We had a lovely ordinary weekend. On Friday we drove up to the Cities. Daddy and I went to the mall and looked for ties that matched with purple sweaters and drank coffee from paper cups with caribou frolicking on the sides while Grandma took you to Edinborough, an indoor park that can only be described as a child orgasm. Trees, waterfalls, scooters on wide slick floors, slides and climbing walls and bouncy castles and bleachers for parents to sit while they watch their dear ones *almost* collide or fall or break one another's lovely necks. We ate pot roast for dinner and then Grandma and I drank wine and talked about Tiger Mothers and Montessori Mothers and Waldorf Mothers while Daddy and Grandpa watched basketball on T.V.
On Saturday I got coffee and a bob. When I got home (itty bitty hairs still making my neck feel itchy and wooly), you and Grandma and Grandpa were sledding in the driveway. You smiled at the downward motion and then made your "more" sign in your big black mittens (which really just looks like clapping) and then hustled as fast as you could back up the driveway (slightly pigeon-toed in your slightly too large pink boots). In the afternoon Grandma took you to ride the choo-choo at the mall while Daddy and I went to see Black Swan which is a good movie to see if you are interested in Carl Jung and/or examples of very overt symbolism. Or dancing, I suppose. Nevertheless, it was luxurious to go to a movie in the middle of the afternoon--and to follow it up with dinner out with friends! Woot! We went to a new pizza place that has a huge wood-fired copper oven in the center of the room that radiates glorious heat. Daddy and I sat at the bar and drank wine and beer and talked of this and that and watched the fire consume the wood. We had a lovely dinner and an even more lovely conversation with our friends, David and Rachel.
You were mostly a delight all weekend. Your favorite place to hang out is either in the left sink of G and G's two-sinked master bath or upstairs on your standing stool in front of the dollhouse. The dollhouse was my grandmother's (your great-grandmother's) and it contains amazing minutia. There is a cast iron oven/stove and tiny porcelain serving dishes with tiny porcelain lids, there is a highly racist-looking black doll and a paper-thin Oriental rug, there is a quarter-sized tray of appetizers and pillows and blankets sewn with a child's hand from faded, rose-bedecked fabric. A silver switch turns the lights on in all the rooms and opening the roof reveals a huge attic space. You love it and you should.
Now, however, it is Monday and you are awake and fussing in your crib. Yesterday you took a two hour nap. Today you only made it to 50 minutes. Oh well. You have a cold and we are in the midst of a small winter storm so we will likely spend the afternoon cuddled on the couch with "Busy, Busy Town" and "Thank You God, Amen!" and snack cups full of Pirate Booty. And that's OK. Today I have a crush on ordinary.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
"Where Is?"
The weather is warming--finally--and the streets are brown and wet. Daddy has to call the courthouse each night after 4:30pm to find out if he has jury duty. Last night he bought a new drill and leave in conditioner and yogurt and hair bands and child safety locks. Your favorite toy is a house shaped like a toadstool that makes a tinny chime sound when the door is opened. The house also opens, splits in two entirely so that you can place the plastic fairies on the rug or in the bedroom or right beside the dining room hutch which contains a tea pot sealed forever to a hutch. This house is great in earthquakes.
"Up" is your only perfect word. When something goes missing you raise your arms, palms up, and shrug your shoulders and widen your eyes and say "wheys?" meaning "where is?" As in "wheys Dada?" "wheys the house?" "wheys the fun?"
Today is lapsit at the library which mostly consists of "Lift the Flap" books. There is always something fuzzy and cute (bunnies, puppies, kittens, guinea pigs, etc.) hidden behind the sofas, chair, dressers, pillows and curtains. I believe these books give you a false sense of reality. How about some real life "Lift the Flap" books? Huh? What's under the sofa? A bottle cap and a Co-op receipt! What's behind the chair? The wall! What's beneath the pillow? Stale cheerios, a pen, and the remote control! What's behind the curtain? Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!
In other news, you have learned the hokey-pokey. Or rather, when I put the song on the stereo you start to turn in circles until you get too dizzy to stand. Then you fall, gaze up at me, and offer a few half-hearted claps. I find this hilarious so we do the hokey-pokey a lot. It's winter! We call this fun!!!
You took this enormous and glorious two hour nap yesterday but we paid for it this morning since you woke up at 5:15 and then slept/cried/slept/cried until 6:30 at which point I pried myself from the bed, made love to the netti pot, and made you blueberry oatmeal.
