Visits, Concerts, Broken Cars and Unhappy Eye Balls

Wow. Nearly a month since I've posted. Absurd when clearly there has been much worth posting. Since I have a month's worth, should I start with the good news or the news about how the world wrapped itself around my skull and started drilling mercilessly?

OK, yeah, the good news. I'm all about eating the maraschino first.

In late August, I reconnected with some old friends from long past assignments. Important friends that I regretted ever losing touch with. Particularly Ragan and Fiona. I met Fiona in Australia when we lived there and when she was an Australian Air Force Officer. She was also my workout partner and never balked at a challenge. She and her husband are now here for 3 years, and I could not be happier that they're around. I hope we can make up for the lost years. There's Ragan too, whose emails I have enjoyed immensely, and who's life story I'm following with zeal. We have even more in common now than we did in Junior high, and I have to tell you, I really needed this soul-connection. Hi Ragan! I'm so glad you're back and I'm with you every step of the way on your new journey. I believe in you!

I enjoyed spending Caroline's last days of summer with her, feeding ducks, sleeping in, and laughing our tails off. And I enjoyed seeing her go from dread to excitement about her first days of school again.



Then our good friend, Francesca, previously posted about, arrived from Australia via UK to spend three weeks with us. We had a marvelous time. We needed that time to laugh and relax, and I so enjoyed showing her around our world here. The markets, the Weindorf, the dairy farm, etc. We spent some hours at the 24 hour Marathon, which is to raise money for the children's programs on the base. There were trips to Rothenburg and Neuschwanstein.



Then there was the Madonna concert that we, along with Fiona and Gosia went to, and was that ever a good time! A girl's weekend right in the middle of the week, complete with Irish Pub, trains, hotel, beer, awesome conversation, laughs and convenient places right under the stage where we all gawped at Madonna's up-close-and-personal muscles for 2.5 hours. Seriously, does that woman ever age?! Is she really 50 with two kids?

Top: Gosia and Francesca, Bottom: Fiona and Gosia. Aren't my friends beautiful?!?

There was a trip to Europa Park:

And of course, some days were just enjoyed sitting at home with popcorn and a movie and good conversation, which is just as much fun and certainly good for the soul.

Enjoying a Weizen at Neuschwanstein.

We all got very used to having Francesca around. We got used to seeing her putter around every morning with her cup of tea. We got used to seeing her cheery, stripey socks, to getting some good laughs out of her own special brand of humor, and to hearing her thoughts on various happenings, ideas and events. She's family, really, so the fact that she's gone has left a hole in our home. As she left I remember her thanking me for letting her come and stay. And I don't think I responded to that, in the middle of heavy thoughts as I was, but all I remember thinking was "Thank ME?". Because really, Franta, we thank YOU. Thank you for choosing our home as the place you wanted to stay and our family as the family you chose to be part of. Thank you for hanging around us even when the times got tough (see rest of the story below). It was a great experience for all of us, but especially for me. I miss you already.

Now, that covers the cherries and frosting. How about the other stuff?

On the 13th of September, we (me, Calvin, Caroline and Francesca) decided we'd take a weekend to stay at the Edelweiss Lodge in Garmisch. Just a relaxing weekend with good food, workouts, pool, Cosmopolitans, etc. And all started well...we did get there. And we had a goooood dinner. After that though, we all went to the gym for a quick workout before heading to the pool. Caroline had her new bathing suit on and was so excited she could barely hold still. So while we worked out, she played with the exer-stretch bands to bide a few minutes. You know the ones you use to mildly work your muscles by stretching them? One was tied to a steel bar by the mirror and she was pulling it, pretending to work her little toothpick biceps. None of us thought anything of it, of course; they're rubber bands. Stretchy rubber bands....pretty much the most harmless thing in the gym and perfect to keep a 7 year old occupied for a few minutes? Right?

Except the tied end of the band came loose and snapped back straight into her eye. Didn't hit a bit of skin around her eye, either, just straight eye ball. I had turned around for just a second as she was happily playing and making faux gruntings, and when I heard the pop I turned back around to see her doubled over on the floor. She was not making a sound; she was not able to, stunned as she was, which was my first clue that something really was wrong. My heart dropped into my feet and I rushed to turn her over and see. When she opened her eye, I had to stifle a yelp. Her eye looked like a glass half-full of blood. Blood was actually pooling up between her cornea and her iris.



She was still stunned beyond making a sound, so I rushed her over to the front desk and asked them to call security. From security, we were given the directions to the nearest hospital that would see Americans (being out of Stuttgart at this time was not a good thing). To make a long story short, there was no sleep that night. We rushed from the hotel to the ER, from the ER to an emergency opthomologist on the other side of town. That opthomologist told us Caroline needed surgery right away, that she couldn't wait until morning, and that we needed to go either to Munich or Stuttgart asap. So we had to drive back through the night to reach Tuebingen, the university hospital near Stuttgart. At around 6am we arrived there, only to be told by a very bleary-eyed doctor,who'd come in just for this on a Sunday morning, that Caroline's eye would absorb the blood itself most likely and that we should just go home and see our own base clinic on Monday morning for a check up. We got home on Sunday morning at 7:30 at which point we all promptly fell asleep and slept all the day through.

Monday morning first thing, I took Caroline to the clinic where the doctor seemed very concerned with the blood in her eye (though it did look much better by this time) and he set up an appointment with another opthomologist for that hour. We drove over there to have the opthomologist tell us what the doc in Tuebingen said, "It will probably absorb itself. Hang in there and come back in a few days so I can look at it."

Now, I have to tell you, I was not comfortable with these breezy diagnoses, but it did appear to be getting better, and I was being assured at home that it was all ok and that it would absorb itself, no worries. So I went along. I set up an appointment for two days later, and we went back home.

