uh oh

guess who is army crawling something fierce?

guess who is sitting up and then crawling and then sitting up all on her own?

guess who just decided that maybe she could even try to pull herself up?

uh oh. there goes the neighborhood.

and maybe the Christmas tree....

Fabric

A friend of my parents' daughter is expecting twin girls in January. Eek. I have been piling away Louisa's old clothes, wondering what to do with them, wondering if I should save yet another round of clothes for...

And then I decided that I'd just save the gender neutral stuff and give it all to her. I mean, twin girls? She is going to need some stuff. I packed the pile of everything from 0-6 months last night. And I couldn't believe how emotional I became. Over some clothes. They are just clothes right?

I remember each piece. Who gave it to us. If it was new for Louisa, or if it was a hand-me-down from Stella... or even if it was a hand-me-down from our gracious benefactress of hand-me-downs... Some of those sleepers snuggled 3 girls. And now, they might snuggle two more.

Why did I get emotional over some clothes? For someone that has researched the power of iconography for the last 7 years, I should certainly know about how memories can be stored in inanimate objects. But as I slowly and methodically folded up tiny onesies, sleepers that will never fit Stella or Louisa again, tears slowly melted down my cheeks... the clothes a tangible reminder of how we can never return. How we can never stop the clock. How our children move and change so quickly that even photos, even this blog narrative, cannot stick them in time; pause time; stop time.

Steve said to me yesterday how much fun he is having being home with Louisa. His throat stuck as he said he never got to have this much time with Stella when she was a baby... and yet, my throat stuck as I am not getting the time with Louisa.... although I supposed it's only fair. Both the girls are infinitely lucky that they have had the time with a parent -- and in some ways, it's wonderful that each got to bond with us in different ways. Stella still prefers me, hands-down, to Steve when things are tough, when it's 5 in the morning and she can't sleep, when she needs a big hug. Louisa, on the other hand, was a cranky pants at 3am, and Steve was the only one that could get her back to sleep.

It's not that I want them to stop changing, stop growing. In fact, each new developmental change with Stella, although sometimes PAINFUL in the transition, has been a wonderful discovery for us. The ways in which she learns, the ways in which she conceptually thinks through her world. And I look forward to it with Louisa. Even now, she's already saying "mama" and "dada" - and sometimes, just sometimes, I think she gets what she's saying when she says it, instead of it just being a string of babbling syllables.

We put up white Christmas lights around the yard this past weekend and I said to Stella last night that it reminds me of a piazza. I explained to her the concept of an Italian piazza and we showed her some pictures on Google. Thirty minutes later she asked to go outside to enjoy the night and the "what's the town mommy? the square? you know?" At first I was confused and she started to cry that she couldn't remember what she wanted to say. "Oh, you mean, you want to go outside in the piazza?" Oh yes, the piazza, she replied, tears wiped away, and happy that she had discovered/re-remembered a new word.

"Isn't it lovely, mama?" she asked.

Yes my love. It is lovely. All of it.

Fashionista

Stella looked at the full moon on our walk home from the playground. She said, I want to go to the Moon someday. I told her that she probably could - and then if she wanted to be a scientist or an engineer, then that might prepare her to be an astronaut who could go to the moon.

I don't want to be an astronaut.

Why? I asked. I just don't. Hmm, well, you need to be an astronaut to go to the Moon (I decided that getting into the privatization of the space program might be a little over her head).

I don't like what they wear.

Huh?

I don't like white. I don't like the white suits.

Oh- the white space suits?

Yes, I don't want to be an astronaut and wear the white suits.

Um, okay, Stella, maybe when you're old enough to be an astronaut, the suits will be blue.

Or purple?

Sure, or purple.

Okay, then I'll be an astronaut and go to the moon.

Awesome.

Listening

Whoever said that the twos were terrible had not got to the threes. Let's just say that age 3 to 4 is tough. I think I've complained, I mean, mentioned about this before. Lately, our problem has been listening. Stella, can you please sit in your chair at dinner (her record lately has been 3 minutes. ugh). Stella, it's time for a bath, can you come up with Mommy? Stella, it's not time to jump on your bed; you need to get your underwear and pajamas on. Stella, it's time to go potty before bed. I feel like all we're doing with her lately is harping on her, but it seems that we have to say things 3..4...7... times before she does anything.

So the other night, we were calmly piled in our bed, reading books before bedtime. It had just been a tiring evening of getting her to eat dinner, sharing toys with her sister (don't even get me started on that. Poor Louisa is lucky sometimes if she gets a rattle to play with), and the bathtime routine. Steve started to tell her about Santa. Stella's pretty interested in Santa this year. In fact, the day after Thanksgiving, she told me very seriously, "Mommy, I believe it's almost Christmastime!" We don't even have a TV, but man, advance Christmas commercialism has even got her too.

So, Steve said, you know who only gets presents at Christmas?
"Me?"
No, Stella, only girls and boys that are behaving good. Listening at school to their teachers, listening to their parents, doing the things that they ask when they ask them.
"Oh."
So Stella, if you'd like Santa to come this year and give you presents, then you need to start listening to your parents. We need to see your good behavior so we can tell Santa that you deserve presents.

(beat)

"Okay, I will happily start listening tomorrow."

Steve and I did all we could do not to burst out laughing.

- - -

In other news, Louisa has started army crawling. And finding all the minuscule minutia on the floor. Like tiny pieces of fluff from Scupper's stuffed animals. Like a piece of a tennis ball. Like a flake of oatmeal. Really? All of these things on our off-white carpet? Seems that besides vacuuming twice a week, we'll need to get down on the floor with our eagle eyes and be careful. It's amazing how soon we forget about the whole baby-proofing the house.
- - -

A few weeks ago we escaped 30 minutes out to the desert to Red Rock Canyon. While still a pile of sand and rock (as is most of Las Vegas, plus tacky hotels and concrete), the warmth of the sun, the openess of the sky, and the brisk air was refreshing. Stella did the whole hike herself (new sneakers are awesome motivators) and enjoyed watching the climbers traversing the rocks.

my sweet little one

How is it that the poor second child doesn't get enough blog time like her big sister? I fear this might always be the case with the most chill one of our bunch. She's been the most calm part of our family since she breezed her way into this world. She never really cries, and when she does, you know that she needs something really bad. Otherwise, it's the occasional fuss. It has been a joy to watch her come into her own in the last few months. It's as if after six month, babies find a personality, or maybe it's that we finally find their personality that they have already always had. Louisa may be easy going, but she is determined. In the past two weeks, she's learned to army-crawl. And her ability to zero-in on something she wants has never been more clear. That speck of dirt across the floor? I want it. and bam. She's there. That toy that is completely out of reach? Got it. Those carrots? No thank you, I'm done with you shoving them in my face and they are now splattered across the tray and then the floor.

Yet all of this determination is done with such joy, such verve, that it's hard to be frustrated. She cackled last night in our tug of war over the warm washcloth that I was trying to use to wipe away those carrots. Cackled with joy - calculated joy, I feel, but none the less, happiness. In the middle of the night last night, she was fussing, and when I came in, her face lit up in the night-lighted darkness, and a giggle issued from her mouth. Oh good! Mommy's here! Awesome! It was hard to be frustrated that she was up, as usual, at 2:45am.

Unlike her sister was at this age, Louisa babbles constantly. Certainly, she has to keep up with Stella's talking and singing, and the "ba-ba-ba-ma-da" comes out of her mouth a lot. In fact, yesterday in the car ride home, Stella yelled at one point, "Louisa stop it!! I don't want to listen to you anymore!" ha. Taste of your own medicine, my dear. I don't think we'll ever have to worry about Louisa talking late.

Experiencing this baby, this time around, has been so much sweeter, in some ways. Steve and I keep trying to remember whether we felt so loopy around Stella, so in love. And of course, I'm sure we were. But we were also neurotic, and scared, and confused, and un-sure parents. While we fawned over our first born (and certainly still do) I feel in some ways wonderfully blessed to experience babyhood again, from a more learned, more relaxed perspective. Louisa, my love, you are a joy.

best things this week

listening to Snow White in the car:

the witch says to the huntsman, "Now take her out to the woods, and kill her!"

Stella says, "Oh, that is going to hurt her feelings..."

 - - -

my mom visiting for a week to help with the girls while I was at a conference. best mom ever. best husband ever for handling the girls and mother in law.

- - -

watching Stella and Louisa laugh together at the dinner table, sitting next to each other in matching chairs, albeit that Louisa's has a cushion and a tray.

- - -

hearing Louisa BELLY LAUGH at Stella playing peek-a-boo with her over the lip of the tub. seriously, BELLY LAUGH.

- - -

getting completely soaking wet as the girls take a bath together and Louisa sits in her bath chair splashing Stella full force with her legs, laughing the whole time. I am loving watching the siblings interact. it can only get better... of course, until they are older and then fight incessantly. let's postpone that as long as we can. splashing in the tub might help.

- - -
watching Stella put on a full-fledged dance show on our bed after reading books, while Steve and I practically fall asleep as she sings and dances. It wasn't worth trying to stop her. we just figured she would tire herself out eventually. 8 minutes in to Bob Fosse Presents, Stella stops abruptly, says "i'm tired." goes and pees one last time, and looks at me and says, "Mom, are we singing or what?"

- - -
watching Fox News and Karl Rove look like total idiots as the President is re-elected.

- - -
as you can see, trying to find the joy in the crappiness that is las vegas. I may still have 65 papers to grade this weekend, but who cares? I was up at 5:15am and I'm headed to bed. Shakespeare is going to wait until tomorrow.

anon.

At least they are still "dancers"...

My mom introduced Stella to Disney's The Little Mermaid when we visited this past August. In fact, I believe she made my father save an old tv/VCR combo just so that they could watch the old VHS tape together when she was old enough. "Enough" means that they still had to fast-forward through the Ursula song (because a creepy old octopus that sings in a minor key is still a bit much for a 3 year old), but overall, Stella was enthralled.

On our first trip to the local library here, Stella found the CD section that was stocked with tons of children's music - quite wonderful actually. She found the soundtrack to the Little Mermaid, and so we checked out, only to listen to the same 5 songs (sans Ursula's) on the way to school and the way home --- EVERY DAY. When we finally had to return the CD, Stella found a whole section of Disney CDs entitled "Songs and Stories" and found Cinderella - which of course, she labeled as "Look Mommy, the dancer from my nighttime diapers I used to wear!" These CDs (and we have since checked out Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, and today, picked up Beauty and the Beast and Brave) have 4 songs from the film on them, and a female narrator that "tells" the story from the film, with snippets of the actual movie dialogue thrown in. They are basically story tapes, and conveniently, are about the length of our drive to school, give or take a few minutes.

