Some Mothering

Maria just came from her first month check up. I need a chill pill; some soothing tonic to relieve the grief of being there when she had her first immunization. First her eyes widened, then she inhaled and color rose from her chin up her face, so much color, deeper and deeper cranberry, and no exhale. And when she looked as though she could not possibly deepen her vermilion pain, out came her cry. She exhaled with a mighty wail, then aftershocks of shock and indignation, then a tear, her first tear, rolled down her cheek.

I cannot keep pain away, or disappointment. She will scrape her knees and stub her toes. She will have bad haircuts, pimples, tough tests, and other trials. I can only hope that none of her challenges exceeds her strength, or her will to grow and flourish, or her conviction that life is sorrow and joy and mostly worthwhile. So, when she cries I will comfort her as best I can and I will whisper in her ear, "Never give up, never surrender."

She weighs 10 pounds and seven ounces, which means she has gained 3 pounds. She has grown from 18.5 inches to 21 inches. And she can track the little monkey her doctor waved in a path over her head. All results of the inquiries and inspections indicate uncommon genius, health, creativity and grace. We are so pleased.

Maria Olivia "Papaya" was born November 29th.
She weighed 7 lbs 5 oz, and was 18.5 inces long.
We are in love, and drowsy, and in awe, and this may be as much as I can find time to write for quite some time, but I don't mind, because life is good.

She's here...

Today:

Check email. done
Erase junk mail. done
Shower. done
Brush teeth. done
Wrap presents from Papaya to her brothers. done
Charge camera battery. done
Pack camera. ditto
Experience moments of panic, doubt and exhilaration. done, done, done
Go have a baby...

Thanks to Sara at Going Jesus for finding and sharing the real news and worthwhile content on the web. I'll have to rate it PG 13 (for language and questionable links to other subjects): The KFS Sweater Project.

Not too much going on around here. We have been blissfully mellow. We did have a traditional Thanksgiving feast. It took many hours to prepare; not because of degree of difficulty or quantity of food, but because I move very slowly. Fortunately, most of it was prepared last week, and frozen. Max got his Ramen Noodles, and Geoff made clover leaf rolls. Holly, Rich and Nicholas came over after a restaurant buffet feast with Rich's family. And we played the traditional Pilgrim games, like "inflate and release the balloon."



Yesterday was equally low key. Max made a plead for buying a Christmas tree in 3 or 4 days, and much to his surprise his daddy suggested we get the tree that night... kid delight! No crowds, no rain, no problems, no pain. We found our ideal tree: Very tall, but not too wide. Geoff (6' 2") says it's average, and I (5' 5") say it's hugemongous. With guidance from their dad, Max and Alex did the decorating while I watched from the couch. I was very happy. Alex and Max were happy. Geoff was happy. William, watching Harry Potter 3, was happy too.



How would you define "early labor?" See, according to all the books I've read, I am in early labor. She really should be here by now. As a matter of fact even the doctor wants our next appointment to be at the hospital, because "she is so close." Naturally we have been in suspense since Monday. And Papaya? Well, she's just kicking back, enjoying the family mellowness. Everything is in readiness. We have a stroller, and a tree, a baby pack and diapers, the bags for me, her, and the guys are packed and in the Odyssey, and I am even very close to finishing the last quilt... so, any day now...

The worstest part of insomnia is my brain: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. It simply won't shut up. Whether it's anxious nonsense, brilliant insights, or once again a search for the most original, culturally relevant, lovely, meaningful baby name ever, I just wish I could turn off the noise in my head.

20 days from the due date.
We saw Sponge Bob The Movie with Anne and Adam.
Geoff made Russian Tea.
Russian Tea ought to be served with a bowl of homemade Chex Mix.
Baby Jordan weighed nine and a half pounds!
Chango is no longer afraid of Brahm's Lullaby played from a spinning cow mobile.
We found the leak in the upstairs bathroom; it's not as bad as it smells.
I made Thanksgiving dinner; it's in the freezer.
I am the only one that likes cranberry relish.
The pride in having a clean house lasts only as long as the house remains clean.
I still look for Diego.
Max is more than half way through his second math book.
William's hair is long.
I doubt I'll finish the second quilt.
Though Max begged us to stop, we sang Christmas carols last night.
I still need to mail thank you cards. In Spanish.
Alex rubs my back. Delightful.
Somewhere in the garage I know there is a box with a few baby things that I saved from the boys.
I want that box. Now.
Yesterday I scrubbed scruff marks off the walls.
I'm still awake.
Still sitting here, and wondering what to name the baby, and whether I should take a shower now or wait 'til (later in the) morning.
P.S.A.: If you have ever left anything here, it is either gone forever or it can be found in The Box of Things Left Here, by the front door.
I was supposed to call the bank, and pick up the kit for cord blood registry.

"New Life." That's the subject that appeared in my email this morning.

Welcome to the world baby Jordan. The pictures show a proud dad, Gabe, and his handsome son, Griffin, and a content and delicious baby girl with a thick stack of dark blonde hair piled atop her round head. Hopefully mom was in a big comfy bed and enjoying a restful nap. Congratulations Betsy and Gabe and Griffin, and the grandmas, and aunts, and great uncles, and cousins; all of us are blessed to have a new life in the world.

I haven't seen pictures of baby Lucas, born to Marcia and Gil. Their baby came last week, and I know he's got lots of family falling in love with him as well. His big brother, Nicholas, will no doubt be very proud. Welcome to the family baby boy.

Meanwhile, our baby is biding her time, keeping us in suspense, and keeping me up with her aerobic dancing. Not much chance of her coming early, since we believe we are fully prepared, or will she? One never knows... At least the crib isn't going to waste. It took 2 days for Chango to discover the secure warmth and comfort of the baby's bed, but he is making the most of it while he can. Yes, I know we'll have to break this habit. Fortunately, he is freaked out by the mobile when it turns and plays Brahm's Lullaby.



