We lost my grandmother last month. She was 96, and died peacefully, without pain.

She suffered from dementia for some time before she passed away, and it pains me to say that, because of life and circumstances and illness and excusesexcusesexcuses, I hadn’t seen her since before her memory started to fade. I try to take some comfort in the fact that she wouldn’t have known who I was anyway, but it’s not all that comforting. I should’ve seen her, and I didn’t, and I regret that immensely.

I hadn’t been back to the Coachella Valley since my dads illness and death 2 1/2 years ago. We drove down for the funeral on Monday, and right around the windmills on the 10 freeway, my chest started to hurt. This was the place I lived, the place I grew up, where so many of my memories were born, where so many of my friends still live. It was always a place of love. But he died there. From now until the end, it will be the place that he died. And for me, that makes it a place of unimaginable pain.

Everywhere I looked, I was reminded of those 2 weeks he was sick and dying. The familiar landscape of the desert we drove through more times that I can count on our trips back and forth. The exit off the 10, Jackson Ave, the street he lived on, the street where I presume his home still stands. The Target my husband and I stopped in the morning after we discovered how sick he really was (he asked us to stop and get him some antacids for the heartburn he was experiencing, which we found out later that day was actually cancer that was eating him alive). The cemetery where my grandpa is buried, and where we gathered to honor my grandma, is just a few blocks away from his house. If he had been buried there, I don’t think I could’ve driven through the gates.

Most of the time, I don’t realize how much I miss him. How much his death fucked me up. I’ve got my hands pretty full, with a toddler and a job and a husband. It always kind of hurts, but it’s become part of who I am now. It’s a current that runs just below my surface, and every once in a while I feel it bubble up (birthdays, holidays, Thursdays…), but on the whole, I am ok. I was not ok when I was there. And I wasn’t prepared for how not ok I was. Being in that place, being around family that I hadn’t seen since he died, took me back there. I thought enough time had passed since his death, but I was wrong. I don’t know how much time is enough time.  All I know is that 2 1/2 years, for me, wasn’t.

Driving away from my dads house for the last time after he died, knowing we would never go back there, knowing he would never be there again, was quite possibly the hardest part of that whole terrible time. Driving away from my aunts house after the funeral on Monday, I felt a little of that same feeling. Like I was leaving something behind. I fought back tears until we passed the windmills, swallowed the lump in my throat over and over until it finally stayed down. He hasn’t been there for 2 1/2 years, but it still felt like I was saying goodbye all over again. I wonder if it will always feel like that.

My grandma was a remarkable woman, and we are so blessed to have had her for so long. She is the reason that my dad was who he was, and for that, we owe her a debt of gratitude. I’m so sad that she’s gone, but so incredibly amazed by the life she lived, the lives she touched, and by the number of people who loved her. I am thankful I got to say goodbye on Monday, and I am comforted by the hope that, wherever they may be, she and my grandpa and my dad are together again. And for as long as I live, whenever I see a deck of cards or get a whiff of perfume mixed with scotch, I will think of my grandma, and I will be thankful, and I will be comforted.

I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, grandma Tina. Thank you.

So, here we are. We knew this day would come, eventually. She’s 2 now, after all. Apparently she can’t stay in diapers forever (by the way, I’d like to be shown where, in the handbook we all get before we leave the hospital, that it says that, because I’m calling bullshit).

We are Potty Training. Capitalized.

I don’t mind diapers, I really don’t. Never have. Is it my FAVORITE part of this gig? Well, no, I can’t say that wiping someone elses ass and getting feces under my fingernails would qualify as a joyful part of motherhood, but it’s never been the bane that it is for some. I don’t like buying diapers, but meh, we never bought a can of formula, so I feel like we evened out there. Dylan is getting a little long for the changing table, but even at this age, where I can barely get her to sit still long enough to put food in her mouth, she’s still really good when it comes to having her diaper changed. She’s gotten more vocal about wanting me to change her when she’s peed or pooped, and when I go to the bathroom, she always comes in and sits on her toilet. She knows what it’s for, she knows what her little toilet is for, she gets it, IN THEORY. So, I thought, hey! Why not start potty training? While it’s warm and she can run around naked and not worry about freezing her bits! Easy peasy, we’ll be done in a week!

