The Magic Number

Happy Halloween!

2010-10-31T14:50:00.000-07:00

With much affection from The Frog Princess and Link from Zelda

Who, by the way, do not appreciate being mistaken for Peter Pan and his gal pal, Tinkerbell, no matter how forgivable the mistake may seem.

Tough Crowd, Man

2010-09-29T16:12:00.000-07:00

Maggie to Max: Let's play LEGOS together, Max!!
Max: Okay, but I get all these grey ones, Maggie. You can have the pink ones.
(Director's Note: We don't have any pink legos)
Maggie: OH THANK YOU! We are going to be brother and sister forever and ever, Max!!
Max: I know that Maggie. I already know that. It's not anything new to get excited about.

Half A Decade!!!

2010-09-16T06:25:00.000-07:00

Five years ago exactly (yep, I'm awake at 6:25 am, and nope, it wasn't my idea for sentimental reasons or anything; Max appeared by my left ear at 6:12 and whispered in that kind of whisper that is so loud that it is secretly shouting, "MOM! MOM! IT'S MY BIRTHDAY NOW! IT REALLY IS! I AM FIVE YEARS OLD AND I THINK MY EYES GOT BIGGER! MY TEACHER THINKS I AM GOING TO GET TO WEAR A CROWN ALL DAY SINCE I'M THE BIRTHDAY BOY! IS IT TIME TO GET UP?" and we were off), Max appeared in the world, in all his rosy, soft, slightly pointy-headed glory.

I have spoken, and most of you reading this were there to see it anyway, about the sense of flurry and anxiety that accompanied his birth and it's unexpectedly early timing. At Max's pre-kindergarten doctor visit, his pediatrician was going over his medical history with us, and he said at one point, "So I think we can move his prematurity out of the "current" part of his medical file and into the archives. It doesn't really seem to be a relevant part of his story anymore". He meant medically relevant, of course, and from my layman's perspective, I agree that it is probably way past time to safely put that piece of Max's history to bed. As his mom, however, Chapter One of the story of Max always has resonance, and it has been an ongoing challenge to hold onto those first memories of our life as Max's parents without also holding onto the anxiety. There is, therefore, an added sweetness to the delight of seeing him this morning, gigantically tall and exuberantly joyful and amazingly capable and uniquely creatively intelligent, celebrating this birthday that was earlier than we thought it would be but somehow at exactly the right moment.

I love you to the moon and back, Max, and I am so glad you are here, and that you are five, and that you continue to be your sunny and quirky self, more so with every year, every day, every minute that goes by. Happy Birthday.

Week One

2010-09-01T08:27:00.000-07:00

Well, we have been doing our new kindergarten thing for one week as of today. During the worst of my hand-wringing prior to sending Max off into the wild, my mother-in-law told me that she remembered it being very hard to let Ian go at first when he started kindergarten, but that she had been amazed by how quickly it became a natural and even enjoyable part of the day. And I think -- I think -- I am beginning to agree. The first couple of days, I missed Max horribly. I have been so used to being with Max and Maggie pretty much all of the time, to knowing what their indecipherable comments about their day meant because I was there to see what they saw. I felt tremendous sadness thinking about this big, important stretch of time in Max's day where what he did and how he felt about it were largely a mystery to me, and I counted down the seconds until it was time to go pick him up. But whatever he is doing at kindergarten (and I have only his opaque descriptions of his day to go on right now: "Well, we sit and there are books, but we don't read them, there are earphones sometimes, you know, Mom?"), he loves it. He is excited to go to school every day and he always has a giant smile when we go to pick him up. His entire body and spirit seem to have relaxed in some way, too. He is ready to assert his independence, and kindergarten gives him a way and a place to do that.

Maggie has actually struggled with the transition a little bit more than Max, a predictable turn of events that I completely failed to predict, somehow. Max has been the focus of a great deal of attention and a flurry of activity, and Maggie was kind of baffled (and by baffled, I mean enraged) as to why she was being left out of so many things and denied so many opportunities. Ian and I have made an effort to make the time that she is home with us by herself special for her, and she enjoys the sudden dominion over the TV, all the toys, and the choice places to sit in the house. After about an hour, though, she always starts missing Max and asking if it is time to go pick him up yet, and it has been a challenge once or twice to convince her that charging into the classroom to reclaim her brother is not a mission that she can or should undertake until the end of his school day. So we are juggling, like always, the various needs and wants and problems and hair bows and favorite shirts and Rube Goldberg machines, and trying to make sure that we are all taken care of. And I think, or at least I hope, that we are mostly succeeding. It always feels like a ball or two is about to pop out of the rotation and crash (if I may stretch the juggling metaphor to its breaking point), but so far nothing vital has broken.

Neuroses

2010-08-28T16:20:00.000-07:00

In the middle of the night, before Max's first day of kindergarten, I began to angst (oh, come on, OF COURSE I was still awake -- have you been following along at all? Do you really think I slept much at all that night?) about the fact that we had never really had the whole discussion with the kids about not going anywhere with strangers, should strangers approach and ask to go off places with them. We've never really had occasion to emphasize this point, because both kids have been with one or the other of us almost all of the time for pretty much their entire lives, and if they aren't then they are with their grandparents or other relatives, who if anything are even more alert to their well-being than we are. However, it occurred to me that just about anyone could stroll on into the kindergarten classroom and claim to be Max's friend and relation, and Max is so friendly and social ... and at this point in my musings, I jabbed Ian, who pretended to be peacefully sleeping although surely he is smart enough and has been married to me long enough to have anticipated a rough night.

Ian agreed that the subject of approaching strangers cautiously should be broached, although he disagreed that three in the morning was an appropriate time to go over our game plan for how best to broach it. Consequently, during the evening after the second day of kindergarten was over and done with, we attempted to explain to Max and Maggie why they should not feel free to wander away with anyone unless that person were well-known to them, or unless we were there with them, or both, and what to do if a stranger comes your way. It is a surprisingly difficult task -- trying to preach caution without freaking anyone out about people, most of whom are not creepy lurkers in bushes, but range from delightful to benign to annoying but not acutely sinister. My feeling is that we have mostly confused Max without actually imparting any useful information ("The mailman is a grown-up, and so he can't bring mail to me because I don't really know his name", he told me after a package was dropped off the other day), but we will keep chipping away at it, I suppose. By the time he has graduated and gone off to college, we will have this parenting thing down pat, by God.

The Eagle Has Landed

2010-08-25T19:15:00.001-07:00

And so far, it likes Kindergarten!!

I am happy to report that Day 1 of Kindergarten was a success for all parties concerned. Max is in the a.m. class, and so among our adjustments to this new routine is an earlier go time in the morning. (We are slow-moving morning people by nature, and our routine up until now has supported this.) As you can see by Max's giant yawn, his excitement took a couple of minutes to overcome his shock at being up, dressed, and out the door before 9.

But once he hit the fresh air, the adrenalin kicked in, and he crowed and squawked gleefully all the way to the car (You're welcome, Neighbors!).

Parents were invited to stay for the first twenty minutes or so, and Ian and I toured Max's classroom with him while he alternated between anticipation ("LOOK! They have new kinds of blocks!") and trepidation ("I don't know how many kids are going to come in here!") and I sternly conversed with myself about not hovering outside the classroom the entire time peering in the windows and becoming a shoe-in for Most Annoying Parent Of The Year. When it was time for the parents to leave/get pried away from their cherished offspring, Max did not cry, although he did wrinkle up his forehead in a manner reminiscent of my mother when she thinks I am getting sick.

Maggie is having a small amount of trouble with the fact that Max has been getting so much attention and action, and she was not super impressed to find that she was not also attending kindergarten, or that Max was staying somewhere that she was not. "What about my BROTHER?!?" she said in tones of alarm as we were leaving. You should be proud of me, too, because I did not say, "You're right! Let's go back and get him!"

Maggie found some consolation after we dropped Max off, when we went to the multi-purpose room and shared a cup of coffee and a meet-and-greet with the PTA and other nervous parents. The multi-purpose room has a stage, and on that stage, Maggie performed an impromptu song and dance number or two. PTA moms far and wee murmured about her cuteness, and Maggie basked in the warm glow of their regard.

When we went back to school to pick up Max (and no one was there early hovering outside the door or anything), the teacher poked her head out the classroom door and invited parents to come in and pick up their kids. I felt almost exactly like I had gone back in time, to when Max was a newborn and we were scurrying down the hospital corridors to see him. There was the same desperate, almost physical desire to see him and hug him, the same excitement to hear about his progress while we were apart and the same fear that I would find him sad or sick or scared without me there to comfort him. When we walked in, he was sitting on the circle rug with his new classmates, and when he saw Ian and I, his face, already gently smiling, broke into his patented, glorious, giant sunny grin. "I love Kindergarten!" he said when we got close enough. "I love it so, so much! It was so great! Can I have an extra juice box when we get home? Since I'm in Kindergarten now, you know, and so I need a lot of lemonade." Apparently, one of the skills that you hone in your first days of kindergarten is hustling.

We Interrupt The Deafening Bloggy Silence To Bring You The Following Alarming News Flash:

2010-08-21T22:52:00.000-07:00

Max starts kindergarten in four days. Four days. Four. Days.

It's not as if I have progressed along the path of being Max's mom for the last four and three quarters years without being aware that he would, someday, sashay off into the world and start kindergarten. But now that it is not happening in the hazy someday future, but can officially be moved into the category of 'imminent', I find that I am not coping as gracefully as one would hope of oneself. Today we went shopping for back-to-school supplies (Iron Man backpack + crayons + Mario t-shirt = ready for success, as far as Max is concerned). On the way to the counter to buy our loot, we walked through the aisle that has all the baby stuff, and I was suddenly struck by the fact that I would never need to buy any of the things surrounding me for the gigantically tall boy walking beside me ever again. Instead of diapers or bottles or baby food or extra-soft cloths, we are looking for pencils and notebooks and backpacks with the coolest superhero on the front of them. Only the narrowest sliver of self-respect and control stood in the way of my fellow shoppers witnessing an ugly scene involving me weeping over the preemie diapers whilst clutching Max to my bosom and singing 'If I Could Catch Time In A Bottle'. (I totally don't know the words to 'If I Could Catch Time In A Bottle', and actually the only reason I know that the song exists at all is because of a hazily-remembered episode of 'The Muppet Show' in which someone -- Professor Honeydew, maybe? -- actually experiments with putting time in a bottle and gets progressively younger as the song progresses, but I could freestyle that stuff. I find that if you are staring down the barrel of a hysterical crying fit in the middle of a crowded diaper aisle, you sweat the more minor embarrassment of mixing up lyrics much less than you might otherwise.)
Max has had several meltdowns of his own (less embarrassing than mine, but no more logical or predictable in nature -- one of them yesterday was about the slight warping of an old ratty bucket handle at preschool), but on the whole he is excited to begin his new big boy adventures. I think he will enjoy himself and I know that he is ready for bigger challenges and more intellectual stimulus and even, gulp, more independence from his mama. I am, despite my wailing and beating my breast in the diaper aisle at Target, very excited to watch yet another petal in the remarkable flower that is Max unfurl itself and taste the world. I just wish I could let him do his thing AND keep him close by me, for protection and comfort and care, both at the same time. Maybe I could just, I don't know, hide under his desk at school or something? Just for the first three or four years?

