Shudder Lane

I think it will be a Good Thing(tm) once we're in our own house without cable TV again.

Trent & I have talked about this. I tend to turn into a helpless addict if the TV is on - a sort of ADD compulsion to watch it if it's on rather than walk away. While spending some time with Nathan this afternoon, I flipped through channels and came across Cheerleader Nation. Watching it was a trip down memory lane - and not all of those memories were good ones.

In a matter of minutes I remembered going through flag corp camp with snotty juniors and contemptuous seniors, sitting on a hard gym floor as the volleyball coach ran through the list of who made JV and who made varsity, watching the popular girls flirt with their boyfriends and look incredible in bathing suits while I huddled in a far corner on my towel with a book, and (above all of these) the irritation I had with conversation time spent on stupid subjects. Who cares whether this freshman is getting above herself by trying to break out of her clique and hang with the upperclassmen? Why does it matter if that senior has never gone out for something until her last year and thinks she can make the team/squad/roster/choir/cast?

So much of high school is usually spent being uncomfortable in your own skin; you're so concerned about others articulating your shortcomings that you find it hard to believe they have any. I alternated between anxiety about not fitting in and irritation that my peers were being so immature and shallow. It didn't change until college.

You couldn't pay me enough money to put me back in junior high or high school.

Ugh. [shudder]

Marital Benefits

Thoughts while watching my brother's girlfriend pack yesterday for a wedding this weekend (including a sleeping bag):

- Benefit to marrying (aside from the obvious ones): you usually score a bed or at least an air mattress when it comes to family gatherings or friends' events

- Benefit of having a small child or infant: you usually get a room of your own at family gatherings or friends' events


I don't remember the last time I was asked to sleep on the floor or on a couch. I think it was when I was in college or shortly after.

Again, Tired of Consulting

I've been in some kind of funk the last several days... Nathan likes the taste of solids, but his digestive system doesn't like processing them; he screams at the drop of a hat now as food works its way through his gastrointestinal tract. The weather was nice today, but has been gray and rainy the two preceding days. Trent's wrestling with a sleep problem; I think it's obstructive sleep apnea, but we don't have the $3,000 a nearby sleep clinic would charge to get an official diagnosis (let alone the $1,200 for the machine needed to treat it), so meanwhile Trent's getting the equivalent of 3-4 hours of sleep a night.

He hasn't been very social lately.

It was while we were talking this morning that I realized what I miss so much about where we were: there, I knew so many people who were actively seeking God - more than that, pursuing him with abandon. Here, I think more people consult God. There's a big difference.

My dad has remarked that this area is perhaps the hardest area in which to be a Christian - not physically, since there isn't persecution, but emotionally and spiritually. Everyone is surrounded by the forms of religion from childhood. We're close to being innoculated against true, life-changing belief. It's how I grew up: keep all the rules and try harder, because you're not doing enough.

I don't want to be back there. I don't want to live my life and take my blueprints to God for his rubber-stamp sign off. That's consulting, not surrender. I got enough of consulting at my former employer. Form of language mattered more than the content, and there were a million ways of answering a question without saying anything of substance - certainly no promises I could be held accountable to keep... I left the corporate world because of the changes I saw in how I responded to friends and family; I don't want my relationship with God to be that way. "Fake" and "truth" cannot exist in the same relationship for longer than a breath.

I miss being part of a group of seekers. Here devotions seem more "discipline" and less "devotion".

Marveling over the Inane

For all that being a stay-at-home mom can be viewed as drudgery (whether you're living it or observing someone else live it), there are some amazing plusses in my life because of it.

I took Nathan on a walk to the park a few days ago. He was in the Snugli front-carrier, facing out (his preference). I tried zipping my jacket up over his front and arms so he'd stay warm, but he insisted on having his arms out where they could grab things. I bent down a few times to pick up things and hold them close to him to explore: a handful of snow, which he thrust his little fingers into; a stick, that he grasped and tried to insert in his mouth; and gravel, the sound of which seemed to catch his interest as I let it fall through my fingers. I managed to climb the narrow stairs of a curly slide, squeeze the two of us through the child-sized opening at the top - without hitting Nathan's head on the bar overhead - and slide back down to the ground.

When I am in a peaceful state, I think I observe more detail than many people do. Even without Nathan, I would easily marvel over grains of ice and snow. Because of Nathan, though, my observations increase enormously. He matters to me, and therefore what interests him matters to me. Tumbling clothes in a dryer (why do I normally walk right past that fascinating montage of swirling color?), the small grains of dust caught in my dog's hair... I wouldn't see these things if I wasn't watching Nathan so closely.

Watching him play today on the floor, I realized that I envy him his unapologetic life. He doesn't consider someone else's misunderstanding a reason to feel hurt; he's currently impervious to ridicule or derisive laughter; he doesn't for one minute think it might be stupid to put dog hair in his mouth to see what it tastes like.

I wish I could keep that quality in his life. I want him to care about others, but I know he'll also care about others' perspective of him. I know already that I can't protect him from hurt. I know when I tell him during his teen years that he is unique and special and that trying to be like everyone else around him isn't the path to joy, he will discount my words just like I and scores of other kids discount their parents' words. Parents are supposed to think you're special. It's their job.

There will be times, possibly several years, when he is embarrassed to be seen with me in public. My hope is that some part of my wonder, my delight in the little things in life, will leave a deep enough impact in the early years that it calls him back as an adult...

I don't care whether he's 8 or 58: I want him to keep playing - though if he's still trying to put dog hair in his mouth when he's 58, I'll express my concerns.

Working Children

OK, so this week's been even crazier than last... I not only got Nathan's cold, I got an ear infection and apparently reinjured my neck (I herniated the disc between C5/C6 in my neck a little over three years ago; it stabilized with steroids, so I didn't have to have surgery - now the injury's back). Once again, pain in my shoulders, radiating down my left arm, and some tingling sensations in my thumb and first two fingers on my left hand (the bulging disc was pressing on a spinal nerve).

I came away from my doctor's appointment Monday afternoon with antibiotics (for the ear infection), steroids (for the disc) and painkillers (to keep me happy throughout). Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday I was on 60mg of codeine every four hours. I was a very happy girl... I kept looking at Trent and telling him how much I loved him. He kept laughing at me and shaking his head.

I'm trying to wean myself off the Tylenol 3 (the stash is getting low, for one thing), but I'm still wearing a cervical collar in an attempt to keep my neck immobilized. It's amazing how much more I appreciate my body's ability to move when it's restricted. There are a couple of times I've had to feed Nathan by Braille - I can't see what I'm doing or how he's doing!

Now that I've excused myself for the lack of posts, I had to share this picture my sister sent me; it sends me into cackles just looking at it. Makes me want to get one for Nathan:

The text accompanying the picture is this -
"After the birth of a child there's always the temptation to say, 'Yes, it's cute, but what can it do?' Until recently the answer was simply 'lie there and cry,' but now babies can be put on the payroll, so to speak, almost as soon as they're born.

"Just dress your young one in Baby Mops and set him or her down on any hard wood or tile floor that needs cleaning. You may at first need to get things started by calling to the infant form across the room, but pretty soon they'll be doing it all by themselves.

"There's no child exploitation involved. The kid is doing what he does best anyway: crawling. But with Baby Mops he's also learning responsibility and a healthy work ethic."

Cool.

Home, (Almost) Sweet Home

Great - now I'm sick.

Since I don't feel up to being terribly creative (and who knows how long I have before Nathan's up from his nap), I thought I'd share pictures of the house we're in the processing of purchasing:

In the words of the merchant in the movie Aladdin, "Do not be fooled by eets commonplace appearance..." - Thees is no ordinary house!

It was built in 1964, and some of the decor (which hasn't really been updated since then) reflects that:
Love that carpet - and the stove has an analog timer mounted on top of it, plus that always necessary feature in a kitchen: an upper electrical outlet for a kitchen clock!


This fixture has already been claimed by my brother-in-law; the light can be extended or retracted from the ceiling mount as desired... he said he'd give us an IKEA fixture in trade. I think this one will go over better in San Francisco anyway, so have at it, Brian. : )

It's a small house - two bedrooms, one bath on the main floor and another bathroom in worse condition (a steel shower with rust patches to prove it!) in the basement.

What do we like about it? Good location, good price, good-sized rooms, fairly easy updating we can do, and (for me) storage, storage, STORAGE! Seven closets:


Four good-sized storage cabinets (in addition to three walls' worth of cupboards in the kitchen):


-Even a basement workroom for Trent:

We're waiting to see if our loan application goes through, but if it does, we'll tear out carpet, install flooring, paint all of the upstairs rooms, do some electrical work (I love being married to an electrician) and put in new appliances.

Yay! Our own space to own and cuddle and boss. I've missed having our library of books since we moved here... Most of them have been boxed and in storage since May. True torture for bibliophiles like we are.

