Firsts and Fifth

Yesterday marked the date that, five years ago, on a beautiful Sunday morning, under a small gazebo at the Dallas Arboretum, overlooking White Rock Lake, a mere 6 months after our first date, I pledged my eternal troth to this man:

We celebrated by joining our friends the Swanks at the beach for the day. It was Helena's first time at the beach and I would love to show you a picture of her but I didn't take one. Mostly because I just sat and held her most of the day, as she napped and enjoyed the sea breeze under the shade of the Swank's tenty-tarp thing. I loved visiting with Mrs. Swank and watching our kids and husbands play. Mr. Swank dug an impressively deep hole and the husband did a little boogie boarding on waves that had to be at least 3 inches high. I have never been much of a beach person but it was pure delight all around. Until, that is, we realized on our way home that we had been victimized. By El Sol. I thought I had been so meticulous with the sunblock application. And assiduous with the RE-application. Hudson was wearing a turtleneck shirt with an SPF of 50 for crying out loud. And yet. And yet. He is bright red around his left eye, both hands, and the backs of his calves. Harper has some intermittent splotching on her shoulders and thighs. The husband's neck, lower arms and legs are crimson. And I myself,who, and I do not exaggerate, sat UNDER a canvas roof fully clothed the ENTIRE time except for when I walked to the car then stood outside whilst getting the kids into dry clothes, am scarlet and sting-y on my legs and arms. Even poor Helena has pink cheeks, which made me want to cry. Oh Sun, why do you loathe us so? And why is sunblock application such a complicated endeavor? I have vowed that on our next trip we will follow the lead of the our friends the Browns and become The Covered Up Family. SPF clothing for everyone, large brimmed hats, and a vat of sunblock into which I will dip each child again and again like a candle-maker with his candles.

When we got home we had another first. Harper and Hudson had taken a quick bath and I got Harper out first to comb her very tangled hair. I then went back to get Hudson, who had grown strangely quiet. As I bent down to get him I noticed there was something odd all over the bottom of the tub. "Rocks!" Hudson announced, "I play with rocks!" Well, ladies and gentlemen, they were not rocks. Oh, they were brown. And kind of lumpy. Lumpy and brown. That's right. Poo in the tub. I am thankful that he was considerate enough to wait for Harper to get out, for I fear she would not have handled it well. The husband, of course, went into full-on HAZMAT mode and we are all still recovering from the Pine-Sol fumes. It's ironic, really, because I had just a few hours earlier been rather boastful, I fear, in telling Mrs. S, who had just spent an inordinate amount of time in the portapotty with her June, who had, inexplicably, because of some sort of leg malfunction, fallen to the FLOOR OF THE PORTAPOTTY upon her dismount (I wish I had a picture of Mrs. S's face as she relayed this horrifying news because it was priceless) that my children tended to poo on a schedule and always at home. So, there you have it.

Ten on Tuesday

1. Last week I had a rotten cold (including a 102 degree temperature one day) and may or may not have Googled the following questions:
-Can I take Nyquil while breastfeeding?
-Can I take Mucinex while breastfeeding?
-Is using an entire box of tissues in approximately 2 hours indicative of The Swine Flu?

2. On the day when I was the sickest, the husband was, unfortunately, in a trial AND teaching a class from 6-8pm so I had to muddle through an entire day of Bare Minimum Mothering, which included long periods of me feeling faint on the couch while Clifford, Big Bird, and the Word World animals took care of my children. Harper actually did a good job of tending to Hudson, even engaging him in conversation over lunch:

Harper: Hudson, eat your "tay-yuhs." (she used his pronunciation of 'sweet potatoes' which I thought was rather tender and considerate) Hudson, how is your applesauce? Hudson, mine is sweet, tasty, and delicious. How is yours?

Hudson: Good.

3. I wonder if it happens in anyone else's house that siblings who snipe and sniggle and wiggle and whine at each other all day long will, suddenly, right at naptime or bedtime, begin playing with each other like cherubim at the very gates, singing in perfect harmony and picking up as they go.

4. I wonder if anyone else has ever yelled at the top of their lungs for their children to STOP YELLING!!! and then realized that it would be really funny if their kids were old enough to understand irony.

5. Last night Harper and I were reading an alphabet book about beetles that she got for her birthday and the J page read: "June bugs usually appear in early summer during the month of June. That's how they got their name. How did you get your name?" Harper thought for a minute, then furrowed her brow and said, "Harper-Collins Publishers?" We like to read ALL parts of the title page around here. She may not like to write her name but she certainly enjoys seeing it in print.

