A Small Lesson Starring Lasagna

I miss our Mormon.

(JD, the lasagna and Jacque)

We live on the second and third floor of a three story house.  The bottom floor is split into two apartments.  On the right is where a rotating pair of Mormon missionaries live. (On the left is where the smoking* Goths make their home.)

The Mormon apartment has two windows on the street level.  One is plastered with photos of Jesus and Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt**. The other is situated right in front of the desk where the guys do their paperwork and studies.  

And when I noticed that, I got a little nervous.  I hate any sort of sales pitch.  I don't want help picking out my clothes in a boutique and I don't want pressure regarding religion. 

But, thanks to Megan, I never got the conversion hard sell (if there even was one). When she was visiting, we were wondering past the movie theater and one of their colleagues stopped us to chat. He was American, cheery and friendly, so of course we weren't going to be rude. But early into the conversation, Megan announced that she was all good on the religion front and I said that I was committed to my Protestantism. We added that I lived above some of his friends.

The next day, Jacque introduced himself (as Elder LastName from Denmark) and we were happy "hey" buddies afterward. When I waddled by, they would wave and Jacque would pop his head out and offer to carry my bags. When I would run into them in town, they would chat and ask for updates and still want to carry my bags.  

In the beginning, I was convinced that I was being (benevolently) stalked a bit. But eventually I realized that he and his fellow Mormon walkabout-er (JD from Utah) were not truly after my soul and Pickle's. (Though I suspect they wouldn't have turned down either.) 

They were just really nice guys.***

Along with their general cheer and helpfulness, they were fun to chat it up.  Jacque would tell me about how he was looking forward to being a capitalist once his two-years were over.  And JD mentioned how he missed snowboarding back home. 

When Elliot was born, they presented us with a lasagna.  When Jacque came up to deliver it, he told Husband a story about how when his mother had a baby, she really appreciated the dinners people dropped off.  So when I went into the hospital to have Elliot, they got the very best cook in their church to make dinner for us. 

And we ate it for days.****

When Elliot was just about three weeks old, there was a knock on the door.  It was kind of late, about 10pm.  I was crashed and exhausted, lying on the couch in my pajamas. 

Husband went to the door to see Jacque standing there.  He had gotten the order to head to Oslo the next day and wanted to say good-bye.  Because I was not dressed, I didn't go to the door.  And I missed him the next morning. 

And I've always regretted it a bit.  It wasn't the right move at all.  He had been a kind, cheery part of my day for months and I appreciated it.  I wish I had told him a last time and sent him good wishes on his way.

JD and his new roommate don't wave and they just watch as I stagger past with Elliot in a car seat and bags of groceries.  And as I type this on at noon on a Friday, the Goths have a their music cranked UP and my floor is quivering to some Middle Eastern-ska-wailing.

So, I've been thinking about good neighbors.  

Overall, I've been pretty lucky. 

In New York, I had dear Derek downstairs and the cigarello-smoking, black leather clad (down to his bikini, no joke) cowboy across the hall.  

In Atlanta, there was creepy downstairs Jodi, who was so icky that (almost) Husband and I spent more time at his house, contributing a bit to his becoming Husband sooner rather than later (thanks Jodi!). And there is dear Joan, Husband's next door neighbor.  We loved her and will stop by to see her when we are in town next month.

But overall, in any definition of the term, good neighbors are hard to come by...and wherever Jacque is now, as he finishes up his last months of Mormon walkabout, we wish him well.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

*By "smoking" I don't mean "model-like good-looks", I mean "suck on the unlit end of smoldering cigarettes directly underneath our open windows."

 **I know, I know.

***Also, I was giantly pregnant.

****If anyone you know ever has a baby, bring them food.  Trust.

The Gherkin

Have you ever heard of the Celtic Dragon Pub Company?  

No? 

Imagine that you are anywhere in the world.  You have a raw space, spare cash and a business plan.  Imagine that the crux of your business plan is that you desperately want to open an "authentic" Irish pub, but you are neither Irish, nor antique-y and you don't have the sources, nor the time to find all the accoutrements yourself.  

Enter the Celtic Dragon Pub Company.*

In an overly simplified explanation, they take your space measurements and quote a price, then some time later, you receive your pub in a box (or a great many boxes.).  

Seriously. 

