Who cares about all the reasons I can’t find time to write. Maybe we’ve been visiting family. Or possibly mailing the letter my 5 year-old wrote to Michael Bay politely demanding to know why Bay didn’t make Transformers 2 for kids. Maybe I was too busy asking Blythe for the mango that she was delightfully referring to as “her BIG penis.” Maybe I was clarifying for Burke who we obey after he had confidently answered ”Satan.” Maybe I was taking a moment to watch Olive roll over, squeal with delight, get her first haircut, or grow her first two teeth. Quite possibly I may have been on a long-overdue date with Mark in Houston watching Coldplay. Or having/going to/planning for a meeting of some sort involving people who love Jesus, home-school their kids, or like to eat food together. Maybe we were swimming. Maybe we were explaining to Liam why he couldn’t have my grandfather’s machete. Maybe we were commending Burke for standing up to people who might call him “coward” (as it happens in Call it Courage) or refraining from raucous laughter when he explained that he would do so by boldly saying “don’t call me Howard!” Maybe we were celebrating our now potty-trained Blythe. Or enjoying the way she replaces every “I” with “my” (e.g. “My like ice cream.” or the more recent favorite, “my-reka” instead of “Eureka”), or perhaps how she sometimes likes to discuss how “HUMAN it is outside.” Maybe we were reading. Maybe we were admiring Burke’s sculpted stegosaurus from clay or Liam’s pastel drawing of the polar ice caps or Blythe’s experiment in color with acrylics. Maybe we were sleeping. Not too much though. Anyway, here are some photos to document our busy existence.
I recently read an article about the specific knowledge of first graders. It proceeded to give examples of 6 and 7 year-old kids recalling vast amounts of facts concerning specific subjects they adore/obsess over: insects, star wars, astronomy, UFOs…etc. For Liam and Burke it’s dinosaurs, snakes, and sharks. We have actually checked out every book our library owns about sharks (even the books on shark attacks) seeing that Liam plans to become a shark specialist of some sort later in life. He (in all seriousness) recently referred to his ribs as gills, and when departing from a friend leaving for Haiti, rather than a casual good-bye, Liam warns, “watch out for puff adders (a type of viper). Just don’t turn over any rocks. Okay?” I suppose if he knew anything about the social/living climate of Haiti, he would realize there are far worse things to watch for than snakes. So although my little men can recall thousands of obscure facts, they often lack context. This little fact of my own helps explain why on one hand they can classify and describe hundreds of species (even extinct ones) or have conversations including 4-5 syllable words, yet regularly fail to recall how to wipe their own butts, tie their shoes, or share with their younger sister.
Anyway, in order to feed the kids’ shark-loving appetites, we managed to squeeze in a little trip to the aquarium in Corpus while visiting some family. They all loved it. Burke’s face in the reflection of the shark tells more than I could possibly capture in words.
I quickly informed my disheartened 5 year-old son that in another 10 years he will be grateful that his teeth are NOT curling out of his mouth and around his jaw. For now, he will just have to trust me.
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In our home, we have attire reserved specifically for weddings. We refer to them as “wedding shirts” (even if we happen to wear them to an event other than a wedding). This last weekend when Liam noticed me and Mark packing up our wedding clothes, he started a conversation that went a little something like this:
Liam: Where are we going?
Mark: To a wedding.
Liam: (his body sagging over in complete disapproval) Uhhhh.
Mark: There will be dancing there.
Liam: Rock and Roll?
Mark: I believe so.
Liam: (enthusiastically) Where’s my wedding shirt?
He is most definitely my son. And just to give you a little glimpse of some of their moves, here’s a brief video Aina took of the boys almost two years ago at my brother’s wedding. They give lessons, if you’re interested.
We had just finished breakfast. Mark turned on some music, and we began our “normal” family business for the day. As I’m cleaning up in the kitchen, I think I hear muffled screaming. I go to the hallway; it’s not Olive. I figure it must be our neighbor’s dog who has a howl that resembles a screaming child. I step into the backyard — nope, not the dog, but someone is definitely screaming. “HELP ME! OH GOD — SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME! MY BABY!” Hearing this woman’s distress immediately caused my mind to spin will all sorts of conjured scenarios. And while my heart raced for my throat, I couldn’t seem to move my feet fast enough. I pounded on the window, letting Mark know that something is happening out front. We both ran and opened the front door, where we could now see the rueful woman anxiously pacing a corner of the courtyard across the street wailing and screaming. “OH GOD! PETER, HOW COULD YOU? SHE’S DEAD! MY BA-BY.” Mark looks back at me as he runs across the street, “CALL 911!” And just as he reaches her, she steps out from behind the iron fence…
holding her dead dog.
