musty books & white gloves

Besides passing the time being pregnant, (!) I also occasionally do stuff. Sometimes cook. Sometimes clean. Sometimes visit old cemeteries and talk to headstones. That's what I did in Seattle, where some of them were related to me. Well, the headstone itself wasn't related, but it was about as close as I could get. Wanted to get.

The information we unearthed (figuratively speaking... oh, I've been married too long) at the cemetery quickly raised more questions than it answered, such as: how can a woman, dead for three months, be deemed the mother in a birth certificate; and is Lillian Manchini also Lillie Costantino? That would mean she divorced Angelo...?

So, during the days when my in-laws were cozily enjoying the afterglow of Christmas day, I quickly found myself at the Puget Sound Archives sorting through old books and shussshhhing my daughter. Not quite the experience I'm sure Scott had in mind when he contemplated nine days off of work, but he was a true gentleman about the whole thing -- quite patient with his daughter, and very generous with his wife. (And visa-versa.)

I'd never been to archives before, and while I'm not sure such a place is typically described as thrilling, I can think of no more fitting word. Scott and I have been the family history teachers in our ward for 8 or 9 months now, and I've learned quite a bit about it. But something about putting on white gloves to scour huge, old, handwritten books is moving. Even when one of the things you're looking up is actually your great-grandparents' divorce.

There's always been a huge hole in our family history; my dad's father left the home when he was just four years old, and little is consequently known about that man's parents or sibling(s). I had no idea how much of an impact it all made in my life until I started working on finding these people. It took me utterly aback to feel such a powerful yearning to know them.

But the greater surprise has been the discovery that I do know them. I find I have bits of intuition, layered in documents and an understanding of Italian culture, and surprise myself by how often this intuition ends up being right. I find they are very involved in this process, in their own way. And you can't help but get a feel for someone when they've been looking over your shoulder and nudging you along for months.

There's still many more leads to pursue, a few mysteries yet to be solved, and countless names to be found. But while it will always be delightful, I have ceased being shocked when something falls into place in just the right way. The work I'm doing matters, and while the factor of chance are ever present in this world, there are unseen people working just as passionately as I am, perhaps even more so. And it's been a joy to get to know them. I just wish I had a few photographs.

Baby Sissah

Christmas this year typified years past in many respects: same sweet house, full of family; same looooong drive there, this time with a few more pit stops than usual; and same guest room we managed to secure last time, because we were then pregnant with Betsy. (What with beds being so rare, being pregnant is totally the way to go.) So, being the careful planners we are, and knowing we'd be up in Washington for Christmas, we decided to get me knocked up.

Totally worth it, p.s.

I am now twenty-twoish (threeish?) weeks along and can do a stunning impression of an octogenarian. Okay, maybe not, but it feels that way. Oooooh, it feels that way. I am generally not one to whine about a pregnancy -- they're too hard to come by for that -- so I guess it's best to say I can tell my body felt the toll of Betsy the first time around.

Just one or two days before the gender ultrasound, Betsy was playing with her baby doll. I took it from her and put her up to her high chair, asking her if she wanted to have a baby at our house. We'd been mentioning baby brothers and sisters at our house a few times, but I was still shocked when, after a moment of obvious thought, she announced, quite decidedly, "baby sissah." Scott was out of town at the time and missed out on her sweet moment (which repeated itself about a dozen times before I finally got her to bed that night) but she was more than happy to make similar announcements when he got home. Once I even tried to trick her into saying brother, but she would have none of it. Sissah it would be.

Lo and behold, we're having a girl.

Please excuse my right arm, as it was feeling a little camera shy. And also, I generally look much larger than this. I have no idea how wearing two shirts can possibly make me look smaller, but it is my magic shirt, and for its miracles I shall love it till the day I die.

We hadn't announced it to anyone in Scott's family except his parents and Kammie, who couldn't make it up, but Katie had seen us in November and had her suspicions. Still, the Weeds and the Tippets were thoroughly surprised. It was fun to have a little surprise to look forward to telling everyone. It also made this stage of the pregnancy feel different from the miscarriage I had back in April of last year. (Yes, miscarriage. Don't feel bad if I didn't tell you... we're still friends... I just kept it all pretty quiet.)

It was a wonderful Christmas and Betsy got the hang of "penants" pretty quickly, happily opening hers and generally playing with everyone else's. (Dang Momma didn't want to open the puzzles and such just to lose pieces before returning home!) The Lord generously blessed us with a wonderful family and a delightful holiday. And a bonus gift coming in May!

What Santa Wishes She Could Bring

There's two things on our Christmas list we just can't afford this year. While that's probably true every year, I seem to have become obsessive lately. I search Craigslist & E-bay daily, hoping for someone out there to cut a girl some slack, but so far it's all been in vain. I'm hopeful we'll get both of these items in good time, but for now we just keep coveting. (And in the mean time, if you come across a good deal on either item, PLEASE let me know!)

