Season’s Greetings

In straddling the divide between being GREEN and being old-fashioned, I mailed 50+ cards out to family and friends, and directed everyone here to this blog to read our annual letter. In a way, the cards were actually green, because they were recycled. (No, not recycled paper, but in fact, lovingly chosen from stacks of unopened holiday card packs at our local thrift store!) Should I even admit that? Well, I guess I just did. Nothing like being thrifty to save the planet, eh? Each of you also should have received a random picture from our year – no two cards alike! Compare! Share with friends! Swap and trade!

Those of you (the mighty few!) that follow the blog might not need a recap of this year’s events, and then again, those of you reading this holiday letter probably don’t want a detailed account of what we’ve been doing. Then again, looking back over the year, do I even want to re-hash it? It wasn’t a bad year, and yet not a banner year for the Germonskis, but we do have much to be thankful for, and we continue to relish in the small moments in our day that make us smile. Or snort water through our noses in laughter, you know, whatever comes first.

Charting the year through a young child seems full of firsts, of changes, and of new developments, too many to recount. Stella began 2011 with only 5 words coming out of her mouth, and ends 2011 talking a blue streak, so much so that some days I really wish she would stop talking. She has grown into a precocious, fearless, and loving little girl, and watching her joy at experiencing the newness and the wonder of the world makes Steve and I happy for life all over again. She thrives in the weather and the outdoor-ness (is that even a word?) of Santa Barbara and if we ever move from Southern California, will curse us until she is old that we ever did. We can’t keep shoes on her (neither can her preschool), she is a terrific garden helper (our prolific tomato plants this summer may owe much of their fruit bearing to her constant watering), and she loves climbing boulders on hikes, swinging on swings, and of course, playing in whatever water is available: puddles, dog bowls, hoses, tidepools, creeks, etc. She is obsessed with our neighborhood horses and even dressed up as our neighbor’s horse for Halloween. Oh, did I mention she’s also obsessed with her stuffed “friends?” There is always a menagerie in bed with her each night, and all of them get lovingly tucked into blankets, sung lullabies, and rocked throughout the day. She loves reading books with us and remembers the storylines so well that she then “reads” them to her animals. She says hi to everyone (on a walk the other day she kept waving to all the cyclists that passed by on their commute home. I overheard one guy say, “hey, that little girl said hi to us?!”) and joyfully announces to the public when she goes pee-pee in the big girl potty when we’re out. (She loves uses public restrooms. Go figure). She’s a spitfire, but I guess we wouldn’t want it any other way.  

Scupper continues to vie for our attentions and sneak up on the couch to sleep any chance he can get. He too has become obsessed with things here in Santa Barbara – the gophers that tunnel throughout the yard and the UPS man who gives his biscuits anytime he drops off a package. He has been benefitting from our amazing weather, our front and back yards, the wonderful smells of neighborhood livestock, and the miles and miles of front-country trails and off-leash parks.

Steve and I don’t have as many exciting milestones to report. Guess that happens when you get old. Steve continues to exude daily patience at his job and looks forward to his commute on his bicycle at the start and close of the day. He puts in a full day at the University and then comes home to “Chase me Daddy!” and “I want ride on your shoulders – now!” Who needs a gym membership when you have a toddler? I continue to exude patience with the crappy academic job market and being thankful for the part-time work I do have that affords me the luxury of working from home while my daughter naps. There was a trip to Tacoma, WA that yielded no fruit, and a trip to Denver, CO that offered a job that was less than ideal. So back at square one, we’ll see what this year’s 13 applications hold. However, I’m up for suggests on a new line of work. The time at home this year has offered me the opportunities to bake and cook to my heart’s content, usually with a little helper at my side. Stella has become very proficient at shaking in the spices, sorting diced vegetables, and kneading bread dough. She even knows the difference between the “on” and the “pulse” buttons on the food processor. Maybe we can start teaching mother and daughter cooking classes?

Our biggest thrill this year came from a week long camping trip up the California coast in August. We (and I mean the dog too) piled in the VW Vanagon for week of beach walks, forest hikes, tasty campfire meals, and giant redwoods. In short, it was awesome. And even if we were a bit tired when we came home, the fact that Stella exclaimed “we go camping some more?” a day after we returned, we knew the trip was a success.

Our last bit of news – but certainly not least… no certainly not least, is that we’ll be figuring out what the “new normal” is, oh, come around April 11, give or take 10 days when we welcome Bittle into the world. Stella will have had 3 years of only child bliss… and will soon learn what it really means to share. Steve and I are also currently wondering what it’s going to be like to have two daughters. (He promptly informed me after the 20-week, “what sex is your baby?” ultrasound – um, honey, I think wherever we end up, I’m really going to need a real man room.) We are excited and scared at the same time, but I know will relish in the watching of the development of them both.

May your holiday season be filled with surprise and wonder, happiness and joy, and may the New Year bring stability, goodness, and light. At least that’s what I’m hoping for.

~ Steve, Stella, Scupper, Bittle, and Aimee

Hindsight

If I had only known that a $1.50 pack of “toddler wipes” with a giraffe on the packaging would spur my daughter to finally go poopy on the big girl potty, I would have bought them MONTHS ago. Seriously, better motivator than cookies or french fries. Toddler wipes. Who knew? Now we’re down to a naptime diaper and a bedtime diaper. Diaper free before Bittle comes? Bring it!!

Really?

Stella helped us hang ornaments on the Christmas tree last night. Okay, we helped Stella hang up the ornaments (which mostly are all centered about a foot off the ground in the middle. Fine by me). Our ornaments consist of some glass balls that I got at the thrift store last year and mostly all my ornaments my mother gave me throughout the years (one a year so I’d have some for when I moved out. Thanks Mom, it worked!)

She found a unicorn and a rocking horse, and they immediately had to be hung up together – you know, b/c the baby needs her mama. (??) and then she found a little cloth mouse in a little dress and hat, no bigger than the size of a small apple. My mousie! she exclaims.

Mousie has a blanket too. You know, the crumpled 10 year old white tissue that protects all the ornaments year after year? Yep. Sacred now.

Mousie went to bed with her last night. Mousie rode in the car to school. Mousie is now taking a nap with her.

My daughter’s fascination and attachment to little soft toys has gotten a little out of hand… and coupled with the fact that mousie is so small, gosh knows where she’ll end up and be lost and then someone won’t be able to go to bed without her mousie… ACK! Let’s just hope that excitement over a certain bicycle that a certain craigslist gave her Santa Claus is bringing her will trump some of these soft friends. ‘Cause my friends, I can’t keep track of them all. Seriously, we have a

puppy, bunny, bunny’s blanket, rabbit, horsie, little monkey, big monkey, monkey’s momma (changes from day to day), and now mousie. Most of these friends have to be found before she goes to bed. Let’s just say that is one tight crib.

