Impending #2

It’s funny, but one thing I have learned in preparing for #2 is how much our life circles around Emry. The day is based on her schedule: waking up, eating meals, playing, baths, naps. I tend to wash clothes because she’s out of diapers (or pants on days when potty training isn’t going so well). Except for a Sock Monkey sleeper we found, every purchase made for #2 has been for Emry: car seat, bed rail, double stroller (well, I guess they’re sharing that). And my biggest concern has been making sure Emry is cared for while we’re at the hospital, writing notes for whoever watches her and making sure everything is easy to find when they’re here. Meanwhile, the baby’s clothes remain in boxes in the basement…

You don’t mean for it to happen, but #2 really does fall through the cracks!

People often ask if Emry is ready for the baby to arrive. It’s hard to know exactly. She knows what babies are, having a few in her Sunday School. We talk about the baby, asking her if it’s a boy or girl. (“Girl!” she exclaims happily 99% of the time.) We try to teach her the names we’ve chosen. But I doubt she understands how much her life is about to change…how different it’s going to be when Mama and Papa aren’t focused solely on her!

The funniest thing I’ve noticed is how familiar she now is with my routine doctor’s appointments. (Hence the word “routine”, I guess.) When I tell her we’re going to the doctor, she happily exclaims, “Baby!”. She knows she can push the buttons in the elevator. We get to the office and once I’m signed in, she toddles off to the little table they have that is just her size. She tries out all three chairs: the elephant, the lion and the giraffe. Sometimes we have time to color before my name is called. Then we follow the nurse to the scale to get weighed, drop off our coats in the room and she wanders out singing, “Tinkle potty!” as we head to the bathroom to leave a urine sample. Back in the room, we always have to sit on the doctor’s little stool that spins. (She doesn’t care for spinning, but a couple of slow turns are fun.) And we love to play with the measuring tape, first measuring my belly and then her own before pushing the button that winds it back in. She finds her snacks (fruit snacks I carry to the doctor – they’re a special treat I took to bringing when she was going through her shy stage so she wouldn’t cry when the doctor was checking me) in her bag and sits in the chair when the doctor comes in. When she hears the baby’s heartbeat, her face lights up and she happily states, “Baby!” The best part is probably as we leave, waving good-bye to all the nurses who think she is adorable. At the desk where I make my next appointment, the receptionist brings out the basket of little toys. We’ve collected quite a few rubber ducks of all variety, several differently colored little stuffed monkeys and a few odd rubber animals. The difficult part, of course, is taking only one duck or monkey instead of loading up on as many as we can carry!

Yes, #2 will arrive soon. Life will change. And it will be both fun and challenging to watch Emry as a big sister – hopefully more fun and challenging!

My Family: The Popko Clan, Part 2

It’s been quite a while since I wrote my first blog about paternal grandmother’s family. So, if you need a refresher (like I did), you can look back at the post from September 16. And then tell me I should have posted Part 2 three months ago…

As I wrote in September, the Popko clan is a bit mythical to me. My grandmother was the baby of the ten children with nineteen years between her and the oldest. Not only did her stories come from the perspective of being the baby of the family (which anyone will tell you is a VERY different perspective), but some of her siblings she’s didn’t really know. Others she resented. Some, in her opinion, have a very special place in Heaven. Like the nuns.

Two of her sisters were nuns, both of the order of Notre Dame (which always seemed pretty elite whenever Grandma spoke of it, but then who else has “Touchdown Jesus”?). I learned when researching my family tree that prior to the newer rules, nuns changed their names when they took their vows and, thereafter, were never referred to by their birth names. In fact, their birth names were practically eradicated. It took me a while to find them scribbled in an old notebook my grandmother had: Monica and Melania. Monica became Sister Theolinde (or Sister Theo) in honor of her actual sister. I’m not sure what Melanie became because she reverted back to her actual name when the rules changed and was known as Sister Melania. Sister Theo died before I was born. I might have met Sister Melania (who died in 1987), but I was only a baby if I did. All I really know of them is they were saints.

