A Movie Review. Sorry if the Tone's a Little...Snarky?

So tired.  Will I ever blog, or even free write, again?  After a very long day yesterday (one involving needles, and x-rays, and considerate strangers), I found an interesting looking movie on Netflix and decided to watch.  The movie was three hours long, and totally worth it.

Lost in Austen is about a 21st century London girl who becomes trapped in a version of Pride and Prejudice from which Elizabeth Bennet has removed herself.  The dialogue was impressively good, the casting was stunning.  The movie was almost a cross between Bridget Jones's Diary and the BBC's Pride and Prejudice, which might qualify as ironic considering that Bridget Jones's Diary is based on the BBC's Pride and Predjudice, or may be it's just poetic. (I have trouble with irony as a concept, which has been further complicated by comments made on ABC's Castle recently.)

I totally dispised the American Pride and Prejudice starring Kiera Knightly that came out several years ago.  Not enough attention paid to dialogue or Jane Austen's mastery of what I'll call sitting room satire.  I should have realized that Britain was practically guaranteed rearrange Austen better.  They mock, but they do so with style.

Many a Trip to the Library

This may be a waste of everyone's time except for mine, but since I've been complaining about having nothing to say, and since I haven't posted anything in almost a month, I'm just going to start writing and see what comes out, almost like a Peter Elbow exercise. 

I'll start with books.  I've been getting in a lot of reading over the last several months.  When I go to the library, if I visit the stacks at all it rarely takes me long to come up with authors and titles I simply must begin reading immediately.  I visit the online catalogue on a semi-regular basis.  If you aren't a big reader (you probably aren't wasting your time on my blog, but if you aren't a big reader), you may wonder who we come up with those titles and authors.  The answer is that they come from everywhere, e.g, memory, previous reading, television and radio (if your paying that sort of attention), friends, family members, etc.  [By the way, I've been practicing use of i.e. and e.g. after reading about them in Grammar Girl's Fast and Dirty Tricks for Better Writing.  The abreviation i.e. can loosely be translated into something like "in other words," and e.g. means something like "for example."  Before reading Grammar Girl I had some idea of what they meant, but not their specificity.]  I'll give you an example.  I met my friend Lisa's Dad a couple of weeks ago, and got to join him and his wife, and Lisa, for dinner.  Lisa's Dad reads a lot of mystery fiction.  While I've enjoyed mystery fiction since highschool, it's been years since I read it with any sort of regularity.  When he mentioned the top 100, that was my [completely personal and arbitrary] cue to make a point of reading mystery fiction.  Any conversation can fuel a literary expedition.

Right now I'm reading Dorothy Sayer's Gaudy Night, Middlemarch by George Elliot, and Strong Women Eat Well by Mirian Nelson (with a bunch of letters after her name).

Unfortunately this is all I have time to write since the babies are not napping like I expected them to.

Photos of the Babies

I haven't posted any photos in a while and the boys are constantly changing.  Here are just a couple.  I still can't figure out how photo formatting is supposed to work.

About Writing: The Painfully Practical

I used to journal a lot.  In college my journals were always handwritten, often on these pads of paper that were multi-colored, which I could get cheaply from the Dollar store.  Often these were angry or heart-broken letters about my boyfriend/ex-boyfriend, the same person over the course of several years.  Other times they were about what I wanted to do or be.  More often than that I think that these were prayers.  The point of all this sentimental history is that I used to hand write things A LOT.

This morning I decided to do another one of those ten minute freewriting sessions.  The first time I did this last night I started out on the computer.  The computer didn't work in my favor, however, because when I am typing I cannot keep myself for going back and correcting typos and other careless errors.  I find that I have to do this exercise with pen and paper. 

When you're freewriting according to Peter Elbow's method, you don't pause to edit, or search for spellings, or think ahead to what you are going to say next.  The exercise is about clearing the mind, intensifying focus, getting the words out there.  (Though you may not know it, I am paraphrasing the first chapter of Writing Without Teachers while simultaneously referencing an episode of Wonderfalls.  This just goes to show what I've been putting in my head lately.)

The problem now is that I am out of practice.  It's almost as though I've forgotten how to write things manually.  I pulled a bound journal off the shelf a couple of weeks ago and my hand got tired writing after about half a page.  When I do the Peter Elbow exercise my had gets really tired.  I wonder is the problem only that I'm out of practice or is there something else going on.  Could there be arthritis in my future?

I don't actually think so.  I think it really is a matter of finding the right pen, the right position, and getting back in the habit of handwriting things on a daily basis.  The lists I've been making for years, and the many envelopes I've addressed in the past three months haven't done the trick.  It's almost like I have to relearn how to write.

(I may need to relearn how to type as well, but that is another story.)

Exercises come in many different kinds

For the past several months I have become semi-absorbed by the need for formal exercise.  It's strange in a way because I never really cared about exercise before.  It was something I knew I needed, but it seemed more like a chore than an enjoyable past time.  I knew that exercise would give me more energy, which I sorely needed, but the idea held no appeal for me.   After Isaac was born things changed.

I'm thirty-two years old, and eleven months ago I had my second child.  Isaac was accidentally born naturally, which was a revelatory experience, but even though recovery from the process of delivery was easy, recovery from the process of carrying Isaac was not.  I don't mean to imply that carrying Isaac did any permanent damage to me medically, but aesthetically, and as I tried to transition back into my old clothes, some damage had been done. Suddenly I wanted to strengthen my abdominal muscles.  Suddenly I was not longer satisfied to feel worn out by the time Michael came home from work in the afternoon.  Suddenly I was not satisfied to become tired so quickly while chasing Parker around in the front yard.

Not long after Isaac was born I started trying to walk 30 minutes every day.  Often this walking would occur early in the morning as I had many waking hours accompanied by trouble sleeping.  Often this walking would occur right after Michael came home from work, while he and Parker started eating dinner without me.  It was much too inconvenient and difficult to schedule, so it didn't last long.

Months later I saw on Facebook that my friend Amy's usual walking partner was out of town and that she was looking for someone else to join her.  I saw this as an opportunity to get a few walks in and to spend some time with an adult friend, so with Michael's help I took advantage of the chance.  We started to walk twice a week around the quad, weather permitting, but there were often weeks at a time when the weather didn't permit.

My mom started receiving a subscription to Health Magazine which I immediately co-opted.  Though I suspect this magazine does not contain the highest quality healthy lifestyle information, I enjoy reading it, and through it I found a Pilates video I thought might work for me, which, by the way, it does.  Then I noticed while watching the first season of Desperate Housewives on Hulu (yes, it's mostly trash, but it's very diverting trash) that Gabby and Edie were often to be seen jogging, which started me thinking that maybe I could somehow build my walking up to a respectable run.

So now I'm on this track.  My routines are still very much a muddle, and I am currently undergoing a setback as I've somehow injured my back, but I'm definitely on a track.  It's different, it's exciting, but it also opens up for me some other possibilities.

I now can rake the front yard longer and more efficiently than I could before.  Sometimes now on a Saturday when I think it might be nice to take a walk, I actually do it.  Then I realized just today that I really can set a timer for ten minutes every day and get in some writing, publishable or not.  It's amazing what a little exercise can do.

