Well, this is it.

“Dadda BIG TEST,” Oliver said as I put him to bed. “Home FURS-day!”

That’s what I told him on our way home today, and it pretty much sums up this Momentous Week in our family life. George will be taking the Ohio bar exam in Columbus: 6 hours on Tuesday, 6 hours on Wednesday, and 4 hours on Thursday. I don’t envy him. Well, ok, aside from the hotel room service, I don’t envy him.

So far, I’ve taken advantage of my first night alone by doing… less than a lot, heh. I talked to George on the phone, talked to my mom on the phone, uploaded a couple videos to Flickr while listening to my new cd, and now I’m about to work out. Woohoo. I’m saving laundry for tomorrow night. Gotta spread out the fun, you know.

My parents are babysitting Oliver on Friday night while George and I have a dinner-and-a-movie date—I even get to pick the movie! Any good suggestions? As for dinner, I have a nostalgic hankering for this little hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant near our former college that George and I used to frequent during our dating years. It’s run by a sweet little Chinese woman and they seriously have THE BEST Chinese food. We’ve tried a ton of other places and nothing even compares. I think it might be cute to pretend we’re 20 and hold hands across the table again. I wonder if she’ll remember us? It’s been five years since we last visited, so I just hope it’s still there!

Then we’re celebrating Oliver’s 2nd birthday (two weeks late) on Saturday. This party is going to be much smaller than last year’s: just us, my parents, my two sisters and their husbands (my brother is vacationing with friends in Ocean City, MD, the brat). We decided to make it a pool party at my oldest sister’s house, so hopefully the weather will cooperate! I’m baking and decorating Oliver’s cake myself, although I’m still debating what to put on it (Winnie the Pooh?). I bought a cool set of decorating bottles from a coworker who was selling Pampered Chef products and I’m going to try to bring back my old mad icing skillz.

This is going to be one of the hardest weeks of our lives, dark and narrow and can’t-hear-yourself-think like a tunnel, but at the other end there is only open road ahead. I can’t wait to see where it leads.

Oliver’s 2-year checkup went really well today. He’s in the 97th percentile for both weight and height: 35 lb 6 oz and 37¾” long (although I suspect it’s probably 37¼” or 37½”). He’s hardly chubby though, he’s just TALL and SOLID! The doctor confirmed that he’s waaaay above average in speaking skills and above average in motor skills and overall development. They also checked his hemoglobin level (normal for infants and kids is 11 to 13, and his was 14.2), and they’re checking his blood lead levels too because of all the toy recalls and such, so hopefully that will be ok too (edited to update: the lead levels are measured 1-10, 1 being the lowest, and that’s what Oliver’s result was. whew!). AND, the best news of all: she said she didn’t hear his heart murmur today, which might mean his tiny VSD is either closed or nearly closed! All good news so far = yay!

The one thing we need to work on is new foods. *GROAN.* I’ve actually been to the point of crying twice this week because his refusal to try anything new can be SO incredibly frustrating. Jen recently wrote about her bottle versus sippy cup dilemna with Maggie; well, for us and Oliver, it’s baby fruits/vegetables versus real fruits/vegetables. A few months ago he started refusing “real” green beans, then peas… then suddenly he vetoed every real fruit and vegetable except bananas and carrots. We know it’s not a touch/texture issue, because even if he takes a bite of it on a spoon, he makes a face and spits it out. It’s just plain pickiness. And he gets it from none other than his picky mother (although I’m now a thousand times better than I was as a kid!). I mean, I still don’t like tomatoes, so I can’t exactly blame him for turning up his nose at things like green beans.

So here’s our dilemna: Up to this point, we’ve still been mixing baby fruit into Oliver’s morning oatmeal and giving him a jar of baby vegetables every day with his lunch (he gets “real” veggies with dinner). George and I feel (and this is just our own personal belief) that it is more important for him to get as many different kinds of fruits and vegetables as he can, no matter what form they happen to be in, for as long as he can. I mean, squash? Is ANY toddler going to sit there and happily eat pieces of squash? There’s NO WAY he’d eat that kind of stuff if we gave him the “real thing”! This way he’s getting lots of good nutrients and being exposed to different fruits and vegetables that he would not otherwise try. (He does fine with other foods—meats, poultry, grains, dairy, and even soups. And he’s not usually allowed to have junk or sweets, just graham crackers, Gerber Puffs, or sugar-free Jell-O for snacks… so it’s not like he is refusing fruits/veggies and eating bad stuff instead.)

