Flickr and Stuff

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phew.

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

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

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

"Oh. OK."

"I'll send you a link."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Fourth Grade Subterfuge

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some Easter Cheer

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



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

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

Helping me in the yard:

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

Helping Jamie in the yard:

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

Helping us finish the prayer before dinner:

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

More Words

Upon awaking:

"Mommy, did you sleep? Well?"

"Yes. Did you sleep? Well?"

"Yes"

***

At breakfast:

"I want some."

"Some what?"

"Some showmy."

"Showmy?"

"Yes."

"Show me what you want."

Points at yogurt and says "showmy."

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

***

After returning from an outing with her dad.

"Did you have fun?"

"I had bun."

"Did Dad have fun?"

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

Always.

Represent!

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

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

The Kind of Thing Her Aunt Will Appreciate

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

In Other News

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

The dogs enjoy this tremendously.

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

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

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

Stella-isms

Originally uploaded by alishialinn

With the advent of speech comes many new stories:

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

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

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

"Dotchie's?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

That settles the matter. She leaves it alone.

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

"Some what? What do you want?"

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

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

"Awnum Wheat?"

"Yes."

"I want some Awnum Wheat."

This is now a very familiar refrain.

While Standing in Stella's Bedroom

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

"I'm happy."

"I happy. Mommy Daddy happy?"

"Yes. We're happy."

"Gigi happy?"

Gigi grins.

Things My Home Invasion Has Taught Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

She did.

And she proceeded to repeat the sentence throughout breakfast.

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

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

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

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

Home Invasion

Have you ever had fruit flies?

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

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

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

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



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

Even More to Say

When it was obvious she was having a bowel movement:

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

Well, it's a start.

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

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

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

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

Right after my first haircut since Thanksgiving.

Here's a before:



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

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

Language Explosion!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mistakes I've Made (So Far This Week)

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

I left the house with no snacks.

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

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

I know I'm forgetting something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most Meaningful Thoughts Ever

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

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

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

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


Totally unrelated photos:

Stella has some tea.


How her toys look after she goes to bed.


Gianna meets Gracie.


Sweet, soulful eyes.

Reading My Own Archives

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

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

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

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

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

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

While It's Winter Elsewhere

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