Our evenings are quiet. Max is pushing through his latest math book, with Geek pride and enthusiasm. I marvel at his dedication. Even as he was getting sleepy, he insisted on finishing one last page for a gold star sticker. William is reading Never Cry Wolf, and enjoying it. We are looking forward to watching the movie together. And Alex is reading too. He is finishing the third novel in the LEGO BIONICLE series. Geoff is reading Abarat, Clive Barker's contribution to teen literature; he and William have been totally absorbed in both Abarat books. I am thumbing through Christmas catalogs, helping Max, supressing labor anxiety, and wondering what possessed me to buy a fresh turkey already.

We went to Babies R Us. We came home with a crib. It was not an easy process. This is a place with acres and acres, and miles of aisles, and we had to make choices, and I didn't relish the idea of ever returning there, so I forged ahead. I like the crib we chose, but between all the styles, colors, prices, features and finding suitable ones that were then out of stock, I was totally not loving the process. Geoff is a good shopper. He notes the rail mechanisms and color finish. He considers the redeeming qualities and downsides. I just wanted to be at Ikea, where my choices were "cheap," "not as cheap" or "good enough."

The boys were good. We did lose Alex's enthusiasm after a bit though. Max thought we were choosing the bedding that came in the crib, and he would ask biting questions, like: "Are we really Pooh people?" And eventually we did have to choose bedding, and a mattress. Again, the choices were too much for me. I threw a cream bumper in to the cart, which Geoff pointed out to me was uninspired and did little to compliment the honey colored crib we had finally settled on. We were unanimous on some points: no circuses, clowns or jungle themes. Alex and William both agreed with me that crocodiles in the crib is creepy, and we were also appalled by the bumper with kangaroos and elephants on the same savannah.

Max was inquisitive and a quick study of dust ruffles, color, and quality features. Alex was thirsty and ready to have the whole event finished. William was very cooperative, supportive and fair minded. Geoff showed terrific stamina, good taste and thoughtfulness. I was really glad not to be doing this alone.

Oh, and we chose the farm bedding theme. I couldn't resist the chickens.

Saturday was errand day. My forays in to the world have been less frequent and even less effective. I can only go so far before I need to pee or nap, and I can lift and haul fewer things anyway, so I have not brought home things like the 96 load jug of Tide and 50 pound sack of rabbit food. Geoff and I, with William, Alex and Max in tow, hit The Pancake House, Target, Costco and... seems like there was more... Anyway that was enough. Later I also made it, on my own, to Yardage Town for cotton batting, because I have the delusional notion of completing just one more quilt. Now we have lots of diapers, paper plates, grape juice, a bouncy chair, bigger socks for Max, jeans for William, turtlenecks for Alex, cat food, plenty of laundry detergent and even new night lights that change colors. What about a crib? Yea, we gotta work on that one.

By six o'clock last night I would have believed anyone who said it was really 11 o'clock. My energy doesn't decline or wane, it simply shuts off. And then I am wide awake at hours like this. This is not an ideal house for padding about the house in the wee hours. For one thing, downstairs is cold and remote, and upstairs every room is occupied by sleeping people, so it would be unkind to turn on a light or bump about too much.

Many of the shortcomings and little idiosyncrasies of the Tree House are becoming less charming, quaint and tolerable. The original plan was to live here for a year. Time enough to recover from rushing out of El Rancho, with a fire on our tails, and to figure out our next move. The next move is not revealing itself in a specific enough way. Have I ever shared the fact that we have three children with beds in the dining room, which is open to the kitchen and a sort of living room, which is too small for a sofa, but large enough for a computer and chairs? And all of this upstairs, along with our "master" bedroom, which has a pretty significant plumbing leak. A plumber is coming this week, but there's not much we can do about the rest. We aren't suffering, just sort of squirming uncomfortably.

I miss Diego very much. It's amazing how much one personality can be such a significant part of the day, and night. He slept by my side or at my feet, sometimes nestled against me like the best personal heater ever. He had a pathetic meow; it was more of a canary chirp than feline speak. We all miss the meow, and his lead footed stumbles down the stairs. Anyone could pick him up and carry him about, without upsetting him in the least. He rode in the car, happily. When he and Chango walked to the kitchen for their breakfast, Diego would leap over Chango, like a circus dog doing sideshow tricks. Chango misses Diego too. This is what I surmise anyway, because Chango rarely leaves the house anymore, and he seeks us out for more scratches under the chin and he demands attention that he used to forgo. But dear Chango is much less domesticated than Diego, so Max can't pick him up and carry him down his bed slide, or snuggle him under the covers. So, like Chango, we can often be found absentmindedly staring out the window, waiting to see our little friend with the raccoon's tail, hoping he will come home.

Max has shifted his name campaign; he thinks instead of naming Papaya "Max," we should name her "Diego." He also wants to fill the stocking that Alex made for Diego, with toys that his kitty can still enjoy in Heaven.

Pregnancy hormones, insomnia, and grief... this is such a Kleenex moment.

Good morning. Up since 2:40. I lay in bed for a time, then moved to the chair, then came downstairs and opened emails. Now I am trying to think of something interesting to say. Nope, it ain't happening.

I am still having waves of the Thanksgiving mood, mostly related to cooking. Last year I went to great last minute lengths to achieve Max's ideal of Thanksgiving. We had, the day before, been in Sonora, Mexico, and after the 16+ hour drive home I thought it was reasonable to pass on the turkey holiday. Max woke up the morning of and was completely set on setting the holiday in to motion. "Happy Thanksgiving!" He gleefully announced. Clearly he was not one of the drivers the day before. "We need to decorate and cook. It's Thanksgiving today." His words and enthusiasm went straight to my Maternal-Love Deep Storage of Impossible Energy. I found an open store. I found an unfrozen turkey, and pie crust, and cranberry sauce, yams and organic apple juice. I baked pumpkin pies and chopped veggies, prepared dressing, set out candles and mashed potatoes with cream. It was a sweat/love effort of awesome proportions. Max came to the table, as the late afternoon sun cast rays of dappled sunlight across the leaf strewn yard, and he surveyed the feast set before him. My heart burst with gratitude and pride, and I thought how perfectly this moment had come together; the children would cherish this memory, this pinnacle of Thanksgiving wealth.

