SamahaTown

Murmuration of Starlings

2011-11-09T20:09:00.001-07:00

Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

UpChuck E. Cheese

2011-05-16T19:47:00.000-06:00

Our oldest child has mastered a skill. I mean, of course, in addition to be being able to cry at a moment's notice about the color of her socks on a Tuesday. I mean that she can now dress herself for school. Yes, she's six and has been dressing herself for years -- technically. Actually, until kindergarten started, her self-dressing skill was never in question. But when we all had to get out the door by 7 a.m., it became painfully clear that something was awry.

Anna is an "in the moment" kind of gal. Which means that between choosing clean underwear and putting them on, she can find any number of barbies to dress, stuffed animals to serenade, and world leaders to E-mail. At any other time, we enjoy watching this comedy, sometimes with a bowl of popcorn. But in the pre-caffeinated hour of a rushed week day, it can put quite a strain on one's connection to the Divine. So, her daddy and I, with the goal-oriented fervor of first children, tried out a Chuck E. Cheese reward chart to motivate her to dress herself before breakfast without being poked, prodded, nagged, begged, or otherwise financially compensated. This meant that once she completed a couple of weeks with her chart, we had to take her to Chuck E. Cheese to get her free tokens. This is her "I'm-at-Chuck-E.-Cheese-and-I've-got-tokens" face.

But her mommy and daddy learned a hard lesson on our visit to Chuck E. Cheese: free tokens are never free. Of course we knew an outing to Chuck E. Cheese would be crowded and loud -- we're not stupid. Having been parents now for 6 years and having lived in 3 different states in that time, we've been to lots of Chuck E. Cheeses. We assumed, as red-blooded, marketing-addled Americans, that the restaurant chain rule would apply. Sure it would be loud and crowded, but there would also be upbeat music, fattening pizza, kid-friendly rides, and an enormous mouse suit that may or may not be stuffed with a stoned teenager. We figured we could deal with it if it meant that the kids had fun. But you can see where this is going. It was much, much worse than any annoying-but-generally-wholesome experience we had in mind.

First off, we paid a fortune for a "large" pizza that anywhere else would have been classified as "postage stamp". Then we waited for it long enough to find ourselves nearly permanently affixed to the audibly sticky seats and table. This is Maria's "I'm-probably-done-waiting-for-pizza" face.

This is Steve keeping Maria occupied with a lively game of "smash the cockroach."

This is me faking an "I'm having a great time" mommy smile. Anna's smile appears genuine, thank goodness.

I really tried not to whine about the unsanitary conditions I was noticing throughout dinner. I do realize I'm a little too emotionally involved with my hand sanitizer. I get it. I do. But when Anna ran her fingernail along the edge of the booth rail, and scraped a thick collection of gunk into her nail bed, I had no choice but to throw up in my mouth a little. And then to heave her over my shoulder and sprint off to scrub her hands in the bathroom, which thankfully still had one working soap dispenser.

After ingesting our pepperoni-and-disease-flavored pizza that was priced like it was made of gold flecks mined by Kate Middleton's own family, Steve and I gathered up our girls, while trying to minimize contact with any of the surfaces around us, and headed off to the rides. We employed our usual man-to-man defense, with Steve guarding the token-laden kindergartner and me on toddler duty.

I learned quickly that the toddler preferred to play on non-moving rides, so I completely missed out on the fun Steve and Anna were having putting token after token into broken machines.

I did, however, get in on the horror of realizing my angel of a daughter had climbed into a plastic race car that had recently been occupied by what I can only hope was an incontinent child. Mind you, I was not aware that her precious little pink-sandaled feet were resting in urine until she had been in there for a full minute. And then I had a second child to scrub up in the bathroom.

I tapped out after the urine-car incident. I took Maria out to the truck for the rest of the evening while Steve braved it out with Anna, who was only a little put off by the fact that every other machine she tried just ate her hard-earned token and sadly blinked its two or three working lights at her.

By the time we got them home, I cashed in my determined mommy chips and put them both in the bath -- even though I had just bathed them that afternoon. I'm just proud to say I resisted the urge to actually dip them in rubbing alcohol.

The week following our visit to the petri dish, we all fought off different sicknesses, from colds to stomach upsets. Thankfully, we have lots of people around us who pray for constantly anyway, so we're recovered. And much, much wiser, I might add.

The first beach day of winter

2011-03-01T20:54:00.001-07:00

February 21st is still technically winter, my brain kept telling me. You can't go to the beach in the winter.

But on February 21st, there was no work and there was no school (happy presidents to me!), and there most certainly was a beach. And besides, we had already shined up our best goggles.

We arrived near 9 a.m. in the morning. Beach towns are glorious at 9 in the morning. The brown wrinkly ladies with giant gold rings are taking their terrycloth running suits for a walk. The brown wrinkly men with sun visors are sweeping metal detectors across crunchy sand that is still wet enough to squeek your toes. And the toddlers are digging their way to China.

The best thing about the beach is the smell. Well, the second best thing. The bery bestest thing about the beach are the cutie patooties.

Classy eh? We're nothing if not fashionable. You've seen these before. They are safety goggles from Lowe's. They have air vents all around the edge of them, so they are completely useless as water goggles, but again, it's about the fashion, people!

Maria took a break from the all of the digging and seagull stalking to fuel up. She's still normally in diapers, so a morning of carefree piddling in her Dora suit was a real treat. For everyone but mommy, of course.

(It's not that gross, really. Sandy waterlogged diapers are grosser. And a package of swim diapers cost more that my car payment. Carefree piddling is well...free.)

So, that was our first beach day of winter. While we were digging up sea shells, most of my family was digging their tires out of the snow that was still (STILL!) falling. But I try not to brag.

Happy Birthday Baby Jesus! We made you a vampire cake!

2010-12-29T08:24:00.002-07:00

Our wonderful friends Trier and Andrew invited us over for a birthday party for Jesus on Christmas Eve. Her mom and twin sisters joined us. Trier is a first child/oldest daughter kind of person (like me), so she had everything planned out perfectly (also like me, *naturally*), but she has this wonderful relaxed, welcoming personality that just goes with the flow (um. Not like me. Frowny. Face.). So does Andrew, really. Even with a house full of frosting-toting kids, they were either genuinely amiable and pleasant or they can both do masterful impressions of rainbows.

