Baby #2

Yesterday we had the ultrasound of our newest little one. It still amazes me how much they can see on an ultrasound – the four valves of the heart beating, the little kidneys and stomach and bones, the eyes and ears, wriggling hands and kicking feet. An amazing, tiny human.

It’s hard to tell what your baby will be like from it’s very first “pictures”, although it is strange that several of Emry’s ultrasound pictures show her with her arm up over her face – the exact thing she does now when she is tired and ready to fall asleep. If this baby’s ultrasound is any indication, he’s camera shy.

The baby was lying in the womb in a transverse (horizontal) position, which explains why I often feel this painful jutting in my side. It’s his (or her) head. He seems to like to jut it right into my side when I hold something there, like Emry or, in this case, the technician’s “camera”. It hurts. This allowed for great pictures of the stomach, and spine, and arms, and just about everything – except the face.

The tech needed to see the face to measure the distance between the eyes (not sure why – maybe to see how big he is) and pictures of the mouth and nose (to see if he has a cleft palette, which he does not). However, he refused to turn his face in any sort of direction towards us. So, she had me get up and go use the restroom. Often a change in position will get the baby to move.

Not this one. Nor did taking five laps up and down the long hallways outside the office (walking fast and shaking my hips as she ordered, something like an Olympic speed walker). She was about to give up and tell me I’d simply have to come back when – finally – the little face appeared. Very briefly, but for just long enough to get a snapshot and the necessary measurements.

I suppose being camera shy might be good for a second born. After all, even in this digital age, the second child simply does not get as many pictures taken as the first. But whatever this indicates, at least we know this: our baby is very healthy. And should be with us in just over four months!

Emry at the Pumpkin Patch

Taking your children to a pumpkin patch to get pictures for the fall is all the rage and has been for years. I must say that the object of our visit to a local farm was not the pumpkins but the picking of apples. However, as we had to walk right through the very large patch….

Emry thought the pumpkins where wonderful – bright orange, huge balls she could push but certainly not pick up and throw. She loved sitting among them, chattering away as she does when she’s excited and has something to tell the world (whether we understand it or not). She also enjoyed the old farm tractor set up in the patch, primarily, I am guessing, for photo ops. At least, until, she got tired of getting her photo taken…

So, then, we were off to pick apples. She was getting restless, so I gave her one of the apples. I wasn’t really sure what she would do with it for she has never had anything but apple slices. However, she new exactly what to do…and ate nearly the whole thing – core and all.

After a stop at the little shop to try to apple cider, we sat out front to finish our apple and enjoy the pink flowers (our favorite). I love fall – it’s such a beautiful time to be out enjoying all the cool, crisp, color.

Soooo Big!

Our home officially looks like we have a child. Well, if you’ve been inside our home that’s rather obvious: stroller, highchair, bouncy seat, crib, toys, books – often scattered hither and yon until clean up time. But now we have chalk scribbles all over our back sidewalk area. So, yes, we have a child.

We’re not too good with the use of chalk yet, but we get the idea. It’s also great if Mama and Papa draw with us. The day after we decorated our back walkway area, I opened the door so we could go out and we sat there exclaiming, “Ooohhh!” and pointing to our works of art. It is true that we are own biggest fan.

It is also true that while “bigger” is entirely objective (at 17 months, 12 month clothes fit perfectly), we are much more little girl than baby. We repeat words. Our vocabulary continues to grow. Mama and Papa understand us better when we’re “talking”. The other night we were getting up on our two feet by ourselves without holding onto anything, staggering and then falling over in a fit of giggles. And we take several steps by ourselves between Mama and Papa, although we’re still getting the idea of balance. Funny enough, we are cautious when it comes to walking, but when it comes to climbing…well, even a tumble down some steps did not teach us anything this week. We continue to think we’re Spider Man.

We have quite a few teeth now. We don’t believe in getting them in any particular order. While we have two front on the bottom and three front on the top, we’ve moved to getting our molars. One is in, one is mostly in and two more are taking stabs at our gums. It made us cranky for about a week, but we’re better now.

