McDonnell Place

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Viewing Pleasure

Evan and Madalyn are watching Toy Story in their room while I finish up dinner and Shaun finishes up his nap... napping at the dinner hour, yes.

We both just overheard the following conversation and simultaneously broke into laughter:

Madalyn, watching the movie: What's that?

Evan: I don't know.

Madalyn: What is that?

Evan: I don't know.

Madalyn: What's that?

Evan: I DON'T KNOW!!!

Apparently, the inability to keep quiet during cinematic moments of suspense is a genetic trait passed down through generations that runs with the female chromosome in my family, lucky girl. Oh, we may drive every other viewer within a 6 foot radius of us crazy, but man do we know how to enjoy a film. We don't just view... we engage, we live it. (And in effect, some very patient men live with us.)

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

How Far is Heaven

Madalyn's word for music is skid-nic. I still wonder sometimes if she's actually saying "sing it," but there's no way of knowing, try as I might, to get her to help me figure it out.

I've mentioned before that she's definitely her father's daughter. She has remarkable rhythm at her age and an absolute obsession with music of any kind. Shaun's pulled out his fancy computer speakers to the great room and she's grooved her way through rap, country, Christian, and jazz. For a while her favorite choice was Dave Matthew's "Old Dirt Hill," but now she's developed a completely irrational insistence upon Los Lonely Boys- any time, all the time, and them only- and particularly, "How Far is Heaven," which Evan calls "the how far is Evan song" because he thinks they're serenading him.

This morning we tried to offer other choices, but noooo. She was determined to get a good 6 or 7 plays out of that song before we turned it off for good.

I guess of all the songs she had to develop a dependency on, this isn't such a bad choice. From the first few notes, I'll admit, I feel transported to some Mexican beach and can almost taste the salt on the lip of my Margarita glass. She's asked me to turn it on both while I cleaned and while I cut up their morning bananas, and both times I did so with a grudge only to be pleasantly surprised as I found myself enjoying it.

This morning, when it bounced off our ceilings at the early hour of 7 am, Shaun said, "I think Madalyn has some Mexican somewhere in her blood."

I said, "Well she is the great-granddaughter of Nita Nell."

And now you have to take a quick tangent with me so I can tell a story on her, my mother's mother...

When her mother, my great-grandmother, was in college, she and her roommate decided they'd come up with the most beautiful name ever to grace human ears...Nita Nell. Whoever had the first baby girl after they married and graduated would get to use the name, that was the deal.

My great-grandmother won. (Nana would say she lost.)

"Well it's a fine name, I guess, except I was a blue-eyed and blonde-haired little thing- people used to stop the car and ask if I were Shirley Temple, for Heaven's sake!"

She claims it caused a sort of identity crisis early on; to be so mismatched to her name- to have a perfectly good English name that suited her looks combined with a hispanic one that in no way fit her. It was like the clashing at the Alamo all over again.

But let's be honest here and admit that there was no avoiding it. She came from a long line of bad names and hers was just one more bead on that ancestral necklace. Her mother was Juanita Opal and Juanita's sister was Thelma Ione. Under that fluorescent light, Nita Nell's not so bad.

But you never know, Nana... Madalyn might one day wish her name were Nita Nell. Especially if her tastes keep developing in this recent direction. Nita may just cycle into your ancestry for a third time with your great-great-granddaughter and if it does, I hope you'll be able to appreciate it... for better or worse, till death do you part, and God gives you a name better suited.

(And I, for one, can't wait to hear what it is.)

26.5 Weeks and Climbing

By the close of this weekend I'll be 27 weeks. I've done this twice before, and for the life of me I can't remember when the third trimester officially begins...anyone? All I know is the Braxton Hicks contractions are starting up and I am A LOT bigger now than I was in these pictures from 2 weeks ago. (By the way, if I look very confused or like some sort of ice queen in these pictures, it's because taking your self-portrait in a mirror is harder than it looks- try it!)

Here's the babycenter update for 27 weeks:

Your baby is really starting to fill up your uterus. This week he weighs almost 2 pounds and is about 14.4 inches long with his legs extended. He can now open and close his eyes, and he sleeps and wakes at regular intervals. He may suck his fingers, and although his lungs are still immature, they would be capable of functioning, with assistance, if he were to be born prematurely. Chalk up any rhythmic movement you may be feeling to a case of baby hiccups, which may be common from now on. Each episode usually lasts only a few moments, and isn't bothersome to him, so enjoy the tickle. With more brain tissue developing, your baby's brain is very active now.

