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.

A Bathroom Story

We recently remodeled our bathrooms. While the finished product is beautiful, living through it was unpleasant. Then there are the remodeling side effects of dust, dust and more dust. There's dust from the demolition of the old bathroom, from cutting tile, from cutting wood, from mixing grout; termite dust. Yes. They tear open your walls and see the effects of termites that had been having a heyday in your walls. Then there are all the chemicals and toxins: acetone, grout sealer, silicon, drywall. Lovely.
As much as I wanted new bathrooms and my most coveted pedestal sinks, I realized something. My wee little girl was having problems with all the dust and chemicals. In fact, so was my husband and so was I. My olfactory system is...highly developed? Very sensitive? Cantakerous? All these smells are like an attack on your nostrils, your respiratory system, your brain. Add that to the fact that Phoenix hasn't seen rain for four months and there's dust and pollution turning our skies into Southern California and you have a nasty recipe for illness.
So, once again, as much as I wanted new bathrooms, the effects on my wee girl were not pleasant. It makes me want to move to...where? Somewhere with no pollution? Somewhere with clean air? Does this place exist at this point in history? Don't get me wrong, I love life's luxuries--electricity, driving, flying, energy efficient windows--but there is a price to pay.
To complete my thought: no matter how nice a new bathroom is, it wouldn't mean anything to me if my little girl got so sick she hocked up a huge loogie in her sleep, choked on it and died. I realize that's a dramatic situation. I'm just saying.

I'm Just Saying

What do we mean when we say, "I'm just saying"? This little incomplete sentence that we throw out there? When you disagree with someone and you don't want conflict you can throw this little caveat in there and disarm whatever you just said.
Example:
"Do you want to go see a movie?"
"Sure. How about Brokeback Mountain?"
Replies with obvious disdain in voice, "Ah, Isn't that the one about gay cowboys?"
"Yeah, so? Is there something wrong with gay cowboys?"
"No...I'm just saying."
***
Or how about:
"Saturday night I have a date. With Jake...Gyllenhaal!"
Replies with obvious disdain in voice, "Ah, Doesn't he play a gay cowboy in that new movie?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Nothing. I'm just saying."

That Violet Elegant Woman

First of all, public piano playing doesn't happen enough. That said, the other day while my daughter and I reposed in a department store where public piano playing is habitual, I saw the most elegant woman this side of the early 20th century silver screen. I couldn't take my eyes off her.
She was timeless. It's hard to believe that I was captivated by a woman wearing varying shades of violet from head-to-toe. Her dress covered every inch of skin except her face. It was tight without being trashy. She had the most beautiful mocha-colored skin. This deep, rich skin tone complemented her outfit. Atop her head was the most beautiful hat. A hat! It was akin to those hats that women used to wear. It was lavender with dark purple, dainty little feathered flowers. At her shoulder was an oversized flower brooch.
I was all agog as she walked by.
It was one of those moments where I wish that I was invisible so I could follow her and watch her. Who was she? Where was she going? Where was she from? What was her name?
I have a friend from college who described a man she saw in Italy while on European quarter. She said she was walking down one of those really narrow Italian alleys with another girl from school. They were walking at a rapid clip, talking and taking in the Italian feel. This man started toward them and their conversation ceased. And they both found themselves staring and as he approached they found themselves parting like the Red Sea, staring at this man as they both staggered to the sides of the alley and held on to the walls as he passed. He was that beautiful. I can't imagine how beautiful, but I found myself thankful yesterday. Thankful that I was sitting and obscured by this piano so that I could sit and stare hard at this woman as she walked by.

Neighbors

We have new neighbors. They have dogs. You could say it's their wealth in this world. However, my poverty is the INCESSANT BARKING of these dogs. I have dogs. I know they like to bark. But seriously, when I gaze into the backyard when I hear dogs barking I see my dogs with a quizzical look on their faces. If it could be translated perhaps they would be thinking something along the lines of, "What the hell?"
The neighbor dogs like to bark in concert. One barks and suddenly they're in a competition.
One day the little girl next door kicked her soccer ball over the wall. She asked if we could throw it back. I toss it over and make polite conversation, "What's your name? What's my name? What's your deal with the loud barking dogs? Oh, really, you got a third dog?"
Wow.
"Oh, this one doesn't bark?"
As we converse their new dog is humping one of the other dogs. The owner doesn't notice. I do and immediately remember:
The last time I saw a neighbor's dogs humping they had puppies. Then, in addition to the dogs barking, there were the shouts of two people who believed the louder they shouted "SHUT UP!" the more efficacious were the words. Yes. That got their attention. I tell you, those dogs shaped up immediately. They were running around shoveling their own crap they were so obedient. That meant that since all the dog feces was tidied up the only stuff left hanging around the backyard was:

• a disabled vehicle
  
• some ramshackle shed make of various things we had thrown away and they had picked out of the garbage; shed held tightly together by the professional application of a hand truck
  
• a television set
  
• many toys
  
• lots of windchimes
  
• varying amounts of electronic debris that had been jettisoned from indoors

Much later I found out from the man who lives next door that these shady folk were his stepchildren. He kicked them out after he came home from work one day and found drug paraphernalia in the house. Did I mention there was a small child living there? Classy.