I've come to realize that the people of the Northwest must be more acclimated to dealing with the heat than myself, a desert dweller. These barbarians have no air conditioning, as a general rule. In Phoenix I spend my summers in the comforts of my seventy-eight degree home. Here in Portland I am roasting in our apartment with the comforts of a small fan blowing around warm air. If the US were a human, I would be found nestled in its inner thighs.
Everyone says, "Well, we don't need air conditioning because it's not hot here for very long?" Define "very long." Because I've been here for three weeks with a sweaty midriff the entire time. Who do they think they're fooling? Certainly not the bacteria in their own sweaty pits.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Sisters
For lack of time to write anything and my camera refusing to cooperate with my computer, here's a little pic of the girls in Portland. Granted it could be anywhere on any couch, but take my word. Jamie's phone seems to be the only successful device for sharing photos at this time. This causes me frustration and middle-of-the-night troubleshooting thoughts
Monday, July 13, 2009
I've Taken to Calling Her Roni
She has many nicknames, to be sure, such is the way in the Hanson house. This happy little photo was taken before the witching hour overtook our entire, especially small while we're in Portland, household. Shortly after all the smiles we descended into an emotional and behavioral mire that required my (failed) attempts at restraint. Instead, I turned Stella over to the television and put Gianna to bed early. It was nice to think back on this photo and "cling to the good" as St. Thomas Aquinas, and my husband, frequently remind me.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Law School Gauntlet
I recently settled my mind on the difficult thing about being married to a law student: the stakes are high. It's a huge investment of time, money and un quantifiable resources and the outcome is an unknown--as in all investments. You could end up in the top of your class or the bottom. Thankfully, for Jamie thus far, he has ended up in the top twenty percent of his first year class. This is an achievement for someone who has/had a pregnant wife and two/three daughters at the time.
In law school everything is graded on a curve. So your ability to succeed is literally tied to that of the best in your class. If you're lucky you're the best in a class on dopes. I told Jamie he should get his class ranking--30--printed on a t-shirt and wear it to a class and his response was, "No. There'd be 29 other people who could laugh at me."
I was thinking of all this last night as the girls and I embarked on our nightly stroll. I had a coffee and the girls were enjoying their Trader Joe's cookies that I parcel out at that time. I was thinking about what a treat it was to be out and about but how dismal my spirits were in contrast. It's always hard when you're somewhere new, relatively alone yet surrounded by people. I was missing the friends I take for granted in Phoenix. I was missing my little routines (surely thought of as ruts when I'm at home). I was just generally feeling sorry for myself. Such is the human condition, no? I'm strolling down a beautiful green park, outside no less (Phoenicians understand this July luxury), and taking in all the green and the late day sun filtering through the trees and I was all woe-is-me.
If I had seen a picture of that park in a book at home in Phoenix I would think, "If only I were there, life would be ideal, perfect, enjoyable. I would be able to seize the joy of life with my brood of children and we would be laughing together and stroking each others' hair in glee. We would partake of the best of ice cream and coffee..." Instead I was wishing my husband was with us and thinking, "Well when law school is over I'm going to buy myself a really expensive _______." Expensive what? I don't know. I couldn't even think of something that I want that badly that I couldn't get today. I just have this idea that when law school is over the Golden Days will commense.
Do I not realize that I am living them right now?
Yes, I do realize it, but I need constant reminding. Constant.
Isn't that the way?
I have a friend whose husband is in the midst of studying for the Bar exam. And she realizes, too, the faulty thinking that whatever is wrong with life will cease to be wrong "once the Bar exam is over."
Makes me glad I'm not the only feeble-minded little human muddling through life here on this beautiful but sometimes frustrating planet.
File this one under Things I Think About Way Too Much While My Small Children Grow Up Before My Very Eyes.
In law school everything is graded on a curve. So your ability to succeed is literally tied to that of the best in your class. If you're lucky you're the best in a class on dopes. I told Jamie he should get his class ranking--30--printed on a t-shirt and wear it to a class and his response was, "No. There'd be 29 other people who could laugh at me."
I was thinking of all this last night as the girls and I embarked on our nightly stroll. I had a coffee and the girls were enjoying their Trader Joe's cookies that I parcel out at that time. I was thinking about what a treat it was to be out and about but how dismal my spirits were in contrast. It's always hard when you're somewhere new, relatively alone yet surrounded by people. I was missing the friends I take for granted in Phoenix. I was missing my little routines (surely thought of as ruts when I'm at home). I was just generally feeling sorry for myself. Such is the human condition, no? I'm strolling down a beautiful green park, outside no less (Phoenicians understand this July luxury), and taking in all the green and the late day sun filtering through the trees and I was all woe-is-me.
If I had seen a picture of that park in a book at home in Phoenix I would think, "If only I were there, life would be ideal, perfect, enjoyable. I would be able to seize the joy of life with my brood of children and we would be laughing together and stroking each others' hair in glee. We would partake of the best of ice cream and coffee..." Instead I was wishing my husband was with us and thinking, "Well when law school is over I'm going to buy myself a really expensive _______." Expensive what? I don't know. I couldn't even think of something that I want that badly that I couldn't get today. I just have this idea that when law school is over the Golden Days will commense.
