What you got here is a tardy blog...

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

Maria's a player

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

It's gotta be genetic...

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

Welcome Baby Maria!

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Happy 60th Anniversary to Nana and Papa

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Fetal Movements

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

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

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!

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.