Don't you love how they point out that if the baby were born prematurely it would survive?

When I was pregnant with Evan there were a thousand pregnancy books thrown my way, of course, and one of them might as well have been replaced with some sort of paranoia pill because every chapter centered on signs to watch out for, when to be concerned, and symptoms that should make you nervous- all of which could be either perfectly normal (after all, what symptom doesn't a pregnant woman deal with,) or they could all mean major complications and impending doom... you know, kind of like the local news station's evening headlines. My favorite pregnancy book was in the form of a journal and I'd highly recommend it as a baby gift for first time moms-to-be, or any mom-to-be.

25 WEEKS

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Stroke of Genius

If you could take all of my personal characteristics and capabilities, make a list of their antonyms, and then build a person who was my complete and utter opposite, this would be him:

Make sure to watch him really get going before you close this.

Monday, March 27, 2006

Little Stinker

This morning someone was calling our home phone and I couldn't find it anywhere. I could hear it, of course, but locate it- no. So when it had finally quit ringing I pushed the stand pager-button to try again... on and on and forever I searched. It was maddening. And the whole time, Madalyn stood casually in her diaper, leaning like a cowboy in a western movie on the coffee table, as if she knew exactly where it was but was too much enjoying my desperate antics to intervene.

I searched the couch cracks, under cushions, under the blanket, in the hat boxes on the hearth, in the tv cabinet... it was right there, it had to be... I could hear it, for Pete's sake!! I finally identified it as definitely being lower to the ground and got on all fours in my ratty Winnie the Pooh night gown- you heard me- that my mom bought for some unknown reason years and years ago; one on which the lace is now shredded off the sleeves in strings, but naturally you always fall in love with your ugliest nightgown, much to your husbands dismay. (Only he actually recently said he doesn't mind this nightgown so much, though I won't disclose why, seeing as how this is a family blog and everything...) but I can assure you that what Madalyn was observing wasn't a pretty sight; a pregnant lady on all fours, covered in Winnie the Pooh, half-blind in her glasses, and trying to get flat enough to the floor to check under the couch again- humorous, certainly... but pretty? Lord, no!

Then it was- the table... somewhere right around the table... IN the table, in the drawer!

You know what this location meant, right- you get it? It was a dead give-away that Madalyn knew EXACTLY where the phone was, had planted it there, and was so humorously intrigued in having one up on me, that she remained a perfectly silent bystander in the midst of my humiliation and torment.

And you know, all I wanted was a hint. Just one small clue- was that too much to ask for?? But instead it was, let's watch mommy lose her mind and perform circus acts in her character costume... if only I knew I how to work a video camera and computer I'd have this thing on the internet before she could turn around...

So little lady, this is where it stands: the next time your beloved pink blankie goes missing- or worse still, your wet wipes- well that's tough poo poo for you, capisce?

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Last Dance with Mary Jane

This morning Shaun and I were sitting in our bedroom trying to figure out what we'd do for the weekend when we heard a dramatic scream over the monitor. It was Madalyn. It sounded as if Evan had done something, but she's become quite crafty at framing him, so you never know. The best part, though, was shortly after the screech the monitor went static. Evan had pulled the plug with the skill of a home-invader cutting a telephone cord to silence any attempted cries for help.

We opted to let them work it out. After all, the whole family would test positive for marijuana right now, so a little bit of craziness only makes sense seeing as how we're unofficially pot heads until our systems clean out.

(In the meantime, I'll just be intentional in cutting back on the volume of lemon poppyseed muffins I'm turning out.) As the daughter-in-law of foster parents, I wouldn't want to get a bad rep. with DFS or anything.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Is this funny TO YOU?

This morning Shaun Instant Messaged me from his cellphone:

Car accident. I'm okay.

Are you serious?

Yes.

Why can't you call me?

Can't talk... broken jaw...

What! Where can I come to get you or meet you?

Haha....Happy early April Fool's!

Apparently Shaun was never told about the boy who cried wolf and is going to really have to learn that one the hard way some day...and I'm really feeling my depravity because I'm relishing the idea.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Eavesdropping

It's always a strange experience to watch your firstborn interact and converse with kids like real peers; more than just the hugs and kisses of a demanded performance, more than playing alongside other toddlers, but actual relating and conversing.

