Beach Babies

Last night I asked Clint why Mimi looked so different. She has been completely lathered in sunscreen, so I don't think she has gotten more tan (although she is naturally more tan than I am -- not fair). "It's not her skin," he said. "It's her hair -- it's blonder."
Ah, something I know absolutely nothing about. Blonde hair. When I was her age, my skin turned pink and my hair might get a red tint if I snuck in some Sun-In, but never blonde. People pay a lot of money for that kind of stuff.

Sweet, happy Emerson -- Mimi's beach BFF. Three generations of crazy women.

Sand between my toes.

Trying to capture the "wildness" on film. Ready for their performance on stage. Just add Hadley and they'll have the white girl version of Destiny's Child.

They love to climb on the coffee table and watch cartoons.

"Emmy, please play Ring Around the Rosies with me so I can pull you down!"

I have already decided that Emerson will definitely win most photogenic whenever Emeri decides to put her in Little Miss Perfect Pageants (he he). Here is the "serious Em": The "playful Em":

The "I've got a secret" Em"

And she has a really funny sense of humor. Emerson loves to play "poo poo." Hang on, I've got to laugh for a few minutes before I can write the rest. Last night she turned to Brad and said, "Poo poo." When he asked if she had, she smiled and said, "No," and then he said, "Oh, you're just playing poo poo." She said, no, her daddy had done that and raised the back of his shirt to check his "diaper!" Oh my goodness, my side is hurting right now.

And they can't be wild all the time . . . she melts like butter, as my mom says.

I Just Couldn't Wait!!

Yesterday we made the grueling trip to Santa Rosa with my parents and a teething toddler, but, oh my goodness, it was so worth it. We headed to the beach first thing this morning, and by looking at the photos one would never know what a scaredy cat Miss Mimi was. She didn't want any part of her body to touch the sand, so she sat on the quilt and whined for a while. Her friend Emerson, the mature one, was already an expert digger and just made Mimi look like a big sissy. It only took about 20 minutes and lots of baby steps and holding hands to finally get Prissy to turn into a complete beach-lover. Here she is with Em and their new buddy Asher. Note how cool Em is in her sunglasses. By the way, I am now the proud owner of a new camera but have no idea what I'm doing. Even worse, my dad really has no idea and took this super-bright photo of us. Well, at least he didn't cut off half of us like he did in some others.

The new cover of Toddler Vogue, the beach edition.

Classic. Mimi stealing Cheetos. Geez.Mimi also stole my corn tonight, gnawed on it a while, and then threw it on the floor so she could have both hands free to dance in her high chair at dinner.

Before we left for the beach, we spent the night with my parents in Corinth. Well, they don't actually live in the big city of Corinth but out in "Kendrick" (Dad is very proud of this). As much as I love living in the middle of Memphis, I am so grateful that my parents live in the middle of nowhere. It was so nice to have a yard for playing ball, a lake for fishing, and horses to care for when I was growing up. Dad has always loved having the grandkids visit so he can show them his garden and let them sit on the old bright blue tractor, so I had to snap a shot of Mimi being a farmer. She's pointing at a huge windmill in the backyard that was spinning like crazy.

And don't you worry, I'll probably have more photos tomorrow!

A Good Man Is Hard to Find

I am beginning to feel like the grandmother in Flannery O'Connor's short story. Just a recap if you don't remember your Southern Lit:

An old-school Southern grandmother goes on a road trip with her son or daughter (can't remember which), his or spouse, and their children. Throughout the story she explains her definition of a "good man," which consists of someone who is polite and mannerly. At the end of the story, they get in a wreck and are completely taken advantage of by what she considers a "good man." Although he says "Yes, ma'am" he stills shoots them all in the end.

So maybe having manners doesn't mean one is a "good person," but, by golly, it sure could fool me just like it fooled the grandmother. If a car cuts me off on the interstate but gives an apologetic wave as if they've just realized their mistake, all is forgiven. If no wave is offered, then the driver deserves to be smacked. Being raised in the South has made me this way and makes me feel totally justified when I berate someone for being rude.

