Bits + Pieces
A couple shots of Carla, I miss her already // Gotta make use as much as we can of dem rain boots before they grow out of them // Christmas morning and Christmas day // A rare family pic where both of the boys have their eyes closed // Baby Leo at the Andy Warhol exhibit at the MOCA // My grandma’s 85th birthday // Various snapshots of Hoop // The way Willy works in a mid-day nap for himself // A few more of each of the boys // And the sweetest Van I ever did see.
To Nina's house they go.
Isn’t it the case that as soon as you drop your children anywhere, whether it be preschool or a friend’s house, you miss them. I’m continuously dumbfounded by the someone-please-help-me-and-take-my-children-for-a-few-hours and the I-can’t-wait-to-see-my-children-because-I’ve-missed-them-so-much way of motherhood.
Twice a week, the boys go to my parent’s house during the day. I spend all day the day before looking forward to it only to be longing to pick them up when the next day finally arrives. But, I know it’s good; it’s good for me, good for them, and – I hope – enjoyable (maybe sometimes?) for my parents.
I came to pick them up a little early the other day and decided to snap a few photos; little mementos of their days spent at their Nina’s and Gee-paw’s.
My Dad
Family is a special thing, isn’t it? It’s my dad’s birthday today and as I recover from spine surgery, I can truly say I don’t know what I’d do without him. Or my mom. Or my in-laws. Or my husband. Or my grandma. Or my sister. Or my friends. This recovery thing is taking a village and I feel very fortunate to have a little village to rely on. Here’s some fun tidbits about my Pops…
-He’s the guy you want at your party. Last Christmas, after a few drinks, he rallied us together and we went door to door caroling in our neighborhood.
-He was a minor league baseball player (left handed pitcher) and he can tell you stories about groupies like Anita Peter Beater. He was also my softball coach. He also cried the day I gave up softball for gymnastics. And then he cried again, years later, when my sister and I framed our old softball cards and gave it to him as a gift.
-He’s incredibly humble and always finds room for improvement.
-He wishes he could sing. In fact, he’s been known to say his dream job would be to be a singer or a hairdresser, which are both totally random if you actually knew the guy. I think of him everytime I hear Otis Redding’s “Sitting on the dock of the bay”. I also think about the time I called my childhood friend to tell her I couldn’t play for a while because he cut my hair so awfully bad I was too embarassed to be seen.
-You don’t want to hear one of his lectures, trust me.
-He cheated in grade school by putting the answers to the test in a tennis ball he had cut open and threw the ball back and forth with his buddy during the test. And if you heard him tell the story, you can still see the pride in his eyes.
-He gets really excited for silly things like leftovers from the night before for breakfast. He’s easy to please.
-He’s left his toast in the toaster and gone to work without thinking twice about it many times.
-He always taught me the value of hard work and instilled a strong work ethic in me from an early age. My mom did the same.
-Currently, he golfs. A lot. Willy would tell you he’s really good. My dad would say he’s okay.
-He can chop corn in half using his bare hand, samurai style.
-He climbed Half Dome last year.
-He squeezed his pet bird to death when he was a youngster while watching the Twilight Zone.
-He owned a rust colored molester van with curtains for a long time and I remember him getting quite emotional on the day he sold it. My sister and I used to sit in the back of it and drink orange soda while he played in his basketball league.
Happy Birthday, Dad. Thanks for taking care of me and my little ones.
The weekend before
The final days before my surgery felt like a mad-dash. You know the feeling, right? Like I had to squeeze in all I could, filling every crevice of time with something real, something meaningful. My surgery had been weighing on my mind so heavily that I really hadn’t anticipated life after recovery, my brain frozen in time, my calendar cleared with the words “recovery” written in month after month.
So we celebrated my dad and sister’s birthday early, down in Ventura. It was a warm October day, the time of year when the Santa Susana winds howl wildly and the air feels like someone with hot breath is breathing on you. My sister and I took the kids down to the water’s edge where Hooper made cakes out of sand and Van gave himself a sand beard.
And as the last of the light shined in I realized another day had passed and that meant my surgery would be another day closer. The impending feeling of doom, the ambiguity of what would be, all the uncertainty made better only by the company of family and
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the warmth of the sun.
