They Say It's Your Birthday!

WARNING! WARNING! This is very long and would, no doubt, be quite tiresome for someone to read (unless they happen to be related to our birthday boy.)

Happy birthday, dear Nicknack!

At this time one year ago, we were holding you in our arms for the first time, marvelling at how amazing, miraculous, and surprisingly cute you were!

For some reason, I had an irrational concern that you might be a very unattractive baby. The night before your second trimester ultrasound I had a horrible nightmare that I could see on the sonogram that you looked very much like one of your Dad's relatives, who shall remain nameless. You already had teeth that stuck straight out, even in the womb! I had a lot of very vivid dreams, while carrying you. Including very upsetting nightmares in which your Dad decided to divorce me or left me for another woman. Once I even reached over and whacked him, when I awoke from a particularly irksome dream. But, you know your Dad. He was a pretty good sport about it.

Those dreams were as unrealistic as my nightmares about what you would look like. The second thing that Dr. Harvey said, as she greeted you on your birth day was "What a cutie!" The nurse agreed, "He IS cute!" I thought, "Let me see!" And it was true. I was so relieved! You were just beautiful, right from the start.

But the very first thing Dr. Harvey said was, "It's a..." She was trying to prompt your Dad. We thought it would be fun for him to announce your gender. We had waited all those months to find out what kind of baby we would be getting. I thought you were a boy from the start, just for the record. But, of course, I couldn't be sure. Dr. Harvey had to twice say, "It's a..." before your Dad emerged from the state of shock and said, "Oh! It's a.... boy!" with a laugh in his voice.

There were a few moments of silence, on your part. Your Dad and I both vividly remember you taking your first breath and looking from side to side. Like, "Where AM I!?" Then you did a lot of very hearty screaming. That little newborn cry, "Waah! Waah!" It was music to our ears.

The first thing I said to you was, "Who are YOU?!" I know that probably sounds odd. I was just so shocked to see you. Of course, I knew you would be arriving. I'd seen your ultrasounds, felt your movements, and pushed SOMEONE for several hours. But, somehow, I was still surprised that it was you. I kept saying, "I can't believe it! Can you even believe this?"

I didn't expect you to look so much like a Hoxworth. I sort of felt like, "Oh, it's YOU! Of course, why didn't I expect that it would be you!?" It's hard to believe now that I couldn't imagine exactly who you would be, before you were born. It just couldn't have been anyone else. The other thing I said, which, unfortunately, is on tape, was, "I never want any baby other than you!" Of course, I would love to have other children, and I hope they don't take that comment personally. I was just so completely content with you. Your Dad, Gramsy, and I were all immediately and forever smitten.

You were so pink and lively. Your Apgars were 9/9, but you had a touch of fever, which I'd developed during labor. But you seemed fine and very healthy. Because you were a week overdue, your nails were quite long and the skin on your little shrively hands and feet was a bit peely. You had those newborn blue gray eyes and about the average amount of hair. The color was as indescribable then as it is now. Sort of brownish blondish reddish. Just like mine, by the way. You were 8.04 pounds. Did I ever mention that I predicted that you would be a week late and would weight eight pounds? Strange, huh?

You were an angel straight from heaven. A very mellow newborn. Here are a few things about your newborn months that are especially special to me:

1. Your breath. It was heaven sent. And the weird thing was that neither your Dad nor Grandma could detect it! It was kind of a perfumey chemical scent and if I could have figured out how to bottle it, I would have.

2. Your monster sounds. We always had eating issues and in the middle of the night your Dad would try to restrain your arms while you tried SO hard to suck on them, so that you could focus your attention, ahem, elsewhere, and nurse. You made the funniest little wild baby animal sounds. We called you the Masher and Monster/Monner because you would just smoosh your face anywhere and try to nurse. Everywhere except the proper place, of course! :)

3. Your boob radar. Okay, this is hard to describe. But if I was holding you and you were hungry you did this hilarious thing that involved you slooowly moving your face across my line of vision, milimeters from my face, looking right through me, on the hunt for something to latch on to. It was the cutest. Your eyes were still a little "blank" then, like a baby kitten.

4. Your frog bod. The way you slept on our chests. How you only would consent to sleep soundly on your tummy or swaddle in your Papasan bouncer. How your Dad had a knack for swaddling. The way you and I napped, check to cheek or nose to nose. Those first few months when you sometimes slept in the crook of my arm. Rocking you.

5. The first time you smiled at me. You smiled at your Dad first and wouldn't stop smiling at him for a week. But no smiles for me. One evening, after your bath, I put you on your hooded duckie towel on our bed and started to get you ready for bed. As I began to sing first few notes of "Teddy Bear Picnic," you beamed at me. A big gummy, toothless grin that melted my heart. Especially since that was our special song when I was carrying you. I sang that to you every day. I guess you recognized it.

6. Your other favorite songs, which were "Old MacDonald Had a Farm," "What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor," and "I Wish I Were an Oscar Meyer Weiner." It was pretty embarassing trying to get you to smile for your three month photos, singing those last two. But they worked.

7. The way your Dad and I would just sit around admiring you for hours. We sometimes discussed which part of you looked the most delicious. It was a toss up between your tummy, thighs, or cheeks. If a baby can be kissed too much, you are doomed.