Now. I love dogs. I can even understand crying, maybe even wailing over a family pet. But, come on, if you’re going to WAIL AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS so that every neighbor for a quarter of a mile can hear you, at least specify my DOG! All she could manage to shrill at us was, “I’m sorry. But it’s MY BA-BY! OHHH GOD!” I felt like a schmuck for how annoyed I was in that moment.
Speaking of endearing “pets,” we have chickens. Yes, you read correctly — chickens. And as surprised as I am to say/write those very words, I’m more pleasantly surprised by how much I like them. We went in with three other families to share fresh eggs. 5 at our house, 8 at another house. Mark and our friend Danny worked really hard to build their own coops, and last week, we were able to bring the little “ladies” (as we refer to them around here) to their new home. The boys promptly named their hens Henry and Peter. I had to later explain to them that all hens are female. “Not these.” They replied. “Because they’re named Henry and Peter, so they’re boys.” They’ve apparently not quite understood all of our conversations about anatomy. Anyway, everyone was happy until one morning last week when we awoke to find one hen missing and another eviscerated in the coop. That’s right. Murder. It was disgusting. Apparently the uneven terrain of our backyard had left a slight (about 1″) gap at one part of the coop. Enough access for something. That night, I looked outside, after hearing the hens “cheeping” like crazy to see a big, fat possum. Mark was out having a beer with a friend. I didn’t know what to do, so I threw a baseball bat at the possum, hitting him smack on the butt. He looked around, then focused back on the hens. I had to retreat inside, recognizing my defeat and how little I know about these types of over-sized vermin. Unlucky, he left. But, Mark is waiting for his return — with a machete and a ditch blade (seen in the last picture). We’ll save that for another post.
In spite of the recent, occasional desires to wanderlust off the edge of the earth, I’m still here — at times in my pjs until dinner or sitting among heaps of folded and unfolded clothes or beguiled by a trance-like stupor trying to remember exactly why I stopped drinking caffeinated coffee so many years ago or simply lost in our rat-race-paced life right now. Who knows? Nonetheless, I am here, and completely baffled that yet another month has passed. It occurred to me that while the first month in newborn-dom mainly entails that you survive, the second month always seems a little more daunting with the reintroduction of everyday life. You know, the kind of everyday-ness that must resume without regard to you having the time or energy but somehow has the power to make you feel “normal” again: grocery shopping, meeting with friends (in any capacity), cleaning or straightening the house (which lately feels like a lost cause), and so on. So naturally, what better way to simplify our new life than by packing everyone up and heading to the circus. (Thanks to the library giving the kids free tickets in exchange for reading books.) Admittedly, it was a little crazy and EXPENSIVE — $10 for cotton candy! Yikes. I suppose they justify the absurdity by packaging the delicious anomaly in a “cool” hat, which Liam promptly lost. Burke, on the other hand, disappeared the entire intermission into his own, lifting it enough only for his hand to deposit another fistful of billowy sugar. Delightful. Blythe danced like a wild-child the entire first half and hated the cotton candy. She crashed at intermission. Five-week-old Olive handled our night on the town like a champ either sleeping, eating, or glaring at me wide-eyed. Really, we had a great time, from the dachshunds’ tricks to the caged-motorcycles to the crazy rope lady, and especially getting to enjoy all of this with our good friends, the King and Norvell families.
Of course, we squeezed in a few Easter egg hunts at the beginning of this month too, which means we’ve spent the rest of the month dealing with the kids’ candy obsession. “Did I eat enough for a piece of candy?” “Why can’t I have candy for a snack?” “But I ate all of my breakfast!” You get the idea. Here’s some pics from the “hunt” at Mark’s aunt and uncle’s. As you notice Blythe made sure to bring one of her cell phones for the outing. This girl can talk. And she’s not even talking to anyone who can respond yet. A few weeks ago I had all the kids with me at Target, where Blythe found a princess Blackberry on an end-cap. She picked it up and proceeded to talk to ____ as we walked through the store. At one point the boys found the art supply isle and started to wander. Blythe, without skipping a beat, keeps the phone at her ear, simply sliding the mouthpiece away from her cheek, and lunges one leg toward the boys with her free arm pointing toward the cart, and yells “boys! get back over here.” She then proceeded with her conversation. Oh dear.
Mark passed his 3 grueling exit exams last month, which means he’s FINISHED his M.A. in European History (with a 3.95, I might add — we’re so proud of you, mark/dad.). And not a moment too soon, seeing as he then had an enormous playground to erect in our backyard (courtesy the kids’ generous Popo and Jojo) before the entire Douglass family came in town to visit Scott & Diana, who were in town from Morocco: 11 large, heavy boxes of wood needing to be drilled and assembled and 25 building hours later, it too was finished, mostly anyway. At some point during this operation Burke ran by me exclaiming to Liam, who was riding his bike closely beside Burke: “Liam (sounding more like “We-um”), I already told you, I just don’t have racing legs!” Sorry kiddo, you must have gotten that from me.
day 1
day 2
day 3
We had a great visit with the Douglass family. It was so good to see everyone, Scott & Diana in particular. The young cousins and pint-sized aunts played hard together, as if they had seen each other just yesterday rather than 9 months ago. I love that about children. Here’s some pics of all the kids, including wading/swimming in the local sand volleyball court turned pool due to all of the rain. Yes, it was fresh, but still stagnant water.
