Andrew's Hero

Thursday the cable guy came to hook our apartment up to high speed internet. It was love at first sight for Andrew. Fortunately, Will was asleep for much of it so I could facilitate Andrew's obsession with the installation guy.



First we stared at him through a small window while he fiddled with some sort of wiring box in the apartment building's stairwell.

Then Andrew followed him as closely as was physically possible and tried to hammer, with his own baby hammer, exactly the same spots as the installation man was hammering (putting up the cable).





Andrew engaged the man in engrossing conversation:

"Guy, what you doing?"

"I'm installing cable."

"Guy, what you fixing?"

"Cable."

"What you fixing?"

laughter

"Where's you hammer?"



Then the guy, who had learned what Andrew's next question was sure to be, took the initiative: "What's your name?"
"Andrew Cannon." Then Andrew took the controls again: "Guy, we like Bob a Builder!"



The only real deviation from this conversation took place when the man asked to use our bathroom and Andrew chimed in with some commentary on what the guy was putting in the potty. I hope the man did not hear him. Andrew's enthusiasm for the cable installer and for the act of installing the cable did not ebb, and he literally was underfoot basically the entire time the man was working. The cable guy was good natured about it, even claiming to enjoy Andrew's interference. I finally got Andrew to address the man as "sir" by the end of the installation process. If only Andrew would be this thrilled when his dad comes home from work.

Will Has a Big Boy Face (and Andrew a big boy vocab)

*i wrote this entry last week but didnt post it bc i was having trouble putting the photos on. because i am really really dumb.

I think William looks a lot like his father and a lot like his brother. Mainly, though, he looks a lot like an adult. If I am at my parents' and someone asks me where Will is, instead of telling them he is taking a nap, which is obviously what he must be doing, I say that I don't know, he said he was going to go for a walk or wanted pick something up from the store. I have been telling this sort of joke, exclusively for my own benefit, since Andrew was born (and wore tiny footed pants with a back pocket for his wallet) but it is even funnier to me now because Will's face is so mature. My friend's husband commented that he expected Will to just start talking to him and telling him about his day. I have better photos of him showing his big happy smile, but this is all I had available on my computer.

A quick update on Will's bogus right-ear deafness diagnosis: Will and I went to the audiologist's office at Georgetown U Hospital for a re-check of Will's right ear, which had failed two previous tests. This exam was supposed to be much more invasive and would take over an hour to conduct. They wanted to put him under. I felt really uncomfortable with this, and I also doubted that there was anything wrong. It is common for newborns to fail, and the second test was conducted in the dr's office with equipment that she said was not reliable for newborns (and she refused to have the tech conduct the test on his left ear to find out whether the failure was due to a mechanical flaw or a real problem with his ear.) Plus, it was obvious that Will can hear. Anyway, this latest exam, however, indicated that his right ear was fine while his left ear failed. Long story short: Will is almost certainly of perfect hearing in both ears and his left ear has some fluid left over from his recent cold. I want my ridiculous parking fee back. I think I am never going to a city hospital again, btw; it is too much of a pain to fight traffic and other drivers for a parking space.

Andrew's quotes of the day:

When he heard me repeating to my sister a cute and funny comment he made: "Mommy, don't laugh at Andrew's voice." He also now tells me not to laugh, it's not funny, when I am either laughing at something cute he has said or smiling when he is throwing some sort of tantrum or otherwise displaying anger.

"I mean it!" and "Darn it!" and the combo: "I want to read this book, darn it. I mean it!" I am so so glad that I decided to eliminate hell and damn from my vocabulary when Andrew was born.

Bidding Papa goodnight after staying at their home that afternoon while I took Will for his hearing test: "Goodnight, Papa, I love you. Thank you so much for playing with me." They had played with a balloon for a really long time. His comment was 100% unprompted. Who knew that Andrew knew to feel appreciative?

The Last 48

Here are some photos taken in the last 48 hours of Andrew and Will. They are both transforming before my eyes. Andrew is turning into such a chatterbox big boy, and Will is unfolding like a tiny rosebud.

Andrew helping me make waffles at my parents' house. At the moment this shot was taken, he was saying "Wow, amazing!" as he watched the mix spill down from the cup.

Andrew and Will on the bed. Notice they are holding hands, and you may not be able to tell, but Will was smiling at Andrew. Andrew put Will in his lap himself.

Andrew made his first emergency visit to the doctor's office today after he slipped off the piano bench from a standing position. He cut his chin and the inside of his bottom lip pretty badly. He was brave, even though he insisted that "Andrew not brave." I guess he knew that he was not feeling very brave even if he acted so.

Ode to B

Dear Brig

I only have a few minutes before our teenage two year old and our perfect new baby wake up, but I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you and missed you while you were away. (I am doing so on our blog because you can make these things into books and so I am trying to put stuff in the boys will want to have someday. Family history, you know . . .)

So, back to the point: I really missed you this last business trip. You say that I really just miss the child-care help. Sure, I admit it. But there is so much more to our marriage.

Like housework. Even though the girls did all my dishes after Sarah's baby shower yesterday, it just wasn't the same. I need YOU to do them.

