Christmas Cliff Notes

Moving. Christmas. Too exhausted to say anything witty about anything. Here's the highlights (Minus the car breaking down on the way back from Eastern Washington, because really, it wasn't a highlight).




















Christmas Cookies.



Who needs toys, there are oranges.




















"Pulling up is AWESOME!"

























I'm in ur Kitchens, Squeezin' ur Kitties.

This Blog is Seriously Lacking...

Babies in Hats.

It's a Bird, It's a Plane... no it's Willboy

We were checking out in line a the bookstore and Will was standing in the way of a woman trying to get past, I ask him to move, and he looks up at the woman and said, "oh, 'scuseme". The woman gasped and said "Awww". I mean, Will's cuteness, it has the power to move mountains. I'm not kidding.

The pictures from several weeks ago, the makeup? Well he did it again, this time with mascara all over his face. I was about to flip out when he looked at me and deadpaned, "I 'piderman".

What am I going to do? He's going to borrow the car one day, wreck it, and look at me with those big brown eyes... and I'll be done for.

Wake me in January...

Is it December already? We're in the midst of a big move to Olympia, holidays, and the eve of legislative session...

It's enough to make you want to lie down in a giant recliner and sleep.

Little Rascal

Will's not so sure about trains in real life. We read his That's Not My Train book at bedtime, and he loves it. The train at Titlow beach? Not so much.

We went to dinner at Steamer's in Tacoma last weekend, the kids loved the fish and chips, and will gleefully watched the trains pass from inside. However we went out to get a closer look and as you can see, terror, would be the word.

He talks so so much and is so big now, we forget that he's still really a little guy. A little guy that is sometimes just lonely at bedtime, and needs some extra hugs.

But sometimes he's just a rascal.

Beautiful Beautiful Beautiful Girl

Am I always so negative? Maybe... maybe I spend too much time agonizing over things that don't really matter. There are real, actual things to be worried over in this world, and at the end of the day, I have three kids that are happy, healthy, and truly the joy of our lives. I promise. And I promise to remember that more and not dwell on the things that drive me insane.

In all? Things are good. Halloween was fantastic, even if it was frusterating that Emily would cower and whine about not going to the "scary" houses. Emily was a graceful and sweet Princess Leia, Violet fell asleep as we strolled through the neighborhood, and Will was the most perfect Jedi ever.

And I probably don't talk enough about Violet. She's just about the best and most cutest baby ever. Really, I mean really, you might say I'm biased, but can you argue with this?
She's just so happy. If her smile could get any bigger, I think her face would just break. Will has even grown attached to her, and gives her the sweetest kisses at bedtime. She's discovered that she can squeal (I know, in this house? Go figure) and she'll do it at the top of her little voice as she kicks her feet as hard as she can. And can she move! Last night I put her down on one side of the bed, and sat on the other edge reading something distractedly, and the next thing I knew, her little fist was hitting my back. She's not crawling exactly, but she scoots, rolls and drags herself across the room. She's a determined, loud, and stubborn girl. She's fitting right in.

My kids are Awesome

That is all.

Bus Stop Confessions

I have a confession. I hate the bus stop. Hate it.

I like the other moms enough, the kids are nice, and I like seeing Emily run around with her friends, buzzing with excitement for the school day. And it's rare these days, now that I'm working, to even be home at bus time. But I feel so awkward and apart, always. And it's more than being twenty years younger than the other parents, or not living in the right sub-development, or driving the right minivan. I go from being competent and confident in a world of politics to navigating a field of land mines where the caution signs are written in a foreign language. I don't want to seem like I'm not participating, but I can't muster the energy to participate. I feel like I should want to fit in, but I don't. I feel like Ian's afforded a certain distance being not only a dad, but a stay-at-home dad. The women joke, when I do go, that I shouldn't worry, that the baby is dressed every day, as if having been born a woman somehow makes us carriers for the baby-dressing gene. "Good God I hope so" I want to reply, but instead I laugh nervously.

I met with my former boss, a state representative, last weekend. She's a strong woman, an advocate, and a wonderful mother and grandmother. She told me that she attended a luncheon with 800 women recently. "800 women in one room, you'd think I had something in common with one of them", she told me "But I didn't, and you'll come to realize over the years that you won't either".

