Francis

He's getting old, it dawned on me a couple weeks ago. Nearly ten years now!

Christmas

This year's Christmas celebration was greatly hindered by my catching a particularly strong bout of food poisoning. I will spare the details save this: I never thought I would willingly ask (beg?) for an IV and openly submit my arms to the dreaded fishing for a good vein. (I am notoriously hard to poke and this time did not relieve that reputation.) Still on the mend, but doing much better.

With our dining table in the living room (we are still moving in!) Grama Carolyn shares a pre-dinner salad snack with Annabelle a couple nights before Christmas. I was finally able to finish sewing Annabelle's teepee and had that set up for her that morning as a surprise. (And it is amazing to see that Annabelle finally loves salad as much as we do!)

Here Annabelle squeezes the juice from Clementines to make sorbet with Oma Shirley the day after Christmas. New recipes and all things cooking are enjoyed here and making the sorbet was a fun first! (And now I yearn to have my own sorbet maker to do the same!) The new Clementines (also called Mandarin Oranges) are the first citrus that Annabelle has ever been able to tolerate. She truly enjoyed the fruits of her labor this morning with a bowl of homemade sorbet for breakfast!

Prima

Being the best.

One of Annabelle's favorite Christmas gifts is clearly her new ballerina costume, complete with tutu. And when she puts it on she also dons her ballerina persona. This evening she went into her bedroom a four year old and came back out again as our own personal prima ballerina. With her head held high, she spoke to me without making eye contact:

Annabelle :: I am the first ballerina. That means I am the best ballerina.

Me :: (wondering where she learned what 'best' means) It does?

Annabelle :: And THAT means that all the other ballerinas are NOT the best because I am first. THAT means that they have to sit down and sing while I dance!

Me :: What will they sing?

Annabelle :: (whispering) They will sing softly.

And then she began to dance in the kitchen, but quickly realized that she needed help to do what she wanted to do. So she solicited Dave to come and assist her. After five minutes of arguing and tears and storming off to her bedroom because he was "doing it wrong" they figuring it out and performed a spectacular duet to some Christmas music playing in the background.

THIS was the move she was trying to orchestrate with Dave. And by the complete seriousness on her face they are doing it perfectly.

Dave was clearly enjoying himself while playing ballerina with Annabelle. In the middle of their dance he said, "She really is very graceful! Look at her!" and she promptly did a face plant directly into the floor. Dave leaned down, and said with genuine optimism, "Did you do that on purpose?" Which made me laugh, the idea that Annabelle might have done the perfect face plant.

Not wanting to intrude too much with my camera, the pictures are simultaneously priceless and shoddy...

Here Dave stood in his well practiced Battement Frappe while Annabelle dances in circles around him. I know this picture will make many readers of this blog very happy.

With the duet complete, Annabelle continued on to the second part of the program. It was now time for her to join all the "others" in their song:

Annabelle :: First I will sing.

Ballerina is the best!
All the other
ballerinas are NOT the best!

(pause)

Annabelle :: Now, all the other ballerinas sing.

Good we be, good we think.
Dances are arising
Good and truth in my heart!

Good can sing, good can sing!
All the dance you can hear!

After that she posed to have her photograph taken in a few different ballet positions. (Where did she learn all this?) Then she was done as quickly as it all began and bedtime ensued.

Two more days

Annabelle arrived home this afternoon to see the little Advent nature table I set up for her. Amid the boxes and leftovers of moving, I cleared a small table and created a breathing space to reflect the season. She was very, very happy to find it there, next to our very simple Christmas tree, and asked me to light the candles with her several times.

Finally, after dinner, I lit the candles with her one by one, reciting the Advent verse:

The first light of advent is the light of stones
Light that shines in seashells, in crystals, and in bones.

The second light of advent is the light of plants
Light that reaches up to the sun and in the breezes dance.

