Josephine's Favorite Color

The other day when Josie and I met her new doctor, she was strangely silent. As you may recall, this is the girl who is CUH-RAZY about doctors. In fact, if you ask her who her favorite is, she will shout "Dr. Grace!" (her pediatrician). Favorite in general, not just her favorite doctor. 

Ahem. Yeah. I would rather her answer be mama. Or even daddy (I'm not selfish).

So, it was definitely strange that she wouldn't talk to this doctor. She wasn't scared (she rarely is), she just sat without talking (which is even more rare).

At the beginning of the appointment, the doctor asked her how old she was, and after a prolonged silence, she asked "Ummm, one?" with a tilt of the head. (Later that night when her dad asked her, she confidently shouted "TWO!") Her behavior was just unexpected, that's all. She's such an outgoing, confident girl, and she actually asks to go to the doctor's office once or twice a week and gets upset if I say we can't. 

Near the end of the appointment, the doctor said she liked Josie's purple shirt and told Josie it was her favorite color. She then asked Josie what her favorite color was, and Josie stuck out her tongue! I was confused and embarrassed, so I made a joke about it and asked her again, and she stuck it out again. The appointment ended soon, and I was relieved. 

When I stopped at my mom's house to pick up Genevieve, I told her the story and left the punchline for Josie. I said, "What did you tell the doctor was your favorite color?" and she did it AGAIN! 

My mom and I laughed and laughed, and then I finally asked her why she was sticking out her tongue and she said ... "Because it's my favorite color. Pink!"

You guys. YOU GUYS.

Seriously, this kid. She surprises me every day. 

(Also, it is completely ridiculous that I have a strong desire to call the doctor and explain this whole story to her? Don't answer that. I already know the answer.)

When All I Wanted Was Nothing

For a while, I tried to ignore the symptoms. Maybe they would go away, or maybe I was over-reacting. I've been known to over-react, after all.

I finally got the courage to tell Josie's doctor, hoping against hope that she would say, "Oh, that's no big deal. That's not what you fear it is at all!" 

She didn't. She suggested a specialist. So yesterday Josie saw another specialist.

Like she needed to see another specialist in her short life. 

When I told Jeremy and my mom about the appointment, I said, "No, I'm not worried. In all likelihood, she will say it is what we think it is and we need to investigate and will suggest this test, but it's fine. It's really fine. I'm not worried."

Then I sat and talked to that doctor, and she said, "Yes, it is what you think it is, we should investigate, let's get this test scheduled for next week."

That's when I realized for the two months we spent waiting for this appointment and I was telling everyone one thing, what I REALLY REALLY thought, in my heart of hearts, was that I would get to that office and she would say "Ma'am, you have wasted my time. This child is fine. Take her home and tip my office staff on the way out for wasting their time too." 

And she didn't. And I really wanted her to. And I thought she definitely would. 

But she didn't.

Josie's fine. She's not dying. But we need to run some tests and make some decisions. We'll see if it is a THING or just a thing. 

Right now I'm just mourning the fact that I have to choose between a lower-case thing and and all-caps THING and have lost the opportunity for it to be nothing.


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If you need something a little lighter after that, I have posts up at Sean Purcell Photography about capturing memories and the merits of wedding planners.

And Josie is seriously fine. Sorry about the vagueness, but ... you know. 

But Seriously, Guys. WHAT BOO BOO?

Yikes. Last night was rather intense, was it not?

I happened to be at my early birthday dinner with Jeremy.

Ignore the lines on my forehead. I certainly am.

We decided to only check in on what was happening about once every half hour. It was just ridiculous to think I could turn off my brain and not be focused on what was going on in Watertown.

But I had a lovely evening anyway. Dinner, drinks, then coffee and more talking at a hip new coffee place/art gallery. It was great.

Earlier that day I got Genevieve some new shoes that aged her significantly. She is trying to walk, so I got her some shoes that don't just have soft baby soles, and ... well, look for yourself:

Look at this nonsense! Just standing there like a three-year-old or something! Like she's done grown already, and she's only 8 months old. Dang.

These were on sale for $11 in one size bigger than Josie is currently wearing, so I was legally obligated to buy them, right?

Right.

On top of all that shoe-y goodness, both girls were in the newspaper for winning a smile contest! 

My mom found the contest, so I let her choose the pictures to enter, and then they both won! There were six prizes awarded state-wide! I know, bragging. I didn't tell Jeremy about it until after they had won, and he said, "I hope this isn't a gateway drug for you! I don't want to see you on Toddlers and Tiaras any time soon!" We shall see ...

Okay, so here is my last and best attempt at lightening things up around here. Here is how Josephine greeted me this morning:

"Good morning mama ... you need a shot to fix that boo boo on you face!"

