A plea for help

After David was excused from the dinner table, he went out in the backyard to play. A few minutes later, Greg and I, who were enjoying some nice adult conversation, heard a faint, "Help! Help me!" We ignored it at first, but quickly thought better of it. We found David stuck in the toy box outside.

(I want you all to know that David does wear shorts over his underpants in public, and even sometimes at home, though never when I feel inspired to take his picture.)

D is for David

Yesterday afternoon David and I were looking at alphabet flashcards together. He identified the letter D, and I turned the card over, where there was a picture of a duck. I said, "D is for duck." He laughed and said, "No, Silly Mommy! D is for David!"

Guess what David had for breakfast

After an extended solo adventure under the dining room table, Mary reemerged with this corn flake stuck to her chin. So David can be a bit of a messy eater . . . and Mary is loving it. As my Grandpa Wendel always said, food tastes better after it's been on the floor.

Like

This morning, with a thoughtful expression on his face, David informed me:

"I like Mary."

(How my heart lept with joy!)

I hope it stays that way.

Mary's mission accomplished

She's been determined ever since this. And today it happened. Mary put her hands in the toilet.


In other Mary news, she's clapping now, and it's really cute.

A note on the first picture in my last post

If you look at the first picture in my last post, you will notice a doll. This is David's baby, given to him last fall to help prepare him for Mary's birth. (It seemed like such a good idea. But it wasn't. All it did was convince him that all babies in the family belong to him and he should be the one to carry them around.) David clearly prefers trucks and trains to dolls, but he does show occasional interest in his baby.

Like Friday night, when out of nowhere he decided that he had to bring his baby to the Celtic Festival. It had been months since he so much as looked at that doll. He also had to bring her juice, milk, and bed. He tried to bring her stroller too, but that's where we drew the line. (Greg and I were traumatized in Egypt by an English couple whose toddler's comfort object was a doll stroller. They had to drag that stroller everywhere, and the image of that father negotiating the airport with suitcases, stroller, diaper bag, and a doll stroller has haunted us ever since. As a result, we have a strict policy forbidding the doll stroller from leaving the house, and I think it's the only family rule Greg and I have managed to enforce 100%). I wasn't able to talk David into leaving his baby in the car during the festival. But after some negotiation, he agreed to leave the bed and juice, but not the milk. So the doll, and her milk, joined us for date night.

But here is the purpose of this post: Trying to play along Friday night with the whole baby thing, I asked David, "What's your baby's name?" He looked at me like I was the dumbest person in the world and matter-of-factly stated, "My baby." Duh. He already knows he's smarter than me. What I wonder is how many more times I'm going to get that look . . .

My dad would be proud

David takes after his Grandpa Mike in at least one important aspect: love of live music.

My dad loves live music. He has tried to include his family in this love as long as I can remember and wherever we have lived. Free jazz concerts at the Denver Botanic Garden. Live bands at the V.P. Fair in St. Louis. He even drove us the 100 miles from our home in Flagstaff to the Hopi Reservation for a reggae concert. Things got really exciting when we moved to the Bay Area: He took my 12-year-old brother to a U2 concert, dragged my mom to the Pretenders, and I got a couple of pretty awesome daddy-daughter dates to see Los Lobos at the Fillmore and R.E.M, Phish, and Barenaked Ladies at Neil Young's Bridge School Benefit. (Wow, I miss those San Francisco days.) My dad stops to listen to street musicians, always. He can even enjoy the garage bands at a middle school talent show. If there is live music, my dad listens. And so does David.

I've suspected for some time that David might share his grandfather's love of all music live. David never sat more still in church than during a cello solo. Inside a sandwich shop near our house sometimes there is a man playing the guitar, and, while most people sit a polite distance away, David marches right up to sit at the table closest to the music--and he's concerned when the man isn't there. On weekends at the Greene, David prefers the live bands to the splash fountain. The other week when I took him to his little class at the rec center, in the room next door was a senior citizens' ukulele band practicing (yes, a senior citizens' ukulele band--I love our community!), and no amount of glue and glitter could drag that boy away. He loves live music!

This was reconfirmed to us Friday night at the Dayton Celtic Festival. Greg and I had been looking forward to the Celtic Festival for sentimental reasons. When we had been married just a few months, Greg and I were here in Ohio for a little while so Greg could complete some training. One evening we stumbled upon the Celtic Festival, and we had a great time, especially listening to the music. Now that we are back in Dayton, we couldn't miss the Celtic Festival. So we skipped the grocery store for date night, and headed downtown to Riverscape MetroPark. We liked being on the river and seeing the ducks. David had a good time playing in the fountain. We loved the fresh scones with strawberries and cream from a Scottish bakery (so much so that we had to go back for more--yum!). But it was all about the music. David was fascinated! He clapped his hands and wiggled his body to the beat. He reminded me of my dad because he blocked everything out and gave all his attention to the music. I was surprised by how long the music held David's attention. He was loving it! We enjoyed part of Slide's set and especially Scythian, whose set didn't end until 9:30. David and Mary were having such a great time that we considered staying for Gaelic Storm, but we decided to leave on a high note. We left feeling so happy that we had been able to share with our children the experience of free live music on a summer night. And, like I said, it reconfirmed to us that David really, really likes live music.

So the next time Grandpa Mike sets out in search of live music, he should know he would have a willing companion in David.

Pictures:

It's fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A--or not

David's new found love is the diving board, so we made another trip to the Y yesterday. Here is what Mary thought of it: David, however, had an entirely different opinion, which you can see here.

Blast from the past

David used the Pack N Play until he was two, long after he could climb out. It was set up in front of the bathroom door, so I could keep an eye and ear on him when I showered. For such an active baby, intent on tackling the whole world all at once, I was surprised how well he would tolerate the Pack N Play. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. I think he liked the closed-in space, where he was protected from the greater world with all its curiosities and distractions. With boundaries, he could focus. He would look at books, push the buttons on toy phones, and work on puzzles. It never lasted more than 10 minutes, but 10 minutes is long enough to get a shower, and keeping David in the same place, wherever that be, for more than 2 minutes seemed like a miracle to me. Every minute that he was content in there (especially after he could climb out!) was a miracle to me. Finally, last summer, he stopped tolerating it at all. And that was okay. We'd had a good run, better than I ever expected, and by then I could rely on the trusty T.V. to babysit my kid for 10 minutes while I showered.

