The Flintstone Dilemma

A big change happened in our family, not too long ago. My little girl went from getting the vitamin drops I’ve given her since she was an infant to getting a daily, big girl, chewable vitamin!

Standing in Costco (alone, of course, which allowed the following-), I perused the children’s vitamins and weighed the various pros and cons of each. Sugar content? Gummy versus chewable? Mommy-guilt levels (because as all good mommies know, mommy-guilt is the secret ingredient hidden in just about everything)...

Mommie Guilt:  It's not overt - but it's there.  For instance, see where it says for children 2 & 3 years of age to "chew one-half tablet daily"?  Yep, you guessed it - she's been getting 'em whole.

...By the way, we're really expected to guillotine these things?  Really?

Finally the choice was made: Flintstone’s Vitamins!

I made my purchase and left, feeling very excited to be taking this next step of the Big Girl Journey with my little girl.

Aw, hi there, Fwed and Bawney.

I couldn’t then foresee several problems. The first being, my 3-year-old doesn’t have a clue who the Flintstones are. I think this is an issue with most contemporary toddlers, unless their parents hunt through random cable channels that run ancient cartoons at odd hours and can then DVR said cartoons. Or possibly the parents find them on YouTube and commence education thataway.

But not having that foresight here in our home, I’ve managed thus far to circumvent the issue by, every morning, telling her the name of the lucky character who tumbles out of the vitamin jar and into her chubby, outstretched hand.

Which brings us to the second problem. When something’s so cute and has a fun name, “Barney Rubble,” “Dino,” “Pebbles” or “Bam Bam” – how can the kid be expected to NOT play with it? Once named, our Flintstone vitamins began taking all sorts of side adventures on the way to their proper destination. Only this morning I had to assure Siennalee that her little purple guy - this time it was the alien… was there an alien on the Flintstones? - that he definitely would not do well venturing down into the bread machine as it hummed and bumped along with dough.

See?  Aliens.

And the third and last dilemma, which is perhaps the most disturbing: Am I the only parent who finds it disconcerting to announce a cutesie name and character to a wide-eyed toddler holding the wee stamped vitamin and then follow it up with, “Now eat him”?

I really should’ve gone with the gummies.

Thankful

“How’s your house going?”  A friend asked me at our last MOPS.

“Stalled,” I returned, then added frankly, “In fact, everything feels stalled right now.”

And it does.  House.  Baby.  Body.  Moving.  Church.  It’s all stalled.  Waiting for something?  A jump start?  New spark plugs?  Just more time?  I don’t know, and it’s a tough place to live.

Suddenly here comes November.  November:  The season we remind ourselves to remember to be thankful.  Allow me to be painfully honest when I state that this season of life may very well be one of my hardest seasons ever in which to remember to be thankful.

There you go.

I said it.

It’s out there.

I’ll say it again:  Life right now makes being thankful very, very hard.

I won’t run down a list detailing the current and past hardships that have visited us this past year; those close to us know them all too well.  Those who don’t know might possibly begin searching old posts or calling me - or instead begin warming up to send me a well-intentioned message exhorting me on to thankfulness.  And yes, all my training and upbringing shout at me and quote scriptures and teachings as to why, in spite of everything, I should still be thankful. Be thankful in EVERYTHING!  In EVERYTHING give thanks!

But here’s where I live:

Sometimes the cloud of a heavy heart can turn the natural sunshine of thankfulness to cold shadow. 

Sometimes thankfulness can feel like a mockery to a heart that has days of burning sorrow. 

Sometimes when I remember to be thankful, it turns on me; at some unknown point – today, tomorrow, months from now – everything will change, and these things for which I’m thankful now will then undergo a profound adjustment.  Some will stretch.  Some will break.  Some will simply go away.  But all will be changed.

It can be very hard to be thankful; to purely and simply “give thanks.”

But yet somehow, deep inside, I acknowledge that it’s still important.  I still push myself to do it.  Why?

I find the term “give thanks” woven throughout the Bible.  Sometimes God’s people were told to request things of God in order that, once those requests were granted, they might then give thanks (1 Chronicles 16:35).  Sometimes God’s people first had to give thanks in order that God may then grant their requests (2 Chronicles 20:20-22).  Sometimes God’s people gave thanks spontaneously when things were good; sometimes they just gave thanks because they knew they should. 

Jonah gave thanks after the whale spit him back onto dry land.