So where is all this nonsense going? Basically, I need to take some time to vent about someone who didn't follow my rules for being a "good man" today. And in case you are wondering about "my rules," here they are:

1. Be polite at all times – especially when dealing with cashiers, waitresses, receptionists, etc. – and they should definitely be polite to customers in return.
   
2. Always place shopping carts in the racks in the parking lot. No exceptions.
   
3. Do not ever break line.
   
4. Hold doors and elevators open at least for the approaching person to catch. This isn't a rule for just the guys – we can all keep it open and not let it slam in someone's face.
   
5. Do not take up the entire aisle while walking slowly in grocery stores, Target, or a hallway. Understand that some people are in a hurry.
   
6. Do not talk loudly about personal business in public. It makes others uncomfortable.
   

Now on to my drama for the day. I was working in Dyersburg, Tennessee, and decided to make a quick pharmacy call during lunch. Basically this consists of checking with a pharmacist to make sure he is stocking my drug, asking if he's had many insurance problems, and sometimes getting an update on the price for customers without insurance coverage. Normally pharmacists don't mind speaking with drug reps and I have never had anyone act annoyed with me -- that is until today.

I stopped at Wal-Mart since I also needed to buy dog food, and this was my number one mistake. I don't mean to be so judgmental of this store, but I rarely have a good experience and am grateful Target is much closer to my home. I parked a million miles away, walked straight to the pharmacy, and asked the pharmacist my normal questions. I asked if customers ever have insurance issues with my drug, and he said rarely ever – normally their insurance covers it well. I then asked how much it is without insurance coverage since I was trying to update a price list. My innocent question turned Mr. Pharmacist into Mr. Hyde.

"Well, I'll tell you how much it costs." Suddenly his voice grew louder and his tone became quite sarcastic. "It costs a ridiculous amount."

I'm sorry . . . what did he mean by this? Since "a ridiculous amount" is relative, I asked if he minded looking up the exact price for me. He walked to his computer shaking his head the whole time and mumbling about expensive drug costs under his breath. He came back, told me the price (which was actually more expensive than some other pharmacies), and then told me I need to cut the price in half. Every sentence he spoke grew louder and he became more animated and irritated. As you can tell, he has already broken two of my rules.

I reminded him that the majority of customers will not pay the full price, and I don't expect them to. While my company has worked very hard to get the lowest insurance co-pays possible, we are also very generous with samples, and the doctor's office should have samples for a patient who doesn't have insurance coverage.

He then gave me a smirk and said something rude like, "Well, you must be proud of yourself."

I tried to ignore this comment and explained that I know many people are on fixed incomes, and my company is trying to help in every way. I decided at that point that I had no reason to explain the worth of myself or my company to this guy, and I needed to thank him for giving me the price and walk away. Before I could even finish this thought, he leaned in like he wanted to share a secret and loudly said, "Help? Is that what you think you and your big drug company are doing? Do you really think your company wants to help anybody?"

This guy was a complete a-hole. I had just walked a million miles from the parking lot in heels that hurt my feet, I hadn't had a chance to eat lunch yet, and I am pregnant and oversensitive, yet he felt the need to harass me over something I have no control over. Someone peed all over his Cheerios that morning. He didn't know me. He didn't know anything about me, but he chose to blame me for the fact that Wal-Mart had marked up the price of my drug. There were a million fabulous zingers coming to mind in that split second, but why should I let him know that he had offended me? I have chosen to work and send my child to daycare, and I would never have done that if I didn't believe in my company and my product. Did he really want me to believe he was so much better than me? Does he give discounts to his customers? Of course not. This self-righteous jerk does work at Wal-Mart, by the way, and we've all seen those 20/20 specials. What was he trying to prove by embarrassing ME?

So I snapped back into reality, looked him square in the eye, leaned in and said, "Yes. Yes, I do feel like I'm helping. I appreciate your information."

