Cheerleaders, Cupcakes and Costumes

Jiro made the mistake of telling Ellen that he'd like cheerleaders for his 40th birthday.

I doubt he thought she would actually find some for him.

I think it went over pretty well.

After the professionals left, several of us took up the pom poms:

Who is that pregnant cheerleader? Oh. That's me.

That's Chris underneath Howard Stern's hair. 

I think we've found our next holiday card photo!

Jiro is so Number One!

Happy birthday Jiro! I hope the rest of your year is just as funny, surprising and full of friends and love as your birthday party.

Parsnip Man

At our vegetable pick-up last week, Ada was thrilled by a special parsnip standing out from the box of regular roots. This large parsnip was dressed up, with a bit of root stuck through its "head" to make a jaunty mustache, and a friendly drawn-on face. (Sadly, I'd left my camera at home, so we just had to enjoy the parsnip in person.)

When it was time to go, Ada was disappointed that we could not take the parsnip with us. I explained that others would want to see this funny vegetable, and suggested we could make one of our own at home. Once home, Ada asked me to fulfill my promise, which I did. I will admit that I am a huge fan of parsnips and was loathe to sacrifice an entire one to this project. Instead, I took a parsnip with two root bases and snapped off one to make our own parsnip man.  I gave this little guy root arms, and then followed Ada's instructions for his other decorations.

After a few days living in a container outside the fridge, Parsnip Man has suffered a bit of shrinkage but is otherwise intact. When Ada and I talked about why PM is shrinking (parsnips have a lot of water in them, when a parsnip is left out the water is leaves the parsnip and evaporates into the air) she got a bit worried that PM would disappear completely. Once I assured her that PM was made partly but not entirely of water, she relaxed.

I didn't mention that no matter what, in a few weeks PM is likely to disappear completely anyway, most likely into our compost bin. Don't tell Ada, or Parsnip Man for that matter. I want his time with us to be happy.

Lemonade

Rebecca recently gave me a Lemonade Award. Based on the idea of life giving you lemons, etc., it is sort of a "good attitude" award. Which recently is kind of laughable, but I appreciate the thought nonetheless.

Apparently getting this award means I am supposed to:

• link back to the person I received the award from. No problem. (See above)
  
• nominate 10 bloggers who are deserving of this award! (how about 4?)
  

This second bit is harder, not because I can not think of people who deserve it, but nominating people then requires them to post about it, etc. Did I mention I am bad about chain mail? Bad, but also easily guilted, so recently when my friend Ann sent me an email recipe chain, I emailed her that I could not do it but still send her a recipe because I felt bad about my response.

That said, I will give this a shot, but I have no expectation that the named bloggers will comply unless they want to. For various reasons, I appreciate the attitude these women bring to their writing:

Laurie
Mayberry Mom
Holly
Gwen

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

There’s a septuagenarian African-American man in an ermine coat and felt bowler. There’s a bouffant-haired woman with a hard twang leaning on a walker. There’s even a guy with mutton chops who looks like a rockabilly werewolf.

RJ Smith
Rocking Cincinnati's R&B Cradle 

Kind of Dark

After reading a few books with me this afternoon, Ada decided she wanted to "read" some on her own. She plowed through three or four before asking me to find her another one.

"How about this one?" I asked, holding up a book.

"It's kind of dark."

"Dark? What do you mean?"

"It is dark. I want something lighter."

"Ok, how about Cars and Trucks and Things that Go?"

"Yes."

First, who knew that Ada classified books as light and dark?

 

Second, who would have guessed that Welcome Home, Big Bird would be considered dark?

Asking

I am totally becoming that woman - the one who walks in the door and immediately unloads her complaints. I hate being her, but in the moment it just feels so good to unload.

Between my growing stomach, my whiny, needy toddler, and pregnancy related annoyances and ills, I am a real barrel of laughs to be around. My big hope is that I can now really learn the lesson I only sort of understood from my first attempt at parenting an infant: ASK FOR HELP.

I suck at asking for help. I don't like to do it, and I am not very good at judging when I need it. Case in point - Friday morning I was feeling out of breath and out of sorts while dealing with run-of-the-mill morning stuff. Ellen called and offered to take Ada for a while so that I could get some rest. I hesitated, thinking to myself: really I am fine, and since it is only going to get worse, why ask for (or even accept) help now?

Can I just say: rejecting help is STUPID. Before I got off the phone, I told Ellen that I felt I should say no, but in the end I accepted her kind offer. After Ada ran off with Ellen and Monkey Boy, I ran an errand that would have taken twice as much energy with Ada tagging along. When I checked in with Ellen she said Ada was happy to have nap at her house. So I took a nap too. A long, lovely, middle-of-the-day, alarm-free, get-up-when-you're done nap. Which helped me realize how tired I have been feeling. (Well, that and a co-worker's comment earlier in the week about how tired I look.) So right, a little reminder that (a) I should think about when I need help, (b) I should ask for that help, and (c) I need more naps.

When Ada was an infant I was terrible about asking for help. My natural instinct is to refuse help, or to turn it into something that is not actually that helpful. People would offer to come over and take Ada for a walk, but I would suggest they just come and hang out. Then I would be responsible for entertaining and maybe feeding them, plus I didn't really hand Ada over to the visitor for long enough to make it useful.

Why I cling to this counter-productive trait is beyond me. I love to give help, so what is the problem with accepting it? Even though I know that people know I am not invincible, part of me wants to uphold the fantasy that I am so together that I don't need assistance, even in demonstrably difficult circumstances.
Maybe being socked by the reality of twins will force the issue a bit, but I know that I will need (ha!) help asking for help. My plan is to ask friends ahead of time to promise to come over to take Ada or the babies away for a bit, or to do other things for our family. I don't need matching infant sleepers or new stuffed animals, but knowing that I am not always so great at reaching out when I need the help, I am hoping that by pre-planning I can get people to ask me if they can help once I am in over my head.

(So yes, if you are my real-life friend and live in town, I am now officially asking for help once the babies are born. Thank you in advance.)

