To Nina's house they go.
Isn’t it the case that as soon as you drop your children anywhere, whether it be preschool or a friend’s house, you miss them. I’m continuously dumbfounded by the someone-please-help-me-and-take-my-children-for-a-few-hours and the I-can’t-wait-to-see-my-children-because-I’ve-missed-them-so-much way of motherhood.
Twice a week, the boys go to my parent’s house during the day. I spend all day the day before looking forward to it only to be longing to pick them up when the next day finally arrives. But, I know it’s good; it’s good for me, good for them, and – I hope – enjoyable (maybe sometimes?) for my parents.
I came to pick them up a little early the other day and decided to snap a few photos; little mementos of their days spent at their Nina’s and Gee-paw’s.
You Be The Judge…
Ignore the fact we both have rubber duckies in the photos above. Total coincidence. I always thought Hooper was a pretty good mix of both of us and based on the fact Van looks pretty dang similar to Hooper as a baby, I assume the same will be true for him. But after looking at our baby photos, I’m thinkin’ these boys look a lot more like their Papa. What do you think?
Last Days of Summer
Last week it was still in the triple digits here in Southern California. I had already turned the calender page and welcomed October into our lives with hopes of fall joining the pumpkin party. Summer had other ideas and I’m not one to complain about the sun wanting to hang out a little while longer. So I packed up the boys and headed to the beach, in October, to properly thank summer for lingering around. I had the radio on and the Rolling Stone’s “Miss You”, one of my favs, blared through the speakers. I turned it up. Hoop bobbed his head in the back and I dedicated the jam to summer, knowing fall would be gracing us with it’s presence soon enough. It was a perfect day at the beach. A week later and it has cooled down to a comfortable 80 degrees. With a visit to the pumpkin patch in the near future, we’ll have to replay our wee little video to remind us of the last days of summer spent with sand between our toes and white water crashing at our ankles. Dear Summer, thanks for lingering.
Last Days of Summer from The Stork & The Beanstalk on Vimeo.
You can check out my other videos here and here.
And Then There Were Two.
I’ve been in such a state of peace lately. I really didn’t expect this. I expected chaos and resentment and exhaustion and all those other things that seem to occur when you bring a newborn into a home. But, as it turns out, becoming a mother for the second time has been a much smoother transition than the first time. I’ve been sitting on this realization for a while and have come to attribute it to two things:
First, my perspective is clearer. I have witnessed, firsthand (because lets face it, it means nothing coming from someone else), that time flies. What’s a challenge one week is non-apparent the next. Breastfeeding feels never-ending… then you wean… and a week later it feels like it’s been a year since you breastfed your child and you suddenly miss it a little. Sleepless nights seem to come and go too. What I’m getting at is the fact that it’s all temporary and I’m much more aware of that this time around.
The second has to do with role change. There is a dramatic change in roles following the birth of your first born. For me, I remember thinking parenting Hooper would be a team effort. And by team effort, I mean fifty fifty. It was hard for me to take on the role of primary caregiver and accept the realization that fifty fifty really equals ninety ten. I felt like I was constantly having to sit on my ass to breastfeed and it bothered me to have to sit on my ass while I stared at a sink full of dirty dishes, dust collecting on the floor, a dog that needed to be walked, and so on and so forth. While I had to organize my day with some sort of strategy just to fit a shower and three meals into my schedule, it seemed like Willy got to sit on the toilet forever just to shit. It all seemed unfair (As a side note, it had nothing to do with Hooper. I bonded and loved him instantly with ALL my heart… I’m just speaking on behalf of the role adjustment).
With the birth of our second, I’m already acquainted with my role. I’ve already accepted the challenge. I know my place, Willy knows his. We’ve learned from our struggles the first time around and the kinks we had to work out then are already worked out. I am the primary caregiver. I say that now with pride and excitement. Although, I must admit, I’m still jealous of the fact Willy still gets to sit on the toilet forever when I’m just lucky to wipe my ass just in time to intercept a toy car Hooper’s about to throw into the toilet. But, again, it’s temporary.
Realizing that it’s all temporary and having experience in the role of primary caregiver has made me more relaxed. Being more relaxed, in turn, has made for less arguments, less kinks to work out, and less anxiety in general. I remember trying to shove food in my mouth as fast as possible because Hooper would be crying while Willy and I tried to enjoy dinner. This time around, if Van is crying during dinner it reminds me that he’s alive and I close the door and finish my dinner.
