Sprite's Keeper

The Wanking Room

"I can do it at home, right? Then just bring it in?"

"No. It's best to take care of it there."

"But the directions say I have forty-five minutes to get it there. I can make it in time."

"John. Just do it there."

"Let me do it my way."

"UGH! Don't make me remind you about rush hour and trying to beat the clock...Huh, get it? Beat?"

"Not a good time, Jen."

"Really, I'm going to have nightmares of your car filled with screams as they die one by one on their way to the clinic."

"FINE! I'll take care of it."

Infertility does have its funny points..

*****************

We had promised ourselves back in the summer months that if no pregnancy occurred by the time we came back from our cruise in November, we would buckle down and submit ourselves for the extensive testing to figure out why, this being almost three years after starting the auditions for a new family member, we still hadn't cast the role. (And I was so convinced that the days of sun and fun and Sprite in the Kids Club would result in our own little souvineir without the crappy logo covering 50% of him or her. Never mind that the honorary middle name "Dream" would totally give it away.)

Well, two weeks after we had put away our suitcases and realized the pixie dust hadn't fixed our issues, the time came for me to call my doctor, a new doctor, one who would look more into why we weren't conceiving rather than hand me some Clomid and wish me luck with the quintuplets.

Meeting this new doctor was awkward as it came right in the middle of an annual appointment, so while she was "getting to know me", I was laying it all on the line. (Considering that I was laying on her table with a paper gown being the only virtue of my modesty, I was going for ultimate transparency.) (I was wearing my own socks too, since I figured letting her in on my secret of semi-annual pedicures would have been overkill.) At the end of the exam, we sat down and she drew up plans for me to have some bloodwork done, undergo a test in which my level of tolerance would be sorely tested, and a bonus test (buy three, get one?) for John to test his, um, endurance.

We also set boundaries: we were going to actively pursue a successful pregnancy for this year, and we were willing to go as far as Clomid (the doses, I've learned, can be changed to lessen the chance of multiples) and working towards fixing what was possibly broken, but we were not willing to cross the threshold of invetro.

(People are people, and everyone's beliefs differ on the subject, but John and I both feel that if there's nothing wrong, and a second child never comes, God is obviously telling us it's not going to happen.)

This was back in December. I dutifully went about my first two blood tests, both to be taken in the early stages of my cycle.

John begrudgingly signed on for a December 30th appointment so he could, you know, ring in the New Year.

Now, since we both had the day off, we arranged to meet each other afterward so he could drop his car off for some maintenance and catch a ride.

I pulled up to the dealership and he quickly hopped into the passenger side.

"How did it go?" I asked, pulling away from the Service Department.

"The Wanking Room?"

"The WHAT?"

"Hey, it's written right there on their website. The clinic calls it the Wanking Room. Wanna know why?" he drawled, giving me a leery grin.

"I know WHY, I'm just surprised they advertise it. So?"

"I'm done."

"Okay..."

He didn't grab my hint and run with it.

"Tell me what happened!"

"It's embarassing. You're sitting there with other men in the waiting room and you all know what the other is going to do. When they called my name, I could feel them staring at me."

"Go on."

"The nurse was HOT. I think they hired her just to get things started."

"Nice. Thanks."

"I'm kidding. No hotness at all. Very business like. Just handed me my cup, showed me to the room, pointed to the directions and closed the door behind her on the way out. Very quickly."

"Directions? The Wanking Room has directions?"

"You know, the prep, the aftermath, what to do when you're done."

"Awesome."

"Hey, I'm doing this for you, all right?"

"Okay, tell me about the room."

"Small. Almost like a closet. The TV was mounted on the wall, and there was an armchair."

Watching the road, I gasped in response. "Did you sit in the armchair?"

"God, no! I just took one look at the floor and thought they didn't get around to cleaning THAT much, I wasn't about to take my chances in the chair."

"Good man."

"Oh, and the walls were paper thin. Those nurses must be able to hear everything."

"Ha, they're probably sitting out there in the common area, listening for which movie you pick, taking bets on the titles. 'Hey, he chose Ass Me When. I thought he would be a Busted man."

"I wouldn't be surprised. But what did surprise me was their selection of movies."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. It was an Apple TV, and everything was in categories, really easy to find what you're looking for. A LOT of movies."

"I think I want to work there just for the sheer humor of it all."

"The worst part is when you're finished. You have to press a button which emits a loud bell in the office."

"So they know you're done."

"Yup."

"And they know exactly what you did."

"Yup."

I remained silent, trying to picture the embarrasment of it all. "Thank you for taking one for the team, John."

"If you need me to do it again, I'll do it."

"Really?"

"I didn't get to finish the movie."

Like I said, even infertitility can be labeled a dramedy once in a while..

Five and dime.

I am so excited.

No, really! Never mind the lack of proper punctuation to truly convey the level of exitement I feel. Let's just say that I am so excited, I'm almost zen about it.

On Sunday, Sprite turns five, but that's not what I'm SOOOO excited about. Oh, sure, I'm proud of her for making it to the fifth birthday, the last few months were a bit sketchy since the attitude got a promotion and the gratitude got a demotion if we're being honest, so yes, let's color me partially excited over that.

On Wednesday, John and I will have completed ten years of Marriage 101. (Now we get to take our graduate courses!) And that lifts my skirts too, but still not enough to hit that "OHM" level of tranquility I feel when thinking about this upcoming week.

To mark our five year old daughter/ ten year old marriage, we are doing this:

And this:

And maybe even some of this:

(images courtesy of Google)

Now can you see why I'm so excited?

I have never been a guest on a cruise ship before. I've sailed almost a hundred cruises, but always as a little worker bee, seeing to it that the guests were happy, that the Karaoke machine was well stocked with ABBA songs, always making it look like I was having a blast and loving what I did, but honestly? Long work days (Cruise staff had it easy at 12 hours on, 12 hours off. You may want to thank your waiters and cabin attendants a little more profusely next time you cruise for 18 hour schedules are considered a cake walk to them.) and little room for the crew to blow off steam except in designated areas (Sure, the bow of the ship lends for some amazing star gazing since it's so dark, but when you can't see the deck below your feet, you do tend to worry that the water will soon be replacing the planks.) made for a lot of time re-reading the few books I brought, thinking I'd have no time to just be and every day would be full of swimming and sunning.

They weren't.

But I did get to meet thousands of guests, a whole roster of forgettable faces with the same unforgettable look of enjoyment on every one. They were having a great time.