Blythe woke me up the other night at some point between Olive’s 10pm and 2am feeding asking if I could put on her pink cowboy boots (the same ones she’s pictured in below). She then proceeded to heave them onto my bed where I had been sleeping (oh precious sleep!) only moments before. This means that in her drowsy stupor, she actually had to rummage through her dark closet looking for these boots before walking into my dark room to deliver them. This, along with her daily questioning, “can we go somewhere? I don’t want to go home,” can only mean one thing: we have officially been “cloistered” in our home too long. All the rain lately hasn’t helped either. So, on Friday, I decided to pack up the kids for my first solo outing in public. Yep. That’s right, alone — you see the desperation here? (I realize that I’m not the first mother to venture outside of her home with four children in tow, but I know from the awkward “are you crazy?” stares I receive when in public, there must be some sort of lunacy involved.) Due to the weather, the park was not an option, so we went to the local Barnes&Noble, where I immediately bee-lined for the cafe – this WAS an event after all. While ordering my tasty treat at the counter, I hear the man behind me heartily chuckling. When I turned to see what about, he gestured toward my sons who had apparently picked up the latest SI swimsuit edtion found right at their eye level, but instead of ogling the scantily clad beauty on the front cover, they were practically drooling over the M&M ad on the back of the cover and discussing which color they liked the best. The man was right: this was funny. “On second thought, let’s add one of those gigantic-pastel-sprinkled sugar cookies to the order and put the M&M magazine back on the shelf.”
Honestly, the last few weeks have been relatively wonderful. Exhausting (what life with a newborn isn’t?), but wonderful. Thanks to my mom and Pam who each stayed for a week and the benevolence of several friends who have brought us meals and/or gift cards, this transition and recovery has seemed to be one of the easiest thus far. Liam, Burke, and Blythe adore their little Olive, alternating who gets to hold her or “help” take care of her, generously showering her with frequent kisses and hellos, and of course the perpetual “ I love you, Baby Olive.” The boys created a song to sing to Olive when she cries (I tried to get it on video, but the battery was dead, and the other time we were in the car.); it goes something like, “It’s ok. Yeah, it’s ok for you to cry. It’s ok for you to cry, even in the sunshine. It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok for you to cry.” Blythe, who almost exclusively refers to her baby sister as “MY baby Olive,” mostly sings the alphabet, aka “the ABCDs,” to her (and sometimes as a bohemian with a microphone as seen above). We’ve found her on two occasions in the crib with Olive trying to “help,” but that quickly lost it’s appeal when she realized this type of helping came along with a pop on the butt. They are all pretty fascinated by the fact that I produce milk. Fortunately, the only analogy to milk-related items or animals so far was from Liam saying, “Mom, you’re like a giant bottle!” Son, you have no idea.
As for Olive, she’s taking this crazy family in stride, accomodating all of our carressing and noise, and for the most part, she still spends about 20 hours per day doing this:
At almost a month old, I can’t complain.
olive kay douglass
march 4, 2009 10:52 am
6 lbs 2 0z 18 1/2 in
Last summer we found out that you, Olive, would be in our family. Since then the five of us have loved you, waiting expectantly to see you, hold you, and know you. Liam, Burke, and Blythe would take turns rubbing my swelling belly or poking my protruding belly button, whispering sweet secrets to you in the womb or praying for your protection. Daddy and I would watch you roll around under my skin, shoving your tiny foot against my belly button, wondering what you look like and who you would be. On Wednesday, our wait was over as you came into our larger world through an intense but quick labor. As the doctor placed you on top of the belly you were inside of only moments before, I said “hello sweet olive,” and for the moment you stopped crying and looked in my direction as if to return my hello. And now, here you are — our little olive. We are all so delighted to have you in our family, sweet one. (thank you so much kristen & tim for the photos!)
Filed under: pictures
The other morning I entered my room to find Blythe nuzzled in my bed “reading” a little Fredrick Beuchner; it must have been the title that allured her.
