shoes and socks on, and you love untying anyone's shoes that are in close range. You then try to retie them, with no luck. I admire the effort though.

You have become enamored with all the electronic noise making toys that you previously ignored. You love your Baby Tad that plays different songs when you press buttons, but mostly you've discovered that one hand plays a song with words and the other hand plays night-night music. Those tunes have you rocking out hard to "twinkle, twinkle little star" and "oh where, oh where has my little dog gone" and all I can do is sit back and laugh.

Speaking of laughing, the other toy you adore these days is a mini baby tad who sings the ABC song. You like to take mini tad's hands in yours and swing him back and forth. Over and over you press his tummy to play the ABC song while Dah-DEE and I roll our eyes and think, "oh no, not again."

"Oh-no" is one of your new sounds, along with "uh-oh" that you say appropriately when you fall down or something falls from you.

But it's time for me to escape for the weekend. I love you, little one, thank you for nineteen wonderful months.

All my love,
Mah-MEE

Ava's Second Halloween

Last year I didn't dress Ava up in a costume. This year, I was urged (as in Becky saying "you HAVE to!) to dress her up, and so, I chose this...

Happy Halloween, my sweet mermaid!

Under my skin

Dear Ava,

This is what Mommy looked like in the final days when you were camping out in my tummy. I was big and round and gained sixty pounds even though you were only six and a half pounds when you were born.

That's no matter though, because we went to Mom & Baby Yoga and went on lots of walks, and I kept telling myself that it took nine months to get this size and it would likely take nine months for the weight to go away. Now, nearly nineteen months after your birth, all but eight pounds are gone. They're a stubborn eight pounds, settled on my abdomen, where weight has never settled before. Oh well, if eight pounds is what I have, eight pounds it is until I do something about it.

When you were growing inside me I used to sing to you. I sang you lots of songs, but the song I sang nearly every day was Frank Sinatra's "Under My Skin." I couldn't find anything more appropriate to sing you than "I've got you, under my skin; I've got you, deep in the heart of me." Although I didn't know for sure you were a girl, I'd still sing the line "Oh little girl, you never can win, because I've got you, under my skin."

Now I sing you this song when I want you to settle down and rest. Sometimes I sing the song just because it's in my head. When you're older and aren't as easily entertained by lights in the ceiling or unopened tea bags, I'll tell you this story, and wonder if everytime you hear that song when you're out and about in the world, you'll think of me.

Big girl bed

Hi big girl,

There are a few changes happening in our world...perhaps the most interesting to you is we replaced your crib with a big-girl toddler bed!

We also replaced most of your furniture with a bedroom set from Ikea. Your room looks now like a little girl sleeps and plays there, not a baby. You actually slept on your new bed all night last night. I started off laying down beside you, because fortunately Mah-MEE is short and fits on the bed, and your eyes plummeted, opened, plummeted, opened, and ker-plunk. You were out. I wandered back to my own big-girl bed and we all slept peacefully.

This morning I heard you cry on waking around 7, I peeked my head in and said "Good morning! Come out here when you're ready!" You were curious, there were no bars on your bed restraining you, and about five minutes later you toddled on out into the kitchen.

Your Dah-DEE and I are both wondering how the new bed will go. We both sense you're ready for a trifle more freedom and think this bed is a step in the right direction.

For now, you're in your bed fast asleep, but you were delivered that way from your Nana in your carseat an hour ago. We'll see how tonight goes, because me of all people know that I can't predict tonight based on last night when I'm living with a toddler.

I love you, my big girl.
Mah-MEE

Five days with Grandma Bear

Dear little one who is getting bigger by the second,

We just got home on Tuesday after five days with Grandma Bear. You still don't say Grandma Bear, although I would swear in court on a Bible that you've said bear before, you just don't say it anymore. You do, however, point in the right direction when I ask, "Where is Grandma Bear?"


This, of course, delights Grandma Bear totally and completely, even better than if she won the Colorado Lottery. Maybe.
We had a great time. You spent hours climbing up and down the stairs. You would sneak over to the stairs, thinking we weren't watching you, but come on, with not just one trained mom, but two the odds of you doing anything we didn't know about were near impossible. When you got to about the fourth step, you would sit down and pause, while either Grandma Bear or I would go over to you (depending on whose turn it was) and you would giggle like something hilarious just happened.

