Family update

Just, wow.

Posted on by amberhj

Stella keeps busy at the ER. Thankfully, none of the many available tubes were used during the ER visit. (Sorry, inside joke.)

We were back at the ER at Children’s Hospital last night, our old stomping grounds. It’s a long story that I will tell soon. But all I can right now is “wow.” All the things I thought were so hard lately, all the things I’d been tired and complaining about, my occasional shortage of patience with Stella during a terrible cold, my lingering fear about her eating, my lack of perspective despite Stella’s earlier health challenges… they’re all punching me in the face simultaneously. And I’ve made the mistake of using Vicks tissues on my eyes while crying. Bad move. It feels like my eyes are radioactive–Cody tells me they’re not glowing but I’m pretty sure I just saw some sparkly green stuff shoot out of my pupils. I was a fool. Now I’m just scared.

A head CT scan did rule out some horrifying stuff. Which is great. But serious questions about my sweet Stella’s eyes remain. A nebulous initial diagnosis hangs in the air. Simply put, this is a rare situation. As one doctor put it: “Odd.” As another doctor put it: “I don’t like it.”  My mission for now is to get Stella an appointment with the head ophthalmologist at Children’s Hospital. As soon as humanly possible. I find myself sinking back into old habits, from the days of Stella’s feeding aversion, spending any free moment researching, grasping for answers, even though we’ve yet to see the proper specialist.

I feel like such a jerk for not appreciating more how well Stella has been doing. IS doing! This is just one more challenge she’ll overcome. I can’t overstate how incredibly lucky I am to have her. And no matter what the outcome or prognosis or course of treatment: STELLA IS PERFECT JUST THE WAY SHE IS. Always has been.

There’s so much to this story. I look forward to sharing it when I have regained a bit of composure.

Unladylike ladies

Posted on by amberhj

Neither Stella nor I are particularly dainty. Except when Stella runs on her toes, which is quite graceful and precious. (I do it, too, even when playing basketball, but it doesn’t have the same effect.) She looks like a tiny fairy ballerina prancing about, excitedly granting wishes, instead of a toddler, running around wreaking havoc. It’s a good cover.

“Ladylike” is not a word usually associated with me, for sure. I’m pretty sure I often eat with my mouth open. I sometimes sit with my legs sprawled. During important work meetings. I don’t do the kind of heavy-lifting, when it comes to socializing, that people expect from true ladies. You know, those women who instinctively smooth out every social situation with such grace, especially in regards to men who lack their skills, making everyone feel wonderful and engaged and the center of attention, all while re-filling their glass of freshly squeezed lemonade and maintaining constant eye contact. Not me. I halfheartedly try, sometimes, but my energy is so quickly drained by extended attempts at extroversion that soon I’m the one alone, in the corner, at my own party. And I’m fine with it.

It’s too early to tell what her true inclination is, but at the current moment at least, Stella is a bit of a tomboy, like me. The last time I put a dress on her, she almost tore her arm muscles in a futile attempt to rip it off. Her eyes were popping out of her head from the strain of the effort to remove the flowly, intrusive garment by simply pulling it directly away from her chest. (After just a moment’s entertainment, I took it off, of course.) She won’t let me put clips in her hair. She immediately ruins all her pretty, expensive shoes with massive dirty scuffs. I always find it puzzling that so many toddler boy shoes have protected or reinforced toes while little girls’ footwear is left with butter-soft leather on the toe. Might as well throw a heel on it as apparently, shoe manufacturers don’t expect little “ladies” to be as active as boys. And don’t get me started on sippy cups. So boys get to gaze at dinosaurs and imagine about and perhaps imitate what these prehistoric creatures  may’ve been like while girls get to look at bright pink flower and dot patterns? Humph. I purchased the dinosaur cup but haven’t been so bold as to opt for boy shoes. Soon, she’ll make that call. But I digress.

You could not describe Monday’s incident as ladylike. We were at a friend’s house, attending a get-together of about seven of Stella’s peers and their parents. Music, both kid- and parent-friendly, filled the air. People noshed on lentil stew, veggies and an assortment of cookies. Kids played happily all over the joint. The vibe was jovial. When all of a sudden, the loudest, most blood-curling scream in the history of anger pierced the air like a butcher knife. Everyone’s eyes bugged out, jaws dropped, wide-eyed children froze in fear, and soon all parents within a ten-mile radius had rushed to the scene to administer CPR or otherwise address whatever life-threatening injury had been sustained, to hopefully keep the toddler alive until paramedics arrived. Okay, EMTs weren’t summoned, but I’m pretty sure I saw someone grab their phone. I, on the other hand, didn’t move. I waited until the sustained, eardrum-shattering, horror-movie-style scream at last ended, because I needed to collect myself. It was Stella. She was not dying. Her pathway had been partially obstructed by a chair.

