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.

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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.

Costumes... and a Grilling sort of Fourth

Don't remind me that we're both in theater and that it may run in the family, ok?

We have been doing, what I'd like to term, "Potty Training Lite" or "Potty Training Version 1.0" or as others might call it, "Mommy's version of Half-Assed Potty Training". Since it's easier for Stella to just wear the underwear and a shirt, she found some old baby legs that we had when she was an infant and has now since enjoyed wearing "leg warmers" all the time. With rain boots. And a fleece monkey hat. Because why not?

 Our friend Ali found this bargain thrift store find for her... and it finally fits. I like to call this shot "Waiting for Mr. Darcy."Because who wouldn't wait for him if he was played by Colin Firth?

Homemade smoothie Popsicles have also become a sort of costume...

And speaking of costumes, check out our TP owl family!

Fourth of July weekend for us was all about Steve and this "i found it on the street with a sign that said free" charcoal grill. We did stuffed mushrooms (shown here), salmon skewers, za'atar spiced chicken, and BBQ ribs. Along with carrots, green beans, zucchini, broccoli, grilled pizzas, and naan. All on the grill over the weekend. And let's not forget the orange creamsicle ice cream... and the malted milk with chocolate sliver ice cream. Yah, we went a little nuts. But it was practically a 4 day weekend for us, and since we had no where to go in particular, we cooked. It was a tasty stay-cation.

Stella had fun in the outfit that my aunt Melanie bought her last summer.

And, in the outfit of her own creation - she was so excited to go in the $10 Rite-Aid plastic pool that she put her swimming suit OVER HER CLOTHES, backwards.

Scupper was on hand to wait for rib pieces...

And possible ice cream that could have dropped on the ground.

(and check out the patio set that I got on craigslist for $30 - one layer of paint and we were good to go.)  After enjoying many dinner out there this weekend, Steve and I sat and laughed out loud that 1) we had a "patio set" and 2) we actually had a deck to put it on... It might not be ours but we are sure going to take advantage of it while we can this summer.

Now it's off to go camping this weekend. Let's hope we don't have any camping fails to tell about when we get back. It IS supposed to be 99 out there, so we'll see if we just end up submerged in a backwoods creek all weekend.

Some thoughts on time of life, motherhood...you know, nothing big.

I am currently reading a book entitled Bad Mother -- mostly because I always criticize myself at being one and figured I had better get in the club with the rest of them... The book, a memoir of strung together chapters, really speaks to the point I am in my journey of motherhood - and as many of us know, it certainly is a bumpy ride. How is it that our society has created such a mystique about what it means to be a good mother? How cannot we celebrate the things that we are good at - and cherish that those elements make us the "good" mothers that we truly are? I have found myself criticizing my daily activities with Stella, because, well, mostly the activities that we do are things that need to get done around the house anyway. Are these things fun for her? Is it mentally stimulating? Is she learning? Why the hell am I being neurotic about it all? Somehow she all of a sudden knows a circle, square and star. Did I teach those to her? Probably not. (Thank god for preschool).

What she has learned from me is how to knead bread properly, how to dip chips in salsa (yes, my 26 month old eats salsa), scat identification (Mommy, dog poo! Mommy, horse poo!), and how to identify particular cars on the road. Seriously, she knows what other Vanagons, Jeeps, and Subaru Outback Wagons look like because those are all the cars either we have (said Van) or cars that our neighbors drive. Is she her daddy's daughter or what? Are these helpful things to know at 2? Probably not. But that is what we have passed along to her at this point.

And yet, beyond all my neurosis of making sure she gets what she needs at this point in her developing brain, Stella continues to astound and amaze us. This week, when asked idly by me what she'd like to wear to school (and not expecting really any answer), she announced that she would like to wear her owl shirt and jeans. Um, ok, I sputtered, practically spitting out my tea. Sure, we can do that. I got dirty looks from an older couple the other day at the beach, when on our way to the sand, Stella announced that we "Need Scuppy poo bag" and after I picked one from the holder, she replied, "Mommy, I hold it." They looked aghast. No, idiots, I'm not going to let my daughter pick up our dog's poo, but at least she knows what we're supposed to do as responsible dog owners. She has been going to a dog park since about 3 weeks old. Her speech therapist cracked up this week when Stella told her what all the neighbors were up to during the day. "Carl work. Drive truck. Truck loud. Mique home soon. Tom ride bike work."

All of these experiences are part of that whole "nurture" thing right? We can't obviously change her genes, but I hope to hell that the Germonski way of nurture works out ok. I was and never have been the type of person to "blame" my parents for the choices I have made or the way I grew up. If anything, maybe I wished they had been more strict in making sure I chose a more fiscally responsible career than theatre, but of course, I am more than blessed that they acquiesced when I wanted to follow the path that I did. I hope that Stella will come to appreciate the fact that we populate our world with bread dough, bicycles, tomato plants, books, and thrift store surprises. I guess only time will tell...

