So if you search deep into the on-demand selections of your DVR, you might find a strange little creature named Andy Pandy. After MJ asked for the 100th showing of "Little Bear" night before last, we decided we'd rather scratch our eyes out than listen to Little Bear's exceedingly patient parents -- and wind up having to turn it anyway, when the goblin comes on and steals a doll and she runs over and hides behind one of our legs, squealing, "No, I don't like this part! I don't like this part."

So we turned on this show that we've never seen before, or even heard of. At least Andy Pandy, a BBC creation with Claymation-ish characters, doesn't scare MJ. But it does scare me. I have a problem with these life-like cartoons that are narrated -- Thomas and Friends also is very creepy to me -- and I've been trying to figure out why. It can't be the British-ness of them; I love BBC America. Give me Jamie Oliver or Gordon Ramsay and a Sunday afternoon at home, and I'm good. (Plus, Thomas is narrated by Alec Baldwin. Not British; even if Sir Topham Hatt is.) And it can't strictly be the narration part that freaks me out, because I love Curious George, which is obviously narrated because somebody has to explain why a monkey is helping retrieve a lost space satellite.

After a few minutes of intense therapy on the way-back couch of my childhood, I now know why: The Disney Read-Along Book series.

Who remembers these? The little books that came with records (tapes, after 1977)?



Generally, I was crazy about these records. I loved the little chime that told you it was time to turn the page, the cool interactivity of it all. They were like early pioneers of the Internet age. But one thing I didn't like was the voice at the end that told you it was time to "turn the record over" to continue the story. I have no idea why, except that deep voices really bothered me when I was little. (It probably didn't help that I was reading stories like Hansel & Gretel. Who writes a kids' story where someone is shoved into an oven? Terrifying!) So I tried to anticipate when the voice would come on, and I would flip the record as quickly as I could. And shows like Thomas and Andy Pandy, with their disembodied voices up to who-knows-what in the background, remind me of that. Who knew I was so damaged by Disney ...

I did an amazing thing this weekend. I cleaned out my laundry room.

I know. Thank you for the standing ovation. I'm very proud. Please be seated.

In case you're wondering, this is the room where I hide the bodies, as previously mentioned. Randy went in search of socks one morning and backed away from the door as though he'd just seen a giant, three-headed dog drinking from a jug of Tide, which is not out of the realm of possibility. I sometimes throw MJ's Dora helmet on my head before going in to take clothes out of the dryer, because one never knows what book or magazine or curtain rod might fall and crack me on the skull. What an embarrassing headline that would be.

So, in a flash of inspired housework, I sieved through the muck. And now I need some help. What, pray tell, do I do with all of these:


"These" by the way, are the multitude of drawings MJ has amassed in her three short years of life (she sometimes prefers a conventional canvas, despite previous escapades). I. cannot. throw. them. out. This is a chronic problem I have. Even before I had kids of my own, my niece and nephew gave me elaborate drawings of houses and malproportioned stick people that, to this day, sit on a bedroom dresser. How could I possibly toss something created and given with such love and care? They're like greeting cards, only worse. It feels so wrong not to keep them.

I tried to look through each of these and decide which ones were best, which scribbles show the most depth of feeling. Purple crayon on green? Red marker on blue with Elmo stickers? And guess what? They're all freakin' awesome. My kid. Drawing! The precursors to writing the Great American Novel and buying her parents that house on a lake they've always wanted. I can't get rid them; I'm certain "60 Minutes" will want them one day. Or even better, Stephen Colbert! I hope she remembers to get us tickets to that show.

Learn all about Costanzatizing at my Triangle Mom2Mom Tuesday post.

I dearly wish I could remember how I used to go to sleep at night when I was three. There are many, many things I am grateful that I cannot remember about childhood. Cutting teeth, for example -- how completely painful that must have been. But sleeping ... I wish I could go back and relive what it must have been like to have to turn off a world I didn't know enough about yet, just to close my eyes and sleep simply because my parents said I had to. Because I think this is MJ's problem. (That's her above, back in the day when all she did was sleep.) I think she can't shut off the world for 10-12 hours every night. She's afraid she might miss something. I know the feeling. Except that what I'm missing is sleep.

