The Sisters Can't Get Enough

Gianna is in her crib having some two-year-old quiet time. Alone time. Otherwise known as our time away from her and her fitful attempts at individuating and controlling her environment. She's been gone for two minutes when Stella sidles up next to me and asks, "Can I go talk to Gianna?"

"About what," I ask.

"About playing."

I don't know if I should've resisted, but I didn't.

Makes me wish I enjoyed my sister more when we lived under the same roof.

***

I'm writing this because I'm down two children. They're away with their grandma for Stella's birthday. My house is a mess, I'm still in my pajamas and Rowena slumbers on my lap. There are probably many things I should be doing, but I really wanted to remember that story. And these days my free time is slim to none what with law school and children kicking my butt.

I Know What "They" Say

I know I should correct my children in the affirmative (as in, "Walk, please" instead of "Don't run!"). I know it's supposed to be more encouraging and edifying and all that jazz, but I admit I frequently, well, don't. I do not.

I'm starting to think the suggestion of affirmative correction is more for my sake than for theirs. Otherwise it gets to be afternoon and I feel like all I've done is told people what NOT to do all day.

This brings me to another thing I think about. The boggling amount of things you must teach your children how (or how NOT!!!) to do.

For instance:

It's not just, "Sit down and eat your dinner." You can tell this to a room of twentysomethings and they know all that this directive entails.

"Sit down (in your, not your siblings) chair (as opposed to the nearby stool or piano bench) (sit on your bottom) (also sit still, don't rock back and forth, don't flail your arms, don't thrash your head) and eat (as opposed to: ram it with your fork, stir it wildly, flick it in the air, chew obscenely and then spit out) your dinner (don't ask for fruit snacks, cookies or juice). Thanks"

A Quick Jot for the Annals

Gianna likes to sing, "If you're happy and you know it say, 'Rowena!'" She also like to sing it using any noun/person that's within eye shot.

Stella frequently comments on how much she "loves Gianna's little 'boice.'"

Gianna has taken to calling Rowena "Roweeny." Or, more specifically, "My Roweeny." Then she smothers Rowena with her girth.

We go one walks now that it's cooler. The girls love to call my attention to "Ant Cities!" Pretty fascinating stuff.

My grandma is in town and the girls got to meet her. Stella asks about Grandma Hubbell now.

Gianna and her cousin Isabella are great playmates. Gianna informed me this morning that, "Izzy is my friend, Mama."

"I'm Just Saying"

This is one of my favorite statements. It can fill any kind of conversational void. However, when you asked of the utterer, "What are you 'just saying'?" they are usually at a loss because what they are "just saying" is usually something critical. Am I wring here?

I'm just saying...I'm a time waster. I read a lot but I write not-so-much. You might say, "Meh, who cares?" But writing, as reading, is a discipline that I enjoy. It's also one that I can partake in relataively easy at this stage in life. It doesn't cost a dime, no special equipment, no destination: you get the point.

I utter to myself, "You are wasting time."

"So, what of it? I need some "me" time, right? I want to read blogs and the newspaper and online articles that criticize (constructively, of course) our President. I want to find out how to organize my closet and lay in bed next to Rowena while she suckles her way through a ninety minute nap."

These things take time.

So does the writing.

So does the time awake at night where I think about the things I want to write about.

So does the calling my friends who never call me back!!!!

I enjoy it. I must do it more.

I hereby pledge.

I've pledged. There you have it.

Some of That Good

Stella says to me very seriously, "Mama, when I grow up I want to be a box inside a box eating candy." After a quick thought, "And Gianna can be a rock."

***

Making up spontaneous songs while looking at a book, pointing to the words, "I am a word! I am a word! You cannot touch me. You cannot touch me."

More Clinging to the Good

It is easy for me to become overwhelmed and agitated when my life is so enmeshed in the lives of many little small people. Little people, two of which, who want so much to be independent (in certain ways) but still require so very much help. Sometimes that help can be exasperating, not because the work is difficult, but because it is repetitve.

I am a servant to my childrens' needs. I need to serve them physically. I also need to serve them emotionally and spiritually--also all enmeshed.

I do my best to meet those needs every day with a cheerful heart, go to bed and get up to do it all over again the next day. With Rowena in the mix it means that there are still needs that must be met through the night as well.

Sometimes it is easy to feel sorry for myself or wish that things were different or want something "more." But I also know that what I have right now is the best.

This is where I practice "clinging to the good." Jamie admonishes me to do so when the going gets tough. Once again, it's not that anything I do is especially trying or difficult, it's the repetition that is the source of my agitation. When I think about it in these terms it seems rather silly.

I know that the children will require food, rest, activity, discipline, correction and bathing. I know that they need very specific direction and, often times, my physical help in moving their bodies in the right direction. I know there are many unmentionables that they will need help with. I know that they will want to rebel and defy and scream. I know these things. I know that if I take them on an outing they will not want to go home. I know if I try to do to much they will unravel and become suseptible to tantrums. Yet I press on in the Living Life department.

When their reactions baffle me and I am tempted to indulge in screaming and yanking of limbs and ceasing of fun I return to this idea: Cling to the Good. This can be literal: cling to those memories where people are happy and laughing, enjoying one another and obeying. This can also be figurative: the Good, the highest Good is Jesus. Does it win me any peace to continually lose my patience with my kids when their behavior is age-appropriate yet, nonetheless, trying or embarassing? Does it teach them self-control when I continually lose control of myself?

As I said before, much of my life is repetitive and, thankfully, expected. There aren't many surprises here. That, too, is a good. When I am tempted to give in to my thirty-something temper tantrum or a woe-is-me afternoon I practice clinging to the good in my children and the Good of Jesus.

Why am I telling you this? Because I spend a lot of time thinking about it. This having children and raising them up is an arduous affair that has required me to come to terms with all the virtues that I lack. Now is my chance to acquire them.

Cling to the good. I can't recommend it enough.

So Much to Say and So Little Time (I Can Hear You Weeping)

There is so much and so very little happening.

Rowena is four months old. She weighs seventeen pounds which is merely two pounds shy of what Stella weighed when she was one. It's a good physical reminder of how very different everyone is. Everyone and every one of my children. I cannot compare, yet I can't not! How do I escape the cycle? I used to hate being compared when I was a kid. It was always Adrienne, a friend, that I was compared to. And I did not like her hair.

We are finding more time to be outside. It must be early in the morning or late in the evening but it is so refreshing. It is so nice to walk out front at 4pm and not be overwhelmed with HOT! It's less like openeing the door to an oven these days and more like stepping outdoors to a hot afternoon. Is there a difference, you ask? You must be asking from a different state.

In the evening we go out back and rake the compost and watch the chickens (because we are so "crunchy con"). As soon as you step out the back door you can sense that the edge is waning. The hot edge of the summer. The temperatures dip below 90 at night and it is becoming downright pleasant.

This is the time of the year when lots of other people are begininng to turn their sights indoors. They are looking forward to cozying up with a book, warm tea and blankets, crock pot meals and all sorts of creature comforts. We look forward to that, too. But we also look forward to pausing for a moment outside after church, being able to have a pontaneous conversation in the parking lot, walking to the mailbox without shoes on, turning down the AC in the car--maybe even rolling down the windows instead. It will get cold here, too. It gets quite cold and our nice season in full of short days. So it's not quite like the long pleasant summers that others enjoy, but I will take it. I look forward to jeans and sweaters, or even just long sleeves.

A few weeks ago we went to Mass at 7:30. It was finished by 8:30 and a bunch of people talked outside in the grass. My face hurt from smiling and I couldn't help but enjoy how chatty everyone was. In my head I have a vision of heads tossing and lots of flourishes with hands to emphasize statements, lots of laughter and guffawing. I snickered to myself because that is what happens to people in Phoenix when it cools down. They have so much to say to people who don't live in their homes, people they just bump into that once it's nice out and they can hang out for a moment to say it, it all comes gushing out in waves of overwhelming happiness. That's the beginning of the last third of summer here in Phoenix, folks.

Birthday Requests

In Stella's interior life her next birthday is always "next weekend" just as her last birthday was just "last weekend at (her) party." She has birthday requests every day. And if you have a conversation with her she will ask you what you are going to be getting her for her birthday.

Yesterday as she was settling down for her nap I received the best request yet:

"For my birfday next weekend I want a dress. Made out of favric that has rainbows and horses on it. And babies chasing them. We'll have to go favric shopping."

Nouns for Names

We got four baby chicks with four inspiring names. Get ready:

Flower, Princess, Fabric and Glasses

(There will be a quiz later.)

Stella chose the first two names while driving in the car. When asked by her father what she would be naming the remaining two she gazed up at his bespectacled face and said, "Hmmm, Glasses!" And gazing slightly beyond him while we were stading in the craft room she saw piles and piles of--you might have guessed--fabric! Lo, a name was given. Why didn't Jamie and I think of that?

***

Our curly-topped two-year old often wakes up with quite a mop on her head. Stella looked at her one afternoon and announced, "Your hair looks like a circus."

I love that. I love the way her little mind worked that one out.

***

Seems there was more, unfortunately it has been vaporzized.

Sincerely,
The Milk Machine

"Not Fair!"

First of all, where do children learn this word/concept/retort?

Second of all, here's the twist on fair 'round these parts:

The other day I dropped a DVD on the ground while I was holding the baby and putting another DVD in the player. Both of the girls saw me drop it. I said, "Can you get that for me, please?"

Gianna jumped up and said, "I do, Mama."

Stella responds, "Hey, I didn't get to get that!"

I say, "Well, yeah, you just sat there. You didn't want to help me."

She says, "Well, next time it's my turn to help."

"That's fine. But we don't take turns helping. We just get up off our keisters and do it."

"Well that's not fair."

More Seen and Heard

Reported from the front lines by Jamie:

On a walk in the mountains preserve Gianna asks one of her new question, "What's that 'mell?" In other words, "What's the smell?" It's usually accompanied by a charming little nose crinkle.

Jamie doesn't know so he asks her. She responds confidentally, "Animals."

**

Our apartment in Portland would get really warm in the afternoons. This would make Stella take three to four hour naps. Nice. One day, however, it was so warm she woke up and seemed to have a fever. She was very sluggish and I proclaimed her sick. She gave me her professional opinion regarding the origin of the illness, "Maybe it's from all that toothpaste I eat."

Maybe.

**

During some Saturday morning antics Gianna decides to pony up and try a new skill. She balances over a glass while standing on the couch and relieves her bladder. I walk in to the living room while she's in the midst of this act.

"What are you doing?!!"

She stops and scurries about. I run to catch the glass before it tips over and spills on the couch.

"Don't do that. That's naughty."

Yet I can barely keep in the laughter. Surprisingly, no pee got on the couch. That's something, right?

Jamie made me thrown the glass away. He said the knowledge of such an act would ruin the entire species of glasses unless he knew the offended cup was gone.


**

Say la Vee!!!

How Things Unfold Around Here

Being infantile in siza can be dangerous in these parts. Being infantile in behavior, however, quite status quo. However, there is much absorbing of information that happens even when kids seem to be distracted by toys, snacks and their sister's loud yelling.

Rowena doesn't seem to get much time on the floor. At least not much time unobserved. One must be in the room while she's hanging out or she has a tendency to attract the sturdy body attached to Gianna's head. That body is a Rowena magnet. It especially likes Rowena's head and since Rowena is still of a very smotherable size one must be vigilant about her tummy time.

Today I put her down on the exercise mat and her sisters flocked to her sides like a well-paid entourage. They were kicking and manhandling all the toys. Of course, Rowena loves it--twice as much action as the girls could generate when they where wee ones.

As I'm sitting on the floor within hands reach of the babe Gianna stands up, swipes a pistachio and thrusts it into Rowena's mouth. Stella and I are both horrified and I remove it immediately.

"Gianna, don't ever put anything in Rowena's mouth."

She replies in her husky little voice, "K, Mama."

"Yeah, Gianna, don't do that," Stella bosses.

"K. My mouth?" she asks.

"Yes, you can put food in your mouth."

"Yeah, Gianna, Rowena eats milk."

"Oh."

Gianna's thinking.

"From Mom's boob?" she asks.

"Yes," Stella says.

"Oh."

Gianna swiftly orients her body over the baby and offers herself up, "My boob?"

Things Seen and Heard

After Stella has mentioned all of her extended family members and friends in her prayers she mentions a few other things in need of prayer, "The banana slugs at Papa's house."

**

The girls have started to enjoy hosting tea parties. The parties at our house require all the guests to be nursing a "baby." I have Rowena and the girls have various dolls shoved up under their dresses. Then Stella begins to chat, "And my baby spit up and shwishy spa toosie blah di blah schwazy."

To which Gianna responds, "Yah, Yaya."

**

While in Washington this summer the girls discovered a hole in the ground. We told them an animal (probably a snake) lived there. It was great fun to hear Gianna say "animal hole." It ends up coming out like two complete sentences, "Amale. Ho." She uses her hands when talking about it. It looks something like this:

This Picture is a Good Depiction

of how excited the girls were to be back around all their stuff:

Passage View Way

Passage View Way
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

She Follows Directions

Portland 2009
Originally uploaded by alishialinn

While uploading photos from Portland I found this little gem. Gianna's tiny little shoes by the door. Because I said, "Gianna, take your shoes off, please, and put them by the door."

Such small acts of obedience just warm my heart. She is so cute and curly these days.

Climate Controlled

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.

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

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.

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.