I have now listened to Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and Snow White UMPTEEN times. I rather miss listening to NPR on the way to work in the morning... but as soon as I turn the key in the ignition, I hear from the back seat, "put on Sleeping Beauty Mommy." In one respect, I'm a bit over it. I was and continue to be always wary of the whole Disney Princess phenomenon, and the message that it sends to young girls. Look pretty and the first man you meet will end up being a handsome prince who wants to marry you, no matter what he has to do - battle evil witches, kiss you even though you look dead and have been living with a bunch of dwarves... even Cinderella, who has to put up with a evil stepmother, gets off because of some pretty awesome mice who unlock her attic door. Or, at least, according to Disney.

On the other hand, at 3 1/2, Stella (luckily) isn't really getting the whole "get the prince because you are beautiful" story line. And listening to the tapes over and over again has begun to increase her vocabulary. Yesterday, she told Steve she was going to "swiftly run" through the house. "Swiftly?" I asked. "Yes, swiftly." (I think that's from Sleeping Beauty). She even started a bit of literary analysis this week while listening to Snow White. "Mommy, the evil Queen is a lot like the mean stepmother in Sleeping Beauty." I'm not sure if she meant that the voices sound the same or that the characters are the same, but I'll content myself with the latter. She asked last week why the stepmother was not nice, and I explained about how stories like these needed an evil character or nothing interesting would happen (aka dramatic conflict). Because of these stories, she has also been asking questions like "what is killed?" and "how we die?" which are a bit harder to explain in her terminology, but I've been trying my best.

Another boon, because she has been enthralled with listening to these stories, I decided it was high time we started chapter books at bedtime. We haven't tackled it every night, but I'm happy to say we are half way through Charlotte's Web, and I couldn't be more pleased to move away from short picture books for the time being. Sniffle... she's growing up... sniffle... and at least for now, she still thinks the princesses are "dancers" so we'll keep that up.

----

In other news, last night after I put her to bed, I put in the oven a tray of frozen cookies. (I make a full batch when I make the batter, and freeze half in little balls so that we can put a tray in when we're feeling like we need a cookie fix later in the month). After the cookies came out of the oven, I heard her tromping upstairs. Stella? Why are you still up? I had to pee, Mom. -- then she looks me straight in the eye and says in a sneaky lilt to her voice "I smell something yummy!" I had to hide my smile and told her it was a vanilla candle to cover up the fish smell from dinner. "Well, it smells like something else here in my room!"


----
Why do I feel like such a supermom when I can take Stella and Louisa places by myself? It is because it feels so exhausting to do that, and when I can accomplish it successfully, I feel like I deserve a pat on the back. I know that's silly, but on Saturday while Steve was at a conference, I took them both to a farm (vegas has farms??) to pick apples (apple orchards? in vegas??) and pumpkins. Picture me. Stella holding my hand. Louisa in a hiking backpack. I have a bag with the camera and a lunch box, a pumpkin, and 8 pounds of apples. No wonder people were looking at me like they felt sorry for me. Of course, then I realized when I got back to the car that we do own a stroller. A good one in fact. One that could have easily navigated the rocky terrain. Idiot.

 Louisa is like, Mom, really? We own a stroller.

 Luckily, Stella was MORE than happy to pick a small pumpkin.

 Such a movie star look.

Pumpkin patch picture fail because of them facing into the direct Vegas sun.

So I redeemed myself when we got home. Headbands compliments of Grandmum and Grandpa. (And they even like wearing them!)

A very merry unbirthday

I think, if I were to look back over the blog posts from sometime in October of last year, I might find a posting about "where has my awesome daughter gone and who replaced her with Zool?" A friend calmly explained last year that 1/2 birthdays are the worst times for kids under five and not to worry - it will get better when she turns 3. Well, here we are again at another 1/2 birthday and Stella has turned in Zool.

Well, not exactly the monster from Ghostbusters but rather an opinionated little snot.
- Mommy, I am NOT eating that dinner. (pushes it away across the table to the point of almost knocking it off)
- Mommy, I don't like that shirt. I am not wearing it. Eewww.
Stella, please put your shoes on. "No." What did you say? "No no no no not ever ever ever for you ever again!!!"

Needless to say, Stella has recently learned about the "uncooperative chair." (We borrowed the phrase from the Kevin Henkes mouse books, and by god, if any of you know them, Stella is Lily. She is. No doubt.)

Steve and I find ourselves looking at her and saying "Excuse me? What did you say?" Somehow, in the course of 4 weeks, she has learned to talk back, but when we tell her that talking back to your parents isn't nice, she doesn't seem to understand the concept of "talking back" and then we have to go into the whole discussion of what that means and by then, the moment's past and she's off doing something else.

The other night, the 'no's" escalated so much that I finally say, Stella, if you can't do something for me, then I'm not going to do anything for you. I'm not going to make your Halloween mermaid costume. As soon as it came out of my mouth, I realized that maybe I had gone too far. Stella looked at me, with a bit of tears welling in her eyes and said "Mommy, you just broke my heart."

Thanks Stella. Way to make a Mommy feel awesome. Damn. She's going to be an actor, I just know it. I think we jinxed ourselves by naming her Stella.

A mom at an indoor playground last week assuaged my fears and told me, it's ok. The day he turned 4, everything got better. Really, the day he turned four. Okay, April 16, 2013 here we come.

- - -
In other news, Louisa magically turned 6 months already. All in one week, she turned 6 months, got an ear infection, started "Stranger danger," started "I only want Mommy," and is teething. Oh, and she refuses to eat solid food. We've tried avocado, sweet potatoes, and carrots. Not interested in anything. Tonight I'm banking on peas, but I have a feeling I'll still be shot down.

Last week we went to Lake Mead for some semblance of "beach time" which we so desperately miss. I was sitting on a beach chair under the awning off the van hanging out with Lulu while Steve splashed in the water with Stella. Louisa was fascinated with my hat and kept trying to take it off my head. When she finally succeeded, she looked at me and laughed the biggest belly laugh ever, like "ha ha Mommy, I won!"