Trier and Andrew are expecting their second child, and even with that, and house guests at Christmas, and an active preschooler, they still had everything together. My only job was to bring the "Happy Birthday" banner and some birthday hats. I simply couldn't pull that off though. So, Steve was given those items on a list and sent to Wal-Mart on Christmas Eve morning to pick them up (grounds for divorce in some states). He came back with a banner, but no hats, because he couldn't bring himself to buy Hello Kitty themed hats to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior. So, Trier magically made non-cartoon themed hats appear as well.

Their table was set with two perfectly rounded cakes already baked and accompanied by icing and sprinkles fanned out beautifully--one for each family to decorate for Jesus. Levi is their son, and he and his mommy and daddy decorated their cake with a carefully formed tribute to the Christ-child.

Our cake was decorated as more of a tribute to the stable part of the Christmas story. Remember? It's the part of the Christmas story where the stable floor gets cleaned with a shovel.

During events like this, our family lets Anna take the lead. You know, because she's five and totally into stuff like this and will take home lasting memories from it all, and blah, blah, blah. But also because it's hilarious to watch her go. We should probably have warned Trier and Andrew, though.

Anna began the party by putting on a princess dress. We had already accepted that this was non-negotiable. She allowed me to help with the all-over, first coat of frosting.

Steve graciously played goalie, keeping Maria involved, but not too involved. He also kept his head on straight enough to stop mommy from letting our 18-month-old child stuff handfuls of icing into her mouth for the sake of some cute photos. He was right, of course. I only hope my momentary lapse in judgment didn't mean that Trier and Andrew found frosting drool on their furniture later or a sparkly pile of vomit near the tree.

Anna even let me help with the real decorating--at first. We both ran colorful edging around the cake, with lots of loopy fun. Then she got her mitts on the sprinkles. She dumped sprinkles, double-fisted, like Zeus pummeling the mortals with lightning bolts. She squeezed out more icing and sprinkles on more icing and sprinkles until our birthday cake for Jesus looked like an inside-out autopsy. Some of the sprinkles were from Halloween and were actual "Vampire sprinkles," too, which (with my junior high sense of humor) I could *not* laugh hard enough over.

But once the sprinkle dust cleared, we lit the candles and sang. I was a teensy bit surprised to find that I really liked having a party for Jesus. I can easily imagine that depending on who attended such a party, it could result in a get-together of such cheese and fakery, not even Jesus would want to blow out his candles. But, it wasn't like that with genuine people. Trier and Andrew are honest, real, refreshingly humble people. Singing "Happy Birthday to Jesus" means something important when you're singing with people who remind you of Him.

When we got to work on Monday, we discovered a colleague whose birthday was December 25th, and I was going to tease him about whether his parents always compared him to Jesus, saying something like: "I'll bet Jesus never complained about having to share HIS birthday with Christmas." And then I was all, "Huh. Not as funny as I first thought."

And that was sort of why we wanted to have a Birthday Party for Jesus in the first place. Not only does Jesus share his Birthday with Christmas. He's often not even invited to the festivities. I also wondered if having a Birthday Party was just too much, you know, schedule-wise. But, with good friends like Trier and Andrew, it didn't feel like we were squeezing another dutiful event in before the REAL Christmas stuff happened. It was a tiny moment of the real stuff of Christmas, stable droppings and all.

Hope you had a few moments of Real Christmas, too!

Holiday Fun on the Internets

2010-12-09T07:50:00.000-07:00

Frogs? Are you kidding me? Frogs?

2010-11-08T13:44:00.000-07:00

(This photo has nothing to do with the frogs in the title of this post. This is Tink and Pan on Halloween.)

I haven’t updated the blog in a while. I hate to disappoint my many followers. All six of you. So, I’m posting again, but as my blog is not enormously well read, it’s going to be like in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, when Lucy comes running up to everyone going “I’m back! I’m okay!” except no time passed for anyone else and they hadn’t even noticed and she gets this confused look and goes “But...I’ve been gone for hours.” Yeah, that’s me. Returning to my blog. Here’s why I’ve been gone and you’ve all lost sleep worrying about me:

I returned to work full time. That’s all. Rest easy, good people. I knew returning to full-time would knock me on my ba-donk-a-donk—now that we’ve got the two girls and all—so I just decided to give myself a break on all the extra things I do and focus on the necessities (like remembering to eat) till I got the hang of it all. So, I started back on site, full-time, in late September, and I’ve spent the weeks since adapting to the cardio regimen of getting two small children out the door in the mornings. Steve and I work together (we write for an instructional design company), but he leaves earlier to get to work at 7 a.m. and I drive the girls and get myself to work by 8 a.m. Theoretically.

Since returning to work, I have had one of those life opportunities to notice how very little I am capable of handling on my own. Thankfully, there are some truly great people in my life who take extra good care of me.

The one who usually ends up with the delightful job of talking me down off the ledge is my husband. He has also taken on the duty of waking, feeding, and dressing Anna before school. Depending on her mood upon waking, Anna will spend her mornings doing alternating impressions of Shirley Temple on crack, Garfield on Nyquil, and Naomi Campbell when she’s particularly disappointed with the kitchen help. He knew this and applied for the job anyway. I do love that man.

Also, my parents and sisters take good care of me by gently replying to my constant texting and taking my calls at all hours of the day. They tell me they love me all the time and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. (Chenille bathrobe fuzzy, not legs-in-the-winter fuzzy.)

Then, there are the lovely ladies who care for my children. Mrs. Jenny and her family take care of Maria for us in the mornings. My heart grows big like the Grinch’s after Christmas came without packages, boxes, or bags when I think about her and her amazing family. And, Anna’s teacher is also on our side. She is always reminding Anna that she doesn’t have to know how to do it all perfectly yet. And that it’s okay to ask for help. I have no idea where Anna learned to try to control everything.

Finally, there’s Nonie. Nonie is Steve’s mom and she picks up both girls and keeps them every afternoon. We don’t know what we’d do without Nonie. She takes care of all of us.

