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It is 8:27 pm and both children are asleep. This is monumental. It is no doubt due to the fact that we just completed two days of riotous partying and curtailed resting. It was fun but I'm looking forward to getting back to the normal.

We had Christmas dinner at our house this year. This was Jamie's experiment to see how well he could cook a turkey. Thank you, Guests, for being our guinea pigs. Jamie's turkey was a success. Very moist and tasty and cooked in a decent time frame. He also made the stuffing, potatoes and gravy. He's such a Renaissance Man--thinker, reader, father, husband and great cook.

We had a smattering of folks: parents, siblings, old and new friends.

Stella received many great and thoughtful presents and fun was had by all. At least they were nice enough to say they had fun.

And so completes the Christmas Day festivities for 2007. Bring it on, 2008.

(I am very tired and uninspired. Can you tell?)

Sisters

The preshus-ness that is Stella and Gianna all smooshed together in one swing:




And in one bed:

Laptop, I Lament Thee

I have been out of the habit of writing because of the recent death of my laptop's power cord. Due to poor design of the iMac of four years ago, the power cord is especially susceptible to, how shall I say, childish tampering. We have lost three power cords to Stella's wily ways. I know it's not all her fault. My dad would tell me something like, "Well, you know what you should do? You should always unplug it and wrap it up and put it somewhere high."

Yes. I should. Should have!

On to recent events. This winter time has been dramatic. Many fits and tears. Many Stellonian beseeches to, "GO!" Where, you ask? Anywhere. The girl wants to go all the time. And while we don't always indulge that desire it is necessary to get her out of the house. She frequently wants to go when Gianna is sleeping. And I am loathe to wake the baby.

As I type this Stella is happily coloring and talking in her special language. It's fun to listen to--when she's calm. She often loses her wits when she wants something and we can't understand that language.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Getchu getchu go. Beebee shay wowa. At ta bebees. A baby, a baby, a baby."

"Up, up, up."

This is what she is saying to me right now. And that is why I don't get to write much anymore. She always wants to get in my lap--which leads to other things she wants to do. Most of which she's not allowed: free reign of the digital camera, pounding on the keyboard, touching the beautiful monitor.

And now she's left me chanting another familiar refrain:

"Shoes, shoes, shoo-es!"

Growing Up

While growing up I liked to sit in my dad's lap or snuggle up next to him while watching TV. I remember how much I liked being close to him. Knowing that he would let me be there as long as I liked. I was able to feel his warmth, his chest rise and fall and the scruff growing on his face. I was able to examine the scar on the tip of his chin that he got from a diving board. It's a feeling like no other. Being able to sit close and still in the lap of your parent.

It is this fact that I often recall--purposely--when I am settling Stella down at the end of an emotional bender or getting her ready for bed. I remind myself how peaceful and centering it was to be physically close to my dad's body. Recalling this enables me to sit with her--and Gianna--for longer than my impatience or mental list of things to do would normally allot for sitting.

I can feel her long limbs tangle my waist and her hair tickle my nose. I feel her breathe and it calms me after a usually long and busy day. I can feel the weight of her body press into my chest and eventually all her muscles melt and relax when she surrenders to her fatigue.

I don't do this because she is incapable of falling asleep on her own. I don't do it because she always demands that someone sit with her. I do it frequently for myself. Because I need to feel her close to me while I can. I need to feel the little body that used to be fully encapsulated inside of me. I need to feel her calm and peaceful because so much of the day she is so many other busy things.

And I do it because, I imagine, all those cliches are all true. When your kids are grown or you're laying on your deathbed you're not going to wish you squeezed in one more load of laundry or wiped down one more dirty counter.

And She's Too Big For Her Crib

Because tonight, in protest to bed time, she tried to crawl out and did not succeed. I left her while she did her usual crying and protesting only to hear a most unusual yelp after a few seconds. I ran in to find her sprawled on the ground, mouth agape and forlorn. Such a bummer of a way to end the day. Of course, we sat in the big chair in her room and settled down. Both of us.

Meanwhile, Gianna snoozed. And right now she's got two hours on me. I need to go catch up!

Happier bed times: