Sound bite from the other night, after bedtime prayers:
Jude: "Is Jesus up there?"
Me: "Yes."
Jude: "Is Jesus in my bed?"
Me: "Yes. He's everywhere. Jesus is your friend."
Jude: "I'm gonna bite Jesus."
Okay then.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
theo
Somebody decided to crash his brother's birthday party.
This is Theo Willem Klooster. He came a little earlier than expected on November 20, Jude's third birthday, at 9:36 pm. He weighed in at 5 pounds, 11 ounces and was 18 inches long.
Theo means "God's gift", and he is.
We chose Willem because we liked it, but also to honor my Grandma Dieken, whose dad's name was Vilhelm - the Danish version of Willem. We also like that Willem is Dutch, a large part of Theo's ancestry.
This is how Theo got here.
The last guests from Jude's 3rd birthday party, my parents, had just left around 3:30. As they were going out the door I said to my mom, "He's coming soon. I'm restless and I can't sleep. He'll be early, I think."
An hour later my water broke. I'd laid down for a short nap, and when I got out of bed at 4:30, gravity did its work and I knew he was on his way.
I started packing my hospital bag. After tossing a few things I planned to take on the bed, I went downstairs and interrupted Jono's phone conversation with his brother, Jesse. I said, "You should get off the phone soon. We need to talk."
For the next half-hour we ran around the house getting ourselves ready for the hospital and Jude ready for Grandma's house. My doctor was on vacation so I called Rose, the on-call nurse. She said "As long as your contractions stay about ten minutes apart, you can stay home for an hour or two."
We puttered for awhile longer. I told Jono I was glad to be going into labor, but worried he would be small because it was three weeks before his due date. I wiped down the counters and put away the birthday cake. I e-mailed my boss telling him I still planned to meet my deadline for the publication in mid-December, but that he'd have to find someone else to put together his year-end campaign letter.
We all sat around the kitchen table and talked while Jude had a bowl of cereal. I'd been having a few mild contractions, but then had my first slightly more intense one at that point, around 6:00. It was still nothing to worry about.
We left to take care of business around 6:30, dropping Mona off at Joel and Jessie's and Jude off at Grandma Lehman's. I had another contraction on the curb outside her place - they were still coming about 8 to 10 minutes apart.
We were kind of on our way to the hospital by 7:00, but we were hungry. So we stopped at a pizza place downtown. It sounds less-than-kosher, but I had to lay napkins down where I planned to sit and thought, "Sorry pizza guys." I had a decent contraction there, too, and had to stop talking to Jono so that I could concentrate on getting through it. But Jude had taken his sweet time to get here, and we thought with Theo things might be similar. (Ha ha!) I wasn't letting myself hope for more.
We got to St. Mary's at 8:00. I had a contraction in the parking garage, but was easily able to walk from there to the main entrance and take the elevator to the ninth floor. I was getting sleepy, and lethargically answered the nurse's questions before they led us into triage. I got into the infamous hospital mu-mu, and tried not to feel disturbed by the steady leaking of my water onto the bed. An older, seasoned nurse asked me the usual questions about whether or not I'd shot up on anything during the pregnancy, or if I was homeless. She checked my vitals and Theo's. All was well.
I had a few contractions in triage, and experienced my first walloping one there at about 8:30. Memories of how these things had felt during my labor with Jude came back strongly and I tried to gear myself up mentally to get through quite a few hours of having them roll over my body relentlessly. I experienced a little dread, but things appeared to be moving along quickly now, and I had another intense contraction a few minutes later.
Then another, and another, each one a minute or two behind the other.
I still wasn't in the delivery room, and my labor nurse, Colleen, had come in and noticed contractions were almost on top of each other. She led us on a shortcut through the nurse's station to our room, but before I went in I had to stop and get through an especially intense contraction in the doorway. I was hanging from Jono's neck for this one, and I think I almost pulled him to the floor (I was not especially petite at this point).
We finally made it to the bed. Colleen asked if I wanted an IV, or if I was interested in an epidural. I replied that I'd like to go without one, if possible. She checked my cervix, and told me I was dilated to 8-9 centimeters. I couldn't believe it. "How soon until I can push?" I asked. She answered that I needed to be 10 centimeters first. Then she left the bedside to get some delivery things ready. While she was over there I felt an undeniable need to get going on this pushing thing.
"Can I push?!" I yelled at her. "I need to push!"
I don't remember if she answered because I was busy pushing, with or without her permission. There was no stopping it. I half heard her get out her walkie-talkie (or whatever it is they use to alert one another of things) and say, "I need a delivery table and a doctor in here... right now."
The first push was a push I was trying to stop, so it didn't do much.
I had started on my second push as the doctor ran into the room. I felt the shape of his head leave my body.
The third push brought his shoulders, torso, and legs. I felt all of this very distinctly, and it hurt, but not in a crazy, out-of-control way.
I gave birth to Theo on the bed (forget the delivery table), at 9:36 pm, about an hour and a half after we had gotten to the hospital. Praise God. I was filled with shock and gratitude at the speed of the process.
Luckily someone was there to catch him - an attending physician who was the only doctor there and available at that point. I peeked down between my legs and saw her hands holding him, and putting the suction tool into his mouth. He cried right away, a squeaky little wail. I reached for him, and they put him on my stomach. He was very, very small. Jono cut the cord, and they whisked him away for a few minutes to wipe him down and put him in a hat and blanket.
I kept asking Jono when I could have him, because I wanted to do skin-to-skin with him and nurse him as soon as possible. They gave him back to me and I held him to my chest, still covered in vernix, while the doctor held the umbilical cord that was still attached to me. I clung to him and cried.
We were like that for awhile, waiting for another doctor to arrive and supervise the delivery of the placenta and the stitches they said I needed. They called the wrong guy first, so he came and went quickly. He looked at me and said, "I don't know why they called me." I didn't care either way, I just wanted someone to help me out. There I sat, spread-eagled, while they called the proper on-call doctor. She was there in five minutes. I pushed out the placenta, recieved my stitch (I only needed one), and got ready to nurse Theo.
My little five-pounder has his daddy's nose, we think, and his mama's face shape and hairline. His ears are impossibly small. The eyes, mouth and chin are to be determined. He has a bit more hair than Jude did, and it's darker.
Jude dropped by with Grandma Lehman the next day to meet Theo. Knowing how he loves miniature things, the first thing I did to sell him on his new baby brother was to show him Theo's toes. He was delighted to see them, and counted them immediately. Since then his interactions with Theo have mainly been asking to hold him (this lasts about .5 seconds) and sniffing or stroking the top of his head. He shows a lot of concern when Theo cries ("Is my baby brudder okay?") and loves it when he squeaks ("He made a squeak just like a mousie!")
Theo is precious beyond words. I spent our first and second nights together falling in love with him. We are home now, and he is ten days old. He has put on weight and is now six pounds! I feel really good, and am still amazed by how well (and how easily) a natural birth can go, compared to my first experience. One hour of hard labor, three pushes, and I had my boy.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone :)
This is Theo Willem Klooster. He came a little earlier than expected on November 20, Jude's third birthday, at 9:36 pm. He weighed in at 5 pounds, 11 ounces and was 18 inches long.
Theo means "God's gift", and he is.
We chose Willem because we liked it, but also to honor my Grandma Dieken, whose dad's name was Vilhelm - the Danish version of Willem. We also like that Willem is Dutch, a large part of Theo's ancestry.
This is how Theo got here.
The last guests from Jude's 3rd birthday party, my parents, had just left around 3:30. As they were going out the door I said to my mom, "He's coming soon. I'm restless and I can't sleep. He'll be early, I think."
An hour later my water broke. I'd laid down for a short nap, and when I got out of bed at 4:30, gravity did its work and I knew he was on his way.
I started packing my hospital bag. After tossing a few things I planned to take on the bed, I went downstairs and interrupted Jono's phone conversation with his brother, Jesse. I said, "You should get off the phone soon. We need to talk."
For the next half-hour we ran around the house getting ourselves ready for the hospital and Jude ready for Grandma's house. My doctor was on vacation so I called Rose, the on-call nurse. She said "As long as your contractions stay about ten minutes apart, you can stay home for an hour or two."
We puttered for awhile longer. I told Jono I was glad to be going into labor, but worried he would be small because it was three weeks before his due date. I wiped down the counters and put away the birthday cake. I e-mailed my boss telling him I still planned to meet my deadline for the publication in mid-December, but that he'd have to find someone else to put together his year-end campaign letter.