Celebrating the season

I’m not sure if I’m totally ready to get into this whole Santa thing. Does that make me a Scrooge? Trying to start the tale of this big man, that comes down the chimney, bringing presents with flying reindeer, all in one night? I guess I’m so rational it just seems so silly. And yet, I’ve been trying to explain it to Stella as we read all the Christmas books that my mom handed down from her classroom to us this year. I’m not sure if she gets it or not. She recognizes the image, as she points out “Santas” and “snowmen” on people’s flags, porches, etc on our neighborhood walks. (Although I’m still sure the concept of snow is completely foreign to her. We really need to go camping, at least for one night, where there is snow this holiday).

She is, however, all about the ideas of the Christmas season – or well, more specifically, the stuff. Like our Christmas tree – which we picked up this weekend at the local farm and the Christmas lights, which she insists on turning on each evening. The tree has also become a spot where she likes to hide her stuffed animals. There is now a permanent hole in the needles about a foot up from the floor where bunny and puppy get put each evening to “take a nap in the forest.” Go figure. Steve reminded me last night that I should get “all precious” about the Christmas tree anymore. “It’s not for you,” he instructed wisely. And he’s right.

Yesterday, we made sugar cookies, because I figured that’s what we’re also supposed to do, even though I knew that the sugar dough, the red/green sprinkles and the icing would jack her up on a sugar high like she has never seen. (It’s not that we don’t eat sugar around here – we made lemon ice all summer, we occasionally go out for burgers, fries and milkshakes – but her weekly sugar intake consists of fruit and that’s about it. Nonetheless, Stella had a FABULOUS time making the dough, which I smartly planned right before nap time so that she understood it had to chill in the fridge while she was sleeping, and then cutting out shapes. My biologist neighbor passed along some cookie cutters last year and we made lots of Christmas frogs and fish, because you know, there of course have to be Christmas frogs, right? And we used some gingerbread boy/girl cutters that my mom passed on to us.

Quote of the night? “Mommy? Is that the little girl’s vagina?” Um no Stella, that’s the end of her dress and those are the tops of her shoes.

Green

So I just found out that my long distance writing partner has an on-campus interview scheduled. I’m really happy for her. I am. In a way, I hope that means it bodes well for me and this year’s once-again nerve-wracking job market. We both graduated from the same MFA program, ended up in PhD programs, and ended up researching black theater (hers from a historical perspective and mine contemporary). We were even up for the same job last year, both going to campus for the final round of interviews.

And, yet, let’s be honest. I’m insanely jealous and little depressed. It’s year three on the academic job market for me, and five on-campus interviews later, I’m still here working part-time, and trying desperately to carve out time to write. Admittedly, some days when I should be writing, I stare at the computer blankly wondering what the hell to say. or how to start, or even why I’m doing all of this.

But then I look at my beautiful, loony, energetic daughter reach once again on the shelf where we keep the band-aids, opening the box herself, pulling off the wrapper, wanting to “dood it herself” and then plaintively asking me, Mommy? Can you put on my thumb? My heart melts, I swallow the jealousy and think, you know, my writing partner might have a job interview at a prestigious university theater program, but I have an awesome husband, a wonderful daughter, and another one on the way. She has a dog and no recent leads in the long term partner/boyfriend/husband department. There are certainly trade offs. But why does it feel like we career-minded women must choose?

I love being mommy. I do. Don’t get me wrong. But there are days when I wonder if that is all I might ever be. A mommy with two graduate degrees and years of paying back the US government. Running a household that has one steady income for 7 years, but desperate for two. And yet, we’re fine. We’re ok. I’m a savvy thrift store shopper (I found brand new Pedipeds for $7! A bike for Stella for Christmas on Craigslist! Maternity pants for $2!) and frankly, I like the thrill of the hunt. The ability at the end of the month to make a week’s worth of healthy and flavorful dinners without once going to the grocery store. I want more time to craft, to knit, to sew things for my girls.

But I also want to hold deep academic conversation about the nature of race in society, about how art can intervene on social systems, how ideologies are constructed and destroyed through theatrical practice. But after this year, if the 10-12 job applications that I have just completed do not yield fruit, I think I might have to find a new path. It’s a hard thing to think about, giving up. And yet, maybe it’s not giving up, but giving over to something new.

We’ll call her Bittle

The book that inspired Stella to deem #2 (which, frankly, wasn’t the best in-utero name we should have been using) a number no longer. Bittle is a cute book about a cat and a dog that have an unwanted guest in the house – a new baby – and they decide to call her “Bittle” which is short for “little bit of a thing.” They, of course, end up loving Bittle… although I do think that is the part in the book where Bittle is a bit older and starts dropping food from her high chair. I think that is when Scupper finally realized that Stella was ok too.

Bittle has already suffered from second child syndrome – at this point, I’m 22 weeks into the pregnancy. Admittedly, I had to look that up b/c I lost track. No nightly pouring over pregnancy books to see how big she is, what is developing, etc. We have one belly photo. But man, is she reminding me constantly of her presence. I don’t think she ever sleeps! Constantly I feel her kicking, punching, moving, much more than I ever remember Stella. It’s as if she is saying, Lookie here Mama. Don’t forget about me. I’m here, and just you WAIT.

Indeed.

Spectrum

In downloading photos from our Thanksgiving stay-cation, I think these two photos sum up best Miss Stella’s range of personality.

Stella-isms... or Mommy-isms?

So when you're home with your daughter a lot... you might wonder, what is she really learning from me? I think I've touched on this before. Like my ability to teach her how to bake and cook, but my inability to think of amazing art projects or other active learning things. After spending four days with her at home, Steve also had some observations. (and as an aside, he had some awesome quality Daddy time. Stella was basically glued to his hip all weekend, which means that I got a little free time to do what I do best - cook. So for running around without barely sitting all weekend, he got butternut squash ravioli -homemade pasta dough no less- with sage brown butter sauce and prosciutto wrapped asparagus; Polish Golabki - stuffed cabbage rolls; mushroom barley soup; and an applesauce coffee cake for breakfast.)

But I digress. I guess I haven't realized some of my own speech patterns until 1) Stella begins to parrot them back to me and 2) Steve called attention to the fact that Stella was parroting them. Do I really say these all the time to her?

Okay. = This seems to be a big one, which usually follows a command. Momma, you do this, ok? It's pee-pee time, ok? Rabbit, you want dinner, ok?