Fast forward to the present day. We recently we remembered we own a Pack N Play, which is a good thing, since that little girl of ours can be a bit of a nuisance at times with all that mobility and curiosity. (Sometimes I just need to make dinner or sweep the floor without her "help"!)

The other afternoon David noticed the Pack N Play and climbed right in. He immediately set to work stringing beads, independently. This is exactly the kind of task he doesn't normally do on his own. But it was like he had been transported into some kind of Concentration Zone. Just like in the old days. He quietly, steadily worked for, yes, 10 minutes. A miracle! (When I looked over there, I had to laugh that it was my three-year-old in the Pack N Play and my baby who was not.)

Here is David hard at work in the Pack N Play:

Here is David showing off the necklace he made with three lady bugs, one butterfly, and a turtle:

And it turns out the necklace was the perfect accessory for mowing the lawn:

Wuv, twu wuv

Yesterday morning David joined me in bed, and after inquiring as to whether I was happy or not (a habit of his lately), declared, "I wuv you!!"

This was the first time he has ever told me he loves me. It was the perfect way to start my day.

Neighborhood watch

We know the neighbors on either side of us. They are nice. We're certainly not friends--I'm even sketchy on their names--but I feel like I could ask them for help in a pinch. Greg and I are thankful we have pleasant neighbors, on both sides. But we aren't much interested in them.

Greg is too busy watching the man across the street. "There's another car at Bruce's house today." "I think Bruce is out of town." "Bruce is mowing his lawn." "I've never seen that car at Bruce's house before." "I think that's Bruce's girlfriend." "I wonder why Bruce is flying his flag upside down." "I wonder why Bruce is no longer flying his flag upside down."

Meanwhile, I'm too busy watching the nameless couple on the corner to care about Bruce (although I've actually met Bruce--Greg must be so jealous). "Why do they close their blinds during the day and open them at night?" "Why don't they ever weed-whack?" "Looks like her mom is in town from Nebraska again." "I think they traded in both of their cars for a mini-van." "I wonder why they never open their garage." It was a dream come true when their house was put up for sale by owner because we could view the listing. I couldn't wait to see what the inside of their house looked like: Blue carpet! And a very low price. Were they desperate to sell? But I soon learned that they themselves were mere renters (so they couldn't be held responsible for the blue carpet), and soon enough they moved and another renter moved in. He's boring. I don't care about the army locker and blue cooler on the driveway like the way I cared about the previous renters' gas grill on the back patio (that they never used, by the way). Now I have no one to watch.

Our neighborhood is pleasant enough, and feels much warmer and more "lived-in" than neighborhoods like my parents' (which is eerily empty, except for the landscapers), but this is certainly no tight-knit commune. And that's probably too bad. (Though the status quo suits my comfort level just fine.) If we were really concerned about it, we could do like this man and invite ourselves to sleep over at the neighbors' houses, to get to know them better. I know who would be at the top of Greg's list.

Fake mission (almost) accomplished

I couldn't care less if David is potty-trained. He can wear diapers until he's 12 for all I care. Okay, maybe I would care a little if he were facing the prospect of middle school in diapers. But I'm lazy, and I admit that diapers are convenient.

But I do care about preschool. And David has to be potty-trained for that. Yeah, yeah, he's only three, and three-year-olds don't need preschool. But David does. Trust me. So if I want him to go to preschool, he's got to be potty-trained. Or, as my mom pointed out, at least fake potty-trained. As the summer has progressed, and potty-training discouragement has set in, I am heartened by the fact that he only has to be able to go 2 1/2 hours twice a week without wetting his pants. We have in our favor the facts that 1) David has a bladder the size of Lake Erie and 2) he doesn't drink much in the morning. I think we are nearing our goal of having him fake potty-trained, although he did have an accident in Sunday during nursery class, which was the first he's ever had in public. Oh well. The biggest obstacle at this point is the phrase "thoroughly potty-trained" that's printed several times in the preschool's informational brochure--it's nagging at my conscience a little. Is it unethical to send your child out into the world only fake potty-trained?

For the sake of having a written record (for the day when I'm a grandma and my children call me asking what I did), here is our potty-training journey so far.

We had a few half-hearted (more like one-sixth-hearted) attempts that were false starts. David expressed a lot of interest last summer, after he turned two. But we were moving from Turkey to Ohio--that's a big move, and we certainly didn't need potty-training added to the mix. Then Mary was born, so, again, it was out of the question. I decided we would potty-train in January, after our trip to Texas, when he would be two-and-a-half. I made the conscious decision not to read any books on the matter. David has never done anything according to the book, I was sure this would be no exception, and I was tired of feeling like a failure as a mother because my kid apparently skipped God's pre-earth-life orientation meeting on how he was supposed to behave as a baby and toddler when he got here. So we bought a potty chair and checked out a few videos from the library, and that was that. David was excited--for about two minutes. That's when I realized this was going to be hard work. I also realized, with its being the dead of winter, this was going to involve either taking his pants off and on 3,000 times a day, moving to the Southern Hemisphere, or turning the thermostat up to 80. I decided to wait for warmer weather.

