Dear Progeny

By the looks of things on this little family album that I started years ago one would think there's not much happening. Quite the contrary, kids, you've been very busy. We've all been busy. As of today our family status is:

Stella 4.5
Gianna freshly 3
Rowena 15 months
and new baby boy to arrive 10/6/10

Plus:

Jamie is entering his third and final year of law school. This year it's only law school. Last year it was law school and teaching seventh grade Latin in the morning. It was work and school all week and then study almost all day Saturday. It was hectic and short on time. One Saturday Jamie accompanied us on some morning errands and I felt like it was Christmas. All of us together! Driving around on a Saturday morning! Would his law books feel neglected? Who cares! Yippee!!!

I have some pictures to document our lives, but they're mostly on my iPhone. And that is pathetic. There are lots of little stories about you in my head. I need to write them down. But the blog was becoming stifling. I didn't like the thought of people reading my words (I realize the irony). So I stopped writing.

But I'm a writer and I must write. So begin again, I say. I don't want to forget all the good that happens around here while our lives seem swallowed up by all the activity of life and vocations and work.

iPhone photos to prove it. I really shouldn't disparage the iPhone photos because if it wasn't for that little gadget I wouldn't have much at all. With three kids to keep track of, I don't have the capacity to keep track of inanimate, static objects.



Stella's drawing of her dad: curly hair

Hot

I've spent most of my summer out of Phoenix, so I have no right to snivel now that I'm back. I'm not sniveling, just realizing a weird mental tick I have about the heat.

When I am surrounded by civilization and unknown number of options for survival, I will be suddenly overcome by dread. Dread of the thought of being lost or suddenly car-jacked and all my stuff stolen and left. Left for dead in a Target parking lot.

This was the thought I had today while putting stuff in the car. I thought, "How long could I survive out here baking in the heat? It sure would be a desperate, depressing way to go." Knowing that I could simply walk into the store and obtain help is the ironic part of this thought being able to seize me so habitually.

It distracts me so much that I leave a newly purchased $20 bottle of Tide under my cart and drive away.

Stupid hot heat, robbing me blind.

Things I Need to Learn How to Say (Apparently, According to Stella)

"OK, you can have the camera now."

"OK, we can buy some toys at Target now."

"OK, you can have some Jell-O now, kids."

"Stella, what am I already good at saying?"

(Really, if you didn't see this answer coming....)

"No."

Before He Was a Father

When She Grows Up

"Mommy, when I grow up I'm going to live in a, uh...uh, what was that place called where we stayed in Portland? The place with all the doors?"

"An apartment."

"Yes! An apartment. And I'm going to have a hubsand (not a typo) who gets to go to work everyday!"

***

Previously, on Stella's future plans:

"Mom, when am I going to be a mom? It's taking soooo long!?"

***

What she calls her sister, Rowena Willamina Marie:

"Rowena Millamina Rowee"

For the Hanson Family Annals

While looking at a book, Gianna notices a little red bow:

"That's a Snow White bow! Those don't live in books, they live in people's hair."

Retelling her dream from the night before Stella insists that she "woke up with a large frown on her face."

And Rowena? She's taken to shaking her head, "No!" while holding onto a piece of furniture. The only problem is she is so passionate in her shaking that she frequently causes her own imbalance and crashes to the floor. Tears ensue.

Sad indeed.

The Five Senses

While reading a little book about the body:

"Skin. What do you do with your skin?"

Puzzled looks.

"It helps you feel. What about you eyes? What do they do?"

Stella says, "They see!"

"Yep. OK, what about ears?"

Both say, "Hear!"

"Yep. OK, what about your nose?"

Gianna says, "Pick!"

Songs Stella Sings

There is no familiar tune to which these are sung, just imagine a jaunty little jingle.

In the car:
"Jesus is glittering, glittering in my heart. And at church the priest talks about Jesus on the cross."

Recently in the backyard:
"Sunrise, sunrise come-uh-uhm outside."

This on actually has a tune. It's "Rainbow Connection":
"Songs about rainbows and songs about rainbows and songs about rain-ain-bows."

Her version of "Yellow Submarine":
"We haul away in a yellow submarine..."

Very entertaining.

Halfway There

Jamie starts school again today. I try not to think about how all-consuming it is, however, I did wake up in the middle of the night with a bit of dread. Definitely dread and not anxiety or fear.

I can't wait until law school is over but I must also be able to enjoy the process. My children are young and if I was only focused on the date that law school is over I wouldn't be able to enjoy the girls at the ages they are and will be in the near future. It would be a real hardship if I was incapable of enjoying life right now.

I don't want to be a downer so that's all I'm going to say about the beginning of his fourth of six law school semesters.

Effective Not Efficient

This is a good reminder:

"You [should] think effectiveness with people and efficiency with things… I see many parents, particularly mothers with small children, often frustrated in their desire to accomplish a lot because all they seem to do is meet the needs of little children all day. Remember, frustration is a function of our expectations, and our expectations are often a reflection of the social mirror rather than our own values and priorities." (Stephen Covey The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People)

Via a blog I frequent.

This is especially formative in my thoughts when I think about my life as being vocation-driven than being product-driven. Technically speaking, my kids are my "product." They are not, however, something that can be measured in importance on an outcome basis. They provide me with lots of things to do, lot of menial things by some standards, but what better way can I fill my time?

After all, the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.

What the Preschool Set Really Wants for Christmas (And Amazon Doesn't Want You to Know!)

A package of green scrubbies
A package of sponges
Their own squirt bottle
A hamburger bun from McDonald's
Foam peanuts and free license to strew them about
The permission to push the button to start the blender/food processor for a whole year
First pick of which spatula to lick
An electric pencil sharpener and a bunch of new pencils
A collection of empty, small yogurt cups
And the most wanted thing?
For you to read the most boring book from your children's book collection to them as many times as they want in a row

Babies

Have you heard of this new documentary? How counter-cultural. Beckoning audiences to come and pay money to watch the life of four different newborns unfold. I think I'll take my children.

What a Lovely Day Outside My Window!

It's 2:15 on December something 2009 and I just went outside for the first time today. It's the most wonderful time of the year hear in the PHX. Why did I just now bother on going out? Well, I just woke up!

Just woke up from a nap. Just woke up from a nap because I have to lay down with children to get them to sleep/stay asleep/not wake up siblings. It's really complicated and all. It's quite nice, too. I think I've taken a nap every day in the last four years. I can't complain about that. I manage to somehow.

I have it in my mind that there are SO MANY OTHER things that I need to GET DONE NOW! (or yesterday!!!). Like what? Like clean my stuff, rearrange it and throw out the extra stuff.

Then I lay in bed nursing little Rowena and parts of that little embroidered poem come to mind: cobwebs and something take a sleep (or something) because I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep. And ain't that the truth?

Why do I create these deadlines for myself? Why do I impose such strict standards of organized chaos? Is it so my children enjoy themselves? They seem to enjoy themselves anyway. Is it for my husband? He doesn't enjoy things when I'm stressed out, so no to that to.

I guess I just don't want to be judged. Tis true. I think people will think I'm lazy if I have a messy house. Or they'll think I'm tasteless if I have simple decor. Or they'll think I'm uncreative if I'm not making cool stuff all the time.

I know I'm none of those things. Our family is happier when I focus on the essentials of homekeeping and enjoy everyone the rest of the time so that's why I try not to feel bad about having just now stepped out my door to the beautiful day outside instead of sallying forth on an excellent outside adventure in order to capitalize on every moment of the day!

I was feeding, dressing, watching and talking with my little girls all day. They were playing babies and kitchen (ironically) and having fun doing it. I had fun watching. Then we all ate lunch and took naps. Sounds like a good day to me.

