Growing up too fast

Next Tuesday, Stella starts at a local preschool 3 mornings a week. Okay, it's sort of a preschool and probably more of a daycare at her age, but nonetheless, I ran around Santa Barbara for two weeks looking at different places. We started a month ago with a babysitter at the home two mornings a week so this Momma here could write an article that she is WAY BEHIND on, and after the first week, I realized that 1) a local preschool was actually cheaper than an in-home babysitter and 2) Stella lights up when she interacts with other children, whether at the local playground, the beach, the dog park, etc. So partly motivated by my scant pocketbook, but mostly by Stella's need to socialize, I found a place that is within walking (or biking) distance to place her for a few mornings a week.

And then I freaked out that my baby girl was growing up.

I think what really made me realize that she was now a "big girl" and "going to school" was the need to purchase a lunch bag and small tupperware containers for her lunch. A lunch box? Already? (It's pretty cute, though, isn't it?)

This week we went a few mornings for a "Trial run." I stayed with her for the first day, disappeared for an hour the next day, and tomorrow, she is dropped off for the entire time, with me "on call" in case she melts down. The first day, she never looked back - just hopped into the sandbox with the other children, following them inside for quiet play and snacks, happily grabbed for paint brushes and pipe cleaners, and the like. The second day when I actually tried to leave, it was a little harder, with her wrapping her legs around my middle, crying big tears. (which, i was told, stopped in about 2 minutes after I left). Why do kids make it so hard on us parents? I walked to the local coffee shop with my research, feeling the largest hunk of guilt settling uneasily in my stomach. Steve wondered aloud at dinner last night if she's ready to be "institutionalized" - I asked him what he meant. "Oh, you know, learning to all line up, follow the leader, sitting down to lunch with a group of kids, taking directives... you know, the beginnings of institutionalization." Oh dear, it is as if we live in Communist state or something!

But in some ways, I hear his thoughts. I wonder how my free-spirit, my independent, stubborn, excitable daughter will act each day with a larger group of children. I wonder will she have as much passion for activities or will she stand back and watch? We are all different people in the comfort of our families versus in the company of others.

As I start to label her outside fleece, consider what the heck I'm going to pack in the lunch box, and plan my research agenda for the next few weeks, I want to hold all these moments, these precious toddler moments, in my head, and hope that in 20 years, I don't forget how great this time, being almost two. Sure, she exhausts me like hell, but I think I do secretly love (al)most every minute of it. Maybe this, this feeling, is why people want to have another kid. Not to deal with the terrible twos all over again, but to feel the wonderful twos all over again.

7:20 am, baby in stroller, with a bubble wrap package on her head, all of her own devising. Yep. That's our silly little gal.

Wordless Wednesday (almost)

If Stella were an actor, she'd have a pretty serious headshot.

Never a dull moment...

I've actually  been asked by a friend for a new blog post. My Christmas New Year rather belated holiday greeting recap of 2010 is getting old, but sadly, when the day "ends" at 9:30 at night (aka when Steve and I finally sit down for a breather) chronicling the adventures of the Germonskis seems to be the last thing on my mind. However, if I don't sit and blog a little from time to time, Stella will never have a proper baby book (as the blog so often ends up becoming) and I'll be too old, batty, and senile to remember fondly the moments of her youth.

Like these: another camping trip marred by an event... Dec. 31, 2010 we head to the valley beyond the small mountain range right out of town. 40 minute drive (and that's in the VW!) to a small camping area in the Santa Ynez Valley... just for the night. Just for a try to see what it's like when you actually might get a full night of sleep with a toddler and a dog in a van. Just maybe.

Stella likes the pop top.

 Scupper was cold so we fashioned a "poncho" out of his dog towel.

We brought a little propane heater acceptable for tents and campers that kept us all toasty in the 35 degree nighttime weather, so toasty in fact that Scupper refused to sit outside with us by the fire and instead happily climbed in his usual front driver seat perch to bed down early for the night.


Stella enjoyed marveling at the wonders of gloves, eating by candlelight, and headlamps. At 5:30 at night, we heard a car come racing around the bend near the campground and slam into the utility pole nearest our site. People rushed around, the campground hosts were contacted, and a while later, a police car and ambulance showed up. We did not know what happened to the driver, although the car ended up in the ditch off the side of the road.
              What we do know however is the the aforementioned slamming of said pole caused the electric company to come out and investigate. And when you live in California, and wildfires happen because of downed power lines, you don't mess around. You don't mess around in fact, even on New Year's Eve. You send out guys to replace the utility pole. At 10pm at night. And they come. Because, hell, it's New Year's Eve and they are probably getting like quadruple pay. And they replace the utility pole. UNTIL TWO IN THE MORNING. With chain saws. And jackhammers. And jokes. And loud guffaws. And then Stella wakes up at 5 in the morning because she's having intestinal distress from the campfire dinner of the night before and you just pack up and go back over the mountain. Because hey, it's only 40 minutes, it's 6am, and you are used to camping trips just never going smoothly.

