One year and five pounds later

    

(Above left: Ocean Point, Maine, July 2009. Above right: Schoodic Point, Maine, July 2008).

What a difference a year makes, huh? We just got back from another great trip to Maine -- this time to picturesque Boothbay Harbor -- and looking through the photos reminded me just how much Hope HAS grown. The picture on the right was taken last July when Hope had just hit the 8 pound mark. We're now hovering at 13 pounds. Yes, she's wearing the same pink hat in both pictures but it actually sort of fit her this year (aside from the pesky chin strap)!

I hope everyone is having a relaxing, fun summer. Ours has been a little frenetic but things should slow down now. We had a groovy time in Maine --  whale-watching, eating tons of seafood, shopping and playing on the rocks. I'm not sure Hope was exactly impressed with the scenery. Her favorite part of the trip was cruising around the coffee table in the living room (more about that another time).

On the home front, Hope has four teeth now -- two bottom teeth, a molar, and one front tooth -- and seems to be cutting her other front tooth because she's been a big crab apple most of the week. The only thing that seems to make her happy is her toothbrush. She's also cruising a ton and is just starting to shift from one piece of furniture to another or whatever is close by. She was fitted for ankle orthotics yesterday to give her a little more support with walking which we should get in a couple weeks.

Happy Wednesday!

Summer fun

Ahhhhh, summer.

We're only a month in and I'm EXHAUSTED. From chaperoning a girls camp for a week up in northern Michigan to spending some time with Hope and my parents on Higgins Lake, I feel like I've been on the go nonstop since the school year wrapped up. And I have. But there are certainly worse things. I'm really lucky I've gotten to do so much.

My first big foray of the summer was a week at Girls Rule Our World (GROW) camp at Chalfonte House in Elk Rapids, Michigan. Joel briefly wrote about Chalfonte in January but it's an incredibly special retreat house that a family friend started years ago. It holds a special place in my heart and it's where I've gone every March since I was 19 to spend a weekend away with some amazing women to bond, reflect, eat and shop for Women's Weekend. Anyhow, about three years ago, the family friend who started Chalfonte (it's his beautiful Victorian house), Jimeyer, asked if I'd like to be involved in GROW, a retreat for teenage girls. The idea was to give girls who may have medical issues, emotional problems, unstable family situations, or just need a break from home a week to away to experience new things and thus, grow. I agreed and it was such an incredible (and exhausting) experience that first year I've been back twice more as staff. It's a ton of work but by the end of the week you really feel like you've given these girls an experience that will last a lifetime.

This year was no different. We swam like fish, hung out at the beach, went to Sleeping Bear Dunes, camped out in the woods one night, got beautiful portraits done by an incredibly a local artist, made tie-dye shirts, and went tubing. I was the main staff person so it was my job to coordinate all activities, meals, etc. for the girls.

The good news is I was so busy cooking meals and moving from one activity to another that I didn't have a lot of time to dwell on Hope and the fact that I was away from her for SEVEN DAYS. I missed her but I knew she was in good hands with my mother-in-law, Anita, and Joel and that they were having a good time. The other good news is we had a fulfilling, unforgettable week and I really believe a lot of the girls experienced things they'll treasure for the rest of their lives. Some left crying, asking if they would be invited back next year.  

Now, the bad news: After dropping off the last of the girls -- I also drove the girls around all week, along with another staffer, in a van the size of Toledo -- I couldn't wait to get home. I kept envisioning Hope's smile and couldn't wait to feel her little hands on my cheeks.

So much for visions. As soon as Hope saw me, she didn't smile. I don't know if I was too loud or what -- she did have her hearing aids on which we've been kind of lax about this summer for various reasons -- or she wasn't feeling well but she stiffened up when I held her for the first time and even cried a little bit. I thought I handled it pretty well. I calmed her down and gave her back to Joel. I waited until she went to bed and then I cried.

Things are fine now but I honestly wonder if she was mad at me. Does that happen? What do you all think?

