Geneva, tell me about your day.

"Maya up and down and ride the bike. A back up and down. Down, Maya bonk and down and head and down. Head Maya down. Mama turtles in water. Rock. Play out that. Home. Dog bark. I loves Dada, Maya, my Dada."





For anyone needing translation, Geneva, Maya and I spent the morning coloring and then took a bike trip to the Children's Museum. Maya took a swan dive into a chair and Geneva was extremely concerned. Maya recovered, but has an enormous purple bruise to show for it. We looked at the turtles (real) and the snakes (pretend), took turns behind the counter at the general store, then headed outside for a picnic lunch. It was a fabulous day.

Shouldn't all days end like this?

Poop! (There it is)

In the Zoglman household, we girls don't really venture out of the house until the afternoon. In fact, some of us don't even put pants on until lunchtime.

Here's why:

My big girl poops in the toilet every morning! I know, I know, it's in terrible taste to post bowel movement pictures on the internet, but I am so excited I could just-- well, you know. Geneva is, too. Here she's signing "toilet" with both hands.

And for anyone who still wasn't sure what was going on in that first picture, Geneva is delighted to clear up any misunderstandings.

There are some downsides to this process, of course, such as the fact that I spend most of every morning cleaning up the pee which my darling child is not yet able to control. There's also the fact that when we're out of the house and Geneva hears the call of nature she becomes very upset because she doesn't know where the bathroom is. And because I, in a stroke of non-genius, decided to provide incentive by reading Calvin and Hobbes to her whenever she sat on the toilet, she now yells "poop!" whenever she wants Mommy to drop what she's doing and sprint to her side in order to read comics. It gets really bad around the time I start making dinner.

Messes, freakouts and false alarms aside, I really am thrilled. I'm thrilled for Geneva, who is taking yet another monster step toward independence. And of course I'm thrilled for myself, a weary changer and scraper and washer of cloth diapers. Every dirty diaper I don't have to handle is cause for celebration. A Kodak moment, if you will. So yes, I'm posting pictures. I hope you'll all understand.

Something Fishy

If there should ever be doubt as to whether or not Geneva is truly my child, I will present the following anecdote as evidence:

While preparing dinner in the kitchen, I was met by a pair of big, longing eyes. The food I was handling was smoked salmon and, feeling generous, I peeled off a very large chunk and handed it to Geneva. I wasn't sure whether or not she would eat it or if she would even try it, but I should have known better. She cried "YEE-ahhh!" and shoved the whole thing into her mouth. Her lips could barely close. That was one happy girl.

Flashback...

... to October 2010! It was months ago, yes, and several major holidays have come and gone since then, but I can't help wanting to share those delightful memories with the world: Painstakingly sewing Geneva's witch hat by hand, only to find out I had accidentally made it much too small. Geneva's unadulterated joy at being allowed to run into other people's yards and look in their houses. Her misunderstanding of trick-or-treating as some kind of sharing exercise or hot-potato game. Hearing every visitor to our porch admire Avery's outstanding Darth Vader jack-o-lantern. And best of all, basking in the glow of some really wonderful events that had recently taken place: our fourth wedding anniversary, the eradication of Kristen's cancer, and the conception of our second child. October was very, very good to us. Even three months late, how could I pass it by?

Here's a little pumpkin nestled in our garden.

 Mom and Baby Halloween Party

Yep, it's a haunted gingerbread house. I couldn't wait until Christmas.

Halloween

Avery's "cheater" pumpkin

My goofy, freehand pumpkin

We left the candy basket out because we figured the pre-wrapped chocolate bars were safe. Note to self: toddler teeth can pierce plastic.

Geneva was delighted.

My Top Ten

The year 2010 has ended, and as I was pondering this I was seized by yet another ruminative mood. I sat with my notepad, staring out the window and wondering what I had to say about this year, this decade, this life. I wasn't sure what I was expecting to write, but what I ended up with was a kind of letter to myself ten years ago, or maybe a letter to anyone who is still entangled in adolescence as I was then. It's the top ten things life has taught me so far-- my top ten from 2010, to be corny. And yes, most of what I found I had to say is a little cheesy, but I didn't let that stop me. These are the things I have found to be undeniably true.

