April

A Gift from my Late Grandma

2012-02-01T16:08:00.001-07:00

My grandma (my dad's mom) passed away about 15 years ago, so I was quite surprised when I received a present from her this past weekend.

My aunt went through some boxes of my Grandma's yearbooks and scrapbooks and such to display at a family reunion. Hidden amongst these things, she found a bag with the names of myself and my sister written on it, containing two cute little containers that she apparently intended to give us, but hadn't.

It looks like they were souvenirs from some vacation she went on, but I'll never know which one. Even though I don't know where my souvenir is from, I think I appreciate it more now, so belated and unexpected, than I would have back then. Thanks, Grandma.

It was fun to see the old scrapbooks, too. I particularly enjoyed my Dad's baby book, although I was sad that there were no pictures of his twin, who died when they were three days old.

Winter Photos

2012-01-07T14:50:00.000-07:00

Since my kids have had the misfortune of growing up in a house in a constant state of remodeling, they have developed an unusual interest in tools. Lately, we have been taking them to the monthly kids building classes at Home Depot.

Happy Fourth Birthday!

Here are my boys dancing at a library Nutcracker workshop. At least, one of them is dancing.

And my daughter. Same Nutcracker workshop.

My kids with Santa. My youngest wasn't interested in meeting him until he noticed that Santa was handing out candy canes. Then he changed his mind and tried to join in at the last minute, but another little kid was running the opposite direction and they collided. He had better experiences with Santa at other Christmas events, but I failed to get a photo.

Temple Square, obviously.

Here we are on the train during the Salt Lake City New Years Eve celebration. You'll notice that my daughter has a black eye and is holding an ice pack. We had a little incident this year during the festivities. Every year, they fill the Salt Palace Ballroom with beach balls--as many as the new year. For some reason my daughter fell down in there and someone immediately stepped on her. It was a step-and-run incident. Whoever it was didn't stop to see if she was okay or anything. My husband turned around and found her lying on the floor by herself, screaming. Her eye was even more colorful the next morning, and still looks ugly.

I love him anyway, but my toddler is quite a wimp. He was afraid of the bouncing houses, the lazor light show and the ball room. (Maybe that last fear was rational, I realize now.) The first activity I found at the New Years celebration that he actually liked were these drums made from trash cans.

Mars. Actually, Hansen Planetarium Mars Exhibit

The Moon Exhibit at Hansen Planetarium

Today, Utah finally remembered that it is supposed to be winter and it snowed all day. It has been weirdly dry until now. My daughter was thrilled and wanted me to build a snow fort with her. I tried to help, but I have a nasty cold and I was just too miserable. Fortunately, Daddy came to the rescue and they made this fabulous creation.

Article about Insemination

2012-01-07T13:30:00.000-07:00

I wrote an article about our family's experience with insemination that was published in this Mormon women's magazine: http://www.exponentii.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/winter-2011-corrected-12-13-01.pdf. It starts on page 22 of the Winter 2011 edition and is available free as an online pdf until their next issue comes out, if anyone is interested.

So, there's a baby in there.

2012-01-05T05:51:00.000-07:00

A Sabbath Christmas

2011-12-25T07:00:00.006-07:00

In honor of Christmas, enjoy one of my favorite songs my mom and her sisters used to sing. (Obviously, this isn't a recording of them, but Bing Crosby sang it pretty well, too.)

Many people attend church only for Christmas. In contrast, many of us Mormons attend church every week—or even more often, if you count midweek service projects, socials, educational activities, and church ball. (Personally. I wouldn’t count church ball as church attendance, but technically, it is located at church.)

In fact, we Mormons are probably less likely to attend church on Christmas than any other day of the year. So, what to do when Christmas happens to fall on Sunday, like this year?

Acknowledging that we Mormons just aren’t accustomed to spending Christmas at church, my local stake is abbreviating church on Christmas day to a one-hour service. Additionally, several members of my ward choir are going to visit a local nursing home on Christmas day to sing a few carols for a half hour before the church meeting begins.

This plan brings back warm memories for me. When I was a child, my talented mom and her four equally talented sisters had a little performing group that kept all of us busy during the Christmas season. I loved tagging along with them, both because I enjoyed the performances and because I liked the Christmas festivals where they performed.

But one of my most vivid memories of those days was a performance at a much less festive location. My mom and her sisters arranged to sing at my grandfather’s nursing home one December. The thing is, he wasn’t there. He had died about a month earlier.

