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.

The Best Gift

December 2008
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

"It is certainly less serious [for parents] to deny their children certain comforts or material advantages than to deprive them of the presence of brothers and sisters, who could help them to grow in humanity and to realize the beauty of life at all its ages and in all its variety.” John Paul II

Mother Kind

I had a conversation with my friend, Kelly, many years ago about her friend's mother. This was before I was married with children of my own and I had all these great ideas about what kind of mother and parent I would be. Or, more specifically, about what kind of mother I would not be. It's very easy to have these thoughts sans children.

Kelly recollected this mother who was very creative, somewhat fancy free and fun-loving. We agreed that was one facet of motherhood we would aspire to. Easier said than done, sans children. The specific memory that she was sharing had to do with a very spontaneous situation. There was an abandoned tree on the side of the road. Christmas tree, perhaps. Either way, this mother pulled her car over at the request of her children, or maybe in anticipation of their request, and gathered the tree up into the back of their vehicle. They would take the tree home and decorate it or do something fun and spontaneous.

This struck a chord in both of us because we came from pretty ordered and tidy homes. Our mothers would never consent to such an action. We wanted to be sure to be open to just such a spirit.

I still think about this story and what an impression it made on Kelly. How she wanted to be that kind of mom and how she enjoyed that kind of mom in her friend's home. I still think that I would like to be open to just such a spirit of spontaneity--at certain times of the day or week.

There's the rub. I would be willing to do such fun things in the right circumstances. I know that I am much more lax with my children in certain areas than I experienced as a child or than my current fellow friends with children are with their kids. However, there are certain areas where I am unbending. I am unbending because I must maintain my sanity and rest so that I may perhaps seize that spontaneous motherly spirit. There is no way that I could maintain such a fun streak all the time.

I also have my own personal recollection of a friend's father from my childhood. We'll call her Holly. My friend, Caroline, and I spent the night at Holly's house once when we were in elementary school. Holly's dad was fun. He took us to Jump, a totally cool old school Phoenix location that was a litigator's dream--probably forty trampolines all arranged so you could jump from one to the other for a certain amount of time. I won't mince my words here when I tell you it was awesome.

Holly's father took the three of us girls there and we got to jump for what seemed like an eternity. We drove around town in his Volkswagen Beetle and listened to music really loud. We probably even ate fast food. He also talked a lot about Mad Dog 20 20. In my memory he was drinking the stuff while he drove us around town. Maybe he wasn't, but the man was drunk. He was a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants drunk parent. It scared my friend, Caroline, and I so much that we never told our own mothers about the circumstances. We just decided, without speaking to each other about it, that we were going to bear down and survive and never come back to Holly's house and never tell out mothers what happened.

Obviously, Holly's father wasn't spontaneous, he was just plain unfit. But when you're a kid sometimes you can't appreciate the difference or the balance that it takes to have fun and still be safe and well-fed and well-rested. This is what I've come to recognize as the constance balance in my life (not driving drunk with my children or stopping to pick up every piece of fun trash on the side of the road! HA!). I'm constantly trying to fund some system for organizing my life and household to benefit the needs and the desire to be in the moment with my kids. This is the kind of class I would've liked to take in college: How to Organize Your Children's Clothing and Fingerpaint All in the Same Day.

Upon Waking From Her Nap

Little G is at a fun age. (This age also has lots of not fun in it, but let's be positive, folks.) She's excels at congratulating herself on a job well done. Lately, she''s been very proud of her performance with Puzzles. She gives herself lots of claps, hands-over-the-head silent snaps and audible, "Wows!"

She has one puzzle that she does over and over. This is really the only puzzle that she does. It's this great puzzle that makes sounds when you put the pieces in it and she loves it. She does the cutest little celebratory things with her fingers and her forehead. I'm not sure what to call it other than Cute nd Inspired.

Sometimes she gets so into her puzzle that she removes her Nuk from her mouth and sets it aside. This means she's getting serious.

Then a moment later she will pick that Nuk back up for some much-deserved congratulatory sucking.

The funniest thing to me, as her mother (Mother of the Puzzle Genius), is her perseverance at overcoming the puzzle piece trials. All of the pieces are shaped like farm animals. For this reason many of the pieces are oddly shaped and easy to orient into their slots. One piece in particular, that pesky mouse, is rather spherical and confusing. She always gets frustrated and wants to hit the puzzle and give up. Lest you think it that kind of story, though, let me say that she is no Quitter.

She has conquered this puzzling piece! She picks it up and almost immediately says, "Mommy, mommy," (translation: "Help me with this blasted, baffling thing that threatens to bamboozle and bewilder my budding intellect! Please.") However, now she has done the puzzle so many times she is able to figure it out. It is the first activity that she seeks when she gets up from her nap. She's got the right idea: she wants to wake up to success!

Her perseverance and her little curly/nappy bedhead and only two of her most precious features at this small age. Also: her sweetness toward her sister when Stella stumbles out of sleep. She always offers a toy and some old-fashioned affection and I only wish I could bottle it up and sell it for Christmas because it would surely stimulate this much-maligned economy.

Phlipping Out Like Proper Phoenicians

When it rains in Phoenix it creates much the same, yet opposite, behavior as the sun intermittently peeking out in a Seattle springtime: wild, crazy, arms-wide-open receipt of this welcome departure from the same-old, same-old routine. We run out and soak it in and shout, "Rain, rain! It's raining. Get up from your warm, cozy slumber and come stare out the window with me. Ahhhh, aiiyeeee!"

And to make it extra special they're blowing bubbles, too!

Meanwhile

Gigi's been cute. She's fascinated with her grandpa's ear wiggling skills. And if you look closely around 30-32 seconds on this little video you can see her flutter her eyes which is her version of attempting to wiggle her ears. Commence the fawning.

I Have Been Many Things

I emerge victorious from my most recent visit to the pit of hell known as First Trimester All Day Nausea. I don't know which canto in Dante covers this most difficult ring of hell, but I did not feel the solace or direction of Virgil's presence.

Moving on...

No, really, it was hard. I don't know quite how to put it into words. I can only repeatedly sock you in the gut and offer you a disgusting array of food options to satiate your insatiable desire for death. Try that for eight weeks.

Moving on...

There has also been much cuteness and lovey-dovey Stella/Gianna behavior to offer me consolation. Stella will soon be three and we will make Pillsbury Funfetti cupcakes to celebrate. She got to pick. I wouldn't usually be so, ah, Funfetti, but she's the Birthday Girl, not me.

More to follow. I just need to get back on my pony when I've had such a long...lapse in putting fingers to keyboard.

More Stellaisms and Some Geegisms

While driving home from the Children's Museum singing a song with me:

"If you're happy and you know it crap your hands!"

Getting ready to leave the house, she finds her binoculars:

"My knockers! Look, it's my knockers. I take them with."

When asked what her sister's full name is:

"Giannarhea!"

Meanwhile...

Gianna is fascniated with the oven--hot or cold. You cannot leave her unattended while using it or she opens it and wants to climb in. However, she does acknowledge the extreme heat emmanating from within by standing back for a moment and blowing at it vigorously--the way one would at a bowl of hot soup.

We Getting Political

She catches a view of the debates on the television:

"Is that Arock Obana, Mom?"

"No, that's John McCain. But Barack Obama is there. He'll be on in a second."

"There's Arock Obana. And that's Jonmccain, Mom?"

"Yep. They're both running for President."

"Huh? WOW!"

Red Riding Hood Jacket GIVEAWAY !!!!!!!

Red Riding Hood Jacket GIVEAWAY !!!!!!!

Status: Alive

I'm writing at my kitchen table.

We just had rice and beans for lunch. This is a favorite of both girls. Believe it.

They are now painting with water colors.

