Friday, December 31, 2010

2010: A Brief Summary

Foreign Service. Leap of Faith. Strength. Family. Paul. Sam. Peter. Change. Trust. Determination. Simplification. Uprooted. Replanted. Survival. New Growth. Challenge. Support. Home Redefined. Goodbyes. New Friends. Reassurance. The Unexpected. Anxiety. Courage. Inspiration. Thanks. Better Together. Resilience. Dream Becoming Reality. Flights. Faith. Adventure. Failure is not an Option.



Thursday, December 30, 2010

Things you don't like to hear while eating lunch

Sam (from the living room!): "Just poop Mom! No Pee!"

Me (from the kitchen): "What the what!?"

Sam (waddling in grasping his big boy briefs in the rear): "Just couple little poops fall out over der. No pee though Mom!"

Me: "Oh my God, Poop! On the Floor!?"

Sam: "Sausy Mom, just couple poops felled out"

Me: (stepping carefully along a path of disguised poop nuggets that closely resemble spots on the marble floor to get them all before I step on one)

Sorry you missed it. :)

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Tadpoles


When I was little, my brothers and I would carry old margarine containers to the creek (read: ditch) across the street from our house in Blaine and collect tadpoles. Tiny little slippery creatures, that we knew would turn into something completely different over night, just like magic. Like proud parents, we would carefully return our catch to the backyard. On tip toes we would teeter our 'Country Crock crib' up on to the interior railing of the high fence in a special corner of our yard. The same corner that housed all our specimen. Including our bug capturing kit, old jars filled with home-made rose perfume steeping in the sun and our family pet cemetery (only home to goldfish and a parakeet). When we felt comfortable with their safety we would head inside and leave them to 'marinate', falling asleep dreaming of tiny frogs. Inevitably, by morning, they were gone. Not a trace of our tiny little tadpoles. Just like magic.

. . .

Peter Grey was born just 11months and 29 days ago. This is really not all that much longer than 'overnight' in 'adult time'. We brought this little tadpole carefully home from the hospital, so small we were scared we'd break him. Fearful of missing that one magical moment when he became more lean, sprouted another tooth, or his face became 'just so' and looked a tiny bit more like his Daddy's. I've placed him carefully up on the counter while I cook, so I wouldn't miss a minute, attended every bath-time, even when I knew Paul had it completely under control. I've slept so light as not to miss the faintest cry, yet every morning when he wakes up he is magically different. Somehow I always miss the transformation. Surely, like the magical tadpoles, I convince myself, the growth of these little babies must happen at night. I reach in to his crib each morning and he's bigger, with more wisdom in his eyes, tufts of new hair, baby feet magically disappeared into the night. Two little boys. From two little tad-poles. Just like childhood magic.

elise


Monday, December 27, 2010

Sam is 3!

For those of you whos hearts I know bled to miss this moment....I captured it. For you. THE BOY IS THREE!!! Birthday wishes wished (he wished for Santa to bring more presents he confided later at bedtime). Candles blown out. Presents unwrapped. Santa zippy pj's back on. A stream of happy tears cried by mama. I think my mom may have been right when she recently announced, "it doesn't get any better than this."

We had pancakes with ice cream and sprinkles for breakfast (Sam's request), played in the pool, hunted down one of Brasilia's only McDonalds for fries at lunch. We baked a cake, played in the pool, with new trains, read a million books, ate sliders, smiley-faced french fries (a Brazilian favorite) and drank chocolate milk for dinner. I don't ever remember a happier birthday, and it wasn't even mine.

Thanks from the bottom of our french fry filled bellies to all for your sweet birthday wishes.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Happy Birthday Sweet Boy


Sam,

I simply can't imagine life without your sweet face everyday. You remind me of all the good things in the world. You teach me to slow down. In you I see all the best memories of my childhood and the littlest reminders of all the people in the world I love. From Great Grandaddy's ears, to Uncle Dan's eyes and Daddy's hands and so much more. You are the best snuggler in the world, you are creative and kind and so very smart. I want to bottle you up and keep you three forever, but I know you are destined for great things. So everyday along your journey, I will hold your tiny hand when you offer and beg when you don't, hear 'i wuv you mommy' a million times, stroke your baby soft cheeks every chance I get, play trains with you when you say 'come on lets come play with me' snuggle with you, read you a million books, lay in bed with you and whisper about our 'weeshes' as you fall asleep, Santa riding rainbows, and living in Thomas Land. I love you to the moon Puppy. Happy third birthday.