Yeah. = Ugh - this seems even worse than ok, but it seems that I say this a lot when she's talking to me (which, of course, most of the day is non-stop). So this comes out from Stella as "Yeah... yeah.yeah.yeah." Stella do you want to go on the swing? "yeah. yeah/yeah/yeah" The subsequent "yeahs" are usually in varying pitch and tone.

That a good deal? = When did I say THIS to her? Probably when I tried to cajole her to get back into the stroller during our walks with Scupper, however, Stella uses it in the weirdest places. "We go to the beach in the van, Daddy?" Yes Stella. "That a good deal?" Yes Stella, that's a good deal (insert quizzical look from Steve to Aimee).

I missed my chance. = I can't even remember how she used it this weekend, but it was close to the concept... but a little off. I think I said this to her once or twice when she asked to do something, she didn't do it and then I was like, that's it. You missed your chance, I'm doing it. (This probably happens more than I recognize, since Stella is ALL ABOUT doing something HERSELF but that means it's on STELLA'S timing and not mine. Which can be problematic when say, getting dressed for preschool, coming in the house when it's getting dark, etc etc)

Oh, I sick. = I have been sick for a week - and then of course, the whole first trimester I wasn't in great shape most days. Stella invents mysterious aliments at appropriate times, say, when she doesn't want to eat dinner, when we aren't paying enough attention to her, etc. Besides the usual "I hurt my finger, I need a kitty band-aid" that we go through at least 4-5 times a week, "I sick" has been cropping up a lot lately. The remedy? An ice pack. Go figure.

She also has been using "two cent" words - sometimes appropriately - sometimes not. Disappointed, unstable, reflection, and frustrated have all popped up in the last month. And last week, she saw a recumbent bike on the bike path (those are the ones that are the low-slung, sit-down in a sit/laying position type of bike). I have pointed these out to her before and told her what they were. "Mama!" she exclaimed. "A 'cumbent. A 'cumbent." She looked up at me, waiting for the praise. I was stunned. Yes Stella. That IS a recumbent.

Seesters

So we found out today that we’re having another girl.

I’ll admit, completely honestly, that I thought we were having a boy. I’ve always thought that people end up having what they are supposed to have, sort of based on their personalities, etc. I know that sounds utterly stupid, but it has seemed to fit the people that I know. A woman I used to work with had two boys. It made complete sense. She was a lovely woman – very nice, nurturing, but just didn’t seem like the type of person that would handle a girl. Whatever that means. Then again, considering I don’t think I’m girly at all, Stella adores a pair of ballerina PJs that my mom gave and sparkle shoes that are hand-me-downs.

So when we knew we were having another kid, I just felt that we had to have a boy. Steve loves cars. Motorcycles. Bicycles. Boats. Vehicles that go. Mechanisms. Engineering. A boy right? He needs a boy to teach all of this to. And then I thought, holy cow! I’m a feminist! I would rather Stella be an engineer than an artsy-fartsy person like me. How could I think that Stella can’t learn from her daddy and enjoy all of that as much as he does? She picked up a screwdriver off the counter the other day (you know, b/c we just have them lying around) and started “fixing” things. She actually asked to go out to the van and “Fix Daddy’s van” for him so it was “fixed when he got home.” Wouldn't he love that…

So this morning, when the doctor asked one more time whether we’d like to know – and we said yes in unison, he said see? It’s a girl? Yeah right, like I can tell that black and white area right there is her genitals. Thanks doc. And I’ll admit, a wave of disappointment ran over me. And then a wave of guilt, for even thinking that I was disappointed about this little wee one growing in my belly. “She” has been more fiery than Stella ever was at this point – lots of punching and kicking, twisting and turning, constant movement, as if she were asking to be heard. While Stella’s in-utero nickname was “Speedy” she was more of a swimmer and mover, not a kicker and puncher.

A friend suggested they will be best friends. Or “Frenemies” and who knows? I’ll be honest, I don’t think my brother and I got along until he turned 18. We were definitely “friend-enemies” for quite some time. Since neither Steve nor I know what it’s like to have another sibling of the same sex, this will be interesting. Steve is elated no matter what though. And frankly, maybe we ARE meant to have two girls. Stella makes him smile with such joy sometimes I would think his heart would pop. And if Stella pushes my buttons like no other, god knows what it would be like with a boy. He did say that he will have to make sure that in the next house we live in, he had better have a man room so that he can escape the “estrogen levels” now and then. Ha. Just wait until I hit menopause.

Epic

Stella and I have returned from our amazing week at Grammy and Grampy Zs. It was a packed week – in addition to family from out to town visiting to see us Stella.

My mom out did herself with creature comforts for Stella to play with – she borrowed toys from friends and found some amazing deals at the local thrift stores. The big hit was a vinyl baby and jogging stroller that my mom proudly told me she found at Walgreens for $15. true to Stella’s nature (and probably a reflection of what we do with our real jogging stroller) she took it out in the yard on the first day and rode the baby around to see all the trees and flowers. My dad then had to suffer through the walk to the library with said stroller. The local library is literally a block away from the house, but I think the walk took us 20-30 minutes. It’s not about the destination, I kept telling my dad, but for the walk home, he picked Stella up and I carried the stroller.

We almost did all the things on their list – Dad made pancakes with Stella and planted tulip bulbs. Driving Stella around in the wheelbarrow might have been an added bonus, for Stella, of course.

 

My mom got to make pumpkin bread, read books upon books, paint, go to the various local playgrounds, and snuggle with her granddaughter.

I got to feel like an adult instead of “Mommy” all the time and stayed up late with my brother, went out for late night desserts at local restaurants, and didn’t have to worried about where Stella was 24-7 because I knew someone else was watching too.

I can’t say the whole week was roses and flowers – Stella was also pushing boundaries and limits, as the rules and routines at Grammy’s house were new and different and, obviously, were meant to be broken. There were days without naps, with said psycho child running around the house and throwing tantrums. We were all out at dinner one night – 11 of us – and just before the food got to the table, Stella climbed in my lap and boldly announced, “Okay. I all done. We go home now.” Luckily, the waiter keenly brought her food first and we were saved.

My favorite overheard moment of the week was in an interaction with my father:

Stella spills her dry cereal on the floor.

Dad: Stella, you need to pick that up now.

Stella: (beat) You have no doggie here?

My favorite picture moment of the week was Stella with her “shopping cart” in our local grocery store – the IGA where people still remember me as a little kid coming in to get Slush Puppies after school.