Et tu Louisa? Boy, are we in for it.

To have or have not

So I'm not going to blame Grampy... okay, I'm going to blame Grampy. See, when we were visiting the Delaware grandparents for two weeks following our crazy move to Las Vegas, Grampy thought it was awesome that Stella loved ice cream. In a cone. Preferably from the DQ. We didn't have a DQ in Santa Barbara, much less desserts every night. (We did make our own ice cream, which Stella would enjoy, as well as lemon ice... but besides the general banana bread/muffin thing we do, dessert wasn't a usual occurrence). But Las Vegas has a DQ. Lewes has a DQ. and Grammy and Grampy always had some sort of snack hanging around the house after dinner to enjoy.

Let's just say Stella took a liking to dessert every night.

Let's also say that Mommy and Daddy did not. It's not that we forbid sugar in the house - on the contrary. Friday morning Stella told me at 6am that she wanted scones for breakfast. But dessert every night for a girl that is very affected by sugar? Ugh.

So lately during dinner the usual fight is "if i eat all my dinner, can I have ice cream?" or "After dinner I will still be hungry so I will need ice cream" -- this is usually spouted when her plate is still full of food. Some nights, we give in. Usually those are the nights when she ends up eating most of her dinner, there is minimal whining and crying throughout the day, and we don't even have to ask. Those are the nights that I feel should be rewarded. However, there have been one or two nights when the pleading for ice cream gets so intense (and the food consumption so little) that we put our foot down, to rivers of tears and "I won't ever ever like you again" (the newest phrase).

Last night Stella started whispering. What Stella, I asked? She kept whispering.  What are you saying, I asked again.

"Oh, I'm just whispering that I want ice cream after dinner. If I whisper and you can't hear it, then you can't say no."

Well played.

Almost 6 months

Tutu by Stella.

Tie dye by Mommy.

Cuteness by Louisa.

Growing up too fast

Stella gets her big girl bed in less than 48 hours. I know, she's almost 3 1/2, but darn if she had no desire to crawl out of her crib before she was three... so we left her in it. And when Louisa was born, we took off the side and made it a "toddler bed" and she's been sleeping in it that way since then. We had to wait for Mommy to get her first paycheck before we took the plunge and she's been more than patient.

We picked out sheets today. I was rather proud of her and instead of going for Hello Kitty or the "Dancers" (that's what she thinks the Disney Princesses are), she picked out Target brand sheets with horses all over them. We even found matching vinyl decals for the walls (so worth the $10) and now her horse fantasy can be complete.

Two weeks ago we ran out of nighttime pull-ups and I just said, hey Stel, I"m not buying you anymore diapers, so let's just try not peeing in your bed tonight, what do you think? And holy cow, she did it. Since then, we've only had one accident, and I think that was my fault because I forgot to remind her to pee after reading books.

It's seem a bit unreal that we're at the "sleeping in a real bed, with underwear" phase already. (It also seems crazy that Louisa will be six months old in a week, but let's not go there yet. I'm not ready to start making baby food again).

There are days when she is so incredibly mature, I forget that she's 3. This morning, after waking up at 5:20 am(!!!) she informed me that she wanted to make scones for breakfast. Scones? Okay. As we were cutting in the butter and getting ready to add the buttermilk, she kept eating pinches of butter and flour. Stella! We don't eat the flour and butter - you know that. And in her best California Valley girl dialect, she looked at me and said, "Mom, I'm three. That's just what I do. I'm three."

Overheard

I don’t want to forget any of the recent gems from Stella’s mouth – so here they are, with little context.

-----

On the car ride from Santa Barbara to Vegas. 9pm at night. Mommy and Grampy are exhausted from trying to soothe two little girls who are tired but not sleeping in their car seats. Louisa finally passes out after nursing in the parking lot of a Mexican cantina off the 405. Seriously folks. Stella is still awake.

“Mommy, let’s count doggies.”

Stella, it’s dark. We can’t see dogs in people’s cars. It’s too dark.

“Mommy, let’s count pretend doggies.”

------------

We go through a tunnel under the airport tarmac every day to work/preschool. There are two tunnels – one with northbound traffic, one with southbound traffic.

On the way home: “I’m a little tea pot short and stout… “ and she sings the rest of the song.

Stella, is that the official tunnel song?

“yes. And this morning, my handle was over here (indicating the left side of her body) so on the way home, I put my handle over here (indicating the right side).

----------

With the recent flooding (great, we arrive just in time for MONSOON season in Vegas) there have been police cars all over directing traffic, etc. We hardly ever saw police vehicles in Santa Barbara so the concept of “police” is new to Stella.

On the way to work: “Mommy! There is a police car. (beat) What do Police do?”

so I try to explain, saying something about keeping people safe, keeping people safe on the roads and stopping drivers that drive too fast, protecting us in our homes and in the neighborhood from some not nice people. I said, so they might take the not-nice people away so they won’t hurt anyone or not be nice.

“Oh, and then the police give them hugs so they will be good again, right?”

Um, yes, maybe the police give them hugs.

Hell, it IS a novel idea, isn’t it?

Superlatives

Neglect. This blog has suffered from severe neglect. But then again, things have been a little loony. (and that's an understatement). I've composed many a blog post in my head at the 12:45am feeding, and yet have not the time to sit and write it... unless of course, I wanted to keep staying up at 12:45am, which is not the case.

