A million years ago I was a nanny. I traveled quite a bit with the family, but the trip that stands out in my mind was the time the Dad and I took the two boys by ourselves, while Mom stayed home with the new baby.
Thanks to the combined efforts of the Mom, the Housekeeper, the Laundress, and myself, we were extremely well-prepared. We shipped the bags and car seats ahead of time so that we didn't have any pesky luggage to worry about. We had a carefully planned itinerary to stick to. The travel agent had coordinated our car service and other logistical details - all we had to do was show up. It should have been the least stressful trip in the world.
Unfortunately, we ran into some bad weather at the airport and were stuck out on the runway for about 90 minutes, waiting for our turn to take off. In the meantime, the younger brother (age 2 and a few months) threw a tantrum. Like, the entire time. Like, the loudest and most enthusiastic tantrum I'd ever seen.
We were in the first row of first class, just a few feet from a stern and eagle-eyed flight attendant. All the little mister wanted was for us to unbuckle his seatbelt. I tried to stealthily unlatch it while the mean lady was looking the other way, but she noticed immediately (probably because the crying/screaming/wailing/kicking suddenly stopped). She then proceeded to remind us in a nasally monotone about FAA regulation blah-blah-blah which states blah-blah-blah... basically, he had to wear the seatbelt. No exceptions. Buckle up or get off the aircraft. Then she stood guard for the duration of our wait to make sure that we complied. I know she was just doing her job but it was hard to remember that, what with all the screeching and hollering.
It probably doesn't sound like a big deal, but it was extremely stressful. Upsetting. And mortifying.
Ever since that incident I've always said I'd never fly anywhere with my children until the youngest was at least three. Until then, car trips would be good enough for us.
Except for the fact that my cousin got married and is having the reception in August. In Alaska. Have you ever driven the Al-Can Highway? With a toddler? For one thing, it would take us a week to get there and back.
I decided I just wouldn't go to the reception, especially since Penn has to work and I'd be traveling with Nicknack all by myself. Oh, and six months pregnant.
But I can't shake off the nagging feeling that I absolutely need to go. I don't want to miss it! And I can't leave Nicknack at home, so he has to come along.
So now the great debate has begun. I've been waffling back and forth all day. Should I book our seats in coach and just hope and pray that 24 hours before each flight I'll be able do web check-in and pay the extra $200 (each way) to upgrade us to first class? Or should I bite the bullet and pay the $1000 (!) extra to just book us in first class now, so I don't have to worry about it until August. Or we could just deal with coach.
I just can't imagine my big-fat-pregnant bee-hind squeezed into a middle seat. And if Nicknack is in his giant carseat in the aisle seat, what a pain for the person in the window seat to get in and out. On the other hand, if Nicknack is in the window seat, what if he needs to get up and go potty or wants to walk up and down the aisle? Either way the third person in our row will be disturbed.
Worst of all, what if Nicknack throws a huge fit and the that random person sitting next to us gets upset? The flights to Alaska are packed in the summer, so we are sure to have a neighbor.
Of course, if we're in coach there are likely to be a more families/children so there might be other kids misbehaving and the other travelers might be more sympathetic to an unruly little person.
What do you think? Have you traveled with a toddler before? Do you have any advice? Do you think I need the extra space/privacy of first class so as not to annoy the heck out of an unsuspecting stranger? Can I risk the fact that we might get stuck in coach if I don't cough up the extra money now? I hate to waste money? And if we don't, should we sit in the aisle/middle or window/middle?
Did I mention that Nicknack will be the exact same age as that little boy was when he threw that big fit?
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Thursday, May 8, 2008
I've started to write this post a half dozen times and I either get interrupted or don't like what I've written.
So let me just get right to the point.
We're expecting another baby! Yay!
I found out two days after I wrote my last post. No wonder I was in a sentimental mood! I was already pregnant.
We've taken a test every two weeks since Nicknack was about six months old. We weren't sure how best to space our kids, but we immediately knew we wanted another, God willing. We weren't sure if God would bless us in this way, again. We've always wanted to adopt (and still do), so we wondered if that was God's plan for us now.
But one morning, as I was rushing around to finish packing for a weekend trip I suddenly realized that I'd been feeling seasick for a few days. And I was really, really, really tiiiiiiired. So on a whim, I took another test. It was immediately positive. Two happy pink lines that took my breath away. (Yes, it's taped to the fridge, just like last time.)
I'd been planning on telling Penn in a cute or creative way, should we ever have the joy of another positive pregnancy test. But instead I flung open the shower door and shoved the piece of plastic in his confused, soapy face. He was not wearing his glasses, so I also had to tell him what I was showing him and why.
Then I ran to tell Nicknack, who was eating his breakfast and enjoying the antics of his second family, the gang from Sesame Street. When I told him he was going to be a big brother he smiled at me with a mouthful of french toast. Even though he had no idea what I was sharing with him with such excitement, he was happy about it. It was sweet.
Unlike last time, we immediately accepted this pregnancy and celebrated with a lot less worry. The first time around it just seemed to good to be true. This time it is not as shocking, since we know it is possible.
I feel like we've won the lottery, twice!
It's still pretty early and we don't have a real due date yet. Probably the third week of November, sometime around Thanksgiving.
So we have tons of time to get Nicknack moved to his "big boy" room, unpack all the infant clothing, and come up with the perfect name. If you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them!
In the meantime I'm looking forward to moving out of the first trimester and the fatigue that comes with it. I don't remember being this tired with Nicknack. But I could have a selective memory. Also, I didn't have a toddler to chase after and clean up after. And I had a lot more time for naps.
I can't wait until that nesting instinct kicks in! I distinctly remember scrubbing our garage doors and exterior window sills with kitchen cleaner when I was about eight months pregnant. Lest you think I'm a fastidious housekeeper, I haven't done any such thing since. So I'm thinking it was pregnancy-related.
We're off to the Oregon this weekend to visit my Dad, the lovely coast, and Sesame Street Live! (Thank you for the idea, Sunni!
Have a wonderful spring weekend!
So let me just get right to the point.
We're expecting another baby! Yay!
I found out two days after I wrote my last post. No wonder I was in a sentimental mood! I was already pregnant.
We've taken a test every two weeks since Nicknack was about six months old. We weren't sure how best to space our kids, but we immediately knew we wanted another, God willing. We weren't sure if God would bless us in this way, again. We've always wanted to adopt (and still do), so we wondered if that was God's plan for us now.
But one morning, as I was rushing around to finish packing for a weekend trip I suddenly realized that I'd been feeling seasick for a few days. And I was really, really, really tiiiiiiired. So on a whim, I took another test. It was immediately positive. Two happy pink lines that took my breath away. (Yes, it's taped to the fridge, just like last time.)
I'd been planning on telling Penn in a cute or creative way, should we ever have the joy of another positive pregnancy test. But instead I flung open the shower door and shoved the piece of plastic in his confused, soapy face. He was not wearing his glasses, so I also had to tell him what I was showing him and why.
Then I ran to tell Nicknack, who was eating his breakfast and enjoying the antics of his second family, the gang from Sesame Street. When I told him he was going to be a big brother he smiled at me with a mouthful of french toast. Even though he had no idea what I was sharing with him with such excitement, he was happy about it. It was sweet.
Unlike last time, we immediately accepted this pregnancy and celebrated with a lot less worry. The first time around it just seemed to good to be true. This time it is not as shocking, since we know it is possible.
I feel like we've won the lottery, twice!
It's still pretty early and we don't have a real due date yet. Probably the third week of November, sometime around Thanksgiving.
