Yee Haw. Henry is 1.

Cupcakes for breakfast, served with a bib from Grandma. Day is off to a lovely start. Happy birthday, darling boy.



Nothing like a old western theme party to get the creative juices going. Saddles, lassos and chaps. Oh my!



So nice to have a handy hubby around. When I say tepee, he says how big. Perfect. Elliot got a chance to wear her dad's hand-me-down chaps. Henry wears baby Izaak's little ol'vest.
































Asking Izaak to take pictures results in a lot of him...with guests. That's just fine, honey. But none of the cute cake I made. Not a one.






























And way late into the night. The sun itself already asleep for hours. Another son has set for the night.

Henry and my Anne Sullivan moment

I am getting my morning manna coffee and I hear a squishy squishy sound.  Henry, sitting on my hip, has taken his hand out of his (teething drooling) mouth.  It is drippy wet. Squish squish.  His little fist is pumping.  Thumb up in the air.  Squish squish. 

“Henry” He looks at me, smiley toothy grin.  I make the same fist pumping motion back up him. 

He erupts in monkey noises.  Ooo-eee-hehehe.   Bouncing on my hip.  Okay.  The coffee can wait (not really, I'll just bring it with me).  

What just happened?  Henry is hungry.  And for the first time in 7 months is asking for me to feed him.

  

Baby sign language. 

He is a caveman.  Ugh, what is this magical flame I have just found.  Lo, I have made fire. I am so clever.

I am Anne Sullivan:  Yes Yes Henry. It is water.  Waaaa-ttteer.  Water.  (No.  Yep.  I know that it’s water.  I’ve been trying to tell you that for months now.)

Breakthrough. 

We did baby signs on our 1^st lap through parenting (with Elliot).  Not terribly purposeful before solid foods (“cookie” sign is a hard sell to a 3 month old baby)  BUT we loved that she could communicate with us more easily when she was first learning how to talk.  It was a way of supplementing her early and pre-linga skills.  Maybe we averted some toddler frustration because of it.  I don’t know.  Elliot was just so chill that not much rattled her with or without sign language.   

We liked signs because she could talk when her mouth was full.  Because I could prompt her to say thank you from across the room without anyone noticing (or without me yelling).  It was a nice tool in our parenting batman belts. 

(I also think that it aided her language acquisition.  But I will let others write articles about research in that area.  My population sample size (of 1) is not sufficient to comment)

AND.  That brings us to this morning.  Henry finally got it.  And by the time I sat down to type this post – He had asked to nurse 3 TIMES in 20 minutes.  Because he can.  Because he is like a caveman and invented fire and wants to keep lighting fires.  And I keep feeding him because I am Anne Sullivan – sign language teacher to babies (well.  Really.  Sign language teacher to my  babies…and only about 15-20 signs.  But still - I’m cool.)  

Hello Tooth.

Do you see it?  Hidden in the darkest dark and wettest wet of caverns.  There is a solitary tooth. 
A bit hard to see in photos because the reflection off of the drool obscures the view.  Oh.  And the tongue.  Serious that tongue is everywhere at the same time.  We have a very Freudian Oral stage happening in Boise.  (riveting, right?)
Close your eyes and think of a slug leaving a slime trail where ever it goes. Do you see it?  That's Henry.  Totally Henry. 
So, betwixt the slime and the tongue, I fought the good fight trying to get a decent photo of The Tooth.  The number of photo close ups of Henry's mouth that I took is a wee bit embarrassing.  I mean if someone were to steal this computer and scroll through the recent photos they would be aghast at my collection of pictures of the lower half of Henry's face.  Seriously.  I need to delete some of these.

Spiritual parenting

I am an expert on parenting (what?) so long as the topic does not deviate from diaper changing and teeth brushing.  In all other things the what is best to do gets fuzzy.
So, I read.
And hope for the best.
I am currently reading through a book Spiritual Parenting by Hugh and Gayle Prather. I did not get out of the first chapter before I read something that got me chewing and thinking.

