black friday black

I usually try to avoid the shopping crowds on Black Friday, and yesterday was no exception. (It was all I could do to drag myself to a doctor's appointment, even with someone else driving.) But I did spend $19.99 plus shipping on Amazon. I've got a little thrill of excitement about this purchase: a black photo backdrop. I was thinking I'd try to take Christmas photos of the boys this year for Christmas cards, and I wanted to try both white and black backgrounds. A bedsheet should do the trick for white, but I didn't have anything black (like a tablecloth or curtain). This muslin sheet was originally priced at $150, so either I'm getting a really good deal or I'm getting ... well ... $19.99 worth of cloth.

Now, if I can just get the boys in the mood for an onslaught of photos. They don't have to worry about me wrapping tinsel or Christmas lights around them. They won't be wearing matching Santa hats or clever little red satin suits. I'll just be glad if I can get something decent in time to order cards — which may be harder than I think, given my sluggish energy level at the moment. But I think it will be fun, so I'm looking forward to it. And that says something, considering the downward spiral I've been on this week.

thanksgiving day

Today was a hard day, I won't lie. It was so nice to be with Steve's big family and watch them play with Daniel and Ben, and my appetite is back enough that I could eat some of the food on my plate. But just going anywhere, being up for that amount of time, is physically and emotionally draining. There are moments when the world starts to spin around me and I can barely pay attention to what's going on around me.

But I did laugh today: I didn't recognize my beautiful, teen-age niece because she'd changed her hair and just ... well, looked so different. So I was sitting across the table from her, making a feather hat out of construction paper, and I figured she was the family friend my sister-in-law Sue had mentioned might be coming. I said, "Hi, I'm Emilie. I think we've met before." She just smiled, bless her heart. What do you say when a brain-addled aunt introduces herself to you like you haven't seen each other at every family gathering and had dozens of conversations? Later, when I realized who she was, I was so embarrassed that all I could do was laugh. It felt good. I haven't laughed like that in quite a while.

But then I go back to a place that feels dark and lonely. I have been having trouble shaking it since my hospital stay. I wonder if there's such a thing as post-traumatic stress disorder for hospitals: I have flashbacks of the lack of privacy, the nurses who wake me up to check my vital signs, the people from the lab who come to draw blood like vampires first thing in the morning, the long gurney rides through the cold hospital corridors on my way to have a needle stuck into my lung or my chest, the loss of control over everything. It keeps me awake at night, and my dreams are fraught with IV lines and the vampires from the Twilight series. It was horrible, and I wish I could reassure myself that I won't ever have to go back, but the fact is, I might have to go back. That is the nature of this illness. And it seems to be on a downhill slide, at least for now. And that petrifies me.

And we get home, and I find a piece of mail I didn't see yesterday, and I open it, and it is a card and a prayer from a priest friend. It has exactly the right words, words that give me hope that maybe I can pull myself out of this place.

I escape tonight, partly, by watching Daniel become enchanted by The Sound of Music. From the opening shots of the majestic, snow-covered Alps — "I could climb up those!" — to the poignant strains of Edelweiss sung on the stage the night the Von Trapp family flees Austria, he loves it. (Meanwhile, I am a teary-eyed wreck. Oh, the nostalgia!) He just doesn't like it if there's too long a break in the music. "I want more songs," he says during plot-building bits of dialogue. And good thing for him, The Sound of Music has plenty of songs! I'd love to find some more old movies he might appreciate, even at the tender age of 2. We already have Mary Poppins. Any more ideas?

daniel the lion

Daniel went as a lion for Halloween yesterday. He really had a fun time, though he was grumpy when I took these pictures and didn't want to pose for any with me. (I was wearing all black with my purple wig.)


A lion with deep red whiskers, you may be wondering? A lip pencil was all I had because I'd thrown out all my eyeliner and mascara when I started chemo (because of the higher risk of infection from eye makeup, or so I was advised). Daniel helped me draw some of his whiskers. He likes to hold onto any and all pens and pencils he can get his hands on, so he was not happy when I took the lip pencil away from him at the end. Thus the momentary grumpies during picture time.