She was the baby who, once past three months, settled into her crib without a song or a rocking or any other sort of prop, and was off to sleep within minutes. We liked it that way. We were spoiled. Now, she is the toddler who needs "fresh water" and "Dolly" and "one more book" and "three more minutes" and piggyback rides and has practically written a thesis on what color purple sky is the right color purple sky for sleeping. (Answer: None.) Lately, I've been laying with her, singing to her, brushing her hair with the palm of my hand and rubbing small circles on her back to cajole her to sleep. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn't. It can take an hour or more for her to finally give in. But along the way, I've learned a lot about how she processes the experiences of her days -- she hasn't forgotten the dolphin balloon she accidentally freed into the clouds earlier that morning, or the funny dance we did at lunchtime. She recounts them to me like the 11 o'clock news. Then she lays on her side and studies my face while she gives in to sleep, and I think to myself: I wonder if she'll remember this years from now, when she has kids of her own. Will she remember how I looked now? Because I'll think of her exactly like this. I'll remember this little face, and how it looks now, forever. And I guess I can lose a little sleep for that.

I said, "a little." If we could pack the sentimentality into 30 minutes instead of 60, that'd be great. Which is why, this week, I asked my posse:

Your child(ren)'s bedtime routine: Quick and painless, or excruciatingly drawn out? What steps/routine do you have to take to get your kid on the train to sleepytown?

Barb: Bedtime routines at our house revolve around T.V. I'm not going to hide the ugly fact. Anyone who lives in the Central Time Zone, where prime time starts at 7 pm, would probably agree with me. If a Carolina basketball game or something else worth watching is on ("American Idol"), we use the man-to-man strategy. This involves each of us taking a child and throwing them into PJs, brushing teeth and reading one book before lights out. We have this routine down to about 15 minutes. Luckily, the 5-year-old is OK with this and happily looks at books before going to sleep. However, Little C usually ends up in the family room watching TV with us until she passes out from exhaustion.

On the other nights, we go with more of a zone defense. Carter will take care of baths, I take on PJs and teeth and we both read extra books. Little C also gets extra mommy time, which involves rubbing her back until she falls asleep. Truthfully, they are easy to get to sleep, however staying asleep is a totally different monster. {That monster? The scariest one of all.}

Brandi: For Eliana (2.5 months old):
Between 7:30 and 8:00, she eats while listening to "The Wiggles" or "Thomas and Friends" with big brother. {I'm not sure that "The Wiggles" aren't Big Brother; their songs seem to follow me for the rest of the day when I hear them.}

And then she's in bed.

For Gabriel (2.5 years old):

7:30ish Watch "The Wiggles," "Thomas and Friends," or whoever is popular that month;

7:55ish Push Mommy or Daddy away while they are trying to brush my teeth, stick my tongue out;

7:56ish Diaper change and pajamas;

8:00 Storytime; bed.

Janice: Ahh sleep, the elusive beast in our home too. Maya has always been a terrible sleeper. But she comes by it honestly. First the napping ... we no longer enjoy that luxury in our home anymore. I try (for me, I put on a Sesame Street and I have my nap now!). But the nighttime is the interesting time. I am all business - I have been attached to her for the past 12 hours straight, I have very little loving left. So it is teeth, two stories and lights out. There is a bit of protesting, but frankly I am positive she has had it with me and sleep is her only escape! So peace begins about 7:15pm. But Daddy is another story. When Daddy does the deed (which gratefully, is more often than I do), he plays, has a true riot brushing teeth, and then comedy hour with storytime and then screaming and yelling for Daddy to come back. So much drama. And me sitting in my sewing room trying not to get up to interfere (read: solve the problem) and cringing the whole time. And then the running back and forth between our bedroom and her bedroom slamming doors until she collapses somewhere to sleep. So peace begins about 8:30pm. Hmmmm, should I just suck it up and do it each night to save the drama and tears? Nah, I should just shut my door. {Exactly ...}

Becky: Sleep! Who knew something so simple as sleep could become so complicated? Even ants sleep. Perhaps if we made our kids forage for food, carry two times their weight (or is it more?) on their backs, walk for miles in a single line, they'd close their eyes on command. Fortunately at 3 1/2, my daughter is better at her bedtime routine. I don't know if it's because of her better grasp of language and more predictable schedule, or my gained experience as a parent. I had one of those Oprah "Aha!" moments when Amanda was 3 months old. It was after 11 p.m., and I was rocking her on my knees, nearly asleep myself. "Little girl, little girl, when are you going to go to bed?" Then it hit me.... That, Aha!