Daniel still gave thanks, even when it meant the lions’ den awaited him.

Even David, throughout all of Psalms, gives thanks in all manners and circumstances –sometimes in joy, sometimes in tears.

In Romans, the Word also talks about those who do not give thanks – “For although they knew God, they neither glorified Him as God nor gave thanks to Him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened.  Although they claimed to be wise, they became fools…” (Romans 1:21-22, emphasis added.)

All through His Word, God encourages, reminds, and requires us to give thanks because, to put it one way, that seems to be what’s best for us.

It’s easy to rattle off a list of the things in my life that I love.  I always love them, even when I’m crying for the things I still yearn for and the things lost in this life. 

But I think being thankful and giving thanks goes deeper than merely regurgitating happy lists.

I’m called to be thankful and to give thanks to God so my heart and life are released from my own desperate grip and God can move more freely.  I’m also called to be thankful so my thinking does not become futile; so my heart does not become foolish and darkened.  This can easily happen when I’m only focused on the shadowy, heartbreaking things of life.  When I do not make the choice to give thanks – to remember all the things God has done, all that He will do, and all that I continue to ask and believe Him to do –  I tighten my grip on my heart and my life, and I spiral down into futility, foolishness, and, ultimately, darkness.

This doesn’t mean that, even after making the difficult choice to give thanks, life is suddenly all sunshiny and rosy again.

God knows that.  It’s why the Word sometimes terms it to “sacrifice thank offerings” (Psalm 50:14, 50:23, 107:22, emphasis added).  Of course, this idea can get very theological and detailed – areas I tend to avoid – but what this tells me, very simply put, is that God knew that giving thanks wasn’t always going to be a joy.  Sometimes it would hurt.  Sometimes it would cost us.  Sometimes giving thanks would be a sacrifice. 

That’s where I live today.    

So here are a few of my thank offerings, a small list of goodness and blessings, which God has poured out onto this foolish heart:

My wonderful, beautiful little family – remarkable husband, marvelous daughter, the promise of children to come and those that await me in Heaven.

My loving, supportive, treasured-beyond-value mother and brothers; my closer-than-a-sister sister-in-law Anne and precious nieces and nephew and those that await me in Heaven.

My godly in-laws, aunts and uncles-in-laws, and fabulous cousins-in-law from whom Jason and I and our children are blessed with a beautiful heritage and who were very important reasons I said yes.

My beautiful home, for as long as it remains mine.  The adventure and promise of another wonderful home down the road.

The kindred spirits I’ve met and whose friendships continue to bloom and grow and bring beauty to my life; the promise of new ones in another plot of earth down the road.

The sweet friends of old who continue to mature and blossom and fill my life with spiritual fruit and loveliness and those who return from time away to bless my life now and then.

The small talents God placed in me that have found root and nourishment in this chapter of my life.  May they grow on!

This is just a small list which, when I read it, inspires more thankfulness and gratefulness than I can include in one already-sprawling blog post. 

I’ll likely read it again and again though, perhaps making another – a private – list to remind me that, though life may feel stalled right now, that's not all there is.  And I'm thankful for that.

Sometimes You Just Can't Wait to Go Back...

Ahh, Cannon Beach... the crisp, cool, coastal morning of my 34th birthday, and a rockin' mug of  Thundermuck.

A Clean Peace

And now - a tirade.

For several days now I have been attempting to clean our refigerator.  Noble cause, you say.  And I would agree.  Except for this fridge.

This fridge is a fridge like no other.  During our pre-child, apartment dwelling years, it was only a happy dream of which Jason and I hardly dared speak.  THE refrigerator - the one we would one day buy when we bought our first home.  Our hopes were high.

Then, we bought it.  THE one.  The shining, black beauty of a fridge with all the features that had danced like proverbial sugarplums in our heads.  We settled it carefully in our new home.  We were in love.

Things went well - until the drawers began to lose little slivers of white plastic.  Where were they coming from?  Could we glue them back on, somehow?  Then several small wheels appeared - apparently broken off from regions unknown.  Again, we could not find their home.  They were relegated to live, gypsy-like, in the back of the fridge; in the wilds behind the drawers.

I began to feel stirrings of concern.

Then, the fridge tried to kill us.

