Dad, A Portrait

Dear Laney,

Last night at dinner, you asked for a piece of paper and you drew this picture of - according to you - your dad. 

As you worked, you said aloud, "Two eyes, a nose, tha mouth, some ears annnnd hair!"

It was so artistic! Go, Team Left Brain! It's pretty anatomically correct for a two year-old artist, even if it looks more like one of those mummies we saw at the Smithsonian than your dad.

Your dad's reaction: "Look how accurate it is - I told you she was going to be a scientist."

You can't win. On the other hand, you can't lose.

Love,
Mom

Six Months / Why "Hagen?"

photo by Barnibbe photography

Dear Hagen,

You're six months old, as of Wednesday. According to your doctor, you're in perfect health. According to me, you're the sweetest baby who ever lived. Maybe it's because Laney did such a good job of breaking us in as parents, but we're able to really relax and enjoy the time we spend with you. Minus this past week's sickness, you almost never fuss. You're happy to go along with whatever the family's doing. You. Are. A. Joy.

Speaking of your sister, she likes to hug you to within an inch of your life. The most common phrases heard in our house: "Stop squishing him!" and "You're cutting off his oxygen supply!" But every time I start to warn Laney to be more gentle with you, I notice that you're laughing your head off. Last week, you were in a bouncy chair suspended from four bungee-type cables at Grandma Sue's house. Laney decided it would be super fun to full you forward and let you snap back. I tried to tell her to take it easy, but she couldn't hear me over your giggling. She pulled you as far forward as those cords would stretch, and then let you go. You shot backwards and then ricocheted forward and knocked her on her behind. You laughed. I laughed. Laney hollered, "HAGEN HIT ME WITH HIS CHAIR!" You should know that your sister likes to play a little fast and loose with the facts.

__________

I've never taken the time here to explain why we named you Hagen, and this seems as good a time as any. You were named after my paternal great-great grandfather, Haagen.

L to R: My aunt Sandra, my grandfather Woodrow, and the original Haagen.

Haagen Lie (which later became "Lee") was the first of the Lees to come to this country, arriving around 1867.  Approximately 12,900 other Norwegians came that year, settling mostly in Minnesota and the Dakotas. He married Carrie Fjelstad - a nice Icelandic girl - in Minolta, MN and had five children. Your dad is especially fond of the fact that Haagen and Carrie both originally came from small towns north of the Arctic Circle. (The Arctic Circle: Like Montana, but more).

Around 1902, the State of Georgia had the idea to recruit hard-working, honest, principled Norwegians to begin farming operations in the state, and Haagen took them up on it. We're not sure when his wife Carrie passed away, and it's possible that Haagen came to Georgia alone with the five children. 

A small community of Norwegians sprung up in what is now Dooly County, GA.  The infernal heat was a little too much for their Viking blood, and I assume the gnat situation was the same back in the late 1800s as it is now. Most of the Scandinavians headed back north to eventually become known for wearing funny sweaters and making casseroles out of cod. Haagen, however, stayed. 

Haagen never cared much for farming; he was more of a tinkerer.  He moved into town (Vienna, GA) and began negotiations to get his own shop where he could do mechanical repairs for a living. In 1923, his daughter Onina - a single mother - became sick and passed away, leaving Haagen to raise my grandfather Woodrow, (a.k.a. "Red," because of his full head of red hair).  A man and a boy with foreign accents alone together in small-town Georgia at the start of World War II. Could not have been easy. 

Woodrow Lee, your great-grandfather

Haagen was described by the town's old timers as stern, but highly principled. Your grandfather Philip, who owns an antique mall in Vienna, Georgia, writes:

"I have seen a picture of Haagen standing in his shop. Above him is a hand-printed sign that read, "LOAFERS NOT WELCOME HERE." Coincidentally, I have a sign here that reads "IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO, PLEASE DON'T DO IT HERE."  

Woodrow met Mary Carr at a local restaurant, where she was a waitress. He always used to tell me that she "made his cup runneth over." When he was turned down for the draft because of his high blood pressure, he moved to Long Island where his welding experience was needed to build Liberty Ships for the war. Mary missed him, so she joined him in New York, and that's how my small-town grandparents ended up getting married at City Hall in Queens. They settled back in Vienna and had four children and about a dozen grandchildren.

Woodrow and Mary, before they were Mama Lee and Pop. 

If this were the King James version, we'd say Haagen begat Onina who begat Woodrow who begat Philip who begat Me who begat You. One miracle after another, because Haagen decided to get on that boat back in Norway.