8. Being proud to take you anywhere. And feeling a little huffy that there wasn't a mad stampede at the store so that everyone could come admire your awesomeness. HELLO! World's most darling baby, here, folks!

You have changed so much since those early days, of course. Your every achievement has been pretty thrilling. I never thought a tooth could be adorable until I saw your first tooth peeking through your gum. You know have five full teeth (three on bottom, two on top), one half bottom tooth and two half top teeth.

You have been pretty much average, timeline-wise, for your milestones. You rolled onto your tummy early, but rolled onto your back a bit late. You started crawling and pulling yourself up in your crib within days of each other. You were the last baby in the church nursery to start crawling (the others are girls and at least six weeks older than you) but you are MUCH faster than the rest.

You were a very quiet and easy going baby until you started crawling, at seven months. Then, all of a sudden, we started to realize how independent and strong willed you really were. At your nine month check up, your Pediatrician commented on what a "handful" you were. I look at him quizzically. "What on earth makes you think that?" He pointed out how you grabbed everything in sight and the tantrums you threw when poked and prodded. I laughed it off and later your Dad and Grandma and I decided he was bonkers. He even wrote, "Very active. Good luck." on the send home chart. Whatever.

A few weeks later (as I removed you for the fourth time from the off limit behind-the-recliner-corner, comforted you after another diaper-change induced tantrum, peeled you off the bookcase you were attempting to climb, and chased you as you squeezed through the gap between the baby gate and sofa), I realized you really were...spirited! For better or worse, you seem to have a temperament simliar to my own. My tantrums were legendary. I was the "girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead." However, your mother is a bit more strong willed than mine was. So we'll see how that works for you. :) But, between the two of us, I like your spirit.

Your latest accomplishments are clapping on cue (when we say "Yaaay!"), pulling up your blanket or hiding your eyes to play peek-a-boo, and climbing the bookcase, baby gates, and slide. You are an accomplished cruiser and have outgrown (for now, at least), the tendency to bonk your head on any and every thing. In fact, you hardly ever fall anymore. Today you stood for about a minute.

Your favorite toy is your new piano, given to you by your doting Grandma Helen. But what you love the best, are books. You read dozens a day. You babble along as you flip the pages, pointing your chubby little finger at various images. You are mesmerized by our birds and the stray kitties we feed. Today you cracked up as you watched "Alley" chasing a bug. Your laugh is the world's greatest sound. You used to have a one syllable laugh "Huh!" Now it's more of a sqealed "Hah Hah!"

But enough about you. Just kidding.

It has been an amazing year for our little family. We still can't believe that God has blessed us so abundantly. We would have been happy with any old baby, but we got YOU. Two people couldn't be luckier. You are a delight. We are both so proud to call you our child and so thankful that God chose us as your parents.

I want to tell you how incredibly fortunate you are. You have an amazing earthly Dad. The kind of Dad I always wanted, and accidentally married. I had a hunch that someone who was such a kind husband would make a marvelous father. And was I right. He thinks you hung the moon. He is the most doting and encouraging and interested Dad a baby could ever ask for. Your Dad had an amazing father of his own. Very nurturing and involved. And HIS Dad raised him, when his mother left them, at a young age. So you come from a long line of special and loving Dads. As for your mom, she's a hopeless mess. But she adores you.

On this, your first birthday, I have a lot of hopes and dreams for you. But none amount to much, without the desire of my heart, which is that you know God. That you are blessed by loving him. That is the most important thing in the world to me. I will do everything I can to share Him with you, but I know that only He can stir your heart to accept his grace. Please don't ever forget that you are his.

And your Dad has this message for you, "Stay sweet!" He says that to you all the time. You are pretty sweet. He is going to write you a letter of his own, although, don't worry, it won't be this long!

Bless you, Nicholas Lane.

My First Meme: Where Do You Eat Out?

Ooh! I've been tagged for my first meme. Thank you, Jenna @ Joyful Journey!

I will try to play by the rules, but if I do something incorrectly, please don't hold it against me. :)

Here are said rules:

1. Link to name of person that tagged you. (see above.)
2. Include state and country you live in.
3. List top five favorite local restaurants.
4. Tag five other people and let them know they've been tagged!

Okay, I'm going to copy Jenna's lead and get a little creative and include restaurants that are not necessarily located here, in Seattle.

But I will start with a couple of my local favorites.

1. Wild Ginger - Seattle, WA

If you are in the downtown Seattle area, I recommend Wild Ginger. It offers Pan-Asian cuisine and I strongly urge you to order the Seven Elements soup, which is an amazing coconut curry noodle soup (khao soi). One time I saw Al Gore at Wild Ginger, around the time of the last presidential election. Wait, maybe that's not a big draw. I forgot that a lot my internet sisters are from "red states." Disregard that last comment. Let me try this instead: Yes, they do serve Starbucks.

2. Shanghai Garden - Chinatown (Seattle), WA

No points for ambiance or service. They don't even have a website. And the last time I picked up food here, I got stuck in my parking spot by a double parker! But if you go here for a bite of authentic Chinese food or dim sum, you'll thank me later. I know they sound odd, but here's what you must order: shrimp and strawberries (sounds awful, right? but it's amazing) and handmade green noodles. Yes, I said green. Trust me.

