Saisquoi?

This week, Catherine at Her Bad Mother wrote a wonderful post about herself, her mother, and the unseen and unacknowledged beauty of young women.

A few weeks ago, I was looking at my daughter who is so beautiful it sometimes hurts to look at her.



She doesn't have a clue. She just does her thing...and does it as fully and completely as possible, which only makes her lovelier.

And as I sat gazing at my beautiful daughter, I felt my heart start to break with the knowledge that one day, probably when she hit Middle School, she was likely to come stomping into the house and tell me how ugly she was. And I would tell her, No, Baby, you're not. You're beautiful. And she would respond with an eye roll and the "You're my Mom; you have to say that" comment before dragging herself to her room, slamming the door, and having a sulk.

How do I know she'll do it? Because I did it to my Mom.

After I had this realization, I tried really hard to apologize to my Mother--like so many things she told me I'd someday understand, I get it now. But the words wouldn't come out--I was so horrified and upset with how I imagined I made her feel--how I would feel if C today decided to behave like my teenaged self--that all I could do was weep and say I'm so very sorry...I just didn't know...

And my mother, being my mother, gave me a hug and said "It's OK. We all do it. It's part of being a daughter and part of being a mother. And when C does it, you'll be sad and frustrated, but you'll both be OK. And one day, she'll get it, too."

I wish there was a way I could keep it from happening--a way I could help C always see what I see. So that she always knows she's beautiful and loved and smart, regardless of what she thinks the other kids are thinking. She's getting so big so fast...there are days now I can see the independence (I do it, Mama!) and I know that even if I found a way to help her bypass all that self-doubt and angst, she wouldn't let me.

It's hard, isn't it? Having to trust that they'll come out OK on the other side when they refuse all offers of help? When you see all the beauty and all the potential while they focus on the scars and the failings?

Maybe she'll bypass some of it. I suppose it could happen. After all, it takes a strong woman to pull off a panda suit.

So, I knew today was going to have a few snags. Any morning that begins with an 8:00 AM booster shot for your toddler has the potential for...high drama. I figured I was just exceptionally lucky when we made it out of the doctor's office with no screaming and only a small meltdown when I left her at school.

I went off to work and tried really hard to focus. It being the day after a very long weekend, my brain had a really hard time remembering what it is we do to make money. So that was fun. Then I got an e-mail notification that I had a new voice mail message. I checked it. It was for my husband--a woman who I didn't know left an exceptionally vague message, the gist of which was "Long time no see; call me and we'll talk more about...that thing."

I did what any curious wife would do--I googled her. And I came across a listing for a DIVORCE LAWYER. Yeah. Hello, Monday!

As I sat at my desk and felt myself turn into a quivering pile of nauseated self-doubt and panic, I tried really hard to listen to the Voice of Reason. The VOR said things like, I bet she does other things. Like Wills. We need to write up a will and you've been pestering him for 2 years to get it done. Or bankruptcy. Maybe this has something to do with those student loans we thought were cleared up but have perhaps never gone away. All the while, mind you, the Voice of Panic is jumping up and down, yelling DIVORCE LAWYER!! SHE SPECIALIZES IN DIVORCE, SEPARATION, AND CUSTODY ISSUES!!!!

After the VOP took a baseball bat to the VOR and I considered telling my boss I had to leave RIGHT NOW, going and picking up C, and checking us into a hotel somewhere while I found my own divorce lawyer, I decided to call my husband and ask him if he wanted to tell me anything, perhaps about why a DIVORCE LAWYER was calling our house?!

Oh--he says--I got a notice about a hearing regarding a case I worked on in 1997 and I was asking her if she thought I needed to be present, considering I'm no longer a member of the Bar. Didn't I tell you about this? Um, no. No you did not. Oh--he says--the County Court office might be calling, too, because I called them to ask as well. Awesome. Thanks for giving me the heads up on that one.

I'm on my second glass of wine right now. I think I might possibly relax at some point before tomorrow. Perhaps. I may also have another glass of wine.

On a completely unrelated note...I started another blog! If you want to see what I think of one of the daily office readings for the day, come visit me at borderlinedivine.blogspot.com. If you couldn't care less what I think about the Bible, that is all good, too. I'll hopefully be blogging here a bit more regularly...as I've said many a time before.

A few weeks ago I bought an outfit. It wasn't a fancy outfit; in fact, I picked it up at Target while getting C some bubble bath. I desperately needed a pair of pants that fit and, well, I was there.

I picked up a pair of army drab cargo pants, a lightweight, beige, crewneck sweater, and a long gray cardigan/shrug...thing.

It is my new favorite outfit. I'm seriously considering picking up another pair of pants and another crewneck sweater. I'd wear it every day if I could. Maybe I should. When one talks about simplification, clothes are a great place to start. My life needs simplifying, and if I didn't have to think about clothes, it might be a great start.

