Counting through Four

A string of beads is looped into a necklace she fashions around her neck. In sunlight by the window she is stacking towers of burgundy pink, lime yellow, and cobalt blue blocks. She counts them slowly, drawing out vowels and adding an occasional extra w sound to each word: "W-one, tw-wo, twhree, five." Four is not in line with the others. Four is always ommited when we count together. Counting bath toys on the edge of the tub. Counting parked cars at the Botanic Garden. Counting the pairs of shoes stacked by the back door. Counting baby bunnies munching on my new planted cone flowers (followed by Miss D narrating my chasing of each bunny out of the garden). Instead the number four is on Sesame Street, clutched in the hands of Fiest who dances around with penguins, monsters, chickens, and the number four. Feist with her long wagging pony tail that I fail to master despite Miss D's demand for a pony? tail?. Feist who I spent one year analyzing while I watched her countlessly dance around the set of Sesame Street, pondering to myself and eventually with others- does she realize how fun it is to dance with a bunch of puppets? Is she enjoying herself? And this is where I have been. Sharing little moments and "doduts" with my small family of three. But here I am - hoping that this August and September we can slow down a little in this [expected] heat and dream a little more. Write a little more.

If nothing else, to give Pat something to read on his lunch break :o)

Feist Counting to Four here

Sensory Playground. Or Summer.

What is it about the heightened senses of summer that make small moments feel profound? As summer progresses from July to August, there is a mounting momentum that I suddenly realize has been swelling since the first blooms in April. The robust branch of every overhanging tree. The sonorous chorus of cicadas echoing into a summer night that so defines the very reason to sleep with the window open. The way the heat from the afternoon blankets the earth into evening and that one little life saving cool breeze that breaths life into the sheer curtains that frame the open window. The feeling of skin because there are more summer dresses and shorts and tangled bare calves as we fall asleep. Ice cream becomes as essential as water, usually consumed just after the setting of a hot sun. Remember walking down Oakton, the four of us, for ice cream that one summer night? Or the three of us sitting on a park bench at Gilson Park reading Kundera after work? Exactly.

The ascendancy of summer is a sensory playground and I am learning to love the tension that it creates. The building crescendo is similar to one of those sneaky thriller movies where you notice three quarters into viewing that you are white knuckled and your chest is pounding but you are uncertain how and when that happened? Cue floor drums. Or the soundtrack to House of Cards. Such small moments become epic memories with the backdrop of summer. And so we are finishing up with beach volleyball on a Monday night at sunset. Our ankles are dotted with pecks from the mouths of little gnats and I am wearing shorts for the first time this year and a sleeping babe who is tucked against my chest. In the darkening night, Ben and I pick up some frosty's at the Wendy's drive through. On our way home, we debate if there indeed is anything natural about a frosty. And this is our moment- a few minutes in the car on a beautiful night with beach-y-ness in our hair and on our skin- that we have a simple perfect moment together.

Monday Blessings

She arrives with her busia and sits next to me during our hour together, twirling on the rolling swivel stool positioned next to me. I discuss shoulder pain and improving movement with her busia before commenting on Isobella's sequined high tops or Hello Kitty dress or the height of her pony tail of thick curly brown hair. She waits patiently, observing the gym that she calls "Isobella's Fearless Gym". You know, for when she grows up and owns the world.

I wait until her busia is performing the correct set of exercises before asking her what she learned in third grade today. I don't get a shrug or a "nothing" as often happens with many kids. Instead she takes a deep breath and for the next hour she spills out the events of her day. Her busia playfully rolls her eyes at me every once and a while. "Ay-e-ay, Isobella, how you talk and talk and talk," she says. Isobella tells us about every book she is reading, how today was anti-bully day and that she wore pink for the occasion and that she once stood up for a friend who was being picked on at recess. Her favorite day of the year is when she can go to school in her pajamas and read all day. Today she learned that President Lincoln is super tall. "Like, 5 foot 6 inches!" Her busia and I try to reason with her that Abe was a little taller than 5 foot but she shakes her head and her gigantic pony tail swishes like it is swatting flies. "He was really tall. Maybe 5 foot 10 inches."

On President's day she announced her future plans for metamorphosis. "When I turn into a President one day, I will do important things. And then I will swim in my President swimming pool." Her busia and I press her to name some of these important things and she tells us about all the nonspecific meetings she plans on attending after her cook has prepared her a delicious breakfast. I persuade her to come up with better strategies to take care of health and the sick as her busia fumbles with picking up a highlighter. She pats her busia's back and tells her that she will consider it.

At the end of the session, after she has retrieved us water and participates in a game of toss and catch with her busia, I do some retesting on her busia's shoulder. Isobella sits with a pen and note pad taking notes. "How is she behaving today?"  she wants to know. I reply that  her busia is awesome but Isobella goes blank for a moment before scribbling on her pad of paper. "I don't know how to spell awesome so I will write she is good." When I am done tapping the supraspinatus, retracting the scapula, and digging into the lower trap, Isobella gives us her busia's report card. It literally reads: Good. Doing great. Good. Pretty good. Good girl. Her busia rolls her eyes again. "Oh, Isobella, how you go on and on and on." But her busia is smiling.

