Actually...

Our little nest in the hanging basket has turned out to belong to a pair of house finches, not a mockingbird like I originally thought.  I saw a mockingbird defending territory from a robin right around the nest site, so that's why I was confused.  But the finch pair has been dedicated and doting to their clutch of SIX eggs.  I'd take a picture, but I don't want to unnecessarily disturb that mama and her babies.  Perhaps some hatchling photos once the babies have arrived...!

Spring Awakening

Several years ago, a colleague of mine--who is also an avid and gifted birder--told me that every spring, when birds start to migrate back to their summer grounds, she has vivid dreams.  They are filled with flocks of colorful, sweet-sounding birds flying in the sky over her head, through her bedroom window, larger than life and thrilling.  I remember that I laughed some when she first told me this, thinking,  Every spring you dream about birds?  Although I studied birds for my own research and thoroughly enjoy birdwatching as a hobby, I thought that she must reside on a totally separate plane of birding fandom, to have them infiltrate her dreams in such a spectacular way every year.

And then, a couple years ago, something happened.  I found that when we left the bedroom window open at night, and I'd wake up to the dawn chorus, the early morning cacophony of bird songs, my heart was alight even at 4 am. In the nights that followed, I'd start to dream, incredible and larger than life dreams of snowy owls swooping down over my head, of hawks and songbirds dancing in the sky. I would wake full of the excitement my dream self had had, looking around for someone to confide in who would care about these wonderful bird dreams as much as I did.

Spring migration has settled in once more, and I find that my eyes are often pointed the sky as soon as I step outside.  Our neighborhood is filled with a diverse blend of different species, in spite of it being part of such an urban metropolis.  We have red-tailed hawks, ospreys, turkey vultures, mockingbirds, robins, cardinals, blue jays, grackles, song sparrows, cowbirds, red-bellied woodpeckers, downy woodpeckers and catbirds, to name the most commonly seen visitors.

A few days ago was, quite simply, a day of birds.  As I walked to work, I noticed a starling in a yard I walked past, busily scuttling soil back and forth with its feet, presumably in search of insects.  Not a minute later, I was greeted by a catbird, sitting atop a fence line, not at all afraid of me as I walked past, unable to keep my eyes off it.  Another catbird flew into my path a short few steps later.  As I turned the corner, I heard the low, croaking, spine-tingling call of a common raven.  I looked up and saw it at the top of a building.  Ravens? Here? I thought it must be a crow, but as it took to flight, it seemed too big to be a crow, and besides, nothing can be mistaken for the raven call.  I watched it as it swooped the air, and then started to descend...down toward me.  I stood rooted, unable to move or think, just entranced by this big, guttural-sounding bird as it seemed poised to fly into me.  Actually, it never intended to fly into me, as the bird arched back into the air, flying over my head and into the forest of urban infrastructure beyond me.  A day of birds.

When I returned home that evening, one of my first tasks was to water the hanging baskets of flowers I'd gotten the weekend before.  The midday sun dries the soil so fast, so I've learned my daily post-work chore will have to be to water them.  I love it, though, as it gives me an excuse to be outside, looking for new birds, identifying the ones I already know, saying hello to Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the mourning dove couple that perches, side by side, on the electrical wire above our street.  As I took down the first basket, I was surprised to find a nest inside with one translucent egg taking up residence right in the middle. I breathed out a sigh of joyful contentment.  An egg!  A bird in my neighborhood knew the right house in which to make its home, for surely none of my neighbors would be more thrilled than me to find a bird nest in their hanging basket!  Since that day, two more eggs have been laid by what I think is a mockingbird.  The biggest challenge has been keeping my plant watered without disturbing the nest. Unfortunately, I think the plant will suffer a cruel death by dehydration once the chicks have hatched, as I would never disturb a new mother from her fresh, newly-hatched babies.

Ahhh!!!...days of birds.

A Chance Encounter

B's 5th birthday is tomorrow, and her teachers had informed me that I could bring in a snack for her class today to celebrate.  In my not-very-many-years as a parent, I've seen B bring home goody bags from classmates' birthday celebrations, and realized that I've kind of cheaped out in the past by just sending in a package of Oreos for her party.  This year, she's at a new school, with new friends and new anxieties and insecurities.  I really wanted her to meet #5 head-on and with confidence, so I asked her what she wanted to have for her party theme.  "Dragons!" she exclaimed (as in, How To Train Your Dragon). Dragons it is.

I had seen tiny dragon figurines at Target a couple months ago, so I figured if they were cheap enough I could buy a bunch to give to each of her classmates in a goody bag. Last night, I made the trek and found them in the toy aisle right away.  I practically emptied Target out of those dragons.  Mama-guilt-meets-American-consumerism at its finest hour.

I walk to checkout and have a male cashier, somewhere in his mid-late 40s.  He greets me immediately, but isn't chatty.  At some point during the transaction, he must have felt like he should be more conversational, so he remarks, "You're throwing a boy's birthday party, huh?" (you know where this is going...)

