slug bug yellow.

This is Riana as close to her dream-car as she’s ever been…

Amelia shares the dream…except they’d prefer it in Chartreuse…

and if you think you’ve heard cuteness, get Amelia to say chartreuse…

They’ve done the math to know that all four of us could fit…and they’ve even found one hauling a camper AND bicycles…

But guaranteed, Ryan would rather give up the car and get really nice bicycles.

pictures when there aren’t many words

Not sure what the deal is, but I don’t have many words these days months. You have a baby to keep your hands busy but I have no such reason. I will lament this no more. And so, for now, I’m keeping my ambition to a few pictures and some simple words. I hope you won’t mind… A List of Eleven and some pics.

Sunset on Lake Superior

1. We just returned from nearly two weeks in northern Michigan. (I tried to meet up with your friend Katie, but I failed.)

Lake Superior

2. First, we stayed on Lake Superior with friends…Then we stayed in the school house my Grandpa attended near Northport.

3. There were 12 of us and 1 bathroom.

I keep waiting to find one like this in someone's Christmas card...

4. We retraced the 1.5 mile-walk my Grandpa took to school each day.

Freshly cut hay field

5. It really was up hill both ways.

6. I have vacation hang-over.

7. Also in August, the girls each celebrated a Birthday (5! and 3!)

She her practicing blowing candles?

8. Amelia seemed to think that each dessert between her sister’s Birthday and hers was another Birthday Cake for her.

9. The girls were in four kid bicycle races this summer…friendly races…

Mia really was happy too.

10. I also have Birthday and Bike Race hangover.

11. My kitchen table is full of cucumbers…so pretty soon I’ll have pickle canning hangover too.

elbow muscle display

a tidbit

Um, well… yes.  Hello!

What was that? Do I still exist or have I been nursed into non-existence, the whole of my being being sucked into the stomach of babes along with any lint, small mammals and furniture that might be lying about nearby?

I guess I don’t have to answer that question anymore, since: hey! Here I am!

I am now a mother of two. What that means, in a nutshell (at least for the time being) is that when I have time to do something useful other than hold a baby or feed a baby, I DO IT. IMMEDIATELY. WITHOUT DELAY. There has been next to no time at all for any frivolities like cutting one’s toenails or toasting one’s bread before eating it. I have neglected you, internets, and I am sorry. There is so much to tell, I don’t know what to pick, so I’m just going to start with New Business and see where it goes.

But before all of that, I have to tell you: Béla is still the most adorablest and wonderfullest baby in the history of man and has the fuzziest head in all the known world. I’m sorry for all of you without a fuzzy baby head in your lives. It must be rough.

So: new news. Joshua and his ears.

Poor Joshua. For months and perhaps even over a year, we have been at him for not answering us when we ask him questions. He is such a daydreamer, he just seemed to be ignoring us. Now, to our credit, about a year ago, we went in to the ears-nose-throat doc and got his hearing checked. Back then it was fine. He had regular mild ear infections, but nothing really troubling, usually they weren’t even painful to him. But he has constant colds, and in this case, he had been coughing SINCE BÈLA WAS BORN, and we’d tried all kinds of approaches to help him out, from antihistimines to antibiotics to holy water (literally. He was baptized about three weeks ago), and nothing seemed to really help. Then we noticed that he was getting words wrong – we would say: “Hey, look at that big tree,” and he would respond, “What big bee?”

So he has gigantic swollen polyps in his throat called adenoids and so much water behind his eardrum that he has at least a 20% hearing loss in both ears. He hasn’t been answering because he couldn’t understand us. He has to have what has been called a “small procedure” to remove the adenoids and will probably need tubes. It is also known, by me, as ‘the operation that will require my baby to be put under anesthesia and have things cut out of his throat.’ Sigh. I realize that this is an easy operation. Even if Joshua wasn’t trying to sort out two languages it would be absolutely necessary. The kid needs to be able to hear. But I don’t have to like it.

Tomorrow, we meet with the surgeon. Wish us luck!

it’s unofficial

Tonight, as I was looking through the pictures from our camera, I found a stretch of ones that Riana took of her sister. And while I have been in denial for some months now, it’s true: Amelia is becoming a kid. (I know I have mentioned this before, but I’m still trying to come to terms…)

Sure, there is still some toddler about her. If I smell her when she’s sleeping (and mostly behind the ears), I can faintly make out that fresh goodness smell that’s so strong in babies.

And while she has had her share of opinions for quite some time, she is much more articulate about what she wants these days. (She wants to be a horse when she grows up, just in case you wondered.)

Though I think wistfully to the days now past (yes, this happens with every baby), I am still excited for the days to come… but just a wee bit more slowly please. So I will take the moments when she stays by my side (though she’s more likely to run off with the big kids).

She can pedal her bike now (which is vital in this family) and likes to dress herself (fancy girl dress please).

You know, I did not quite think it was possible for someone to be more feisty than Riana. But this one is working hard to earn the title. (I don’t always stop her when she hits her sister either.)

So dear Emily, I want to remind you- to take the good with the rough. Sure there are days when you want to throw in the hat…and there are days when you probably wonder if you’ll ever have time to yourself again (you will)…but I hope you are also soaking up the good baby-ness in your house too. Of course, as my older and wiser cousin, you already know to do all of that, but a little reminder never hurts, right?

Okay, one more picture.

And when I came to the picture at the end of the section, I have to say- these two girls together- watch out world, because the force is on her way.

There are Roots and there are “#$(&#! Roots

This post is 99% shit-joke-free. You should be glad that I held back.

While you have been adjusting to a new baby and the whole family of four juggle, we have been dealing with roots.

Not the family kind. The kind that position themselves along pipes and with expert prowess, follow water, until they finally break through and wreak havoc.  A tree in front of the neighbor’s house had a rather thirsty root (thicker than my leg) that followed its way to our sewer pipe and made its happy home ontop of our pipe.

I’m no plumber, but when your plumber wants to take part of the root as a souvenir…and when your plumber remarks that he has no idea how anything was possibly getting through the pipe…well that’s something.

So we went to Philadelphia for a short trip and ended up staying for two weeks. The whole thing was rather “Philly Style” as we like to say. One brother came and made the deal, but the brother who showed up on work day turned out to be the brother with tourettes syndrome. I try not to make fun of different-abilities, but I have to be honest, it made for some comic relief to a pricey situation.
Hole 3, starring the cursing plumber:

What’s that you ask? The paint on the porch looks shiny and new? Why you’re right, I painted it just a few days before everything was torn to high heavens. But thanks for noticing!

Hole 1, starring the old plumber

Hole 2, starring the workhorse (thank goodness- or we might still be there. *)

Imagine if you will, the setting of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia,” starring plumbers related to our neighbors, in a family that jokes in rather bizarre and cruel ways… You know, can’t you just picture the Moxons, for example, planning a cook-out to watch these guys hand-dig 12-foot holes and then not offer them any of the food?  Or yelling at them for blocking your steps? Or kicking dirt on your head while you’re twelve-feet-under?

Yes, of yes, it was a strange sense of humor, that family… and they all sound just like the starts of “It’s Always Sunny…” and their pasts? Probably not that far off either.

But now, you can poo in peace, knowing that we have a new sewer line that is root free.

Somehow, it’s hard not to want to spend that kind of money on a fabulous trip or something…

* not that I would mind too much

Béla

My little baby boy was six weeks old yesterday. A month and a half ago, we had a rough beginning. So last night, I snuggled him as he got sleepy. Usually, the two hours leading up to bedtime are full of

WAAAAAAA! WAAAAAA! WaAAAAaaaAAAA! WAA! Waaa! Waaaahoooaaaaahhh! WAAAAHHHHHHAAAHHHAAAAAH! WoooaaaAAAAA!

But last night, he fussed a bit, then got quiet on my shoulder as I stroked his back. It was sweet. When I got up to put him into his crib, his eyes blinked open lazily. He looked at me like: Hey. How’s it going? You doing anything special for dinner? No?

Crap, I thought. You are supposed to be asleep! Ehhh, here we go again.

But then I decided to take a chance. I laid him down in his crib, while he looked at me calmly with his soft-edged, dark brown baby eyes. I tucked his saffron yellow blanket - the one that belonged to Martin as a baby - around him in his sleeping cozy and rocked him for half a minute while he watched me. Then I fled, assuming the screaming would commence before I even made it out of the room. 

Five minutes later, the baby monitor was still quiet.

Ten minutes later I decided I might as well eat my sandwich. 