I took Emily to school late today, and I walked Emily to her class, smelling Elmer's Glue and sweaty kids, walking hand in hand, my heels clicking loudly in the empty hall. I might not understand this world, I might not fit in here, and I might not ever. I might have become a parent by accident, but as I watch Emily bound up the stairs to her classroom, I realize that I might not ever know what homework is due, and I'll never volunteer in her classroom, but she's okay. And I'll have to work on being okay with that too.

I get back in my car, turn on some Nine Inch Nails and speed down the freeway to another day.

That Sucked

Violet sucks her thumb. I'm both elated and horribly distraught about this. On one hand, I'm thrilled, thrilled that she can do this thing, self-soothing, that I'd only until this point, dreamed of. On the other, I begin to question why she has learned to do it, and the other two did not. Perhaps because I was home with them and they didn't need to? Oh there's that parental doubt creeping in again...

But it is sort of cute. And while Ian worries about her being one of those kids, I worry so much less about that, and more about the emotional distress that might have driven her to do it. Reading too much into simple thumb-sucking? Maybe.

But anyway.

Add this to the list of things to never take a two-year-old and three (gasp! Almost four) month old to: College Graduation.

My brother graduated from college last week. And I'm so happy for him, I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Even if not missing it means watching from a TV screen out in the lobby, and popping in the door to see him walk across the stage when his name was called. But it was pretty miserable for Ian and me. Between there being nowhere to nurse Violet discreetly and Will sitting still for all of two minutes during the ceremony, it was two hours of kid chasing hell, not something I'd do for just anyone.

But to see my brother so happy and my mom so proud, I can say, in hindsight at least, that it was worth it. And at least Will was cute as he was running away.

Baby Master

Did I forget to mention that Violet rolled over? She did. Totally unexpectedly, I put her on her tummy on the floor, and the next thing I knew, she flipped herself right over onto her back. Wow!
She's also taking the bottle grudgingly. I went back to work out of the house this week, which means she doesn't have much of a choice. It's sort of sad, but at the same time, I'm so, so glad that Ian is the one handling it. He is, the Baby Master.

I came home after a long day in Seattle (my second day), made even longer by my boss forcing me to go to dinner to debrief on the day, and aside from Ian being completely furious at me for not calling, the kids were all tucked into their beds and sound asleep (Violet too!). I hate to think of the state I would have been in, had roles been reversed (picture all three kids in various stages of breakdowns, screaming, tears, and me in the kitchen crouched behind the baby gate with a bottle, and I'm not talking about one with milk).

But that's me. Me, who drives halfway to Bellevue and realizes that I forgot my driving directions back on my desk in Olympia. Me, who leaves my ATM card in the machine and drives off. Oh and that's just one day.

Yep. That's me.

Meanwhile Ian is stuck at home with no car, a screaming two-year-old, and stubborn hungry baby that won't drink a bottle.

I'm pretty sure that qualifies him for sainthood.

She Laughs!

Violet laughs. Personality is a funny thing. William was a stoic baby, and while his smiles were glorious, he wasn't as generous with them as Violet is. But yesterday Violet cracked up at me blowing raspberries on her tummy during a diaper change, and then wiggled with delight on the changing table later in the day, anticipating more raspberries. A good memory and a sense of humor!

Also, last weekend, Will nonchalantly remarked "Dad... bug" to an enormous spider on the wall. Then after Ian smashed it (sorry, spiders outside are beautiful and we stop to admire their webs, but spiders in the house are fair game for smashing), declared "Bug done". Indeed.

Today

Sort of left that hanging, eh? No worries (okay well actually there were worries, lots of them), I stoped checking my phone and email compulsively, last week I was offered a new job. It's an exciting time for us, we're busy making plans for the future, which will include a move to Tacoma.

But I have replaced compulsively checking my phone with compulsively checking the John L Scott website to look at this house. Then going to look at it in person. Twice.

