Lilly is, in fact, doing great. The first week she went into preschool with all smiles. All but the first day, when she became a bit overwhelmed by the child distribution system known as carpool and the screamer next to her in line, she came out happy saying she had fun with her friends and teachers.

As everyone warned, the transition was tougher on me than on Lilly. I was worried about the separation, but I was more upset at the thought that for the first time I would not know every little thing that happened to her that day. It’s the luxury (and sometimes curse) of being a SAHM that you are there for every minute of every day — every giggle, every first, every diaper explosion, every tantrum. Spoiled as I am, I have gotten very used to having all of these events as the context for the random things that come out of Lilly’s mouth. I know that when she talks about “the giraffe book” she means “Good Night Moon” because we found the tiny giraffe on the bookshelf in “the great green room” that day. And when she says Mommy made “gorilla food” for dinner, I know she’s just noticed the chopped onions and is thinking about what we saw the gorillas eat at the zoo. And when she walks around the house calling things “fucky” I know it’s not that she has a foul mouth, but that she heard me say “funky” and just can’t seem to get that n-k sound down. So, really, at the end of the school day, I’ve just been afraid I won’t have all the little bits of details that give me context.

We’ve now finished two full weeks of school and thankfully this hasn’t become a major issue yet. Yes, she’s two years old and trying to get a clear explanation of what she did in the last three hours is like asking a Baby Boomer what they were doing in the Sixties. The answer is random bits of memory, some true, some clearly conjured in the imagination. But most days I feel like I’ve received enough information between Lilly and her teachers to know generally what she’s done and how she feels about it. Perhaps most importantly, I completely underestimated the soothing effect of pride. I am extremely proud of my little girl for being confident and independent enough to tackle the first week of school without a meltdown. She’s much stronger than I was at that age. It makes me feel good to know that she’s walking into school expecting to have a good day and that makes all my other worries fade away.

And if any doubts were lingering in my mind about my role in Lilly’s life now that she is a “big girl” in preschool, they were put to rest the first day back this week. Perhaps a little stunned that this whole school thing wasn’t over after putting in a solid 3 days last week, Lilly went into school Monday with her bottom lip tightly curled under and tears welling in her eyes. It was the toughest goodbye yet, but by all accounts Lilly had a great day. After pick-up we had a picnic lunch and chatted about her day. After a series of questions from me about the songs they sang, the crafts they made and the friends she played with, Lilly stopped answering, looked me in the eyes, took a deep breath and said, “I missed you.”

Do you hear that? That’s the sound of my heart melting.

We enjoyed several days of playdates and classes with our usual friends, but no week with Lilly is complete without a trip to the zoo. I was running out of free time between orientations and other obligations; we were left with only one option: a late afternoon jaunt through the zoo on Thursday.

I got Lilly down for a relatively early nap so she was up by 3:30. She had a quick snack; I packed a couple drinks and we were out the door by 3:45 with plenty of time to spare. A few minutes into our drive, the traffic on the interstate slowed to a stop just past the exit to the malls. Huh, that’s odd, I thought. I’ve lived in Louisville for 5 years. I commuted daily for most of that time and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve hit traffic here that involved a full stop. I was not pleased but I was sure it would move along soon enough.

Forty-five minutes later, I was still sitting next to the mall. By this point, Lilly was only beginning to stop roaring like the tiger she wanted to see long enough to realize we weren’t at the zoo yet. Then the chanting began: ”Zoo, Mommy! Go to the zoo!” I explained that I was trying to but I couldn’t go anywhere until the other cars moved. Why I bothered to explain this to a 2-year-old, I have no idea. As expected, Lilly’s response was: “Zoo, Mommy! Go to zoo! Tiger like this – ROOOAAR!”

I watched the clock. 4:15. 4:30. 4:45. The zoo closes its doors at 5. So at 4:52, when we had moved a grand total of about 200 yards since we first hit traffic, I decided that no matter how she took it, I had to break the news. It did not go well.