It was a good week, but I will be honest in saying that I’m happy to be back to our (relatively) normal routine here at home. Naps have been long and blissful and bedtime has been virtually without incident. Sadly, though, I hate that we are 3200 miles and 7 hrs of plane traveling time away from my family. Stella shines when around family. She did this summer when we visited Steve’s parents and extended family for a reunion up in NorCal at his aunt’s house. She did this past week too. I believe she positively glows around family. One of these years we need to figure out how to get a little closer… somehow.

Alive and well

Stella has a rich inner life right now. All of a sudden, in the course of what seems two weeks, imagination play has kicked into high gear. It’s not that she wasn’t into playing pretend (she’s been known to pick up random bags and tell me that she’s headed out to the store to buy nanas and cheese – always nanas and cheese for some reason, but whatever). She plays with her doll and her stuffed animals, talking to them, etc. But lately, a stick ends up becoming 100 things in the course of day. On Monday after her nap, she stripped down to her underwear, found a bandana and asked me to put it around her torso because she needed to be wearing a “bathing suit,” grabbed a stick that was found on a recent walk, climbed into a swing floatie (that woefully has not been forgotten and makes nightly appearances in the bathtub) and proceeded to “swim” across the floor. What’s the stick for, I asked. “It’s my surfboard.” Oh. Sure, of course.

Food lately has also become other things, or at least shaped like them. “Look, it’s a boot! It’s a snail! It’s a…. insert the favorite shape of the day.” I just nod and say, oh, and try to see the shape that she does before the piece of toast/pile of cereal/pancake/tortilla/scoop of rice gets shoved into her mouth.

The most embarrassing pretend moment lately was at the dog park this week. A nature preserve high above on the cliffs above the beach, the Douglass Preserve is gorgeous, full of tall trees, wood chip or dirt trails, and oh so wonderfully leash-free. Stella usually asks for her own poo bag when I pick up one for Scup as we enter the park because she likes to use it to put “Treasures” – leaves, small stones, sticks, flowers, etc. I have no problem with this. However, this week, Stella decided that she would pretend to pick up dog poo. So at the entrance to the park, she was down on the ground, picking up wood chips and saying, “See, Mommy, I pick up dog poo too.” Now, if you were just walking into the park with your dog and didn’t look closely and overheard my daughter, you might assume that I was letting her pick up dog poo. I kept saying, rather loudly as people walked by, oh Stella, that’s an interesting thing to pretend. Are you pretending to pick up dog poo? etc. etc. She then asked me to help flip the bag over her hand and pile of “poo” (woodchips) and then asked me to tie a knot… just like we do with Scupper. At first, I was like, ok, Stella, this has gone far enough. Dump out the wood chips and let’s just go. She yelled at me, “Don’t throw away my poo!” and proceeded to pretend again to pick up more poo. This time, I quickly knotted the bag and she happily carried it back to the car, singing, “I have a poo bag… I have a poo bag…”

I just kept thinking all week, this is what we get for 1) being theater people and 2) taking her to the dog park since the week she was born.

Oh, yes, and we also go “snorkeling” in the bathtub. Go figure.

Gratuitous Halloween photos

DIY Halloween at our house – these are our construction paper bats and coffee filter spider webs that adorned most of front windows. We also did little fabric ghosts in the trees. Stella was so enamored with her pumpkin once we gave it a little face that she named it “Little P” and started carrying it around the yard and giving it hugs.

We made spider web cupcakes… much to her enjoyment, but I think (luckily) she only ended up eating about 2 in the course of a week. Our neighbors got to enjoy most of them.

Steve’s parents gave her this National Park Ranger outfit this summer, after they heard how much she enjoyed camping. She has enjoyed playing dress up in it.

And this was Stella’s Halloween costume. She wore it to the costume parade at her preschool (back shot above) and then on Halloween night before we left to visit the neighbors, she refused to be photographed. Seriously, ran away into her bedroom. Then she found a walking stick that she had been playing with all week, and said I could take a picture of the stick. Not her costume. Thus, horse holding stick. At least the neighbor (whose horse she was emulating) enjoyed the costume.

At the midpoint

A family friend, and fellow family blogger, writes letters to her children on their birthdays and at their half-birthday. I love this. Because at this age, by the half-birthday, so much has changed that a yearly updates seems inadequate. And since I repeatedly remind myself that this blog is the best baby book Stella is going to get, here’s to Stella’s half birthday.  (you know… some days, I really feel bad about that… I’ve saved her cord stump, a lock of her hair from her first haircut, some drawings, really, I have… her early moments are not are virtual!)

At two and a half, Stella has finally started to look like a little girl. Which scares the crap out of Steve and I (how did we get there this fast?) She’s hilarious. And dramatic. Overly dramatic. (We only have ourselves to blame). We go through Band-aids (Hello Kitty, mind you) like they are going out of style. Last month, she continually got “booboos” on her knee. Same place. Every day. This month, she keeps hurting her fingers. Mostly the thumb on her right hand. I need a kitty band-aid, she’ll announce. Why Stella? We were literally just sitting here. “No, I hurt my finger, see?” Um, yah, sure. We roll with it. While her language acquisition has grown in leaps and bounds since her 2nd birthday, I am still a little attached to the words that she does not totally comprehend or say properly. Like “I dood it.” We hear I dood it a lot around here. Her desire to help in the kitchen, which I encouraged so much, is almost to the point of getting bossy. On Sunday when we made homemade raisin swirl bread, she informed me, “No Mommy. I pour flour, okay?” She loves to eat the dry flour, loves to sprinkle spices (we almost ended up with turmeric in the bread because she can reach all the spices in the cabinet now), and is obsessed with pouring. She grabbed my 10” chef knife off the cutting board last week while was I at the stove and waved it at Steve, “Daddy, I cut now too?” Maybe this means that my love of cooking has already worn off on her and she’ll become the most efficient (and bossy) executive chef the world has ever known.

Her zest for life, for projects, for doing most of anything is infectious, and I hope that we can continue to match her excitement. She loves camping, the moon, swings, being outside (anywhere, anytime), the rain (when we get it), big dogs, and giving anyone “big hug!” I love to watch her with her stuffed animals and baby doll – although she hasn’t seen me with another young child (not yet, ha!) she is unbelievably gentle and nurturing with her “friends.” They each get wrapped lovingly in a blanket, sung a lullaby, rocked in her arms, and then it starts all over again. She even did this last night in the bathtub with a plastic water toy and a washcloth. Seriously.

Her memory retention for things scares us sometimes. She only listen to a library book once or twice, and then she can remember sections or phrases and repeat them to me when we read it again. (I hope this means she is good with facts and figures and not memorizing plays or dialogue.) I know she will be a voracious reader – more than just a stalling tactic at bedtime, “one more book” is truly what she wants, and sitting and reading picture books until she fell asleep in my arms would keep her a happy girl.