But he soon cheered up, and he and his dad collected a lot of candy during trick-or-treating. What candy did he choose out of all his stash? The lollipops. And not because he wanted to eat them, but because he could carry them around like weed-whackers. We had some sticky hands by the end of the night — but that's better than a sugared-up boy! Unfortunately, he discovered the magic of M&Ms this morning.

Ben sat in my lap while I handed out candy. We decided he would be the World's Most Adorable Baby for Halloween — which didn't take much work in the way of costume design! Next year, he can go trick-or-treating with Daniel.

jack-o-lanterns

daniel is 2 today

No longer can I call myself the mother of "two under 2" — my sweet little big boy has turned the corner. (We celebrated Saturday, but today is his actual birthday.)



He loves anything on wheels — planes, trains, automobiles — and anything that resembles a saw, screwdriver or weed-whacker. He got a toy chainsaw for his birthday this morning (thanks, Aunt Sue!), and he hasn't put it down all day. He even napped with it this afternoon, and as I write, it is lying next to him as he sleeps. How ironic that Steve used to joke, before he was born, that we would name him Chainsaw.



Here he is with a 4-year-old neighbor pal down the street, who also happens to be into tools.


Happy birthday, our precious little boy. You light up my life!

eat, play, love

Choo-Choo Bob's is a little train store in St. Paul. It offers a great birthday party package, and we had Daniel's 2nd birthday party there today.


Kids love Choo-Choo Bob's because there are train tables set up all across the back of the store, and kids can play there for free — their very own island of Sodor! Daniel and a half dozen of his toddler friends had such a great time playing that it was almost a shame to call them in for snacks.


The party package includes a cake (a very tasty cake from La Patisserie in St. Paul). Daniel had been talking about his birthday cake all morning, but once it was in front of him, he didn't quite know what to do. He was very somber indeed.


He soon got into the spirit, however. Within 20 minutes, he was so jacked up on sugar that he couldn't sit still to open his gifts. It was kind of funny but kind of sad, like seeing someone on a bad drug trip.


Benjamin slept through much of the party. Once he woke up, he got some good face time with his grandpa.


I had a good time, too. For those few hours, I wasn't a woman with cancer. I was just a happy mom.

the beginning of the end of summer

This week has given me that feeling I get when I see the first leaf fall from the tree. The weather has cooled off a bit, from muggy to blue-sky glorious. The first fall L.L. Bean catalog arrived in the mail. And on Tuesday, we said goodbye to our summer nanny, Kiersten, who started medical school orientation the next day. I've chosen not to blog too much about our nannies here, so I won't say anything more except that we loved her and will really miss her. Our new nanny, Anna, started on Wednesday, and we like her, too. Interesting how the change from summer nanny to fall-and-beyond nanny has felt like such a big transition — not just in people, but in seasons. Before I know it, I will be pulling out the fall sweaters and wearing socks again.

don't know much about history

I have never liked the Fourth of July. I like fireworks, but I don't like pushing through crowds to get a good view of them. I don't feel particularly comfortable at pool parties. I didn't grow up in a family that barbecues or goes to "the lake." (We were in Oregon.) I see the Fourth as a holiday designed for extraverts, not me.

That's why the one and only thing I did this year to observe the holiday was the one thing that comes naturally to reserved introverts: I read the Declaration of Independence. And this time, I really read it and thought about it. I figured, it's probably one of those things I should do in my lifetime, so I might as well do it now. (It didn't hurt that it was a nice day on the patio!) My journalist mind kicked into gear as I tried to translate the 232-year-old text into simpler language (though Jefferson's own is beautiful enough), and when I got to the long laundry list of complaints about the king of England, I found myself wishing I'd paid more attention in my high school history classes. I wanted details.

