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.

Andrew and Will Visit the National Gallery

Today, Katie and I took the boys down to the National Gallery. We parked right out front on Madison (per Brigham's instructions as he guided me telephonically to our resting spot. If only he could apparate in case of parallel parking requirements or diaper changes.) We had 2 hours to get in and out. At stake was a ticket for an expired meter and an expired registration on the car.

The boys were wonderfully behaved, even if they prefered eating Katie's french fries from the Cascades Cafe to the pizza I tried to force feed them. (The cafe and the gift shop alone are reason enough to take kids to the National Gallery.)

We focused on three exhibits: 18th century Dutch Christian, Native American, and Modern. Modern was a big hit. We were not allowed to take photos in many parts of the modern section, which I still don't understand as much of the art looked like it could be purchased at Target or from me, but anyway. The mobiles were great and the boys took delight in blowing on one and making it change shape. The guard took delight in them. Really. Above is the airplane the promise of which acted as a silent magnent on Andrew and thus enabled our party's progress from one side of the exhibit to the other. Will quacked at the Warhol of Donald Duck. Really, modern isn't my thing but it sure was great for the boys.





Katie got Andrew to smile in these by telling him not to, Brig wanted me to include a joke about how Will was moving so quickly he was just a blur, and I wanted to add that Will and Andrew were being playful and that no bodily injury was intended or actualized.

And I imagine the above photo in a gallery frame and added to the other pieces of my own personal art collection.

TV

Ok, I will admit that I really love watching tv. I just do. A good tv show brings me a very real sense of well-being. I even feel an emotional bond with my favorite shows, and sometimes I find myself thinking about the characters as if they were people I really know. Because they are.

I also associate books and programs with the time in my life during which I read or viewed. Since I always view the past much more rosily than the present, this nostalgia is always positive. Scrubs will bring me back to the winter of 2006, living in a large pink Victorian house in McLean (we were house-sitting) where I made crock-pot pot roast every day and Andrew was just toddling around in sweater vests, too little to really appreciate the playground equipment in the backyard. I really could go on and on, but I will save that for some other time.

I just wanted to say that we are sort of in between tv obsessions right now. Since we--and I think we are viewing geniuses for this--watch shows years after they have aired, we can get through the entire run in a short burst of joyful speed. We watched a few seasons of Alias and 24 this way, on our laptop, while we fixed up our first home in 2004 (before those series got weird and boring).

We have seen all the Malcom in the Middles, all of Arrested Development (and the last season is so dumb), all of Scrubs (though I re-watch just for old times' sake). Law and Order is cranking out some new ones, but I still miss Claire and the ADA that followed her (I can't believe I am blanking! Her daughter is Katie. And I have never recovered from the loss of Adam Schiff.)

We have settled on House for now, though it has not been as fulfilling as our other programs. It does have funny moments, but I do wish the constant analysis of the subconscious thoughts and motives of the characters by the other characters would at least be slightly less frequent.

Tonight we watched a mediocre House and I pointed out the shortcomings of the show for me. Brigham added, "House would be a lot more realistic if someone would just punch House in the face every once in a while."

I thought that was blog-worthy. So, too, a request for tv programs we can bond over. Our relationship might need it.

An Adolescent 3 Year Old

Andrew has been remarking often these days that he is "almost a teenager!" or that he "will be a teenager soon!" He then adds that I "will be so sad because [he] [is] not a baby (or little boy) anymore." He has assured me that we will still be best friends, however.

Andrew is sort of like a teenager already in some of his behaviors. One of them is that he likes to stay up late and sleep in. Last night he went strong all day long (we even had preschool at our house) and resisted bedtime until after 10pm. (And no, he has not napped in a year.) We had check-ups with the doctor today, so I let him sleep until he woke up naturally, knowing that I would pay the price tonight with another late bedtime. He slept until 10:45 am. He is still up now. He is in an excellent mood, and I am glad to he is hanging out with us. He is laughing in these shots because he had snatched an entire cookie dough ball off the sheet while the oven pre-heated. He thought it was very funny.


After his bath, he got to spends lots of time with Daddy, who got home after 7:30. He left his NFL viewing to come bake some chocolate chip cookies with me (he did all of the dry ingredients). Then we made a bunch of Thanksgiving crafts, one for every member of our extended family and Will. Right now he is drawing lumbermills with crayons (in honor of a recent toy).

So we have not watched The Office, and maybe we won't tonight. But I don't feel deprived. These late nights with Andrew are actually really fun, and the sleeping in is nice for me and Will, too, since we get our own one-on-one in the morning. When school starts in a few years, we won't be able to do this stuff anymore, and when Andrew really is a teenager, he won't be staying up late to bake cookies with me.

And he is right, he will be a teenager soon. And I will be wondering where it all went. I will hold him to his assurance that we will still be great friends.

Remembering Veteran's Day

My Dad, Captain C. William Smith, K Company, 3rd Battalion, 9th Marines, 3rd Marine Division, 1967.

Today is the anniversary of Armistice Day. This day commemorates the signing of the World War I armistice, ending the war most terrible for the soldiers fighting it and unquestionably the most pointless that the modern world has seen. For over four years, Britain, France and Germany lost an average of over 1,000 men each day. By the end of the war, Britain's casualty rate was 45%, and most every young man at that time served in the defense of their country. A whole generation of men was lost.



The ceasefire was to take place at the eleventh hour on what happened to be the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918. Fittingly for the wasteful nature of that conflict, some of the generals on the allies' side ordered an offensive on the Germans that morning, immediately before the ceasefire (that all the world knew about) was to take effect. Several thousand additional soldiers' lives were pointlessly squandered.

If you ever want to read some depressing poetry, you cannot get better than the stuff from WWI soldiers like Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen. I know. That is what my dad thought would be appropriate for our bedtime ritual when I was a small kid. While I don't think I will be introducing that to Andrew anytime soon, I think it might have been sort of good for me. At least, I learned what an amputee was at an early age.

Maybe it is fitting, too, that Veterans' Day be celebrated on the anniversary of the end of the most wasteful and pointless war the world has known, because it serves as a reminder the horror of war.

I hope, though, that we can also remember on this day that, while World War I was not a worthwhile endeavour, there are things worth fighting for, and there are things worth dying for. Our freedom was bought with a price, and continues to be paid for by a dwindling number of brave soldiers who make the ultimate sacrifice for us. For that, they deserve our everlasting respect. Unfortunately, that often does not seem to be something they get from many politicians or citizens.



In the mid-late 1960s, Charles DeGaulle demanded that all U.S. troops, stationed there ever since we had to liberate them during WWII, be withdrawn from France. It was critical during the Cold War era that we keep soldiers stationed throughout Europe, but with the dawn of the Peace Movement, it was no longer very popular. "No more American troops on French soil!" became the mantra of the French leader. Dean Rusk, Secretary of State under Johnson, was called upon to respond, and his response could not have been better:

"Shall we remove our cemeteries, too?"

I think this story exemplifies the too-frequent instances of the sneering ingratitude of nations whose freedoms our brave soldiers have laid down their lives to win back or protect. The world owes our soldiers a debt of gratitude (and more) which they can never repay, and so do we. Let us repay what we can in remembering.

I am proud of our nation and grateful for the millions of soldiers who have sacrificed their time, their careers and sometimes their very lives to keep me as unacquainted as I am with the horrors of war and to protect the freedom which I so often take for granted.