Over the next 20 minutes traffic finally started moving; Lilly was crying longingly for a carousel ride; and I begged the universe to make this a day when the zoo would have after-hours for members. It was not. The universe is a real bitch sometimes. So after finding the zoo, in fact, closed and realizing that I was likely to hit the same traffic if I just turned around and returned home the same way, I calmed Lilly down by promising her a playground and decided to take a different interstate, around downtown, to avoid the traffic.

Did you catch that brilliant idea? Avoid traffic by driving past downtown at rush hour. See any flaws in this plan?! So, yes, we hit traffic again. And Lilly began screaming again. And now for the first time on this nightmarish afternoon, I really began to lose it. Screw the interstate, I thought. I can do this faster on sidestreets. So into downtown I went, getting stuck at every light at every intersection. I racked my brain trying to come up with anything worth doing with a toddler during rush hour in downtown Louisville. Of course, since it was now almost 6:00, we’d also need dinner but preferably not one that required strapping Lilly into yet another chair. Then it hit me. Slugger Field! Please let there be a game tonight. Please let there be a game tonight.

I drove a few more blocks, saw baseball fans headed toward Slugger Field, pulled over and parked. Sure, it was an hour before the game was going to start and Lilly would probably not make it through more than an inning or two but I did not care one bit. Tickets are cheap, food is abundant and there is both a playground and a carousel at Slugger Field.

Within the first hour, Lilly had her first ballpark hotdog, played on the playground and took a ride on the carousel.  Things were looking way up.We found an unclaimed row of seats in the shade where we could take it all in and maybe get through an inning or two. Lilly was having a blast, dancing to the music being pumped into the stadium, playing with the flip-up seats. I sat back and relaxed for the first time in hours, listening only vaguely to the pre-game announcements, until it hit me what they were saying – ”Ladies and Gentlemen . . . first pitch . . . Elmo!”

I jumped up. Are you kidding me? Lilly, look, it’s Elmo!!

Lilly started jumping up and down. “Elmo!!!” So what if she was actually pointing at the guys in red shirts cleaning up the field? Elmo was on the mound. Lilly was happy. And all was right with the universe again.

Five years ago today, Elliott and I were three days into the longest separation of our new marriage. I had left our home in New Orleans on Friday, August 26 to attend my nephew’s baptism and party. Elliott had to finish up some work in New Orleans and then we planned to meet up in Connecticut where his family was gathering on that Monday. Except 10 hours after I landed in New York, the newly-forming Hurricane Katrina had changed course. It was no longer headed toward the Florida panhandle; it was set to hit New Orleans directly with Category 5 winds.

I spent most of that Saturday on the phone with Elliott weighing the pros and cons of obeying the mandatory evacuation order. I’m sure that sounds like a ridiculous deliberation to people who live elsewhere. But hindsight is 20/20. By that time in 2005′s hurricane season, we’d already been instructed to leave our home twice for what could be the long-threatened “big one.” Both storms turned out to be false alarms. Evacuation was getting tedious, time-consuming, expensive and, up to that point, unnecessary.

By Saturday night it was apparent to almost everyone that this one was not a false alarm, but the question for Elliott, who was still in New Orleans, was whether the evacuation traffic out of town was moving fast enough to get him out of harm’s way before the storm hit in the early morning hours.  After several panicked and tearful calls from me begging him to heed the evacuation order, Elliott agreed. He packed up the car with two days worth of clothes, our dog, our cat and, at my request, our wedding album. He also thought to pack our insurance policy. As the city filled with water over the next couple days it became clear that those items and the suitcase I packed for my trip were most likely our only possessions in the world.

Most of my Hurricane Katrina experience in the days immediately following the storm was like everyone else’s in America. I watched the TV in horror at how Americans much like myself could be completely abandoned by one of the wealthiest governments in the world. It was (and is) devastating, heart-breaking and infuriating. It’s hard to even think about it without crying for those left behind to suffer, starve, and die in the city I called home at the time. Left like they didn’t matter at all. That pain left no room for remorse over our own losses. They were so inconsequential.

