Elias' arrival

The social revolution that is Twitter and Facebook means that this blog is no longer the go-to place for up-to-the-minute news about things like births and Iranian politics. If you don't know the essentials about the birth last week, then you need to "plug in" dude.

Jaime describes this birthing experience as the perfect end to a miserable pregnancy. Smooth, easy, enjoyable. Boring, almost.

But let's back up to the point where we were sure all of this was going to kill her. Let's back up to Wednesday . . . was it Thursday? . . . I don't really remember at this point and Jaime is sleeping--as she should be--so I can't ask. Jaime was in the hospital for the the third time in the last trimester getting IV fluids and anti-nausea meds. She had hardly gained any weight during the entire big-weight-gain weeks at the end of the pregnancy. Her due date based on her cycle was the 22nd. Based on sonograms, it was the 15th. Calling Monday, the 15, her 39-week point, Denise, her nurse-midwife, had said that Friday night, the 12th was the earliest she would consider inducing. Jaime wanted to set that as the "GO" date. She made this decision with great reluctance. Both David and Simon were induced prior to their due date and Jaime was looking forward to a natural labor experience. But the inability to eat anything was more than she could take. So she asked to begin inducing on the 12th.

And her doctor said "no."

I was not present for this, but I heard the wailing and gnashing of teeth. Apparently there was a miscommunication or reconsideration, but her OB-GYN partners were not willing to allow this baby to arrive a minute before the 39-week point. Which means she could begin as early as Sunday night for a Monday birthday. I was not present or my suggestion would have been that we would agree to that as long as the Doctors making this decision agreed to eat no more than Jaime was able to eat for the following three days. Turns out, they would have come of OK in that deal. We went home, mom watched the boys, and Jaime slept. When she awoke (with fresh meds) she felt much better and was able to eat properly most of the weekend. Sunday night we went in as scheduled.

I'll spare you the details, but various treatments over night into Monday morning brought on spontaneous labor without Pitocen. Around 1:30, her contractions were so intense, she reluctantly decided she would need an epidural. This was the moment we had been waiting for. With her priors, the epidural was the event that moved her to the final stages and babies arrived shortly thereafter. I called my sister to come on up and mused that were going to be able to take the baby's first pictures with daylight. The anesthesiologist arrived and put in the epi.

And labor stopped.

So we had to start the Pitocen and waited around for the rest of the afternoon.

At this point I need stop and mention the nurses. One of the advantages of birthing in the hospital where you work is that you can know the nurses and can request your pick of the shift ahead of time. Jaime had requested Rita for when we went in Sunday night. Rita had taken care of her when were there three day prior and we thought she was wonderful. When Rita's shift ended at 6:00am Monday, we got Amy, whom we really didn't know, but there was no one scheduled for that shift she did know. Turns out a friend of Jaime's--Karen--was filling in on that shift unexpectedly, but Amy had already been assigned to us so that is who we got. Over the course of the next twelve hours, we came to love Amy. But the shift was ending. Both Amy and Karen would be going home. Amy had put in all this work taking care of Jaime all day and Jaime was sad she would not be able to be present at the birth. Jaime was equally sad that Karen, her friend, would not be present since she was also going off shift. But Rita was coming back on, so that was good at least. But wouldn't it be perfect if all three of them could be present? What is the solution? Full-on pushing right at shift change! They all got to be there. Along with a student nurse who has been following Jaime for a couple weeks, the nurse-midwife, my sister, two nurses from the nursery who would take over postpartum care, me, and Jaime--that was 10 people attending to this birth. It was like a knitting club. At one point I almost asked for all the sisterly chit chat and "go girl" encouragement to just stop already, but I was outnumbered.

Here is how Jaime has been describing the experience: the amount of pain-control meds were exactly right. She was able to feel the labor--even the pain of it, without being debilitated by pain. She was neither numb nor in a fog. It was perfect.

Elias came almost without complications. His umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck tightly enough that Denise could not slide it off over his head or push it back over his shoulders. This caused a momentary pause as his shoulder emerged. Denise was able to cut the cord at this point to allow him to come the rest of the way out. They are so strange when the emerge, like inanimate objects: purple and still. Then they transform like time-lapse films of a pupating moth. They wake up, change color, begin to move and cry. The child you see an hour after birth is completely unrecognizable as the one that emerged during labor.

APGAR at birth:8. After five minutes: 9
Weight: 8 lbs
Length 21 inches.

Since the birth, Jaime has had no problem keeping food down. Thanks to God and the women at church, she has no shortage of food to keep down. Both are feeling good, eating well, thriving. Sleeping? Not so much. But I have been here all week to take care of the older brothers, so mother and baby have had plenty of naps. Jaime is tired, but not miserably so.

After such a miserable pregnancy, we could not have asked for a better labor and postpartum week. We thank God. We also thank my mom for older-brother duty while we were in the hospital, Skylar for being present at the birth again, Denise, our super nurse mid-wife, the great nurses at St. Francis, our family's and our friends for love, encouragement, food, and baby supplies.