Love,

Mom

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Merry Christmas!



(Photo, that I adore, taken by my Dad on our recent trip to Seattle.)


(If you are looking for a Christmas card from us....keep looking! It is coming, just in the form of a New Years-ish card this year!)

Merry Christmas to all!

The Hannas

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Where Winter and Summer Collide



Hot coco mustaches washed away by sips of cool water and streaks of sweat.

A 'snow sky': something felt, not forecasted, giving way to tropical skies dumping buckets of warm summer rain with just the flick of a switch.

Knee-high socks, traded swiftly for knee-high shaves.

Suits of snow, for suits of gabardine.

Pink noses, for pink cheeks.

Afternoons spent watching Granddad expertly snow-doze the drive, to afternoons spent shuttle watching for daddy's return from work.

Mornings in our zippy pj's, for mornings in our zippy pj's.

Evenings combing toy catalogs with Ma tucked neatly beneath a blanket, for evenings combing the sky for Santa through coconut palms.

Bags of mittens and hats, for bags of mangos and sunscreen.

Noses pressed to cold windows in awe of swirling snow, for noses pressed to walls of glass in awe of sea blue pools.

Falling asleep counting inches of snow and waking up to parrot songs.

Like anything truly great that transpires in life, nothing great ever comes without a huge crescendo. This was surely ours.

elise


Monday, December 20, 2010

Brasilia

It has been a little over two weeks since we landed in Brasilia. Somehow, Elise and I were able to get 9 suitcases, each weighing in between 60 and 70 lbs, a pack-n-play, two car seats and two groggy toddlers through customs to the van waiting for us in sunny Brazil.

The van pulled up in front of our “Brazil house”. In preparation for the move, we explained to Sam that we would be moving to our “Brazil house”. This was especially important given the number of different places where we would be sleeping in the days and weeks leading up to us finally arriving. At the hotel in Everett where we spent Thanksgiving, I checked in, then ran chocolate chip cookies back to Sam waiting in the car. Once we unloaded and spread out in the room, Sam asked, “This my Brazil house?” No, not quite. When we finally did arrive in Brazil a week later, he asked again, “This my Brazil house?” “Yes! This is your Brazil house!” A few times over the next couple of days, as we were unpacking and stowing our suitcases, dipping our toes tentatively into the cool blue waters of our swimming pool, venturing out into the backyard for the first time, peering into the mango trees for the flash of bright green that might be a parrot’s wing, he would ask Elise, “How long we stay in my Brazil house?” We would answer for a long time. We weren’t going anywhere for awhile. This seemed to mollify him, if not make him happy and comfortable.

After a quick shower, I was whisked to the work for a few hours to start checking-in. The biggest challenge is going to be transportation. Due to the immensity and lugubriousness of government bureaucracy, our car won't arrive until February or March. The city is impossible to navigate without a car. Work sends a shuttle to pick me up and bring me home, but Elise is a prisoner in the house. You can imagine how well that is going over. So, the next day I went to the Cidade de Automoveis (The City of Cars) with a few colleagues from work.

To fully appreciate the City of Cars, one must understand a unique characteristic of Brasilia. Everything has a ‘sector’, a special part of town designated for that specific thing. For example, all the hotels are located in the hotel sector. All the fabric stores are quarantined to the fabric sector. Likewise, all the hospitals are in the hospital sector. Not kidding. Someone thought it was a good idea to put all the hospitals in one place instead of spreading them out throughout the city. New ones have sprouted since then, but I can’t imagine what procuring medical care must have been like in the 1950’s.

The City of Cars occupies its own special sector, just outside of town. Used car dealer is squeezed next to used car dealer, all in the same neighborhood, one right after the other. In between there are dusty, thatch-roofed shanties pouring draft beer. Men in denim-cut off’s and flip flops shoot pool in the open air. Each car dealer has one car with the trunk open, bass thumping, and several hawkers trying to lure you in. You walk through the dusty orange caking the dirt streets, trying to negotiate the purchase of a car in a language of which you just barely have a working knowledge. I ended up buying a used car last weekend, but am still waiting for the wire to clear from my U.S. bank to the dealer's bank in Brazil. Yes, I bought a car in Portuguese. Sam came with me to negotiate the finer points. Really, he watched cartoons through snow in Portuguese and read a comic book while I struggled through the wire transfer form.