Deep. Breaths. I’m pretty sure that any time Stella feels boxed in, her frustration skyrockets immediately. She expresses it with a primal scream. This has happened in response to the fit and snag potential of dresses. Those with an empire waist can fit snugly around the middle, which she loathes. My mother recalls very clearly that I too raged against remotely tight-fitting clothes, so really, Stella’s behavior may be simple karma. Anywho, this “boxed in” theory of Stella’s frustration has als0 been proven at Gymboree. Once, she stopped mid-slide to just hang out there observing Gymbo’s antics, and some sweet kid has the audacity to try and pop a bubble at the bottom of the slide. She screamed and kicked at him, and I swooped in to prevent her from making contact.

Yes, she got it from me. I have unladylike responses to frustration. (Cody is almost impossible to frustrate, which is infuriatingly frustrating.) But exactly how was this inclination transmitted from me to her? My outbursts during her feeding aversion probably didn’t help. Her frustrating 32-hour birth, wherein she basically got stuck because her head was sideways, wasn’t a great way to start life as a content little lady. Going back further, all the very unbecoming road rage I experienced while pregnant could be the problem. Maybe all that beeping led to all this screaming. Pretty sure I could find a study to confirm this in five seconds of googling. But the other likely cause is toddlerhood. Toddlers, both girls and boys, do scream. Not surprising for her age, Stella’s very active and feels way more comfortable when she has a lot of space. I have to say that she’s not always doing flips and wind sprints–she is also social and sweet, darn close to ladylike. She gives a good hugs, and often puts her arms around her playdate buddy, Cooper (they hugged each other this week, actually–a first). Those two dance together (okay, sometimes Stella tries to drag him to the dance floor, but still). They get excited about seeing each other! But God forbid he ever get in her way. I bet Cody (my husband) knows how he feels.

So, it was with trepidation that I purchased a truly beautiful, only-one-of-its-kind dress, designed and sewn by a local woman from cheerful, mostly floral vintage handkerchiefs, for Stella to wear to this coming weekend’s wedding in NYC. Cody’s cousin is marrying her charming British beau. The bride just so happens to help create the beauty that appears in the pages of Martha Stewart Weddings. That’s right. She works for Martha. She helps envision beautiful weddings for a living. So. I was not going to let Stella wear fleece pants and a dirty onesie to this particular event. I was also not going to let myself wear stained jeans to this fabulous occasion,and purchased a comfortable but stylish vintage-inspired shift dress (say that ten times fast) for myself.

My hope was that for one night, at least, we could fake it. I’d chat up strangers, cross my legs, and chew with my mouth closed. Stella would wear a compliment-magnet of a dress and gracefully and quietly navigate her way around chairs and people, and we would look back at the pictures one day and marvel at what pretty ladies we were. If only for a moment.

So imagine my surprise when I put on my own dress, and Stella took notice immediately. She perked up and grabbed at the hem, as if to admire the fabric. “Dress” instantly became part of her exploding vocabulary. I seized the moment and asked her if she’d like to try on her very own dress. She put her arms up, ready for it. I pulled it over her head, zipped it up and tied the bow in the back. She smiled, and pranced away while tilting her head to the side, the very pleased way she does when she looks in the mirror, a move that translates to, “Aren’t I adorable?” I figured it was a fluke and took it off a couple minutes later, wanting to preempt a frock fit. She demanded it be put back on. WHAT? Perhaps I sold the dress thing a bit too hard. Remind me to applaud when she asks to wear jeans. You know, for the sake of balance.

But. Our flight to JFK was canceled on Thursday. Then it was canceled again today. I was not surprised at all, because our flights are canceled about 75% of the time. This is not exaggeration. Our terrible travel luck is the stuff of legend. Further, the more prepared and excited we are, the more likely it is that we’ll be staying put. Here’s a typical pre-trip email conversation: I write, “Hey, family! We’re on a direct flight on Alaska Air. Can’t wait to arrive on Sunday!” Family: “Great! See you Tuesday, if at all!”

So, we will not make it to NYC for the wedding. I’m so sad to miss the chance to both celebrate the very happy nuptials of a wonderful couple and to spend time with our extended family. But it’s out of our control. I should probably just return Stella’s pricey frock, as she’ll surely outgrow it before she has an occasion to wear it. Part of me wants to keep it and let her wear it to Gymboree and the playground. Something about a dress of flowy vintage handkerchiefs on a tomboy rolling in a mix of dirt, sand and wood chips is incredibly appealing to me. I could wear my shift dress and gold heels while chasing Stella around the park.

Due as much to my demeanor as my apparel, there have been many mortifying incidents wherein I was mistaken for a boy–even into my teens! And unless Stella’s wearing head-to-toe pink, people tell me how cute “he” is. (That’s a whole other post.) So maybe we’ll make a statement next time we’re out. Ladies? You want us to be ladies, world? We got dresses and we’re not afraid to use them. We’ll show you how REAL ladies roll–and skewer your rigid gender stereotypes. Believe.