I wanted that.

Now, thanks to the stars aligning, major money saving, and a wonderful dual anniversary to be shared between the three of us, we are going to enjoy complete and reckless abandonment of time. That's right. No watch, no cell phone, no BLOG, no cares for four whole nights as the kid, who has already threatened to spend all her time in the Kid's Club, we've negotiated down to afternoons, yes, I've had to pull her back a little so we could have SOME family time together, I mean, who else is going to watch over our deck chairs while John and I take our tenth turn on the AquaDuck?, gets to celebrate her birthday sailing the high seas and we get to celebrate our anniversary dining in complete opulence at Palo, thanks to some babysitting perks the Disney geniuses thought of beforehand, (Some of those Imagineers must be parents.), and even an anniversary couple's massage, gauranteed to get the kinks out or at least relax you to the point of no longer caring that you had kinks to begin with.

My Nook is full of new reading material. My sunscreen is waiting to be packed. I have fully memorized Mamma Mia and am ready to hit that Karaoke room. John and Sprite are jumping at the bit, as I am. In my own mellow way.

We're going to have a fabulous time. And why shouldn't we? We're a happy family. We genuinely love each other, even when we don't like each other.

Damn straight we're going to celebrate this:

It's a Kindergarten world.

It didn't even hit me until I was showering.

"Hey, John, I think I understand now what happened between Sprite and Kayla."

"Really?" (Yes, he was in the bathroom while I was showering. We're married, It's okay. With a kid, the ONLY time we get to talk is when we're showering or sleeping. And I'm not about to trade my sleep, so there you go. The secret to a long marriage is steam and self-confidence.)

"Yeah, with the entire worm-mud cake incident."

"And what about-"

Wait, let me fill you in on the back story.

Two weeks ago, I picked Sprite up from school and nothing was out of the ordinary. I exchanged pleasantries with the teachers, retrieved her homework, and hugged my daughter hello. On the way home, I asked the usual questions, she answered as usual. No worries.

Around 9:30 that night, I received a text message from Kayla's mom. The gist of the message was "sorry to let you know so late, but I wanted to make sure Sprite's okay. I had a long talk with Kayla and she's going to write Sprite an apology letter."

What? I thought back to the evening and any red flags. Nothing popped up. So I texted back, "She never said anything about it. I'm sure it's okay."

A few more messages of calm back and forth and I ventured into Sprite's room. The kid was still awake. (In our house, a sleepy but still hanging on child at 9:45 PM is not out of the ordinary.)

Sitting on her bed, I asked, "Hey, what happened with Kayla today?"

Her mouth crumpled immediately. "She said she was going to make me a worm-mud cake."

"A worm-mud cake?"

"And she told me I couldn't go to her birthday party." She sat up, looking dejected.

I reached out and took her in my arms, confused about the emotion involved. I mean, four year olds pull this kind of shit on each other all the time. Yes, Kayla is someone Sprite has been hanging out with since they were infants, Sprite even calls her a best friend, but nasty one minute, nice the next, right?

"And then Kayla and Sammy chased me saying I would have to eat worm-mud cake."

I soothed her hair. "Honey, I got a message from Kayla's mommy. Kayla is extremely sorry about what she said and I'm sure things will be fine tomorrow."

And they were. Sprite came home with a lovely hand drawn note of apology from Kayla and a story of a wonderful day at school.

Problem solved, right?

Well, apparently, kiddie problems are like tv shows, they only reference "Last time on.." when they're ready to pick the story back up which could be two or three episodes later while another back burner plot heats.

"Kayla's not my friend anymore."

I looked up into the rearview mirror, seeing her arms locked around her waist in anger. "What happened?"

"She said I can't go to her birthday party."

"Kayla's birthday isn't until October, Sprite. It's still a while away. Things may change."

"She said I'm not invited and I can't play with her anymore."

Now, being as Sprite has been around Kayla for years, this means I have too. This did not sound like the Kayla I knew. So I took the median route out since I had no idea where to go with it. "So maybe you shouldn't hang out with Kayla anymore."

"She's not nice to me."

"No, it doesn't sound like she's being nice at all."

Now I was more perturbed because the problem didn't have a solution yet. The apology note and promise of love had fallen flat in the world of VPK.

I sought out her teachers the next day. Not because I wanted to rat out Kayla. I just wanted to be sure that if Sprite was having problems, she was not just taking it sitting down.

"Oh, no. She did say something about it to us and by the end of the day, they were playing again, well, you know kids."

"Sure! I just don't want any ongoing issues." Actually, I wanted to know if she was standing her ground. I understand that life will hand you some blows once in a while, but in a smallish summer wind like this, she shouldn't be falling down so easily.

Knowing she was aware of her life lines, I felt better about it and brushed it off again.

A week passed, one day she and Kayla were thick as thieves, the next they weren't. Definitely not normal, but now it was just pissing me off that my kid was getting her feelings stomped on by someone else, someone else she trusted and loved.

Finally, on Friday of this last week, she got into the car, ready for dance class.

"Did everything go okay with Kayla today?"

"She wasn't in school. Her mom is getting married tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah! Did you wish Ms. Nicole well?"

"What?"

"Oh, never mind. It's just somethine we say when- you know, it's not important."

"Mommy, I want to go to the wedding."

"Honey, we can't go. We weren't invited."

"But I want to go to a wedding."

"Well, your daddy and I will renew our vows in a few years, and you can be in THAT wedding. You can be my maid of honor, wear a pretty dress and everything." No, really. John and I have been talking about renewing our vows and of course, my daughter will be the maid of honor. If she throws me a nice bridal shower..

"Okay."

We put Kayla, weddings, and school out of our minds and continued with our Friday routine.

I didn't get it until I was lathering up. Kayla had been taunting Sprite about her mother's wedding and the fact that Sprite wasn't invited. The worm-mud cake was wedding cake. The taunts were cruel, which was why Kayla's mom thought a formal apology was necessary. (Otherwise, I thought she was putting too much effort into little childish games.)

I guess I just hadn't been aware of just how direct the taunts were.

"And what about the worm-mud cake incident?"

"It just makes sense now. It was all about Nicole's wedding."

"Jen, I knew that in the beginning."

"You did?"

"I spoke with Nicole at school. Sprite didn't tell the teachers what happened. She told Nicole."

"She ratted Kayla out to her own mom?"

"Yes."

