The Hot Rod

For the past 8 years, my dad has been diligently working on rebuilding a 1932 Ford Coupe. It has been in a hundred pieces in his workshop for so long, I had forgotten what it was supposed to look like. But this past weekend, he took his prized hot rod for a test drive. It still needs a flashy paint job, but we're just so glad to see it back in one piece. And for Dad, so deservingly, to enjoy the fruit of his labor. Judging from the look on his face, the coupe seems to be running beautifully. A coat of paint and a toddler seat, and he'll be set!

Daddy's Fraulein

Last year, Sean went with Jeff Jeffers, Rudy Pesek, and Chris on a European vacation. During their time in Austria, Sean found an authentic German dirndl for his (yet-to-be-born) daughter. The plan was for her to wear it to her first Oktoberfest here at home. And the plan came to fruition last Saturday night. Sean, looking dapper in suede lederhosen and a felt hat, proudly paraded his little fraulein around Marktplatz. We ate sausage and sauerkraut (Sean, NOT me) for dinner, and I upheld tradition and treated my sweet tooth with a delicious deep-fried funnel cake. No Fredericksburg Fest would be complete without one. We kept Willa up well past her bedtime, but for good reason. There are too few opportunities for us to celebrate our awesome German heritage. So we soaked up as much as we could in the short time we were there. Then we took our sleepy girl back home, enjoying the oompahs over our 4 block walk. We had a great time. And Sean and Willa both looked so cute! I might even get a pretty dirndl for myself next year. But don't hold your breath.

Little Big Girl

We went out to Crabapple Church this evening for a delicious picnic and photo shoot for Rebecca Rather's new cookbook. I don't know if we were actually in any shots for the book, but we made use of the scenic backdrop and took some pictures of our own:

It's hard to believe how the time has blown by. Willa is now 9 months old. As my friend (and doula,) Vanya, said, "That's a milestone - she's been out as long as she was inside your tummy!"

Her personality is really starting to come through. Willa is friendly and outgoing, and not at all shy like I had predicted. She is extremely alert and inquisitive - a real thinker. And always on the move. I have been noticing lately, that she doesn't cuddle with me as much as I would like. I think she's just too busy. But she makes up for it in smiles. She looks right at me with her big, bright, olive-colored eyes and flashes me a gummy grin...and everything else melts away. She loves to play peek-a-boo, pat-a-cake, and wave to her friends (and to strangers.) She crawls from room to room in a flash, and pulls herself up to stand with ease. Up and down, up and down. Sean and I still wait, intently, to hear her first "da-da" and "ma-ma." But we delight in every "ba-ba-ba." Willa loves to experiment with her own pitch and volume. Like I said, she's not shy.

Over the last couple of months, we have made great strides in the sleep department. After a nighttime routine of nursing, dinner, a bath, and some rocking, my little big girl goes to sleep in her crib at 8:00. Like clockwork, she stirs and fusses at around 11:30, but usually goes back to sleep on her own. At about 3:30, she wakes for a feeding, then goes right back to sleep until morning, at 7:30. Some might wonder why I haven't worked harder to drop the middle-of-the-night feeding. Well, I'm holding onto it a little bit longer because it is such a precious and peaceful few minutes of cuddle time.

My sweet little miracle is growing up too fast. As they say, I'm going to have to put a brick on her head!

A Letter to the Editor

My uncle, Jimmy, wrote a letter which was published in the local paper last week. I was impressed by the thoughtfulness and sincerity of his gesture, and never want to forget it. How better to remember, than to blog it!

Cooking Light

The October issue of Cooking Light Magazine featured Fredericksburg in it's Enlightened Traveler section. The Roadrunner Inn was named THE place to stay! Willa and I got some face time. And so did a couple of my dearly missed shop girls, Emily and Thea (on the last page.) Click on the individual pages to read the whole article.

Pobrecita

It all started that Monday with a high fever. Then a doctor's visit determined that an ear infection was the culprit. As instructed, I began alternating Children's Tylenol and Motrin for her fever and discomfort, and force-feeding her the dreaded Amoxicillin three times daily. My friends warned me about this seemingly sugary panacea and the disdain it summons in even the mildest-tempered of kids. And it's true, I've never seen Willa put up such a fight. The moment I squirted a little bit of it in her mouth, she thrusted her tongue forward, determined to push all of it right back out. When I did finally manage to get it past her tongue, she threw her head back and screamed. An awful gurgle ensued, a last ditch effort to block it from going down. And then she choked on it. This happened with each dose.

