Anissa stopped halfway as she was pulling on her "pull-up" (diaper) tonight, and stared down at the picture of Dora - her favorite TV character - on the front. It was obvious she was thinking hard about something. "I wear Dora underwear," she said. "I think Dora probably wears Anissa underwear."

Deep!

How do you know your husband spends too much time at the office?

When your daughter, after spending some time with him before dinner, politely says, "Thank you, Papa, for coming to visit us at our house."

Sunday was a big day for Anissa - her first trip to the movies! Mehdi and I had been anxiously waiting for the right movie to come out - nothing at all scary or overly stimulating - and then Curious George came to town. Anissa was so excited, and so were we (hey, it may not be our choice of film, but we miss the movies). We got our big bag of popcorn and over-sized drinks (medium in the U.S. is really something to behold) and settled in to our seats. At the end of every preview, Anissa proclaimed, "That looks like a good movie!" And when Curious George started, we knew we had made the perfect choice; it was a sweet, charming movie, and she loved it. There was nothing even remotely frightening, but we hadn't considered the sadness factor.

In one scene, the Man in the Yellow Hat allows pest control workers to put George in a cage and take him away. I could feel Anissa's body tensing up as they chased and caught George, and when the door to the cage clanked shut her bottom lip began to tremble. As the van drove away, she burst out crying and yelled, "That's not nice!" She repeated her opinion a few more times, still crying, and told us she wanted to go home. I have to admit, my heart broke for her and I couldn't wait for the stupid guy in the yellow hat to go find George and suck up big time. Which, of course, he did, so Anissa cheered up. Once out of the theater, she told us that she liked the movie, except for the one part that was sad. All I could think was how I would do everything in my power to keep her from feeling any of life's pain or sorrow. Unfortunately, though, life doesn't come with any kind of fast forward button.

Mama Jo was visiting for the past week, and time flew by. Mehdi and I got to sneak off for a romantic dinner (Anissa demanded to know "why?" when we told her we were going out without her, of all crazy ideas) and Anissa got non-stop attention. We were spoiled and Jo is surely going home worn right out.




It was 15 degrees on Thursday,
so Anissa, Jo and I headed to...
THE BEACH!

















Anissa puckered up to a new friend at the aquarium in Boston yesterday. At least she didn't beg and cry to get into the tank with him like she did for the sea lions!

Anissa had a playdate with her friend Camilla after gymnastics. The highlight was when Anissa, proud as can be, insisted on showing Camilla the poo she made in her potty. There is no such thing as a social faux-pas in the world of a toddler.

Oh, and the thing on her forehead? A Dora band-aid I put on days ago to ease the pain of a fall. When I tried convincing her to let me take it off today, she said, "Hmm, maybe Thursday." So tomorrow it is. I'm just relieved she didn't say Tuesday.

Being a parent, for me, has meant constantly learning (or relearning) "life lessons". A couple that I've realized lately:

Life Lesson #1:

A crappy day can turn to wonderful in the blink of an eye.

Tuesday night, Anissa slept straight through from bed-time to morning. There were no pleas for a hug or water or whatever else in the middle of the night, and so I felt very ALIVE on Wednesday. I was also feeling a little over-confident about the "improved sleeping situation" and went to bed way too late that night. Of course, just to humble me, Anissa woke up at 3:00 a.m - and stayed awake until about 4:30! I fell asleep in her bed, and when she woke up in the morning and started chatting with me I was so out of it I literally could not force my eyes open. She wanted something on her dresser and when I didn't jump up immediately to get it, she decided the best way to reach it was to climb over my face. Only she missed and stepped directly onto my EYE.

There's nothing like a heel with 32 pounds of pressure coming down on an eyeball to get you out of bed, quick! I'm sure my yell was heard all the way in Maine. Needless to say, I was in quite the mood as I got breakfast ready. Then Anissa looked at my crabby old self and proclaimed, "Guess what, Mama? I love you. How much? To the moon and back and back." Sure, her declaration was inspired by a new book Mariella gave her, but it was genuine nonetheless. The pain in my eye disappeared.

And how could I possibly not be excited for the day ahead?


Life Lesson #2:

I'm still a child trapped in a 34-year-old body.

I remember it like it was yesterday, even though I was probably about 7. I had a few dollars I was itching to spend, and we were making a big trip to "the city" (Edmonton). During the 2 and a half hour drive, I fantasized about all the great stuff I could get. In the city, I combed through the shelves of the toy section looking for that perfect purchase. When it was time to go, I hastily chose a mini pool table. It had tiny pool sticks loaded with springs to shoot the itsy-bitsy pool balls.

Even as I carried my new treasure to the cash, I had this uneasy feeling that it was the wrong choice. I held it on my lap on the way home, all the while mentally going over all the other - now seemingly better - toys I had seen. When we arrived, I ripped it out of its package and played a game of mini-pool. Turns out, it's not a very exciting sport. I begged my brother to play with me. One of the springs popped off a pool stick. I wanted to cry. And I probably did, later in my room. Over the years, whenever I think of that pool set, this horrible sinking feeling of regret washes over me. Today, I relived part of it through Anissa's eyes...only she handled it a lot better than I did.

We were at the Goodwill store, perusing the used books as usual, and Anissa found a portable kiddy-sized tape player. I told her we could get it if she really wanted to, but we would only buy one toy. A few minutes later, she found the most adorable mini Radio Flyer wagon. I fell in love at first sight. Oh, how I could imagine her pulling it around our backyard or in the park, a doll or teddy bear getting the ride of its life. I wanted it, bad! And so did Anissa. That is, until she found the doll-sized baby carrier/car seat. Now she had 3 items she wanted, and the words I had spoken earlier hanging in the air: Just one thing, Anissa. She stared at the three, picked each one up tenderly, muttered, "It's so hard to choose. So hard." I felt her pain. Part of me (a big part) wanted to say, "Oh heck, let's buy them all! It's the Goodwill store!" But part of me knew it was good for her to have to choose, to learn that she can't have everything that strikes her fancy. She changed her mind several times, but in the end she picked the car seat. As we were heading to the cash, I paused and looked at the wagon one last time. "Maybe," I started to say. But she cut me off. "It's hard, Mama. It's hard to choose ." I willed myself to walk away and not look back.

She's thrilled with her car seat. I'm trying hard not to think about the cute little wagon. Some day, with a little help from my daughter, maybe I'll grow up.

THE MATURE ONE OF THE FAMILY