Today is the day

If my daughter had come on her due date, today would be her birthday. Instead, she decided to grow to gigantic newborn proportions and come fashionably late. Very fashionably late.

Like mother, like daughter. She will spend the rest of her life trying to get places on time. (Although I did my mother the favor of staying normal newborn proportions and arriving late. Then again, I came into the world ass first. That couldn't have been fun my mother).

It wasn't actually Laney's fault she came so late. I'll explain, but I need to back up for a second.

When I was still pregnant with Nicky, I went overdue. We hadn't decided a name for him. We were torn between three combinations. I went in to work the first Monday after my due date had passed and someone I worked with asked me what we were going to call the baby. I said I didn't know yet.

He said, "That's why that baby hasn't come yet! He can't come into this world without a name. You need to give that child a name."

I told this to my husband, and we picked our son's name and had a little "naming" ceremony. There was some flashcard waving and chanting involved. Sure enough, I went in to labor that night.

Fast forward two years -- we were torn between two first names for Laney. When I went past my due date again, and she showed no signs of coming, I told Seven that we should have another naming ceremony. This time we weren't as serious. Just silly. Days passed, she didn't come. I was huge and heavy and was tired of carrying her around on the inside. I told Seven we are going to do the naming ceremony again. We discussed changing her name to Laney, but I said we could stick with the 'other.' She still didn't come. The next day I wrote my parents that if she didn't come that day, then I would change her name to Laney. I went into labor shortly after midnight.

She just didn't want to be Helena. She's always known what she wanted. If I had known she'd be so determined and stubborn, I'd have given her name weeks earlier!! Her birthday would have already passed in that case.

An old bag of shoes

In the process of de-junking our attic a few weeks ago, I was handing down boxes and bags of who-knows-what to Seven. There was tons of stuff we needed to go through. How is it that we have a huge attic and no storage space? Oh, because our attic is filled with all kinds of useless crap antique things.

We inherited this house, which means we inherited the long-since forgotten things being stored in the attic. Additionally, we had to find a place for our things, the ones we shipped here but didn't have space for. We piled that stuff on top of what was already up there, so the attic became a great big pile of junk stuff. For the last few years, I have felt the weight of the cluttered attic suffocating me. This is the year we were going to get it organized!

Yeah, right.

We have, at least, started, despite my husband's protests.

On the appointed day, I handed down box after box. I handed down many a plastic bag. Who knew what treasures these boxes and bags beheld?

We found some things that were to be kept, like old linens handmade by Seven's grandmother and some old photographs. We also found all manner of junk, including some broken old trophies with no names, dates, or apparently memories attached and a tacky hula doll and wooden chickens and faded bed sheets and parts of furniture and stuff we shipped half-way around the world for no fathomable reason. . .this list could go on forever.

In the midst of it all, I tore open an old, gray AAFES bag, ready to throw its contents away. Instead of immediately tossing the contents in the ever-growing "Toss" pile, I sat there for many minutes as the memories came flooding back.

In the bag were some of Nicky's old shoes.


There were the first pair I'd bought him, a pair of brown sandals. I never bought baby shoes for him. I figured, if he can't walk, he doesn't need shoes. He didn't get his first shoes until he was one. He still wasn't walking by his first birthday, but I held out hope. Since we were celebrating his birthday in Hawaii, I bought sandals. He didn't use them much and they still look brand-new.

The little blue tennis shoes, though? The Sketchers? Those were his first 'go' shoes. Those are the shoes that he wore once he really knew how to walk. Those shoes went racing down the hall of our apartment building in Japan. They trekked all over Tokyo with us. He was wearing those while we were moving to Norway. These are the shoes Nicky used as he explored the world on two feet for the first time. These shoes don't look brand-new. They are dirty and beat-up. And a reminder of when my baby boy was one.

As I handled the blue shoes, I suddenly regretted throwing away Laney's silver shoes. They weren't her first shoes. (Her first real shoes were bright pink winter boots that we paid a small fortune for even she only needed them for a few months. We still have those.) The silver shoes, though, those were her favorite. She wore them everywhere last summer, even when playing. They weren't the best quality and were quickly run ragged, but she loved those shoes, and when she outgrew them, we bought her another pair, one size bigger. I wished I had the first pair back -- a tangible reminder of the time when my baby girl was one.

I packed up the old shoes, including the newest pair of silver shoes (too cold to use them now), and put them in the gray bag. They were going back into the attic. To add to the clutter. To collect more dust. In all likelihood, to be thrown away by the next generation of attic cleaners for whom those shoes will simply be trash.

For me, though, those beat-up old shoes are reminders of the chubby feet and little toes that used to fit into them, of the time when my kids were my babies. The next time I see those shoes (Have I mentioned there is a lot of junk in that attic I have to go through?), my kids will have undoubtedly outgrown several more pairs of shoes. They'll be off exploring the world in their larger shoes, on their own or with their friends.

I'll still have the little ones, though, the ones from the time we explored the world together, their hands in mine.

A conversation

Kids say the weirdest things when they think you're not paying attention. We were lying in bed this Sunday morning and Nicky crawled in with two favorite characters. The following is an excerpt from their conversation.

A conversation between Spiderman and a transformer called Bulkhead

Plllllllllllllwwwwwwwwwwfffffftttttt. (Extreme farting noise)

Bulkhead: Æsj! Gross! Spiderman, why did you fart?
Spiderman: I just wanted to.

Suddenly, the two begin wrestling. Conversation moves on.

Imagining this conversation taking place in real life between the real Spiderman and Bulkhead sent me into peals of laughter.

Kids are just goofy.

Blogworld

I had begun to notice that the chaotic state of my house was in direct proportion to how much I neglected it by doing other things. . .like blogging. I decided to neglect blogging for a time to bring my house back into control.