Habit Formation: A Beginning

Marla Cilley of Flylady.com says it takes 28 days to establish a habit.  Though I've been reading her thoughts on the matter for years, I have never quite believed her.  How many times over the years have I done the exact same thing day after day, for a month or two (and sometimes more) only magically one day to stop: Scripture reading, taking a 30 minute walk before dinner, posting notes to my blog, taking a shower before bed, straightening the house for the morning, rocking Isaac in the living room following his first feeding of the day, taking a multi-vitamin after brushing my teeth?  Even after much repetition, not one of these things has formed a solid habit.  I was relieved then to read the other day on webmdhealth that "most of us go through relapse seven times before we change our behavior."  This makes sense to me, as does the notion that habit formation takes commitment.  You have to be willing to work through the relapse, and guilt hinders your ability to do so.


I would be interested, if anyone were willing to share, in reading about victories or failures you've experienced in this area of habit formation.  Any time I ask about such personal details, however, I am reminded of a script I heard months ago on "A Prairie Home Companion."

I'm a private eye. A proud profession that died a long time ago, kid. Back in the Age of Privacy, you had to work to find out stuff about people, follow them around, sneak up behind trees, plant microphones in cocktails. Now you can find it all out on Facebook.

Start and start and start again, and if I do it enough times maybe eventually it will stick

Wow, August 18 was the last time I posted anything.  You've got to wonder whether I have abandoned the effort entirely, like I've abandoned most of the housework this week, like I've abandoned my book club dream...except that you don't get to wonder about any of those things, because I've told you nothing (or next to nothing) about them.  I've gone so far as to change the name of my blog twice, but never far enough to write anything more than four lines long.


At this very moment, Parker is supposed to be napping, but isn't (he just started calling my name), and Isaac is crying because he doesn't care to take a nap today.  It's difficult to do anything under the circumstances that requires mindfulness or attention, and I'm surrounded by detritus, and that doesn't help.

I have five hobbies.  They are reading, writing, cross-stitch, exercise, and story viewing.  In most cases I can't do one and still find time for another.  Reading and exercise and viewing have recently taken up the majority of my free time.  I live in constant awareness that when I choose to spend my time on one thing I also choose not to spend my time on another.  Maybe someday after many trials, I will discover how to make it all work, but not today.

Mysteries of Feeding

Just got finished giving Isaac his final spoon feeding of the day. Midway through I had to remove him from the high chair to change a dirty diaper, so coming back I decided to try something a little different.

Isaac is a small boy. He's small for his age. He has a good appetite, but he's only grown one pound in about the last three and a half months. Recently I've had a hard time feeding him because he gets distracted, or chokes on his food, or spits it out. Sunday afternoon I commented that he seemed to eat better when someone other than me was feeding him. Maybe the problem isn't who is feeding him, but where and how.

When I removed him from the high chair it seemed that he might be finished with his meal. Then I put him in his infant carrier instead so that he was in a semi-recumbent position. He proceeded to finish off the four oz carrots I had been feeding him, several teaspoons of the peas he had previously rejected, and entire 4 oz container of orchard fruit plus sweet potatoes, and two to three teaspoons of mixed vegetables, all at one sitting. Makes me think my baby has been starving just because he didn't like his high chair. If it takes me sitting in the floor to get him to eat, so be it, assuming he doesn't get sick off of consuming so much all at once.

"It's Five o'clock and I can't sleep"

Awake at 4:40 because that's what time Isaac started crying for me this morning. Second morning in a row, except that yesterday morning we fell asleep together until 6:00. This morning I rocked him to sleep and put him in the pack-n-play in our room, but now Parker is noisily awake, and I don't know why. Somehow Michael and Isaac are still sleeping. Miraculous somehow. But I still don't know what to do about Parker.

Why now; why not last year, or four years ago?

I'm a slow study when it comes to some really commonplace things.

A friend of mine recently stayed home while her daughter was out of daycare for a week and she commented that as such she had started noticing every time a bit of dust settled in her home. Me, I rarely even notice dust even though I'm allergic to it, because I never dust. Makes me unhappy makes me sneeze. The dust just sits there most of the time. Until last week.

I bought some pledge. I dusted last Saturday. It was great. I liked the results so much that I did it again yesterday.

As it turns out, the dusting spray, of which Michael had bought me an entire case back in our apartment days, was no good. The spray itself made me sneeze, and it did NOT do a good job of polishing surfaces or attracting the dust. Plus, maybe you guys are already familiar with this concept: when you take care of your things you are able to appreciate them more, and going around and touching furniture and moving objects around helps you to see again things you stopped noticing long ago. Heck, maybe I'll even dust next week too.

Miscellania (mostly Parker and Isaac, and a little bit of Waterdeep)

I love Waterdeep. Have I mentioned that lately? I'm listening to an old CD that Michael downloaded from their website a couple of years ago. It's called "Dogpaddle" or "Dog+paddle," and many of the tracks are one's I've heard before from other recordings. I wonder if they'd be interested in producing a lullaby CD? I recently bought one that Jewel produced for Fisher Price, and it's the only lullaby CD I have that I enjoy listening to, which means it's the one Isaac hears the most. I really don't play enough music around here.

What would it take to get Waterdeep to come to Tuscaloosa again, besides money to pay them with, and a place for them to stay? They're moving to Nashville soon if they haven't already. Maybe Michael's parents could take me to see them sometime. Maybe they (Waterdeep) will come to Huntsville.

Several things I've been thinking about on a semi-quiet Sunday morning before church. Before Isaac was born, my mother used to call him Little Kicker, for obvious reasons. I was realizing how much this child kicks even now. When he's bored, when he's excited, when he's happy, his little feet just go and go. Sometimes he seems to rub them together as though he were a cricket. I can't remember now whether or not he enjoys music. Parker always did. Before he was born he would kick excitedly whenever music played. After he was born I would sometimes take him into the sanctuary on a Sunday morning and dance with him during the designated "worship" time, though we believe that worship encompasses the whole thing, not just the music preceding the sermon or other business.

Parker would often kick me in the ribs, which I always described as him tickling me. It's interesting to me that I have clearer memories of Parker in the womb than I have of Isaac, except that with Isaac I had experienced a kicking baby before, and I had a very intelligent two year old to keep me distracted.

After Parker was born I took him with me everywhere. I had no need to spend time apart from him because I had never before experienced having a baby who wasn't with me. I remember Jamie asking one time whether I ever needed a break and me answering no. Parker and I had to be separated eventually so that I could leave him in the nursery, so that he could learn that I would always come back for him, but it was hard for me to leave him. This became a problem later when Parker started noticing when I was there and when I wasn't, but eventually he figured it out, that it was okay to be left in the nursery, that mommy and daddy really would come back, and that we didn't simply disappear when absent from him. Isaac may or may not learn this more easily than Parker did, if only because he has experienced it earlier.

This morning Isaac wouldn't go to sleep. I rocked him and rocked him. He nodded off, but when I put him in the pack-n-play in our bedroom he was disturbed. It looked like he would go right back to sleep, but then I put a quilt over him that he wasn't accustomed to, and then Michael slid out of bed to start his day, and it was all over. Isaac was awake. I rocked him again, telling him all the while what a privilege it was to rock him at this brief stage in his life, and how I don't always appreciate it. Soon it was time to feed him again since he wasn't sleeping and I did so, but then he started to actually fall asleep in his highchair, something he has never ever done before. Poor kid must have been sleepy.