Related: I am nothing if not completely oblivious to how hard each step of this having a kid thing is going to be. We had it relatively easy in the beginning, so I automatically (read: stupidly) assume that it’s going to be easy ALL THE TIME. I’m smarter than I seem, I swear.

So, we started yesterday. And 2 hours in, I was done. DONE. Like, ready to chuck that stupid pink toilet out the fucking window and duct tape a diaper to her tush. Have I mentioned that I am not the most patient person in the world? Ok, now go read the first sentence of any book on potty training, and come back and tell me what it says you must have in order to be successful. Go ahead, I’ll wait. … You back? What’d it say? Ah, yes, the magic P word. I hate that word.

See, the thing is, I have patience for most things, like Dylan wanting to do things herself and it taking 45 minutes when I could do it in 2. Or reading the same book 24 times in a row because she knows most of the words and tells me she can read. Or watching Toy Story 3 sixteen times a day because there is absolutely nothing in the world cuter than an Asian girl running around saying, “Yeehaw!”. That kind of stuff? No problem. My problem lies in trying to teach something or get someone to understand something that they should just…get. Like peeing and shitting on the toilet. I mean, it’s just something they should get, you know? And YES, I realize she is 2 and learning this for the first time and expecting her to understand something completely new to her is just stupid and insane. But the thing is, SHE DOES GET IT. She asked me to sit on the toilet, told me she had to pee, then sat there. For 20 minutes. Just sitting. Got up, walked around, sat down again. And just sat. Again. This went on, FOR FOUR HOURS. She did not pee, FOR FOUR HOURS. Not even after I put a diaper back on her. She held it? Had performance anxiety? Wanted to fuck with me? Who knows. I even left the diaper off when she was walking around or watching tv or whatever, because I was getting concerned that she wasn’t peeing, and I just wanted to make sure she still could. I don’t care about pee on the floor (hardwoods FTW), and she has a pretty regular poop schedule, so I knew we were in the clear there. No pee. Not until she was in a diaper and asleep for her nap did she finally unclench and let it flow. 4 hours. For a toddler with little to know knowledge of Kegel’s, that it pretty impressive.

After that, I started doubting whether or not she was really ready. And I still don’t know if she is, to be honest. I mean, have you ever gotten a straight answer from a toddler? So after gathering some advice from fellow mamas, and resigning myself to the fact that, as smart as my kid is, she may need a little more “training” when it comes to potty training, I decided to keep going, but at a much slower pace. Keep her in undies when we were at home, expect some accidents, and put her on the potty whenever I could. She’ll get it. I know that. She walks and talks, right? She’ll learn how to go to the bathroom too, of this I am certain. At her pace, as it should be.

And then, just when I thought I was in for a battle, she pees. In the potty. After our shower tonight, she asked to sit on the toilet, and then she…peed. I think it surprised her more than it surprised me, because she leaned back to get a good look at what the hell was happening down below, and shot a stream of pee across the bathroom, all over the floor mats. BUT. She peed! All by herself, with no prompting from me! We made a ridiculous spectacle of it all, and I may have danced around the house with the pee in the bowl, singing a song about how awesome she was. And oh my god, she was SO proud of herself. So, so proud. She talked about it for the rest of the night, and kept running up to me to remind me that “I peed in my potty mama!”. And before bed, when we were snuggling in her chair, she whispered, “I such a big girl mama, I go pee pee in my potty tomorrow too.” And my heart nearly exploded with love and pride. I think she gets it now, and seeing how excited we were, just made her even more determined to go again.

So, we are stocked up for Potty Training 2012. We’ve got a toilet, princess undies, treats for good days, and lots and lots of disinfecting wipes. I expect to be elbow deep in this shit (heh) for a while, or for however long it takes. And even if it takes one week or one month or one year to be successfully potty trained, I’m okay with that. Seeing her face when she saw my face and how proud and excited I was? Oh man. That was a good feeling. I can wait forever to feel that again.

I hope I WON’T be waiting forever, but I can.

Just please don’t shit on the couch.

It seems like I do one of these every other month or so. You know, the “I’m sorry I’m a terrible blogger who only blogs like, once a month” post. But it doesn’t make it any less true. I am a terrible blogger. I’m not all that sorry though, if I’m to be completely honest. It was summer, people! We had to do SUMMER!