And speaking of where our kids will end up, I too have been assessing my own life and career, and in turn, how the choices we make affects our family. I was offered a teaching job on Monday, one at this moment, my gut is telling me to walk on by. This is hard for me to admit, as I have been desperately hoping to get back into my career, going crazy being at home only interacting with a toddler and dog all day long. And yet, when faced with a full-time offer, I am starting to balk. Have I settled into this life? This life of being labeled as "Mom" first and not "Professor?" Does that make the last 6 hard-won years of our life null and void? Or does it just make me honest? Certainly, it speaks to the precipice that I think all women face when offered career choices that conflict with the overall stability of the family, regardless of whether that family involves children or not.

As much as Steve does around the house (all the dishes, the laundry, all the car work, the lawn, share of dog and kid duties), I know that he still feels that he should be the one working to make the lion's share of our income. Society has conditioned him to believe that, regardless of how egalitarian our relationship has always been. And yet, although I do the all the cooking (because, let's face it, I do love it), the grocery shopping, and household budget/bill paying on time duties, I am indescribably torn between being home for my daughter and pursuing the career that I have been in school EIGHT EXTRA YEARS for (not to mention the $^@#!K in school loans that are going to come knocking soon). Why must I have to feel that career vs family care is a life or death choice? And either/or choice? Why cannot it be a both/and?

Of course, it can. Many women take their only allowable pittance of six week maternity leave and put their wee babe into childcare and go back to work. Because they have to. I am lucky. I know that. I work a part-time job from my home, but for the most part, my family is provided for by my husband's salary. But here I am aching to be back in the classroom with those wacky 18-21 year olds, and yet I question the choice because of a special 2 yr old who fills my heart with such joy and anguish and frustration and love that I tetter between giving it all up and yet knowing that I would lose myself if I did.

I remember thinking as a young girl - let's say 11 or 12, that I wanted a good, secure job when I grew up. You know, security. Comfort. Guess I was a bit of an eejit going into theater but let's pass that on by for the moment. Do we all secretly crave a bit of stasis? A bit of rest? A bit of "let me be in this moment for a bit longer without my whole life being in upheaval yet again and having to make another serious decision?"

Ramble, ramble. Thanks for reading. Any thoughts and/or advice are welcomed. I'm just waiting for banana bread to be done in the oven. You know. Cooking. Baking. Things I know how to do.

Snippets

A month in pictures and overheard statements, because sadly, Mama doesn't have the time for more...

Overheard:

Stella (pretending to talk on the phone): Hi Scuppy.
Mama: Stella? Are you talking to Scupper on the phone?
Stella: Yah.
Mama: Oh. Well, what is Scupper saying to you?
Stella: (listening) Arf Arf!

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Mama: Stella, please don't move your chair that way, you'll tip it over and fall.
Stella: and I would cry.
Mama: Yes, you would cry.
Stella: (fake crying) eh he he
Daddy: Stella, do you want another bite of dinner?
Stella: No, Daddy, I'm crying.

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Scupper: Bark Bark Bark (in the yard)
Stella: (from bedroom when I thought she was taking a nap) No Scuppy! I'm sleeping!

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 I love this photo - don't ask me why. It's just the phase that Stella is in.

 First haircut. She would only sit on Grammy's lap, not by herself, and she was very trepidacious about the whole thing. However, she really needed it - it was starting to look mullet-esque.

 Chilling with Daddy after hiking to the beach.

 Rockin' the beach fort Memorial Day Weekend.

 First face painting. She was a little confused afterwards because she thought the lady was going to GIVE her a butterfly, not put one on her face. Oh well. Maybe we'll wait until three for another one.

Checking to make sure Mama and Daddy are there, during the little performance her preschool gave.

 Now fully accepting the butterfly.

 Playing dress-up, looking very much like she was out of a Jane Austen film adaptation. Maybe she is looking for Mr. Darcy.

That's us - the wacky threesome who hang out during the day, trying to have fun until Daddy comes home from work. Notice the smears of little fingers on the mirror. Oh well. No one ever said I was a good housekeeper. ;)

We are THAT family...

or maybe not "that" family, but definitely one of those families that you probably shake your head going, huh? really?

Case in point:

Our neighbors in the back, with whom we have a good relationship (and I have a tendency to think merely "put" up with us sometimes) are in the process of buying a second car. "Mique" has a new job that requires a 20 mile commute (instead of a bike ride) and her husband Tom will be away this summer doing research in the Sierras (he studies frogs) and usually takes the car all summer. So, after they found out that Steve is a regular "Car Talk" kind of guy, they have been occasionally stopping by to ask a question here and there about cars. She practically made Steve's month last night when they stopped by and she asked if he would go test drive one with her. But tonight, they stopped by to say that they may have put a deposit on one this morning and was that the right decision?

Enter the Germonskis - at 5:30pm on a weekend - which involves dinner prep as well as the tettering-tottering point of Stella between totally pleasant and utter meltdown because she needs to eat. They knock at the door, the dog goes crazy, I'm up to my ears in prep, so I ask them to come towards the kitchen so we can chat and continue cooking.