Here's what I have to say about that:

1. WHAT?!?!
2. I have no idea where she got the idea of a shot fixing a boo boo.
3. I didn't even have a zit!!!!! So what part of my face looks bad enough to be considered a boo boo that is so severe it needs a shot to fix it??
4. I seriously went into the bathroom and stared at my face for a good five minutes after she said this.
5. I may have softened on the idea of cosmetic surgery.
6. Is that what she meant? Does she know what cosmetic surgery is and thinks I NEED it?
7. Fine, if she chooses that as a career path, at least she will be able to take care of us financially in our old age.
8. Hang on, I need to go look in the mirror again. WHAT BOO BOO?!?!?!

Book Review: Pain, Parties, and Work: Sylvia Plath in New York, Summer 1953

After a tragedy, I always struggle with what to say. I waffle and hem and hum and then ... it's days later and I've said nothing and I inevitably have a post promised to someone.

The same thing happened this time. My heart goes out to all the people affected by the tragedy in Boston. I guess that's all I really needed to say, anyway. You're all in my thoughts.

And now, segueing into regularly scheduled programming with a book review (eep. I hope that worked!)

Synopsis of Pain, Parties, and Work: Sylvia Plath in New York, Summer 1953 from the publisher:

“I dreamed of New York, I am going there.”

On May 31, 1953, twenty-year-old Sylvia Plath arrived in New York City for a one-month stint at “the intellectual fashion magazine” Mademoiselle to be a guest editor for its prestigious annual college issue. Over the next twenty-six days, the bright, blond New England collegian lived at the Barbizon Hotel, attended Balanchine ballets, watched a game at Yankee Stadium, and danced at the West Side Tennis Club. She typed rejection letters to writers from The New Yorker and ate an entire bowl of caviar at an advertising luncheon. She stalked Dylan Thomas and fought off an aggressive diamond-wielding delegate from the United Nations. She took hot baths, had her hair done, and discovered her signature drink (vodka, no ice). Young, beautiful, and on the cusp of an advantageous career, she was supposed to be having the time of her life.

Drawing on in-depth interviews with fellow guest editors whose memories infuse these pages, Elizabeth Winder reveals how these twenty-six days indelibly altered how Plath saw herself, her mother, her friendships, and her romantic relationships, and how this period shaped her emerging identity as a woman and as a writer.Pain, Parties, Work—the three words Plath used to describe that time—shows how Manhattan’s alien atmosphere unleashed an anxiety that would stay with her for the rest of her all-too-short life.

I guess I can't just say "if you already love Sylvia Plath or are at all interested in her and her work, this is a must read," because that would be a really short review, but honestly ... please see the line above. 

This book was supremely readable, which is not something I find myself thinking about many non-fiction books. It was as if my best friend was a Plath scholar and one day I sat down and said, "Hey, can you just tell me everything you know about what Sylvia Plath was doing in New York in the summer of 1953?" and she said, "Sure, grab a glass of wine; let's chat!" 

The Sylvia Plath of Pain, Parties, and Work is an entirely different Sylvia than that of The Bell Jar. It is not the sad woman who is most known for the method she used to end her short life. This Sylvia is young, happy, ambitious, eager. It is a new Sylvia who is fascinating to meet. I, like may people I know, only know about a tiny sliver of Sylvia Plath's life, yet I feel like I really know her on a intimate level. Perhaps it is because she was such a brilliant and tragic figure. Because she was so tragic AND I feel I know her personally, it therefore somehow makes me incredibly happy to know that she wasn't sad her entire life. Seeing her in the Summer of 1953 made me happy, and I am thankful to Elizabeth Winder for bringing her to me. 

I was provided a copy of Pain, Parties, and Work by TLC Book Tours but was not compensated for this review. The opinions expressed are my own.

Some Things (Seven of Them)

1. Only TWO of you recommended blogs for me to read. Shame on the rest of you! If you slacked off and did not respond to my urgent request for help, I can only assume you still plan to do so in the next few days.

2. I didn't even realize that Genevieve was consistently taking naps while Josie was ... until she quit doing it. And started trying her darnedest to quit taking naps altogether. So ... that's fun.

3. Things I'm thinking about Josie-wise: Potty training and preschool. HOLD ME. 

4. I have the distinct pleasure of three Jeremy-less bedtimes this week, which is made all the more sweet by the fact that the girls go down at the EXACT SAME TIME.

5. I finally got Genevieve an appointment with a new gastroenterologist ... on September 17th. Ummm. Okay then.

6. I have a post up at Sean Purcell Photography about my deepest regret: My wedding photos. Feel free to laugh at me, commiserate, or whatever else you can think of. You can find it HERE. 

7. On the plus side, it turns out Genevieve does a killer Chris Farley impression.

Tommy likey! Tommy want wingy!

