"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?"

What Do I Need For A Baby?

I was walking through Walmart and saw soothers (pacifiers) and realized that it hadn't really occurred to me to buy that or anything else in the baby section yet. So I bought them. Size 0-6 months and I felt happy at my conquest. (No thumb-sucker this time.)

The home birth supply list included receiving blankets. Oh yeah. So, I made a separate trip to the store and got those too.

Yesterday, Shawna said, "Well, have you gotten diapers?" Oh dear. I hadn't thought of that.

What else have I not thought of? I've done this three times, you'd think I'd have the hang of it.

So this morning I did what any responsible, well-prepared mother-to-be would do, I Googled "What do I need for a baby?" The list was 71 items long. I got overwhelmed and went to the store without the list. I bought newborn diapers, one bottle, one container of baby soap, and some baby finger-nail clippers.

I think I'm all set.

Am I?

Was That A Contraction?

Since Dallin left at 5 am this morning I have turned into a complete hypochondriac.

And it's worrying me that my hypochondria seems to be coming and going at 3 minute intervals for the last two hours.

Do You Have Any Electric Fans?

London Drugs: "Sorry, we're all sold out."

Do you have any fans?

Superstore: "Sold out."

Do you have any fans?

Walmart: "We sold out days ago."

What do I get for toughing out the heat wave longer than everyone else? No fans.

But, at Home Depot. Do you sell electric fans?

"They're right in front of the lumber till."

I think I'll kiss you. Either that or buy Home Depot stock.

Each child chose a fan. I got another one for the living room. Three sweaty, red-faced kids hugged their boxes of fans-to-be and grinned. The woman at the till said, "Look at their faces. They think it's Christmas."

He's Going Where!?!

Umm... I'm not exactly sure, but I can describe it to you. He'll fly north for 4 hours to Smithers. Then drive north for about 12 hours, then float plane in to somewhere, and hike for 8 hours.

Dallin tells me it's called Hunting Territory #762.

And until my Dad looked it up on a map and used names like Juneau and Yukon I had no idea how really far he would be. No wonder there's no cell phone reception.

Now Why is he going? Well, that's a whole other question.

Did You know That Me And Dad Are The Coolest People On The Earth?

"Why are you wearing sunglasses at breakfast? Is it sunny in here?"

"No, just to be cool...

Did you know that me and Dad are the coolest people on the earth?"

"Oh, you are? How do you know?"

"I traveled around the world."

"You did?"

"Yeah, to see what I could see."

"Oh, what did you see?"

"The people of the earth are beautiful to me."

"Oh."

"But they weren't cool like me and Dad. We're the coolest."

What Are You Doing In Your Backyard?

Dallin answers with something about improving the drainage. (There wasn't really a problem except for the soggy sandbox.)

I've been saying it will make the yard bigger, but it turns out that we'll only add about 10 feet.

I think it may really be about Boys and Big Toys.

Have You Seen Our Kitten?

I didn't want it in the first place. I don't like animals. And I didn't want a pet. If I were going to add someone to the family it would be a person who will eventually grow up, not an animal that stays a baby forever. And I'm only willing to clean up poo from my own flesh and blood. I think I even remember saying something about if we didn't like having a pet, we'd just let her fend for herself until she got eaten by a coyote. And I never did get it sorted out to use the right gender pronoun.

But then, he was so cute. And he came when I called. And he purred when I pet him. And I didn't have to clean up his poo because he lived in a cozy cave in the rocks. And so he was definitely a keeper, after all. And it looked like he was going to be a stayer too.

But last week when the babysitter was here they all went swimming and the kitten followed them down the long driveway, but not back up. And we haven't seen her since.

And my kids are sort-of sad. But I think I might be the saddest of all.

P.S. Katara has been found. A week and a half later. Naomi is thrilled. Eliza and Chas don't seem to care one way or the other. The neighbour kids who have had him/her for a week are distraught. The neighbour tells me it is a girl cat. Oh brother! And I'm just worried that we'll lose it again and now I'll have the neighbour kids sad, our own kids sad, and three different neighbours wagging their fingers at me because I never let it in the house.

Is This Worth Crying Over?

I've spent 15 hours painting. I've made my husband bail me out of a project he didn't want any part of in the first place. He's spent hours painting and spackling and unhinging. I've moved the furniture and plastic sheets back and forth and back and forth again. I've taped and painted and stretched in ways unhappy for an 8 month pregnant woman. Places in my body that house critical birthing muscles are screaming for me to stop. I've made three trips to the paint store 1/2 an hour away. I've sat in her room with swatches in hand and cried.

I think I hate the colour.

And I still have to finish the second coat.

And Naomi will be home on Saturday and it's a surprise for her birthday, so it has to be finished.

It's a Boy?

The nieces said it was a girl. We believed them. I didn't check. I don't want to check and I'm not sure I know how.

The neighbour said that it is most assuredly a boy. Dallin confirmed it.

Can a boy cat be named Katara? maybe Kataro? How about just Kat?

The children want to call for a re-vote. I'm not sure I can endure the democratic process again. (For description of Democracy in action see original post.)