We had our first book club meeting last night. Five moms, a pitcher of sangria, and a book. I think we spent 20% of our time on the book and the rest just talking and doing our own little striptease.

Women are such strange creatures. I think we are all horribly scarred in childhood when it comes to girlfriends. Everyone has had that horrible maiming moment in the cafeteria when you stand there, holding your tray of food, desperately scanning the table for someone to sit with. Or when the teacher tells you to pair up and your gaze darts around the room watching everyone else pick their friends while you sit there, rooted to the spot, sure you’ll end up odd girl out and have to pair with the teacher. We’ve all been frozen out by a group of girls, kicked out of the “in” club, been the butt of a private joke, or had our hearts and self-esteem stomped on by the Queen Bee and her nasty worker drones.

Unfortunately, I don’t think we ever get over those wounds and we learn to erect walls and cover ourselves in layers and layers of protective clothing. But it’s hot and stiffling wearing our wool sweaters and scarves year round. Every woman is searching for that best friend who will love our streach marked stomach, veiny thighs, dimply butt and all. I can count on one had the number of friends I can go “go neeked” with. My girls that have seen all my horrible thoughts and petty ways and can still laugh and love me.

Unfortunately, none of them live here in Sherwood. And so, this last year, I’ve had to begin that dreaded striptease all over again. You meet someone who you like and slowly, every so slowly, you start to shed the layers. Maybe you try shucking off your our coat, then undo a button or two. The whole process is frightening and tiring and nerve-wracking. Usually, at some point, the process stalles out. It so very rare and precious to find someone you can trust with your whole self without reservation.

So on our first meeting, we all took off a layer or two and then squirmed around a bit trying to get comfortable with losing a little of our armor. I don’t think any lasting damage was inflicted but we’ll see.

I keep going back to sitting on a rock in the Sierra Nevadas during my senior year of high school. Our outdoor ed instructor drew a circle in the dirt and told us all this was where we lived. Our comfort zone. Our friends and family and familiar haunts. Then her drew a bigger circle around that little one. He dared us to step outside our comfort zone and expand our circle, add new friends, new places. He kept drawing circles and told us that a life lived to the fullest meant always expanding our comfort zone. I have such a hard time doing that. I love my little dirt ring. I feel so safe and happy. I’m horrible about expanding my realm. But every now and then, I force myself to re-draw my circle.

And every time I do, it’s well worth it.

I just finished a new entry. A witty, poignant, revealling entry. And then, the computer ate it. Ate it!

Arg.

I cannot recreate it and I’m too grumpy to try.

Grrr. So I’m going to pointless surf the internet and try to rebuild my mental strength to give it another go.

Arg.

My sweet baby nugget is one year old. How did that happen? Where did the time go? It seems like just yesterday I was burrito wrapping her, stumbling through night nursings and wondering who she would become.

Well, she’s here now! At one, Kulia is so advanced she reminds me of Leina at 18 month. She’s running around our house, climbing on and off the sofa, using sign language, and learning new words every day. Of course, MA MA is my favorite but my newest joy is listening to her imitate animals. She can roar like a lion, trumpet like an elephant, and meow like a cat. And the kisses! Oh, the kisses! When you ask for kisses, she puckers up and air kisses all the way over to you and then plants one right on you. It’s heaven.

Kulia is that wonderful mix of part baby part toddler. It only lasts a few weeks and it is breath-taking. Every night, I sneak into her room and watch her sleep, snuggled up with her blanket, Patches.

She smells like baby and love.

And she is trouble! Trouble! I take her to Leina’s storytime at the library. While Leina sits shyly on my lap or clings to my arm, Kulia jumps up and runs amongst the big kids. She dance to her own music and converses with all the other moms in her own baby babble. She’s such a little socialite and loves smiling at anyone who catches her eye.

I have no double that Kulia will tackle every challenge with glee and determination during this next year. She will be a force to reckon with as she grows. I forsee lots of physical activity in her future and a love of books. And I am so torn. I wake up every morning wondering what new trick she’ll show me and dreading the passing of another day of her baby-hood.

But in my mind, she’ll always stay my sweet nugget baby. Kulia, oh how I love you!

Kulia adores chocolate raisins. Adores. Adores. Adores.

I have this huge Costco tub of them sitting on top of our island. It’s been there forever and I use them as good behavior treats. When my sister and her boys came to visit last summer, she couldn’t believe I could leave these chocolate yummies in plan view. She assured me that her boys would go bonkers if they could see chocolate raisins and not eat them.

I felt a wave of pity for my poor sister. Leina never had a control problem with sweets. Every now and then, she’ll ask for a raisin, I’ll ask her how many, she’ll reply “two”, I’ll place two in her hand and she’ll wander off happy. No pleas for more, no demands for 10 or 20. No, we never had an issue. I chalked this up to superior parenting skills and hid the candy bin when Suzy’s boys were here.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Turns out, it has nothing to do with parenting. Leina is some strange child freak that can stand to see candy and not turn into some whinning, crying, demanding monstrosity. Kulia? Well, lets just say, she’s turning out to be a normal kid.

I don’t know when I gave her a chocolate raisin. I probably grabbed a few myself and popped one in her mouth to see if she’d eat it. Can you say, “stupid?” That child’s eyes lit up and she was in love. She wanted more. More. More.

Every time we entered the kitchen she would run to the island, attempt to frantically claw her way up the side in a bad Spidey impersonation, lisping “thisssss, thisssss, thisssss” will all the power her 11 month old body could muster. If I picked her up, she would turn her big blue eyes on me, and moan with a soulfullness of a child twice her age. It was so cute, I did the worst thing possible.