I turned on my heel and walked away straight to the dog food. My sudden surge of adrenaline helped me easily toss that 20 lb bag over my shoulder, and I marched to the self check-out aisle. I wasn't about to deal with another soul in that store. There were four self check-out registers and everyone was making a line in the middle and then going to the check-outs as they opened. I was next in line and just as the bag began feeling really heavy, a little skinny girl completely cut in front of me and waltzed up to a register that was about to open. Since I had just bitten my tongue in half from the incident with the pharmacist, I wasn't able to do it again.

"Really?! REALLY?!!" I yelled at her. She looked back briefly but seemed to have no idea this was directed at her. I immediately walked up to her register and flopped my heavy bag of dog food down on top of her cosmetics and then proceeded to glare at her. Within seconds she began to realize what she had done but probably knew an apology was too late at this point. She quickly tried to scan her items but kept fumbling when the machine wouldn't accept her cash. In my insanity, I put her on an equal level with the pharmacist and decided she was getting what she deserved. More than likely, she didn't realize that we had been forming one line that would go to all check-outs, and I decided I needed to back off. I took the big green bag of Iams to the adjacent check-out and slowly walked out of the store grateful that they had installed automatic doors since I was almost certain someone would have let a regular door slam in my face today. I trudged back to the car while pushing a stray cart or two out of the way and into the cart caddy where they belonged.

I know a good man really isn't hard to find, and this is the first and probably the only time this will happen to me. The poor guy seemed bitter, and while it wasn't fair to me I happened to be the one who got him stirred up. For all I know, his wife left him this morning or he found out his daughter was doing drugs. Does that still give him a reason to be an a-hole? Of course not. Was it reason enough for me to be an a-hole to the skinny chick that cut line in front of me? Absolutely.

GO . . . . Roadrunners!!

The Roulhac's Roadrunners (oh yes, my child's preschool has a mascot) recently held their Field Day, and, oh my goodness, Mimi thought she was Homecoming Queen. Since her little toddler class couldn't quite get it together to actually compete in anything, they were in charge of the opening ceremony parade. When the door opened I saw a group of shy little ones carefully taking steps down the sidewalk very unsure of what was going on. And then I heard someone say, "Look at the little blonde one with all the necklaces -- she thinks this is a race," and I knew it had to be mine. Mimi busted through the middle of the pack pumping her arms and moving her little feet as fast as her Keds would allow. And then she saw all her fans (Mommy, Daddy, Poppaw, and BeBe), squealed to the top of her lungs, and did a Forrest Gump, which was run away as fast as she could . . . and then run back to us . . . and then run away. You get the idea. Maybe you can tell from the photo below that her arms are a very important part of her running -- she always looks like she's the next Jane Fonda doing cardio when she runs.And she indeed had more leis thand anyone else because, well, she had stolen both Emerson's and Riley's. Little klepto. She appeared a little confused about what all the flags and games were about and didn't seem to care that her class didn't qualify to participate. She participated anyway . . . my favorite was when she "competed" in the tunnel race while another child was already in the tunnel. The four of us tried many times to contain her energy, and then a group of grannies on the front row yelled at me to leave her alone. Geez.
These two cutie pies are Mimi's friends Emerson and Will.

She has such a funny relationship with them that I guess seems to work in their own little toddler world. Mimi is so excited to see "Emmy" (as she calls her) every day, and has a nervous breakdown when she leaves for the day. Emmy is her favorite person at school by far, and she talks about her all the time . . . yet according to her teachers they don't interact at all while at school.
Will just turned two this past weekend and Mimi has been singing "Happy to you, Wee-all" since then. Clint's mom, Shug, had a bday Monday, and Mimi could only sing "Happy to you, Wee-all." I guess everyone's bday will have to also be Will's. Anyway, she and Will greet each other almost every day with a nice, firm shove and telling each other no . . . and then they get tickled and smile. Clint has actually witnessed Will (who is about twice Mimi's size) push Mimi and then she takes off and tackles him to the ground. Is this flirting? If so, they've got it bad.

