we wish you a merry christmas

See you all in 2011.

view from my front window

christmas spirit

Yesterday was the school sing at Michael's elementary. He was extremely excited for us to come watch him perform. He talked about it all week long, and reminded me repeatedly when to be there.

For someone so excited, he looked awfully serious. (He also looked awfully handsome.) (Although please note, I did talk him out of wearing this full three-piece suit. "But I am supposed to look handsome," he told me.)

Nothing like watching a bunch of 5-year-olds sing Feliz Navidad with homemade maracas to warm my grinchy heart.

PREGNANT!

I'm so irritated today. So very, very irritated. With what, you ask? Well you, probably. For asking questions. And breathing so much. STOP IT. I'm not kidding. It's really getting on my nerves.

Also! kids! Why do they have to eat all the time? And hug and talk and play and stuff, what's that all about? I don't understand why they can't just sit quietly in the corner and read. Or at least make dinner for everyone! If you have managed to stay alive for four to five years, how have you not learned to make chicken soup? No, really. HOW.

So, did you notice that I'm looking a little down lately? No? What kind of friend are you, anyway? A jerky friend. A friend who's a jerk, that's you. I will call you Jerky Mcjerkface from now on, behind your back and also probably to your mean jerkface.

Unless...you did notice? and you were worried because I look a little down? and you want to help? Well, you know what would really help: if you MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.

(and also make dinner, apparently the kids still did not get on that.)

You're sorry. I can tell. I'm touched. I might cry. Or laugh. Or call you big fat dumbface again, you don't know. Neither do I, to tell the truth. Things are getting all 'Harry Met Sally' up in here. It's probably safest to stay away, and if (when) it bothers me at least you won't know the difference.

In conclusion: either I'm a bitch or pregnancy is. whatever.

wishlist

Michael told me tonight he might ask Santa to bring him a Menorah.

that's really all I have to say about that.

in contrast with

Sometimes people ask me whether it's easier to raise a girl than a boy, but maybe I'm the wrong person to ask because as far as I can tell the biggest difference is more twirling during lightsaber battles.

(also pigtails.)

conversations with a two-year-old, vol. IV

I combed Ivy's hair into pigtails this morning and helped her put on a new shirt. Often after I manage to get her dressed I tell her she looks pretty, and then she tells me I look pretty, but before I could say anything she jumped up (not unusual), spun around (also not unusual), then stopped and smoothed the shirt back over her stomach and hips carefully (unusual).
"Ivy looks pretty!" she announced.
"Yes, you do look very pretty." I laughed and tickled her stomach. "And Mama too?"
She stopped and stared at me for a second, carefully weighed my face and then shook her head. "No. Ivy pretty." Then she ran off.



I'm sitting on the couch trying to finish an email while Ivy wails about the general unfairness of life beside me.I'm ignoring her, hoping to power through, but her wiggles and cries are making this totally impossible so I pick her up and place her on the floor. She jumps up immediately and pounds my leg with her little fists as hard as she can. I catch them before the second blow and stare into her red face.
"Ivy. You Cannot Hit Mama. You know that. No Hitting."
She stops crying immediately and shakes her head.
"No, Mama, I punching."
...It's hard to argue with that.

(vol. III, vol I)

friends, let's talk baby names

specifically, let's talk about how Chris and I don't have any left.

I suppose I haven't been overly concerned about what we're going to to name this baby because we still don't know what we're having. I don't know, it just lacks urgency. But then this morning I was driving to the dry-cleaners (my life is fascinating) and I began having visions of us in the hospital with no name options agreed upon; and then having to settle for one of Christofer's baby names. People*, I'm not kidding: I about had a panic attack in the car because Christofer has what can only be described as HORRIBLE TASTE IN BABY NAMES.

(I'd like to dedicate that last sentence to everyone out there who has commented or complained that my blog makes Christofer seem like a saint. perhaps he is, perhaps he isn't, but either way: HORRIBLE TASTE IN BABY NAMES.)

*this is how Ivy refers to everyone we see. "it's people!"

To be fair, he believes I am the one with a Total Lack of Taste, but he is wrong, so very very wrong. I have come up two, TWO, totally perfect boy names that I love with a love that will not be extinguished (and no, I'm not going to tell you what they are: the surprise is part of the fun), and also have contributed at least three new and utterly delightful girl names to the pot.

