First Veritas Graduation Ex Utero

First, can you tell who's getting used to posing for the camera?

Despite a series of increasingly unpleasant evening appearances, we decided to take Stella out on the town. She experienced her first graduation ceremony. What I believe will be her first of many. Here she is celebrating the beginning of Jamie's summer season at home. This time is also known as The Season of Frequent Domestic Squabbles. (Absence, my friends, does make that heart grow fonder. That heart being the one I keep locked inside a cold little cage all summer long while Jamie embarks upon lackadaisical undertakings.) We here at the Hanson house now know our limits, however, since the great Boca Sausage incident of June 2004.

This summer we will have more absence than presence here at Locus Hansonius. Jamie departs his beloved, Stella, and Stella's keeper for the Emerald Isle where he will frolic and cavort with other intellectuals and try to scam at the Guinness factory. The Mrs. already did this in her youth ten years ago, so she will stay and keep the home fries fires burning.

Anyway, what was I saying? Jamie goes to the land of ire without his spouse of ire while she stays home with all the cookie dough to herself.

And we all say, "Toll House."

q1: The Keys That Stella Pushed

Today is recovery mode from yesterday. Jamie has more information at his site. Suffice it to say that I had not visions of sugarplums dancing in my head. Yesterday was one of those days you don't want to explain to childless people lest they decide to never procreate. Once the day was over, Stella was asleep and our iTunes-purchased Monk episode was concluded we were laying in bed looking at a picture of Stella on Jamie's computer desktop. The conversation was as follows:

Silence.

Both enjoying the silence.

"Look at how cute she is."

"Yes. She is cute."

"It's funny to look at her cute little face and think about how she was today."

Silence.

The clocked said 8:08 pm. That meant we had T-minus 8 hours and 52 minutes until Stella awoke from her beauty rest. That meant it was time for me to go to bed.

And like clockwork, Stella awoke at 5 am. She had a little snakcy snack and fell asleep again--until 7:30! This is the stuff that dreams and fairytales are made of!

I've Hit a Slump

It's hard to get out of a blogging slump. I must admit, part of my problem is that Jamie keeps stealing all my pictures. And he's become a prolific blogger and it's stolen some of my blogging joie de vivre.

Anyhoodle, onward and upward. I usually have a running list of things to write about. I've been like this for years. I get most of my good ideas in the car. That's a bit annoying. It's hard to even jot down notes when you're driving. Lately, I've come up with some ideas:

Our NASCAR Fry's
A Tiny Log
A Buddy Log

Then--my slump. And two of those topics are basically the same. Not to mention not very content driven. Besides, I'm reading a good book right now. So it's hard not to read. But to satisfy people who come for pictures of Stella, here's one of my recent favorites--even though Jamie's already posted it on his site! I love the look on her face:

Here's a list of things she's doing lately:

• dragging her skinny little bod
  
• eating Trader Joe's Ohs by picking them up with her own fingers
  
• eating large amounts of bananas and pears
  
• sitting up a little
  
• rolling all over the place
  
• grabbing things
  
• smiling and giggling all the time
  
• going to the doctor for her six month appointment where we were told that she's long and skinny which was "expected" according to the doc
  
• stealing my heart
  

Gotta go, Jamie's prying eyes are looking at my screen!

Blogs: Conquering the Communication Divide Between Husband and Wife

Want to know how to find out what your spouse really thinks about? Read their blog:

Hansoniana

Where Tomatoes Come From

When Jamie and I moved into our house we had a pitiful but generous backyard. It reminded me of a moonscape. It lacked anything but space and splotchy piece of concrete. The story of its development in one of blood, sweat (mostly Jamie's) and tears (mostly mine).First of all, it blew my mind that a house that had existed almost thirty years had nothing, absolutely nothing in the backyard. It was obvious that at one point there had been some attempts at making something happen. Someone had installed a pretty intense sprinkler system--obviously to no avail since there was no grass. There were not even weeds.

Our first backyard accessory was our dog Buddy. This was a passionate decision made one Sunday afternoon following minutes of thought and discussion on a trip to the Humane Society. Buddy had captured our hearts with his post-surgical cone and the way he barked at us from behind the hurricane fence inside his concrete pen. We decided to bring him home. We didn't have a fence that properly enclosed the backyard, so Buddy got around those first few weeks. All our neighbors soon knew his name.Our next project was building a fence. Jamie and my dad constructed one in an afternoon. Did I mention this fence was installed because we acquired our second dog, Tiny? We didn't want him loose as he was only 1.5 pounds. Logically, as a homeowner, we made decisions on how to progress based upon the pets we owned.

(Here's where you can insert story of an annoying cat we owned for twelve hours. I think we called him Simba. He wanted to cuddle all night long and lick our hair as well. We thought he'd make a good outside cat.)Our first summer in this house my dearly beloved built me two little gardens. He did this when it was piping hot outside. He did this so I could garden. Isn't love grand? Isn't Jamie? We also had a patio cover built. That was nice as we live in the desert where it's hot and shade is a commodity to be bought and sold (especially at bus stops!).

The biggest thing that Jamie did was in March of 2005. (Well, the biggest thing he did was probably in February of 2005, but that's another story!) Jamie hauled twelve tons of dirt from our frontyard to our backyard with a wheelbarrow. Then he laid sod. Later that year he fixed our sprinkler system. Along with the trees my dad planted for us in April of 2004, that grass made for one nice backyard. It's a great place to sit in the early morning and evening. It'sdefinitely increased our enjoyment of our once soul-less moonscape.