But that night, as Caroline was getting ready for bed, I heard her scream from the bathroom. As I was getting up off the sofa to go to her, she came rushing in, grabbed my wrist and pulled me with unbelievable, panicked strength toward the bathroom where she looked up at the light and showed me what she'd been screaming about. The eye, which had heretofore been partially filled with blood, was now fully filled. Instead of going away and absorbing itself, it had re-hemorrhaged and now resembled a black marble in her head and she was fully blind on that side. It was....well...truly frightening. This time I was not taking "No, calm down." for an answer. I grabbed her and rushed her to the hospital in Sindelfingen, carrying her the whole way as she was hysterical and muttering loudly about being "blind forever". There they told us that they didn't have any opthomologist on staff and that we should go downtown to a hospital there that did.

Thirty minutes later we arrived at the Katherinenhospital in central Stuttgart, where the doc looks, tested her with a few numbers and letters and admitted her right away. Luckily, they let me stay with her. Wise of them, since I would have won in the fight I was prepared to have. In fact, they were welcoming. Calvin went back home that night and I stayed in a cramped hospital bed with Caroline, cuddling her and trying to reassure her all night. The next day, we saw the Chief Opt. and he suggested that we opt for surgery since, he said, waiting might only mean a more difficult surgery later. Caroline agreed when it was explained to her that she would not feel a thing because she'd be asleep, and so Calvin and I nodded and agreed too.

The lead up to the surgery was more stressful for me than it was for her, I think. She was in good spirits and fascinated at the thought of the "magic medicine" making her sleep. Naturally, I was feeling all these attacks of mother-guilt: why did I let her play with that rubber band? Why didn't I just skip my workout and take her straight to the pool? Why did I listen to those who told me "Don't worry, it's nothing." when I knew to listen to my gut instead? Would she ever show me rainbows again? Would she ever notice all the tiny but beautiful things she notices every day, like caterpillars, ants, leaves, pretty rocks? Or would she be half blind for the rest of her life?

All these thoughts were running through my head, and they might seem melodramatic to anyone who isn't facing it with their kid, but honestly, they were tearing me up. The thought of general anesthaesia was too, as one of my favorite authors died from it. Caroline, on the other hand, was proudly beaming to me that she was going to be the first person to do the backward count and make it to 1.

In her little gown just before they knocked her out. Doesn't she look way too tiny for that bed?

She didn't even make it to ten. They never told her to count. They just injected the juice and said "This might burn a little". I was holding her hand when she started crying and saying "It burns!". She went to sleep just then without warning and I hadn't even had a chance to say anything else. I worried for the next hour and a half that she'd gone to sleep in pain and hadn't heard me trying to comfort her. Yes, melodramatic to you, but so painful to me.

Fortunately, the surgery went well. She slept for hours afterward as the anesthaesia wore off, but Calvin and I were there right by her side the whole time. When she woke up she was well and in no pain.



For the next few days I stayed with her (we had our own room by this time and two beds). We played Blackjack and War and I read to her from her book, "Sea of Monsters", which she loves. We watched movies on our portable DVD player and we drew pictures and chatted and cuddled a lot. Daddy got a bit of cuddle-time too, which I think they both needed.



Her class all made and sent her Get Well cards, which she loved. She lit up as she was reading them to us, and laughing at the cute and funny things her classmates said. What a creative and smart bunch of kids! Those cards are brilliant and will go into Caroline's scrap-box for keeping.

The card display Caroline made out of her classmates' cards:





On Friday night, her teacher, Herr Zappey, and our friends, Shelley, Riley, Ben and Brooke Johnson all came for a visit.

Left to right: Caroline, Riley, Shelley, Brooke, Herr Zappey, Ben.




There is no place that family can't light up! Caroline loved having them in her room and she loved the balloons and MickeyMouse they brought, but mostly she loved the good wishes and laughter that came with them. She and Riley and Brooke built a dummy out of Herr Zappey's motorcycle jacket and helmet. Herr Zappey, ever-patient man that he is, stood by and let them enjoy themselves with his gear.




She was released on the weekend with the condition that she not do P.E. or physically exert herself for a few weeks at least. There will also be regular weekly checkups with the doc and surgeon back at the hospital so they can monitor how her eye is coping. Her pupil is still almost fully dialated and her whites are still pink, but we're hoping for the best and that it will all go back to normal eventually. Her sight has mostly returned. In the meantime, Caroline is back in school and handing out eye-ball candies as a joke. Lemons=Lemonade, eh?

To add to the stress of EyeBall Week, our car wouldn't start yesterday as I left the post office. So today my chore, as well as catching up on a week's worth of school that I missed, is to find a mechanic who will work with 10 year-old Infinitis. You would be surprised to know that not many here will. Huh.

BUT, all things considered, with all that's happened, we really got off light. Things could have been far worse. What if she'd been wearing her glasses when that band had snapped? Shattered glass in her eye? Thanks to the Powers That Be that she wasn't. It's this I'm going to focus on to remind myself that we really were fortunate, and this I'm going to focus on as I cuddle Caroline a little tighter and a little more often every day.


Flowers from Grandma and Grandpa Myrick:

School Days, Hot Men, and Possums

So, school started again this week, and while Caroline is taking it very well, I can't say I am. True, I'll have more time to myself to exercise, study, play, read, think complete thoughts, clean without someone running behind me making a bigger mess, and catch up on correspondence. But you know what? I'd rather have her here. I will miss having hours to play and cuddle every day. I will miss taking her down to the dairy farm for fresh milk, and to the self-pick for flowers. I will miss taking her to the zoo and watching her scream in delight at everything she sees. I will miss her following me around wherever we go, reading from the National Geographic and trying to educate me on global warming and endangered species. 'Cause really, would a day be complete......?

Instead I will hold her hand every morning now as I walk her to her bus stop and kiss her good bye just before she gets on. And I'll wander around every day by myself. I will be getting stuff done and having conversations with other adults that are not interupted because an acorn to beat all acorns has been found, but I won't be enjoying my day as much. I will sweep the floor and it will stay clean because no one will be trampling mud through the house, but I will be lonely.

She, on the other hand, was quite happy to be starting school again. Understandably, she was anxious to see her friends, and dive into the the repertoire of adventures her wonderful teacher has planned.

She was also excited to try on her new glasses, which I picked up and brought to her at lunch time. And man, does she ever look cute in them!



She is astounded with the change in what she can see and keeps taking them off and on to compare how wonderful the world is now with how blurry it was then when she didn't actually KNOW it was blurry. In short, she's a happy camper. Or as my dad says, a happy cabbage, whatever that means.


And Calvin was happy about the start of school too, though it's going to mean an extra huge workload on top of his already huge workload. He is, in case you hadn't heard, the new PTA president. He had to make his first speech as president yesterday at the first-day orientation. 'Course, his reputation may be ruined now that his wife stood up in the first row and started snapping photos like the most seasoned and pushy paparazzi. He should just be grateful that I didn't run up and grope him because, for real, tell me this isn't tempting!

Yeah, so now you know what kind of temptation I live with daily. He's kind, smart, funny, responsible AND he has lovely shoulders. What did I do right? Next time he gets up on the stage, I'm throwing my panties at him.

In a few days, our good friend, Francesca, will be arriving for a three week visit before she returns to Australia. The last time she came to visit, Calvin was in Diego Garcia and we had THE BEST time. We took a girl's trip up the East Coast and laughed 'till our stomachs hurt. Even when we got lost on the way from New Jersey to Massachusetts......and ended up near the border of Ohio. Even when every window in the car suddenly fogged up for no explicable reason and she was forced to hang out the passenger window making hand signals to the other vehicles and screaming "Go left" and "Go right" and "Stooooooop!" directions to me. And even when I hit a possum in the road and scared the dirt out of the sleeping Francesca with my ensuing shrill scream. She never slept again in the car after that, but she did laugh; that's just what kind of person she is. So yeah, if she can put up with us, we're glad to put her up and keep her. Welcome Francesca! And please feel free to stay forever because....well, we love you!



So here's to a new school year, good company, possums that stay out of the road, great school adventures and the PTA!

...

Laughter and Sadness

So, Calvin has been on TDY for 8 days now, and over the last few days Caroline and I have been having lots and lots of Girl Time. Which basically means that we turn off the door bell, and we sit in the living room or on the balcony and play monopoly and giggle alot, or we build things with the Lincoln Logs while watching one of our favorite DVDs. It's been good fun and I enjoy the crap out of spending time alone with her. There hasn't been enough of it lately, and now that school is about to start, I'm soaking up as much Girl Time as I can get. While I'm excited for her about a new school year, I'm not looking forward to having her gone for 6 and a half hours every day. I will miss her.

She's not looking forward to going back to school though either, and that is somewhat disturbing to me. By the end of every summer of my childhood, I was chomping at the bit to get new school clothes and a new lunchbox and take off to my new class. But not Caroline. The education aspect is no problem for her, but the social aspect seems to disturb her a great deal. She has pointed out to me several times lately--including today when I took her to one of the on-base playgrounds so she could get some social time and sun--that none of the other kids want to play with her. That they think she is "weird" and that she has become increasingly embarassed to speak to them or be assertive in her efforts to make friends because she is afraid they might think what she has to say is "strange and stupid".

I don't know where this is coming from exactly. I know she doesn't speak like a 7 year old and that she uses very adult words and phrases, but really, could that be it? She's still a kid and she has a brilliant imagination and a ready laugh! Are the kids confused by her because she likes to talk about her books and the stuff she's read about in National Geographic instead of about Hannah Montana and Barbie? Or is it in her head because she suspects she's different and has developed a complex? Is this more to do with the afore-blogged subject of religion and hell that they harassed her about in school? Either way, watching her today at the playground as she sort of skirted around the edges and looked longingly at the groups of screaming, laughing kids just broke my heart. When she came to me and asked if we could just go home and play a game broke it even further. It isn't that I don't want to play games with her, obviously. It isn't that I don't love being home with her. It's that it seems unnatural for a kid to want to hang out with mom and watch Shark Week on a gorgeous sunny day, rather than run around screaming, covered in mud and laughing. I could have cried. Her sweet little face looking so sad and lonely just kills me. I just don't understand and I welcome any thoughts on the subject, those of you who are listening. I have a smart, funny, good-hearted little girl with a great sense of humor. Why is making friends so hard for her?

On the other hand, this revelation of difference that affects her so when she's around other kids doesn't seem to affect her at home. She came into the bathroom to brush her teeth tonight with streaks of her hot-chocolate all over her face, particularly in her eyebrows and on her forehead. I could see she was trying very hard not to giggle and to maintain an air of fierceness.

"Caroline, why have you got hot chocolate on your eyebrows?!"

Beaming proudly, "It's warpaint!"

"Warpaint? For what? Who are you at war against?"

"Those who think I should go to bed!"

...

Bespectacled and Bewitched

Well......so we knew it was a great possibility, and today it became a reality. Caroline needs glasses.

In the German optometrist's office this morning, as Caroline was being tested, it became immediately obvious that there would be no question: Caroline would be starting school with a new pair o' spectacles. Even the larger lines proved difficult for her. It sort of scares me wondering how long she's gone on living with this short-sightedness and not knowing any better. But at least it can be fixed now, huh?

