This is the year with the kookoo tree. Kookoo claus is pretty scary. Unless you circle him a few times in the mall and then maybe you can sit on his lap. Or at least that worked for Bella. She also will sing boo-boo bells, but not if you put the video recorder near her. She will laugh at us and say, Christmas and Santa next year. But this year, the kookoo tree is the most beautiful thing in the house, or maybe the world.

She cries to get her own way, but in an adorably manipulative way. We’re so screwed when she is 13.  Or 7. She doesn’t cry when she runs into the island countertop, or spins the bar stools and the arm rest whack her in the forehead. She has a plasmacar and can whirl around the house. (That’s the nifty little hot wheel type car that doesn’t have pedals, instead you turn the steering wheel and it goes! whee!) She talks all the time – and on New Year’s Eve, she even said a full sentence: No, I hold that baby!   Baby Natalie visited us. 6 month olds are too precious. Bella seemed like a giant next to her.

Grandpa just converted her crib into a toddler bed. She likes it, even if she isn’t quite ready to fall asleep in it. She is toying with toilet training. And preschool registration is at the end of the month! Only 6 months to succeed.

She loves baby dolls. Her kitchen set. Diego, Dora, Max and Ruby. Books. Henry’s light sabers and swords and guns. She likes puzzles and coloring and putting “pope” on her skin. (lotion in this case) She likes the water – swimming or bath or just the kitchen sink. She decides to wash her hair when she plays in the water for too long.  She also loves her big brother and sister. She thinks her uncle is the best and his dog is all that.

Being a 2 year old is pretty challenging. And Bella is pretty good at it. Click on any photo to start the slideshow.

Since the shortest day of the year, I have been enjoying the morning light. It seems ridiculous to notice the (extra, brighter) light. How can it be different? – it didn’t feel that different as the days grew shorter and shorter. But the light feels like a Hopper painting. The morning ones, not the indoor nighttime ones.

I’ve always been glad that the Mill Rd. (Milwaukee) Public Library had a nice book of Hopper prints when I was assigned to find an artist to copy in art class in high school. I fell in love with the ways America looks in Hopper paintings. I nearly always choose a Hopper image for my desktop wallpaper and usually have a Hopper calendar on the wall. My attempts at imitation were only flattering in the sense of the saying. But seeing how hard it is to capture light – to understand how revolutionary those seventeenth Dutch masters really were.

This year, I feel like I am seeing something new. The important part is that I am seeing it, not that it is new. The winter morning light.  I’ve always though summer was the season of light. The lush greens, the bright blues – made for Kodachrome and Paul Simon. Our wedding day is a happy memory, not just because I was ecstatically happy to marry Rob, but because the summer light was gorgeous. But this winter is challenging me to think beyond the grayness of December, and the heavy darkness of the fading light in November. January has had wide skies, cool light, pastel colors that don’t seem muted. And February will be gray again, I’m sure, as the snow gets old and dirty and winter gets (even more) tiring. Until then, I am enjoying the long light in the mornings. And wondering if heading to the western deserts in winter isn’t just smart for the temperature, but for the mirage.

Henry had his adenoids removed and tubes put in his ears in the middle of the month. The surgery was low key. His recovery was easy and fast. Despite my hopes, his internal volume control has only been notched down slightly.

Arabella is talking more and more. Bewwa enjoys her time with Gra’pa and Meemaw (Grandpa and Grandma). She wrestles with Hiyee (Henry) at every chance she can get. She is relentless, brutal and feels no pain or fear. She wants to follow Mi’enda (Miranda) and hang out in her bedroom. And as tough as she can be with Henry, she wants Miranda to paint her nails. Bonus for when they glow in the dark.

We had parent teacher conferences for the big kids. They are “Secure” in their work. Very secure. Henry is having a hard time expressing his upsets in words. Miranda is learning classroom management skills.

I have the Christmas cards back from Shutterfly.

Miranda now thinks it is a tradition to shop at 3 am on Black Friday. She is tired and grumpy by 6.

The cold that swept through our family in October after our trip to Texas has lead to antibiotic November. Rob has a sinus infection that won’t quit. I officially had pneumonia (much improved, but still a follow-up chest x-ray away before cured can be bandied about).

And I am going to start a new job in about 2 weeks. It has been a tense month for me. Excited for what’s ahead.

And catching up on 30Rock on Netflix has been amazing. I know the worst case scenario is that Netflix may either A. break the internet through overuse or B. break Net Neutrality, but I still love it.

Aw who cares, pictures!

Some pictures from Texas:

I am in post-vacation letdown. Six months of prep. Six days of vacation. And now, home. I am trying my hardest not to turn my brain into mush. I need to pick out, then create or buy Halloween costumes for Henry and me. And maybe Bella. Probably not Bella. She can be a cat (from Miranda’s stash) or a lion (from Henry’s stash) . Two is a feline sort of year. We are doing three outdoor activities for Halloween, I hope. I want a warm costume suitable for a 30-something mother. And somehow being an Eskimo’s honey just sounds like it might be a bit racist.

We had a great trip to Texas.  I am not sure if we would have ever visited Texas if we didn’t have friends there. So much America, so little vacation time and money. But seeing as we have gone and will go again, I like Texas. I like how it is big and proud of it. I like how it is in on the joke and yet, still the joke, to nearly any punchline you can imagine. My vowels get just a little longer and I enjoy being called “ma’am” and my children called “baby.” The food was good, even when we didn’t have Tex-Mex.

We visited Ft Worth, Waco, and Austin. Austin made me think of the grown up child of Madison and San Francisco. Still hippie, but bold and bright and business too. I am supremely bad at timing vacations – the kids had school and I thought they’d have a day off.  The Austin City Limits Festival was being held. Which would have been awesome if we didn’t have kids, had tickets and didn’t want to stay in a hotel. The breakfast tacos were very good. An army and a family of 5 travel on their stomachs. That and time at the swimming pool.

The closest we came to dying (the hallmark of some people’s scale of a good time) was the flight out. The plane went up. And then banked sharply over Lake Michigan as the cabin filled with smoke. The smoke then cleared and we headed back to the airport. No idea how bad it really was. Incredibly grateful the older children could not see either my or their father’s face. We deplaned. Waited a bit and got on a new plane. No news.

This trip used up our Midwest frequent flyer miles. The flight itself, except for the smoking part, was fine. The staff was kind. The ride was smooth. The baggage arrived. But the reservation process was a nightmare. Frontier changed our flight number and then our flight arrival time twice. I called, sat on hold, politely pleaded to keep our seats together. in June, July and August, with a “just checking” call in September.  We bought the seats in April. The plane was nearly empty until September. And it didn’t matter. The calls didn’t help. I had to use the great power of Twitter on Tuesday to have one seat changed so we could ride as two twosomes and one single seat in adjacent rows. My two phone calls for help did nothing. But the twitter person @flyfrontier had superior spatial reasoning and found a good solution for us. On the way home we had two seats together and three seats in three different rows. And the phone staff, even the gate agents on the flight out, couldn’t help us. We got the DFW ticket counter 3 hours early and the wonderful woman there did get us all in 1 row, with Rob behind us.

I suppose I could say all is well that ends well. But this is my internet soap box. It was aggravating and a huge hassle. I’ll certainly consider Frontier again, but it isn’t my #1 anymore. And so ends an era. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and be inspired for Halloween.

I woke up on vacation, already with that strange sensation of where am I? and I wondered if I was in Excelsior. As much as it would pain the Door. Co. tourism bureau to hear, I wondered if I had ended up in Minnesota.  I have been craving needlecraft. The last time I sewed was Halloween costumes. And the last time I need any needlework, I was making Bella’s Christmas stocking. And now I wonder if maybe I should just give counted cross stitch another try. After all, Betsy improved. I like Betsy’s mind and her maturing as a character.  she would be fun to know. I want to hang out with Godwin, who skates a careful line of not just being your stereotypical gay best friend of pop lit, but is a fleshed out through and trough. Struth!

I was hooked. I scurried around. I checked out the other 8 or so books from three other libraries in our area. Annoying that Cedarburg had none of them. And I read them in order.

And tonight I finished the last one I have. I love how the secondary and tertiary characters slide in and out. Jill and Lars and I can picture Emma and Erik growing. Aww. And Doris went from being a small bit character (although didn’t she have a brother somewhere nearby?) and now she’s one of the gang. And Phil and Alice and Bersheda and Irene and Leona… And even Patricia, that daffy would be murderer who we get to see in redemption. I’ve read some series where all of the side-talking gets in the way of the plot. The mystery is either told as slight of hand and not clever deduction, all luck or random. And crossing my finger, Ms. Ferris has managed to keep the plots on target.

Now I just have to wait until the library gets the new release in December.  Find an independent needlecraft store and pick up a canvas and get to sewing. And stop seeing clever plots that Betsy could solve if there were a murder nearby.

Sigh.

And now I wonder if he was thinking the same thing. Tom Barrett wins the governorship, leaving open the mayoral position in Milwaukee. Rich Daley moves north, wins the mayoral election and we’ll have rail or water powered buses or bike trails or wrought iron fencing around every park by spring.  And nothing’s going to stop him.

EDITED TO ADD: And Now Mayor Daley suggests they re-reverse the river that flows to the Mississippi when it should flow to Lake Michigan. That doesn’t seem like an idea that would be very popular in Chicago. But it seems like one that would be heart warming in Milwaukee. Hmmm?

Did I say pumpkins? Our fabulous pumpkins have grown and grown!

We have three x-large. And then four or five smaller ones. We can’t wait to carve them. I don’t think I have much of a farmer in me; it seems so bloodthirsty to plant the seed, fertilize them, water them, weed around them, and then wait until they are perfect and cut them up. And not even to eat them.

Summer is ending. And with it, the chances to take off for the day. I decided to take the kids down to the Art Museum. Wednesday was a beautiful day – blue skies, dainty puffy white clouds, Lake Michigan , dragonfly swarms!  And minds influenced by John Hughes start thinking about Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.  Three kids, an Art Museum, blue skies. Ah. But taking the three small-ish kids by myself, especially with the youngest still needing to be strapped into a stroller to avoid having us be shushed or worse by security guards, it doesn’t seem like the brightest idea. But the blue skies and the plan – only an hour or so there. We’re walk quickly. We’ll take in the Art Museum in a very breezy, kid-friendly way.

The Burke Brise Soleil as designed by Calatrava was magnificent. Miranda missed the wings entirely, and she still loved the space.

Bella wanted out of the stroller. The Brise Soleil is the prettiest waiting room in all of the country. It has gorgeous views. And space to run. And benches. But we could be waiting to see a doctor, or a judge or maybe even catching a plane. It didn’t prepare us to see the art collection. And it was so very light and airy and much of the gallery space is shadowed and almost dank.

Of course, with everyone snapping photos like this, who needs art?

We made our way into the museum. And maybe if I had pulled out a Monet first off or if this museum had a Seurat, Miranda would have gotten into the spirit. Instead, I thought modern might tickle our sensibilities. All those questions about what is art and the colors are so lush. Alas, I chose wrongly. Even Ferris Beuller had to deal with Cameron on his day off.

The kids area was a hit:

I missed the family packs when we went into the kids area on our way into the collections. A scavenger hunt might have helped. Of course, every time we stopped Bella decided she wanted out of the stroller. So no sketching or reflecting or slowing down for us. Henry would have liked to find out just how close you can get to the art before the alarm goes off. For the record, we did not set off any alarms.

They did appreciate the chair gallery where you could sit in the chairs! Which is way cooler than it sounds. And twins of some of those chairs were in other exhibits, which the kids noticed and appreciated.

Next time, I figure out how to get outside to the War Memorial. I think the juxtoposition and the views are interesting. Next time, we’ll check out a family pack. And next time, we’ll take Papa.