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.