We all sat around the kitchen table and talked while Jude had a bowl of cereal. I'd been having a few mild contractions, but then had my first slightly more intense one at that point, around 6:00. It was still nothing to worry about.
We left to take care of business around 6:30, dropping Mona off at Joel and Jessie's and Jude off at Grandma Lehman's. I had another contraction on the curb outside her place - they were still coming about 8 to 10 minutes apart.
We were kind of on our way to the hospital by 7:00, but we were hungry. So we stopped at a pizza place downtown. It sounds less-than-kosher, but I had to lay napkins down where I planned to sit and thought, "Sorry pizza guys." I had a decent contraction there, too, and had to stop talking to Jono so that I could concentrate on getting through it. But Jude had taken his sweet time to get here, and we thought with Theo things might be similar. (Ha ha!) I wasn't letting myself hope for more.
We got to St. Mary's at 8:00. I had a contraction in the parking garage, but was easily able to walk from there to the main entrance and take the elevator to the ninth floor. I was getting sleepy, and lethargically answered the nurse's questions before they led us into triage. I got into the infamous hospital mu-mu, and tried not to feel disturbed by the steady leaking of my water onto the bed. An older, seasoned nurse asked me the usual questions about whether or not I'd shot up on anything during the pregnancy, or if I was homeless. She checked my vitals and Theo's. All was well.
I had a few contractions in triage, and experienced my first walloping one there at about 8:30. Memories of how these things had felt during my labor with Jude came back strongly and I tried to gear myself up mentally to get through quite a few hours of having them roll over my body relentlessly. I experienced a little dread, but things appeared to be moving along quickly now, and I had another intense contraction a few minutes later.
Then another, and another, each one a minute or two behind the other.
I still wasn't in the delivery room, and my labor nurse, Colleen, had come in and noticed contractions were almost on top of each other. She led us on a shortcut through the nurse's station to our room, but before I went in I had to stop and get through an especially intense contraction in the doorway. I was hanging from Jono's neck for this one, and I think I almost pulled him to the floor (I was not especially petite at this point).
We finally made it to the bed. Colleen asked if I wanted an IV, or if I was interested in an epidural. I replied that I'd like to go without one, if possible. She checked my cervix, and told me I was dilated to 8-9 centimeters. I couldn't believe it. "How soon until I can push?" I asked. She answered that I needed to be 10 centimeters first. Then she left the bedside to get some delivery things ready. While she was over there I felt an undeniable need to get going on this pushing thing.
"Can I push?!" I yelled at her. "I need to push!"
I don't remember if she answered because I was busy pushing, with or without her permission. There was no stopping it. I half heard her get out her walkie-talkie (or whatever it is they use to alert one another of things) and say, "I need a delivery table and a doctor in here... right now."
The first push was a push I was trying to stop, so it didn't do much.
I had started on my second push as the doctor ran into the room. I felt the shape of his head leave my body.
The third push brought his shoulders, torso, and legs. I felt all of this very distinctly, and it hurt, but not in a crazy, out-of-control way.
I gave birth to Theo on the bed (forget the delivery table), at 9:36 pm, about an hour and a half after we had gotten to the hospital. Praise God. I was filled with shock and gratitude at the speed of the process.
Luckily someone was there to catch him - an attending physician who was the only doctor there and available at that point. I peeked down between my legs and saw her hands holding him, and putting the suction tool into his mouth. He cried right away, a squeaky little wail. I reached for him, and they put him on my stomach. He was very, very small. Jono cut the cord, and they whisked him away for a few minutes to wipe him down and put him in a hat and blanket.
I kept asking Jono when I could have him, because I wanted to do skin-to-skin with him and nurse him as soon as possible. They gave him back to me and I held him to my chest, still covered in vernix, while the doctor held the umbilical cord that was still attached to me. I clung to him and cried.
We were like that for awhile, waiting for another doctor to arrive and supervise the delivery of the placenta and the stitches they said I needed. They called the wrong guy first, so he came and went quickly. He looked at me and said, "I don't know why they called me." I didn't care either way, I just wanted someone to help me out. There I sat, spread-eagled, while they called the proper on-call doctor. She was there in five minutes. I pushed out the placenta, recieved my stitch (I only needed one), and got ready to nurse Theo.