Elevensies

2010-08-14T06:49:00.000-07:00

When our two souls stand up erect and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire,
At either curved point -- what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Beloved -- where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.
--Elizabeth Barrett Browning

In Which Maggie Makes The Magic Number Her Own

2010-05-22T00:24:00.000-07:00

We all know that at this point, I owe the world, like, six months worth of The Tale Of Tillmans, and it's coming. When I only blog occasionally, you all get bombarded by these Cats In The Cradle posts about how fast the kids are growing up, and no one wants to be subjected to my weeping and wailing and sentimentalizing abruptly and out of context. However, while we are waiting for me to get it together in the catch-up department, Maggie is celebrating her threehood. I am having trouble believing that she can really be three, even though the evidence is currently snoring away in my spot in the big bed. Maggie has become so tall, and so articulate, and so self-possessed, it blows me away. She has taken her crazily opinionated personality and molded it into a serene, independent confidence that I admire and am proud of and cannot possibly hope to emulate. She is magical, and while I mourn daily that the baby in her is melting away with such alarming rapidity, I feel so very lucky to know the fierce, funny, sassy little girl that is forming in that baby's place. Happy Birthday, Maggie Moon. We love you.

Happy Birthday, Soso!

2010-03-05T10:58:00.000-08:00

As usual, we wish we could be up closer and more personal to watch you bloom into two-hood, but also as usual, we love you muchly and wish you epic amounts of cake on your face. Happy Birthday, Cousin Sophia!

Happy Birthday Grandma Elaine!!

2010-01-15T10:33:00.001-08:00

Max and Maggie each made their grandma a card for her birthday, and then they each, in their own way, made their cards impossible to put in the mail. Max's is too big to fit in any envelope that I currently possess, and Maggie taped hers to the wall "for a decoration". Fortunately, however, through the magic of the blog, I can still transmit the cards to their intended recipient. Enjoy, Elaine!

"This is a picture for my grandma. This is me -- I'm Maggie -- Maggie and Grandma are walking on the beach and we are looking at the birds!" -- Maggie

"This is an umbrella for Grandma for when it rains so she will not get too wet. It's also raining right now in the picture, actually." -- Max

We all love and miss you and hope you enjoy your day!

Happy Birthday, Uncle Josh!!

2009-12-07T20:04:00.000-08:00

I thought that this picture might remind you of happier times. We hope the day contained everything that you wanted it to, and then some. Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday Cousin Joey!

2009-12-03T15:01:00.000-08:00

From the moment that Joey and Max first laid eyes on each other, when they were just a few months old, they have been the very best of friends. They have maintained a special bond all their lives, despite living far apart and getting to see each other far less often than any of us would like. There are probably many reasons why this bond exists, and why it works so well, but I think that one of the reasons is that Joey has always had such a big, open, affectionate heart. Joey, you are one of the kindest and friendliest people I know, and we are all so glad that we get to share a family with you. We love you and wish you a very happy #4!

Happy Halloween From The Princess And The Green Lantern

2009-10-31T21:59:00.001-07:00

I had this whole costume for Maggie all worked out -- I've spent the last two months piecing together a little outfit so that Maggie could be Olivia the Pig, a literary character with whom I have a love affair spanning years. However, yesterday Maggie informed me that she would not be dressing up as Olivia, and that she needed a crown so that she could be a fairy princess, instead. (The dress she already had.) So this morning, I spent my precious time and energy elbowing eager candy shoppers out of the way at Target, so that I could procure a crown for my amazonian fairy princess. It was totally worth it. Look how sassy she thinks she is.
Max has been indoctrinated with a love of The Justice League by his father, and his plan is to work his way through each of the characters, one for every Halloween, until he has been each of the members of the league in turn. Depending on whether you count some of the lesser known, somewhat extraneous characters, he could be well into his twenties by the time he completes this goal. This year he is the Green Lantern. The best part of his costume is the Green Lantern Ring, which you cannot see in this picture, so you will have to take my word for it. It is a gigantic, very sparkly, very gaudy costume emerald ring, on which I painted the green lantern symbol with gold paint. He looks like Zsa Zsa Gabore in a superhero suit. Good times.
When I was little, I lived in Canada, and many a delicate and fanciful costume was ruined by the need to throw on a winter coat over top before trick or treating. Here in California, the opposite problem stands between us and costume greatness: it was seventy-one degrees today, and while Maggie's gown could be made weather-appropriate through the addition or subtraction of tights and an airy, lacy shawl, The Green Lantern had some sweaty armpits in his all-black crime-fighting ensemble. Like the hero he is, however, he did not let it slow him down, and evil-doers and pumpkin guts alike were cowed by his sparkly, shiny ring of power.

It's Not Just Because He Likes Sausage Or Anything

2009-10-17T09:37:00.000-07:00

Max to Mama (musingly): Granny is a vegetarian.
Mama: That's true.
Max: She only likes vegetables.
Mama: Well ...
Max: And grains.
Mama: Um ...
Max: And fruit a little bit. Right, Mama?
Mama: Yep.
Max: Granny does not like any meat.
Mama: Right.
Max: So thatwise I am going to eat all of the sausage so Granny doesn't have to eat it. Because sausage is meat, right, Mama?
Mama: Sausage is made of meat, yes.
Max: I am protecting Granny from meat. Because did you notice that I really love Granny?
Mama: I'm sure she's very grateful.
Max: Yeah.

Happy Birthday Ian!!

2009-10-09T07:25:00.000-07:00

It has been twenty years, I think almost exactly, since Ian and I first met. Obviously, in twenty years of knowing him, I have witnessed him change and grow in a number of ways. His style of dressing has changed. The amount of hair on his head has changed. He has changed from a teenager to a young man to a husband and father. But the very best things about Ian, the core Ianness that I fell in love with and have remained very much in love with for all of this time, those things have not changed. Ian is funny. He is friendly, in an outgoing way that I have many times used as a shelter for my more reserved self. He is comfortable in his own body and spirit, in a way that puts other people at ease. And he is, he always has been, loving and attentive and loyal in a way that allows Max, Maggie and I to feel that we are protected and safe and living a very great adventure. Happy Birthday, Ianly. We love you so very much.

Happy Birthday Granny!!

2009-10-02T09:35:00.000-07:00

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

-- ee cummings

Happy Birthday Uncle Thomas!!

2009-09-28T10:08:00.000-07:00

Rounding out our Family Clumping Birthday Syndrome for us is our newest family member. Tom, we hope you enjoy your birthday and let Vancouver treat you to a wonderful day! We miss you!

Happy Birthday Auntie Jessi!!

2009-09-27T08:43:00.000-07:00

We miss you lots and hope you are partying it up, Nova Scotia style! We love you!

Paternal Presence

2009-09-26T15:15:00.000-07:00

Max to Mama: Well, Mama, I think I am going to paint my bike black.
Mama: Really? Why?
Max: I like my bike to be black all over. I need to work on the metals, too. And the gears and things?
Mama: Hmm.
Max: Me and Daddy talked about that. And all the things that Daddy is doing, I am going to do. Because I like all of Daddy's plans. I really do.
Mama: I like Daddy, too.
Max: He is not your dad, though.
Mama: That's true.
Max: That would be really weird.
Mama: Yeah.

Cuatro

2009-09-16T06:25:00.000-07:00

Before Max was born, there was a part of me, even in my happiest moments, that was always sad. And now, even in my saddest moments, that part of me is always happy. Always. I am happy that Max is happy. I am grateful that he is healthy.What I am proudest of, however, is that Max is kind, and sensitive to the thoughts and feelings of others. He is remarkable, and four years has not been nearly long enough for me to lose my awe of the miracle that is him, or my wonder at my good fortune in getting to watch him grow. Happy Birthday, Max.

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Happy Birthday Aunt Carol!

2009-09-15T13:00:00.000-07:00

We love you and hope to see you soon. If nothing else, we need more current pictures for birthday blog posts!

Happy Birthday Auntie Jill!!!

2009-09-13T21:40:00.000-07:00

We hope your day -- well, all your days, really -- are filled with glee. We love you ever so much.

In Which More Humorous Dialogue Is Transcribed

2009-09-12T10:16:00.000-07:00

Max to Maggie: Hey, Maggie!
Maggie: Yes, my treasure?
Max: I am not your treasure, Maggie. I am your brother. You are wrong.
Maggie: No! I not! I not wrong!
Max: You are wrong. I am not a treasure. I am not gold coins.
Maggie: Ha! Gold coins!
Max: Ah ha ha ha ha! Mama, Maggie is funny!
Mama: She's not the only one.

Better

2009-09-10T09:20:00.000-07:00

I just couldn't let that woebegone picture of my poor little bun sit there any longer than absolutely necessary. Last night was kind of rough -- Max went to bed early, by his own request, with an all-time high fever of 103.4, a dose of tylenol, and a yellow pillow from Ikea that he loves for some reason. He slept more or less through the night, and his fever never went up quite so high again, but he was restless and kept crying in his sleep and saying those inexplicable and somehow creepy things that people say when they talk in their sleep: "Get them all off me!" "What is that red thing? What are all those colored things right there?!" "That big guy is bothering me a lot!" I alternated between testing his forehead for fever, soothing his anxieties, and scanning the shadowy corners to make sure that there weren't really any colored things or big guys in the vicinity.
This morning Max woke up, fever-free, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, cheerfully demanding all the treats he was offered yesterday but passed up because he was too sick to enjoy them. He thanked me for taking care of him, and thanked his dad for finding his favorite pair of stripy underpants. In other words, his sunny self seems to be back in action and to have suffered no permanent effects.

Wanna See Something Unbearably Tragic? Of Course You Do!

2009-09-09T18:57:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Max tripped at preschool and totally ate floor with his face, which explains his piebald nose. And then this morning he puked all over the place and now he has a fever. And the sweatiness and the effort of puking keep making his scraped nose hurt afresh. I feel so desperately sorry for him that I almost feel like puking. Plus, Maggie is in this phase where everything Max does, says, has, or wants she has to do, say, have, or want at the exact same time. So if I give Max tylenol, I've got Maggie nipping at my heels saying, "I need med-cine! In my mouth! In my mouth!" If Max barfs, Maggie lets out a woeful wail and immediately feels that she needs to barf, as well. If Max gets his temperature taken, it is with Maggie running small concentric circles around his sickbed, absolutely certain that her temperature is also highly suspect and must be tested. I am often quite fond of Maggie's admiration for and imitation of her big brother, but I must admit that the charm is wearing somewhat thin right this second.

All Video Games Are Officially Banned From This House Forever

2009-09-07T18:40:00.000-07:00

Maggie to Max: I need that! That's Maggie's! It's MY TURN!
Max: If you want this box, first you must meet me in battle.
Maggie: Okay, sure!
[giggling and wrestling sounds from the site of the battle (aka the playroom)]
Mama: !!!

Happy Birthday, Grandpa Phil and Grandma Kay!!

2009-09-02T09:09:00.000-07:00

I've met a lot of families that have Birthday Clumping Syndrome -- you know, that thing where three quarters of the family seems to have a birthday within a two week span? Our Birthday Clumping Syndrome takes place in September, so sit back and get ready for a bushel of birthday well wishing blog posts.

My lovely grandma celebrates her 93rd birthday today. And she's still cheeky!

Phil is more than likely celebrating his birthday by quietly not celebrating, but this is as good a day as any to reflect on how much we like Phil, right? Right.

Apparently, Even If I Don't Participate, She Does My Part And Carries On Without Me

2009-08-29T15:05:00.001-07:00

Maggie (woefully, from her carseat) to Mama: Ohhhh! Mama! Maaammaaa!
Mama: What's wrong, Maggie?
Maggie (covering eyes with hand, as seen by Mama in rearview mirror): I'm so sad!
Mama: Why are you so sad?
Maggie: Because I'm crying! (sobs theatrically)
Mama: Why are you crying?
Maggie: Because I'm very sad!
Mama (sighing): Why are you very sad, Maggie?
Maggie: Because I'm crying!
Mama: Okay, we're in some sort of conversation loop now. I'm very sorry you're so sad, Maggie. Let me know if I can help you.
Maggie: I'm really sad ...
[Pause. Brief silence]
Maggie: I'm so, so sad!
[Pause. Maggie waits. No one says anything.]
Maggie: Why is Maggie sad?
Maggie: She's crying.
Maggie: Poor Maggie. Why she crying?
Maggie: 'Cause I'm very sad.