18 months

Posted on by amberhj

This is what an 18-month-old cutiepie with a 110th percentile head looks like.

On Saturday, Stella demanded “more pie.” Then on Sunday, after spying the gleaming white Trophy Cupcake bakery box, she shouted “CUH-CAKES!” Today, she’s been crying out for “BAGEL!”

I’d read in The Scientist in the Crib that “around 18 months” is a time of unbelievably fast development, including a “naming explosion” wherein the child can hear a word once (used as a label for an object) andsay it with ease forevermore. I knew it was coming. I just didn’t expect Stella’s language explosion to be so intensely focused on desserts and carbs. And I’m actually quite proud of it–her love of eating is beautiful to me.

Of course sweets aren’t the only emerging area of identification and communication. She knows at least several each from the shape, color, number and letter families.  Some more reliably than others, of course. She’s all, “Seven? What the HELL is that alien scribble?” but “Two and Five? Hell yeah, I can spot ’em from across the street!” “Diamond” was the first shape she could easily say and identify, which I find funny for some reason. She’s starting to string words together, and the phrase of the day is “Buckle up!” Feeling really proud and curious, I tried to count all the words she knows, and gave up when I got to 125. She’s adding more each day. This blows me away. Now that there is so much to report on, the first thing I tell Cody when he comes home is, “Here are literally all of the things Stella said, ate, did, thought about and looked at today!” And then I don’t shut up for about 90 minutes. Dinner is always done way too late.

The way Stella views the world and her place in it is clearly different now, and you can see it in the way she plays.  The playground, two blocks away, is her domain. But she’s oh-so-boldly venturing out into previously uncharted territory.  She’s no longer content to run over the toddler bouncy bridge, go down the big slide, climb the stairs, or even to scale and descend the steep rubber mounds lurking beneath the tallest playground structure. For many months now, from the safety and comfort of the bucket swing, she’s intently observed adventurous, dirty-kneed boys and girls hiking and climbing amid the boulders and tree-root-studded dirt path that make up the strip of elevated land along the edge of the playground. She now deftly explores this rocky frontier without fear, making me nervous and proud at the same time. By the time we left today, the knees and butt of her pants had dirt ground into them. There were wood chips on her sweater and hat, and sand in her shoes. She looked like a full-fledged KID.

Today we hit the pediatrician’s office for Stella’s 18-month check-up. The weigh-in that used to fill us with dread is now just a point of curiosity, a nice bit of reassurance about her continued growth. The doctor, GOD bless him (he’s seen me at my worst), always seems so happy to see Stella. He’s just so thrilled to see her thriving after those tough early months. He “gets” how hard it once was for us, and how momentous a seemingly routine and uneventful check-up is. He seems genuinely proud of all of us, happy to show us her “beautiful” growth curves, charted electronically on his fancy tablet. Stella’s now in the 40th percentile for weight and the 90th percentile for height. Her head is still off the charts, having drifted just a touch further away from the 100th percentile, which is probably why it’s such an effective counterweight for hoisting herself onto ottomans, coffee tables and assorted off-limits areas. She’s lean. She’s tall. She’s healthy. She’s fabulous. I could not ask for more in a daughter than Stella, just as she is.

The point. Right. She’s not a baby anymore. I’ve teared up (okay, maybe even wept pitifully) about this fact numerous times, of course. Because it’s all too short. Unfairly short. As a parent, just when you get the hang of babyhood, it’s over. Just when you settle into the knowledge of  “16 months”, she turns 17 months old. Then, before you even realize that she’s outgrown all her pants, 18 months. All you can do is be glad you squeezed her all those extra times, just because you couldn’t resist, and that you read her those board books a billion times even though you really would’ve preferred to watch Ellen while eating a bar of chocolate the size of a small couch. All you can do is hold on–while letting go.

But I’m not sad. Babyhood is over, but full-fledged toddlerhood is just beginning, and if the past couple weeks are any indication, it’s going to be fun–challenging, but really funny and fun and crazy. I’m proud of  how far we’ve all come. Amazed and impressed by her new independence and communication. And in awe of her passion for dessert and dirt alike.

Canon bomb

Posted on by amberhj

We got a new camera. Stepped up to an SLR. I know it can do amazing things. I just don’t know how to make it do any of those amazing things, as you’ll see.

Below is a picture of Stella and her Animal Hospital. She loves it, and so do I. When she gets engrossed in her veterinary work, I get precious time to waste on my blog, twitter and Facebook page. She attempts to unlock the tiny cages that look like stacked tombs, says “ba-boom-ba-boom” while holding the stethoscope, and administers “Boo Boo Cream” to the toy’s accompanying kitty. Once in a while, she’ll even branch out and vaccinate me and Cody with her little syringe, giving an adorable but piercing little yell of faux empathy. The hospital is not on the up-and-up, though, because the cages aren’t much bigger than the animals. They certainly can’t turn around or even walk at all.  Please don’t report her to the Human Society, Ingrid Newkirk, or anyone like that. I bet I can convince Stella that a little investment in her facilities will eventually result in a huge boost to her bottom line. She loves animals, but this is a business, first and foremost.

Casual Friday at Stella's Animal Hospital.

Casual Friday at Stella's Animal Hospital.

And here’s a shot of Stella on her rocking moose.  I love the vibrant colors and light in this photo, and how the background is slightly blurred, but Moosey’s nose is in focus, rather than Stella’s. And before you say anything, Stella’s baby LIKES to sleep on the ground okay? It’s not a problem or anything. It’s what works for them so please don’t judge.

Moosey was successfully treated at Stella's Animal Hospital.

Moosey was successfully treated (for severe motion sickness) at Stella's Animal Hospital.

And finally, here’s a look at father and daughter. Other than the terrible framing (that’s a photography word, right?), harshness of the flash (their eyes aren’t actually white and illuminated in the middle, I promise), and general lack of photographic skill, you’ll probably notice a few things:

  1. Their eyes are identical. But Stella has my knees, so I don’t feel left out or anything.
  2. Stella’s hair style is an “interesting look.” She’s never had a hair cut. Those bangs are natural. Her hair is long and stick straight on top, wavy and short on the sides, and long and curly in the back. There is no decernable part, unless you count the adorable spiral of her hair from a central point in the back. As soon as I put any of them in her hair, Stella rips out the wide variety of cute clips I bought on Etsy. So this was my attempt at the most minimal and least intrusive style possible, a last ditch effort to tame her unruly mane and prevent everyone from assuming she is a boy, even while wearing pink (come to think of it, this once happened while she wore a pink hat, so maybe I can’t blame the hair). Not sure we’ll be going back to this look. Besides, it lasted 15 minutes before she tore out the band. Stella, 357. Me, 0.
  3. There is a lazily-left-behind pile of clean clothes right next to Cody, yet he chooses to wear dirty pants. You’re going to have to talk to him about that. I wear dirty clothes all the time, but only because ALL my clothes are ALWAYS dirty. There’s a big difference. Huge, actually. Not that I’m perfect or anything. Just superior. Even when it comes to wearing filthy pants.
  4. Cody’s smile, while attractive, is a bit “intense.” It’s because Stella was actually flailing maniacally and had finally stopped for a brief second to permit a photo (or because I yelled crazy gibberish loud enough to catch her attention), and he’s really smiling as hard as he can in an attempt to cover up any annoyance or stress involved in the struggle that preceded. Also, he always looks insane in photos. There are even legendary stories about this fact, which I’ll probably share in a future post. Because I know you’ve been waiting for that. Hang in there.
It's a blue-eyed party and mommy isn't invited. Ever.

It's a blue-eyed party and mommy isn't invited. Ever.

See?

Exhibit B

Exhibit A

Exhibit C

Exhibit B

I’m looking into beginners’ digital photography classes. I know. I’ll definitely focus on how to get good action shots.

Yeah, about the blog…

Posted on by amberhj

Tube weaning resource? Neurotic mom humor? Obnoxious oversharing? I’m slowly figuring out exactly what the point of this blog is, and trying to bring it into focus.

I’ve got some new ideas, and some much needed fresh energy–though that could be the giant hazelnut crunch chocolate bar I just consumed in 90 seconds flat while writing copy about an exciting porta potty promotion. No, I’m not kidding, though, it’s better than it sounds. Especially because I managed to use the word “pee” in messaging that thousands of people will see. Sarah Palin isn’t the only maverick in town.

First off, I’m proud to announce that I’m interviewing moms. The goal is to showcase the voice of one confident mom per week. Confident, as perceived by yours truly. Confident, as in, “this woman knows what she’s doing, does not apologize for it, and we could all learn a thing or two from her.” Confidence is a quality I strive for, and I’m going to dig it out of the corners of the blogosphere, hold it in my virtual hands, throw away my hand sanitizer, and pray that it’s contagious.

Secondly (and lastly, for now), I’ve gone all fancypants on you and changed the address to the elegantly simpler lifeandtimesofstella.com. Yep, I cut “wordpress” right the hell out, because I’m ruthless like that. Don’t worry, I won’t forget where I came from (that would be lifeandtimesofstella.wordpress.com).

As I dealt with the routing of the new URL, I remembered how I don’t love the name of this blog. Not exactly a creative gem, is it? When I started the blog, Stella was a newborn and I was thrilled, yet bleary eyed and brain dead and freaking out because something was wrong with Stella and her eating, but I didn’t yet know how to help her. I sat on the couch with my laptop and an irrepressible urge to blog (i.e. vent) immediately, bloodshot eyes demonically fixated on the wordpress home page, but couldn’t come up with a name for the life of me. So I did what any good creative would do: I asked my husband to come up with an idea on the spot, and I ran with it. “The Life and Times of Stella” was the result. Lately I’ve pondered “Hooray for Stellyhood,” but this blog is about me as it is about her, and it’s heading in some new directions. So, as usual, I’m unsure about what to do. Right, so on that insecure note, I’m off to post my first confident mom interview.