My little five-pounder has his daddy's nose, we think, and his mama's face shape and hairline. His ears are impossibly small. The eyes, mouth and chin are to be determined. He has a bit more hair than Jude did, and it's darker.
Jude dropped by with Grandma Lehman the next day to meet Theo. Knowing how he loves miniature things, the first thing I did to sell him on his new baby brother was to show him Theo's toes. He was delighted to see them, and counted them immediately. Since then his interactions with Theo have mainly been asking to hold him (this lasts about .5 seconds) and sniffing or stroking the top of his head. He shows a lot of concern when Theo cries ("Is my baby brudder okay?") and loves it when he squeaks ("He made a squeak just like a mousie!")
Theo is precious beyond words. I spent our first and second nights together falling in love with him. We are home now, and he is ten days old. He has put on weight and is now six pounds! I feel really good, and am still amazed by how well (and how easily) a natural birth can go, compared to my first experience. One hour of hard labor, three pushes, and I had my boy.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone :)
Thursday, November 17, 2011
thursday coffee
Jude and I went on a little date this morning to one of my favorite spots, The Sparrows Coffee Tea and Newsstand.
We shared a cookie and some milk. Mama had a mocha with a fancy white leaf etched into the foam. (Jude said, "Look at that white leaf!" as soon as he saw it.).
And we took these:
As the due date approaches for the birth of our second son, I am treasuring these times with him. Normally at 10:30 am on a Thursday, I would be sitting in front of a glowing computer screen responding to e-mails or entering data. But now, I get to sit across from him at a little round table.
We whispered about stickers, the bagel being eaten by the girl at the next table ("I'm going to eat her bagel!" he announced loudly, and she smirked), weird faces we could make in photos, and our handprints in the window condensation. We watched a few stray flakes fall from a November sky.
His hair is starting to thicken and grow over his ears, making him look rakish and a little naughty. He is a riot, and aside from Jono, he's the only guy I'd choose to get Thursday coffee with right now.
Thanks for making my morning, little man.
We shared a cookie and some milk. Mama had a mocha with a fancy white leaf etched into the foam. (Jude said, "Look at that white leaf!" as soon as he saw it.).
And we took these:
As the due date approaches for the birth of our second son, I am treasuring these times with him. Normally at 10:30 am on a Thursday, I would be sitting in front of a glowing computer screen responding to e-mails or entering data. But now, I get to sit across from him at a little round table.
We whispered about stickers, the bagel being eaten by the girl at the next table ("I'm going to eat her bagel!" he announced loudly, and she smirked), weird faces we could make in photos, and our handprints in the window condensation. We watched a few stray flakes fall from a November sky.
His hair is starting to thicken and grow over his ears, making him look rakish and a little naughty. He is a riot, and aside from Jono, he's the only guy I'd choose to get Thursday coffee with right now.
Thanks for making my morning, little man.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
A not-brown room
Calling myself out on this one... this post is classically stay-at-home-mom-ish. Oh well.
Jude moved into a new room months ago, and I just got around to taking a few pics of it the other day. It's the kind of room that a little boy lives in, with a real bed. (In fact, I just went to check on him during his nap and found him sleeping under the bed. Whatever works.)
I think every house has a word that describes how it feels when you walk in. Ours is probably earthy. Earth tones, Marushka silk screen canvases from the 70's, a smattering of mostly second-hand furniture that was made between the decades of 1920 and 1960.
I like old stuff, for sure, but in Jude's room I wanted to lighten it up a bit. Because my only complaint about some parts of our house is that they're dominated by the same old-furniture brown color.
So... I made him a peaceful, vibrant, not-brown little nook to be in whenever he wants to. I pictured him in it, pushing his trucks around and making a motor sound with his mouth, paging through the books on his not-brown bookshelf.
It's my new favorite room in the house.
Jude moved into a new room months ago, and I just got around to taking a few pics of it the other day. It's the kind of room that a little boy lives in, with a real bed. (In fact, I just went to check on him during his nap and found him sleeping under the bed. Whatever works.)
I think every house has a word that describes how it feels when you walk in. Ours is probably earthy. Earth tones, Marushka silk screen canvases from the 70's, a smattering of mostly second-hand furniture that was made between the decades of 1920 and 1960.
