our spring trip, post 1: the people of our travels

Three airplanes took Z and I to the southwest for a sweet and short reunion with Jason after six weeks apart. These are some of the characters we saw, heard, or interacted with. (When I have better internet, I'll post pics and tell of our travels after that point, including Portland and Sequim. For immediate reportage on our time in Portland, you could visit Rachel's blog or this link at Christi's blog.)

• In one airport, Zoralee gave her tiny plastic horses to a little Indian boy in purple tennis shoes. Sidenote: I can already hear my mother saying, "She was probably a girl! See how confusing it is when people don't dress their children like obvious boys or girls?" To which I reply, "Yes, I see now," because it took me several minutes to decide boy, and I'm still not willing to bet the farm. However, we put Zoralee in a thick plaid hand-me-down jacket today, a very boyish article, and she looked more like herself than in pink, that's for sure. I thought mauve pants would even her out, but she was called a boy with the utmost of confidence by a grandmotherly store clerk. End of sidenote. The Indian boy. He accepted Z's peace offerings as she placed them in his hands one by one, and then he promptly threw them about the waiting area. Z sat on my lap and stared at him, as she does new people, and was resolute to not go with him when he tried to drag her away by the wrist.

• I speculated that the boy's parents were married by arrangement. She was young, very beautiful, and sullen; he must've had 15 years on her and was not a handsome or friendly man. His eyes were harsh and cold. The two of them expressly avoided communication with each other, and she exuded the sentiment that the sooner he dropped over of a heart attack, the better.

• On our longest flight, from Seattle to L.A., we shared a seat with a very affectionate, Asian, teenage, lesbian couple. It was our most random seat pairing, wouldn't you agree? The gal right next to us took an immediate interest in Zoralee, and was very helpful the whole flight long, during her breaks from cuddling. At one point, as I was nursing Z, she pulled the blanket aside and peeked in to see how Z was doing. It was really funny. There wasn't a lot of verbal exchange, or rather, when I tried that, I was met with a blank stare, but she was so patient as Z passed her piles of books and toys.

• In the motel restaurant one morning, Zoralee was sat up to the table in her Sassy Seat when she was approached by a 10-year old boy with fuzzy red hair, who wore a t-shirt that said, "GOD WINS." He jumped around and played peek-a-boo and generally set about entertaining Z, while his mother tried to persuade him to come eat. Later we saw him in the hall playing with a yo-yo which he had taken up the day before; turned out our rooms were across the hall from each other. He asked Zoralee's name, and when I told him, he said, "Well that's just cute," like a kind, old man.

• One night, I could hear the people next door arguing, though actually, it was the woman doing the work. Phil just listened.

• Generally speaking, it surprises me how loud people in motels are late at night, both in their rooms and walking down the hallways. It's like they forget they are in a place where other people have specifically come and paid good money to sleep. The people who wish to sleep might even have babies, you know? And the babies might have a hard time settling down when there are loud, sporadic noises, conversations, knocks on doors and subsequent yelling to "come on out, Hank! The car's started!" Hello. Hi. Yeah, we're on the other side of a really thin door from you, and since it's the middle of the night, we're sleeping. Last night I fantasized about opening our door and slapping a sign on the outside that said, "WE'RE SLEEPING. SHUT YER PIE HOLE." Why pie hole, I don't know. Just seems like a redneck intervention is the only thing that would get through.

• In the same store where Z was called a boy (though that's hardly newsworthy; it happens continually), a man walked up to Jason, who was holding Z, and said to Z in a reeeeally high-pitched, loud voice, "Hiiiii! How are youuuuuuuuu???" I guessed by his behavior that he was deaf or mentally handicapped, so I smiled at his joy over Zoralee. But then he said to Jason "Adorable" in a super low base voice at normal speed! It surprised us both. Then he repeated the whole thing, verbatim. "Hiiiiiii! How are youuuuuuu???" to Z, and this time he grabbed her face. Jason pushed his arm down and away. It was kind of freaky. Then he repeated "Adorable" in the base voice again. Oh my gosh; it was just really, really strange. Almost like he was possessed. But I think he was just drunk.