And an apology. Yes, I know I call you and get annoyed because I can't tell whether you have a heartbeat or not, but I have finally realized you are telling the truth about the connection just being bad and that you can only hear every third word and are never sure what I am saying and when you are supposed to respond. I guess I should have realized this earlier, since I hate talking on the phone to non-family members in our apartment for the reason that the conversations go awkwardly due to bad reception. I just expect more of you. It was not until I had this problem last night while talking to an old friend who mumbles and for some reason does not talk into the receiver, and who therefore left me guessing as to what the heck he was saying, that I understood your predicament. Luckily for me, it was not socially acceptable for my friend to get bugged at me about my (quite desperate) nonresponsiveness, as I do at you. Did.

Even more than the Andrew night-duty you so stalwartly handle each pre crack of dawn, I missed your sense of humor. It is your sense of humor that can turn my irritation (towards you, towards the world) into more mild irritation.

I still laugh out loud when I remember you comforting me that our wedding photos of me are not bad (they are) by saying "You look beautiful. I look like I should barely be allowed to drive." Somehow, this is so much funnier than the old "I look retarded" routine.

I also like to think about you telling me, after a recent adventure to Hair Cuttery, where anything could happen to you hair, and has, that this was the shortest your hair had been since you were 8 months old. (I like it, btw).

And you have made so much progress in the last four years. Remember when you did not know better than to tell me an actress was good looking (I will hate Audrey Tatoo forever!), or make a similar comment about my hairstylist (that's right, Lindsay, I know you remember this)? My jealousy has been turned away through a combination of realizing that you just like women who look like you with a wig (this says nothing about me) and your new-found silence on the subject of the attractiveness of other clearly attractive women. Good job. Also, you eat all my food with the expected compliments, you help me pick out good shoes, you never get upset with me about spending money (I am good about this, but I also don't feel pressure from you to be so), and you try to get me to Church for the first hour without being completely self-righteous. Just a quiet and sincere: "I would sort of like to take the sacrament this month," to get me out of bed. My dad commented last night that you were the one man who could make even the neediest, most helpless woman on earth happy in marriage. I choose to ignore what he could be saying about me, here, and instead focus on the compliment to you.

Thank you for always maintaining your sense of humor, and helping me keep mine, for supporting me through everything, and for letting me get away with so much. We have fun, and you're for me and I'm for you, and even if you accidentally said that loving me was not easier than anythign you'll ever do again, I know that deep down, it really is.

So, these words are yours, and be the measure of their worth for you to treasure, the measure of the little while that you were long away.

xo
alexandra

Andrew's Winter Days

Andrew loves the snow. On Thursday night, I took him out to our courtyard armed with millions of layers, a coat, hat and mittens. He loved it. He was so focused that he would not even speak to me or request that I "be so sad" (so that he could come over to me with a big smile and give me a hug to fix it) or "say 'awesome Andrew'" to praise whatever he is doing. He picked up snow and tried to make balls, and then concentrated on throwing them. Baby Will did not like our outing at all, particularly since the cold was compounded by the slush droshing (this means 'falling in big cold splatters') down on our faces. Andrew ignored my suggestion that we go back inside, so I decided to just go in and watch him enjoy his first enjoyable snowfall through the glass door.

It was a typical dark early evening and I just watched his little red puffy coat manuevering around, outlined against the white snow and the stone fountain. He had his tiny birthday party in that exact spot only a few months ago, back when the world was blue and hot and bright and baby Will had yet to bless it. I realized that we had not really visited the courtyard much, if at all, since that day in October. The fountain no longer had water, or ducks to swim in it, or Piper to almost drown in it, as it did on the day of the party, and its presence against the darkening sky lent an air of formality or old-time grandeur to the whole courtyard, like Andrew were playing in a snow-covered museum or the place I imagined as a 6 year old reading the part of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe where all the Witch's stone creatures were kept.

Or maybe it just felt like a museum to me because all his little paths and places are taking on the sense of by-gone days already. I am watching him grow up and transform so quickly from the little baby that has been keeping me awake for unnatural periods of time into a little boy who prays about his cars, who jumps over cracks and up and down the big cement steps we find every few feet on Connecticut Avenue and other streets my dad's 12 year old feet trod 50 plus years ago, who can negotiate 'real cookies' into our struggles to get him to eat actual food, who looks at the man with the prosthetic leg and declares solemnly and loudly and clearly, inches from the missing limb, "that man got hurt, mommy," over and over again, who can climb up and down 12 foot ladders with horrifying speed, who is on the look-out for wolves on our adventures down the bike trail, who says please, thank you and no thank you almost every time he should, who can tell me "I'm saying so many words" and explain himself with an "I'm so sad" when I won't let him do something even more dangerous than the ladder stunts and who, when he sees me watching him with a sadness of my own in those moments when I recognize that I can't slow this progress down or ever revisit these passing days again but in my memory, which he won't share, can say to me "Be so happy, Mommy," surprising me that on some level he knows it is a sadness I am feeling--the sadness that, for me, always accompanies every deeply happy moment.