It was summertime; Jason was away at his two-weeks training with the Navy Reserves.  Siennalee and I had just gotten home from being out when - sniff sniff.  What was that disturbing odor?  I tracked it.  Unsettling memories were surfacing in me - memories from childhood when the spatula or random plastic cup would fall to the bottom of the dishwasher and melt on the heating element.  It was a burning stench that told one "something is very very wrong."  

I tracked the burning stench to the fridge.  Opened the doors.  HEAT resonated out!  STENCH of melting, burning plastic!  The fridge lights glared at me.  I closed the fridge doors quickly.  Opened them again.  GLARE!  STENCH!  Closed them again.  Ran back and forth in a frantic little line of panic.  Finally, I opened the doors again and now saw the light cover that was literallly dripping away from the burning lights.  The lights were not switching off.  

I ran to the garage and pulled the breaker, heart pounding in my ears.  Who would help?  Jason was away.  Sears!  They would know what to do. 

The Sears guy came out promptly.  "Good thing you came home," he threw over his shoulder as he looked over my fridge, "The whole thing coulda gone up in flames."  He stepped back, surveyed my fridge, scratched his head and said something in technician-speak.  What?  He repeated it.  

"You mean,"  I tried to interpret his words in easier-to-understand girl-language, "it's my fridge's motherboard?" 

What?
 
"My fridge doesn't know to turn off its lights?"  The motherboard.  Somehow, my fridge was not listening to its motherboard and the lights were not shutting off.  My fridge was in rebellion.  My fridge was a teenager.  Great.  This was not the happy dream I'd dreamt with Jason throughout our years of enduring apartment refrigerators.

"But we bought a Kenmore,"  I said, helplessly, "Kenmore and Whirlpool - those are your best brands."

The Sears guy, after somewhat trying to conceal a smirk at my precious naivety, explained that those brands had long ago been bought out by the cheaper brands.  They were all the same now, he confided.

I was dumbfounded.  

Whenever we'd done any household appliance shopping, I'd been adamant to Jason that we would only buy Kenmore, Sears' best brand - at least, it had been Sears' best brand back in the college days that I 'd worked part-time for a small appliance repair shop.

But now, apparently, things had changed.

So, almost $500 later, my one-year-old fridge had a brand new "motherboard" and a new plastic light cover and two spanking new light bulbs.  Our beautiful, wonderful fridge.  The fridge that had cost more than my first car.  I was brokenhearted.

"Could this happen again?"  I asked the Sears guy, fearfully.

"Might."  He shrugged.

"So... what brands should we look for the next time we buy?"  I asked the Sears guy, weakly. 

"Doesn't really matter," He told me, matter-of-factly.  Apparently now buying appliances was going to be a crap shoot.

All this my fridge and I reminisce of as I clean the drawers, ignoring the shedding plastic splinters and wipe the walls, hoping the lights go back off after I shut the doors.  At several points as I clean, the lights randomly shut off - which I take to be a good thing - the fridge is listening to and obeying its motherboard.  I close the doors and let the fridge re-cool, reasoning that if I'm kind to the fridge, perhaps it will continue to be kind to me and my family.  No more attempts on our lives.  I appreciate this.

So now, after several times of closing the doors, grabbing a book and letting the fridge re-cool, ignoring the random plastic pieces being shed - now my fridge is clean.  We live in an uneasy peace.  But it's a clean peace... for now.

The Big Girl Journey: Milestones

 This weekend a new milestone was achieved in the Kantola household.    

 

Daddy took a break from college football to tackle the project.

 

 The instructions proved that while they were written by someone who probably spoke English, the writer himself had most likely never actually assembled, disassembled, and then reassembled one of these bad boys.

 

 Little helper.

 

Did Daddy want the Phillips or the flat head?

 

 It's hard to tell in the still picture, but here Siennalee is mid-jump - a sure sign that she's excited.

 

 Um guys?  This isn't looking so great...

 

 Ah, that's better.  Even the cow approves.

 

 Everybody needs a helping hand every so often - even a little one.

 

 Joy!

 

The finished project!

(Temporarily minus the adorable window valance.)

Oh!  What a cute little big girl bed.  :)

A Girl and Her Cow

What'd You Do This Weekend: Pumpkin Hunters

This was our second year to pumpkin hunt at Davis Family Farms.  It's a quaint little farm located on NE Hwy 20 outside of Corvallis.  (Unfortunately, I've not been able to find a website for them or I'd be sure to share it.)  

 

 Davis Family Farm Storefront.

