Lost in Translation

So funny.

My husband...

...is on his way to work.

14 miles away.

on his bike.

Yup. He's been riding 28 miles a day, and we're doing just fine as a one car family.

My husband is so cool.

=)

Confused

So let me get this straight. The world leaders got together last week to discuss the global financial crisis, and to establish a spiffy new international bureaucracy to keep an eye on things, so that they won't be blindsided again. Because all this was so very, very shocking. Nobody saw it coming. Did I mention that it's shocking?

Fine.

But then how is it that several years ago, several different people--ordinary people, not privy to any sort of special information, just ordinary statistics about mortgage rates and such things--explained to me that we were on a collision course for global economic meltdown in 2008?

I'm confused.

Better Parenting through Laryngitis

I'm rediscovering the power of a whisper all over again.

solidarity

I forgot to change my address, so I was still registered to vote in our old neighborhood. We had a little picnic in Angie's back yard before we all trooped down together to the elementary school to vote.

September wanted me to vote for Miss Angie. 'Cause she's a girl.

Nathan wanted me to write in George Washington. Because of the crazy hair. Nathan still regrets the decision to let me buzz his head, and looks forward to the day when his own crazy hair grows back out. I think I'll draw the line if he ever wants a powdered wig, though. There are limits.

Andy's classes were almost over by the time we were done, so we went and picked him up. His students and coworkers cooed over the baby, and then he rode home with us instead of his usual carpool.

Andy was registered to vote in our new neighborhood. I waited in the car with little Willie and sleepyhead September while Andy and the others trooped in to the polling place. He said there was a television reporting election news inside, and lots and lots of cheering. Probably illegal, but inspiring nonetheless.

I didn't vote for Obama. I disagree with him profoundly on many issues. On some issues we strongly support the same goals--we just have different opinions on how to get there. My biggest hope for government is that it will be too limited to engage in massive oppression. Cynical, I know, but I really do think history bears this out.

Even if I was more optimistic about government in general, though, there's still that one issue where I think Obama's position is not merely misguided, but actually quite wicked.

Frankly, I'm a bit worried about what's to come in the next four years. At least, I would be, if I wasn't working on a setting for Psalm 131. Good words for times like these.

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up
My eyes are not raised too high.
I do not occupy myself with things to great and too marvelous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother.
Like a weaned child is my soul within me.
O Israel, hope in the Lord, from this time forth and forevermore.
(ESV)

I didn't vote for Obama, and I obviously don't think he was a good choice for our nation.

Nevertheless, I can't help but be excited for my neighbors. Really, really excited.

In as much as these sorts of things matter, this is WAY cooler than having a woman, or a guy with great hair, in office. I profoundly disagree with the man... but there's a sense in which this is a truly beautiful and inspiring moment in our nation's history.

Some things need no explanation.

But the moon definitely needs a sign.

Compliments of Isaiah, with some help from MS Paint.

It says "moon," and I think it might even include an explanation about how it's made out of cheese.

Now doesn't that clear things up?

The Miracle Scale

We've been reading Charlotte's Web lately. Having watched the animated version more times than I care to admit, the wuggies are obsessed with the story. Throughout the day I see them acting out stories about Fern and Avery and Wilbur and Charlotte, and Nathan in particular was clamoring to have me read the book to them. We've been enjoying it a lot.

This evening we read the chapter in which Mrs. Arable sits down with Dr. Dorian to discuss her concerns about Fern's stories of talking animals.

Upon hearing Dr. Dorian express his readiness to believe such things, Nathan became very thoughtful.

"Animals don't talk in God's story. God's story is about us."

As the story continued, Dr. Dorian remarked about the miracle of the ordinary spiderweb, and Nathan once again became thoughtful.

"If an animal spins a web, that's a little miracle. Not a big miracle, just a little miracle. If an animal talks, that's a little miracle. But if an animal starts playing the piano, that would be a huge miracle. That would be a ten miracle."

He paused for a moment, carefully weighing the various quantities of wondrousness.

