2008 will be so great

Dear Luciya,

Well, the year of your birth is drawing to a close.

This year will forever be held in that special heart chamber reserved for warm and fuzzy memories, as so much has happened and so much has changed.

2007 was the year I watched my body morph and grow and move with your tiny kicks and jabs, until I pushed you out at almost midnight on Maui in mid-April.

It was the year I packed your tiny self to Idaho, where we've witnessed three true seasons and melded your daddy's family and mine. Ours.

Your uncle got divorced, your Tutu wrote a book, your daddy had his first snowfall, your hair fell out and grew back in (mullet #2), you gained 9 pounds in 8 months, you flew on six airplanes, your future husband Jenner was born premature (but is now bigger than you!), went camping, skiing, and to the zoo, caught your first cold and a touch of the flu, road-tripped to Sun Valley, saw your great-grandma five times, slept a lot sometimes and others not at all, transformed from blob to professional human heartstring-tugger, and had your first taste of McDonald's strawberry milkshake.

Whew!

2007 has been the Year of Luciya. You, my dear, have made it magical and special, happy and promising.

And 2007 was rounded out by your daddy getting hit in the face by a drunk homeless man and possibly going to the hospital for a broken nose. I don't know yet; I'm awaiting the next phone call.

I love you, Luciya!

Love,
Mama

Family of the Year

greeting seasons

very merry from shemmy on Vimeo.

"the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave a luster of midday to objects below..."

* * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *

Ten pm and the atmosphere's brighter than dawn
From my window I see the whole length of the lawn

The clouds reflect Christmas lights, giving a glow
To the soft-fallen, still, crisp, and lightly packed snow

It quilts frozen ground in a powdery blanket
If I could I'd embrace the cold earth, and I'd thank it

For showing me grace and my breath on the air
Which carries whispers of appreciative prayer

As a child I'd look through the pane past my reflection
To the stillness and wonder of snow's clean perfection

And here we are now in our home safe and warm
As the earth holds its winter breath after a storm

And the peace that has settled gives my heart quiet thrill
Now the snow has stopped falling and the white land is still
Still.

* * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *

-ebn

who, me?

eLLe - 8 months

Dear Luciya,

Happy 8-month birthday!


When I was 7 or 8 years old and had my "daycare" under the stairs at our home (with all my Cabbage Patches and other dolls neatly lined in their beds along the wall, complete with daily feeding charts and health information (including one doll who suffered from "azma"), most of the babies were 8 months old.

Why? I guess I just must have known, even at that young age, that eight months was the perfect age for babies. I mean, look at you. You're bright, happy, communicative (in your own way) and a sweet lil' mover and shaker.

My, how you move. With the crawling came the up-pulling, the getting-into, the exploration of every nook and cranny. You have been such a funny little rump shaker that it is hard to capture a good picture of you these days. Oh wait, here's one:

Well, who's a big fan of naked time? NAKED TIME!! Your little nudey butt crawling all over (and trying on daddy's boots) is my new favorite image. We have been taking some well-cherished extra nakey minutes before bath time just so you can wriggle in the joy of it all.

Bathing is still a favorite activity of yours. And bedtime, which comes right after, is getting better. For the most part you squeal for a bit after being put down but the duration has subsided significantly. And I am getting better at letting you cry it out for a while. Which isn't to say it has gotten easier; I'm just more comfortable knowing that you are going to sleep, and you're going to sleep fine.

Until you wake up and realize that since you're awake you'd better practice pulling yourself up and standing. And then you don't know how to get back down. Three or four nights this week I've gone into your room about 3 hours after I put you to bed to see your sad, tired, confused little face crying over the crib railing because you stood up and now you can't get back down. It's just so hard sometimes!

You had a case of the flu last week in which you filled your diapers with so much diarrhea that we took you to the doctor. Someone caught her first virus! Dr. Angie thinks that this may have contributed to your nighttime pukeys, too. Yes, my dear, all in all you have been a delightfully poopy, pukey, fussy, messy, squirmy ball of baby bliss these past few weeks. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I love you, Luciya!

