Pancakes for Breakfast

A Contest? Yes, It Looks That Way

2011-09-06T13:51:00.000-04:00

Well, if you haven't heard through your favorite social networking site, we're in the top two in Meijer's Awkward Photo Contest. We entered a photo of our kids to join in the fun with a company and family close to our hearts, and out of thousands we've been chosen to be finalists.

There's another pic that people are voting for en masse, and we have been neck and neck all along. Now we're over 100 votes away, and what was really exciting has become a true competition! And while I'm not all for bugging people, especially acquaintances (versus, you know, my mom), I think I've started to. Because the prize? It's a $20,000 scholarship.

Right??

If you haven't already, we'd love for you to vote, and to spread the word to all of your friends, too. You can vote once a day for the next four days. Thanks to everyone for the support!

Here's where you can do it. Thanks again!

In Health

2011-07-14T20:34:00.000-04:00

Quite suddenly, we've become vegan.

No no, no we haven't. Not entirely. But kind of we've gone vegan.

I know that by the very nature of this lifestyle one doesn't kind of do it, but here we are, inching our way in that direction.

It all started with mac & cheese. I noticed that I was feeling pretty awful after eating the stuff with the kids. And since we tend to eat our fair share, I was noticing it a lot. So I took stock of what happened after each mouthful of cereal, each slice of bread, and you betcha, I had a gluten sensitivity.

I've always been lactose intolerant, and the gluten business was pretty similar. Had to cut out the gluten, and after one day there was a difference. Two and I was feeling like a new gal. It's been nearly a week and I can't believe how much better I feel all around, outside even of my stomach.

Two of my friends are also gluten-free, and on a recent evening walk we chatted about nutrition and making the move when the rest of the family doesn't have gluten issues. One of my friends has recently battled breast cancer, and during her treatment and surgeries she found that many of her physicians are vegan. Always a very healthy eater, she was shocked to hear that the general belief behind non-obviously-genetic-type (that's the technical term, I'm sure) cancer is that it's the food we take in and the energy we output (or don't) that does it, or leads to it, or helps it along.

She delved into the subject of vegan eating and immediately her family went in that direction. The other friend on our walk, and several more in our peer group, took their families to the vegetarian/vegan lifestyle soon after, all with tremendous results. Allergies have disappeared, mystery coughs gone, bowels happy to be bowels again.

I came home and talked to Trevor about it. We talked about his uncle, battling cancer right now, and about our friend, who was the first in our peer group to get it. We talked about what it might be like in that doctor's office, getting a diagnosis, and hearing that it may have been related to diet. Diet! And how, in that moment, we would be horrified that we had not tried harder to prevent it.

And so, now, we are taking a path we never thought we'd take. From a hunting family, Trevor was at first not interested in the least. After our talk, he was the one to suggest we give it a try.

We're not going to be hardcore - we can't; we know we'd sink and our resolve would be compromised. We're going to lean on fresh fish and continue the eggs. We're not going to force anything on anyone. We're going to walk down for ice cream now and then.

But the other things are big steps for us. Thinking vegetarian is new, and even though we'll continue to make chicken and fish and eggs for the kids, trying to clean up our diets in major ways is hard. We're fumbling a bit right now, but then again, we just started, and we do have a lot to learn.

We feel great about the adventure of it, though. When we take our long, nearly nightly family walk, we feel like we're doing the right thing, and while I haven't had a chance to talk to Trevor about his energy because he's been working nonstop, I know that I feel lighter and springier already.

Tonight for dinner I pulled all of our vegetables out of the refrigerator and set them on the counter. I began chopping, and asked Marta and Berit to put them in the pan. Celery and cauliflower, zucchini and edamame, kale and peppers, they all found their way into the girls' bellies before they had a chance with the pan. Our stir-fry was small, but the girls were giddy and full, entirely from our fresh bounty. For dessert they ate gluten-free bread and tomatoes, and the whole time I wondered if it would work. It did.

Marta Speaks

2011-07-14T18:56:00.000-04:00

After waking from a 4-7:30 p.m. nap:

"Good morning, Mom!"

Me: Marta, it's actually nighttime.

"Well, can I have a bedtime snack, then?"

Marta Speaks (Perfectly Healthily)

2011-07-05T08:35:00.000-04:00

"I'm not going to throw up. I just have the brown hiccups."

Playing

2011-07-02T09:18:00.002-04:00

Berit: "Are you from France? What crunchy are you from?"
Marta: "Um, Arizona."

The Gift

2011-06-29T11:01:00.000-04:00

Two nights ago Trevor had a dream that we were running on the roof, running away from something, and while he was concentrating on carrying Berit, I fell. I "just exploded" when I hit the ground, he says. In his dream, he started throwing up, he was so immediately upset.

Not a regular dreamer, Trevor has been shaken ever since.

***

There have been complications with Korea. Without writing the long list of recent challenges (just the thought of them all have my hands and fingers tired; we have been over and over and over them too much), I'll say this: we are officially in a new position, which is hold.

Too much has been sent our way and we cannot act in the best interest of everyone - Berit and Marta, the new child, Trevor and me - so quickly. We have asked to be put on hold.

Here is what that means: We will not lose our "place in line," which I am not allowed to discuss in detail, but can say that it is very, very high on the list. (Place number one is the next family to get their child, etc.) We will continue to climb this list (though there is very little climbing to do), but we will not get a referral (The Call). People on the list under us will, and when and if we say we are ready to progress, we will be in the same or higher position to receive a referral.

Once we made this decision... well, let me back up. I don't think I can talk about what happened after without at least a notation about making this decision. It was hard. It was hand-shaking, tear-strewn, dream-having hard.

And once we sent our official request to be put on hold, something happened that no one expected. It was almost physical, a sense of a wrapper being taken off, or a tie being broken. Not that we were free, not at all. That's not what I'm getting at. It was like we took our sunglasses off - that's a better way to put it.

And I'm not saying that we weren't good parents before, because we were. I know this. But - our kids! They are so, so cool. They are so big! Marta is writing her name. Writing her name! No one has ever thought to even teach her to make a circle, and she's drawing pictures of people and writing her NAME.

Berit is reading books and riding horses now, too. She is braver today than she was yesterday. She is staying up later and problem-solving and working things out with Marta instead of always fighting. She's getting shy in a group of new kids.

I have never seen my children in the way I do now. No longer do I look at them and instantly wonder how I'll handle a particular situation with three. No longer do I envision going to three at night, or driving three in the car, or feeding/bathing/dressing/shopping with three.

And this is OK. It's amazing that it's OK. It's laugh-and-cry-at-the-same-time OK. Because my God, look at my two funny, smart, brave and great girls. They are so fun to be with.

We go exploring and play games and just talk now, and there isn't a second current running behind my thoughts, wondering how we'll get to Korea. It's just us. We're good.

Of course we are mourning the loss of this current, too. But the gift we have been given is remarkable. We are lucky, not flailing. Everything is going to be alright.

Two

2011-06-23T19:44:00.000-04:00

My dear friend Ellen once told me that after her first two boys but before her third boy, when she wasn't pregnant but wanted to be, she wondered why she should feel emotional about *not* having a third. Because look at her two, who are so perfect and wonderful. Look at her loves. Why shouldn't she just be content with her two?

I think of this often, these days.

These Are The Days

2011-06-18T15:55:00.002-04:00

Theirs

2011-06-17T11:10:00.000-04:00

His

2011-06-17T10:52:00.002-04:00

Mine

2011-06-17T10:43:00.000-04:00

Birthday Dinner #2, Cafe Sante

2011-06-16T16:48:00.000-04:00

Sigh... Update

2011-06-13T11:05:00.004-04:00

We have a very small handle on what's happening with Korea right now. On one hand, yes, there is still a chance our child could come home sooner rather than later (we had recently heard that we wouldn't have a chance to bring our baby home until next year, which was devastating news). On the other hand, fees are up and will be due the very moment we accept our referral (child's file - in other words, it's when we say yes, we want to adopt this child that you're telling us is ready to be adopted). So, surprises around every corner.

The worst part is this: If we don't accept a child very, very soon, we will have to wait until 2012 or 2013 to have another chance, as the Korean government is pushing each year to end international adoptions (even though they are direly needed).

It's sort of a put-up-or-shut-up feeling that we are not enjoying, and are in fact, kind of panicking about.

Marta's Weekend at Aunt Andrea's and Uncle Nick's House

2011-06-13T11:05:00.003-04:00

First Beach, Summer 2011

2011-06-13T10:55:00.000-04:00

We are typically to the water on the first sunny day of spring, but it was particularly cold on those days this year. We went as soon as we could, and it was still a bit cold. The water was freezing, but it always is. One of us doesn't mind a bit.

Others in our party prefer to observe, until about mid-July.

No problem.

Frozen

2011-06-05T11:29:00.000-04:00

We belong to a forum through our agency. It's been slow lately; no new news for anyone.

And then suddenly, two girls for two families. And then one of the families gets the change for a second girl, to pick up at the same time they pick up their first.

And my stomach drops in both joy and frustration and anticipation. My eyes tear at the smallest suggestion of a new child, for anyone, anywhere. I feel frozen in time - our call will never come, it must come, it will never, ever come, what will we do when it does come?

Memorial Day Weekend 2011

2011-05-30T20:39:00.000-04:00

   We are salty and dry from a day spent with sidewalk chalk, under the hot-hot sun, in dresses and shorts, grilling steaks and planting.
   The house is warm because the screens are in and the huge windows are open wide, and only just now a smooth breeze is coming through to tell us about evening.
   The speakers have been on high all day, so we could hear our folksy tunes outside.
   The dog is exhausted, the girls are chatty, summer nightgowns are going on over powdered bellies.
   We clapped, gave thumbs-ups to and said thank you to our service men and women today, while watching a short and loud parade, and we danced in the park with friends. Some of us rolled down hills, and everyone under 4 feet picked armfuls of dandelions.
   One of us happened upon a local race today and joined in, finishing the initial run with a burst of friends and energy.
   This old Victorian looks and feels like a cottage, with shoes and chalk and food and toys everywhere.
   We are missing our cousins, who for 48 hours were the most important people on earth, and with whom we made those holiday kind of memories.
   We ate our snack of prunes on the porch and shooed ants while waving at the resorters, who think we must be new in town.
   We bonded with the new family up the block, whose children were covered in chocolate ice cream and had full diapers, but no one cared enough to stop the impromptu playdate.
   Our feet are exhausted but our heads are dancing with the promise of sand and lake, summer and sunshine, every day.

Dixie

2011-05-25T17:21:00.000-04:00

Marta Speaks

2011-05-25T17:11:00.000-04:00

At a fountain wishing wall, making a wish:
I wish I....
I...
I wish I had a wall like this one!

And this morning:
I'm having a wedding, so I'm on Prince Eric's phone. And I just tooted, so excuse me.

Date At The Farm

2011-05-25T17:09:00.000-04:00

Sisters, As They Should Be

2011-05-25T17:05:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time they never fought. People would wonder how we managed such happiness between siblings. We'd shrug and say we were lucky.

Our luck has run out.

Love

2011-05-07T21:49:00.002-04:00

In Brief, and In Photos

2011-05-04T10:55:00.000-04:00

I like to think that we've been "happily busy" lately. Yes, we've been swamped with work and our To Do list, but I think we've fit in a handful of extra fun days, too.

Be sure to catch the Northern Michigan hit show, Tank Tops On Ice

Yes, she's wearing exactly what you think she's wearing.

Trevor and I embraced the chance to spend a weekend sans kids at Andrea and Nick's house, and while in Holland we visited local breweries (and made the guys "reluctantly" play board games).

On St. Patrick's Day, a leprechaun visited while the girls were out and left green footprints all over the house.

Also, clues...

... that lead upstairs...

... into bedrooms...

... and to a treat!

Later that same day...

And look at this, I don't know how to make these pictures go with their friends above, but here is more of the park.

A bit of attitude...

A very first original recipe, of which she was very proud.

"Cheddar Bunnies and ranch, then dip."

Coloring Easter eggs...

Baskets! He came! He left a trail of bunny-shaped marshmallows wherever he went (even down the playroom slide, ahh!)!

Testing the new Slinky on the back stair, because the steps are so steep (and munching jelly beans, naturally).

The lone Easter service goers...

... because someone was sick.

"Oh hi Aunt Andrea!"

"Eh, I'm just eating Cocoa Wheats for dinner. Totally nutritious meal."

"What makes you think we're so much alike, anyway? Maybe it's the way I eat chocolate-based foods while I talk on the phone to you?"

"Haha, everything you say is the best thing I've ever heard. You're so cool and funny and you look like a princess."

What?

In Case You're Wondering

2011-05-02T14:16:00.000-04:00

I was just looking at some photos of a friend's baby's baptism and I couldn't help noticing how nice my friend's wife looked, even though she's recently had a baby. Let me put it out there: I was not in this category. I was a train wreck. I had no idea what to wear, and I believe that on the morning of Berit's baptism I realized this disappointment and ran to WAL-MART to pick up a spring-ish shirt (which ended up being far too risque and plain old ridiculous) to wear with my one pair of black pants.

If you are a friend, relative or kind stranger reading this, please make a mental note that I am clueless when it comes to fashion, and that you are given permission to pull me aside and tell me to change. In fact, please tell me what to change into.

Especially on an occasion that will be forever remembered through photos. In particular, an occasion that will be forever remembered through photos of me holding a child, leaning down over a baptismal font. (Note above-mentioned risque shirt.)

Empty Baskets

2011-04-29T11:12:00.000-04:00

Dear children,
Why do you not care about the candy in your Easter baskets? Why do you never wonder if it's still there? Why aren't you checking on it?
Love,
Mom

P.S.
The candy is gone.

Nicknames

2011-04-24T10:25:00.000-04:00

Not long ago, Berit and Marta were making up nicknames for themselves. This is common; their typical nicknames are words like Sparkleworks and Purple Unicorn Rainbow. This day, however, was exceptional. They were rhyming, and Berit decided she wanted to start with her nickname of choice, "Jenna." Therefore, Marta got "Henna." On a roll, they went forward with nicknames for everyone: "Kenna," "Lenna," "Senna." They got to Trevor, thought a minute, and said (with no silliness intended), "PENIS."

