Due

I'm sure I've told you all the story of my first three children's due date.

I must have.

It's quite funny and goes a little something like this: Petra was due May 10, 2001, Soren was due May 10, 2003. Apparently Soren's due date was a bit of a mystery, but I remember being told he was due May 10. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Annike was conceived without me having a period since before Soren was born, not to mention a lost pregnancy between the two of them. Lars and I had tried for March, then April. I showed up at my midwife's office, we did an ultrasound, a couple of measurements showed May 9, a few showed May 11, and so on. The midwife and the doctor hemmed and hawed until I chimed in, "how about May 10?!".

This is how come my first three children have me celebrating 3-birthdays 3-weeks in a row.

In the moments between gasping for air, there are these episodes where we move in slow motion. The previous year has caught up to me and my angel-headed baby of 4-years has peacefully climbed up to the next rung and voila, she is five.

For her birthday, Annike wanted to go back to Los Angeles to see the La Brea Tarpits. Which we did.

We also went to the candy store at the farmer's market. Everyone got to pick sumpfing.

Mommies, Daddies, you know this face. This is the one that happens right before they ask, "how many may I have?"

"Cuz mostly I schee scheventeen fings I want, ok?" I'd have said, sure baby Mommy wants you to have 17-things. Annike's daddy gets grumpy on birthdays and holidays and candy-buying days, so he barked back that "one is enough." Oy.

"Huh?" She looks at me, hand on hip, eyes saying - "can you believe this guy?" Our eyes connect, she orders blue rock candy on a stick. There's a candy store in La Jolla that legends are made of, we're totally going there someday soon.

The kids and I are breathless at the possibilities. Lars takes aim from behind the camera, "don't get too crazy . . ."

Then, on the shelf at the candy store, what little trip wouldn't be complete without attempts made at a potrait of the Fab Four?

Tova got a candy necklace, cuz she should have candy now that she's 17-months. She was a little perturbed that we would put her candy on her neck, like we were trying to strangle her or something.

Daddy showed her the ropes, though.

A short time later, she had it all figured out seeing that she's so smart and all.

Finishing up at the Pits, where Annike picked out a punch balloon and a tar pits coloring book for presents, I just knew I'm the luckiest mama to have these puddings in my life.

Poor Beanie's back started hurting.

She didn't even want ice cream, which seemed pretty serious to me. Annike loves ice cream and she loves her birthday and she really likes dead mastodons, but she just wanted to sleep or cry. We gave her some ibuprofen and 1700-mgs of kisses, she went to sleep and we ate ice cream in her honor.

Later, on the way back to our piece of rock on the California coast, we stopped at an IHOP. She was happy by then and was still overflowing from having got to buy candy from the candy store.

New Babies!

It's surprising, I fully admit it.

What you don't know is that Lars and I have been scheming for quite some time now about adding to our little family. I know what you're thinking, "Gosh, Kelly, you still struggle to get Soren to blow his nose and Tova's still nursing, how could you possibly have more time for an even bigger family?". We're doing it anyway!

Did I mention that there are two of them? Yes! Twins. It's so exciting.

Girls. Precious baby girls.

Did I mention we've already brought them home?

Did I mention their names are Mildred and Thelma? Thelma is named for Lars' late maternal grandma, a hearty Norwegian farm wife. We thought it was a good start for our little Thelma. Mildred was named by Petra, in keeping with our tradition of Petra naming our babies for us.

The girls are 2-weeks old now.

Did I mention that they're Buff Orpingtons?

Yep, chickens.


Petra, with Mildred, and Soren, holding Thelma.



Annike, making one of the babies walk the plank over her brooder.

They got their first outdoor experience in our vegetable patch this afternoon. They were squealing with delight. Almost right away, Thelma -- the bigger of the two, found a dried up worm. Thelma ran to one of the Brussel sprout plants to have some alone time with her wormy, but Mildred was right on her tail.

Mildred wasn't the only family member right on Thelma's tail. Maggie is quite excited about our two new punks. She's very excited thinking about them becoming fat and juicy spider and compost fed hens. She can't wait to have dinner with them.

In fact, Mildred and Maggie weren't alone in hot pursuit of Thelma's tail feathers. Before they had a chance to escape under the zucchini, Tova made a grab for Thelma's hiney. Tova's a quick little imp, but she let go as soon as we all started screaming at her.

Thelma thought the best of her new digs and opted for a quick escape. She's not so subtle about it. Plus, she can't fly. Plus, she would never leave Mildred.

Stay tuned . . .

Where's Maggie?

Maggie is pretty much in shape with her inner-Zen self. She doesn't find any cause for extraneous activity. She believes in doing what needs to be done in order survive, all the while maintaining a fairly meditative state. Please don't assume that snoring sound coming from her is indicative of deep sleep. Maggie would like it known that Basset Hound snores and Basset Hound ohms are almost indistinct. Of course, Lars and I can tell the difference but it took years of paying attention and a couple of hurt feelings ("Maggie, for Pete's sake, yer not doin' anything!") along the way before we sufficiently trained ourselves to note the difference.

We are talking about meditating dogs now, aren't we?