I am the parent. I need to put her to bed! Talk about no-brainer. Yet bedtime, naptime, anything involving her missing out on the world for a brief amount of time, still was a major struggle. Somehow, though, over the months and years, we've progressed to reading three books (five on a special day, significant only for its bartering power), quick prayer that signals lights are about to be out, nightlight turned on, and kid's CD playing on her little stereo.

Lisa: Before you judge me for putting my kids to bed as early as I do, let me tell you that they wake up at 6:30 am no matter what time they go to bed, so I’m getting mine on the back end. {Judge you? How do we emulate you?} Our kids have the earliest bedtimes of anybody we hang with and we’re regarded with equal measures of horror, envy and disbelief. Don’t hate us because we’re well rested – it’s how I keep from strangling them or committing hari-kari.

We don’t have any magical formula, just constant repetition, like the Suzuki method for sleeping.We’re pretty low maintenance folks, so the bedtime routine is straightforward: bath, jammies, story, bed. The big one gets 10-15 minutes of quiet reading time. The little one gets a few minutes of nose-to-nose ‘snug time’ with Mommy. Everyone is touching sheets by 6:30 pm. All things being equal and if we’ve managed to wear their perky little butts out, that’s the end of the story. But usually, it goes like this: Big, with her boundless enthusiasm and desire to fill us in on Every. Single. Detail. of her day will appear at least once after she’s been tucked in for good. We call these forays ‘pop-ups’ and they’re just as annoying as their Internet brethren (the world record still stands at 15, the night Mommy got the daytime and nighttime cold medicines mixed up). Little is hardcore potty training and has discovered the power of parental manipulation with the key phrase: ‘I go bathroom.’ A lesser used but potent back-up phrase: ‘I super, super thirsty.’ You’ll recall that the only thing I can promise my children is adequate hydration, so I am powerless to resist. Once they’re down, they’re down for good, sleeping through all manner of loud television, raucous partying and ill-conceived late-night attic excursions. Until...the sun rises and my beautiful little morning glories sally forth. They have learned, after experiencing the wrath of a poorly awoken Mommy, not to enter our bedroom until 7:00 am. They will circle the bed like carpet sharks, waiting until they see a sliver of eye-white at which point a tidal wave of love and breakfast requests sweeps any remaining vestige of sleep from their target parent. It’s the mental equivalent of trying to do a push-up immediately upon awakening. Try it!

Do my friends rock, or what? Have a happy weekend, full of glorious sleep, if you're lucky ...

When I think about it, it seems I was destined to marry a Canadian. I love exotic places. Foreign languages. Maple syrup. The kind of sophisticated humor (humour) found in classics such as Strange Brew. As a junior high schooler, one of the happiest days of 7th grade was when 9th grader Lea "willed" me all the Tiger Beat centerfolds of Michael J. Fox taped inside her school locker. (Born 6/9/61 in Edmonton, Alberta, army brat, etc. --- not that I remember all that stuff from his profile off the top of my head, or anything.)

So when I met my Ajax, Ontario-born husband (who, probably not coincidentally, looks a bit like MJF) seven years ago, and asked him where he was from, a secret thrill went through me when he said those magic words: "I'm from Canada."

I know. I'm so multicultural now. I couldn't be more proud.

Randy and I have always loved the show "How I Met Your Mother," but HIMYM earned an eternal place in our hearts last season when it aired the classic Robin Sparkles episode, in which Robin (played by real-life Canadian Cobie Smulders, who clearly isn't afraid to poke fun at her homeland) refuses to explain why she doesn't go to malls. After much guessing among the friends, she reveals that she was a teenage pop star in Canada from the Debbie Gibson/Tiffany ilk. Her big hit? "Let's Go to the Mall."

HIMYM revisited Sparkles this week with James van der Beek -- The Beek -- guest-starring as Robin's old flame from the "Mall" days. Above is Beek and Robin in her second music video, "Sandcastles in the Sand." Below, the 13 things from those episodes that make Randy and I laugh our arses/bums off.

1. "What happened? Did you find out you were Canadian at a mall?"
   Ted to Robin, trying to unearth why she won't go to The Sharper Image with her friends.



2. Robin: "My friend in Canada who got married way too young? They had to do their vows twice -- once in French!!"
   Barney: "They speak French there, too? God, that place is a mess."



