The holy child

I suspect I've felt so emotional and sentimental this year because Tres is our last child, and still so tiny (but jowly!). I've had a different perspective of the nativity than in Christmases past: Where it used to be just a nice story about the birth of the Savior, now it hits me as the story of a baby -- an actual baby with fat cheeks, itty-bitty toes, fingers that curl tightly around his mother's hand reflexively, a lovely smell. It seems so much more real.

I wonder what Mary did to coax a first smile from him; are fake sneezes universal across time and culture? Did she brush her hair across his bare his tummy or pretend to nibble his ear?

I can't stop thinking of it in such specific terms. Christmas carols that mention the holy child make me a little misty-eyed this year; they never have before.

And of course I don't mean to denigrate that miraculous occasion, but it hits me more than ever now that every child is holy.









~RCH~

Quote Book Quotes

Christmas Spirit

UNO: Mom, I think you should get me and Dos lots of stuff.

RCH: You already got lots of very nice stuff for Christmas.

UNO: Yeah, but we need more.

RCH: Well, remember, it's not stuff that makes you happy. It's people -- the people you love.

UNO: We are people. So give us stuff.


Geography

UNO (while watching the movie Ratatouille): Hey, I've been to that restaurant in China!

RCH: I think it's in France, actually.

UNO: Oh, okay. I can speak lots of languages. I know Spanish and China words and Pilgrim words and Franch. [She demonstrates with some gibberish] Do you know how to speak Franch, Mom?

RCH: A little, but I don't know how to speak Pilgrim so you've got me there.


~RCH~

Christmas 2007

DH has been on call more or less since last Thursday (more when it's just him, less when he's on backup call for his PA) and will be until the end of the year. Plus the first weekend or two in January. Sigh. I had hoped Christmas would be slow -- who wants to spend time in the ER for the sniffles when you can be opening gifts or singing carols with your family? Why not just save it for regular clinic hours the next day? But of course people get lonely, junkies still jones for their fix, and people who maybe shouldn't hurtle themselves down hills on souped up sleds toward groves of trees still do, even on holidays.

He delivered a baby early Christmas morning. He wasn't supposed to; our 11-bed hospital stopped doing OB several years ago because the cost in training, equipment, and malpractice insurance didn't justify the two or three deliveries they'd been doing per year. The mother in question had received all her prenatal care from a midwife in the small metro an hour north of here, but for some reason she didn't head that direction when her water broke spontaneously. Instead, she waited around for a couple of hours to see what would happen. By the time she decided she might want to see someone it was too late to head north, even for the ambulance; a heavy snowstorm ruled out the LifeFlight team.

DH hasn't delivered a baby since his residency two years ago. The last time he did, he was in a Level 1 trauma center with well trained OB nurses, a fully staffed NICU and excellent surgical support. Here? Nada. No anesthesiologist (hope she wasn't expecting an epi!), no obstetrician, not even a hospital nursery. And if something went wrong? Yikes.

Apparently things did get a little sketchy there toward the end -- the first-time mom had trouble pushing, and the baby's heart rate dropped dramatically. But sometime after 1am a (thankfully) healthy baby boy was born. DH sent him and his mother up north by ambulance.

He came home just long enough to tell me the good news and give me the presents that had been hiding at his clinic before heading back to the ER for ... I don't remember what; probably someone's back pain. I waited up for him. He came home again at 3:30am, a little too wired to sleep right away. And of course Tres chose that moment to wake up and want to nurse. DH went to another room to lie down, but I don't know when he fell asleep; Tres kept me up until ~6am.

I awoke a couple hours later to shouts from Uno and Dos: "He came! He came! And he remembered my stick pony! THIS CHRISTMAS ROCKS!!!"


~RCH~

What the...?

I stumbled across this listing while browsing an online outlet store just now. Apparently, they're women's casual pants -- but am I the only one who thinks they look more like a diaper?



And a fully loaded one, at that. Weird.

That is all.


~RCH~

I went to a fight and a hockey game broke out.

Okay, okay, it wasn't that bad; I just liked that title.

We did go to a hockey game last weekend (go Grizz! Woo!) -- my first ever, thanks to a totally reasonable and legitimate fear of a rogue hockey puck (or puff, if you listen to Uno) flying into the crowd, striking me in the head and causing my death. But DH dragged me for a good cause, a friend's birthday, and I made him promise to leap in front of me as a human shield if necessary (though as it turned out, we sat behind the goal and our seats were protected by a large net). A rogue puck did fly into the crowd at center court (or whatever) (see! it can happen!); luckily no one died.

As for the fights: There were fewer than I expected -- maybe three decent brawls over the course of the game, with a few minor scuffles thrown in for good measure. As the mother of young children, I loved the penalty box: The officials sent naughty players to a literal time-out box until they had reconsidered their actions and decided to play nicely. (Or something like that.)

We brought our girls. The older two liked the mascot -- Uno even conned a souvenir hockey puff from him -- but didn't pay too much attention to the game (which, considering the fights, may have been a good thing). Tres sat in my lap and watched the action move up and down the ice. She didn't fuss even when they blew a loud train whistle to celebrate our team's goals. What a good girl!

Overall, the game wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Any sporting event is made more interesting by actually being there, as opposed to watching it on tv -- and hockey ramps up the excitement with the risk of spectator deaths! I'd rather go to a Jazz game, of course, but if we could sit behind the net I guess I'd try hockey again.


~RCH~

Fashionistas

DOS: Mom, can I wear this to the grocery store so everybody can see how pretty I look?

RCH: Sure, kiddo.

DOS: Yessssss!


~RCH~

Seven Things

I've been tagged by the Seven Things meme! Now it's my turn to divulge seven interesting things about myself. Last spring I came up with 101 (well, sort of; I did pad that list a bit) and I answered five questions in May (though the person I tagged with that never did hers, grrr!) so I'll try not to repeat any. Do you suppose there are really that many interesting things about me? About anyone? I guess we'll see!

1. I took General Psych 101 in college. One in-class assignment had us complete the story of a woman who came to an academic or professional crossroads in her life (I don't remember the specifics). Apparently there were two common scenarios that people chose: One that indicated a yearning for success, and one that indicated fear of it. My response didn't fit either of those. According to the professor, my answer -- that the woman said, "Screw it all!" and ran off to live out her days in an artists' colony -- indicated instead that I had an unconventional definition of success.
   
   I don't think she was right, though. I think I fear it. And failure, too, of course; nobody wants to fail. I'm often paralyzed between the two extremes in what some would describe as perfectionism but which I know to be the simple crazies. ;-)


2. I do admit to being a little unconventional, though. For instance, though I come from a family that values education very highly, I've never cared about grades. An education? Yes, absolutely. But no arbitrary letter on a piece of paper is going to change (or even accurately reflect) how smart I am or am not. It doesn't motivate me to learn, and in fact quite often has had the opposite effect. In school, if I didn't feel like a particular assignment would benefit me intellectually (whether or not it would affect me academically), I wouldn't do it. Why waste my time? Not to mention the teachers'.
   
   As a senior in high school, my AP English Lit teacher called me on it: I had earned a C (I didn't bother with the grammar unit; I speak and write just fine, thank you) but she gave me an A. I went to talk to her about it, totally willing to take my C, terrified that she'd made a mistake and some poor grade-hungry schlub had been unfairly branded with my mediocrity. No, she said, I did it on purpose. For the same reason you didn't turn in the worksheets, I suspect: Out of spite. You get an A. So there. I loved her already, but loved her even more after that -- for her sense of humor, sure, but also because she saw right through me.
   
   (Disclaimer: This happened the last semester of my senior year; I'd already been accepted to college; my grades, whatever they were, were by that point meaningless to everyone, not just to me.)


