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?
Friday, January 30, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
The Best Gift
"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
Saturday, December 13, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, December 01, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
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!
And to make it extra special they're blowing bubbles, too!
Thursday, November 20, 2008
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.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
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.
"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.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
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!"
"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!"
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
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?
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?
Monday, September 22, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
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."
"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."
Thursday, September 11, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
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."
"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."
Friday, August 15, 2008
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.
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.
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