year-end photo album, part i

After the merry-go-round of children's birthdays and holiday parties, some do a cleanse, some start a new workout routine, and some decide to get "clean." In our family, we prefer to partake liberally of each new year's cold-and-flu offerings. With difficulty getting out of bed and no appetite, the holiday pounds just melt away. This year we spent Christmas in Italy, requiring an extra little bit of effort afterward. Steve went for a sinus-and-ear infection combo, given extra potency by flights to and from San Diego for work, and the accompanying jet-lag. As for myself, I opted for a bad flu that turned into pneumonia. It's all the rage in the Netherlands right now. We chose a time when we would have lots of visitors: my parents and youngest brother and sister were here, and our eldest niece, Ellen. Such fun for everyone! Instead of day trips to Paris and guided tours of our favorite Flemish haunts, they enjoyed that ever-elusive travel experience of "living like locals" by taking over our childcare, cooking, cleaning, and running errands. We, on the other hand, had to do boring things like nap, read books, and catch up on all the movies and television that we had missed in the three years since we had our second child. And voila!  We were back to our wedding weight (yes, singular: please note that we weighed the same amount on our wedding day) by Valentine's Day.

So, after thirteen days of parenting staycation, or "bed rest" as the doctors tediously insisted on calling it, having read three novels and half of a biography about Francois Truffaut, and no less than five books that might be helpful in parenting--including one about the functions of the brain--and having indulged in so much screen time that we would have felt sick if we weren't already, it seemed like a good time for me to go through all of the photos we took during the busy season between October and New Year's Eve.  Here, the highlights, with captions and very little commentary:

London, by Violette

Zizzi Pizza, Cheltenham, The Cotswolds

October Break in The Cotswolds, England

Turning seven with a My Little Pony pajama pizza party

Turning three at the Christmas Market in Aachen, Germany

One more cute little bird hanging out at the birdbath, Aachen, Germany

Public fountain or artfully-rendered climbing feature, Antwerp

Not pictured: My accidentally-pretending-I'm-in-my-twenties trip to NYC for my friend Anne Butler's fortieth birthday. I'll write about it sometime.  Christmas in Venice coming up next post...

too fleeting

When he is a hairy, smelly boy of fifteen or a working man of thirty, will I still remember the way he patted my neck when he pressed his soft cheek into mine?  Will I remember the squint of his eyes while he shimmied his chubby little shoulders in a dance?  The way he would boldly declare, "I love flowers. And butterflies!" Will I still think it is cute when he wants to sleep in his bathing suit because he is so excited that tomorrow's hotel will have a swimming pool?  Will I remember the tiny voice that said, "In Cinderella, I am the prince!" after playing pretend with his sister, or "Funny face!" whenever he thought anything was amusing (whether it had a face or not).  

Will I think of the way he said "Hold you!" and lifted his arms to be taken up the stairs, immediately followed by his grunting and saying, "I too heavy!"?  Will I still find him lying around with a book on the floor of his sister's bedroom or on the marble before the front door?  Will I retain the sound of his humming his own little made-up tunes?  Will I still be able to see the way he looked deep into my eyes when he said, "Mommy, I love you so, so much!" or, "I'm so sorry, Mommy" as we together pick up one of his two-year-old disasters? Will I recall how funny it was when he would shout, "Never...Again!!!" instead of a simple, "No, thank you"?  Will I see him in front of me in the bakfiets, calling out, "I love that blue car! I love that purple car! That black car is so pretty!" as we spin along? Will I still be able to see those squeezable, roly-poly little thighs in a black and white striped onesie?

Will I remember the way he would growl something that sounded vaguely like French and then plow into us, and how we later realized he was quoting The Muppet Movie:  "That's my trigger word too!"?  That he would grin and wrap his strong, squishy arms around our necks to pull our heads together into a forced family cuddle? The satirically romantic smile with closed eyes as he cuddled me, or his train, or a treat, to show love? Will my ears still hear the screams and laughter bouncing off the walls as he and his sister had their nightly wrestle with their daddy? If I remember nothing else, if I forget every book I have ever read or every place I have ever visited, even my own name, please, please, let me remember these babies that were mine for such a short time, and what it felt like to be their mother. Nothing will ever be this sweet again.

party party party

It's that time of year again. While others have turkey in the oven or travel to see loved ones for a feast of giving thanks, we give thanks by staying home and celebrating the births of our babies. After last year's dual blow-outs, we swore it would be quiet family outings only going forward, but how do you resist throwing a party for your six-year-old who is at a new school in a new country? We couldn't.

 

  Invitations went out via Paperless Post to all the girls in her class and within a couple of days we had fourteen positive responses, leaving us with the question of what to do with fifteen six-year-old girls. Decorate cookies, pin-the-necklace-on-the-donkey, and open presents! Pictures do not capture the squeals reverberating from every surface in our home, but trust me, it was a rave.