3. This sounds terrible for a good Mormon girl to say (though it won't surprise anyone who knows me well) but I loooove the smell of cigarettes. (Lit ones, anyway. Unlit cigarettes -- and the tobacco harvest generally -- smell like black licorice. Nasty.) Cigarettes remind me of the time I spent in the Tar Lung state and all my friends there. I've never smoked and never will, but if I were going to consciously decide to take up a vice, that would be the one.
   
   MIL is always so polite about her habit. She smokes outside when we're around, and if I come out to sit with her she'll move so that I'm not downwind. I really, really wish she would quit -- I want her around for a lot longer than she will be at this rate; her health is already bad -- but as long as she's still smoking, I do wish she'd sit next to me when she does it, lol.


4. A snippet from my day on Tuesday:
   
   The girls and I had an orgy of Christmas decoration all afternoon. We hauled out the fake tree, strung the lights, hung the ornaments (most of which now reside no more than three and a half feet above the floor -- it's adorably bottom heavy, our tree), and set out the nativity, various snow men, and a couple of mancrackers. All that excitement devolved into angsty, whiney energy by evening, and I put the older two to bed screaming. (To clarify, they were the ones screaming. Though I wanted to as well.) I had to play Bedtime Enforcer several times -- ugh -- but I think they were both asleep by 10:00 or 10:30pm. (Sadly, although their bedtime is 8:00pm, that's usually how it goes around here.)
   
   DH was on call and plenty busy. Tres and I hung out in my bedroom, alternately nursing and not; I tried to lull her to sleep while staying awake, myself, so I could watch the DVRed episode of House with DH when he came home. But she got a second wind after a while. I pulled up my knees and set her against them in my lap and we made faces at each other. I tried to get her to laugh; Tres giggles in her sleep sometimes, but apparently I'm not amusing enough when she's awake.
   
   I woke up to DH calling my name sometime after midnight. He'd just gotten home. Tres still lay in my lap, eyes wide open, staring up at her sleepy momma.


5. Speaking of babies, I'm a baby schlepper! I wish I were cool enough to be a baby wearer -- one of those women who has mastered the art of carrying their infants / toddlers in a ring sling or pouch -- but I just haven't managed it so far. They seem complicated. I've never tried a ring sling, but I've heard through the mommy grapevine that their renowned versatility (so many options for different carrying positions!) comes with a steep learning curve. I did get a Maya Pouch when Dos was little, but my height, at 5'4", put me right between sizes; the retailer recommended the smaller pouch, but I'm not convinced that either one would fit comfortably and carrying her in it never felt as natural as I had hoped it would. I don't want a Baby Bjorn or any other stiff backed carrier; they leave your hands conveniently free, sure, but the whole point of baby wearing is to mimic the sensation of being cuddled. Right?
   
   I haven't managed to wear any of my babies, so I schlepp them instead. I don't believe an infant can be spoiled by too much holding; being spoiled requires the mental capacity to manipulate, and brilliant though she may be, Tres isn't there yet. Being held -- feeling protected and safe in a very big, very loud, very unfamiliar world -- is as essential a need for her as food or sleep and I'm happy to oblige. If she's awake, she's in my arms. (My left arm mostly. I'm going to end up with lopsided mommy muscles.)
   
   Different people having different parenting styles and philosophies, and that's fine, but this is what works for us and makes us both happy.


6. Okay, I'm struggling to come up with anything else already.... Perhaps there are only five interesting things about me. (Or 101+5+5.... A hundred and eleven things?)


7. Oooh, how's this? Our final item, inspired by the mess all around me: I am a complete slob. Living with DH for the past six and a half years has not cured me of this tendency; when he's out of town, I let the house go to hell in a lovely handbag on purpose just to enjoy the chaos. (I do clean up before he gets back.) The office, this computer -- technically they're the family's, not mine but DH prefers to work at his actual office, the clinic a few blocks away, so I have staked my claim to this one room of the house. Papers litter the desk. And the floor. Three color coded baskets scattered on the floor catch the tiny semblance of organization I require (green for items to be dealt with relatively soon; blue for items to be shredded; purple for items to be filed if we ever get a filing cabinet). Toys find their way in here, as do unused picture frames, random CDs, a bouncy seat for the baby.
   
   DH would tell you that the rest of the house is not immaculate (but he's anal retentive and I really don't think his definition of immaculate counts), but it's certainly better than this. He keeps telling me I'd feel better if I cleaned it up (I'd feel better? LOL). I tell him just to keep the door shut and stay out. I need one space that feels like mine and mine alone, a sanctuary. This mess is it.

There. Seven things (if #6 counts); narcissism at its finest, as promised! Now it's your turn. I won't make assignments, since the last time I did that (*cough, cough!* Seester!) the person never followed through. But I look forward to reading someone else's seven now. :-)


~RCH~

Another for the Quote Book

Dos kept correctly pointing out letters on signs as we drove around the other day, so I congratulated her on how well she was doing, and told her that skill would help her learn how to read pretty soon.

She beamed.

"I've got a smart mouth, don't I, Mommy?"

Uh.... Yeah, kid. LOL.


~RCH~

How do you solve a problem like Uno?

I really will get to the rest of those birth stories, I promise (I've got Dos's half written). But in the meantime, I have some photos to share.

Uno wore this dress and sweater to church on Sunday and for the first time in a week I didn't hate her hair. It took me until yesterday to figure out why: She's got a Maria Von Trapp vibe now, lol. So we took some pictures. :-)

How do you solve a problem like Uno? How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?


She's a flibbertijibbet!


A will-o'-the wisp!


A clown!


...Oh, how do you solve a problem like Uno?


How do you catch a moonbeam in your hand?



~RCH~

The prodigy

Uno got mad at me today and threatened to run away to Texas; she even emptied all her drawers into a left-over gift bag so she'd have clothes to wear on her trip.

"That's fine," I told her, "but remember you can't go outside without a grownup."

She harrumphed and stomped off.

A few minutes later she came back repentant, holding my cane like a microphone stand, and crooned for me her very own country song. Dos then joined in, and the three of us have been singing it all afternoon. It goes like this:

I wanna' go to Texas
but I don't wanna' go alone
I wanna' go to Texas
'cause Texas is my home

Chorus:
I wanna' go to Texas
with my family
I wanna' go to Texas
with my family
I wanna' go to Texas
with my family

I wanna' ride some horses
and go to Chuck E. Cheese
I wanna' go to Texas
with my family

(repeat chorus)

I wanna' go to Texas
no more of Idaho
I wanna go to Texas
'cause Texas is my home

(repeat chorus ad nauseum, then finish randomly but with a big flourish)

We called my parents (my mom wasn't home, but my dad and a sister were) so they could hear it, too, but with the pressure of a wider audience the girls seemed to get stuck on the chorus. Oh well. I think it's fabulous.

Pardon me for saying so, but I think that kid's a genius. :-)


~RCH~


P.S.: You may have noticed Uno's "snazzy" (and I use that term sarcastically) new hairdo in the photo.... She cut it herself last Monday -- AARRGGHH! -- and we fixed it up (another sarcastic usage) at the craptastic Walmart hair salon. I meant to blog about it but haven't yet; this little note, and the personal reminder that hair grows back, may suffice. :-P

Blessings

We briefly interrupt this series of birth stories to bring you a photo of Tres in her christening gown. She was blessed in church last Sunday, November 4, by her father. She wore a dress made by my best friend Mrs. McMitchell from scraps of fabric from my wedding dress (which itself was lovingly made by my other best friend's mom, a second mother to me, Momalue); Uno and Dos also wore this dress when they were each blessed.



The photo is a quadtone rather than a strict black-and-white. Any thoughts on this treatment? Should I try to brighten her face a little or leave it as is?

Not that I'm at all biased, but she's a pretty baby, isn't she? ::LOVE:: :-)


~RCH~

How she got here, Part 1

I've been meaning to write Tres's birth story. It occurs to me that, while I've told their stories here and there, I haven't written about the other girls' arrivals for the record, either. So maybe I'll do that now.