I just can't get over how wild my pretty little pint-sized girl is. I spoke with my brother Bobby today, who has a little one just a few weeks older than Mimi. He lives in California and has been completely swamped with grad school and teaching for the past few years, so we have only gotten together once since having the girls. There is absolutely no denying he is my brother -- when he had long hair several years ago my dad accidentally thought he was me from the back! On the other hand, his little girl Oriana takes after her gorgeous Peruvian mother and has black hair, almond-shaped brown eyes, and beautiful olive skin -- she is also probably a foot taller than my little munchkin. The funny thing is that when Bobby and I exchange stories it's as if we are talking about the same child. They both love cartoons, vegetables, and being absolutely the wildest children at the playground . . . so I guess it runs in the Nixon family!

And for a baby boy Darby update since I already feel like I'm neglecting the pregnancy of my second little one (I hear this is normal so don't judge me too harshly!). He is kick, kick, kicking me nonstop. I'm pretty sure he might be the only child in this world that might be able to run faster than Mimi because he is getting in lots of practice in my belly. Mimi was fairly active when I was pregnant with her, but this little monkey has her beat already -- all hours of the day and night. I can already see distinct movements from the outside, which makes this all just a little too real. If it's a sign of what's to come, I'm screwed. Other than the gymnastics, my latest doctor's appointment was great -- good heartbeat and all is well. For the record, both my son and daughter have had similar heartbeats throughout, so whatever old lady wants to say fast is a certain gender and slow is another doesn't really know what she's talking about. The same goes for how I have carried them -- they've both been really low -- and the food cravings are similar, the sleep patterns, the length of my nausea, when I began getting more energy, etc. It's all very similar. The differences are subtle.

And I think everyone should copy and save this pic to add as your desktop background. I get a good chuckle everytime I open my computer:)

By the way, Miss Priss decided to completely surprise us by using the potty last night. We were at her friend Hadley's house, and Mimi found out that Miss Hadley, who just turned two, has just been potty trained. "Potty" was Mimi's word of the night after this, so Clint decided to place her on it after her bath. and Ta Dah! (one of Mimi's new favorite phrases) she did it. For this she was rewarded some M&M's or "nima nima nims" as she likes to call them. I know it's a little too early for all this business, and although she acted like she wanted to try again tonight nothing happened. That's fine by me because being potty trained is just one more step away from being a baby and, well, that just not something I'm ready for yet.

You're Gonna Miss This

As mentioned in the previous post, I soaked up quite a bit of country music on my road trip today. Don't worry, people, this isn't a new trend for me. I still normally prefer the more alternative tunes, but if I'm driving through farmland and small towns that only have one redlight and a gas station with no credit card reader then George Strait seems a little more appropriate.

One issue I have with country music is how before I know it I am crying like a baby. I like to blame it on the pregnancy, but the truth is that this has always happened. Taylor Swift sings about being 15, and it's like she ripped out a page of my old pink diary. Keith Urban sings about a man losing his wife to cancer or a song reminding him of a deceased young friend, and I can't wipe my eyes fast enough. So by the time Trace Adkins sang about a daughter wishing away the best days of her life, I had zero mascara left on my lashes . . .

You're gonna miss this,
you're gonna want this back,
you're gonna wish these days
hadn't gone by so fast.
These are some good times,
so take a good look around.
You may not know this now,
but you're gonna miss this.

What I really want to hold on to right now is Mimi's stage in life. She's so funny and sweet and silly and bad all at the same time, and I want to hold on to every little piece of it. I want to hold on to how she depends on us for so much. That she wakes up every morning saying, "Mommy, Mommy, Up! Daddy! Mommy!" and that "up" actually means get me out or put me down. That this morning I heard her cackling in her crib and saying, "Spike! Ru Ru! He he he" because she heard the dogs barking. That she knows what a Baskin Robbins is and says "I Cweam!" every time she sees one.