6. Hudson has, unfortunately, contracted my cold and last night after letting him spend approximately 30 minutes playing in a nice, warm bath I decided I should take his temperature before bed even though he hadn't been acting sick all day. It was 103.8. Mother of the Year, right here.

7. I can't STAND to walk barefoot. Especially inside. I wear socks all of the time. (I try to match them but right now all of my socks are in a jumble in the laundry basket) But I can't STAND for the socks to get the slightest bit damp, so if there's a chance this might happen (getting the kids out of the bathtub, for example), I also wear these Crocs WITH my socks. It is an overall attractive look.

8. We had our first ever birthday party that involved people we aren't related to on Friday afternoon at the Children's museum. Harper had a great time and enjoyed having so many of her friends all in one place. She did tell me that night that "There were LOTS of children looking at me when there was the Happy Birthday song" which proves that she is, indeed, my daughter. (I had a grand total of 14 people at my wedding, and that was about 13 people too many looking at me all at once.) She also got a stomach ache after eating exactly one bite of cupcake. She is officially allergic to eggs, dadgummit. When her stomach started hurting, she said, "Mommy, we should get rid of the letter 'C' so there can be NO MORE cupcakes." Again, have I mentioned that "Word World" occasionally babysits my children? These are the invitations I made:And here's the birthday girl, as her ladybug cupcakes melted into an Impressionistic mess because it is Texas in late May:

9. Certain key changes make me feel nauseated. I can't exactly pin-point which key changes trigger this odd reaction, but they tend to happen in the slow, building-to-crescendo ballads of Barry Manilow, Billy Joel, and Mark Schultz. If I happen to hear one of these songs on the radio it becomes difficult to drive. I am not making this up.

10. Hudson's favorite book this month had been The Puddle by David McPhail. The illustrations are beautiful, simple watercolors and the story tells of a little boy who goes out to sail his boat in a big puddle and is joined by a frog, a turtle, an alligator, a pig, and an elephant. Harper has been enjoying reading the Frances books by Russell Hoban. I really enjoy these books too, but the only vexing thing is that Frances makes up lots of little songs and I never know what melody to sing them to as I'm reading them out loud. This happens in the Pooh books too. The more it snows, tiddely pom? I mean really. "Jingle Bells?" "Twinkle Twinkle?" "Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring?" What? Does anyone else have this problem?

Happy birthday, dear Harper

Yesterday was Harper's birthday. She has been pretty excited about turning four, but, approximately an hour after waking up, she furrowed her brow and asked when, exactly, she would be Getting Big. Apparently she thought Turning Four meant turning into a big kid overnight, or, perhaps on the actual day of her birthday she would grow at warp speed and end the day as a much larger Harper.

We spent the weekend at my parents' house and celebrated with them and my brother and his family. We enjoyed their new swing set: (the bandaged arm is because of a mosquito bite. She is terribly allergic to them and they turn into these huge, painful welts.)
Made, and ate, cupcakes:And celebrated this sweet, funny, vivacious girl. A few of her favorite things: bugs, cars, ballet shoes, being called Lightning, drawing, eating (almond cheese, raspberries, and Veggie Booty are favorites, but she pretty much enjoys everything we give her), going to the park, playing in the sink with her bath toys, watching "Berenstain Bears" dvds, performing puppet shows for Helena, picking flowers, wearing band-aids, mothering her stuffed puppy, brushing her teeth, going to Target, typing on the computer, watching "Survivor Man" and baseball with Daddy, and getting her back scratched. A few of her not so favorite things: writing her name (she used to like it very much but lately has decided that she can't do it just right and will, therefore, not do it at all. Sigh.), having her hair washed, sharing, singing on cue (though if she thinks no one is listening, she'll belt it out in the car), listening to Helena or Hudson cry, watching anything that she isn't absolutely certain has not one scary thing in it (she won't even watch her beloved "Cars" anymore, presumably because of Frank the Scary Threshing Machine--we aren't really sure because she won't talk about it) and not being able to do things well the very first time she tries.

I just can't believe how fast it goes. You are a delight and we are so thankful for you, dear daughter.

I have tried. I have failed.

I'm just going to say it.

American Idol is STUPID.

