Note: Pictures are coming soon, but I’m too tired right now to mess with getting them off the camera.

Dear Button,

Year #2 was off to a great start this morning as you cheerfully handed your grandfather a turd.

Apparently you found it stuck to the dog’s butt and felt compelled to share your discovery. Your gift was much appreciated …if only because you did something with the poop OTHER THAN shove it in your mouth.

We went to the Texas State Fair today in honor of your birthday and you had a fabulous time being overstimulated beyond belief. You enjoyed chunks of turkey leg and funnel cake, and riding around on Dada’s shoulders.

Your favorite part (due in no small part to the fact that you were totally nap-deprived and sugar-high, I’m sure) was the Ferris Wheel. The little people walking around below were so fascinating and the couple we shared the carriage with even gave you a little stuffed frog. You got SO EXCITED over that frog, laughing and squeezing it as though it was your Kitty.

Then as soon as we went our separate ways, you threw it out of the stroller in announcement of your impending nap and BAM - you were out like a light. You snored all the way home.

When we got home and changed you into a new set of clothes, one startling fact became very obvious: You have quite suddenly and without warning grown into 12-month clothes. Today. Sometime between breakfast and lunch. This morning, you were still growing into the 6-9 month clothes. After being 1 to 2 clothing sizes behind for your entire life (doesn’t it sound like a long time when I put it like that?), it appears that you are finally catching up.

Perhaps it’s the massive amount of turkey, cheese and green beans you have been ingesting recently. But now I really need to update your wardrobe, as I was expecting to have several more months before you needed 12-month sized clothing. I hope you like onesies kiddo, because that’s what you’ve got.

When it was time for your second nap of the day, which was a necessity due to the birthday part we had planned for this evening, you absolutely refused. You have never been so stubborn about not taking a nap as you were today - and I have never been so agitated by it, knowing that if you DIDN’T nap before the party, you would be a little bear this evening.

Eventually, we resorted to driving you around in the car, which successfully resulted in a good 45-minute refresher nap. Enough for me, I was ready to take what I could get at that point.

The party was a success, and even though you were again overstimulated by all the presents, and overtired from an already big day, and were forced to stay up an hour past your usual bed time, you did very well. We were really impressed.

As expected, you received a totally unreasonable amount of cool presents, and completely ignored most of them - preferring instead to play with the wrapping paper. Evidently nobody listened to me when I told them ahead of time that would happen. You did develop an attachment to one particular toy - a little plastic horse-riding figure - and carried it around in your mouth for most of the evening. Apparently equestrians are tasty.

You ate cake and ice cream, and ice cream, and then you enjoyed some ice cream. Since our trip to the fair had been unsuccessful at reaching sugar-high energy levels sufficient for powering an airbus, we made up for it at dinner by injecting the sugar introveniously. While we learned at this point that you apparently have a pretty high tolerance for sugar, it did manage to keep you up long enough to get through the party. Just so you know, if you develop diabetes as a result of today, it’s totally Grandpa’s fault. And probably Uncle Jon’s too.

After some of the guests had left the party and things had quieted down some, you discovered a new toy that your Aunt and Uncle had brought - one that had previously been overlooked in lieu of all the Fun! Wrapping! Paper!

They bought you a stuffed Eyeore that’s really soft and has a long tail. We could see you make the connection almost immediately when you truely looked at it for the first time:

It’s a Blue Kitty!!!

Tired as you were, you actually giggled as you enveloped the Blue Kitty in a huge bear hug and tackled it to the floor, rubbing your face in the fur. You dragged Blue Kitty around with you for the rest of the evening, clutching it to you, and even tried very hard to pull it up the stairs with you - a very arduous task, as the toy is the same size as you are, and climbing stairs is hard enough when you’re too sleepy to keep your eyes open and move your limbs at the same time.

Happy Birthday, my little munchkin. It’s been a fun and full day, and I have a feeling you will sleep very well tonight. And so will I. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this exhausted.

Love Always,
Mama

Last night we celebrated our anniversary by going to a fancy schmancy restaurant called Three Forks.  Very, very nice.  And some of the best lobster bisque I’ve ever had.  As J so eloquently put it, “It tastes like a lobster died on a pad of butter and went to heaven.”

After that, we played softball with our recreational chuch league, as we have a string of rained-out makeup games over the next several weekends. 

It was a very enlightening evening, so let me share with you a few of the pearls of wisdome I gained:

1. If you have a really rich steak & seafood meal…don’t play softball after dinner.  Particularly if you already have a sensitive stomach.  They had to rearrange the batting order because of a short time in which I was MIA in the restroom.
2. If you’re in the field and it’s really windy, keep your mouth closed.  As my brother so accurately put it, “I swallowed enough dirt to plant a small tree.”
3. Softball is way more fun if you win.  This was the first game all season that we actually won, and it was probably the most fun I’ve ever had participating in a sporting event (I’m not exactly athletically inclined).  I usually get placed in Right Field, but last night I got “promoted” to Left Center and later to Second Base when our second baseman got injured.  I didn’t screw anything up (mostly because nothing ever came to me) so it was a lot of fun.
4. Church softball is not for the faint of heart…or short of memory.  There are so many odd rules and regulations, like everybody starts the count at 1 ball, 1 strike.  And if you walk a guy, he goes 2 bases and the girl batting behind him can choose if she wants to bat or just walk to first base.  If you walk a girl, she only walks 1 base.  And don’t be thinking that just because it’s church that the 3rd baseman won’t TAKE YOU OUT.  Or you might end up leaving the game with a torn ACL.  THIS IS HARD CORE CHURCH BALL, BABY.  REGULAR SOFTBALL IS FOR WEENIES.