He finally tired of being outside alone (it must have been this, as he is completely impervious to extreme temperatures) and so made his toddler way over to join us inside in the warmth of which is is totally unaware. Because I am no artist and it would be pointless / frustrating for me to do so, I have rarely even thought about capturing a moment in time with my own pencil, but as he threw his last snowball and turned towards the door, I wished I could draw the scene before me. I suppose I will just have to be satisfied with my memory of it: my little boy, just two, in his red puffy coat and hat, so small against the huge black sky looming around him and the big empty fountain stretching upwards, glowing faintly in the winter evening like a marker in a cemetary. Some things a camera misses, anyway. Though you won't remeber these days, I hope you will keep with you the feeling of this time in our lives together. I am so happy, Andrew.

Greatest Weaknesses

I have many weaknessess. I love too much. I try too hard. I am too perfect. That is what you should say when asked this in job interviews. It both sounds sincere and is very winning.

Here are some more wonderful responses to the "What is your greatest weakness" question of which we should all be aware, since these people want to be our President. Also, these are hilarious.

John Edwards: My greatest weakness is that I care too much, Tim. For 54 years, I've been fighting. I emerged from the womb with my dukes up, ready to do battle with every fiber of my day-old being.

Hillary Clinton: My greatest weakness is that I get impatient — impatient with people who don't care as much about children as I do.

Barack Obama: My greatest weakness? Sometimes I misplace stuff. I'm a little disorganized. It's probably a good thing I'm not in charge of my own schedule.

Are these people serious? I don't even know them personally and I can come up with some better weaknesses than these. At least Obama had the sense to mention a real weakness, not just a strength dressed up as a "weakness." Ok, it is a dumb question that is not going to yield a great answer, but come on.

Go Mitt. Your greatest weakness is that you are a member of a faith unpopular with the Republican base. Let's hope you can overcome it.

Christmas in DC: Family Traditions

Before we get too far away from Christmas, a little recap of things to do in DC at Christmastime. Note, we did all of these things in one long day of the 22nd as part of our family Christmas Party in Washington (all cousins, aunts, maternal grandparents). Will repeat next year.

1. National Cathedral Children's Nativity Reenactment
This takes place the Saturday afternoon before Christmas and is perfect for little kids. The beauty of "Andrew's favorite castle" adds to the wonderful Christmas spirit. It was also nice to see that our attempts to teach Andrew the Christmas story had been successful. After the introduction of each cast of characters, Andrew would wonder where the remaining characters were. "Where are the angels?" after the Holy Family arrived; "where the animals?" after the shepherds.

Until this event, we had no way of knowing whether he understood there was anything more to the first Christmas than the scenes he enacted with the little plastic Nativity set he received as a party favor. These scenes involved the donkey and sheep biting (and I hate to admit, but sometimes eating) baby Jesus until Mary comes to rescue Him with her soothing "sh, sh, sh!"

2. Botanical Gardens Christmas Exhibit:
This featured wonderful little train sets, both inside the building and out, and the city of Washington in miniature cerca 1920 set amidst enormous and beautifully decorated Christmas trees (again, with a train running through.) We went twice, once during the day with friends and again on the evening of the 22nd. I recommend the night viewing because it made the lighting in the exhibit that much more magical.

3. National Christmas tree and reindeer:
We did this, also the night of the 22nd. It was fine, but would have been better if it had not been so cold and Andrew so thoroughly un-napped and the grounds so very swamped with hordes of people.

4. Dinner out with desserts afterwards at our apartment
This didn't take place as planned. No reservations plus not sticking to original time frame plus tired kids = picking up pizzas at the local pizza parlor. They were delicious. Even my dad, who hates pizza (and anything that isn't red meat, still very very red, really) loved it. If we were to eat out, though, we would have done it at 2 Amy's, a wonderful and family-friendly pizza place at Wisonsin Ave and Macomb. If we had no budgetary considerations, we would have done it at 1789.

5. White Elephant on a small budget:
No one brought anything, so I wrapped up a bunch of stuff laying around my house. The kids were thrilled with their winnings: dandruff shampoo, a little picture frame I've had for 3 years and never put anything in, McDonald's toys, flower seeds, CDs from the Gap we somehow acquired. Andrew opened the frame and rejoiced over it, jumping up and down and exclaiming, "Andrew got a present! Look, look!" The frame went home with Emma, however, who wisely traded him her crappy McDonald's car. Everyone was happy.

6. Reenact Luke 2
Didn't do it. Next year.

7. Christmas Eve at an Indian restaurant in McLean
After the McLean Ward Christmas carol program. Lots of fun, but Dad swore of Indian for good after this. They don't serve hamburgers.

8. Train Display at Union Station
Will do next year.

9. Driving through Pimmit Hills to look at the over-the-top decorations on one of the houses. The owner had been putting out an extravagent display for many many years. It was something of a local legend, and his house attracted basically everyone in the area to do a drive-by during late December. He is very elderly now, and when he became too feeble to put up his display, the fire department came to sustain the tradition. I love it. Other houses in the neighborhood follwed his lead to please the crowds. Its great.