21 weeks

 In a mostly unrelated thought, the above picture is my belly at 21 weeks. I took a few pictures of myself, most of which just had the effect of showing off how dirty all the mirrors in my house are. I will get Chris to take one of me soon, but in the mean time I wanted to note that I am wearing maternity jeans I made myself. Thanks to Maggie, who sent me a link to a woman who blogged about making her own maternity jeans. I dragged out some jeans I never wear any more (from the photo you can see why, they are a shreddy mess) and sewed on a stretchy shirt that I have not worn for over a year. I used this set of directions. If not perfect, these home-made maternity jeans are at least as good and stay up better than any of the jeans I bought or got as hand-me-downs. Thanks again Maggie!

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Yeah, it's overwhelming, but what can we do?
Get jobs in offices, and wake up for the morning commute.

MGMT
Time to Pretend

3 years

For some reason, bloggers feel compelled to mention their anniversaries. I am no different. Nonlinear Girl is 3 years old today.

This blog has mostly been a fun way to navel gaze and show off pictures of my beautiful family. It has also connected me with a lot of fascinating people, some of whom have become my real life friends. Plus, some of the people I have not met in person I still care about in a very real way. Reading their updates and stories is an important part of my day. For the human connections alone, the blog has been worthwhile.

Oh, and the blog has allowed me the space to take a lot of pictures. I have really enjoyed following Ada around with my camera. The blog inspired me to start (and complete) a 365 project, and to begin the one I am working on now. Yay for an excuse for creativity!

Thanks to everyone who has read and commented on the blog. I appreciate your input and am always happy to read your thoughts - here, on your own blogs or in person.

balloons for everyone!

Bad News, Good News, Bad News

I am a little disgruntled about this whole twin pregnancy thing. It isn't so much my actual twin pregnancy, which is (knock on wood) going well. My frustration is with the rules and customs of twin pregnancy and birth. I can't imagine I am the first to complain about this, but I am still feeling a little shocked about some of what is considered "normal" for twin pregnancies. I feel like I am being constantly presented with bad news that only I see as bad.

Bad news: Twin pregnancies usually go through a doctor, so no midwife for me.
Good news: I asked a lot of people for recommendations and this one doctor's name came up a bunch. Plus, she's the mother of twins.

Bad news: The scheduler who makes my 13 week ultrasound appointment at the perinatology office across town says, "Oh, twins. We'll be seeing you a lot!"
Good news: The scheduler was wrong. I have scheduled my other ultrasounds elsewhere.
Bad news: Scheduling double ultrasound appointments is a pain in the ass. You'd think the schedulers had never dealt with twin pregnancies before.

Bad news: Many doctors are not trained to (or comfortable with) breech delivery or performing a version.
Good news: My doctor is comfortable with this and willing to do it if needed.
Bad news: I have no guarantee that she'll be at the hospital when I go into labor.
Good news: She offered to be back up to the doc in the hospital, in case that person is not comfortable with breech presentation.
Bad news: If I have another fast labor, she might not be able to get to the hospital in time.

Bad news: It is accepted procedure for women delivering twins to labor in an operating room.
Good news (sort of): My doctor says that it will be "normal" with people able to talk, move around, etc.
Bad news: Generally the laboring woman is only permitted to bring in one person with her into the operating room, even if she is just laboring normally.
Good news: My doctor was very open to my doula (my pal Ellen, who, when not helping me labor, is a hospital-based midwife) and says she'll see if she can get some kind of special dispensation/special agreement deal. Ellen is also working on this through her contacts at our preferred hospital.
Bad news: Did I mention that I will be laboring in an operating room? Doesn't exactly scream warm and comfortable.

Bad news: Going back to that whole "some docs are not comfortable with breech deliveries" thing, looking for information on twin c-section rates I find less-than comforting comments like this:

The chance of a c-section increases with the number of babies . . . But many doctors are at least willing to attempt a vaginal delivery if conditions are favorable for both babies in a twin birth.

At least willing to attempt? If conditions are favorable? Strong words there, very comforting.

I have read that as many as 60% of twins are delivered by c-section. This sounds outrageous to me, and I am not over my frustration that because many doctors are not trained to deal with breech delivery, they are not comfortable exploring the options. This can push women (not just those with twins) into a c-section that could have been avoided.

I readily acknowledge that there are lots of good reasons for women to have c-sections. I know women whose labor went on for a long time and failed to progress at key stages. I know babies that were in distress who were saved by c-section. I also know that some women think a c-section is "easier" than a vaginal delivery.

I happen not to be someone who sees a section as an easy way out. The idea of spending a couple of weeks (at least) fairly well incapacitated, plus additional time to really heal - all while caring for two newborns - that sounds a lot harder than delivering vaginally. I recognize that not all women labor as I did with Ada. I had a four hour labor, start to finish, with minimal tearing and mostly just the normal healing. A few days after Ada was born, I was walking (albeit v-e-r-y slowly) around the block. I was achy but not in a recovering-from-surgery kind of way.

I have my fingers crossed that the twins will cooperate by getting their heads down as we get closer to their exit date (whenever that might be). But right now, I feel pretty nervous and unhappy about all the rules for twin delivery, all the (forgive the pun) standard operating procedures. Part of me needs to accept that this may be the way things go, and part of me needs to rail against these rules. Maybe we can bend some of them, and maybe some will hold fast. I need to push a bit so that my sadness does exhaust me.

The End is Nigh

(or, further signs of the apocalypse)


My mother just sent me an email saying she'd signed up for facebook.






She has not yet requested to be my friend. I imagine eventually she will figure out how to do that.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

It used to be a hassle to put on underwear in the morning. Now it's kind of easy.

Justin Cobb
Thumbsucker

Everything is Puhfectly Nah-mal.

In her soothing accent, my childhood doctor used to proclaim "everything is puhfectly nahmal" at the end of each visit. Lungs, check. Reflexes, check. Blood pressure, check. Whenever I have a doctor appointment that goes as expected, my pediatrician's voice rings in my head, a calming mantra confirming the news.

Monday morning at way-too-early o'clock I had an ultrasound. Not that I had specific reason to worry, but nonetheless I spent the last week or so before a little keyed up about what the ultrasound might show. I am not even sure what I thought the results would be, what bad news I'd learn. I guess it doesn't matter, since all went well today. (Everything except my arrival at the wrong location, annoyance that no one was around, and eventual realization that I needed to be 5 minutes down the road instead. Luckily I got the "fast" ultrasound tech, who turned my 2 hour appointment into an hour. I even walked out "early.")

So everything continues to be normal - twin A (the girl) is the one who seems to have been standing on my bladder on a routine basis. Her brother twin B was a little less wiggly during the scan, consistent with the movements I have been feeling from their respective areas of my uterus.

Now I do have something to worry about. That whole naming thing that Chris and I put off until after this scan can now start in earnest. We've gotten a few suggestions, even some non-sarcastic. We are going to have to get moving on this. If it is true that 97% of twins are born by 37 weeks (something I read recently) we have no more than 18 weeks to find some names for these future bundles of joy. Break out the lists!

Pride and Hunger

For months I have been sitting on my hands so that I did not blab about my sister and her husband's project until allowed to do so. But given the okay to talk about it in real life, along with the fact that a ton of other (mostly SF foodie) bloggers* and others are spreading the word, I wanted to tell you how proud I am of Karen and Anthony's Mission Street Food. I am just sad that I do not live in San Fransisco. Otherwise I'd be there every week. Yum.

If you live in the bay area, Mission Street Food is on tonight. You should go. Just don't send me an email telling me what I missed, or I might cry.

*This is not a comprehensive list of the foodie bloggers who are in love with MSF. I just got tired of linking.

**Also, a few months back I tweeted about MSF to a bay area friend. My pal Maggie saw the tweet, and despite living in NY, sent the link to her Mission-dwelling friend, who went there with a date. I am not sure how the woman's date turned out, but at least I know the food was good.

The New Guy

Ada: Manu!

Chris: Manu?

Ada: He's someone at school. He's the new guy.

This post should probably have been called "Random Ada Conversation and Unrelated Photo"

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

That's the way we see life: your community is your survival. And if you live in a small community like this, even the people you hate you have as friends.

Carolyn Chute

Help, Please

There are so many things going on in my life, buying glasses should not even be on my radar. But. My parents gave me money to buy new frames for my birthday, and since I was in LA I got a chance to visit my favorite glasses store (SEE). SEE has great frames, and it has amazing prices. The frame price includes the lens price. If you have really bad eyes, as I do, it is a mere $70 more for high index lenses. This is amazing, as I am used to spending several hundred dollars on the lenses PLUS whatever the frame costs.

When Chris and I lived on the east coast, I had few friends and thus a lot of time on my hands. I was more serious about making art, and I sold a piece to a friend. She vastly overpaid me, of her own volition (out of some desire to help me see myself as an artist and not just a putterer.) I used the money to buy new glasses. Chris and I trekked up to Boston to visit the SEE there, and it was just bout the best consumer experience I have ever had. The salesman, a local student was incredibly helpful and kind. Together we picked out a few pairs and then narrowed it down to one: small orange plastic frames that I wore and loved for years. Finally (under the stress of years of wear plus the attentions of a baby) the frame broke. There is no SEE in Portland, so I bought a pair at a local shop. I like them fine, but they do not make my heart sing as the orange frames did.

SEE is in Los Angeles, where we were for New Years. During Ada's nap one day, we scooted down to the LA store to take a look. While no one pair completely won my heart the way the orange frames had, I found a few I liked. The saleslady wrote down the frame descriptions and numbers so that I could fax an order if I decided I wanted one.

So, can you help me? I need some input on the frames. Keep in mind that I have very bad eyes. No really, worse than yours, no matter how bad you think your vision is. (One eye has a correction of 10.75, the other 11.5. This is strong.) This means that even with the high index (thin) lenses, I tend to have think glasses. Also, they are thicker at the edges than in the center. If the glasses are too big, the lenses are thicker (which means both uglier and heavier).  With this limitation in mind, Chris and I picked out these frames:

one

two (see four)

three

four (I am pretty sure this is the same as two)

Or should I keep looking?

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

It's a little-known fact that the Virgin Mary was fond of creamed spinach. And did you know that sauerbraten was invented by Charlemagne? That the geneticist Gregor Mendel spent much of his time developing a recipe for fried eggs? Or that "people who use considerable red pepper in their foods are almost immune to atomic radiation"?

Paul Collins
The Oddball Know-It-All

Look Out Below!

My friends Mike and Ann called to wish me a happy birthday. Mike and I got talking about blogging, and photography projects. We talked about photo hosting, year-long commitments and project ideas. I mentioned how much I enjoyed a year of mornings and a year of evenings and how many great 365 photo projects I have seen.

Mike said he would like to start a year long project on January first. I was very enthusiastic about the idea, and when on December 31 I heard a radio story about this project, I immediately forwarded it to him. Apparently Ann heard the same story, and did the same. Mike, who is a brilliant and professionally trained garden designer decided he would take two pictures each morning, one of his front yard and one of the back. While his back yard has been developed over the past several years, he has yet to tackle the front yard. This means that the front yard pictures will have both a time-lapse seasonal quality, but will also document the work that he will be putting into the front garden this year.

Ann, an accomplished photographer who has among other things captured the Dalai Lama laughing, decided to play along. She will take a picture at the same time each evening. (Given their respective up early/up late personas, it is fitting that Mike has an 8 am project, while Ann will shoot at 8 pm. I can just see Mike trying to convince Ann to do a morning project with him.) I am so excited to see their pictures, it is all I can do not to email and call them daily until they start making their pictures accessible to me online. (Hint Hint)

In the mean time, Mike's infectious enthusiasm got me going, and inspired by the first photo above I decided to start a photo project of my own: Look Out Below. I will be aiming my camera down, giving me something to focus on outside of my usual comfort zone of people's faces and silly signs. I will be looking for patterns and abstractions, but also trying to use this as a way to pay attention to a part of the world that gets short shrift most of the time.

As many of the pictures may not be self-explanatory, I will use flickr's description function to include a sentence or three about the picture; where I took it, why it was interesting to me, or some other detail that seems pertinent.

Given my other ongoing project (i.e., the twins) I was not sure I could commit to a year, but at the least I will run this one for 3-4 months. I am adding a link to the set on the sidebar of the blog, and I will try to put up the daily photos on flickr every few days. But first I have to remember to start packing my camera with me everywhere again.

Please let me know if you are starting (or are in the middle of) a photography or other "daily" project. I would love to keep up with your efforts!