Zoralee....and a few others of us

Z and Auntie Rachel during her visit a couple weekends ago

the twos of us

Grandpa Gene made this little push cart for Z. She loves it! She started off with stuffed animals then graduated up to real. But it's her ultimate favorite to be the cargo.

"Guh buh, guh buh, guh buh, guh buh"

Interpretation: good boy, good boy, good boy, good boy Auntie Heather is the ride giver here, complete with conductor style cap.

feeding the horses with Grandpa Larry

first time up the driveway, which we're on or near each day....

...necessitating a SLOW sign

(permanent marker on the back of a large weather-proof "For Sale" sign)

- Though they might not be recognizable to you yet, this is Z and Poppy in a couple years. -

skyping Jason

the curly ways (of hair and blogs)

And I thank ye for your interest.

Now then, would you let me take a minute to work out some mental curls? I know I have said these same things before. I am insecure.

It's like this: I feel like a shallow, egotistical maniac posting hair pictures (or practically any pictures having to do with me or my own family) while young girls somewhere on the same globe are being forced to fix their hair for another day in the sex trade industry, and a child is lying underneath a rubble heap after an earthquake, and old and sick people are forgotten by society, and worse yet, their own families. Even in my own world, heartache lurks. Those close to me are trapped under mountains of debt, or the sickening anxiety of having their voices taken, or relational confusion.

This is one reason my blogging is so sporadic. I sit down to post yet another scrap of silliness that seems irrelevant to the suffering of the world. It may be meaningful to me, and somewhat to my family and friends, but I feel like a fool that this blog is not an intentional social commentary. It's not a forum on faith, politics, or social justice. It's just not. It's actually an online family time capsule. I think about the other things, and have other communities within which to face those truths and ask what to do about them (some of them your blogs), but not here. And this makes me feel very guilty and very stressed out. It's not an accurate picture of the whole me. And yet, I can't change it. I simply don't have (or am not making) time right now for it all. It's so much easier and quicker for me to document what I know... which is what I see around me...which is my family...and, in this case, my hair. So what does all of this mean, Tamie, from an Enneagramic perspective?!

I ran into an old high school friend the other day, and in the middle of telling me that her father in law had just died unexpectedly, she said she'd been waiting for me to post pics of my hair the curly way. It totally threw me.

Thinking about it later, either my old friend is an incredibly selfless individual to have the presence of mind for my hairdo in the midst of her own trauma, or selfless and selfish aren't such a big part of this picture as I'm making them to be. I guess, I think, I hope we need the little things - knowing how your friend's trip went and if your grandma is feeling okay today - to get through life, to enjoy life and each other, to endure heartache, to balance us out from all of the other craze. Right? You guys probably already know this. It's me who needs to work it out.

So, my self-reminders are 1. it's okay that my blog is trivial in the overall scheme of the universe, because we shouldn't take blogs for accurate portrayals of people as their whole selves, and 2. if we care only about ourselves (and then, only the surface things), and choose blindness to our neighbor's joys and sorrows, we're really missing out, both on reality and the chance to affect reality.

So there. Thank you again. In closing, let's all do our part to help a friend or enemy in need, and would you like to see a pair of fan-frickin'-tastic boots, the result of an ebay frenzy I went on several years ago? Okay then. Here they are.

Um...........

DRATS! I must not've downloaded them. Another time then. Another shallow, shallow time.

tuh-duuuuhhhhhh!

Here's a phone video my mom took when I first arrived home. You can't see my hair too well with it, but you can see Zoralee's reaction or lack thereof.

This is straightened and styled, of course, and what I will mostly wear is do-nothin' curls, which'll bring it a tad shorter. If it's too much of a fro, I can go in and get another style. I'll show pics of how I am able to style it another day! Probably the day I start wondering if this was a good move! ha ha ha [crazy person laughter]!!!