Two more of Grandma’s siblings died young. Eva, the eldest, died as an infant or child. Francis, the eldest son, died in 1948 even before my father was born. He was married and did have a son (who died in 1999). All I ever knew of him is what my grandmother said: it was Paula’s fault he died and Paula’s fault his son died young, too. But, according to my grandmother, any family tragedy was Paula’s fault.

The other siblings I have met. I remember meeting Uncle Leo and Aunt Theo at my Aunt Jacque’s wedding in 1990. I don’t remember them really clearly, but I do remember my dad introducing me to Aunt Theo and then remarking as an aside how Grandma and all her sisters look, talk and laugh exactly alike. (He’s right. The creepy thing is, the same can be said of his four sisters.) To me, Uncle Leo and Aunt Theo were “normal”. They were born, grew up, got married, had kids and died in old age. Grandma got along with both of them, so there weren’t any odd stories to stimulate the imagination.

I didn’t odd stories to know my grandma. As a child, I found her a bit unusual but not uncaring. As I grew, I found her to be too bluntly honest. For a time, I thought she was picking on me – telling me in letters how bad my choices were and why. As an adult, I learned she did this to all my cousins and, upon reading old letters, to just about everyone else as well. Although this didn’t make for a close relationship, I never thought she didn’t somewhere deep down love me.

I also never needed stories about Aunt Julie. Aunt Julie, the middle child, was like the glue between everyone. She knew all her siblings, she forgave all her siblings, she told stories about everything. She had been lots of places, had lots of experiences and met lots of famous people (Frank Sinatra, John Ford, Ingrid Bergman…). Whenever Aunt Julie was around, stories abounded. And since she will be 100 years old this July…that’s a lot of stories! The only surviving sibling, today she lives in an assisted living in Chicago where she has passed over Bingo for Poker (she’s only allowed to play the men, though, as she’s too tough on the women) and lives a very busy life with her old neighbors.

To be honest, the greatest family tragedy I never heard blamed on Paula: Aunt Mary. The story I always heard was she was dropped as an infant. Whatever truly happened, she was mentally disabled her entire life and never left the family farm until moved into an assisted living when she and Paula could no longer take care of themselves. I met Aunt Mary once – the sweet sister/aunt everyone seemed to feel sorry for. I sincerely don’t think she felt sorry for herself, though. She seemed quite happy, had her pet bunnies in their cages and she was well cared for. Her parents loved and cared for her and Aunt Paula never left after she returned home to care for her dying father. I think she was very happy.

And Aunt Paula? Well, let’s put it this way: by the time I finally met Aunt Paula in 2000, I was prepared to meet some woman in a black pointed hat, broom in hand who was likely to curse me for the rest of my life. Come to find out, Aunt Paula didn’t have a pointed hat, a cauldron for casting spells or pointed teeth in which to suck out my blood. In fact, she looked like my grandmother, never got rid of anything (like my grandmother) and liked to plant trees (also like my grandmother). But if something went wrong in the Popko family, it was always blamed on Aunt Paula. Who knows why. Maybe she had done something way back when to deserve it – a mistake that her siblings couldn’t forgive. And yet…I discovered later through old newspaper clippings that Aunt Paula had worked for the University of Michigan and Notre Dame. She had been in the US Air Force during World War II as a meteorologist, being honorably discharged in 1955. She returned to Upper Penisula Michigan to care for her father when he got sick and later passed away. After that, instead of putting Aunt Mary in some home and going on with her life, she stayed up there and worked for some established local businessmen until she was too old and sick to do anymore. She was then moved to an assisted living with Aunt Mary where she died in 2007.