A Little Treat

I gave the girls some crackers after nap. What they didn't know is that I put a few jelly beans at the bottom of their bowls. This is rare (probably too rare for me to be considered a "fun mom").

Gianna found hers and commenced to enjoy her spoils.

Stella found hers and held it up to examine in the sunlight streaming through the window.

"What is this?" she accused.

"A jelly bean," I answered expectantly.

"I hate jelly beans!"

The Sisters Can't Get Enough

Gianna is in her crib having some two-year-old quiet time. Alone time. Otherwise known as our time away from her and her fitful attempts at individuating and controlling her environment. She's been gone for two minutes when Stella sidles up next to me and asks, "Can I go talk to Gianna?"

"About what," I ask.

"About playing."

I don't know if I should've resisted, but I didn't.

Makes me wish I enjoyed my sister more when we lived under the same roof.

***

I'm writing this because I'm down two children. They're away with their grandma for Stella's birthday. My house is a mess, I'm still in my pajamas and Rowena slumbers on my lap. There are probably many things I should be doing, but I really wanted to remember that story. And these days my free time is slim to none what with law school and children kicking my butt.

I Know What "They" Say

I know I should correct my children in the affirmative (as in, "Walk, please" instead of "Don't run!"). I know it's supposed to be more encouraging and edifying and all that jazz, but I admit I frequently, well, don't. I do not.

I'm starting to think the suggestion of affirmative correction is more for my sake than for theirs. Otherwise it gets to be afternoon and I feel like all I've done is told people what NOT to do all day.

This brings me to another thing I think about. The boggling amount of things you must teach your children how (or how NOT!!!) to do.

For instance:

It's not just, "Sit down and eat your dinner." You can tell this to a room of twentysomethings and they know all that this directive entails.

"Sit down (in your, not your siblings) chair (as opposed to the nearby stool or piano bench) (sit on your bottom) (also sit still, don't rock back and forth, don't flail your arms, don't thrash your head) and eat (as opposed to: ram it with your fork, stir it wildly, flick it in the air, chew obscenely and then spit out) your dinner (don't ask for fruit snacks, cookies or juice). Thanks"

A Quick Jot for the Annals

Gianna likes to sing, "If you're happy and you know it say, 'Rowena!'" She also like to sing it using any noun/person that's within eye shot.

Stella frequently comments on how much she "loves Gianna's little 'boice.'"

Gianna has taken to calling Rowena "Roweeny." Or, more specifically, "My Roweeny." Then she smothers Rowena with her girth.

We go one walks now that it's cooler. The girls love to call my attention to "Ant Cities!" Pretty fascinating stuff.

My grandma is in town and the girls got to meet her. Stella asks about Grandma Hubbell now.

Gianna and her cousin Isabella are great playmates. Gianna informed me this morning that, "Izzy is my friend, Mama."

"I'm Just Saying"

This is one of my favorite statements. It can fill any kind of conversational void. However, when you asked of the utterer, "What are you 'just saying'?" they are usually at a loss because what they are "just saying" is usually something critical. Am I wring here?

I'm just saying...I'm a time waster. I read a lot but I write not-so-much. You might say, "Meh, who cares?" But writing, as reading, is a discipline that I enjoy. It's also one that I can partake in relataively easy at this stage in life. It doesn't cost a dime, no special equipment, no destination: you get the point.

I utter to myself, "You are wasting time."

"So, what of it? I need some "me" time, right? I want to read blogs and the newspaper and online articles that criticize (constructively, of course) our President. I want to find out how to organize my closet and lay in bed next to Rowena while she suckles her way through a ninety minute nap."

These things take time.

So does the writing.

So does the time awake at night where I think about the things I want to write about.

So does the calling my friends who never call me back!!!!

I enjoy it. I must do it more.

I hereby pledge.

I've pledged. There you have it.

Some of That Good

Stella says to me very seriously, "Mama, when I grow up I want to be a box inside a box eating candy." After a quick thought, "And Gianna can be a rock."

***

Making up spontaneous songs while looking at a book, pointing to the words, "I am a word! I am a word! You cannot touch me. You cannot touch me."

More Clinging to the Good

It is easy for me to become overwhelmed and agitated when my life is so enmeshed in the lives of many little small people. Little people, two of which, who want so much to be independent (in certain ways) but still require so very much help. Sometimes that help can be exasperating, not because the work is difficult, but because it is repetitve.

I am a servant to my childrens' needs. I need to serve them physically. I also need to serve them emotionally and spiritually--also all enmeshed.

I do my best to meet those needs every day with a cheerful heart, go to bed and get up to do it all over again the next day. With Rowena in the mix it means that there are still needs that must be met through the night as well.

Sometimes it is easy to feel sorry for myself or wish that things were different or want something "more." But I also know that what I have right now is the best.

This is where I practice "clinging to the good." Jamie admonishes me to do so when the going gets tough. Once again, it's not that anything I do is especially trying or difficult, it's the repetition that is the source of my agitation. When I think about it in these terms it seems rather silly.

I know that the children will require food, rest, activity, discipline, correction and bathing. I know that they need very specific direction and, often times, my physical help in moving their bodies in the right direction. I know there are many unmentionables that they will need help with. I know that they will want to rebel and defy and scream. I know these things. I know that if I take them on an outing they will not want to go home. I know if I try to do to much they will unravel and become suseptible to tantrums. Yet I press on in the Living Life department.

When their reactions baffle me and I am tempted to indulge in screaming and yanking of limbs and ceasing of fun I return to this idea: Cling to the Good. This can be literal: cling to those memories where people are happy and laughing, enjoying one another and obeying. This can also be figurative: the Good, the highest Good is Jesus. Does it win me any peace to continually lose my patience with my kids when their behavior is age-appropriate yet, nonetheless, trying or embarassing? Does it teach them self-control when I continually lose control of myself?

As I said before, much of my life is repetitive and, thankfully, expected. There aren't many surprises here. That, too, is a good. When I am tempted to give in to my thirty-something temper tantrum or a woe-is-me afternoon I practice clinging to the good in my children and the Good of Jesus.

Why am I telling you this? Because I spend a lot of time thinking about it. This having children and raising them up is an arduous affair that has required me to come to terms with all the virtues that I lack. Now is my chance to acquire them.

Cling to the good. I can't recommend it enough.

So Much to Say and So Little Time (I Can Hear You Weeping)

There is so much and so very little happening.

Rowena is four months old. She weighs seventeen pounds which is merely two pounds shy of what Stella weighed when she was one. It's a good physical reminder of how very different everyone is. Everyone and every one of my children. I cannot compare, yet I can't not! How do I escape the cycle? I used to hate being compared when I was a kid. It was always Adrienne, a friend, that I was compared to. And I did not like her hair.

We are finding more time to be outside. It must be early in the morning or late in the evening but it is so refreshing. It is so nice to walk out front at 4pm and not be overwhelmed with HOT! It's less like openeing the door to an oven these days and more like stepping outdoors to a hot afternoon. Is there a difference, you ask? You must be asking from a different state.

In the evening we go out back and rake the compost and watch the chickens (because we are so "crunchy con"). As soon as you step out the back door you can sense that the edge is waning. The hot edge of the summer. The temperatures dip below 90 at night and it is becoming downright pleasant.