Huh. Sprite had figured out that telling a teacher wouldn't merit punishment for her tormentor since they tend to water down the juice until it seems a punch started out as a well intentioned hug, so she went straight to the top level of management.

And I felt better. (Oh, come on. You would too if you knew the bully got their just desserts.)

I still love Kayla. And I'm sure now that all the wedding stuff is over, she'll return to her sweet old self who's waiting for Sprite to come to school in the morning.

I just hope that she'll hold her own when the stronger social winds come bearing down.

****Updated to add: I didn't think it important to the issue earlier but many are considering Kayla's reaction to her mom getting married and changing the family dynamic. Actually, Kayla's mom married Kayla's dad. They just made things official. (Seriously, such a sweet family.) But, in the holistic approach, planning any big event which involves the whole family can throw everything into upheaval, even when the event is something positive. I got Sprite dressed for school this morning, reminding her to be nice to Kayla and chances would be good that everything would be back on an even keel.

I can only be relieved that the worst words that can hurt right now are "ugly" and "you're not my friend". It's more of an affront to Sprite since the person saying them is someone who's been an alli for so long in her life. I'm not looking forward to the later years when the words take on a more personal meaning..

Impact

Susan and I brought our tickets for the Harry Potter finale to the front of the line, starting our hour long wait for the next showing of the movie we had been talking about for months.

"John's calling." Susan took the call. Most likely, as it always happens, my cell was turned down too low so John turned to my companion to get in touch with me. "Wait, what? John? I can't understand what you're-" She checked the display. The call had dropped. "I have no idea what he said."

Pulling out my own cell, I dialed his number. "He's probably telling us he's in the area or something." Sprite and John were on their date night, their tradition whenever I had friends in town or had a girls' night. The line picked up. "John? Where are you?"

The line was alive with noise, John's voice raising up a decibel more to be heard. "We're at the McDonald's entrance in front of the town center. We had an accident. The van is totaled. I need your help."

My stomach dropped. "We're on our way."

******************

Running across a crowded parking lot to Susan's car, manuevering through heavy mall traffic to get to the scene, not even a half mile away, seeing the strobing red and blue halos light up the sky behind the McDonald's. Knowing that John and Sprite were at the center of it.

*****************

"Hi, baby, are you okay?" My voice took on a falsetto as I tried to control my own emotions, not wanting to stress her out further, but desperate to hold all of her, verify each movement with a mental checklist.

"Mommy, look at my dolphin! His name is Mater." She shoved the stuffed pillow pet under my nose. "We got in a accident."

"I know," I murmured, reaching out to hug John to me. "Are you okay?" I directed my next question at him.

"My chest hurts from the airbag," he answered. "Jen, I didn't have a chance."

*************************

Walking to the front of the van to take in the severity of the impact, feeling Sprite stiffen in my arms as she howls a cry of shock at seeing her beloved blue car in ruins. Cursing my own stupidity at enforcing the exposure and turning her over to my best friend so I can help John with the paramedics.

  

************************

"That's a sexy look on you."

John looked up into my eyes, obviously uncomfortable from the back board, but the answering smirk told me he appreciated my attempt to alleviate the heavy urgency of the situation. "Thanks. I'll try to remember that."

The officer walked over to us. "What does your shirt say?" he asked John.

"Meh." We both tried to explain the slogan plastered across a Facebook blue background.

The officer smiled. "For a second there, I thought it said 'meth'."

*****************************

Collecting details from witnesses, dragging Sprite's carseat and any valuable insurance paperwork out of the van, still caught in the glow of emergency lights, sneaking glances of my husband, still prone in the street, being hovered over by men he had never met before.

****************************

"Why are they putting a seatbelt on Daddy?"

I paused in my answer, not sure how exact I should be. Life lessons under pressure are not my forte. "They're putting him in a bed to take him to the hospital and be checked out. The seatbelts just keep him on the bed, that's all. Daddy's fine."

"Can I go with him?"

"Sorry, sweets, there's only room for Daddy. We moved your car seat to Aunt Susan's car. We'll follow them to the hospital so we can bring Daddy home."

"What about the blue car?"

I sighed. John was right. The blue car was totaled. "We'll have to find another blue car."

****************************

Driving through the night, updating concerned parents, arriving at the hospital only to be told the other county hospital has him, even though that hospital is a farther drive. Loading an exhausted child back into the car, her pleas to go home a reminder of the weirdness of the situation. Leaning on one of my closest allies through it all as I navigate the directions to the next stop of the evening.

************************

My cell rang with an unfamiliar number.

"This is Lieutenant Kinicky." (Spelling has been changed.)

"Yes, sir."

"I've met your husband at the hospital and provided him with the other driver's information. The other guy is getting charged with 'failure to yield right of way'.... Are you on your way?"

"Yes, we thought it was another hospital. Healthpark says hello, by the way."

"Are you sure you're okay to drive? You haven't been drinking?"

"No, sir. My best friend is driving and I'm not drunk."

"Okay, then. I'm leaving the hospital now. And tell your husband to lay off the meth."

A voice raises in the background.

"I DON'T DO METH!"

***************************

Reaching the right hospital, leaving Susan and Sprite in the car so I can find out where exactly John is. Standing in line for the triage nurse. Watching as a young man walks out of the back rooms and into the waiting area.

**************************

"Is she okay? We heard the machines are breathing for her," the woman in front of me addressed him.

His eyes looked vacant. "It's worse than that."

He walked past, the other four following him to the double doors and collapsing against each other in cries of despair.

My eyes wide, I turned back to the triage window and spotted the nurse watching me with a bored expression.

"Next?"

****************************

"Can you tell me the nature of the accident?" the desk representative clacked his way across the keyboard, inputting our insurance information into the system.

"Um, my husband was Southbound on Ben C. Griffin and another vehicle blew a stop sign into his lane causing him to impact the other car."

"Did airbags deploy?"

"Yes."

"Any other- hey!"

I turned my head to follow his gaze and viewed a man's body facedown on the floor. Security, closest to the man, didn't move as the same bearer of bad news from earlier walked over and helped him up, rousing him from his faint. They walked towards the outside area.

Looking back at the rep, I noticed his sardonic smile. "Happens all the time," he remarked, then caught himself back up to speed. "Do you have an attorney?"

"An attorney?"

"Yes, for this accident."

The same accident that had just happened two hours ago?

"Um, no."

"Well, let me give you the number of a great one. Helped me out a lot." He snatched the digits from thin air and pushed the paper to my side of the desk.