So we have tons of time to get Nicknack moved to his "big boy" room, unpack all the infant clothing, and come up with the perfect name. If you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them!
In the meantime I'm looking forward to moving out of the first trimester and the fatigue that comes with it. I don't remember being this tired with Nicknack. But I could have a selective memory. Also, I didn't have a toddler to chase after and clean up after. And I had a lot more time for naps.
I can't wait until that nesting instinct kicks in! I distinctly remember scrubbing our garage doors and exterior window sills with kitchen cleaner when I was about eight months pregnant. Lest you think I'm a fastidious housekeeper, I haven't done any such thing since. So I'm thinking it was pregnancy-related.
We're off to the Oregon this weekend to visit my Dad, the lovely coast, and Sesame Street Live! (Thank you for the idea, Sunni!
Have a wonderful spring weekend!
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Jury Duty
Poor Penn. He is on his third full day of jury duty selection, and they still haven't chosen the actual jury. It's been a very frustrating and inefficient process. We are just crossing our fingers that he won't get chosen for this four week criminal trial in downtown Seattle. He would have to spend his days at the courtroom and then cram his normal ten or eleven hour work day into about four hours in the evening. This is what he's been doing for the past few days and it has required leaving before Nicholas gets up in the morning and returning home after I've put him to bed. He's hoping to be dismissed this afternoon.
I can't help but blush when I think of the one and only time I was called for jury duty.
It was a few years ago. My group at Washington Mutual, the Innovation and Consumer Research Group, had just been "disbanded." I was "working from home" until my official lay off date. This involved checking my e-mail a few times a day and... that's just about it. So when I received my jury summons in the mail I figured the timing was perfect. Someone has to be on juries, and many people find it to be very disruptive to their schedules, jobs, families, and finances. Not true in my case.
I was almost looking forward to it. After all, it was my civic duty.
I went to our little local courthouse on a Monday morning in September. It was a three minute drive from our house. The wait wasn't very long at all. I hardly had any time to read the book I'd brought. We were speedily questioned and I was the first name called for the first jury. I felt kind of proud. Like I'd won some kind of good citizen award. The case lasted until Thursday, when we easily reached a unanimous decision. Guilty of DUI.
The only really terrible part was walking back into the courtroom after making the decision, and especially filing past the defendant trying to make the same casually friendly amount of eye contact I had all week. It was excruciating waiting for the verdict to be read. Imagine how he must have felt. He was very pleasant about it and even thanked us afterward. He didn't seem surprised at all. He was just... very humble.
That night, as I tried to fall asleep, I couldn't get him out of my mind. I couldn't stop seeing the expression on his face. I kept replaying every word he'd said in the trial. I couldn't shake the thought, "What if we were wrong!?" I had nightmares that night and slept terribly.
And, unfortunately, I had to go back the very next day to see if I might be selected for another jury.
I woke up early that Friday morning. And I realized something. Something I was expecting hadn't arrived. So I took a test, just in case. I didn't get my hopes up, as I'd taken dozens of these tests in the 15 or 16 months that we'd been trying to conceive. I'd been visiting my OB/Gyn several times a month for follicle studies and shots. The last visit had been the worst. It appeared that I hadn't ovulated at all that month, rather than just being way later than the average woman. My doctor was troubled and I'd sat in her office crying as she said doubtfully, "It's possible that you ovulated much earlier than usual... Stranger things have happened."
A blood test confirmed that I had, indeed ovulated. I held out a tiny bit of hope that maybe this month would be the month, but it wasn't likely. I couldn't even remember if Penn and I had timed things correctly, since we hadn't known we should be ttc so much earlier than usual.
It had been almost three weeks since that visit, and I'd already gotten a negative pregnancy test on Monday or Tuesday. But that Friday morning I decided I'd better take another test, just to be sure.
I don't know about you, but I can never wait the recommended two or three minutes, so I just stare at the thing until the results appear. Trying to will that second line to appear. This particular test was of the plus or minus variety. Before I could even go through my normal routine of mentally bracing myself for a negative response, it was positive.
My body reacted before my brain did. I was shaking and crying before my mind even recognized the symbol as a plus. I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. I thought of all the times I'd looked down at a negative test with tears in my eyes, wondering if I'd ever know what it was like to see that blessed positive sign or second line appear.
I was over the moon. Ecstatic would be a huge, huge understatement. Hysterical. Blubbering. Shaking. I was violently happy.
Penn was sleeping. I stumbled out of the bathroom and tried to control my voice, but accidentally scream-whispered "PENN!" (We had houseguests in the next room, by the way.) I attempted to regain my composure as I calmly screamed "PENN!!!!" and added "canyoulookatsomethingplease?" Penn literally JUMPED up out of bed with the confused and alarmed expression of one who is abruptly and urgently yanked out of a deep sleep. At first, he thought there was a big spider in the bathroom that I needed help with.
He was as overwhelmed as I was and we just sat on the bed looking at the test, screaming in hushed voices, crying, hugging, then looking at the test again. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
I kept saying over and over, "Let's not get our hopes up!" And, yet, I did. We called the 1-800 number on the box to verify that the light line was still a "real" line. We figured out our due date. We did a happy dance and jumped up and down.
Then I had to rush to get ready for jury duty.
That morning at the courthouse was not pretty. I was seated in the very first row, against the wall, so I was the first one called when they asked us to raise our hands if we would rather not serve on a jury that day. I was asked to stand and explain why.
"Um, well, see, I was on a jury earlier this week, and, um, I've just been kind of HAUNTED by our verdict, you know, just kind of questioning, what if we made the wrong decision, feeling very guilty about it, and very stressed about it, and I thought about it all night, and even had nightmares about it, and well, it's just too much responsibility for me, and I don't think I'm cut out to be on a jury, thank you."
As I stood there waiting for the the prosecutor and defense attorney to whisper amongst themselves, I realized I was kind of...well, crying, actually. I wasn't sure why. But... Yes, I was definitely crying. Perhaps no one had noticed. Being in the front row most of the other hundreds of people were behind me. I was pretty sure I was disguising my emotion fairly well. I started to calm down. Until the person behind me offered me a tissue.
And that just made it so much worse. I am a sympathetic crier. If someone else cries, for any reason, I will cry. Last night, for example, I cried while watching "Girlicious, the Search for the Next Pussycat Doll." One of the girls was homesick and crying, so I cried, too. The other thing about being a sympathetic crier is that if anyone shows any sympathy for me, as the crier, it will be ten times worse.
I tried so hard not to lose it. I had no real reason to cry. I was just so emotionally raw from receiving the biggest and best news of my life earlier in the morning. And the sympathetic look of the gentleman who gave me the tissue was just too much to bear.
You know when your mouth gets all sticky and your throat feels dry and tight and you wipe your eyes and can tell that your eyelids are all swollen? Almost like an allergic reaction. I could just feel the ugly cry face coming on.
The prosecutor continued to question me, although my answers were becoming less and less coherant. He paused and looked at me and asked, "Mrs. Hox, Don't you think that, because you obviously take this responsibility so seriously, it means that you would make a good juror?" (Or something to that effect.)
All I could say was "Noooooooooo!" sob, sob, sniffle
Relenting, he asked, "Mrs. Hox, Would you like me to ask the judge if he will dismiss you from jury duty today?"
"Yeeeeessssssss." sniffle, sob, blubber
He went over and conferred with the judge, who kindly said, "Thank you for your service, Mrs. Hox, you are free to leave."
