Nate-bug likes to pour his juice all over himself.
Nate-bug likes to give everybody lots of cuddles.
Now everybody's covered in cranberry juice!
Oh yes.
11.18.2005
Blessings in disguise
A while back, we were at the mall of a Sunday afternoon, and stopped at Cinnabon to remedy one of those sudden late-pregnancy blood-sugar drops. And I marvelled at how absolutely scrumptiously cinnamony their rolls were. Ever so much better than mine. There's just a whole new dimension to the flavor that's utterly missing from my baking. I wondered if maybe they used cinnamon oil in addition to powdered cinnamon?
Well, it turns out that I must not have been the only one wishing to incorporate their marvelous cinnamoneyness into my own kitchen, since the next time I was at Cinnabon, the counter was lined with little jars of high-quality cinnamon for sale.
But I had lots and lots of cinnamon at home. I was still only about half-way through that humongous jar of cinnamon that I got as a wedding present three years ago. Of course, by now it tasted more like wood than like cinnamon, but it was cinnamon nevertheless, and there was no way I could justify buying more cinnamon until I used it up... in another six or seven years. (My cinnamon use was rapidly declining, as my cinnamon grew staler and staler.)
Last week, however, Mr. Wuggidy solved my dilemma. If the cinnamon loses its flavor, it is fit only to be flung about the floor and trampled on, so my sons did precisely that. It made quite a mess, but it vaccumed up easily, and the kitchen smelled wonderful.
And everytime I used the vaccum, the scent of cinnamon filled the air.
Er... make that the scent of cinnamon-ish wood.
Well, it turns out that I must not have been the only one wishing to incorporate their marvelous cinnamoneyness into my own kitchen, since the next time I was at Cinnabon, the counter was lined with little jars of high-quality cinnamon for sale.
But I had lots and lots of cinnamon at home. I was still only about half-way through that humongous jar of cinnamon that I got as a wedding present three years ago. Of course, by now it tasted more like wood than like cinnamon, but it was cinnamon nevertheless, and there was no way I could justify buying more cinnamon until I used it up... in another six or seven years. (My cinnamon use was rapidly declining, as my cinnamon grew staler and staler.)
Last week, however, Mr. Wuggidy solved my dilemma. If the cinnamon loses its flavor, it is fit only to be flung about the floor and trampled on, so my sons did precisely that. It made quite a mess, but it vaccumed up easily, and the kitchen smelled wonderful.
And everytime I used the vaccum, the scent of cinnamon filled the air.
Er... make that the scent of cinnamon-ish wood.
11.17.2005
Unfoldings
Last night September smiled. She's smiled before, but this time it was her own smile, not ours reflected back. Dadders made silly faces at her, and played ski-jump with her upturned little nose, and tickled the little snuggle-spot between her chins, and she smiled. She smiled and smiled and smiled, a beautiful, flickering, everchanging expression of her very own delightful delight.
A new dimension of her personality is unfolding for us, shedding light on everything we knew about her before. So utterly continuous with everything we've known of her so far, and yet so surprising and unexpected. The unexpectedness of it all is not so much who she turns out to be, but the fact that it is who she was all along. Indeed, given everything we've known of her over the past months, she couldn't possibly be any other way. And yet we didn't know her, know this part of her, until last night.
It's like staring at a half-finished jigsaw puzzle in bewilderment. Suddenly, you look at the box and everything makes sense, and you no longer can comprehend how you didn't see it all along.
Birth was the same way. When I was pregnant with the twins, I was very conscious of lots of in utero bonding going on. My whole life revolved around them, so of course I felt a powerful bond. But when I was pregnant with the Persephone-child, my life still pretty much revolved around the twins, and I was dreadfully disappointed to find that I didn't really feel much of anything about the unseen little person squirming in my belly.
She was simply a part of me.
It wasn't until she was born that I realized just how well I knew her, had always known her. From time to time a look or a gesture takes my breath away with its utter familiarity. Now I see what I felt in my womb so many times, felt and hardly noticed, but oh, the memory is so clear and precious now!
Like the memory of the first time I kissed my little Isaiah, too weak and feeble and numb and scared to savor the moment...
Or maybe it was just that the moment was too big and too precious to be savoured all at once.
A new dimension of her personality is unfolding for us, shedding light on everything we knew about her before. So utterly continuous with everything we've known of her so far, and yet so surprising and unexpected. The unexpectedness of it all is not so much who she turns out to be, but the fact that it is who she was all along. Indeed, given everything we've known of her over the past months, she couldn't possibly be any other way. And yet we didn't know her, know this part of her, until last night.
