the plane trip up

One week ago, I was frantically running about the house in hopes of making that day's flight out. With some extra babysitting by my folks and cutting a few corners (to where now my mom is mailing us a box of forgotten tidbits), we made it to the airport. I was one of those dreaded non-rev passengers who shows up at the very last minute with too heavy of luggage, has to repack at the counter, forgets to tell them about the baby, and has to run back to the car and get the car seat to check. I remember those inconsiderate passengers when I worked for the airline.

Mostly, Zoralee did great flying. She nursed contentedly on take offs and landings for both flights. While they were revving the big jet’s engines for take off from Seattle, her eyes got round and confused, but she kept drinking. And when we our tires hit the ground in Anchorage, everything started shaking, including her head and my boob in her mouth. Very funny. I would've shouted for everybody to come see, but for the darned seat belt sign.

She was a ball of energy the entire time, other than a small nap in the Ergo that started in the Seattle airport while we waited to board and ended while we were on the taxiway. Otherwise, she needed to be entertained. We went from one activity to another, and it was great when something lasted on the order of minutes. I was utterly exhausted and my neck and back really tight by the time we hit Anchorage, from the combination of keeping her busy and worrying she’d be a nuisance to people.

Two best parts:

David met me at the Seattle airport! He drove there from Portland, on his out-of-the-way back to Montana, just to hang for our 2 hour layover. The guard, of course, wouldn’t let me hand Z off to him while I went back for food, so we talked on cell phones from opposite sides of the security hallway, looking at each other, the guard between us, making our meal plans, because we wanted something from inside of security while I was there. When we did meet up, David chased Zoralee around while I scarfed a fish taco and fries. We wondered what could be going through Zoralee’s mind, to all of a sudden see Uncle Dave in a totally bizarre environment, and then we get on another machine and fly away.

Zoralee was the most attentive passenger during the flight attendants’ presentation. She sat on my lap, facing forward, and her little head poked out into the aisle to watch this strange lady pointing and waiving and carrying on. She must've thought, “Now this is some sign language, Mom. You need to get with the program.”

In closing, here are some great tips for flying with a kidlet that Sonja had sent me ahead of time. She had just made a long flight herself with their first baby. I followed all of them except the night flight thing, since Zoralee is - - cough, cough, ha ha ha ha ha, ohhhh man - - NOT a good sleeper.

1. Beg, plead and bat your eyelashes so you can get an open seat next to you - otherwise, plan to make quick friends with the person next to you because she'll probably kick them, grab them, or pull their hair if she's anything like Tate!
2. Unveil a brand new toy on the plane.
3. If possible and Zora's a good sleeper, schedule a night flight - I did that and Tate slept through most of it.
4. If you're still nursing, dress so you can easily nurse for comfort from ear pain and/or bring her favorite sippy.
5. Don't bring much - it's a pain to haul everything around.
6. Bring lots of snacks for you - you'll be exhausted!

last month in Montana

I just can't move on so quickly without first throwing on a few pics from our last month in Montana.

helping Grandpa to really stuff in the hunting supplies

My mom thought Z's first trip to Walmart was just hysterical.

She took pics, phone pics, video. Crazy Grandma.

a relaxing summer's evening on Flathead Lake with Kristi and Brent

Z and the wii

getting familiar with Alaska friends

This one's from more than a month ago, but I have to post it.

Jese, Nikki, Nya, and Brette, we miss you and the gang!

Seared into my memory is also the image of Justin and Alex standing by the wood stove, looking down at Zoralee and Brette on the living room side of the baby boundary. It was a precious sight, two grown men taking time to say goodbye to a couple of little boogers.

These are also from earlier in the summer,

but they come to mind when I think of Montana.

Sunday Swirl

we're in Anchorage

Welp, we're here!

You can see by the lack of blogging or responding to emails that my attempts at accessing the internet have been Denied with a capital D. We have none at our house, but otherwise, we have the ideal short-term housing set up, so yay for that! One day I walked a mile and a half round trip downtown, Zoralee strapped to my back, and the computer backpack on my front. I was overcharged for a very simple beverage, had the computer refuse and refuse to connect to internet because the battery is shot, finally got it to connect and needed a password, got the password, computer died, Zoralee woke up and got grouchy, switched to a table near a plug-in, had the building fire alarm go off and the workers start evacuating us, alarm quit mid-pack-up and the evacuation was called to a halt, Zoralee wanted to crawl but the floor was filthy so she threw back-arching fits, received real or imagined looks of understanding as well as vibes of frustration from fellow customers, packed up and walked home.

But to put it in perspective, this weekend I also attended a presentation by a midwife who was discussing birth and death rates among the most impoverished people of the Philippines that she works with, and she casually mentioned events in her life like the ferry she was riding capsizing, and floating around in the sea awaiting rescue, and getting to shore only to be directed by uniformed personnel saying, "Survivors, this way..." I am horrid at remembering statistics, but that presentation was eye-opening and saddening. We take a lot for granted, you know, living in a culture that has a basic respect for women and children. In many places, the women eat last, even pregnant ones, which means they don't get enough. Many don't have a single soul looking out for their health, and they're expected to birth in squalid conditions, often on their own or with very marginal help. They die. The babies die from lack of very simple actions like cutting the umbilical cords with a clean knife or wrapping up the babies to keep warm, or feeding them pretty soon! So, women like Vicky Penwell are going all Mother Teresa on their asses.

Anyway! Now I am at Border's, and Z has just fallen asleep on me, so I can finally post some pics and blogs I wrote up ahead of time.

first words at the circus

For today's videos, we're going one month back in time.

It's Papa reading "First Words at the Circus" to Zoralee - in two parts.

the poky little puppy

featuring an actual, distracting dog (heard panting)

and surprise guest appearances near the end

File was too big for blogger. I posted it to youtube as one of these people.

good tuesday morning, papa

Today Zoralee slept until 9 something. It was glorious! She has a cold, and really needed the extra rest, but also, I slept her in a disposable diaper to see if she'd awaken less out of discomfort. She still woke in the night a few times, as usual, but overall she slept more solidly and also longer into the morning. Woop! This calls for more experimentation.

3 kid tips (two from me, one from a smarty pants magazine)

I am going to be giving two tips today that I figured out on my own!!!!! My own!!!!, I say. I am only this braggadocios because of how often I feel like a flailing idiot. The first tip is for the bath time, and it might make up for the fract* that I didn't think to wash behind Zoralee's ears, I mean really scrub into those tiny folds, until she was six months old. Yes, there was a build up of crud. Listen. Don't worry about that.

1. Bath time tip: use a hand towel to dry her hair and face while she's still in the tub! She's that much dryer and warmer to keep playing in the tub and while you wrap her into the big towel and carry her to the bedroom. Plus, there's less jostling of the baby as you dry every piece and part. This flash of inspiration hit me while I myself was taking a bath; I'd washed my hair but wanted to hang out longer and read a book. I nearly froze to death and realized poor Zor probably does too. Now I wait until the very end to wash her hair.
2. For when the baby insists on hanging around the dishwasher while you work in the kitchen, and you decide to keep her busy by feeding her messy nectarine bits (for the entertainment value more than the need for food): tape the dish down with a good, solid packing tape. She'll keep busy maneuvering food out of the dish instead of dumping it on the floor all the live long day.

(By the time this photo was taken, we had moved on to Cheerios.)

*Fract: friggin' fact; refers to something obvious you've nonetheless overlooked

Tip from Real Simple Parenting (which I can't try yet, so let me know how it goes): when the kids won't finish those last bites at the table, make it fun. Have them roll dice and eat as many more bites as they roll. The magazine claims it gives the kid a sense of control about it. Commentary: we all know that rolling dice is the most quintessential, out of control, 100% based on chance activity of the universe. Also, couldn't this really mess with them mentally? If they always roll 10, 11, or 12, they'll be kicking themselves the rest of the night.