He, on the other hand, has done nothing but shoot down my boy suggestions and refuse to consider girl names at all because "it's a boy."

YOU DON'T KNOW THAT, CHRISTOFER. And don't talk to me about "father's intuition," I am carrying this thing around IN MY WOMB and I don't know what it is. You have a 50/50 chance of being right, that is all.

Where was I? Right. He has also gone ahead and poisoned several of the boys names we could both have lived with, such as George ("We'll call him 'W'!) and Albert ("After Pujols? Awesome.")

His one suggestion, aside from the classic Gunter which he suggests for every baby, boy or girl, is ... wait for it ... Bradley.

WHOA. not going to happen. Maybe it is a perfectly fine name, I wouldn't know because everytime I hear the name Brad, I think of this:
(although, um...maybe only watch the first forty seconds.) (you'll thank me.)




who would do that to a sweet little baby? WHO?

when I die

I want to be cremated.

I don't want to be preserved. no formaldehyde, please.

and don't keep my ashes! that's weird. Just dispose of me quietly somewhere, not too close by.

Let me be recycled.

Please don't hold a viewing. Display a nice picture instead. Or, if you can't find a nice picture, a picture of my Magnum face will be fine. There should be a million to choose from.

Have a service. Talk about God.

(I'd really prefer harp music to organ music, but since this is assuming I'm dead I guess that part isn't essential.) (Maybe stick to piano?)

Then have a wake. Make it a party, and everyone eat. Tell stories about us, about why we were friends. Tell good stories and stupid stories, happy stories and sad stories.


say why you liked me. say why you didn't like me. I won't mind.


Feel free to cry.


feel free to laugh.


(But please don't tell that story about that one time. Leave the dead a little dignity, you know?)


Make fun of how I made weird faces in every picture taken of me ever.



It's okay to let people know I was a lousy long-distance friend.


Tell my kids I was bossy and temperamental and sometimes foolish, but I tried hard.


Say that I was beloved.


and then everyone go home without regrets.


That's what I want when I die.

haircut

Today while Michael was at school, William and I played hair salon. First I trimmed his hair, then he cut Christofer's:

It was fun, but I'm now wondering if it was the best idea to teach him to use the clippers. Ivy might be sporting a similar look next week. Watch for it.

baby

Today the boys slept until nearly 8:30. They came and got in bed with me. Ivy climbed out of her crib to find us and crawled onto the bed. No one could stop giggling so we went downstairs and ate breakfast. I turned on the music. We danced while we cleaned the kitchen. We did scriptures, we did reading, we did homework. We went upstairs to dress.

It was a good morning, is what I'm saying.

Then it was time for Michael to catch his bus. Christofer came home, and we packed William and Ivy in the car to head for my ultrasound appointment.

When I first found out I was pregnant, I told Chris I didn't want to find out what we were having. I had no gender preference this pregnancy; all I wanted was another baby. I thought it was the perfect time to be surprised. Christofer, it turned out, was not keen on the idea. Really, I should have known. I tried and tried to talk him around, but when it comes to our babies Christofer prefers as few surprises as possible. Two years ago when I called to tell him Ivy was being induced a week earlier than planned, tomorrow as a matter of fact!, he was more stressed than thrilled. And this time he was adamant. I could be surprised all I wanted, but as for him, he was going to find out. Be prepared. All that. If I didn't want to know, he would be happy to not tell me.

This was an unnacceptable option, of course, for two reasons: 1. not telling me doesn't mean not taunting me, AND YOU KNOW YOU WOULD CHRISTOFER, and 2. I am far too curious. If Christofer knows something, I want to know, too.

So I decided I would just find out with him. I mean, it's not like I didn't want to know. I got excited about it. I got this kids excited about it. (I got William a little too excited about it, unfortunately; I think he found the whole thing very anti-climactic.) And there we were, on our way to the doctor, listening to William talk about how we're going to find out if the baby is a boy or a girl today, when Christofer cut in, "Nope. I don't think we'll find that out today, bud. But we'll still see pictures of the baby." I thought he was just teasing William, maybe me; it wasn't until I was laying on the table in the ultrasound room and the tech asked if we wanted to know the gender and Christofer turned and looked at me questioningly that I realized he was serious. He was leaving it up to me.