This is the time of the year when lots of other people are begininng to turn their sights indoors. They are looking forward to cozying up with a book, warm tea and blankets, crock pot meals and all sorts of creature comforts. We look forward to that, too. But we also look forward to pausing for a moment outside after church, being able to have a pontaneous conversation in the parking lot, walking to the mailbox without shoes on, turning down the AC in the car--maybe even rolling down the windows instead. It will get cold here, too. It gets quite cold and our nice season in full of short days. So it's not quite like the long pleasant summers that others enjoy, but I will take it. I look forward to jeans and sweaters, or even just long sleeves.

A few weeks ago we went to Mass at 7:30. It was finished by 8:30 and a bunch of people talked outside in the grass. My face hurt from smiling and I couldn't help but enjoy how chatty everyone was. In my head I have a vision of heads tossing and lots of flourishes with hands to emphasize statements, lots of laughter and guffawing. I snickered to myself because that is what happens to people in Phoenix when it cools down. They have so much to say to people who don't live in their homes, people they just bump into that once it's nice out and they can hang out for a moment to say it, it all comes gushing out in waves of overwhelming happiness. That's the beginning of the last third of summer here in Phoenix, folks.

Birthday Requests

In Stella's interior life her next birthday is always "next weekend" just as her last birthday was just "last weekend at (her) party." She has birthday requests every day. And if you have a conversation with her she will ask you what you are going to be getting her for her birthday.

Yesterday as she was settling down for her nap I received the best request yet:

"For my birfday next weekend I want a dress. Made out of favric that has rainbows and horses on it. And babies chasing them. We'll have to go favric shopping."

Nouns for Names

We got four baby chicks with four inspiring names. Get ready:

Flower, Princess, Fabric and Glasses

(There will be a quiz later.)

Stella chose the first two names while driving in the car. When asked by her father what she would be naming the remaining two she gazed up at his bespectacled face and said, "Hmmm, Glasses!" And gazing slightly beyond him while we were stading in the craft room she saw piles and piles of--you might have guessed--fabric! Lo, a name was given. Why didn't Jamie and I think of that?

***

Our curly-topped two-year old often wakes up with quite a mop on her head. Stella looked at her one afternoon and announced, "Your hair looks like a circus."

I love that. I love the way her little mind worked that one out.

***

Seems there was more, unfortunately it has been vaporzized.

Sincerely,
The Milk Machine

"Not Fair!"

First of all, where do children learn this word/concept/retort?

Second of all, here's the twist on fair 'round these parts:

The other day I dropped a DVD on the ground while I was holding the baby and putting another DVD in the player. Both of the girls saw me drop it. I said, "Can you get that for me, please?"

Gianna jumped up and said, "I do, Mama."

Stella responds, "Hey, I didn't get to get that!"

I say, "Well, yeah, you just sat there. You didn't want to help me."

She says, "Well, next time it's my turn to help."

"That's fine. But we don't take turns helping. We just get up off our keisters and do it."

"Well that's not fair."

More Seen and Heard

Reported from the front lines by Jamie:

On a walk in the mountains preserve Gianna asks one of her new question, "What's that 'mell?" In other words, "What's the smell?" It's usually accompanied by a charming little nose crinkle.

Jamie doesn't know so he asks her. She responds confidentally, "Animals."

**

Our apartment in Portland would get really warm in the afternoons. This would make Stella take three to four hour naps. Nice. One day, however, it was so warm she woke up and seemed to have a fever. She was very sluggish and I proclaimed her sick. She gave me her professional opinion regarding the origin of the illness, "Maybe it's from all that toothpaste I eat."

Maybe.

**

During some Saturday morning antics Gianna decides to pony up and try a new skill. She balances over a glass while standing on the couch and relieves her bladder. I walk in to the living room while she's in the midst of this act.

"What are you doing?!!"

She stops and scurries about. I run to catch the glass before it tips over and spills on the couch.

"Don't do that. That's naughty."

Yet I can barely keep in the laughter. Surprisingly, no pee got on the couch. That's something, right?

Jamie made me thrown the glass away. He said the knowledge of such an act would ruin the entire species of glasses unless he knew the offended cup was gone.


**

Say la Vee!!!

How Things Unfold Around Here

Being infantile in siza can be dangerous in these parts. Being infantile in behavior, however, quite status quo. However, there is much absorbing of information that happens even when kids seem to be distracted by toys, snacks and their sister's loud yelling.

Rowena doesn't seem to get much time on the floor. At least not much time unobserved. One must be in the room while she's hanging out or she has a tendency to attract the sturdy body attached to Gianna's head. That body is a Rowena magnet. It especially likes Rowena's head and since Rowena is still of a very smotherable size one must be vigilant about her tummy time.

Today I put her down on the exercise mat and her sisters flocked to her sides like a well-paid entourage. They were kicking and manhandling all the toys. Of course, Rowena loves it--twice as much action as the girls could generate when they where wee ones.

As I'm sitting on the floor within hands reach of the babe Gianna stands up, swipes a pistachio and thrusts it into Rowena's mouth. Stella and I are both horrified and I remove it immediately.

"Gianna, don't ever put anything in Rowena's mouth."

She replies in her husky little voice, "K, Mama."

"Yeah, Gianna, don't do that," Stella bosses.

"K. My mouth?" she asks.

"Yes, you can put food in your mouth."

"Yeah, Gianna, Rowena eats milk."

"Oh."

Gianna's thinking.

"From Mom's boob?" she asks.

"Yes," Stella says.

"Oh."

Gianna swiftly orients her body over the baby and offers herself up, "My boob?"

Things Seen and Heard

After Stella has mentioned all of her extended family members and friends in her prayers she mentions a few other things in need of prayer, "The banana slugs at Papa's house."

**

The girls have started to enjoy hosting tea parties. The parties at our house require all the guests to be nursing a "baby." I have Rowena and the girls have various dolls shoved up under their dresses. Then Stella begins to chat, "And my baby spit up and shwishy spa toosie blah di blah schwazy."

To which Gianna responds, "Yah, Yaya."

**

While in Washington this summer the girls discovered a hole in the ground. We told them an animal (probably a snake) lived there. It was great fun to hear Gianna say "animal hole." It ends up coming out like two complete sentences, "Amale. Ho." She uses her hands when talking about it. It looks something like this:

This Picture is a Good Depiction

of how excited the girls were to be back around all their stuff:

Passage View Way

Passage View Way
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

She Follows Directions

Portland 2009
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

While uploading photos from Portland I found this little gem. Gianna's tiny little shoes by the door. Because I said, "Gianna, take your shoes off, please, and put them by the door."

Such small acts of obedience just warm my heart. She is so cute and curly these days.

Climate Controlled

I've come to realize that the people of the Northwest must be more acclimated to dealing with the heat than myself, a desert dweller. These barbarians have no air conditioning, as a general rule. In Phoenix I spend my summers in the comforts of my seventy-eight degree home. Here in Portland I am roasting in our apartment with the comforts of a small fan blowing around warm air. If the US were a human, I would be found nestled in its inner thighs.

Everyone says, "Well, we don't need air conditioning because it's not hot here for very long?" Define "very long." Because I've been here for three weeks with a sweaty midriff the entire time. Who do they think they're fooling? Certainly not the bacteria in their own sweaty pits.

Sisters

For lack of time to write anything and my camera refusing to cooperate with my computer, here's a little pic of the girls in Portland. Granted it could be anywhere on any couch, but take my word. Jamie's phone seems to be the only successful device for sharing photos at this time. This causes me frustration and middle-of-the-night troubleshooting thoughts

I've Taken to Calling Her Roni

She has many nicknames, to be sure, such is the way in the Hanson house. This happy little photo was taken before the witching hour overtook our entire, especially small while we're in Portland, household. Shortly after all the smiles we descended into an emotional and behavioral mire that required my (failed) attempts at restraint. Instead, I turned Stella over to the television and put Gianna to bed early. It was nice to think back on this photo and "cling to the good" as St. Thomas Aquinas, and my husband, frequently remind me.