Sheesh, I can't say for sure anymore.

Mostly, Maggie is meditative.

But sometimes she catches a scent . . .

from over there . . .

and being a hound dog, she feels compelled to follow it.

All too often, before we know it, Maggie and her nose are gone!

We look in all her favorite places, like her queen size bed . . .

her corner of the sofa . . .

and in the little nest she's made in the ivy underneath our orange tree.

The thing about Basset Hounds is that just when you think you know them, just when you go ahead and say something about Basset Hounds out loud -- "oh that little Magdalena Humphindinkleheimer is a creature of habbit" . . . well, you end up being wrong.

Turns out, Maggie Beast likes to shake it up. So, after an hour of searching and tearfully calling for her, she's found in the shade of the trampoline -- deeply meditative.

Although, it's not unheard of to 'lose' her to a pile of freshly washed clothes that are waiting to be folded and put away.

Intervention

Right before dinner tonight, I noticed Petra and Tova playing in the backyard in their jammies. Petra had plunked Tova on an old rusty tricycle that showed up at our doorstep one day; she strapped a helmet on her and then tethered her legs together with an orange jump rope. The Petra used the jump rope to tie Tova to the seat. I should have intervened, instead I watched and waited.

A short while later Soren joined them and then the plan clearly started to evolve.

If she was nervous about anything, Tova certainly didn't let it show.

Annike caught on to the adventure ensuing, and she scrambled to take her place. With a second jump rope, a scooter (also left mysteriously at our door one day) was attached to the back of the trike.

Then, peddling as fast as he could, with sharp turns and off-road detours, Soren pulled them all for a ride.

This feat would have never been possible without the vehicle donations and two (probably) stolen jump ropes. Oh, and four kids. You need four kids to do this kind of work.

Half Way Up, Half Way Out

A long, long time ago on Petra's 2nd birthday, exactly 1-week after Soren was born, she and I went out into our massive backyard, poked little holes in the soft dirt next to our chimney, threw in some seeds, sprinkled them with water and then left them.

Several months later, the seeds sprouted sunflowers. They grew beyond where our roof met the walls of the house. Later they grew up to the roof line, depositing seed across our shingles.

She was 2-years old. We had tiny Petra and her tiny new baby brother. We had a tiny house. We drove tiny cars. We were a tiny family. But, we had these huge sunflowers. They were probably trying to tell us something. There was some foreshadowing in the stems of those suckers.


Over the years, things changed. And now, here we are. We're so much bigger. I suppose I'm probably romanticizing those early days, the simplicity we had in that little blue house of ours with just two small children so close in age that eventually people began to think they were twins. I marvel now at the thought that Petra is the one who started this all.

Unbearably and without much foresight, Petra Leigh turned 9-years old today. As the clock struck 1 o'clock this morning, Petra managed to turn nine in her sleep snuggled next to her homey and little sister. Shortly after that, she groggily flopped onto our bed, complaining that she couldn't sleep because Taylor was kicking her too hard and Annike was snoring too loud.

She was eager for 9-years old. She had blueberry pancakes this morning, then kissed me goodbye before she flew off to Taylor's place to go bareback horseback riding. I stuttered, came up with an excuse to nurse Tova but then couldn't take it. Instead, I grabbed my camera and ran after her. I mean, really, you all know what is on my mind. Birthdays are tough for me. I lament and flubbber. I make resolutions to give them a better childhood, to be a better mother, to do more good stuff and less screechy stuff. Of course, this time of year is rough for me. Soren starts it all with his birthday, the next week is Petra's, the next week is Annike's, and the close of the month marks Lars' birthday.

I'm running out of time with my kids being children and my husband's birthday just means I'm gonna be older soon too and I'll stop remembering things sure enough and I haven't even ordered my walker or big sunglasses that stick on over my readers and wrap around the sides of my face!

Today, Lars said the most horrid things. Awful things. I almost feel as if I couldn't say them here, now, today, under these circumstances. He said that she, at age nine, is half-way grown up now. He said she was half-way outta our house.

We took her out to lunch with her favorite two sisters and her best brother. We went all the way to the big city, she wanted to go to Corvette's Diner. Which we did. I made her order from the kids menu. I didn't even let her see that they serve Cesar salads there, she just had to order from the kids menu, else it woulda stung too much. She had pop, which is expressly forbidden in the world of orthodontia. She had French fries, which is what 9-year olds do. She had a milk shake, which is what birthday children do.

She did big girl things, like dances that people did back before even I was born. She did sassy eyes and brazenly looked into the camera . . . 'I dare you, fools, to say I'm still 8!'

Then at home she nestled into the front lawn and wrote down all her 9-year old thoughts and feelings. But, when I look at her pages, they were filled with her outline for her upcoming book report. On her birthday, which is on a weekend, she worked on her homework? She's like a 19-year old. She does these things because she wants to go to UCLA, 3rd grade achievements weigh heavily in their admissions process.

Later she humored us with our age old tradition of planting sunflower seeds on her birthday. We planted them all over our front yard. Now, though, I know better. I know that when they reach our roof, really what they're trying to get me to establish is that my children are going to reach new heights soon whether I'm ready or not.