The Way We Spend Our Days

does this mean i am throwing in the towel?

2012-01-25T20:48:00.008-05:00

photo credit to the baby. there are five more for the following 5 seconds of that experience; i could basically post an almost-video of me sitting on the floor. he is like a sports photographer. also, i wear those slippers out of the house. they have a semi-solid sole.

In the same vein as the previous post, it occurred to me today when I wore what basically amounted to pajamas to the library and saw a really pretty and stylish acquaintance of mine and felt no shame, that I don't know who I am anymore. That is a big change from a few years ago, and I realized suddenly that I have changed a bit, without noticing, over the last few years. I am not saying that all of these changes (or any!) are positive. I just don't have room in my life right now for my old ways. I am sure that will change again. Do not feel judged if you are a classy person who looks nice most of the time, or do any of the other things I used to do (or wish I could do) but mysteriously no longer think to do. I was once you, or aspired to be. I still think you look great, I am just no longer inspired to try, too. nothing to do with the topic, but fun to note that porter shares andrew's love of riding in the backpack while brigham operates loud, heavy equipment. it was the only way he stopped trying to wrestle the blower from our hands.

1) I don't take much time to groom for the daily grind anymore
I used to put on makeup every. single. morning. I did not leave the house. I know I was doing this two years ago when Andrew started preschool bc I remember being late bc I could not drop him off and see everyone looking the way I look wtihout my bare minerals! If I am going out for some sort get-together with other women or with Brigham, I will (maybe!) put makeup on in the car on the way. But just for my life at the park, store etc. No. That is the first thing I scratch off the list. If I had a list. Now I am just glad to know where the car keys are (in the car, of course! best place for 'em).

2. I don't wear jeans.
This is a subpart of 1) but it is a more recent development. Over the break when we all got sick I wore sweatpants all week, and then I just couldnt go back. I have never worn tight or uncomfortable jeans, but still denim is not as cozy as sweats. I bought some yoga pants that are passably attractive and that is that. I look like I am always on the way to the gym even though I never am.
he's happy because he has the camera again. he knows he is taking photos. he has bangs over his face for another reason.

3. I don't care about being social
This is tricky to word because I don't mean to imply that I don't care about being friends with people. I guess I just noticed that earlier in my parenting years (like two years ago for sure), making friends with other moms was really really important to me. I was always interested in having another family come over to have dinner or spend time, and I needed weekly playgroups and other forms of mom-socialization to sustain me. I still enjoy those things, but I just don't really think about them anymore or make plans for them. I hope that doesn't mess with the kids' social lives!
we are pants-optional around here.

4. I am not self-conscious about my parenting. I know I am not perfect, and suddenly I am ok with other people knowing it, too. I do my best and I don't find myself cringing when my kids are being awful in public, or even wondering what the other parents think of me. I think I just assume all kids are awful sometimes, and all parents, too. It used to matter to me if my son could deliver his scripture from memory without being ridiculous into the microphone. Now I feel a little ashamed that I took that too seriously. What's a 4 year old boy to do when the opportunity to make wonderful, shocking noises into this coveted instrument suddenly becomes a tactile reality? I used to feel nervous to get together with old friends with my kids in case my children embarrassed me. Now that isn't even a thought. Maybe I just am beyond shame or something.

Maybe that is exactly what it is for all four of these.

checklist mom-ing

2012-01-24T13:02:00.010-05:00

Porter wears a given outfit (usually a sleeper, but apparently not always a sleeper) for 24 hours. He can often be found in this pose.

I think that I have overall improved as a parent over the last six years (poor Andrew!). My expectations for everyone and everything have become more realistic, for one, which has been huge for me. I am more realistic about how much sleep to expect (for myself), how much time it will take to do things, what is developmentally appropriate for each age and stage (no more being embarrassed that my 20 month old will occasionally strike me about the face or trunk or frustrated/worried about tantrums or other behaviors I used to think were a) unique to my emotionally disturbed or undisciplined kid and b) permanent. It doesn't make me crazy that the house is just going to be sorta messy during the day, and overnight here and there. I learned that an hour of happiness in front of the tv is so worth avoiding the parental tantrums that might ensue without it every once in a while, and that weekly field trips to museums were more of a pain than a payout. I know you all want me to go on to paint a clearer picture, but that will have to do.

But I also realized this week that while my stress level has gone down with my expectations, so have a few other things that were good and worthy. I basically used to live my life as if I were running a preschool. We had lessons, did a daily craft, went to the park to blow of steam. Every day. The kids were happier and my life was easier to live. Now that Andrew is in school and we are in the middle of making some good progress with Will at the dinner table, we have more constraints on our time that leave us more homebound, and somehow I am have become less preschooly. With Andrew in full day school, our center of gravity has moved up to the next level, even though I still have a toddler who could really use the home=preschool schedule. It doesn't help that there are three instead of one or two, now. Poor Porter definitely gets read to less often than the other boys. (Our bedtime reading is Harry Potter, for goodness sakes.) Yesterday I pulled out the crafts for some cutting and gluing, and I realized it had been almost a month since our last such session. I resolved to be better.

This morning I listened to this Freakonomics podcast and it reminded me of two books I read that were supposed to change my life but instead turned into mental shadows that scold me on occasion: Better and The Checklist Manifesto.
It also reminded me not to be lazy about enforcing pre-meal hand-washing, another detail that has unjustly slipped when our axis turned toward the elementary level of parenting (mostly because Andrew is now faithful at it on his own?). It also reminded me of the lesson I have learned from our issues Will, which is that eyeballing and estimating can yield grossly incorrect assessments. You have got to write everything down and do the math.

So I decided to make a list of things to check off each day for myself. I have a Mom Chart to go right next to the Boys' Chore Chart (which I hope ends up on the floor less often than their does). Living this way is not really my personality. My personality is much more laid-back and lax (the positive spin--or can I say "side"?) to being a bit sloppy. I need a bit of a report card over my shoulder to keep my accountable, to show me that even when I feel like I haven't done things well enough because I have been in bad temper or whatever millions of ways I misstep every day, I can at least see that I have met my realistic goals. I am not worried about losing the forest through the trees, or becoming too letter of the law while losing the spirit of it. I am definitely a spirit of the law person by nature, and I need some built-in letters to make sure I stay on track ("You can't understand the spirit of the law until you have lived the letter, Elder," wrote the wise dad of a fellow idiotic missionary).

I shouldn't publicize, because it just shows how much I have lowered the bar. Also I don't feel like taking a photo and going through the whole rigamarole of uploading it. Trust me, you probably already do all these things.

Gotta, go--Porter's nap time is passing me by!

obama and abortion

2012-01-21T17:24:00.009-05:00

This election is about the economy, and I am gathering my thoughts to tackle that complex issue. I know no one is paying attention to abortion this time around, except for conservatives who don't like that Romney used to be pro-choice.

But, on the anniversary of Roe v. Wade, I can't help but bring up Obama's record on abortion because it raises several huge red flags. In this single issue, Obama shows himself for the radical he is (more protective of abortion rights than any other national politician), unwilling to tell the truth about it, and pathologically accuse those who reported the truth on his record of "lying," all the while knowing that it was he, not they, who lied.

Obama has eloquently stated that "no one is pro-abortion," an attempt to distance himself from the moral implications of a practice that is becoming increasingly difficult to defend as medical technology advances and 1) makes unborn babies viable at earlier ages and 2) provides clear photographic evidence that unborn babies are not just masses of cells, but tiny humans who feel pain. Yet Obama has gone further than any politician in fighting limits on abortion, even when it meant dispensing with basic humane treatment of dying babies.

When he was a state senator, Chicago nurses came forward and testified that they had found babies that had survived an abortion attempt thrown into soiled linen closets and left to die. The state immediately tried to enact legislation to stop this, hoping to mandate comfort care to babies born alive after a failed abortion. Obama found such care too threatening to the right to choose, and not only voted against the bill, but railed against it on the floor of the state house. When confronted about this during the '08 elections he simply lied. You can read about it here.

This article on factcheck.org has all the details. The article's rhetoric demonstrates some pro-choice bias (using the term "anti-choice" instead of "pro-life") and concludes that whether Obama embraced infanticide rests on one's definition of the term. Obama did not embrace infanticide, the article states, so long as infanticide is the killing of a viable baby (as opposed to simply doing nothing while watching a nonviable, but living, baby die), but admits that Obama really did reject comfort care to babies born alive after a failed abortion, that those Obama accused of lying were actually telling the truth, and that he was the one misrepresenting the law and the facts.

Here is Obama's moving argument against requiring medical staff to not dump living human babies into dirty clothes hampers as they were dying: “As I understand it, this puts the burden on the attending physician who has determined, since they were performing this procedure, that, in fact, this is a nonviable fetus; that if that fetus, or child, however way you want to describe it—is now outside the mother’s womb and the doctor continues to think that it’s nonviable but there’s, let’s say, movement or some indication that, in fact, they’re not just coming out limp and dead, that, in fact, they would then have to call a second physician to monitor and check off and make sure that this is not a live child that could be saved.” This, he argued, was too much to ask of a doctor performing abortions, and it could also, as he put it, “burden the original decision of the woman and the physician to induce labor and perform an abortion.”

When the identical bill went before the U.S. senate, it passed unanimously. Only Obama found a bill that explicitly stated that it did not limit abortions in any way but simply required comfort care be given to babies born alive after a failed abortion was so much of a threat to the right to choose that it would be better that dying babies be left to die in piles of dirty clothes than to encumber the right to choice with a duty to provide humane care. Of course, rather than say so, he lied again, claiming that the state bill did not contain the same neutrality clause (basically stating that the law would not impinge of Roe v Wade) that the federal bill contained. The truth was that he killed off in committee the state bill that contained identical language to the federal one, lied about it and then accused those who correctly called him out on the facts liars. Fact check has it all spelled out clearly.

I know this is not going to come up in the election. It barely came up last time and Obama's lies were believed (the truth is so monstrous that it is incredible) and the media covered for him. So he got away with it and the issue died. I get that people are not voting on social issues this year and maybe no one cares about this. But it just speaks volumes to me about the man we have elected.

changes, or why i should be taking more footage of them

2012-01-20T09:48:00.004-05:00

(not posed)
A couple of months ago, just before he turned 4, Will, who had been silently mouthing words in the family room, suddenly piped up with an observation: "Mom, your name is the only one in our family that you can say without moving your tongue!" Then he demonstrated. I found myself copying him to verify. He meant, of course, "Mom," not Alexandra. But he was right. Even "dad" requires some different placement of the tongue. I should have know he was up to something.

Shortly after that, his sweet little pronunciation (or mispronunciation) of 'r' changed. He used to sort of swallow the r, in that very typical way of young kids. He is "foe" not "four," etc etc. But suddenly he began over-enunciating his rs. He was fouRRR, now. Did we want to go to the stoRRRRRe? And now his little brother is PoRRRRRteRRR. He had performed speech therapy on himself and in the couRRRRse of a few weeks he had gone from his sweet mispronunciation to funny over-enunciation and now perfect pronunciation of r. He explained that he had to do this because he wasn't saying his words coRRectly. He was tired of me sometimes being confused about what he was communicating to me. I don't even notice anymore, we are that used to the change. I even thought to myself when he was going through the transition that I needed to videotape him speaking, because he would still slip back into old ways, and I wanted to capture it before it was extinguished. But I just didn't. I found some footage of him at his birthday breakfast declaring himself to now be "foe," but it is so short.

The least I can do is record now that it happened over the Christmas season. And though I have printed it here before, this poem has taken on special relevance.

Saying Goodbye to Very Young Children

They will not be the same next time. The sayings
so cute, just slightly off, will be corrected.
Their eyes will be more skeptical, plugged in
the more securely to the worldly buzz
of television, alphabet, and street talk,
culture polluting their gazes' pure blue.
It makes you see at last the value of
those boring aunts and neighbors (their smells
of summer sweat and cigarettes, their faces
like shapes of sky between shade-giving leaves)
who knew you from the start, when you were zero,
cooing their nothings before you could be bored
or knew a name, not even your own, or how
this world brave with hellos turns all goodbye.

Perhaps this is the silver lining to Porter's failure to develop the power of speech? (He has about 10 or 12 words).

light at the end of the tunnel

2012-01-08T22:29:00.008-05:00

The hardest aspect of trials for me is not knowing how long they will last. When Will first was recommended to have an ng tube placed, Brigham and I were relatively cheerful about it. We did not relish the idea, but we felt optimistic that it would finally help him put on the weight he needed to be healthy and that it would be relatively short-term. The tube was placed in January of 2009; I was sure it would be done with by July. The time came and went and nothing really changed. He didn't even make progress in his growth. It was like we just substituted his po calories for tube calories. I really think that is what happened. And now we had to deal with vomiting, tube replacements every few weeks, skin breakdown under the tape, food refusal and the fear that his tube would get snagged or pulled (this happened more than it should have) or be put down too far, or not far enough. It sucked. But still we were not that worried, more burdened by the duties of its maintenance.

Then January of 2010 came and we switched doctors to a man who went on high alert. He was sure we were doing something very wrong, yet he seemed mystified by the problems we were experiencing (incredulous about Will's vomiting episodes and food refusal). Accusatory that I had not gotten Will in to a full-time treatment facility (6 weeks long, out of town), judgmental that I was pregnant when I was so clearly failing with my current kids. That was when we started to lose hope that Will would just grow out of this. We got really stressed and Will's struggles with food seemed to intensify. We were bolusing him constantly, and he threw up multiple times a day. By the fall of that year, we had switched doctors again to someone who thought to prescribe antacid to get the vomiting under control (it worked, but by now it was August) and had his g-tube placed. His g-tube surgery brought out the saddest little boy I have ever seen. I think he felt betrayed by us when he had been promised this miraculous transformation and he awakened to a thick foot long tube hanging out of his stomach (you can see it in the photo below). He wouldn't walk for a week, he couldn't keep anything down. He developed a facial tic. He lost weight. We did a feeding treatment out of town and he made some progress, but not enough to be kept on for the second week. The therapist said he seemed depressed and that we would be wasting our money and our opportunity to use the facility and that we should go home. A month later his tube was pulled out of his stomach when he was playing a climbing game in the back of my parents' car. More trauma.

Will grew well during the rest of that year and into 2011, but it was only because of the tube feedings. But we were happy and relieved that at least he was healthy and growing. We started to despair that this was our new life, and to despair that maybe we were looking at years and years of daytime tube feedings and nightly hook-ups to a feeding machine, diapers, soaked sheets and clothes. We felt so sad for Will that one of life's great pleasures--food--was his deepest aversion, and that he had to face it multiple times a day. It was like a disability, a type of blindness.

I told him on New Years this year when we shared our family resolutions that I knew this would be his year of not needing his tube anymore. I thought there was a 50-50 chance of making enough progress that we would only need to supplement at night, which would be life changing in itself. But Will was so happy at this news of mine. He believed me, I guess.

He also came down with the flu. While this meant 24 hours of sickness for the rest of us, for Will it meant 7 days of vomiting and fever. He ended up with strep and double ear infections. We couldn't feed him anything other than pedialyte and he lost weight like crazy. We failed to order more enteral supplies and ended up without his night bags, too, for a few days. We felt like the worst parents.

I don't know how much of it was my declaration of faith that Will would make progress this year and how much was the total cessation of tube feedings (which we have tried periodically and in many forms before to no avail), but Will has been eating totally normally all week. He has asked for new foods and declared his approval of them. We have not had to bolus or supplement at all. Maybe it is too soon to say that he has turned a corner, but the change in him is so stark that I can't help but feel that he has. We used to be so pleased when he would take a bite or two of something without throwing up or complaining. Now he is eating things he used to claim to hate (like chocolate cake), and eating them in appropriate amounts.

This is life changing for him and for us. I was worried about whether I could send him to kindergarten. I was worried that he would always feel different and strange, always hate food, always feel a little sick from the bolusing needed to keep him healthy. It seems that all of that might be in our rearview mirror now. It came on like a miracle.

I am praying that he will keep this up, and that maybe he can even forget about his life of hating food and he can continue forging his way into a new adventure of tastes. Maybe even one day he will be fat. A mother can dream.

the new drew

2011-12-03T21:52:00.004-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, Andrew woke up one morning a changed child. Brigham and I are thrilled--and terrified that he will wake up with the switch flipped again and revert back to the way he was.

At the beginning of the school year, I had to institute a mantra: "If you cannot do your duty, at least go floppy." This was in reference to the fact that Andrew would refuse to awaken, and then refuse to dress himself. Reasonable enough, right? I was willing to meet him in the middle: if only he would just not resist me when I dressed him and readied him for school. Many was the morning in which I would finally cram him into his uniform only to return to the room a few minutes later and find him naked. I was not in a good place during those weeks.

He now wakes up to his own alarm at 7am (parenting tip: giving them ownership of their own schedule in the form of a really cool alarm clock is a very effective strategy.) He dresses, brushes his teeth and then comes and gets me up. We meet downstairs where he has started preparing for breakfast (I have been leaving the cereal down low in hopes and dreams that this day might arrive). He cleans up his dishes and is in the car on time. When we get home from school, he immediately does his homework, while wearing his uniform-- to stay in the spirit of things, he more or less explained. He meticulously cleans his room each night and observes that "your room doesn't really look good until you have made up your bed." I feel like I am living in a dream.

But there are still shadows of his old self, too. The other day he was counting his money in his piggybank. "YOu know where I get all my money, mom?" "From doing your chores?" I ask, knowing that we really never established any sort of payment system.

"No," he told me. "I get it from careless people who leave it lying around."

Well, even if his behavior modification has come from some recognition that sloppiness yields getting taken advantage of, I will take it. I will not complain at all.

andrew's anti-smoking campaign

2011-12-02T23:39:00.005-05:00

At dinner the other day somehow the subject of smoking came up. We took the opportunity to remind Andrew that he is never to smoke. Andrew agreed that he would not, and provided the following three reasons to Aunt Abby as to why he would not:

"First, my mom told me not to.

Second, it makes you die.

Third, I am too young."

Just when I think that I have no real authority in the house, I at least know that on some level you appreciate my instruction.

today

2011-12-02T21:49:00.005-05:00

Sometime after Andrew got home and before the pizza arrived (as per our usual Friday night), I came very very close to locking myself in my room and taking a bath with the baby (who is probably not really a baby baby at 19 months, but he couldn't be left alone dumping water from cup to cup at the sink for too much time, right?).

Andrew was upset because we were not going swimming (per our usual Friday afternoon), Will was crying because Andrew was obstructing our ability to go to the park, Porter had dumped probably a quart of water all over the counter and floor by now but I just didn't have the strength of soul to stop his little napless determined self.

But somehow I didn't yell or cry, and somehow Andrew just stopped moaning about the pool and got dressed to go to the park and we made it there with everyone more or less pulled together emotionally.

We immediately met a truly wonderful dog. He bounded over to us with his tennis ball and before we knew it the kids were using the owner's ball thrower to play fetch. Chewy ended up following the kids all over the playground and I briefly entertained unreasonable thoughts of owning a dog, so long as he could be so kid-friendly and awesome as Chewy. I also found the little sweater I bought full priced (over priced) for Porter the night before we had our family photos taken and as a result have felt the need to wear every day to get our money's worth. It had sat at that park for a few days and rainy nights while my disorganized and messy self hoped it was just overlooked in the car. But there it was, no worse for wear at all.

After getting super weird for the kids while pushing them--a row of puffy-coated (red, navy, green)--on the swings and them laughing hysterically and me wondering how my behavior was shaping or warping their senses of humor and whether I should reign myself in a bit and then discovering that the pizza man has called me twice and must have arrived before the time I had asked (which is fine, but which I must mention to show that I was not irresponsible for once) we left. And we left happy.

Will did end up throwing up (for the second time today) the few bites he choked down and all that milk (8 ounces!), Porter did resume his spot at the sink on his learning tower/watering station and my headache did resume and rage, but somehow we really did all stay in good moods, even if I had to miss out on Fantastic Mr. Fox while putting Porter to bed and cleaning up 4 plots of vomit that stopped right at the bathroom door. At least there is something to be said for Will's previously professional-level vomiting downgrading to typical kid never reaching the toilet throw-up. There are some things in life you don't want a 4 year old to be very good at.

I can't help but think that I wish I had a nice, faithful retriever at my feet as I type. Maybe my husband just needs to get home.

now he is six

2011-10-19T21:51:00.006-04:00

Andrew turned six on Tuesday and I believe this was the most emotional I have been about a birthday. It is probably not a coincidence that this is also his first year of full-day school. It truly is a new era in our home and while Andrew is learning and growing and all that he is doing is good and appropriate, we miss him pretty terribly. I still can't believe that his years of being very young have passed. It all went so quickly! If only I had known just how fast it would be over.
At six, Andrew is an extraordinarily helpful and mature little boy. He takes wonderful care of Porter and is a reliable friend and playmate to Will (though their relationship can, and has once done so during Sacrament meeting in front of a very stern member of the congregation, disintigrate into a fistfight.) Remembering that Wednesday is Will's class at the National Botanical Gardens, his first question upon entering the car at pick-up was to inquire of Will how it went. Today when another physical altercation erupted and both boys had to cool off in their rooms, I overheard them apologizing to each other and making up over their walkie-talkies.
Andrew has risen to the very real challenge that Kindergarten has brought on; he is reading wonderfully and is working hard on his handwriting. He says that math is is favorite subject, recognizing that it is an important skill for his current ambition of becoming a pilot/astronaut. He writes his 7s backwards extremely reliably. I find it endearing.

He loves to ride his bike in the cul-de-sac with our neighborhood friends. He prefers showers to baths, now, but he is not showering solo just yet. He now enjoys the "shower-bath" with his brothers. He initiated a pattern in our home of turning on his Christian rock music (from the Bible camp he attended over the summer) after bathtime when we are getting ready for bed. Porter loves to dance to it so much that Andrew calls the music his "Porter Magnet." He loves to build with legos, trio and magna-tiles and to play with his helicopter. He loves listening to Harry Potter each night before bedtime. He still likes being around us (his parents) and even informed us point-blank that he was "jealous" that we were Will's primary teachers and not his.

