The Best

If you want true Christmas charm, you should check out this album. John Denver and his Muppet friends do an outstanding job of conjuring Christmas cheer and wonder. I jest not. This album takes a charming spin on the classics and adds in some original work, too. Touching, really. Really. And you can buy it on iTunes! How post-modern.

This was my absolute favorite record when I was a kid. I remember rolling with laughter at Miss Piggy and her antics in "The Twelve Days of Christmas" and a little gem called "Christmas is Coming." There's this part where she continues to sing after everyone else is done and they have to stop her, I believe it's Scooter who says, "Piggy, we're done." Piggy responds in her classic pig pride, "Oh. I knew that."

The surprising thing about this album is how touching and sentimental some of the songs are. There's a song about a Christmas tree named Alfie. It was my first experience with the personification of a tree that brought tears to my eyes. It still does, by the way, they're just not as pronounced.

Maybe it's just because John Denver is from a different age, but when he sings his Christmas carols I actually think he might believe in Christmas--as in the birth of Christ. These lyrics could be criticized as overly sentimental, I'm sure, but I love them.

The garment of life, be it tattered and torn,
the cloak of the soldier is withered and worn.
But what child is this that was poverty-born, the peace of Christmas Day.

The branch that bears the bright holly, the dove that rests in yonder tree.
The light that shines for all to see, the peace of Christmas Day.

The hope that has slumbered for 2000 years,
the promise that silenced 1000 fears.
A faith that can hobble an ocean of tears, the peace of Christmas Day.

But perhaps my favorite is a little tune sung by the most famous green frog. I just mentioned this to my precious husband, that level-headed, logical man, who replied, "Yeah. I don't like that song." I love how poignant the lyrics are and the fact that I imagine little Kermie when I hear them.



I don't know if you believe in Christmas,
or if you have presents underneath the Christmas tree.
But if you believe in love, that will be more than enough
for you to come and celebrate with me.

For I have held the precious gift that love brings
even though I've never seen a Christmas star.
But I know there is a light, I have felt it burn inside,
and I can see it shining from afar.


I especially like to imagine Kermit holding "the precious gift that love brings."

It may be that these tunes will forever be favorites because of the memory connected with them. The memories of looking at the large album dust cover. Those things put CD liners to shame. Those things are bigger than your head. The detail, the color, it was awesome to gaze at those Muppets over and over while I listened to those songs. Because, People, we didn't have videos back then. You put the record on the record player and sat and listened.

This is the most verbose I've been in weeks and it's all because of those Muppets.

Don't Make Me Touch the Rag

There are certain (many) things that make my life depressing and horrible these days:

• the kitchen rag
  
• coffee grounds
  
• dirty towels
  
• wet towels
  
• clean towels (too much fabric softener)
  
• the smell of my house
  
• damp smells
  
• dry smells
  
• nice smells (perfume and such)
  
• cooking smells
  
• dirty diapers
  
• clean diapers (they have a very chemical-ly smell)
  
• direct sunlight
  
• coldness
  
• dirty sink
  
• talk of food
  
• warm wetness (if that makes sense)
  
• front yard
  
• back yard
  

You can imagine what this makes life like for those who share my space. I'm irratable and unpredictable and annoyed at myself. The hardest part is my physical inability to overcome this onset of depression. And when I use that word I mean it to describe a slowness that has overtaken my life and a lack of structure. I cannot grocery shop and mean it. I mean, I can for others, but I cannot presume to know on Sunday at 10:30 am what I will want to eat on Sunday at 10:45 am. This makes for a most difficult preservation of life.

Things I have eaten lately because it was what sounded good at the time:

• Arby's Beef and Cheddar (try twice in one day!)
  
• Subway ham and cheese with white bread (white! I never order white!)
  
• Cheese crisp
  
• Chorizo burrito
  
• (Mind you this is all in the last thirty-six hours!)
  
• bacon
  
• blueberry pancakes (in fact that sounds good. like RIGHT NOW!)
  

I told a friend recently that I would be willing to trade the first trimester for seventy-two hours of labor. That sounds extreme right? Well, imagine spending eight to twelve weeks disgusted in your skin. Imagine being disgusted by the smell of your fingertips. Imagine yourself living in the sixth circle of digestive and olfactory hell. This sucks so bad I want to numb myself with cocktails every night until February when, magically, this will all most likely be over (please, God?) because I will have transitioned out of the first trimester.

This is How It Be

First trimester nausea is like riding in the fourth row of a sixteen passenger van trying to read a magazine written with 12 point Times New Roman while on a road with lots of switchbacks. All the time.

Just relaaazz. That's right. Relaaz. It's more than relaxing.

Holidays Interrupted on Account of Reproductive Activity

This makes Thanksgiving numero dos (my first grade teacher, Mrs. Whitbeck, said all her numbers in Spanish; talk about a progressive woman for 1982!) that was slightly curtailed thanks to child-bearing. Last year it was full-on labor, this year? Full-on nausea. I'm one of those people that you could call "lucky." I've heard people say that nausea in the first trimester is a sign that the child is developing properly. This is the kind of information that is doled out when people don't know what else to say. It's like when someone dies and people tell you trite things like, "God must've needed them up in heaven." Or you lose a job and people say, "Well, there's probably something better for you out there." Or you get dumped and people say, "I never liked that person anyway."

So, I feel like chewed up bits of turkey and stuffing that has been regurgitated and left out on the counter overnight to dry. But at least the baby is healthy.

I had Jamie around for four days to bring relief to the daily duties around here. And now he's at work. Before 7:15 this morning Stella got into my yogurt and got it all over the floor. Lovely. Other than feeling ill this morning (although not too bad) I felt scared that I was going to be left as the one in charge for the whole day.

Thankfully, Ms. Martha Lee Kelly is going to come over and help me do some laundry. This should spiffy things up around here. I can barely stand the smell of the grout on the tile or the top of Stella's sweet little head (when the smell of your own children is revolting, you know you've got problems) much less clean my nasty kitchen. I don't even like to think about throwing something into the garbage can. Now I must go find out when Jamie's Christmas break starts.

Redux

Wait, did I say, "I'm so happy that she's here"? I meant I'm so tired that she's here.

This Time Last Year

I was still pregnant. And large. Though starting to have contractions.

This year? We have Stella.



Next year? We'll have one more.

Where Are All the Adoring Fans?

Sometimes it's too easy for me to write about "Stella." I say it like that because sometimes I think of her as a character in my life. That may sound odd but I just had to mentally edit what I was going to write once I looked at a sweet picture of my daughter and realized, "Wait, she's a small, little, defenseless person. She cannot read what I'm saying or understand it. She has no opinion about it now, but she does have her very own personhood and her own soul." I need to remember such things when I am recounting the details of her life. She is not a character in my life, she is a person in it. And because I write here to supplement the record of her early life, I want to record things she'll want to know about and be able to read with pride.

That being said, she had her first birthday party last Saturday. It was a milestone in her life as well as ours (her Mom and Dad). It's funny to think that I've lived to see the first birthday of my first child. It's crazy how time flies.

Stella is a sweet little booger who's still a little clumsy. When I look at these pictures they make me want to cry when I think about her little body falling down and getting injured throughout her day. (That's a very odd, non-sequitir thing to put there, but it's just what I think when I look at her.)

I am so happy that she's here and that she's developing into a little person. She definitely has opinions she just can't articulate them yet. But she's done a great job of breaking us into parenthood.

Birthday crown idea from this crafty mama.

The Haps

This is what is coming up in the Hanson Household:



Creating this sign really made me wish I had one of those chalk strings that you snap so it leaves a guideline. Do you know what I'm talking about? I wonder if those are expensive.

This is what has already happened in the HH:





This is a regularly occurring event. That is, playing out front with the cat in the afternoon. We collect rocks in bags, pick up dirt clods and generally explore the habitat.

The Deceiving Cover

Does this look like the face of one who enjoys the following...

• eating dog food?
  
• defacating in her bath?
  
• picking her nose?

I assure it is that face.

It is also the face of one who enjoys...

• greeting her animals in the morning
  
• waving goodbye when you leave
  
• giving "kisses" when asked (though they rather resemble a simple shifting of weight)

My Little Chunky Monkey

I know that when I was growing up I thought it was very hard. Now that I'm watching someone else do it, actually helping them do it, I know it's hard. Today Stella had immunization subterfuge, "Stella, look at this book. Look, it's Pooh and Piglet." This is when the nurse deftly plunged two needles into Stella's puny left bicep. May these two memories not be linked in her mind!

Then there's the naps. I love naps. Jamie takes them when necessary. I know many adults who would loved to "be made" to take a nap. Stella does not share my affinity. She cries when she goes down. She cries after twenty minutes of shut-eye. This is her overall napping experience.

There is one thing she does enjoy:



a little downtime with a book in the dog's bed. Nothing repairs the wounds of this world quite like it.

This One is for Chris Kelly

Who is Chris Kelly, you might ask? Well besides being a model for the PVCC Fitness Center dress code dos and don'ts sign, a man with pretty hair, an SRP employee, a liberal-leaning Republican (Proposition 107? Hello?), Donna's husband, Marty's son and Joey's father-in-law, he is also Jamie's uncle and, therefore, Stella's great-uncle. And tonight over Grandma Kelly's famoso pollo asada (that's Spanish just for you, Chris!) he asked me why I haven't updated lately. Not that he reads this pansy child-centered blog on a regular basis. Just every now and then. He described it as, "Not a website, but her own place on the internet where she posts pictures of her (meaning Stella) and them (meaning all of us) and tells stories and writes little sayings and stuff."

Anyway, why haven't I posted? No reason other than laziness. I've been too busy reading a good book that was due to the library (459 pages, whohee!), starting and finishing Stella's birthday quilt, landscaping the front yard, going to my creative writing class, visiting my aunt and uncle's cabin in Pine, applying for the Master Gardener program, planting seeds in my yard and generally being outside. This is the time of year for outside activity. This is when Stella lives the other part of November. We're closing in on Year One. We've experienced the first Accidental Trauma--not major but it did involve blood, scabbing, tears and a retaining wall. We've tasted dirt! And sand! We've put rocks in a bucket and taken them out again. Exciting stuff this.

And now for some eye candy:


I will not discuss my sand-eating habits in a public forum.


Sand is not a gateway mineral and I resent the fact that you think it's making me crazy.

You Know You're a Bigot When...

When the following thought occurs to you:
"Boy, I smell. Too bad there are so many other people in this room. At least I'm sitting next to this woman from _____________ (another country in the Eastern hemisphere where there are large, concentrated populations). It won't bother her because she's used to poor personal hygiene."

She is Her Father's Daughter

Quiet

When quiet is good:

• 3 am
  
• When enjoying the beauty of the Grand Tetons
  
• While teaching a class
  
• While watching Lost
  

When quiet is bad:

• On the radio
  
• In the middle of a concert
  
• In a public restroom stall
  
• When Stella is playing
  

Roasted Chicken: Finger Lickin' Good

If there's one thing everyone can agree upon it must be that good food is good fun to eat. Yes? I know we might not all agree on what good food is, however. Around here we like to eat meat in its many varied forms. The one recipe of Julia Child's that I have made a couple times is her raosted chicken. It's great because you take fresh, basic elements and turn them into a feast. This is basically a whole chicken, butter, carrots, onions, more butter and various other littler things, i.e. salt and pepper. Very tasty. The only thing is that you must baste it every ten minutes. This is a chore in the hot summer months, but this time of the year it's a lovely activity.

Here we have your basic chicken not yet tortured in the oven.


A few ingredients getting ready...


Lastly, the chicken on the way to being finished. Notice it's browning nicely.


Unfortunately, we were ravished when this was done and I wasn't allowed the time for a photo. We had to eat.

Earlier this week I made another tasty dish with, yet again, the most basic ingredients:
4 chicken breats
2 sticks o' butter
3 carrots
2 yellow onions
4 celery stalks
6 apples
2 sprigs of tarragon
handful of bread crumbs
salt and pepper

We cooked it over indirect heat on the grill for about an hour and MAN ALIVE was it good! I love cooking with root vegetables and it has inspired me to get my garden growing so I can have some straight from our good earth next fall.

Easy on the Text

I like to call this video "C'mon, Kid" or "My Annoying Voice."

Moving Right Along

Today's theme is Life Lite.

One day she's bathing in a sink...


The next day she's practising her walk.

"Oh, You Heard What Happened to Her, Right? She Got Bored"

Boredom has been a theme in my life lately. My boredom and that of others. Others that I know and others I have been told about. It's not that my life is particularly more boring now than it ever has been, but that people feel more inquisitive of the level of my boredom, its existence and their anecdotal reassurances that I am not alone.