Honest, If Not Honorable

2009-08-27T11:01:00.000-07:00

Max to Maggie: Stop it, Maggie. Maggie! MAGGIE!
[Sounds of scuffle]
Max to Dad: Maggie's hitting me!
Dad: Maggie, don't hit Max.
Maggie: NO! I'm not going to! Uh! Uh!
[Sounds of scuffle as Maggie is removed to an undisclosed location]
Max: Maggie hit me.
Mama: I saw that.
Max: But I didn't hit her.
Dad (returning from battle): I'm really proud of you, Dude.
Max: Because she was too far away.

Maybe His Humor Is Just Too Sophisticated For The Rest Of Us

2009-08-23T10:07:00.000-07:00

Max to Mama: Knock knock!
Mama: Who's there?
Max: Boo!
Mama: Boo who?
Max: Boo the door!
Mama: ???
Max: Say, 'boo the door, who', Mama!
Mama: Boo the door who?
Max: Don't cry, the door doesn't want to bonk you!
[PAUSE]
Max: Now laugh, Mama.

Canada, And Other Stories

2009-08-20T14:32:00.000-07:00

So, we went to Canada about a month and a half ago, and it was awesome but then we were tired, and then Maggie stopped napping on any kind of regular schedule, which is below the belt even for her, and then my mum keeps gleefully reminding me that I stopped napping when I was two, and I have been busy interviewing hitmen to take her out, and so I have not quite had time to tell the tale of our trip to BC, or our (surprisingly longer) trip home, or our (surprisingly even longer) readjustment to non-vacation living. And there has been this blog post draft hanging around the que forever, gathering dust and halfway uploaded, and so I am taking a stand and finishing it so we can move on. Because Max's birthday party is coming up, and he has big plans. Big plans, people.

Our journey to Canada was very smooth. We left in the morning, Maggie and Max had a backpack each full of stuff to do and eat and think about on the plane, and then they slept most of the car ride from Spokane to my dad's house. This gave us a false sense of security concerning the trip home (ominous music).

See how happy and carefree we are? Vacation, ahoy!

We took time, whilst in Canada, to stop and smell the flowers.

And, of course, we stocked up on hammock time.

We went to the lake, to baptize the children in their (well, in mine, but they are 50% me) native waters. Dad had grand visions of taking the kids on the fishing boat. He purchased life jackets especially for the occasion. Maggie's was pink. She liked it. She did not, however, like the idea of going on the boat. Max was even more reluctant.

So Dad sailed alone. He was reasonably philosophical about the death of his dream.

The water was refreshing. By which I mean, it was very cold, and you had to ease in, and then it felt good for awhile, and then it was cold again. If you look closely, you can see the tear tracks on my sister Aly's face as she cries over her frozen belly button.

Maggie does not like going in swimming pools, which is weird because she loves baths. I was curious about what her reaction to the lake would be. She initially charged right into the lake, with me hastily shedding shorts and buckling life jackets in her wake. By the time she realized that it was booty-freezin' cold, it was deep enough that she was afraid to retreat alone, and so she shimmied up my leg and squwaked, "I want to get out. It's too cold. I want that Grandpa. I don't like it swimming", until I took pity on her and escorted her back to dry land.

Grandpa helped her forget her troubles with a cookie. And then she liked that so much that he gave her a second one. My dad is a sucker.

Max was not a big fan of the cold water, either, but he really enjoyed digging in the sand near the lake. There are pictures of him enjoying digging in the sand near the lake, but Ian took them and it was bright and so it was hard for him to see what he was photographing (or that's his excuse, anyway), and so for some reason all of the Max digging pictures feature someone's bum prominently in frame. Like, really prominently.

I made my sisters pose with me in the lake, because it is picteresque. They must really love me, because it was also chilly.

Ian "forgot" his bathing suit, or I would have made him pose in the lake with me, too.

One of the great truths of life, learned by Max and Maggie during our trip, is that Aunties are awesome. They think you're cute, and they don't have to wake up at 2 a.m. with you, so their love for you is not tinged with bitterness like that of your parents.

And, the more aunties there are, the more likely you are to find someone who is willing to play with you. We were one auntie down, this trip -- my sister Jill was in Vancouver -- but luckily there are still quite a few hanging around.

This is the face you can expect to have pointed at you if you suggest that Maggie get off the swing before she is ready. It's scary, huh?

Max's giant hobbit prints at the water fountain park.

Max (far left side of picture) is practicing what he calls "squid-style kung fu" on an especially aggressive fountain spray.

Maggie, on the other hand, prefers to wade gently and admire the fountains from afar.

Our camera sort of ate its own battery relatively early on in our trip, so I did not get very many pictures of the many Fry relatives and their enfolding of Max and Maggie into the clan. I am therefore posting this shot of my grandma with Maggie, because it is one of the few that I have, even though it looks like my grandma is walking Maggie on a leash (she isn't).

In fact, Maggie roped her GG and Erhart into blowing giant bubbles on our last morning in Canada. Mercifully, she seems to have outgrown that thing where she called bubbles "bastards".

Look at her warlike stance, one pink bathing-suit-clad hip thrust out, fraggle hair blowing in the Canadian breeze. I adore her.

On our last evening in Canada, we of course visited the Colander, where we ate salad, spaghetti, meatballs, chicken, potatoes, now my tummy hurts just thinking about it, and ice cream. Maggie broke not one but two glasses while we were there, before we even started on the salad. The first one was accidental. The second one was because she liked the smash of the first one. My extremely kindly family took turns strolling around the restaurant with her for the rest of the meal, so that Ian and I could eat.

Blurry, but cute.

I had a giant head of steam about the whole return trip when I began this blog post, but that was like a month ago, and I am mostly over it. Our plane was delayed in Spokane, which meant that we would have missed our connection flight, which meant that we needed to spend an extra night in Spokane. This by itself would have been incovienient but bearable. The unfortunate part was that we got stuck with a not very helpful clerk, who told us that there were no available hotel rooms anywhere in Spokane (not really true, as it turned out), and who advised us to fly to Seattle and 'try to get a hotel room when we got there'. This struck me as undesirable. Ian and I, travelling by ourselves, could probably spend a night sleeping on our suitcases in the airport and live to make it into an amusing anecdote, but not with two small offspring in tow. My dad, who was already about halfway back to Canada at that point, turned around and came back to Spokane, where he helped us find a hotel room and stayed with us. My dad is an unsung hero. We made it home the next night, and we were extremely disgruntled, but then the airline sent us vouchers for our next flight, and gave us free air miles, and compensated us for our hotel room. So we're friends again.

Chelsa Birthday/Aniversary Video

2009-08-13T19:20:00.000-07:00

Untitled from Ian Tillman on Vimeo.

RIP Edgar Cat

2009-08-09T19:45:00.001-07:00

Edgar, our black cat, passed away today. He was fourteen, and we will miss him a great deal. Via con dios, Edgar. We love you.

Blame Canada

2009-07-21T08:56:00.000-07:00

I do very humbly beg your forgiveness for my extended absense. We were in BC last week, and having too much fun to go near the computer. And then the trip home ended up being longer and more dramatic than anticipated (much more on that later), and so recovery/unpacking/reintroduction to normal life has been slow. I will be back, someday very soon, to discuss our trip, our lives as they currently exist, the kids' college careers, etc. As we heard at the airport more than once on our trip home, we appreciate your patience, we are committed to your satisfaction, and we will be with you as soon as possible.

Hustler Spirit

2009-07-03T17:20:00.000-07:00

Maggie to Daddy, at 6:32 a.m.: Hi, Dad! Daddy? Hi, Daddy! Um, Daddy? Daddy! Hey, Daddy! Um, Dad? Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy! Daddy! Hi, Dada!
Daddy (opening one eye irritably): Hello, Maggie.
Maggie: Oh, HI! Um, Daddy?
Daddy: Mmpph.
Maggie: DAD!
Daddy: What is it, Maggie?
Maggie: I wuv you.
Daddy (much less irritably): I love you, too, Maggie.
[Pause while Maggie throws an affectionate arm around Daddy]
Maggie: Um, Dad?
Daddy: Yes, Maggie?
Maggie: Can I have a popsicle? A red popsicle!

Happy Birthday Auntie Aly!

2009-07-02T09:29:00.000-07:00

I was eleven the year that Aly was born, and her tiny baby self delighted me a great deal. She was the first newborn I ever remember seeing, and I loved her immediately. She is slightly less tiny now, and certainly not a baby, but she still delights me a great deal, and I still love her. Happy Birthday, Sister. California loves you!

Reason # 625,432,978 Why Maggie Is Charming

2009-06-28T14:21:00.000-07:00

When Maggie is tired, and she wants to be put to bed, she never says that she wants to go to bed, or that she wants to go night nights, or whatever. She always, always says that she wants to "play night nights". This delights me, that she thinks of going to sleep as yet another game. And then, if you don't take the hint fast enough, she adds, "in bed!" and points. And if you still don't hustle enough to suit her, she will punch you in the knees until you take her to bed. Living with Maggie is a lot like living with a somewhat bossy, extremely violent fraggle. I love her all the way to the stars and back.

Little Sister

2009-06-26T23:25:00.000-07:00

Max to Mama: Who is that picture of?
Mama: That's Daddy, and me, and you when you were a baby.
Max: What are we doing?
Mama: We're on vacation at the beach.
Max: Where's Maggie? Why did we not bring Maggie to the beach?
Mama: That was before Maggie was born.
Max: But where was she?
Mama: We didn't have Maggie yet. It was just you and me and Dada.
Max: WHY?
Mama: Are you getting upset?
Max (lips quivering, eyes filling up with tears): Yeah, I am getting upset, because I'm sad.
Mama: Why are you sad?
Max: Because I miss Maggie! I want her to come with us!
Mama: Well, that's why we had a Maggie. So that we could bring her places with us.
Max: Last years ago?
Mama: Um. Yeah.
Max: That's why we need Maggie to come with us, thatwise I will be sad. Because I love her.

My Two Dads

2009-06-21T09:13:00.000-07:00

Happy Father's Day

2009-06-21T09:11:00.000-07:00

When Max was about six months old, he and I walked downtown and popped into Ian's store for a little visit. Ian was with a customer, so Max and I found a corner to occupy ourselves in while we waited. As the customer was getting ready to leave, Ian introduced Max and I to her, we all exchanged pleasantries, and then the customer, on her way out the door, asked Ian when he would be at work in the next few days, in case she had a question or whatever. He told her his hours, and she raised her eyebrows and turned to me.
"Wow!" she said. "You never see him! You must feel like a single parent!"
"No," I said, genuinely baffled. "If I were a single parent, I would be working all those hours, and somehow trying to do everything I do now."
Ian does work long hours. He works weekends and holidays. He does this for us, so that the kids can be home when they need to be home and so that I can be home with them. In and of itself, this is remarkable, and the fact that Ian does not treat it as if it is remarkable only makes it more so. But the truth of the matter is, I was surprised by that customer's comment, because in addition to working long hours, Ian uses the time he does have at home with us to be completely present and available and interactive with his children, to a degree that surpasses remarkable and ventures into the realm of wonderous. We are lucky.

Without Further Ado, The Magic Number Proudly Presents ...

2009-06-14T07:13:00.000-07:00

Maggie's impersonation of The Reverend Al Sharpton.