Lucky us too, glasses aren't the social death of a kid anymore. They make them in all shapes and sizes and they are more often cute than not, and Caroline had a ball trying on pair after pair until she found the one she liked. Her only stipulation ahead of time? NO PINK!

After trying on all sorts in wild purples and greens and blues, she shocked me by going for a very sensible, wire-rimmed copper colored pair. She looks adorable in them and seems very anxious to go pick them up next Friday.

Pictures will follow. ;)

August August

It's a big month for us this time, August. We've got our close friend, Francesca, coming to visit from Australia at the end of the month, and our friends Fiona and Zev (who we also met in Australia) are getting stationed here. Small world huh? It will be so nice to have Fiona (sweetest woman ever!) and Francesca (who we consider family) together again. I can see the girl-dates now and the laughter that will ensue. I'm looking forward to it more than I have anything in a long time.

Caroline also starts school this month. She'll be going into the 3rd grade, and will be fortunate enough to still have Mr. Zappey as her teacher. She had him last year too, and we could not feel more pleased with this hard-working, caring, intelligent, imaginative and supportive man. Knowing Caroline is in his hands every day does incredible things for my ability to relax. She couldn't be in a better class.

This summer, unfortunately has been a bit ugly on the weather side, so the outdoor adventures I had planned for us on a daily basis haven't panned out as planned. We did get to Sweden though, and have spent time at the zoo, dairy park, self-pick flower garden, and farm. Caroline also got to spend lots of time with her good friend, Mila, who lives in the apartment downstairs.

Mila's mommy, my friend Alex (the artist who is responsible for the header photograph), has just been diagnosed with breast cancer in both breasts, throwing a sad shadow on our lives. Alex has been and is being brave and optimistic, and keeping up a great sense of humor, despite her atrocious taste in hats. She doesn't like my taste in hats either---apparently, I pick out hats that go on eccentric old ladies. Alex? She likes looking like a pirate. There, I said it in public instead of just teasing her constantly like I have been. Despite this, we love her and the sunshine she brings to everyone she talks to and we're hoping very hard for a speedy, easily-won battle. She and her beautiful family mean so much to us.

Beautiful Glamourpuss Alex

The other morning, Mila was over having breakfast with us, having spent the night giggling and playing monopoly with our own Sprout. And, like my mother (and probably her mother before her) I was following the family tradition of dancing around the kitchen, making up silly songs with the names of whatever children happen to be around while simultaneously flipping pancakes. I never thought of this as a particularly strange activity, as Caroline loves it and I've always done it. Never thought it strange at all, that is, until I looked over at Mila to find the strangest expression on her face. It seemed to be a mixture of "If I run now, can I make it to the door before you?" and "It's amazing I survived a night here with this fruitcake who is obviously dangerous".

So I asked her, "What's wrong Mila, doesn't your mom sing to you?"

"No."

"What about your dad? He doesn't sing to you?"

A very small pause in which she appeared to be considering how to put the bad news gently, and.....

"Um, Trinity, that's what the iPod is for."


Hm. Yes. Well, I bet I can ad-lib better.

Caroline and Mila, as Pocahontas and Mulan.

This month is also Calvin's birthday (the 12th for those of you he's refused to tell. Shhhh!). He's gone on a business trip but we'll be celebrating it when he gets back.

Playing in Sundsvall

He is now 41. And he doesn't look a day over 41. Still fine as ever. Actually, better. The cute little baby face is gone. Also, most of the hair. And yet......he's just a stunner. Caroline, you're a lucky girl to have such genes. And I'm lucky to look at my husband 11 years after I met him and still think, Wow, I'd totally ask him out!

So Caroline wanted to make her dad a birthday cake when he returns. Not just any birthday cake, though. Chocolate? Nah. Vanilla? Snore. Yellow? Haven't we done that a million times?
No, this cake must be special. A serious multi-decker fantasy. Her idea? 41 layers. 41 different flavors for the layers. Topped with....now get this.....41 power bars, 41 Oreos, 41 Pop Tarts, 41 kinds of frosting, 41 Diet Cokes (oh yeah, she knows this man) and 1 candle. 41 candles might set off the fire alarm.

If I can work up enough energy for this gargantuan task, I may perhaps consider it.
Yeah.

At least we didn't forget the obligatory sock and underwear gifts.



Today, Caroline had her school physical. I was there as she took the eye test and I watched her read the lines the specialist told her to read. And I watched as she got nearly every letter wrong. Well, we know her reading skills aren't in question, so that only left one conclusion. The doc referred her to an optometrist on the economy. It is entirely possibly our little girl will be sporting a pair of brand new glasses soon. Stay tuned for photos.

Caroline, Daddy and I love you.

Alex, we're all with you and we love you.

Francesca and Fiona, we eagerly await your presence and the fun that always accompanies you and we love you.

...

Thank You, Grandma Rogers

My Grandmother, Caroline's Great Grandma Rogers sent this to me this morning, and as I read it, it reminded me of the "Confessional" post I made. Let this be a reminder to all mom's, especially myself, about how fast time flies and how precious is our time with the innocent souls in our care. Thanks for sending this to us, Gram!





To My Child Just for this morning, I am going to smile when I see your face and laugh when I feel like crying.

Just for this morning, I will let you choose what you want to wear, and smile and say how perfect it is.

Just for this morning, I am going to step over the laundry, and pick you up and take you to the park to play.

Just for this morning, I will leave the dishes in the sink, and let you teach me how to put that puzzle of yours together.

Just for this afternoon, I will unplug the telephone and keep the computer off, and sit with you in the backyard and blow bubbles.