I wasn’t thrilled about attending this performance. It brought back memories of the last time I was there. Just before his death, my Granddad seemed to have shrunk. He looked skinny and weak and miserable. I am not sure he recognized me, but he seemed concerned about how sad I was, so with obvious difficulty, he reached out his emaciated arm to hold my hand and comfort me.

When my mom and my aunts sang at that nursing home, I realized that they were also reaching out to those that needed comfort. Now that I was there, I recalled how often the staff at the home had mentioned to us how nice it was that my Granddad had such a steady stream of visitors—commenting that many of their other residents were not so fortunate. My relatives were lucky to inherit my Granddad’s musical talents, but that day, I was more grateful that they shared his compassion.

How the Grinch Started My Christmas mp3 Collection

2011-12-15T19:31:00.000-07:00

With all the inspirational Christmas music playing on the radio in December, should I be concerned that my kids' favorite carol is "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch," which is essentially a series of creatively worded insults? Maybe, but I empathize--I love that song, too.

My kids do not understand how the radio works. When they hear Christmas music playing, they keep asking me to play the Grinch song. I tried to explain to them that I had no power over when the DJ plays the Grinch, but finally realized that my kids needed their very own Grinch music to play on demand.

Fortunately, I saw a sign at the library advertising FreeGal, a service in which library card holders can download and keep three mp3s per week. Awesome! How long have they been doing this?

FreeGal is by no means a comprehensive database of all music ever published. It has serious holes. But it's free, so what do you expect? I love the original version of the song with Boris Karloff's voice, but it wasn't in there. However, there were several other versions of the song. My kids enthusiastically helped me sample them and we found another version, by Newsong, that we like just as much.

Since I love, love, love Christmas music, but share my kids' tendency to occasionally resent that DJs aren't playing my favorites, I decided to use my December 3/week quota to build my Christmas music library. Most popular Christmas songs have been covered so many times that there are several options to choose from in FreeGal. When I pull them up and sample them, I am surprised at how many times I find that my favorite version is by some unknown (to me) artist, over more famous artists and versions. Of course, lots of extremely famous artists made the cut, too. Here's my collection:

Song	Artist
Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella	World's Best Praise and Worship album
Carol of the Bells	Mormon Tabernacle Choir
Do You Hear What I Hear?	Destiny's Child
I Wonder as I Wander	The Blenders
The Holly and the Ivy	Roger Whittaker
Let It Snow	Harry Connick, Jr.
O Come O Come Emmanuel	Michael Londra
O Holy Night	Billy Gilman
The Secret of Christmas	The Nylons
We Need a Little Christmas	Glee Soundtrack
You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch	Newsong

I can still get one more song. Any suggestions? I've already tried these below, but FreeGal couldn't help me:

Christmas Children
I like both the Scrooge the Musical version and the SheDaisy version but neither is on FreeGal. It isn't in there at all. No one else has ever covered this song? Really? It's a great song, recording artists! Put it in your Christmas albums already!

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
Plenty of Christmas albums include this one, but I felt like I couldn't settle for anything but the Judy Garland version from Meet Me in St. Louis, which wasn't there.

The Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth
with Bing Crosby and David Bowie. Not there, either.

Fortunately, I already own Carpenters Christmas album. It is a shame that they don't have it on FreeGal, though, since it is arguably the best Christmas album ever, or at least, until the 2010 Glee Christmas album, which is available on FreeGal. The song choices on the Glee album are amazing, except for the unfortunate inclusion of Last Christmas, I Gave You My Heart, which is an okay song, but really has nothing to do with Christmas.

Power Problem Solver

2011-12-01T13:47:00.000-07:00

After an extremely unproductive morning at work today, where the power kept going out due to severe winds, everyone was sent home early. I explained to my three-year-old that I got to come home early because the power went out and it was too dark to work.

He apparently put some thought into the situation in my office, because about an hour later he told me, "Mom, if the power is out, you need to turn on the light switch. Then power will go to the light and you can see."

Boo

2011-11-23T07:18:00.000-07:00

This photo is the only evidence that my toddler ever wore a Halloween costume. He is not a fan of dress-up, so it didn't last long. I dressed as Tahitian; I didn't plan in advance and had to come up with something 10 minutes before leaving the house. My husband's grandma had given us some lava lavas and shell leis from her mission in Tahiti. One of my cousins totally impressed me by noticing that I was Tahitian, not Hawaiian. I had forgotten that her college education was in Hawaii.