"None of this looks very good to eat. What's good for Max to eat?" Max was not impressed.

This year I asked him what makes Thanksgiving good? Yes, we know about being thankful, appreciating our toys and the hot water that runs from the tap in the house. I want to know what the heck the boy will eat, and be really stoked to see on the dining table. Max dreams of a Thanksgiving feast of "Ramen Noodles." Alex thinks we should include barbecued ribs.

This Thanksgiving I will be thankful that we have so many choices and options. That we have the resources to satisfy our appetites and the time to enjoy all of our blessings. In the meantime, I am going back to bed, in hopes of falling asleep, and accumulating some more of that Impossible Energy.

A Molly we know.

Geoff can't see naming Papaya "Marina," because he plays tennis with a Marina. I won't accept his preference for "Victoria," because I already have a cousin Victoria. There are 2 Ruths and four Rebeccas, a Hope, Julie, Jessica, Alison, Anna, Alice and Alaciel. We know 2 Sophias, a Rosa and a Rosie, and a dog named Rosie too. Cristina, Helen, Carol, Grace, Holly, Noel and Marie: Taken. We always thought to name a daughter "Olivia," but now this once unique name is in the top 5. Also taken: Laura, Betsy, Elizabeth, Aurora, Gretchen, Zoe, Lydia, Madeline, Emily, Kayla, Lily, Karen, Anne, Linda, Belinda, Yanina, Jola, Maria, Janice, Josie, Vera, Deanne.

This subject rolls around my head like a marble in an empty box. Back and forth, over and over. And I wish I could make it stop. It is boring me. And the only excuse I have for boring you, is that as boring as this is, it's way more fun than figuring out what to fix for dinner.

I just found one of those really great Blogs that leaves me feeling inept and speechless. I would share it with you now, but I don't want to. I feel too inferior. At least I don't have to live in Salt Lake City.


At the last minute we threw together some
costumes and went out in to the world,
for some Halloween amusement.

Happy New Year! We have been in the Treehouse for roughly a year, and it's been a sort of rough year. "Rough" as defined in the Suburban Handbook of Middle Class Whiners. I have decide that rather than declare 2004, the calendar year, as bad, I would count from the onset of Nena's death and the Firestorms of 2003, and finish with Diego's last day. So this is our new year and I am open to it being a brighter time for us.


Here is our Indoor Diego. He is the reason that I managed to hold off having another baby for so long. He was my furry baby. He kept all of us laughing and happy and warm. He was there when we were lost and snowed in on our drive through South Dakota. He was there to help Max navigate his way through social anxiety and Aspergers. He didn't just absorb our family's affection, he returned it.

An Anonymous Monkey Girl left a comment: "Molly" is nice too, from a fellow monkey girl.

Who are you Monkey Girl? Where do you come from? What are your core values and how do you relate to your family? What does it mean to be a Monkey Girl?

Physically, I could not be any closer to another human being, and yet our Papaya is like the ultimate mystery guest. We devour books and articles about womb life and the developing fetus. We stare with fascination at the tiny ultrasound monitor and nod knowingly when the doctor indicates a femur, heart, bladder. We look at William, Alex and Max and wonder whether she will share their dark hair, large feet, Lego obsession. Will she be a frequent barfer, or cry incessantly? Will she be "petite and dainty", as the doctor promises, or will she come out ready for jumbo Huggies and a brat with mustard?

I don't know whether Chinese astrology can answer our questions. I don't know if I really want any answers. But I do enjoy speculating, and I find myself amused by all the possibilities. Our own Monkey Girl is coming soon, and we will finally see for ourselves what she looks like, and which way she likes to be held, whether she's a Velveeta or Hope, Psyche, Madeline, Olivia, Alohalani, Lola, Molly or Isabel. The rest will be revealed slowly. We will monitor her with fascination and nod knowingly, smiling.

Slow, slow, slow, slow, slow, and that's when I'm awake. There was the sick and haggard phase, with profuse vomiting and nausea. And then there was the long, dragging return to semi-normalcy, but still with some nausea phase. This was followed by the persistent cough, achy and tired phase. And now I have reached the notably pathetic, gasping for breath, ready to pop, Sloth Woman phase. Please, I'm not looking for your sympathy (yea, I am.) I am merely giving a straight forward and accurate account of the miracle of life etc, etc...

There are moments when I suddenly recall that I am pregnant, and then I experience brief panic and mild confusion (actually, huge confusion.) Other thoughts include: I really gotta shave; the hair on my legs may impede swift delivery of the baby. If I go downstairs for my purse and the mail, how will I get back up the stairs?

I think the boys are alright. They seem to be getting smart, and finding food. No. That's too indifferent. I should dedicate several paragraphs describing how much help they have been to me. Throughout the day they demonstrate their love and concern, and show me a great deal of tenderness. I don't think we'd ever considering inviting a Papaya in to our lives we didn't have such wonderful children already. They give us faith and hope and joy.

What do you name a Super Baby?
And how do you thank your best friends for nine years, and more, of support, encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, butt wipes and purple baby wash? Karen hosted a perfect evening for Mom's Night Out, with an added bonus Welcome theme for our girl baby. And I do mean Our Girl, because I can see that she will be everyones' new baby to cuddle and hold, and to lavish with heaps of love. I never doubt that I have an awesome network of family and friends, but the shower was a huge reflection, once again, of their generosity and thoughtfulness. For the occasion, my mom, Holly and Deanne joined us too; a great treat.

Time to produce some thank you cards, return the love. I am already editing a DVD, "Waiting for Papaya." I want Papaya to see how much anticipation and joy surrounded her arrival. Janice's children, Maddie, Nate and Lydia covered a gift in dozens and dozens of girl names, rainbows, flowers and hearts, and a Super Baby. It is the most awesome gift wrapping ever. And Yanina gave us a work of art too. She painted dazzling butterflies with luminous wings. I have always loved the colors, light and reflective joy she projects in her paintings and I feel profoundly honored to have something she made for our baby in our home. I came home with all we might need to keep a baby content, looking good and feeling fresh, from a snot sucker and wipe warmer, to booties and purple athletic wear. I also brought home renewed confidence, hope, and wonderful memories.