Our backyard is now a thriving metropolis of fauna and a few select flora. Our most majestic showpiece is currently the one edible thing that has bloomed:In addition to that, here is Tiny showing the sprinklers who's boss:


And here's Stella enjoying her backyard. She could sit out there for hours watching. She's an observer. She takes it all in. She likes her toys for a while, but when she gets really antsy, nothing takes the edge off Stella like a little Bumbo time out back.

Stella as Maddox Jolie-Pitt

I've Read Me Some Things

From an eBay auction:
"You will fall in love with this great set of numbers and letters as you play with your child."

You will buy my blocks. You will continue to outbid yourself in pursuit of my blocks. You will give me your PayPal account info.

Regarding failure:
"I felt very horrible when I failed math that year. I felt like a failure."

When I achieve I feel like an achiever.

The college aspirations start early:
"I had been accepted into the Arizona State University which is something I have dreamed about the moment my mom gave me breath."

How can you tell someone is Irish without hearing their accent? Read their writing:
"I have always had an amazing connection with me mother."

When things get tough remember:
"The best comes out when something is on the line."

Does this include sobriety tests?

All the Same All the Time

We are now to the point where the weather forecast in Phoenix, according to Google weather, looks something like this until October:

Therefore, we will head to Seattle on June 6th for a little of this:




And we will go here:

Blogger King: Have It Your Way

Well, I guess I know what makes people happy:


It seems that I can say whatever I want as long as there are pictures of The Girl to distract my reader(s). Therefore, I love our president. I admire his unwavering persistence. Call me what you want. I am so glad that Al Gore didn't win in 2000. I am even more glad that John Kerry didn't win in 2004. I am glad that someone who shall remain nameless called and conferred with my husband and I about voting in 2004 and we were able to assure him we were voting for Bush and that he didn't have to change his mind even though his daughter was trying to change it up to the last second.

Well, I sat here for a moment and tried to decide if I had any other controversial beliefs. I think that all my beliefs are controversial, so I won't use my daughter as a pawn. I will continue by saying that she has recently begun consuming large amounts of banana, pears and apples. I am no longer her only food source. This is bittersweet.


And lastly, please look at how long and skinny her bitty legs look in the last photo. She's a little string bean! I've received forty-three emails* requesting more photos of Stella. I am Blogger King. I allow you to have it your way.


*Actual number may be smaller. Author tends to exaggerate.

Things That Stella Enjoys

1) Magazines and newspapers--specifically "kneading" them (see 8)
2) Rolling
3) Other children
4) Her toes
4a) Simultaneously sucking her thumb and a big toe
5) Lolling about in only a diaper in the warm Arizona climate
6) Our backyard cavalcade
7) Our dogs
7a) Seems to prefer Buddy
8) Kneading flesh with her hands and razor sharp fingernails
9) Making her mouth into the shape of an "O" and saying "o o o o" with her deep little voice
10) Baths
10a) Spa-glow with baby lotion after bath
11) Reuniting with her dad

Upon Returning From California: An Epistle

From: alishialinn
Subject: Rest ASSured
Date: May 22, 2006 8:23:25 MST
To: kellybrookeg

OK, first: my house was a PIT when I got home. And I was exhausted AND the dogs next door barked when I was taking a nap AND I had to drop Jamie off at church on my way home FROM THE AIRPORT and return to get him around 7:30 pm AFTER Stella had taken her bath and was home and back into her stuff and was in NO MOOD to be put in her car seat AGAIN! AND there was no food in the house to eat that wasn't rotten except yogurt. (Don't even get me started on the rotting food that Jamie doesn't seem to notice and therefore doesn't throw away!)
AND THEN (like all the capitals? they're for EMPHASIS!!!!!!!)...
AND THEN I had to get up to take the car to the shop this AM at 6:30 AND THEN the termite guy shows up to treat some termites that we have (they make lovely pets--very low matenance! ok, i'm so tired i cannot spell that word and usually--i can!) AND THE TREATMENT PROCESS? IT IS LOUD. Stella lurves it.
And then, this week on Wed and Fri we're having acoustic garbage removed from some of our ceiling which involves more loud work and plastic and equipment and men and inconvenience and WHAT WAS I THINKING????
And I really have to poop but don't want to while the termite guy is here because what if he needs me to sign something. And my gosh, the cramping from the coffee and the poop!
And did I mention his loud work made a SHELF FALL OFF THE WALL IN THE NEXT ROOM???
And my wisteria tree is getting yellowish leaves and Jamie forgot to water my plants out front and my houseplants but thankfully they bounced back!
HA!
MY LIFE!!!
I think I'll blog thsi.

But besides that it is overcast today--which I loves here in Phoenix.

P.S. The termites ate the baseboard in Stella's room. This requires that ALL baseboards in the house be fashionably updated replaced.

Thinktank

Do you ever awake in the middle of the night? I don't mean that half-conscious stumble to the loo for a little pee or food-poisoned purge, I mean do you ever wake up because the (derogatory noun) dogs next door bark? Or perhaps it's the police helicopters flying overhead? Or maybe an ambulance? One could say our neghborhood's in need of a little gentrification.

