Vacation . . . all I ever wanted . . . the black thumb experiment.

Post from the past:

It isn't malicious. I swear it isn't. I have nothing against plant. I think they are amazing. I think they are great listeners. I think they do a lot to help the environment. I am sorry to report that there isn't a plant on this planet that I can't kill by doing exactly what I am supposed to do for it.

I was hoping through my formative years that I would inherit my mom's hair growth rate, her work ethic and her ability to make plants do stuff they aren't supposed to do, like grow little waxy flowers when they aren't supposed to bloom at all. If there is any better thing than a green thumb when it come to plants my mom has to of them. 

Two out of three ain't bad. 

I knew it wouldn't be a hard sell to get my mom to go to the farmer's market I have been dying to check out for months. Ever since she went vegetarian it has been easy to get her interested in holistic types of stuff. Yes I consider maintaining plants holistic. 

I hadn't intended to walk out of there with anything but my mom was inspired. She saw empty window boxes and felt the need to fill them. In my care it seems more like punishing them to death row. But I vow, I vow to do my best. (Poor plants). We left with several plants for the window boxes a fuchsia and a climbing rose. We then spent the bulk of the afternoon "planting" (mom was planting-I was apologizing profusely to the plants and praying that they will survive despite what I do to them.) We ended up getting one of those topsy turvy's too. I love tomatoes so hopefully this plant makes it. If I can grow tomatoes I might try my hand at other food items next year.

So far they are all still alive and I have done some research and found out that I need to water the fuchsia more often. I need a watering can. 

I was inspired. It didn't take long. So I started thinking about the things I have been thinking about for a while. Getting a yard together is going to be a process but I honestly think it will be great once I get things under control. I am uploading in my photos a new album. It will be titled "Welcome to the Jungle." My intent is to post updated pictures and posts on my adventures in lawn building. 

So far my goals are: 

Compost pile - if you are doing it right it isn't supposed to smell bad. Why buy dirt when you can make it.

Rain barrels - it rains for about three months straight here, it would be a shame to waste all that water, I will need to install gutters first.

Decorative bed beside the house - discourage intruders who might try to climb the fence, also discourage the dog from trying to dig out from under the fence on that side of the house.

Seed and grow an actual lawn - real grass, no vine-like weeds to provide a place for Xyla to play where she won't get eaten by mosquitoes or large vine-like weeds.

Lofty, maybe but I have nothing but time and Xyla seems to like helping mommy with the yard. It is a good way for us to do things together. Maybe I don't have the green thumbs but maybe, just maybe she inherited one of Ninny's green thumbs and that will counter act mommy's black thumbs. Only one way to find out.

Vacation . . . all I ever wanted . . . oral surgery.

Another note from the past:

I am going to go out on a limb and say that most people don't like to start their vacations with oral surgery but find me the person who says I do anything normal and you'll know they don't know me well. Nervous . . . yes of course I was nervous. Going completely under to have a couple of wisdom teeth pulled. (There is a reason they do this when you are late teens to early 20's-ask me about that later). 

I had designs to get shots of the doctor and my face all huge so I could write and say "this is me after a huge fight. My face swelled up and I lost three teeth, but you should see the other guy." Then put up the picture of my female oral surgeon looking all happy and stuff. Then say, "In my defense she had a team of anesthesiologists (got that spelling right on the first try) who put me under first. Guess you have to be in my head for that to be funny.

When I woke up it was kind of a whirl wind. I know why they ask you to pay before you go in. Honestly all I remember is stumbling out to the car like a drunken sailor. My sister graciously drove me home but not before I made her stop to get me a Braum's Chocolate shake. If icecream is all I am supposed to eat for two days then by all means . . . I hadn't eaten all day to that point anyway. (Gum-that is what all of you missed, gum is what got me through my hungry parts of this. You chew it but you don't swallow it so you trick yoursel .. .what ever you don't want to know that.)

When I got home it was funny because part of my face was still numb and I was drooling chocolate shake all down the front of me. My sister got the laugh she hasn't had since we were teenagers and she'd give me dead legs so I could barely get off the bus at school. They gave me this squeeze bottle that I am supposed to use to help clean out the "holes" left by the teeth, but not for four days . . . so naturally I put it somewhere "where I wouldn't be tempted to use it" (that's my post op brain recovering from anesthesiology). Needless to say, I am still looking for it. My sister swears I never got one but I know I held it in my hands and put it somewhere, as a matter of fact, where ever it is, it is sitting on it's side because I was going to use it in four days and why stand on ceremony?