I was anxious to potty-train in the spring because David would receive reinforcement at Four Oaks from Miss Fran and Miss Julie. They could be an invaluable resource. But I kept procrastinating because the weather was too good. We had been hibernating all winter--I had no desire to sit at home chained to the toilet. Time was quickly running out though--come June, David would graduate from Four Oaks. I knew I was going to have to be a little more serious this time, so I thought about how to tackle the issue. I admit, there was a part of me that resisted the idea of bribery. I hoped he would do it out of the goodness of his heart. (You can laugh.) My friend Gina had mentioned once that when her boys were potty-training, every time they had a success, they received an M&M and they also got to give an M&M to everyone in the family. When her son Caleb came over for playgroup the week he was potty-training, each time he had a success, he got to share M&Ms with all of his friends. I loved this idea because it was more of a celebration than bribery. In May I tried it. I will never forget the incredulous look on David's face that said, "You want me to do what for one measly M&M?!" The idea that Mommy and Daddy got M&Ms too didn't help. We gave up before we even started. That's when I threw my silly principles out the window--this was going to take some serious bribery.

Greg had a couple of weeks off in June, and I knew his help (and patience) would be necessary, so we tried again (this time whole-heartedly) right after our trip to Pittsburgh. We decided to start with a bang (i.e. big-time bribery) to get David's attention. David is a busy fellow, and keeping him in the bathroom seemed near impossible. So he got M&Ms for sitting on (and standing at) the toilet and trying. At first we set a timer to make sure he tried for a significant amount of time, but it scared him, so we became more flexible. For every song or two we sang while he was at the toilet, he got an M&M. For each success, he received a Matchbox car. Yes, you read that correctly--for each single success, he received a brand new Matchbox car. It worked like magic! We put several cars, still in their packages, in the bathroom for him to look at and covet. But they couldn't leave the bathroom or come out of the package. When he peed in the toilet, he could choose one. We soon could give up the M&Ms because he would stand at the toilet for seemingly hours sipping water, staring at the cars, discussing which one he wanted next, waiting to pee. (One time the cars fell in the toilet--I never knew I was capable of sticking my bare hand down a toilet so fast!) He earned 2-4 cars a day, and he typically had the same number of accidents. We sustained this method of bribery for about 3 days. It was enough to give us a good start. Those first few days were exhausting, but I could see, and, more importantly, David could see, that successes were possible.

We then switched to sticker charts with prizes (toys we'd picked up on clearance) at the end. This was a little tricky. It took a while to work out how many stickers it should take to get the prize (10 was too many but 5 wasn't enough), and at what point to show him what the prize was (seeing the prize was motivating but sometimes too motivating). We used this method of bribery for about 4 days. By this point, we'd been potty-training for a week, and we were in a rhythm. We didn't need such big bribes anymore. In fact, the best reward soon became singing the "Go, David!" song.

Since then we've been mixing it up a lot. (That's how David likes things anyway. He is not a creature of habit. This is the child who has a different comfort object every week. If you have given David a blanket, I can guarantee he formed an attachment to it...for two days.) We bribed him with whatever suited our (and his) fancy--stickers, computer time, train videos, bike rides, watermelon, popsicles, trips to the library or park, whatever. Or we didn't bribe him at all. Nowadays, we occasionally send a small toy his way, but only when enthusiasm is lagging, and only if he goes the whole day without any wet accidents.

That brings us to the present. David has few wet accidents. That is because Greg and I are very well-trained now. Except for that day in the Gap, David has yet to show much initiative of his own. When I talk to him about his new school (and how he has to go pee-pee in the toilet all by himself there), sometimes he'll have a burst of enthusiasm and run into the bathroom without any prompting from me. I sense that he still hasn't completely figured the whole thing out. Occasionally he shows signs of confusion (like he used to think that peeing on the living room carpet was just as praiseworthy as peeing in the toilet, and sometimes he has difficulty recognizing the different urges), so I have to remind myself that the process isn't as simple as it seems. He's learning, and it's going to take time, especially since I don't think he's really, really focused on it yet. (There are much more important things to do--like jumping on the bed and building train tracks.) Despite his lack of initiative, he does, however, seem to sense that having an accident in public is not a good thing. After the first week of potty-training, we resumed our normal routine, and he has only had one accident in public (last Sunday). He definitely lets down his guard at home, but out and about he is capable of holding it for hours and hours until I finally remember to take him to the bathroom. This is why I think he might be able to go to preschool, even if he's not "thoroughly potty-trained."

For clarification, bowel movements are a different matter. And we treat them as such (no amount of bribery is going to help, at least not yet). We've had only three successes (four if you count the time he pulled down his underpants to try and a hard little turd rolled out onto the floor--he thought it was a success and was very proud of himself). Needless to say, Mr. Regular is now more often than not Mr. Constipation. Which is why we let him spend an hour or so a day in a diaper to take care of business. Now is not the time to tackle that issue head-on. (I can't imagine that he would allow himself to have a messy accident in public. Going to preschool constipated is better than not going at all...right?)

If David starts preschool in six weeks, you'll know that we can at least pretend that he is potty-trained. And if you come to our house and see that our handmade carpets are out, you'll know "mission accomplished"...but I think it's going to be a while until we unroll those carpets.

[If you are still reading this post you are either 1) my mom, who thinks all the mundane details of my children's lives are fascinating (thank you, Mom!) or 2) currently or soon-to-be potty-training your own little one. For those of you in the second group, looking for some inspiration and/or consolation, may I refer you to a few blog posts where I found inspiration and/or consolation. Want to know how utterly exhausting it is at the beginning? Read here and here on my sister-in-law's blog. She went through it a month before we did, and I appreciate her honesty. And then read here for her reflections and tips. Also, just after David started potty-training, so did his second cousin Victor. Victor's mom meticulously records his potty-training stats each day. It's a fabulous real-life record, and I've followed it religiously this summer, watching Victor's ups and downs, just as we go through our own ups and downs. Start here and work backwards towards the present day. (And thank you, Cyndie.)]

A video clip for grandmas and other interested parties

Greg posted a cute clip of David playing a game with Mary.

Of note:
David's infectious giggle
Mary's determination to keep her brother in sight

What do?

David seeks to have the world explained to him by asking "What do?" For example:

"What do those two men?"
"What do Spiderman?"
"What do watermelon?"
"What do thunder?"
"What do pee-pee?"