She sings all the time. Nonsense songs. ABCs, Twinkle Twinkle, Wheels on the Bus, random phrases over and over again. Steve and I woke up the other morning and turned to each other and laughed as we heard “Scuppy a good boy. He not a puppy anymore.” Scupper made the morning song finally, I said. Yup, Steve replied. He’s now part of the club. We love the morning songs. (Definitely much better than the occasional alternative, which is plaintive whining of “Mommy…. mommy….”)

This week, Stella’s preschool is slowly moving her up to the “Rainbow fish” classroom – the room for 2.5 – 3.5 year olds. No longer will she be a “Green Turtle” with the 18mo- 2.5 yr olds. She said to me today, “Mommy, I hang out with the fish today.” I asked her how that went. “Good.” but then not a second later, “I like being a Green turtle.” I told her that if she still wanted to pretend she was a turtle, that was ok, but being a Rainbow Fish was pretty neat. And they have better blocks and a play kitchen. She seemed satisfied with that answer today. Everyone at the school was amazed that she seamlessly transitioned today, but I warned them that not every day as they try it over the next few weeks might be like that. Routines are so ingrained in Stella that we have trouble convincing her some nights that it’s ok if Daddy reads books and Mommy gives a bath instead of the other way around. (If Daddy reads books, I’m still the “closer” and sing a few songs before she gets put to bed).

I hope that her pleasant mood, her love of big hugs, her silly songs, and her energy continue throughout her early childhood years… and help her through the big sister transition she will evitably go through soon. After watching her tend lovingly to her stuffed animals the other night, I think we’re going to do ok. So here’s a very merry unbirthday to you, my dearest one. We will try our hardest not to eclipse your real birthday in April over the craziness of adding another one to the family. You will, as you know, always be the first.

"those" people...

I think I may have titled a blog post about us being "those" parents before... but sometimes I consider us "those" parents... (no, not "those" parents that I overheard at the playground on Monday... the mom that literally said, "Yah, I know, she comes up to me and is like, read me a book, and I'm like, oh, right, I'm supposed to be reading to you 15 minutes a day. Right. Reading." Seriously? But I digress).

No, we are "those" parents that have an absolutely ridiculous bedtime routine. Most people take a nice warm bath, brush teeth, maybe play calm and soothing music, usher in the night time with quiet tones and calm books. Us? This is what we do before we wrestle Stella to the ground to put on pajamas and read a slew of books.

When you don’t get a babysitter…

You treat yourself to a fancy meal since you might as well spend a little money on good food. Steve has been craving lobster paella ever since I read him a recipe in a Bon Appetit from about 4 months ago. Whenever I ask him what he wants for dinner (even on a week night) he would jokingly say, how about lobster paella? Yah, like I can just whip that up on a Tuesday at 6pm.

A few weekends ago, after a late afternoon trip to the fish market found us with lobster tails and mussels, perfect for that paella he had been craving. Years ago I picked up a 18” copper paella pan at a yard sale, and usually it just hangs from the ceiling collecting spiders and dust. We finally cleaned it off, got it ready, and made proper summer paella over a charcoal fire with soaked apple wood.

Damn. It was good. and really only cost us about $18 for the seafood, and the rest of the ingredients we had on hand in the pantry or the freezer (even homemade stock!). That’s what I call a tasty date night.

Plus one…

We are excited, yet full of trepidations. It seems to be always on our mind, and yet, we aren’t thinking about it as much as one would assume. We planned this, and we know that many people in the world do this – and handle it – and survive, and yet, we wonder how this will change things. We learned what the “new” normal means, and now we fear and welcome the “new new” normal.

We, my friends, are pregnant. Or I am pregnant, and Steve and the rest of the family have to deal with the repercussions of such pregnancy. Like the mood swings, and the twice-weekly cravings for traditional, in a pot with oil and butter, white popcorn. Like the readjustment to the new body, that I remember so well, and yet after 2 years of working hard to lose weight, get in shape and run after a growing toddler, is proving to be a hard adjustment. Like the desire the nest already and yet no energy or time in which to do so because after making dinner, bath, books, songs and bedtime, all we want to do is crawl into bed instead of knit things and make upcycled sweater monsters. (Doesn’t everyone need one of these?)

It sounds like I’m complaining. And I supposed this is an awkward way of announcing a pretty darn exciting thing. I’m not trying to complain, but rather to share the precipice on which we stand, peering over the edge, wondering what April 11 might bring. Or April 2. Or April 5 or 9. You know, ‘cause we don’t like to come on time around here.

Steve had a mid-morning doctor’s appointment last week and stayed home until he had to go. We sat on the front porch as Stella had her morning snack, watching her grab handfuls of cheese or raisins and run into the yard, yelling, chase me Scupper! Chase me! Lucky for her, with a handful of cheese, Scupper was happy to oblige. I turned to Steve, and both of us said at the same moment, Yep, she needs a sibling.

And then all of sudden, all was right with the world. The scariness of the unknown, the nagging worries of proper fetal development, the tenuous knowledge of the preciousness of fetal life as well as birth. It all seemed conquerable. It all seemed fine. Just fine.

Oh – and I’m totally making this shirt for Halloween this year.

What Daddies are for…

Background: Remember the Outkast song “Roses?”

The refrain is:

I know you'd like to thank your s--- don't stank
But lean a little bit closer
See that roses really smell like poo-oo-ooo

This was a running joke between Steve and I for years after we heard the song because *someone* like to sit in the bathroom for HOURS and read and someone else doesn’t understand how you can just sit in there and smell that!

Cut to:

Stella! Wow, that poopy really stinks. (as I’m changing her diaper). We really should be sitting on the potty, remember? “yes, my poopy stink. Daddy’s poopy no stink.” Of course Daddy’s poopy stinks!

“Nope. Daddy poopy smell roses!”

After I practically lose it at the changing table, I yell into the other room, “Steve! When did you teach her that?”

Cue impish grin and then choruses of “Daddy poopy roses!”

Stella, unplugged

Stella is pretty good about going into her room and entertaining herself. Sometimes, after we’ve taken Scup for a morning walk, painted or baked something, I think she just gets sick of the interaction and wants to do something on her own, so as I’m cleaning up, she’ll run off to her room, and then I realized 5 minutes have gone by and the house is strangely quiet. I’ll peek into her room, and she’s happily playing with her doll, her stuffed animals, cars, etc and enveloped in her own world.  I usually quietly sneak away, not wanting to disturb this wonderful moment (for her – and for me! Yeah 5 minutes of not having to be “on”.)