So if there are still readers - I'm sorry. I do enjoy the writing of the blog and keeping some record of our adventures and foibles, so I hope to get back on track. There have been many stories and things to write about in the last two months, but today, here is what is on my mind.

Las Vegas is the -est of all the places we have lived for many reasons.
- hottest. Pardon my language, but god damn it's freaking hot here. Dry heat my ass. 110 is 110. and it's freaking hot. Right now it's 106 in the sun on my patio. It was 123 earlier. Now the thermometer was in the sun, but seriously folks, it's just hot. Stella's preschool director said she doesn't guarantee better weather until Halloween. If that's the case, I'm definitely going to be a witch. (or I will leading up to Halloween, if you know what I mean).

- driest. This is the driest place we have ever lived on Earth. It feels like Death Valley. That 106 I mentioned? Yes, and it's 2% humidity. TWO PERCENT. I have never felt that in my life. Nor have our eyes, our noses... Someone in the elevator at work said on Thursday, man, it's humid today, and I started laughing. Humid? You mean like maybe it's up to like 20%? Yes, she said seriously, it's really humid -can't you feel it? No, I said. I grew up on the East Coast. All i got was a curt "oh."

- ugliest. yes, Ugliest. Las Vegas isn't pretty folks. It has wide wide streets, surrounded by concrete walls, each of the stucco look-alike-ticky-tacky houses have concrete fences, and where it is not developed, it's a big dry dirt pile. The skyline is the weirdest thing ever. A black pyramid. A gold tower. A fake Chrysler building. It's just odd, ya'll.

- highest. We're at 2100 feet, and for all of us, that's the highest altitude we've ever lived. Besides the fact that it's so dry (see above) we also need to consume more water for altitude. I know that seems silly, especially for people that have lived in Denver (hi Mom!), but after living at sea level all our lives, this is also a change.

- farthest. This actually doesn't apply to Steve (but I guess from the last 15 years, it does). This is the farthest that I have (and the dog and the girls) have ever lived from an ocean. Even Richmond and Williamstown were only 2 hours. We are now 3 1/2. This is slightly disconcerting.

- dumbest. I guess this one isn't that fair, but in a way, it's true. In the Vegas metro area, only 12% of the population has a college degree or higher. 12%. But then again, I guess they aren't *that* dumb, because I found out from someone at work the other day that one of his students left school because she made $82K as a cocktail waitress at one of the casinos the year before she went back to school... and when she realized that she wasn't going to make with whatever her degree was in, she said whatever to that degree. Maybe I should wise up and become a cocktail waitress.

- biggest. This is the biggest house we have ever lived in together. We have 3 bedrooms, and yet the third bedroom has hardly anything in it - just some boxes, a few things in the closet. We don't really know what to do with the space. It's also the newest house we have ever lived in, and as much as it looks "nice" in that it's "newer" we don't think it's us. It's not our style. Out of the blue in the car ride home from a pool yesterday, Stella said to me, "Mommy? I like our old house in Santa Barbara better." I asked her what she meant? "I just liked it. I miss it." I should have been positive. I should have said something to deflect, but all I could say was, "Me too Stella. Me too." and then I couldn't talk because I had a lump in my throat.

- most diverse. I'm trying to be positive here. Not since New York City have we lived/worked in such a diverse area. UNLV is an incredibly diverse campus and in the evenings at the park two blocks from our house, I have heard Russian, Spanish, Hindi, and a few other languages I couldn't pick out. To me, and for the girls, that's pretty great.

That's my list so far that warrants description. Tackiest also comes to mind, but that's a given. Let's just say our transition in this move was the hardest move Steve and I have ever had to make in our lives. Clearly, we're not over it yet. Coming from one of the most beautiful places in America to one of the ugliest (in my opinion) has been tough. As I've mentioned on the blog before, it's not that we were so tied to the people in Santa Barbara, but our house and our environs really affected our daily lives so intrinsically. We are getting better, but we have not a clue what to do with a dog and young children when you can't go outside during the day. I guess if we had moved somewhere that has a real winter, I would be writing about this in November. What do you do to keep everyone occupied and getting energy out? Coloring, baking (which unfortunately heats up the house), playing with dolls/toys/make believe only last so long. Stella and Steve desperately miss their time every afternoon on our old tree swing,  Scupper misses smelling the horses on our 2+ mile walks (we can only assume), and I miss being able to turn Stella out into the yard whenever being the house gets too stuffy. Steve hasn't ridden a bike in 6 weeks and he's going crazy.

I can only hope that BEFORE Halloween, the weather will turn, we'll start to settle in a bit more, and we will embrace the desert.

Or not.

Bittersweet

Let's be honest. We aren't exactly thrilled about leaving the West Coast and Southern California. Certainly, that's geographically speaking. Steve is more than ready to leave his job and his annoying boss and co-workers. I am ready to finally start a fulltime job in an area where I have been training in for how many years? (oh, 8... right...) However, the thought of being 4 hours away from an ocean is a bit hard for us. The thought of 120 degrees is also a bit overwhelming, when most of our days, YEAR ROUND are 65-70. I'm not trying to brag, just putting it perspective. When you've lived in this kind of weather, this kind of gorgeous fauna, this kind of bluest ocean, it's a little hard to say goodbye. No wonder people in Santa Barbara never leave. Seriously. We have met so many people here that grew up here, or went to college here and NEVER LEFT. EVER. And they even work in crap jobs just to stay here. We didn't exactly understand that when we moved here.

We do now. Although that still doesn't change our other thoughts on this town - that it's elitist. That there is way too much money. That it's conservative. That everyone seems to suffer from a general malaise that makes them do nothing, or if something, very very slowly and with little effort. 