But alas, summer is over now. I don’t know where the hell it went, but I suspect I lost sight of it somewhere back in July, when the insanity of holiday-birthday-birthday-birthday-birthday-holiday began. Fun was had, oh yes it was. I sincerely hope you don’t expect a full summer recap, because I won’t be doing that. BUT, I will offer you a few photographic tidbits of the last few weeks, hows about that?

First up: Dylan’s Birthday. Oh my god. This kid is awesome, and awesome kids deserve awesome birthdays, so dammit! That’s what she got! Disneyland, party, presents. I had a mad case of the greens all weekend.

She asked for a solid week after it was all over when her next birthday was. She’s still asking for presents. And we may let her blow out candles on her dinner on occasion, just to get her over the hump.

Toms birthday was a couple of weeks after Dylans but it was much more low key. I asked, but he said he didn’t want a pool party and Hello Kitty! cake, so whatever, his loss.

On Saturday, we went to the Ronald Reagan Library to check out the Treasures of the Walt Disney Archives exhibit. It. Was. AMAZING. We are major Disney nerds, so for the super fan, this was awesome. Even for the less-obsessed, it’s worth checking out. So much history and memorabilia, from all my childhood favorites, and most of Dylans. We loved it, and also got the chance to walk through the Ronald Reagan museum, which was so beautiful. If you live anywhere near Simi Valley, I highly recommend visiting. I took so, so many pictures of the exhibit itself, and haven’t had any time to edit any of them, but I have a few from the gardens:

And one of Dylan breaking through the Berlin Wall towards freedom:

This is Tom, thinking about how much it would cost to own our own plane:

Dylan is unimpressed.

So, there you have it, some pictures to prove that we were supersupersuper busy and I just couldn’t possibly find the time to write. Oh, and somewhere in there, my kid got all old and shit:

Gosh, she sure is pretty ::loads shotgun to prepare for 14 years from now::

Hey! We also had ice cream:

And we even found the time to go to Costco and ride our bikes!

See? Not a second to spare. But, sadly, summer is over now, and I imagine all the fun will cease immediately. So I’m hoping (trying) to get into a more regular posting groove. I’m not going to promise anything, and I’m not going to hold myself to a certain schedule, but things are slowing down a bit, and I’d like to spend my free time here, if you’ll have me.

How was your summer? As fun as museums and Costco? Doubtful, but I hope it was full of love and memories were made. Stick around, yeah? I’ll be around too.

One of the things I remember most from those first days and weeks and months is how much I held you. It seemed as if I never put you down. Out of necessity or first time mom possessiveness, I couldn’t say for sure, but you spent most of your time in my arms. It was hard and beautiful and comfortable and stifling and I recall those memories sometimes, when I’m trying to sleep or relax, and I can see your tiny fingers and toes and I can smell your smell and feel your downy hair, and it calms me. You WERE my baby, once upon a time in a land far, far away. Looking at you today, on your 2nd birthday, it seems impossible. But you were. I remember.

You tell me, “I luz you mama!”. You crawl into my lap and ask for big huggies, and if I don’t squeeze tight enough, you say bigger. BIGGER HUGGIES MAMA. Then you’re off, and my lap is empty again. I think you notice sometimes, maybe a certain thing my face does or the slightest watering of my eyes, and you come to me and you’re my baby again. But just for a moment, just enough to take the edge off. One of the biggest adjustments for me when you were born was how much you needed me. I’d never experienced that level of dependence. Now, I’m trying to adjust to how much you don’t need me. And how much I’m starting to realize I need you.

