 |
| The Thorplets, Winter 2013 |
Belated Season’s Greetings! Our annual Christmas letter goes in the mail to most of you tomorrow morning — but in case you can’t wait, it’s online now! We miss you all, and wish you many blessings in this new year!
A friend said the other day that it seems like we have a birthday a week in our family during the summer. That’s not quite true, but this year it has felt that way: the day before Jodi’s fiesta was Trevor’s ninth birthday, which included presents and cake. My bride’s party was a few weeks ahead of her actual birthday, and featured a wide range of delicious foods including not one, but two cakes — bringing the total that weekend to three.
 |
| Experiment with fondant |
Whether because the fondant wasn’t completely fresh, the recipe, or something else, the fondant wouldn’t hold together at any thickness less than about a quarter inch — and Emma frosted the cake beneath the thick blanket, creating a tasty vanilla cake covered in insanely sweet Playdough. (The boys mocked Emma for it until Jodi and I reminded them how much she bakes for us; in the end, even she agreed it was too much.)
 |
| Gabe at 2:23 p.m. on his birthday |
 |
| Our daughters on Saturday morning… |
I’m told that parents are not supposed to compare their children to each other, but how can you not? What we know best about parenting we know from experience, so when some new ailments manifests itself, or child number four does something as yet unseen or unexpected, you noticed.
For example: our number five, Lily, has begun to speak more slowly than her older siblings. We attribute this primarily to the fact that her siblings do the talking for her, anticipating her needs and filling in the blanks – she need only whine, whimper, grunt, or shriek, and her desires are addressed. Lately, however, she is becoming more verbal, showing her strengths, her weaknesses … and a budding sense of humor.
She loves her family, and has said Momma or Mommy for a long time now, and Dada or Daddy only slightly later. Emma came easy, and her hero worship from her eldest brother led to his name being next in her vocabulary: Nennen at first; now Denden.
Among her next words were nanee (banana), and gog and guck (for our Schnauzer Puck). She was a little slower with her other brothers, but that’s fair: they’ve been a little slower with her, as well. Trevor, as she warmed to him was Ruh-ruh, then Reh-Ruh, and now Chreh-ruh.
She then said all of these names for weeks, but we couldn’t get her to say Gabe or Gabey. We couldn’t trick her, couldn’t coerce her – nothing worked; she just looked at him and held her tongue. Then last week she began to call him Abba – which given his priestly inclinations, seemed almost mystical (it’s Hebrew for “father”). That was cool, but only lasted for a couple of days before it devolved (we thought) into Abluh or Uh-bluh. (Gabe quickly tired of everyone asked Lily who he was, or saying, “Lily … where’s Uh-bluh?”)
It seemed like a step backward, until once a couple days ago, when Lily saw Gabe’s photo and said, “Ay-bluh.” You could almost hear Gabriel in her syllables – she knows what she wants to say, but can’t quite articulate it yet.
She is trying out other words, as well, that show up in humorous (and sometimes trying) ways. For example, when we tell her not to do something (or when she is about to do something she knows she shouldn’t), she looks at Jodi or me and says, “no, no, NO!” in a tone that suggests nag, nag, NAG! And one night when she was being clingy and fussy, I made the mistake of steering her away from Jodi by stepping between them, putting my arm around my bride, and saying, “MY mommy!”
I thought it was funny in the moment – but a day or so later, I returned home from work, walked into the kitchen, and kissed my wife, only to see Lily march over, grab her pant leg, and say, “MY MOMMY!” Now she walks around the house claiming everything in her reach: “My mommy, my Denden, mine, mine, MINE.”
Nice going, Dad.
Finally, a couple nights ago we’re seated at the table eating supper, and everyone’s chattering away. It’s hard to listen to five kids at once, and Lily is repeating the same monosyllable over and over, so I’ve tuned her out temporarily.
Finally I focused in, and see that she’s leaning across the table, looking insistently at me as she speaks.
What did she say?
“Jehm. Jehm. Jehm! JEHM!”
“Wait a minute!” I say, and the table quiets. “Lily, who am I?”
She grins. “Jehm.”
“Who?”
“Jehm.”
Jodi and the kids are giggling. “Who?” I ask again.
“Jehm!”
“Lily, who am I really?” I say, mock sternly.
She grins until it wrinkles her nose. “Daddy!” she says.
She loves this game now. She won’t call Jodi anything except Momma or Mommy – though she knows her name, too; ask her to give Jodi a hug and see.
