Licking a razorblade does not constitute an emergency

We were making Valentines card tonight when Andrew disappeared to brush his teeth (he flosses now, too, thanks to a preschool lesson). I helped him get the bubblegum toothpaste on the brush and returned to Will. 20 minutes after Andrew returned he decided to show me his tongue. Covered in blood.
"What happened?"

"I licked a razor."

"Why, Andrew? When? WHere was the razor?"

"I don't know, honey. It had bubblegum on it." (toothpaste)

So, if your child licks a razor blade, do the following:

1) Ice wrapped in a napkin or cloth
2) Pressure
3) TV to keep him applying that ice forcefully
4) Expect it to bleed a lot but it won't hurt
5) Don't worry, in 30 minutes he will be playing in boxes with his brother
and providing neigh neigh rides as well. Then he will take a bath with goggles on.

At the Horse Show, Frying Pan Park Jan 2009

It was such a cold and grey day, but there was something lovely (to plagiarize) about it.
We came because Will loves loves loves "Neigh-Neighs!" They were holding a Jumper Horse show, but it was sort of boring. (The smallest jumps were earliest, and we were there very early.)
Andrew kept refusing to wear his coat. He took it off at every opportunity, even though he was almost crying from cold. He could not love us dear so much loved he not showing off his Adidas track suit more. Will slept the whole way home.

Brigham came home and told me that John Updike had died. It felt strange to think that he was no longer a part of the world that he described so well. He wrote a book of poems called "A Child's Calendar," one poem per month. When I learned of its existence I bought it sight unseen. I have not regretted it. Here is my favorite.

November

The stripped and shapely
Maple grieves
The loss of her
Departed leaves.

The ground is hard,
As hard as stone.
The year is old,
The birds are flown.

And yet the world,
Nevertheless,
Displays a certain
Loveliness--

The beauty of
The bone. Tall God
Must see our souls
This way, and nod.

Give thanks: we do,
Each in his place
Around the table
During grace.

December 12, Puddle Jumping

Will was desperate to wear rain boots like Andrew. Luckily, they were where I could find them.
Will wanted to run through, and initially was thrilled. When I caught a photo of him, though, it was after he touched the water with his hand. He didn't like that much for some reason.


I could barely drag Andrew back inside. December in Virginia.

Falling Asleep in 5 Minutes

These were taken as I put on makeup for church last Sunday. Every time I turned around, I saw that they were advancing down the road of the balm of hurt minds. I have a similar series from over the summer of Brigham holding Will, only Brigham is the only one to fall asleep. By a pool. With concrete all around.

Cousins

Andrew had his first soccer practice this afternoon. We arrived a bit late, which contributed to his tendency to act (and I mean that in the theatrical sense) shy, which was unfortunate. He got excited when they kicked goals. (The coach, who is wonderful and British, had them raise their hands in the air and shout "Goal!" when they made one.) Andrew kept careful track of his goals and would come to me for a high-five and to provide me with an update on his points scored. Still, he was very reluctant to participate in most of the other activities, once coming over to me and demanding cookies(??). I wondered whether I should continue with the program.
On the way home, Andrew called to me from his carseat. "Mom, do you have your phone with you?" That is an exact quote, and I have to record it bc I never expected to hear that question from a three year old. "I want to use it to call Sam and tell him about my soccer team."

So he did. He had a long conversation with Luke and with Sam. Missy said that she heard Luke's end, which consisted of, "That's cool. Wow. Awesome." She wondered what they were talking about.


This is only the beginning of lots of conversations back and forth reporting special news. It won't be long till Missy and I won't be privy to the contents thereof.

There is something really special about cousins. Somehow they just know. And I love it.

Hospital Moments

Our family put all the meaning back into the threat, "If you don't eat, I am going to shove that food down your throat!" last week. Will is now fed 800 calories a night through a nasal-gastro tube and a home-care food pump.
It's the happiest tube-fed baby in the world! He is thrilled that there is no more of that hard chewing and bothersome swallowing. (Brigham sometimes refers to him simply as 'Crazy.')
In the Child Life room. I had never seen bubbles before in my entire life. They are wonderful!
The nurse told us that she had never seen a child crawl in and out of the bottom of his crib like Will did, for an hour at a time.
This is him after waking up from his endoscopy (which revealed nothing amiss). I just want to add that my assertions about his determination not to sleep were medically substantiated. He did not fall asleep with the sedative that was supposed to be super fast-acting. Yes, he stopped fighting, but the child was awake. Awake enough, even, to pull the IV containing the sedative from his arm. We had been sent out of the room bc he was supposedly under, but a few minutes later I heard him screaming like crazy (like Crazy?). It was a few minutes before he cut off mid-blood-curdling scream. Tell me again that I should just let him cry it out and he will give up.

I admit that I have often longed to be hospitalized: summer of '02 (to avoid making a decision about where to go to law school); Jan 1999- July 2000 (I was a missionary in South America, but it wouldnt have mattered where)*; the week before Will was born (Andrew was 2); the first few months after Will was born . . . But my hospital fantasy is over forever. It was awful being stuck in there and I couldn't get out fast enough. Will and I finally made a break at 11pm on day 2.

Things are going fine at home. It is actually sort of nice to know that he will get at least 800 calories a day, no question. And seeing the other children who really do have serious illnesses was very sobering. Babies with cancer. Will is doing very well and has not made another attempt at pulling out the tube. He is just the sweetest little thing ever. I sometimes hate to see that tube on his face, but most of the time I don't notice. Its the look of heartbreaking sympathy on the faces of kindly strangers in public places that reminds me. People really are kind. How could then not be?

