Mt Baldy

To the snow!

Olaf

The Most Wonderful "th" of the Year

O, advent calendar. So beloved and yet so stingy, doling out your measly bits of chocolate one at a time. An entire day between chocolate bits? Liv struggles.

"Mom, what 'th' is it?"

"It's still the 17th, honey."

[Sharp intake of breath.] "I never ate my chocolate yet!"

"Oh, babe. You sure did."

We may or may not have done a little sneaking ahead. I like to think of sampling ahead on the advent calendar as looking hopefully into the future. Tomorrow might be a desolate day, but as of right now? It tastes good.

We had a pretty nice little Saturday on this, my favorite day of the year: the Winter Solstice. I'm usually a grinchy shopper this time of year. Inevitably there is something I can't get online and I have to venture into the crowds and be away from my family at a time when I'd rather be close to them. Lucky for me, I'm married to Bim, who fears no crowd--yea, who even enjoys the noise and activity of holiday shopping. His good mood is enough to cover all of us. And so this year we all went together. It was so fun to see the girls get excited about their little gifts. "Mom, look over there for a second! Don't look over here!" Usually I encourage them to make their own gifts at home, but they loved picking out some small things. This year, next to the clay snowmen and pictures of cigars (that was so last year), Bim and I look forward to opening our rolls of masking tape and Justin Bieber-singing teddy bears. Yes, anything you want!!! $5 limit.

After the shopping, which we blessedly contained to two hours, Bim took the kids to the Naples boat parade while I went home to get ready for friends to come over for hot chocolate, cider and grilled cheese sandwiches. I was supposed to join them at the parade but drove for an hour without finding any parking within several miles. All of Long Beach was out tonight! Someday all the kids will be big enough to ride our bikes--and that might be the next time we try the boat parade. 

Still, I'll remember today as being full of the best parts of Christmas despite being the shortest day of the year. We stuffed, stamped and mailed our cards, picked out fun paper to wrap the treasures we can't wait to give each other (hint: it's gonna be a weird cat Christmas), and sampled some of Trader Joe's finest sipping chocolate just how I like it, dark and bitter. The best part is, there's still time to spare. It's a smaller, slower Christmas this year, and I love it.

Santa 2013

Crickets

Hear that?

It's the sound of doing nothing for six weeks. And how blissful it's been. Largely blissful. After a year of dodgy emotions, hormones and rearranged body parts, I am deeply in the mood for nothing. Can I sit and read you a story? Sure. Can I lie down in bed with you at night? No problem. Yes. Can I leave those dishes undone and can we eat peanut butter and honey sandwiches for dinner (again) and can you stay longer on the school playground and can you skip piano practice tonight? Hallelujah, yesss. In fact, Emmett insists on it. I'm glad he doesn't much mind the kiss'n'hugs, the getting laughed awake, the awkward sister holding. He doesn't mind much of anything as long as he gets 12-14 squares a day. 

During these weeks of quiet there has been some time for reflection. I reflect that I may need a primer on how to be a human being. I fall into old, humiliating patterns. For example, if I think that going around feeling heartsick and melancholy for the troubles going on around me is making anyone's day any better, then I am completely out to lunch. Maybe being busy, happy, and keeping my head in projects is the best of what I have to offer right now. It's a concept I have to keep learning all over again.

Which leads to my next reflection. It seems to me that all of life happens in a moment--this moment. Much of my life through my twenties was about the future: what can I do to make sure this, this and this happen some distant and future day. That time of life seems to have passed. Now I find myself thinking a lot about the past and about the day I'm in. The past doesn't seem to help much at all. Really I think all the philosophy and talk I've ever listened to or offered is wasted air if I can transform it into the action of now. That's where I am right now, right or wrong. Which is to say that maybe keeping up a cheerful daily effort actually does seem to matter. 

On the subject of projects...AH! So many fun things. Besides a lot of blog backlog (blacklog?), we're working on at least a dozen plans, including:

Treehouse - stay tuned and I'll try to post our progress on this exciting new feature that Grandpa Tom has been adding to our backyard. I've had a post in progress, of this and other projects, for a while, but.... my camera has been fritzy this summer and I haven't been able to download pictures without first having them converted to a disk at Costco (Quel hassle). 

Lights, lights, lights. We recently had the trees trimmed so I can finally put the outdoor lights back up. No one gets as excited about this as I do, but I truly love to have twinkle lights come on every evening at dusk. It's such a simple pleasure, so cheerful and cozy.

Ally's 7th birthday. Whoa.

Other things to remember...

Liv takes an active interest in Emmett's bowel movements. She always wants to see what's in the diaper and asks the same question every time: Mom, did Emmett poop in his diaper? as if this were both the naughtiest and most hilarious possibility ever. She calls nursing "milking," as in, Mom, are you milking Emmett? It's not a flattering phrase but I can't seem to break her of the habit.

Both girls rush to him when he comes into the room ("A baby walks into a bar...") ... even now, six weeks after the blessed event. They laugh and coo and paw at him. He suffers the attention with big, bewildered eyes.

Bim took his parents out to eat while they were visiting this week. He told me this story when he got home:

Ally: "Why did someone write *edited* in the bathroom?" 

Bim: "You know, you really shouldn't read the things that are written in bathrooms."
Ally: "But what if someone wrote something nice, like, 'you are special?'"

Ally continues to be the most enthusiastic person in the universe. She feels things very deeply and cried hysterically (with despair and joy) this week while watching "Hook" with us. He's so happy! [SOB!] His happy thought is that he's a FATHER! 

Her softball coach cracks up at her enthusiasm. She started this season with no knowledge of the game and has worked very hard. Today she had her first hit--a double!

Liv continues to love gymnastics and is getting ready to perform a dance in the Winter Spectacular, to the tune of Dominic the Donkey. She only agreed to be in the show after confirming that her friend Maddie will also be dancing. 

This is turning out to look like on of those long family letters you get at Christmas. Should I start referring to myself in the third person and telling you all my triumphs? Oh, I have none. I made a person and so far he really seems to like me. 

This is Halloween

My mom made me and my siblings some spectacular Halloween costumes: Ghostbusters, Marie Antoinette, Pippi Longstocking, fairy godmother with tinfoil crown. There were several last-minute Punky Brewster years too, but the one thing I never remember doing was buying a costume. Some years I wanted to choose one of the cheap, chintzy suits we saw at the drug store--the ones with misaligned dye jobs and seams that would start to unravel before they even got to the register. The ones that would probably burst into flame if scooted across the carpet. My mom turned up her nose at those. Good for her.

Ally has thwarted my homemade plans a couple of times by choosing her costume just days or minutes before the big night. This year she picked Princess Leia after seeing Star Wars for the first time. I just had a baby and I'm not getting in the sewing saddle just yet, so it was off to the costume shop. Sold out. I told Bim it would be expensive to order it with such short notice and asked him what he thought. As if I didn't already know he'd pay triple whatever they asked.

Our Music, Our Days

We have a new (used) car now.  And it has a working CD player! Glory! I busted out some dusty CDs--remember CDs? The only person who uses them much at our house is Liv, who loves to sit by the portable CD player and work her way through our ancient collections. She's been lingering on R.E.M. today after declaring Camelot, "too scary."

My Livvers loves music as long as I'm not singing it. Although she claims not to like rock'n'roll, she usually favors the pop princesses on the radio over the ballads--pretty much anything current that she can car-dance to will do. (It's all in the shoulders.) She guides me through the dial when we're in the car together and I suffer through the occasional Katy Perry mess for her sake, just enjoying this time before she understands lyrics. That's not to say that she doesn't sometimes pick up on stuff. I had a Nanci Griffith CD in the other day, one I hadn't listened to for what felt like years, and after Nanci sang, "You know that drinking always makes me sad," Liv demanded: "drank what, Mom?"  To which I replied with some version of my usual, "How should I know?...We've never met....Your guess is as good as mine..." or something like that.