"For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world ..."
"For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences ..."
"He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands."

Wow. I knew the colonists didn't like King George, but I guess I had never grasped the extent of the things he had done to try to suppress the colonies. I would love to know the specifics of what really happened to spur all those complaints. It would make a good HBO or Showtime miniseries, I think — I envision something sexy and violent and quasi-historical along the lines of "The Tudors."

I also found myself wondering what the British side of the story was. The Declaration of Independence is written in a highly persuasive rhetorical fashion, but what if an equally persuasive Brit were to write a rebuttal? What would it say? (Oh, I'm sure it's been done, and I am just not aware of it.) Benjamin Franklin had lived in London for a while and was an admirer of English royalty, I think. Did he have trouble signing the declaration?

And then, as I perused the list of names of men who had signed the document, I saw a familiar one from New Hampshire: Josiah Bartlett. The same name as the fictional president on The West Wing, who also was from New Hampshire (but spelled his name with only one t). How did I not know that before?

it's spring! it's easter!

It's Minnesota!

Yes, we've been blanketed in white today, and it feels more like Christmas than Easter. We've been very low-key (or should I say, low-energy) about the holiday this year — no Easter eggs, no chocolate bunnies, no hot cross buns. Just Mass this morning and a very nice dinner with family, followed by a lovely nap once we got home. Someone asked if the Easter bunny came to our house this year, and I wasn't quick enough on my feet to say, "No, we're waiting for the damn stork!"

My friend Vanessa (who actually celebrates Passover instead of Easter), gives a whole new meaning to the term "Easter egg." She and her husband are going through their first round of in vitro fertilization, and this morning was the egg transfer, which means two fertilized eggs were implanted in her uterus. She'll find out if she's pregnant right around April 1 — the same day our baby is due, and I hope for good news all around. Good luck, Vanessa and John!

feast and family

This year, we had two Christmases — the big family gathering at Steve's dad's place on Christmas Day and a small family gathering of just the three (well, four) of us at home on Christmas Eve, when we opened our presents. Someone else is usually in charge of what we eat at the big feast, so even though Steve and I usually bring something to contribute, I don't really get to participate in the fun (and energy) of planning out a meal. I miss that sometimes — dreaming up side dishes to go with the ham or the turkey, mulling over cookbooks to find creative ways to do sweet potatoes or green vegetables. So this year, Steve and I began a Christmas Eve tradition of having our own private feast, just for the family. It doesn't have to be huge or perfect — just fun and delicious and maybe a little adventurous. To get in the spirit of it, I turned to one of my favorite cookbook authors, Nigella Lawson, who manages to be laid back about cooking even while she's passionate about it. For Christmas Eve, I browsed through her Feast and decided to go with sausages with onion-cider gravy and a mashed potato dish that also incorporates apples. That, and the Brussels sprouts cooked with pancetta and chestnuts. It was delicious; I nearly literally swooned when we finally sat down and started eating. For dessert, we just had a few slices of chocolate loaf cake that I'd made over the weekend (from Nigella's How to be a Domestic Goddess). I've baked several batches of it throughout the fall, and it's my biggest addiction at the moment. I cannot stop at just one slice and sometimes have eaten half a loaf in one sitting. Let's hope I don't get gestational diabetes.

If Nigella Lawson is relaxed and laid back in her attitude to cooking, my other favorite cookbook is the opposite and appeals to an entirely different (read: obsessive) side of me. It's The New Best Recipe, by the editors of Cook's Illustrated magazine. These folks will test a recipe down to its bare bones before settling on the very best combination of ingredients and cooking techniques. It's fascinating and sometimes pretty funny to read their process as they haggle over the minutae of a recipe, often making it dozens of times and having testers taste each permutation. For sweet potatoes — which is what I made for the big family gathering yesterday — it was all about whether to boil the potatoes or bake them to get the best flavor out of them, and whether to cook them whole and scrape them out of their peels once cooked or cut them up ahead of time. Their conclusion: Cut them up raw and braise them in a pot with nothing but a small amount of butter and cream, thereby letting them cook in their own juices. (I used a variation with ginger and brown sugar.) This way, they say, you get the full-bodied sweet-potato flavor without watered-down mushiness. And what do you know? They were right.