I like old stuff, for sure, but in Jude's room I wanted to lighten it up a bit. Because my only complaint about some parts of our house is that they're dominated by the same old-furniture brown color.
So... I made him a peaceful, vibrant, not-brown little nook to be in whenever he wants to. I pictured him in it, pushing his trucks around and making a motor sound with his mouth, paging through the books on his not-brown bookshelf.
It's my new favorite room in the house.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
It's a ROCK
Jude started drawing people recently. In this one, he first drew me (the circle inside the circle) and then Daddy (the circle around the circle that is me). My head is actually inside of Daddy's head, which I found interesting.
My hair is a blob to the far right of my scalp, and I have two to three eyes. Daddy has no hair, but he does have eyes (far right).
My hair is a blob to the far right of my scalp, and I have two to three eyes. Daddy has no hair, but he does have eyes (far right).
I don't know who is represented with the other circle, but whoever it is has earmuffs on, I think.
Here's another.
This was his second stab at portraiture. It's me again, but with a red mohawk. I love it.
Right before he drew this one he'd drawn a different one, but he wasn't happy with it. First he announced he was about to draw me. When he'd finished a jagged circle for my face, I asked, "Is that my head, Jude?" He took a step back and said in frustration, "No, it's a ROCK."
Ever since then, if he draws a circle that he thinks is less than perfect, it is not someone's head. It's a rock. Remember that.
The End
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
My new to-do list
Apparently this is what I shall be up to in the days ahead. (It was made by Jono.)
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Change
So tough.
Change. It's a beautiful word.
I took a phone call from my husband this past Monday. You know what he said? I'll tell you.
"I got the job."
Well, first he dilly-dallied around for awhile, asked me how my day at the office was going, blah, blah, blah (I could hear the good mood in his voice, and I know what a tease he is)... but then those words popped out, and I said, "You rascal, I knew it."
When we were hanging up, I said, "I love you. But I loved you before, too." He laughed.
This two-year unemployed, underemployed, back-to-school stint is almost over, just in time.
Starting Monday, October 31, I will be going down to part-time work. I'll get to keep the part of my job I enjoy most: writing and editing a publication for the non-profit I've worked for since 2005.
I already have our first day-at-home planned. We're going out for breakfast. We're going to the zoo. I have a project list I plan to tackle while Jude is taking his afternoon nap. I have our first Real Meal from Scratch planned for that night.
I even agreed to iron Jono's work clothes for him. I don't think I've ironed a man's dress shirt in my life.
Pardon my euphoria, but I won't be able to help the big fat smile I'll have on my face for the next week. Or possibly month. Yay.
Congratulations, Jono, and thanks. (Love, your family)
P.S. A high five for Grandma Lehman, who donated nine hours a week of free childcare to us for two years. You're awesome. Enjoy your new "free" Fridays :)
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Apples to Apples
Earth First Farms in Berrien, Michigan
Last weekend, we went to a Harvest Party at an organic orchard called Earth First Farms. There was live music, free Mexican food prepared by the farm's employees, cider, beer and hayrides. We picked a few of our own apples, but mostly dug through the seconds crates to find the imperfect ones for making pies and apple sauce.
Mom and I spent a Wednesday night the following week furiously chopping and cooking apples, then smooshing them into sauce that we poured into old marinara-sauce jars I'd saved. We froze about 38 quarts, and decided not to try that again after both of us had already put in a full day at the office. We were delirious by the time we were saucing up the last batch at midnight. Mom was hysterically laughing while I yelled.
Anyway. Back to the orchard.
In the second photo, Jude is standing in a field and covering his eyes with his hands. This was his way of "privately" doing his business. What, you didn't think no one could see you when you covered your eyes as a kid?
He met a little friend, too - Abram. They threw hay at each other on the hayride and had a hat-tossing contest afterward. When asked what he did at the orchard, he says, "I threw hay."
The weekend after that one we hit up another farm near Cadillac, Michigan with Jono's dad and step-mom, Jan. Jude rode a pony for the first time and we tromped around in the pumpkin patch for awhile.
Though most of us weren't injured that day, Jan didn't leave the farm unscathed. First she was bit by a donkey who we thought was trying to cuddle with her. Even after the bite incident, she bravely escorted Jude into a giant blow-up pumpkin filled with screaming children... twice.