Jaime just put him in my arm, so I am typing single-handedly while he stares at me and I stare back at him. Jaime voices his thoughts: "Dad, how can you write about me when I am right here in your arm?"

I have no reply.

Altar Boy

So, I mentioned before that David and I have been practicing at being an altar boy. Today was the big day. Having practiced several times and told everyone who would listen that he was going to be serving, came in the back stairway after Sunday school, got his robe on, came in, prostrated, got his blessing, and then served like an old pro. Before he came up, I prayed to various and asorted saints for patience, not knowing how well he would do at the paying attention and not driving me crazy. Prayers answered. He did wonderfully, alternately paying attention and being fascinated and curious about everything that was happening and asking a continuous stream of questions.

Everyone agrees that he was adorable. One young woman told me that when he came out, she smiled at him, and he winked back at her. He waved and smiled and I think even gave a thumbs up to someone. Given the chance, he would have kissed babies and made campaign promises, I am sure.

We have two other young boys in the parish who do not serve. Both are several years older than David. One of them has served in the past, and the other has served in other parishes. I have sometimes wondered if they did not serve because they didn't want to be the only child serving. This is an area where I am the most pleased with David--his comfort with pretty much anyone regardless of age. He can hang out with and converse with adults and then go play with toddlers. Today, one of the other boys mentioned to his mom that he had been thinking about serving again and might do so next week. Perhaps David will make it easier for other boys to come hang out with the Subdeacons.

He was curious as to why he only has an altar-server's robe whereas I have a cassock and orarion in addition to a stichera. I explained that it is because I am a Subdeacon. He told me that, when he grows up, he wants to be a Subdeacon, just like me.

Dream big, son.

How David Got a Free* Fish

So we were at the Smoky Hill River Festival (more on that later) and the boys wanted to play some of the games. First David attempted to pitch the dunk tank, with no success. Next, we spied a game consisting of a table covered with vases of water. There were some small fish in a couple of these vases. The object was to throw a ping-pong ball in the general direction of the vases. If the ball landed in a vase with a fish, you won a free* fish. It seemed fun. It seemed just David's skill level. It seems that I must have been thinking something like, "in the unlikely even that he lands in a vase with a fish, we can all praise his skill and laugh about how he won a hypothetical fish but not really but that is ok because he'll be satisfied with the sense of accomplishment," or something like that. Second ball, free* fish. Turns out it was just a coupon for a free* fish at the local pet store. From that moment on, going to the pet store and getting his free* fish was the only thing that mattered.

Incidentally, I thought Simon could play this game as well. I know he can throw, but that day, he just kind of jerked around spasmodically and then let go of the ball.

So I gave the issue some thought. The coupon is for a free* gold fish but you can't just buy a gold fish and take it home and put it in a bowl. Bettas are the fish for that because they can breathe from the surface and don't need water pumps and all. So I decided I would just go to my local pet store and drop some spare change on a Betta, and put it in a bowl for David. Skylar mentioned that the pet store has a whole Betta kit with bowls and rocks and all for less than $20--way more than I wanted to spend, but I figured it was less than equiping a gold fish. So that was the plan.

Well, then Jaime mentioned that Walmart has inexpensive little fish tanks. They are probably cheaper than the ones at the fish store. Sure enough, just $9.43 with a pump and a light and everything. Everything except rocks, and a plant, and fish food and water conditioner, and a little net, and a free* fish. So we get all that stuff, too, except the free* fish. Turns out that is still less money than just a plastic box with rocks, plants, food, nets, and water conditioner from the pet store where we go to buy the free* fish. As I write, it occurs to me that, since we ended up with a pump, we really didn't need to confine ourselves to a Betta. We could have gotten a gold fish. As a matter of fact, we could have gotten a free gold fish with our coupon, but I don't think that occured to us at the time.

So just shy of *$40 and an hour later, we have a very cute little tank with rocks and a plastic plant, and a pump and a free* Betta. I think we should name him Patrick Henry since he was not free, is not free and will certainly die.

After the Betta has been thoroughly user tested, we'll move to a standard release. Our plans include a real plant and some snails to keep the place tidy. So our household and grown ever so slightly and the boys have a slightly new level of responsibility.

We have decided that we'll remind David to feed it every day for one week. Thereafter, we will not remind him. My initial idea was that, if the fish died, well, he would learn. But I don't like that idea. Fact is, I like the fish as much as he does and I don't want it to die. So I think I'll keep tabs on wether or not he is feeding it. If he does not feed it, I will and if that goes on for a week or so, I'll move the fish to my bedroom for a period and call it mine.

The house smells like chicken and beets

Auntie Skylar started a new blog about her latest project and that got me to thinking, "hey, I have one of those; I should dust it off and see how long it takes before I can prove I know how to use a semicolon correctly."

