What if . .

. . . the ball was bouncing, and it bounced up on top of your computer and it bounced up and your computer flew off the table and flipped over and the ball bounced along down the hall and your computer smashed into a billion trillion google-plex two-hundred and ninety-five plex-billion pieces and then the ball kept going and it bounced against the wall and then up through a hole and out into space in the sky and up all the way to Jupiter and then it bounced back and hit the sun and melted and turned to a fart and it stinked up the whole world and then the poo and pee . .

oh I'm sorry, is it hurting your brain to read such a tale?

Imagine that you hear tales of this sort every day, all day, in the never-ending style that IS Hannah. Then you'd have an inkling of why my brain hurts right now. Why I cut her off a bit, say 'oh yeah?" when asked if 'that would be funny'. If you've seen me out at the store with her, do not presume I do not love her, or that I'm a meanie. Yes, it *is* creative of her. woohoo. It's also mind-numbingly FRUSTRATING WHEN YOU HEAR IT ALL THE TIME OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER. mom? mom? mom? mom? Lookit what I made, lookit this, lookit my cards, lookit what I built, lookit Ivy mom! Lookit Ivy!!!!!

BBBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

okay, I'm done. Thanks for the space to bitch about the sweetest child you could ever meet.

Okay, that's a lie too. She's cute, sure. And she's happy to spread the love around. But only when it suits her. Today we reached a crux, a point that I will refer back to in my mind for years to come, the point when I threw down and let her know how it's going to be from now on. "Hannah can you come here please?". "NO!". "Hannah I need to talk to you please". "No!" and runs away.

So I chased her. Good lord. And she let me know, with words and lungs and feet, that I'm not the boss of her. And she's right. And I love that she cannot be pushed around, that she's ready to stick up for herself and take issue with anything any of us do that is 'not right'. But god, do I have to live with her?

"I said I wanted it un-toasted!!!" "Don't Speak to me like that!" " I wasn't talking to you!!"

Yes mother, I write this for you. Merry Christmas. So you can harken back to my sweet self as a child. Do you remember when I was 4 and you asked me to get my slippers and I told someone else to get them for me? Hannah was clearly listening even then, as she hung out in my ovaries awaiting her moment to shine. Last week when her grandma, Susan, asked her to carry her backpack inside, Hannah, with not even a glance over her shoulder, said "You carry it" and sauntered inside. Oh yeah, she shines baby. Like a radioactive isotope.



Leif is like a tender old man in comparison. Albeit an old man who cheats at poker. and golf, and Scrabble. He thinks that when he gets 120 points with his first word of the game that on one will suspect he chose specific letters from the bag. He's just a lucky guy. Really lucky. But he balances it out with his Piglet routine. This is my own secret term for his darling demeanor. The boy who says 'oh dear' when I spill something (I of course say Shit!). Or when the deck of cards falls on the floor, or he drops something, or any variety of little household mishaps. "Oh dear!". It's like living with a genteel little companion. And when his sister unleashes her well-earned fury, pulling his clothes, kicking him, scratching his arm, he just melts into a puddle of woebegotten hard-doneness. (Yes I think motherhood gives me the right to invent some words, okay?). "She scared me!" "She hit me!". What more could a feminist want then a gentle and sweet, though deceiving son, and a daughter who has no issue with fighting back, or heck even attacking others? Possibly a week alone. But I know I will be alone eventually. And so I document their lives here, so that when I look back on their childhoods, I do not just recall how 'little' they were, how sweet, how much I loved to cuddle them etcetera. I want to be able to recall their specific awesomeness. How they drove me nuts and then wiped it all away with a cool Lego creation or crazy joke. How Hannah can roll her eyes at me and stick out her tongue and with those subtle moves make me want to strap her in the car and drive her to the Ministry For Children's office. Here, take her, before I kill her!!!! How Leif can be the picture of sweet sibling empathy, talking to Hannah at length about how it will be much easier for her to play soccer if she uses the very large, heavy ball that he hates, claiming it will be easier for her to kick it because its so big, unlike the tiny gold soccer ball she's using which he covets and hopes he can hide away so she never ever takes it again. This is what it's all about, isn't it?

And yet it's all I ever wanted. I never really wanted to do anything else with my life but be a mother. I mean yes, I entertain fantasies of being a doctor, or owning a cafe, or singing in Broadway musicals. But it dawned on me the other day, that I've got all that already. I fix cuts and settle disputes. I diagnose strange ailments based on tangible evidence or mysterious feelings as described by patients with a range of language barriers. I serve up the chosen brand of yogurt, making sure I never stir it and upset the carveable flat surface within the container. I dish out meals to discerning customers, set the mood with candles and music. I can make a meal fit into the palm of your hand, so your other hand is free to play 5 card draw, or finish building the biggest Lego hospital ever. I entertain through toothbrushing by singing the ad-libbed 'sugar bugs' song, and my song and dance routines are known throughout the land. So really, I have my dream motherhood role, and then some.

This is what I keep telling myself. Repeatedly.

I'm finding that since I gave up giving up chocolate, things are much better. Takes the edge off for sure.

I leave you with a photo essay of life this fall. The background music would be the new Bonobo album (Hannah's favorite) or Vivaldi's Four Seasons (also Hannah's favorite) or Modest Mouse, both new and older albums (Hannah's long-term fave). Yes, she dictates our musical choices as well. I have been put in my place and agree to let her win. How could I do anything but?

Some of the pics are not vertical, and I apologise. Kit gave me a new hard drive, and upon loading new software and such, I clicked something and now I cannot rotate my pics. But the ones with the 6 foot Boa Constrictor are worth craning your neck don't you think?