This post has been sitting in the drafts section of my blog for two weeks now. I've tried to write it over and over and I keep getting interrupted every time I try to sit down and write it. There are a lot of ways in which your life changes when you have kids... for better and worse. But I often think that the most obvious of them all is my inability to FINISH ANYTHING I START.

I've had a book sitting on my nightstand (only one of many, actually) that I've been trying to read for the better part of a year now. The KoH complains that the reason I never finish books is because I read slowly. But I beg to differ and counter with exhibit A.

This is pretty much how it goes each time I pick it up:

*house is quiet, kids are happily playing in another room, I have a minute to sit in my room and read. I sit back on the bed, get comfortable, switch on the light, and open to page one*

Introduction

"An island surrounded by land," wrote Ross Bastos of his country, Paraguay. For me, it is a remarkable observation not so much because it is true but because it comes from a Paraguayan. Throughout the travels described in this book, I met few Paraguayans who say their country in relatives terms: for most, there was, quite simply, no other world than their...

"Mooooooommaaaa!"

Me: "What?"

"She hit me ON PUUUUUUURPOSE!"

Me: "Well, what did you do to her?"

"I took her toy away."

Me: "Then give it back to her and maybe she'll stop hitting you." (Did I mention, I'm simultaneously going for that mother of the year award?)

*back to my book*

"An island surrounded by land," wrote Ross Bastos of his country, Paraguay. For me, it is a remarkable observation not so much because it is true but because it comes from a Paraguayan. Throughout the travels described in this book, I met few Paraguayans who say...

*Crash*

"I'm okay in here"

"Do I want to know what you're doing?"

"No."

"An island surrounded by land," wrote Ross Bastos of his country, Paraguay. For me, it is a remarkable observation not so much because it is true but because it comes from a Paraguayan. Throughout the travels described in this...

*phone rings*

"Hello?"

"I know it's your day off but I got an error message on my computer and then after I clicked 'yes' I couldn't type with my keyboard anymore."

"What the error message say?"

"I don't know; I didn't read it."

*after several minutes of googling, we figure out how to turn off StickyKeys and everyone moves on with their lives*

"An island surrounded by land," wrote Ross Bastos of his country, Paraguay. For me, it is a remarkable...

*flush*

"Moooooommmmmaaaa, she just put a whole roll of toilet paper in the toilet!"

*a fair amount of plunging is completed and hands are washed and the bathroom door is locked*

"An island surrounded by land," wrote Ross Bastos of his country, Paraguay. For me, it is a remarkable observation not so much because it is true but because it comes from a Paraguayan. Throughout the travels described in this book, I met few Paraguayans who say their country in relatives terms: for most, there was, quite simply, no other world than their own.

*wait... is it true? Did I just read a whole paragraph? I did! I just read an entire paragraph without being interrupted. Woo hoo! I did it! Maybe I can read this book after all. This book has been on my nightstand for nine months and I just now read through a whole paragraph. I think I'll try for two.*

As I traveled around Para...

"Moooooooom! She's climbing on the..."

*crash, thump*

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Is it any wonder I went to the grocery store for TWO THINGS last night and I FORGOT ONE OF THEM? This may also be the reason the dishes are half done, the kitchen floor is half swept, there's a load of whites that's been sitting in the washer for two days and I never return any one's phone calls when they leave a message.

There are a lot better tributes to children on their birthdays around that you can read. Like this or this. If it wasn't outright plagiarism, I'd just take this and post it here as my own. I can't remember why, but that seems wrong. So I will have to come up with something on my own. Do they have ghostwriters for blogs? Because that would come in particularly handy right about now in my life. Also ghostPrimaryprogramwriters, ghostlaundrydoers, ghostkitchenfloormoppers, ghosthaircurlers, and ghostmakeupappliers.

But until I can convince The Dormouse to write her own sixth birthday tribute, this is what you get.

This month, not only did The Dormouse gain a year, but she also lost something:
This wiggly tooth has been threatening to come out for about three months now and she could. not. be. more. excited. I'm told that six is a perfectly appropriate age to begin losing teeth, but somehow I remember being much older when this particular right of passage touched my life... like between nineteen and twenty. Six is entirely too early for this event, isn't it? I have instructed her to keep all of the rest of her baby teeth, because I simply can't face what comes after, namely, grown-up teeth. It is entirely too early for grown-up teeth, I say! But as apparently, I have disobedient children who refuse to obey my orders to STOP GROWING UP ALREADY, we had to start this life's ritual:

The photographing of the tooth:

 The putting of the tooth in a special tooth-fairy-attracting pillow:
And the replacement of the tooth with monetary value.


Aside: I'm just the vaguest bit uncomfortable with this practice. Help me out here; doesn't it seem to set a poor precedent??? Like this is the first step in the long chain of events that teach her to price out her body parts and will end with her one day being surprised by police waving a search warrant while she's holed up in the basement watching a live auction on Ebay as people bid on the kidney she's trying to sell? Perhaps I am overreacting.

This day was marked by anticipation,

"Can I open my presents now?"

"It's 5:45 am."

"You're right. I guess The Caterpillar would enjoy watching me open presents, I'll wait for her to wake up."

excitement,

"Good morning Ms. Bus Driver, did you know it's my birthday? Well it is. It's my birthday, Ms. Bus Driver."

humility,

"They all sang Happy Birthday to me in music class today. It was SOOO embarrassing."

with a healthy expression of shock and surprise, just to make sure we knew she wasn't taking it all for granted and intended to do it again next year,

"Cupcakes at school and a cake at home? This is all just too. much. for. me." *thows back of hand against forehead in Miss Scarlet-esque drama*

We wanted to give her a party with her friends, but life has been complicated lately. In the end, we decided to have just a nice family dinner at a restaurant she likes where she got...

sung to by taxidermy specimens...

 ...her very own birthday cake...
...her very own birthday candles...
...kissed by a moose (what? you don't get kissed by a moose on your birthday?)...
and a host of birthday wishes from strangers at other tables -- because whenever we go out for dinner in a public place, whoever has the misfortune of being seated near us becomes her best friend. Just ask the guy who found out her birthday was coming up and gave her $5 the week before last.

On the way home she decided that she should be blindfolded while opening her presents and then have to guess what the present was while she opened it. This practice will definitely be continued in future years because it is totally hilarious... especially when she opened up her cards blindfolded and tried to guess who had sent them by feeling them.

 She did have a pretty good haul, despite not having a mob of first graders over for the melee. Parental guilt is a powerful thing.

 As she's gotten older, I've expected things to get easier. And in one sense, they have. She's easier to communicate with. She does things on her own more. That's nice. But it occurs to me that the parenting I do now matters more than anything I've done so far. And because of that, there's a greater potential for screwing it all up. I'm trying really hard not to do that, but The Caterpillar still requires a lot of our time and I have to remind myself almost daily that just because The Dormouse can wait for our attention these days, doesn't mean she always should.

This is the girl who made me a full-time mother. This is the girl who made me believe I was capable of the kind of love I experience every day now. I'm not sure I can ever repay her for those things. I'm not even sure I'd know how. There are a lot of lousy things about being a parent but it's this that makes up for them. This assurance that your life is somehow bigger than all the unread books, the unmet life goals, the unanswered phone calls, that master's degree you never finished. In the grand scheme of things, I realize that none of that stuff really matters in the long run. And it's all because of her.