Overall, it was a great anniversary and a nice break from our little bundle of joy, who then kept me up all night with her bouts of wakefulness.  After we attended a wedding this morning, a nap was definitely in order.

I swear, the next kid we have had better be born with teeth.

Well, I unintentionally caused some family strife yesterday. I mean, my decision was fully intentional, I just didn’t mean for it to become a fiasco.

In the midst of all the stress of yesterday, I chose not to tell my parents about Button’s fall until today. My mother has a tendency to freak out about things like that, especially when she is removed from the situation and feels helpless. I knew she wouldn’t get to see Button until today, so I chose to keep her in the dark because I know she would go crazy worrying. I didn’t want her at the doctor or at my house yesterday because Button just needed some quiet downtime to sleep.

Unfortunately, my plan backfired. While we were at the doctor’s my Sis-in-law called the house and the housekeeper answered the phone and told her what was going on. Naturally, she told my brother. Who told my mom.

And yes, she did freak out. To the point where she had to sit down and calm herself before she could pick up the phone. She was hurt beyond belief that I didn’t tell her myself immediately. By the time my dad got the story, Button had cracked her head open and had a concussion and a black eye and had to be life-flighted to Children’s Medical.

My dad called, completely worried, and questioned us about everything - did we check her pupils? Did we look for lumps? Did the doctor see her? He also told us that Mom was totally offended because she thinks we don’t trust her ability to handle the situation.

WELL NO SHIT.

Pardon my French. (By the way, Spell Check doesn’t recognize the word “shit” - I don’t know why, but that amuses me)

Frankly, I just didn’t have the energy to deal with her yesterday in addition to all the stress I was already under. I was so exhausted from the ordeal that I fell asleep while playing with Button on the floor. I didn’t need her telling me how concerned she was that Button wasn’t getting proper care and was being neglected.

Nor did I need my mother in law suspecting that this was no accident, and that our nanny is really a child abuser. Fortunately, that one got filtered through J.

Mom showed up today fully expecting Button’s face to be black and blue with dried blood in her hair. She did calm down once she saw that her baby wasn’t mortally wounded or brain damaged. But I did receive one of those emails this morning, in which she expressed her concern about negligence and Button’s health. Usually J’s mom is the one that sends the dreaded email, but not today.

I’m relatively short-tempered today, so she got a Corporate Blow-Off for a reply. The cold and distant “Thank you for your opinion, we will keep that in mind” message that really means “I just permanently deleted your email.”

I guess you could say I’m indignant. That would be a true statement, I suppose. There are just some things that are NOT HELPFUL and just add extra stress and it bugs me when people act like that after the fact. Where was all the helpful advice BEFORE this happened. What, Mom? You didn’t see it coming either???

Well imagine that.

For his 99th Birthday, I asked the White House to send my great uncle a birthday card signed by the President and his wife.

They did so, but not without calling me on two different occasions to verify that the address I had provided was HIS address, and not my own.

Of course, I had provided MY address because I wanted to deliver the card to him on his birthday, rather than just have it show up to him in the mail. The White House caught on to this.

So when they called the first time, I gave them my parents’ address instead, figuring I could just pick the card up from my parents before the party.

The White House wasn’t fooled by this either. So they called again.

And that, ladies & gentlemen, is when my career as a governmental scam artist began. Yes, it’s true. I LIED to the White House.

I told them that my great uncle was living with my parents, and that’s why I had provided their address. I stuck to this story, even when the Greetings Representative (what, like you actually thought I got a call from President Bush himself???) informed me that they “do check these things out.”

Pretty hard core, huh? I just knew that my phone would be bugged, and that surely my name would pop up on the latest internal government conspiracy warning list. I started keeping an eye out for the men in black suits and earphones standing in my front yard.

The card showed up in time and it just so happens that my great uncle is a Republican (whew! probably should have checked on that beforehand) so he was very happily surprised.

I haven’t seen any evidence so far that I’m being watched. Which leads me to the conclusion that our governmental spies are very. very. good.

Beware. If you’re reading this blog, you’re probably next.

When the social gathering in her home was done with, my mom came to work to pick Little Button up and take her away so I could actually get something done.

Not that there’s anything to do right now anyway, but at least I’m not changing diapers on my chairmat.

When she saw Grandmommie, Button’s eyes lit up and those little dimples glowed. See, she does that every time she sees Grandmommie, and every time, a little warm sentimental feeling takes over my heart and makes me pathetically mushy.

The only thing in the entire world - aside from being technically female - that J’s mom and my mother have in common is a rejection complex the size of Nevada. And part of Utah.

So the fact that this child, who has no cause whatsoever for pretense, openly and enthusiastically loves my mother has given her a new outlook on life.

The little things that we think are “cute” become monumental occurrences for her, like the other day when Button grabbed her around the neck. “Amy, she HUGGED me. She did it all by herself. She’s never done that before. She really LIKES me.” I’m not kidding, people. She got teary eyed over a squeeze.

And it makes my day to see someone who’s struggled with her identity ever since her dad walked out on 7 kids, glow with such a sense of belonging and fulfillment.