(Extra) Sleepy Beautiful Monday

There are a few fairly benign objects and/ or activities in the world that make me anxious. #1. Fish. I've been told there are therapies for this. My mom has investigated these therapies for me. I think I am improving. At least I can swim in the ocean. Until something rubs against my toe. #2. Talking on the phone. Perhaps because I think I sound like Mini Mouse on the phone. #3. Fruit. Again, I am conquering my own fear here as I am a recovering picky eater. I am no longer as freaked out by overly soft ripening fruit on my kitchen counter unless it leaks. #4. Cooking.

So that is why I am so surprised that "cooking" for Miss. D gives me so much joy. Making baby food brings me way too much happiness. I cannot wait to select a new fruit or veggie to steam and puree for this little seven month bundle of joy. I dreamt about it last night in fact. I am suddenly fine overpaying for a Pink Lady apple and don't even blink an eye at the register. I marvel at the amazing vibrant colors of each puree and do my own taste test before sharing it with the little one. (The Pink Lady apple sauce was delicious but my sentiments were not shared by the wee one.) We are starting out with the basics: apples, peas, sweet potato, and carrots. Ben and I are amused by the selection and variety of facial expressions that are communicated during this very special 15 minutes of the day. I am excited to start using some recipes from the babyfoode website. Imagine carrots and nutmeg or beet apple & clove. (Side note: in my dream last night I could not find the beets and could only find prunes. This dream was the best out of a series of 12 dreams given that Miss. D is slightly feverish and is up multiple times during the night). So in case you are wondering what I have been up to besides work & trying to sleep, I have been breaking in the immersion blender and enjoying every moment of spooning a little sweet potato to a mouth that sings her anticipation to the spoon every time.

Sleepy Beautiful Monday

Your Mama Didn't Used to do That

So. I sometimes find that I don't know where my thoughts or opinions come from anymore. At the risk of sounding cliche, my brain is suddenly hardwired a little differently than it was before the birth of Miss D. Tthis is possibly due to the mild decrease in sleep since August or my ever advancing 30-ness or it is linked to the simple fact that I am now a mama. But I want one thing to be clear: I recognize the change because many of these thoughts/ actions/ beliefs/ behaviors didn't used to exist.

To my daughter:
Ahem. For the record...

Your mama didn't used to listen to jazz. In fact, it made me a little nervy to listen to jazz for long periods of time. Long saxophone solos made me angry. But suddenly, everything else on the radio is noise (am I 100 years old??) and the only radio programs I can tolerate are Saturday morning NPR, Alister Begg sermons on Moody Radio, and WDCB Jazz. Let me just say how profoundly refreshing their Christmas music was this past December. Again, though, am I one hundred years old?

Your mama didn't used to have nightmares about missing pacifiers. Or sleep with pacifiers. Or have feelings of panic when pacifiers could not be found in the bed when they were truly needed. And that time that your dad rolled over on the squeeky teething toy and it let out a loud chirp sometime between midnight and three a.m. waking us all up- that didn't used to happen either.

Your mama didn't ever think we would co-sleep. Kick you into the next room so that I could get my most coveted sleep- that was for sure the plan before you even existed. Your dad sometimes still ponders at how this cozy-sometimes-often-not-restful arrangement occurred but then we need not look two feet from the bed to recognize that we are still in the smack middle of construction. Plus there are very few moments more tender than last week when you fell asleep between us (one hand on Ben's back and nose nestled on my shoulder) while we listened to an oldtime radio show in the dark.

Your mama never would have dreamed in a million years that maybe, just MAYBE, she would even remotely CONSIDER homeschooling. Whoah. I can barely believe those words are in the universe. Too much to handle... Moving on. Nevermind all the home education books checked out from the library right now.

Your mama never used to be a baby person. But now I cry when I see a tiny new born babe as happed last week when I met Liz's newborn Adrian. And I flock to see the baby crying in the gym at work because I miss you and I need to see a little face like yours. I actually love the sound of a baby's cry in the grocery store and it makes me miss you.

So there you have it, Miss D. Your mama didn't always used to be this way.  So weird. Oh. Your mama has always been weird though. Some things do not change.

Around the House

In case I ever worried that our living room was not colorful enough

or did not shelve enough written words. . .

And if I was ever concerned that there were too many hardwood surfaces

and not enough soft corners . . .

And perhaps if I ever I considered that our coat rack was way too plain. . .

And if I ever really needed an excuse to read books and nap 

beneath homemade quilts and blankets...

I think the addition of you solved everything. 

Weaving

Story time!

Maybe next time we will face the right direction. 