So we didn't find out. It was harder than I thought, while sitting there, to not look and not ask, but I chalk that up to the fact that I was expecting to find out today.

This baby is mystery for a little while longer. I know everything I need to: it is healthy and teeny and already very-much-loved.

home again

We just spent the most wonderful week in Hawaii with our kids, my parents and my brother's family. I would like to post a million pictures to help illustrate what a fantastic time we had, but I took approximately 10 pictures before my camera battery died and I realized that I had forgotten to pack my charger.
(On the other hand, that's the only thing I forgot to pack, so cheers for me!)

and now we're home again. If I had enough energy I'd post a picture of all the laundry waiting to be done, I think that would effectively show how I feel about the end of vacation. boo.

late

So here's something you missed while I was throwing-up feeling sorry for myself not blogging: Ivy turned two!


We went swimming in the afternoon, then came home and had hamburgers and "cake," which was really a pan of mix brownies because I am too lazy to make a big deal out of a two-year-old's birthday. Sorry, but there it is.

then she opened her favorite present:



A baby doll from Grandy! She loves this thing. And she calls it...Baby.



I call it Creepy Baby (That Blinks Too Much).



I will do a real birthday post soon about how great Ivy is at two. (Here's a preview: really great.)

Michael's first day of Kindergarten

He was so excited.











































We were at the bus stop very early. Luckily, so were some friends.



and...Finally! He's been looking forward to riding the bus ALL YEAR.











































He's going to love kindergarten, I really think so.

William's first day of preschool

seriously

I was thinking today how aggravating it is that the local Thai restaurant doesn't deliver, but really I think I'm more annoyed that the library doesn't deliver. don't you think? and also they should hire trustworthy people who will walk straight into my house and deposit those free books onto my lap while I lay on my couch.

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realization

A while ago I was standing in front of the sink doing dishes, and I opened the window in front of me so I could see the kids playing on the tramp; and all three of them were jumping and laughing and falling around on top of each other, so happy and young and perfect, I just froze; and all of a sudden my throat swelled up and my breath caught, everything seemed so lovely and breakable and transient.

And that was when I knew. I mean, I took a test later to be sure, but I don't usually sit around my kitchen crying over the Great and Tragic Beauty of Life unless I'm in the family way.

right this moment

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7:30 tonight

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beautiful bruised Ivy

to catalogue*: a bruised forehead, a cut by her hairline, various scratches and bumps on her face.

it happens.

And here's a tangental story for you: so Ivy and I were checking out at Target today when the (middle-aged) lady who was running the register looked at Ivy and commented that all the little kids she'd seen today had bruises on their heads, and that my daughter's was particularly large.

"Oh, well, she is adventurous, and has two adventurous older brothers," I laughed.

She was quiet then, and I assumed she was concentrating on what she was doing, or had moved on? to be honest, I didn't think anything of it, until a minute later she all of a sudden burst out: "I don't know why those boys wouldn't get in trouble for hurting their sister!"

hu-wha?

I kind stared at her for a second, before saying "...well, they do, obviously, if they hurt her, if they hurt anyone. But...it's not always intentional, and it's not always their fault."

She kind of nodded. "I'm sure. Someone just needs to tell them to be extra gentle with her."

"uh, okay," I said.

"They need to take of her. You need to tell them she's a little princess."

...

seriously?

Now, please note I could have said a lot of things here, a lot of very long-winded, feminist-rant, mind-your-own-business kinds of things, but because I am a very well-brought-up, polite kind of girl, and also because I was starving and really wanted to go home and eat, I was just like "Ha! That's what her dad says! Okay, bye!"

but, seriously people? seriously.



*I spelled it 'catalogue' the first time, but then couldn't decide if that was right or not, and have now wasted twenty minutes looking up 'catalogue vs. catalog' and second-third-fourth-guessing which would be the best to use. Which is especially ridiculous if you already realize they are completely interchangeable, and totally a matter of preference. BUT THESE GRAMMAR DILEMMAS ARE SERIOUS.
TO ME.
I guess.

some things

I haven't blogged in a long time, and I really have no excuse other than the fact that I have been extremely busy, mostly with trying to ruin Michael's life by being the Meanest Mom Ever. He's five-years-old now, and being that horrible is harder than it sounds. It takes more work than you might expect to aniticipate what he waaaaaants more than anything else in the entire world at every given moment, and then deny him of that most precious precious need. And then there's all the laughing in his face while he cries and pleads! totally exhausting.