Recommend Some Reads, Please!

Just a quick plea for assistance here. I need to know: which blogs should I be reading? 

I do read more than the blogs in my blogroll (those are the ones that I want easy access to and are my must-reads), but I need more. A few times this month, I've hunkered down to rock Little Miss Hates-to-Sleep and realized I had nothing at all to read. I was all caught up and itching for more good reads. 

So, this is where you come in. Which blogs are so great that it's a crying shame I'm not reading them? Give me one, two, ten, as many suggestions as you want! Tell me about your blog! It's a recommendation free-for-all! Let the comments explode with bloggy goodness! Help a gal out!

Thank you in advance! 

What Can You Do, Really?

Remember how I briefly mentioned going dairy free for a little experiment to see if that what all the hullabaloo in G's gut was about?

Well, it's been about two weeks, and even though things were a little crazy at first, it's better now. It's not easy, and I may or may not have had a startlingly realistic daydream about biting into a brick of cojack the other day while I was nursing Genevieve (I could actually taste it!), but I'm chugging along nicely.

At first, overwhelmed by my googling "dairy free diet" that led me to everyone basically saying, "Shit, good luck. Turns out it's in everything." (I'm paraphrasing, of course), I made a huge pot of veggie soup, got lots of fixings for (cheese-free, dressing-free) salads, and cried for a few days. After a lot of research and calling manufacturers about ingredients on the "suspect" list ("Pardon me, but is the potassium lactate in your product derived from milk or salt?" -- SERIOUSLY. IT'S IN EVERYTHING.), saying good-bye to everything processed and most wheat and sugar as well, I found a few more things I could eat, ate some dinners that weren't veggie soup, and was feeling a little better. I even went down two notches on my belt already (not like it matters when you have 100 more pounds to lose, but hey, belt notches!).

What we are aiming for is at least four weeks before we can really discover if dairy from my diet is affecting her. It could take two weeks to get out of my supply and then two more to get out of her system, and then once we're working with a clean slate, per se, we'll see if she starts to get better or stays the same. This is slightly complicated by the new wrinkle that sent me dashing to the ER with her last week, but hopes are high that in four weeks we will either see drastic improvement or I can attempt a test -- eat a piece of cheese (glorious cheese!) and see how it affects her. 

It was all sounding just fine. Two weeks to go! I can do this!

Then, the other night, I had a major craving. I ate a large portion of said craving without reading the label, because apparently I got cocky or have learned nothing, or I don't know what, and then the next morning happened to flip the package over and OH LOOK, in all caps, bold font: CONTAINS MILK PRODUCTS.

Well, SHIT.

What did I do? I cried a little. Then I ate a Cadbury egg.

Four weeks, dairy-free, starting ... now. 

Book Review: All You Could Ask For

Ugh. You guys. I hate writing reviews that are not 100% glowing. I really do. But I have to say, while this book is good, it is not perfect.

Maybe part of the problem was all the hype: Mike Greenberg, ESPN's "king of guy talk," has written a novel from the perspective of three women and HE NAILS THE FEMALE PERSPECTIVE! ALL HAIL GREENY! So yeah, I was prepared to love the book, to be impressed with how he imagines women.

What he delivered, in my opinion, was a story that was hard to put down and characters you'll care about. He gave me that Waiting to Exhale feeling, and an original twist on the "three lives come together in an unexpected way and everyone is changed forever" story. But ... there's always that "but" ... I just can't help but be rubbed the wrong way by the fact that all the women are more focused on the men in their lives than themselves, have sexual hangups, and every one of them has daddy issues. Even when they are changing and growing and learning about what makes life important, there's that struggle to make sure that perfect man is there in their lives, with the subtext, of course, that life would not be perfect without that crucial piece of the puzzle. 

Sure, maybe the degree to which this is obvious varies according to the reader. Sure, maybe this is part of the message (don't be that way, women!). But really, it just struck me as Mike Greenberg writing these women this way because he sees women this way, or, even worse, assumes these traits will resonate with his female readers. To me, that's a shame. 

In the end, I really liked the book, and I enjoyed the characters, but I spent a good deal of the two days it took me to devour the book shouting things at the characters (Why? Why are you doing that? Don't do it, stupid!). I don't think this is a problem of a man not capturing a woman correctly, but maybe more of a "Veronica doesn't like to read books with characters who infuriate her" problem. At the end of the day, I was desperate to get back to the book every time I set it down, and if that's enough for you, then it's enough for me to recommend you read the book.

P.S. But, if you read the book and want to talk to me about Brooke ... OH MY GOD, send me an e-mail. Brooke. Brooke! What are you THINKING?!?!

I was given a copy of this book by TLC Book Tours but was not compensated in any way. The opinions are my own.