We went on vacation! To Michigan! And to say I was terrified that going on vacation would disrupt the perfect schedule we'd managed to carve out with our kids would be an understatement. I think I've emphasized in this blog how much I like my sleep, my sweet, sweet uninterrupted sleep. I'm one of those people who needs something more in the neighborhood of nine hours a night to feel refreshed and sprightly. Any less, and I'm a baggy eyed, droopy faced gollum. So the fact that a mere seven months after Sam's birth found us with two children who went to bed by 7 p.m. and slept at least eleven solid hours, leaving me free to while away the evening on facebook and turn in for the night without fear of being awoken...well, it was wonderful.

Every parent knows that vacations ruin everything. You'd think we were talking about some kind of horrid forced exodus or something when parents talk, in gloomy, foreboding tones, about how they're preparing for their upcoming family trip. "Well," we'll say, "we're going to pack the white noise machine, and the rotary fan, you know, just in case, and the security blanket and stuffed bear. And we thought we'd bring the sheets from his bed at home, and probably an extra pair of curtains for the window in her room." *anguished sigh* "We just hope it won't disrupt things too much."

"But...are you looking forward to your trip to Barbados?"

*crickets chirp*

The thought of enjoying a vacation doesn't really occur to parents of small children. The hope is for the least impact, the most minimal damage to the tentative balance parents have managed to eke out. And, perhaps, a few tropical drinks beachside.

But the thing is, we actually did enjoy our vacation! I mean, yes, it was stressful at times. Flying with two children under the age of four is not fun and relaxing. But they were troopers. In fact, they were troopers the whole trip. They shared a room for the first time in their short lives, and it went...okay. They woke each other up a couple of times, and both got up way too early, but we managed. Plus, the one thing I forget about vacationing with family/at the home of family members is that your family is there. That means people will be waiting, like a fleet of benchwarmers, to be called into the game, handed a baby or toddler and sent out into left field. I think that metaphor got confusing. What I mean is, I barely saw my daughter all week. She was a tow-headed blur running down the hall, chasing the family dog, followed closely by a grandparent or aunt or uncle. And my son spent a lot of time getting his ample thighs massaged by various family members, who were also only too eager to help support the further growth of those thighs by plying him with pureed Gerber goodness while I relaxed in the hammock. I had the use of both of my arms this past week for most of the time. I've gotten so used to doing things one-handed, to picking up dropped items with my toes and opening jars with my knees (not really) that I hardly knew what to do with my spare hand. Mostly I used it to hold a beer.

As you can probably tell from the many pictures I posted to flickr, we were kept busy with activities, more busy than my poor home-bound children are used to. Charlotte has been quite let down since we've gotten back. "What will be in the morning?" she asks plaintively every night. And instead of promises of the beach or a boat ride or a trip to the orchard I have to say "You get to help mama sort laundry!" It's a hard sell.

So we're back, and I'm in GTA (graduate teaching assistant) training this week, and then next week classes start. And I can hardly believe it, but I'm really excited. And at the end of the month, Charlotte starts preschool. And then before we know it, Sam will be coming home with his first paycheck or something.

Yes, Michigan!

We're in GR for the next few days. I'll be posting lots of pictures to flickr (link at right), so be sure to check them out. Here's just a sampling:

Jeff and Sam on the hammock

Charlotte takes a tractor ride with Papa T.

The kids, enjoying the sunshine.

You know, we say we're done, that we're happy with two, especially these two. But, as my mother-in-law said, "you guys make such cute kids...don't you ever wonder?"

Well, no. But she has a point.

I mean, look at them.

Sam at seven months. What can I say? He's a dream baby, the baby I always hoped I would get after Charlotte, to help balance out the things that made her babyhood stressful. In a word: sleep.

Sam sleeps well. And I cannot tell you what a huge difference that has made. I look back on some of the things I wrote when Charlotte was this age, and remember what it was like--the nightly stress of not knowing when she'd finally fall asleep, and then for how long. In addition to that stresser was the fact that Charlotte had to be fully, complete conked out asleep before we could lay her down in her crib and tiptoe ever-so-quietly out of her room. The bedtime routine for Charlotte was so long and involved that frequently it would take well over an hour to get her to sleep. And that routine would have to be repeated if she woke up, of course.

I now realize that the difficulty we had with Charlotte was likely only partially her own tendency to sleep poorly, and was probably compounded by the fact that we really didn't know what we were doing. We did things very differently with Sam, and it's helped--coupled with the fact that I think he's just, by nature, a better sleeper.

Sam naps twice a day, usually at least an hour-and-a-half each time. On occasion he's take a nap of less than an hour, but then the second nap of the day will be a long one, more like two or three hours. Sam sleeps through the night, and has been doing so for the last couple of weeks. We've had a night or two when he's woken up (once after he got his shots) and needed nursing to get back to sleep, but that's been the exception.

But the big HUGE thing is that Sam can be put down in his crib WIDE AWAKE and will go to sleep ALL BY HIMSELF. He'll usually make a little noise for some time (more than once it's taken him a half-hour to settle down) but that noise is generally not unpleasant...never full-out crying. This noise, however, will invariably stress me out, so that I typically have to go outside and check on my garden or something while he works himself to sleep. We put Sam to sleep usually between 6:30 and 7 p.m., and he sleeps until 5:30 or 6 a.m. (oh, what I wouldn't give for another half-hour on that morning end...but I'm not complaining!).

It's wonderful. I am a different woman than I was when Charlotte was this age. I am more relaxed, less high-strung, better rested. I can enjoy my time with the kids during the day, and get genuine work done in the evenings, because I know I can rely on my kids' schedules.

When Sam's not sleeping, he's so much fun to be around. He's started sitting unsupported for longer stretches of time, and only occasionally pitches forward onto his face, which I consider major progress. This weekend he really started rolling from back to front, to the point where if I put him down on his back, if he's not distracted by his delectable toes, he'll immediately flip onto his stomach. He's been rolling from front to back for a few weeks now, but hasn't really figured out yet that he could string the two motions together to get someplace.

Speaking of mobility, I noticed from Charlotte's baby book that she was crawling at this age--only backwards, but still. Sam hasn't yet made that move. He seems uninterested in getting onto his knees when he's in the stomach-down position. I know that frequently kids skip crawling altogether, and I wouldn't be surprised if Sam's one of those. Because he seems more interested in standing--he spends a lot of time in his exersaucer, kicking his fat little legs, and often likes to be held in a standing-up position.

He likes to make noise, particularly certain noises: high-pitched shrieks, coos, raspberries, "ah-boo" and "ah-mah" sounds. He has a throaty, gutteral laugh that is contagious, and he's ticklish under his arms, so it's easy to call the laugh forth.

He's taken to solid food like an absolute champ. He eats three times a day, and hasn't diminished his milk intake by much, so I'm sure his thighs and cheeks will hang around for a while. We've tried: sweet potatoes, winter squash, green beans, pears, applesauce, blueberry/apple, apricot/raspberry, banana, oatmeal, rice, and prunes, all with success. I'll be trying carrots and peas this week. It's fun to feed him, because he's almost always (unless he's overly tired) really excited to eat. He leans forward, opening his mouth eagerly like a little bird, lunging at the spoon.

I don't have updated height/weight info as we don't have an official doctor's appointment until he's nine months, but he's almost too big for most of the twelve months size clothing we have for him. In the above picture, he's wearing an eighteen-month t-shirt (one I bought thinking he'd wear it next spring and summer). I'm trying not to worry about all the twelve-to-eighteen month size clothing I bought him to wear in the fall and winter.

I will risk sounding cheesy and say that I am so happy to have this family. I love my kids, my husband, I love the dynamic we have when we're all together. I love that Charlotte draws pictures of us and has stories about our family already. I can't wait to do all sorts of fantastic things with these cool people.

You guys had some good suggestions, and I'll probably glean from them over the coming weeks. My summer class started today, which means my summer essentially ended. I'm on campus every afternoon for the next two weeks (well, M-F), and then we're off to Michigan for a week, and then my TA training starts, and then the maelstrom that will be my fall semester begins churning and spinning, with me inside. I feel like I'm in that first car of the roller coaster, chugging jerkily up the first big incline, getting ready for that teetering moment on the apex of the hill where you can see just how distant the ground has become, before momentum takes over and down we plunge. This next academic year is going to be one heck of a ride, but there's a reason I got in line for this coaster--I love the thrill. Have I stretched the metaphor too far? Maybe. But I do love what I do, and find academic work and teaching to be: stressful, insane-making, challenging, but yes, thrilling.

In other "news," I'm trying to become more fashionable. I usually find myself standing in front of my closet, surveying the contents with dismay and confusion. I mean, I don't understand where my good clothes go! I shop on occasion, I buy things that I think will look good, and then (inevitably) I get home and they have morphed into something unbecoming, frumpy, ill-fitting.

