So a little explanation

If I haven't lost my full three people fan base, I will give you a little excuse for my absence.

I have been gestating and to save me from ruining my own surprise, my typing fingers have been hibernating. This hibernation also might have something to do with needing a daily nap as much as Anna and being moderately nauseous. As my first trimester is winding down, I am committed to document my life in the way that I do.

I look at this picture daily in amazement remembering the pulsating heart chambers. The hope I found in a similar pulsation more than three years ago, that I could reproduce again. Anna was sick last week and is I felt that pulse that I thought of her moment, I thought of Harris when his sonar heart echoed in a room, and I thought of the determined healthy embryo I hold. I cry a lot these days. More than with the other two. Not full out sobs and not angry tantrums about not being able to make it all the way through the grocery store without my stomach rising to my throat, but I tear up. Water pools in my eye ducts. I see Anna peddle her bike down the sidewalk, I tear up. I hear Harris practice his lines for his play, I tear up. I hear the occasional giggles as they spend a lazy Saturday morning together, and I am a goner. I probably would have cried more before if I would have known at the starting line about how full my life was to be . How Aaron, I and God's infinite grace would create three heart beats to give rhythm to our lives. I am truly blessed.

Sometimes it Hurts

As a mother, I have always wanted my daughter to be my carbon copy with style. For the past two years and four months I have relished in the discoveries that yes she feels right at home in my world. We both love Chocolate Chex and have a unquench desire for milk. She got my brown eye despite my eight moth worry that I would only have blue-eyed children.
Yet, yesterday I discovered a minor difference between us, a slight disconnect between our brain synapses. When I was a little girl I loved band aids. I would create invisible injures, demand at every knee bump and scratch, and even was presented with my own box of band aids to fix my cravings. So as a mother I figured that my mini me pick up my love affair for these medically necessary stickers. So, I stocked our first aid drawer with Hello Kitty band aids waiting to soothe her two year old cuts, scrapes and invisible wounds. Yesterday Anna cut her toe. It spotted the living room rug during Family Home Evening and when we finally discovered the source of the blood, we quickly grabbed a girly pink band aid for her toe.
In my anticipation of her being over-joyed at the girly pink delight I was perplexed by her refusal to put it on. It was a band aid, the one sure fire remedy for bumps, bruises, headaches, coughs, imaginary or real. The real feel good tool. Well, since the blood was trickling down her baby toe our personal physician deemed it necessary that the cut be bandaged up. She ranted, she fought, but finally we securely wrapped her pinky toe. Then came the calming we sang, we cuddled, we even patted the kitty on the band aid. All the while she tried to wiggle off Hello Kitty. Finally we laid our tormented daughter, with a disgust of band aids, down, her foot dangling up in the air trying to get rid of that evil thing somehow.

Luckily, she kept it on and there were no blood splatters on her quilts or walls. Yet, as I came take her from her slumber this morning her first mumblings were, "take my band aid off now."

Anna, just remember that I can give you dislike of band aids but, much dissension past that will be scrutinized. Just so you know.

Spring Break Part 2

Day Four- Day four was not at all as planned. Anna continued to fever and spent a good deal of the day slumbering-two hours of which was spent on my torso. The rain made us all itch with cabin fever and want to go somewhere, anywhere. Aaron and I dosed ourselves with runs during the break of the storm. Around five, with a Motrin dosed girl we ran to the grocery store for essentials and grabbed some dinner. That quick trip even seemed to cure our ailments.

Day Five-Antelope Island. So we have lived a mere seven miles, give or take, from the causeway of Antelope Island for the past two years and have never gone out there. So we decided to go explore this natural wonder in an urban environment, as the brochure pointed out. Favorites: roping wooden cattle, spotting actual antelope, and the mirrored snow topped mountains.

Day Six and Seven: (excuse my lack of words, I never know how to narrate the normalcy in our lives. Then again, that is kind of what the higher purpose of this blog, right? Nevertheless, the pictures tell the story.)

Showing of their bunny loot and Sunday best

Anna's participation in the egg breaking game that I slaughter everytime I say its proper name and would spell even worse. See the guy my cute sis-in-law married? Anna spent half the evening on his lap. Watch out Steph.

Lania and Anna,

Spring Break So Far

Monday- We found out that Anna is only required to resume her pirate duties for two hours a day. Also she is scared, Frances Bread and Jam scared, of the bug puppets at the Natural History Museum. On the other Hand, she feels quite like a kindred spirit to the alive glow in the dark scorpion on display. Go figure. Also, Harris needs constant nourishment for his lanky body and watch out, if you don't eat you lunch fast enough he will help himself to the remains. Unless it is a green salad. I can have the entire thing to myself.

Tuesday-Anna can peddle her tricycle all the way down to the corner of our street but struggles to make it all the way back. Our street must have an incline invisible to the naked eye. I find me being a spinning instructor for toddlers, "push, pull, keep your cadence up, Anna." Late nights are disappointing when they end at eight-thirty. What's the use of that? I have now liked Adam Lambert, American Idol, three weeks in a row, go figure.

Wednesday- To much tricycling makes a tired girl whose tummy has seen better days. Doesn't stop her for wanting her daily dosage of milk. One nine year old boy can consume half a box of Honey Nut Cheerios if eaten by the handful for breakfast.

Stay tuned for the conclusion of our week including Aaron takes two days off, in a row, yes it is hard to believe.