The stylist, now known as "my stylist" (right? cuz if I go back, I will have been there multiple times) said my face is heart shaped on the bottom and oval on top, making me not the best candidate for very short hair, because you're trying to get an oval all over. No offense to anyone in the lookin' good industry, but that seems a teensy horse pucky-esque to me, but I had a grand time! My stylist helped me decide on this style for now. She took her jolly old time, nearly two and a half hours to be exact. I guess cutting an A line requires cutting your hair wet, then fully drying and steam-rolling it, or whatever they call it (it'll come to me - - - - - - flat-ironing), and then cutting it again dry.

Know what advice she gave me for curly hair? Only rinse your conditioner half way out, then ring out your hair and put in some product (like that silky stuff) while you're still in the shower. Only towel it lightly if at all, and let it air dry. I let it air dry all the time, but the rest of those suggestions were new.

trying to take self-portraits with a child who wants the camera

Forget this. It's upstairs to let my mother photograph.

And there you have it! Thanks for playing along, folks!

By the way, that thing on the wall in the background has become a part of our family's folklore, and I might as well tell you about it while we're here. You see, my brother, Luke, used to get picked on in high school, specifically by a kid whom he sat behind in one of his classes. The kid would turn around and punch Luke in the chest each day. One day, Luke was ready for him and had this little instrument under his sweatshirt. It's a flat board with about 100 tiny nails in it. Like a classic underdog movie, the kid turned around in class, punched Luke, squealed in pain, and realized with sadness that he couldn't exactly tattle on Luke ("I was simply punching Luke's chest and felt this tremendous pain in my hand..."). He left Luke alone thereafter.

two hour countdown to the new me

I'm getting my hair chopped off.

Big day! I am swinging back and forth between various emotions, but I know it is high time. I have been growing this lock of curls out for eight loooong years. In fact, the years were much longer than my slow-growing hair ever was, and I'm thick of it. Just thick of it.

If anybody happens by this blog before 11 a.m. Montana time, let me know what you think of these styles. Of course, I am drawn to the straight hair, though I have curly. But still, if it's short, I may take the time to straighten it once in a blue moon. Also, I have chosen all blondies, though I am brown as the barren earth. Shoot. Additionally, I have a massive cowlick across my entire forehead, rendering banks impossible unless I force them down with the blowdryer. And I have chosen three girls clad in heavy bangs.

Dangit.

Bangit.

Still, despite these odds, I shall move forward with my hopes of a cute hair do!

more Zor (I should maybe rename my blog)

First things first. I report that Kitty turned out to be more than a one nap stand. Here they are at the toy shelf.

While I'm at it (because I never get around to blogging solely about the Montessori principles I keep hinting at), I will point out this Montessori-inspired shelf. Each shelf has only two or three toys on it, each toy in its own container, if appropriate. There is another bin across the room holding three or four stuffed animals, and a bookshelf in our bedroom with maybe 7 books on it. Z's extra books and toys are kept out of sight, and I am supposed to interchange them every couple of weeks (which happens when I remember), especially things she's not playing with. De-clutter their space; de-clutter their brains. Just like big people.

The idea is to allow kids to discover things afresh and to develop good concentration skills, rather than having hundreds of toys continually accessible and yet being bored. I saw this concept work remarkably well at the Montessori school where I subbed in Anchorage. Another Montessori idea (which I think Z is too young for?) is to have small rugs that the children can roll out to play on. It gives them a confined, designated play space, and really helps their concentration on the task at hand. They must put one activity away before engaging in another.

This rug photo is from http://mymontessorijourney.typepad.com/.