When I wake up there are a couple of scenarios that routinely play out:
1) crazed, extrapolated situational worrying
2) upper eschelon problem solving
3) raging anger

Recently I experienced number two and three.

The other night I awoke due to my newly heightened mother-senses. Stella stirred. And being that she's been on edge lately I wanted to be ready to intervene in case there was the need for comfort. I wanted to prevent the eery nighttime cry.

The cry she emits upon realizing that she is awake and alone reminds me of an emergency siren. They're some sort of get-under-your-desk-and-prepare-for-a-natural-disaster or a run-to-your-missle-silo-it's-nuclear-fallout! type of siren. Equally unnerving is her cry--it makes my heart race. However, this certain night the stirrings were merely facilitating bowel sounds. I was fortunate enough to be able to partake of a middle-of-the-night-stacatto-farting session.

That night instead of my heart racing it was my mind.

I could not stop thinking about things. Really important things, too. Things like, "Will Jack Bauer be able to help President Palmer in season three of 24?" "Will the yard ever be landscaped?" "Will Jamie's plane crash on his way to Ireland?" "Should Stella be immunized?" "Will Stella lose her shit on the plane ride to California? And will I be sitting next to a businessman with no tolerance who stares askance at my child and huffs when I need to use the toilet?" "Should I start instituting a siesta into my summer schedule now that it's hot?" How is it possible to think so many unrealted thoughts in the middle of the night? Wasn't I just in REM sleep? Shouldn't my mind be cloudier, less nimble, less able to problem solve?

Moving on to situation number three. When I am awakened by the neighbor's dogs barking I usually begin a lenghty little rage session. I start to imagine all the things that I could do to solve the problem (this is a result of all the cooperative learning during high school and college--I am a problem solver, people!). Should I go outside right this minute in my underwear and shout? No, I think I will go outside right this minute and spray them with the hose. There are rotting oranges on the kitchen counter--I will throw one at them. I will write them a letter.

Once that decision is made I commence in writing the letter in my head. I try different opening lines:

Dear Neighbor,
I'm not sure if you're aware that your dogs bark in the middle of the night. Oh wait, I did write you a letter in March. Do you recall?

Dear Neighbor,
Here is a copy of the petition that I will be filling out and filing at the county prosecutor's office in honor of you and Lucy the barking dog.

After a while, my exhaustion gets to me and my prose becomes less and less diplomatic.

Dear Neighbor,
I hate your dogs. I'd kill them if I could. That big white one is ugly and reminds me of a really ugly animal.

Or perhaps I'll send them a postcard while I'm in California:

Dear Neighbors,
I'm on vacation--FROM YOUR BARKING DOGS! The weather is here. Wish you were barking.

Then I imagine different pranks I could play on them.

I would like to make a high quality recording of their dogs barking and play in outside their window at 2 am. I would like to feed their dog laxatives. I would like to get their phone number off their car for sale and crank call them when their dogs bark at 2 am after I first block my phone number.

Just thinking about it makes my heart race.

He's Got a Ticket to Ride

This summer Jamie has won two scholarship opportunities. The first one is a Catholic writer's conference in New Jersey. The second one is through the National Endowment for the Humanities to go study William Butler Yeats (not John Keats!) in Galway, Ireland. While I'm excited and proud of him it means that he will be away for a long time--relatively speaking in the life of an infant. He will miss an entire month of Stella. She could be potty trained when he returns.

The fact that he earned both of these opportunities this summer is one of those funny timing things. He's applied every summer since we've been married (which, gosh, is SO LONG--two years!) and wasn't previously accepted.

Because of Jamie's academic tendencies, these opportunities will be good for him in the long run. However, he's going to miss his first real Father's Day. And, people, he's a good father. When Stella sees him her face lights up.

It's Not Allergies

My eyes itch. And it's because I'm tired. Stella has begun her own routine. It involves getting tired and grumpy around 6:30 pm, falling asleep around 7 and waking up the next morning around 5:30. Did I mention her 3 am snack? She's gone through the night without eating for weeks--almost months--and now she's hungry. I know she's on her way to eating solids, but she wants nothing to do with rice cereal.

So, my eyes itch because I'm tired. This is the kind of day where I'm glad I didn't keep working because, seriously, how? I'm just glad that Jamie gets up early during the week to get ready for school because today that meant an extra hour of sleep while she exersauced and Bumboed out back with her dad--and I missed a poopy diaper!

This is from Stella's post-bath nightly euphoria time where she rolls around all giggly and cute for about ten minutes before she starts to unravel and demand to nurse, suck her thumb and close those big blue eyes.



Coming soon: the first airplane ride to California on May 17th! Will she cry? Will she like the ocean? Will we never be invited back? You'll hear it here first!

Relative of the Week: The Grandmas

In honor of mother's day, here are the Mothers.

We cannot prefer one grandma over the other, can we?

Stella has two: the Keek and Go Go.

They both love her all the time and make her cry some of the time. This is because Stella is a Sensitive Child. Jamie's mother was told by his Montessori teacher that he was a "homebody." I think it's safe to assume that Stella has this tendency. Let's just hope she doesn't go all Emily Dickinson on us. Of course we don't want any little Katie Holmes either.

What do grandmas do? They coo and swaddle. They kiss and hug. They fuss and fix. These are necessary things--nay, important things. This is what makes one a GrandMother.

