So I got a chain letter in the mail the other day. Well, let me re-phrase that — Mo got a chain letter in the mall. Actually, it a pre-printed letter from a friend, inviting her to join a sticker club. All Mo (or more appropriately, all I had to do) was copy the letter 12 times, send one blank one and one completed one to six friends within six days, yadda, yadda, yadda and you’ll get some stickers in the mail. Gee, thanks. And as much as I didn’t want to do copy, address enevelopes and all the rest, I did it for a couple of reasons:

1) Who doesn’t like getting mail, especially something that isn’t a bill or a solicitation?
2) It seemed like a good post-nap, pre-dinner time filler for us, and when I labeled it an “art project”, well shoot, it was like Mo hit the jackpot!
3) Once upon a time, all written correspondence I had with people was through letters, or more acurrately, through letter writing.

And so, not only did I copy the letters, let Mo do them up with stickers and pen and crayon drawings, I included a short personalized note to the moms of the children that live far away from us. No missives, mind you, I just kept it short and sweet. Still, in that one page scrawl, I hoped to convey that even though I sent them this chain letter, they and their family were important to me.

You see, I love to write. I love a good, quality stationery, preferrable mongrammed (yes, I’m a little snooty – or is it snotty?). I even went as far as to make my own occasion cards. As a teenager and into my adult years, I wrote in a journal almost every day. I have a huge plastic tub full of my old journals that I may or may not let the girls read when they get older — maybe we’ll have our own version of The Notebook. But what I wrote most of all were letters — I had pen pals in Australia and in London. We took letter writing classes in school and learned the proper way to express greetings. I even did the regular ol’ chain letter — copying some epistle ten times by hand. Notice it was 10 times — yeah, this was back when I walked to school, 5 miles, in the snow, uphill, both ways and I had no shoes! I wrote letters to the boys that I “dated” who lived in other states (yea, my dad was a big supporter of that). Back when stamps cost 0.29 cents, I could burn through a book of stamps in about 10 days. Really, I was that proflific. And also because, when you wrote to people, they wrote back.

I had 11 page, college ruled, double sided letters on whose margins I doodled before stuffing it into a #10 sized envelope and running it to the mailbox at the end of the driveway. My mom would inevitably ask me what on earth I had to talk about for 10 plus pages, certain that I just wrote “I miss you, I love you,” over and over again to some broken down boy. Honestly, I’m sure that was in there, but it was probably a typical teen angst filled, play-by-play account of my day and the injustices perpetrated against me as a result of not being able to hang out with him/my friends/at the movies/after my part-time job/yadda,yadda,yadda.

During my college years, prior to the full on embrace of email, prior to the advent of MySpace, Facebook, Twitter, and all these other social networking megasites, people either used the phone, actually got up and looked for someone, or wrote letters. DH and I were “a-courtin'” around this time and we would write eachothter letter with a fervent regularity even though we still spent time together after class or on the week-ends. What a cap to my day when after dinner with DH and friends at the UC, I check my mail for the first time in a few days and there’s a letter from DH. Even now, I get a thrill when I see an evelope addressed to me — by hand! Or when their return address is handwritten, too! Homemade Christmas cards! Woo-hoo! Thank you notes (ohhh, I do love a thank you note)! Even better, the I was just thinking about you type of note, which has sadly been stripped down to a hastily thumbed text sent in-between stoplights on the way to pick up Taylor/Tyler/Madison/Ellie et. al from football/basketball/soccer/ballet/swimming. There’s a lot to be said about that.

This sticker club exercise had me doing several things that I often complain I don’t have time to do — spending time with my girls, catching up with my friends, having a chance to write for pleasure. And oh yeah, we’re going to get some stickers in the mail, too!

I said I would do it, but honestly, self-imposed tee-totaling really blows.

Yes, we have decided the time has come, the time is now, the time is here to say “Peace out” to the plug. Well, DH and I have decided; Co-dizzle is in for a big surprise. Last night at dinner, DH and I just concluded that enough is enough when it comes to Co and the plug. We had successfully weaned her off of having it hanging out of her mouth 24/7, and we even got her to stop taking it to preschool. The one last hold-out was having her use it when she slept –nap time and nighttime. It wouldn’t be so bad, really, but the problem is, in the very depths of the middle of the night, Co will lose the plug. Then she starts to cry. She doesn’t wake up, she doesn’t even feel around for the plug in her sleep. And I have to admit, that’s probably our fault because, in our haste to plug her back up before she woke Mo, we just ran in there with plugs in our pockets. So now, in the great tradition of Pavlov, we’ve conditioned her to cry when the plug is no longer in her mouth until we come in and shove one back in there. Or maybe, she’s conditioned us. . .
Whatever the case, breaking up is hard to do. Exhibit A: last night, bedtime. Usually, the plug is the last thing Co gets before getting into the crib. Dinner, bath, story, prayers, plug, crib. Peace out ’til tomorrow. Last night, we just cut her off, cold turkey and ol‘ girl cried and cried and cried. And cried. For 65 minutes, according to DH. As I’ve mentioned before, Co and Mo’s room is connected via a common door. DH said he heard the sound of little 3 year old feet, the opening of the common door and the muted admonitions to Co from Mo to “stop that noise”. Not once, but twice. Evidently, Mo needs her beauty sleep more than we realized. Funny, considering trying to get her to go to sleep is like trying to convince a carnivore that Tofurkey is an acceptable substitution at Thanksgiving. Nuh-uh. It ain’t happening. But I digress.

