The end of a blog

As you’ve probably already realized, I have decided to end this blog.

I want to keep it up, I really do, but having a second child and moving and starting a new job and then still trying to keep up with my other writing projects (including this book I published!) has made it harder and harder to find time to post (even though the kids continue to do funny and confounding things). I want to thank all of you, though, for being such generous readers and for helping me feel less alone in those first years of motherhood. I hate to think what I would have done in my sleep deprived and identity crisis state if I hadn’t had this blog, and all of you.

If you’re interested in keeping up with the kids, I still occasionally post photos on Instagram (@virenees) and share funny stories, in particular odd questions Nico has started to ask, on Twitter (@vurn). Feel free to follow at either site.

And speaking of Nico, I will leave you with a recent revelation she had:

We were walking toward downtown Iowa City (where we’re staying for the summer), and she suddenly stopped, eyes open wide, and said (in Spanish, but I’ll translate), “You know what would be so cool?”

“What?”

“If we had butterfly wings on our butt.”

Flying Solo (with child)

So I went to my 20th year high school reunion last weekend.

I know.

I’m not exactly sure why I did it, outside of a masochistic streak. And then to add challenges to challenges, I decided to bring Frida home with me so she could see my parents. But in booking the flight, I didn’t think about the fact that a) It’s a four-hour flight and b) Frida rarely stays still for more than a minute, when she’s awake.

On the way over, she was a complete angel. Also I was clever enough to breastfeed her as soon as I found my seat, so we ended up with an empty middle seat (this was a Southwest flight), which made things WAY easier. And then, luck upon luck, we were sitting next to a young woman who was on her way to see her new baby nephew, so she was totally into Frida (also she ordered two small bottles of champagne with a splash of orange juice, so might have also been drunk). And Frida was totally in to her. She would do something she thought was clever, like chewing on a bag of airplane nuts or eating Cheerios from the drop-down tray with her mouth instead of her hands (like dog), and each time after doing said clever thing she would look over at the lady and smile triumphantly.

And she managed not to cry once that whole time. Afterwards people on the flight were thanking me and telling me what an angel she was. I was feeling pretty content until one man added, “But you know that means she’ll be a monster then she’s a teenager.”

Thanks, curmudgeon.

On the flight back, I sat next to a woman who had just survived a brain tumor. She had a daughter who had lost a third of her blood in a surgery and developed a life-long debilitation. She added that she doesn’t really like babies. She prefers them once they can talk.

But Frida didn’t seem deterred. We again had the middle seat between us open, and near the end of the flight, she moved over to that seat to try to chew on its arm rests and then, as I was holding her, she leaned over toward that lady and lay her head on her shoulder lovingly. Then she grabbed her boob.

Luckily the lady had a good sense of humor.

And in-between those two flights, Frida got to play with her grandparents and follow her grandparents’ dog, Abby, around with awe. I’m actually not sure who she liked more: the dotting grandparents or the impressive furry thing. My mom got a picture of her cuddling with Abby, which I’ll paste below with some more from the weekend.

And I got to go my 20th year reunion, which reminded me that 20 years later is the same as 20 years before. One woman said to me, “Yeah, you were always kind of doing your own thing, no?” Which I think was a nice way of saying, “You didn’t really have any friends, did you?”