3. "Ted, even if she is married, it's a Canadian marriage. It's like their money or their army. Nobody takes it seriously."
   Lily, explaining why Ted shouldn't worry if the reason Robin won't go to a mall is that she was secretly married in one.



4. Robin, after she learns that Ted, through some stealth research, knows she lied about getting married in a mall: "Oh yeah, what database did you use?"
   Ted: "I used the Canadian Mall Marriage 6000."



5. Marshall, watching the Robin Sparkles video for the first time: "If this was the 90s why does it look like 1986?"
   Robin: "The 80s didn't come to Canada until, like, 1993."



6. "I'm gonna rock your body 'til Canada Day"
   Line from "Let's Go the the Mall"



7. Robin: "An old friend of mine from Canada is in town, and I'm meeting him for a drink."
   Barney: "Ooh, somebody you went to Degrassi with?"



8. "So is he the guy that -- how should I put this like a gentleman? ... Robin, did he take your maple leaf?"
   Marshall, asking about the Beek.



9. "Wait, wait -- did he break up with you and tell you that he's just not that 'Inuit'?" -- Lily



10. Robin: "It was very tame. We only dated for a week-and-a-half."
    Barney: "I thought you said you were together all summer."
    Robin: "Yeah, summer in Canada is pretty much the last week in July."



11. "So he's not a snob! He's from a different part of Canada. The maple leaf flag on the back of the pickup truck? He's red province! He's from the Deep North!" -- Robin, on the Beek.



12. "Once you win Mr. Teen Winnipeg, everybody wants a piece of the moneymaker." -- Beek, on how he ended up starring in Robin's music video. (Although, as I recall, Joey chose Josh Jackson/Pacey over him ... and you know what Pacey is: Canadian.



13. These videos, obviously.
    

    P.S. My friend Di has been writing Thursday Thirteens for a while, and after reading hers, I'm jumping on the bandwagon. Because lists are fun. You can read more of them here.

Even at Little L's little age, she shows just how different she will be from her older sister. I always imagined, when I was carrying LL, that she would be just like MJ. I couldn't think of any other face on a baby of mine, so surely she would look exactly like the first. Surely she would have the same personality and quirks and baldness as MJ, the one and only experience I could draw from.
I was so wrong.

They've been different from the beginning, from how they came into the world to how they approached it once they did. Not just because LL has hair and MJ did not; not just because MJ was a reserved baby and LL is a professional squawker. MJ thinks, studies, considers, ponders; she inspects. The moments when she is most free come when she is at home with Randy and me, where her comfort level is steady and her environment already tested.

LL reacts. She goes head-first; she trusts more readily, smiles more easily, complains more lustily, craves interaction like a nighttime bottle.

She is the life; MJ, the soul.

One of the great joys of being the mother of two girls is taking them both to a party with other kids. And I'm not being sarcastic; I'm not talking about the part where you run from one room to the next, making sure each is safe and/or not destroying the furniture or sitting on the family dog. I mean the other parts, watching them come into their own, and thinking about it later: how beautifully different their personalities are, and the little ways in which those differences were revealed earlier that day.

At our talented friend Janice's house yesterday, celebrating little Maya's third birthday, Little L looked as if this was the social event she'd been waiting for all year. She laughed. She smiled. She sat in a circle with toddlers who were not MJ and mommies who were not Mommy and looked as free as I've ever seen her. Not just happy, but gorgeously happy, glowing from her sweet little toes to her sparkly blue eyes, looking from person to person, listening to people talk and smiling at them, at the room, at everything around her. "Oh Mommy," she seemed to say, "thank you so much for bringing me here. This is the best."

MJ was just as content but played mostly by herself, in corners and nooks and crannies, behind trees and bushes that were different from the ones at her house, carefully exploring, contemplating, imagining how the things she saw and felt fit with the world she knows. Every now and then, she would check in with the other kids to see what was happening, what new piece of information might need to be filed away in her little scientist's Rolodex. A game would start; she would be there for the beginning, but gone before the end, on to the next adventure.

LL looks for social connection; MJ searches for worldly connections, the ways in which swatches of information transform into quilts of experience.

The other great part about a kid's party? The clean-up. If there's one thing MJ will commit to, and bond over, with another somebody her age, it's her love of birthday cake. It also bonded nicely to her clothes. For mommies, the party never ends.

Kids say the darndest things -- and almost always in crowded places with their loudest possible voices.

As much as I try not to go grocery shopping with both the girls -- and believe you me, I try not to -- sometimes the bread, milk and OJ supply gets too low to wait for that delicious spare hour (or two, or two-and-a-half) I might wrangle from Randy to go out when he gets home from work. So, we load up the cart: MJ in the front seat, and Little L in her car seat, in the cargo area, where all of my groceries WON'T be. Those? Are under the cart, where blissfully childless people generally put the bulky items.

Essentials to shopping with two small children: two Target baskets placed underneath the cart, to catch all the small items and keep them from rolling off when I stop suddenly (it happens, people! sometimes you see a pretty you just have to go back for); an appropriate number of items from "The One Spot" bins to keep MJ occupied; Starbucks skinny latte for Mommy.

OK, are we all loaded up? Good. Off we go, to surrounding looks of "oh, that poor woman," and "my god, she is absolutely nuts" ...

Usually I speed like an Indy Car driver past the toy aisles (the under-cart baskets also come in handy then) so Mr. Tempty doesn't rear his ugly head and end in a tantrum about something MJ "needs." But on this particular day, I let her have a pair of toy binoculars that seemed right up her alley. And also because I felt like we needed 1,478 toys at home, instead of 1,477. I like even numbers. You'd think these puppies were handcrafted in Heaven, she loves them so much. And I'm here to tell you that they are pure crap -- you can't see anything out of them. Nonetheless, here we are, rolling through Target. Busy place. Lots of people.

She drops the binoculars.

"Mommy! Mommy! My Nockers! My Nockers!"

Mommy:(blushing) Um, OK dear. I'll pick them up. I'll pick up your binoculars.

MJ: Thank you for my nockers, Mommy.

Mommy: (shrugging my shoulders in "what can you do" action at laughing strangers): Yes, dear. Someday you might rescind that particular sentence, though.

MJ: (blank stare, followed by): My nockers!

Later that evening:

MJ: Daddy! Daddy! Look at my nockers!

Daddy: (look of horror): Your what?

Gentle Friends, if I may borrow a line from Miss Manners, I sit here on my family room couch, listening to the second MJ bedtime meltdown of the night (9:32 p.m., right on schedule). I sit on the couch because my patience bank is empty for the day, and Randy's isn't yet. I sit on the couch because at least -- when I get crushed by the ceiling she is sure to stomp so hard that it caves in any second now -- I will have something soft to be crushed into. As you read this Friday morning, an imprint of my body is probably pressed into my microfiber cushions, with only a shell of a mommy left behind. (Luckily, they are beige, which goes with everything.) If you have nothing else to do, pick up the phone and check on me. I may be trapped under something heavy.

But before I go, I present this week's Burning Question, and its shocking results.

On "Survivor: Cartoon Island," the final three contestants are Dora, Winnie the Pooh and Elmo (not a cartoon, but close enough). Based on their respective parental annoyance levels, which two do you vote off the island?

Brandi: The annoyance factor is one thing, but if its Survivor, then I have to tolerate a little bit of annoyance to win.

First to go is Winnie the Pooh. Basically Pooh is lazy, shiftless, unmotivated and a glutton. Food sources would be depleted in less than a week. He is slow and indecisive. All those culminate not only to a losing alliance but an ultimate annoyance.

Next to go is Elmo. Everyone loves Elmo ... I know, I know ... but it comes down to work ethic, and on this island sometimes the work ethics of monsters just don't cut it. Plus it annoys me that every &^%$*( song is sung to the toon of "Jingle Bells" ... that is the most annoying thing of all.

So that leaves Dora. A bit annoying? Yes, BUT! She is an adventurer, a hard-worker, she is bi-lingual, she has a pet monkey (I'm sure you can use that monkey as a weapon), and that PACK! It has everything!!!! You can’t lose with a monkey and a bottomless pack on your side!

Janice: Elmo, number one, must go - come on, the yelling and referring to himself in the third person is just old and drives me to drink (I wish, I am not sure I even remember what a good glass of wine even looks like, although I did make a tasty risotto last night with some wine......).

I am struggling between Pooh and Dora. Yes Dora is HUGELY annoying and the yelling is enough to drive me to the bottle again.... but upon asking my two year old (she is two until Saturday and I am hanging on to that!) she said Dora is her favorite because "she is smart and has short hair." Excellent reasoning. And let me tell you how thrilled I am that my TWO-year-old places intelligence at the top of her list (yeah mommy!). The short hair is also a reason for rejoicing - Maya cannot grow hair to save her life - so she is happy and content in her self.