Now, it was about 9 pm on a Thursday night. I'm sure this guy was tired after a long day of standing on his feet, dealing with customers and transactions.  I'm sure he thought he'd just make conversation with me, we'd exchange some pleasantries, and I'd be on my way.  But, something made me "go there", when maybe I should have just let it go.

Me: Now, why would you assume this was for a boy's birthday party?
Cashier: (annoyed) Because you're buying a bunch of boys' toys.
Me: There's no such thing as 'boys' toys'!"
Cashier: (trying not to roll his eyes) Okay...
Me: Actually, this is all for a little girl who loves dragons.
(Silence)
...I couldn't help myself...
Me: You don't need certain body parts in order to play with dragons.
Cashier: (dismissively) Okay.

I know it might have been uncalled for, perhaps even a little rude.  But if that guy was comfortable making an assumption to me about gender roles, then surely he would impart that suggestion on to the children in his life.  I just that morning had dropped B off at her school, only to notice that all the boys in the classroom were on the floor playing with building blocks and structures, while all the girls were at the table coloring.  There's nothing wrong, inherently, with either of these activities.  But I don't believe that by nature, boys are born to build and girls are born to color.  I think the power of suggestion that we as adults pass along to our kids goes a long way.  I've seen the way the girls in her class can get down on the floor and work imaginatively and cooperatively to build ramps, slides and towers with those building blocks.  Likewise, I know many of the boys enjoy cutting, pasting and coloring at the arts & crafts table.  So why, in an informal setting, do the segregate themselves and migrate to the stereotypical gender-role activities? Perhaps because accidentally or otherwise, it's been suggested that those are the activities appropriate for their sex?  Heck, if the cashier at Target would tell me that, then surely there are adults that would say that to their kids, right?

So, B has her dragon-themed party in just another couple hours.  I won't be able to make it, but A will, and he promised to take pictures. I wonder if the kids--boys and girls--will love their new dragon toys.  My guess is, given the opportunity, kids will see a toy as just a toy, no gender assigned.

Yes All Women?

My heart is still pounding...my voice is still not quite right.  I just stepped through the door to work after having approached a small group of male construction workers who I observed cat-calling women.

Perhaps I'm still a bit sensitive because I just read an article yesterday about the #YesAllWomen movement that has ignited after the murders at UC Santa Barbara.  Although I don't entirely agree with everything that's been said in support of that movement, I do think it's true that men have no idea how one-sided, intimidating and unappreciated their interactions with women can be.

As I was walking up the block to my office, I noticed a group of three young male construction workers, standing half underground (they were doing work on the infrastructure under the street).  An attractive young woman was walking up ahead of me, and I saw all three of the men's heads turn approvingly in her direction.  Then one or all of them started yelling unintelligible things her way.  She either didn't hear or chose to ignore them because she didn't respond, just kept walking.  They saw me walking next, and I don't know if it was the fact that I was carrying a baby, or the fact that I was looking right at them, or maybe they just didn't find me attractive, but none of them said anything to me.  I almost just put the whole situation behind me and went inside my building.  My coworker had just arrived and noticed me, so he had left the door ajar for me.  But something made me not go inside. I realized I had to say something for all the women who have ever felt frightened to walk down a street for fear of being harassed by men. For all the women who don't have the nerve or are too afraid of the repercussions of standing up to disrespectful men.  I just had to.

In all honesty, I felt safe.  These were young guys in their 20s.  They were at work in the middle of the street with uniforms on.  My job was just a few short steps away.  I knew nothing bad was going to happen.  So that made it easier than if I were in a parking garage or an empty street at night.  I wouldn't have the nerve or feel safe doing it then.

I walked up and, my voice clear and strong, but still shaking, told them that I was speaking because not all women feel like they can.  I told them that no woman appreciates being called after and harassed simply for walking down the street. One of the guys seemed immediately shamed, and he looked stone-faced at the ground.  The other two men smiled.  I told them I could tell they thought it was funny because they were smiling, but that it's not.  Men who treat women like that are making women feel intimidated and fearful, when all we want to do is walk down the street.  I told them surely they have women in their lives who they care about, who they wouldn't want feeling this way because of strange men on the street.  I told them that women should be able to walk with pride and respect and not be shamed by men cat-calling and commenting on their appearance.  The two men who were smiling gave me a bit of lip service, feigned humility, but were smiling (sheepishly?) by the time I stopped talking.  The other man seemed like he genuinely heard what I was saying and was taking it to heart.  So, maybe my words made some impact. I walked away, shaky and nervous with a charge of adrenaline and emotion.

I almost posted this story to Facebook.  But I didn't want to get a bunch of "likes" and congratulatory comments from well-meaning friends.  I didn't do this for that.  I did this so that perhaps one day a woman won't get harassed by these guys because the men actually stop to think before they say something. Maybe they'll think about how their words, actions and general appearance come across to a woman walking down the street, and instead of cat-calling, perhaps they'll just nod courteously and wish her a nice day.