You still look just like your daddy, but oh boy, do you have my insides. You’re a yeller, in frustration and joy. You are quick to anger, but quicker to laughter. You crave independence and space, but need to know I am but an arms length away to be able to truly relax. You are so, so smart. I thought we’d have a few years before the “Whys” took up residence in our home, but alas, your curiosity is insatiable, and I spend the majority of our day explaining to you how every single thing in the world works. A simple “because I said so” just will not suffice, much to my and your fathers chagrin. You GET stuff, stuff that I don’t think an almost 2 year old should get, but then what the hell do I know. You’re shockingly girly, in a rough and tumble in a tutu and lipgloss kind of way. I am NOT, so this is new for us. You sing, made up songs and songs you hear on the radio and songs you hear me sing. And you dance. Oh baby girl, how you dance. With abandon and joy and pure, unadulterated madness. You dance like there is no one else in the room, even in a room full of people. I hope you never stop doing that. Hell, I hope we all START doing that. You’re not what I would call a “people person”. Like me and your dad, you’re wary of people you don’t know or don’t know well, and you play your cards pretty close to the vest in situations where you’re not 100% comfortable. But once you decide you like someone, they are beholden to you, forever and forever. I hope you never stop doing that, either.

My sweet, sweet girl. I cannot believe you’re already 2. I cannot believe you’re only 2. I feel like I’ve known you forever. And maybe I have. Maybe you’ve always been here, just waiting for your moment to join us and complete us and fix us. You made me so much more than a mom 2 years ago. In many ways, you made me whole. I have loved every single second of the last 2 years, the good and the bad and the horrible. And I am so, so, thankful to be yours. Happy, happy, happy birthday, my amazing Dylan Rose. My big girl, my little baby. I can’t put into words how very much I love you, but it is more than the moon and stars and the ocean and sand, times forever. Happy birthday, baby.

Now slow down.

Hey there. How the hell are you? It’s been a while. Again. I KNOW. Please, allow me to essplain. Not, it is too much, allow me to sum up (random Princess Bride reference FTW): summers are busy ’round these parts. My birthday, Dylan’s birthday, Tom’s birthday, plus 2 of my nieces birthdays, plus it’s summer! The season of fun and beaches and swimming and cold food that requires no cooking! Forgiven? Sweet.

Since we last spoke, I had myself a little birthday. Well, first, America had herself a little birthday, which we celebrated in true patriotic style by going to Disneyland. We don’t need much of an excuse to go to the Mouse House, but we’ve never been on the 4th, so we thought, hey! Let’s do it! It was fun, as Dland is wont to be, but a wee bit crowded. And ::whispering:: kind of a crappy fireworks show. I mean, they have a giant fireworks show every damn night for cripes sake, you’d think they would pull out all the stops for Murica’s big day. But alas, they did not, and Dylan was super pissed that Tinkerbell was not featured prominently (that’s how often we go to Disneyland: my toddler has pretty much memorized the choreography of the fireworks show). Meh, now we know. Here’s a gratuitous picture of my cute kid:

My big day is the 9th, but we celebrated a little early by taking a roader to San Diego with the little, Tom’s brother Charles (whose birthday is also the 9th), and his girlfriend Cheri. Drove down on Saturday, stuffed our faces with seafood and fancy ass cake from Extraordinary Desserts (if you like sweets, and you are ANYWHERE NEAR SAN DIEGO, go to this place. Go now!), got awesome ass presents (a tattoo for meeeeeeeeeee! More to come), and then did the obligatory Sea World trip on Sunday. Now, I had not been to Sea World since I was probably 8, so I had zero idea of what to expect. Which turned out to be a blessing, because I would’ve been really pissed by what we got.

Sea World is, basically, an amusement park with sea creatures. Dolphins, whales, turtles, sharks, all manner of fish and fowl, all present and accounted for, and adorable as all get out. That much I was prepared for, and looking forward to (and thoroughly enjoyed). But the amusement portion of the amusement park? Ummmmm, how do I say…thumbs down. We’ve been spoiled by Disneyland. Nothing compares to it. Food, rides, ambiance, experience: they think of everything. Sea World feels sort of like a big county fair with whales and aquariums. It was weird. But, we got the tickets for free thanks to Charles, and Dylan had a great time, so it was a successful day. Would we go back? For free, yes. I would never buy tickets. Unless Dylan wakes up one day and decides she wants to be a dolphin trainer, in which case I’d buy a season pass and live vicariously through her. Some more gratuitous pictures, for your perusal:

I will say, I was terrified of staying the night in a hotel with Dylan. She’s never slept away from home, and toddlers have this weird thing where they flip the fuck out for absolutely no reason and without warning, so I was prepared for no sleep at all on Saturday. Um, she slept better than anyone. To whit:

Didn’t even wake up when I changed her clothes. The key is, wake them up super early, deprive them of a nap all day, pump them full of sugar 2 hours before bed, and wait for the inevitable crash. Then take pictures and laugh at your passed out kid, and resist all urges to draw on them with a Sharpie and put their diapers in the freezer. Next time.