Love, Mama

to all a good night

It’s the week before Christmas and all through our house
I’ve been getting ready with my soon-to-be-spouse

The stockings I bought at WinCo for a buck
And wrote our names on them in glitter that stuck

We’ve strung up the lights and purchased warm clothes
And kissed away cold from Luciya’s red nose

We went to the woods to chop down a tree
And donated gifts to a good charity

John’s been hard working and I have been, too
With this sweet babe to whom everything’s new

The colors are cheerful, the lights are so bright
And she wears new long johns to bed each cold night

Here we are blessed, warm, and comfortable, too
And we hope that the season brings the same to you

If, in days to come, to Boise should you roam
You’re all more than welcome in this happy home.

Safe and serene holidays from a little bunch of Idahoans

With love,
John, Emily, Luciya, and Mila


father christmas from shemmy on Vimeo.

sisters

beginning to sound a lot like christmas

I love this (thanks, Uncle Skip!)

mighty big shoes to fill

Oh Luciya, if you perchance stumble upon this blog in 15 years, I hope you will understand why I had to post these pictures of you trying on your daddy's boots.

I love you, sweet butt!
Mama

uncanny sense for the nasty

My senses, particularly that of smell, have been super sensitive lately. Sensitive senses. I seem to have been especially affected by tastes and odors of the nasty variety.

Some observations I've made recently:

"Your breath smells like the Pope's bedpan."

"Ugh. This tastes like Frankenstein's footbath."

"Smells like a hobo's hanky."

"Phew. This place smells like a Kentucky outhouse."

yes i do have better things to do, thank you very much!

<------------ L - O - O - K

I've been crazy blogger-updater crazy-face SAHM and I'm finding all sorts of fun things to do with the blog.

Are you reading this? Let me know! I made poll! It's so fun!

Love
Shem

close the schools! it's armageddon for hawaii!

I'm sitting here in 20 degree frosty weather, cracking up.



P.S. It might do a weird skippy-thing at the end. Just hit Pause.

say something

You know that scene in "Say Anything" when John Cusack is all, "She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen."

I feel like that's what John is thinking about our anniversary: "She gave me a poem. I gave her an iPod and she gave me a poem. Not even a very a good poem, either. It didn't rhyme well and it lacked rhythm. I got screwed!"

Oh, well. I got an iPod!

to ton-ton with love

Through laughter and tears
And vodka and beers
I can't believe it has been SIX YEARS.

You worked in a bar
First kissed me by my car
And today I adore you for all that you are

At first it was rough
All fighty and stuff
But it was all worth it - I can't get enough

You've brought me new worlds
And two beautiful girls
I just can't wait to see what else unfurls

We've built a great life
More giggles than strife
And I'm so excited to become your wife!

Happy Anniversary to the man
who blows me away.

I love you.


xoxoxo
Shem

this too shall pass

I appreciate everyone's concern and care over little eLLe's separation anxiety and my ensuing freak-outs (yay for grandmas!). I appreciate the advice, too, and know that turning off the monitor is probably a good idea.

But here's the thing.

Last Sunday night was when this whole freak-out screaming thing really hit its peak. John and I took turns consoling and holding her, eventually putting her down - still crying - at about 8:30 (her normal bedtime is 7:00). We turned off the monitor and went outside for about 15 minutes. When we came back in, all was quiet. I snuck into her room and saw her moving around, which was a good sign. So I joined John for a tivo-ed episode of Project Runway in the family room.

I went in to check on her again at about 10:30, and what happened next still makes my heart sink. I reached into her crib and I felt the wetness and the chunks. As my lungs slid into my bowels I realized that she had vomited all over the bed. All over the sheets, her blanket, down the sleeve and side of her jammies, in her hair. In her whole life, I have never known Luciya to throw up. And this wasn't spit-up. It was puke. Ralph. Chunks.

I reached over to her tummy. No reaction. I wiggled her. Nothing. I dragged her down to the middle of the crib and shook her with both hands until she groggily moaned and squinted her exhausted eyes open at me. She remained lethargic as we changed her pajamas and bedding, and then I laid her back down in her crib and just watched her watch me for a while. No crying, nothing.

We made our baby girl puke. And I just sat there thinking, I am so sorry. I will never let this happen again.

Sooo... am I sensitive? Maybe. Paranoid? Perhaps. But the monitor is staying on for a while.

Of course, Luciya woke up just as chipper as ever (that's one thing I love about babies... they don't hold a grudge). Good thing, too, because the next morning at 9:30 we had our Christmas portraits taken at Sears. Yeah, she was a little red-rimmed around the eyes (and so was I), but the overall results were, well... you tell me.