Climbing up you do the normal baby way, like a crawl, but up stairs. Your climbing down procedure varied between coming down one step at a time on your bottom, or sliding down on your tummy. Both are equally amusing.

You liked Grandma Bear's cat, Kiwi (who I have nicknamed Feisty Kitty), but Kiwi wanted nothing to do with you. We were grateful for that, because I don't call that petite calico Feisty Kitty for no reason.

October 2004, Ava at 6 months

You got to see people out there who remembered you from our last visit a year ago, who marveled at the walking baby that had replaced the one who I previously carried about in the infant carrier. A couple were salivating over you, not because they wanted a baby, but because they wanted a grandbaby.

You also loved the digital camera, and wanted to see the "baby" every time someone, anyone took a picture of you.

You also had a great time "driving" the boat as we took pictures to send to Dah-DEE. Obviously in this shot you are looking to make sure there are no other boats in the way before you merge left.

Grandma Bear took good care of us. Going to visit her is like a vacation from a vacation. Mah-MEE's mobile phone with mobile email doesn't work high up in the mountains of Colorado (probably one of the last places on earth it doesn't) so Mah-MEE really gets to relax. Every morning Grandma Bear asks "what should we have for dinner?" and lists all of the meat in her well stocked freezer. I missed her for that when I got home and had to ask myself that question. I missed her for a lot more than that also.

Your Grandma Bear, she's great. Her heart is big and full of love for us. Someday I'll tell you the story of how I named her Grandma Bear, but not today.

I love you Ava,
And we all love you, Grandma Bear.

At the airport

We are waiting for our flight and I have just taught Ava what an airplane is.

Every 5 min I ask her, Ava where is the airplane?

It's my inside joke, like when we went to see March of the Penguins and I asked her "where is the penguin?"

The perfect response

Hi honey,

If there is one question I could teach you as the catch-all phrase when someone asks you a question you don't want to answer, it would be...

Why do you want to know?

I learned this response late in life. I wish I'd known it early on, because people are always asking for all kinds of information and often I answer, only wish I had the forethought to respond with ... Why do you want to know?

This question stops most people dead in their tracks because they don't have a good reason for wanting to know, sure, they may be curious, but really it's none of their business.

I've never been one for a snappy, mildly sarcastic response to a situation. Like Meg Ryan's character in "You've Got Mail," I tend to wish I had a snappy response, but never do, and fret about it for days after the event.

I wish I carried "Why do you want to know?" around in my back pocket, like a wooden stake against verbal vampires, but I don't.

Maybe though, in teaching you to ask that question, I can learn to say it more often too.

love,
Mom

Fledgling artiste

The World of Crayola

Today, my love, I introduced you to my giant box of Crayola Crayons with the sharpener built into the back.

You are reaching the point where you would rather make your mark than eat the wax, so I knew it was time.

At first, I only handed you a couple crayons, but you pointed at the yellow box on the table with a force that proved only that you are not telekinetic. Too bad, that could come in handy. Anyway, I put the whole box on the floor, and the first thing you did was to push the crayons in your hand back into the box. Not in the right spots, of course, meaning an open spot, because the colors are not in any sort of order. I believe I once even dumped out the whole box in front of your cousin Destiny to her utter amazement. So by "right" spot, I only mean one that was capable of readily accepting a crayon. That didn't matter, of course, and you shut the lid anyway.

Now, I have put the crayons away and the Powerpuff Girls coloring book, which I have no intention of explaining why I own, and you are peacefully napping. We all had a rough night last night, with your first case of the stomach flu and how your Dah-DEE and I got to see the food we put in you for dinner (banana and blueberries, because you were sick) once again, all over the couch.

But I digress.

I was pondering the crayons as I lay on the bed resting with you to my left, unagi curled into the crook behind my knees. Once upon a time Crayola used to have a color called "flesh" which they have renamed to "peach" under the guise of political correctness. I took out "peach" just a minute ago, made a mark on white paper, and compared it to my own skin. Not a match.

I then took out a color called "tan" and one called "tumbleweed" and my favorite name, "burnt sienna." I don't know what a sienna is nor how you burn one, but I remember this name from my childhood. I made marks with these on the white paper and observed how I don't really look like any of them.

I'm a bit less pink than peach, and not as orange as tan. Tumbleweed is a bit too errant, although I do like traveling.

If I held these same colors up to you, I wonder where you would fit?

See, the thing is, that you and I, as you'll figure out at some point probably in elementary school, are not the same color. People who don't look too closely think you're the same color as your Dah-DEE, but as your Uncle Anthony said, she's not as dark as his brother (Dah-DEE). And not as light as me, I added.

You are somewhere in between his tan to burnt sienna and my peach to cafe au lait. Speaking of cafe au lait, that would make a darn good Crayola color.

This used to bug me, that we weren't the same color. I kept searching for some bit of you that looked like me, something beyond the obvious because the obvious is skin color. I had to give that up, over and over. Even when I was in Mexico for a week, getting tan, I came home and you had been out in the central California sun, getting more tan. You will always beat me at tanning contests, you turn a rich burnt sienna even with SPF 45 in about ten minutes of sun exposure.

As you grow older though, the resemblance peeks through. In the bridge of your nose and around your eyes, I can see me. Your girl parts, you definitely got those from me. You wrinkle the bridge of your nose when you laugh, like me.

I wonder what check box to mark when I have to specify what nationality you are. Your heritage is a cornucopia of European from me - Irish, Swedish, French Basque, Norwegian; but also German, American Indian, and Mexican from your Dah-DEE.

You are a mix, a blend, a harmony of nationalities mixed to remarkable perfection. You aren't a check box on a form, but then, who is?

The truth is, in a black and white photo, we are all shades of gray, and even to Crayola, gray is still gray.

Eighteen months and going strong

Hi Sweet Girl,

You are officially eighteen months or one year and a half old. As always, I have a hard time you've been hanging out with me for that long.

When I want to know if you're hungry, I say "Ava eat?" and you say "Eeet!"

You get mad a little easier than you used to, especially if I take something from you, like your toothbrush, even if you are all done brushing your teeth. You aren't so bad at brushing them, I must say, which is quite impressive at 18 months. You really hate it when I brush them, so we gave up and handed you the brush. The first few days you chewed more than brushed, but after watching us brush every day, twice a day, you're figuring it out.

You win my heart over every time you hand me a book, then turn around and sit in the middle of my crossed legs.

You pick up a new word each day, sometimes a couple a day. The new word du jour was blueberry, which sounded like boo-bear. The other words we've noticed are:
You are speaking new words like crazy. Every moment you pick up something new that we say. Here are the words we've noticed so far:
tortilla (tohr-TEEEEE-yah)
unagi (oooo-nah-gee)
hola (oh-la)
mommy (mah-MEE)
daddy (dah-DEE)
nana (nah-nah)
papa (papa, but in a whisper)
bear (bay-er)
dog (dah)
duck (duh)
eat (eeeet)

Despite all of my efforts to teach you sign language, the only sign I notice is "all done" which is an action made with both hands like twisting open a door knob. When I say "more" and make the sign, you pick up your dish and wave it at me, or point. I get it, more.

You can identify your nose, my nose, your head, cheek, feet, and tummy. Someday when I ask "where's Ava's chicken?" you'll giggle and point at your ribs because you know that's where you're going to be tickled.

Tonight you're not feeling so well. You've got a fever and even threw up for the first time in forever. As I say when we're sick, you get to eat what you want, and what you wanted was a banana. And then boo-bears.

You are becoming a bit less mommy dependent, especially at My Gym. This week when you saw where we were, you ran off, leaving me to eat your smoke. Okay, maybe you didn't run, but you sure didn't spend much time looking for me. You did spend time watching Jack swing on the uneven bars and put your hands up on the bar to try his amazing stunt. You didn't quite get that he was hanging by his hands and that allowed him to take his feet off the ground, but you gave it your best shot by standing on your toes.

I'm a Mom. I don't have a plaque or a sign that says so, but with as much as I talk about you, I don't need one; everyone already knows.

What else does everyone know? That you are a beautiful, easy, wonderful little girl, and everyone loves you.

Especially me.