The funny thing is...I've had this outfit before. In fact, I've worn this outfit in various forms since high school when I lifted a pair of my Dad's fatigue pants, cinched the waist, and proclaimed them mine. Sexy? No. Comfortable? Yes. And somehow, very, very, me.

My senior year of high school or freshman year of college, I bought a gray v-necked cardigan from Express. My best friend got one, too. I still have mine. And wear it, often.

In college, I permanently borrowed an old, ratty, beige sweater from a boy with whom I had one of those nebulous relationships (he's not my boyfriend--he's my best friend--but we fool around and I'm not dating anyone because I'm totally hung up on him...you know--nebulous). When I took the sweater, I think I told him I wasn't giving it back. And I never did. I hauled that sweater around for years before I finally binned it.

Somehow, I managed to find working versions of all of these pieces, and when I put them all on it's like wearing armor. Or the Iron Man suit. I feel...Safe? Secure? Me? I love that outfit and wonder why I shouldn't wear it every day.

And, at the same time, I find it strange that clothes seem to have such strong sense memory for me. I'm not terribly interested in clothes (as evidenced by the fact that my new favorite outfit comes from off the rack at Target), yet I find certain things and they bring me right back to the time in my life where they belonged.

A few weeks ago, I was searching the basement for a spare storage tote and came across a bunch of things from college: namely, a UNH baseball cap and a pair of mittens. All of a sudden, I was a sophomore in college again. It was after choir rehearsal and I was getting ready to leave and go to dinner with a group of friends including my not-boyfriend, who was wearing my yellow fleece jacket and those damned mittens. And I remember the girl I was, I remember those friends and how close we were, and I failed to empty and repurpose the container. It's still sitting in the basement while I ask myself why I can't toss an old ball cap and a pair of mittens now over ten years old.

I don't want to go back to my sophomore year in college. I'm happy with my life, with who I am, with the people around me. But, somehow, I can't let go. I'm not ready to bin those foolish mittens yet. Perhaps they're as much a part of my personal uniform as the olive drab trousers, the beige sweater, and the gray cardigan.

C has been going to church with me on Sunday mornings since she was 2 weeks old. We rarely miss a week. The upside of this is that I have a child who is very comfortable in church and who blows my mind on a regular basis with her grasp of what is important and what it means to live in community.

The trade-off is that she is comfortable enough to run around like a maniac until it's time to "share the bread." Fortunately, our fellow parishioners are kind enough to tolerate my curious and naughty girl.

On Sunday, she helped me pick up the toys before we went up for Communion. And then she put herself away while we waited our turn.

(Click to embiggen)

Yes, my friends, this is what sassy looks like. In our house, anyway. Eat your heart out, boys.

Hey, look! Cute baby in cute pants!







This is Leapfrog in Cascade 220, so they are multitasking pants which serve as excellent playclothes as well as a diaper cover. Oh, and did I mention the cuteness?

Overall, I'm pretty pleased with them. They are a little shorter than I'd like them to be, and so I'm considering taking out the cast-off edge and just adding another cable repeat or two to make them full length pants. Not that they're awful now...just shorter than I intended. C is a bit hard to knit for--her legs are very short (just like her Daddy's), so everything I make is either way too long or too short as I overcompensate. The first pair of longies I made for her ended up being about 4 inches too long because I followed the pattern rather than my kid.

I'm not quite sure where my error was on these because I actually tried them on her to confirm proper length before I cast off the first leg. I'm guessing she may have done something crazy like grow. Or I just can't measure to save my life. Either are possible.

In other news, I wrote a guest post for Babywearing It Up last week which you can find here.

And last weekend, we took C for her first trip to the Big City for dim sum.




A good time was had by all. She loved all the different things to try. Then we took her on the subway to go out to the North End from Chinatown so that we could get pastries at Mike's. The Beloved and I each had an espresso and we all shared a lobstertail. One of the ladies brought C a cookie and told us how beautiful she is. And we brought half a pound of raspberry bow cookies home (they didn't last the night...SO TASTY). We opted to put C in the Ergo rather than try a stroller--we always do a fair amount of walking when we go to the City and C can't quite keep up yet. But between the stairs at the restaurant (we ate on the 3rd floor), the stairs in the subway station, and being in small places like the subway and the bakery, babywearing really was the way to go. Even The Beloved was impressed with how easy it was; we're planning another trip next month for more dim sum and a visit to the aquarium.

I can hardly wait.

And completely unrelated to anything...I'm agonizing over the discrepancy between my Twitter ID (Lustau) and the rest of my online existence as Saisquoi. When I signed up for Twitter, Saisquoi was taken, so I gave myself a new name, but it's always bothered me that it doesn't match. I can change it, but my Twitter ID would include underscores (_) or numbers. I can't decide if I'd be happier as _Saisquoi or Saisquoi_ or even Sais_Quoi or if I should just remain Lustau on Twitter.

This what they call a "First World Problem." I really need to get out more.