(Note to self: going to Parents' Appreciation day at former daycare will be awkward, and going sans bebe will be even more awkward.)

T.'s old teacher called me the other day to remind me of the party and she really insisted that I come. It seemed easy enough to drop by on my way from work to the airport to get my mom, but I wasn't prepared for the extreme sadness I would feel until I walked in and saw all of her little friends. There was no way I could bring T., as that would involve driving 35 miles home to get her, 35 miles back to work and then turning right back around to go home, but somehow they expected her to be there, instead of just me, awkwardly making small talk with the parents I never talked to in the first place and picking up her half-used bottle of sunblock and various laminated projects.

I had a lot of time to doubt our decision to withdraw her as I sat in terrible traffic on the way to SFO. Thoughts going through my mind included: you can re-enroll her, you totally can; and that place rocked; and stupid, stupid, stupid; and the train ride with T. wasn't so so bad. Then my thoughts wandered to all the people we've ever left T. with including:

• the various daycare teachers
• her regular babysitter
• her new sharecare nanny
• various parents from the babysitting coop (including N + R, M + Y, K + L)
• H
• H's parents during J's wedding in Ojai
• Uncle G and Aunt S during D's wedding in LA
• C's "Aunt" J
• N in Bequia
• that one time with O's nanny when C and I were both stricken with a stomach bug
• Chantal, the hotel babysitter in Utah
• York, the receptionist of our hotel in Utah who stood in as babysitter for T and her 4 cousins when the proper babysitter failed to materialize. He also called T, "best baby ever," probably because she opted out of the mayhem and went to sleep.
  

You'll notice that the list includes about 2 relatives, and not any of T's grandparents. Today will be the first day she's alone with my mom and for 8 hours. I think it will be all right. My mom seems up for it. T. was really happy to see her even though they haven't seen each other since October. T. has started to call her "Daggie." My mom prefers "Grandma" and only Grandma. I'm sure this won't be the only language-related confusion today.

pockets

apres sled

Just back from a family gathering in Utah this weekend. This child will be doing very scary things on skis far too soon. If I hadn't been there from the beginning, I'd have a hard time believing we share any genes. This year we got away with her riding in the back of the "chariot" as her wonderful father skied her up and down the trails. As I tried not to spill, I heard them sailing downhill and T. shouting "More! More!" The desire for speed on a mountain is not my contribution. I don't understand it, but somehow I'm proud. And it was incredible to see this creature walking around in her anti-paparazzi shades like she owned the place.

I look at this photo and think, "where did this five year old come from?" Suddenly our baby is a kid, screeching like a manic almost two year old on the airplane. We are those people and we can't make her stop. We had a really hard time convincing the Southwest agents that T. is under two and after seeing her with her cousins and "snow, other snow, snow, other snow" this weekend, I understand why, but seriously, making us have her birth records faxed from her pediatrician was a bit extreme. Parents of lap-children beware.

single parenting

C. is out of town. The nap strike continues. In today's edition, T. talked for about an hour and a half in her crib, talked for another 30 minutes in the car after we abandoned the at-home nap, and then totally passed out just as we arrived at Alamo Square.

I brought my knitting and we sat in the car, her passed out and drooling, me knitting, listening to the radio and wishing I'd gone to the bathroom before we'd left the house.

After mocking it the other day, I'm all over ravelry. The only upside to C's absence is the extra free time after T's gone to bed to obsessively upload old knitting projects. That's where I'll be.

bubble jacket

This is the bubba-jacket. T. wouldn't wear it for the longest time, and then one day, she wanted to. I'm pretty pleased with it. it's actually corduroy, but the camera could barely handle how red it is, let alone the texture, so use your imagination. I think it looks fetching with striped pants.