If you've ever been to an Irish pub outside of Ireland itself, there's a pretty good chance it looked something like this.** 

And in my head, the phrase "Pub in the Box," has become a catch-all phrases for anything formulaic, something with not only the feeling that you've come across it before, but, given enough time, you will again and again...i.e. the plot of each Nancy Drew book as well as trademarked room decorations that include window treatments, paint colors, as well as bed skirts, etc...

This is neither a negative, nor a positive, it just is. 

And if you like that sort of thing, it's quite the good thing.  

But all that said, when I was planning Elliot's nursery, I did not want Pub in  Box.*** 

When I began the planning, Elliot was not Elliot.  Or at least we didn't know he was Elliot. We did know he was The Pickle. 

And, other than the furniture, which would have been too costly to ship from the US, I wasn't pleased with any of my local decorating choices, so I decided that I would do it long distance. 

With the help of BigD, the US Postal Service and a designer named Rudy, it all started coming together, with the exception of one bit: the quilt. 

And perhaps, in retrospect, the nursery didn't even matter and maybe the quilt mattered even less.  We all know that (within reason, of course) a baby can sleep anywhere as long as you take care of it and love it. 

But at the time it did.  

It mattered alot and it may have to you, too, if you were seven months pregnant, hormonal and focused on getting things done.  

Plus, if a brand new person is arriving, he should feel welcome and having a warm, cozy, special room is a start.

Enter Patty.  

Patty is one of my college friends, but because of life and locations, we really hadn't visited much since then.  But we were good friends then and over the past few years, we've caught up over Facebook.  

But dear Patty is not only a friend, but also a quilter. And not just any old quilter, but the kind that sells lovely creations and wins state competitions and occasionally teaches classes.****  

So I emailed her to see if she could help me with the quilt dilemma. And being a relatively new mother herself, she understood the importance of my query and she fixed it.  I sent her some fabric and free rein.  And in what seemed like no time at all, The Gherkin arrived. 

She took my general ideas and some of my fabric, added her own of both and made it better than I could have hoped. And it made all the difference.  

I suspect the actual Pickle doesn't quite appreciate it as much as I do right now, but once he's old enough to understand all the kindness and thoughtfulness and good wishes that are all wrapped up in his lovely cozy, cozy quilt, he will. 

 

*I'm not sure if they are the only ones in this particular line of business, but you get my drift. 

**This is in no way a condemnation of Irish pubs, authentic or otherwise. I have been a generous patron of them in many parts of the world, for example here, here, here, here and here just to list a few. 

***I also did not want cartoons or weird nursery rhyme characters, either.  

****If you need a special, distinctly non-Pub in a Box quilts like this or this, you should post a note on her blog.  I suspect she'll charge you slightly more than the rate I had (thanks and the cost of postage) but no matter what, it will be lovely.

And in case you are curious about the whole nursery, here it is.  

It's not totally perfect for a variety of reasons, including that Husband would only paint one wall for me because it's a rental apartment.  And it needs a few more things, but overall, I love it.  

And it's not Pub in Box. 

See that mobile?  My sister in law suggested it and it is one of the best recs ever--because that mobile is magic. 

I'm a fan of giraffes, in case you couldn't guess. 

Yes, it's tacky to photograph the diaper genie, but for accuracy's sake, that's where it is.  The cross stitch above the changing table is one my mom made for me years ago.  When she was here a few weeks ago, she said, "I made that for you before you were born." I said, "Really, then why is it dated 12-1-72, my first birthday?" The only conclusion we could come to was that maybe I'm a year younger than we thought. Score. 

 
The end.

Big D (or Big Bug)

This morning as Husband was leaving for work, I said, "So what day is it?" If you wonder why I share that bit of information...The reason is two-fold. First, it's been a little busy in these parts lately. And secondly, that is why I feel totally justified in posting photos from a visit that happened several weeks ago.  

In Gainesvegas, NeeNee rules.

(NeeNee AKA BigD AKA the incrediably rare Drawlin' Fruity Fly, native to the wilds of Northern Georgia in the United States. Pictured here on a boat in the fjord.)

My brother, his wife and their two children live around the corner from her.  My sister and her son live a little bit farther, but still close enough that if Jack was old enough to run away from home and if he wanted to head to NeeNee's, he could probably make it there quickly and pretty safely on foot. 

And when I say NeeNee rules, it's not in the creepy, overbearing, roll-your-eyes sort of way. She never drops in or offers unsolicited advice or horns in.  (These are massively important qualities.) 

I mean that she really does know how to do things and will help if you ask her.  Also, she shows up when babies arrive to get them straightened out and to let the moms sleep. 

Then, pretty much immediately afterward, she babysits or carts them around or just coos over them and helps them learn crucial things like how to share, how to keep their fingers out of their noses and the alphabet. `

So when we knew that we were having Pickle, I knew that being no where within close proximity to Gainesvegas would make it hard. I know that people all over the world have babies and handle it just fine all on their own, but I didn't want to.  I wanted my mom to come immediately and help us before we screwed everything up.  

But we live thousands of miles and six time zones away, plus she's still working, so we decided to wait until her spring break (BigD is a special education teacher.) So it was three LONG weeks until she arrived. 

And while Husband and I survived the first two weeks with Elliot all on our own and it was nice to get things started together, it was challenging ---  especially since Husband had to take care of me, too.  

So were all really, really glad when NeeNee stepped off the plane. 

This is what happened next....

Elliot wore his fancy outfit to meet NeeNee at the airport. He wanted to make a good first impression.

Finally she appears.  See that bag on the bottom?  It's filled with goodies for Elliot and a few for us. We all got teary, me most of all. I was tired and hadn't seen her since early November.  That's much too long.

 

We waited until Husband got home to spread out the goods, but she took Elliot immediately. 

He loved it. 

She brought him an alligator sleeper and fed him his very first bottle so we could go to meet some friends for a bit. 

And she worried the whole time that Lillie or Milo would eat Elliot. That won't happen. It is much more like they would eat her. 

Dressed up and ready to go sightseeing. 

They were tight immediately. 

Big D loved going to the grocery store and seeing things like the giant displays of potatoes.

She also loved seeing the magazines about her age group filled with pictures of old ladies.  Check the cover model on this one. Big D smokes her.

Elliot had so much fun, he passed out most days. 

She worked on key skills like grasping...

And taking a pacifier. (this one hasn't really stuck.)

Elliot took her around town. 

Then he and I sat in the car, while...

Husband showed her things.

And more things. 

She sneaked* into a backyard to take a photo...

of this view.

And Husband took her through Old Stavanger. 

We headed out to the sea and the WWII bunkers.

"Well I guess I should climb in one."

She looks the part, no?

She saw sheep.  I saw dinner. mmmm little lambs eat ivy.

She got him to sit in what we now refer to as The Magic Chair.

We went on a fjord tour. It was windy.

Big D or Big Bug?

Big D likes to participate.

Big D and Priekestolen.

But after a while, leaving what was inside the boat was too hard...

.

So we just looked out the window at the sights.

And read about it in the guidebook.

Nope, those are not my skinny jeans, yet. But soon....

Bill loves motorcycles, so we had to go take a photo of it for BigD to show him.

We all went to dinner.

Then we all went home.

Then it was time for NeeNee to head back.

And she left us with a clean house, pictures hung in all the right places, piles of clean laundry, a baby that was a little more settled and a really good visit. We're all ready for our trip back in June.

*Yes, sneaked. Not snuck.  Snuck is not a word, no matter how common the usage of the word is becoming.  "Snuck" makes my eyes and ears bleed.

It's All Good

A days before Elliot arrived, my friend Anne wrote about obnoxious parents who show up everyone else with the tales of their perfect kids.

(See, he naps sometimes...)

When I read it, I vowed to myself that I would not be anything like it, no matter how Elliot turned out to be.

I also vowed I would not be one of those people who complained about every poo or sleepless hour either.

(I was well aware that we were expecting a fairly immature human person who probably would not adhere to what I consider a perfect schedule.  At least not until he was a little older and realizes that his father and I hold the keys to treats, communications with Santa and quite possibly his bicycle, so will be advantageous to him to do exactly what we request.)

But as the weeks have gone on,* when people ask me how it's going, I've shrugged and said, "We're fine.  It's really not that big a deal. Really it's loads of fun." 

And yesterday, I realized how that answer may sound. 

So I'd like to amend it by saying that's not what I really mean---or at least not all I mean. 

What I really mean is that for months, practically every single person who has ever been a parent has told me at least one worst case scenario. 

And as every single day passes and I don't hit that worst case scenario, I count us lucky.

(How we spend some of our time.)

So let's be clear on some things...

Yes, Elliot has projectiled poo'd several times, but only on my hand (and Husband's too). But it wasn't that bad.**  Also, the spot on the rug came out. 

There have been several times when he wouldn't sleep despite our best efforts, so we walked the halls for a few hours, but then he slept eventually.

When he does sleep, at the very most it's in three hour stretches, but we sort of expected that as well.  And it's more than he slept in the beginning and world's better than the stories of babies who never sleep at all.

I have cried several times.  For example, once when I was soooooo tired and couldn't figure out what Elliot needed.  Another when I wanted BigD to come over immediately and get things in order because clearly things were in complete chaos. Once when Husband was exhausted, but trying to do it all.  Another when I realized that we had questions and couldn't find anyone to help in any time zone.  But these things usually work themselves out with a wee nap.***

We've sort of gotten the hang of breastfeeding, but he never takes a pacifier. At all. So lots of days, we're all National Geographic, all the time, which is exhausting, especially if you're the sort of person who wants or needs a little teeny, tiny moment of alone time or to leave the house. But he's eating, so that's something.

And there are entire days when I haven't showered or changed out of my pajamas, and neither has Elliot  But neither of us are getting particularly sweaty or working construction.  

When we do leave the house, which has been a total of three times thus far, it's been a magical feat of timing****  and luck. And once it worked and twice it didn't.  The first two times we just went home.  

Yesterday was the third time.  Our eating schedule was a little off, so Elliot and I went to the parking lot and climbed into the back seat of the car.  He had a little snack huddled under a blanket while Husband finished the grocery shopping.  Then we all went to Ostehuset for some lunch.   

So it's not like it's all smooth sailing in these parts, but it's fine.  And the hard moments are just that--- moments ---in the general good of it all. 

For the most part, sweet Elliot is cheery or sleepy unless he needs something.  But he needs something fairly often and Husband and I haven't quite learned to read his mind or signals yet. And I suspect that these times are harder on us than it is on him.. 

Overall, it's lovely to watch him change every day.  And for him to become slightly more alert and interactive and to see him react to all sorts of things because every single thing is new.  

So, it's not easy, but we haven't hit the the worst case in any of it. 

Mainly, it's hilarious and great, plus Husband and I have been handling it completely on our own and we're surviving too.*****  We even still like each other, which I understand is also a feat.

When I was pregnant, it used to drive me nuts when people would tell me their horror stories of childbirth and new babies. 

The unsolicited childbirth ones made me ultra-anxious and annoyed (especially when they came unbidden from people who do not even own vaginas.)  And even now, that it's all over, I still think the unsolicited ones are self-serving and un-necessary.

But, I am changing my thoughts on the new baby horror stories.

And, as of tomorrow, Elliot and I will be on our own, at least until BigD gets here on Thursday, so ask me later...I'm sure I'll have some fresh horror stories of my own...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

*We're in week three right now.  Clearly we are pros.

**Think warm caramel sauce.  Nope, I'll never eat it again, either.

***By anyone.  No kidding.

****When to bathe, when to feed, etc...  This goes for all three of us.

*****The BigD is arriving on Thursday and we are ready for reinforcements, for sure.  But Husband goes back to work tomorrow and I'll be on my own for a few days until she arrives.  We'll see how that goes...

A Yard Gnome and A Quick Hello

It's been a busy few weeks. 

Fifteen days ago, I gave birth to a perfect little yard gnome. And in the meantime, have been recovering from the c-section and (with Husband) have been figuring out what to do on all counts. Overall, it's been all good and loads of fun, even when you figure in the sleep deprivation.

(He's not really, really a yard gnome.)

People keep sending emails and notes asking what happened during delivery, especially since I was so anxious about it beforehand. It's not that I am keeping it totally secret, it's just that it's over with and I am almost over it as well.  One day, I will write about all of the details of what happened, but not until everyone I know who intends to give birth in Norway, has.  I don't want to scare them.

(So what if it was scary, look what I got. I would and will do it again...just not here.)

In short, we went to the hospital pretty late in the process. Everything happened really fast, especially for a first time delivery.  Towards the end, Elliot's (the baby formally known as Pickle) heart rate began dropping by more than half with each contraction, so he was delivered via c-sections. And everyone was tired, healthy and well. We stayed four days in the hospital, then came home.

Elliot has been eating like he's in a competition he intends to win. Husband has been a total workhorse handling every single thing from changing diapers to fetching to cooking to laundry. I've been sleeping and feeding and making requests.  (And all of it takes much more time than it would seem.)  

So, I've been a little neglectful of my blogging, but, I've not abandoned it. I just working on learning a little balance, which is really only code for figuring out how to deal with it all...