Town Halloween Party
My town (okay, its more of a suburb) sponsored a wonderful Halloween party, complete with face painting, crafts and food. We brought our kids and one of my nieces.

My toddler won the cake walk.

First Haircut
The kid-friendly salon where I get my kids' hair cut was in the midst of the town Haloween party, so we stopped for haircuts. This was my youngest's first haircut. Unlike his older brother before him, my youngest was not impressed with the haircut experience, in spite of the car shaped chair and the cartoons. If it weren't for the candy, Halloween would have been a complete flop to my toddler.

.

Mom's Side Halloween Party
My Mom's side of the family used to have an annual Halloween party but lapsed for about five years. I am so glad we started it up again this year!

It became obvious that we hadn't gotten the family together in too long when several people mistook one of my cousins for me. She's adorable, even in nerdy Halloween glasses, so I was flattered.

My dad has a history of scaring my kids with his Halloween masks. Last year, my middle child would start to quake if he saw my dad's mask, even if it wasn't on. My youngest had a different reaction. He pointed and laughed whenever my dad put on the mask.

Dancin'

Costume Contest

5 Sisters plus 1 Great Niece

Family Group Photos

Maybe we should send her to a Mexican boarding school?

2011-11-20T09:06:00.001-07:00

We were a little concerned about how well our daughter would learn the subjects, like math, that are taught to her in Spanish as part of the Spanish Immersion program at her school, but the literature assured us that while kids may fall behind in these subjects at the beginning, they catch up over time as their fluency improves.

We just had our first report card and parent teacher conference since she started the program. As it turns out, she is excelling in all the subjects she is learning in Spanish, but during the English half of the day, she goofs off and doesn't complete any of her work. Hmm.

Close Call

2011-11-17T21:09:00.000-07:00

Last night, while I was reading bedtime stories to my three kids, my one-year-old climbed up the ladder to the top bunk of his older siblings' bed and dived off. Instead of landing on the hardwood floor, he landed right on top of a pillow that happened to be in the middle of the room instead of on the bed where it belonged. Tonight, story time moved into the living room.

Rapping the Scriptures

2011-11-13T06:19:00.000-07:00

My three-year-old was recently assigned to recite a scripture as part of the annual children's program at church. I conquered the daunting task of teaching such a tiny kid a scripture by getting him to say it with rhythm like a nursery rhyme--or an unusually spiritual rap song. And I added a couple hand gestures.

While practicing at home, he frequently sang the scripture with the enthusiasm of a young rap star. I wasn't sure how this would go over--I hoped his extreme cuteness would compensate for his lack of reverence and the fact that he had absolutely no idea what the scripture meant. But at church, he recited the scripture brilliantly and with an unusual dose of dignity.
.

Building Patios: Not Recommended

2011-11-09T16:56:00.000-07:00

We made a lot of patios this summer. We're pretty much patio experts now, since we have made one of almost every kind of patio in our yard.

There is a flagstone patio, surrounding a firepit:

A square paver patio:

An enormous brick patio, now covering a vast area that the previous owner had covered with asphalt which had long since decayed, making a cracked mess that would be hard to remove and leaving the ground unlikely to successfully grow anything:

And a recycled concrete patio (that isn’t quite finished. We will paint the pieces to look like flagstones and plant thyme in between them in the spring.):

Why the great hodge podge of outdoor flooring options in one yard? Well, we have tried to keep these projects inexpensive by salvaging whatever free or super-cheap materials we could encounter but we just couldn't conjure up enough free/cheap products of any one specific kind to cover a yard so unreasonably huge as ours. We took whatever we could get.

Free Stuff

Flagstones, from a vendor who gave away the specimens unworthy of sale for free
Concrete slabs, from a new house down the street where the construction crew installed a new driveway and then determined that the driveway was too steep and ripped the whole thing out a few days later. They were happy to bring the pieces to our house instead of having to haul them to the dump. I have no idea how they fixed the steepness problem, since they had to connect the garage on the hill to the street somehow. Their new driveway looks exactly the same as the mistake driveway to me.

Cheap Stuff

Previously used brick pavers, from various people who tore out their patios and sold the bricks on ksl.com. We had to be sure to mix up the batches, since they were all different colors, to give the patio a look of intentional mixed tone instead of a look of "oops, we ran out of this color brick and finished the patio with this color."
Used railroad ties, from a real railroad. Using real railroad ties is controversial, because of their creosote content. Most of the sources we researched considered exposure problems as most likely to occur when you are cutting and handling the ties, not after you have them in place, so we used gloves when we worked with the ties.