I have friends who always seem so stylish and put-together, professional and appropriate for every occasion. I have tried to study what they do that looks good, to potentially emulate in my own wardrobe. I've also started checking out a couple fashion blogs: Cardigan Empire and You Look Fab. These blogs each have advice based on your body type/shape. Typically this involves comparing yourself to fruit. Am I a pear? An apple? A banana? A (god forbid!) pineapple? Okay, I made that last one up. Anyway, I don't know what item of produce best describes me because I'm too chicken to pick up the measuring tape and find out. That's what having children does to you.

One thing I can do without measuring myself is learn to accessorize. I'm not good at this. I wear my wedding and engagement rings every day. Before cell phones took over the world, I used to wear a watch. At one time I wore little earrings, the same pair every day. In fact, I didn't take them out. Now I rarely wear earrings...if there's a wedding or special event I might play a fun game I like to call "Have my piercings grown over?" Sometimes there's blood! Woo!

But most of the time I haven't a clue how to accessorize. Purses? Bracelets? BELTS?! Nope.

So this weekend, Jeff and I and the kids headed out to The Legends near Kansas City to meet up with my aunt and uncle, cousin Amy and her husband John and their kids. I didn't really know what The Legends was (were?). Turns out, it's a big posh outdoor outlet mall place. It's very fancy, well-landscaped and lovely. After we had lunch, we all strolled around, admiring the fountains and hitting a few stores. I got a couple things for the kids, but I also bought something for myself, something that wasn't a college t-shirt or a plain colored tank top! I bought necklaces! Two of them!

Today I wore one to class*. When I came downstairs wearing it, Jeff started laughing at me. "Nice bling," he said, laughing and laughing. This, as you can imagine, didn't do much to help my confidence. In his defense, it is gold, and I never wear gold. I wore a gold necklace. Ugh, even typing that sounds gross. It wasn't like a gold CHAIN or anything. It's a longish necklace with little gold...uh, leafy things? Dangly bits? At intervals around the chain? I don't know. I'm bad at this. Anyway, I wore it, and I felt weird and awkward and conspicuous.

See, in reality, I would buy this necklace. That's the kind of stuff I gravitate toward: snarky, faux-hipstery geek stuff, like t-shirts with messages about grammar on them. Worn with the same two pairs of boring old blue jeans. Yawn.

But now I'm in my thirties, and I'm teaching students who pull off the whole hipster-college-student wardrobe thing much better than I do. I feel like I need to look professional, and polished, and not so much like my entire wardrobe consists of t-shirts and jeans, and that I'm secretly glad that I have to do laundry all the time due to Sam's cloth diapers because not only do I only wear t-shirts and jeans, I also only ever wear the same two or three t-shirts.

Wow, this post is long! And potentially boring! I promise to return soon with stories about Charlotte's crush on the keyboard player at our church, Sam's voracious eating habits, and Jeff's gigantic hair (I keep clipping coupons for local barber shops, but to no avail!).

*In addition to my clothing. I did not JUST wear the necklace. Even I know better than that.

I've lost it. And by "it," I mean, of course, any semblence of an interesting idea, one about which I might post on my blog.

So, I'm asking you: What do you want me to write about? Leave suggestions in the comments.

I've been longing to travel quite a bit lately. I've always loved traveling. Some of my fondest memories are the annual summer vacations my family would take when I was younger. We rarely went anywhere too far from Iowa, so our destinations were typically Midwestern cities like St. Louis, Kansas City, Minneapolis, or spots like the Badlands and Black Hills of South Dakota, the Lake of the Ozarks region in Missouri, or the northern Minnesota shoreline of Lake Superior. We would always drive, and I would read in the back seat and inevitably begin to feel carsick. I remember staying in roadside motels, falling asleep to the dulcet tones of my parents' tandem snoring, trying to stay out of the radius of my brother's thrashing limbs (until we were old enough and my parents got a roll-away bed for Scott, hallelujah). In the cities, we'd go to a major league baseball game if possible, visit an amusement park, walk through the downtown. Some of the memorable highlights were originally experienced as lowlights (passion play, anyone?) but always, always the vacation seemed magical, a time out of time and routine.

My more adventurous travels began when I was in college--mission trips to Honduras and the Philippines, a semester overseas in Oxford, a brief tour of Northwestern Europe following. Lots of road trips (particularly back and forth between Grand Rapids, Chicago, and Iowa). Our big prize trip to the West Coast (I won a photo contest; the prize was a flying/driving trip complete with airfare, car rental, hotel and spending cash). Jeff and I managed to get back to Ireland and visit NYC before I started grad school, despite not having much money saved up or a lot of vacation time. I now wish we had done more.

Having young kids makes travel inconvenient, to say the least. Charlotte was always such an atrocious sleeper that any kind of disruption to her "routine" would throw off any progress we had made. So I was reluctant to do much traveling when she was a baby, plus, of course, the limitations imposed by a graduate student budget dictated that our trips were few and far between, and typically just to visit family. We did make it to western Massachusetts and Athens, Georgia in our last six months in Ohio, to visit universities.

Now, with Sam, we're even more hesitant to hit the road. He's not as apt to sleep peacefully in his car seat as Charlotte was, so any road trip longer than a few hours can quickly devolve into a horrible nightmare of squalling baby, whining toddler, white-knuckled driver and stressed-out spouse. Not the relaxing vacation I'm dreaming of, that's for sure.

So I spend a lot of time making lists--lists of places I want to visit with the kids when they're older and we have more disposable income. Places to go just with Jeff after depositing the kids at the grandparents house (right guys?). Places to hit up with my friends. Places to go with the whole extended family.

Where would you go right now if money and time were no object? Why? And what's your favorite vacation memory, and why? Leave the details in the comments.

For me, if I could go anywhere at all, I think I'd go to South America (Buenos Aires, perhaps), Spain, or New Zealand, for at least two weeks. I've never been to any of those places, and they are each suitably "exotic" enough to feel like a real leave-taking.

It's hard to narrow down my very favorite vacation memory, but I think my week-long trip with Jeff to Ireland in 2003, hot on the tail of my unexpected firing from my first job, was pretty amazing. And our road trip from Seattle to San Francisco was really memorable--we stayed at some fantastic places that we would never have been able to afford if it weren't for the contest.

Happy fourth of July, everyone!

Some recent Charlotte-isms:

Jeff: How'd you know that, Charlotte?
Charlotte: I just learned it up! Learned it up.

Charlotte explaining how the seashells came to us: They flew up out of the water and glugged onto the sand and then Nana got them and gave them to us.

I'm changing Sam's diaper, and Charlotte is watching.
Charlotte: whispers something
Jana: What's that, honey?
Charlotte: I said, such precious buns.

Charlotte and I are dining outdoors at a local restaurant, and a man nearby steps out with a cigarette and begins to smoke.
Charlotte: What's that man doing, mama?
Jana: Oh, he's having a smoke.
Charlotte: What's a smoke?
Jana: It's a cigarette. It's something some grown-up people do sometimes.
Charlotte: Oh. When I get grown-up, I'm gonna blow a smoke.
(Don't worry, a brief lecture about health followed.)

Six Months

I just went back and read what I wrote here when Charlotte was six months old (see here). I know it's odious to compare your children, but I couldn't help think how different, and yet how similar, parenting is this time around. Sam is a few pounds heavier than Charlotte was at six months, and about an inch and a half taller. He has one tooth, whereas Charlotte had two (although that second one of Sam's is about to bust through). He has a pretty respectable head of auburn-blonde hair, while six-month-old Charlotte was bald as a cue ball, save that one, three-inch-long curly strand at the crown of her head. Sam has rolled over a few more times than Charlotte, and has rolled over back to front in addition to front to back. Sam has sat unsupported for a few seconds at a time, which is well ahead of Charlotte (in all fairness, she probably could have done it. It just wouldn't have occurred to me to, you know, set the baby down every once in a while).

Other things are different, too. We're short one great-grandparent after losing my Grandpa Deur in April 2007. We're plus two aunts, both conveniently named Katy/ie (thanks, ladies!). But the most significant difference is in Jeff and me. I think we're both substantially more laid-back as parents this time around, more confident. We can't give Sam the undivided attention we gave Charlotte--and he's none the worse for wear. And, of course, Charlotte's a sibling in this new family equation, and that has changed so much, too.

Sam at six months is a delight. Most of the time he sleeps wonderfully--typically two naps lasting from 1.5-3 hours each, a 7 p.m. bedtime and a 6 a.m. rise-and-shine with (usually) one feeding wake-up between the hours of 10 and midnight. I would make some minor tweaks (always waking up at 10 p.m. for his night feeding, for example, and a slightly later wake-up time), but for the most part I am much MUCH more well-rested than I was when Charlotte was this age.

