Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

9 months in. 9 months out.

My Margot has been out of me as long as she was in me.

I think now is the moment she begins her true independence. 

She breaks away; not much, but in smallish ways.

Walking invades crawling, "Ma Ma" replaces crying for her needs, hair hides the infant baldness, she assumes the bottle holding while eating, and naked gums are lost to a mouth stocked with teeth...basically "grown-up" traits.

Frequently I end up moaning with regret the minutes I may have wasted with Margot the Infant; yet, today was the beginning of my yielding to the inevitable: Margot the Girl.

 I was, for the first time ready, even anxious, to find out more about this daughter: her interests, hobbies, strengths, weaknesses, joys...all things that are ahead for her. 

Here's to tomorrow!

p.s. 
Happy Christmas! It really is the most wonderful time year, 

for it is when we celebrate the arrival of the Good news: 

"Hail the Heav'n-born Prince of Peace! Hail the Son of righteousness!

 Light and life to all He brings, Ris'n with healing in His wings.

Mild He lays His glory by, Born that man may no more die;

Born to raise the sons of Earth, Born to give them second birth.

Hark the Herald Angels sing Glory to the new born King!"

Hope you all have a really fabulous Holiday!

Willem Emmett Red is 3.

Willem Emmett.

 I don't think he even knows his first name is Willem. 

The week he was born we called him Willem, but it was wrong. The name was a stranger to him. 

He's Emmett. 

The origin meaning of the name Emmett means, "All Containing; Universal; Strong." 

And he came that way.

 He is a sort of renaissance man boy.

His interests, his personalities, his temperaments are"All containing".  

Like how he's obsessed with all sports that involve a ball, but will sing and dance his way between the bases. He will "read" his books late into the night and then construct intricate cities and 

roadways with his train tracks.

He's stubborn; he'll act tougher than nails, even amoral at times, but in a instant he'll break, and before I know it he is smothering me with love. 

He doesn't fit a mold. He is every mold.

He is the most passionate and enthusiastic, not to mention, dramatic, person I've ever met! 

Oh, and his rampant imagination; everything is an adventure!

He has an intense zeal for life. 

No day is ever dull or meaningless with Emmett.

I'll be frank, I am wasted at the end of every day.

 He keeps us all going full speed, 100% of the time.

But I know this small body houses a firm soul.

He is no fence-sitter; rather a force: "strong"...let's all hope a force for the good!

p.s. Melt.

Hallow's Eve

 

Up until about the age of 13 Halloween is the best.

"Everyone we know is giving out Candy for free!"

But then, there comes a point where you can't hide your post-pubescent voice as you show up on the doorstep and ask,
"Trick or Treat?"

 Regardless of how childlike your costume may be.

 Halloween thus turns into lame-ness.

UNTIL....

you have your own kids!

Than you relive all the excitement of the holiday through the eyes of your little ones.

It was a treat in and of itself watching Emmett's face at each house as they dropped candy into his ghetto walmart grocery plastic bag.

p.s. My Mom's prom dress inspired our 70's prom king and queen get up, in case you were confused as to what we were attempting.

Icky Chocolate Brownies.

I used to pull great strength from the fact that I have endured the struggle of bringing not one, but two human souls into this world.

Well done me!  I survived the difficult feat of living through pregnancy and giving birth...twice!

How funny that in these last weeks, this strength of mine has been strained, actually,

 pretty much demolished, by one seemingly simple task:

Potty Training.

Nobody warns you during pregnancy of Potty Training.

They make sure to inform you of so many of the obstacles that come with little ones like

 the sleep and feeding issues, but nobody mentions,

 "Oh and by the way, potty training marks the end of your life."

Nobody tells you how your role as a mom will eventually evolve into a sewage worker.

And how your patience and loving instruction for your toddler goes down the toilet (if your lucky) as they suddenly realize they are in control and can dominate you by pooping and peeing wherever and whenever.

Then you make yourself loony as you start creating a fantasy world in the toilet to entice your child to use it,

like poop birthday parties in the toilet tunnel with presents and candles,

and tinkle turning into yellow twinkle stars.

I must admit, it has been rewarding to see Emmett join in the imagination fun, coming up with his own poop terms like brown snakeys and icky chocolate brownies. 