I edged past the dozen people in my row, shoulders heaving, and walked out of the courtroom - facing all the other potential jurors in their rows - with tears and snot streaming down my face. It was so, so humiliating. A few of the people from my jury group waved at me on my way out. They must have thought I was emotionally unstable.
As I got in my car and tried to fix my face I said out loud to myself, twice: "Either I am pregnant or I have gone crazy."
I came home and took another test, and called Penn, my doctor, and my mother. Then I taped those two tests to the fridge. They served as a reminder - until it became physically apparent - that I wasn't dreaming. My mother even took a photo of me, beaming with pride, in front of the fridge by those purple pieces of plastic that revealed my destiny. Motherhood.
Next to the day Nicholas was born, that was the best the day of my life. Jury duty and all.
I can't help but blush when I think of the one and only time I was called for jury duty.
It was a few years ago. My group at Washington Mutual, the Innovation and Consumer Research Group, had just been "disbanded." I was "working from home" until my official lay off date. This involved checking my e-mail a few times a day and... that's just about it. So when I received my jury summons in the mail I figured the timing was perfect. Someone has to be on juries, and many people find it to be very disruptive to their schedules, jobs, families, and finances. Not true in my case.
I was almost looking forward to it. After all, it was my civic duty.
I went to our little local courthouse on a Monday morning in September. It was a three minute drive from our house. The wait wasn't very long at all. I hardly had any time to read the book I'd brought. We were speedily questioned and I was the first name called for the first jury. I felt kind of proud. Like I'd won some kind of good citizen award. The case lasted until Thursday, when we easily reached a unanimous decision. Guilty of DUI.
The only really terrible part was walking back into the courtroom after making the decision, and especially filing past the defendant trying to make the same casually friendly amount of eye contact I had all week. It was excruciating waiting for the verdict to be read. Imagine how he must have felt. He was very pleasant about it and even thanked us afterward. He didn't seem surprised at all. He was just... very humble.
That night, as I tried to fall asleep, I couldn't get him out of my mind. I couldn't stop seeing the expression on his face. I kept replaying every word he'd said in the trial. I couldn't shake the thought, "What if we were wrong!?" I had nightmares that night and slept terribly.
And, unfortunately, I had to go back the very next day to see if I might be selected for another jury.
I woke up early that Friday morning. And I realized something. Something I was expecting hadn't arrived. So I took a test, just in case. I didn't get my hopes up, as I'd taken dozens of these tests in the 15 or 16 months that we'd been trying to conceive. I'd been visiting my OB/Gyn several times a month for follicle studies and shots. The last visit had been the worst. It appeared that I hadn't ovulated at all that month, rather than just being way later than the average woman. My doctor was troubled and I'd sat in her office crying as she said doubtfully, "It's possible that you ovulated much earlier than usual... Stranger things have happened."
A blood test confirmed that I had, indeed ovulated. I held out a tiny bit of hope that maybe this month would be the month, but it wasn't likely. I couldn't even remember if Penn and I had timed things correctly, since we hadn't known we should be ttc so much earlier than usual.
It had been almost three weeks since that visit, and I'd already gotten a negative pregnancy test on Monday or Tuesday. But that Friday morning I decided I'd better take another test, just to be sure.
I don't know about you, but I can never wait the recommended two or three minutes, so I just stare at the thing until the results appear. Trying to will that second line to appear. This particular test was of the plus or minus variety. Before I could even go through my normal routine of mentally bracing myself for a negative response, it was positive.
My body reacted before my brain did. I was shaking and crying before my mind even recognized the symbol as a plus. I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. I thought of all the times I'd looked down at a negative test with tears in my eyes, wondering if I'd ever know what it was like to see that blessed positive sign or second line appear.
I was over the moon. Ecstatic would be a huge, huge understatement. Hysterical. Blubbering. Shaking. I was violently happy.
Penn was sleeping. I stumbled out of the bathroom and tried to control my voice, but accidentally scream-whispered "PENN!" (We had houseguests in the next room, by the way.) I attempted to regain my composure as I calmly screamed "PENN!!!!" and added "canyoulookatsomethingplease?" Penn literally JUMPED up out of bed with the confused and alarmed expression of one who is abruptly and urgently yanked out of a deep sleep. At first, he thought there was a big spider in the bathroom that I needed help with.
He was as overwhelmed as I was and we just sat on the bed looking at the test, screaming in hushed voices, crying, hugging, then looking at the test again. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
I kept saying over and over, "Let's not get our hopes up!" And, yet, I did. We called the 1-800 number on the box to verify that the light line was still a "real" line. We figured out our due date. We did a happy dance and jumped up and down.
Then I had to rush to get ready for jury duty.
That morning at the courthouse was not pretty. I was seated in the very first row, against the wall, so I was the first one called when they asked us to raise our hands if we would rather not serve on a jury that day. I was asked to stand and explain why.
"Um, well, see, I was on a jury earlier this week, and, um, I've just been kind of HAUNTED by our verdict, you know, just kind of questioning, what if we made the wrong decision, feeling very guilty about it, and very stressed about it, and I thought about it all night, and even had nightmares about it, and well, it's just too much responsibility for me, and I don't think I'm cut out to be on a jury, thank you."
As I stood there waiting for the the prosecutor and defense attorney to whisper amongst themselves, I realized I was kind of...well, crying, actually. I wasn't sure why. But... Yes, I was definitely crying. Perhaps no one had noticed. Being in the front row most of the other hundreds of people were behind me. I was pretty sure I was disguising my emotion fairly well. I started to calm down. Until the person behind me offered me a tissue.
And that just made it so much worse. I am a sympathetic crier. If someone else cries, for any reason, I will cry. Last night, for example, I cried while watching "Girlicious, the Search for the Next Pussycat Doll." One of the girls was homesick and crying, so I cried, too. The other thing about being a sympathetic crier is that if anyone shows any sympathy for me, as the crier, it will be ten times worse.
I tried so hard not to lose it. I had no real reason to cry. I was just so emotionally raw from receiving the biggest and best news of my life earlier in the morning. And the sympathetic look of the gentleman who gave me the tissue was just too much to bear.
You know when your mouth gets all sticky and your throat feels dry and tight and you wipe your eyes and can tell that your eyelids are all swollen? Almost like an allergic reaction. I could just feel the ugly cry face coming on.
The prosecutor continued to question me, although my answers were becoming less and less coherant. He paused and looked at me and asked, "Mrs. Hox, Don't you think that, because you obviously take this responsibility so seriously, it means that you would make a good juror?" (Or something to that effect.)
All I could say was "Noooooooooo!" sob, sob, sniffle
Relenting, he asked, "Mrs. Hox, Would you like me to ask the judge if he will dismiss you from jury duty today?"
"Yeeeeessssssss." sniffle, sob, blubber
He went over and conferred with the judge, who kindly said, "Thank you for your service, Mrs. Hox, you are free to leave."
I edged past the dozen people in my row, shoulders heaving, and walked out of the courtroom - facing all the other potential jurors in their rows - with tears and snot streaming down my face. It was so, so humiliating. A few of the people from my jury group waved at me on my way out. They must have thought I was emotionally unstable.
As I got in my car and tried to fix my face I said out loud to myself, twice: "Either I am pregnant or I have gone crazy."
I came home and took another test, and called Penn, my doctor, and my mother. Then I taped those two tests to the fridge. They served as a reminder - until it became physically apparent - that I wasn't dreaming. My mother even took a photo of me, beaming with pride, in front of the fridge by those purple pieces of plastic that revealed my destiny. Motherhood.