Uno
My first pregnancy. Though I still had some lingering fears and neuroses about doctors (yes, even after having been married to one for a year and a half), 37 weeks as the incubator of an adorable parasite had left me feeling a little demoralized. I didn't care anymore what it took; I wanted that kid OUT. And although I had an induction scheduled five days later, my body had made no progress on its own and that light at the end of the tunnel offered no comfort.

"I feel about as likely to have this baby any time soon as I did five months ago," I told DH over dinner as I pushed around the nasty food on my plate. I think I ate three bites before giving up.

I stayed up until around midnight watching TV, and then went to sleep -- or tried to, anyway. At 2am I got up to go to the bathroom; on the way back to bed my water broke. DH insisted we should go straight to the hospital but I made him call my doctor first, because that's what the books say you should do. ("Not at 2:00 in the morning," he said. "Not when it's obvious your water broke. Not when your husband is a 4th year medical student who ought to-- no, who does know better.") I think he's still irritated about that. Oops.

I still had Lovenox in my system so the first doctor to come see me was the anesthesiologist to say that I couldn't have an epidural; the blood thinner could react with it in such a way as to leave me permanently paralyzed. I don't remember anymore if I had even wanted an epidural -- I had overcome my fear of needles by then (though not my fear of pain) but it seems profoundly unnatural to lose most or all sensation in your lower half. That still freaks me out. In any case, after discussing my options I decided to use Nubain for pain relief. And then we sat around waiting for that pain to come.

We waited. And we waited. Nothing happened for hours. The doctors weren't sure what to do with me -- wait for labor to develop on its own (which it didn't seem to want to do) and risk infection? Give me pitocin to jump start the process and risk complications from my clotting disorder and / or the Lovenox still in my system? About ten hours after I arrived, they decided to go ahead with the pitocin. And still, even as contractions finally began to register on the hospital monitors, I waited for the pain.

Apparently these not-so-painful labors run in the family: I turned out to be not quite as tough as my mother -- who used no pain meds in any of her eight deliveries, and who, mere seconds after the first one popped out, exclaimed, "That was fun! Let's do it again!" (seriously!) -- but so far my sisters and I seem to have some magic buffer against the ravages of labor contractions. At least the initial ones. Thumbs up for those genes!

I grew increasingly hungry and sad as the day wore on; I hadn't eaten much the night before and as far as I knew I was only allowed ice chips until after the baby showed up. She didn't seem terribly anxious to get there. Imagine my delight and surprise, then, when a hospital food services employee brought me a bowl of weak tomato broth for lunch, and another with chicken broth for dinner. Who knew hospital food could taste so good?

By evening the pitocin-induced contractions I'd had since noon finally got strong enough to feel uncomfortable, and eventually even painful, so I asked for a dose of Nubain in my IV. It took effect almost immediately: I felt pleasantly heavy and floaty, and the pain dialed back a notch to where it had been about an hour before. I asked for two more doses before all was said and done.

We hit the 24-hour mark at 2am the next morning -- one full day since my water had broken, and still no baby. I'd been awake for nearly two days straight (having slept only a couple hours the night before) and, broth aside, hadn't eaten much to fuel this little birthing marathon. I started to get testy. I felt the urge to push long before I was dilated enough for pushing to do any good. It being my first labor, and not having taken any classes to know how to relax or what to do, I started to feel a little panicky. I was about 7cm when I asked DH when I'd be able to push for real. (It was very clear to me that I meant, do I really have to get all the way to 10? Or can I push when I just get close to 10cm?)

He replied, "You can push when they tell you to."

I looked at him with eyes like daggers, dug my nails into his hand, and said, "THAT'S THE STUPIDEST ANSWER I'VE EVER HEARD. Obviously when they tell me to. WHEN WILL THAT BE?"

He apologized and I apologized and that was as close as I came to the swearing, head-spinning, demon-possessed L&D stereotype from television and movies. I couldn't afford to curse when it did come time to push; the contractions were too close together and I could only breathe between them. I would have had to waste an entire contraction or two to get any good swear words out and it simply wasn't worth the trouble. So I pushed when they told me to, and breathed in between. But half way through the process I realized I wasn't giving 100% effort, as if merely following instructions at their most basic ought to be good enough to get by. So then I started pushing for real, pushing for a few seconds beyond what I thought I had strength for, even, and finally at 3:09am -- 25 hours after labor began! -- 6 lb 8 oz Uno arrived.

The first words my daughter heard her mother say: "Oh my gosh! Look at that!" As if I had expected something other than a baby. I don't remember it, but DH says the doctor and nurses all giggled.

They took her to the nursery shortly thereafter and I fell almost immediately to sleep. I have never in my life felt so completely exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally. I slept better than the dead -- apparently through a couple vitals checks, even! -- and woke up at mid-morning, transformed into this strange person called Mom.

More to come....


~RCH~

Halloween 1, 2, 3

~RCH~

Addresses, please

Once upon a time I had a lovely address list with all my siblings' info on it. On the back I had hand-written current addresses for friends and a few key in-laws. I put it in a safe place ... so of course now I can't find it. :-P

The baby announcements are finished and printed and ready to send, if only I knew where to send them! I promise to be more organized in the future, but for right now if you would like to receive a photo announcement please email me with your current address.

Thank you! :-*


~RCH~

For the quote book

RCH: Yay!
UNO: Why are you excited, Mom?
RCH: This shirt fits me again, which means my big baby tummy is getting smaller!
UNO: Yep. But your butt's still big. [Thoughtful pause.] And it always will be because there wasn't a baby in there!

Kids sure know how to deflate an ego quickly, lol....


~RCH~

Favorite things

One of my favorite things about "new brand babies" (phrase courtesy of Dos) is the frog legs. Tres's legs are long and scrawny, just skin and teeny tiny bones, and nearly three weeks on they're still a little bowed from her curled-up days in the womb. She pulls them up toward her tummy when I change her diaper; she looks just like a frog. Adorable.

One thing I'm not so fond of, however, is the day / night confusion. Tres isn't quite as mixed up as Dos was the first months of her life, but still.... OY. I wouldn't mind getting up several times a night to feed her if she'd just fall asleep at a regular hour (any time earlier than, say, 3:00 am) and go back to sleep after eating! While I feel much more in control than I did after Dos's birth, I'm still running on a fairly significant sleep deficit.

I tried catching a nap yesterday while Tres slept. The first two refused to have naps (grrrr), so I told them to go downstairs and watch a movie. Quietly. And without destroying the house. I drifted off, Tres cozily at my side, and woke up about 40 minutes later to the sounds of something crashing, conspiratorial whispers of "Let's get out of here!" and the pitter patter of preschool feet dashing back down the stairs. Then the baby began to stir, working herself up to full wail at the injustice of not being fed right then, and I -- still groggy and struggling to open my eyes -- was left with a house in complete disarray and three children all with desperate, but separate, pleas for attention.

We're managing quite well, all things considered.

Uno is a legitimate help with the baby. She assists with diaper changes and bath time, standing with lotion or towels at the ready, and she keeps well-meaning Dos at bay. Dos frightens me with her "help" (she tried to pick Tres up by the head once), but she's sweet with her little sister: She sings the baby songs when she cries, and strokes her cheek. Tres (in those rare moments when she's awake during the day) watches the two of them with a look of blank fascination.

This transition is not without its challenges, but these three girlies are definitely a few of my favorite things.


~RCH~

Her debut

~RCH~

Tres!

Ponybelle, from this point to be known as Tres, has arrived!

I'll write more later, but for those who haven't heard the stats yet, they are as follows:

Tres was born yesterday, Oct 4th, at 7:50am after a very quick labor. She weighed 6 lbs 12 oz (placing her right in between her sisters' respective birth weights, with Uno being the smallest) and measured 19-1/2 inches long. She has crazy dark hair and seems to have a good temperament so far.

