I kept a journal during my silent retreat last weekend at Holy Cross Abbey. Here’s what I wrote.


Saturday, July 24

Last night I walked 2 1/2 miles. It’s been a long time since I did that. Especially in virtual solitude. Encountered one other walker and one truck the whole time. I kept thinking “this is the countryside” and wishing I could show Zoe, who’s been asking constantly about the countryside and what wild animals roam through it at night. Lots of cows grazing, including some splashing and drinking in a stream just a few feet from the road. Butterflies, bugs, dead bugs. Sun setting. Moon rising.

When I came back to the retreat house I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Another retreatant was there looking for ice to fill her McDonald’s cup (a forbidden item according to the instructions in our rooms). She and I spoke briefly about the ice. I offered her some water when I was pouring mine and she said she had drinks in her room. More contraband! Also a nun listening to headphones was in the kitchen making herself a PBJ. I wondered what she was listening to but of course I couldn’t ask.

The caretaker of the retreat house reminds me of a short Henry Winkler, if Henry Winkler were playing the role of caretaker of a retreat house at a monastery.

I didn’t sleep well. I woke up a lot. Maybe because I had contemplated waking up for the 3:30 vigils service but didn’t commit to going. It sounds like it would be cool but I think my sleep is more pressing.

I did attend the 7:30 compline service last night, which was new to me. The monks chanted. One of them blew his nose repeatedly. At the end one of the monks used something like a wand or scepter to sprinkle what I assumed to be holy water on all of the monks, then on all of us. That was a first. I don’t think any drops actually reached me, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Last night when I was walking back to my room, I saw the young monk-in-training (I had overheard him telling the nuns that he’s in his third year at seminary) changed form robes into shorts and a t-shirt. I guess when you’re still in training there aren’t strict rules about wearing your monk outfit.

The downside to the silence is I have a lot of questions that remain unanswered and I don’t get to know anyone’s stories.

I think the best thing so far is I don’t have to do anything. For anyone. I’m only accountable to myself. When was the last time that was the case? Ever?

I kept a journal during my silent retreat last weekend at Holy Cross Abbey. Here’s what I wrote.


July 23, 2010

5:30pm

Why on earth am I here? After the tour of the retreat guest house I feel like crying. I wonder why I didn’t go visit Melissa in Charlottesville instead. This seems like a really strange place for me to be. I have no idea what I will do with my time for the next 40some hours. I was surprised to learn there are rooms for talking. I’m not sure how I feel about having an out. Although really, who would I talk to? On the check-in sheet most people seem to be priests or nuns. Again, how did I end up here?

I stopped in Purcellville at the Giant to pee and bought Wheat Thins and clementines. Being possibly pregnant, I wanted to be prepared. When I arrived, I felt like I was smuggling in contraband.

There’s a tv and dvd player here, in one of the rooms down the hall where you’re allowed to talk. Why? Who goes on a silent retreat and watches dvds? I’m hoping for a storm to watch instead.

The first liturgical service of the day is at 3:30am. Flashlights are provided if you want to walk the quarter mile to the chapel. I can’t imagine getting up that early. But at least it would be cooler out. It’s expected to be 101 tomorrow, at least at home.

There are no keys for the doors here. You can lock from the inside but have to trust no one will go into your room while you’re out.

People probably do not have sex here.

I asked about spiritual direction from a monk, as advertised on the website, and learned that the monk who had done that here died last month. He was 91. People had been coming back for 30 years to talk with him. Bad timing on my part. No spiritual direction for me this weekend.

There is a gift shop here. The monks make fruit cake. They probably don’t sell t-shirts. [Here I sketched a picture of a person wearing a shirt that says I SURVIVED A SILENT RETREAT AT HOLY CROSS ABBEY.]

Maybe the reason I’m here is to sleep.

The process of potty training my daughter possesses surprising similarities to how I felt about sex when I was in high school. I had always known what sex was, thanks to a book my parents gave me when I was eight called Where Did I Come From? There was no mystery there. What I didn’t understand, until embarrassingly late in the game, was all the other stuff that happens before you get to the baby-making stage. In much the same way, I’ve always known that potty training is the transition from diapers to underwear, and there are bound to be accidents along the way, but I never knew (until now) what happens in between. I’m beginning to feel initiated.

