Christmas Eve

This is the first time in four years that I'll be spending Christmas Eve with Joshua instead of at work with sick babies and their heartsick families. I've never been that upset about having to work on Christmas - I feel very selfish once I walk into the hospital missing my healthy happy family at home and am smacked in the face gently reminded that here are so many people living out their worst nightmares over the holiday season. But of course I'm thrilled to be able to go to Christmas Eve service at our own church and enjoy a Christmas morning that doesn't start with me in scrubs (it ends with me in scrubs, since I am working tomorrow night, but our sweet healthy girl will be already be off to bed with visions of sugarplums dancing in her head. What are sugarplums? I think we need some).

Joshua and I have talked so much about how we want to create the mystery and excitement of Christmas for Matilda in the upcoming years. This year, I think she is overwhelmed enough by ornaments that are just out of reach, her beautifully illustrated board book of the Christmas story, and the satisfying crunch of brown paper packages tied up with string.

We took that song (and our commitment to not wasting tons of paper) seriously, so here we have Trader Joes bags turned inside out to wrap up our gifts. I think this is exactly what Julie Andrews had in mind, right?

We always sleep in front of the tree on the first night that we put it up. We've been doing this since the first year we were married and it's my favorite silly holiday tradition that Joshua and I created ourselves. We grew up with different family ideas on Santa (him: in moderation, me: in absentia), and we aren't sure how we will present jolly old St Nick to Matilda. I don't know anyone who is particularly scarred in their adult life by either the inclusion or exclusion of Mr Claus in the Christmas magic that their parents weaved for them. But we are most concerned that Matilda realizes that waking up in front of glittery trees and unwrapping gifts are not the only way, and not at all the reason, that we celebrate this holiday. We want her to grow into a generous giver, thankful for her redemption, inspired by the Christ in Christmas.

We are wishing everyone a very very Merry Christmas.

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining. 
It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth. 
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
'Til He appear'd and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

Fall on your knees! O hear the angels' voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born;
O night divine, O night, O night Divine.

Remember when I used to blog? And we had that roly-poly baby with wispy hair who was just starting to eat solid food and a dog who was cancer free and a cat who mistook Matilda's flowery curtains for her own litterbox? That was fun, wasn't it?

I'm really not sure why I stopped writing here - it's partly that the perfectionist in me finds writing consistently and well a tricky matter, and partly that I like to use naptimes to either clean up my house or my DVR - but I'm back. Time doesn't stand still even for the laziest of bloggers so while I left you hanging right about here:

Both this stupidly hot September weekend in Minneapolis and all those sweet baby arm rolls have come and gone. We sat Matilda down to take her picture in the sculpture gardens and after a lifetime of near verbal silence, she suddenly burst out with her very first bababa and dadada. Six hours later she was burning up with her first fever and our drive home the next day was 7 hours of the saddest babbling I have ever heard from a child. Also, screaming. And crying (it was me!). Then suddenly it was fall, and then Thanksgiving and now it's the week before Christmas and we have a baby who looks more like this:

Oh HI! (Matilda would say if her verbal skills were anywhere near as advanced as her physical skills). Welcome to my room! Why yes, I do think I can stand and walk on my own and what? I just faceplanted? Not a problem, I'm extremely experienced in this area.

What else has happened besides the inevitable passing of time, the changing of the seasons, the rush of holidays, and the mind-numbing wind up to an election year? So much, and also not much. Here is the so much: Matilda slowly transitioned from her spastic forward wiggle to a decent army crawl and then suddenly perfected a wickedly quick momentum - no one was more frustrated by her plodding pace than Matilda herself and the second she pulled her coordination together she started darting out of sight in seconds. Within a few weeks there was excellent pulling up and standing, and inching along inanimate objects (and other unfortunate, animate objects - the animals hide now when she sets her sights on them). Now we have an almost-eleven month old who wants no help with anything, ever, still refuses to say mama but says "TA-dee-DA!" when she's proud of herself, and wolfs down things like fish and quinoa and pancakes. She loves other babies, waves at pictures of people, loves to belly laugh and play peekaboo, yet remains about as cuddly as a porcupine who is feeling threatened.

This is about as "snuggly" as our independent child ever gets. I am equally parts proud and terrified of her strong-willed self. It's all fun and games until there is talking and running and then I hear (from my mother), that it's just about keeping everyone alive until those higher cognizance areas of the brain kick in and elevate the child mind out of what is basically the animal realm. I googled it, and this happens in the late teens. So! Merry Christmas!

So much more to come now that I've revived the blog but I will leave you with this...

Just to keep things real.

Puppy Love

I had a little bit of a breakdown last Friday - I swear I'm typically a rational person despite what I write here - when I found a lump on my dog's neck. I sat down and promptly googled him into a painful bout of lymphoma that was certain to end in a tragic yet noble demise. By next week. At the latest.

I called Joshua to tell him that Helo was dying, per google, and in a move that I will remember with gratitude for the rest of my days, Joshua immediately left work and came home to take Helo to the vet with me. Because while Matilda may hog the limelight on our blog, our home is not only crazy because a certain seven month old would like to maintain eye contact with one of us at all times. We are also have our emotionally disturbed basement-only cat, whorish plump lap cat, and our handsome Helo to worry about:

I never had a dog growing up, but my grandfather had generations of hunting labs that I watched grow from clumsy puppies into gentle plodding old men. I remember the waver and huskiness in my grandfather's voice when he talked about his dogs that had passed on, the sense that suddenly he was lonely in a room full of family. And I completely panicked over this death lump because we love Helo in a similar way, in a way that does not allow Joshua or I to ever talk about his eventual journey to the beyond without choking up. In a way that turned Joshua into a heaving, gasping mess at the end of Marley and Me while I sat in the kitchen refusing to even look at the TV because my dog? My dog is going to live forever.

Helo was my idea, and Joshua gave in because a dog was sort of a consolation prize at a time when I was struggling through an isolated, dark place in my life. We walked into his room at our local posh little animal shelter (no really, the cats live in Pottery Barn baskets), Helo rolled right over for a belly rub, looked at me with his melty chocolate eyes, and I declared, "I want him!" I was signing adoption papers and handing over my debit card while Joshua was still slowly saying things like, "but..." and, "what if...", and I was all, "Yay! We have a dog! My new best friend!"

Aside from his long-standing feud with our mentally disturbed cat who has claimed the lower level of our condo as her domain (much to everyone's dismay) Helo has been nothing but sweetness and joy since we adopted him and he is now a patient, tolerant big brother to Matilda.

I'm not going to drag out the drama of this quick chapter in Helo's life, because he is just fine. (And I am crazy, but you knew that). Basically after a series of unfortunate events (the vet was closed for a staff meeting at 11:30am on a Friday - yes, that's great planning, I had to work at 7pm, Matilda didn't exactly appreciate the change in her afternoon plans), Helo got a lymph node biopsy, we waited on pins and needles all weekend for the pathology report, and despite the google death threats, he is cancer free. He has a reactive lymph node, probably from sort of little cold or maybe a scratch on the neck from his days giving swimming lessons and roughhousing at the beach.

Animals are tricky little creatures to love because your lifespan is so likely to exceed theirs, making those weepy ugly goodbyes almost inevitable. I don't think about it very often, because Helo is going to live forever I'm pretty good at denial, but oh when you are laying in bed trying to keep your rambunctious baby from swiping your pup's eyes out and suddenly you feel a big lump in their neck, it's hard not to let that cold sense of dread suddenly sweep over you. And I know there are far, far greater tragedies in life than losing an animal - I work with critically ill babies every day - but there is just something about a dog that makes your breath catch in your throat. Right? Dogs, and really all beloved animals, love us in the unconditional, unassuming, honest ways that we sometimes wish people would love us, and I don't take that for granted.

Maybe I will tone it down on the googling, and maybe I will try to avoid calling Joshua at work blathering about this being the end of Helo's days, but I can't really promise that either. I love this little mutt with all my crazed, emotional, overdramatic heart and I'm just so thankful that he is as healthy as can be.

Matilda Month By Month

I know I'm just a broken record at this point, but honestly, our Matilda Claire becomes more of a little girl every day. Lately there have been quick moments when she falls asleep in the middle of playing, with her arms out at her side in pure baby exhaustion, and I suddenly catch a glimpse of her as the toddler she will be before I know it. And every so often when she curls her body into mine to nurse, especially in the early mornings when she's laying next to me, I realize that her dimply knees and chubby toes now press against different parts of me than the days before.

This baby, with scrawny legs and long spindly fingers, who slept so soundly I was worried she had hearing loss, seems entirely too fragile to be our Matilda.

This baby, still swimming in her zero to three month onesie, hands still clenched in those baby fists, is precious and wee and can't fling herself off the bed or make it across the living room in one graceful barrel roll.

This baby, more alert, with round fleshy knees sticking out beneath her suddenly small tutu, is the beginning of the Matilda I still see today.

This baby, curious and content, wide-eyed and full bellied, still lives here with us.

This sweet round little babe had to graduate to the next size up in tutus, and although you can't tell, wore her onesie unbuttoned for part of this photo shoot because her chunky baby self was literally busting out the seams.

This is my Matilda. And this independent girl is not even as wild as the baby who spent today bouncing and reaching and flailing and army crawling  - yes, she did, there was belly scooting and rocking on all fours and a determined momentum that will coordinate itself soon enough.

These pictures are all unedited, and some are the teensiest bit out of focus. We have some plans of what we will do with the best shots out of our twelve months of photos, and they will be cropped and the lighting will be corrected and it will all be very polished (it will probably not be me doing this, let's get real). But I like these raw photos for the way they capture Matilda as she grows. It's amazing to glance back and see that from the very beginning she has actually looked so much like she still does now. She looks both incredibly different and comfortingly the same as she was the night she was born.

We haven't taken her six month pictures yet. We took most of these towards the end of whatever month she was in, partly because we are disorganized like that, and partly because by the end of the month she is doing all the things that we then remember that month for. She turned five months on July 1, started sitting alone on July 5, and when we took her five month pictures she was sitting alone in almost all of them. Because sitting is what five months was all about.

Also, assisted standing.

Oh, watch out world. Six month pictures this week and then a seven (seven!) month old baby are barreling around the corner.

Those pesky teeth. If five months was about sitting and seven seems like it will be all about crawling, six certainly has been all about the pearly whites so far. Both bottom front teeth broke through at the same time, we had a bit of a reprieve (look how much less crying this post had than this one last week!), and now one of the top teeth is on its way in. Ouch.

See? Foreshadowing.

A Cat Peed On This

This is a post that approximately three of you have been waiting for. Wherein, my baby does absolutely nothing cute, and I keep it real. I do not keep it short, so just be warned.

This is really for a few of my work girls, who accosted me in an isolation room informed me nicely me that my blog is bringing everyone down due to the excessive positive content. Apparently there is way too much chunky baby sentimental sweetness in my posts and people are starting to think our lives are all precious moments and butterfly kisses and bedtime stories.


I can see how I've led you astray.

I told Joshua about this workplace harrassment friendly reminder the next night, and he stared at me for a second to see how serious I was and then I think he busted a gut laughing. Literally, we looked around at the dirty dishes and unfolded laundry and mournful, underappreciated animals and whiny Matilda with carrots in her hair and we just laughed for a solid minute because people! Our lives are a hot mess.

Before we scampered off to the lake every day last weekend, we had a long string of incredibly crappy days. As I was leaving for work on last Tuesday, Joshua told me that it was going to be eighty degrees and sunny on Friday and I burst into tears. To clarify: I started crying because the weather was going to be gorgeous on my day off. That is a place you arrive at when you are wretchedly sleep deprived and overwhelmed, and I was both of those things.

During that stretch of crappy days, I had to take a cab home from work at 12:30am because Joshua left his phone on silent during my evening shift and slept right through the whole part where he was supposed to come pick me up. So I fumed all the way home while sending him passive aggressive texts with the cab number and the driver's description just in case I was murdered instead of driven to my destination (have I watched too many crime dramas? I think yes).

That was Thursday. Then I only slept roughly 13 hours from Friday morning to Monday morning. I will go ahead and do the math for you - the recommended amount of sleep an adult should be getting between a Friday and a Monday is about 24 hours. It's all fine and good to have a baby who sleeps through the night when you are a parent who sleeps through the night but what if you are the odd night-shift working, breastfeeding mother who has to sleep in the day? You. are. screwed.

And you are even more screwed if during your work weekend your typically sweet-as-pie daughter is wanting to eat more frequently than usual due to The Teething. Matilda's first tooth actually broke through her gums a day or two later, and while I feel absolutely terrible for the little munchkin's misery, can I just ask what is the deal with teething? Was there a reason those chompers could not be part of prenatal development? Like when you are busy growing your bones and organs painlessly? I realize a baby with a full grill would be a little terrifying, but we'd all get used to it. Right?

Anyways, there was a lot of woe from Matilda's end, and a lot of frustration from Joshua who was the sole caregiver except for when she briefly stopped whining to eat, and a lot of desperation from me and by Monday afternoon, with only 4 more hours of sleep added to that 13 from the weekend, I was a complete wreck. There was this hour right before Joshua got home where Matilda just groaned and rubbed her hands on her gums and I sat on the couch holding her while she tried to throw herself and all her teether items onto the floor repeatedly. I would like to say that we were both crying, but I honestly can't remember if I had enough energy for that outpouring of emotion. I may have just stared at the wall and thought about crying.

Tuesday I had to work overnight again (this is when I ruined my makeup over the weather forecast) and when my poor baby woke up from her afternoon nap on Wednesday she promptly lost her little tooth-cutting mind. So being the calm and rational working mother that I am, I went ahead and lost my mind as well.

I had been in Matilda's room organizing some laundry while she napped and trying to pick up the disaster that is our house after I've worked five out of six nights in a row (not Joshua's fault! Hi, Joshua! You are a wonderful dad!) Maybe I could have kept it together were it not for this stench that had been wafting around in her room. It's a very long story but basically her room had not smelled good for a few weeks, and since our building needs new tuckpointing we were convinced there was mold and must from water damage in the brickwork.

So here I am, literally days behind on sleep, clutching an angry, thrashing child as I run around from corner to corner in her room attempting to finally pin down where the smell was the strongest. I had to stop my desperate quest in order to pick up Joshua from a meeting, and I will say that our ride home was not my finest hour. It was a lot of ranting and whining and words that will have to be edited out of our conversations once Matilda is about ten minutes older than she is now, and at one point I hollered, "I cannot live somewhere that smells! I hate our condo! We are going to lose all our money because it's molding and we are going to have to live there forever because no one will ever buy it!" (see, I edited the swearing) at which point I began crying. Again. AGAIN.

We got home and Joshua wisely took Matilda away from me (naturally, she was all sweetness upon being reunited with the sane parent) while I resumed my wild-animal-style sniffing around her room. I managed to get to this one corner that smelled the slightest bit stronger than anywhere else and when I made Joshua check it for me, he moved her curtain the slightest bit and then said,

"Oh. Oh my god. A cat peed on this."

A CAT PEED ON THIS.

I had written multiple huffy emails to our condo association about the unacceptable 'mold' smell in my daughter's room, demanding quicker action on the brickwork and after weeks of going crazy over this 'undefinable' musty smell, as it turns out A CAT PEED ON THIS.

Do I even have to tell you that I cried again?

So yes. Our most recent weekend was filled with trips to the lake and mimosas at brunch (which a certain nameless six month old may have dumped right into my lap, thanks) and playing on the rug in the middle of a sweet-smelling baby girl's room. But if you start thinking that we are all fun, all the time, please just picture me shaking with the overtired caffeine jitters weeping into a pack'n'play while my lovely daughter refuses to nap and I have to work again. And I love my job and my life and my family but it was a little painful to realize I have been walking around in a fog for weeks, composing nasty emails about mold in our walls and sobbing about losing our life savings over it when really, oh hell it was actually the stench of cat pee that nearly pushed me over the edge.

A CAT PEED ON THIS.

We've Been Busy...

on the swings...

at the beach...

letting the pup do what he does best...

grilling everything we can...

staying cool inside...

...and just enjoying summer while it's still here!

I have so many half-finished blog posts, including one that ends dramatically in a hysterical meltdown over a long work week and a teething baby (you're welcome, nicu girls - you know who you are. It's not all beach days and park trips around here! There is crying and swearing and a distinct lack of margaritas available on the days when they are needed most).

But for now I just wanted to say that we are spending our time soaking up the season.

We waste no time; we actually spent part of today's downpour packing up tomorrow's beach bags. And we haven't forgotten this space...so please accept our apologies for our absence by way of sweet Tilda pics.

In summer, the song sings itself.

-William Carlos Williams

Six Months

On the night Matilda was born, Chicago was waist deep in one of the worst blizzards on record. We drove slowly home through huge snowdrifts two days later with our 7lb 8oz, 21.5 inch very bundled bundle of pure winter joy.

Today Matilda is six months old, it's 97 degrees, and we drove home from her pediatrician appointment with our 20 lb 11.5oz, 27 inch (whoa!) sweaty, sundress-clad little girl sprawled out in her carseat.

These six months, this winter that faded into a chilly spring and then suddenly cranked into a blistering summer, have just flown by. Our sleepy, content newborn is now a babbling, grinning, social and opinionated girl. I'm not a huge fan of the Dear Baby, You are XYZ Months Old blog posts (mama blogger heresy, I know!) but I do want to remember what Matilda is like at this age and so while the only people who may want to read on are her grandparents, I would to like to briefly discuss Matilda: Six Month Edition.

Sleeping: As of two or three weeks ago, Matilda sleeps through the night. She usually goes to bed around 8:30 and wakes up around 7:30ish to eat, play for a few minutes, and then conks out again until at least 9:30. I know some people say it's a myth that starting solids make babies sleep through the night, and others swear it's the gospel truth. Personally, I don't think that Matilda is suddenly so satiated that she can't bear to wake up in the night (two tablespoons of sweet potatoes doesn't seem that filling) but I do think that the actual activity of eating solids has made her sleepier. We just put away the cosleeper last night because she slung both an arm and leg over it the other day and that just seemed terrifying so now she's happy in her pack'n'play (which we originally didn't think would fit in our room at all - that was based on feelings, not measurements, which are vastly more precise). Now that she doesn't wake up to nurse overnight, I suppose we could transition her to her own room. I suppose...but I love looking over at her sweet sleepy self and she has her whole life to sleep in a separate room. Also, she is not disturbing our sleep and we don't seem to bother hers, so! Baby remains in our bedroom, will update when the status changes.

Eating: Matilda has tried, in order: avocados, brown rice cereal, sweet potatoes, peas, green beans, bananas, and carrots. She could care less about cereal, which is great because I'm not super thrilled about it as a first food. She adores avocados and carrots, detests green beans (as in, spit it into Joshua's face), and is happy enough with everything else. Right now she is only eating solids once a day, nursing four to five times, and clearly is getting all the nutrition she needs. Rolls on her rolls, people. Matilda likes to think she is entirely independent when it comes to feeding herself - she won't really take food unless her pudgy, sticky fingers are also holding the spoon, and she guides it to her mouth with shocking accuracy. She also tries to hold her bottles when I'm at work and Joshua is feeding her, although she isn't very good at it and she gets mad and he gets frustrated and I'm told it's quite a sight to see. Also, if you have had the pleasure of holding all twenty plus pounds of Matilda on your lap lately, you know that if she's hungry she will begin pawing at your shirt and chest and lunging towards you in a socially awkward manner. August is breastfeeding awareness month, so I will just say breast is best! and yes, I'm sorry if you've been attacked by a ravenous (but cute!) blue-eyed baby lately.

Eating, and all that comes After: What comes after is frightening. The first time I changed a diaper (cloth, not the peel-off-your-kid's-butt-and-throw-away-STAT! kind) after Matilda had eaten avocado, I almost threw up. Disposable diapers were literally invented for the horror that is the first time a human's digestive system encounters a vegetable. (A fruit? Avocados are tricky.) But, because I am really dedicated to cloth diapering and because the sight and smell of disposables piling up in the trash makes my little recyclers' heart sad, I did my research, ordered a diaper sprayer and biodegradable liners with free two day shipping and then pinched my nose and went on with my life. After a few weeks of adjustment, stripping the diapers of any ammonia buildup and then bleaching them out in the sun, we are back to 100% cloth.

Playing: The best part of six months, by far, is everything that Matilda can do. She started sitting up a few days after turning five months, and now she can sit and entertain herself passing a toy back and forth from hand to hand, shoving it in her mouth, flinging it on the floor, and then rolling over to get to it. She is amazingly adept at getting what she wants through a combination of barrel rolling, army crawling, and just flopping forward, no holds barred, straight to the floor. It's exciting! And scary! She loves her jungle exersaucer, which we still haven't put the batteries in because we are waiting for the right amount of boredom to set in before we blow her mind with that, and she's outgrowing her playmat completely. She loves to turn the pages in her board books, and chew on them, and chew on anything else chewable in sight. She also adores Helo and Pam, who are so tolerant of her ripping chunks of their fur out and shoving it in her mouth. That's not my favorite. I like when she pats their ears and noses and makes me feel like filling our home with animals and then having a baby was the best choice we ever unknowingly made, and not insane like so many people warned us.

Everything else: Is Wonderful. I love hot, sticky six month Matilda. She screeches and smiles and babbles at everything and everyone, reserving her belly laughs for only the funniest of funny situations. It's joyful and delightful and exhausting and not without its stresses and challenges of course! But I love that I am not just a mother but her mother, and God has given Joshua and I this adorable ninety-fifth percentile all-encompassing gift of a daughter.

Happy Six Month Birthday, sweet Tils. Your mama loves you more every day.

Not Fantasy

Our camera took a little tumble during Joshua's week away in the Rockies, and apparently all it needed was a short roll from the bed to a carpet to turn the LCD screen into a Jackson Pollack. Sadness. It's currently off in the suburbs getting repaired, and in the meantime we've been just been using our phone cameras to capture Matilda's every move. Someday, she will wonder why whole weeks of her life, including holidays, were only photographed using hipstamatic. Is it necessary to make july 4th 2011 look like a moody summer day in the 1970s?

No. But maybe yes?

By the way, I'm having the worst time trying to make my photos bigger on this blog. I messed with the html to make this a 3 column layout a while ago, and now everything I upload is really small and I cannot figure out how to make it larger. I can google my way through a lot of things (recipes, online shopping, if it's likely that any of us have a rare disease) but now I think google wants me to host my pictures somewhere else besides Blogger? It led me to some message boards from 2009 that were very rude about the Blogger picture upload feature, but very out of date as to how to fix this. Not helpful. Can anyone tell me how to fix this?

Also, as I was typing that last sentence my computer completely froze, sad faces appeared on all my tabs (I am not making this up), and then everything crashed. So...small pictures it is!

Matilda update: in the last few weeks she's experienced the thrill of the kiddie pool, been to the splash park a few times and learned that she loves swings.

This picture is huge. What is going on here? It's also adorable.

We discovered on her first day at the park over the holiday weekend that she can sit up unassisted. It's been all downhill from there - literally, she'll sit happily for 10 minutes straight and then suddenly do a terrifying bobblehead move that lands her on her belly in less than a second. This girl has no fear and seems oblivious to pain; she'll look up and grin at us like that tumble was the highlight of her day, let's do it again guys! She grabs her feet, practices pushups, and would rather sleep on her belly for naps. My SIDS-averse, panicky little self can hardly stand this development - I have been a no bumpers, no blankets, no belly psycho for the first few months of her life. I'm slightly more fond of the way she sleeps on her side at night, one leg straight down, one pulled up towards her chest, hands clasped together right near her face. It's exactly, freakishly, limb for limb the way I sleep and it fascinates me to no end because it's another one of the odd curiosities of watching your genetics play around in someone else's body.

After weeks of Matilda reaching and swiping for our food, and weeks of bemoaning whether or not she was ready and how exactly we should go about it, we decided it was time for her to start solids. Ok, the bemoaning part was me. Joshua was all, whatever you want to do! I'll stand over here far away from the crazy lady who can't stop talking about baby food theories! I did manage to get a grip and realize I was overthinking the entire process (I'm not sure why this was the hill that my teeny tiny smidge of type A-ness chose to die on) and then I just smushed up avocado in some breastmilk and Matilda was absolutely thrilled by the whole thing.

And by 'just smushed up', I mean I went to Whole Foods to find the perfect organic avocado, also purchased the perfect organic sweet potato, spent a while debating which one to give her first, and then took a lot of pictures of Matilda playing with the stupid fruit/vegetable (fruitable!) before she ate it. I know...

On a non-baby related note, I haven't seen Harry Potter 7.2 yet. Or 7.1. Or 6. This is not because I don't adore Harry Potter. I do. I bought each of the books the day they came out and devoured them. I would tell Joshua in all seriousness that I was completely unavailable on a Harry Potter release day. After I finished The Deathly Hallows, I closed that huge book and cried because when I started reading the series I was a kid and suddenly it was over and Harry was all grown-up and so was I. I love those books; all the magic and whimsy and deep truths about everything from how much it sucks to be fifteen to how love and friendships are so intensely powerful. I love the entire, endlessly imaginative, courageous world that JK Rowling created in those books, and I hate that Harry's story is over. So while I think that the movies are surprisingly good and may have the most charmed and perfect casting of any book adaptation ever, I'm not ready to finish it all yet and I haven't been since I finished book seven. I'm waiting because I hate when something so utterly enjoyable really, truly ends. This is called denial, and I'm wallowing in it. And, (spoiler, look away) Fred. Fred! I have spent more time than I care to admit wondering why, of all the plucky heroes who could have been offed in the final pages, it had to be him. I feel like without Fred, George is aimlessly wandering through his post-battle for Hogwarts life and this saddens me immensely. Obviously, I'm not emotionally ready for the cinematic version.

Also, Joshua doesn't like Harry Potter.

He. Doesn't. Like. Harry!!!

I'll let that one sink in, and then I'll tell you that I'm holding out this thin shred of hope that he will suddenly see the light (lumos!), will read all seven books immediately, start a movie marathon with me, and let me cry on his shoulder when the last one ends. This is never going to happen because he, and I quote, "doesn't like fantasy."

Really, there are no words.

So. The end of Harry Potter reduces me to weepy sentimentality, Joshua apparently lacks a soul, our daughter eats organic avocadoes, and our camera remains captive in the suburbs. I've caught up on our life, and it's as messy and crazy and non-fantasy as ever.

Quite Long For a Post In Which I Say Very Little

I feel like I have only lame things to write after almost a month away from this space; just little odds and ends from our life. First of all, it pains me to report a disappointing update on the Glenn's Diner special I was raving about in this post. Joshua and I finally - after years of anticipation! - made it there at 4:45pm a few weeks ago for a late lunch/early dinner/how did you know we have a baby at home outing,and as it turns out the early bird special we have been blathering about all over town is not exactly as spectacular as we thought. It's not 'any fish any way', it's the fish they choose, their way. At a very reasonable price but still...I'm not sure how that all got twisted in our little minds, but for the record any fish any way would be a much better special and maybe someone should get on that.

Also for the record, Glenn's has this amazing brunch on the weekends and I really cannot recommend the make your own mimosa kits or the bloody marys enough. No, I did not get both, please reserve the judging of my character for another subject. Also my bloody mary came with a skewer of shrimp and that is pure lean protein for the baby.

You're welcome, Matilda.

Speaking of the baby, she will be five months old on July 1st. Five. It's staggering to think about. I know everyone says how fast their children grow up, and honestly before Matilda was born I was getting a little annoyed by often we heard it. But, but, it's the truest truth anyone has ever spoke to us about parenting. She was a wee sleepy newborn only five months ago, and now she rolls over, laughs, blows bubbles, is thisclose to sitting on her own, grabs all her toys, my hair, our clothes, likes to 'pet' the animals by ripping out their fur, yells, babbles, and even tried to help herself to a fistful of avocado salsa off my plate the other day. I stopped her pudgy fingers half a second before her first solid food ever would have consisted of a lot more garlic and cilantro than is generally recommended. She does something new almost every single day and it just GOES BY SO DAMN FAST. I love each new stage, and I know my mama life will be even more fulfilling as she grows up, but oh my heart, this child raising gig is bittersweet.

What else...Joshua is currently gone for the week on a business trip, and I completely hate living 'alone'. I'm not sure that's the right term when one remains responsible for a baby, a dog, two cats, and maintaining a functioning home, but the lack of intelligent conversation and surplus of poop that is mine alone to deal with is...unfortunate. Also unfortunate: discovering a flat tire as I was about to leave for work and our completely housebroken dog unexpectedly relieving his bladder on the bedroom floor the other morning. That was the bonus round, I think. Dear single parents and/or partners of those who travel frequently, I salute you. This sucks.

My lack of motivation by the time the day is over has led me to the most random post-baby-bedtime television viewing I can remember - the last few days have included Dr. Who, Freaks and Geeks, My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, the strangely appealing yet demographically odd for me Men of a Certain Age, The Closer and an after-midnight viewing of Falling Skies, which I started only because I have this terrible weakness for post-apocalyptic dramas about the ragged human race banding together to fight the aliens/robots/whatever. (I also have a weakness for run-on sentences). I always like to imagine that if I was in a a similar situation, I would of course survive the initial attack and go on to be a gutsy heroine despite the fact that when Joshua is away I have to sleep with at least one light on.

Last bit of randomness...I gave away all our disposable diapers to my friend whose baby has slightly less meaty thighs than my own little cupcake. Matilda is 100% cloth diapered except for when the laundry is really running behind, and I hadn't needed a disposable for a few weeks so by the time I wanted to use one during a long laundry cycle this week, I realized it was shockingly inadequate for my very...adequate baby. Rather than risk creating even more laundry for my bodily-function-weary self, I decided to put her in this contraption instead.

That's a cloth diaper insert wrapped in some burp rags stuffed into the bloomers that came with one of her dresses, and it worked beautifully. Although please don't think that I'm not running out to Target this afternoon to get some back-up disposable diapers, because I sure am. I'm crazier than I expected about cloth, and part of me would like to just swing without a safety net on this (granola mama, where did you come from?!), but I don't even want to imagine the ways in which I could regret that 'decision'.

Now that I've wandered on to this subject (can you tell I'm desperately in need of more adult interaction?), I think I have to stop writing now before I sink into even less exciting topics. Joshua will be home tomorrow and as I'm sure you can tell, we are all thrilled and relieved and giddy with anticipation.

Father's Day. What Do You Mean, It's Over...

My laptop charger bit the dust (more accurately, our dog bit it. It got caught up in one of Helo's chew toys and he happily chomped the cable right in half), which is why The Blogging halted to an abrupt stop at the beginning of June. This is Joshua's busiest time of the year at work, making his computer unavailable for the casual documentation of our domestic adventures (rude!), and I am pretty lazy when it comes to the ordering of the electronic things. Honestly, the lack of a computer at home was just giving us more time to devote to Words with Friends so we really didn't pull it together to order a new charger until this past week.

I didn't post on Father's Day, which wasn't meant as an affront to Joshua on his first Father's Day or to my dad on his 28th. I worked overnight Saturday, stayed up until late afternoon Sunday trying to make Father's Day great for Joshua, then turned into a weepy mess when the exhaustion caught up with me and my attitude started swinging from nearly hysterical to catatonic and back. Both Mother's and Father's Day were a little shaky for us this year - what can I say? Life was messy and tiring before we became a part of all the extra parental (long-anticipated, well-appreciated) holidays.

Even though I crashed and burned spectacularly on Father's Day, and couldn't pull it together to finish making dinner, let alone type this on my phone, I want everyone to know how proud I am of Joshua. And I also want to celebrate that I've been blessed with a dad who is strong, principled, and yet unafraid to show emotion and sentimentality. I was never spoiled and I am not a 'daddy's girl'. I was expected to face the consequences of my actions, and I certainly couldn't go running to my dad to get out of being disciplined. I wasn't punished mindlessly - I remember sitting on the kitchen counter, talking about what I'd done and why it was wrong and how my actions had disappointed my parents. Then my dad would make us all english muffins at midnight and tell me he loved me despite my bad attitude/lying/sneaking around/everything else I was doing and we'd all go off to bed only to repeat this delightful routine a few days later. I was always told I was loved. Always, even when I hurt my parents deeply, and there were a few years when that was what I did best.

No one parents perfectly, but I'm pretty sure books have been written to teach fathers how to raise their girls the way my dad intuitively parented me. So here's the best Father's Day gift ever - I'd like to say thank you to my dad for being strict. For having high expectations. For grounding me, both in the metaphorical sense and in the no phone privileges sense. Most of all, for just talking. Oh, so much talking - it made me crazy then and there's nothing I appreciate more now.

I hated the fact that my dad was less interested in being my friend during my horrid teenage years and more interested in keeping me on the straight and narrow path. But now my highest hope for Joshua is that Matilda can't stand him the second she hits middle school. Years later, when she can look back and see that his protective actions sprang out of a deep, intense love for her, I hope that she will also be able to say thank you. Thank you for ruining my hormone-addled little teenage life so I would grow up to have character and values.

(I think this is the parenting jackpot, right? Your kids actually telling you that you did it right. However, Dad, I will add that you went a little crazy with the TV censoring when I was little - I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have stunted my moral development to watch Full House.)

Joshua was terrified to have a daughter, but really he already shares the elusive combo of emotional vulnerability and embarrassing toughness as my dad. He made me start sobbing -unexpectedly, messily - when he started singing Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely" to Matilda the night we came home from the hospital. It was the very first song she ever heard (that wasn't the sappy intentional decision it sounds like; we were just too busy making sure she was breathing to ever turn on the TV or radio before that), and now it's their song. Thankfully I didn't have to weep alone in my postpartum haze, Joshua even made himself cry with the sweetness of it all. And oh is Matilda lucky to have a dad that will cry over her, pray over her, and put in the hard work to develop her self worth and self respect.

I know, because I am that lucky myself.

So hopefully this post can partly make up for the fact that Father's Day ended with Joshua making us both dinner while I basically snoozed into a wine glass. And the fact that I only sent quick phone pictures of Matilda to my dad, and we were never able to actually talk on Sunday. I am blessed and my daughter is blessed because we have wonderful fathers.

Happy Father's Day, one week, one day, and one new laptop charger later. I love you guys.

In Which I Pretend to Be a Food Blogger

I really do love to cook.

I just don't do it often enough. Between working three nights a week, the vast and endless world of Chicago restaurants begging us to eat on their patios instead of in our condo, and the fact that my husband could happily eat a bowl of popcorn instead of a meal any day of the week, my motivation to cook isn't exactly through the roof.

However, I'm discovering that I have surprisingly strong opinions on how I want Matilda to perceive food, meals, and eating in general, so our days of flopping in front of the TV to chow down on one of our beloved Trader Joes freezer meals are dwindling. I'm actually so excited we have a baby to motivate us into changing our lazy habits - with a city full of farmers markets and our half-share in a CSA starting right around her six month birthday in August, we have no excuses not to eat healthily and well at home.

There's a restaurant near us with this amazing earlybird any-fish-any-way special that has become a huge joke between Joshua and I. We love this place - Glenns Diner for you Chicagoans - and we are obsessed with this elusive special and yet we have never, not once, been able to remember when it ends and make it on time. Well! It turns out it ends at the geriatric hour of FIVE pm, and we were reminded of that this week when we thought fish sounded good and we were thinking it was still shockingly early in the evening. After some frantic iPhone searching and an ill-advised left turn into traffic, we discovered that at 5:33, we were going to miss it. We really didn't want to spend a ton of money on dinner, but now we were in a seafood-or-bust mood, so out of the blue I decided to make fish tacos at home.

We made a quick detour to Trader Joes and sat in the car for a minute searching for an easy recipe online, which I then promptly ignored (this is why I cannot ever bake anything! It's like I get mad at the recipe for being so bossy). We grabbed a few ingredients and within an hour were eating a healthy, delicious, completely homemade meal. Why do we not do this more often? I have absolutely no idea.

We Will Never Ever Make It to Glenn's Before 5pm Fish Tacos

Marinade

1/4 cup olive oil

Juice from 1/2 a lime

1 tbs apple cider vinegar

1 tsp garlic

1/2 tsp cumin

1/4 tsp cayenne

Salt/Pepper to taste

Tilapia fillets (we found 3 large frozen fillets at Trader Joes for $5.97. Is this a good price? I have no idea, I don't buy fish).

I'm also not a food blogger, so voila! Ingredients dumped in a bowl! And that is exactly what we did - whisked everything together, brushed it over both sides of the fish, let it sit for about 15 minutes, and then put the fillets in individual foil packets for the grill.

Fish, marinating pre-grill. The photography dwindled during the foil to grill process because a certain four month old SOMEONE needed to eat. Joshua is the grilling expert in our house, but I do know that white fish needs to be cooked until it's opaque and easily flakes with a fork. Grilling time is going to vary but for us with the fish in foil that took ten to fifteen minutes.

Slaw Topping

2 cups shredded green cabbage

1/2 cup greek yogurt (you could use sour cream or mayo or some combo of these, but we love the tang and protein of the yogurt)

2 tbs apple cider vinegar

juice of 1/2 lime

Salt/Pepper to taste

Mix all ingredients together, toss with cabbage and chill while the fish is grilling. Take pictures of the random ingredients still sitting around on your counters because the light is so pretty.

That corn and chile salsa is from Trader Joe's (like everything we eat, fresh and frozen, apparently) and it is deliciously sweet and a little spicy. It's totally not necessary but a nice bonus topping to the tacos.

Toppings

4 corn tortillas, warmed on the grill

1 avocado

1 jar of corn and chile salsa, awesome for the reasons listed above.

When the fish is done, break it into pieces with either a fork or clean hands (see Joshua up there with his sparkly clean paws?) and place into warmed tortillas. Slice up avocados.

Get really excited about smushing up avocados in the next few months and feeding them to your baby. Or if these don't happen to be your circumstances, get really excited because these tacos are wicked good and you are about to eat them. Top with the cabbage slaw, the corn salsa, avocado slices, look at the clock and realize 7pm is a much more normal time to eat dinner than before FIVE at Glenn's.

Enjoy...

On Memorial Day We Drink Sam Adams

I read a certain blog pretty regularly, written by a mama who is far more poetic and sentimental and glass-not-just-half-full-but-overflowing than I am. She's also a photographer with gorgeous kiddos and a beautiful home. Despite the fact that she is very honest about the (serious) challenges her family faces, sometimes when I read her blog her life looks and sounds so magical that I wouldn't be surprised if tomorrow she posted a picture of a unicorn sleeping on her front lawn.

Every once in a while the sappy yet completely sincere tone of this particular blog irks me. That's really not a criticism (I absolutely love the writing and the photos - and actually I aspire to be more in love with the moment and welcoming of unicorns), it's just a personality difference. Idealistic and romantic are probably not words anyone would use to describe me.

Right?

But we just had one of those weekends that was so perfect and memorable I felt like I was living inside one of her 'life is beautiful' blog posts. It made me want to bust out all of my flowiest adjectives and capture every fleeting moment in both words and photos.



Grinning, glowy little baby...beaming mama.

Matilda is going to be four months tomorrow, and she is just exploding with smiles, babbles, silly expressions and noises. She grabs everything and tries to stuff it in her mouth, she rubs her eyes when she's tired and looks so much like a kid that it makes my heart stop, she adores anything brightly colored, she's intensely curious and most importantly every day she shows off more of her personality. Joshua and I were home together for the whole three day weekend and every day with her was just...glorious (whoop! nice adjective).

If you live in Chicago you know this has been the lamest, chilliest, rainiest spring of all time (I'm not sure that's actually a fact, but I think emotions are really what matter when it comes to weather anyways) and then this weekend torrential storms suddenly gave way to a scorching and sunny Memorial Day. We tucked Matilda deep beneath the sunshade of her stroller and roamed all over the neighborhood, sucking up iced coffee and accidentally burning our shoulders because inevitably every year we are so excited for the summer we forget how quickly pasty turns to lobster in the sun.



It's quick, my pale friends. Quick.

Matilda's pudgy toes and buttery thighs have been bare since summer arrived yesterday morning. I think she has worn at least six outfits in 48 hours, partly because she is a drooly mess these days, and partly because I've been impatiently waiting to put her in sundresses and rompers and then my mind sort of exploded from how cute they all are. She runs her hands over her skin constantly, like she is just as surprised as the rest of us by how soft babies are. I love being able to see her big belly and the wrinkly, stretchy skin on her back and her fluffy cloth diaper booty.



What did we do this weekend? Really nothing extraordinary. We saw friends and family, we got take-out, we drank Sam Adams because Joshua said that was the patriotic thing to do (um...ok),we took Helo to the parking lot a block away that has become our lazy day dog park, we went to church, we pushed Matilda in endless loops around the neighborhood, we made a last minute trip to Jewel for hot dogs last night because I said eating leftover Chinese food for Memorial Day wasn't patriotic (oh yes, two can play this game). We used the last of our baby giftcards to buy Matilda a tragically large, bright, jungle-themed activity seat/exersaucer/jumper thing and the absolute joy on her little face made me heavily regret my aversion to plastic baby crap. Guess who loves plastic baby crap? Oh that's right...babies.



Matilda hollers at that parrot lineup like they have gravely offended her, and it is hilarious. We laugh at her and she just yells louder and then pauses to smile at us, which makes us laugh more. It also makes me realize again what a privilege it is to be a parent. We make so many decisions about what our babies eat, or don't eat, their schedules, or lack thereof, what they wear and see and listen to and that is the raising part of having children. Then there is the pure wonder of just watching a baby grow up and change from a sleepy newborn to a babbly, opionated, parrot-taming little human. It is really no less surprising than if we walked out to the living room one day and a unicorn was standing there all like, hey can I sleep here tonight?

Ok, I've killed it. I've killed the unicorn thing.

This long weekend really was gorgeous. Stormy, sunny, sappy sweet..glass full to overflowing. However, all the idyllic moments in the world cannot spontaneously improve my self-portrait photography skills. Apparently urban parents struggle to quickly focus their hipstamatic camera when they should be paying more attention to their dog and baby blocking the sidewalk.



Oh yes. We are those people. Watch out, Chicago.

Happy Nurses Week!

Yes, I have returned to work just in time for National Nurses Week! I like to think of this week as a great time to celebrate our challenging and rewarding profession, and also a great time to receive a new tote bag or some sort of hospital-logo'd swag. Or even a pen. I'm not picky.

To be entirely honest, I've never considered being a stay-at-home mom. There are so many reasons - I love my job, I love contributing financially to our family, I have much better and cheaper health insurance, we live in an expensive city and have a mortgage and a houseful of animals and a coffee habit to maintain and I just found out how much preschool costs around here...maybe I'm getting off track here, but the bottom line is that we are a dual income family by choice. This is what works for our family, at this point in our lives. Of course there is also the small matter of me being contractually obligated by the federal government to stay at my job for another 1.5 years while they pay off my student loans. I'm pretty sure defaulting on that contract requires me to pick up trash along the highway or give my condo to a diplomat or something tragic, so! Off to work by choice and the fear of Uncle Sam I go.

But even though I knew I was going back to work 12 weeks after Matilda was born, it's not like I was thrilled about it. I work nights and (please don't hate me for what I'm about to say) my baby sleeps like a rock and I had a very restful three months off. I am actually cringing looking at that sentence; somewhere out there another mom is cursing me and God is checking off the "Colic" box on our future children. But I was nervous about all the sleep switching and Matilda's schedule and then about a week before my first day back I had this meltdown that basically went "No one can take care of my baby like I can! No one knows how to calm her down like I can! What if I can't pump enough at work and my boobs explode! What if what if SIDS SIDS SIDS I don't want to go sob sob SIDS what if exploding boobs sob sob WEEP!" Joshua would probably like to write his own version of this story, but the bottom line is I had been calm and realistic for my entire maternity leave and then I took this spectacular dive into crazytown. Even though the only people I ever have to leave Matilda with are Joshua, my mother-in-law, and my best friend. What a sketchy group of 'babysitters'.

Two weeks ago I went back to work, because that's our new (and old) routine, and because I don't want to be in the default chain gang, and it was shockingly not that bad.

I did cry when I walked out the door for the first time. And then I had a moment at Starbucks about 7 minutes later when the barista asked what she could get me and I fully intended to say an iced venti Americano but instead I choked up and just made this little squeak instead. But I pulled myself together and got to work and it was fine. I love being a nurse (Happy Nurses Week to us!), I love taking care of babies, and thankfully I am not at all a weepy mess around the sick kiddos even though I am a mom now. My boobs did not explode, Joshua did not sleep through Matilda crying, I did not forget how to do my job, and then I rushed home in the morning and have never been happier to see my little family.

I won't say that being a working mom - all two weeks of it - has been entirely smooth sailing. It's difficult to get myself ready and get enough sleep before and after work when I just want to spend time with Matilda. It's annoying to leave my patients to pump, and annoying to remember everything I need to make that happen. I end up messing up our schedules trying to breastfeed Matilda right up until the very second I have to run out the door so I don't have to pump so many times at work. We also had some trouble figuring out which bottles and nipples were best for her, even though she's taken bottles without any fuss before. It's exhausting to wake up so many times to breastfeed when I'm sleeping between shifts, since she goes for long stretches overnight but needs to eat every three hours during the day. And then this past week, Tilda was entirely obnoxious and cranky for Joshua and he was tired and frustrated himself. I called him to see how things were going and I heard the baby screeching in the background right before he yelled in a high pitched voice, "I am freeaaakkkiing out!" They certainly weren't having a good time, and I couldn't do anything about it, and that sucked.

But! I hung up that phone at work, said a little prayer for Joshua's sanity, and then realized I was actually glad I wasn't home. While I don't think I'll ever happily run out the door to work, I like being there and having a break from the day to day mommy routine. I love my coworkers, they make me laugh, and twelve hours can fly by if you are having a good time with the people around you. I also like knowing that all the time I spent busting my ass in college was worth it for this, a flexible career that allows me to have lots of time with my own baby and still take care of other babies who need help getting started in life. And Joshua is an awesome dad who pulled it together, calmed our daughter down, put her to bed and felt really proud of himself that he did it alone.

There is always the mama guilt, I think biology and The Internet will not allow you to live your life without it. I feel guilty for leaving Matilda to go to work, and guilty that I like going to work. They tell me it doesn't get any better. Which is why I am hoping for a tote bag. And why I'm so thankful that tomorrow is bringing me my first real paycheck since Tilda was born (Happy Nurses Week to ME!)



The other morning I took some pictures of the tulips that are randomly growing on the ledge of the fifth floor of the parking garage at work. I have all these sappy thoughts about beauty in the midst of concrete (there is a metaphor here, and I think it's fairly obvious) but I can't even take myself seriously enough to go down that road. I love tulips. Here they are at work. And here I am at work. They are gorgeous, and being a working mom is just fine. The End.

Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to my beautiful mom Claire!



I love my mom for so many reasons, but my empathy and respect for her have certainly increased now that I have a daughter myself. I think about Matilda growing up and I barely want to let her go to elementary school three blocks away. I know my mom must have felt the same way, but she never stopped me from plunging out into the world. When I came home from the trip where I met Joshua, I wrote her a letter gushing that I was sure he was going to be my husband and slipped it under her bedroom door because I was too scared to say it out loud. She never laughed at me or told me I was being a silly 19 year old - instead, she saved the letter I wrote her and gave it to me after Joshua and I really did get married. When I decided to move to Seattle from Massachusetts a few months after writing that letter, she never said it was too far, never made me feel guilty about the 3000 miles I was putting between us, or told me that the job I was moving for probably wasn't going to work out. It didn't, and I'm sure she wasn't surprised. But I found that out on my own, and that particular life fail was far more of a growing experience for me because of it.

I hope I will be a brave mom to Matilda, and let her go when she needs to go and I want to keep her close for my own selfish reasons. My mom helped me pack my bags to move away from home, she was excited (and probably terrifed, although she didn't show it) when I got engaged, she was supportive when we decided to leave Seattle and move to Chicago almost on a whim. She outlasted me on the dance floor at my wedding, genuinely thrilled to celebrate Joshua and I even though we were barely legal, totally broke, and blissfully stupid. But she supported me through all those things that seemed crazy at the time and have now led to the life I have and love right now. I'm so incredibly thankful for my mom and the way she navigated the tricky passage into parenting adult children. Our relationship is also a deep friendship because of it, and my greatest hope is that I will be able to be the same kind of mother to Matilda - strong, passionate,honest,compassionate - that my mother was to me.

I love you Mom. Happy Mother's Day!

27

It's official.

I'm in my late twenties...and I'm pretty sure I like it.

I woke up to this sweet face...



These were delivered from my in-laws, who always remember yellow flowers are my favorite...



I went out to lunch with Jessica and Rachel here...



We had takeout sushi and thai for dinner, I opened sweet gifts and cards and had a silly night at home after our cranky little miracle went to bed...



Joshua is the best husband ever and got me exactly what I wanted...



And now I'm in bed watching a happy baby stretch and sigh in her sleep...



Writing with my boots on and a overly affectionate cat at my feet...



I'm sure it's obvious that I'm a little obsessed with my $1.99 hipstamatic app, my new favorite birthday present to myself...



It makes everything look dreamier and poignant and far more hip than real life, and I'm into that.

26 basically culminated in all my dreams coming true...



And now that dream is quite literally awake. So hello 27. I think we're gonna get alone fine.