Do I not realize that I am living them right now?
Yes, I do realize it, but I need constant reminding. Constant.
Isn't that the way?
I have a friend whose husband is in the midst of studying for the Bar exam. And she realizes, too, the faulty thinking that whatever is wrong with life will cease to be wrong "once the Bar exam is over."
Makes me glad I'm not the only feeble-minded little human muddling through life here on this beautiful but sometimes frustrating planet.
File this one under Things I Think About Way Too Much While My Small Children Grow Up Before My Very Eyes.
Monday, July 06, 2009
It Only Takes a Week
I always maintain that vacation with small children needs to be longer than a week. I know that's not possible for everyone, or even most, but thankfully the last few years of our school schedule have afforded us this luxury. I really feel like it takes a while to settle in to your new surroundings enough so that ANYONE has a good time.
That said, we've been here a week and we've hit our stride.
Jamie has come up with pithy statements (his description) to help me get through the long, consecutive string of nights where he is absent. This week it's five night, next week only three. Here's his advice, "Rely on the reliable."
He conjured this one up while I was coming to pieces last night trying to deal with all three on my own. It's a perfect storm of issues that makes nighttime difficult:
It's light out until past 10.
Every entertainment device is within Gianna's reach and button-pushing capabilities.
The cable doesn't work.
The computer, which has access to streaming Netflix videos, has way too many tempting buttons.
The baby is confused.
The mother is confused.
The confused mother starts to think about all her pillows at home.
The middle child starts, literally and figuratively, pushing buttons.
The oldest child screams and scratches the middle child.
We are in a small apartment and I am overly sensitive to bothering the neighbors.
Someone nearby has a baby that I can hear cry through our windown and I'm always walking our creaky hallways to go back a check the status of my baby.
Ad nauseum.
So, "Rely on the reliable." Surprisingly this makes sense. This means that I take the children out every night after Jamie leaves. We go to the park. We stay out way past our Phoenix bedtimes or even our Phoenix be-at-home times. I get myself a drink at a coffee shop. I bring cookies and hand them out to the girls. We go home and take baths. We make sure Gianna is good and tired out, stick a Nuk in her mouth, put on a video for Stella and go lay down with Gianna.
One kid down.
The baby gets nursed and wrapped really tight and put in her little bed. Usually she lays back there and grunts and squirms for about forty-five minutes before she goes to sleep.
Two kids down.
Stella's video is over and she brushes those teeth and hops into bed sans pajamas (because it's been that hot here) and her and I go to sleep.
Three kids down.
Confused mother is down.
It's a little dance that I'm perfecting. And all last week it caused me major stress. Now I have embraced it and I'm no longer dreading Jamie's departure.
It's like a friend of mine said to me after I told her that recuperating from a c-section is nothing compared to mastitis with a three week old:
That which doesn't kill us makes everything else bearable in comparison.
That is to say that all my adjustment here prepared me for the public transit kerfuffle I experienced today with all three kids, a double stroller and little ol' me. That's a story for another day, though.
That said, we've been here a week and we've hit our stride.
Jamie has come up with pithy statements (his description) to help me get through the long, consecutive string of nights where he is absent. This week it's five night, next week only three. Here's his advice, "Rely on the reliable."
He conjured this one up while I was coming to pieces last night trying to deal with all three on my own. It's a perfect storm of issues that makes nighttime difficult:
It's light out until past 10.
Every entertainment device is within Gianna's reach and button-pushing capabilities.
The cable doesn't work.
The computer, which has access to streaming Netflix videos, has way too many tempting buttons.
The baby is confused.
The mother is confused.
The confused mother starts to think about all her pillows at home.
The middle child starts, literally and figuratively, pushing buttons.
The oldest child screams and scratches the middle child.
We are in a small apartment and I am overly sensitive to bothering the neighbors.
Someone nearby has a baby that I can hear cry through our windown and I'm always walking our creaky hallways to go back a check the status of my baby.
Ad nauseum.
So, "Rely on the reliable." Surprisingly this makes sense. This means that I take the children out every night after Jamie leaves. We go to the park. We stay out way past our Phoenix bedtimes or even our Phoenix be-at-home times. I get myself a drink at a coffee shop. I bring cookies and hand them out to the girls. We go home and take baths. We make sure Gianna is good and tired out, stick a Nuk in her mouth, put on a video for Stella and go lay down with Gianna.
One kid down.
The baby gets nursed and wrapped really tight and put in her little bed. Usually she lays back there and grunts and squirms for about forty-five minutes before she goes to sleep.
Two kids down.
Stella's video is over and she brushes those teeth and hops into bed sans pajamas (because it's been that hot here) and her and I go to sleep.
Three kids down.
Confused mother is down.
It's a little dance that I'm perfecting. And all last week it caused me major stress. Now I have embraced it and I'm no longer dreading Jamie's departure.