Usually one "what do" question leads to another:

"What do those two men?"
They are fixing the street light.
"What do street light?"
The street light gives us light on the road at night.
"What do night?"
Night is when it's dark and time for bed.
"What do bed?"
Bed is where we sleep.
"What do sleep?"
etc.

Often the dialogue becomes cyclical. A frequent conversation we have goes something like this:

We're going to the park.
"What do park?"
The park is where we go to play outside and have fun.
"What do fun?"
Having fun makes us happy.
"What do happy?"
Happy is when we have a good feeling inside.
"What do good feeling inside?"
A good feeling inside makes us happy.
"What do happy?"
etc.

The questions are always simple, and the answers should be too, but I often struggle for a response:

"What do bombs?"
"What do Heavenly Father?"
"What do love?"

What does love do? Did you ever think about that?

Good thing we have three-year-olds in the world, to help us stop and see the world.

Side effect

Living in the moment makes me sad.

If I am "living in the moment," then I am conscious of the moment, and conscious also of its being just that, a moment. It will pass, no matter how hard I try to hold onto it. The happier the moment, the sadder it makes me.

Here's an example.

Last winter, when Mary was just was a couple of months old, we were having one of those really bad mornings at home. The kind of morning filled with whining and crying and endless frustration. The kind of morning that makes me Google "boarding school for babies and toddlers." We had recently had a snowstorm, and there was a foot of snow in the backyard. I knew David would have a great time out there, if only I could get him out the door. Since this was one of those bad mornings, he, of course, refused to go outside and insisted, instead, on clinging to me finding ever more things about which to whine. I needed a break.

So I set Mary down, which increased her crying by a few decibels, and forced David into his snow pants and boots. Putting snow pants and boots on a two-year-old is hard enough, let alone a two-year-old who does not want to wear them. I wrestled and struggled to put that kid in winter gear, with Mary howling in the background, and after ten minutes of grueling work I came off conqueror. Then I pushed (more like rolled) a bawling David out the back door into the snow. And shut the door. He stood out there in the cold crying and beating on the door. I vaguely wondered what the neighbors thought, but mostly I didn't care. I needed ten minutes to put Mary down for a nap, and five minutes to catch my breath. David could survive for fifteen minutes. In fact, his chances for survival were much better outside in the cold than inside with me.

After Mary was soundly asleep, I found that I only needed two minutes to catch my breath. It's amazing what two minutes of peace and quiet can do (though there was muffled crying coming from the backyard). I was ready to be a mom again. More specifically, I was ready to be David's mom again. With Mary asleep and out of my arms, David could be the only child for an hour or so. I rushed to find some winter clothes, threw them on, and ran outside. In the backyard was a foot of snow, a hill, and a little boy who didn't even know what sledding was. I knew what had to be done.

That was the beginning of one of my very happiest times with David. We didn't have a sled, so I used a cookie sheet. The snow wasn't quite right for sledding, so I had to push him down the hill. The pants I had on were too big, and they kept falling down, exposing my bare bum to the cold air. David and I laughed hysterically the whole time. It was so much fun! The kind of fun you have with a best friend. We would run up the hill, then I would push him down, and we would end up rolling down and buried in snow. I also tried pushing him down in a garbage bag, and that was even more hilarious. We laughed and laughed, and went down the hill again and again, as I tried to keep my pants up. In the middle of our hysterics, I thought, "I haven't had this much fun with David in months. Maybe ever. This is wonderful, and I'm so happy I'm enjoying the moment!" And then I was overcome with sadness...because I was so happy. I knew that no matter how I tried, the moment was going to end. We were only going to go down the hill so many times.

Soon enough, we simply had too much snow in our pants and socks and shirts, and David was uncomfortable, and I was too. The moment ended. We came inside, I put David in a warm bath, and then we made popcorn and hot chocolate. Already the sledding was a memory. Even now, when I look back on that morning, the crying and whining is vague, and I have to remind myself of how David and I ended up in the backyard. What remains vivid is the images of rolling through the snow with my son, laughing together. But the happy image has a shadow of sadness--I remember feeling sorrow that this time with David would become just a memory. That sadness is part of the memory. I still haven't found the right consolation to chase that shadow away. Because the moment was so happy, there is a sense of profound sadness associated with it, for me.

Why is sadness a side effect of happiness?

Right now, life is good. I love this moment in time, with two adorable small children and a husband who is home more than he is gone. I am happy. And that makes me sad. Because this is going to end. (As it should. It's not like I want to be frozen in time.) Greg will graduate, my children will grow, there may, one day, be more than two of them. Things change. Even though I know the future holds happiness, even greater happiness, still I will mourn the loss of this happiness.

aplusgequals

Greg updated our website. There is a cute video of Mary.

A poem

Today on "The Writer's Almanac" (which is a short segment narrated by Garrison Keillor that airs on our local public radio station at 11:40 am everyday, and is something I used to roll my eyes at with bordom but have since grown to love, having heard it in the car every time I picked David up from school), I heard this poem. I like it. No explication necessary.

The Layers
Stanley Kunitz

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being abides,
from which I struggle not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written,
I am not done with my changes.

Birthday parties on the brain

Ever since he turned 3, David has been in birthday party mode. (Which led our Father's Day celebration to have more of a birthday party feel to it.) So when David found out that his dear pal Seth was going to have a birthday party, he was over the moon. I made the mistake of telling him 24 hours ahead of time. (I forgot to follow the example of my friend Rachel who doesn't tell her kids where they are going until they're in the car.) Twenty-four hours is a long time to wait when you don't know the difference between 2 minutes and 2 weeks. Fortunately, we were able to fill 1 hour of that excruciating wait with the activity of going to the store to choose a gift. David was very insistent that Seth get this one particular tractor. It was just what David himself would want, and I was worried that he thought he was going to get to keep it. (But, no, he really was just really excited to give it to Seth.) The 24-hour wait at last came to an end, and David had a blast. It was a great party. You can see pictures here on my friend Lisa's blog.