Please note, as you quiver with indignation, that I did not accuse anyone who likes it of being stupid. I usually watch a couple of nights of the beginning auditions if there is nothing else on, but this year there was just Too. Much. Stupid. So I didn't watch. Then, as usual, I have skipped the entire season because watching people sing is boring to me AND I simply cannot stand to listen to people sing when they are not on key. And that happens lots and lots when the Idol contestants get their Billy Joel or Barry Manilow or Bette Midler on. (Incidentally, from a very young age I also cringed inwardly during Solos Sung in Church by people who, inevitably, were a little flat, usually off tempo just a smidge, and sometimes holding the liner notes of their Amy Grant cassette in their trembling hand so as not to forget the second verse of "El Shaddai". Painful.) Anyway, even though I abstain during the season, I usually try to watch the final night, mostly because I like to watch people win things. It's just happy and sweet to see someone fulfill a dream, even the vapid dream of Pop Stardom. (I also like to watch the last 5 minutes of that show where they build people the fancy new house. Sometimes I cry a little.) So I got everyone to bed tonight and told the husband that we might want to watch a little Idol. We actually made it through the KISS abomination, mostly because I had to explain KISS to the husband who was too young and/or sheltered to know why in the world Gene Simmons kept sticking his tongue out. And then, hey, there's Steve Martin with his banjo! Except the girl singer was so flat and off tempo that I almost had to change the channel, but I persevered, because I enjoy Mr. Martin and his banjo. But then when the guy singers all came trotting out and launched into "IF you want my body AND you think I'm sexy" I exclaimed, out loud, "No! I just can't. It is JUST. TOO. STUPID." The husband, in solidarity, I can only assume, with husbands all across America, heartily concurred.

On another musical note, Hudson has discovered that while he is sucking his thumb he can use his index finger to tweak his nose and he hums a little and it's like a little nasal harmonica to accompany me as we sing before bed.

Our friend Izzy did a really good job taking care of Hudson at the zoo today. There was an awful lot of hand holding and even an attempt to pick him up which I would have loved to have a picture of except I lurched to intervene to ensure that the both of them didn't end up in a mangled heap right in front of the carousel. Mrs. B suggested that perhaps Izzy was practicing to carry Hudson across the threshold because, it seems, there's been some talk of Marriage.

Separate

I guess it's obvious I like babies. Always have. I don't remember playing much with baby dolls, but from really early on I liked the real thing. I couldn't wait to be old enough to babysit, though, as is probably often the case, by the time I was really old enough I was consumed with other activities and didn't actually do much of it. It's interesting that with all the baby love I had, I never actually spent much time dreaming about having my own kids. I think I might have secretly suspected that maybe I wouldn't ever get my own. Which would explain why, when I'm driving along in the minivan, I will glance in the rearview mirror, see the carseats and little people and think, "Why, when did THAT happen?" and then feel this overwhelming sense of wonder and gratitude. While each new developmental stage has its own delights (and, naturally, challenges) I really love having a small baby. I love that Helena is so simple in her needs and that I know how to meet them. I love watching her face when I'm about to feed her and she knows what's coming. It is pure adoration. There is something awesome about it--in the true sense of the word. Terrifying and magnificent.

We spent five days at my parents' house last week and it was delightful as usual. As we were pulling out of their driveway to come back home, I noticed that Harper was crying quietly in her carseat. She is usually very obvious (read:LOUD) in her sadness and this was a new, private grief. She has been changing lately in so many ways, and I think it's just a gradual shift in her realization of her place in the world. Unfortunately it mostly seems to be making her feel sort of isolated and sullen and disgruntled. I confess that I am not very patient in handling these new, complicated emotions and the undesirable behaviors that seem to accompany them.

Both Harper and Hudson hum while they eat. It's very sweet because I don't think they even realize they are doing it. They are just content and fulfilled in their endeavor and it manifests in happy sounds. Harper, from a really early age, could sing melodies on key. Hudson sings with gusto and it is so flat that it sounds nothing like the actual tune he's attempting. He does seem to have really good rhythm. So he'll be the family percussionist if we do our own Jonas Brothers thing.

I started reading Atlas Shrugged a couple of weeks ago and am only on page 63. It has over 1,000 pages. The cover art should really portray Atlas with a copy of Atlas Shrugged on his shoulders.

Three months

The sweet baby girl was three months old yesterday. She is doing lots of smiling, though I've yet to get a picture. She loves to be looked at and talked to and will reward me with coos and other very cute sounds if I give her undivided attention. She has chuckled a few times--the first time was while looking at herself in the mirror during her bath. Her favorite place, after the bathtub, is the changing table. It makes her very chatty. Which is adorable unless I have to change her in the middle of the night and she sees it as an opportunity for extended social interaction. She is only waking up once a night most nights, usually after 8 or 9 hours, then she eats and goes right back to sleep. She takes 3 naps a day and at least one of them is usually 3 hours. When she's awake she likes to do this:

Dancing Brother is way more entertaining than swinging farm animals. She hasn't quite made up her mind about the Bumbo:

Knock, knock. Who's there? Mommy.