Mother and baby both doing well. Uno and Dos think she's great. :-)


~RCH~

Mickey's House of Villains

Subtitled: I probably just set a really bad precedent, but she's far too cute for me to care.



Uno brought me this drawing last Thursday, explaining that it was a picture of Mickey's House of Villains. Inside the house (the box) are, from left to right: Goofy (the tall green one); Donald Duck (love the big duck nose!); Minnie Mouse (in pink with a hair bow); Mickey Mouse (note the red button pants); and Daisy. Outside the house are the villains (she said with a spooky laugh -- Bwaa-ah-ah-ah!!!): Green goo guys; yellow octopus guys; blood guys; an orange juice guy; a water guy; and a bat guy. Apparently the villains are trying to take over Mickey Mouse's house, so he and all of his friends must save the day!

Now usually when Uno or Dos bring me pictures we simply hang them up in one of our three galleries: The family art museum in the hallway, the refrigerator, or in their bedroom. But Uno insisted this one had to go to the mailman so he could bring her back the movie. (We belong to the Disney Movie Club, so we do occasionally get movies in the mail.) I had never heard of this particular movie before -- and I felt fairly certain that if it did exist, it didn't actually have orange juice bad guys, lol -- but I am often guilty of letting the girls watch the Disney Channel unattended while I do "mommy things" so it's possible she had seen something like this advertised. I tried to distract her from the whole mailing thing (I wanted to save the picture at least long enough for DH to see!), but she would not let the matter drop. So we scanned the picture for ourselves and stuck the original in an envelope with a short explanatory note to my parents, and Uno placed it in the mailbox.

She checked back every few minutes to see if the mailman had taken her letter yet. She was thrilled when he finally did, but disappointed not to find the movie already waiting for her with the day's other mail. I tried to explain that the process is not instantaneous. She shrugged and said okay, as if she understood, but continued to check back every few hours on Thursday to see if the mailman had come back yet with her show.

Normally I would just have let the matter drop, let the House of Villains fade into misty distant memory (uh, except that with Uno that never happens). But I couldn't bear the thought of her checking the mail for her movie every single day for weeks, months, even years, and never finding it. She was so proud of her drawing, so excited to lick the envelope closed and have it disappear from the mailbox, so anxious to see the return on her hard work and creative energy. No, she doesn't entirely understand how or why new DVDs occasionally show up at our house -- she doesn't understand that we pay for them with slightly more currency than copy paper and crayons -- but I didn't want to disabuse her of her confuselled notions just yet. She's just too innocent and adorable.

So while the girls napped I looked up Mickey's House of Villains online, found that it is, in fact, a real movie, and ordered it for her.

It occurs to me that I may have set a bad precedent in doing this. Instead of explaining about budgets, or encouraging her to defer her wants to a wish list instead of demanding instant gratification, I've subtly taught her that you can get stuff by drawing pictures and putting them in the mail. Oops.

On the other hand, you're only four once. She still has magic in her life; the world is one big wonderful mystery, unfettered by fiduciary concerns. (And in my defense, I don't get her everything she asks for -- far from it -- and we do talk about budgets and sticking to a shopping list and banal, responsible things like that.)

Maybe it's the [extremely] pregnant hormones making me emotional and fuzzy-headed, but her drawing charmed me more than I can say; I couldn't resist secretly indulging her just this once, and letting her think she did it all herself.


~RCH~

Uno's song

Apparently she's learning this song in Primary, but doesn't quite have it all down yet. Her version:

I hope they call me on a mission
To all the gospels that are true
To leech and teach and preach as missionaries do!


~RCH~

The diagnosis

Apparently it's simple bursitis -- inflammation of a bursa (a small fluid-filled, pad-like sac that reduces friction between moving parts like bone and skin, bone and muscle, bone and tendons, or tendons and muscles) in my knee. Sometimes referred to as "housemaid's knee," which seems vaguely insulting but whatever.

The likely causes are first, as I figured, too much front-loaded weight, and second, the fact that I change Dos's diapers on the floor while kneeling. (Another reason to try again with the potty training -- she's 3yo, for Pete's sake; why are my kids always so late? -- except that it seems pointless with a new baby on the way. Don't they universally regress or something? Ugh.)

The pain is getting worse, not better. I'm seriously considering a little trip to the drugstore tomorrow to buy a cane; that's how hard it is for me to walk around. (I've tried to improvise with things from around the house already, but nothing is quite the right height.) The only problem is, my affected knee is my "driving knee" -- the right one, the one I use to press the break or the gas pedal. It hurts to hoist myself into the car at all, and it kills to bear any weight down on those pedals.

It's pathetic. Seriously. I feel like a bona fide cripple.

I've never had a difficult pregnancy before -- not remotely! -- and this one hasn't been, either, for which I'm grateful. Thanks to a solidly sedentary lifestyle, lol, I've never been prone to injury; I've never had a sprain or a broken bone or anything of that sort. I rarely even get sick! I'm not accustomed to feeling so debilitated. (And I guess it goes without saying that I'm not accustomed to pain, lol. It has turned me into such a cry baby.)

*Sigh!*

Anyway, that's the update. Bursitis. It hurts. I can't walk very well. Only a week and a half to go before I lose a chunk of weight (and gain a daughter!), and you can bet I'll be motivated to lose the rest if keeping the weight means keeping the knee pain. :-P


~RCH~

My pregnant knee

Have I mentioned my pregnant knee before? I don't recall. Whatever. I'm going to kvetch again (or for the first time) on this subject so bear with me. :-P

I guess it's not unusual to experience joint pain after having gained a lot of weight in a short amount of time (like, say, with pregnancy), but for some reason only my right knee got the memo about my 30+ pound increase.

The pain -- which has come before and gone, so maybe there's hope -- has intensified over the last three days to the point that I'd rather walk around like a peg-legged pirate than bend my knee. (DH says that instinct is exactly the wrong thing to do; it'll only stiffen the joints further if I don't use them. *Pppbbfftt!*)

I can't sleep at night. Which isn't anything new, lol, but now it's not because of the frequent trips to the bathroom or the impossibility of finding a comfortable position with a 30-lb sack of potatoes permanently strapped to my midsection (not to mention the paranoia about staying on my left side to avoid squashing some critical blood veins -- whatever!). It's this pressure in my knee that keeps building and building as if it wants to pop, but it never does and no relief ever comes.

I take as many acetaminophens as I possibly can (cursing the pharmacy gods all the while that I can't take some decent pain killer like ibuprofen ... or better, wink-wink). I bought an adhesive heat wrap that I tried for the first time this morning; my knee felt nice and cozy warm for the few hours it stayed put, but the heat did nothing to ease the intensity of the pain.

I've got less than two weeks to go (HOORAY!) so even if this knee pain doesn't relent or at least lessen on its own, as it has in the past, I have hope that the loss of some of this weight will help. My knee can't stay pregnant forever, right?

OWIE.

On the bright side, my girls are treating their poor mother very well today. Uno keeps drawing me Get Well Soon pictures and Dos wants to kiss my knee and see my "scabbage" (her word for scab; I've had to tell her several times that the hurt is on the inside of my knee so there's not much to look at). What nice kids I have. :-)


~RCH~

Not exactly feelin' the love

Holy cow. The wackiness of Mormon Corridor Relief Society lessons continues.

Those of you who attend the LDS women's auxiliary church meetings will recall that today's lesson was on achieving an honorable, happy, and successful marriage. The nuclear family is viewed as the most fundamental unit of the church, so of course a successful, gospel-centered marriage is the ideal to strive for. No problems with that.

I did have a problem a few months ago when, visiting the church I grew up in, the RS lesson veered off whatever course it was supposed to be on and instead focused on why it's wrong -- nay, evil! (cue spooky music) -- for girls to marry much later than the age of 20. Obviously you're succumbing to the temptations of the devil and the diversions of our wicked secular society if, within a couple years of graduating high school, you haven't snagged a man. One poor newlywed even confessed with some embarrassment that she had planned to marry "late" so she could gain some life experience on her own -- 22 was her target age (22!!!) -- but luckily she came to her senses / repented and got hitched sooner.