Now wait a minute. Remember we're rhyming here, at least sort of. It's pronounced "Pennnn-isssss." You know, Pen-is.

We were eating dinner at the time and I actually choked on my pasta. And while I like to think I'm a bit more mature than I was 10, 20 years ago, every time they call Trevor Pennnn-issss my cheeks puff out, my laugh reflex crumbles and I am inconsolable. The funniest thing about this nickname is that it refuses to quit. They love calling themselves Jenna and Henna, and calling me Lenna. Sorry, Trev. They love your nickname, too.

Recently Trevor's brother Jason called to chat and mentioned that he'd heard about the nickname. The girls overheard the conversation and decided to give Uncle Jason a nickname, too. They began rhyming things with what was in front of them, what they could see around them, whatever. They finally decided that they'd found the perfect nickname, HAHAHA, it's SO UNCLE JASON! Perfect!

Balzack. Yes, Balllll-zzzzsack.

You may be reading this, wondering what in the world we do around here to put such thoughts in their heads, so that even subconsciously they come up with these types of nicknames. Sincerely, I don't even think they remember what a male's privates are called. I know Marta has never had it explained to her, and Berit only once or twice, when changing around a buddy when they were small. It's never fascinated them whatsoever, and even now, with these nicknames, they have no idea that they're anything, well, anatomical.

They're just so fitting, that's all.

Waistline

2011-04-15T20:16:00.000-04:00

Today I started a thing. Not exactly a diet, since I stink at those, and not exactly an exercise routine, since I didn't exactly exercise today. Today I got back in the game of Trying To Be ~~Thin~~ Healthy again.

Since the half-marathon I've put on an errant 15 pounds. When I ran the half-marathon I was still about 10 pounds heavier than I wanted to be. And in the past few months, my mother has lost the weight equivalent of my 3-year-old. So you can see where I'm headed with this.

I enlisted a coach, who's actually a high school friend who lost something like 100 pounds last year by running and eating a healthy diet. He coached teams at our hometown gym with great success, and I quietly e-mailed him and asked, as long as he didn't breathe a word of my actual weight to anyone, would he coach me?

He advised me to sign up on a site called LoseIt.com so we could track my progress online together. To give you an idea of how ridiculously terrible I am at Trying To Be ~~Thin~~ Healthy, here's a look at my first day as posted on LoseIt, along with what really happened (please post comments on how you're totally the same way below, pleaseplease):

Calorie budget: 1,326
Breakfast:
Cheerios, 1 cup
1 egg, hard boiled
2 c. coffee with fat free half and half
I actually don't care that much about breakfast, but there was just a tiny amount of cereal left in the box and I didn't want to put it in the pantry and I didn't want to toss it, so I ate it. Trevor had boiled eggs last night so since they were already done, why not have one so that I could post on LoseIt that I ate pure energy for breakfast? I then felt so guilty about eating the stupid cereal that I went back to the LoseIt site and created a "new" breakfast item, Meijer Organic Honey & Nut Cereal, which is what I actually ate but couldn't find it in the first place so I had just checked "Cheerios." Had to dig through recycling to find out calorie content, which was 10 calories more than Cheerios.

Lunch:
1 apple
3 Newman-Os (wheat-free, organic Oreos made by Paul Newman)
Let's be honest, I only had three because that's all that was left.

And yes, that was lunch.

Dinner:
Shrimp, sauteed in butter
Broccoli, steamed
Macaroni & cheese
Candy bar
Bonus points for shrimp which are actually only 22 calories each (excluding the butter). Mac & cheese because dinner was already late. Candy bar was not revealed to rest of family, because I was the one doing the dishes and therefore ... well whatever, I ate a candy bar on the first day of my ~~diet~~ healthy lifestyle.

Snacks:
Special K Crisps
These are 100 calories each, and even though I noted that I had three, I actually ate five. Yes, five. That's five hundred calories, in case you hadn't done the math, all in Special K Crisps.

If you're wondering, I still came in under calorie budget today. This is going to be a snap.

Tunes

2011-04-15T19:47:00.000-04:00

Every night, Marta falls asleep to her music. It's the music box portion of the mobile she had on her crib as a newborn. She's fallen asleep to it pretty much every night of her life, with very few exceptions. Over time, the mobile has gotten chewed, in the way, or otherwise broken, and I finally took the entire thing apart and jimmied the music to work without the mobile - now it fits comfortably next to her pillow or in a backpack or whatever. When we went to Disney World, I packed it in a baggie with a note for airport security about what it was, its significance, and if it were found to be suspicious and confiscated, would they please let me know how I could get it back upon our return.

So every night after I tuck Marta in, and then tuck Berit in, I feel like leaving B's room is just too quiet. Berit, our major-music-lover, goes to sleep in a stone-cold quiet room, just like the rest of the world. Also, she wants a ton of books and never feels tired and calls out questions so maybe music would help me get some work done.

After making it seem like a big privilege to get this through extra chores, we brought down Trevor's old stereo for her room. Since then, our house hasn't been quiet once. She loads her six discs in order of how she wants to feel, when. So, bedtime is a series of lulling music with a little story thrown in at the end, just in case she's still awake. Morning is rousing Wiggles and Dora Fiesta. Afternoon is playful Gemini. When she's downstairs, she turns her music all the way up, so that she can hear it anywhere in the house. Every time she and Marta head upstairs, even when her music is still going from before, she changes the CD - for a new activity, of course.

All of this is to say that she has become her father. I like music as much as the next guy, but with kids and work and basset hound, you know what? I'd like a little peace and quiet, please. Trevor, on the other hand, cannot function without music playing. If there's no music on, he's humming or singing or making weird music-y noises, like beep-beep-whop-werp-bowwwwww! His music is too loud, too harsh, too emo, too nostalgic. And apparently, I'm too old.

I actually love sharing music with Trevor. When we first were dating he was doing a lot of open mics and I'd appropriately swoon at each show. Whenever people come over they say, "And the hits keep comin'," and "Geez, another great song!" Because Trevor has a playlist on (allthetime), and on that playlist is music from the 70s, 80s and 90s - all the stuff we grew up with, from all different genres. I frequently describe my husband (in a conversation about music or pretty much anything else) in this way: You know that feeling you get when you hear a song you LOVED at age 16? That's the feeling Trevor wants to have all the time.

And I think he does. When I'm not bugging him about turning the ~~glory days~~ music off.

Enter Berit. She's the kid who looks at a pile of dirt and tells you what's beautiful about it. As much as I tried to make her my classic firstborn child prodigy, she really just wants to dance and dress up. (Disclaimer for grandparents' sake: She's very smart. But she strives for rainbows covered in sprinkles covered in fairy dust covered in princesses.)

And so now we wait for the first mix. I wonder whether Trevor will be more proud of the first CD she self-compiles, or of her first straight-A report card. If I haven't gone batty by then from all of this noisewillsomebodygivemeamomentofpeace?, I'm sure I'll love either.

First Day of Spring

2011-04-10T13:14:00.000-04:00

We kicked off the first t-shirt friendly day of the year with a scavenger hunt. A bunch of friends, a list of riddles, and downtown Petoskey - such a fun way to enjoy this season in the new house! The very best part of the day was after the hunt, when everyone hung out for a few hours more in the backyard, on the porch, on the widow's walk. Such a treat to spend this time with our friends, in this perfect weather, in this perfect place.

School

2011-03-24T11:13:00.000-04:00

Three days a week, Berit and Marta go to school.

They start at 9:30 or 10 a.m., and I pick Marta up at 1. Berit stays for preschool, which lets out at 3. I feel like that's a really long day for both of them.

I originally had intended to only send Marta, who was desperate to be like her big sis and go to school, for two hours two days a week. But every time I arrived to pick her up, she begged to stay. So now we're at three or four hours, three days a week. It's nice for me, because I've jump-started my writing career and now can handle a few magazine deadlines a month, plus some fun writing just because.

But I still worry. I worry that they're having a hard time, that they're missing me, missing our routines. I know, when I let myself go there, that with their many hours at school the routines are actually coming from there. That I'm the one changing things around.

When they're home they play so well together (most of the time). They make up elaborate games and stories and shows. They go on for hours. I feel like they each have a little cloud of numbers and letters and magic happening over their heads when they do this - like inspiration is just following them everywhere, like their minds are switched onto Creative Play. I know this is a byproduct of school, with their ages and abilities as part of the recipe.

Yesterday I had food poisoning and was in bed all day. Trevor stepped in and somehow made lunches, got them to school and home, made dinner (Dora Soup, YAY!) and got them to bed, all while fielding his own calls and meetings. When I hobbled downstairs at night, so I could watch TV while listening to the monitors because he had gone out to finish working, I realized that while he might qualify for Sainthood based on his care-taking role, he would not be elected Housekeeper Of The Year. The entire house was a MESS. Food everywhere, dirty clothes, dust bunnies (which I attack daily), school stuff, toys, everything, everything.

Of course I didn't mind. Thank God he can stay home when needed. Thank God he's such a good dad and husband. I don't mind cleaning up after him, or them.

But I knew what today would hold: Dishes, laundry, mopping, bathrooms, sterilization. So I said, "Kids, would you rather stay home with Mommy today or go to school?" And when they cried "SCHOOL!" I was both a little hurt and a little happy. I'm glad they have a place that they love and where they thrive. But can it possibly be as fun as me?

While dropping them off today I hung out a bit, talking to their teacher. She and I chatted and the kids evolved to two sides of the room - Berit and three others to a shelf of toys, where they built stuff and made up games. Marta and four kids went to a more open area and set up chairs. The teacher, Ms. Jamie, said, "Now watch this. This is something they came up with entirely on their own, and they do it every day." The kids took turns standing in front of the others, sitting in their chairs, which were lined up next to one another. The kid in front did something - pretended to give each one a check-up with the doctor kit, danced, read a book, etc. And the others participated, listened, watched. Ms. Jamie said that sometimes they called it Book Club, sometimes it was Show.

I thought about what we would have done today at home together - of course we would have played, but there would never have been this group of kids, using their minds and with great big smiles for one another, encouraging this creativity. What a charm, what a delight to be a part of. I felt really, really lucky for them, and for us as a family. And I did not feel so sorry to leave them there today, as I left with kisses and big smiles and waves, and requests to stay a little longer this one day.

The Same Interview, Age 5

2011-03-15T13:20:00.000-04:00

Favorite food: Spaghetti

Favorite vegetable: Celery

Favorite fruit: Strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, raspberries and grapes

Favorite drink: Juice and water and milk

Favorite cereal: All of them (Island Vanilla, Cinnamon Crunch, Honey and Nut)

Favorite books: Carols of Princesses, Rosie’s Walk, Madeline (all), While We Were Out, Belinda the Ballerina, Fancy Nancy, Tiki Tiki Tembo, Listen, Buddy!

Favorite music: Princesses, Polka

Favorite color: Green

Best friend: Marta, Samantha, Peyton, Lyla and Ariana, Mom and Dad, Annie and Jemma

Favorite thing to do in the whole world: Go to the park and swing

Favorite place to go: Disney World and the carousel

What do you want to be when you grow up? Ballet teacher

What does your daddy do when he leaves the house? Go work.

What does he do for work? He builds houses.

What does your mommy do when she leaves the house? Work.

What does she do for work? Writes.

Who is your favorite person to talk to on the phone? My mom and dad, grandma and grandpa.

What do you do to help your mommy and daddy? Clean up my room and clean up the playroom, every room.

What do you dream about? Sometimes I dream about me at the ball.

What do you do at school? Learn.

Favorite TV show: Chloe’s Closet and Super Why, Gullah Gullah Island and Dino Dan

Favorite toy: Ellie the Yellow Elephant, Ana B., Blanket, Barbies

Favorite game: The Purple Party Game

Favorite restaurant: Big Boy

Favorite animal: Dinosaurs that are not alive, they just have bones.

If you could change your name, what would you choose? Princess Karisa (Ka-Ree-Sa)

What do you love about Daddy? The way he plays with me. The way he dances with me.

Mommy: When we cook. When we dance with each other. When we feel funny. And when we have a race.

Marta: The way she shares. The way she plays with me. And I like to go swimming with her.

Mosey: When we snuggle with him. When we have races with him.

Where would you like to go on vacation? To a very fun place. The museum.

What are some of your wishes? I wish I could fly. I wish I was a fairy. A little, tiny fairy. I wish it could change spring really fast, if I said, “I want spring to come here.”

What do you want for your birthday: A new princess Disney World movie. A 7-year-old bike. A bike that goes really fast when you pedal, and you never fall off the bike when you go up hills. That bike is going to be so fun.

This Is The Face Of A Reader

2011-03-11T22:37:00.000-05:00

A few nights ago I promised the girls 15 books before bed. We settled down early in pjs and scrubbed faces. They each chose two and I surprised them with the rest. Marta handed me a library find by Blues Clues - not my ideal reading material, but it's theirs of the moment. In this book's text are pictures of a few familiar things, which urge kids to "read" them. Pictures of a familiar character or a carousel, for example, within the story line. This particular story line was about the whole Blues Clues gang at a fair.

So I let the kids take turns telling me the first few pictures on the first page while I read the text. Berit was up first on the second page, and she said, exasperated, "Mom, I can read all of it." And: she did. She read the whole damn book.

I remember the first book I ever read on my own. In fact, my mother kept it, and now I have it in storage. It's called "I Need," and is simple and small. As Berit read her own first book, through my significant pride and happy tears, I realized that I would need to buy this Blues Clues book from our library.

Berit was proud, and her impressing smile got bigger each time we turned a page. She knew then, too, the leap she had just made on her timeline of life. There is before reading and after reading. My girl's gone ahead and learned to read, all on her own. This is about to get very, very fun.

Just Words

2011-03-08T21:01:00.000-05:00

I've recently been filling out kindergarten forms for Berit, and a teeny, tiny little voice in my mind has been nagging me about her reading skills. I haven't worked with her on reading outside of generally reading a lot of books and asking her to finish my sentences. I have a Hooked on Phonics set, and I thought that I might get that out and make it my mission to have her reading by the end of the summer.

When my sister-in-law was here with her family for the weekend, we talked about what her oldest daughter, age 6, is reading for fun. Ramona, Boxcar - she's a girl after both of our hearts, and I felt a little swell of excitement that Berit might read these titles soon enough. I mentioned my anxiety over B's lack of skill to my sister-in-law, a former elementary teacher, and she set my mind at ease. She gave me simple ideas to promote Berit's enjoyment and comprehension, but suggested I don't forge ahead with my summer mission.