What’s your experience in becoming a mother for the first or second or third time been like? Can you relate?
The “Kiki” Love Affair
My sister came to help out over the weekend while Willy was out of town. We had a great time catching up and reminiscing and talking about the childhood Hooper and Van will experience together. We played at the park, went out to eat, and went to the local vintage market. I realized after going through the photos that there are none of Van. Trust me, he was there. That little booger is so peaceful, he rarely lets his presence known. Hooper, on the other hand, is a total ham. So yeah, rest assured, Van was snoozin’ close by.
There was a time people seemed to pass in and out of Hooper’s life. There was no carry-over, no memory of having seen or met people before. Watching Hooper’s memory develop has been a beautiful thing; it means that people that are important to me are now important to him. It means that when we talk on the phone with my in-laws, he knows not only who they are but he also knows the name of their dog. It means when he sees a burgundy car, he knows his grandma is close by (granted every burgundy car = grandma’s close by, but still). And it means that when my sister, his auntie “Kiki”, comes to visit she is sorely missed when she leaves. He not only remembers the key players in his life, but he’s come to really love them. And by love, I mean there’s lots of “hi-yees” and lots of unsolicited hugs and kisses. It makes me so happy, so proud to be his mama. Watching him discover the world, whether it’s picking up a leaf from the ground and examining it or waking up from a nap and asking for his “Kiki”, it’s all pretty special.
Day One.
It was day one, on my own, with the munchkins last Thursday and I survived. Sure, there was crayon coloring on sofa pillows, self-inflicted pen markings, more Yo Gabba Gabba watched than I care to admit, milk spilled on the floor, shit left in diapers longer than usual, nap time protests, a dog that survived without being fed til the afternoon, and an air conditioning that failed (it’s been 110 degrees in the Valley as of late)… But, we survived. Things I accomplished: We all ate, I showered, took out the trash, even made time to curl my eyelashes and slap on some lipstick (because lets face it, lipstick is where it’s at when you’re in a time crunch), and I got our AC fixed. So all in all, a successful day. You better bet I did a celebratory jig. There may have even been a throw back to 1992 when the running man was where it was at. My two cents to all those mamas awaiting their second addition: It is possible.
What Only A Sibling Knows.
{I asked my beautiful sister to help me out with a post this week to allow more time for family bonding while Willy has off work. He goes back today, by the way, so wish me luck. These few weeks spent with our boys have been some of the best. With no further adieu, here’s some memories from our shared childhood…}
I was right about Hooper’s age when Ashley was born. I have no memories of this trauma but, according to family story, I was so pissed off with this new arrival monopolizing my mother’s time and boobs that I threw fruit at my sister. Namely, bananas. Granted, Hooper has a much sweeter disposition than I will ever have, but I still worry for little Van’s safety.
There’s also a family story that says I despised Ash so much that I called her “beast,” but I couldn’t say beast—it came out as “Beeze.” To this day, that’s what I call her—my Beeze.
We didn’t get along for the first 15-20 years of our lives. There wasn’t all-out fighting (though, don’t be fooled, Ash is vicious), but there was bickering, accompanied by a few sweet moments that revealed the true love beneath—my favorite “trick” was to tell her, “Give me a french fry and I’ll be your best friend.” And she would do it, every time. I’m not sure if you understand how much Ash loves french fries.
It’s only in the last decade or so that I’ve come to truly appreciate the bond siblings have. It’s like no other. There are memories, experiences, and feelings only my sister and I share. There are ways she knows me that no one else will. Ever. Here’s proof:
Ash will remember when:
- We drove the Maui rental car (aka Monsta) all the way around the island
- We smoked that weed before we got on the plane
- We drove by her crush’s house, repeatedly
- We ran around Grandma Helen’s living room while she played the fast piano song, usually after a meal of mac-and-cheese and grape juice
- We pretended our Barbie dolls were Olympic gymnasts, complete with those custom leotards we spent hours sewing
- We caught mom and dad having sex (It happened, mom, stop denying it)
- We thought mom and dad might get a divorce after that Tahoe trip
- We jumped on trampoline until the sun went down
- We busted dad as Santa Claus
- We watched “Price is Right” and ate Eggo waffles with towers of whipped cream every summer morning
- We said, “Don’t tell mom and dad, but…”
- We went to dad’s basketball games, drinking orange soda in the back of his van with those twins whose names I’ll never remember
- We romped with Kasey
- We each flirted with Dan Benson and cruise ship Joe
- We memorized “Nadia”
- We memorized “Grease”
- We rollerskated in the garage to Janet Jackson
- We made dad cry with that picture of us in our softball uniforms
- We almost got away with you having that party while mom and dad were out of town (until dad found the beer bottle in the rose bush)
- We named our goldfish after McDonald’s food
- We begged our parents to have another kid
- We complained about our parents, cried about boys, disagreed about everything, dreamt about gymnastics, shared way too much information about…well, I’ll spare your readers, laughed about everything
One of my most meaningful memories is being there for the birth of Van. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there with all the pain and grunting and bodily fluids. I thought I’d feel helpless, just standing there, but I could tell in her eyes that my presence meant something, even if all I could do was finger-comb her hair and kiss her forehead and tell her, “you’re amazing” (because, fucking hell, labor is no joke).