For The Record, I Am Crouched Down -- Max Is Not Taller Than I Am Yet

2009-06-13T18:02:00.000-07:00

Although he has been eating like a vacuum lately, and sleeping like a log, and falling apart at the drop of a hat like a -- a -- a thing that falls apart at the drop of a hat, and these signs almost always point to impending growth spurts. I am hoping that I continue to be the taller of the two of us through his fifth birthday. To hope for longer than that would be optimistic to the point of ridiculousness, and I try to be realistic.

Performance Piece

2009-06-12T06:25:00.000-07:00

I call this composition:
Fearless Mountain Explorer
In Pink Tutu
(with stubby ponytail).

School Girl

2009-06-11T09:21:00.000-07:00

Now that Maggie is two, she is eligible to attend preschool with Max and I, and she had her first official school day on Tuesday. Although she is younger than Max was when he started, she has been chomping at the bit for awhile, and her first day went very smoothly. As could perhaps be predicted by anyone who knows me, I was exponentially more anxious on her behalf than she was. She just looked so very small to me, trotting around amidst all the giant four- and five-year olds. Maggie, of course, does not consider herself too small for any task or activity, up to and including wild bull taming and Mt. Everest climbing. As could perhaps be predicted by anyone who knows Maggie, within half an hour of being at school she had roped a team of five year olds into taking turns pushing her on the swing.
I am really glad that Maggie is able to come with us now. It eases up our schedule considerably -- Maggie was staying home with Ian on his days off while Max and I went to school, which meant that Ian and I were working seven days a week between the two of us. It also allows me to keep Maggie close, which is nice because I missed her desperately. I am so, so grateful that I am able to teach and bring the kids with me, so I can be there with Max and Maggie while still giving them a bit of socialization. I would be a wreak of embarrassingly epic proportions otherwise.

Creepy Remarks That Max Has Made In An Offhand Tone Recently:

2009-06-06T11:09:00.001-07:00

While Brushing His Teeth:
Max: My toothbrush is poisoned, Mama! So I can't brush my teeth. Sorry.
Mama: There is no poison on your toothbrush. Just toothpaste.
Max: That's where they put the poison. They did your toothbrush, too.

While Attempting to Avoid Falling Asleep At Nap Time:
Max: Hey, Mama?
Mama: What?
Max: You know that feeling?
Mama: What feeling?
Max: You know, that feeling like someone is watching you?

At The Doctor's Office:
Max to Doctor: Doctor, my next mommy broke my next helicopter and I sat on it.
Doctor: Um ... I may need your mom to interpret that one.
Mama: I wish I could.
Doctor: So as far as you know, he hasn't had any accidents recently with broken toys?
Mama: No. Sometimes he --
Max: It didn't happen this day. My next mommy lives in my next house. When I am done here I am going to live there.

Proof Positive That These Poor Children Are Being Raised By Incurably Snobby Coffee Fiends

2009-06-01T19:30:00.000-07:00

Maggie to Max in the bath: I'm cooking, Max!
Max: Oh.
Maggie: I'm making cappuccino, Max! It's good! Open your mouth! Drink it! It's good!
Max (glancing critically at Maggie's toy tea cup): You need to put more foam on it, Maggie.

Maggie

2009-05-22T00:24:00.000-07:00

The moon loves her
For she is smooth and round and wise and the moon loves itself in her.

The stars love her
For she lights up dark places and she is most awake at nighttime and the stars love themselves in her.

The sun loves her
For she is alight like the sun and warm and the sun loves itself in her.

The grass loves her
For she whispers pleasantly in the ear and she runs with the wind and the grass loves itself in her.

The water loves her
For she chuckles as she goes and she invigorates the world and the water loves itself in her.

Love loves her
For she is made of adoration and trills and rushes of giddy delighted feeling flow where she appears and Love loves itself in her.

We love her
For she is fierce and bold and always brimming with unexpected joy and we love us more with her here to share us.

Two years ago today, we met a little lady who would go on to quickly, instantly, utterly captivate our hearts. As we celebrate our Maggie today (and every day), I am torn between inconsolable sorrow that her baby self is gone, incomparable joy that her toddler self is so happy and fearless and unique, and indescribable excitement to meet the self that comes next. Happy Birthday, my bold little amazon. We love you so very much.

Lightsaber Fight

2009-05-18T11:37:00.000-07:00

Because When You Get Right Down To It, The Alphabet Just Doesn't Do Much

2009-05-16T09:26:00.001-07:00

Max to Dad: I have a good idea, Dada. Here's what we're going to do: I'm the 'i' and you're the 'j', okay, Dad?
Dad: Okay. Wait, what? You mean, like, I'm the letter I and you're the letter J? That's what we're doing?
Max: No, no. I'm the letter I and you're the letter J.
Dad: But we're letters? Alphabet letters?
Max: Right. Exactly.
Dad: Okay.

[LONG PAUSE]

Max: So .... so how's it going, J?
Dad: Um. Pretty good, I. How's it going with you?
Max: Good.
Dad: Good.
Max: Yeah.
Dad: Yep.

[LONG PAUSE]

Dad: Are we still letters?
Max: Yes.
Dad: So, what should we do?
Max: We just sit together.
Dad: Okay.
Max: Say, "Okay, I."
Dad: Okay, I.
Max: Exactly. Good job, J.
Dad. Thanks, I.

Happy Mother's Day

2009-05-10T04:15:00.000-07:00

Mothers Day Video from Ian Tillman on Vimeo.

Happy Birthday Gramps!

2009-05-06T07:38:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately, my dad is celebrating his birthday with a rousing game of gall bladder removal, and he is therefore most likely blowing out birthday candles over a tragic hospital jello salad instead of having cake at home. We hope to have him home in the next couple of days, fully recovered and better than ever. In the meantime, however, if and when you wish him a Happy Birthday, wish extra hard, will you? He seems to require forceful good thoughts in order to get through his birthdays in one piece sometimes.

Gramps, we love you muchly, and we are all made a little zanier, more spontaneous, and happier by the fact that you are in our lives. Happy Birthday, Papa.

Uber-Tillmans

2009-05-05T17:38:00.001-07:00

Today's pediatrician findings:

Maggie:
-30 lbs. (88th %)
-36 3/4 inches tall (99th %)
-head size: 88th %
-verbal skills of an average three year old. (The doctor asked if we had ever known her to string three or four words in a sentence, and we laughed. Because she's been doing that for nine months. Her longest sentence to date was nine words: "I want to climb in that tree now, Mama.")
-Ferocity of a thousand suns.
-Not at all a fan of shots or the parents who sold her up the river and allowed the shots to happen.

Max:
-42 lbs. (94%)
-41 1/2 inches tall (94%)
-Head size: the doctor decided not to check. It's still big, it's still bold, ultrasound confirms it's nothin' but brains in there.
-Healthy as a horse. A really healthy horse. His last trip to the doctor was over a year ago, and that was for his 3 year old check up.
-verbal skills of an average 4 year old.
-Beautifully polite and cooperative, even in the face of pokings and proddings of an extemely invasive and personal sort.

The doctor summed up the whole Tillman kid thing thusly at the end of our visit: "Well, you have nice kids. And they're very smart. And really, really tall." All true.

Because We Need A Friendlier Dialogue On The Record

2009-05-03T11:33:00.001-07:00

Max to Maggie: Maggie! Maggie! Come here!
Maggie: I'm Maggie.
Max: I know that, Maggie. Come in here with me! Quick!
Maggie: What are you doooing, Mac?
Max: I'm hiding. I am playing legos. Come in here quick! I want you to play in here with me.
Maggie: Okay! Sure! (doesn't move)
Max: Are you coming in here, Maggie? I want you to play with me. You are my little sister. You are learning. I am teaching you to play.
Maggie: Why?
Max: Because I love you, you silly Squeaker Toy. (laughs)
Maggie: I love you too, Mac. Kweek Toy. (laughs)

A Whimsical Slice Of My Day

2009-04-29T18:12:00.000-07:00

Alternate Title: Oh, That's Where Those Grey Hairs Keep Coming From!

Max to Mama (at the grocery store): I need all of that cookie.
Mama: No, I got it for you and Maggie to share. Maggie gets this piece, and you get this piece.
Max (loudly): NO I WANT THE WHOLE COOKIE!! I WANT MAGGIE'S COOKIE AND I DON'T WANT MAGGIE TO HAVE ANY COOKIE! MAGGIE IS NOT MY FRIEND SHE IS JUST A BABY! BABIES ARE BAD! NO BABIES! NEVER! ... (and etc.)
Mama: Listen. I'm going to hang onto the cookie until you calm down and are ready to talk in a nice voice. You don't get things by yelling at people. (and etc.)
[brief pause while Max sniffles and Mama lurks in an out of the way corner of the store to minimize disruption and Maggie happily eats her shard of cookie]
Mama: It seems like you've calmed down a little bit now. Are you ready to try again?
Max (somewhat resentfully): Yes.
Mama: Would you like to have your cookie now while we finish shopping?
Max (somewhat resentfully): Yes. But I wanted the whole cookie. I really did.
Mama: Yes, I think you made that pretty clear.
Elderly Lady Passing By: Ohhh, you've got a cookie, haven't you? Is that a good cookie?
Max: Yes. You know, Mama took my cookie away from me. I cried.
Elderly Lady Who Now Regrets Trying To Make Conversation: Oh? Well ...that's ... that's too bad?
[Elderly Lady scurries off]
Max: I was pretty sad about that cookie.
Mama: I know, Max.
Max: I wish I had Maggie's cookie, too.
Mama: Oh, well, Max.
Max: Thatwise I cried.
Mama: Live in the now, Dude.

Maggie Playing WIth Bubbles

2009-04-28T16:27:00.000-07:00

Enjoy :)

Mama Error # 352,427: Do Not Do Exhausting Things Early In The Day And Then Try To Skip Nap

2009-04-27T15:05:00.000-07:00

Maggie to Mama: I night nights, Mama.
Mama: Hmm? Wait, what?
Maggie:(dreamily) Night nights, Mama.
Mama: No! Oh, no! It's 4:45! If you go to sleep now, you'll never go to bed tonight! No night nights!
Maggie: Night nights.
Mama: Maggie? Maggie! Don't go to sleep, Maggie!
Maggie: I sleeping.
Mama: Let's read a book! Let's take a bath! Let's throw the ball or try on shoes or blow bubbles or eat a cracker or ... dear God Maggie please do NOT go to sleep! Maggie?
Maggie: zzz.
Mama: Oh no.

First Edition

2009-04-25T20:14:00.001-07:00

Abdiox
An original story by Max Tillman

"We won't come in" said Max said. "Until the night goes and the day comes." I love you.
Dear Mama, last years ago I said I love you.
Monsters are in it, too. Their big feet are stomping. I have big feet, too, see? But they're not monster feet.
"I love you, Max." The monsters say that.
Dear Nephew, I love you. Like in Bob The Builder, right Mama?
See the stick on my shirt here? Thatwise I am a tree.
I love you again. I like you. You're the best.
I was talking about sitting there. I like chairs. Chairs are great.
I'm a grown up. But I can't reach a lot of things.
I'm under here now.
Reindeer and Santa, I love you. Put Max all over it. I like it.
Yep.
Love, Max

Just Because They're Pretty

2009-04-23T10:06:00.000-07:00

Cute, With A Side Of ???

2009-04-22T16:18:00.000-07:00

For reasons best known to himself, Max has taken to referring to Maggie as "The Little Squeaker Toy". When Maggie is upset or peevish or angry or sad, Max will sidle up to her, nuzzle her cheek with his nose, and say in his high-pitched patronizing-the-baby voice, "Hey, you Little Squeaker Toy! Don't cry! It's okay, I'm here, my little squeaker toy! Who's a little squeaker toy?" and etc.