When we arrived, we were the only family waiting for a hay ride.  Jason wondered if we might be too early in the season - I assured him that we probably weren't, but secretly worried otherwise.

 

 Daddy and Siennalee tried to pose for a nice shot amongst the pumpkins, but the morning sunlight was really tough to deal with!

 

 Ah, here comes our hay ride!

 

The driver was really sweet.  Didn't seem to mind at all that we were the only customers in sight!

 Little kids and big kids love hay rides.  Don't you?

 

 Siennalee kept going back and forth sitting with Mommie and Daddy so she'd be sure to see everything from every angle possible.  Last year this ride was PACKED.

 

Jason took this with our point and shoot camera - I think it's so cute.  It totally captures the whole "whoa-what-a-big-field" and "why-in-heaven's-name-have-my-parents-brought-me-here" feeling of a toddler's first steps into a vast pumpkin field.

 

The hunters set off!

The farm hadn't mowed the field down yet, so we tromped through full size pumpkin leaves and vines searching for the perfect orange skinned quarry.

 

Mommie's punkin was found first.

 

Then the perfect lil punkin guy was spotted for Siennalee.

 

 Awww.

 

 Then we found the Daddy Punkin.

 

Awww.  ;)

 

It first had to pass a Sienna-and-Mommie inspection, of course.

 

The hay ride back!

The return hay ride brought more families out to that patch and then picked us up and took us back to the storefront.  Again we had the ride to ourselves.

 

Siennalee enjoyed the ride very much and chatted it up to us.

 

 One of my favorite pics of the day.  :)

Daddy and Siennalee had tickle fights on the trip back.  I probably shouldn't tell you who won most of them.

Still not telling.

 

Our loot from the pumpkin hunt.  Plus three Indian Corn and a small stuffed cow from home.

  

And guess what else - donuts!

Yesss, Davis Family Farms makes the most marvelous donuts - on site!  They do it mainly for the delectably enticing aroma, I suspect.  Because once you smell those freshly cooking donuts (which you can smell strongest from the return hay ride, actually), you absolutely cannot stop foraging through your pockets, purse, and car for loose change and anything of value that might be worth trading for one of these lucious pastries.  Ahhhh. 

...Where was I?

 

Don't you just love sweet endings?

The Big Girl Journey: Siennalee

We got a new carseat for Siennalee this week.  It's safe to say that Mommie was perhaps even more excited than Daughter. 

What a cute seat!

Siennalee tried it out right away.

This much fun must be shared - her babies lined up for their turn in the new chair.

Pink Giraffe especially liked the seat.

Everybody had to be in on the picture.

She had fun discovering the various features of the new carseat - such as the hidden cup/snack holders.

And the adorable tiny princesses on the seat cover!

 Okay, so maybe Daughter is just as excited as Mommie.  :)

Bringing Coffee Back

September 11, 2009

In my ongoing pursuit to regain normalcy, I’ve returned to the comforting (and energizing) arms of coffee. I forewent my beloved morning cuppa joe when I was pregnant (and will again with the next pregnancies) not only to avoid the daily dose of caffeine early in pregnancy, but also because the warm, bracing caresses of the black brew frankly turned my delicate morning-sickened tummy.

But now, I’m bringing coffee back. Methodically. I’m doing half-caf (non-coffee drinkers read: half decaffeinated, half caffeinated), which should work out well in case I begin to feel any anxiety – which can be exacerbated by too much caffeine.

My first cup was dismal. Too weak. And as every serious coffee drinker knows, a weak cup is pretty much a little worse than no cup at all. So out it went. Yup. Down the drain.

The next cup was fairly strong (albeit still too weak for the likes of my sis-in-law Anne), so it stayed. I put a bit more cream and sugar in, and – ahhhh – just right.

Welcome back, coffee.

First Haircut!

September 12th

It was time.  I had stubbornly put it off, hoping for a thick, glossy growth spurt - but, alas, it was time.  My little girl's hair was growing, but somehow it was becoming more wispy and feather-like in appearance, rather than the shiny, honey-colored locks I knew it could be.  The last straw was in the doctor's office when I happened to overhear a little boy refer to my sweet daughter as "him."  Suddenly I saw with new eyes how much her shaggy, uneven hair had begun to resemble a mullet beneath the cute little flowered hat she was wearing.  I was finally driven to admit it:  It's time, Jessica, it's time.  So we took her in for professional help.  Precision Cuts, to be precise. 