The One About The Flowers

A few weeks ago, A's brother and sister-in-law became the proud parents to twin boys. We are over the moon excited for them, after many months of anticipation, planning and waiting for the babies' birth. While at work today, I had the thought that it'd be nice to send our sister-in-law a flower arrangement in celebration of her very first Mother's Day. I went online and picked out arrangements for her, for my mother, and for a sweet neighbor back in Michigan. Now that I'm gainfully employed again, it felt nice to be able to afford a luxury like sending gifts to loved ones.

After work, Samara and I met up with A and B for some family time, dinner and drinks. On the walk home, I casually mentioned to A that I had purchased flowers for those three special ladies, feeling a bit guilty that I had not sent an arrangement to his mother. I quickly added, ''But I know your mother, and she's not really the flower type, so that's why I didn't buy her any.''

A rolled his eyes and laughed. ''Dont worry, I took care of my mother already.'' I breathed a silent air of relief before asking, ''You sent her flowers?'' A replied, ''Yup, and I sent Christine flowers, too, so I guess she'll be getting two arrangements from us.'' Christine is our sister-in-law. I looked at him, wide-eyed. ''You sent Christine flowers, too?'' Neither Adam nor I is particularly great about gift-giving, so I was surprised that he would have had the same idea to send flowers to the new mom as I did. ''Yea, evidently you were thinking the same thing,'' he said, before adding, ''actually she's getting two arrangements from me because I got the address wrong when I purchased them. When I called the company to try to get it changed, they said it was too late and so they'd have to send another arrangement to the right address, but that the first arrangement would likely go to the right address anyway.'' So our dear Christine is getting three floral arrangements from us for Mothers Day. Apparently we are REALLY excited about her new entrance into motherhood. Apparently we also need to talk more about plans regarding gift-giving.

When we arrived at home, B in her usual style ran ahead of us, up the steep slope of the front yard and onto the front porch. I was wearing Samara in the wrap and so I moved more slowly. I heard B exclaim, ''Dad, we got mail!'' and then, ''What do you think it is?'' At that point, I realized we had a package by the front door. As I walked onto the porch, I saw the long box and wondered what could be inside. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a flower arrangement. My first thought was, ''I wonder who would send me flowers...and why?'' It took a couple seconds for my brain to connect the dots. I turned to my grinning husband and asked, ''Did you get me flowers?'' He replied, ''Maybe.'' We are not really the type to do flowers, an unnecessary luxury that costs money and only ends in sadness when the blooms wilt, brown and fall off. I bent down to open the box. Two dozen red roses, so beautiful. I gave him a kiss of thanks. A lavender bath set and box of chocolates were also included. I kissed him again. The red, red roses came with a daringly racy red vase that reminded me of the sophisticated, romantic rendezvous that we used to take in our youth back in New York City. I smile when I think how our children will never know the crazy young love side of us, a side that still exists but is hidden behind the duties of jobs and bills, parenting and commuting. The side that gets hidden by making everyone else's Mother's Day perfect and forgetting to enjoy my own. But that young love side of us still exists; A reminded me of that this evening. Even more than the flowers, I loved the special note he included in the box. While I choose to keep his words private, I will say they are quite possibly the most beautiful things he has ever said to me. And I loved it all, even if we're not the type to do flowers.

The Game

So, employment rising has manifested into employment happening. I've been at the new job a full week now, and so far things are going well.  In fact, I couldn't ask for a more flexible, understanding work environment.  My boss is allowing me to bring Samara with me to the office, at least until I'm able to get her into daycare.  Right now, she's still at the sleepy, nap-and-nurse-all-day-long stage, so having her here is not really an issue.  By the time we're off the waiting list and into daycare, she'll definitely be at a point where I couldn't really have her at the office anymore, so hopefully the timing will work out.

Home life has, undoubtedly, changed. We all get up around the same time--earlier than I've gotten up in years--and after getting ready for the day, Adam and B walk off together down the street so he can drop her off at school before he walks to work.  Samara and I usually leave 30 minutes later. I've been driving into work so that I can easily place a sleeping Samara in her car seat at my desk without interrupting her.  However, I do not like driving in city traffic, because a) it feels like I'm just 5 seconds away from getting into an accident, b) the stress, c) the pollution factor, d) I support mass transit, and e) I need exercise.  So, as of tomorrow, Samara and I will be walking to the bus, which will take us to the train, and then we'll walk the last 10 minutes to the office.  I got a bouncy seat for the office so she has a cozy place to rest.  Our commute will increase from 25 minutes to probably about an hour, but I'm trying to be positive and pragmatic about it. After all, we bought the house we did so that we wouldn't have to use our car very much.

As I write this, I'm struck by how much my life has changed since I started this blog 7 years ago.  Back then, I was young, attached, and travelling all over the country.  Now, I'm older, married, a mother to two children, and stationary.  I miss the old days and the ability to move around and experience new things and meet new people, especially since I don't really enjoy living in this current place.  But I wouldn't trade my marriage or my children for anything.

Well, it's 10 am and I've blown enough time.  Back to the game.

Samaras

So, I should probably explain...samaras are the little seed pouches that you find fluttering down from maple trees.  Some of us call them helicopters, other call them whirligigs, but the proper name is samara.  Samara, as you know, is also the name of my second daughter.  Ever since we named her, I've had this exact photo shoot in my head.  Hope you enjoy.

Another Sign of Spring

Our neighborhood fox, who we haven't seen in several months, has made an appearance today.  Looks like this little rascal found a comfy spot in our backyard woodlot.

Tick Tock

Spring has officially arrived to our area once again, and with it have come the birds, the flowers...and the ticks.  Last year, we discovered that our neighborhood, which borders a woodland lot, is infested with dog ticks.  I found four embedded in B's scalp before realizing the state of infestation.  We battled ticks on her, me and the dogs (Adam was the only lucky one who never found one on himself) before the season ended. 

Our neighbor warned us last week that the ticks were back, and that not only had she found one in her son's leg, but that it was a deer tick, not a dog tick.  While dog ticks can (very rarely) spread Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, the deer tick (also known as the black-legged tick) is infamous now for spreading Lyme's Disease.  Not wanting to deal with that scenario, Adam did the unthinkable (at least to this wildlife biologist): he spread pesticide all over our backyard to kill as many latent ticks as possible. I've been afraid to look back there for fear of finding dead birds all over the place.  So far, however, so good. At least, in terms of the bird community.

Yesterday, we spent some time in the front yard, then decided to take a walk with the dogs along the river trail.  At one point, we stopped at a playground to let B run around, and Adam and I sat with S and the dogs.  Neither of us thought much of it.  Last night, while in bed watching tv, however, Adam suddenly said, "Lauren, this is serious. Do you see anything?"  He tilted his head in my direction and pointed to a spot on his scalp.  Sure enough, a little bugger was latched on.  Now, I got fairly accustomed to removing ticks from B and the dogs last summer, so I'm not overly bothered by them anymore.  I think it was creepy for Adam to actually have one on him, especially since last summer he was spared.  I got out the tick "key" I bought for such removal purposes, as well as a pair of tweezers.  The key didn't seem to work, so I resorted to old school tweezers removal, and voila!, the tick (head and all) came out.  It had a small chunk of Adam's scalp in its mouth parts. I took a look at it in the container, and was surprised to find that it was a deer tick, not a dog tick like the ones we found last year.  Granted, this one likely came from the park we were sitting at, and not our backyard, but this discovery has put us on alert.  You don't want to mess with Lyme's Disease.

Several friends and acquaintances who grew up in rural parts of the country have told me about how "tick check" was a part of their daily summer existence as children.  You just knew that at the end of a day of playing outdoors, you'd have to do a thorough bodily check for the little parasites...no big deal.  I'm trying to acquire that way of thinking.  We as a people, especially as we've become more urban, have become so dissociated with the land, the Earth, that things like ticks become a crisis of catastrophic proportions where once they were just a normal part of life.  I grant you that with the onset of Lyme's Disease, the tick issue has become more complex and concerning, but many people are just "grossed out" by the idea of a parasite to begin with, diseases aside.

I've decided to try to make the necessary tick check process a game this summer.  First person to find a tick wins a prize.  And no, the prize won't be Lyme's Disease.

Our Last Day

This past Friday was the last day B and I had at home together, as this morning she started school.  As much as I oftentimes felt overwhelmed trying to homeschool her while also accomplishing chores and errands (and later, taking care of a newborn), I enjoyed having B with me during the day.  I know it will be good for her to be around other kids her age, and have crafts and lessons to focus on, but I already miss her.  It's only been an hour since we dropped her off.

Since Friday was a special day, I asked B what she wanted to do. The weather was gorgeous, so I knew she wanted to go outside.  We decided to do some birdwatching.  She got some nifty birdwatching glasses for Xmas that she wanted to try out, and with the spring migration in full force, I knew there would be cool birds to scope. 

B's attention drifted after just a few minutes, and she became much more interested in playing with sticks, flowers and dirt than looking at birds, but it was good to have some quality time outside with her, all the same.

 The osprey that hangs out in the dead tree on the hill in our backyard.  It hunts for fish in the nearby river, then brings them back to this tree to feast.

 Harbinger of spring...my favorite bird of all time, the American Robin. 

 The osprey in flight, heading toward the river to collect its next meal.

 B wearing her birding glasses.  Not sure she was actually doing any birding, but she likes the zoom lenses.

 Grackle...not just another black bird.

 Song sparrow.  I've been really surprised how many song sparrows we have in our very urban neighborhood, and how few house sparrows, which are more common and an invasive exotic.  Glad to see the native species winning out here.

 Erie enjoying some time in the shade

 B was more content playing with the rocks, sticks and dirt, with a few flowers thrown in for good measure. My little naturalist.

A nest from last year that's being used this year by a family of song sparrows.

Snippets...on new parenting challenges

While discussing with a new friend the anxiety I've had with each new phase or milestone in my children's lives, I remarked that I've been surprised that I've managed to do all the things that seemed insurmountable...birthing, breastfeeding, diapering, socializing, schooling. ''You get it done because you have to, there's not really much choice,'' I remarked.

She replied with these wise words:  ''Set the bar low. If they're still alive and breathing, then you're doing ok.''