Then yesterday, after a friend was here for the evening, Berit disappeared for a few minutes and emerged with this note, composed entirely unaided:

"Dear Gigi I lovd plaen (playing) wit you Berit"

I think we're going to be OK.

Parting

2011-03-08T20:54:00.000-05:00

Ah hah winter, we can't see you! It was 44 degrees today! We've left you behind!

We honored you with ice skating this weekend...

We pulled our cousins into the snow for a snowball fight...

We had an overindulgent amount of Jolly's Chocolate-Chip-With-Sea-Salt Cookies and hot chocolate...

And then we went inside, and danced...

And we put you to bed. Goodnight, winter!

It May Just Be Singing To You...

2011-03-02T20:31:00.000-05:00

While Marta rides around the arena in circles and plays games as she rides the pony, I sit on a freezing cold bench and bite my nails in fear of her falling and being trampled. Last week a kind woman stopped her magnificent horse in front of me and said that Marta reminds her of her daughter, now a young teen, who took to horses naturally and was riding by age 3. She went on to say that she herself had never even considered riding until her daughter asked for a riding partner, and got on her first horse at age 40.

When her daughter began riding, she and her husband had had some misgivings about the cost and practicality, which sounded a lot like what Trevor and I discussed about a month ago. But when she researched the effect of horseback riding on young girls, she was glad to find statistics showing that girls who grow up riding and caring for horses have more confidence, take less gruff from boys and have lower rates of premarital sex and poor behavior. They have higher grades and spend most of their free time volunteering at stables.

This woman said that her daughter is small for her age, but has grown up to be a strong girl who sets goals, works hard and doesn't "take any gruff" (she was fond of this phrase).

I believe it. Marta, who is knee-high to the pony, brushes Daisy, cleans her shoes and leads her around. She rides her, yes, but also learns responsibility and respect for a living creature. And that's not even the best part. She spends the entire time that we're there in the company of strong women. These ladies are aged 20-80 with horses twice their height, and there is no fear here. There's a strong sense of getting things done and taking care of animals. They exercise horses in therapy, they teach their horses techniques and coping strategies. They help one another with positive criticism and stall duties. They boost Marta's confidence by talking to her like she knows what she's doing, by showing her new things (even though they're not her teacher) and by complimenting her skills while she does them.

I was struck by this empowerment today while watching two of the young ladies do laps around the arena with horses who were recovering from injuries. Marta was there with her pony doing their own slow circles, and through the horses' snorting and the sound of the rough dirt flying, I heard Marta, all the way across the arena, singing.

Berit is our show kid. She'll sing and dance for anyone. But Marta feels like she doesn't sing well, a sentiment that makes us sad and worrisome about how it got in her head in the first place. We often cheer her on and tell her how great she is at everything, singing included, and it works sort of. But it's still hard to get her to sing anywhere but in front of us.

And yet, out in the arena, surrounded by horses and these smart, talented, athletic women, Marta was singing. Not for anyone at all, but because she felt like it. When she was done the ladies congratulated her on a great song, and she wasn't giggly about it - she just said thanks, and asked to play another game with Daisy.

I wanted to tell the girls there about her typical intimidation, about how doing this has brought out so much love that she's singing, but I didn't want to bring it up in front of Marta, especially because I knew there would be a few tears shed in the explanation.

This might not be Marta's passion forever. But today, she needed to be there.

My North

2011-02-28T21:41:00.001-05:00

http://community.mynorth.com/profiles/blogs/maid-need-not-apply-settling

Having Those Magical Kind Of Days

2011-02-19T21:04:00.000-05:00

Sleep, And The Lack Thereof

2011-02-08T18:50:00.000-05:00

Hello, new neighborhood! We hope you like having us here! What's that? Oh, that thing, where you sometimes consider calling the cops on me, because my kids are screaming? Like, crazy screaming "NO MOMMY NO" in the middle of the night? I know, right?

Say again? You think I've put on a few pounds, maybe have darker circles under my eyes? You think it might be related to the nightly antagonizing of my children?

Please. Let me explain.

Ever since roughly December 18, when Marta turned 3, we have been having night tantrums. She has, I mean, though I come close. Two, three, four a night, during which she wakes and SCREAMS, screams in that husky way, screams so that she sounds likes she's gargling, screams an horrific cry of sheer furor, screams in one of those car-screeching ways. She screams, and she yells "NO MOMMY NO!" and, occasionally, "OUCHIE! OUCHIE!"

Seriously. And I go to her, and I rub her back, and she hits and kicks me and yells at me to leave. I calmly ask what's bothering her, would she like a drink, does she want mommy to hold her? Kick. Punch. GO.

So I leave. And in five minutes, as the screaming intensifies, I go back in and suggest that she stop right this instant, or else I'll take away her ponies on the next day. Nothing doing.

And then I just wait it out. About 20 minutes, sometimes longer, and then she's calling me to come in and hold her, so I do, and in about two minutes she's ready to sleep again.

This isn't a nightmare. This is a *&^%$ tantrum. And it's not just one, it's a HANDFUL every night.

(The "OUCHIE" part? That's when she bucks so much in her bed that she hits her head on the wall or the bed post.)

When I return to my bed each time, by the way, our room is a sauna because Marta's room sits in a position over non-insulated house with no storm window (yet), and it's the last room upstairs to have the radiator kick on, and ours is the first right next to the thermostat, so we keep our door closed so that her room might get warmer. Restful.

While this is going on, Berit is over in her room, oblivious to the screaming but in her own little torture chamber, having nightmare after nightmare. She dreams that wolves want to get in. She dreams that foxes are chasing her. She dreams that dragons are coming in her window. "We" go in to her cries, listen to her whole dream (the WHOLE. DREAM, told in falling-asleep language, so it's even slower than Berit's normal speech, which usually sounds like "Um. Mom? Um.... huhhhhhhhh, can I, um.... go to.... dance today?), then take it out of her head (pinch it over her hair, of course) and put it into the jar (our hands), then flush it down the toilet. Seriously.

Of course we have the talks about wolves and foxes and dragons. She gets it, that they won't really get her. Her dreams, on the other hand, don't.

And so, after the fourth or fifth time I return to my room, I turn off my alarm, set to 6 a.m. so that I might run before the kids wake up, my workout for the next day gone in favor of any extra sleep that might be granted.

So here we are! Hope you love us! Thanks for the cookies you brought over!

And In One Half-Hour, Our Lives Were Forever Penniless and Smelled Like Hay

2011-02-02T15:04:00.002-05:00

Weekend In Holland (With Bonus Trip To Dr. Uncle Jason)

2011-02-02T14:56:00.002-05:00

Possibly A Subconscious Effort To Stay Indoors When It's -16

2011-01-28T10:38:00.000-05:00

MWF school (both)
T piano (both, optimistically)
W horseback riding (M), also game night
Th dance (B)

Wish list for summer:
Yoga (B, and really, after last summer's success of yoga just before bedtime? I'm nominating M.)
Tennis (both)
Horseback riding (both)
Ballet (B)
Art (M)

Now don't you for a second think this schedule is a reflection of a helicopter, stage or term-of-the-moment mom. Instead, recognize that it's an indication that my kids have already internalized an avoidance of snowsports and a preference for teachers other than their mother. I say that's fair.

You've Made Life A Song, You've Made Me The Singer

2011-01-27T10:26:00.002-05:00

In Brief

2011-01-15T16:43:00.000-05:00

B
It seems both preposterous and appropriate that we have appointments with two kindergarten programs, to see which is a better fit for our almost-5-year-old. It's not that she's practically 5 that carries the most weight in our hearts. Age 6 was hard for me, and I think that's the year that's really going to be heavy on my soul for her - to know how much I grew emotionally and mentally, prematurely and probably in all the wrong directions, between 6 and 7, and to know that she is capable of it as well, will, I'm sure, incur the desperate desire to prevent it, to freeze her in time right at 5.

But she's so mature already; she holds her own so well in so many situations, that she's always seemed like a 5-year-old to me. As much as she and I differ, in so many ways she reminds me of my need to catch up in number to what I feel in spirit. I've always felt 30 - so when I passed that milestone a few years ago, it was a relief. I feel like Berit, once in kindergarten, will breathe a sigh of relief because, finally, she's there.

The oddity of it all comes with the kindergarten programs we're checking out. On one hand we like the concept behind our area charter school, which includes art, music and dance into every school day. This is Berit's kind of place, and it would mean that we wouldn't have to invest so much time and money into ensuring she gets enough art, music and dance (truly the three major subjects in her life, besides Barbies) to fulfill her soul outside of school. Test scores coming out of the charter school are on par with its area counterparts. Yet just when we hear a rave review about the school, someone else tells us their horror story.

And then there is our parish's Catholic school, of which we are truly fond and in which we know she would flourish as well. For us, the religious aspect of the school is incredibly appealing, as are the teachers, the presence of our priest, and the high values imparted there every minute of every day. It's where both girls attend preschool, and every other day we witness the respect taught there. Now, I know full well that religion and respect are two things that we should teach at home - fine, of course. But I'll tell you what, after experiencing it almost daily this school year, I can say that there really is a difference between the preteens I meet there and the preteens I meet elsewhere. Thing is... it's a lot of money. A LOT. And it's not just Berit who will go there - there are two others following in her footsteps. That's over $7,000 a year, once all three kids are there. That's just too much for us. But some days, it feels really, really worth it.

In other Berit news, while she's usually a sweetheart, she's recently taken on an attitude towards her little sis - impatience, inconvenience, etc. - and it leaves Marta feeling sad, neglected and defensive. I know this is a sibling thing, I know it happens to everyone, and I'm sure I've been lucky enough to have them do so well for so long. It's just heartbreaking to watch it happen.

M
Marta is in the throes of three. She's having tantrums, nightmares, and is generally feeling confused about what she wants, when she wants it. She's throwing potty training out the window, knowing full well all about it, having already conquered it, being a champ at just being a kid who doesn't wear dipes or pull-ups. And yet the days when she refuses to participate outnumber the dry ones. She throws down a big argument on those days, emotional and worked up, and I don't press her in fear of developing a power struggle out of it.

She's so sweet, so ready to take on the world, otherwise, spelling words and taking over Berit's workbooks, video games and board games, more willing to learn the instructions and lessons than her big sister. Consequently, she's sitting next to me with her handheld video game, typing words like leaf and tree and filling in missing letters and rearranging letters to make words.

ADOPTION
Ah, the waiting. After not being the chosen family for the last little one, we're making sure we've got all of our paperwork in perfect order before the next opportunity comes up. We're also filling out stacks of grant requests that pose questions like, "How would you describe your love for Christ?" After Korea raised its fees and new ones came up domestically, we're scrabbling to get the funding we hadn't anticipated. I don't like to lament this too much, as it was our choice to enter this process and we knew it would be expensive. But SHEESH. What a shame it's so prohibitive to bring home your child. It's difficult to describe the place where the money connects the child - it's a sickening feeling, mostly, knowing that if you don't come up with half of your year's income (subject to increase without notice), you can't have your baby. Of course we knew it was this way when we started, and we would do anything to bring our baby home. Of course, of course, of course... we are looking forward to two years from now, when we can say, "Remember when?"

From The Mouth of B

2011-01-08T10:38:00.002-05:00

"My brain has lots of unicorn names in its head."

From The Mouth of B

2011-01-07T13:47:00.000-05:00

In an effort to hurt my feelings:

"I have the biggest brain, and you have a little baby brain."

How does one handle this? Does one encourage the big brain idea? Does one deny, insisting on having the bigger brain? Does one reference science? One certainly does not, in the moment of insult, have any appropriate parenting ideas to hand.

And so, with one's small baby brain, one only stares, and says, "OK then."

Christmas 2010

2010-12-26T20:13:00.000-05:00

This year, in a completely unexpected move of randomness, my family decided to spend Christmas away from home. Helpfully, Trevor's family owns a cabin in the Middle Of Nowhere, full of cozy and cheer and good smells, so we went there. It was an adventure in sleeping arrangements for our girls, in challenging the stamina of our denim (sooner rather than later changed into pajama pants) with the mountains of food dipped in chocolate, in getting in the most games, in not getting too tipsy for the sake of the children who are trying to sleep, in watching enough movies to constitute a proper winter holiday, in building fires indoors and out.

We had a great time.

The perfect tree!

What it lacks in size, it makes up for in heart.

Sprinkling reindeer food (oats, cornmeal and glitter). Just after sprinkling, Marta stomped it into the snow, and made Berit cry in horror.

We all had matching PJs!

Reading "'Twas The Night Before Christmas"

You totally can look cool when you match all the other guys in the house. It's not cult-like at all.

Aunt Andrea. *LOVE*

We thought sleeping together in the cubby would be lots of fun for the girls, but they both ended up ditching their digs in the night and I was left to squeeze into Marta's sleeping bag in there, by myself.

Not weird at all.

Nick + BINGO + matching outfits + bad jokes = Christmas

Santa found us at the cabin!

Signed photo of the Eagles + story in which Andrea truly believed Mom knew Joe Walsh from high school yet didn't realize he was in the band

More matching outfits. Classy ones, too.

Do we think the neighbors might be nervous?

Ridiculous amounts of sugar, courtesy of Jodie Faber, who looks gorgeous right now and none of US can fit into our jeans.

Again with the sugar.

Wait

2010-12-22T12:51:00.000-05:00

So for now, I am waiting.

Last night we received information about a baby - four babies, actually, who need families. One baby in particular captivated both of us. Both of us. Without ribbons or bows, with her little humbleness and life and need, with her medical condition and all.

And because the information was sent at 5:30 p.m. and everyone apparently left the second someone pressed "send" on their e-mail, we did not get to speak to our caseworker until this morning. Sleep, eh. Right.

While walking through Meijer today, my caseworker called and I cried in the sugar aisle, and she told me not to get attached. Right.

There are other families who are interested in this little one, and while we are first on the list (we've been waiting the longest), our immigration is not sent in because of our recent move - so that puts us in a weird limbo. We'll still be considered but OhMyGodGetTheImmigrationIn.