Just for this afternoon, I will not yell once, not even a tiny grumble when you scream and whine for the ice cream truck, and I will buy you one if he comes by.

Just for this afternoon, I won't worry about what you are going to be when you grow up, or second guess every decision I have made where you are concerned.

Just for this afternoon, I will let you help me bake cookies, and I won't stand over you trying to fix them.

Just for this afternoon, I will take us to McDonald's and buy us both a Happy Meal so you can have both toys.

Just for this evening, I will hold you in my arms and tell you a story about how you were born and how much I love you. Just for this evening, I will let you splash in the tub and not get angry.

Just for this evening, I will let you stay up late while we sit on the porch and count all the stars.

Just for this evening, I will snuggle beside you for hours, and miss my favorite TV shows.

Just for this evening I will be patient as you get ready for bed, and I will simply be grateful that God has given me the greatest gift ever given.

I will think about the mothers and fathers who are searching for their missing children, the mothers and fathers who are visiting their children's graves instead of their bedrooms, and mothers and fathers who are in hospital rooms watching their children suffer senselessly, and screaming inside that they can't handle it anymore.

And when I kiss you goodnight I will hold you a little tighter, a little longer. It is then, that I will thank God for you, and ask him for nothing, except one more day...

---Author Unknown

..

Call the FAA!

So last night before bed, Caroline announced to us that we shouldn't come and check on her for awhile as she would not be there and we'd be wasting our time.

Calvin: Why? Where are you going to be?

Caroline: I'm going TDY.

Me: TDY? TDY to where?

Caroline: To Mount Olympos. I'm supervising a project for the Gods. They want to know how long it takes a human to fly from Stuttgart, Germany to Mount Olympos.

Me: Hm..is that so?

Caroline: Yes, and I'm packing right now.

Calvin: What are you taking?

Caroline: My running shoes, my memo pad to write down notes about my trip, and Violet.

So Calvin and I wished her a safe trip and asked her to let us know how it all went when she got back.

Ok, she said, no problem. We kissed her and sent her off for her journey.

Ten minutes later, as Calvin and I were watching a movie (this is, of course, after we got through giggling over her imagination) she stomped back in.

"Mommy! Daddy! My flight is delayed. We can't take off yet because we've forgotten something essential."

Calvin and I in unison, "Essential?"

"Yep, we need Juicy Juice. Quick! Got some?"

...

Well, I need that part....

I was cuddling Caroline, right? And I was overcome by this feeling of pure adoration for my sprout, so I told her. This is how the conversation went.

M: You are my whole heart, Caroline.

C: I am?

M: Yep, you are my heart AND my soul.

(short pause and a thoughtful look)

C: Am I your liver?

...

A Confessional, and A Reminder To Other Mothers

At your Great-Uncle Kevin's house, March 2002.
Play "cooking" with your Great-Grandma Rogers
Studying the flower garden at your first pre-school. I always loved your dimply chubby little hands so much.

Caroline,

It's a gloomy day today---54 degrees, drizzly, and just not a great time to be outside. So we drove to the farm that's about 30 minutes away so we could get a few bottles of fresh milk, which you love. You always want to put the coins in and fill up the bottles yourself.

Now that we're back you have your friend, Mila, over to play for the day. And while you both entertain each other and play-act and giggle your little hearts out, I am using the time to clean out my "craft closet". I say craft, but that's really just a nice way to put "closet in which all the junk gets put until it's time to move." And when we open the door and it all falls out on our heads.

Going through this closet is no mean feat---it's a full day's work at least. (Obviously writing here is break time for me). It is just chock full of stuff that shouldn't have been saved-----paid bills, scraps of paper, old string I thought I might use one day (??), Christmas letters from acquaintances we don't really know that well, etc. In short, no fun. Only occasionally, do I run across something that can be legitimately called "craft" stuff. Scissors, yarn, stickers, stamps.....all that.

But I am running across other things too, things which are far more precious, and things I should have found a better place for than in that closet. And these things are both wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time. Wonderful because they have to do with you.....memories of you, pictures of you, keepsakes for you. Heartbreaking because these things have reminded me once again how fast you're growing up and how much time I squandered not recognizing that. Some of the things, like the little clip of hair from your first hair cut, framed in a card, make me giggle--- remembering how you just would not hold still for the hairdresser. Your little bobble-head kept turning back and forth as your eyes kept looking for anything to stare at other than your own face in the mirror. Apparently you weren't as in love with your little face as I was. ;)

Other things have just brought tears to my eyes. Like your earlier photos. Looking at the pictures of your toddler self is hard. For one, I think I spent more time taking pictures of you than I actually did DOING things with you. I spent so much time snapping the camera that there was very little time spent in just getting to know you. Or at least it feels that way. Your toddlerhood is a blur in my mind and not nearly as clear at the photographs. I wish I'd taken fewer photos and played more games instead.

The second reason I'm feeling sad about them is that they remind me of my own impatience. I don't know if it was because you were my first and only and I didn't know better and I was just trying to be perfect and efficient, or whether it was something else altogether, but I do remember being way too impatient. I was impatient for you to hurry when you were toddling along on your chubby legs, impatient for you to hurry and spit your words out when you were learning to talk, impatient for you to listen instead of repeatedly getting into things I told you not to. I remember snapping at you for getting into drawers I'd told you not to get into, and I remember snapping at your for hanging on my leg when I was busy and couldn't pick you up. I remember one time in particular when we were visiting a friend's house and I'd told you twice to not play with their window shades but then caught your little chubby hands headed right back for those shades as soon as my back was turned. I snapped so harshly that you turned to me and began crying. I will never forget that. I felt guilty and horrible the instant I did it.