I receive emails on a regular basis from both grandmas that inform me of the aesthetic superiority of their grandchild. This is still possible as Stella is The Only Grandchild that currently exists on either side. This is nice. It means she gets cool presents like quilted pink Ralph Lauren shoes with feathery little puffs, little green seersucker dresses, little pink seersucker blazers and college funds. (Yes, poodle. She already has more money saved for college than we have saved period.)

And here's the Other Mother in need of...something. Makeup, pain killers, a smile that is not lame:

This picture is at the very end of the long saga called birth which was preceded by dinner at Ra for sushi--because these intense muscle contractions are not labor pains, so let's go have some sushi! In fact, when we're finished, let's walk over to Barnes and Noble and browse the magazines because even though I'm a few days overdue, there's no possible way these could be actual labor contractions.

"Hello? If There's Anybody Here, You Can Come Out. I Won't Hurt You."

When I was a child I developed a fascination for all things small. How ironic that I ended up so very large. I loved The Littles. I watched that cartoon every Saturday. Of course, we also watched The Smurfs, Richie Rich and the one with the rich kid and his Indian (as in the continent) friend with the turban. The name escapes me. This was back when cartoons were a Saturday morning thing. Oh, the anticipation. It involved pillows in front of the TV and a game my brother and I liked to play called "Feet Foot" (anyone else play this game?) and if we were at my dad's the potential for Smurf Berry Crunch cereal.

I digress.

I loved small things. There were two dollhouses at the Scottsdale Public Library. They had wallpaper and electricity and tables that were set with plates and silverware. There were miniature cat and dog food bowls--no detail was overlooked. I loved going to the library and seeing these houses.

I also liked to "save" small insects that were dying in the swimming pool. I would swim around trying to cup bees, crickets and ants in my hands and toss them on the pool deck. I would swell with prode and accomplishment. "Another ant will live to see another day. I've done a good thing."

I would even find these little plastic hairpins laying around and fill them with watet. I would lay them beside an ailing cricket so that it had some refreshment close at hand. I would try to place these little insect triages out of the walkway so they wouldn't survive a near-drowning only to get stepped on. I would leave them while I went to swim and come back later to check on their progress. When the little insect was gone I always assumed rehabilitation and I would feel a sense of relief. It never occured to me that perhaps this little bug was snatched up by a bird or carried away in a gust of wind.

When we lived in Wisconsin there were always plenty of caterpillars around. One of me "little" activities was to create hotels for them. This involved a couple sticks and some leaves. I would pierce the leaves with the sticks and jam the sicks into the ground. This would create a little elevated spot and I would put the little caterpillars in their hotel and carry on with my activities. Once again, it never occured to me the precarious, vulnerable position in which i placed my guests.

Finally we arrive on my most proud revelation of childhood: audibly addressing the little people that I was convinced resided in my walls. When I was alone in my room I would try to get them (the Littles, of course) to reveal themselves to me. "Hello? If there's anybody here, you can come out. I won't hurt you." I would sit quietly on my bed straining to hear any discernable noises. Was there any scurrying or scratching? Was there a place for them to come out if they so pleased? Unfortunately, no. There was no Tom and Jerry mousehole from whence the little family could emerge and spark a deep and symbiotic friendship with me where they provided me with awe and fascination and I brought them my mother's used thread spools and thimbles that they could convert into various household items.

When I think back on those days I get excited for Stella to grow up. I'm anticipating her imagination. I am so thankful that I can remember what it was like to manufacture my entertainment from the creatures and materials around me or that I had the ability to really ponder the existence of small intelligent beings. It is very precious to be able to remember what it was like to wonder as a child. And what a gift childhood is for those of us who have memories of wholeness, health and imagination.
Three years old. No doubt I thought that little dog I'm clutching had "feelings."

Husband Bribes Wife With Pot and Curtails Munchies With Sonic

While I Detest WalMart-and-All-It-Stands-For, after all that's a highly contagious and trendy belief disease these days, I have no shame in the fact that we flagrantly drive past two Home Depots and a former neighborhood hardware store to reach Lowe's. "Don't blame me, I'm merely a passenger," I sheepishly sheep.

We drove to Lowe's last night and burned precious fossil fuel all the way there, all the way to Sonic and all the way home. This was done in the name of buying large, decorative, glazed pots to house our burgeoning jasmine plants in the backyard.

The pots are a part of the pacification process that continues in our home while Jamie plugs away at the carport remodel that will EVENTUALLY house his 4,000 or so books. I can hardly wait. It's not that I hate books. But let me entreat you with a photo essay I will call "Corners of My Home." This is an homage to all the bloggers out there who share sweet, demurely decorated corners that inspire awe and envy. These pictures will inpire a different kind of awe and envy. Specifically, "Awe my god, I'm glad my husband doesn't have that many books." And the less common variety, "My husband's EnvyDVs don't take up as much room as them books do!"

Without further adieu I give you....

Corners of my home

If there's one thing that I can brag about, it is the size and breadth of Jamie's library. And until the carport is completely transformed, I will continue to capitalize on the opportunity to receive pots and plants. And Sonic tater tots.

In Which the Days Fly by Faster Than Stella's Naps

Suddenly it's May.

That means that we institute the practice of the siesta here in Phoenixville. Our little Buddy and Tiny transition from their dogsicle stage to become hot dogs. They pant their way around the yard and when admitted to the Land of the A/C they collapse upon the tile.