Dads and Donuts

Yesterday I thumbed through the school newsletter that came to me along with a jumble of kid enticing ads for community events and programs. As I skimmed the calendar of events I noticed, yes, tomorrow, is donuts with dad, the paper indicating this was a change to the regular set date. So as all good wives I dialed Aaron's cell and realized that if we had any emergency that should pull him out of a patient's room this was it.

"Aaron, it's tomorrow." I said.

"What?" he said.

"Donuts with dad. Can you go?" I said, thinking can you bend over backwards and make your self the target of eye rolls and impatient patients for your nine year old son and a sub par donut.

A side note: Other than alliteration how do dads get to consume donuts and moms are paired with muffins? Now if they were of the poppy seed or cream cheese variety we could talk. In this one instance dad's get the better end of the deal.

So I left Aaron to solve that puzzle and went to solve how to get red punch out of the carpet. Both consuming tasks.

So did he go? Well, yes but they had their own private breakfast dining on donuts and hot chocolate from our corner donut store. Doesn't everyone have one? We do. OF course that was after he got a ticket for a rolling stop and he debated and stressed over the psychological effects missing one Donuts with Dad would have on Harris.

I don't know what they talked about. I only know that I married a man that caters to his children's need for donuts and who's number one son is a good reason to endure traffic tickets, eye rolls, and grumpy patients.

A Note

Dear Smiths Grocery Store,

My Daughter and I love your store. It is well organized and has the best cream cheese muffins on the planet. The neon lights and neatly waxed floors sooth my seasonal depression. You are so kind to give my daughter a cookie, which she makes me ask your baker for every trip even if we are just picking up milk and bendy straws. So I was quite surprised with myself when I began to curse, of course silently, as I entered your lovely store with my girl. You see, she was in one of those carts. You know, the one that looks like a truck and is supposed to entertain a tot and de-stress the mom? I have to admit,it is hard for a two year old to want the old standby when such options are presented: a pimped out red and yellow car, two steering wheels, with beeping horns, and access to anything on the two lower shelves inside the store. I have indulged my children on several occasions and allowed them to be in the driver's seat. In fact, even my nine year old still enjoys pretending to hall our family food around in this miniature semi even if his knees are hugging his ears. I should be praising you, entertaining my kids so my shopping can get done without having them trumpeting off that nerd ropes and Cheetos should end up as part of our weekly cuisine. If only a two year old and nine year old collaberated on the first food pyramid. Solace in the store would be a lovely surprise.

Yet, that is not what I have found. In eight years using these carts, with a four year ban somewhere in the middle, they have been the cause of many breakdowns, miffed old ladies who can't squeeze their slender silver carts past our aisle hogging semi, criminal acts, and chaos added to my regular jaunt to the grocery store. If you have spoken to my husband, he probably would tell you that I need to me sent back to Grocery Cart Ed (Etiquette), but I could be a smart and efficient store patron the right vehicle was provided. So why even use them if I detest them so much? It is their eye-catching parking spot, directly in front of the store. I have to give you a little credit, this was to my advantage during the colder months. I could just simply say, "Oh these are too cold," and my obedient tot wouldn't even think of protesting. As the earth is warming I now don't have an excuse and being the reasonable mom I am, permit my daughter to enter her monster truck, the one kind of monster she isn't afraid of. So I do take some blame in my demise, I do not throw the old parenting prerogative at her and allow her pleasure as I grin, bear, and silently curse it.

Dearest Smith's this is what I am asking. Hide them. Put them in a the far dark corner of the cart corral. Leave them in the far corner where you put your day old breads and pastries. Put them by the broccoli and cauliflower. Better yet, put them in the woman's restroom where my daughter won't go even with bribery of a free cookie from your bakery which she fond she gets whether she disposes of her waste or not. The bakers are much nicer than mommies.

If you would cooperate in this matter I promise we will no longer set off your ant-theft system with ten packs of batteries that sit lay on the floor in the cab being kicked by size six feet.

Thank you for allowing us the pleasure to sniff your pineapples, look at your fancy cakes, and gander at your crab legs.

Kari

Just a Regular Sunday

Doing dishes after a belly pleasing meal and listening to Aaron's music tastes for the day consumed me yesterday. The kids had rushed down stairs to finish the last trailing minutes of a movie and it was just us. I cleared. He washed. I smiled at his thoughtful profile. I often tease Aaron that he has no idea what I am prattling on about when he is looks like this. He is lost in solving the mysteries of the medical world or thinking of some quote he read in one of those books like, The Third World Anthology, that he some how finds in the stacks at the local library. He is pensive. This time, I was not prattling just merely observing his thought process, listening to his choice in music switch from Man of La Mancha to the Monkees, beautiful.
At that moment I thought our Sunday evening habit was missing someone, our two someones. Banging on the stairs announced their arrival. Anna- my sea urchin with her after nap foamy curls and dinner crusted face. Harris-who has captured Aaron's pondering profile at moments, his world becoming more complex and more engrossing by the second. Then we danced. Anna took Aaron out of his trance and scooped him up in her softness, leaving me observing. Harris quickly put me to action and informing me that yes, He can lead now. So he led me and Anna led Aaron, we became followers. I don't think we waltzed around our living room on a regular basis until Harris came. Anna made it even more frequent.
Later, after we smoothed Anna's curly head and made sure Harris's favorite blanket still covered his toes, I took Aaron's hand in the sudden quiet and realized it was seven more days until Sunday came again.