As a kid, I also hated to take my medicine. I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but because a good blogger is an honest blogger, here it goes. I can remember throwing myself onto the floor in a kicking, arm-flailing tantrum over a single dose of antibiotic, probably Amoxicillin. My mom is a softy, so she didn't really fight me too much. But my dad, on the other hand, devised a clever plan to scare me into submission. He told me that if I refused to take my medicine (orally,) he would drive me to the hospital and have a doctor give it to me in the form of a shot. I took him up on his threat, and he drove me to the hospital. From there, however, he was stumped. We sat in the parking lot for a while as my bewildered father wondered how on earth he managed to get duped by a five year old. After composing himself, he drove me back home, defeated.

So back to my little pobrecita...The antibiotic caused diarrhea and diaper rash (pretty common) and an allover body rash (not so common.) It was not an allergic reaction, the doctor assured us, unless her lips and tongue swelled. So we were to continue the antibiotic for the full ten days. Her appetite had virtually vanished. (All she would eat were Cheerios.) And her once chubby thighs were growing visibly thinner. She even developed a little congestion in her chest. But by day seven, it looked as if the worst of it was behind us. The fever, congestion, and rash had all but disappeared. Then, yesterday, the rash came back with a vengeance. A bigger, redder, hotter version of it. And it was covering her, from her sweet, plump cheeks to her precious, tiny toes. It was a penicillin allergy, after all. And I, her mother and protector, had been feeding it for eight miserable days. We were prescribed a second antibiotic, Azithromycin, which will continue to fight the infection. But the rash, we will just have to wait out. There's lots of good news, though. The rash doesn't seem to bother Willa near as much as it does me. The new medicine must not taste as bad and is only administered once a day. And her appetite has returned, so we're working on filling back out those thighs.

Hence, I've reached another conclusion on my maternal journey. I will not always be able to protect her. I will be faced with many decisions along the way in which the answers are not clear. I will make some wrong choices. And it will never get any easier. Motherhood is a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it. And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Mom-jeans and Minivans

I made an observation this morning. As I looked at myself in the mirror, wearing the saggy Old Navy shorts and tank that has become my uniform, I realized what I've done. I have become the mom that has let herself go. With comfy rubber flip-flops I proudly display the professional pedicure I got for Melissa's wedding on August 8th. (It's September 20th.) I don't know when I'll get back to the spa, so I'm keeping this one until every last speck wears off. My once chic, new haircut is a tad grown out. It's definitely more "slob," than "bob." But my ponytail is stylishly carefree, loosely secured by a plastic chip clip (circa 1990?) and I am sure it nicely accentuates my overdue root job. If I let it go a little longer, I think it just might pass for cutting edge style. One that even Traci and Rebekah couldn't top! How has this happened? I mean, the toenails and hairdo are one thing, but I have no excuse for running around in these sloppy duds. (That's what they are...duds.) I own a clothing store! What am I advertising? It's just that getting dressed is not the same fun as it used to be. It is actually quite daunting. My mom-attire has all sorts of requirements: Must be loose and lightweight (to combat the heat generated by toting around another human.) Must provide enough coverage for easy bending and picking up (because this is my only exercise.) Must lend ample support and convenient access to the food source (still breastfeeding.) So many requirements - is it really worth the trouble? And then there's the time limitations. Willa has become very fond of my arms, and if she isn't perched in them, she is on the floor looking for trouble. So I must dress with lightning speed. In case you're wondering how I have found time to write this post, well, I have traded bathing for blogging. Blogging has become much more crucial to my sanity than bathing. (Yes, I have considered Sean's feelings on this. And Sean is welcome to post about it and how it affects his sanity on his own blog.) So I ask my mom-friends and wide-spread Sprouting Daisies devotees (none of whom appear to be suffering from this affliction,) should I let this run it's course? Will it pass on it's own, or must I put forth some effort and reclaim what I have lost? And what will come next, mom-jeans and a minivan?