Chris(tmas) Gifts

Although I'm not sure if he knows it, Chris' dad is known among his children as having been a notoriously good gift giver when they were young. As Chris tells it, he always found the big, unexpected but extravagantly perfect gift that left his kids with their mouths open and their greedy juvenile souls satiated.

Whether he can admit it or not, Chris has followed in his father's footsteps in this arena, at least when it comes to gifts for me.

In my mid twenties I was on a big whole foods diet kick. I experimented with baking whole grain breads and to this day prefer to make my own pizza doughs, bread loaves, baked goods. Shortly after Christmas, 2004, on a visit to my Mom's house in Wisconsin, Chris took a two hour detour and drove me and newborn baby Bela to Eau Claire to pick up and throw a mini bread proofer into the back of our Honda. Don't know what a proofer is? Though usually as large as a refrigerator, ours was the size of a large dishwasher, with a glass door, filled with trays in the middle and a pan of water at the bottom. You can control the heat and humidity of the internal environment of the proofer for optimal bread rising and bread warming. Let's just say that it is fairly unusual to have a commercial bread  proofer taking up space in your residential kitchen.

In my early thirties, my portfolio of extra-curricular interests diversified: running, knitting, gardening, banjo, sewing... a veritable gold mine for an extravagant gift giver like Chris. I got a banjo in the mail for my 33rd birthday; an antique Estonian yarn swift that stands as tall as Mae on Valentine's Day.

This is an image from the web, not my swift. Mine is more primitive, rough wood.

This Christmas takes the cake, though. I opened my first present from Chris on Christmas morning, while the girls aggressively tore into their box of Jacks, their candle making kits, their Calico Critters Mansion. I tore back the paper and found a source guide for all things wool. Although this alone was the most perfect present possible for me, he insisted that the next gift was the better of the two.

I waited a few minutes so I could observe the insanity the girls had created in the living room, and then opened this:

Yes - this made sense. We have been talking about buying a building and constructing some sort of shed/studio in the backyard. A place to hide out. A place for guests to sleep. A place to lock our kids when they are naughty.

As I flipped through the book, a folded piece of paper fell to the floor.

Plans for a shed? A receipt for materials?

No. In true Grandpa Allen form, what I found inside this book was the deed to a piece of wooded property in Michigan, about the size of 6 city lots. Big enough for two tiny sleeping cabins - one for us, one for the kids. A place of our own to go and camp. A home base for those weekends we spend picking fruit in the summer, not terribly far from the lake. Not terribly far from Chicago.

Thank you, Chris, for keeping things interesting around here. You never cease to amaze me, and I look forward to witnessing what you have in store for your three girls.

The Let Down

**Warning** This post contains multiple references to breasts and breast milk and may not be palatable to all audiences.

If you are one of the 51% of the world's population lacking breasts, or if you have never breast fed an infant, you might not understand the term "let-down." It refers to the moment when your milk flows from your milk ducts to your nipples as your child begins nursing.  Most new-parent manuals and breast feeding pamphlets will tell you that you may or may not be aware of this moment. They will tell you that you may feel a slight, warm, tingling sensation. They tell you that, aside from the times when your baby stimulates your let-down, your milk might also flow when you think about your baby, or when you hear her cry.

The joke around my house right now centers around my extremely over-active let-down reflex. In the first place, it's no "warm, tingly sensation". It's like someone is stabbing me with a thousand tiny little knives, causing me to throw one hand over each breast and walk through the house howling. Second of all, it doesn't just let down when Gil nurses, or when I think of Gil, or when Gil cries. It lets down every time I'm moved emotionally - which apparently is ALL THE TIME.

I'm a walking milk machine. I'm a wet and sloppy mess. If Chris or the girls ever longed for a glimpse into my inner-most thoughts, my private psyche, they have it now. I was watching 'The Wire' last night, the episode where McNulty cries in the hospital because he feels guilty that his fellow cop, Kima, was shot. OUCH! Here comes the milk. I was looking at real-estate online last week and my thoughts wandered to our three girls playing in their own home. YOW! I walked through the front door of my building yesterday afternoon to the aroma of a home cooked meal wafting from the first floor. DANG!

My girls got the bug two weeks ago, the evil one that is going around it seems. They threw up for 24 hours straight, leaving me to peel back layers of vomity blankets as the midnight hours ticked away. Bela threw up on Mae from the top bunk. Mae threw up on a pile of Bela's throw up. They both threw up on our vintage copy of The Hobbit, hardbound.  Aside from being scarred psychologically (me), the only lingering after-effect of this episode was that Mae developed a pretty gross cough right after, and then gave it to me.