I know some people (like my brother-in-law) may think kids should switch to all “real” foods after their first birthday (just like they’re supposed to give up bottles and, now that he’s two, people are bugging me about potty training too) but George and I don’t believe in putting age limits to everything and expecting babies to grow up faster than they already do. A child who is barely two years old can’t put “mind over matter” and eat things that, let’s all admit it, don’t always taste that great, simply because we say they’re “good for him.” It has been OUR responsibility to ensure our child’s health and well being thus far, and if that meant continuing baby food longer than usual, so be it. Oliver is growing like a SUPERWEED, he’s happy and bright and he’s never been sick (just that two-day stuffy nose back in February), so George and I feel we’ve done what’s best for him, and that’s the most important thing.

Now that he’s two, George and I would like to gradually introduce more “real” fruits and vegetables into his diet. But so far this week, both apple and watermelon were huge FAILS. I tried encouraging, begging, showing him how Mama took a bite, showing him how his stuffed animals “took a bite,” letting him smell it, mixing it with yogurt, giving it to him when he’s most hungry (before he ate anything else), setting it out without saying anything and letting him “discover” it… all with the same result (refusing to let it anywhere near his mouth). We were BOTH crying after the watermelon episode, but that time my tears were from guilt. I don’t want trying new foods to become some torturous ordeal for him (us). I want it to be fun; I’m cool if he doesn’t like something, I just want him to try it. Preferably without turning purple and screaming.

I just need to relax and stop worrying about what other people might think he should or shouldn’t be eating. I also need to remember that Oliver is a Control Freak (once again, JUST LIKE ME) and he likes to decide if/when he’s ready to try new things. It took him two week to warm up to his new bubble mower, which was just a toy; it may take longer for him to warm up to new foods, and that’s ok. It will happen eventually. (Right? RIGHT?)

The doctor tried to reassure me that ages 2-3 are especially bad for pickiness (hoo. ray.), and she recommended that I give Oliver half of a children’s vitamin every day until he’s getting more variety in his regular diet. She says the key is to keep offering, so that’s what I’m going to do: offer, not force, and supplement along the way. Tonight I’m going to set out some pieces of grapes… Wish me luck!

(Reminiscing: Oliver’s birth story and his first birthday letter. Our song, “The One Who Knows” by Dar Williams, can be played here.)

My beloved Oliver London,

Happy second birthday, sweetheart!

Wow, and I thought the FIRST year of your life flew by? Your second year began with learning how to walk, and both you and Time have picked up speed since then! Apu and I cheered you on from those first wobbly steps in the house to running and kicking a soccer ball outside like a pro. We are very proud of your growing independence, but what we secretly love best is when you hold our hands. Don’t fly off too fast, little owl.

It’s hard to believe that the baby I first held just two years ago is already a little boy. You are tall and strong and more energetic than ever. Aside from your very first cold at 20 months, which amounted to nothing more than a mild stuffy nose, your health is still perfect. And since your first birthday, your hair has become curlier and CURLIER. I will admit, this is something I used to hope I would not pass on to my children, but oh, how I love your curls—they suit you so perfectly. What you are best known for, though, is your brilliant smile. It’s a reflection of all your life so far; it’s who you are. And you are ever more beautiful, inside and out.

Your personality is still the same as it was in your baby days: you study everything and everyone, you like things in their rightful places, you are very much a morning person, you have a great sense of humor, you hate socks, you love being outside, and (to my delight) your favorite activity is reading. I can’t even finish the last page of a book before you start begging, “Read pweez! Juss one moe! PWEEEEZ!” Your speaking vocabulary is now over 350 words, and you pick up new words—in both English and Hungarian—every day. I never imagined how much fun it would be, not just talking to you but with you. Your world is defined in colors (of which your favorite is, of course, BLUE) and you fill our lives with your vibrancy. You are more extraordinary every day.