Prince William the Perfect: 2 month achievements

Baby Will is the type of baby I never believed really existed. When he is tired, I lay him in his crib with his pacifier and he goes to sleep. When I am tired, I lay him in his crib with his pacifier and he goes to sleep. At night, he typically sleeps from midnight until 7. Thank you, Baby Will.

Will is tough. He can roll over from front to back. He pushes himself way up high and then falls onto his side. He first did this to celebrate his 2 month birthday. He also takes some tough love from Andrew without shedding a tear (except for the one time A b-slapped him, but that was awhile ago, when Will was much younger than he is now.)

Will is friendly. We like to look at each other and smile. Pretty soon after we exchange some smiles, he starts talking and singing. When I talk and sing back, he smiles even more. He has also started laughing. The sound was so loud that I initially thought he was about to cry, but his big baby smile dispelled my fears. Even though he has had a hacking cough the last week, he is still happy and playful.

Will tolerates being put down to look at his little striped zebra, or placed in his little seat so that I can attend to Andrew or other things for what seems to me to be quite a long time. I guess my perspective on this has been skewed by Andrew, who cried the moment his back touched any surface that was not human.

But his easy-going nature seemed so unnatural to me that I began to worry. "Brigham, to you think there is something wrong with Will?" His answer sums up our feelings about our new baby: "No, I think there is something awesome with Will."

Andrew has also come around on his feelings for Will. "We best friends." "Don't cry, baby, Andrew's here!" "Mommy, help my baby!" (this was said angrily, as if I were neglecting a very important duty) "My baby's happy!" "Baby Will I love you so much" or, racing around the downstairs of my parents' home in a semi-panic while I was upstairs soothing a crying Will, "Oh no, my baby's crying!"

Heart-stopping Andrew-Will interaction of the week: I left Will lying on the couch with Andrew cooing to him so I could grab a baby hat off the other end of the dining table. Not a far distance, but anything can happen in an instant, which was my immediate thought when I turned my back to get the hat. I turned back around only to see Andrew, still standing next to the couch, with baby Will in his arms. That apartment is almost 100 years old, but I don't think anyone has moved across its old floors as quickly as I did when I saw that. Don't worry, Momo, no harm done. And lesson learned.

What My Kids Have Taught Me About Parenting

Last Sunday at church, a member of the bishopric asked me what I had learned in my time as a stay-at-home mom. I think he was disappointed by my non-response to the motherhood question. All I could think of was that kids can survive on very very little food, but I don't think that was what he was looking for.

But I have learned a lot being a mom--a lot about myself and kids and life and marriage, and a lot about pretty mundane things, too, like organization and cooking. I think most moms have learned the same things, but I thought I would post a few of them anyway, and hopefully I can get some additional ideas back from you all. I sometimes feel like the tiny sidekick guy to Gaston in Beauty and the Beast when I give compliments, so I will take this opportunity to say that I really admire you guys as mothers and I often want to seek advice from you but feel embarrassed to ask (again, because I feel like I transform into that tiny guy). Ok, in no particular order:

1. Scary stories promote reverence:
Maybe I should use the word "exciting" instead of scary (less funny but more accurate). I learned this one from my dad, and it really works. (Audrey, this is how my dad subdued Owen when you gave your beautiful talk on Mother's Day.) Your toddler is getting noisy and rowdy in church, or throwing a public and humiliating tantrum? Choose a subject matter that is just thrilling enough without causing nightmares later (wolves, for my boy), and whisper a suspenseful tale involving your child and your chosen Thriller in his ear. These aren't stories of wolves ripping people's throats out or anything; they are usually good, misunderstood wolves seeking friendship. But there is always some suspense. Sure, Andrew now has a mild obsession with wolves. There are times when will be on the trampoline at my parents' house and he will suddenly spot a wolf, requiring us to run inside. But he is laughing as we run. He requests wolf stories all the time. (Have I ruined my credibility already?)

2. Kids are not born with blank slates:
Kids come with individual predispositions. Sure, we can mess positive predispositions up or improve negative ones, but we should curb the guilt or pride. They were just born that way.

3. People writing books on child care are in it for the money:
This does not mean that they do not have anything helpful to offer etc. On the contrary. But if you have read as many as I have, you will notice that they often attack each other's philosophies. Babywise folks think anyone who feeds their baby when he is hungry rather than three hours after the last feed is spoiling their child, while Dr Sears thinks the Babywise crowd and the Ferber people are failing to form a connection to their kids, and even that you risk causing 'baby depression' if you don't let your baby sleep in your bed. They get rich if their particular brand of parenting catches on. Read the books to get ideas, bearing in mind that the writers are trying to make a living. Then do what works for you and your family.

4. Buy a lot of your kids' clothes and toys from Thrift Stores:
But don't go too overboard. Things are so cheap that there is a temptation to buy a lot, but you can end up wasting money this way, and 3 dollars here and there does add up. The key is to be able to go to thrift stores often, since sometimes a trip will be fruitless. Also, go to the right thrift stores. The Treasure Trove in McLean is the most expensive one, but you can still find worthwhile purchases. Vienna and Falls Church, and the Goodwill in Arlington, are much better in price and variety. Cheapest of all are garage sales.