After the second time as the two of them crawled out of the entrance on their hands and knees, I laughed to see her hair flying everywhere and her dislodged headband sitting on top of her head like a crown. She gets the Grandma of the Week Award, for sure.
Though most of us weren't injured that day, Jan didn't leave the farm unscathed. First she was bit by a donkey who we thought was trying to cuddle with her. Even after the bite incident, she bravely escorted Jude into a giant blow-up pumpkin filled with screaming children... twice.
After the second time as the two of them crawled out of the entrance on their hands and knees, I laughed to see her hair flying everywhere and her dislodged headband sitting on top of her head like a crown. She gets the Grandma of the Week Award, for sure.
You just can't cram in too many orchards and pumpkin farms in October, we don't think. Especially when it's 70 degrees outside.
Last three photos by Jan Klooster (thanks, Jan!)
Friday, October 14, 2011
He wants to get OUT
Jude and I were reading one of those old Richard Scarry books last night (his greatest thrill is finding Goldbug on each page), and I couldn't help but be distracted by my other young one, who was catapulting himself from one side of my womb to the other. I paused in my reading.
"Jude. Do you see that?" I pointed to my mid-section.
"Huh," he said, glancing in the direction of my finger. His attention held just long enough to see my stomach sway dramatically from one side to the other like the waves of the sea.
"Oh, I saw him move!" Jude said. His eyes were big, so I knew he had seen it and wasn't just saying so.
"That's your baby brother."
He took another hesitant look at my belly. "That baby brudder wants to get OUT," he proclaimed, with authority in his miniature voice.
I pictured Jude picturing a baby boy in there, all smooshed and claustrophobic, and how he must have had a twinge of empathy for him before he made the comment.
It's true, he's already cramped, but not so much that it has been deterring his movements yet. Lately I've been filming my stomach when he really gets going, and it looks like one of those blow-up castles with 20 children inside.
I remember saying this of Jude as well, but I would guess K2 is even more active than he was. Folks sitting across the room from me can see my abdomen shifting back and forth. I've been sitting in staff meetings with one of my arms resting over top of my stomach, and he'll kick it so hard my arm jumps and falls into my lap. People probably think I have a twitching disorder.
Though I find it hard to concentrate/sleep/ breathe these days with the three-ring circus going on inside of me, I'm hoping it's a good sign he's robust and healthy. Preferably developing a few leg rolls. Perhaps a fat bracelet. I've put in my order for those, so we'll see what happens. I have eight weeks left.
Considering the advent of Jude "Chicken Legs" Klooster almost three years ago at 6 pounds 10 ounces, I know I can't count on it, but one can dream. If he's a little scrawny at first, I'll try not to complain if he wants to eat all night long. (But I probably will, anyway.)
Love,
E.
"Jude. Do you see that?" I pointed to my mid-section.
"Huh," he said, glancing in the direction of my finger. His attention held just long enough to see my stomach sway dramatically from one side to the other like the waves of the sea.
"Oh, I saw him move!" Jude said. His eyes were big, so I knew he had seen it and wasn't just saying so.
"That's your baby brother."
He took another hesitant look at my belly. "That baby brudder wants to get OUT," he proclaimed, with authority in his miniature voice.
I pictured Jude picturing a baby boy in there, all smooshed and claustrophobic, and how he must have had a twinge of empathy for him before he made the comment.
It's true, he's already cramped, but not so much that it has been deterring his movements yet. Lately I've been filming my stomach when he really gets going, and it looks like one of those blow-up castles with 20 children inside.
I remember saying this of Jude as well, but I would guess K2 is even more active than he was. Folks sitting across the room from me can see my abdomen shifting back and forth. I've been sitting in staff meetings with one of my arms resting over top of my stomach, and he'll kick it so hard my arm jumps and falls into my lap. People probably think I have a twitching disorder.
Though I find it hard to concentrate/sleep/ breathe these days with the three-ring circus going on inside of me, I'm hoping it's a good sign he's robust and healthy. Preferably developing a few leg rolls. Perhaps a fat bracelet. I've put in my order for those, so we'll see what happens. I have eight weeks left.