Yes.

Not Sad, But...

This morning, I take the girls to register B for kindergarten. KINDERGARTEN!  How in the world have we gotten to this place, where my baby, my little sweet curly-haired baby, is old enough for kindergarten?

The other day, B told me that her daddy said he was sad that she was growing up.  I corrected her.  "Well, Daddy's not sad that you're growing up, because that's a good thing.  You're supposed to grow up, because that means you're healthy and strong, and we're happy about that.  Daddy's probably feeling...wistful.'
"What does wiss-fo mean?"
"It means that our hearts just want time to slow down a bit, so we can enjoy all these moments with you before you grow up."
That seemed to satisfy her, so in normal child fashion, she changed the subject.

I've kept the thought in my head since then, however. And now, today, as I prepare to enroll my firstborn in school, I'm not quite feeling sad, but...wistful.

On Growing Old Gracefully

One day last week, my mother and sister came to baby-sit my girls while I was out at a meeting. Upon returning home, I found my mother on the couch with the girls, reading them a book. The book was about young Charles Dickens, and the hard life he led as a child before growing up to become a renowned author. The last page in the book featured an illustration of Dickens as a man, accompanied by a brief epilogue recounting his accomplishments later in life. The following exchange between my mother and B occurred:

B: Who's that guy? (pointing to the adult Dickens)
My Mother: That's Charles Dickens. The little boy from the book, just all grown up.
B: But he looks old!
My Mother: Well, he is r older, like me.
B: (wide-eyed) You're old?
My Mother: Well, I'm older.
B: (beside herself) Arent you sad?
My Mother: Uhh, nooo..It's ok.
B did not look convinced...
I almost chimed in with an explanation that there's only one alternative to not growing old, but I felt like her little brain had enough new material to churn over at that moment, so I kept my mouth shut.

Kudos to my mother for the very graceful way she handled this...

Snippets...out of the mouths of babes

B: Mama, what's this brown thing on my leg?
Me: That's just a bruise.
B: A bruise? Like Dr. Bruise?
Me: Dr. Bruise? Who's Dr. Bruise?
B: Dr. Bruise Banner!

(If you're not a superhero junkie, she was referring to Dr. Bruce Banner, alter ego to the Incredible Hulk.)

Snippets...on the same thing all over again

I suppose one aspect of getting older is that you start to have realizations that previously escaped you. You realize that people you care about can be mean, life isn't always fair, even pretty people poop (that was a big eye-opener for me, lemme tell ya...) and that yes, we're all going to die at some point in time.

My most recent realization is that people complain...about the same things...every single year. Snow, heat, bad drivers (notice it's always '[fill in the state] drivers' who are supposedly lacking in basic driving skills?), the return of students to college campuses, long lines at stores during holiday shopping season, the list goes on...

People...winter arrives and with it comes snow. These days we get less snow than folks did 50 years ago, so there's really nothing to complain about. Get over it. Summer is hot. You likely drive just as poorly, if not worse than the person you're complaining about. Colleges are not supposed to be vast empty spaces of land for your personal enjoyment; they are institutes of higher learning and students belong there. Deal with it. Xmas lines? Shop online.

Am I being too complainy?

Feeding the Family

Well, the verdict is in: my breastmilk is a fan favorite.

Due to S's continued dairy allergy/other food allergy/GURD/reflux, she still from time to time will spit up copious amounts of milk after nursing.  B did the same thing when she was a baby (we determined she had a dairy allergy), and since she never had any problems losing weight, neither the midwives nor doctors were ever worried about it.  S is also easily putting on the pounds, so I just abstain from dairy and monitor her for reaction (or lack of reaction).

Well, the last two days have proven to show that my--uh, nourishment--is appreciated by those other than baby.  After S spit up milk last night, a nice puddle formed on the floor beneath me.  Both dogs lunged right for it, and lapped it up with gusto.  I observed them doing the same today.  Part of me wants to cringe, but the other part of me is glad that this liquid gold isn't going to waste.  Still, it's kinda...shiver...

When I was a new mother to B, I really wanted to know what my own milk tasted like, but I felt weird tasting my own milk.  So, I did the next logical thing and forced my husband to taste it for me.  I squirted a small amount into a bottle for him and asked him to drink.  He did, and commented that it didn't have much taste beyond a sweet watery liquid.  My curiosity got the better of me and I ended up trying some for myself.  He was right; it wasn't the thick, creamy "dairy" taste I was expecting.

B still asks for a little breastmilk when she's feeling vulnerable (mostly about not getting as much attention as her baby sister does), and I make sure to squirt a bit into her mouth when it seems she might be coming down with a cold.  The other day, however, she asked me to put some breastmilk into her cereal (or what it her hot cocoa?).  I have to say I drew the line there...

If I start having to provide milk for an entire family (a la The Grapes of Wrath), I just might make it back into my pre-pregnancy jeans without having to take a deep breath first.

Employment Rising

I have a phone interview next week! This is the first in over a year of job-hunting. I'll give more details about the position and organization after the interview. Wish me luck!