It's like a friend of mine said to me after I told her that recuperating from a c-section is nothing compared to mastitis with a three week old:
That which doesn't kill us makes everything else bearable in comparison.
That is to say that all my adjustment here prepared me for the public transit kerfuffle I experienced today with all three kids, a double stroller and little ol' me. That's a story for another day, though.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Day Two Tizzy
Here are some other things about new city experiences:
At night Stella tells me, "I can't wait to go back to Phoenix." She doesn't say it in a sad, longing way, just matter-of-fact.
I can't wait to get back to all my pillows in Phoenix. How many pillows do you have on your bed? Do you take them for granted? Think about those sweet pillows right now. Give them a hug next time you see them. We have four paltry pillows here and four heads. Jamie and I have already tried to swindle our children out of their pillows. They're not buying it. We are on the lookout for pillow substitutes. It makes you look at all the soft things in your environment diferently. "Would that stack of towels make a good pillow if I stuffed them in a pillow case? What about that stack of t-shirts...?"
We need the pillows so we can get good rest because we walk all day. We've had to significantly increase our calorie intake. We walk all the time and are, therefore, ravenous. I am a breastfeeding mother of three who walks, pushes a stroller and carries a wee babe strapped to my chest--I cannot get enough to eat. Come and take me out to dinner. Actually, scratch that. Come and cook me a tasty meal. Unless you've had a prior good experience at a restaurant, I'm not into wasting calories on slop.
We at a the worst restaurant the other night because we didn't have our act together yet. Tonight we ate it and I praised the kitchen St. Pasqual because it was tasty. It was not, as Jamie described our Asian dumpling meal, "doughy and sweet." Doughy and sweet does not tide one over for intense walking.
We went to the Farmer's Market that's about two minutes from our building. It was awesome. It make this whole trip worthwhile. There's another one on Saturday. Every Saturday and Wednesday will find us eating strawberries at the Farmer's Market.
I would like to post some photos, but by the time I get everyone to bed I can barely make myself record these thoughts.
For example, I just remebered that I wanted to note the new-city blues that I go through whenever I go on vacation. No matter how much I look forward to things I spend the first few days adjusting and getting over enormous fears and anxieties about EVERYTHING. You name it and I've feared it the last few days. I don't realize what a creature of habit I am until I'm thrown into an adjustment like this. It's good for me though, because just when I'm feeling most out of sorts and I want to call someone and feel sorry for myself, I remember to pray. "Pray to Jesus," says a voice in my head. It'a a good reminder that He is there to receive all those anxieties. Today was a beautiful day and I was contemplating my own mortality.
I'm such a downer that way.
At night Stella tells me, "I can't wait to go back to Phoenix." She doesn't say it in a sad, longing way, just matter-of-fact.
I can't wait to get back to all my pillows in Phoenix. How many pillows do you have on your bed? Do you take them for granted? Think about those sweet pillows right now. Give them a hug next time you see them. We have four paltry pillows here and four heads. Jamie and I have already tried to swindle our children out of their pillows. They're not buying it. We are on the lookout for pillow substitutes. It makes you look at all the soft things in your environment diferently. "Would that stack of towels make a good pillow if I stuffed them in a pillow case? What about that stack of t-shirts...?"
We need the pillows so we can get good rest because we walk all day. We've had to significantly increase our calorie intake. We walk all the time and are, therefore, ravenous. I am a breastfeeding mother of three who walks, pushes a stroller and carries a wee babe strapped to my chest--I cannot get enough to eat. Come and take me out to dinner. Actually, scratch that. Come and cook me a tasty meal. Unless you've had a prior good experience at a restaurant, I'm not into wasting calories on slop.
We at a the worst restaurant the other night because we didn't have our act together yet. Tonight we ate it and I praised the kitchen St. Pasqual because it was tasty. It was not, as Jamie described our Asian dumpling meal, "doughy and sweet." Doughy and sweet does not tide one over for intense walking.
We went to the Farmer's Market that's about two minutes from our building. It was awesome. It make this whole trip worthwhile. There's another one on Saturday. Every Saturday and Wednesday will find us eating strawberries at the Farmer's Market.
I would like to post some photos, but by the time I get everyone to bed I can barely make myself record these thoughts.
For example, I just remebered that I wanted to note the new-city blues that I go through whenever I go on vacation. No matter how much I look forward to things I spend the first few days adjusting and getting over enormous fears and anxieties about EVERYTHING. You name it and I've feared it the last few days. I don't realize what a creature of habit I am until I'm thrown into an adjustment like this. It's good for me though, because just when I'm feeling most out of sorts and I want to call someone and feel sorry for myself, I remember to pray. "Pray to Jesus," says a voice in my head. It'a a good reminder that He is there to receive all those anxieties. Today was a beautiful day and I was contemplating my own mortality.
I'm such a downer that way.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Day One Doozy
Not really a doozy. I have the ability to take moments of doozy-ness and construe them into an entire day.
We traveled here uneventfully. The only minor meltdown was the last thirty minutes of the flight when Gianna decided that she could no longer take it. It being sitting in her chair and not screaming and not kicking the seat in front of her. I traded the baby off to Jamie and physically restrained Gianna while I sat next to a very kind, understanding woman. She had just spent her week with her grandchild, she was properly prepared for the experience.