When we were thinking of possible names for you, your dad loved the name Hagen as soon as he heard it. I liked the idea of naming you for an adventurous ancestor who single-handedly raised the grandfather I loved so much, but I wasn't entirely sold on the idea until the second you made your entrance into the world and I heard the nurse exclaim, "Look at that full head of red hair!" I thought it was a sign.  We dropped one of the "A"s in the name, because I didn't want you to have to listen to Haagen-Dazs ice cream jokes for the rest of your life. 

And here you are: the latest in a line of interesting characters. 

I never got to meet the original Haagen, but I love the new one with all my heart.

Love,

Mom

UPDATE: I just saw the comment your grandfather Philip left below. The picture he's referring to is HIS baby picture - the one that Mama Lee had hanging in her front room for years. The one where his head looks so darn big. Mama Lee used to ask my mother, back when Peg Peg was a newlywed, when she was going to have children. Peg Peg would say, "As soon as you take down that picture." Anyway, per his request, here you go:

Blue Lagoonies

Hey y'all -

Yesterday was turning out to be much like the day before: Hagen would sleep in twenty-minute increments, then wake up exhausted and angry. Figuring that we could improve his mood if we put y'all in the truck and took you somewhere, we went for a drive down to the boat launch.

We had a small slide in the back of the truck that we were intending to drop off at Cedar's house after swimming. But first, your dad had this brainstorm:

We had a great time at the river, but as bedtime rolled around, Hagen was back to being tired and angry. I told your dad I couldn't take one more sleepless night. The night before, I had fallen asleep against his crib and woken up with an indentation from the crib rail on my forehead. So your dad held Hagen while I hit up Google for some answers.

I don't know what made me think of it, but when we were younger, my cousin Heidi really liked this movie, Blue Lagoon. Other than remembering that I thought it was stupid, the only thing I can recall of its plot is that two young teenagers end up on a deserted island, fool around in a way I'll explain to you later, and end up with a baby that they don't know how to take care of. As I was standing in the kitchen, doing a web search for "congested infant," with no idea how to make Hagen feel better,  I thought, "We might as well be two idiot teenagers stuck on a damn island banging coconuts together and hoping for the best."

You know what I learned? Babies aren't able to breathe out of their mouths until they're a little over 6 months old. So, if a baby can't breathe out of his nose, he can't breathe at all. Did you know that? Well, me either. Welcome to Blue Lagoon. Here's your coconut bra.

At 10pm, armed with this new information, I deduced that Hagen's problem was that he'd fall asleep, then all that crud would fill up his nose, and he'd wake up because he couldn't breathe. It became mission-critical to your dad and me to clean out his nose: hot bath, saline drops, bulb syringe, Vicks baby rub, humidifier. Hagen's not completely cured, but we got him to sleep for hours at a time instead of minutes.

Grab them binoculars, I think I see a rescue boat.

Love,
Mom

Greetings From The Gulag

Dear Hagen,

I don't know how the Soviets used to extract information from captured enemy agents, but lemme tell you what they could have done:

"Velcome to zee Interrogation Room. Here's your teething baby, ya?"

You cried all. night. long. (I wish Lionel Richie were here to back me up: "All night! All night!").

The longest stretch of sleep you got was 30 minutes, and you only stopped crying if I stood up and held you upright and jiggled you around a little. No sitting down. No standing still. I give up. You can have my secrets. I pledge allegiance to Mother Russia.

If someone attempted to have a conversation with me today, it would go something like this:

- Brooke, what's your favorite color?
- Chevrolet.

I intended to get up this morning and write a celebratory post about how you're six months old today, and are the sunshine of our lives, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. The sleep deprivation is so bad around here that your dad - who once had to sleep on a tiny bunk on a crowded battleship in between making helicopter flights into Djibouti - had to call in sick today.

__________

In Laney news, Dad has a new policy around here called, "Find a solution!" in order to encourage her to solve problems with her own ingenuity. Here's the problem with that:

Laney: Dad, I want to share Hagen's pacifier.
Dad: No, you're a big girl, you don't need it. It's going up here on the bookcase.

Yep, that's Laney standing on the edge of her bed, pulling it down with a butterfly net.

We give up. Y'all can have the house. Try to remember to feed the dogs.

Love,
Mom

House of the Rising Phlegm

Pre-sickness Hagen

Oh, mercy.

Laney brought home a congestion/cough thing from school last week and shared it with me. This is why Peg Peg, your veteran nurse grandmother, can narrow her eyes at a playground full of sweet, darling toddlers and say, "They're just a bunch of carriers."

Yesterday, Hagen developed a fever, compounded by a tooth that's about to erupt. The child has cried more in the past 12 hours than he has since being born. The only thing that seems to make him feel better is to carry him around outside. We learned when we had Laney that the secret to having a Burbach young'un, is: When they holler, take them outside. It never fails to shut 'em up. At 10pm last night, I was walking laps around our circular driveway. All this goes against my personal philosophy that sicknesses should be addressed with serious couch time, a little dramatic moaning, a glass of Sprite and inordinate amounts of mindless television.


My country music-singing friend, Brad Cotter, has been known to say, "Ain't nothing that can't be fixed with an iced tea, a barbecue pork sandwich and a cigarette." But since I'm out of pork and can't afford a cigarette habit, I'm going to stick with walking Hagen in circles. 


Back in happier times (read: last weekend), we went into town and explored a new playground. I had also brought along a new, cheap, point-and-shoot camera I'd bought so I wouldn't have to haul the big DSLR everywhere. In case, like me, you find yourself shopping at Costco, and are tempted to buy the Fujifilm Waterproof camera: don't. Sometimes I can't wait 'til I'm a senior citizen, so I'll have extra time in my schedule to write angry letters about disappointing goods and services. [Mental list: UPS (who doesn't deliver to my house Oct-May), the employees at the paint counter at Lowe's, the crazy man with a hair-and-beard net who works the Walmart deli counter on Saturdays, and now Fujifilm.]


Anyway, the park:

Laney loved the playground, because there was a girl there who kept running away and coming back with handfuls of Laffy Taffy. Laney didn't want to leave, which I can understand, because how often in life to you get your own candy concierge?

Here's hoping everyone is back to our version of normal soon, so I can lie down on the couch with my Sprite.

Love,
Mom

Stuff Laney's Into This Month

Dear Laney,

Here are the things that you're loving this month:

1) Painting. On everything. When we ask you what you've painted, you always say "A dragon." Sometimes a mean one, sometimes a nice one, sometimes, "a dragon in a circle!" but always a dragon. No idea why.

2. The Octonauts. This is a British animated series originally produced for the BBC. This means that when you tell me you want Octonaut toys for your birthday, I have to research overseas sellers, figure out how much the dollar is worth against the pound, and determine how much I'm willing to spend on the polar bear version of Sean Connery.

The holy grail of Octonaut toys is a replica of their headquarters - The Octopod. This little plastic contraption retails for $120. I s#!t you not.

If you think I'm not trying to figure out how to re-create this with old Cool-Whip containers and PVC remnants, you are wrong. 

3. Showering. You even shampoo your own hair.

4. Lunch. Your school has a special summer activities program, and you get to take swim lessons twice a week, followed by a picnic in the park. You and your schoolmates all walk together to the aquatic center with your lunches.

Mom: Laney, did you walk to the pool today?
Laney: Yeah (eye roll) My class doesn't have a car.

It must be so hard to be a 17 year-old trapped in a 2 year-old's body.

When I ask you what your favorite part of school is, you always say, "Eating my lunch." "But didn't you learn to splash and kick today in the pool?" "Yeah, but lunch was bedder."

Love,

Mom

Happy Belated Father's Day

Dear Thor,

To make a Father's Day video, I didn't have to search very hard for photos of you making our children happy. I could put my hands on a thousand, which is roughly the number of days Laney's been alive.

Every day with you is a gift.

Love,
Us

Wherever You Go, There You Arrrrrr

Hey y'all -

It's been a crazy couple of weeks. I suffer from the freelancer's fear of never working again, so when jobs present themselves, I grab 'em... even if they come three at a time. In case any of my friends or family are sitting around wondering what's become of me, I've been sitting at my dining room table, writing "unscripted programming" pitches. [Note to humanity: Do you think you have a great idea for a reality show? Stop yourself. You don't.]

I've rarely left the house the past few weeks, but for two exceptions. 1) Our quick drive down to the river on Father's Day, and 2) Laney's first big-girl haircut (with lollipop).

Yesterday, both of you kids were lying on the living room floor, watching "Sid the Science Kid." The episode was about computers, and Sid's mom said that sometimes, adults spend too much time with their computers and you have to remind them to turn off their computers so they can play!

Sid's mom is my nemesis.