Much like last year’s remembrance of September 11th, I have no interest in getting into all the politics that Katrina has come to represent. Today should be for remembering the victims and New Orleans — what it was and what it can be again.

Unfortunately, I have not had the opportunity to go back to New Orleans since we returned to our home to empty its contents onto the curb and leave it for good. We had relocated to Louisville and bought our first house there by Thanksgiving 2005. I hear reports of the Crescent City’s progress (and lack thereof) from Elliott, who goes for business, and friends from Tulane, but I am not the best person to provide insight on where the City’s going. I can, however, remember what I loved about New Orleans before Katrina.

So, here are the top 10 things I loved about living in New Orleans:

1. The food, the food and did I mention the food?! (especially boiled crawfish and oyster po-boys on the best po-boy bread anywhere.)
2. No winter
3. Drive-thru daiquiri shops
4. Kids walking home from school playing their trumpets the whole way
5. Laissez les bon temps rouler (“Let the good times roll”) isn’t just a phrase, a bar and a song, it’s a way of life.
6. Mardi Gras, the way the locals enjoy it — with BBQs, good music, dancing, lots of drinking, beads and other “throws” but absolutely no flashing of boobs
7. Coffee shops everywhere but hardly a Starbucks to be found
8. Commuting by streetcar
9. Zydeco and blues on the radio
10. Live Oaks and beautiful architecture

The First Amendment grants all Americans this:

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”

Yet we have candidates for Congress, like Ron McNeil, a House GOP Candidate from Florida, saying things like this: ”This religion’s plan is to destroy our way of life. . . . If we have to let them build it, make them build it nine stories underground, so we can walk above it as citizens and Christians.”

Frankly, I find it disgusting. I hate the terrorists who attacked NY and DC on September 11th too. But I also hate the fear-mongerers that lump all Muslims in with radical terrorists and ignore the non-Muslim terrorists who have attacked no fewer than 12 mosques in this country since 9/11.

I love, however, that the foundation of this country, unlike many others, provides for the free exercise of any religion and — something many people seem to forget — also sets out that this is a country which is prohibited from establishing itself as a “Christian nation” or one of any other singular faith.

But I digress. All I really wanted to say today is that people who live in glass houses really should not through stones. Did you hear that, Fox News? So which is it – stupid or evil?

As I said before, Lilly hasn’t quite returned to her effortless sleep habits since we took away the binky. There’s been more procrastination and more crying, but eventually a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Then Elliott had the great idea of getting Lilly something new to keep in the crib with her so that she might look foward to bedtime a little more. The problem was that Lilly already has several “lovies” that she has to have with her every night: “Purple” (her purple blanket), “Lamby” (a little stuffed lamb), “Big Lamby” (I’ll give you one guess . . .), and “Sophie” (a hand-knit rabbit from Aunt Liz and, not surprisingly, the only one we didn’t name). So, as you can see it’s getting a bit crowded in there. Plus she sleeps with a pillow. Oh, a pillow! How about a pillowcase?

Off to Target we went to find the perfect pillowcase for Lilly to snuggle with at night. It was a tough decision between monkeys, Hello Kitty and Tinkerbell but in the end, Lilly was no competition for cutesy Japanese marketing.

Lilly was excited to get into bed with her new pillow. Then as I walked out of the room listening to Lilly chat with her new feline friend rather than crying “Mommy,” I realized that it wasn’t the power of Sanrio or even her love of animals that attracted her to this kitty. She had found a kindred spirit. Someone who could understand what her parents couldn’t. She was sitting up pointing to each part of Hello Kitty:

“Pink bow.”

“Whiskers.”

“Eyes.”

“Binky.”

Yep, in Lilly’s world, that’s not Hello Kitty’s nose. It’s her binky.

Whatever gets her through the night.