Me: I have chunks of chicken in a bowl and I'm smearing bacon paste on the chicken and then putting it on kabobs. (new recipe-- the bacon paste keeps the chicken skewers moist)
Steve: Scraping a vanilla bean over a pot of cream and milk, in the process of making homemade ice cream
Scupper: alternately begging between the raw chicken on the counter and asking Tom to scratch his butt
Stella: running around screaming "Mique! Mique" at the top of her lungs, and then in a lull in conversation, running from her bedroom with a pile of Hello Kitty underwear to show them, screaming "Cat!" (we started slowly entering into the world of potty-training this weekend)

What did they think of us?? The kitchen was a cooking explosion - i'm up to my elbow in bacon paste, Steve's trying to figure out how to scrape a vanilla bean, Scupper is shameless in asking for affection, and Stella is parading her underwear screaming "Cat."

So yah, when you put it that way, we ARE that family. Go figure. God only knows what's going to happen when Stella may start to have friends over to play...

I'm the keymaster, are you the gatekeeper?

We're a nosy lot, we Germonski's. No wonder that Stella and Scup have "inherited" this trait from their parents. Is it because we're in theatre that we have to understand the stories of everyone around us? (or, if you're not careful, we'll make one up!) As I may have mentioned before, our house sits on a large property that also includes a couple renting the converted stable house in the back and a single guy in a studio behind our garage. However, our house is in the front and we share the driveway, so we observe the comings and goings of our neighbors, and in turn, they must (we can only assume) suffer through dealing with us when they go to work or come home. Because Stella and Scupper love love love to be outside, the neighbors are usually bombarded with our family when they come home from work. Scupper of course, barks at anything that moves (even himself) but luckily after 7 months, they all have started to realize the difference between the "who the hell are you?" bark and the "oh people are home! i know those people! i like these people! people are home!" bark.
                    Stella has become quite fascinated with the woman (of the couple) that lives in the back - Dominique, or "Mique" as Stella calls her. Stella jumps up and down for joy when her car pulls into the driveway and if we're outside, accosts her for a hug, a hello, anything she can get (while, of course Scupper barks until he is pet). Her husband Tom has, of late, enjoyed such status as well, when before he would drive their car and appear in the driveway, Stella would go, "Mique! oh, no. Tom" and walk away. (Poor Tom!) Lately, Stella has also been fascinated with the single guy Carl who does a lot of coming and going in his Jeep. "Truck. Car-aul. Loud truck."  A few weeks ago, Carl pet Scupper a nice goodbye and said he was headed for the weekend to Los Angeles to visit his girlfriend. Later that night, Stella asked where "Car-aul" was. "LA," I replied. "Oh... L ... A." Stella said back. And that was that. Flash forward to this past weekend when my mom was here (more on the wonderfulness of a two week Grammy visit in another post), and my mom heard Scupper barking outside. "Who is Scupper barking at?" Grammy asked. "Is Carl home?"

"No," Stella replied. "L.A."

No flies on this one, as my mom would say.

Be careful what you ask for...

you might just get a 2 year old that doesn't stop talking...like really, doesn't stop talking from the moment she wakes up and sings to herself until we come in and get her in the morning until she's ready for bed and (thankfully) has her fingers in her mouth and will be quiet during books. However, I am totally loving pretend play.

Overheard this week:

on our walk past a spot where we had collected pinecones a few days before:

"No pinecones?"
No Stella, I guess they are all gone. We have more at home.
"Bunny, no pinecones. It's ok. Pinecones home. No Bunny, it's ok."

to her cloth baby doll, sitting in the stroller:
"Baby! You poop?" Sniffs. Pulls back the doll's diaper. "No, no poop. It's ok."

to her bear, at her little table in the dining room:
"Oh Bear... bear. Bear's cute. Tea, bear? Tea. Yah. Tea. It's good." (Lip smacking sounds). "All gone? Wow Bear. More tea??"

as she pulls down her bowl of lentil stew off the counter for dinner:
(looking the bowl) Oh no... beans! no....no... no... beans again! (Puts the bowl back on the counter in disgust)

I'm really digging two right now. I'm not digging the fact that she has started not to listen, continually tries to stand up in her chair during dinner and pulls the dog's tail, but other than that, I like two. I feel like we're having conversations now, and overhearing the conversations she has with her animals and doll are just too funny. Bunny is not just Bunny, but Bun-NEEEEE. (emphasis on the NEE). She also seems to be obsessed with clean and dirty right now, although I kind of feel that's weird because I don't remember saying it a whole lot, but I guess i do? I mean, I'm the one who lets her traipse all over the yard without shoes, get into the gardens and mud, etc. Every time we get into her car seat, she feels the cover and goes, "It's clean." Um, well, it's probably not, I tell her. "Oh, dirty. Pup clean?" well, i guess so. "Pup soft..." definitely. She could care less about washing her hands, but she is concerned if her animals are clean or dirty and whether they are soft (luckily, they all are both soft and mostly clean). Good thing she hasn't started on me about my kitchen floors.