Another Gourmand on the Loose

So... this last week wasn't just adjusting to a new sleep schedule for Nathan (he's rarely awake for more than two hours at a time this way, but he's a lot more cheerful for those two hours!). In the time since I've posted, he finally finished the meds for his first ear infection, got his latest cold (and 2nd ear infection), got shades of Trent's abdominal infection (Trent stayed home from work Thursday, Friday and Monday, which means he was really sick). And Jasper (one of our dogs) was sick. Ever try getting cough syrup down a 60-70lb. dog's throat? I recommend a loving, trusting relationship before attempting it - particularly if the dog's teeth are sharp. -Oh, and we bought a house.

I've been pretty busy. Really busy. "Too busy to post" busy. It's not my fault.

Really.

Trent is now better, Nathan's on a second course of antibiotics (Amoxil last time, Cefzil this time - somewhere it must be written that children's antibiotics must be flavored a sugary bubble gum pink, which requires the most permanently staining pink dyes this world has ever seen. Oy.) and Jasper, too, is better.

I'll post pictures of the house some other time (maybe even later today, depending on how the afternoon goes), but I wanted to post pictures of Nathan's first experience with solid food.

He's been eyeing our food as we eat for a while, and recently started reaching for glasses, sandwiches, spoons and anything else that seemed food-like. I sat him in his feeding chair on Valentine's Day and made his first bowl of rice cereal. Play with the water temperature, cereal consistency - all so that bowl of sticky glue-like stuff is just perfect for putting in my child's mouth. I seriously think you could stick the bib to the kid using cereal alone.

I read in some baby reference/publication that if you give the kid a spoon of their own to hold, they don't grab for the one you're using to feed them. I gave Nathan his own little yellow spoon (that I remember using as a kid), but he chucked it over the side of his chair, reached for the spoon I was using with both hands, and rammed the spoon and its cereal contents into his mouth.

So much for the delicate eating worries:

Please note that at least one hand is "assisting" me in each picture. He seemed worried I wasn't going to get it to his mouth fast enough. If I took too long between spoonfuls, he would solicit food by leaning toward me with his mouth open.

Look out, world. Another gourmand (concerned with quantity rather than the gourmet's concern of quality) has been created.

Life by the Hour

My apologies for the lack of posts... We're putting Nathan on a new schedule, courtesy of Dr. Weisbluth. I'm sure I'll love the difference in Nathan when it's finally in place, but implementing it is hard. He's basically sleeping or I'm trying to feed him/interact with him from 7 a.m. until he goes down to bed ~6 p.m. [yawn] Now if only I could get in better sleep habits...

In an act of saving face, try reading this post and see if you're as flabbergasted as I was when I read it. If ever I needed proof that our lives are too hectic and too work-focused, this would be it.

I'll get back to posting when I've figured out where little things like laundry and cleaning and meals fit.

Surrendering the Stage

I think it could be said of most artists, whatever their medium, that seeing another artist's work gives them the desire to try to express the thought or emotion themselves.

I hear someone sing and want to sing myself, to see if the lyrics I heard fit my life and my voice any better than what I heard. I listen to piano music and want to play the piece myself, to highlight some notes I think could say more. I read writing and want to write myself; could I write it better? paint the word picture better?

Every great once in a while, I hear or see someone's artistic expression and want to X myself. X-ing has to do with the Echthroi and soul annihilation, but I'm talking about a slightly lesser version of X-ing than Madeleine L'Engle described in A Wind in the Door. When I want to X myself, I simply want to surrender the stage. There are voices so beautiful, musical expression so perfect, writing so wonderfully put that I know at first contact that I should surrender the stage: their expression says it better than I ever could.

That being the case, I could write for a while about thoughts I've had while (finally) reading Don Miller's book, Blue Like Jazz; I could, but reading this book is one of those times I want to surrender the stage.

How could I say it better than this?

"Andrew says it is not enough to be politically active. He says legislation will never save the world. On Saturday mornings Andrew feeds the homeless. He sets up a makeshift kitchen on a sidewalk and makes breakfast for people who live on the street. He serves coffee and sits with his homeless friends and talk and laughs, and if they want to pray he will pray with them. He's a flaming liberal, really. The things about it is, though, Andrew believes this is what Jesus wants him to do. Andrew does not believe in empty passion.

"All great Christian leaders are simple thinkers. Andrew doesn't cloak his altruism with a trickle-down economic theory that allows him to spend fifty dollars on a round of golf to feed the economy and provide jobs for the poor. He actually believes that when Jesus says to feed the poor, He means you should do this directly.

"Andrew is the one who taught me that what I believe is not what I say I believe; what I believe is what I do.

"I used to say that I believed it was important to tell people about Jesus, but I never did. Andrew very kindly explained that if I do not introduce people to Jesus, then I don't believe Jesus is an important person. It doesn't matter what I say. Andrew said I should not live like a politician, but like a Christian. Like I said, Andrew is a simple thinker."

I've written many of these posts like a politician... If I write about such-and-such or write in this tone, what would this person think? It's not that I've written anything I don't consider true; it's that I'm trying to present myself rather than be myself.

I don't know what that difference looks like, but I think my writing could only have a canned harvest (to go with the canned and packaged presentations) until I quit worrying about how others perceive me and focus on being me.

Bear with me while I try dancing like nobody's looking.

Stupid, Stupid...

Toto, we're not in college anymore.

Was up talking until 3 a.m. Got to bed and (inconceivably) wasn't tired enough, so read until 5 a.m.

Nathan woke up at 8 a.m.

Do the math with me: 8... minus 5... equals... three!


Thanks to the presence of caffeine, I've managed to hold coherent conversations today, but I was pathetically grateful for the hour and a half nap I managed in the time between watching Merlin and eating supper.

Must go. There's a cute boy on my parents' all-season porch who's waiting for me.

TV Accidents

I think the allure in shows like "American Idol" is akin to slowing down as I drive past a car accident - morbid curiosity coupled with deep relief that I haven't made such an idiot of myself as to crash and burn in public view.

We watched most of last night's "American Idol" show, and I finally put my finger on the combination of annoyance/fascination it has for me.

1. I'm deeply empathetic; I rejoice for the true finds - like the Wyoming cowboy who had only ever sung to his turkeys. Unfortunately, I also feel embarrassed for those who don't have the wisdom to be embarrassed themselves. It's like watching George on "Seinfeld" is for me: cringing as the person says or does something else that socially unacceptable.

2. For all those who will never be superstar singers, I'm irritated that public floggings by the judges and host will stop them from ever singing again. Don't misinterpret me: I don't personally want to hear every one of these people sing, but if that's a way they express joy, why take the wind out of their sails? It's like telling a 5-yr-old kid that he isn't creative. For the rest of his life, he'll suck at creative writing class because he believes he isn't creative.

3. I'm appalled at the depths of unprofessionalism - partly from the judges, but mostly from the contestants. I'm always relieved when someone takes the news of their rejection calmly. There seem to be too many egos who believe their mom's opinion of their voice rather than the judges. It reminds me of my choir director's story of an audition when the people did so poorly that they kicked their music out the door. As he said, "Not that I would have given them rave reviews anyway, but their behavior simply solidified my opinion."

I supposed I can be grateful that TV programs are so ephemeral. Years from now, the chance is very small that some archaeologist will dig up one of these stupid "reality" shows years from now and use it to deduce our culture. I don't like the thought of my life being viewed through the lens of "Skating with the Stars!"

Peh.

Sick of It All...

It's official: we're sick.

Nathan was running a low-grade fever when I took him to the doctor's office yesterday, and he's in the throes of a pretty hefty cold virus. I went to fill the prescription for his drugs before we went home from the clinic. An antibiotic (a lovely staining hot pink color) and an antihistamine in addition to acetaminophen for aches - and I do apologize for the abundance of a's in this sentence... the alliteration was (mostly) accidental. : )

I also have a cold; I wasn't using the "we" term in the annoying parental sense -Are we dirty? Do we want a diaper change? Ick. No. I, too, am sick. Coughing, sniffling, dripping...

Sorry, baby boy. I promise I'll rock you (or feed you) until you fall asleep. Every kid needs a mom who's willing to bend the rules when he's sick.

Cough & Bear It

Poor baby...

You've been wrestling with a cold for the last 2-3 weeks. It's now to the point that our morning routine includes tissues and a wet-wipe to remove the dried snot from your hair and face. It wouldn't spread so far if I could just get you to quit wiping your face back and forth on your mattress in frustration.

You simply won't stay on your back - it's like you know that one of the keys to moving is having your arms and legs in contact with terra firma. You're already pulling your knees under you and doing an occasional paralytic combat crawl. Before I know it, you'll be toddling all over the place...

I've tried saline drops, acetaminophen, a humidifier, and putting your mattress at an incline (too often I found you at the bottom of Mattress Hill with your feet elevated). Today I finally called your doctor to ask if there was more I could do... I hurt for you when you cough while nursing - so eager to eat you don't want to surrender your position, but fighting your body's need to cough. You get so frustrated it makes you cry. Well, they asked me to take you in at 4:15 today.

I hope you get better soon, sweet boy. Cradle cap boogers, congestion and coughing aren't fun for anyone.

Guilt No More

Today is one of those days when there's so much I could write... It's been a learning weekend.

Part of that was due to the marriage conference Trent & I attended. The conference was good; but most of my learning was where Nathan was concerned, since he was with us. I'll write about Adventures in Family Conferencing some other time.

Late last night Trent & I got into a conversation with my youngest brother's girlfriend's dad. I'll wait a bit while you process that connection.

[Muzak - "A Few of my Favorite Things" for jazz flute]
How sad is it that I've actually heard such a song? Unbelievable...

Anyway, Pete & Leah Humphreys are visiting for a few days, and Trent & I talked with Pete until after 1 a.m. this morning. Humphreys have a retreat for couples in leadership positions who are facing ministry burn-out. Last night turned into an impromptu session of sorts... I asked Pete for his thoughts and insights into some problems I've been wrestling with: a roadblock where dreaming is concerned and an unhealthy preoccupation with guilt.

I've known for a while that I try to use guilt as a motivator to get me to do things I think should be done. It frustrated me to find I couldn't make myself do things, so I figured if I could make myself feel bad enough about not doing them, I'd eventually give up and do them so the bad feelings would stop. This idea (should you consider it for yourself) is only good in theory. Actually doing it results in a life that can feel guilty about anything, anywhere, anytime - someone who often feels horrible, crushed under the weight of all they're not doing.

Pete told us last night that his understanding of the Bible is that, for those who believe and follow Jesus, there isn't guilt. There are moments of conviction, when I realize the difference between how I'm thinking or behaving and how God calls me to think/behave; but there is never a time that God seeks to beat me into a position of seeing how wrong I am and how bad I am. Paul wrote, "Therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are alive in Christ."

I've wrestled with this problem of guilt for decades, literally. Last night it just felt like the last of that old skin dropped away - I could almost hear the chink of chain dropping from my ankles.

To give you some indicator of how deep this has been for me... I keep mental lists of what actions seem to irritate or offend each person so I make sure I don't do them around that person and perhaps upset them. I would wear a jacket to the restroom so that I could tuck a book inside the coat under one of my arms and not have someone notice (I read everywhere, even if it's just for 10-15 seconds at a time). I would use three paper towels whenever I washed my hands in front of someone - two didn't get my hands dry, but more than three might cause someone to think I was being wasteful and not environmentally-friendly.

I'm awed by the capacity of the human brain if only because mine was trying to keep track of so much. This morning I already feel lighter... I know part of that is the relief I have where Nathan is concerned. I feel pretty passionate about the knowledge that Nathan's perception of God will be shaped in a large way by what he sees in and hears from me. Now I won't be reflecting some twisted perception of guilt to Nathan...

It's a good day.

Rubbing Salt in Open Nostrils

Note to self: 4-month-olds hate saline drops being dripped in their noses.

If you tilt the kid's head back, the saltwater you paid top dollar for (it has to be kid-friendly, after all; wouldn't want them to die from a toxic mixture of lethal saltwater drops, would we?) will run upwards across small cheekbones to pool around the eyelids. I confess that, despite more than a decade of wearing contacts and using saline solution myself, I had a momentary panicked thought that I might be burning his little eyes in their sockets. Rational thought soon gained the upper hand.

If you tilt child's head up, the drops (and snot) will run down the laugh creases into the small mouth, leaving the kid sputtering and spitting. I think I actually witnessed simultaneous mouth and nose bubbles being blown.

[sarcasm]One final request: could the producers of this marvelous kid-friendly saltwater at least put pretty colors in it? Clear is so... so bland as a complement to the kid's bright red face as he screams as loud as his diaphragm and lungs will allow. I think there should be two options: apple green (for the cooler-toned preference) and sunny buttercup yellow. Surely in our marketing-based society this isn't too much to ask.[/sarcasm]

More Color Musings

As a more knowledgeable friend of mine pointed out in her comment, all additive colors (like light) are made up of three colors - red, green & blue. All subtractive colors of light are also made up of three colors - magenta, yellow & cyan.* (Thanks, Amy. : ) I was in the middle of writing her a slightly sarcastic, witty response (how like me!) when another thought along those lines struck me.

Any color (red, yellow, blue or magenta, yellow & cyan) is made paler by adding white to it. -Remember that white is all of the colors in equal proportions, whether it's light or ink. On the other hand, any color is made dingy and eventually eliminated by adding black (lack of all colors). Add more and more of every color, and you'll wash out any variety; remove more and more of every color and you'll end up with no color.

In terms of tolerance: if you add more and more of every belief and every stance, any position you hold is gradually watered down until there isn't a position. If you remove more and more of other beliefs, you end up with greater and greater darkness.

Complete tolerance and complete intolerance are equally dangerous: no color, no variety at all, is left. Find that knife-edge between black and white that provides the greatest variety of color there is. Don't accept everything, but don't reject everything either.

The man who fears God will avoid all extremes.
- Ecclesiastes 7:18b

*Post altered to accurately reflect Amy's information, as per her comment. I'd hate to misrepresent you, chica... ; )

Memory Lane

I don't have long, as the boy above (who's been sick and out-of-sorts the last few days - 'stroef', as the Dutch would say) is squalling for his next meal.

Then he lifted up his voice with a great shout and spake unto them, saying, "FEED ME!!!" - Nathan 3:51 p.m.

I've been traveling down memory lane today, and not all of those memories are mine. In order to do a scrapbook the way I want to, I needed some old pictures. Digging through a box in my mom's sewing room, I found all sorts of family memories. Locations ranged from eastern Colorado in the early 1900s to Paraguay, S.A. in the 1990s. I've never seen some of these pictures of my grandparents' and parents' generations before - among them this one that I just had to share:

My dad, age 12-18 months, trying watermelon on a picnic with his parents.

Super-Sized Creativity in a Small Package

I was singing a made-up song to Nathan a few days ago when I realized something: every area of creativity has fairly strict limitations.

Music? The western world has only 12 different tones. Sure, you can go up or down an octave or two, but the pitch is one of those 12 tones. My mind boggles at the thought that all music I listen to - from Evanescence to Sugarland - is within the limit of twelve tones.

Writing? The English language has only 26 letters; Spanish - 30 letters; ancient Greek - 25 characters. Every word ever spoken in these languages, every thought that was formed, every book ever written is from multiple and varied combinations of those characters.

Visual art? Every color is a shade, tint or combination of six hues. Every color from pumpkin orange with cinnamon tints to lemon gelato ice is possible from that original palette of six: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple. [White is all of these colors mixed together; black is the absence of all of them; brown is red, yellow and blue mixed together.]

Dance? There are definite restrictions (more for some people than for others!) on what the skeleton and muscles can do. 206 bones - but the motions they allow us to are as individual as we are.

The ultimate example of this creativity for me is DNA: the harshest restrictions (adenosine, guanine, cytosine and tyrosine - the four amino acids) and the greatest variety (no duplications; every person is unique). Even identical twins (identical in genetic make-up) have different personalities.

The lesson for me? When I run into restrictions, don't stress. Some of the greatest creativity in the world happens under restriction. We just don't think of the restrictions when we create. Who on earth sits down to write and is irritated that there are only 26 letters in the alphabet?

Restrictions don't always inhibit; sometimes they free us to be creative. Spiritual restrictions aren't meant to punish me; they're meant to free me to be myself without having to think and worry about how I'm perceived and if I'm doing something wrong.

It's all about perspective.

Where are my Keys?

He lost them for the umpteenth time this morning. His rotten attitude upon discovering their absence seemed to indicate the problem should (somehow) be Priority #1 for everyone within shouting distance.

I'm with Roseanne Barr on this: what is it with the Y chromosome that assumes the uterus is some sort of tracking device?

I reached over, plucked the keys from the floor - they were right in front of him the whole time - and put them back in his grasp.

Welcome to the world, Nathan; your first day of losing your keys.

Trust

I watched you this morning at your 4-month well-baby exam. You cooed, smiled winningly at the nurses, and tried to demonstrate how well you could control your arm and leg motions (even if the individual fingers and toes are still out of control). You smiled bigger as your sleeper and onesie were taken off; I don't know of a single male who would disagree with the statement that "Naked is always better."

You looked at me as I held your legs straight, and I watched your expression change rapidly to one of fear and pain as two nurses gave you your 4-month vaccinations. Your face turned bright red, you quickly squeezed both eyes shut, and you began screaming as hard as your little lungs would allow... tears ran down your small cheeks. I kissed you and made sure I was murmuring comfortingly in your ear, but the wails only got louder when a third needle (for the final shot) was stabbed into your right thigh.

I quickly lifted you into my arms, cuddled against my chest in just your diaper, a blanket swaddled around you. I kissed and cuddled and soothed to my utmost, and you quieted in a matter of moments at the sound of my voice. Throughout it all, you trusted me.

There will come a day when you're old enough to know I actually requested those nurses to approach you with needles. There may come a day when you don't trust me even after the shots are done. Years from now, you may even understand that I asked for that pain so that greater pain - watching you wrack your little chest with heart-rending coughs, fighting a fever that might leave your limbs paralyzed - could be avoided.

Today I was the cause of your pain, but I was also the one protecting you from greater pain - and I was the one who stayed with you the rest of the day, holding you when you needed comfort; giving you pain medication when your cries told me you didn't understand what hurt or why; distracting you with bright colors or playtime...

I put you in your car seat after your doctor's appointment, saw the trust in your bright blue eyes - and I cried. I love you so much, Nathan... You favor me with your smiles. I relish your delight at hearing my voice, quieting when I sing to you or read you a book. Your dad and I will continue trying to make wise decisions until you're old enough to make them yourself.

You may not always trust me. I won't ever take the loss of your trust lightly, but I will not allow my desire for your understanding to take a higher priority than my love for you - love that wants what is best for you, regardless of what it costs me.

Today I looked into the trusting eyes of my son and felt something: I felt just the smallest part of what God must feel for me.

Love/Hate Situation

I finally have a male in my life who wants to be with me rather than anyone else. If I leave him, he literally cries. He doesn't like other women singing to him; he smiles at me for less-than-pleasant tasks like having cold wet wipes dragged across his rear end; if I walk away, he'll eventually whimper until I come back; when I hold him closely, he snuggles into my neck. That's the 'love' part of this equation.

On the flip side, I have someone who's pretty much a leech. He refuses to go to someone else; I rarely get time away from him; he'll whine until I pay attention to him; he can't give me anything or do much of anything for me; he pretty much sees me as a food source and takes my time and energy for granted; I'm stuck with less-than-glamorous chores where he's concerned - rear-end wiping, feeding, burping, vomit clean-up, consoling in the midst of ear-piercing screams... That's the 'hate' portion of the equation.

My mood seems to swing from one side to the other on any given day: too much time with him, I start to focus on the negatives. Too much time away from him (which is anything more than a couple hours) and I'm focused on the positives.

He's still cute, and his baby interactions are much more fun at 4 months than they were at 2 weeks. He's big, though. 15-16 pounds and more than 2 feet long. I can't tell you how comforting it is to me that even Trent's arms get sore holding him. I get a good forearm work-out every time I feed him.

Mutually Complimentary

"I don't mean to sound all 'golden-thread-y', but you make it possible for me to be me without being self-conscious of how I look or what you must be thinking. I can just be me instead of worrying about how."

"To you, I'm caviar; to the rest of the world, I'm just fish eggs."

[laughter]
"OK, that's awesome. Did you come up with it yourself, or did you hear it somewhere?"

"Nope, I came up with it myself. You can even write about it on your blog if you want."

Confession

I have become that which I swore to avoid; I swore to avoid this as determinedly as I would avoid a polar bear swim above the Arctic circle.

Nathan's hair has gotten a bit longer in the last couple weeks. It's long enough now on top that (if he sleeps on it just right) he has a hairstyle that's a cross between a kewpie doll and a troll: that one fuzzy tuft that refuses to lie flat.

The other day I actually licked my fingers and slicked down his hair.

Don't hate me; you don't know what you'd do in those circumstances.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

As for me? Well, today's our wedding anniversary - 4 years and counting! Trent took the afternoon off work (I told him I just wanted to spend time with him as my anniversary present) and was a VERY astute husband: he walked in the door with 5 roses and a very thoughtful card that he wrote several lines in himself.

No, you can't have him. Find someone else.

Tripping

I really don't like being in forward motion, then getting tripped up by something little.

Case in point: Trent & I are planning to go to a marriage conference. It's not that we have huge issues to work out, but we're operating on the principle that tune-ups are better than accident repair.

I went to the conference web site to get some more information, and found an explicit statement that it was for adults only. So... now my assumption that we can take Nathan with us is in question.

Being the conservative, don't-want-to-offend-rules person I am, I called the info number they listed on the site. The woman I spoke with said that they understand some exceptions, but since there isn't a cry room on site at the conference, they really would prefer that there be NO children at the conference.

I explained that I couldn't really leave my nursing 4-month-old with someone else since I was coming from out of town, and she simply asked that I sit at the back of the room so I could take him out if he started to make any noise. I said I'd be glad to do that (I can't fathom choosing to stay in a public venue with a noisy child, but maybe that's just me).

So... we're still going, but now my anticipation of the conference is balanced by some anxiety over being a disruption.

Grr. Tripped up by something small - in this case, something 15-pounds-and-25"-long small.

New Discoveries

My doctor asked me at Nathan's 2-month appointment if he'd started squealing yet. He hadn't then, but he discovered the squeal capability in the next couple days. It took until a couple days ago before he discovered the components of "duration" and "volume level" and how to maximize them.

It's cute now to hear him squealing away to himself like a stuck pig as he lies on the floor or sits in his exersaucer, but I can tell already that we will quell squealing when he's a toddler; the boy is loud. I feel like I'm watching a child discover a new toy; they poke and prod it, suck on it (if possible) and determine how it responds to various changes in circumstances - only Nathan's new toy is his voice. He seems pretty pleased with himself and how he's able to duplicate this noise that gets him attention and laughter.

He still loves music (singing along with his own baby noises and squeals when I sing to him) and physical actions (the arm motions on "Deep & Wide", pattycake, etc.). He desperately wants to see things and move. He regularly tries to pull himself up with his stomach muscles; and if you burp him you'd better not have him facing a chair back - too boring.

I had the first mommy-scare of my life last week... While out shopping with my mom, I had Nathan in the front-carrier facing out. The weather was nice, so I decided to walk from Best Buy to the Starbucks just across the street. I was good and made wise decisions (even hit the 'walk' button rather than dodge traffic), but tripped and fell forward ~4 feet from the curb. The pavement dipped down - and that's where I went: down. I landed hard on my knees and one hand. The other hand immediately grabbed Nathan to keep his little face from grinding into the asphalt; I caught him just a few inches away from contact with the pavement. Even now the thought of possibly scraping his nose or cheeks makes me feel sick inside. He was fine, despite some dirt stains on the toes of his sleeper, but it scared him enough that he started crying. I picked myself up and limped the rest of the way to Starbucks, doing my best to soothe my screaming son the rest of the way. He had a sober expression on his face the whole time we were at Starbucks.

I hope I haven't given his little mind fodder for nightmares because of my clumsiness.

Diaper Categorization

[Note: one wipe = one alarm, e.g. '1 wipe diaper' approximates a 1 alarm fire]
1 wipe diaper: slight mess, but compact; damage control and clean-up can be accomplished in two swipes of the same wet wipe

2 wipe diaper: one wipe for damage control, one wipe for final spot-checking and cleaning; each wipe may be used more than once by creative folding and positioning.

3 wipe diaper: starting to get directional flows; messier. Use the diaper itself to swipe the bulk of the mess to the seat of the diaper before proceeding to wipes. One wipe to assist the diaper's aim, one for major remaining mess on buttocks and genital area, & the third wipe for final clean-up.

4 wipe diaper: Now you need to be careful - the mess will start to migrate if you don't take precautionary steps. For example, either take off all clothing or push it above the baby's nipple line. Do yourself a favor and remove socks ahead of time. Wipe downward with the diaper before using wet wipes. One wipe for mess around the rear-end crease, one for final clean-up there - rest baby's bottom on the new, clean diaper and continue. Wipe #3 for major clean-up around genitals & wipe #4 for final clean-up.

5 wipe diaper: Here and beyond can easily become a disaster. Mess migrates via clothing to stomach, chest, back, legs, hands. Again, start at the back and work front - Wipes 1 & 2, rear-end damage control & clean-up; wipes 3 & 4, genital damage control & clean-up; wipe 5 should be used for peripheral damage or to assist any of the other tasks.

Put the kid on the floor with a burp pad under his head before washing your hands thoroughly with soap. Don't give him the opportunity to roll off the changing table and add to the day's battles!

Dividing Line

While doing my devotions this morning, I read through some past entries and found this quote by Susannah Wesley to her young son John regarding legalism:

"Would you judge of the lawfulness of pleasure? Take this rule: Whatever weakens your reason, impairs the tenderness of your conscience, obscures your sense of God or takes away the relish for spiritual things - in short, anything that increases the strength of your body over your mind - that thing is sin to you, however innocent it may be in and of itself."

Doesn't leave a whole lot of maneuvering room, does it?

I, who have so often determined my value from what I accomplish or how productive I am, am a full-time mother of a 3-month-old. Nathan, the major usage of my time and energy, doesn't demonstrate the massive amount of time he takes. It was helpful to have Trent home sick this last Monday; I had an objective observer to tell me at the end of the day that the only time I wasn't working or doing something else was when I was feeding Nathan.

All too often I get to the end of a day and wonder where it went... I have to limit my expectations for each day drastically. Right now I have laundry to fold (it's been in the basket since last Friday), more laundry to do, checkbook to balance, bills to pay, a budget to calculate, records to file, rooms to clean and Christmas presents to wrap. Which of these will I do today? I'd like to clean, but I think I'll be limited to wrapping presents. Yesterday it was all I could do to send out Christmas letters - I only just made it to the post office by 4:30 p.m.

My sense of self-worth is having to find a different, more appropriate source than my level of productivity. In the meantime, I can't find words in the English language to convey how inept I feel - especially when I do almost no cleaning or cooking here at my parents'. I'm trying to stave off thoughts of how horrible I'll feel when we're in our own house and I'm still this unproductive.

Philippians 4:6-7; I know, God; I know...

Enslaved Android

It's cold and bright outside, and inside there are battles being waged for young minds.

Trent's home sick today; he's wrestled with the flu most of the weekend. Nathan was in his exersaucer, squealing and inhaling every bit of sensory perception his little body would give him, mostly sights and sounds. Trent decided to introduce him to Sesame Street - but only Dora the Explorer and Barney & Friends were on. If you're at all uncertain about my stance on Barney, let me describe my favorite screensaver from college: Barney jumps and chuckles to himself (you can set the number of jumps), then you hear a gunshot. He looks down at the bullet hole in his stomach, says, "Oh!" and explodes.

So... Trent turned the TV to Dora and told Nathan he wanted to hear him speak fluent Spanish when the show was over. It was frightening how riveted Nathan was to the screen. My own little mindless droid, staring eyes, drooling and all.

I'm so proud.

Santa Baby, Hurry Down the Chimney to Me...

And the Wolf Shall Frolic with the Mink

I don't remember who came up with the idea, but it must have been me, since I led the pack of 5+ streakers on our tear through the neighborhood. I made it most of two blocks, cutting through neighbors' houses and various backyards, marking which path I had taken by posting t-shirts at the decision points.

I realized as I exited the 2nd house that a wolf and several mink were running with me, curling about my ankles as I went. I hollered back over my shoulder to the others to watch out for the mink; their coats might feel soft, but their teeth were really sharp.

It was somewhere between then and the last row of houses that I realized no one else was with me. No one at the formal outdoor event taking place at the house to my right saw me (I think), but one of the gentlemen at the family cookout in the backyard to my left hollered out that I should pass his compliments on to my husband.

I made it back home (two t-shirts covering the critical areas); everyone else had already returned and donned clothing again. I also got dressed and went to get $5 from my mom - everyone else had already collected their money. Somehow we managed to keep her in the dark about our streaking.

Mom says a psychologist could make a fortune off of me on this dream alone.

Payback's a Mother Dog

You've heard of the Wars of the Roses? Well, today was another battle in the Wars of the Stanleys.

Nathan, though cute, packs quite a painful punch for a 25", 15-lb 3-month-old. He woke up at 3 a.m. (I got back to bed ~3:30), woke again ~7:30 and raked the front of my neck with his fingernails as I tried to feed him (note to self: MUST trim those again), cried off and on until 10, then spent the rest of the afternoon (and now evening) alternately charming and irritating me.

I haven't swung from extreme emotion to extreme emotion like this since Jr. High - no, I take that back: being pregnant. Maybe that was training for this.

For those days when I treated you to behavior like this, Mom... my sincerest apologies.

Narnian Delight

I shudder to think how much adjusting I'll have to do when we have our own place - stocking a pantry from ground zero, performing home maintenance tasks, making meals every night, hiring actual babysitters...

...but for now I'll enjoy life. : )
Trent & I went to see the first Chronicles of Narnia movie last night. I think it's wonderful, particularly compared to the BBC miniseries that was made many years ago. Chubby, pudding-faced Lucy with her exclamations of "AZ-laaaan!" Ick. No, no, no, no, NO!

This one's much better. I left the theater impressed by several of the actors, wanting to look more information up on imdb.com, wanting to buy the soundtrack - even wanting to see the movie again.

Considering the town is only ~6,000, the lines for the movie were the longest I've ever seen at the theater. It was almost like being back in Kansas City for a premiere, except that no one dressed up in Narnia gear. Some strange behaviors are curtailed by a 15-degree temperature; rejoice and be exceeding glad, I say.

Since so many of my family members have ADD tendencies, we often use the saying that "people without ADHD just don't understa- ooh, look! A chicken!"

I tell you this now because, "Oooh, a chicken!": my mother just left the room in delight, having assembled both of the Christmas boxes she needs to mail. I call her the Queen of Tape, since her boxes are extremely difficult to open. I just heard from her own lips (and I kid you not), "If you use enough tape, you can actually waterproof your package."

Recipients of her packages, arm yourselves with paring knives. Nothing else will make it past those rectangular fortresses.

Fitting a Schedule

When I was in college, I applied to be an R.A. There were parts of the process that went well, while others... didn't.

When the head of my residence hall got the report back from the interview crew, he shared the wonderful news with me: they felt I was looking for a group to control, not that I was concerned with helping others fit in. I remember one question in particular - What would I, personally, do to help a lesbian on my floor feel like she fit in? Since that fit nowhere in my small-town, conservative upbringing, I actually had the gall to hem and haw a bit before saying something about trying to help her find groups of like-minded people on campus.

I still wonder how much of the final judgment had more to do with them deciding they didn't like ME and how much it was that I truly was unsuited for the job.

This comes to mind now because I _AM_ someone's housing and schedule authority. Whether Nathan likes it or not, there are many days (continuing perhaps for several years) when I can mandate alone time for him - whether he likes it or not. I started implementing a schedule of sorts with him this week:

wake ~7-8
eat
play time (exersaucer or time on his tummy)
nap ~10:30 for an hour or so
eat
cuddle time
alone time/nap from 1 to 3-ish
eat
awake time (books, talking, singing, etc.)
time in his downstairs bed (while we eat supper)
eat
nap for 1-2 hours
awake until bedtime (this is usually when he's the most awake he ever gets)
get ready for bed
...and one last feeding before bed ~10 p.m.

Getting him on a more consistent schedule is Step One in being able to organize the rest of my necessary tasks. Trying to wait until he doesn't need me to do laundry simply doesn't work - and it creates a bad situation of my life being organized completely around his demands.

So Help Me, Nathan Will NOT Be/Do/Say/Act...

- He will not chain-smoke by age 2.
- He will not bite his nails to the quick in the first twelve months of his life.
- He will eat every bit of liver I place before him.
- He will not curse at me in Swahili.
- He will not bifurcate his tongue at age 10.
- He will not design a personal tattoo with "Muther" in it.
- He will not have a complete collection of Yanni tunes.
- He will never exceed the speed limit in a Model T.

Figured I better start with loose things I know I can keep. I have other things I think he will "never" do, but I'll wait until he's 15 and see how many of those I can actually control before I'm stupid enough to put it in writing where others can see (and later tease me about) it.

The Chocolate Whore

Have you ever figured out what your name would be if you were a stripper? The supposed formula is to use your middle name and the name of the street where you grew up. Some people have exotic dancer-ish results - Aileen Mahogany or Lynnae Birch or something like that.

My name? Jean Sixth Avenue. Don't you want to stick dollar bills down that woman's waistband?

Well, I may not have a cool exotic dancer name; but I have a cool Bond villainness name now, thanks to Trent: The Chocolate Whore. He told me last night and I laughed so hard I gagged.

It's not quite true that I'd do anything for chocolate, but I do rank quality chocolate pretty high on my indulgence list. Greater love hath no Susan than that she share an Andre's chocolate with you - not buy one for you; give you one from a box she has purchased for herself.

I highly recommend the truffles and their grand cru chocolates.

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow...

It snowed again last night - lots of snow. 7 inches' worth "lots of snow". It was a Christmas snow: steady fat flakes, but not wet and heavy. I was able to sweep 4" piles of snow off my parents' patio with a push broom. I finally gave up because everything was coated again in 5 minutes.

Could snow be one of God's pause buttons?
Think you're flying out to San Diego? Sorry - bzzt. Blizzard. Thank you for playing.

I was in Chicago a few years ago for one of these. A blizzard had Windy City weatherpeople talking about survival techniques and the wisdom of staying home. It was easier to walk the few blocks from my hotel to the hospital for work than it would have been to take any other form of transportation. O'Hare closed down. -Hell itself couldn't have been far from icing over.

Once I get over the frustration of plans shortcircuiting all around me, I start to see snowstorms as a get out of jail free card. Didn't want to go to play practice? Not a problem; it got canceled. Wrestling with your conscience as to whether you should head back to work or stay home by the fire with a hot drink and a good book? Snow makes the decision for you; no guilt.

I am glad to be back in the world of smarter winter drivers, that's for sure. Other parts of the country freak if there's frost on the windows. My sister once called home in irritation because West Coast news programs were describing how people would need to scrape the frost off their windshields that morning in order to see. Interstates slow down to a 15-mph crawl if 1" of snow falls. Cars end up in ditches because people stomp on their brakes rather than pump and steer away from a skid instead of into it. The loud noise you just heard was a large snort from the wintry parts of the country. Pansies.

No pansies here. 7" of snow fell last night, but Wal-Mart and Hy-Vee still had plenty of milk cartons left in the coolers. Life continued (at slower road speeds), but everyone took the opportunity to check out of life's obligations a bit earlier in the day and stay home. I, who had been at home since Sunday evening, went to run errands last night in the midst of storm. Braving the weather, conquering the elements... Ahh... it's good to be home.

Scrappy December

I've become possessed by yet another addiction. I fought it for several months, but eventually succumbed. I was heroically denying myself, but then my mom brought out her equipment and sucked me back in. -My sister-in-law and my best friend here do it, too! I can't let them go through it alone, can I? I can control it, though, I know I can... I'll pace myself... control how much I do it... how much it costs... how much of me it consumes... This time it will work, I know it.

Formerly a hold-out, I'm now following the scrapbooking herd. My biggest point of resistance before was the whole photo thing. I love taking pictures; I'm horrible about getting them developed. I still have a roll of film from three years ago that I haven't taken in. So... once we got a digital camera, I didn't have to get them developed! Buy some photo paper from a discount store, and voila! Insta-prints in less than 5 minutes.

With the picture issue not an issue any more, there's nothing to prevent my love of office supplies, storytelling, calligraphy, and creativity from consuming me. The problem will be actually finishing anything. It should be a lesson to me that my mom still hasn't finished my brothers' baby books (they are currently ages 26 and 23).

Thanksgiving Aftermath

Well, we survived the first major road trip.

We spent a weekend in KC seeing friends, then headed south to NW Arkansas to spend Thanksgiving with my in-laws. Nathan had 12 people who were more than willing to pick him up if he so much as whimpered. People competed over who got to feed him and complained if they didn't get enough time with him. I'm glad to get my son back, honestly.

Overall, Nathan was a peach - smiled at all comers, didn't fuss over unfamiliar faces, and was cheerful most of the time. What I didn't like was that he didn't get the down time I know he needs. He slept for most of the 9-10 hour car ride home, but I was apprehensive about payback this week. Sunday he was pretty good, and then... Monday. Oy.

Looking back at yesterday, I don't think it was fallout from Thanksgiving as much as it was a product of him coming down with a cold. He woke up at 4 a.m., again at 4:45 a.m.; I was up again around 5:30, again ~7, then finally got up with him about 8 a.m. From then until 9:30 p.m., he didn't sleep more than 30-45 minutes at a stretch; and much of that awake time was spent wailing.

He finally slept the sleep of the drugged last night: 9:30 p.m. until 7:45 a.m. He's stuffed up and coughing this morning, but at least I know why he's irritable... I was going to head over to a girlfriend's place today to do some scrapbooking, but I don't want to take Nathan out when he's sick. Mom offered to keep him for me, but I'd like to be here with him. I'm trying to avoid Nathan's therapy sessions years from now about resurrected memories of his mom abandoning him when he was sick. : )

Nathan's still active even though he's sick; he was so fidgety yesterday that I actually got out the johnny-jump-up. He's still small enough that I had to wedge an entire fleece blanket around his little bod to keep him upright, but he seemed to enjoy it. Is it normal to put a not-yet-3-month-old in one of these things?

(yawn) I'm off to shower and try to do a few things while the boy is snoozing in his baby papasan. More later...

Kidbound

It snowed yesterday, and it was bad enough to provoke some schools into calling off classes today. When upper Midwest education is sidelined due to weather, you know it's cold. Our two lab-mix dogs stay in a shed in my parents' backyard. There's a convection heater and electricity in the barn (as we call it), but the dogs' water was frozen this morning.

Even with all this, it's not the freezing climes that are keeping me home. I, born and raised in the upper Midwest, snowbound? Ha. I laugh in your face. I fart in your general direction.

No, no... I'm kidbound. I think Nathan could survive being outside, but when my mom expresses caution (a woman who's raised four children successfully in such winters), I'm learning to listen. I tend to charge into things with overwhelming confidence - and have something get destroyed or injured beyond repair in the process, after which I shamefacedly agree I shouldn't have done that.

I still remember a confrontation with my dad when I was in Jr. High/high school. After our heated conversation, I stalked down the hall to my bathroom, got in the shower, angrily tugged the showerhead down - and punched a hole right through the drywall. My dad was, of course, the only other person home; I had to abase myself and confess I'd broken his house not five minutes after our "discussion".

I don't want Nathan to get broken because of my stupidity or strong will. I'll wait 'til my mom gets home so she can watch Nathan, then go run my errands sans offspring.

Rewards

Lessons I'm learning from Nathan: how to smile at someone who wakes you up, dumps you on a chilly flat surface, then strips all clothing from your nether regions before dragging a cold wet wipe across your genitals. If I was him, I'd want to stick me in the eye with a fingernail...

-He'd slept for >10 hours, but still.

Good behavior must be rewarded, right? I couldn't resist these... they're way too big for him right now, but he'll be able to wear them for a single week of his life sometime in the future.

Maybe someday he'll be a shoe fanatic like his Uncle Brian is. : )

She-Ra

I had a classmate in Jr. High who nicknamed me She-Ra. Must have been my shy, retiring personality that never got anything accomplished due to timidity.

Anyway... yesterday was a She-Ra, Princess of Power day. HOO-rah!
I washed and folded three loads of laundry, changed the sheets on our bed, reorganized our bathroom, finished writing thank-you notes, did my devotions ("spent time at the feet of our Lord," for those of you who speak a more exclusive Christianese dialect), bathed Nathan, went to aerobics, and took a shower myself - in addition to eating three meals myself and feeding Nathan 3-4 times.

You have no idea how big a deal that is, managing to eat all three meals myself. I've reverted back to my collegiate mentality, which was waiting until my hunger outweighed my lack of desire to expend energy in actually preparing the food. Not laziness, per se, since I was doing things like walking everywhere on campus, studying, reading, etc. Eating just wasn't that important to me. Well, same deal here. I look up at the clock and realize it's 1 p.m. and lo, I have consumed nothing. When I want to eat, I'm in the middle of something; when I have the time, I don't have the desire.

No worries I'll skip supper tonight: in honor of my birthday (which is this weekend) we're having steak and mashed potatoes. My dad does a wonderful job with a gas grill. OK, my salivary glands kicked into gear just typing that sentence. Pavlovian response.

It's snowing today... we should have 2-4" by the time this ends - Nathan's first REAL snowfall. Speaking of the boy, it's time to go wake him up - he's been asleep (or close to it) for 9 1/2 hours now.

The Unexpected

Another line I never knew I'd hear from my spouse:

"I have just witnessed green goo exiting my son's anus."

Two Months Old

Nathan, this week you turned two months old. I knew my life would change, but had no idea how much my focus would shift. When I was pregnant with you, there wasn't an aspect of my life - from eating to sleeping to sitting to standing to walking - that hadn't changed. That's continued since you were born, but now I get to interact with you.

You cuddle. You look cute in shades. You smile at me, and any bad mood seems to melt - particularly when you give me gummy grins at 4 o'clock in the morning. Your screaming may leave me feeling tired some days, but you hear my voice and stop crying. If I sing to you, you smile at me and sing along in your own baby way. I love that you're fascinated with anything bright, pattern-like or moving - brick walls, plaid shirts, ceiling fans, bright lights. I love that your eyes are almost always wide open, as if you're eager to take in every iota you possibly can.

I have fears sometimes that something will happen to you; that I'll screw up somehow, someway - and that my mistake will result in serious injury to you. Like Nichole Nordeman's song Brave says, you make me want to be brave. I may struggle with standing up for myself or my rights, but I would fight tooth and nail for you. I'm not ga-ga over you, but somehow you've entwined chubby fingers into all of my synapses.

I love you, Nathan.

Crack the Week

What a week.

Last Saturday we took a lightning trip 2 1/2 hours south to meet my in-laws for lunch before we turned around and drove back home. Nathan slept most of the way, but he was out-of-sorts by the time we got home.

Monday we decided to throw Nathan's world into chaos. How could I ever know that a hole punched through a man-made rubber substitute would change my life? -Wait, that could be taken the wrong way... I better explain. Nathan's scarfed down food since he was born, inhaling 8-9 oz. in less than 30 minutes. He'd follow these performances with an encore of repeat material - repeated ad nauseum. His nauseum. We hoped increasing the difficulty level of the bottle nipple would slow him down a tad and reduce the amount of regurgitated food.

Now it takes him 25 minutes to get 2 oz. My life this week has been like crack-the-whip or the tail(N.) wagging the dog (me); I'm not sure which. He eats an ounce or so, falls asleep because he's exhausted from working so hard, sleeps an hour or so, wakes up crying, cries while I change him, then attacks the bottle again with a vengeance.

To the problems with feeding were added fallout from his first round of shots (He was 2 months old Tuesday, so immunizations were due). Good news, though: he likes the taste of children's Tylenol. : )

I hope he adjusts OK with eating in the next week; traveling over Thanksgiving will be rough otherwise.

When I was in 4th grade, I desperately wanted a Cabbage Patch kid. I even coaxed my older sister into letting me take hers to school - sort of an "Aunt/Fake Niece Day at School" experience.

In high school I would have sawn off my left arm to be in college instead.

In college I wanted a paycheck commensurate with my schooling.

While working, I wanted to have time to savor little things - or jeez, just time to do laundry and eat meals on any sort of regular basis!

Now that I'm a stay-at-home mom (or SAHM, if you prefer, which sounds like a lisped Islamic greeting to me), I have more time. And what do I want now?

Well, this morning I got what I wanted: a shower. My mom fed and bathed Nathan so I could shower. Life is good - and thank the good Lord above for mothers who are willing grandmothers!

I'm returning to childhood - the wants are simpler and more easily satisfied. Must be the proximity to an infant that promotes some sort of osmotic "wants" transfer...

Halloween at Age 53

Well, Nathan's had his first Halloween at age fifty-three... fifty-three days, that is. Seven and a half weeks is too young for trick-or-treating, but in a few years I can shamelessly use my child to acquire chocolate for myself.

Funny story: Last year my nephew was asked by a candy-distributing homeowner if he had a little sister. This Spider-man costumed tot said "yes" in hopes of getting more candy. My brother had to intervene and no, there wasn't any little sister at home.

Anyway, you can see I dressed Nathan up as a pilot (I've got to get as many pictures of him in this jacket as I can before he outgrows it). The jacket's so stiff that he can sit upright in it - but he did fall over shortly after I took that first picture.

He's almost two months old, and he's changed so much in just the last few weeks. It used to be that he'd only outgrown two sleepers; now he's on the verge of outgrowing five or six all at once. He's gained somewhere around five pounds since he was born and 2-3 inches in length. He's still sleeping through the night (8 hours last night!) and doesn't waste any time when he's eating. The bigger problem is keeping up with his eating - this child would keep a milk cow busy at times: 30 ounces or more a day.

Along with better sleep patterns, he's more alert during the day. He talks to us on a regular basis now, with gum-revealing grins and happy baby sighs mixed in. He's a charmer, all right... -This Halloween picture looks more pilot-like in attitude to me; it almost looks like he's saying, "You wanna' take me on, sweetheart?" Don't let the picture fool you. He'd bite your arm off if he's hungry enough, and he really doesn't like having his arm or leg motions restricted - no more swaddling for him, thank you very much - but he's still a cuddler and a charmer. He keeps a close eye on all bright colors in his vicinity and shares his thoughts with ceiling fans and stuffed animals placed near him.

[sigh] Yeah, he's cute.

Advertising Will Be in Hell

If ever I wanted proof that advertising/spamming is an evil twisting of communication's intent (true, real interaction between people), spam blog comments would convince me of it.

Case in point:
Hi ________. Can I find any information on http://www.__________.com here? My friend said to check out [insert recent post title here]... for information on _________ but this does not seem like the most relevant of blogs. I like cruzing through your site but maybe search engines might have more information. Need to come back later though...great blogs!

Nice. A touch of personalized info and reference, informal style, some misspelling and grammar errors, and bingo: some poor blogger is deluded into believing someone reads and likes their blog. If the ad perpetrator is really lucky, the blogger will now post something about topic X in hopes of luring the reader back.

If I choose not to put ads on my blog (not saying they'll never be there, just that I don't want to put any on right now), I definitely don't want someone else putting ads on my site. Grrr.

Talk about Feeling Tongue-Tied...

I think every woman in this country has had some sort of issue about food - including me.

Well, my on-going problem right now has to do with food, but it's Nathan's food. He was born with ankyloglossia, which is also known as being tongue-tied. The piece of skin that connected his tongue to the floor of his mouth was shorter than usual; it meant he couldn't extend his tongue past his lower gumline.

I started nursing immediately, but his tongue couldn't work properly for a good latch. Fortunately they caught the problem and performed a frenotomy - they snipped the tissue that was holding back his tongue. He's fine now.

Unfortunately for me, his being tongue-tied did a real number on my nipples. It was excruciatingly painful to nurse at the beginning, and because I didn't know what I was doing and how to help it (and help fix Nathan's latch), the pain continued.

When I came home, I was in tears each time before starting nursing, bracing myself for unbelievable pain on sensitive tissue. I've supplemented with formula and by pumping ever since; I can still get in one regular nursing session a day, but Nathan's not nearly as efficient at the breast as he is with a bottle nipple... He uses his jaw a lot more than he needs to, effectively chewing the nipple rather than just sucking it. My skin can't handle more than several sessions in a row with him before it's too painful to continue.

I expected having to work at getting an effective latch, but I didn't expect this much of a struggle. It was helpful just today to read that most moms of tongue-tied babies either pump or give up on nursing - but then I realized that they meant moms of babies who stayed tongue-tied.

This was the capper for me: there is some inherited aspect to being tongue-tied. If I remember correctly, my husband was tongue-tied at birth. The other study finding, though, is that baby being tongue-tied might be linked to the mom using cocaine while pregnant.

Good grief... As if I would have snorted white powder up my nose and increased the number of unpleasant sensations I experienced during my first trimester.

Motherhood

Today motherhood meant:
- Never getting to that shower I meant to take
- Staying in my pajamas until noon (not because I was being lazy, but because I didn't have a long enough block of time when it mattered enough to me to change)
- Looking at the clock to see it was 2 p.m. and, lo and behold, I hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch
- Running Nathan through 3 wardrobe changes, 4-5 burp pads, and at LEAST that many diapers... Please don't ask me how many wet wipes were used today; I couldn't tell you.
- Realizing I haven't seen the checkbook since Monday

In all my childhood games of playing house, in my dreams of what it was like to be a mom - never did any of these items make even a brief appearance. I don't feel like I bought a lemon at all and I AM still enjoying this, but I wish the fine print had been easier to read!

Week Seven

Ain't he adorable?

I thought this outfit was still too big for him, but I had been warned by female family members that I should regularly go through his outfits to check the fit. Too many outfits would otherwise fit the "Ack! He's already too big for this and he never wore it!" category.

So... bear suit it is for the day's attire. He's 7 weeks old today - he holds his head up much better now, reaches for things with his hands, makes all sorts of baby chirps and coos, smiles often, sleeps through the night and has a lot more alert/awake time than he used to. He's very adept at charming passersby; they get sucked in by the chubby cheeks and (usually) wide-open blue eyes. He's pushing 13 pounds now - not a newborn anymore! His cousin Keira (who was 6 lbs. 6 oz. at birth last week Friday) makes him look even more gi-normous (see picture).

Must go. I have a date with my Medela - who gets time with me more often than anyone other than Nathan does!

Going 'Round

His Majesty is often amused by things that rotate above him - mobiles, ceiling fans (whether they're off or on), etc.

I'd love to tell him about his new cousin, Keira Alexandra, who was born early this morning to Adam & Lin; even I (soccer mom that I tend to be) know he isn't at that level of comprehension yet.

From the screams I hear off to my right, a ceiling fan just ain't cuttin' it this morning. Nothing less than 6-8 oz. of food - and make it snappy, woman! Never mind that he had 8 oz. less than 2 hours ago... Must go; I have to feed the beast.

Week Six

According to friends and reference works, I should be emerging from my chaotic cocoon about now.

I was told before Nathan was born that if I went into the first 6 weeks expecting them to be the least productive and most frustrating of my life, accomplishing little and feeling I failed at most things, well... then I might be pleasantly surprised. -And this from a usually positive, upbeat friend!

The first six weeks have already brought about so many changes - not just in Nathan, but in me. I still wrestle with whether I'm permanently screwing him up if I let him cry in instance X or choose to respond with Y reaction in other circumstances, but I have more confidence in knowing that I know my baby better than any other mom would know him. I'm not worried I'm starving him - he's over 12 pounds already.

After several baths, I no longer worry that I'll drop his slippery little body onto the porcelain sink with injurious force - though his vociferous dislike of being cold and bare would lead a Social Services rep to think otherwise.

He's turned into a chubby baby: rolls on arms and legs with a double chin for good measure. It makes feeding him more interesting, since milk often escapes into the sundry creases of skin around his little neck. His hair has that indefinable 'baby' smell; his neck (unless I've just washed it) has that very definable 'formula' smell.

He now attempts baby push-ups when he's put on his stomach; tries to make baby conversation with the mobile over his crib, the stuffed dog on his changing table or truly interested adults trying to get his attention. I've been on the receiving end of several of his intentional, gummy grins (not just gas-related ones) - and have considered myself paid in full for 3 a.m. feedings.

I see an amalgam of myself and Trent - my face shape, my forehead (so Trent swears), Trent's eyes and eyebrows, some of my strong will and an observer sort of personality that seems more in line with Trent's personality than mine...

He's cute... sometimes freakishly so:

NathanHeadshot

NathanHeadshot
Originally uploaded by SJStanley.

Such a sweet face...

Day Five...

Day 5:
Suspect seems to ingest large amounts of liquid, followed by long periods of semi-unconscious to unconscious existence. Behavior warrants future monitoring.

We've only been home from the hospital three days, but each family member has their role. Mommy's taking regular pain meds and trying to get this whole feeding routine learned; Baby's eating, sleeping, charming all comers except the family cat and working his way through diapers like they're going out of style; Daddy's taking to baby care like a duck to water. -A memory I hope to carry with me to the grave is Trent picking up Nathan for skin-to-skin contact (Nathan in just his diaper, Trent in his flannel pants), only to have Nathan spit up down the front of Trent's chest. Bless my husband for his sense of humor and matter-of-fact clean up of the situation. Last night after Daddy got home from work, he put Nathan on the floor for some tummy time. With cheering and encouragement from both Trent and Dan (my youngest brother), Nathan flipped himself over from front to back. Trent said he briefly thought about getting a stopwatch to see if he could time a repeat performance. I'm encouraging him to fight these soccer dad responses.

As I write, Nathan's asleep in his Baby Papasan seat on the floor next to me. I'm feeling a little concerned: he's been asleep for close to seven hours. I've tried waking him, but this child sleeps the sleep of the dead. Noise, light, moving him, prying his eyelids open - he'll still sleep. The only thing that works on a fairly regular basis is to strip all clothing off him except his diaper and put a wet washcloth on his head. I hate to go to such dire straits when he's so peaceful... maybe I'll eat lunch first.

New Family Member!

Baby Stanley is now here - and has an actual name. : )

I actually went into labor on my due date, but Nathan Eugene was born the next morning on September 8th at 8:04 a.m. 8 pounds, 5 ounces; 22 inches long (no wonder my ribs experienced so much tap dancing that last trimester; the kid must have been wound tighter than the proverbial drum).

I hope to post more about Nathan later, but for now stop by the web site my husband's updating.

Off to go bond some more with my son...

Not Quite Time

After waiting until contractions were 2-3 minutes apart, we went to the hospital. Once there, contractions were only 6 minutes apart and I was measured at 1 cm dilated, ~10% effaced.

We were there 2-3 hours; contractions eased off, though I still made progress (got up closer to 2 cm dilated). I walked the halls for a while (even did jumping jacks), but it looks like it could be a good 5-6 hours before I'm really in need of a hospital, so... I'm back home.

Like I told DH, I just feel foolish. I don't want to be a burden on anyone or ask for more than is necessary, so thinking I was much further along and finding out how early things are means I don't feel like I can trust my estimation of what a contraction feels like, how far apart they are, or anything in that realm.

I'm tired. I was up 'til 3 this morning timing contractions, then woke ~6:30/7 to start timing the next round of contractions. I need to go to bed.

Is This... ???

Well, contractions are five minutes apart or so and have been for the last hour. I'm hoping this is it - particularly after all the times I've timed contractions, stayed up late (or gotten up early) and felt my hopes rise, only to have everything fade.

Wouldn't you know it'd happen that I can't reach my husband on the cell phone (I don't know if he's out of range or has it turned off or what) and neither can I reach my mom. I can drive myself to the hospital if necessary, but I'd really rather prefer to have SOMEONE there with me...

Hearing Cries of "Wolf!" Regularly These Days

I've been having contractions (whether Braxton-Hicks or otherwise) since 2nd trimester. Those I can handle. What I haven't enjoyed are the 2-3 times in the last week or so when I've had contractions over random intervals for several hours or even regularly-spaced intense contractions that fade away after an extended time. Despite my best efforts, I get my hopes up that maybe this time will be the time I end up at the hospital with DH and emerge with a new family member.

I finally gave up today after timing for four hours, only to have 7 minutes between contractions suddenly turn into 20 minutes. It got to be too painful to hope that "maybe this time the contraction intervals won't increase."

I'm three days from my due date and alternating between impatience and tired apathy/disappointment.

Pouring Rain

It's been a figurative downpour these last couple weeks...

I'm having contractions on a pretty regular basis, but nothing that turns into anything substantial. After 5 hours of contractions one night, Baby's heart rate increased into the 170's (it should be in the 140's to 150's). It went down eventually, but I was told to go in to the hospital the next morning for a no stress test. They wanted to make sure Baby didn't have the cord wrapped around his/her neck or anything like that. Baby's fine, just enjoying the opportunity to play with parental expectations, I guess!

Friday of last week we got a call that my paternal grandmother was in a car accident with a Ford F350 pick-up towing a goose neck trailer of metal pipes. The accident was Grandma's fault; those in the truck had only minor injuries, but Grandma was killed. She was 83, and she'd had a stroke a little over a year ago; the family had been bracing ourselves for the last year that she probably wouldn't be here much longer.

All the same, bracing for something to happen and expecting it to happen on a given day are two different things. Within two days Grandma's five children, two remaining siblings, 16 grandchildren (6 of whom are married, 3 with kids of their own) and a bajillion family friends and extended relatives had been contacted and started making travel plans. We had people coming in from Monterrey, Mexico; New Zealand; San Francisco; Atlanta; driving from eastern Pennsylvania - the family group alone was 41 people. The family spent time together last Sunday night; family viewing was Monday morning, visitation Monday night, funeral #1 (in her current hometown) was Tuesday morning and funeral #2 (in the hometown where she and Grandpa lived for close to 40 years) was Wednesday morning.

One of my hopes headed into the weekend was that I wouldn't go into labor before it was all through. As the days progressed, I started leaning the other direction. Going through labor, yes, but in a private hospital room with nurses to run interference for me - and the added benefit of distant relatives getting to see Baby before they headed back home. Most visiting family members are now on their way home, though, and Baby's still doing dance routines on my ribs. Ah, well.

DH [Dear Husband] and I went out for supper last night at Subway. In the midst of my sandwich, slightly hunched over the table, I got an upward kick in my sternum that felt like a sucker punch to my chin. It was strong enough that I snapped into an upright sitting posture with a sort of dazed look on my face. If I can be charged with child abuse, can babies in utero be charged with parent abuse?

I'm REALLY ready for this little person to be born.

36 Weeks and Counting...

According to BabyCenter.com's weekly email, I should postpone any unnecessary travel plans - particularly anything to do with flying somewhere.

So much for wanting to see New Zealand before this baby's born.

Seriously, I'm just ready for this to be done. Other tasks have gotten difficult in the last few weeks: standing up, sitting down, walking, sleeping, shaving - even trying to stretch out my hamstrings at night before bed. I now have to face almost 45 degrees inside of my leg and stretch kind of sideways; my stomach size doesn't allow any closer interaction.

I have a box of chocolates from my favorite Swiss chocolatier, a paper chain with a link for each day from now until 2 weeks past my due date (I'm trying to set my expectations in advance for going past my due date and possibly being induced), all baby items organized, and just have to pack my bag for the hospital and assemble the list of names and phone numbers to call.

In 28 days or fewer I'll have a baby strapped around my middle in a sling instead of encased in my skin. -Hurry it up already, Baby!

Personal Space

Without my say-so, I have become more European in the matter of personal space: closer is better.

The last week has contained several conversations with Junior regarding the need for my rib cage and internal organs to occupy at least some space in my abdominal cavity. Husband thinks the kicks in the ribs are just practice flutter kicks.

I won't be surprised if this little person emerges from the womb and wants its little face two inches from mine for the first several months of its life - until Baby realizes he/she is American and can't handle being closer than three feet to anyone unless romance or family duty is involved.

Financial Nesting

Ack... Some expectant women nest by picking out paint samples. Since I currently lack a house (I don't think my parents would appreciate it if I suddenly repaint a random room to resemble a nursery), I have to substitute.

I spent a few hours this afternoon sorting through old financial records. Mortgage here, electric bills there, past insurance policy numbers over here, all health records for family members there, car info here, addresses there - oh, wait; looks like that should be split into current and prior folders... I need a bigger filing cabinet.

Don't I lead an exciting life? My afternoon session with paper (and no paper cuts, amazingly enough!) was only matched by watching our dog Sugar lie down in the wading pool and dunk her entire head under water. She's gotten in the habit of lying down (whether out of the pool or in it) to drink. She's either a natural blond or discovering some long-lost bond with her wild African forebears.

MN Survival

Sorry for the long hiatus from posting. I was attacked first by apathy and then influenced for the last week by a lack of computer access.

-But I have SURVIVED!!! What did I survive, you ask? At 32/33 wks pregnant, I willingly took a 7-hr drive to a remote cabin in northern Minnesota that had electricity, running water and heat but no air-conditioning. I not only survived, but I actually enjoyed myself.

For the last decade and more, some segment of my family has gone to Brookside Resort for a week in the summer. This was the first year that all of the kids were there, plus spouses, significant others and children. It was quite a crew to pack into two cabins.

We got back Saturday afternoon to much hotter temps (I escaped back into the air-conditioned house and cranked ceiling fans on high). A nearby locale had a heat index this last week of 118 degrees Fahrenheit.

I think I'll be spending much of this next week indoors.