That she is trying so hard to sing now and makes up words. "Sammy Days . . . . a-waaay . . . . . meeeet . . . . . Se-ame Stweet!" I have to remember that she claps her hands and says "Bah!" and not "Yay" at the end of every song. That she screams out her ABC's at random times and gets at least half of them right, but I have to remember that my favorite part is when she says, "L a-baba P!"

I want to remember that her best friends are Emerson and Hadley, and she gets very sad and upset when either has to leave her, but she LOVES to play Ring Around the Rosies with them and yells "Ash-y, ash-y, all fall down! That she does a pretty cute fish impression and showed it to the butcher at Whole Foods. That she will sling her felt Easter bag over her shoulder, grab my finger, and say, "Come on, Mommy, let's go!" I also have to remember that she loves to grab my finger and pull me everywhere . . .little Miss Bossy Pants.

I want to hold on to the way she has sad times and wants to lay her fuzzy head on my chest and suck her fingers while clinging her baby. To our ritual of snuggling on the couch while watching Sesame Street when we get home every day and Clifford before bedtime (or Pippord as she calls him). How she doesn't argue with me about what she wears but is very picky about the order of how she eats her food . . . and the funny faces she makes as she crams food in her mouth.I want to remember that she is just starting to pretend to feed her baby doll and wash her hands in her kitchen and make soup for her daddy to try. That she likes to turn up an old travel coffee cup we let her play with and exclaim, "Mmm, good coppee. Yummy!" That she flips over on her belly in the tub and says, "I swimming," and then splashes water all over me. That she gets really excited when she hears a train or sees an airplane. That I accidentally taught her how to say, "Oh, crap." Well, it came out more like, "Oh, cwap." That when I put her new red sandals on her that she was so happy and yelled, "Oh, shoes!," . . . and then she cried on the playground when she couldn't walk for so many rocks being stuck in those red sandals. That she calls barns and farm animals "EIEIO's."
I want to hold on to this time where she still thinks Mommy and Daddy are the greatest. Where we can take away all her worries with a tight hug, and she quickly forgets bumping her head or falling down. It is going by too fast . . .

Travel Notes

Once a month I must reach out to my GI offices in Kentucky, which requires an overnight stay in Paducah. Since I've been doing this for almost five years -- and have been complaining like a brat for almost five years -- I decided today will be the day to lose the bad attitude and take my own advice. I choose to work and send my child to preschool, so I better make the most of every single second. The reason I say "take my own advice" is that I have heard more than normal complaining lately, and I have chosen to not let it get me down. Instead I have been trying my best to build up other coworkers, my spouse, and my friends and talk them into letting go of the negativity . . . but I digress.

As I tried to book my regular room in Paducah, I discovered the hotel was booked solid . . . along with every other hotel in the area. I called and found out this is the week of the famous Quilting Show (I'm sure you've all been looking forward to it), and the entire city of Paducah is engulfed in grannies in appliqued cat sweaters. So I decided Murray might be a good alternative. I've never stayed there, and it appears to be a neat little college town. No worries.

After a very long day of zig-zagging across west Tennessee and listening to country music and annoying discussions about 4/20 and legalizing weed (I mean, who even has time to smoke weed? It seems like such a hassle), I finally arrived in Murray at the Holiday Inn. I had booked my normal room -- 2 queen beds. The two beds are extremely important; one bed to sleep on and the other to eat on. I used to eat at a good Italian restaurant in Paducah, but I always felt like they pitied me because I was eating by myself. I have zero problem eating by myself because I usually surf the web, but I don't want to make others uncomfortable. So now my routine consists of ordering take-out, putting on pjs and my hair in a ponytail on top of my head, and watching too much TV. I plan my trips on Tuesdays so I can watch American Idol and Lost, and in Kentucky Oprah is shown at 9:00 PM. Oh, goody!