But even the kicking wasn't that bad.
We walked around a bit. Went to a park that Stella declared was "stupid" because all it had was "stupid grass." (And please, how do you keep you child from saying such things? Especially when you say them yourself? I know. Stop saying them, right? Easier said...) Had some cookie that Stella did not want because it didn't have sprinkles on it, ate some dinner at the local Chipotle and headed home.
Today the girls and I ventured forth on our own. We walked to a park on the verge of a nice part of town--the Pearl District--but still close enough to get some local "color." Some homelessness, if you will. Nothing I've not experienced before. Nothing that makes one worry about the proximity of your children to the activities being partaken of.
It's funny being in a city again. There are so many opportunities to judge other people. Like, why do those seemingly clean, normal teenagers sit in front of coffee stores all day begging for money (Hello, Santa Cruz!)? Why do so many people make it out of their homes in ill-fitting outfits? Why so much shouting?
At the same time it's nice to be able to walk. It's nice to pull the stroller over for a coffee. It was nice to not be in a car all day.
Yet I can see why people leave the city for the suburb once children are involved. It's an entirely different childhood. Country mouse, city mouse thing.
Like right now I can hear some people talking outside my window.
I'm also typing really fast because now that I'm doing the solo parenting at night while Jamie's taking his class I have even less time to do things like blog. It's constant putting out fires in someone else's small space.
But during the day I get to walk outside with the children, so I'm not complaining.
Gotta go get Rowena.
We traveled here uneventfully. The only minor meltdown was the last thirty minutes of the flight when Gianna decided that she could no longer take it. It being sitting in her chair and not screaming and not kicking the seat in front of her. I traded the baby off to Jamie and physically restrained Gianna while I sat next to a very kind, understanding woman. She had just spent her week with her grandchild, she was properly prepared for the experience.
But even the kicking wasn't that bad.
We walked around a bit. Went to a park that Stella declared was "stupid" because all it had was "stupid grass." (And please, how do you keep you child from saying such things? Especially when you say them yourself? I know. Stop saying them, right? Easier said...) Had some cookie that Stella did not want because it didn't have sprinkles on it, ate some dinner at the local Chipotle and headed home.
Today the girls and I ventured forth on our own. We walked to a park on the verge of a nice part of town--the Pearl District--but still close enough to get some local "color." Some homelessness, if you will. Nothing I've not experienced before. Nothing that makes one worry about the proximity of your children to the activities being partaken of.
It's funny being in a city again. There are so many opportunities to judge other people. Like, why do those seemingly clean, normal teenagers sit in front of coffee stores all day begging for money (Hello, Santa Cruz!)? Why do so many people make it out of their homes in ill-fitting outfits? Why so much shouting?
At the same time it's nice to be able to walk. It's nice to pull the stroller over for a coffee. It was nice to not be in a car all day.
Yet I can see why people leave the city for the suburb once children are involved. It's an entirely different childhood. Country mouse, city mouse thing.
Like right now I can hear some people talking outside my window.
I'm also typing really fast because now that I'm doing the solo parenting at night while Jamie's taking his class I have even less time to do things like blog. It's constant putting out fires in someone else's small space.
But during the day I get to walk outside with the children, so I'm not complaining.
Gotta go get Rowena.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Stella's Song
Stella loves to watch TV when she's allowed. However, what Stella is really good at is:
Pretending!
Stella loves to get her little people and animals all arranged in a particular way and have them converse with each other. It's so fun to sit in the same room and listen to the dialogue. But it's especially fun when she sings her song. It's got one line and a little tune. I want to try to get it on tape someday because it cracks me up. Want to know that one line?
"When you do this all day."
Over and over again.
"When you do this all day."
That's her song.
"When you do this all day."
And when you ask her about it and what it means she gets really bashful.
(Gianna just rolled out of bed and asked me, "Where's Yaya*? Where's Noni?" First thing she wants to know about is those sisters.)
*Stella
Pretending!
Stella loves to get her little people and animals all arranged in a particular way and have them converse with each other. It's so fun to sit in the same room and listen to the dialogue. But it's especially fun when she sings her song. It's got one line and a little tune. I want to try to get it on tape someday because it cracks me up. Want to know that one line?
"When you do this all day."
Over and over again.
"When you do this all day."
That's her song.
"When you do this all day."
And when you ask her about it and what it means she gets really bashful.
(Gianna just rolled out of bed and asked me, "Where's Yaya*? Where's Noni?" First thing she wants to know about is those sisters.)
*Stella
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Woefully Neglected
I keep reminding myself of all the little snippets of everyday life I am going to forget if I don't document them here. There is so much change going on in the Hanson household on a daily basis. I know it will be like this for a while. It's hard to keep up and not dwell on all that has happened and start to feel so sad that MY LITTLE BABY IS GOING TO BE TWO!