A friend of mine from high school and college (more college than high school) friended me on facebook, and wanted to know what I'd been doing for the past ten years. I have not written to her yet, not about that. Months ago I was trying to figure out what was interesting that I could tell her, but I couldn't think of anything interesting because I was still learning how to care for two babies at once, which is something I am still learning. Maybe someday soon. It is often while I am feeding Isaac with a spoon that I start thinking about things to write.

Months ago I thought it would be interesting and useful to write reader profiles for the group page that is dedicated to my book club on google. It's another thing I haven't written yet. Another project to work on, but not today. Not today.

Video of Isaac in Swing

I uploaded pictures of Parker, but then I remembered that Anna Grace recently took a couple of videos of Isaac using my camera. I don't have time to review these before posting, but those of you who have a vested interest in my children will probably enjoy them anyway.


Well, I only had time to upload one of them, because my internet connection is slow, and by the time the upload had gotten started good, everyone was up, with Michael and Parker wanting to use the computer. The other video may be better, but I'll have to work on that one later.

As it turns out, I only had about an hour and fifteen minutes to myself before everyone (and I mean everyone) woke up. Parker didn't get enough sleep, Isaac didn't get enough sleep, and I didn't get enough sleep. I don't know yet about Michael. So we're looking forward to a fun filled day.

Pictures of Parker. I Think My Camara is Getting Old.

Michael recently had to do a wipe and reload of my laptop, so while all of my photos have been backed up and saved, I don't have access to them at the moment, except for the ones I've most recently taken. Therefore, I have pictures of Parker, but not Isaac, to post this morning.

A couple of times recently Parker and I have had stretches of time where we've been able to go outside just the two of us. It's a lot easier to take pictures of him when I'm free to follow him around (and even do a little bit of raking!)

Earlier and Earlier Each Morning

I made the mistake of talking about Isaac's sleeping habits not once, not even twice maybe, but I think it was actually three times over the weekend. This I blame on the fact that he has woken up crying progressively earlier each night for the past three nights. Michael says it's Murphy's Law, and I'm not sure that anyone other than he and I could believe this, but ever since he was born, when I talk about it, the pattern gets broken. Isaac doesn't know I've talked about it, unless he senses it five miles away, but it always happens.

I'm getting that quiet and alone time to read and write, and so far I've been keeping a generally positive attitude, using the time I have, but we can't go on this way. He doesn't go to sleep immediately if I nurse him when he starts crying. I have to rock him after. And I suppose I've finally accepted that there's no point in my trying to go back to sleep. (I wish I'd slept well last night. I tried to go to bed really early, and partially succeeded, but still didn't actually go to sleep until Michael came to bed too. The storm didn't help, so even though I slept, I'm afraid I didn't sleep well.) We can't go on like this because as long as I'm getting up at 4:30 in the morning or earlier with Isaac, Michael and I won't be spending any time together after the children are in bed. That means no dates, no tv, no nothing. As much as I love my babies, I know that they need their parents to maintain their own relationship to really feel secure, and that requires time together without the children.

I'd go somewhere and walk at 5:00 if I knew there were someplace safe I could go, and if my shoes weren't locked up in a room with sleeping husband and infant. (I couldn't put Isaac back in with Parker for fear Parker will wake him up when he starts yelling for his Daddy later.) I'd go out and watch the sunrise except that I need plenty of light to read, and again because of the shoes. Yup. I don't really know what I'm going to do except drink more coffee than I usually do. At least I'm not lying in bed angry that I can't go back to sleep.

Something More

I really just discovered the book section at what used to be called The Alabama Books Store, and is now referred to as I recall not what. I went there one day last week to look for Absalom Absalom! and instead I found Teaching a Stone to Talk by Annie Dillard, The Thanotos Syndrome in hardback by Walker Percy, and Dante's The Divine Comedy in full, in the Everyman's Library Edition, also in hardback, among others. There were others I would have liked very much to bring home with me, but shelf space, as I always say, is limited. I came home to find that my copy of The Merry Heart: Reflections on Reading and Writing and the World of Books, by Robertson Davies, had arrived from one of the independent book sellers on Amazon, and I almost immediately ordered his book of essays on the theater, A Happy Alchemy. I've just about gone crazy ordering books these last two months.

Experiencing a Lauded Southern Author for the very first time

I'm reading William Faulkner for the first time ever. I made it this far (thirty-two years) having read nothing that was actually written in that style known as "stream of consciousness." I wonder if Annie Dillard's novels, which I haven't read, would somehow have qualified? So now I'm reading Faulkner and I wonder, could a non-intuitive person ever even read such a book? According to Myers-Briggs at least, the opposite of intuitive is sensing. The sensing person is very linearly and detail oriented. They think in terms of specifics. The intuitive person, on the other hand, is interested in connections between ideas. They may start with one idea, and range very far afield before they are finished thinking of even that one idea. I find that this is how Faulkner writes, in *Absalom Absalom!* at least, and again I wonder, could a sensing person even begin to read such a book? I don't mean to make a value judgment here; it is simply a matter of curiosity. I find I like this style of writing, though I think I would have expected otherwise. Clarity is usually my goal in writing anything because I see writing as a certain type of communication with another person. Clarity isn't, evidently, Faulkner's goal at all. He means to present a puzzle for his reader to solve.

This piece was not carefully read or edited before publication, as only a few of my publications ever are.

Miscellania

Karen was talking about finding joy in the Lord in the midst of suffering this evening and I started thinking about how angry I was about having ordered an mp3 player that didn't work, and a manufacturer that wasn't willing to replace it. Sort of puts things into perspective.

Isaac turned seven months last week and I didn't even realize it until late this morning. A fixed milestone came and went this month and I missed it. I realize as I type this right now that Parker's three year birthday is coming in just two months, and that the likelihood that it will come and go with only last minute fanfare is quite good. At least I have the opportunity now to do something about it before it does. But will I remember this tomorrow, after several hours sleep and a yearning to read three pages of William Faulkner without interruption? I surely hope so, but again, the likliehood is slim.

Parker will be three next month. That's right. Three. I am thirty-two years old and I have two children. Two! It truly is amazing. Dr. O'Dair once said that everyone winds up thinking they're a fraud at one time or another. "I shouldn't be allowed to teach this class, or present this paper, or attend this conference. If I do someone will realize I have no idea what I am doing." Sometimes I feel that way about motherhood as well. And writing. And music. Whatever.

As I drove to my friend's house this evening I realized there were no children in the car. I didn't have to listen to Charlie Bird "Count' to the Beat," as good as that particular CD is, and so I listened to cheesie Christian ska instead. Michael would have hated it, except perhaps for the fact that they play brass instruments; but it was fun. Five Iron Frenzy, live. The OC Supertones are my ska band of choice, but my friend Jesse didn't give me one of their CDs six or seven years ago.

They Tell You To Sort, But They Don't Tell You What to Look For

I just got back from Wal-mart about 20 minutes ago, and as much as I hate to start reading recipes right at this moment, it's something I must do. Otherwise I'll start wondering what we'll have for dinner around 4:00 tomorrow afternoon, at which point I'll realize I don't have time to start anything, and Michael will wind up getting pizza again. One of the items that made my list last night was Red Beans and Rice. The dry red beans are soaking in the kitchen even now, as are a pound of black beans I'll be using in Taco Soup sometime in the next six to eight days.