Andrew has always had a silliness to his personality and a love of fun. Recently his class was cutting pictures from magazines of items they needed for their wagon trip were they to be pioneers. Andrew glued toilet paper, a tv, a cell phone and a few other gadgets and fun things to his page. He thought it was hysterical. When I asked him what he would really bring, he told me food, a blanket and a hatchet.

We still do "songs and rubs" every night. Brigham sings him some missionary songs, but I have stuck with my original three: Amazing Grace, You are My Sunshine and As I Have Loved You.

I have more regrets about how I have parented Andrew than I do about Will and Porter. I am a better mom now than I was, and I wish I could re-do many, many moments in his little life. He is a sweet, very sensitive, funny and energetic little boy and I love him so much. He was my first little companion, and he has only gotten more and more companionable as he has gotten older (well, most of the time).

A month or so ago, Brigham and I had the following email exchange about Andrew:

From Alexandra to Brigham:
Brig, Maybe it was a good thing that i crashed the mini because I do not think it could have navigated the extensive flooding on the way home from Reston just now. It was really scary and at one point it felt like we might not make it through one of the big lakes on rt 7. Finally home. Also fortunately, though I had awakened porter to go, he was so tired he fell asleep again on the way and did not wake up again until a few miles from home.

Andrew was in a great mood but then began verbally abusing me when I told him that he could borrow, but not have, my small point and shoot camera. He is in his room blasting Christian rock as we speak.

Love you and I am worried about your travels home tonight. Be so careful.

Love
Woober

From Brigham to Alexandra:
Soon that Christian Rock will be Megadeth, and Andrew will be strong enough to punch holes in the walls. We have so much to look forward to.

Andrew had a wonderful time at his birthday party and was filled with joyful avarice about his presents. He told me today that the coolest gift he got was the walkie-talkie set from my parents. He then told me that the helicopter I got him was "the kindest" gift. Porter had broken the one he received when he was 2 (!!) and had played with reliably over the last four years. He was heartbroken when Porter broke it, so I replaced it with the version Costco puts out now and waited for his birthday to arrive to present it. I loved that he felt that it was so kind of me to replace it.

While it is honestly hard for me to believe that he is as old as he is (I feel like he should be 4), from the things he says and the observations he makes, I feel like he should be a lot older than 6.

haunted house

2011-10-17T20:06:00.003-04:00

My first step was to look up Martha Stewart halloween decor so that I could copy. I liked the idea of the witches brooms forming and X across the door, so when I saw such brooms at the thrift store last week, I was sure to buy. They were a serious pain to hang and I think I should get credit for my resourcefulness (I untwisted wire hangers). I repurposed some items from last year, moving last year's mantle display of the bat and associated cave to the door frame. I was going to hang some of the other bats we cut out from MS templates but it is supposed to rain later this week and I can't go to all the trouble of hanging them and taking them down again. They will appear shortly before the wicked night itself.

Will declared the porch "not spooktacular at all!" and we decided to do more. Some might say that this is where we got sloppy, but I say let the children decide what is truly in keeping with the spirit of Hallow's Eve. So we made two spider webs, one on each door frame. Will placed the plastic spiders in it.

Do you see the white pumpkin peeking out of the basket? So sppoky.

I am torn between believing in utter restraint in Halloween decorating and getting totally crazy and in the spirit. Sure, less is cuter, but is that what the season is all about?

love according to andrew

2011-09-30T22:31:00.003-04:00

a conversation

me, nursing the baby while andrew does homework at the kitchen table: "Porter always wants me to kiss the bottoms of his feet while I nurse him."

andrew, without looking up: "well, you love him, so why don't you just do it." and a nonchalant little shrug.

i have the most interesting conversations with a little boy who is just about to turn six.

thoughts i keep coming back to

2011-09-13T23:28:00.007-04:00

I keep a private blog of our family life, and was looking through it the other day when I found this post from early 2008. That was when I was in the throes of sleep training and heated sibling rivalry (one-sided, as Andrew had a hard time accepting his first little brother). I feel I have developed as a mother in many ways (though we never made much headway on the sleep issue; now it seems funny to me that i even seriously tried), mainly in that I am less anxious about some of the behaviors because I realize so much is just a stage rather than a personality disorder, but some of the thoughts still resonate with me so much. And some are even sadder now because the chapter has closed a bit on that phase of my parenting with Andrew, to whom these paragraphs were addressed. (Andrew, 11 mo on Middle East trip)

You have been repeating many of the things that i say. One thing I hear echoed back at me is: "Its too late. Too late!" I do say that to you when I give you a chance to comply and you don't until after I have already let that fateful "three!" fall from my lips. But I am also realizing that it applies to a lot more than just whether you get your LIghtnings back.

Soon it will be too late to have these days of a 2 1/2 year old boy who adores me and a tiny little baby back again. Too late to cuddle iwth you on the couch. Too late to have you want to sit in my lap and listen to stories. Too late to teach you gentleness through gentleness. Too late to show you that you are loved, that you are capable. Too late to enjoy our days together.

I realize that all is not lost and that I can (and do, I hope) show you that you are loved and are capable and that we are a happy family. But I also realize that these things will not automatically happen, that I can possibly waste teh days of my probation as a mom, that I can miss out on the chance to bond with you, to help you grow into a happy and productive adult, someone with confidence. It happens all the time, doesn't it? And no one intends for that to happen. We all go into this parenting thing so well-meaning.

You know, I really don't know what I am doing here, in this parenting thing. It is all a big experiment, every day, every struggle. I am guessing at what the correct method of handling a prescribed situation is, and I think you don't realize how lost I sometimes feel, how lucky and grateful I feel when something I have dreamed up seems to work.

It is still an experiment, and now that I have entered the Elementary School Phase of parenthood, I have a whole new curve to navigate. Back to School Night tonight was interesting for many reasons, one of them being the opportunity to see the different types of parents. I don't think I am much of a Tiger Mom, unless becoming grouchy counts. I just want my kids to be interested in the world, and confident in their ability to seek out and pursue the things they love. I am so glad to have the Gospel in our lives to help me in my efforts.

Despite all my mistakes and fumblings, we have had such a happy little time together. Remember?

september i remember babies once new have now grown old

2011-09-09T00:02:00.007-04:00

Old enough for school, at least. Well, just Andrew. Will is doing a year of a home preschool co-op with some other moms, and I think it is going to be perfect. Andrew in his uniform, Porter in an outfit Andrew used to wear at that age. I bought it in Salt Lake City and it feels like 2 years ago.There actually was a really sweet moment just after I captured this one where the boys were all embracing one another, but this is what I have.
The water fountain is a big deal among these guys.
I think, despite how much I long to swipe his hair back off his forehead, that this photo really captures how he was feeling: excited and nervous.
We sneeked back to peek in on him. This is the back of his little head at his table.
I was so consumed with taking photos and being on time etc that I didn't feel my goodbye hug and kiss was meaningful enough. After he went in, I wanted to snatch him back for a big long tight squeeze. But it was too late. I cried on the drive home and avoided looking at the baby pictures of him around the basement. Three o'clock came surprisingly fast.

the importance of being andrew

2011-08-27T20:56:00.007-04:00

After finishing The Help (it was fine but not a book I will read again), I was inspired by one of the character's childcare tactics and began replicating it in my home. Every night I have the children repeat to me: "I am good. I am kind. I am loved," and so on. Andrew sighs when he does it, but I still think he likes it even if it embarrasses him. The other day I teasingly incorporated it into my instruction that they apply bug spray (to their kind, sweet, important selves). Andrew looked at me and said,

"Mom, I am not important."

My heart drops. I have abused and mistreated my firstborn!

"Yes, Andrew, you are important. You are very important!"

"Yes, ok, I know that I am important *to you,*" (he actually stressed that part) "but it is not like I am . . . in the military or something."

I chose that moment to talk to him about how God has a plan for him (I didn't mention that He has a plan for everyone--that can come in its own time), and that he will learn more about that plan as he grows. He was very excited to hear that we know some of it already from his baby blessing. I wished that we could talk more about people's destinies in light of the brilliance of Harry Potter, but we are only on book 2.

But you know what else you are, Andrew, aside from being important? Pretty darn sophisticated, to objectively see your importance relative to the world. I can think of a few politicians who could benefit from a similar sense of self.

to the dutch-german matron who saved my life, if i had your address i would write you a thank you note which my dad would end up having to mail for me

2011-08-27T13:08:00.002-04:00

August seems to know that its time has come. It has felt like early fall all week here in Virginia, and when Porter and I went outside to feel the wind and see the pre-hurricane (Irene) rainfall for ourselves, it was pleasantly chilly. But I am sad to see summer go this year. Its end marks the beginning of Phase 2, the Elementary School Years, in this household, and I am not sure I am ready yet. Emotionally.

Yesterday when I went to the store because we were all out of milk, and also I felt a bit of social pressure to somehow get ready for the hurricane, I saw people in my neighborhood unloading cases of food and supplies. We have a gas stove, a gas grill outside and plenty of canned goods, including Will's formula and supplies. I am just not that worried. The kids are always making off with our flashlights so I had a passing whim in the store to pick up another, or maybe just batteries, but after a brief and futile look-out down the aisles I let it go. We can make it through an evening and figure something out, if it even comes to that. I have such trouble pinning down all the little things in life, but I realize that all those little things add up, and on those little things turn so many of the big, obvious ones that sometimes I wonder how I even ended up where I am, having done any of the things I have managed to get done.

I was at the pool recently and suddenly remembered an event from last summer that I had intended to record because it meant so much to me at the time, but of course last summer was so awful and overwhelming at the time, though now I associate it mostly with losing my reality in endless episodes of Veronica Mars, baking multiple peach cobblers and spending as much times as I could devote to nursing Porter that it has taken on a warm and comforting haze that my nostalgia-itis (probably foruntately) glazes over everything once it gets a few miles behind me. It is funny how I am now okay with admitting how hard last summer was, when at the time I was pretty ashamed that I couldn't manage my life barely at all. Yesterday, my dad was carrying groceries into my house over my objections that his leg, which has been really troubling him lately, should not take such strain. "I am not the kind of person who can sit by and watch others work," was his reply, and I really admire people like that and want to be that person myself, and that remark is the best way I can think at this moment (and I only have this moment0 to explain how embarrassing it was to me to be the farthest from that person I could possibly have been last summer.

So last summer I took the kids to a pool in Fairfax so I could do a monthly visit with some women from my church. I was slightly worried about Will's continence in the pool because, though he had been solidly potty-trained some months previous, he was just in bad shape health-wise and I never knew what might happen. You might think that I would have put a swim diaper on him, and I would have if I had one, but of course I didn't and obviously I couldn't ask to borrow one since that would inconvenience someone almost as much as it would inconvenience a whole bunch of people if he pooped in the pool. Which he did. Still, if I could change one thing about that day it would not be the diaper situation (for that would have meant I would not have met St. German Lady), but the fact that I stupidly admitted that it was my kid who caused the damage, rather than just identify some anonymous poop in the water.

Somehow I get Will into the ladies' bathroom to wash up, but I have a 2 month old who is screaming and squirming and I have nowhere to put him. I am struggling to get Will's disgusting and soiled suit off of him and the poop is spilling out the side and I wish I just had someone to hold the baby, when this Woman comes over to me. She is everything you imagine when you think of a 60 year young, strong, tall German matron. I think she was even topless. I had caught her mid-some act of practicality and purpose, but when she saw something else needed to be done she wasted no time on the extraneous. She took Will's suit off, picked up--bare-handed-- the poop that had fallen onto the floor and disposed of it, then washed Will out (again, with her bare hand and soap from a dispenser). Then she took his suit and washed it out in the sink with soap until it dripped with fresh-and-cleanness. She did it all in about 3 minutes. She was wonderful and I wanted to cry with gratitude. I wish she was a character in my life, but I just got her for those few minutes and then she was gone.

We went back to the pool where I pretended that Will's swim diaper had simply leaked rather than admit it had not existed. The rest of the day was unremarkable, and all I could think about was that wonderful lady. I am bogged down in my own life, with my own issues and my kids' various needs, but I am going to find a way to be that lady. Except for the bare-handed poop disposal, part. I mean, getting a paper towel wouldn't have been too extraneous to the effort. Though, I admit, she would have lost points for style.

St. German Matron, wherever you are, our paths crossed so briefly, but I will never forget you.

happy father's day

2011-06-19T20:53:00.003-04:00

To the only man who will still love you even after you step all over him. Dads are the best.

We had a low-key father's day this year. As much as I really believe in celebrating each occasion with as much fan fare possible, I am just so tired these days. When Porter stops waking up every few hours I will stop making excuses. I tried to make a little photo/video montage, but my lack of knowledge impeded my intentions. Because Brigham is the nicest husband and dad, or because he is used to me, he didn't mind. A mushroom and onion omlette for breakfast and some hand-made cards summed up our celebration of the most important man in our lives. Dinner at my parents' house (speaking of Father's day and another man of huge importance in our lives) followed by flashlight hide and seek in the house

As for the photo above, that picture was taken today, in fact. I had wanted to get a shot of all the boys in a pile with their dad on Father's day, but by the time we got the flash working (ie Brigham got it working for me), Will had found a new perch. Brigham took it lying down.

365 days of porter

2011-05-22T13:37:00.004-04:00

I may say this every year for the rest of my life, but this was the fastest year ever. I worry that I failed to capture all the moments and milestones photographically, and I fear that Porter did not receive all the attention that his older brothers both enjoyed at the same age. In fact, when I look back over last summer I am surprised to realize that Porter was alive at that time. Isn't that terrible? I was so caught up in Will's issues that I think both Andrew and Porter were shifted a bit to the side. They can discuss it in-depth one day from the comfort of the therapist's couch; be it known that I did my unmedicated best.

Now for the details only his mother will care about.

At a year, you had four-going-on-six teeth. Two top front and bottom, and the two canines growing in. You were 19 lbs 9 oz, 10th % for weight and 75% for height. (This despite my obsession with calories and access to milk. I just have small kids!).

You began walking at 11 months, one week. You first walked in your bedroom, to Andrew. We do have that on tape.

You clap, kiss, hug and wave, spontaneously and on command. You say "dada" and "Bah!" (for bye). You point every time you see something interesting (in your world this usually consists of dogs, cats, birds or the bunny family that shares our yard) and exclaim either "dah! or "cah!" (exclusive to cats, whereas everything else is a Dah!).

You love to dance, and do so whenever any music plays, when someone sings, or if you speak or rhyme in a certain way. You've got rhythm. You are the only child in the household who can play the recorder without damaging our eardrums, too. I am very proud of our little rendition of Mary Had A Little Lamb. You provide the wind and I provide the fingers, and together we can play most anything.

You love to climb. It is pretty horrible. You have been "death climbing" (Andrew's term) on the steps since well before me moved into our new house in March. You have moved on to climbing up ladders and even on top of our 24 inch backless counter stool. I looked over in the kitchen and there you were, standing straight up on that slippery smooth stool, ready for a concussion.

Why no, he is not yet sleeping through the night, thanks for asking. But he is down to one nap a day. He is usually a great little table companion, feeding himself from the food dumped on his tray. He prefers to use a fork of his own. He likes black beans, blueberries, melons, noodles, cheese (shredded or stick) and peas. He will eat meat that is shredded. He prefers sippy cups with built-in straws (which is what I use exclusively with Will). Porter loves to blow bubbles with his milk and then dump a bunch out through the pin hole on the lid. I know he will do this, but I let him have the cups anyway. A combination of maternal exhaustion and my eternally springing hope that this time will be different.

Porter, you just love to be tenderly rubbed. If someone strokes your face or neck, you will immediately freeze to soak up the sensation.

Your favorite things to do are play catch (though in your version you hand-deliver the ball to me), bite the ends off of your brother's nerf darts, and direct toy cars around in the floor. You love to go outside and crawl around. You insist on getting rides on Will's scooter and have tried to insist on riding Andrew's bike but I draw my line at physical impossibility.

You love ice-cream and it seemed only right (and delicious and easy) for your birthday cake to be a BR ice cream cake.

You also love the tub and will go wild in it every single night. If I were prone to worrying about anything besides kidnapping, I would worry that you would injure yourself with your stunts. You once tried to climb up the far corner, fell and became completely submerged. Before I could do anything, you flipped over under the water and pushed yourself to the surface. You didn't even cry. If I mention the tub or bath, you will immediately begin miming splashing and then will begin chirping away. I cannot characterize the sounds you make as really anything other than chirps.

Having witnessed countless wrestling matches btwn his brothers and dad, Porter is ever-ready for a fight. When the mood strikes him, he will lumber over to one of his brothers and launch and attack. He even does it with a little baby roar.

Since Will won't be reading this post, it is safe to admit here that Porter has a preference for his oldest brother. Port, you just love Andrew and always wants to play with him.

Port-Pie, in a year that was otherwise the most difficult and stressful of my life (and I am counting high school in that), you were a ray of sunshine. A ray that would not stop shining, right in my sleepless eyes even at 3 am, but a ray none the less. I love you and I know I am so blessed to get to be your mom. I make a lot of mistakes, but I think you might be tough enough to survive anyway.

Love always,

Mom

my new (quick, easy, delish) pizza pie

2011-05-13T22:05:00.004-04:00

not my pizza. but in case you needed a visual.
Friday Night Movie Nights usually means ordering Dominos, but tonight I made the best homemade pizza I have ever had. I have terrible luck with homemade pizza crust. It is usually tasteless and not a great texture. And it usually involves hours of rising. I found a recipe that looked like it would fit my time constraints, kept my expectations low and made a few easy modifications. Here is the original recipe with my modifications parenthetically:

1 package active dry yeast or 2-ish teaspoons
1 teaspoon white sugar (I put 2 1/2 tsp sugar)
1 cup warm water (not hot)
2 1/2 cups flour (I added 1 tsp gluten and mixed well. I think this was the biggest improvement to the recipe)
2 tablespoons olive oil (I added an extra T olive oil)
1 teaspoon salt
optional - herbs, fresh or dried, olives etc (didn't have any, but I did shake some oregano on the cheese before baking)

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F (230 degrees C).
In a medium bowl, dissolve yeast and sugar in warm water. Let stand until creamy, about 10 minutes.
If adding any dried or fresh herbs etc add to the oil to ensure a good dispersion through the crust.
Stir in flour, salt and oil to yeast mix. Stir until combined. Let rest for 5 minutes.
Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface and pat or roll into a round.
Transfer crust to a lightly greased pizza pan or oven tray dusted with cornmeal or flour.
Spread with desired toppings and bake in preheated oven for 15 to 20 minutes, or until golden brown.
**I sometimes make with half plain flour and half wholemeal.
**Dough can be left (post mixing) for half an hour to ensure a thinner crust (I cut and pasted this line from the original page, but I don't understand why leaving it post-mixing would yield a thinner crust. I did not let it rise at all (beyond the 5 min in the bowl) and it was a nice fluffy crust with a crisp bottom.)

I also discovered that we had no sauce, so I modified a homemade pasta sauce. Here is the original link: http://smittenkitchen.com/2010/01/tomato-sauce-with-butter-and-onions/
To that I added a small can of tomato paste, discovered that made it bitter so then added a tsp or two of sugar, some parm shake cheese and a bit of dried Italian herbs until it tasted right. I cooked the sauce for like 15 minutes on a fast little boil.

Covered everything in mozz and cheddar (and added the onions from the pasta sauce). I baked it on a pizza stone, which is an absolute must if you want to enjoy homemade pizza.

Will informed me that the smell of the pizza made him sick, and Andrew rejected it after a bite, but I maintain that this is good pizza. Brigham admitted that he was sad when he saw the remains on the stone, believing himself to be in for a night of soggy cardboard tastelessness but changed his tune. During my interrogation of him re the pizza, he said that it was the best homemade pizza he has had and if it were served at a restaurant people would like it. Admittedly, Brigham is no gourmand (his primary goal in eating is "to get full"), but I liked it, and at the end of the day, that is all that matters.

pearls

2011-03-30T19:57:00.005-04:00

I had a friend in college whose high school English teacher nicknamed Pearl because every time my friend opened his mouth, the teacher explained, a pearl of wisdom dropped out. That story would not have charmed me the same way if 1) my friend were not a guy and 2) not a total socialist/anarchist/misanthrope who was also very funny but in a quiet and overlooked kind of way. But even after all those years (and it has been far too many) I cannot help but think of that little anecdote every time I feel I have stumbled upon my own pearl of wisdom. Most of my pearls are really obvious ones that others consider simply common sense parts of their ways and days, but I am alas laboring at the base of my organizational/parenting/acting like an adult pyramid and treasure other people's basic essentials.

Today Andrew refused, once again, to get out of bed. We were so late to school that we were almost also late to Will's first day of soccer practice which started an hour after Andrew's school did (and which I wanted to skip because it is outside and way too cold but that cursed little thing is so smart and remembered that I had told him the other day that he would start soccer on Wed and he got dressed in a track suit that would be "the perfect outfit to wear!" to his event. So we went. And the practice ended with bubble blowing, just saying.) I get so frustrated with Andrew over his inability to just get up and get dressed in a reasonable amount of time. Suddenly it came to me like a bolt of lighting that he just needed to go to bed way earlier (see paragraph above, final sentence). I put him in bed by 8 most nights but there are plenty of nights in there where I let him stay up to see Brigham or to cram in a reading lesson or extra reading time, because those things are important. But not, I realized this morning, as important as him getting enough rest to awake by 8 without the terrible trouble we experience most mornings.

So I decided this morning that he would go to bed very early tonight. Yes, it started out as a punishment, but then I saw the real wisdom in it. Simply by making his bedtime a rigid point on the clock, regardless of other circumstances, we could start out our days on the right foot for everyone. How easy, and yet it took me so long to figure out this simple solution to a chronic (really, daily) problem. At 7:30 tonight both boys were in bed and the baby was on his way. And an image of Mel Gibson with blue face paint and long hair immediately flooded my mind.

