We are currently enjoying our beach vacation in North Carolina with a bunch of family … nine adults and eight children in all.

Unfortunately, the Husbandlet and I seem to have brought the plague (i.e., the stomach flu) into our midst. We came down with it the day after we arrived, and now two others have succumbed. I feel like a character from And Then There Were None, waiting to see who will be next.

The day before her third birthday, Ngaire took off her diaper and wouldn’t let me put another one on her. We haven’t been totally accident-free, and she’s mostly refusing to poop in the potty, but other than that, I consider her completely self-potty-trained.

(While I was writing the above paragraph, Ngaire peed on the floor of her room upstairs, so I think I will never mention her track record online again.)

I used to joke that, as soon as Ngaire turned three, a switch would flick and she would suddenly turn into a mature, obedient little angel who put all bodily output into the toilet. Amazingly, it almost came true: Aside from a recent vicious circle of being naughty at bedtime (climbing into Liam’s crib bearing all sorts of paraphernalia, much to his horror at being thus rudely awakened), which kept her up too late, which made her cranky and disobedient the next day, Ngaire really does seem more mature all the time.

She can now dog-paddle around the big pool, bobbing in her little inflatable suit, and after weeks of practicing jumping into the baby pool, she now leaps confidently into the big pool with Daddy. She knows most of the major bones of the body, a bunch of names of dinosaurs, and a lot of the major creatures of the sea. She has mostly outgrown picture books, though she retains an affection for some of them, and we now read short chapter books together (the Amanda Pig series is a favorite, as are any books about dinosaurs). Her memory is amazing; about 90% of her conversation consists of quotes from books or videos, expanded upon and used in context. (She and I recently had a fun conversation where we tried to come up with as many synonyms for “said” as possible; she matched me word for word.)

She is fascinated with cats, dirt, mud, bees, and butterflies. She has a bit of a dictatorial streak, which, combined with her extreme independence, trend-setting, and frequent direction of those around her (“You want to run and say ‘Look at the cat!’”) would make her an ideal auteur filmmaker in 1960s France. Her favorite colors are red and purple, and she has recently given up shirts (no, stick with me here) in favor of dresses and only dresses. She will wear shorts, but only under a dress.

Ngaire is extremely strong-willed. I think my biggest challenge as her mother is knowing when to back off and when to exert my own will over her. My own personality inclines me to the latter, but I am reminded that frustrating one’s child is not a good idea. As with the potty-training thing, sometimes my efforts to direct her meet with success only when she’s ready to go along with me. That isn’t always a big deal, but try telling me that after she’s jumped on top of Liam for the eighth time that night. (OK, that one is kind of a big deal.) I am looking forward to pre-homeschooling her this fall, but I’m keeping myself open to the idea that she may ultimately need some space from me in order to learn without resistance. She may not. We shall see.

On the more positive side, she is also one of the more openly affectionate children you will ever meet. She melts the hearts of all around her with her generously distributed hugs and kisses. While she often goes into her own little world in peer group settings, she is almost never unkind in any way to other children around her. In groups of adults, she transitions seamlessly into the spotlight, giving performances of the Hokey Pokey, Sandra Boynton songs, and old sea chanties.

One of our biggest Ngaire-related surprises was realizing this year that Ngaire is not, as we had previously thought, an extravert, but is in fact quite introverted indeed. We were fooled by the fact that she would only play happily by herself when there were lots of other people around. Silly us. When she disappeared into her room and hid in the corner when playgroup met at our house, I finally got a clue. However, she has recently learned that other children will get in on her little schemes if she talks to them, which has opened up a world of social possibility to her.

I consider myself quite privileged to be her mother. It’s amazing to me to remember her as a baby … indeed, it’s rather hard for me to believe she ever was a baby. She has come a long way, and I’m looking forward to seeing her continue to grow.

Guess who said “Dada” this morning?

Liam also gets very excited when he sees my dad, and starts shouting, “Ba-pa! Ba-pa!”

We spent the night at friends’ house last weekend, and when Liam woke up in the morning, Jessica heard him and brought him down to where the Husbandlet and I were sleeping in the living room. When he saw me, Liam said very distinctly, “Oh, Mommy.”

He’s working on a lot of other words, one of the most distinct of which is “grape.” Since he can eat his weight in them, I think it’s only respectful of him to learn their name.

* * *

Post-miscarriage update: I’m doing OK and better. Physically, the bleeding stopped on Wednesday (a week after I lost the baby), and I also stopped feeling nauseated all the time. That was a huge relief. Now I just have to break Ngaire of the huge TV habit she developed while I was sick …

Emotionally, it still hits me from time to time that the baby is gone, and that’s hard. I did some calculating and realized that the baby must have died just days after we got the positive pregnancy test. Strangely, that has made the situation easier to bear … more inevitable, I guess; less like I had almost made it out of the first trimester only to have my baby die.

* * *

This evening at dinner, Ngaire raced through her meal and suggested to Daddy (several times; he didn’t seem to be getting it) that perhaps they could Go Swimming Now. The Husbandlet told her they would go when he was all done eating. Then he and I went back to chatting while he finished his meal. I don’t think we even noticed when all his food was gone, but Ngaire very emphatically pushed herself into a semi-standing position in her high chair, examined his plate and bowl, and announced, “Daddy, you are All Done.”

I haven’t been blogging much of late because I had some news burning a hole in my pocket (to mutilate a metaphor) … and then the nature of this news changed, making last week a rather difficult one. Last Sunday morning, we were finally able to announce to the Husbandlet’s parents that I was pregnant. Then we told our church, and after that I started mentally composing a giddy announcement blog.

Unfortunately, in a twist of irony worthy of some famous ironic writer, on Sunday afternoon, I started to bleed.

I went to the doctor on Tuesday and had an ultrasound, and even though I was almost ten weeks along, the baby seems to have died at about week seven. I decided not to opt for an immediate D&C, and on Wednesday, I experienced the actual miscarriage at home, which was a lot less horrifying than I had feared (though in no way pleasant, of course). Physically, Thursday was probably the worst, as my body underwent a hormone rush or something that left me dizzy and nauseated all day.

Emotionally … meh. I’m OK. The Husbandlet was gone all week doing field work at a lab on the Eastern Shore. My initial bleeding was so light that we weren’t sure I was miscarrying, so he went ahead and left on Monday morning as planned, and by the time it was clear what was happening, I told him to stay put, finish up his work, hurry home, and not leave again for awhile. I figured I could soldier on till Friday, and he certainly gave plenty of moral support from a distance. We’ve been catching up on hugs ever since his return.

In retrospect, there were some warning signs about this pregnancy … I took three pregnancy tests after I missed my period, but only the third one (at 6 weeks 2 days) was positive. I didn’t experience very many symptoms of pregnancy … just occasional mild nausea, nowhere near as intense as in my other pregnancies. I guess the hormones weren’t rushing as they ought. Of course, that doesn’t make the miscarriage easy … just inevitable, and so not guilt-inducing.

I’ve been doing my share of crying, especially when I see my keepsake ultrasound photo or the positive pregnancy test I had been saving, but I’m not hysterical … I flipflop between unhappiness at losing this particular baby, and a rather clinical understanding that if the baby was not viable, I’d rather lose it now than later in pregnancy or (God forbid) at birth. Indeed, I have found myself apologizing to a number of people who have called to comfort me because I feel like I’m sounding rather stoical about the whole thing. I’m not, I’m really not, but after the initial panic and distress when I first started bleeding, my unhappiness has been mixed with peace.

The truth of the matter is that we trust God. While I haven’t completely solidified my thoughts and feelings on my loss, I am finding that it is possible to grieve authentically without trying to assign blame. We consecrate our children to God from the moment we know about their conception, and so we trust that God has done and is doing what is best for this baby. So, yes: sad. But definitely not in despair, definitely not angry or questioning … though I know God would be patient with us if we were. It’s nice to be able to skip that step, though, and experience our grief mingled with the love and faithfulness God has shown us all our lives.

Even at seven weeks gestation, the baby was so complete … little hands and feet and forehead and chin. It looked like one of our babies, and that’s what I’ve cried over the most. I wish I could know if it was a boy or a girl.

Yesterday morning:

Me: “Look, Liam’s making the ‘All done’ sign!”
Ngaire: “I’m all done! I’m all done!”
Me: “Ngaire, just two more bites of oatmeal left. Finish those and you can be all done.”
Ngaire: “All done!”
Me: “Eat your two bites of oatmeal, and you can have two cranberries!”
Ngaire: “Three cranberries.”

Ngaire’s third birthday post is coming up, just as soon as I write it.

I’d say it was the curse of the second child that has doomed Liam to getting his birthday post written eight days after the fact, but I’m afraid that, instead, the curse of the flaky mommy is to blame.

We celebrated Liam’s birthday at Kim’s house, where, much to his bewilderment, Liam was taken outside and strapped into a high chair and a video camera was pointed in his face. Then he got chocolate cake, and everything was OK. He also got to lick the chocolate frosting off the decorative train, which may have given him a taste for trains which may confuse him in the future. Most gratifyingly, he covered himself with chocolate and tried to eat the plate when the cake was gone.

He is imitating language more and more. He waves bye-bye and says, “Ba-ba!” He shakes his hands in his version of the “all done” sign and has said something that sounded an awful lot like, “All done.” I was reading him a book about an elephant and a mouse and making elephant and mouse noises, and he made those noises too. He said “p*enis” one time when I was changing his diaper (what can I say; he’s a boy). (Also, what does it mean that he said “p*enis” before “Daddy,” Dr. Freud?) He is in love with cats, and something clicked for him when we were reading Barnyard Dance awhile ago and he saw the illustration of the cat being spun by the barnyard dog. He went rigid with alertness, then started pointing excitedly at the cat and saying, “Bee!” Then he leaned forward and gave the cat kisses and smiled.

He is mischievous without being malicious. The other day, he kept throwing his bottle on the floor. I picked it up yet again and put it on his tray. Keeping his eyes on me, he carefully picked the bottle up and set it next to him on his seat. Then he pushed on the nipple until the bottle fell over, nipple-end toward his feet. Then he prodded the bottom of the bottle until it shot out the seat, under his tray, onto the floor. Sneaky much?

He has taken a step here and there, but yesterday, his daddy and Uncle Daniel sat on the floor and had him walk back and forth between them. Then Mommy took over for Uncle Daniel, and Liam walked some more, in a rather flailing manner; but walking was definitely occurring.

He is playful, happy, independent, cuddly, and fearless. He’s really the poster child for babyness and, I suppose, cusp-of-toddlerness. I think if I could be assured that every other baby I had would be like him, I would have six or eight. On the other hand, if I had six or eight Liams, I would go prematurely gray watching them scale any available furniture, walls, cliffs, etc.

Liam polished off a bottle of watered-down kefir after steadfastly refusing cow’s milk for days on end.

Later, he had Horrible Diaper-Escaping Diarrhea of Great Disgustingness. Connection? I gave him some more kefir this morning, but this and the behavior of his excretory system since I started him on yogurt and cheese is giving me pause.

Also yesterday, Liam had his first major haircut involving the buzzing clipper thingies. He went from interested (twisting from side to side to get a look) to distraught (shrieking) to resigned (back to twisting, but less avidly). He looks like such a little boy now. His big boy 9-12 month clothing is getting a bit short for him, so I’m getting out the even bigger boy 12-18 month clothes today.

Ngaire got her “hair bangs” trimmed yesterday as well, calm but for a few wiggles and giggles. She kept asking for her lollipop, which had me confused until I remembered that we had given her one after her last haircut to keep her calm. Girl has a long memory. Alas, we had no lollipops, so she had to be contented with cheesecake with blueberries and whipped cream. I’m afraid we have hearby raised the bar.

* * *

Ngaire just came up to me and said, “May I have a hug and a snuggle and a huggle?”

* * *

My housekeeping and/or mothering just hit a new low: I was sweeping the kitchen. Liam crawled into my dust pile, reached down, grabbed something and put it in his mouth. My reaction? Well, most of what’s in there is his food anyway.

Speaking of housekeeping, this has been the Week of Laundry. Granted, we have a tiny washing machine and dryer, but one or two loads a day seems rather ridiculous. Where is it all coming from? Also, why are there so many sheets in there? Did I suddenly decide not only to wash every sheet in our house but to volunteer to do the neighbors’?

I hate folding sheets. I can never get the edges totally lined up, and that drives me crazy. Don’t even get me started on fitted sheets.

Coming soon: How my kids are addicted to Saltines. And if you need any sheets washed, do let me know.

So, I have a new babysitting gig. Two days a week, the kidlets and I hie ourselves to Jessica and Adrian’s house to hang with their little girls for the day.

As a side note, Microsoft Word doesn’t recognize “hie.” To what is this world coming?

Anyway, some small portion of my babysitting days is devoted to keeping Liam from gouging Baby Lindsay’s eyes out. She is still relatively immobile, and can only lie there helplessly as his little hands edge nearer. The two babies do have their cute moments together (sometimes they link hands briefly before he starts trying to figure out if her face is attached). Fortunately, familiarity seems to be breeding somewhat less eye-gouging.

Yesterday, Liam outdid himself on the cuteness-not-gouging scale. He crawled up to Lindsay—I sprang into intervention-preparedness mode—he sat quietly by her knees. His face assumed a certain impishness. Then he very carefully pulled up her shirt, leaned forward, and stuck his finger in her belly button.

I burst out laughing. He looked up at me, grinned, and then did it again.

Of course, when I went for the camera, he came crawling toward me, so you’ll just have to take my word for it: There was cuteness.

I have been a remiss blogger, I know, I know.

A bit of timeline clarification: The Husbandlet actually wound up making two separate open-ended Floridian romps, April 15-29 and May 19-31. This was because his clammies weren’t getting eaten fast enough during his first trip, so he had to return after the crabs had eaten their fill at the Research Experiment Buffet. As for the living room sleeping, I have personally been engaging in said activity since the Husbandlet’s first departure. When the Husbandlet has been around, he has elected to join me.

He is off again on Monday for almost a week. But at least this time I’ll be in a comfy (if lonely) bed during his absence.

Last night, I deflated, folded and put away our air mattress. The kidlets have successfully shared a bedroom for four nights now. The Husbandlet and I have our room—and even more importantly, our extremely comfortable non-inflatable bed—once again.

(You knew that the adults of this family have been sleeping in the living room for the past two months whilst the little ones reclined in single-room luxury, right? First Liam needed sleep-training, which was mercifully short/sweet, but just as he started sleeping through the night, Ngaire developed later bedtime needs, which involved lots of rambunctiousness in her room at night.)

Woot.

* * *

The Husbandlet announced that he will be spending the day making cages for his interns.

I think the obvious follow-up question is, what do you use for intern bait?

* * *

It has come to my attention that my church has discovered my blog, due to traffic from my blogroll link. Hi, everybody! Feel free to give me a shout-out in the comments.

Apologies in advance for any tediousness contained herein. When I was a teacher, the studentlets gave me plenty of entertaining blog fodder, but now I’m pretty much down to cute stories about my kids and double-entendres about my husband. Also, now that Garey is reading, I will have to keep the heresy to a minimum. So there goes that.

* * *

Apropos of nothing, I’m having a really hard time making it through Watership Down. I don’t know why. It’s not that the bunnies are too fuzzy for me, though of course they are fuzzy, in the most menacing way imaginable. It’s just that right now I’m not sure they’ll ever get out of the beanfield.

So if you really really love this book (hi, Neb!), please tell me why. Maybe that will give me the burst of interest needed to read the next approx. 8,291 pages.

Also? I wound up skimming Things Fall Apart. It bored me to tears. I am a terrible English major and an unworthy African-in-law.