We're looking at Vegas as our "tour of duty." Get in, get out. Get the credits so I can get the next good job. (Or get almost to tenure so I can bargain my way into another university in a better geographical region).  Get Steve his MFA so HE can get the awesome job and get me a spousal hire. This is all conjecture, of course. We could get there and love it. (Not exactly sure on that front... but hey, trying to keep a little positive). I am looking forward to the ease of procuring various goods and sundries. How capitalist of me is that? I miss a good (and cheap) Asian grocery store. I miss Target. I miss affordable thrift stores. I miss tasty, inexpensive restaurants. Apparently, Las Vegas has all of these (esp. the awesome thrift stores. Seriously. I've had a few people tell me that.) Does all of this relate to expense? You betcha. Paradise costs, people. (Although I will be intrigued about the price of produce...) Let's put it in perspective. We have a 2 bedroom, 1 bath house with a 1 car, rat-infested garage. (But we have an expansive yard, porch and deck). In Las Vegas, FOR HALF WHAT WE PAY NOW, we are moving into a 3 bedroom, 2 1/2 bath, 2 car garage house. Seriously? We don't have fight over the bathroom? I don't have to wipe Stella pee off the seat before I pee? Sign me up.

And yet, as I type this, I'm canned 4 pints of vanilla applesauce. From our apple tree. Since last July, I have canned:
- vanilla plum jam
- blood orange marmalade
- bourbon, ginger peach jam
- peach butter
- apricot jam

All from our fruit trees in the yard. I haven't bought lemons or oranges in 2 years. This alone will make it hard to say goodbye.

And then again, I at least have a bunch of jars of jam to remember it every week when I make Stella's peanut butter and jelly.

Pushing buttons

Steve is in his last tech week - albeit a "mini one" where he only has to work until 11pm Tuesday- Thursday this week. Needless to say, I am toast after two afternoons/evenings with the girls by myself. How sad is that? Yesterday went beautifully. Tonight? Stella did about everything she could do to drive me batty. How's this one for cheeky?
After 10 minutes of cajoling her to sit her butt down and eat dinner, only to watch her run around and find everything else to do but that.
- "Stella, I am happy to take your dinner away. And no, there will be nothing later. You need to eat now if you're hungry."
That didn't work... but about 5 minutes later, I'm nursing Louisa at the dinner table, because of course she has to nurse when the proverbial poo is hitting the fan.
- "Mommy? I'm happy to take your water away."
 - "What??"
- "Well, you're not drinking it, so I'm happy to take it away."

I swear that she had a gleam in her eye when she said it, like, you want to play that game Mommy? So can I.

If 3 years old is like this, what is 13 going to be like? Louisa better continue to be an easy child or we have are hands full!

Overdue

There aren’t enough hours in the day.

And when this momma has umpteen things on her to-do list (and then freezes up and doesn’t do any of them because she is so overwhelmed by the amount of things to do) the blog gets ditched.

Which is a shame, because I have written quite a few blog posts in my head over the past month. But I guess I’ll have to be brief and do blog paragraphs instead of individual posts.

#1 – Happy Third Birthday Stella!

I wrote in my head a wonderful letter to you – about how mature you have become, about how much of a helper you are to your little sister (almost too much, as in “Mommy, Louisa needs diapers now. Mommy, you didn’t fill up the wipes. Mommy, I need a burp cloth for Louisa”). How some days I get confused that you are only 3 because I have full conversations with you and then wonder why you melt down at my feet when it’s nap time. How after Louisa’s birth, I truly mourned our alone time – our wonderful almost-3 years that we had, just us three, where I could give you everything of me when you needed it, and how I could hold your hand anytime. How how you transition so beautifully through major life changes – the birth of a baby, the move up to a new preschool classroom, to a big girl bed – and then transition so horribly through the little things – mealtime, naptime, leaving a project too soon. But as is wont to happen with the upheaval of a household, the blog birthday letter is still in my head. But I love you little girl. big girl. big sister. Big heart.

#2 – We’re moving.

Seriously? Yes. Seriously. The week of Louisa’s birth I was asked to an on campus interview at Univ. of Nevada Las Vegas. 15 days after she was born, Steve and I fly there with her so that I could interview all day (and nurse during breaks) and surprisingly, they still hired me. I’m excited about the job (tenure track, assistant professorship, all academic theatre classes, overhaul the academic curriculum and teach graduate students) but we are less than thrilled about the environs.

I mean, when you live in one of the most beautiful places in the country, it’s rather hard to want to move to the desert. You know, in July when it’s going to be 120.

So there’s that. But I guess if we are going to be anywhere, at least Steve (should? will? maybe?) find a job there in his field, and we’re hoping that the following year, he’ll get into the MFA program in the Theatre dept so that he can also have his terminal degree to teach. In four years, we’ll be the theatre teaching power couple, ya’ll.

So our new address is (as of July 25):

8317 Lexford Street, Las Vegas, NV 89123

My dad is a peach and is coming out here to help finalize the move in Santa Barbara and drive through the Mojave through the night with me and the girls. It’s only 6 hours from here, so it won’t be *too* bad, but it will certainly be a shock for all of us on the other head. I think the hardest thing for us is going to be the lack of outside things to do when it’s hot. We don’t know how to operate our day without going outside and doing something. The one who is hopefully going to benefit from the whole thing immediately is Scupper, as the poor pooch has developed a severe allergy to everything garden/lawn related in Santa Barbara and is itching himself raw. Ain’t nothing going to bother him out there!! Except for maybe scorpions.

#3 – Three months already?

Next week, this little cutie will be 3 months old.

How did THAT happen? And for some reason, because of runny poo (don’t ask) I’ve been gluten and dairy free for 10 days… and need to go at least a month.

Hey, I’m willing to do. One, because I believe in breastfeeding, and two, because I’m too cheap to afford formula. but seriously, if this keeps up after a month, I might have to re-question my ideals. I cannot tell you how hard it was last week to walk into an artisan bread and pastry shop and realize that I could not EAT ANYTHING THERE.

But how tacky of me? This wasn’t supposed to be about me bitching about my dietary restrictions. Because that smile up there makes it all worth it. (oh, and realizing that 73% dark chocolate and beyond is dairy free. ;) Louisa is a joy – still the most mild mannered baby a person could wish for. She hardly cries, mostly just fusses when it’s appropriate (early evening, when she’s hungry), and thinks that you blowing raspberries is the bomb. I’ve been doing cloth diapers with her and have also found that hugely satisfying (mostly, again, to my cheap factor but also to realize the lack of trash we have been putting out). She already sleeps better a night at this point than Stella ever did (can we hear a cheer for 4-6 hrs for the first stretch!) and if I’m lucky, only gets up once after that. If this keeps up, I might actually function this fall teaching all my classes.

I’m trying very hard to enjoy my moments with her, as I know they will be finite soon. I’m still wrestling with the whole “I can’t believe I was home with Stella for almost 18 months straight and will only be home with her 5.5” but I also am ready to get back to what I’m trained to do… and being at home with both her and Stella also makes me realize I’m not the best stay at home mom. Trying to navigate the day with both of them some days can be really tough. Although I do give myself personal pats on the back for the days when we get through Trader Joes seamlessly. Two kids? A grocery store full of amazing treats? No meltdowns? Score one for Momma!

So I’ll have to make peace with the fact that they are going into preschool/day care for 4 days a week starting in August, and know that “Mommy Fridays” are going to be the best ever. At least I hope.

#4 Our last California Coast camping trip.

Sniffle sniffle. 5 days in Big Sur was bliss. It was tough, don’t get my wrong. Stella turns into Lord of the Flies when we’re camping, but it was awesome. I will truly miss listening to the pounding of the waves as we fall asleep in the van.

So that’s our recent life. In a nutshell.

So pardon the lack of blog posts for a bit. I’m supposed to be writing a book chapter that is due to an editor by July 15. I’m supposed to be writing a conference paper I have to give on August 4. I’m trying to pack a house. And order textbooks. and write syllabi for 3 new classes. Guess we Germonski’s don’t do anything easy. Because it’s nothing like having a baby, moving, and starting a new job, all in 5 months to make life interesting.

Unintentional Foodies

Stella won’t eat carrots.

But she did eat pasta with gorgonzola cream sauce on it last night.

Stella won’t eat mashed potatoes.

But she does love broccoli pesto.

Stella isn’t a big fan of turkey lunchmeat.

But she does love peppered salami.

And Louisa?

She has started smiling as of late – and most of the time, it’s right before and after she nurses. We start them early here at Casa Germonski.

As seen at the Germonski compound

Don’t touch my croissant.

hi.

The solar eclipse wasn’t nearly as interesting as the lizard our neighbor found.

Jammy day!

my favorite spot.

Seesters?

Stella – approx. 6 weeks

Louisa – approx. 6 weeks

Our night sky…

It seems only fitting that it took me over a month to do this post. But then again, those of you who read this blog already received the news via email (unless your spam filter rejected my message!) Has it really been five weeks? I have caught myself a few times saying, well, my daughter, and then rephrasing, well, my older daughter… or my other daughter. It’s a little odd still. Or maybe that’s just the lack of sleep talking.

Welcome to the blog, Louisa Luna.

You’re actually pretty lucky you have these pictures at all – so rushed into the world were you. It’s a good thing we never signed a contract with that TLC baby show – because “Louisa: A birth story” would never have been filmed in time – nor even filled a one hour show!

I guess, though, your birth story is a bit longer than 45 minutes. It’s actually 4 days. On Sunday, March 25, I made aloo gobi for dinner, an Indian dish that usually is just potatoes and cauliflower, but I added chick peas. Unfortunately, after soaking for 24 hours and cooking for 2, the darn chick peas were still pretty crunchy, and your father and I both remarked that we were destined for intestinal trouble. After dinner and Stella’s bedtime routine, your father climbed in his van, in the rain, and drove 2 1/2 hours to Long Beach, CA to go to a two day rigging workshop, the start of a weeklong conference devoted to technical theatre. He hadn’t been in almost 10 years, and was really excited to go. After reading, I finally went to bed around 11pm and lying there in the dark, experienced some serious intestinal distress, enough to make me writhe around in my bed. Wow, those chick peas, I thought. Little did I know chick peas had nothing to do with my pains.

Tuesday, March 27, I had my weekly doctor’s appointment, and had to take Stella with me as the whole week was “Spring break” at her preschool. I wasn’t seeing my usual midwife, but the older “grandpa” doctor, whom, although a bit quick during appointments, was one of the doctors I actually liked on the staff. Because it was approaching week 38, they checked for dilation, effacement, etc. (I never had these checkups with Stella, as the midwifery program didn’t do those). Stella lay with me on the table, snuggled in close, wondering what was going on. “Um, have you been having contractions?” the doctor asked. “Not that I know of” I responded, and told him about my “intestinal distress.” He then informed me I was over 5 cm dilated and 90% effaced and that he really wanted to admit me to the hospital. What? Seriously? My husband is at a conference in Long Beach, not to come home until late tonight and my daughter is sitting right here. I can’t go to the hospital. Nothing’s going on. He smiled at me and promptly scheduled an induction for the following Monday if I didn’t have the baby before then. Should I call my husband and have him come home early from the conference? He should be home by 10 tonight. “Um, maybe?” the doctor suggested.