Books are our all time favorite thing as late. If possible, we would get Mama and Papa to read to us ALL DAY LONG. We have our favorites, particularly Dr. Seuss’ ABCs, Biscuit (a little yellow dog) and Amelia Bedelia (our favorites being the newer ones when she’s a kid). We can give you the titles of all of them, but Mama especially likes it when we attempt to say Amelia Bedelia. We put our whole tongue behind it, sticking it in and out like a snake.

And we love other kids. We think we’re quite grown up now, able to play with other kids around our age. Of course, we don’t run about with them yet, but peer pressure doesn’t seem to have any effect on our learning to do so. And we are certainly the smallest on the playground. In fact, the babies nearly a year younger than us in Sunday School are as big as we are and often heavier. Mama was glad to discover last week that we do love babies. Mama was holding one and we kept bringing him toys to play with. What we didn’t seem to grasp is why he didn’t play with all ten of them at once, but at least we were sharing. That bodes well for being a big sister in about five months.

Indeed, we are getting “soooo big!”.

To Katey

Today is the celebration of that day 34 years ago when I became a big sister. One of the biggest and most important days of my life. It changed my world forever.

I was so delighted when you arrived – you were much better than my two dolls named “Katy” and “Kate”. (Mmh…wonder where those names came from?) For, in time, you could play along beside me. Ride bikes, dance in the rain, take care of our little doll families, defend our back yard from pirates. We didn’t always like the same games…and we didn’t always get along. But we’re sisters – and became best friends.

It once dawned on me when studying siblings in the Bible that brothers and sisters can bring the best times into your life – but they can also hurt you more than anyone else in the world. Often it isn’t intentional. Sisters are not identical, even twins. We had different interests, different gifts, different activities. You were the bluebird – I was the sparrow. Taking different roads was just bound to happen, but it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt.

Even today our paths are different. As ever, you continue to be musical and artistic, friendly with days of full of activity. I still covet moments of quiet with my book and my jobs will always have more spreadsheets than color. You chase around two little boys, one who puts toys in order before they are played with and sleeps buried under all the blankets (now who does that remind you of?) I have a little girl who kicks every blanket off so sometimes I’m up 3 or 4 times a night to cover her back up and oohs and aahs at frilly dresses, colorful flowers and nearly every aisle in Michaels. (Did we get our kids mixed up somehow?) Difference ever abound…

And yet, we will ever be sisters. We will ever know things no one else around us knows. We will laugh at inside jokes and beat the crowd at Catch Phrase because, sometimes, we just know what the other is thinking. And my life will ever be richer and better because of you.

Happy Birthday, Katey!

My Family: The Popko Clan, Part 1

As a kid, it was kind of fun to learn that my paternal grandmother’s maiden name was something fun to say like “Popko”. Even funnier was her father’s name: Zigismund. Say it: Zigismund Popko. Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but it is fun to say.

Granted, it doesn’t end in “ski”, but it’s about as Polish as you can get. (Believe me. I learned as I got older and understood my grandmother’s odd sense of humor why people tell Polish jokes – which Polish people don’t understand.) Zigismund (born 1885) came from Poland sometime in the 1890s, not exactly sure when but he seems to have settled in Upper Peninsula Michigan by 1901. My research indicates that his future wife, Kamilla Kulik (born 1883) came from Poland in 1900. She settled in Chicago (didn’t nearly everyone who is Polish?). How exactly they met or when, I’ve no clue. But they were married in 1911 and settled in Michigan for the rest of their lives.

It was a year previous to that that they only other family member from that generation I know (well, have stories of as each of this generation died decades before I was born) was “Unc”, as he was called. Konstantyn Popko (born 1891) immigrated to America in the early 1900s and came to live with his older brother in 1910. He would join the army in 1917, serving mainly in Alaska during World War I. Like his brother, he mainly worked in the iron mines in the Upper Peninsula, although he left for a while to work at the Cadillac factory in Detroit before later returning to work for the railway until his retirement. He never married and died in 1961.

Meanwhile, Zigismund and Kamila bought a farm (although Zigismund would continue to mine and work for the railway company) and had a family of ten. Not a surprising number for a good, old Polish Catholic family. And once simply has to love the names: Eva, Monica, Francis, Julie, Paula Prudentia, Melania, Leo, Mary Magdaline, Theodolinde Gevnevieve and Clothilda Ann. Every one of them good, old Polish Catholic names.