In the picture: Here's Daniel, the youngest of the 12 cousins (so far) on Steve's side of the family, with the oldest cousin, Beth, who is a junior in college and studying to be a teacher. He loved her. All the cousins but one were together yesterday, which was a rare achievement. It was a beautiful day — snowy but not too cold — and all the kids were red-faced and sweaty after coming in from ice skating on the pond outside the house. It was nice and relaxing, a very good Christmas.

snow lover ... or not?

Ah, how young begins the Minnesotan's love-hate relationship with winter weather. Today, after our first real dumping of snow for the season, we bundled everyone up and took Daniel outside to explore the white stuff.

"You want me to what?"


"Hey, why do I keep falling down? This is cold."


"Waaaah ... I want to move to Portland!"

giving thanks

I have so much to be thankful for this year that it seems almost too obvious to write down. But I will. And it's gonna be sappy!

I'm thankful for my health: That my cancer was caught before it spread or endangered our baby, that we had a skillful surgeon who was able to remove it, and that it is (hopefully) gone.

I'm thankful for our friends and family, and Steve's coworkers, who stood by us and supported us in so many ways through the surgery and my recovery.

I'm thankful for our unborn baby, who surprised us all by being conceived in the first place, and who has managed to persevere through some heavy-duty medical procedures and continue to thrive.

I'm thankful for my husband, who is an unbelievably amazing, supportive partner.

I'm thankful for Daniel, who every day causes my heart to swell with whole new kinds of love.

I'm thankful for our home, which is humble and modest, yet reminds me every day that we truly do have all we need in this life.

one more

A picture from Halloween night, just before we set off for trick-or-treating. Next year, there will be two of them sitting there on the front step. How amazing. I remember when it was my sisters and me, clutching our plastic orange pumpkins (which I couldn't get Daniel to hold), posing for pictures in our Halloween costumes. It doesn't seem that long ago. The holidays take on a new perspective now that I am seeing them through new eyes: It's up to us now to establish traditions that our children will remember all their lives.

quack-or-treat

Daniel is dressing up as one of his favorite animals for Halloween. Here he is before a party we attended today, complete with the pumpkins that we have not yet carved.

easter baby

And no, he will not be eating the candy (or the paper grass, though he tried). It is Daniel's Easter basket in name only. His father has proprietary rights (which is why the basket also contains salt-and-pepper flavored Kettle chips).

Here he is in his Easter outfit, looking like a little golfer, which Steve said is appropriate in light of the Master's golf tournament going on today ... not that I would know something like that. :)

on good friday

I went to a beautiful tenebrae service tonight with my friend Roxy at a church in downtown St. Paul. (Our husbands stayed home to babysit.) These services are so powerful and haunting. Little by little, through the readings and hymns and prayers, the lights were extinguished, and as the final candle was carried out, there was the sound of a rumbling, thunderous earthquake. We sat in that noise, in complete darkness, and I felt so small and desolate and moved to tears.

As a new mother, imagining Mary's pain as she watched Jesus die strikes a chord with me this year as it never has before. One of the readings tonight was from a burial ode attributed to St. John of Damascus. I can't find it online, or I would have printed part of it here. It spoke of how Mary once held the infant Jesus close to her as she rocked him to sleep, and how now she held his lifeless body close to her. I had tears in my eyes when it was over, and Roxy turned to me and we mouthed to each other, "So sad."