*just kidding. the only serious one is 2002. I really did fantasize hospitalization then. It would have been a car accident that did no permanent damage, but serious short-term injury. So I could have a few more months to decide. Totally understandable.

Goggles!

We came across a package of goggles today at Costco. I am always in a buying mood in that store, and so I obliged the kids' obsessive desire for them. We had gone swimming this morning and Brig and I are currently discussing which pass deal we should buy to the rec center so that I can take the kids several mornings a week. So goggles could be justified.
Will was having a seizure over the goggles about 30 seconds before I snapped this photo. I missed the look of rapture he had the first 30 seconds of wearing them.
Andrew cannot actually see through his pair. I discovered upon returning home that I had neglected to take the plastic peel off of his. Their fault for going so bonkers over getting those things strapped across their faces.
Andrew never even complained about being blind.
Will fell asleep in them on the way home. Even Andrew thought it was funny.

Today

January 17, Saturday

I have gotten so far behind in recording the events of our lives that I am overwhelmed by the prospect. So I thought I would just start small and record a thing or two and not let perfect be the enemy of good (and I will claim that little saying despite the fact that I can only wish in my wildest dreams that perfectionism was the root of my problems (rather than laziness, disorganization and self-loathing (and others-loathing*)).
I had a church basketball game tonight. I am terrible but I do try, which sort of makes everything a bit more comic-tragic for me and my team than I am comfortable with. My lack of skill and size combined with my innocent hopes of active participation creates a scene in which I look like I am playing against people exuding powerful force-fields that knock me to the ground when I get within a few inches.
Andrew, too young to experience proper shame at my outbursts, which is how I will characterize what it is that my body does when trying to play basketball . . . or dance/do anything rhythmical, enjoys these games immensely. He gets really into the spirit of them and wants to wear a shirt with numbers of it. A team shirt, as he calls it. Tonight, he wore a threadbare white tee shirt that read Hawaii 85, as in 1985, as in the trip to Hawaii my parents took in 1985 when they left my sister and me with a woman who had to find us every day wandering the sidewalks of her neighborhood as we tried to find our school, which was at the end of the sidewalk about a quarter mile (but out of sight, to be fair) and whose food I consistently refused to eat until she burst into tears and said that I would die before my parents returned. Andrew looked like we had found him in a ditch on our way to the church. But he was happy and I have reached the stage of motherhood where that is really all that matters to me anymore (mostly).
Why all the photos of Richard Marx? Of all the things to remember about this day (the library book denied me because I offered my husband's drivers license rather than a real card, the Donut Lunch, the nap listening to sad short stories on Brig's ipod while he enjoyed making brownies with Andrew, the heap of laundry I will hide in the basement rather than sort tonight and Andrew's joy at the monster truck duvet), I mostly want to remember that that is what Andrew's hair looked like all day long.

*this could mean you and probably has!

Oh Christmas Tree . . . Why did you die so soon?

We bought our Christmas tree the weekend after Thanksgiving. We wanted to maximize the short Christmas season. Unfortunately, our tree died last week and now looks like we should chop it up and burn it after a very long and heartfelt apology for torturing it. Apparently you are supposed to water them! (Just kidding; you aren't).
I was trying to post some lovely shots of our tree in all its splendor, but of course the tiny image I viewed when selecting shots made it difficult to detect the massive clutter and toy debris all around our tree. And the reflection of the tv screen in the window. In my memory we decorated to Christmas carols! Oh well.
Willsie has been obsessed with the "ball! ball!" ornaments. He couldn't hang them up on the tree, much to his distress, but was highly skilled at removing the little hanger piece that is built into the ornament. My mom and I had more trouble than little Will. Our tree is now naked from Willsie's reach down.
I am waiting for the rest to just fall off the dead dead dead and drooping limbs.
My method of testing whether a specific ornament was glass or plastic--banging it against a hard surface--diminished our supply. At least Will got a thrill out of lots of vacuuming.
Will's favorite spot in the house for a few weeks now. I think this early death has given me a good argument for having two trees each year: one fake and one real. Which gives me an even better argument for having a house big enough to justify that. It totally makes sense.

Merry Christmas, Ladies (and other possible titles to rejected Christmas card entries)

I gave it one night in front of my sister's Christmas tree to get a card-worthy photo of the family. This might have been the best of the bunch, mainly bc it is the funniest. I think the confusion a card featuring only this photo would have generated would have outweighed the humor of it, so we ended up just choosing one of the boys from a month ago. Here are the other contenders:"Merry Christmas! Will just watched a neat video that we have enclosed with our card! Please view! Love, the Cannons"

The first of these was rejected because it was not my best photo, and that is the most important consideration. The second photo was taken after Andrew had watched The Ring video, so his face was too smeared.

I am moderately satisfied with our Christmas card this year, but I resolve to do better next year. At least Brig has a nice new profile pic for his LDS Singles account.

Will Adams

Will's hair had been described as "colonial," as opposed to simply, "a mullett."

Cannon cuts are typically performed in the tub. I guess when it comes down to it, I care more about the clean-up than the success of the cut itself. That is how Andrew ended up with "steps," as Brigham called what I did, cut into the sides of his hair once. Now Brig takes him to Hair Cuttery.

He is left with some Orthodox Jewish locks on the sides, but the overall result is good. I just hate cutting my boys' hair. It has to get really ugly before I can admit that it is too long.



I would just like to add the the shorts Andrew is wearing here are size 6-9 months. Since they have a number on them, they are "team shorts" and are much-loved. He wore them over his jeans last week when I refused to let him go out in the 40 degree weather without long pants. At first my layering suggestion was heartily accepted. A moment later, he commented that it would be "weird." Then he just did it.