And he wakes up happy almost every single time, cooing and sucking his fingers in his crib. I can hear an untranscribable sound over the monitor when Sam's awake, a kind of scootch-scootch-scootch sound that heralds the fact that Sam's doing his horizontal Riverdance move, kicking his legs rhythmically while his arms and torso stay stationary. When I go in to get him from his crib, he smiles with his entire chubby little person, arching his back and wrinkling his forehead and chortling with pure glee.

He eats some baby food now, and tonight partook of prunes with a gusto I didn't know anyone could have for prunes, lunging at the spoon with enthusiasm. He chews constantly on his fingers, his bib, his shirt, my shirt, my fingers, his sister's fingers ("Sam's eatin' on me!" she shrieks), anything within reach. If you catch him in a big smile, you can see that little glimmer of white, that faint razor-sharp pearl of a first tooth, and the slight swelling next door indicates number two is on its way.

He's suffering from the classic second-child troubles: I haven't updated his baby book in quite a while, and haven't even started his birthday photo album. There are probably about a third as many pictures of Sam (which is completely unfair, because he is just as photogenic as his sister) and those I do take are often shot from the hip instead of carefully composed.

But he's not short on attention, on love, on doting sisters and parents. He's got that in spades.

Charlotte's birthday weekend was loads of fun. It featured vast quantities of buttercream, balloons, and spontaneous renditions of a song Charlotte calls "The Tractor and the Mower." The temps were soaring and the humidity was high, but we all sweated through the outdoor birthday party happily. The buttercream also sweated, unfortunately. (Still delicious). The night before Charlotte's party, our water heater broke. We all (and that includes my visiting parents) enjoyed "pioneer baths" Sunday morning, involving trips from the stove to the tub with pots of boiling water. After the party we took cold showers. Invigorating! Fortunately, the problem was fixed Monday and we could all return to our indulgent, Western ways.

We had Charlotte's birthday party on Sunday, but her actual birthday was, of course, Tuesday, and I wanted to do something special to commemorate her actual day. Now that she's three, she knows the difference between just a boring, regular day and a celebration, and I didn't want her to feel short-changed. So we went to Chuck E. Cheese's.

When I mentioned this fact in my status update on Facebook, many people applauded me for my bravery or expressed surprise at my (I assume) stupidity. I think people must have either different impressions of Chuck E. Cheese's (henceforth CEC) than I do, or bad memories there. Because it was rad! Some of my favorite birthday memories are my brother's and my golden birthday parties (the seventh and the eighth, respectively) which we celebrated at what was the equivalent of CEC at the time, Show Biz Pizza.

Charlotte was understandably overwhelmed by all the flashing lights and bells and whistles, but after we ate our pizza in the presence of a giant animatronic rat, she was ready to participate. But to be honest, I think my parents, Jeff and I had as much fun as she did. Skee-ball, people! Did you know you can still rack up 32000 points on skee-ball when you have a six-month-old strapped to you in a baby bjorn? It's true! I let Sam deploy the button on one particular game, and he won 34 tickets! Jackpot!

At one point, as my mom and I stood in front of a machine, feeding tokens in hypnotically, she turned to me and said, "I don't think we should ever go to Vegas." Heh.

Three years ago, right about now, I was informed that I was still only dilated to about 5 cm after several hours laboring both at home and the hospital. I was momentarily disappointed but Jeff hauled me out of bed and I alternated walking laps around the room and bouncing dementedly on the giant inflatable labor ball.

That helped, because two hours later I was fully dilated. Of course, Charlotte wouldn't emerge for another three hours after that, because what's more fun than making your new mom push for three hours!? Nothing, that's what.

I remember with absolute clarity the moment Charlotte was born. With this pregnancy, we had elected not to find out the baby's sex ahead of time. I had written in my birth preferences that I wanted Jeff to announce the sex of the baby after he/she was born, but Jeff balked (he later admitted that the umbilical cord blocked his view) and I was the first of us to see as they flipped her up onto my stomach. "It's a girl!" I said. "Hi, Charlotte! I knew it was you." And I did, the whole time. She stopped her quiet squalling and searched around when she heard my voice. Her eyes found my face and time froze.

Oh my word, look at that chubby newborn face!

I should probably have lots of lovely poignant things to say on the occasion of my daughter's third birthday, but all I can keep thinking is "I can't believe it! I can't believe she's three!" and it's true. I really can't. I mean, wasn't she just like this:

and this:

and this:

a second ago?

(I swear, she was awake sometimes. Like this,

see?)

How did she get like this

so soon?

Happy birthday, baby girl. You changed everything. I'm so glad you're here.

I haven't been writing much lately, because I just haven't been inspired. The only things I can think of to write have to do with either: 1. adorable things my children have said/done, and while I know Charlotte-isms are one of this blog's more popular features, I don't want to come off as a family circus-cartoon knock-off; 2. political and/or social commentary that I decided long ago is going to be off-limits on this blog, because while I'm more than happy to talk about my nipples here, political matters are just too personal, apparently.

So I think I'm in the summer blogging doldrums. No wind of inspiration stirs to lift my writing sails, so I stagnate. And write hokey metaphor.

Each day around here is pretty much the same: wake up at the all-too-early hour of anywhere from 5 a.m. (if Sam's feeling extra sprightly) to 6:30 a.m. (if we're lucky). Feed Sam, who's usually chatty and smiley when he wakes up. Laugh at Sam's funny bellowing voice. Vow to capture Sam's funny verbalizations on video one of these days. Beg Jeff to get up with Sam and allow me a couple more hours of sleep. Once I do get up, the day unwinds with a series of naps and wake-ups/feedings for Sam and snacks/meals for Charlotte, along with playtime and books and walks to check on the garden. Occasional errands, trips to the library. Sneaking away to check my email while Charlotte reads to herself. Then suddenly it's 5 p.m., dinnertime, bathtime, bedtime. And I'm somehow worn out from all that inactivity, and can usually only summon the energy to watch a pirated movie on my computer or read a chapter or two in my latest book. Then off to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

So, everything's fine. My daughter is turning three in just over a week, and every morning she wakes up asking if it's her birthday party day. I got her a present I'm super excited about. My son will be six months old a few days after his sister's birthday, and where has the time gone? Really, where?

Pictures and videos and such coming this week. But until then, I'll be dropping anchor in quiet waters for a while.

She
-holds my hand on a walk of any length, even from the dining room to the kitchen.
-usually has sticky hands these days.
-calls the refrigerator "Mr. Cold."
-likes to be present for Pooh's diaper changes and wake-ups.
-calls her brother Pooh Bear.
-is my constant helper.
-has questions about everything. Everything.
-is teetering on the brink between toddler and little girl.
-goes to sleep entirely on her own, sleeps through the night, and wakes up happy almost every day. (What a change from a year ago!)
-has grubby feet and a new shin bruise or two at the end of every day (she has her mother's complexion for sure).

He
-wakes up happy, cooing and shrieking with joy, about 90% of the time.
-is cutting his first teeth, quite droolily.
-has the most genuinely happy smile I've ever seen.
-beams.
-follows his sister's movements like a flower follows the sun.
-has moisture rashes in his neck folds and in the folds behind his knees, places that rarely see the light of day.
-still has blue eyes, with a brown streak in the right eye.
-is now most definitely a blonde.
-loves to be in his exersaucer.
-has started baby cereal (verdict: meh).
-has not offered a repeat performance of rolling over (Charlotte was the same way).

This morning, I was sitting on the bottom step as Charlotte stood behind me, giving me a "scratch massage" by rubbing her hairbrush on my back. My bra strap caught her brush through my t-shirt a couple of times, and after the third time she stopped and grabbed the neck of my shirt, pulling it back and nearly choking me.

"What are you doing, Charlotte?" I asked, laughing.

"I'm lookin' for your bras. Are you wearing bras?" she replied.

"Yes, I'm wearing a bra," I answered, still laughing.

Jeff overheard the whole conversation, and interjected, "Charlotte, that's like the kind of thing I did with my babysitters when I was a kid."

"What!?" I said.

"You knew that!" Jeff said. "I've told you that before."

"Uh, no!"

"Yeah, I had one particular babysitter...I said, 'Hey, do you wear a bra? Cuz I wear a t-shirt,'" Jeff said. "I was hoping she'd engage me in a frank conversation about bras."

"Didn't happen?"

"No, sadly."

A nearly three-year-old who never watches TV is the ideal audience member for Pixar's new movie "Up" because no suspension of disbelief is required. There is no disbelief. Charlotte was really and truly convinced that everything that happened on the screen was, in fact, actually happening. Dogs really flew biplanes. Houses really soared above the clouds lifted only by balloons.