This morning, as I was running around getting dressed and brushing my hair, I suggested to Stella to put her doll down for a nap before she headed to school. So she did. I heard her in there, and I stuck my camera around the door jam to catch her unawares.

(A note: the book she is reading to the doll is a book about Daddy that comes home from work, finds the baby awake and takes care of the little baby while the rest of the family is asleep. They end up going downstairs and the daddy sings the baby a song about rocking in arms, keeping baby safe from harm – some of the words that Stella repeats here).

Substitute

Hi. My name is Holy Terror. I will be taking over your lovely daughter from time to time, without notice, and then suddenly leave as soon as I came.

Thank you.

Oh dear! What is up with the impending 2.5 year/30 month milestone? Are all kids like this? Please tell me they all go through this phase or I am going to wonder if my daughter has signs of being bi-polar. The tears! Oh the tears! The fake tears! The real tears! The throwing of items! The throwing down of the self! The anguish! The hatefulness!

and then the love. The “I love you Mommy” after 5 minutes of ranting and raving. I am not getting this at all. The biggest problem, I see, is that it’s making me go up and down with her (and my turnaround isn’t as fast as Stella’s).

Most of the time, she is a dear. We giggle together, we cook in the kitchen (smoothies after nap time is a current favorite), we take Scuppy for walks and run run run along the sidewalks towards the horses. But then we get home, 5 minutes past when we usually eat lunch and BAM! Psycho child.

At least we’ve figured out that most of the outbursts are related to when she has eaten (and of course, when she hasn’t) but sometimes we have no clue why the world dissolves in a cacophony of crying. Ah well. Maybe this is why this age was dubbed the “Terrible” twos – although I have word from playground moms that 3 was horrendous. Oh dear.

When you finally download your camera

You get photos from over 6 weeks ago – what a surprise!

The amazing purple smoothie. Made with dragon fruit (which really is neon pink).

The biggest dandelion EVER. (Stella calls them bo-lions. We have no clue why.)

Stella likes helping me cook, but she really likes helping me do the dishes, aka play in water.

We made a barn for Stella’s plastic horse. His name is Shasta. Funny… the neighbor’s horse is named Shasta too.

Making cake.

I couldn’t resist posting this, although I’m sure Steve would kill me. This is Steve getting ready to go into the attic to check out whether our wood rats were back (surprise! they were) or maybe it wasn’t rats and rather a large possum or skunk (it wasn’t). He figured he would be prepared if anything decided to jump at him… so he’s decked out in his full motorcycle leathers and his biking light. Awesome.

Finally, a bad parenting photo. We were prepping to go to San Diego a few weekends back, and planned to take off right at Stella’s nap time so she would nap in the car. We were a little late getting things together and Stella just got a little *too* tired. And yes, this is our kitchen mat in from of the stove.

Daddy’s Favorites

I mentioned to Steve last week about my list of Stella words (of which I forgot to include “libarbee = library”) and he wanted to offer his two favorite phrases.

“I dood it.” I do it. We hear this one A LOT. Steve has now started saying it too, especially when I offer to do the dishes, which he does every night without fail. “I dood it!” he’ll say, and I retort with, yah, but I give her a bath almost every night so for once, I’d like to give the dishes a bath and you give the toddler one!

“No touch a poopy.” This one is a bit more difficult to explain, but it practically makes us snort water out of our noses when we hear it. I think it must have started on the camping trip? I have no clue – either way, Stella seems to think that every sign, every written piece, envelope, mail, etc. that has large words/letters on it says “no touch a poopy.” Seriously, we have no idea where this came about. I can only think I must have interpreted a sign for he? But knowing me, I probably said that the sign read “Don’t touch the dog poopy” or “Don’t touch the bird poopy” or something ridiculous so she would stop whatever she was doing outside.

Oh dear. Let’s hope that when she DOES start to read, she learns a bit more phrases. Steve is really tempted to get bumper stickers that just say:

NO TOUCH A POOPY

Who wants one?

Overheard as of late

Stella sings in the morning if she has woken up in a good mood. It’s a nice way to judge how the morning is going to be. Singing? Good mood. Crying/whining “mommy?” plaintively? Not so good morning.

Overheard today: (singing)

“I not a baby anymore. I a big girl now” (repeat 3x) into:

“Mommy sleeping. my REAL Daddy sleeping in a big bed” (repeat 2x) into:

“Daddy the best in the world… daddy the best in the wooorrr-ld.” (I particularly liked the drawn out ending, like the ending to a real song.

*************

“Stella? Where are you going?”

“To the coffee shop. To get plastic lions.” Um ok.

********************

I work during Stella’s naps, and sometimes I let her talk in there to herself for a bit until she starts to get annoyed, usually because I am finishing up a project, a thought, etc. From her room, waking up from a nap an hour earlier than usual:

“Mommy? You done writing email?”

Stella Ruth = 2, Mommy = 0

Twice, in two days, Stella has bested me.

On Friday, we looked at the window at a gloomy day. It was very foggy (as most mornings are here now) and Stella was convinced it was raining. It’s not raining, Stella, I said, as we finished up her daily ritual of toast with cream cheese. However, when it was time to put on clothes and shoes for preschool, she insisted that she needed her rain boots. It’s not raining, I protested, and rain boots are impractical for preschool. 15 minutes later, we were in sneakers. Then it was, I need my sunbrella, I need my raincoat. No you don’t Stella, it’s not raining out. Let’s just get in the car and go.

We open the back door to the driveway, and guess what it was doing? Misting – very heavily. (aka in Southern California = rain). Stella screams “MAMA! It’s RAINING!!”

I don’t think she understands what smugness means… but I may have detected a bit of a smug look on her face when she looked at me with utter glee and cried, “GET MY RAINCOAT!”

Cut to: Saturday afternoon.

I must preface the story with: Stella has been asking for goldfish crackers for days. We have none in the house. I told her I had to go the grocery store and pick them up.

Today, Steve took Stel and Scup to the local trail/mesa/beach access thingy so that I could have a bit of a break, which, of course, consisted of me slogging through Costco on a Saturday afternoon in search of crab meat. When I picked them up at the end of the trail so they didn’t have to walk home, I asked Stella how the trail was. It was a good trail, she informed me. You went grocery store? Oh yes, I said. I got crab meat and raspberries. “Mama got fishy crackers!” she cried. Of course, because I went to the grocery store, I was supposed to get fishy crackers. This girl doesn’t miss a trick, as my mom would say. OH no Stella, I am so sorry, I didn’t get fishy crackers. That grocery store doesn’t have fishy crackers. Oh, she cried, but I WANT fishy crackers.