This week has been full of cuddles, sweet text messages, attempts to remember words to nursery songs, children's story books, a trip to grandma's house to meet more family & Minnesota natives, barbecue ribs, a virtual shopping trip with Kelly (and sightings of terrible unicorn sweatshirts and floral print tight pants), campfires and thus s'mores with Kit Kats, church small groups, showering in many different people's homes, a visit from the cousins and Aunt Rachel, and lots of episodes of Parenthood & New Girl while she feeds (thus resulting in a craving to buy a whole new wardrobe). This week felt snuggly (100% cotton fantastically paired with sleepy baby body) and occasionally milky. My brain power attempted to calculate ways to work less and stay home to cuddle more (but failed). I accomplished pumping bottles of milk, one solo trip to Target with Miss D, and one group trip to JoAnn Fabrics with Miss D, Cathy, and Avery. I feel utterly blessed with this very special time to bond with my small one. We are weaving her into our lives and she has provided so much more dimension to our world. 

Lucky Seven

Gearing up for Ben and my seven year anniversary this Saturday.

You know. 

When my hair was blonder and I was not yet out of graduate school.

 Before Ben grew his beard and took on the enormous project that is our house. 

Before we learned what it really, truly means to commit "for better or for worse". 

Before we learned the absolute beauty of the aftermath of sticking it out through "better or worse". 

I am so grateful that the rational and logical Ben chose impulsive and emotional me.

Ben and I on our honeymoon in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. 

Unfortunately we will not be celebrating our anniversary this year camping with Pat and Kelly as usual.

However, we will be celebrating with a little munchkin who is the product of our seven years. 

(Yes. I tried to make her look like a firefly using two pairs of tights.) 

(Yes. I love being home from work with this small one.)

Happy Anniversary, Ben. Love, Jenny.

Skinny Love

And so begins the laundry. 

Miss D joined us two weeks ago and I have since found myself trying to delay the passing of time. I crave super slow afternoons but only find that 4:00 comes too quickly. Hours are moving by and all I do is stare down into a sleeping bundle of glow-y baby wrapped in an assortment of warm, cuddly blankets. This is heaven and I do not want it to end. We have been blessed these two weeks with a parade of loving friends and family, nurturing nurses who help me learn how to feed my baby, a delivery of warm homemade chicken pot pies, celebration sour beers, friends who sneak in and clean our "studio apartment", encouraging texts and phone calls, and most importantly, a gracious baby who is patient as I learn to navigate this mama-hood stuff. My favorite moments are when Ben and I are stretched out on our bed (located in the living room) watching Miss D stretch and yawn. And although she has markedly gained weight since we arrived home from the hospital, she is my little skinny love. 

Sleepy Beautiful Blessings

The front yard is in bloom!

So grateful for:

1. Celebrating my lovely sister-in-law's mother day on our back porch Sunday evening with Pita Inn, Ben, Maye, and Teo. Activities included: picking flowers for a momday bouquet, climbing trees, tossing the football, and Teo trying to convince us that he could kick a cougar in the stomach if it ever tried to attack and us ( unsuccessfully trying with all our adult brain power) convincing him otherwise. 

2. Cemitas at Smoque BBQ with Pat, Kelly, and Ben. Let me lay it out for you: crispy delicious bun, avocado, chipotle seasoned pulled pork, cheese... and other secret ingredients of which I am uncertain. True deliciousness and I even had leftovers for Wednesday's lunch. 

3. Fitness video in Liz's living room followed by a home cooked meal made by her husband. Doing a fitness video in my home (or someone else's) leaves me with the same laughter and good feelings as a Seinfeld episode. Running suicides among the sleeping black lab, an ottoman, and a few scattered toys= true joy at the ridiculousness and marvel at the fact that I am sweating crazily. 

4. A full Saturday (from 8:45 to 5:00) of wandering, jogging, and walking different neighborhoods in my fair city of Chicago with Melissa and then Cathy. A few garage sales in lincoln square, a stop to allow the dog to drink water on Montrose, a strawberry sour beer in lakeview, and a brief seated break on some bleachers in buck town. Blissful spring/summer day!

5. Mulch. A yard of mulch sitting in my driveway to spread into the gardens. Mulch that Ben was kind enough to pick up for me friday morning and then dump. I have my Sunday plotted now accordingly. 

Sleepy Beautiful Middle of May

This week I am thankful for

1. Celebrating Teo's 11th birthday on Monday. Four rambunctious boys and Maye playing "Hippies and Hobos" out in the front yard (whatever that is) followed by lasagna, brownies, and several rounds of Scattegories with Ben, Rachel, Maye, Teo, and my mother-in-law. If only every Monday could be this awesome. . .

2. Along with Teo's birthday comes an iPod touch. Along with an iPod touch comes daily emails in my inbox from Teo. Heart.

3. Taking a blood test with good results. Phew. . .

4. Vietnamese dinner on Argyle with Cathy, Albert, and Ben. I cannot say enough about Vietnamese egg rolls and spring rolls. More cilantro and bubble tea please!!

5. Spending the entire Saturday with my mama, Ben, kittens, and our family. Happy mother's day Jan-head!!!!