Kamila would die in 1948, six years before my dad was born so he has no stories to tell of her. Zigismund would pass in 1960, when my dad was six, so he does have some memories of him. What I know of them is very little. My grandmother (the baby of the family) never spoke much about her mother, whom she didn’t get along with. Nor did she have a lot to say about her father, even though she apparently did get along with him. As the baby by at least 19 years, many of her siblings were quite a bit older and would leave home before she began to understand who they were. And, to be blunt, my grandmother simply did not have anything nice to say about some of her siblings. While others, because of who they became, she spoke of as if they were gods. Let’s just say I still have a rather odd, mythical idea of the Popko clan.

In 2000, I saw the family farm in Bessemer, Michigan for the first (and likely the last) time. I had heard much of it all my life, especially the fact that the 400 acre plot was evenly divided between the siblings and, so, my grandmother had land. And while it is a lovely piece of land, no one really wants to live in Upper Peninsula Michigan. Hence, why since the death of my two great aunts, it is simply that: a lovely piece of land. My grandmother always made it a point to tell us that her portion of the plot would go to her five kids. Which, I guess, they can give to their kids. Which starts to remind me of the Polish tradition of breaking a wafer between every member of the family at Christmas. My grandmother loved that tradition. I always wondered what was so special about the itty bitty sweaty pieces of wafer left in my hand by the time my generation got to partake. I was supposed to eat it?!?!? For it would seem that my allotment of 400 acres has become one acre. And what am I supposed to do with one acre of land in Upper Peninsula Michigan? Exactly.

Truthfully, I wish I did know more about Zigismund and Kamila. Supposedly, Kamila never learned to speak English (although she could understand it). Did she feel lost in this new world? Meanwhile, Zigismund apparently spoke many different languages and was considered very trustworthy and generous by his neighbors. What was it like to raise a family of ten in the tiny house I saw, especially in the very long winters of the Upper Peninsula? What had life been like in Poland? Why did they come here? Was America everything they thought it would be? But most especially, what did they think of their children and the choices they made? For the stories I have heard were usually told in bitter resentment…or godlike reverence. In short:

Eva: died young

Monica: aka Sister Mary Theolinde of the order of the School Sisters of Notre Dame

Francis: died before his mother, apparently a tragedy

Julie: the surviving sibling – now 99 years of age

Paula: the witch

Melania: aka Sister Mary Carlita who reverted back to Sister Melania of the School Sisters of Notre Dame

Leo: the surviving son

Mary: mentally disabled

Theodolinde (“Theo”): the normal one

Clothilda (“Clo”): my grandmother

Ed's Birthday

Today is my husband’s 42^nd birthday. (Yeah, I like older men…) I think he’s finding it a little hard to believe. Human frailty has hit him a bit this year as he has lost two old friends from high school to colon cancer. Many of his friends have kids that will soon graduate from high school themselves. And so while he has a 17 month old with a baby on the way, it doesn’t make him any younger. In fact, chasing Emry around seems to make us all the more aware that we are old and wear out fast.

It’s hard to believe I’ve known this man for nearly 7 years, since he put out his hand and introduced himself to me as “Ed” one evening at church. No big deal there. It was a small church. I knew everyone’s name. Although I do remember thinking it funny a moment later when one of the kids ran up and said happily, “Hi, Mr. Ed!” The ditty began in my head, “A horse is a horse, of course, of course….the famous Mr. Ed!”

I didn’t begin to notice him much for another year. I had work, and friends, and activities, and was continually plotting on the best exit-strategy out of Texas. Plus, I had never in my life had a guy pay any attention to me, so you could have knocked me over with a feather when he asked if I liked to play miniature golf. And now we’re married with a family. Who knew?

Since coming to Pittsburgh, it has made this terrible city a little easier to see parts of him I’ll never actually know. Even if we had “grown up together”, we wouldn’t have actually “grown up together”. A 16-year old junior in high school would have thought nothing of an 11-year old just starting 6^th grade. And vice versa. Now I’ve seen the places he lived, met some of his old friends, heard him reminisce about growing up in the only place he ever knew. (A very odd idea to me…) His dad doesn’t talk about the past much, but his mom will tell stories, too. Although he’s told and told me I have to take many grains of salt with just about every story she tells. Still, there is some truth there about the little Eddie that is fun to know.