******************************

Being led to John's "room". Walking past half-opened curtains of other tales gone wrong. Hearing laughter to my left, observing police officers guarding a room to my right. Watching me as much as I'm watching them. Finally seeing John's face and hearing the doctor tell him to expect a few days of soreness, but otherwise fine. Being reminded over and over just how lucky John and Sprite were to walk away from the wreck.

****************************

"Sorry we ruined Harry Potter for you," he murmured, walking out with me to meet up with Susan and our sleeping daughter.

I grasped his hand tightly, holding myself back from giving a snarky answer, saving my anger for the next morning when the impact of tonight would hit us once more.

*************************

John and Sprite are both okay. Despite some complaints of a hurting back which was immediately checked out by her pediatrician, and some regressive fears such as driving in the dark still rearing its head, we're finding our way back to normal. And Sprite has a new blue car that she loves, even if this one doesn't have DVD.

Mi Chinita

The erroneous assumptions have started to peter out, but in the beginning, I found it baffling.

Almost four years ago, when Sprite was a chunky, roly eight month old, I would bring her to Story Time at Barnes and Noble where we would meet our friends with kids of similar ages. This tradition is still in practice today, Sprite and I being the only ones left of our once crowded group, and even then, we can only make it about once or twice a month.

One Saturday morning, I had her seated on my lap while Ms. Trish began her story. Another mother settled next to me with her two tots, getting them situated for the event. She looked over to Sprite, who was regarding her with interested eyes. (I think she was eyeing the puffs the woman had pulled out of her diaper bag, a treat Sprite had only recently been introduced to.)

"Oh, how precious you are!" she exclaimed in a stage whisper.

I turned my head to acknowledge the compliment, smiling as our eyes met.

"You have a little Jon and Kate Plus Eight!"

"I'm sorry?"

I could hear the hesitation enter her words as she continued on anyway. "Your husband is Asian?"

"No." I kept smiling at her, an eyebrow arching in confusion.

"Oh, is she adopted?"

I smiled even wider. "Nope."

Her hypothetical foot was shoved too far deep to ask more questions. "I am so sorry. Um, would she like some puffs?"

"That would be great, thanks."

Mind you, this happened before the huge scandal erupted that broke up the show and turned it into headline fodder, so being called a J&K+8 was, I guess?, considered a trendy thing.

It also wasn't the first time she's been mistaken for an Asian child.

Chinese, Japanese, Korean, "Asian", whatever would cover the Far Eastern looking eyes she had going for herself, she's been branded before and while she's growing out of it bit by bit, even I will stare at a picutre and think how DID she come by the almond shaped eyes? It doesn't help clear things up that her irises are an inky brown, like a dark chocolate, so close in color and proximity to the black pupil that you really can't tell where one ends and the other begins unless she's in direct contact with bright light.

We used to claim she followed John's side, but even his eyes, and his mother's eyes are too light to be connected to this abyss of ocher. (Thank you, Twilight for forever ruining that word for me.)

Ingrid, John's mom, has adopted little nicknames for all of her grandkids, and our daughter's nickname isn't Sprite like the rest of us call her, it's Mi Chinita, or roughly translated from Spanish, "My litte Chinese girl".

Some of my friends are Asian and don't find this offensive at all, one of them even asking if we do have any relations or ancestors from the region since Sprite favors the look (and favored the hair too until my recessive curly hair gene decided to stick its two cents in, anyone got any detangler?) and when Sprite told them she was going to be a Princess for Halloween, they immediately replied, "Are you going to be Mulan?"

(Yeah. I don't get it either. I mean Mulan isn't even a princess, right?)

Meh, whatever, here's some oldies and newer ones of the pictures that get her called out the most. Even if you can't see a connection, just enjoy the fact that she was cute then, she's cute now, and even if she has that Asian flair or not, it's still our Sprite that's standing there.

 

 

 

Okay, scratch that. Forget all six hundred or so words up there before the picture break. My kid looks like Valerie Bertinelli and THAT'S the story I'm sticking to.

 

Al Dente Revisited (technically, it's the first time, so the revisiting is completely hypothetical and only because I couldn't think of a snazzier title and remembered the one time I used this title and figured I should use it again.)

I really need to stop explaining myself so much. It would make for quicker blogging..

(The first Al Dente is here.)

Ah, the dentist, one of the few first time milestones that kids have a developed memory for. The wonder, the instruments, why the hell is this lady trying to stick her rubber tasting fingers into my mouth?

Loads of fun, no?

Since Sprite turned four, I've been meaning to make the appointment. Granted, I probably should have made it when she was two, but I just didn't see the need for the dentist to tell me what I already knew: "She's got teeth. And she bites. Two for two, that'll be a fifty dollar co-pay, please."

 I know, I know. Lazy Mommy. (Hey, just in time for Mother's Day!) Anyway, when I finally made the appointment, after hearing my friend Rachel's glowing recommendation for her childrens' dentist, John and I began the task of actually psyching her up for said appointment.

"Guess what, Sprite? You get to go to the dentist!" (insert squee here)

Now, see how that last exclamation was worded? Not "you're going to the dentist" or "you have to go to the dentist" or "you must go to the dentist", no, no. I know how to play it up. Sell the time share points. "You, yes, you! Are the lucky winnder, selected and qualified to take part in the bi-annual ritual of being encouraged to drool while a stranger puts nasty tasting metal in your mouth and explores in there, all while forcing you to answer questions in Garble-tongue! Just sign here and submit your voided check and we should be on our way to a lifetime of black-out dates!"

Maybe it was because I didn't offer a free lunch or three night stay in the Bahamas to go along with the spiel, for she looked up with her eyes half closed and asked, "Can I have a cookie?"

Meh. We plodded ahead with the previews anyway. "Going to the dentist is fun! You get to sit in a big chair and pick out the flavor toothpaste so they can brush your teeth for you! That's right, Mommy and Daddy are going to sit back and let the big 'Say Cheese' do it for us! And then you get a sticker and we get to sell it to you again in six months-won't-that-be-fun!"

Still not working.

Once we hit the week mark, we became aggressive. Sprite has been fanatical about the Berenstain Bears lately. Every night, she's come to demand a book from the collection my sister so lovingly handed over, and while we have a good six or seven, we zoomed through the stash quickly and have been picking up new ones based on good behavior, usually as of the last ten minutes or so. (Of course, a nighttime accident happened, thanks to my forgetfulness to clear the immediate area of possible targeted dolls and books once she fell asleep, and a brand new book about Too Much TV went the way of the trash the very night we bought it. How's that for irony?) John, with a rare evening off, used his Tablet to buy the Berenstain Bears Visit the Dentist.