I am not quite sure what to think about this new development. On the one hand, it's really cute. On the other hand, it's kind of weird, no? Maggie is not, by my observation, particularly squeaky, and she certainly does not condescend to be anybody's toy. On the other hand, it's REALLY cute, and Maggie LOVES it. It is frequently the only thing that can make her forget that her will has been thwarted by an unforgiving universe yet again. On the other hand, I strongly suspect that the whole routine, especially the high-pitched voice, is Max's sincere imitation of me when I am in full-on Mom mode, and I -- I guess I just wasn't aware that I came off quite so high-pitched and saccharine. On the other hand, it is really, really, very cute. And I reckon it is the most benign of the many names we can expect Max and Maggie to call each other as the years go by.

Watch Your Mouth

2009-04-15T17:52:00.000-07:00

Ian to Chelsa: What is Maggie yelling at Max about?
Chelsa: She wants him to blow more bubbles.
Ian: Oh. Is she saying, 'bubbles'?
Chelsa: Yeah.
Ian: Thank God. It sounded like she was calling him a bastard. Why does she say 'bubbles' so it sounds like 'bastards'?
Chelsa: She definitely does NOT say 'bubbles' so it sounds like 'bastards'. You are just a sick, sick man and your sickness colors everything you hear and see.
Maggie to Max in the background: More bastards, Mac? I need bastards!

BRIEF PAUSE

Chelsa: !!!
Ian: See? You have to admit --
Chelsa: I still say you're a big sicko.

Happy Easter!

2009-04-12T11:21:00.001-07:00

A Whole New Meaning To The Phrase "Head Games"

2009-04-10T16:09:00.000-07:00

Maggie to Dad: Catch it, Daddy! (chucking toy phone and whacking Dad in the head)
Dad: Ow! Maggie, don't throw things at my head!
Maggie: Why not?
Dad: Why not? Because it hurts.
Maggie: Why?
Dad: Because it's made of hard plastic and it hurts when it bonks my head.
Maggie (rounding up for another throw): Here you go, Daddy! More catch it?
Dad: Ow! No. No more catch.
Maggie: Why not?
Dad: You're too violent.
Maggie: NO NO! I sorry, Daddy.
Dad: It's oka -- argh! No throwing things at Dad, Maggie! Owie!
Maggie: Daddy?
Dad (rubbing various welts on head): What is it, Maggie?
Maggie: I love you, too.
Dad (picking up Maggie and snuggling her): I love you, too, Maggie.
Maggie: Hiding, Daddy? More hide?
Dad: Yeah, okay. At least the blanket is soft.

Sunrise, Sunset

2009-03-21T16:13:00.000-07:00

Max recently got a new big boy bike from his cousin, Ben. (Well, actually, technically, my cousin Ben.) (Well, no, really truly actually, my cousin's son Ben. But I can never remember whether that makes Max and Ben second cousins or first cousins once removed or second cousins twice removed or what, and who wants to wade through all of that anyway? So, for the sake of all of our health and happiness, let's just call him The World's Cousin Ben, okay?) Max was very excited about the bike and all the sweet intoxicating freedom it represented, and he took an inaugural lap around the living room with his uncle Augie (well, actually, MY uncle Augie, but let's just stop there), but then it was just a hair too big for him and it was really cold and rainy, and so there has been a longish interlude between the acquiring of the bike and the actual riding of the bike. Last week, though, the weather was in the 80s, Max has spent the last couple of months eating and sleeping and growing like a weed (a weed that eats and sleeps, I guess, and I hate that expression, anyway, because whereas you are unhappy about a fast-growing tenacious weed, you are generally happy about a fast-growing healthy child. I'm playing it fast and loose with the parentheses today, aren't I?), and so Ian and Max took advantage of the moment and began learning how to ride on the big boy bike.

They've gone out practicing three or four times, and Max's golden laugh rings out the entire time he is on the bike. After the first practice session, Ian came in and said to me, "I'm having one of those landmark father-son moments, teaching my boy how to ride his bike. I can't believe how big he is, now." I can't, either. The only consolation for losing Baby Max is that Boy Max is the most fascinating and charming and lovely and funny boy in the entire universe, and he is still ours. For a little while, at least.

Maggie Speaks, The World Trembles

2009-03-20T23:58:00.000-07:00

Maggie to the general public, at the dinner table: I need chocka. (transcriber's note: chocka = chocolate milk)
Mama: After dinner you can have some chocolate milk, Maggie.
Maggie: No. No! I want chocka! (covers eyes with tragic hand and wails)
Dad: Finish eating, first, Maggie.
Maggie: I don't want it! I like chocka!
Mama: Not right now. Finish your dinner.
Maggie: Chocka.
Mama: Drink your water for right now, please.
(unintelligible grumbling from the high chair for a minute or two)
Maggie (raising one finger in the air): Hey, Guys! I have idea! I have idea!
(pause while Ian and Chelsa simultaneously marvel at Maggie's verbosity and brace themselves for the inevitable)
Mama: What's your idea, Maggie?
Maggie: How about ... chocka!

They Annoy Each Other, But They Amuse Me

2009-03-13T19:52:00.000-07:00

Maggie to Max: Hi, Mac!
Max: Hello, Maggie.
Maggie: More play, Mac? I wanna play!
Max: I am not called Mac. I'm Ma-X. M-A-X spells MAX.
Maggie: Hi, Mac!
Max: Stop it, Maggie.
Maggie: I love you, too, Mac.
Max: (Heavy sigh) Mama! Maggie is teasing me!
Mama: No, no. She's trying to say your name, but she doesn't know how to pronounce the 'x', so she's saying 'Mac' instead of 'Max'. You just have to keep reminding her, and showing her how to pronounce it the right way, and she'll get it eventually.
Max: Maggie makes a lot of problems.
Maggie: I'm me!
Max: I know, Maggie.
Maggie: I love you, too.
Max: I love you, too, Maggie. But you really need to learn how to announce my name.

Happy Birthday, Sophia!

2009-03-05T12:10:00.000-08:00

We wish we were there, or you were here, so we could hand-feed you ice cream and bask in the glow of your first year triumph. Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl!

Cirque de Sommeil

2009-03-02T14:48:00.000-08:00

Question: Why is that Maggie is almost always roused to complete and greatly aggrieved wakefulness by my moving a single inch away from her body, breathing, showering, sneezing, or trying to do anything that in any way does not involve nursing and snuggling a Maggie, and yet Max resting his giant feet directly on her person apparently does not disturb her in the slightest? No, really. I want to know.

If You Don't Like Barf, You Should Definitely NOT Come To Our House Today

2009-02-28T15:35:00.000-08:00

On Thursday morning, I got out of bed, too early as usual, and somewhat tired from a long night of Maggie-wrangling as usual, but otherwise the picture of health and well-being. As I smelled the coffee that Ian was making, however, it occurred to me that I didn't want any -- not at all as usual. It further occurred to me that the reason I didn't want any was that my stomach felt a little queasy. And then, for the next 12 hours, I was either throwing up or thinking about throwing up. I can't even remember the last time I had the stomach flu, but it was definitely before I had kids. It turns out that, while children are wonderful and soul-enriching and life-changing and a constant source of delight, they do nothing whatsoever to enhance the flu experience. Ian took charge of child-care, which was wonderful, but Max kept coming in to check on me and give me healing kisses, and his sweaty-boy-with-pepperoni-pizza-breath scent was less than easy on my already tormented stomach. Poor little Max has never met with such a lukewarm reception for his affectionate advances in his entire life.
By Friday morning, I was more or less over it, just in time for Ian's Friday evening announcement that he was feeling a bit nauseous, himself. He spent most of last night in the bathroom. (Is this an exciting story, or what? Man, you all must be on the edge of your seats!) He is home from work today, no longer barfing but not exactly radiating his usual exuberant good cheer, either. Lucky for him that he's home, too, because otherwise he would have missed both children catching the barfitis simultaneously, and that would have been a shame. Neither kid has ever had the stomach flu before, so in addition to his bee sting, Max has now had the pleasure of another milestone breached -- learning how to puke in the toilet. I would say we've made it to the bathroom 3 out of 7 times so far. Good times.
So, what's new with you?

Ah, The Milestones Of Childhood

2009-02-23T13:12:00.000-08:00

Max just got his first bee sting. He was stung on his index finger. He did not care for it.
"Mom!" he said conversationally about an hour ago, coming in from outside, "There's a bug on here!" And he indicated the bucket he had just carried in (illicitly, by the way, because buckets are supposed to stay outside at our house, and let the rest of this story be a lesson to you all that crime doesn't pay). I glanced over, saw a bee crawling busily around on the bucket handle, and said "Yike!"
"I don't like that bug, Mama", Max said, still calmly, but with an edge of squeakiness in his voice.
"It's a bee", I told him, with an edge of squeakiness in my own voice. And, realizing that I was the parent and therefore the authority and therefore the one who needed to take the situation in hand, I added, "I'm going to take it outside, okay? You just stay still."
"Yeah", Max agreed. And then his eyes filled up with tears all at once and he wailed in an ascending crescendo of volume and pitch, "Yeah, Mama, that bug canNOT be in the house because that bug BIT me and I don't like it AT ALL that hurts my feelings it BIT MEEEEEE!"
I escorted the bee and its bucket outside hastily but with an eye to caution. Then I looked at Max's finger, saw that it was red but not puffy and that there were no protruding stingers, and got him some ice for the sting. "Those are bees", I told my caterwauling firstborn. "They like flowers, like the flowers outside our window right now. If you ever see another one, make sure you remember not to touch it, okay? Your finger will feel better in just a second."
"Yeah, Mama. But --" with renewed sobs of outrage -- "but that bee that bug needs to remember to not bite me anymore! Owie owie owie owie ....now it's better. Mama, it feels a little better. Can I have some chocolate milk?" His righteous anger is great, folks, but his attention span is small.

I Like This Girl A Lot

2009-02-21T10:12:00.000-08:00

In spite of her recent aversion to sleep (hers, ours, or anyone else's), Maggie continues to charm (me, herself, the world in general). She will often express affectionate feelings for me, especially right before hitting me up for something she wants ("A hug, Mama? I want a kiss? Hey! How 'bout Nemo? Yeah yeah! Sure!"), but she never says, "I love you". She always says, "I love you, too", even if you haven't said anything. This delights me. It also, I feel, sums up Maggie beautifully: Cuddly, loving, supremely and unquestioningly confident and completely comfortable assuming that her position in our hearts is secure, even if we have the bad manners not to say so. And, of course, a little bit of a hustler. That's my girl.

Independent, With A Side Of Conflicted

2009-02-20T11:45:00.000-08:00

Max to Mama: Mama! I need to go pee!
Mama: Okay. Do you want me to come with you?
Max: No! I want (holds up hand forbiddingly) to be ALONE. I need my privacy.
Mama: Okay. Go pee then.
Max (from the hallway): Mama! MAMA! I need you to turn the light on!
Mama: Okay. (goes and turns on bathroom light)
Max: Where are you going?
Mama: I was going to leave you alone. You know, like you told me to.
Max: No, Mama. Don't go in the living room.
Max (a second or two later): Mama! I'm all done peeing.
Mama: Okay, good. So let's --
Max: You didn't -- I never got to be alone, you know.
Mama: But, but ...
Max: You have to respect my privacy in the bathroom.
Mama: I -- I'm -- but you said ... (sigh) Sorry, Max.