As we’re now rolling into the end of February, I’m wishing more than ever that I could channel Evie’s (the main character from the early 90’s TV show Out of This World) super-human power to freeze time. I suppose that’s the privilege you earn for having to relate to your alien father through a crystal on your nightstand. For me, these last days of pregnancy have been characterized less by my erratic emotions (although I’m sure they still occur) and more by my now marshmallow-man-shaped body waddling our creaky wood floors like a crazed woman binging on cleaning and organizational sprees. I think “they” refer to this as nesting. So, since I don’t have powers to the likings of Evie or Mary Poppins, my time for writing as of late (in case you hadn’t noticed) has devolved into mere moments of reflection caught during one of my five to six nighttime potty breaks or while cleaning cabinets, alphabetizing CDs, organizing closets, . . . etc., without one word transferred to paper or screen. Alas — something has got to give. For the time, anyway, everyone and most everything has a place in our home, including our soon-to-arrive Olive. Below I included a few pictures that some of you have requested of two of the more fun-to-see aforementioned projects, Olive’s room and Blythe’s new big-girl room, which also happens to be the guest room if any of you fancy a sleep-over. (Don’t worry — we’ll temporarily move Blythe and her hobbit-sized bed out for the stay.)
Recently while entering the local SAMS club, Liam and Burke stopped in front of the giant screens greeting us, where Liam informs me and Burke, “they’re just trying to get us to buy more stuff.” Ironically, he later brought me this picture and asked me if we could go “here” to look at toys for a while.
Then, last week, while opening a box of Pepperidge Farm Ginger Family cookies that the kids received for Christmas, I unraveled the plastic and discovered an advertisement card that fell from the underside of the package. What was it advertising? Other cookies? Breads? Cereal? Likely choices, but not even close. Rather than the typical food/beverage product, this card advertised a product that simulates oral sex (for men); the tag-line reads, “because there are times you just don’t want to cuddle.” Well, there we have it America. Again, I’m speechless.
Christmas quotes:
“This is SO amazing!” -Liam
“This is totally awesome!” -Burke
“Happy Christmas-House!” -Blythe
If Blythe has ever heard Shakespeare’s infamous metaphor about the world being a stage, she has no doubt taken it literally, of course delegating herself to the leading role. I took this picture at the zoo a couple of weeks ago where she escaped the child-saturated playground to arrive at this undiscovered outdoor stage. After taking her rightful place, she proceeded to sing.
This same charming songbird has also recently taken it upon herself to reintroduce me to waking up in the night (due to her incoming molars), often with an incessant, whiny cry interspersed with “it hurts,” or “excuse me, mommy.” At least for the most part, she’s polite. But, somewhere in the middle of this two week blur of sleepless nights, a zoo trip, a space exhibit, and Christmas cheering, Blythe decided to spice things up one day by aborting naptime for the pleasure of decorating/painting her crib and all other inclusions with her poop. That’s right, her poop. She had taken off her diaper, smeared the contents into her sheets, pillow, bumper, and favorite furry companions; apparently tried to wipe herself using her two favorite loveys (“two bankies”); and discarded the remains onto the floor. When I opened the door to this soon-to-be-quarantined scandal, all my poopy-fingernailed girl could say was, “wow. poop everywhere.”
Filed under: pictures
As promised, here are some pics from my 30 birthday party (about 6 months pregnant) earlier this month; as usual, they’re courtesy of Kristen and Tim. So many people did so much to help make this happen, from planting new sod in the front yard to stringing lights to buying food to creating flower arrangements and playlists to lending sound equipment to writing poetry and sharing encouraging words with me in front of everyone: thank you again everyone (especially Mark, Mom, Dad, Kristen, Tim, & Emily). I felt entirely loved and celebrated — a fantastic way to enter a new decade!
Liam has had a loose tooth for the last few weeks, which he has managed to diligently wiggle in regular intervals throughout the day, knowing that somehow, this tooth equates to some sort of monetary “prize.” Casually he questioned me, “mom, why do you have all that money in your mouth?” “What are you talking about?” I responded. ”These things (pointing to my teeth); they’re money.” And as I pictured my son trying to dig or violently pull my (or his own) teeth from their gums to exchange for some random good (or let’s face it, toy), I realized there’s been a massive breakdown in communication. This of course necessitated a conversation informing Liam that in fact, as of right now, teeth are not a valid commodity; I think he was a little disappointed to learn that he had not stumbled upon an oral money tree; however, at the time, he seemed content and thankful enough still to receive any sort of reward in exchange for his “baby teeth.” And much to Liam’s pain and excitement, earlier this week, Burke gave this process a little nudge — with an accidental elbow to Liam’s face. With a little blood and a dangling tooth, only one thing consoled our crying Liam: his prize. He bravely wiggled the dangler a few more times, and out it came. Here’s the victor’s war wound.
Like most preschool boys, our boys love building microcosms in order to escape, even if only figuratively. Well, today, after realizing our home’s extended period of silence (Blythe was napping), I decided to go and peek in on Liam and Burke; this is what I discovered. Although at first glance I was caught off guard by their relaxed presence amongst an apparent tomb of death, Liam quickly clarified these were merely their “pets.”