What happens in between seems to be, like sex, different for everyone. I’m a consummate collector of other parents’ tips and tricks and in recent weeks I’ve learned that some kids get it in three days while for others it takes three months. I’ve learned that, continuing the analogy, there are many, many techniques and it’s hard to tell what might work for you until you try it. What works for Zoe seems to be many, many stickers and many, many presents. Zoe may be a three-year-old incarnation of the Material Girl, without the backup dancers.

In theory, we’ve been potty training for over a year now. When she turned two Zoe started exhibiting all the readiness signs I had read and heard about. We bought a little potty seat and a potty ring (the kind you put on top of the regular toilet so the child doesn’t fall in) for our house and for Fuzzy and Poppy’s house. We switched to pull-ups (basically expensive diapers shaped like underwear that children can hypothetically take on and off themselves). We started encouraging Zoe to go potty before bed. She was enthusiastic and willing. I thought maybe that would be it. I had heard legends of children who decide on their birthday that they’re too old for diapers and quit cold turkey. Ha. Not Zoe.

So for a year the potties in our house were primarily recreational. Zoe peed in them when she felt like it, mostly at bedtime or if one of her parents was using the toilet as well. But mostly she used her diapers. And we didn’t push it, having heard that forcing potty training is guaranteed to permanently traumatize you and your child. Then, as we approached Zoe’s third birthday, we thought we should get serious.

The month prior to her birthday, I took a potty training workshop. I sat there in a room with dozens of other parents of children ages two to four who were trying to figure out how to start, how to make progress, or how to finish getting their kids out of diapers. I felt reassured that we weren’t the only parents whose child had not magically trained herself. I took copious notes. Then the instructor mentioned that ideally you should keep major life changes (like potty training) eight to 12 weeks apart for kids. Zoe was scheduled to have eye surgery two weeks after her birthday. I didn’t want to overwhelm Zoe with stress, for sure, but I also couldn’t stand the thought of waiting until summer to tackle this daunting challenge. The instructor said we could introduce some of the concepts, but not to force the issue. We decided to be low-key.

So for a few weeks we talked potty a lot. We told Zoe she was the only person who knew when she needed to go to the bathroom, and we couldn’t figure that out for her. We discussed the virtues of underwear and the downside of diapers. The moment she turned three Zoe started referring to herself as a big kid and started asking questions like “what did I used to do when I was a little kid.” So we seized on that, talking about how big kids use the potty and wear underwear. And it worked. A little.

She increased her use of the potty, and begged to wear underwear. But she would pee in her underwear moments after she put it on, and didn’t seem to notice, or be bothered by it. Not so good. The biggest challenge was that she couldn’t be bothered to interrupt her playing to use the bathroom. Playing was her priority, understandably. We realized she had to make the switch in her head that it was more uncomfortable to wear a dirty diaper than it was inconvenient to take a potty break.

We laid off for a while, until summer. We supplied Fuzzy and Poppy and Zoe’s day care provider with many extra outfits and many pairs of underwear. We started putting Zoe on the potty a couple times an hour. We put underwear on her first thing every morning, even if it meant going through 10 pairs of underwear a day. We realized this was not going to happen in three days. We did a lot of laundry. We returned to Target a few times to buy more underwear. In case you were wondering, the fashionable varieties currently available include Elmo, Hello Kitty, Dora, and Tinkerbell. And apparently there are several Tinkerbells of different ethnic backgrounds, which I don’t really understand but I think is cool.

Knowing that Zoe responded extremely well to incentives (bedtime bedlam and drop-off drama had both been cured this way), we started offering a sticker for every time she went potty and her underwear was dry. At the end of the day, or after a certain amount of stickers, or after some other period of time depending on which parent was currently on watch, she got a present. This is proving to be slightly more expensive than I had anticipated. Fortunately I have a cache of treats in the closet, and I found a cool new toy store. And Zoe is extremely pleased with almost any kind of present.