I know, I know – it’s not the first time a child has done something precious (or precocious) while taste-testing words. But for us, it could be the last. Jehm is enjoying it, and so is Daddy.
 |
| My bride, looking pleased; she also got chocolate… |
Those of you who know my bride know she spends herself for others. She generally does not express anger, disapproval, discomfort, or exhaustion. She does her level best to anticipate the needs of others and to avoid being the cause of conflict. So foreign is her approach to me that the majority of the tensions between the two of us are the result of me projecting my own tendencies and motives onto her actions in a misguided attempt to understand her. I look at her and assume she’s like me – and apparently, I don’t always get along with me or like the way I think.
Two other things about Jodi:
 |
| She’s seeing a pattern! |
When we first married, I worked in the housewares department of Younkers department store in Sioux Falls, and Jodi would visit the department to browse. Seventeen years ago she began looking at Fiestaware dishes, drawn to them by the soft, bright colors: tangerine, lemongrass, peacock, sunflower, flamingo, and turquoise. Since she rarely buys anything for herself (and when she does, it’s on the cheap), we’ve used discount, cream-colored stoneware dishes for years now. Periodically, however, she would talk about how much fun it would be to have a mismatched set of Fiesta dishes – all different colors – to brighten up the kitchen and mealtime.
Jodi will turn an unmentionable age next weekend, so after 17 years of browsing and daydreaming, I decided it was time to act. A couple weekends ago, I planned a party for her. I invited family from Minnesota, Michigan, and South Dakota, and some friends from the area. It was a not-quite-surprise party – in order to pick and hold a date on our busy calendar, I had to let her know something was up, so I told her I was having some friends over for her birthday, and that was the weekend that worked best. I told her the kids and I would take care of everything.
I conspired with Jodi’s mom and sister and mine to buy her eight place settings in different colors, plus extra plates and bowls, then urged those guests who were planning to bring gifts to pick up serving pieces or Kohl’s gift cards that Jodi could use to add to her collection. Large boxes began showing up at our house (as well as money from relatives contributing to the gifts). It turned out better than a surprise party, in that Jodi was for weeks trying to figure out what was going on.
 |
| Big smile, blushing. |
I’ll confess that once the plans were in motion, I became paranoid: what if I misremembered or misinterpreted how much she wanted these dishes? When I worked at Younkers, I would politely steer men away from the kitchen area when seeking gifts for their spouses. What if she was so excited – then crushed at the prospect of…just dishes?
But when I told the kids of my plan, Rose lit up. “Every time we go to Kohl’s, she walks through the kitchen area and walks past the Fiesta dishes, then walks back to them and looks,” she said.
 |
| A candle per decade? Can’t be! |
 |
| C’mon — no boyfriends! |
When people began showing up the day of the party – from South Dakota, Minnesota, and Michigan – Jodi was surprised and delighted. Later in the evening, when we insisted she open her gifts (she didn’t want to interrupt the visiting or to be the center of attention) she was genuinely floored. She opened one package, then another, and began to discern the pattern. Then she blushed, and smiled and smiled.
 |
| Mixed and unmatched |
After 17 years of desire and denial, it was time, don’t you think? I used to call her my “bright side”—it’s about time I found a way to be hers. Happy birthday, love!
 |
| Rosa, ready to go. |
I took Rosa out for an afternoon on the town this past Sunday. We appeared together in the Albertville Friendly City Days Parade, representing Knights of Columbus Council 4174, with fellow KCs and Catholic youth (including Bren, Gabe, Rose, and Trev) passing out Tootsie Rolls to the crowds.
 |
| Parade rest. |
She drew a lot of looks and compliments, particularly among gentlemen of a certain age, who might have known someone like her in their younger days. The younger men took notice of both her beauty and her age and were respectful, save one young hoodlum, still red-faced and drowsy from the previous evening’s festivities, who bellowed, “C’mon, light ’em up! Let’s see what kind of power the old Ford’s got.”
Rosa ignored him entirely in favor of a little boy waving enthusiastically from the other side of the street. I leaned out the window, smiling, and said, “She’s got a 240 straight-six. This is about it.”
Show some respect, young man. She’s forgotten more miles than you’ve travelled.
Another young man, clean-cut with Buddy Holly glasses, looked her up and down and said, “’66?”
“Yup,” I said, and he nodded appreciatively.
Were she a woman, guessing her age would be considered uncouth, but for a pickup, it’s a compliment. What might be an adulterous attention to her curves and lines were she human is for Rosa a sign of her authentic, ageless beauty – she is noticed, not because she’s hot, but because she’s classic.
To that end, when we were preparing for the parade, I flew the flags and hung the KC emblems on the side, then grabbed the box of streamers, spangles, and bows left over from last year’s float. I looked from the box to pickup and back, then returned the box to the garage. She’s impressive enough in her own right. Who doesn’t love a modest girl who’s comfortable in her own skin?
 |
| Looks just as good going… |
Archangel Stomp 