Another pearl I discovered this week was how to take a big step forward with Will's eating troubles. My friend was talking with me about it and she caused me to have a real breakthrough. Again, it should have been so obvious to me already, but I think I was sort of lost in a forest of too much medical information. No doctors have really thought, at this point, that Will had a medical condition causing him to refuse to eat. "If I have to give a name, I call it: Sensitive Boy Syndrome," my Thai pediatric GI concluded happily. But my friend had witnessed little Will vomit twice in as many days after willingly eating a very minimal amount of food and some of her remarks and observations led to me reexamine the conclusion that there is nothing medically wrong with Will. I knew that Will suffered from chronic stomach irritation caused by excessive acid in his stomach, but that was the only physical symptom ever found, and it was sort of ignored by the doctors. But the fact was that Will told me his stomach hurt when he eats and that his tummy tells him to stop. There is just no way to train a kid to eat when it hurts his body to do so. He is not some 16 year old cheerleader trying to lose weight; he is a little boy who has struggled since he was a baby. All the clues seemed to point to GERD. I began feeding him a special GERD diet (unfortunately it is a low-fat diet in addition to being low-acid) and he has gone from vomiting every other day and refusing food at all meals to eating mostly normal sized meals and drinking all his milk (6 oz). I will see what the doctor thinks on Friday.

One big failure of mine is that I have not been faithfully keeping a food journal for Will. I have a lot of excuses (we moved, I have a baby to care for, meal times are hectic and overwhelming etc) but the bottom line is that none of them are good enough to pardon it. I just need to do it.

It made me think about how my dad said that in the Marine Corps there are no justifiable reasons for failing to accomplish a task. You were either too lazy or too stupid and you were forced to admit to which. He has basically lived his life according to that principle, and once taught a Priesthood lesson on home-teaching using the too lazy-too stupid concept. The men tried to come up with a circumstance in which their home teaching neglect could be something other than their being too lazy or dumb, but at the end of the day the only justifiable reason was coma or death. What a great lesson, and my dad is a great guy to teach it since he happens to be a very nice person who everyone likes. They probably felt shocked that he told them they were too lazy or stupid to do their hometeaching, but I guess it was okay because he just made them see it (and say it) for themselves. Pearl. It still makes me laugh to think of some of the exchanges that went down in that lesson (my dad wrote me about it on my mission) and how my dad would ask, after being told that the failed home teacher explained that he was in the hospital, whether he didn't pick up the phone and call because he was too stupid to think of it or too lazy to do it. Double pearl!

I count it also as a pearl to realize that for me most of the time my stupidity and laziness are rivers that flow from the same ocean. Or into the same ocean. Or something like that. You know, symbiotic etc etc etc.

I am reading a parenting book that is going to change our lives and my children's future therapy needs. Brigham says that these books I read are just common sense, which is true. But common sense so easily flies out the window when everyone is naked, the house is a wreck and I am late. Basically, the bottom line is that as the parent you need to remain in control of your kids, in control of the situation and in control of yourself. If you lose self-control, you have lost the battle already. This is not new to me, but I need constant refreshers. This week, week the first after reading From Chaos to Calm, has been a really good one. It has been good to just look at each problem and trouble shoot it without letting the significance of why or what it will lead to spin out of control. Andrew is a pain in the morning, so put him to bed earlier and move on. No need to yell or get angry, just need to get him more time to sleep. Also, I need more time to sleep.

Well, it is nine o'clock which means I better go grocery shopping! Seriously. "But that's okay!" (Will's signature line circa 2009). It occurred to me today that Andrew's "I have a nice idea!" bit has fallen out of his phraseology. Sad. On the bright side, does that mean he will soon forget that unfortunate word I used in front of him that one time(s)?

happy birthday, john updike

2011-03-18T11:01:00.003-04:00

I suppose it is strange to miss someone you have never met and to actually feel a little sweep of loneliness at the thought that this unmet person is not experiencing this weather, hearing these current events, just existing as part of this world with you, but that is how I feel about John Updike. I don't love all his books (I have actually only read a small handful), but his poetry and short stories are among my favorite.

Yesterday my dad helped me transfer a lovely dresser that my mom's dad had built for my uncle probably 50 years ago. Because it was hand-made and therefore the drawers could not be interchanged, each drawer had someone's (Papa's, probably) handwritten instruction as to which chest the drawer belonged (he had built three identical) and in which order it belonged. "Philip #2."

I liked that Papa could speak to me across time, though he never meant it like that and I am imbuing a sentimentality entirely inappropriate both for my relationship with him (there was not much of one) and the actual sentiment expressed. It was only telling me which drawer went where, after all, not some life guidance from the grave ("Marry for love!").

I hate that word (grave.) I don't like to think about things like that, probably because I do it way too much. I combat these thoughts with hobbies and frivolties about decorating or crafting, and I realize even as I write this that I don't really believe that those things are totally frivolous. Despite the fairly communist aesthetic I maintained for most of my life (that anything decorative was a waste of money and time), I have come to feel the opposite. Beauty isn't wasteful and materialistic (well, I guess it can be in extremes); it uplifts people's spirits and imbues the ordinary with a sense of . . . . well, happiness, I guess. It is just the way we humans respond. And now that I have children of my own and carry around this heavy sense that I am responsible for creating their little universe of childhood, I want all of that weather to be perfect. I want to make each event special, each day happy and light, so these color choices and flowers and meals and special little birthday signs or plates, they all matter. Maybe too much, I will one day look back and see. But I am working in my here and now and this is what my sense of things tells me to do.

But regardless of the fact that the dresser was made by a man I didn't know all that well and whose handwritten numerical ordering splashes me with a dose of sentimentality that is silly, I take a sense of happiness in knowing that little Porter has a dresser that was made by his great-grandfather and that people can be connected and remembered in these small ways far beyond what they ever would have imagined for things done for an entirely different purpose. Just like my flowers or birthday plate or whatever.

Which, I totally realize, is all the more reason for me to eliminate yelling and anger from the sounds of this little world I am trying to create for the boys. Yes, I suppose cutting out the yelling should take precedence, but we do what we can, right?

I often have compared my sentiments about Updike with those for Papa. I think that in the end, and for different reasons entirely, I miss them in rather the same way.

Missy asked us all to choose our favorite Updike poem to share and though I only read it for the first time today, I do think it is my favorite. It is one of those that heightens my sense of loss that his heartbeat isn't part of the massive throng down here. Sometimes I read things and think that writing is within my grasp, with enough work and time and effort. But every time I read Updike, I see that real writing is impossibly beyond me.

One size fits all. The shape or coloration
of the god or high heaven matters less
than that there is one, somehow, somewhere, hearing
the hasty prayer and chalking up the mite
the widow brings tot eh temple, A child
alone with horrid verities cries out
for there to be a limit, a warm wall
whose stones give back an answer, however faint.

Strange, the extravagance of it--who needs
those eighteen-armed black Kalis, those musty saints
whose bones and bleeding wounds appall good taste,
those joss sticks, houris, gilded Buddhas, books
Moroni etched in tedious detail?
We do; we need more worlds. This one will fail.

lucky seven

2010-12-30T21:58:00.010-05:00

upon the occassion of our seventh anniversary

I met Brigham a few months after explicitly committing myself to a fairly formulaic dating regime. Essentially, I decided to quit dating men that were not, in my dad's word, "marriageable." Nice and funny were not enough any more; I needed someone who was serious about a real career, someone who could be a spiritual leader to me without being off-putting or judgmental of the little things like that I had to stop reading the Book of Mormon every day because the thought of a lifetime of perpetual rounds of reading the same thing that was not Harry Potter was just too much at one point, someone who was steady in mood, reliable and responsible. As someone whose favorite movie is Clear and Present Danger, I consulted my feelings for Jack Ryan and knew the truth: I need a man to whose back I could strap myself to be lifelessly carried through all of life's travails (and I am a feminist)
Our first date was to see the Mormon Short-Film Festival at the Provo Library. (During which we saw a clip of Napoleon Dynamite, a movie to which our reaction was identical in a way that is bizarrely important to me--we loved it the first time, wondered what we liked so much about it the second time, and back to love the third. Very bonding.) I barely knew the guy, but the activity selection gave me a positive impression. He may not remember this part, but even the conversation we had at my carell about the prospect of the Film Festival was perfect. He just got me, and I got him, and that was all there was to it.

The date was great and was followed by a series of other very impressive dates to such places as midnight runs to the Provo Hospital cafeteria (best milkshake in town!) and breakfast for dinner at Cracker Barrel (still a favorite, and I thought I hated the place). He was everything on my list, and, though I tried to not place too much emphasis on it, he was funny, too.

Brigham, meanwhile, didn't have a list. But he made one about me. After dropping me off at the conclusion of that first date, he enthusiastically punched the ceiling of the car in which we would later take our first born son home from the hospital for finally finding the type of girl he was looking for. (This still gets him a lot of credit from me). He wrote down in his notebook two things that he liked about me. Neither of us can remember the first (I think it was that I was an easy laugh) and the second was some observation I made about one of the film shorts. I liked that he was thinking like that.

As helpful as my list was to eliminating prospects that were not going to be right for me, in the end it just came down to a gut-check. After all, there are lots of guys who are serious and fun and kind and spiritual and smart. I knew and cared for a few. It got quite confusing, truly. The list could only take me so far. My heart took me to Brigham. I'm so glad I listened.

a blog post about today in 5 minutes or less

2010-12-22T23:03:00.005-05:00

After grilling me on my failure to provide proper materials with which he could build a real, working computer, Andrew declared his intention to build a computer for himself and for his wife when he grows up. "Will you build one for me, too, Andrew?"

"Sure. If you are still alive."

Brigham called to say goodnight to the boys and thought Will was Andrew. He is getting so big.

Porter looks downright fat these days. I feel an acute sense of personal accomplishment. I wish I could get a second chance with Will. That was what I thought about when I nursed Porter this morning.

I still haven't purchased a satisfactory gift for Brigham. The guy is hard to shop for.

Andrew told me and Will this morning that he loved Will with all his heart and that Will was his best friend. It makes Will feel so good.

Will loves his Uncle Agustine and has somehow picked up his uncle's habit of misusing the prhase "I promise." They both seem to think that it denotes a passionate emotion about something. For example, they both will promise you that they would like to go out to dinner (well, Will probably won't be making promises about that, yet). Will was making lots of promises today about wanting to read a book, play in the basement and take a bath. Will, this phrase you keep using, I do not think it means what you think it means. I promise you.

At bedtime tonight, Andrew told me that he didn't want any "songs and rubs" (we rub his feet while singing a medley of the same 3-5 songs). He said it was because he is trying to get out of that habit and get used to going straight to bed. I thought I was waiting all my life to hear that come out of his mouth, but I insisted on songs and rubs, anyway. It was just yesterday that we were locking him in his little two-year old room at bedtime while he sobbed on the other side of the door and said things like, "I just want to hold you so much!" What he wanted, really, was for us to lay in his bed with him all night, or at least until he fell asleep.

Will, on the other hand, told me, after I pulled his finger from his nose, that he "{is} trying to get out of that habit." It was such a cute thing to say that I don't mind a little more nosepicking if he will talk about it like that.

I got Pillars of the Earth from the library over a week ago and have read only one sentence. What is my problem? And I still think about These Is My Words. I wish it had a different title.

a dust of snow

2010-12-16T16:16:00.009-05:00

the way a crow
shook down on me
a dust of snow from a lilac tree
has given my heart a change of mood
and save some part
of a day i rued.

r. frost
(i may have misquoted here or there but am too lazy to double check).

We had an unexpected (for me) little dusting of snow. It stuck to the streets and sidewalks, but not so much on the grass. I was a little bit worried about road conditions for picking them up from school (now that I call Will's Joy School a "playdate" he is happy to attend. Wish I figured that out a few months ago.). But not worried enough to actually pick them up early.

The boys have gone out in the snow twice. It is nice that they are old enough to do that without requiring my presence. I hate the cold and luckily Porter provides me with a good excuse for ushering them out alone.

Will was desperate to wear boots like Andrew, but had outgrown last year's (which were also the year before that year's boots, too). So he settled for one rain boot (I couldn't find the other) and one too large light up sneaker. Andrew wore a ginormous snowsuit that I couldn't believe I had ever purchased. I don't think it is featured here, though, since he wore it during round 2 only.

They were so happy. It has been a nice, cozy day.

I burned lunch taking these not-so-great photos. They are headed out once again right now while I finish up ordering all our Christmas gifts off the internet and bumble around with a tiny bumble bee.

I think we did it right this year for the boys. On the advice of my friend, whose advice I unflinchingly and unfailingly follow (except on political issues) told me that this was the best item she has ever purchased for her kids. She bought it last Christmas and leaves it out in the open in the basement almost all the time. While some of the novelty has worn off, they use it almost every day. Even Andrew can operate it (Will is close), so I think it is going to be a hit with all of us.

another reason to love shutterfly

2010-12-08T21:51:00.007-05:00

So I have yet to even make our Christmas cards this year. Shocking, I know. I also only shower sporadically and have taken to employing my old college trick of washing the top of my head and bangs area so as to appear clean(er). (I was very popular with the boys!)

But I digress.

The point is that shutterfly has a promotion where you can receive 50 free cards if you advertise for them on your blog, which provides a subject matter rather more interesting than any I write about these days, so here it is. Though I am writing this to get the promotion, I am only saying it like it really is.
Honestly, I think that the site has a ton of really cute designs. The hardest part about using the site was to simply choose which card among many I liked. Although I sometimes want to throw in the towel on Christmas cards, I do love the tradition of sending greetings out to friends far and long. I always keep a copy for myself and it has been sweet collecting our yearly cards and seeing how our lives have changed each year. It will be nice to have one that I didn't make at costco.

I am getting started on a photo book for our family and a calendar for extended family. I also have a goal to finally create the collage of Andrew's joy school photos for him and the other kids from his class. I saw that shutterfly is offering a sale on their photoshow dvd. I wanted to make a photo book for my parents this Christmas but had given up the cause as lost to incovenience and lack of time, but I saw that I can instead make a much simpler little flip book. In fact, there are a ton of photo-themed gifts on sale. My Christmas gifting just got a lot easier.

Thank you, Shutterfly, for the free cards. I love the internet.

By the way, which of these do you like best for us? Honestly, it is really down to the first two. The third wouldn't allow me to edit out my gut and the bottom one does not have enough photo slots.

my druthers

2010-12-03T21:42:00.010-05:00

"I can't even enjoy a blade of grass unless I know there's a subway handy, or a record store or some other sign that people do not totally regret life. It's more important to confirm the least sincere. The clouds get enough attention as it is..."
— Frank O'Hara
I have been haunting the mls for 5 years now, and the time has come that it is really my turn to really get serious. And now that it is here, I am a little bit afraid to act. It is just my way.

The housing market here is rather depressing to those of us who are beggars that cannot be choosers, but if I could choose, these are my druthers:

1) I love a kitchen with white and glass-doored cabinents and dark granite counter tops. I'd love an island with shelves. Subway tile on the walls and stainless, too, please.
Here is the "after" of the kitchen we remodeled ourselves (Brigham was the laborer) in our little bungalow in Salt Lake.

2) A back deck off the kitchen or dining area.
This one is almost a must. We looked at a house that was way too small for us (and the $$), but I could have been foolishly talked into it because of that tiered back deck and fenced, level yard. I want (need) to be able to look out the kitchen window and see the boys playing outside in the back.

3) A front porch.
This one is silly, I know, especially in this part of the country, but my heart is mightily tugged when I see a front porch on a property. Were it not for my more level-headed husband, I would trade a 4th bedroom or a 3rd bath or physical safety for a front porch in just about a second. There was a house in 16th street heights (DC) whose front porch sang a siren song to my soul; Brigham noted that the front porch could fit almost an entire gang of neighborhood thugs.

4) A neighborhood with treelined streets, a bike trail and lots of children for the boys to play with. I am willing to negotiate on the bike trail, if I must.

5) Big windows. Many of them. My mother in law disagrees, pointing out that she does not like "the sun beating down upon [her]" (I loved that conversation!), but I welcome as much abuse as that sun can dish out (in?) through my windows. The better to look at my large, fenced and level backyard where I have locked my children until they get in better moods/get their energy out/are ready to not act like wild animals.

These are my druthers. I will give up a garage (I have never had one in my entire life, anyway); I could do 3 bedrooms if at least one was big enough for the boys to share; I can buy a house that needs to be remodelled (but not added onto); the basement doesn't HAVE to walk out. I don't need a formal dining room, either. Just let me eat in my kitchen, let the light pour in, give me a master bath of my own, keep us on the same level while we sleep, a working fireplace (as many as you can spare), and a garden where I can grow veggies, herbs and flowers and fit a trampoline.

But I try not to dwell upon these prefences too much, though, since at the end of the day the best I can realistically hope for (and which will bring me joy) is a clean, well-lighted place we can call home. Though that means a cleaning service.

it was a red letter day

2010-12-03T21:37:00.004-05:00

October 22, 2010: Porter could sit up in the grocery cart seat. Also, I can't wait to tease Andrew about the photographic evidence that he was interested in a barbie doll.

"a small, good thing"

2010-12-03T21:10:00.005-05:00

Short stories, in my opinion, are sort of the perfect form for mothers of young kids who want to fit some lit into their lives. The short story for which this post is named (by Raymond Carver) is particularly wonderful (if heartbreaking).

Another thing that I, at least, find very helpful as a mom of very young kids is to record some of the small, good things that happen each day. Probably too overwhelming to be realistic to accomplish, but I need to at least record a few, because there are a few things that keep coming back to my mind. They were so small, but they meant so much, even months and weeks later.

So thank you, Tuckahoe Man, for approaching me in the baby pool just to tell me that you saw me bolusing Will and thought that I had a great, casual attitude about it towards little Will. I know I was awkward, but I really did appreciate you sharing the experience of your friend, whose son also had an ng tube. Thank you for telling me I was doing a great job. I needed to hear that, especially that day.

And thank you, education specialist at Kluge Children's Rehab. Will loved the time he had with you, and it was the time I most looked forward to every day we were there, but what I really want to record is how moved I was that you could finish my sentence about why I had felt so stressed out over the summer with trying to get Will to eat that I became too forceful about it. "You wanted to avoid surgery." That was exactly it. I realize that it must seem so obvious to anyone reading this, but I think it often isn't obvious, especially to all the medical professionals we meet with. You had such a gentle, loving way. You made me feel like I had done well with Will. I wished that I could go over to your house for tea and book club and holidays. Your children, if you have them, are lucky. I must send you a card.

Thank you, Brighten, who was so aptly named, for calling me to keep up with how Will and I were doing. Thank you for praying for him. I know it must seem so small, but it wasn't to me.

Thank you, Brant, for dropping off that wonderful little Batman thank you note to Will. He reads it every night. I am glad you found the truck he gave you to be "beautiful." Likewise to your card.

Boys, try to remember that even in the most stressful times (maybe especially during them?) there are always some small, good things to be found out there.

weekend review in 5 minutes or less

2010-12-01T07:10:00.006-05:00

Friday we took down the Halloween decorations (yep) and went in search of our Christmas tree. My instinct to do Whatever Is Most Memorable last year led us to a Christmas Tree Farm in Great Falls where Brigham was supposed to chop down a lovely fir while the boys cheered and watched on enthusiastically. The only part of that that actually took place was that we went to that location. We only found paltry, sickly trees (maybe it was sort of late in the season or something) totally unacceptable to my very tree-discriminating husband. The kids were cold and wanted to go. Still, this is a great photo, no? And the memory is sweeter in its rearview rosy glow.

Friday we ended up at the same Christmas tree stand by Costco where we found last year's tree (whose needles I discovered still persisting in my front door frame. Someone reach out to me!). It was here where the first effects of K&E kicked in, as Brigham chose out a Noble instead of our cheaper stand-by Douglas. The boys could not have been less interested in the tree selection and saw the thicket of chopped trees as a mere backdrop to their game of super secret spies. Brigham tried to get me to relax while they darted around hidden from my view. I tried to track them, hoping I was a better tracker than the predators that constantly surround me, waiting for the least opportunity to snatch my kids and disappear with them forever. I got no photos.

Saturday we took the kids to Cub Run Rec Center. It was a great time and at the end of the night Andrew was profuse in his gratitude. It was "the best night ever!" And he hopes that "we can do that every night!" Brigham's day-long quest to find a ginormous tv that is on sale at costco but sold out, even the floor models, ended in a Chantilly costco where he (thankfully) bought the smaller sale tv. It is still ginormous. He warned me months ago that if he got this new job his first order of business was a new tv (our other has barely survived the 45 moves it has endured since we married). Then we sped home to drop the kids with my super-kind mom who watched them while we went to a packed theatre to see Harry Potter. Katie was in the crowd with us somewhere. (The movie was great, btw!). We came home to discover that my mom had allowed Porter to snort lines of cocaine. He was awake and bumbling around until 2.

Sunday we went to an hour of church and an open house before heading to Old Town to attend my elementary school friend's baby's christening in a gorgeous church. Insert all my typical gushing about the passage of time and not being able to imagine 28 years ago that I would be attending little Ashley Lowery's baby's baptism. Old Town in gorgeous. No photos.

The tree is decorated only to the extent that Andrew "flung" some lights onto the lower left quadrant. The room is filled with boxes of stuff to be put up. I have only managed to arrange the Christmas village, which I recently bought at the local thrift.

my new go-to meal

2010-11-30T21:18:00.004-05:00

In the five minutes left to me between finishing my dinner (the inspiration for this post) and Porter waking up and yelling at me again, I thought the meal that gave me such bliss deserved to be shared and celebrated.

I was suspicious of it at first. The ingredients looked wrong. But I trusted the source--another mom from my son's preschool who is unfailingly classy in every single aspect of her life. She is so nice you can't even feel resentful of her perfection. Here it is.