Monkeys and names. I have been awake since very early. Even earlier than it is now. Papaya has escalated her activity level to an eye popping level.
Really. My stomach is tender. I can feel the soles of her "dainty" feet pushing up and across my belly. It feels like there is a being swimming in my abdomen, with dive gear, and a surf board. So, I gave up on sleeping, and I certainly wasn't able to "just relax." I came downstairs and found an email from aunt Carol, and has she got some news: It's year of the Monkey. We're talking Chinese horoscopes here, and I have to say Papaya is making a monkey believer of me. She is a vine swinging, squirrely, squirmy, leaping Monkey Girl. Our cousins in Wisconsin, Betsy and Gabe, are expecting a girl in November, and Betsy is having the same experience; their daughter is far more active than their son Griffy was.

Aunt Carol's insight is quite timely, and very funny, and I am taking it in to serious consideration. She has always had a gift for understanding and describing our children's personalities and traits. So, what does one name a monkey? We have grown rather attached to the nickname Papaya, but we are still considering other names. And believe me, we have received many suggestions:

Noelle, Noel
Holly
Faith
Hope
Mandy
Katrina
Kona
Mia
Max (can you guess who made this suggestion?)
Miranda
Zoe
Victoria
Velveeta (honest)
Olivia
Jane
Grace
Elizabeth
Kristen
Antonia
Elena... and others...

I don't want to confuse my monkeys and primates. Tarzan's sidekick, Cheeta, was a chimp, not a monkey, right? So that rules out the name Cheeta. And Koko is a gorilla. Maybe monkey inspiration is the wrong path to travel when trying to decide on a daughter's name. We aren't likely to decide until we see her, and even then it will probably will be a difficult choice. There are a lot of girls with beautiful names in our family, and many of our friends have nicely named daughters as well. We tend to think that Papaya should have her very own name, and besides it would be tough choosing who to name her after, since we know and admire so many women. Wish I could just sleep on it.

Over at "Workings of the Mind" a new mom asks, "Is it just me?" She wonders whether every new mother has a hard time getting anything done. Should I tell her?

There are approximately seven weeks left before I am like a new mom again, home with an infant, unbathed and still in pajamas at 4 in the afternoon. My three older children will be fed up with pizza delivery, my husband will ask whether I made it to the bank, have I seen his shoes, do I want to see The Lord of the Rings Trilogy tonight etc... I will be feeble, smelly, dazzled by my new child and yet not quite sure how she got here.

I have heard of some women with 6 months of healthy and delicious dinners frozen and labeled in their clean kitchens. They bathe their infants daily, and drive the other children to soccer and oboe lessons. They shower, go to church, and keep scrapbooks detailing every Special Moment. Myth? Urban Legend? Sick fantasy perpetuated by Gerbers and Pampers Supreme?

When you are home alone with only one baby, no teenagers or toddlers, my suggestion is that you revel in the exhausting bliss of accomplishing "nothing" but caring for your infant. Use paper plates, be proud of clean clothes (forget hanging, folding, ironing). This time is counted in weeks and it will slip by too soon, believe it or not. Don't worry. Don't panic. It's pointless to think of what is left undone, especially if you are taking care of your infant.

Nice advice, I think, but of course I still have my own delusions: I believe I will be sending Christmas cards with birth announcements and a family portrait. I think I will wrap, pack and ship Christmas presents. I plan to prepare a delicious Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings, like homemade cranberry relish and pumpkin pies. The house will not only get clean, but remain fairly respectable, somehow. The baby will weigh 7.5 lbs, but somehow I will lose 25 pounds at the time of delivery. I will continue to post my deep thoughts, while also inspiring the children to change the litter boxes, read classic novels and write thank notes for all their presents. And after several sleepless weeks with a cough and 32 weeks worth of baby onboard, I have the particularly ridiculous sentiment that: I cannot wait for the baby to come, so I can get some rest.

It may be the chair. I have been too uncomfortable to sit at the computer and update Chicken Blog. In order to accommodate Mini Me I have to lean back and give her more room. When I lean back the key board is out of reach and the screen gets a bit blurry. Wait! Hold on. I just remembered I can pull the screen in lower and closer... there, that's better. So, now what's my excuse?

We have been busy around here. I am imparting my vast stores of knowledge and the boys are learning. Geoff and I revisit our "Where should we live" conversation on a daily basis, and that is always time consuming. I am nearly finished with a quilt I have been working on. I did the last of the actual hand quilting and now I need to complete it by sewing the edges with quilt binding. We managed to shift enough things in our room to make a nearly crib size space in the corner. I think for spaces that are nearly big enough I will have to go to Ikea, where furniture is often times scaled down a bit. Yes, we have definitely been busy.

I did end up going to the baby shower. Geoff and I know Danny from tennis and working out, and Danny has been keeping us updated on Amber. She's 4 weeks more pregnant than us, so Geoff and Danny pass some time comparing notes while lifting weights. The shower was nice. I mean good. I mean, I knew no one. Nobody, and that's not an easy situation to be in. Everyone was friendly, and it was nice to be out of the house for something other than grocery shopping. The hostesses used a Hawaiian theme, because it matches the baby's nursery. I have to say the theme was fun.

I won't mention the barely audible sigh of envy I am releasing, because I sort of slightly, really wish I could decorate a nursery. Perhaps I should pretend to have a nursery and draw out my plans, choose paint colors and coordinated lampshades. I think this much effort would exhaust me, and life being what it is, I wouldn't have to actually follow through on executing the project.

Theme: Rustic farm/country with a Mexico flavor: Cowgirls and chickens, flores y rebozos.
Colors: Deep cranberry red, smatterings of pink, and splashes of lavender and green.
It looks good.