This is part of the, "why they do this when you are young" speech I got from Dr. Valasquez. The roots had grown long enough to reach into the sinus cavity. When the teeth are pulled it leaves, obviously, a hole. Eventually this hole gets plugged with the mouth-y equivalent of a scab and then the bone heals etc, etc. Maybe not to anyone else but to me, it is totally cool to be able to suck air into your mouth through your teeth holes without opening your mouth. I may not be the only one to do that (when you are not supposed to) but I might be the only one Dr. Valaquez knows that tried to make them whistle. 

Eventually you have to commence with the healing. Did you know that one of the foods they recommend you eat while healing from oral surgery is meatloaf and mashed potatoes? According to my nephew I am pretty good at meat loaf. When we told him that was what was for dinner he said, "I love your meatloaf". It means a lot to me when an 8 year old says he "loves" my meat loaf. 

Everyone I talked to before the 'extraction' told me they were feeling pretty beat up for a couple of days after their wisdom teeth were pulled. Mostly from the sedation. I have always known I react to medications different from most people but what I don't understand is why I was wired and couldn't sleep for two days. The most hyper I have been since we discovered they sell giant jaw breakers in Swan Valley on our way to camp. Of course Judy was the campion and getting those things licked down to a reasonable size.

My sister and her husband left on Friday and that left me and Xyla with Ninny. I really think that Xyla remembers her Ninny. She played so hard with her that I think the baby is having withdrawls. I don't even remember Friday that well. I think we tried to spend most of the day relaxing. Because that is what you are supposed to do after surgery, right?

For the interest of time this note is continued in part 2.

A note about the cars.

A note from the past:

Is it weird that I want there to be information out there on my vehicles? I had to give one away and it was like ripping off my arm and handing it over. See if you can guess which one.

I bought my first car from Grandma Rena before I was old enough to drive. Loosely translated means my sister got to drive it before I did. I didn't care though because it was MY car. How many teenage girls get a muscle car for their first ride? The doors were heavy, the back seat had fantastic upholstery and it went through a set of brakes when I had it. My dad and I changed the whole brake system from the rim up to the pedal. I loved helping work on it. The whole thing was fascinating to me. Still is. The interesting thing about this car was that you could turn the wheel from 10:00 to 2:00 and not turn the car. That is how loose my steering was. I didn't care. I worked around it. It was a ton or two of metal but it was fantastic. I still think about that car and I get all nostalgic when I see one driving around. I get the funniest looks from men when I shout out the make and model and tell them I love that car. I have yet to find one man who can get into a car with that size engine and not try to run it up to 100 mph . . . even my dad. It did remarkably well in the snow too.

I had to trade that car with my mom because it was getting to be too much to handle the repairs and I was going to be heading to college soon (down the street but still). I needed a more reliable car. I was 17 and I walked away from the deal with the Dodge Spirit. Most people will tell you that car is good for nothing but it had more than 200,000 miles on it when I sold it. I went to camp one year before I listened much about car maintenance and got stranded in Melrose, Montana for more than six hours while my family decided who all was coming to get me. I warped the heads in the engine but that got replaced and I never missed an oil change after that. It got me through college and my 6 months of "unemployment" while I was going to school and working in Idaho Falls. I have had to haul a new car battery more than two miles on foot before. That was an interesting day. This car and I went everywhere together. And I mean everywhere. It got me through two boyfriends, about 5 moves and a pretty horrendous snow storm that my mother and I argued about whether or not was considered an "emergency". I later found out that my parents would drive through some pretty rough weather so I probably should have put my foot down and told mom it was what I was comfortable driving through, not what she was comfortable driving through. 