Brown-eyed Girls

For the record, I have nothing against blue eyes. I married a blue-eyed man, and I find his eyes lovely. My first child was born with blue eyes, and they were beautiful. They are equally as beautiful as they have changed to brown.

I do realize that it's 'the thing' now to be a mommy who complains about all the rude and insensitive things the general public utters my way. I tried to keep my complaints to a minimum when I was pregnant and strangers, friends and family would insist on telling me what gender baby I was having (despite the fact that we chose not to find out and were not soliciting opinions...all of which turned out to be wrong, by the way!).

I've tried to be more open to making time for strangers at the store to peer in at a sleeping Samara, and answer numerous questions about her headful of hair, even when I really just want to grab a few items and make my way through checkout. After all, isn't appreciating and loving on a little baby a sign that there's still humanity left in the world?  I remind myself that I'll miss these days once she's older.

But, if I get to cash in my one complaint card, it's for this typical exchange:
Stranger: Look at those blue eyes! They are so lovely!
Me: Thanks
Stranger: Will they stay blue?
Me: I doubt it. My older daughter was also born with blue eyes, but they eventually turned brown.
Stranger: Oh, what a shame! That's too bad!

What?????

Did these folks fail to hear that my first daughter has brown eyes? And brown eyes do not make her any less beautiful. Not to mention the fact that I have brown eyes...is that a shame, too?

I realize I might be overly sensitive here, but I find these comments overtly offensive. Somehow, people have put a premium on blue eyes as though they are the be all that ends all. I get the same comments about Samara's straight hair: 'It won't stay straight? It'll curl? What a pity!'  Ya know, Shirley Temple made loads off her curls, and Van Morrison didn't sing about his 'blue-eyed girl'. When did these features become so undesirable? I can't help but feel that there is a subtle racial component underpinning all this...after all, there's only one ethnic group that consistently exhibits blue eyes and straight hair. So...if my children bear more of my traits than those of their Anglo father, then that's 'a pity'? What is the unspoken implication there? That my genetic contribution is inferior?

Scientific understanding of eye color has increased and evolved in recent years. The previous understanding was that eye color was determined by single dominant and recessive alleles at a single locus, aka--a person with blue eyes would have to have two recessive alleles for blue eyes, but a person with brown eyes could either have two dominant allele for brown eyes, or one recessive blue and one dominant brown. It's been determined, however, that eye color is much more complex, involving many alleles at several loci. Bottom line, just because I have brown eyes and likely have passed a dominant brown allele to my baby, there is still a chance she could keep her blue eyes. Personally, I find the science behind this much more interesting than how she looks with whatever eye color. Having said that, I would love for her to have blue eyes like her dad. I would also be thrilled if she ends up with brown eyes like her mama. Or maybe she'll fool all of us and end up with grey, green or amber eyes.

Whatever her final eye color, she'll always be my beautiful girl, and there's no pity or shame in that.

Snippets...on character

Heard recently: I've realized that it's easy to feel sorry for someone when they're going through a hard time, but it's harder to feel happy for them when they're doing well, especially if they're doing better than you.

Snippets...on cookie nostalgia

After much testing and re-testing, my findings suggest that vanilla Oreos are simply a modern-day version of Vienna Fingers. Swap the oblong for the round, and there you go...New (but really the same) cookie.

Made By Hand

We've gotten so many wonderful gifts for our new little girl, and I've been remiss in writing up all the necessary thank you cards.  But in the meanwhile, I thought I'd post some pix of the really incredible handmade hats, blankets and quilts that family and friends have made and sent along.  It was great fun posing Samara in different positions to capture just the right look as she sported her new gear.  Thanks to Meghan, Miss Linda, Shelie and Tyuana for the lovely baby wares. We love them! And special thanks to Miss Linda for including a special extra something for our dear Bryony...she already carries it around her shoulders during our evening tv time...

Aunt Tyuana made hats in blue, green and pink, since we didn't know what gender baby was going to be.  But...we're a family with no gender color boundaries, so we love all three!

Even Bryony decided to try out the green one

 

Our friend Meghan is a wonder on the sewing machine, and knows how much this mama loves nature and the outdoors.  She combined her gift with my passion, and made Samara this lovely baby blanket.  We all love the woodland animals!

Miss Linda, our favorite librarian, is a master quilter and so thoughtfully made this lovely baby quilt for Samara.  We love the soft, whimsical print on the one side, and the funky bold print on the other!

And, because she's Miss Linda, she didn't forget the first Mittman girl she knew.  Bryony adores this big-girl quilt that was waiting in the parcel for her, too. <3 br="">

Our former midwife Shelie is an avid (and talented) knitter, and immediately contacted me to let me know she'd be passing along one of her famous hats.  Although she waited til baby was born (and gender revealed) to knit the hat, she pleased this mama's heart by avoiding the compulsory pink for more neutral colors.  Love, love, love!

And The Newest Charley Is...

Samara Aspen Dior Mittman, born Saturday, 18 January 2014 at 8:34pm. She bears a striking resemblance to her big sister, and she is absolutely perfect.

