You know just how much I love baby name posts. (Here’s the post where I asked you to help me name Little Girl. It’s the all-time most popular post on this blog!) And I know just how much you love baby name posts. So let’s get down to business…

As many of you know, Sister C is expecting her second child (yes, a girl!) in early March. She’s actually due on Little Girl’s birthday which is pretty cool, I think. Anyway, she’s getting close. A mere six weeks away. And she and her husband are still without a name for this little chickadee.

That’s where we all come in.

Okay, a little information to get our baby name radars pointed in the right direction. Sister C’s two-year-old son, known affectionately as Baby Bulldog on this blog, has a wonderful and unique name in real life. I will not disclose his name, but I will tell you that it is a three-syllable Irish surname that is quite obscure when used as a first name. (Think: Garrity, Gulliver, Callahan.) Their last name is two syllables, ends in an “y” sound. (Like: Rowley, Donnelley, Terry.)

I asked C to describe the kind of name they are looking for. And she said they are looking for a name that fits the following three criteria:

1. A name that is either unusual or not very popular;

2. A name that is two or three syllables; and

3. A name that is both strong and feminine.

I know this is still somewhat confusing and cryptic. How much simpler this would be if I just told you their son’s name and their last name? Alas. Not going to happen. But I will list a few names they like very much, and have considered, but have decided at this point not to use for one reason or another: Georgiana, Annabel, Henrietta, Bridget, Petra, Genevieve.

Okay, it’s your turn. Our turn. Oh yes, I plan to brainstorm today and post my suggestions too. Any ideas? I’m sure you’re full of them… Particularly you, my friend Abby Sandel of the fabulous baby name blog Appellation Mountain (where I stumbled upon Little Girl’s name last December!)

Ready, set, go! Let’s name my sister’s baby girl! If the above confuses you (it kind of confuses me) just throw out some unique baby girl names you love.

My girls are really good kids. At least I think so. They watch a fair bit of television and their nutritional proclivities need some work, but they are kind, thoughtful little creatures. I’m proud of this. I hope it continues.

The winter months are a challenge for us because they are chock-full of celebrations and gifting opportunities. Christmas obviously brings with it lists for Santa, expectations for certain loot, and endless goodies, edible and other. The season seems to spread itself wide, stretching for the whole month of December and beyond. It doesn’t help that we celebrate with both my family and Husband’s; there are gifts in both places, stockings in both places, doting grandparents, aunts and uncles in both places, and a surplus of cousins on my side. And then. And then it is Big Girl’s birthday and this usually entails several parties. The family parties – at home, with my family, with Husband’s. And the friend party. By the middle of the month (a.k.a. Now) our home is stuffed with stuff.

But this is not a post about stuff. It’s not a post about excess at the end of which I will predictably proclaim: Less is more! This post would be a compelling one; maybe I will write it and soon. But this post is about children.

My children. Your children. Children.

Okay, cut to the chase: When my kids receive lots of things, they ask for more things. They do not quite grasp that holidays and birthdays are discrete days that come and go, that they are not entitled to new stuff everyday. When I try to explain to my kids that they are fortunate, that they should appreciate what they have, they seem to understand but then they often slip into some kind of whine-fest/shockingly-articulate-negotiation-mode that drives me marginally berserk. Now, I must say, this whiny business has gotten leagues better in the recent weeks, but I think this is worth discussing because from what I’ve gathered by talking to fellow parental units, I am far from alone.

How do we prevent our children from becoming spoiled brats?

This question has been on my mind a lot lately. Husband and I have had many a conversation about this. And we’ve come to no ready conclusion. There are the obvious approaches: Do not give them an excessive number of gifts! Do not allow them to attend an excessive number of birthday parties or have birthday parties that are excessive in nature! If they have birthday parties, institute a no-gift policy up front! Engage your kids in meaningful service/charity opportunities through which they can gain perspective and glimpse lives of the less-fortunate!

There is no doubt that all of these things could work. I know that. But here’s the thing: My girls are five, three, and ten months. They are young. They are still new to this world. They can only grasp and internalize so much. I would love to know how to more subtly instill in them a sense of gratitude and graciousness. The reality is that they will get gifts. The reality is that they will go to parties. The reality is that they will celebrate holidays and birthdays multiple times. The reality is that they will be exposed to privilege and entitlement and stuff.

What can we do in the face of these realities? What should we do?

I write this because I am a mother and this strikes me as an important challenge.

I write this because I have a hunch this has been a challenge many of you have faced in one form or another with various degrees of success.

