Monarch Morning

Saturday morning, Nana called me a little panicked. The hospice where she had been working as a gardener had instructed her to pull out all the milkweed in the gardens, as "it wasn't part of their gardening plan". (This, despite the fact that monarch butterfly habitats are already under siege on all sides) She was doing as instructed, when she found two plants, one with eggs and one with a live caterpillar on it. "I just couldn't throw him on the pile," she told me, "he deserves a chance to live." So she saved the plants, and at nine AM rushed over to my house to find a spot to plant them. The kids were elated that we were being given charge of new creatures, and I quickly googled "how to care for monarch caterpillars indoors". (Seriously, what did people do before the internet??) Mom arrived, and Luca carefully scoured the plant for any eggs, removing nasty aphids and spiders in the process. Sadly, the big caterpillar mom found that prompted all this had fallen off somewhere in transit. But we did find two new hatchlings (later named Lucky and Tiny), and we transferred to mom's mesh cat carrier. Then, as mom was literally walking over to pick up the plants for transplant, a monarch lands on the milkweed and starts laying eggs! Luca then once again went back to scour the plants for more eggs, and found at least two that the monarch had laid.

As a preschool teacher, I couldn't think of a better lesson illustrating how humans are screwing up, what we can do to fix it, and the general beauty of nature. What a magical monarch morning!

Luca and Astrid checking on Lucky and Tiny

Tiny (above), and Lucky (below)

Cat carrier/butterfly habitat!

A picture is worth...

My darling Chris, words could never express how much I love you, or how important you have been in my life over the past nine years. I hope that instead these few pictures can say what I am unable to.

Dating


Engagement


Wedding


1st Anniversary


2nd Anniversary


3rd Anniversary


4th Anniversary


5th Anniversary


6th Anniversary


7th Anniversary


8th Anniversary


9th Anniversary

All my love darling, for now and so many more years to come.

Kyra

My Own Prairie Home

Tonight I listened with no small amount of sadness to Garrison Keillor's last live radio broadcast with A Prairie Home Companion. The show and its iconic host, with his characters of Guy Noir and The Cowboys, the Powdermilk Biscuit theme and the news from Lake Wobegon has been a part of my weekend routine for years, and have come to represent a portion of my childhood, one that now, with Keillor's departure, seems well and truly over.

This all sounds a bit strange considering that I'm a relatively new listener. I really only started tuning in after Luca was born, needing something to listen to while I nursed him and tried desperately to get him to sleep. I do remember my mother listening on occasion growing up, or making vague references to it, but I really started listening as an adult.

The thing is, all the things I grew up with are what I hear when I listen to Garrison and his strange meandering monologues. My Lake Wobegon was Roseville, Minnesota, where my mother was born and raised, and was filled with stories of Ms. Clackston, who dressed in purple right down to her tights and pearls, and her son Rodger, who my mom smacked in the mouth with a metal lunch box that got stuck in his braces. (She always ends that story with "And he went on to become a minister". I think she feels a little guilt to this day.) There was the story of my Grandmother, who hit a stranger's child over the head with a hymnal for talking in church, and how my mother saved my uncles from only time my Grandfather threated them with corporal punishment for shoving her off her bike.

My childhood was peppered by that strange wonderful Minnesotan dialect, courtesy of my Grandmother. "Hot dish" was served regularly. "Garage" had one syllable, "Battery" had two. Sentences started with "so" and ended with either "then" or "yeah, right, exactly..." The character of Duane's mom puts me in mind of a composite of both my mother and grandmother. And when my mom played a tape of my Grandfather talking to me as a toddler, it was in a nearly identical cadence to what I have heard coming from my radio every Saturday night.

I think that is what touches me most about this last Prairie Home. Listening to Prairie Home each week kept me in touch with the childhood I was rapidly losing. Both my Grandparents are gone now. My mother, gray hair and all, is a grandmother herself. But there was still a part of me that wasn't quite ready to accept the reality of being an adult, despite two kids, a husband and a mortgage. And Prairie Home spoke directly to that part of me. For the space of two short hours, my childhood was real again. I guess that's what his last show means to me. My childhood has faded to memories, and at last, at 31, I feel like an adult.

Goodbye Garrison, I will miss your voice on my radio each week. Thank you for helping usher me into adulthood.

Christening

We were in the car on the way to lunch talking about spelling. We started spelling names when we realized Luca didn't know how to spell his middle name. Granted, there isn't really a need for him to write it much, although he hears it often enough (I almost always refer to him by his full name, Luca Theodore). But typical of a seven year old, he hated the fact he didn't know something, so rather than try to learn the spelling, he decided to reject the name outright.

"Why did you name me Theodore?! I don't like it!"

"Hey!" I replied, "I wanted your first name to be Theodore."

"Mom, you wanted to name me after a chipmunk?"

Chris snickered. "I'm glad you recognize that, Luca." He wasn't a huge fan of the name either. It was more of a concession to me, really.

Luca went silent for a minute, then out of the blue said, "Mom, you should have named me 'Calvin Alvin'."

"Why? Do you like those names?"

"Well, its just a little bit of me is Calvin, and a little bit of me is Alvin."

I started to laugh immediately, but it took Chris a minute to get it. "Oh, you mean your personality is a little bit Calvin, and a little bit Alvin?"

"Yeah, that's what I mean."

"Why do you say that, Luca?"

"Well, Alvin gets yelled at a lot, and Calvin has some really dumb ideas."

There are moments when children can have great insights. Really, really funny insights.

Today, Tomorrow, and Some Yesterdays

I got my love of dancing and big band music from my grandfather. One of my earliest memories of him was dancing on his shiny black shoes, holding onto his rough, work-worn hands.

Recently while going through storage I came upon some old cassette tapes marked "Roy D. Mattson, Personal Refections". How I came by them I have no clue, but they turned out to be tapes my grandfather made after being diagnostic with advanced stage prostate cancer, the disease that eventually claimed his life. My mom and I sat down and listened to the tapes the last time she stayed with us. The first few were up beat and positive. "As I sit here", my grandfather begins, "I don't feel like there is a thing wrong with me. If I had a little music I'd get up and dance the lindy!" Two or three entries continue in this positive tone, with my grandfather saying how good he feels, how he knows he can beat the cancer.

Then we came to an entry that was immediately different. His voice sounds tired and frail. We didn't get more than a minute into the tapes before my mother started to cry. It was the first entry he made after he broke his hip, and this, my mother said, was his realization that he really wouldn't make it beyond the cancer, that it was, as the doctors had told him from the beginning, terminal.

She told me the story of what happened that day. He had been filling up his SUV with gas, and when he swung himself up into the driver's seat his hip cracked. That was how severely the cancer had weakened his bones. And what did my grandfather do? He drove, not to the hospital, but home. He had my mom help him get dressed up in his best suit and drive him and my grandmother down to the lake for a photo shoot they had already planned. When my mother, the physical therapist, protested, he said to her he wanted "one more picture with his glamor girl". Only then would he go to the hospital.

I have that photo. From the huge smiles and the stylish clothes (both my grandparents were fashionistas in their day) you would never suspect the pain, both emotional and physical that must have underlaid that photo. All you can see is the love.

Today is Chris and my eighth anniversary. And when I think about what I want for our relationship, it is that photo. I want a love that is strong enough to transcend the aches and pains of everyday life, so that all that shines out is the love. No marriage, no life is without pain and struggle. My grandparent's marriage wasn't necessarily a model union. But, in the end, they loved each other, and that love was strong enough to carry them through the hardest times in their lives.

Chris, I love you, more than I can clumsily express. We have been through a lot, and after each and every struggle I love you more. I cherish each day with you, because I am continually reminded how brief and fleeting life can be. Eight years with you has been a treasure, and I am so lucky to have the life and family I have. Here's to tomorrow, today, and the next eight years.

All my love,

Kyra

The Harder Battle

For my 28th birthday I got a tattoo. On the inside of my arm is a quote from Plato: "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle." It is these words that I am trying to find solace in as I embark on a new phase in my life.

In February I will be quiting my job. The decision to do so was one of the hardest I have ever made. I am working at the best center I have ever worked at. My coworkers are amazing, dedicated, supportive educators. My kids make me laugh and smile daily. Leaving isn't about them, or my job. Its about me, and it makes it just that much harder.

The reality is that I am struggling, and have been for a long time. I had post-partum depression with Luca, not surprising since I already have Generalized Anxiety Disorder. And I figured I would with Astrid. What I wasn't expecting was the severity of it, the loneliness, the pain. Many of my days were spent feeling like I was drowning, struggling to breath. Now I pride myself on not letting my personal life interfere with my work, and I worked hard to maintain a facade of normalcy. In fact, one of my co-workers remarked one day as I picked up Astrid, "Astrid, your mommy's never in a bad mood". So apparently it worked. But it only made my depression worse, more isolating. I had no one I could talk to, and keeping up appearances was both physically and mentally exhausting.

On my days at home I felt like a walking ghost. I was paralyzed. I hardly talked, I wasn't interested in anything, overwhelmed by everything. And there was fear, and guilt. Everything was wrong, everything was my fault. Luca was acting up, it had to be because of me. Astrid wouldn't eat or sleep, it was because I was doing something wrong. Chris was upset, it was something I had done. Hopeless and Endless and Painful. A constant, dull, nagging pain I just couldn't shake.

Finally, after my mom had left with Luca to spend winter break together, I broke down to Chris. I couldn't keep doing this. It had to end. It was me or the depression, the two couldn't exist together anymore. I wanted the pain to stop.

But I didn't see an easy way out. I was struggling, I knew that. Life, with ten hour work days, two kids, and all the daily hassles that life throws in, was too much for me (although just admitting that to myself was the first battle). But there wasn't anything to do about it. Except give up something. And, unwilling to give up on family or life, work was the only thing left.

I can't help but feel like something of a failure. The darker part of my brain keeps saying, "But look, everyone else has it together. You see parents every day who can handle work, kids, and family etc. Why can't you?" But the choice I find myself faced with is that I can either continue to "power through", tell myself I can do it, that someday it will get better, or I can admit that this is where I am at and do my best to get better. I don't know what better looks like right now, or how to get there, but I can't keep going on the way I have. I have to try something else, for Chris, for Luca and Astrid, for me.

I'm scared as hell. I've never done anything like this. To quit, walk away from something isn't who I am. Stubborn as I am, I don't just give up. But I hope that, in the end, giving up isn't what I'm doing. I hope its recovering.

Per Ardua, Ad Astrid

My favorite nick name for you right now is Dolly.

Your father wasn't especially keen on the name right away. "She isn't a doll!" he protested. But I promise that's not how I think of you. Already you assert your own independent, wonderful personality.

I love to call you Dolly because it was your great-grandmother's nickname for me. It was also the last thing she ever said to me.

Maybe when you're older I'll tell you how hard the year before you were born was for our family. Your foster sister left, we put our first family pet to sleep, destroyed the odd friendship or two along the way. And I lost both my Tutu and my Grammie.

I can't wait until you are old enough to tell you about the amazing women that came before you. Tutu was Hawaiian, worked at Pearl Harbor as a teenager, and got a degree in piano performance. She loved music, the same way your father loves music. She was always singing, always playing something, and always, always smiling. Her picture sits on our piano now. Your father put it there, one pianist's tribute to another.

Grammie was the survivor. She grew up an Iowa farm girl during the depression. She survived a tornado, breast cancer (twice), colon cancer, skin cancer, and a broken back. She survived everything but the Alzheimer's that ended her life just shy of her 91st birthday. Her picture sits on my desk, reminding me that I can make it through anything, just like she did.

Just before you were born I lost both these amazing women. But then I got you.


My Dolly. My Astrid.

I can already see parts of Grammie and Tutu in you. You love to talk, and have so many opinions, just like Grammie. And you love music just like Tutu, especially when Baba plays piano. And you are so strong! At just three months old you are bound and determined to sit up. I think you want to get big fast, to keep up with that crazy big brother of yours.