Confusion Spawned by the Baby Name Book Stephanie Loaned Us

Our pal Stephanie loaned us a baby name book that includes numerous categories of names, including:

Names that Spawn Nasty Nick-Names
This kind of stumped us. Adolph, sure. But Boris?

On the girls' list: Christopher. Does the teasing come from the fact that the girl has a traditionally male name?

Names Teachers Can't Pronounce
Why worry about this? I have an easy first name, but practically no one gets my last name right. The kids will have Chris' last name, so they've got that easier at least.

Exotic Names
Included on the list: Cherokee, Cheyenne, Pepita  This caused me to wonder whether the book was published in 1984. But no, 2004. Also on the exotic name list: Sequoia. To my mind, this is a name that could lead to bad nicknames, or at least extensive middle-school teasing. Or it would, if we (a 5'9" woman and her 6'5" husband) named a child this.

According to the book, Adelaide and Crispy (both girl names) are Scary/Creepy Names along with Winnie and Uzbek. The boy names include Neptune, Brick, Bruno, Butcher, Sinbad and Elmo. Okay, they do seem right about some of these at least.

Unforgettable Names
Schmoopie, Lindberg and Trocky.  Yup, unforgettable, in a laughing behind my hand sort of way.

Overpowering Names
Aunjanue (Overpowering, or just mis-spelled?)

Old-fashioned names that are cute again
Mort (um, no. still not cute)
Beulah, Ethel, Flo, Laverne, Mabel (maybe Mabel, but Laverne and Ethel?)


At the 13 week ultrasound the tech told us she thought we've got one boy and one girl. We are waiting for confirmation at the next ultrasound before dealing with names, but the news led Chris (who you'll recall is a mathematician) to suggest we name the kids Max and Min.  (Even worse, on hearing this idea, Jiro said: that would make Nora the Maximum and Minimum at the same time.)

Random Quote and Unrelated Photo of the Week ("still not over the latkes" edition)

A Jew develops from the cradle
A craving for a knish and knaydl.
He'll glorify gefilte fish,
But I, I love the latke dish.
Many a Jew has made his slogan
A pot of kreplah or pirogen,
But I say "kreplah, shmeplah," nothing
Delights me as a latke puffing.

Edward Stankiewicz
Ode to the Latke

Happy Birthday to...

(me)

I'm not sure who won, but we will be losing these white elephants

As I mentioned yesterday, every year on Christmas Eve Chris' family drives to his aunt's ranch for dinner and a white elephant gift exchange. This year we spent much of Christmas Eve day unsure about whether we would go, given that it took us over FOUR hours to make the normally one hour trip between our house and Chris' parents' place. Chris' aunt called us every hour or two with road updates. ("Mike just got home, and he says highway 99 is completely clear." "Travis is here now and he can tell you what the roads look like now.") Finally we decided that the thaw that had been going on all day made it likely that we would not run into any problems en route, so we packed ourselves into the car and headed to Camille's place.

After dinner we gathered in the family room for the white elephant gift exchange. (For those who do not partake in this particular tradition, click over here for last year's or here for a Wikipedia explanation.) Ada, who had never done this before but is very into distributing and opening presents, was very excited to help.

When it was Chris' turn to open a present, he got a travel mug. When it was stolen from him he opened what we started to call the transvestite monkey angel:

I was going to dig the angel out of the car to photograph it in its full "glory," but the idea of it in my house creeped me out too much and I decided to settle for this photo from the gift exchange evening.

Chris' dad opened a package with two hula girls in it. I coveted them (thinking of course how cool they would look on the dashboard of the minivan we will be buying next year) but they were stolen by Uncle Mike. When it was my turn to pick, Ada chose a heavy box for me. It contained a metal desk accessory that looked like a little guy sitting at a desk. I didn't want it, so I wasn't heartbroken when it was stolen by Travis a moment later. Ada then chose for me a package that turned out to be a hefty paperback book: The Shooter's Bible. I am not exactly sure what year it was from (maybe 1974) but it was not the latest edition. Not that this matters. Ada was thrilled, seeing it as a coloring book.

Lovin' up hte shooter's bible. Thanks Uncle Mike!

We left both of these "treasures" in Chris' trunk when we got home on Friday afternoon. We figured we could leave them there until Ada forgot about them, but then she saw this this afternoon as I loaded groceries into the car. Oops. I suspect the angel and gun book might disappear mysteriously, like the nuk.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Chris and I just lied to our daughter.

It started out innocently enough. On Christmas eve we visit Aunt Camille's house for the traditional family dinner and white elephant gift swap. In past years we put Ada to bed at Camille's and then woke her up for the drive home. This year we decide Ada is old enough to stay up, and on this score she is a champ. No tired tantrums, no complaints, just dancing and cheerful present shuttling.

We get home, and it is hours past Ada's usual bedtime. Chris shepherds her though an accelerated bedtime routine. But then he pops back downstairs because Ada's nuk (pacifier) is nowhere to be found. [As an aside, I know that 3.5 is kind of on the old side to be using a pacifier, but (a) she only uses it for sleeping and (b) I sucked my thumb way past when it was considered acceptable and I turned out okay. My teeth did too. I am one of the few people my age who never wore braces.]

When Chris tells me the nuk is missing, I am completely annoyed. We'd had a little temporary nuk crisis before nap and I saw Ada put her nap on the shelf when I got her up that afternoon. At home she is great about leaving the nuk in a little basket between sleep times, but I wonder if being at the grandparents' had confused things a bit.

Chris searches everywhere he can think of, but can not find the nuk. Ada is upset, but also very tired, so she yawns and cries while Chris explains that there is no nuk, but that we'd look for it again in the morning. She goes to bed just fine that night (again - it probably helps that it is two hours past her bedtime). Right after Chris comes back downstairs, I remember that in preparation for the trip to Camille's, I'd packed up bedtime supplies - jammies, a teddy bear, and the nuk - just in case Ada got pooped early in the evening. I had completely forgotten the bag sitting at the bottom of the stairs, and Chris had not known to look for it. He'd just used a different pair of pajamas when he got her dressed.

So ok, we could have put the nuk in her stocking the next morning. We could have "found" it at nap time. We decide to do neither. We decide to do what we did when we did actually lose Ada's nuk a few months ago.

