Friday, July 13, 2012


Sometimes during a monotonous spell I take a quick glance at London. Awww, to be like her again. We may be standing in the middle of our living room. It is a Wednesday afternoon. Books and toys are scattered. Something disturbing lies - crusted and reminiscent of a Cheezit - on the seam of the couch, threatening to slip into the crevice where it will fossilize and remain until I do the monthly vacuuming overhaul of the furniture and gag my way into oblivion.

All in all, it's an ordinary day.

But not for Lundy Girl.

Side by side we may stand in the same room in a physical sense, but she is actually far...far what I can only describe as Lundyland. A place full of fairies and unicorns and kissing lions, mommies and daddies and witches and plenty of "ass cweam" (ice cream).

or at least that's what I'm picking up from the conversations between her and whatever three objects she has found lying around. Salt and pepper shakers. Pencils. Barbies. Cans of beans. It doesn't matter. A triangular love affair of some sort develops and I'm always hearing the following question/answer reiterated amongst them:

"Are you my motha (mother)?

No! I not your motha!

Are you my motha?

No! I not your motha!?"

Seriously? I think to myself in a panic. This kid has issues. What have I done that this is the recurring theme of her imaginary play? 

Until one night Tyler re-read them Dr. Seuss's classic Are You My Mother? and it dawned on me. Oh! right! that's where she's getting it. Which by the way, what is it about becoming a parent that makes you suddenly unable to cope with classic stories? Bambi?! losing his mother? Are you freaking kidding me?  Simba and Mufassa? Even Tyler cries.  Dumbo?!!!: DON'T GET ME STARTED.

You know who has issues? Walt Disney and Dr. Seuss. Now they...They have issues.

Back to my Lundy. She's been pressing on my mind and heart lately. I've always worried and been on high alert to try to keep her from feeling lost in the shuffle. She's my softer child. My quieter by nature child. My highly emotional child. And she's the second oldest. And growing up as the second oldest child of the house myself, I get it. Actually,hhmmmm..... I'm really not very concerned in retrospect. I ruled that joint.

However, it can be hard to always be the second-in-line to most of life's great transitions. By the time you finally start school, or learn to tie your shoes, or make your bed all by can seem so old news.

I want her to know how special and loved she is. Daily. I've been making a more conscious effort to single her out frequently for a good squeeze and a kiss. Or just to tell  her how much I love her. Which doesn't always go over so well. Girlfriend has a serious case of the goobies. The goobies you ask? It's my made up word for that feeling you get when the emotion of a situation is a little too palpable to handle. It's different from say...the heeby jeebies...because there is no creep factor. Or cooties, because it doesn't involve romantic-ish emotions from the opposite sex. No...when I say the goobies I'm thinking more along the lines of how you might see a middle-aged man reared in the military trying to express or receive love. Awkward, a little unsure...and would rather never. But not bad. That's all.
London seems to have a case of it when she senses I'm looking at her all starry-eyed and enthralled with her cute face. Or when she notices Tyler and I discussing something adorable she did that day. Major shut down. We are told immediately to go. away.

There is always a right moment though. And when I catch it, oh boy is she the cutest squishiest little pile of sentimental mush. 

We recently began a new tradition in this house. Solo Date Nights with Daddy. Once a week, each of them get to go do something special one-on-one with Dad.

We looked over our brood and decided who gets to kick off this tradition and go first:

Our second.

We sure love you, london rae.

1 comment:

Abbie said...

HOLY WOW! Friend Rae, this post is GOLDEN. It should win awards. Seriously, the way you described this is...freaking amazing. I love you and I am jealous of your writing abilities. And I think we need to meet and hang out and you can rub your fertility off on me.

PS Audrie and London live on the same planet. Oh! It is so fun to watch, but instead of getting goobies, audrie says, "you're making me embarrassing!"

Come to NY. The end.