A Birthday Recap
We celebrated my birthday by heading to the beach, again. Minus the influx of teenage girls in scantily clad bikinis talking about making out with boys*, it was a b-e-a-u-t-iful day. Nothing beats a good day at the beach, right? And Van seems to be transitioning out of the shoveling-sand-in-his-mouth-phase, so that’s cool too. We headed to Neptune’s Net for a bite to eat afterward and then drove home along PCH admiring the view. Sometimes another year older doesn’t feel so bad…
*and then some
Disneyland.
Before Willy and I had kids, we agreed that we hated Disneyland. Yup, we’re those people. We even went so far as to say that when we did take the plunge with our own kids, we’d pay Mickey Mouse to say mean and hurtful things to them so they never wanted to go back. We were kidding, of course, but that’s our humor, so whatever.
Fast forward, or rewind (depending on how you look at it) to last week when my sister asked if we wanted to go. Her finace had never been despite the fact they live practically walking distance. We also have a relative of a close friend that works there, so we get in for a mere fraction of the price. So, we decided we’d take the plunge.
We spent the night at my sister’s the night before because driving down the 405 freeway in the morning is as dumb as going to sit on Santa’s lap the week before Christmas. Only the 405 isn’t seasonal, it’s a zoo every damn day.
We brought Sarah with us too. We bring her lots of places and I wouldn’t normally mention her presence except for the fact that it becomes pertinent to this little story. Wait for it.
My sister has two new kittens. I hate cats. You should know that about me. I’m allergic, so really it’s my allergies that hate cats.
Sarah is going to be four this year. You should know that she spent the first two years on and off antibiotics and in and out of the vet… aspiration pneumonia after being spayed, rattle snake bite, anaphylatic shock after a bee sting, possible tick bite after camping, ear infection after a trip to Arizona that became a hematoma, hives, another rattle snake bite, another bee sting with subsequent anaphylatic shock… you get the idea.
I was feeding Van when I heard a scuffle, a bark, and a hiss. Next thing we know, Sarah came in with blood coming out of her eye. Nothing is ever no-big-deal with Sarah, so of course Willy and I start to worry immediately. The bleeding stops and it’s obvious she has a cut to her third eyelid. If you knew how big the third eyelid was, you’d know that if Sarah didn’t have bad luck, she’d have absolutely no luck at all.
We spent the night tossing and turning, checking on Sarah, listening to Sarah howl in the bathroom, then letting her out only to hear her chasing the cats in the living room (she’s not the brightest), and then moving her to the garage just a few hours before those little munchkins of ours were up and ready to go.
We called Willy’s dad, who’s a bovine vet in AZ, and decided we should take Sarah in to the vet. So much for spending the night to get an early start at Disneyland.
Willy took Sarah in and two hundred dollars and three new medications later (turns out an abrasion she had on her neck was also infected), we finally made it out the door. By the time we paid $16 dollars for parking, got the kids in the stroller, waited for the elevator, waited in line for the tram, broke down the stroller to get on the tram, got through the bag check, and met up with our ticket dealer dude, honestly I felt okay with turning around to go home and calling it a successful day. We had got there, after all.
I’d say we didn’t stay long, but I think the more accurate statement is that we were there for a while but didn’t do much in that time. Waiting to get on to one ride was a feat on it’s own. We went on a total of three rides: autotopia (I thought Hooper would dig driving his own car but in actuality, letting him sit behind the wheel just meant that we had to grin and bear with smacking into the center track over and over again because his steering ability is, well, not developed), Pirates of the Caribbean (Hooper was scared and sat through the whole ride with Willy’s hat covering his face while I breastfed a tired and hungry Van), and Small World (which was actually incredibly refreshing and a nice break from the heat). Then we paid an arm and a leg for a mediocre lunch and left. And that took a total of 4+ hours.
Note to self: Don’t go to Disneyland in the summer. Just don’t. Take my word for it. Save your money.
I suppose it could be a different story when the boys’ are older… when a 45 minute wait in line doesn’t feel like a marathon.
On the brighter side, I love churros.
Have you been? What was your experience like?
And just for good measure, a photo from my first trip to Disneyland (looks like my parents may have utilized the say-mean-and-hurtful-things-to-my-kid technique, cuz’ I’m clearly not feelin’ Donald)… Side note: #CoolHairCuts
The Roosevelt Hotel
As I mentioned the other day, we spent a night at the Roosevelt Hotel down in Hollywood. Willy hung out with us for a bit and then left for a work function. We tag along whenever we can when Willy has to travel for work. At times it feels like another set of four walls, but I never regret going. It’s nice to stay together as a family and it’s a new four walls to photograph, so it’s whatevs.