My house is a pit, though I did manage to empty and load the dishwasher ("the DW"). The girls are all smiles with their paints and full tums. (Gianna just looked at me a whispered, "Wow. Wow," with paint on her face.) We have not left the house. We probably won't. The sun is too bright outside for my current ability to cope.

Last week we had many family members over to watch and take the girls out, clean my kitchen, do my laundry and clean the bathrooms. I felt like a pathetic little puddle of goo. Self-loathing goo. But I also know this is right on track with how I feel at this point in a pregnancy. I know that I have health and happiness to look forward to. And a new appreciation for the ease of childcare and housework when I feel fine.

Nothing like a little adversity to make you appreciate your mundane life.

In ten days we get to go to Pinetop and I will be able to smell the moist earth. I crave the smell of moist earth. I'm a peach to be around these days. Come for a visit?

Get Up, Get Dressed, Feel Better (sometimes)

This is my prescription for success. I always feel better after a little face washing, teeth brushing and moisturizing. Sometimes, however, I don't feel better for long. However, we recently got cable and I can honestly say that it will help with my first trimester woes. As pathetic as that sounds it's true.

It's true that Stella will watch more TV in the next few weeks than she has all year long. But it's also true that once all this nauseating illness passes she will watch less. It's also true that she will have to go through detox. That's not pretty, folks. It's also true that I have wished for Gianna's interest in TV to ignite. Pathetic, but true.

Get up, get dressed, feel better?

The end product of pregnancy makes it all worthwhile. It's also the end product that tricks me into wanting another before I ever step foot out of the hospital. Maybe the pain killers help, too.

Two Indicies of Elevated Hormonal Levels

Today my girls are playing together in the living room. Genuinely playing. There is some Paul Simon of the "Graceland" era playing. They have a house. They have all their toys lined up. Stella looks at me and says, "I like playing with my sister."

Suddenly there's a shift in the music and they both move to an area of the room where they can dance. Stella does some of her signature moves and Gianna goes to her catch-all airplane arms.

This makes my sinuses tingle with joy.

Last night I watched a program called "The Biggest Loser." I can see how people get addicted to these shows. When Colleen wins the immunity challenge and attributes it to her deep love and concern for her father and his health--I get misty.

These Ones Make Her Laugh

Do something about those eyebrows!

Can't Get Enough of the Stellaisms

At breakfast:

"What's this bread call, Mom? Ingish Munchen?"
"English Muffin."
"O, Ingish Munchen."

At the park to some new friends:

"Come over here, frens. My mom is Weesha."

At my bedside at 4:30am:

"Water," while shaking her obviously full sippy cup.
"You have water, Stella."
"It morning time?"
"No, it's still dark."
"Water?"

While trying to go number one on the toilet, to no avail:

"It not working, Mom."
"You're not working, Stella. Just relax."
*slight dribble*
"It working!"

Getting picked up from a morning at preschool:

In a cheery voice, "I cried at school today."
"Really? Did you have fun?"
"Yep. I cry. I miss you, Mom."

After Gianna has gone to bed for the night:

"Where's Gigi, Mom?"
"She's in bed sleeping."
"Gigi! Gigi! I want my Gigi, Mom."

A Different Light

Outside around eight-thirty I noticed the light is changing. It's becoming winter light--longer shadows, bluish tint, crisp (if light can be crisp). It's less hot now. I do not call it cool yet, merely less hot. But this translates if you've lived here.

The sidewalks radiate less heat when you go to get your mail. The smells outside are less intense because things aren't getting pounded by the sun's electromagnetic radiation. Things aren't burnt and pathetic. Things are dormant and ugly, but there's potntial. There's little green nubs, there's bugs and birds out foraging in the middle of the day.

This is hope to someone who's been through the Phoenix summer.

Tonight wind whipped up dust and trash and blew it around the neighborhood. We sat outside and watched. It was awesome. It was the greatest balm to my summer-weary soul to sit out front and see stormy, ominous skies and be out of the house barefoot at six-thirty. That simply doesn't happen here.

We are entering our blessed time of year. We're entering The Reason Any Suckers Stay in Phoenix. We all get so preoccupied and giddily-confused by the awesome weather that we trick ourselves into believing that summer is only three months long.

We know better. But we're like the kids who didn't get asked to prom: we didn't want to go anyway. We're shoveling sunshine all winter and we spend all summer telling ourselves it's worth it.

Either way, the light is different here now. It makes life tolerable. It makes afternoon chores and mundane errands and trips to the grovery store for one thing manageable. And if you're nodding your head right now, congratulations, you've survived.

I'm Not a Quitter

I read somewhere that the average blogger lasts six months.

Well, I am not your average blogger because I have lasted longer than that and I don't plan on quitting. Mostly because this is the main place that I catalogue the stuff that happens at home. The milestones, the words, the steps, the fights and all the stuff in between.

My mom kept a nice baby book for me. As much as I've tried to do that I have failed. I don't even have one for Gianna. All I have is this blog.

We are winding down from the summer weather that is strongly disliked. I always feel like, "If I can just make it to Septmeber..." And here I am. Way to go! The evenings are getting to be pleasant and the mornings are a little crisp. A little.

I read a few that are talking about the end of their nice weather. I'm always a bit elated right now because I could go on and on about how nice our weather is becoming. And with it the quality of life.

I'm always trying to figure out how to thrive in the summer when two small children are involved. How do we burn energy and have fun without too much travel and driving around? When I was a kid here in Arizona, I ususally have ready access to a pool. So far we have generous friends who allow us to use their pools and that is nice, but I still want one in my own backyard.

Someday? Perhaps. Right now Jamie is in school and we won't be getting a pool anytime soon. Right now it's a big enough deal to make good choices at the grocery store and proper use of any smidgen of free time that I may have.

All that said, we'll be having another small child in May--Lord willing. In the midst of lean times we've been blessed with another Hanson. A post-cancer Hanson. And we're excited.

Stella-isms

Her alphabet song:

"A B C D E F G Q R S enenenen P. Q R S C U V H I J K enenenen P."

When in a bad mood while passing the peace at church:

"I don't want peace."

Every day around 10 am in the midst of some activity:

"What are we doing tomorrow?"

Getting ready to jump into the pool:

"One, Two, Three, Nine!"

When Gigi is crying/screaming in the car:

"Gigi! You can't do that. Stop it, Gigi!"

After playing with some new friends at the playground:

"Mom, I like my frens."

At night before bed when I ask her for a kiss from my baby:

"I not a baby. I a kid!"

And while she lays in bed falling asleep she sings many versions of all the above conversations and expressions to herself. Punctuated with the refrain, "I can't do that. No, it's mine."

An Anniversary

Five years ago today Jamie proposed marriage to me at a little prayer garden in Phoenix. I was so astonished that it took me thirty minutes to answer. He knelt down on the gravel on one knee and remained that way, patiently waiting, for a bit. Then he got up and sat beside me on the bench.

It wasn't your typical engagement scene. I was gushing and screaming, "Yes!" Not that I didn't want to marry him.

It was that we had only been "dating" for less than two months. It was that three months before I was all, "Whatever, James Nicholas Hanson." It was that I first changed my mind about him at his dad's funeral. How does one explain it?

All I know is that I knew that saying yes was the right thing to do. But since it all happened so quickly I was still trying to figure it all out. I wanted to let it all settle so I could enjoy the process.

Jamie was a gentlemen and told me that I didn't have to give him an answer right then. I could wait and think about it. However, how do you bring it up again later. "Yeah, about that marriage proposal..."

There was a little rock with this inscription on it sitting if front of us, "Say yes to the will of God and you will never be the same."

Of course, you know my answer.

The Cicadas Are Sounding

Around these parts it's not crickets one hears so much as cicadas this time of year. According to Wikipedia, "Cicadas like heat and do their most spirited singing during the hotter hours of a summer day." If you were visiting us this summer you would hear them singing. With much spirit.