Families are funny things. All different personalities. All different perspectives. All different stories to tell. And yet one. Thinking about my grandma and her nine siblings makes me wonder: what will my grandkids have to say about “Grandma and all her sisters and brothers” in 50 years? Who will be the witch? Who will the saint? I’m honestly not sure I want to know…

Funny Things

We have reached that stage with Emry when we’re starting to have to be careful about what we say and do. Why? Because it comes back to haunt us. The little phrases we use we don’t realize. The little idiosyncrasies we have we don’t notice. Or just the things she picks up on. For instance:

The oven mitt: I wouldn’t say Emry spends tons of time in the kitchen with me. Often I try to prep dinner while she’s in the bath or something. For one, I don’t have a lot of counter space so even her tiny body takes up much coveted space. She also likes to “taste” everything. And she enjoys emptying out the utensil holder. But I let her sit up there often enough, for I want her to think cooking is enjoyable. Ironically, the top thing she has picked up on is the oven mitt. She has a little oven mitt of her own which she often wears about the house whenever she is playing with her kitchen things, her cookie set or her pancake set. Everything must be done with the oven mitt on: setting the table, stirring, baking. Who knew the oven mitt had so many uses?

Bubbly drinks: Ed enjoys this fruit flavored sparkling water from Aldi’s. He usually drinks it in the same bluish glass, and if he has it with a meal he’ll pour Emry a little in her cup. The other night he had the blue glass, but he had poured just plain old water into it. Emry saw it and reached for it. Since it had but a sip left in it, we had her ask nicely for it. When he passed it over, she kindly traded him her sippy cup. Then she proceeded to take the sip of water. A funny look crossed her face, she looked down into the cup and asked, “Where’s the bubbles?”

“Mooches”: Thus far Emry’s words for different things are more phonetically challenged takes on words than actual “nicknames” for different things…until recently. We have been potty training (slowly!) and her treat for using her potty is M&M’s. Or, as she calls them “Mooches”.

So "Beek"!

Every day, it seems, Emry adds words to her vocabulary. She’s even starting to string some of them together, although they’re usually missing some part of speech that would make them an official sentence. Still, she chatters away as if she’s having a conversation with you. In fact, she wants to be the center of the conversation. She gets rather upset when Ed and I try to talk in the car or at the table during dinner and she’s not included in the conversation…

Her chatter makes perfect sense to her, but most times we’re not 100% sure what she’s trying to communicate. The words she uses most often we sit about trying to guess until we hit the nail on the head. One such word has been “beek”. It took me several days to figure out that this is her word for “big”. Mama and Papa’s bed is “beek”. Mama’s stuffed panda is “beek”. Emry herself is soooo “beek”.

And she is. This past week has been a VERY “beek” week for her. For the first time, she went “tinkle potty”. The whole correlation of needing to go tinkle and actually getting to the potty in time remains elusive, but she has used the potty when I let her sit there a while (playing her letter reading game on my phone which is the only way I’ve found to get her to remain still long enough) and she certainly understands she gets “mitches” (M&M’s) from the freezer when she goes. At least it’s a start…

Meanwhile, we finally got her a new “beek” car seat. Not because she has outgrown her infant seat but because the new baby is going to need it, so she gets to graduate. She’ll have to remain rear-facing until she’s two (as there’s no way she’ll ever meet the weight requirement and, we joke, will still need a booster when she learns to drive), but she sits up straighter now and can see a bit more. On the other hand, we had our first case of car sickness. Getting too warm, facing backwards and Ed driving the curving Pittsburgh roads a little too fast in an attempt to get somewhere on time…well, I think she was more frightened than upset at throwing up for the first time.

She also got her new “beek” bed this past weekend. It’s my old captains bed and so quite far off the ground. Hence, we’ve had a lot of discussion about how to go about putting her in it. Thankfully, she’s never been a climber (except with steps) so we put one side against a wall and attached a rail to the other. She was so overjoyed with her “beek” bed, we haven’t had a bit of trouble with this transition. She loves nap and bedtime. The other night she even rushed into the dining room and declared to Ed, “Bible! Beek bed!” Meaning she was ready to have Bible time and head to bed. In the mornings, I hear her in there playing as she always did in her crib with her stuffed animals. When she’s ready to get up, she calls to let me know. She hasn’t even attempted to climb out.

It’s funny that getting ready for #2 seems to equal more things for Emry and getting her ready. If we’re lacking something for the new one, I guess I’ll get it when his or her arrival actually reminds me. Although, the ladies at church did throw me a prayer shower, and I have plenty of diapers and even a couple of new outfits to start out. And with the crib now in our room the reality that our lives will change yet again in a month or less has hit. “Beek” changes are coming!

