1) I grew a toddler, so, yeah, the vacation's over. Rosie started walking (of sorts), so I've got a dainty-gaited kamikaze stepping about, launching herself from the sofa and trying to do pull ups on the countertops.
2) The toddler started chatting. She has no use for the "L" sound. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem for a couple more years at least, except she also developed an affinity for a little stuffed Elmo doll. Or, as she calls him, "Homo." She was very popular when we vacationed in lovely Rehoboth Beach, home to many a rainbow-flag bedecked store. Whenever Rosie dropped Elmo, she cried, "Uh-oh, Homo!" Oh, the distress in her voice, when poor Elmo hit the street. Oh, the number of times he fell. I was both horrified and mortified, as only the mother of a toddler can be.
3) Buzzy turned, as she would tell you, "three and three quarters." Which means, as she would tell you, that she knows a lot of things. Sometimes she thinks she knows more than her mama. So, that's been fun.
4) Buzzy encountered Mean Girls for the first time. Greg dropped her off at a summer program she attended for a few mornings each week, and reported that two little girls had run up to embrace Buzzy upon her arrival. But the tides turned by lunch time. When I stopped by the Brown Room to take her home, she was mopey. I asked her what was wrong, and she quavered, "Chloe said I couldn't play princess with them because I wasn't wearing a dress."
I wasn't expecting to deal with cliques much before fourth grade, but I said something along the lines of, "Oh, honey, she's being silly. You can pretend to be a princess no matter what you're wearing." Buzzy shook her head, crying. "She said I had to be a BOY and wear BROWN PANTS." In my pink-loving, tutu-twirling little girl's world, being a boy who had to wear pants was bad enough, but nothing in her three and three-quarters years had prepared her for brown. She burst into tears. "Chloe and Abby said I couldn't play with them."
I soothed and distracted and finally got her settled, then fired off an email to the camp director, asking if they could remind the three year olds to play nicely with all of their friends. Three year olds! Sheesh. Apparently, Chloe and Abby have a bit of a history. And they are on my list. Forever.
5) Mostly, though we enjoyed a lazier pace with family and friends. Lots of beach time, as the sand in the crevices of my car will attest for the duration of its existence. While traveling with a todder who still doesn't sleep through the night has its challenges, and I am more sleep deprived than I've ever been in my life (which may be why I can't remember more things we did this summer), I'm beginning to see the time when raising my charges may get a little bit easier--at least physically. Chloe and Abby indicate that other arenas are about to get a whole lot more challenging.