At fifteen minutes, I started the latest episode of the Daily Show.

I can hardly believe it. Béla went to sleep from being eyes-open awake – by himself (!!!) – in his crib (!?!?!!??). My mind is officially boggled. He has also only woken up once a night for the last three or four nights in a row. Dare I think it? Dare I blog it? It seems like something I should only mention in hushed tones, while making superstitious hand movements and playing with runes.

Awww, I’m chicken. I’m not going to say it. You’ll just have to supply yourself with the gist of this information I’ve given you here. But tonight, when the post-nursing fussing started, I cajoled him for a few minutes while his fussing turned into crying and then shrieking. And then I decided to tuck him in to bed.

He’s asleep.

+++

Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. A few weeks ago, when I felt like I was falling, all kinds of people (including many of you, and especially Linnea) reached out and broke my fall. I have been falling asleep more and more easily as the days progress. It feels so good to have fatigue turn into rest instead of spiraling into yet more fatigue. It makes everything more managable to have an actual end to your day. Thanks for helping me get there. A lot.

+++

Let me tell you some more about Béla.

The tops of babies’ heads are notoriously wonderful, but I would wager that Béla’s is especially so. It is premium velvety fuzz, perfect for nose-nuzzling, cheek-laying, sniffing and kissing. It’s like they mixed in high-grade heroin before sending him home from the hospital. Just a dusting on the top, where his coppery- brown hair does a perfect little spiral. I can’t get enough of it, especially when he’s asleep in his baby carrier on our morning walks. It helps that then, his head is in perfect nuzzling distance. I could kiss his baby noggin for an hour straight if I so chose – and I do so choose, most of the time.

He loves getting nose kisses from me. He always gets all still and then breaks out in a big grin. Sometimes he does a lopsided smile that looks so much like Harrison Ford’s, it looks like he’s doing an impression. When we listen to music together in the mornings, he already beams and smiles and chortles and dances.

He is a fusser and a spitter. I think most of the fussing is due to gut issues, since usually, it is followed by either quite a bit of farting or quite a bit of crapping his diaper.

It is amazing to me how well Joshua is coping with Béla’s fussiness. Tonight, while Joshua was eating his evening bread, Béla was really giving it his best, screaming with barely a breath in between. Joshua looked at him balefully. When he got done with his meal, he climbed down off his chair, crawled up on my lap and hugged both of us, laying his head gently on Béla’s back. He gave him kisses. Béla stopped for just a minute, but even when he started back up, Joshua kept on hugging him and stroking his head. Not once has he gotten mad or yelled at his brother to stop crying. He is the gentlest, most patient kid in the known universe, and I love him.

I’ll have to post some pictures of him soon. Somewhere between last December and now, he lost all the toddler that was left in him. He has more heft to him, now. He’s gotten heavier and more substantial somehow. I couldn’t pick him up or care for him for so many months, it actually came as a surprise last week when I was finally able to be the one giving him a bath. He’s a kid! No toddler at all. OY, the amount of bittersweet in my life right now is overwhelming! I love his bounding boyishness, but oh, how I miss him pulling on my ear while drinking his morning bottle of milk. How I miss it so.

I am…

…surfacing, going under, resurfacing, floundering.

There has been quite a bit of struggle going on over here. I have gone insomniac. I’m sure all of you (well, most of you) are collectively going, “Oh, what a surprise. Newborn baby keeping you awake at all hours? Who would have thought!”… but no. Béla is, so far, a very easy sleeper. He goes to sleep at around eight and wakes up once at two or thereabouts and once at five or thereabouts. It’s almost bizarre how much of a rhythm he already has (and yes, I realize that rhythm is probably going to change day after tomorrow, but it’s been going on for three weeks now, so we’ve gotten used to it).

No, friends. It is horrible and ironic – I can’t sleep. Me. I lay down, fatigue all the way to the fillings in my teeth, and ALMOST fall asleep. It’s like skimming the surface of a pond. I dip down and take one sip, only to rise back up immediately, awareness flooding back sickeningly time and time again. It is so not good. There have been nights of almost no sleep. I lay awake while BOTH of my children sleep for hours. It is not good to have no end to your day. A spiral always ends up spiraling DOWN, dunnit?