I've come to realize that potty training Emmett will not happen over night, and could even take months, maybe even 9.  And at the end of those nine months, perhaps i'll once again discover my enduring strength, this time not from pregnancy, but from potty training.

Compelled to Blog Privacy by Paranoia

I have felt an impending necessity to make our blog private.

I'm actually surprised I've lasted this long...considering how I am constantly looking over my shoulder, ready to attack any creep that may spring him/herself at my little ones.

I'm really not exaggerating, although, I admit, and E would agree, I have been known to over indulge on details.

This time I'm almost under indulging.

I'm very paranoid.

I would love for those who would like to keep in touch to leave their email addresses.

We'll switch over to private mode starting the 1st of October.

As Emmett would say,

"Gracias!"

p.s. whoever said TV zapped brain cells must have swallowed helium as a child (which really does zap brain cells), because Emmett has practically made Spanish his second language thanks to my friend Dora the explorer and her pal Boots.

Female Visitors

We had visitors this weekend.

Eric's Mom: Joann.

And 2of his 5 sisters: Lori and Anne Marie.

We did the usual:

The coast, St. Honore's boulangerie, Lake Oswego farmer's market, downtown Portland town, Mother's Bistro.

And we did some new ones too:

Portland Japanese gardens, finding nooks and crannies of upper Portland with the most desirable little homes (only a car full of girls would do such a thing), and discovering Cannon Beach's fresh salt water taffies.

After their visit I couldn't help but be a little jealous that Eric got to grow up with so many great girls in his home.

p.s. Lots of female visitors = Lots of help with kids = free hands that don't know what to do with themselves = really awkward pose by me.

The Giver

Eric's birthday was yesterday.

Eric is the world's most thoughtful gift giver, hands down.

He has my birthday, Christmas, anniversay, Valentine's gifts planned months in advance.

And they never disappoint.

Like the one time we were in Borders looking at art books and I randomly pointed and mentioned that I loved this one early picasso painting, "Embrace in the Street (Les Amants Dans La Rue)". And he secretly wrote it down. And months later, on our anniversary, I received a gorgeous oil reproduction of the picasso with a certificate to buy a worthy frame. There are other times when "priceless" is his theme and he presents me with his sketches, or writes cheezy poems or, for instance, sings home-made lyrics to The Sound of Music's "These are a few of my favorite things"....about Carly.

Evidently, I sort of struggle with his days of honor.

This time I tried to mimic his tactics.

I planned months, (or rather, a month) in advance. I listened carefully for subtle interests of his. I wrote them down. I even made sure he couldn't witness what I bought through our online accounts.

So what was his thoughtful, fabulous, unique gift?

I bought him Basketball Shoes.

In a nutshell: they were a bust.

"Too small, doesn't even play basketball anymore, not even 'real' Jordan's, get him shoes every year...."

Not like he said all of those things, but I knew it.

I had totally failed, yet again.

And to tell the truth, I was far more dissapointed than him.

So Eric, here's my second attempt at your birthday gift:

I now solemnly hand over to you the throne of all rockin gift giving.

I will never out-do or even match your skills ;

i'll remain the surprised, enthusiastic, grateful

gift receiver.

p.s. Emmett finally let Eric eat a piece of his birthday cake, thanks Emmett.

And

Margot went mobile for Eric's birthday.

Feminist Criticism vs. Margot.

This morning. Not so great.

Went to send a feminist critique on Flannery O' Connor to my Instructor via email.

My paper was nowhere to be found on my dinky lap top.

Lost.

Gone.

Forever.

I cried.

Bawled.

You see, I don't have much time or energy for typing decent papers.

So polishing one off feels a feat for me.

I cried again.

Then Margot woke up hungry.

I instantly switched from student mode to Mom mode.

I decided to introduce her to a whole new world....Food.

I watched her slurp the rice cereal in and out,

pulling Jim Carrey like faces,

reacting to new tastes and textures.

Then she smiled, telling me she liked and approved of this new world I had shown her.

My paper suddenly seemed tiny and unworthy.

Margot makes everything all better.

p.s. While Margot was eating her rice cereal,

I ate some dark chocolate joe joes.

That helped too.