I realize that I have another baby already, but in my mind Gianna is still my baby. Of course, so is Stella, but more in honorary designation. She is able to use the toilet and request things clearly. Stella is able to have conversations with us about the things she like and, especially the things she dislikes. For instance, she strongly dislikes it if you smile at her when she first wakes up in the morning. She's also not afraid to telling you when you're making her angry. This typically involves some sort of denial on our part: no cookie for breakfast, no TV first thing, basically no giving in to all her fleshly appetites whenever and wherever she deems fit. This is a hard one because I find myself frequently thinking, "What's the harm of a cookie right now, really, in the scheme of things?" or "Do I really want to have our daily pre-nap argument (fight, really) about going to the bathroom before she goes to sleep?" Some days I don't, so I don't make her. I have to get over this rigid mom in my head that thinks that if there's one day where I let the toilet thing slide before nap she'll never listen to anything I have to say and be wearing a diaper to sleep for the rest of her life.
Anyway, back to my baby. She has a lot to say. We frequently comment on how much more Gianna talks than Stella did at her age. I'm sure it's having an older sibling that you need to comminicate with that has encouraged this skill. Mom and Dad aren't always around to say, "Don't take that, it's mine!" or other necessary negotiating terms.
She's also turned into a little character that sticks her hands in her pockets while swaying her hips to music. She even has songs that she requests by name. A favorite for both girls is "Mahna Mahna." The best part is hearing Gianna request it. "Mahnamamna, Da Da! Mahnamamna, Da Da!" Or the other song that she requests simply by saying, "Ow Ow! Ow Ow!" You'll understand if you're able to hear a few seconds of this clip. Both of the girls love these songs.
Gianna has grown the curliest head of hair in the house, as well. When dry it's shoulder length. When wet it goes halfway down her back, just imagine those curls. Wait you don't have to:
In addition, Gianna LOVES her little sister Noni. Noni is the first things that Gianna asks me about in the morning. "Where Noni, Mama?" And regarless of the questions she asks, the response you're usually given is, "Oh."
I'm not doing justice to her cuteness. It really must be experienced in person. But I knew I needed to write some stuff down lest I forget. She's turning two on July 10th while we're in Portland. And six years ago on July 10th Jamie and I were wandering the streets of Firenze, Italia footloose and fancy-free. But that's another story for another day.
She's got that twinkle:
Enjoying some sun:
She loves this sister:
And this one:
Very excited:
Meanwhile, we also have this cute little bitty:
Who's already going to be two months old very soon. Don't get me started on time flying. And I'm not even always having fun.
I realize that I have another baby already, but in my mind Gianna is still my baby. Of course, so is Stella, but more in honorary designation. She is able to use the toilet and request things clearly. Stella is able to have conversations with us about the things she like and, especially the things she dislikes. For instance, she strongly dislikes it if you smile at her when she first wakes up in the morning. She's also not afraid to telling you when you're making her angry. This typically involves some sort of denial on our part: no cookie for breakfast, no TV first thing, basically no giving in to all her fleshly appetites whenever and wherever she deems fit. This is a hard one because I find myself frequently thinking, "What's the harm of a cookie right now, really, in the scheme of things?" or "Do I really want to have our daily pre-nap argument (fight, really) about going to the bathroom before she goes to sleep?" Some days I don't, so I don't make her. I have to get over this rigid mom in my head that thinks that if there's one day where I let the toilet thing slide before nap she'll never listen to anything I have to say and be wearing a diaper to sleep for the rest of her life.
Anyway, back to my baby. She has a lot to say. We frequently comment on how much more Gianna talks than Stella did at her age. I'm sure it's having an older sibling that you need to comminicate with that has encouraged this skill. Mom and Dad aren't always around to say, "Don't take that, it's mine!" or other necessary negotiating terms.
She's also turned into a little character that sticks her hands in her pockets while swaying her hips to music. She even has songs that she requests by name. A favorite for both girls is "Mahna Mahna." The best part is hearing Gianna request it. "Mahnamamna, Da Da! Mahnamamna, Da Da!" Or the other song that she requests simply by saying, "Ow Ow! Ow Ow!" You'll understand if you're able to hear a few seconds of this clip. Both of the girls love these songs.
Gianna has grown the curliest head of hair in the house, as well. When dry it's shoulder length. When wet it goes halfway down her back, just imagine those curls. Wait you don't have to:
In addition, Gianna LOVES her little sister Noni. Noni is the first things that Gianna asks me about in the morning. "Where Noni, Mama?" And regarless of the questions she asks, the response you're usually given is, "Oh."
I'm not doing justice to her cuteness. It really must be experienced in person. But I knew I needed to write some stuff down lest I forget. She's turning two on July 10th while we're in Portland. And six years ago on July 10th Jamie and I were wandering the streets of Firenze, Italia footloose and fancy-free. But that's another story for another day.
She's got that twinkle:
Enjoying some sun:
She loves this sister:
And this one:
Very excited:
Meanwhile, we also have this cute little bitty:
Who's already going to be two months old very soon. Don't get me started on time flying. And I'm not even always having fun.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
He's Done It Again
Not quite a year since his last post, my sweet, clever husband has written a little something. I wish he would do it more.
