The Bearded Lady

My daughter eats hair. Not just chews on it, she actually eats it, if you let her. As my 5-year-old would say, "What the--?!?" [Hey -- at least he doesn't finish the sentence any more.]

This morning as I was buckling her into her car seat for the trip to day care, Abby actually coughed up a furball. In this case, cat hair. She most often gets dog hair, though, because Bailey's (our Golden Retriever's) hair collects in great tumbleweeds and she crawls around stuffing them in her mouth faster than you (or I, at least) can move. I have taken to sweeping the floor twice a day, but it's going to have to be more -- or, we can shave the dog. That's okay with me, too.

In fact, I was beginning to think I'd actually become a "cat person," as my husband and some others have been accusing for 3 years now. I was walking the dog yesterday because D is out of town, and I was just grousing and grumbling and complaining under my breath -- something I'd never done through years of walking beloved dogs. I asked myself, "When did you become a cat person?" And I answered myself: "When I began to have responsibilities more important than a dog." (I know; witchy, right?) I harrumphed all the way home and refused to make eye contact with my hopeful, happy, bouncing dog when we got there. Then, late last night, when Abby threw up all over the room for no apparent reason, the dog managed to eat it off the floor before I could get the whole situation under control again. [Sorry, gross.]

But the real problem is not that I don't love the dog; it's that I do. I feel guilty about not spending enough time with her, about not giving her what she needs -- which is a lot; she is a Golden, after all. In fact, I never thought I'd meet a creature more needy than I, but she is it. I loved throwing the ball for her out back, until she scared the daylights out of our neighbor. I loved letting her sleep in our room when Dave was out of town, until I became so sleep-deprived that I was only disturbed, not comforted, by the sounds of her twitchy, snorey sleep. I didn't mind opening the door and letting her go outside to do her business a few times a day, until she ruined the grass and upset D. So now I love her, but I don't love anything about her. Still, she is us. She is part of our family, and you can't just rid yourself of that. As with so many things, I need to change the way I think about my relationship with the dog. I will think on it. I have so much trouble with people or creatures who can't talk!!!

As for how to get the kid to stop eating hair? I mean, when possible, she grabs big handsful of my long, brown hair, stuffs it in her mouth, and chews. I am full of questions. How? Why? To give her something to chew? Maybe she likes "product". Does the dog hair taste as bad as the dog smells? Is there some bizarre nutrient she is lacking, or some hormonal disorder, as with those pregnant women who start eating dirt? I have no idea. Of course, D and I have been unable to ignore the fact that when Abby comes crawling or toddling around the corner with a gob of blonde dog fur sticking part way out of her mouth, she looks like a little old lady with a grey beard. That's pretty funny.

One more thing, off topic. I saw a sign at a Palin rally in the paper: "Dudes Love Gals Who Love Guns". I can't deny that's often true. My husband is not one of those dudes, however. Which is ironic, because I am an expert shot and could out-shoot Palin any day of the week. Well, with an actual weapon that shoots bullets. I have never shot a pink-camouflage crossbow.

I Think I'm Amazed

Still no time to write. I will just jot a few things:

• The au pair will arrive November 14. She is called Silvia, she is from Austria, and I am thrilled she's coming. Dave is a little worried about the estrogen level in the house, and about the amount we just spent at IKEA to furnish her room.
• Two lowlights of our trip were (1) I got a stomach flu at Disney (or food poisoning) and (2) I kid you not -- someone rammed my electric wheelchair with her electric wheelchair, out of sheer crowd rage, I guess. "I'm coming through," she said, matter of factly. I could have taken her. I simply chose not to engage in public fisticuffs.
• These hiccups aside, seeing Abby clapping, dancing and singing along to It's a Small World, her little face lit up, was the best thing I believe I'll ever see in this life. In general, Abs did incredibly well on the trip -- she was easygoing, travelled well, slept well, ate well, enjoyed what she saw, didn't mind what she didn't. She was by far the best wayfarer out of the 16 of us.
• S became a little girl again this weekend, including having a princess makeover. She still has her Cinderella hairdo in, three days later, including the sparkly tiara. On a tired ride on the monorail late one evening, she said that little babies like Abby are happy most of the time because they remember their friends from heaven. I thought that was incredibly sweet.
• R has this wonderful little smile he gives when you say something that really makes him happy. We were riding the interminable bus to the Orlando airport from the resort, and he was sitting next to me, prattling on about the various features of a toy "adventure tool" his dad bought him at the Mt. Everest roller coaster. I was struggling to pay attention because I thought I was about to continue the previous night's hurl-fest. I smiled at him and said, "You figure out how things work because you are very smart. I am proud of you." He gave me that little, shy smile -- don't let her see you're happy she said it -- and I smiled even bigger.
• Dave is a most amazing husband.
• The electric wheelchair was absolutely necessary. There is no way I could have made it through one day at that park walking around. My mother in law, who schlepped for four days, amazes me. My children amaze me. My husband amazes me. They all (except Dave, I must admit) whined at the end of each day, but their stamina was awe-inspiring.
• Work is intensely busy. Sometimes I barely think I'm doing it right.
• I went to a meeting of MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) today for the first time. It was wonderful. I was giddy most of the rest of the day, much to Dave's feigned (I hope) chagrin.
• Now I am exhausted. I think I'll go eat a Mickey Mouse cookie and go to sleep.

Four Days in the World

Wow, it's been too long since I've written. Too many things to write about at the moment, including (a) the au pair we're expecting in November, (b) work, (c) the campaign, (d) the economy, (e) Abby's broken toe, ear infection and deep and abiding glee at being able to walk. These can't be written about at the moment because any minute, my house will be descended upon. D is going to pull in the driveway with both big kids and the baby; then Grandbob is going to join us, and we will all drive to the airport in Baltimore to join Grammy and Papa. Everyone will get on the big plane and fly high in the sky to Orlando, where Mickey Mouse lives, and join Aunt Suzie and Uncle Lee, Uncle Moose, Mimi, Aunt Aly and Uncle Greg, and Cousins D and G. Sixteen of us for a long weekend in "the World," as the lingo goes (yes, there's lingo). R is excited to meet the Little Einsteins, but mostly he wants the bag of snacks he saw being packed for his carryon. S doesn't seem too concerned about character sightings -- not nearly so much as her Aunt Suzie is, for example -- but she is pretty geeked about spending the Disney Dollars she has earned in recent weeks, and riding Space Mountain. Honestly, I am finally looking forward to it, too, now that everything is packed and sitting by the door. I haven't been to Epcot in at least 7 years or so; I haven't been to the Magic Kingdom since 1985 or so, and I have never been to the other parks. Based on my recollections, I am looking forward to Peter Pan's ride, the "night" sky over the bazaar inside the Aztec temple in the Mexico part of Epcot, and the futuristic rides where one imagines how we'll all live in 100 (or 10) years. I just want the kids to have a great time, and I want Dave to have a great time, and I want memories that last. Bless us and you. See you on Monday.