I must start using two sets of keys. Much like our friends in the north must heat the car in the winter before beginning activities, we must cool the car in summer. All unnecessary trips are jettisoned for the luxury of indoor activities.

I remember being pregnant this time last year. I was just beginning to emerge from my "morning that lasts 24 hours sickness." Our cat had a batch of kittens on Mother's Day and I watched her give birth twice. She made it look so easy. It was like she was birthing a hairball. A couple full-body contractions and it was over. She even partook of the--we'll call them leftovers.

It was starting to get hot in May 2005. I wasn't very big yet. I was still teaching. We had a party in my ESL classes and my students brought homemade Mexican food. Unfortunately, it was in the classroom for about two hours before we consumed it. Oh, and the air conditioning was broken in my classroom. Oh, and I didn't have my food handlers card. Oh, and I got food poisoning. Oh, and the thought of tostadas and sour cream is now a foul memory. Oh, and I'm dumb. But I got to stay home from work because I was so sick. Oh, and the power went out at our house and thus the air conditioning ceased it's miraculous operations. And I cried. And missed Jamie's swanky end of the year party. Because I was violently vomiting Gatorade.

And so flies the time of having fun. Now look what it brought me:

"Ma'am, They're Coming Out All Day Long"

Posts, that is. I think this is a record.

Shortly Before She Gave Us Everything She's Got

Oh, cherubim and seraphim, are thoust mist child?
What a sweet pungent face,
What hands, what mouth, what expression.
If you were able to speak what would
thoust sayest to us-est?
Would thouest perhaps deign thyself to alert us to the everloving rush of partially digested food about to rupture from your innards?

Glory be to your father,
who had the pleasure of coddling you
during this
living room rupture,
whose lightening fast reflexes
enabled him to clamp his thighs
together and gather the aromatic mixture.

The Kind of Gesture That Makes KiKi Proud

I'm All Agog!

Some of you have already been alerted to this strange resurfacing of events. But I felt it was my duty to alert the public:

Leggings are being sold at Nordstrom under the guise of being "sleek."

If you are over twenty your heart probably just skipped a beat in fear. You remember them the first time around--you even wore them!? Perhaps. But it's not over.

Color me frightened.

The Last Week of April

Around our house, the last week of April usually means the last week that I enjoy the "summer." Here in Phoenix we have two seasons: summer and summer extreme. What the rest of the Northern hemisphere refers to as autumn, winter and spring is our summer. We are coming to the end of said summer and entering "summer extreme." Summer extreme lasts from May to October--five to six months long. This is as long as winter is in the Northern states.

People in Arizona like to tell others (and themselves) that summer extreme is "only three months--June, July, August--and even June and July aren't that bad and then the monsoons are here in August and that cools everything down!" Don't listen to them! Summer extreme is almost half the calendar year. They like to make themselves feel better. They tell themselves that the dry heat is better than the humidity (which, frankly, is true) and that summer extreme is really only "summer" and things Aren't That Bad.

Garrison Keillor once described how Minnesotans prepare for winter. He described the mental preparation of knowing you were going to enter a long, dark tunnel and emerge at the end sometime in May. Just as those Minnesotans are emerging from their tunnel, I am entering mine.

To which I say in a small, whimpering voice that asks for mercy, "Summer Extreme, bring it on!"

Christa Joins the Backyard Cavalcade!

Dawn breaks across the Hanson backyard. Buddy and Tiny arise to another sun-bathed morning. Buddy moves to the rocks. Ahhh, very warm indeed. His very own spa treatment.

Meanwhile, Christa is allowing the desert sun to awaken her and dry out those soaked Seattle bones. "I can hardly wait to see Stella," Christa muses to herself. Suddenly, she hears some baby talk in the back room. Stella is slowly welcoming a new day with Auntie CJ. Knowing that Christa has traveled all the way from the North to see her, Stella erupts with her most welcoming gesture--The Lip!

The Lip is not used to coming out first thing in the morning. Yet, who is this person that is staring at her so enthusiastically. Such smiles and love--this must be an enemy? Stella knows not how to read other people's emotions or intentions. She merely detects Something Different.

We proceed to the out of doors. This is somewhat of a novelty for the citydweller CJ. All this animal activity! Dogs! Birds! Kittens! Junebugs advancing! This is Stella's normal fare. She's right at home. We are used to the morning antics of Buddy and Tiny. They growl and fight over their similarly proportioned food stuffs. What hilarity. We drink coffee and eat sausage. Stella partakes of the thumb. It is a normal day here--except for the presence of that New Person. We shall see how Stella makes room in her daily activities for--

Auntie CJ!

Time for an Intervention

First, look at this face:
Have you ever had a friend that just can't get enough of something? Perhaps it's drugs, alcohol, Member's Only windbreakers or maybe good old fashioned appendage preference. Stella has adopted an obvious predilection for her thumb. It's still cute, don't get me wrong. It's cute because her thumb is still so tiny and relatively clean and lacking in a pruny sheen that comes from too much time in moisture. Her thumb is about 1/2 inch long and she's always finding time to spend with it.

While breastfeeding: "I'm eating. No problem. I'll sneak my thumb in here just for a little taste."
While playing: "Hello, Lobster. Hello, Octopus. Let's play Ocean. I'm a whale and my thumb can be some plankton. 'Boy, I'm hungry. Wish I had some plank--wait. Here comes some! Yum!'"
While eating pears: "Thanks for the pears, but there's nothing like thumb!"