Perhaps it was the residual memory of those supersonic sound levels that led Townsie to cry No! when we greeted him with smiles and Happy Birthday! as he woke the following Saturday. We kept it low-key. For the boy whose mealtime prayers of thanks go something like:

Heavenly Father

Thank you for pancakes

Bless Rich on his mission

Amen,

Steve arranged a birthday pancake feast. It was a quiet success.

 

And now, let the holiday festivities begin!

then + now

The summer has not quite been what I thought it would be. A cough with fever just after we arrived in Utah set off a chain reaction upon which I won't elaborate, except to say that it feels alternately comical and like something from the Book of Job. Nothing serious, just inconveniences enough to keep me humble and give me lots of time for escapist binge-watching of BBC offerings on Amazon while kind grandparents take my children canoeing and teach them the names of all the wildflowers and birds in the canyon.

Being in my adolescent home blurs space and time. I am fully in the present, a grown woman with a life and family of her own, just visiting. Then I find myself sitting at my grandmother's vanity, now in my parents' guestroom, drying my hair with Townsie, who so resembles my father, sitting on my lap. I wonder how often my grandmother sat in front of this very mirror with her baby, seeing an image so similar to the one I am looking at now. Or my car is in use and I find myself driving my dad's Toyota truck to fetch Steve from the airport. I pop an indie rock-chick cd into the player and relive being the twenty-year-old me for an hour as I drive through stunning mountains and suburban sprawl. 

Or I stand in my parents' backyard watching Violet ride a bicycle for the very first time, my dad holding onto the back to steady her, just as I remember his doing with me when I was exactly her age, or see my kids running through the sprinklers, once of my favorite summer activities when I was a kid. Later, as we lie on the grass at Sundance, watching a musical with our enthralled daughter, I am suddenly eighteen again, on a date with a boy I can't now remember. Even the British television is a throwback, reminding me of the semester I spent in London and how, upon my return, I would cuddle up in front of Miss Marple, Absolutely Fabulous, or Mapp & Lucia when I was pining for England.

And then there are the mental snapshots I take for the future. Townes charging about the house shouting out everything he sees for which he knows the words, even if they still emerge in forms that only his mother could understand. We laugh as he confuses grandparents' names, sure he has them down pat. Baba O! Dada Robba! My memory captures his delight in his newest cousin, gently stroking her tummy or kissing her cheek, begging Hold! Hold! Baby Lila! Violet running out onto on the deck of the cabin in pink Converse sneakers and white sundress, butterfly net in hand, calling to her grandfather that she just caught her first butterfly, her blonde hair loose and luminous in the sunlight. Townes plopping down next to me on the stairs and casually draping his fat little hand across my forearm before snuggling in. Violet poised to jump onto her daddy's back for a piggyback at bedtime, both of their faces bright with anticipation. They are glimpses of absolute purity that pass in an instant, moments of lucidity.

This morning, unable to sleep, I woke before dawn and wandered into the living room of the cabin. Outside, the aspens glowed so brightly against the darkness that they seemed unearthly, and I added them, too, to my mind's photo album. Two more weeks and these things, the beautiful as well as the frustrating, will melt into the past. We will be in a flurry of new experiences and places, completely emerged in a new life. Maybe I'll take it slow just a little longer. I still have a few more episodes of As Time Goes By, Ab Fab, and Good Neighbors on my playlist. Violet wouldn't mind a little more time on her borrowed pink bicycle, either...

 

bookworm

Seriously, could there be anything cuter than that little nose buried in a book? I love a bookish man (or woman) of any vintage, but you really have to be under three to pull off those thighs in a onesie.

notable quotes 5.0 / 1.0

She's getting to be too smart for her own good, and fiction is more fun than fact, in her world. Who knows the extent of what is going on in that beautiful little head of hers. A few pieces of the puzzle that is our Violet:

Moms always tell the truth; dads sometimes tell jokes.

I need to grown my hair out long, because when I cut it in Spain I told my long hair I would see it again soon.

I know how Jesus made us.  He colored paper skin color, then cut it out and sewed it together.  Then He put it over our bones and used Glory to make us sort of come alive. That's how He did it!

Can I have the trousers [tweezers] out of your makeup bag?  I need to get this off of Dopio [she points to a clump on her stuffed dog's belly that needed to be removed]. Do you know why Dopio didn't cry?  Cause...he's...a...boy!  Boys don't cry. Ever.

Violet:  Mom, can you sing me a song about unicorns?

Me: I don't know any songs about unicorns...

Violet: Can you make one up?

Me:  Um... [I manage a feeble verse]

Violet: Not a short song about unicorns!  Make up a long song about unicorns!