Next to the day Nicholas was born, that was the best the day of my life. Jury duty and all.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Fear
A couple of weeks ago I went to bed early. I awoke at 11pm or so to the sound of Penn rummaging around our bedroom, for a flashlight. "How can you sleep through that?!" he asked in a stage whisper. I listened. There was a very loud helicopter hovering over our home. It had apparently been doing so for several minutes. It's search light was sweeping the steep wooded cliff that runs along the other side of our backyard fence, and those of our neighbors.
I jumped up, made sure Nicholas was still asleep in his bed and checked all the doors and windows. Penn looked out every window with a flashlight to make sure no one was around our house. He and I had a brief argument about whether or not all the lights in the house should be on or off. I was of the mind, ON. If there was someone out there I wanted him to know we were awake and at the ready! Penn felt very strongly that they should be OFF, so that we could see out but no one could see in. I realized he was right so we hunkered down at our respective bedroom windows and peeked through the curtains for a few minutes.
The search continued. The helicopter searchlight hovered for a minute on this neighbor's patio, a minute on that neighbor's tree, a minute on our own bushes. I tried to stay calm and not let my mind run away with me. "But really, what could it be?" I wondered. My first thought was escaped convict. Except, to my knowledge, we don't live near a prison. Missing person maybe? Dear God, it could be a body. I tried to think of something positive that could result in a helicopter search, but my mind drew a blank. So I waited and prayed.
Finally I couldn't take it. This thing had been hovering around our house for almost forty-five minutes by now! I turned on the TV and looked for a breaking story. Nothing. I opened my laptop and found a report on one of the local news channel's websites. There had just been a pitbull attack at our closest Target. One of the dogs had been shot by officers, the other was on the loose. It seemed kind of far away (at least five miles), but I guessed that a dog could run pretty far, pretty fast, if extremely motivated. I wasn't thrilled about the idea of a pitbull on a rampage in our neighborhood, but I immediately felt hugely relieved. There was no way it could get in our home. I got the stray cat inside and we promptly went to bed.
The helicopter must have been waiting on us, because almost the moment we said goodnight its noise started to fade and it was soon gone. I still had some residual butterflies in my stomach, so I prayed and fell asleep almost immediately.
Imagine my surprise when, yesterday, my husband handed me the neighborhood newsletter. I scanned the thing, wondering what in the world could have attracted my husband's attention. The upcoming Easter egg hunt, maybe? A change to the recycling pickup schedule, perhaps? At the bottom of the second page was a small blurb about the "excitement" in our neighborhood a couple of weeks prior. It turns out it was an armed robber on the loose. In our neighborhood! In our yards! I have no idea what this person robbed, but he'd led police on a chase right down our street. We live on cliffside lane that is full of sharp curves, steep hills, and lots of dead ends. The suspect had accidentally gotten lost in our 'hood and stuck on street that didn't go through. He'd abandoned his car on a neighbor's lawn and hoofed it. Right through our super quiet, little-old-lady-filled neighborhood.
I have no idea what to think of this. I'm not really worried, since it happened some time ago and I doubt he has any reason to come back. For heaven's sake, we live three doors down from a police officer. No one knows whether the robber was apprehended. I'd like to think so. But mostly I am exceedingly and overwhelmingly grateful that I didn't know what was really happening at the time it was happening. Obviously, it would have been a sleepless night. In fact, I'm fairly certain I would have lost my mind. I had already suggested to Penn that we all get in the car and drive to a hotel (before I found out about the pitbull incident). Penn shot that down right away. Luckily. Can you imagine if we'd opened our garage door and made ourselves vulnerable to someone - someone with a gun - in desperate need of a getaway vehicle!?
It may not seem like it from the details of this post, but God has really healed me from so much of the anxiety and fear I used to live with. Since childhood, I've spent the bulk of my nights lying awake, imaging worst case scenarios. What I would do in a fire. How I would react if there was an earthquake. Or nuclear-terrorist attack. My course of action if gunmen broke into the house. Or an axe murderer. Or a baby thief. What if something happened to my mother. Or Penn. Or me. Who would take care of Nicholas if Penn and I, and my parents all died? I would get so wrapped up in my imaginings that I often found myself trembling with fear or my eyes full of tears.
Talk about borrowing trouble! Why not wait until one of those things actually happened to feel the terror or grief of it?
There are so many Bible verses that speak to us about what to do with our anxieties and fears, as well as how to battle the evil of the world. The kind of evil that we see on the evening news or even willingly invite into our minds when we chose to watch certain television shows or movies. This is why I've had to swear off crime dramas and can't watch anything, fiction or non-fiction, about crashes of any kind. And I haven't watched anything remotely scary for years. Seriously, we rented Nancy Drew a couple of days ago and I was scared! My husband had to laugh at me with my hands over my eyes, peeking through my fingers. But it was suspenseful!
I've spent most of my life going to church every Sunday. And Sunday School, youth groups, the choir. But I never really got serious about Bible study or having a regular "quiet time" until the past couple of years. And It's really creating profound changes in a whole bunch of areas of my life, including fear and anxiety. I don't live under the cloud of fear or in the depression fog that consumed me for most of my adult life. I still have those same flashes of thought. My trigger thoughts. At night they tend to be either "What's that noise?" or worst of all "What if..." But I don't indulge them anymore.
It's kind of like when I quit chewing my nails many years ago. It wasn't that I quit cold turkey. I would have had to cover all my nails in band-aids to do that, because it was such an unconscious habit. Instead, the moment I caught myself chewing my nails I'd just stop, immediately. Sometimes I'd chew a whole nail off before I even noticed what I was doing. But pretty soon I noticed more quickly. And pretty soon I had stopped chewing my nails. Every once in a while I would briefly reverting back, and I would just stop in mid-chew, because it felt unnatural and because I had developed the habit to stop myself and choose another course.
I find that I have to do the same thing to keep my thoughts under control. I don't know how to go cold turkey from dark thoughts, because I don't have control of every thought that crosses my mind, before I think it. But every time I catch myself thinking the thoughts that I know I shouldn't, I stop. Sometimes I've gotten far along enough in my line of thinking that I'm already frightened or depressed. But more and more I notice almost right away that I just had a destructive thought.
Then I can do one of the many things the Bible instructs when I feel fear, anxiety, melancholy, etc. Rather than focusing on negative thoughts I can think about "whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right..." (Philippians 4:8). I can choose to turn away from my anxiety and "in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving" present my concerns to God. (Philippians 4:6) Why worry about something I can't handle when I can give those concerns to God and enjoy a good night's sleep? I can refuse to let the evil of the world overwhelm me and can instead "overcome evil with good." (Romans 12:21) I don't have the power to change the terrible things that are a part of each evening's news report. But I do have power. The power to pray. The power of good deeds to share the love of Christ with those who suffer. And the power to combat all the bad and dark things of this world by doing my best to glorify and share the one true source of goodness and light, Jesus Christ.
I can personally testify that God's instruction can lead to less anxiety and more sleep. And more importantly it has a radical impact on our souls and our needy world. And best of all, when we chose to believe and follow God's Word, we tell him that we have put our trust in him and in his ways, not our silly broken cistern way of life.
Is it just me, or is the Bible the best "self-help" book in all of creation? It works!
I jumped up, made sure Nicholas was still asleep in his bed and checked all the doors and windows. Penn looked out every window with a flashlight to make sure no one was around our house. He and I had a brief argument about whether or not all the lights in the house should be on or off. I was of the mind, ON. If there was someone out there I wanted him to know we were awake and at the ready! Penn felt very strongly that they should be OFF, so that we could see out but no one could see in. I realized he was right so we hunkered down at our respective bedroom windows and peeked through the curtains for a few minutes.