It is the second time this week that I have had this kind of sadness on my mind. A couple of nights ago, I dreamed that I lost Daniel. He was playing with another little boy, and they disappeared, and no one could tell me where they were. We ran around frantically looking for them. In the dream, my emotions were so strong as I faced the possibility of never again seeing his sweet, beautiful smile, never again holding him in my arms. That anguished sense of loss was the most powerful part of the dream. At some point, people were telling me we needed to start planning the funeral. On an impulse, I walked down a hill toward a big lake, and the girl with me said she noticed some strange bubbles in one section. I looked, and there, lying at the bottom of the clear lake were Daniel and the other boy. I could see his little blue and green Robeez so clearly. At first I thought they must have been dead, but then I thought the bubbles might be signs that they were still alive. As I prepared to jump in and pull them out of the water, my mind (now waking up) was determined to believe that they were alive. They had to be. Still, I woke up and stared at the outline of Daniel's sleeping body for a long time, tears coming out of my eyes, and I wasn't so cranky when he woke us up later, crying to be fed.

So with that, on this Good Friday, my heart goes out especially to all women who have lost sons.

in homage to e. e. cummings

in Just-
spring and the tulips are
pushing
their purplegreen stalks through

winter debris and mulch

and danielandi go
walking in stroller and
toohot teal
fleece and it's
spring

when buds are studded

up and down
tree limbs
about to burst
into green
and stephen grills outside

hamburgers and smokeycheese and

it's
spring
and
our
baby is hot

witha
fever
and we

don't
know
why

digging out

We got about a foot and a half of snow last week, possibly the most I've seen at one time since I moved here. For those of you who haven't been to Minnesota in the wintertime, here is what that looks like.

christmas pictures

"I'm four months old today! Yippee!"



Christmas morning in the hotel: Baby with toys, mom and dad with the Sunday New York Times. What could be better? Maybe a latté, but all the coffee shops were closed.



Christmas afternoon in the childhood home (also file under "chaos"). All my siblings and parents — plus a niece and a boyfriend — are in this picture.



Daniel hangs out with his cousin Teresa, age 3.



Daniel's stocking, made by his grandmother. All of his aunts and uncles have one, too.



Later in the week: My cute parents, their handsome son-in-law (carrying the diaper bag) and babe in stroller walk up hip Hawthorne Street on the way to lunch.



Quality time with grandpa ...



... and grandma

thankfulness

When Daniel went back to sleep after his 7 a.m. feeding this morning, Stephen and I caught a few rare moments to lie in bed and whisper our thoughts of gratitude. It goes without saying that our bright-eyed baby boy tops our list this year. My beloved husband (and, by extension, our marriage), my friends and family (both blood and in-laws) are high up on mine, too. What a year this has been; we don't really need a special day to feel how thankful we are for all the good things we have been given. Nonetheless ... it was a good day for being with family. Even our teen-age nieces and nephews, who usually answer all the grown-ups' questions in monosyllables, seemed relaxed and chatty today. It was a good time!

The RevGals' Friday Five poll last week asked for "five things or people for which you are thankful this year." I've been sitting here trying to come up with five, but it's a tall order, so what the heck — I'm going with ten!

All the people mentioned in the first paragraph. (I get to cheat a little!)

My employer, for recognizing the importance of maternity leave and allowing me to take six months off.

This blog, for giving me a reason to write almost every day — even if it's short, and even if it's crap.

Netflix, for making the bumps and jags of early parenthood a little easier. Those red envelopes are the highlight of my day sometimes!

Garrison Keillor, for opening a new bookstore in St. Paul this fall, and for helping keep poetry alive with The Writer's Almanac.

Oprah, for using her influence to inspire others to change the world in positive ways. If she ran for president, I would vote for her.

Caribou Coffee, for being part of our afternoon stroller-and-drink ritual as we walk around the neighborhood.

Our two church communities (the one in St. Paul and the one in Minneapolis), for sustaining my spirit and providing perspective on a weekly basis.

My camera, for giving me a creative outlet and a way to capture the fleeting moments of Daniel's infancy.

Grey's Anatomy, which comes on in 15 minutes!