Daddy was home so we all got to go together!

The Before Shot:  The Shaggy Feather Mullet.

 

We were very happy to have Daddy with us.

 

 What's more fun than getting your hair cut in an off-road vehicle, I ask you?

 

 Other than being a little more serious than usual, Siennalee did great.

She totally cooperated with the strange lady with the scissors.  Wouldn't you?

 

They had movies there for the kids to watch, so while she got her hair done, Siennalee was treated to one of her newest favorite movies - Cinderella.

 

She even let the lady blow dry her hair!

 

I was feeling really good at this point.

 

All my fears of a little-boy-bowl-cut had fled.

 

Cute little bob cut.

 

The After Shot:  Our cute little girl with a girlie 'do!

 

*happy mommy sigh*

 

She even got a pink balloon for being such a big girl (although I suspect they give these to the criers and screamers, too, but I didn't tell her that).

Siennalee is so proud of her new haircut.  We brush it and put bows in it and she'll parade around and show it off.  It's precious.  Little girls are so much fun.  I highly recommend them.

2 Corinthians 4:8,9

September 11, 2009

I’m not an optimist by nature. That’s my mom’s gift. My pessimistic father used to call her “Pollyanna” – but while he used this as more of somewhat affectionate insult, if there is such a thing, I saw – between the two of them – that for all my mom’s pie-in-the-sky talk and outlook and my father’s doom-and-gloom-til-you-die, I saw that she was always the stronger one.

I’m always bemused by the old question “Is the glass half empty or half full?” I find it unsatisfactory. From your response, “Oh, the glass is ____” your optimistic/pessimistic nature is supposed to be revealed. I need more from the question. For instance, how did the glass start out? Was it empty and then filled halfway? Or was the glass full and somebody came ‘round and drank half of it down? These are the questions I need answered before I can find out the answer.

But lately, I feel as though somebody has drunk my glass down. Sadly, Jason and I just suffered the loss of our little unborn baby, which now makes for two miscarriages in a row. It’s unthinkable. It’s shocking. I can still hardly absorb it. This little being was planned, rejoiced over, and utterly wanted from the moment we thought of him, from the moment we knew of his conception. My glass was full. Then the moment of loss.

I’m not an optimist by nature, but I’ve learned from necessity that God gave us the choice and ability to make life more than what we were given by nature. So I learned to stretch myself beyond who I am and add buoyancy to my spirit; to my mind. The waters of our world can go black and treacherous so quickly. If we want to drown – we certainly will.

Loss is black water. It sucks you down. Blocks out all light. Steals your breath and feeling. It buries you. Even when you’ve been through something like this before, the loss of what you were happily anticipating is still always proportionate to the loss of the relationship and intimacy denied – a child is gone. The rooms of the house of grief are familiar, but you still must go through them all anew before you can reach the end with a healthy heart.

So I move through these echoing rooms, knowing that almost at any moment, the realization of what I’ve lost – my baby no longer with me, my husband denied another child, my daughter not having that anticipated baby brother or sister – can suddenly wash over me and swamp me. And I’m pulled down into the black water.

That’s where I am right now. It’s 3 am. Jason is in Klamath Falls, Siennalee is sleeping sweetly. I awoke to a noise – which a bit of prowling revealed as nothing – and came back to bed to find sleep gone. And naturally, rather than searching for sleep, my mind goes to the places it ought not to go. Profound sadness. Grief. Great yawning unknown future. I feel a tug and the waters are lapping around my throat. I fight it, I want sleep, but instead the waters are pulled over my head and I feel them rushing by as my buoyancy fails and I’m sucked down to blackness.

It’s terrible down here.

Sometimes I have to cry. Sometimes I can’t. Sometimes when I start to cry, I can’t stop.

I can’t describe it.

I can’t hide from it.

The loss is so great – I am not equal to it.

It shakes me to the core.

But I can’t stay here. I’ve learned to not stay here.

I invested a lot into allowing God to teach me to rise above what’s around me. I’ve practiced this a lot. So I fill myself with what’s lighter than the heavy waters around me. I repeat promises God gave to us, I remember Who God is, I know what He’s done for us, I sing songs that tell of His goodness and faithfulness. And I feel my spirit begin to expand against the cold, pressing darkness.