Hm. So I took Stella out to lunch after the appointment, thinking that maybe that might be the last time we’d get to do just a mother-daughter special day for quite some time. Steve hopped in the van and headed back through LA traffic to get home by 5pm. However, nothing doing. We went out for Vietnamese food and came home and went to bed. That was the night that I posted my last blog post because I couldn’t sleep from 1am on. Preoccupied? Maybe. Thoughtful? Oh yes.

Wednesday, March 28 my mom arrived in town at 4pm. Knowing that we didn’t have much in the house, I whisked her and Stella to Trader Joes to stock the house for the weekend. We came home, made homemade pizza, and sat around after Stella went to bed, talking about how glad we were that she was here. I remember having a few general waves of pressure? stomach pain? but nothing that felt remotely like a contraction.

Sound asleep, 11:25pm I feel a pop, like a balloon bursting. I turn to Steve, shaking him awake. My water just broke. We need to go.

I methodically walk into the bathroom. Drain. Pee. Blindly find sweatpants in the closet and say, “I’m going to the van. Grab the bag.” I walked out to the van, had a contraction as I climbed in, and sat on the floor of the front seat, pressing my heel into my butt. I think I was trying not to let you come out, because somehow I had a feeling, if I sneezed wrong, you were going to come out on the floor of the van.

Your father arrived very quickly, all bags in tow, my mom notified that we were headed out. I think I had two more contractions on the way there, and we pulled into the main lobby of the hospital. I don’t think I can walk from the parking garage, I told Steve. Let’s just go inside. Hazard lights on, we walked to the front desk. “You’re supposed to go to the emergency room” the security guard told us. “But we were told at our maternity tour to go this way.” “Well, I’m going to have to call for an escort.” I crumple to the ground again, have another contraction in the lobby, and tell him, you know what? Let us go upstairs right now. Another contraction in the hallway to the birth center, one more once in the main center, and then guided to a room.

The nurse, a lovely lady named Michelle, asked me to walk into the bathroom, pee in a cup and put on a gown. Um, I told her, I don’t think we have time for that. Okay, she said, most likely dubious. Let me check you out. A second later – “oh, you’re fully dilated” and she calmly walks to the door of the room, “Um, she is complete. I could use some help.”

Swarm of nurses. Calls to the doctor on call. Steve wonders, should I move my van? Are they going to tow me? They respond, um, I don’t think you have time. (So that of course also means, no camera…)

The nurses prep things, I think I have one more contraction and then I ask if I can push.Sure! The doctor walks in – it’s the older doctor from Tuesday. We both laugh. “I told you I’d see you in here! Guess you got here from Long Beach in time, eh?” he says to Steve.

Three? Four? Pushes and you’re out. Up on my chest – wailing and then inquisitive. Your daddy cuts the cord (spraying blood on the doctor!) and they exclaim, wow, there is a knot in the cord. We both gasp. “It’s an old wives tale, but supposedly, it’s good luck” a seasoned, older nurse says. I am just thankful it wasn’t tight. So your sister was an ‘angel baby’ because she was face up and you should have good luck because of a knot in your cord. We don’t have normal births, do we?

”You’re meant to do this,” the nurse says to me. “Do what?” “Have babies. That was just beautiful to watch.”

I’m not sure if I’m “meant” to have babies, but to be able to lay and hold you, for as long as I wanted, to not have to have been whisked away to surgery (like the first time) was a precious thing. To hold your little squirmy body and feel you settle in, somehow knowing the breathing, the heartbeat, now from the outside as opposed to in, I could hardly keep from crying. Your father and I also both noticed how lovely your head shape was. No offense to your older sister, but she was a conehead… yours? pretty perfect.

What followed was probably pretty typical for hospital stays… a nice new room, nice new nurses, sleep, lots of sleep, and then, the special visit from Grammy and your big sister, who insisted that “dressing up” meant wearing one of her costume dresses. My mom actually called me on the phone before they left, saying, “I can’t get her to take it off. Is that ok? She is insisting on ‘dressing up.’” Of course, because she’s Stella. Of course.

 

There was, of course, lots of snuggle time with Daddy too. Just like your sister, you seem to respond to his slow and steady heartbeat and just fall asleep.

And then it was time. Time to take you home. Time to meet the dog. Time to greet the world.

And now you’ve already changed from those first few hours.

Those first few days.

You’ve already had your first birthday party outing (day 4), your first Easter hunt (you slept through it), your sister’s 3rd birthday (I guess you enjoyed the cake?), your first bath (in the roasting pan, at your sister’s request, because, of course, she was bathed in it too!), first restaurant trip (sushi! why not?), and your first banana bread baking experience (because cooking with Mommy is par for the course around here, isn’t it?)

It might have taken almost 24 hours for your parents to agree on your name… but it was because we wanted to make sure it would be fitting. In my searches, I found variants on what “Louisa” meant – fights with honor // famous warrior // graceful warrior. To me, the ‘warrior’ part seemed fitting. You kicked and pummeled me throughout the entire pregnancy, forcefully reminded us of your presence, even when your sister vied for center stage. And gracefully, you slipped into the world.

As for Luna? Well, we already had our star, so we needed a moon. Though as Juliet says, “O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon” and my dear, we do not swear by you, but yet relish in your grace, your beauty, and your young life ready to be lived.