Greta at 18 months

I love that, in response to my last post, Carrie sent these picture of Great at Eleri's age.
There's definitely a kindred-spirit thing going on here!

Oh, Eleri

Often, when we take Eleri out on the town, I see that look in peoples' eyes: that look that says, maybe I would like a kid, if I could have one like that. It may sound like bragging, but I swear she's just that cute. It's partly the age- 1 1/2 was my absolute favorite time with Clio, too- and it's partly the thighs. Especially when Dave dresses them in her crazy zig-zag leggings that emphasize the chubbiness, then adds her purple high tops, gold satin quilted parka, and teddy bear hat, and sets her loose on Pearl street. It's like a stealth attack.

The other day my friend Carrie sent me an email about our visit over Christmas, casually mentioning that Eleri might have the power to make one want more kids.


Carrie claims this effect is because of Eleri's smallness- her own girls, Greta and Morgan (front left and back right in this picture, along with my girls and Lizzie's son Owen) are too big to pick up and carry around on your arm. But I know it is also because Eleri looks like this:


In fact, at this party for Dakota I found myself guilty of saying things like "she's so cute right now, I can hardly stand it."

The thing is, she's not cute in a vaguely sweet kind of a way. As my friend Sara just said yesterday, this girls got personality. And there is so much that endears us to her: the way she attacks her sister with hugs, the way she throws her head back when she laughs, the way she dances when there is no music. Her penchant for the possessive: "Daddy's." (chair) "Mommy's." (water bottle).

Luckily for us on the whole desire-more-kids front, Dave and I are the ones around when Eleri throws her food- no, hurls is more like it- to signal the end of a meal. And when she throws herself on the ground all tantrum-like. And I seem to be the only one who gets the pleasure of Eleri's very effective face-slaps. And neck-pinches. That's right, this cutest kiddo likes to inflict violence upon me. And you can see it here. That spunk is right at the heart of what makes us melt anyway, and makes other people wish they could have one just like her.

The Things That Go Unsaid

Last night, learned that one of my oldest and best friends was diagnosed with Breast Cancer at the age of 33. If I had not committed myself to putting words on this page today, I probably would not post this. Partly because it is not my story to tell. Partly because blogs are edited versions of our lives, often leaving out some of the hardest or most personal challenges. I was looking at our wedding invitation list the other night to update our address book, and I was startled by how many people we've lost in the past four and a half years- how many marriages have ended in divorce, how many people have succumbed to illness or old age, and also how many have battled serious illnesses--and won. These are not the stories I tell here, but they are meaningful, they matter to me.

It is also something about the immediacy of electronic forms, good for sharing information quickly and effectively, as Lizzie did when she finally told her story on her own blog, getting her diagnosis and options out there all at once. But bad for waiting. I don't think I have written here that my baby brother had skin cancer this winter; it seemed too dangerous to put it down when we were waiting, and then well beside the point when the malignant melanoma was removed, and when the tests came back negative, showing--thank god--that the cancer had not spread. I will always remember when I signed up for Facebook, because it was the week that the same brother and his wife found out that something was wrong with their first baby. I remember waiting for the call staring at my laptop; when it came, and I learned that their baby would not survive, I just looked at the blinking cursor. "Heather Duggan Peterson Is..."

Bereft.

But we do not write that down.

The larger world gets lost in our microscopic blog vision. You would think, reading this blog of mine, that nothing real happens. That earthquakes don't shake poor island nations. That universal health care isn't an ongoing debate for our government. That reclusive authors don't die. That no one dies, or gets sick, or suffers other losses.

And being here, isolated across the country from so much that I love, I wonder again, as I did when Liam died, when Rory got cancer, what the hell I am doing here, and why I am not home, where I might be able to help.

Dakota's Birthday, Two Ways

It's become a bit of a joke in my mind, but when hanging with the Desautels-Steins, we like to do things "two ways". It started with chicken two ways, which then, absurdly, got double to chicken two ways, two ways, which I know I have mentioned here. My brother Brian picked up on it, and for Christmas, he made Dave's gift two ways, two ways: high and low root beer (a fancy schmancy variety six pack and a dollar store jug) and Flight of the Concords on DVD and CD.

Last weekend, we joined Dakota in celebrating his third birthday, twice. Friday night, for his actual anniversary, we headed to Chuck E. Cheese, just our two families. And Saturday morning, we joined a throng (15 kids and various attendant parents) for the official birthday party.

A few days before all the celebrating began, one of the women I work with recounted her own daughter's recent sixth birthday party: they had invited just six kids from school, but a few days later another classmate sent out invites to his party for the same day--and invited the whole class. Andrea shared with me the heartbreak of waiting with Joanna to see if any of her chosen six would forsake a party with bouncy castles and the whole school crowd, her relief when one did show up, and her daughter's resilience in seeing the bright side of this: that she really got to know that one little girl. It occurred to me that Clio is old enough now (already!!) that these kinds of social situations can be crushing, and I was glad that we had our own special celebration with Dakota in the Chuck E Cheese bedlam.


Still, on our way to Dakota's house the morning of the party, we talked a lot about how many other kids would be there, that Dakota might not be able to spend as much time with her as she was used to, that Amy and Justin might be too busy to notice that Clio had chosen a special party dress for the occasion. As it turned out, we were the first to arrive and the last to leave (A Duggan family tradition); Amy and Justin both commented on Clio's dress and helped Clio get bagels with cream cheese and fruit and other food as desired; and the Birthday boy opted to sit next to Clio for lunch.