At first I was worried that it would never happen. But over the past few weeks she has made amazing progress. She’s asked to use the potty at the grocery store, the library, and four times when we went to lunch with friends this week. She’s kept her underwear dry all day several days, and pooped in the potty many times. She even fell in the toilet today at my parents’ house and was extracted unscathed and held in her pee while my mom cleaned her up. Only a few pairs of underwear have had to be trashed. She’s only peed on the floor during a playdate once. My mom reported that she went to the bathroom about two dozen times today, and actually used the toilet about half of those times. But she’s definitely thinking about it, and getting it, and excited about it. Which is exciting to us. We still have work to do. Most of the time she goes it’s at our encouragement, but every day she takes more initiative. So she’ll be getting more stickers and more presents in the coming weeks. But I’m feeling confident that in September when she starts Montessori preschool she’ll be proudly sporting her stylish underwear like a big kid who can hardly remember what it was like to wear diapers. She’ll ask “did I wear diapers when I was a little kid?” And I’ll say “yes, can you believe it?”

This is the second in my series of interviews of local business owners for the Columbia Pike Revitalization Organization.

One day a young man walked into Eye Site Optometrists because he’d lost his glasses. He complained of blurry vision, dizziness, and fainting spells, which he attributed to not being able to see without his glasses. Dr. Linh Hoang-Braley, the owner of Eye Site Optometrists, started to give him an eye exam. She checked his vision and determined the right prescription for new glasses. Then she noticed his optic nerve was swollen. She stopped the exam and checked his blood pressure, which turned out to be sky high. Dr. Linh immediately sent the patient to the emergency room, where he discovered that he was experiencing kidney failure and required dialysis to save his life. 
Who knew that optometrists kept blood pressure cuffs on hand? What Dr. Linh loves about being an optometrist, and what she wishes people better understood about her profession, is that optometrists have medical training too. They’re not just people in white coats who give you glasses. Dr. Linh also works closely with a team of doctors who specialize in laser surgery, retinas, glaucoma, and cataracts, among other eye diseases, and follows up with patients who she refers.
“We look at your eye as a whole. Your eye tells us a lot about what’s going on inside your body,” she explains. “Optometrists’ training is very similar to medical students’. We learn topics such as anatomy, microbiology, biochemistry, neurology, and pharmacology. We cut a cadaver and study the pathways of nerves and organs. It’s like the workload of a medical student, but with more emphasis on the head and neck and treatment of eye diseases.” Dr. Linh says the main difference between optometrists and ophthalmologists is that optometrists do not perform surgery. Optometrists are similar to general physicians because they are gatekeepers to specialists, typically ophthalmologists who can perform surgery for problems related to eye diseases.
“It’s fun being a doctor to find problems and solve them,” Dr. Linh explains. “What I love about being an optometrist is that I can be a doctor and a business owner. I enjoy helping patients with not only prescribing their eyeglasses or contact lenses, but also talking to them about their overall health. I will go 100% to help the patient. You can’t afford to miss anything.”
The diverse responsibilities of diagnosing diseases, running a business, and selling glasses and contact lenses make for interesting workdays for Dr. Linh. She bought the practice, which had operated on Columbia Pike for 15 years, in 2003. Previously the practice existed as an optometrist’s office operating separately but alongside an optical retailer. When Dr. Linh took over she combined the two. 
She also combined the skills and savvy she had acquired throughout many years of working during the week for an ophthalmologist in private practice and on the weekends for a large national optical chain. From the ophthalmologist Dr. Linh had learned the art of working and developing relationships with patients, conducting thorough exams to understand how diseases present themselves, and seeing how patients improved after treatment. Meanwhile, at the corporate optical chain, management was more concerned with running an efficient operation, which meant measuring how many pairs of glasses and contacts employees sold daily rather than whether patients received comprehensive eye care or were diagnosed correctly. Dr. Linh took the best elements of both her experiences when she opened Eye Site Optometrists.
Eye Site Optometrists is a full-service optometrist, providing comprehensive eye exams, a full optical lab, and a wide selection of quality eyeglasses and sunglasses. Dr. Linh is available for laser surgery co-management, dry eye therapy, and specialty contact lens fittings to meet needs such as astigmatism, multifocal, and keratoconus. Eye Site Optometrists is located at 2805 Columbia Pike in Arlington. Its hours are Monday through Friday 10am to 6pm. Learn more at www.eyesiteoptometrists.com or call 703.486-2620

Based on an interview I conducted with Dr. Fred Jones, owner of Arlington Animal Hospital, this piece is the first in a series of profiles I’m writing of Columbia Pike business owners for the Columbia Pike Revitalization Organization. This kind of piece was really what I had in mind when I started the blog, but I digressed. Stay tuned for profiles of yoga studio owner and optometrist.