No it's not ours, and it might not ever be, but I'm drawn to this house. I even spent 20 minutes standing outside talking to the next door neighbor about the neighborhood, the previous owners, and history of it. I can just picture Emily running up the sidewalk and through the gate. I can picture sitting with Ian on the front porch, watching the kids play on the grass under shade of the beautiful tree in the front yard. Ian worries that I'm getting too attached to this house, which I might be. But if we don't get this house, we'll get one like it eventually. And that's sort of how I operate. Before I moved to Pullman, before I'd even been accepted, I had planned where I would put the furniture into my apartment based on the floor plan online. If I've learned anything, it's that it never hurts to dream...

Tomorrow

Grocery shopping. I wonder what people think when they look at me with three kids. Does my face show how much I'm struggling to keep it together, hoping Violet doesn't break down, Will doesn't run away, and wishing Emily would quit asking what we're doing after grocery shopping? Probably.

I've asked, how people do it, and I get it, I do. You just do it. I mean, it's life, right?

I've been feeling sort of disconnected lately, not tuned into the kids, not noticing things I should. The worst part? I notice me not noticing.

I sit here after the kids are in bed, and I think, Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll be more present. But it's so hard. I'm not as zen as I would like to be. Will dumps out toys all over the living room (and I mean all over the living room, a sea of Legos, blocks, and books), and the ugly part of me is just anxious until they are cleaned up (oh and not just cleaned up, but sorted properly). I don't smile as much as I should, or let things roll off of my back. I feel like a Jack-in-the-Box, tightly wound and ready to spring.

Is this where I add a little anecdote about the kids, how wonderful they are and how I marvel at their beauty and gentleness, their sweet little fingers and toes, and how Will is talking about things more and becoming more curious and asking questions? I feel like it is...

And well, Violet is curled up in my arms as I type this, in her sleep-sack, resting on the Boppy (on her way to thinking the computer is a member of the family as I'm sure Will did). My crook of my arm is sweaty, but I dare not move or put her down as I steal a few quiet moments while the rest of the house is asleep. I've got some Tool on the headphones, it's a warm summer night, and I'm sure there will be a day very soon that I can exhale.

Miss Vi

Conversation between Ian and me, five minutes ago:

Me: "I feel bad I don't write very much about Violet".
Ian: "Well, she doesn't really do anything, just lies there and farts and poops, and maybe smiles at us sometimes".

Me: "Well... Back when Will was this age, that's all I wrote about".

So Violet, here's to guzzling all the milk you can drink, gas, and big goofy baby grins. We love you.

There and Back Again

Whew!

Is summer almost over? Where did it go? I can't believe it's August already, Emily had been to Summer Camp and is back again, she's learned to ride her bike, Violet is almost 3 months old (the pinnacle of baby deliciousness), Will has gobbled up S'Mores when we went camping (okay, camping a whopping 30 minutes from our house, but still...)

I guess the short story is that Emily's foot is better. The longer story is that I'm sorry I handled it the way I did, and I'm even sorrier that learning to ride a bike reduced the poor kid to tears. I mean, she learned, but I can't say I was of any particular help. Isn't that the memory of being a parent? Running alongside your child as they ride their bike, letting go at that critical moment, and beaming with joy as they ride off alone? Not exactly how it happened at our house. Not by a long shot. It was one of those mistaking the trees for the forest, or something like that.

But then there are days like today when we met some friends in Seattle for lunch, and she reminds me that she's just such a mature little person. While Ian and I took turns taking Will and Violet outside to play in the fountains (well Will played in the fountains, not so much Violet), Emily sat and conversed with adults, patiently listening, and not even being too shy.

We spent Emily's birthday camping, which was extremely brave of us, I think. It went as well as could be expected, actually better than we hoped with a tw0-month-old. We all piled into our tent and slept relatively soundly, ate tons of s'mores, and stayed up late around the camp fire talking with Emily, who, after I sang some Camp songs we used to sing at the very same summer camp from which she recently returned, remarked that they might have sung those "Back in the old days". Oy.

We're having a small family party for her tomorrow as well. And as we stood in line at Toys R Us, with a Barbie, some Barbie clothes, and Star Wars paper plate, I did have a chuckle at our Emily. She's brave enough to go to overnight summer camp alone with out batting an eye, but too timid for us to push her on her bike, wants nothing more than Barbies for her Star Wars-themed birthday party, and now, after just four days of practice, can ride her bike with the pros.