I acquired the F-150 during one of the moves. I was finally getting my own place, by myself, no roommates. Which as it turns out was better for me and my 3 am schedule at the television station. Mom and I blew out a tire when we were hauling it up to pocatello and a nice state trooper stopped to help us fix it. After the move It sat out behind my apartment complex for a year before I had to move again. This time I had to move home because a plan didn't quite work out the way I'd hoped. I spent couple months looking for a job and was off to Tennessee. I had my dog, no radio and was hauling all my worldly possessions and my spirit behind me. I told my mom it was something I had to do on my own. Somewhere in Arkansas I had to call my dad to find out how to get my carburator to help me limp into Knoxville. In Knoxville I drove mostly the truck. I am not sure why. The car had been broken into at one point and the poor thing just kept going down hill from there. I had to drive it somewhere and found out the brakes were going out and that is was going to take more money to fix it than it was worth. I would have paid it but I didn't have it. I sold it to the guy at the brake store and went home an cried for hours.

So then it was just me and the truck. It was my grand father's truck. It had rust holes in the side and the paint was oxidized from bumper to bumper but it was redneck and I WAS in Tennessee. It was easy to load up the dog and take her down to the lake and let her jump in to her hearts content. I put a new stereo in it. One with a CD player so I could actually get radio and when I didn't like anything that was on I could pop in a CD. After two years of Tennessee and seeing some of the biggest stories that helped to shape my view of the reality of other people, I was on my way with my truck, a U-haul trailer and the dog to OKC. The Ford has more than 300,000 miles on it. Has been across the country and back more times than I have and as my grandfather quoted two years ago "needed getting rid of". When my mom told him I still had it he told her to tell me to get rid of it. Man o man I love owning a truck. I always used to tell people I would own a purple truck one day. I probably still will. After I'd been here in OKC for a while mom gave me the Intrepid. I don't even want to talk about what happened to that because I feel entirely responsible. Now after being totaled by an OKC curb for the second time it is laying at Pull-A-Part waiting to be stripped of its usefulness. I had no emotional attachment to that car. 

I got the Buick just after the truck gave up on me. Just to file in your mental roll-a-dex: "You can't expect an old man to haul rocks." It gave up on me two blocks from the house and Mike (my rommate) gave me a push with his mitsubishi back to the house. I was about 6 months pregnant and my parents were going to bring me the buick my grandfather left behind. I had to promise not to let it wander into any curbs. I also told my dad I couldn't take it unless he let me pay him for it. It is just what I need right now with the baby. It is still under 100,000 miles which is really good for a car 15 years old. We still have many adventures to go on so the story of this car isn't quite over yet. The F150, sadly, is coming to an end. Sentimental reasons have told me I had to keep it even though it won't run. In a couple of weeks it will make it's way to pull apart as well. At least it's parts will go to help another vehicle and not just be crushed to oblivion (that is what I am going to tell myself anyway). It isn't junk to me. It is almost 10 years of my life, two heart aches, a pregnancy, five jobs and four moves. So don't be surprised the next time someone tells me "it's just a car" and I haul off and deck them. It's memories - good, bad, whatever that truck/car was part of my life. Most of my interesting stories arrive in one of those five vehicles. Hopefully I will only ever own maybe two more vehicles in my life. One of which will likely be a purple truck that can haul a horse trailer and handle Montana winters.

Last Train to Clarkesville . . .

Another post from the past:

I may have moved a little too quickly for my baby in the last couple of weeks. I moved her to a new daycare, I am trying to start weaning her from her bottle and she has been moved to her crib in her own room. She is handling the changes pretty well so far but she fusses more than usual. I am not sure if that is because she is about to be a toddler or just because she likes things the way they were.

I am in the process of sending out invitations to Xyla's 1st birthday party. I decided to give Walmart one last shot. I decided to try out their online photo lab. I mean I have a photo business and it would be nice to be able to send stuff there to have it printed. Of course I am not going to do that unless I have tried it out first. 

I know I shouldn't hold previous grievances against anyone but this store keeps singing it's own praises and I get sucked into the current a little. Then when I think things are going well I get my hopes dashed on the rocks. The more you get hit the harder it is to forgive. Thankfully with businesses you can go somewhere else for the same thing. I have all the formula I need to get Xyla through the end of the month, I have to buy her diapers somewhere else now because even though they carry the right brand they don't carry the right style. You would think that Huggies are Huggies no matter what fit you buy but that is so not the case. As it turns out a case of the Huggies I need for Xyla are cheaper at Target. Who'da thunk it? What I am saying is I don't buy diapers there anymore either. 