And I know that it probably sounds like I'm turning into paranoid hyper-mom, but please believe me I'm still as chillaxed as ever. And please don't think I'm Complainer Connie. I am so grateful for Luciya's health and happiness, and I have never, ever considered her a burden (big DUH there, I guess). I am just thankful for this little blog, because I know it's read by people who care, and I can feel like y'all are here with me. And I thank you for that.

my wit extends no further

God help me.

I love my daughter more than anything in the world. And heaven knows she adores the shit out of me. But I am at my wit's end right now, dealing with these tormented, painful, agonized SCREAMS that she is emitting when I put her down for bed at night.

It is HORR. IB. BULLLLL. Horrible.

I have tried just about everything, from extending her bedtime to rocking her longer to giving her a little Tylenol. Tonight we even went to Wal Mart and I spent 40 bucks on this aquarium crib attachment that lights up and plays a tinny, mechanical version of Canon in D while lights and bubbles are supposed to soothe her to sleep. I gave her a drop of Mylicol, thinking maybe she is suffering tremendous gas pains. (All this, coming from a mother who believes in homeopathy and wooden toys.) I offer her a binky. I sing. I rock. I cry. I try EVERYTHING.

And here's why: (note: not for the very sensitive.) I kept it to one minute so as not to make you too insane.


cry baby from shemmy on Vimeo.

This is still going on. It has been 10 minutes. Why, you may ask, don't I go in there and hold her? Oh, that works. It certainly does. But the very second I go to place her in her crib, even if she is fast asleep, it happens all over again. Why don't I go rub her tummy? I have been. But the second I lift my hand away to silently tiptoe out of the room she wakes up and starts again. My knees fall asleep and my back aches from standing over her.

I just came back upstairs after being with her. I rubbed her tummy and her little head, turned the aquarium thing to music only (the lights seemed a little too tv-screeny for me), and then sat in the rocking chair in the corner until her screams lessened and finally subsided. Then I absolutely silently got up and left the room. Yes! She's asleep.

Or not. Honest to goodness, she started screaming again as soon as I was out the door. Not whimpering. Not moaning. S-c-r-e-a-m-i-n-g.

Like I said, blbekee[p[kglg'lkaslns*$@#kjfnkjasjoieznpppphhhhhhhhhhhooooooooooo. I. Don't. Know. What. To. Do.

belcchhhhttppptth

Dear Daddy and Mama,

I'm sorry about the way I've been screaming so long and loudly when you've put me to bed every night for the past week or so. It's just that - well, I discovered that my Mama is just a really cool person and I've decided that I want to be around her all the time. I mean, haven't I made that clear? Look, I'm fine when I'm in your arms, Mama. I stop crying immediately. Just don't put me back in the crib or I'll start that hair-raising, toe-curling, makes-your-heart-fall-out-of-your-mouth scream, and you know I can keep that up for a long time.

The other thing is, guys, is that I'm just growing so fast and learning so much. Hello, I'm learning to crawl over here! And I've just gotten so good at it that I want to practice all the time... even at night! So I'm up on all fours, it wakes me up, I'm real tired and then I look around and all of a sudden I realize that MAMA IS NOT HERE IN THE CRIB WITH ME!

I know you guys are doing your best and I really appreciate the effort. But -- hey, where's Mama? Ack! She's nowhere to be seen! MAAAAAAMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Love,
Luciya

why we bought a baby gate this weekend

Untitled from shemmy on Vimeo.

pickle face

Luciya has been doing the funniest thing for about a month now: scrunching up her nose and snorting -- making "Pickle Face." It's her way of showing delight.

Pickle Face has been real interesting the last week or so, since Luciya has had her first sniffly nose. Now, that bulb-syringe-slurpee-schnoz has been producing some lovely, perfectly round snot bubbles with every Pickle. Yum.

Luciya used to make Pickle Face after each bite of her yummy baby food to show that she liked it. Now, after every bite she sticks her right hand in her mouth and gives it a good slurping, before she has even swallowed the food. I'm not sure why -- to help the food go down better? To sweeten each bite with a little taste of delicious finger?

I love it, though. It's the funnest mess ever. The banana and blueberry puree is a particular favorite of hers. I know because Luciya's right fist is blue when we're done.

Who's my little Pickle Face?