I hope it's not narcissistic of me to put this on my blog... or at least, that it's no more narcissistic than the average blog post. And who knows, maybe you are all feeling ruminative, too.



My Top Ten (in no particular order)

• Sometimes being right doesn't matter. Sometimes it doesn't give you the moral high ground. Sometimes it hurts others. Sometimes there is no right, but simply what works and what doesn't.

• Of all the dumb ways I've spent my time and energy, being jealous of others seems in retrospect to be the dumbest of all. It also seems cowardly: it was a way for me to as questions about the happiness of others instead of my own. 

• Possessions accumulate. Eventually an increasing number of possessions becomes a burden, a hassle. Things must be cleaned and stored and organized. Experiences, on the other hand, never pile up or collect dust. Doing is a much better investment than getting.

• Faith and doubt can, and perhaps even should, keep company. Questioning your beliefs-- by which I mean subjecting them to logical and moral scrutiny-- is one of the most responsible things you can do as a growing human being. When you have rigorously examined what it is you believe, why you believe it, what the implications are for how you conduct your life, and have integrated your doubts and misgivings, then your faith truly becomes your own. Until then it is simply borrowed from someone else.

• I find I am infinitely happier when I choose forgiveness. Do not forgive someone based on whether or not he or she deserves it, but based on whether or not you can offer it. Yes, some things cannot be forgiven, but the vast majority can, and you may not be able to tell the difference right away. Keep trying. It is a kindness you do for yourself.

• Relationships between people cannot be fully understood by an outside party, even a close one. This should be the enormous caveat to every judgment a person makes about the relationships of others. In some cases it ought to shut them up entirely.

• Forget about doing work that you think you should and instead just do whatever it is that makes you feel whole. An immigrant youth case worker is no more noble, no more admirable than a fashion designer if they both live generously and compassionately within their communities. Basically, do what you love and let being a good person flow from there.

• For a long time I had the concept of patience all wrong: it is not a character trait that some are born with and others are not, nor is it a byproduct of loving every second of your life no matter what. It is simply the skill of seeing the big picture when you are overwhelmed by the details, and it is a skill that must be continually practiced. Sometimes exercising patience is downright unpleasant. Fortunately, grudging patience still  counts, and fortunately it is always worth the effort.

• In the WWF smackdown between John Lennon's "All You Need is Love" and Aretha Franklin's "Respect," Aretha wins every time. Love without respect is a disaster.

• There are things for which our society leaves us ill-prepared: Letting go. Waiting indefinitely. Failing graciously. Saying nothing. Not knowing. Understanding when and how to do or accept these things is what I imagine wisdom will be like, should I ever acquire it.

Winter Wonderland

For the purposes of blogging I'm skipping Halloween and Thanksgiving. I don't care. They were wonderful, and I was too busy enjoying them to document the fun for future generations. So let's move straight on to the Christmas season, which in our house began promptly on Saturday, November 27th. Since then we've had a little holiday music on at some point during every day, dined using Christmas dishes, downed two quarts of eggnog, and strewn yuletide decorations across most available surfaces in the house. The tree is proving to be something of a liability this year; Geneva is quick, curious, and not always overly mindful of the boundaries we set for her. Translation: she removes ornaments from the tree to get my attention, and if that fails she gnaws on them. Most of her activities and interests have me on my toes these days, but I love that she's interested in the world around her and that she has a strong will of her own. Those traits will serve her well as she grows up, and hey, I look good with grey hair.

I wish I had some wintery pictures of the whole family to share. It just seems especially appropriate this time of year. Instead, here are some more of our growing girl.

If you give a kid a cookie... she'll make this face.

Beat It!