A little Jack Russell Terrier came to see Dr. Frederick Jones one day with a serious problem. The dog had ingested a bottle of Gorilla Glue, which, according to Dr. Jones, “binds and expands.” Dr. Jones took the dog into surgery and opened his stomach. He removed “a giant ball of glue, in the shape of the stomach. It was really cool.” Afterward, the veterinarian reports, “the dog did great.”
Dr. Jones has always loved animals and knew when he was 12 that he wanted to become a veterinarian. He started working as a kennel assistant when he was 15. Years later he is an accomplished vet and the new owner of Arlington Animal Hospital located at 2624 Columbia Pike, near the intersection of Columbia Pike and Walter Reed Drive. 
Arlington Animal Hospital was founded in 1938 by Dr. CK Francis who built an apartment upstairs from the clinic for his family to live in. The apartment is still owned by the Francis family and now occupied by another hospital staff member. One of Dr. Francis’ sons, David, became a vet and took over the practice with a partner, Dr. V. Wayne Kimbal. Later the practice had another owner, Dr. Kay Young, who had also known the elder Dr. Francis. Dr. Young sold the practice to Dr. Jones in 2009 and has stayed on as a veterinarian.
Perhaps because of the continuity of vets and owners and the community culture at the Hospital, patients’ owners have been very loyal. “I’ve met some people who have told me they’ve been bringing their dogs here for 10, 20, 30, or 40 years,” Dr. Jones said. “One thing I’ve noticed about Arlington Animal Hospital is the sense of community here is tremendous.” While many patients live in the neighborhood, they also come back to the Hospital after moving to Alexandria or DC. Dr. Jones said the relationship of patient and owner to vet is much like humans with their family doctors.
“You know the animal,” he said. “There’s a comfort level a lot of people have with a veterinarian they’ve had a long relationship with. And animals do recognize you when they’ve been coming for several years. They’re happy to see you and you’re happy to see them.”
Before coming to Arlington, Dr. Jones worked at Woodbridge Animal Hospital, a larger facility open 24 hours that employs 11 doctors and 75 staff. While he enjoyed his experience there, Dr. Jones knew he wanted to one day own his own practice. Arlington Animal Hospital operates with a staff of 9, including three veterinarians and six assistants and receptionists.
“This type of hospital has more of a homey feel to it,” Dr. Jones explained. “It’s personal. You walk in and know everyone by name and all their pets by name. You stand out front and chat. It’s a welcoming and comforting place. If there’s someone waiting in the waiting room the receptionist is often on the floor playing with the dog or cat. I like that culture.”
While Dr. Jones values the time he spends with dogs and cats and their owners, he now spends a fair amount of time learning the business side of running an animal hospital. “It’s a lot to digest,” he said. “I could have read any number of books, but really you aren’t going to figure it out until you’re doing it.” He recruited a veterinary consultant to provide advice and support on running the practice. 
The Hospital sees between 300 and 400 dogs and cats each month. Dr. Jones sees patients Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturday and Tuesday mornings. The rest of his time is dedicated to administrative work. 
His heart is always with the animals. “It’s such a rewarding job,” Dr. Jones said. “When I see a dog or a cat that is sick and I can help them or make them better, that’s the best feeling in the world for me. We really strive to give them the best possible medicine and care that we can. That makes the owners want to come back.”
Dr. Jones has noticed an increase in how much owners are willing and able to spend on their pets, and believes the advent of pet health insurance is a positive thing. “People are treating their pets more like family. They’re willing to do things they wouldn’t have done years ago because of the way our society has developed. Why not? They deserve to have good lives too? Our interest is the best interest for our pets.” 
The Hospital is not a 24-hour clinic, so it doesn’t board sick animals. While the clinic’s storefront is narrow, the space is large inside and stretches back to the parking lot behind it. An enclosed outdoor exercise area adjacent to the hospital provides a place for dogs to run. “If there’s slow time,” Dr. Jones explained, ”we take dogs outside and toss a ball. It’s a bit of a concrete jungle but they can stretch their legs.”
Seeing a dog run and play is a great sign of his health. Dr. Jones recalled one dog he treated who had a malignant tumor on his leg. “I told his owner, ‘it hasn’t spread. Amputate his leg and he’ll do fine. He can live a great life.’ The man didn’t want to do it, and was worried his dog wouldn’t be the same. He thought about it for a while and ended up agreeing. Several months later he brought the dog in for a routine checkup. The dog was doing great. The owner said, ‘he runs faster on three legs than he did on four!’”
Arlington Animal Hospital is open Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday from 8am to 8pm, Wednesday from 8am to 4pm, and Saturday from 8am to 2pm. The Hospital is currently accepting new patients. Visit www.myarlingtonvet.com or call 703-920-5300.