It's like staring at a half-finished jigsaw puzzle in bewilderment. Suddenly, you look at the box and everything makes sense, and you no longer can comprehend how you didn't see it all along.
Birth was the same way. When I was pregnant with the twins, I was very conscious of lots of in utero bonding going on. My whole life revolved around them, so of course I felt a powerful bond. But when I was pregnant with the Persephone-child, my life still pretty much revolved around the twins, and I was dreadfully disappointed to find that I didn't really feel much of anything about the unseen little person squirming in my belly.
She was simply a part of me.
It wasn't until she was born that I realized just how well I knew her, had always known her. From time to time a look or a gesture takes my breath away with its utter familiarity. Now I see what I felt in my womb so many times, felt and hardly noticed, but oh, the memory is so clear and precious now!
Like the memory of the first time I kissed my little Isaiah, too weak and feeble and numb and scared to savor the moment...
Or maybe it was just that the moment was too big and too precious to be savoured all at once.
11.15.2005
Redemption
There are two big amorphous messes in our home, that continuously grow, sucking everything in the vicinity into their disorder. Actually, there are lots of messes around here, and all messes seem to behave that way... but for the most part, we conquor them on the weekends, and they rise up again, and we conquor them again... Two messes, however, have managed to evade our efforts, week after week, month after month.
In the closet, there is a huge basket filled with yarn left over from sundry projects, many of which I abandoned because the yarn became entirely too tangled to do anything with it except leave it in a heap to collect sundry small items in its elaborately confused web.
The other mess is the toybox.
'Nuff said.
And so it is that I am knitting the leftover yarn into drawstring baggies with which to organize the wuggies toys. The duplos will be in one bag, the little people in another, and never the twain shall meet. The children will happily play with one neatly homogenous set of toys, until they decide to put it away and pull out a different one. Blissful order. And the closet will be free of the overflowing basket of yarn.
My mother is quite skeptical about my ability to solve the age-old problem of the disorganized toy box.
My husband is quite skeptical about my ability to see such a large-scale knitting project to completion.
They're probably both right.
But I have to try.
In the closet, there is a huge basket filled with yarn left over from sundry projects, many of which I abandoned because the yarn became entirely too tangled to do anything with it except leave it in a heap to collect sundry small items in its elaborately confused web.
The other mess is the toybox.
'Nuff said.
And so it is that I am knitting the leftover yarn into drawstring baggies with which to organize the wuggies toys. The duplos will be in one bag, the little people in another, and never the twain shall meet. The children will happily play with one neatly homogenous set of toys, until they decide to put it away and pull out a different one. Blissful order. And the closet will be free of the overflowing basket of yarn.
My mother is quite skeptical about my ability to solve the age-old problem of the disorganized toy box.
My husband is quite skeptical about my ability to see such a large-scale knitting project to completion.
They're probably both right.
But I have to try.
11.14.2005
Of pots and kettles, beams and splinters
The snottiest-nosed of my children is going about the apartment rousing his sleeping siblings by wiping their relatively (albeit incompletely) clean noses witha cold baby wipe.
He protests greatly, however, when I attempt to wipe his nose.
The stubble rule--do unto others what you really ought to have done unto you, but would greatly rather not.
He protests greatly, however, when I attempt to wipe his nose.
The stubble rule--do unto others what you really ought to have done unto you, but would greatly rather not.
Investment Strategies
Nathan decided to invest in the Doopah-Mobile's stereo system.
Our van is now worth $.25 more than it was yesterday.
Our van is now worth $.25 more than it was yesterday.
11.13.2005
Honey, you turn me on
Being an itinerant math teacher, Andy spends a considerable amount of time each week roaming the freeways of SoCal in our zippy little turtle. (14 years old and 38 MPG. What a great car!) The time is well spent, though. Thanks to Blackstone Audio and the Cerritos Library audio-book collection, he gets to carpool with Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, and Charles Dickens. Because of the fabulously long commutes, he actually has time to "read."
Yesterday afternoon, though, it was just him and me in the car. Well, mostly. We left the boys with a sitter while we went to the Huntington Library with only September for a chaperone. We spent more time on the freeway going to and fro than we actually did at the Library itself, but that was just fine. Driving is almost as nice as walking as a context for uninterrupted conversation.
As we got onto the 5, the wind whooshed noisily through the windows. Andy couldn't quite catch what I was saying about grad school.