We also have to come up with our many, many thousands of dollars Right Quick. So, there's that, burning a little hole in my brain because it should not be this way, when a baby needs a home and there is a home to be had.

And she's just there, just out of reach. We are attached. And yet we wait.

I'm waiting to pick up Marta from school, my to-do list for the day completely ignored, my house a mess, my groceries purchased this morning while talking on my phone and steering my cart with my elbow in the little coffee holder still in bags on the counter. Laundry undone. Dust bunnies taking over.

I sit here in front of the computer, hoping something will come up, though nothing is supposed to, nothing has been promised, there is nothing to wait for. But it's my link to the baby, so I dare not move unless I have to.

On January 3 our information will go to a review board who will decide about this little one's forever family. And so. The waiting.

Parties, Both

2010-12-20T21:32:00.000-05:00

Finally, she enters her life's match - a spring floor covered in mats, surrounded by trampolines. Shock.

Marta, what was your favorite part of your party?
"My My Little Pony Cake."
(Did you take a picture of the cake? NO. Did you? NO. Sh*t.)

Party time at Grandma and Pop's house!

Marta, what was your favorite part of your party?
"My unicorn cake."
Yessssss.

Giving hugs to everyone at once, while we sang "Happy Birthday." Also known as: My favorite picture of Marta on her third birthday.

Unicorn snow globe. They dance.

First Recital

2010-12-20T21:10:00.000-05:00

Marta, Age 3

2010-12-20T20:01:00.000-05:00

Dear Marta,
I started writing this post ~~an hour~~ two hours ago. In that time you have had the hardest, most knock-down tantrum you've ever had - one that had me biting my lips to keep from giggling, because you were so serious, so adamant. You're not often like that. Also in that time you refused to be dressed, refused to wear your pajamas that I had picked out, and yelled for me throughout the 10 minutes we were apart (you were getting a bath from Dad).

You're suddenly a handful at times, throwing fits, insisting on your goals, sticking up for yourself with your sister. I'm told this is what a 3-year-old does. I had a 3-year-old once, but she's nearly 5 now and in the two years since her third birthday I've lost most of my memory. Mostly because of the two of you, partly from the dog and partly from my poor multi-tasking skills. So I don't remember how it is to have a 3-year-old, but in the past few weeks leading up to your third birthday, life has been more dynamic than usual.

On the night following your third birthday party (the second of your parties, the one at Grandma and Pop's, on the day before your actual birthday), you called out in your sleep, "I WISH I WAS A GROWN-UP! I WISH I WAS A GROWN-UP!"

It was strange, coming from you. You, my Marta, are our little one, our baby, our sweet kid who loves all things that kids should, like popsicles and trikes and bubbles. It would have made more sense if it had been Berit, who often seems like she's 4 going on 14.

You still look like a baby to me. Your blond hair is thin and turns into ringlets when it's hot outside. Your cheeks are round and pink, and it's hard to tell if you've even grown eyebrows yet. Your feet are pork chops and your knees are square. Your voice is cute and the edges of your words are rounded, baby-like still, so that your reading and spelling actual words (Marta, Berit, Mommy, Daddy, Mosey, Doublestein, Dog, Mimi, Pop, Go, Stop, Tub, Bed) seems even crazier than it is. You know the sounds of every letter of the alphabet and can tell me what any word starts with. You count to 10 in Spanish and French, and to 100 in English with a little prompting. Your favorite number is 22.

You draw pictures of yourself now - you just decided to try, and you should have seen how proud you looked when you did it. You don't use a booster or a high chair anymore (though you probably could and it would be helpful), and you're trying to use big cups instead of sippy cups (though each time you try you get nervous and ask for a top).

You understand, know about, completely get the idea of going on the potty. You know you can, you know everyone else does. You often do - you spend most mornings and afternoons in "big girls." But you get tired of the stress, I think, and by evening you put on your own Pull-Up.

You still run full-throttle and trip constantly. You still need help going up and down stairs. You jump without considering your landing. I should have you in swim class, in ski lessons. I feel terribly guilty about this, but you're in school three days a week now. Three days! For three hours! And you love it. I don't like to push you to do more than that. You're barely 3-years-old.

When I made your bed this morning, I pulled your covers back and found three stacks of books hiding there. When you get up at night you usually tell me when I can leave your room; when you've been comforted and don't need reassurance anymore.

From the day you were born you loved animals, especially dogs and horses, and that hasn't changed. If there's a choice between an animal and a princess story you choose animal - same goes for coloring books, movies, dress-up and playtime. Right now your favorite toys are unicorns and My Little Ponies. You'd quickly choose a big, 48-piece puzzle over watching a movie.

Though your tantrum tonight was over a candy cane, you'd sooner choose salty over sweet, suckers over chocolate, cinnamon toast over any other breakfast. Ninety percent of your hydration comes from milk; you have very little patience for water and don't like juice or anything fizzy.

You and I are buddies. We work well together, and we have fun doing most things. I don't think I push you like I do your sister, and you give me more leeway than she does. She and I can talk about anything, you and I can hang together. It's nice to have two kids with two different relationships. It's especially nice that the two of you are best friends, yet are so different.

The very best thing about you, my Marta, is your sweetness. At your birthday party the other night, when you sat at the end of the table overlooking your pink and purple unicorn cake, with three candles shining, while we sang "Happy Birthday to Marta," you scooped your arms around like you were going to pick up a big teddy bear, then clasped yourself - you were giving everyone there a hug at once, a giant hug with a huge, grateful smile on your face. You are so kind, so loving, so genuinely sweet, and I have to say that age 3 may be tougher on your mama than it is on you, even with the odd tantrum. You are my baby, my Marta, my Little One. You are getting Big.

Love, Mom

Marta Speaks

2010-12-13T18:49:00.000-05:00

After Marta had been asleep for about four hours, on the evening of her 3rd birthday party, she said in a dream, "No Berit, don't blow out the candles!" And then, "Phewwwwwwwwwwww" - she blew them out herself.

From The Mouths of B and Mart

2010-12-05T21:01:00.000-05:00

Berit was having a tough time falling asleep in her room with no window coverings. Trevor noticed on the monitor that she was sitting up, gazing out the window. He went in and said, "What'cha doing?" She said, "Oh, just wishin' upon that star."

When Andrea was here this weekend, she asked Marta what she wanted for her upcoming birthday. "Berit, Aunt Andrea, Mama, Daddy.." she began. "No," Andrea said. "What presents?" And Marta said, "Just the people. I want the people to be my presents."

Fall Cuties

2010-11-05T11:57:00.002-04:00

All I Want For Christmas

2010-11-05T11:54:00.000-04:00

Berit, what do you want for Christmas?

"Barbies. The new Rapunzel Barbie, the Barbie with the dogs and she's a veterinar....(mumble). A boy Barbie, too. Barbie movies. OH! Sesame Street movies, new dance shoes, art supplies, music. And lots of Barbies."

Marta, what do you want for Christmas?

"PONIES! MY LITTLE PONIES ALL MY LITTLE PONIES ALL OF THEM ONLY PONIES!"

Dreams

2010-10-22T11:34:00.001-04:00

The reason I think I'm pregnant (I'm not) is because of the dreams.

I've always had really vivid dreams, and have also always wished I didn't dream at all - just a flat, constructive sleep. (Incidentally, my dad also wishes this, because he can. not. stand to hear about my dreams. So he should probably stop reading.)

The girls have started having regular nightmares. Berit can be soothed by having someone talk with her about them, and then, sometimes, having one of us sleep with her. We don't mind. It works.

Marta, however, has had nightmares for two straight nights, wherein she cries out every half-hour or so, yells at people, kicks and hits, and sobs. She's not comforted when I go to her - she doesn't quite wake entirely, so she's more irritated. I sleep in her room, in the bed next to hers, so I can at least whisper comforting things when she cries and rub her back. But it doesn't seem to help. I've cut out sugar before bed, tried filling her belly, tried not filling her belly. I don't know.

But I'm feeling like there might be something more - the moon, maybe? Because I've had unrelenting bothersome dreams, too. Dreams like I had when I was pregnant (and not the really, really good ones). Not scary, but nagging. For example, twins. We should adopt twins, not just one baby. In my dream I weigh the pros and cons of this for hours. I make an appointment with our case worker. I calculate how long it will take me to drive there and home, and whether or not I can make it while the sitter's home with the kids. I wonder if I want to risk driving down (you know, because I might die in a car accident).

And then I dream about babies. Everyone's new babies. Baby stuff, baby smells, baby names. Usually I'm not holding the babies, but want to. And then I weigh the pros and cons of having another baby. Or having another baby AND adopting our baby. If I get pregnant today, could I manage to travel to South Korea next month? Then the kids would be close together in age. Babies.

And of course I dream about money. Because here we are, wrapping up the house, and paying every crazy bill one pays while wrapping up a complete home remodel. And so I dream about the girls' tuition, and water bills, and surprise bills (whoops honey, I forgot to tell you I decided to add an apartment on top of the garage, sorry), and oh, the adoption bills.

And then I dream about a vacation. Because we want to take the girls to Disney this February; one final vacation with just the four of us, something really special to them before the new baby arrives. But, well, note the above paragraph. So my brain teases me with telling the girls about Disney, and with arrivals and the fun we'd have, and then throws in our not being able to go, and how no one will really know but me, but still, I want to go, too, and am I letting my kids down?

Last night, after having the twin dream, I decided to just stay up. It was exceptionally bright outside (so maybe yes, the moon after all?) and I just sat there, listening to Trevor sleep - he sleeps like a child, hard and unworried, the sleep of someone who worked hard for 12 hours, and then had a glass of wine before bed. I went in to Marta, I stayed in her room, I came back to mine. I obsessed about the house (should we move the girls into one room when Baby comes, to preserve the playroom? Could Baby share his/her room with playroom? Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no). I let the dog out, then in.

I think we've all had just about enough of this middle place, this limbo. I think we're all ready for stability, for routines, for our own bedrooms and steady work. Will this make the dreams go away, for everyone? Or will our sleep always be as transient as the moon, wherever we are?

In Brief

2010-10-20T22:58:00.000-04:00

For many months, Marta has named everything "Turner," until recently, when she's started naming things "Sparklewishes" or "Sparkle." I wonder if this comes from her own persuasion or from big sister, who constantly refers to living creatures with names like "Dreamy Dancer" or "Firework Flower Blossom."

Our move-in date is now Nov. 20. Is someone giving up deer hunting to work on the house? YOU BET HE IS.

I've recently started letting the girls read in bed before going to sleep. I creep in later to turn out the lights and put the books away. They do a great job of reading, then responsibly sleeping, and there seems to be less fuss about bedtime. I think they're probably too little to do this, but then again, can I even remember when I started reading under the covers with a flashlight?

Lullabies

2010-10-12T20:43:00.000-04:00

Goodnight, Chicken
by Berit

Good night, little ~~chipmunk~~ chicken
I hope your dreams are very beautiful
full of faries, princesses, and Sound of Music girls
and full of Sound of Music boys.
When you wake up in the morning
you'll yawn and stretch and sometimes you'll gasp and fall back on your tush
and say, "Good Morning!"
and when you eat breakfast in the morning
you'll eat the juice from grapes cut in half
and tomatoes, raspberries and macaroni and pretzels made out of unicorn horns.
Then after you wake up, you like to play firefighter
and drink orange juice.

Goodnight, Chirp
by Marta

Go to sleep, Chirp
I hope your dreams are full of My Little Pony Snowflake movie, Dora and Boots, and Swiper (and Diego)
And when you wake up, you'll yawn and stretch
and you will say, "Good Morning!"
For breakfast you'll have macaroni and pretzels and orange juice to drink.
Goodnight, Chirp!

This Stay-At-Home Mom, In A Coffee Shop While Her Kids Are At School

2010-09-27T11:21:00.001-04:00

How did you get so big?
When did you learn so much?
Did I teach it to you? Or did you absorb it from society? What do you think about it all?

When did you get so tall? Did it happen at school, when I wasn't watching? Is that why you woke up crying last night? Because your bones were growing, again?

Who taught you to talk like that? You sound more like your 6-year-old cousin than yourself these days. You have inflection and attitude and a very teenaged opinion of your ideas. Pardon me while I gently remind you that you are still four-and-a-half.

How is it for you, leaving for school for so long, so often? You seem to love it. It must be difficult, sometimes. These are new teachers, new kids, a whole new school. There is nothing familiar here. How are you so brave? Why don't you worry like I do?

Why are you in school? You should not be ready yet. Are you, really? Are you sure?

You are just a baby. You are a baby. You're a baby, a baby, my baby. Why are you so eager, so jumping-bean excited, to go to school twice a week? How can you leave me? Can you possibly miss me as much as I miss you? Do you miss me at all?

Was I not doing enough with you? Were you bored? Was I not meeting creative and outdoor-play needs? Were our days not stimulating enough for your clever brain? Should I let you go that third day a week, like you want to? Am I starting to let you direct your life, 15 years too soon? Can you believe, can I believe, that in a few months you'll be 3? And yet, only 3!

Do you get frustrated at school? Can you even squirt the glue on your projects? Are you proud that you're there? Do you stand up for yourself?

And still, you are so small. You are only 4 (and that all-important half). I tend to think of you, to speak to you, to expect you to be, like a friend, a sister to my sister and me. Why is that? Is it because my mother did that with me? Is it because you can often act like you're older? You have a way of hanging out in which you go with everyone's flow, being one with the situation, whether it's at Dad's work, shopping with Grandma or mingling in a room full of grown-ups. I constantly have to remind myself that you're small, still.

I am not goofy with you. I don't lean toward the cuddly stuff. You crave these things from me. I watch you do them with others and I make a mental note to do them myself. I don't know why, but I am not inclined to constantly squeeze and hold and snuggle you, as I am to bake and read and play with you. And then you remind me, by becoming overly bouncy or giggly when I hold you, or by asking me to carry you this time. And I feel terrible.

Because I've always got you in my arms. I can't stop cuddling you. I am horrified by the idea that the new baby, the much-wanted and already-so-loved new baby in our family, will steal your baby status, just like I was with your sister when you were on your way. And you did. And the new baby will. Will I have enough room, mentally, for all of that love? Will you suddenly become a mature little kid, like your sister seemed to? Please, please don't. It's not that it's a bad thing to do - your sister handles it beautifully - but you are so good at being a baby. Don't you think? As you are school this very minute, don't you think you are a baby? Or have you left that behind for good?