Aaaaaiiiieeee!

I also had a problem with the presentation of today's lesson in my own Relief Society. After the teacher's brief introduction of the topic, a sister in her mid to late 50s raised her hand to ask how someone like her, who has never been married, might still get some value from the subject. The teacher gave the standard reply that those who do their best to live righteous lives won't be denied any blessings in the hereafter. Okay, fine answer so far. But she kept talking: "Whatever people's individual failures are, though, we have to speak to the ideal. Marriage is the ideal and that's what we're talking about today."

She continued to use the word failure throughout the lesson to refer to people who have never married and to those who are or have been divorced (which includes at least one member of our RS presidency).

I couldn't believe it. Neither, apparently, could the sister who asked the question; she was stunned into injured silence for the rest of the hour.

I felt relieved when another woman raised her hand and tried to steer the conversation gently into more rational waters. She explained that, while she and everyone else in the room knew that marriage was important and desirable, a distorted emphasis on the principle could be very damaging: She had been married for 21 years to an abusive husband but she stayed because she thought she was supposed to. She felt that her choices were [a horrible] marriage or spiritual oblivion. Besides, her husband held the priesthood so, beatings aside, she must have been living the ideal, right? The best of all possible worlds. She finally did leave, but not soon enough to save her children from the example of their father; she wonders if they would have remained active in the gospel if they hadn't had his negative influence so centrally in their lives. (The member of the RS presidency had a similar story to share.)

Now obviously, I'm a believer in the principle of marriage. I'm a fan. My own marriage (though wickedly entered into at the ages of 30 for DH and nearly 26 for me) has on the whole been a happy one, despite the expected ups and downs and stresses of life. I long for the eternal family that my temple sealing promises contingent on our remaining faithful.

HOWEVER.

I think there is some serious and damaging baggage attached to discussions of marriage within the LDS culture. Particularly here in the heart of Mormondom, where the purities of faith have had a hundred years and more to stew into hollow tradition and folk doctrine.

I don't begrudge anyone their early marriage -- everyone has their own path, and for some it's precisely the right thing to do -- but I hate that I felt like an old maid at 21. (Not that I had any prospects then, but for the record I would have made anyone a disastrous partner at that age.)

I hate that certain people feel it's all right to pity -- and not only that, but to label as failures! Out loud! -- mature women with full and purposeful lives who haven't made that proverbial trip down the aisle or knelt at the altar. (I confess I fully expected this to be me.)

I hate that there are women who, feeling the intense pressure to be one half of a couple, would subject themselves to abuse rather than face life as a faithful single woman in the church.

It's wrong, wrong, wrong.

The ideal of an honorable, happy, successful marriage is a wonderful thing. The doctrine is sound and good but the cultural lens through which so many people see it is insanely distorted. How could it not be when, instead of spending a pleasant hour focusing on how to develop more Christlike relationships (which could apply just as easily to friendships, for those who live in different circumstances), we spent nearly the entire lesson chastising each other for perceived failures that are more accurately described simply as different paths? None of us will travel the same road back to our heavenly home; our personalities, upbringing, opportunities, and challenges all vary infinitely. One thing we have in common, though -- male and female, bond and free, married and single -- is the command to love one another, to have compassion for each other.

Frankly I wasn't feeling that love today.


~RCH~

Tag!

So apparently we're playing tag, and I'm it (unless of course my seester meant her other friend with my name, lol). Oh well. Whatever the case, I now tag my best friends. :-P

1. What I was doing ten years ago:
   Ten years ago I was 22. It was 1997. Had I moved back from Happy Valley by then? I don't remember. I hope so, lol. I believe I was living at home, probably working temp jobs on my way to a real job....
   


2. Five years ago:
   2002.... I was pregnant with Uno. Maybe on bed rest for a few weeks, or maybe that was next month.... (DH says that was October.) Working as an assistant to intellectual property lawyers.
   


3. One year ago:
   You'd think I'd be able to remember at least that far, lol! Living in a new town, chasing after my two little chickens.... Busy days, but not much to report.
   


4. Yesterday:
   I can't remember what I did all day (wow, I need more sleep) but in the evening I took the girls to the homecoming football game. Our team, which had the game all sewn up until the last three minutes, lost. (With one minute to go, the other team tied. With less than that, they scored another touchdown; their ... touchdown guy ... ran all the way down the field with nobody anywhere near him, lol. And frankly I was glad because it meant no overtime and we could go home.)
   


5. 5 snacks I enjoy:
   Fruity ice cream (does that count as a snack or a treat?), chips & salsa, anything with avocados, apple berry granola bars, and cheese.
   


6. 5 Things I would do if I suddenly had $100 million:
   That's more money than I can fully wrap my brain around, lol. I would pay off all our debt, including mortgage and DH's educational debt. I would set up philanthropic trusts and trusts for the girls' education. Maybe for them generally, too, but that seems kind of scary (don't want them to turn into little Paris Hiltons!). I would travel, travel, travel. Maybe go back to school, myself. Who knows. Save the rest. I can't imagine it's possible to actually spend that much in one lifetime.
   


7. 5 locations I would like to run away to:
   Portugal, Brazil, West Texas (I still miss it sometimes), NYC, and my cozy bed (assuming I could feel cozy in it).
   


8. 5 bad habits I have:
   I'm lazy, I don't floss as often as I should, I never answer my phone (more a pathology than a bad habit, but whatever), I eat junk too often because it's easier than cooking, I lose patience with my children too easily.
   


9. 5 things I like doing:
   Sleeping (not that that's ever comfortable anymore, grrrrr), traveling, creating, hanging out with my family (both the one I came from and my more recently begun one), and playing with my girlfriends.
   


10. 5 TV shows I like:
    House, Heroes, the original CSI, HGTV's Design Star, and [insert trashy VH1 Celebreality series here, i.e.: Flavor of Love Girls Charm School, Scott Baio is 45 & Single, Rock of Love with Bret Michaels -- holy cow, they're bad, lol].
    


11. 5 things I hate doing:
    Talking on the phone, mopping the floor (I love my robot vacuum, so now I just need the robot mop!), folding laundry, socializing with people I don't know well or at all, waking up early, and playing outdoors in cold weather.
    


12. 5 Biggest joys of the moment:
    Listening to my girls tell about their days at school (they're soooo big!), watching Dos do her "angry dance" (it's hilarious) when the band plays at high school games, anticipating Ponybelle's arrival, spending time with DH (wow, adult conversation!), and having opportunities to be creative.
    

Okay, Mrs. McMitchell & K2, it's your turn!


~RCH~

Today is September 11th

...and I didn't even realize it until a few hours ago. How is that possible? (Well, too otherwise-occupied to turn on a tv, for one....) But now that it's occurred to me, I can't stop thinking about it, remembering that day six years ago and the weeks and months afterward....

I wasn't personally affected by any of the horrors of that day, but I still managed to be profoundly affected, if that makes sense. Any date I hear that's pre-9/11/01 -- the year someone was born, the year someone died, some historical event, whatever -- I reflexively think, "Wow, they didn't know yet what the world would become." It's become this morbid delineation in my mind: Before, and after.

I worked for an airline at the time. I was a secretary in the budgets department at TWA; our offices were at the Kansas City, MO maintenance hub. When the FAA grounded all flights, the airport didn't have enough room to house the planes so they sent some over to us. It was surreal: The complete silence in the sky for days (very weird when you work right near the airport) and all those planes -- American, United, Delta, Frontier, Southwest -- that weren't ours, lined up next to the TWA jets, just sitting there. Waiting for the world to get back to normal.