Obviously, this has its drawbacks. For one, the scary scenes (and there were a few) were actually terrifying to her, not entertaining. And at one point, Charlotte was so convinced by the animation that she exclaimed in terror that "the theater is moving, just like the house is moving!" Poor baby thought we, the audience members, were also hurtling through the air, headed straight for the ground at frightening speed.

Charlotte was not the only child frightened by the film, and she wasn't the youngest in the theater either. Both of those things made me feel a bit better about taking her to the movie. That, plus the fact that today she can only talk about "Up," about what happened in the movie, and what this character said, and what happened then, etc.

On the drive home from the theater yesterday, Charlotte said she'd like to see the movie again. "But...maybe when I'm a little bit older," she added. "Like maybe five."

Good idea.

Oh, summer. Don't ever leave.

I'm enjoying my summer vacation so much. And I think I can attribute that enjoyment to two things: 1. the vacation part (you know, being off from school); and 2. the summer part (as in, the season).

The first reason is obvious. I have time now to do all sorts of things I didn't have time for during the school year: taking long walks with the kids. Playing pointless games with Charlotte. Puttering around in my garden. Cleaning my house (!). Finally putting away my winter sweaters. Leisurely grocery shopping. Baking and cooking. Getting my haircut (finally). Coaxing Sam to roll over (still no repeat performance on this one).

And the second reason...well, summer is best for a lot of the things we're doing with all this extra time. Things like walks, and playing in the inflatable pool, and gardening, and baseball games. I think I'm getting lots of Vitamin D these days, and I feel better for it.

We spent this weekend with Jeff's parents, and it was the ideal Memorial Day weekend. Long walks, visiting the farmers' market (is that right? I'm never sure about the apostrophe in that one), grilling steaks, planting tomato plants, soaking in the wading pool. Yesterday we went to KC for Sam's first major-league game. The stars aligned for us: not only were the Tigers in town for the Tigs' visit, but they were playing an afternoon game on Memorial Day (better timing for the kiddos), it was a promotional game with $5 tickets, and it was Dollar Dog day. The rain held off until after the seventh inning, by which time the Tigers had already secured their W.

Hot Dog tally: Jana--2.667 dogs; Jeff--3 dogs; Charlotte--1.333 dogs; Sam--fiercely eyeing everyone else's hot dogs (time to start solids?)

Ah, summer.

Charlotte and her Grandma T. are playing a guessing game.

Nana: I'm thinking of someone with hairy legs...
Charlotte: Who is it?
Nana: He has hairy legs, and not alot of hair on top of his head.
Charlotte: Who is it?
Jana: Who do you think it could be, Charlotte?
Charlotte: It's Sam!

(P.S. It was Papa T.).

Scene: Charlotte and Jana are sitting at the table, eating egg sandwiches. Charlotte sniffs her sandwich.

Charlotte: This smells cheesy! And...hammy!
Jana: Hammy! (laughs)
Pause
Charlotte: You should write that up on your blog!

Around two p.m. yesterday, did you hear something you couldn't quite identify? Something sort of...breathy? Like a gigantic, huge sigh of relief? Well, that would have been me. Sorry if it blew your hair back or anything.

Yesterday afternoon I went onto campus with Charlotte to hand in my final seminar paper. My first year of my Ph.D. program is OVAH. If I knew how to insert audio clips, I'd place the Hallelujah Chorus here.

This year has been really, really amazing. Having an entire academic year off from teaching proved to be an enormous boon. I love teaching, but being able to devote myself entirely to my own studies and paper-writing, particularly this semester after Sam was born, was so helpful. Perhaps even essential. I must admit I'm more than a little nervous about how things are going to go next fall when I'm teaching two courses and taking two as well.

I have so many things I want to do this summer during my time off. I am taking a summer course (that looks to be amazing) from July 20-31, but until then I'm completely free. Well, not entirely. My to-do list grows daily. But it's a fun list. In addition to polishing and revising some of my essays to submit for publication, I have several art projects planned. There are places in Kansas City I want go as a family. Outings to parks, swimming pools, museums, baseball games. Plus I'm going to work on running again (check out See Tig Run for more on that) and will actually start cooking for my family again, too (see Tig Eats for details, there).

In addition, two days a week Jeff will be leaving the house bright and early to get in a full work day. One thing that has made this past academic year not only workable but actually pretty good was the fact that I have an amazing husband who stays at home with our kids while I am in school. I love that we don't have to pay for (and find!) daycare. I love that our kids get more daddy time in one week than some kids do in a month.

But Jeff has his goals, too, which have been put on the back burner while I'm in school. I know how hard it is to get work done in the evenings after the kids have gone to bed, especially after a long day spent caring for those kids. I hope that having some dedicated work days this summer will allow him to write and submit his poetry in a way he hasn't been able to this year.

Summer break! WOO!

I'm breaking radio silence to regale you with what will no doubt be a mish-mash of seemingly unrelated tidbits, because that's how I roll when I've been laboring over seminar papers nonstop for what seems like weeks. My critical texts have started entering my dreams. Last night in my dreams I was having a conversation about Anzia Yezierska with two dead theorists over cookies. At least the cookies were tasty.

So, Tulip Time was this past weekend. I have much to say about it but like I said I'm saving my coherence for my paper-writing, so all you get is this picture:

Oh my word, the Dutch cuteness is overwhelming me. Also, my baby has fat little feet.

And this one:

This last one deserves a bit of an anecdote. My kids are pictured with my cousin Amy's adorable son and stepdaughter Jack and Joclyn. While we were all gathered around snapping picture after picture, we were attracting a small crowd. Several random tourists wandering through Scholte Gardens were also taking pictures. Of our children. To whom they were not related. I was so busy trying to get the perfect shot that I nearly missed Jeff carefully dictating the kids' names and the spellings of their names to an old lady whose husband was snapping away with his Nikon. She wrote down the names on a tattered envelope above a little map she sketched of the kids' locations in the pictures. I can only imagine my children making their way into this random woman's scrapbook of her trip to Pella for Tulip Time 2009.

Will my children attain fame as archetypal Dutch kids? Only time will tell.

Also, today is this joker's birthday:

That would be the joker at the top, not the dejected-looking sweaty blond joker, or the fat sleeping baby joker.

Happy birthday, dad!

I'll be back as soon as I can crank out some academic genius. Now, to find some cookies and dead theorists...

She looks impossibly small, suddenly, next to all these other kids. Although they're only a year or two older than her, they seem to tower over her, all gangly arms and shrieking mouths and long legs. They clap along with the singing and punch each other in the arms and giggle and act like kids. I look down at her, at her rounded baby-cheeks, her wide blue eyes taking it all in. Her hand holding mine tightens as she looks around in awe.

We visited Charlotte's preschool yesterday. It's official: she'll be starting in the fall, three afternoons a week. The visit went really well. I loved the school (it's run by our church)--the teachers we met were very friendly, the facilities were new and clean and organized, they have special art and music classes, and even do YOGA (I want to go to preschool!).

But I had that moment...that cliched, Hallmark-card moment when I looked down at my baby and realized she's not a baby. Even though she seemed all round belly and toddler-face yesterday, I know that by next September, she'll be taller and leaner and more capable, and she'll be the little girl in braids hugging her friend spontaneously as they walk to their classroom. She'll be the one learning and painting and singing and making friends. That moment when I thought of her little hand slipping out of mine and into one of her little friends's as they walked down the hall...well, I got a little teary-eyed.

She'll love it, of course. I remember how excited I was for school when I was a little girl. She's been begging to go to school like our neighbor boy for months. September, to her, probably seems like an eternity away.

But for me, it'll come so quickly.

Keywords

Sam, 4 months old:

Active

Alert

Chubby

Happy

Spastic

Cooing

Drooling

Hungry

Smiling

Charlotte, 2 5/6ths years old:

Bossy

Creative

Curious

Demanding

Imaginative

Tender

Sensitive

Precocious

Funny

Bruiser

Sam had his four-month checkup today. He weighed in at 18 pounds 3 ounces (97th percentile) and was 27 inches long (off the charts here). He weighs almost a pound more than Charlotte did at that age, and is as tall as she was at nine months.

My favorite part of the appointment was when the doctor was checking his hip joints. He made a sound that caused the doctor to apologize to him. I said, "Oh, don't apologize. That's how he laughs." I can't describe the sound, although I've tried: it's sort of a throaty, grunty chuckle. It doesn't sound like a laugh, but it is. Sam's laughter is laugh-provoking. I should try to get it on video.

I've just spent part of the afternoon hanging pictures up on our dining room wall, collage-style. They're mostly pictures of the kids, although Jeff and I make a couple of appearances. One of Charlotte at nine months old stopped me in my tracks. I can see such a resemblance between her and Sam, and I can see in her chubby baby face the little girl she is now. I study Sam's face sometimes wondering how he'll look in five months, a year, three years.