That girl is a study in contradictions, to be sure.

I Can't

Continuing with the parental desperation theme I've got going...

We thought Emily might have broken her foot on Monday. It was swollen, she couldn't walk on it, and to top it off, she's supposed to go to camp tomorrow. A trip to the urgent care center later, we find out that it's not broken, that she is in fact, just a big weenie.

Is that any way to talk about a 6-year-old? Maybe not, but for the first time I've found myself really and truly disappointed in her. Not for hurting her foot, hey it happens. And not for going to the ER, better safe than sorry. But because of her refusal the last three days to even try to walk on it.

Attempts at walking quickly unravel into tears and frustrated parents. With her screaming "Nooooooo, I can't do it!" when she hadn't even tried, hell she never even put weight on it.

Now I'm not against resting an injury, or taking it easy and letting yourself heal. I am very much against setting yourself up for failure and saying "I can't". Is it wrong that it bothers me even more that she's a girl saying that?

I spent all of Wednesday ignoring her because I was furious about the whole thing. Which, I think actually worked, she finally started to hobble along. Not the best parenting moment, but still...

God, and I see parents fussing about schedules, naps, and whether the baby food is organic. Come on. This baby thing is a walk in the park compared to what lies ahead. I just hope she can make it to 18 without too much damage.

PS: That picture is actually from a year ago... but it gives quite a good image eh? And that particular fit was about shoes if I recall...

Maybe someone should have asked Violet...

I've started working again, from home primarily. That's pretty lucky I guess since when I returned home from a meeting this morning, Ian dashed out of the house, baby in hand, asking "Can we take her back?!".

She's followed the tradition of her siblings in refusing a bottle. Despite my efforts to pump, manually no less, a small supply of nice milk for her in my absence, she refuses to take it from a bottle. And she's only 8 weeks old! Who are these easy-going children that go from breast to bottle with no problem?

My efforts to take on a role was not even considered for past generations, to teach our kids that their futures are not predetermined by their gender, to change society's view of a father's role, to go to my job and work to make this state a better place for our kids to grow up in, these are all lofty goals. But they're pretty meaningless if we can't even get over this first speed bump.

Sparkle

I love that Will just sparkles. he may, at times, be more stubborn, scream louder, and make bigger messes, but he just loves so deeply and is filled with this passion to experience life, even with it's ups and downs, at it's fullest. One of my only wishes for him is that he never loses that

The Force

Emily is obsessed with favorites. Favorite colors, favorite foods, favorite Barbies... everything is categorized as "favorite" or "not favorite". She tries to drag me into the discussion, "Who is your favorite person in Star Wars?"

"I dunno hon, Obi Wan I guess."

"Hmmm, yeah I like him, but he's not my favorite. Padme is my favorite."

The girl that gets a costume change every time she's on screen? Shocking.

"Yeah, I like her the best, but I like Anakin too, why is his hair like that, how does he do that braid, and how come Darth Vader isn't in this one?"

"Uh, well, he sort of is, Anakin is Darth Vader, just not yet." I explain for the hundredth time.

Emily is just slightly obsessed with Star Wars right now, but not the classic ones, with Luke and Princess Leia and the cheesy but wonderful special effects and Han Solo's hilarious one-liners. No, Attack of the Clones is her favorite. With an animated Yoda twirling around fighting with a lightsaber, and the begining of Anakin's turn to the dark side.

I was watching with her last night, and Emily has this terrible habit of talking all the way through the movie, asking questions that would be answered by the movie itself if she would only pay attention.

It's also difficult to explain the nuances of a fictitious republic, protected by Jedi, and overtaken by the Chancellor, who also turns out to be the Sith Lord, oh and also the Emperor in the old movies. George Lucas said the movies were for kids, but man, I have a hard enough time keeping track of all of that and I have a degree in politics!

But I love that Emily likes Star Wars, even if it's the newer ones. I love watching it with her, some of my earliest memories were of watching Luke, Leia, Han, and Chewy on our very state-of-the-art Laser Disk Player. I love that it's this shared experience that all kids have, and then I wonder if Emily's kids would equate it to staring at cave paintings or something, or of George Lucas will keep re-releasing the original Star Wars until it's hardly even recognizable.