We're at that point in the summer where locals languish in the shade talking about how great it will be here in two months. We like to take note of the fact (fact, folks. FACT!) that no other place in the country has six months of good weather to look forward to after coming down off a hot summer bender. This is how we console ourselves on the tenth of August where there are still twenty-one days left until September. A month that we still anticipate using the air conditioner. A month we know that the nights get nice but don't really have the bite to produce sweaters until into October. But we've come this far, darn it, and we're going to survive.

I remember this time last year. I had a wee babe. I was up at night watching videos from Netflix and reading. I was tired and battling our newly discovered pests the cockroaches. I was one month post partum and lactating like a banshee. I was driving around town with a twenty month old and a newborn wondering how we would survive the heat. But we survived. We thrived even.

And we're thriving again. Our two little desert children like being outside. The elder two of the Hanson Four do not enjoy it quite so much. We wait until after dinner when shade has descended upon half our yard to venture out. We want some churning legs and flailing arms to expend energy before bedtime. We want some sweaty heads to justify the water in the bathtub. We want some lemonade and crackers on a blanket out back.

We want a pool.

So last night when some friends called and invited us to a last-minute swim at their mother/grandma/mother-in-law's house we did something we rarely do: we said, "Yesohmygoshwewillbetherewithbellson!" We were about to start dinner and we put away the fixins. We gathered our suits and got into our hot car at 4:00. We enjoyed a very summer meal which reminded us parents of our childhoods and laid the foundation of childhood memories for our collective four children. We ate fast because there were four children under four chomping at the bit to swim and their loudness could not we ignored.

So when it came to be 6:45 and we were still in the pool we all wondered at the loveliness of the passage of time in the desert when a body of water is involved. Three quarters of the adults represented had desert childhoods to recollect and counted up the hours of time we spent in the pool. We indulged in some classic pool games: catch the ball while jumping in the water, underwater handstands; while we just reminisced of others: marco polo, screaming underwater and trying to decipher the words, mermaid, diving competitions.

It is a beautiful thing to be young and fecund and descend upon a sleepy little community pool with all your fecundity and forget about how hot and oppressing the hotness is.

Even the heat is beautiful. I always think of it as a character that looms large in the Phoenician drama. All Phoenicians have feelings and relations with this character. We all deal with it differently. Some love the heat for the relief it brings from arthritis, some love the lack of mess it creates, some love the wardrobe it requires, and some hate this heat. Admittedly, I usually do. But as my husband said this morning after the winter I always forget how hot it really gets. I always think, "It doesn't get that hot. It's really not that bad." This is what keeps us coming back for more. This romance with the Fahrenheit. This particular summer genre.

On Harstine Island

We just returned from a messy spell on Harstine Island where we visited with my dad. We were able to spend time outside in the middle of the day. This is major if you're from Phoenix. Some of the highlights:

Stella enjoyed playing in "the jungle" outside.

We went to a farmer's market with a pie lady who sells out her pies in the first ten minutes. We bought a very tasty apricot pie. I think I loved it so much because it was not just sweet but tangy, too.

Deer and squirrels ate our leftovers. They came by the back porch every day.

There was a large park in downtown Shelton that we went to a few times. The bridge was a highlight. It was also a great place to dispose of household garbage.

Lots of coloring:



We ate meals outside. Especially when the meals themselves would prove messy:

She's One

And has been celebrated thusly:

She had her birthday breakfast




And she has shown us her skillz: simultaneous drinking and ball-handling.

Oh, How Times Change

3 July 2007

Dear Stella,

You’re napping. You’ve been a good napper for some time now. Only occasionally is the process interrupted by things like little vacations that mess up your sleeping. You are definitely more fun when you’ve rested.
Sometimes when I put you down for a nap or put you to bed at night I feel bad. I feel like I’m putting you away because I’m tired of you. While I am usually tired when you are put to sleep I am never tired of you.
I needed to sit down and write you a letter to tell you how I am feeling today. This is one of the last few days before your sister is born. And while I do think that you will enjoy having and being a sister, it also makes me a little sad. The older you get the more you realize that good things make you both happy and a little sad. Sad for the way things were. Your father would probably disagree with me here, but that’s how I feel.
This time last year your dad was in Ireland studying. You and I spent the month of July together at his mom’s house and also at my dad’s house. We were a little pair of traveling vagabonds. But it was just you and I. We survived together. You slept in the bed with me and we took naps and we would go swimming. You were such a little thing then. So small and you could hardly be in the pool without tipping over. It was a lot of work to swim with you then. But we would go to the pool and have some fun, go home and eat some dinner and then you’d get ready for bed.
There wasn’t anything magical about it, but it was the only time that it will be just you and me. And that’s ok.
Anyway, the reason I started writing this was because I wanted to remember this time with you. I know that you won’t remember it in any way other than being told about it. But this time we’ve had has been good. You are my first child. You made me a mother and you’ve been a good sport along the way.
You’ve been fun to get to know. Your little personality opens up more and more and that makes me excited to see what kind of little person you will be.
However, as the time has approached for your sister’s arrival I’ve been having these sad feelings. Feelings that you and your sister will not understand unless or until you ever have your own two children. I say that because I don’t want either one of you to feel superior or inferior to the other. These sad feelings I’m having are not because I do not want your sister, they are just because life will be different.
I had similar feeling before you were born. I was sad to think of the life that your father and I had being permanently changed. And it is changed—for the better. Just as all of our lives will be changed for the better when Gianna is here and a part of things. But I used to think about “our life” as being made up of just each other—your dad and I—and I couldn’t conceive of what you’d bring to it. And you’ve brought so much.
All this is to say that today I am feeling this sad anticipation and slight anxiety about the changes that are headed our way. I am sad that “our time” is ending—you and I—and that there will be a new person in it. I am happy at the same time, though, that you will have someone who will be a part of you the way no one else can be. I don’t say that with the expectation that you and Gianna will be the best of friends. That is up to the two of you. I do hope you like each other and are able to enjoy one another, time will tell.
I know that my life has been enriched by having siblings. Of course there are times in childhood where you feel that your sibling detracts from your life in a very annoying way, but I think ultimately it is good to have someone to share your childhood with. I hope that will be the way that you enjoy your sister.
So, my Stella, my sweet little girl, “our time” is coming to a close but it is opening up to an entire new dimension of “our time.” I hope that you enjoy it immensely and I hope that I survive the next few weeks with some amount of emotional stability because right now it pains me to think of you as becoming second or feeling slighted. I think that I’m thankful that you’re young enough to not remember being the only one—but at the same time it saddens me to think that you won’t remember this time. This precious time when you were the only one that I had to worry about—when it was just you and I taking things day by day.
I hear you rousing in the next room. I will go fetch you from your slumber and even though I have two weeks until I’m due, I can’t help but wonder if each time I get your from your bed will be the last time that you’re the only one.
I love you.


Love,
Mom

A Crown For Geeg

A year ago she was on her way to us and now we prepare to celebrate that first year with her. She's a jolly lass and we love her and we always wonder about her first thing in the morning (Stella does!)

Around here we've started a birthday tradition of a one year old quilt, a birthday crown and a birthday sign. We also have breakfast with some treats and presents the day of the actual birthday.

It's been lots of fun (and hard work) getting to know our little Gianna. She's a light-hearted addition to our progeny. She likes early mornings with her dad, trying to steal your cup of water, eating pasta, raisins, grapes, listening to music and shaking her body to it, she loves her sister, her dogs and rolling in the sand at the beach.

To Sea, To Sea

We came and went. We're home now. We're much wiser. We enjoyed the beach--but not too much. We enjoyed walking--but not too much. We enjoyed going out to eat--but not too much.

I emphasize the "not too much" of it all as I think there is a tendency to squeeze too much into a vacation. As a Phoenician, I found myself thinking that I should take advantage of the nice weather and walk. Of course this is enjoyable. It's not enjoyable when it cuts into one's reading time which is equally enjoyable. I had to keep that spendthrift inside of me quiet but reminding myself that my time (and our money) would not be wasted if we spent an entire afternoon indoors reading and playing.