I hope when you page through our blog someday you don't feel slighted. I did write far more about him than I have thus far about you. It isn't that I was any less excited for your arrival. But with him, I had ten months at home to love and enjoy him. With you I had just over two months of maternity leave, and I wanted to spend every possible minute loving you. Who wants to blog when you have a baby to snuggle? That's why its only after a month back at work that I've managed to find the time to sit down and write. Even now you're laying right beside me, talking to me.

But before I leave to take you for a walk, to snuggle you, and talk to you some more, I just want you to know how special, how loved you are. Your brother may have created the family you were born into, but you, my dolly, completed it. You have an amazing life ahead of you, and like the women who came before you, you can do anything.

Now We Are Are Six

Amazing to think that Luca turned six yesterday, and to contemplate the unique and interesting person he has become. I know so many parents who constantly say they want their kids to "stay little" forever, but I really can't understand. Sure, babies and toddlers are cute and all, but I love when Luca comes home and tells me in detail about his days at school. I love that he is already super excited about becoming a reader, so much so that he went through one of his storybooks highlighting every "the" he found. I love being able to play card games with him, just like we used to do on quiet evenings with my family growing up. These past six years have brought so many joys and surprises, and can't wait to see who he grows into in the next six.

So, in honor of Luca's sixth birthday, here is an A.A. Milne poem I have been waiting to use literally for years.

Now We Are Six


When I was one, I had just begun.



When I was two, I was nearly new.



When I was three, I was hardly me.



When I was four, I was not much more.



When I was five, I was just alive.



But now I am six, and I'm clever as clever,



I hope I stay six now,



Forever and Ever.

Loving you now, for another six years, and a lifetime beyond,

Mom

Five Years Later

Five years later
I still look forward to the sound of your key in the door

Five years later
I still love showering with you at the end of the day

Five years later
I still love falling asleep to your video games

Five years later
I still love being nerdy with you

Five years later
I still love the way you play Summertime

Five years later
I still adore your blue eyes and crooked smile

And you're still the best choice I ever made
And the only one I ever want

Five years later
and for many years to come.

All my love, now and always,
Kyra

Turkey Day 2012

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! May your plate be full of steamy, delicious food!

Luca's Political Thoughts

Luca's become quite the avid NPR listener.  This can be disadvantageous when they are discussing certain topics at length, say, Syria, and we have had to have a talk about how "we don't need to repeat everything we hear on the news".  A lot of times if it gets troublesome in the car I switch it off, but I refuse to start my morning  without at least an inkling of what's going on in the world.  The upside of this is I have a incredibly politically aware three (almost four) year old.  This was evidenced by his comment on the election coverage this morning:

"Mama I want Barack Obama to win!  Then we can go to the government, and say 'Good Job Obama!'"

Me too, Luca, Me too. 

Forever Dancing

I want to be that old couple someday: young at heart, still dancing.  Happy anniversary, my love.  You make my life a song.

Keeping Your Love

For Valentines Day, Chris got Luca a book called "No Matter What". It is about two foxes, Big and Small. Big explains to small that no matter how naughty he is, whether Big is far away, or Small turns into a crocodile, they will love each other no matter what.

On Thursday, I had a late meeting, and got home just after Chris had finished reading this book to Luca and put him to bed. I went in to kiss him good night.  He sat up in bed, gave me a hug and said, "Mama, when you go to a meeting, does your love go with you?" I smiled and replied, "No honey, it stays right here with you." Then he said something that would melt any mother's heart: "Ok Mama, I will keep your love... in my heart."

I have the adorablest little boy. 

New Journal Photo for 2011

Check out our new journal photo! We just got family pictures again this month, and here are two of the new ones:





I'll upload some more in the next few days, especially the comical ones of Luca!

On New Love and Married Love

Unfortunately, our friend Carla is in the hospital.  Fortunately, she will be "freed" this weekend.  Carla has frequently expressed to Chris and I how lonely a hospital stay can be, and is aways anxious to reconnect with friends on her release.  So she was excited when, lets call him WMIHL (wonderful man in her life), showed up unexpectedly at her bedside, driving all the way to the hospital after a full day of work, and stating he would stay with her and drive back to work (a substantial trip) the next day in the wee hours of the morning.  She was so excited, in fact, that she felt compelled to call Chris and I and tell us just how Wonderful WMIHL really was.  Later, a conversation between Chris and I ensued, which I think illustrates the difference between what we could call "New" and "Married" love.