5. Have your child bid Farewell to his toy or activity to tear him away peacefully
This stops working as the kid gets older, but as long as it does work, it is a dream. It doesn't matter how engrossed your child is in that toy at the store; if you can get him to wave and say goodbye to it, suddenly he will be amenable to leaving it behind.

6. There is no such thing as nipple confusion
Start with pacifiers from day 1. (Unles your baby really is having a hard time nursing, but do the pacifiers sooner rather than later or the window will disappear.)

7. Even tiny kids can clean and help out. I think every kid should have a baby janitorial set. :)

8. Sleep Conditioning is Real
Some kids are naturally better sleepers than others, and some just require a little less or a little more sleep. No matter what brand of sleeper you have, he can be conditioned to stay up even later or go to bed at roughly the time you want. I probably should not say anything on this subject, since we are still trying to Take Back the Night from Andrew, but I have learned from negative experience that kids' bodies can get used to the amount of sleep they regularly get, and if they regularly don't get a lot, it will just get harder and harder to get them to sleep--I am referring to naps, too. (And by "getting used to" an amount of sleep, I don't mean that they won't be cranky necessarily. They will just be awake.)

9. A lot of tantrums come from boredom.
Andrew needs lots of outdoor time to run around, even when it is cold.

10. Breastfeed.
I hesitate to include this, since I know it is not possible or practical for some moms, and I don't mean to suggest that your baby's health or relationship with you will suffer some terrible blow if you don't nurse. It was just such a wonderful part of the mothering experience for me, and one that initially I thought would be very very hard, that I feel I should mention it. (If you hate it, obviously don't force yourself.)

11. Let them choose between two alternatives you are happy with
If Andrew fights me about putting on his coat, I then offer him another alternative acceptable to me and he can make a choice between the two. For some reason he never refuses both. This works with minor discipline, too. If he is running away, then the choice becomes whether he wants to run in the right direction or get carried (or stroller).

12. The amount of time matters
It takes a lot of quality time to make up for the quantity time you don't spend with your kids. I think the "quality time" thing is sometimes just a way to avoid feeling guilty for not being around your kids very much. The truth is, in my view, that kids just want and need to spend their ordinary, everyday moments of their little lives with their moms. That, in itself, is extraordinary, and it is what they will remember because it will be part of who they are.


I don't mean to be too predictably maudlin here, but the number 1 thing I have learned is that childhood passes so quickly, and babies become toddlers before you even realize it. This time won't last, so we've got to treasure it and not wish for the future and retirement. It will be here before we are ready.

On Beauty

About 6 months ago, I began training Andrew to tell me that I was pretty. It worked really well for a while. (Somebody has to, right Brig?) I would solicit, "Is Mommy pretty?" and Andrew would reply, "Yes pretty" or "Mommy pretty." It was great. Then he learned what pretty means, and it has been down hill ever since. Now I wish I had not introduced the concept at all. He no longer feeds me my solicited compliments. Instead, my queries receive a telling silence or "Mommy no pretty." Last night he said I was ugly, but I will conceed that he does not know what that word means. I just asked him if I was ugly since he would not say I was pretty.

Brigham insists that Andrew doesnt know what he is saying. But, as much as I wished I believed that, I am pretty certain he does. For example, he will sometimes pronounce other women we see as "pretty." And they usually are, like the (very pretty) young woman walking down the hallway of our apartment complex. Andrew was watching her, and then pointed, declaring happily, "she pretty!" Models are pretty, too, when I test out his mastery of the word with the use of magazines.

While at a family gathering at my parents' house the other night, Andrew sat with Katie and Jessie watching country music videos (Katie discovered during the summer of 05, when Andrew was 7 months old, that Andrew loved this station). When I returned to the room, my sisters reported that Andrew had suddenly blurted out, "She's pretty," about the woman in the video. No, it wasn't Shania. It was Dolly Parton, and even if I thought Dolly was pretty, this was not her most flattering video. I don't know what the song was, but she was wearing a tiny cocktail sort of dress that made her look very trashy and old, and something about how she looked got Katie insisting in all seriousness that Dolly Parton suffered from dwarfism. Andrew, if you think Dolly is pretty, maybe I don't mind if you think I am ugly.

Beauty Part 2:
Andrew gave his first completely spotaneous and unprompted prayer last night. It went like this, Momo:

"Heavenly Father, Thank you for my cars. Go to sleep. Name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

We always pray that Andrew will go to sleep, partly to reinforce to Andrew that he is about to go to sleep and partly to implore for divine intervention to make him sleep. So that is where the "go to sleep" part came from. We have never thanked Heavenly Father for Andrew's toys, though. That was all him. It was so sweet to hear from his own little heart what he wanted to say to the Lord. I hope that someday soon Andrew will appreciate this kind of beauty more than the kind of beauty he now appreciates in Dolly Parton.