Quick Thinking

2010-09-25T09:44:00.000-04:00

Berit wants to take ballet, highland dance, violin and piano. Couldn't someone just make a preschool that included all of these?

***

Marta has developed a fear of everything scary, even a little bit. Like, for example, Swiper from Dora. Possibly due to something I allowed her to watch because it bought me time doing something else? Probably.

***

When we move into our house, would someone please have U2's Beautiful Day, or something similarly celebratory but perspective-putting, playing on our radio? I might be so giddy that I actually hang from one of the five crystal chandeliers (two of which were given to us by kind, kind people).

***

Tomorrow I have to run 10 miles. In three weeks I have to run 13. Last night I ate half a jar of Nutella.

***

In the past two weeks we've been in the doctor's office or radiology department at the hospital no less than seven times.

***

Baby files came in from Korea last night for our consideration. Devastating, as always, to say that we're not ready yet. We need a house of our own.

***

Marta can navigate our trips to town, to school, to Harbor Springs, to Meijer, to our old house, to our new house, and towards Traverse City.

***

There's color on the exterior of our house.

***

With Gratitude And Hope And Support

2010-09-17T23:56:00.000-04:00

As a writer, I tend to let my fingers do my talking, my thinking aloud, my sorting out. Even when I'm internalizing a situation, I'm writing it in my head, and when I do that, the pieces fit together in the right way. Some people lift weights or garden. I write.

And yet. Tonight I am so drained, so overly emoted, so anxious and a dish rag and a wet-noodle that my fingers don't want to press the keys. I have written this story a thousand times in this day, as the hours dragged on. I'm reminded of when my girls were infants and I had nothing left, and I didn't write for sheer exhaustion, and though I wish I had, I recognize the lack of writing as lack of brain function, lack of sorting ability, lack of cohesion.

I'm tired from crying, from gut-wrenching sadness, from earth-moving goodness.

And oh, God.

We had our day-long adoption training today. We left early - at least an hour before the sun rose - and though we were excited, we felt relatively prepared. We read the books, the blogs, the travel stories. We have gotten it, and we're just ready already. We're so ready that we're tired of feeling ready. We're so ready that we're choked with excitement about being ready.

It was good to be surrounded by people who support adoption. It was good to talk about it again, single-mindedly, and speculate and wonder and be in the company of those who are also ready.

The morning was ruled by extreme possibilities and maybes - hepatitis, ADHD, low birth weight, non-attachment, terribles and scaries and could-be-manageables and treatables.

And there were photos. Photos of happy children, photos of babies lined up on potties where there is no running water. Photos of goats' bottle nipples and babies who don't leave cribs and of children who don't know how to walk on tile/grass/carpet, for whom physical touch is actually painful because it's so uncommon.

Oh, God.

Movies. Movies from orphanages. Hundreds of diapers hung to dry. Dozens of broken-down baby shoes lined up. Blank stares. Empty plates.

...

And happy stories, of course, of families and children and good outcomes. Stories of hard work and its rewards within families. Stories of absolute ease and joy from the first meeting.

Stories that weren't intended to make anyone cry - a walk through a city, the first time trying a Korean dish. Tears, still.

Stories of success, stories of short stature and 3-inch heels and oh, God, why am I still crying?

Stories about children, from those very children, who remember being taken to the orphanage by their mothers and being left there. Confusion. Sadness. Fear.

Oh, God.

Somewhere within every half hour today I wanted to round up all of the children in whatever photo, movie or book I was looking at and tuck them under my arms, against my chest, behind my back. I don't care, give me 300, I'll take them all just get them out, God, why doesn't everyone work together to get. them. OUT.

...

And while we were there, our two darling daughters had their first long day of school, in which they began together and separated later and did first new things. Trevor's mom took them, and I didn't get to see their faces when they were finished, or hear their stories, or give reassuring hugs. I watched my movies about my Korean baby, who is at this very minute in an apartment on the other side of the world, being cared for by someone else, and I was crying for all of the kids, none of whom had their mother or father, who were both so very, very focused on their lives today.

And the guilt. Our Korean child comes from foster care. His or her birth mother was in a maternity ward run by the orphanage. He or she is healthy and bonding and stimulated. We are so very, very fortunate.

Because so many others don't have enough food to continue to survive another week. So many others are in physical and psychological peril. These children, these babies, have no one to pick them up, to rock them to sleep. They quit crying because no one answers. Oh God, the guilt. Why are we making it so easy? Why aren't we adopting one of these more needy children?

And then we speak to Marta on the phone, who tells me about the sucker she got at the bank today, and that she made a bracelet for her sister at school, and that in the library she'll be very, very quiet. And we know why.

On our run we finalized baby names (though we always think we do this). We missed our big girls. We celebrated our seventh anniversary. We imagined what our baby was doing just then, and we were glad for it.

The social workers today advised us to write a "coming home" story. It seems natural that I would - I've written down both of my daughters' birth stories. But when I imagine that time, when our child is home and our family is complete, I don't imagine writing a single word. It's a physical sensation that arises instead, one in which I wrap my arms around three children and don't think, don't write, just protect and hold and rock and sing and be grateful.

On The Eve Of Her First Day Of School

2010-09-14T13:09:00.000-04:00

Does this look like a school-aged kid to you? Me, neither.

Berit started her third year of preschool last week (she has one of those birthdays that had her starting preschool in the winter, and she won't be eligible for kindergarten until next year - which is the right thing for her, anyway), and Marta of course comes along for each drop-off and pick-up.

And like any little sibling, she wants to do what her big sister does, and in this case it's go to school. St. Francis Xavier School, where Berit attends preschool, has a child development center. You can drop your child off any time of the day, and he or she will stay for as many hours as you like. It's a whole lot of preschool, with lunch and naptime thrown in. We visited the CDC on our first day to SFX and we really thought it was cool - and so did Marta.

Each time we drop B at her class, Marta begs, pleads to go to school. Yesterday I sat down in front of her and said, "Marta, do you really want Mama to take you to school and say 'Bye-bye Marta!' and then come back to pick you up later?" She looked me square in the eye and said, "YES. That is what I want."

I recently took on another writing job, and had considered hiring our sitter twice a week instead of once. But now that Marta's become so keen on school, we've decided to let her attend twice a week for three hours at a time, while Berit's in class. Marta is THRILLED. She has a new backpack that she doesn't take off, and she has a lunch box that she opens, closes, opens, closes, hoping to find lunch in there.

I've had her with a sitter for over a year now, once a week, and she does wonderfully. She loves the change of pace, the fresh ideas. She's happy when I come home, but she's happy when I leave, too. I've left her for a night with my in-laws - once even for two nights - so it's not as if I've never been apart from "my baby."

And yet. She is my baby, still. When Berit's at school she and I meander around town, looking at stuff and cuddling and telling each other neat things. I have a hard time thinking about her being gone for six hours plus five with the sitter each week. And I'm not the overly sentimental type, when it comes to school. It's just... she's so little.

But she's getting bigger, she'd be quick to point out. In fact, when we first visited the CDC and she loved it so, I told her that she'd be able to attend once she could go pee-pee on the potty (apologies for the baby and potty talk to anyone who's not a parent and who is still hanging with me through this mess of emotions).

We've not been pushing the potty thing at all because I wasn't too fond of knowing exactly where the nearest bathroom was everywhere we went, because Berit just decided one day to be potty-trained and that was that, because it's just so much easier to deal with diapers than emergencies or accidents.

But when I said that, when I told her she had to be potty-trained to attend school, do you know what she did? She said, "OK." And that was it. Guess who's going pee-pee on the potty regularly now? Even in public? Our little 2-year-and-9-month-year-old.

And so, tomorrow is her first day of school. I truly think she's going to love it, and I think they'll love her, too.

And if you're trying to find me during those three hours, have a peek into the stairwell just outside the CDC's door.

Run

2010-09-10T23:08:00.000-04:00

After three months of first walking, then bouncy-walking, then jogging, I'm about to run my first race. I did do a 5K last year, which was admittedly really hard for me to do. But I'm talking about something bigger - something I've been working on constantly. Tomorrow is only 8 miles (and really, I'm still just jogging). But in a few weeks I'll be doing 13.1, which is something I never thought I'd be able to do.

It's a strange place for me to be. I've never, ever done anything non-kid-related since the girls came along. Maybe a shopping trip or a quick night away with Trevor or my freelance writing... but I've never set out on a goal and accomplished it because I truly wanted to. Kind of pathetic, really.

So I'm excited about this. I know I can run 8 miles. I've done it a few times now, and even though I haven't had a good run in two weeks (weather + garage sale + busy husband), I feel like I can make it work. My sister, on the other hand, is running a whopping EIGHTEEN MILES tomorrow, as she prepares for her first marathon. I can't even imagine what it takes to run 18 miles, but she's got it, and she always has. She's such an inspiration, and I feel so happy to know that someday, her children will know that their mom is not just their cook, their cuddler, their go-to gal. She has a life, and it's a healthy one. It's a concept I'm trying to emulate, and I think it's working. Berit has recently come down with a case of High Energy In The Middle Of The Day and has started asking to run with me. Well, sure. Why not?

Summer Fun, In Pictures

2010-08-23T15:09:00.000-04:00

We continue with our Summer On The Lake 2010, with sidewalk chalk and pulling vegetables from the garden and dipping toes into the water, and of course a few variations....

Grandma came for the day! Best part for all: Sitting in the gazebo and listening to her story about pirates.

Fair time! Berit on a ride with Trevor that neither of them really felt was appropriate for a 4-year-old.

We honestly wait all year for the Polish Festival.

Sleeping through the fun.

Hm.

Very, very high on the ferris wheel. I was seriously losing my Mom Cool.

Biker Babies

My brother David and his girlfriend Sara spent a very, very hot but totally fun weekend with us.

The girls made a Fairy House with their Mimi and Grandpa, and when we came down to check it in the morning it was covered in... fairy dust!

Pretending to be tourists.

Regarding Marta, Who Wants To Be A Mountain Goat When She Grows Up

2010-07-27T14:16:00.000-04:00

Oh, Marta.

It's what we've said since she was born, as parents do about their little ones. They do something spunky or naughty or silly or for the 85th time, and we heave a big sigh, letting the last of our breath form an oooohhhh...

It rolls off the tongue now, while we watch her run full-tilt down hills, when we buy another box of bandages just for her. When she eats big scoops of hot salsa or when she chooses almonds over candy. When she has a fever and a sore throat but laughs all day long. When she won't, ever-ever, sit still. When she opens her 2-year-old mouth and out comes a 10-year-old's vocabulary. When she climbs to the top of everything and we have constant jolts of adrenaline from our brains, computing her odds of falling and shifting automatically into survival mode.

Oh, Marta.

It's easy to say it with a stifled laugh or through tears of empathy. It's often mumbled in the dark, when we all should be sleeping.

Suddenly none of her size-2 clothing fits. Her legs are a little leaner and a lot longer. She and Berit can easily pass shirts and shorts, sweaters and PJs back and forth. She takes off and puts on her own clothes, and always chooses either her carousel shirt or something with an animal's face on it (shorts or skirts never match). As bold as she can find -- that's her style.

Last week she walked up to two sea captain-ish men and said, "Hi. I'm Marta. I'm two-and-a-half and I'm smart."

She wants to be potty trained but doesn't quite get it yet. We bought Pull-Ups and she insisted on the blue Diego design. She buckles the top buckle of her car seat.

She can spell MARTA, BERIT, MOM, DAD, POP and sometimes MOSEY. When Trevor walks in a room she says, "There's our handsome guy."

She cannot dance; she only wants to twirl. She will rarely sing a song loudly, but in every new place we go she asks, "Mom, is this a loud place or a quiet place?" And then tests my answer by sending a quick "AH!" up to see how it echos and what I'll do about it.

She rarely naps. She plays "I Spy" these days by being the spier instead of the finder. Her new favorite game is Candy Land.

She wants to tell you how the cow got so much mud on its bottom.

Since moving in with Trevor's parents, she's been an uncharacteristically restless sleeper. Over the weekend we went to my sister's house and took with us a friend's toddler-sized blow-up mattress. She did great with this first non-crib, and on the way home she told me, "Now I'm going to sleep in a big girl bed. Not my crib."

So last night she did, for the first time, sleep in a real twin-sized bed, in a room all by herself. She slept until 7:45 a.m., which is a full one-to-two hours longer than she's been sleeping in. She woke up, sang a little instead of whined, and just waited for me to come get her up. She was very proud of herself.

Oh, Marta. You are the baby. You rub your blankie's tag on your cheek. You still have chubby cheeks and thin, curly-on-the-bottom hair. I don't think you even have real eyebrows yet.

But somehow you've outgrown your crib, your clothes, your limits. You put your own Band-Aids on your knees; you even open them yourself. Sometimes I want to get out the front carrier and put you in it, just to hold you near me during an outing like I did when you were itty-bitty.

Oh, Marta. Don't get too big, too fast.

Family, As Of Late

2010-07-11T18:05:00.000-04:00

Add Water

2010-07-10T22:43:00.000-04:00

This will be the year against which we measure other years.

Yes, there is a lot of stuff going on right now. But I'm talking about sunshine, full-on summer days, no snow since February, a gorgeously green spring, long, rainy weekends, festivals and ice cream on everything and running out of our new sunscreen in the first week of July.

Because there's no air in the house, we've been forced to embrace the water. I know that sounds ridiculous -- we are surrounded by water; people pay millions to live here for even part of the year. But when it's hot out and the air is on, it's so easy to stay inside. These days we're jumping off the dock and braving mucky beaches just to float in the lake. I'll have to write another post about how much of a lake girl I'm not, how several of my beaus in life were lake obsessed and I was the one in jeans and a sweatshirt trying not to throw up with each wave. How I never even swam in a lake, really, until I moved to Petoskey. But right now we're on our way to bed after a day spent at the dog beach, and more recently a boat ride under the pink sunset that left the entire lake as iridescent as the inside of an oyster shell.

We sat on stools and ordered custard at our favorite local place, and when they brought it out mine was three scoops tall and covered with sprinkles. I had said, "I'll have what he ordered," pointing to Trevor, and did it ever work out for me. We talked to the owner, who we know and the girls know and they shared their days, back and forth. We tried to hula-hoop. We ordered a pizza on the way home and cruised town, looking at the houses that are newly on the market while we waited for it to be done. We stayed in our swimsuits all day.