The Big News around here today is that David woke up from a bad dream to a Buzz Lightyear. The way Jaime tells it, he told her that he had a bad dream this morning and woke up and turned over and there was Buzz and he closed his eyes and opened them again and Buzz was still there. I am the one who put Buzz in bed with him. After years of keeping my finger securely in the hole of the dam holding back the Buzz Lightyear, I was finally overwhelmed by the forces of nature. It happened when the mother of David's bestest friend said that this friend wanted to give David his Buzz Lightyear. She is standing there with it in her hand and I didn't have whatever it might have taken to say, "No, he can keep it." Just the other night, David and I were eating ice cream on the front porch after sunset when he spotted a star. I taught him how to wish on a star and he wished for Buzz Lightyear. So this morning I put it in bed with him before I left for work.

He called me later at work and told me that he really liked the Buzz Lightyear. There was not a shread left in his voice of a little boy or toddler or anything. I was struck by how very grown up he sounded. I have been thinking a lot lately about how little he was when he was born and sighing.

This evening I made chicken stock and pickled beets and eggs. Actually I finished stock that I began several days ago and then ran out of time. I have been reading a couple of books about food and cooking, which inspired the stock: Nourishing Traditions (I'll omit the embarrasing subtitle) and Ratio: The Simple Codes Behind the Craft of Everyday Cooking. As a result of both of these, I have been doing a lot of experementing in the kitchen. I've made various things such as Kombucha, cream cheese and whey, Kim Chi, pickled carrots, five shortbread cookies, dumplings, pop-overs, fritters, and, this evening, stock and pickled beets. Not sure what I am going to do with the stock. Tomorrow is a fasting day, I am out of town Thursday through the weekend, and the Apostles' Fast begins Monday. So basically, I will not have the oportunity to do anything with it unil July. But the house smells nice, if you like beets.

Chapter books, great books, award-winning books, and letters

We've passed another milestone on the path to literacy. Last week, I began reading David a chapter book--Stuart Little. Previous most bedtime reading was stories that we could get through in a single sitting. The occasional exception might be when I simply did not have it in me to Bartholomew Cubbins start-to-finish for the 1,000th time and I would split it over two nights. But I came across our copy of Stuart Little while cleaning a couple of weeks ago and decided to give it a go.


It is a great choice for first chapter book. Each chapter is only five-or-six pages most of them have a plot arc within them. The language is for the most part direct and simple with just the right amount of advanced vocabulary. It is fairly entertaining for the child and the adult. David is eating it up. I am impressed with the amount of information he retains as well as his over-all interest in the book. Simon could not be more painfully bored. But he has his own milestone that I'll get to in a minute.

So onward and upward with the chapter books. If you have recommendations for a four-year-old, I would love to hear them. I assume when we get to the end of this one, David will want me to start it over again, so there is no rush. But we have reached the next step in his library building.

Speaking of reading, I have been thinking about Great Books for kids. I plan to focus the boy's education around a "Great Books" curriculum to the degree that I am able and want to get started. You know how you can get a quadrillion books of Bible stories for children? Well we would certainly love a high-quality volume of those. But I also want some stories of Great Literature for children. These are more difficult to come by, but they are out there--teh stories of writers like Homer, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Melville, Dickens etc. as well as the standard classic stories for children. Also, I have found some selections of poetry, as well as children's versions of stories from the Arabian Nights. That last one demonstrates the difficult waters we get into here. I brought a children's telling of Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves home from the library forgetting that it is a story of gore, dismemberment (and rememberment), and boiling oil. I had to practically make up a new story and skip over certain pictures as I was reading it. Please do not feel obligated to find Titus for kids. But I want to get David started on as much of this as possible. I would like him to be familiar with the Great Books of Western Civilization starting with the stories contained therein. Frankly, it the only way I'll become familiar with them myself.

My second general recommendation is this article about Caldecott winners. By those for Christmas. Get some for David and Simon, too. The only Caldecott that I know we own is Where the Wild Things Are.

As for Simon's milestone--letters in the environment. When we are out and about, he has begun pointing out letters and numbers. Not by name, usually, but just as general fact; "letters daddy!" Signs on buildings, mostly. This is interesting to me because I don't recall David ever doing this. Simon seems generally more interested in letters than David ever has been. He is also more interested in coloring than David generally ever has been.

Ssss Ehhh Ksss

I am very proud to announce that David has passed an important milestone on the path to literacy. We work with him quite a bit on letter sounds and he pretty much knows the what sound each letter makes (well, at least one sound per letter anyway). He is still struggling a bit with short vowel distinctions. But he has not been able to mush the sounds together into a word. He has not been able to get C-A-T from "Kuh. Aaa. Tuh" to "cat."

Until yesterday. For the first time he looked at a series of letters, not as several unrelated sounds, but as a pronounced unit.

We were in Brooke's truck where he was messing with a promotional beach ball containing this logo:

Which he proudly parsed as "SEX."

So, we had to remind him that "C" can be hard, as in "cat" but I did not let the significance of his effort pass.

We are on the way to literacy. Perhaps Freudian literary criticism, even.