And hey, thanks for reading! I really appreciate your time and eyeballs.

Happy 2nd week of the new year

Posted on by amberhj

And we’re back.

Being the geniuses that we are, Cody and I decided to undertake a three-week, two-city holiday travel bonanza with a 16-month-old tornado. We’re not crazy, just overly enthusiastic. Last year, we canceled our Thanksgiving and Christmas travel plans due to the stress and complicated logistics of Stella’s feeding issues and tube. So we decided to “do it up” this year. We were optimistic and confident, but not cocky enough to honor our “no TV until two, mostly” rule and so we hit Best Buy for a DVD player. Smart move. Stella did not fall asleep on any of our four flights. Sesame Street was an oasis for all of us.

Stella enjoyed some adventures that surely broadened her horizons, including a train ride in Austin’s Zilker Park in 70-degree sunshine and sledding in snowy Boston, just to name a couple. She clearly adores her extended family, and got to know them all much better, which was really important to me. But she was whiny and clingy for the vast majority of the trip. Was it teething? Was it her cold that didn’t let up until the end of the trip? Was it the many changes in scenery? Was it just typical behavior for her age? We asked ourselves these questions constantly and inanely. I consider it a Christmas miracle that none of our family members, all forced to listen to this pointless and obsessive wondering aloud, never punched us in the face at any point during the trip.

Thank GOD for cousin James, who at six years old is amazing with little ones. He has magical powers. Seriously, he knew that when Stella started whining, it was his cue to start a game of tag with her. I didn’t say a word–he’d just sneak up behind Stella with a sly grin on his face and the clinging would end and the fun would begin. Stella could not get enough of him. They held hands in the car, touched foreheads and giggled, and ran, ran, ran. James, buddy, I owe you one.

So, after a fun* but tiring trip, we made it home. Stella could not have been happier to see her rocking moose, ball ramp, stuffed robot, toddler-sized piano, Tupperware drawer, and every single element of her nursery’s decor. She gasped upon seeing each and every item in our home (even lighting fixtures), her eyes and smile so wide they crowded out her dimples. And that was after arriving home at 1am, at which point she’d been awake for what felt like a life sentence but was actually 10 hours. She’s now back to her usual, even sweeter and more delightful self, except for random eardrum-shattering outburts, of course. (It’s been confirmed by family members: Stella is very loud, even by toddler standards.) Since our return she’s eating about twice as much as usual, and even asking for thirds on carrots. WHAT? You heard me.

It’s good to be back, but I sure will miss seeing her play and interact with the aunties, cousins, uncles and grandparents that love her so much. I’m so glad we went.

*Fun with a giant exception: my mom broke her leg, badly. She had surgery on Wednesday and her pain is finally under control. Let the healing begin! She would not want me to make a big fuss about it, especially not on my blog, so that’s all I can say. Love you and thinking of you, Mom.

Holiday sweetness

Posted on by amberhj

A couple days ago, Stella and I made a gingerbread house. Actually, I put it together following step-by-step instructions, while she ate the chimney, tree, and most of the roof’s structurally necessary frosting. Later, the same frosting would come out of my nose, because I can’t resist it either, and Stella made me laugh while I bent over to pick her up.

Even slightly off-kilter peace is worth striving for.The gingerbread house experience leads me to wonder how babies “know” about candy upon seeing it for the very first time. I opened the gingerbread house kit from Williams-Sonoma, and Stella immediately began gnawing on the package of gumdrops and clawing at sealed cookie components, whining and panting because she could not wait to eat them. Mind you, she’d just eaten a man-sized dinner. I thought she was absolutely full. Besides, this kid had never before seen anything resembling a gumdrop. I asked Cody how she knew instantly what the sweet gems were all about, and he gave a pretty good explanation: “It’s instinctual!  Gum drop detection is part of our evolution.” Of course it is. They’re like berries, but with high fructose corn syrup. Totally necessary for survival–of the holidays.

It’s not just the season’s sweets that get Stella excited. She loves the Christmas tree. She dotes on it with gentle, arms-wide-open hugs. She does laps around it, and inspects all the eye-level ornaments every hour or so, touching them while saying a nasal-y “no.” Because without realizing it, that’s what I taught her to do.

Our new tree bling.For the first several days, the tree was star-less. So I ordered a wonderfully simple star tree topper from Red Envelope, and it arrived during Stella’s nap early this week. I put it up atop the tree right away, admired it proudly for a moment, then promptly forgot about it. Not long after, Stella awoke from her nap. The first thing she did? Gazed up at her new best friend the Christmas tree, smiled, and with her sparkly blue eyes growing ever wider, pointed at the star in dramatic, overly excited fashion. She did the same when I hung my “PEACE” banner on the mantle. She not only smiled and pointed, but actually applauded. The banner isn’t exactly what I’d hoped it would be, but I did put some real work (not to mention money) into it, and the fact that Stella appreciated it so much almost brought tears to my eyes. She’s just so incredibly sweet.