Many of you reading this blog probably know or have met my dearest friend, Kristen. I've been lucky enough to be buds with her for my entire adult life, and just last year we gave birth to our babies within two months of one another. I love her fiercely, and so when I found out this summer that she had stage four lymphoma I was terrified and heartbroken. I could hardly wrap my mind around the possibility of losing her-- the pain just loomed up too large, and my brain would shut off.

Her doctors were very optimistic and so I was hopeful that with a lot of treatment and a lot of time this disease could be beaten, but it turns out that my little best-case scenario didn't do reality justice. My amazing friend has completely beaten stage four lymphoma in eight weeks! She'll finish up this round of treatment with just a few more chemotherapy sessions, and then it's back to the serious business of raising her beautiful son, growing her beautiful hair and living her beautiful life. Kristen, you blow my mind. You're the strongest woman I know.

These photos were taken of Kristen's sweet son (and Geneva's buddy) Thomas at her parents' home in Bellevue.

   

Oh Boy, Part II

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new winner. My eyes were actually watering with the effort of holding in paroxysms of laughter. Today a very sweet old lady came up to Geneva and started telling her what a good, helpful little boy she was. Geneva was wearing a dress and holding a pink blankie, but here's the kicker:  

I was changing her diaper.

So folks, forget everything you used to know about the anatomy of little boys. Apparently that thing we all used to think was so essential is in fact more like an add-on. An accessory. An app. Men should stop getting so hung up on size because I'm telling you, my little "boy" gets along just fine with none whatsoever.

Fickle Fickle

The scene: Bathtime. The Girlie, having been washed, is now playing in the tub. She stands up and reaches for me as if wanting to be picked up, then plops back down in the water and laughs. This goes on for a few minutes.

Me: Ooooh, you're fickle.

Geneva, tickling me under the chin: Fickle, fickle, fickle!

Pardon the Mess...

I'm kind of wigging out. This week I will be looking after a three-year-old boy while his parents, who are artists, teach classes at The Seasons Performance Hall. Fun? You betcha! I'm absolutely looking forward to the experience with nothing but excited anticipation. No no, the reason I'm wigging out is that the parents, these highly successful, detail-oriented strangers are going to see my house. And it is a mess.

What is it with me? This is a continual battle I fight: anxiety over what others will think of my home maintenance skills. The weird thing is, I am not a fastidious person. I like things clean-- as in, scum-free-- and I like things to have a place, but when it's just me and the Girlie I am generally satisfied with a state of controlled chaos. Without anyone watching I think I strike a healthy balance between extremes. I do not spend all of my time whisking away evidence of human habitation, nor do I actively create a pig-sty environment (which, by the way, was my teenage rebellion form of choice. You're welcome, Mom. Seriously. It could have been so much worse). But oh, when visitors arrive on the doorstep... Sigh. I am suddenly caught in the iron grip of this crushing fear that-- that-- honestly, I don't know what I think is going to happen. Maybe that they'll take pictures of my laundry room and report me to CPS or something.

With a one-year-old in the house it's kind of ridiculous anyway. Children accelerate the process of entropy: it's a scientific fact. Look it up. Toys become one with the floor. Food becomes one with the tablecloth. The organizational structures of your drawers disintegrate and decay and fall apart until you find yourself looking for the can opener in the refrigerator. Who can conquer the forces of domestic collapse? Some people. Not me. But domestic collapse and I have an understanding. We're cool.

So you know what, highly successful, detail-oriented strangers? Come on over! I'll invite you in and say, in the words of Roseanne, "Pardon the mess, but we live here." I'll assume that you're not judging me, and you can assume that I mop occasionally. Just don't report me to CPS. And don't look in the laundry room.

Baby, You Can Drive My Car

Geneva's new favorite leisure activity has me breaking out into song...

Baby, you can drive my car.

Yes, I'm gonna be a star.

Baby, you can drive my car,

And baby, I love you.

 

 

Beep beep, beep beep, yeah!