Artistic Endeavors

2009-02-18T14:13:00.000-08:00

The bratty, shriveled, sleep-deprived part of my being would like to devote an entire blog post today to the fact that Maggie continues her love affair with the night, that she now can get out of bed independently (a fact that we discovered when she strolled out of the bedroom at 11:15 pm last night and interrupted our watching of "Battlestar Galactica" to nonchalantly ask, "What are you doooing, Mama? Daddy, I wanna play?" and then sat down on the living room floor and began playing with a puzzle, for all the world as if she had a perfect right and reason to be there), and that this quirk or phase or whatever it is has now been compounded by sickness (hers, mine, and Max's, and I am not amused at all). But no one likes a whiner, and so I have decided instead to focus on how delightful the offspring have been recently (during daylight hours -- the delightfulness diminishes in direct mathematical proportion to the hour of the night in which we enjoy their company).

Maggie is very into drawing right now. In fact, a pile of paper and a few crayons will keep her in her high chair seven times longer than any kind of food. She is a very focused artist, and something about the face she makes while writing or painting (lips pursed, brow furrowed, shoulders hunched, eyes steely with determination) makes me giggle every time I see it. Ian calls it her Little Gorilla Face. It is, like much of what Ian says, more accurate than it is flattering. When Maggie is sixteen and steals our car, I am planning to blame Ian.

In the very beginning of their siblinghood, Max and Maggie more or less ignored each other. Max had bigger fish to fry, and Maggie was pretty much all about the mama, so they'd tip each other a nod every so often and that was about it. When Maggie started crawling and Max turned two, there was a brief but fierce battle for dominance, which Max mostly won. Then they went back to ignoring each other, and so on in six month increments. It is only recently that Maggie is old enough and Max patient enough to facilitate real play, and while this sometimes (often) means that Ian and I get tag-teamed by the two of them, it is a delight to watch and listen to. Max burbles on in his Maxese to Maggie ("Hey Maggie! You hold one end of this, and I am your pet, okay? Thatwise I am a dog and you and my next sister are not dogs, okay, Maggie?"), Maggie responds in her strident little voice ("Okay, sure! I a doggie! Woof woof! Because I'm ME! Yeah yeah yeah!") and they play together until Maggie loses focus and wanders off to request milk. They get along quite beautifully, Max's 1 1/2 year advantage offset by Maggie's, um, independent ferocity of spirit, and I am filled with glee.

You can see a bit of the Little Gorilla face in the background here, while in the foreground Max is either making an "x" with his crayons (he likes the letter "x") or warding off artistically-minded vampires with a colorful crayon cross.

This is an example of Maggie's
handiwork. When she turns three, maybe we'll send her to Auntie Jill for a mentorship program. A note to Auntie Jill: if you like this plan, and are going to be rooming with Maggie at any point in the near future, guard your shoes and prepare not to sleep much. Oh, and I hope you like Shrek.

Pot, Kettle, Both Black

2009-02-11T13:19:00.000-08:00

Maggie to Max: That's MY Mama, Max! Go away!
Max: That's BOTH OF OUR MAMAS, Maggie!
Maggie: Because I'm ME! (holds both arms above head in primal gesture of triumph)
Max: You're not making any sense, Maggie.
Maggie: No.
Max: Yes!
Mama: No or yes to what?
Max: You're not making any sense, Mama.
Maggie: I want milk. I'm ME!
Mama: What do you mean, I'm not making any sense?
Max: (holding up a hand imperiously) I'm working things out with Maggie, Mama.
Mama: Okay. I'll just ...okay.

Happy Birthday Grandpa Tillman!

2009-02-08T10:43:00.000-08:00

We miss you and we hope you have a delightful day!

Mon famille est beau, ne pensez-vous pas?

2009-02-07T17:38:00.000-08:00

Max is not, by the way, choking to death, despite his appearance. He is trying to say "cheese!" for the camera without sacrificing a single sweet moment of cinnamon-bun-eating time. Maggie, as could perhaps be anticipated, has dismissed the camera, the food, the photo, and the entreaties of the person behind the camera, and is forming an escape plot which will have yelling and squirming as its cornerstones.

Don't Be Alarmed. That Noise You Heard Was Not, In Fact, A Newly Resurrected Pterdactyl Running Amok In Suburbia

2009-02-02T14:41:00.001-08:00

It was just my daughter.

A freakishly giant-haired Italian gentleman surprised me today at the park by looking up from his laptop and asking me, "Let me ask you this question, Miss? Do you think having children was worth it? In despite of every hard things and all sacrifice?" and once I had blinked twice to recover from the weirdness of this as a conversation opener, I said, "absolutely" with no hesitation whatsoever. My new large-maned friend looked surprised by my answer, possibly because Maggie was smearing banana on me and squawking in my face "I want down! I need down! No banana! I'm not happy! Hey! Hey! HEY! HEY! HEY!" at the time, and I was not therefore the poster child for Parental Satisfaction. Which is my way of illustrating the point that Maggie is, how should I say, going through a PHASE right now. The kind that makes me check her head for rudimentary devil horns on a bi daily basis.

I know that kids go through these charming adjustments. Back in September, Max went through one, leaving us baffled as to why his sunny and agreeable self had abruptly transformed into a maniacal crabby crab. Then he got over it and we all breathed a sigh of relief. Kids have bodies and brains that grow in these dizzying leaps and spurts, and sometimes they get testy while their brains and bodies are catching up with each other. I know this from my schooling, from teaching, and from parenting, and I can mostly roll with the moods with my trademark humor and grace firmly intact. What scares me, though, is that Maggie has always been opinionated. And by always, I mean that as a two week old embryo, she exercised absolute and unapologetic authority over what and when I was allowed to eat, sleep, or breathe, and it has escalated from there.

I am not sure if it's because she is the second kid in the family, or if it's because she's sort of insanely smart (I could offer you proof that this is true, for instance mentioning that she can already identify all her letters and knows how to write an "M", but then I'd be one of those Davis Parents who corner you and breathe, "my child is actually a certified genius" at you every chance they get, and I am definitely NOT one of those parents. Nope.), or if it's just because she came out looking like a Fry and evidently it's internal, too, but it has become very hard to take Maggie anywhere. She believes with every ounce of her being that she has all the necessary skills to choose her own path through the world, and throws a giant, fall-to-the-ground-and-howl-tantrum if anyone dares to even suggest picking her up, putting her in a seat or stroller or cart, or even holding her hand. This would be fine, I guess, if it weren't for the fact that she vastly overestimates her ability to identify and stay out of trouble. Grocery store trips that include Maggie now include a choice between shopping with an indignantly screeching toddler who is pinned down in the cart while other shoppers shoot pointed glances, or failing to get any actual shopping done while preventing a free range Maggie from burying herself in an avalanche of dairy products while climbing the milk shelf. Trips to other places ... well, we don't really try to go other places anymore.

Sure, I know that Maggie will eventually either outgrow the need to exert quite so much independent spirit or grow into better judgement to accompany her independent spirit, and in the meanwhile, she is so very fuzzy-haired and soft and sly-humored that I think we will probably keep her. (It is even possible that, despite all logistical problems associated with her ferocity, we like her all the more because of it.) However, since my grocery store trips are few, far-between, and fraught for the time being, if you want to drop by and bring supplies, feel free.

A Fun Game To While Away Your Saturday

2009-01-31T16:26:00.000-08:00

When I got into the shower this morning, Max looked like this:

And when I got out, he had mysteriously transformed into this:

So the question is: What happened to orchestrate this metamorphosis? (Hint: My first thought, that Maggie had suddenly gone all gangsta on him about the face while I was gone, was incorrect. Hint 2: When I asked him, somewhat squeakily, what was going on with his face, he answered serenely, "I look WONDERFUL".) The winner gets, well, to be a winner. Good luck!

She Looks Like A Who From Whoville, But She Has The Heart Of A Lion. An Angry Lion.

2009-01-23T16:40:00.000-08:00

Maggie, as of yesterday, is now 20 months old. This is notable in that she is now more than halfway to being a two-year old, which I am pretending is not true, and in that she is now the age that Max was when she was born. Looking at Maggie as she currently exists, I cannot imagine having a newborn and a twenty-month old and surviving the experience, but we did, because here we all are, more or less intact. To celebrate Maggie's month-hood, we got her some hair ties and gave her her first ever hairdo. (One of my never-to-be-violated rules of parenthood is that no one gets any kind of hair accessory until they have the hair to necessitate it, and it is one of the few that I have stood by. Everyone has to draw some kind of line in some kind of sand sometime.) It made her look like such a big girl that I got a little mushy and nostalgic, and started to think that maybe, someday, sort of soonish, another baby wouldn't be too... and then, today, Maggie has been so freaking crabby and clingy and cantankerous and she screamed and threw things and snotted all the way through a brief but purgatorial grocery store trip, and now I am of the mind that there is enough going on for the time being. In fact, I have gone the opposite direction, and instead of adding to our current family unit, I am considering farming the already existing offspring out to whatever circus is lucky enough to pass through our neck of the woods first. Okay, not really. We all know I'm a sucker for beponytailed little mamas who rub snot on me and throw their baby dolls at me while screaming in my ear in public. The circus should be sad, though, because Maggie is very strong and very charming and sort of bizarrely flexible, and I think her talents would be useful in a number of acrobatic/elephant wrangling/carny-style rube-fooling ways.

More Witty Dialogue

2009-01-21T16:04:00.000-08:00

Maggie (who I incorrectly thought was napping) to Max (who I correctly thought was napping, at least until the moment our scene opens): Hey! Hey! Mac. What are you doooing?
Max: snort?
Maggie: I wanna sit there! I wanna play! Kiss? A hug! Yeah, yeah!
Max: I don't want to hug you and kiss you right now.
Maggie: Wake up! Yeah, yeah! I wanna play!
Max: Maggie, you need to be quiet or you will just have to leave.

History Happens

2009-01-20T18:50:00.000-08:00

I definitely do not think that this blog is the right place to discuss politics or religion or much of anything other than how cute our kids are, and I am not going to do so now, except to say the following: the world changed this morning, and Max and Maggie are young enough that this new world will be the only one they ever remember or know. And I am so very, very, glad.

Foreign Authority

2009-01-16T11:32:00.000-08:00

Max to Maggie: zzzaa twee dam bada trees.
Maggie: What did you say? What?
Max: That's how I say, "come in my fort" in Spanish, Maggie. I talk Spanish. You don't know Spanish. Babies don't know Spanish. Thatwise I will teach you.
Maggie: Sure!

Happy Birthday Grandma!

2009-01-15T10:30:00.001-08:00

Thank you for everything that you do, give, make, and bring to and for our family. We miss you and hope your day is delightful.

Enlightenment

2009-01-13T21:08:00.000-08:00

Right before Ian and I got married, Ian had a co-worker/friend who would often relate tales of his highly imaginative son, who apparently had a whole secret underground fantasy life as a superhero. The friend (whose name eludes me, if I ever knew it at all) confessed to Ian that the depth and scope of the fantasy life worried him somewhat, but Ian and I both enjoyed stories of the son (whose name also eludes me, although I remember that his superhero alternate identity was "The Bat"), and we both expressed the hope that our own future children would be equally imaginative and interesting.
Ladies and gentlemen, enter Max, stage left, and his "next life".
Max has been talking about his next life for awhile now. I don't remember exactly when it began, but the first specific thing I can remember was Max's assertion, shortly before Thanksgiving, that his "next grandfather" was building a spaceship for him and his cousin. Weird, thought Ian and I, and then we forgot about it. Then, one afternoon at preschool, Max was crying and saying that he wanted his mommy, and when I reminded him, "but you have your mommy. I'm right here!", Max tearfully corrected, "No, I want my next mommy!" Since then, Max's "next life" stories have grown to include a next house, which has an upstairs, blue and white walls, and seems to be located in a grove of palm trees near the Taco Bell we occasionally pass on the freeway. In this fabled dwelling, there seems to be an alternate for every person in Max's family. There is a next mama, a next dad, a next baby sister, etc. Our next selves seem, from Max's portrayals, to be very similar to our current selves, but with critical flaws and annoying habits corrected and eliminated. Max's next mommy, for instance, changes his diaper very rarely, and never cuts his nails. Max's next sister plays with him on demand and does not show any interest in his private property. Max's next cousin seems identical to Joey in every way except proximity -- Next Joey lives upstairs in Max's next house, presumably ready and waiting to be played with whenever Max is feeling social. In addition to these more or less familiar characters, colorful visitors show up from time to time and keep it all fresh and new -- Donald Pink, Baby Worms Who Have No Pockets, Santa, etc. We asked the universe for a child with an active imagination, and the universe delivered in spades. I could not be more delighted with him if I had chosen every single one of his characteristics off of a list and designed him by hand.

