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.