I cried for weeks, even at work. Which was fine; many of my coworkers did, too. Everyone understood. After two weeks, DH finally put a moratorium on the news because he was worried about the depth of my reaction. (The whole thing made him angry. It made me so, so, overwhelmingly sad.)

I'll probably avoid -- on purpose this time, lol -- any coverage of the anniversary tonight for the same reason. It's too overwhelming, even six years on. I can stand to remember my experience of September 11th, but I can't bear to watch the footage or hear the stories of the real people who experienced real horror and loss.

My heart and prayers go out to them, still.


~RCH~

Time for school!

I couldn't sleep. You'd have thought it was almost my very first day of preschool, the way those butterflies flitted around in my stomach all night long (or was that Ponybelle?). Every time I got up -- which, thanks to Ponybelle, was a lot -- my thoughts raced around:

School tomorrow. Will we wake up in time? Should I make her a special breakfast? That means I'd have to wake up even earlier. Will she be suddenly struck shy? What if it doesn't live up to her expectations? I hope she behaves herself. Will the other kids like her? Will she like her teacher? School school school!

Every time before coming back to bed, I'd peek in the girls' room only to find Uno sleeping peacefully, snoring away.

I woke up early, a victim of that restless energy that had plagued me all night, using the time to write an email or two and pick out some First Day of School clothes for Uno. (I don't usually choose her clothes, but come on, folks -- this was for posterity. She looks charming in pink and orange and mismatched patterns, or turtleneck sweaters paired with shorts, but on this very historic day I hoped she'd look a little more put together.)

When Uno woke up, I asked her what she'd like for breakfast -- absolutely prepared to whip up some homemade pancakes (from a Bisquick box, but hey) or scramble her some eggs. "I want Pop-Tarts, please!" she said with a grin. So Pop-Tarts it was. It's all "part of this nutritious breakfast," you know. :-P

We talked while she ate and I snapped pictures. I wish I remember now exactly what she said (I should have blogged sooner!), but I remember thinking a little wistfully how grownup she sounded. She's always been verbally precocious -- a bigger vocabulary than she ought to have, and very clear diction almost from the beginning -- but this was something different. Her thoughts, not just her speech, sounded older to me.

I guess that happens eventually. Ready or not.

(But how could she? She's my baby, my first! I remember when she was born!)

She gussied up after breakfast and indulged me with a few more quick poses:





Uno excitedly gathered all her things before we left: Her Nemo backpack (which is technically a lunch pack, but whatever) and the folder you see above. The preschool teacher, Mrs. Jones, had brought folders over for each of the girls a week ago when she came for a little meet-and-greet. It contained information about the school for me, a picture of a bug for the girls to color and name, and an All About Me page which I helped the girls fill out. To fill in the blank after "I am good at __________," Uno had me write, "hopping on one foot, dancing, and spinning."

Side note: Dos, who had her first day of preschool later in the week (Uno will go M-W, Dos Th & F), had me write that she was good at "exercising, eating Cheerios, and buffalo hello-ing." I asked her for clarification on that last one and she waved her hand at me. "You know, Mom, saying hello to buffaloes." Ah, you've got to love the mind of a freshly minted three-year-old. :-)

After a few too many First Day photos (we were on-the-dot on time, but she was the second to last one to arrive), we hopped in the car and raced to the little house a few blocks away where preschool meets. I wanted to get a picture of her walking up the steps and over the threshold of this brave new world of academia into her teacher's living room, but my camera had jostled around in the rush and knocked the memory card loose. By the time I realized why the shutter wouldn't click and fixed the problem, she was already in.



I poked my camera in the door and took a couple more shots, and then Dos and I drove home to wait the two and a half hours to go pick her up. Dos moped a bit. And then she watched Scooby-Doo.

Uno walked out of school as the consummate cool kid, Nemo backpack in hand and finger guns a-blazin'! Obviously she'd had a good time, but I had to drag and pull the details from her on the drive home and throughout the day; I guess having lived the experience so recently, she didn't see the point in rehashing. But for the record: She met some kids and had snacks and played games and learned about bugs and about the weather. Apparently she even got to be the class Weather Person for the day. That's my girl!

And, inspired by her morning of creative and intellectual pursuits, Uno spent the afternoon writing and illustrating a five-page fairy tale (with all the requisites: princess, dragon, prince and magic pony) that she tucked in her backpack to give the teacher the next day. I don't think she'd been assigned to write a story (do preschoolers have assignments?); I think she was just excited about school and wanted to impress the teacher. Again, that's my girl! (And DH's, lol.)

I'll spare you the details of Dos's first day of preschool, a mere two days after Uno's, because they are remarkably similar (take my anxious energy down a notch and substitute Cheerios -- she's very good at eating them, you know -- for Pop-Tarts, and there you have it). But obviously Dos deserves a pictorial of her own, so you'll find that below.

*Sigh!* My little girls are growing up. :-)














~RCH~

Uno, 0w0d

I had Uno pose for some pictures this morning before her very first day of preschool (more on that in another post, I promise). She did some standard "look at me!" poses, showed off her school folder, etc., and then -- completely unbidden -- she did this:





Look familiar? LOL.

Dos often talks about the baby in her tummy (he growls when he's hungry); I don't think she quite gets the concept of pregnancy. Mostly yes, but the details for her are fuzzy. Uno, on the other hand, understands how it works (well, not the goriest of gory details, but she knows the baby is only in Mom's tummy) -- which is why these poses crack me up so much.

Kids are hilarious. :-)


~RCH~

Self portraits, 34w6d

~RCH~

Question of the day

How did a banana peel end up in the washing machine with my load of whites? (And why did I not notice it until after I'd run the load? Ugh.)

Something to ponder.


~RCH~

One of the benefits of sharing a room

...is that your sister can comfort you when you're scared and/or sad. I remember my own sister doing this for me (and vice-versa) when we were kids.

For some reason, Dos got it into her poor, over-tired head tonight that there was a monster in the closet. She could not simply ignore it and fall asleep. First she cried, then she sobbed.... I closed the closet door so no monsters could get out. Nope. That wasn't going to cut it. I opened the closet and showed her the very safe and boring contents: Dresses, shirts, pants, shoes, a few books on the top shelf -- no monsters anywhere. More tears, increased hysterics, and a repeated insistence of a "real live monster" lurking in the shadows of her closet.

"Hey Dos," Uno called from her bed. "Who's that guy who's blue and eats cookies all over the place?" She had to repeat herself a couple of times before Dos even heard her. "You know, the guy who's blue and eats cookies all over and he lives on Sesame Street?"

"Cookie Monster," Dos replied, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

"See?" said Uno. "He's a nice guy. We only let nice monsters like Cookie Monster and Elmo in our house."

It still took Dos a while to calm down, but she did eventually. I went to check on them just now and Uno had climbed in bed with her; they're sleeping (finally!) side by side, Uno's arm around Dos's shoulders.


~RCH~

Recent conversations overheard

UNO: ...And that's why you can't go in the ocean.

DOS: Yeah, because of their teeths.

UNO: Sharks eat everything, so if you go in a pond or an ocean they'll try to eat you.

DOS: No, they don't live in ponds. Just frogs do. And fishes.

UNO: Fishes live in the ocean and sharks eat them.

DOS: Yeah, and they eat people.

UNO: But they have a big tail that pokes up so you can see them if they're coming.

DOS: And then you have to swim really fast! [Makes swimming motions with her arms]

UNO: Hey, let's be scuba divers....



* * *

DOS: No he's not!

UNO: Yes he is. The fire got him and burnt him all up.

DOS: Smokey the Bear is not dead.

UNO: [With much satisfaction in her voice] I saw him burn up myself!

DOS: Nuh-uh because I saw him at the parade last morning!

[Smokey made an appearance at the 4th of July parade we watched in West Yellowstone last month]

UNO: It was after that.

DOS: Poor Smokey the Bear!