One thing we all agree on: Michael Jackson is The King. If one of them really likes a song, she or Ally will often ask if it's Michael Jackson. Strangely, it very often it is. The DJs on my programmed stations all really seem to like MJ. Yesterday I heard 3 of his songs on my drive to Target.

Thank goodness for music. We need the distraction and the rest and the fun. The frantic first days of school are over and this week our days at home have been quieter, slower, punctuated with short bursts of nesting energy during which I try to get the basics accomplished: launder baby clothes, organize/eliminate clutter, and tick off the days until this baby gets here. Always in the background is this looming subject of baby brother. When will we get to go on our sleepover, Liv wants to know. When will I be able to take stairs two at a time again, I wonder. WHEN'S IT GONNA HAPPEN? All these unanswerable questions (well, really just the one) have a way of escalating toward restlessness. With Ally away at play dates this week, Liv and I are left to make all the decisions.

And so, the music.

When I was in high school my mom had a CD of calming instrumental music produced by the excellent, very relaxed people at Windham Hill. It had a way of balancing me when I was overwhelmed with school, work, college applications, and all the rest. I remembered that feeling, so when Ally was being born I popped it in the CD player in the delivery room and put it on an all-day, all-night loop. With dim lighting and calm midwives it made for a peaceful delivery (that and the epidural, obviously). That memory was so nice that I took the same album to my delivery with Liv.

I never realized how new-agey "A Winter's Solstice" is until I burned another copy to ease me through labor #3. Now I hear it: harps and guitars and all the other instruments you make out of cat guts. This stuff is pretty crunchy, but I tell you what. The s&$* calms me down. We've been listening to it a lot and I wonder if it triggers something for Liv. The first two times she heard it she said, "Mom! This is the music you got me for my birthday!" She is literally correct, whatever she actually means.

Now that we're close to declaring another holiday in our house, another birthday, I'm glad it's an autumn one, even if he didn't come on the autumnal equinox. That would have been cool.

Out of Tune Together

Let's not talk about why I cry all the time lately (pregnancy is a good enough answer to that). My record of our summer trips to Yosemite, Utah and New York can wait a few days too. I just feel.... That's all. I feel. I don't like it. I like to explain and feel rational, and I don't like to lean on emotions; they fall apart. Emotions cannot be trusted! I have always known this to be true, and yet. They trick me!

I like a plan, to a point. But only as much as I like to throw out one plan in favor of another. And right now, in trimester number three, this need to accomplish on a turbo level is tormenting me. Too many plans, not enough energy. Like anyone planning to welcome a new family member, I have an idea of how things should be (the house, the family, the brilliant daily existence, the future) and I'm reminded again of the ideas I had before my other baby girls were born. I have to wonder how true I have been to my vision; how many of those plans I've been able to realize and to what extent. Failure is obvious, merciless and real. Introspection is the worst! Stop doing it!

Trying to rationalize and explain brings me to this: a lack of focus threatens me in summer, and this summer more than most because I'm growing a human while also trying to be a human. Yeah, I miss my mom at these times and feel pretty weepy about it. And yeah, my blood is flooded with hostile hormones. I might argue that this is not a good time for introspection. And yet.

I fear I am wasting my life, and I hate waste.

But that's silly. But still. Don't you sometimes feel this way? Isn't feeling the absolute worst? I resolve to cut way back when my chemicals are back in balance. In the meantime, I will be over here brooding and watching broody movies about death and endings; you know, to prepare for my newborn's first breath.