Anyhow, sorry for the long, rambling blog post. I hope everyone is having a great summer. We're off to Maine next week to hang out with the Kurths & Konniks in Boothbay Harbor. We can't wait!

In the meantime, Hope continues to dazzle us with her cruising -- she's now turning corners. She's still nowhere near being able to pull herself to a stand but this kid is ready to move. She's also obsessed with her toothbrush and about to cut her fourth tooth. She got a molar out of the blue in late June. I knew kids with CdLS could cut teeth in an unusual pattern and I guess Hope fits the pattern. So now she has her two bottom teeth and a big molar on the left. It's kinda funny.

Happy summer!

Beach beauties

Mo and Hopesy just returned from a week of beach-combing, ice-cream eating, blink-and-you-miss-it-parade watching and copious card-playing Up North. They let me come for a few days over Independence Day, and then said: "Beat it, punk." 

Those two are becoming regular cottagers. Next week, it's off to the coast of Maine for a week. Last I checked, I get to come as well.

Surviving without Mo

Mo went off to do good deeds last week, leaving her only daughter and only known husband to fend for themselves. We looked in the fridge, saw three slices of hard salami, two packages of Arby's Sauce and a six-pack of forlorn, long-neglected, non-alcoholic beer. We wept.

We looked a Lulu, sized up who would win in a starvation match and surrendered. We called Grandma in for reinforcements. She arrived from Maine just in time. Hope was wearing Scrabble tiles for diapers and bottle caps for hearing aids. In two days, I lost 45 pounds, grew a beard and began delightful conversations with a volleyball I called Wilson. 

Things are tough around here without Mo. 

Actually, her semi-annual, volunteer trip as a camp counselor in Elk Rapids -- I'm sure she's champing at the bit to dish details -- was planned months ago, as was my mother's visit.

Her timing was great. The weather was terrific, the Detroit scandals are in full flower and Hope was in mighty fine spirits. She's doing so much so quickly these days, it's hard to keep score.

Suddenly, our cuddly lap pal needs to move. A few weeks ago, she began to cruise, and now there's no stopping her. She has several hobbies, including a nifty game my mother taught her called "Librarian" that involves scampering from one side of a bookshelf to another and knocking off all the titles except one, David Simon's excellent "The Corner: A Year in the Life of an Inner-City Neighborhood." 

She stops and flips all the pages, either fascinated by the gritty tale of urban decline or the book's spiffy red cover. We call another game "Go Get the Remote Control." It is similar to "Librarian" but involves a remote control, a leather couch and a noticeable lack of detail about the economics of the heroin trade.

Another new hobby is something called "Look at that Beautiful Creature in the Mirror." I taught her that one. It involves staring at the most beautiful creature in the mirror, waving rather coquettishly and coyly, having difficulty containing your excitement, waving your arms in joy and breaking into hysterical laughter. It took me 10 years to perfect the game. Hope has mastered it in a month. Smart cookie.

While Mo did good deeds, we ventured north for a mini-getaway to Michigan's kitschy Little Bavaria for 24 hours of eating chicken dinners and bratwurst, riding in paddle boats, swimming and looking at ourselves in the mirror and laughing with delight.

Great times. Big Mo is back and we are so happy we broke from the revelry to stop at the world's largest Christmas store to buy her a taco ornament with an inscription showing how much we missed her.  It reads, "Big Mo's Taco."

My mom left town on Saturday, and we were all very sad, but we see her in three weeks for another vacation. That makes us so happy we need to head soon to the bookshelf.

The Bubble Man

There are moments when you step outside your body, listen to the words leaving your mouth and realize: Holy Tamole, my life has really changed. It went down at work, last Friday, idly chatting about the weekend.

Co-worker X had concert tickets. Co-worker Y was leaving town. Co-worker Z had two parties.

"We're going to see the Bubble Man," I said, as if we were going to the post office.

Blank stares.

"Y'know, the Bubble Man? He's at the Bubble Festival."

