Fool Me Once, Shame On You, Fool Me Twice...

Baby shoes. You think they are cute, innocent little things. Especially the athletic ones for boys. Oh, little sneakers! How darling! Hah!

On a Sunday three years ago, I handed Sammy off to my friend Andrea while I managed primary (Jay was on call...my friends are great!). He was rather fussy but Andrea doesn't stress out easily so I wasn't overly concerned. About thirty minutes later, however, she came and got me and said that she could not calm him down and was a little worried about him. With a heavy sigh, I went and got Seth out of nursery and went home to deal with a cranky baby.

But he wasn't just cranky. He was sobbing. And very red. I was worried that something was seriously wrong after listening to him cry for ten minutes (the mom alarm was going off) and knew that it was more than being tired, hungry or wet.

I decided to take him to the ER and left Seth with my neighbor. I figured if he calmed down on the drive then I could just turn around and come home (car rides soothed Sammy). But during that fifteen minute drive, his pain seemed even more severe and I worried that perhaps he had appendicitis or something that would require emergency surgery. When I looked in my rear view mirror, I could see his head thrashing on his car seat. Thinking of his fear and pain, I started to cry myself.

The triage nurse in the emergency room asked me all of the pertinent information, checked his temperature and blood pressure and needed to take his pulse ox. I took off one shoe so he could put the gadget on his toe and listened to Sammy scream. I was flustered but at least felt justified that he was still clearly in pain and that I hadn't brought him to the ER on a whim or in a moment of over protection. The nurse led us to one of the ER rooms and gave me the instructions to undress Sammy so that the physician could do an exam. He shut the door and I took off the other shoe.

The blood immediately rushed to his heel where the flap of his shoe had been cutting into his skin. His scream turned to a whimper and then disappeared all together as I finished undressing him. Crap. It was just his shoe. I was mortified and wondered if I left if they would still bill me. They had already taken all of our info though so I felt trapped behind that door. They'd know either way.

At that moment, Jay rushed into the room (I had left a message for him on his pager) and saw the now red crease on his heel.

"Was it his shoe?" he immediately asked (I think even before a "Hi. How is he?")

"Um....I think it was. I'm so sorry."

I was so embarrassed.

The doctor walks in and both of us explained that our child's two hour agony was most likely the result of an uncomfortable shoe. She chuckled, said lots of kids come in pain and it turns out a piece of hair was wrapped around a toe or something that the parents overlook. She did an exam anyway. Nothing was wrong with him. She even printed out the record of our visit and on Doctor's instruction it says, "beware of the nasty shoe!".

That really cute four dollar pair of shoes cost me a hundred and fifty dollars.

Fast forward to today. Henry, Sam and I were headed to the children's museum to meet Andrea, KariAnn and Lara and all of their kids. I was running a little late and couldn't find his Robeez that he usually wears so threw on a pair of Nike sneakers without socks (there were none to be found!). He was completely fine for the hour and a half that we were there but started to get really ornery as were were getting ready to go. I moaned about how this is what he's been doing for the last three days, how I don't know if he has another ear infection or if all of the screaming is because his top molars are hurting. They listen sympathetically and agree that he's not acting like himself.

I stop in Nordstroms to get some make-up (Shiseido has a great foundation, I've been out for three weeks and looking quite ruddy) and he's inconsolable. Several women ask me what is wrong with him and I explain that he is teething. Lots of "poor baby"s but I am about to scream I am so frustrated. On the drive home, Sammy wants to tell me a story and I shout at him that I cannot listen to anything else. My brain will explode. Henry's crying is all I can handle. When we get home, I rock him for a while. I start to think that all of this pain cannot be merely teething pain and that he must have another ear infections. Drinking a bottle doesn't help soothe him and I decide to change his diaper just to cover my bases. On his changing table, I take off his shoes so that they don't end up lost (like the Robeez) and as soon as I touch the laces he screams even louder.

An old familiar feeling rushed over me. Not again! I took off the shoes and both of his little bare feet had creases all over the top of them. But his scream turned to a whimper which eventually turned into a smile as I sat and fed him a bottle.

Beware of the nasty shoe!

A Color By Any Other Name

As a new homeowner, I couldn't wait to add some color to my blah, white walls. We had picked up an old couch from my parents on the move but it needed a cover and I had just discovered Pottery Barn. Wanting a complete look, I also ordered drapes, a hearth rug and a comely floor lamp. When all of my goods arrived, I lugged the rug into Home Depot as my inspiration for a paint color. I prefer warm tones and the perfect shade turned out to be called Mustard Seed.

A couple of years later, we purchased a new leather sectional for our family room. My dad had given me his cowboy art that had decorated his law office when he retired but they had been stored in our garage for over a year. With the new sofa, I finally had a chance to display these unique watercolors. Unfortunately for my penchant towards the warm tones, the predominant color in all of these pieces of art were cool blues, greens and pinks. But there was some brown and just a hint of warmth in the color of the wheat and jacket on one of the cowboys. Again, I hauled the picture into Home Depot and held color after color against the jacket. All of the effort paid off as I found the paint color I was looking for. It was called Claire de Lune.

On Saturday, Jay was on call and I wanted to accomplish something that would allow me to feel I had really done something. Preferably something that couldn't be undone, destroyed or smeared a few minutes after I finished. I have a few bedrooms and bathrooms that I want to paint before we list the house and I decided to paint our bedroom. We had never painted the white walls in the four and a half years we have lived in the house. It's taken me a while to view the room as my sanctuary. It's been a bedroom/scrapbook room. Bedroom/X-Ray reading room. And then it was just a sad bedroom/stuff room.

That all changed on Saturday though. I drove to my new favorite paint store, Rhodda paint, only to discover that it is closed on Saturday. Although I've sworn off Home Depot after the tile removing debacle, it was nearby and I needed paint. I had my pillowcase in tow to find a nice cream color to compliment our bedding. I've been told that you should go a little darker than you want because when the paint is all over a wall, you usually want a little more color than you think. So I found the shade I wanted and the next darker shade looked great with my striped pillowcase. I purchased a gallon of the Stucco.

I prepped the room, taped all the moulding and moved the furniture. Put the drop clothes down and started to paint. It takes a while when you have to take breaks to feed kids, change diapers, and read blogs (I'm an addict!) but when I was all finished, I couldn't believe it...it's the exact same color as my living room which is the exact same color as my family room. Basically. I have three yellow rooms that only the keenest of eyes could tell were different paint colors. Jay didn't even love the first yellow room. I obviously love it if I've chosen it, independently, three different times. I hope someone else likes yellow too...preferably someone looking to buy a home in the next five months.

Lost In Translation

This is for Jenny - she wanted to know what's up with the name of my blog.

My very first post was an explanation about the title of my blog. But that was ages ago. Remember the PRESSURE when you're trying to think of a title? I wanted something witty, true, catchy and unique. Well, I'm fairly certain there isn't a duplicate title out there. Perhaps I choked but this is what I thought of and couldn't think of anything else. When I was in 8th grade, we had penpals in my French class. My penpal's name was Lucien and let's just say he struggled with English. I'm sure my French was no better but in one of his letters, his postscript was "P.S. I think life is a big spasm who flow." I have no idea what phrase, thought, idea the poor boy was trying to translate into English but my friends and I had a fun time with it. In fact, throughout high school, when the ridiculous would happen, this was my mantra. My personal translation - it's a good thing.

Quilts

My mother-in-law (Karen) is a talented quilter. She is always working on one or two or three. My first very own quilt was one she gave us to use as a bedspread when we were newly married (which we used up until last year - now it is on our guest bed).

Our guest bed. Anyone want to visit?

One winter, before I had Seth, Jay and I were visiting his parents and I noticed several pictures of different quilts on a wall above her sewing machine. One quilt in the pictures particularly caught my eye. Quilts patterns have names and Karen informed me this one was called a single Irish chain.

Mine is blue and white. But basically...this is what it looks like.

A few more comments about how that is the kind of quilt I would like to have and my ambitious, patient, kind loving mother-in-law said, "Let's make it." As a quilter, she has stockpiled lots of fabric and we went looking through her trove for some white and blue fabric to begin this quilt.

Hours turned into days as we worked at piecing this quilt together. She stayed by my side pretty much the entire time, showing me how the sewing machine worked, ironing pieces that I needed, measuring for the next cut. Without any small children to interrupt our progress, I could spend hours at a time at the sewing machine. This I did, foregoing snowmobiling, trips into town...I was very into this quilt. Especially as it started to form. What amazes me about quilting is you just take these small pieces...strips of fabric and then a turn here, stitch there and this pattern emerges. She knew this visual would keep me going and after each block we finished, we would lay it out on one of the beds, like adding pieces to a puzzle. When they were all finished, we sewed all of the blocks together, added the batting and the back and loosely stitched it together so that the actual "quilting" could begin. What? We hadn't been quilting yet?

No...that was called piecing. Quilting is when you wear a thimble and hold a teeny tiny needle and sew the front, pieced, pretty part to another solid piece of fabric with some warm stuff in the middle.

Feeling ambitious, I wanted to quilt the solid white blocks with a design. We went to a quilt shop, got everything I needed and she showed me her quilting technique. I attempted a few times myself and assured her our quilt would be finished back in our apartment.

I took the quilt, needles, ring, thread back to Denver and promised myself that I would finish it that winter. I took it out of it's large, black, plastic garbage bag a few times and attempted to quilt. It was harder than it was with my mother-in-law by my side. I couldn't even get the thread through the needle without MAJOR effort. And then there is a knot you are supposed to put in the thread to keep it from pulling all the way through. I forgot about that. Frustrated, my precious quilt went back into it's dark home.

For years. I couldn't look, talk or be around my mother-in-law without a tremendous amount of guilt. I didn't have anything to show for the hours she sacrificed teaching me her talent. To make matters worse, I had a baby....and I got quilts as gifts!

Knowing now what it entails to make a quilt, I received each gifted quilt with a mixture of shame and awe. Why would anyone give something away that took so much blood, sweat and tears? Especially to an ingrate non-quilter like me?

I paid someone to finish that quilt. It took about two weeks to get it back and it was beautifully, machine stitched together. I finished the edging and loved the quilt once more. I gave it to my mother because I knew I didn't deserve it and I wanted it to be somewhere I could look fondly at it every once-in-a-while.

I still receive quilts as gifts. I take a great risk posting this because I have been blessed to be related to and know some great quilters. I don't really want these blessings to stop. Grandma Karen just sent two more in the mail yesterday as birthday presents for Sam and Henry. Here is my bounty over the years.

Seth's baby quilt from Grandma Karen (Cats)

Sammy's baby quilt from Grandma Karen (frogs)

Henry's baby quilt from Grandma Karen (butterflies)

Sammy's birthday quilt from Grandma Karen (fireman and dalmations)

Seth's quilt from Grandma Karen (cowboys)

Henry's birthday quilt from Grandma Karen

My favorite Grandma Karen quilt - brown!

Seth's baby quilt from my mother

Henry's baby quilt from my mom

Sammy's baby quilt from my mom.

Henry's baby quilt from Aunt Peg

Seth's baby quilt from Aunt Peg

Sammy's baby quilt from Aunt Peg

I LOVE this quilt from my buddy Christi - quilter extraordinaire

Henry's quilt from Christi

Sam's quilt from Christi

A quilt made by my friend Jenny just for letting them stay at our apartment!

Henry's favorite blanket is actually an afghan from his Aunt Molly.

Book Review #30 - Outlander

I've put this off for days. Preparing myself for the wrath of Dana and Kristin. I know how I feel when a beloved book of mine isn't adored. Simpletons! Idiots! But I just can't sugar coat it...here goes.

This book has a lot going for it. It reminded me very much of one of my favorite movies of all time, Somewhere In Time. You know? The one with Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour? So romantic. This book is romantic like that. A woman from the 1940s gets trapped in the 1700 Scotland and is forced to marry for her protection. This is when it started to remind me of the paperback novels with heaving bosoms and muscular chests. The protagonists, Jamie and Claire, are married for convenience (he must protect her from his arch nemesis Jonathan Randall who is brutishly evil and she must be married to be protected by Scottish law instead of the English crown) but really he wants her and she falls for him. Passion ensues but she keeps getting kidnapped which keeps him on the hunt and her constant hero. No amount of pain or torture can stop him from protecting the woman he hardly knows but just can't get enough of. It's just...unbelievable. Diana Gabaldon writes an engaging story but doesn't develop the characters enough for this to be great literature. No one is that tough, that bewitching, that heroic or evil or honest or brave. Except in romance novels.

But that's not why us girls read books like these. Simply, this is a fairly tale but instead of pretty gowns, there are kilts and clans and a lot of fight scenes. But the love story reigns supreme over the underlying story about life in 1700s Scotland. Honestly, this is the kind of book that made me fall in love with reading. This book is seven hundred pages and I read it in a day and a half because I really wanted to know how it ended. And, happily, it is a series! There is more to come. I am looking forward to reading more about Jamie and Claire.

Love you guys! Forgive me?

Playing for the WNBA

There is a professional opera singer in our stake. Not famous. She is young and in the process of following her husband around as his career begins but she is good enough to be. She sang at Evening of the Arts, and a solo at Stake Conference. She's just one of those singers that you can't help but ask to sing at every opportunity because she is so much better than your average stake choir member. It would be a terrible waste not to use her talent. She is that good. Best of all, she doesn't act like it.

She called me yesterday and told me that her husband was offered a much better job in Iowa and they were moving in two weeks. I told her it was a huge loss to our little corner of the world but that I was excited for her. She was calling to ask if I was an alto and if I'd be interested in singing Bach's Magnificat and Vivaldi's Dixit Dominus. I enthusiastically responded, "yes!" Due to her move, she was going to be unable to participate but had committed to be part of a choir in the upcoming Bach Festival and needed to find her replacement as the concert is only two weeks away and the choir is small (20 singers - four on each part). She told me the schedule (Jay is out of town the ENTIRE week of practice and of course for the concert) but I still said, "yup...I'd love to". She told me she'd let so and so know and that she had the music...I could come by and pick it up...etc....etc.

After she called, I wondered if I had made a foolish decision. A whole week of babysitters. I have my financial peace class I'd miss. But I haven't sung in a "real" choir for a long time and it felt like an opportunity too rare to pass up.

A few hours later, my tune changed as I received a phone call from the woman in charge of putting the choir together. As soon as the conversation started, I realized she was annoyed at this entire change and wasn't about to have some stay-at-home-mom wannabe ruin her choir. Those were her words. "I'm not looking for some mom who likes to sing." She told me that I'd have to audition and see if I had the right tone, skill and ability to match the conductor's preference (I guess he's some big wig in the conducting world). Suddenly feeling very inept, I readily admitted to being an amateur and no where near the caliber of my friend. She asked me to come to her office at the college where she teaches voice the next day (today) and sing a part of the Bach piece. Not just any part though. The hardest part. She wanted to know how I handled these unbelievably rapid sixteenth notes. If I couldn't do that part then it just wouldn't work out.

I went and picked up the music yesterday and asked my friend for some advice. She hadn't learned the section this woman wanted me to perform so didn't have any help for me. I took the music and came home to start learning it.

Holy cow. It is hard. It is harder than anything I have ever sung. It is fast and my voice is really out of shape. This is not "sing at a dinner party" kind of music. I went over it and over it but pretty much knew that I was not up to the task.

Part of the five measures she wanted me to sing.

Fecit Potentiam

I lamented to my husband and my friends about how embarrassed I was going to be going to this woman and auditioning. Think of it this way. You were the star basketball player on your high school team. You played intramural basketball at college. Now you play pick up games at the stake center every couple of months. A professional basketball team loses one of its players (let's think WNBA - I mean...this is Spokane after all - not New York), and that player suggests someone that plays at the local rec center. The coach scoffs but is desperate and asks that someone to come and try out for the team. (Here, the analogy falls apart a bit because I can't think of a drill that would be the "hardest" for the newbie player to perform. Perhaps dribbling between the legs? Is that hard?)

I practiced a lot last night. I practiced a lot this morning. I drove to her office and waited. When it was time, she called me in and I just stood there while she finished some work on her computer. I'm not quite sure what tone to strike here because I don't want to apologize before I even sing but neither do I want her to expect some opera star.

She walked over to her piano and asked me some questions. What is my musical training? Who have I sung with? (nobody!) etc. etc. Then she just starts with some warm-ups to see what my sound is like. I sing along (just simple scales and such) and can tell that she doesn't think I'm awful. After that she pauses and asks if it was the Fecit Potentiam she had asked me to sing. I assured her it was (before she asks me to sing some other part of the Bach that I haven't looked at) and we have a go.

Amazingly, she took it a little slower than I had been practicing. Slow enough to not stink as much as I had at the faster tempo. She gave me a few pointers and had me do it several times but started using verbs like "when Gunther is here, we will..." and I knew that I was in!

I'm really excited. It'll be a long week with rehearsals every night from Sunday to Thursday and then the performance on Friday (February 16th) but how cool is it that I get to play for the WNBA?!!

Moved

There are several reasons I blog. First, and my main motivator, is that I enjoy it. I really enjoy writing and composing. But I think the greatest reason in the grand scheme of things is that I really do want to record my history, my family history...my childrens' childhoods.

I have realized that I rarely document my feelings regarding spiritual matters. It's not an openness issue. If this isn't your first time reading or know me at all, I'm pretty much an open book. But I hold my feelings regarding my faith a little closer, a little more protected from scorn. I figure the rest is pretty ridiculous. . .laugh away. . . but I would be horrified if my feelings regarding my beliefs were treated with ridicule, levity or sarcasm.

However, I don't want to neglect the history and development of my own personal testimony. I think that it will have a much greater impact on my children if and when they decide to read all of this in the future. I think I would be greatly remiss if I left it out. I've decided to share some of the things that enlightened and moved me yesterday at church.

I admire my friend, Rebecca. I've always thought she can be a little bit hard on herself but she is very talented and one of the most giving people I know. She gave a talk in Sacrament meeting yesterday that was clearly intended for me. She spoke on kindness as a quality of Christ and something I have been lacking lately. Now, it's not as if I've turned into a shrew but my attitude towards others has shifted in a selfish direction. I'll watch people's kids if it helps me out(keeps my kids entertained) or if it's for someone I really like, but rarely offer anymore just to be nice or as an act of service. I'll go to things if I'm going to have a good time but if I'm not going to benefit socially or intellectually, I'll opt out. Never mind the hard work, thought and effort someone might have put into it or even go just to support someone who needs it. I've noticed this trend the most with my kindness levels towards my kids. Rather than showing restraint and control when they make a mess, ignore instructions or whine, I lash out at these gentle, lovable creatures. I don't believe Christ would do any of the above.

Perhaps none of these seem a big deal to some of you. But I know I can do better. I know I have it in me to be kinder, more giving and compassionate. I feel it inside, but sometimes I justify my own inaction with my own stress, schedule or future move (I do this a lot....I'm moving so why get involved, why make a new friend, why care?) But I doubt there is any excuse good enough to justify not being kind. The intermediate hymn following her talk was "How Gentle God's Commands". I was very moved and need to make a greater effort to show kindness to those around me.

In Sunday School and Relief Society, we learned of Christ. Of his earthly life and of his great plan of happiness. The teacher in relief society is a good friend. She was one of my counselors in Primary and has been an example to me since we moved here. She experienced a horrific personal tragedy in 1991. She had her six children in a suburban and fell asleep while driving. She drove into a river and three of her children were killed. It's one of those experiences and stories that make your jaw drop and your eyes water when you hear it. But this family is amazing. She and her husband had three more children and they are so loving, so rooted in the gospel that you can't be helped but moved by her faith and strong belief in eternal families. Seven years ago, she was on a Oprah Winfrey show that was about forgiving ourselves. You know how Oprah shows go. I've never seen that episode but I've heard it was very moving watching her husband completely support and forgive her.

She was teaching on the Plan of Happiness from Elder Nash's talk and Elder Perry's talk this last General Conference. Early on in the lesson, she started to cry and explained that the Oprah Winfrey show had called again and would like to do another episode on forgiveness. She was told that there would be a grandmother on the show that was recently responsible for her grandchild's death and could not forgive herself. They wanted her and her husband on the show again to show how it can be done. She feels that there is a purpose to going on the show. That some good, some lesson, some light can come from her tragedy. But she is so nervous about saying the right thing. She explained that the reason she can be forgiven, forgive herself is because she has a sure knowledge about the Plan of Happiness. . .that she has a sure knowledge of her Saviour who took this pain upon Himself and lifted her and her family's burden. But she knows that because the show is recorded and edited, she has to be careful about how she says it or it'll end up all edited and distorted. She asked for prayers of support to help her say the right thing and use this opportunity to speak to millions about the gospel of Jesus Christ for good. Otherwise, as she said, "What is the point?"

While I've experienced nothing close to her personal tragedy, I have felt the miracle of forgiveness. It is powerful and overwhelming and I can't deny it. I know that the peace I receive when I pray for relief does not come from my own mind or reasoning. My burdens are lifted because Christ suffered for me. I believe that with all of my heart.

I feel this is right to share. I hope I have shared it properly. It is an awkward thing to put down in words because it feels bigger than a sentence, a paragraph....a blog post. I'm praying for my friend and thankful for her willingness to share.

Reality Checks

Sometimes I plan things to turn out a certain way. Or I have great intentions. Often times, the reality turns out quite different.

Reality Check #1: Super hero cut-out birthday activity

"A great gathering activity is to have the kids make their own superhero. Trace each child's body on butcher paper and provide markers, paper, and other accessories for them to design their own fun. We had a hard time getting the kids to stop once they started!"

super hero party - birthdaypartyideas.com September 2002

Reality:

The tracing and cutting actually takes up a lot of time. And during that time, the kids don't really have anything to do. And some kids feel very threatened lying prostrate on the ground while an adult tells them to hold still. Once we finally had all of the bodies cut out and on the floor, no one (except Seth) was really all that interested in doing this. Most of the kids glued one pom-pom ball on and called it good. All righty then.

Party Headquarters

Some of the cut-outs.

One of the more elaborate decorations. Abandoned.

Reality Check #2 - The Spider Web That Wasn't

" I had all the kids form a circle and tied the end of a ball of string around the birthday boy. He then threw across the circle to another child who then wrapped it around his waste and this continued until a web was formed in the center. The kids loved this! They enjoyed being all tied up. I then placed two spiders in the web and the kids had to jump around and try to knock the spiders off. They wanted to do this over and over again."

super hero party - birthdaypartyideas.com honorable mention December 2004

Reality:

Form a circle? Four year olds? Please. Especially big enough for someone to toss a ball of string. Try this...stand shoulder to shoulder...no, not in a line...here let me move you over here. Oh you don't want to do it? O.K. Let's scrunch in closer. O.K. Nobody move. Here's a ball of string, Sam. toss it to someone. Whoa boy...not so hard. Here you go again. Actually, just hand it to someone. Seth? But he's right next to you. don't you want to hand it to Graham over here? No? O.K.

After about five minutes of trying, I put the spider on the "web". Fell right through. Hmmm...a few more times around the kids then. Next time. One jump - right on through. This clearly isn't working when the kids figure out that they can just start jumping and falling down and then everyone falls down. That is one fun party game. Who needed a spider?

Um...we need to closer guys.

Closer...in a circle....

Some sort of web

Hang on

I'm thinking the spider might have an easy time with this one.

A tangled web

The real fun starts

Reality Check #3 - Mom's Decorating Prowess

We've made many changes over the last few weeks with our new budget. Birthday cakes became the newest casualty of Dave Ramsey. Girls Night Out Dave Ramsey Style...smashing success. Birthday cake Dave Ramsey Style - quite lame. Good thing kids don't care, at all!

This was my attempt at making a superman birthday cake. The reality was a far cry from the intention.

The Budget Cake

Just as fun to blow out. (There were other kids there besides Andreas. One was shy and usually with his mom and one was totally happy just doing his own thing.)

Reality Check #4 - Going, Going, Gone

We will be making many, many dump runs over the next few months. We have accumulated lots of "things" over the last five years and not all of them will be moving on with us. When Jay announced that he was getting rid of the Christmas Tree out in our front yard and taking it to the dump, I wanted to add some of my own goodies. Included: one dresser broken from original move from Provo to Denver. Lots of cardboard from large toys, new washing machine etc, and one For Sale Sign we've "stored" in our garage for four and a half years. It was tucked away on the side but anytime anyone saw it, they always wondered why we still had it. It wasn't really doing any harm in it's little corner but we figured we needed to get rid of it before the next one went up. It's been on our to-do list for years. Reality - we are moving soon!

The City Dump

It's gone!

Reality Check #5 - Eating Habits

"Dad, are we going right home after the dump? " asks Sammy.

"No, we are going to a store afterwards."

"And then are we going home? What about dinner?"

"Mom said that we're having Macaroni and Cheese" (ne'er fret...it's homemade. Tara's recipe is delish!)

"I don't think we have all of the ingredients. Are we going to a restaurant?"

"Probably not, son. We'll go home to have dinner."

Awwww! No way! I'm starving to death! This is the worst day ever! And so on, and so on.

. . . but the kid knows us. We ended up at Staggering Ox (best sandwich shop ever!). When you're four-year-old predicts eating out...our reality is that it happens WAY too much.

Staggering Ox bread

Drinking the ranch dressing when all the guts were gone. Pretty gross but their ranch is so good...it's almost understandable.

A Clubfoot sandwich

Seth's turn to drink ranch dressing

What happens when Seth's chooses his clothes.

Just some observations from my weekend.

Happy, Happy Birthday Sammy Dear...

Samuel Jay

Three weeks old

January 26th, 2003. Jay was halfway through the first year of his residency (an intern) and I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant. For some reason, I greatly feared being alone when labor started. Seth had come unexpectedly early and fast, and I had no reason to think the second time would be any different as my weekly exams indicated I could have my baby anytime.

It was Superbowl Sunday and Jay was on call at the hospital. My mom had come to help me when the baby came and we were hurriedly getting ready for 8:30 am church. I put on the only dressy thing that fit me anymore, a rather hideous red plaid jumper dress, and was struggling to get ready on time. I felt a couple of contractions while putting on make-up but attributed them to running up the stairs to get Seth's clothes out, feed him, etc. My mom left for church before me and took Seth with her. I finished my make-up and followed about five minutes later. It's only a block to the meetinghouse but I was running a little bit late and power walked up the tiny hill. When I went into the chapel, I noticed a commotion in our family pew. Several people were holding paper towels and my mother explained that Seth had throw up as soon as they arrived. Embarrassed, I tried to take over the clean-up effort, but got shooed away as I had several more small contractions. A few people commented to me that I didn't look like I felt well and offered to drive me home. If you knew how close I lived to the church, you would realize how ridiculous that is but a do-gooder won and drove me and Seth home. My mother finished cleaning and followed a few minutes later (on foot).

Once home, I plunked down in the recliner in the living room, exhausted from our scurried, pointless morning and had another contraction. Throughout each of my pregnancies, I have a lot of Braxton Hicks and none of the contractions I had experienced were truly painful...just uncomfortable enough to make me grimace. After a few of these had passed, my mother urged me to start timing them. I sat in that chair for an hour holding her watch. There was no regular intervals but they were coming more frequently than I had realized. I admitted that labor was probably starting and called Jay at the hospital. He made the necessary arrangements to leave and came home to pick me up. Without question, the nurses checked me into a labor/delivery room when we arrived and I donned the flattering and fashionable pink hospital gown. I hadn't had an epidural with Seth and my birth plan was to try for another natural delivery (on purpose this time). After almost two hours of labor, I was pretty miserable and Jay and the nurses let me know that it was perfectly all right to have an epidural. I thought having one would be some kind of demotion in supermomness after admitting to wanting to try for natural (it was one thing to have that be the plan all along but to admit to defeat...!)

The anesthesiologist gave me an epidural and it was wonderful. I was amazed how comfortable and relaxed I felt. Best decision ever. The pregame for the Superbowl started and Jay and I were in there just shooting the breeze. I was so easy going that Jay felt he could be with me AND work so that he wouldn't have to make-up a call day. So he answered pages, left every once-in-a-while to check on things and managed both of his responsibilities.

I could tell when I was having contractions but felt no pain! They had wanted to slow down my labor with the epidural so I could have a second dose of antibiotics but Sammy was ready to come. I remember how difficult it was to push with the epidural. All of my effort had to be from memory as I couldn't really feel if I was doing it right. It was taking a long time to push him out and I felt reprimanded for doing it wrong several times from the labor/delivery nurses, Jay and my doctor. Frustrated, I kept at it when at last his little head appeared and Jay and my OB "ah-ha"ed. He was OP (face up) which makes the delivery a lot more difficult. I was again thankful for the epidural. Time of Birth: 1:23 pm.

Brand Spankin' New!

Sammy was, by far, my most normal delivery. He has been a true joy since the day he arrived. He was a fat, happy baby, slept through the night at six weeks and a thumb sucker so he pacified himself. I adored him immediately and relished being a mother of two. Somehow, it felt more like real motherhood to me.

He is so different from Seth, which I have to constantly remind myself of, but similar in his sensitivity. He hates to be in trouble and loves to cuddle and hug. He's theatrical and has his death scene down. It's pretty convincing and he lies there for awhile for the effect. I don't think there is anything he wouldn't try. He isn't as passionate as Seth and doesn't have favorites or things he really gets into. I could go on and on about how funny he is. Isn't it wonderful to be a parent and know these little people? I love Sam so much and look forward to watching him be four.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAM-I-AM!

Eight Months

Eighteen Months

Three Years Old

Nothing scares this kid

He's got plenty of 'tude.

"Mom, watch me!"

Today at the children's museum with Anna, Lili, and Jack

Changing water currents at the museum. He loves exploring and experimenting.

Token cute picture of Henry

Crazy Hair Day at Seth's school. With short hair, we only had so many options. Had to get it in here somewhere!