That One Aunt

Thanks to Derek and his parents picking up the slack and taking care of our kids, I got to go see my sisters a couple weeks ago.  My sisters are worth visiting all on their own, but when you add their terrific families, which now include TWO NEW BABIES- one apiece- I mean, I just couldn't stay away.  Especially when our mother starts throwing around phrases like, "If you want to go see the new babies once they're born, I'll pay for your travel expenses."  I was very calm and chill when she threw that offer on the table, FYI.

No, I wasn't.

Once there, I got to play one of my favorite games:  Annoy the newborn.  The aim of this game is simple:  hold and love and coo at the newborn until sheer overwhelming persistence forces them to love you.  You may choose to go about it another way, but my strategy sounds something like this:  "Gwen!  Hi, Gwen!  Gwennie!  Gweeeeeniiiiie!  Open your eyes, Gwen!  It's your Aunt Kristy!  Hello, Gwen!  You're so soft, Gwen!  You're so tiny, Gwen!  I'm so glad you're here, Gwendolyn!"

I think my results speak for themselves:

 And finally,

Here she is clearly thinking, "When exactly are you going to go home and leave me in peace?"  Or maybe, "Thank God you're not the aunt that lives within 300 miles of me."

Really, though, this is a child who will most likely never be left alone, as her sisters love her, ahem, a whole lot.

Babies holding babies, which is a much nicer concept than babies having babies, which is what my nurse said while I was in labor with Atticus and we were serenaded by the screaming of the young teenager next door delivering her own baby.  She had at first refused an epidural, later changed her mind, but alas, it was too late.  She let the entire ward in on her displeasure.  I was just thankful I wasn't in labor with our first baby, or it would have scared the pants off of me.  Except my pants were already off.  You understand what I'm saying.

Thankfully, these big sisters are already providing wonderful examples of how to live your life to baby Gwen.

I mean, the girl's reading a book, practicing her yogic Easy pose, while getting her hair did.  I know adults who don't have their lives together like this preschooler does.




Later this week, my other sister's cherubs, and ways in which I like to frighten Derek when I'm traveling alone!

Niece Hoarder

I'm on High Alert:  Operation Impending Babies right now.  Every text I receive could be from one of my sisters telling me they're in labor.  As I told Kelli a few days ago, I am in a sweet, sweet spot in all this baby business, as I get all the excitement but none of the pain.  Glory hallelujah.

Yes, indeedy-do, each of my two sisters are due to have their third baby girl any time now.  You remember my sisters, right?  Kelli, the middle child, who I once convinced to play chicken on the old highway down the road from our house, where we'd run out in front of passing cars, seeing who could get closest without actually getting hit?  That sister.  (Incidentally, that is the last time I remember getting a spanking from my mother.  Sometimes, when I've been sitting for too long, I believe I can still feel the effects of that particular disciplinary action.  It turns out fear gives mothers divine strength.  Thanks a lot, neighbor who snitched on us- no, but really, thank you, you likely saved our lives.)

Or Stephanie, the youngest, who Kelli and I used to stuff in a sleeping bag and shove down the stairs?  Or shove in a laundry basket and pull around the kitchen, bouncing off the sharp cabinet corners?  Or shove in the dryer, because how else were we supposed to answer the age-old question, "Will our baby sister fit in the dryer?"

Those sisters.


I was worried they were both going to be selfish and deprive me of any more nieces, but thankfully they both managed to get knocked up a third time and now my family and I will have even more little girls to smother with our well-meaning, overly-affectionate love.  We got to see them a month ago, where we did our best to get enough niece/cousin time to last us a while.

Adelaide also made sure to demonstrate to all the little girls that you're never too big to sit in Grandma's lap.

Incidentally, our children still love to sit in our laps.  I love this, too, even if it feels like this most of the time:

Come on, nieces.  You have an aunt ready to smoosh and smooch you, plus I have it on good authority your mothers are perhaps just the teensiest bit uncomfortable right now.  I don't want to point any fingers, but some of you aren't being very careful with your pointy knees and elbows.

Like Grandmother, Like Granddaughter

Last week was a rough week for many in my hometown.  Two dearly, dearly loved people passed away, one of whom was an age (nearly my age, actually) that makes you say, "But he'd barely gotten started on the best part!" and the other was older, yes, but still far too young to say good-bye to, because as far as I'm concerned, no one should ever have to say farewell to the likes of Larry.