Your mother drove to Ohio

Thursday morning, pre-dawn, David, Simon, Skylar, Brooke, Isabelle, and I set off on a 13-hour road trip in Grandpa's minivan. When we returned Sunday night, we had completed the longest stretch of road travel without vomit in David and Simon's life.--26 hours plus the time we spent driving around our destination. It was memorable for other reasons as well. For instance, I think we set a record for "your mother" jokes. As in "Your mother set a record for 'your mother' jokes."

The goal of the trip was of course cousin Andrea's wedding. Frankly, I was dreading this trip and in the days leading up to it I regretted having committed. It was a lot of money, a lot of time off and a lot of sitting in car seats not barfing for the boys. The boys don't have a lot of experience with sitting still in pews during church. One of the great advantages of a pew-free church is that there is a little more room for youngins and their energy. And if they are just too much to bear in our church, they can go down stairs and chill. I was concerned that I was traveling to Ohio to stand outside in the hallway of the building where my cousin was gettin' hitched babysitting two boys exhausted from too much travel.

Well, my fears were unfounded. The boys handled themselves well--mostly. There was one point in the service where a deacon was talking without a microphone and everyone was kind of straining to hear him. At this point Simon announced that he had to poop in case anyone in the room was interested--no one seemed to be. Oh and when the groomsmen were all lined up at the front, Simon had to count them for everyone. Otherwise, they were great.

The ceremony was lovely, I should say that the many ceremonies of the day were lovely and moving. A wedding day is filled with official and unofficial formalities, from who sits where, to the vows, to speeches, to that point when the children get to finally run around the reception hall and occasionally dance with the adults. I found myself choked up many times. Andrea married a hansom Lieutenant in the Air Force and all the men standing up for him were Air Force, Navy, and Army, all in dress uniform--quiet, precise, and noble. The ceremony was a generally traditional Western Christian affair conducted with belief and affirmation. The saber arch, the car vandalized with shoe polish, the embarrassing uncle, the single young women eying the single young soldiers--as I watched it all I was reminded of this previously posted snippet

Because it is not the rituals we honor
but our trust in what they signify, these rites
that honor us as witnesses — whether to watch
lovers swear loyalty in a careless world
or a newborn washed with water and oil

But don't take my word for it. Here is what the boys have to say:

As I mentioned, David's creative play lately has really advanced--especially with the Legos ("Duplo" actually). Shortly after seeing WALL-E, he enrolled Jaime's to build a WALL-E with legos, which he cherished. The next day I added a couple of pieces to represent eye-stalks and snapped the eyes to the top. He imediately tilted the eyes downward as far as the legos would allow, telling me that WALL-E has to have "sad eyes."

Last week, he built a Buzz Lightyear on his own. To me it looks like WALL-E's strung-out cousin, but I am very content--elated would be the word--that he is now happy for his legos to stand in for purchasing additional, costly toys. Now you will notice that his "creativity" is still largely confined to the world of Pixar. But it could be worse and I recall that most of my imaginitive play also revolved around someone else's prefab imaginary universe. That is how we begin. Uniqueness comes after Uniqua, as they say.

However, we have road bumps ahead. A couple of days ago David was playing with his lego Buzz and a McDonalds toy was standing in as the Emperor Zurg. He was reinacting the climactic "you killed my father" scene. It occurred to me that David will eventually see "The Empire Strikes Back" and when he sees the very dramatic scene where Vader reveals Luke's parentage, he will scoff that they totally took that from "Toy Story II." Additionally, legos have their limits. He asked me this weekend to help him build "Eve" out of legos. "Um, Eve is pretty much the anti-lego" I explained, unless he were to melt them down to an egg shape and paint them white.

His creativity also extends to drawing which he does rarely, but which now focusses more on the figure--sorta. A bizarre arrangement of shapes and lines with a small circle somewhere in the center is any number of people. He drew one of these "people" in gravel with a stick a few days ago. Very cute.

Yes please

David: Yes
Simon: Yes
D: Please
S: Pwease
D: Yes, please
S: Pwes, yease
D: Good job!

Simon's language is actually coming along very nicely. He understands most questions asked of him and is able to answer in some way. His "please" and "thank you" are very good. He regularly uses two-and-three-word sentences like

"Done daddy car?" ("are we done in daddy's care" (ie, "have we arrived?")
"Watch daddy!"
"I don't want to!"
"Why, daddy?"

This last one is particularly interesting. As I recall, Simon is not yet at the typical "why" age, but he has picked the habit up from David. He is picking lots of age inappropriate things up from David. His imaginative play is far more advanced than David's was at 23 month because he spends so much time imitating his big brother. So as David gets more elaborate with lego play, super hero play and the like Simon is right there with him soaking it up. I predict that this, along with the generally lower level of directive attention we give, could contribute to him being a more imaginative of the two.