~RCH~

Hey there, hot stuff

~RCH~

A hot time in the old town tonight

We don't have central air conditioning in this house. We used to have a swamp cooler that did a relatively decent job (well, except for the moths and other small bugs it slurped in through the kitchen window), but after a particularly muggy week last month (one week out of the whole summer!) we got rid of it.

Our current strategy for battling endless days of triple digits and high 90-degree temperatures consists of a small window a/c unit in the kitchen (which tends to freeze up and quit working if left on too long) and fans in each of the bedrooms.

We have a digital thermostat in the hallway that enables me to watch the internal temperature climb. Anybody want to guess yesterday's high? Not for the town we live in, but for the inside of our house.

89? Anybody guess 89F? *Bingo!* Gold star for you. 89 freaking degrees inside our house for most of the afternoon. (By midnight it had cooled off to a "pleasant" -- yes, that's sarcasm in my voice -- 82. By 3am, 77. This morning at 6:55, 75F. You'll note that none of these is at or below the universally accepted room temperature of 72.)

In my regular life, I might not mind so much. (DH still would, but eh.) I'm usually very cold natured; I was even cold while pg with Dos, who was born at the end of July in the West Texas heat. But this time? I now understand why they euphemistically refer to pregnancy as having a bun in the oven! I'm feeling very oveny. VERY. I'm sweating from places I didn't even know had sweat glands (though for the sake of propriety I'll spare you the specifics).

We're saving our money to install central air next spring; DH has vowed that we will not live like this again! (Uh, except for the immediate future.) Of course, by then I won't be pregnant anymore and I'll probably be back to my cold natured self, wearing turtleneck sweaters in June and cursing the a/c gods while cowering under my electric blanket. Oh well.

Anything's got to be better than this.


~RCH~

Let's play a new game

In light of a recent incident, we've had several conversations with Uno and Dos about the necessity of sticking with one's parents (or other caretaker, if they're hanging out with aunts or grandparents or other responsible, trustworthy people). They have been told that while most strangers are probably good people, you never know which ones are the bad ones because they don't all look like bad guys. That's why we don't talk to or (heaven forbid) ever go anywhere with someone we don't know.

So. Strangers are on the brain lately. A week or so ago, I heard the girls playing together in the living room:

UNO: Hey Dos, let's play a new game. I'll be a stranger.

DOS: But we can't talk to strangers!

UNO: No, no, no, hang on. I'm a good stranger. See? I have candy! If you come play with me, I'll give you some!

DOS: Okay! Let's go!

Fabulous. I can see we're going to have to go over this concept again....


~RCH~

Maternity clothes

Nothing fits. That is all.


~RCH~

PSA

To the two well-intentioned people at church:

I think you were trying to express compassion for my situation as a very pregnant woman with two energetic children (children who are forced to attend three hours of church each week when, on any other day, they would be eating lunch and napping). I do appreciate your concern for me.

Still.

While I can think of a few things more offensive than telling a mother, "I feel so sorry for you!" because of her children, that one certainly makes it near the top of the list.

Don't feel sorry for me. They may be hungry, tired, overstimulated and simultaneously bored, and therefore prone to some misbehavior, but I'm glad I have them.

Next time, even if that's honestly the best way to describe your feelings about my family, keep your pity to yourself.


~RCH~

T minus 10 to lift-off

Is that what they say? DH would know, but he's sleeping in after a rough night on call so I won't bother him to ask. In any case, here are my girls in their "astronaut helmets" in a leftover shot from the new hair photo session (this one's for you, Mom!):

Ten ... nine ... eight ... seven ... six ... five ... four ... three ... two ... one....

BLASTOFF!




~RCH~

Nursery help

As you may remember, I'm on my third baby and putting together my first real nursery. Yay!

Last Monday my super nice sister drove up with her baby so that they could entertain my girls while I painted the room two shades of yellow (Mustard Something on the bottom and Something Pineapple on the top). I thought about prepping the room the night before, but I figured the girls would just tear down the tape, so why bother? Maybe I should have bothered. Despite having the girls out of my hair, and even with said kind sister's help while the girls napped, it took us most of the day to tape off the trim; I finished the day with only the bottom half of one wall painted (and it was the shortest wall, lol).

But who should appear next, a mere half hour after the first sister had left? My other very nice sister, her husband, and their little boy! For all I knew, they had come up to visit us for the 24th of July holiday -- not because we had anything exciting going on, but simply because it's nice to get a change of scenery once in a while. Plus, I'm just super fun to visit, lol. (So fun that we made BIL stay up until past midnight helping DH dismantle a swamp cooler and jerry rig a window a/c unit that was too big for the actual window. Whooo! Good times.)

We all went to bed at around 1:00 in the morning. I got up bright and early the next day to take the girls to their swimming lessons and planned to start on the rest of the painting when we got home, hoping our visitors would play with the girls while I worked. As it turned out, there was no need: My sister and BIL had painted the entire rest of the room -- including the ceiling! -- while we were gone! Those sneaky kids work quickly and well. What a wonderful surprise. :-)

The room looks BEAUTIFUL (so much nicer than the old baby poop green color!). I keep standing in the doorway for long periods of time simply to ogle the lovely new paint, lol. I'm so grateful for all the help I received from my two fabulous sisters and their families! It's so pretty. I couldn't have done it without them.

Now that the painting is finished, I suppose it's time to figure out the rest of the decor. Here's a look around the 11'x9.5' room:









I've identified three main challenges so far: (1) The twin bed, which I would like to keep in there to make middle of the night nursing sessions easier (so I won't bother DH, an insanely light sleeper, by bringing the baby to our bed); (2) the only heating vent, which is on the floor beneath the window (covered by the changing table in the room's current configuration -- don't know how well that will work come winter); and (3) the closet that eats up nearly the entire left wall.

The size of the room and the placement of the vent and closet make for limited furniture arrangement options, unfortunately. I've decided I don't want to put the crib in front of the window, although there's more room beneath it to accommodate air flow from the vent, because I don't want Ponybelle to pull on the (as yet unchosen) curtains or strangle herself in the blinds cord. I guess I could put the twin bed there instead, and move the crib to the bed's current spot with the changing table between them on the right side wall. I don't know. Maybe I ought to just disassemble the twin and put it in the storage room for now. I can nurse on the couch at night. :-P It would certainly help the room look and feel less cramped.

The other question I have concerns shelving: Right now there are no horizontal surfaces in the room on which I can put stuff, either knick-knacky decorative things or practical items I'll want ready at hand like diaper rash cream. I first thought wall shelves would be a reasonable solution ... but would that look wrong, since the room is already cut in half horizontally by color and the, um, wood trim thing? (That may be a stupid question, but I'm a total novice at this so humor me.) Our local fancy-dancy furniture store has open (as opposed to encased with glass) shadow box-type frames that could double as shelving without looking overly horizontal. Kind of like this one, from Target:



Do you think those would work? At least for curios, I guess; Boudreaux's Butt Paste might look sort of funny framed in a fancy box. :-P

I may be in over my head here, so this is the point at which I invite all you decorating divas to contribute your ideas. My design plan, sparse as it is, began with the crib sheets from KidsLine's Tiger Lily bedding set, though while I'm considering buying the crib skirt (if I can find it as a stand-alone) as well, I'm not going to vomit that set all over the room with the matching bumper and valance and curtains and hamper and mobile and lamp shade and bla bla bla. But I do like those colors, the pinks and yellows, and of course the white trim that's already in the room (baseboards, window, closet and door). I need a place to put stuff. I may or may not need a place to nurse at night.

Where would you go from here?


~RCH~

Dos's big day

Today is Dos's third birthday. Our big party will consist of pizza for dinner, and cake and presents afterward. Nothing too extravagant.

I sang Happy Birthday to her when she woke up this morning, and congratulated her on turning three. She looked at me with wide eyes and a big fat smile and, when I finished singing, exclaimed, "I knew I could do it! I knew I could change my number!"