"And if an animal came in and cleaned the refrigerator, that would be a five miracle."

And there you have it.

MetaHobby

The other day, I zipped down to the gas station to pick up an Auto Trader. I must have done this countless times with my Daddy as a little girl, but this was decidedly the first time I've ever had any intention of looking at it myself.

I'm trying to cultivate an interest in cars. We will be needing a new van sometime in the near future--the days of our dear doopah-mobile are numbered, I am afraid. Our mechanic (thank God for honest mechanics!) will not allow us to put any more money into fixing its overheating problems. We're managing the symptoms quite effectively for the time being, but we know that the end is near at hand for our four-wheeled friend.

So there will be big decisions to make in the near future... and it's hard to make good decisions when you're bored by the topic.

However, I'm thoroughly confident that if one intelligent person is interested in a topic, surely there must be something interesting about it, and any other intelligent person should be able to develop an interest in it. It's an important principle, and one that has a vital role in my parenting philosophy. My goal is to encourage the wuggies to become interested in worthwhile things, not to entertain them with the things that already interest them.

So now I'm seeing that I need to apply this to myself. It would be very useful right about now to be interested in cars... and there's no reason why I shouldn't be able to become interested in them. After all, my Daddy finds them fascinating.

So I've been spending quite a bit of time on the phone talking about the respective merits of vans and minivans and station wagons. I expected him to have lots of good advice on the vehicle-shopping process, and to point me toward good resources. I did not expect him to be able to instantly rattle off the names of every vehicle on the market which seats 8 or more passengers. Along with sundry details about the construction of most of the different models. I knew Daddy knew a lot about cars, but I had no idea he knew this much.

I think my project might be working. I'm not entirely bored by cars anymore, and estimating the real cost per mile of different vehicles is actually a lot of fun.

But really, it's the process of becoming interested in things that interests me the most.

I think I might be starting to make a hobby out of developing hobbies.

Graduation

When the generous folks at church throw you a lovely baby shower, while the baby of undiscovered gender is still snuggled up inside, you get a lot of diapers.

As I sorted them according to size, and added up all the size ones, I realized that there were about as many there in that pile as we were likely to go through while he was still small enough for them.

There was something bittersweet about seeing all his size one diapers all lined up together in one pile. It was a big pile... but finite.

The other day we came to the end of the pile. It was time to break open the size 2 diapers.

It's a bittersweet moment, and all the more so because I knew it was coming.

Calm after the storm

We made it through the hurricane unscathed, and our utilities are back up and running, although we're still supposed to boil the water.

Airplanes are flying overhead once again, the stranded crawfish we rescued is safely back home in the bayou, and things are just about back to normal for us.

At least, as normal as they can be, when life is so far from normal for so many other people. Most of the grocery stores are still closed in our neighborhood, and with all the gas lines and impassible roads and non-functional lights, it's really not a good idea to drive very far. So I'm still getting creative with the food in the pantry. But the options expand substantially when you have electricity. =)

Meanwhile, all the schools are closed, so Andy has the week off, although he'll probably go in later in the week to help clear out the rubble.

God has been very merciful to us. Ike brought so much devastation to so many people, but for us the storm brought only the soft glow of candlelight, and a chance to get to know our neighbors better.

Waiting for Ike

You start paying a whole lot of attention to the weathermen when 100 mph winds are on the forecast. So far, however, we haven't seen anything more than some heavy cloud cover and a slight breeze. But I feel like we're well prepared for what may come our way any moment.

We're quite a ways inland, so the storm surge will not be affecting us. And the storm surge appears to be the really fearsome part of this strangely sprawling hurricane. There's really not a lot to be worried about in our area, just lots of precautions to take.

So the grill is in off the patio, so that it doesn't become a missile flying through our window, and the windows are all taped up so that if somebody else's grill goes flying, at least the shards of glass won't scatter too much... you know, just in case.

And we're ready to whisk everything up to the second floor in the unlikely scenario that the Bayou floods enough to put water in our house. But mostly, we're just setting up for a jolly indoor camping trip.