Nine-month-old Mary: The pictures

Nine-month-old Mary: The facts

1. Mary wants in on the potty-training action in the bathroom. (Since David, a novice, has terrible aim, Mary's presence terrifies me.)
2. Mary likes to sleep in her car seat, even at night. (Though she has just begun, this week, to discover the joy of sleeping all stretched out in her crib.)
3. Mary will not eat anything she can't feed herself. ("Baby food" is out. She likes Cheerios, graham crackers, and garlic bread. Yes, Uncle Daniel, she takes after you.)
4. Mary has no teeth. (But we think she's cutting one now.)
5. Mary's great love in life is to chew on her brother's Crocs (to my horror).
6. Mary's other great love in life is playing with my keys.
7. Mary cruises, but she doesn't know it. So she prefers crawling. And she's really fast.
8. Mary is in desperate need of another hair cut.
9. Mary doesn't have to rely on her brother as much right now for entertainment. She can do her own thing.
10. Mary is ever helpful. She just unplugged the mouse on my computer.

Saturday report with 2 token pictures

Another Saturday in this family's life:

I went to the temple today. Since I am nursing Mary, and she's not much interested in food, my going was a family event. We all drove the hour to Columbus, where Greg and the gang dropped me off at the Columbus Temple. What a blessing to be able to step out of the world and feel the peace of God's love.

Meanwhile, in contrast to the temple, Greg took David and Mary to, of all places, Chuck E. Cheese's! Yes, I am morally opposed to Chuck E. Cheese's--the chaos, the germs, the disgusting pizza, the high prices, the stupid games, the even stupider prizes. But, believe it or not, this was actually my idea. Greg needed to kill an hour and a half in Columbus at lunchtime, and it was way too hot to go to the park. There just so happened to be a Chuck E. Cheese three miles down the road. Destiny? David had a good time, unsurprisingly; Greg was underwhelmed by the experience, also unsurprisingly. And Mary was just along for the ride.

I know it may seem odd to make a whole family event out of my desire to spend a couple of hours in the temple. But it makes for a nice outing. Mary slept in the car both ways, and we took the DVD player for David, so Greg and I had two hours of time to ourselves. I love being in the car with Greg! So many of our most important and most interesting conversations have happened on car drives. Husband-wife bonding time aside, the reason we all went to Columbus was so Mary wouldn't have to endure five hours without nursing. So David can thank his baby sister for his (probably) one and only trip to Chuck E. Cheese. (The irony? Mary didn't want to nurse the whole time. Oh well.)

When we got home, David went down for a nap, and Greg and Mary assembled our new Hoover Steam Vac. Hooray! For months I have been fantasizing about deep cleaning our carpet. (My fantasy is deep cleaning the carpet?! I must be getting old...) It finally occurred to me last week that I could make the fantasy a reality. I spent the next two hours running the Steam Vac over and over the entry way. I think I might have a new obsession. (If you don't hear from me for a while, you can guess what I'm doing.)

When David woke up we went to a teacher's supply store. I took for granted all the things David was practicing regularly when he was attending Four Oaks, like holding a pencil correctly, crossing his legs (he's a W-sitter, a big no-no), using strokes to paint, and cutting with scissors. The scissors regression is sad, because he had such talent! Of course, as his mother, he won't let me help him (like Miss Fran and Miss Julie could), so he's getting worse and worse. I wouldn't worry about it so much, except for the fact that he really likes cutting with scissors. This summer he's signed up in a little shapes, numbers, and alphabet class at the rec center, and I was talking about this to his teacher (who is an occupational therapist for children). She suggested buying some spring-action scissors, the kind that open up automatically after each cut. So that's why we went to the teacher's supply store. I also picked up another pre-writing workbook. On a whim, I had bought one out of the dollar bin at Target, and David loves it. It's one of his favorite things to do! I never would have guessed! I just never know what's going to strike his fancy.

Afterwards, we went to dinner at Chipotle, which we like, but it's still a poor substitute for Cafe Rio. Even though it was hot, we ate outside, and that was nice. Why don't Americans eat outside very much?

Our last activity was swimming at the Y. We introduced David to the diving board. He was all excitement and totally fearless! (Is he really related to me?) It was adorable! He had the time of his life jumping off, again and again and again. It was great. Have I mentioned how much I like that kid?

David and I have been talking a lot about what we're thankful for. He's been especially thankful for tow trucks and firetrucks. I am thankful for Saturdays! And that's because I'm thankful for my family!

Here are the 2 token pictures:

David on some contraption at Chuck E. Cheese:

Mary helping her dad assemble the SteamVac:
(Unfortunately, I don't have pictures of David leaping off the diving board--you'll have to use your imagination. Or come visit and see for yourself. It'd be worth the trip, I promise!)

Lullaby

Tonight I rocked my baby girl to sleep. I held her close, our hands clasped, my lips pressed to her forehead, my nose in her hair.

It was a perfect moment.

The good-luck, bad-luck, good-luck caboose

Two Saturdays ago we headed back out to Young's Dairy for some lunch and a quick trip to the farm.

I have to include this picture of David because he was so dang happy to go on this little tractor-pull ride. Except for the two big boys in the back, all the other kids were bawling like babies and refused to ride. Then there was David who was literally shouting, "Hooray!" When the driver shouted, "Are you ready?" David cheered, "Yeah!!" David might be exhausting at times, but he sure is a heck of a lot of fun to be with!

After the farm, I drove Greg over to the rail-trail in Xenia so he could run the 12 miles home. At this point, David was bawling like a baby because he wanted "more farm." Then what should appear, as we pulled into the parking lot, but a big red caboose! What amazingly good luck! David had been talking about cabooses for days, and we had no idea there was going to be one at the drop-off point. David's need for "more farm" melted away as soon as he saw the caboose. He is one lucky kid!

Last Saturday, after a trip to the park, we drove back out to Xenia for the monthly electronics recycling day, and we had hoped to return to the caboose, as well as drop Greg off for another long run. We'd even told David we were going to the caboose. But by the time we dropped off our old laser printer, it was pouring rain. No such caboose luck that morning--we didn't even drive by it. Plus, Greg was facing the prospect of a 14-mile run on a treadmill--yikes!! What bad luck.