Happy Birthday, Ed!

New Things

Only one blog post this week, but I’m a little behind…and there isn’t tons to say. I finally bit the bullet and got the card table up from the basement, pulled out the scrapbooking things from under my bed and piled it high with projects: long overdue scrapbook pages, updates to Emry’s baby book, odd repairs to things, birthday cards, Christmas presents. It’s going to consume a lot of time – thankfully, Christmas is still a little more than three months away!

Meanwhile, our little girl continues to grow. Her vocabulary gets larger, Most of it is gibberish. She will sit in her room for large periods of time, “reading” her books aloud to herself. She especially enjoys Biscuit (a little, yellow dog). And most of the words she does say are echoes of what we say. Still, some stick…and come out of the blue when you least expect them!

Emry will be seventeen months tomorrow but, no, she is not walking on her own yet. She’s taken a few steps back and forth between Ed and I, but she’s hesitant to let go. She’s quick to get up on her feet, the neighbors love watching her crawl up and down the steps in our back yard area and she loves to be walked around. But her balance isn’t quite up to par yet and she likes to walk on her toes. Grandma is predicting we have a ballerina on our hands.

Which may be true. We do like frills and fancy. This past weekend, we stopped in Joanne Fabrics just to look at material and fabric to see what Grandma could be coaxed into making for our winter wardrobe. I had the pattern books turned so Emry could look at them and point from her seat in the cart. I was looking mostly for jumpers – simple and easy to deal with. I turned the page to a little ballet-like dress with a tutu like skirt and Emry comes alive.

“Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!” she exclaims excitedly, pointing to every picture on the page and jabbering happily to herself. Honestly, I’m not sure where she comes from sometimes.

This past weekend we also tried bike riding with her for the first time. I have a nice bike and we have a tag-along for Emry, so we rented a bike for Ed. The truth is, Emry had more fun getting my bike ready for the trip:

At first, she didn’t mind her tag-along, piled high with books, snacks and her juice. But once I put the helmet on…well, that wasn’t a happy time. We settled down, but later we were hot, and tired, and didn’t want to get back in after a stop at the Point (to see the fountain and attempt to jump into the rivers to join the ducks). Maybe with more rides, we’ll get to liking it more.

Oh, but we do love doing chores! Cleaning the bathroom, picking up toys, folding the clothes, putting the washed dishes in the dishwasher to dry and helping to put them away later. Today we added to our list scrubbing the floors. Oh, what fun! (If only our enthusiasm would last another several decades….)

To Reminiscence

For some reason, I have always rather liked the word “reminiscence”. Who knows why. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue…and it’s certainly not easy to spell. You would thing with two silent “c’s” in it, it came from Latin or something. But it’s English. Who says English is Phonetic?

The definition is simple: indulge in enjoyable recollection of past events. Maybe that’s why I like the word. How many definitions use words like “indulge” and “enjoyable” and “past events”? It’s a happy thing to reminiscence. It’s a time to remember wonderful things of the past. Not all those terrible, heart breaking, angry moments we as sinners like to remember. No, no, no. Think enjoyable!

This word came to mind recently as I started thinking about things in my past, particularly pertaining to my family. Some things are memories of my own – others are stories that have been told to me. A lot of the people in the stories, Emry may never meet. Many, of course, have passed away. Others I have hardly seen in my life and it doesn’t seem likely she will see them in hers. With those thoughts in mind, I often think I need to write these things down.

I have always loved delving into my family history. I have pages and pages of family trees. If I had the time, I would investigate further and try to learn something of Ed’s side of the family. And while I love reading through lists and lists of names, laughing at some of them and imagining who these people were, I often wish I actually knew something real about them. I don’t have a lot of stories, just names and dates. It’s a little sad.

Which is why I’d like to leave more to my kids. I won’t them to know a little about the family one, two, three or even four generations back. Now I know they might not care. History and where they came from may mean very little to them, but maybe their kids may want to know. Someday when I have very little memory left, I may want to know! So, I think I shall write some things down. Not everything. And like all stories passed from generation to generation, not 100% accurately. But it will be something. And it will be enjoyable. As reminiscing is supposed to be.