Go comment.
Go comment.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Disguise Your Snacks and Other Desirables
When consuming food in front of cognisant children it is always a good idea to know what their likes and dislikes are so you can prepare your food accordingly.
Accordingly opposite.
My children like cream cheese. So when I want to eat a bagel in their presence I prepare mine sans cream cheese and only butter. I like cream cheese, too. But I also like bagels with only butter. I also enjoy eating my entire meal and not having to supplement it throughout the day to make up for the large portions that my children have mooched off of me.
Yes, I could say, "No, this is mine." And, yes, I frequently do. But in the words of a friend of mine, sometimes it's easier to just let them have a sniggle.
You try being consistent all day, every day. You may start out with the best intentions but little kids have the gift of equal and unrelenting consistency in terms of: nagging, crying, begging, and being hungry whenever you are eating. Choose your battles.
Other substitutions that seem to work (for now):
serving yourself a much-deserved middle-of-the-day bowl of ice cream in a coffee mug
having some pasta smothered in red sauce
eating carrots without hummus (because for some reason that stuff is a big hit with the littles)
cutting up your apple before you eat it (mine prefer them whole)
This is the advantage of not being a picky eater. You can choose your snack and enjoy it in whatever way it must be prepared.
One of many tactics employed throughout my day to outsmart The Others.
Accordingly opposite.
My children like cream cheese. So when I want to eat a bagel in their presence I prepare mine sans cream cheese and only butter. I like cream cheese, too. But I also like bagels with only butter. I also enjoy eating my entire meal and not having to supplement it throughout the day to make up for the large portions that my children have mooched off of me.
Yes, I could say, "No, this is mine." And, yes, I frequently do. But in the words of a friend of mine, sometimes it's easier to just let them have a sniggle.
You try being consistent all day, every day. You may start out with the best intentions but little kids have the gift of equal and unrelenting consistency in terms of: nagging, crying, begging, and being hungry whenever you are eating. Choose your battles.
Other substitutions that seem to work (for now):
serving yourself a much-deserved middle-of-the-day bowl of ice cream in a coffee mug
having some pasta smothered in red sauce
eating carrots without hummus (because for some reason that stuff is a big hit with the littles)
cutting up your apple before you eat it (mine prefer them whole)
This is the advantage of not being a picky eater. You can choose your snack and enjoy it in whatever way it must be prepared.
One of many tactics employed throughout my day to outsmart The Others.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Ah, Blogging Consternation
I am frequently at odds with myself over "blogging." I started for me, for my girls (at the time one girl) so that I could keep track of stuff since I'm not a baby book keeper-upper. In fact, I have one for Stella and none for any child thereafter. Instead, I have a blog.
But then when you blog and people find out about it you have an "audience." Even though my audience is friends and family and the like I start to feel this blogging pressure. Which is good, in a way. As it makes me more accountable to update, which will benefit myself and my original intendees as a result. But then, oh, but then. But then I'm like, "Oh, can I write THAT on my blog? Should I mention THIS? Should SUCH AND SUCH be public knowledge?" None of THAT, THIS or SUCH AND SUCH is very interesting, but just stuff that I think about.
Of course, I do think about lots of things political or religious in nature which effect my everyday parenting style and decisions, so perhaps they are interesting? But I don't want to stir a pot on my family record-keeping blog.
All that is to say that life with three children is aptly hectic and enjoyable. It keeps me honest. It makes me focused. It requires stamina and endurance, spousal communication. It contributes to my sanctification (one of those things I think about). It makes me think about why people don't want children, what the opposite of children is and why that is appealing to some. (Which then seems to become unappealing as those child-free by choice reach a certain age...) What would my life be like sans children? What would I do with my free time? Admittedly, it would free up a lot of resources, but what would be the long-term benefit?
Before Jamie and I got married we did marriage prep courses through the Catholic church. We learned about finances, communication, NFP (gasp!), and other things that play out in the daily life of a couple joined together in the sacrament of marriage. One couple shared their relief that they chose life and children as opposed to material prosperity and ease. They had five children and lost one daughter when she was only fifteen years old. The words of the wife resound with me when my life gets overwhelming, "I'm glad we chose to have our children. I'm glad that we are able to look back at photos of her and recall happy memories with her. There's a photo of her sitting on the ugly couch that we had for so many years because we couldn't afford a new, clean, pretty couch. I'm glad we chose to have her and all her siblings and keep that ugly couch instead of limiting the amount of children so that we could have material gain. Our lives are better because of all our children and I never think about that couch unless I see it in old photos."
That sums up a lot of how I feel about my ugly couch and my lovely children.
And that leads me to one of THOSE THINGS that I think about quite frequently: our particular society's place in the world and in time and our preoccupation with materialism. It can be a hot button topic. Not that I tend to avoid such things in real life, of course if you know me you know that already. My spouse likes to remind me: The perfect can be the enemy of the good. This is true in ambition, home decor, body image and family planning, etc. What stops us from embracing life? What stops you?
“As the family goes, so goes the nation and so goes the whole world in which we live.”
