Pulling off the Pull-Ups. For good (fingers crossed).

Potty training Lil E -- or my grandiose attempts to turn it into a fabulous and enticing party -- taught me a valuable and frustrating lesson: Let the kid go in his own time.

That means go and go. By some miracle of evolution or genetics, he did not inherit the peanut bladder both his parents have (which, by the way, made every road trip we ever took sort of like we were a traveling band of pregnant ladies). The kid is a camel and can (and will, thank you very much) hold it all day. He has had very few accidents but mostly because his iron will oversees his southern regions and he refuses to go at daycare, co-op and sometimes even Grandma and Grandpa's house unless I am there with him. Handy in Target? Yes. Fun to explain to a daycamp counselor? Not so much.

The only time Lil E is challenged in cameling is at night. He's a thirsty boy and I thought I was being savvy in ending the late night wakings and calls for a drink into the dark by leaving a sippy cup full of water in his crib, then toddler bed and now, big boy bed. It's worked like a charm. So far. So far is important because tonight is Night Nine.

(Keep reading to find out why Night Nine's such a bedtime biggie).
 

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Linkety Dinkety Doo: Punchlines Edition

I couldn't decide whether to list this column about George Carlin first or last, just that I wanted other people to read it. It's by Jerry Seinfeld, a quick read that's the concise kind of lyricism I strive for as a blogger and writer and comic to an audience of one (sometimes one-plus-kid in a booster seat). You don't have to click any other link below, but do read this one.

Who knew? I'm listed here as a favorite motherhood blog. Well, to be honest, I'm not listed as a blog, Sassafrass is listed as a blog. Sometimes, though, it's hard to tell the difference, isn't it?

Lil E loves this show. It freaks me out. I just do not get why animals from Australia who talk, politic and watch TV are so compelling to a preschooler.  But then I also do not get Dragon Tales, Caillou or (shudder) Scooby Doo and the kid's crazy about those too.  Shouldn't animals on kiddie TV be reporting about fake Olympics or putting steaks on their black eyes,  not manipulating their way into being mayor of some Earth core jungle village? What is going on in the world?

Maybe I shouldn't go on too much. Rob & Big still makes me laugh out loud on a regular basis. No animals running for office, but plenty of goofery all it's own and just enough dorm-room entertainment to keep me preoccupied until (oh now I'm just shameful) The Hills returns.

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Finally, the Solstice.

Solstice crept in this Saturday, pulling back a summer that has been sleepy and slow to reveal itself. But it is here now, finally and officially.  After a bitter winter with lots of snow and transitions, almost nothing feels as good as the sun, a few beers on a restaurant patio, watermelon on the porch and working with my feet in the kiddie pool.

Every year, I feel some pull to mark Solstice reverently. I've walked the labyrinth with other women at church. I've done my own quiet rituals burning sage and setting out stones with words I've written on them to set my intentions for the new season. I've been quiet and still and I've celebrated the evening rocking a sleeping baby in my arms on the porch while the sun sunk and the kids in the neighborhood shrieked and the downstairs neighbors grilled and clinked bottles of Zywiec.

This year, I meditated, flowed, posed and chanted Solstice in at a yoga workshop designed around the setting sun.

Like every yoga class I've ever been to, at the last minute I thought about not going. And like most times, I thought again and went anyway, winding my way to find the new studio where my former yoga teacher is now practicing, hurrying to find a semi-legal parking space and then wiggling my way into a space just big enough for me and my mat. After all that thinking and re-thinking, rushing and then stretching out in my little corner of the room, I breathed. Deeply. I was there and it was good for me to be there.

The sun streaked the room orange as we moved from pose to pose. I was hesitant to join in the chant thanking the sun god pulling us in, but the Sanskrit words were so lilty and the room echoed with our voices in this lovely tone.

As we neared the two-hour mark, I started feeling antsy. I had plans for dinner and I wanted enough time to put on lipstick and heels before I dashed out the door of the studio. And as I thought about skipping out early, my teacher started talking us through the last few minutes of our final relaxation. She said something about welcoming patience, about being gentle with ourselves and about renewing our investment in being whole and fulfilled women. She was talking to the class in her soft voice, but she was speaking right to me.

I breathed in and out again, deeply. I looked up at the small, round paper lanterns that dotted the dark room like stars or planets or little suns. I released and let the time and tasks and next thing go.

It's summer now, no time to rush or huddle or worry about falling behind. It's time to stretch out and feel the sun, to take better care and mark the season with both stillness and fire.

When it was over, I was off and into different clothes and to another place where I would sit outside and eat and drink beer until late. I was there then, and that was good for me too.

So the Solstice, once again, was marked for me. I feel ready and relaxed for all these months and all the little illuminations-- and if I can go with it, the sun god -- will bring.

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