And so we did. And so I read The Hunchback of Notre Dame. And it was good: thrilling and unexpected and full of reasons not to give one's self entirely over to what we desire. I'm still trying to figure out who decided it would make a good Disney film. I'm assuming they kept mostly the characters and did away with the heavy plot and themes.

We also took full advantage of our digital cable and DVR thingamabob. We watched what we wanted when we wanted. And we skipped commercials! This is one technological advancement I can get behind.

I spent an inordinate amount of time mourning the loss of Tim Russert. He was, by all accounts, an incredibly brilliant, loyal, normal man who did his job well and with much passion. That's an advancement I can get behind as well.

Upon our return home we have all settled into the summer routine here. That means we're figuring out how to escape the heat.

Stella's becoming cognizant of her behaviors and their impact. This is very difficult and enjoyable at the same time as it means I experience the following conversations with her:

"Stella, why are you getting a swat?"
"I pushed."

and the flip side:

"Stella, thank you for sharing with Gianna."
"I kind."

And Gianna? She's almost one! And she's getting curly hair. And she loves to follow her sister around--crawling and doing her emergent Frankenstein walk.

I'm Cool

DSC03009
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

I was having a conversation with my sister last night in which we joked that I should post pictures from my family vacation so that everyone would think I was so cool.

We Depart!

I leave you with this video which your reaction to which will be largely dependent upon your relation to the child.



Edited to add: I cannot understand what she is saying either. That's the charm.

"If There Was a LOST Convention, I'd Go"

These words were spoken by my sister upon completion of the third season, so far my only LOST convert.

The only problem with her allusion is the thought, "Does that mean that one the LOST cast will be the next spokesmen for Priceline.com?"

There are two camps surrounding this show: Those who watch, and those who don't. (Cliche, I know.) Those who don't watch I will affectionately refer to as "The Others." Jamie and I started watching this show via Netflix. We soon became enthralled. I think this might be hard for many to imagine: Jamie enthralled with a contemporary, pop culture phenomenon. Don't be fooled, folks. The guy watched every episode of Lost. He once watched twelve hours when I was gone. He has theories and ideas.

Anyway, Lost is a great show because it's all about telling stories. It's not about "reality." For the most part I hate reality television. If that's all television was I wouldn't be tempted to watch.

I'm going to pretend this is a five paragraph essay from high school as I am boring myself. In conclusion, you, too, should watch Lost. And for kicks watch Alias. Another entertaining JJ Abrams series.

And now I will conclude this essay like some of my high school students used to conclude their essays: LOL. i think this topic sux.

When We Were Honeymooners

Four and a half years ago Jamie and I got married. We went to California for the last part of our Christmas break honeymoon. We brought some traveling games along for fun: Mancala and Tangoes. We, unlike many married couples, can only handle the pressure of one another's undivided attention for a short while. So we bought these games to facilitate the large amount of time we had to spend together. (Consider this honeymooning true confessions: we bought games. What did you do?)

Next week we will be leaving for San Diego for two weeks!! We are taking our children so this will be a vacation of the family kind. Thankfully, we won't have to figure out what to do with ourselves. They'll help determine that.

For good measure I am bringing those games. I am going to do my best to get him to play some games with me. I don't think we've really played since our honeymoon. Because he hates to lose.

The Advent of "Why?"

"I wanna wear this, Mom," Stella says holding up a little pink sun dress. It's been unseasonably cool here in Phoenix. It rained in the middle of the day on Friday. It poured down. This is glorious, mind you, but nonetheless unexpected. For this reason I tell Stella she can wear the dress but she needs to wear a shirt underneath.

"Why?"

"Because it's a little chilly outside lately."

"Why, Mom?"

"Because there are clouds in the sky."

"Why?"

"Because a cold front has moved East off the Pacific."

"Why?"

"Because," and here I must pause. Because? Have you ever had an existential conversation about the weather? Do I offer her Jeff Goldblum's chaotic theory from the helicopter ride in Jurassic Park?

"Because a butterfly flapped it's wings in Japan..." Of course I don't say that. Mostly because she has moved on.

"Can you put your hanger back?"

"Why, Mom?"

"Because hangers don't belong on the floor."

"Why?"

"Because they can't hang there."

I think you know the rest.

Thank You, Jesus, For...

Part of our nighttime routine is to say some prayers and talk to Jesus. We thank Him for the day and people that we love. I think it's fun to see who Stella remembers first. Tonight the first name out of her mouth before I even finished the Our Father was my brother Nate. I thought that was especially sweet as she hadn't seen him in a week.

"OK, thank you for Nate. Who else?"
"Papa."
"OK, thank you for Papa."
"Gigi. Mommy. Daddy."

Really, who wouldn't want to hear that? Then she really gets to the heart of the matter.

"Target. McDonald's. The shops."

How Do I Stand It?

The growing up, I mean. How do I not burst into a thousand tears? Stella's in her bunk bed and Gianna's in the crib. I'm in my bedroom in the middle of the day. With a light on. And flagrantly TYPING ON MY KEYBOARD. AS LOUD AS POSSIBLE. Because there is no baby asleep in a little bed in here with me.

How do I stand it? Seriously. And there's going to be more of this. These transitions and milestones. These aches and sadness and the welling up of tears.

I caught Stella playing in her room instead of napping. She saw me and said, "Oh, Goo' morning, Mom."

"It's not morning, Stell, you never slept. Time for bed."

"Want to sleep with me, Mom?"

Totally caught off guard, I oblige her and say, "OK, scoot over."

We're laying there and she's not settling down. And as much as I want to sleep beside her little, sweet frame I know she won't sleep. I have to pull myself away. Because as much as I am having a hard time with all this growing up, I know myself enough to know that I'll have an even harder time with the small child that she still very much is trying to keep her shit together without a nap.

I let myself out of her room with warnings of some swats if she gets up to play. I peek in a few minutes later and she is asleep.

And in the next room in Stella's crib is the other baby. The ten month old baby. I went through this with Stella, too. And it helps to know that I will survive. I had the hardest time when Stella moved from our room to her own room when she was Gianna's age. I was so sad and felt so alone and far away from her. Of course Jamie was with me but, eh, not the same thing.

All this growing up makes it hard for me to indulge my favorite pastime: purging excess material goods from our home. I have the hardest time throwing the girls' stuff away, or passing it on, or even packing it up. I think this is because it's a physical admission that they are beyond a certain point. It sounds so silly to say it out loud. But there's this part of me that craves the beginning again. The uncertainty of parenthood. The unknown of what I was getting myself into. All the growing up I had to do.

Gianna's Atypical Evening

• Ate bird poop
  
• Was slightly run over by her sister via the Cozy Coupe
  
• Fell on a cup in the bath and got a minor chest abrasion
  

These are the days it's hard to be little.

And these are the days it's hard to be the little's mom.

Made My Day

I don't know what else to say. Obviously she's not potty trained, but she had to go and when I stuck her on the toilet--she went! That is one less poop I need to excavate from the nether regions! And this is so much more exciting to me than it should be.

More Stella-isms

Upon discovering something is amiss/out-of-order/unexpected:
"Dear me! Wha happen? Wha happen, Mutter?"

***

When being put down for her nap, usually after much protesting and some tears, as soon as her head hits her pillow:
"Goo' night. Goo' night, Mutter."

***

After I hang up the phone up:
"Whas that, Mom? Whas that? That Jesus? That Jesus, Mom?"