The thing is, Co can sleep without the plug. She falls asleep in the car without it all the time. She’s napped without it in her own crib. It’s the nighttime routine that is the challenge. But we’re up to it — and oh, is she a formidable opponent. She cried out in the middle of the night and I refused to torture myself by looking at the clock to see how long it lasted. We just waited her out — ahhh, just like old time with Mo and her plug withdrawal. Today, Mo and I braved nap time with Co sans plug and we all survived. I even got some studying done. Tonight is Round 2. DH put the girls to bed and he said that Co was looking around for her plug as he lowered her into the crib. “She was a little disappointed when she didn’t see it,” he said. “Then I asked her if she was going to sleep through the night.”

“And she said ‘No’, right?” I ask.

“No,” he says, “She didn’t say anything at all.”

Well, as I’ve once heard, your silence affirms the action. Here’s to quiet nights. And to our good friend the plug, a thousand thanks.

So, I’m a little behind in getting these pictures done and posted, but good things come to those who wait. When I told Mo we were going to the Picture Peeps to get the pictures done, she was kind of ambivalent about it. When she saw we break out the dresses, she basically shot out of her clothes and was doing some kind of naked toddler hippy–hippy shake, chanting “My dress, my dress, my dress, my dress!” Wow. I mean, I feel that way about chocolate and most fried food, but never about some clothes. Well, maybe my wedding dress — (side note: in the months before our wedding, when the dress would just be hanging in my closet, I used to put it on and wear while I watched tv. I mean, after the wedding, am I really going to wear it again? Better break it in!). Anyway, the ham factor was high for the cameras and when it was all said and done, trying to pick one of each of them and one of them together was near impossible. Well, I’m a little biased. . .

That little mischievous look

BIG hugs

Doing a little dance

I think she’s been practicing at home

A Typical Co Pose

Uhhhh. . .I don’t know what’s worse: My full stomach, the fact that I know in complete anatomic and physiological detail what is going on inside my stomach (thank you chapter 23 and 24), Co’s crap-tastic filled diaper that surely awaits as a result of today’s lunch, or the overwhelming urge to just say, “Whatever, man,” at the mountain of notes, diagrams and textbooks waiting for me at the kitchen table — yes, we all know that is not going to happen, but it feels good to talk trash about it.

*sigh* Darn you, Moe’s Southwest Grill!! I hate to love you!

And so I will be returning to school on Monday. Back to the books. I have really enjoyed this past week of doing a whole lot of nothing except what I want to do, when I want to do it.

Highlights of the Week

Hanging with Mo and Co doing various things like including but not limited to:

making cupcakes — real cupcakes, not that Easy Cool Bake Oven contraption.

library visit with Arlie B.

cooling out at the park with Arlie B.

cooling out on the front stoop with the neighborhood kids

coloring

napping

sleeping in ’til 6:45am (well, anything past 5:30am is sleeping in for me).

Other Highlights of the Week

Flight of the Conchords — where have I been that I am only now coming to know this hilarity!?!

Finishing the Twilight Series — though that probably doesn’t count because I finished it up by like Sunday night.

QT with DH without worrying about the studying that needs to be done.

New shoes!!! — Oh, this is great. I had an unused gift card rolling around in my purse and I found these wedge-tastic shoes that were already 70% off. And then I found another pair that were also 70% off, so I got those. Grape-a-licious! And if that weren’t enough, I found yet another pair of shoes, albeit in my very own closet , but still that I forgot I had them. It was like getting a new pair of shoes for free! A veritable shoe-a-palooza over here. Just call me Imelda!

And so it is with a heavy heart, I start to reign in all the fun times and shoe-related debauchery for the more practical and sensible routine that comes with being a responsible student. Early to bed, early to rise, right? I don’t know about the healthy, wealthy and wise part, but I do know my feet will look cute regardless.