3. La Mex - Anchorage, AK

Oh, La Mex. How I love you. Here's a bit of background. I was born in Anchorage, Alaska. My first memory of a restaurant is the original La Mex (there are now several), playing with those gross cigarette machines in the lobby. Nice, right? If you find yourself in Anchorage, please go there. Please order the cheese enchiladas with extra rice. Go to the original La Mex. They haven't changed it since the 70s and it is very Regal Beagle (from Three's Company). Here is how much I love La Mex. Are. you. ready. for. THIS? Two birthdays ago Penn had my Auntie Nan FLY IN La Mex for my birthday. In coolers. He went on a mysterious mission (to the airport, which is about 15 minutes from our house) and came home all mysterious-like, and put something in the oven and then just casually brought me a plate of La Mex. Real, live, La Mex!! He's a good egg.

4. Dalvay-by-the-Sea - Prince Edward Island, Canada

If you're looking for a wonderful family vacation destination and love Anne of Green Gables (and who in their right mind doesn't?), I suggest you plan a trip to Prince Edward Island. Be sure to stay at Dalvay-by-the-Sea, in Cavendish. This is the place they filmed as the White Sands Hotel, people. It's right on a gorgeous red and white sand beach. Very duney. They'll even pack a picnic lunch for you. The water is unbelievably shallow and pretty warm - you can wade and wade and wade. Definitely rent a bicycle. You'll find yourself biking on an old horse and buggy road, through an an overgrown orchard, and by an antiquated grave yard. I mean, it's old. There are gravestones for people lost in shipwrecks, for heaven's sake. And when you're ready to eat, just pop into the hotel's restaurant. But make sure you have a reservation. And give yourself a lot of time because there are many courses and this is small town service, at its slowest. For dessert I insist that you try the "Sticky Date Pudding w/Toffee Sauce." It is so good that Penn requested the recipe and recreates it for my birthday every year. (He's a chef.)

5. Oyster Fest - Shelton, Washington

Okay, this isn't a restaurant. But it is the culinary highlight of my year? Penn and I go with his parents and we all start counting down until October, somewhere around the fourth of July. The night before is what we refer to as "Oyster Fest Eve." On Oyster Fest morning we get up bright and early and drive to Tacoma to pick up the folks, then head to Shelton, Washington for THE Oyster Fest. We are practically giddy with anticipation by the time we find a place to park and walk all the way to the front gates. And there it is. Oyster Fest. Dozens and dozens of little booths all over the place, practically calling our names. We always start and finish up at the Boy Scout's booth, where one can purchase $2 bowls of mussels. There are also clams, delicious and inexpensive lobster tails, chowder, and all kinds of oysters. There are tons of other non-seafood options, and two years in a row I made the mistake of eating a big bowl of apple crisp and ice cream, mid-fest. Big mistake. Who fills up with apple crisp when there are shellfish to be had? Me, and twice! Duh. We're always a little sad as we drive home from Oyster Fest, with our pants unbuttoned, in the post-Thanksgiving fashion. My mother-in-law is usually the first to say, "Well, only 365 days until the next Oyster Fest!" Yaaay!

So that's my list. I'm going to tag:

Teri @ Facedown in Romeo, Mississippi

&

Robin @ Robinznest in the northwest (like me!)

If I didn't tag you, you can still leave a comment about your favorite local or non-local restaurant. I love reading about where other people love to eat!!

Birthday Gladness

Today was the big day! Nicknack's birthday party. He doesn't turn one until the 31st, so I have a few more days to enjoy my baby before he turns into a big kid.

I'm soooo happy we had this party for him. Not just because Nicknack enjoyed himself immensely or because it was such fun to get all the people who love him best together in one room. True and true. But also because he is only one and won't remember all of this. This was the practice year. Thank heaven. I learned a lot in the process of throwing his party. Especially:

1. How to make and frost a cake. I (over)cooked the cake yesterday, and frosted it today. As I pulled out all the cake ingredients, I noticed my baking powder had expired in 2004. So I ran to the store. While there, I picked up extra chip and ice creams, more potatoes (since I'd made the potato salad too salty and wanted to add a few more), and a half dozen other things. Got home. Did NOT have baking powder. My dear husband ran to the store for me and brought home a fresh can. This morning I got out all the frosting ingredients, including the giant bag of powdered sugar. Only it wasn't powdered sugar, it was pancake mix. Another trip to the store. On the plus side, my potato salad was practically perfect.

2. How to decorate for a party. Did you know that helium balloons only last about 24 hours? I discovered this interesting fact this morning, as I opened the office door to a roomful of floor-level balloons. Arg! Also, I'd never hung streamers before. That was a pretty comical exercise. My perfectionism and Penn's height (about 6'5) resulted in a splendid streamer display, if I do say so myself. Luckily, we'll get to enjoy it for a few days, until Nicknack's official birthday.

Since a picture is worth a thousand words, here are several photos, which will save you from thousands more words from me!

Yee ha!


Making music (his favorite gift, hands down)


Cakes


before...


...during (we cheered him on with such enthusiasm he began to clap for himself in between bites!)