It's not, but close enough, so back to blogging!

Who do you want to be?

Laney loves the movie Barbie and the Twelve Dancing Princesses. Barbie is the best princess, of course, but I guess they had twelve so they could get in as many of hair color/eye color combinations as possible to appeal to little girls. One thing I don't understand is why there are eleven other sisters and Barbie gets to do everything.

In any case, the princesses are beautiful with brightly colored gowns and flowing hair.

Laney asked me, "What princess are you?" I decided I would be the one in the red dress, because she had dark hair like me.

"Which princess are you," I asked her, fully expecting her to say the 'pink' princess.

"I'm the cat."

Of the twelve beautiful princesses, Laney only wanted to be Barbie's cat Twila. Just when you think you've got them pegged. . .

More on Body Functions

One of my kids will be talking and start shifting from foot to foot. They keep talking or watching tv or even drawing. Hips start a little wiggle and feet shift from one to the other and back again.

"Do you have to pee," I ask.

"No."

"You look like you have to pee," I say.

"No, I don't have to pee," comes the irritated response.

We both move on with other things. Usually, I'll be engrossed in some task.

Suddenly, panic.

"Mommy, I have to pee pee! I have to pee pee! Hurry, before it comes in my underwear!" That's Laney.

"Mommy, I have to pee, but you have to carry me up the stairs because it's coming too fast! Hurry!" That's Nicky. Who is five. Who ends up carrying himself up the stairs anyway.

One wonders why these children just won't heed their bodily needs BEFORE it becomes an emergency. Why?!

Pekepølse

Dette er hva Laney kaller salami (spekepølse).

Blogus Interruptus

What happens when life gets in the way. . .

Final Destination

And from the family vacation story that would NEVER end. . .

Our last stop -- Kirkenes, Norway.

What? Never heard of it? Where HAVE you been?? Anyway, Kirkenes is the Norwegian border town into Russia. It was, apparently, one of the most bombed places in World War II, caught in the cross-fire between Russia and Germany. This was our actual destination, as it is where my husband is from and his sister's family still lives. While it's not the most northern city in Norway, you aren't going to get much further north in the world than this.

Besides the visit to family, the highlight of our trip was a visit to a little church at the end of the world, King Oskar II Chapel. It is in the middle of nowhere, built on the rocky coastal slopes. King Oskar built it to mark the Norwegian land.

Beautiful in its simplicity.

One of things that has always stuck me about the culture since moving here is how trusting and honest people are. The key to the church is kept at a military post a few miles up the road. One leaves their info there and takes the key to the church and drives away. As it happened, someone else had the key. As we drove past them, we stopped their car, and they gave us the key. Smiles and waves all around, and we moved on. I just don't see something like that happening in the States. Americans are much to paranoid about others. Maybe it's just that this American is much to paranoid about others, but if some guy was trying to flag my car down on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere, I'd be very suspicious.

Afterward, we had a picnic at the beach nearby -- a warm, summery day in Kirkenes. The temperature was actually pleasant and relatively mild, but it wasn't bikini weather, you can see.

That was the end of the road. Literally. Otherwise, we would have ended up in the ocean or in Russia.

After our days in Kirkenes, we took the long journey home. The never-ending day works out in that way. You are driving all night, but it doesn't feel that way. Nicky even stayed up to 11 p.m. in the car that night, despite his tiredness, because he was so fascinated by all the beautiful colors in the sky.

As an aside, he's noticed that colors come earlier in the day now, signaling the approach of winter and the coming of the dark season.

Nicky's House of Style

He's not particular about which shirt or pants he has to wear, but my five-year-old has several hard and fast fashion rules.

1. DO wear rainboots. . .ALL THE TIME. No matter what the season or weather, rainboots complete any look.

2. DON'T wear shorts for any reason. No matter what the season or weather, shorts are always OUT. Bare legs in the breeze, ugh!

3. If your mother forces you to wear shorts saying something akin to, "It's HOT outside. We get one day of summer around here, so you have to wear shorts when it's warm," then pull your socks up to your knees. Shorts with knee high socks are always cool and prevent you from subjecting others to the sight of your bare legs.

4. Tuck your pants legs into your socks. Pants legs flapping about is not only annoying, it's unstylish.

5. Gloves are IN in the summertime, especially dirty gardening gloves. Wear them whenever possible.

Of course, all of Nicky's fashion rules make sense in context.

1. Rain boots -- why mess with Velcro and other nonsense when you've got slip-on comfort right there?

2. Shorts just feel weird. It's like being half dressed. We live in the Arctic after all. He's just not used to shorts and sandals. In his defense, he wore shorts every day in Hawaii, where the heat was just too much for him.

3. One feels less naked when socks cover the bare legs.

4. Okay, this is just quirky -- adorably, lovably quirky, but quirky nonetheless. I think he likes to show off the fancy socks. Those cool Spiderman pictures get lost under the pants. What a waste that would be.

5. Dunno about this one either. He just likes gloves. They keep your hands from getting dirty (very important to my little man), and they make you look more authentic when you're playing the goalie in soccer.

Kids make me laugh.

Sometimes, I find myself arguing, then wonder why. Why is this so important? Live and let live, right? My kid will argue and whine if he has to put on a t-shirt in warm weather, but he wants to wear his Buzz Lightyear costume and rain boots into town. Well, whatever.

Hey, I used to think that styling my hair into a mile-high pouf on the top of my head made me look good. I used to spend an inordinate amount of time in the morning spraying that pouf. I imagine I single-handedly created one small hole in the ozone layer with as much hairspray as I used to use.

People who live in glass houses. . .and all that.