This week, aside from refusing Michael his heart's desire(s), we have also been doing swim lessons! Which is kind of a mixed bag, to tell the truth. I love swim lessons, and yet I do not love what happens to all three of my preshus dahrlings by mid-afternoon/evening. William, not five minutes ago, walked up to me and screamed a scream of wordless agony.

"...What?" I asked.

"I do NOT have ANY MILK," he observed, and wandered off. I wonder what he's doing now. Probably coloring on the walls. (Update: no! that was Ivy.)

(Of course, with William this type of behavior is...not unexpected swim lessons or no, but it still exemplifies what's been going on around here all week.)

also! Chris and I are going to see 110 in the Shade tonight, with Audra McDonald, I cannot believe Chris is not more excited. You would be excited, wouldn't you? I was in that play once, but have never actually seen it so I am very excited, plus AUDRA MCDONALD. I am having flashbacks to being obsessed with Ragtime in 1998.

um, that's all. See you later. maybe. After all, I'm mean now, you really can't trust what I say.

summer cuts in progress

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the five-year-old

cardinals baseball cap and slight black eye included.

Monday night softball

William and Chris.

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at the petting zoo

William, 5 PM, staring at a television that is not on

we spent all afternoon playing in our swimsuits in the sun, and it finally feels like summer (complete with early evening exhaustion):

soul

(and you guys BETTER LIKE this stupid video, because you have no idea how long it took me to make it work.)

Untitled from spliz on Vimeo.

play

yesterday after I made dinner (early--needed time to simmer), I went to look for the boys. I found this:

have you ever seen anything more lovely? I wanted to freeze them just like this, best friends forever.

a picture is as close as I'll come, I supppose.

ugliest shirt ever

(taken with and posted by my phone, because ivy did something to our internet and I'm not smart enough to figure out what.)

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pease?

"Mikah. pease? pease?" she says, thrusting the book against his chest . "Pease?"

"Okay, but not all of it," he answers smiling. "Holding it up makes my arms tired."

lagoon in two images

pretty accurate summation.

texts Christofer has sent me since April 23

500 W is still closed

haha, not sure

hey 500 W is closed, don't forget

Yep it's still closed

Just finishing up one be home in 20 or so

Ugh 500 W is closed. Just in case you forgot again.

Don't know if you knew or not but 500 W is closed, so don't try and go home that way

Hey baby, just showing Cary those pictures

Migraine coming on

Blah 500 W

William, in less than 25 lines

William: MOM! MOM!

Me: Yes, William?

William: MOM! MOM! MOM!

Me: Yes, William?

William: MOM! MOM! MO--

Me: William! I am listening. What do you want to say?

William: I NEED SOME MILK!

Me: Okay, first of all, that is not how you ask for help. Secondly, I am in the middle of something, but I will be happy to help you in a few minutes.

William: PLEASE MAY YOU GET ME SOME MILK? MOM!

Me: That was better, thank you, but you still need to be patient. I said in a few minutes.

William: MOM! MOM! MOM! I NEED SOME MILK, MOM! MOM!

Me: I heard you. be patient, please.

(pause)

William: MOM! MOM!

Me:

William: MOM! MOM!

Me:

William: MOM! MOM! MOOOOOOOOM!

Me : WILLIAM! WHAT?

William: mama, you pretty.

me: oh. thank you.

(pause)

WIlliam: Mom, please, will you Please get me some milk before you finish, please?



(obviously, I said yes.)

enjoy this newborn picture

because if I give myself any new pictures to edit today, I will have to die.

a somewhat rainy evening with Grampy

Christofer

I love you.
And this picture.
So far, thirty-year-old you is awesome.
(Although a little cranky when tired.)
(But that's just same as 29-year-old you, so I can live with it.)
(happy birthday.)

color!

confession: I always spell color 'colour' the first time, ever since I was little, I think because I read a lot of British children's books?, but I try to remember to change it on my blog because I don't want you to make fun of me.

(and you totally would, don't pretend otherwise.)

roll out those lazy hazy crazy days

oh Missouri weather, I miss you so.

orchard

My cousin-in-law called* yesterday to say the orchards by her house were in bloom, and did I want to come shoot with her?
As a matter of fact, I did.

*texted. I know.