I’m not alone in these waters – God hasn’t abandoned me. He’s right here – He grieves with me over this loss. After all, He is the Author of Life. He gave me the desire to have a family. He knit my children together in my womb. Though I will not know two of them in this life, He does know them as He formed their little bodies, creating them for life. This loss was not His perfect plan. He designed us for a perfect world which, unfortunately, we no longer have. Bad things happen now. We get sick. We die. Things happen that He did not plan for us. It can be a crappy, crappy world. But yet, He tells us to take heart – though in this world we will have troubles, He has overcome the world. There can be life beyond the loss. And there’s always light above the dark waters.

I’m not a pessimist by nature, but I know that even with all of God’s promises and all the songs I can sing, this grief will not be dispelled quickly, nor does one blog post effectively cover the entirety of such a disappointment, such a loss, the black waters of grief, and the rising above. It’s a process. The tears don’t just end, there’s no quick happy ending. The sadness does not just dissipate. Like our physical bodies, there’s still a healing process. The broken places must be bound up to heal, they must be cared for and cradled, and then strength must slowly be brought back. I wish I could heal up tonight. Be all better and back to normal tomorrow. I wish these tears would dry up and the pain in my heart would quiet. I wish this hadn’t happened at all.

Optimism isn’t in my nature. I’ve had to fight for it. I continue to fight for it. I know that even through these dark times, there’s life – and life more abundantly – on the other side. The promises of God are not voided by hard times, this I know even though my feelings tell me differently.

It’s time for me to sleep again. In a few hours, Siennalee will wake rested – fully expecting the same of her mommy. Jason will be home tomorrow night – or tonight now, I should say. And life goes on.

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed;

Perplexed, but not in despair;

Persecuted, but not abandoned;

Struck down, but not destroyed.

                                          2 Corinthians 4:8-9

Lost and Found

It's been a bumpy year, I'll admit it.  Since my blog sabbatical began in May (this is what I'm terming the previous silent months :) ), there have been some big changes in our family.  The first was Jason getting a very well deserved promotion, the second was the substantial move that the promotion would require.  These were big changes. 

We moved fast.  Jason began his new position, located in Klamath Falls, and I went down with him to secure a suitable geobachelor pad.  He then began the new schedule of working in Klamath Falls during the week and each Friday driving back (3 hours, 40 minutes) to our home in Albany to spend the weekend with us.   Our beloved home was put on the market (where it continues to wait for that perfect buyer). 

Siennalee and I have settled into a weekly routine together; it's sweet and tasking at the same time - I'll readily admit that there are very good reasons God had daddies come home at the end of the days.  It's not easy being the sole local parent and dog owner and house owner as well as my other functions, but God continues to give us extra grace for now. 

Some days I feel lost in transition.  At any point, our home could sell and we could be boxing up our lives and moving the almost 4 hours south.  At any point, I could be saying goodbye to friends I've worked so hard to make here in Albany and heading to city unknown to start all over again.  Then there's the other side - endless weeks without Jason and Daddy stretch on before us.  Either way, it's daunting. It's easy to feel lost.

But that's where my own power of choice shines through the murky darkness of feelings.  Every day God is faithful to provide opportunities for me to stretch myself beyond the scary unknown and focus on what's here in front of me.  Every day I'm able to choose what to find in today.  Friendship, value, new life, milestones, giggles.  Felicity.  I can find it all.  Even with a future that feels a little lost, I can find all that I need in today, if I choose. 

Felicity Found

fe-lic-i-ty 
Pronunciation: /fɪˈlɪsɪti/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [fi-lis-i-tee] 
Function:  noun

1.  the quality or state of being happy; especially : great happiness

Random Cutenesses

As I type this, Siennalee is at the window. She's found a tiny friend. "Ooo, it's a wittle bug," she exclaims, "hi! Hiii! You could get on my finger. Wittle bug, you could get on my finger... Mommie, could you come see him - what he's doin'? Mommie, could you come see the bug with me?" Presently she's trying to feed him an apple seed. "He weally hungry," she informs me.

During a visit to Paul and Anne's house she found a sugar ant and, fascinated, watched him crawl all up and around her arm. Mouth open in amazement, she'd turn her arm this way and that so as to not miss a single inch of his journey along her soft skin.

We've had a few talks about how not all bugs should be touched. Hopefully these talks sink in on some level before we have a bite or a sting that too early robs my little girl of her childish bug rapture.

