"What Does 'Angelic' Mean?"

"What do you think 'angelic' means?"

"I don't know."

"Can you guess?"

"Ummm."

"What does it sound like? An--gel--ic.

It means like something. Like a what?"

"Like a Jelly Bean?"

Do You Realize That Naomi is Halfway to Adulthood?

I cried when Dallin pointed this out to me. 

 

It's all been too fast.

 

I haven't taught her half the things she needs to know. 

 

I'm behind and I'm chronically bad at catching up. 

How Did I Get Here?

The short answer is that my mother cursed them on me.

The longer answer is that I arrived at this state--

"No that doesn't count as a bite. I said three bites, not two. A bite means you fill up your spoon. You like carrots. It's just chicken. It's only parsley. Parsley isn't a vegetable, it's a spice. It's just like salt and pepper, only green. If you finish the whole bowl, you can have another biscuit. Yes, of course, including the corn..."

--the longer answer is that I arrived at this ridiculous bite-counting, vegetable-pushing, guilt-creating state out of complete desperation. Tonight at dinner I felt that I negotiated deals more complex than NAFTA. I swore I would never visit this state. I think I said something about not even visiting this country.

I remember being four and watching my brother do the airplane thing with a bite on a fork. He was the best! It had neat "vrrrrrrrrrrr" and "bddddd" sounds, and loops and turns and dives. And I watched it all with my mouth open and I remember thinking, "There is no way I'm going to keep my mouth open when he tries to put the bite in." And time after time I clamped my mouth shut just as the airplane made its final descent to the landing strip.

And later I was eight and left at the table "until you finish your dinner." I think once I sat there for nine hours. I knew my mom was mad. But I also knew I would stay there for nine months if I had to. And finally I would be sent to my room with no supper (which, of course, was exactly the result I wanted.) And then that same wonderful older sibling would sneak crackers and cheese down to me. I think he thought there was a real possibility of starvation.

I entered parenthood committing to myself that I would not get sucked into this picky-eater nonsense. Well, actually, I was not going to have any picky eaters, but since that didn't work out, I went to plan B. Do not get emotionally involved. I knew it didn't work.

A while back a woman with eight grown children told me that if she were to do dinner-times again with her kids she wouldn't fight it at all. If they wanted five buns and no soup that would be fine with her. Everyone could have dessert regardless of whether they ate anything or not. Mealtime was about family togetherness, not about food. Is she right? By the way, all eight of her children have been quite rebellious and the two I know are obese. Does this give her theory less clout?

Well, as of tonight, I am currently touring this miserable state, but I think I'll take the next plane ride home. I hope it makes neat sounds and loops and dives. And I hope it finds a place to land.

Can't We Stop Time? (Part III)

I don't read anymore when I nurse.

I read many books when I nursed Naomi.

A little less when I fed Eliza.

I did finish one book, Peter Pan, while Chas began to grow.

But now, I realize--

it all slips by much too fast
so now I watch every suck and swallow
and the book sits unopened nearby on the table
as if by watching you I will slow the clock
or capture the fleeting moment

It isn't working, by the way,

but I think I'll keep trying.

What's His Name? (Part III)

On second thought,
I think we'll just stick with



"Baby Burrito."

Why Does Nursing Matter To Me So Much?

Naomi was nursed and had formula every day because I was working full-time.

Eliza never nursed once in her life.

Chas never had a taste of a bottle until he was seven months old and I was in the hospital for the second time and I weaned him cold-turkey.

They all turned out bonded to their mother, physically healthy, emotionally secure, and we still have enough money to put food on the table.

So as I enter back into the throes of recurrent mastitis I'm wondering why it feels like it matters so much to me to nurse him.

He seems so little. He's not yet three weeks old. It feels like my breast-milk might protect him from the big, bad world out there. And maybe it will fill his blood with super-duper antibodies, but what I actually want to protect him from (abuse and evil and drugs and bad teenage friends...) Well, nursing doesn't create a shield for those things.

There are breast-feeding die-hards around here. They're shocked when you use the word "formula." I tend to roll my eyes at this attitude. Millions of babies have turned out just fine and were only ever bottle-fed.

Maybe it's the expense? I didn't love the cost of formula, or the midnight store-runs when I realized we were out.

The hassle of bottles? They are a hassle, but then so is a fever of 103.

I do believe that the regular-old-way, in most cases, is the best way. I don't get caught up in new diet fads. I don't buy protein bars or protein powder. I just deliver babies without drugs whenever they want to come. When my kids are sick, I wait and see, and it usually all works out. I believe in leaving well enough alone whenever possible.

Maybe that's it. I just want to feed him the regular-old-way.

Or maybe I don't want to patter across to the kitchen at 2 am to make a bottle.

Or maybe I am one of those mothers who seem to love breast-feeding for themselves more than for their baby's sake and will nurse until the baby is eating steak for dinner and taking piano lessons.

Or maybe I don't want to admit that Mastitis can win. I don't want to be beat.

Answer #9--Life Is Good

there is nothing like

a groggy tiny person

with eyes half drooped

and milk dripping off his chin

his arms raised to their full extent

(which only gets them up to his ears)

making the softest snoring sound

as he's flopped over my shoulder

to remind me that Earth Life Is Good

and that Heavenly Father Loves Me

And then,

as if to demonstrate that

the best is yet to be,

sometimes

he has his head facing this way

and he smiles that gummy

"I-can-still-remember-heaven" smile

and all is right in the world

How Much Avatar Can My Children Watch...

...Before Their Brains Turn To Complete Mush?


There are three seasons. Each season has 5 discs. Each disc has 99 to 148 minutes of action-packed video adventure. All three seasons have a Bonus Disc. That totals 2025 minutes of brain-mushing movie-watching. Or 34 hours.

And my children have watched the entire collection 3 times since the middle of July. (Thank you, Uncle Nathan.)

But, as we drove to church on Sunday and they were all chattering about how Katara and Saka found Aang and how Aang discovered that he was the Avatar and what the monks taught him and how he was going to save the world and how Zuko became a good guy... And I saw my three children's shining eyes and exuberant smiles and realized that Avatar is a uniting force in my children's lives. Go figure.

Is it worth mushy brains in order to have children who all want to pretend the same game, name the cat Katara, watch the same movie, and talk about the same topic at the dinner table?

Answer #8--And His Name Is...

Well,

I bought wood letters at the craft store today,

so I guess it's official.

Mark Gideon Peter Brooks

"Was There Ever a Time...?"

"Was there ever a time when you wished you weren't doing it (giving birth) at home?"

"No, but there was a long time when I wished I weren't doing it period."

What's His Name? (Part II)

"Can I have Mark AND Nathaniel if I let you have Mosiah?"
"No, you get Mark or Nathaniel, not both."
"Please?"
"No way."
"Remember that you were gone for ten days and missed his birth?" (I'm desperate.)
"No."

-----

After spending far too many hours with the computer and google searches such as "cool names that are unpopular" or "top 100 names of the year," Dallin declares, "I've got the perfect name!"
"Oh?"
"Would you rather hear it or see it written out?"
"Whatever."
"OK, ready?"
"I'm ready."
"It's so great!"
"OK."
"Algernon!"
"ALGERNON?!"
"We could call him Algy." (You can't possibly appreciate this conversation without seeing the excited grin on Dallin's face)
"Algae?! Why not Fungus?"

Can't We Stop Time? (Part II)

I didn't want him to come out...

I knew he'd have a ridge on his head and squished ears. He might have furry cheeks and shoulders. He probably wouldn't open his eyes, he would squeak like a mouse, and he would smell like heaven.


And then he wouldn't have an umbilical cord anymore, not even the little purple dead part.

And he would begin to open his eyes and have tears and sound like a baby, not a mouse.

The ridge would go away and the ears would start to straighten out.

The furry, delicious skin would start to be regular human skin.

And soon he won't smell like heaven anymore either.

Oh, stop, stop, stop!

I didn't want him to come out because I've done this before. I knew what was coming.

Let the mourning begin.

Answer #5--Something Is Better Than Nothing (Part II)

And Answer #7--Act To Do Good Quickly

Naomi's friend's mother had a baby a few months ago. I wanted to take her a meal. I wanted to take her kids for a playdate. I waited for the right moment. I wished I had the right food to cook. I didn't have her phone number. I tried to find the day that would work best. And in the end I did nothing. Stink!

I had a baby last week. A friend brought us cheesecake, Frutopia juice, blueberries, a box of individually wrapped snacks and a container of cream cheese. What a strange combination of food. What a gift it was to eat those blueberries by the handful at 5:30 in the morning, and give my kids the snacks when they were grumpy, and have cheesecake for lunch while everyone else was at church. The next day she called to invite all my kids over for a playdate. She said, in her experience, Day 3 was the worst. She remembered and acted before it was day 4 or 7 or 43.

I hope I've learned my lesson: A container of cream cheese is helpful. And act now while it is still Day 3.

"Is She The Same One Who...?"

"Yes," I didn't let my mother finish the question, "She's the same one as everything."

"The same one who made the quiet book?"

"Yes, and the same one who brought the cheesecake and all the food over.

And the same one who had Naomi sleep over when I was having the baby.

And the one who was making the dresses for Ethiopia.

And the amazing primary music leader I've been telling you about.

And the one who picked up my kids when I got stuck at the hospital with Chas before she really even knew me. And when I got to her house had a meal ready to send home with me even though she and her family all had colds.

And the one who took all three of my kids on a picnic outing yesterday when they'd been cooped up watching Avatar for a week.

She's the one who made this 'diaper wreath' and brought over a bag of hand-me-down baby boy clothes.

She's the same one as everything."


"My goodness! What a woman!"

What's His Name?

Check back in a month. It may take a while.

Did Dallin Make It?

"Hi, Love."

"Hi."

"Do we have a baby?"

"Did you get my messages on your cell phone?"

"No, I'm at a payphone. We're not in cell phone range yet."

"Oh. Yes we have a baby."

"Really?"

"Well?"

"The kids said they don't want to tell you whether it's a boy or a girl until you're here."

"What?!"

"I think it serves you right for teaching them to be such teases."

"Let me talk to the kids."

"How's your baby sister?"

(They are not taken in.)

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Please?"

"Ok, when we count to three we'll say it all together."

"1-2-3. It's a boy!"

"Oh Yeah!"

Answer # 6--It's A Boy!

7 lbs 9 oz -- 20 inches

August 7, 2009 -- 2:26 am

What Should We Do Now While We Wait For The Baby To Come?

My water broke at 7 am. The kids left on a play date at 11 am. The Baby didn't show up until 2:30 am.

We had to do something between contractions, so we painted the nursery.

"Can I Use This Sour Cream Container for Painting?"

"No, I have to save that one for putting the placenta in."

Why Does Everyone Wet The Bed When Dallin Is Out Of Town?

And did you have to be sharing a bed with your brother and get him soaked too?
And why did it have to be on the makeshift bed on the floor made out of seven throw pillows and four blankets?
And why is it always on the bed that I just forgot to put the special water-proof pad on?
And if I'm going to stay up until 1 am reading, couldn't you wet the bed at 12:30 instead of 1:30?

And why does it feel better when it happens when Dallin is in town? Maybe it's the ounce of sympathy, the teaspoon of gratitude, the dash of pity, and the trace of a grimace that he gives me in the morning.

"How Does The Baby Come Out?"

"Does your head come off?"

Does my head come off!?!

"Yeah, like, it pops off and the baby comes out and then they put it back on?"