[Edited to add:  And now I just found out Anna Dewdney died, the author of the Llama, Llama children's books.  This must be how other people feel when their favorite movie stars overdose, except people who write and illustrate children's books die from things like brain cancer, which feels way more tragic to me.  Getting pretty sick of this whole "people dying" thing.]

One of those hometown-many is my mom.  Last week was hard, and this week will be, too, as she goes through all the rituals that accompany death, and helps those left behind, as she's close to both the grieving families.  So we're going to talk about one of the things that makes my mother happy, which could be quilting or traveling or hand-washing, but will today be her grandchildren.

I could go full-on vain and talk about how amazing the three grandchildren that just so happen to belong to Derek and I are, maybe play a little Carly Simon in the background as inspiration, but instead I simply must show you this picture my mom emailed me a while back, one of herself and her sister Kay.

The back of the photo has a note written by my grandma:  "Dresses are gold checked with organdy aprons.  Lorri [my mom] was mad because she had to wear her bonnet.  I think it's pretty but she doesn't.  Have given Kay's hair a feather cut.  Sure is easier to take care of."    

Now, let's just pass right over the fact that I now feel like a failure for never dressing Adelaide in an organdy apron when I had the chance.  I suppose I could still try, but I have a feeling it would end in a storm of tears and shredded fabric.  Let us also skip over the serious cuteness of Kay's beaming little face, framed by a new feather cut.  

Instead we're going to focus on the my mom, the one year old on the left, who is mad because she had to wear her bonnet, a revelation that I am dying over.  Dying because how many times have mothers of girls dressed them in the most darling of clothing- like bonnets- only to have them pout over it in front of the camera.  She's like a chubby Laura Ingalls Wilder.  I'm also dying because when I look at this and other old photos of my mother, I see the face of our niece, sweet Elliot Ann.

The picture is a little fuzzy because I zoomed in on Ellie's face- the one on my mom's lap, there- so you could get the full effect.  The resemblance is even more striking in person, when you watch Elliot as she goes about her business, her tall, strong build just like my mom's, who infamously stomped the floor out of the playpen my grandmother cruelly placed her in to get something done or maybe catch her breath fifty-something years ago.  It would seem that toddler Lorri had trouble understanding why she was in prison when her two older sisters were not.  Her solution?  Break it to pieces, of course.  

I put that scowling picture up there to mark the resemblance to mom, but I don't want you to think that's all she does, so here are other, smiley-er pictures of her.

Look at how happy she is.  Elliot, I mean.  And yes, my sister Steph is pregnant again, with girl #3, as is my other sister, Kelli. There's a special place in my heart for three-girl families, and now both my sisters will have an estrogen trio!

And now, because I am one of three girls and know better than to go on and on about one of them while leaving the others out, here are some pics of my mom's other granddaughters, our other nieces.

Kelli's family, minus Kelli.  Hang on, let me see if I can find a picture of her.

Well, that's Kelli, all right- around 25 years ago.  Here you see she and I dressing a baby Stephanie for the day.  Notice Steph is not crying, or reacting much at all.  She was used to such loving abuse.  I thought it so charming that my parents were thoughtful enough to get me a living, breathing doll when I was 8 1/2.  This model had overactive tear ducts as an infant, so I got to wipe her eyelids with a warm, wet washcloth until they were once again able to open many mornings because they were sealed shut from so much gunk.  Take that, Baby Alive!  

And, of course, we mustn't forget Vada, Elliot's big sister:

That's her at my grandma and grandpa's house over the weekend, following the Adelaide up a tree.  We were down south celebrating Grandma's 80th birthday.  I now can't wait to become an octogenarian, as when I said, "Grandma, you don't have to do that," she informed me, "I'll do what I want!  You get to do that when you're 80!"  

Only 47 years until that magical day.

Things I Don't Understand

• Why Litographs doesn't have a poster for To Kill a Mockingbird.  I know exactly where I'd put it:  right *there,* on the blank stretch of wall I'm looking at.  You're just going to have to trust me on this one, that non-existent poster would look perfect on this wall you can't see.  I keep trying to talk myself out of buying the prints for Leaves of Grass or Walden or Wuthering Heights, because I want to hold out for my very, very favorite.  How am I supposed to resist having the entire text of a book printed on a beautiful graphic that could hang on our wall, though?  How?