We have spent the last week trying to figure this thing out. With Joshua, sleep was so fraught for the first two years of his life that I think now, my brain can’t help but think: infant = nursing = no sleep ever. I am slowly seeming to find a balancing point, though it’s still day-to-day.

I will post soon about Béla, who really has almost nothing to do with any of this bad – and Joshua, who is still awesome - but for tonight, I’m blurry. It’s after eight p.m. after all.

I Am…

I am…
:: painting and sealing a deck, a porch, and a bathroom floor
:: giving “horsie tales” to a girly 2-year-old

:: still laughing after breakfast with a good friend (the kind where your stomach hurts)
:: enjoying the flowers (in Philadelphia)

:: wanting a bed like this one

:: hoping the plumber can start tomorrow (and eating lots of chocolate)
:: reminded of all the sounds of the city
:: wondering how to discourage this guy from nesting under the deck (again, at the Philly house!)

:: wishing I could be everywhere at once
:: soaking in the flowers and the sun

And you… what are you?

::edited to add: special thanks to my sister for the pictures::

bitter+sweet

Béla: the innermost thing; heart and guts.

Sometimes I get it into my head – falsely – that a happy life sometimes has bitter moments. Like hardship comes walking through that door that is otherwise filled with sunshine and buttercups and little heart-shaped rainbows like a dark, brooding cloud, leaving muddy footprints and gray, only to skeedaddle after a little while and let the starburst rainbow-farting commence anew. But that is clearly bullshit. A happy life, well-lived, has bitter mixed in all throughout, like an essential ingredient in a bubbly cauldron of soup, the one no one would guess. There is no bliss without at least a nuance of ouch.

Béla scratches my skin with his flimsy, yet surprisingly sharp infant fingernails. It hurts and is bliss.

Through the living room window I watch Joshua play alone in his sand box while I sit on the couch nursing my new son. I run my hand over his velvet scalp and see Joshua looking around as if searching for someone. It hurts and is bliss.

+++

So Béla came to us the hard way, folks. There is a reason why it has taken me so long to get back to writing here that has nothing to do with sleepless nights or being busy nuzzling a fuzzy baby head, and the name of the beast is: unplanned c-section. It is sad to go into an experience feeling confident and leave it like a beetle caught on its back. I was like a second-time marathon runner who knows how hard she’s going to have to bust her ass to get to her goal, but fairly confident she will make the finish line without any actual wounds. What can I say? I should have packed some gauze.

Everything started so easily. There was no indication that things would go from routine… to stillstand… to baby distress… to me, arms strapped down and barely able to breathe while some surgeon wrestled my baby up and out from his stuck position somewhere in-between there and here. It was no good, truely not. I know a lot of people love a birth story, but I don’t know that I can go into blow-by-blow detail quite yet. At the end, my spinal anestheisa was dosed too high, or set too high, or some such muck-up, and I was numb all the way up to my scalp, felt like I was suffocating and passed in and out of consciousness. I heard Béla squall. Some time later, they held him up next to my face and what I was able to do to greet him was: nuzzle my nose against his.

I still love to give him nose kisses. It hurts to remember that our beginning was marked with so much distress and confusion and separation, and yet it’s my favorite way to greet him.

It hurts, and it is bliss.

Nest.

Sometimes, I have a lot to say…life seems vibrant and insightful…
Other times, I feel blank…going through the motions of days that blur with not a lot of excitement.
It has been gray and rainy and not too notable in these parts.
The days grow longer as spring slowly tries to make its way here, though none too quickly…

So we wait.

We ride bikes.

We plan gardens.

We start plants in our mini-bus-turned-greenhouse.

We visit indoor gardens.

We work in the yard between breaks in the rain.

We watch.

We wait some more.

Last spring, we had a sparrow family living in our rotted eave.

This spring, we hung a birdhouse as the house has been sided.

No birds have yet to nest in the birdhouse of course.

But last week, nearing dusk, I happened to look out our bedroom window, and saw a robin using materials from out yard to build a nest directly out of our bedroom window! It is too early to say if this nest will have eggs…Or if the possums that we saw in the tree last night will thwart the robin’s chances… but maybe, just maybe, we will have eggs right outside our window.

Either way, there is hope.

Spring will arrive and summer shortly after.

The block of words will be broken.

In the meantime, I tend to our nest and watch as the robin tends to hers.