...and after!


Penn and I often say that we are Nicknack's fan club. Although there are only two members, we are truly committed. We go to great lengths and make total fools of ourselves to entertain him. We make the biggest fuss over the tiniest of things, if they are in any way related to him. We hang on his every "word" and ooh and aah over every expression and fresh head of bed hair. Sometimes after he's gone to sleep at night, we miss him. We just can't get enough of this kid. We are his own private cheerleading squad. The best part of this day was sharing it with the people who love our little person. They aren't as hopelessly devoted as we two, but they definitely qualify for fan club membership, even if for only one day a year. Tomorrow things will go back to normal. Nicknack will wake up to find he has only two people wrapped around his finger. I am so grateful that I have the privilege of being his one and only mommy.

My First Foray into Frugality

Yesterday I did something I've never done before. I used coupons at the grocery store!

Our weekly grocery bill has been hovering around $150 a visit for months. Not including diapers, formula, or toiletries. Or meat, which we buy from the butcher. It just seems a little much for two adults and a baby.

I have never been known for being frugal. I'm not exactly extravagent, either. Basically, I'm spontaneous. I don't usually have a plan, when shopping, so I just buy whatever strikes my fancy. We tend to purchase a lot of organic foods, which can be expensive. I have a lot of brand preferences. And my husband is a chef, so he has his own ideas about grocery shopping. He's a total food snob.

So I've decided to try to reduce my weekly grocery bill. And I started yesterday.

In the morning I planned out a few meals for the week. I also looked up the recipe for the croissant casserole (thanks Boomama!) I'm taking to tomorrows Bible study's annual brunch. Finally, I spent a few moments thinking about what I will serve at Nicknack's first birthday party, this Sunday.

Then I fished out the grocery store inserts from the recycling bin (my husband had already put them out because Tuesday is trash/recycling day). Penn was impressed that I'd gone out and gotten them myself. I usually call that kind of a task a "man job." Pretty much anything unpleasant, in my book, is a "man job." But I was that motivated.

I spread all the colorful circulars out on the living room floor and began the hunt for a pair of scissors. As I clipped coupons or circled specials, I created a shopping list. My husband looked on. Sceptically. I even had a $5 off coupon for Safeway and I noted that if I spent $30 on specially marked items, I would receive a $10 rebate.

I set out later in the day, Nicknack in tow.

It was kind of fun. Almost every single thing I bought was either on sale, matched one of my coupons, or was part of the rebate promotion. Except for baby yogurt and crescent rolls for the aforementioned recipe. I stocked up on Hebrew National hot dogs and black label center cut bacon and still only spent $123, not including the $10 rebate, for which I qualified. And I brought home a lot of good stuff.

I was so proud.

Until I woke up this morning. For some reason, the very first thing that popped into my head, before I was even fully awake, was "How come I don't remember unloading a grocery bag with the crescent rolls?" As I emerged from my sleep fog, I tried to remember putting those four crescent roll containers in the refrigerator or freezer. Uh oh.

I rushed out to the car (brr, is that garage floor is cold first thing in the morning!) and opened the Jeep's tailgate. I didn't see a grocery bag. I lifted the grocery cart cover that protects Nicknack from the perils of germs. There it was. One lone little grocery bag. Sigh.

I brought it into the kitchen, where Penn was making Nicknack's breakfast. He helped me unload the bag. Four crescent roll containers. Two containers of ice cream. And one six-pack of four dollar baby yogurt. Total cost: about $20.

I was really mad at myself. $20 isn't a big deal, but it just felt like a defeat after my efforts to be frugal. And don't you just get tired of making mistakes sometimes? Especially since this is the kind of thing that Penn would never ever do. He's just not that kind of person. He never drives home to find he's left the garage door open for six hours. He never forgets about laundry, mid-cycle, and has to rewash clean clothes that have sat in the washer wet for so long they smell like mildew. He's never, in his life, run out of gas or locked himself out of the car or house. He always knows exactly where he left his keys. And his cell phone. Which is always charged. He is so sensible and responsible. Sometimes it just bugs me. Just once, I would like him to do something absent-minded so I could be as gracious about it as he always is. He just shrugged off the spoiled yogurt and puddle of ice cream with an "Oh well, don't worry about it, honey. It's only money and I bet you'll never make this mistake again." I didn't have the heart to tell him that I'd left grocery store bags in the car overnight once before (only with the tailgate still open, on that occasion). I'd had the foresight to bring in all the perishables first, so it was only bread and soda. But he's right, I will be more careful in future.

Today I'm headed to Albertson's to replace the items that were ruined. I also plan to pick up some soda, because I noticed in the circulars that came in yesterday's mail that both Albertson's and QFC have 5 for $12 deals on Coke fridge packs. A girl can never have enough diet cherry Coke. And I have a couple of Albertson's coupons in my little coupon organizer.

See? I haven't given up the fight! Yesterday's defeat will not stop me from defending my family from grocery store gouging! I may have lost the battle...! Yada yada. You get the idea. Really, it's just kind of fun to find good deals and watch my tally decrease as the clerk scans the coupons. Kind of like free money. :)

Muddling Through

I spent the weekend playing catch up. I had a midterm and paper due today, and I've been procrastinating for about half of the quarter. As a result, I was way behind.