The following are quotes from Dolly's own mouth about her look:

"I describe my look as a blend of mother goose, cinderella, and the local hooker!"
"It takes a lot of money to make a person look this cheap!"

(I mean, Dolly Parton is a really good person, but I am fairly sure Andrew doesn't know about her inner life.) I am looking forward to him learning to appreciate the inner beauty or spiritually beautiful things (and whatever form of beauty is poor mom has to offer!). In the meantime, I will settle for him just developing mildly better taste.

new year's resolution

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury,pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.


O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen

St. Francis of Assisi said it best; what more can I say?

Ode to a Missionary

Yonder see the morning blink:
The sun is up, and up must I,
To wash and dress and eat and drink
And look at things and talk and think
And work, and God knows why.

Oh often have I washed and dressed
And what's to show for all my pain?
Let me lie abed and rest:
Ten thousand times I've done my best
And all's to do again.

-- A. E. Housman

I thought I would post an example of the type of poetry (ie one of the actual poems)my dad sent me while on my mission. The man never served a mission; how did he know?

My Christmas Gift

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on their knees,"
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
"Come; see the oxen kneel

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

That Hardy poem, entitled The Oxen, expresses a sense of what I suppose I will call a hopeful crisis of faith. (It is also, by the way, one of the poems my dad clipped out and mailed to me while on my mission, and definitely the most faith-promoting one I received. At least Hardy has hope, unlike the other depressed atheists writing poems from the depths of their existential angst. Just what every struggling missionary needs! My companion and I used to jokingly read them to each other right before we walked out the door as that day's "animo" until the irony was not funny enough to outweigh the powerful downer of the poems themselves. Now that I am not an overweight missionary with a bad haircut and a weird skin condition and a single pair of shoes, the fact of those poems has regained its humor.)

I think that part of the Christian experience for most people is to endure "the ebb and flow of faith." For me, my faith had never ebbed on the issue of whether God exists or the divinity of Christ or the other related basics of Christianity. But for some reason, the birth of my second son prompted me to constantly think about, and fear, what life would be like, and what life would be, if there really was nothing after this, if death was really the end. Maybe I confronted those issues for the first time because we were so worried about Will's health. In any event, it got me pretty depressed. I used to impatiently shrug off the argument of those who could not believe in God because of all the horrible things that happened in this world, but suddenly I could understand what they meant. Where before I did not even worry about death, I became very upset and nervous about what would happen to us, and the thought that there really was nothing filled me with an awful dread. That death would cut me off from all the ones I loved, and end my existence altogether, was inexpressibly saddening.

So it was in this spririt that I entered the Christmas season. Obsessed with my own mortality and feeling a fear and emptiness about what life was and the finality of death. And trying to keep myself from thinking of it by shopping. It was a weird Christmas season.

But it also turned out to be the most spiritual. It was not until I felt that it was possible that there was no hope, no life, no further frontier of existence after this one, that I was able, for the first time, to feel real gratitude for Christ. Without him, my worst fears would come true. I found myself thinking that the only gift I wanted was to be able to live forever with my family and those I loved. I realize that this all sounds so cliche and self-evident, like the story line and supposed 'plot-twists' of those Stephenie Meyers books (which I read), but it was not to me, and I really did wish for the gift that is the focus of every church lesson and meeting, not realizing that I had already been informed of all these answers.

I read a book (The Life of Pi) that was touted as being able to make one believe in God, because it demonstrated that if there were two explanations for a state of affairs, we should choose to believe the explanation that makes us happier. Unfortunatley for me, I cannot make myself believe something just because it makes me feel better. I am stuck with what my honest heart tells me, and my honest heart, I think, is a sort of pessimistic one sometimes. I write all of this to explain that it was not from a sense of needing to believe that I suddenly did again believe, and believe in a deeper and truer and more desperate way.

After struggling with these feelings and fears, my faith broke through. And I am thankful that I can say with my honest heart that Christ was born in a negligible barn in an obscure part of the world to simple people. He lived a perfect life. He died and on the third day He rose again. As in Adam all men die, so in Christ shall all be made alive. This I do believe. It was a very merry Christmas.

Brig Made the Post Again (and I did, too, sort of)

Last Monday, I went to the federal courthouse in Alexandria to watch Brig give his closing argument in the case that had taken up so many months. He was awesome. I was nervous for him, but that was the last time I am going to waste my worries on his performance in a courtroom. I was very proud. I will also add that my pride was inflated a tiny bit more when the line I gave him the night before when he was practicing for me made it into the pages of the Washington Post: "The only consistent part of Junior's story is that he consistently lied." Thank you, Moot Court.

Here's the link to the full story and Brig's other quotables: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/12/10/AR2007121001765.html?referrer=emailarticle

My Husband looks like Kenny Chesney, and other fun thoughts

I thought I would take a second to record some recent little moments from our life that make me laugh when I think about them.

1. Brigham asked me how many candles I wanted on our two year old son's birthday cake. He was defensive about my reaction and insists that it was a reasonable query.