Because of food allergies, she subbed sunflower seed spread for the peanut butter, but I stuck with the original recipe. She told me that she mixes the rice into the sauce and then places the chicken on top. The first time I made this, I added the rice a couple of hours after the cooking process began. The second time, I added it just before it ended and found myself having to add water to ensure the rice didn't end up crunchy. I am hesitant to add the rice at the beginning as directed because my crock pot cooks this meal up really quickly and I am afraid it will burn the rice. I am not home during the day to moniter it.

I followed her advice and Brigham and I ate it over mixed greens with this dressing. I left out the egg (yuck!) and would advise you go easy on the salt if you don't have kosher. (Maybe cut in half and add more at the end after you taste it.)

This meal takes literally fewer than 10 minutes of hands-on prep and is so delicious. My crock pot, at its lowest temp and using frozen chicken, cooks this up in about 3-4 hours. Also, I think that when making more than 2 breasts I would just double the sauce recipe. But these are just small tweaks; I think the recipe is pretty no-fail no matter what.

Andrew ate so much the first time there was barely any left for Brigham and even Will ate a normal-sized meal such that I didn't even have to bolus him afterwards. It is probably breaking all the parenting rules, but I give the rice to Porter and he loves it. This meal leaves me so satisfied that I am not even going to yell at Andrew when he reaches the bottom of the stairs in about 5 seconds. And here he is.

Thanksgiving 2010

2010-11-25T21:41:00.005-05:00

If life were fair, I would be gathering water from a contaminated source to lug back to my shack in a developing country. It is so easy to just take for granted so many of the things that fill our lives with joy or ease. Brigham, who has obviously lived with me too long, had the same horrific vision that I did about having a car accident on the way over to my parents' house. I had carefully prepared a bunch of items, the most choice of which were two pecan pies (I have a secret recipe). He envisioned those pies splattered all over the place, but that it didn't even make the cut of things to be concerned about. It was so weird because I had had the very thought go through my head, complete with the pie scenario. There was an accident on 66 and we were happy to see that no one was hurt.

This year has been a dificult one, but it has been a very blessed one, too. When we had to choose just one blessing to focus on, here were our results.

Alexandra: Porter was born, and despite the 25% risk of CF, he is totally healthy and happy. (The truth is that I almnst never even think about this blessing, but if he had been born sick I would trade basically any other blessing to obtain that one.)

Brigham: Will no longer throws up several times a day.

Andrew: Having a new brother, Porter.

Will: "I am grateful that I just have my button instead of my tummy tube." (His accident proved ultimately to be a blessing since he got the little mickey button a month early and no longer has to tuck that giant tube into his jeans. His relief at this change has been obvious since the day we got the button (tuesday).

Other things to be thankful for this year:

1) Will is in the 30% for weight, the first time since he was a few months old that he even made it onto the growth charts.

2) Will got in to a feeding program that we thought he would have to wait another 6 months to get into.

3) Andrew has been a wonderful and helpful child who has really risen to the occassion during this time in which I have needed so much assistance.

4) Brigham got a new job that we never counted on or planned for. He starts at Kirkland & Ellis in January and every day that I look on the mls for a house I can't believe that these are houses we could actually purchase.

5) My sister-in-law Abby was able to come out for two weeks and make it possible for us to attend Will's feeding camp. I cannot imagine having been able to do it without her. She was Porter's nanny all day, every day and she was just such a reassurance to me in every way.

6) The Brown family of Charlottesville took us into their home for the entire week (and would have put us up for two) of Will's program. They were wonderful and generous and kind and I cannot say enough good of them.

7) Alisha Lacey did an entire photo shoot of our family with her two tiny kids in tow (her husband was out of town) free of charge. She spent a lot of time editing the shots, too. I keep meaning to bring over a card or otherwise thank her, but have managed only a lame email. But I am so so grateful to have such gorgeous photos of my little family. I am still plotting a thank you.

Today's Thanksgiving was pretty low-key: a Sunday dinner, the variating being that we all contributed something for once and sang a hymn before the meal. After we scarfed down the food in 1/8th the amount of time spent preparing it, the kids went wild for a while and the rest of us relaxed in front of the fire or the football game. Eventually the kids and moms watched Harry Potter 1. I teased Will a bit about his love of Wendy on Peter Pan (worthy of its own post. I really should videotape it, too.) And we made it out to the car. Andrew only escaped and dashed back inside my parents' house once.

So ends our Thanksgiving night. It was one of those Thanksgivings whose details might vanish from my mind in not too much time but for having written them down, but it was a year during which I have learned to be truly thankful for many things I had taken for granted in the past. I hope I don't have to relearn this lesson. (Did You hear that?)

ER Fun

2010-11-22T21:47:00.006-05:00

Our trip to the zoo today ended before it began when Will accidentally (need I even add that?) pulled his tube out while clamoring around in the back of my parents' old suburban.

I will interject into my story line here to just mention that I realize I have a very strong urge to blame other people when things like this happen (see Sweet Pickles Accusing Alligator). It was all just a terrible accident, but I couldn't help but think in a very non-torts-like fashion about how if only those boys had just gotten in the van like I had asked them to, if only Will would just listen when I say no, this would never have happened, if only I were able to keep them more under control blah blah blah. Yes, if Andrew had gotten in the van, Will would have done so, as well, and none of it would have happened. But Andrew could not reasonably foresee that hiding in the junky old suburban would lead ultimately to a trip to the emergency room. I do need to get the boys to submit better to my authority, but they are also little boys who like to play and climb and have fun and his tube should not come out from a little of the typical tumbling that boys do, and that he has done basically ever since he regained, as I like to say, psychological use of his legs again post-surgery.

But I digress. It was very surreal to hear him scream, "My tube came out!" and to look over and see that it really had, anchor and all. It must have been horribly painful, yet he stopped crying as soon as my dad backed my minivan out of the driveway on the way to the E.R. Porter screamed the whole way, but Will was calm.

The doctors did not seem terribly worried about the situation, saying that the site looked good (and I could see that the bleeding was minimal, though that hole pained me). Will was content so long as someone held the gauze onto his tummy while he watched endless episodes of Sponge Bob, the worst cartoon ever, at a range of literally 5 inches.

I began to feel like I was either not in America or in a Joseph Heller novel when the doctors reported to me that they could not do anything for Will because they did not have anyone with that expertise (in the entire hospital?), but that they would call around to other hospitals to see where to send us. That took several hours. All the while, Will's wound site was healing over. The doctors had informed us that repairing this type of situation is quite simple so long as it is attended to right away, but that by 24 hours the site is healed over and things get much more complicated (maybe another surgery would be needed). I was getting anxious as the hours ticked by and we started to reach closing times. DC Children's Hospital said they wouldn't fit us in but they would admit him overnight and do it the next day. We can't even get answers from the other hospitals and I am about ready to just leave and take Will to the ER at Fairfax, where I know there are pediatric GIs, having previously been treated by one for several months. I give a call over to the old office, talk to the wonderful nurse who had helped us all summer when we were still patients there and she was paving a path for us to be seen at the hospital. Meanwhile, the doctor in our ER got my old doctor on the phone, but she (ex-dr) said that she would not help Will because he was no longer her patient, thereby permanently wiping away any doubt I may have ever had about having left her service for Johns Hopkins.

Our nurse, who thought that she could replace the tube and that therefore there had to be a doctor who could do it, took some quick action and made the doctors brainstorm a solution that would not put Will in an ambulance headed for Baltimore (the Hopkins solution). The session of 6 doctors problem solving worked: why not have the Intervention Radiologist, who replaces displaced g-tubes in adult patients at least once a day, replace Will's? And a pediatrician can come in and prescribe the proper amount of sedative to relax him during the procedure.

Yes, why the heck not. I am not exaggerating when I say that putting in a new tube literally took fewer than 10 seconds. Truly. Then they wheeled in a little x-ray machine, snapped a shot, read the results and cleared us within 3 more minutes. It was the simplest thing in the world. It was like putting a straw through the lid of a soft drink cup. I was even more astounded after having seen its simplicity that the Arlington doctors wasted hours trying to send us elsewhere, denying having the capability of performing that simple little task. I would have felt some frustration, too, but whatever anger I have that seeks ventilation through blaming/accusing/criticizing was just overwhelmed with relief that everything was fixed and gratitude to the really great doctor who put off the video games calling to him at home (such were his plans) to help us out.

I learned a few good lessons but I will focus on one of them. Sometimes it pays to be a big fat semi-polite pain in the doctors' necks. I gave them some time to get things sorted, but as the hours went by and I got the sense that we were just getting pushed off because no one felt any responsibility, I started to become more proactive about questioning the doctors about who was doing what etc.

But the stuff that I really want to remember consists of anecdotes about the kids. Some of it is funny and some heartbreaking. In the case of Will it is both since everything that little boy does and says breaks my heart.

On the ride over to the ER, Will was mostly quiet. But he did look at me and say sadly, "I wish I only had my nose tube. I wish I never got a tummy tube."

At the hospital, Will received a sticker which at some point somehow got lost (I don't know how since he never left the little bed). When asked my one of the many passing medical professionals about whether he liked stickers, he responded in the affirmative and reported that he had one, in fact. When he saw that it was no longer on his shirt, he said, "But where the hick is my sticker? Where the hick is it?"

When they gave him a sedative, Will proved himself to truly be beyond the reach of typical human frailty. They gave him 1 cc of sedative. We waited. Will watched tv and acted totally normal. The doctor remarked that he himself would be knocked out by 1 cc. They have him anouther 1/2. Nothing. Another 1/2. The nurse expresses her anxiety about giving such a little guy that much. Will continues to interact iwth us and respond to Sponge Bob. Another 1/2. Will is in a wonderful, mellow mood. He smiles and talks with us. I consider how handy it would be to have emergency access to this medication from time to time. It is at this point they decide that the underweight three year old who has not napped is not going to fall asleep and they do the procedure. Will is nice and mellow for it. I begin thinking about the ways in which adults self-medicate, as those who unwind with a glass of wine at the end of a long day. I feel deprived. If it is true that women in Utah have higher rates of anti-depressants/anxiety meds use than women in other states, it has got to be because they don't drink.

We get back to my parents' house and Will retires to my parents' bedroom with a bowl of popcorn. My mom tells me that Andrew had a great day. After dinner she asked him whether he was ready to go up and take a bath. "Yep!" When she turned toward him she saw that he had spilled chocolate milk all over the table. "Andrew! You said you were ready to go up but you spilled milk all over the place! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Mmmmm. Scared, I guess," he replied. I love Andrew.

Brigham was offered (and accepted) a new job. We have been very excitedly anticipating the future and looking into buying a house of our own. I have felt really lucky. But today, after Will's accident, I realized just how lucky I really am and it has nothing to do with Brigham. Just kidding. With Brigham's new job.

Porter at 6 months

2010-11-15T09:54:00.002-05:00

photo by the super-talented Alisha Lacey

Porter, this has been the fastest 6 months of my life. I keep calling you my newborn, but newborns don't seal-drag themselves around the house as you do. You are even getting up on all fours and slapping a pace or two before collapsing back into seal position.

You love taking baths with you brothers. You start lunging and kicking your feet as soon as we enter a bathroom with a filling tub.

You are a terrible sleeper. I am so weary.

You are a terrific eater, though, and if I had to choose, I will take eating over sleeping any day. You like to sit in your chair and pick up noodles or smashed veggies and feed yourself.

Your favorite song is Adel Weiss. I have tried out so many, but that is the only one that settles you.

The pitch of your cry has actually driven me to the doctor for prescription-level headache medication. Even four advil can't touch what you do to my brain. Sometimes I feel that I have given birth to a baby ring wraith.

You love to rub noses. You are also very ticklish.

You really adore Andrew. Sometimes he will be what I deem rather rough with you, but when I move to reprimand Andrew and put a stop to the violence, I find that you are laughing and smiling.

You hate riding in your carseat. You never ever fall asleep in there. I avoid driving when possible.

You love to be upside down (an Andrew trait). When you cry or fuss, sometimes the only solution is upside-down pineapples.

Aside from the seal-drag, which is a distinct Will trait, you remind me a lot of Andrew and make his babyhood seem so recent.

Even if you wake up every hour and demand that you eventually make your final resting spot in our bed, nestling your head right up into the small of daddy's back and forcing me to sleep in an L-shape in the lower quadrant of the bed (actually quite comfortable), you have our whole family totally charmed. I guess our sleeping conditions demonstrated how wrapped we are around that tiny, puffy, cream-white finger of yours.

Please stay tiny.

Eleven-Eleven

2010-11-10T21:43:00.007-05:00

"Some people live an entire lifetime and wonder if they have made a difference in the world. The marines don't have that problem." Ronald Reagan

For all the criticism and self-criticism unleashed upon our country and our military, there is one thing that is undeniably true: the world is a better place because of the United States, and wherever our soldiers have landed people have been liberated. The places they stopped fighting mark the places that freedom has ended. (Just ask North and South Korea.) (ok,so that is two things, and I can imagine people disagreeing with at least assertion #2.)

Thanks go to the fighting men and women who have purchased with their lives the freedom of basically all on this planet who are free.

And now, some uplifting poetry:

Disabled, by Wilfed Owen

He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light-blue trees
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,
— In the old times, before he threw away his knees.
Now he will never feel again how slim
Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,
All of them touch him like some queer disease.

There was an artist silly for his face,
For it was younger than his youth, last year.
Now he is old; his back will never brace;
He's lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,
And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,
And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,
After the matches carried shoulder-high.
It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,
He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . .
Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts.

That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,
Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,
He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;
Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.
Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fears
Of Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hilts
For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.
And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.

Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,
And do what things the rules consider wise,
And take whatever pity they may dole.
To-night he noticed how the women's eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
How cold and late it is! Why don't they come
And put him into bed? Why don't they come?

Current Veteran's Benefits for the 100% Disabled Soldier:
unmarried, no kids: $ 2,673/mo or $32,076/yr
married, no kids, two parents: $3,063 or $36,756/yr
unmarried, with one child: $2,774 or $33,288/yr
married, with one child: $3,172 ($75-$240 extra per multiple child depending upon age) or $38,064/yr

Doesn't seem like much to me, considering what they gave and considering the entitlements enjoyed by others in this country.

Happy Armistice Day!

old friends

2010-11-07T08:10:00.004-05:00

when i discovered the concept of college majors (i was about 12) and learned that there would come a time when i would no longer be required to endure math courses, when, in fact, i could select a course of study in which all i would have to do would be to read books (and write stuff about them), i was floored. i had discovered the biggest boondoggle ever. why would anyone major in anything but English lit? my decision was made. of course, when the time came, i majored in international development under the reasoning that i wanted to learn something in college. while my intentions were honorable, i chose my alternate major poorly. i would have been better off in the english department where i belonged.

but my love of reading has never left me, even if i have found it harder and harder to keep up with in the way that my soul really needs. my dedication to reading reached unhealthy levels, something i recognized early on, since they substituted for real life and real friends. as a result, i remember which books i was reading during certain periods because they were so inculcated into my thoughts and days. i was thinking about the books that have most stayed with me over the years and i thought i should like to have a list of them somewhere, sort of like an old yearbook or address book, really. so here they are: not necessarily the finest books i have read, but the ones that have really stuck in my mind.

1) The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy Series. I was drawn to the cover while spending my lunch hour in Feb 1993 in the library. The series never let me go and I was devastated when Douglas Adams died.

2) The Remains of the Day. I thought this books would completely bore me (an English butler reminisces about his life over the course of a drive into the country to see if a former manor employee will return to her post) but it haunted me and I think about it a lot.

3) Never Let Me Go. Same author as above. This guy gets under my skin. His books aren't so cheery. His first one is about a woman who lives in the apt in which her mom committed suicide or something. Have to get my hands on that one soon.

4) Harry Potter. Five years of reading it every night before bed will do it, but Harry could have even if I hadn't had that ritual.

5) Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China. The historical account of a family's experience during the Comm Rev in China and then under Mao. Read in 1998 for a poly sci class, but it was so long and so complicated that I kept going back to it over the years. Was my bedtime ritual the semester I got engaged.

6) Pride and Prejudice. It isn't my favorite of Austen's books (I think I like Persuasion the best) but it has stuck with me more. Maybe because of the movie.

7) 9 Stories is true. One of my favorite books of all time. Funny and sentimental and sad and relatable. My first copy, now lost, was the one that my mom had stolen from a Camp Lejune library in 1966. If you read the book, you will understand that that history is simply the perfect setting for the whole novel. It is a book of short stories all centered around the same family and it keeps me coming back.

8) Raise High the Roof beam, Carpenters and Seymour, an Introduction.

9) Do I even need to mention Catcher in the Rye? Yes, this puts me in a certain category for some who deride the book but all I have to say is that if you don't get it, you don't get it. Salinger speaks to me and I mourn him and his lost New York. How strange it must have been for him in those last years to be one of the only survivors of his generation and live in a world so changed, so moved on from the people he knew and loved.

10) John Updike short stories. Another author who felt like a friend. Maybe he was misogynistic (though I don't think so) and perhaps I would be embarrassed to be associated with his novels, but his short stories connected with me. Poems, too.

11) Emperor of the Air.

12) The Edible Woman. When Margaret Atwood isn't getting into dystopia writing, I love her. Speaking of which . . . number 13

13) The Blind Assassin, of course. Read it in the summer of 2002 while living and hating my job in California, deciding to transfer law schools, single.

14) Interpreter of Maladies. The Third and Final Continent seals the deal on this one, though I love most of the stories.

15) The Dead, or rather, the last page of it. Read it on a cold, dark wintery day and it will stick with just about anyone.

16) John Cheever stories, by which it is possible that I am being influenced by The Death of Justina, which happens to be one of my favorite short stories ever.

I am sure I am leaving many off, and I haven't even touched the childhood books that have stayed with me (the Babysitters Club, for ex. I used to (still) track their ages from time to time. Those babysitters are on the far side of 35!)

I would love to hear any recommendations!

hope for the past

2010-10-24T15:18:00.004-04:00

Last night at Will and Andrew's joint birthday party at cub run rec center (where Andrew wants to have all his future parties!), I was struck by my typical wholly unoriginal insights that nontheless feel quite profound. I was watching my two sweet boys blowing out the candles on their cake (Will was more adept at this than Andrew) when it landed on me out of the sky that these kids were mine--my blessing, my responsibility, people who had been entrusted, 100%, to me to raise. They aren't just these people I live with and love. It is a feeling most parents probably wake up in the morning with, but somehow something about the sight of them, no longer babies but ever-changing people of their own who rely upon me to throw them parties or to not do so, brought home to me how awesome and overwhelming the parental duty is.

This morning I woke up to a wonderful poem (thank you, Missy and Garrison Keillor) that tied all my feelings from last night so well together with my Sabbath thoughts (yes, I do have them).

Thanks, Robert Frost

Do you have hope for the future?
someone asked Robert Frost, toward the end.
Yes, and even for the past, he replied,
that it will turn out to have been all right
for what it was, something we can accept,
mistakes made by the selves we had to be,
not able to be, perhaps, what we wished,
or what looking back half the time it seems
we could so easily have been, or ought…
The future, yes, and even for the past,
that it will become something we can bear.
And I too, and my children, so I hope,
will recall as not too heavy the tug
of those albatrosses I sadly placed
upon their tender necks. Hope for the past,
yes, old Frost, your words provide that courage,
and it brings strange peace that itself passes
into past, easier to bear because
you said it, rather casually, as snow
went on falling in Vermont years ago.

We leave tomorrow, Porter, Will, Aunt Abby and I, that is, for Charlottesville, a place that once I couldn't bear to think about because of all my regrets associated with deciding not to attend law school there, after all. Now I hope I will associate it as the place where Will's feeding problems met the begining of their end. I am optimistic that our two weeks at Kluge's Children's Rehab center will be a turning point in Will's life.

Last night at their party, we lost track of Andrew, something that can be a bit alarming at a pool. We spotted him moments later, drifting through the lazy river with two of his friends and no parents. That was a bittersweet moment, but far more sweet than sad. The on

Andrew at 5

2010-10-19T22:04:00.012-04:00

I will waste no time expounding on my shock that my little Andrew is already 5 years old or the passage of time or the passing of life. It would take forever and I am too exhausted to even attempt it. Andrew is a delight and I think that 5 years old is a pretty great age for a kid to be. So I will get right down to recording exactly what he is like at this moment in time.

At 5 years old, Andrew can ride a two wheeler. His Tourette's-style exclamations designed to attract the attention of any passers-by of "Two wheeler! Four!" is now officially outdated.

He is a huge help with his little brothers. He can operate Will's machinery, to the point that I am not grateful and awed when he does it but rather irritated and scolding when he doesn't. The sight of him in the rearview mirror holding that little machine and pressing the correct buttons when it jams is something I will always treasure.

Andrew is as philosophical and introspective as ever. This should no longer be a surprise to me, but somehow he always comes out with something unexpected. The other day I made him hold Porter in the tub (see above). This was the 4th day I had bathed the boys in this way and Andrew's attitude had migrated from thrilled to begrudging. Porter loves bathtime and thrashes wildly, making holding him rather difficult. Andrew was anxious to return him. "Mom, is this what you do all day?" "Yes, Andrew, but I do it while making lunch or playing with you or doing dishes." I thought better of my response and clarified that I love my job as their mom and wouldn't trade it for anything. "You wouldn't?" Andrew asked, incredulous.
"I would, Mom. I would trade it."

For a more indicting example, but one I should record, happened the other day during a frustrating moment. I had forgotten to open the clamp on Will's tube after hooking him up and the force of the pent-up formula caused the formula line to burst out of the g-tube, spilling and spraying formula all over. I had to scramble before Will threw up (for some reason any time a port opens like this, Will vomits). I have been rather on edge these past few weeks and have not been at my parenting best, so I was probably sighing and mumbling and heaving myself dramatically around the kitchen. Realizing that I might be sending the wrong message to the kids, especially poor Will who is the real victim in all of this, I apologized and explained that I was not mad at any of them--I was mad at myself for my mistake. Andrew remarked. "You might feel mad at yourself, but you act like you are mad at Will." He was right, and as much as it hurt to hear, what a blessing he could remind me of that.

