Sneaky

An insight into the personality of our 10 month old:

Yesterday at preschool, while the two caregivers were either changing diapers and/or feeding other little ones, Louisa and her pals Dillon and Ellie crawled over to the laundry basket where they put dirty bibs, cloths, etc. They then looked over to see what was going on and found this:

Louisa ended up inside (!!) and started tossing out dirty laundry as Ellie clapped her hands while Dillon chewed on a dirty bib. Louisa just kept squawking and throwing out more laundry as the ladies laughed until they cried. We're not exactly sure how she ended up IN the laundry basket, save for the fact that she probably fell in and decided, well, let's see how one can fun this way.

Yep. That's our girl.

Maternal

Dear Stella,

I feel like I have to put this into words, maybe before this beautiful part of your life goes away and you move on to other things. Not that I want you to give it up. In fact, I hope that it is a wonderful window into what may come. However, the problem is, I'm not sure exactly HOW to put it into words. Maybe this picture might be a start?

This is you at 3 and a half. You're wearing your bunny, in a homemade sling that I made for you out of leftover fabric from your blanket for school. You have a "purse" with some change in it, and slung over the other shoulder, a "diaper bag" with an extra diaper and a shirt. You know, for Bunny. You told me that you were headed to Grammy's house on the airplane with your baby and you'd be back in a week. 

It's not the story that I'm most interested in, although it does make a good one, but the care at which you prepared your bunny for the trip. The desire to swaddle her in a sling and hold her close. Your maternal show of affection for all of your stuffed animals makes me smile with such deep joy, I cannot tell you. the other night, you were late coming down for dinner. Why? You were singing a lullaby (your version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow) and putting Bunny to sleep. You sang her the song, wrapped her lovingly in a blanket, and put her in the baby bed. You even tip-toed out of your bedroom and told us that we had better turn off the music downstairs so we didn't wake Bunny. Last night, you chose to sit on the couch after dinner and "breastfeed" Bunny. You even yelled at Scupper that he was distracting her and he needed to stop playing ball. You burped her, swaddled her back in a blanket, and put her in your small stroller, ready for a "nighttime walk" around the house. 

I'm sure I could look at this all another way - that all you think I do is feed Louisa, wrap her in copious amounts of blankets, and put her down for naps. But since you've been doing this before Louisa was born, I can only assume this is just you. Wonderful you. The joy spread across your face as you tend to your animals... the beauty of your songs... the sweetness of your voice. 

Many years down the road, if you decide that children are something you'd like to consider, I hope I remember each of these moments, to tell you of the love for which you've shown your pretend babies and how you'll be the sweetest, most tender mother to your child. Your soul glows with love, my dear. With love.

That was *so* five weeks ago

We had a good break. It was three weeks off from preschool, from lesson plans, from stress about work (or the lack there of), and frankly, we didn’t think about doing much else. We took lots of naps. We baked… oh we baked. My excuse was that we were trying to warm up the downstairs that is perpetually cold but probably it was because what else was there to do but try out the new cookbooks? make lots of things with chocolate? make lots of things with my sourdough starter? just make lots of things? It’s good I started running before the holiday. It’s not like I’m thinner, but at least it kept things at bay… or I’d like to tell myself that.

So we make the requisite sugar cookies with way too many sprinkles:

And we had a merry Christmas, compliments of the grandparents and aunties.

(I didn’t ask her to pose this way, I really didn’t). I caved and bought her a “Cinderella” dress, but felt better about the whole princess thing because I found it at the thrift store after Halloween for $3. And it lights up. Bonus.

We had an awesome time in the aforementioned Winter wonderland with the copious amounts of snow, snuggly blankets, and naps.

We are completely smitten with this one… and I thoroughly enjoyed my time home with her. She is at the joy stage – where everything is exciting, where she wants to be in the thick of it, and where just a smile can make getting up 3 times a night may sometimes be worth it (oh yes, we back-slid. no more sleeping through the night).

And this one, who all of a sudden has been drawing very specific shapes with surprising acumen. I mean, for an almost 4 year old.

But now it’s back to school (yes, somehow Stella and seemed to match in our wacky patterns on our first day back).

Back to lesson plans, back to feeling like I can’t get ahead of things, back to feeling like we don’t have enough time in the day to get everything. In fact, Bacchae lesson plans should be finished by now for class tomorrow at 4pm. But that’s ok. They’ll get done. All in good time. We’re all trying to be patient with ourselves this year. I’m not suggesting that I have resolutions, because then that might be one more thing to make me feel guilty I’m not accomplishing… but being patient. Being kind. Not only to others, because for the most part, that comes easily, but being kind to ourselves. That’s a resolution I feel that I’d like to try to stick to.

Unlike this avocado, which apparently, also has a resolution of being stuck.

Snow

We are at a cabin/house in Northern California.

There is 4 feet of snow around us - more with drifts.

This is the first time that Stella or Scuppy (and of course Louisa) have seen snow.

Ever.

We go out in it twice a day - once in the morning and then again after nap time. Stella loves it. Scuppy could care less and pees on the deck so he doesn't have to go out in it.

Needless to say, we are having an awesome time. It's damn cold. Colder than Steve and I have felt in 10+ years. But it's a blast.

I mean, at least for a week.

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.