2. Andrew is watching Sesame Street on my parents' couch. Brig and I are next to him. I am talking. I reach the point in my story where words will not suffice; Brig must look at the facial expression I am making. I don't remember what I was showing him, but it required that my eyes be shut. Upon opening them, I saw that Brig had never looked at me. So I complained, of course. He apologized, but explained in all sincerity that he had just never seen that episode before. Of Sesame Street.

3. Three minutes later, we are all focused on Sesame Street. Ernie is playing some game where Bert is supposed to guess a body part with the hint of the first letter. The current body part starts with "N" and I guess, in all momentary seriousness, "Knee!" It was the look Brigham gave me that was the funniest part, for me. (I must be given a break here, I had just gotten home from the hospital having our baby.)

4. Brigham looks like Kenny Chesney. This is always funny, especially when you look at a photo of Kenny or watch him in his videos. I love to think that a guy who wears tight jeans, necklaces, cowboy hats and some type of tank top resembles my husband.

5. While dressing Andrew the other day, he closed his eyes and exclaimed, in his funny little teasing voice, "Andrew no see! Oh no!" He was pretending to be blind, an old favorite game of the Smith sisters circa 1981-present (actually, we haven't played since probably 2001. I know I played it once with an unwilling companion on a boring day on my mission). Having never mentioned nor exposed Andrew in any way to this game, I can only conclude that it is a genetic thing and that I should expect that in a few years, Will and Andrew will be leading each other through crowded areas, one boy with eyes shut while the other walks the blinded right up to people or things or puddles etc. I played this as an adult.

6. Andrew pulled his hands into his sleeves and announced, "Andrew has claws!" A little weird, but I chose to interpret this statement to mean lobster claws. I don't know the origin of this announcement.

7. Brigham is my GPS operator. Unfortunately, he does not really have me on his satellite, so he can only provide me a route if I can accurately provide my location. This leads to problems because I often am calling for emergency backup because I do not know where I am. I became upset with him the other day for his poor navigational skills because he failed to tell me if I should turn left or right onto Wisconsin Ave. It was not until I comprehended his protestation that he did not know which way I was facing (and I could not tell him) that I let him off the hook and allowed him to stay on as my telephonic navigator.

8. As I drove onto my parents' street to pick up Andrew, whom I had left in the care of my father so that I could take Will to his 2 week appointment, a surreal sight awaited me. First I saw a man, who I initially thought was a neighbor lady who I always think is a man but is not, standing in the road with a little boy, who I thought was the neighbor lady's son, but was not. Before I could register anything more, the man began waving his arms frantically, as if I were the rescue helicopter to his crash-site. That was when I saw the boy was Andrew. He was playing in the middle of the road with two toy cars. He seemed really happy. Then my dog rushed in front of my car. The man was the across the street neighbor who, after living there for 35 years while I grew up across the street, did not recognize me either. He asked me in a panic if I knew who this child was. I briefly considered that he was kidding, but it would be too weird a joke. After about 5 minutes of confusion, he finally understood who I was and what had happened. We both began to worry about my dad. Surely Andrew and the dog could only have gotten out if my dad had suffered a stroke or something. The neighbor drove my car down the driveway while I herded Andrew toward the house. My dad wandered out, hands in pockets,
and announced, "The dog got out again."

9. Andrew disappeared into the bathroom. When I opened the door to see what he was up to, hoping it had something to do with the tiny potty I had purchased, he tried to wave me out, saying "No, Mommy, no, Andrew is fixing hair." He had gotten ahold of Brig's hairstick and was rubbing it vigorously into his bangs. Later that evening, I had him on my lap while telling him stories. I started to try to (with my hand) brush away the rat's nest of gooey hair he had plastered against his forehead. He turned to me, took my offending hand in his and said, "No Mommy, Andrew fixed hair. Don't touch it."

Great News

We found out on Wed that little Will does not have cystic fibrosis. In fact, he is not even a carrier. He had as much a chance of having the disease as not being a carrier for it (25%). It was a huge relief to find out that he will never have to think about CF in his life.

We discovered back in March or April that both Brig and I were CF carriers and that each child we had would have a 1 in 4 chance of having CF, and a 50% chance of being a carrier for the disease. We opted not to get an amnio to find out whether Will was sick, since there is nothing that can be done to treat it during gestation and the amnio does present a risk to the fetus. The worry over his possible medical condition was a dark cloud hanging over us the entire pregnancy. I thought that I would be able to handle whatever befell, but after Will was born, I knew that hypothetically dealing with that disease and actually watching your child struggle with it were two very different things, and that I would be devastated if he were sick. It has been a tremendous relief that all is well.

He has, however, failed both of the hearing tests administered on his right ear. I am not feeling too terribly concerned about this, though. The IUGR and the CF both turned out not to befall us, and I think out luck will continue to hold. Poor doctors probably have to be alarmists because of the legal profession (I am convinced that was the reason behind the IUGR diagnosis. Also, after concerns that my little boy will suffer a terrible and debilitating illness that would certainly take his life before he reached 40, and possibly much much younger, a hearing impairment in one ear really seems like no big deal. Nothing we couldn't handle.