Mostly though, I write this because I love them and I care. About who they are now. And, also, who it is they become.

{The big girls’ lovely 2011 letter to Santa featuring an exquisitely-rendered Rudolph.}

Oh. P.S. – For any of you following the delightful Rowley vomit saga with interest, Big Girl, our last one standing, bit the dust last night. Poor babe. Five for five!

Any bits of more practical or philosophical wisdom on how we can avoid spoiling our children? How do we maintain the purity and goodness we glimpse in them this early on?

{If you are not so into drawn-out family vomit sagas, stop now.}

Maybe I was feeling extra vulnerable yesterday because I knew deep down that my entire family was about to be ravaged by the stomach flu that sidelined me on Monday?

Honestly, I thought we were in the clear. I got sick on Sunday night and was in recovery mode Monday and Tuesday. Husband and the girls were fine. How lucky, huh? Not so fast. While Big Girl and I were walking home from school (it was an unusually balmy January afternoon), Nanny sent the following text: Middle Girl is crying. Says her tummy hurts.

My (utterly eloquent) message back: Crap. Keep me posted.

Minutes later, from Nanny: She threw up!

As my eldest and I strolled home, we got several more texts and you know just what they said. When I arrived home, Middle Girl was in bed napping. That is, until I heard her vomiting her mac and cheese lunch into her hair over the sound monitor. A quick bath and change into ballerina pajamas and she was back on the couch, balled-up. Every twenty minutes or so, she grabbed for my arm and gave me that sweet and sad look with her blue eyes and I marched her off to the toilet. Rinse and repeat all afternoon and evening. She munched on a lonely Saltine and sipped some fancy water (Pedialyte) and curled up for bed on a blow-up mattress by the foot of our bed. During the whole ordeal? Barely a tear.

Husband was the next to fall. After dinner, my good man ran out to purchase the aforementioned Saltines and when he returned, he shot me a look that said, I am not okay. He melted into the couch, got sick fifteen or so minutes later, and then hopped over Middle Girl’s mattress throughout the night to make it to that magic bowl.

But the saddest by far? Little Girl. At one point as we were all trying to fall asleep, we heard a few coughs and whimpers on her monitor. We heard this and turned on the video monitor and saw our baby squirming around, but then she settled, and appeared to be sleeping. Phew, I mumbled. Foolishly. Husband, thoughtful man even when wildly ill, said that maybe I should check and make sure she didn’t get sick in her crib. Off I went.

When I opened the nursery door, I smelled it. I tiptoed to her crib and there she was, my sweet little girl, sleeping face down in a pool of cheery orange vomit. I plucked her from the nastiness. Her face was covered. The tips of her eyelashes were orange. Her blue eyes were red. I stripped her down and wrapped her in a towel. She played with a rubber ducky on the floor as I stripped her crib, changed the sheets, and threw all tainted items into the wash. Then there was bath. Though clearly miserable, she smiled a bit and splashed a bit. More pajamas. Another sleep sack. A bunch of cuddles on the rocking chair and I put her back in the crib (on a towel). She didn’t cry.

And I curled up to sleep on the daybed in her room. The place where I spent so many nights during her first months. Though exhausted and disgusted, it felt like an odd privilege to be back there, curled up, inches from my babe, listening to her breathe, and sleep. The problem though? I couldn’t. I couldn’t sleep. But I stayed there for hours, waiting for her to cry, to get sick again. Mercifully, she didn’t. Around 2:30am, I sneaked back into my own bed. The only issue was that Middle Girl had climbed in on my side and splayed herself like a starfish. I made it work.

At 5am, Little Girl cried again and so I went to her. This time, no smell, no sickness. Again, I curled up on that blue flowered bed and this time I slept. Goodness did I sleep. Until 7am when my sick hubby came to retrieve me to tend to the big girls who were awake.

So now? We are all up. PJ-clad, various levels of sicky. The baby is up t0o and seems to be on the mend. The wild card is Big Girl. She hasn’t gotten sick yet. My overwhelming instinct is to keep her home from school today, that she is a ticking sick bomb. Or maybe, just maybe, she has an immune system of steel?

Okay, that’s all folks. Sorry to regale you with the details of my brood’s descent into stomach flu hell, but somehow it makes me feel better to acknowledge my current reality here, to realize that my kids, even when tested and twisted by terrible germs, are really quite amazing and resilient.

Okay, must go. Need to fix Middle Girl an “ice chip sundae,” whip up a “fancy water bottle” for the baby, check on my man, and explain to my biggest that she will not be going to school because she might get sick at any minute. Alas.