I'm not too bothered by this preference. As I said, it's still cute. I've even tried the thumb. It is a smooth little delicacy. And if nothing else, she's learning how to multi-task.

Now, the thumb:

When Friends Part Ways

I recently had a falling out with one of my favorite friends. We used to spend a couple nights a week together. Then this friend started showing up with all these problems, malfunctions or "issues." This was disturbing. I don't enter friendships wanting to fix people. I don't like having to work through things. It's just not, I don't know, well, yes I do. It's not fun. I started this relationship looking for fun. And it just wasn't fun anymore. Whenever this friend showed up I was immediately excited, anticipating their arrival, then things would quickly unravel. I was starting to be disappointed all the time.

I decided to call it quits. I canceled my friendship by writing a "Dear John" letter. Now my friend doesn't visit anymore. And to be honest, I don't miss them that much. It's funny, too, because for a while I was telling everyone about this friend.

Want to know what the letter said? Of course you do:

Dear Netflix,
Thanks for all the scratched DVDs.
I know how to quit you!
Sincerely,
Alishia

I would've called them to tell them this, but you try and find a customer service number on their website. Impossible. They left me hanging in the middle of "24" season one. I'm stuck in limbo at 8:00 a.m.

The Natural Order

A funny thing happens once you have a child--people no longer come to visit you, no one calls to see how you're doing and no one invites you to parties anymore. Let me explain: people come to visit Stella, people call to see how Stella's doing and people invite me to bring Stella to parties.

Now let me say that I don't feel sorry for myself. I can remember feeling bored with talking about myself on numerous occassions. For example, I remember being in college and hating those seasonal small talk questions that you got at the beginning and end of every semester.

Let's play a game called "Guess the Semester and Whether it's the Beginning or End."
1.) "How was your summer?"
2.) "What did you do over Christmas?"
3.) "What are you going to do over Christmas?"
4.) "What are you going to do over the summer?"

I think that regardless of your education level you don't need me to tell you the correct answers. But if you do, don't be embarrassed to ask me.

I digress.

Now I can talk about Stella. Her life is much more interesting (and by interesting I mean that we can talk of developmental stages met!) than mine. I already know how to eat solids. In fact, I take eating solids for granted. I can also sit up. And hold things! But somehow this is much more interesting when learned for the first time.

Above you see Stella eating. Her Grandma Go Go was feeding her. Cool. See, if I posted a picture of myself eating that wouldn't be very cute. And if my food was all over my face you might worry--or think I needed a ghostwriter.

My Husband is SO Committed to the Environment

While driving to church on Sunday I said, "What are your thoughts on us becoming a one-car family?"

"I think it's possible. We basically drive this one car together all the time. I only use the Honda to drive to work and to ASU."

Thinking in my head, "Cool. One more thing to eliminate from our life. Less stuff. Rad."

Then Jamie announces, "I could always get a scooter."

"Yeah, that would be cool. They go about 400 miles on one gallon of gas. And they're cheap to insure--if you have to insure them at all."

That was Sunday, April 9th. The photo at left? Tuesday, April 11th. I know the Rolling Stones sing a song entitled "You Can't Always Get What You Want" but they haven't met my husband.

ha hA HA!

My sister. She's so clever:

RE: Like Mother, Like Daughter

On Apr 11, 2006, at 15:34, Christa Hubbell wrote:

Really, I didn't know you fell asleep sucking your thumb in front of the mirror...

Oh yeah? Well, you're coming to visit soon. You'll be sleeping on my couch--all vulnerable and unconscious-like. And I have a camera.

P.S. Did you know you'd be on the couch? It's comfortable--and closer to Stella than the bed at Dad's house.

Relative of the Week: Buddy

Our first dog, and therefore Stella's (even though they both preceeded her) was Buddy. He is Stella's favorite. Everyone loves Buddy--no one knows how sneaky he is. Stella gets a huge kick out of Buddy. She smiles and squirms with glee when he comes around.

Buddy really likes Stella, too. He likes to lick her face. I'm sure this aspect of their relationship will develop the more food that Stella eats. And when we look over and see him licking her sweet little face, we'll try to forget that we catch him eating cat turds in the backyard.

Like mother, like daughter

Sometimes,
while she plays
Stella gets tired.

She doesn't hold back.
She gives right in
and takes a nap.

November 27th, 2005

When we returned home from the hospital after Stella's birth we experienced those surreal moments of being home with your first child. Everything is new and wonderful and heartbreakingly real.

Before Stella, we talked about going the entire winter without using our heat. We'd done it in the past. In fact, our first year in this house we didn't have heat or air until mid-April because our unit broke and the warranty company was stonewalling us. After that, we realized how relatively easy it is to go without heat here in Arizona.

(Caveat: Some of you that aren't from around here might think this an incredibly easy feat. "Arizona winters? Isn't that an oxymoron?" NO! It gets cold at night. Outdoor plants freeze and die because it gets cold here. If you doubt me check it out.)

In our new parent hubris we brought Stella home at the end of November and put her to sleep in her little bed with her little clothes and no heat. The next morning her little hands and toes were ice. We both got up and went in to change her diaper. She was a cold little thing. We experienced our first parenting mistake and decided we'd use the heat this winter at night. We didn't want our little munch to get cold.