John Paul II
Edited to add:
“The great danger for family life, in the midst of any society whose idols are pleasure, comfort and independence, lies in the fact that people close their hearts and become selfish.”
Also John Paul II
But then when you blog and people find out about it you have an "audience." Even though my audience is friends and family and the like I start to feel this blogging pressure. Which is good, in a way. As it makes me more accountable to update, which will benefit myself and my original intendees as a result. But then, oh, but then. But then I'm like, "Oh, can I write THAT on my blog? Should I mention THIS? Should SUCH AND SUCH be public knowledge?" None of THAT, THIS or SUCH AND SUCH is very interesting, but just stuff that I think about.
Of course, I do think about lots of things political or religious in nature which effect my everyday parenting style and decisions, so perhaps they are interesting? But I don't want to stir a pot on my family record-keeping blog.
All that is to say that life with three children is aptly hectic and enjoyable. It keeps me honest. It makes me focused. It requires stamina and endurance, spousal communication. It contributes to my sanctification (one of those things I think about). It makes me think about why people don't want children, what the opposite of children is and why that is appealing to some. (Which then seems to become unappealing as those child-free by choice reach a certain age...) What would my life be like sans children? What would I do with my free time? Admittedly, it would free up a lot of resources, but what would be the long-term benefit?
Before Jamie and I got married we did marriage prep courses through the Catholic church. We learned about finances, communication, NFP (gasp!), and other things that play out in the daily life of a couple joined together in the sacrament of marriage. One couple shared their relief that they chose life and children as opposed to material prosperity and ease. They had five children and lost one daughter when she was only fifteen years old. The words of the wife resound with me when my life gets overwhelming, "I'm glad we chose to have our children. I'm glad that we are able to look back at photos of her and recall happy memories with her. There's a photo of her sitting on the ugly couch that we had for so many years because we couldn't afford a new, clean, pretty couch. I'm glad we chose to have her and all her siblings and keep that ugly couch instead of limiting the amount of children so that we could have material gain. Our lives are better because of all our children and I never think about that couch unless I see it in old photos."
That sums up a lot of how I feel about my ugly couch and my lovely children.
And that leads me to one of THOSE THINGS that I think about quite frequently: our particular society's place in the world and in time and our preoccupation with materialism. It can be a hot button topic. Not that I tend to avoid such things in real life, of course if you know me you know that already. My spouse likes to remind me: The perfect can be the enemy of the good. This is true in ambition, home decor, body image and family planning, etc. What stops us from embracing life? What stops you?
“As the family goes, so goes the nation and so goes the whole world in which we live.”
John Paul II
Edited to add:
“The great danger for family life, in the midst of any society whose idols are pleasure, comfort and independence, lies in the fact that people close their hearts and become selfish.”
Also John Paul II
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Rowena's First Week
We're all very excited about the arrival of the latest Hanson. Stella says she looks like a bug when she sleeps.
We all show our excitement in different ways. Some of us are givers:
Some of us are squeezers:
But we're always wanting to know what she's up to. You know her as Rowena, around here she's "the new baby."
We all show our excitement in different ways. Some of us are givers:
Some of us are squeezers:
But we're always wanting to know what she's up to. You know her as Rowena, around here she's "the new baby."
Thursday, May 07, 2009
The Baby is Born
Disclaimer: The author of this post is Jamie, Alishia's husband, not Alishia herself.
Yesterday Rowena Willamina Marie Hanson was born at 12:15ish weighing 9 lbs. 11 ozs. Both mother and baby are fine. They are recuperating in the hospital. Visitors are probably welcome.
Rowena's name, despite what some may think, is no joke. Mouthful though it is, it is hers and lovely. Call her "Noni," "Willa," "Willa-Noni," "Weena," or use the whole damn thing. A rose by another name would smell as sweet...
Here are some photos:
Yesterday Rowena Willamina Marie Hanson was born at 12:15ish weighing 9 lbs. 11 ozs. Both mother and baby are fine. They are recuperating in the hospital. Visitors are probably welcome.
Rowena's name, despite what some may think, is no joke. Mouthful though it is, it is hers and lovely. Call her "Noni," "Willa," "Willa-Noni," "Weena," or use the whole damn thing. A rose by another name would smell as sweet...
Here are some photos:
Thursday, April 30, 2009
There's Nothing to See Here
Turns out optometrists think you should spend the final week of your pregnancy supine. I wouldn't mind finishing this process in the horizontal position as every time I stand the blood rushes to my feet and makes them itch which exacerbates any smidgen of annoyance already present in my life.
Other things that strangers believe to be true about being pregnant:
"At least you get pampered," said our waitress. She has never been pregnant with my husband's child. She did inform us, however, that her and her husband were "trying."
Thanks.
"Well at least you'll miss the hot weather by having the baby in May," is the most common refrain I've heard. As if it's a consolation for having a baby in the first place. These people are the same that say that Arizona summers are "only" three months long. Because only the days in which the temperature exceeds 115 degrees can be considered summer. These days that we've had lately, in the nineties, are the dew-kissed, refreshing jubilee known as spring.