Considering the advent of Jude "Chicken Legs" Klooster almost three years ago at 6 pounds 10 ounces, I know I can't count on it, but one can dream. If he's a little scrawny at first, I'll try not to complain if he wants to eat all night long. (But I probably will, anyway.)
Love,
E.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
One of these bulges is not like the other...
Pregnancy takes some explanation. Especially when you're two and are wondering which mound on your mama's mid-section houses what, and for what purpose.
My mom, Jude and I had stopped at a Red Burrito joint in Iowa on the way back from a visit to the town where I grew up. Mom had gone to the bathroom and I was cleaning up the remnants of dinner and corralling Jude so that he wouldn't get tripped on by a crew of about 12 men who had arrived after what I'm guessing was a football game.
After feeling the usual twinge of guilt at tossing the packaging from a rare fast-food meal on the road, I bent down to talk to Jude, who was pointing at my stomach and trying to ask me something.
"Is your baby in here?" he asked, addressing the firm bulge of my belly with his short, pudgy finger.
"Yes, he is," I answered. "He's your baby brother."
"My baby brudder?" he said.
"Yep," I replied, noting how irresistible he is when he replaces "th" with "d".
His bright eyes moved further up my torso and he pointed again, this time at my chest area, his fingertip burrowing into my flesh.
"Is your baby in here?", he asked. (I swear he had a twinkle in his eye.)
"Nooooo..." I replied, redirecting his curiosity from my chest back to my belly. "He's in here, remember?"
"Oh," he said. "Huh."
Having been in our own world together for a few moments, I looked up to see a 20-something guy with shaved black hair, sagging jeans, and a huge smirk on his face. He wasn't making eye contact, but it was obvious he had overheard Jude's questions. My mom had returned from the bathroom just in time to witness the tail end of Jude and my conversation, and the look on the guy's face. We laughed all the way to the car.
Since then he asks me daily if I have a baby in each of my boobs.
"Is your baby in here?" (pokes one boob). "No."
"Is your baby in here?" (pokes the other boob). "No."
"Is your baby in here?" (pokes my stomach). "Yes!"
I tried to help him make sense of mama's changing landscape by introducing him to the concept of nursing. Babies are in tummies, whereas these other two things have a different purpose once the baby is born. When the routine guessing game is over, he reminds himself of the facts by saying, "There's no baby in there. There's milk in there for the baby to drink."
It's a good thing their brains are so malleable at this age, because otherwise these concepts would seem ridiculous. In some ways, they're still strange to me.
My mom, Jude and I had stopped at a Red Burrito joint in Iowa on the way back from a visit to the town where I grew up. Mom had gone to the bathroom and I was cleaning up the remnants of dinner and corralling Jude so that he wouldn't get tripped on by a crew of about 12 men who had arrived after what I'm guessing was a football game.
After feeling the usual twinge of guilt at tossing the packaging from a rare fast-food meal on the road, I bent down to talk to Jude, who was pointing at my stomach and trying to ask me something.
"Is your baby in here?" he asked, addressing the firm bulge of my belly with his short, pudgy finger.
"Yes, he is," I answered. "He's your baby brother."
"My baby brudder?" he said.
"Yep," I replied, noting how irresistible he is when he replaces "th" with "d".
His bright eyes moved further up my torso and he pointed again, this time at my chest area, his fingertip burrowing into my flesh.
"Is your baby in here?", he asked. (I swear he had a twinkle in his eye.)
"Nooooo..." I replied, redirecting his curiosity from my chest back to my belly. "He's in here, remember?"
"Oh," he said. "Huh."
Having been in our own world together for a few moments, I looked up to see a 20-something guy with shaved black hair, sagging jeans, and a huge smirk on his face. He wasn't making eye contact, but it was obvious he had overheard Jude's questions. My mom had returned from the bathroom just in time to witness the tail end of Jude and my conversation, and the look on the guy's face. We laughed all the way to the car.
Since then he asks me daily if I have a baby in each of my boobs.
"Is your baby in here?" (pokes one boob). "No."
"Is your baby in here?" (pokes the other boob). "No."
"Is your baby in here?" (pokes my stomach). "Yes!"
I tried to help him make sense of mama's changing landscape by introducing him to the concept of nursing. Babies are in tummies, whereas these other two things have a different purpose once the baby is born. When the routine guessing game is over, he reminds himself of the facts by saying, "There's no baby in there. There's milk in there for the baby to drink."