Law School Gauntlet

I recently settled my mind on the difficult thing about being married to a law student: the stakes are high. It's a huge investment of time, money and un quantifiable resources and the outcome is an unknown--as in all investments. You could end up in the top of your class or the bottom. Thankfully, for Jamie thus far, he has ended up in the top twenty percent of his first year class. This is an achievement for someone who has/had a pregnant wife and two/three daughters at the time.

In law school everything is graded on a curve. So your ability to succeed is literally tied to that of the best in your class. If you're lucky you're the best in a class on dopes. I told Jamie he should get his class ranking--30--printed on a t-shirt and wear it to a class and his response was, "No. There'd be 29 other people who could laugh at me."

I was thinking of all this last night as the girls and I embarked on our nightly stroll. I had a coffee and the girls were enjoying their Trader Joe's cookies that I parcel out at that time. I was thinking about what a treat it was to be out and about but how dismal my spirits were in contrast. It's always hard when you're somewhere new, relatively alone yet surrounded by people. I was missing the friends I take for granted in Phoenix. I was missing my little routines (surely thought of as ruts when I'm at home). I was just generally feeling sorry for myself. Such is the human condition, no? I'm strolling down a beautiful green park, outside no less (Phoenicians understand this July luxury), and taking in all the green and the late day sun filtering through the trees and I was all woe-is-me.

If I had seen a picture of that park in a book at home in Phoenix I would think, "If only I were there, life would be ideal, perfect, enjoyable. I would be able to seize the joy of life with my brood of children and we would be laughing together and stroking each others' hair in glee. We would partake of the best of ice cream and coffee..." Instead I was wishing my husband was with us and thinking, "Well when law school is over I'm going to buy myself a really expensive _______." Expensive what? I don't know. I couldn't even think of something that I want that badly that I couldn't get today. I just have this idea that when law school is over the Golden Days will commense.

Do I not realize that I am living them right now?

Yes, I do realize it, but I need constant reminding. Constant.

Isn't that the way?

I have a friend whose husband is in the midst of studying for the Bar exam. And she realizes, too, the faulty thinking that whatever is wrong with life will cease to be wrong "once the Bar exam is over."

Makes me glad I'm not the only feeble-minded little human muddling through life here on this beautiful but sometimes frustrating planet.

File this one under Things I Think About Way Too Much While My Small Children Grow Up Before My Very Eyes.

It Only Takes a Week

I always maintain that vacation with small children needs to be longer than a week. I know that's not possible for everyone, or even most, but thankfully the last few years of our school schedule have afforded us this luxury. I really feel like it takes a while to settle in to your new surroundings enough so that ANYONE has a good time.

That said, we've been here a week and we've hit our stride.

Jamie has come up with pithy statements (his description) to help me get through the long, consecutive string of nights where he is absent. This week it's five night, next week only three. Here's his advice, "Rely on the reliable."

He conjured this one up while I was coming to pieces last night trying to deal with all three on my own. It's a perfect storm of issues that makes nighttime difficult:

It's light out until past 10.
Every entertainment device is within Gianna's reach and button-pushing capabilities.
The cable doesn't work.
The computer, which has access to streaming Netflix videos, has way too many tempting buttons.
The baby is confused.
The mother is confused.
The confused mother starts to think about all her pillows at home.
The middle child starts, literally and figuratively, pushing buttons.
The oldest child screams and scratches the middle child.
We are in a small apartment and I am overly sensitive to bothering the neighbors.
Someone nearby has a baby that I can hear cry through our windown and I'm always walking our creaky hallways to go back a check the status of my baby.
Ad nauseum.

So, "Rely on the reliable." Surprisingly this makes sense. This means that I take the children out every night after Jamie leaves. We go to the park. We stay out way past our Phoenix bedtimes or even our Phoenix be-at-home times. I get myself a drink at a coffee shop. I bring cookies and hand them out to the girls. We go home and take baths. We make sure Gianna is good and tired out, stick a Nuk in her mouth, put on a video for Stella and go lay down with Gianna.

One kid down.

The baby gets nursed and wrapped really tight and put in her little bed. Usually she lays back there and grunts and squirms for about forty-five minutes before she goes to sleep.

Two kids down.

Stella's video is over and she brushes those teeth and hops into bed sans pajamas (because it's been that hot here) and her and I go to sleep.

Three kids down.

Confused mother is down.

It's a little dance that I'm perfecting. And all last week it caused me major stress. Now I have embraced it and I'm no longer dreading Jamie's departure.

It's like a friend of mine said to me after I told her that recuperating from a c-section is nothing compared to mastitis with a three week old:
That which doesn't kill us makes everything else bearable in comparison.

That is to say that all my adjustment here prepared me for the public transit kerfuffle I experienced today with all three kids, a double stroller and little ol' me. That's a story for another day, though.

Day Two Tizzy

Here are some other things about new city experiences:

At night Stella tells me, "I can't wait to go back to Phoenix." She doesn't say it in a sad, longing way, just matter-of-fact.

I can't wait to get back to all my pillows in Phoenix. How many pillows do you have on your bed? Do you take them for granted? Think about those sweet pillows right now. Give them a hug next time you see them. We have four paltry pillows here and four heads. Jamie and I have already tried to swindle our children out of their pillows. They're not buying it. We are on the lookout for pillow substitutes. It makes you look at all the soft things in your environment diferently. "Would that stack of towels make a good pillow if I stuffed them in a pillow case? What about that stack of t-shirts...?"

We need the pillows so we can get good rest because we walk all day. We've had to significantly increase our calorie intake. We walk all the time and are, therefore, ravenous. I am a breastfeeding mother of three who walks, pushes a stroller and carries a wee babe strapped to my chest--I cannot get enough to eat. Come and take me out to dinner. Actually, scratch that. Come and cook me a tasty meal. Unless you've had a prior good experience at a restaurant, I'm not into wasting calories on slop.

We at a the worst restaurant the other night because we didn't have our act together yet. Tonight we ate it and I praised the kitchen St. Pasqual because it was tasty. It was not, as Jamie described our Asian dumpling meal, "doughy and sweet." Doughy and sweet does not tide one over for intense walking.

We went to the Farmer's Market that's about two minutes from our building. It was awesome. It make this whole trip worthwhile. There's another one on Saturday. Every Saturday and Wednesday will find us eating strawberries at the Farmer's Market.

I would like to post some photos, but by the time I get everyone to bed I can barely make myself record these thoughts.

For example, I just remebered that I wanted to note the new-city blues that I go through whenever I go on vacation. No matter how much I look forward to things I spend the first few days adjusting and getting over enormous fears and anxieties about EVERYTHING. You name it and I've feared it the last few days. I don't realize what a creature of habit I am until I'm thrown into an adjustment like this. It's good for me though, because just when I'm feeling most out of sorts and I want to call someone and feel sorry for myself, I remember to pray. "Pray to Jesus," says a voice in my head. It'a a good reminder that He is there to receive all those anxieties. Today was a beautiful day and I was contemplating my own mortality.

I'm such a downer that way.

Day One Doozy

Not really a doozy. I have the ability to take moments of doozy-ness and construe them into an entire day.

We traveled here uneventfully. The only minor meltdown was the last thirty minutes of the flight when Gianna decided that she could no longer take it. It being sitting in her chair and not screaming and not kicking the seat in front of her. I traded the baby off to Jamie and physically restrained Gianna while I sat next to a very kind, understanding woman. She had just spent her week with her grandchild, she was properly prepared for the experience.

