Potato, Po-tah-toe

As we sat at a stoplight yesterday, Reilly pointed to a strip mall off to the side of the car and asked, "Is that where I was born?"

"No, Reilly, you were born in New York."

"No I wasn't, Daddy. I was born in The City."

North Carolina 2008/ Week 153 Pictures

Our vacation photos are now up. To view, click here.

The only person not enjoying our vacation

Upon learning that Reilly’s astrological sign was “Cancer,” I recall my mother saying that she would grow up to be a homebody. I laughed this off, I mean, my daughter is one of the most active children I know, and this constant motion made it all the more vexing when my active child did in fact turn out to be a homebody.

Case in point: On the way home from a side-trip to see a waterfall today, Reilly said, “I want to go home. Not the cabin—home!”

Evelyn Overcast (1927-2008)

It is impossible to sum up a life in only a blog entry, and I don’t wish to try. I might choose a few select stories that I remember of my grandmother and me, and I might in future entries, but not today.

Of course I could have visited her more. I wonder if I might have been a better grandson but is it fair to ask that without considering if she could have a been a better grandmother?

What matters in the end is that she lived a full, long life. And when it was time for her to go, she was enabled to do so with the dignity befitting such a life.

I have a voicemail on my phone. It is from grandma, and it is dated June 24th, just a few days before the stroke that would eventually claim her life. On it she asks to be reminded of my mother’s birthday. My mother had just visited her, and was the last to see her.

It is tough to reconcile this voice with my grandmother post-stroke, a stroke that stole from her her voice.

Even harder is it to know that aside from memories and photographs, this is all I have left of her, a twenty second message of a life that now has passed.

Little Miss Sensitive

I might have mentioned in a previous entry, but there was a period of a couple of days in which Reilly sang a sad song [as she described it] to herself, a song which made her breakdown in tears. I recall feeling amazed at the depth of emotion that she was capable of, and also a little bit unnerved.

I am just remembering now how Reilly—as a baby—would cry whenever we sang the song “Twinkle, Twinkle” to her, so much so that we stopped singing it altogether.

The other night, Shawn was singing to Reilly “You are my sunshine” while snuggling her into bed. Shawn’s two-verse version goes something like this, with Reilly’s reactions in [brackets].

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
You’ll never know dear how much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away. [Reilly begins crying.]

The other night dear, as I lay sleeping
I dreamt I held you in my arms
When I awoke then, I was mistaken
So I held my head and I cried. [Reilly sobbing and holding her head.]

Don't worry, they'll be back

Reilly has been very interested and active in the different stages of sleep lately—and not just the going to sleep part, of which she is still the master manipulator/delayer/pain-in-the-asser, but also the dreams that come with sleep.

The other night Shawn sang to Reilly a song that her grandmother used to sing to her:

Now run along home
And hop into bed
Say your prayers
And cover your head.

The very last thing
That I’ll say to you:
You dream of me
And I’ll dream of you.

To this, Reilly said, “I’ll dream of you, mommy.”

In the morning, when Reilly trudged sleepy-eyed into our room, the first thing she said was, “My dreams are gone, mommy.”

Huffing and puffing

Today as we drove down the dirt road to the cabin, Reilly had the following conversation with Shawn:

“We can’t take a trip yet ‘cause I’m not bigger. I’m just still smaller.”
“Oh, and what do you like to do now that you’re smaller?”
“Play soccer, football, read little pigs and play croquet.”

3 year check-up

One of the things they don't tell you when you first have your child is that the regular quarterly check-ups that you find so reassuring as a new parent don't last indefinitely. Reilly has not had a check-up since she turned two, and so now that she is three I have been super curious to know what her stats would show.

Using this handy-dandy percentile calculator, I present you with Reilly's stats:

Height: 36 inches, 18th percentile
Weight: 28 pounds, 22nd percentile

Shawn also reported that Reilly had a shot, and that she was very brave.

6 - 2 =

Recently we have been introducing Reilly to the concept of simple math--adding and subtracting. When playing with six colored bamboo blocks on Sunday morning, Shawn took away two and asked Reilly how many were left. Withouth counting and without hesitation, she said, "four."

Week 152 Supplement

We're off on vacation for a week in the mountains of North Carolina. To keep you satsified while we are away, here is a supplement from last week's birthday photos. This set is of Reilly's actual birthday when Nana and Grandma took her to the aquarium to play in the waterpark.

Click here to view.

Week 152 Pictures

Happy birthday, Reilly Bean:

July 9th

Last night, when I told Reilly that she would go to bed age two and wake up age three, she seemed a little horrified at the concept, that somehow she would change in a marked way—grow three inches, or have to start driving herself to her swim lessons in the morning. No matter how I tried to soothe her, she would say, “I don’t want to turn three! I want to stay small forever.”

When I told this story to Shawn, she just nodded, which I knew to mean, “That makes two of us.”

One small gesture

Last night, Reilly called me into her room not long after we had put her to sleep and told me, “I don’t think I like my bed,” which is code for “I want to sleep in mommy and daddy’s bed.”

Typically I don’t grant this wish, but I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t have it in me to fight it out with her, so I put her in our bed and settled in next to her to wait for the sandman.

Unfortunately, I kept coughing, and each time I did so, Reilly would stir, put her little hand on my forearm, and say, “Daddy, are you sick?”

Week 151 Pictures

Happy 4th of July everyone! For this week's photos, click here.

To all those concerned, an update:

Grandma had a stroke—a blood clot in the brain—which eventually burst and caused an open bleed in her brain. Though she can move her left arm and can move her head a bit, all other bodily functions are beyond her scope of ability, and that goes for everything from speaking to using the bathroom. She will remain in ICU for a bit longer, and then will be transferred to an assisted care facility to live out what remains of her life, which feels like a very sad, sad thing to write.

What shape is a banana?

This morning, while peeling the banana I had just given her, Reilly said, "Hey daddy, what's this shape?

I replied that it was crescent-shaped.

"Nooooo, Daddy," Reilly replied, "it's not a crescent, it's a rainbow!"

The bathtub: it's not just for bathing anymore

I have discovered that there is one drawback to Reilly learning how to swim. Last night, while in the bathtub, Reilly decided to demonstrate her "big kicks" and after flipping over to her belly, proceeded to churn and splash the water with her little legs and feet. Afraid to discourage any type of swimming, I let her go, and the result was about a quarter inch of water all over the bathroom floor.