In answer to Darla, the two Montessori books I'm reading are Montessori From the Start: The Child at Home From Birth to Age Three (Lillard and Jessen), and How To Raise An Amazing Child the Montessori Way (Tim Seldin). That last one I felt like a real snob taking home from the library, because geez louise, I don't care about raising an amazing child just to raise an amazing child. HOITY TOITY to the max. But that book has tons of great ideas, and it's full of photographs. The first one is a heavier read, with lots of theory. The Montessori philosophy is to allow the potential that is already present in every child to be naturally unleashed, not to push them into amazingness for its own sake. As I have witnessed, kids are capable of so much more than we give them credit for, even as little tinies! I loved that short stint at the school in Anchorage. I feel like it shaped my perspectives of toddlers and pre-school aged children a great deal.
On the health front, Zoralee has had a rough month. Week 1: teething, Week 2: roseola measles (a.k.a. baby measles), Week 3: a chest cold, and Week 4: more teething. She has been needy and fussy, with a reduced appetite for solid food, and her sleep has been wretched. Besides this, she somehow knows that both liquid and chewable medicine is, in fact, medicine and not candy. This is another of the times I marvel at moms with more than one child, especially more than one sick child. Being near my own mother is my sanity at times like this; those two love each other quite immensely.

Aside from that, Z has continued to learn, thrive, and grow. A couple mornings ago, I had her on my bed trying to clip her toenails. She kept pointing to the floor and saying "Buh," which can mean several things, but which I took to mean "book" right then. There weren't any books in that spot, so I made one of those, "Mm-hmm, yeahhh" sort of regarding-yet-disregarding comments that you make often to talkative toddlers. I walked through the living room and encouraged her to come upstairs for breakfast. She wouldn't go up the stairs. She pointed to the bedroom. Okay, okay. I followed her back in, and she lifted the corner of her bed blanket to reveal a tiny black spider. Ohhhh, BUG! That's what she meant. I picked him up and took him outside. She's learning that when we're downstairs, Mommy puts bugs outside, and when we're upstairs, Grandpa vacuums them up. But isn't that cool? She must've seen him crawl across the floor and under her bed, and she knew to lift the blanket to find him. And she kept her mind on him, in spite of me leading her upstairs, where she is usually anxious to go.

Last week we figured it was time for Z to see her pediatrician, mostly to verify that she didn't have the Black Lung, Pop, but also because evidently people do this with their children about once a year. Z's congestion was just upper respiratory, so no worries on that, and the nurse practitioner confirmed by my photo and descriptions that Z had likely had roseola measles, also no worry. She is 31" long (75th percentile) and 18 pounds, 4 ounces (not yet on the chart). So, she's long and lean, a little factoid we had picked up on without the official charts.

As for EC (Elimination Communication) these days, Z is diaper free at home. We've done that off and on her whole life, but this time it's pretty permanent, other than at night. I diaper her when we go to town too, for my own peace of mind, though she potties in any bathroom if I can keep her well enough entertained. She averages one miss per day, which she signals me about while she's piddling on the floor. She poos in the toilet, with a miss once a month. A lot of people are surprised (I sure was) that getting babies to poo in the pot is the very easiest thing of all. She has been doing it some since we started EC at three weeks of age.

My biggest problem has been getting her to be content to sit still on the potty. Whenever I ask if she needs to go potty, her standard answer is "no no no no no." She is such a wiggle worm that I have to let her watch cell phone videos, and I sometimes resort to candy bribery (which might mortify EC hard liners, as natural pottying isn't supposed to be about reward or punishment). That usually keeps her still enough to release her bowels if she needs to go.

Well, hm. I was going to end this post right there, but I feel I should end it with a sentence without the word "bowels." So, here's a little tidbit from today, which I posted on facebook, but hey, some things are worth doubling up on. Zoralee brought me a bit of packing peanut and wondered what it was. I told her it was styrofoam, and she held it up to her ear and said, "Hah-lo." No, I told her, not a cell phone, but styrofoam. This is starting to get very fun, watching her make connections between objects that we adults categorized separately long ago.

Final note: spellcheck says styrofoam should be capitalized. I'm sorry. I cannot with any level of intellectual honesty capitalize styrofoam.

bold misjudgements

I got a good kick out of this mail advertisement. If only these people knew us,

they wouldn't have wasted as much ink on this size of font.

Zoralee's 14th month - Scenes for Papa

you've gotta start somewhere

girls and their shadows