Andrew's love of women and female beauty continues right along. It first manifested itself in his crush on Dolly Parton when we was, what, not yet 2? Now he points out the incongruities btwn the bodies of supermodels and actresses and my own body, specifically our stomachs. One recent conversation centered around appropriate swim attire for me as opposed to other women. I, apparently, fall into the category of "Big Mommies" and must wear a tankini that covers my stomach while the other women can wear bikinis.

Andrew loves Star Wars, backugans (sp?), building elaborate things with Trio or Legos, swimming, reading and going for walks. He loves spending time at my parents house, which he does quite a bit due to Will's medical appointments etc. He loves to set traps for people and is still unrealistic about the scale of his trap compared to the size of the people to be trapped. His favorite tv show has shifted this year from Scooby Doo to Penguins of Madagascar. His life ambition is to use his career as a helicopter pilot to launch him into space. He is still as sweet and sensitive and tender as he was when he was just a tiny little thing that would only sleep while held. He also still gets out of bed occassionally to play and hang out with us, and I am still putting up with it and then letting him sleep in til the last possible moment. We are chronically late.

When I was in college, I read this poem and was immediately drawn to it. I guess in some recess of my brain I could recognize my future (as a 40 year old man), and now that I am rapidly approaching the stage of life described, I love the poem even more. I still see it primarily as a poem that applies to my age cohort, and that even though I feel that Andrew has grown up so fast I know that he is really still only 5 years old. And that is still young, even if it is no longer tiny or toddley. Yet I can feel creeping into the back of my mind thoughts about Andrew someday learning to close softly doors he will not be coming back to. It makes me grateful that today, right now, when sent to his room, he tends to slam doors as loudly and rapidly he can.

Green Acres is the Place to Be

2010-09-08T21:40:00.008-04:00

We decided to experience Amish Country this Labor Day weekend. I was able to get a room for us at a B&B on a real working farm called Green Acres.
We drove up and spent Saturday at Dutch Wonderland. We spent that night and the next day on the farm, which the boys seemed to enjoy just as much.
The cats were free for the taking! Will loved them. Waving at them, petting them, counting them and, here, identifying which were the parents and which were the babies.
There was a wonderful yard complete with a playhouse and slide. The boys were in heaven.
A goat sliding down a slide.
Dutch Wonderland. We didn't even need to give Will a coin to have fun "driving" the motorboats.

I love Will's face popping out of the house here.

Brigham and I realized that, if things ever get really bad, we could buy a house with cash and run a B&B in Amish Country.

Brigham loved the hammock. He realized that he never gets to just hang out with the kids like this. Fortunately for Porter, I suppose.
I love Will's happy smile as he extends his hands for the kitties.
Gathering eggs in the morning.

Rectangular trampolines are way bouncier than circular.

I hope they don't forget all the fun we had.

the laughing little boy that he was swinging

2010-09-06T22:59:00.005-04:00

Last Sunday evening we took the boys to a local park before bedtime. The kids had such a wonderful time that Andrew found it impossible to obey our entreaties to return to the car.

Porter experienced the joys of the swing for the first time. He loved it. He loves everything. I hope that never changes.

Must not forget to bring the camera with the flash; Porter's smiles are full-body affairs that blur in evening light without a flash.

like a hurricane

2010-09-03T14:00:00.005-04:00

Sometimes you can gauge the exact tenor of how your kids' behavior registered with others by the nature of the comments they make to you upon parting. Today, I departed amide a barrage of, "Kids can be really hard, but you are so good with them!" and "We just want to whisk you away to a cabin the the woods for a few days when that baby is weaned!" and "My friend who has three kids would like to be mildly injured in an automobile accident so that she can spend a few days of peace in the hospital," a fantasy with which I am well-acquainted.

Not that I really needed a scientific form of measurement; I was there, too. I was witness to all the couch jumping, decorative-ball throwing, screaming contests (literally) and, for the grand finale, kid-ese for "it is time to go," the wadding up of magazine pages and for game of throwing them at my host and her tiny baby.

I know that our visits to the homes of others is like a home invasion from the local street gang. Brigham and I have tried to console ourselves with jokes about how we need to take back the night (and day) from the neighborhood gang (that lives in our home) and in whom we live in fear. I will never forget the look of sad defeat in Brigham's face during that Sunday School Meeting when one of the boys snatched Brigham's new iphone away from him and cackled, truly cackled, in his face the way a bully would to a small victim. That was the day I realized that the kids were like a street gang, only without the drugs and guns. I think. Even a visit to a store or the pool will rapidly deteriorate into an amphibeous assault upon enemy territory. I know that people often feel embarrassed for me, but the worst part is that they don't need to because I gave up any hopeful aspirations that would bridge me over to the disappointment that would make embarrassment even possible a really long time ago.

I do not mean to say that they are bad kids. They aren't (usually). They are wonderful. They are my favorite people. They are just wild and uncivilized. They are little boys. I feel boys need a better spokesman to act as an agent for them to the world. The planet doesn't seem to understand little boys. Mothers of boys understand them, but only for the years during which their kids are young, and then the same magic that enables children to hear the tinkling of Santa's sleighbell evaporates and those mothers, too, turn into the tone deaf Unbelievers in What Little Boys are Capable Of.

"Run them," my friend agreed sympathetically after I told her that I thought maybe prebreakfast laps would be advisory. "Run them like dogs." A small trampoline in the basement is not a bad idea, either. Nor is a much larger house with a fenced yard.

Yes, our home life is chaotic. We do descend upon each and every room in it the way we descend upon you in your homes, in your church meetings, in your classrooms, in your stores and restaurants, parks and pool: like a pack of animals, like a platoon of crazed marines, like a hurricane.

"In three years," I told my friends today "my life will be a lot quieter." Maybe this isn't true, but it is certainly the case that I am on a trajectory that will lead ultimately to more and more calm moments and fewer and fewer wild ones. Realizing this reminded me of a short story I read recently about an empty-nester divorced woman attending a small family gathering in the home of her ex-husband and his new family, complete with teenage girls. The ex-wife is sad to see that his new family--the one he trader her in for--treats him poorly; he indicates by expression that he regrets his choice. The entire duration of the story you feel sort of sorry for the exhusband, but in the final sentence the author turns all your feelings upside down.

I include that because, at the end of my 15 minutes of peaceful ruminations during the drive home, I came to a similar conclusion. I do feel like I exist in the middle of a living, breathing hurricane. But it is a hurricane that brings me life and meaning and all the best things human existence has to offer. And when it subsides, years and years from now but we all know how quickly those slip through our fingers, I am afraid that my heart will be left in the empty crater carved out by those wild little beasts of boys, and silent.

the last days of summer

2010-09-02T10:11:00.004-04:00

Where did August go? And what happened to my newborn, and my reason for not attending church? My best friend has turned into a highly interactive, very smiley, roly-poly (back to front and front to back) guy. Here he is in his swim gown. He outgrew his swim shirt. That was so 0-3 months.

We have gone to the pool every day this week, trying to wring out every last drop of summer.

Recipes for meat eating vegans

2010-09-01T08:02:00.009-04:00

Salmon Cake over Lemon Rice and Wilted Baby Spinach (image from internet)

I have been dairy free up since shortly after Porter was born (up until this week). The best way to describe a dairy free diet really is a meat-eating vegan. I am sure that vegans would revolt at including myself in their eating category, to which I must respond, Relax, vegans. Your lives are difficult enough. I know because I have been eating like you guys for months.

These photos ease any 'what might have beens' had I had dreams of being a food photographer. The meals are actually quite beautiful in real life. (Seriously.)

Salmon Cakes:
Mix a can of costco Kirkland salmon with an egg. It looks totally disgusting so try not to look at it. Then add a T or 2 of your favorite tartar sauce and some lemon juice. Add bread crumbs or flour (I do a mix) until the mixture is dry and sticks together. Saute in olive oil. When the cake is ready, add baby spinach to the hot pan and wilt. I usually squirt a bit of lemon juice onto the spinach and then again onto the cake.

Lemon Rice: saute raw brown rice (uncle bens) with 2 T lemon juice and olive oil 5 min or so. Then cook as usual with chicken stock instead of water.

Next we have the Salmon and Black Bean Salad on Roti Bread.
This one was born one day as I mournfully spooned measly black beans onto a tortilla for my lunch. My sister introduced me to the wonders of canned salmon (costco), a form of food at which I had previously balked.)
1) Saute roti bread (can buy at costco; they are akin to uncooked tortillas) in olive oil according to package directions (flip when bubbles up).

2) Add rinsed and drained black beans. Add salmon (from a can). Warm through. Can also red peppers (sauted is best), corn and baby spinach. Top with mango salsa (costo) and sliced, salted avocado. (My preferred method for avocado topping is to add olive oil and salt to avocado and splice up with a fork; then add to salad). If you are not a vegan, add cheese, too. You can make this with a tortilla, but the roti bread is better.

Finally we have Tilapia on a Bed of Red Quinoa and Fresh Corn and Black Bean Salsa
The salsa: 1 can rinsed drained black bean, several ears of fresh corn cut from cob, diced tomato, diced avocado, diced red onion. Finish with juice of one lime (or to taste, and I always just use bottled lime juice), salt and (important!) a bunch of chopped fresh cilantro. The salsa gets even better with age since the flavors blend with time.

Red Quinoa (trader joe's): cook like rice in rice cooker with 1 boullion cube per cup of water used. Just toss that cube/s in there and try to remember to stir it a bit about halfway through or whenever it seems the cube might have disolved.

Tilapia (or cod), frozen, costco: After thawed, prepare any way you want. When I was gluten-eating, I would dredge it in egg and then in flour. When I had to cut gluten, too, I just salted it and added it right to my hot olive oiled pan. Turn once. It cooks really fast.

Spoon quinoa on a plate, add salsa and top with fish. The salsa can be a pain to make, but this recipe was born when I had a whole bunch left over.

Just as a disclaimer, I realize that these are not gourmet meals (I am using canned salmon after all) but all I am promising is fast, healthy and tasty. For fancier, more involved versions of the salmon cakes, and for other delicious and healthful recipes check out www.ogoodie.blogspot.com

Operation Smile

2010-08-30T14:50:00.005-04:00

At the end of last summer while leaving our favorite park on a warm and fire-fly light night, I felt inspired by the beauty of the night and our high spirits to make my kids' childhoods perfect. Idyllic. It was all up to me; I could completely control it by simply being a perfect and idyllic mother. It was just a matter of taking it day by day. So exciting!

Well, a year later, that hasn't quite worked out as I hoped. My kids and I have been a little bit grumpy over this summer. There has been too much yelling, crying, threatening, writhing on the ground and even mild cursing around this house. The boys have been a bit grouchy, too. After watching Andrew melt down and throw an absolute fit over basically nothing, and just before I threw my own retaliatory tantrum (you know, to fix the situation, obviously), I decided it was time to turn things around and thought that maybe, just maybe, there might be a more effective response. I knew it sounded crazy, but I thought it just might work.

I decided to just plaster a huge smile on my face. Never mind that it was fake. My kids aren't that perceptive yet. I forced them into the car, we raced off to a park to blow off steam, and, after I was able to coax-threaten Andrew from the car, I put my plan into action.
As a short aside, Operation Smile has been floating around in the back of my consciousness for some time. I have come to realize that my face is not one of those that gives me away; worse, it is one of those that disseminates misinformation about me. I have had women apologize to me for expressing their love for the Savior or their goals to hold weekly family nights because somehow my face acted like it was offended by their admirable feelings and ambitions. I knew in the midst of one such humiliating apology that my face needed to shape up. I had another occassion to see that O.S. was necessary when reflecting upon some childhood memories of adults who always seemed, from the set of their expressions, tense or unhappy. I don't want my meaness of my natural slack expression to indicate to my kids that I am not having a wonderful time being their mom.

Anyway, O.S. worked immediately. Andrew turned to see if I was watching him on the jungle gym and I gave him my biggest grin. His face transformed into a huge smile. The same with Will (who was happy already anyway, cute thing). Within 5 minutes, Andrew went from out of control to happy and joyful. By the time we got back in the car, we were all genuinely in fabulous moods.
My kids are just tiny little human mood rings of me, reflecting back at me whatever mood I exude at them. Looks like it is in my power to be a completely perfect mother after all! (Does ignoring them while blogging count as an imperfection? Didn't think so, either.)

The Fastest Summer of My Life (and also the most stressful, unless you count my mission which I often don't)

2010-08-25T23:30:00.014-04:00

I have a lot of reasons for having abandoned my blog for the last several months, but none of them are really worthy. For example, one of those reasons is that there are too many things that I want to remember. Sometimes an approximation is the best one can do, and it is certainly better than doing nothing. Looking through my photos also somewhat depresses me because I realize that I didn't capture quite enough. Those first few weeks when the baby is the tiniest thing, almost unrecognizable to what he will soon enough become, I have too few of those. Like many other things in my life, though, I must confront that failure and move on. That is what blogging is all about.

So here is our summer, in photos.
It was the summer of a tiger striped baby who slept in a side car next to our bed.He also came to the pool with us and slept. It was the summer that Andrew really legitimately swam. He even invented the Thumbs Up stroke.He also learned the dead man's float. It would represent a heart attack moment for the lifeguards (he stays under for an alarmingly long period of time) but for the fact that they pay attention only to one another.
(Awkward Family Photo suitable?)I also like this photo quite a bit. The only way to include Andrew's face was to await his surfacing for air and be quick to press the shutter.
It was the summer I really liked my bathing suit. It was also the summer that Will became frighteningly ill. I was horrified when I saw this photo. He reached a point where he could not keep anything down at all. It is one thing to lament that your child can only be fed by a machine through a tube; it is another to wish that such a treatment worked. Despair might be the best word to describe how Brigham and I felt during the most acute phase. But Will pulled through and we are ending this summer as the first time since he was a few months old that he is solidly on the growth chart.It is the summer that I got serious about doing Family Home Evening (this photo of Will is from FHE's water fight activity from last week.)

I also instituted another policy: Brigham Must Be Home By 7:30pm. This policy was born in one horrible moment of clarity during which I was rocking a wailing newborn whose reflux made it too painful for him to nurse while watching my grievously ill and sobbing 2 year old vomit up all over the rug the small amount of food I had Jillian Michaeled him into eating set against the acoustic backdrop of my 4 year old raising hell in some nearby corner of our filthy disheveled shameful home, knowing that Brigham would only be home in a few hours (it was 6pm) as a special favor to me so that I could attend a Relief Society function I proved too depressed to rally myself to attend.Brigham initially failed to comply with the policy but eventually got with the program that enabled a few of these types of moments, not to mention a sane(r) wife.

It was also the first time any of my kids arrived at the 70th percentile for weight. He has dropped back down to 50th, but I savored the chub for the month it lasted.

I am going to have to stop here because it is late, but here is one from just this morning. Stay tuned for the next installment featuring our beach vacation, crafting activities and Will's soccer skills.

Porter at 2 months

2010-06-27T08:02:00.013-04:00

Porter, today you are two months old. You started smiling like crazy a few weeks ago, just after I uncertainly reported to the pediatrician that of course you were smiling and interacting with us. You waited a week before really confirming that you were capable of that. Now we talk to each other every day, though you still show almost equal interest in the people in the paintings over my bed. Never fear, I know that in no time at all you will be b-slapping us on that same bed right alongside your brothers. Below are photos from your first month. Look how much you have changed!

You have been our easiest baby so far. Everyone remarks upon what a quiet and content little baby you are. When you do cry, you do it properly, with tears and loud yellings. I pointed out to Daddy that you are our earliest tear-producer and he pointed out that you are probably our longest left ignored while crying. Don't worry; that does not mean that you are not my current favorite because you totally are. You are growing really well, too, so that counts for a lot right off the bat. You weighed 12.4 lbs this morning with your diaper and onesie on. Andrew also grew well but you have him beat in that you do not require that we hold you all night to keep you asleep. It is true that you don't really enjoy driving, but other than that, you put up with your brothers getting right up in your face and exclaiming at top volume things like, "AWWW! HE'S SUCH A CUTIE!" (Will) or
"BOO!" (Andrew); you will tolerate your baby chair in the kitchen long enough for me to generally get breakfast moving; you even enjoy taking showers. (I hope that the way Andrew is blocking your face from view in this photo does not come to represent how you feel about your place in the family! Just remember, it builds character!)

It is hard to believe that two months ago today at this moment the least confident anasthesiologist on the planet, face contorted in a mask of fear and bewilderment, was placing my epidural for the second time and you were just a few hours away from arrival. Porter, you are adorable and perfect and from the moment I held you, I knew I would never trade you for any daughter in the world. I knew when I was first pregnant with you that you specifically were supposed to be in our family. We are so blessed that you are. Please don't b-slap me later, but even if you do, I won't forget that feeling.

Love,
Mom
ps, we will take some higher quality shots of you today and better capture that cute half smile that you've got that melts my heart. Love you forever.

Gifts

2010-06-20T21:47:00.005-04:00

"If ye being evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Father in Heaven give good things to them that ask him?"

Someone mentioned this scripture in a lovely talk in church today and I have been thinking of it ever since, though in a slightly different context. We have recently had some set-backs with Will and our hopes for his eating. We removed the ng tube in an effort to get him to develop normal biorythms with regard to food and to learn appropriate self-feeding techniques, two things he has been deprived of since tube placement at 14 months of age. For about a month, he did really well and I thought we had proved all the doctors wrong about Will. He was able to take in more calories by mouth than he had tolerated with the tube (he would vomit up the tube feeding sometimes as much as two or three times a day and always at least once a week) and some days he would even exceed his caloric intake requirements. But in the last few weeks his eating broke down, he began vomiting again, we were told that he is allergic to a broad spectrum of basic foods and his weight simply plateaued where it had been when we began our experiment. I realized, when I found myself fighting my poor little two year old every day (I reminded myself of Jillian Michaels at mealtimes, which, incidentally, lasted easily 90 minutes), that our experiment needed to end for all our emotional and physical health. Will needed help to gain enough weight/inches to catch up and at least be at the bottom of the charts.

Will's health has been a long-standing source of stress and anxiety for our family and I have often envied those around me who seemed have it so much easier than I do. (I know, of course, that so many people have far worse health concerns with their children and I must sound like such a complainer to go on the way that I do.)Once another mother commented on the fact that her 14 month old was the same height as my 2 and four month old and I felt a resentment against her for weeks thereafter. Who, after all, makes that kind of comment about a little child whose ng tube taped to his face makes obvious that there is a health issue present? I suppose I am still irritated about it.

It has only been recently that I have realized that Will's health problems will most likely be long-standing and that they will require a lot of effort and money to even just ameliorate, and that our family needs to adjust accordingly. This trial that we had convinced ourselves, after we were told it was not Cystic Fibrosis, would be grown out of soon enough, is going to be much longer and more difficult than expected.

Often when we talk about trials, we take comfort in believing that they are blessings in disguise, sent to us from a loving Heavenly Father and perfectly taylored by him to help us in whatever way He sees we stand in need. I am not sure that is true, and fairly sure that it is not always true, but I think the best arbiter of whether a given trial was sent from God is the person bearing the burden.

What I do know is true is that with every hardship that befall us, He is there to bless us and help us through, and that these trials really always are opportunities for us to grow as people. That growth can take many forms, but I suspect that it always includes an expanded charitable instinct. After all, what He offers us in these dark times is his perfect love. It seems natural that, when properly endured, our trials help us to develop some love of our own.

It does not matter to me whether God plagued us with Will's health issues in order to bless us and I tend to believe that He did not. But I have seen how it all has created some positive attributes in our home. Andrew is a more protective older brother, Will is the bravest, toughest kid I have ever seen, Brigham and I feel closer as a couple as we struggle to find answers and solutions, our attitudes about eating and exercise have changed and I have experienced a new sense of responsibility and accountability as a mother and a determination to take charge of all things and get them done correctly rather than let the details slip through and fall where they may. I have been learning to prioritize the most important things and let go of those little concerns that eat away so much of our time and energy but that really don't matter at all. My prayers have taken on a new fervor and all of this increased looking towards God has awakened me to the other aspects of our home life that have been neglected (FHE, for example). Brigham has eaten dinner with us during the week only twice since we have lived here and all of this exhaustion that has come with Will's needs has made us realize that we cannot maintain this lifestyle. Our lifestyle, which is best characterized by "single mother with a government-level income in a really expensive area," is far from ideal. Brigham is missing out on these early years with our kids, and I am, too, to a degree because I allow the stress of it all to interfere with my appreciation for its beauty. We would probably continue on in this way indefinitely, as this is how most people out here live, but for Will's health and our dawning realization that a lot of things need to change to help get him better.

Will's health has been a hardship of origin unknown, but it has been surrounded by gifts that I can feel are from God.

Hello, I love you won't you tell me your name

2010-04-28T23:23:00.006-04:00

Most of the events in my life that I expected to feel surreal--stepping off the plane as a missionary, stepping off again as a returned missionary, getting married etc--never really did. Having a baby, on the other hand, did feel surreal, every single time.

I woke up in the middle of the night on Sunday (it was actually 4:00 am or so) when my water broke. It was a slow but unmistakable leak. I can't remember seeing Brigham so nervous. He was tearing around the house rather incoherantly while I sat and waited for my mom to arrive to stay with the boys. The timing was a little bit bad since the kids were leaving Monday with my parents, sisters and kids for Florida and this would mean that I would not be able to spend the morning with them, but I was also glad to not have to be induced later in the week.