I am reminded of the gift my mom brought this summer: A tiny T shirt with a festive invitation that says "Party, My Crib, 3a.m.!" Papaya isn't in her crib yet, but she is having a party. Of course it's not quite 3 in the morning, so she must be preparing for the party... you know setting out napkins, chilling the whine. This girl can move. I get something knobby in the right hip bone, at the same time something jabs me in in the left rib. And the butt roles across my belly are quite a sight. Even her hiccups are a visible phenomenon.

Brain stall. I've sat here for five minutes and tried to proofread my paragraph. Thoughts in my head: "Is it a paragraph, or have I changed subjects midway? Is there a point to my statements or do I need to make a concluding sentence? Why isn't there a single comfortable chair in this entire house? Who left the cup on the sofa? What was I doing?" I may be out of bed, and unable to sleep, I may have come downstairs and cleared junk mail from my account, but clearly none of this is evidence of my being awake. My iMac should have one more editing tool: In psychedelic colors, typed phrases could be highlighted signifying "Babbling Fool: Do Not Publish."

Nates,
Nates,
Nates!
We're going to Nates!

Our annual trip to Bates Nut Farm is in the works. We are going with Holly and Nicholas. The boys are very excited about the prospect of choosing the perfect pumpkins, feeding the goats, seeing the country sights, and the whole Autumn scene.

The mornings have been very foggy, the nights cool, the days breezy. It's comfortable weather and has us in good spirits for the new season. We hope that our colds are the worst we have to endure, so that we can enjoy all future plans without tissues and quarantines. I am especially aware that these shorter days are more than just less hours of sunlight; I need to get some things in order before Papaya arrives. We have ideas, like a pumpkin carving party, and traditions, like making gingerbread houses, and hopes, like having guests for Christmas, and needs, like making space and a place for the baby... lots to accomplish, but days are rolling by. It can take me twenty short of breath minutes just to make my bed, and I once fell asleep between spreading the sheets and laying the quilt (literally.)

Yes, so anyway. Since there are so many responsibilities and important issues to tend to, I am really looking forward to going to Nates!

These were on Bullards Beach, in Oregon.
I love texture and color.

I am draggin' my wagon. Is that a good metaphor? I sometimes fancy myself a cowgirl by the sea. Either I am being particularly expressive, or I need to read the possible side effects of the meds I was prescribed.

I'm sick. Moan. Sigh. Sniffle. Cough. Pity me. I still have all my regular complaints to keep me up at night. Still nauseous, still growing unwieldy and unable to find comfortable positions for sleep, or anything. And now I have this cold/flu nasty funk.

Ah... but the ants are disappearing! We made up the recipe that I posted last week, and it is working. There were about three tense days, because as it stated in the article the problem would get worse before it got better, and did it ever get worse. We had huge black swaths of hungry ants feasting at our buffet of sugar and boric acid. They were greedy, with insatiable appetites. This morning there was one ant crossing the kitchen floor. Just one. I squashed him, without ceremony.

Time to drag my wagon upstairs and supervise the children. I fed them. Now I need to teach them something, make them do meaningless tasks, and then nurture their spirits.

Don Diego.

Here is our special kitty. He's napping on my lap, while I finish a quilt.

The toilet just overflowed on such a tidal scale that I am relieved to know we are all strong swimmers. Eeww. Am I crude or simply honest? Does honesty excuse discussing taboo topics, and potty repartee? Actually, I had no clever or witty remarks in reply to our toilet's outburst. Rather I was tearfully, urgently pleading, "No! Please. No. No. NO!!" To no avail.

It's been that kind of week. Nature in her infinite wisdom has seen fit to remind me that water rises, and so does vomit. Children with colds spill more drinks, and will sneeze directly in your face. They need a tremendous amount of 4 star service, but they are lousy tippers. And I can see what's coming: More. More diapers and vomit, and sneezes and fluids and nights so long you... can't finish simple sentences.

Let's not conclude that I am running scared. I am way too tired and off balance to run. It's time to put on my philosophical hat (some rubber gloves and galoshes too), and remind myself that last January I emphatically stated: " I would rather live with the chaos of having one more in our family, than live with the regret of not having one more baby." Isn't that deep?

I am off to face the chaos! Mop in hand, old towels too, and cheerful birds whistling on the window sill. When the spill is cleared and the children have been fed and ministered to, I will smile with maternal pride and grace, because I have been blessed with everything I asked for. Sort of.

Greetings from General Hospital, where the cooties are wrecking havoc, and I, nurse Diesel, am administering soup, affection and tissue. The boys are coughing and looking bleary eyed. They drag themselves to their math books... wait, that is typical, not symptomatic... Max is the worst off. He has a fever and has thrown up several times. He even sleeps during the day, which is a definite and dramatic symptom. Alex is probably next in the triage line up; he is moody and coughs a lot. William is moody too, but again, this may not be a symptom of the virus, but his age. It seemed time to call on an expert, so I took Max to the pediatrician. For my efforts and a $30 co-pay, I was informed that Max is sick, he should rest and get plenty of fluids. Brilliant deduction Doctor, thank you. It's worth it, I suppose, because to skip the doctor visit is to invite horrible infection and 6 hours at Children's Hospital ER, where on-call doctors and tired nurses will give you the "bad mother glare."

I just met Rick, the UPS delivery guy. He brought the special order, dye free cough suppressant Geoff ordered for Max.

Sigh. Thank goodness for Mom's Night Out. Our monthly gathering always comes just in time, so that I can enjoy the company of my very best friends, eat fabulous food and laugh a lot. They boost me. It was a wonderful evening. I for sure will go to great lengths to not miss a get together, which is why I am in suspense about December's get together at Josie's. Papaya is due either the 9th or 10th, depending on which chart you read, and Josie is hosting MNO on the 3rd of December. Suddenly, my interest in the delivery date is overshadowed by the thought that I could easily miss the Christmas party! Well, if Papaya hasn't already arrived, I will cross my legs for good luck and hope to spend another reenergizing and uplifting night out with the Moms.