The other challenge...this isn't Japan...NO ONE speaks English. It is much like the U.S. in that respect. It is such a big country (of continental dimensions, as I’m frequently reminded) no one feels the need to, but thanks to a modest investment in a few Brazilian fashion magazines, Elise is learning a few words and phrases here and there.

Brasilia reminds Elise and I a LOT like Florida, but perhaps the Florida of 20 or 30 years ago that neither one of us had the opportunity to appreciate. We remarked to one another how this place didn’t feel that foreign. It’s different, strikingly so, but not unknown. It rains. A lot. It will rain all night. It will rain as we go to sleep and still be raining when Pete wakes us at 6 to the rain splattering on the concrete outside our window. Our roof leaks in spots. The sky is big here. Tall thunder clouds can be seen hours away, coming or going. The sky is so big the bottoms of clouds can be dark, giving rain, rumbling, while the tops are higher in the sky, in full sun as though blissfully unaware of what transpires beneath. When we first walked into our house, there was something immediately familiar about it. I wasn’t sure if it was the gas stove, the fact that the kitchen was removed from the rest of the house (uncommon in American homes, where the kitchen is the social nexus of the home, though common in Brazilian homes where it is connected to the maid’s quarters and the pantry and, therefore, cordoned off after dinner) or the fact that we had mango trees in our backyard. It reminded me of Sitti’s old house in West Palm.

Our house is beautiful. It has 4 bedrooms, one of which, the one overlooking the sparkling pool in the backyard, we made into Elise's office. Another room will forever be called the lizard room, because of the lizard that snuck in under the screen and now lives in the a/c unit. There is a huge backyard with 4 mango trees, a lime tree, a banana tree and a coconut tree in the front. I can’t wait for our tent to get here, so we can camp back there and toast marshmallows in the fire pit. We have been told that there are monkeys back there, too, tiny squirrel-like things with flowy yellow manes, but we haven't seen any yet. Mango and breadfruit trees grow in the medians of the roads and are public property so during lunch or on my drive home, I can see people in the median throwing rocks and sticks into the trees to get the mangos down!

Last weekend, we ventured to the TV Tower, the tallest structure in Brasilia. Beneath it, there is an open air market with vendors selling t-shirts, trinkets, Indian jewelry, rugs, everything. There were churrascarias, buffets with people selling spits of meat. We ordered deep-fried pastels, and I had an Antartica. Sam took a moment to settle in, but soon was ogling kites and the giant fountain spewing giant balls of mist. A crowd surrounded two men engaged in capoeira, a graceful combination of martial arts and dance.

We ordered pizza one night and the guy brought us a 6-pack of beer for free. I didn't even ask for it. It was Skol, the worst beer I’ve had since Natty Bo in the basement of the rowhouse in Baltimore. The pizza had cream cheese in the crust. Everything is familiar, but everything is a little bit different, too. Elise bought chocolate ice cream that already had chocolate sprinkles in it. Sadly, there are no Starbucks here and, therefore, no sprinks doughnuts for Sam. On her initial shopping expedition, Elise bought plastic trash bags at the store for roughly the US equivalent of $24. I was told you buy trash bags from the side of the street. From the trash bag guy. Sure enough, last weekend, we were driving back from the store and spotted him, in the median, with a roll of trash bags wound around his forearm. We swung the car around and flagged him down and spent 20 Brazilian reais on trash bags. There are capybaras here—or so we’ve been told—though we haven’t seen any ourselves yet. They, like Elise and I and the boys as we slowly spread our wings, stroll right down the sidewalks and through traffic.



Friday, December 17, 2010

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Phew

Phew...

We landed. I think a week is good to have found the first spare split second to be able to collect my thoughts here.

It goes without saying that most of the last two weeks is a blur, with but a few instances of a blaring, eye-popping clarity.

One of the moments of eye-popping brilliancy was when Udie and I ascended the stairs to Uncle Dan’s new townhouse in Everett on Thanksgiving Day. I had flown into SeaTac and waited for Dave at the airport, sipping a hot cup of coffee. It had stopped snowing, but there was still slush on the ground. The two of us drove up together and came up the stairs. I hadn’t seen my family for two weeks. I could hear Pete squeaking at the top of the stairs and the muffled thumping of Sam jumping up and down on the floor above. Everyone was there and we all embraced. I swung Sam around and then family-hugged Pete and Elise. A Fat Tire followed shortly thereafter to top off Thanksgiving.