I am also coming into my identity as strict disciplinarian. Because you are beginning to push, push, push your limits, we are starting to respond with firm and clear boundaries. Everyone knows that the most f-ed up grown-ups are those that had no boundaries as children so, when you commit "no-no" actions, we respond by firmly saying "no" and them wrapping you in a restraining grip and slowly counting to 30. Then we say "no" and you shake your head "no" to demonstrate that you understand and then we release you. When your father retrains you, you cry and fuss but then obediently follow the limit. When I restrain you, you sit calmly as though you are enjoying the restraint and then immediately re-commit the crime while laughing gleefully. Awesome.
Additionally, you've developed a lovely mealtime limit-pushing behavior. Toward the end of the meal you will pick up a handful of food and slowly, oh so slowly, you will carry the food in the air over the wide expanse of your tray until you are dangling the food over the carpet. As you carry the food, you stare intently at it, but the closer it gets to the edge of the tray, the less able you are to contain your malicious smile. Really. You start out very, very serious and you try to contain your glee but you can't. You finally look up at me with this coy, coy little smile, your fistful of blueberry oatmeal stretched above our rented carpet in what can only be described as a face off. If I show even the teeniest hint of amusement, it's done, released, the oatmeal is immediately licked into the fibers of the carpet by the dog.
So I am spending most of my time developing my badass face. One that I can use as dishonestly as my Minnesota nice face. It's hard work, these calisthenics of the face, and I wish they burned more calories.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Baltimore Pics
1. Profile of Thisbe and turtle.
2. Family fun at the aquarium.
3. With Popo.
4. Nora, Thiz, and the cell phone.
5. A totally un-posed family photo.
6. Grandpa and his granddaughters.
7. Helping Grandma Gail and Kaarn with the computer.
8. Shopping at Ikea.
Valpo Pics
1. Grandma Dorothy finds a masterful way to keep you content while toning her hamstrings.2. Reading with G-Pa Mark.
3. Stockings hung with serious care.
4. Auntie Martha and Auntie Anna take you sledding.
5. Cookie dough cookie love.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Actually, Anyway, Also
OK, OK, I've been a horrible blog post-person as of late. This is in part due to our busy-ness but mostly due to the fact that I'm trying to do some of my very own writing right now and sometimes I don't have time for both.
Actually, that's a lie. Sometimes I don't feel like writing in the blog in the evening, when I could, and instead of documenting the awe-inspiring, hilarious, touching moments of your growing up I instead watch Damages, a show in which Glenn Close wears a formidable number of button down shirts and manipulates everyone within spitting distance.
Anyway, here are some things that happened:
Mommy and Daddy went away for our very first 48 hour getaway. Here, "getaway" refers to "getaway" from you. Don't worry, I called at least six times during the 48 hour period. Daddy and I went to Lutsen where we skied and sat by a real fire and sat by a gas fire and ate prime rib and played Hand and Foot and almost crashed into a snow plow and saw a wolf eating a deer carcass and slid down the Lutsen parking lot hill six times backward and drank Choco Vine (which your father pronounces "Coco Vin" in a very deep throaty way) and read books and "slept" and slept. On the way to Lutsen we stopped at the GAP outlet and on the way home your father explained the history of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict to me which pretty much sums up the way we roll.
You have started sleeping in a good true awesome way. Generally this means to bed at 6:30pm, a half-hearted wake-up at 6:15am and a full true wake up at 7:00am. In the afternoon you still only sleep for around an hour but sometimes even longer. Awesomeness.
Also, you are developing this lovely sense of empathy that completely and totally breaks my heart. A few weeks ago at playdate, Trish went out to move her Subaru so that we could move our car and while she was gone, Anna became exceptionally sad (which makes sense, her mom was driving off without her in the Subaru) and as she wept at the window you went over to her, without prompting, and rested your hand on her shoulder. In Baltimore, Grandma Gail wasn't feeling particularly well and so spent a lot of time on the couch, resting. You spent a lot of time standing at the head of the couch and trying to engage her in various kinds of play. I know I spend a lot of time venting and complaining on this blog and so I will take a moment to be entirely cheezy and say that when I see this unprompted compassion in you I am just floored. It is this true sense of kindness that comes unbidden from nowhere and gives me hope for our majorly messed up world.
On to other random thoughts--
Our trip to Baltimore was very fun. We went to the aquarium and payed $24 so you could ride the escalators. We went to an Italian restaurant and laughed while Nora chased you (and Aunt Meghan's expensive phone which you happened to be holding) around the empty tables.
This has, by the way, become one of your favorite habits: running in circles. You ran in circles around Grandma Gail and Grandpa Michael's kitchen island with a bucket on your head and you ran circles through Meghan and Nels and Nora's house (at the end of a 3-hour play date) while Nora sat calmly and sweetly on the couch with Nels.