When I was a kid I had no interest in learning how to cook. I always preferred to read a book and usually I did. In college I was always in class during "family" meals at the Chi Alpha Girl's House, and when I was home I was never REALLY home, so I never learned how to do all these basic things that I've had to figure out over the past nine years. My mom has been a tremendous help, but it has only been in recent years that I've started asking her questions. My friend Melanie has been a tremendous help as well, and Anne Miller has shown me a few tricks here and there that have made a big difference. Did I forget to mention my mother-in-law, Carol, or my friend Heather. Have I mentioned lately that I just adore Heather?

I've only been soaking dry beans for about the past nine months, and that only occasionally, so I haven't yet figured out all the ins and outs. The package says to rinse and sort, which I attempt to do, but I'm not quite sure what I'm meant to be sorting out. Sometimes I wonder why it's taken nine years for me to figure out how to prepare sides to go with a meal. Other times I realize that in some areas you need a lot of experience with the simple things before the more complicated become graspable. There's got to be a life-lesson in there somewhere.

Anyway, the red beans are for dinner tomorrow night, and the black beans are for later. I figured that since I had four bags of dry beans to cook I might as well do two a day for the next couple of days so that I don't get stuck trying to find three large bowls to fill with beans and water at once. As usual, I don't know whether or not the recipe will be any good because I've never made it before. But hey, it'll have red bell pepper in it, so it can't be too bad.

By the way, I bought a belt for Parker at the thrift store this morning. Didn't bother to try it on him because I didn't want to have to get him in and out of the stroller an extra time. I was more concerned that it was going to be to large than anything else. I got it home and it was too small.

While I was at Wal-mart this evening two nice day brightening things happened. First, I got to stop and talk to my Dad's student and his wife who have been visiting our church recently. They are a stunning couple, and extremely friendly. Second, the lady who checked me out at Sam's Club pointed out that my lettuce was already wilty. She rang the bag up, and then let me go back and pick out another one. I never would have noticed, would have gotten home and realized tomorrow that my lettuce was already going bad. I appreciate it when someone does me a favor out of no where, with no expectation of receiving anything in return. I think I experienced this in both instances while I was shopping tonight. I consider these small kindnesses little gifts God gives us, reminders that we are loved. Then I see the man in the rain with a sign that says "I am homeless, and hungry" and I have nothing to give him. In my spare moments I think that I should pack sandwiches before ever going to the store, but it never happens. And then I purchase only the things I need to carry out a specific plan for me and my family so that I have nothing in the car that I can spontaneously offer that will meet a stranger's need. Why am I imagining the Facts of Life Theme Song?

Which Universe Did I Wake Up in THIS Morning?

Sunday afternoon Parker and Isaac and I drove out to a friend's house on Lake Tuscaloosa. It was not the first time I had driven out there, and it likely won't be the last. As I was driving, Parker said "Ooh, it's really pretty out here," and I agreed.

More than three years ago, when Parker came into this world, but before he was born, the world changed. I was driving out to the same house on Lake Tuscaloosa for the third of a set of meetings being held at the house (in other words I had driven out there before, and recently), but I got lost. I called ahead to tell them I was running late, and Susan told me I had missed a turn. But I didn't remember any turn. As far as I could remember there had never been another turn to miss out there before, but Susan assured me that it was true. To this day I still do not know how I could have forgotten a turn that had always been there. As far as I was concerned the route to my friend's house had changed, even though it couldn't have.

That was strange. It was as though I had passed over into a different universe with the conception of my child.

I used to imagine sometimes when I was a teenager that at some point I would wake up and discover that my life was really a dream. I guess the world seemed very unreal in comparison with the things I read in books, and the social isolation I often felt must have been oppressive to me. As I sat down to write this just now I experienced a brief shiver of horror to think of my life having never had Parker in it. It's odd where the imagination can go, and what can spark it.

Another weird sort of thing happened on Sunday that made me think of alternate realities. I was going to someone else's house later in the evening, and as I had never been there before, I wrote the house number down along with the driving directions in my little green notebook. As I drove to the house on Lake Tuscaloosa, I noticed the house number on the mailbox. The house on Lake Tuscaloosa was numbered 10885. The house I would be going to later in the afternoon is practically at the other end of the county, but it's number is 10889. I checked those numbers just now to make sure I hadn't transposed one of them in my head, but they are accurate. How odd.

Writing

When I hear or see the word "writing," my mind immediately goes to the smell of ink flowing from a ball point pen. The ink is always blue.

Improved Reading Skills (the opposite of Speed Reading, or is it?)

I've been speaking with my husband this morning about reading. I was complaining to him, as I sometimes feel I complain all the time, that my reading isn't productive in that I can't seem to absorb it so as to do anything with it. Some of this I blame on defects in my memory, but I think the cause has more to do with my inability to argue with a text before staking out my own opinion in relation to it. I read and read and read, but in the end I hardly know what I have read, and in the end this seems to mean that my reading is altogether unproductive, and therefore a waste of time.

I have to read something in order to go to sleep at night, although having replaced our mattress in the last week with a sleep number bed from Select Comfort (so far I've been amazed at how low my number is), I haven't tested to see if reading is still necessary. Right now my book of choice for bedtime reading is On the Road by Jack Kerouac. My best reading? My best reading would come early in the morning as I sit at the table situated on a concrete slab in the backyard. This has happened exactly once since we moved into this house two years ago. There is no ideal reading time for me now, and that's okay, but it does mean that I rarely get the opportunity to focus solely on any one particular text. Beverly described it this morning as a particularly intensive time in the life of my family.

Books can, and often do, represent a certain level of escapism for me, but I have expressed before that I can feel the difference between the experience of reading junk and reading quality literature. I prefer the quality material because even the escapism of a Wilkie Collins novel, like The Law and the Lady has a certain positive value to it, which I cannot unfortunately identify. Though escapist it is still productive. Productivity is not limited to the nonfiction genre

Michael hates to read, yet he reads all the time, and his reading is always productive. He spends his days reading and writing from and on a computer screen, and he uses every bit of information he obtains in one way or another. But for him, reading requires a focused effort. He has to string every word together in his mind, so every text he chooses to read has to somehow show it's worth right up front. The ease with which I have so long experienced reading thereby becomes an impediment to me. It's too easy to gloss over a sentence without taking the time to get even the gist of it before moving on to the next.

This leaves me at a standstill. What must I do now? Because I have this book, this book by Walker Percy, that I expect to discuss tonight, but as it stands now I will only be able to ask questions. I know what he writes about to some extent, but I don't remember what he actually says. And I'm not quite sure where to go from here.

It certainly isn't a hopeless matter, but it is one I need a community to maneuver.

More excuses, books, and the reason why I don't have any readers anymore

I just noticed the total number of posts I have published to this blog. Just over three hundred in almost two years, and that's including posts that were comprised of pictures only, or excuses about why I wasn't posting. I guess you could say (and I probably have already) that it is emblematic of my stage in life. Parker is almost three. Isaac is a week away from turning seven months old. It's a good stage, but it keeps me from writing--almost anything.