But the weather soon cleared, Greg ran 14 miles outside, and David was super lucky: That evening Greg was kind enough to take David (and Mary) all the way back to Xenia just to see the caboose. And I had a couple of hours to myself. What good luck for me!

Mary at the park

Last Saturday morning we squeezed in an hour at the park before it rained. Here are a few pictures of Mary.



David was there too, but he was too busy to have his picture taken.

Thankful

Tonight during Family Home Evening we talked about all the things for which we should be thankful to our Heavenly Father. We listed flowers, giraffes, houses, bears, church, snow, the moon, pineapples, and owls. We also talked about how we can tell God in our prayers what we are thankful for.

Later, when I was putting David to bed and getting ready to say a prayer, I thought to stop and ask him what we should be thankful for. "David, we should tell Heavenly Father what you are thankful for. What do you want to thank Heavenly Father for in your prayer?"

Without skipping a beat, he exclaimed, "Jesus!" To be honest, I was a little surprised--we hadn't specifically talked about being thankful for Jesus, and I was expecting something more along the lines of garbage trucks or pancakes. But when he said it, he knew he had thought of it on his own, and he knew he was giving me the ultimate answer, which indeed it is. He had said it with such simple sincerity too. I had to give him a big hug.

I am thankful to David for reminding me to be thankful for Jesus!

John 3:16

Date night

Every Friday is date night!

It consists of a grocery store, two children, two shopping carts, and two separate lists.

I like our date night. Here's why.

1. I feel no obligation to do the weekly grocery shopping alone with the kids during the week. (If this were the case, we would probably starve. Or eat out every day.)
2. We don't have to wonder what we're going to do Friday night.
3. We avoid the hassle and expense of a babysitter.
4. We get to bed at a reasonable hour on Friday night, since our kids haven't yet learned that Saturday is for sleeping in.
5. Did I mention that because of date night I don't have to grocery shop alone with the kids?
6. Date night is a very efficient way to grocery shop--the whole two lists, two carts thing.
7. I don't have to carry in the groceries, or put them away, for that matter.
8. I feel a sense of camaraderie with the other couples with young children who spend their Friday evenings the same way we do. (There are quite a few of us, I've noticed.)
9. Greg has an opportunity every week to stock up on packaged cookies (like Oreos or ChipsAhoy--yuck) and choose his own PowerBar flavors.
10. It's actually kind of a fun family outing. If we go to Meijer, David can blow kisses to the lobsters and ride a horse, and I can buy a 32 oz. fountain drink for 99 cents. And if we go to the commissary...well, I hate the commissary, so I enjoy having the company, especially the adult conversation in the car on the way there and back.

You may sense just a hint of sarcasm, and that I can't deny. But I have to say, without any irony, that I really don't mind "date night" in its current form. Sure, Greg and I laugh about how pathetic our lives are right now. But we also know that this won't last forever. Life is one phase after another. I have come to realize that it's easier (and more enjoyable) to embrace the phase you happen to be in, rather than fight it. Friday night grocery shopping has become a happy little family tradition. Someday we'll have "real" date nights, but, for now, we are fine with sharing date night with our kids in a grocery store. So if you were wondering if I have plans for Friday night, the answer is yes.

Love affair

I am crazy, madly in love with Mary. I want to squeeze her and hug her and kiss her to pieces.

And she never ceases to amaze me. Yesterday while we were rolling around on the floor during David's nap, she invented a game. She would suck on her pacifier, take it out, give it me, I would grab it from her, and she would grab it right back, stick it in her mouth, suck on it, and start all over. This was hilarious, for her and me. But the point of this post is not how clever she thinks she is, or how brilliant I think she is:

I only want to say that I love, love, LOVE my baby girl.

Air Force wife

This afternoon David, Mary, and I went to the Air Force Museum again. (David woke up with that need to "drive" an airplane.) As we were wandering around the planes, I felt a kind of affection for them. Yes, affection. I was a little surprised, and then I remembered that I am, indeed, an Air Force wife. I don't often think of myself as an "Air Force wife"--mostly because there are other things that I think shape my identity more (and, also, I was once traumatized by a poem printed in a retirement program).

As an Air Force wife, I feel that I should have certain rights and privileges not afforded to my civilian counterparts. For example,

1. As an Air Force wife, I know that the sign at the Air Force Museum prohibiting food and drink does not apply to me. (But I am discreet with our water and graham crackers.)
2. As an Air Force wife, I should get 2 votes in the November election. (And if I get 2, Army wives should probably get about 12.)

Most of all, I feel that Secretary Gates should consult with me personally on a regular basis. I could give him some advice on, say, the refueler tanker contract, privatized housing, or the fighter-jock culture. So what if all of my information comes from The New York Times and my husband? Those are better sources than our current president uses for his decision-making. Secretary Gates seems like a reasonable, no-nonsense kind of guy, and I think we could get along well. I feel that I am an obvious resource for the Pentagon, and I'm a little surprised I haven't been called yet. Who knows. Maybe I will be the new Secretary of the Air Force, seeing as how things didn't work out so well for the old one.

For now, though, I am an Air Force wife. More specifically, I am an Air Force Civil Engineering Officer's wife, which, as my friend Teresa taught me, is probably more important than the Secretary of the Air Force. But I'll save those explanations for another day because my phone is ringing, and it might be the Pentagon.

Fall leaves (in July)

Yesterday I spent the afternoon holed up in Mary's room sorting baby clothes: 0-3 months, 3-6 months, gender neutral clothes, clothes for this fall, stuff for Goodwill, stuff for the trash. I had half a dozen piles of carefully folded clothes on the floor. All that remained was bagging them and putting those bags in the appropriate places.