For the Record: A Book Review

Would a Texan really up and leave Texas for good if he fell in love with a woman in Missouri? Mmh…doubt it.

For some reason, this is the question I found myself asking as I read For the Record by Regina Jennings. A funny thing to ask when the object is to read and review the book for the story it contains  - not the idea that a Texan could possibly fall so head over heels that he leaves Texas when, in the end, he didn’t have to. But I know Texans. Most of them would choose Texas over money, fame, love, family and maybe even God Himself. But I guess that’s what romance novels are essentially about: the impossible being possible.

Joel Puckett certainly doesn’t leave his beloved Texas by choice. In order to maintain the career he loves (a lawman) he moves to the hills of Missouri to a small town in need of some law and order (or so says the state of Missouri). Having been compromised by a woman before, he’s not interested in the woman who dashes across his path upon his arrival. But, then, she’s not much interested either. At least, not in that sense.

Betsy Huckabee is a woman who just wants a little freedom. With a desire to be a writer and a very keen imagination, she finds that the new deputy might be her ticket. Dress him up a little on paper and he just might sell...dress him up too much and he might sell a little too well. Which leads to a fiasco – not freedom.

While For the Record is a cute story complete with the happy marriage ending, it comes up a little short on a cohesive plot. A Texan leaving Texas for love wasn’t the only question I was left pondering. For instance, if Betsy doesn’t want to live with her aunt and uncle, what keeps her from just moving home again? In the 1800s, were stories really syndicated so far and so wide so quickly that within a few weeks, her serial had found it’s way all the way to Texas and so get her in a bind? And why would a huge state like Missouri care about a few hardly harmful vigilantes in one of their little hole-in-the-wall towns? The romantic encounters are a little over the top…and the heroic couple forgive and make up quite quickly for having hardly any discussion on how much they’ve hurt one another.

I understand that “romance novels” are supposed to be set on that goal: romance. But a little depth to the plot wouldn’t hurt…

This book was provided by Bethany House Publishers for review purposes only.

Happy Birthday!

To the best Mom and Grandma EVER!!!!

2017: My Reading Goals

The final count for books I read in 2016 was 119. For being a wife, mom and part-time employee, I’d have to say that’s not bad. It’s just that my want-to-read list is probably three times that long…

I don’t doubt that my end-of-the-year 2017 count will be lower than that. Even if I’m not working part-time, I will have two kids. Although, nursing one will help. Even 3 AM feedings aren’t too bad with a Kindle. I read lots of books that way when I nursed Emry. Nearly 45 minutes of undisturbed reading! There are worse things in life.

But I don’t have any numbered goals this year. I decided that was one thing I didn’t want to “stress” over. Instead, I’ve made one book my ultimate goal: Shelby Foote’s The Civil War, Volume 2.

I have the complete trilogy of this Civil War epic that is claimed by some to be the ultimate Civil War history (although it avoids economics and politics of the era).  I read the first volume some years ago and found it very interesting – not too difficult to read as far as hefty histories go and very objective. I’m long overdue to read the other two volumes. And since I figure I need to read a mere three pages a day to complete it in a year, I actually haven’t started it. (Currently, it’s in a box…) I think I’m pretty safe in saying I’ll complete at least this New Year resolution.

Meanwhile, I have a short list of other “must reads”. I’ve put off re-reading Ben-Hur for too long. Ed actually being bored enough to watch Little Dorrit (which he so surprisingly enjoyed he finished in a marathon watch over a cold Sunday afternoon) reminded me I have yet to read that novel. And there are quite a few fun books I really want to re-read like The Incorrigible Children and All-of-a-Kind Family. Not to mention I’d just like to diminish my half a dozen lists I keep on my library account.

So, yes, I’ll have plenty to read in 2017 – even if I don’t quite break 100.

Happy 27^th Birthday, Gracie!

