Nesting

We've been preparing like crazy for the baby: yardwork (hello, daffodils and tulips and budding fruit trees!), refinishing the dining room table; painting, sewing, organizing/decorating for the Girls' Room, creating a craft corner since The Girls' Room took over the Junk Room, looking for a van, stocking up on supplies because I plan on never leaving the house ever, ever, ever again; making freezer meals and menu plans and lots of bibs (41 cents a bib, yessir), trying to find the Right Name for Her, eating lots of ice cream and Girl Scout Cookies, crashing by 9 p.m. most nights (not because of especially busy days but because I'm especially LARGE). All of this occurs, at least for me, at a reduced pace as the contractions kick in with any slight large muscle motor movement (except for the ones required to remove a GSC from the box and carry it to my mouth). Run an errand? Nope. These days it's, Waddle an errand. Something drop on the ground? See ya later.

I'm surrounded by extremely supportive and understanding folks. My awesome sister is paying a housecleaner to come today to deep clean (she'd scrub the pink bacterial flora from the shower floor herself, I know, but she's far away). Friends have been watching T&S for me. Our dinner group has saved my bacon and my family's nutritional status on several nights in the past weeks. I sure appreciate all the understanding - because I, myself, forgot what these last couple of weeks of pregnancy were like. BFF totally understands and is okay with cutting short our weekly walk and discretely obliges my necessary pit-stops in the public park. My parents are coming for almost three weeks to help out and Autumn and Leslie are taking time off work for a week to help out after they leave. Then, Briton. He's been incredibly supportive and has picked up all my slack at home. In fact, I would like to propose that the coolest thing a husband can say to his wife at "T minus 14 days" is, in all sincerity, "It's all about you."

The plan is a C-section on February 25th. We'll meet Her at 12:30 p.m. that day should She choose, as I did, to ignore her real due date of February 23rd. We are excited to meet You and get to know you better and see what you look like and have you tell us what your name is.

Of Baths, Books and Bonding

Happy Birthday, Number Two

The daily, laser-focus on Now makes it easy to forget how much changes in a year. Here is Sydney, one year ago, January 24-ish, 2009:
Back then she was nursing, crawling, and just beginning to make words.

Twelve months later, she does not look so much like Talmage, is no longer nursing (that stopped at age 13 months, thankfully), wears pigtails instead of bows stuck on her head with honey, talks in complete sentences, has ditched the crawl for more upward forms of mobility, and likes to show us her "tricks" ("Look! I'm flying!", she says, when she balances on the intellitainer). She loves playing with her friends and rough-housing with her dad. She is learning to be helpful and is working on the concept of "mine" vs "sharing". She's learning to pray. She likes to paint, color, listen to stories and also look at books on her own. She's learning that it can be hard to be a woman with her deeply felt emotions.

Some things haven't changed: she still loves music (she sings herself to sleep and belts out her favorite tunes as the spirit moves her - "Hello Everybody", "Clap Your Hands", "Follow the Prophet", etc), sucking on her two fingers, and happily taking a predictable afternoon nap.

The world is your oyster, Sydney. Here's to your second year and your continuing discovery of the wonders around you.

Make a wish!
(like, say, that you can have a REAL cake and DAINTY candles next year):

We love you!

Would You Rather...

... slide down a razor into a vat of boiling acid ...
... or drink a barrel of monkey snot?

It seems we're making lots of life-changing decisions lately. To give the pull-ups back or not. To rip out the fireplace. Or not. To buy a new bed for Syd or get one cheap on craigslist. Then there's this new little one on the way. She is reticent about telling us her name. Speaking of the baby - we'll want a bigger car when she arrives. So, in your opinion ...

WOULD YOU RATHER ...

drive this car?

... or this one?

Before you jump to a hasty decision like you did about the monkey snot, listen to this:
This white 1984 Vanagon has a table inside. How cool is that? Huh, Mr. Fancy Odyssey? You got a table inside? Imagine that sweetie lined up in the church parking lot next to all those slick SUVs and minivans. Not such an easy decision, is it?

And also, if you have any girl names send 'em our way.

Feelings and Preferences

Back in the day, say ... when I was five ... I still wet the bed. My parents thought that if I couldn't tell I was wet, then perhaps a secondary external cue could. So they bought a buzzer. The contraption was clipped to my underwear each night. It buzzed when it got wet. I was supposed to hear it and wake up. I never did. In fact, I'm not sure how I escaped the experiment without being electrocuted.

Talmage is working on staying dry through the night. Since this process started, we stopped buying pull-ups and started buying a lot more Borax. He's a deep sleeper. This was tonight's conversation:

Me: Right before you go to sleep tonight, remember to empty your bladder.
T: [wiggle, wiggle from my embrace - possibly because he's heard this all before]
Me: You could even wake up in the middle of the night and go to the bathroom if you need to. What do you think of that?
T: That would be ... awkward.

If any of you have some tips about how to help a kid learn to stay dry through the night, let me know. If it would be less awkward for you, feel free to write in as "anonymous".

One more short conversation:

Tonight, in the car, Talmage pushed a pre-programmed radio button and a rowdy song blared out. "Partyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"-electric guitar-drums-raucousness. I casually pushed a different button and he promptly pushed on the Party song again. We did this a couple times, back and forth. Stalemate. Finally I said, "I don't really like this song."

T: I like it.
Me [trying to keep it neutral; already fearing for the future]: What do you like about it?
T [thoughtfully]: I guess I like the flutes.

Always Go to the Funeral (Hillsboro version)

Uncle Rand died alone on New Year's Eve of an unforeseen heart attack. When Dave called to tell me, my reaction was a bewildered and disbelieving, "What?!" His dad was only 62, and, according to regular checkups, had no indication of heart problems. "I'm coming to the funeral," I told Dave, without hesitation.

The title of this post is from this article and this writeup (thanks CB and LB). Below are some other things I learned from attending the funeral.

At the viewing, I felt a tangible solidarity with extended family. Even literally: Carl rubbed my belly. These extended family members are a part of me. Sharing our common loss finds us bound tighter together.

The speakers at the funeral told stories and characterized Rand in ways that were both entertaining and enlightening. The stories revealed how ignorant I was to the extent of Rand's goodness. As with all funerals, I left wishing I'd known him better. Though I liked Rand, I had held part of him in reserve because of un-pretty things that I'd heard. But at a funeral, those quirks are seen through an optimistic lens. What was once aggravating is now endearing - or even appreciated. How would that be if I could keep that perspective with all my relationships? If I could put aside judgment and really love others; keeping in mind that I don't know the back story and my judgments are inaccurate anyway? (This sentiment seems vaguely deja vu-ish. Would I could retain the call to change!).

Uncle Rand's sudden and early death also increased appreciation for the relationships I have now - both the ones that come easily and the ones that require effort lest they perish from neglect. I want to do better at discovering and basking in the uniqueness of the people around me.

To that end, I reveled in the days following the funeral doing the simple things: working on a puzzle with grandma and two uncles, to the background accompaniment of an energetic discussion between two aunts; visiting with my in-laws as they played with Sydney; "hanging" with my dad, swapping stories, sharing perspectives, and visiting some of his favorite discount stores; reconnecting with a life-long friend.

It was a valuable few days. Always go to the funeral.

Winter Wonderland

Last week's beautiful snowfall:
The next day, we played in what hadn't melted yet:

If you listen close, at the end, you can hear Talmage say, "yeah-heh!".


And again:


Crunch, crunch, crunch, splash [repeat]:

"of adequate or more than adequate extent, size, or amount"

Today I had a prenatal checkup. I'd been a scootch apprehensive about going since at my last routine checkup, the OB-GYN and I had this conversation:

Dr. K: Soooooo, any questions?
Me: Nope.
Dr. K: Weeeellll... [prolonged pause] ... we've already talked about your ample weight gain.

Ample?....Did she just say ... ample(*)???!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!? [Whimper]. I mean, I know my face would feel more comfortable if there were some sort of device to prop up my multiple chins (I carry my babies very high). But it's not like I can't put on my own shoes yet. Oh ... wait. Errr, weight...

When I told my empathic dad about the conversation, he sent me this reassuring cartoon:


But still.

It'd been much more pleasant if the conversation had gone more like this:

Dr. K: Soooooo, any questions?
Me: Nope.
Dr. K: Weeeellll... (prolonged pause) ... Happy New Year!

Today, when we got to the end of the checkup (all 3 minutes of it) - she gave me pause when she again closed things with:

Dr. K: Sooooo, any questions?

Me [not willing to filter my thoughts]: Nope. Just that I'm fat [thank you, very much!]

And she said:

Dr. K: [benevolent smile]. OK. See you in two weeks.

Much better.

*Origin:
1400–50; late ME < class="ital-inline">amplus wide, large.

Days After

Post-Christmas has been gentle and relaxing.

1.
Flippin' Out

2. Testing out the new wheels:
3. Lego robot:
4. Hide n' seek:
5. Playing games:
Above: "Chutes n' Ladders". This version is a work of art. The board is a felt-pieced quilt, complete with built-in pocket for the crocheted playing pieces (monkey, chicken, tiger, bee, etc). Airie made this for the kids. A craftie by Airie is creativity made manifest. I swear she would make millions on Etsy.

6. Beautiful weather beckons us to the park: Talmage rode the hotwheel the whole way there and back.

Suh-wiiing!

"It's grand. Just holding your hand"...

The wintry wonderland came the next day....

Day Of.

Briton and I imagined the kids would come barreling down the hallway at the crack of dawn, eager to see what Santa brought. Uh, no. They woke up at 10 a.m. After breakfast, at 10:30am, we finally convinced them to check if Santa came... (YouTube link).

Mom: "Who did it come from?"
Talmage: "Costco!" (i.e. Heather).

Ah, Costco. The source of all things good.

As you see, Sydney, ignored during the bike exploration, was off to a rocky start. She refused to succumb to the commercialization of Christmas the rest of the morning. Above it all, to almost every proffered gift she replied, "Don't want it!"

Christmas of the Lego:

Talmage and dad have been busy creating all manner of Lego constructions the past several days - robots, doodie cars, dumptrucks (Thanks, G&G Barker), spaceships, etc.


Once the presents were opened, Syd warmed up to the new toys:
She's been really cute to watch as she mothers her doll and bear. She pretends to feed them, takes them on walks, wraps them in blankies and kisses them. Oh! And the bracelets. Sydney likes to accessorize! It is something innate, as she definitely didn't learn it from watching her mother. A good friend who understands femininity gave Syd some bracelets. She wears them all the time.

Anywaaay. Moving on ...
We had fun with the Farrer's that night.

Here's a spontaneous re-enactment of the nativity. The Transformer as Mary, and Darth Vader as Joseph:

One funny story:
Heather gave Sydney a box of high-heel dress up shoes. Cheaply-made plastic things. Pink and purple, with gems or fluffy-fluff at the toes. We were in the living room chatting, when Joseph, who is three times Talmage's size, comes mincing down the hallway in a pair of T's summer-time pj's. i.e. short-short pj bottoms and short-sleeve t-shirt. He not only is he wearing the skin-tight pj's, but he is also prancing in Syd's new plastic high heels. With the shortie-shorts, heels and luscious curly locks, he looks very much like a hooker. A very giggly, happy hooker. We busted up and that really got him going, so he started dancing a jig in the heels. Except he kept slipping off, regaining balance, and dancing some more. Now he was a very giggly, happy, drunk hooker. The act ended when the fine engineering-al structure of the shoe gave out and they splintered to pieces. Cheap shoes. Priceless moment.

The Night Before

To the Bruno's we go. With family spread between Utah, Colorado, Qatar, California, Bolivia, and 197th-ish Ave, it's a blessing to have familial friends close-by. This is a place where you don't have to ring the bell. The door is always open. This is a place that we always feel comfortable, warm, welcome.The pies don't hurt, either (btw, this hostess had a baby, like, a couple days ago).

After a fine dinner, a program:We practiced weeks for this number. Actually, it was a dry run and the audience appears charitably patient.

Moonlight Sonata-cum-Carol of the Bells. (Before a shocking performance of "Rudolph").

Naughty or Nice?

We returned home to write some Letters to Santa:

And await a frosty Christmas Morn':

Decembering

Zoo Lights
Frigid weather met its match that night in the hardiness of two boys enraptured by the magic of the upcoming Christmas season.

Polar Express
See here for pictures. I echo the reviewer's sentiments.

Preschool

is adjourned for two weeks. Whew. The last day before break, I taught the kids how to play hangman. We used the sight-words the kids were learning. Jolynn, who happened to be there, suggested next time we play "Guillotine" so the kids have a broader world-view of execution methods. Hangman. Guillotine. Firing Squad. Keeping it straight-forward here in the world of preschool co-op.

Anniversary
Number V.

He walked in the door with flowers ... and pulled out a poem at dinner. Good friends took care of T&S overnight so we could give this anniversary a proper nod. We had a great time downtown on Friday and Saturday. There was a Lincoln exhibit at the library (Did you know Abraham Lincoln was offered the governorship of Oregon?), where we also skimmed through The History of Gingerbread, Dating Fabrics, the Federal Patent Office records, and Skipped to the Loo. Indulged at two excellent restaurants: one French and the other Lebanese. We wandered around, enjoyed each others company and determined that this marriage is a keeper.

Here's the poem he wrote. The poem itself was configured in the shape of the Roman numeral "V" and contains a handful of wordsmithing on the number five.

celebrate a chevron
a quintuplet of love
filling out the fingers
of this bubbulous glove
that steams in the tub

today, i'll be brion
a Yahtzee of stars
a Scrabble-played K
a risque of cards
flush 5 running hearts

in a Vanagon - Vroom! Vroom!
four wheels and a spare
two blue and two pink
and the pink one you wear
with familial fine flare

drive into the weekend
as days turn to years
we turn up the volume
like a street of mute mirrors
cascades solar cheers

a fire of delight
a high five of fuels
quintessence together
the penthouse of schools
burns bright as it spools

December 18, 2009.

(I cried, too.)

Sydney

This girl keeps us hopping. There are the frustrating, emotional moments - like I know I put my mom through. But there are also the delightful, silly moments.

Sydney, almost two, has taken up some habits she shunned as an infant: e.g. binkies and bottles. Sydney, almost two, loves mimicking her older brother. Her Wonder Woman wristbands are her version of bandages that I put on Talmage to cover his desitin-lathed chapped skin. Talmage took his off after a few minutes. Sydney kept hers on for four days. I love you, Sydney.


The messy moments and all.

Crash Landing

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!

Kristi??? Remember your front door fiasco? The kids are making snow all over the house out of packing peanuts from the ornament box while I'm destroying the wall in Sydney's room. A curtain rod hanging fiasco in process.

They said installing wall anchors is easy. Just "tap, tap, tap" them in, the ACE guy said. More wisely, Heather said, "Drop your hammer. Step away from the wall."

On Which She Expounds on What Factors into Securing a Christmas Tree

This year marks our sixth Christmas together, fifth wedding anniversary, fourth year in this house, third child on the way, second [insert something original], and first Christmas tree.

What?! You've been together for six Christmases and this is your first tree? To which I answer: "Yes." But then start to wonder why. Analyzing this from different angles, I offer several explanations.

Economical: Think of all the money we've saved not buying Christmas trees

Historical: We were away from home for all but one of those Christmases so, technically, didn't need a tree.

Psychological: I grew up with Charlie Brown Christmas trees. I don't think my dad ever paid more than $5 for a tree. When we'd go pick one out we'd thread pass by all the luscious, full, tall, beautiful, "pick me!"-trees, until we reached the very back of the Christmas tree lot where the scrawny, short trees drooped in humility. Maybe dad was teaching us a lesson about the true meaning of Christmas.

Geography: When we lived in Egypt, for lack of even a Charlie Brown tree, we kids colored, cut out, and taped the tree to the wall. When I was 19, alone in Australia in the Back of Beyond during Christmas, evergreens were also decidedly unavailable. Ditto for Christmases in Taiwan. So, yeah, Big Trees are not imprinted on my brain.

What happens when all of those factors conspire to reinterpret the status quo?

The economics: We heard of B&K Tree Farm from friends. Just up the road, this farm lets you cut down your own Blue Spruce for $15, any height. Plus free hot chocolate and candy canes.

The history: We're staying put for the holidays. Both kids are old enough to get a kick out of a tree.

The psychology: Now, here they are: Blue Spruces for a dime a dozen. We tried to find one that wasn't totally perfect. Like, the one we did choose has some brown patches. Yeah. We did that on purpose.

The geography: Oregon produces more Christmas tree than any other state.

For Karren and I in the front, it was a merry drive. The kids in back had an okay time, too ... when they weren't beating each other up (note to self: kids can get in each other's space bubbles, even when restrained in car seats). We dashed up Hwy26 to Banks,

tromped o'er the fields of ... dead weeds and mud, and laughed, and surveyed ... and then we found The One.

The One (the guy and the tree)

Note to those who mock a measuring tape: You can cut them shorter but you can't cut them longer. We left the measuring tape there for others to use who understand this sage advice.


Tradition in the making.

Naked Nellies and the Telly

Who needs a 50 inch flatscreen?

Thanksgiving

We will be sad when Uncle Richard makes his millions in real estate development and decides to leave Meridian. We sure appreciate the convenient pit stop on our Utah trips. Be it 2 a.m. or what'er, their doors are always open. By which I mean, unlocked.

This was the only picture we took during Thanksgiving weekend at grandma and grandpa Barker's. It was around 10:30 p.m. The kids were still raring to go. I guess that captures the essence of our time there: why sleep when there's a party going on? The kids got lots of attention, Brie and Talmage hit it off; there was game-playing, football-watching, relaxing, the Ogden Christmas parade, and, of course, great food.