As you can see, Stella understands holiday magic. So do I, and so does my mom. This appreciation, and a general affinity for wonder, has been handed down along with the most unruly cowlicks imaginable. On Tuesday, my mother’s latest act of kindness arrived. It was carefully tucked in tissue paper in the bottom of a large box, in which we also found a package of adorable, unbreakable (genius) ornaments and a classic, wooden, German ornament of a little chef holding a large wooden spoon, which Stella immediately grabbed and pretended to eat with.

This delivery is probably the millionth treasure–holiday or otherwise–that my mom has created for me during my 32 years. For example, on game day throughout high school, I’d consistently find a bit of crafty motivation in my lunch or backpack, like a construction-paper basketball with multi-colored flames shooting off the sides and a markered message along the lines of “Light ’em up!” or “You’re on fire!” Sometimes I really did light ’em up, and I think she’s largely responsible for that. She saved every newspaper article, even the smallest mention of me, and attended just about all of my games. Christmas? Well, that was always magical, even when my parents were young and completely broke. I know, I’m lucky.

I will probably wear the tree skirt to Cody's office Christmas party.So, you’re probably wondering, “What on earth did she give you? A giant diamond she’d made by crushing carbon with her bare hands?” No, it was better. I opened the box to discover that she’d made me the most gorgeous tree skirt ever in the history of Christmas. If Jesus Christ himself had a Christmas tree and accompanying skirt, I’m sure it was nowhere near as holy and beautiful as this. Honestly, I’d searched Etsy for tree skirts last week and found nothing that even compared to my mom’s work of art. In fact, this tree skirt is probably the most wonderful thing I own. It embodies my ideal style, with a design that’s charmingly simple but not at all stark, and plenty of cheerful but balanced color and splashes of bold, joyful pattern. The luxurious fabric and perfect trim are so incredibly stylish yet timeless, and even incorporate the specific colors or our decor. As anyone who has given or received a truly thoughtful, handmade gift knows, it’s more than a tree skirt. It’s even more than an heirloom. It’s a symbol of something much greater. Love, of course! And Martha-Stewart-esque skills that I’ll probably never have.

My holiday banner is too busy and warped by over-gluing. Martha would not eat leftover gingerbread house frosting “glue” straight from the bag, and she probably wouldn’t allow her edible creation to be smudged on all sides with sugary toddler handprints. But who cares? What I lack in skill I make up for with holiday cheer. More importantly, I’ve got an amazing daughter and mother with whom to share it.

Enjoy a quick holiday “hi” from Stella, on one of her rounds…

Tree’s up!

Posted on by amberhj

 

Stella lights up the room, as per usual.

 

And we only broke one ornament so far. Stella tried to put ornaments on the tree, even getting the right grip on the hook, but then would just turn and hand the ornament to me, as if to say, “Oh you know what you’re doing, why don’t you take care of this for me?”

So, as I come down from a mulled-wine-induced sugar high, I just wanted to post a quick update. We are over-the-top “in the spirit” of the holidays this year. Christmas was always such a magical time for me, and I am very excited about creating some good ol’ wonder for Stella Bella. Our halls are almost completely decked–and I even put a small pink decorative tree in the bathroom. Because I want to make sure we are jolly at absolutely all times. I’m making a holiday banner that looks like it’s on crack–it’s insanely busy with like ten different patterned papers and barely legible because there’s so much going on but, damn it, that thing is going to hang on our mantle as a testament to our enthusiasm for the season.

Lately, I keep thinking how different this holiday season is from last year’s. For starters:

  • No tube! This year’s holiday food issue seems to be how to cut Stella off from the cookies without prompting a melt-down.
  • No waking up every 2.5 hours to tube-feed. However, Stella did wake up at 4:30 a.m. and would not go back to sleep. When this happens, Cody and I take it almost a little too well. Because it’s an incredible night’s sleep when you compare it to last year.
  • No more being trapped at home. We’ll be traveling a bit this year, and for the most part, we are really, really looking forward to it.
  • No more easy holiday photo card shoots. A better camera and some toddler cement boots would help.

Oh and that banner? It will simply read, “PEACE.” Sums it up nicely, I think.

Look what Stella can do!

Posted on by amberhj

Stella says “Thank you.”

Originally uploaded by codatious1

I wanted to share a few of Stella’s latest tricks…

She not only uses the more sign (that’s old hat) but she says “more”, with the inflection of a question, while she does it.

She’s starting to string words together. Stella says, “Thank you!” a lot. We were at the park the other day, and saw a baby. When the baby was carted away in her stroller, Stella waved and said, “Bye, baby!” I also heard her say “Bye, daddy!” when Cody left for a basketball game.