I am not bashing my head at the pharmacy wall anymore so I thought the photo department might actually be the last depot on this crazy train ride that is Wal Mart that would be the redeeming factor. Sadly the following is the case:

I was very proud of the invitation I put together for Xyla's birthday. I got to fool around with digi scrapbooking with my photoshop program, I even included her daddy by using a picture he took of her. I just needed a place to print them up. Most of the print shops locally are pretty expensive so I thought. Why not try Wal Mart.com. They have templates so you can make cards, postcards etc. I got through the online process, grudgingly gave them my card information (I hate buying online but for orders of the size of mine you can only buy them online - a fact they don't tell you until you have already gone through all the effort. Which is fantastic strategy really because after you go through all that you are reluctant to have to do it all again somewhere else. Even for someone who is fairly savvy at this, it was still a pain in my left foot. But I digress . . .) that is when they tell you it will take two weeks for delivery. Are they kidding? It is a good thing I ordered them early because right now I am still within a courteous amount of time to get the invites out the door even if they come on the late side of the window. 

They also tell you that they will email you and let you know when your order is finished and when you can come get them from the store. They so don't. I called them yesterday to find out they had had my order since Thursday of last week. I told them I would be in to get them as soon as possible. It was 11:30 by the time I finally made it over there. (PIck up tapes, send off tapes, deliver tapes to local shows, get other work done and oh, did I mention pick up my daughter from her daycare because she had some unusual poo issues?) 

I get there with the resolve of doing nothing but picking up the pictures so to begin my boycott of the store. The guy behind the counter looks for them for 15 minutes (I soon regretted my decision not to put Xyla in a cart even though we weren't actually shopping - it only takes her five minutes to decide she needs to unstock the shelves closest to the floor then try to wiggle her way down there. After 10 minutes I set her down so she could touch stuff.) The guy behind the counter I feel sorry for because this doesn't seem to be his department. He informs me the lab techs are at lunch and he can't find them. He goes through various drawers that hold different types of photo orders at least 4 times. I understand his pain but he has to understand that I am not interested in dragging my kid through the store twice for something that was absolutely there this morning. 

Finally he goes through the bag of stuff that just came in and finds an envelope that says it contains my order. I should know better than to walk off without inspecting the order first. I opened the packet somewhere around half way out the store and realize only half of my order is there. I go back to the counter and the poor guy looks terrified that I am back. I tell him I only have half of my order. He gives me a number to call. I didn't say anything horrible to him though it was in my mind to do so. I know it wasn't his fault. Then again how am I supposed to know when the Wal Mart employees take their lunch breaks? I would think you would pass on information like, "This person called to confirm her order and said she'd be in today to pick it up. In case she comes in while we are at lunch, I put it here." 

Customer service is not what it used to be. 

I get home and call the number. The lady who answers the labs phone (which is in Texas by the way) tells me I need to call the store and see if the one hour will print the order. I told her I didn't even know if they did those at this store. She said she would make a call and find out and get things worked out. Seems so helpful right? When I ask her name (which when you call back someone always asks who you talked to and you tell them and they say we don't have anyone who works here with that name.) she says, "Celia" then I asked for a last name, she says, "I am the only one here with that name." Come on it's not like I am going to google you and find out where you live. I am not upset at Celia, i am upset at the process. So I say, "Celia, I would really like to have your last name please." She obliges and I get her extension as well. The worst thing when you are trying to get kinks worked out is dealing with a new person every time you call, the second worst is having to explain the same situation 15 times until someone finally admits they can help you.

I call the stores photo lab and low and behold they have found the rest of my order. What a surprise. So I trek into the store for what will now definitely be the last time pick up my order and say good bye to any further Wal Mart Frustrations. Yea, I am free.

If you have stuck it out this far I am proud of you. For the good news portion of this show I present to you that Xyla has been saying thank you for the last two days and understands it is something you say after an item has been transfered from her to another person or from another person to her. Now I just need to get her to say please when she wants something. I think we are off to a good start.

She just talks and talks and talks. She talks with her hands too. She was telling some story to her uncle Grelan and with emphasis she raises one hand high in the air and with the appropriate swoon of inflection bends her knees and swoops her hands real low to the ground. I can't imagine what she thought she was communicating but I can't wait to hear her stories when her words go from vocabulary mush to actual stories. I envision many "She Said" posts. 