It's not that I snapped at you constantly, because I didn't, and it's not that I don't remember cuddling you and comforting you and giggling with you, because, Thank God, I do remember those times too. It's that those things--the things I'm not proud of-- tend to stick in my mind. The things I feel guilty about are the memories I don't want to keep, but they're also the ones that won't go away. Perhaps that's for a good reason. Perhaps that's my conscience reminding me to be more patient and more vigilant with the priceless hours. Either way, I wish I'd learned faster. I wish I could have somehow known before you were born that I would have to change my pace. Instead, I had to learn the hard way. I wish I'd known that those days would fly by, and that walking slowly with you, even when I was in a hurry, would have been worth the time it took. Being late for anything at all would have been worth the pleasure of watching you wobble along on your funny little legs. It was ok for you to take your time. And it was ok for you to learn at your own pace. Instead of snapping "No!" when you headed toward things you should not have been touching, I should have found something better to distract you with and I should have enjoyed watching you explore instead of considering it a nuisance. It was alright for you to take your time learning to speak---I should have listened more to what you had to say in the way you wanted to say it. I should have spent less time saying "Not now." and "I'll play with you later."

I will always regret that. Every moment with you was and is precious. It took me a few years to learn that, and the years I wasted trying to be a perfect mother are the years that I was anything but. I know a little better now. I'm still not perfect and I still make mistakes, but I love you enough to keep trying. I only hope that when you're grown up, it will be the good memories of your childhood that you keep.

From now on I'll try to look more at the here and now and less at the future. I'll continue to enjoy watching you grow up and I'll continue to try to let you do it at your own pace. I'll worry less about cleaning the house and try to enjoy making a mess with you more often. We're in the middle of your summer break and I have to tell you that I love waking up and getting breakfast with you every day. We don't have that luxury during the school year when we really do have to hurry. So I'll continue to enjoy what I've been loving for weeks now----spending time with you, going to the market with you, listening to the stories you make up, watching the movies you love and eating popcorn with you, listening to you laugh. This is way better than any photo.

I love you, Caroline.

Questionable Symptoms

So all throughout the past school year, Caroline's teacher, Herr Zappey, had the kids keeping journals. In them they recorded pretty much whatever they wanted as long as it was to do with happenings at home or in school that affected their own lives.

And at the end of the year, he took the journals and sent them home with each student to write in----they will turn these journals in when they go back to his class in late August. It's a pretty great idea, don't you think? Maintain the creativity, work on spelling and penmanship...all that.

Groovy!

Well, Calvin and I were reading her journal the other night and just marveling at Caroline's imagination, her eloquence and sometimes just the simplicity with which she recounts some stories. She's got a great grasp on the art of telling stories. But the simpler ones...the ones without embellishment.... were, for some reason, the best ones to us. Here's an example of one in which she tells us what happened when she and her friend Giada attempted to adopt one of the world's more helpless creatures:

Giada and I had a pet worm named Sebastian. But he died of diarrhea.

His funeral is today at lunch recess.

The End.

Diarrhea?

Calvin says that's 7-year-old-ese for "Squeezed the sh*t out of".

....

Incidentally....

...the Muppet has left the building and the blonde hair is back. I worried for awhile when that french lavender stuck around longer than it was meant to.


...

The Lately

Wow...I have been slacking in the blogging, haven't I?

Times have been good around the Hall house lately....or at the very least, busy, and Caroline has been the self that only she can be.

I've had to spend a lot of time with my ball team, practicing and going to tournaments, and Caroline has gone to all the practices and all the tournaments with me. While we're there she alternates between sitting in the stands with Calvin and watching, or running off to play with the other players' kids. By the end of each day she's completely filthy and sweaty---awesome! She needs that, like all kids do. ;o)

Her imagination hasn't suffered much either. She has built up an entire ark of imaginary animals who follow her everywhere and on whom she can ride when her "legs get tired". There are horses named Mazda, Honda, Toyota, Infiniti and Helga (?!), as well as a "seeing-eye cheetah" named Cheetoh.

She reads as voraciously as ever and is working this week on Mrs. Frisbee and the Rats of Nimh and The Black Pearl.

Here are a few photos of Caroline's life lately:

Making faces with pal and neighbor, Mila.



Running on the beach in Sweden.


Looking for sea shells.



Goofing off with Daddy in Sundsvall.


"Reporting" Mommy and Daddy for kissing. :o)


Yep, she definitely inherited Calvin's "serious" face.


Hanging out with her Dad on the rocks.


Playing in Nykoping.


The next two: Pretending to be Artemis, with her bow and arrows. Nykoping Castle.




Chilling out in the backseat during the drive from Nykoping to Sundsvall.

Move Over, P!nk!

Ok, so all year long Caroline has been asking me to dye her hair. She often sees her friends at school with pink or purple or blue streaks in their hair. It's the style at the moment, and I'm not entirely opposed to it. I think it's a cute, colorful expression of personal style and appropriate enough for a little girl. Here's the thing though: Caroline has fine wavy hair like I do. Not a blessing, I assure you. And this sort of hair holds on to colors and dyes like your superglue holds on to your fingers when all you wanted to do was fix that knick-knack your friend gave you that you never liked but always displayed to avoid hurt feelings and....I digress....

So I've told Caroline all year that she'd have to wait until summer when school was out. Just in case something goes wrong, right? At least in the summer, I can keep her locked in the dungeon for longer before anyone calls the cops.


When it came time to do the deed, she chose black instead of pink (she doesn't like pink right now--"It's for BABIES, Mom!"). Furthermore, she wanted her whole head dyed, rather than a few streaks. Naturally, I'm not going to let her go that far, so I told her she could have black but only in semi-permanent, so it would wash out in a few shampoos. After all, it's just for fun. We're not making any Jon Benet Ramsey's here.