This second year had its challenges, too, the main one being your VERY strong will: I’m not sure which one of us says “No!” more often these days. But your temper tantrums are brief because you can’t hold out too long before finding something funny in the situation. This is actually a very useful life skill, as you will someday find out. Apu and I are also trying to expose you to new places and new people more often, which has greatly helped with your shyness. Just this week, during a walk, you noticed a man riding a bike. “Bike,” you whispered to yourself, “hiii?” And then as he passed us you shouted excitedly to him, “HIII!” Apu and I laughed in surprise. “Oh, Odder!” you laughed back, taking the words right out of our mouths. Even though you’re hard to handle sometimes, you more than make up for it with your endearing efforts. No one understands your strong will and your shyness better than the person you get them from—me—and I’m very proud of how hard you try to overcome them. The mischievousness, I’m afraid, is on both sides. Your father and I don’t stand a chance.

A few weeks after your first birthday last summer, I went back to work part time to help our family finances. It was hard for me to leave you at first, but in the end, it turned out to be a great situation for all of us. Your Grandma watches you at her house two days a week, driving halfway to meet Apu in the morning and me in the afternoon. She is the entire reason I can do this—financially AND emotionally. It is comforting to know that the gentle hands which held mine as a child now hold yours, to know that you are spending those days in the same house and yard and neighborhood in which I grew up. It feels like part of me is there with you. So although I miss you while we’re apart, I know that you are safe and loved, and I am grateful that you get to have a little piece of my childhood as part of your own.

The biggest events of the past year were probably your Apu’s graduation from law school and our two-day trip without you afterwards. That week was a turning point for all of us. I want you to know that Apu and I did NOT need a break from YOU—we just missed each other terribly after four long years of law school. We also believe that a good marriage will, in turn, help us to be good parents. You had a lot of fun staying with Grandma and Grandpa, but after two days we couldn’t wait to come home to you. Since then, Apu has been home with us every night, and I’m not sure which one of you enjoys it more. When he comes through the door, you fly to him shouting “APUUUU!” and you won’t let him set his bag down before you take his hand and lead him off to play. He calls it his “hero’s welcome” and it’s the best part of his day. It was challenging to have you while he was still in school, but it was all worth it now, because this is what we’ve all waited for.

Almost every day you and I walk a certain route in our neighborhood to look for your favorite car, a turquoise blue Ford Mustang. You excitedly wonder over and over, “Boo car? Dere?” The Mustang is parked on a driveway hidden from our oncoming view by trees and bushes, and the mystery of whether or not the Blue Car will be There never ceases to thrill you. When it’s not there, you sigh with disappointment, “No,” and then hopefully, “Maybee lay-deh!” (maybe later – ever the optimist, just like your father). But when you DO see the Blue Car, you hop and giggle and tell me you’re “HAPPEE!” And there is nothing like your happiness, Oliver. Your happiness is like the kind of summer day you were born on two years ago: intensely bright and warm, with the bluest-blue sky.

It’s been an adventure and a blessing, watching you grow and getting to know you. I think you are the most amazing soul. While we were playing outside this morning, I said, “Happy birthday!” and kissed you on top of your head. You lifted your face to kiss me back and then, studying my face, observed, “Mama HAPPEE.” I burst into tears, barely able to lift the corners of my mouth into a smile as I choked out, “Yes, honey, Mama is VERY happy.” “Ann Apu happee TOO,” you grinned, “ann Odder happee TOO!”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Happy second birthday to my sweet happy boy. I love you more than anything.

Mama

Remember how I mentioned that George and I were giving up alcohol after July 4 as part of our pre-second-baby “cleansing”? Well, uh, make that July 12. And I certainly went out with a bang.