It's a good thing their brains are so malleable at this age, because otherwise these concepts would seem ridiculous. In some ways, they're still strange to me.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
The fall wardrobe
I am obsessed with picking up two-dollar flannel shirts at thrift stores in size 3T.
If you see Jude this fall, he'll be in flannel. And probably a pair of sagging jeans because he has no bum and nothing from 24 months on fits his lower half.
Feel free to squish him a bit when you do see him. We do.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Stay this way
Jude just got his first National Geographic subscription from his Grandma Lehman. It's a special edition for small children. His first issue had a red fox on the cover, and it included wild-animal trading cards that I tore out and cut up for him. He keeps them on the shelf of his art easel, and rediscovers them there once in awhile.
He has a favorite card. It's a photo of a mouse balancing itself between two blades of grass.
"Look at his little eyes," Jude says as he holds the card lovingly. "He is very little. He is very koosy." Then he rubs his cheek on the card to koos the mouse.
I love that he loves that mouse trading card. I love how he holds it and talks to it. I love how he wanted to take it to Donna's the other day and show the other kids, which he did the moment we walked into the door. "Ellery! Look at my little mouse!" Then he carefully placed it inside his diaper bag so that it wouldn't get lost at daycare.
Can I just keep him in this mode, please? A time when a mouse picture was his treasured possession? When he had it in his head that he could snuggle the mouse just by rubbing a piece of cardboard on his face?
To be fair, this behavior would be odd in an adult male. But in the mode I'm in right now, I dread the day he shows more fascination for baseball cards than for mouse ones.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Keeping it Real
Last night, dinner was mostly finished and forks were scraping plates. Full to the brim, I scooted my chair back a bit to slouch and Jono caught sight of my mid-section. The following exchange took place:
Jono: "What's in Mommy's tummy?"
Jude: "A baby!"
Jono: "What kind of baby?"
Jude: "A black baby!"
...
[moment of silence]
Hands were clapped over mouths. Someone probably snorted. Jude concluded he was a comic genius, but with no idea why.
(Full disclosure: I was wearing a black shirt.)
Jono: "What's in Mommy's tummy?"
Jude: "A baby!"
Jono: "What kind of baby?"
Jude: "A black baby!"
...
[moment of silence]
Hands were clapped over mouths. Someone probably snorted. Jude concluded he was a comic genius, but with no idea why.
(Full disclosure: I was wearing a black shirt.)
Honest Food Labels
Adventures in feeding children... and ourselves. I guess that's getting straight to the point, isn't it? I underestimated the challenge.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Creeper Alert
"Haters gonna hate..."
There was recently a wee issue with an anonymous commenter on this blog. Obviously the problem was not with our dear friends or family members, so worry not if you've used the "anonymous" option in the past.
(Even if you have commented anonymously, you've typically left your name on the bottom of the comment, which is great by me. Plus you all say lovely things.)
Anyway, as a result of this wee issue, I plan to make the blog private. Unfortunately, this does add an extra step of logging in to read, but I'm hoping it won't deter you.
I will invite all of my extended family members near and far of course to join the site, plus the friends whom I know read this on occasion. If you are a friendly, un-creepy reader and would like to be added as well, please contact me soon at emklooster@yahoo.com and I would be positively chuffed to keep you on.
Emily
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Toss the Baby
Nordhouse Dunes Wilderness Area, by Lake Michigan
(I believe I can fly.
I believe I can touch the sky.
Think about it every night and day.
Spread my wings and fly awaayyyy...)
(I believe I can fly.
I believe I can touch the sky.
Think about it every night and day.
Spread my wings and fly awaayyyy...)
Monday, June 27, 2011
Some Interesting Maps
And the mother of them all (and the one that I think affects women my age the most):
Sometimes I have a little chuckle about the skewed view of what exactly constitutes "family values" in the U.S. Hmm.
Could we possibly make any progress with more family-friendly workplaces? With a nation that truly values family, and time spent with them, rather than using the term "family values" as an empty political platform to incite fear of one another?
My grandparents crossed an ocean to live here. We have it good in so many areas, and I am grateful for those things that set us apart in healthy ways. But as with all good things, there's always room for improvement, no?
Maps found at Sociological Images
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