***

The other day Siennalee had a very loose poo, accompanied by the usual signal toots. I fetched her, changed her, and sent her off to play again. Before long, there were telltale signs of a second loose poo. Surprised at her having a second poo so soon, I moved to confirm this when Sienna clutched her backside with a rather confused look on her face and looked up at me, evidently sharing my surprise, and said, "What happened down 'dere?!"

***

Siennalee loves playing with her Little People (Fisher-Price Little People, not to be confused with TLC's Little People, Big World). She has a pretty good set of Little People so far, thanks to Christmas and Auntie, who saw very quickly that my nieces weren't interested in their Little People and so bequeathed them to a very grateful Siennalee. My neighbor Nicole has also donated to the Little People cause.

The Little People have very dramatic lives; including, but not limited to, running, hopping, and squealing, and sometimes randomly flying through the air in a school bus that doubles as a rocket (thank you Little Einsteins). They also have very involved getogethers and mingle freely with the Little People animals.

Lately Sienna has only been interested in playing with three blonde Little People girls. I secretly call them the Little People Mean Girls. No other Little People are allowed to play. Only the same three blondies. When all Little People are neatly tucked back into their empty Quaker Oatmeal containers each evening, the blondies are well hidden. And each morning, like clockwork, Siennalee marches over, upends the containers, spills out the Little People, and finds her friends.

Shots from Easter

Easter Basket

Siennalee's big toy in her Easter basket this year was a My Little Pony. I had My Little Ponies when I was a little girl and absolutely loved them. Sienna's still a bit young for them, but she very much enjoys playing with cousin Isabella's My Little Ponies and so I thought a pretty pony would be just the thing for Easter and for growing into more playing in the coming year. So Pinkie Pie the Pony has come to live with us.

Siennalee waits patiently for Daddy to free Pinkie Pie from her box trappings.

She came with accessories!


Many happy playtimes to come for Siennalee and Pinkie Pie.

Easter Excitement - Warming Up for the Big Day

Not On My Watch

Semi-Shamrocks and an Ah Ha.

I just had to share these. Don't they look like little semi-Shamrocks?

They're actually just my other garden seedlings coming up, but I rejoice over them even more than I would an actual four leaf clover (which I HAVE found before, by the way).

Another reason I absolutely had to share these: I've been playing more and more with my camera and had an especially fun "ah HA" moment this afternoon while I was talking to my sister-in-law Anne about some pictures I wasn't terribly happy with. As we were on the phone I grabbed my 20D, made the changes we were talking of, and ran over to my little bright green, semi-shamrock-sort-of-look-alike little baby veggies and had them pose for a few frames. Ah HA! Eureka. It worked. :) And I had to share.

St. Patrick's Day: Eatin' Good

To celebrate the bit o' Irish that winds its way happily through my family's and my own lineage, I spent the past couple days making an Irish feast, if not truly authentic, still full of fun and festivity.

Irish Soda Bread. Mmmmmm.

Irish Champ - this is seriously good stuff.


Add a good helping of Beef and Irish Stout stew and you're in business.


That's good lookin' dinner.



And for dessert, Pioneer Woman's Apple Dumplings. These are deadly delicious.

My family heartily enjoyed our Irish-American meal! Leftovers ensure the coming days will continue to see us happily rejoicing in this fun time of year.

A Preview of Good Things to Come...

Friends

Siennalee loves her friends. Especially friends who have moveable heads. Take Pink Giraffe, for example. They have many heart to hearts and share many snacks.
I secretly believe this is because Sienna knows Pink Giraffe is listening to her.

He always pays attention to whatever is important to her.


He's also quite affectionate.

He certainly seems to enjoy her wet smooches.

And Pink Giraffe is by nature quite a curious pink creature.

He hangs out and waits until she's done with whatever business is important at the moment.

He's confident she'll tell him all about her newest discoveries in due time. (Note how he's attentively listening to her explain whatever it is that she and Daddy are reading on the 'puter.)

Here they are preparing for an adventure.


He's telling her something in this shot. (Probably that he prefers to ride in front - why should Orange One Baby always get to ride in the front?) There are two ways you can tell that Pink Giraffe is talking to Siennalee: 1st, her mouth is open and her eyebrows are up, indicating a high pitched voice is needed for whatever animal is talking at the moment, and 2nd, Pink Giraffe's head is moving (that's the big giveaway).


And they're off!