So I organized my things in the room (step 1), finished up my work (step 2), and then proceeded to open the curtains to let in the sunshine (step 3) . . . only to find a trailer park. And we're not talking the clean senior citizen kind like one might find in California. Oh no. We're talking My Name is Earl with random auto parts, children's broken toys, aluminum foil in the windows, and waaaay too close for my comfort. Close curtains (my new step 4).

The guy downstairs suggested I order sushi from a local Japanese restaurant, and my sister actually recommended the same place today. Decision made. I discovered this restaurant was in the same strip mall as a Check into Cash AND a Big Lots, but I didn't let that scare me. A man in the elevator in the hotel was smiling when he saw my bag of sushi, and he asked, "Gourmet meal?" I told him my only other option was Captain D's, and he agreed I made the best decision.

As soon as I had on the pjs and hair Pebbles-style, I searched the TV for Lost. I passed the stars dancing, the crying fat people show, and even the Catholic channel with a nun reciting scripture, but no Lost. Then I realized it was 7:00 and Lost doesn't come on until 8:00 -- whew. So I tuned to American Idol and muted about half of it. Tim, it's time to go. Little skinny guy, that flying song is soo high school talent show. Ponytail cowboy, I would never buy your cd. I LOVE that Lee sang Simon and Garfunkel, but seriously, can we just cut the crap and give Crystal the Ford Focus?

I love that when I opened my bag o' sushi I discovered the waitress put in enough soy sauce and chopsticks for 3 people. I guess she assumed there's no reason for a person my size to order that much food, but maybe she failed to see the bump emerging from my shirt. As I bit into a roll the size of my head (deep-fried, no doubt), I realized something was terribly wrong. Thorough inspection led me to discover the chef had substituted jalepeno for avocado. Since this is Kentucky, I guess he thought I wouldn't know the difference. But I have news for him . . . I'm from Mississippi:)

Now that I have killed a good amount of time, I will shut up and watch Lost. I'm really sorry that there are no photos of Mimi in something pink, but maybe I'll get to it during Oprah. As for now, I'm going to take advantage of the cushy bed that I do not have to make up in the morning and the pillows actually labeled "soft" and "firm." I'm going to enjoy not cleaning up after myself and not feeling the need to unload the dishwasher or pick up Disney Princess teacups or half-eaten crayons. I'm going to sleep a little later than normal and not rush to get my shower and clothes ironed before a little fuzzy-headed blonde yells, "Mommy, up!" Will I miss Miss Fuzzy Head? You better believe it, but I'm going to let Clint enjoy his special time with her and let me enjoy the view of the trailer park.

A Little Less Talk . . .

I had a million and ten things I wanted to write about this time, but it's taken me too long to collect my thoughts. With that being said, here are lots and lots of photos and not a lot of jibber jabber . . .

The Easter basket . . . but the fake grass seems much more interesting than the loot. My sister's family has begun the tradition of spending Easter Sunday with us in Memphis, and these are her funny kiddos Courtney and Nick.

I finally made something that isn't pink for baby Connor! And, yes, the name is 99% official -- Connor Wilson Darby. "Wilson" is my mother's maiden name and Connor, well, it just sounds right.

While I'm on the subject of sewing, I made a fun crayon apron for Mimi's friend Hadley for her big 2nd birthday. She looked like such a mommy wearing an apron!

And this is my favorite outfit I've made for Mimi. Thankfully it will be too hot for ruffle pants soon, which will force me to make something else. Don't you worry -- I have plans.

I L-O-V-E little girls! Mimi is starting to actually play with not just around other children now, and it's so funny watching her figure out the whole social thing. Our friends Emeri and Brad watched Mimi recently and took adorable photos of these sweet little girls. Well, sweet sometimes. Emerson likes to "box out" when Mimi is in her way, and Mimi is very good at pushing and stealing toys . . . silly little things. At least here they were sharing a moment of peace while eating cookies and watching the Wiggles.