At this point I should mention that not only does Ada use a pacifier, but she is very specific about which pacifier. For the past year or so we had ONE acceptable pacifier, dubbed the "cat and moon" nuk for the picture on the nub. When that one started to break down, I had to talk her into a different brand and style, because the old kind was no longer available.

Right, so: a few months ago we put Ada to bed at Monkey Boy's house, and when we took her home the nuk got left in her carseat. We didn't realize that it was there, and we did not use the car for several days. Ada was sad, but got over the loss fairly well. But then we finally got into the car, and Ada exclaimed: "I found it!" Chris and I groaned, but we went back to our old nuk-napping ways. But now we have a second chance at a nuk-free lifestyle! Everything went smoothly at the grandparents' house. Ada accepted that the nuk was irretrievably missing, and slept just fine without it.

Tonight (back at our house) we move smoothly through our usual routine, until we get to the part where we tuck Ada into bed. She asks for the nuk, and we remind her that we've lost it.

"But what about the green nuk?" (the beloved purple nuk had come in a two pack with a green pacifier)

And this is where we betray our sweet daughter's trust. I say: "I don't know where that one is."

"Is it in the basket? Can you look for it, Papa?" (I love that she calls us Mama and Papa, but in these moments it makes her sound even more innocent and sweet and breaks my heart even that much more.)

Chris makes a perfunctory examination. "Nope, I don't see it."

Sensing this could go either way, I reassure her that she'd done so well without the nuk, that she was such a big girl. So she snuggles into bed, and with a quick negotiation about a water cup on the shelf, she goes to bed.

So the nuk is gone, hopefully for good. I just hope Chris can hide the green nuk from Ada before she goes digging in the basket tomorrow morning.

One last thing about Chanukah

This year, in addition to "regular" latkes, I made sweet potato latkes. They turned out well, if I do say so myself. Here's the recipe I made up:

1 large sweet potato (preferably red/orange)
1 medium onion
2 eggs
flour (maybe between a quarter and a half cup?)
salt
pepper

Peel the sweet potato and grate it. If you have a food processor, use that, otherwise watch your knuckles as you manually grate. Grate the onion. Throw both in a bowl with eggs and flour. Mix and decide if you need more flour. Mix in salt and pepper.

Get out a non-stick pan (or two if you can multi-task). Add more oil than seems reasonable, and then add a bit more. When the oil is hot, spoon in (maybe 1/4 cup) dollops of grated mix. Over medium-high, cook latkes to brown but not burnt on one side, flip and brown the other side. Serve warm with sour cream and applesauce. And brisket. (Chris makes a great one!) 

When making latkes with potatos, I usually use a ratio of about three large potatoes to one big onion, plus 2-3 eggs and more than a half cup on flour.

Oh yeah, and for the three of you clamoring for a belly photo, here's the bump as of last weekend. Because who doesn't need a photo of a pregnant woman holding a sweet potato?

Note that although I am only 15 weeks along in this picture, the shirt is already insufficient to cover the bump. I am thrilled to have gotten a lot of hand-me-down maternity clothes from friends, but already the ones from the Gap are too short. Unless my friends bought special petite maternity clothes, I can not understand how something labeled 'maternity' does not cover me at this point in my pregnancy. Having learned the hard way about how easy it is to anger Gap partisans (see the comments), perhaps I should not complain so publicly about this, but really. Shouldn't maternity shirts be built long enough to cover a woman's torso for most, if not all of her pregnancy? Just a thought.

On the second day of Chanukah

My blog-friend gave to me: photos of the most recent Latke-Hammentashen Debate.

If this makes no sense to you, read this first.

For what it's worth, latkes get my vote any day. Tomorrow, a recipe.

Also, Ada got a fairy princess outfit from her pal Juniper. Once Juniper left, Ada modeled for us:

Apparently this is a stealth fairy princess outfit. 

With that mask on, we have no idea who that fairy girl is.

Happy Hanukkah

As a Jew in America, it is hard to compete with the Christmas whirlwind, especially when you have children. I'll admit that in my mixed family we celebrate both Hanukkah and Christmas. (In my defense, I don't "do" Christmas at my house. We go to Christmas at Ada's grandparents' house.)

Good thing the girls have my back:

Why I love my husband (reason 5497)

Chris, to Ada, who has been camped out in the bathroom refusing to pee for a half-hour: Do you want to do the Cheerio trick?

Ada: What?


Chris: The Cheerio trick, where we put a Cheerio in the bottom of the potty and you pee on it. Do you want to do that?

Ada: Yes!

Of course in the end she changed her mind and no one peed on any grains, but oh how I love that he came up with this one.

You Can Find This Post At Every Blog In Western Oregon

It snowed on Sunday.

Whoopie, right? Half of the eastern seaboard was without power last week, so what do you care about a couple of flakes out here? Portland gets snow once or twice a season, and it invariably wrecks havoc. People abandon cars in the middle of the street because driving is too stressful. Stores close if the owner sees more than three flakes. Everything grinds to a standstill.

That was fine with us on Sunday, it is not as if we had anywhere to go. Looks like Wednesday will be another snow day (Portland Public Schools, and thus Ada's nursery school as well, are already shuttered at the mere thought of snow). As I was planning on working from home, I can't really call in sick. With help from Chris and our friends, I think Ada and Monkey Boy will get some childcare, and some of us will get some work done. And in a few days, after the temperatures rise back out of the low 30s, things will go back to normal.

For now, a picture of Chris' snowball tutorial:

I'm So Tired

(And now for the boring pregnancy complaints! No wonder no one reads this blog.)

One of the side effects of my twin pregnancy, along with a quickly expanding midsection, appears to be fatigue. I remember being incredibly tired during my first trimester of pregnancy with Ada, but this time I felt reasonably perky until a couple of weeks ago. Now I want a nap almost daily, and this afternoon while reading books with Ada it was all I could do to keep my eyes open. Luckily Chris was home and I dragged myself upstairs to take a quick nap. Less fortuitously Ada ended my short nap by "gently" patting me and climbing all over me to tuck herself into bed with me. Her attentions were very sweet, however, and she did not complain when I stayed in bed while Chris gave her a bath.

Lying in bed I thought of an old movie reference, a favorite in my family. Madeline Kahn, as Lilly Von Schtupp, deadpanning "I'm So Tired." I realize this is not totally apt, as Lilly's complaint is somewhat different from mine. But hey, and port/reference in a storm, right?