And now I’m not just her sister; I’m an Aunt to her two little boys. That’s probably my most important title to date.
I wonder what memories Van and Hooper will build together, probably without any of our knowledge. They’ll have stories together known only to them. I can only hope they’ll throw their aunt a bone every once in a while.
Van Meets the Sea.
Dear Van,
Your life will be filled with many firsts: first job, first love, first day at school. Last Thursday was your first trip to the beach. You were 10 days old. You spent most of the time sleeping and eating, per usual. Your Papa and brother spent the day collecting rocks and digging holes. Before I know it, you too will be checking out the ladies, eating sand, and discovering the fun that is your Papa.
So Thursday was the first of what I hope become many trips to the beach. I hope you come to love this place as much as I do. I hope the smell of sunscreen becomes nostalgic and I hope sand is found on the floor of your car on a regular basis. I hope you come to value the freedom in going barefoot and I hope the suns rays treat you warmly.
Love,
Mama
2 Weeks.
I’d be lying if I didn’t confess that this past week has been both magical and ominous at the same time. Magical because, well you know, we created another little human. We are now a family of four and there is nothing sweeter than that. Willy has been absolutely wonderful with Van, so patient and loving. And his relationship with Hooper is stronger than ever. We’ve all really bonded and that’s why, when I look to the near future that is this week, I say things are ominous too. That’s because Willy will be returning to work. That means I will have to juggle breastfeeding the little while making meals and spoon feeding my bigger (because we all know how time consuming feeding our horribly picky and finicky eater can be). It also means that I will have to discipline the bigger one my own, which has become quite the usual occurrence this past week. The culprit is only obvious and I’m hoping that in time the transition to becoming a big brother settles in. There have been a few times where Van has been at the breast and Hooper has come up and whacked him on the head. In steps Willy and over to the corner Hooper goes for his lecture on hitting. Take Willy out of that equation and I’m not sure what to do. I picture myself pulling my hair out, but I know that will happen soon enough on it’s own so I’m not sure what I’m going to resort to. I imagine I will figure it all out and I hope that with each passing day I learn a trick here and there to help me get through the day (preferably with a shower and three meals). To be continued…
As far as recovery goes, I feel shockingly fairly close to normal. I started using the term “normal” just a few days ago and it feels oh so good to let that nice word roll off my tongue. I get a bit sore if I do too much during the day, but so long as I take care of myself, I feel almost back to normal. I will be sharing Van’s birth story on the blog tomorrow, but not included in the story is the fact that I did tear (again). It was one of my biggest fears prior to giving birth the second time and I have to admit that immediately after confirming that Van was okay, I asked, “Did I tear?”. Sure enough, the answer was “stage 3”, same as before. I dreaded recovery instantly, but I’d have to say it has been significantly easier and less painful than the first time. The body has such fantastic ways of healing and caring for itself.
Sleep hasn’t been horrible either. Would you believe me if I said there was one night Van gave me a five hour stretch? And another night a seven hour stretch? Of course those are the exceptions. Interspersed are increments of an hour, maybe two, and sometimes only 30 minutes. Keeping it positive, it’s been nice to catch up on the Olympics in the wee hours of the night as I sit like a potato on the sofa with my lovely glow worm attached to my breast.
First Thoughts…
Prior to giving birth, I worried about Hooper not being the center of my universe. I grieved the inevitable loss of time and attention I’d have with him and be able to give him. In Van’s first week of life, I’ve found the fear to be a reality. I’ve heard other mom’s to two say that it was harder for them than it was for the older child; harder to watch your first baby rely on others for things you alone used to be able to provide for them. I relate with this entirely. Hooper is fine, but as I watch him dance around me or walk out the door with his Papa to get ice cream I feel a hint of sadness. Like he’s cheating on me. This morning Willy bragged from his room, “I’m getting the longest unsolicited hug right now”. My heart sunk. I needed that hug.