In addition to running circles, you are starting to speak more. Yesterday, as you and I went up and down endless staircases at St. Olaf, you said "stairs" over and over again. "Up" and "down" are also favorites now due to a fairly annoying Elmo video. You still don't say "Mama" much unless prompted. Mostly you makes "s" sounds that vaguely resemble words.
Also, it was -29 when we woke up yesterday morning. Without the wind. We learned, via an informative youtube video, that if you toss a cup of boiling water into -29 degree air it will immediately turn into a cloud.
And there is so much more that I could report--and in a much more articulate and organized way but--oh well.
I put your hair in pigtails for the first time the other day. You looked so grown up that I haven't quite been able to bring myself to do it again.
Actually, that's a lie. Sometimes I don't feel like writing in the blog in the evening, when I could, and instead of documenting the awe-inspiring, hilarious, touching moments of your growing up I instead watch Damages, a show in which Glenn Close wears a formidable number of button down shirts and manipulates everyone within spitting distance.
Anyway, here are some things that happened:
Mommy and Daddy went away for our very first 48 hour getaway. Here, "getaway" refers to "getaway" from you. Don't worry, I called at least six times during the 48 hour period. Daddy and I went to Lutsen where we skied and sat by a real fire and sat by a gas fire and ate prime rib and played Hand and Foot and almost crashed into a snow plow and saw a wolf eating a deer carcass and slid down the Lutsen parking lot hill six times backward and drank Choco Vine (which your father pronounces "Coco Vin" in a very deep throaty way) and read books and "slept" and slept. On the way to Lutsen we stopped at the GAP outlet and on the way home your father explained the history of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict to me which pretty much sums up the way we roll.
You have started sleeping in a good true awesome way. Generally this means to bed at 6:30pm, a half-hearted wake-up at 6:15am and a full true wake up at 7:00am. In the afternoon you still only sleep for around an hour but sometimes even longer. Awesomeness.
Also, you are developing this lovely sense of empathy that completely and totally breaks my heart. A few weeks ago at playdate, Trish went out to move her Subaru so that we could move our car and while she was gone, Anna became exceptionally sad (which makes sense, her mom was driving off without her in the Subaru) and as she wept at the window you went over to her, without prompting, and rested your hand on her shoulder. In Baltimore, Grandma Gail wasn't feeling particularly well and so spent a lot of time on the couch, resting. You spent a lot of time standing at the head of the couch and trying to engage her in various kinds of play. I know I spend a lot of time venting and complaining on this blog and so I will take a moment to be entirely cheezy and say that when I see this unprompted compassion in you I am just floored. It is this true sense of kindness that comes unbidden from nowhere and gives me hope for our majorly messed up world.
On to other random thoughts--
Our trip to Baltimore was very fun. We went to the aquarium and payed $24 so you could ride the escalators. We went to an Italian restaurant and laughed while Nora chased you (and Aunt Meghan's expensive phone which you happened to be holding) around the empty tables.
This has, by the way, become one of your favorite habits: running in circles. You ran in circles around Grandma Gail and Grandpa Michael's kitchen island with a bucket on your head and you ran circles through Meghan and Nels and Nora's house (at the end of a 3-hour play date) while Nora sat calmly and sweetly on the couch with Nels.
In addition to running circles, you are starting to speak more. Yesterday, as you and I went up and down endless staircases at St. Olaf, you said "stairs" over and over again. "Up" and "down" are also favorites now due to a fairly annoying Elmo video. You still don't say "Mama" much unless prompted. Mostly you makes "s" sounds that vaguely resemble words.
Also, it was -29 when we woke up yesterday morning. Without the wind. We learned, via an informative youtube video, that if you toss a cup of boiling water into -29 degree air it will immediately turn into a cloud.
And there is so much more that I could report--and in a much more articulate and organized way but--oh well.
I put your hair in pigtails for the first time the other day. You looked so grown up that I haven't quite been able to bring myself to do it again.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Baby Jesus Made Some Noise
We're going cold turkey on your ass. Lots of lovely things happened in the last few weeks, but unfortunately, much of the loveliness was overwhelmed (for me) by a poorly waged battle against your incongruous sleeping habits.