Yep. 5am folks.

************
In the department of 2011 adventures that have gone smoothly, my parents graced us with a wonderful visit for two weeks. I got to play tourist in Santa Barbara with Stella and her Delaware grandparents, and Stella had a ball having two other playmates that were here to do nothing but love on her. The joy that she exuded when they showed up in the morning, the smile across her face at seeing my father and mother elated me to no end - and reminded me why families chose NOT to move 3200 miles away from their kin in years gone by.

 Stella appropriately showed off...

 And tried to use chopsticks

 Snuggled with Grampy

 Had way too much playing with her dolly and Grammy

And rocked out basically every day. Yep. Daughter of theatrical parents right there. No denying that.

*************
One more amusing Stella story... I finally squelched the impulse for people to think I was a neurotic first time mom and went to the doctor to have her evaluate Stella's speech (or lack there of). She suggested for her to get her hearing tested (passed with flying colors) and have an evaluation done by the local center that usually works with children and families with an array of disabilities. I told the social worker on the phone before our first appointment that Stella had 3 clear words that she used often, which, at that point, was true. No, uh-oh, and hi. Occasional words included kick, dig, sit, stick (all related to Scupper, go figure) and when she was feeling blue, mama. At almost 22 months, the woman said we should definitely have a meeting and also scheduled a speech therapist to do a further evaluation.

In the week it took for the therapist to show up at our house, Stella increased her phrases to "more please (or in Stella speak "morah thease") and added a voracious usage of "baby" due to the increased attention paid to her soft doll. When she arrived, although we were in her environment, Stella wasn't into playing the woman's games - she wouldn't talk for her, for me, or even do any of her favorite animal sounds. The woman flipped through a book with photos of everyday life things and asked Stella to either say or point to the picture. "Can you find the book? the ball? the dog?" yes yes and yes. But no words. On the page with food, "Can you show me the cookies?" prompted Stella to think on it a lot. I told the woman that we rarely had them (I think she was little surprised). And yet, the minute she turned to the page with pictures of animals and farm equipment, Stella blurts out "TRACT - TAH"

The therapist looks at me in surprise. So now I'm not sure whether 'tractor' qualified us for therapy or not. ;)

Happy Russian Orthodox Christmas?

Merry Christmas

Happy New Year

Happy Valentines?

Thank you for coming to our blog to read our annual letter, where I try to wittily recap the past year and not sound like we just love to talk about ourselves. At this point, you are probably reading this because you got a postcard in the mail. [Disclaimer: If you didn’t get a postcard, a) it’s probably coming; b) it might never arrive; or c) in my infinite wisdom, I totally forgot to send you one. Don’t think that I ignored you, think that you’re special.] It is a postcard that should have been mailed mid-December, but this year’s holiday card was an epic failure in a myriad of ways… the color copying… the lining up of the back text with the front… the cutter that was not straight… the idiocy of my layout and not realizing that I printed the text on the side where the address should have gone… If you actually got a postcard that “seemed” right, then you got one of the rare ones. It took me about 30 in to realize that I messed up… I was trying to be thrifty and then after going online, realized that those much nicer looking photocards really aren’t that expensive at all… and a hell of lot less hassle. Oh well. Lesson learned. We were going to title our Christmas card "Blue Steel" but weren't sure how many people would get the joke.

But you also didn’t come to this blog to hear me complain about my pathetic attempts to reach out to family and friends via the US Postal Service. You came to see this:

And possibly this:

And maybe even this:

It’s been a full year… Miss Stella Ruth went from being a little roly-poly of a baby to a little girl. In a mere 12 months. It was a year of firsts: first crawl, first birthday, first steps, first ocean swim, first words, first long road trip, first chocolate milkshake. ;) Watching her blossom into the gregarious, albeit mischievous toddler has been a delight. Her personality is ever evolving… she loves reading books, playing in puddles, and tending to her growing collection of stuffed animals. Her relationship with Scupper is a joy to watch, and I can’t help sharing this video of the daily ritual when she wakes up from her afternoon nap:

And although many of you know about the last two firsts for this year, I suppose I should mention then again (maybe just to virtually “pinch” myself that it really happened). I successfully defended my dissertation in November (after packing a house and moving to Santa Barbara the week before) and you may now refer to me as Dr. Z. You may also refer to me as a “tri-athlete” but that might be a bit of a stretch, although my brother and I did a triathlon in September together. We pushed each other all summer to train, and although his success was amazing (44th overall in a field of over 900), my goal was to finish and not be wrecked. I think I achieved my goal:

While I believe that Stella had the most development in her life this year, Steve and I had more than our fair share of stress, I mean, excitement. We both learned a lot from the ever-changing job market. I was asked to a few on-campus interviews this spring and traveling to the East Coast on three separate trips to interview at colleges. While they did not lead to eventual jobs (and in looking back, I think we’re happy with that outcome) it was a very intense and important learning experience in my career: the preparation that goes into an academic job interview, the stamina needed once there on campus, and the reality that I was interviewing them as much as they were interviewing me. I discovered what I like – and don’t like – about higher education, as well as academic theatre, and hope that in the coming years, I will find an institutional home where I am happy.

Steve also had a variety of job interviews, from corporate theater in LA, to an on-campus at a small “hippie” college in Washington, to one at UC Santa Barbara… and obviously, we decided, after many weeks of haggling and debate, to accept. Steve is the resident technical director for the Theatre and Dance department, continuing much of what he did at La Jolla Playhouse, only on a much smaller scale. It’s been an interesting transition for him: he has always wanted to “end up” in educational theater, but it also is hard letting go of the “fun toys” that you get to play with in professional theater (machines, tools, automation) and transfer that gearhead energy into getting 18-21 year olds excited about theater.

Our move to Santa Barbara was bittersweet in many ways. While we had been trying to “get out” of San Diego for the past few years, when we finally made the decision, we realized how many roots we had established in the city, and were sad (and still are) to leave the many friends we had made. Six years was the longest we had lived anywhere since we had left our childhood homes, and I think we are still transitioning. Why is it when you leave something that you finally realize the true depth of what you had? So many kind people helped us pack, load a truck, babysit Stella and Scupper… the outpouring of support was humbling.

This year also saw many visits by family, which was wonderful for Stella and us, considering our families live so far away. My mother came in February for 3 weeks while I wrote a chapter of my dissertation; Steve’s parents and aunt came for Stella’s birthday in April, I went home with Stella in May to finish the last chapter of the diss; we took a brief but fun visit to Lake Tahoe to see Steve’s family again in August; a visit from the Zygmonski clan (all of them!) in September; and then the Gerlachs returned back to California in November to enjoy Stella yet again while I traveled to a 4 day conference in Seattle. Even if I believe we will never live right around the corner from either of our parents (unless ya’ll want to move?) Stella has enjoyed much needed grandparent time this year, and I hope that everyone has the energy to continue to do it. Now that we live in a place even more beautiful than San Diego (yes, it’s true, it really is), I hope that 2011 will see more visits from family – and friends?? Seriously guys, come on out. We have a huge yard, a big deck, and goats, horses, chickens, and turkeys as neighbors!

I think I better end this long-winded letter/blog post. I hope that 2011 proves to be as adventurous and exciting, but maybe not with SO much excitement as 2010. May this missive serve as a virtual hug from us to each of you. As Garrison Keillor always says, be well, do good work, and keep in touch.

SASS Germonski (Steve, Aimee, Stella and Scupper)
(and no, we haven’t officially changed our last name to Germonski. Maybe 2011 will be the year of the Zyglachs, who knows?)

Addendum: 1/10/11... I realized that I did not share any Scupper news! And knowing to whom I sent postcards (Morley Field gang!) some of you might be interested. Scupper has adjusted well to Santa Barbara, although I know he does miss his regular gang of doggie friends. We ran into a cattle dog last week on the trail that looked like a friend's dog and he got all excited for a moment, then when we got a little closer, he realized it wasn't her. It made us a little sad, actually, and reminded us that dogs have "friends" as well and moving away from them is also a transition for them. He loves his big yards, and has had one or two run-ins with the copious amounts of livestock in the area. Let's just say that there is probably no love lost between him and the neighbor's goats, and we've learned a valuable lesson about Scupper's listening skills in regards to horses. (i.e. there is no listening, and keep him on leash near any... he really just wants to sniff their butts, but I guess the horses don't take too kindly to that). We found an old soccer ball on the beach a few weeks ago, and he's now obsessed. Like REALLY OBSESSED. I think even more obsessed than digging for gophers. We have to hide the soccer ball when we're not kicking it around because he'll just bark or whine at it on the front porch until someone plays with him. Otherwise, he is tireless, a great trail hiker, and an even better beachcomber. In short, considering the amount of outside, off-leash play he continues to enjoy in Santa Barbara, I think Scupper has had a pretty good year. ;)

Excitement of the season

Posting pictures of Christmas almost seems too late at this point... but we were so busy doing things here that I haven't had much time for blogging. A few pics from Christmas day should suffice...

