Almost there!

With less than three weeks to go till the anticipated arrival date of our newest addition, I realize this may be my last opportunity to give an Espinosa family update. They've been fewer these days as it occured to me recently that we've been living in our apartment for three years and that, as we keep our computer in a room with no ventilation whatsoever (it's a closet, attached to another closet), this room has collected three years worth of polybrominated diphenylethers (read: toxic dust), and I'm going to die if I spend much more time in here. I've gone from calling it "the interrogation room" to "the poison room." One more bullet point on the ever growing list of reasons not to renew our lease in July.

As for the baby, we still don't know if it's a boy or a girl, though I may treat you to some Coldstone Creamery if you can accurately predict the gender and the name we will pick. I love games, I do. We will be having the baby at home, Lord willing. That is, Lord willing it doesn't come out at Publix or at church. My labor with Noemie was 2 hours, with Toby it was one. The statistics are in my favor for a fast delivery, not so much in my favor for a low-stress one. What if Danny's at work? Or if it's rush hour? (My midwife is coming from Hollywood). Dominic and I drill daily on how to call 911.

There's not much new with Dominic, except for his repository of information about the human body. As we prepare for the arrival of #6, we've been studying about the different organ systems and their functions. This has always been Dominic's favorite subject, and he's been soaking it all in, right down to nerves and axons (and myelin sheaths). We've been covering one system a week: circulatory, respiratory, skeletal, muscular. The muscular system was of particular interest to Dominic who is, in typical five-year old fashion, obsessed with heros, villains, and kung fu. The muscular system is absolutely crucial to kung fu and he was quick to point this out to me in our review session this morning. (So concerned is he with the epic battle for good and evil, that he won't let me clip his toenails because he will need them should a villain bind him with ropes and his only available weapons are his feet. He will use his toenails to "slash the bad guys." Muy importante.) I hope no bad guys present themselves today because Dominic has caught a cold and at last check, had a fever of 102. He said to me, holding back tears, "When I am sick, I don't have my powers." Poor thing. And he knows exactly what he needs. White blood cells.

We share praises and requests before our prayer time when we do school every morning. Dominic's daily requests are the same- for protection for Papi at work, and for a house. A house where Iron Man can turn into a jet. Whatever that means. He built me a model of the house a few days ago.

The house comes complete with rooftop garden and carport so we don't get wet. It's mostly one-story, the second floor has only a bathroom but he made sure to put in stairs. On the reverse side of the house he actually left a gap open which, he explained to me, was for ventilation. I love this child.

Noemie, four years old in just a few weeks, lives in an alternate reality. Her daily prayer requests are for her family, that is, her doll-family, of which she is the proud mommy. But don't call them her dolls; this offends her. They are her FAMILY. Her imagination is so intense, that Danny and I will sometimes just listen in wonder to the songs she invents off the cuff or the stories she tells her FAMILY at bedtime... a steady stream of high-pitched chatter lasting, often, for over an hour. She listens in on our school lessons every day but doesn't answer any of the review questions correctly. Until candy is wagered.

Me: Noemie, can you tell me what the black hole in the center of the eye is called?

Noemie: Nope.

Me: Oh, that's too bad. I had a SweetTart for whoever could remember...

Noemie: It's...a....pupu-lah?!

Caught again! Nap times are a bit of a problem; her brain has no interest in slowing down. A few days ago we found her asleep under her trundle bed. Most days, she looks for trouble with the items we keep on our nightstand. Taking Danny's fancy pen apart... a daily occurrence. I used to do this with my dad's best pens. Danny is way more gracious than my dad ever was!

What am I implying? That my father had a temper? Let me tell you about little Andollo.

There was no question in Cristovan's first year of life that he resembled both his grandfathers. Instead, we would argue over which grandfather he resembled more. The verdict was never conclusively decided, but the tide has shifted in the direction of the Andollos. It doesn't help that, as Toby's second birthday approaches, my father's idiosyncrasies are becoming ever more apparent. Meticulousness... he will immediately pick up every grain of rice that falls from his plate or spoon and return it gingerly to its place of origin. Resourcefulness... every toy is a tool waiting for its qualities of repurposefulness to be discovered. (Is it a book? a paddle? a train? a sword? All of the above.) Cleanliness... Toby doesn't mind getting his hands dirty, but he won't abide by them staying dirty. He will ask for a napkin. (Without words, of course.) And when he has a poopie, he will bring you his diaper and a pack of wipes, no matter where in the house you are. Then he'll go to his changing pad, lay down and wait for you. When you're finished, he'll take the dirty diaper to the kitchen trash, and close all the kitchen cabinets I left open as he exits. But he's most like my dad with his temper. He's always had a reputation for being cheerful and easy going. But if you make him angry, he'll let you know. He'll wrestle Noemie to the ground if she takes something from him. He'll slam an open palm on furniture if you do something he doesn't like. The battle of wills, when taking that first bite of dinner, well, we've mentioned those before. One Sunday morning, he threw a tantrum because Danny dropped us off at church under the carport so we wouldn't get wet in the rain. Toby wanted to stay with Danny. When Danny drove off, Toby threw himself on the floor in a yelling fit, and laid in the middle of a puddle, face to the pavement. In khakis and a collared shirt, I might add. He stayed there patiently, quietly, defiantly, peeking up at me with an evil eye, until Danny finished parking and came around the corner. When his temper flares, even extended family members have taken to calling him "Andollo!" (It's the Basque roots, no doubt.)

Now obviously, I didn't know my dad when he was one-year old, but I don't think you can describe him any better as an adult than meticulous, resourceful, clean, and temperamental. And with that curly hair and the physique of a Spaniard, I'm pretty sure we got Cristovan's genetics pinned.

He still can't say anything but "gracias," "buenos dias," and "get down!" which I assume he learned at church.

So that's the Espinosa family update. I expect I'll have more to say very, very soon!