Up to this point in my adult life I have almost always had full-time jobs. If not one full-timer then a couple part-timers to mish-mash together my life and standard of living. I remember one job where I felt so bored that I would be physically exhausted by my boredom at 8:00 am. That's difficult--physically exhausting boredom is a cross to bear. And I know many an adult that does bear it in a small cubicle with a computer monitor and a caffeine high and an illegal eBay window looming behind their workity work.

Now my boredom involves another small human. An incredibly cute human with a budding personality and babbling speech patterns to boot. A little soul. A new life. A little soul that requires the same things over and over again throughout the day, throughout the days, throughout the months. Admittedly, it can be boring. It can feel futile. But is it boring in the same way that after lunch meetings in a small windowless room with stale air and lame agendas are boring? No. Is it boring the in the same way that pages upon pages of meaningless data entry with your local easy listening music station playing in the background is boring? No. Is it boring the same way that disciplining someone's ill-mannered, farts-in-class, pompous, seventeen-year old "young adult" who never does their homework is boring. Resounding no.

The thing I've come to realize lately is that everyone loves a story. Everyone loves a good story, but everyone especially loves their own stories. If these stories bear the slightest resemblance to your life they want you to hear it. I don't take their my-wife-was-bored-staying-home-so-she-went-back-to-work or their I-was-bored-staying-home-so-I-went-back-to-work stories personally. I think deep down they think that staying home is a sacrifice to the Golden Calf of Boredom and it's a worthwhile sacrifice. And that's nice. I've had a number of people eavesdrop on me and others similarly shackled while we talk in public of our domestic lives only to interrupt us to say, "I think you've made the right choice" or "Great job!" You have no idea how encouraging it is.

When it comes down to it, I recognize that staying home is a sacrifice. My husband cannot order take-out pizza as frequently as he would like. He cannot purchase as many books as he would like. All kidding aside, you also have the other end of the spectrum. Do people ever describe returning to work as a sacrifice? Because it is. There is so much time to be spent with one's child. There is so very much empty, boring time. The thing I remind myself when I am tired of making grilled cheese, cutting grapes into eighths, filling sippy cups and nursing is that I have chosen to be home because it is good for us. It is good for all of US. It is good to have people home taking care of their loved ones. It is good to have neighborhood homes inhabited in the middle of the day. It is good for others to see children being pushed in strollers by their mothers. And I know this because when I used to drive to work it made me feel good to see others doing the same.

I do get bored. But I know it is all the moments of boring that I will look back on and cherish. Not to mention the fact that: hello? Hobbies? Doesn't anyone have them anymore? Don't we recreate? Don't we garden or read or make things or cook things for fun anymore? Martha Stewart built a huge empire out of domestic arts. That says something.

Intervene

Sometimes I do things without thinking. You know, pick my nose in public, shout profanities at slow-moving vehicles, physically express exasperation at Woman who parks her cart in front of the dairy section at Trader Joe's and contemplates ALL THE DAIRY while trying to decide what to purchase when, really, well, she can do that. It is a free world. Who am I to complain? I'm not the boss of her.*

Lately, I have not been thinking correctly in my dealings with Stella. I have been acting irrationally. This has resulted in the following:

• changing her diaper when she doesn't want it changed
  
• wiping her nose when she doesn't want it wiped
  
• cleaning her face when she doesn't want it cleaned

According to Stella this has simply got to stop.


*For the record. It's like people who go to McDonald's and stand there and look up at the menu. Like you haven't been going there YOUR ENTIRE LIFE. This bugged me to no end when I worked there.

Me: Welcome to McDonald's. Can I help you?
Customer staring slack-jawed at menu: Do I want a cheeseburger or a hamburger. Let. Me. Think.
Me: Take your time.
Customer: Takes their T.I.M.E.

Why Buy Toys?

When Stella wanders around the house looking for things to do, sometimes she chooses to play with her toys. However, many times she wanders to the garbage can and the tupperware drawer. The thing she likes the most, though, is the recycle bin. Perhaps it's because its contents change daily. She pulls out egg cartons, yogurt containers, cereal boxes and, on this particular day, a Jell-O box. Oh the joy