Yesterday as I was pushing Zoe in the grocery cart across the parking lot to our car, she suddenly said “I can’t feel a thing.” I asked what she was talking about. “The cream that Dr. Gavaris put on my eyebrow worked. I can’t feel a thing. It didn’t hurt when he took the stitches out.”

Taking the stitches out, and the numbing cream that preceded it, happened last Thursday afternoon. I guess Zoe was replaying the event in her head, and she remarked on it as if it had just happened, or was happening again. This startled me.

Zoe has healed remarkably well from the surgery. Physically she was back to herself within a day, with only occasional moments of mild pain during the week that followed. She was energetic and eager to play. In fact, one of the week’s biggest challenges was keeping her (and me) from going crazy inside, since she was under doctor’s orders not to go out, at least anywhere where she could hurt herself or get sand or dirt in her eye.

What no one discussed with us, and what we hadn’t thought to anticipate, was her emotional healing. Randy and I have both had surgeries and know that they are both physically and emotionally draining. We don’t really know anything about how three-year-olds handle such things. But apparently we’re learning.

One way Zoe is handling it is by getting angry. A new and unwelcome phase of pouting began a few weeks prior to the surgery, and has escalated, in part I think, as a reaction to it. If something happens that she doesn’t like, she will walk away and fold her arms and make it clear to us that she is keeping her distance. She will often say “I’m not going to talk to you” or “I’m not going to do anything fun.” Last weekend after she had played with Randy for a couple hours while I was upstairs cleaning, she became irritated when Randy came upstairs to talk with me and we were no longer focusing our attention on her. For some odd reason she started licking a tupperware container that was in the room and I told her to stop, saying it was disgusting to lick things that aren’t food. A few minutes later she was back downstairs and yelled up to us “It’s disgusting when you don’t play with me!”

She is acutely aware of her anger and is trying to navigate it. Recently she said “it’s great when I’m happy and in a good mood and I want to do fun stuff, but when I’m really angry or sad I don’t want to do anything fun. I don’t know how to make those bad feelings go away.” Good question. We brainstormed with her about possible things she could do or we could do with her to make the bad feelings go away. The only option she seemed to like was we could play together. Certainly, that’s a good option, but not always possible. I don’t know if she gets so upset when we’re not playing with her because she’s three and wants the attention, or because she’s feeling extra vulnerable, or both.

Zoe has also asked a lot of questions about the surgery, including why she had to have it. We’ve done our best to explain. She frequently looks in the mirror to inspect her eyes and comments about how the left one opens wide and the right one doesn’t open as much. This is true. When we went to the doctor for the follow-up visit to get her stitches out, she absorbed everything. Afterward, she quizzed me about what the doctor had said. To take the stitches out, the doctor asked me to sit in the chair and hold Zoe, and he tilted the chair back. The nurse stood to assist and stroked Zoe’s leg while I held her. Zoe didn’t make a sound. The nurse said she was taking deep breaths. At least something I’ve taught her has sunk in. As we were leaving the office she announced in the waiting room “it’s fun to get your stitches out! I’m a brave little patient!” And she was.