So that’s our first 2 weeks of July. We’re pretty much catching our breath this week before jumping right back in with more birthdays, parties, Disneyland, maybe another trip or two to who knows where. We’ve got time and a cool as kid. Anything can happen.

Dylan will be two in just a couple of months. Two. Years. Old. I think about that constantly, and yet still cannot seem to fully process this information. Because I just gave birth to her, like, yesterday. How does this happen?

So, since my darling little girl will be an ACTUAL little girl soon, I’ve been thinking a lot about the things that we (I) need to accomplish before too long. It feels like we’ll be graduating, moving onto the next stage, and while I’m hoping there isn’t an actual test at the end of this term, I realize there are certain milestones one is expected to master. Or at the very least, attempt.

Here, in no particular order, is Dylan’s cram list (I’ll provide the Red Bull and pancakes, she’s gotta do the heavy lifting):

-Weaning. I KNOW. We had this conversation a few months ago. Or a year ago, whatever. Anyway, the point is, I started weaning, it was going awesomely (is that a word?), and then we kind of stalled out. Bedtime and nap time were the ones we held onto, and the rare occasion when she woke up at night. I was ok with getting rid of those sessions a little more slowly. But then I started working at night, and in the interest of sleeping in a little later in the mornings, I started bringing her to bed with me, and giving her a boob to get her back to sleep. Rookie mistake. And now it’s kind of a…thing. I don’t even know where to begin on this one.
-Pacifiers. I don’t hate them. I actually kind of love them. They saved my sanity many, many a night. And day. And car ride. But, it’s almost time to ditch the paci. I’m just not nearly stupid enough to cut off the boob and the baby plug at the same time. Boob first, then pacis.
-Potty training. Um. Yeah. We got a toilet? It should just resolve itself, right? (Please, leave me to my delusions. I don’t even want to think about all the pee. All. The. Pee.)
-Big Girl Bed. This one sends shivers down my spine, even more so than the peeing. I mean, cribs have bars for a reason people. Toddlers are insane little creatures that would set fire to their own foot if given the chance and a box of matches. The idea of her being unshackled and able to roam freely, even if it’s just in her little bedroom, is enough to keep me awake for the next 7 years. I think we’ll push this one off for a little while longer. Cribs are cool in high school, right?

If we buckle down and put our nose to the grindstone and burn the candle at both ends and any other clichés you can think of, I am fairly confident we’ll get this done in the next few months. But I’m not worried, and honestly, I’m not in too much of a rush. Dylan has always, since we brought her home all tiny and wiggly and pink, taken the lead. When she’s ready, she’s ready, and she gets shit done. I know her well enough to not push her, to wait until its her time. I know this because I am the exact same way.

So if I change her diaper, nurse her, then put her to bed in her crib with a pacifier (ok, two) the night of her second birthday? Meh. I’m ok with that. I know her time is soon. And when her time comes to graduate, please, send me booze. Not wine. Hard shit. Because lord help me, a toddler who can pee on your floor in the middle of the night because her baby jail is gone and who cannot be silenced with a boob? There is nothing more terrifying.

I am not a particularly “girly” woman. I’m feminine and all woman baby, but dainty and foofoo and precious? Nope. I’m more Katherine Hepburn than Marilyn Monroe. So it totally makes sense that my daughter, fruit of my loins, would be a complete, pinkified, tutu-ed with a pair of glittery fairy wings, PRINCESS.

Hold me.

I never pushed the princess culture on her. Hell, I don’t even remember introducing her to it. I think the first Disney movie I played for her was Cars. But little by little, her royal DNA has taken over. If it’s pink, she likes it. If it has sparkles, Jesus, she wants to live in it. She notices shoes. Makeup. Clothes. Anyone in a skirt is a “pweeeeety pwincess”. She can recognize and name several Disney princesses, despite having never seen their respective movies. She talks all day about wanting to hug and kiss Pwincess Tinana and Awiel. And lately, the first thing she asks for after the boob and some breakfast in the morning, is her pink tutu and fairy wings. And she wears them. ALL DAY LONG.