Next month's MNO is being hosted by Karen, and the theme is "Baby Shower." I don't want anyone to see my reservations as a lack of interest; the real issue is feeling shy about being the focus of so much attention, and feeling spectacularly blessed, which makes me feel even more shy. Of course, if this were for anyone else I would be thrilled to be participating, and I would be very excited about the prospect of shopping for a pink baby, and if the mother were reluctant or shy, I would say, "It's not about you. We want a party!" Parties are fun, and surprises, presents and thoughtful gestures are delightful. I feel like I should send out thank you cards now, just because they are even thinking of showering us.

I remember Geoff's family had a surprise shower for us when we were expecting our first baby. We had just moved to the midwest, and we were about 6 months along, and probably feeling overwhelmed. We were enjoying the support and the thoughtful gifts. Typically, I think showers are enjoyed by the mothers more than the fathers, but we received one gift that really perked Geoff up. In a diaper pail came a gift certificate for 1 month of diaper service. I gave sincere thanks, but Geoff was beaming and ecstatic. He expressed deep, profound and undying thankfulness. He said things like, "Wow. I just can't believe this! I had no idea they could do this." And after a bit, I began to wonder if he knew what "diaper service" is. It was really hard breaking the news to him: Diaper service is not a person coming to the house to change the baby's diaper for you. Bummer.

It's just so shiny and new! If it weren't for Geoff's experience and determination this technological advancement would not be possible for me. I would be more likely cross stitching my musings on dish towels, than deciphering codes and networks.

Give me a few days, or a succesful morning, and I will figure out the new set up for posting pictures. Geoff showed me and he wrote some notes too, so I may be able to share more than Coos Bay Farmer's Market radishes. He also arranged it so I can post video links. Look for a "clip" button in the near future, then witness small, grainy video footage of us.

I am excited about the prospect of hearing from people through the comments feature. I already heard from someone that had fallen below my radar. Julie of the Northwest: I hope to hear more from you.

Aunt Carol answered my questions. I literally had a basket of very small pink, purple and delicate girly clothes waiting for their first ride through the spin cycle, but I needed counseling about soap. I know better than to wash precious little things with area rugs and four boys' shorts. I guess I will look into the cleansing powers of Ivory Flakes or Dreft. It was reassuring to hear that early baby preparedness is not uncommon, and that the real power is with Hilary Clinton. I really miss Aunt Carol.

In Vanity News: I found a better looking pair of jeans. They are definitely slimming and more stylish. I fit in my old favorite pair of jeans. They accomodate loosely, like a comfortable slumber bag, butt they do not make the "most" of shapely me (they apparently make "more" of shapely me.) The new jeans are form fitting and look good, and are really, really uncomfortable after about 27 minutes (something you can't realize in the Baby Gap fitting room.) The wide band across my abdomen feels yucky, plus they have to be hoisted up from slipping down... Yesterday, on NPR there was a report about the significance of Blogging in journalism. They obviously have not found Chicken Blog or they would not have questioned the informative and insightful usefullness of Blogs.

Some questions:

Do I really need to buy a special detergent to wash new baby clothes in (Dreft, or whatever)?

Do my favorite jeans really make my butt look big, or does my big butt make my butt look big?

Would you sign a one year lease on a house you are grateful for, but not inspired to live in for more than another 3 months?

? Quien es mas macho, George W., or John Kerry or Yusuf Islam?

How long could you live in a Yurt? And remain happily married?

Couldn't I just wash the baby clothes in the regular family detergent?

Is it too soon to wash the baby's clothes?

Are you surprised I'm even thinking of baby clothes already?

Do you think really, really high frequency sound waves would kill the ants and their queen?

Priorities. Before laundry and grocery shopping, before unpacking and opening mail... I must download digital images and organize photo files. We took many pictures on our Oregon adventure. We were yurt camping and beach combing. We picked wild blackberries, and went to the parade at Bandon's 58th annual Cranberry Festival. I met mom's friends, Ava and Luanne, and had an awesome breakfast at Stan's place. Stan makes croissants that are muy French and flakey. We met Curly; a slug that could be mistaken for a beached whale. Our photos should reflect the 14 days of adventure and fun, without emphasizing the tedium of 60 hours on trains, or dealing with really bad colds.

Mom and Ron's place is great. They have settled in, and it's nice to see the details and familiar objects that reflect their lives and interests. Grandma has her place there too. She has her own room, and throughout the house are the things she enjoys, like her teacup collection, and books. We got to see the beautiful flowers and plants they have been cultivating in barrels. Like our trip before, two years ago, the weather was very nice, sunny and warm, so we missed out on the storms and rain that the area is better known for. This is not surprising, since I packed for cold weather.

We were there in time for William and Alex to attend the last performance of the season of the Sawdust Theater's melodrama "Ding dong Dell, Who Threw Grandma Down The Well?" My homebodies were reluctant to go, but returned very enthused and impressed by the whole evening. They also enjoyed the two mornings we walked over the dunes to fossil hunt on the beach and play with the giant drift wood pieces. Alex drew the rocky formations toward the Jetty and Coquille River. Max climbed the dunes. William had thoughtful reveries and tranquil moments to contemplate the universe.

My thoughts and reflections will take longer to develop than the several hundred photographs that I downloaded while writing this brief Blog update. I am moving and thinking like a pregnant woman in her third trimester: Slow and quiet, distracted by thoughts of tiny toes and new life.

Yesterday I had an appointment to check on Papaya and our common support system. Hemoglobin is good. Blood pressure is great. Nothing alarming about my urine. All is well, and I thought they would send me home after measuring my fundus (Isn't that a great word? It appeals to me, because it sounds buoyant and ready for a good time... never mind.) What I had not anticipated was having an ultrasound. We saw her healthy heart and a round bladder, strong legs, and to my surprise her "dainty and petite feet." The doctor agrees that her feet, though small, are strong. She kicked and squirmed through the entire procedure, and most of last night as well. She is doing all she is meant to do.

Remember how I have been patiently waiting for my surge of second trimester energy? Well! I have kept the kitchen clean for 3 consecutive days! My modest announcement would be a mark of shame for some, but I have the elated sensation of being like some kind of domestic goddess. If none of this seems worthy of mention, then either you live with a person that is superhuman and you should be profoundly grateful, or you yourself are superhuman and you probably cannot relate to most of my issues and dramas.

