A night out...

I went to the symphony last night. It was a delightful, relaxing evening.

Sitting on one side of me was a boy, probably about nine or ten. Next to him was a woman, probably his mother – maybe his grandmother. I know better then to jump to conclusions.

About twenty minutes in, the boy gave a completely silent, but much exaggerated yawn and did a little fidgeting. The woman snapped her head around to look at him.

I was expecting an equally silent, but furious “shushing” gesture or some kind of admonishment. Instead, she smiled at him in an incredibly sweet loving and understanding way. Honestly, it was so obvious to me, a total stranger, how much she loved this boy. It took my breath away. She was still putting him on notice that he needed to settle down. But in her look was the complete understanding of what it was to be a nine-year-old boy having to try to sit still through a concert, and how much she loved him for who he was.

Such a simple, beautiful gesture reminded me that the underlying message of unconditional love is the most important thing we can communicate to our kids. I want my kids to know that they can turn to me for love, even in a moment of chaos or anger and find it instantly. Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony was lovely, but that mother’s smile is a lesson I’ll remember forever.

For every season...

For some reason I still don’t fully understand, (probably temporary insanity) I decided to potty train Gracie in the midst of the scabies adventure. Logically I suppose, I figured a few more loads of laundry here and there wouldn’t make much difference.

I know I waited too long. I’d heard so many stories of kids waking up one morning and casting aside diapers never to look back. I was hoping this lucky scenario would happen in our household. Alas, it was not to be. Each time I tried, Gracie was emphatic about not being ready, not being interested, needing to stay in diapers. Then our Guatemala trip was on the horizon and the vision of trying to find bathrooms in emergency situations scared me. So I waited until now to take the plunge.

Things were rocky in the first week, but now Gracie is doing a great job. I could tell you stories, believe me. I could tell you about Gracie proudly sloshing down the stairs with her morning output in the little potty bowl – informing us over splashes that she stayed dry all night only to be soaked by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs. I could tell you about a particularly well aimed, hurled toy from Danny that landed in a very unfortunate spot just as we were all exclaiming at a monumental accomplishment.

But this post is about an unexpected discovery I made about myself during this process. Maybe it was me who wasn’t ready.

During that first rather horrific week, I did some research in between loads of laundry. One recommendation from Dr. Sears was not to equate potty training with being a “big girl” when there’s a new baby in the house. Sometimes, being bigger isn’t always better. When a new little one is on the scene, handing over the “baby” spot isn’t all that appealing.

I started to think about what goes into a diaper change. There’s the obvious which I’m sure none of you need to be reminded about. But then there’s also the little break from the day: just the two of us. There’s no sharing of this moment. We hunker down, faces less then three feet apart. Between the pair of us, one needs help; the other is there to give it. There’s physical contact, perhaps a kiss on the foot, maybe a tickle or two. There’s a bit of conversation, the wonderful feeling of being clean and fresh, and a hug and off you go.

Am I ready to say goodbye to that little girl? When week one was over and Gracie was staying dry through the night, I peeked in on her before going to bed as usual. Suddenly she looked a little more grown up. I felt a pang for her, for me. I could see a bit of the past fading into memory.

I went to bed that night and cried. So much has changed for Gracie in such a short time. She’s a very determined little girl. Usually, things swing her way. But she can’t stop growing up. She can’t go back to being the baby of the family.

Things are right with the world. We have the family we’re supposed to have. I’m grateful every day for the five of us. But as always happens with the addition of another child, the older one didn’t get a vote – her spot in the center of the universe now must be shared, and sometimes seems to have been ceded altogether.

Gracie will be fine. So will I. But some nights I still go to bed and cry.

Here are a few moments from the Gracie play book. Some of the moments I treasure most.


Some art work from Gracie. Two are hers alone, one is a collaboration between her and daddy. I'll let you figure out which is which...

"A green caterpillar"


"Mice eating"

"Pelican eating an eel"

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My determined girl... The more I emphasize that Gracie needs to stay in bed, the less likely she is to stay there. This first one came after a particularly heated discussion about the need to stay in bed. Well...since she's sleeping in the "bedside table" technically I guess she's within the law. Her closet is another favorite retreat

Finally, a picture of Gracie taking care of herself after a very "serious" injury.

Half in, half out of her bee costume.

Gracie's "sets" are infamous around our house. We don't know why she calls them sets. But a cry heard daily is "Get Danny away, he's ruining my set!!" Here are a few...

My personal favorite: the Potato Heads break into the doll house.

Finally, Gracie's new talent as a big sister is under construction. Here are a few moments with baby brother preparing for Halloween...