Things are good. If the blog is a bit quiet over the next couple of weeks, it's because my semester is winding down...which, of course, means anything but winding down. I have two seminar papers to write, plus a number of smaller projects on my plate. So I'll try to post some Charlotte-isms and photos (here and at flickr) and other little tidbits while that's going on.

A bedtime conversation:

Jana: Goodnight, Charlotte!
Charlotte: Mama, I have a question.
J: Okay, what is it?
C: Ummmmmmm... (long pause). Do...you...like...animals?
J: Charlotte, are you stalling? Yes. I like animals. Goodnight.
C: But wait!
J: What, honey?
C: I want you to know. I DON'T like animals.
J: Okay. Noted. Goodnight, now, sweetie.

Minutes later, I hear Charlotte loudly singing in her room, NOT sleeping. I go to remind her it's bedtime.

Jana: Charlotte! It's bedtime! Time to be quiet and close your eyes and go to sleep!
Charlotte: What!?
J: It's bedtime, honey. You know that. Goodnight.
C: Mama, where is my candy (Easter candy we've been parsing out a little each day)?
J: It's downstairs, honey.
C: Is it in the heart bag?
J: Yes, Charlotte. Now, go to slee...
C: But is the bag hanging up!?
J: I think so honey. Now, it's time for bed.
C: But mama. PLEASE, make sure the bag is hanging up for me.
J: Will do. Good night!

So far, no more disturbances. But the night is still young!

Tomorrow morning, I run my first 5k. Click over to TigBlob to see how I'm feeling about that.

Last night, I was just about asleep, when a thought struck me: in just a couple of months, Sam will be ready to eat baby cereal!

Seriously, these are the kinds of things that keep me awake at night.

When Charlotte was a baby, every stage seemed to stretch out to infinity. Do you know what I mean? Brand new infancy, with its constant night-waking and nursing, felt at the time like it was lasting years. Charlotte smiled for the first time when she was just over a month old, as did Sam. With Charlotte, though, it seemed as though she had been around forever, just crying and sleeping and waking and eating and pooping for ages, before cracking that first smile. Sam's smile snuck up on me. Like, what's that? Wait, you're not old enough for that! (Consults Charlotte's baby book). Oh, I guess you are. Carry on, then.

Sam's fifteen weeks old. Yesterday I busted the exersaucer and bumbo seat out and he's used both of them, briefly. Again, it felt like Charlotte was centuries old before she broke in those things. Sam feels fresh out of the hospital and he's trying to sit up! Chortling! Conversing in a secret baby language consisting of coos and grunts! How did this happen!?

That's an approximation of what went through my head last night as I tried, again, to fall asleep. Those of you who are parents to more than one child will assure me this is normal, but for me it feels anything but. It's surprising, but it's all brand new all over again.

One of the nice things about having friends and family visit* is being able to pose for a family picture without having to set up the tripod and run back to the couch while the self-timer flashes. Thanks to my friend Mindi, who spent the weekend with us, for this picture:

What's that adorable dress Charlotte's wearing? I'm glad you asked! Here it is, closer up:

My mom made this dress for her. I picked out the fabric and the pattern (find the pattern here). My mom does a great job sewing, and I always think what she makes is beautiful, but this has to be my favorite project of hers yet. Way to go, Nana!

*Another perk includes having someone else able take some of the hits from Charlotte's constant barrage of requests to read to her. Mindi really earned her stripes in that regard this weekend.

It's 1 a.m. I'm up working on a paper proposal, due tomorrow at 7 p.m. Instead of working, I'm thinking about: Sam's cheeks. Charlotte's singing. Jeff, who is heading home from a Bonnie Prince Billy concert. Baseball...

And that last one suddenly makes me remember a story Jeff told me when we were dating. We were talking about prank phone calling people. The basics: is your refrigerator running? etc. Then Jeff tells me about a phone call that wasn't a prank, but was totally in earnest. Somehow, 12-year-old Jeff finds the phone number for Orel Hershiser in Michigan and calls the number.

Orel Hershiser III answers the phone. Jeff asks "Is Orel there?" It doesn't take the man long to figure out this 12-year-old baseball fanatic is referring to his slightly more famous son, Orel Hershiser IV. This Orel, sadly, was not home, as he no longer lived with his parents in Michigan. Jeff recalls having a brief but pleasant conversation with Orel's father, though.

I love this story.

New Video!

New video featuring both kids: Sam and Charlotte Tell Tales, Or Dueling Storytimes

Employee's Name: Sam Tig
Title: Second-born
Hire date: December 27, 2008

SUPERVISOR'S INSTRUCTIONS: The supervisor is to meet with the employee to discuss the employee's job performance at the three-month mark.

Forward a copy of the completed form to Human Resources.

OPTION 1: EMPLOYEE MEETS EXPECTATIONS IN ALL AREAS

Employee performs all significant tasks according to expectations. Work is performed with
expected supervision. (Removal of probationary status - provide signatures and dates below.)

OPTION 2: EMPLOYEE MEETS EXPECTATIONS IN MOST AREAS; SOME IMPROVEMENT NEEDED

Employee performs most significant tasks according to expectations. However, some tasks are performed below par. Employee occasionally requires higher levels of supervision. (Probationary status remains in effect until six-month review.)

SUPERVISOR'S NOTES:
In his three months at Tig Co., Sam has managed to perform several tasks according to employer expectations, specifically: nursing (included within this job title also: chin acquisition, burping/spitting up, general weight gain); diaper filling, type 1 and type 2; general adorableness (smiling, cooing, and chubbiness fall within this category as well). In addition, Sam should be commended for his early attempts at sitting up and what appear to be moves toward teething, if levels of drool production attest.

However, Sam's initial promise as a good sleeper has recently proved premature. Employees at Tig Co. are expected to learn to sleep without supervisor's assistance. After a grace period where Sam's supervisor instructed him in the procedure and expectations for sleep, Sam continued to require supervisor intervention. In addition, Sam's need for supervisor assistance has escalated in recent days.

COMMENTS AND RECOMMENDATION:
OPTION 2. I have discussed this evaluation and my recommendation for this employee is continued employment. However, a six-month review is necessary in order to determine if employee has resolved sleep issues, and if employee continues to perform other tasks at appropriate levels.

Nothing much to say, except OOOOH those thighs. So squeezable.

3 months, 16 pounds 7 ounces.

Today, Sam is three months old. To celebrate, he caught his sister's cold and decided to remind us what he was like at three weeks. In other words: crying, waking up every two hours, boycotting naps. Fun! Lesson learned, Samuel. We appreciate you as a three-month-old.

So I'm tired and don't have much to say that's clever and witty or even interesting. However, Charlotte does. So here's a transcript Jeff typed up (along with introductory explanation) of their conversation over dinner:

"This is a transcript (or as close as i could get) of Charlotte 'reading' the player bios off the backs of some baseball cards. (Jana awesomely brought home 3 packs of 2009 Topps cards this afternoon for her, C, and I to each open. At first I thought, Grumble...these were probably way too expensive - 50 cents a pack, in my day - and they're bound to be worthless; but then I spent the next hour looking at them, reading stats, etc. Charlotte picked up on the general sound/formula of the bios from the ones I read aloud, and then at the dinner table decided it was her turn. While the info varied [to a degree], the 'player' name was the same for each card she picked up and read. She must have [mis]heard me read Conor Jackson's card...):

"Michael Jackson knows how to walk and talk when he sneezes and burps and plays ball."

"Michael Jackson knows how to pat ladies' backs and say Hey Ladies, you have a great big tummy. You write that on my blog." [That last part may have been a side-note to me, rather than a Michael quote.]

"Michael Jackson knows how to sheff [chef?] people's face away." [Sheff, Charlotte? "Sheff mean like to push their face away."] I think she means "shove"--Jana

"Michael Jackson knows how to walk and talk and play ball and throw balls and books and throw apples and rescues and pencils and laps and cameras."

"Michael Jackson knows how to read books and drink milk and drink strawberries and drink bananas."

"Michael Jackson knows how to play with toys."

"Michael Jackson knows how to play with mans and womans and strawberries and cans and coconut milk and butter and milk and crackers and crackers and crackers again and crackers again."

"Michael Jackson does all those things but also he can toot."

"That all Michael Jackson can do."

"Walk with Michael Jackson."

[pause...short break to eat; not much interest in food]

[What does this card say, Charlotte?]

"It says, 'Hey Ladies, you have big tummy.'"

"Michael Jackson knows how to play ball at the stadium and get popcorn."

"'Always be a good girl,' Michael Jackson said."

"Michael Jackson knows how to play a game called B-I-B-L-E."