Criminals Beware!

2009-01-08T13:07:00.001-08:00

Justice League: Davis style!

I Remember When I Could Get Through An Entire Shower Without Needing To Leap Out And Run, Trailing Soapy Water, To The Scene Of Some Sort Of Crime

2009-01-06T07:05:00.000-08:00

Max (entering the bathroom from the vicinity of the living room) to Maggie (sitting on the bathroom floor, unravelling toilet paper while Mama is in the shower): Maggie! Hey Maggie!
Maggie: What is it?
Max: Come on, Maggie! Come on, let's go!
Maggie: I coming!
Max: Hurry, Maggie!
Maggie: What are you dooooing?
Max: I'm making a big mess in the living room! But we have to stop when Mama comes out. Come on, Maggie!
Maggie: Yeah, yeah, sure!
(sound of feet trotting down the hall, followed by distant maniacal laughter)

Maggie, Maggie, Milkmaid

2009-01-05T09:59:00.000-08:00

For awhile now, I have been saying that it will soon be time to wean Maggie, and for awhile now I have been coming up with all sorts of inventive and compelling reasons why I can't do it right this second. Or this one. Or this one, either. Part of the problem is that Maggie does not at all feel that it is time to wean, and I thought that it would be easier when she was a tiny bit older and I could explain it all to her a little bit, but it is actually harder because she is so freakishly verbal that she is explaining things to me, instead. ("Sit here, Mama. I want milk! Milk, Mama? Yeah, yeah!") Part of the problem is that she is still waking up quite often at night, and as much as I know that it's a bad habit, it is easier to just nurse her back to sleep than it is to negotiate with her highly opinionated little self at 4 in the morning. Part of it is that I have no prior experience, which I know seems weird because Maggie is not, after all, the first child I have weaned, but weaning Max was a completely different experience because he was not an exclusive nurser, because he was a more enthusiastic solid food eater, and because I got pregnant with Maggie when Max was 11 months old and he more or less weaned himself when my milk dried up. With no pressure of an impending new baby, it is much harder to cut off the relationship. I think mostly, though, it is hard because I have loved it so much, and treasured the closeness of that bond, and because, now that Maggie can walk, talk, solve complex mathematical equations, and more or less rule the world, breastfeeding is the last tenuous strand connecting this bold amazon of a toddler with babyhood, and I am not ready for her not to be a baby. Do you suppose there is some sort of solution that allows me to keep Maggie a soft cuddly baby forever and ever, and yet also allows me to sleep through the night once in awhile?

A Little New Year's Surrealism

2009-01-01T05:50:00.000-08:00

Max to Mama: Donald Pink is at my next house. He lives there. You can go and see him.
Mama: Thanks. Who is Donald Pink?
Max: He's my friend. He has hair, you know?
Mama: Pink hair?
Max: No, Mama.
Mama: Why is he called Donald Pink?
Max: Sorry, I can't talk about it.
Mama: Why?
Max: He's named my next cousin.
Mama: So why is he called Donald Pink? Is he pink?
Max: No.
Mama: Does he wear a lot of pink?
Max: He doesn't.
Mama: So why is he called Donald Pink?
Max: He isn't called that.
Mama: I ... I don't really know where to take this conversation from here.
Max: Yeah.

Auld Lang Syne

2008-12-31T13:06:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! Since I have no real new information to offer, I have decided to bring you the following stream of consciousness style blog post to usher in 2009:

Item 1: Why do you suppose our dryer has a setting for "very dry"? I mean, it's either dry, or it is not yet dry, am I right?
Item 2: Our neighbors seem to be ringing in the New Year with lots of bass. Sorry we won't be here tonight to enjoy more of that.

Item 3: Max is currently dancing to Roy Orbison, very very passionately, while wearing nothing but a Batman tee-shirt. This is weird because I have no idea how Roy Orbison came to be on our TV in the first place, and because I am not sure that I personally am inspired by Roy Orbison to the rhythmic frenzy that Max is clearly feeling, and because oh my God Max is really shaking his naked buns hither and yon like they are the proverbial Polaroid picture. My life is amusing.
Item 4: Now Maggie is also dancing. She just called Roy Orbison "Dada". The glasses, maybe?

Item 5: We finished watching Indiana Jones and The Crystal Skull last night. It was our fourth attempt to make it through the movie without falling asleep or needing to tend to wakeful offspring. So few movies are worth that kind of fricking effort.
Item 6: We got a new espresso machine from my dad for Christmas. Ian loves it. A lot. I think he has been sneaking out into the kitchen to sleep with it at night. We have, in related news, been drinking quite a lot of espresso. I offer this as an excuse for items 1-5.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I hope your New Year celebrations are at least as exciting as this blog post. Happy Aught Nine!

Holly Jolly Christmas: Tillmanstyle

2008-12-28T14:41:00.000-08:00

'Tis three days after Christmas
and I am still
so very tired
so I hope that you will
accept this here bounty
of photos and then
I will write a better story
after I sleep again.

Christmas Eve morning

Playtime at Granny and Gramps' house

Maggie "helps" make the Christmas Eve feast

Christmas snuggle

Making cookies for Santa

Decorating cookies for Santa

One for Max

And one for Santa. It's covered in frozen blueberries, in case you are studying the picture and thinking What in God's name is all over that cookie? while feeling alarmed and/or disgusted.

Letter to Santa.

The stockings were hung by the futon with care. (Take special note of Granny's mismatched pyjamas. She enjoys it when people notice that sort of thing.)

Stockings all in a row.

Reading "'Twas The Night Before Christmas".

Christmas morning, far too early.

Opening presents. Maggie got a baby doll and baby doll accessories. Santa enjoyed taking a trip down the girly aisle this year! And, as a special Christmas bonus, take in my uncombed hair. It was the liveliest thing in the entire house.

Well, maybe the second liveliest.

Max picked out the cloth for Ian's jammy pants, which, now that I think about it, are at least a tie with my wild hair for liveliness.
Gramps made waffles for breakfast, with a side of every single kind of food in the entire universe. If you look in the background, you can see Maggie impaling a bite of ham. She said her first and sassiest multi-sentence conversation item on Christmas during breakfast, when asked if she was going to eat a bite of something. "No", she replied firmly, stabbing herself more ham. "I don't like it. It's yucky." Ian and I are in for bad, bad trouble with that girl, and you should pray for us daily.

To sum up: Merriment abounded.

Merry Winter Holiday Of Your Choice

2008-12-23T21:48:00.000-08:00

We are headed over to Granny and Gramps' house tomorrow, to spend the night there. Max's itinerary includes (but is not limited to) a)making gingerbread men, some of which are for Santa and some of which are for Max and one crumb of which might be for Maggie, b)waiting for Santa, c)basking in the love of Granny and Gramps, a love which allows for greater freedom and more frequent treats than his parents', and d)waiting for the snow (we have told him that this is unlikely, even throwing in a whole hemispheric, north/south, weather-pattern explanation, but he is not convinced). Maggie's itinerary, as best as I can tell, includes a)pretending to be a doggy ("I a doggy! Woof woof woof woof woof!"), b)demanding gingerbread cookies ('Mine! Mine! I try it, Guys? Pleeeeaaaasssee? I got it! Mine!"), c) basking in the aforementioned Granny and Gramps love, and d) sleeping even less than usual in an unfamiliar bed. I am very excited to see their wee faces on Christmas morning. Merry Christmas, Internet!

And To You Your Wassail Too

2008-12-19T14:40:00.000-08:00

(Incidentally, wassail is apparently a festive spiced cider, traditionally served around Christmas. According to Ian.)

So. Hi. I have received many an email, postcard, phone call, smoke signal, regarding my neglect of this here blog, and it has, to be fair, been a long while. Shortly after we last spoke, The Tillman 4 hightailed it to Ian's parents' new house for Thanksgiving. We took the train, which had it's good points (comfy seats, sense of adventure, etc.), and it's bad points (some of our luggage decided to travel to Los Angeles, which is not, by the way, where we were going, and also eight hours in an enclosed train car with two small children is OH MY GOD A REALLY LONG TIME). We had a lovely time and there are many lovely pictures of our lovely children cavorting with their lovely cousins, and all of that loveliness deserves its own blog post which will hopefully happen shortly. If we know you, like you, and know your address, you probably got a Christmas card from us featuring a picture of us with a beach behind us, and the beach was near Ian's parents' house. Further pictures will have to wait. Both kids are currently napping -- hey! Max takes naps again! Did I mention? -- but Maggie is an unreliable sleeper, so we could be interrupted any moment. Treasure this time, people.

When we got back from Thanksgivingfest '08, we went and got our Christmas tree. We cut down our own this year, which was exciting, and we are sort of inexperienced tree-cutters, so we had some good times wrestling the tree into the tree stand. ("Dada got a little mad at the tree. But now he likes it!" Max informed me the next day.) The jolliness of hunting and gathering our own fresh tree helped me to cope with the fact that, once again, we were forced to choose a miniature tree this year. Even I, who lobby for the biggest tree we can fit in our apartment every year, had to admit that our determined little mountain goat of a daughter could not be trusted not to climb to the highest bough and hang there like the world's cheekiest Christmas ornament. So the tree is out of her reach, but she walks up to one or the other of us every 30 seconds, clasps her hands and lifts her big, earnest eyes up to us, and says, "More treee? Please treee? Yeah, yeah Santa!" until we pick her up and admire the tree with her for fifteen minutes or until something in our back gives out, whichever comes first. And yes, Maggie absolutely speaks with the level of clarity dictated above. I am not exaggerating. The other day, I was negotiating with her while we were in line at the store, and some lady behind me laughed and said, "it's so funny, it sounds just like she's talking to you!" Um, yeah.

Max is super excited for Christmas. Relatively fresh from his birthday, he understands enough now to anticipate presents, and cookies, and he has holiday spirit to spare. We have talked about making cookies for Santa, and he is agreeable, as long as Santa doesn't get ALL the cookies. Ian told him that Santa comes down the chimney to bring toys, but that if you don't have a chimney, Santa comes through the Internet. Max was initially dubious ("but he will get squished!"), but now accepts this and all other Santa-related discrepancies because Santa is "very very magical".

So, I have now given you a blog post, with witty narrative, heart-warming Christmas cheer, and a festive color redesign for the holiday season.

And now that you no longer need to send me grouchy emails about falling off the face of the Internet, feel free to fill that hole in your busy schedule with bothering Ian by discussing how much he looks like the Grinch in this picture. Feliz Navidad.

Happy Birthday, Joseph!

2008-12-03T20:07:00.000-08:00

We miss you already.

