Animals

GG got Parker the cutest little stuffed monkey (with bellybutton and long weighted tail). Parker hasn't shown any interest in it just yet, but I'm in love with the thing.

I was never really the stuffed animal type myself. I had a teddy bear named Bear Bear that I slept with every night, but little else. I tickled that bear so often that he had bare patches all over his back and stomach, much as Parker's black bear has bare patches where his tag used to be. I would get upset when my mother tried to trim my fingernails because, I said, "I can't tickle Bear Bear anymore."

When I was pregnant with Parker, Carol (that's GG) bought a green and purple dinosaur stuffed animal that I also loved. There's something about being pregnant that makes me care more about stuffed animals. I slept with Parker's monkey tucked up in my arms most of Saturday night.

GG and Grandpa, I want you to know that Parker played with his lion, tiger, elephant and giraffe this morning. He came into our bedroom where I was dozing, with plastic lion in hand saying, "Roar, Roar, Roar." I roared back at him and he laughed back at me.

Also for the sake of the record, Parker has begun practicing the word "No." He said no to everything today whether he meant it or not. My sister asked him "Parker, do you love me?" and he said no every time. And we know that's not true.

He was so tired before his nap this afternoon that he tried to hold every piece of sidewalk chalk in his tiny little hands, and he cried as though his heart were breaking every time he dropped a piece. Michael said it was as though he thought the chalk were being taken from him if he couldn't hold them all in his hands. Eventually we convinced him to return the pieces to the plastic zip-lock bag in which they are stored and hold the bag while drawing with one piece of chalk at a time. He likes to draw on himself, the cement slab in our backyard, and on the Spalding basketball that rolls away every time he lets go of it.

I got some good pictures over the weekend (some of him playing with a water sprinkler in GG and Grandpa's backyard). I'll try to post some of these sometime in the next few days, but we've got a busy week ahead, so I make no promises.

Question of the Day

Parker pulled his baby book out this morning and had me read part of it to him. About the time he was born I was supposed to take note of things such as the price of a loaf of bread, a gallon of milk. Since these prices will be totally inflated by the time Parker's brother or sister is born, I'd really like to have the answers to these questions.

Did anybody out there take notice of these things in 2006 or no someone else who did? For their own baby books, perhaps? Know where I could find such information on the internet?

Here are the entries that I need:

Gallon of Milk; Loaf of Bread; Diapers; Movie ticket; Cotton shirt; Postage stamp; Gallon of gas; Computer; Car; Family vacation.

Question of the Day

I suppose it is understandable that I've been napping a lot lately. I don't get to do it every day; sometimes I can't sleep, and sometimes sleep isn't a priority. When I do nap these days it's for an hour, or two, or more, so I guess it's no surprise that when I do wake up I'm fairly non-functional for a while.

Michael suggests that if I limit myself to 20 minute naps I won't have this problem. Have any of you tried it? Compared a short nap to a long one and noticed the difference? I'm not ready to experiment--I just want to sleep.

I've had uncharacteristically late nights the past two nights. Last night Anna and I went to the Bama Theater to see my friend Alyson play. Alyson just produced a CD. You can hear some of her music at www.alysongreenfield.com/music.

Optimism/Pessimism

I really liked the question Tina asked the other day. What makes one person generally pessimistic, leading them to worry, and what makes another person generally optimistic such that they rarely worry about anything at all? According to the magazines guilt seems to go right along with being a mom. I would extrapolate that to mean that worry also goes right along with being a mom, but that isn't really a satisfactory explanation.

I think it has to do with personality, not that Myers-Briggs has a category to explain worry. I don't know; it might. I think I associate optimism with the sanguin or phlegmatic temperment, while pessimism I would associate with the melancholy or choleric temperment. Really, I have no idea what I'm talking about.

My intellect tells me that worry is a totally nonproductive emotion. (Is worry and emotion, like happiness or frustration?) However, it also tells me everything that can and may go wrong. I default toward trying to be prepared for the worst as a way of staving off disappointment. Why do I expect things to go wrong? Because the world is broken. These days I just try to remember what is really important (thanks to Larry Crabb and The PAPA Prayer), and that is that I avoid replacing God with anything else as the "first thing" in my life. As such, I can talk to Him about the little things that matter to me, and yet realize that even if those things go wrong (like losing my calendar, seeing my comfortable if wild yard being destroyed) I don't have to let them ruin my day. That is a very good thing.