The foam itself for this "Electric Black" temporary dye is actually a royal purple color, which turns black after 30 minutes on. Turns black except on Caroline, that is.

Her formerly beautiful blond is now a lovely shade of french lavender.* I have this urge to start singing Purple Rain. Or One-Eyed, One-Horned, Flying Purple People Eater. She really likes that one.

No worries though...let people stare, she said. Because now instead of being a gypsy or a pirate or Anne Boleyn, she is a Mermaid!

At least for a week.

*I would love to have included a photo here, but for some reason, on film her hair simply looks gray. Darn camera!

School Days and Anne Boleyn

My Caroline,

As usual, you are simply fascinating. I don't know many 7 year olds who even know who Anne Boleyn is, but you not only have a good grasp of her story (better than most adults I know), you have also adopted her as a character in your repertoire of play-acting parts. Now, it's true that we don't have an abundance of Tudor-type costumes to choose from in this house (try nothing, really) but that has not stopped your imagination from concocting something you feel is close.
The other night you came to me wearing one of my headbands (which you always tell me looks like one Anne Bolyen would wear) and one of my shirts, which I guess you think fits the picture as well as anything we have. The best part though, was your expression. Trying to imitate the portraits of the time, you adopted this imperious and prim expression, your chin up, your mouth pursed. I love it!



Just be careful who you marry, OK?


Today was your last day of school. And you, ever the non-conformist, decided to forego wearing your pyjamas to school as your friends were all doing and instead wore your pretty yellow chiffon dress that Grandma Myrick sent to you. You walked with confidence amazing in someone your age and you looked absolutely adorable. You got lots of smiles from people as we walked to your bus stop this morning.

Your little pink cardigan sweater over it, and your little sandals made you look girlier than you normally put up with.



And for the last bit of this post, I offer my congratulations to you. You aced your STAR testing, which your teacher announced to your class, AND your report card today was wonderful! You are definitely a smart little girl, and your father and I are so proud to see you putting that brain power to work. Not only in your academic life but in your creativity. The world is wide open to you!

I will end this post with mine and Daddy's love, and with the words of your teacher, Herr Zappey, who we are fortunate to be having as your teacher again next year. Herr Zappey, we are incredibly impressed with your dedication and skill. Caroline has grown---we can see it!---and it is obvious that you get a lot of the credit for that. We are so blessed to know we'll be seeing you again. ;o)


"Caroline has made outstanding progress this year! Her reading and written expression have flourished and her German has grown by leaps and bounds. Caroline has wonderful and creative ideas and gets other kids hooked! I enjoy her enthusiasm and dedication to principles! Thanks for a great year---see you in August!"

Golden Apples and Seafoam

My Caroline,
I'm glad to see your imagination is not failing you (except in the case of bells and angels ;o)~). We put you to bed at the normal time of 8pm last night, but when I came to check on you around 10, I found you sitting straight up in bed just staring in the dark with this thrilled look on your face.

I asked you why you were still awake and you excitedly informed me that you'd "just come back" from an adventure in the "Garden of Hesperides"! You recounted to me all about how you saw Ladon the dragon guarding the golden apples, and how you even saw the elusive Hesperides themselves. You'd tried to take a golden apple from Ladon's stash, but you accidentally dropped it and Ladon heard you. He almost caught you and tried to bite you, but you were saved at the last second by your pegasus named Blackjack. You'd only just got back and whew! Were you ever tired and ready for bed now!

And this morning? This morning as we ran to your bus stop, slightly late, you told me proudly that the reason that you're such a fast runner is that your shoes are made of seafoam and that makes you FAST!

*giggle* Caroline, I adore the very air you breathe. You make my own life beautiful.

Because you just never know what you might need....

As Caroline was leaving for school this morning, I picked up her backback to hand it to her. I noticed though that it seemed to weigh a ton. I asked her what was in it:

"Stuff I might need."

"For what?"

"Maybe an emergency. You never know when a natural disaster will happen, Mom!"

I told her that her teacher would take care of her in an emergency and that for now she ought to only take a drink, snack and her books to school. She sighed and reluctantly let me empty her backpack before we walked out the door.

When I got back I looked at the pile of dumped "emergency rations" on the foyer floor and what did I find?

--1 diary
--8 gel markers
--1 highlighter
--4 pencils
--22 scraps of paper with various unreadable markings
--a snail shell
--7 broken crayons
--1 drinking straw, apparently used
--1 ponytail holder
--1 reel of wedgewood blue embroidery string (I've been looking for that!)
--1 plastic toy zebra
--1 plastic toy elephant
--1 toy airplane
--1 tamagatchi
--1 2Euro coin
--1 dead earthworm
--1 plastic toy horse and...

..... no less than 9 large rocks.

Huh. ;o)


...

Caroline, Speed Queen

So Caroline has been learning to ride a bike lately. It didn't look so great the first day or two, of course, but it has been getting less and less injurious every day. With Calvin's patient instruction, Caroline is becoming less of a crash test dummy and more a little speed demon. He faithfully makes time every day and takes her down to our garage and lets her ride her little heart out, and he's always ready with snuggles and kisses when the inevitable cuts and bruises show up. Lucky us, so far, she hasn't made any bicycle-shaped dents in anyone else's car. She is also keeping a pretty good sense of humor about the whole thing. After one particularly ugly fall, when Calvin gasped she said, "Don't worry, Dad! That was just the gag reel!". Too many DVD Special features in this house? Nah!
Here she is riding while Calvin looks on:




A high-five after the session is up:




This is the helmet they picked out together for her. Check out the googly plastic eyes on the lady bug. This just tickles me. ;o)



Now she is anxious for her bike-riding lesson every day, though I daresay she won't need very many more. Go Caroline!