It is hard to believe it was only 9 days ago that we landed in Brazil. It feels like a lifetime. It took singular focus and dedication to get us to where we are today and it is only halfway to where we want to be. I will pick up our adventures upon our return to D.C. from Washington, where Elise and I and the boys spent a very cold and very snowy week. I shoveled the drive while Sam played in the snow. We pushed Petey in a sled and ate lunch at 9:30, craving Zips dashboard dunkers. The trip further legitimized the fact that—and I think I can speak for Elise here, too—for both Elise and I, our hearts lie in Seattle. (She wholly converted me, though it wasn’t a stretch, given my affinity for Colorado.) When this crazy roller coaster ride comes to end, you will find us there, I believe.

I recall from travelling with Sam when he was one, that this age, in particular, is hard on tiny travelers. Pete knows his surroundings are unfamiliar but he doesn’t comprehend why, and though Sam comprehends why is surroundings are unfamiliar now, it doesn’t make the transition any easier when you don’t understand what anyone is saying around you or there are no Starbucks or sprinks donuts anywhere to be found (Starbucks: Help! Ship us sprinks donuts or open a store in Brasilia stat!) and all the toys you now have in your possession are those your father was able to stuff into one of our many suitcases without overburdening it.

Despite a foot of new snow on the ground, we made it to GEG. The accumulated stress of packing, moving, travelling finally got to me—no small feat—and I cracked, taking it out on the guy at the Delta counter who told me it would cost the equivalent of a round-trip cross-continental fare in order to get my two overweight bags on the plane. We missed our connection in Salt Lake, then were diverted from BWI to Reagan, actually a very good thing…except our suitcases were going to BWI (not to worry, the suitcase fairy delivered them to our hotel in Crystal City in the middle of the night). We would be in Washington for less than 24 hours. After a long day of flying across the country, we crashed in a California Pizza Kitchen for beer and wine and…oh yeah…food for all. It took monumental effort to motivate out of that restaurant. Sam teetered off the booth and hit his head on the corner of the table. That did it.

The next day we sprinted to an Apple store for last minute repairs to Elise’s laptop, Barnes and Noble for Portuguese phrase books, Whole Foods for baby food…*sigh*…at the end, Elise and I stuffed 9 suitcases, two car seats (we had to rent two at DCA to make up for the two that went to BWI), a pack-and-play and our stroller into the back of a rented Toyota Sienna (our car was already on its way to Brazil by way or Miami). Elise took photos. We drove the short trip to the airport with a car seat in Pete’s lap. We pulled into the Budget return where we picked up a rental employee willing to drop us off at the curb. Elise sat in my lap on the passenger side.

The problem with singular focus and dedication is that it sometimes prohibits one from seeing the forest for the trees. To me, it never felt like we were embarking on a grand journey. That we were moving to a foreign land or that today it was winter but tomorrow it would be summer. We could only think about making sure everyone was dry and fed. That our papers were in order, that we weren’t forgetting anything. That you have picked up and carried and reloaded and weighed each one of nine suitcases all weighing at least 60 pounds but no more than 70. These moments only come 9 days after you land, when you have a minute, a second, even, to exhale and say we’re really here. We did it. Even on the long plane ride through the middle of the night, the family illuminated by the sole light emanating from Sam’s seat-back monitor playing Toy Story 3 at two in the morning, the entire journey was surreal. Even as we watched on that Sam monitor our tiny electronic figure of an airplane creep across the Caribbean, over tiny islands without names, into South America and over the Amazon, clocking our velocity, altitude and forward wind speed.

8:50 a.m. Friday, December 3rd. We landed in Brasilia.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Boa Viagem


"It is hard to be brave," said Piglet sniffing slightly, "when you're only a Very Small
Animal."

Rabbit, who had begun to write very busily, looked up and said:

"it is because you are a very small animal, that you will be Useful on the adventure before us."

Boa Viagem!

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Wednesday, December 1, 2010

'Twas the night before Brazil....