This is quite unlike me. I am normally the Hermione of every class. I do not want an A. I certainly can't deal with an A-. What I'm striving for is an A+. Preferably the highest grade in the class, but I'll settle for a 97% or higher. No, a high A isn't worth any more than a middle A, GPA wise. At least not at my particular university. But I like to have a cushion. A few points for wiggle room, just in case I have an off day. A 96 is so close to a 95, which is practically a 94, which is frighteningly close to a 93, which as an A MINUS.

I realize that as I get closer to graduation, my classes will begin to get much more difficult and my perspective may become a tad unrealistic, and need to change. But so far, this has been my attitude. Until now.

This quarter, I'd describe myself as a B+ student. I can't get over it, myself. When I haven't been having panic attacks about it, it's been very liberating. I just feel unmotivated to pursue excellence. Good enough sounds... good enough. And, although I find my economics and accounting textbooks very interesting (I'm not being sarcastic here), I have to make myself keep up with the reading. And, well, I have never been the kind of person who is good at making myself do the things I don't want to do. And we all know life is full of those things! So this tendency has been problematic for me. It's called discipline. And I lack it. It affects every area of my life.

This Includes my quiet time with the Lord. This morning I slept in and didn't get to my Bible reading until Nicknack was awake. Have you ever noticed that it is very difficult to concentrate on Exodus with Sesame Street on in the background? I found myself paying more attention to monsters singing "Fuzzy and Blue" (one of my favorites) than to The Priestly Garments and Conscecration of Priests.

Also, my lack of discipline means I weigh approximately the same as the day I delivered Nicknack. It's why I have a second pudding. And just one more slice of pizza. And pretend I don't notice the monstrously large (and unsightly) treadmill that sits in our living room. It's why I don't go grocery shopping until I've run out of eggs, I sometimes wash whites because I'm wearing my last pair of clean socks, and why I've started a "household binder" about sixteen times, but haven't finished. It's also the reason I wait until the last minute to do everything, which sometimes affects the people I love. "Oh, here's another gift certificate for your birthday, ________ (fill in the blank). I meant to shop for the perfect present, wrap it with love, and get it sent to you in time, but..." I guess I had more important things to do? Hardly.

From time to time I've prayed about this subject, but, guess what. I don't even have the discipline to regularly pray for discipline! Jeesh!

So, as a result of what is probably my greatest flaw (among MANY, so you know it's a problem), I spent yesterday locked in my bedroom, cramming for my exam and finishing my paper. I was in there for twelve hours, minus the thirty minute break I took to visit with Nicknack. I wasn't really THAT far behind, but getting through a textbook chapter takes me a looooong time. Like many of you, I sometimes read a for-fun book in one day or over a weekend. But when it comes to textbooks, I lose my mind.

As a child and teenager, I was diagnosed with ADD. They told my parents I would probably grow out of it. I don't know about that, but I have adapted and learned to work around some of the things that are typically associated with this diagnosis. My natural tendency is to start reading a chapter and then suddenly find myself, thirty minutes later, lost in thought about something totally unrelated. Arg. Start over. Then I read a page or two and realize I haven't actually taken in anything on the pages. Arg. Start over. I find that if I read aloud, that helps. But it slows me down. The other thing I do is take notes. Lots of them. At least ten pages per chapter. So that really takes time. The final thing I often try, which is the most time consuming, is to read every chapter twice. Usually I'll read each section, then repeat, then move on.

So that's why it took me the entire day to catch up. Perfectionism is a necessity, if I intend to absorb any of the material.

Penn is just the most supportive husband a person could ask for. He is so encouraging. He spent the day with Nicknack, and I have no doubt that he would make a much better stay at home parent. In addition to endlessly entertaining our little man, he made me a special breakfast, lunch, and dinner. When he was delivering one of many diet cherry Cokes he joked, "I think I had my kids too far apart!" I asked him what he meant. "Well, I have a baby to take care of AND a college kid to look after. Keep up the good work, college girl." Cheesy wink. When I finally emerged from my room after nine in the evening, the house was clean. It hadn't been messy, but it hadn't been super clean either.

I sometimes struggle with a defensive nature. My first thought, upon realizing that the house was spotless, wasn't pretty. This fleeting thought popped into my head: "I guess he's trying to show me how easy my job is." Like all his acts of service throughout the day, including bringing three meals to my bedside, where just to say, "See? This is what you should be able to accomplish every day, regardless of the baby."

I immediately recognized how silly these thoughts were. Penn is sooooo not like that. He's a very accepting person and, at least claims, that as long as I'm happy and the baby is happy, he is happy. Would he love to come home to a hot meal and freshly baked cookies each night? Of course. Does a spotless house improve both of our moods and outlooks? Most definitely. But that wasn't the message he intended to send yesterday. I know because I asked him, "You really are better at all this than I am, aren't you?" He rolled his eyes and pointed out that doing my job for one day isn't the same as around the clock, day in and day out. "That's true." I agreed.