Scupper awaits the possibility of three loaves of freshly baked French bread. Seriously. He sat in the kitchen for at least an hour, hoping one would fall... or we'd be suckers enough to cut some and give it to him.
 
 Mommy seems surprisingly happy in this shot. Not sure why. It was 7am.

 The hit of the morning? Goldfish crackers in Stella's stocking.

 A new puppet becomes a fast friend

 Pensive reindeer.

With Steve home almost the whole time between Christmas and New Year's, we tried to get out of the house and explore. Since that usually means anywhere we can take the WHOLE family, we went on a few hikes. These are from the Mesa very near our house on Christmas Eve day. Stella was a little too excited about the mud puddles.

We also took a hike the day before New Year's Eve up through an area north of snooty Montecito called the Cold Springs Canyon trail. After the six straight days of rain, the "Cold Springs" were full and rushing, and waterfalls abounded.

 

Scupper got to try out his new Christmas present - a doggie day pack. We have wanted to get him one for awhile - and thanks to website clearance outlets, here it is. This time, we didn't fill it with much except for poo bags (just to get him used to it) but after a minute of wondering what the hey was on his back, he ignored it the rest of the hike. Next time, he's carrying water - but maybe not our snacks. ;)

 At the top of a VERY STEEP climb, where Mommy temporarily freaked out that she was going to dump herself and her daughter down the hill.

 But the view was worth it.

 Someone, however, did not make it back to the van awake.

I don't know if i have the energy right now to recap yet another camping fail.... or partial fail, but I'll get to that story soon.

And for those of you that read this blog and wonder, wow, those Germonskis slighted me this year and never sent me a holiday card. And theoretically, I guess you'd be right. This year's holiday postcard was a bit of a printing failure as well as a "get it in the mail in time" failure... but I do have a stack of postcards sitting here next to my desk with a cute picture of Stella on them... so at some point you'll get them... some evening when I actually have energy to address and stamp them... and at the rate we're going in 2011, I might as well save them for 2012.

When life gives you 5 days of rain and counting...

You do what any self-respecting owner of rain gear does.

Go out in it.
Because if you don't, your dog and toddler will DRIVE YOU CRAZY IN THE HOUSE ALL DAY.

Friday: walk in stroller to see what horses do in the rain (answer? pretty much the same thing they do in the sun)
Saturday: beach, complete with toddler in pack, umbrella, chuck-it, and rain gear/boots
Sunday: Mommy gets to go to yoga (YEA!) and Daddy takes the clan to the Mesa. Stella comes home wet to her core and loving every minute. Steve informs me that she was in puddles up to her knees.
Monday: Beach again. gusting winds prevented chuck it but driftwood did the trick.
Tuesday: Douglas Preserve - and Stella gets an early Christmas present (thank you UPS). I ordered her rain pants and rubber boots a week ago (before I knew monsoon season had come to SoCal) to help with the dewy mornings we have here. With rain paints, I had hoped I would need to soak her pants in Oxyclean every night because they were covered with mud. Little did I know they would come in handy.

Other than that, we made lemon flax seed muffins for the postman, played tons of ball in the house, sat on the potty,

and sorted a lot of things from one cup to another. Stella is into sorting these days. While she sorted, I was into ants. Well, more like an OCD rampage on all the ants that decided to come up from wherever they live and infiltrate the corners of my living room, mantle, fireplace and Christmas tree. Bastards. oh sorry. I know this is a family blog, but this is war my friends.


In other news, Stella discovered a new way NOT to eat dinner. When asked to put it in her mouth and eat, she puts whatever into her mouth, turns to the side, and opens her mouth, dropping her food on the floor to an awaiting Scupper. I had to be careful because I almost laughed at the ingenious plan she had realized, but then I knew if I laughed, dinner was done for. Scupper, however, is delighted with this new agreement.