On the subject of movies, check out Christopher Walken's speech to a group of music students at the beginning of A Late Quartet (see Netflix, thank you very much, Netflix). And imagine us on a Sunday afternoon: me brooding and lethargic, the girls a bit lost without an anchor of activity or purpose, and a husband thinking (who knows what?) trying to simultaneously keep things going and get a little weekend rest. It's a melancholy recipe, all of us going slowly out of tune together. I write this down because I figure my daughters will eventually--and maybe soon--start to notice on a conscious level that I spend whole afternoons acting out a funky silent soliloquy, like a ghost in the house. And they're going to want to know why, and I don't want them thinking it's anything more than what it is: a pause between movements when the musicians need to stop and tune their instruments.

***


This post is symbolically, but not literally, archived under the forgiving subject heading, "The Pregnancy Diaries."

Please forgive me.

Once Upon a Time in New York

Sometimes Liv knows just the right button to push. In this case, telling me that she wanted to go to New York City was all it took to set the course of our family vacation. It happens that we had already decided to have one this year, so she doesn't get all the credit, but I think we'll remember it as Liv's idea. Maybe one day she'll be able to give me some insight into why she wanted to go to New York City, specifically, and what she was expecting, but I think it's more likely that it'll always be a happy mystery.

These first pictures are all dedicated to different modes of transportation. According to Liv, the best part about NYC was the subway. And the taxi. And the ferry. And...you get it.

Our travel journals: an auspicious beginning.  

Buying a week-long subway ticket to be used for pleasure riding is a new and wonderful experience.

"Not even scared."

Here at a fountain memorial near Ground Zero, I attempt to explain the events of September 11, 2001. I keep my sunglasses on when the tears come, but don't fool anyone.

At St. Paul's Chapel of Trinity Church, examining very old grave markers.

Stones? Stones.

"I see her!" --bound for Liberty Island via the Ferry to New Jersey 

The girls decided on an itinerary by browsing some beautiful children's picture books about the city. "This is New York, by Miroslav Sasek; "A Walk in New York," by Salvatore Rubbino; and "New York, New York!: The Big Apple from A to Z," by Laura Krauss Melmed. 

Thanks to Ally and Liv we saw some of the things we'd never taken time for when we lived in the city. This was my first trip to the statue.

First born, Mama, and unborn babe hitching a ride.

Grimaldi's in Brooklyn has expanded; we tried out the new digs next door to the original .

Brooklyn to Manhattan

Breakfast at Pershing Square, the restaurant under 5th Avenue, down the street from our hotel (Westin Grand Central)

Guess I shouldn't have chosen the whole wheat waffles on vacation.

New York Public Library, 5th Avenue branch

We meet up with Ally's bosom friend, Sasha, to see The Lion King! Just a couple of fancy ladies.

After the show, at Carnegie Deli: cheesecake, knishes, borscht, pickles and pastrami. The girls opt for grilled cheese. *Sigh*

Children, please don't disappear on the other side of the rocks until both parents are available. Thanks.

Water on a hot evening.

Happiness in Central Park.

More happiness. Trust me.

All wet and nowhere to go. 

Swedish Marionette Theatre, Central Park. Pippi Longstocking. Curtain about to rise.

After the show, we learn the "ropes" (strings?) of puppeteering.

With Sash at Diana Ross playground, UWS.

And look who else! Cousin Camille Kitti Sue!

Bethesda Fountain, Central Park 

Frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity. I regretted the trek and the heat and the tourist trappiness of it all, but not the company. Once we cooled down, the desserts tasted pretty good. But I don't recommend the food.

The Great Cousin Grace

We visit The News Building, where I worked before Ally was born.

"Mom, take my picture." Liv meets Teddy at the Natural History Museum.

Fun activity for kids?: Visit the apartment where Mom used to live. Glad to see the old window AC unit has been retired.

A meal we all agree on: Gray's Papaya at 72nd street subway stop. One of my favorite spots in NYC.

My "fashion girl," age 6, owning the Upper West Side.

Just checking.

Last night in the city. We get ice cream at Shake Shack in the Flatiron district and watch the fireflies.