(Note the other friends just lying around. Are they sleeping? Are they playing dead? If only they talked to the adults. We'd love to know.)

The cart has stopped for a quick bite. Here you meet Orange One Baby. She seems to be the regular favorite and always gets to ride in the front of the cart. Orange One Baby is a castoff of Isabella's from long ago when Sienna was first noticing baby dolls. We think Orange One Baby got her name from when Siennalee was first learning to recognize colors and orange was her first favorite color to pick out. Orange One Baby has an orange-ish head, so... there you go.


This is Moo. Siennalee has had him since she was itty bitty. He was a baby shower gift from Alicia. You can't see his face here, because he's looking at Siennalee, but rest assured he is very, very cute. (We're not positive he's a boy, but that seems to be the pronoun regularly used for him, so until somebody gets up the nerve to do a more thorough investigation, Moo is a "he.") Moo's currently the bedtime baby that regularly accompanies Siennalee to bedtimes. (I secretly believe he keeps her awake at times. But that's a pink boy cow for you.)

This camera and I are still getting to know each other. I also have a variety of factors warring against me in this photo sequence: Low light, a toddler who's faster than the camera lens - you get my drift.

But blur or no blur, you can see Moo is quite beloved.

And here's MY favorite little friend to squeeze and smooch.

Thankfulness

This is my husband Jason. We celebrate being married 6 years this year. He's currently the swing shift manager at our local window and door manufacturer and often works 10 hour days, sometimes even longer. He's also a Lieutenant Commander in the US Navy Reserves and spends one weekend a month, two weeks a year, and countless evening hours devoting himself to them.
He's my baby's daddy, my greatest love, and one of the best men I've ever known.

He works hard and plays even harder. He loves football and hopes to assistant coach one day. He is thoughtful, courageous, and painfully sincere. Loves the outdoors, all sports, eating my latest culinary endeavors, playing with our daughter, and best of all, he loves ME.

I really do think I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

Cuteness

Our world is quite a magical place these days. Below are just a few favorite phrases and glimpses into our precious moments.


"I'm okay! I'm okay!" When she's climbing or playing and starts to feel a little insecure, or dramatic.

"Where aaaare me?" When she's hiding.

"Oooo, it 'pooky down dere... it 'cared me." This is fairly new. We were walking down the stairs and she looked over and could see underneath the desk through the stair railing - it was dark under there and, apparently, spooky.

"He's a good buddy." This is often used to talk about Racer, and occasionally her Moo (stuffed cow).

"What dat noise?" Usually when she hears a strange vehicle or noise she can't place.

"What you got in your mowf?" She has a very good nose and can tell when one has sneaked a treat she hasn't gotten a bite of.

"Pop it!!" She loves when I "pop" my gum - her little mouth opens wide in delight and she squeals, "Pop it again!"

"Hi, I'm Moo!" All her stuffed animals and babies have names and voices of their own (which she supplies, of course). Moo is a stuffed cow and has a very deep voice (which sounds, oddly enough, like a gravelly two year old girlie voice). Most of her other babies have very high voices and are barely intelligible. (Jason and I are required to say "Good morning" and give kisses to whichever babies might be in Siennalee's crib each morning.)

Elaborate dramas and adventures unfold each day in my living room. Siennalee is a very active little girl, but will spend quite a bit of her time playing independently with her Little People (not from the TLC reality show) and then will move to caring for her babies and stuffed animals. They go on walks and hit Costco quite often.

She also loves to "read." She will sit in our laps for countless books and then will take several and go off on her own to "read."

Potty training so far has been a bust. I have high hopes, but continue to move slowly in my encouragement towards the constant use of the "big girl potty." She's just not ready.

She also loves babies. She will watch them motionlessly but does not try to touch yet. She'll talk about them later, "He a wittle baby. He cry."

Her pronouns are starting to be employed more and more. It's about a 50/50 chance if she gets them right. I'm surprised how much she'll use the pronoun "he" or "him" since we don't have too many "he's" in our world right now, except Daddy and Uncles.

Siennalee is very empathetic. She's often distressed when her cousins are upset or crying (even when she is the perpetrator) and will offer a hug and kiss when she sees tears. A couple months back, she would pause in her play and come close to me to consider my face for a moment before asking, worriedly, "You crying?" I got lots of toddler hugs and pats. She knew what I needed.

It's such a marvelous blessing to watch her grow and begin to unfold as a little person.