Geoff understands me, and he grins broadly when I announce with a flourish, "I cooked and cleaned!" Love that man.

And my children appreciate me too. No one batted an eye when I served sandwiches for breakfast, or made pancakes for dinner. "Mom's cooking," they must be thinking, "let's not disrupt this pattern of maternal caring."

Tomorrow begins our train board adventure. We have to be packed and ready quite early. My mom is waiting for us in Oregon, and she has lots of plans and good ideas. Alex and Max renewed the countdown and are giddy with anticipation. It will be amusing to note how many minutes into our journey we'll be, before Max asks "Are we almost there?"

We wish Geoff were coming with. It is the time of year when game programmers must show their work to producers and their minions. He'll stay home, and at the office. He'll call us a lot, and want to know what we've seen, what we are doing, and how everyone is feeling. The cats, Chango and Diego, will wait for him by the front door and throw themselves at his feet for the affection they so desperately need. He will probably feed them prohibited morsels and tidbits and they will purr gratefully. And when we return, and he meets us at the station, we will throw ourselves at him for his love and attention, which we will have missed very much.

Now to the packing! I must make the decision to either pack for the unusually warm weather, and then be cold and rained on. And of course, I could haul coats and mittens and enjoy the continuation of a late summer heat wave. Toss up. I will pack bribes and incentives for William, Alex and Max, and my favorite pair of socks. And I must not forget camera, chargers, drawing paper, and patience. All aboard!

We have lots to do. We need to make a plan. First we need to eat. Geoff is on his way to Pipes, and will return with breakfast; when hunger strikes, follow the surfers to their local eatery, and you will find well made, cheap, tasty food, in huge portions.

After we eat, we want to bring a bed frame out of the garage: Max is ready, eager even, to transition from his toddler bed in our room, to a high bed in the big boy room. This is good. He is not one to go for changes, and this is one of those changes that is becoming increasingly necessary. For all the furniture shuffling this will require, we will be glad we had the big breakfast.

At some point we need to transition from domestic chores to social calls, and head south for a visit with Nicholas, Holly and Rich. Either we will all go do something culturally enriching and educational, or we will go to the mall and look at hermit crabs.

Throughout the day we will wage war against the ants. They were a nuisance, then a plague, and now they are Public Enemy Numero Uno. They must die. They have committed unspeakable crimes against Alex's beloved crabs, and our pacifist, peace loving, environmentalist, granola munching resolve has dissolved. Die ants, die!

Plus:

Mail Sophie and Grandma Nancy's birthday gifts
Shower
Do some laundry
Write thank you cards to very many people to whom we are very many grateful
Pack for the Oregon Trail Version 2.0

The Papaya has her own "to do" list to work off of. She is a junior Olympian practicing springboard diving, the high jump, gymnastics, and white water rafting without a kayak. Judging by her consistent and energetic resolve, she will take gold in all her events.

The other next week... our big adventure hit a snag. Because of Western wildfires Amtrak has had to make route changes... to make a short story long: We don't get to play until later. Our trip is postponed, which is better than cancelled, but I still feel stressed and disappointed. I have been putting all my physical and emotional energy in to preparing for tomorrow. So low is my energy that even packing felt monumental, and now I need to unpack, then start all over again. Gripe. Gripe. I suppose there are lives even more seriously disrupted by the fires. So as not to seem too shallow and selfish, I will observe a moment of silence.

Now, for some really big news: I found jeans. Denim pants that look good, feel good and were even very affordable. I had nearly given up on finding maternity jeans that weren't cut for anorexic supermodels that think a waistline is the zone 2 inches above the pubic bone. They were the only pair hanging on the Target rack and when I put them on I nearly squealed audibly. They are comfortable and good. They make me really, really happy. When cooler weather comes I will wear them with my cowgirl boots and I will feel strong, able and beautiful.

The boys are well. The cats are happy. I have jeans. Sweet.

Last week:

We attended the 19th almost-annual Tilili Family Reunion. It was at Mission Bay again this year, and I thought there was a pretty big turn out. I had no idea my abuelos would be there, which was a very pleasant surprise. The other treat was enjoying the day with Hans and Gretchen. We met before the actual event to have a "who's who family refresher." The family is huge and growing, so if you don't attend a few reunions, it can be quite overwhelming.

I am frustrated about not being able to post pictures (still waiting to figure out this glitch) and I am too brain drained to write elaborate descriptions of the days events, the chisme, to describe all the cute new babies, and to wax poetic about the comforting sense of connectedness one can feel at family gatherings. Of course I did take a lot of pictures. Pictures of us eating all the delicious potluck offerings, and of children digging in the sand and chasing their tio Gilberto. I got pictures of yawning babies, and toddling toddlers, maturing teenage boys and cousins flying a kite.

Next week:

The boys and I, less Geoff, are hopping aboard the Coast Starlight for a ride to Oregon. Adventures await! We hope to enjoy beach walks, berry picking, crabbing and sightseeing in quaint Bandon By The Sea. Alex and Max are particularly excited, their bags are packed, and they are eager to settle in to our sleeper car and then see what train riding is all about.

I am trying to take it easy, pack light, relax, anticipate, troubleshoot, and go with the flow... all at once. The Papaya and I still seem to be negotiating our cohabitation of my body. I still throw-up spontaneously (not pretty.) And I haven't enjoyed that surge of energy and ease that I had in my other pregnancies. Meanwhile she insists on Kalamata olives, and 3 a.m. dancing. Last night I had a very rude awakening when I read in my pregnancy bible: "As the second trimester finishes, you may find yourself feeling tired..." !!! Where did my "not feeling tired" phase go?! Who'll take my complaint? The Universe owes me a trimester of energy and a lovely pregnancy glow, without nausea, and a firm butt, and fresh breath, and maybe a winning lotto ticket.