I like to look back on these pictures of her first days home. There was so much that I was feeling. And I love this picture of Jamie with his new daughter. The look on his face is so sweet and awestruck. I've been lucky to have both of them. Jamie has made life as a first-time mother so pleasant. He doesn't worry or pester me with questions about Stella's well-being. He doesn't freak out whenever she cries. He helps out when he's home and the older she gets the more enchanted he becomes. I can quite honestly say that Stella has been the best bonding experience for us as a family. I highly recommend it.

Speaking of Relatives...

Yesterday I was talking to CJ Hubbell, formerly known as Truckbutt due to, shall we call it the "capacity of her diapers" as a wee one. She asked to speak to her one and only niece on the telephone. I put the phone to Stella's ear as she was babbling away to herself saying things such as, "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Gagagagagagaga! Bbbbbbbbbbb (with some spit bubbles throughout)." As soon as she heard the voice of her sweet aunt she paused and her eyes widened. She had a look of recognition and she raised her head to look knowingly at the ceiling fan--her constant companion in her desert home. Ceiling Fan: the object which reigns on high and is the source of all voices that come from nowhere. "Yes, Ceiling Fan? I hear you. I love you, too, Ceiling Fan. See you soon!"

Relative of the Week: Grandma Kelly

When I say fried chicken, fried okra, pineapple upside down cake, molasses cookies, banana cookies, red velvet cake, homemade noodles, what do you think of? Well, I think of one Martha Awl Kelly, Grandma Kelly, Marty Kelly, "Have a Party Marty," Silver Sneaker Scorner, Aerobics Attending, everyone's favorite cabana-singing woman. Here she is:Yesterday we spent a lot of time in the car with GK. Stella was sung to and snuggled and ga-ga'ed over. She loves the attention as long as you don't get all up in her grill. Because if you do, she summons The Lip in order to repulse your love attack! She's got boundaries, people. Respect them. And yes, she is "always eating." And yes, she's been known to "sleep a lot." And on ocassion she wants nothing to do with your coffee breath and schmoopy talk, but it's nothing personal.

Wherein Words Fail

HA. One might think I'm about to expound on the wonders of life. Lo, the treasures of parenthood, marriage. Yea, the glories of the desert in the spring or the overwhelming feeling that you get when you discover you have new email.
No, I am going to say how cool is the internet. There is a tool out there where you can track where the people are who read your site, what site referred them to yours and how long they stayed. (Alas, people come from far and wide and stay for not so long. Is it me? Dost my stench offend?)
In the last few weeks I have had international visitors:
France, Holland, Spain, Greece, Australia, Brazil and even Canada! ("Oh, Canada...!") Granted these people take one look and move on, but still. Greece! Not to mention the many people from around the US. I know, for instance, that one person in Seattle, WA on a Holland America ISP read for around forty-five minutes. Yes, perhaps they came and left the browser open while they left and went to a meeting thus accounting for the length of time because I don't know if I have forty-five minutes of interesting information. However, if that person is reading now: do you suddenly have that hot flush to your cheeks of being discovered? Did you just have a birthday? Are you...pregnant?
And if you're reading and you want to know about this, how do you say, technology, I can tell you...but you musy ask!

The 411

Working hard or hardly working? You tell me.

People ask me many questions to which I answer, "It varies. Not really; but I used too. Very strict one, actually; actually, no, I'm lying. They're deeper than most shallow people are willing to go. In my newly organized hall closet."*

Here's a glimpse of the day:
5:30-6:00 Jamie arises from deep, restorative slumber to take on his day. He grinds some coffee. This usually stirs me to the core.
6:00-6:30 Stella awakes and wants a tasty treat. Since I'm such a talented housewife, I need not arise from bed to meet her needs. I merely roll over.
6:30-7:00 Who knows what happens in the hinterlands of my dreams.
7:00 Rise and Shine. Pilates with Amy Brown! In my very own living room. Stella: exersaucer!
20 minutes later (because that's all it takes, people!) Stella's wanting some more sustenance. Get myself some coffee and feed her some more.

OK, I'm tired of typing times.

It depends on the day as to what makes up our core activities. Sometimes we bake, sometimes we walk, sometimes we run errands, sometimes we clean house; then there's Border's storytime with Jared or Ava or maybe someday Caleb or Luke? Who knows?
Honestly though, the entire day is filler for Stella's favorite time of the day:


This is not staged. She is a natural lollygagger.



*"What do you do with your day now that you don't work. Do you get bored? Do you have a schedule? Do you know life's deepest mysteries? Where's the extra T.P.?"

New Feature: Relative of the Week!

This week's relative: Big Jer!

Big Jer played it cool during Stella's incubation period, but once she arrived he lost his proverbial shit over this little incarnation. If Stella was a publicly traded stock, Beg Jer would be a 90% shareholder. If Stella were an infectious disease, Big Jer would be contagious. If Stella was saffron, he would buy her by the pound. If Stella was a beautiful wisteria tree bursting with blooms, he would drive across town and plant her in the ground!

Big Jer is Stella's only surviving biological grandpa. He's got a big job ahead of him. I'm sure he'll do his best to teach her fairness and the value of hard work and he'll balance out the two grandmas who love to spoil her. He'll teach her the meaning of no and the comfort of boundaries and self-control on eBay. And if she's really good she'll get to hold Squawkers! Oh yes!