This got her attention.

"Sister Bear went to the dentist! And her tooth came out and the tooth fairy took it and Sister got money. Do I gets money when my tooths come out? And she got a sticker and a balloon and can I go to the dentist to-DAY?" (Insert squee here)

All of a sudden, I was on the other end of the excitement. No longer was I hyping up the unavoidable. Now I was disappointing her because, dammit, Monday wasn't Thursday. (Trust me kid. If I could turn Monday into Thursday, I would be very rich and we'd pay someone to go to the dentist for you.)

Questions about when we were going to the dentist were followed by questions of when she would actually lose her first tooth. Suddenly, teeth that were secure in their spots yesterday, I could swear, were mysteriously loose.. "Thee, Mommy? This tooth feelth looth!" Her tongue, a la one of the illustrations in her beloved Berenstain Bears scenes, demonstrated what looked like a noodle hitting a stone wall. That sucker was standing strong no matter how hard she pushed.

"Honey, your teeth will come out when they're ready. Be patient. It will happen. And when it does, the tooth fairy will do something nice for you." (Seeing as first teeth are now worth twenty dollars, the tooth fairy is making no monetary promises.)

Then loose teeth became other body parts. "Mommy, my arm feels loose. Will I get a new arm when this one comes out?"

Oh, Lordy, help me bite my tongue before it spews forth with snarky laughter. "Um, no, sweets. You only get two arms and two legs. The only things that come out are teeth. Everything else grows with you."

Finally Thursday dawned with an 8 AM call time. We were taken back to a kind of middle room for the round of questions and answers. Then the tech announced we would see a short video before commencing with the actual appointment. For a split second I thought I was going to be forced to sit through a "Your Body, Yourself" informational video complete with chalkline diagrams that are supposed to look like anatomy. Instead, we watched a thankfully short cartoon about Geena Giraffe and her trip to the dentist along with her (Subplot!) mission to defeat King Cavity. Sprite, a little put off by the basic animation, (Sprite, once you get to Kindergarten and any public school area, ALL the cartoons and pamphlets look like this. I'm sorry for subjecting you to DreamWorks and Disney for all those years without warning that not every animated plot comes complete with songs and spunky princesses but instead a barely disguised lesson.) looked wearily at the tech once she re-entered the room (Yeah, I wouldn't be forced to sit through that carturd again either..) and announced we would do the x-ray portion of our visit next.

Walking to the little room with a very big chair front and center, the tech proceeded to separate Sprite and me, telling my nervous child that "Mommy needs to stand outside the doorway so her belly doesn't get exposed" while hovering her right hand over my midsection.

Our eyes met, my eyebrow raised in the negative, and she quickly added an addendum to her speech "or her eyes or nose or hands.." while I immediately relegated my empire waist blouse to the back of my closet for the foreseeable future.

Sprite wasn't buying it for she immediately pulled her Ace out of her sleeve. "I hafta go potty."

I called her bluff and took her to the bathroom only to be told, "Just kidding!" and trudged back to the x-ray room where we learned we had lost our spot to two girls, 4 and 3, who were patiently having their x-rays taken.

"See, Sprite? It's not bad at all!" She leaned closer to me, trying to disappear into my purse.

The tech came over sensing Sprite's fear. "We don't have to get the pictures today. We'll just have the dentist look at her teeth."

Now here's where she aced the exam. Opening her mouth on cue for the dentist and letting her teeth be "tickled" with that awful scraper, she was annointed with a clean bill of health and thought nothing of it.

"That was the hardest part, Sprite. Now, can we go get the pictures done?" I asked, even though the tech had packed our file up and was ready to show us the door.

Sprite nodded, and negotiated for Pinkalicious, her morphing turtle-unicorn-pony doll, (Seriously, it's a unicorn to everyone else but her and her interpretation changes daily. In fact, yesterday, she decided that Harry was a girl and Blue was a boy. That was hours of fun of tripping over myself with gender assignments before bedtime magically moved up a half hour. Don't look at me like that. Once the kid can tell time, I promise I'll stop pulling rank.) to also have her x-rays done too.

The kid did it. Without complaint. Just sat and looked this way and that according to direction, and did it.

Damn straight I was proud. And no cavities to boot.

Now, we just get to remind her of her bravery and talk her through it again in six months. Oh, the joys of parenthood...

I was going to post office pictures today, but my dog ran away with my post.

Seriously.

Blue got out again. And as of 5 AM this morning when this post publishes, she will have still been missing. (I would love to check my grammar on that last sentence, but between the worry and the calls from Sprite "Have you found Blue?" "Is she back? Blue is my best friend." "Mommy, when Daddy comes back, tell him we need to find Blue." and my responses "No, not yet." "No, I know she's your best friend." "Sprite, we're LOOKING." "GO TO BED!!" and the fact I just feel so dejected right now, memories of 9th grade English are not coming forth.)

I haven't mentioned that she also got out last Friday. My parents were visiting and arrived at our house while I was picking Sprite up from school. I was in the empty classroom, rushing to shove Sprite into her dance outfit before the other kids came in from the playground, when the cell rang. I glanced at the number and answered. "Hey, Dad. Are you here?"

"Yeah. Listen, Jen, we let the dogs out and now we can't find Blue."

"Shit."

"Mommy, that's a bad word."

"Crap. Um, no, sorry, Sprite." I shooed her into finishing up while I thought about what to do. "Okay, Dad, we're coming home."

No dance class for us. The dog came first. Once we had Sprite's things together, an idea came to me and I called my father back.

"Hey, Dad? Take the container of bones out and look over by Dan's house. There's a thicket of bushes that Blue likes to sniff by. We're on our way."

The phone rang two minutes later.

"Found her."

Dance class was saved.

Of course, two weeks before that, she had escaped through another hole in the fence, not the one we had already patched up from her first jailbreak, or the one she subsequently dug her way through with my parents on watch, aided this time by an armadillo who had been sneaking into our vegetable patch only to realize that we had no vegetable patch, just weeds. No, this was a brand new route. And of course, John was working late and it was just Sprite and me.

Riddle me this. Harry is the smaller dog, Blue is much bigger around. Why is Blue the one escaping while Harry waits patiently to be let in?