I love that kid. :-)


~RCH~

New hair

The girls got their hair cut a few days ago (second time for Uno; first time for Dos). Dos only needed a trim, now that her mullet was long enough to make it all one length without chopping too much. Uno wanted short hair ("but not short like Daddy, because he doesn't have any hair!" -- cue fits of giggles) so we gave her a chin-length bob (which, coincidentally, is about how long Dos's new hair is, too).

Aren't they sweet? :-)


~RCH~

The scare of my life

About 40 miles north and east of where we live is a dinky little resort town (pop. 521, I read on the sign today) whose claim to fame is natural hot springs and an Olympic size pool. My parents have had a timeshare condo there since I was a kid, so one week every summer the whole family gathers up there to play. Now that we're all grown up with families and schedules of our own, people just drop in and out, but today was the family July Birthdays party so nearly everyone was there at the same time (DH couldn't come because he was on call).

First, we ate; next we had cake and ice cream and let the honorees (including Dos) open their presents; after that, everyone got ready to go swimming at the big ol' pool, which is directly behind the condo. That takes a while with ~30-some-odd people: There are bathing suits to put on, towels to be gathered, sunscreen to be slathered, swimming toys collected and kids to be counted....

Except that when we counted mine, Uno was missing.

I had been getting myself dressed, and then changing Dos into a swimming diaper and her bathing suit. Uno wasn't with us, but I figured she was in one of the other rooms getting herself ready (she's so independent these days). Everyone else must have assumed she was with me. As it turned out, she wasn't anywhere.

A couple people ran over to the clubhouse. One went to check the playground. A sister and some nieces ran over to the river, which runs directly beside the condo, where a kid might be fascinated by all the people tubing / rafting.

I ran up to the pool and asked the admissions lady if she had seen a four-year-old girl, short blonde hair, in a blue swimming suit and blue floaties, come in. She shrugged. "It's been a busy day; I've seen lots of kids." Thanks, lady.

By that time, I was feeling very panicky; Uno has slipped away from me before (she's TOO independent and curious) but she's never gotten so far out of my sight that I couldn't find her pretty quickly. This time, though, I had no idea how long she'd been gone. I had no idea where she'd go, with so many tantalizing possibilities. She's soooo social, I know she would go with anyone who asked her to: An old man in the grocery store good naturedly teased her a while back that she was so precocious, he wanted to take her home with him. "Okay," she said, moving to hold his hand. And then to me, "Mom, you go home with Dos and I'm going to go to his house." (Aaaaiiieee!) So of course I had visions of pedophiles (who, I'm sure, love to hang out at busy swimming pools like this one) luring her away without even the need to promise her candy....

Since the swimming pool lady was no help, I decided to take a quick peek through the fence (I didn't have any cash on me at the time to pay to get in) near the shallow end. Uno doesn't know how to swim and she's terrified of going any farther than the steps, so I knew that if she were there she ought to be relatively easy to spot. Except of course that it's one of the pool's busiest days of the year -- the Saturday of a holiday weekend (for Utahns, anyway, which most of the patrons are; it's their Founder's Day holiday). The place was PACKED (and the pool is HUGE). I looked and looked and I didn't see her. I was crying by that time, horrible scenarios running through my mind....

...And then suddenly, she popped her head out of the water. She was playing on the steps with her face mask on, practicing putting her head in the water. I yelled to her, but of course she didn't hear me over all the commotion from all the other people. I yelled her name again. Again, nothing. A man sitting on a towel on the inside of the fence asked me which kid was mine, and I pointed to Uno; he went and got her for me.

I sobbed as I dragged her butt back to the condo, trying to spit out the words of a decent talking-to: Never, EVER go somewhere without a grownup that you know. Everybody has been out looking for you, and I was so, so scared that something bad happened! You could have fallen in the water and not known how to get out. A bad guy could have taken you and I'd have never seen you again. ("But Mom, a bad guy did come and I kicked his booty with my super strength power!" Ugh, kid. Be serious for a moment!)

Sheesh.

Anyway. All's well that ends well. I dragged her back to the condo, we counted the kids again to make sure we had EVERYBODY, and then we all went to the pool together. Uno and Dos both practiced their swimming on the steps of the shallow end -- with me watching them extra closely -- in preparation for the swimming lessons they start next week. Uno even got brave enough to venture off the steps in the last 20 minutes we were there, when she finally realized that the water wasn't deep enough to even reach her chest, lol.

I'm so relieved that nothing happened. It still makes me cry to think of all the things that could have easily happened, to think that I could have lost her for good. Holy cow. I've never ever been so scared. We had a fun day after that ordeal, but boy howdy am I glad this day is over; I hope to never have another one like it.


~RCH~

Noah's Ark was a prophet.

Uno gave another talk in church today -- her third, I think, or fourth if you count the scripture she recited a month or so ago ("If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God"). When her turn came, she marched right up to the microphone -- the very picture of bravery! -- and began:

[Throat-clearing noise]

Noah's Ark was a prophet who built a big boat. There were bad guys who wouldn't make good choices. Noah's Ark said, "I'm going to make it rain," but they still wanted to be bad. So it rained for 40 days and 40 nights. It washed the trees and the houses and the bad guys away.

In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

As usual, we brought elaborate props to help her remember key parts of the story: This time, a toy ark and several pairs of animals. Her favorite part of the story while practicing had been enumerating all the animals that "Noah's Ark" brought with him on his big boat: A girl giraffe and a boy giraffe; a girl elephant and a boy elephant; a girl horsie and a boy horsie; a girl parrot and a boy parrot.... But, though she plopped the bag of animals on the podium with the boat when she began, she neglected to mention any of them in the story. And she left out the promise of the rainbow, which had also made it into earlier practice sessions. Go figure.

Still. I was relieved that, while large chunks of the story were missing from her rendition, the pieces that she remembered to include were more or less accurate. Mostly. And I was thrilled to see her so confident in her speaking ability again. She did great.


~RCH~

Fishing, photos, a brain on the fritz

We spent much of last week up in Island Park, ID (just a little south of West Yellowstone) impressing the visiting ILs with all the fabulous Western scenery and outdoor opportunities. DH and his dad went trout fishing (they caught three or four), and we took the girls to a kiddie pond to try their luck (for some reason, the girls' loud voices and insistence on throwing rocks in the water scared the fish away; I can't imagine why).

Here are a couple pics of that adventure with the girls:





I took this photo of the pond that same evening, just moments before it got too dark to bother sans tripod:



I thought I might add an inspirational quote at the top -- something subtle, so as not to distract from the scenery -- to scrapbook and/or to order as a large size print. But I can't decide what quote to use. I've played around with Psalm 23 and Job 12:7-10 (both from the KJV version, whose language I love the most), but it doesn't have to be Christian or even scriptural. Do any of you dear readers have a favorite quote about nature? Water? Beauty? Reflections? Twilight? Anything at all that would relate to and enhance this photo? Please leave me a note in the comments section.

You know, I used to have all sorts of things like that floating around in my head: Snippets of poems (or entire poems), song lyrics, literary quotes, lines from movies and plays, famous quips from Oscar Wilde or Dorothy Parker.... I'm amazed now that I can even remember Ms. Parker's name. :-P I hate to join the camp of those who say that motherhood makes you stupid -- I hate those people; they're terribly offensive -- but honestly, I feel like my brain has gone to mush in recent years. I used to be at the very least a convincing pseudo-intellectual; now the pseudo part is all that's left. If that. It's not even that I've forgotten things I used to know -- I feel like I've lost the ability I once had to simply think. But not, apparently, to angst. (Or to randomly turn nouns into verbs.) ;-)

Ah, well. If that's the price I get to pay, I'll pay it.

Anyway, leave me a note with your best idea for a caption for that third photo and I'll love you forever.


~RCH~