1. A Learning Tower. I am convinced owning one would triple my patience -- and Betsy's IQ would probably take a leap, too. Every loaf of bread, every batch of cookies, every time I slice up veggies or saute meat on the stove -- there she is, and I'm practically on top of her as I trip. She's trying to put Momma's shoes on Momma, who often is already wearing a pair; she's getting into the towels drawer or the lazy susan; she's pulling spices from the drawer and wandering off to the bathroom with them. By the time I finished all my pies for this year's pie night, Betsy was moping around, sadly repeating her little "Momma busy" phrase I'd inadvertently taught her. A restoration of my sanity, for a mere $180!

2. I can't make up my mind between blond and brunette, a rather ridiculous quandry, since we're not going to be buying it soon anyway. Here's the thing: I pined away for Samantha, the American Girls doll, from the time I was 8. I'm pretty sure I didn't get her until I was at least 10, quite likely 12. All I know is, by that time Samantha finally came to my world, I was done with dolls and it didn't really matter, anyway. She sat on my "special shelf" largely untouched. But I had totally given my heart to American Girls, reading every single book about not only Samantha, but also Kirsten and Molly. (I'm so old they were the only ones around for most of the time I was that young!) Eventually Felicity came around, and I think I read hers, too, but not as fanatically. Well, Betsy's latest antics have upped our drive to get Betsy her own doll -- and a nice one, not one from the dollar store that is practically decapitated... hypothetically speaking -- led me to Bitty Baby from AG, and I became obsessed. There's no huge reason to have fallen so hard for a doll, particularly one with such a price ($50! My heck!) but AG has such sweet girlhood memories for me I just can't let it go. They're actually the same price/usually more on E-bay, which defies my logic, but I'll keep watching -- betcha prices drop after Christmas.

...And, of course, a job for Scott. But if we managed to grab that one, I'd like to think we could manage the other two items. :)

pucker up!

I planned to give this as a framed print to Kate, my sister, for Christmas. (She's the one planting the kiss on my cutie.) Do you think she'll like it? Or no, because you can't see her face? (If not, I included an alternate photo, but I don't like it quite as much.) I'd really like some frank feedback.

her inner world revealed

Betsy seems to be maturing by leaps and bounds this week -- at least in certain areas. I'm quite certain she'll be carrying her "silky" off to college, but that's not a battle I'm willing to fight quite yet. She's still young enough for one, isn't she?

The main area of growth is her language. She's got a great vocabulary, but many multisyllabic words were just a bit much for her. And there's certain sounds she's always struggled with (something the teacher in me inherently catalogs: z-, l-, and r-; many consonant blends like sn-, cl-, bl-, dr-, etc.) but with her dad's encouragement, she finally mastered "snake" or, more accurately, mastered "ssssss (pause) NAKE!" Lately that tool of pausing between difficult sounds helped her say the word "happiness" right on the first try. I expected a bunch of garbled, incoherent syllables to be repeated (as usual,) and then she just said it, plain as day: "happy (pause) ness." Good enough for me!

She's also finally putting several words together in interesting ways. I've been waiting to hear the single words flesh themselves out into mini-sentences for a long time, and while she's been doing it for a while, it was always the typical command stuff: "Book. Read it," or "Orange, please momma," "Coat, thank you, momma," stuff like that. But gradually, we're getting more insight into Betsyland: "Crayons fun, thank you momma." (She'd gone to hide behind the counter so she could throw all 64 on the floor... then proceeds to thank me?!? Kids are too funny.)

Today she wandered around the house with her rather hideous doll, carefully held up to her chest. The doll was wrapped in a silky and being patted on the back. "Baby napping time," she kept saying, walking around the kitchen island endlessly. (There's no way she remembers how many nights we did this very thing with her, is there?) This was the kind of stuff I knew she thought about on the inside. To finally hear about that interior world, locked up as a secret for so long, well it just tickles me.

As I was singing in the kitchen today, she asked me to sing one song again. This lead to me asking her which songs she liked, and she told me one or two. I told her a few I liked, and got her to name a few more. I know I'm just too in love with encouraging her language skills, but I couldn't help myself! She told me she likes "Daddy Home," (Wheels on the) "Bus," "Happiness," and another one I couldn't quite understand.

Too bad Scott's off in California and missing all of this fun stuff! It's watching this progress first-hand that makes me realize how much I treasure full-time parenthood, even when it comes at a cost. I continually count my blessings for this home and the renters who so graciously pay our mortgage each month. In spite of it, we continually drag ourselves further into debt, bit by bit, but I am happy to put my college degree aside to have these moments captured by a (usually) loving parent. At least, I think I capture most of them. I'm sure for many more she's somewhere else in the house being all insanely cute and I'm blogging, cleaning, or cooking, totally oblivious.