The Roosevelt Hotel was amazing. The staff was incredibly hospitable, upgrading us to a suite as soon as they saw we had two kiddos with us. They also provided us with a diaper pail, a rubber ducky for the bath, and gave each kid a stuffed teddy bear. I had planned on allowing Hooper to stay up late, watch a movie, and sleep in bed with me but after learning their kid’s movies cost 14 bucks I stuck Hooper in the closet with his brother. Then I watched trashy shit on TV.
Eating Out With Kids
We go out to eat a lot. Well, probably not a lot compared to some, but more than I think we should. I remember my parents saying there came a time when they both said enough was enough and they attest to a few years going by until they were ready to take the plunge again. We’re not ready to call it quits just yet. I mean these pancakes we’ve been eating at the diner down the street are so damn fluffy and the way the butter melts perfectly into each and every morsel is damn near good enough to put the kids at the their own table and pretend like we don’t know who they are or where they came from. Point being: it’s not easy, but we put up with it.
Hooper’s into this new random yelling thing. It’s not acting out so much as it is a reaction to whatever is going on around him. When things are wild, he likes to jump in on the action and yell. He can yell all he wants; it doesn’t change the taste of my pancakes.
Knowing the day will soon come when we’ll be labeled lunatics for trying to bring our children out to a restaurant makes me savior those pancakes even more.
Are you able to bring your kiddos out to restaurants?
17/52
A portrait of my husband, once a week, every week, in 2013.
“Just as the wave cannot exist for itself, but is ever a part of the heaving surface of the ocean, so must I never live my life for itself, but always in the experience which is going on around me”. -Albert Schweitzer
You can check out other posts in the series here.
Palm Springs, Part 2
Right after we snapped that family photo (I love you, self timer), a homeless chick emerged from behind the gate of the abandoned gas/service station. I’m pretty sure a needle was dangling from her arm.
Palm Springs, I love you but you’re kinda weird.
Palm Springs, Part 1
I always imagined Palm Springs to be a ridiculously hip desert hideaway with sprawling mid-century homes and wall after wall begging to have you stand in front of it for a picture. Not to say I was wrong, the mid-century homes are definitely there; hiding beneath the surface like the pocket of your pants. But Palm Springs is also… weird, for lack of better words. I told Willy it reminded me of the wheelers from the Wizard of Oz; partly abandoned with an eerie mix of dessert wanderers, tourists, retired old folk, homeless, and prostitutes.
Willy’s been having to go often for work and we tag along when we can. Translation: We spend a lot of time in random hotels jumping on furniture.
Part 2 is coming your way tomorrow.
Arizona, On the Farm part 2
Better late than never is what they say, right? I had loads of pics to
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go through (sorry for the photo bomb). In any case, here’s the recap:
We spent the weekend hanging with family, celebrating a new addition that’s right around the corner (I’m going to be a first-time aunt), and even catching a spring training baseball game. The weather was perfect and waking up with the warm rays of sun beaming through the window felt good. The cows are a bigger and bigger hit with Hooper each time we come to visit.
We returned home with more than we anticipated. Sarah, as I mentioned before, had a horrible ear infection in both ears and Hooper contracted rotavirus (possibly unrelated, who knows). In any case, it was a lovely drive and a nice time spent with those we love.
Side note: Special congrats to Vera for winning the DiaNoche Designs giveaway.
Arizona, On the Farm part 1
Would you believe that there’s more to come? Part 2, coming tomorrow…
You can read my favorite post from Arizona here. And photos from other trips to AZ here, here, here, here, and here.
Bits + Pieces
We’ve been making the most of 80 degree weather coupled with the fact our zoo pass is about to expire. Hooper is at the age where he enjoys pointing out each of the animals and Van enjoys the blue skies above. With any luck, we’ll squeeze a few more visits in the weeks to come! Don’t mind the pouty pic of Hoop above, it’s all for show.
You Be The Judge…
Ignore the fact we both have rubber duckies in the photos above. Total coincidence. I always thought Hooper was a pretty good mix of both of us and based on the fact Van looks pretty dang similar to Hooper as a baby, I assume the same will be true for him. But after looking at our baby photos, I’m thinkin’ these boys look a lot more like their Papa. What do you think?
Brothers For Life
These two. I tell ya. My heart yearns for them as they sleep and flutters for them when they’re awake. Hooper’s transition into his role as big brother has been seamless. That little munchkin Van gets more unsolicated hugs and kisses from his brother than anyone else. Hooper is quick to place one of his prized toy cars into his brother’s hand and repeatedly offers Van his bottle and his raisins and his juice and his carrots… you get the idea. It’s a budding relationship and it’s the most fulfilling thing to watch unravel.