But even the kicking wasn't that bad.

We walked around a bit. Went to a park that Stella declared was "stupid" because all it had was "stupid grass." (And please, how do you keep you child from saying such things? Especially when you say them yourself? I know. Stop saying them, right? Easier said...) Had some cookie that Stella did not want because it didn't have sprinkles on it, ate some dinner at the local Chipotle and headed home.

Today the girls and I ventured forth on our own. We walked to a park on the verge of a nice part of town--the Pearl District--but still close enough to get some local "color." Some homelessness, if you will. Nothing I've not experienced before. Nothing that makes one worry about the proximity of your children to the activities being partaken of.

It's funny being in a city again. There are so many opportunities to judge other people. Like, why do those seemingly clean, normal teenagers sit in front of coffee stores all day begging for money (Hello, Santa Cruz!)? Why do so many people make it out of their homes in ill-fitting outfits? Why so much shouting?

At the same time it's nice to be able to walk. It's nice to pull the stroller over for a coffee. It was nice to not be in a car all day.

Yet I can see why people leave the city for the suburb once children are involved. It's an entirely different childhood. Country mouse, city mouse thing.

Like right now I can hear some people talking outside my window.

I'm also typing really fast because now that I'm doing the solo parenting at night while Jamie's taking his class I have even less time to do things like blog. It's constant putting out fires in someone else's small space.

But during the day I get to walk outside with the children, so I'm not complaining.

Gotta go get Rowena.

So Tenderly

Dancing to Dr. Teeth:

Stella's Song

Stella loves to watch TV when she's allowed. However, what Stella is really good at is:

Pretending!

Stella loves to get her little people and animals all arranged in a particular way and have them converse with each other. It's so fun to sit in the same room and listen to the dialogue. But it's especially fun when she sings her song. It's got one line and a little tune. I want to try to get it on tape someday because it cracks me up. Want to know that one line?

"When you do this all day."

Over and over again.

"When you do this all day."

That's her song.

"When you do this all day."

And when you ask her about it and what it means she gets really bashful.

(Gianna just rolled out of bed and asked me, "Where's Yaya*? Where's Noni?" First thing she wants to know about is those sisters.)

*Stella

Woefully Neglected

I keep reminding myself of all the little snippets of everyday life I am going to forget if I don't document them here. There is so much change going on in the Hanson household on a daily basis. I know it will be like this for a while. It's hard to keep up and not dwell on all that has happened and start to feel so sad that MY LITTLE BABY IS GOING TO BE TWO!

I realize that I have another baby already, but in my mind Gianna is still my baby. Of course, so is Stella, but more in honorary designation. She is able to use the toilet and request things clearly. Stella is able to have conversations with us about the things she like and, especially the things she dislikes. For instance, she strongly dislikes it if you smile at her when she first wakes up in the morning. She's also not afraid to telling you when you're making her angry. This typically involves some sort of denial on our part: no cookie for breakfast, no TV first thing, basically no giving in to all her fleshly appetites whenever and wherever she deems fit. This is a hard one because I find myself frequently thinking, "What's the harm of a cookie right now, really, in the scheme of things?" or "Do I really want to have our daily pre-nap argument (fight, really) about going to the bathroom before she goes to sleep?" Some days I don't, so I don't make her. I have to get over this rigid mom in my head that thinks that if there's one day where I let the toilet thing slide before nap she'll never listen to anything I have to say and be wearing a diaper to sleep for the rest of her life.

Anyway, back to my baby. She has a lot to say. We frequently comment on how much more Gianna talks than Stella did at her age. I'm sure it's having an older sibling that you need to comminicate with that has encouraged this skill. Mom and Dad aren't always around to say, "Don't take that, it's mine!" or other necessary negotiating terms.

She's also turned into a little character that sticks her hands in her pockets while swaying her hips to music. She even has songs that she requests by name. A favorite for both girls is "Mahna Mahna." The best part is hearing Gianna request it. "Mahnamamna, Da Da! Mahnamamna, Da Da!" Or the other song that she requests simply by saying, "Ow Ow! Ow Ow!" You'll understand if you're able to hear a few seconds of this clip. Both of the girls love these songs.

Gianna has grown the curliest head of hair in the house, as well. When dry it's shoulder length. When wet it goes halfway down her back, just imagine those curls. Wait you don't have to:



In addition, Gianna LOVES her little sister Noni. Noni is the first things that Gianna asks me about in the morning. "Where Noni, Mama?" And regarless of the questions she asks, the response you're usually given is, "Oh."

I'm not doing justice to her cuteness. It really must be experienced in person. But I knew I needed to write some stuff down lest I forget. She's turning two on July 10th while we're in Portland. And six years ago on July 10th Jamie and I were wandering the streets of Firenze, Italia footloose and fancy-free. But that's another story for another day.

She's got that twinkle:



Enjoying some sun:



She loves this sister:



And this one:



Very excited:





Meanwhile, we also have this cute little bitty:



Who's already going to be two months old very soon. Don't get me started on time flying. And I'm not even always having fun.

The Latest YouTube Rage

You can't watch this without smiling:

He's Done It Again

Not quite a year since his last post, my sweet, clever husband has written a little something. I wish he would do it more.
Go comment.

Disguise Your Snacks and Other Desirables

When consuming food in front of cognisant children it is always a good idea to know what their likes and dislikes are so you can prepare your food accordingly.

Accordingly opposite.

My children like cream cheese. So when I want to eat a bagel in their presence I prepare mine sans cream cheese and only butter. I like cream cheese, too. But I also like bagels with only butter. I also enjoy eating my entire meal and not having to supplement it throughout the day to make up for the large portions that my children have mooched off of me.

Yes, I could say, "No, this is mine." And, yes, I frequently do. But in the words of a friend of mine, sometimes it's easier to just let them have a sniggle.

You try being consistent all day, every day. You may start out with the best intentions but little kids have the gift of equal and unrelenting consistency in terms of: nagging, crying, begging, and being hungry whenever you are eating. Choose your battles.

Other substitutions that seem to work (for now):

serving yourself a much-deserved middle-of-the-day bowl of ice cream in a coffee mug
having some pasta smothered in red sauce
eating carrots without hummus (because for some reason that stuff is a big hit with the littles)
cutting up your apple before you eat it (mine prefer them whole)

This is the advantage of not being a picky eater. You can choose your snack and enjoy it in whatever way it must be prepared.

One of many tactics employed throughout my day to outsmart The Others.

Ah, Blogging Consternation

I am frequently at odds with myself over "blogging." I started for me, for my girls (at the time one girl) so that I could keep track of stuff since I'm not a baby book keeper-upper. In fact, I have one for Stella and none for any child thereafter. Instead, I have a blog.

But then when you blog and people find out about it you have an "audience." Even though my audience is friends and family and the like I start to feel this blogging pressure. Which is good, in a way. As it makes me more accountable to update, which will benefit myself and my original intendees as a result. But then, oh, but then. But then I'm like, "Oh, can I write THAT on my blog? Should I mention THIS? Should SUCH AND SUCH be public knowledge?" None of THAT, THIS or SUCH AND SUCH is very interesting, but just stuff that I think about.

Of course, I do think about lots of things political or religious in nature which effect my everyday parenting style and decisions, so perhaps they are interesting? But I don't want to stir a pot on my family record-keeping blog.

All that is to say that life with three children is aptly hectic and enjoyable. It keeps me honest. It makes me focused. It requires stamina and endurance, spousal communication. It contributes to my sanctification (one of those things I think about). It makes me think about why people don't want children, what the opposite of children is and why that is appealing to some. (Which then seems to become unappealing as those child-free by choice reach a certain age...) What would my life be like sans children? What would I do with my free time? Admittedly, it would free up a lot of resources, but what would be the long-term benefit?