That’s the downside. The upside is that, under the best of circumstances, parenting is a two person job. It’s bittersweet. Bitter to watch Willy get hugs he used to only reserve for me. Sweet to watch him embrace the man I love, the man who helped make him. I’ve watched their bond grow over the last few days and it makes it hard to complain when in actuality a beautiful thing is unraveling right before my eyes. The more time Willy spends with Hooper, the more his love for his son grows as well. So ya, there’s a lot of love flowing around these parts.
Hooper insists on holding his brother, but then can’t decide between his brother and Gabba Gabba.
Someone would love to poke an eye out.
“Hey Hoops, where’s your brother?”
Brotherly love.
First Outing.
Dear Van,
Your first outing wasn’t to the grocery store to pick up milk or eggs. It also wasn’t to your grandma’s and grandpa’s. Instead, it was to the tattoo shop. You may not have any recollection of it, but you were indeed there when your grandpa Niles got your name tattooed on his shoulder, right under your brother’s name. We joked before you were born that we were going to name you “Handsome Andrew” just so he’d have to have “Handsome Andrew” tattooed on his arm. I know, total jail bait. In any case, the other day you became legendary and joined an award winning array of other legendary tattoos… 
like the famous trout tattoo…
Or the Arizona flag tattoo…
And, of course, the “Hooper” tattoo…
I have to admit, I’m a little bummed we didn’t go with “Handsome Andrew”.
You will be inked on your Papa’s arm soon enough. Stay tuned.
I love you,
Mama
Sisterly Love.
There is a bond that only siblings have the privilege of knowing. My sister and I didn’t always have the most in common growing up and we fought often. We are 19 months apart. But once we became adults, our friendship flourished. She’s taught me a lot about life and myself and it’s because of my relationship with her that I look so forward to the friend Hooper will soon have for life in his brother Van. My sister came out to visit over the weekend to celebrate my birthday and watch the US gymnastics Olympic trials. We joined my parents Saturday evening at the Huntington Library in Pasadena for a picnic and tunes from the roaring 20’s. It was a splendid evening. I laughed so hard I cried, I think we all did, compliments of the face juggler app on the iPhone. I highly recommend checking it out. Here’s some shots from our Saturday evening.
Bits + Pieces, Father’s Day edition
I’m behind in sharing some snippets from our Father’s Day weekend. Actually, I’m behind in a lot of things lately due to the fact we have not been living in our house. We’ve been a bit discombobulated this week, but construction on our kitchen is nearing an end and soon things will be back to normal… Until Van arrives, that is. Anyway, here’s some bits and pieces from our Father’s Day weekend.
There was card reading in bed.
Followed by book reading in bed. 
Some cinnabons were consumed.
Cartoons were watched. 
Afternoon beers were had.
We played in the pool.
Hooper played with janitorial items.
Hooper opened and closed the fence. Over and over. 
Sarah played fetch.
Helicopters and airplanes flew overhead. Hooper pointed each and every one out.
Someone gave an abundance of daddy day hugs during his bath. Okay, he was really holding on for dear life as he suddenly hates the water poured over his head. But someone else (aka. Papa) ate it all up. So did I, hence all the photos.
Alas, the inevitable occurred. It all ended in another hug/grab on for dear life and in the end, everyone was happy.
We spent the rest of the afternoon in Santa Barbara at a family barbecue. It was a nice end to a nice day and we came home with some extra chocolate chip cookies, so you know, the day was pretty stellar.
It’s Baaaaack…
Some men take pride in their cars. Others in their trophy wives. My man? He takes pride in his mustache. He fiddles with the curled ends of that thing in front of the mirror longer than it takes me to shower, do my hair, and brush my teeth. When he sees another rugged man (I say “another” because surely he thinks his mustache makes him a gnarly dude) he immediately uses his come on line of, “What kind of wax do you use?”. And no, he’s not checking out their surf board, he’s checking out their stache. He makes many friends this way and gloats for the rest of the day after any compliment he receives. Anyhow, I figure it’d be fun to track his stache growth here on the blog. You may remember the initial pic I included on a Bits + Pieces post a few weeks back. If not, you can check out the very beginnings here, before the curled ends made their appearance. I’ll include a monthly snapshot from here on out. Hooper & Van, I’m sorry. Your Papa’s a nut.