Us: Where should we move to in Europe, Violet? If we could live anywhere?
Violet: Mmmm, I think any of those places we went last summer would be good. Except Spain. Definitely not Spain.
Us: Why not? You had so much fun in Barcelona, and San Sebastian...
Violet: Yeah, but those people don't know what to do with their al-coo-hol. [Apparently, the impression left by the running of the bulls was not a fleeting one.]

Me:  Violet, you would be a good writer. You are very good at coming up with new scenarios.

Violet:  What's a scenario?

Me:  It's a situation in which a story can take place.

Violet:  Yes, that's right.  It's also a breakfast cereal.  And the name of that guy crossing the street over there, the one in the black hoodie.

And I'd like to welcome TTO to Notable Quotes!  He has been waking up half-an-hour earlier than the rest of us just to lie in his crib and practice his talking and singing, so I think he has earned a little recognition.  I am including hand signals and body language, since they are an essential part of our communication right now:

ont dat! + emphatic pointing = i want that

dis + emphatic pointing = i mean this

allo!  bon jo! + enthusiastic waving = hello!  bonjour!

no!!! + rapid head wagging = yes or no

schoos (or buts) + extended foot & wiggling toes = shoes or boots, please

bay bun + violently but rhythmically shaking head up and down = the belly button song

baaa baaa + running to and pointing at door = let's get out of here

but-ton = emphatic pointing = i must press button (or hole, or black mark, or screw)

buuk + running with object in raised arms = please read me a book

g'ma = grandma

maman or ma'am + running with upward reaching arms = mommy

mom = food
meow or boll = milk or bottle

dad or dada = daddy

dada = (alt meaning) dance dance

bilate or ssss = violet

g'pa + waving or pointing = grandpa (or daddy, if he's been gone awhile)

awwww + cheek pressed against cheek, stuffed animal, or pillow = let's cuddle

We're off on a sightseeing (home finding?) tour of Amsterdam and The Hague tomorrow.  I'll be in touch!

christmas, at last

It has been six full days since we attended the live Nativity at the Church of Heavenly Rest on Fifth Avenue to set the tone for our holiday, and, at last, Christmas is beginning to feel complete. Last night big, pillowy snowflakes covered the mud and grass in a clean white blanket and Steve and Violet made plans to build a snowman in the morning. The scent of brown sugar and vanilla filled our rented holiday home as buns, half-cinnamon, half-chocolate, baked in the oven. Steve's stated goal for the week was to bake his way through our trusty King Arthur Flour Baker's Companion, and so he did, making bread in various forms: twists with chocolate and mascarpone, whole wheat bread, cheesy buns, and, today, pretzels. Our waistlines can attest that the week has been a tasty one. We miraculously (really!) found a home on the North Fork of Long Island in which to "play house" for a week, a cool, beautiful, newly renovated place that makes us think of what it might be like if we ever abandoned city life (it never goes beyond thought).

And we deserved it, after weeks of getting our apartment ready for guests, and ourselves ready to get out of their way. We wish never again to spend Christmas Eve and Day frantically cleaning and packing, but there are no guarantees. We thought we had Christmas all figured out a couple of years ago, a leisurely month of tree cutting, music, and outings, and then we added a second end-of-November baby and leisure abandoned us, possibly on a permanent basis. Add to this the likelihood that this was our last Christmas in New York for a while--more on that soon--and there no longer seems to be a point to creating an elaborate tradition. Maybe our tradition will be that we do every Christmas differently, aside from finding a Christmas Fair to peruse, attending a Messiah sing-along sometime in December and a religious service on Christmas Eve, and opening stockings on Christmas morning, all of which we managed to do as usual this year, in spite of the chaos.

It has been a beautiful week, just the four of us holed up here, doing projects and reading stories, the kids laughing and playing together, enjoying being a family. I love these people we have made, and the one I have made them with. We will be glad to be back in our regular life in a week or two, but for this moment, we are going to inhale every last crumb of our holiday.

Proudest parental moment:  Violet's unprompted suggestion that we wait to open presents until we had arrived at the house on Christmas Night. Is it that she has never seen television commercials, and therefore does not believe that new toys make for a happy life? Or was she just born with the desire to delay gratification in favor of something better? If so, I am certain she didn't inherit it from me!

Best entertainment: Watching Townsie dance. That boy has moves, bouncing up and down, sliding his head side to side. He will dance to anything with a beat, from classical to pop, or to the blender, in the absence of something more melodious.

Best quote: 

Violet: (Pointing to the horizon) "What is that? There is some light, then some dark cloud-like things over it."

Us:  "That's the sky."

Violet:  (Pointing again to the horizon) "No, that thing way over there, not straight above us."

Us:  (Noting that there is nothing else to which she could be pointing) "Yeah, that's the sky."

Best reason for living in an aparment: A one-year-old with stairs is nothing but trouble.

Most heartwarming thing ever: Watching our two kids play and laugh together. We thought we couldn't love anything more than having one child, but what do you know...