I usually describe having a baby as simply going to the hospital and watching tv while eating popsicles for a few hours. Not so this time. Despite getting an epidural in fairly short order, I continued to experience a lot of pain. Even the epidural placement did not go smoothly and easily as in the past. The woman possessed none of that confidence bordering on supreme indifference that I find so attractive in a doctor. She had to try a couple of times before it was all in place, and even then I had to keep rolling from side to side to evenly distribute the feeling of numb paralysis. The paralysis affect was even more pronounced, too, than I had remembered. I truly could not move my legs and my irrational fears of permanent paralysis only intensified when the nurses and doctors informed me with furrowed brows that they supposed it was not utterly unheard of to be so numb.

My contractions slowed in frequency, though not in intensity, and Brigham thought he had a now or never moment to grab something to eat. In the 15 minutes he was gone, the nurses gave me pitocin and I began experiencing contractions so unrelentinga nd painful that I cried. Suddenly a few nurses came rushing into my room and starting adjusting things while one of them plunged a syringe into my thigh. The doctor called out, in a back-fired attempt to reassure me: "Don't worry, the baby has recovered!" Recovered from what, lady? The doctor checked to see how far I had progressed and remarked in surprise, "Wow, he has a lot of hair!" Apparently, I went from 4 cm to ready to push a baby that was already visible in about 15 minutes. The nurses paged Brigham and two pushes later, I was holding my newest little boy.

He looked so much like Will and Andrew that it was startling. He even sounded like them. He has long eyelashes just like Andrew did. He has a loud, strong cry. I felt so worried when they first handed him to me because he was wheezing and purple, but he quickly pinkened up and began really yelling. He is so sweet and cuddly and I feel already that he belongs with us forever. Now we just need to figure out what to call him.

the one where i review the baltimore aquarium

2010-02-06T12:17:00.017-05:00

and give it a B. It is cool, but for the $$$, I did expect a bit more. Caveat: I am rather demanding.
The jellyfish were one of the best things at the aquarium, in Brigham's and my opinion. They are a not a permanent exhibit, though, so if you do want to go, I suggest you do it while your dollar buys the jellyfish, too.
If I were to ever again trust myself with caring for living things besides kids, I would want an aquarium of jellyfish that we kept in a darkly lit room. It was that cool.
We also saw the Dolphin Show, which was an extra $15 or so for the three oldest of us, and while it left something to be desired, I do feel that it is a necessary part of the Aquarium package considering the price of the GA ticket.
The "Australia Room" exhibit reminded me a lot of the National Zoo's Amazonia house, but it was still fun.

I think that the next time we visit Baltimore, we will do it when the weather is warmer and we can ride on the water taxis and take tours of the submarine and ship we saw (and which you can see in some of the photos of us in the cafeteria) docked outside.

I would like to remember that Brigham and I laughed all the way home listening to Jim Gaffigan on our ipod. The boys watched Scooby in the back. We even got home in time to attend a friend's turkey mole party and let the boys run crazy in their house.

It was a great first day to the new year.

Ringing in 2010

2010-02-06T12:08:00.003-05:00

I read that the way you spend your New Year's Eve is the way you will spend your year. So I suppose I can look foward to eating in unnaturally and unbearably freezing cold restaurants (that is Brigham's coat wrapped around Will, not a napkin) where waiters throw food at our faces. And Andrew will deal with quite a bit of frustration at not catching it.
On the other, less literal, hand, perhaps it means that we will go to a bit of expense and trouble
to try to get out of the house
and do memorable things
which we will not capture well with our camera.

I am hoping that my self-help books will have some influence this year, too.

Broken dish, broken heart

2010-02-06T11:30:00.004-05:00

When I was showing Andrew these photos of Christmas Eve the other day, his little eye immediately fixated upon that small Christmas-themed candy dish on the coffee table. And he got really really sad.

One night shortly after Christmas, before we had put any of the accoutrements away, Andrew (who takes after me in the crazy gene) became so enraged about something (I wish I could remember what) that he picked up that dish and slammed it back down on the table, breaking it. I like to handle such things by massaging their guilt muscle a bit. A child's guilty conscience is a mother's best asset. So I acted really sad. I quietly picked up the pieces and spoke softly about how special that candy dish had been. (This was actually sort of true. After all, how often do you find a really cute Crate & Barrel dish for $1 at a second-hand store? Even if you don't live the sort of life in which the dish would ever contain something besides tiny plastic star wars guns.)

Andrew wanted to see if we could glue it back together, but I honestly replied that we could not. He suggested that we could just buy a new one, and I honestly told him that it had been made several years ago and we would probably never see the same one for sale at a thrift store again. That was when he totally fell apart. He sobbed as if something living and beloved had just died. I decided he had faced the consequence of his actions enough, and now was time for a little measured perspective. But despite all my reassurances that it was only a dish, Andrew would not be comforted. "I loved that candy dish so much! It was my favorite! I am so so so sorry, Mom! So sorry!" More sobbing.

He seemed to calm down a bit after I got him in the tub and I thought the whole thing was behind us. Our nightly ritual is to put the boys in my bed in their little towels where they, after feeling sufficiently warmed up, jump around naked while I get their pjs and books ready. Then the boys get dressed and we settle in and read for a while. I left Andrew in my room while I went back to get Will out of the tub. I heard a sudden cry from my bedroom followed by loud sobbing. I rushed back in, sure that Andrew had suffered some sort of physical injury. But, of course, he was crying again because he had remembered that candy dish and was mourning it. His tiny heart was broken and he apologized continually. I think it might be the biggest regret of Andrew's little life.

And it makes me think of a quote I associate with General Conference:
"For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'"

Andrew, may all your regrets be as unreasonable and exaggerated as the one you still suffer for that broken candy dish.

Christmas Day

2010-01-22T08:44:00.001-05:00

christmas morning

2010-01-22T08:08:00.001-05:00

Buying for Christmas was easy this year and was brought to us courtesy of local thrift stores and Walmart. The theme: violence. The Star Wars enthusiasm generated by multiple viewings of the original three on our long Thanksgiving Trek had not abated and basically dominated our gifts this year.
Andrew got his highly-demanded booster seat. (Isn't his excitement palpable? I really captured the moment!) He needed it anyway and he has loved it every single time we get in the car. He loves it so much that I don't regret the little reading lights, though they are slightly annoying and slow Will's departure to sleep when driving home at night. They also sometimes trick me into thinking I am being pulled over.
I just love photos of kids gathered around a parent to assist them in opening presents.
Walmart guns. Still not forgotten.
Will, opening Andrew's gift to him (R2D2) with joy. Andrew was even more excited.
Spontaneous hug of thanks restaged so I could photograph it.The only thing Will asked for when seated upon Santa's lap (he was the most realisitic-looking Father Christmas I had ever seen, but when I asked him what Will had asked for he looked at me with utter surprise and said that he had no idea. But he knew his business; he had Will repositioned so as to minimize the appearance of his tube in the photo we paid a thousand dollars for.)
So, though they were the most expensive gifts and not easy to find in this warped age of obsession with Anakin and the Clone Wars, those movies had to get under our tree.
It is all they want to watch on our family movie nights.

I was nervous about Christmas morning this year because I 1) really wanted the kids to be happy and 2) didn't want to have to confront any issues with my own mothering if I were to see displays of ingratitude and spoiled-kid syndrome. I think about Harry Potter way too much to not have images of Dudley on his birthday prick my heart. But there was none of that, and the kids were genuinely joyful and excited. I wanted it to be magical and it was, for all of us.

Christmas Eve 2009

2010-01-20T15:32:00.000-05:00

In reverse chronological order, because that is how they uploaded. This is how we set up the presents for the boys. Each one had his own little seat; Will's was a chair we already had, while Andrew's was his new booster seat. He needed one anyway, but I had countered his pleas by telling him he was not big enough yet. And I bought the slightly more expensive one that featured little reading lights. I made them those little capes, which is an incident worthy of its own blog post someday. The kids wear them just about every day, to my immense gratification.
This is how the room looked when we went to bed that night at 1 am or so, after wrapping presents and sewing capes (Brigham rethreading the machine I can barely operate) and watching Its A Wonderful Life. I realized that Brigham and I differed with regard to the importance of Santa. It did not even occur to me to try to provide evidence of the man or give him any credit for the gifts we had selected. But Brigham saw that there was magic in Santa for the boys and he worried about whether the boys would be troubled or alerted to suspicion by Santa using the same wrapping paper we did. He resolved it by telling the kids that we left out paper for Santa to use.
Will had fallen asleep in the car and the way home from our DC adventures, so he was unable to open a Christmas Eve present. I chose a transformer for Andrew to open. He was happy with it at first.
I probably should have just taken a photo to document the huge tantrum he threw when the toy proved impossible even for Brigham to transform without heavy reliance upon the directions.

Christmas Eve Festivities 2009

2010-01-05T19:49:00.001-05:00

We held our 3rd annual Christmas in Washington on Dec 24th instead of the Saturday before Christmas because of the blizzard. First up: Botanical Gardens train and tree display.
My Dad and Andrew.
There was a tunnel with little windows looking into tiny rooms all decked out in miniature Christmas scenes. Will loved it. He also insisted on wearing pjs that day instead of clothing because he had received so many compliments while wearing it to a nighttime Christmas party.

The pond in front of the Gardens was totally frozen, so the first thing we did when we parked was go sliding around. The kids loved it.
We maintained the Christas Eve tradition of going out to eat ethnic food (tends to be less busy), but broke with the Indian place that gave a few of us food poisoning last year. Kazan was ok, but I think I will find another restaurant for next year. Will insisted on sitting on Nana's lap for the duration of the meal, so we failed to get a family photo.
After the Botanical Gardens, we headed to the National Gallery because I mistakenly thought there was a Christmas card display there. It was at the portrait museum. So we just saw the Virgin and Child paintings that are always there. The place was beautifully decorated, too. And this was actually a spontaneous hug.

Will goes to the hospital for a little scan

2010-01-04T10:55:00.000-05:00

This is Will right after being tightly wrapped in what Fx Hspt styles a "papoose" to prevent body movement during his stomach scan (last November). He wasn't too happy about it. The tech was even more unhappy when I unwrapped him after Will agreed to remain still on his own. The tech told me it would never work and the whole 3 hours would be a waste of time. But he was wrong.
Despite being bitterly disappointed by an empty Scooby Doo dvd box and having to watch Sponge Bob instead, he took it like a man would take such a blow and went to sleep.
He looked so cute on that table, wearing my old shirt and his new Scooby sticker. He even got an extra one to give to Andrew.

This little episode demonstrates so much about Will right now. He stands up for himself (refusing to be constricted), but is reasonable and negotiable (agreeing to lie still on the table), will adjust to what is required (will fall asleep instead of tantruming, which is what I wanted to do after the many many fumblings on the part of the hospital (not knowing how to perform the procedure, delaying it by over an hour; having me bolus Will bc they didn't feel comfortable (??); promising him a movie they did not have (yes, I rank that right up there with having to call the dr to figure out details that should have been known by the time we arrived).
But it all worked out and I read Real Simple Magazine while he slept and got scanned. He lay still, even when awake, and the scan was perfect.

Candy and Iron: Six Years

2009-12-28T12:38:00.000-05:00

Six year ago last week, I stayed up literally all night. I read a dumb kid's book (called, interestingly enough, Esperanza Rising) and I cried and shook and occassionally placed midnight calls seeking comfort from my fiance (who counseled me from the privacy of a hotel bathroom). I got up the next morning and, with a fear and trembling that is not done justice by that phrase, married my husband.

It turns out that he was the one who should have been afraid.

It seems to me that most people I know floated to their wedding day with high bliss and no fear. That used to make me feel bad, like I had missed out on one of life's momentous occassions and that there was something wrong with me--and perhaps even my marriage. I don't think that anymore, which is why I feel fine about placing this information on a public blog for strangers, former boyfriends or, more likely, just my husband and his family to read. I have since that time realized a few things about life decisions like this, the first being that I have never met a crossroads over which I couldn't agonize interminably (where to go to law school, whether to go on a mission, what to order at Rio Grande). The second is that deciding to whom you will tie yourself for the rest of your life and beyond is a scary decision and a leap of faith. I thought my husband and I had dated a long time and that I was a pretty mature and sophisticated woman when I agreed to marry him in 2003. In reality, I had known him a year and I was 26 when I said yes. Looking back on all of this, knowing now what I didn't appreciate then about the lack of wisdom a 26 year old bears, all that one doesn't know about a person one has dated for a mere 12 months, I realize that in the end I just got lucky.

I think I found the one guy who could handle me and love me without reserve or resentment through all the thick that I have slathered onto our relationship over the years. He is perfect for me.

We were looking at photos from a few years ago and were shocked at how much younger we looked and how different our lives were. The photos were only 3 years old, but back then we were really at the beginning of something that we now feel deep into: it was our first year of parenthood, Brigham was about to start his first career job, we were selling our first home. It was all just starting and we were still in our twenties. Just three years later, we are expecting our third boy, Brigham is in charge of his own cases and my oldest would be starting kindergarten next fall if his birthday were just 2 months earlier. Most startlingly, I am using wrinkle cream instead of acne lotion. It has been six years since we started out on this adventure together and like everything else in my life I am simultaneously shocked at how short a time that represents and how long. I cannot imagine my life any other way, and I don't want to. For me, who still receives (with some small stab in my heart) alumni mail from the three law schools at which I enrolled, that is really saying something.

I have been thinking a lot lately about the institution of marriage, now that we have entered the stage where more friends are announcing their divorces rather than their engagements, and maybe I will work up enough energy to spill my thoughts here sometime. But for now I will suffice it to say that I am so grateful to have a partner who is always on my side and there for me and our kids, with humor and competence. Brig, I am glad that we are still only at the very beginning of it all.

PS Brigham, I feel reassured, rather than threatened, by your promise that you will outlive me now that you have explained that the world is too full of complicated driving routes, missing articles of clothing and complicated electronic appliances/gadgets for me to be left on my own. So true. You can deal with getting sent to collection agencies over an unpaid $20 BMG bill by yourself.

Eyes Wide Shut

2009-11-08T23:35:00.001-05:00

Will woke up Tuesday morning with his eyes sealed shut with infection. I was volunteering at the polls, so Brigham handled it. Will explained the situation to me, though. "My eyes is shut. We washed them off. We took a shower."
Despite the ($55 prescription) eye drops, Will continued to battle the infection. He was pretty calm about waking up with eyes sealed shut, and as you can see, he looked pretty cute, too. He would simply suggest, blindly, that we take a shower.
Andrew took all these photos post-shower. Will was at least pretty cheerful about the whole thing.

Maybe it is easier to look on the bright side when you are basically blind.

Will's Dream Party

2009-11-08T11:31:00.000-05:00

When Andrew turned 2, I threw the best party I have ever thrown (and I include my wedding reception on this list, which actually is not saying much other than that I have some regrets about that reception . . .). We held it in the courtyard of our apartment complex in DC, which caged all the kids perfectly. The fountain with ducks, the moonbounce my sister brought, the pizza, even the weather was perfect.

Of course, when my second child turned two, less than two weeks after my older one turned 4, I was a little bit burned out. I told myself that a family party was all he needed since he was so little, blocking out the memories of how happy 2 yr old Andrew had been to have a real party. On the way to preschool, I decided to put my guilt aside and pose Will a somewhat leading question:

"Will, do you want to have a party with kids," I began, making that idea sound sort of boring, "or should we have a party with your COUSINS?"

"Um, I want my party to be all filled up with kids," he responded definitely. I had no other choice. So two days and one ward listserve email later, Will had the party of his dreams. I even got myself together and made the Dump Truck Cake that seems to be the turning-2 tradition.

The lone birthday boy, expressing his joy in solitude, blowing on his party favor. Had to get a close up.

I wish I had gotten better photos of the rest of the party-goers; they were all so cute. We had cake again that night with Brigham.

Looking at the photos I do have of cute Will during his party, I am struck by two things: first, he really did look happy (which reminds me that Andrew had a very rough time during that party), and second, he really is a big boy now. It happened so fast!

saying goodbye to very young children, (one more reason to read some john updike when you can)

2009-10-08T09:16:00.000-04:00

Andrew, October 2008

Saying Goodbye to Very Young Childrenby John Updike

They will not be the same next time. The sayings
so cute, just slightly off, will be corrected.
Their eyes will be more skeptical, plugged in
the more securely to the worldly buzz
of television, alphabet, and street talk,
culture polluting their gazes' pure blue.
It makes you see at last the value of
those boring aunts and neighbors (their smells
of summer sweat and cigarettes, their faces
like shapes of sky between shade-giving leaves)
who knew you from the start, when you were zero,
cooing their nothings before you could be bored
or knew a name, not even your own, or how
this world brave with hellos turns all goodbye.

Perhaps it would be more fitting to just post photos of them from last year, photos that demonstrate how thoroughly they have changed already. But this is how they are right now (Andrew took the photo of Will himself), and in a few months time, the change will be plain enough for me.

vignettes

2009-10-02T10:53:00.000-04:00

On Marriage
A few weeks ago, Brigham and I had a conversation about remarriage after untimely spousal death (one of my worst fears--being replaced and forgotten by my tiny kids).

Brigham reassured me that he would not remarry. "But you would, I understand that. You are young and the boys are so little; you should remarry. Just don't remarry right away."

"No, Alexandra. I really would not. I mean, I would have girlfriends and everything, but I am not getting married again!"

So the conversation went from sweet to funny, and now, after weeks of thinking back over that it, hurtful. Brigham laughs at me and insists he was kidding. (Ha-ha, as Will now says after confessing to doing something against the rules.)

On Self-Love

We hosted some friends for the long weekend in September. The 6 year old girl had made a valentine for her father, which she left in the kitchen after they departed. Andrew found the paper heart and was immediately curious about it.

"Brinley made that for her daddy," I explained.

"Did she make it for me, too? I think maybe she made it for me, too." Pause, during which I don't answer. "Why does she love me so much?"

On Sleep-DeprivationWill has made a habit of waking up at 4am on the dot. I am sure that our response only reinforces the behavior: one of us (brigham) gets up and brings him, still screaming, out of his crib and into our bed. He immediately rushes for me, hugs me and kisses me and declares repeatedly, "Hi, Mommy. I love you so much." It says something about the state of affairs around here that this actually does get annoying, even the repeated lip-kisses between declarations of affection.

This morning, however, he did not stop screaming once he was in our bed. He thrashed and cried and warned us against rubbing him or singing to him. Our threats to return him to his crib eventually worked and he went back to sleep. When we both woke up at a more reasonable hour, I asked Will about his behavior.

"Why were you so mad last night, Will?"

"Because I just get so grumpy about it," he responded reasonably.

"Yes, but why? Why are you so grumpy?"

"Because I'm bad to daddy. Haha." Smiling. He is so sweet.

just lay down on the floor young missy, and other phrases to keep in my pocket

2009-09-18T14:02:00.000-04:00

Talking to Jessica today I was reminded of how often I rely on movie lines to express my feelings and respond to basic pleasantries and interrogatories. It can turn mildly awkward for some of the parties involved if they are not familiar with the movie line, but I don't think I can overcome this communication habit. I just don't want to.

My favorite, I think, has to be the response to a basic question: "Do you know Blippity Bloppity Blue?"

"Know him? I dated him!" (delivered in a NY accent). Anyone, anyone? That one is even funnier if you are responding for someone else, as in "know him? she dated him!" then the "she" has a little explaining to do, making the conversation that much more fun.

I have decided to make a running list of my most-used movie phrases.

Here is one that cost me a friendship. I didn't even say it, but I was guilty of laughing. "I can hear you getting fatter." see, it is funny but not offensive since it is mere movie-quoting.

Please advise me of your favorite movie lines to use in ordinary conversation. Mine might be getting bit out of date.

To put on my wish list

2009-09-17T14:40:00.001-04:00

I want this dress. I would like to wear dresses and skirts instead of jeans. Maybe I should stop watching Mad Men. It is actually a bit boring, anyway.

An Easy Meal: Cheeze it Chicken

2009-09-04T19:01:00.000-04:00

My mother-in-law gave us one of their ward cookbooks when we were first married. I tend to really like those types of cookbooks: they are tried and true and typically easy and practical. I have always been tempted by, but afraid to try, Cheeze-It Chicken. Well, we made it a few weeks ago and I am sticking by it forever, particularly since I purchased a ton of Cheeze-its from Costco on an impulse a few months ago.

The boys pound up their baggies full of cheeze-its using toy hammers while I rub sour cream on defrosted, dry chicken breasts. Then we pour the cheeze-it crumbs on top (you can either spread crumbs on both sides or just dump them on top; it is a forgiving recipe--quite a shock, I know.)

Cook on 350 (uncovered) for 30 min. Remove and pour a T or 2 of melted butter on top and replace for another 30. Since I use those bags of Costco frozen chicken, my cooking time is considerably less. Also, you can skip the butter step. It just means that your coating will be a little drier.

The Cheeze-It Chicken was discovered in pursuit of some larger goals I created for myself during our Utah vacation (to make real dinners instead of just warming up hot dogs, macaroni or nuggets--which I will still do, a lot, but not exclusively anymore. Poor Brig needs something real to eat, and cheeze-it chicken qualifies!)

Another goal I made was to take one photo a day. I wouldn't fuss about it being super quality or anything like that. I am proud to report that I have been able to do it, and plan on maintaining it for a year. I have fallen short in posting them every day on my real top-secret online journal to which only I have access, but I will try to at least play catch up.

Here was us today.
Will selected this outfit and was insistant about it. I am grateful, however, that he suddenly decided to remove all of it before we went on our walk to see the men cutting down tree limbs. We saw a neighbor I really like but don't know well and it just feels slightly better to have your kids not look utterly ridiculous and uncared for. I don't like Andrew's outfit, but I no longer attempt to control what he wears minus Sunday attire. If he will put it on his own body willingly, I am satisfied.

An Important Current Event

2009-09-02T09:41:00.000-04:00

Honduras' Struggle to Remain a Democracy, Despite Obama's Pressure to Reinstate Their Constitutionally-Deposed Chavez-like Leader

(that entire title is hyperlinked), for those interested in what I consider to be Obama's most obvious instance of being on the wrong side of an issue (well, aside from voting against providing medical treatment to babies born alive after a failed abortion). Meanwhile, we are off to Mt. Vernon!