Then in wandered David. His eyes grew wide with excitement. "Leaves!" he shouted. And before I could stop him (as if I could have), he was jumping for joy in the piles of "leaves" and throwing them in the air. His excitement was infectious, so Mary and I joined in--burying one another other in leaves, throwing them around, filling up "buckets" and dumping them out, jumping off the bed into huge piles, rolling around. The fun lasted a long time.

So, yeah, I have to admit that I'm proud of myself for not freaking out, for letting loose, and gleefully joining in on the imaginary play.

But I also have to admit that I feel demoralized about the wreckage of my afternoon's work. I did manage to sort out most of Mary's dirty clothes (the contents of the laundry hamper were included in the mix of leaves), but the rest of the clothes are strewn about her room. And they probably still will be two weeks from now (that's how demoralized I feel).

Memories...I'm hoping that will be consolation enough?

Lame

David will grow up with the stories of how when he was a baby he completely melted down in the Valley of the Kings, or walked across the U.N. Buffer Zone in Cyprus on his own two feet, or got lost with his mom in search of Pompeii, or looked for Jesus in Byzantine frescoes, or was kicked out of the tour group in that Bavarian Castle, or was included in a special tour of the Topkapi Harem thanks to good old-fashioned Turkish bribery, or almost fell off the ferry to Greece, or ate cheesy bread at Nuri's, or played with Elif in Cappadocia, or puked in Austria, or rushed his parents through the Uffizi, or any number of other adventures.

Then Mary will ask, "What did I do when I was a baby?"

And we will answer, lamely, "You went to Target."

The weatherman

When Greg and I were deciding what we should do tomorrow (he has the day off!), I suggested we check the weather, so we headed towards the computer. But David interrupted us and firmly declared, "I'll check the weather myself!" He stomped over to the window, stared out for a moment, then turned and announced, "No snow!"

It's official. It's July 6th and there is no snow in Dayton, Ohio.

From here to eternity

My sister-in-law recently posted this, and my first thought was, "Wait until you have two." I didn't leave her that comment because

1. I remembered how unhelpful it was when Mary was born and mothers of three children would say, "Wait until you have three."
2. I remember a similar feeling after David was born.
3. I'm not much of a comment-leaver anyway. (And why start now with a piece of really trite, bad advice?)

But I did get to thinking about how amazing life is. It's not only through our big trials and major tribulations that we grow stronger, but also, and even primarily, through everyday living. When Paul writes that "all things work together for good to them that love God" (Romans 8:28), I think he really does mean all things--the joys, the heartbreaks, and even the banalities of daily life.

God has given us the opportunity to continually learn, progress, and gain new perspectives. Sometimes our personal growth is so gradual that we don't realize it until we look backwards a few years and see how far we've come. I think a lot about that scripture in the Book of Mormon: "I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then I will make weak things become strong unto them" (Ether 12:27). I used to think that this never happened to me and that this transformation--a weakness becoming a strength--would be dramatic and fast-acting. But most of the time it's not. We grow stronger slowly, over time, almost imperceptively, until we can't even remember the weakness and we simply take for granted our new-found strength. When I stop to think about it, experiences in life, often mundane, have helped me find inner strength I never knew I had.

I think life is pretty wonderful. I think it's pretty neat that I'm stronger than I was 5 years ago. I also think it's a good thing that I'm not, right now, the person I will always be. God has given me the opportunity to change and become better, forever. Eternal progression. That's the plan, right?

Summer break

Summer is hard work: constructing elaborate railways, building a zoo, practicing your T-ball swing, digging in the sandbox, fixing the barn, pushing the wagon down the hill, surviving a full-blown power tool war. Phew! Sometimes you need a break:

Licking popsicles in the shade.

Vegging out on the floor.

Quintessential summer, or what?

[David was lucky to hang out last week with Aubrey and Jonathan, who will very soon be embarking an awesome overseas adventure, with their beautiful brand new baby sis. We'll miss you, Ball Family!]

Mind the Gap

This year, for the Fourth of July, we went to the Gap.

Yes, that's all we could manage. I've had a cold, and, even though I try to convince myself every day that I'm better, I keep getting worse, until yesterday I completely collapsed. This afternoon I pulled myself together long enough to accompany the family on a trip to the Gap to make a return and check out the sale. Two bad things happened which were actually good things.

The first is that Mary puked. Not just a spit-up--but a full-on, empty-the-contents-of-your-stomach, puke-your-guts-out, smelly explosion of vomit. She hasn't been feeling too great either. But she felt much better after she threw up--that's why it was a good thing.

The second is that David had to pee and he was wearing nothing under his shorts but his thin little undies. At this point I had taken Mary to the car to change her out of her vomit-soaked clothes, and Greg had the pleasure of David's company in the fitting room. Just as Greg took off his clothes, David looked at him and said, "Pee-pee." This was an amazingly wonderful thing because David has never ever before told us that he needs to pee. Sure, he goes most days without accidents, but Greg and I get the credit for that since we drag him into the bathroom so often. I was near the verge of declaring failure with the potty training business because, even though he obviously has bladder control, he did not seem to fathom the idea that he should/could tell us when he had to pee. (But at least it's no longer a celebration when he pees on the floor--it was a little demoralizing when he would shout for joy at the prospect of getting to help me clean up his pee off the carpet.) So there he was, trapped in a fitting room at the Gap with his half-naked dad, and he said it, "Pee-pee." Greg threw on his shirt quicker than you can shake a stick, scooped up his son, and sprinted through the mall with his long runner's strides towards the family restroom. And they made it! Hooray! So that's why that was a good thing.

So no church picnic (I felt too crummy), no fireworks (David chickened out), not even some sunshine (it's been rainy today). But we do have a little girl who is feeling a little better and some progress in the potty arena. And a shopping bag from the Gap.

[Truthfully, the really exciting thing about the 4th this year is our new computer, which Greg set up this morning. Greg and I are very good at keeping computers on life-support for way too long. This is the first new computer we've ever bought as a couple! It's super fast--almost as fast as Greg in the mall today. This is my first post from our new computer! May the new computer treat me well...or you may stop hearing from me.]