I GAVE IN.

I could kick myself. It was such a rookie mistake. Rule No. 2 of childrearing is NEVER GIVE IN. (Rule No. 1 being hide the earplugs.) If you say “chocolate raisin”, Kulia will break into this huge grin, nod her head up and down, lisping “yessssss, yesssss, yessss”. And then, she will kiss you. Yes, she will learn forward, rest her forhead on your check, and kiss you. Oh dear Lord, give me strength. We went through this routine 10 times in a row before I found the courage to cut her off. I’ve had to move the raisin bin into the pantry where she can’t see it. Even though it is out of sight, it is not out of mind. Kulia still tries to scale the island and even though I lift her up to show her the empty spot where the raisins used to be, she is not fooled. She’ll nod, chant “yesssss” and offer you kisses for a while and when that fails, the tantrum begins.

Oh, it is ugly. So ugly. I know I can’t give in but it is so hard. The little devil on my shoulder tells me, “it’s only a little choclate. It’s mostly raisin and that’s, like, a grape so you’re actually denying her fruit. Give in! Get the kisses!” But I know a child under the age of one cannot survive on a diet of chocolate raisins so I’ve stayed strong. It’s been rough, but I’m holding out. I figure, by the time she forgets about those darn raisins, she’ll probably be able to open the pantry and we’ll fight this battle all over again.

But if you’re wondering what to bring Kulia for her 1st birthday, I’d say a nice bag of Raisinetts would be top of her list.

I think we are out of the woods.

For the last 10 days, our house has been covered in sickness. It all started on Mother’s Day oh so many moons ago.

The plan was for Kevin to arise early with the kiddos and distract them so I could sleep in. There was talk of a coffee run with maybe a warm yummy thrown in for good measure. I had dreams of awakening sometime around 10ish to the smell of coffee at my side, unfolding the Sunday paper and reading in bed until I decended at noon for presents and general adulation from my adoring children. That was the plan, anyway.

Reality, well, that was a mite different. Instead of the smell of warm coffee and donuts, I was greeted with the unmistakable stench of vomit.

Kevin rushed into our room around 6:45am and woke me. He thrust my smallest into my arms and sprinted to the bathroom where he hurled and hurled. He was horribly sick. So much for sleeping in.

I put Kevin back in bed and rustled the kids up and fed them. Kevin re-emerged around 10am feeling a little better but still looking peaked. His mom was here visiting so I decided to take Leina to Costco and leave Kulia home with Kevin and grandma. I figured Grandma could be in some good sister snuggling while Kevin slept off what I though was food poisioning.

Leina and I were eating our way through Costco when we got a frantic all from Kevin. Kulia was really sick and had been vomiting all morning. Leina and I rushed home. I was bearly in the door when Leina walked over to me, leaned over, and vomited all over the kitchen floor and my feet. This was not food poisioning. This was the most dreaded of all viruses, the stomach flu.

Sister had nailed her room and Leina’s room. Leina had covered the kitchen. Our whole house smelled faintly of vomit and sweat. It was nasty. Grandma decided she didn’t want to risk it and high-tailed it out of our house leaving me with three very sick people. It was horrid. Lots of changing sheets, clothes, and running of laundry. Kevin was wipe and so were the kids. My mother’s day present this year was not jewelry or food or clothing. No, this year I got immunity for the stomach bug. And thank goodness.

So for the last 10 days the girls have been fighting this flu. I don’t know if they are passing it back and forth or what. All I know is that once one stops vomiting, the other starts. Back and forth. Back and forth. Yesterday was the first day where neither child vomited or blew a diaper. (Oh yes, did I forget to mention the horrific diarreha that accompanied the virus? How could I have over looked that!)

I’m hoping against hope that we are truely out of the woods and that I have changed my last set of crib sheets. How I dodged this illness I have no idea but I’m so thankful to have missed it. This is one Mother’s Day I’ll never forget. (No matter how much I want to.)

I’m always a little leery about meeting other Sherwood moms. I don’t know if it’s just my little town or not, but I’ve come across so many snotty moms here. Every conversation degrades into a litany of accomplishments – how smart their kids are, how beautiful their children, their wealth, their house, blah, blah, blah. I spent five years of my life dealing the pompus wind-bag lawyers, the last thing I want is to hang out with a bunch of pompus wind-bag moms. I can pretty much spot these types of moms a mile a way from their coiffed hair and spotless outfits and I give them lots of room.

So when I was invited to join a book club with a group of unknown women, I felt a bit of trepidation. I figured the odds of hitting a wind-bag were pretty high but the lure of good books brought me round so cajolled Kevin into taking on the girls alone last night and I headed out.

Upon arrival, I immediatley scoped out the shoes. I find you can tell alot about a person by their feet/shoes. Toe poish that matching shoe color with a three inch spiked heel is not a good sign. So I was quite pleased to be greeted by the hostess who was comfortably barefoot. Old sneakers and flip-flops were the shoe of choice amoung the ladies gathered and I could breath a sigh of relief. And their shoes didn’t lead me astray. I haven’t quite pegged all the personalities yet but everyone seemed like a talker with little reservation. Of course, I was the new girl of the group so there was definately that “old friend” vibe going around which is always fun to be a part of. I have a feeling we could have some good rip-roaring discussions if the right fuse was lit. Just what you want in a book group. I stayed late and chatted books with B who is a lover of fiction. We swapped must reads, browsed Powells.com, and revelled in that giddy joy of finding someone who adores reading. I’m optomistic that she can turn me onto some good titles and, even better, I’ll have someone to call up and rehash the good and the bad. Because in my opinion, a good book is even better when it’s loved by someone else too.