But I'm not so sure. I think he and I both know that he really would make a great househusband. And I'm not the best homemaker in the world. I always thought that the second I gave birth I would be immediately transformed into the kind of mother who does everything perfectly. I imagined I'd be a better wife. And basically a perfect human being. You know, a "Mom." So it's been pretty disappointing to find that I'm still the same old me. Still naturally messy with a tendency to overcompensate with my label maker. Still bound to leave any social situation feeling that I've said the wrong thing. Still struggling to keep my temper in check over the little things. Still barely able to watch the evening news without sinking into the depths of despair. Still a waster of time. Still an unaccomplished chef, at best. And, above all, still undisciplined!

But one thing that I'm doing differently these days, now that I'm a mom? Not taking things to heart so much. I'm quicker to recognize flaws and keep moving. I've already grieved over all my shortcoming, as a mother and homemaker. I don't need to keep doing so every time I rediscover this about myself. Apparently many new mothers struggle with perfectionism. The most comforting words my mother has ever spoken to me were when she advised me to just "muddle through." She claims that is what she always did, and I certainly never noticed anything lacking in her mothering skills. I can only hope that Nicknack is as blind to my bumbling as I was to my own mother's.

I'm okay with the fact that my husband runs rings around me as a parent, spouse, chef, housekeeper, and launderer. God still gave the stay-at-home gig to me. All I can do is give it the old college try and assume that whatever I have to give is enough, and that God will make up the difference.

I accept the fact, barring a miracle, my gpa is going to take a minor hit. Oh well.

I'm still praying for discipline. But I'm reminded of something my uncle once told my mother. He said that religion is like antidepressants. Some people need it/them and some people don't. Only the weak need to believe in God, he said. To that I say, HALLELUJAH! Of course, I know that we are all weak and need God, but I'm hallelujah-ing the fact that He went out of His way to make sure I was extra lost without Him. I'm a hopeless mess! I don't see how I could ever get a big head, with all my flaws always biting me in the bee-hind. There is no way I could ever delude myself into thinking I don't need Him. That I could lean on my own understanding. Praise God for imperfections. Which, I guess, includes muddling mothering skills, haphazard homemaking, and B-pluses.

Now, what I want to know is why every time I sit down to write a two paragraph post about my day, it turns into an essay? In addition to discipline, I clearly lack brevity. So add that to the list.

Struggling in Seattle

I like Seattle. The weather isn't half as bad as you think. It's nice when it ought to be, in late spring and summer. And when it's shining, it's glorious. I've included a few photos of our backyard view, as proof. It's lovely. The mountains, the sound, the islands, the lakes, the trees.

Thanks to three cross country road trips, I've visited 45 states. (I still have North Dakota, Nebraska, Mississippi, Alabama, and South Carolina left.) And while certain places may tie this area for physical beauty, I've never been anywhere that beats it outright.







Nice, right? But it doesn't feel like home. Even after six years. There are so many people, but I don't know any of them. Wherever I go I feel totally anonymous.

We live in a lovely and quiet neighborhood full of little old ladies, many of whom have lived in their homes since ours was built, in 1959. They've known each other forever, and they stick to themselves. They will wave, but only if I wave first. I like our neighborhood. Great views, great park, great beach access. It's great. But it's surrounded by... how shall I put this. With the exception of a few small neighborhoods, our town (a semi-urban suburb of Seattle) is not-so-great. Not such great schools. Not such great houses. Not such great safety. And to go elsewhere requires a freeway. Oh, how I hate freeways.

We only get one earthly life, and who knows how long our go-round will last? I just keep thinking, is this where we really want Nicknack to spend his one and only precious childhood?

I want him to have the roots I never had. A hometown.

And I guess I don't want him to be as lonely as I am.

I know it's my own fault. I've lived in six states in the past decade. I've attended one year of college. I've attended three different high schools. I've never stuck around anywhere long enough to cultivate real friendships.

And I'm a homebody. I've turned down oodles of invites (over the years) to stay home in my PJs, sit on the sofa, and watch tv with Penn. I signed up for the Junior League. But then I got intimidated and never went back. And even when I have made friends, here and elsewhere, I've let them fall away. I haven't kept in touch with work friends. I've never taken them up on their (half-hearted?) invites to lunch or for drinks. What would I do with the baby? What would I talk about, other than the baby?

So I exchange a few pleasant e-mails a year with sort of old kind of friends from places I have lived. One friend from high school. Two from college. A few from Connecticut. They're going to do a marathon. Going to wine and cheese parties. Going to Greece. Going back to law school. Going out on the town. I've changed so much since we were really friends. We hardly know each other. Now we're just acquaintances.

My favorite people (other than my mother, of course), the people I really keep in touch with, are my aunts and my mother's lifelong friends. The women who have known me since babyhood. I love these women. Their opinions matter to me. I could talk to them for hours and hours and hours. But none live in my town. Or even my state. They can't pop over. I don't see them at the grocery store. I can't wave to them at church. I can't meet them for lunch or head to Target with them.

I want something more for Nicknack. A place that he loves and feels loved, with people he knows and who know him. Long term friendships with peers. A home base. With lots of happy memories. And I guess I still want all that for myself, too. If it's not too late. And Penn! He doesn't have a friend to do guy stuff with. A Christian friend to talk to. All his old high school and college buddies have chosen a very different road in life. And besides, he's home in his sweatpants, with me!