I’ll finish by offering proof of how it took less than one day for me to realize I couldn’t do all of this on my own. The night before my first day back at work, I was determined to have every bless-ed thing go perfectly, blast-it-all. I packed lunches, backpacks, diaper bags, and purses. I filled sippy cups and water bottles. I planned and assembled dinner a day in advance. I checked homework, emails, and the gas gauge. The ship was going to sail on time, or I was going to go down with it. Actually, everything did go extremely well most of the morning. I could tell I was on edge, tunneling my vision on getting out…that…door…on…time, but I was managing to keep it together. That is, until we went out to get in the car.

While buckling Maria into her seat I noticed a tree frog had scooted up into the door frame of the car right above her head. I scooped him into my hands, but he spike-hopped right into the car and disappeared into the abyss of junk that collects on the floor. Then, I look up and there was another frog on the door frame! Looking back on this moment, I realize God was just trying to show me early that I was going to have to ask for help. One mini-plague was really all it took to trip the wire.

I started frantically swiping at the second frog, while simultaneously skittering around and raging “Frogs? Are you kidding me? On my first day back at work? FROGS?” Anna thought all of this was hysterically funny, so she started chanting too: “Frogs? Are you kidding me? Frogs?” I managed to grab the second one and deposit it on the ground. The other one was still hiding in the sink hole of back-seat rubbish. I delicately got out a baby-wipe to rid my hands of tree-frog gunk, and then did breathing exercises before climbing into the car to explain to the excitable five-year-old that we would be driving to school with a tree frog somewhere near her feet. I remembered to pray a little after we pulled out of the driveway, which I’m guessing is the only reason I didn’t spontaneously combust when our little stowaway hopped up onto Anna’s backpack. Suffice it to say, there was some screaming. It wasn't me. Probably. I stopped the car and somehow managed to get the poor frog out the window. So, for the second time that morning, I wiped my hands with baby wipes, except that by then my nerves were so frazzled I couldn’t really feel my hands.

Thankfully, this was one time I actually got it. I just got it. Since starting back to work, I have unclenched my teeth, pried my white-knuckled hands off of the proverbial steering wheel, and stopped breathing shallow caged-animal breaths. Instead, the plan is to just keep thanking everyone.

So, thank you, God, for staffing up on guardian angels at the Samaha house. Thank you, husband, for jumping in to help even when you have to dodge the fiery laser beams shooting from your crazy wife’s eyes to do it. Thank you, Mrs. Jenny, for teaching Maria to fold her hands to pray over her itty bitty toddler food. Thank you, Mrs. Clark, for teaching Anna the snack-time chant, “You get what you get and you don’t fuss a bit.” Thank you, Nonie, for coming out of retirement to help us raise the girls. And thank you, parents and sisters, for being worth your weight in psychiatrists. And thank you for reading my silly little blog.

The internets make me happy

2010-10-06T11:11:00.000-06:00

I could not agree more

2010-08-27T19:37:00.000-06:00

see more Engrish

So far, I've loved all the blogs I've perused on the Cheezburger Network, but Engrish Funny is my absolute favorite. I seriously cannot eat a snack and read this blog simultaneously because I almost throw up from the laughter.

Anna's Last Hurrah, or Steve and Cheryl Meet the Principal

2010-08-23T10:22:00.003-06:00

Anna started Kindergarten today. We made a big deal out of this weekend and planned extra family fun to commemorate her last weekend of summer before she started school "for reals." We called the weekend "Anna's Last Hurrah." Our weekends start on Thursday (so there!), so we spent Thursday night dining out and dancing in Seville Square--enjoying our local wedding band's hit parade of cover songs.

I will pretend that Anna did not spend the evening crying and throwing fits about how every other kid in the entire place was getting to ride on the swings before her. Instead, I will tell you of the five minutes of crazy fun she and I had getting down to "Dancing Queen." We had to sprint to the front and hurdle a few trannies to get to the free tiaras though.

(Yes, I AM very sweaty in this picture. It was 8 p.m. and still 80 degrees with 80 percent humidity. Go take your judgy pants to someone else's blog.)

Friday night's itinerary was supposed to include an outdoor showing of Monsters vs. Aliens, but we decided to take a night off due to the aforementioned crying and fit throwing. Saturday took us down to the beach for a dinner at Peg Leg Pete's where the kids meals come in a sand pail with eye patches all around.

Then we went to the boardwalk for the Smart Brothers concert, but it was apparently cancelled due to thunderstorms earlier in the day. So, we played in the water till sunset instead. Not a bad alternative, really.

You can see from the picture that things are overcast, but not actually rainy (what up Smart Brothers?).

So that brings us to this morning. The big day. She was fantastic. So sparkly and shiny and ready for the big leagues.

And only a tiny bit apprehensive...

We live directly behind the school, so Steve took the morning off and we walked Anna to school as a family. The school seems wonderful, as is Anna's teacher (I loooove her). You can see Anna in her classsroom below, though she's dwarfed by her gigantic Tinkerbell backpack :-) After we left Anna in class, the school served breakfast for the parents in the cafeteria, so that was cool. I did not cry, but we did have to see the principal soon after...

See, even though we live directly behind the school (the buses unload 30 feet from our bedroom window and all last school year we awoke to a lady teacher yelling herself hoarse: "Waaaalk! Waaaalk!), we can't just hop our 7 ft. fence to take Anna to school. We can, however, walk 7 minutes down a side street to go in through a back gate. But if that gate is closed, we have to shlep the baby into the car, drive over 3 miles around the neighborhood, out onto the main highway, and turn onto the long road to the school lined with cars for drop-off. Naturally, I'd rather walk as long as it's not raining.

So, as we were leaving the school, feeling like we had this parenting thing down, we came to a locked back gate. Our backyard was right there! We could see our cars! But, unless we wanted to climb a 7 ft. fence in our business attire and hoist the baby over between us, we were looking at a 3 mile walk in 80 degrees. Carrying a baby. Steve wanted to hoof it. I told him we were going to the office. But neither one of us wanted to be the idiots that got locked in the first day. We started walking the perimeter of the school grounds looking for weak spots in the chain link but failed to find any. Into the office we went, smirking, to ask for help. A nice lady said she would let us out with her key, so we followed her and tried to chit-chat politely. Things got downright embarrassing when she introduced herself as the principal. Nice one, Samahas.