She can climb anything: rocking chairs, pianos, couches, dining chairs, benches, parents, etc. The core strength required for this is impressive.

Stella’s been giving us kisses for a couple months now, but it’s starting to happen more and more often, and we relish it. The kisses are mostly tongue, and sometimes snot is left on my cheek, but I love them so much.

Stella refers to some of her books with appropriate words. For example, one of her favorites is called, “Is Your Mama a Llama?” She points to it and says “Mama” when she wants to read it. She points to “Daddy’s Girl” and says “Daddy” when she wants to read that one. She roars when she wants to read the book featuring a lion.

By now she can make a good number of animal sounds: pig (really sounds like sniffing as opposed to snorting but you get the idea); lion, bear and tiger (all are scruffy roars); dog; cat; snake; cow; bird. If you ask her what an animal says and she doesn’t know, she’ll make something up. To me, that’s just as fun to see as her getting it right.

Stella can point to her: bellybutton, toes, head, hair, nose, eyes, ear, and elbow, and she can say most those words too. If I say “cheek,” she’ll kiss me on my cheek, causing me to melt into a puddle.

She waves to random people on the street. Some people respond by brightening up and waving back. Some people don’t notice or pretend not to notice, so I wave back to Stella myself.

Stella is getting more demanding and can throw one heck of a fit. I refer to this development area as her “tantrum skills.” They are excellent, very advanced.

She says new words just about every day, even if she doesn’t use them very often. Hearing her say a new word never gets old. I can’t wait to have actual conversations with her.

The unnameable, rambling post about mommy blogging, growing up, and all that is sacred about parenting, with a special shout-out to Oprah, Heather Armstrong, and Stephanie Nielson. The end.

Posted on by amberhj

In our pre-Stella existence, with all our disposable income and endless free time, most of which was spent dining out, Cody and I faithfully attended Bumbershoot. My favorite performance by far was Public Enemy, though we saw a lot of big names along with some fabulous unknowns and rising stars. To us, the festival was not just about catching bands but also comedians like Patton Oswalt, who remains a favorite of ours. During one particular show, he spent quite a bit of time interacting and improvising with the audience. He saw that someone brandishing an inflatable sword and, of course, engaged him. The dude answered Patton’s question, then launched into some rambling tangent (similar to this blog post) about medieval history and how he has studied it for years, yada yada yada. Patton listened for a minute or two, clearly amused, and then perfectly delivered one of the best lines I’d heard in a long time, “Save it for your blog, man.”

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t even really miss Bumbershoot. It got too crowded and annoying. Or maybe we got too old. Either way, we’re not hankering for the music festival experience. Not at all. Though, I hope to someday we’ll attend such events, as appropriate, with Stella when she’s old enough to get something out of it. These days, I’m home with Stella every day. I tackle  freelance writing projects during her naps and after she goes to bed. In the little spare time that I have, I don’t really know what to do with myself. So, usually, I waste it online. Brilliant, I know. I bet you wish you thought of that! Really though, I’m used to sitting at a computer for ten hours a day. That’s what I did at work for the ten years before Stella made her grand entrance into the world and our lives. So, I try to cut myself some slack and think of it as a process of breaking old habits. Slowly, I’m spending less and less time on the computer. And it feels good.

Blogging is also an online spare-time activity, but I’ve been reluctant to do it lately. Blogging started out as a way to celebrate and find humor in our parenting journey, and to share milestones and memories with family members, all of whom live so far away. Then Stella had her feeding issues and  the blog mainly became a form of therapy for me and a way of possibly helping others going through the same thing. And I enjoy writing. It’s my profession, and how I am best able to express myself.

Then I saw this National Post article by Christine Rosen, a scathing indictment of the mommy bloggers and so-called “hipster parents” of today.  Rosen claims that many parents today are hipsters, permanently stuck in adolescence. She observes that coolness and self are our top priorities rather than the needs and development of our children. Rosen blames this on the fact that we were the first generation to be bombarded as children by well-intentioned commentary about our uniqueness, how special we are. (Praise without actual achievement, she reminds us, has been shown to undermine self-esteem.) And so, today’s parents dedicate our lives to proving that point right. Our children are left by the wayside, merely pawns in our efforts to feel good about ourselves.

Now, I could hardly be called a hipster. Hey, I’ve only bought TWO (or five or six) things on Etsy.com. I drive a tan Ford Focus. I’ve never, ever been considered “cool” and working at an ad agency confirmed that beyond a shadow of a doubt (though I know am good at what I do). Sure, I’ve made attempts to be stylish–I even wear not-too-tight skinny jeans sometimes–but I’m pretty freaking mainstream in my Banana Republic cardigan. I “given up” Bumbershoot (though, as I said, very voluntarily) and many other activities from my pre-parenting days. Yet, I felt a sting when I read Rosen’s article and couldn’t help but feel it was at least partially directed at me and other moms who find mothering challenging, even painfully difficult at times, and aren’t afraid to say it.