Two examples:

1) We were in McDonalds and there was a little girl up in the tunnels with Evan. It was time to go so I called his name from the bottom of the slide repeatedly and got no response. Then, this conversation that echoed back down to me:

"Your mom's calling you.... Is that your mom?"

Evan said to her casually, "Mm-hm. Yeah, that's my mom."

2) We were in the library and a boy of about 7 years was doing a puzzle at the table next to us and loudly lamenting to anyone who would listen about a missing piece:

"There's a piece missing! I can't find this piece..."

"Why is it missing?" Evan asked him.

Instead of looking down his nose at Evan, as I expected, the kid found the question perfectly appropriate and replied "I don't know. Somebody probably stole it."

Evan recognized that this kid was the kind to immediately assume the worst and offered, "Maybe it got vacuumed up?"

My jaw must have literally plopped down onto my necklace in shock.

These overheard conversations amaze me, the first reason being that I had no idea he was brave enough to respond to older kids as their equal. (I mean he's kind of a scaredy cat, God love him.) For instance, today when he waited in the grocery cart for me to strap Madalyn in the car the wind blew it a few feet and he was rubbing his eyes and whimpering. I assumed his allergies were bothering him and asked him as much.

"I drived," he told me desperately, as though he'd accidentally shifted a car into gear.

The other thing that amazes me, though- about these overheard conversations- is how he adapts to the child he's talking with. For the little girl in the tunnel, he played it cool- (he never calls me mom!!!) Although I have to say, he also sounded proud that I was his mom. Kind of like yeah, she belongs to me, I know- be impressed.

And with the boy at the library he played it smart (and almost seemed to be coaxing the older child out of a panic- the child who outweighed him by about twice his body weight and was half his height over again.)

In addition to the above instances, I've also seen him invite a child to play in one way or another and watched the child refuse him.

"You don't want to? Okay!" he'll say.

(I'll refrain from describing my internal reaction when this happens- as tempted as I am- I'm resisting...)

But I can only imagine how this whole process is going to intensify over the years... this process of watching him find his place in this world. Pretty soon he'll be saying to some girl, Who? Her? Yeah, that's just my mom.

And when that happens, you'll be able to locate me on the floor of the nearest bathroom stall, curled up in the fetal position and rocking myself.

At least I hope you would find me that way, because the other plausibility is me grabbing him by his precious little earlobe and walking him away from the girl saying, JUST YOUR MOTHER? Just your mother! It took me an hour and half to push you out, and another six months just to recover- we've gone through temper-tantrums, potty-messes, eating-battles- just your mother...

But who knows. Maybe that day won't come. He's actually shown himself to be a pretty tender-hearted kid and wears a heavy conscience, so maybe- just maybe- those words will never leave his lips.

Either way, I am learning one thing with certainty over and over again; that as exhausting and sometimes painful as pregnancy and labor can be, that's only the beginning. Birthing a child is like cracking open your chest and tossing your heart onto a freeway. Your breastbone splitting is only the beginning, and at that point your heart's still a safe distance from the racing whimsy of the traffic...

When I was little and we went for night swims in our pool I would copy the safety technique I'd seen in a textbook for surviving a shipwreck at sea. I'd float vertically with just my chin tipped out of the water, expending no energy by keeping air in my lungs while staring far into the starry sky. I'd imagine all of the depth, all of those miles below my dangling feet, and really put myself there, you know, in the middle of that vast ocean until it was so real and my hanging legs felt so vulnerable that I couldn't take it anymore; when my imagination won out and overpowered me I'd swim to the edge as fast as I could and hop out with the kind of giddy laughter that stirs around scary campfire stories.

That was also my rehearsed answer to the "what do you most fear" question; the deepest parts of the ocean were what frightened me- not the sharks or the other predators even- but just feeling that vulnerable.

That was before I was a mother.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

JANUARY PICTURES

Sleepy Dreamer

Eloise

The Park on Park Avenue

Bubble Mania

Grandma and Dadaddy gave Evan and Madalyn bath paints for Christmas. Turns out they were bubbling paint...the bubbles started out fun...then even more fun...and then, as you'll see in the following shots, well the kids got a little freaked out. At one point, Evan looked like a giant lizard or dinosaur- the kind with the flaps that fly out on the sides of their heads when they're spooked...