Thankfully, though, there was another couple stranded at the gate when we all got back out there. They joked about climbing it too, until the principal smilingly mentioned that perhaps they needed a security camera at this entrance. We all laughed, ha ha ha ha, but it wasn't so funny when we told them later she was the principal. Now we're all busted.

Bragging Rights

2010-08-20T19:15:00.006-06:00

My cousin Nathaniel and his friends put this together. The footage is fantastic.

I have never been this cool, nor will I ever be. My cousin is the one that is playing the guitar in the beginning and rockin' the plaid shorts. I could never rock the plaid shorts. I was hoping that by having this on my blog, some of his awesomeocity would rub off on me. Geez, I certainly hope it doesn't backfire and my old-person-ocity rubs off on him by association. But I did ask his permission to post it, and he knew the risks. (Maybe I should have had him sign a waiver too, poor guy.)

The Smart Brothers

2010-08-19T09:14:00.003-06:00

We're going to see these guys at the beach this weekend. Have a listen. This is great stuff.

Fragile

2010-08-17T12:47:00.002-06:00

I was re-reading an old yoga book the other day and the yogi, Rodney Yee, was conversing with the writer, Nina Zolotow, about why she practices yoga. You can see the conversation here on page 4. Essentially, the writer wanted to feel more confident and less fragile, and the yogi asks, Why? So I've been thinking about that.

Why don't I like feeling fragile? Babies don't mind being fragile. Strip 'em down to their nakey, and they glee up like it's Christmas. But of course, they don't know they're fragile. Can I go back to not knowing I'm fragile? In the conversation, Yee says that yoga isn't to keep you from feeling fragile, but to let you be fully mindful of your fragility but okay with it. I haven't practiced yoga long enough to say whether he's right or not, but I have been a Christian for a while, and I think I can see how faith in God would make me okay with fragility. Maybe eventually. Not today obviously.

Two things recently have increased my awareness of my fragility (and of course it's my own fragility that really bothers me, not any one else's, sadly): I re-watched Louis Giglio's talk about the size of the universe and the complexity of creation, and my papa died. Now, Giglio's talk you're just going to have to see for yourself. A-stound-ing. I usually love when God explodes out of the box I keep trying to cram him in, but this time it was uncomfortable. I wanted to get out the super glue and try to piece together the shattered box again. Just watch it. You'll see.

But the Papa thing didn't shatter the box, it shattered me.

I am one of the very few people my age who, up until a few months ago, still had all four grandparents. My parents are still married, as were all the grandparents. Crazy, eh? I grew up in a ridiculously loving and supportive home and family, and though people hate me for it and say I'm a loser because I didn't suffer enough as a child, I'm not sorry one bit. But a few months ago, my dad's dad got sick enough to tell the doctors and nurses he was going to head home to heaven. He's was getting a new body --his had just broke-on-down. Now, I love that this guy was my heritage, and I fully intend to get my sassy pants on in the same way when I'm old, but I wasn't ready to say good-bye. So I spent a while stuck in a black hole of self comforting and self medicating. I over-slept, over-ate, procrastinated, made excuses, and drank a few extra. It was pitiful and disgusting, and I just kept it up, watching myself be pitiful and disgusting.

It doesn't really make sense either. I certainly know better. In the Christian tradition, you don't really lose anyone unless they reject God's love completely. The gospels even allude to a "great cloud of witnesses" around us -- those who turned in the earth suit -- so the whole dying thing has really become more of a re-arranging of dimensions for me. Whether I see him in the earth suit again doesn't matter; I will see him again, regardless. But I was fighting that fragile notion.

So here are the real questions. Am I not fragile and just get convinced that I am? Should I be ending this post with this declaration? The truth is, I am not fragile. Not at all. I'm created in the image of God for crying out loud. Or is that declaration just an effort not to feel fragile?

At least the porch gets watered

2010-08-13T19:46:00.000-06:00

Inch by inch, row by row

Gonna make this garden grow

All it takes is a rake and a hoe

And a piece of fertile ground

Inch by inch, row by row

Someone bless these seeds I sow

Someone warm them from below

Till the rain comes tumbling down

Party Girl Turns One

2010-06-16T06:22:00.000-06:00

Maria and I shared our first birthday together yesterday. Well, the first one was last year, of course, but that was no party. So, yesteday, she turned one and I turned hmphmrddff. She wore a party dress for the first bit, but because it was a thousand degrees here yesterday and the party dress is a little bit vintage and appeared to be a ruffled blend of polyester and styrofoam (with possibly some MSG thrown in), we changed her out of it real quick-like. Here is the official oooooh photo:

She unwrapped her presents and did the obligatory wrapper munching and paper ripping that all one-year-olds seem to love.

She roughed up her cupcake like godzilla on Tokyo. I will try to include some video later, so you can get the full effect of the carnage.

Then, she had a skin reaction to whatever garbage they're putting in cupcakes these days, so she totally lost her sugar buzz when mommy swashed her all around in the bathtub to get the frosting off. But thankfully, she was fine. She finished off her first year only a little blotchy and buzzin and went to bed with a tummy happily filled with cupcake, milk, and gift wrap.

I'm a podrishioner

2010-06-11T12:44:00.000-06:00

I have long appreciated the thoughts of Greg Boyd, the sometimes controversial pastor from St. Paul. We enjoyed his sermons at Woodland Hills so much that I've continued to download them as a "podrishioner" for the years since we moved from Minnesota. Their online community, called The Bridge, has also been enjoyable. Here is his recent interview on biologos.org.

Pomp and Smartypants

2010-06-06T15:26:00.008-06:00

Anna has graduated from pre-K. Holla.

She was grinning the entire ceremony, waving one-armed jazz hands at us so often that she almost missed her part in the alphabet and had to dash to the microphone to go, "X is for Xylophone," and dash back to her seat to continue her waving and grinning. Of course, we were in the audience doing the same thing right back at her.