I finished Walker Percy's Signposts in a Strange Land two or three days ago. It's a collection of his essays on numerous topics, and it was great. I have to comment that I probably wouldn't have gotten through the entire thing if it weren't for an obligation to certain friends who were reading it too--but I think that's the neat thing about reading in community: exposure to books you might not choose to read on your own, the opportunity to ask questions and discuss matters of interest with others who share a similar (though never identical) reading experience, and the chance to push forward with something you know is worthwhile even when the reading isn't clearly motivating in and of itself. I remember our friend John K. saying that you have to read things you don't understand before you can begin to understand them. The Walker Percy wasn't the easiest reading, and I probably understood maybe 30% of it, but I'm already planning for the time when I can read it again, knowing that next time I will understand more of it.

Right now I am working my way through Paul Elie's The Life you Save May Be Your Own: An American Pilgrimage. I'm having a rough time with it. He is writing the stories of four people: Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, Flannery O'Connor, and Walker Percy. It's been hard for me so far because I have only been able to read it in snatches, he intertwines these four histories according to a pattern that hasn't emerged for me, and because so far he has focused mainly on Day and Merton, while O'Connor and Percy are the ones I really care about. I suppose that Elie's emphasis is less literary than I had expected. I'm also uncomfortable with the socialism/communism that was so important to Day, so that has presented some difficulty too. It is also true that my memory has become so bad that I have difficulty picking up Merton's story in the midst of Day's.

The most recent item that has interested me about Percy is his connection with Mark van Doren. It's silly that, having read nothing by van Doren, my interest is engaged because of the portrayal of his character in a movie, Quiz Show.

I'm also reading, at last, and absolutely, On the Road by Jack Kerouac. It seems particularly appropriate now because my brother, Andrew, is currently on the road. Not like Kerouac, but still, he is out there. Other more compelling reasons to read it: a passing interest in the beat poets that I never pursued, the recent Mark Helprin nove (Freddy and Fredericka) evoking Kerouac in passages, and more importantly, the recommendation of a cousin, who once described his religion on Facebook as Christian Buddhism.

After writing all of the preceding this morning, I also picked up The Rise and Fall of English: Reconstructing English as a Discipline, by Robert Scholes, while feeding the baby. I couldn't help myself. There it has sat on my bedstand for a couple of months, and Facebook says that I am reading it. I wanted to pick it up and see which essay I was on. Unfortunately I've only barely made it to the second, and of that I hardly remember what I have read. I do remember one thing however. I remember Scholes contention that professors should still be intensely concerned with truth, and yet according to my memory I don't know what he means by that. I don't remember his discussion of truth comporting with my own understanding of it.

Parker loves to jump on the bed

Yesterday Parker held Isaac for the very first time. Maybe now that he's six months old it's a little less scary for Parker. Isaac has also been practicing rolling over as you will see below.




Monday morning, as we were driving to the church to deliver something, we came to our turn onto Hargrove Road. Parker pointed to the left and said, "That way to the church." Then he pointed to the right and said, "That way to Granna's house, and to the Gleasons." Parker has such a great memory. We haven't even been to the Gleason's house in months and months.

I wish he didn't love jumping on the bed quite so much though.

Books I am trying to Read

I've got so many books going at the moment that it can be a little overwhelming. I keep looking up different titles on Amazon to see what kind of prices I could get on these used. Some books can't be read before the time comes to return them to the library.

While we were away on vacation: I didn't get a whole lot of reading in, but I did manage to finish *Crime and Punishment,* the first Russian novel I have ever succeeded in reading from beginning to end. I know that I am missing something. The book was good. I was not profoundly moved by it. And yet this book, and Dostoyevky's name has come up in so many other books that I have read and enjoyed. There's something about 18th century Russian culture I cannot connect with I guess. I wonder, what was I expecting. And why is it that the only significant change taking place in Raskolnikov's life occurs in the last two pages of the epilogue? The epilogue of all things. Must keep reading, but at least now I'll have some idea of what Wayne Booth is talking about when he mentions *Crime and Punishment* in his book, *The Rhetoric of Fiction.*

I started reading *The Life You Save May be Your Own: An American Pilgrimage* by Paul Elie while we were at the beach, but only barely. I hope by reading it to gain insight into Southern writer's who also happen to be Catholic. I hope to learn something about Walker Percy from the book as well.

Tonight. I've got three books going, and I'm thinking seriously about a fourth. Tonight I have been reading *Mommy I Have to Go Potty,* because that's where we are with our oldest child for the moment, as well as working on *The Baby Food Bible* because I'm concerned that I must start offering my babies better food choices so that they will grow up prepared to enjoy a variety of wholesome foods. My imagination rarely strays beyond sliced apples and peanut butter and jelly at lunch time, and I know that we are not getting in the vegetables that we need. Also this evening I started reading that Walker Percy book of essays that I mentioned previously, for my book club. So far, as usual, I don't know quite what is going on. The fourth book I've been thinking about is Dr. Weissbulth's *Healthy Sleep Habits, Healthy Child* because we are trying to resume our regular routine now that we've returned home after almost a week away. I have got to get some sleep.

I started Ursula LeGuin's *The Dispossessed* weeks ago, but haven't worked out the time to devote to it, and soon it will have to return to the public library. Two other books sit on my shelf that I had hoped to read, but again I must return them unread, *On the Road* by Jack Kerouac, and *The Glass Bead Game* by Hermann Hesse.

And that concludes my book obsession for this evening.

Suddenly Felt Like Writing Something

I'm very interested in the act of reading. So I'm sitting in my dining room, feeding strained peas and squash to my six month old son, and I start thinking about where the impulse to read starts. I suppose the reader starts by hitting upon an author, or a book, or a subject that they want to experience, or learn something about. Take for instance my interest in Walker Percy.

I've never read one of his books. I started the novel Lancelot, because I'd heard of Percy, because the book was available at the public library, and because the title interested me. I knew a couple of guys who had read Percy, and I respected their choice of reading materials. I knew that he was one of the Catholic writers, along with Graham Greene, who I had already discovered. I looked him up at the public library, where the choices are too often painfully limited, and I think that Lancelot was one of two books they had written by Percy. Because of my interest in Arthurian literature, I already had experience with the fictional Lancelot, who I simultaneously admired and loathed, so I was predisposed to wonder what Percy could mean by choosing such a title. Unfortunately I started the book, but never finished it. It wasn't to my taste, somehow I couldn't really understand the implications of the action, and I gave up on it.

I still really want to read Walker Percy. I want to know why a friend described him as a grouchy old man. I want to know how and why he came to be identified as a Catholic writer. Mostly I want to know, and learn, and see if he has anything to teach me. Whether I am capable of meeting the lesson, I just don't know.

I am about to read a book of essays by Walker Percy in company with some perceptive female friends. Day by day I check the mail to see if the book has yet come. It's much to early to expect it, but I can not help but look. Simultaneously, I have checked out another book from the library that discusses Percy in company with some other Catholic writers who were his contemporaries. I can't satisfactorily start that one yet because I've promised myself I would finish Crime and Punishment before embarking upon too much else. It's hart to read with two young children in the house, along with a recent obsession with an on-line community based game, and a long term cross-stitching project I've been pursuing.