...

Where Have The Socially Acceptable Gone?

I wish this were going to be a happy post, but alas...not so much. I'm posting this for you, Caroline, so that when you are grown up, you will look back on this post and then look around you and be comforted (albeit barely) by the fact that some things never change.

Lately, you've been coming home from school and telling me about some disturbing happenings in your classroom. Namely, religious bullying. For example, several times this week and last you have recounted to me occurences of kids in your class asking eachother what church they each attend. Then, based on the answer, they decide for eachother who is going to hell and who isn't. The Protestants are doing this to the Catholics and the Catholics are doing this to the Protestants. And you are not spared. Indeed, since we don't attend a church at all, you are unequivocally going straight to hell, they say. That is clearly logical thinking. Of course, they have no idea what our family's religious beliefs are, but that doesn't put a damper on their making plenty of assumptions. A few of them have warned you that their mommies "said to tell you" that your soul is in jeopardy and that if your mother were any kind of mother at all, she would have you in a Sunday school program.

*sigh*

Caroline, it has been my experience in life that those who talk about God the most are the ones who keep Him in their hearts the least. They tend to be the mouthiest and the least sincere. They do not use religion to become closer to God. Instead, they use it to justify their vile thoughts, obsession with sex (meaning everyone else's sex), and their arrogance ("Christians aren't perfect, we're just saved!"). They remake God into their own image and then use Him to browbeat and condemn others.....rather like He's their own personal henchman. They almost always do this under the guise of "caring" about you and being concerned for your everlasting soul, and there is almost always a little gleam of glee in their eyes as they hope fervently that they're right about your future incineration. This helps them feel very pleased with themselves. But as you will have figured out completely one day, they are fooling no one but themselves. You have seen already how silly they look and how absurd they sound, strutting around like self-righteous peacocks.

That said, it has also been my experience that getting angry at these people does no good whatsoever. The only remedy is to feel sorry for them, for if anyone is deserving of your pity, it is these kids whose parents teach them to live on fear, both the feeling of it and the spreading of it. Those poor kids don't have a chance.

Bottom line is this: I'm dreadfully sorry you had to be introduced to this ugly side of humanity at such an innocent and happy time in your life. I'm also very sorry for those kids whose mothers train them to behave this way in school, and who apparently have no idea what religious tolerance means. Clearly, manners have escaped their notice. But I know you'll hang in there, my sweet Caroline, and I know you'll make intelligent and conscience-driven decisions about your own spirituality one day. After all, as Mother Theresa said, in the end it is between you and God and no one else.

I love you.
...

Your Head Is My Head and My Heart Is Yours

Caroline,
It has been sunny here for about two weeks now. It is truly incredible, as we (your Dad and I) never thought we'd see the light of day again, considering what a dreary winter, fall and last summer we had. But we were wrong. The sun still exists, and you've been soaking it up as much as you can, basking in it and playing your little heart out while simultaneously making Vitamin D with all your mitochondria.

Last night, in fact, I took you with me to my own ball practice and let you run around with your friend Kylie, a daughter of one of my teammates, while I chased balls around like a golden retriever.

When I was on deck to bat though, the batter ahead of me hit a fly foul that headed straight for the area behind the dugout.....the area I knew you were playing in. I cannot even begin to tell you how close I came to a coronary as I ran around the corner to warn you. It happened in slow motion. I watched that ball go up and then come hurtling down, and I watched with heart-stopping horror as it headed straight for the top of your little head. It was too late for a good idea, and all I could do was yell your name as I ran. You turned around just as it landed a mere foot from you, slamming into the ground with what could have been fatal speed.

I simply stood there for a second, staring at your precious face and your big eyes as they seemed to question, "What's the matter with YOU, Mom?".

My teammates must have seen the terror in my face because one of them came across the field just to tell me "It's ok, Trin. Calm down." even though I hadn't said a word besides your name.

I appreciate her concern and her trying to help, but between me and you, Caroline, no one will ever be able to understand how that felt for a few minutes, and how it still feels when I think of it. How close you came to being injured, or worse, haunts me. I daresay it will for a long time. I admit, I may be weird and I may be over-protective, but the fact is I can't hide that you are everything important to me, and I'd take that ball in my own head if it meant saving you from even a bruise.

I love you.






...

Let Me Count the Ways.....

Dear Caroline,

Last night you were playing around the house when you came to me with an empty tic-tac box and asked me to breathe into it for you. I asked why and you told me you wanted a "sample" of my breath because "it smells good". Weird as that is, it might be the most sincere way anyone has ever told me they loved me. ;o)






The other day you bought a set of rubber animal noses in the party favors section of the BX. The kind that strap on your head by an elastic band....rather like Groucho Marx noses and moustaches. The animal noses included were an elephant's trunk, a parrot's beak, a pig's snout and a lions muzzle. You insisted the moment we stepped out of the BX that Daddy wear the lion, I wear the parrot and you wear the elephant. We did---we unwrapped that package right there and donned our new identities. And we wore them all the way home, braving the stares from people in other cars and on the sidewalks. It was particularly entertaining when we stopped at a crosswalk to let people walk across, and they all rubbernecked the whole way, laughing and pointing at us. You were having the time of your life making people laugh. You were in the backseat laughing so hard yourself that you could barely breathe and little giggle-tears slid down your trunk. And your Dad? That guy who's normally pretty shy and unlikely to draw attention to himself? He wore it proudly and enjoyed it like a champ!

THAT is how much we love you. And we'd do it again.

...