[The End]

Twelve Things About My Twelve-Week-Old

1. He sleeps 70% of the time. I figured it out.

2. The other 30% is typically spent eating, smiling, or looking around bemusedly.

3. He's huge. I hope to have stats later this week, but I'm guessing well over 15 pounds.

4. He loves his sister. He cranes his neck to see her when he hears her voice.

5. He hates baths. Bathtime is one of the few times you'll hear Sam scream.

6. The other time is diaper changing times, although not every time.

7. His hair looks a bit lighter than it did when he was born. I'd say it's more of an auburn now.

8. He take a pacifier, and seems to be trying to figure out how to suck his thumb.

9. He has started cooing, and it's the cutest sound in the world.

10. He's a grunter--grunts in his sleep and when he's awake just for fun. He has a repertoire of grunts, including a very specific one that signals he's about to poop.

11. He belches louder than any baby I've ever met.

12. He's twelve weeks old now. I can't believe it's only been twelve weeks--I feel like he's been in our lives forever.

I haven't been feeling very inspired to write lately. Here are a few Charlotte-isms to get you through until my muse decends once again.

Jeff, Charlotte and I are sitting downstairs. The sounds of Sam stretching and groaning as he wakes up come over the monitor. One sound is particularly funny, and sounds especially anguished, and I say: Was that Sam?
Charlotte: (she insists on calling Sam "Walter") Walter.
Jeff: Yep. That was him. Old Man Walt.
Pause. Then,
Charlotte: Walter isn't old! Walt is new! Walt is a brand-new baby!

Charlotte and I are playing at the toddler open-gym. She sees a pregnant woman.
Charlotte: What does that lady have in her tummy?
Jana: She has a baby in her tummy. Just like mommy did.
Charlotte: And your tummy is still big!
Jana: Uh, thanks.

In the car:
Charlotte: You're a good driver, mama.
Jana: Thanks!
Charlotte: When I get big, I will be a good driver, too. And I will drive all the way to Iowa! And there will be animals there, and they will be magical. And the animals will say, "Hello, Mrs. Whosit!"

While digging the plot for our garden:
Charlotte: This is the roof of the house, and inside there will be bunnies and grasshoppers. This is their living room (pointing to a particular chunk of sod) and this is their carpet.

Charlotte toots.
Charlotte: I'm sorry.
Jeff: You don't have to apologize.
Charlotte: I'm sorry I love my own toots!

Sam was bapitized this weekend. There was cake. And this happened:
And here's a lovely picture of Sam's smiling face, and his two papas.

More later this week.

Ten Weeks

When Sam was just a few weeks old, ten weeks was often the magical number floated around in conversations about sleeping and eating and crying. People tried millions of different things to try to get their children to sleep, to stop crying, to nurse better; the list of options was a mile long. But almost everyone said "it got better around ten weeks."

The past couple of days were beautiful--warm, sunny, the smell of spring just starting to tinge the air. We spent lots of time outside playing. Sam huffed and gasped and cooed as the breeze blew on his face.

At some point during the weekend I was holding Sam while Jeff and Charlotte explored the backyard (one corner of which has been dubbed "the woods"). I looked down at the little guy on my lap who was looking around with a bright and pleasant look on his face and thought, "ten weeks. They were right."

He sleeps well. Some nights he's still up more often than I would like, and occasionally he'll resist going back to bed after his 3 a.m. feeding, but those are exceptions, not the rule. He naps well, and longer than his sister ever did. We can usually count on at least one nap that lasts longer than two hours every day. He eats well. Charlotte always seemed to be nursing, but Sam is a quick and efficient eater. He rarely cries, although he is still not a fan of diaper changes or baths. His gas is still an issue (and I know babies's gas isn't supposed to stink, but MAN, Sam didn't get that memo) but he seems less perturbed by it and it almost never interrupts his sleep.

So: to all you new moms out there, hold on. Ten weeks is just around the corner.

15 Albums/Artists

This meme has been floating around on facebook, and I thought I'd duplicate my posting here, too.

The idea is to post about fifteen albums or artists that have influenced your life in some way. Here goes:

1. The Annie Soundtrack: This is one of the first records I remember owning, and I loved the songs as much as I loved the movie. My cousin Amy and I would put on our own performances singing and dancing along with Annie and the other orphans. My favorites at the time were "Hard Knock Life," and, of course, "Tomorrow." Now I realize how amazing any song featuring Carol Burnett as Mrs. Hannigan was; "Little Girls," for example, is hilarious and so well-done.

2. Amy Grant, Age to Age: I had this one as a record, too, and when I just now checked the song list on Amazon to make sure I was thinking of the right album, I not only recognized all the songs, but could sing most of them again. I played the heck out of this one, most likely soulfully closing my eyes and swaying as I sang along with "El-Shaddai." Amy Grant was also my first concert experience; I went with a group of girls in my class (I think this was fifth grade?) to celebrate Livija Shannon's birthday. It was rad. I think I wore something totally killer, like stirrup pants.

3. Mozart: If I were really being honest, I would put down Warner Brothers cartoons and a rickety old Hooked on Classics albums as being my real introductions to classical music, but I think it's fair to trace my interest in classical back to a tape my parents had of Mozart. It was a pretty standard $3.99 at the checkout style assemblage of Mozart's better-known stuff, but it knocked my socks off when I listened to it again and again on my walkman (probably in the dark, while thinking sadly about how no one understood me...this was junior high, after all). Of course I liked Eine Kleine Nachtmusik like everyone else, but my absolute favorite was the Lacrimosa from Mozart's Requiem mass. When I was in high school, I had the pleasure of singing this one with our choir and choirs from other Christian schools around Iowa...singing en masse one of the creepiest, most mournful songs I knew was pretty amazing. I also went to a performance of Mozart's Requiem at the Radcliffe Camera in Oxford, which was phenomenal. I got chills when I heard those first strings of the Lacrimosa.

4. Cranberries, Everybody Else is Doing It, So Why Can't We: Of all the standard top-forty stuff I listened to when I was in junior high and high school, I remember being blown away by the (relatively) crazy sounds of the Cranberries. I just thought her voice was so haunting and the songs seemed to be about something really important, like war and love and strife. I still occasionally listen to this one, along with No Need to Argue.

5. The Beatles. Is it cliched to like the Beatles? Probably. The oldies station out of Des Moines would broadcast a show called the Beatles Brunch on Sundays. It was always on when we got home from church, and I would tune in on my stereo in my bedroom and listen as I changed out of my church clothes and waited for Sunday dinner to be ready. The show featured not only songs but interviews with the Beatles and clips of news stories from the time periods when the songs were released. I think it was during this time period (junior high and high school, again) when I was listening to Beatles Brunch that I decided I really should have been a sixties kid (not really knowing what that meant, of course).

6. Simon & Garfunkel: I "discovered" Simon & Garfunkel midway through high school. I was familiar with the two most-played radio songs, "The Boxer" and "Mrs. Robinson," but the Greatests Hits tape I bought had all these amazing songs that I had never heard: "Homeward Bound" and "America" remain two of my favorites. I listened to my tape on my walkman on our family vacation to the Ozarks and on the long bus ride to Rhode Island (for the CRC convention) and still associate the songs with traveling and road trips.

7. Bob Dylan: My freshman year of college, I took on the task of educating myself in two areas to impress a boy. The first was baseball; I memorized some stats and learned the differences between the American and National leagues and watched games and generally learned to appreciate the sport. The second was Bob Dylan. This boy was going through a period of Dylan obsession and was actually writing a research paper on Dylan for his history class, so I thought it important to familiarize myself with this musician. I can't say that my original interest was pure, then, but my love of Dylan grew into something separate from my relationship with the boy who (SPOILER ALERT) I would later marry.

Writing about Dylan could be its own entry, so I'll keep it brief. I can't name a favorite song, although if forced at gun point I'd probably say "Like a Rolling Stone," which is a little cliched, I know, but really it's such an amazing song. But what about "Mr. Tambourine Man," and "Love Minus Zero/No Limit" and "Visions of Johanna," and, and...oh, it's too overwhelming. The whole Desire album! I can't stop!

Dylan is also the only musician I have deemed to see in concert multiple times. I don't go to a lot of concerts, but I've seen Bob live four times (with Jeff every time).

8. Cat Stevens: Another college discovery. I think my love of Cat began when Jeff and I listened to his brother Steve's greatest hits CD whilst necking at his parents's house early in our courtship. (Sorry for the details there). This music became the soundtrack of my early relationship with Jeff but also seamlessly became the backdrop for so many other experiences: traveling to England, working late at night on my old Mac computer at our house in Grand Rapids, etc.

9. Dar Williams, The Mortal City: When I was in high school, I tuned in somehow to the public radio station broadcast out of the University of Northern Iowa. The signal was weak, and I could only hear it in certain parts of the house or particular areas of town if I was driving around, but this is where I was introduced to folk artists and lesser known world musicians for the first time. I heard Dar Williams singing "Iowa" live (from Iowa City, I think) during the summer before I left for college, and her music became emblematic of the kind of new, independent woman I thought I would become while studying at college. I still love her music although I now realize how embarrassingly hippie-chic it is.

10. Elliott Smith, XO: One night while I was in college I saw this shaggy guy performing a moody, melancholy song on Late Night with David Letterman. That song was from the Good Will Hunting soundtrack, and that shaggy guy was Elliott Smith. I bought the album XO not long after and played it to death. My favorite song from the album was "Waltz #2 (XO)" which I put on every single mixed tape I made in college. When Smith killed himself a few years ago, I went back and listened to the album and realized how dark and depressing it really was, but when I think about these songs I get happy, because I associate them with some of the best times of my life.

11. Moby, Play: I'm kind of embarrassed by lots of the entries on this list, and Moby is one of them. Look, I realize that I'm not really hip regarding musical artists; I don't keep up with who's new and cool or who's indie and undiscovered. It seems like a lot of work to me. I know Moby isn't real techno or whatever, but I loved his music and can't hear this CD without thinking of my time in England, when I bought it at a Virgin megastore. I have a very strong memory of listening to "Porcelain" on the bus trip to Hampton Court Palace and knowing I would remember that moment forever. Ack! It sounds so lame when I write it!

12. The Jazz Station: This is a set of four CDs I bought from some random vendor at the Portabello Road market in London. It was ridiculously cheap, like 15 pounds or something, which probably meant it was an unlicensed compilation. I didn't know much about jazz (and honestly still don't) but this collection was the perfect intro for a newbie. Dinah Washington, Miles Davis, Etta James...a song or two from each of the big names. Another one I can't think about without thinking of England.

13. Patty Griffin: Another artist I discovered via the public radio station in Iowa. I heard her song "Sweet Lorraine" the summer before Jeff and I got married, and sat in the parking lot of the store I was going to to listen to the rest of her live set they were playing. I was late for something but the little slip of paper on which I scrawled "Patty Griffin" once the announcer said her name was more important. I have several of her CDs and am never disappointed. This woman can belt it out.

14. Beastie Boys: I was a late-comer to the Beastie Boys, never listening to them during their heyday in the eighties and nineties. Jeff was a fan, and I became one after their 2004 album, To the 5 Boroughs, came out. One of the best times of my life was their concert we attended in 2004. General admission, one row from the crush barrier, within spitting distance of MCA. The story of how I threw a punch at a frat boy with a neck-head and sustained a cracked rib as a result has become legendary. If Ad-Rock ever shows up at my door asking me to come away with him, I can't be held responsible for the result. I'm sorry, Jeff.

15. Neutral Milk Hotel, In an Aeroplane Over the Sea: Jeff brought home this CD in late 2005 when I was early in my pregnancy with Charlotte, and wanted to play it for me right away, but I was constantly nauseated and tired and wasn't giving him the reception he wanted, so we had a big dumb fight about it and I forgot about the amazing CD he couldn't stop talking about for months. It wasn't until spring that I happened to pop the CD in on my own, and holy cow, what was this insane, amazing music? When Jeff was gone over spring break and I was writing my final papers for school, my laptop edged out of my lap by my growing stomach, I listened to NMH almost constantly. When I listen to the songs on this album, I think of that amazing time in our lives when anything was possible and so much was on the horizon. The title track is quite possibly my favorite song of all time.

Whew! That's it, although I thought of more I could have included as I wrote.

Charlotte is playing outside on the patio as I order garden seeds online (I'm right by the patio door, so it's safe, don't worry). The neighbor boy comes around the fence.

Charlotte: I was waiting for you to come over! I was calling your name when you weren't here! I kept calling and calling, and then you came! Hello! I like the picture on your shirt!

This boy is five, and the sun rises and sets on him as far as she's concerned. That feeling of my heart in my throat? Yeah, I'm feeling that regularly around here.

I don't get out much with just Charlotte these days. If I'm out of the house, it's either with the whole family or just by myself. Today I had a meeting at school I had forgotten about, and to give Jeff a break, I brought Charlotte with me. It was a lunch meeting, pretty low-key, so I knew she wouldn't cause much of a disturbance.

I need to set up more mom-and-daughter dates because I had the best time. When we're all together as a family, I have to admit that I probably don't pay the most careful attention to Charlotte at all times. I certainly don't catch everything she says, and I most likely miss her first (and second, and, let's face it, third) request that I read a book to her, put together a puzzle with her, get her a snack, take care of this huge booger on her finger, etc.

But in the car on the way to lunch, I got to give Charlotte (and driving, of course) my full attention. I think it took her a minute or two to realize that it was just me and her in the car. Then she launched into a long-running commentary/story/song that lasted the entire ride. I don't think she took a breath. Occasionally I was called upon to respond (a simple "wow" or "really" or "cool" would suffice) but then she was off on the next tangent. Subjects covered included: books, and why they are amazing; birdies, and how they get up there in the trees and the sky; why there was a picture of a pig on that restaurant and why we should go eat there sometime; the library, and why it is the best place in town; poopy diapers in the context of Sam and others; why Charlotte's original songs are better than covers (her terms, I'm serious); how she's growing to be so big that soon she won't fit in the car. And that list is by no means exhaustive.

The last one, about how she's growing so big, is true in a way that makes my throat catch sometimes. Just seven months ago she was still sleeping in a crib. She still wore diapers. She ate in her high chair. We still had to put her to sleep via an intensive, hands-on process every night. (Every. Single. Night. HORRORS!) She was too short for most of her 2t clothing.

In the six months we've lived in Lawrence, she's transformed into a little girl, a baby no longer. She sleeps in her big-girl bed, wears underpants, eats at the table in a booster seat, and goes to sleep on her own with nary a complaint. She's still a little on the short side for her age, but she now wears most 2t pants without us having to cuff up the bottoms, and is even wearing a few 3t pants. She's outgrown most of her 2t shirts. Her size-six shoes are starting to pinch.

But in addition to all those things are the less tangible signs of her growth. She's just...bigger and older and less baby-like. She interacts like a child, not a toddler. She asks insightful questions and observes things I wouldn't expect her to notice. It's all amazing to me, and yet so commonplace.

Mister Cheeks

Also answers to Senor Mejillas, Lord Chauncy Jowls

I had plans to write a long post today but Sam had a terrible night of sleep last night and is boycotting naps today, so I think this picture will suffice instead.

Sorry about leaving the creepy eyeball photos up there for so long!

I'm just back from Sam's two-month check-up. Over the past few weeks, I've noticed Sam getting...cheekier. Plumper. Downright fat. I was right: 14 pounds, 2 ounces and 24 1/2 inches tall--94th percentile for both. And his tiny head is growing, too: up from the 10th percentile to the 30th this month. Whew.

Two nights ago, I came home from my night class around 10 p.m. Sam had been in bed for an hour and a half. I did some work on my computer for a while, and then headed up to bed. But instead of sleeping, I stayed up talking to Jeff and reading. I was anticipating a midnight wakeup, you see.

Finally, around 1:30 a.m., I gave up waiting for Sam to wake up and went to sleep. I woke bleary-eyed and achey-chested (sorry!) and rolled over to see the clock: 4:45 a.m. What!? I lay there for a moment before hearing him sigh a little over the monitor, saving me from having to get up to go check on him. The next time I woke up it was to Sam crying. This time it was 6 a.m. He had slept through the night, something his big sister didn't do until she was nearly 7 months old!

Of course, that feat was not replicated last night. But still!

I hope to post some pictures of my giant baby tonight. But for now, duty calls!

I've been thinking about eye color lately as I've watched Sam's eyes shift and change. I have a feeling they'll eventually turn more like Jeff's eyes, and I wanted to document that muddy baby-blue color they are now. So here are all of our eyes for your perusal.

I find it interesting that even though I would say Charlotte and I both have blue eyes, they are pretty different shades of blue. Mine have more green in them, while Charlotte's are more of a true blue.

Also, if you asked Jeff what color his eyes are, he'd probably say brown. But doesn't it look like he has just as much green in his eyes as brown? They're really tri-colored: a ring of darker blue-green around the outside, then the greenish-gold, then a nice golden brown in the middle.

It was one year ago last week that I drove up to our house after school and saw, leaning against our front door, a fed-ex envelope. The envelope was from the University of Kansas, and inside was an acceptance letter from the graduate school.

This year is, of course, presenting its own challenges. Juggling parenting a toddler and newborn with getting my PhD is difficult, of course. Add to that my desire to get back into shape, keep my house relatively clean, and on occasion cook a meal and you've got a busy, sometimes hectic and stressful schedule.