Before Jamie and I got married we did marriage prep courses through the Catholic church. We learned about finances, communication, NFP (gasp!), and other things that play out in the daily life of a couple joined together in the sacrament of marriage. One couple shared their relief that they chose life and children as opposed to material prosperity and ease. They had five children and lost one daughter when she was only fifteen years old. The words of the wife resound with me when my life gets overwhelming, "I'm glad we chose to have our children. I'm glad that we are able to look back at photos of her and recall happy memories with her. There's a photo of her sitting on the ugly couch that we had for so many years because we couldn't afford a new, clean, pretty couch. I'm glad we chose to have her and all her siblings and keep that ugly couch instead of limiting the amount of children so that we could have material gain. Our lives are better because of all our children and I never think about that couch unless I see it in old photos."

That sums up a lot of how I feel about my ugly couch and my lovely children.

And that leads me to one of THOSE THINGS that I think about quite frequently: our particular society's place in the world and in time and our preoccupation with materialism. It can be a hot button topic. Not that I tend to avoid such things in real life, of course if you know me you know that already. My spouse likes to remind me: The perfect can be the enemy of the good. This is true in ambition, home decor, body image and family planning, etc. What stops us from embracing life? What stops you?

“As the family goes, so goes the nation and so goes the whole world in which we live.”
John Paul II

Edited to add:
“The great danger for family life, in the midst of any society whose idols are pleasure, comfort and independence, lies in the fact that people close their hearts and become selfish.”
Also John Paul II

Rowena's First Week

We're all very excited about the arrival of the latest Hanson. Stella says she looks like a bug when she sleeps.



We all show our excitement in different ways. Some of us are givers:





Some of us are squeezers:



But we're always wanting to know what she's up to. You know her as Rowena, around here she's "the new baby."

The Baby is Born

Disclaimer: The author of this post is Jamie, Alishia's husband, not Alishia herself.

Yesterday Rowena Willamina Marie Hanson was born at 12:15ish weighing 9 lbs. 11 ozs. Both mother and baby are fine. They are recuperating in the hospital. Visitors are probably welcome.

Rowena's name, despite what some may think, is no joke. Mouthful though it is, it is hers and lovely. Call her "Noni," "Willa," "Willa-Noni," "Weena," or use the whole damn thing. A rose by another name would smell as sweet...

Here are some photos:

There's Nothing to See Here

Turns out optometrists think you should spend the final week of your pregnancy supine. I wouldn't mind finishing this process in the horizontal position as every time I stand the blood rushes to my feet and makes them itch which exacerbates any smidgen of annoyance already present in my life.

Other things that strangers believe to be true about being pregnant:

"At least you get pampered," said our waitress. She has never been pregnant with my husband's child. She did inform us, however, that her and her husband were "trying."

Thanks.

"Well at least you'll miss the hot weather by having the baby in May," is the most common refrain I've heard. As if it's a consolation for having a baby in the first place. These people are the same that say that Arizona summers are "only" three months long. Because only the days in which the temperature exceeds 115 degrees can be considered summer. These days that we've had lately, in the nineties, are the dew-kissed, refreshing jubilee known as spring.

The last days of pregnancy, for me anyway, do not find me pleasantly folding baby clothes or washing small linens or preparing meals for my family. The days usually find me asking my children, "What's your problem? Why are you crying?" Of course this is usually asked after I have removed an item from their clutches that has caused an odious fight and scream-fest and I have thrown it across the room in a fit of rage.

Which brings me to the other thing I say, "Stop throwing things."

Doing

Making:

The compulsory new baby blanket:



A flannel throw for playing on the ground (because I loved the fabric when I saw it at the store). I've never sewn flannel on flannel. It's a challenge.



Reading:

Russell Kirk

Wendell Berry: a small taste can be had here: Think Little.


Wallace Stegner


Paul Fussell: Specifically his book on class, which can be accessed free thanks to Google.

Someone recently pointed out that an advantage to being married to a well-read bibliophile is all the great stuff just lying around demanding your attention. This is true. Most of the stuff that has me up thinking in the middle of the night or while I'm fulfilling my daily duties is a result of said curator of our home library.

Catching Up:



Thinking:

about "modern" versus "traditional" ideas about parenting, maturity, fulfillment, family sizes, domestic economies; all due to the reading.

Hearing:

Gianna's deep, throaty voice cultivate more intelligible words. Stella telling me funny things. And also shouting that I'm mean and rude.

Waiting:

for May 6th and my hospital vacay.

for June 29th and our family's trip to Portland for five weeks while Sir takes a class. Can. Hardly. Believe it!!!!!!

This is where Jamie would tell me, "Everything I do, I do for you." Not cheesy Kevin Costner Robin Hood style, just Jamie shorthand for, "Babe, I make things happen."

Hanson Girl 3.0

Is not here yet.

Will not be here until May 6th--at the latest.

Just an FYI.

And, no, we don't have a name that we're concealing from the public. We're not Those People.

Don't be offended if you are Those People. I'm just informing everyone that we are not.

We're just fresh out. Fresh outta names.

I'm rooting for the name Brenda.

Hopefully They Don't Read This Blog

Easter kitty purses, 2009
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

Kitty purses, in media res, for the two house kittens who purr about me and tangle betwixt my feet on a daily basis. They want only to cuddle with Mother and bring her great joy.

They are in want of faces. I'm putting off the embroidery as I'm trying to decide the expressions to portray: pleasant kitty or the frightening ferals that they frequently manifest.

Meow! Hiss hiss!

Ceiling Fans in March

This is the time of the year I scoff at the following statement:

It's a dry heat.

And the following opinion:

Summer only lasts three months.

It was 90 deprees at one point last week. I turned on the AC (that's Phoenix speak for air conditioning, folks). When I lived in Seattle and it was 90 degrees it was June. People were indignant. Yet there was still a nice, salty breeze coming in from the Bay (that's Seattle speak for Elliott Bay, their immediate connection to the Puget Sound). I get misty-eyed just thinking of it.

My goal is to complain less about the heat this summer--so I'm going to do it in the spring. My summer transformation into a pile of aimless goo makes Jamie fear for my sanity and ability to deal with minor amounts of stress. In addition, it offends the memory of his late father who, apparently, used to say, "Don't complain." Short, sweet and to the point advice.

I was thinking of all these things on Saturday around 3pm while driving home from the grocery store with Stella, "It's getting to be the time of the year where I will only leave the house between nap time and sunset if I have to go to a major event scheduled by a nincompoop who has more heat tolerance than I do."

It is true that I rarely emerge from my home between the months of April and October after I've returned from a crack-of-dawn outing to the park or something. I won't be the lady with lots of cats, I'll be the weird lady who doesn't leave her house when it's house. Hey, I already am that lady. One September I put off buying batteries for my alarm clock until November as I didn't want to make a quick stop on the way home from work.

I was justifying all my intolerance with the following logic: "I was born in Wisconsin. I have Nordic ancestry. I have people in my lineage named Knute and Rikka. I was not made for this." I lamented this fact in an email to my Uncle Terry and he shared with me a most touching joke. It made me laugh out loud (my apologies to Uncle T for reprinting his most confidential text here sans permission):

"i know people "adapt" to the heat,but still...reminds me of the old joke about the black guy talking to god about his skin,hair,running ability,ect. which god patiently explains about skills in the jungle ,then the guy asks:"then what am i doing in cleveland?"