On the first of May Xyla will get the last shots she will need for a while. We were at the doctor yesterday to get a take on her poo issue and she was a little afraid of the guy with the doctor mask on his face. After the first she probably won't like him when he takes it off either. Maybe I could get him to wear it when he gives the shot so that she will think the mean man that stabs her with needles is different from the doctor who makes her feel better. It's worth a shot . . . I mean a try.

So far trying to get her to sleep in her own crib is challenging but it was worth the months that she slept right next to me. I am excited to see what our future holds. My life wouldn't be the same without her.

How does she know what that is?

Posts from the past:

So this weekend has been intense for Xyla studying every surface of every thing. She started putting her finger up her nose (and who ever said "you can't pick your friends nose" was so wrong.) This weekend she points to her nostril an says "boogie". Then she points to my nostril and says, "boogie". I told her "yes, and mommy would like her boogies to stay in her nose and Xyla's fingers to stay out." I got her a tissue and started to wipe her nose and she began blowing (using her lips) into the tissue. Right concept wrong orifice. 

This morning though she kind of broke my heart a little. We got to her grandmother's house to drop her off for daycare and she grabbed on to her granny like, "I am sooooooo happy to see you, you don't know what this weekend has been like." And nothing really happened this weekend, maybe that's the point. 

She will be eleven months this week. She has one tooth on it's way up and another just clearing the gums. She walks really well holding on to a hand. She stands by herself better than she lets on. She is starting to pull herself up more and more. She said "happy" again this morning, something she hasn't said since the first week she said it. She is on her way to be a walking, talking toddler. And all I can think is, it's been that long already? Impossible.

Learning Quickly.

Another note from the past:

Xyla tried to pull herself up Saturday and actually accomplished it all by herself. I, of course, cheered her on. 

She has learned that to talk on the phone you have to hold it to your ear and make some noises with your mouth. She knows the difference between her play phone and the real one. She won't talk to her play phone. 

She figured out that she not only can stick her finger up other people's noses with stunning acuity but she also has nostrils for plugging with her fingers. You know that once the finger goes up there it is only a matter of time before something else makes the way up. If the other mothers I know are right then I'll know because she'll start to smell rancid. I can't wait. 

And she can say "ooooo" with inflections that mean oooooo - I am happy. ooooo - you shouldn't do that, ooooo - don't let that doggie lick my toes.

She loves to share her food with mommy. If mommy finishes her plate too quickly she will offer me a piece of her baby food which she will not let me feed her any more, she has to feed herself.

She discovered 'goldfish' is the best travel snack and that if you put one in your mouth fins first and stick the head out like it is your tongue - the sight of yourself in the mirror is pretty darned funny. It is especially funny if you do it with rainbow colored gold fish.

She laughs every time she hears someone else laugh. Except at "America's Funniest Home Videos." I agree with her, quite frankly, they aren't as funny as they are touted to be. I have a little card on my hands but what great fun that she is so happy.

For posterity Part 1

The following posts will be ones I wrote when Xyla was much younger (she's two: if that's possible to be "much younger" than two)  I am writing this disclaimer to state that no I did not have a second child.

XYLA SAYS . . . 

Just in case I thought last week when Xyla said "Happy" was a quirk, she spouted out two new word/phrases this week. 

This week we attended the church of her grandparents. He Papa John was delivering the message and a good portion of the church attending portion of the family was there. She fell asleep during the worship part and stayed asleep through the spirited delivery of the message. It wasn't until people were moving toward the alter to receive prayer that she finally woke up. She was still fairly quiet being passed between family members who had already been prayed for. They were also juggling Faith and Arlecia at this time too. 

Faith had slept most of the service as well and when she woke up she was energetic but not too distracting. She is usually loud and hard headed. I figured when I dropped my cell phone on the floor I was going to have to chase her around the sanctuary to get it back. Surprisingly she picked it up and put it directly in my hand. I looked her in the eye and said, "That was a very nice thing to do Faith, Thank you." The next thing the entire church heard (with heads bowed and eyes closed) was Xyla's very loud "THANK YOU".