(12/18 edit: She's got a great memory, too! Every night before I put her to bed, we talk about what happened that day: what we ate, where we went, who we saw, etc. I can't believe some of the things she remembers that were very insignificant and happened much earlier in the day. Today while we were singing, she asked for Itsy Bitsy Spider, although the words were so jumbled I thought I'd never understand her. We haven't sang that song in weeks and weeks, but apparently she likes it!)

Oh -- one part of mothering I'd be okay missing out on? Betsy pushing the alarm in the library elevator today. Awesome. And awesomely loud.

Mastering The Art of Mothering

Due to an undeniable urge to do anything but clean the kitchen, I blog. Whether anything substantial comes of it is doubtful.

Scott and I spent some time watching Julie and Julia a few nights ago, and I'm pleased to report neither of us fell asleep, which has to be a first for in at least six months' time. I'm sure many of you know the gist of the plot: Modern-day girl (Julie) decides to make all 530-ish recipes from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking in a single year. Her story is interwoven with Julia Child's, zealously carving her niche as an American In Love With French Food. While her husband is stationed in Paris, Julia cooks passionately and tirelessly, enrolling herself in cooking classes intended for professional European chefs. Her tireless devotion lends way to great success, eventually co-writing her book (intended for other American housewives and cooks like herself,) making endless revisions to it, only to receive numerous rejections before its eventual publication.

Well, the obvious energy of the movie was spent developing these two charming characters and their admirable (shared) obsession. But as the movie ended, I was still muddling through the question of how much one should really admire Julie. The movie makes her restlessness and questions of self-worth/importance of how she spends her time absolutely clear. Frankly, those are questions to which many SAHMs and others can thoroughly relate. And there is no doubt in my mind that she needed something substantial, something unique and defining to do. A mission, a project. (Again, I can sooooo relate. I am queen of projects. Not necessarily finished ones, though.) However, her project became utterly consuming. Rather than adding to her identity, it pushed everything else out. There was no room for anything but her project and its accompanying blog. Her husband spent a large part of the year most unhappy, leaving her due to the obsession but eventually returning.

The thing is, I can all too easily understand this part of the film, too. Some of my projects build such momentum, such steam, that it's tough to keep them in check. Drawing that line between the appropriateness of having interests outside the home (NOT optional, in my book) and letting them consume me is something I think I constantly mismanage. I have reigned in my photography interests these past few months for several reasons, but it seems prudent to mention how frustrating it can be to build up that energy, only to have to slow it to a seeming halt because this week Scott's days off need to be devoted to thesis work and job interviews and household chores; next week we need to be at my parents' place, and maybe I could squeeze in one photo shoot the first part of next month, if I play my cards right.

Seriously?!? It frustrates the life out of me. Some days, I'd rather just pack it all in. Be done. It's easier to not experience the thrill of the hobby. It's not worth the frustration. It was one thing when life was just the two of us. But now, someone has to watch Betsy. I can't always ask that of Scott. And even if I can, lots of times I'm wishing he could simultaneously assist on a shoot and keep Betsy at home. That's not really feasible, is it?

Well, these are rather scattered thoughts. And I'm too frustrated by it all (and the messy kitchen taunting me) to make all these thoughts sound pretty. I know everything has its time and season; I am very content with that. These days are good ones -- how much I love each minute with Betsy! Still, I live in search of obtaining outside interests that don't consume me. But frankly, the problem is my own: I've never been that kind of person. For me, it will always be a struggle. Don't mistake me, though, Scott will always be encouraging, but my first duty will always be mothering -- I'm not going to ever mistake that. After four years of teaching, I've seen what that does to a kid. So, as a result, I will never have the kind of time I crave. That's okay; it's my choice. My choice. But that doesn't mean it's not a sacrifice.

The Lazy Man's Missionary Work

I never served a mission. However, Scott and I have been ward missionaries/WMLs in two wards for what comes out to be one-third of our marriage. Throughout that time, I've come to believe most heartily in the power of quietly speaking truth. After all, the truth doesn't need to be shouted. It has its own power, and shouting doesn't really add to it.

So I really loved the article in the Ensign a couple months back about sharing your testimony on-line, particularly through blogs. I'm not always as good at that as I'd like to be, but I know I am regularly uplifted by so many of you, and do strive to do the same for others along the way. When I came across these tags, I thought of many bloggers who demonstrate these missionary strengths so well, and thought you should know about them. You can find them here, and I think it's a subtle but great way to bear testimony. I added a few to my own blog (see: right) to showcase a couple. I will be narrowing it down to one, but wanted to give you an idea of their offerings.