The search continued. The helicopter searchlight hovered for a minute on this neighbor's patio, a minute on that neighbor's tree, a minute on our own bushes. I tried to stay calm and not let my mind run away with me. "But really, what could it be?" I wondered. My first thought was escaped convict. Except, to my knowledge, we don't live near a prison. Missing person maybe? Dear God, it could be a body. I tried to think of something positive that could result in a helicopter search, but my mind drew a blank. So I waited and prayed.
Finally I couldn't take it. This thing had been hovering around our house for almost forty-five minutes by now! I turned on the TV and looked for a breaking story. Nothing. I opened my laptop and found a report on one of the local news channel's websites. There had just been a pitbull attack at our closest Target. One of the dogs had been shot by officers, the other was on the loose. It seemed kind of far away (at least five miles), but I guessed that a dog could run pretty far, pretty fast, if extremely motivated. I wasn't thrilled about the idea of a pitbull on a rampage in our neighborhood, but I immediately felt hugely relieved. There was no way it could get in our home. I got the stray cat inside and we promptly went to bed.
The helicopter must have been waiting on us, because almost the moment we said goodnight its noise started to fade and it was soon gone. I still had some residual butterflies in my stomach, so I prayed and fell asleep almost immediately.
Imagine my surprise when, yesterday, my husband handed me the neighborhood newsletter. I scanned the thing, wondering what in the world could have attracted my husband's attention. The upcoming Easter egg hunt, maybe? A change to the recycling pickup schedule, perhaps? At the bottom of the second page was a small blurb about the "excitement" in our neighborhood a couple of weeks prior. It turns out it was an armed robber on the loose. In our neighborhood! In our yards! I have no idea what this person robbed, but he'd led police on a chase right down our street. We live on cliffside lane that is full of sharp curves, steep hills, and lots of dead ends. The suspect had accidentally gotten lost in our 'hood and stuck on street that didn't go through. He'd abandoned his car on a neighbor's lawn and hoofed it. Right through our super quiet, little-old-lady-filled neighborhood.
I have no idea what to think of this. I'm not really worried, since it happened some time ago and I doubt he has any reason to come back. For heaven's sake, we live three doors down from a police officer. No one knows whether the robber was apprehended. I'd like to think so. But mostly I am exceedingly and overwhelmingly grateful that I didn't know what was really happening at the time it was happening. Obviously, it would have been a sleepless night. In fact, I'm fairly certain I would have lost my mind. I had already suggested to Penn that we all get in the car and drive to a hotel (before I found out about the pitbull incident). Penn shot that down right away. Luckily. Can you imagine if we'd opened our garage door and made ourselves vulnerable to someone - someone with a gun - in desperate need of a getaway vehicle!?
It may not seem like it from the details of this post, but God has really healed me from so much of the anxiety and fear I used to live with. Since childhood, I've spent the bulk of my nights lying awake, imaging worst case scenarios. What I would do in a fire. How I would react if there was an earthquake. Or nuclear-terrorist attack. My course of action if gunmen broke into the house. Or an axe murderer. Or a baby thief. What if something happened to my mother. Or Penn. Or me. Who would take care of Nicholas if Penn and I, and my parents all died? I would get so wrapped up in my imaginings that I often found myself trembling with fear or my eyes full of tears.
Talk about borrowing trouble! Why not wait until one of those things actually happened to feel the terror or grief of it?
There are so many Bible verses that speak to us about what to do with our anxieties and fears, as well as how to battle the evil of the world. The kind of evil that we see on the evening news or even willingly invite into our minds when we chose to watch certain television shows or movies. This is why I've had to swear off crime dramas and can't watch anything, fiction or non-fiction, about crashes of any kind. And I haven't watched anything remotely scary for years. Seriously, we rented Nancy Drew a couple of days ago and I was scared! My husband had to laugh at me with my hands over my eyes, peeking through my fingers. But it was suspenseful!
I've spent most of my life going to church every Sunday. And Sunday School, youth groups, the choir. But I never really got serious about Bible study or having a regular "quiet time" until the past couple of years. And It's really creating profound changes in a whole bunch of areas of my life, including fear and anxiety. I don't live under the cloud of fear or in the depression fog that consumed me for most of my adult life. I still have those same flashes of thought. My trigger thoughts. At night they tend to be either "What's that noise?" or worst of all "What if..." But I don't indulge them anymore.
It's kind of like when I quit chewing my nails many years ago. It wasn't that I quit cold turkey. I would have had to cover all my nails in band-aids to do that, because it was such an unconscious habit. Instead, the moment I caught myself chewing my nails I'd just stop, immediately. Sometimes I'd chew a whole nail off before I even noticed what I was doing. But pretty soon I noticed more quickly. And pretty soon I had stopped chewing my nails. Every once in a while I would briefly reverting back, and I would just stop in mid-chew, because it felt unnatural and because I had developed the habit to stop myself and choose another course.
I find that I have to do the same thing to keep my thoughts under control. I don't know how to go cold turkey from dark thoughts, because I don't have control of every thought that crosses my mind, before I think it. But every time I catch myself thinking the thoughts that I know I shouldn't, I stop. Sometimes I've gotten far along enough in my line of thinking that I'm already frightened or depressed. But more and more I notice almost right away that I just had a destructive thought.
Then I can do one of the many things the Bible instructs when I feel fear, anxiety, melancholy, etc. Rather than focusing on negative thoughts I can think about "whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right..." (Philippians 4:8). I can choose to turn away from my anxiety and "in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving" present my concerns to God. (Philippians 4:6) Why worry about something I can't handle when I can give those concerns to God and enjoy a good night's sleep? I can refuse to let the evil of the world overwhelm me and can instead "overcome evil with good." (Romans 12:21) I don't have the power to change the terrible things that are a part of each evening's news report. But I do have power. The power to pray. The power of good deeds to share the love of Christ with those who suffer. And the power to combat all the bad and dark things of this world by doing my best to glorify and share the one true source of goodness and light, Jesus Christ.
I can personally testify that God's instruction can lead to less anxiety and more sleep. And more importantly it has a radical impact on our souls and our needy world. And best of all, when we chose to believe and follow God's Word, we tell him that we have put our trust in him and in his ways, not our silly broken cistern way of life.
Is it just me, or is the Bible the best "self-help" book in all of creation? It works!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Spring is in the Air
Well, it's March, and you know what that means.
Spring Cleaning time! Woo hoo!
No, I'm serious. I love Spring Cleaning. Duh, not the actual cleaning part. The planning and the results. The work involved in between the two is worth it.
I started yesterday. I have a not terribly ambitious plan to tackle one room per day. I plan my attack in the morning and do the bulk of the work during Nicholas's two hour nap period. (Oh, the leisurely schedule of a mama of one child, right?) Then the rest of the afternoon I wrap up the loose ends.
Yesterday was the master bedroom. Today was the master bedroom closet. Yes, the closet get it's own day. It's huge and full of stuff! At this rate I will have the entire house and yard ship shape by March 22. (I'm not working on Sundays.) Even the garage and "study" for which I've allotted more than one day. If you saw either room, you'd understand.
Penn will chip in on his days off. I've assigned him boy chores like washing the outside windows, changing the lightbulbs, testing the smoke alarms, and all the tasks I find especially loathesome. Oh, and he's on spider patrol. Meaning he searches the room of the day for any spiders that may be lurking under the furniture or in the closet so they don't surprise me later.