Allof this is a roundabout way of saying that Emily is growing up. In the blink of an eye she went from this little girl running around with pigtails and her Dora the Explorer backpack to this young person watching Star Wars, wearing her hair long, and always in her face, and going off to summer camp. More specifically, the summer camp, where I spent ten summers of my childhood, stomping through the woods, singing camp songs, and falling in love with every camp counselor because they just "got" us kids, you know?

And that's the thing. I know this camp, and I know what goes on there. I know she'll stay up late sharing secrets with her cabin mates, idolizing her counselors, and welling up with tears while singing solemn goodbye songs at council fire. I know what goes on there, and that's exactly why I want her to go, to make her own path, separate from us, from her family, from her school friends, and as the camp song says, watch the sunset turn the sky completely red, sleep beneath the moon and stars, a pine bough for your bed, sit and talk with friends, though a word is never said...

Am I nostoligic? Maybe a little, but mostly, I've reached a point where I don't want to cling to her little baby cheeks and sweet mispronouncings like "Spaket" and "Spiket", I want to get to know this very cool Star-Wars-loving-young-person she is becoming.

The Willzer

Things that Will says that I don't want to forget:

When you ask him something that he's done, like go to the bus to pick up Emily, he says "I did!".

When he leaves the room to go do something, he'll say "Back", as in, I'll be right back.

He calls ice cream "cream"

He calls the book Machines at Work, "Guys" because the first page says "Hey Guys!"

He calls Emily "Sister" but doesn't say her name.

"E Go" means "Where did it go?"

Deee is - There it is

Tisses - Kisses

When he's about to jump off of something he says "twooo, freee, wooo, freeee, go!"

He calls eating "bites"

He says "waining" when it's raining and when we go inside, "bye-bye wain"

He calls Violet "Baybee" but not sister, she hasn't earned that title yet, I guess.

Instead of Banana, he calls them "Nanny"

He just recently moved away from saying "mama" and opting for the more mature, "mommy". So already he's losing his baby speech, and I'm so sad to be losing my little guy that was just barely walking a year ago, and my god, Violet's size only two years ago. Today Will was sleeping in his carseat and I looked back at him, this enormous kid, that I never thought he'd be.

But he's also so, so much fun, and I'm reminded how much I loved this age with Emily. Two-year-olds are just so amazed everything. The world is a fresh and new place, and not as scary as it was. He's willing to climb to the top of a ladder and jump down into Ian's arms without hesitation, and hunch over a centipede to examine it without fear.

Sometimes, he pushes me right to the edge with his hitting, spitting, and general grumpiness, but then he does something so sweet, like kissing his Bird-O and the rest of "The Buddies" goodnight, that I never want the terrible twos to end.

Life's a Beach

Violet had her round of heel pricks this week at the lab here in Gig Harbor. You know, the one where they stab your baby in the heel and then squeeze the blood out onto this weird piece of paper with five circles on it.

It was also the first time I ventured out alone with Violet and Will together. Mercifully, Emily was at school, so I didn't have all three of them, we'll save that for another day when I'm feeling much braver.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I heard a horrible gagging sound from the backseat, followed by the unmistakable sound of a baby spitting up. Fantastic. Parking quickly I jumped out to see what had happened. Violet had emptied her stomach all over her clothes, seatbelt, it was even dripping down into the base of the car seat. Wiping her up as well as I could, I found the building, and on my lab orders, it said room 107. I wandered up and down the hall, finding no room 107. It went straight from 106 to 112, like some kind of cruel joke. Finally I thought to look at the directory, and found that the lab had moved upstairs to room 207.

We got to the lab and sat in the waiting room for what seemed like an eternity as they ushered everyone into the lab before us. Will and I talked about the boat picture on the wall, and I asked him to not touch the Christmas lights on the fake tree about a million times before they finally called us back. We got into the room and Will promptly stole a vial of blood off of the tray before I could even put Violet's car seat down. The lab technician was fast, but she kept giving a play-by-play to her partner, lab-technician-in-training. Mostly I was thankful they didn't decide to have the new girl practice on my baby.