After seeing, in that article and elsewhere, harsh attacks on the most famous mommy blogger (I know, I hate that term, too!), the bold and hilarious and honest Heather Armstrong of Dooce,  I began to feel more self-conscious about blogging. Even a sense of dread. I’d worried about posting our names and pictures online, because you just never know who’s looking. It’s scary. I wish I’d never posted my last name–a mistake made in the fog of new parenthood, I suppose. At times, I noted that I was writing more about my own feelings than Stella’s experiences. I was aware of this, but conflicted–maybe it was best not to share too much of Stella’s life with the world? Maybe I should stick more to my own stuff? With all of this swirling in my mind, I thought about taking the blog down, and did a bit of soul searching. Was there any truth in Rosen’s article? I had to investigate. And I realized something.

I was not a grown-up until Stella arrived. That much is true, Rosen. But I that’s about it.

This will sound familiar, perhaps. Three or four times a day, I get down on my hands and knees and clean up the five square feet of food debris that was left behind by Stella, as if a miniature pasta squall hit that area of the kitchen, and then I wipe down the high chair tray. Then the table in front of her chair, because the edible storm inevitably spills over. This act is one small example of the million little chores/rituals a parent comes to know. And I have to admit, that until recently, I really only thought of it as a drag. A pain in the ass that I would often put off for a little while. That’s not really true anymore. Something has shifted. And I think it had something to do with an episode of Oprah, the one featuring Stephanie of NieNie Dialogues.

Stephanie is a wonderfully positive, sweet, talented, and popular mommy blogger who, about a year ago, suffered severe burns on 80 percent of her body when the small plane her husband was co-piloting crashed. As viewers, we got a glimpse into her daily life, how she struggles with intense pain and can’t pick up and embrace her children, yet she continues to enjoy, relish, and appreciate the big and small tasks of motherhood. My revelation crystallized when Oprah said, to a mother who’d been feeling really resentful and bored by her role as a stay-at-home mom, that making lunch for your child, along with all the other duties of motherhood, is sacred work.

It hit me. I saw the frustration, complaining and, yes, boredom I’ve experienced over the last year in a new way. I’m evolving, slowly and, in my typical style, awkwardly. I am becoming a much less selfish person. I look back at some of my behavior from the days of Stella’s tube feeding, and I feel so sad. I was so worried about her, I couldn’t see straight. Mostly, my love for her and desire for her to be healthy and at her best drove my emotion and reactions. But I think there was a small part of me, I’m ashamed to say, that also saw it as an inconvenience and as a way in which Stella was “not right.” Man, I’m having a hard time holding myself together right now.  I think my panic was somewhat to blame on immaturity and impatience, and because I was unaccustomed to real sacrifice–certainly not the level of sacrifice that our situation demanded. I made the sacrifices. In fact, I went over the top. But I suppose I didn’t handle it very well at times. I’ve just begun to reassess that time in Stella’s life and my own, and there is still more to learn. It’s eye-opening, to say the least.

I saw meal time, until recently, mainly as a source of stress, instead of the privilege that it is. The fact is, I get to be with, eat with, and play with Stella every day, all day. Yes, I need a break now and then to re-charge. And some major financial sacrifice was made in order to achieve this arrangement. But we are *just* fortunate enough to make it work, mainly because before Stella’s birth, we paid down all our debt and saved most of a down payment for our first home (still renting at the moment). Many mothers have absolutely no choice about whether to stay home with their children. I had a choice. So I get to make all of her meals, clean up after her to make sure she lives in a safe, tidy and pleasant environment, read to her endlessly, and see her smile a hundred times a day. (Her smile is a heat source, I swear. We no longer need to use our fireplace.)

Side note: Self-consciousness is kicking in again. This entire post, especially what follows, may come across as cheesy. I know I have a tendency to do that but I can’t help it! I’m not looking for sympathy or anything like that, just expressing myself. God, look what the haters have done to even us unknown mommy bloggers. We can’t say anything without over-analyzing and second-guessing our feelings and writing.

Last week I began to say to myself, whenever I felt reluctant to do my big clean-up during Stella’s long mid-day nap, “This is sacred work.” I said it again and again, and it took root.  Bouncing her to sleep until our backs ached, inserting her NG tube, blogging about her adventures, the tough but ultimately necessary switch to formula, making her favorite pasta and beans, wiping smashed banana off her car seat, changing her poopy diapers… all the work I’ve done for Stella has been sacred. My life isn’t all about me, anymore, and frankly, it’s refreshing. Of course, there are still times when I think I’m going to go mad. I’m not a monk. (Stephanie, though Mormon, may secretly be one, however.) But I look back on all of these experiences with such fondness and from a whole new perspective. I am very lucky. I knew it all along. But now I really feel fullness of this truth.  And yes, I’ll save some of it for my blog.