• The incredible, inspiring, humbling attitude of the woman writing this post on cancer and bravery and Jesus.  I have an injured ankle that may or may not take me out of a race, not my life, and I'm not so much, "I'm praying I would meet bald again and forever with joy.  I'm praying I would not stop looking for grace.  I'm praying I live well and with kindness when it's painful," as "WHY DO BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE?"  Honestly, you're all lucky I've more or less shackled myself to this house.  My head is currently an insufferable place to reside, and it's starting to leak into my voice and even this post.  Looks like I need to read that post again and quit feeling sorry for myself, for the love.

• The Krebs Cycle.  I missed it when it was introduced in high school science, somehow didn't study for it for the test, and therefore got all its related questions wrong, which still rankles.  When they brought it up in whatever college course that was, some horrible and particularly pigheaded part of my brain decided that we just weren't ever going to learn this.  Even now, I could google it, but the Krebs Cycle has become this ridiculous thing that I'm aware I should know about but have actively decided to eschew.  Please don't ask me to make any sense of this, because there is none to be made.  

• Why this face has to live so far from mine:

Not to mention this one:

Vada the Boss

And this one:

Happy Elliot

And that one on the left.

Charlotte and Adelaide

On the other hand, the one on the right is mine, all mine.  I'll take that any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

The Terrific Two's

On the drive back up from Kansas, Derek noted how each trip south gets easier for us; we no longer have to pack mass amounts of diapers and wipes or the Pack 'n' Play or baby food or various other baby-related paraphernalia, and the children are aces at distracting themselves for 14 hours in the van, in part thanks to around 8 hours of that time being spent watching movies (ach, I cringed just writing that), but also because they've had plenty of practice distracting themselves after countless circuits on that stretch of highway.

Both my sisters are right in the middle of that phase, and let me just say that is so much easier to be the one that holds the baby and reads books to the two-year-old and then says, "Okay, great, see you in the morning!" than it is to be the parent that changes the diapers and nurses the baby and tries to keep their fussy child quiet in the middle of the night when sharing a house bursting with family.  I mean, I loved visiting family when our kids were teeny, but it was so incredibly stressful, after returning home from each and every trip I would vow never to leave my house again.  Then a few months would go by and I'd miss my loved ones and magically only remember the sweet, fuzzy memories from the most recent long-distance excursion, and off we'd go again.

So while my sisters are probably still working on filling in their sleep deficit and just getting back into the swing of blessed, blessed routine, I'm up north happily trilling, "When can we do it all again?!"  Because while two-year-olds get a bad rap, they are so much fun when you're not the one having to be the mean mommy.





This girl.  Oh, Vada.  I have a feeling your parents are going to say that a lot in the years to come.  Half the reason I check Facebook regularly is to see the photos Steph posts of Vada:  Vada got into Mommy's new lipstick.  Vada got into the giant tub of margarine.  Vada is curious and she's a climber, a dangerous combination for her mom and dad, hilarious for the rest of us.

Oh, Vada.

She's also, like, pathologically friendly, and I mean that in the absolute best way possible.  If you need a hug, Vada is your girl, and she won't just do a cursory little side-hug; she will plaster her roly little body to yours and rest her sweet head on your shoulder.  She also won't say no to a little back rub while she's there.  She only has to catch the most fleeting of glimpses of a camera and she's smiling and saying, "Cheeeese!"


And then there's Charlotte.  Just that sentence makes me laugh, because I have a feeling people used to say that about her mom when we were kids:  "And then there's Kelli."  Kelli once received a report card from school when she was in younger elementary school, and in the comments section the teacher noted, "Kelli is a unique child," which is teacher-speak for, "Dude, your kid's kinda weird."  Charlotte is evidently intent on following in her mother's footsteps, which delights me to no end.  Derek got a big kick out of calling out to Char as she'd walk by him, "Hey, Charlotte!"  "Want to come sit with me, Charlotte?"  "Charlotte?  Can you give your Uncle Derek a hug?" which would cause Char to give the kind of suspicious, unsure look usually reserved for oily men in white-paneled vans, which in turn led to endless laughter for all observing.  Charlotte's affection is to be earned, but I will say it gives you a ridiculous sense of pride when she graces you with a smile or actual physical contact.  She had a bit of an anxious night the first night we were there, and so her parents went out and got her an action figure of the Hulk, because they'd forgotten hers at home, which was rather foolish on their part as she loves the Hulk and believes that he protects her, because of course she does.

The Hulk can now add "Comforter to little girls" to his resume.

Adelaide managed to ingratiate herself to both Charlotte and Vada by playing countless games of Ring Around the Rosy.