Last night I was sitting on the couch, being moved to milk by another episode of The Wire, and I couldn't stop coughing. My loving husband looked concerned, offered to make me some tea, went to the kitchen and brewed up a batch of chamomile with a touch of honey. And wouldn't you know it? My milk squirted all over the place.

Gil in her favorite spot. Me, going on no sleep for days. 

Lost

Decorating Christmas Cookies

Ok, I'll admit it. I'm having a hard time keeping up with this blog with a newborn around.

And yet life has been so very blog-worthy lately. It would be a crime to let these moments pass by without recording them, so I'll try.

In the weeks and days leading up to Christmas, our girls were as excited as any 4 and 6 year olds could be. They made and re-made their wish lists. They studied the Hearth Song and Magic Cabin catalogs that seemed to arrive every third afternoon in the mail. They plotted and they planned. They strategized and they schemed - all in anticipation of the big day: meeting Santa Claus and telling him what they wanted.

You see, I avoided the entire letter-writing drama and the task of having to send mail to the North Pole by insisting they could just tell him in person this year. There is, after all, a real lack of face-to-face communication in our society these days, no?

Christmas was getting closer, Gil was born early, and we sort of ignored the girls in their ceaseless quest for gift accumulation. But they needed to know - WHEN would they see Santa? WHEN would they be able to let him know just what they wanted?

We decided we would visit him at the Christkindlmart in Daley Plaza the week before Christmas. We, in spite of our almost 12 years living in the city, naively chose to visit him exactly one week before the big day - a Saturday.

The market was a mob scene. The lines were impossibly long, there were throngs of people buying stollen and gingerbread and cute little German Christmas ornaments. As we entered the plaza we could just make out the top of Santa's house next to the giant tannenbaum and the heads of hundreds of little people waiting anxiously to talk to the jolly old elf. We, instead, got in line for brats and hot chocolate. Santa could wait a little longer.

We entered the warming tent to consume our German fare and thaw our frozen fingers, and then we felt ready to tackle the Santa line. We re-emerged into the crowd of mostly drunken tourists and pushed our way through to an opening. I lead the way with Gil in the wrap and Mae by the hand. I turned to see Chris but could not find Bela.

"Would you grab her?" I asked him impatiently, assuming she had lingered behind as she is wont to do.

When he came back without her I felt rise up in me a dark, scary panic. He set off again, told me to wait right there. He was gone almost 10 minutes and I knew it could not be good. He came back again empty handed and hot tears welled up in my eyes. I dragged Mae back to the warming tent and searched frantically for Bela. Even with her white-blond hair and her bright blue coat she didn't stand out in that massive crowd. I was almost crying openly when Chris ran into a security guard who seemed to know we were looking for a lost kid.

"Are you looking for the little girl in blue?" he asked. "We've got her."

After a few radio calls on his part and some embarrassed, we're bad parents mumblings on our part, we were directed across the plaza, through the crowd once more, to where our baby girl was waiting for us - in the Santa house. With Santa.



PS - This did NOT solve our Santa problem. Not only did Mae not get to see him, Bela actually never told him what she wanted, since she was so traumatized by being abandoned by her parents. Not thrilled at the idea of waiting in line outside, Chris and I convinced them to walk a few blocks to State Street to visit Santa at his inside house - Macy's. We arrived on the fifth floor to discover that the line to visit the much more popular inside Santa was TWO hours long. Well, Chris and I don't do two hour lines, not for Santa, not for anyone. After some Disney princess bribes, we got them out of line and back home. So, did they ever get the message through to Santa? We emailed it to him before bedtime, Christmas eve.

WE FOUND HIM!

And he's not alive.

RIP Little John. 6/2009 - 11/2011

Games

The girls are adjusting nicely to having a little #3 around the house. The two-on-two parenting that has governed our way of life for the last 4 years has suffered only slight disruption and the girls are handling it well, even Mae.

I'm sure this happens a lot within families with two active parents and two children: the kids tend to pick a parent and stick with them. Bela gravitates toward Chris, Mae toward me. The fact that we have had our hands full lately seems to be understood and forgiven, but it has also inspired some new "games" to pass the time.

Both girls stayed home from school last Thursday because they were up all night puking all over everything in sight (story later).  I laid in bed with Gil until almost 11am, groggy, recovering from the night's puke-a-thon, but I could hear the girls completely involved in some role-playing game where Bela was taking care of Mae. When I dragged my pathetic self out of bed she announced what they were doing and proudly stated that she had done a good job taking care of her little sister.

I later discovered that not only did Bela get Mae bathed, dressed, and ready for the day, but she also fed her an early lunch: crackers, jello, juice, and "bug drink" (kefir). When asked if she was pretending to be Mae's mommy, Bela responded that she was still just her big sister.

"Where's your mommy?" I asked.

"Mommy's dead."

And that's game #1.


Game number 2 also seems to have been developed by Bela in an attempt to help Mae transition to a life without Mommy.  She has devised a point-system and has carefully written it out on a piece of paper the girls keep on a table near their beds. Each time Mae shows a preference for me and refuses to let her daddy help her in one way or another, she gets an X on a number. However, if she allows Chris to do her some small deed, or takes his hand instead of mine, she gets a circle. I suppose the goal is to get as many circles as possible.

Today, we took the girls to the Chriskindl market in Daley Plaza, and Mae insisted on holding my hand all afternoon. X. But this evening, she gave Chris an unsolicited hug. Circle.

I'm grateful for their creativity and their independence and for these precious moments they allow me with their newest sister, but I can't help but feel a wee bit sad. Bela insists that she is trying to make Chris feel better by convincing Mae to be nicer to him, but it feels like Bela is preparing Mae for the inevitable: losing Mommy to a little sister.

Gil's "high-heeled" socks

This Moment

A moment from our week, no words necessary. Have a great one!

Gil's story

Gil sleeps with Grandma Paula

So, where was I? Oh right, 36 weeks pregnant and in the middle of the busiest two weeks of the semester.

On Friday, December 2nd I gave my students their final exams, graded half of them, and packed up the car to drive to Urbana, IL for Silvercreek's annual Breakfast with Santa brunch. We arrived at Grandpa Allen's house late Friday night, went right to bed, woke up and ushered the girls into the car so we wouldn't miss Santa's arrival at the restaurant - the same restaurant where Chris and I met.

Brunch was a success, girls had a great time, I consumed baby's weight in waffles and sausages... a perfect morning. But I was beat. Chris was beat. The girls spent some time with their cousins, but we were overwhelmed with a desire to just be back home. So we grabbed lunch and uncharacteristically headed right back to Chicago.

When we got home, I threw pajamas on my girls and I threw myself on my bed. And then it all started: my water broke, but it broke in a slow and sporadic way that kept me in denial for at least 45 minutes. Looking back all the signs were there: my contractions throughout the day had been more painful than normal, I was exhausted (more than my usual), and we had hightailed it home (completely unusual).

So what was my first reaction to the real possibility of delivering 3 1/2 weeks early? Those damn exams. I sat down and started grading. And then I realized I was being ridiculous. What I needed to do was finish knitting the sleeves on baby's third gray sweater.

Oh, don't worry. Soon the reality of the situation hit us both full force, and we came to terms with the fact that we were completely unprepared for the night that was now facing us. I hadn't packed a bag. I didn't have my papers in order. I didn't even have a warm bunting for the baby, not to mention a name if it was a boy. I put aside the Spanish exams, I packed the knitting, and we got down to business.

Phone calls were made, arrangements were in order, Karen was on her way to stay with the girls and my Mom knew she had to come first thing in the morning. I shaved my legs, grabbed my hospital bag, and Chris and I left the house at 11:00pm.

By the time the midwife saw me I was 6 cm and still feeling pretty ok. Because I was about to deliver quite a bit early, there was no way they were going to let me deliver in the ABC (alternative birthing center) where Mae was born - I had to go to a traditional room with a hospital bed and monitoring equipment. The midwife on call did her very best to ensure the same kind of experience offered in the ABC for Chris and me, and we were grateful. She dimmed the lights, gave me a big room with a shower, monitored me only sporadically, and let me lead the way and decide when it was time to go for it and push that baby out.

Gillian Fern Strong was born only a couple short hours later. At 7 pounds, 6 ounces, we all did a little happy dance to celebrate her early arrival, saving me from delivering a 9 pound, full-term baby. But there was a trade-off: she didn't breathe so great and had to be transfered a short time later to the NICU.

I say this like it's no big deal, and considering that she was discharged two days later, it really isn't and wasn't a big deal. But for those of you who know me and know how long Bela and I ended up in the hospital together,  you'll forgive me when I confess that I kind of sort of fell apart here. The first 24 hours were the worst. I couldn't nurse her, I couldn't sleep. I just sat there and stared at the monitors that were measuring the oxygen saturation of her blood, an unwelcome reminder of my Dad's final days. And I felt sorry for myself, to be doing this again, to have missed out on a problem-free birth. I was worried I wouldn't be able to nurse successfully, I was scared she would be there all week or longer.

Gray sweater #1 :) 

But things didn't go that way. And now that we're home and I can look back at it all, I learned a good lesson from this beautiful babe. I can't control every situation. She came and I wasn't ready. I hadn't done all the things that are so very important to do before a baby comes: I hadn't spackled the girls' bedroom wall, I hadn't cleaned my bathroom, I hadn't installed the kitchen cabinets yet, I hadn't dyed my roots or trimmed my toenails. I hadn't even finished the semester. And she came anyway. And it was ok. Her sweater had no sleeves, but it sure did keep her belly warm, you know?