Laney came over and tapped on my laptop and told me it was time to play. I tried to explain that Sid's mom is a giant yellow hypocrite, because she's a product of Henson Digital Performance System, which means she only exists because some adults spend too much time on their computers.

But it's hard to explain hypocrisy to a toddler, so:

It's one thing to make me miss my deadline, but why do I always have to play Mr. Smee?  

Love y'all more than my paycheck,

Mom

P.S. Yes, Clay Mercer, I totally stole the title of this post from an e-mail you sent me that I just found in my junk folder. 

Father's Day Walk At The River

How Dad's Brain Works

Mom: What the heck is this on the back of Laney's jacket?

Dad: Oh, Laney's school said we need to label everything, so I wrote her name on it with a Sharpie.

Mom: Did you notice that there's a spot on the inside of the jacket that reads, "This jacket belongs to..."

Dad: Nope.

Mom: Did you think about maybe finding a more subtle way to label our child's clothes?

Dad: No. That way is good enough for the Navy, it's good enough for preschool.

Short, Fair and Handsome

For This Post, The Role Of Laney Will Be Played By Kevin Costner.

Dear Laney,

I know, I know. Everyone's tired of hearing about the damn carousel.

We stopped by there last Friday afternoon and I deliberately didn't bring my camera along, because, seriously: How many pictures can you take of the same young'un on a revolving horse? (See what I did there? I staged an intervention against myself. And I believed me).

In April, I bought myself the $50 annual pass to ride the carousel, because I realized at $2.25 per adult ride, the thing was going to bankrupt me. On June 8th, I broke even.

Last Friday, after near-constant begging on your part, I let you ride the carousel all by yourself. I wasn't even on the dang thing - I was just waving from the sidelines. On one hand, it was hard to let go; you looked so grown-up, and you didn't need me at all. On the other hand, you were wearing Dora training pants, so it wasn't like I was watching you pack up and go to college. Yet.

The carousel goes around in a circle 22 times on the average 3:30 ride (if I knew the circumference of the thing, this could probably turn into one of those geeky math problems that gets your dad all hot and bothered). On each of those rotations, we spotted each other and waved and you yelled HI MOMMY!!! When the ride was over and I helped you off your horse, the first thing out of your mouth: "Did you see me?" As if I might have been accidentally waving to someone else all 22 times.

For the last ride of the day, you suggested, "You can ride with me, Mommy." I climbed on the innermost horse, you climbed on the middle horse, and a woman nervously clutching the pole while sharing a horse with her four year-old daughter claimed the outside horse. With a nod to you, she said, "I don't know how they hang on. I feel like I'm going to fall off any minute." I said, "I worried about that the first 600 times I rode this thing, too, but then I got over it." As soon as it left my mouth, I thought, "She probably thinks I'm being flippant. Or mean. She doesn't know that I'm really a responsible parent who's constantly vigilant about my children's safety."

I'm so vigilant, in fact, that it took me about a minute and a half to stop watching the scenery and instead to check on you on the horse next to me. That's when I discovered that you were riding the horse with your eyes closed, head back, arms outstretched. The only things keeping you on the horse were the safety belt and thigh friction.

I have since dubbed this maneuver "The Dances With Wolves."

Oh, how I wish I had brought my camera so I could have captured your feat of daring AND the look on the mom's face next to you.

I made you sit up and hold on, of course, and threatened to take away your annual pass. But as always, I was also more than a little bit proud to have a child who seems completely fearless. The world is your carousel, sweet girl. Lean back and enjoy it.

Love,
Mom

Turns Out, We ARE Those People

Dear Laney,

I wouldn't say I have a code that I live by. I don't have a mantra, or even a motto. I know some people are into that "Do unto others.." business, but I consider the day a personal success if I've made it to bedtime without having done any of the 365 activities featured in the page-a-day You Might Be A Redneck calendar.

Today, I failed.

Because if you let a young'un put on a swimsuit for the sole purpose of playing in mud, you might be a redneck. Our neighbor drove by on his four wheeler (having neighbors who visit via four wheeler is probably May 23 on that calendar), and hollered, "Ya goin' for a swim?!?"

Yep.

As you were splashing in the mud, I asked your dad, "You think this is okay? You don't think there's anything growing in that mud, do you?" "How could there be?" he countered. "That water's probably 40 degrees."

That, my friend, is just good parenting. 

Love,

Mom

P.S. Thor thought I should title this post, "That One That Gave Peg Peg A Heart Attack."