The words came so casually, so naturally, so predictably, as though the Bubble Man requires no explanation. Like Cher, only jollier and not quite so cougar-ish. The Bubble Man blows bubbles. Big ones, little ones, funny shaped ones, ones that make you say "ooh" and then "ahh."

The Bubble Man indeed headlined the Bubble Festival in Ann Arbor, a celebration of -- wait for it -- bubbles. We went because Hope likes bubbles. We blow them on the deck. She claps her hands with glee. We blow them some more and Lulu tries to eat them.

So it seemed appropriate that we would make the trek for bubble-mania. We caught the Bubble Man's final show of the weekend, a 20-minute extravaganza of bubbles-within-bubbles, ginormous bubbles, gazillions of tiny bubbles to make Don Ho proud.

Somewhere, there is a handbook of children's entertainers. Buried deep within it, perhaps in Subsection 12, Article 7, there is a mandate: You must wear suspenders and brightly colored T shirts, ponytail optional but strongly recommended. 

It must have been the end of a long weekend for the Bubble Man, who held court at the Hands-On Museum. He flubbed some tricks. His finale popped prematurely. At times, he seemed frustrated, but the Bubble Man is a pro. He soldiered on, to the delight of his tot-sized fans and us. 

Hope seemed to dig the Bubble Man, but enjoyed the museum more, especially its mirrors. Like her old man, her new hobby is staring intently into them, eyeballing the gorgeous specimen on the other side and clapping with delight. Can you blame her?

Summer-summer-summertime

It's the kind of thing that can keep you up at night. You flip through magazines. You scour the aisles at Hallmark and your local craft store. You wonder, "Will they like it? Will it be just right?"

You know what I'm talking about (especially moms): What to get your kid's therapists or teachers for an end of the school year gift. I know Heidi from God's Grace in Practice blogged about this a couple weeks ago.

I'm still learning what the etiquette is for all stuff but I figure a small holiday and end-of-the-year present is the least I can do for the important people helping Hope learn to walk and talk. 

Last year, I bought each therapist a small basil plant (I was obsessed with growing herbs in my backyard). This year, I stole an idea from Parents magazine for a homemade pencil holder. It sounds very fourth grade-ish -- paint a tin can, put some colored rubber bands around it along with a nifty name tag on it and you're all good -- but I thought it turned out cute. Joel promptly mocked me when he saw me painting the cans. I know what he WON'T be getting for Father's Day.

Our last days of therapy were Monday and Tuesday and we finished the school year with a big party at school on Wednesday. There were train rides, duck games, and cupcakes galore. Of course, Hope liked the balloons attached to the table centerpiece more than anything else. 

So summer is here again. We won't see Hope's therapists again until September which bums me out in a way but it'll be nice to have a break, too. I'm off to northern Michigan for a week at the end of the month -- I'll post about that later -- and we're all going to Maine for a week in July. In between, I'd love to take Hope camping, dip her toes in her own sandbox, take her for a swing ride and go swimming again (she's only been once -- ever -- in a heated pool at the CdLS Conference in Chicago). 

What are your big summer plans?

Return from exile

Aloha, sports fans:

I've been away from BlogLand for precisely one month, and I gotta be honest: It's not all it's cracked up to be. Reality is spooky! It's hot outside, there's yard work to be neglected and diets to abandon.

Fortunately, Mo filled in superbly in our small corner of the cyber village. OK, more than superbly: Mo rocks this blog thing. Granted, there was a conspicuous absence of Finnish disco dancers and fat men playing xylophones -- and a disturbing proliferation of exclamation points -- but I was entertained, enlightened and impressed. So much so, in fact, that 18 months into this social experiment, we've decided to do what adults would have months ago: Share the blog love. She'll write. I'll write. She'll share feelings. I'll post inappropriate videos of our 19-month-old cherub to the tune of "I Drink Alone." A 1,000-year reign of mirth will ensue.

Perfecto! It's just like the Romper Room preached decades ago: Sharing is fun!