Even as I sit here writing this, I am thinking about another book I almost checked out from the library but didn't, that talks about the Celtic influence on Southern Literature. It's title reminds me of what I learned from Diana Gabaldon's fiction, that Celtic ceremonies play a significant role in the activities of (I can hardly stand to think the words, much less type them) the Ku Klux Klan. I'm also reminded of an almost thrown away comment read recently in a Mark Helprin novel, that the Apalachan poor still bear the genetic markings of a noble highland ancestry. I don't really read Southern Literature. I'm sure that John Grisham doesn't count, though Flannery O'Connor certainly does.

So much to read, such a limited amount of time.

I'm temporarily without wi-fi, and having use Michael's new keyboard, which is hard type on, so I probably won't be tempted to post anything in the next week or so.

My First Time Uploading Video to Blogger

This is just a little video of me playing with Isaac one morning a couple of days after Mother's Day. I tried to load it as a private video to YouTube, but for some reason we were unable to grant access to the people (mostly family) who we wanted to see it. If you are a friend simply checking in to see if I've written anything lately, you may not be interested in the video--although he really is cute, and this is an opportunity to see him smile.

Update on Isaac

I realized this morning how way far behind I am with this thing. Isaac has not been swaddled in months, he shares a room with Parker now, and last night I dropped his late evening feeding. This morning I tried some Rice Cereal on him, and I gave him a little bit more at lunch time. I don't know whether he liked the rice cereal or not, but he opened his mouth for it, and his tongue thrust reflex is gone. This means I finally have a use for all that milk I pumped in the first few weeks after we brought him home from the hospital, if I take the time to pick it up out of my friend's freezer. Now if I can get him down to three predictable naps every day I'll be happy, happy, happy.

Pictures

My mom has been asking for pictures of Isaac smiling, and the one of Parker is from hunting eggs at Easter.

Cars

My mom keeps asking me what was wrong with my car last post. We took the van in for an oil change last week and found out that the oil pan needs to be replaced. Speculatively we think we have damaged it on the part of our driveway that has been damaged by a giant tree root. If we're careful we don't have to run over it, but the damage has already been done.

Our other car has a transmission leak. I had an adventure with it on my way home from the library Sunday night. I realized around 8:00 p.m. that my library books had been due back the day before, so out I went.

Michael has been supplementing it with transmission fluid regularly, but I guess it was a little low Sunday night because it decided, on McFarland Boulevard, to stop changing gears. I was stuck going about 40 until I could pull over, while the engine sounded like it was trying to tow a house across some railroad tracks on an incline. Actually, it was probably in second gear. I thought it was funny as I pulled over the my left foot was searching for a clutch.

I turned the engine off, and then back on, and it got me home, but I did have to release the gas pedal at times to get the engine to change gears. We'll get it fixed as soon as we can.

The Healing Power of Milk; or What's Wrong With My Car?

I tried to post pictures yesterday, but it didn't work out. Sorry, Mom!

I bundle Isaac up and swaddle him every night for bed. He sleeps better, it seems, if his hands are not free to wake him up since he sleeps on his back. Early this morning he was awake. When I got up to check his little bare feet were kicking and he was cooing to himself. At one point Michael went in to cover Isaac, and I heard a happy Isaac laugh. How cute is that?

Now I haven't yet seen a book that tells you what to do when your baby is sleeping too hot or too cold in the middle of the night and you want to make him more comfortable without inducing the need to feed. Any ideas?

I've been having trouble sleeping lately--it hits me every other night. I called the doctor yesterday to find out what I can do to help me sleep without impairing my ability to nurse Isaac. Dr. Edwards recommended warm milk, to our surprise. It isn't the first time milk has been recommended. Dr. Blum told me to try milk once when I was having more severe problems, yet still we were surprised. I guess I had forgotten.

Two Movies for Review

I started this post weeks ago.

Movie the First. Quiz Show

When I first heard Ralph Fiennes name, I thought the pronunciation was ridiculous, (I've since learned that his is a common pronunciation.) but after seeing this movie I decided he had done such a good job that he could pronounce his name anyway he liked.

The movie is, in one of my professor's words, not the kind of film you want to rent with your friends on a Friday night, but I watched it again a few weeks ago, and was reminded of how much I like it. I'm not very good at film reviews, so I'll just tell you what I like about it.

This isn't a suspenseful film, so I see no need to avoid giving away certain plot points. Maybe you're on pins and needles over what will become of the television industry, but considering these things happened more than fifty years ago, it's doubtful. Perhaps Robert Redford considered taking poetic license with the outcome (I'm sure he did to some extent), but surely that doesn't extend to pretending the grand jury investigation to place in an alternate universe (although that might have held a certain interest for me).

I like that John Turturro's character gets what he wants in the end, the exposure of Charles van Doren's participation in a fraud, but finds that what he wanted isn't at all satisfying. I like that it shows van Doren's reluctance to participate in fraud at first, though is reluctance is quickly subsumed by the lure of fame and popularity. I love the portrayal of Charles's father, Mark van Doren, who is crushed by his son's loss of his teaching job. I like that Charles is lauded for eventually telling the truth, but that he isn't ultimately allowed to avoid of the consequences of his dishonesty--because his conscience could never have been satisfied by getting away with it in the end. I don't love that these things happen, but I love what they show about reality.

The movie has its funny points, but it's that wordy sort of humor I like so much, like when the van Doren family quotes Shakespeare around the birthday table, or when Charles says that if they give him the questions but let him look up the answers on his own, it might be less egregious. Hank Azaria as Albert Freedman: "What's 'egregious'?"

Quiz Show is in my top movies.

Movie the second. Pushing Tin

Somehow my parents wound up with a copy of this film, no idea how. And I really can't put my finger on why I enjoy this so much. For some reason I am fascinated with Billy Bob Thornton in this film--deepset eyes and high cheekbones have something to do with it. His character is a melancholy one. He doesn't easily fit in with the social norm although he is excellent at his job. The risks he takes are somewhat juvenile, but in that terribly creative way that makes me feel protective of him as a fictional character. Weird, huh? Angelina Jolie appears with him in this film as his young bride. His acting in this film is only so-so, but we do get to hear him sing, and at one point in the film John Cusack's character literally kicks him in the butt.

The movie is cleverly written as John Cusack's movies generally are. Honestly, I don't always get the humor. The movie is about the destruction of a marriage, guilt, and the power of unrestrained obesession with being the best. Cate Blanchette is in this one too.

Eventually perhaps I'll figure out why I'm willing to sit through this film over and over again. Melanie once said that when Parker enjoys the same activity or book or movie over and over again it may mean he's trying to work something out about it in his mind, and I think that's what I'm doing with this film. Or maybe it's just about Billy Bob Thornton. I don't know.

Other movies I've enjoyed with him in them: Intolerable Cruelty and The Apostle.

One of the interesting things about Billy Bob Thornton is his versitility. Sometimes it is difficult to recognize him from film to film, The Apostle being a case in point.

Movie Quotes, and a New Name for the Blog

So I need a new name for my blog now that I have two. Any suggestions? Today I started thinking about doing one of those silly "How to..." titles, because:

A couple of weeks ago I followed Kathy Bates and Rene Auberjonois to a movie called My Best Friend is a Vampire a/k/a I was a Teenage Vampire. Information about the movie referenced the fact that this was one in a series of films with "I was a..." blank blank sort of title. You may remember that one of Michael Landon's first films (or was it his very first?) was I was a Teenage Werewolf. Vampire also starred Robert Sean Leonard. It was fun and amusing, but generally awful.