On the 5 minute ride home, all we heard was how much she wanted fishy crackers. In fact, we had a mini-tantrum when we got home because she still didn’t understand that if Mommy went to the grocery store, why weren’t there fishy crackers in the house? (I excused the tantrum a little b/c it was of course dinner time and she was a mess). After acquiescing to a veggie burger with cheese, yogurt, and broccoli, she became much happier. We all sat at the table, and Stella noticed my little notepad and pen. It’s the notepad where I make lists – and of course, grocery lists included. “I write?” she asked. Okay, sure. What are you writing?  “Fishy crackers.”

Yup. Stella was adding fishy crackers to the grocery list. Smart girl. Ugh. Bested by a toddler in 48 hours. Impressive, little one. Can’t wait until you are 13.

Words words words

I have another post somewhere in the ether about Stella and making un-birthday cakes last week, but I have been slow to upload the video that MUST go with it. Ah well. All in good time.

I did realize today on our walk home from visiting the horses (where else?) that I wanted to document some of the wonderful, but utterly wrong phrases and words that have come out of Stella's mouth in the last few months. I mean, let's be honest here, I should be happy with ANYTHING considering my dear girl didn't have but 5 words in January and one of them wasn't even Mama. Now, of course, we wish she was silent for a minute or two, but there is no going back...

Some of Stella's word mistakes, that I find equally frustrating and adorable:
Firefly = butterfly. This would be confusing if we lived on the East Coast, but without actual fireflies here, we usually know what she is talking about.

Ur-wear = underwear. I would get her to say "panties" instead, but I just can't bring myself to use the word myself. Panties. Ick.

Leabe it = leave it, usually related to dog treats. Scupper doesn't pain attention anyway.

Sunbrella = umbrella - and since it is never rainy here, it works quite appropriately

Uno, socko, sinko, says = uno, cuatro, cinco, seis. They have been doing counting in Spanish at her school, and supposedly, a few weeks ago, she had the whole thing from 1-6, (dos and tres included) but somewhere they disappeared, and cuatro was mistaken for socko, and well then, she just spouts this phrase off whenever I ask her to count things. Regardless of the fact that there might be TWO things or FIVE. Ah well. She's trying. I keep correcting, doesn't make a bit of difference.

my REAL daddy = this phrase has been coming up a bunch. Where is my real daddy? He is my real daddy, etc. I have NO IDEA where the whole "Real" aspect came in, but I keep telling her that Steve IS her "Real" daddy. This, of course, does not help the on-going joke that Steve has been doing since Stella was a small fetus in-utero, which was, "Well, I guess it's mine" or "Well, since she isn't mine, I'll take care of her anyway." I guess he initially found it funny because we weren't married, but now, after 2 1/2 years, it rears its head again when Stella tells me her "Real" daddy is home from work. The joke annoys the ever-loving crap out of me, but Steve still gets a kick out of it. Thanks Stel.

Rainy days...

Don't be confused. It's not raining here. It hasn't rained since May? April? At least. However, Stella is obsessed with all things rain gear. Like raincoats, rainboots, umbrellas. She wears her rubber rain boots around the house and yard quite a bit. Last week, it was very foggy in the morning and quite misty - enough that it sort of "felt" like rain. Well, not rain... but rain to a 2 year old. We decided to take Scupper on a longer hike along the flat Mesa near our house and Stella suited up. She insisted on wearing her rain coat, rain boots, and take her umbrella. I knew I would be carrying this umbrella most of the hike, but whatever, it wasn't worth haggling over.


We ran into some people on the walk who looked at her and were like, wow, she's ready. They laughed. Hey, what are you going to do with an independent toddler who lives for playing in water and doesn't get to have fun in the rain but 3 months a year? The fog was fabulous, the mist divine, and made the hike all the more enchanted because we couldn't see the end of the mesa.

And then I got stung by a yellow jacket and it was game over. But at least the "rain hike" was fun.

The funniest part (at least I think?) Stella, for some reason, can't say "UMbrella" but rather says "Sunbrella." Which couldn't be more to the truth, considering that she usually plays the umbrella during a sunny day.

In honor of...

A friend of mine has started a new blog that has short, sweet posts - basically a fun story from her day with her girls. This way, at least it seems to me, she can share what's going on, but not have to feel like she needs to write a tome about life. I wish I had the gumption somedays to be able to write long, introspective blog posts about our daily life. I really do. I read a lot of blogs whose writers are witty, funny, or thoughtful and have such ways of telling about the life we currently live - surrounding by the looniness of children, asking for advice, telling a story or two. I think I used to do that on this blog, but it seems as of late, time gets shorter and shorter. Maybe I should spend less time reading blogs and more time writing. Although when most mornings during the week are taken up with academic writing, the last thing I want to do in the evening is write some more. Zoning out reading other people's much more prosaic writing seems to do the trick. And in many ways, this blog will be as much Stella's baby book as a window on our lives for the few readers who read this (i.e. grandparents and close friends) so I might as well keep track of the fun, but brief moments in our day.

So here's a quick story from today, as over heard by me in the kitchen while reading through a recipe for dinner tonight:

Stella: (to Scupper)

Leab it. Leab it. Wait. ..... Okay!
 .... Again? okay. Leab it. Leab it. Wait.... Okay! Mama! Scuppy likes treats.

Yes, that was just Stella perfectly executing the "Leave it" command with parts of her snack that she didn't want to eat. Good girl.

To the Redwoods and Beyond!

In case you want to sift through lots of pictures about the Redwoods...
we survived - and the true test of survival included Stella asking about going camping 3 days after arriving home.

WIN!

By the end of the week, we definitely learned what we didn't need on the trip, how to most quickly and effectively pack and unpack a van, and I learned how to fight the dog for the right to sit in the front seat. (I didn't always win, I will tell you that). Stella did amazing with the amount of driving we did - and although we thought she would blissfully sleep through most of it, she did not, but still was a happy girl amusing herself most of the time. I only had to break out the laptop and the Beatrix Potter DVD on the last day (which, admittedly, was our longest drive of the trip).

Some highlights:

One night we stopped at a little Indian place for dinner since we were staying in a concrete RV park and knew we couldn't make dinner. Stella drained an entire mango lassi in 5 minutes flat. Then proceeded to inhale all of my basmati rice and my dal (lentils.) Guess she was hungry.

Stella noticed a state of California flag at one location and I explained to her that it was a bear on the flag. For some reason, I thought it was a golden bear (but then later realized that a golden bear is UC Berkeley's mascot and the state flag is merely a regular ol' bear). Stella then sang the song "Golden Bear" to the tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle" most of the whole trip. The lyrics, you ask? Golden bear oh golden bear, golden bear, a golden bear. Golden bear, a golden bear.... :) I have it on video somewhere. It will be the next post most certainly.