Later imaginary friends

Yesterday, part 2, wall-to-wall prayer

It began with a baptism. The child belonged to a couple from the "Old country"--actually two old countries, Palestine and Romania. In many times and places baptisms are strictly a family affair rather than a church community affair. I showed up in case Father Joseph needed any logistical assistance. I assumed wrongly that someone from the choir would do likewise. So it turned out to be my first solo choir gig. And it was recorded on video for posterity.

It is simple and beautiful service and I left feeling elated with the hymn "As Many As Are Baptized" on my lips. I sang this on the way over to Skylar's to tend the garden when we were stopped at a green light by a funeral procession. In a singing mood, I switch from the baptism hymn to "May His Memory Be Eternal" and reflected on the appropriateness of the encountering two services in a single morning. At one, a person died and was raised from the dead having put on the garment of immortality. At another, a person is being put to rest until the ultimate fulfillment of Baptismal Promise.

Saturday evening, the prayers continued as we commenced with the celebration of our patronal feast with Great Vespers, joined by or shepherd in Christ, Bishop BASIL. Towards the end of this service, I was summonsed to the center of the church with a new cassock over my arm. Bowing three times, I then went and knelt before His Grace and waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually he laid his hand on my head and read a prayer over me making me a Reader in the Church. He then tonsured me, clipping four small snips of hair from my head. I stood and he ordered me to put on my cassock. As I began, I could here Simon say "daddy shirt?" on the other side of the church. As I struggled with the buttons, His Grace reached around and grabbed the cincture attached to the back, pulled around to the front, and tied it.

He then took the brass-bound book containing the books of Acts and the Epistles of the New Testament, kissed it and said a prayer. He held it in front of him, spine facing up, found a random spot with his fingers, opened the book, and told me to take it to the center of the room and and read. He opened it to a passage from Paul's Epistle to the Romans, chapter 15. In it, Paul speaks about his ministering the Gospel of God--which I pray will someday be my vocation and profession. I am easily moved to tears and had done ok remaining calm to this point, but I think my voice trembled as I resisted being so moved that I would not be able to see the page. I returned the book to His Grace and he admonished me to read the Gospels daily and conduct myself in a worthy manner. He directed me to stand next to him.

A few moments later he whispered "begin Glory to God," meaning he wanted me to lead the Trisagion Prayers. We say this series of prayers at the beginning of every prayer service in the church or in our homes, so I have it memorized, but I don't trust myself enough to have ever said them in church without reading them off the page. Knowing that the fear would be a sure way to forget them, I had to concentrate on relaxing, opening my mouth, and simply letting the prayers come.

By the end of this service, I was on a cloud.

The cloud remained beneath my feet the next day. Now a Reader, I stood with the choir in my new cassock reading the occasional non-singing parts. Towards the end of Orthros (Matins (Morning Prayers)), the Bishop, in full regalia, and the priests exited the Altar and stood in the middle of the church. Because Father Joseph was going to be elevated to the rank of Archpriest, two other priests were also serving with us: Archimandrite Daniel, who is the Dean of our diocese, and Fr. Elias from our daughter parish in Overland park. In due time, I was summonsed again to bow before the altar, then kneel before His Grace, and wait. This was different than the evening before. His Grace stood in front of me and three priests stood to my left and right facing me--a well of red and gold brocade, satin, and embroidery. While the choir sang the praises, His Grace was reading a different set of prayers aloud and the priests were responding. These prayers were indistinct, but their tone and rhythm moving back and forth over my head was like the call and response of the angels. Over the top of this was the heavenly sound of our choir and even the background noise of the congregation with all its children. Mentally, if not spiritually, I felt lifted up and embraced.

When the praises were over, His Grace read the prayer for the ordaining (small "o") of a Subdeacon. I stood and was given a sticharion, which I slipped on over the cassock. His Grace then gave a white orarion to Archimandrite Daniel on my left. Fr. Daniel laid it on my shoulder, which was not what His Grace wanted and he said so, telling him to put it around my waist. With Subdeadon John's assistance, the wrapped the 15-foot sash around my waist, up over my shoulders, and down the front in an "X." Subdeacon John then gave me a small pitcher of water, a bowl and a linen napkin. Praying, His Grace held his hands over the bowl while I poured water over them three times. He used the napkin to dry them and then laid it over my neck. The ritual complete, I was told to go into the Altar and begin serving as a Subdeacon.

The only time Subdeacons do anything particularly special is a during Heirarchical Divine Liturgy. Our primary role during this is to accompany the bishop with a couple of special candlesticks called the Dikirion and Trikirion (or "trixie" and "dixie" as I have heard them called out of earshot of the bishop), hold his staff and miter, and do whatever else he may bid. At one point, this duty means walking through the Holy Doors, a priviledge normally reserved for clergy.