Oh, and about that expanding belly...Last time I was pregnant Chris took a picture of me every Monday night.  I'm not going to show the photos because they were taken with me in various unflattering states of undress. (Hello internet, marvel at my ugly undies!) Not my finest moments, these pictures of me looking rumpled and tired, but they do mark the weekly progress of my belly. I dragged these pictures out a couple of weeks ago, since the first was taken around week 12 and I wanted a comparison. The week 12 photograph shows no evidence of pregnancy, other than why else would I be raising my shirt? This time my belly was already pooching. Now, at 14 weeks I look as big as I did at about 5 months last time. The pictures show that some time in early March 2005 I took out my navel ring, which I'd worn for 10 years. I figured I could have it put back in, but somehow I never did.

So right, tired and big already. Sleepy tired, but also tired in that all over muscle way that makes me nervous about what is coming the next few months. Plus my knees hurt. I have crappy knees, due to torturing them with competitive running in high school and goodness knows what else. I had surgery on one knee in college, but both are a bit wonky and sensitive to change. As my hips get moved about, my knees complain about the new arrangement. Last time I slept with a pillow between my knees. Chris and I called the pillow the boyfriend. Poor Chris, I've got a husband and a boyfriend, plus him. (Not to be confused with these husband pillows.)

What I am Thinking While They are Talking

Why did I agree to shlep out to a tree farm on what is promising to be the coldest day of the year so far? (To be quickly followed by an even colder day, which MIGHT just bring a dusting of snow.)

The stye in my left eyelid is really bothering me. Why won't it go away already? Would it REALLY help to hold a warm compress against my eye, or is that just something to distract me? Why does the above picture not bother me even though I know if I had that few eyelashes I would be freaking out?

Why did Chris eat the last of Ada's bunny crackers, even though he must know that I want them?

How many people noticed that my pants were rolled up in an odd way for several hours this morning, until I noticed that what I thought were cuffs (on borrowed maternity pants) were really just turned up ends?

After hearing Bill O'Reilly say he tends to "bloviate" I now have the word rolling around in my head. Bloviate, bloviate, bloviate.

Is every 3.5 year old as directive as mine? As we walked to her school, Ada informed me that I should pick her up with the trailer and a yogurt drink. I am a little frustrated that she thinks getting a yogurt drink is part of her pick up routine, thanks to Chris often getting her one. He's definitely the "nice" parent. When I pick her up the routine is more like: look up from computer to notice the time, run around pulling on sweater, shoes and jacket before rushing out to get her in time. "Buy yogurt drink" does not fit in that  schedule.

The stye is still bothering me. Maybe if I poke at it, it will go away. Nope, still there.

I wonder if the teachers notice that I never do anything about Ada's crazy hair. I wonder, but do not care enough to deal with her crazy hair.

Bloviate.

I am not totally sold on the new Morning Becomes Eclectic DJ, but willing to give him a chance. I liked the Ozomatli/Charlie Tuna song he just played.

I just can't seem to get enough hot water with lemon and honey.

I am completely charmed by the animal cards someone stapled along the phone poles in my neighborhood.

What is rolling around in your head today? No really, I want to know.

Random Quote and Unrelated Photo of the Week

Meeting a namesake is one of the most delicate and most brief of surprises.

Michael Chabon
The Mysteries of Pittsburgh

How NOT to make a Duvet Cover (a tutorial and cautionary tale)

(1) When your sister suggests that as a joint birthday gift for herself and her husband, agree readily. Assure your sister that it will be no problem, just a few straight seams, easy really.

(2) Work out a deal with your mother in which you will do the labor and she will pay for the fabric, allowing you both to give your sister and her husband a gift in a nice Marxist way (each according her her ability...)

(3) Send your sister some fabric web sites. Suggest that she and her husband pick out a fabric. Make a few suggestions of your own.

(4) Receive email from your sister with several options, including a lovely but obscenely expensive Marimekko print and a much less expensive Moda fabric. Discuss and agree up the idea of incorporating your sister and brother-in-law's chuppah in the design.

(5) Engage in several more rounds of fabric discussion, finally settling on the Moda print. Fail to consider that, as this is a Moda print, it will go out of stock quickly and not be re-produced by the manufacturer. Allow months to go by while you are busy at the beach, with friends, and in the garden.

(6) Finally get around to purchasing the fabric, only to realize that it is out of stock at your local mega fabric store and at most online shops. Find one online shop that carries it, and order 7 yards.

(7) Wait another month and then purchase two 600 thread count sheet, one to go under the delicate chuppah fabric, the other for the bottom of the comforter cover, to accommodate your brother-in-law's preference for a very soft comforter. Feel glad that the sheet is on sale. Feel even gladder that you have been carting around that 15% off coupon in your wallet for 3 months.

(8) Get the sheets home and realize that the white chuppah will look horrible with the main fabric's purple and cream print and the dark cream sheet. Decide not to use the chuppah. Return the second sheet.

(9) Call the online fabric merchant and experience the most amazing customer service. (Although the seller did not have any more of the pattern, the owner of this one woman shop called Moda to see if they still make the print. When she called me back to say that Moda doesn't make this print any more, she suggested I check several of her competitors' web sites to see if they might have any. She even suggested specific competitor sites that were likely to have it.)

(10) Take the nice quilt lady's advice and find another vendor that carries the fabric. Order 3 more yards.

(11) Once the fabric arrives, wash the sheet and all 10 yards of the purchased fabric Press all 10 yards. Press the sheet, cursing the whole time.

(12) Wait another few weeks while you nightly feel crappy and first-trimester nauseous.

(13) Finally get off your butt and start calculating measurements. Recalculate all measurements after talking to husband about said calculations. Re-recalculate, and then go to bed.

(14) Months after you agreed to start the project, start sewing. Quickly realize that the hard part of the project is handling 94 inch long pieces of fabric. 

(15) Sew all four pieces of the comforter top together, and fiddle around while deciding how best to attach the back.

(16) Sew the front piece to the sheet and realize you have slightly miscalculated the measurements. Decide to ignore the problem, figuring most of the error will be hidden by the seams.

(17) Practice making button holes. Panic that they will look crappy.