By mid-week, Scupper started refusing to get back in the van after we stopped for a hike or got out to explore an area. Think he was done with it?

We kept saying how huge the trees were. We felt rather dumb, but each time we would see another one, we would say to each other, wow, that's a big one.

Stella was very good with the potty and her underwear on the trip. She also has a fascination with going in public restrooms, much to my hygiene chagrin. Every time we came out of the bathroom, whether it was at the campground or out in about, she was shout to whomever was outside, "I just went on the big girl potty!"

We loved Northern California. If anyone has jobs for us up there, let us know. We are ready to move. Preferably Sonoma County, north of the Bay Area.

Camping Trip

The Digital Age

More about the awesome trip to the Redwoods and back later, but today so I don't forget it:

Okay Stella! Let's go take Scuppy on a walk. He's waiting. We'll take the long way so we see all the different horses on the way.

Stella: (picking up her play phone) Hello?

Who are you calling?

Stella: (matter of factly) The Horses.

Oh.

Stella: Lucy? Hi. We coming to see you!

Brilliant. Nice to know that Lucy the neighborhood pony is on AT&T wireless.

EDITED:
Stella has also been saying "Yes indeed" and "yes Ma'am" to us when we ask her things. It's rather odd. She draws out the Yes, so it turns into "Yesssss... (pause) indeed!" Steve has been trying to explain to her that he is not a "ma'am" but rather a Sir, so last night's respond turned into "yess..... sir ma'am." Ah well, at least she is inclusive.

Attempting to go where no man... oh who are we kidding?

So on Friday night, we leave for a week's vacation. This is weird for us, because since Stella has been born (and hell, let's be honest, since I think 2005?) our vacations longer than a long weekend have been to visit family. Not that this has been bad - it has actually been lovely, but the locations are still to places that we've been before - Southern Illinois, Delaware, Chicago. The other trips Steve and I have taken in the last few years have been solo flights - and either to conferences (oh thrilling) or interviews (even more thrilling). Our trip in 2005 was a week long trip up to San Francisco and back (funny enough, the first 2 days were in San Fran because of a conference!) but the rest of the week was spent in Napa, Sonoma, and the Big Sur and Central Coast.

We are attempting to revisit some of this coastline, but intend to high-tail it pass the Bay Area and make it to at least Eureka. (which is about 1 hr south of the CA/OR border). See, the Vanagon needs to go through the big Redwoods, snake through the Avenue of the Giants, and stop by some NorCal microbreweries that might have outdoor seating that will accommodate a TODDLER AND A DOG. (pretty funny, eh?)

Yep. I'm a little trepidatious. 9 days in the VW with a dog (who currently has the runs and we are hoping is better before Friday) and a toddler who, frankly, is really happy everywhere as long as she gets a nap and sleeps well. We are hoping for the best. I mean, it's not like we are planning on stealth camping (like that would EVEN be possible) and we are certainly not going away from civilization, as we have planned our route to hit the various campgrounds along the way, or as one VW forum member calls them "pay per view sites." We have no aspirations to do major hiking. We have no aspirations that we will sleep well every night. We have no aspirations that there will be no crying, or bug bites, or at least one crazy poopy blowout diaper.

But that's ok. We are adding a big trip to the already full "family vacation camping lore" that surrounds the Germonskis. And one little girl is VERY excited. In fact, today when faced with crappy choices at Kmart (our only box store for 45 minutes around here) she started to cry that they didn't have any camp chairs her size. "I want a geen one Mama!" We're working on it. At least somewhere along the way, there has got to be a Target, right?

So if anyone has a favorite camp meal (since I won't be doing my regular gourmet chefing on this trip!) let us know. And cross your fingers, say a prayer, or a thought of inspiration - whatever strikes you - next week when you think, god, I wonder if those Germonskis are surviving that crazy trip?

Stars Mama, Stars!

It has been a busy few weeks. And I dare say, Miss Stella is in love with the outdoors even more than she was before.

A few weekends ago (but sadly, it feels like months) we met some dear friends from San Diego at a campground about an hour away. We were rather nervous - it was supposed to be in the 90s during the day and the 90s with 2 dogs, 5 adults, and one toddler didn't sound great to me... but the weather gods looked down on us with pity and gave us a breeze, a fully shaded campsite - and the best part of all - a creek running through it. So Steve and I did something we have never done before on a camping weekend. We hung out at the campsite the whole dang day. Sitting/walking/wading in the creek keep the heat index from feeling like it really was 90, and of course, said toddler was happier than a pig in... well, happier than a toddler could be. I'm also happy to report that there were no real camping mishaps - maybe with the addition of other families we were saved from the camping curse we seem to invite.

Yes, that's a rubber chicken next to her - dog toys often end up as Stella toys at some point in the day.

Stella also helped contemplate the next repairs needed on Melanie and Apryl's bus:

And found a new friend in their dog... (about this she was pretty stoked as Scupper, although a very good boy, refuses to let Stella pet him)

Is that camping happiness or what? Actually, when we finally arrived in the driveway from the weekend away, Stella sat firmly in her car seat and wouldn't get out. Stella, we're home. "No, I don't want be home. More camping. More camping." Guess we made a convert.

********************

In other Germonski adventure news, we traveled up to Chico to visit Steve's extended family. Steve's mom is the oldest of 6 and 5 of the siblings converged on his aunt's house for a weekend of fun family stories, great cooking, and, the best part for Stella, lots of great aunties who wanted to snuggle, sing "Twinkle Twinkle," read books, and listen to 4-6 word sentence stories. Sadly, we forgot to take a single picture. Yes really. 

We did however drive to Chico in the dead of night so that Stella would sleep in the car and we wouldn't have to figure out how to entertain her for an 8 hour car ride. This involved lots of caffeine. To make Stella understand what we were doing, I explained to her that we were going to Auntie Gloria's when the moon popped up and the stars came out. "Baby stars too?" she asked, as we readied for bed, and Steve packed the car. Yes, sure, baby stars. We woke her up at 10pm and put her into the car, thinking that she would fall back to sleep. I wish I could capture the wonder on her face as we drove out of the driveway in the dark of night, the sparkle in her eyes as she marveled at the moon and all the stars (mama and baby ones) as we headed towards the freeway. She ended up staying up in the backseat for at least 45 minutes, just marveling at the night sky. To be that honest with emotion, to be that joyful at something that we tend to take for granted, to be so entranced with a late night getaway... I hope I can remember it and tell her about it when she is older.

That being said, since we returned home, she keeps asking about getting up in the middle of the night when the moon pops out and the baby stars come out. Oops.