All the we teach our kids by consistently trying to correct them in anger is that we believe deeply in anger as the most effective approach to difficulties.  Is that what we want to model?...Parents who get angry with their children and won't give them a birthday present...who go for hours or days refusing to speak...these parents must remember that it is not now, and never has been, our heavenly Parent's function to turn against us. Likewise, it is not the parents' function to turn against their child.  It is the child's function to turn against the parent - if that is what happens.  And very often adolescents appear to do just that, even as we have so often rejected a God who doesn't reject us.  (author's bold, pg 5)

While at home during the day with 2 little ones, I keep circling back to the thought that if I correct this issue/moment/episode with anger is that the most effective approach? Am I modeling anger as a tool for problem solving?   Not that a 3 year old does very much to warrant anger - but at the end of the day when feeling tired and under siege from all the preschoolness it is necessary to guard our selves.  As an extension, this could apply to how we treat our spouses.

Do we believe deeply that anger is the most effective approach to difficulties?
 

Spring is here and the ABC tree is in bloom. Or so says the bad mom.

okay.  fat lie. Spring is not here.  It is cold and, aside from a couple sunny days this week, it has been dull and gray.  We are ready for the good weather....only a couple more months.  

At the risk of sounding like a bad mom.  I am starting to cringe at sentences that begin with why.  Which is every sentence that Elliot speaks.  It is not a rhetorical why.  She is tenacious enough that if we don't answer (from exhaustion) she keeps asking.  We are suffering from an overload of curiosity.  Why did Toad crash his car again?  Why did  you sit on the couch and not the red chair?  Why did Henry just spit up again?  Why did you do it that way? Why is that girl wearing boots?  Why is that man's hair long like a girl?  Why is the little red hen red?  Why WHY?!  I don't know WHY!!!

and don't get this bad mom started on how I don't like playing pretend for 8 hours straight.  I just don't enjoy it.  Elliot can inexhaustibly play Laura Ingalls and Farmer Boy ALL-DAY-EVERY-DAY.
Elliot:  you be Mary
Us: let's play another game.
Elliot:  ok let's play school.  You be the teacher and I will be Laura.

Seems suspiciously like the same game to me.  humph.

Well.  That was cathartic.  So, back to the title of this post.  The ABC tree.  We are finding letters everywhere.  She has never seemed too driven to draw pictures.  Try as we might to show her smiley faces and stick people.  And she doesn't color.  she takes tests, does her lessons, and  gets information.  She asks questions (what is your name?  What is your city?  What is your husband's name?) and then scribbles the answer down.  She doesn't show much interest in drawing but is desperate to write.  And when her favorite game of spelling bee evolved into spelling test - she really did begin writing letters.  In her beautiful 3 year old hand.  Letters have been showing up everywhere.  A lot of E's, but an important letter for an Elliot. 

E. L. C.

E.

F.A.

E.L.C.

Someone's proud mama took a lot of photos.  Who did that?

nothing particular

WELL. of all the things I could share today...I think I will indulge in a stream of nothing important.  A wildly active stream of information -gurgling, churning, spilling over rocks.  Yet, still I think I can manage to say only non-earth shattering things.  It will be difficult perhaps.  My life is a rare fount of headline news stories.  (ummm.  humoring myself)

Elliot and I dressed for Christmas service.  Her Christmas dress is completed by boots.

Izaak's new Sony camcorder/camera/toy came in the mail today.  He's not here so I am playing with it. He got it for free.  It is a deep violet color to match the white 32g iPod he got for free last Spring.  The colors don't match.  It is the free part that matches.  Did you notice that?  People just give him expensive items when he does lame stuff like fill out surveys at expos.

When you send a 3 year old in to put on her shoes SOMETIMES they put socks all the way up and put on broken ballet shoes.  Next time I will be more clear about the knicker/ballet combo.

I learned this week that you can't effectively shush 3 year olds.  They just talk louder over the shhh sound to make doubly sure that you heard them.  I learned that lesson when Elliot pointed at a black man and said innocently enough that that wasn't her favorite color for skin.  Too dark, she thought.  It was a grocery store, he was standing about 1/2 aisle down from us.  It is the same Elliot who is very clear about not liking short hair, and blond hair. She alternates between liking Indians and not (as per the Little House books).  And, she cried once when she found out that she was an American (she just wanted to be a girl, as it turned out)

Elliot is modeling a jacket her dad wore as a little boy

Sure, it is okay to not like blonds and prefer lush long hair.  BUT how do you draw a line on what is okay without drawing a line between an imaginary us/them.  The man was black, obviously.  I don't want to teach her to ignore that fact because that is disrespectful to who he is. 