We didn't feel comfortable letting you cry it out when we were with relatives so instead we relied on singing, humming, shushing, rubbing your back, and finally letting you collapse upon us (me) in our bed so that we could all get a few precious hours of sleep between the hours of 5 and 7am. But every nap, every bedtime, someone had to put you down--and here I purposefully use the terminology of pet death since sometimes we came close to desiring to do the same to you. Because sometimes you simply wouldn't go to sleep. On Christmas Eve, for example. The table was spread with a festive tablecloth, with an advent wreath, with candles and silver and scarlet once-a-year-napkins. The china with blushing pears and a delicate rim of gold (or something like gold). Grandma Dorothy made shrimp risotto. A salad with pears and gorgonzola cheese and candied walnuts. There was wine. Manhattans. Orange martinis. It was time to feast! But I was upstairs with you. Because you wouldn't go to sleep. And I could have come downstairs but I wouldn't have been able to taste the food--my taste buds cease to function when you start to sob. So I fumed and you stayed awake and I fumed.
This is not your fault really. It is ours too. You had some legitimate sleeping issues just before the holidays but we feared that we couldn't go cold turkey during our holidays and so we coddled instead. And really, that was probably best.
Because last night you cried for 90 minutes straight before falling asleep. I put you down today for your nap at 12:30pm. It is 2:48pm and according to your father, you are still crying. That's 138 minutes. I am at Blue Monday writing and drinking a latte and this is what makes it possible for me to love you still.
Now that I've finished venting, I have no energy to talk about all the lovely blessedness of the season (such as sled rides with aunts and slinky-time with uncles, a new found adoration of skyways, your very first sugar high, your New Year's stay-awake coup, your "yes" and "juice," your penchant for Bonhoeffer, countless rides on the moving walkways at the airport, cookies fed to you on the sly by lovely grandmas, books read ad nauseum by patient grandpas, mad skilz with plastic blocks, etc, etc, etc.)
At church today, where I was miraculously able to listen to the sermon because (praise be to Jesus) you were in the nursery, Pastor Charlie talked about how Christmas is about getting, not about giving. It's the moment when we receive God, in the flesh, in the guise of this tiny infant. God interrupts our space, said Pastor Charlie, God wails his way right into us. This would have been good for me to remember a week ago--that God didn't come down quietly in the middle of a lovely dinner--God is in the voice that won't let us sleep, that calls on us to look to the cores of our very beings for patience and gratitude and love.
I love you, dear girl, you and your stupendous will.
We didn't feel comfortable letting you cry it out when we were with relatives so instead we relied on singing, humming, shushing, rubbing your back, and finally letting you collapse upon us (me) in our bed so that we could all get a few precious hours of sleep between the hours of 5 and 7am. But every nap, every bedtime, someone had to put you down--and here I purposefully use the terminology of pet death since sometimes we came close to desiring to do the same to you. Because sometimes you simply wouldn't go to sleep. On Christmas Eve, for example. The table was spread with a festive tablecloth, with an advent wreath, with candles and silver and scarlet once-a-year-napkins. The china with blushing pears and a delicate rim of gold (or something like gold). Grandma Dorothy made shrimp risotto. A salad with pears and gorgonzola cheese and candied walnuts. There was wine. Manhattans. Orange martinis. It was time to feast! But I was upstairs with you. Because you wouldn't go to sleep. And I could have come downstairs but I wouldn't have been able to taste the food--my taste buds cease to function when you start to sob. So I fumed and you stayed awake and I fumed.
This is not your fault really. It is ours too. You had some legitimate sleeping issues just before the holidays but we feared that we couldn't go cold turkey during our holidays and so we coddled instead. And really, that was probably best.
Because last night you cried for 90 minutes straight before falling asleep. I put you down today for your nap at 12:30pm. It is 2:48pm and according to your father, you are still crying. That's 138 minutes. I am at Blue Monday writing and drinking a latte and this is what makes it possible for me to love you still.
Now that I've finished venting, I have no energy to talk about all the lovely blessedness of the season (such as sled rides with aunts and slinky-time with uncles, a new found adoration of skyways, your very first sugar high, your New Year's stay-awake coup, your "yes" and "juice," your penchant for Bonhoeffer, countless rides on the moving walkways at the airport, cookies fed to you on the sly by lovely grandmas, books read ad nauseum by patient grandpas, mad skilz with plastic blocks, etc, etc, etc.)
At church today, where I was miraculously able to listen to the sermon because (praise be to Jesus) you were in the nursery, Pastor Charlie talked about how Christmas is about getting, not about giving. It's the moment when we receive God, in the flesh, in the guise of this tiny infant. God interrupts our space, said Pastor Charlie, God wails his way right into us. This would have been good for me to remember a week ago--that God didn't come down quietly in the middle of a lovely dinner--God is in the voice that won't let us sleep, that calls on us to look to the cores of our very beings for patience and gratitude and love.
I love you, dear girl, you and your stupendous will.
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