You should really click to embiggen this one and see the look of pure Ring Around The Rosy-induced joy on Char's face.

Ring Around the Rosy and the Hulk:  The Keys to Charlotte's Heart.  (That sounds like the title to a really bad book.)


Of course, I know I'll blink and those two-year-old's will be teenagers and the babies won't let me hold them and snuffle at their delicious necks anymore.  There's mutterings in the ranks about turning the niece-faucet off, but I'm not worried.  I'm confident my sisters wouldn't do that to me.  Because, you know, it's all about me.

Surely they wouldn't deprive us of more of this.  Elliot's face.  My goodness.

Or this.

Seven grandkids in eight years.  Oy.

The Baby Whisperer

I've decided one of the things I like best about babies is that they can't talk.

Our children talk all the time.  It feels like there is never a time one of them is not opening their mouths and letting a cataract of words spill from them.  (Although as I type this, Adelaide is sitting silently at the table, reading The Neverending Story and eating a bowl of oatmeal, and Cade is down for a quiet nap.  Atticus, on the other hand, is currently taking a not-so-quiet "rest time.")  And half of that time they're contradicting whatever it is that I'm saying.  Caedmon and Adelaide in particular appear to be vying for the crown of Tsar or Tsarina of All Knowledge; I could tell you that the sky is blue and Caedmon would say it's really more of a gray-blue, while Adelaide would inform me that it actually only appears blue to our eyes.  THE SKY IS BLUE, CHILDREN, ALRIGHT?  Sheesh.

Babies, on the other hand?  Especially sweet, squishable, lovable babies like my darling, darling nieces?  They can't contradict anything I say.  As far as they know, my opinion is their opinion, just the way it should be (I have no idea where our children get their contrary streak, fyi).

For instance, if you look closely in the above photo, you will see a handful of my face flesh in sweet Norah Mae's right little fist.  This is obviously because she loves me so much that she never wants to let me go.  See also the evident baby kiss she is planting on my eyebrow.  I can choose to disregard the fact that she is in a phase where she wants to gum everything in sight and go with my own interpretation, because she's not saying otherwise.


Or this one:

See how Norah is gazing soulfully into Adelaide's eyes?  It's obvious she's trying to communicate what her mouth cannot:  That she loves her oldest girl-cousin and is desperate to move to Iowa so she can be with her all the time.  I won't presume to narrate Adelaide's expression, as I'm sure whatever I say will be capital-W Wrong, and I really don't feel like hearing why for the next three days.

You could say that the look on our newest niece Elliot's face is one of shock and perhaps stunned fear, but I would posit that she is stunned- stunned that she's been alive for six weeks and is just now experiencing the joy to be had when being held by yours truly.  Oh, her parents will be hearing about this.

Here's Ellie again, lifting a hand to the heavens so that God would hear her plea never to be so cruelly separated from Adelaide again.

And here's Norah clearly telling us that although she is a smiley, cheerful baby in general, she always holds a little something back with the world at large; that extra affection is reserved for her Daddy.  Plain as day.

And here I can tell just by looking at her that Norah is utterly blissful at being ham-handedly loved by a five- and three-year old boy.



Now tell me:  How obvious is it that I'm going through some serious medical-grade Baby Withdrawal this week?  Because I feel like I'm being pretty subtle about it.



Tomorrow?  TWO YEAR OLDS.

3 1/2 Nieces

Last week I went and saw my sisters.

Wait, was it last week?  You know, I don't think it was.  I think it was the week before that.  Crikey, I meant to write about this sooner.  This is how most of my blog posts go; I write dozens and dozens in my head each month, but only a few actually make it on here, and not because of my rigorous self-editing process or anything, but because by the time I've sat down to write about it, I've forgotten whatever it was that made that one topic so interesting.  You don't know how many times I've sat in this chair and thought Hmmm, peanut butter... it had something to do with peanut butter or I know there was a potential post somewhere in there about vacuuming, and it was just hilarious, but- but that can't be right, can it?  It all gets tangled and lost somewhere in the vault (let me just stop and say how ridiculous it is that I just referred to my own brain as "the vault" when anyone knows it should have a title more like "the sieve" or "that closet at your great-grandma's house that everyone's afraid to go into and smells weird"), never to be thought of again.

The only reason I haven't forgotten about this post is because if I didn't have a husband and children of my own, I'd be that annoying family member that stops by waaaaay too often because my nieces are the sweetest and best and most beautiful and smartest and funniest and most scrumptious little girls in the world.  After my Adelaide, of course.