I also got to hold the Dikirion and stand on His Grace's left while he elevated Fr. Joseph to Archpriest. This time it was Father's turn to bow before the altar, kneel before His Grace, and wait. Then, putting his hand on Father Joseph's head, His Grace read the prayers of elevation in which we are reminded that as part of the proper ordering of creation, God gave us the priesthood. He then placed a heavy, ornate cross around Father Joseph's neck. This has been an honor a long time coming. We first discussed this elevation about 18 months ago when I suggested it be done while the Parish Life Conference was in Topeka. His Grace suggested that was not an appropriate time and wanted to wait until he would be here this year. It is a great honor for our Father Joseph, and one he is worthy of. It is also an honor for our parish. At some point during this service, dixie dripped hot beeswax on my fingers, which was also an honor.

I floated through the rest of liturgy. At one point I ritually washed His Grace's hands a second time, processed with the Dichirion, and received Holy Mysteries first. All the while I was constantly tugging and adjusting my orarion, which refused to remain crossed in front of me.

society rules

We have had to explain some really basic stuff to David this weekend: Don't knock on people's doors at 7:30 in the morning. Don't go outside without pants on (admittedly not a universal rule in our neighborhood). Don't go in other people's houses when they are not home. His innocent ignorance of these common concepts is both charming and disturbing.

He is entering a whole new world of socialization and freedom. He has finally hit it off with Cody, the four-year-old whose family moved in next door last year. Cody comes over and hangs out in our basement, David goes over to Cody's, and they generally want to spend every spare moment together--which is actually not a lot of time since they are four and by no means masters of their own schedules. David has also become good friends with another neighbor, Christopher, who is not quite three, but whose language and social skills finally allow for socializing. Christopher also has Transformers and the biggest Lightening McQueen in the neighborhood, which makes up for any linguistic or social shortcomings.

So now he has good friends near by and he was the freedom to play with them as much as possible. Be we all know that freedom isn't free. Well we know that. David is learning. And the lessons, they are hard.

The lessons began around 7:30 Saturday morning. In bed, half asleep, I was vaguely aware of David being up and around but didn't think much of it. He often gets up and fixes himself breakfast before we get up. Was that the front door? Nah, couldn't be. A bit later David pads into our room in his t-shirt and pull-up. He asks if one of us would go knock on Cody's door because he tried and no one answered. Though freaking-out inwardly, his mother and I try to remain calm as we explain that he cannot leave the house with neither permission nor pants.

The day then becomes a series of lessons and restrictions. The privilege of playing in a friend's house is revoked because he pitched a fit when it was time to come home. The privilege of being able to go to the park revoked because he went to the "creek" behind the park against explicit orders. The privilege to play outside altogether revoked because he then went in another friend's house without permission (which he would not have gotten). He spent the last hour before dinner sitting on the couch looking at books (more or less). For awhile I thought I would have to lock him in a box to keep him from going where he shouldn't go.

This culminated on Sunday with actual breaking-and-entering and burglary. I needed to put Simon down for a nap, leaving David alone in the front yard after reviewing the rules. I fell asleep myself, woke up an hour later, and went out to search for David. He came walking down the sidewalk I and I verified that he was staying outside. He said he had just gone in Christopher's for a minute to get some toys. Fine, just as long as he is playing outside. Then he asked if I wanted to play with him at Christopher's. I said no thank you, that he should play with Christopher himself.

Then he explained that Christopher was not home. Some confused Q&A followed and I gathered that, since no one was home at Christopher's, he simply opened the front door, gathered whatever toys he wanted to play with, and brought them outside. During our conversation, he mentioned that Cody also was not home. I noted that someone must be home because Cody's front door was standing open. Perhaps they were upstairs and didn't hear David knock. I explained that he can't get people's toys out of there house when they aren't home. Then, he and I kicked his new soccer ball around for awhile. Eventually, Cody's family's van drove into the parking lot and the entire family emerged. As Cody's father approached the front door, he was obviously perplexed that it was open. More Q&A with David from which I gather that HE opened it searching for Cody. More gentle explaining.

If no one was home at both Cody's and Christopher's home, how is they were both unlocked so David could get in? Well the doors around here are heavy and tight, so it takes extra care to make sure they are closed all the way and latched. It is possible that the front door of both homes was not latched, allowing a persistent four-year-old to push it open. He is used to struggling with our door (from both sides, apparently).

I am confident that David will learn all the new rules and responsibilities that come along with his new social abilities. I just hope he does acquire a rap sheet in the process.

Later, pants fans.

shutter bug, larval stage

We've allowed David to shoot some of his own pictures with the digital camera lately. I have created a new set of photos he has shot that I'll add to as we go along.



Our mustached mini Bresson, his camera strap like scarf of creativity shielding him from the bitter cold wind of mundanity.

ministeps

A friend mine bought a new Mini Cooper that arrived last weekend. I assume they spent the weekend just driving around. I know when I got each of my bikes, I took every oportunity to just go ride it. It's like first having your driver's licence--just gotta go. Well, Simon got his licence to walk last week and he has just got to go, too.