The third light of advent is the light of beasts
Light of hope we may see in the greatest and the least

The fourth light of advent is the light of man
Light of human thought, to love and understand.

Then she asked me to take several pictures of her standing next to the table. First she simply smiled. Then she crossed her arms "like in kindergarten." Then she wanted a "fancy" picture and placed her hands above her head and stood on her toes like a ballerina. Then she said, "Now I will stand the way I stand at Advent." And she crossed her hands upon her heart.

The colors seemed so bright in the picture, so I dulled down the midtone. It makes it seem like more of a photograph from the 1970s, but the emphasis is brought more to Annabelle instead of the strong reds and blues and whites.


This has been a season of learning to forget some of the details to be able to get the job done. In the past I have been guilty of simply not doing something only because it couldn't be done up to some standard that I held with greater importance than just having whatever it was in a more simple way.

I came just a little bit closer to relaxing today as I put together this little nature table for Annabelle: Allowing myself to forget the silk back drop and pretend that I didn't really mind the shutters on the wall just above, and countless other things that have wedged themselves into what I consider a "good" nature table. Because I HAD to admit that having a table for Annabelle, even if substandard, was absolutely better than not having one at all.

And (as she likes to say) guess what? Annabelle loved it.

Bunny

Lately Annabelle has become fully engaged in personifying animals. This may come from the stories she hears in kindergarten, but I'm not sure. She is often a monkey, a bunny, a mouse, or a rolley-polley. And for some reason all these animals like to play hide-and-seek in the bed covers, particularly the rolley-polley.

Last night as she was getting out of the bath she complained that she was cold. Dave dried her off as quickly as possible but it wasn't fast enough. She began to cry a little bit and within five seconds was howling. She wailed that she was very very VERY cold and she wanted her pajamas on. Of course, brushing teeth is impossible when those teeth are located in a mouth that is screaming. Things escalated and then:

Annabelle :: I AM COLD LIKE A BUNNY WITHOUT ANY HAIR.

To be sure we understood, she hollered that statement three or four times. And after I hid in the hallway to make sure I could quell my smile, I came to appreciate the jump from personification to simple comparison.

I have been told this panic-riddled dissatisfaction with everything is partly what it means to be four years old. I had truly begun to worry about Annabelle's happiness and coping skills because the smallest things seem to send her over the edge and it generally catches me by surprise. And other seemingly big things warrant a simple, "That's okay!" Those moments surprise me too.

Today in the car on the way home Annabelle began to cry and tell me that she was very upset because she did not have any new toys to play with.

Annabelle :: I am without no new toys!

Me :: Good thing Christmas is coming soon!

Annabelle (crying for real) :: I do NOT want to go back to that place with all the old toys!

Me :: What place?

Annabelle :: That place, our HOUSE. All the toys there are OLD and I SAID I ONLY WANT NEW TOYS.

Me :: (silent)

Annabelle :: I AM WITHOUT NEW TOYS. WE NEED TO GO TO THE TOY STORE RIGHT NOW!

I began to talk to Annabelle about what we would be doing for the remainder of the afternoon, and about unpacking some more of her favorite toys, and making something to eat. She was silent. I turned to look at her and she was fast asleep.

I think we all need this Christmas break that is coming up. Just a few more days... And I'll bet for sure that Santa has some toys in his sack for her!

True Love

Annabelle :: When I feel my heart beating I think it is telling me that it loves me.

Strawberry

Last night Annabelle woke up with a fever and then threw up. A little hustle and bustle, a bed swap and she was soon settled next to me in bed, with Dave having an overnight in her room. I checked on her several times and she was sweaty, but sleeping soundly.

In the morning I was up at six am and reveled in a whole hour by myself, getting ready as usual. I even had time to make some bacon! Just as I was about to sit down to breakfast, I heard Annabelle's little feet padding around the corner. She hugged me and then wiped her nose on her sleeve, and a big streak of red told me she had a bloody nose.

Annabelle :: There's jam in my nose!