Yesterday she was back at school, and I was volunteering in her class. She told her teacher bits and pieces about her surgery, including how the breathing mask smelled like a ring pop, and how it made her fall asleep after she held it on her face, and how she didn’t really want it on her face. Her teacher asked her how brave she had been and she held her arms out as wide as they could go and said “this brave!”

Last night I picked her up at my parents’ house and hugged her and kissed her. I guess I accidentally kissed somewhere near her left eye, because she said “Mommy, don’t kiss my eye. I had surgery.” Oh right.

At the moment Zoe is lying on the floor, wearing her pink polka-dotted Hello Kitty rain boots, watching her new Sid the Science Kid dvd, rolling a ball around, and hugging Ralph. She ate a little lunch, downed her tylenol and antibiotic, allowed us to apply goop to her stitches, and devoured a vanilla pudding reward. Today has already been a much better day than yesterday.

When she woke up this morning, after sleeping through the night (no puking!) she called us in. “Mommy! Come in here! There’s a big problem!” Uh oh. I jumped out of bed and ran into her room. She was sitting up in bed. I asked what the problem was. “My flower night light wasn’t on last night!” Whew. Not actually a big problem. I explained that we didn’t turn the flower night light on because it’s pretty bright (lest you worry that she was in the dark, she also has a turtle night light, a cow night light, and a Tinkerbell night light that were on) and her eyes were very sensitive to light yesterday. She said “when I was falling asleep, and I saw the flower night light wasn’t on, I said ‘oh man!'”

Her energy level is definitely back to normal. We were expecting maybe 50% after she was at zero yesterday following the surgery, but she ramped up to 100% after a good night’s sleep. Her resilience is impressive. Today we’ve played legos, play kitchen, and dolls. And watched some tv. I have completely abandoned my usual guilt feelings about the tv because I think the sitting still is good for her and using both her eyes.

Looking at her eyes is kind of unsettling. Not because of the stitches, which are scabbing over. But because she doesn’t look like herself. For three years we’ve known that her eyelids were droopy, and that the ptosis in her left lid was more severe. But that’s just the way she was. Sometimes her left eye opened more than other times. Now her left eye is open, and open wide. And her right lid, which always seemed normal, now seems like it’s less open than the left. It’s kind of freaking me out. The doctor said that her right lid will probably lower a little as time goes on, but it’s unlikely they’ll be exactly even. It seems so strange to see her eyes uneven now because it wasn’t just the way she was born, it was something that was done to her. It’s great that it was done, because she will be able to see better, but it’s still very unsettling.

It is likely that she will have another surgery in a few years, which will probably be on both lids to make them even. Already not looking forward to that, but I’ll try not to think about it. The reason she would have to have another is because the material they used yesterday is artificial, and doesn’t last forever. When she’s older they would use human tissue, either from a cadaver or her own leg. That tissue would grow as she grows and keep her eyelid muscles opening for good. Thinking too much about all that makes my stomach clench and my head swim.

In the meantime, I am so relieved to see her playing and joking around instead of wailing and clutching to us, or throwing up. Hallelujah.

Randy and I are both feeling buoyed by all the love and support and encouragement we’ve received over the past few days. My parents were at the hospital with us yesterday and picked up prescriptions and lunch for us yesterday. Friends have brought us dinners, snacks, and baking soda. Friends took our pukey rug to the dry cleaner. Another friend is bringing her steam cleaner over tomorrow. And the messages of empathy and compassion and love we’ve received by email and on Facebook and by phone have given us much comfort.

We’re supposed to keep Zoe home for a week while her eye heals. Day one is going well. It helps that it’s chilly and rainy so she hasn’t yet asked to go to the playground, which is prohibited because of the sand. She also hasn’t requested a bubble bath, on one of her favorite activities, also prohibited for a few days so soap doesn’t get in her eye. And rejoining her preschool rugby team is definitely out of the question.

But the bulbs we planted in the backyard have started to sprout, and the two little pots of basil have sent tiny green leaves shooting up through the dirt. We will find new things to do to amuse ourselves.