Timing be darned at least she is learning manners. Then today as I was changing the second of four wet diapers she decided to rock and roll across the bed. I told her, "Stop it." So she rolled back to square on the White Cloud looked me strait in the eye and said, "stop it." Uh, oh. 

She will be nine months tomorrow. I am proud of her. I have taken advantage of the last two days iced in to think about what it would be like for both of us if I could have been a stay at home mom. I am lamenting that. I know my hair is lamenting that. I wonder how things in her life would be different if I had made different choices. I am so in love with her. I am excessively happy that God chose me for her.

The best gifts in life are . . . free.

I am elbow deep in advice these days.  My little girl is not afraid of water, not even a little.  She climbs anything that will hold still.  She insists on my letting her get out of the car on her own.  She won't let me feed her.  She wants to do everything I do.  I have been teaching her to ask for help when she needs it.  When I see her start to struggle I say, "help please?"  and she either says no or repeats what I say.  That's how I know whether to help her or not. 

The craziest thing is it isn't really an age or list of accomplishments that announces the arrival of independence.  The single thing that indicates whether your child is ready for gymnastics or ski lessons or swimming lessons is "They must be potty trained."  As if you are bringing your dog for obedience school.  It has been kind of a long road so far but I am not singularly fixated on this accomplishment.  I just really think that she would take to it.  She has quite a few of the signs that she is ready.  She can tell me when she has to go (she doesn't always do this).  She has gone from sitting on the pot once an hour at daycare to every two hours and seems to be holding it until she gets to the potty again.  She has told me "mommy, hurry, mommy potty." And that was a great day.  Slowly we are marching right along with the process.  Other moms have told me that it can be done in one weekend if you can handle the mess and are consistent with it.  I tried that and I prefer not to clean up the mess.  I am sure other moms would be getting discouraged by now.  My personal feeling is as long as she is getting the principles we can wrap it all together at some point if I could get her past one hurdle.  

The thing is.   She doesn't mind it when her diaper is full of poo.  She doesn't wine about it.  She doesn't make faces.  She disappears for a minute and then comes back with a certain . . . odor.  That's our hurdle, getting her to be uncomfortable with the poo touching her body.  In every other little thing she doesn't like getting dirty.  Had a fit about finger paints.  Won't eat messy food with her hands.  Gets upset when she steps in a mud pit and it's all over her shoes.  Why she doesn't have a problem with stinky poo on her booty, I don't know.  I would have thought that would have been simple.  I heard some one describe the sentiment once and she seems to agree, "It's warm and it's mine."

What happened this morning is going down as the best gift she has given me to date.  I was in my room trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep.  She was out in the living room playing with her toys.  She had closed me in my room and I was waiting for her to come knock on the door like she usually does after a few minutes.  It took a little longer than usual but the knock came.  It was a little awkward but it was there.  I got up and opened the door and said, "c'min" the way she does when she is on my side of the door.  I turned around before I got a look at her and what she was holding and laid back down in my bed.  She said, "momma."  I turned my head without opening my eyes and said, "yes, babay."  She said, "MOMMA" and made an odd swipe at me.  I opened my eyes.

In her hand was a pull-up with one side unfastened.  She was being very careful to hold it up but despite that there was still one lump that was trying to escape.  I jumped up pretty quickly.  When I finally looked at her face she had such a huge smile and look of pride on her face.  You might be tempted to think the "gift" was a big ol' stinky pull-up full of poo.  The reality is the gift is the confirmation that potty training is moving right along.  It's working and she's doing it on her own time.  I am so proud.

Xyla got to spend some time with her daddy today.

This is going to be the picture we give him for father's day.

This is the picture we are going to put at the top of the blog.

In case you wonder, you need to go down the slide faster if daddy is right behind you.

Ballin' with my Daddy.  He's got moves but he ain't got nothin' on me.

See, I put one up against the old man.

The curse of dreaming.

I had a disturbing dream last night.  It wasn't something I worried about after Xyla was born.   Please understand this is one of the things I worried about when I was about to become the mother of a mixed child.  I honestly thought she was going to be quite a bit darker than she is because, honestly, have you seen her dad?  I worried about having to prove to someone that she is my daughter.