Utah 2009

2009-08-27T20:31:00.000-04:00

We went back to Utah for the first time since July 2007, immediately after I had taken (and passed!) the Va Bar. Life changes so much in just a couple of years when you are a young family. My 21 one month old Andrew has been replaced by 21 month old Will, and supplanted by this almost 4 year old kid with huge hair who sleeps through the night.

Will and I flew out of Dulles the afternoon before Brig and Andrew took a straight shot flight right into SCL. Will and I, of course, flew first to JFK, where we had a long layover. We ended up in SLC at 2am EST. Will was, of course, a wonderful flier. My kids don't eat until they are 2, don't sleep through the night reliably until they are . . . 2, but they always always always are awesome on flights. By awesome I mean that they don't cry. Andrew remained awake the entire (no exaggeration) flight from NYC to Tel Aviv when he was 11 months old. And though he interrupted many a prayer circle that Jewish men and formed in the aisles, he did it with a smile. Same with Will, though Will gets an even higher mark for his performance on his flight bc he actually did fall asleep at some point. I lay my sweater on the floor and he just plopped down.

It was nice to be back in Utah. Even though I will tell people when asked that I am from Virginia, it would also be true to say that I am part Utahn. I spent my young adult formative years there, and remained for a few thereafter in Salt Lake for the first years of marriage. 11 years in total. Utah in many ways does feel like home to me.

Here are the highlights of our stay:

These were taken on the Alpine ski lift. They are just decor since I have no photos of the race.

1) The 10K
We ran the Deseret News 10K as a sibling group. Brigham, determined to beat his younger brothers, actually trained for it. This is the same man who didn't even try to lose weight for our wedding. I suppose losing a 10K to his brothers would have been more humiliating than looking "like [he] shouldn't be allowed to drive" (his own description) in our wedding photos. I don't know exactly what the connection btwn 15 extra pounds and looking mildly disabled is, but for Brig, there is one.

Brigham won handily. And true to form, he stuck by me until I encouraged him to hurry up and beat his brother's wife (who was pushing a stroller). In our defense, she is also almost 6 feet tall, 26 years old and a former All American athlete. I came in a proud third, beating all the (younger than me) brothers, too. Hey, I have to take my victories where I can find them. They are few on the ground.

Running through our old neighborhood was a bit surreal. The last time I had been down those streets was when I lived there and hung out all day with a baby and my dog. We went back to our very street and saw our house, and the strange thing is that I still felt like it was mine. I got out and looked at the dog footprints on the corner of Emerson Ave and 800 East. Charlie made them the summer before we moved when they repaved the sidewalk on one of our many many walks to the dog park. I regretted not dirtying Andrew's baby hand to leave his impression, too.

I was struck by how small Salt Lake is. In some ways, this appeals to me. It is harder (though by no means impossible) for me to get hopelessly lost, the traffic is nonexistent compared to DC, everything is cheaper, easier, more parking-accessible. Yet that morning, I couldn't help but be struck by the thought: is this all?

2) Abby and Patrick's Wedding
This was the very most fun wedding event I have ever attended. Everything was perfect, and I think a lot of that has to do with Abby just being able to roll with the punches. She was bitten by a dog that morning, the hairdresser failed to show up so her hair was fixed in the car on the way to the Temple--stuff like that. And she didn't miss a beat. That is just Abby, and so that was how the whole day was. My favorite part was when Abby and Patrick sang this song they wrote.

The reception was held in the Cannon's riverfront backyard. The best part about it was the caged playground area where my kids could be safely stowed (and entertained by Patrick's younger brother, Cubby, whom my kids worshipped and continued to ask about for weeks).

Ok, why didn't anyone just tell me that Will looked like Albert Einstein with his hair so long like that? This photo made me realize that the time had come for the cut. Doesn't he look so much cuter? I also realized that my hair needs some help, too. And that Brig was right about that ribbon in my hair--not my best look.

3) Zions Park
We spent a couple of days down in Zions, where we celebrated Brig's dad's 60th birthday. All the siblings went on a nice hike while my poor saintly mother in law babysat all those kids. I feel less guilty bc Will napped the whole time and Andrew is pretty self-sufficient, but my sisters in law sure owe her big time! :)

I realized how totally lame I was in college to have not attached myself to people who actually took advantage of the fun things Utah has to offer. Never date a guy who was no car for more than 6 months, particularly if he has to take Math 97 to graduate. Just saying.
The kids in the Virgin River Walk.
I still have not lived my dream, originating in July 2001, of doing this hike with swimming gear. The other times I came the water was either too cold or I was weighed down by babies.
Andrew putting his cold hands on my bare skin. It gave him such joy.
The type of guy I should have always been dating. No Math 97 here. (It is ok for the wife to take math 97, Jessie!)
At the start of Peekaboo Canyon.
I would like to record here that I did wear a wetsuit on this hike, and I was wise to do so. My sister in law is hiding behind her husband here because she was basically naked. (just kidding, anne!!) Not me; that wetsuit protected me from the freezing water, the filth in the water, and from scraping my body on the canyon walls. The best part about it was that I looked totally hot! Wetsuits are way flattering. That is why I wore one on my honeymoon to Hawaii (the Pacific Ocean is really cold, especially in January--even in Hawaii)! I know I would feel so much more confident if I had one of my own to wear to the pool.

Utah was a lot of fun. I miss the pork salads already.

sunday morning coming down

2009-08-23T10:56:00.001-04:00

This was taken an hour ago. They are now all at the park.

Will loves a piggie-back ride these days.

He also loves to angrily proclaim himself to be Pig WON'T. So that book has been an awesome parenting tool. I am reminded of this because he did it this morning. Will someday nothing short of dying be half as lonely as the sound of no little tiny boy shouting "I am Pig Won't!" at 6 am? It is from that sentiment that I draw my strength: as depressing as being roused so early in such a way is, it will be more depressing when there is no hope of such a wake-up.

Anyway, instead of getting right down to my nursery lesson, the ostensible reason for getting on the internet this morning, I ended up getting sidetracked by my most recent and constant distraction. One would think I was good at math. Don't hate me because I am conservative.

Did you notice that Will's tube is out? That was a Brigham Executive Decision. I think it was only the second in our marriage, but, like the first (coming home from work and removing Will's crib from our room to the spare room), I think it might be the right one. He has already been eating full meals, every time. I can even give him his medicine now. We'll see how it goes.

Happy Sunday. Ours will be; we are having Thai Massuman Curry for dinner and it is good.

ps for some reason my hyperlinks don't appear in a different color, so I have to bold them. Also, missing from my tool bar is a font function. I cannot change font style or size. Quite frustrating.

of summer baseball games

2009-08-19T23:25:00.000-04:00

Andrew just got back from the Nationals game he attended with Brig. It was nearly 11pm and he was bubbly and happy. He went into great detail about all the exciting things he saw, like the "baseball hats and bats" that he now wants for his chart (a bribery strategy long defunct, whose primary usefulness now is simply in referring to it; now I have implemented the Level Four Boy strategy, which I may detail in another post), and a difficult to follow story involving teasing his dad, waving, traffic and operating his power window. He reported that the white team from Washington DC lost, but that they were not disappointed. He certainly didn't seem disappointed.

He might as well have been standing in an airport with little missionary tags on his suit, he seemed that old to me. When did he truly transform into this real person big kid?

I think I am going to be a very weepy lady someday.

He locked us out as we tried to reenter the house after a quick car clean-up. I love that little boy.

An easy laugh

2009-07-22T09:11:00.001-04:00

This is my new favorite website. If Brigham is not tired enough to get really weird and make me laugh, I have a new alternative.

And maybe, just maybe, I have a new goal besides having someone I love featured on America's Funniest Home Videos.

If Price Were No Object

2009-07-13T12:16:00.000-04:00

This is the house I would live in. It is on my very favorite street in the entire DC metro area. You can't miss the virtual tour.

This is the mascara I would use:

This is the school I would send the boys to. I like a single-sex education, and I like the particular method of this school. Of course, I also love Fairfax Christian, so long as it remains what once was, even if it lacks the uniforms, that is where they would go for K-4. (I am very pro-uniform.)

I know I should have a car of choice, but in reality I don't know much about cars and don't have any real desires beyond a minivan (or maybe Suburban?). Leather interior is as far as I really get.

I told Brigham that if I lived in that house on Newark St that I would never have occassion to be irritable again. He doesn't believe me, but I would like him to call my bluff.

In the market for an alarm clock

2009-07-13T11:43:00.000-04:00

Will has been my alarm clock for the past 20 months. He has never slept past 7:30 in his life. Until about 10 days ago, he woke up at least once a night, usually two, sometimes three and occassionally more. I do not say this to martyr myself; on the contrary, I admit it even though it embarrassingly reveals my poor skills at sleep training. I can give you all my excuses some other time.

My life transformed a week and a half or so ago when I had a conversation with Will about his night wakings. I told him that he was not to wake up anymore during the night. We read the two books in the Goodnight Moon (My World is the other book)series every night (and prenap) that week and I emphasized how contented the little bunny was in his bed and crib. Somehow, all of this worked from the first night of it. Will has been sleeping through ever since.

Saturday was a landmark day in our home. Andrew came in our room in bright sunlight and woke us up. I got in the shower, wondering what time it was, as I had my sister's baby shower to attend at 10, and some fruit salad to buy before that. I figured it was around 9, a typical wake up for Andrew, who goes to bed at 9 during the summer (the previous night he didnt go down until 10:30, though, for very important and justifiable reasons which I cannot recall). I marvelled that Will not only slept through the night, but slept in. We don't have a clock in our room. We have never needed one.

"Alexandra, it is 10:30!" Brigham exclaimed, ruining my leisurely shower. 10:30. Needless to say, I was an hour late for my sister's party.

I can tell she is going to be a great mom already. She wasn't even mad at me.

Local History: Sully Plantation

2009-07-10T15:54:00.001-04:00

We went to Sully Plantation last month with my sister and her children. It may be dramatic, but not exaggerating, to say that the experience was such that "a more spiritual [wo]man than myself might have achieved levitation." (if you have not already read For Esmee With Love and Squalor, stop reading this and get your hands on the short story right now!)

We learned a lot. The kids learned that if they get too close to the well, a white haired man will come out and terrify them away, telling them that if they fell in there would be no way to get them out again.

My sister and I learned that the plantation was originally owned by Robert E. Lee's grandfather, Henry Lee II and later his uncle, Richard Bland Lee. We also learned that Henry Lee's wife and first lady of the home, Lucy Grymes, was reknowned for her great beauty (she was known as the Lowland Beauty). She received a marriage proposal from George Washington, but she considered him too poor to be suitable. She lived to see him become the nation's hero. Talk about a road not taken experience.

The kids seemed to absorb that the Lees lived with a white squirrel as a household pet. I am certain they at least took notice of the stuffed albino creature.

We saw all the bedrooms.
My favorite was the girls' (neices to the Lees) room; this photo does not capture why. The younger girl had carved her little name in the window, but the pane was later broken during restoration. It was the only pane of glass to break in the entire home. It is the window to the left.
Will loved the cradle in the master bedroom, so I had to get a shot of him showing it to me for the millionth time.

This is the downstairs study. Cordelia, the older niece, was married in this room and the room was set up as it was the day of her wedding. That green sofa was there that day, too. Don't you love it? I loved this room, and the original sofa and the wedding story and set-up made me love it more.

We learned that the schoolhouse was in a large room upstairs. They used the McGuffy Eclectic Readers, the same I used as a 4th grader at Fairfax Christian School.
(I recognized even then what a tremendous education that school was, and if it is still the same now as it was then, I will do whatever it takes to send my kids there.) Why would any school use anything aside from McGuffy's?

The kids got to try out the hornbooks, the slate boards etc.

We learned about making thread and yarn. This was Andrew's favorite room.
Lucy Gryme's wheel from the early 1700s is still there, too.

We talked about the contrast btwn the master house and the slave quarters.

We realized that our tour was way too long for little kids and that we lacked the skills to properly assist our guide in giving us a redacted version. His method of redaction was to go on and on and on about a few rooms and then not show us the kitchen at all
We learned that there is a Costco 5 minutes from the Plantation and it is a perfect place for 5 hungry boys, one other boy and a girl to eat lunch.
We will be back soon. Make that volunteer tour guide earn his money.

Thoughts

2009-07-08T08:46:00.001-04:00

We have been up to a lot and I have many photos to satisfy grandmaternal hearts, but I thought I would link to some thoughts I have been having on the political scene. I have always somewhat followed politics, but lately I have been feeling almost a basic free-floating anxiety about the state of affairs. The booming budget deficit, an impending man-made health care disaster (if it passes) . . . I feel like I am on a ship headed for a waterfall and everyone else on board is happily going along for the ride. Our poor children. I fear they will never recover from the disasters we are creating for them with our selfish and short-sighted political choices today.

Please, if you disagree with me, I would love to hear your words of comfort. I have truly never more wanted to be wrong. Read here, if interested.

Happy Father's Day and Birthday, Brigham

2009-06-21T22:25:00.000-04:00

Interview with Andrew re his father:
Q: What makes your daddy happy?
A: Drawinging a love card for him.

Q: What makes Daddy sad?
A: When you don't give him a love card
(editor's note: Andrew did not give his father a love card)

Q: What do you do to make Daddy laugh?
A: Tell jokes like "chicken with pink underwear."
(editor's note: does this mean we should stop laughing at this joke?)

Q: What is Daddy's job?
A: To earn money. (after some more prodding) He's an attorney.

Q: What do you and Daddy do together?
A: Wrestle.

Q: How do you know Daddy loves you?
A: Because I just love him. Because he just loves me.

Interview with Will re his father:
Q: What is Daddy's name?
A: Um, Deebum. Deebum. Yeah.
(Editor's thoughts to self: is that better or worse than Brigham?)

Q: Is Daddy big or little?
A: Little.

Q: Is Daddy funny or mean?
A: Funny!

Q: What do you like to do with Daddy?
A: Jump!

Andrew has taken several opportunities lately to let me know how much his dad means to him. Here is a transcript from a recent coversation:

Me: I miss Daddy.
Andrew: Why?
Me: Becaues I like it when he is here. Don't you miss him?
Andrew: (sadly) Yes, I do.
Puts hand on my shoulder consolingly: I just love him more than you, Mommy.
Then, to clarify: I just like Daddy better than you.

Andrew reported to me tonight on the drive home from my parents' house that he "follows Daddy everywhere." "If he goes upstairs, I go upstairs. If he goes downstairs, I go downstairs. I just want to be with him."

I hope that is a type and shadow of things to come.

Flying Leap

2009-06-11T15:19:00.000-04:00

I was ignoring my kids while reading people's blogs when I heard Will's tiny voice call out: "Flying Leap!" This is what I saw.
He actually worked up the nerve to jump off.
We played this game on my bed (jumping off the frame) for a while yesterday. The water tables I set up for them today only bought me so much time and one (andrew) wet kid. Andrew has removed his shorts because of an earlier episode of puddle jumping.
Now we are playing a variation of Hide and Seek that involves me morphing btwn myself, a wild clown and a dangerous Rhino. Andrew gets really afraid of Rhino me so I have to quickly morph back into the wild clown. Will likes it. I wonder what that means?
Also, does this mean they will go to sleep tonight at a nice decent hour?

Bits and Pieces from Today

2009-06-08T21:54:00.000-04:00

I discovered a small fledgling in the back of our car today when I went out to, what else, retrieve the kids' shoes. I think by far the most likely scenario was one in which the bird got folded up in our stroller, left out for a few hours btwn the afternoon walk and the final load-up after our weekly Sunday dinner at my parents' house. They have lots of wrens.

If I had known at the time that it was a baby, I would have reacted differently. I placed calls to several different places: Fx County animal control and two Wildlife Federations in the area. Left messages everywhere but the County. I had a feeling that I should just wait for the Crazy Bird Lady to coach me (she was actually a lovely woman, the epithet was pre-conversation and shorthand for those people out there who love very specific types of animals and know everything about them. Wildlife Rehabilitationist is the formal title for these wonderful people. I wish I had waited for Nora, the area Songbird Rehabilitationist (as opposed to a Rehabilitationist for other types of birds).

The animal control lady came and frightened that tiny little bird out of my car and under it using her retractable baton. (I guess she and Andrew were on a similar wavelength; he wanted to use his plastic sword. Why is it that I could reject his suggestion but acquiese to her?) She had the air both of a brute and an expert. Maybe it was a combo of the gun and the "animal control" insignia on her uniform. The masculine authority with which she pronounced the bird perfectly fit and ready to just hop off to his business reassured me just enough to ignore by better judgment. "Just scatter that birdseed by it and it will be ok," s/he commanded from behind reflective sunglasses. So I did. The poor little thing just cowered and chirped his heart out. I took courage in the chirping; it showed he was strong.

It was all the more heartbreaking when Nora called and explained that the chirping was a desperate attempt to call to his mother. She was able to determine over the phone by my description and the sound of the chirp that the bird was a wren and a baby. The lack of tail that I had worried was a sign of injury was actually a sign of babyhood and lack of ability to fly. Worst, it is also a sign that he is not yet ready to feed himself, either. His chirping was a cry of hunger.

If you find a baby wren, they can be feed watermelon, peeled grapes or blueberries. Hold the fruit on a toothpick over the bird's mouth. Never attempt to give water, as you will drown the poor thing. Just call me and I'll get you in touch with Nora.

The birdseed was worthless; it would be like putting a cup of milk in front of a day old baby and expecting him to drink. The thing to do was to catch him and bring him back to my parents' house where his mother could find him. But as she explained this, the bird flew three feet away onto a low branch of a tree, which he then hopped up and up and up until I couldnt see him anymore. A few hours later I didnt even hear his chirps any longer. The babies need to eat every hour.

The worst part is that he almost beat all the odds. He survived being inside a stroller as it was folded up. He made it through the night in the car in the summer. He even hopped into the car of a person who was ready to call anyone and do anything necessary to help the bird. I even had him in a box at one point and was going to return him to McLean. But I listened to the wrong person. It is worse than the nest full of little birds that feel down onto our patio, our gruesome Sunday morning discovery.

Andrew went on a safari to find the bird, bringing along his little "binoculars!" (two toilet paper rolls glued together).

At dinner, I told the boys about the canker sore on the left side of my mouth and the cut on the right inhibiting my ability to eat. Will insisted that I had gum and was jealous. Andrew pitied me. "Oh no! I am so sorry to hear that!" Such genuine concern from the boy who often tells me, in all sincerity, that he prefers his father.

I have had a few sweet occassions lately to hear my own words come back to me from Andrew's mouth, like yesterday on our walk (the Iceberg stroller growing in stature, grace and hue to meet our poor Titanic wren) when Andrew took Will's hand and said, "Oh look what I found! A little cute baby hand!"

It makes up for Will throwing things and then shouting, "damaged!", reminding me of my attempts to cover for an instance of cursing (the stroller fell down the steps of our front stoop with 12 month Will strapped inside!) and Andrew seizing upon this new exclamation repeatedly. Telling him that I said "damaged" was the best I could think of to remedy my foul-mouth toddler. When did Will pick up on this? I am just glad he picked up on the red herring word.

Andrew grilled me over the nature of God and the creation of man as he ate his Scooby Macaroni and occassionally demanded if a given shape were the Mystery Van. I could never give a noncommital response. Even though I often don't know an answer, and want to build a reputation for unflinching truthfulness with him, he detects evasion in my "It looks like it is" and challenges again, "But is it? Is it?" at an increasing decible until I just lie and agree and promise and reassure.

"How did God make our bodies?" I try to answer. "How do people make bodies?" He immediately follows it up with some hypothesis of God pouring water on a magic table to create people. Is that from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe? "I just learned it myself."

"Can God destroy people?"

"Yes."

Gasp of air and look of fear combined with elation, "So He is dangerous!" His eyes are dancing with excitement! Will starts talking about King Kong. Is that what the boys think God is like???

"He can, but He usually doesn't." Wondering if I am preaching false doctrine.

"I belive that Jesus is real."

I just felt grateful we take him to Church every week.

And grateful that he is aware of even the sparrow falling from the sky.

Will's First Day of Nursery (three weeks ago)

2009-05-24T21:55:00.000-04:00

photo taken on his first day, during Sacrament meeting.

Me: Can you believe that Will is going to be 18 months already? The time has gone so fast. He is growing up way too quickly . . . (lost in nostalgia way out of proportion to event)

Brig: Poor nursery workers.

I stayed with Will for the first half hour before sneaking out. I kept waiting for someone to bring my tear-stained baby to me during R.S., but nobody ever did.

As I was typing about how Brave he was and how he Shed Not a Tear, Brigham informed me casually, "Oh yes he did. A lot of tears." But they never brought him to me! Off-handedly, (his characteristic tone--even when he is making plea arrangements with defendants, I am sure) "That's because we have really good nursery leaders."

And we do.

Home sellers after my own heart

2009-05-13T15:32:00.000-04:00

One of my past times, when I am not reading the final words of victims of airline disasters or re-reading Harry Potter for the millionth time, is looking at homes for sale (online) as if I were in a position to buy one right away. (I look both here and Salt Lake; I think I could be an agent.)

Anyway, today I came across a for sale by owner turned sale by agent. After the "agent remarks" on the house that included all the technical details, the owners inserted their own paragraph. The photos they posted featured them with their fellow white-haired companions, eating lunch on the back deck on a warm fall day. They are the only people to have owned the home and they raised their kids there. (I know this from their previous craiglist posting, which also had pulled on my heart.)