After it was over, I took Will to get an enormous brownie from the coffee stand downstairs. He sat nicely for the most part, chomping on his brownie and backwashing into my water bottle as I tried to calm Violet down. But then as we were getting up to leave, and I was getting Violet strapped back into her car seat, Will made his escape. He ran for the stairs as fast as he could go, and there I was lugging Violet, the diaper bag, and myself after him. He stopped as he got to the bottom of the stairs, but not before strangers started looking around to see if his parent was nearby. What do people do with two kids this close together?! I think the answer might be never leave the house.

But the weather has been so nice this week, we're spending a lot of time outside. We even took Will and Violet (poor Emily was in school again) to Owen Beach in Tacoma, one of our favorite spots. Will was able to play in the sand and throw rocks in the water, and actually enjoy himself without hearing the word "No". Well, except when he tried throwing sand at Violet.

Sitting there on the beach, the warm sand, the salty air, and Violet asleep, snug in my arms as Will buries his legs in the sand, it's a feeling I haven't had in a long while. Feeling absolutely and completely content.

Help me Obi Kate Kneobi...

An excerpt from my baby blog, the first week after we brought Will home two years ago:

"Now that our lives have returned to some sense of normalcy, I'd say the things that surprise me most is how quickly I had forgotten about the hours spent doing nothing but nursing, the fear of leaving the house and have the newborn melt down in public, and and how an entire day can pass with nothing to show for it - the baby continues to be hungry, wet, dirty, and the laundry continues to pile up.

On the other hand, this time I do feel more calm, knowing that this too shall pass. Part of me wants this newborn phase to last forever. Too soon Emily has become this enormous kid, and I know the time I have with Will, curled up asleep in my arms, making little squeaky noises, ends too soon."

Boy is that the truth. Will is now this huge two-year-old, walking and talking with opinions and ideas of his own. And his opinion of his new baby sister? Well, he's nice to her, for the most part. He'll ask to hold her, and says "My Baby!", and pat her head while she's nursing. But he's having a difficult time sharing me. And well, to be fair, it's not exactly a fair split. Violet gets most of the attention, and he gets some snuggles and stories sort of on the side. It's heartbreaking, as he screams at night for me and I can't go in to comfort him because Violet needs me.

But then, despite all of that, we're doing it. Somehow balancing three kids. Everyone is fed, clothed, maybe just a little attention starved, but at this point any semblance of normal is a lofty goal, I suppose. And normal for us? Emily sulking around, asking if I had a chance to load more songs onto her iPod, and Will screaming "Mommy mommy mommy!" if I'm, god forbid, in the bathroom for more than ten seconds. I know newborns are pretty mellow at this age, but is it normal for the one-week-old to be the easy one?

But despite all that, I'm enjoying Violet immensely. Maybe it's because I know she's very likely our last baby, and maybe because I'll be returning to work at some point, I can just stare at her little face and marvel at her tiny fingernails and soft hair. I promised myself I wouldn't tempt fate and write about how she's been able to stay in one outfit almost all day, and there's no projectile spit up this time around, but I just did. I hope it lasts. I remember burping will after a feeding, only to have the entire contents of his stomach emptied down the front of my shirt.

The last two years have flown by, and I can barely remember holding Will when he was a week old, with his dark eyes peering up, squinting at the newness of the world. And Emily? It seems like decades ago that she was this small. But I don't want to miss out when Will does something new and exciting. He's putting words together so fast now, saying things he wasn't saying a week ago. Then there's Emily. She is at such a weird age of independence and neediness right now, I have to stop myself from snapping at her, and often times snap at her anyway and feel very guilty about it afterward.

In the end, all of the things I wrote about Will's first week are still true. I am trying to enjoy this time with Violet, I love looking at her long fingers, and her beautiful hair, her surprised look when she opens her eyes. She's so wonderful and sweet and I couldn't be happier wasting an entire day staring at her perfect little face. But then from the other room, I'm brought back to reality with a shrill scream from Will and Emily shouting "No Will, It's MINE!"

It's a juggling act. I hope I can keep it all in the air.