Pictures of Parker From Before Our Yard Was Destroyed

It's kind of funny, tonight we saw the episode of Little House on the Prairie where Laura and Almanzo lose everything but the baby. Almonzo get dyptheria, their crops are destroyed, their house is destroyed in a tornado, and Almonzo loses the use of one side of his body. It's the first episode I saw last year, which is what got me interested in seeing the entire series. This episode makes me feel better about the damage to our back yard. At least we don't have any debts against it.

I'm Really Not Supposed to Give My Baby Chocolate, Right?

Last week sometime Parker and I were home alone together. This was one of the days when I wasn't feeling very well. Parker is, as I've said before, tall enough to reach a lot of things now, and he's become an excellent climber.

There was a plastic wrapped piece of chocolate cake on the table behind our sofa. It had been there for several days already, so when I left the room I remembered to take my yogurt with me, but never gave the chocolate cake even the first thought. This is what I emerged from the bathroom to discover:

The Yard Has Good Bones; Now I Have to Figure Out How to Make it Work Now that What I Used to Have is Gone.

Somebody, I'm not sure who exactly, came through today and destroyed my back yard. It has something to do with clearing the power lines, which has to be a good thing, hasn't it? That grove of bamboo where we thought Parker would like to play is gone now. I haven't been out there yet, but there appear to be little jagged stumps all over the place that we'll have to do something about. The view is no longer shielded between our yard and that of the semi-vacant house next door.

Here's what I'm thinking. I wish that I could transform into a big strong man for just a few hours. Make that a big strong man who knows something about yardwork. I would take a shovel and dig up the shallow roots of the bamboo that was there just four hours ago. I would dig a trough deep enough to insert a barrier so that the roots could no longer spread to the rest of the yard. Meanwhile I would remove the metal frame that stand forlornly near the back of the yard, and in its place I would install one of those old fashioned clothes lines, the kind with permanent posts set in concrete; the clothesline would run parallel to the fence. I would run out to Lowe's and buy more of the screening that was installed between our yards just before we moved into this house, and add it to the fence as needed. I would also have our chain link fence repaired in the couple of places where it has been warped out.

Fortunately or unfortunately, since I'm pregnant I can't do any of that stuff. I guess I'll have to take this as an opportunity to plan. I miss my old shady yard already.

Parker and Me on Mother's Day

Parker spent the day exploring his Granna's yard. I spent the day napping in my sister's room. We managed to squeeze most of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade in there too. Sean Connery's character in that movie reminds us so much of our Dad, especially the quotable bits of dialogue.

One of my Dad's favorite lines:

"Did I ever tell you to eat up? Go to bed? Wash behind your ears? Do your homework? No. I respected your privacy..."

How I'm Feeling and What Parker Did at Graduation

I was amazed at how well Parker behaved at my brother's graduation this afternoon. He sat in Michael's lap the greater part of the time and ate snacks from the zip lock bag I packed. He borrowed my water, which was in an orange thermal cup he's attracted to, and spilled it down the front of his shirt. I accidentally sprayed a girl in front of us with water from his cup when I opened it, only after beaming her in the head with the wheels from our umbrella stroller upon arrival. But Parker--he did great!

I haven't exactly been nauseous beyond that week when I was really sick, but psychosomatically ever since I found out I was pregnant I have felt strange. I took an hour long nap before leaving the house this afternoon and I never do that. I had no stomach for lunch, although I ate raw fruit and carrot sticks after the graduation ceremony with no problem. I feel like there is evidence of life in there, including the fact that I had to excuse myself to the bathroom twice during the ceremony.

Maybe I'll feel good through my first trimester this time. We'll just have to wait and see.

Funny Little Worries of Expectation

It's funny how much more worried I am about my pregnancy this time around. Last time I remember only being thrilled--concerned about finishing my education, of course, but still thrilled. I'm thrilled this time too, its just that the first time I didn't know much of what was going on, besides which I think we detected the pregnancy when Parker was already several weeks further along. I'm worried that we'll go in at the end of the month for the first ultrasound and not be able to detect a heartbeat. I'm worried that there might not really be a baby in there.