Pooh is just Pooh, very little reaction and there is no reason to dislike the guy - except that he is greedy - but he is sweet enough, maybe boringly so...

But trusting in my sweet little girl, I will kick off Pooh and Elmo and give the prize to Dora. You go girl! Keep showing my girlie that it is good to be smart, sassy and that you don't need a prince to save you (she saves princes!) And short hair is good! Yeah Dora. (NEVER, EVER thought I would vote for Dora!)

Becky: Dora! Dora! Dora!

OK. I think I should write an explanation, but I was just so thrilled to vote Dora off....

Yeah, Pooh would complain incessantly about the "rumbly in my tummy" and think only of himself, and Elmo's normally annoying high-pitched voice would become even more whiny with in the tropical heat (and note: Mr. Noodle was not invited to the island!), but Dora's orders to "Find the map!" and "Backpack, backpack!" would seal her fate for me the first kick-off night. What if I don't want to find the darn magic purple mountain over the rippling river? What if we just want to sit on the beach and complain about the lack of honey and why Dorothy was eaten by a shark? These are all good questions, and if Dora wants to boss people around she can go visit Gilligan, who would no doubt be happy to follow her around.

Lisa: Dora gets the boot for rendering the Spanish language unusable for talking over the children's heads – talk about your subversive alliance. We’re going to have to learn a sub-Saharan click language. {ed note: I had to look that up ... I feel at least 25 percent smarter now.}

Elmo gets snuffed for implanting the irremovable tune worm, Jingle Bells. It’s an insidious form of torture.

Beth: I have to say, I never thought Dora would get even two votes to win "Survivor." That girl is a success machine that cannot be stopped.

I love TV, so it pains me to kick anyone off of the island. I can't choose. I couldn't bear the crying; there would be "hunny," crayons and monkey fur everywhere, and I would have to clean it up. Besides, there is nothing more pitiful than an unemployed cartoon character. Well, maybe one thing: A mommy without sleep.

Today I'm bringing the sentimental out, people. Sentimental has been mired of late under the heavy load of all that is frustrating about being the parent of a very young child (or two), i.e., sleep disturbances, drama worthy of an M.F.A., refusal to eat properly -- and those are just my own symptoms. My toddler's issues? Much worse. But with not one, but two lunches out of the house this week (I've gone mad with freedom!), things are a little lighter around here today. Perspective has settled over the fine dust of my sanity.

After I had MJ, a friend gave me a CD of lovely lullaby-ish songs, which I absolutely treasure. Nothing calms the fury of new mommy colic like soothing music -- and I'm sure MJ enjoyed the songs, too. One of my favorites was (and is) "Turn Around," which on the CD is sung by Nanci Griffith:

Where are you going
My little one, little one
Where are you going
My baby, my own
Turn around and you're two
Turn around and you're four
Turn around and you're a young girl
Going out of the door

I loved this song for the meaning it brought to what I'd just gotten myself into, this motherhood thing. Though I believe complaining to be an inalienable right of the job, I am also rightly awed by it; more so when I had time to sit around and moon over my employer(s). Recently, I ran into a book in the children's section that reminded me so much of that feeling that I had to buy it. It's called Someday -- I'm sure I'm the last Target shopper on Earth to see it, but I loved it from the first page, which reads: "One day I counted your fingers and kissed each one."


Some other things I love about it:

"Someday you will swing high -- so high, higher than you ever dared to swing."

"Someday, I will watch you brushing your child's hair."

"Someday, a long time from now, your own hair will glow silver in the sun. And when that day comes, love, you will remember me."

I have these moments, I call them "flash forwards," when a very ordinary something is happening before me that triggers an impulse to look ahead. Sometimes MJ will be doing nothing more than eating a slice of pizza, and I'll see her as a teenager, doing the same task with more dexterity, but with the same baby look I'll always know. Little L will laugh her sweet laugh, and I am taken to some unknown scene from her college years -- she's home for break, perhaps, humoring Mom and Dad with her shiny presence. I feel immediately connected to a future I haven't even met. A little swirl begins in my stomach and ends in my throat in those moments, and I am thankful for everything that I have, and everything that I will. For every finger and toe I've been lucky enough to count, for every single someday up ahead.