The best part is that I'll be finished the day before Easter, the day before we host all our in-laws at our home, and the day before my birthday! (All three things fall on the same day this year.)
Phase two of Spring Cleaning will be projects around the house. Nothing expensive, since we could be moving in a few months. It could also be a few years, though, so we're going to address a few issues that have been bothering us since we moved in.
1. The kitchen linoleum. Circa 1959. We're replacing it with something very, very inexpensive. But it will be new and clean. Even when I scrub the floor with a brush it never looks clean! I can't wait.
2. THE FAUX WOOD PANELING. It covers every wall of the great room! Can you stand it? How have I lived with it this long, you must be wondering. It used to bother me every second of every day. Then I got over it and now I hardly notice it. We're going to paint it, using wood paneling primer/paint. If you've attempted a project like this please let me know!
3. Curtains. Or the lack thereof. Exactly two of the house's many, many, MANY windows have a treatment. I'm going to be using The Nester's window "mistreatment" techniques which require only fabric, upholstery tacks, some trim, and a glue gun! That's right, no hardware, lining, or SEWING! (Did I ever mention how much I hate sewing?)
4. Photos/frames/albums. All of which are in need of organization or need to be hung. It's shameful how bare our walls are.
Well, I'm off to vacuum dust bunnies and purge clutter.
PS I know it is not technically Spring yet, but it feels like Spring here in Seattle and that's good enough for me!
Spring Cleaning time! Woo hoo!
No, I'm serious. I love Spring Cleaning. Duh, not the actual cleaning part. The planning and the results. The work involved in between the two is worth it.
I started yesterday. I have a not terribly ambitious plan to tackle one room per day. I plan my attack in the morning and do the bulk of the work during Nicholas's two hour nap period. (Oh, the leisurely schedule of a mama of one child, right?) Then the rest of the afternoon I wrap up the loose ends.
Yesterday was the master bedroom. Today was the master bedroom closet. Yes, the closet get it's own day. It's huge and full of stuff! At this rate I will have the entire house and yard ship shape by March 22. (I'm not working on Sundays.) Even the garage and "study" for which I've allotted more than one day. If you saw either room, you'd understand.
Penn will chip in on his days off. I've assigned him boy chores like washing the outside windows, changing the lightbulbs, testing the smoke alarms, and all the tasks I find especially loathesome. Oh, and he's on spider patrol. Meaning he searches the room of the day for any spiders that may be lurking under the furniture or in the closet so they don't surprise me later.
The best part is that I'll be finished the day before Easter, the day before we host all our in-laws at our home, and the day before my birthday! (All three things fall on the same day this year.)
Phase two of Spring Cleaning will be projects around the house. Nothing expensive, since we could be moving in a few months. It could also be a few years, though, so we're going to address a few issues that have been bothering us since we moved in.
1. The kitchen linoleum. Circa 1959. We're replacing it with something very, very inexpensive. But it will be new and clean. Even when I scrub the floor with a brush it never looks clean! I can't wait.
2. THE FAUX WOOD PANELING. It covers every wall of the great room! Can you stand it? How have I lived with it this long, you must be wondering. It used to bother me every second of every day. Then I got over it and now I hardly notice it. We're going to paint it, using wood paneling primer/paint. If you've attempted a project like this please let me know!
3. Curtains. Or the lack thereof. Exactly two of the house's many, many, MANY windows have a treatment. I'm going to be using The Nester's window "mistreatment" techniques which require only fabric, upholstery tacks, some trim, and a glue gun! That's right, no hardware, lining, or SEWING! (Did I ever mention how much I hate sewing?)
4. Photos/frames/albums. All of which are in need of organization or need to be hung. It's shameful how bare our walls are.
Well, I'm off to vacuum dust bunnies and purge clutter.
PS I know it is not technically Spring yet, but it feels like Spring here in Seattle and that's good enough for me!
Friday, February 29, 2008
How to Know Whether or Not You Are Ready to Be a Parent Test
I just read this on an adoption web site and thought it was worth sharing:
How To Know Whether or Not You Are Ready to Be a Parent
Mess Test:
Smear peanut butter on the sofa and curtains.
Now rub your hands in the wet flowerbed and rub on the walls.
Cover the stains with crayons.
Place a fish stick behind the couch and leave it there all summer.
Toy Test:
Obtain a 55-gallon box of Legos.
Have a friend spread them all over the house.
Put on a blindfold. Try to walk to the bathroom or kitchen.
Do not scream. (this could wake a child at night.)
Grocery Store Test:
Borrow one or two small animals (goats are best) and take them with you as you shop at the grocery store.
Always keep them in sight and pay for anything they eat or damage.
Dressing Test:
Obtain one live octopus.
Stuff into a small net bag making sure that all arms stay inside.
Feeding Test:
Obtain a large plastic milk jug. Fill halfway with water.
Suspend from the ceiling with a cord.
Start the jug swinging.
Try to insert spoonfuls of soggy cereal (such as Fruit Loops or Cheerios) into the mouth of the jug, while pretending to be an airplane.
When finished, dump the contents of the jug on the floor.
Night Test:
Prepare by obtaining a small cloth bag and fill it with 8 -12 pounds of sand.
Soak it thoroughly in water.
At 8:00 PM begin to waltz and hum with the bag until 9:00 PM.
Lay down your bag and set your alarm for 10:00 PM.
Get up, pick up your bag, and sing every song you have ever heard.
Make up about a dozen more and sing these too until 4:00 AM.
Set alarm for 6:00 AM. Get up and make breakfast.
Keep this up for a few years. Look cheerful.
Physical Test:
Go to the nearest store that sells diapers.
Set your wallet on the counter.
Ask the clerk to help himself.
Now proceed to the nearest grocery store.
Call your employer and arrange for your paycheck to be directly deposited to the store.
While you're there, purchase a newspaper. Go home and read it quietly for the last time.
Final Assignment:
Find a couple who already has a small child.
Give them many, many helpful suggestions about on how they can improve their discipline, patience, tolerance, toilet training, and child's table manners.
Emphasize to them that they should never allow their children to run riot.
Enjoy this experience. It will be the last time you will have all the answers.
And if after all this you realize there can be nothing better, then you're ready!
~ Author Unknown
Okay, the sleep part might be a little exaggerated, but the mess test is spot on.
And I have photographic proof. Here is what happens when one very stupid mama talks on the phone for fifteen minutes, around the corner and out of sight (although not earshot) from her toddler, who discovers the game cupboard.
Ta DA! (should be blown up for full experience)
I like this photo because if you look closely you can see a little Risk character in mid fling.
The best part was sliding on the cards.
How To Know Whether or Not You Are Ready to Be a Parent
Mess Test:
Smear peanut butter on the sofa and curtains.
Now rub your hands in the wet flowerbed and rub on the walls.
Cover the stains with crayons.
Place a fish stick behind the couch and leave it there all summer.
Toy Test:
Obtain a 55-gallon box of Legos.
Have a friend spread them all over the house.
Put on a blindfold. Try to walk to the bathroom or kitchen.
Do not scream. (this could wake a child at night.)
Grocery Store Test:
Borrow one or two small animals (goats are best) and take them with you as you shop at the grocery store.
Always keep them in sight and pay for anything they eat or damage.
Dressing Test:
Obtain one live octopus.
Stuff into a small net bag making sure that all arms stay inside.
Feeding Test:
Obtain a large plastic milk jug. Fill halfway with water.