And hard as it is, that is the lesson I'm trying (trying) to take to heart (Chris is rolling his eyes because I don't always do a good job living the lesson, if you know what I mean). Of course, Gil makes it easy - such a beautiful, loved little girl.

Biggest sister

Middlest sister

 So here we are. Three daughters, house is a mess... And it feels just right.

Gma Dori, Gma Paula, Mae, Bela, Ruby, Me and Gil 

This Moment

A couple moments from our very emotional week. Gil at birth. Girls watching me enter ICU so I could hold her up in front of the window for them to see. Sorry, I can't share these moments without words. We are so happy to welcome our newest little girl, and are so grateful that her stay in the ICU was brief and uncomplicated. Welcome home, Gilly girl.

This Moment

A moment from our week. Have a great one!

The List

The girls and I had a lovely Thanksgiving weekend with family in Wisconsin. Chris' fun ended the morning after our annual feast, however, as he got really, really sick and spent the next 24 hours completely out of commission.

We crammed all the family traditions into two short days: Thanksgiving at my Mom's (including - dare I say starring?) the infamous peanut salad; hot chocolate, popcorn, and cutting down our Christmas Tree at Hilliker's Tree Farm; and swimming at the Cranberry Lodge.

For the last several years, we have also taken advantage of the long holiday weekend to spend a few days in this amazing little cabin surrounded by State forest in the middle of Wisconsin, an amazing little cabin that happens to belong to my step-father, David.

We like to make this more or less a retreat from technology (barring, of course, our fancy smart phones, cameras, and ipads to play audiobooks). And we usually like to turn this retreat into an over-indulgence in wine and excessive craftiness (you know, cabernet and hot glue guns make a great pair).

This year, with me 8 months pregnant and Chris all post-traumatic-flu-syndrome, we had to come up with other ways to entertain ourselves. Last year it was drunken pine-cone elf making, this year it was Ramona Quimby, Age 8 audio-book and Lego boardgames.  Last year it was drunken bonfire fun, this year it was knitting quietly in a chair and reading books by the wood-burning stove.

Slug hunting

But I did get a chance to probe my girls for some personal information I felt I had sort of lost track of: namely, a list of their "favorites." And so, while Chris finished his current book and I knitted the baby another gray sweater (the only gender neutral color I seem to have in my stash), the girls indulged me.

MAE

Favorite fruit - mango, kiwi
Favorite vegetables - lettuce, carrots, cucumbers,
Favorite "food" - all sweets, sandwiches
Favorite colors - all the colors
Favorite book - Baby book (?), Fancy Nancy
Favorite song - I am weary let me rest
Favorite place to be - Ikea's Smäl land (gulp)
Favorite smell - Grandma Lou's garage, blankie
Favorite (stuffed) animal - Penguin, unicorn, Bela's pretty doll, pink elephant
Favorite real animals - horsies, unicorns (ha ha) puppies

BELA

Favorite fruit - kiwi, watermelon
Favorite vegetables - carrots, cucumbers, salad
Favorite food - creamy peanut butter, salami, grapefruit, mac and cheese,  salad, lentil soup, popcorn
Favorite color - blue and red
Favorite book - The Baby Book, Fancy Nancy, "the scary other Halloween one"
Favorite song - Manic Monday, Eternal flame, Cut Me Out, Super Bass,
Favorite place to be - Katie's (a friend from school) house, Nancy's house, Grandma Paula's, Grandma Lou's, Lucille's, our favorite restaurant (Delish), home.
Favorite smell - Grandma Lou's garage, blankie
Favorite animal - kittens, puppies

I think it's so cute that they, like me, are incapable of choosing just one favorite from each category. But I share this here to freeze it in time, a snapshot of my girls - aged 6 and 4.

The weather was too warm for the fire we had in the wood stove, so the girls enjoyed hot cocoa and popcorn by the open door, to cool off. 

It was a great weekend, even without the wine. And while on the one hand I can not WAIT to not be pregnant anymore and to hold this little baby who has been kicking my sides for so many months, I'm also trying to slow down and enjoy these last few moments as a four-some - Chris, the girls, me... And I'm grateful for this little cabin in the woods.

PS - A hamster update: When we returned home from our sojourn in the woods, we found the hamster cage mysteriously empty. Either the powers that be whisked Little John away to a happier home, leaving no trace behind, or little houdini climbed to the top of his cage and escaped from the one, small hole left unguarded and unplugged. Fare thee well, little man.