We feel it is a terrific place for the right family. It is secluded right in a 1/3 acre lot subdivision, yet such excellent access. When we moved in, the lots were virtually bare; now there are giant tress all around. The back yard is great for kids and adults. We had a wedding back there two years ago. The couple are professional photographers and they took the pictures for our web site. I hope you have checked it out www.koanResort.com Of course, the deck is an added bonus. There are great views to the front, cul-de-sac and surrounding homes with their colorful landscaping, plus a complete panorama of the back yard. The deck is as handy to serve a meal as the dining room. We have eaten probably 75 % of our breakfasts and dinners out there since April 1st.. It has been plesant even on these very hot days-especially in the morning! This has been a great year for the birds-lots and lots of them, singing and looking for food. We had a beautiful Cardinal couple that ruled the roost out back. They built a nest in the tree under our box bay window and started a family. The egg lasted only a few days; imagine our disappointment.

I want to have them over for dinner. Andrew can show them the bird feeder we made.

"This Is For All You Mothers Out There!"

2009-05-10T22:30:00.000-04:00

A few weeks after Will was born, the kids and I went to my Mom and Dad's house for a little visit. Andrew had been having a rough adjustment to having a baby in the house and being apartment-bound because of said new brother was not this 2 year old's style at all. Going for walks down my parents' dead-end road and adjoining bike trail was still one of our very favorite things to do and seemed to me to be called for at the moment.

I put tiny Will down for a nap in the guest room and took Andrew out. We were on the way back to my parents' house, taking our time to investigate every mud puddle and rock that called Andrew's attention, when I saw my dad come running up the road toward us, clutching an enormous bundle of down comforter. Lost somewhere inside was Will; I could hear him crying.

"I tried to calm him down and then your mom tried, but he just got madder and madder," my dad explained.

I took him from my dad and he immediately stopped crying. Initially I thought he may have finally succumbed to heat stroke (I think it was pretty warm out and that down comforter was just simply ridiculous). By the time I carried him back to the house, he was asleep in my arms.

And I had a thought.

My baby did not seem to have any particularized reason for crying. He was not hungry, he was not tired; he simply wanted to be held. But not by anyone. He wanted to be held by his mother.

Just like his two year old brother wanted to go for a walk, but not with just anyone, this brand new baby knew to whom he belonged and that was the only person with whom he wanted to be.

There is so much discussion of "quality time" and so much concern over what we should be doing as moms and how we should be doing it. That is perfectly appropriate, as our time should be spent in quality ways and it is often not easy to know how to handle the various situations that arise in parenthood.

But in the final analysis, as this little memory serves to remind me, all of the caring acts that comprise the daily ministrations of parenthood--diaper changing, bathing, shaking little toys in a baby's face, picking a child up from school, even--all of these simple acts that are so easy to denigrate as things that anyone could do, are not things that just anyone can do. Not, at least, in the eyes of the child. The fact that it is his mother that is doing them makes all the difference in the world to him. And to me as a mother. Perhaps the biggest mistake we can make as mothers is simply not being there to do those things, those simple, sometimes boring and taxing, things.

Realizing this makes me feel simultaneously more and less guilty about the job that I am doing as a mom. But motherhood, like anything else, is all about balance and common sense. We know we cannot and should not dote every moment on our children, and they do not need, may not want and should not receive every ounce of our attention and participation in their play, and every mother needs a break and should not feel guilty for taking one.

It is to say, however, that we need to seize this short day of our early motherhood. It all passes so quickly. I am already nostalgic for my children's earlier stages. In two years, Andrew will be spending more (waking) hours at school than at home. Maybe mothering a baby and small child is the most critical opportunity for us to lay the foundations for our bonds with our children. Children will spend their lives growing more and more independant of us, as is our job to teach them to be.

Though our job can be described as teaching our kids to no longer need us, the emotional bond we forge continues forever. One of my more macabre activities of late is reading black box recordings of airline disasters. In one of the recordings a member of the crew, knowing he was about to die and that there was a black box to transmit his final message, called out: "I love you, Mom."

Motherhood is about giving yourself away to the tiny people that we invite into our lives, who pay us back in double.

Thanks, Mom, for exemplifing this for me. Love is a home-made Egg McMuffin sandwich kept warm in a tin foil envelope by the front door at 6 am. And drawing smiley faces on little toes.

The Rule of Law?

2009-05-02T22:13:00.001-04:00

Now that Justice Souter has graced us all with stepping down from the bench, my thoughts have turned back to the issue that made the 2008 election one that I believed would create a legacy that would extend into the lifetimes of my kids: the make-up of the Supreme Court. (btw, I have since come to realize that most of what our President has done will create a legacy from which our country may never recover and for which our kids will, literally, be paying $$.)

Obama voted against Chief Justice Roberts' (one of the most respected legal minds of his generation) confirmation with some mincing and hand-wringing about justices needing to involve themselves personally and on an emotional level in the cases before them, and that their decisions be guided by their sense of empathy.

That sounds like ok advice for a mother in determining an appropriate response to a wayward kid, but not for someone whose sworn office it is to simply interpret the Constitution. Where is the rule of law in this "judicial" philosophy?

When I came across this from Ramesh Ponnuru today, I could not resist reposting it here. (And if you are not reading the corner, you should be.)

In 2007 then-presidential candidate Barack Obama explained how he would pick federal judges: "We need somebody who's got the heart, the empathy, to recognize what it's like to be a young teenage mom. The empathy to understand what it's like to be poor, or African-American, or gay, or disabled, or old. And that's the criterion by which I'm going to be selecting my judges."

Note that the "empathy" Obama has in mind does not extend to black inner-city schoolkids who would like options beyond their failing schools . . . or small-business owners, or homeowners, all of whom have interests in Supreme Court litigation. Or, needless to say, unborn children: Obama made his remark at a Planned Parenthood event.

When President Obama says that he wants judges to have "empathy," what he means is that he wants judges who are political liberals—and who allow their politics to influence their judicial decisions. Isn't that what his quote really demonstrates?

Also, I would just like to say that I love George Will again (I was dismayed by how critical he was of Bush and McCain--wasn't the liberal press already on top of that?) and came across this oldie but goodie from him ("goodie" is hyperlinked to the article, which you should read!). I love that he even gets to the subject of how one-sided the "compassion" in this "liberal compassion" theory is.

Steven Calabresi, a law professor at Northwestern, had this response to Obama's judicial philosophy:

On this view, plaintiffs should usually win against defendants in civil cases; criminals in cases against the police; consumers, employees and stockholders in suits brought against corporations; and citizens in suits brought against the government. Empathy, not justice, ought to be the mission of the federal courts, and the redistribution of wealth should be their mantra.

In a Sept. 6, 2001, interview with Chicago Public Radio station WBEZ-FM, Mr. Obama noted that the Supreme Court under Chief Justice Earl Warren "never ventured into the issues of redistribution of wealth and sort of more basic issues of political and economic justice in this society," and "to that extent as radical as I think people tried to characterize the Warren Court, it wasn't that radical."

Every new federal judge has been required by federal law to take an oath of office in which he swears that he will "administer justice without respect to persons, and do equal right to the poor and to the rich." Mr. Obama's emphasis on empathy in essence requires the appointment of judges committed in advance to violating this oath. To the traditional view of justice as a blindfolded person weighing legal claims fairly on a scale, he wants to tear the blindfold off, so the judge can rule for the party he empathizes with most.

And with the Left's success in blocking Bush's appointments to the vacancies in the federal district and appellate courts, Obama will have ample grounds in which to plant judges who will decide cases on the basis of their political empathies rather than on what the law actually says.

I know so many, many people who went from supporting Mitt Romney to voting for Obama, a(n) (il)logic I cannot fathom. But I would be very interested in hearing someone out there defend our President on all of this.

BONSAI! A day at the National Arboretum

2009-04-30T21:50:00.000-04:00

Today I discovered my righteous desire for bonsai trees during our spur of the moment, Will woke up early from an early nap, what do we do with the afternoon trip to the National Arboretum. Most of the display trees have been in bonsai state since the early 1950s.
I told Brigham about their wonder and he smiled and told me that his dad had once gone through a brief phase in which he thought Bonsai trees were pretty cool, too. Then he told me that we are not Bonsai sort of people. Maybe he isn't meticiulous, detail-oriented or dedicated to quietly snipping branches off of miniature and highly expensive trees, but he can speak for himself. I still think it would make a cool gift. A little tree and a Bonsai manual.
We were the only people in the place. The boys got to run like crazy. We pretended that the miniature trees were magical mini forests, sheltering magical dragons that would miniaturize when people came around. Andrew, in a Scooby-Doo phase, searched everywhere for "clues" pertaining to these majestic creatures. Oh how I wanted to believe, too. If you enlarge the photo you can see all the detail: rocks with real moss clinging to the sides, flowers, a stone person that comes to life as soon as your back is turned and will grant you three wishes.
The place was great for jumping.
There were enormous Japanese carp that would surface and beg for food. There is a feeding station, too, but there was no feed in it today. (Warning: if you pick your child up and pretend to throw him into the water, the fish will dart away with so much splashing that you will feel guilty for startling the hideous little things.)
If I were in an alternative music band, this would be our album cover. Don't you think? (I am referring to the photo of Andrew with the flower bush).
Very artistic. In-dEEd.
The best shot I could get of this pretty little entrance.
My dad and I talked about the passage of time (sure, what do you talk to your parents about on an ordinary afternoon?) and he remarked that it is strange to reach a point in life where you know that you are doing things for the last time; ie driving the last car you will ever buy, a warranty that will expire after you do, etc. He joked this would be the last time he ever went to the National Arboretum. (Sure, death jokes are always funny!) I include all of this because it was funny and we laughed, but someday the kids will look at these photos when all of the people pictured really are gone, including the little selves they were. Their Papa comes on most of our little ventures around DC and he and Nana are otherwise very much a central part of the kids' lives. How wonderful to be so loved by so many.
There is a fountain in the courtyard at the top of this hill and it flows down into a murky little pond at the bottom. Lots of fun for the boys to splash and play and injest bacteria. The columns were taken from the Capitol Building in 1951 and then dedicated at the Aboretum in 1990.
We had a really nice little time.

Twilight: A Movie Review

2009-04-25T15:57:00.000-04:00

Wedding announcement photo for Bella and Edward, taken in front of the Botany Pond, BYU campus, after a group date involving skits and dance routines.

Last night, Brig and I watched (endured) Twilight. I read every one of these books, with decreasing enthusiasm. I am always inclined towards a Harry Potter-esque world into which I can escape and was left in a funk after completing my rounds of Harry Potter. Book 7 made me sad in its own right anyway.

Anyway, Twilight was there to fill the void Harry left. I obtained a copy a week or so before Will was born in late October of 2007. It was unseasonably hot that fall, the leaves were beautiful, I was excited about the new baby and I was so happy to be on mild bed rest. Reading about vampires and werewolves in a rainy far-away place was perfect, and my mood was set to enjoy. I was even prepared to overlook that her name was "Bella Swan."

But the movie (and all the books that followed the first) let me down. I could go into a deeper critique, but am pretty sure that it would be even more boring than the movie itself. So, instead I will report the three statements that Brigham made during our viewing:

1) "At least it is realistic. Look, they argue and he acts really weird and gets angry easily, and makes her angry easily, but she loves him because he is good looking."

2) "Sure they are melodramatic. They are teenage vampires. What do you expect?"

3) A few seconds of quiet laughter. "This is the worst movie I think I have ever seen."

I think I might have squeaked by on enjoying it if James Marsden had played the role of Edward. Maybe he doesnt look like a high school student, but at least he is actually attractive.

To those of you who love Twilight, I mean no disrespect. After all, I do watch Medium. I even DVR it.

Poem on the Occassion of a Thunderstorm

2009-04-21T18:44:00.000-04:00

. . . that has nothing to do with a thunderstorm aside from that it reminded me about a thunderstorm-themed poem my dad emailed us once and of which I was reminded as I sat with the kids at the kitchen table and watched the thunderstorm break outside and counted the silence between the lightning and thunder.

When I went to my inbox, all I found was this one, but it was sad enough and enough on another topic I think about often (well, a few topics) that it would work as an adequate sub: the sentimentality of a place. Places, more than people, arouse in me a sense of sadness and remembrance of the past. How strange it is to live in a place where others once lived, and then to move on and have the home contain other people. I could wax very boring on this subject but luckily for all involved I only have a few minutes to dash this off before I plop the kids in the tub, who will only get out when they hear their daddy come home to "ressle!"

May I also mention that this poem explains most things about the Smith sisters. Our dad raised us on this poetry. And the poem my sister describes that she will write is a synopsis of the poems that were our regular bedtime reading from the time I was Andrew's age. And maybe I am glad that I am not kidding, though Brigham may sometimes wonder what I may have been like without the World War I poetry acting as the literary backdrop to my childhood.

Two Hours From Now

Two hours from now there will be dawn
in the place of my childhood, light in the room,
but another will turn slowly with sleep-ridden eyes, not knowing
the continuity of flesh or what lingers
in the wisps of the night as the high plains sunlight
touches the window, or the little walk where my father
used to sit with the papers on Sunday.

Only I in this eastern city remember a brief while
and then go my ways, knowing no one can put two things together.
The old house, I suppose, insentient, calm, does not remember, nor its inhabitants,
or the quarter lost under the front porch,
or the room in which I wept from a quarrel
or the stove in the kitchen by which I studied.

Mother is gone.
Father sleeps on a hilltop in another town.
We are all lonely.

Why do I write to myself as dawn is breaking two thousand miles away?
Nothing will be solved. The house does not remember,
nor the dead, nor will the window curtain waiver.
I have followed the dawn to no purpose, there are only the paws
of a lost puppy imprinted in the cement of the sidewalk.

I, the living ghost, stare at them across a lifetime and do not speak.
There is also a toy boat still hidden in the attic.

Ok, so this next bit is to help any of you who read the poem (you really should though) wipe away the tears. This was my sister Jessica's emailed response:

That was a really sad poem. Where did you find it and who wrote it? Thanks for sending it.

It has inspired me to write a follow-up poem -- it is called, "Two Hours from Now I Hope I'm Dead". It's about a rabbit who just had his leg amputated and he hobbled through a garden gate and stepped in a snare (with his remaining limb) and is screaming in pain knowing that no one will ever find him, and as he watched the eyes of the other rabbits passing him over and resting on the bunnies who are whole, he thinks to himself, "Why don't they come put me to bed, why don't they come?", and then someone drops poison gas on them all and the whole bunny colony is wiped out.
It's a touching poem -- maybe Emma, Luke, Samuel and Andrew would enjoy it as a bed time story.

I think they would, Jess. For a good time, read the following:

Something to work on

2009-04-20T16:37:00.001-04:00

This is part of my effort to develop some useful skills. Only possible because I basically have a personal trainer overseeing and assisting every single step.

This quilt will have a brown biding (with slender cream leaves/flowers on it). The blue polka dot fabric is going to be the backing as well as the trim on the front. Should I just use white trim instead so that the polka dot is a fresh, entire new look?

Can you tell it is for a boy?

Some days are diamonds

2009-04-17T15:54:00.000-04:00

Even though I don't have a formal job, I don't wake up each and every day with the feeling that I am on vacation. I occassionally think, though, that I ought to more than I do.

I have virtually no schedule imposed upon me, other than meals and naps, which can be skipped or delayed or snacked right on through. The two days of school Andrew attends at the homes of friends is pretty lax about arrival and departure times (we are always late to arrive, usually late to go). In between, we can do whatever we please.

I woke up this morning feeling like I was on vacation, a feeling left over from the family dinner party the previous night and Brigham's 6pm arrival time. The anxiety-driven dreams that Emma had awakened Andrew at 6am and taken him downstairs to play and watch tv were nothing more than that. In fact, Emma arose at 8 and I had to rouse Andrew at 9. He was grumpy only until he registered Emma at the foot of his bed.

Dressed in matching outfits (well, I was not wearing navy shorts with red bikes on them), we bought doughnuts ("choc-let! spinkles!" demanded by Will) as we blew out of town on our way to the zoo.

The stop at my parents' house to meet up with my sister and the rest of her kids proved fatal to the journey. The kids ran through my parents' backyard, discovering "secret passages" in what my dad terms the "wild" parts of the property (they are), jumped on the tramp and hit each other with foam swords. I mostly sat on the deck in the sun and talked with my family.

My favorite image was of my dad sitting out in the yard in a lawn chair spraying the kids with a hose as they tried to run past. It turns out that he used the "power wash" setting when they tried to obtain the "gold." Games with dad always involve an element of terror and potential physical injury. "Andrew was very brave. He ran right through the power wash," he reported.

After I coerced Will into sleep, Missy and I watched probably 30 minutes of Jim Gaffigan videos on youtube (which I tried to add here but am unable to) while we occassionally glanced out the window to see that the screaming and crying we heard was just Tommy.

Right now, the kids are playing ("I'm going to shoot you in the face!"), my parents are lying in bed watching a true crime show about a murderer, and I am playing on the computer undisturbed.

Meanwhile, Brigham will be home in a few hours from a long day of work and two hours of commuting via three different modes of transportation.

Poor sucker.

A midmorning moment on tax day

2009-04-15T11:40:00.001-04:00

The kids are half dressed. We ate the first meal of the day at 10:30 ("Brunch!" I try to tell myself encouragingly). Will has been sleeping like he is part of a torture system designed to break me. Taxes are due. I cannot download the DC tax forms. Doing it will be complicated anyway since Brig's employer (the Federal Government) waited months to record the change in residence from DC to Va, so we have improper withholdings in each state). I am terrible at math. I am hopeless with computers. I am not allowed to be on the computer when my kids are awake, under penalty of toddlers destroying it. Will constantly smells like he is rotting. This is because his tube is. His tube that won't stay closed and spills stomach contents all over him and the house, which now smell like they are rotting, too. I want to pull the tube out, but I know this is only to help give me an outlet to my frustration with it so I don't since i know it is best for Will to smell like he is rotting and spill stomach contents on everything and soak all of his clothes and have to be changed every few hours because at least he gets fed. So instead I vented by calling the tube a "freaking tube!", which at least had the benefit of making Andrew laugh and then led to a teaching moment when he asked me if freaking was a bad word. I told him it was. He told me that I should just take a deep breath. I guess that was teaching moment #2.
The end.

Easter Eve

2009-04-12T20:24:00.000-04:00

Andrew's cousin and favorite person, Emma, got baptized yesterday. Afterwards, we went out to eat at a Japanese Steak House. I have decided that the fear of a huge fire a couple of feet away, men with sharp knives chopping up food right in front of you and the thrill of having them throw food at your face all combine to make it a perfect dining experience for young kids. Here are the videos Katie took.
Notice how Andrew tries to catch the food intended for Emma. Unfortunately, we missed the times when the chef threw food at Andrew's little wide-open mouth.

Andrew was not ready to end the food throwing portion of the meal.

Easter Past

2009-04-11T23:33:00.001-04:00

Family photo in front of the White House Easter Roll. Brig had to sleep out to get tickets.
Will spent much of his stroller-time that first winter blinded by his own hats. I think that this experience might explain why the child is so assertive/demanding now.

The only reason I was able to get so many action shots of Andrew rolling his egg was because he ran back and cut in line to repeat "the race!". I took advantage of his behavior to recreate the scene before having to physically overpower him.

Both of the boys have changed to much in the last 12 months. I expected Will to look different, but was surprised at how much Andrew, too, had changed.
I was not able to find photos of Easter morning. I can't even remember if we did anything. I have no memory of the two Easters previous to last, either. Sometimes I feel like I am writing about fairly boring or inconsequential aspects of our lives, like that Andrew was terrified of the poor adults whose thankless job was to wander about the White House lawn in giant mouse costumes scaring children and so we were unable to get a photo, but I realize that someday, details like these won't be boring to me at all. They will be all I have left of what once was so normal and that now is over. It only takes a few years. Then we will all be dead, and a few years after that, forgotten.
And that is my message of Easter Past.

Book Plug: The Wall by Peter Sis

2009-04-07T16:48:00.000-04:00

We had a great visit with Momo and Grandpa last week which I still need to record here, but in the meantime I thought I would make a book recommendation. It was written by a man who grew up behind the Iron Curtain. I was shocked that it won awards, not because they were undeserved (they were very very deserved) but because the book seemed to me to be so politically incorrect. And by that I mean that finally someone is writing something true about communism rather than trying to apologize for it, minimize its threat, or otherwise blame America for the Cold War.

Communism, more than any other economic-political philosophy, has done more damage in the name of "compassion" than any other in modern history. It exemplifies one of the reasons why all the talk about compassion in politics grates on me: it seems to tend to have the opposite effect than intended.

The book is for kids, but I think that adults would do well to read it, too. I really think that the average college student would come away with a better understanding of life in the Soviet Union after taking 10 minutes to read this book than they do after four years of higher education. Unfortunately, I am not even exaggerating for affect.

Take This With You

2009-03-27T16:46:00.000-04:00

Of all the things that happened today, I hope that when my kids are recounting their childhoods on the therapists' couch, they remember this rather than their Mom throwing away a popsicle when time out didn't seem to be working. Because, kids, this is the kind of stuff we do, even if I was not as skilled as my pregnant friend to safely take you on the scooter ride myself.
As for you, Will, who was tortured by being a spectator only to this scooter thrill ride, I let you do this.

White House Easter Egg Roll Tickets

2009-03-27T08:59:00.000-04:00

For the first time, the tickets to the White House Easter Egg Roll were not available on a first-come first-served basis. So instead of hordes of people sleeping out on the ellipse every year to be as early as possible in line for tickets, parents instead had to get lucky yesterday in checking the ticket website at a time that the website was functioning.

It is nice, I guess, that people didn't have to go to the trouble of sleeping out, but gaining a ticket became a process of luck rather than effort, or at least, luck was far more important than effort. You could basically guarantee yourself a ticket in past years; you just had to make the appropriate sacrifice (get in line early enough and sleep out). This year, effort didn't count nearly as much as luck and, sort of ironically, as being of sufficient means to be able to have access to the internet all day, something that manual laborers, cashiers, restaurant workers etc do not have.

The decreasing impact of personal effort and sacrifice upon what a person can achieve and acquire is pretty symbolic of a lot of changes in our country right now, I believe.