(18) Measure fabric and decide how many buttons you need to keep the comforter from poking out of the cover.

(19) Go to the crazy button store and spend way too much time picking out buttons that will match the fabric and are sturdy enough to survive the washer and drier without breaking. Cleverly purchase two more buttons than you plan to use, just in case.

(20) Get over panic and start sewing button holes. Decide that although they look a little wonky, no one will really notice because the buttons will cover the holes.

(21) Realize that your want four more buttons than you originally thought you wanted. Return to the crazy button store for two more buttons.

Note chalk marks, which I carefully rubbed off before finishing the cover.

(22) Hand sew buttons all evening in order to be sure the project will be done in time to mail it on Monday before you leave town for Thanksgiving.

(23) Iron the entire duvet cover so it will look nice. Ignore nagging voice telling you that once you fold it to put it in the box it will get all wrinkly again.

(24) Carefully insert folded duvet cover into a plastic bag, then put the bag and a note into the mailing box. Address the box at the post office. Call your sister to confirm zip code. Wake up said sister in the process.

(25) Fail to confirm street address with sleepy sister, and incorrectly address box.

(26) Buy delivery confirmation and insurance for package which you have just mis-addressed.  Mail package.

(27) Wait 4 days.

(28) Call sister and ask if she has gotten your package. When she says she has not, consider what could have gone wrong. Realize you have mis-addressed package.

(29) Dream about the package on two consecutive nights.

(30) Nine days after you mail the ill-fated package, talk to your local postal worker, who cheerfully tries to convince you that it will all work out all right - either your sister's postal worker will figure out the problem and get the package to her anyway, or it will be returned to you after what he figures should be a few days. Feel impressed by the extent to which your mail carrier takes pride in his work.


(31) Two days later, still see no evidence of the package and hear nothing from your sister that suggests she's gotten it.

(32) Sigh heavily. Regret that you did not take more pictures of the duvet cover. Realize the amount of insurance purchased will not cover the cost of materials, much less the time the project took. Sigh again.

(33) Twelve days after you mailed the package, return to the house to find it on the front porch. Do a quick happy dance and drag the box inside. Open the box, add a second item to make up for the tardiness, reseal and re-label with the correct address. Slather with tape.

(34) Rush to the post office to mail the package.  Wait for your sister to call and tell you she's received the package and that the duvet cover is the best one you'd ever made. Fire up the computer to write a tutorial.

Of course I read that article

In last Sunday's New York Times magazine, Alex Kuczynski writes about her efforts to have a baby (which included 12 rounds of IVF and finally a gestational surrogate (a woman who was pregnant with the fetus created by Alex's egg and her husband's sperm).

I so wanted to be right there every moment with this story, and for the most part I appreciated the author's candor about her struggles and doubts. A couple of things bugged me about the piece. Since I figure that at least a few of you might share my interest in the piece, I thought I'd write about it.

Several of the photographs in the essay really bugged me. For someone who describes herself as so much wanting to experience parenting, you'd think Kuczynski would have noticed that the picture of her with her child and "baby nurse" might undermine the reader's sense that she is in this whole hog. I admit that if I was rich enough to have a home in New York City, plus others in Southhampton and Idaho, I might have a little live in help too. But maybe including in the picture a uniformed woman standing at attention a few paces from mother and baby was not the wisest choice on the author's part.

This photograph especially disturbed me when I read the part of the article in which Kuczynski complains that people joked with her that by having a surrogate she was skipping out on the hard part of parenting. This leads Kuczynski to worry that she is somehow less of a mother, that she is missing some elemental experience. My first reaction was viceral - as challenging as it can be, labor is NOT the hard part of becoming a parent. Parenting is the hard part. But then the picture flashed before me, and I thought maybe it isn't the hard part if you are surrounded by help all the time.

And the cover photo? Even going into the article with a good faith effort to like the author, just looking at the picture creeped me a out a bit. Kuczynski writes about how wonderful her surrogate is, how warm and thoughtful (the surrogate brought Kuczynski a gift when the former went into labor!). But in the picture Kuczynski looks anything but connected to the woman. I could not help but wonder what the author was thinking when she okayed that cold and creepy picture. I suppose it is possible that she did not take part in this editorial decision, but given her stature in the profession, you'd think she'd get a little say about it.

I feel a little weird that my complaints about the article are actually complaints about the pictures that accompany it. Talking to my mother, her response was a little different. She didn't like the pictures either, but she also did not like the author. She was annoyed by how self-absorbed Kuczynski appeared. Somehow this bothered me less, maybe because as a blogger self-absorption is my bread and butter. But  blogging aside, I could relate to how all-consuming the desire to become a parent and the stress associated with being repeatedly thwarted.

I should cut Kuczynski a little slack, I suppose. I do appreciate how open she was about what she went through. I don't think she is a hero, but I am sympathetic to her five years of infertility hell. In any case, it is an interesting read for anyone interested in this small but growing corner of the assisted fertility world.

Updated: As Karen noted, a lot of people had a lot to say about this article. Check out the comments (404 as of Thursday afternoon) here.  

Also - interesting articles  on related topics:
Nobody Loves My $20,000 Baby by Daniel Nester
Commentary on the Kuczynski piece by Melissa Ford (on Blogher)

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Slow but happy grocery checkers do not a hellhole make.

Anna Hirsh
Portland Polemic

In Through the Out Door

While helping me unpack the maternity clothes my neighbor loaned me, Ada asked what the clothes were for.

Me: As the babies grow, my belly is getting bigger. These clothes will help me cover my belly so that I don't get cold. 

Ada: How will the babies get out?

Me, gesturing from my slightly bulgy belly downward between my legs: They will come out this way, but not until they are big and ready to come out. They'll sort of knock and let me know that they want to come out. Then something like a door (making a small circle with my hands) will open a little, then a little more, then more until they have room to come out. Then the door will close again. 

Starting to worry that my door metaphor might make Ada worry that the door could swing open at any time, I added: The door can only open when the babies are ready to come out. They won't just fall out. 

Ada: And how do they get back in?



I could not help thinking of those signs at concert venues: No In And Out.

Beet That

One small piece of evidence of my parenting prowess - my daughter loves beets.