That’s all for today. Just a few simple words to reflect on mothering these two beautiful boys. Dear Hooper & Van, Mama loves you.
Meet Your Parents
Dear Hooper & Van,
We bought our first home just a few months before our wedding. It was built in 1957 and the woman who lived in it prior to us was the original owner, I believe. We spent the first month or so ripping out floor, ripping off multiple layers of wallpaper and indoor wood shingles (I know, it’s like an indoor roof… not sure why), and painting walls.
Working on your home is hard work, but like raising children, it’s the best work. Take pride in your home and care for it like you would a child. The best work of art is one that contains the blood, sweat, and tears of the artist. Think of your home as a blank canvas, but leave the decorating to your wife. And, when you’re finished, reward yourself with ice cream. Or a beer. Whatever suits your tastes.
Love,
Mama
Last Days of Summer
Last week it was still in the triple digits here in Southern California. I had already turned the calender page and welcomed October into our lives with hopes of fall joining the pumpkin party. Summer had other ideas and I’m not one to complain about the sun wanting to hang out a little while longer. So I packed up the boys and headed to the beach, in October, to properly thank summer for lingering around. I had the radio on and the Rolling Stone’s “Miss You”, one of my favs, blared through the speakers. I turned it up. Hoop bobbed his head in the back and I dedicated the jam to summer, knowing fall would be gracing us with it’s presence soon enough. It was a perfect day at the beach. A week later and it has cooled down to a comfortable 80 degrees. With a visit to the pumpkin patch in the near future, we’ll have to replay our wee little video to remind us of the last days of summer spent with sand between our toes and white water crashing at our ankles. Dear Summer, thanks for lingering.
Last Days of Summer from The Stork & The Beanstalk on Vimeo.
You can check out my other videos here and here.
And Then There Were Two.
I’ve been in such a state of peace lately. I really didn’t expect this. I expected chaos and resentment and exhaustion and all those other things that seem to occur when you bring a newborn into a home. But, as it turns out, becoming a mother for the second time has been a much smoother transition than the first time. I’ve been sitting on this realization for a while and have come to attribute it to two things:
First, my perspective is clearer. I have witnessed, firsthand (because lets face it, it means nothing coming from someone else), that time flies. What’s a challenge one week is non-apparent the next. Breastfeeding feels never-ending… then you wean… and a week later it feels like it’s been a year since you breastfed your child and you suddenly miss it a little. Sleepless nights seem to come and go too. What I’m getting at is the fact that it’s all temporary and I’m much more aware of that this time around.
The second has to do with role change. There is a dramatic change in roles following the birth of your first born. For me, I remember thinking parenting Hooper would be a team effort. And by team effort, I mean fifty fifty. It was hard for me to take on the role of primary caregiver and accept the realization that fifty fifty really equals ninety ten. I felt like I was constantly having to sit on my ass to breastfeed and it bothered me to have to sit on my ass while I stared at a sink full of dirty dishes, dust collecting on the floor, a dog that needed to be walked, and so on and so forth. While I had to organize my day with some sort of strategy just to fit a shower and three meals into my schedule, it seemed like Willy got to sit on the toilet forever just to shit. It all seemed unfair (As a side note, it had nothing to do with Hooper. I bonded and loved him instantly with ALL my heart… I’m just speaking on behalf of the role adjustment).
With the birth of our second, I’m already acquainted with my role. I’ve already accepted the challenge. I know my place, Willy knows his. We’ve learned from our struggles the first time around and the kinks we had to work out then are already worked out. I am the primary caregiver. I say that now with pride and excitement. Although, I must admit, I’m still jealous of the fact Willy still gets to sit on the toilet forever when I’m just lucky to wipe my ass just in time to intercept a toy car Hooper’s about to throw into the toilet. But, again, it’s temporary.
Realizing that it’s all temporary and having experience in the role of primary caregiver has made me more relaxed. Being more relaxed, in turn, has made for less arguments, less kinks to work out, and less anxiety in general. I remember trying to shove food in my mouth as fast as possible because Hooper would be crying while Willy and I tried to enjoy dinner. This time around, if Van is crying during dinner it reminds me that he’s alive and I close the door and finish my dinner.
What’s your experience in becoming a mother for the first or second or third time been like? Can you relate?