And in an unrelated news story: Infants Look Hilarious in Naked Bath Pictures

She may talk a lot about prince charming, but daddy's still the king

2010-06-02T09:20:00.008-06:00

For a little over a year now, Steve and Anna have been hitting the Build and Grow workshops together on Saturdays at Lowe's. It makes for good father-daughter time, plus Anna gets to pound something other than mommy's last nerve, and daddy gets to hang out at at Lowe's, where the mother ship has called him home.

Like any true princess, she has an outfit for the event. She doesn't always wear her face like this. This one was special for mommy:

She gets a patch for every project she completes, and mommy gets to sew them on the work apron for her (which kind of hurts mommy's fingers, but mommy keeps her big mouth shut):

Anna's a confident girl, and her outings with daddy at Lowe's are a big part of that. She says things like, "I'm good at building," which is true, but it sorta doesn't matter that it is. It only matters that she thinks it is. If any of those losers at pre-K say something stupid like "You're not that great" (or something that pre-Kers would actually say...), she has a pumpkin, a time capsule, a jewelry organizer, a gingerbread house, a fire truck, a helicopter, and a race car that all say otherwise. Not to mention an attentive daddy who loves her a heckuvalot more than his remotes or tools.

Here's the most recently finished project. They did race cars in honor of whatever big racing event thingy happened this weekend (that's telling, eh?), but Anna doesn't care why they made race cars. She likes her race car because she made it, and she got her daddy all to herself the whole time. What more could a princess want?

Au Naturel

2010-05-19T11:52:00.004-06:00

We've been playing in the sunshine. Anna sang you a song, and Maria took full advantage of the naked Wednesdays policy.

"Adder" by Papergirl

2010-05-12T09:10:00.002-06:00

A good friend of mine listens to this every morning. She has been sober 632 days. May we never forget our dear ones who are fighting this same fight for their very lives. May we constantly remind them they are not alone.

Mismatched Mayhem

2010-04-21T09:32:00.010-06:00

I took my child to school today in her jammies,
and I'm not sorry one bit.

Our darling first born woke up in a foul mood and -- as is her custom when cranky -- began doling out ultimatums about being served breakfast and not being made to go to school before the night's drool was even washed from her face. I sent her back to her room to start her day over, which she feebly attempted, but she still wouldn't get dressed. She turned downright belligerent (if I didn't know better I would have sworn she was hung over), and it was clear she thought that I wouldn't take her to school in her jammies. She discovered how wrong a five-year-old in mismatched jammies can be.

We've been down this road a lot lately with our little Anna Banana.

I'm often telling her 3 -15 times to get dressed, brush her teeth, tell the pee pees to get their water wings on and jump in the pool, etc. Recently, after an under-productive morning of trying to get her Woody doll to do his ballet steps en pointe, she ran out of time to brush her teeth before we had to leave for school. The natural consequence of that was that she was not allowed to eat any sugar that day -- not so much as an organic granola bar with carob chips: "Kids who do not brush their teeth certainly can't put sugar in their mouths," I chirped in my best Mary Poppins voice. I noticed that today, though she couldn't be bothered to do anything else, she inexplicably managed to get her teeth brushed.

Just like her mommy, she has to learn the hard way.

Somehow, she seemed genuinely shocked that, when it was time to leave for school, I quietly handed over her shoes and socks and walked her to the car in her bare feet. As she gradually came to terms with her mounting social anxiety about facing her classmates armed with nothing but a princess kitten pajama top and plaid pajama bottoms, she got so mad she told me she was fastening the velcro on her shoes as tight as she possibly could to punish me. I can tell you that withholding that much laughter for that long was punishment enough for a mommy.

2010-03-30T20:17:00.011-06:00

My beloved Papa

1922 - 2010

Because of you, just like you, I cry when I laugh,
With a toothy mirth that waters my vision,
And then goes silent, leaving me helpless in a foolish grin,
Until I can wheeze in a breath and wipe my eyes.

Because of you, just like you, I laugh often.

Because of you, just like you, I thrive on stories.

I know to listen for the joy,

To people them with character,

To lose myself in the telling.

Because of you, just like you, I have ears to hear.

Because of you, just like you, I love a tiny Brit,
And love all things British,
And am loved by people who say 'cheers' and 'strawbrees.'

Because of you, just like you, I know a 'mate' when I see one.

Because of you, just like you, I know God welcomes desperate prayers,

Flung up from flimsy rafts in storms,

That He infuses them with His faith,

Even when mine has gone overboard into the waves.

Because of you, just like you, I have a testimony.

Because of you, just like you, I have seen the beauty

Of a faithfully tended garden.

Your memory lives on

In the growing things all around me.

Because of you, just like you, I long for a Garden I have never seen.

Lost Things

2010-03-14T18:52:00.003-06:00

Stop motion filmmaking at its best. Anna's favorite part is when she falls down the rabbit hole like Alice.

Life Sentence

2010-03-03T04:57:00.005-07:00

I don't know why I hadn't heard of the book Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure, but I like the concept immensely.

Naturally, my inner writing teacher (not a fan?) needs to assign a project: your life sentence in six words. Would you be so kind as to add your six word memoir as a comment to this post? I would be ever-so-grateful.

Oh, wait. Fair's fair. I suppose I should offer mine first.

Why do I prefer the questions?

Reflectology

2010-02-16T22:07:00.000-07:00

I've been introducing Maria to herself in the mirror.

I say "been introducing" because we've done this several times now, and she still acts surprised each time. Over and over she gives me a look that says, "And where have you been hiding this adorable little thing?" -- and then proceeds to babble politely to Mirror Maria in what might as well be French, "Enchante bebe. Dooly dooly frig frag?" Who knows how many times till the introduction takes, and she's offically introduced.

I find that I'm just as excited about showing her to herself as she is about meeting herself. I get a little giddy pointing back and forth from her nose to her reflection's nose, thinking "Is she getting this?" I want her to comprehend both that the girl in the mirror is really amazing -- and that she is the girl in the mirror!

I'm thinking maybe God has had His big hands full getting me to come to these same conclusions about myself.