But I would take my life right now over what I was going through a year ago a hundred times over. The anxiety, the daily, stomach-churning, ego-ripping anxiety of waiting to hear back from grad programs was one of the most intensely stressful periods of my life (probably second only to the process of applying to grad school). When I got my first acceptance last year, I felt enormous relief, in part because that meant that no matter what, I'd be going on to get my PhD somewhere, and that meant I would never, ever have to go through the process of applying again.

No more standardized tests! No more filling out online applications with redundant information! No more anxious emails to graduate secretaries trying desperately to clarify the requirements for applying! No! More!

Of course, in a few years when I complete my PhD, I will have the stressful experience of having to find a job. But let's not speak of that!

I plan on writing more about the whole process I went through last year a bit more in the coming weeks. Suffice it to say that I'm very, very happy with where I ended up, and ultimately with how the entire process of applying, visiting, and selecting a school went.

This is too good not to share. Another Charlotteism:

Charlotte: I tooted, mama!
Me: You sure did! Whoa! Where did you get such stinky buns?
Charlotte, whispering: God made my buns.
Me: *laughs*
Charlotte: He did! God made them stinky like that!

Seven Weeks

We're all smiles around here, and not just Sam. I heard things would get easier after the six week mark passed, and so far that's mostly true. Yesterday Sam turned seven weeks old, and in the past two nights he's slept really well. Friday night, he went to bed at 7:30 p.m., woke to eat at 11:30 p.m., went back to bed and slept until 3 a.m., and then ate and went right back to sleep until 8 a.m. Last night wasn't quite as wonderful (he woke up three times total and didn't want to go back to bed one of those times) but overall he seems to be understanding that the night time is the right time for sleep.

And of course we're loving the smiles we get from him. I remember feeling so rewarded by those first dopey smiles when Charlotte was a baby, and the feeling hasn't changed the second time around. I see that big toothless grin and I turn into a cooing moron. "Ohhh, who's a sweet little man?" I ask. "Sam is!" I answer myself needlessly. And so on.

He's also growing like a weed. Last week I had to box up all the 0-3 months clothes and bust out the 3-6 months outfits. The little owl outfit you see in the picture above is a 6 months size, and won't fit for much longer. Charlotte's been stalled out in 2t for so long now, I've forgotten what it's like to have a child who grows! He has his two-month checkup in a couple weeks, and I'm curious to see what he weighs.

Nothing to report otherwise. Charlotte is sleeping well, and generally behaving like a toddler (read: annoying sometimes, adorable others, delightful always). Jeff's hair keeps getting longer and longer, which for him means his leonid 'fro keeps getting more and more gigantic. I clipped a barbershop coupon for him, but so far he hasn't taken the hint. I might have to resort to publishing incriminating photos here.

Happy Valentine's Day!

More tomorrow...

Some Charlotteisms:

Charlotte is doing a little dance. Jeff asks her about it.
Charlotte: It's a promitized dance about a funny toy store with lots of candy in it and ice cream in there too.

Jeff is feeding Sam a bottle.
Charlotte: Heidi needs her bottle too.
J: Heidi needs some milk, too?
C: No, water. I pump for water, too. (Baring chest) Milk on this side, water on this side.

While we were listening to NPR on the radio, Charlotte suddenly belts out from the backseat: Budget crunch!

After dining out today:
Charlotte: We went to Applebeast, Sam!

Six Weeks

Everything is supposed to get easier after six weeks, or so I've read. I'm hoping this is true. Although to be honest things are usually manageable, really. I just would like a bit more sleep, and to know Sam will nap regularly during the day and sleep at night without being cradled in the loving (yet tired) arms of a parental unit, preferably the one with the mammaries. But that will all come with time, I know.

Today was another beautiful day in a series of sunny, warm days. We had the windows open and were all enjoying the fresh air sweeping out the scent of stale diaper. While I was changing Sam's diaper in his room with Charlotte acting as wingman, the wind picked up a bit and suddenly I heard a terrible crash. I turned around and, well, this is what I saw:

Yes, that's the window in Sam's room, and that's his bouncy seat, and, WHY YES, that IS a gigantic shard of glass positioned right where a baby would be if he were in the seat! After I checked Charlotte and Sam and myself to make sure we didn't have any errant pieces of window sticking out of our jugulars or anything, we cleared out of the room. Jeff called the landlord and left a message intended to convey the urgency of the situation. To his credit, the landlord responded promptly, and sent our maintenance man over to clean up the mess and replace the window. We plan on having the other windows looked at, too, to make sure we aren't positioning ourselves under potential guillotines every time we sit near a window.

The other big adventure of the day was that we started Sam on cloth diapers. I wanted to wait to start these until he wasn't having twenty bowel movements a day. Lately he's been pooping only once a day, maybe even every other day. I neglected to think about the fact that it had, indeed, been a while since his last poop when I donned the first fuzzi bunz diaper this afternoon. He quickly pooped just a modest amount in that one. I changed him, and was disappointed only an hour later to feel a bit of wetness seeping through his jammies. When I went to change his diaper, I blacked out momentarily. Not only was the entire diaper chock full of poo, his entire left pajama leg was brimming with it. As a result, Sam celebrated his six-week birthday with a nice, full-immersion bath.

Nothing like poo stories to bring in the readers!

It's 6:22 a.m., a time of day I normally would not choose to be awake. But the past three days have found me awake at around this time, sometimes earlier, and to be honest it hasn't been terribly unpleasant. It's quiet at six in the morning, and still dark. I get to peacefully drink a cup of tea at my desk while Sam half-sleeps in his swing for a half-hour or so.

We're falling into a bit of a routine here, a routine I know will change as the weeks go on and Sam's habits transform. But the routine we're in right now isn't bad. It's manageable, and in a comforting way predictable. For the past few days, Sam's been napping every few hours during the day, usually for an hour, sometimes for more, in his crib in his bedroom. Usually these naps take place around 8 or 9 a.m., noon, and 3 p.m. Sometimes he'll take another evening nap around 7 or 8 p.m. At night, he's been settling down between 11 p.m. and midnight, sometimes sleeping fairly quietly for a couple of hours. It's from 4 a.m. on that gets a little rough. He's still very noisy and grunty, and those hours seem to be a no-go zone for sleeping anywhere except on someone or in his swing. So I've been getting up after feeding him, putzing around downstairs while I wait for Charlotte to wake up. After I get Charlotte up and dressed and get her a little breakfast, Sam's usually ready to eat again. When he's done, I wake up Jeff to take over and head back to bed for a couple hours.

This works well if I don't mess around and try to go to sleep right away at night when Sam falls asleep. That way I can get a few hours earlier in the night, which, cobbled together with my morning nap, usually sustains me through the day. It's not the way I'd like things to be permanently, but I know this isn't permanent, so I'm not bothered by it.

One way we seem to have dealt with the evening fussiness/colic was by my giving up the idea of getting any work done after Charlotte goes to bed. This was difficult to let go of, as my evenings post-Charlotte-bedtime were always my time. But something about being downstairs, being held while I pecked away at the computer or tried to read on the couch, drove Sam nuts. When I gave up one evening a few nights ago and just went upstairs into the quiet, dim bedroom, Sam relaxed and, eventually, fell asleep. Sometimes I sneak back downstairs during that evening nap and do a few work-related things. Other times I just make some dinner or chat with Jeff.

I can't overstate how wonderful it is when Sam naps in his crib during the day. I know this is a basic thing, but it's something we didn't hit on with Charlotte until it was too late and she was ruined for naps: you can set your child down! Really! You don't have to hold them 24/7!

Now, sometimes this doesn't work. We lay Sam down and he wakes up and cries. I try not to freak out about this, but to just try again in a half-hour. Usually it takes, eventually. And then I get an hour to play with Charlotte, do my workout DVD, shower, etc.

I wish I had a tape recorder right now to capture the noises he's making in his swing. The grunts and groans are just unearthly. I can tell you right now that this kid is moving into his own room much earlier than Charlotte did (four and a half months, if I remember correctly).

But despite his insane sounds and occasional crying spells, Sam is turning out to be pretty okay. He has started smiling, and nothing lifts my heart more than that ridiculously cute toothless grin. He's most likely to share his smiles with his sister, by whom he is absolutely captivated. When he hears her little voice, his head swivels and he tries to hone in on her location. When she pays attention to him, he grins and opens his eyes as wide as they'll go, trying to take it all in.

And that's what I'm doing these days, too...just trying to take it all in, to remember all of this as the days pass and he gets bigger.

Monkey See...

Me: What are you doing, Charlotte?

Charlotte: Pumpin' some milk for my baby.

Ah, of course. Naturally.

Charlotte has been very into telling stories lately. Sometimes these stories are a mishmash of her day's events; often they incorporate bits and pieces of the books we read to her. We decided to capture the experience for you on video. Here it is:

Charlotte's Story Time (featuring a cameo from Sam!)