Full of Thanks and Turkey

The Macy's Santa made his way down 34th street, the Rockettes kicked off the holiday season and the Johnson/Biag family Thanksgiving was complete with Mom's brined turkey and chocolate pecan pie. The dinner was executed like a well-run symphony. Each aunt and uncle working simultaneously on their signature dish, mashed potatoes, appetizer, salad and casserole. The fury in the kitchen leading to a manic crescendo before the parade of food makes it to the Thanksgiving table. We all find our chairs and swap stories from the last year. Between the feverish trips to the grocery store or preparing the house for out of town guests, I hope that you've been able to find some moments of peace, love and laughter this Thanksgiving...well maybe peace (and quiet) is a lofty goal, but at least love and laughter ; )

Shopping this Friday? My Thoughts Exactly

Override

Ella,
The fact that we are pregnant once again is a true testament to the beautiful, wonderful being that is you. I'll admit, within the first five minutes of finding out I was pregnant, memories of bleeding orifices (multiple), sleep deprivation and identity loss came to mind but was quickly erased with the thought of your sweet voice, your generous heart and your infectious laugh. Thank you for opening our hearts beyond what we could imagine. Because of you, we are going to give this crazy rollercoaster another spin.
Much love sweet girl.
Mom

A-Ha Moment

It was Friday morning, the house was quiet, Jerry was in Montreal on business. Ella was sneaking in a few moments of sleep and I was awarded some time to think. And think I did.

Why does the house smell so funny? Why can't I kick this exhaustion? Why was I picking off of Ella's plate last night after devouring a heaping bowl full of pasta?

Can you see the pieces starting to fall into place? I finally did.

Ella's morning calls from her crib were like a brisk slap in the face. I grabbed her, grabbed a pregnancy test and together we watched as two lines erupted onto the stick. OMG...OMG!

So excited, so happy, but can't underscore enough...so surprised! How did this happen? No, I didn't miss that uncomfortable week in 5th grade with the diagrams. But between illness, more illness, business trips (plural) and moves (plural), we're like come on, really? REALLY?

And now we cannot wait to see what the coming months hold. Based on our calculations, 826 Forest will reach full occupancy in July. Does that mean a maternity bathing suit is in my future? Shudder.

Mother Goose

Ella has made sure the "babies" have acclimated themselves to the new home. Here she tucks one in after using the potty.

Squad Car

Don't ask me why, but your Uncle Josh was dubbed "Squad Car" in the mid-eighties. It's been his name, among choice others, for the last twenty-odd years. I wish I could save his phone messages because they are crazy funny. We usually play phone tag because our work hours are exact opposites. But as much as I would love to speak to him live, his messages are a great consolation prize. The other day I get a message about how Snoop Dog does his laundry...with "Blee-atch". You are a complete nut Uncle Josh. We love and miss you.

The New Neighbors

We were invited over to our neighbors house on Saturday night. They are not only our new neighbors, but the couple that renovated and sold us our home. Aside from a few awkward moments about the price of the home and the money that they lost (umm, eek), it was a great evening. We learned that this house was built in 1896 and was home to a family for the last ninety years. While renovating they discovered two small angels up in Ella's bedroom. They decided to keep them there to watch over the home. We had just placed two angels Uncle Josh bought for Ella in her window sill earlier that day.
I get goosebumps so easily.

Home Sweet Home

I'm am just now starting to catch my breath. I even took out the camera AND made eye contact with my family today. Moving must be like labor because I forgot how utterly painful the whole process can be. I will recap the last week (my God in heaven, it's only been one week?) in a haiku.

Aching back
Endless boxes and convict movers
Endless boxes, need to shower

Who knew poetry could be so moving?

I am looking forward to the coming weeks as we splatter our new microwave with spaghetti sauce and attempt to once again grasp the reigns of parenthood. Wait a minute, did I ever have them? Crap, I think I lost them! Toilet training was obviously placed on the backburner as Ella pooped at my feet the other day...two feet away from her potty. Sesame Street has become her religion. I think we are all ready for some stability, dare I say monotony? Until then, Happy Holidays!

Peace Out Hillside

Later traffic nightmare and landfill stench. Hello four block commute to train and Ella's daycare. Do I hear a choir of angel's singing?

Happiness

Last week I had a momentary lapse of sanity. Actually, forty-eight hours, but who is counting? It was a perfect storm...lack of sleep, increasing work hours, illness (tonsilitis, sinus infection, broncitis and no doubt swine flu) complicated by an outing with three well-dressed, well-accessorized, energized, women leading undoubtedly perfect lives. How dare they? My sanity was whirling somewhere near the bottom of the toilet bowl. I felt tired, over-run, one-dimensional, moody and grey. Thankfully, I've come to realize that these moments evaporate just as quickly as they present. All I need to do is just ride it out (why fight it?), get some sleep and call a life-line. And then I ran across this quote...

"The happiest people seem to be very focused on whatever they are doing. Unhappy people seem to be very focused on what other people are doing."

It's not about the number of hours you spend with your child or on the job. It's not about how you spend your free time. It's not about measuring yourself against others. It's about defining and redefining your own happiness as life unfolds. Happy is what I strive to be for my daughter because happy is what I want her to be.

A Rare Treat

Your Lola making homemade lumpia is a rare treat. How rare? Odds are we will see the Bears in the Super Bowl as well as a lunar eclipse before we are blessed once again with these crispy, golden Filipino snacks. They require the patience and precision of a skilled surgeon's hands. It's a tedious process, but well worth the effort. She agreed to share with us her recipe so that one day you and your Dad can share in this family recipe. I am decidedly out of the equation because let's be realistic, patience and precision are not my middle names...in fact, they never were in contention, right Mom?

So Jerry and Ella, I took notes.
Cook one pound of ground pork with two cloves of minced garlic and 1/4 cup of water. Add one large yellow onion, chopped. Once meat is almost cooked add patis (two tablespoons), 1 cup of water, 4 carrots, one small cabbage, 1# green beans and one package of bean sprouts (all veggies are small matchstick sized). Once cooked through, drain and cool. Here comes the tough part. Delicately separate lumpia wrappers, add cooled mixture and seal with water. Place in shallow fry pan. The bottom should be covered with oil. Brown. Serve piping hot and get ready to be showered in praise.

Pictures of course were necessary to document this rare event. I busily snapped shots of Lola's nimble hands folding the lumpia wrappers. I captured the golden glisten as they came out of the pan. It wasn't until much later that I realized the CF card was not in the camera. What the what? Disappointment was an understatement. How can we wait ten more long years? Hint, hint Nanang.

Hacking Halloween!

A fever and chest-rattling cough kept Ella from Trick-or Treating this year. Major bummer. We had to get her in costume and snap at least one picture. Her father and I were dressed up as bank robbers. We even printed money with Ella's mug. Jerry completed the look with some black knit ski masks. Leave it to Jerry to complete the look with realistic (read: truly frightening) props. I had to draw the line with guns. Seriously, we would have been banished from the western suburbs. Pictures of her father and I are not included as we would never be allowed to join the PTA.