Yay Jay

2010-02-11T08:19:00.008-07:00

Okay my Alaska people, it's Jay Hakkinen's 4th Olympics. For those of us from the Kenai Peninsula, Jay is our claim to fame. My husband just rolls his eyes every time the Winter Olympics comes around and I get to say, "I went to high school with that guy..." Judge me if you must, but when you're through with that, you should watch Jay in the Olympics for two reasons. First of all this guys rocks. The first line of his bio on the official site says he's the most accomplished American biathlete in Olympic history. Second, he's one of the good guys. Read up on him and root for him:

On the official site for the Olympics

Wikipedia

His own site

P.S. I stole the photo from the official NBC site. I figured it was okay because I don't make money off my blog, but just in case it's not okay...don't tell on me.

We might watch a tad too much HGTV here

2010-02-10T07:34:00.003-07:00

Anna loves her some HGTV. Rather than a.m. cartoons she'll watch back-to-back design shows. She loves cooking shows as well: Giada at Home and the Barefoot Contessa in particular. That and the fact that she is potty trained are my proof to the world that she is domesticated.

What you got here is a tardy blog...

2010-01-21T21:42:00.007-07:00

Wowza how the time does fly between blog posts. I'm just going to add some pictures and random thoughts to make it seem like I'm keeping up my blog. My mommy days are upon me in full force, and I spend most of my time in the mommy daze. Weird stuff to have no personal space, no privacy, no dignity, and no better place to be. Being a mother is hard to describe. I don't have the energy to give it a go right now anyway...

Here's the little 'un. She's glazed but gorgeous.

Here are the two together. Anna has taken her role as big sister very seriously. She has spent countless hours drilling Maria on her letters, numbers and colors. Maria thinks it's hysterical. Sometimes, though, when they think I can't see them in the back seat, they hold hands and giggle in each other's faces and I sigh my mommy sigh, simultaneously cringing at the years of conspiracy they will have as allies against me and delighting to know that what they have together is magical.

We had a wonderful Christmas here in Florida. It's funny that the addition of our wee little Maria this year, which increased our tiny family in number from three to four, has somehow squeezed us together more tightly as a unit. Somehow one tiny baby sucked the air right out of the shrinkwrap.

Here is Anna's Christmas play. When she told me she was the star, I thought it was pretty ridiculous to have a 4 year old girl play baby Jesus...but nope, she was the other star...

Thank you for checking in on us and reading the blog. I know you're busy too....

Donald Miller: Million Miles Tour

2009-09-26T20:44:00.001-06:00

Maria's a player

2009-09-20T20:17:00.004-06:00

It's shocking that her first favorite toy would be a book.

It's gotta be genetic...

2009-09-20T20:04:00.004-06:00

These thumbsuckers are taking after their mommy, people. Daddy can't be blamed for this one...

Welcome Baby Maria!

2009-06-17T09:52:00.000-06:00

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Happy 60th Anniversary to Nana and Papa

2009-04-21T10:09:00.003-06:00

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Fetal Movements

2009-02-15T14:58:00.029-07:00

They are so tiny and secret, these movements. So far, God and I are the only ones who can feel her. People always use the word "flutter" with fetal movements, like the teensy thing in there is already signed up for swim lessons, and for some reason, when you first notice it, "a flutter" seems to describe it better than anything. Because that's what you end up doing -- describing it to everyone else for many weeks before anyone can start to feel the frenzy from the outside. It's not until she starts actual kickboxing that daddy can get a sense of it. It's also called "quickening" -- though not to be confused with the Highlander Quickening -- which involves far more drama and special effects, which is just the opposite. The first few weeks of feeling fetal movements, they are just whispers and bubbles. (And sometimes, it's not even her, just you -- avec gazeuse.)

It's funny when you can tell they're tumbling around, like a sock in the dryer. That particular sensation I liken to the floopy tummy associated with a fast elevator. And then sometimes it's just a flicking feeling. Like she's just being annoying and repetitive with those tiny, perfectly manicured fingers, and like that thing your eyebrow can do, sometimes for a whole afternoon if you haven't gotten enough sleep. Often they plunk away at your cervix just to assert themselves.

Towards the end, they can move up to 30 times an hour. It just cracks me up that pregnant women are expected to behave normally while this is all going on. Just keep washing dishes, folding clothes, doing paperwork, taking calls, and speaking in public, all while this little alien is rooting around their insides and assaulting their bladder with a dynamite Lord of the Dance impression. (I can't even imagine what this is like carrying multiples.)

As you can see from the pictures, Anna likes to get up close and personal with my growing belly. She likes to talk to Maria through my belly button, which I think she considers a microphone of sorts. She pretends she can feel the kicks on the outside already, but I don't think she really can quite yet. I sort of think that in a few weeks, when the baby can really pack a whollup, Anna might freak out to feel it for real. And then later, when the movements are visible to the naked eye, and my belly starts to look like an undulating bubble in a lava lamp, we'll see if she's still willing to hang.

Full-on Jolly

2008-11-29T13:23:00.019-07:00

We don't mess around when it comes to the Holidays -- I've been blarin' the Christmas music since Halloween. So, by now, less than a month from the big day, you can bet we are full-on Jolly. I love, love, love it. Last night, we marched in the Elf Parade, winding through downtown with gazillions of other little elves, all jingling bells. The parade finished in the plaza, and we sang carols, munched Christmas cookies, and snapped pictures in Santa's Sleigh.

Anna was dazzled by the sights -- and didn't realize that she was one of the delightful sights herself. We printed Elf ears and pinned them to her hat, then used the removeable fur cuffs and neckline from one of her sweaters. Her elf shoes are Elmo slippers with green felt smothering Elmo's laughter.

Anna was introduced to the character of Frosty last night -- I think for the first time. A little girl sang "Frosty the Snowman" -- at the top of her lungs and with the fervor of little orphan Annie singing "The sun will come out tomorrow" -- and then Frosty himself made his appearance in the crowd, literally leaning on the arm of one of Santa's city councilwomen helpers, either because he was wasted or because that huge snowball head kept him from walking upright on his own. Anna didn't care though, she was seeing all of this through the untainted wonderment of childhood innocence -- and the sugar high from the giant Christmas cookie they gave us at the Gingerbread house. She was crazy about Frosty and, of course, we had to hear "Frosty the Snowman" on the way home. Luckily, mommy has an impressive collection of well-worn Christmas CDs and was able to quickly locate the Dan Tyminski version on the '03 Acoustic Christmas CD. Crisis averted.

Anna already knew who Rudolf was though! I will not attempt to convey her raptures at being allowed to touch Rudolf's blinky nose. I haven't the room to do them justice.

Today, we walked through a nearby old historic downtown and visited one of the cutest toy and fudge shops ever -- Polkadots! There we had a chance to visit with Santa. First, Anna and Santa compared boots...

Then philosophically discussed the merits of age -- being three is a big deal!

Then she asked Santa for a new "Ariel the mermaid" doll. Anna thought it was important to mention that the last one was broken accidentally. Mommy butted in with the meddling truth: that Ariel's head accidentally got caught in Anna's teeth. Santa was dutifully horrified to hear of Ariel's beheading, but he composed himself enough to request that should he bring her a new one this year, perhaps she could go to the trouble of keeping her in one piece as long as possible. Poor Ariel. She thought she had left those scary sharks under the sea...

I better quit for now. Thanks for reading all the way through ;-)

Up on Cripple Creek She Sends Me

2008-07-12T22:25:00.012-06:00

Sing it, Bob....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xsj41Qs2Hmw

When I get off of this mountain

You know where I want to go

Straight down the Mississippi river

To the Gulf of Mexico

To Lake Charles, Louisiana

Little Bessie, a girl that I once knew

And she told me just to come on by

If there's anything she could do

Up on Cripple Creek she sends me

If I spring a leak she mends me

I don't have to speak she defends me

A drunkard's dream if I ever did see one

Good luck had just stung me

To the race track I did go

She bet on one horse to win

And I bet on another to show

Odds were in my favor

I had him five to one

When that nag to win came around the track

Sure enough he had won

Up on Cripple Creek she sends me
If I spring a leak she mends me
I don't have to speak she defends me
A drunkard's dream if I ever did see one

I took up all of my winnings

And I gave my little Bessie half

And she tore it up and blew it in my face

Just for a laugh

Now there's one thing in the whole wide world

I sure would like to see

That's when that little love of mine

Dips her doughnut in my tea

Up on Cripple Creek she sends me
If I spring a leak she mends me
I don't have to speak she defends me
A drunkard's dream if I ever did see one

Now me and my mate were back at the shack

We had Spike Jones on the box

She said, "I can't take the way he sings

But I love to hear him talk"

Now that just gave my heart a fall

To the bottom of my feet

And I swore as I took another pull

My Bessie can't be beat

Up on Cripple Creek she sends me
If I spring a leak she mends me
I don't have to speak she defends me
A drunkard's dream if I ever did see one

Now, it's hot in California

And up north it's freezing cold

And this living off the road

Is getting pretty old

So I guess I'll call up my big mama

Tell her I'll be rolling in

Bet you know, deep down, I'm kinda tempted

To go and see my Bessie again

Up on Cripple Creek she sends me
If I spring a leak she mends me
I don't have to speak she defends me
A drunkard's dream if I ever did see one

My Panties are Stuck!

2008-06-25T05:56:00.010-06:00

I forget why, but I took Anna to story time at the Open Space visitors center. I'm rather fond of the Open Space areas in our city. Of course, it's Open Space in the sense of serene pockets of wilderness and wildlife tucked into the city, not Open Space in the Roswell martian sense. I saw online that they were doing a Southwest-themed story time, so Anna and I went last Saturday. The visitors center is breezy, monastary-quiet, and spicy with sage and juniper. Very relaxing for anyone not visiting with a 3-year-old.

Anna was one of the youngest in attendance at the day's activity-- and was by far the most active. She couldn't just look at the sculpture garden replica of New Mexico's topography, she had to climb the volcanoes; she couldn't simply stand on the lookout over the wind swept mud flats, she had to announce that they were poo-poo.

Story time was hosted that day by a retired teacher, who loved the kids and the stories dearly. Most of the kids were mesmerized by her inflective readings about Hopi children, coyotes, and rain dances. Anna loved the stories as well, she just had a hard time remaining still for so many of them. At the beginning of the story time, she and I were sitting together on one of the fancy red leather sofas, but she soon had to move about the place alternating between our spot on the sofa and the floor -- at one time cuddling with a sweet grandmother who I hadn't even met but who patted Anna's back and let her scoot up next to her and suck her thumb.

Towards the end, Anna crossed over into downright antsy -- the kind of antsy that embarasses a mommy. She was squirming all over, and though she insists on wearing dresses nearly every day, she hasn't come close to an understanding of lady-like behavior, so she kept tossing her legs into the air and flashing the audience with her Dora the Explorer panties, which were only covering one of her little toddler cheeks because somewhere during the course of the morning, she had put them on backwards.

Finally, I had to leave my perch on the couch and join her on the front row of the floor in some attempt to reign in the flailing legs for the last few minutes of the last story. She plopped onto my lap, but was still rocking like a beetle trying to right itself from having turned over onto its back. After one of my whispered attempts to get her to sit still -- the kind of whisper that comes out like a hiss -- she decided to try to whisper an explanation to mommy why she had to move around; she still, however, whispers in a voice that's louder than her regular speaking voice. She scream-whispers -- the kind of whisper that makes one red in the face -- because she doesn't really have faith that her whispers can be heard by anyone more than a millimeter away from her mouth. In truth, her whisper was heard by the cranes in the mudflats: "My Panties are stuck!"

All heads turned and all faces smirked. Before I could compose an answer other than a snort, she said it again -- louder this time, if that's possible: "My Pant-ees are stuck!" I tried to discreetly 'unstick' them, but she didn't notice and instead flopped over to face me, since I still, clearly, hadn't understood her: "My pant-ees are sssttuck!" -- this time with the tone of a teenager trying to get through to her idiotic mother. Like she was going suddenly learn to spell, pull my face up close to hers and go "S-T-U-C-K!"

My brain had been trying to figure out what to do in those few horrifying seconds, but it wasn't until her third proclamation that I actually got us both untangled and on our way out of the room -- so quickly her little legs were skittering like the cartoon roadrunner's to keep up. All the way out of the room she repeated the same phrase -- right into the next room that, conveniently, had the echo of a cathedral -- and into the bathroom. It was in the also echo-y bathroom that I explained in near-hysterical tones that we don't talk about what our underwear is doing when we are in public.