I thought it would bother me a little, this obsession with all things pretty. But truth be told, I find it absolutely freaking adorable. It brings me such joy that she’s identified and embraced this part of her ever changing personality. I may not understand it, and the thought of the makeovers in my future is enough to make me shiver, but it’s her. And if she wants to prance around in a tutu and feather boa while she sings her ABC’s, well, who am I to judge? She’s the most perfect prettypretty princess that ever there was. Who also happens to be Asian smart, and tough as a Roller Derby broad.

Plus, she has showed quite the interest in bugs lately. Which, gross. But not pink.

It hit me as I was putting groceries into the car. I looked over at her, sitting in the cart with her sunglasses on, hair in a ponytail, laughing at airplanes and talking a mile a minute about God knows what, and suddenly my breath caught in the back of my throat, and the backs of my knees got cold, and the rushing in my ears drowned out all other noise, and I realized:

My baby is GONE.

And in her place, is this new little person. With her own mind and personality and heart. I don’t know when it happened. It felt sudden, like a flip was switched somewhere while we were sleeping, and we woke up in a new frame in the slide show. In reality, it’s been happening, slowly, in tiny pieces, everyday since that day almost 2 years ago. But when days fly by in a blur, it’s hard to pinpoint the subtlety of growing up. The silent changes go unnoticed, until they’re not silent, until they’re singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star all by herself without any help from mama (SOB).

I’m ready for this new person, and all the light she brings. But I’m not ready to not have a baby anymore. Which is confusing to me, because I thought I was. Would be. It’s hard to have someone so dependent on you, but not as hard, as it turns out, as giving that someone their independence, letting go a little, tiny bit at a time. My heart swells with pride when I see her playing by herself, or with little friends. But the ache that comes when I’m rebuffed when I attempt to join her, oh, the ache. I want her to do it herself, but I want her to need me. I need her to need me still.

So maybe I hold her a little longer, a little tighter, when she asks for a hug. Maybe I bring her, half asleep, to lay next to me in bed in the mornings, so I’m the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes, the first she lights her smile on. Maybe weaning has slowed down and taken a back seat to embracing the quiet time we share, that only we can share. Thousands of little moments that make up the big ones. Little moments that mean so much.

Exact moments are big. Huge. But so are the little ones, the ones that fly by in a blur. Those moments are the ones I try to catch and hold close. They’re the ones that I want to remember. I can’t take pictures of them, or write them all down, but I have them, inside. They help me keep my baby close, as she walks farther away from me.

I know how much she loves me. I do. She tells me now, all the time, even at her age. I know by how tightly she holds onto to me when I hold her, by how big she smiles when I walk into the room. I know, because I am the first person she looks for, asks for, needs. I KNOW how much she loves me, because I do.

But she never smiles and runs to me like she does her daddy. At the end of the day, when his key turns in the door and he walks in, jacket folded over his arm, briefcase swinging by his side, she almost bursts with happiness. She doesn’t laugh like that with me. She doesn’t run that fast to me.

She loves me, but she doesn’t ever miss me. I’m never gone.

I was gone this evening, for a few hours. When I got home, and my key turned in the door, I heard her. I heard the squeal, the pounding of tiny toddler feet running to the door, to me. I opened the door to the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, the tightest embrace, the best kisses. Her little fingers prodded my face, her head rested on my shoulder, her voice whispered “mama” in my ear. She was bursting with happiness. For me.

She missed me when I was gone. I know how much she loves me.

We’ve been to Disneyland 3 times in the last 2 weeks (thank you, annual passes!). You’d think I would be tired of it by now. But you would be wrong. In fact, I’m probably singing my way through It’s a Small World for the 5th time as you read this. And, as you can see by the look of crazed excitement on my childs face in these pictures from her first time (technically, her second time, but she was only 1 when we took her for the first time, so it didn’t really count), it’s shocking we haven’t moved down the street from the place by now.

There is nothing like seeing your child see Disneyland for the first time. It was one of the most amazing moments I’ve had as her mom so far. I am so, so lucky.