Utah 2009

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 My 21 one month old Andrew has been replaced by 21 month old Will, and supplanted by this almost 4 year old kid with huge hair who sleeps through the night.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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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)

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

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!"

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?

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.