It's interesting and at times, unfortunate, that as a toddler develops, he often acquires certain skills that get him into quite a predicament several weeks or even months before he develops the necessary skill to get himself out of said predicament. Climbing up? Much easier than climbing back down. Closing the door? Much easier than opening the door. Locking said door? Much easier than unlocking said door. A month or so ago while I was putting Helena down for a nap Hudson managed to get stuck in the bathroom. He closed the door then opened the drawer right next to the door. The door, unfortunately, opens inward, or, I should say, opens inward if there is not a drawer pulled out in front of it. It took me a minute to realize our predicament. "Hudson, can you close the drawer buddy?" Silence. "Hudson, it's mommy. CLOSE the DRAWER." More silence. The door would only open about an inch so I couldn't actually see anything and I started to get a mite concerned, remembering stories of toddlers drowning in toilets etc. etc. I get a little screechy. "HUDSON YOU NEED TO TALK TO MOMMY CAN YOU HEAR ME!?" Tiny little voice says, "Yes ma'am." Okay, not face down in the toilet. At this point the husband gets home from work (nothing says Welcome Home Honey like a small child trapped in the bathroom) and takes over. It's funny how the phrase "close the drawer" sounds kind of like "knock on the door". The husband would say Hudson, CLOSE the DRAWER and Hudson, obedient boy that he is would quietly knock on the door. This went on for about 30 minutes while the husband tried several different feats of kitchen utensil engineering/McGyver tricks to get the drawer closed. Nothing worked so he ended up having to force the door open which broke the drawer but not the door. As soon as he got out we played a little game we like to call This Is How To CLOSE a Drawer.

So I tell you that little anecdote because I am fond of foreshadowing. Harper has been really into bugs the last couple of weeks. Mostly rolly-polies, but we also have two June bugs and a lovely collection of slugs and snails courtesy of our friends Izzy and Abby. She loves these bugs with an ardor that will hopefully someday be bestowed upon an actual pet (today she found 6 cents on the floor and when I told her she could keep it she said she wanted to take it to church and give it to someone who needed it. Someone who maybe needed to buy a puppy for their children. Sweet. Sad, but sweet) and she tends to them and mothers them all day long. So this morning she found another rolly-poly to add to the squirming mass she already has. She noticed that the leaf she had in there was almost gone and suggested she needed to go out on our patio and retrieve another. Our patio is, thanks to the deluge this week, mosquito infested so I told her I would quickly go out and grab one. She agreed and said she needed to go to the bathroom. Helena was waking up from her morning nap as I stepped out. Hudson was watching "Sesame Street." I closed the door carefully so that no mosquitoes would get in and bent down to find a dead leaf because I read that the rolly polies prefer the decaying vegetation to the green stuff. Just as I was standing back up and had my hand on the door knob I see Hudson standing there with one thumb in his mouth and his other hand...click. That's right. Click. He looked pleased. I am locked on the patio. In my pajamas. And the only child inside the house capable of UNlocking the lock is sitting on the toilet waiting for me to wipe her bottom. Hudson has wandered back to "Sesame Street" because Mommy on the Patio is not as compelling, apparently, as Pets on Elmo's World. So I start knocking to get his attention. He comes back to the door, smiles sweetly, and knocks back. "Turn the LOCK Hudson! The L-L-LOCK!" Another sweet smile. Another knock. I realize the futility and decide that getting Harper to come is probably my only hope. So I go to the window closest to the bathroom and try to yell as quietly as possible because we live in an apartment complex and have 100 or so neighbors who might have still been asleep. "HARPER! IT'S MOMMY AND I'M OUTSIDE AND I NEED YOU TO GET OFF THE POTTY--IT'S OKAY TO WIPE YOURSELF THIS ONCE--AND COME HELP MOMMY! HARPER! GET OFF THE POTTY AND COME HERE!" This went on for around 10 minutes, during which I could hear Harper chanting, "Mommy! I'm finished! I'm ready to get off the potty!" Finally she realized that something was amiss, came wandering out, and unlocked the door. I got poor Helena who had worked herself into quite a frenzy, made sure Harper washed her hands, and sat down to the dulcet strains of "Pets, pets, pets! Pets, pets, pets! Pets, pets, pets, pets, pets! That's Elmo's world!"