There's more where that came from. Trust me. Terry's full of them.

Dreams Are Weird (Right?)

I've always had a capacity for really vivid, random dreams. (I know, right? No one else does. I'm so unique.) They would involve acquaintances and when I was in high school I would blurt out to someone in a class, "You were in my dream last night. It was so weird." This was a short-lived habit because if it was a boy I would be really embarrassed. I would try to explain that they were, say, working at McDonald's and I was ordering a burger from them or something equally unimportant, but I'd still get a weird look.

With the advent of Facebook I have really random dreams. Recently, a friend from high school and a Facebook friend showed up as my soccer coach. Then I had a gaggle of elementary school friends in a dream. We were having a pool party. What's even weirder is when worlds collide in my dreams. When my high school friends are hanging out with my college/Seattle friends. I am nearly incapacitated in these dreams because I don't know what to do.

However, there's one friend I have from high school that died a long time ago. So long ago we were still in high school. I manage to have a recurring dream about him where he shows up as his high school self and I'm elated to see him and shower him with hugs and tell him how much I miss him and love him and what's been happening. This is always a nice dream. It's like reconnecting with someone that it's impossible to reconnect with.

The reason these dreams are weird is that they are so real. Whenever I wake from one I really feel as if I'd spent a half hour catching up and slathering my friend with love.

The most recent installment left me a bit deflated as I was taking Matt out to lunch (he offered to pay and I looked at his debit card and informed him it had expired in 2002). We went to some mediocre Asian place and there was a distracting group of my real life/Facebook friends at another table. It was a most eclectic mix of my various "networks." They were loud and boisterous and having SO MUCH FUN!!! I was trying to talk to him and he wouldn't respond. I caught myself thinking, "I know he's dead and all, but he's being lame."

Those Facebookers totally hogged my dream.

My Fat Face

The thing about being tall and skinny most of your life is that when you lament the fatness of your pregnant face people are always retorting, "You're not fat."

Not that I frequently lament the fatness of my face. In fact it's only come up once in a conversation with someone other than my husband. And even to him I just started remarking about it.

I recently printed out some family photos to put in an album. There were some from last summer and the difference between my cheeks and my eye sockets between now and then is striking.

Then there is my fat feet and fingers which feel like they're going to burst by the end of the day. Then there is my stomach. Something one never considers before they are pregnant is just how much your stomach will grow and get so tight. I always tell Jamie to feel my stomach--my one pack--and notice how tight it is. I wonder if carrying an extra thirty pounds in the abdomen is as uncomfortable if it's just kinda limp and saggy?

Realizing that this might be my last pregnancy due to health concerns has made me thankful for a few things that I won't miss:

eight weeks of morning sickness, and therefore, eight lost weeks of life
fat face
fat hands
swollen feet
miniscule amounts of pee yet the raging need to go
hip pain
back pain
difficulty manuevering

These are the physical things that I remind myself will most likely be a thing of my past. I will be back to my normal, agile self and able to quickly chase after my naughty brood of small people.


For evidence of my fat face (notice the eye sockets):

Non-fat


Fat

Stella and Gianna: Spritely Beach Gnomes

We returned from our jaunt to the beach much refreshed and full of sand. I thoroughly enjoyed sitting in the sand and watching the girls be industrious with the slightest of materials. They would move sand from one place to the next, make "dinner," find hermit crabs and pick them up and point out starfish. Stella loved finding "bouncy things," aka anemones, and poking them until they closed themselves up and squirted water at her.



We also went to Jamie's school, Thomas Aquinas College, and saw the inside of this beautiful chapel:



I was never inside it long enough to take any photos of the inside, however, as we attended an eleven o'clock Mass. It was high time for crying and fidgeting. I didn't mind entirely, as I was able to hang out outside in the beautiful weather and watch Gianna play in the grass and find lady bugs. To Gianna all bugs are bees and when she spies one she says, "Bee! Bee, Mama! Bee! Bee, Mama!" She does not want to hold them, though. Do not even try.

Some of my favorite pics:

Stella found something noteworthy


Gianna and her little tide pool


Stella happy as a clam


Gianna's sweet little dirty feet

If You Are a Creepy Neighbor Who Wants to Steal My Stuff, Don't Read This

We're off to California for a week. Yeehaw!

Back in January Jamie got word from his alma mater, Thomas Aquinas College, that they would be dedicating a new chapel on the first Sunday of his spring break. Fortuitous! We decided to attend the celebration and stay on for a few days to make the six hour drive with children more worthwhile.

Stella has been talking about going to the beach for weeks now since we made the mistake of informing her of our plans. Gigi doesn't really know what's happening but sees all the commotion and packing and gets giddy and does innapropriate things like get ear infections and stay up all night screaming and climb/fall/tumble out of her crib. Yahoo!

Typing this out just made me realize I must pack my camera. Yipee!

(Can you tell I don't get out much?) Yowza!

But if you're a creepy neighbor or one of the many transient homeless people who lives on the fray of our neighborhood--we're here all week. Besides, you already stole a bike and my preshus bike trailer, you a-hole, so in the words of one of the storm troopers in Star Wars, "Move along, move along."

Which is Worse?

The child suffering from the ill effects of an ear infection

OR

The child wildly protesting the medicine prescribed to combat the ill effects of an ear infection?

(or the pink medicine all over your carpet and a few towels after two adults had to restrain the child so that the prescribed medicine could be partially ingested?)

Talk About Navel Gaving

I think I'm bigger. You be the judge. Well, don't judge, but constructively compare.

36 weeks with Gianna:



A mere 29ish weeks with (insert name here):



I know that I feel tight as a drum by the end of the day and I definitely waddle when faster-than-strolling speeds are required.

Boo.

My Little Opportunist

Since I don't like to buy maternity clothes, I frequently have some, uh, girth hanging about around the latter end of things. One night while I tried to recline in the utmost of dignity after a longer day of sanctifying toil and labor for the good of the Hanson family members, Gigi could not miss the previously mentioned culmination of circumstances and seized the opportunity to do the following.

How embarrassing. (True fact: I always spell embarrassing wrong the first time. WHAT IS MY PROBLEM?)

I had to grab the camera and "coax" her into another show of her talents.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvEHcIRk1ho

It Was a Rainy Day

And I was elated.

My Friday the 13th Nightmare

My house is messy.



And my living room always looks like this:



And though I don't let it bother me on a regular basis and I know that people in this house are well-fed, rested, generally happy and usually kind, this constant mess gets to me. Maybe not the mess so much as the fact that there's ALWAYS SOMETHING TO BE CLEANED, SORTED, PICKED UP or THROWN OUT.

Everyone has suggestions. "Teach your children to put their toys away." They know how, but it's never the first thing on their mind. Even when they do the cleaning it's only because I'm sitting on the couch telling them exactly what to do.

Also, Winking

We took a Sunday drive to the Boyce Thompson Arboretum. This was quite a departure from our usual existence. I am very happy to say that it was a pleasant experience for all. I was afraid I was going to have to convince Jamie of the merits of such a venture, but he surprised me with willing acquiesence. He did mention that we might get some rain on our way there. If there's one way to convince me of a road trip it is to threaten rain. I cannot help myself when in comes to road trips and rain. So lovely.

We had a downpour on the way there. I'm glad it didn't dampen spirits. It made for a very fragrant and colorful visit. Plants are so inviting after they've been doused.

It was a fun little adventure. And it wasn't even so bad on the disruption of people's napping. Gianna used up her napping in the car, much to my disappointment, but Stella still conked out when we got home. She didn't go to sleep until 2pm, though, which is way beyond her usual, so she was at her wits end and even bit her tongue during snack. The tears were enough to properly wear her out so that minutes after that little head hit my pillow (notice I said "my") she was gone.

