Anja and Ice Skating

Friday afternoon, I suggested that we pick Anja up, throw on her snowpants, and take her to the park for her very first attempt at going out on the ice. Dan apparently finds ice skating therapeutic. I, on the the other hand, find it very nearly terrifying and do not understand the appeal of it beyond it being a traditional cutesy date idea. I've been on the ice rink once since Dan and I met. I was congratulated for staying mostly upright by a parent watching us. Ouch.

Dan brought his skates and rigged an extra rope to the toddler sled so that he could pull Anja around behind him. We were all set.

Luckily, we knew not to get our hopes up.

Sitting in a swing watching Daddy skate apparently trumps actually skating in Anja's world. (Mine, too).

As does playing with the steering wheel and commanding Daddy to do so, too.

And sliding on the blue slide.
And the big red slides.
And sometimes just climbing the stairs is enough to keep her happy.
It was a bit chilly (30 degrees), but definitely worth it.

Especially since I just got to watch, listen to the giggles and squeals, and take a few pictures. Daddy got to do all the lifting, walking, and sliding with Anja.

But at least I know that I am (at least, so far) not alone in the family on my opinion of ice skating.

Maybe next year.

"I Love You SOOO MUCH!"

Last night Anja and I dined with my parents while Mommy was off talking with parents at conferences. She spent the entire ride saying, "Daddy, I love you SOOO MUCH!" I would respond in kind and she would repeat.

About a block from our house she repeated, "Daddy I love you SOOO MUCH," and then continued "and Mommy, Grandma, Grandpa, Maggie, Unca Jimmy, and Lyla."

Clothing Optional

Two nights ago, Anja went to bed at a reasonable hour. This was cause for much rejoicing on my part, because it meant I could go to bed at a reasonable hour, too. About an hour after she fell asleep, however, I was getting ready to head to bed, too, and heard her start crying. She couldn't calm herself down, so I went up to check on her.

This is what I had hoped to find:

Instead, I found Anja laying down awake, on top of the covers, with the pillows stacked up where her feet should be and her feet where her head was.

Oh, and she was shivering. A lot.

It may have been due to the fact that she had taken off her pajamas and was laying there in just her diaper. At least she had left her diaper on, I guess.

I got her re-dressed, covered her up, and rubbed her through the blankets until she warmed up, at which point she mumbled "Thank you, Mama.", rolled over, and started snoring.

Last night we put her back in footie pajamas.

All These New Babies

A couple of years, when I was the much younger age of 25, I realized that a good number of my friends were married or getting married. I've always had a set of friends that are a bit older but it was a realization that resonated very loudly in the back of my head. If my memory serves me, and it is a bit hazy to this point, I believe I silenced the ringing with Margaritas.

Fast-forward to today and it seems like babies are appearing from every corner. A couple of months ago a good friend of mine from high school and his wife had their baby, Jacob Daniel. Last week Anja's new cousin, Alexa Grace, appeared. This week our friends, and Susi's co-workers, had their baby boy, Rowan. A gear-head friend of mine and his wife are due on the exact same day as Susi.

I feel a bit bad for Anja. She is very accustomed to not having any competition for being the cutest one in the room. Cushioning the blow is that she goes to day care nearly every day where she must try to get "Lisa's" attention from a gaggle of other kids. Late last week I started to become more legitimately concerned because Alexa has an older sister. My first niece, Haley, is a four year old tornado. Her arrival marks the end of your attempts to keep order or cleanliness to your home. My brother never tried terribly hard to keep the place up before Haley and afterwards I understand the feelings of futility. Haley has spent the past four years being the only shine to Mommy and Daddy's eyes and has not been adjusting well. She's been acting out, reverting to more baby-like behavior, and as Grandma describes it "being a little stink-butt."

Rowan's parents are also Lyla's parents. Anja and Lyla have played together a few times and they seem to generally enjoy each other after the toddler-ice is broken. Last night we hauled up to their house to make them some dinner and visit the new baby. Even though it has only been a few days it was very clear that Lyla was adjusting. She was finding a rhythm between Mom, Dad, and the new baby. Haley had never even hinted at this level of adjustment.

I'm hoping, given Anja's age and disposition, she will err on the side of Lyla and not Haley. If not then she could share in Daddy's solution - more margaritas.

Holidays and Seasonal Pies

I hear friends, co-workers, and other contacts tell me about the hell involved in their holiday celebrations. Examples range from, "Grandma showed up and forgot to put on her pants," to, "we drove a total of 40 hours to make it to all four households." While my family has the genetic muster to challenge all but the most psychologically challenged, I simply cannot one-up the logistical nightmare presented by split household families. One of my cousins needs to visit four households across three states to make his holiday trips. It makes the two hour drive out the family farm seem like a scant car trip.

Despite the logistics being reasonable, it still required a solid month before I was capable of writing about them. Anja received a treasure trove of gifts including a new doll house and a very nice table and chairs set from Nana and Boppa. Grandma and Grandpa gave her (and us) a year-long membership to the Zoo. For everyone else Grandma made calendars. Grandma's calendars features various pictures from family trips and of the family animals. Annotated in each month was which pies were in season. On the outside, looking in, this may seem a little silly. To be honest, on the inside looking in, it is a little silly. But really, it's only silly because of veracity upon which my family will attack the task of making, baking, and eating pie.

Both Thanksgiving and Christmas feature three different kinds of pie. Including, my Grandma making a key-lime pie to go with the fruit pies because, "I didn't know which was better for Susi's gestational diabetes."

After giant meals, with their associated piece(s) of pie, most everyone in the house is either dressing to do chores outside (not me), or trying to become one with any number of recliners in the house (me). Anja has discovered a viable third option:



I don't think you will find Daddy doing this type of thing any time soon. Swapping the positions of the food entrance and food exist after eating one of Grandma's holiday meals would be infinitely unwise.

It should also be said that a normal Sunday meal on the farm is not too far from what we see on the holidays. Sometimes it features one less pie, or no pies but a cake, it has even been known to have only cookies as a dessert option. I really do not know my Grandmother's age. I know she has been cooking like this for at least 50 years because my Mom has just tipped that age herself. Given at least 50 years of eating in this style it's easy to assume my family is full of overweight corn-fed midwesterners with diabetes and cholesterol problems. With the exception of my 75-plus year old Grandfather's heart attack and subsequent stroke, from which he recovered quickly and was out milking cows less than six months afterwards, there have been no major medical problems with our family. My Great-Grandfather died only a few years ago and he did so at the age of 99. Over this last holiday venture I went to see my Aunt Ora. She was the sister to my Great-Grandmother. A week later she passed away. She was 103 years old. In my younger years, I remember vividly needing to stand on pieces of notebook paper so that she could measure our feet. This happened every Thanksgiving and every Christmas we'd receive a pair of hand-knit slippers. The activity of choice with these slippers was to slide around on my Grandma's vinyl floors. This did typically decrease the typical lifespan of the slippers but also ensured that Aunt Ora would have something to put under the tree for the next year. In the last two years, she had really taken to Anja, at least pictures of her. She once told me, "I don't have much time left to remember things; you need to send me some pictures of that girl." So I did. My last memory of my Aunt was visiting her in her room at the hospice and seeing pictures of Anja all over the room. She had one by her bed that my Grandma told me was one of her favorites. When nurses would come check on her she would proudly show off these pictures to them.

This was one of those pictures:


It was one taken the last time I saw my Great-Grandmother, Anja's Great-Great Grandmother Grace Dilley. Anja's newest cousin takes her middle name from her: Alexa Grace Little. Maybe naming people in memorial is a little silly from time-to-time but right now I feel comforted by it.

Daddy needs Coffee

I'm generally in charge of getting Anja to daycare in the morning. If Susi has the time she will help me get Anja dressed and fed but after that I need to get her into the car and to "Lisa's House." The purveyor of our day care should really rename the business "Lisa's House." That way I could just write the checks to the business instead of finding new and creative ways of messing up "Swenson," her last name, every week. It's all my fault. I went to high school with a guy named "Swanson" and college with a good friend who was "Swensen." On any given week, the check may be made out to one of those various misspellings.

En route to Lisa's House is the site of my morning Mecca - Caribou Coffee. While we were traveling in Germany, it became habitual for me to get up with Anja, load up the stroller and head down the street to get a coffee and a croissant. This way Susi could sleep in and Anja and I would be occupied. Since returning home, Anja has been a big fan of going to the "Coffee House" with Daddy in the morning.

Yesterday, a Monday which required coffee, Anja was chatting up everyone working behind the counter. After getting my decaf-skim-dark-chocolate Mocha, a nice woman in line said, "You've got A LOT to carry."

To which I simply replied, "Yeah but it's worth it."

It's really true.

This is an entirely unrelated picture. Anja and I were playing blocks a few weeks ago when she was home sick. No more than five minutes later we had rubble.



From the rubble we erected the Elmo Memorial. It was constructed to honor the Little People that were killed or injured in the destruction during the attack of Mecha-Anja.

Part Two

Pregnancy is a big deal. It really is. If things go well it takes about 40 weeks, it requires changes in diet, behavior, and the number of hormone changes in that short 40 week period is absolutely staggering. Getting pregnant is not a trivial task. Despite the plethora of stories about teenage pregnancies, trying to get pregnant on purpose can take some couples years and thousands of dollars worth of fertility treatments.

When Anja was in the womb we spent a lot of time documenting every small detail, taking the traditional belly pictures, and working hard to remember everything that happened. This time, we have barely been able to settle on a set of names. That doesn't mean we are not excited about having another baby. In some ways, I really believe we are more excited this time than the last. But I think that the excitement has changed. Before we were very excited for the pregnancy and I think this time it's more exciting that a new baby is coming.

And if Kif is even nearly as cute as Anja then I think we have good reason to be extremely excited for the arrival: