Lydia Marcela Continued

How cute are we? Well, not so much we, as she.

Ok, where were we? Oh yeah, Lydia had come home from the hospital & learned to be a nice girl.

So then, I went back to work, Lydia stayed with Shell's cousin's wife, Tommi, who never really learned the art of letting me be the one to report all of Lydia's miraculous "firsts".

Me: Lydia started rolling over by herself this weekend! Isn't that great?

Tommi: Oh yeah, she started that last Wednesday, didn't I tell you?

Thanks! Whatever.

So once I'd had enough of Super Nanny, we started leaving Lydia with our neighbor, Alma. Oh, how she loved Lydia. However, I don't think I have ever fully acclamated myself to all of the Mexican home remedies, despite being married to a, you know, Mexican. There was an incident where Lydia, at about 20 month old, touched a gas heater and burnt her hand. Not only did I not get a call @ work about it, but I came home that day, and found Lydia with smears of mustard in various places on her body. Apparently, mustard is a tried-and-true home remedy south of the border (along with Vicks Vap-O-Rub and eggs, but those are for another post.) You must be thinking, certainly this was some special medical-grade Mexican mustard. You would be wrong. I think it was French's.

When Lydia was 2 and a half, we moved to Minnesota. In the intervening 5 years, she has, of course, grown, matured, and is a little bit of a joy every single day. She is messy, creative, loud, talented, caring, mouthy, funny, extremely beautiful, energetic, and the 2nd to the tallest in her class (this one by her own report.) She frustrates me, she makes me cry, she makes me laugh. I didn't realize, when I gave birth to her, that I had actually signed up to raise a clone of myself. Seriously, you should see her school picture this year, it looks like I gave birth to my own twin.

Here is why I am in love with Lydia @ this moment. As you may or may not know, I've experienced a bit of a mid-life crisis involving live performances of Bon Jovi (2 concerts in as many months.)

This past Friday evening, Lydia and I were invited to attend a volunteer appreciation event for her Brownie Troop. It was a Totally 80's party, with hors d'oeurves, music, awards, and a special surprise guest. So the evening moves along, and it's getting to the end of the event, and all of a sudden the lights go down, the hard rock fog machine kicks in to high gear. Out comes this miniscule man, in torn jeans, the worst dishwater blond wig you can fathom, and a guitar. He starts strumming away, one Bon Jovi song after the other. He wasn't at all bad, and when he finished, one of the older girls went up and asked for his autograph, you know, just for fun.

So I'm gathering my purse, ready to make our exit, and here comes Lydia with a marker and one of the door prize entry slips. She wants his autograph. And a picture too, if they'll let her. And then I realize, she thinks it's really him. I can't believe I was so dense as to not realize it at first. So we headed home, Bon Jovi autograph in hand. Her only comment? The picture & autograph were better than a door prize. She's telling everyone she knows. Apparently, Bon Jovi has acheived Santa Claus status in our home. So if you talk to her, don't ruin the magic.