At first it was like he was possessed in some sort of trance. He had been taking a significant number of steps for a couple of weeks, but if he really needed to get anywhere, he would drop and crawl. He can crawl as fast as a Mini Cooper. But, suddenly, last weekend, he just started walking and walking and walking with no purpose, from one corn of the house to the other. The first day it stagger four-or-five steps, teeter, fall, get up, stagger. His stance was wide, his legs unbending, his arms akimbo like some Frankenstein monster cowboy. Each day he could go further and further without tumbling until he could basically walk a straight line over flat ground without a problem. Eventually, he got better on uneven ground and can sometimes change direction without toppling. Today, he walked to me on the sidewalk in front of Ninas--a sidewalk that more resembles a recently-collapsed building.

But, now that he has mastered the skill, is over it. Sometimes he walks, sometimes he crawls. No big deal. It just depends.

He still is not eating significantly. But there is improvement there. Each week he chokes a little less frequently and we get bolder with our solid food experiementing. I assume that something will click in the arena, too, and he'll suddenly want to devour every solid thing he can get his hands on.

Later, Minifans

laughing

Val posted once a long time ago that she had intended to track the development of the twins' sense of humor. I thought that is a great idea, but didn't do anything with it. Well, now it's a meme.

Simon is laughing. What's so funny? Peek-a-boo, of course. Cracks him up.

David, meanwhile is telling jokes. Rather, he is telling a joke:

What does the gingerbread boy put on his bed?
Cookie sheets!

Ha! I taught him this. It is from Reader's Digest--Marla got a subscription for Christmas.

He has no idea why it is funny, but enjoys the reaction and his delivery is spot-on--especially since I make him tell to everyone we encounter "hey, David there is that stranger standing on the corner I made you smile at when you were four-months old; go tell him your joke."

Later, laughing fans.

portrait of a young man as an artist

David drew his first self portrait last night. First, he drew a sort of oval shape that was slightly angular at one end. This was inside a larger, incomplete oval but I don't know if he considered that part of the composition. He declared this to be himself. I complimented him on his work and asked where the eyes are. He drew two circles next to each other near the top of the inner oval. I asked where the nose is. Another circle near the center. Then,I asked about his mouth. For this, he scrawled a wildly crooked and off-center line near the bottom and off to the left, giving the impression of a smirk with some serious attitude.

Here is the very cool thing: he did this on the bottom of the bathtub. He has washable crayons that are made for the bath and draws all over the bathtub and shower. I've never seen his draw under the water, though. He was sitting in the tub and just drew this on the floor of the tub in front of him. I thought about trying to get a photo of it, but as soon as he was done, he began scribbling over it. By the time his bath was over, the drawing had been washed away completely.

For me this was a perfect piece of art--like and icon only truly exists in the space of prayer or a mandala until the sand is dumped into the river, this existed for just a moment, only the two of us saw it, and then the piece, with the moment, was gone without pretension of permanence or importance. A photo would have spoilt it.

Veda Mae Gilbert, Memory Eternal

I haven't written since Tuesday even though there has been a lot to write about--Simon is laughing and David drew his first self portrait. But it seemed disrespectful to not first write about a great loss in our family.

Our phone rang at 3:00 am last Tuesday morning. As I made my way to the phone, I prayed that it was a wrong number. No one wants the kind of phone call you get at 3:00 am. It was not a wrong number. It was That call. It was about my grandmother. She collapsed earlier that evening and was ambulanced to the hospital. I spoke with the nurse later on. He said that she was conscious, awake, and communicating. Then, he turned around to do some paper work, and when he turned back, she was gone.

The week since then has been one long hectic day of coordinating arranging, crying, consoling, and wandering around in a disbelieving stupor. The funeral was Friday. She was buried on Sunday.

During the sharing portion of the memorial service, I said something like this:

Veda was a person with a very strong sense of right and wrong. She had great moral clarity and was also very outspoken making her, at times, somewhat opinionated. Her sense of right and wrong was so strong that she could actually be hurt when she saw someone making wrong choices.

This could be a little difficult to deal with because there are many times in my life when we disagreed about right and wrong and didn't feel like she should feel injured by my decision. Of course she was very often correct, but sometimes, we simply had to disagree and deal with it. Somewhere in my teens I realized that if I was making a decision for myself that Veda would not take kindly to, the best approach was the direct one. Be straight, assume she is an adult that can handle the truth, and tell her what is going on. When I did this, she wasn't shy about letting me know where I was wrong, but she never wavered in her love and acceptance of me.

Because of this, I learned what unconditional love looks like. When I eventually recognized that in another woman, I married her. Veda also taught me that integrity is the best course. Be honest and direct and let the chips fall where they may. These lessons have served me very well and kept me more-or-less on a straight path--or I at least return to that path eventually. I never consider two options in my life without thinking about what Veda and Gib would think about it--they are my own personal "what would Jesus do?".

In the course of the visitation, funeral, burial, visits to the house, calls, cards, and online condolences, we heard from over 400 people over the last week. I know that the majority of these who knew Veda personally also saw in some measure this sense of morality combined with love that I saw. I know it touched and guided them too. I know that all of us will continue to be guided by Veda and that her memory will be eternal.

holiday

We had a great holiday, but not a greatly-documented holiday. Here are a few images worth display.