Suspend from the ceiling with a cord.
Start the jug swinging.
Try to insert spoonfuls of soggy cereal (such as Fruit Loops or Cheerios) into the mouth of the jug, while pretending to be an airplane.
When finished, dump the contents of the jug on the floor.
Night Test:
Prepare by obtaining a small cloth bag and fill it with 8 -12 pounds of sand.
Soak it thoroughly in water.
At 8:00 PM begin to waltz and hum with the bag until 9:00 PM.
Lay down your bag and set your alarm for 10:00 PM.
Get up, pick up your bag, and sing every song you have ever heard.
Make up about a dozen more and sing these too until 4:00 AM.
Set alarm for 6:00 AM. Get up and make breakfast.
Keep this up for a few years. Look cheerful.
Physical Test:
Go to the nearest store that sells diapers.
Set your wallet on the counter.
Ask the clerk to help himself.
Now proceed to the nearest grocery store.
Call your employer and arrange for your paycheck to be directly deposited to the store.
While you're there, purchase a newspaper. Go home and read it quietly for the last time.
Final Assignment:
Find a couple who already has a small child.
Give them many, many helpful suggestions about on how they can improve their discipline, patience, tolerance, toilet training, and child's table manners.
Emphasize to them that they should never allow their children to run riot.
Enjoy this experience. It will be the last time you will have all the answers.
And if after all this you realize there can be nothing better, then you're ready!
~ Author Unknown
Okay, the sleep part might be a little exaggerated, but the mess test is spot on.
And I have photographic proof. Here is what happens when one very stupid mama talks on the phone for fifteen minutes, around the corner and out of sight (although not earshot) from her toddler, who discovers the game cupboard.
Ta DA! (should be blown up for full experience)
I like this photo because if you look closely you can see a little Risk character in mid fling.
The best part was sliding on the cards.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
My First Haircut
I got my hair cut yesterday! Three inches off, woo hoo!
But the "first" haircut to which I refer is the cut I gave Nicholas this afternoon. My first time cutting hair. Other than my own bangs, but I won't go into that traumatic story. Let me just urge you not to cut your own bangs a week before your child's baptism. Unless you like the look of 3/4 inch bangs.
I was just about ready to book Nicholas's third haircut at the adorable children's salon in our neck of the woods. Then I started thinking about how many children we might someday have (I want five, Penn wants three, so let's just say four) and calculated that 4 x $25 a pop kid haircuts + $$ (Penn's haircuts) + $$$$ (my haircuts) = a lot!
So I figured I'd better learn how to cut my own children's hair and why not start today?
Let me just say that my own stylist and my Mother-in-Law both encouraged me, telling me how easy it would be. I should have thought about that a little bit. Of course it's easy for my stylist to cut her son's hair. She went to beauty school! And my Mother-in-Law... You know how if you don't have anything nice to say you shouldn't say anything at all? I'm not going to say a single word about my dear husband's childhood hair, as captured in circa 1975 photos and you can read between the lines.
But I didn't think of that. At least not until it was too late.
I was going to research on the internet and find a how-to-cut-your-toddler's-hair-guide, because you know there is one somewhere on the world wide web. But then I just decided to go for it. I'm one of those people who learns best by doing.
So I did.
It looks... um... well... kind of like his mom cut it.
The front looks very Dumb and Dumber (Lloyd, not Harry), but since we brush it to the side, it works. The main thing that was irking me were the too long sideburns, which looked very "Fab Four." So those look better although I cut them a little too much. But they're fine.
But the back. Oh dear. The back. I thought I would just need to snip off the shaggy ends at the neckline. Let's just ignore the fact that it's all jagged because of a certain squirmer. Besides that, it's just wrong. Choppy and... wrong. I'm hoping that it will grow out to look nicer in a couple of weeks.
I wouldn't really care that much about how it looks, since he doesn't turn two until the end of May. We have plenty of time for it to grow out before his two year portrait, birthday party, etc. It's just hair, it will grow.
But, unfortunately, the experience semi-traumatized him. He hardly noticed the nice lady was cutting his hair when he got to sit in the tractor chair and play with strange new toys. Sitting in his booster chair in the living room watching Super Why just didn't cut it. It didn't distract him at all. The sight of mama with a squirt bottle and scissors was all it took to set him off. He started wailing before the first snip and by the time I was finished there were little golden hairs stuck all over his wet (with tears and snot) face.
So it just wasn't a good experience and I don't know if we'll attempt it again at some point, or not. Maybe when he's older.
Have you ever cut your child's hair?
But the "first" haircut to which I refer is the cut I gave Nicholas this afternoon. My first time cutting hair. Other than my own bangs, but I won't go into that traumatic story. Let me just urge you not to cut your own bangs a week before your child's baptism. Unless you like the look of 3/4 inch bangs.
I was just about ready to book Nicholas's third haircut at the adorable children's salon in our neck of the woods. Then I started thinking about how many children we might someday have (I want five, Penn wants three, so let's just say four) and calculated that 4 x $25 a pop kid haircuts + $$ (Penn's haircuts) + $$$$ (my haircuts) = a lot!
So I figured I'd better learn how to cut my own children's hair and why not start today?
Let me just say that my own stylist and my Mother-in-Law both encouraged me, telling me how easy it would be. I should have thought about that a little bit. Of course it's easy for my stylist to cut her son's hair. She went to beauty school! And my Mother-in-Law... You know how if you don't have anything nice to say you shouldn't say anything at all? I'm not going to say a single word about my dear husband's childhood hair, as captured in circa 1975 photos and you can read between the lines.
But I didn't think of that. At least not until it was too late.
I was going to research on the internet and find a how-to-cut-your-toddler's-hair-guide, because you know there is one somewhere on the world wide web. But then I just decided to go for it. I'm one of those people who learns best by doing.
So I did.
It looks... um... well... kind of like his mom cut it.
The front looks very Dumb and Dumber (Lloyd, not Harry), but since we brush it to the side, it works. The main thing that was irking me were the too long sideburns, which looked very "Fab Four." So those look better although I cut them a little too much. But they're fine.
But the back. Oh dear. The back. I thought I would just need to snip off the shaggy ends at the neckline. Let's just ignore the fact that it's all jagged because of a certain squirmer. Besides that, it's just wrong. Choppy and... wrong. I'm hoping that it will grow out to look nicer in a couple of weeks.
I wouldn't really care that much about how it looks, since he doesn't turn two until the end of May. We have plenty of time for it to grow out before his two year portrait, birthday party, etc. It's just hair, it will grow.
But, unfortunately, the experience semi-traumatized him. He hardly noticed the nice lady was cutting his hair when he got to sit in the tractor chair and play with strange new toys. Sitting in his booster chair in the living room watching Super Why just didn't cut it. It didn't distract him at all. The sight of mama with a squirt bottle and scissors was all it took to set him off. He started wailing before the first snip and by the time I was finished there were little golden hairs stuck all over his wet (with tears and snot) face.
So it just wasn't a good experience and I don't know if we'll attempt it again at some point, or not. Maybe when he's older.
Have you ever cut your child's hair?
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Toddler Times
Nicholas is doing a few new things.
For starters, when I drop him off at the church nursery for my weekly Ladies Bible Study, and when Penn and I drop him off for church, he cries!
This is totally new for us. He never went through any "separation anxiety" that we could detect back when the baby books suggested he might. It was more like, "Don't let the door hit you on the way out, people!" I didn't know whether to feel slighted or relieved.