Chris: "Really? he's going to drive [all that way] tomorrow morning before work?"
Kyra: "Oh come on!  They're in LOVE.  Don't you remember when we started dating and I stayed at your apartment until four a.m., and you drove me back home just so I could take a shower and get ready for work at six?  Back then we were sleep deprived by choice!"
Chris: "Yeah, but I don't remember feeling so tired..."
Kyra: "We were in love! We were running on edorphins!  Now we're just used to each other..."
Chris: "You're so mean!"
Kyra: "You know I'm kidding!"
Chris: "Well don't worry dear, there's no getting used to you..."

Thanks dear.  I love you too.

And A Good Time Was Had By All

On the Seventh of July, in the Year of Our Lord 2011, we traveled to Bristol to partake in Ye Olde Renaissance Faire.

Lady Kyra,


Lady Carla,


and Lady Megan,


...were Accompanied by the Court Jester (for amusement).


We refreshed ourselves at the eatery "Perkins" where the Young Lord demanded pancakes.


Upon Arrival at the faire, the Young Lord communed with nature at the petting farm,


explored armaments,


and boarded a pirate ship.




There was jousting,


and Feasting,


and Much Rejoicing. Huzzah!

Gearing up for Renfair

Chris is a huge nerd.  I'm a huge nerd.  And what happens when two huge nerds have children?

Hugely nerdy babies!

And this...


Yes, I am dressing my kid up for a Renaissance Fair.  And yes, this will be going in his high school yearbook someday. 

I think he makes a great pirate.

Not Much

Chris, Luca and I were listening to "Whad'ya Know" on NPR during Lunch. They were broadcasting from the Dane Dairy Breakfast, so their questions had to do with cows and farms. One question came up "Are there really more cows in Wisconsin than people?" Chris and I both thought there were. The contestants thought the opposite. Turns out there aren't, people outnumber cows about 5 to 1. Chris's response was as follows:

"Huh. We should let them vote. They're a minority. Oh, I'm sorry...a moonority."

Usually, I'm the one with the bad jokes. And as Chris so often reminds me, there is a special circle of hell for people who tell puns.

I am the Lolrus

Luca was wearing his walrus shirt the other day, and I recorded this clip.

2-year old LOLrus

Apparently, in addition to turning him into a nerd who knows lots of big words, we are also turning him into a lolrus.

The Excuse

I LOVE the poetry of Ogden Nash. I recently got two half-century old books of his poetry. I thought I'd share one with you, entitled "Little Feet":

Oh, who would live in a silent house,
As still as a waltz left unwritten by Strauss,
As undisturbed as a virgin dewdrop,
And quiet enough to hear a shoe drop?
Who would dwell
In a vacuum cell,
In a home as mute as a clapperless bell?
Oh, a home as mute as a bell that's clapperless
Is forlorn as an Indian in Indianapolis.

Then ho! for the patter of little feet,
And the childish chatter of voices sweet,
For the ringing laughter and prancing capers
That soothe your ear as you read the papers,
For the trumpets that blow and the balls that bounce
As you struggle to balance your old accounts,
For the chubby arms that encircle your neck,
And the chubby behinds that your lap bedeck,
And sirens who save their wiliest wooing
For the critical spot in whatever you're doing.

Shakespeare's, I'm sure, was a silent house,
And that of Good King Wenceslaus,
And Napoleon's dwelling, and Alexander's,
And whoever's that wrote The Dog of Flanders.
Yes, Shelley and Keats
And other e'lites,
They missed the patter of little feets,
For he who sits and listens to pattering
Will never accomplish more than a smattering.

Then ho! for the patter of little feet!
Some find these footfalls doubly sweet,
Subjecting them to the twofold use
Of paternal pride and a good excuse.
You say, for instance, my modest chanteys
Are not so fine as Pope's or Dante's?
My deeds do not compare with those
Of Nelson, or Michelangelo's?
Well, my life is perpetual Children's Hour,
Or boy! would immortal genius flower!

And that, my friends, is why I haven't blogged in a while.