Dancing With Fear

Hi my little love,

After a few days of being mostly in the present moment, I got attacked by the past and the future, all at once. I don't mean literally, although I did throw water at someone in a burst of anger and tell them in a very loud voice to get the heck out of my house. No, I was attacked by the voices in my head, and subesequently attacked others around me directly, but mostly passive-aggressively.

That's what happens, when you get older, and fear gets in the way. That's what happens to me.

People handle fear differently. Some people let it immoblize them; some people take it out in anger; others take it out in sadness. Some eat to hide fear; some drink or take drugs. People do all kinds of crazy things to avoid fear.

But me, I do a few things to avoid fear. Lately, as you know, I've cleaned out all the clutter from the major storage spaces inside the house (except the garage). Then I waited impatiently for the miracle to arrive after all this clearing.

The miracle did not come as expected - the brand new space I opened up also opened up Pandora's box of fear because too much was possible!

I've been a disaster to live with the last couple days, but your Dah-DEE in his infinite love and wisdom, figured out that I need something else - something is missing in my life. He's right - I'm missing something for me. I'm missing something that makes me want to jump out of bed in the morning and run into the day.

What was holding me back? Fear.

What am I afraid of? That is the million dollar question ending in a preposition. I am afraid that I'll fail, sure, I'm also afraid I'll succeed. What IF I start a new company and it costs me all of my savings. What IF I fail miserably. What IF I am so successful that I no longer have time for you because I'm so busy with work? What IF in building this, I lose you or Dah-DEE?

Those What If's, they trap me in a box every time.

Your Dah-DEE, of course, would prefer I jump and see if I can fly. Heck, if I can't fly, he'll put a trampoline under me at the bottom of the cliff so I can bounce back up. No, he IS the trampoline.

All your Dah-DEE asks is to be his partner and to come home and not be a righteous B all the time.

Get rid of your safety net, he told me in different words. Quit your job that has become your direct deposit safety net. I will be your safety net.

There is no question why I love him; why he is the perfect partner for me.

But back to fear. I am reading a book on starting a small business so I can partner with my friend (TBN, since this is the all knowing, all searchable Internet) to create something wildly successful. Maybe I need to define what successful is to me so I know it when it knocks on my door in a fairy costume.

Successful is...
> Having time to read you books as you sit in my lap.
> Receiving your love, in spontaneous hugs and open mouth kisses (later they can be closed mouth kisses too)
> Taking vacations to new to me places
> Working in a way that gives me more energy
> Having time for myself, for Dah-DEE, for you and for work
> Making money without directly working; having money coming in whether I physically do work or not

And better, more wonderful things that aren't in the above list.

It's a dance, you see, with fear. It's hard to dance and be afraid at the same time; sooner or later the brain has to disengage to dance well. The brain has no place in dancing.

Fear can be a wonderful motivator, if it doesn't put me in a box and sit on the lid so I can't escape.

But now, in writing to you, I am getting out of that box and I'm going to keep reading the Small Business startup book and take the next step.

I love you, little one, may you learn how to dance with fear before age 36.
Mah-MEE

Blueberry Happy Jacks

Welcome Home, Stinky Dink!

This morning Mamama invented yet another new recipe...this one a mod on the traditional pancake that we're calling Blueberry Happy Jacks

Blueberry Happy Jacks
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
2 tsp ground flax seed
1 beaten egg
1 Tbsp molasses
1 cup milk
2 Tbsp cooking oil
remaining frozen blueberries (1/2 cup would be good)

In whatever container you usually use for mixing pancakes, mix all the dry stuff together (including ground flax seed). In a separate container, beat the egg, then add the molasses, milk, and oil; mix these well. Then put the wet stuff into the dry stuff and stir until mixed but a bit lumpy.

Take frozen blueberries and rinse until they are mostly thawed, or thawed enough. Put these in the batter, stir once, but if you stir more than once, you'll have blue blueberry happy jacks which are fine, but not everyone likes their food blue.

I made silver dollar sized Happy Jacks by using a Tablespoon to scoop batter onto the hot frying pan. Size as you prefer.

Feed small child as you go, because otherwise you'll end up with grumpy small child who smells food but wonders why she can't have any. I spooned Yo Baby blueberry yogurt on top of hers, and then mine, because the combo was quite tasty. Eat with fork, or hands, as you prefer.