On Saturday, we Baptized Simon.





David playing with his new train set



Gargles? Check. Pants? Um, not so much.

stop panicking

So the Barium swallow went predictably well. Like the rattle in your car that you only hear until you go to the shop,he didn't spit up or show anything abnormal. Nevertheless, Jaime managed to rangle some anti-reflux meds out of our doctor. Suddenly, we are experiencing a barf drought at chez sdjj. It's going to wreck our entire barf-based economy. We're going to have to apply for barf subsidies from the department of barficulture.

ahem.

They weighed and measured him. He is 22 inches long and weighs 9 lbs, 10 oz.
His weight puts him in the 22nd percentile for his age, the same percentage as women who test too high for levels of mercury.

Simon is definitely more an "infant" now rather than "new born." He's looking around, cooing, holding up his head and responding to the world. He will sit on my lap looking around, I'll move my face into his line of site, and his expression will change, like "oh hi, where did you come from?" This evening, I fed him a bottle for the first time. It was bonding and all, but doesn't seem the same without getting barfed on.

In other news, David and I hit the gym(nastics school) again this evening and were informed that a boy who jumps as well as he does should also be standing on one foot unassisted. So, when we got home, I tied one foot to his waist and told him he could have a glass of chocolate milk just as soon has he can get into the kitchen and get it. I'm confident that his monopedalism will improve by next week.

I'll be sure to report on his progress.

Later, mercury fans.

toddlers tumbling--duh

Tonight, David and I paid five bucks to hang out with about 20 other toddlers in a big room with springy floors covered in inches of foam. A room full of padded ramps and things to bounce on and climb over and and and

wow.

They had a big inflated runway for toddlers to bounce down over and over and over and over and over. Remember the parachutes we had in gym in grade school? They had one of those!

For me, the most interesting thing was watching David try to grasp a new skill--paying attention to a teacher in a group setting. It's hard enough to get him to listen to me when we are the only people in the room, he is inches from my face, and I am bellowing. In a room full of two-year olds, some lady is trying to make herself heard and he is supposed to pay attention? Read the instructions for setting the clock on your VCR to a room full of cats and see what happens.

Fortunately, we, the parents were present to keep things moving along:

Ok, she said walk sideways, David, no this way, see how she's doing it, wait, ok, she said go the other way, no, wait come back--no, sidew--oh wait, now we are--come back, no--now we are jumping, we are jumping backwards, I think, now wait watch like this--no, stop--come back wait, ok, 1, 2, 3, jum--oh wait, now we are running--follow that little girl--woops! don't step on her! just go around, follow that one with her mommy--

My main reason for going is that I really want David to meet and interact with others his own age. Maybe form some friendships so that he can have a social life that we don't have to pay five bucks for. Problem is that, like paying attention to the teacher, striking up friendships with strangers in a group situation is not a skill he was born with. This is where I come in. This is where I come in and stand uncomfortably in the corner looking at the floor. If memory serves, the last time I tried to introduce myself to strangers, they laughed at me from their tree house, so that is not something I'm best qualified to teach the boy. Fortunately, we have the five bucks.

I think we'll have to bring mom along sometime. She is one of those people that talks to people in line at the store and chats with the cashier. I went to Wal-Mart yesterday and the credit card swiper displayed the question, "Did your cashier greet you? Yes, No, Ignore" There was no option for "No, thank goodness, I was spared small talk with someone who, when distracted, will bag five pounds of potatoes on top of my eggs." Jaime wouldn't have waited for the cashier to greet her, she would greet him. And, in tumbling, she would have had David a play date with the cutest two-year-old girl in the room by the time we left.

But we'll be going back. I think David has Olympic somersault potential.

later, cat fans

a nearly proverbial suffering almost unlike any other

David loves sticks. With the high value he puts on them, you would not think they grew on trees. He picks them up, he uses them as guns (don't ask) and fishing poles (I don't know). He insists that you have some. When we go for a walk, he wants to stop and gather every stick we cross. He'll ask me to carry his trike so that he can walk and gather sticks.

He loves to take big heavy sticks and fling them carelessly up into the sky.

If you don't see where this is going, you are as naive as he is was.

I've watched him do this, the stick flinging, and I've thought to myself that he is asking for trouble, but I have not thought of any way to adequately explain the physics of a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. So, I figure the worst that can happen is a scratched cornea. Corneas heal. And if it doesn't, well, so he won't be a fighter pilot.

Sure enough he comes in the house tonight all crying and moaning and bleeding out of his eye and wah wah wah.

In fact, he was smart enough to close the eye as the stick approached and just scratched his eye lid. Nothing poetic or eternal about a poke in the eye lid with a sharp stick, and I am sure that there are plenty of things worse, so we let him go back out and try for something a more literary.

later metaphorical fans