For much of the afternoon, as I ran after Eleri, who insisted on swinging rakes and brooms around the yard with some clear potential for a guillotine effect, Clio kept herself busy convincing other people's dads to push her on the swing anyway (Dave was at school),

and it made me realize yet again that I often choose the wrong moments to be over-protective, that Clio is a big girl, and that, in many ways, we are still in the period of resiliency before the social thing gets really tough.

At the same time, watching the two of them together validated the idea that 3-year-olds can, and do, have real friendships. When we left New York, I was terribly worried about separating Clio and her best friend Elsie, but I think I figured they were little enough to move on and forget. Every once in a while, though, and seemingly out of nowhere, Clio will say "I want Elsie." When I explain that we live far away now, and that we would need to take an airplane to visit, Clio is undeterred: "okay," she'll say, very matter-of-fact, like she has solved everything, "let's take an airplane."

Elsie's dad just told me that the other night, Elsie put on her purse, and when he asked where she was going, she just looked at him and said, "Colorado."

The Return of Video

The girls have been watching some of the little videos on this blog lately, and I find myself simultaneously thrilled to have captured Clio's sweet little 2-year old voice and shamed that I have been so neglectful of keeping up with the live-action footage. We never seem to have the video camera on hand when something worth capturing happens, or, if one of us is able to locate it, it is likely out of battery or needs a new disc.

The other night at dinner, I grabbed our little canon elf, which we rarely use but is great for uber-short movies, and grabbed a few moments of the kids.

This first video captures some of Eleri's unique communication style (for the first time, I understand the pediatrician asking parents to distinguish between the words their children can say and those that could be understood by a stranger). The second captures Clio's tendency to copy Eleri when Eleri is getting a lot of attention.

The February Post-a-Day challenge

My friend Rachel over at Basically Bertram issued a challenge to a blogger friend of hers: a post a day for the short month of February. I hereby invite myself along for the ride. I have often thought about the daily-post idea, inspired, in part, by my aunt Missy's awesome (and nearly complete) journey of producing a photo a day for an entire year, the stunning results of which you can see here; the 28-day time limit makes this feel like a doable experiment.

While I know Missy is looking forward to the release from duty when her year is up this month, there is something comforting about the continuity of her project from the friends-and-family perspective: because the timeframe is so micro, so immediate, her site feels almost like an algorythm of her days and moods. If I want to know if she's around or traveling, I go to smugmug to see if yesterday's post was the woods near her house or the waters of nantucket. And I will admit, I love to look at a page of thumbnail images representing a month and see the anomolies, especially, i will admit, when I am part of it, like the blurry image of headlights marking the drive home after Missy helped me stage the house in Brooklyn for sale; among the more pastoral shots, it jumped right out at me as a day apart.

All of this makes me appreciate this blog for what it might mean to you, the readers, and your understanding of us, the subjects. I'm truly looking forward to getting a peek into the lives of Bertram, Vivian, and their parents every day this month, and hope you might feel the same about a daily does of Clio Confidential. I'm curious to see if I reflect on my days differently when I know I must produce something today, rather than saving up images and stories for larger posts that have the benefit of consideration but may lose the (benefit?) of immediacy, and whether the consistency breeds new material, or makes it all feel stale.

Now, full disclosure: I am cheating today. I just learned of the challenge on February third, yet have labeled this February second- but, like Missy, who never once cheated and posted an old photo, I will now go forth and create new content daily.

A Bicycle Built for Who?

Our latest foray into the realm of toys with wheels ended as all the others have: In tears.

It all started with Clio's second birthday, when we got her a scooter, there were tears, we exchanged it for a radio flyer tricycle, and there were tears. Then, her Nonny and Papa got her an even cooler scooter for her third birthday and, you guessed it: tears. (To be clear, she loved RECEIVING all of these things, and even now I believe she loves having them. It's just riding them that is so bothersome.) We figured Clio would need more of a big-kid bike come summer, and some research into those pedal-less "balance bikes" was performed. But looking back at her vehicular history, I think Clio may have preferred the cheap plastic option most times, from the way she eyes other kids' princess scooters on the Brooklyn playgrounds with sidelong longing, and I wonder if it is Dave and I and parents like us that have created a design industry of beautiful wood and metal riding toys for children. So when I saw a 12" bike with training wheels in the clearance aisle of Target marked down to just $19.99, I pounced. The thing has sat in the trunk for a week while we sought out reviews; finding none, we just said What the heck, and Dave finally put the bike together this morning.

This time, there's a twist. Eleri LOVES wheeled vehicles of all kinds. When we go for a walk, she longingly touches the wheels of parked cars. She tries to climb into other children's strollers and wagons at the playground. When the new bike was assembled, it was Eleri who pushed it around the dining room, and when Dave took it away again (to put air in the tires), she nearly blew a gasket. I mean, the kid started shrieking "DADDY! DADDY!" and pointing out the front window, tears streaming down her face. So it's no surprise that she ran down the sidewalk to get a look at Clio taking it for its first spin.

Of course, this bike is way too big for Eleri. They don't make a bike small enough for her (except, almost, kind of, the before-mentioned beautiful wooden balance bikes), and even on our radio flyer (and Dakota's Kettler), she just can't reach the pedals.

Today, we consoled her with a spin around the block in our neighbor Violet's little plastic push car (while Clio swapped the bike out for the trike, with Daddy pushing.) But what will we do come summer?????