So this is where we are. I feel kind of stuck. Is it wrong to want something different when we are so ridiculously blessed? How can we discern what God wants? Are these selfish desires? Are these shallow dreams for our son?

Should we, instead, focus on the old, "Bloom where you're planted?" concept? Surely God could do something with us here in Seattle. This is a largely unchurched corner of the world. The needs are great. Has God put us here for a specific purpose? Or are we free to leave?

I'm hoping the latter. But above all, I really do want to do what God wants me to do. I realize that this life is not my home and I have a hometown waiting for me in heaven. Complete with main street, harvest festival, church potlucks, and white Christmases. Maybe not literally. But you know what I mean.

I feel so conflicted about this right now. What do you think? I guess I just need to mull this over with God for a while. Thank you for listening!


(This photo was taken June 26, 2006; Nicknack was only about one month old. He was so LITTLE!)

Home Alone

It's Mother's Day and I'm home alone.

I suppose that sounds a little odd. But what I really wanted today was a little time to myself. My days - weekdays and weekends - tend to run together. The only difference is whether Penn is home or not. But whether he is or isn't, it's still all about naps, bottles, meals, laundry, and that darn kitchen that will just not stay shiny no matter how many times I clean it. So today Penn took Nicknack to spend the afternoon and have dinner with his family.

This morning, we three attended church. Or to be precise, Penn and I enjoyed the service while Nicknack had a blast at nursery. As usual, after Communion, I snuck out to fetch him. (We like to have him with us so we can worship together, as a family.) By the last song, "His Love Endures Forever," the congregation's toes were tapping and hands were clapping. Not too shabby for Presbyterians, right? Nicknack clapped his hands, too! I guess the Spirit really moved him! :) It brought tears to my eyes and delighted his Dad to no end.

Time alone sounded good but it felt so unnatural to watch them pull out of the driveway. Without me. After waving like a mad woman and blowing dozens of kisses, I spent an hour "organizing" photos of Nicknack.

Then Penn called to confirm their safe arrival and I could breathe again and get down to the business of goofing off.

Penn had pulled out all the stops. He brought home a take-and-bake pizza, a bottle of champagne, a few of my favorite snacks, and a People AND US magazine.

I don't generally indulge in trashy magazines unless I'm sick or waiting for the Dentist or Doctor. (They tend to have an unhealthy effect on my spirit.) Wow, a lot of "beautiful people" have had babies since the last time I got my teeth cleaned! Also, there were a number of young people I've never heard of up to all kinds of unwholesome things. I guess I'm out of the loop. But Lindsay Lohan was still out whooping it up and Nicole Ritchie was still troublingly thin. I wonder if those two know Jesus. I hope so.

Okay, I have a confession. Am I a terrible person? I'm struggling with a mild case of Schadenfreude over this Paris Hilton situation.

I finished my magazines and decided they really weren't as entertaining as I remembered. They used to make me want to starve myself to a size two. Finance a Range Rover. Open a credit card so I, too, could have a Berkin bag. Or at least get on a waitlist somewhere. I guess these magazines are no longer a temptation to me (PTL), which makes them kinda boring.

I should have read an Accounting chapter or started my Economics paper. There were several loads of laundry with my name on them. And, of course, there was the kitchen. There is always the kitchen. Sigh.

But I didn't do any of that. I did a lot of the same things I usually do, such as putting off schoolwork and chores and spending too much time on the internet. Only guilt-free. Because it's Mother's Day, after all. I watched Molly Shannon on SNL (DVR). I read a couple sections of the newspaper. Best of all, I talked to my mother for over an hour. She's getting over bronchitis, so we decided to postpone our Mother's Day festivities until she's up to it.

Pretty soon I'll hear the garage door open. I'll jump off the sofa and race to the door. My little guy will all buckled into his Cowmooflage Britax. He may or may not be excited to see me. Doesn't even matter. He'll be sucking his gigi, wearing those footy pjs with the dinosaurs, and ready for bed. It's past his bedtime, so he'll likely be cranky. And I. can't. wait! Because I had a day to myself. It wasn't all that much fun and I didn't get as much accomplished as I thought. Tomorrow we'll be back to the same old same old, and that sounds just about perfect.

First Day at the Gym (For Both of Us)

Yikes! Step aerobics were a lot easier seven years and fifty pounds ago!

Today was my first day at my new fancy gym.

And I forgot to wear deodorant! I was in a rush, what can I say.

I wanted to get there super early so I could fill out all the paperwork for the "kid's club," spend a few minutes with Nicknack (since it's his first visit there), ask my instructor if her class ("The Ultimate Workout") was appropriate for beginners, and get a primo spot at the back of the room.

In actuality, I arrived just in time (sans deodorant) to scribble something on some paperwork, blow Nicknack a kiss, and have a ten second discussion with my instructor. She assured me that, although it was an advanced class with lots of complicated footwork, I was welcome to do just the basic steps until I got the hang of it.

It was meant to be a 75 minute class (half cardio, half weights and stuff), but I planned to (and did) duck out after the cardio. I will build up to the entire class, eventually.