'Twas the night before Brazil, and all through the Raddison

All the Hannas were stirring with visions of their new 'Brazil house!';

All twelve of the suitcases were stacked by the door without care,

and Paul hoped the bellman would soon be there;

Sam and Peter were jumping like maniacs on their beds,

With Elise and Paul praying they didn't land on their heads;

With Paul in his Hopkins tee and I in my "I surrender!" 80's headband,

Were so ready to settle down for a short nights nap,

When down at the concierge desk arose such a clatter,

When our bags from Spokane arrived beaten and battered.

Away in the morning to Starbucks we'll run like flash,

For one last latte and sprinks donut to stash.

When what to our jet-lagged eyes should appear

But another Boeing 747 to jet us straight out of here.

With 8 hours in the air (more or less),

The pilot will beckon all the stewardess';

'On Grumpy! On Disgruntled! On Hairspray & Nails!'

'Get these people peanuts, caipirinhas and ales!'

We'll touchdown on the runway and won't waste an hour,

Paul will be whisked away to work and Elise will be trapped at home with two screaming boys crying all day. HA HA

(ok we ran out of steam, we're exhausted already!)

**Audience Participation!!**

Insert your favorite last line in the comments box below....

Monday, November 29, 2010

Sleeping turkey and snuggly turkey




Sam and Pete on the way to Thanksgiving in Seattle.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Holding hands.


Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Pack-out

While Sam and Elise got to go sledding in Cheney, WA, I was stuck back in D.C. to oversee the pack-out.

The actual pack-out day was pretty anticlimatic. I had spent all day Saturday and Sunday tearing apart our apartment in preparation for today, organizing and pre-packing as much as I could. I would say my hard work paid out as I got the movers in and out and under 4 hours, so quickly the traveler of Pike Place roast I had hauled back from Bucky's hadn't even gotten cold yet.

Nothing will quite compare to our first pack-out from Florida. Before the movers arrived I wondered if there would be a character equal to the woman from our original move who tore packing tape with her teeth or, Carl, the charismatic truck driver from Long Island or New Jersey, I don't exactly remember which. There was a rough woman, but she had no teeth, and there was no Carl, just Jose, Orlando, Mary and another Jose.

I made sure to provide donuts and coffee, but I ended up drinking most of the coffee and eating 3 donuts. The highlight of the move was that I waaaaaay underestimated how much 700 lbs was for our air freight, so as one Jose was packing and weighing and tallying the air frieght, I was racing the other Jose who was packing our other stuff, pulling it out to add to the items that would come faster, i.e. more clothes and a lot of the goodies we bought at Costco that are either unavailable or exorbiantly expensive in Brazil like pancake mix, peanut butter, ziploc baggies, DIAPERS.

I like to travel, but I don't like to pack. I hope it becomes one of the things I am good at despite myself.




Monday, November 22, 2010

Snowsam

"I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving; then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything."

Anne Sexton


Sunday, November 21, 2010

thing # 564736253637282 i love about being home:

I say "homemade soup sure does sound good," and my mom has homemade soup on the table for lunch.

I strive to be that kind of mom.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Just Another Day in the Pacific NW...


Cabella's, Post Falls, Idaho

Friday, November 19, 2010

Travel Writing

I just finished Paul Theroux's 'Ghost Train to the Eastern Star', my first foray into travel reading. It took me mostly every moment of my eight months in D.C. to finish the book, reading a few paragraphs here and a few lines there, almost always in bed right before falling asleep and almost always as 'Project Runway' or 'The Next Food Network Star' was murmuring in the background.

The book found me by accident. Elise's aunt and uncle were having a garage sale right before their move from Maryland and, lacking anything to read, I saved the book from a pile of similar travelogues destined for fates unknown. Perhaps, it might have found a reader more appreciative than I. Who knows? (We also saved a Nintendo Wii and a doilies that used to belong to Elise's grandmother.)

I wasn't reading anything and hadn't for awhile. My time to read for pleasure is so minute, as I mentioned, literally but a few minutes every night, that I can never decide what to fill that time with. When I go to the book store, I can never decide what to read because it is such a huge commitment. Knowing I am going to be reading this book for...say, the next eight months...means that it better be pretty good.
I put so much weight on the decision, I usually end up not getting anything at all and returning home empty-handed.