This is the best year on my personal record, I think. My feet have never been so brown. My hair has never been so unkempt. The girls choose their shoes based on their water resistance every day. We're telling more stories and turning everyday things into fantastical adventures.

I would like very much to travel back in time to my 9-year-old, Detroit-residing self, and show her a picture of her life in 23 years. So much water, so much sand, so much stickiness and bug spray. I don't think she would have understood it.

Regression

2010-07-07T12:23:00.000-04:00

It's definitely true that life is slower on the lake. We putz around more and rush around less. I've slowed down my running schedule out of necessity, with sick kids and paperwork and visitors to focus on in the evenings instead of getting in shape for the half marathon. Trevor's getting home later and later at night -- when the sun goes down, he heads home.

It's odd though, even with our general slowing down, that the girls have backtracked. Marta, my champion sleeper, is needing lots of attention as she falls asleep each night. Covering, telling me "one more thing," another drink, a rock in the chair. When she wakes during the night she has a harder time going back to sleep on her own. I haven't pushed her to cry it out -- I have a hard time doing this at any point in our lives, but I feel that she's especially sensitive since moving in with Trevor's parents. She asks a couple times a day to move back to our Cedar Creek house or the Lake House. It isn't that she's not happy to be here -- she loves waking up to grandparents and a full, lively house. I think she really gets that it's not our place, and she just can't settle. She's also constantly asking me to feed her, when the moment she could feed herself at age... one? 18 months? she refused help forever. Nowadays she melts if I don't give her help, with sandwiches, bananas, full meals, even ice cream.

Berit has wanted to move back to the Cedar Creek house since we left. It's hard to move from house to house, even if the houses are great ones. She always seems to enjoy being at her grandparents' house, but she's started asking for help in the bathroom. We've always helped with the tougher stuff in there, but now she wants help with the easy stuff, too -- or just someone to chat with, or to hand her the soap when she washes her hands. I wonder if she's actually regressing in some way, just getting used to so many people being available to her, or is trying to get my attention, as I'm often chasing after Marta and someone else gets to Berit before I can.

These are all little things, I know, and I'm not worried about them. But I am looking forward to watching how the girls change again after our next move -- into their own home this time.

In Brief

2010-06-28T13:50:00.001-04:00

It's summer, and while I could say that the slow internet at the in-laws' house is why I've not blogged, it's really just that we're having fun away from the computer. But in the interest of journaling our lives for our children, and in the interest of the printed copy of the past year's posts that I'll be working on over the next few weeks, here's a list of what's been happening with our little group of four-and-a-dog:

SUMMER
Berit's enrolled in Highland Dance and Yoga on Tuesdays, both completely wearing her out but also bringing much fun and joy. We've signed up for nature walks with the conservancy on Wednesdays and following those there are concerts in the park for kids, so we pack a lunch and the girls dance and wiggle and we all celebrate living in bright, happy Petoskey during the summer.

Berit starts violin lessons next month, for 15 minutes at a time. They're on Saturdays and while I'm really happy she wants to learn violin, I'm most excited for the enforced family time they'll bring. We only see Trevor for minutes each day lately, and on Saturdays we'll all go to town together, have a lesson and then picnic in the park. Maybe we'll check on the progress of the house, browse the shops and stop for an ice cream. In the past I'd make plans like this and they wouldn't work out for one reason or another, or only part of the time, but these plans don't worry me because it's summer and Petoskey is covered in sprinkles and fairy dust in the summer, so even if the plans aren't perfect our Saturdays will still be fabulous.

WORK
Small jobs for Trevor lately. No new builds in the longest time, but lots of regular work that keeps him busy and keeps me home with the girls. Fingers are crossed for a new build soon! I continue to work with Wayne County's Start Early, Finish Strong newsletter, Traverse Magazine and the occasional Country Lines article, all of which keep me writing. Also have a few projects I like to play with when I have time. In my head I'm working on two little books, one for each of the girls, that will tell the story of their births. Berit, and in copycat fashion (always) Marta, are fascinated by their birth stories. So before I get any further from those days, I'm going to write the stories in kid language, with a bit of fantasy and fun thrown in to dissuade any of those ... technical questions.

HOUSE
Ah, the house. Oh, the house. How we long for the house. The demo is complete and we now have a new walkway from the kitchen to the library. The kitchen, originally a maid's kitchen, was completely separated from the living space of the house, and had only the back stair up to the second floor, the back door to outside and the heavy, swinging door into the dining room for exits. Absolutely no way to see or even hear the kids while cooking or cleaning. So Trevor put a lovely walkway in to make another path through the house, and during the finishing phase he'll use the large space on either side to create built-in cabinetry and shelving. I can't tell you how I'm looking forward to filling those spaces with treasures! Teapots? Cookbooks? The family china that has recently been handed down? When I think about it my body actually feels full of exclamation points.

We are moving more slowly on the house than we (ahem, *we*) had anticipated. Hoping to be in by fall. PRAYING to be in by fall. In the meantime we're still living with Trevor's parents, who are continuously gracious in sharing their home with us. I know they must get frustrated -- of course, we don't do things the same way, and we are loud and constantly there, and there are all of those things that come with living together when you had been so used to living apart -- and I get frustrated, too. But every morning the girls wake up and are thrilled to go downstairs to their grandparents, who in turn make hot breakfasts and give lots of hugs and offer to take them on walks, and Trevor and I know that this is the best possible place for our family. They will always have -- if not exactly remember -- the summer they lived with Mimi and Grandpa, and I truly believe it will be special to them forever.

And by the way, every other day or so I walk into the laundry room because I haven't had time to switch my clothes from the washer to the dryer, and I'll find my laundry clean and folded. And when I can't quite get to the dishes after a meal, I'll come down later and see that they're magically washed (and not even in the dishwasher, because I never put the kids' stuff in there and my mother-in-law knows this and takes the time to hand-wash them for us). And when Trevor works late and it's time for baths, I have extra hands and I never have to ask for help. Ever.

TREVOR
Trevor loves summer more than anyone. He loves to play more than any grown-up I know. He wants to skate, to swim and bike, to hike with his kids. And yet we are blessed, blessed to have work that keeps him busy all day and all evening. He goes from one job to a meeting to a chamber event, down to the playhouse that Erwin, his dad, is building in stunning and adorable ways. Trevor is never idle. And when he has 20 minutes he spends every last one doing puzzles, dancing and reading with the girls.

LISA
I am writing. I'm adventuring. I'm playing and cleaning up. I am living on Walloon Lake with my girls for the summer, in a house filled with fun and love and music. I'm trying not to get in the way, to be a living part of a family house that I'm not really suited for. I think I'm catching on. I'm getting my braces off next month. I've signed up for a half-marathon and am running slowly but consistently, most recently doing a five-miler that turned out to actually be six, and I felt great the whole time. I'm carrying the rear portion of the dog, who threw out his back (again) and is cheerfully dragging himself around. I'm realizing that I'm still mourning the loss of both of my grandparents, who both died very recently, even though I thought I was tougher than this. I'm constantly grieving for my mother's loss of both her parents and at the same time am avoiding talking about it with her, not purposely. I'm happy and one second from tears practically all the time, because the girls are so fun, so exciting, so big and so little.

ADOPTION
Insert big sigh here. We are technically 10 to 12 months away from bringing home a baby. However, two children were very close to meeting our requested status (healthy babies, with exceptions for unknowns like smoking during pregnancy) and we considered adopting them. We read their full files -- something we'd never done before -- and learned things about them like what their rooms looked like, what made them happy and sad, how they were comforted and what their deliveries were like. It was terrible to say no. But we don't have a home yet. We can't yet. We can't expect our biological children and the new baby to adapt to this situation, and to that situation. It's just not right, yet.

PLAYHOUSE
The playhouse excitement continues. Erwin has spent every hour of every dry day for weeks crafting the cutest little cottage you ever did see, and we are all hoping to sell lots of tickets and really start something. We are frustrated because both times we were scheduled to show the house during kids' concerts in the park, it rained and we couldn't. So the house hasn't moved from the polebarn, and we've only sold a handful of tickets with it there. Erwin would love help from Trevor, who would love to help but is so busy with work that he is barely there, and you can imagine how this makes both guys feel. I think they had hoped to bond over this project in their father-son/buddy-buddy way. Anyway, the end result is still fantastic, and this first time out continues to be a learning experience for us all. We're hoping that the parades will really help get the buzz going. We're trying to be realistic that this year will be the one that teaches us how to make the build successful in years to come. But to be truthful, we all want so much to make an impact NOW. Slow and steady, needs to be our mantra. It's really a dream house, and a dream project. Everything about it is just plain great.

Did I leave anything out? I can't think. On to work, to the for-pay stuff, with hopefully enough time afterward to work on some fun stuff. It's summer. Everything is fun stuff.

Playhouse

2010-06-17T21:54:00.000-04:00

Growing up, my sister and I were constantly volunteering (or being volunteered) for one charity or another. We tied bows around nut jars for cancer benefit prizes when we were very small. We passed out programs, took tickets, poured drinks and stood in booths. We babysat, delivered food and changed sheets in hospitals. There is no time in my memory when we weren't volunteering, and when my brother was born, he joined in with the rest of us.

It was important to my mom. It just now occurs to me that I've never asked her why it was important to her then, when we were little. Growing up, her family was relatively poor, but not so much that they received help from others. That wasn't it. Her father, my grandfather, sat on our board of education and actively worked in many political campaigns -- maybe that was the catalyst for her. Or my grandmother, who cooked for the priests.

Anyway, even when she was a single mother and worked two jobs, we volunteered as a family. Nine years ago, when I drove into Petoskey for the second time in my life, knowing I had a job and would be living here, I wondered where I would start my volunteer work. At the hospital, which was second nature to me? Downtown? At Crooked Tree, or the Women's Resource Center? And then work began, and I was at a desk or chasing stories or at night meetings seven days a week, and I never found my place.

Over the years Trevor and I have dabbled in organizations and have tried to do our best to support our local farmers, artists and businesses. Our girls sponsor a child in Bolivia, who they write to now and again and who we talk about and pray for. But our family has never done anything truly intense for the less fortunate in our community and in our world.

A few months ago I was sitting on the couch with my mom, talking about how I needed to do something to get started volunteering again. We don't have much treasure, and truth-be-told we don't have much time. But we are 32-year-old parents of two healthy children, and we have careers we enjoy with work to do every day. We are blessed, so incredibly blessed. But we were not working for others.

So my mom and I hatched a plan, on that couch, and today it's become reality. Doublestein Builders, Inc., my husband's business, has built a beautiful playhouse (props to Erwin, my father-in-law and recently retired partner in the business, who actually built the entire house, and to Cathy, my mother-in-law, who helped paint). The playhouse is the first in a bi-annual playhouse build, taking place each summer and fall. All year long we'll sell raffle tickets for the house, and at the end of summer and fall we'll choose a winner that we'll announce at a local celebration and on our website. The winner will take home a beautiful playhouse for their children or grandchildren, or for their local park or church, and all of the proceeds from ticket sales will go into the Doublestein Family Fund at the Petoskey-Harbor Springs Area Community Foundation. The money from this fund will be used entirely to benefit children's charities.

We're really excited about this project, and finally feel like we're giving back in a hands-on way. If you live nearby, look for us at local events all summer and fall, and in the parades. If you live far away, check our website for updates on the houses we build, and send us suggestions for styles and colors.

And of course, if you'd like to buy a ticket, we're happy to help. :)

Graduation, Round One

2010-06-14T14:52:00.002-04:00

Everyone, or more specifically, all the mommyblogs I read that chronicle school-age children, is posting about their child's school graduation, from preschool on up. They post first day/last day photos, cap-and-gown montages, lists of things their kids have learned in the past year.

It only just occurred to me, after reading yet another blog about preschool graduation, that I might be leaving my own family out a little on this theme. Like, when all of our kids sit down in their social media classes in the flying-car-future, and the teacher says, "OK, pull up the blog your mom wrote when you graduated from preschool," Berit will sink down in her chair and pretend to have laryngitis. Or carpal tunnel. Or whatever she needs to get out of communicating the way they will in the future.

Thing is, while she technically wore a cap and walked over a little bridge, Berit didn't graduate. She's been in preschool for two school years now, but because her birthday is in February she won't go to kindergarten. We simply put her in preschool the very second she was eligible, which was at age 3 years and one second. She always wanted to go to school. She was born for organized play, and she never, ever had a second thought about not going. She walked into the classroom on her first day, all of just barely 3, and didn't bother to check if her parents were staying or not.

Likewise, when it came time to leave this preschool for the last time -- because she's going to a new preschool this fall -- there was no hesitation. Just, Peace, I'm going to the place where there's a My Little Pony castle.

When she walked the bridge on graduation night, she was first. Very delicately she stepped to the top of the arc and waited, hat sitting neatly on her head, while her teacher told us that Berit's favorite part of preschool was dressing up and that she learned how to walk in a line. I think. It's hard to remember. Marta was screaming the whole time, trying to free herself from my grasp, because "IT'S MY TURN TO GO ON THE BRIDGE!" I'd post pictures but since we've moved in with the in-laws we have no clue where any connective cords are. So, someday. Probably.

Berit has changed in the past year. I'm sure a large percent is due to preschool, the social learning, the reading and projects and playtime. I know preschool is responsible for her learning to write her name, recognize most letters and numbers, and for helping her deal in her own way, in her own time, with the messes made by projects (and learn to accept them, and find fun in them). This last part is the most valuable to me, as I didn't know how I'd work with that a year ago.

She's made sincere friendships, gone on field trips that I'd never have considered, played in the dirt, rolled down hills and took 389 turns on the swings. At least.

Preschool made her brain ready for the day about one month ago, when she suddenly, in a single moment, understood the alphabet and its uses, and started reading. Not whole chapter books or anything, but she figured out how words work and how to sound them out. She's recognizing words at first sight now, and spelling things constantly, and everywhere we go she asks how to spell whatever we're doing, looking at, listening to.

A secondary benefit to this is that Marta is also fascinated by words now, and asks to spell everything and wants to learn to read.