My excuse for going down for a visit in the first place was to visit my newest niece, six-week-old Norah:

She is soft and warm and smells good and loves to be cuddled.  It was heaven.  

I also got to spend some long overdue quality time with her big sister Charlotte:

Charlotte is somehow almost two years old.  I'm not quite sure how this happened.  

Charlotte takes her new role as big sis seriously.  She lets anyone with hearing know if there's the remotest possibility that Norah might need something, and when she's not helping with Norah, she's swaying and rocking her own baby doll to sleep.  Kelli joked that Charlotte is more maternal than she is.  This is true, but by the end of two days I'd decided Charlotte is more maternal than Michelle Duggar.  

Char's other favorite thing to do (aside from holding tea parties) was smile, which makes it all the more mystifying that I never get a good picture of her.  This is probably because all I can do is smile goofily back when she unleashes the full force of her cuteness on me.

This is Norah smiling and cooing at me, and Charlotte kissing Norah's hand, because that's just what they both do.  You can see why I didn't want to leave.

We also got to see my other niece, Vada:

We had to let her sit on Adelaide before I could get a good picture of her; in every single other one she was a blur, because's that's just what stage she's in right now.  Her mom, my sister Steph, is due to have her second baby in April.  I get exhausted just thinking about Stephanie's life.  

Derek's mom was so, so kind and watched our kiddos for a few days, making all this baby time possible.  This made everyone happy:  I got to see my sisters and their families, my kids got to have some much-begged-for grandma time, and Derek got to golf 126 holes down in Florida, all but ten in the pouring rain.  He had his golf stuff strewn around the house for days after he got back, just waiting for it to dry out.  Fortunately, his life with us is so hectic back home that he was still able to look at a sopping wet trip as a vacation.  

We also got to get together with my dad and his wife after I'd reunited with our kids:

I love this picture of Norah because that is how Adelaide slept for the first couple months of her life:  arms stretched up, hands on either side of her head.  It was also a little bittersweet to see Char wearing so many of Adelaide's hand-me-down clothing.  Nothing shows you how monstrously gigantic your children have gotten as seeing their sweet, former teeny tiny clothes on your nieces.

Adelaide's two goals for the trip were to jump on the hay bales at grandma's house (done within fourteen hours of our arrival), and to hold precious Norah.  Two for two, Adelaidey.  (Note again how UTTERLY HUGE our children apparently are.  It would seem I've been spending too much time with friends who have kids that are older than my own; I've been thinking of our children as relatively small and young.  This trip set me straight, because all three are obviously humongous and apparently also practically on the verge of leaving for college.)

I swear I could make an entire photo book just of Kelli and Aaron reading to our children, and we live seven hours apart.  Every time we see them, one of our kiddos finds and coerces either the aunt or the uncle (probably whomever happens to be sitting down) to read them a book (or five), and the other two soon flock to the impromptu story time.  

It was such a good trip, and not just because traveling with our three kids gets easier and easier as they get older (so. much. easier.).  Now I just have to count the days (or months, I guess, *sob*) until we get to see them all again.

The Little Girls

On the way to Branson a couple weeks ago, we stopped at my grandparents' house (of the heavenly gardens) for a quick overnight visit.  I also invited my sisters and their families over, which I didn't share with my grandma until the day before.

She loves it when I do that sort of thing.

This meant we got to start our vacation with a baby fix.  A toddler fix.  Whatever.

The little girls don't get to see Derek as often as the rest of us because he has this little thing called "work" that prevents him from taking many of our trips south with us.

Derek and Vada, whose favorite place to go is Wal-Mart because there she finds a load of people to smile at and interact with.

Click to embiggen.

Someday Charlotte's parents are going to submit a cute baby photo when she's a senior in high school and everyone's super interested in embarrassing the graduates, and everyone who sees it will know exactly who she is and say, "Oh, that has to be Charlotte," because hers is not one of those interchangeable baby faces; she's very distinctive-looking, especially in person and in action.  I have very few photos of her smiling, because when she sees me with my camera pointed at her, she shakes her fist defiantly at me and vows, "Thou shalt not take my picture without my written consent!"

Well.  It's implied.

I have caught her before, though!

She loves her aunt Steph.

In the background of this photo you can see her daddy helping her pet her favorite deer.  There are lots of animals to play with in my grandparents' house.  Sure, most of them are dead, but we don't quibble about that sort of thing in my family.

It was a good day.