One

Dear Mila,

In just a few short hours, at 11:32 am, it will have been exactly one year since you quietly stormed into this world. You were so late to the party, years even, and yet it seems as if you arrived exactly on time. It's like you've always been here and yet there was a hole where you belonged for so long. It's weird this thing you do to time and life. You make them speed up and slow down and flip upside-down.

We wouldn't have it any other way.

In the time that you've been here, you've proven that you have opinions and you're not afraid to use them. For example, you've developed the habit of responding to things like "No" and "Stop that" with a string of "Yes yes yes." You think you're funny, and you are, but you also think you're going to do exactly what you want to do when you want to do it.

It's your world. You just allow the rest of us to live in it.

You're simultaneously fiercely independent and yet refuse to do anything alone. I suppose that's in part because you're so accustomed to having your sister at your beck and call. She is your partner in crime, your source of entertainment, and your best friend. The two of you spend hours giggling at the silliest of things. You were meant to be together.

I hope it's always like that.

Months ago, I was positive we were going to be in big trouble because you became mobile early. And, yet, you haven't taken your first steps. It's a surprising thing that is most likely born of your sudden desire to tell everyone what you think. Those opinions, man. You can't be satisfied with saying "Yes." You also needed to be able to say "dog" and "kitty" and "fish" just in case the "mommamomma" and "dadadada" seemed too complimentary.

Sometimes you use your words correctly, other days you insist the cats are actually dogs. When I remind you that the things with whiskers are "kitty," you correct me. "Dog dog dog dog dog ... god." I'm not sure why you often suddenly reverse the letters, but you do. It's as if you are fully aware that it's the cats who truly rule the world. 

And you. You rule our world as well.

From the giant blue eyes that miss absolutely nothing to the way you have to touch every single thing in your path, you're amazing. We're so very glad you chose to join our little party. I'm glad that you're giving me the opportunity to spend the next several years trying to figure out the right words to tell your story and convey just how amazing you are.

I hope you have the happiest of birthdays, Miss Mila.

Love,

Mommommommom

We've Had Better Traditions

I like traditions. Traditions are good. My favorite traditions revolve around holidays. Fireworks, sparkly lights, Friendsgiving, they all have a very special place in my heart.

And then there is the tradition that revolves around Mila's birth.

It's not my favorite.

Last year, just as Mila came into this world, our air conditioner decided to leave this world. It was a mere ten years old or so, but it was dead. So dead. Given the whole "brand new baby" thing, we had no choice but to pay for repairs.

$1000.

So, that was fun. It was especially fun because I was at the beginning of 9 weeks of unpaid maternity leave and had just incurred approximately a crapton of debt from the whole hospital stay thing.

Now that Mila's birthday is knocking on the front door (which, HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?), our friend the air conditioner has decided to be a jerk again. Well, sort of. Actually, what appears to have happened is that snake slithered into the air conditioner to get warm or cool or whatever and wound up dead. And crispy.

I'm really very sorry for that visual. You should probably be glad I didn't take any photos, mmkay?

Anyway, the snake was the jerk. It was punished mightily for its sins, but not before it did some sort of damage to the inside of the air conditioner. We *think* we know what parts we need to fix it and are going to attempt the repairs ourselves (C'mon Amazon! Hurry up with the shipping!), which means it might not quite reach the level of economic burden our previous fun with air conditioning repairs achieved.

But still.

We're on day two of our annual end-of-May without air conditioning. It's a lovely tradition we have going on, except not really. I think we're going to attempt to find a new way to celebrate Mila's birth. Maybe cake? Cake would be a good way to celebrate.

(If Mila finds it, she puts it around her neck. It doesn't matter what "it" is. It can even be her carrier.)

The Ants Go Marching. Again.

You know how everyone has those things in their house that they pretend not to see? I've got a super long list of them. There's the Easter decorations hanging out above the fireplace. I'm pretty sure there are fur tumbleweeds beneath the dining room furniture. We won't talk about how much of the trim in the house is half-painted.

And then there's the family room carpet. 

It has been on my last nerve since we first moved in, mostly because we screwed up when we moved in. I know I've written about it before, but the short version of the tale is that it was raining in our family room the day we had the house inspection. It's not supposed to rain when you turn on the water to the bathtub, so it was a bad thing. To prevent mold under the carpet when it got all wet, it was pulled up. When the carpet was stretched back out, it wasn't stretched all the way and there was an edge all along the kitchen that wasn't really finished. Give the cats and dogs a day or two and they will, of course, tear at the unfinished edge of carpet. Now there's a gap between the wood floor and the carpet. It comes complete with an exposed row of nails.

In other words, it really needs to be fixed. And by "fixed," I mean we need to run the wood flooring the rest of the way across the house. Alas, the budget has not yet allowed for that project.

So I pretend not to see it.

BUT.

As if I wasn't already working hard to ignore that little part of the house, now there's extra attention being drawn to it. We have a new ant invasion. This time they're coming in through the back of the house and marching along the trim that is in the middle of the needs-to-be-fixed flooring.

It's not a bad invasion, by the way. At any given time you might see five ants total along that carpet edge. So it's not enough ants to make me lose my mind, but it's enough to force me to look at that unfinished carpet approximately 35932753 times per day.

To make matters better, the ants are mocking you, internet.

Since it was a minor invasion, I figured I would give every crazy theory the internet has to offer a try. There is currently a line of cornmeal, a mound of powdered sugar mixed with baking soda, a barrier made of cinnamon, a row of cream of wheat, a borax/sugar mixture fence, and a talcum powder wall all lined up along the point of entry and beyond.

The ants don't care about your crazy theories, internet. The ants are mocking you for thinking any of that would deter and/or kill them. 

Instead of being bothered or deterred by the ridiculous quantity of alleged ant barriers, the ants are happily marching through your mess, pausing to laugh at me, and then continuing on their way. Every day a single lonely ant ventures away from the line of carpet and makes its way to my laptop. Just one ant. Every day. Crawling across my laptop.

So if you'll excuse me, I think I need to go ahead and burn down the house. That seems to be the only rational way to deal with the whole fiasco.