The run to the bathroom was quick, but by the time I returned my bacon was all burned and smoking up the house. Then, too many things to fit in and I was nearly late to school this morning. All morning I kept smelling burned bacon waft from my sweater.

I arranged some substitutes for the rest of the day and returned to find Annabelle happy and healthy, having a fun resting day at home. We curled up and slept together all afternoon. She awoke feeling all better, I awoke knowing that I had caught her little bug.

Funny how becoming sick can assuage the guilt of taking a sick day when you are healthy.

We unpacked a couple more boxes, rearranged the kitchen cupboards, sorted through the silverware. We set out some Christmas decorations. Annabelle drew pictures of houses and trees with my colored pencils. We played card games on the kitchen floor.

There was one constant through all of this activity: Annabelle's newly developed propensity for saying the word "poop".

As of late, if Annabelle does not receive something that she has asked for (whether nicely or rudely) she will look at you out of the corner of her eye and quietly say, "Poopy" with a frown. I cannot help but remember when she was two years old and began to use the word "Deedee" as a swear word of sorts, throwing out the same look and frown and quietly saying, "Deedee" whenever she didn't get what she wanted. Now the name calling is more obvious, though just as annoying.

If the situation escalates she becomes far more direct, "You poopy! Poopy, poopy, poop, POOP!" And will then mutter to herself, "Poopy peepee poopy peepee." It's quite something.

And like most parents, I have a tendency to believe that she didn't come up with this all by herself, but learned it from another child at school. I love believing that, even in the face of Annabelle telling me that no one at school says it ever, ever, just her.

On the other hand, Annabelle's teacher just called me to say that the recent stories that the children have been hearing about Saint Nicholas have really been affecting Annabelle and she has shared with the class that she wants to give a few gifts to the other children and those in the nursery. She particularly mentioned her birthday crown that I sewed for her a couple years ago that has become too small to wear.

Sometimes it is funny to be Annabelle's mother... getting called names one minute, and so amazed by her generosity the next.

Something to contend with

After living for a month in a vacant apartment with borrowed mattresses on the floor and a melamine folding table and two folding chairs, we finally retrieved our belongings from Oregon. Today I unpacked all my beloved porcelain and stoneware. Not one broken piece!

Last night Dave and I were talking about how difficult the past few months must have been for Annabelle, to be surrounded with someone else's belongings. Or no belongings at all. We both feel relieved to have our loved linens, books, toys, etc all back together with us.

After spending several hours unpacking and trying to fit the house together, it still looked like this:

Oh my.

How is it possible to unpack and unpack and unpack some more and still have this disaster to face every time you look up? This afternoon I stood still for a moment, in the middle of it all. Annabelle sat on the floor in the kitchen watching me.

Annabelle :: Guess what?

Me :: What?

Annabelle :: This house looks like our house in ____ville now!

Me :: Yes! It does, doesn't it?

Annabelle :: Only. (pause) It is a LOT smaller.

Me :: (silently considering the trade from our home on 1/2 acre to this apartment)

Annabelle :: Our house in Oregon was VERY BIG.

(pause)

Annabelle :: Where are all this things going to go?

Me :: I'm not sure.

Annabelle :: (arms spread wide) In Oregon we had THIS MUCH SPACE! My room was THIS BIG!

(pause, looking around)

Annabelle :: (two fingers pressed together tight) In this house my room is this small and I can not fit my things!

Me :: (laughing) We'll be just fine.

The really funny thing is that we are not the collecting sort. You might even say that we live very lean when it comes to stuff. Having stuff is not my art form. But I am very skilled in getting rid of things! In fact, it makes me kind of happy to look at that big pile of boxes and imagine how many boxes we'll fill with stuff to give away. I'm already up to two.

Let me know if you want anything, I'll just set it aside.

The Sun

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone–
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly
oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance–
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love–
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed–
or have you too
turned from this world–

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

-Mary Oliver