Why do you think it can be helpful to record these stories despite their patent ick-factor and utter lack of profundity? Do you think it is the right call to keep Big Girl back from school? Seriously, I want your thoughts on this one. And what if she doesn’t get sick today – Do I send her tomorrow then?

My favorite posts on this blog are my vulnerable ones. The ones where I sit at this screen and admit being lost, examine my struggles, and say: I don’t know. To me, these posts are the most raw, the most human, the most universal.

My favorite conversations in life are my vulnerable ones. The ones where we sit together and admit being lost, examine our struggles, and say: We don’t know. To me, these conversations are the most raw, the most human, the most universal.

My favorite stories, read and written, are the vulnerable ones. The ones where characters convene and admit being lost, examine their struggles, and say: We don’t know. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s real. Maybe that’s grand.

Vulnerability. It’s clearly something I revere and yet it’s hard. There are times when I feel extra porous, keenly vulnerable, and my instinct is that this is bad, something to alter, to flee from.

Now is one of those times. I’m not sure why.

I think I am feeling vulnerable because my littlest is almost one and I feel like it’s time to up the ante professionally and I’m not sure how I feel about this. I think I am feeling vulnerable because after thirty-three years on this good earth, I’m not sure exactly who I am or what I want. I think I am feeling vulnerable because after almost three years here at this blog, I’m not sure what exactly it is, what I want it to be. I think I am feeling vulnerable because I have recently witnessed fallibility, true and scary and beautiful fallibility, in a friend. I think I am feeling vulnerable because I’m pondering, and living, a profound change in my days and my ways. I think I am feeling vulnerable because I have three small creatures to raise and I want to do a good job and I’m not always sure what that means. I think I am feeling vulnerable because I want very much to be a good wife and daughter and sister and friend and citizen and there are no instruction manuals to reference. I think I am feeling vulnerable because I am waking up to the reality that life is change, constant and compelling, sometimes crippling. I think I am feeling vulnerable because my body and mind are impossibly weak, just on the other side of a wicked flu.

I think these are some of the reasons. Not all, but some.

And as I write them, and read them, these reasons, I smile. I smile because this right here is real. I smile because this right here is honest. I imagine I am not the only one out there, out here, who feels both lucky and lost, riddled with uncertainties, insecurities, also inspirations.

So. I’m not sure what I am saying here other than I am feeling inexplicably, richly vulnerable today. And that’s okay. Maybe better than okay.

Maybe, somehow, it’s good.

Do you ever feel inexplicably vulnerable? Do you agree that in many ways vulnerability is reality? Do you agree that vulnerability (within bounds) is a good thing?

Yesterday was a marathon day. I took the big girls to two back-to-back birthday parties downtown while Husband hung here with the tiny one. We reunited in the early evening at Mom’s as we do every Sunday. Once home, and once the trio were tucked in, Husband and I retreated to the couch with our shakes (we are one week into our three-week cleanse) to watch the Giants game. Not surprisingly, I nodded off, coming to here and there during exciting points of the game. When the game was over, I noted to my man that I didn’t feel quite right. I stood up slowly, felt dizzy, and ran to the bathroom. That’s where I spent the night. I even curled up on the tile floor for a 2:30am-4:00am stretch. It was lovely.

Actually, it was not lovely at all. I haven’t felt this sick in years, if ever.

The stomach flu? I’m not a fan.

This morning, I’m just impossibly weak, but the fact that I am sitting up writing this is a good sign. I plan to be back to my regular self by tomorrow. But I also planned to be my regular self today; to rise early and whip off a fun and interesting post, to ferry my girls to school, to immerse myself in my novel. Alas. Plans don’t always stick.

Anyway. I came here to tell you why I’m not here in the way I’d like to be today. Because some wily child soaked me with some nasty flu germs yesterday (that’s my theory). Now, I’m just hoping that my man and my kids will be spared from this ugliness.

Okay, back to my seltzer and to my fetal position on the couch. And back to the Today Show. Just learned that Heidi Klum and Seal are kaput which actually makes me kind of sad because of all of the Hollywood sillies, they seemed, well, good. Now I am learning how to make some Chinese potstickers. Will be on that as soon as this cleanse is kaput. Speaking of cleanses, if it is weight loss you are after, picking up a wicked strain of the stomach flu seems to be far more effective than swilling powdery shakes. Just saying

When’s the last time you were blindsided by a nasty flu? Are you surprised about Heidi & Seal?