So, I faced the teachable moment where I had the chance to explain that some people are black and some have short hair and these are just adjectives but that's not who we are but that is who he is because of heritage and culture and short hair is just fashion and its okay to not like some one's fashion but you should acknowledge how people are born without judgement because while that defines us it doesn't limit or separate us (but then neither does some one's fashion choices) but it is not a big deal but why am I making this moment a big deal? It's like...In the 1 second I had to say something deep even the voice in my head was confused about what the lesson should be or why the lesson should be.  I just shrugged my shoulders and said that I thought it was a nice shade for skin but that I agreed with her about the orangyblond hair.
Her awareness of otherness is outgrowing her awareness of other's feelings. where angels fear to tread 

Henry is already 4 months old and smells inexplicably of babyness.  You know that smell?  How do they manage to smell like that?

when suddenly it dawned on the mother, this would not be a good year to send Christmas cards.

Well, I am sorry to say that on the 20th of December I am giving up and acknowledging that this is not a good year for Christmas cards, photo cards, letters or anything of the sort. 

My reasons number as many as the stars...shall I count them? 

1. Law school applications/paperwork/form chaos is just cleaned up and both of our hands have prema-cramp. 
2. Henry themed birth announcements are still eeking thier way out of our mailbox at a snail's pace. (Elliot's were much easier to send because there was no 3 year old trying to help me:) 
3. We're a wee bit tired after this last semester
4. The Christmas spirit is trying hard to raly through the bah-humbug crappy stuff that keeps happening...a tenant skipped out mid-lease on Dec 1st, It was brought to my attention (Kristen) that the bit of discomfort I have been having may require surgery (test results pending).  If the rule of three's applies we don't want to know what else could happen. 
5. Has anyone tried to snap a picture of small children that was worthy of a photocard?  Sit still?  Henry can't at all, Elliot won't even bother.  The lurching, the falling, the sheer boredom after 1 minute. 

I thought about just sending out new year's cards, so that I could have a few more weeks.  But you know what?  I think we're just going to call it good for this year and scrub the whole thing.

Weaning link

You could link over to an article a natural age of weaning.   The first part is interesting, the end is a bit preachy.

Dear Santa...please disregard the letter from my daughter.

Elliot made her list for Santa.  I am not even sure if we should sent it to the jolly ol'man.  For starters, she does not wear a size 5 shoe.  And secondly, what would we do with a pig?  I mean, seriously a pig?

Grandpa Airplane and 6 month old Elliot.  3 years ago this week.  (btw, 3 month old Henry has those same overalls well filled out already)

 And, in this season of giving and receiving...while Elliot works diligently on her handmade gifts for others...she also makes a few simple requests.  Requests that we beg Santa to disregard.  Though at the same time we want it fully acknowledged how sweet her list is.   Sweet, right?

Elliot's 1st snow in Fairfield, December 2007

And I bring to you, as verbetem as possible...the letter.

Mama:  Elliot, what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas? 
Elliot: I want Santa to bring me a very big size 10 hat or bonnet, size 5 boots, and my very own computer and a pig in a long box.  But not a cooked pig.
Mama: [dead silence, cause what do you say to that?]



Santa and Elliot, December 2007...happy little thing.



Sleeping babies who suck (thumbs & pacifiers, mostly)

Not to make any one jealous but...I would just like to take this moment to brag comment. I am a sucker for watching sleeping babies.

Izaak and I sleep VERY WELL.  We rarely have gotten less then 8 hours. AND if we do get less then than  8 hours, it almost NEVER has to do with a certain 3 year old and 3 month old. It's us, not them.