Ava, you out ate Mamama when it came to Happy Jacks. You ate seven to my five!

It's good to have you home, even if the house is completely impossible to keep clean for more than five minutes.

I love you,
Mamama

Making room for change

Dear Stinky Dink,

Yesterday you left at 5:30AM with your Daddy to Tennessee for a few days. I spent the whole day organizing and de-cluttering, specifically your bedroom. I finally got around to removing all of my things from your bedroom, including what amounted to six boxes of books and random things that were hiding in a storage cabinet. I labeled paper bags with "throw away," "give away," "recycle," and "belongs somewhere else" and filled them to the brim. There are many other parts of the house to work on, but your room feels good. Clean. Organized.

I get this way periodically. “This way” is that I want to rummage through closets, cupboards, cluttered spaces and let go of all the things I once needed or thought I should keep because someone gave them to me. Sometimes I feel guilty letting things go that others gave me, even if they don't feel right anymore, or maybe never did.

In Feng Shui, we're encouraged to let go of anything that doesn't bring us up, or make us feel good by looking at it. There are Feng Shui cures we can do to improve less than optimal spaces or locations of rooms (such as my last flat which had a toilet in the money corner and I literally flushed money away while I lived there!), but what comes first always is letting go of clutter.

Your Daddy and I tackle the garage periodically, rearranging and removing, and then it gets filled back up again with things he finds in houses he sells and things we no longer want in the living spaces of the house. Then we clean it out, then we fill it back up. I must say though, that things are never static in this house. Change lives here.

I like change though. Change is the nature of the universe. The turkey vulture that flies overhead represents change. Often they represent the death of an animal they can call lunch, but death is change as well. Change is the death of something, death of an old way of doing things for a new way.

For a while now I've been living in a place of fear, feeling trapped by circumstances and situations. This has begun to shift, I can feel the lightness, the hope, the transition from fear to trust. I have been working in a place that doesn't really suit me, but I have been afraid to make a change, afraid to take a leap without a place to land.

I also started reading a new book, recommended by a friend, called The Power of Now. What the author says isn't brand new, but he writes in a way that appeals to me now. He writes about how the mind is constant chatter, mostly living in the past or projecting scenes onto the future. Neither are me, my true self, he writes. One suggestion he makes is to observe the one in my head doing all the thinking but not think about the thinking. Just observe the words as they pass on through.

I've done this in meditation and in yoga, but it's funny, I've never tried to watch the thinking, I've only tried to stop the thinking. He is reminding me that I am not these thoughts. I am infinite, beyond the judgments and fears in my head.

Reading this, I've felt more peaceful in the last few days. Problems that could have been huge turned out to be small, easily resolved. When my mind gets anxious, noisy, and afraid, I smile, tell it to relax, or even just a humorous library Shush! works well.

Then, of course, but not of course, because I'm not in that place of fear, a friend called me out of the blue and has a possible new job for me. This job feels like what's next - the what's next I've been wondering about for a while. My friends would say things like this always happen to me, and I would say that they do, as long as I'm not paying too much attention.

If I could teach you anything, little one, I would teach you how to quiet the chatter in your head. I would teach you about that calm place that lives inside you, a place of total love and total trust. But right now, you're seventeen months old, and you pretty much live in that place already.

Hopefully by the time the chatter finds you, you will have the tools to tell it to Shush! as you have more important things to do than listen.

I love you, Ava Jasmine. Come home soon.
Mamama

Tales of peace, books, dancing, and artichokes

Dear Ava,

Five minutes ago I got up from the couch and put you to bed. I took a while to get up because I was quite comfortably sandwiched between you on my right and Dadada on my left. He was beginning to snore on one side and you on the other. I looked from one peaceful sleeping face to the other, and I didn't just feel what peace looked like, I saw, I knew, intimately, what peace is.

You are such a joy to come home to after working all day. As soon as you hear my voice you start to make noise. You know it's me. When you first see me walk into the room you get a big many-toothed grin across your face and literally jump from the arms that were holding you into mine.

It's a privilege, to be loved so much by you, and to know that I am, right at this moment, your number one.