Gianna, on the other had, was awake and wreaking havoc on the contents of her crib. She threw out all her Nuks and toys and opened the curtains and the blinds and was starting to seriously disturb the peace. I took pity on my husband, the fatigued drive who was passed out with ear plugs, and roused myself to hang out with Gianna. Once I revived myself with coffee it was fun to hang alone with the Geeg. As you can tell by the above photo, she can be a little character. She's trying to wink at me while I take her photo.

She spent a pleasant afternoon playing with the contents of a small bag. She would fill it with her Little People and then dump them out and line them up. She would pick each one up and examine it and kiss it and show it to me. Like I said, it's not a bad time. It's nice to be able to hang out with her alone while she plays and learns how to have her peeps talk to each other. Quite sweet.

We Get to Have Another One of These!

Every now and then I am hit with the realization that another one of these little gems is headed our way. Of course, I'm not crazy enough to forget all the disruption and activity that comes with them, but c'mon, look how cute they arrive at the Hanson house:


Gianna less than a month old


Stella a few days old

And We Stayed Home

One of Stella's favorite questions to ask is, "Mom, where are we going tomorrow?" And by tomorrow she frequently means today, just later in the day after whatever activity we're currently involved in ceases to be. This aggravates me to no end. It makes it painfully obvious that she is subject to boredom and, consequently, a desire for a frenzied, action-packed life. I don't have anything against activity, I quite enjoy activity. I don't enjoy activity that serves only to distract me from the futility of daily life. That does not mean that I never watch TV or surf the internet purposelessly, it means only that I try not to do those things in excess of other things.

I've realized that my education and lifetime experiences have not served to provide me with habitual quality activities in which to engage. I know how to make meals and clean house and do other chores of necessity. I also know how to go to school and succeed at the task at hand. What I am not terribly successful with is creating tasks for myself to do on a regular basis that stimulate me beyond basic entertainment.

I'm quite proficient at readings blogs and watching LOST and The Office. These are all activities that can be done inside the home. I spend a lot of time at home these days and there are times when I feel the pressure of What Am I Doing? Of course there is childcare and housework that needs to be done, but that does not regularly take up the entire day. There are moments here and there where I could sew for fifteen minutes, read a chapter of a book for twenty minutes or some other constructive activity. My natural inclination is to do something mindless, however, and that aggravates me as much as Stella's persistent question about upcoming activities.

Today we stayed home all morning. I don't have any plans to leave the house this afternoon--at least not in a vehicle. We will probably walk over to a field nearby that the girls like to play in. All morning we've each been engaged in our own activities. Sometimes those activities have overlapped but everything we've been doing has required sustained attention and relative stillness. The girls colored and painted, read books together and played with all their Little People. Stella has been acting out intense dramas and Gianna has been collecting and sorting all her little pieces throughout the morning. Meanwhile, I have cut out the pieces to a dress for Gianna and found time to record this day. It's been a good morning. Stella has still asked me her question, but I've found that staying home and requiring the girls to find things to do only increases their ability to exert their imagination and develop the ability to find something worthwhile to do with all the materials they have around them instead of always looking out beyond the borders of the home for easy fun.

This is my desire for them. I want them to develop skills and habits of concentration and creativity so that whenever they are faced with downtime they don't have an existential crisis. And if they inherit a quarter of their father's ability to concentrate and cultivate productivity they'll be ahead of me.

On Living Without

Lately, I wake up in the middle of the night and lie in bedding thinking about a variety of things. Often these fall into boring categories: things to be done, things done poorly, things to be said, things said poorly, what's for dinner. The more interesting category is: Thing I Don't Want to Forget.

I don't want to forget how great it is to live without. To not have much. And I'm not talking about this point in life. Although there is much we live without, it is often a conscious choice. However, shortly after college I was poor. I was poor and often hungry and riding my bike around to early morning jobs in the dark, rainy Seattle winter. And yet, those were some of my richest days.

I made a friend during that time that I continue to correspond with. Although our relationship has changed since I've married and had children, she is still a favorite. I credit much of our closeness then and our ability to remain curious about one another's life trajectories to the fact that we were poor together. We took turns buying Coffee Mate flavored creamer from week to week. It made our life rich. We would sit at our ktichen table and drink flavored coffee. This was an event back then.

We would also go on bike rides to Discovery Park in Seattle. This is a park of unrivaled memory in my mind. You could ride your bike along a bluff and look out over the Puget Sound. You could also go all the way down to the water and look into tidepools. These activities were free and invigorating. As winter turned to spring in Seattle we had more daylight on our hands. This meant for longer rides. It really was bliss. We would chug and churn our way over or under the Ballard bridge around around the streets of Magnolia, past the place where, supposedly, Ted Bundy used to live and enter the park. We'd ride by some old military housing and onto these little trails with new, tall grasses just beginning to sprout. We'd stop and look out over the water and generally enjoy that free feeling of being alive.

I'm sure there was much we were stressed about or unsatisfied with, but I don't remember. I had a job at a bakery. I had to be there at 4am. I would frequently ride home with a garbage bag full of day-old bread. Free bread! What a boon. We ate potatoes, bread and spaghetti. Lots of cheap food. We had fires in our fireplace and had friends over. We got a free couch in our front yard. I was an aimless college grad with three jobs. (I don't recall the other jobs as they were not as much fun as the bakery job.) Life was good.

Nowadays we live without things, too. Most of the stuff we don't have I don't want, I've accepted or it's just silly stuff. Much, too, is deliberate. We don't have a television because of the havoc it wreaks on little Stella's ability to cope with not watching it. We tried out cable in our home for about four months before we did away with it. Life is better without. I've made a purse and baked some bread. Jamie walks on the treadmill and listens to Mars Hill Audio. The girls look at books, play in their kitchen, chase each other around and fight. There are times when I want to turn it on to squash some whining, but I'm thankful I don't have to deal with turning it off. That was the worst.

There is just as much to be judged and determined from outsiders by what you have and almost moreso by what you don't have. Especially when the not-having is a conscious choice. I assume to some we are boring weirdos and to others we are cultural elitists. But it makes me think of Valentines Day. Why all the shit? Because it's just always been that way?

While Gigi Closes in on the Keyboard, I'll Squeeze in Some Thoughts

We have been consumed with many things around here. We had Jamie home for more than a month while he languished (not!) during his break from law school.

Also, I started to feel better shortly before the holidays. That meant that I was doing therapeutic baking and cooking. We ate well, we've continued to eat well--mostly anyway. I must try to remember Jamie's Rule of Thumb when it comes to cooking/eating/meals in general that involve sauces: wetter is better.

We have been sewing and collecting renegade fruit from the neighborhood. We've been playing in the newly dog-free backyard. We made a break with our pets. Sometimes I wake in the night thinking of Tiny's little face as Jamie backed out of the driveway to take him to his new home, but I never think of all the work and negotiating that took place with the animals.

But I do think of them when I have to sweep the kitchen floor of food debris. Minor inconvenience (because I don't do it so often--ha!).

I have long let my thoughts fall silent in my head. I've wanted to put fingers to keyboard, but I've sorely neglected things. I've been thinking of what I want this blog to be a record of. And, I must confess, I often worry/wonder what "people" will "think" of the things I write here. But then I decided that what I need to do is record things to the best of my abilities for my children. I would love to have a record of my childhood and the things that I did and the things that my parents thought of that. But I was born before the internets.

So that is my new frame of mind regarding my blaaawwg. I'm gonna keep it real. Maybe real silent.