My daughter: Dare devil.

We call Kitten many things: lots of derivatives of her real name, plus Trouble Maker, Miss Chievious, Destructo-Girl. And now the latest: Dare Devil.

This morning after we dropped Lovey off at school I ran to the store to grab a few things I needed before the weather changed. I figured I could run in and out and get home in time for the morning nap. Lately Kitten has been very adventurous. I love that about her spirit, but it comes with some dangerous consequences. She has fallen off the bed-twice, crawled into the coffee table-also twice, and catapulted herself off a chair-thankfully I caught her foot before she hit the floor-that time. The grocery cart has become her newest playgroup for exploration. She loves to turn around in the seat and look at the food in the cart behind her. Or try to pull her sister's hair. She has managed to do it even with the seat belt tightly wrapped around her. So today I thought I could occupy her with something in her hands and so I didn't strap her in. Big mistake. HUGE. (Name that movie.) We made it through the store with me redirecting her to sit the whole time. At self check out I was scanning my items when I heard a noise. I turned and Kitten was laying inside the cart! In about five seconds flat she turned around in the seat and fell into the cart. Thank god she didn't decide she wanted something on the floor. I scooped her up and assessed the damage. Thankfully she seemed okay. I calmed her down and held her for the rest of check out. I then had a nice chat with the lady at the self check out next to me about how we get more hurt than they do when they pull stunts like this. She told me to go home and rest. As if. I live with Evil Knevil.

When we got home Kitten had developed some very attractive goose eggs on her forehead to make the one she got yesterday from the coffee table incident. We had a nice snuggle before her nap and I was struck with how her adventurous spirit will continue to rattle my nerves for the rest of my life. But I won't stifle it. I want her to be an explorer and a risk taker. It makes her her. At the same time I couldn't help but think what Edmund Hillary's mother said when he told her he was going to climb Mount Everest. Did he get a "that's nice dear"? Did she tell him to pack a sweater and clean undies? What about Jacques Cousteau's mom? Did she worry that he was going to run out of air? Either way, I know they supported their children and wished them well on their adventures and then prayed hard until they returned to their arms. Obviously, otherwise Edmund and Jacques probably wouldn't have gone to the heights or the depths they went. I'll be sure to let Kitten go where her heart takes her, just as long as it's not over the side of the grocery cart again.

On Lent and giving up.

Today is the first day of Lent which usually has people scrambling around to find something to give up and a quick and dirty way to reflecting and repenting during the season. Every year people vow to give up a vice. Usually something they enjoy, but know its bad for them. Like chocolate, or potato chips. My friend Carol gave up dropping the F-bomb for Lent a few years ago. She loves the word and uses it well, but a bit too often. She, like most people, didn't last too long before she slipped and started using it again. And when she did her response was simple, "I like it." I agree. We "give up" things we enjoy because they're "bad" for us. And then as soon as Lent is over we go back to our old ways.

But really, eating chocolate or chips or uttering the phrase "un-fucking-believable" just feels good. And good in moderation isn't bad. So this year, I think if you are going to give up something that you should give up something that really IS bad for you. Like the crack pipe. (Sorry, bad joke, I've been watching too much Breaking Bad lately.) No really. Give up comparing yourself to a standard that can't be met. Give up scrutinizing yourself in the mirror. Give up self doubt. And vow that when Lent is over you won't go back to your old ways. At the New Year I decided I was going to resolve to give up some self-destructive bad habits. I have stopped: fishing for compliments (If I think I did a good job or that I look good-that's enough), I've stopped passively asking for what I want and actually ask for it, and I've tried to stop the "me too" (you know, when someone is sharing a personal story and rather than validate their feelings you say "me too" there by dismissing their comment). So far, so good. I plan to keep going during Lent and beyond too.

What bad for you thing are you giving up for Lent this year? Don't say potato chips.

You're the survivor.

To say its been a stressful few weeks would be a vast understatement. Our house is still on the market and it seems it will not sell. We are faced with taking it off the market and putting more money into it to get out of it next year. Hopefully. That not the point of the story though, just a little update.

Honey and I had a date night a few weeks ago to get away from the stress for a few hours. Me went to Feng in Hartford and had some really good sushi. The tables were set really close to each other and so we were basically sitting on top of the people next to us. In the middle of dinner Honey leans over and says, "Excuse me, but I think I know you". Turns out he grew up with them and they knew his parents. We had a nice chat with them during which the wife asks me if I have siblings. I spontaneously answered "I have a sister who died when I was 12". This is surprising to me because my standard answer to strangers is "I'm an only child", it's just easier than explaining. She said something along the lines of "how terrible" to which I replied "it's just part of my story". Which it is. Because this story has made me who I am and for that I am grateful. Then she said something to me that made me respect her greatly and strengthen me in a way she will never understand. She took a deep breath and said "You're the survivor".

The thing is, I've always felt that way. I did survive the trauma of my childhood so that I could get to the other side to be the person I've become. That phrase has stuck with me ever since in these stressful days. If I can survive what I've already been through, I can survive anything, big or small.

In a cruel twist, the week after this conversation my real estate agent's daughter died suddenly after a long battle with drug addiction. I went to the wake not only because I care for my agent, but also because I know how difficult it is to be on the other side of the receiving line. I stood there trying desperately not to make this about me, fighting back tears. I made my way through the line and met the deceased woman's sister. She is now where I was some 23 years ago. Suddenly an only child. All I was thinking in my head, but never said because I was holding back my own emotions...You're the survivor. Even though I didn't have the strength to say it to her I hope she knows and carries it with her like I do.