I love pictures of zombie-fashion models-cousins holding my children

 Can you tell from this picture that I have a thumb sucker and a pacifier baby?  I think that it is a nature thing that little ones like to suck (clearly nature, as a matter of survival).  But how is it that Elliot was born with a thumb in her mouth, and Henry scoffs at his thumb in favor of a pacifier.  He is even brand specific.  MAM.  Can't find one? Go ahead and try to sneak a Soothie or NUK into his wide open mouth.  No chance that will satisfy.  MAM's the word around her.

I still remember Henry's 1st two nights with us.  He slept fitfully, and only if held upright.  So I slept, sitting up on the couch.  For two nights, I had bad sleep.  At three nights old, he tucked in nicely to me and slept away. Content to cuddle until morning. 
 

I also love pictures of Thing 2 -Uncles partying Halloween style with Skeleton-Henrys

What?  Do some of you envy us?  Do some wonder why?  Nurture, nature?  I don't know.  BUT it seems that lately there has been an onslaught of questions from people - Is Henry sleeping through the night yet?  Are you guys catching up on sleep yet?  Two little kids, you must never sleep.
 

Isn't that a pretty lady?  She is a very lovely person indeed.

 Sleep sleep sleep.  Why do some people get so preoccupied with babies and sleep?

Parents Easily Played

on our drive to Salt Lake City...
Elliot:  I have to go potty. I have to go soooo bad.
Good Parents: Ok baby, we're pulling over at the very next gas station.
2 minutes later, Izaak is pulling over into a gas station parking lot.
Elliot: Maybe, I don't need to go potty. So, I could just get some juice, here.

slam.  We knew we had been had by a 3 year old.  And, what did we do???  We got her some juice.  Acknowledging to ourselves that rewarding this trickster would result in more trickstering.

Since we are not eating or drinking in the new car...Elliot hung out on the gas station curb with her apple juice.  Happy as a clam.

So. Now that I have the most to talk about - I have taken the least time to update this blog.  Time to catch up, huh.

Here is Grandpa Airplane loving on his new grandson Henry.  Henry is 2 weeks old.

Not everything in our life is about Henry.  Elliot holds her own in the center of our world.  She recently scored a pair of ballet shoes, and is over the moon.  Ballet is the be-all of her world.  Well, ballet and kindergarten.  She has built both up as the most amazing rites of passage. 
Yes, in these photos she is wearing gardening gloves and ballet slippers.  one word, FASHIONISTA.

We totally love this girl.

Oh, yeah.  And, we love this boy.

And, we love the two of them together. As much as they are loving each other. 

In this last photo, Henry reminds me so much of Izaak. His hair is brown now, but doesn't he look like he's going to be a red head?!  perhaps, perhaps. And look at Elliot's beautiful eyes!  I am such a lucky momma.

stream of consciousness...

I don't really have any one thing to update this blog with...just 1,000 1-liners.  Nothing noteworthy in itself.



that's the smooshed chin that reminds us of bulldog wrinkles. 


Henry is fat and happy and delicous.  As in 9 pounds 8 ounces of deliciousness.  In case, anyone other than Izaak and I are counting, Henry has gained a pound and a half already!



Henry's 1st bath.



 Izaak is keeping up on laundry, I am keeping up on nursing (Hungry Henry would have been a more appropriate moniker)  and we are holding our babies.  We have also redecorated with dishes in the sink, piles of clean laundry in the bedroom, and...you get the picture?  The bare essentials are being done.  Everything else has taken a back seat to family time.  Of course, I have mild anxiety about this at 10pm every night, when I am tired and just need to go to bed. 



bedtime cuddling



I keep reminding myself that this is the ebb & flow of life, and I will have a clean house later.  Two weeks postpartum is just not one of those times.

We got together to break bread with friends last night.  An early birthday hoop-la for me, a meet and greet for little Henry.  It was a blast.  Good food, loud talking, cupcakes with some crazy-amazing frosting.  It was nice to have a chance to hang out with old friends. 

and we've been busy singing and making music

So, life is in overdrive but we are doing our very best to take it easy and keep hectic-ness at bay.  Some days that is easier than others. 

sleeping like a baby.







In other news, beware the self-dressing three year old.  At least a shirt & shoes (on wrong feet) was an improvement on the day before...