In my dream Xyla and I are at the park.  It is a park that is familiar in the dream but not in real life.  Meaning, in the dream it's a place we go all the time.  It's no secret Xyla and I don't look much alike.  She looks like a lightly toasted version of her father.  I know and most black folks know that she is mixed, however, if you are white and don't know us there is a good chance  you'd never really know that fact by looking at her.  

Back to the dream.  The couple in the dream have the faces of two people from a blog I read regularly.  (I am sure they would never do in real life what they did in the dream so I won't name names.)  After spending all day in the park and noticing the couple, with their own children, watching us uncomfortably closely, I decide it is time to leave because quite frankly they are creeping me out.  Their van is parked on the street side of mine.  It is blocked from behind by a smaller car and the drive way out of the parking lot is a thin one.  

They decide that this can't possibly be my child because she is black and I am white and that they must intervene to avert what they think is a kidnapping.  As I turn to load Xyla in the car the man grabs a hold of her and forcefully takes her from me.  His wife is already loading her own kids into their van.  She leaves the door of the van open and comes to her husbands side.  I am screaming at him.  Telling him to give me my child.  He says, "we don't think she belongs to you.  You are going to have to prove that she is yours before a judge, we are not giving her back until we are sure she is safe."  He turns and starts to walk around my car to their van.  

I feel nearly helpless.  I can't take her back without hurting her.  I can't stop them and there isn't anyone to help me.  The only thing I can think to do is try to stop them from leaving and call the cops to sort it out.  I grab my phone out of the car and stand directly in front of their van.  They keep yelling, "you have to move.  You can't just stand there."  I yell at them, "you can't just take my child."  I start trying to think where I left her birth certificate and what is the number to 911 . . . and about how in thirty seconds this guy could decide to drive over top of me and I don't know them so I don't know where they live and I might never see her again.  Then I wake up.

I hate that thought.  The thought that anyone thinks they might have the right to take her from me because we don't look alike.  The thought that I should be carrying around her birth certificate to prove that I am her mother.  The thought that someone would actually think that she isn't safe with me.  It is the worst feeling in the world.   The idea that complete strangers would think that it was their place to step in and basically kidnap my child because they don't know us.  It was very upsetting. 

This dream was no different from most of my dreams in that, I knew I was dreaming.  I just haven't been able to shake the yucky feeling it gave me all day.  She is everything good that has happened to me all rolled into one person.  I made the effort today to have a special day.  Since it is "Free Fishing Days", one of two in the year that you don't have to have a state license to fish in Oklahoma, I took her fishing.  Last week we lasted an  hour and 20 minutes.  This week we were there significantly less time but we did get our poles wet.  We went for a walk.  I asked her if she wanted to go over to the park on the other side and she said, "sure, momma."  Once we got in the car I asked, "are you ready to go over there to the park?"  She said, "no, momma."

I said, " you aren't ready?"  she didn't answer.  I said, "you don't want to go to the park."  She said, "no, momma."  I was a bit relieved.  I didn't really want to go to the park either.  I asked again to be sure and again she said, "no, momma."  We went to the library instead.  We found a couple of books and tried to get her on the kids computers and found out she has to have her own card to do so.  We signed her up for a card.  We picked up lunch and came home.

She ate some of her food, the dog ate some of her food.  I ate my food, which wasn't that tasty.  

I let her play outside for a little while and then it was time to take a nap.  I made her lay down. She cried.  I asked her if she wanted me to hold her, she said, "no, I crying."  I asked her why she was crying.  She didn't know, she cried louder.  This is a difficult age for me.  By the time my sister's little girl was this age she was able to describe to the girl at the take out window, in some detail, exactly what she thought of the service they were getting.

I was sure she was overly tired and just having a tough time going to sleep.  I tried to get her to calm down and close her eyes but she just kept crying.  I didn't know what to do for her and she doesn't know how to tell me what's wrong.  She had been saying, "I crying," throughout the day. And at random she would burst into tears.  For no reason.  The sentiment inside of me was coming out of her.  Right now she is running on two hours of trying to nap with no success and I am running on empty.  I feel a sense of helplessness and loss that I can't seem to shake and there isn't a precipitating reason for it.

I would have spent time in prayer during her nap but obviously that didn't go like I hoped.  I will before I collapse in bed tonight.  In the mean time, here's a few shots from the day.