I was surfing my archives this morning. Two summers ago I wrote extensively about gardens and hens, about landscaping and anticipating a swimming pool. The chickens and garden, I miss. The huge responsibility of managing 2 acres, I do not miss. I wonder, is it my nature or is it my altered state: Why do I crave being settled? We still have not figured out where we will be in six months. We still want to be here and there, California and Hawaii. We want security and adventure, familiar and exotic. Sometimes I find myself nostalgic about our Rancho Days, and fortunately I have a very good grasp on all aspects of those days; we were ready to let go. Still, I feel really ready for a place of our own again. I also feel nauseous, hot, large, and somewhat cranky.

Okay. I have gone from "Ambitious Plans" to "Wishful Fantasies." It was a short trip, and I'm not too proud.

I wish I were as strong as two men, so I could move all the furniture around and make the living space in our upstairs more comfortable. And spacious. And pretty too.

I wish the cats used the toilet, and never scratched the walls.

I wish there was a way to drive to Oregon without seeing L.A. County or the Inland Empire.

I wish I had the energy and the deep down, sincere desire to keep this house really clean. All the time. And organized. Even the closets and garage.

I wish I was so philosophical, confident and secure that I didn't obsess about stuff.

Alex wants to go camping this summer. He wants to sleep in a tent and wake up to hooting owls and the piney freshness of redwoods and forest ferns.

Max wants a Sponge Bob birthday party tomorrow; not next Saturday when his friends can come. He wants chocolate cake with whipped cream frosting. Actually, "cake first, then presents, then pinata and last pizza."

William wants to be left alone to delve in to his world of programming computers and deciphering the mysteries of 3D Studio MAX.

Geoff wants to provide for his family, and play tennis. Lots of tennis. Preferably tennis in Hawaii. Maybe some kayaking too.

The Papaya seems content to bounce vigorously on my bladder, and alter my taste in foods.

They (Blogger.com) have removed the little icon that links me to my catalog of exported photos. In the "Help" section they describe an elaborate sequence that is meant to instruct me on how to post pictures the new way. I want the little icon. I want "click" and the comfort of all I knew and trusted. Now I am confused and locked out.

I have learned that an effective means of learning computer tricks is to play with the computer. If you play around and explore a bit you are likely to learn a few secrets. William, Alex and Max explore the computer with the ease of children in a toy store. They are learning all the methods and means of programming and trouble shooting. They speak Geek, and practice Geek cultural habits. They move from site to site to site, and from program file to program file, with the confidence of a local resident. I am still a tourist. So long as I stay on the main streets and avoid the tap water, I can manage in the cyber world. But when my precious and tattered guide book becomes outdated, then I am woefully lost. When I attempt to wander and explore I find myself at the same fork in the road, but tired and frustrated.

There is one subject on which I can speak with certain and confirmed authority: Science and health. Though I cannot find the medical reference to back my claim, I am quite sure that I can trace the source of my fog and diminished cerebral clarity. It begins in my uterus. There, in the comfort, safety and mystery of my womb, another human being is taking form. She has developed limbs and ears, eyes and bones. Her muscles are stregthening, as she twirls and kicks in her nightly dance. And she has an appetite. She feeds on olives and cantaloup, chicken tacos, apricots and asparagus. There she is in my uterus, all linked up with her life line, the umbilical cord. And somewhere, in a spot, still undetected, the umbilical cord travels, discreetly and directly to my brain. Yes, like her brothers before her, she has linked up to my own brain and she is draining off whatever remains of my cognitive prowess. No doubt she will finish off the last of my brilliance when I breast feed her for 2 1/2 years.

I need a little nap.

We've been making lemonade. And apple pie. And peach cups. And fruit salads. Our trees have produced plums and apricots, a few nectarines and bushels of apples. The apples are sweet-tart; great for snacking, and even tastier when baked. Our friend and neighbor, Tamsyn, has been sharing blackberries, lemons, grapes and peaches from her yard. I miss having a vegetable garden, but we have had a lot of fun and delicious treats from the well established orchards in our own yards.

Half way there; that's the baby countdown for this week. Well before Christmas, and some time after Thanksgiving we'll be making a special holiday of our own, when the Papaya makes her entrance. I saw my doctor this morning, and as usual he made me feel like a maternal champion. "How are you feeling?" is what they ask at each visit. I answer honestly and with some frustration, "Large and tired." But my doctor just puts his hand on my shoulder, and says, "That's great. Everything is just how we'd hope, and you're doing wonderfully." "I like your spin, " I tell him, as I try to absorb his enthusiasm for the situation.

I have creative compulsions, that are interfering with getting the job done. For instance; I can't clean the house, because I want to totally re-do everything. I want the sofa upstairs and the bunk bed downstairs, and the dining table over there, and the computer moved that way. Since I can't accomplish any of this, laundry is sitting unfolded in the chair by the door. Reasonable, right?

My other impulse is to make a clever photo image, or write a touching anecdote to announce that we know the gender of the fetus. It's a girl. There. I've said it. We are more surprised than anything. Most of our happiness and bliss comes from knowing that all the amniocentesis results came back with everything looking good. Having three boys, we fully anticipated a fourth little man. We know the plumbing, and our guys are really great. There's comfort in the familiar. Having originated as a girl myself, I would think that having a girl person join the family would not come as such a foreign concept. It's not as though we are expecting a platypus.

Each of our children has brought something interesting, unique, individual, endearing and special to our experience as a family, and none of these has had much, if anything, to do with gender. I know our Papaya (it's temporary; like a working title) will have her own voice and method, her own needs and gifts, and we look forward to sharing everything with her.

My mom thinks my last post was sad. She caught me off guard when we spoke, because she was extra concerned and wanted full disclosure about how I'm doing. She was worried, and I was already long past the minor whining I vented in my last blog. Yes, it is frustrating to know that my life is chaos, and that I haven't got the energy to accomplish everything on the to do list, so I gripe and moan a bit. But even when I am complaining, it is with a knowing grin. What do I know? I know I got myself in to this situation and I am happy I could. I know that messes get clean sooner or later, and then they get messy again. I know that in the whole wide world of possible problems, mine are very minor. I know that if I were really super hungry, sick, tired, or lonesome I could call a friend and find help. I know that my mom will always be my mom; it's nice to know that even from far away she stays very close.