I was thinking about this in the shower this morning. The fact that we'll be bringing another child into this world in nine (make that eight) months is God's choice, not ours. That means that if anything happens to this baby it will be God's choice as well. We as followers of Christ have chosen to accept whatever comes to us from His hand, whether pleasant or unpleasant. There are all kinds of rational reasons why this sort of argument is offensive. Ayn Rand, who I'm reading right now, would certainly not be pleased. But that's where we are. Michael is the one who has reminded me of this ever since we found the promise of what is to be.

Of course after writing this down I have one more thing to worry about: if I say I have faith it almost follows that that faith will be tested. Sometimes it's a curse to know too much about how the world tends to work. Dare I even publish this?

I dare.

You'll Know You're Pregnant If...

I'm so tired. I was composing in my head as we drove home this evening, but now I don't remember what I was going to say. Blame it on "mommy-brain." How about this:

You know you're pregnant if ...
the thought of visiting the bank to close that account that's needlessly costing you $9.00 a month fills you with dread. Okay, that one may be only me.

You know you're pregnant if ...
you drop socks on the floor every time you take a step toward getting the laundry done. That one might be only me as well.

You know you're pregnant if ...
reading about "elimination patterns" in the new mommy literature causes you to burst into tears.

You know you're pregnant if ...
the sight of your brother graduating from college also causes you to burst into tears. Those were some serious tears, just ask my husband.

By the way, Little House on the Prairie is NOT pregnancy friendly programming. When a pregnant Laura collapsed from exhaustion and possible heat stroke in the episode we saw last night it was quite alarming. That doesn't mean that we'll stop watching it, though.

Life With Parker is Always an Educational Experience

Yesterday morning, I'm told, my mother called to Parker where he was doing something in her bathroom. He responded with something sounding very much like a frustrated "Just a minute!"

Sometimes Parker wanders around here on a path of destruction. For instance, this morning I learned how to put one of those cardboard DVD cases back together, because Parker had figured out how to take it apart.

One day last week I was so proud of Parker. He loves books; as with everything else, I think he likes to see how they are put together. Sometimes I find him taking my books down off the bottom shelf in the living room and examining their pages and bindings. He likes to remove the dust jackets, and I think he is drawn to the ones with pictures. Last week he took a couple of books down off the shelf, but then put them back on the shelf when he was done. Soul Survivor's dust jacket is crammed in behind the actual book, but I am so please to see that he knows where they belong.

I Have a Secret...

...but it isn't really a secret. There were so many people I wanted to call and tell in person, but I couldn't call all of them for various reasons, and since this is the type of news that has to be shared...

Michael and I are going to have another baby. Parker is going to be a big brother.

If you're my friend and I haven't called you yet please know that I really wanted to call you.

I went in to the Drs. office this morning to have a test done. Since they were already in the midst of a new mommies class they gave me the option to be processed immediately. I've had quantities of blood drawn this morning and I've been thoroughly oriented to the hospital once again. Parker ran around the lobby of the Drs. office like a mad man. It's early yet. I'm probably only something like five weeks along so we have a really long way to go.

I am so excited I just can't stand it.

Trials of Technology and Children

Parker frustrated me just now when he turned my computer off in the midst of my typing. Some ideas on Pierre Bayard's book were finally coming together and I had made all sorts of changes to what I had already written, when access to blogger was broken.

How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read--Even If You Have No Intention of Ever Reading Them

A couple of weeks ago, instead of going to church, I fell asleep on the sofa finishing How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read by Pierre Bayard. Jamey, who was with me when I discovered the book at Barnes & Noble a couple of weeks ago, will be glad to know that the public library did have it.

The book was accessible, amusing, snide. I finished it in a matter of days in spite of illness.

The point of the entire book seems to be that the efficacy and value of reading is questionable. As a matter of fact writing seems to be the only worthwhile activity with respect to books, in which case it is not the production of literature that matters, but rather the production of criticism, said criticism being of value only when its writing is divorced from any reference to literature whatsoever.

Bayard argues that when we talk about books we are never discussing them as they exist, but instead we discuss an imaginary approximation of the text. Thus we may discuss literature even more accurately if we have in fact failed to read the text in question.

It's so difficult to know what Bayard is really saying. Either he is discussing something he considers to be the ideal, or he is ironically discussing the reality of criticism as though it were the ideal, if only we could perfect it. The proof of the ironic nature of his discussion seemed to be his use of Oscar Wilde to make his point. In my experience, meagre as it may be, Oscar Wilde is an author who can never be understood unless the reader reads between the lines. In other words, he will never directly say what he means--it is up to the audience to interpret what isn't there.