First day home, snuggled up and cozy.

Cheeks!!!

Just born, meeting Dad for the first time.

In my arms, posing in her sleep for the relatives.

Wonderful big sis giving Samara cuddles.

First hour home, cuddled and sleeping with Mama.

Meeting Cousin Alex for the first time...

Mama's sweet baby.

Away We Go

Woke up this morning to contractions every 10 minutes or so, but soon after getting out of bed, my mucous plug emerged.  Contractions sped up to every 5-7 minutes. Called the birth center and spoke to my midwife, who encouraged me to get there sooner rather than later.  Called my sister to ask her to pick up B sooner rather than later.  Called Adam at work to ask him to come home sooner rather than later.

B is off to my sister's house now, the dogsitter has been notified, Adam should be home in less than an hour, and the birth center is preparing a room for us.  Everything about this labor feels different than B's did 4 1/2 years ago, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed for a good turnout, nonetheless. 

I was hoping for an orgasmic birth this time, and even got my head into that mindset last night before bed.  Each contractions came and I threw my head back trying to feel the utter pleasure of it all.  That lasted awhile, but now that the morning has come and the contractions are much more intense, it's harder to find orgasmic pleasure.  Rather, I'm finding solace in other ways...I'm thinking of every single power ballad I know the words to and belting it out during contractions (which helps A LOT!).  The sweetest thing was having B, who felt really protective of and worried about me as she watched me muscle through the contractions, hold on tight and cuddle with me through them.  That was awesome.  That little girl has so much internal strength and compassion.  She could be a doula or midwife herself one day :-)

I feel strong and brave and powerful and unafraid.  I don't know where these emotions are coming from--instinct, perhaps?--but I'm ready for this.  Baby and I are both ready.  Bring it.

Pre...something

I decided not to announce my due date or any other pregnancy progression on Facebook this go-round.  Five years ago, when I was pregnant with Bryony, I announced my due date, my prelabor pains and just about every other sign that baby was forthcoming...and after four days in labor, I had an inbox full of e-mails, a flurry of text messages and voicemails and missed phone calls.  I realized that a) when people see a "due date" they think that means an expiration date, so if you're coming even close to it, they start to ask ridiculous questions like, "Isn't that baby out of you yet?", and b) the last thing (this) woman in labor needs is a bunch of anxious, curious, and sometimes-demanding inquiries into why the baby hasn't arrived yet.  So, this time, I've just decided to stay mum.  I just told people the baby is due in January, but I didn't say when.

Well, here, dear blog, I'll confess that I am currently in prelabor (yay!).  I've been having contractions since yesterday evening.  They were coming every 3-4 minutes, so I figured they were Braxton-Hicks, especially since they weren't painful, just very strong.  After drinking a very large glass of water, the contractions begged off after about 45 minutes.  I slept fitfully last night, but woke up this morning to a hard-as-rock belly and painful contractions every 10-11 minutes.  Those lasted a good hour, even after drinking water, so I started to think I was in for the real thing.  But after getting up to walk around a bit, eating a bit of food and drinking more water, the contractions subsided to every 30 minutes or so, but still painful. 

And that's where I am now.  I spent the first half of the day in bed, just letting myself rest.  Around 1pm, I started looking around the house, growing nervous that I could bring our new baby home to all the floating dog fur, cat hair and dust bunnies that have run amok in the last week.  So I got up and started doing a deep clean of the bathroom, bedroom and floors.  Good idea in terms of housecleaning...bad idea in terms of my physical state.  The contractions are still irregular, but they hurt a bit more when they come.  I'll probably start timing them in the next half hour or so to make sure I'm not going into active labor.

So that's it, dear blog.  I confess this only to you, and my faithful readers :-)  More news when it arrives.

And Then I Saw This

This link to an interview with Bill Nye (The Science Guy) just came across my Facebook feed (thank goodness I still log in from time to time for little gems like this one).  Remember Bill Nye from our elementary and junior high school years?  His show had the corny song, and he looked even cornier with his big bow tie?  But remember how much we LEARNED about the world around us because he made it so easy and fun for us to understand?  At what point did people decide to forget that science is not only cool, interesting and factual (not to mention, makes sense) and stick their heads in the sand instead???

This link is to a 3-minute interview with Bill Nye...a scientist who has helped change the world.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXLdcqIj-SA

Snippets...on science

On the cover of this week's Parade magazine is world-renowned (and much beloved) astrophysicist Neil DeGrasse Tyson.  I LOVE this guy.  Not only does he make science fun and accessible to folks who might normally not think of themselves as particularly interested or "science-savvy", but he also happens to be hilarious.

As I was reading the article about the so-called "Master of the Universe", I was struck by one particular paragraph in the article:
"...Tyson sees himself as a citizen of the entire universe, and he believes knowledge about science can help protect what [Carl] Sagan called 'the pale blue dot' of Earth.  '[The science documentary] Cosmos is not only about updating you on what science is but also conveying why it matters--especially in the 21st century, when issues related to science are fundamental to political issues,' Tyson says. 'These are political hot potatoes that could be settled or informed if we became more scientifically literate.'"

