Year: 2011

Beautiful Nora

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Every time a friend of mine has a baby, I post about it. (Search “welcome” for all the new beautiful babies I’ve had the pleasure of holding.) It occurred to me, only today, that I never wrote an official welcome post for Nora Helen Estridge, born July 5, 2011, 6 lbs. 15 oz., 20 in. Her parents, Dara and Mike, waited for and wanted her for a long time and I couldn’t be happier for them.

I was unable to see Nora when she was first born because of the awful c-diff (which I’m still on antibiotics for) but now, when on antibiotics, I’m able to hold babies whenever I want to. And lately, I want to. Often. I don’t really want another baby (and we’re not having another one) but now that my boys are toddlers, in every sense of the word, something hurts—physically hurts—when I hold a baby or have the rare pleasure of letting one sleep on my chest. I realize you can’t experience that forever, personally, but it makes me realize, really realize, how rare and fleeting that time was. Yes, there was sleep deprivation and projectile vomiting and unreliable hormones and nonstop crying but there was also this tiny, amazing human being who fit, toes at belly button, head at neck, perfectly. I miss that.

But enough about me. Back to Nora. She’s perfect. And her parents are amazing. She’s lucky—very lucky. Dara and Mike, I’m so sorry this is so belated, but I couldn’t be happier for you. You deserve her. And she deserves you. My most sincere congratulations.

“Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the Everywhere and into here.” —George MacDonald

A Holiday Bazaar

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Early November my mom, Sophie, Owen and James drove up to Lewisburg, OH to attend the annual holiday bazaar at Trinity Lutheran Church.

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My grandma (on the right) is very active in the church and did a lot of work for this event, as she does every year. Like most small-town church holiday bazaars, the homemade food was delicious and inexpensive (when you checked out there was a bowl of free apples, which I’m sure was from someone’s backyard). You could buy everything from candles and homemade fudge to doll clothes and jewelry at the bazaar. I even found a beautiful silver chain that reminded me of my grandma’s timeless style and warm heart. I came home with a small, handmade wooden stool for the children to use in our upstairs bathroom and a handmade wooden bench, which is perfect as a coffee table in our living room. The man who made it built a wooden cross for the church, in memory of my grandpa. And I think of that every time I prop my feet up on our new coffee table.

I love the church holiday bazaar, no matter the town. I love that everyone knows everyone and that it can take 20 minutes to walk 20 feet from all the “hellos” and “look how much they’ve grown!” and that by buying these goods, most handmade from neighbors (or, in this case, my grandma’s neighbors), you’re supporting those who surround you, in every sense of the word.

“We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men.” —Herman Melville

Morning Glory

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taken November 12

“The moment when you first wake up in the morning is the most wonderful of the twenty-four hours. No matter how weary or dreary you may feel, you possess the certainty that, during the day that lies before you, absolutely anything may happen. And the fact that it practically always doesn’t, matters not a jot. The possibility is always there.”—Monica Baldwin

Temper Tantrums

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The boys now respond to no by running into the next room and throwing themselves on the floor. There they twist and squirm and scream and roll and cry, and when that doesn’t work, they stand up and just yell louder, as Owen is doing here (James is still in the squirming on the floor point in this picture). They are fantastic temper tantrum throwers. My favorite, though, is when one throws a tantrum and then the other, noticing his brother, will stop playing, stand up, calmly walk into the same room where the tantrum is taking place and then once in the same room, throw himself down with rolls and tears and screams and squirms to match his brother—simply because that is what his brother was doing.

“Temper tantrums, however fun they may be to throw, rarely solve whatever problem is causing them.” —Lemony Snicket

Silhouettes

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My children spend some time each day perched on top of the couch, in front of the large front window in our living room. When I took the first picture in this series, I was dismayed with how dark it was. And then, on second thought, I thought how cool it was. So I just kept clicking.

“A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.” —Walt Whitman

James’s First Haircut

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Poor James. His first haircut was so different than Sophie’s. Andy and I drove separately as I was getting my hair cut and colored by the wonderful Nicholena (at Mitchell’s in Northgate if you’re looking for someone) after James had his haircut. But Andy had to get gas and then got stuck in traffic so I arrived ahead of him, with all three kids, by myself. I held Owen while trying to take pictures of James one-handed and keep Sophie calm. About three minutes in Sophie, of course, had to use the bathroom. So I took Owen and Sophie with me to the women’s restroom, leaving James with Nicholena. James did well at first, but then started screaming, not knowing where any of us were. So Nicholena graciously brought him in to me.

Andy finally made it (although he missed most of the haircut) and in the chaos I completely forgot to ask for a lock. So now Sophie and Owen have a lock of hair in marked envelopes from their first haircuts, and James does not. Even though he’s not technically the youngest, sometimes, I feel like it works out that way for him. I was so tempted to cut a lock of hair off the back of his head on my own, once home, but Andy convinced me not to. I’ll just save one next time. And James, if you’re reading this 20 years from now, I’m sorry.

“O, would ye know why thus I prize this little lock of hair,
Why thus I press it to my heart, and treasure it with care?” —Jane Ermina Locke

Sneaky

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This morning Sophie told us that she and a friend are “sneaky” at preschool. “What do you mean, sneaky?” I asked. She said that some of the work they choose from the classroom bookshelves is meant to be done alone but she doesn’t like doing work alone—she likes doing it with her friend. So they find a place “that’s blocked so the teacher can’t see us.”

“Where did you learn the word ‘sneaky’?” I asked.

“From my teacher,” Sophie said.

I have a feeling my next parent-teacher conference is going to differ from the last one.

Sophie can be sneaky, though. I know this. Several weeks ago I left all three kids playing in the living room for just a few minutes. When I came back in the room, Sophie and Owen were snuggled on the couch together, under the blanket Linda knitted for us, watching Clifford on TV. The TV was off when I left the room. So somehow they managed to find the remote (which is always missing), turn the TV on and then find a child-appropriate show to watch. (It took me a good month to learn how to use that remote.)

But I loved how they were snuggled into one another. And I loved the look on Owen’s face—it’s a smirk he makes often, when he’s proud of himself. So I let them be, despite the fact they were over their TV limit for the day. Sometimes, I think, sneaky can be harmless. And can bring joy. And camaraderie.

I’m sure being sneaky will take on an entirely different meaning, however, when my children are 16.

“I was so naive as a kid I used to sneak behind the barn and do nothing.” —Johnny Carson

Finally …

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the boys sit on my lap, content, happy, calm, and I can read to them. These moments are some of my favorite moments of the day. And it is next to impossible to say “no” when one of them comes to me, eager, book in hand, saying “book,” “book,” “book” over and over and over. Among the many books we own, they typically choose one of five favorites. And insist I read them over and over and over. This is incredibly tiresome but yet, I think back to when they wouldn’t sit still at all. And how I feared I would never get to read to them (how silly, I know). And now, their insistence keeps me from getting much done during the day. I don’t care. Or, rather, I do, greatly, which is why little else gets done.

“Books are the bees which carry the quickening pollen from one to another mind.” –James Russell Lowell