I’m not a big drinker; I only drink a few times a year, and then I usually have a drink or two and call it quits. I’ve been buzzed and even a bit drunk before, but never was I SICK-drunk until last night. My two older sisters and their husbands invited us to go with them to the annual Zambelli fireworks display in New Castle, PA; we all met at my oldest sister’s house (after George and I put Oliver to bed at my parents’). However, it started raining really hard, so we just stayed there and played cards all night. We had a lot of fun and we all had a few drinks (at least, all of us but George—he cannot afford to lose any brain cells just a couple weeks before the bar exam, heh). My sister Debbie kept refilling my glass until the end of the last game (two banana martinis followed by I think three white Russians), at which point I was buzzy and chatty but otherwise felt fine (I even won the card game!).

But when George and I started driving home shortly after midnight, everything began spinning, including the contents of my stomach. “Stop, pleeeeease stop,” I begged, and George pulled into a parking lot for a minute. The universe rearranged itself into proper order and we proceeded on our way for another minute or two until—

Yep: my body did its own version of “cleansing.” Thankfully, I had a beach towel on my lap from swimming earlier that day, and we made it home before the cleansing continued in my parents’ basement bathroom.

I have never felt that awful and I never want to again. Beyond that I am just SO ashamed. I am almost thirty years old, I am supposed to be a Role Model for my child, and I was up till 2:30am cleaning puke out of my car and my parents’ sink. Definitely not my finest hours.

Apparently I did a great job of cleaning up though, even as sick as I was, because my parents did not find out. I did not have much of a hangover today, either, thanks to my body’s excellent defense system. Now the only thing I have to live down are the few minutes in the car that I do not remember but GEORGE DOES, and ohhhh, does it make him laugh.

My sister had sent us home with a few leftover cupcakes, and according to George, I was eating one in the car before I started feeling sick. (I seriously have no memory of this whatsoever.) He made a left turn at some point, and the two remaining cupcakes fell out of the open container into the cup holders between us. George asked me if I was wearing my seat belt.

“I’m wearing MY seat belt,” I giggled hysterically, “but the cupcakes aren’t wearing THEIRS!”

So, yeah. I’m a moron. And I’m now officially abstaining from alcohol, caffeine, AND cupcakes.

It’s 88 degrees outside right now at 1:30pm (heat index of 94) and 82 degrees inside our house. UUUUGH.

The past few days have been major flashbacks from childhood summers: going OUTSIDE to cool down (at least there’s a breeze!), leaving water rings on the kitchen counter from sweaty glasses, sleeping in underwear and a tank top. My parents only had one window air conditioner downstairs and one on the second floor, both of which were second-hand and only cooled the few feet around them, and neither of which helped my bedroom in the attic. I loved the attic because it was huge and private, but I hated it in the summer. On the hottest days my room would be close to 100 degrees, so I hardly went up there at all, except to change clothes. We got central air conditioning when I was about 12 years old, but the house’s air ducts did not go to the attic anyway, so I still slept downstairs on the couch.

I don’t remember thinking it was unbearably hot BEFORE we got air conditioning, though, you know? It was hot, but we all just lived with it. We spent our days running through sprinklers, splashing in little blow-up pools, and eating lots of Popsicles. Occasional trips to the city pool or water parks were a Really Big Deal (even more so as we got older because of BOYS, hehe). These days, I don’t see ANY kids (and our neighborhood is FULL of kids) outside during the day. Oliver and I spend as much time outdoors as we can (even when our a/c IS working), and we’re practically the only ones. There are several people on our street who even have big above-ground swimming pools, but I hardly EVER see anyone in them. It seems like such a waste. And especially right now, when our house is so hot, I wish I could go jump in myself!

In the meantime, we’re surviving the heat, old-school style. We bought a small fan for Oliver’s room, but George and I have been sleeping on the couch downstairs, which is getting kinda old (or maybe it’s just US getting old, whining about all our stiff joints in the morning, hehe). So I called to (nicely) bug the a/c people a couple times this morning, and what do you know, they suddenly found the part we need (after 3 weeks of “having a hard time,” it just magically materialized an hour ago!), and they’re coming out to fix it TOMORROW! WOOHOO! I’m all for using less electricity (and saving money) for a while, but seriously, air conditioning is one modern luxury that I’ll be happy to be spoiled with again!