Issues such as climate change, vaccinations, GMO's, amongst others could become non-issues (or at least, seen simply as partisan talking points rather than true scientific unknowns) if a greater contingent of the public understood science, even on a base level.  The fact that many people who self-identify as "climate change deniers" don't understand the scientific process, don't understand how scientific theories and laws are developed, and don't understand what a preponderance of empirical evidence is...well it's frustrating, considering all of these things are taught in junior high.  We have 12-year olds who have a better handle on how science works and why it matters than their parents do.

I remember listening to an episode of The Diane Rehm Show on NPR several years ago, where the subject being discussed was climate change.  Her panel of expert guests were scientists representing various agencies and organizations, and they all extolled the fact that climate change is, indeed, happening.  At one point in the discussion, when Diane opened the phone lines, a caller admonished her for not inviting a panel member "from the other side" to represent the opinion that climate change is not occurring.  Diane (very correctly, in my opinion) answered that it is not her practice to have a contrasting opinion represented during a scientific discussion, when the overwhelming evidence (and overwhelming consensus of the scientific community) is contrary to that dissenting opinion.  That would be like having a serious intellectual discussion about gravity, and bringing someone onto the discussion panel who claims that gravity does not exist on Earth. 

I sometimes wonder about people who are anti-science.  Science is what has propelled medicine, air travel, electronics, agriculture, food safety, energy, amongst many other things we take for granted.  Why people would trust politicians to feed them information on climate change when they would never trust one to fly a plane, perform surgery, inspect their food, or develop reliable energy sources...I don't understand.  Why do folks doubt science so much?  Especially in a time where scientists don't tend to be rich (and yet the average member of Congress is a millionaire) or bow to special interest groups, I can't quite put my finger on how scientists have ended up as the "bad guys" in so many people's minds.

I think many people in this country are intimidated by intellect and education.  Heck, I can admit that I am!  I love science, and I understand it to a large extent, but I am nowhere near the level of being an elite scientist.  But, rather than feel alienated or defensive by this fact, I tend to embrace the fact that there are people like Neil DeGrasse Tyson who DO understand many things about the world far better than I ever will.  I look to them to explain this subject matter in a way that I CAN understand, so that I can make more informed decisions about how my elected officials should create policy.  I don't look to politicians for the answers.

Carl Sagan's widow, Ann Druyan, states in the Parade article that after years of "hostility toward science", we "are beginning to look up at the stars and dream again."

If putting Neil DeGrasse Tyson on the cover of the magazine is any sign, then I sure do hope so.

I Almost Included a Picture, But Decided Against It

With temperatures here having dropped to below freezing due to the so-called "polar vortex," we've stayed inside the last few days to keep warm.  The forecast for the rest of the week, however, suggests that we'll be getting a significant thaw out soon, with temps hitting the 40s and perhaps 50s by the weekend. 

That little bit of news reminded me that I had some work to do in the backyard.  Without going into too much graphic detail, let's just say that we have two decent-sized (50-lbs-ish) dogs, and that I haven't been in the backyard since before our last snowfall (approximately 1 week ago).  This was put-my-big-girl-boots-on type of work.  B asked if she could join me, but the idea of her stepping in the "wrong" place was just too much to have to think about, so I banished her to the dining table to draw while I set about my work.

So glad I doubled up on my plastic bags.  So glad I wore my boots.  So glad I'm not color-blind like the hubby and am able to differentiate leaves from "other things."  So glad my thigh muscles are strong enough still to deal with the constant crouching so I didn't have to try to bend over this pregnant belly.  So (especially) glad I don't have an ultra-sensitive gag reflex.

I filled (to the top) a nice, doubled-up, heaving-under-the-weight bag of the stuff that's really good to pick up when temps are still keeping things frozen.  This post would've gone a whole different way if I'd waited until the big thaw tomorrow. 

I almost included a picture.  Aren't you glad I decided against it?

Taking a Bit of a Hiatus

From Facebook, that is.  I've realized that whenever I'm away from my computer for an extended period of time, I don't miss checking Facebook, but I DO miss writing here on my blog. There are other reasons for leaving Facebook for awhile, including

-increasingly troubling security issues
-a need to rid my friend list of people I haven't seen or known in 15+ years that have unrestricted access to my photos, thoughts, groups, etc
-it's time-sucking/wasting, and I could be a lot more productive without it
-it's self-indulgent and self-promoting, and encourages me to broadcast to the masses many photos/stories that I would typically have shared with only family and a handful of friends
-I spend too much time checking to see who has "liked" or commented on the aforementioned stories/photos I posted; it's like I'm vying for top prize in an online popularity contest
-I miss the time I once devoted to this blog

I won't be deleting my account, or even stop checking Facebook.  But I do plan to substantially lessen the amount of time I spend on the site.  I'm hoping my next post will really only be about the birth of this next baby.  For all its faults, Facebook is a great way to stay in touch with many people I do love and care about, but wouldn't normally be able to communicate with so frequently.  I don't mean to demonize the site; I just want to better the way I use it.