And speaking of Marta, since starting preschool two years ago, Berit has recognized that she has a little sister and has fallen completely in love with Marta, taking care of her like Berit is 12 and Marta is a newborn. It's heartwrenching and lovely and sweet.

Berit's teacher, the wonderful Mrs. Beck, who I wish could be Berit's teacher every year from now on, has told me time and again that "Berit notices the beauty in things that no one else does." Since starting preschool, Berit has commented on the loveliness of words, phrases, leaves, shadows, configurations... It's her thing, I guess. It's something I never taught her. What a gift, to always see beauty.

Since starting preschool, Berit's developed more energy, more spunk, more giddiness. She's gotten super skinny, then pudgy again, then somewhere in the middle.

I think that, at the end of this next year of preschool, I'll be better at pinpointing exactly what she's learned at school alone. But the past two years have been plain old growth for Berit, and while she's not suddenly doing fractions, she is turning into a kindergartner, day by day. Without preschool, I don't think she'd be jumping this high, taking her calculated risks with dirt and energy, loving others so openly or enjoying learning opportunities so readily.

So this is the summer, I think, before things really change from "I have two little girls" to "I have two girls." Before Berit is in school, even if it is another year of preschool, for real and for the next two decades. Before she finds friends who will come to play by themselves and not with a parent, before she can sleep without bed rails, before she loses teeth.

I'm not sad about this, like so many of these blogs I've read. Maybe I'm missing that particular part of my heart or brain. With Berit, I'm always just pleased that she can do the next thing. I think it has something to do with her personality - I recently told a friend, who wished me a happy birthday and wondered if I hated going up another year, that I've always felt like I was in my thirties, even when I was a kid. I think Berit's the same way. Not that she doesn't enjoy kid things. But she's not sorry to leave them behind, because she's got work to do on this next challenge. She's got to take her time, study it, figure it out, test it slowly, do it well a time or two, then move on.

It's my own challenge, then, to remember to mark those milestones, and not get caught up in moving on as smoothly as she does. Before I know it, she's going to be in high school, wondering what the heck I was doing blogging about books and Marta's going on the potty, when she was searching for beauty and climbing obstacles, so silently and slowly as to barely make a ripple in the water.

Things They Say

2010-06-08T09:27:00.000-04:00

M: Daddy, you can't go to work! You're Mommy's friend!

B: I don't want to be a mommy. I don't want the doctor to cut me open to take the baby out.
Me: Um, you don't have to be cut open.
B: So, how can the baby get out, then?
Me: The doctor takes the baby out.
B: How?
Me: The mommy pushes, and the doctor gets the baby out.
B: Where does the baby come out, then?
Me: Hm?
B: Where? Like, on the mommy's body? Where. Does. The. Baby. Come. Out??
Me: So sorry, gotta get these zoo tickets. Let's talk about this later.

In bed, in the same room, at my sister's house:
M: BERIT! I love you.
B: I love you too, Marta.
M: And I love YOU!
B: And I love YOU!
M: You're my best friend.
B: I know, you're my best friend, too.

Berit Just Fell Off A Chair. I Only Have A Minute.

2010-06-07T16:19:00.000-04:00

Flighty.

That's the buzz word here; the reason we're in and out; the reason I haven't blogged or managed to even post a status update on FB every single day, can you imagine?

We left the Lake House just under two weeks ago, in yet another move that left me wondering why we have so many THINGS and who in the world needs so many toys/clothes/coats/barrettes?

We moved in with Trevor's parents, who are kindly hosting us while we remodel the Division St. house. There's little to no internet connection or cell phone coverage here, so I've not blogged or been online much at all.

We're grateful of course to be here, and I have helpful, kind in-laws. But even in my own house I'm a loner, so living in someone else's has made me antsy and of course I have a constant upset stomach because that's how I work out my stress. Deep breathing, bah.

So when guests came to stay for a long weekend at my in-laws' we decided to head downstate to my sister's house in Holland. Oh! We love being there. My kids can't understand why we have to leave at all. But it's still more suitcases and sharing rooms and down at 9:30 and up at 6:30 and even the zoo and parks and fabulous shopping and eating gets too expensive at some point (rather quickly, when you've got a home remodel going on), so we're back in Petoskey. Just in time for concerts in the park, the farmers market and our summer activities. Berit's enrolled in highland dance and yoga and we're hoping Kindermusik starts for Marta. We're looking forward to organized nature walks and swimming and playdates and school parks that are open to us all day long.

So these days I'm pulling Marta off of life-threatening positions in someone else's home, constantly trying to keep things clean (OMG) and not get in the way. We're out, we're in, and I'm very rarely here. It's a blip in our lives, one I hope will be strong and positive and the road to somewhere important.

If I had two brain cells to combine I'd write about Marta's CONSTANTCONSTANTCONSTANT jabbering and bruises head to toe, Berit's wondering exactly how babies get out of bellies and in this particular moment, Marta is climbing up my body, trying to tickle me, banging her chin over and over on the table, is telling me she needs a treat and that she loves me. All at the same time. Nope, not exaggerating.

Soon I'll post pictures of our recent adventures and tell you about the things the girls say when they're sharing a room at my sister's house and are supposed to be sleeping. But right now Marta's running away, intent on getting into the pantry and climbing to the top of the shelves. So off I go, on another flighty adventure where I'm using less brain power and more adrenaline and all my energy is in saving a 2-year-old from major disaster and cleaning up in her wake.

In The Interest Of Saving Lives

2010-05-27T13:38:00.000-04:00

Dear Children,
If I die, please take time once each year to go through your father's belongings (being sure to check in all of his closets, shoe boxes and suitcases) and throw out or give away anything that he hasn't noticed in the past 365 days. Truly, this will save you all from sure suffocation when his hoarding in way back spaces causes the walls to cave in.
All my love,
Mom

Another Check Off The List

2010-05-20T22:01:00.001-04:00

I just signed and sealed away our big, hefty middle payment to the adoption agency. It's such a bizarre feeling, to transfer money over in those amounts and count our pennies and feel concerned about affording this. We had to pay for most of Berit's many treatments, tests and medicine out of pocket, and for all of Marta's prenatal care and our entire hospital stay, including delivery. With Berit we were ready, though we didn't know we'd be using our let's-go-on-a-two-week-vacation-whenever-we-feel-like-it-fund for baby stuff. But thank God we had it. With Marta we were still recovering from our first pregnancy's expenses and we were able to handle it, but just.

And when we wrote those checks, we were so filled with anxiety. How would we get back to our ideal place?

We knew how much adoption would cost going in, so there are no surprises. We have had surprises, however, during our home renovation process and it's making our adoption fund exceptionally tight. But still, we know. It's so weird, to be this prepared. It's kind of nice, to have it all out of the way -- God knows we'll have our hands full when the baby's here. And even though it's not fun to send large sums of money away, we're not overly stressed about this. It's not part of an even bigger stressful event, like having a new baby and recovering from delivery (unless you count remodeling a house and living with your in-laws in the meantime).

And while every single day I wonder if we're doing the right thing, the process is so slow and gentle, it's practically fun. Last night we came up with a new name for the baby. You'll just have to be surprised.

Reading

2010-05-18T19:51:00.000-04:00

Because I'm such a reader myself, I had assumed that Berit would be one, too. And she does love books -- most nights not going to sleep until she's had time to read a stack on her own, after the ones we read together. But I never saw a spark for it, or, let's just be honest, an advanced level of comprehension or ability. Yes, I expected it. She was my first -- I also expected her to wean herself, eat baby food from jars and sleep with predictability.

But tonight, while sitting up in bed reading her stack, she called me. I went in and she pointed to every letter of every word, whether uppercase (which they go over but don't really push in preschool) and lowercase (which they don't do at all), then told me what they spelled. I know she memorized the words, but still. Still. She was so proud of herself, and can't wait to take the book to school and show her teacher.

For the record, the book is Ariel's Friends. Groundbreaking, no. Heart melting, yes.

Findings From Division Street

2010-05-13T21:48:00.000-04:00

In the basement:
There's a square about the same size as the kitchen above it -- roughly 10x10 -- made from two outside walls and two 6-foot walls of stone and concrete. It was used as a cistern, with several pipes coming in from the eaves of the house, and a water level line all around, so we know it was well-used.

Confirmation from a woman who worked for the family that:
There was an elevator
The owner enjoyed pound cake (helpful)
The lady of the house died there

The ramp out front, a few doors down, was part of a rail system to take luggage from the trains at the station up the hills to the homes.

Behind a shelf in the master bedroom closet:
Flat cardboard butter packaging, with "Margaret Christopher, New York" written in cursive on the blank side
Petoskey State Bank deposit slips
A bridge score card, with an advertisement for "premium drinking water" in cans that look like beer on it.

The house used to be very dark greenish-brown.

New news:
Windows were delivered today.
The great color debate rages on.

Take Note

2010-05-10T13:16:00.000-04:00

This is the baby

Who went pee-pee on the potty for the first time today.

She is very proud.

Marta Speaks

2010-05-06T08:28:00.001-04:00

Upon waking this morning:

"I'm going to get a tattoo of a cow on my belly. No, a horse."

And when Trevor put a blue shirt on:

"Daddy! That's a cool sweatshirt.... Cool, dude."

Berit's "Best Night Ever."

2010-05-05T13:37:00.001-04:00

Last night, as we were running through a parking garage, Berit said, "Mom, this is my favorite part of the night."

We were singing "Let's go to the movies..." from the movie Annie while we ran from our car to DeVos Hall, where we were to see The Lord of the Dance.

Berit has long been enamored with Irish dancing, ever since she saw it on a kids' program. She's tried doing it for the past year or so in the living room, and routinely asks when she'll learn. Our local program starts the kids at 5, so she's waiting. She claims to love it even more than ballet.

So when I saw that Grand Rapids was hosting The Lord of the Dance, I bought tickets. It was exactly how I hoped it would be, and instead of watching the show, I watched her face. It wasn't just that she was enthralled, caught up, totally into it. She was at home. I had wondered if she'd be aching to dance on the sidelines or would be over it in about an hour, but she sat on my lap, spine straight up, never relaxing, just... existing with it. Not exclaiming (though there were questions, as I had invented a storyline to explain the "pirates" and the hooded figures holding torches and the fight scenes), not moving her feet (though she did try, once, to move them as quickly as the show's star and realized that, of course she can). She just sat up, for two hours, and studied everything.

There were two bits of comic relief. When a singer came onstage in a long evening gown, Berit was enchanted by her air of loveliness (though the singing? Oddly not great) and during a pause in her song, when the room was completely quiet, she said loudly, "Her lips are as red as a rose!"

And later, during a STRIPTEASE, the girls tore off their dresses to reveal black undergarments and another lull in music carried my motherly "Oh MY" right through the hall.

Afterward in the car, when I asked if she wanted to watch a movie as we started our long drive home, she first requested Sleeping Beauty (which she insists we call "Aurora") but then decided she didn't want anything with scary people and asked for Mary Poppins. I said, "Are you feeling a little silly inside from the pirates?" And she said "Yes, that really is how I feel." And later, "Mom, I'm still feeling silly from those pirates." So we talked about the dancers, how one stuck his tongue out to prove he was really pretending, how at the end they took their masks off and danced and laughed. Then she was OK and went to sleep.

The real gem of the night, though, didn't happen at the show. It was the turnout beforehand, at dinner. My family will think I'm the one being silly but when they met us for dinner -- my whole family, my mom and dad, brother and sister -- I was completely touched. I live three hours away, and they all live within an hour of one another. I miss them terribly. Knowing that they would all get together just because I came to town for a few hours was so important. They fawned over Berit of course, and I talked too loudly and made stupid jokes to cover how weepy I felt by having everyone together, all dressed lovely for a special dinner. I know they go out for fancy nights and it's not a big deal, but it was for me. I don't do that these days. I don't get dressed up, order appetizers and desserts and cocktails and have people put napkins on my lap. I show up and ask my dad for some cash for the parking garage, that's what I do. And I could, because he was there and my dad, not three hours away. Oh this is funny and stupid, but I've got tears writing it. Maybe some of you will understand. There's just something about knowing your family is there. Anyway.

Berit fell asleep at midnight, and while she slept in her carseat, she sang.

Packing, Again

2010-05-02T13:13:00.000-04:00

We are... in transition.

We have to move out of the Lake House this month. Where we'll go, we're not sure. We had planned to live with Trevor's parents for the few months it'll take to get into the new house, but we've been considering renting a house from friends a few blocks from the remodel. I love this idea, as it'll keep us where we want to be (downtown, and just a stroller ride from Trevor, who'll spend every extra second at the new house, and we'll miss him), but it's not free and I know that makes a difference. Especially since our summer jobs have recently morphed into fall jobs (which is not making the remodel any smoother, let me just mention).

So we don't exactly know where we're going, but we do know that it's another temporary living space. I'm not that kind of girl, so every night as I pack one more portion of we-won't-need-this-for-awhile stuff, I talk really quickly to Trevor, wringing my hands and darting looks around like I'm a confused preteen.

So I've scheduled trips for practically every weekend; I'm pretty sure it's some psychological effort to run away from the impending move into uncertainty. I should be planning trips for June, July and August, to keep us busy while Trevor works on the house and to be independent from the in-laws' house (assuming we do live there; of course we love them and they love us, but anyone would get tired of having an entire family living in their house for that long).

Trevor has taken the girls to the park so that I can work on packing, but I wish I were with them instead (another effort to pretend we're not moving again). Marta keeps asking if we can go "home to the Cedar Creek house," and Berit comes up with stories all the time about what we did there and how much she loved it. I miss it; I miss the girls having their own rooms with their own beds and their own things (even if the furnishings here are far more lovely that anything we'll be able to afford for at least another decade). I miss the security of knowing what was ours, and what we could do with it. I don't like hiring cleaning people to sweep up behind us as if we were never here.

The thing is that we are so lucky to be moving on, to have been here, to have places to go, that it seems wrong to feel strange about it. It's just the children, that's all. I want their lives to be flawless, to never know adjustment or change, though I get it that those things make them into better big people. I know we're lucky that this is all we have to worry about. We are infinitely blessed, and looking at the dark side just makes it easier to do what I want to do today -- be with the kids at the park instead of packing, for instance.

Anyway, onward and upward (or somewhere, at least). And clean sweeps behind us to make room for messy little girl bedrooms ahead.

Briefs

2010-04-30T13:31:00.000-04:00

Wildlife
We have a bird. Berit's named him Bladdy. He lives in a tiny little nest at the top of the column out the front door. He's starting to get used to us, but he doesn't stick around when we go in and out of the door. Hoping to hear the sound of baby birds! Hm. Better revise my pronouns...

Attitude
Berit, always dramatic, has had this attitude reminiscent of me at age 13. She comes down the stairs in the morning with a look of boredom and slight disdain, accepts the parental hugs and spends the rest of the day telling people what to do, talking back, and getting in trouble for both. Of course she is wonderful, but I do feel like every time she walks into the room lately, things get tense for all. Terrible 4s? Early adolescence?

Preschool
We finally made a decision about Berit's preschool for next year. We hate to leave PCN, but with the new baby coming and Marta already desperate to go to school herself, we just can't swing the volunteering twice a month per child. We're really excited about St. Francis preschool, which holds afternoon class (no more rushing in the mornings), is within walking distance from the new house and is at our church, so it's super familiar. Berit wants to start today. Because they have My Little Ponies.

Marta
What's she doing lately, at nearly 2 1/2? Climbing stairs (up and down), not napping, coming up with I Spy subjects all on her own (so the rest of us have to figure out what she spied), counting backward from 15, counting forward to 20 and sometimes 30, picking out her own clothes, going down the biggest slides, being: fearless, reckless, purposely funny. Every morning she asks, "Can I go to school today?" and when we pick Berit up she asks, "How was school today, Berit?"

Swimming
Last night was our last swim lesson. It's been going really well -- Berit is losing a lot of fear in the water and is taking chances. She's jumping off the bottom step and is trying to move between grown-ups without help (not quite swimming, but sort of leaping and splashing). Marta swims on a noodle completely on her own and jumps off the top step, provided we don't let her go under too much when we catch her. She stands on the bottom step and puts her head under water up to her eyes for a quick second. She's desperate to just take off in the water. Last night I was standing with another mom, her daughter, Marta and the instructor in the middle of the pool. Marta was on a noodle, and the other little girl asked for the one that was floating next to me. I turned to get it, and when I turned back Marta was sinking to the bottom. I know this happens to kids all the time, and Marta was fine after a second of sputtering when I pulled her out. But this has shaken me to the core. I can't get the image of her, helpless, flailing under the water, out of my head. I also know that this is probably only the first time Marta will scare me crazy with her daredevil stunts, but still. I think I'm a good mom, and if I wasn't paying enough attention, what should I expect from other caregivers, like her sitter and our family? OK, this is definitely extreme, but I can't help freaking out a little about this. If you're someone who cares for Marta, I apologize now for the list of warnings I'm going to give before I leave. Also, for the phone calls making sure all is well.

By the way, Marta was back on the noodle -- standing on it, this time, trying to balance in the water -- within minutes. Oh these children; they have no idea what they do to our hearts.

First Haircut

2010-04-27T15:10:00.000-04:00

About a month or two ago I trimmed some of those flyaways from Marta's hair, but this morning was her first official haircut. When it was Berit's first trim there was all this attention about "Oh, you'll be so beautiful" and "Isn't this special?" And this morning we were like, "Oh hey, Marta, want to get your hair cut?" And she said, "Yup." She proceeded to be alternately "whatever" and over it while we were there:

Not accurately portraying the mullet, but still the last picture of her untouched-by-professional-hands hair.

Leaning back for a quick rinse. Doesn't she look like a baby?

"Whatever."

"Get this cape off me!"

"Over. It."

Running away.

"I'LL DO IT!"

Snack at Julienne Tomatoes afterwards.

"Ah, food makes me happy."

The Sunshine Painting Crew

2010-04-27T15:00:00.001-04:00

Oh right. And these guys. Who come everywhere with us, all the time.

Side note: That shirt Marta's wearing is a really soft, velvety swing top by Zutano that we bought when Berit was one. It's sized 12-18 months, and both girls have worn it ever since we bought it. It has fit in every every season, every size. Paint has come out, food, chocolate. It's amazing. Just thought you'd like to know, from one mom to another. :)

Friday Night

2010-04-23T20:33:00.000-04:00

On most days you'd have a pretty tough time convincing me to get the house in order before the kids went to bed, and to get said kids into bed waaaay early. Like, 6:30. But tonight is the end of a long, long week -- my grandmother died on Friday, we had company over the weekend, Trevor's cousin has been here all week and the two of them have worked on the Division Street house from sun up to sun down, Berit's preschool conference, checking out potential schools for Marta's extra energy, two pressing deadlines, our final adoption report came in and needed reviewing, we had remodeling loan drama and a dog who might have had cancer (but didn't -- yet still needs surgery). Both girls had colds all week and Marta has been up at least twice every single night for at least the past two weeks. Maybe two months. I don't know.

This is not to say that I'm not thrilled with my existence on this planet, in this house, in this family, in these situations. As my friend Kelly says, I'm just sayin'.

But man, did I ever need tonight. My house was spotless by 5 p.m., the girls bathed and in bed by 6:15. We did our workout together today and even I have been freshly showered since 5. I love this space, this quiet, totally alone. I always have. I rarely do anything during these times besides surf the web and talk to my sister on the phone. I had planned to fold clothes while watching a movie tonight. Not looking good for that. You know, internet and magazines.

Right now, no one needs a decision on a roof color. No one will read anything I write for my deadlines (though I should shouldshouldshouldshould be using this time to write). There is nothing to be faxed, learned, or walked. It's like this closet in the universe where I can sit in the semi-darkness eating peanut butter from the jar and try to work out everything I did, or was supposed to do, this past week. It's also where I swear it'll all get done next week.

History

2010-04-22T23:36:00.000-04:00

Trevor's cousin Chris has been at our house all week, helping Trevor do the dirty work on the Division Street home. Trevor's been so glad to spend the time with his buddy, and I've been so pleased to spend our evenings with Chris, who is genuinely interested in the house. They've found some treasures so far, and Chris even snapped a few pics for us while he was there today.

The entire attic was filled with the oddest assortment of ancient belongings: Beds, teensy, tiny dressers (for grown-ups), metal high chairs, fencing swords, steamer trunks filled with hundred-year-old clothes and shoes. The furniture drawers contain letters, photos and pages from books, and the family name is plated on the back of the dressers, cabinets and vanities. In the basement they found boxes and boxes of French and Chinese china, beer steins, curb feelers for white-walled car tires from the 1950s, antique glass bottles (like, ketchup bottles), and what seemed to be an original Pat the Bunny book. There's even a toilet in the basement, cemented into the floor with a detached tank that hangs on the wall. The inside of the porcelain bowl is painted and carved in intricate detail.

Per our agreement with the seller, all of the belongings need to go into storage so she can look through them and decide what to do with it all. Oh, I wish I could be with her when she discovers each piece and remembers its history.

I may have mentioned before about the little faux panel in the entryway, which looks as if it's part of the woodwork but actually pushes back to reveal a box-like space that'd be perfect for hiding a small child. The guys learned that there used to be one of those elevator chairs up the back staircase, and today Chris pulled away the plastic lining the kitchen walls and revealed a strange rectangular window (see photo) in the wall. It's against the current powder room, which used to be the coat closet. So why the window? Any votes on what it was? We'll be taking that part of the wall out entirely so we'll get a peek into what's above and below it.

On the roof they found the original shingles, which were red with flecks of blue in a very classic Colonial scheme. They found wood under the kitchen floor and today Chris uncovered part of the upstairs bathroom linoleum and found layers of wood on top of tile that was backed with what looked like tightly woven threads -- like burlap, he said.

There's the marble sink in one bedroom that is very old -- the seller said she used to watch her grandfather shave there, and it's of the two-fauceted variety, so you have to fill the basin with hot and cold water to make warm. We can't figure out why it'd be in a bedroom upstairs, and the seller didn't know.

Just inside the basement door are two bells -- kind of like old school bells, which have sort of a hammer that clangs against a round bell. Trevor assumed they were old fire alarms, but Chris wondered, after checking out the wires connected to them, if they weren't bells to call the maid. There's also an old laundry chute just outside of the maid's bedroom upstairs that's been boarded and dry-walled over.

It doesn't seem that the electricity was put in with the house (though the guys did find a few ancient lightbulbs in the basement), because when Chris was pulling the plastic off the walls in the kitchen he noticed that the electric lines were really choppy and wavy and carved into the plaster. The tiles on the front of the fireplace are, according to the guys, several inches thick. They think there used to be another two-way swinging door from the kitchen into the butler's pantry (there is currently one from the butler's pantry to the dining room), and the existing door has a neat foot plate for hands-free opening.

Four days of treasure hunting.

So... what's with the window to the back of the closet? Anyone?

Again With The Boobs

2010-04-20T22:11:00.000-04:00

Note: We NEVER discuss this part of the body unless someone brings it up. Which is, like, never. Except when I've told you about it. So, maybe, twice. Therefore: Marta has a mind like a steel trap that fondly remembers nursing.

After swim lessons tonight, in the family changing room. I change out of my suit and try quickly to put on my bra and shirt.

Marta: Look. Look at those. Those are breasts.
Trevor: Cracks up.
Me: Yup.
Marta: Can I drink from those?
Trevor: Has morphed into high school sophomore.
Me: Nope.
Marta: I used to drink from those. When I was a baby. I was in your belly and then I drank from those.

A Warm Wind

2010-04-15T16:13:00.000-04:00

Marta is standing in front of the open window, mesmerized by the lake, her pigtails flipping in the breeze carrying wildly through our hot house.

I got the call today; the answer. It's good news. It's so good, I need to cry but I'm too happy to cry. I'll have to cry later, because I feel like I'm just brimming with tears. Our adoption is on track, everything is fine, there is nothing left to worry about (except, you know, the adoption itself). The girls are safe, my choices are safe, the new baby is safe. Everything, just now, is as it should be.

Marta Speaks

2010-04-15T08:31:00.000-04:00

Instead of yes: "Shhhhoooooore!"
And: "Yup-yup."

She has also begun increasing her compliments:
"I LOVE your ears."
"I LOVE your hair."
"I LOVE your whiskers, Daddy."

She started doing this a long time ago to obvious things, like people's scarves and earrings. Now she's simplifying, I guess.

In the car yesterday, on the way to pick Berit up from school:
Marta: "I want my Daddy."
Me: "Daddy's at work, but he'll be home soon."
Marta: "Daddy's SO CUTE! Daddy is my cutie-pie."
Me: "And what's Mama?"
Marta: "Mama is my BEST FRIEND."

Take-Back-Control Yesterday

2010-04-14T21:45:00.000-04:00

So, we did the thing. And then we ended it, walked away, said we wouldn't be back for the dozen more (each) we were scheduled to have. After we came home, Trevor and I were both sick about going through with the first one. We felt like we let ourselves down, let our kids down, and we couldn't reconcile it. For us, for ourselves -- not for anyone else, not for any other family. So I don't know where that leaves us, except more sure than ever of our own decisions.

Loss-Of-Control Eve

2010-04-12T22:50:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow we're taking the girls, our unsuspecting, happy-to-oblige-this-stop-in-our-day girls, to do something we firmly decided we'd never do. I can't write about it; I will someday, but for now I can't. It's not scary or bad or really that controversial; I just can't write about it because it involves the part of our adoption that's private right now.

The problem is that I can't not write about it. Five years ago we researched, prayed, wavered, then decided a path for our family, and now we're being forced to go a different way. It was nearly a deal-breaker for us on the adoption, as simple as it may seem to some people. It's the forced part of it, I think, that makes it so unsettling.

I have a mantra of "They'll be OK, they'll be OK" running through my head. I won't sleep tonight; last night I had nightmares about it. And really, it's probably no big deal. But it is a big deal, because as a parent you make decisions -- you choose which schools to attend, which shoes to buy. Which food to feed and which dog to own. You pick babysitters and sidewalk chalk and TV shows. And no decisions are ever very simple. The hard ones are really hard. They change lives, for the ones you love the most. So when you make a decision based on research and consideration and pure gut instinct, and then someone comes along and tells you that no, you can't have that choice anymore, you feel like turning your back and saying "forget it then. I'm going back to my life before I knew you."

Oh, but that's not an option, is it? I mean, I suppose it is, but that baby is already in someone's womb, and you've already started loving him or her.

I never thought this would be easy. But I didn't think that adopting a baby would challenge my core values as a parent. Rather, I truly believed this process would enhance them, strengthen them, grow them into a better, more productive set.

I don't think I'll be entirely sure that we're going through with this until it's done. There is a chance I'll pick the girls up at the last minute and excuse us, and then our adoption will be over. I hate to sound so ridiculous, but I feel like stomping my feet and saying, "It's not fair." It's not fair to the girls. It's not fair to be so regular about it, so whatever, after I've spent five years knowing and re-knowing that it's right for us.

Ah, when I write about it (if I have the time and brainpower once the little one is here) you'll laugh and say "Really? Because it sounded much more important than that." So I'm sorry if in the end I sound whiney and silly. But tonight, just before I have to do this, this thing that is apparently the one thing wrong with my parenting skills, the one thing they have to fix before they'll allow me to adopt an orphan, I am feeling whiney indeed.

Sugar Buzz

2010-04-06T12:47:00.000-04:00

On Easter morning the girls found their baskets in good time and, thankfully, asked to be read their new books before discovering the candy. But once they did... we didn't even go bananas on the candy, but I don't believe there were many moments on Sunday without candy being chewed. Church. Yes, church, but that's where they ran it off, so it doesn't count. We let them have at it, the only day of their entire lives when they could make their own call on candy consumption. They didn't hold back.

Marta was absolutely delighted by this little stuffed bunny she received, which makes a funny chirping sound when you squeeze its belly. She quickly took over Berit's, too.

I dare you to find one photo of Easter Sunday where Berit's not eating candy.

First Peep ever.

OK, only photo with Berit not eating candy. It's also the only photo that comes close to an Easter dress picture (poor Marta, didn't even make this one), and we only took it because my mom's been asking to see Berit in this coat.

Egg hunt in the backyard. She's starting to get the hang of it.

Those fairy sleeves kind of make it hard to gather eggs, but she did a fair job.

Spaced. Out.

Just look at her eyes. The sugar has taken over.