Oh - and I forgot to post this picture of Steve in his most proud moment recently - the way we got the tree home from the local farmer's market. (in a stand, on the bike rack, off the back of the camper). If we'd only had lights with us, we could have decorated the tree right then and there.

The Mommy Mystique

Yesterday, I was thinking about how I felt I had to admit on the blog the newest episode of "Bad Mommy." This one involves Stella's recent introduction to foods I said I didn't want to her to even know about... and within the span of two weeks, she was enjoying all.... First, we made chocolate chip/raisin oatmeal cookies, and then for the week that they lived on the counter in the ziploc bag, she pointed to the spot and signed "more." I actually think by the end of the week, it was the cookies that actually got her to start saying the word "more" because i started to coyly ignore the sign language and would instead direct her towards a rice cake. Then last Thursday Steve won a small victory at work (WOOHOO!) and we all went out to eat... and, since it's Santa Barbara, about the only place we could afford (and take Stella to) was the local burger joint. Stella was finally introduced to french fries and chocolate shakes, which SHE INHALED. She likes "dipping" things - and usually at home we dip broccoli in yogurt. Here, she happily downed most of our shared french fries complete with dipping them in mayo (the way Mommy likes them, thanks a lot Belgium).  Then this weekend I made spritz (or press) cookies to give out at a holiday open house (which i will NEVER DO AGAIN I HATED THE DAMN PRESS MACHINE OH NOW I KNOW WHY IT WAS SO CHEAP AT THE THRIFT STORE AND LOOKED LIKE IT HAD BEEN USED ONCE!) Woosh. Sorry. Me and those press cookies had a talking to.

But in the span of 10 days, my breastfed for 14 months, homemade baby food slurping, curried lentil soup and brown rice eating toddler had chocolate cookies, french fries, sips of a milkshake, and sprinkle butter cookies. and loved every minute. So I was kinda feeling like a bad mommy.

And then I started ready this book I casually picked up at the library last week. Even June Cleaver Would Forget the Juice Box. Basically, I'm two chapters in... and regardless that the academic in me is a little annoyed at the breezy writing at times (I know, I know, not everything has to be Derrida), it speaks to a lot of things that have been going through my head now that I'm a stay at home mom. She writes that although our mothers may think that we have it "easier" in the age of juice boxes, snack traps, and disposable diapers (not to mention video monitors!), we actually don't. We have so many societal pressures that (for starters) validate women ONLY if they are mothers (as if that is the ideal for every woman, which it's obviously not) and that as mothers, we are the ones responsible for our children's outcome in life, and that every little thing we do now might screw them up for the rest of their lives... and the pressure, anxiety, and eventual guilt that falls upon our shoulders is extreme. She writes that we need to think of ourselves not as perfect, but perfectly good. As in, those shoes are perfectly good and they will last two more seasons. As in, you can be a perfectly good mom and still have a kid that has a meltdown by the fish counter, sticks broccoli up her nose, and eats dirt. (Um, where DID i get those examples from? ;)

So I think reading the rest of the book might be helpful. I think social networking and media (such as this very blog) are even to blame in some way. Many of us don't write about the hard weeks, the crappy days, the nights spent sleeping a mere 3 hours because of teething, ear aches, etc. We share the good moments, such as first steps, first ABCs, but not the worries of a daughter who still has about 5 intelligible words at 20 months... Anxious? You bet I am. But do I have to stop trying to compare? To compete? To worry about not catching up? Yes. The first week I was here in Santa Barbara, I found a blog by a woman who designs sewing patterns (and knits and embroiders and crochets, etc etc) and is a certified Montessori teacher. She had some great patterns that I have stashed away (when I'll find the time, I am not sure...) but I also read through all the projects she did with her son, the same age as Stella. There were no plastic toys in the house, only wood and natural products, she had a "discovery bin" for him each day with rocks, fabrics of different texture, found objects, etc. Naturally, I kept reading through feeling so inadequate about what I was doing with my daughter each day. Both my mom AND my aunt had to get my out of my funk. I was comparing, buying into the "mystique" of the new extreme Mom, one who seems to be able to do it all.

Today, we shared in the joy that is the beach on a cloudy day. Scupper ran and chased a tennis ball, delighting in only the repetitive motion of it going down the beach and returning it to the chuck-it. Stella picked up rocks and put them in a clean dog-poo bag, dumped them out, and found new ones to take their place. She ran down the beach shouting "AHHHHHHHHHH" with driftwood in her hand, caring not for the wet jeans, even wetter shoes, and sand in her hair. And this morning, I felt like a perfectly good mom.