Two Boys

Andrew approaches me when I am holding Will sometimes and says, "No, Mommy, hold both boys" (or "two boys"). It is sort of unbelievable that I really do have two boys, and one of them is old enough to say so.

We all miss Brig's mom very very much since she left me all alone :) last Tuesday. Andrew has even mentioned that he misses Momo. We bought him a little truck that came with a working toy drill. The idea was that Will had gotten him the gift, but when we quizzed him on who the gift came from, he replied, "Momo." She got him so much stuff that he thinks every gift is from her.

Andrew's adjustment is, I am sure, perfectly normal, but that doesnt really make it any less stressful for me. He acts up often during the morning. I think we are both a little stir crazy, too, since we dont really leave the apartment. The other day, I had to plop him in his room after an incident of misbehavior. The heartbroken and devastated look on his sobbing face as I marched out the room , pulling the door behind me, made me feel terrible and guilty. He is still so little, too, and all of this must be so overwhelming. When I went back in 3 min later to resolve things with him, I took him in my arms and began telling him a story about a happy boy and his mommy. At this point, Andrew interrupted me and said, "No, Momma, Andrew not a happy boy. Andrew a sad boy." My heart broken. I asked him why he was said, expecting silence. But he replied, "Andrew miss a Momma." It was so sad. Fortunately, Baby Will sleeps pretty well and independently, so Andrew and I have a lot of time to play alone during the day. Andrew does take an interest in Will, too, and when Will has slept for too long, Andrew will announce, "Andrew miss a baby Will! Wake up, Baby, wake up!" and begin streaking for the room where little Will lies sleeping.

This photo was taken when Andrew returned home from Church and demanded to be allowed to hold Will.

Will's Visitors

Since Will was born near the end of visiting hours, he didn't get his first visitors until today. His first visitors were his older brother Andrew and MoMo (my mom). Andrew wanted to wake Will up, and even resorted to poking Will's nose and adding the usual beep-beep. He and MoMo have been having a good time while Alexandra, Will, and I (most of the time) are in the hospital. We'll see how much Andrew likes Will the first time Will is in "Andrew's Room" and dominating Mommy's time.

Alexandra's parents also came by to visit their fifth grandchild (four boys and one girl). Will loved being held by his Nana and Papa who also graciously brought Will's new ride to the hospital so that Will won't ride home in Andrew's lap.

And, finally, Alexandra's friends Kirsten Rabaut and Carrie Cannon came by to visit.

Now, more pictures from today:

Welcome Will!

Alexandra was due to deliver last Friday, the 26th, and she was scheduled to be induced this morning at 8:00 a.m., but the William Alexander Cannon decided yesterday was better. Yesterday Alexandra called me at work around 12:00 to tell me that she was having regular, but not painful contractions and that I should get ready to go. Thirty minutes later we decided that I should just come home and go with her to the hospital.

We arrived at Sibley Memorial Hospital (the hospital of my own birth 31 years ago) at around 2:00, and, despite not having called ahead (which apparently flustered the admitting nurses and Alexandra's doctor), they checked Alexandra into a room. About 1.5 Law & Order episodes later, Alexandra and I expected that the doctor would soon tell us to go back home--that we had arrived to early. But then two nurses and the doctor came into the room to check on the baby whose heart rate was dipping with each contraction. They decided to admit Alexandra, who was progressing very quickly.

At 7:58, William Alexander Cannon was born at 7 pounds 2.2 ounces and 20.5 inches long. He was perfectly healthy and adorable.

Homestead Farm, Potomac Md and Halloween Party

Andrew and I had a fun and exhausting day at a local pumpkin patch. This was our second day in a row of pumpkin-patching, and Andrew loved both experiences. I had forgotten my camera, of course, so my friend Michelle took a bunch of photos for me, most of which I had no idea she was taking.

Andrew got to feed lambs and goats (and loved it!) and saw baby pigs. We rode a hayride out to a pumpkin patch and he selected various pumpkins to take home. At our picnic lunch by a large pond, Andrew found a "screwdriver," which he used to fix all the large logs we were sitting on.

We spent the evening at the McLean Ward Halloween party, where Andrew wore a green T-shirt and diaper the majority of the time and "shot hoops." I physically forced him into his dragonfly costume, an act that practically amounted to child abuse (both physical and emotional, from his reaction). I just wanted him to put it on for 15 minutes for the dumb parade. He calmed down after a few minutes in front of the mirror and agreed to wear it across the stage. He actually understood me when I told him that after he walked across the stage to Papa (who was conducting the event) that he could remove the hated costume. I know he understood bc he stopped struggling and started trying to cut in line. When it was finally his turn, he raced across the stage to Papa and announced repeatedly and enthusiastically "Andrew a dragonfly!" I had told him to do this but was not sure he would or could. Anything to get back in his T-shirt and in front of his beloved hoop.

Just a side note: andrew is great at basketball. Boys MUCH bigger and older than he is (8 year olds!) did not have his made-shot percentage. Everyone was amazed. He really is good. I wish I had a video clip to prove it.