Maybe the title of my blog should have something to do with the birds nest inhabiting the light on my front porch. Something about the birds watching us.

Isaac occasionally looks gloweringly at us, which Michael says means he's judging us. This is a reference to the movie America's Sweethearts.

Kiki: Nobody hates you.
Gwen: Oh yes, they do. I was in a store the other day, you know that great store on Melrose? And there was a baby in a stroller and he was looking up at me and he was judging me. The whole world is judging me for what I did to Eddie.

(copied of of the IMDB page for this film)

This is one of those films we often quote. Particularly (in a whiney voice):

"It's so hard being the only person who cares about other people."

Parker

Smiling Isaac

Isaac Smiles; Too Bad I Can't Get a Picture of It

Isaac has begun smiling at us spontaneously on occasion. For instance, this morning Michael watched the boys for me while I got a few extra minutes rest and then took a shower. By the time I rejoined Isaac, after a twenty, twenty-five minutes absence, he seemed genuinely happy to see me. That sweet toothless grin. And he's finally begun making sweet little baby noises. On the flip side, he's back to making me hold him, or else put him in a moving seat for naps.

Not the best kind of sleep a baby can get.

I've been thinking about the fetishization of the black male and how it relates to some of the media's attitude toward our new president, but I haven't figured out how to blog about it.

I wish he were interested in *Robin Hood*. That's a good one.

I had a thought. What was it?

It's amazing how many Disney cartoons you can fit into one day. I think Parker has had me play Dumbo four times, The Little Mermaid, and now 101 Dalmations, and we've still had time for computer play, a long nap, and lots of laundry folding.

We're letting him get his fill now as he recovers from that surgery.

Don Chaffer Quote

From The Khrusty Brothers: Prologue (a CD Andrew got me for my birthday):

"They say that youth is wasted on the young, but I say if I could have grown a beard sooner, I would have."

They thought it was funny anyway.

Parenting Magazines; Ground Beef; Sleep

I read articles in these parenting magazines, and am constantly amazed at how easily some people can be offended. I was telling Michael the other night, I don't understand why moms writing in to these magazines seem to be so offended or irritated by unsolicited advice. I can sort of see it, but here's how I feel about advice. If I think it's good advice, I'll take it. If I think it's bad advice, I'll ignore it. I appreciate it when other people take an interest in my children.

There are certain advantages to being a T on the Meyers Briggs preference evaluation.

On another note, I spent way too much money on ground beef at Sam's Club on Saturday, when, if I watch the sales flyers it is quite possible to get ground beef for just under $2.00 per pound. The problem is, I spent to much, thought I needed it when I really didn't (it was on my grocery list, but probably shouldn't have been), and now I don't want to break it up into freezer bags to freeze. It's more difficult than usual to find the time at this particular moment in my children's development.

The house is a mess too, but I have to remind myself that playing games with Parker is more important than house work, even though the housework is necessary to my own sanity. When Isaac's night time sleep patterns become more consistent this will be less of a problem.

Saturday night he slept eight hours straight. I still only got six and a half contiguous hours in, but it was still a huge improvement. Unfotunately last night I hardly slept at all, besides which Isaac did not repeat Saturday night's performance.

Correction

I think I flubbed one of Parker's lines from the book reading. The book is called Blue's Backyard Mystery, and what Parker reads is, "I have an idea. Let's play the cloud game."

Do you have any idea how cute it is to hear a two year old say, "I have an idea?"

He says some really adorable things that are way too grown up for him.

Parker Reading

Last night Parker was sitting in the living room reading to himself, a book called Blue's Backyard Mystery. I wish I had a recording. I remember he said,

Hey, let's play the cloud game. I see a sailboat, said Blue. I see a dinosaur, said Magenta. Hey, the strawberries are gone.

It was sweet. We've read the book several times over the course of the week, and he remembered the details enough to look at the pictures and read it to himself.

When Carol made pancakes for us on Saturday Parker tried to sound out the letters on the syrup bottle. Starfall.com and SuperWhy on PBSKids.com have gotten him interested in letter sounds.

He's Still Sleeping, While Parker hasn't Gone to Sleep Yet

I wonder if this means he'll always be a good napper.

At Isaac's checkup yesterday I asked Dr. Brown whether he was old enough now for me to let him sleep when he is sleeping and not wake him up every three hours to nurse. The hand out she gave me said that babies his age typically nurse every three to four hours. Dr. Brown said that as a breast fed baby he typically wouldn't go more than three hours between feedings, and that I shouldn't let him go more than four during the day, while letting sleep as long as he chose at night.

I can't find my copy of Babywise to see what they recommend.

This morning I fed Isaac at 9:50 and then let him sleep since he hadn't gotten much of a nap during the previous between feeding period. At 1:30 the child is still (sweetly) asleep.

He made a little noise around the time I took Parker in to get ready for his nap. Isaac's eyes opened, but he went right back to sleep.

Oh, I hear him. Maybe he's waking up! I hope he'll give me a little bit of time to get dinner started this afternoon.

Disney/Pixar Films

We borrowed some of these for Parker's recovery, since he won't be allowed to go outside much, and probably won't have many opportunities for playing with other children for a while. We've been watching some of the older Pixar films without pre-screening them, and I've been concerned that Parker might pick up some bad habits from them. Parker's so receptive that we've curbed our own viewing before he goes to bed.

Toy Story: Woody says to Buzz Lightyear, "Shut-up, you idiot."

I'd like to put off Parker's saying that as long as possible. I don't want to hear my two year old call someone a "poo-poo head" (A Bug's Life) if I can avoid it for another year or so. I think my expectations are realistic here. It's going to happen, but maybe it doesn't have to happen yet. He's far too young to censor himself in this regard just yet.

I'm so sleepy

Last night I paid for Isaac's sleepiness. I was up with him from 1:25 'till around 4:00 a.m. because he didn't want to go back to sleep. I read that babies start developing their day/night awareness around 6 weeks. Correcting for Isaac's early birth date, that should be happening now--at 8 weeks. I've maintained day and night contrast almost from the beginning, leaving the room dark when I get up with him at night. Fortunately Michael was able to stay home with me for a time this morning so I could get in some extra sleep.

I know I'm fortunate that his wakefulness doesn't bring fussiness with it, but this is still a struggle for me.

In other news, yesterday for lunch my mom took me to Arahova. Their Hummus was delicious and we confirmed that we love stuffed grape leaves. This makes me want to learn to cook Greek. I found a website last night that looks useful: http://www.greecefoods.com/index.html

I wonder if we could find a good cookbook, something not too complicated, and together (me and my mom, and possibly Anna Grace) and try a new Greek recipe once a month. That may be wishful thinking, at least until Isaac starts being able to sit up by himself.

Baby Updates

Isaac had his two month check up this morning. Poor baby got five shots--three in one leg, two in the other. He has been on Infant Tylenol all day, and so he's slept a lot. Pobrecito, as Anna Grace would say.

Parker received a treat from Grace Church yesterday, and he even let me take a picture.