Anyway, I loaded Sprite and the smarter canine into the van and started our tour of the neighborhood, helped by the later setting sun. We weaved our way through streets, looking in her usual spots, checking out sources of whining or barking in other areas. John ditched his evening plans and joined the search party. As the sky grew dark, we were about to give up when John proposed one more go around. Driving slowly through, we turned down one street after another, close to our home, calling out for our lost dog.

A cruiser came past us, continuing down the block before turning around at the end of the street. Oblivious to it, I pointed John down another road.

Seconds later, the red and blues were on illuminating our van. What a picture we must have painted, a preschooler in the back seat, out clearly past her bedtime, a terrior who was crying out from the back, and me nagging John, "pull out your license! Oh my God, where did you put the registration?"

John flipped up the interior lights so the approaching officer could see everything within and explained the situation to the thankfully sympathetic County Sheriff who promised to look out for a beagle, but wanted to let us know that a concerned neighbor had called them due to our suspicious activity.

Probably the same neighbors who had seen us in the exact same van for the past three hours calling out for our pup while it was still daylight.

(Why drive to look for our dog? Well, with a four year old, walking and running are not options. Riding your bike is not an option. Keeping the kid confined, preferably with restraints, is the ONLY option. Plus, we live in a rural area, the benefit of this area being that there's a lot of thick brush everywhere making it difficult to hide a criminal who's scoping houses, the drawback of this area being that there's a lot of thick brush everywhere making it perfect to hide a vertically challenged dog who thinks her nose supersedes some stupid fence.)

As soon as the officer walked back to his car, we admitted defeat and headed home, but not even ten minutes later, John decided to give it one more try and headed out on his own with flashlight and the van.

He had her back within thirty minutes, having followed the sound of her jangling collar and the loud chat she decided to have with some neighborhood dogs a couple of streets over.

This time though? Her jangling collar was found snagged on our fence, right where she escaped, the other collar she's wearing has no ID on it. This offered no assistance as we were now looking for a silent dog who, unless she's in trouble, doesn't make much noise.

I took the bike out while John and Sprite patrolled by van, taking different streets, turning down one, then another, winding our ways through in jagged "Z" formations.

Nothing.

I stalked every dark form I spotted from yards away, pedaling as fast as I could before I identified a cat, a duck, a box. (The box wasn't black, but anything low to the ground was getting a closer look.) I followed every noise I could hear, barking dogs a hopeful smoke signal.

Nothing.

I pulled into driveways, finding the very chihuahuas Sprite's been auditioning to replace Blue, yapping like mad just because their shadows were yapping back.

Chihuahuas are definitely off the list for future pets. I don't care how many idiotic movies they make about them.

John thinks he's going to try once more tonight. I can only hope I strike through the five am update with some good news.

She's about to turn 11. She's old, she's epileptic, she has a heart murmur, she's dumber than a milk-bone, yet seems to be a master at escaping, escaping the very home that keeps her safe from a world that is less than sympathetic to the less than strong, she's got a mass growing on her right side, common for female beagles that gets larger every time I check it. She's weak overall and too nice, a perfect victim.

Every time she does this, we claim this is the last time we'll look for her.

Every time, we prod each other into just one more search.

10:30PM: We're both sitting in bed, deciding who will be the one to go to Lee County Animal Services to file the missing dog report tomorrow. We've already checked out the website, already told Sprite that we would try to find her tomorrow, put a forlorn child to bed thinking her beloved dog is not coming back. By the way, did you know "she's my best friend"?

I'm typing this post out when I hear a short little bark, a hound dog pitched bark, a Blue sounding bark.

I turn to John. "Did you hear that?"

He looks up from his laptop. "No. What?"

"It sounded like Blue!" I leap out of bed, immediately shoving my feet into flip flops while John runs about, grabbing a shirt.

I think I heard it from the rear of the house so John heads to the back door, armed with a flashlight to check the fenced in yard, maybe she decided to make good on her bad behavior and squirmed back in under the gate?

While he looks, I call for Harry who's been hiding under the bed. He walks out, interested in going outside, but hasn't displayed any alert behavior leaving me as the only one who heard the bark.

Maybe I'm wrong?

John comes back in, shaking his head. "I'll check out front."

We both walk out the open garage door, looking out onto the dark street.

"I think I heard some barking over there," he mentions, pointing toward the North. Just below his finger, I notice a dark form coming closer, as if she had been hanging out in our front yard for the past five hours all along.

"Blue!"

She walks right over to John as he leans down to ruffle her fur. I promptly burst into tears. What can I say? I love that damn dog. And we're both just in shock that, for the first time, she's come home on her own.

The kid is sleeping right through everything.

We usher her inside, declaring leash only laws on the wayward one until we can finally fix the fence problem once and for all, letting her rehydrate since she beelines for the water bowl as soon as she's inside. "Drink up, bitch," John comments as he walks back into the bedroom.

Blue is now snoring underneath our bed, right where she belongs.

And John and I can't wait until Sprite wakes up in the morning..

Sibling Rivalry

Our family welcomed its newest member on Friday night, Alejandro Miguel. (Sprite is already calling him Alex. If I keep slipping up on the pronunciation, do you expect a four year old to nail it first time out?) John and I had already blocked out March 16 on our calendars to skip work for the day and come out for the planned C-section, but Alex decided his schedule wouldn't work then and announced his intentions to kick off the weekend.

So, since I had to work on Saturday, we drove over on Sunday to see the little bundle.

Question, if you know, have the hospital rules relaxed in recent years? Back when I was growing up, visitors to the maternity ward or "mother/baby" floor had to be of a certain age to be allowed in. No kids unless immediate family, no exceptions.

Because of this, we dropped Sprite off with her favorite uncle while we visited. Her day had started with a pout when she found out this new baby we had been talking about for the past day and a half would not be subject to her own approval, but upon hearing she would have Felipe's undivided attention all to herself and could show off her new Rapunzel figure set in all its glory and he would HAVE to play with her? And only her? Better than a trip to the Disney Store.

But once we arrived at the hospital, we were peppered with questions on Sprite's wherabouts, why we had left her with Felipe when we could have brought her there.  Our objections, based on our own experiences were met with anecdotes of earlier visitors who had brought their children, no problem, to meet the baby and the hospital had not blinked an eye. Especially when Alex's big sister, all of 2, was also there and could have used some slightly older companionship to cauterize her growing contentions over the baby.