Aside from that, a couple things you do lately amuse me to no end. I gave you a small purple beaded purse and you've started carrying it around. At first just in your hand, but after a day you started putting it over your shoulder and walking around with it. Your Dadada wanted to put a dollar in your purse but I asked him not to, I didn't want you eating it.

You have also become a bibliophile in the last week. Anytime you are near a book, especially one of yours, you pick it up and hand it to the nearest person to read it to you. Yesterday you handed me "Blue Hat, Green Hat" as I was sitting cross-legged on the floor. I asked you if you were going to sit with me. You turned around and sat in my lap!

Since I've been home, we've read that book again, plus "Goodnight Gorilla," "Goodnight Moon," and "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See." I heard you made your Nana read you "Rainbow Fish" at least four times today.

You are still dancing to every bit of music that plays, whether the tune is a commercial, a CD, or part of a movie. You'll find any excuse to shake that bootie. Today I taught you a new dancing trick, to wave your hands in the air as you swing those hips of yours.

I have also taught you to love artichokes, and the proper method of eating artichoke leaves. You scrape off the edge with your teeth and then sometimes hand it back to me and other times put the whole thing in your mouth. In time, I expect you'll figure out the heart is the best part and I only give you part of it.

Now it's time for Mamama to go to bed. Sweet dreams, my little love.

Bilingual at 17 months

This morning as I was changing your diaper, you distinctly said o-lah! Hola? I questioned. OLAH!!! You replied. Hola! I said. Olah! you replied.

Then to mix things up a bit, I said Hi!
Hi! you replied, omitting the h, so it sounded more like "eye!"

Now though, you are wandering around the living room saying OLAH!

Then to top it off, you walked up, handed me two plastic baby hangers as if i was going to do something wonderful with them. I banged them together rapidly with a big grin on my face and handed them back to you. You nodded, very good Mom, and walked away, banging the hangers together.

Seventeen months

Hi sweet girl,

Last weekend you went on your first ever camping trip up to Silver Lake. You ingested so much dirt that I believe any mineral deficit you may have had has completely disappeared.

You loved the dirt. You scooped up shovels full and dumped it into a bucket. You picked up handfuls and then emptied the dirt into my hand, as if to say, this is great stuff, Mom, you need some too.

I just laughed and said, "Dirt, Ava just handed me dirt."

I kept you in the same overalls all weekend, exchanging them only for pajamas at bedtime. We took Broham, our faithful 19-foot 1978 Dodge RV and shared a campsite with my brother and his family.

On Sunday a tribe of us went for a hike along beautiful water-worn granite with running water passing through. You were elated bouncing along in the backpack on Dadada's back until we got to a good stopping point and he put your feet in the water. You weren't sure about that cold water at first, but then later you strained against my arms to get more of it.

You got to see your Grandma Bear, your Great Grandpa Jerry, and a selection of other family members who all decided you were adorable. Such a great baby! So mellow! And you are, as good as they come for a 17 month old little girl.

Speaking of 17 months, you just had your 17 month birthday on Monday. Seventeen months already and you're doing all kinds of things these days.

Yesterday, you started saying Mommy. I wasn't really sure I was the Mommy type, but the decision is in your hands, so Mommy it is. You say all kinds of things, although you don't call the cats "kitty" you do seem to call Unagi somthing that sounds like "aaahhhgeeee" which is close enough for horseshoes.

You walk all over the place now, and even walk away from me in public places. You're pretty good at minding me though, when I ask you to stay inside or stay close. I appreciate this, believe me!

You can find your head and your nose, reliably, although my best efforts have not helped you find your ears or tummy. You are fascinated with your belly button, and the other morning I told you as you were poking your finger in it that in that exact spot you were connected to me. Your Dadada interjected by saying "And I cut you loose!"

Speaking of Dadada, the game he has taught you lately is that he'll honk when you squeeze his nose and beep when you squeeze your own. I didn't know about this game and wondered why you were giving me such a curious look when you squeezed my nose, nor why you were squeezing it in the first place.

Yesterday in the car, we had a whole conversation of whispered da's. I was on the phone, waiting for someone, and you said dadada in a whisper. I responded with a whispered da-da. We continued the da rally for about two minutes, lobbing and volleying one, two, or three da's back and forth.

All things considered, my little love, I wouldn't trade you for anything.

I love you,
Mamama
aka Mommy