***

While getting her poopy diaper changed:
"Gross. Gross, Mom. My deepah'"

Photographic Evidence: The Silence is Not Golden When Two Toddlers Are Concerned

April 2008
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

If you have been or are the parent of a small child you certainly know that silence is a treasured state. Of course, it is not easily won. And it is rarely a good thing when small children are awake or in pairs. It is with such knowledge that my friend Tara and I went in search of our wee ones when we had been enjoying a rather focused and lengthy--albeit three to five minute--conversation the other day.

This is what we found. Not bad, mind you. No damage done, just belongings hastily strewn about the room. We stuck them in the bed afterward. They couldn't quite figure out how to climb into it on their own so we helped tackle that temptation.

I am suddenly reminded of an afternoon a few months ago. Stella was playing alone in the living room while I was in the kitchen having some lunch. Since much of her solo play involves lots of noise--little people chattering, sound effects and the like--complete silence is rare. So after a few silent minutes passed I went to check on her only to find her slumped against the couch. She had fallen asleep in the middle of her activities and surrendered to her exhaustion.

That was a good kind of quiet.

The Best Day At My House in 2008*

I have just enjoyed ninety minutes of middle-of-the-day solitude WHILE MY CHILDREN SIMULTANEOUSLY SLUMBER! This is a first.

Other things that make it the best day: went to Mass and Stella was good, Gianna cooed and blurbed her way through, a clean house, my freshly cleaned and folded laundry, a soda for no reason, picked some weeds, watered some plants and noticed new plants sprouting from the ground, found Stella some cute flip flops, Stella calls me "Mudder," sister comes in two weeks, friend coming next week, two months from now we will be in San Diego and my dad and his wife are buying us tickets to Sea World!

And other great things pending.

All this on the heels of some not-so-great times makes it even sweeter. Sweeter than my sister's Diet Dr. Pepper.

*To be said in Kyle Dwyer's voice, for those that know him.

April 2008: What We Like

Gianna, 9 months: her paci, standing up, probing orifices (orifi?) with he sharp-nailed index finger (beware of your gums when she approaches your mouth!), peas, her sister*, drinking from a cup thank-you-very-much, being awake at naptime, saying "Yayayayayayaya!" and gurgling

Stella, 2 years, 4 months: her sister ("John-Ah")*, her DAD!!!! thank-you-very-much, licking rocks, picking weeds, watching Peter Rabbit and Curious George, talking, Autumn Wheat, tacos, saying "NO!", her friends, "Abah, EEek, Mamy, Mace, Cahtah," her cousin "Camren," baby treats

Jamie, 28 years, 2 months: reading, his punching bag, talking to other men who like to talk about philosophy, tea in a green mug, preparing for law school ("Babe, I'm in it to win it!"), 30 Rock, Lost, sauerkraut, roasted chicken, New York Times over the Wall Street Journal, his Geeg, his Stell, belching in videos*

Alishia, 33 years, 3 months: sewing, looking at craft books on amazon, reading A Tale of Two Cities, sitting in Jamie's office looking out the window at her plants, drying clothes on the clothesline, virtual shopping at Barney's, whiskey sours, Scrabulous, chatting off the record, morning coff, showing off my large feet*

****

Yesterday Equals Frustrating, Today Equals Better

Staying home with children is a series of minor failures and victories. Sometimes they balance out in the course of a day. Sometimes they most definitely do not. Yesterday morning was a crucible of wills (is there such a thing?) that set the tone for the rest of the day--it was only seven and I was exhausted.

Stella awoke in a crabby, desperate mood. It perpetuated my mood. I was mean and impatient as I tried to ride her wave of early morning "decisions" in a period of ten minutes: get dressed, wear a dress, eat Aunumn Wheat, no Aunumn Wheat, shoes, no shoes, yogurt, "Stop IT," go outside ,ad nauseum.

I hard-boiled some eggs for an entire hour. At least. And I did a host of other annoying lame and poorly executed tasks that I am thankful I cannot recall. We were on pins and needles waiting for 10:00 to roll around so we could go invade our friends' house with our pleasant demeanors and morning breath.

This morning has already been an improvement. We had a good breakfast without travail. I cleaned up the kitchen with the use of a timer: only fifteen minutes at a time so my children don't fall into a morning of parental neglect. We all got dressed without drama and we went on a bike ride. Now Gianna is sleeping and it didn't take a magic voodoo dance to get her to bed and Stella is playing peacefully with her toys so I can record the minutiae of my days.

At least Jamie is ever-patient and always forgiving. I might have been fun and easy-going before we were married, but I'm not always a peach these days. And he doesn't always remind me of this fact.

My Poop: Exclamation Point

This is the time of year where Stella likes to run around in the backyard after dinner. Tonight she did so without a diaper on.

We were inside with our friend Michael. Every now and then we caught a glimpse of Stella running around. Suddenly she yelled something incomprehensible. We didn't think much of it. Out friend's dog, Doodle, was running around back there, too. We figured she was shouting at him or just playing around.

I peeked out the window to ensure myself that she was indeed safe. I caught a glimpse of our dogs chomping on something. Some food? A toy? A lizard or bird? They frequently catch critters. Who knows what it was.

We carry on with our visit.

Stella continues to yell--lamenting almost--something that is now making sense.

Jamie says, "Is she yelling, 'My poop!'? Stella, did you poop?"

"Yes!" she replies, somewhat alarmed.

In a flash it all computes.

I now know what the dogs were chomping on earlier--Stella's poop.

Yes indeed.

"Stella, did the dogs eat your poop?"

"Yes! Yes! My poop! My poop! Oh. Oh no. My poop!"

Michael acts quickly, "Doodle, get in here."

Stella continues to talk about the social affront committed against her and her feces. It's not disgusting to her, it's more like when a playmate steals a favorite toy. She feels wronged. She runs around repeating it as if she wants her poop back.

Michael comforts her, "I would be upset, too, if that happened in my immediate company."

Totally Pleased With Herself

Totally Pleased With Herself
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

The girls love to play with their empty diaper boxes. Stella makes cars, towers, baby beds, hiding places for her people, general merriment is had by all. This morning while Gianna was playing with hers and I stepped into the adjacent bathroom to brush my teeth, etc, she pulled herself up to stand.

I was so overcome with excitement for her that I started to loudly praise her. This pleased her enough to try again so I could capture it on film. Isn't that face just the SWEETEST thing?

Yes, sweeter than the faces of all your children.

My Dad's Flickr

He's all growed up: his own flickr account.

In addition to which he sent me an email that ended with these words, "THERE, PUT THAT IN YOUR BLOG."

Oh, Dad, I will. Thank you.

Flickr and Stuff

I just finished a conversation with my father. He was talking on his cell phone using Bluetooth while driving in his truck. I was priming him on the merits of flickr. It's one of those conversations that daughters didn't have with the fathers last decade. We were comparing notes about sharing and storing digital photos.

"I just bought some DVDs to use to store my pictures and get them off the hard drive."

"Dad, I use flickr and I don't have to worry about losing my photos or storing them anywhere special. And it's so easy to upload them. You'd love it. Granted you have to pay twenty-five dollars a year, but consider how much time and money os spent trying new ways to store your photos or fretting about it." These were not my exact words, but if I was more immediately eloquent that's what I would've said.

I simultaneously love and hate telling my dad about new technology. If you're my age you might know of what I speak. There are all these things out there that make life so easy and manageable: Google, Flickr, blogs, youtube, yahoo, eBay, craigslist, etc. These are all things that did not exist ten years ago. (The writer pauses and thinks, "Ten years ago it was 1998. These things might have existed. I always think it's still the early 2000s.") People talk about the digital divide. I live the digital divide with my father.

My dad is technical and capable and smart. He's a tinkerer who loves to fix things. He can fix many things. He is good using computers and the internet, but it's not like second nature to him. I grew up with computers and while I am no expert I am able to figure lots out on my own. I just, well, tinker. But much of this stuff can't be explained. He'll ask me questions over the phone and it is then that I have great respect for customer service professional in India who get phone calls from people trying to figure out how to fix the Word document formatting so the outline doesn't automatically indent the following line when they no longer need it to do so (c'mon, you know what I'm talking about). I cannot for the life of me conjer the proper vocabulary to instruct my father with computer issues over the phone.

I joke about this idea I have: The Technological Fallacy. Technology is supposed to make our lives easier. However, it usually requires a lot of work to get it going: uploading photos somewhere safe, digitizing all your movies or music. The universal remote. The fallacy is that it isn't always easy. It's especially difficult for people whose parents call to get help retrieving all the lost music from their holiday playlist that they programmed into their iPod shuffle three hours before their holiday party. You can troubleshoot for a max of ten minutes and them you want to hang up the phone before you lovingly scream obscenities at your beloved parent because you have no clue what happened. And yes you did follow the directions, you understand that. But how do you explain that sometimes it doesn't make a difference? IT JUST DIDN'T WORK AND I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M SO SORRY FOR YOUR DIGITAL LOSS.

Phew.

I wish I made commission from flickr, however, because darn it if they're not user friendly and helping to narrow the generational digitized divide.

"Can I drag all my photos from iPhotos into flickr and drop them there?"

"Yes. You have to download the flickr Uploader though."

"Oh. OK."

"I'll send you a link."

"Well, then. I'm excited to go home and pay twenty-five dollars to join flickr."

"Well, I'm excited that you're excited."

I'll have to remember my excitement in case he calls me this evening with a question that starts out something like this, "OK, Alish, I'm in flickr. I've joined. Now, where did all my pictures go?"

Obscure Memories: Memora Obscura (That's made up Latin)

My brother commented on the fact that I remember obscure things. To prove him right I'm going to offer up more obscure memories. I used to ask my mom and dad for stories from their childhood all the time. I loved it. I loved imaging them as little dopplegangers of their adult self conducting life in the 50s and 60s. I'm going to record my memories for my children's later referral:

My first friend, Michelle Nissler, and I once planned to carve flutes out of sticks to give to her father for Christmas.

My brother was a huge KISS fan. He had a little copper square that he had banged the word KISS into and wore it around his neck on a string.

I used to feed our family cat, Buffy. She was technically my brother's cat. I remember thinking what a good citizen I was for feeding his cat for him.

Once I sent away for Picture Pages and forgot to put a stamp on my envelope. It got sent back to me.

One time when Nate was really mad at Dad, he threw a Fudgesicle at him. It hit Dad's chest sideways and left a Fudgesicle skid mark in his chest hair. This really impressed me. I was even more impressed that Dad just chuckled at his foolish son instead of soundly beating him.

I once brought a roly poly into a restaurant with me. I didn't want it to die in the heat of the car. And then I lost it in the cracks of the booth.

I used to pretend that it was "snowing" in the kitchen by using my mom's flour.

Mom taught us how to make her coffee so that we could get the pot brewing and bring her a cup on Saturday mornings when we were home from school.

That's all for now as my husband is reading over my shoulder. Always stifles my creativity.

My Fourth Grade Subterfuge

I was a member of Columbia House Record Club. I was ten and I was seduced by the idea of twelve for the price of one. I still remember some of the titles I ordered:

Rocky IV soundtrack
Back to the Future soundtrack
El Debarge ("Who's Johnny?," she said...)
Thriller (I need not name the artist. You really should know.)

Even better than those titles is this fact: I chose to order records instead of tapes because of the following edict set forth by my older brother. He declared that if I got records I would be able to listen to the records while at home and enjoy the utmost quality that they could provide. In addition, I would be able to make cassette recordings of my records and have a portable version for use on my walkman when I was tooling around town on my bike. The best of both worlds.

I'm leaving a minor detail out of this story. I joined this club on my own. I funded it with my own money. "How did you pay with a check?" you might be asking. I didn't. I would save my money and ride to the Circle K on the corner of Camelback and 82nd Street in Scottsdale, Arizona and I would buy money orders! Even better is the fact that I used my own money that I earned from my job at the bookstore dusting bookshelves. Five dollars a week.

The sad fact is that I can't imagine a fourth grader being allowed such autonomy today.

Did I mention that my mom didn't know. She didn't know. Now she does.

Some Easter Cheer

A little dancing with Stella's new Side Snap signature move.



And a little doll quilt that I made with a kit purchased from etsy. It's an Easter treat for my girls.

While Helping Around the House: Or How We Know It's Been Awhile Since We've Cleaned the Place Up

Helping me in the yard:

"What's that, Mom?"
"A weed. Can you help me pull them?"
She exclaims, "Yes!"
"Mom, there's an unner one. An unner one, Mom. An unner one, an unner one."
Ad nauseum.

Helping Jamie in the yard:

"Poop, Dad! Yuck."
"Yep, there's poop. I'm picking it up."
"An unner poop, Dad. An unner one, an unner one, an unner one."
Ad nauseum.

Helping us finish the prayer before dinner:

Jamie says, "Amen."
Stella says, "Oh, man."

More Words

Upon awaking:

"Mommy, did you sleep? Well?"

"Yes. Did you sleep? Well?"

"Yes"

***

At breakfast:

"I want some."

"Some what?"

"Some showmy."

"Showmy?"

"Yes."

"Show me what you want."

Points at yogurt and says "showmy."

I realize that she now calls yogurt "Show me" because I never understood what she wanted with her frantic grunts and pointing so I would open the fridge and say, "Show me." And she always wanted the yogurt during these exchanges. Thus yogurt = "show me."

***

After returning from an outing with her dad.

"Did you have fun?"

"I had bun."

"Did Dad have fun?"

"Yes. Dad have bun. Gigi have bun. Mom have bun?"

Always.

Represent!

This is a classic Gianna posture: craning around me to see what Stella is up to. And, of course, a small little smile acknowledging how cool her big sister is.

I thought it was high time for some major Gianna face time on the stellarstories blog.

The Kind of Thing Her Aunt Will Appreciate

The continuum of emotions that a baby experiences throughout the day are many. The same, I believe, can be said for adults. However, babies are not as good at masking them. Here Gianna is incapable of masking an emotion. Just what it is I cannot put my finger on.

In Other News

Gianna likes to eat food. She doesn't want baby food. She wants apples and macaroni and peas and eggs and all kinds of stuff. She doesn't really want me to feed it to her either. She wants to be left alone. She deigns to allow me to spoon-feed her yogurt in the morning.

The dogs enjoy this tremendously.

Also, did you know that most hoses have lead in them? Apparently so much so that they're required to put a warning label on the hose. I noticed this right before I unwrapped a new hose to water my, supposedly, organic vegetable garden.

You aren't supposed to drink out of these hoses. Neither should you use it to fill your child's swimming pool or a tub for a waterbirth. I will be returning it to Target.

Lead is known to have caused cancer in the state of California. (This is what it says on the warning label.) Especially when the water is warm does the leeching factor increase. I read this while in the state of Arizona with summer fast approaching.

Stella-isms

Originally uploaded by alishialinn

With the advent of speech comes many new stories:

In the car this morning Stella is yelling, "Stop it!" and throwing her hands up over her face. We're trying to figure out who she could possible be yelling at. Jamie reasons, "The sun is getting in her face."

And she's telling the sun to "Stop it!"

***
When she finds something of mine she wants to play with I say no. When that doesn't work I say, "That's Dotchie's"

"Dotchie's?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

That settles the matter. She leaves it alone.

***
Our household's new favorite cereal is Kashi's Autumn Wheat. Stella loves eating cereal. She always says she wants, "Some."

"Some what? What do you want?"

"Some!!!" And she gesticulates wildly toward the box.

"That's called Autumn Wheat. You want some Autumn Wheat?"

"Awnum Wheat?"

"Yes."

"I want some Awnum Wheat."

This is now a very familiar refrain.

While Standing in Stella's Bedroom

"Stella, three years ago this wasn't your bedroom. We didn't have any kids. We were able to come and go as we pleased. But now we have you and Gigi and we're happy. Well, I'm happy. I can't speak for your father."

"I'm happy."

"I happy. Mommy Daddy happy?"

"Yes. We're happy."

"Gigi happy?"

Gigi grins.

Things My Home Invasion Has Taught Me

• Fruit flies have red blood
  
• They are easier to catch if your hands are slightly damp
  
• They are wily prey
  
• I am evolving as a predator
  

"I Said, 'Daddy, Wook at ME!'"

Stella is at the stage in her language development where she acquires sentences instead of words. It's quite interesting. Especially after having had such a seemingly long period of stagnant word acquisition.

This morning she helped me make the oatmeal. That's another skill that has advanced. She's very good a stirring with her little wooden spoon. The first time she helped me it was more of an uncontrolled thrashing. This morning she could've been doubling for a Food Network celebrity chef.

The bonus is that she's extra willing to consume meals when she's been involved in the preparation.

This morning I told her to call for her dad to come look at her while she cooked.

She did.

And she proceeded to repeat the sentence throughout breakfast.

"I said, 'Daddy, come wook at me!'"

In addition to which, she's starting to recognize her way around town. This creates some sadness when we turn down our street to go home. She admonishes us to continue west toward her favorite park by yelping from the backseat, "No! Go THAT way! Go THAT way!"

And when she sense our proximity to Chick-fil-A she acknowledges it with a simple, "I want some!"

And, yes, everything she says does need an exclamation point.

Home Invasion

Have you ever had fruit flies?

I have them now. They are making me insane. I clean constantly. They don't go away. They multiply. They bug.

I think they're coming from my compost pile. But why hang out in the house? I have cleaned the counter and put every speck of food away for weeks now. I'm exhausted by the siege. Tomorrow my dad is coming to help me move that cursed pile. We'll see how things go.

I got an email from my doctor--"MRI is OK!" His words.

New hair in a bad* photo at the end of a long day:



*"Bad photo" in my world means poorly lit.

Even More to Say

When it was obvious she was having a bowel movement:

"Stella, where are you supposed to go poo poo?"
"On da potty."

Well, it's a start.

She also knows how to tell you that she wants a treat when she is sitting on the potty.

Had to get an MRI today. They had to put some sort of contrast dye in me. I want informed that I would have to "pump and dump" for twenty-four hours. For the uninitiated, that means Gianna cannot have my radioactive (I exaggerate) breast milk for twenty-four hours.

In breastfeeding realms there's really nothing sadder than having a tired, hungry child cry the cry of wanting to nurse and being physically unable to satiate that cry.

She did, however, take a bottle. This is good. But I will be happy to get back to nursing tomorrow morning.

Right after my first haircut since Thanksgiving.

Here's a before:



Notice the mullet happening in the back? It will be sent a-packing tomorrow.

Do you detect a glow? It's that contrast dye surging through my veins. It's "harmless." That's why I can't breastfeed my child.

Language Explosion!!!!

It's true what they say. You know They, don't you. They're fun.

Anyway, they say that kids suddenly start talking. We're experiencing this in Hansoniana Land. For the longest time Stella has said the same few things. Just this week she's started venturing out. It's almost like she wanted to be sure she knew what she was doing.

One day at lunch time she said, "I want tacos." I'm acclimated to having to decipher what she's trying to say. There's no way she actually wanted tacos, right? I'd never heard her say the word and we so rarely have tacos. I wasn't sure what she wanted.

She gestured toward the freezer and managed to dig them out from all of the frozen food in there. Tacos. She knew what she wanted and where to find them. It just made me wonder how long she'd been working on that word.

This evening she very deliberately said, "Help." It was so funny sounding. So calm and collected. She needed help getting out of her seat. "Help." That's it.

Did I mention that she said "shit" a few weeks ago? Damn. She's learning.

Mistakes I've Made (So Far This Week)

I was distracted by Stella and didn't completely fasten Gianna into her car seat.

I left the house with no snacks.

I let Gianna chew on an apple all the way home because it kept her quiet.

I impatiently yanked Stella's arm and said some naughty words.

I know I'm forgetting something.

I was losing my mind so I took a walk. This is restorative for me, therapeutic. I like to look at all the plants and take note of their growth and see if there are any changes my next time around.

While I was walking I was thinking about Lent. Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. We took the girls to get ashes. It marked the beginning of Lent and the approach of Easter. I am thankful for such rhythms in the liturgical calendar.

Christ was born at Christmas and we all celebrated. But here comes Easter. A more serious holiday. A chance to contemplate all our shortcomings and make amends--or at least try to. Intend to amend. Grow more towards the Light of Jesus.

And this is what I noticed on my walk. All the plants and weeds and flowers, they are all growing toward the light. This is what they do. If you have a plant in your house growing imbalanced, turn it around and it will change course. Even the weeds grow toward the light. Sometimes I feel like a weed. I know I'm not and I know that many of my careless infractions are not a big deal, but this is the time of the year to examine my more serious infractions: being ungrateful, unforgiving, selfish, jealous, cold-hearted.

It's very easy to convince yourself that you don't deserve a certain "injustice." Or that you deserve more privileges. I think of this as Oprahatic spirituality. "Make a little time for yourself everyday. Get yourself a treat, stop sacrificing for others." To a certain extent this isn't bad. It can reach a point, especially when you're in the business of small children, where it can be damaging.

Raising children is work. It is sacrifice. It's a lot more than physical labor. It's not indulging in misery or selfishness. It's not keeping track of wrongs and annoyances--these are things that I do. However, my goal this Lent is to become more for my husband and my kids. More what? I'm not sure yet. It will be what I think about until Easter. Nay, what I pray about until Easter.

I think it's very easy to think of having children as a self-centered enterprise. They are yours and you have them to complete some sort of milestone. You stop before they take over your life. But having children is sacrifice--a sacrifice of time, money and a certain way of life. I don't always enjoy the sacrifice. Does that mean I've made a mistake? No.

This is where I think our culture is hard on parents. There is no opportunity to air your grievances without people saying, "Well, you shouldn't have had children, or not so many." And this applies to whether you only have two or as many as eight. I think this is unfair to parents. Anyone who has adult children, I assume, would not say, "It was not worth it." Children are not a dream or ambition that can be abandoned, so why would we want to make parents feel bad? Why not just say, "This too shall pass. It will get better"?

While I have and will make many mistakes with my children, they are not mistakes I've made. They are a lot of work. But they are good work. And I am thankful that Easter comes once a year so I can reflect on my mistake and become more for my family. More what? I'll keep you posted.

Most Meaningful Thoughts Ever

I frequently think of things worth recording in the busiest times of the day: meals and pre-nap. That's when I have my golden thoughts. Or when I'm driving in the car. Then when I have some time to myself I can't recall anything noteworthy--and by noteworthy I mean something that I would be interested in reading a year from now.

This morning we tried to get ourselves presentable and out of the house in time for Stella to go to her little preschool class. This did not happen. I was plagued by varying degrees of Urgent Needs and Unclothed Children and Poopy Diapers. These were staggered throughout a ninety minute period wherein I got no relief of any time to get myself dressed. All in a day's work.

We managed to get out of the house by nine. I called my friend Theresa and was lured, willingly, to her house where I learned that she makes breakfast almost every morning. And I mean eggs, pancakes and biscuits and gravy--not all on the same day, though. I partook of leftover biscuits and gravy and it was SO FREAKING GOOD. I inhaled it. Then we talked about being busy and nursing babies and I think I articulated the fact that I frequently don't eat enough throughout the day because I'm busy with children and this is why I currently weigh less than I did in high school. This might be desirable for some but it is probably the source of my constant fatigue, confusion and difficulty concentrating.