Our Little Girl…and Cars

There’s one thing about the male sex I have always marveled at: their connection with cars. While I know that it’s a broad scale of extremes (those who find them as handy tools versus those who live, eat and breathe them), there does seem to be a connection regardless. I have tried my whole life to figure out how my dad and brothers can glance at a car and tell me what year it is when the year is not printed anywhere on it. (I know – I spent considerable time in my childhood trying to find it.)

My husband is even better. He can spot a car a mile away and tell me the year of it. Not to mention how it compares to the other years of that vehicle’s genealogy. Or how it compares to cars of it’s class that same year. I must confess I don’t always listen completely. Anymore than he listens to the plot of the current book I’m reading.

For Ed, cars are a hobby. He would spend every spare moment he has at a car lot test driving if he could. And then only thing I have ever seen him read from cover to cover is his Car and Driver magazine. So does his daughter.

Yes, Emry will sit on the floor and flip through the Car and Driver. She happily points to all the pictures, declaring, “Car! Car! Truck! Car!” She does the same thing when we’re out walking or running. Every car we pass gets pointed at…and since nearly everyone in Pittsburgh parks on the street, that’s a lot of cars! The most I can tell her is, “Yep, that’s a blue car. And that’s a red car. And that’s a white truck…” While I could branch out a little from colors since I do know what a Toyota insignia looks like versus a Ford one and vehicle makers at least print the model of the car on the back, I’ll never be Ed. “Look, Emry! A 1978 Pontiac Grand Am.” (I repeat: where is that date printed? Not to mention that 1978 really means 1977 in most cases. Why do car companies do that? It’s like saying Emry’s birthdate is really 2014 when she was conceived. It makes no sense to me.)

Emry also has her father’s expensive taste. At the mall, she loves to run up to the cars put on display – cars we can’t possibly afford. She even wants to climb in and sit in them. And her favorite “store” is the Tesla showcase. While I admit that looking at a Tesla is fascinating, I’m fairly sure I’ll never be able to afford one in this lifetime. (Not to mention that even if I could, I can think of a million things to purchase over a car.) So, the other day at the mall was quite a treat: a Tesla just her size!

Emry picks out her first car.

I didn’t even check the price tag on it. I’m fairly sure it’s not in my price range either – no matter how small!

New Year Resolutions

2017 has started out with such a bang, I’ve hardly had a moment to even contemplate the word “resolution” let alone list any. For now, just crossing one thing off my to-do list before I add five more would be good.

Most people start off the new year with the usual loose weight, exercise more, read a good novel, work less and play more. Loosing weight is not on the agenda until after this baby comes and my six-weeks of postpartum is over. (I learned that lesson the hard way last time – eight weeks postpartum anyone?) Exercise more? You’ve only to look at my Pinterest to see I kind of collect exercise routines (for after the post partum). Read a good novel? I’ll blog that later. Work less and play more? Guess that depends. Two kids does not equal any less work…but it does equal more play!

The truth is, my life looks more like I’m running a marathon right now. We have to find another place to live. Although we probably won’t get moved in before the baby actually comes, I’m prepping now. Empty boxes have come up from the basement and are being packed with things I don’t currently need (aka: books, hundreds of them!). We’re still working on potty-training. We need to get Emry’s new bed set up so she can adjust before the baby comes. Emry also needs a new car seat so the baby can have hers. Yes, there is a baby coming. Can’t really forget that and yet it seems like #2 is already falling through the cracks. By this time with Emry I was packed, ready to go and prepared at home whenever she decided to make an appearance. This one? Guess I’ll get those baby clothes out at some point…the bag packed…the instructions for who’s watching Emry… Hope this baby doesn’t make an early appearance!

Not to mention work. Unofficially my last day is supposed to be January 31. Officially, I have a feeling I’ll work until I have to go to the hospital. It’s not easy to close off 2016, train my replacement and merge two companies all within 20 hours a week. Although I don’t doubt I’ll pull it off somehow, a few later evenings will doubtlessly be required.

So, my new year resolution for 2017? Survival. I have a funny feeling that one word is going to have more meaning than I can possibly imagine…