Pictures: top: the day before surgery. middle: waiting for the surgeon. bottom: the day after.

So this weekend we launched Phase I of Tell Zoe About Her Operation. Kind of by accident. Last week I ordered some Caillou videos from Amazon. Caillou is one of Zoe’s favorite shows. It is not one of mine. Mainly because we have seen every Caillou episode that exists, many multiple times. We own two Caillou dvds and we have watched those so many times that I am often tempted to destroy them, or at the very least hide them. But I get the impression that Zoe finds Caillou comforting. So I ordered some new ones for after the surgery.

We arrived home after a family outing to the playground and the package was on our doorstep. Somehow it was opened. Of course, Zoe was excited and wanted to watch immediately. We figured then was as good a time as any to explain.

So we sat her down and said the Caillou videos were a treat for her after the operation she was going to have. I said in a couple weeks we would go to the hospital, just like Franklin (the turtle) goes to the hospital and Curious George goes to the hospital. Zoe loves reading about and playing doctor. We recently got a book from the library called Daisy the Doctor and we’ve all read it to her many times. And she knows Mommy and Daddy and Poppy have all had operations and come home needing to rest, but otherwise ok. So I briefly explained that the doctor was going to work on her eye so it can open more and that will make it easier for her to see. And afterward we’ll go home and watch videos. She said “OK” and slid off my lap to go play.

I imagine this information will be simmering in her brain and she’ll come back soon with questions. Then we’ll launch Phase II, whatever it may be.

It turns out that in addition to being attached to my bank and credit cards, driver’s license, and all those frequent buyer cards that were in my wallet, I was also attached to the wallet itself. I had to buy a new one today after my wallet was stolen last night. The new wallet is a cheerful red, but it seems sad and desolate because it is completely empty. Not even loose change. I doubt I will ever remember all the cards I had in there. Perhaps I didn’t really need them. What I really hope is that they’re in a trash can somewhere, discarded by the wallet thief rather than in use. I would hate to think the thief is on his way to get a free smoothie because my smoothie card already had enough holes punched.

I am reminding myself over and over that it’s a hassle but it’s just a thing. Last night it seemed overwhelming, like yet another item in the list of unfortunate events in my family’s lives as of late. But it’s just a thing. Just a thing. And the police officer who came to make the report and the people at the bank were all very friendly and helpful.

Today Zoe had her 3-year checkup with the pediatrician, who pronounced her healthy. The phone rang today and a new client was on the other end. It’s spring. We have a house. Randy has a job. Zoe wrote her name the other day. These are all infinitely more important than the frustration of losing a wallet. It’s just a thing.

The other night at bedtime Zoe suddenly sat up and very earnestly said to me “Mommy, I really want to have a baby in our family.” Oh man. So do we, Zoe, so do we.

I explained to her that Mommy and Daddy really want a baby in our family too, and that we’re doing our best to make that happen, but that it can take a long time for the baby to appear in Mommy’s belly.

Zoe routinely begins conversations with “When I’m a big sister…” and “When we have a baby we can…” and “This would be a great toy for our baby!” All as if I am pregnant and about to deliver her into big sisterhood any day now. I wish.

When I was pregnant last fall, I hoped that Zoe would catch the big sister vibe from two good friends of ours whose second babies were expected to arrive in November and December. I guess it worked.

Even though she can’t read, Zoe is a keen observer and when we go to the library, she manages to find every available book about babies, having a new baby, and being a big sister or brother. Maybe she does recognize the word sister, or just knows a baby picture when she sees it. Sometimes it wears me out to read all those books about big sisters and new babies. Frequent reminders of what I haven’t yet been able to achieve.

At bedtime she also frequently asks me to tell the story of when she was born, and she has drawn several pictures of me when I was pregnant with her. She even knows the word pregnant.

We hadn’t told her last fall that I was pregnant, precisely because we didn’t want to have to tell her if I suddenly wasn’t, which turned out to be the case. I wonder if we’ll be able to hold off next time (assuming there is a next time, praying and hoping that there is and it is sooner rather than later) because somehow I feel like she’ll sense it with her baby radar and the acute awareness of a big sister in training.

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