When I started the book, I found it incredibly self-indulgent (much like blog-writing!) I had the impression that the author was saying, "Look at all these wonderful places I get to go, while you have to stay home and just read about it." My impression changed as I became legitimately interested in the places he was travelling through: the 'Stans, India, Vietnam. I was drawn in. Only to be spit back out soon thereafter, a vile taste in my mouth.

See, when talking about a place, the author's needle seemed to start in a place already tainted and muddled. That was how he was introduced to a place, seeing everything that was wrong with it first. If his needle moved off the negative, it was only after he met and talked with the people whose everyday lives occupied the
place. I never want to be introduced to a new place coming from a place of negativity. Of course I realize there is poverty and strife and overcrowding in our world and that we may very well be on a path of slow decay, but I never want to lose the wonder of seeing new places and meeting new people or lose the sense that
the slow decay can be slowed or stopped. I think if you come to a new place with your needle stuck on the negative, you've already lost because it is so much easier to find what is wrong with a thing that what is right with it.

He even concludes the book on a somber note: "It's true that travel is the saddest of pleasures, the long-distance overland blues. But I also thought that what I'd kept fretting about throughout my trip, like a mantra of vexation building in my head, words I never wrote. Most people on earth are poor. Most places are blighted and nothing will stop the blight from getting worse. Travel gives you glimpses of the past and of the future, your own and other people's....But there are too many people and an enormous number of them spend their hungry days thinking about America as the Mother Ship....Most of the world is worsening, shrinking to a ball of bungled desolation. Only the old can really see how gracelessly the world is aging and all that we have lost. Politicians are always inferior to their citizens. No one on earth is well governed. Is there hope? Yes. Most people I'd met, in chance encounters, were strangers who helped me on my way...."

Seriously? If travel is the saddest of pleasures, stay home. No one made you take a train from England, through Eastern Europe, Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, fly to India, fly to Sri Lanka, train again through Burma, Thailand, Singapore, Cambodia, Vietnam, Japan, finding yourself depressed, hungry and cold on the Trans-Siberian Express. And who frets on a trip? Besides my dad? Evidently, this guy. Many places are blighted but there IS something that we can do about it.

I think this analysis is appropriate given where we are in our lives, on the precipice of beginning our own travels. We have the additional benefit of getting to live in a place, not just whizz through it on rail, seeing little through the grimy portal or much beyond the immediate neighborhood of the station. There will always be something wrong. These things will be easy to find. This is part of my new job. To move mountains pebble by pebble. But there will also be things that are very right. These things will be much more elusive, but when found, that much more rewarding, like a four-leaf clover, like a beautiful pair of peep-toe wedges in the Nordstrom shoe department, deeply discounted.

There is a picture on this blog of Sam's expression the first time he saw snow at his grandparents' house. It is, arguably, the best picture on a blog that is going into its fourth year. Sam is in a transitional point in his life (when won't he be?), a point where is emotional exuberance and intellectual restraint collide, then meld, forging the young man he will become. We're all kind of here, too, I think.
Even--or especially--Pete who is just happy to be along for the ride. For us all, it will be important to never forget this expression and what it means. It is unfortunate that Mr. Theroux has lost this sense of wonder, though his loss can be our gain.

All this being said, I think I'm going to go back to reading things more along the lines of Harry Potter.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Goodbye Ballston






*first snow*


Monday, November 15, 2010

Future Shoe Salesman


We were in Nordstrom yesterday buying Pete his first pair of shoes when I spotted Sam on the floor helping this customer. I never found out at what point--if ever--he figured out Sam really didn't work there. He seemed happy with the sizing.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Urban Delight

On an outing to the mall this afternoon to gather a few final items for our 'South American Tour' we hit up one of our all-time faves, Urban Outfitters. Paul, chick magnet that he is, was about to walk out of the store alone after making his final purchase (I was still shopping with Sam) when I spied two giggling girls heading toward he and Pete* with a small box in their hand saying "you should get this!" It was the figurine below. Naturally, I thought he should get it, too. I mean how many people have a bobble head created in their awesome father/son likeness**?!


Paul & I found this much more amusing than Peter did


*I did not fasten Peter into the carrier this way. One arm in, one arm out. Paul has his own 'unique' style of using our baby gear, pushing it to its creative limits. Including, but not limited to, twisting the straps in a matrix-like configuration and still getting it on and off and putting Peter's legs through the same hole. Kidding...or am I?