Yes, Daniela was a little jealous. This little girl, who only has to bat those baby browns to get your attention, was now seeking attention from everyone who came into the room, especially since they were bee-lining for the baby. She has never had much exposure to John or me, given our distance, but as soon as I had little Alex in my arms and Ingrid lining the three of us up for our first family photo, Dani was beckoning to my husband, "Tio! Ven aqui!" ("Uncle! Come here!") and repeated this phrase until he actually did her bidding.

Cut to an hour later when she wanted to cuddle with Mama, who was extremely tired and just beginning the recuperation part of her journey, and Kari, who was being very patient with her typically feisty and independent, now clingy firstborn, while playing defense when the toddler's sharp knees came close to her midsection. I watched Daniela play with her dad's I-Pad while Kari tried to close her eyes a little and took my chance on being rebuffed when I approached and held my arms out for Dani to come sit with me.

She came and we spent a good half hour bonding over a Memory game while Kari dozed and her husband tried to catch up on work stuff that got pushed aside when Alex decided to take over the weekend.

She even taught me the Spanish word for apple, manzana. (Them manzanas are pretty bueno.) (I'm working on it..) 

Sibling rivalry is something I've always wondered about. Being the younger one in a 20 month age gap, my memory does not serve me well as to how Lee Ann reacted when Mom and Dad brought "her" home. We grew up as the best of friends and worst of enemies, before settling into a good relationship.

I would worry about it myself with Sprite, should we ever be blessed with another baby, no, not pregnant, thanks for asking, that's getting old, isn't it?, but we seem to be over that age hump where Sprite is not so dependent on us for, say, fetching her a snack or a drink, she knows where everything is and we've "pre-schooled" it down to her level to give her a bit more independence when in need of it. She knows she needs supervision when brushing her teeth, but if the clothes are laid out, she'll find her way into them, and doesn't need much help in the bathroom department either. Reminding her to go to the bathroom instead of thinking she's entertaining us with her loosely defined "dance" is still a problem, but other than that, the kid is pretty self-sufficient.

I don't think it would be the biggest hassle in the world to introduce a baby into the fold, yes, she would be jealous over the new hire, and may think her benefits and 401K are taking a hit with the management restructure, but given that she's been in the job for so long now, I think, intellectually, she would be able to see that a baby obviously requires more work, and she can play up the "look what I did all by myself" card, so understanding that Mommy can't get on the floor and play with her while feeding the baby would probably not be too hard for her overall. I may need to put in a little overtime later with some one-on-one, but I can handle it.

Of course, I could be selling her short, and then drama classes would definitely be in her future..

Judging by the photos, you'd think we spent our vacation in a Benetton ad..

I should confess now. Hell, I should have confessed back in June when John bought the damn thing, but I think you can tell by the quality of the pictures that have been appearing on this site. John has gotten himself a fancy schmancy high quality costs as much as an actual cannon complete with cannon balls, hehe, I wrote "balls", Canon camera.

He's been playing with it ever since, testing out speeds, settings, even the holy "manual" setting in which you actually need an eye for that sort of thing, or patience and an updated eye perscription. He's even let me practice, and I've shown some of the results here on this site.

I still have my point and shoot, which sits dutifully in my purse, ready to use at a moment's notice since his requires more effort, and storage space, but I admit it! John's equipment is a lot more fun to play with.

(If you think I'm oblivious to what I just wrote there, I've been smirking for two whole minutes over it. I wonder if John will notice...)

So, okay, here it is, in all it's (late) glory, our Disney World vacation photos, the nicest ones picked out of the thousands (yes, I said thousands) we took, here for your viewing pleasure. And captions to boot! If you could care less about the back story, then just scan through the pictures and have yourself a good day. If you have time to spare, enjoy. It's not like you have anything to do today anyway..)

Major disclosure: I have almost no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to photography. I just know what I like and asked a lot of questions while John was editing. Right over his shoulder. Repeatedly. Thinking back, that could have been annoying.

 

We took this picture near the "falls" at Wilderness Lodge. The afternoon sun had created a lot of shade for the pool area so while direct sunlight is missing, the colors really seem to pop. Also, the color blends were a complete accident. I had shrugged Sprite into her sweater since Sprite's honorary great-grandmother "Mama Elli" had knitted her the sweater but fretted that it wasn't the right length, so I wanted a picture of her in it for proof that all was well. Thanks to that picture, Sprite scored herself another Mama Elli original for Christmas in beautiful pastels.

  

This picture is practically untouched. I call it the "happy surprise", which happens once in a while when you take hundreds of pictures, and while scanning through them, you come upon one which is absolutely perfect, right focus, right light, right everything to give the photo personality and warmth. John only toned down the color a bit as the sun had faded the overall image just a little too much.

 

I love what Photoshop does for the skin. John took this picture while we were waiting on line to meet Donald Duck near the Mexico pavilion at Epcot. He softened my skin with a retouching tool, re-cropped it to take out the rest of the background, and added a halo effect to the mouse ears on my beret. (I know. I wasn't aware you could do that either. It kind of killed my admiration for a lot of professional pictures in which I thought the photographer had captured EVERYTHING just right.) And this has become his favorite picture of me. (Really. I'm already framed and on the wall.) I'm not telling you he retouched the picture to make myself look humble. I'm telling you to keep myself honest.

 

Ah, yes. The magical morning. It had been raining most of Sunday morning as we puddled our way over to The Grand Floridian Resort for breakfast with my folks. After our meal though, the clouds broke apart and the most beautiful sky presented itself. And with the shower the area had received, everything was fresh and clean, as if the rainstorm had been sponsored by Zest. So we took advantage of it, ignoring the "implied" instructions to stay off the grass (that would be why they built sidewalks, right?) and John and I sent the grandparents out onto the lawn to chase Sprite a bit. John added a slight vignette to this one just to round it out some.

 

Now, this one has a pronounced vignette, meant to spotlight the special bond between Sprite and my mom, who seems to think Sprite is a complete angel despite my protests (with charts and everything!) otherwise. Sprite had just run to her and in a swoosh, Baba grabbed her and brought her high for some love. And John captured it. I think this is my mom's favorite.

 

John didn't do much to this one after he took the picture on our sunset ferry ride to the Magic Kingdom. So he tells me. And I'll believe him considering he didn't bother to erase the circles under my eyes or clean up my eyebrows. But he loves this photo for the simple reason that it's a common look for me. On a good hair day. When I'm not breaking out. I'll shut up now.