A First: One of Many

Do not try this at home.
After being explicitely directed not to touch the butterflies at the botanical gardens, Jamie held Stella near a butterfly. So close that had she not been so into her hands
she might have noticed it and grabbed it. This, however, did not happen. It didn't take long for the butterfly to get agitated by Stella's proximity and try to fly away--only to land on her hand.

People stage photos with oversized characters at Disneyland all the time, so I won't feel bad about this. So, people, the first time a butterfly lands on Stella: March 23rd, 2006.

In other news that no one really cares about: one landed on my hat without any cohersion. Big whoop. Look. Stella didn't care either.

Four Months y Mas!

This is the lip of sadness. It holds forth in appropriately sad circumstances: fright, loneliness, parties between the hours of four and six in the evening, etc.

To commemorate the beginning of Jamie's spring break and to pass some time with The Lip, we made a trip to the pediatrician's office. We were told the weight of the wee one and she was subsequently stabbed with a needle THREE times in her chubby little thighs. The Lip made an appearance and there was much commisserating. As a treat afterwards she got to breastfeed. This always soothes little girl's sadness and makes me wonder, "What will I do to soothe her when she's older? Say thirteen and it is no longer possible to offer her the boob?"

Interesting dialogue ensues.

In other news our dog enjoys many delicacies in life: licking ice cream bowls and dinner plates, rawhide chews, cat poop, and decaying bird heads. We give children stuffed animals, dogs prefer unstuffed animals--if they're in charge of the unstuffing. Yum!

Workin' the Hammies

White Goodman's got nothing on this chick. Stella's doing a new thang: gettin' down with her bad self, yo.

Don't Despair

Some people say, "Life is so cruel. Why do bad things happen to good people?"
To which I say, "Jennifer has bounced back. I think she's even forgiven Brad and Angelina. Can't you, too?"

Some people say, "This world is unsafe for children."
To which I say, "C'mon, Britney apologized. She wouldn't do anything to harm Sean P. She was scared by the paparazzi. Wouldn't you be scared, too?"

Some people say, "There are starving people in this world."
To which I say, "Nichole Ritchie chooses not to eat. Don't feel so bad."

Some people say, "There are so many fatherless children."
To which I say, "Tom is old-fashioned. He wanted to get married before the child was born, but Katie got too fat to fit into her wedding dress. They'll fix it."

Some people say, "There are so many hurting people in the world."
To which I say, "Nick is dating already and Jessica has bought her own mansion. Things are on the mend."

Some people say, "Life is so painful."
To which I say, "Laser hair removal lasts only a short time-- hairless bikini line lasts a lifetime!"

Some people say, "You're so out of touch."
To which I say, "Wha?"

I Object

This truly is the face of one small girl who knows what she doesn't want. She doesn't want to have sweet, pinky amoxycilin thrust down her throat with a syringe, thank you. She might let it cross her lips and allow it to loll about in her mouth while she feigns cooperation, but it will very sneakily makes its way past those lips and all over the face.

I can honestly say this was the first time I was angry with Stella. Not at her, just with the situation. So frustrating. Smelly, little infected ear.

Mental Note...

When baby is put to bed at 5:30 pm so as to make it easier for husband while wife is away, and baby sleeps straight through the evening and into the night, it might be a good idea to wake baby up so she doesn't realize how refreshed she's feeling come 4 am.

Sumbthucker

Stella has recently acquired suckage—as in sucking that appendage that is neither finger nor digit. This is somewhat of a welcome habit. The reason being that it renders me somewhat useless at naptime. She is now capable of sucking herself to sleep with that sleek little tool.

Seeing her suck her thumb is equal parts cute and disappointing. I sucked my thumb. I was intimate with my thumb for years. The consequence being that I had intense orthodontia as a young child. I wore braces on and off from third grade until tenth grade. I also had two jaw surgeries to correct my horrendous under bite. Looking at pictures of myself from before my surgery is a humble undertaking. My Jaw—my Siamese twin--looms large and is the first thing that I notice. Of course, I am keenly aware of it and the pain that it caused—I’m talking literal pain here. I never endured teasing over The Jaw.

My surgery required that my jaw be wired shut for at least four weeks. The other important thing to know about this time in my life is how incredibly tall I was. I had the surgery at fourteen years old. I was at least 5‘11” tall and maybe 150 pounds—wiry to say the least. Now add to that a four-week refrain from solids and you get one skinny little teen. I lost about ten pounds while my parents lost about ten grand. The only “fatty” part of me was my swollen cheeks. I remember trying to squeeze bits of meat through gaps in my teeth to no avail.

I looked forward to the day they clipped those wires. I imagined myself going to a restaurant and ordering a huge cheeseburger. What they fail to tell you beforehand is that you have to regain, um chewing capacity? I don’t know what you’d call it. But the first time you can open your mouth it feels like it’s extended to its breaking point, but really it’s only opened up about half an inch. This does not make for burger friendly eating. So, you continue with a similar, mostly-liquid diet. Add in the occasional piece of toast or boiled chicken and you’re on your way to gaining back those ten pounds that were lost.

The irony is that after all the money spent, my mother ended up marrying an oral surgeon and I married a guy with perfectly straight teeth who never had braces. This means that Stella’s dental future is basically a crapshoot.