Woefully Neglected

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

She's got that twinkle:



Enjoying some sun:



She loves this sister:



And this one:



Very excited:





Meanwhile, we also have this cute little bitty:



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

The Latest YouTube Rage

You can't watch this without smiling:

He's Done It Again

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

Disguise Your Snacks and Other Desirables

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

Accordingly opposite.

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

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

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

Other substitutions that seem to work (for now):

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

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

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

Ah, Blogging Consternation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rowena's First Week

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



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





Some of us are squeezers:



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

The Baby is Born

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

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

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

Here are some photos:

There's Nothing to See Here

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

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

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

Thanks.

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

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

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

Doing

Making:

The compulsory new baby blanket:



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



Reading:

Russell Kirk

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


Wallace Stegner


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

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

Catching Up:



Thinking:

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

Hearing:

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

Waiting:

for May 6th and my hospital vacay.

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

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

Hanson Girl 3.0

Is not here yet.

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

Just an FYI.

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

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

We're just fresh out. Fresh outta names.

I'm rooting for the name Brenda.

Hopefully They Don't Read This Blog

Easter kitty purses, 2009
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

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

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

Meow! Hiss hiss!

Ceiling Fans in March

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

It's a dry heat.

And the following opinion:

Summer only lasts three months.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dreams Are Weird (Right?)

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

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

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

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

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

Those Facebookers totally hogged my dream.

My Fat Face

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Non-fat


Fat

Stella and Gianna: Spritely Beach Gnomes

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



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



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

Some of my favorite pics:

Stella found something noteworthy


Gianna and her little tide pool


Stella happy as a clam


Gianna's sweet little dirty feet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which is Worse?

The child suffering from the ill effects of an ear infection

OR

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

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

Talk About Navel Gaving

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

36 weeks with Gianna:



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



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

Boo.

My Little Opportunist

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

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

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

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

It Was a Rainy Day

And I was elated.

My Friday the 13th Nightmare

My house is messy.



And my living room always looks like this:



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

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

Also, Winking

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

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

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

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

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

We Get to Have Another One of These!

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


Gianna less than a month old


Stella a few days old

And We Stayed Home

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

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

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

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

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

On Living Without

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.