She seemed to accept the explanation and was fine once we got her panties on right-way-round. I actually took her back in there for the craft-time, though I was giddy with withheld laughter, so, thankfully, we have some lovely paper-plate dragonflies in our kitchen to remind of us the festivities.

Bugaboo in the City

2008-06-11T10:47:00.043-06:00

Anna and I flew to Minneapolis in May. The flights out of Dever each time were so turbulant that Anna at first giggled, "Mommy this plane is bumping a lot!"

...and then a few minutes later she questioned, "Mommy why are you praying?"

It was pretty cold most of the time. We sported our outerwear that we never get to wear in winter in the 'querque.

The highlights of travel for Anna Banana were the grandmas, the grandpas and the cousins. Oh, the cousins!

The Cousins (and their noms de plume to Anna) are as follows:

Taylor ('Teen Idol'), Joshy ('The Protector') and Bryson ('The Accomplice'). See below for a dazzling impression of a Gap ad.

Other trip highlights include....

...Party at the Playpark: Here we are wrapping uncle Jason around our little finger.

..."Say Ah!": The famous Dr. Anna checks Great Nana's throat for 'germies.'

...First Time on a Horsey: We rode "Patches" at the 4H fundraiser that cousin Taylor was volunteering at. Since that day, every horse Anna sees is also dubbed "Patches."

...Tell me about the rabbits, George: We also cuddled/mauled unsuspecting bunnies.

...Tickles and Pitworms: Anna graduated from calling her grandma "Gaga" to calling her "Grandma" because she decided she was too old for "Gaga."

(Anna is too old. Not Gaga.

For the love of all that's holy...no one said Gaga was old!)

...The Social Gathering of the Century: We all went to Jaqueline's wedding and had a delightful time...

...Quote of the day: A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.

~Marion C. Garretty

...The whole tribe: We spent some wonderful time at the Spakousky home with all of the extended family (more cousins!) and got some pics of Nana and Papa with their grandkids (missing Jacqueline and Misty...sniff).

...First time getting this shot: ALL of their great grandkids.

...Another Gap ad knock-off: Cutest bunch in the world!

Closing thoughts: Ufff!

Princessy, Wiggly Mayhem

2008-04-09T15:18:00.013-06:00

Anna turned 3 -- and we turned an unsuspecting weekend into a toddler frenzy. First, came the parade of princesses at her party on Saturday.

We managed to quarantine the adults in the safety of the backyard and Steve BBQ'd the afternoon away, while the princesses played dress up, sang along to our Disney princess video...

............and chased the cat about willy nilly.

Then, on Sunday, we joined our friends at the 'Pop Go the Wiggles' concert.

We "played our guitars with Murray," screamed "Wake up Jeff!" every time the poor purple man tried to get some shut eye, and sang about fruit salad all afternoon.

The show even included ballerinas, which made little Anna say, "Ooooooohhhh," and rather than hold up lighters at the concert, the Wiggles instructed all the parents to turn on their cell phones and hold them up -- it had the exact same effect too. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star was downright inspirational...

Here's a whole herd of Wiggles, Wiggly dancers, and Wiggly mascots...

Mommy's favorite part (yes, mommy gets one!) was when Anthony and Captain Feathersword were telling a story of the Chickens coming to Albuquerque on the train. Anthony was a bit of a show-off. Go figure.

And then the finale with the Big Red Car driven by "The New Greg" (I think his name is Sam maybe).

It's an April Fools' Day Miracle!

2008-03-30T15:43:00.021-06:00

Steve and I have something to celebrate. Tuesday, April 1st, is our 7th anniversary. That's the year where the gift is wool or copper if you're keeping track. Fingers crossed: maybe we'll get blankets and pennies.

We made it past the 7 year thing, and most of those years were doozies. In honor of our upcoming anniversary, and because I believe in building memorials, I'm going to be an annoying little blogger and publish one of my own poems.

Something Momentous
Like Israel’s desert wanderers,
We create memorial in this moment,
Gratefully piling up stones we will see
Later, when through memory hazy
With doubt and fear we look back,
Or circling lost (betrayed by our dominant stride),
We glance at the remembrance.
Look there; something momentous.
Faith coughs and sputters back to life.

We will infuse this moment with celebration
Of gifts and efforts.
We should celebrate such things:
In doing so we will celebrate God.

This is no small matter.
Let us celebrate, Let us commune,
Let us sigh with relief,
Thanking God and each other.
Leaves are made new and overturned.

He hands us this moment,
Gently dangling it from divine thumb and forefinger,
Lowering time into our clumsy, open palms,
And fills it with His presence, saying,
“Enjoy this one. Enjoy each other.
Your next step, your next 20,000 steps,
Are on my soil.”

It's okay mommy, I found one...

2008-03-27T15:19:00.012-06:00

I did a really bad thing.

When I discovered that an Easter Egg hunt was being held in a nearby community, I told Anna we were going and built up her little expectations to a fever pitch. "Baby, it's going to be so fun collecting eggies!"

Then, I blew it. I got us there exactly two minutes late. For those of you "in the know" regarding Egg Hunts, that means I got us there when it was over. Apparently, it only takes a mere two minutes for a horde of basket toting candy fiends and their kids to sock away a few thousand eggs.

I was distraught. I scoured the green with her for anything that was left -- we found one inexplicably tiny chocolate egg. How could I have done this to her? She would never have even known this disappointment if I hadn't jazzed her all up about it.

I started to cry. I really did. I kneeled down and looked her right in the face and apologized that we didn't get to do the egg hunt. Then she did something that made me cry more. She held my hand and started comforting me: "It's okay mommy, I found one..."

I took her directly to the store and bought eggs and dye, and we did a whole batch ourselves for her to hunt down in the back yard that afternoon.

And she was fine. Of course, she was fine the whole time. It was her mommy that wavered.

Once she got to wear her Easter Dress, though, she was thrilled.

Of course, this is her after mommy took a gazillion pictures of her in her Easter Dress and wore her out...

Sigh. I try.

Let there be...a blog

2008-03-27T11:35:00.001-06:00

Here we are. Ain't we fancy?