Nathan likes his new brother very much. All the wuggies do, but Nathan in particular.

He loves his brother, and he loves the idea of big families, with lots and lots of babies. He's taken to rattling off the names of the dozens of babies he and his wife will have one day, and he insists that now that "Baby Jack" is here, I need produce a little sister named Katie. Tomorrow.

I keep telling him that giving birth is something I only do on very special occasions, but he just won't take no for an answer.

While snuggling with my newborn and recovering from this gloriously special occasion, I listened to a series of Focus on the Family broadcasts featuring the parenting advice of Dr. Kevin Leman. To be perfectly honest I was a little disappointed with the first two installments. It wasn't the content so much as the tone--I was mildly irritated by comments like "kids everywhere are going to hate [my latest] book, but parents are going to love it." Nevertheless, I kept listening, and the Q and A session on the third part was so good that we actually ended up ordering a copy of his latest book.

When the package arrived, Nathan peered eagerly over Daddy's shoulder. "What's it say? What's it say?"

And despite Dr. Leman's predictions, at least one child was ecstatic over the book Have a New Kid by Friday.

Statistics and tidbits

7 lb. 12 oz.

21 inches

1 min. Apgar score of 9

He has "opposable toesibles," with a very independently wiggly thumb of a big toe.

He likes to keep his ankles very, very flexed. It's delightful to recognize those knobby little heels that were always poking out of my belly.

Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name...

We had a name picked out. Really. It was just that once he was born, we couldn't get it to stick.

So we've been trying on various names for size, as he gazes up at us with those lovely liquid newborn eyes, so alert and trusting and interested and content... and so utterly indifferent to the question at hand. He could care less what we call him, just so long as we snuggle him and feed him and change his diaper.

I was actually about to call the midwife to tell her to go ahead and file the birth certificate with a completely different name altogether, when we suddenly flipped back right around to where we were in the beginning. We're naming him after Great-Grandpa Davis and Great-Grandpa Johnston.

There's a touch of irony in the fact that the name we've finally settled on, after so much flip-flopping, would mean "resolute."

In any case, we love you, little Willard Robert. There's not a trace of indecision about that much, and we're having a marvelous time getting to know you. Whoever you are.

Weeping may endure for the night...

but BOY! cometh in the morning.

Childbirth in slow motion

I'm a little less than halfway there.

In other words, right about where I was two weeks ago.

My midwife assures me that all it will take is a few good, hard contractions, and everything will be moving rapidly.

This is what she said two weeks and 5,437 contractions ago.

This time it might actually be true, though... through much acrobatics, I managed to dislodge the baby from his poorly (but tightly!) engaged position that was impeding progress. Once, while I was slouching horrifically (which you should never, ever do if you want a properly positioned baby) he even turned right way around.

He's back to sideways again, though. So we'll see what happens.

Next time around I won't get nearly so worked up about all the preterm labor scares. I just take a long time having babies, and my body likes to get a head start, that's all.

Meanwhile, my stretch marks are getting stretch marks, and my belly button is dilating rapidly. My midwife assures me that there's never been a case of spontaneous cesarean... but I can't help but thinking there's a first for everything.

Worth Reading

This post is very funny. That is not so surprising. Lots of posts make me laugh, and Amy is very good at being funny.

No, what's remarkable about this little piece is that it makes me laugh, and then suddenly makes me stop laughing.

And then laugh again, gently and joyously, without a trace of bitterness... laugh at myself for laughing.

Pass the carrots.

It's 10:00... way past her bedtime. I should be getting to bed, too. But oh, the glowing of her grin, the softness of her skin... and where on earth did she get that strange little tender pout, and that achingly sweet little croaky voice?

"Mama-bunny, I love you."

My baby.

It's 10pm, way past her bedtime. I should be getting to bed, too. But tomorrow she may not be such a baby, and tomorrow I may have another baby in my arms. Time slips away so preciously, and I must hold her while I can.