A craving

For a long time we had been planning to spend the month of September in Park City, Utah. But then we realized that the Air Force Marathon is smack dab in the middle of September, so we decided we would just spend a week and a half there. But then we learned that, sure, Greg might technically not have classes during that month, but he would be a freaking fool if he didn't use the time to work on his thesis. So we're not going to Utah. We had hoped to visit friends and family, so we were a little sad we wouldn't be going.

Then we learned from my mom that there is now a Cafe Rio in Park City. Now we're really sad we're not going. Is is possible that my real motivation for making the Mormon pilgrimage to Utah is not friends, family, my alma mater, or even Temple Square...but Cafe Rio?

Yes. It's possible.

Hey, I still have my card--it might be 5 years old--but I still have it and I only need three more stamps to earn a free meal! (And, by golly, when I get that third stamp, even if it's twelve years from now, they sure as heck better let me redeem my card, or there's going to be a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth.) And to those of you in Utah who are itching to tell me that Cafe Rio is no longer the it place like back in '01 or that the food has gone to pot now that there are 5,000 locations, keep it to yourself. If you tell me that Cafe Rio is now crap, then what reason would I have for coming to Utah? I'd never see you again! I don't want to hear one complaint about Cafe Rio. For just one of your Cafe Rios, I would trade all the grody Skyline Chiles in the entire Buckeye State...plus my firstborn child...plus my second born child. (A Cafe Rio and no kids! A bargain for me, I'd say.)

So, yes, for years, years, I have been craving a pork barbacoa salad with creamy tomatillo ranch dressing. Do you have any idea how hard it's been? (I went through two pregnancies with that craving.) And, still, no end in sight.

Oh, well...I guess I'll just have to hang on to that card a little longer.

Chili sandwich anyone?


P.S. Okay, so I've never even eaten at a Skyline Chile, so I don't really know if it's grody. It just sounds unappetizing to me--a fast-food joint that serves chili and cheese over spaghetti? And I don't even know if they are an Ohio thing.

P.P.S. For those of you who would suggest that the kids and I fly out to Utah without Greg: Why would I want to spend 2 grand to travel half-way across the country with a loose-canon three-year-old and an actively mobile baby only to play the single mom once I get there? No thanks. Not even the tortilla soup can persuade me on that one. Greg and I aren't enjoying 18 months of full-time-student/no-military-deployment bliss only to spend it apart. I'll have more than my fair share of single-mom-ness come graduation.

P.P.P.S. My one consolation here in Ohio? Graeter's! Gloriously gourmet ice cream...introduced to me at the perfect time, when I was nine months pregnant. (Thank you, Rebekah.) I suppose every state has its perks.

Happy now

This morning Greg took David to the Y. David wanted me to take him. I simply told him that Mary was sick so I was going to stay home with her.

He explained this to his dad: "Mary sick. Mommy stay home make Mary feel better. Mommy stay home make Mary happy."

An hour later, when they returned, David ran through the door, gave me a big hug, and asked, "Mary happy now?!"

Quality time?

By a turn of events, David and I had three hours of one-on-one time yesterday: no Mary, no Daddy, no play dates, no errands to run, or projects to finish. I think this was the first time since Mary was born that we have had this much time together, just the two of us:

1. First we typed numbers and letters on the computer, especially D-A-V-I-D. But that ended when the F-function keys became more interesting than finding the letter D.
2. Then David suggested we play Legos. But that ended when he cried because I couldn't build a tower like the ones Daddy builds.
3. Next, David wanted to play Candy Land. If you think Candy Land is boring (which it is), you should try playing it without any rules--it's even worse, I promise. So Candy Land ended when I mistakenly tried to insist that, if nothing else, we at least take turns.
4. Next, I suggested we play the Diego matching game, and David eagerly went along with my plan. But that ended when all he wanted to do was throw the pieces around the house.
5. So I suggested we play outside together. But that idea fizzled when it met with irrationally fierce resistance.
6. Finally, I decided to follow the counsel of Elders Ballard and Uchtdorf, and invite David to clean the house with me. But that ended when David sprayed himself in the face with Pledge.
7. Last, David suggested that we play cars. But that ended before we even started when he pooped in his pants.

By this time I was in a foul mood, and we'd only spent a whopping 45 minutes together, so when David asked if he could watch a video about riding a train across Canada, you can bet what my response was.

David's first action figure

A few years ago I received one of the best gifts ever, a Jane Austen action figure, complete with quill, book, and writing desk. (A big thank you to my very thoughtful and very cool mother-in-law!) It sat in its box until we moved here to Ohio. David came across it, and he immediately insisted that I open the box so he could play with it. My first instinct was, "No way! This is such a great treasure that it must remain unopened and hidden in a closet for next 20 years." But when I saw David's enthusiasm, I reconsidered, opened the box, and bequeathed my Jane Austen, accessories and all, to my eager two-year-old. That is how Jane Austen came to be my son's first action figure.

Jane Austen was a fun novelty for a few days, especially her little book, which is now lost. Even now, nine months later, she occasionally shows up in random places throughout the house, like on the train table or under the bed. Recently, during a complex and bruising version of peek-a-boo, which included, in addition to the Jane Austen, a tow truck, a baby sister, and a BYU blanket, she was snapped in half (thank goodness for glue). She is by no means a favorite toy--I think David likes the stupid musical American Idol toy from his Happy Meal better--but he has certainly played with her.

There is no doubt that David is drawn to more mainstream action figures like Spiderman and Optimus Prime, even though he has no clue what they are. (Is it some inherent little-boy trait to be drawn to that stuff, or is there an invisible tractor beam coming from that aisle that targets little boys?) Luckily for me, these days he is easily distracted by a Tonka truck or a pile of Legos. I'm sure the day will come when we'll have our fair share of Transformers (or whatever) strewn about the house. But nothing can ever change the fact that David's first action figure was a Jane Austen! (And it was entirely unplanned.)

Extra Credit Question: What is David's middle name? (Hint: It's not the capital of Texas.)