IF YOU LIKE MY TIPS, LET ME KNOW. IF THEY ARE OLDER THAN DIRT, DON'T TELL ME.

story time in the bathtub

puttin' the sneak up on Zor

WARNING: a rash of short, unprofessional, video clips is coming to a blog near you (very near, if you're reading this). We're separated from Jason by half of a continent and he has not the means to access phone videos.

9/11 then and now

In 2001, I was working in Operations for Alaska Airlines up in Anchorage. My work team was part of the airline industry you never think about - a small group of non-uniformed number crunchers working in a basement room near the ptarmac, far from the ticket counters. We collected passenger, luggage, and cargo counts, figured weight and balance for each flight, directed the loading of cargo planes, communicated weather, gate information, and other data to the pilots. It was one of the most enlightening jobs I've had in terms of getting a feel for how a system works...and how much is affected when something goes wrong.

On September 11, my shift started at 6:00 a.m., which was 10:00 on the east coast. I remember hearing news on the radio and being very confused. Is this a joke? A drill? What's going on? I got to work and, of course, everything was grounded. We listened to the radio, waiting. Fearing. Asking how this could be. Tracking our own flights, ensuring that all of Seattle-bound planes had landed okay.

I called Jason. "Honey, sorry to wake you up so early. First of all, be sure and let Beth out this morning; I didn't have time. Also, you might want to turn on the t.v. It looks like our country is under attack." To this day, he gives me grief about my news-breaking prioritization skills. But if I had told him about the attacks first, he would've totally forgotten about Beth! And then who would've come home to a soiled carpet? Me.

It's weird how when tragedy strikes, whether or not it directly affects you, you HAVE to go on with things. You might wish for the world to stop so you can soak everything in and figure it out, but the dog needs let out and you still need groceries. After work, which was much earlier in the day than usual since no planes were flying, I stopped by Carrs grocery on Huffman Street. I watched people walking in the parking lot and thought, "What can we do? Look at us. We're all still walking into the grocery store. Are we lice?" There was a definite quietness to the crowd though, a heightened sense of being, longer pauses looking into each others' eyes. We knew this to be a forever-altering kind of day, even before we knew what in the world was going on or who was involved.

* * * *

On this September 11, my day began with the chickens. Zoralee on my back, I was standing in the yard with the hose, filling their water bin, when Dad came onto the porch and told me Aunt Sue had just passed away. Great Aunt Sue, one of our national treasures, a wellspring of stories about growing up as a sturdy farm hand in Illinois and going to New York City as a young lady. Great Aunt Sue, strong as an ox, they always said, and gorgeous. Ate nuts and berries and raw foods, drank loads of water, and took a dollop of whiskey in her coffee every morning. She'd gargle salt water and shoot it out her nose because it "cleans you out good." 96 years old. She seemed like the person who'd finally break the curse and live forever. But she didn't.

Beyond Dad on the porch, I saw the American flag waving. Oh yeah, September 11th. Nobody can see the flag from there except the two households across the meadow. Irrelevant. We can see. We remember. We honor all who lost their very lives that day eight years ago. We think of what it must've been like to be on those flights knowing something wasn't right. We thank the ones who rushed in to be of help, to be of service, to give direction and impart calm to people fleeing down smokey staircases. What were their last words? Last thoughts? We wonder. We remember. And we grieve.

Mom and Dad took off then to the courthouse. They're standing with a man we know who has been accused of a crime that he maintains his total innocence over. If a jury of his peers agrees, okay. If not, he could spend the rest of his life in prison.

In the evening, we went to eat Chinese food for Grandpa's birthday. September 11th in my family has always been Grandpa's birthday, until 8 years ago when it also became the day the towers fell. While eating, Heather told us about our friend's troubles during these, her last weeks of pregnancy. Visits to the hospital, talk of inducing early, bedrest, threats that losing the baby is possible if they don't get her blood pressure under control.

Birthdays. Chickens. War. Airplanes. Trials. Chinese food. Pregnancy. Death.

What we all could use...is a little mercy now.