Bayard allows me to say definitive things about Oscar Wilde, whether I have any experience with him or not.

Why is Organization So Much More Difficult Than Imagination Suggests?

I decided to work on the linen closet in our bathroom while Parker slept this morning. It isn't a dedicated linen closet because it is the only closed storage in our bathroom. Therefore it functions as linen closet, supply closet and medicine cabinet. All the books and organizational experts tell you to take one shelf at a time. Unfortunately, taking one shelf at a time isn't very practical because virtually everything in the closet has to be shifted. My mom did a good job of setting up the closet initially, but over eleven months its organization has become ineffective. Besides which I currently have cleaning supplies sitting out where I can see them, out of Parker's reach, but still in the way. I'm about halfway through, but what I've done so far doesn't work as well as I had hoped. I'm left with a disassembled bathroom.

I don't know whether there is room between the closed door and the shelves, but I've seen illustrated some sort of door mounted contraption that holds hair supplies (hair dryer, curling iron, etc.) Does anyone know where I could find such a thing? My ideal shelf would have a convenient shelf or drawer for arranging makeup, and a couple of holes for round brushes.

Corrective Action Needed

I am absolutely terrible at following through on things.

Friends have made offers I have unintentionally ignored. One has offered to drive me anywhere I need to go, but I am so homey I have never asked her to drive me anywhere. I thought of one last Saturday, that I should call her and ask her to meet me for coffee, but it was so last minute I discarded the idea, thinking I might call her to set up something for the following week. Still I have not called. One has offered to come to my house and help me with my landscaping concerns, but I have not asked her. I asked another a long time ago to come to my house and tutor me on laundry matters, but months later I have never set a date. There are still other examples. If I do nothing to correct the problem it will become a serious liability.

I have on occasion invited Anna Grace to my house to play with Parker while I get some necessary tasks done. By the time she arrives I have usually decided that I don't feel much like doing them. We watch movies with Parker instead. It isn't that I'm lazy--I like to work, I just don't.

I Consider It a Compliment...

Last Saturday I bought a bottle of white wine. The lady at the check-out asked to see my driver's license and she said,

"I didn't think you were that old."

Stop Me If You've Heard This One Already

It was the last day of kindergarten, and we were allowed to bring the unused supplies that we had purchased at the beginning of the year home with us. It was a light brown gum eraser, never used. It's edges were perfectly square, the shape of it rectangular. It was perfect, it was beautiful, and I was in love with it.

My father drove me home that day. Full of joy I said to him, "Look at this gum eraser."

"A gum eraser!" he exclaimed, sinking his teeth into it. I cried and cried.

When I buy a new book, if the quality of the paper and its formatting is good, I am awed by the perfection of its pages. The crisp angle of its corners is my delight. I am loathe to do anything that would mar the perfection of its cover.

After a book has been read, if its pages have become creased, its spine bent, or there are paper lines across its cover, a different sort of bedraggled beauty is revealed. Books that have been read by many have a different beauty of their own. Use is a good thing, creases and lines a mark of honor, because it means that an object's purposes have been fulfilled.

There is little worse than purposes unfulfilled.

Pleas

How many times recently have I started to post something and then been held up? I couldn't say. I try to write a review and the words won't come, or at least I am unable to structure the ones that do. I start to put something in my journal, and I am interrupted four words in. I have anecdotes to relate, I have ideas in need of development, I have to be thinking of something all day and every day.

When I think about it I realize that the people who read this blog mostly care about what I have to say. They like seeing pictures of the baby. They are at least mildly curious about how my mind works, if only as a psychological study.

It is fearful, in a way, to think that sometimes I have nothing to say, if only because I am the sort of person who needs to have things to say. If I cannot let myself think for several minutes every day, then who the hell am I?--though I don't consider that the appropriate use of a curse, it is there because so much of my identity is tied up in what I can be persuaded about the quality of my intellect. And if I cannot write, how can I continue to believe that I can think.

The books that I read wash over me--some of the ideas in them absorb, but if I cannot put them into words or practice, what good are they? Sometimes I read only because I have to in order to live. That is why reading becomes more important than mopping the kitchen floor. That is why writing becomes water--bringer of life.

Parker Wet