Contradictions

I come back to the same idea over and over again: spiritual manipulation.

I've never really believed that I had any power to manipulate God. Of course I cannot affect an outcome by thinking the right things, or approaching a problem with the right attitude. I cannot manipulate God into doing things in a way that will be pleasant to me just because I've done or said the right things.

For example, I cannot say to God, "I trust You with this thing," and then feel guaranteed that what I hope will come true.

However I've somehow believed that the equal and opposite possibility is true.

For example, I've somehow believed that if I tell God that I trust him with a certain thing that He is then obligated to test me in that faith. I've thought that if I say I trust God that those things that happened to Job will then happen to me.

But if I cannot manipulate God into doing things my way, I cannot manipulate him into testing me either...

Kelly's Question of the Day

Have any of you tried Spray N Wash Max? I heard on a commercial the other day that it's supposed to get out dried in stains, and I hardly believe it. Of course, I didn't know until not long ago that stains won't come out once an article of clothing has gone through the dryer. I just wondered whether or not it works.

Stream of Consciousness

I've been folding laundry, and while folding I've been thinking about things I've promised to post. And I've been thinking about how I choose to use my free time. And I've been thinking about speech impediments and social awkwardness. And personal currents, like my birthday today, and the flowers my sister sent me, and the useful projects I saw on *Carter Can* on Hulu this afternoon, and the five shots Isaac received at the doctor's this morning, and how if I actually did all the things there are to do around the house, I would have no opportunity for boredom. How I need such a high degree of order in my life in order to relax, and how difficult that level of order is to achieve while Isaac requires so much holding, and yet this time is so precious and fleeting, I need to enjoy it while I can. How difficult weekend cooking is to implement when I prefer not to take Michael's focus off of Parker when he's home. Wonder if I can fit into my own jeans. Thinking about how great the lunch was that I had today with my mom. Looking forward to the magazine I just got in the mail, and wondering when I'll find the time to work on my Kakuro puzzles again. I've been thinking about what depression does to a person, and I've been thinking about spritual manipulation.

Too many thoughts, perhaps. Where to begin.

Parker's Surgery, Part II

He looked pitiful when they brought him back from surgery. He wanted Michael to sit with him, but we didn't want him to leave the bed, so Michael joined him there. They told us he would probably be awake for a little while, but then fall asleep soon after. This didn't happen. Parker stayed awake almost the entire drive to Huntsville, falling asleep only in the last ten minutes as we came close to his usual nighttime bedtime.

My mom had brought Parker racing cars, because he loves Hot Wheels. She and my Dad looked for a package that had both an orange and a white one. Orange seems to be Parker's favorite color.

Parker was back with us by 2:30, but even though he drank plenty of juice and ate popsicles, we waited hours for that wet diaper that signaled he was ready to go home. We never even left the hospital until almost 6:00 that evening.

The next day Parker still looked gray but he was able to play in the backyard at Michael's parents house, while Michael managed to keep him from running. By now he seems to be back to normal.

We have to restrict his playing for about a month. We have to keep him off of straddle toys, discourage him from running, prevent him from hanging or climbing. This will be a struggle, but perhaps the next month will go more smoothly than I anticipate. We brought movies home from the Fox's house, and he enjoys playing on the PBS Kids website.

Parker's Surgery, Part I

Parker came through his surgery beautifully, but Friday turned out to be a really long day.

Our appointment was for 9:00 that morning. He was allowed clear fluids only until 8:00, so I spent the night before trying to pack, but also making jello for Parker's breakfast in the morning. The idea was that jello might make him feel less deprived. He didn't really care for it.

Even though we got to the hospital well before 9:00, the wait was long. He was so excited that morning. He ran back and forth between the toys in the one-day surgery waiting room. "Granna, Granna, come play with me." He was so excited to see her. "Mommy, lets play in the other house."

They put is in a room and we stayed there. And stayed. And stayed. Parker was amazingly patient. It was only the last half hour to forty-five minutes that he started asking for something to eat.

They asked us if we wanted them to give him something before pre-op to help him transition away from us. We knew Parker wouldn't want to leave his daddy, and we knew he was getting anxious after staying in one place for so long, so we agreed. They told us they would try to make it taste good, but it wouldn't, and that it would take about ten minutes to take effect. Parker swallowed his dose and asked for more. He kept the syringe and sucked on it like it was a lollipop. It was supposed to take minutes, but he started acting silly immediately.

Parker looked adoreable in his hospital gown. Mom said he was like a little angel. He got really happy on the drugs, and started saying silly things. We didn't write any of them down.

He wouldn't listen to us when we tried to get him in the picture. He was already in his own world.

He loved the syringe. That and the two cars in his hand traveled back to pre-op with him.

We were all starving by the time they took him from us. One parent had to stay in the room throughout surgery so the others went down to the cafeteria to bring back something to eat while I nursed the baby. Once he and they were all gone, I prayed for Parker and cried. I still had fears at this point, but I had given them over a long time ago, so I prayed that God would keep Parker safe, but that whatever happened, He would be with us. I had been cheerful all morning because there had been no point in being anything else. And we knew that there would be lots of professional people watching over Parker until he woke up.

Dr. Joseph looked in a couple of hours later and said that there had been no problems with the surgery. Parker's only issue had been on the one side.

Isaac slept through almost the entire event, though he nursed about every two hours.

Another from the Archives

Isaac loves to be swaddled, but he also loves to have his hands free. Often during naps I hear his grunting with effort as he struggles to pull his arms free of the blankets. Maybe that explains why he seemed to move around so much during pregnancy. This is an older picture I was reminded of over the weekend. Isaac not only pulled his arms free of the blankets, but he pulled one arm free of his sleeper as well.

From the Archives

We're getting ready to go this morning. I made lemon Jello for Parker last night since the scheduler said he could have it until 8:00. Maybe it will make him feel like he's having breakfast--as I sit her with my bowl of Cheerios and milk.

Isaac holds his pacifier in place, while simultaneously making his first obscene hand gesture. Michael took this picture a couple of weeks ago.

Appointment in Birmingham in the morning

I realized, a little late, that I have a lot to do before 8:30 if I'm to get any sleep tonight. Parker was supposed to have out-patient surgery at Children's Hospital back in December, but Isaac's arrival meant that we had to reschedule. I thought we were going to have to wait until March, but Dr. Joseph's scheduler called me this afternoon and asked if we would like to take the spot that has opened up tomorrow morning. We would and we are.

Parker goes in for surgery at 9:00 tomorrow morning. He can have clear liquids or lightly colored jello up until 8:00 in the morning, so I'm hoping to give him jello tomorrow morning for breakfast. I'll have to make that tonight since I don't have time to run to the store to get the kind that is ready made. My friend Heather brought me some she had stored in her pantry at home.

I wish I had time to explain the surgery, and why I'm glad that we're doing it tomorrow, but I just don't. The surgery is routine and my main concerns involve anesthesia, and restricted play during recovery. More on all of this later.

You know Relatives; They always want to see pictures

Yes, this shot is distorted, but this is the only one I have of Isaac's social smile--which is definitely developing.

Isaac doesn't cry very much, but it does happen.

Parker now has purple playdough embedded in those jeans I had hoped to pack for our trip.

Are mothers and grandmothers the only ones who are interested in their children's feet?