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: