Playtime!
Love those chubby thighs.
It’s loud and takes up a ton of space but you sure do like your exersaucer.
Already learning to turn pages. Atta boy!
I had a mother fail this morning. After your worst night in a long time (3 middle of the night feedings due to your being wide awake and fussy after rolling onto your back), I decided it was time for some tough love and, for your morning nap, I put you in your portacrib on your back and let you “soothe yourself” to sleep. Yes, that means cry frantically.
It’s hard. I remember being so good at this with your brothers. Maybe I don’t have the heart for it anymore because after 45 minutes of listening to you cry with increasing intensity, I went in to make sure you weren’t hurt and discovered a big ol’ poopy mess. No wonder.
Into the bath you went with extra suds to get that caked on yellow mess off your back and now you are contently sleeping in your swing. I just didn’t have the heart for another round of sleep training. Hopefully, we’ll get you a crib this week and maybe the change of scenery will help both of us overcome this little sleep obstacle.
In the meantime, when you aren’t chewing on your fist or my finger to relieve the pressure of your swollen but still toothless gums, you are awfully sweet. Twenty weeks already. Man. It sure does go fast.
Jay would like to run a marathon in all 50 states. He is the kind of runner who likes to train hard and see if he can meet or beat whatever goal he has set, whether it is overall time, a negative split or a certain minute per mile pace. For him, that means running a maximum or three, maybe four, marathons a year. Because he chooses not to participate in races held on Sundays, his marathon choices aren’t always what he considers ideal.
For the past two years, Jay has run in the Boston Marathon in April. He has known about a marathon in Shiprock, New Mexico for sometime but as it falls on the first Saturday of May, he wasn’t physically, emotionally or mentally ready to race again so soon. This year, he bypassed his favorite race ever to run in what he described as “the hardest marathon I have ever run.”
I have never been a lover of the high desert. Oh, sure, it has its appeal. If beautiful sunsets and pinkish brown hues are your thing, you would love New Mexico. My dad served the Navajo people on his mission in the Southwest States and told me, “It grows on you.” It certainly does but I’m still fond of trees. Jay agreed when none was to be found anywhere along the entire 26.2 mile trek.
Shiprock is an awe-inspiring rock formation sacred to the Navajo people. According to their tradition, it is what transported their people to the area. It was a small marathon, with thousands of participants in the 10K, half-marathon and marathon relay, but only 200 running the full marathon. At an elevation of over 7,000 feet, Jay knew it would feel more difficult than most of his other marathons, which have all been run at or near sea level. The elevation, lack of shade, heat (it was 80 degrees when he finished at 10:00) and monotonous only-one-turn race course took their toll and Jay said if all marathons were like that, he’d never run another one.
Thankfully, he now has New Mexico crossed off his list. He’s signed up to run in Denver in September and that will cross off Colorado. Unfortunately, some of the coolest and highest rated races throughout the nation are on Sundays, so Jay will have to search for some more of these less famous, less popular marathons to work towards his goal.
I have read one Ernest Hemingway book: For Whom The Bell Tolls. I liked it well enough but it was hard reading. Short, curt sentences. Bleak. Unemotional. Plus, there was a lot of formal spanish dialogue.
Reading about Hemingway was much simpler and more my cup of tea. I know novels are never as accurate as biographies or wikipedia articles (joke) but their delivery is so much more palatable, in my opinion. Novels that aren’t written by Hemingway, that is.
The Paris wife is a novelized account of Ernest Hemingway’s first wife, Hadley, and the years they lived in Paris before and during his rise to literature stardom. I found Hadley and Ernest Hemingway and their relationship as depicted in The Paris Wife to be quite believable. They felt like whole people to me. Both were flawed, Ernest far more so, but as we were told the story through Hadley’s perspective, it felt right to see her as more of the victim of an ambitious and selfish man.
What a time period! I admit, I watched Woody Allen’s “Midnight in Paris” and barely enjoyed it. Not knowing any of the legends depicted except the most famous (Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Dali, Porter), I didn’t finish that movie with a sense that life in Paris during the 20s was all that spectacular. This book both confirmed and corrected my attitude. Paris was filled with what would become the all-stars of American Literature. It was an interesting time in an interesting place. The Great War, World War I, had recently ended. Many of those living in Paris either fought in the war or witnessed its atrocities. The world was recovering from what probably nobody thought could have ever happened. So much death. So much destruction. So little reason. Thus, the free and lose values of these young and provocative artists created an atmosphere almost akin to the Renaissance. It was another rebirth.
The rebirth came at a cost, however. Drugs, sexual promiscuity and an enlarged sense of lasses-faire may have created epic works of art and timeless literature, but it ripped away any kind of foundation for family life. Hadley Hemingway learned this the humiliating and painful way as her husband’s ego and success grew.
What detracted from the book were the rushed histories on both ends of the main story. Hadley’s childhood, while certainly necessary to understand her character, felt one-dimensional. Her younger self barely looked like her married self. Likewise, the tidying up at the end with both her and Ernests’s later histories satisfied some curiosity but, again, didn’t match up. I ended up reading wikipedia to get more explanation. :)
An interesting story of marriage, however. Fascinating really.
This is one of those kinds of books I appreciated more than I actually liked. The time period is set during World War I, or The Great War, which I knew very little about. I went through my goodreads book and I have read 32 books that are set during or about World War II. I have read 2 about World War I. Of course, I’ve also watched Downton Abbey but I have a sneaky suspicious watching solders convalesce on the estate of a british aristocrat isn’t the everyman’s story of the war.
Three Day Road probably isn’t either but I did get an unflinching look at the brutality of living, fighting and dying in the trenches. By reading, I got a glimpse of the unrelenting snails pace of progress or defeat. I learned what kind of provisions the lowly privates of the war had provided and the kind of artillery and strategy used by those hunting down Fritz. It was all very interesting and depressing.
What sets Three Day Road apart from other dreary war books is the point of view of the narrators - both Native Americans. One is young Xavier, who enlists with his childhood friend, Elijah, both given Christian names by nuns trying to unheathenize them in Eastern Canada. Xavier and Elijah are excellent soldiers due to their lifetime spent hunting. They are selected as snipers and commanded to go out on midnight attacks, hunting their new prey - Germans.
Xavier struggles with the cause and the brutality. As he narrates from the first person, I could feel his reluctance, his fear as well as his confusion about wanting to do well when doing well meant killing. Elijah, on the other hand, enjoys his success and becomes lost to sanity after killing hundreds and becoming addicted to morphine. How their friendship and loyalty plays out is a major theme of the book.
The other narrator is Niska, Xaviers aunt, who continues to live as her ancestors did: hunting and roaming for shelter as a nomad. She is also perceived by her tribe to have special powers and visions that come to her when she has what appears to be epileptic seizures.
The chapters interchange between the two as Niska cares for Elijah upon his return home after the war. Through flashbacks on both their parts, a story of Native American folklore, the high cost of war and the element of three - past, present and future, emerge.
It struck me, as I finished putting on my makeup, that I had just spent the better part of the previous thirty minutes spent showering and getting ready thinking some pretty negative thoughts about myself. Of course, those thirty minutes were all spent in the bathroom with bright afternoon sunlight pouring in both windows and overhead skylight while being in various stages of undress. I hear and I believe how important it is to be confident; to be strong, be loving, generous and kind...to ourselves. I don’t read glossy magazines. I don’t aspire to look or be like anyone famous. Most days, I think I get away with having my positive self-image remain unscathed.
Then, for reasons unknown, I have these very bad days. The dark circles underneath my eyes bother me. The weird red mole on the left side of my neck sticks out too far. My front tooth is darkening again and I think veneers would be nice. My cracked heels are gross. My eyebrows need waxed. My hair. Even after putting product in and blowing it out with a diffuser, I still have to roll my ridiculously short frizzy bangs back and put the rest of my hair in a pony tail because I look like I was electrocuted. And don’t get me started about the color. Still ridiculously orange. I think about getting an spray tan because I’m so pale. I need better hair product to control the frizz. I need an entire facial and make-up lesson because I have no idea how to apply it so that I can make....this...look better. No, I need plastic surgery...everywhere...to make this all look better.
I hate it. I hate days like this. I hate caring. I hate knowing how unattainable that kind of beauty is. I’m not a bad person. I worked out today, have only had 882 calories so far, showered, shaved my legs and put make-up on. It should be enough. But then I see the tooth and the mole and the chin hairs and...
I just feel so unpretty.
As someone who considers herself a reader and a thinker, belonging to a book club is always something I’ve sought out. Of course, as anyone who has ever been a part of a book club can tell you, the quality of the club can vary widely. In the past, I’ve belonged to a book club when the book hardly got mentioned but I enjoyed being with my friends so much, it didn’t matter. I’ve belonged to a club where a member felt compelled to photocopy pages that contained vulgarity, black out the offending words and distribute clean copies so that every one could read sin free. I’ve belonged to a book club where only LDS books were allowed to be certain that no one could possible be offended (some were still offended).
I’ve belonged to a book club that changed the meeting dates so often it quickly went defunct. I’ve belonged to a book club that mailed books from reader to reader with notes and comments in the margins and another club that was formed with mostly strangers who blogged. I currently meet with a charming group of women, most of whom are in their late 40s and 50s who are not my besties but are nice thoughtful people who, for the most part, choose interesting books.
The who’s and the why’s are a longer story than I care to share, but each month, the book is selected by the person hosting who also serves dinner to the club. I missed April’s meeting last Thursday, even though I had read the book because Daniel had had a rough day and I still needed to get things done to prepare for my busy weekend such as talk writing and cleaning. In an email, I told everyone how much I enjoyed the book, The Paris Wife, and how I was looking forward to seeing them in May.
An email from the club’s leader (how much do I hate that the club has a leader? A lot.) came on Wednesday saying that no one had signed up to host in May so we were going to meet at a downtown restaurant and discuss the book 50 Shades of Grey. I’ve seen the book on Amazon.com’s top seller list but the cover didn’t appeal to me at all, nor the fact that it was part of a trilogy (it seemed like a grown up Twilight) but I didn’t know what it was about. So, I looked it up.
It is erotica. Gross.
I fumed for about a day. With all of the better options out there, I couldn’t believe the group (because it wasn’t just one person, I guess) would select something so blatantly pornographic. I’m pretty liberal in what I read and don’t often cause a ruckus if sex is in a book but it has to have some context. It has to have some meaning. I started to compose a rebuke to the group about its poor choice then deleted it. No one wants to be lectured. No one wants to be told they are reading trash. And no one wants someone who censors what they read. Would my email have amounted to blacking out what I thought vulgar? My outrage waned to disappointed which eventually turned into embarrassment that I had ever gotten so worked up about it in the first place. Who am I to judge another? I don’t have to read it.
I’ve noticed this pattern in my reaction before. Outrage followed by disappointment followed by some strange mix of compassion/empathy/apathy/it’s probably all my fault somehow anyway.
Some more recent examples:
There was a senior prank on Monday and all the air on the all the school bus tires was let out. I think they cut off the stem valve on each tire. School was cancelled district wide and I was outraged. Not because school was cancelled but because nobody seemed to be outraged! So many thought it was funny and I felt like the biggest killjoy by pointing out that these “funny” kids were messing with the vehicles that transport our children. MY children. Then the outrage turned to disappointment and then apathy. No one was hurt, I guess.
A letter came home from the middle school principle apologizing to all the seventh grade parents (I’m not sure why I got a letter. They must have sent it to all middle school parents) for the inappropriate bag some seventh graders got during a field trip to one of those teen-building places, in this case a maze where they had to make choices or something like that. Apparently, at one of the stations in the maze, there was a sex education spiel and bags with a condom and other sundries were handed out. The principle was horrified and apologetic in his letter and promised to address not only the company that hosted this field trip but also the purpose of all future field trips. My Lucy-stages of outrage were very brief and within five minutes I was thinking, “You know, those kids can buy a condom in any gas station bathroom. If it came with some accurate information about the consequences of sexual activity instead of only the titillating picture on the machine, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.” See how inconsistent I am? Oh...and I’m sure my reaction would have been stronger if I had a seventh grader. The scary thing is, I know some seventh graders need that information because when I was in seventh grade, there were some my age who were already experimenting. Sad. Sad, sad, sad.
Both of my sons’ soccer coaches repeated go over the end time of practice. I find it infuriating as I’m usually waiting in the car with a crying baby and have already been in the car for hours. I think if practice is until 5:45 or 7:30 then my boys should be free to get in the car by 5:46 and 7:31. But, they are usually still scrimmaging or doing drills until 5:49 or 7:35. Then the goals need to be put away. It is 5:58 or 7:46 before either boy is in the car. I’d come later but their lateness isn’t consistent and I often don’t have anywhere else to go. I can’t go home as all I’d be doing is driving back and forth (20 minutes to and from). See? I’m already trying to somehow blame where I live on why I feel the way I do.
Is our anger ever justified? Is it because I lack the activist gene that I rarely say anything and rarer still to feel as passionately about it the next minute/hour/day?
What outrages you? Do you speak up about it? Do you think not speaking up about it is a form of weakness?
Last Friday night, I invited the young women over to my house for a sleepover. My niece, Delanie, had a great idea to make Venetian masks for a personal progress project but it was time consuming and needed several days to complete so I knew we’d need a setting like an overnighter for it to be successful. I was also motivated to have the girls come together outside of the church setting to see if some barriers between groups could be broken down.
The girls started to arrive at 6 pm and I put the take-n-bake pizzas I bought at Walmart in the oven. My second counselor brought a bunch of soda and my secretary and 1st counselor brought snacks and treats for the rest of the evening. Just because they are awesome, two of my girls who are sisters brought scrumptious brownies and muffins as well. We had plenty of food!
After eating, Delanie instructed the girls on their mask making. Each girl getting masked had to layer Vaseline onto her face. It was amusing to see them freaking out about it but then it got eerily quiet. With half of the girls on their backs being completely still and silent, we had much less noise. To help them remain as still as they needed to be, I put on some soft music. My sister turned me on to Joshua Radin’s Pandora station and it is the best music ever when you want some to play mellow, popular music. The girls loved it and I frequently heard, “Oh...I love this song!”
It took about 20-30 minutes for the masks to be applied and then the girls had to continue to lie still for another 20 or so minutes for them to dry. We only had a couple of girls get claustrophobic and panic but even they did o.k. They just sort of wiggled their arms and legs to vent a bit. Once the first group started to pry their masks off their faces, the merriment of the evening really began. It was an amusing sight. One of my mia maids was sure she was ripping off her eyebrows and once her mask came off, there was this huge dark blob right where he eye was. We saw it, she saw it and she ran to the bathroom to see if she had any eyebrows left. Thankfully, it was only her mascara that transferred and all of her hair remained intact.
The first group of girls getting their masks made. Delanie is in the middle putting a mask on Kristen and monitoring every one else’s progress.
Brooke was the girl who got the most panicked. You can see why.
Tanessa went with a Phantom of the Opera look and only did a half face.
Alyssa also did a half face but hers is the more traditional shape.
My wonderful and adorable counselor, Kristen, was game to make a mask. I would have but it was tricky with Daniel. You’re pretty much glued to a spot for an hour so I didn’t.
Kaeli and her sister Afton were very detailed and spent the most time on each others’ masks. They came out perfect.
Some of the masks drying and Delanie’s example of the mask she made in one of her classes.
Afton right after her masks was taken off.
Elise getting her vaseline on. Look at the glob of it on her fingertips.
Kaeli’s turn being the victim.
Staysha didn’t want to get masked as she has sensitive skin and feared a breakout or allergic reaction but was willing to apply Elise’s mask. Jenna gets a half mask to match her cousin, Tanessa.
Victoria was a pro at lying still.
Elise is covered.
Another Kaylee came with her friends, Brooke and Victoria. I hope she had fun.
Jenna’s mask coming off. Hers was the eyebrow scare.
Eyebrow intact!
Kaeli post mask. Funny girl.
The second group went much the same. All of us leaders hung out in the room talking to the girls and it was a nice feeling of camaraderie. I was really proud of Delanie and her leadership and am excited to see how the masks turn out. They dried overnight and the girls plan on decorating them tonight at mutual with glitter, feathers and paint. Oh my!
After the masks, we snacked and started in on Karaoke. I never know how successful Karaoke evenings go. Some girls had a blast. Some girls didn’t sing at all. It’s a toss up.
Alyssa has Aspergers and struggles at a lot of our activities because they are too loud or she just doesn’t like them. She is a very sweet girl and loves to sing so this was perfect for her. She has such a nice voice too.
Jenna and Tanessa were also fans of the microphone though they liked to giggle more than sing.
Elise, Afton and Kaeli take a turn. I kind of forced Elise and you can see how eager she was to sing (she has the braid giving away the microphone):)
By the time Karaoke wound down, it was 10:20 and several of the girls who had early morning commitments went home. I started the move Flipped, which is really cute. I used the website commonsense media.org to research the film and I think it was o.k in spite of the few swear words thrown in.
At the end of the movie, every single girl minus two was asleep. I quietly turned off the TV, made sure everyone was covered with blankets and had a pillow underneath her head and went to bed. I know! I didn’t even sleep out there with them but there wasn’t really room and I didn’t think I’d hear Daniel crying in the night if I stayed in the living room. My counselor was out there so I knew they were fine.
The girls left early in the morning and I have to say...easiest sleep over ever! They got a bit hyper during Karaoke and I’m sure Jay was nervous that we’d be having those squeals and shouts all night but they calmed down at a decent hour and everyone got sleep. Success!
Even though a week is a short segment of time, I still feel like your 19th week had two parts. The early part of the week had no surprises. You were quite spitty and I wondered a few times if perhaps I’m eating something that was upsetting your stomach, but, for the most part, you were content. Still waking up once every night but sleeping well.
Then....
You decided to return to your roll from your tummy to your back move. I know it’s an important milestone and I’m glad you can do it but it makes you so mad to be on your back! Naps are short. In fact, sometimes naps didn’t even happen. You learned a new cry and it can only be described as your “I’ve had it!” cry. Shrieks are harder to take when you are dry, fed, burped and being held and I know how tired you are but you just won’t fall asleep. We had a few hard days.
No tooth yet but it must be coming soon. You are gumming everything and moving your mouth around with your tongue out like you can’t quite figure out what is going on. Still slobbering like crazy. Your nursery is close to being ready so this might be the last week you sleep in your mom and dad’s room. It makes no sense but I’m kind of sad about it.
Here you are with your brothers. You are such a loved little boy.
I know...I know. Kind of lazy blogging. I do have ideas for posts but they take time to write and make sense of and I don’t have that kind of time today.
It’s been a busy week. Not busy in that go-go-go way, however. In fact, most days, I’ve managed to stay home the entire day until I absolutely have to leave. I think I’ve planned it that way on purpose because of my upcoming weekend, which has my stomach all in knots with its schedule.
1. The Young Women in my ward are coming over to my house Friday night for a retreat/sleepover. I know I just wrote about the horrors of sleepovers and this is not my usual schtick but something needs to happen with this particular set of girls to help them become better friends with each other. Girls are girls and this may totally backfire with the usual girls only interacting with their approved list of comfortable friends the entire evening but I hope spending more than 45 minutes in a row of hard folding chairs like they do on Sunday or an hour and a half on Wednesday nights whining about participating in a planned activity is a means to better unity. The retreat activity is to make venetian masks, which one of my laurels is heading up as one of her personal progress projects. It sounds insanely messy but sometimes I can handle mess if I know and expect it advance. There’s nothing a mop and vacuum can’t clean up, right? The original plan was to have dinner (pizza), make masks, sit in the hot tub and maybe watch a movie. Then, Jay cleaned out the hot tub for me so it would be fresh and ready to go and...it’s broken. Some motor on some part and the repair people can’t get here until next week. So...now I’m hoping that they’ll settle for karaoke or a dance party - two activities for which I’m always game. And, can any of you help me with a movie choice? Obviously, it has to be clean and cute and entertaining. I don’t watch a lot of movies and with all the males in the house, I really don’t watch many of what might be considered “feminine” movies. A little advice would be nice.
2. Saturday, as soon as the last person leaves, I need to get Sam down to a town about an hour away for his soccer game. No big deal except that I also have to get Seth to his soccer game by 1:30 and be at the church by 6:00 so that I can present a 15 minute class on having a cash budget for a ward activity on having financial peace. Jay also happens to be on call so he’ll be away and busy the entire day. I’ve thought a ton about what I want those 15 minutes to feel like but I haven’t written much down. I’d like it to be informal enough for someone to throw a question or opinion in whenever so I’m trying really hard not to over prepare like I sometimes do. Instead, I’d like to rely on the six years of cash budgeting experience we have and what has worked, what hasn’t, and why I think it has far greater implications than just financial peace. I think it brings relationship peace/ spiritual peace and parenting peace.
3. On Sunday, Jay, Seth and I have been asked to speak in Sacrament meeting. We’ve been given the topic of praying vocally as well as in secret and, for some reason, from the moment I heard the topic I knew I was going to speak about music. Jay was a bit surprised by my interpretation and for as prompted as I felt initially, the preparation sure has been slow going. There just aren’t a lot of talks to use as references and that’s usually my mode d’emploi for talks. I want to use some personal experiences but it’s hard to talk about music and its influence without using the actual music. You know what I’d really like my talk to be like? I’d like to break out into song here and there to make my point. Obviously I can’t and I won’t. That’s just not how things are done. But, reading the lyrics to music isn’t the same thing. It’s a big part and hugely moving but the music - a melody and harmony and rhythm and dynamics - well...it’s more. Now, with only two days left, I’m wondering if I should have gone in a different direction because my talk could be a big ol’ flop. I am forcing my family to sing the special musical number. I’m rarely bossy but I am quite comfortable with it when it comes to music. In spite of their protests and groans, we are going to sing “A Child’s Prayer” and I hope the three boys can know it well enough to sing the first verse by themselves, have Jay and I sing the second verse and then...you know what comes next...the mash up. Oh yeah. I love those dual melody songs.
Of course, I’m avoiding all of this weekend reality and procrastination in a very dangerous way. So, if the blog is quiet until Monday, you know why.
1. My sister, Sarah, came to visit me this past weekend. Have I ever mentioned on this blog how much I love my family? A few times? Well...let me just say it again. I love my family.
This weekend was going to be so stressful. Jay is in the stake young mens and the stake had a youth temple trip planned. He had to be there all day and as the temple is two hours away, he had to leave at 5:45 am to get there and get set up by the time the first group of wards came. I also had to be there. I probably could have delegated but at a YW presidency meeting months ago, we each chose which scheduled temple trip throughout the year we would like to attend with the youth. I chose the April trip as it would be the first time Seth went to the temple to do proxy baptisms.
Of course, that was all before I knew that Daniel would refuse a bottle and that Sam would have a double header soccer game and that Sam’s school sleepover would be that same weekend. As I had to meet the youth at 7:15 am to head out, I didn’t know how to get Sam home and to his day of soccer, not to mention what I was going to do with Henry and Daniel.
I started working out a complicated he-goes-here-and-he-goes-there with lots of help from soccer moms and friends but then Sarah called and said Daniel’s 17 week pictures were telling her she needed to come visit. She even took a day off of work so she could be here all day on Friday to help me paint the nursery (yes. I am just now getting around to assembling Daniel’s room).
She arrived late Thursday night and Friday, she followed me into town as I dropped of my car that needed some work (surprise) and then we went to the paint store and got all of our supplies to paint. I am not ashamed to admit that I am completely attempting to copy a room design I found online. Of course, it is impossible to completely copy as I do not have cream wainscoting nor am willing to spend $1,000 on a metal crib, but I am trying to do the rest starting with the Benjamin More Gentle Grey paint color. We got the entire room painted in just a few hours. The next day, while I was at the temple, she had Henry and got Sam to both his soccer games, earning my love and a nasty sunburn as a bonus (it was 80 degrees on Saturday!) I took Daniel with me and my mother-in-law, another saintly family member, watched him in the temple home next to the temple while I was inside. He got a comfy and quiet nap and I got to watch my adorable 12 year-old attempting to help the priesthood holder baptizing him by really bending his knees. Have you ever gotten the giggles in the temple? Luckily, Seth didn’t see his mom’s eyes watering and shoulders shaking.
The whole weekend worked because Sarah came to visit. Sisters rule. Especially when they laugh at your hair color and cut because it is the worst cut and color you have ever had!!
2. Speaking of the nursery, I have spent the entire day thus far online shopping for the rest of it. I wish I could have online shopped for the room to be painted ( I do not love painting) but so far, I have found the sign, the wall decal, a chair (that one was too expensive and I went with a chocolate brown instead of beige because), and bedding. Still needed is a crib. I have looked and looked at dark ones and it isn’t feeling right so I am going to go with a light crib. Probably white as I don’t want to spend very much and will probably just get one at Wal-Mart or Target. I don’t need it to be an heirloom crib as we aren’t planning on having any more children and some of those conversion cribs are ugly to me. I just want a simple crib. I have an old dresser that I am going to spray paint whatever color I end up getting. Then...I think I’m done. Pics will come when I’m done. Hopefully in two weeks it will all be done and Daniel will finally get his own room.
Here is the room I am copying. I just realized I still need drapes.
At 18 weeks, you are a slobbering mess. I don’t know if baby teeth are impending or if you are just going to be drooling copiously for the next few months, but your shirts are in a constant state of wetness and your chin is always wet. As are your fists which have almost replaced your thumbs as the favorite thing to put in your mouth.
You had your 4 month check up last week and you are following what they say is the typical growth curve of a breast-fed baby. Whatever the numbers, you are healthy and happy and a joy to me.
4 month growth statistics:
Height: 25.3 in (65 %)
Weight: 15 lb 15 oz (74%)
Head Circumference: 42.8 cm (65%)
Growing up, sleeping over at a friend’s house was one of my favorite things to do. From as early as second or third grade, I had sleepovers at my cousin’s house. I know fifth and sixth grade were full of them, mostly attached to a birthday celebration, and they continued through high school. I have many fond memories of staying up too late, eating pizza out of the box and not at a table, drinking soda, watching movies, dancing, playing MASH and talking about boys. I also have plenty of not so fond memories of watching totally inappropriate movies, playing a Ouiji board, trying to make each other faint and be “stiff as a board,” sneaking out to see boys, seeing pornography and other less than ideal situations.
I never thought about it much as a parent until a General Authority spoke about the topic a few years ago. Due to us moving around frequently during Jay’s medical training, we never really faced the dilemma with Seth as he seemed to lack the close friends that would normally invoke an invitation during his younger years. Although we had already made a decision as parents against sleepovers for any of our boys, listening to this conference talk reaffirmed our decision. Since then, Seth has been invited to a few of his friends’ homes for sleepovers but we’ve politely declined without much argument from him. Because he’s not very verbal, I’m not completely certain he doesn’t hate us for this protective parenting strategy but I rationalize that his childhood isn’t deprived because he gets the flavor of a sleepover when visiting with cousins yet in the parent approved environment of trusted family members. Win/Win.
Sam, on the other hand, is much more social and verbal. For years now, he’s been invited to spend the night with various friends and sometimes I feel like the only parent on the planet that says, “no.” Even though he wishes he could, and says so, he is Mr. Obedient and hasn’t given us any real resistance. Now, Henry is getting invitations. I didn’t think it would be as hard as it has been to stick with our resolution. Every explanation of, “We don’t do sleepovers,” feels like a judgment on those who do and...well...I kind of feel like a fuddy duddy.
Last year was our first year of enrollment at our elementary school and the year long reading program incentive was a sleepover celebration for those who completed all the levels. While both Seth and Sam completed the challenge with ease, I thought it was weird to have a sleepover at the school and told the boys they could go and I would pick them up that night. Neither chose to go. I guess it was embarrassing or something to get picked up early. I don’t know.
This year, Sam was surprised when I changed my tune. I’m not sure when or exactly why I did, but it didn’t seem like a big deal to have him participate in the reading challenge sleepover event. I know the teachers and the principle better as well as many more of the students and I thought, “It will be safe and fun and Sam will get to sleepover with his buddies for once without most of the dangers I hope to avoid.” He was excited this entire past week in anticipation of Friday night’s activity. When I dropped him off at the school and watched him greet his friends I wondered if, perhaps, we’ve sheltered him and our other children too much. Sam is so confident and fun and I love watching him build friendships with these boys. As they disappeared into the party, I was glad for him and made a mental note to revisit the issue with Jay and perhaps allow a sleepover here and there when our parent-dar deemed the situation safe. Like running after ice-cream trucks, making snow angels and getting visits from the tooth fairy, sleepovers just seem like an essential part of childhood.
The weekend fallout hasn’t been pretty, however. Sam had a soccer double header on Saturday. The day’s temperature reached into the 80s and by the time I got home from the stake youth temple trip (my sister, Sarah, came to help me this weekend and had Sam and Henry all day) and got the day’s scoop, Sam was wasted. Too tired to answer any questions. Too tired to be nice. Too tired to even eat. He went to bed without dinner (not forced. His choice) and slept solidly through the night.
I thought that would be the end of the sleep deprived hangover but he has been grumpy and tired today too. I witnessed a curmudgeon-esque reply to his primary teacher in the halls after our meetings were over and he was the most impatient of all our boys when Jay and I had to meet with the bishop for a few minutes. After linner (the name of the meal we eat at 3:00 on Sundays after church), he took an hour long nap and just wasn’t himself the entire evening. I hope tomorrow is better.
So, I think I’m back to my original guns. No sleepovers. For all of my original reasons plus the grumpy robot figure that replaces my adorable child in the aftermath. Still, that gleeful feeling of watching my son enjoy a moment of childhood remains fresh in my memory. It makes it hard to completely commit. I hope my awesome parenting skills are what they need to be to both protect my children and let them BE children.
What’s your stance? No right or wrongs here, just experiences and choices, if you please.
Sleep tight, tired boy. And no more lip tomorrow!:)
Have you seen those Facebook posts the teenagers are all about where you “like” their status of “truth is” and they respond with a truth about you? I have several young women who have done it and a couple of my trek kids and I read them occasionally. They don’t respond with all truths unless they think every single person who responded is so sweet and so cool and so gorgeous. It’s not like I don’t believe them but it’s a very effortless and feel-good truth.
But, to tell you the truth, I’ve been blogging like a teenager lately, only covering the appropriate and the simple and the truth is... sometimes, it’s complicated.
Before I walked over to the computer to blog, I was sitting in a 12 year old worn out and quite ugly navy blue leather lazy-boy recliner that requires a full on stomach crunch to get out because it leans so far back if you sit in it. Before I engaged my abs, I sat there, one leg tucked under the other, wishing I could take a bath. I haven’t been soaking as much as I prefer because I’ve finally got the baby going down regularly at 8:30 and he’s still in a portacrib in our room (next to the bathtub which is also in our room and not our bathroom) and Jay is pretty much in bed by 9 every night due to his 4:45 am rise and run over to his dad's to feed cows every morning routine. He’s tired...legitimately so. It’s not like I’m a particularly loud bath taker but I do like to swish the warm water around from time to time not to mention that it feels weird to be sitting in the tub in the almost dark. Besides, it is very loud when it drains so I choose not to. Instead, the house is quiet so I sit in that blue chair and think...
Why do I still have this ugly chair? I’ve wanted a chair and a half for a decade. Why haven’t I bought one yet? Answer: Middle age frugality and priorities. Why buy a new chair when you have a perfectly broken Lazy-Boy that does the job?
I think about how I wish I had some chocolate to eat while simulaneously squishing my belly fat with my fingers and wishing it away. I think about how I haven’t been in the basement in over a month which means the bathroom down there hasn’t been cleaned in over a month and how I’m a little afraid to go down there. I think about my marriage and wonder if Jay is happy. I think about my boys and how much they deserve that I be knowledgable and sincere if I’m making it my job to raise them. I think about last week’s lesson in YW about the Patriarchal order and this weeks lesson about how the Priesthood blesses the lives of women and squirm a little about the answers I give these impressionable and fine young women. I think about how so many people I love are struggling right now. Financially. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.
Even now, I had hoped to turn these words into thoughts that make sense and supported a central idea in a readable and somewhat entertaining or at least revelatory way but the truth is, I’m not a very talented writer. I’ve been trying to write about this for awhile and I know- I know I can’t adequately explain this feeling. Five paragraphs in and I’m distracted. Embarrassed. Lonely. Overwhelmed. Angry. Worried. Disappointed.
Truth is, life is hard. Relationships are hard. Callings are hard. Parenting is hard. Taking care of a house is hard. Taking care of my body is hard. Taking care of my spirit is hard.
There is so much to do. All the time. I think I could handle it better if I had the solid perspective that all of the required to-dos were as purposeful as I’ve been taught to believe . I know what the right answers are. I say them myself to other people. But, lately, there is so much to think about as well. The truths that used to be enough for me aren’t quite covering my foundation anymore. I have moments of wonder that have grown into doubts that I’m having some trouble resolving. I’m trying so hard to do everything the best that I can so that these things that I believe make sense. I try and be grateful for the ridiculously abundant blessings in my life and end up resenting certain things even more. It’s all so burdening. Even knowing the answers. Especially knowing the answers.
Truth is...it’s late (not even 10:00. But I’ve been alone in the dark for an hour now. Good times.) and I don’t want to publish this. I don’t want the concern or the curiosity or the judgment. But, the truth is I need to write this. Because, even though the other things I post are true, this is my truth right now as well. It’s just not as sweet or cool.
Dante wrote that there were nine circles of hell. For the past month or so, my hair has been in level 4, at least. Contributing to this depth of suffering were pains like five months since my last cut and color, more grey hair than ever, freakish amounts of post pregnancy hair shedding, hair the perfect length for Daniel to grasp and hold onto with his vise grip and a very, very unfortunate bang burn compliments of my CHI flat iron.
Due to my ability to mask some of the problems (bobby pins tried their best with my bangs but it was a difficult job), Daniel’s refusal to take a bottle, lots of medical bills to pay off which sucked dry our disposable income and my embarrassing complacency to be a frumpy mom, I have put off a much needed hair appointment. When I finally called the salon in order to schedule something on one of Jay’s days off, I learned that the girl I’ve been to the last two times is in China for a year. So, I went with Walter, who happened to answer the phone and who I’ve since discovered is quite possibly the loudest talker in the entire world.
Walter was kind about my 4th level of hair hell and said he’d put me in paradise with a new cut and color. I had pinned a haircut I liked of Sandra Bullock and a color example from Sienna Miller and he was impressed with my technology. I should probably mention that Walter is 59 years old. Not that he was old old. Just...a different generation, you know? In other words, I’m not sure the pictures helped much.
I do not look like either of these women
He put foils in for highlights and then colored the rest with what he called a dark gold and I swear, the lights in that salon made it look pretty. I told him probably five times while I was there how much I liked the color. Gone are the brassy blond streaks with dark roots. Gone are the grey streaks increasing in number at the temples of my head. The bangs...well...they are short. But they have to be. There wasn’t a lot he could do about that.
I was enjoying this new head of hair until my son, Sam, looked at me with an odd smile on his face and said, “Mom. You look different. Your hair is orange.”
Gah! Worst sentence ever.
I went into my bathroom and indeed, there is an orangish hue to my hair. The kind adjective is copper but I can’t call him a liar like I wanted to do.
What level does this put me in Dante’s Inferno now? At least limbo. I’m not out yet.