Monkey Boy thinks they are okay too.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Wander the grounds and you might see toddlers hopping on rubber magic mushrooms, hear a calliope version of the Artic Monkeys song "I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor," or read a sign outside a Moonbounce attraction called the Punk Pit that warns, "All Punks Must Obey the Following Rules."

Steven Kurutz
Did Bob Marley Grow Up in a Water Park?

The day that every parent wants to have

In preparing to leave town at 7 tonight, I took the day off to play with Ada. She is not coming with me on my trip, she gets her own trip (Thanksgiving with her grandparents). Lately, Ada has veered between two poles - utterly charming, polite and adorable, and Godzilla meets the Thing on a bad day.

Luckily, today she is great. We woke up, she happily ate the agreed-upon breakfast, we colored, built a Lincoln Log house, read books, ran around in our underwear and generally entertained one another for several hours this morning. Then, without any fuss, we packed up a few things and ran to the post office to mail a package. After that, Ada offered that she'd like a bagel, so we walked to the slow cafe for bagels and books.

All this may not seem like much, but on her bad days, I can accomplish nothing without butting up against Ada's non-stop whining, crying and assorted complaints. No effort goes unpunished, no reasonable offer is accepted. On a day when she knows that Chris and I will be leaving without her, I would have understood if in she acted out to show her annoyance.

But today was good. Fantastic, actually. My funny, smart, verbal, creative child made me laugh and gave me plenty of reasons to enjoy her company. And when Juni came to drive Ada to her grandparents' house, she was happy and friendly and fantastic. I know every day can not be like this, but I am so thrilled that I get to live such days when they come along.

The Flip Side

After my last (mopey) post about the losses associated with having twins (or really, children generally) I want you to know that it is not all soggy Eyore-mimicry around here.

This weekend I got into a conversation with a woman at the park, and through a circuitous route ended up telling her I was pregnant with twins. "I'm a twin!" she said, telling me how close she is to her (male) twin and how great childhood was with him and their older sister (who was born a mere 18 months before this woman and her brother). It was one of those weird conversations that turns from the mundane (she complimented my purse, we talked about sewing) to personal (fertility, pregnancy) while not feeling awkward. In fact, afterwards I wanted to kick myself that I did not ask for her phone number. Our daughters are the same age and it is kind of rare that I randomly meet someone with whom I immediately feel so at ease.

Later this week during the break at a meeting for work, a woman I know only a little came up to me and asked if the rumors were true. I sheepishly said yes, I was pregnant with twins, and she proceeded to very effusively tell me what a warm spot she has in her heart for other mothers of twins. She has twins, now in college, and said it was a great experience. This woman's twins were her 3rd and 4th, and she said that after the first two years it was significantly easier to have two than one. (Pretty much everyone seems to acknowledge that the first couple of years are chaotic and insane.) She was so positive about the whole thing, and it left me feeling very hopeful in a way I have not been feeling the past couple of weeks.

I don't believe that the universe sends you what you need or anything like that, but once in a while you do get to hear something that helps. This past week I heard it twice.

Coming to Terms

Since reading that Blogher found Portland lacking and is returning to Chicago instead, I have felt kind of low. Knowing as I do that Portland is fantastic, I was more than half sure that the Blogher gals would agree and set up their conference here next summer. (No offense to St. Louis, but what do they have other than corporate beer and a big arch?)

Mrs. French and I had talked some about next summer's conference, and how nice it would be to sleep in our own beds yet attend this fun and overwhelmingly stimulating event. Knowing I will be not more than two months post-partum next summer, I tried to convince Mrs. French that at least she should go, so that I might live vicariously through her. She said she'd be more likely to go if I went with her. I admit to wondering whether she'd mind helping me shlep tiny babies across the country. Or be roommates with me and my schedule-free wailers.

Ok, it is unlikely. But a girl can dream, can't she? I think the blue mood that has descended on me since the Blogher announcement is really part of a larger mourning period. When I was pregnant with Ada, the leader of my prenatal class asked us to think about what our big question was. Some of the people in class wondered "what will my child look like?" "how will I do in labor?" or "what happens when I go back to work?"

I immediately formulated my question: "How am I going to come to terms with with the losses associated with the birth of my child?" I understood that while much is gained with a child, parents have to give some things up, if at least for a while. Things change. The trick was to learn how to accept those changes.

The Blogher thing was a trigger, opening me up to thinking about all the things that are going to change when the twins arrive. I am grieving my losses already. Or maybe just in advance.

I have a lot of freedom right now. Having one child lets you do a lot more than you can with two (muchless three). When Ada and I leave the house, we have things pretty well in hand. We shove on boots and jackets and head out, hand in hand. With two infants in tow, popping out the door will be more like crawling, with plenty of return trips for forgotten crap.

It isn't just the idea of getting three kids out the door to the park or the store. It is realizing that for a long time, Chris and I will be outnumbered in a real, constant way. For a time there won't be many opportunities to have Chris take the kids while I clean the house or work on a project or space out in the garden. Three means that we'll be outnumbered and finding space alone will be a lot harder to do. I still want Chris to go to his Sunday basketball games, but I am already worried about how I will juggle the kids. I wonder what I would use my "free" time for, or when I will actually get any of that.

I have been talking to a close friend about this, and we have commiserated about how much harder it will be to spell one another this time around. Last time our children were born a year apart. This time we will likely have new babies at about the same time and won't have the free arms that we happily offered one another when we needed them in the past.

When I was convinced that this last round of IVF would not work, travel was on my list of up-sides.  Having three kids means we are not going to travel as much as we would have with just one. Airfare is so expensive and when you have to spend thousands to get someplace it can put a damper on the whole trip.

This is all pretty whiny, and I know that the pre-parent me would probably have been annoyed reading the complaints of a woman who'd successfully conceived twice. I am lucky to have these problems. Even more, I am lucky that my question this pregnancy is not "how will we pay for three children?" or "will we have to sell the house?" I live a charmed life, even if it is not always the life I expected I'd lead. So now I return to the question I asked myself last time I was pregnant: How am I going to deal with giving up the things I will lose with the birth of my children?

Fun with Photobooth

Photo Booth is one of my favorite applications.  Ada and I used it to document the moustaches we painted on one another. (She gave me more of a full beard, but she is only 3.)

Ada, still mastering the art of the fish-face.

Ada and Chris having fun with the Mirror function.