So he reached down to the stereo volume control to turn me up.
Yesterday afternoon, though, it was just him and me in the car. Well, mostly. We left the boys with a sitter while we went to the Huntington Library with only September for a chaperone. We spent more time on the freeway going to and fro than we actually did at the Library itself, but that was just fine. Driving is almost as nice as walking as a context for uninterrupted conversation.
As we got onto the 5, the wind whooshed noisily through the windows. Andy couldn't quite catch what I was saying about grad school.
So he reached down to the stereo volume control to turn me up.
11.12.2005
11.11.2005
Uh-oh.
We are completely out of Desitin.
We are completely out of clean laundry.
And yes, there is a connection.
We are completely out of clean laundry.
And yes, there is a connection.
11.09.2005
11.08.2005
Receptive Vocabulary
Everybody says that kids can understand a whole lot long before they start talking.
I kept wondering when that would happen.
It turns out that it happens the moment you start talking to them as though you expect them to understand.
Sunday afternoon at Claim Jumper Andy and I were marvelling at how much Autumn understands. Far, far, more than our boys do. Brian gently pointed out that we might start seeing better results if we talked to the boys with the assumption that they could understand us.
He was right. And I'm amazed.
The funny thing is, this is something I've always been very passionate about. Children are remarkably pliable creatures, and will live up to your expectations of intelligence or stupidity. I've always been convinced that it is very important to interact with your children with the assumption that they are capable of understanding a great deal.
I just had no idea it would start being an issue so soon.
You see, I have a very hard time behaving as though they are capable of understanding, when I'm not capable of understanding how they could possibly figure it out. I suppose it's time to come to grips with the fact that my children are considerably more intelligent than I am. Far less wise-- astoundingly foolish, in fact. But like most little ones, their raw capacity for learning vastly exceeds that of my fossilized 23-year-old brain.
I'm a little bit jealous, a lot amazed...
...and thrilled at the privilege.
I kept wondering when that would happen.
It turns out that it happens the moment you start talking to them as though you expect them to understand.
Sunday afternoon at Claim Jumper Andy and I were marvelling at how much Autumn understands. Far, far, more than our boys do. Brian gently pointed out that we might start seeing better results if we talked to the boys with the assumption that they could understand us.
He was right. And I'm amazed.
The funny thing is, this is something I've always been very passionate about. Children are remarkably pliable creatures, and will live up to your expectations of intelligence or stupidity. I've always been convinced that it is very important to interact with your children with the assumption that they are capable of understanding a great deal.
I just had no idea it would start being an issue so soon.
You see, I have a very hard time behaving as though they are capable of understanding, when I'm not capable of understanding how they could possibly figure it out. I suppose it's time to come to grips with the fact that my children are considerably more intelligent than I am. Far less wise-- astoundingly foolish, in fact. But like most little ones, their raw capacity for learning vastly exceeds that of my fossilized 23-year-old brain.
I'm a little bit jealous, a lot amazed...
...and thrilled at the privilege.
11.07.2005
Dressing with Pickle Relish
The wuggies now cooperate with dressing.
Not after diaper changes, not before bed, and most certainly not while we're getting ready for church. But at random intervals throughout the day, they will bring me assorted items of clothing to try on.
Meanwhile, they are becoming quite adept at the art of undressing themselves. Completely. Without any help.
This could be a rather useful skill...
...if they were potty trained.
Not after diaper changes, not before bed, and most certainly not while we're getting ready for church. But at random intervals throughout the day, they will bring me assorted items of clothing to try on.
Meanwhile, they are becoming quite adept at the art of undressing themselves. Completely. Without any help.
This could be a rather useful skill...
...if they were potty trained.
11.06.2005
The trouble with being in possession of a girl-child of astonishing beauty...
...is that people think you're absolutely nuts.
I suppose I should preface this tale by explaining that although most people carry their children in some contraption or other, on those rare occasions when I only have one of mine with me, I prefer to simply carry her in my arms. It's just cozier and more personal that way, and since one-on-one time is hard to come by, that's an important consideration for me.
At any rate, September and I stopped at the farmers market in Brea yesterday, much to the delight of the extraordinarily baby-hungry herb merchants. I fantasized about having an herb garden, and the herb lady fantasized about having more babies, we both determined that now would be entirely the wrong time for such a project, and September and I trotted off to smell the orchids a few stands over.
As I lifted my little girl up to sniff the pretty flowers, almost as pretty as herself, the grandmotherly orchid-grower examined us closely with a very perplexed look on her face.
Suddenly she burst into delight.
"Oh! Your baby... she's real!"
I suppose I should preface this tale by explaining that although most people carry their children in some contraption or other, on those rare occasions when I only have one of mine with me, I prefer to simply carry her in my arms. It's just cozier and more personal that way, and since one-on-one time is hard to come by, that's an important consideration for me.
At any rate, September and I stopped at the farmers market in Brea yesterday, much to the delight of the extraordinarily baby-hungry herb merchants. I fantasized about having an herb garden, and the herb lady fantasized about having more babies, we both determined that now would be entirely the wrong time for such a project, and September and I trotted off to smell the orchids a few stands over.
As I lifted my little girl up to sniff the pretty flowers, almost as pretty as herself, the grandmotherly orchid-grower examined us closely with a very perplexed look on her face.
Suddenly she burst into delight.
"Oh! Your baby... she's real!"
11.05.2005
Mama's Big Helper
Tembo-Teff is a very sweet-tempered little girl, and extraordinarily easy to keep happy. As long as you're holding her, that is.
But sometimes Mama's busy making meatloaf when the small Persephone-child wants to be cuddled.
Meepo is very helpful. Oh yes. He loves his little sister, and does everything he can think of to comfort her. First he tries jouncing her chair congenially. And vigorously. This does not make September happy. It does not make Mama happy, either.
So he tries another tactic. This time, he goes to his shirt drawer, pulls out an orange long-sleeved T-shirt, and stuffs it in Bay-bee's face. Bay-bee is quiet. Mama is not quiet, though, so he takes the shirt away and tries giving her his finger to suck on.
Uh-oh. Mama doesn't know where Meepo's fingers have been. She does, however, know that her own fingers are covered in raw beef, so Tembo merrily sucks on big brother's finger while Mama cleans up.
But Meepo's fingers aren't what September really wants, so they can only satisfy her for so long. So Meepo starts pushing his fingers further back in her mouth. She doesn't like that very much. Good thing Mama's hands are finally clean again!
Oh yes.
But sometimes Mama's busy making meatloaf when the small Persephone-child wants to be cuddled.
Meepo is very helpful. Oh yes. He loves his little sister, and does everything he can think of to comfort her. First he tries jouncing her chair congenially. And vigorously. This does not make September happy. It does not make Mama happy, either.
So he tries another tactic. This time, he goes to his shirt drawer, pulls out an orange long-sleeved T-shirt, and stuffs it in Bay-bee's face. Bay-bee is quiet. Mama is not quiet, though, so he takes the shirt away and tries giving her his finger to suck on.
Uh-oh. Mama doesn't know where Meepo's fingers have been. She does, however, know that her own fingers are covered in raw beef, so Tembo merrily sucks on big brother's finger while Mama cleans up.
But Meepo's fingers aren't what September really wants, so they can only satisfy her for so long. So Meepo starts pushing his fingers further back in her mouth. She doesn't like that very much. Good thing Mama's hands are finally clean again!
Oh yes.
11.04.2005
Twin Day at Stater Bros.
Yesterday's shopping trip was a fiasco. Instead of merrily driving along, spinning their respective steering wheels, they each fought for control of the other steering wheel. Much screaming and hair-pulling ensued. Which made me want to do some screaming of my own, and pull my own hair out. Instead, I let Nathan get out and walk, and spent the shopping trip preventing him from smashing the cart into a display of olives while I filled my baggie with baby carrots. And picking up jars of olives, because I was just a few seconds too late to stop him. Oh yes, and having my parenting criticized by total strangers. That's always fun. All in all, an unmitigated disaster.
Well, not quite unmitigated. I did get the weeks groceries.... although by the time I got all three screaming kids into the apartment and settled down, the frozen goods had melted...
And I met some fun people. In the meat department, a woman and her 9 year-old daughter stopped to admire my wuggies. Turns out, she has 15-year old twin boys at home, and she glowingly told me how fabulous it is to have twin boys and a little sister for them. "But when they get to this age..."
She glanced over at her daughter, and I cringed. Why, oh why, do people feel like it's okay to tell the world awful their children are, when they're standing right there?
"...they're so much fun!"
The little girl beamed with pride, and danced around giggling, "I'm so much fun!" while her mother and I congratulated one another on having such delightful families.
You'd think that'd be twins enough for one shopping trip, but in the check-out line, there were more. The woman ahead of me let me go first, since her husband had run to grab some formula. She asked how old my baby was, and said that hers was about the same age--but much smaller. Her husband returned while I was checking out, looked at the twins, and said, "Nathan and Nicholas!"