In Which A Well-Intentioned Grocery Clerk Becomes Chelsa's Mortal Enemy

2008-11-21T17:39:00.000-08:00

I used to be very nervous taking both kids out by myself. When Maggie was first born, I would take another grown-up with me whenever possible, and the logistics of who sat where in the grocery cart, or what to do if someone had a big tantrum with the one having the tantrum without abandoning the one not having the tantrum, took me a while to master. And by a while, I mean 18 months and counting. (Hey! Maggie will be 18 months old tomorrow! I just realized! And now I'm sad. Let's move on.) While calling myself a master of the two-child shuffle might never be something I'm comfortable with, I have gotten past the debilitating terror, and I go somewhere with the kids, by myself, almost every day. The park, the grocery store, the doctor's office -- we see the world, people. And while there is the occasional meltdown, public barfing, or smoothie spill, mostly we have pleasant jaunts with no loss of life or limb.
But not today.
At the grocery store we usually frequent, there is a young teenage checker who really likes Maggie. She is very nice and very pleasant and I don't blame her for liking Maggie. I have had small amounts of discomfort around the fact that she generally makes a very big deal about how cute Maggie is, while Max tries to get equal attention in a number of ways, which leaves me feeling sorry for him, which leads me to exclaim over Max a great deal while the teenage checker is conversing with us, which leads me to feel like one of those overly enthusiastic women who chirp instead of speaking and end every sentence with a sugary exclamation point. ("Max, how old are you? That's right, you're three!! What a smartie!!" and etc.)But I forgive the checker for all of this -- she is a young girl, and she likes babies, and she is maybe not quite mature enough to be sensitive to Max, but he is tough and well-loved from a number of other quarters, so whatever.
What I cannot forgive the checker for is the fact that she gave both children balloons today while we shopped. Don't get me wrong -- they were both delighted and they spent the rest of the shopping trip bonking themselves and each other and me with the balloons while crowing with glee, and we got a lot of amused looks and our cart was one big rocking party. But when we left the store, things got complicated.
Let me be clear -- things are not uncomplicated even at the best of times. Whichever kid I put in the car first, the other one gets up to grocery-cart escaping hi jinks. With the added element of two balloons, however, it was a comedy of fricking errors. I put Max in first, which took about a million years because he wanted to hold his balloon while being buckled in and it kept getting tangled up and finally I tied it to the arm of the seat so it wouldn't float into my field of vision while I was driving and kill us all and he didn't like the way I tied it and then he "tied' it himself and then I had to secretly secure it without spurning his independence and etc. I put the groceries in the car, and then I got Maggie. She wept bitterly the entire time I was putting her in her car seat, because her balloon was still tied to the cart and she thought we were leaving it behind. (I'm not going to lie -- I absolutely considered leaving it behind, and I would have done so if Maggie was even slightly less on the ball.) I retrieved the balloon, but was slightly at a loss, because I didn't want Maggie to yell the whole ride home because she yells really loudly, but balloons are a choking hazard and I didn't want to leave her in the rear-facing car seat with a balloon because I'd be turning around to make sure she wasn't eating it the whole way home and I'd probably drive into a tree and finish off whichever of us hadn't already perished in balloon-related atrocities. I attempted a compromise -- tying it to the seat in front of her, where she could see it but couldn't reach it. Like most compromises, this failed to please anyone. Maggie did, indeed, yell the entire way home. "Ba -oon! Where are you? Ba-oon! No no no nononononononononono! Where are you? Ba-oon! Maaamaaa! Where are you?" and etc. (Have I mentioned that Maggie speaks in grammatically correct complete sentences now? She does. It's freaky. It looks like some kind of voice-throwing trick.)And I had put the balloon close enough to her that I was worried she would somehow get ahold of it, so I kept turning around to check anyway. Our drive home, normally a ten minute breeze, today took twenty years.
And, of course, when we got home, in the flurry of getting everyone and all the groceries out of the car, guess what happened? Come on, if you were writing this story, what is the only possible way it could end?
That's right. One of the balloons escaped and sailed off into the heavens. Maggie threw herself to the pavement in bereaved betrayal. And I accidentally taught the kids a new swear word.

Dear Weirdo Neighbor Whose Aquaintance I Have For Some Reason Not Yet Made,

2008-11-15T19:18:00.000-08:00

I don't really have an issue with you walking your dog right outside my window. I would personally cut other people's patios a wider berth, but you are on public property, and maybe your dog really likes that bush right by our house, so, fine. I am, I must admit, puzzled by the fact that you seem to have named your dog, "Hi", but people's processes for naming their beloved wards are unique and personal and I would never question your right to own a dog named Hi if that's your thing. Get a matching one and name it "Bye", and I will still back you up, Buddy. I am loyal like that. To random strangers who live in my apartment complex.
However.
If you are going to have a dog named Hi, and if you and Hi have some sort of attraction to the bush right outside my patio door, and if Hi is the kind of dog who requires constant and extremely loud repetition of his name, you really should not be surprised if, upon occasion, the young children living in the house behind your treasured bush think that you are yelling "Hi! Hi! Hi!" in order to greet them, and respond accordingly. Nor should you give a dirty look to the aforementioned young children, even if one of them is not wearing pants when he hails you.
A friendly piece of advice from me to you. Say hi to Hi for me.
Sincerely,
Chelsa

I Am Just So Confused

2008-11-10T10:08:00.000-08:00

Max to Mama, post jog: I was crying while you were gone, Mama.

Mama: Yeah, Dad told me. Why were you crying?

Max: Because I just didn't want you to go jog, actually.

Mama: Well, I'm sorry you were sad, Buddy. But I was only gone a short while, right?

Max: No. Also I died.

Mama: What?

Max: I died, you know. Years ago. I was resting and I was crying, and that means I died.

Mama:???

Max: It's something that happened.

Mama: I just really think your dad would have mentioned it to me if you had died.

Max: No. He wouldn't. Dad ... my dad said no, he wasn't going to tell you.

Mama: So you died, but now you're alive again?

Max: No, Mama. Hey! My next grandfather has a space ship, you know? He does. Thatwise Joey and I are going to ride in it last morning.

Mama: ???

Crazy, Thanks For Asking. And How Are You?

2008-11-09T14:58:00.000-08:00

The offspring have a bad case of the Possessed by the Devils today. Maggie was up until 11:14 last night, and sadly, last night was not the first night she has decided to stay up late. Today, as I predicted to her at 11:12, she is cranky. She keeps trying to nap, and then Max, who went to bed early and willingly last night but today seems to have drunk from the well of Hyper Insanity, keeps waking her up because he wants to play with her. I have repeatedly requested a leave of absence from momhood today, and I have been repeatedly reminded that no replacement is available on such short notice, and I will therefore have to stay. Stupid non-union job.
(By the way, the picture is irrelevant to the tale of woe, except that it features both children napping together back when both children napped together, and it reminds me of happier and more rested times. It also probably sabotages my sympathy votes, as all and sundry will look at the picture, soak in its adorableness, and immediately take the children's side of this and every argument. Here's something I have learned the hard way, though, people: children can definitely be both adorable and capable of great wickedness.)

Bask In The Irony

2008-11-07T16:17:00.000-08:00

This is the book that Maggie just took off the shelf and chucked at my head. Then she laughed.

Because The Dictionary Is For The Unimaginative

2008-11-03T15:41:00.000-08:00

Max often talks like a three-year old little old man. He mutters to himself when he is irritated, he says, "actually", and "years ago" and "when I was a boy" in everyday casual conversation, and he is one short step from giving lectures that begin "back in my day" and end with "you pesky kids get off my lawn!" It amuses me greatly, and then my amusement often irritates him, inspiring another round of scholarly lectures and crabby muttering, which then amuses me further, and around we go. Because he is three, though, and not eighty five, his ability to pontificate like an Oxford Professor is hampered by some profound gaps in his verbosity. Undaunted, Max fills these gaps in with what can only be described as utter nonsense. "This is a deem dong bon" he will announce authoritatively, holding up a drawing or a lego construction. "I was building it years ago, when I was a boy." He slays me.
His latest piece of non-language is a word he invented himself, and which he uses constantly. The word is 'thatwise', and it seems to stand in, meaning-wise, for some combination of 'therefore', 'otherwise', 'ergo', and 'except for'. "Mama!" he bellowed at me this morning, in response to an innocent query about his need to pee status, "I already went to the potty years ago! I don't want to go pee. Thatwise I am going to be mad!" And then, five minutes later, he peed on the floor.

The Halloween That Was Awesome In Spite Of Itself

2008-11-02T18:32:00.000-08:00

Truthfully, I am a bit of a Halloween Scrooge. I like it in theory -- candy is tasty, pumpkins are carvable and also orange (my favorite color), and who doesn't like dressing up? (Max, as it turns out, but that part comes later in the story.) The thing is, having been a gestational diabetic one and a half times, and having been told in no uncertain terms by several doctors that sugar is not my friend and never will be, the candy has lost a certain amount of appeal. Plus, it turns out that Maggie really, really, really, really likes chocolate, and that she really, really, really, really really, really, really, REALLY gets hyper when she so much as licks a rudimentary crust of a single m&m. AND, no one likes carving the pumpkins except me, and I feel sort of like a tragic figure sitting by myself caressing pumpkin innards while Ian and the kids play elsewhere. AND, most importantly, costumes for kids are either expensive (if you buy them) or time-consuming (if you make them), and the weather in California is such that no matter what you do, you are gambling. (I dressed Max in a fur wolf suit for his first Halloween. It was 87 degrees. I still feel guilty.)
Max went through several costume ideas -- Wall-E, Buzz Lightyear, Green Lantern, a Crisnol (no, he doesn't mean crysTal, but beyond that, I have no idea what a crisnol is or what it looks like, so I was relieved when that costume idea was abandoned) -- and finally settled on Batman. My parents found a Batman costume in a thrift store, Max pronounced himself pleased, and we all felt the warm glow of an issue resolved. I was going to put a monster face on the hood of one of Maggie's sweatshirts, but then I didn't, and at the last second I found a little butterfly suit on sale, and while it is not the most practical purchase ever (I think she's already outgrown it, and it is a hand-wash only item, which, please), she was a delight to behold in it and so I felt good about that, too. Our plan was to swing through the downtown Halloween party circuit, eat a prudent but decadent amount of sugar, and then maybe watch a spooky episode of Word World with Ian when he got home.
However, like the saying goes, the best laid plans of bats and butterflies so often go awry. Max liked his costume, but it offended him in some way, too. He said that it was itchy, but I don't really think that was the problem. I think that it just freaked him out somehow to have his identity messed with. When he was called Batman, he firmly disagreed, reminding all and sundry that he was "just a Max". He reluctantly kept his costume on long enough for me to take some not-very-good pictures (see my last post), and then shed it in favor of a Halloween-themed tee and some spooky orange crocs. Then, with the fact that Max had no costume and was not in favor of costumes in general, the fact that it was raining, and the fact that by the time we got all of the costume-no-costume hullabaloo squared away it was 4 pm, we decided to skip the downtown thing. I was feeling badly -- Max and Maggie are still little enough not to care too much, but still -- and so I proposed a walk to the park in between rain bouts.
The park -- and this is the point of my freakishly long and rambling tale -- was AWESOME. The rain and the Halloween combined to make it more or less deserted, the light was that weird late-afternoon raincloud light, and we had a delightful romp. And, while we romped, I took a bunch of pictures (and I do mean A BUNCH, so I hope you are sitting in a comfy chair if you are planning on scrolling through all of them), and they all turned out a million times better than my sad attempts at posed pictures at home. I am not sure what the moral of this story is, other than that I need to blog more often so that I don't get all pent up and then write an epic novel like this has turned out to be, but we had fun in unexpected ways, and now, thanks to Daylight Saving Time ending (curse you, Daylight Saving Time, and may a thousand potato bugs crawl over your lonely grave!), both children are asleep in bed at the unheard of hour of 7:52. Good Times.