Of Baths, Books and Bonding

Happy Birthday, Number Two

The daily, laser-focus on Now makes it easy to forget how much changes in a year. Here is Sydney, one year ago, January 24-ish, 2009:
Back then she was nursing, crawling, and just beginning to make words.

Twelve months later, she does not look so much like Talmage, is no longer nursing (that stopped at age 13 months, thankfully), wears pigtails instead of bows stuck on her head with honey, talks in complete sentences, has ditched the crawl for more upward forms of mobility, and likes to show us her "tricks" ("Look! I'm flying!", she says, when she balances on the intellitainer). She loves playing with her friends and rough-housing with her dad. She is learning to be helpful and is working on the concept of "mine" vs "sharing". She's learning to pray. She likes to paint, color, listen to stories and also look at books on her own. She's learning that it can be hard to be a woman with her deeply felt emotions.

Some things haven't changed: she still loves music (she sings herself to sleep and belts out her favorite tunes as the spirit moves her - "Hello Everybody", "Clap Your Hands", "Follow the Prophet", etc), sucking on her two fingers, and happily taking a predictable afternoon nap.

The world is your oyster, Sydney. Here's to your second year and your continuing discovery of the wonders around you.

Make a wish!
(like, say, that you can have a REAL cake and DAINTY candles next year):

We love you!

Would You Rather...

... slide down a razor into a vat of boiling acid ...
... or drink a barrel of monkey snot?

It seems we're making lots of life-changing decisions lately. To give the pull-ups back or not. To rip out the fireplace. Or not. To buy a new bed for Syd or get one cheap on craigslist. Then there's this new little one on the way. She is reticent about telling us her name. Speaking of the baby - we'll want a bigger car when she arrives. So, in your opinion ...

WOULD YOU RATHER ...

drive this car?

... or this one?

Before you jump to a hasty decision like you did about the monkey snot, listen to this:
This white 1984 Vanagon has a table inside. How cool is that? Huh, Mr. Fancy Odyssey? You got a table inside? Imagine that sweetie lined up in the church parking lot next to all those slick SUVs and minivans. Not such an easy decision, is it?

And also, if you have any girl names send 'em our way.

Feelings and Preferences

Back in the day, say ... when I was five ... I still wet the bed. My parents thought that if I couldn't tell I was wet, then perhaps a secondary external cue could. So they bought a buzzer. The contraption was clipped to my underwear each night. It buzzed when it got wet. I was supposed to hear it and wake up. I never did. In fact, I'm not sure how I escaped the experiment without being electrocuted.

Talmage is working on staying dry through the night. Since this process started, we stopped buying pull-ups and started buying a lot more Borax. He's a deep sleeper. This was tonight's conversation:

Me: Right before you go to sleep tonight, remember to empty your bladder.
T: [wiggle, wiggle from my embrace - possibly because he's heard this all before]
Me: You could even wake up in the middle of the night and go to the bathroom if you need to. What do you think of that?
T: That would be ... awkward.

If any of you have some tips about how to help a kid learn to stay dry through the night, let me know. If it would be less awkward for you, feel free to write in as "anonymous".

One more short conversation:

Tonight, in the car, Talmage pushed a pre-programmed radio button and a rowdy song blared out. "Partyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"-electric guitar-drums-raucousness. I casually pushed a different button and he promptly pushed on the Party song again. We did this a couple times, back and forth. Stalemate. Finally I said, "I don't really like this song."

T: I like it.
Me [trying to keep it neutral; already fearing for the future]: What do you like about it?
T [thoughtfully]: I guess I like the flutes.

Always Go to the Funeral (Hillsboro version)

Uncle Rand died alone on New Year's Eve of an unforeseen heart attack. When Dave called to tell me, my reaction was a bewildered and disbelieving, "What?!" His dad was only 62, and, according to regular checkups, had no indication of heart problems. "I'm coming to the funeral," I told Dave, without hesitation.

The title of this post is from this article and this writeup (thanks CB and LB). Below are some other things I learned from attending the funeral.

At the viewing, I felt a tangible solidarity with extended family. Even literally: Carl rubbed my belly. These extended family members are a part of me. Sharing our common loss finds us bound tighter together.

The speakers at the funeral told stories and characterized Rand in ways that were both entertaining and enlightening. The stories revealed how ignorant I was to the extent of Rand's goodness. As with all funerals, I left wishing I'd known him better. Though I liked Rand, I had held part of him in reserve because of un-pretty things that I'd heard. But at a funeral, those quirks are seen through an optimistic lens. What was once aggravating is now endearing - or even appreciated. How would that be if I could keep that perspective with all my relationships? If I could put aside judgment and really love others; keeping in mind that I don't know the back story and my judgments are inaccurate anyway? (This sentiment seems vaguely deja vu-ish. Would I could retain the call to change!).

Uncle Rand's sudden and early death also increased appreciation for the relationships I have now - both the ones that come easily and the ones that require effort lest they perish from neglect. I want to do better at discovering and basking in the uniqueness of the people around me.

To that end, I reveled in the days following the funeral doing the simple things: working on a puzzle with grandma and two uncles, to the background accompaniment of an energetic discussion between two aunts; visiting with my in-laws as they played with Sydney; "hanging" with my dad, swapping stories, sharing perspectives, and visiting some of his favorite discount stores; reconnecting with a life-long friend.

It was a valuable few days. Always go to the funeral.

Winter Wonderland

Last week's beautiful snowfall:
The next day, we played in what hadn't melted yet:

If you listen close, at the end, you can hear Talmage say, "yeah-heh!".


And again:


Crunch, crunch, crunch, splash [repeat]:

"of adequate or more than adequate extent, size, or amount"

Today I had a prenatal checkup. I'd been a scootch apprehensive about going since at my last routine checkup, the OB-GYN and I had this conversation:

Dr. K: Soooooo, any questions?
Me: Nope.
Dr. K: Weeeellll... [prolonged pause] ... we've already talked about your ample weight gain.

Ample?....Did she just say ... ample(*)???!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!? [Whimper]. I mean, I know my face would feel more comfortable if there were some sort of device to prop up my multiple chins (I carry my babies very high). But it's not like I can't put on my own shoes yet. Oh ... wait. Errr, weight...

When I told my empathic dad about the conversation, he sent me this reassuring cartoon:


But still.

It'd been much more pleasant if the conversation had gone more like this:

Dr. K: Soooooo, any questions?
Me: Nope.
Dr. K: Weeeellll... (prolonged pause) ... Happy New Year!

Today, when we got to the end of the checkup (all 3 minutes of it) - she gave me pause when she again closed things with:

Dr. K: Sooooo, any questions?

Me [not willing to filter my thoughts]: Nope. Just that I'm fat [thank you, very much!]

And she said:

Dr. K: [benevolent smile]. OK. See you in two weeks.

Much better.

*Origin:
1400–50; late ME < class="ital-inline">amplus wide, large.