 

There is so much I love about this photo. John had shown me both the original color and the black and white. At first, I preferred the color, but then, when he cropped it, (and did nothing else) I was immediately enthralled with the black and white since the action is so much more pronounced. Her shadow, her mouse ears, even her clothes become timeless. Plus, Minnie's bloomers are showing. A little tarnish on the old gold for added cheekiness.

 

John named this picture "In a world of her own", a tongue in cheek reference to Alice in Wonderland, one of Sprite's favorite movies. (The cartoon, not Johhny Depp. While I would actually encourage a healthy obsession with Johnny Depp, I don't think beheadings as depicted in the film are in her near future.) He took this photo in Epcot down one of the garden paths, while we were waiting for one (or both) of my parents to use the restroom. Once in editing, he simply boosted the colors of the flowers and added a vignette around the border. Lots of vignettes going around, there may be an epidemic..

 

I don't know why I didn't include this picture in Sprite's birthday rehash since it's clearly a favorite. All I know is that I took the shot and then John turned it into something better. I think he darkened the colors a little and added a small vignette for the borders and it now speaks so much of the little boy who only shows his goofy side to those who know him and the fun we had. Thank goodness we're good friends with his parents or they would surely question why this is framed in our home.

 

This picture came very close to being a throw-away. While going through the preliminary round, John didn't think the focus was very good and trashed it. I immediately stopped him (and instated the three second rule to let me concur before his finger does the knee-jerk toggle over the delete key) and asked him to play with the settings on it since I really liked Sprite's expression in it. So he whitened the edges and the result made me happy.

 

Don't let the picture fool you. It was very cold outside when this was taken at Wilderness Lodge. This picture is actually a re-crop (and warmth added to make it seem like the summer) of another picture in which Sprite was in my arms and doing something weird with her face (the same face which accounts for 500,000 other unused photos) and John decided to crop her completely out. I know, it's mean, but she's still in the will..

 

And of course, John's parting shot of her princess transformation, whitened around the edges to give it a touch of purity, the colorful Mickey barrette a stamp of approval on our vacation.

These aren't the only photos we took, but with all the pictures and captions I've thrown at you, you probably need a break. Go on. Stretch your legs. Grab a drink. Take a nap if you're so inclined. And I promise these are the last ones.

Huh, I just noticed that there aren't any pictures of Sprite with the characters. It turns out I do have one more to share with you.

On another day..

They probably thought we'd forget.

 

(taken at Disney's Grand Floridian Resort)

What year do you have to hit before people stop getting you gifts on your birthday? For the holidays? For an anniversary?

As an adult, I've hit my stride long ago with birthdays, meriting only a phone call from my friends (who remember), a giftcard from my folks and in-laws, and a token from John, if he can eek out a hint of something I'd like other than my usual request, "nothing, thank you."

They don't hand out receipts for nothing, do they?

As for the holidays, I am more than happy to participate in the "oh, it's for the kids anyway" rule and focus solely on those whom are waiting for Jolly Ole' St. Nick to arrive, thereby decreasing the incoming gifts to one or two, again from the parents.

Anniversaries? Meh. Those are private affairs, undeserving of more than a Facebook shout out, should the honoree actually use their status to declare for one and all, "Yes! I am still in a relationship! I still <3 the person I am married to! Celebrate me! Celebrate US, but on MY page. (LOL)."

Anniversaries are trumpeted more when the marriage is new anyway. Once the patina starts to hit around the fifth year, well wishes are usually limited to the immediate family and, and again, those Facebook friends who will graciously take half a second to "like" your announcement.

Of course, your kids are not immune to this rule. They must celebrate you every year. Because their existence can only be traced back to you. (Certain limitations and exemptions apply on the Maury Povich show.)

Back when I was a wee little keeper, didn't have a Sprite to my name, my sister and I used to try to come up with ideas to honor our parents on their anniversary. These thoughts usually ran from the obligatory mug, the handmade cards, and attempts at baking a cake, (like the time Lee tried to make them a pineapple upside down cake, but in the process of de-panning, turned it more into a pineapple inside-out cake) (we ate it anyway) (dude, I've been waiting YEARS for the opportunity to work that memory into a post..) to the more often than not less thought out gifts purchased at Things Remembered. "Hey, it's engraved therefore personal! They HAVE to keep it! Score one for us!"

One year, on their 16th anniversary, we actually came up with a plan that wasn't half bad, we would buy a photo album (yes, I know it's not unique, but run with my tangent a second here, okay?) and fill it with our choice of photos, providing a caption beneath each of them, sort of their history as seen through our eyes. One problem though. My dad was a stickler for his pictures. They were kept under pretty tight guard in their bedroom closet, you know, the closet you have no business being in unless personally escorted by an adult, and no matter how many times you try to convince them the dog you dragged along with you is technically an adult in canine years, you're sent straight to your room to sit and think about what you've done, even if it was nothing. Yeah, that closet. And they always knew when you were even thinking about the closet. Kind of the same way my dad always knew when one of us kids was getting too close to the record player.

I swear, my dad's ears must have been manufactured by Dolby.

So, yeah, that anniversary took us several weeks to plan for, sneaking into their room during Christmas break when neither one was home, relying on our young, albeit selective memories to make sure nothing was out of place when done, as we picked through hundreds of meticulously maintained photos.

Sure, we ruined a few, I'd hate to see the state of that album now seeing as we used the wrong type of pen to write our captions directly onto the paper, attaching the pictures with masking tape to keep them in place under the plastic sheeting.

Scrapbookers are shuddering as I type this.

When that fateful day came to present our gift, we were uncertain if it would be well-received, given that we did basically damage the original pictures. (This was before scanners. Or duplicates. Or digital. In fact, I believe the only digital things in our house at the time were the microwave clock and the flashing 12:00 on the VCR..)

They loved it.

They loved the pictures we chose, the captions we wrote, the snark that I couldn't keep out of the descriptions even at the tender age of thirteen. Now, being a mom, and being gifted with handprints and scribbles from my own child, I understand that while it wasn't perfect, the time and energy we spent on this project made it gleam as such in their eyes.

I've been trying for years to trump that gift.

 

I think we did it by giving them their grandkids. Actually SMILING. AT THE SAME TIME!

Mom and Dad, you can thank us all later. (And tell us what size you want the prints to be.)

(And if this doesn't top the 16th anniversary gift, lie through your teeth.)

Happy 37th Anniversary, Mom and Dad.

Love,

Lee, John, Jenny, Bryan, and Sprite