Wow. Did it ever kick my boonie! I pride myself on picking up on things quickly and being coordinated. I was a cheerleader for TWO whole years, for gosh sakes. But this was some serious steppin'. I literally never got through the entire routine once. Not even close. When I finally did start to get the footwork down, I was too tuckered out to go on! But I kept moving, even when I just had to march in place. Which was fine. I just hope I didn't throw off any of the other steppers. One woman, kittycorner to me, gave me several sympathetic glances. She was a little lost, too, at times. But I was the worst, by far.

But I'll be back. I'm pretty competitive.

After the cardio fun was over, I went to pick up Nicknack. I was a little worried, because I'd had to just rush off and leave him with strangers. He has gone through pretty much zero seperation anxiety. (He's eleven and one half months.) And he's been spending a couple of hours at the church nursery twice a week since he was three months old. If ever I am tempted to skip my weekly Bible study or Sunday service I just think of how much fun he has with those nursery ladies and I get myself there. He just loves every minute of it, and why wouldn't he? Those sweet gals are so good to him.

So I was pretty sure he'd be fine, and I hadn't been paged or anything, but there was a little trepidation in my heart as I left the studio. By the time I approached the kid's center's door (about sixty seconds later) I had come to the conclusion that I was a terrible! mother!

"I probably should have stayed with him for a while. What was I thinking? This is nothing like the church nursery! WAY bigger! Ten times the number of children. And not seperated by age, like he's used to. Why, one of those giant oafy looking three year olds is probably pushing my itsum bitsum off a slide right this minute. Walk faster. Hang on baby, mama's almost there! Or wait. He and little Meghan, from church, have been known to get into spats over pacifiers and rocking horses. But she's a feist, like he is, and holds her own. What if my little menace has cleaned someone's clock? I hate bullies! At the very least, there is no doubt that he has thrown a temper tantrum. Lord help anyone who takes anything away from or has to say no to our little man. I should have warned them about that."

Whew! I was there. The very first thing I heard, before I'd even opened the door all the way, was a peal of laughter. His laughter. I don't know how to describe it, but just imagine the laughter of your baby, or your child when he or she was a baby, and you'll know that little giggle was angels' music to my ears.

I imagine there must have been dozens of other noises and voices, but his was the only thing I heard. Aha! This must be how penguin mothers pick their little one out of the crowd. God is amazing.

I scanned the room for my little penguin, eager to take him in with my eyes until I could get my arms around him. I'd been gone almost an hour, after all.

The room is huge. There is a little gym/court area, a quiet area with cribs and swings, a movie area, a baby-gated play area (where I'd left him), and in between all this, a half dozen toy stations. About 20 two and three year olds were sitting on the floor, watching a Disney video. (It's kid center's busiest time of day so they, smartly, choose this hour for movie watching. I don't hold it against them. It was a gaggle of children.) The baby area was full of caregivers with babies on their laps or in exersaucers. But where, oh where was Nicknack? I could still hear him squealing with delight.

Finally, I found him. He was all by himself, playing with one of those pretend kitchens. (I don't think I've told you this, but Penn is a professional chef.) Just standing there, turning knobs, opening doors, and just generally cracking himself up. He looked so little and silly from across that big room.

I could just eat him up.

You should know that Nicknack has never been a very demonstrative baby. For the first nine months of his life he showed little interest in me and never acknowledged, in any way, that he knew who I was. This bothered me at times. My Bible study ladies assured me that this is healthy. He is independent. He is well adusted. He feels secure. I wouldn't want a clingy baby, would I? Would I? Noooo, of course I wouldn't. Wink wink.

But in the past month or two he's delighted me by demonstrating mild happiness to see me when I pick him up from nursery or return from an outing. When I play on the floor with him I am sometimes on the receiving end of a hug. Or at least his version of a hug, which is more like a gentle headbutt. On the rarest of occasions, these are accompanied by a sloppy (but cherished!) kiss/bite. And every once in a while, if he's really tired, he'll let me rock him, like when he was little. If he's actually in the process of falling asleep, he'll rest his tired little head on my shoulder or under my chin. If he's not quite ready to give up the ghost he'll lay in my arms, looking at me. He touches my teeth (?), plays with my hair, or pats my face a little too hard as I wonder what in the world I did to deserve him. (Answer: nothing.)

My point is, I live for this stuff, and it's not an everyday occurence.

Today he pulled out all the stops. I got a headbutt/hug. I got a monster's kiss. I got another kiss. I got another hug. He crawled up and onto my lap. We played kitchen together for a few minutes, then he lifted up his hands for me to pick him up, and I knew it was time to go home.

During the car ride I kept thinking of that joy fillled giggle of his and reliving our moment together. I couldn't wait to tell Penn all about it. But I had to because I forgot my cell phone.

One of the many wonderful things about being somebody's mother is sharing it with somebody's father. Because there is only one other person on the planet who knows exactly what Nicknack's different laughs sound like. And will imitate each one with me, when we're somewhere together, without him. And missing him. He's the only other person who cares to hear every detail of our daily adventures. And, most importantly, he's the only other person who really and truly realizes how super cute our child is. Other people have the gall and audacity to think their kid is the cutest. It's the weirdest thing.

I came home, put Nicknack down for a nap, and called Penn.

Despite the fact that I made a total nerd of myself in class today, it was a wonderful first trip to the gym.