**the 'four consecutive days off beard' was key in this doppelganger incident


Friday, November 12, 2010

Fall in Virginia







Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Peter! (the amazing folding baby)

(a silent film)

Monday, November 8, 2010

Rethinking my take on Monday mornings...


The boys snuggle together just after Pete's morning nap while Sam finishes up watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

Words from the mouths of babes

Today as I grumbled aloud to myself about having schlepped everyone down to the parking garage without Pete's pacifier once again, Sam piped up from the back seat,

"Mom, no pacifiers in car, none in diaper bag, none in purse, only upstairs!"

"I know, I know Sam, thank you for the belated reminder."

"Mom we talked about this!"

I think I might be in trouble, and I mean more than just having forgotten the pacifier again. This one is like mini me and that is terrifying and exciting, but mostly terrifying.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

The Thomas that Wasn't

The beauty of this blog is that it captures both our successes and failures. I feel comfortable admitting this, because I feel our victories greatly outweigh our defeats. And I believe it takes a great amount of courage to admit when one is beaten, when it is time to fold your hand and concede defeat. In fact, I strongly believe that one cannot appreciate the joys of life and the wonders of parenthood without experiencing the trials of life and the tribulations of parenthood.

Unfortunately, Halloween beat us this year.

Those who know Elise and I know that we don't like to do anything half-assed. When asked what he wanted to be for Halloween, Sam gave us what should have been an obvious response, "Thomas the Train". Did we then run down to Toys 'R' Us to buy him a latex and foam Thomas the Train costume? No, that would have been the easy way out. That's not how the Hanna's roll. We went directly to Michael's and Home Depot, buying metal pipe and paint. We were going to build Thomas the Train.

We had done it before. Reference last Halloween. When asked what he wanted to be for Halloween last year, Sam answered, "Bus". (brief aside, "bus" was the only word Sam knew at the time). So we built a bus. But then, we were a lot less busy last Halloween than we were this Halloween.

After immunizations (including a yellow fever shot on Monday that staggered us all, sore-armed, into Wednesday), a wedding to edit, swim lessons, a romantic evening spent listening to the melodious plinking of Jim Brickman playing piano in a barn and the Rally to Restore Sanity, Saturday had arrived and nary a bolt, screw, lugnut or whistle had been fashioned.

We woke early on Saturday (we wake early everyday), and feverishly started construction. Elise hot-glue-gunned cotton balls to a onesie. Pete was going to be a lamb. (This got done and he was a hit, so at least one of them had a costume. Unfortunately, neither of us had the prescience then to realize the obvious...that Pete was going to pick every single cotton ball off the onesie throughout the course of the evening. Our passage was marked by a trail of fraying cotton balls.) I got started on Thomas.

It didn't take long for me to realize I had bitten off more than I could masticate in a single day. I felt like a contestant on Project Runway, painting and cutting and gluing feverishly right up until we had to rush off to the runway. Though there were points in the afternoon when I legitimately thought we were going to finish, when 4:15 rolled around and we were supposed to meet our friends to go "trunk-or-treating" at 4:45 and, though Thomas had a face and wheels, none of the train had been actually put together, we threw in the towel.

Thankfully, our friends had a back-up costume for Sam. He, appropriately enough, was a train engineer. I don't know if the fact that they had a back-up costume at the ready spoke to a lack of faith in our industriousness. I'm guessing there was some behind the scenes texting I was intentionally not made aware of so as not to let it be known that not finishing the costume was an option. It doesn't matter. I'm just grateful they bailed us out...and brought chicken fingers, to boot.

In the mayhem, we never got photos of Sam or Pete. But I did stop to take a photo of the half-constructed Thomas...


Sadly, Sam didn't get to be Thomas the Train, but, more importantly, at least he didn't look like this dork...


As always, expect great things in the future.

MCM


Pete and I lined up to watch the Marine Corps Marathon march through Arlington with Elise and Sam. The real pictures are of the participants dressed up for Halloween. How one can run 26.2 miles dressed as Batman is beyond me.

Patience

In the event that you thought that our having 'just' two curious little boys didn't provide a constant enough challenge to our daily productivity....meet James!

Today we had to wait for James to shop in both CVS and the Grocery Store. Which meant patiently waiting for him to 'chuff' down the aisles looking for things a train might need, including oral hygiene products, paper-goods and diapers. We also waited (and deflected strange glances from onlookers in the city) as he 'chuffed' out of the automatic doors at the pharmacy and down the sidewalks and past the bus station toward the grocery store and while he used the always tricky self checkout line. This outing to purchase formula for Peter took no less than 2 hours.