So all of a sudden, he cares when we say goodbye. I usually stay with him for five or ten minutes, getting him settled in and distracted. Then I sneak out, going so far as to crouch down and practically crawl away when the dutch door closes behind me. Okay, not practically. Literally.
I'm assuming this is a phase, and it isn't a big deal or anything. Just kind of out of character for our Mister Independent.
So now this week he has decided he loves! his! mama! Keep in mind he has hardly noticed me up to this point in his life. What I mean by that is that if there were four people in the room, he would never show much partiality to me at all. He liked mom. He just liked everyone else, too.
Last weekend the all-time-most-favorite-fascinating-and-fun-person, his Grandpa W came for a visit while my mother was out of state. And he brought with him their dog, Maddy. Nicholas drives her to distraction chasing her around and throwing balls at, I mean TO her. Then Gramsy came back and visited for a day, also.
When they left, I was expecting major water works, like usual. But instead he was incredibly clingy the rest of the day. And the day after that. And all week, in fact.
It's so strange! He just wants me all the time. If I sit somewhere, he pulls my hand to follow him. If I stand, he pulls my pant leg until I pick him up. Fifty times a day I hear "Mama!" (Music to my ears...) And I've even been on the receiving end of dozens of unsolicited kisses and hugs!
It really is a nice little phase.
But yesterday, by his bedtime I was exhausted! Frazzled! Worn out!
I shut myself in my bedroom and read most of the evening, while Penn watched TV in the living room.
I was telling my mother about this and she pointed out how tired mom's with clingy children must be all the time! I've always been a little (okay, more than a little) envious of those mother's blessed with a mama's boy or girl. And I still think it is wonderful. But now I see that it is also more demanding than an almost completely independent toddler.
So I'm adjusting my schedule so I can get things done before he wakes up and during his nap, so that I don't get frustrated when I don't get anything accomplished during his waking hours.
In other news, Nicholas went peeps in the potty for the first time the day before yesterday! Yay! I think we scared him with our celebratory exuberance and excitement.
We're going to be switching him to training pants (w/a waterproof liner for a while) once we run out of diapers. But we'll still keep him in his nighttime diapers at night. We're reading the book "Diaper Free Before Three" and I wish we had started when he turned one. (I'm filing this away in my mind for our next child.) It's a nice compromise between the ultra EC method of training and the wait-until-your-child-is-"ready" approach. I think it's interesting that in most other parts of the world (including most of Europe), children are potty trained much earlier than in the US. And even a couple of generations ago most children were potty trained around age two. I guess the increasingly absorbant properties of disposable diapers have contributed to the age of readiness getting pushed back farther and farther. It's kind of hard for a kid to decide the are ready if they have no incentive (like being uncomfortable or wet) to nudge them toward that readiness. I can't believe Nicholas is only 20 (and a half) months old and I already wish I'd done a whole bunch of things differently. Oh well.
Well, that's all that's new around here.
Oh, if you have a toddler and you don't already have bathtub crayons, I highly recommend them. The best $5 I've spent in a while. They are great for practicing letters, numbers, shapes, colors, and, of course, for scribbling. I purchased the kind that have a nice plastic shell around the crayon parts, so they don't break or get all melty and messy. They are wonderful!
Oh, and he's starting to say "Pees" and "Ay-Q", which just gets me -right there- every time. We've been terribly lax about his manners and it's like living with a monkey, much of the time. I'm so relieved that he's saying these words on his own. I had no idea how to go about teaching him this, since he doesn't listen to a word I say. I'm happy he's picked them up by osmosis. Actually, I guess this proves that he does listen to us, he just doesn't let on that he's listening. Now about those table manners...
For starters, when I drop him off at the church nursery for my weekly Ladies Bible Study, and when Penn and I drop him off for church, he cries!
This is totally new for us. He never went through any "separation anxiety" that we could detect back when the baby books suggested he might. It was more like, "Don't let the door hit you on the way out, people!" I didn't know whether to feel slighted or relieved.
So all of a sudden, he cares when we say goodbye. I usually stay with him for five or ten minutes, getting him settled in and distracted. Then I sneak out, going so far as to crouch down and practically crawl away when the dutch door closes behind me. Okay, not practically. Literally.
I'm assuming this is a phase, and it isn't a big deal or anything. Just kind of out of character for our Mister Independent.
So now this week he has decided he loves! his! mama! Keep in mind he has hardly noticed me up to this point in his life. What I mean by that is that if there were four people in the room, he would never show much partiality to me at all. He liked mom. He just liked everyone else, too.
Last weekend the all-time-most-favorite-fascinating-and-fun-person, his Grandpa W came for a visit while my mother was out of state. And he brought with him their dog, Maddy. Nicholas drives her to distraction chasing her around and throwing balls at, I mean TO her. Then Gramsy came back and visited for a day, also.
When they left, I was expecting major water works, like usual. But instead he was incredibly clingy the rest of the day. And the day after that. And all week, in fact.
It's so strange! He just wants me all the time. If I sit somewhere, he pulls my hand to follow him. If I stand, he pulls my pant leg until I pick him up. Fifty times a day I hear "Mama!" (Music to my ears...) And I've even been on the receiving end of dozens of unsolicited kisses and hugs!
It really is a nice little phase.
But yesterday, by his bedtime I was exhausted! Frazzled! Worn out!
I shut myself in my bedroom and read most of the evening, while Penn watched TV in the living room.
I was telling my mother about this and she pointed out how tired mom's with clingy children must be all the time! I've always been a little (okay, more than a little) envious of those mother's blessed with a mama's boy or girl. And I still think it is wonderful. But now I see that it is also more demanding than an almost completely independent toddler.
So I'm adjusting my schedule so I can get things done before he wakes up and during his nap, so that I don't get frustrated when I don't get anything accomplished during his waking hours.
In other news, Nicholas went peeps in the potty for the first time the day before yesterday! Yay! I think we scared him with our celebratory exuberance and excitement.
We're going to be switching him to training pants (w/a waterproof liner for a while) once we run out of diapers. But we'll still keep him in his nighttime diapers at night. We're reading the book "Diaper Free Before Three" and I wish we had started when he turned one. (I'm filing this away in my mind for our next child.) It's a nice compromise between the ultra EC method of training and the wait-until-your-child-is-"ready" approach. I think it's interesting that in most other parts of the world (including most of Europe), children are potty trained much earlier than in the US. And even a couple of generations ago most children were potty trained around age two. I guess the increasingly absorbant properties of disposable diapers have contributed to the age of readiness getting pushed back farther and farther. It's kind of hard for a kid to decide the are ready if they have no incentive (like being uncomfortable or wet) to nudge them toward that readiness. I can't believe Nicholas is only 20 (and a half) months old and I already wish I'd done a whole bunch of things differently. Oh well.
Well, that's all that's new around here.
Oh, if you have a toddler and you don't already have bathtub crayons, I highly recommend them. The best $5 I've spent in a while. They are great for practicing letters, numbers, shapes, colors, and, of course, for scribbling. I purchased the kind that have a nice plastic shell around the crayon parts, so they don't break or get all melty and messy. They are wonderful!
Oh, and he's starting to say "Pees" and "Ay-Q", which just gets me -right there- every time. We've been terribly lax about his manners and it's like living with a monkey, much of the time. I'm so relieved that he's saying these words on his own. I had no idea how to go about teaching him this, since he doesn't listen to a word I say. I'm happy he's picked them up by osmosis. Actually, I guess this proves that he does listen to us, he just doesn't let on that he's listening. Now about those table manners...
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