I'm trying to figure out how to organize my life so that I can wash, dry, fold and put away laundry all in the same day. I'm also trying to figure out how I can remember my shopping list at the grocery store. Oh, and how to enjoy life in the process.


Totally unrelated photos:

Stella has some tea.


How her toys look after she goes to bed.


Gianna meets Gracie.


Sweet, soulful eyes.

Reading My Own Archives

It's funny how much you forget from one child to the next--and not much time has lapsed. I was reading my own blog tonight trying to get a handle on when Stella started sleeping through the night. Unfortunately, I didn't write much. I shall now recall for posterity's sake.

She slept with us, quite accidentally and then habitually, until about nine months. I remember the night it started. She was less than two weeks old. I remember every time night approached I felt this slight fear of the unknown. The unknown of the first time parent.

One night I must've fallen asleep nursing Stella. I woke up about two a.m. and thought, "Where's the baby?" She was not in her little Co-Sleeper next to the bed. Then I realized she was asleep in my arms. So I rolled over and plopped her between us. And so it began. It made life easy.

Once she became a very active sleeper and none of us was getting much rest we decided to transition her to her crib. This was around October 2006. It was horrible. She would wake up after nursing to sleep and cry in her crib. It took much support from Jamie for me to allow her to cry for more than five minutes. I always thought I would be able to let my kid cry it out. But I couldn't. And I still can't. However, Stella did have to spend some time fussing. It probably took two weeks of bummer bed times but eventually she slept in her bed for a good twelve hours. I don't regret having her in our bed. It was a precious time. And it didn't spoil her as right this moment she is slumbering in her very own bed. (Well, her crib. Still.)

Gianna's been a thrasher since the early days. She had to be swaddled in order to sleep. Nice and tight. She's largely slept in the little Co-Sleeper next to the bed. Lately she's been sleeping next to me as I've been weaning her from her pacifier and this coupled with teething has caused her some sad restlessness. She's six months now and I anticipate the sleeping to only get better.

Am I tired? Sometimes. Mostly in the morning before coffee. But, honestly, I'm not often bedraggled. I take naps when the girls do--this helps. And I generally try to take things easy. There's always tomorrow. I don't feel a tremendous need to ALWAYS be on top of things. I like to be rested enough to be pleasant and able to handle the daily stress. But I think being a little tired is part of the sacrifice of parenting. And the rewards of parenting are so great that I can't imagine trading rest for children.

While It's Winter Elsewhere

We're enjoying our summer. A recent visit to the Desert Botanical Gardens with Grandpa and the soon-to-be-gone Dotchie!

Let the Fun Begin

I just downloaded the software for our scanner. I have one word for you:

H-O-T-T

HOT!!

A Variety of News of No Report

When a small child misses a nap buckle up because it's gonna be nasty.

Jamie and I are usually in agreement about parenting. I say this not because we have talks about it--because we don't really. We're both usually mild and understanding. Tonight was hell-bound because of a missed nap. It doesn't make for pleasant dinner tie, but it's possible to endure.

We don't yell, though we do get frustrated. We don't throw things, though we might want to. We endure. And then one of us usually quips, "My life!" This is a statement that can cover over a multitude of sins.

Someone hogging the coffee corner in the kitchen?

"My life!"

Someone being too slow out the door?

"My life!"

Someone crowding you at the sink?

"My life!"

You get it.

Stella was virtually inconsolable at dinner. She wanted peas. In a bowl. Now out of the bowl. Now milk. Not milk. Now water. Now a plate of food previously refused. Now put her shoe back on.

"My life!"

This is where the like-minded parenting works. We put up with a certain amount of fuss, but when things get excessive Jamie will pick her up remove her shoes and put her in her bed to settle down.

It's nice not to worry about someone being too severe with your child. I don't have to worry about Stella being belittled over a bad dinner. I don't have to worry that Jamie will overreact and throw something in frustration and wind up scaring her disproportionately. It's nice.

This is something good to think about when looking for a partner. Thankfully, I just lucked out because I wasn't with it enough to really consider these things very much.

While the dinner drama played out little Gianna ate her butternut squash and sweet potato mash. I'm thinking how funny it is that she gets to grow up with a chorus of Stella's fits in the background of everyday life. She's quite used to it. It doesn't really ruffle her feathers as long as you continue to shovel in the goods.

In addition to which Jamie will be planting some seeds. He's going to be growing some veggies. Five years ago Jamie was growing veggies and sweet peas at his parents house. When I asked him to bring me some of the flowers he agreed. The only contingency was that I couldn't think that he was, his words, "Pitching woo." Five years ago he had someone else that he was interested in. Five years ago I didn't care. But that's a whole other story...

The Results Are In

And things are normal for now. This is good. I can continue getting on with getting on. This is good news. An answer to my prayer.

In other news, we are settling into our post-holiday routine over here. This has been a killer week because Jamie has had parent/teacher conferences for four days in a row. This means very long days for me--oh, and for him, too. One day he left the house before seven and didn't get home until after six. It's days like these I think of my sweet college friend April, also know as Bliss Cake, who has been living this grueling schedule six days a week for more than a year while her husband gets another advanced degree.

There are large communities of women living in apartments or on-campus family housing while they raise the children of said advanced-degree-pursuers. Whenever I consider my position miserable I contemplate them and their position--their patience and perseverance in the long, cold winters of places like South Bend, Indiana and Chicago, Illinois. Little Bliss Cake will be welcoming their third child into their lives any day now.

I say all that not to call their positions miserable. Merely to remember the other ladies in the trenches. Women with husbands who are full-time students. For I shall be joining their ranks in the not-to-distant future. I also extend to them a warm welcome to come to the desert. We have a spare bedroom--for only a short time--feel free to come and nestle yourself in the warmth and go on some walks with us.

In the summer while I am holed-up in the AC down here in the desert I will read of your walks by Lake Michigan and cry tears into a little hanky by my bed. Then I will use some frequent flier miles and flee to the north and visit my dad on his little isle. I hope.

This TIme Last Year

I have had this refrain trailing my thoughts frequently:

This time last year I did not know that I had cancer.

I cannot say that I didn't have cancer this time last year, only that I was unaware of its presence.

I had to have my tests, blood work and ultrasound, on Friday. I cannot say that I am awaiting the results without any fear. There is, of course, that thought in the back of my mind. What if?

What if I have another tumor? What if things are a little off?

I do not mean to be dramatic, but this is what resounds within me lately. So much so that the collision of my tests and Jamie's return to school forced me into prayerful repose on Sunday night. I had no other way of depositing my fear, sadness, grief, anticipation and thankfulness.

I am thankful for the cancer that was found. I'm thankful for Gianna, without whom we could possibly still be unaware of my tumor. I'm thankful that she survived my surgery last February. I'm thankful that my surgery in September showed no cancer in any of the biopsies or washings. I'm thankful that those who disagreed with my decision to keep my ovary expressed their opinion and have quietly supported me since then. I'm thankful that though they may think me naive they have not blatantly said so lately--as I am highly sensitive right now.

I'm worried. Almost more worried of the "I told you so" attitude that might prevail if anything is fishy. I'm worried that people will be angry with me for jeopardizing my family's happiness and relative calm.

But amidst all this I am also hopeful. Hopeful that all my worries and anxieties will return void.

Because this time last year I was anticipating the birth of a new child. A new Hanson was going to enter the ranks. This time last year I didn't have to think of childbearing as controversial or potentially harmful.

That said, I am thankful for 2007 and all that it revealed; physically, emotionally and relationally. I'm glad that Jamie and I survived and that we are stronger for it. But I am really hoping that everything comes back fine.

The Learning Curve

Sometimes you master things easily. Sometimes there's a bit of a learning curve. Gianna seems to have fallen off the wagon. She can't figure this one out. Last week she had it down. This makes me laugh because she was so frustrated. I imagine her thinking, "What happened? I used to be able to do this."