The last days of pregnancy, for me anyway, do not find me pleasantly folding baby clothes or washing small linens or preparing meals for my family. The days usually find me asking my children, "What's your problem? Why are you crying?" Of course this is usually asked after I have removed an item from their clutches that has caused an odious fight and scream-fest and I have thrown it across the room in a fit of rage.
Which brings me to the other thing I say, "Stop throwing things."
Other things that strangers believe to be true about being pregnant:
"At least you get pampered," said our waitress. She has never been pregnant with my husband's child. She did inform us, however, that her and her husband were "trying."
Thanks.
"Well at least you'll miss the hot weather by having the baby in May," is the most common refrain I've heard. As if it's a consolation for having a baby in the first place. These people are the same that say that Arizona summers are "only" three months long. Because only the days in which the temperature exceeds 115 degrees can be considered summer. These days that we've had lately, in the nineties, are the dew-kissed, refreshing jubilee known as spring.
The last days of pregnancy, for me anyway, do not find me pleasantly folding baby clothes or washing small linens or preparing meals for my family. The days usually find me asking my children, "What's your problem? Why are you crying?" Of course this is usually asked after I have removed an item from their clutches that has caused an odious fight and scream-fest and I have thrown it across the room in a fit of rage.
Which brings me to the other thing I say, "Stop throwing things."
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Doing
Making:
The compulsory new baby blanket:
A flannel throw for playing on the ground (because I loved the fabric when I saw it at the store). I've never sewn flannel on flannel. It's a challenge.
Reading:
Russell Kirk
Wendell Berry: a small taste can be had here: Think Little.
Wallace Stegner
Paul Fussell: Specifically his book on class, which can be accessed free thanks to Google.
Someone recently pointed out that an advantage to being married to a well-read bibliophile is all the great stuff just lying around demanding your attention. This is true. Most of the stuff that has me up thinking in the middle of the night or while I'm fulfilling my daily duties is a result of said curator of our home library.
Catching Up:
Thinking:
about "modern" versus "traditional" ideas about parenting, maturity, fulfillment, family sizes, domestic economies; all due to the reading.
Hearing:
Gianna's deep, throaty voice cultivate more intelligible words. Stella telling me funny things. And also shouting that I'm mean and rude.
Waiting:
for May 6th and my hospital vacay.
for June 29th and our family's trip to Portland for five weeks while Sir takes a class. Can. Hardly. Believe it!!!!!!
This is where Jamie would tell me, "Everything I do, I do for you." Not cheesy Kevin Costner Robin Hood style, just Jamie shorthand for, "Babe, I make things happen."
The compulsory new baby blanket:
A flannel throw for playing on the ground (because I loved the fabric when I saw it at the store). I've never sewn flannel on flannel. It's a challenge.
Reading:
Russell Kirk
Wendell Berry: a small taste can be had here: Think Little.
Wallace Stegner
Paul Fussell: Specifically his book on class, which can be accessed free thanks to Google.
Someone recently pointed out that an advantage to being married to a well-read bibliophile is all the great stuff just lying around demanding your attention. This is true. Most of the stuff that has me up thinking in the middle of the night or while I'm fulfilling my daily duties is a result of said curator of our home library.
Catching Up:
Thinking:
about "modern" versus "traditional" ideas about parenting, maturity, fulfillment, family sizes, domestic economies; all due to the reading.
Hearing:
Gianna's deep, throaty voice cultivate more intelligible words. Stella telling me funny things. And also shouting that I'm mean and rude.
Waiting:
for May 6th and my hospital vacay.
for June 29th and our family's trip to Portland for five weeks while Sir takes a class. Can. Hardly. Believe it!!!!!!
This is where Jamie would tell me, "Everything I do, I do for you." Not cheesy Kevin Costner Robin Hood style, just Jamie shorthand for, "Babe, I make things happen."
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Hanson Girl 3.0
Is not here yet.
Will not be here until May 6th--at the latest.
Just an FYI.
And, no, we don't have a name that we're concealing from the public. We're not Those People.
Don't be offended if you are Those People. I'm just informing everyone that we are not.
We're just fresh out. Fresh outta names.
I'm rooting for the name Brenda.
Will not be here until May 6th--at the latest.
Just an FYI.
And, no, we don't have a name that we're concealing from the public. We're not Those People.
Don't be offended if you are Those People. I'm just informing everyone that we are not.
We're just fresh out. Fresh outta names.
I'm rooting for the name Brenda.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Hopefully They Don't Read This Blog
Kitty purses, in media res, for the two house kittens who purr about me and tangle betwixt my feet on a daily basis. They want only to cuddle with Mother and bring her great joy.
They are in want of faces. I'm putting off the embroidery as I'm trying to decide the expressions to portray: pleasant kitty or the frightening ferals that they frequently manifest.
Meow! Hiss hiss!
They are in want of faces. I'm putting off the embroidery as I'm trying to decide the expressions to portray: pleasant kitty or the frightening ferals that they frequently manifest.
Meow! Hiss hiss!
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