(to view the full sized video press here, sound a must!)

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Change, not easily transfomed at Coinstar.

The boys and I recently returned from another little getaway. More of a getaway for them than me this time, but seems I have come away, once again, the one more relaxed. This time however, it was from a heavy workload, a wedding a series of style portrait sessions and family shoots. I wondered from beneath all the weight I have been pressed, "Is a trip to Florida, 10 days of single parenting, a second round of goodbyes to friends and family, a gaggle of meetings and a return to DC with hours and hours of editing what I really need right now." Perhaps not, but when one makes a date to document the beginning of someones lives, or has an opportunity to say one last"'goodbye" one must follow through.

So we left vapor trails as we flew high above the cloudline and landed in West Palm Beach one last time before our move to Brazil.

With the boys in the best of hands with Nanny, I traveled to and from my meetings and sessions like I'd never left the hustle and bustle that had become Elise Hanna Photography. Like I'd never left. I illustrated sets, I hired my first second shooter, and stylist and together we created a few of the most inspired portrait sessions I've ever shot. To view sneak previews and full features of these please visit my blog here.

The boys and I visited every family member and friend that we possibly could, with time creeping quickly by.

Jidou & Petey watching football.

Sam, Pete and their Aunt Zanne, Aunt Cameron and Uncle Mark

Back at Casa Nanny, under Sam's watchful eye, Nanny perfected her Mickey Mouse pancakes each morning



The trio explored and swam each day and Sam slumbered on a 'special guest' bed in Nanny's room each night, as I remember doing at Gram's house many years ago.

At night, equally exhausted with the boys asleep in neighboring rooms, Celeste and I ate dinner, sipped wine and chatted. Sharing thanks for all of this


I spent girls night out with my best friend, took photos of her family and had a simple and splendid breakfast at her home in our pj's the following morning. Kids playing by our sides, we said one last tearful goodbye.

But, is it ever "goodbye,"... I'm learning, no. It is only ever "see you soon."

You see I've been feeling that I needed to mourn the 'change' of my business, my life, the loss of my friends, the shift in direction that I have been undergoing, anticipating and internalizing. And much like I had been fighting having to say a second round of goodbyes, I was fighting having to return to FL and be reminded of all I'd left behind by shooting 'one last wedding' feeling the weight of my camera heavy in my hand, on my heart.

Like a campfire slowly fizzling out, campers moved on, I went back, like an idiot, for something that I thought I'd forgotten. I'd stoke the embers just to have enough light to survey the area, expecting to be saddened by one last dimly lit look at the way things used to be. But instead of being reminded of all I had lost, I was reminded of why I keep taking photos, keep cultivating and growing my business, keep cultivating and encouraging my friendships wherever they may be...because taking pictures is the one thing (besides the obv. Paul & munchkins & cherished friends) that has ever truly awakened my soul. Ever.

You see I've always been good at moving on, or so it seems. Burying the memories so deep that they aren't easily dredged up. So deep that nostalgia never oozes up and stings my eyes masquerading as fresh tears. Though, as change always does, it makes us appreciate the past as we never could otherwise. And with a heavy dose of change as of late, I have instead grown to appreciate revisiting memories, friends, and times gone by, enduring the nostalgia and high fiving the tears as they roll down my face.

Here is to a new and improved Elise Hanna Photography. A new and improved Hanna/ville family, more diverse, more tight knit and wowza! more global than ever.

Kisses on all your faces.

e

Monday, October 25, 2010

My Fam


If I had to choose only one photo of Sam to keep forever and be reminded of him as a tiny boy, this might be the one.

What people do all day...

While reading Richard Scarry's, "What People do all Day" this evening, it prompted me to ask Sam:

Me: "What does your dad do for work?"

Sam: "Daddy work at work building"

Me: "What does your mom do for work?"

Sam: "Picks up my railroad tracks"

So there you have it folks! The photography is just a bonus money maker in addition to my real job of cleaning up Sam's wooden railroad tracks from the living room floor.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Ships and Cars

The Photographer in Action











photography by Hannah Mayo (find Elise's work at www.elisehannaphotography.com)

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Little buddy