Considerably wierded out, I corrected him. "No, Nathan and Isaiah, actually."
Well, it turns out that I have a two month old. They also have two month olds--- twins named Nathan and Nicholas. And of course I have twins as well--Nathan and Isaiah.
At this point the elderly gentleman in the next lane over chimed in to tell us about his twins, Nicholas and Natalie.
Hmmm... I wonder if the Stater Brothers were twins, too?
Well, not quite unmitigated. I did get the weeks groceries.... although by the time I got all three screaming kids into the apartment and settled down, the frozen goods had melted...
And I met some fun people. In the meat department, a woman and her 9 year-old daughter stopped to admire my wuggies. Turns out, she has 15-year old twin boys at home, and she glowingly told me how fabulous it is to have twin boys and a little sister for them. "But when they get to this age..."
She glanced over at her daughter, and I cringed. Why, oh why, do people feel like it's okay to tell the world awful their children are, when they're standing right there?
"...they're so much fun!"
The little girl beamed with pride, and danced around giggling, "I'm so much fun!" while her mother and I congratulated one another on having such delightful families.
You'd think that'd be twins enough for one shopping trip, but in the check-out line, there were more. The woman ahead of me let me go first, since her husband had run to grab some formula. She asked how old my baby was, and said that hers was about the same age--but much smaller. Her husband returned while I was checking out, looked at the twins, and said, "Nathan and Nicholas!"
Considerably wierded out, I corrected him. "No, Nathan and Isaiah, actually."
Well, it turns out that I have a two month old. They also have two month olds--- twins named Nathan and Nicholas. And of course I have twins as well--Nathan and Isaiah.
At this point the elderly gentleman in the next lane over chimed in to tell us about his twins, Nicholas and Natalie.
Hmmm... I wonder if the Stater Brothers were twins, too?
11.03.2005
Gideon's Men
Wuggies-o-mine, if you want more orange juice, just bring me your cup for a refill.
Honest.
There is no need to dump out the pitcher and lap it off the table.
Honest.
There is no need to dump out the pitcher and lap it off the table.
11.02.2005
11.01.2005
Tinky!
Once upon a time, our neighbor tried to warn them away from some prickly shrubbery by telling them it was "hot."
It didn't work. The word around our place is "blggch."
I guess it's not so much a word as a facial expression with sound effects. It's the face the wuggies make whenever they eat something they think is gross, and we would imitate their "blggch face" back at them whenever they started to eat something we thought was gross. Or when they got into the trash. Or went to touch the stove, for that matter.
When they were small, I couldn't figure out how to teach them the concept of "hot" without actually endangering them. But the concept of disgusting flavors was quite simple. All I had to do was offer them green beans a few times, and they got the idea. So "blggch" it was.
Recently, the boys have learned the word "tinky," and that word is starting to replace the other, less pronouncable one. Dirty diapers are tinky, the trash is tinky, and, alas, brother is declared to be tinky in those unfortunate instances of sibling mockery.
A dead bug fell into the bath water this morning, and I thought it was pretty gross. The wuggies heartily agreed. "Tinky! Tinky! Tinky!" There was much celebration as they gleefully pointed at the bug. "Tinky! Tinky! Tinky!"
*sigh* They're most definitely boys.
Maybe we should start working on the word "hot."
It didn't work. The word around our place is "blggch."
I guess it's not so much a word as a facial expression with sound effects. It's the face the wuggies make whenever they eat something they think is gross, and we would imitate their "blggch face" back at them whenever they started to eat something we thought was gross. Or when they got into the trash. Or went to touch the stove, for that matter.
When they were small, I couldn't figure out how to teach them the concept of "hot" without actually endangering them. But the concept of disgusting flavors was quite simple. All I had to do was offer them green beans a few times, and they got the idea. So "blggch" it was.
Recently, the boys have learned the word "tinky," and that word is starting to replace the other, less pronouncable one. Dirty diapers are tinky, the trash is tinky, and, alas, brother is declared to be tinky in those unfortunate instances of sibling mockery.
A dead bug fell into the bath water this morning, and I thought it was pretty gross. The wuggies heartily agreed. "Tinky! Tinky! Tinky!" There was much celebration as they gleefully pointed at the bug. "Tinky! Tinky! Tinky!"
*sigh* They're most definitely boys.
Maybe we should start working on the word "hot."
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