Full Price Stuff (Even we aren't resourceful enough to get everything at a discount.)

The gravel and sand layered under the patios
The square pavers (If we had tried hard enough, we could probably have bought these pavers used from ksl, too, but we wanted to make a patio that could be used as a chess board, so we needed two different colors, exactly 12"x12", so buying used was more complicated.)

So, now that we have suffered the torture of paving our land in so many ways, do I have any lessons learned for the unlucky Googler who lands at this blog when they are really trying to find a legitimate do-it-yourself website? Sure. I am happy to throw out some advice.

My first bit of patio-building advice is the similar to the advice I give to anyone who asks me about remodeling*: Don't build a patio. Seriously, there are big advantages to paying someone to pour a concrete patio instead of doing it yourself. Yes, doing it yourself is cheaper, but still, probably not as cheap as you expected. Also, concrete makes a smooth surface that is useful for all kinds of activities. Flagstone and recycled concrete won’t come out perfectly smooth and even our brick patio has some very subtle waviness to it. If you want concrete to be prettier, you can buy a stamp for $15 and a can of cement die for about $25. (We stamped and stained the walkway to our front porch.)
Verify that your assistant is at least two years of age. (Check birth certificate documentation, if necessary.) My assistant did not meet this important age guideline, resulting in a variety of inefficiencies. He enjoyed working on the brick patio with me because up until the moment I finished laying all the brick, it was the world's largest sandbox. I was smoothing and laying brick in small 4 foot x 4 foot sections at a time, leaving the rest of this vast area for him to play in. He did not want to play in sand that clearly was of no interest to me. He only wanted to dig in whatever little square of sand I had recently smoothed. Also, he interrupted me every few minutes demanding to be held, fed, or diapered.
We followed the rules and layered gravel and sand under our paver and brick patios, but found that this was not a good method for the recycled concrete patio. The huge, heavy concrete slabs had to be moved with a rented bobcat, and they slid all over the place when my husband dropped them on the gravel. He ended up having to remove all of the gravel before he could place the slabs. (During this process, he tipped over the bobcat and broke our fence. Fortunately, he was fine and so was that expensive machine, and we found some spare pieces of fence left over from when it was installed to replace the broken parts of the fence.)

*Don't remodel.

Family Photos at the Great Salt Lake

2011-11-06T15:58:00.000-07:00

The Great Big Group Photo

Just My Little(r) Family

My Parents

(See where we got our good looks?)

My Siblings (Plus Sibs-in-Law)

Nieces and Nephews

First Time Repelling

2011-10-30T15:16:00.000-06:00

I am surrounded by rocks. I live in a valley of the Rocky Mountains, just north of red rock desert. A co-worker pointed out once that personality tests measuring impulsivity, based on questions like whether you had tried so-called “extreme sports” don’t work too well in Utah because everyone here does those things. With so many rocks and mountains around, almost everyone here has thrust themselves off of one or two in a few different ways.

But there are exceptions. I have met people who have lived here their whole lives without ever even skiing. Fortunately, I have had many opportunities to ski. Still, I had never tried repelling—at least, not on a real mountain instead of a gym climbing wall.

I recently remedied that. We went to Pete’s Rock, a 110 foot cliff located right where urban Salt Lake City meets Mount Olympus. Since I like to stay alive, we went with professional trainers.

It actually wasn’t too scary, because you repel down with your back toward the ground, so you can’t see exactly how high up you are.

Kindergarten: The Year in Pictures

2011-10-23T10:37:00.000-06:00

My daughter's kindergarten teacher sent all the parents a CD of pictures from class. How cool is that?

August

September

October

November

December

January

February

April

May

Kind of flattering that she made a picture of me--most of the kids made toys and animals and flowers

Pioneer Theater Now Free (with the purchase of a few thousand dollars tuition)

2011-10-17T22:20:00.000-06:00

Last year, my husband and I agreed that we would each plan a date about once a month, so we would have two dates a month. Shortly after we made this agreement, he bought us season passes to Pioneer Theater, thus planning almost all of his monthly dates in one swoop. Since I love theater, I didn't mind at all that he took such an easy route.

We considered buying season tickets again this year but we didn't have to! My husband is still doing his dissertation and this year the University of Utah made a new policy making all university arts performances free to students, all Kingsbury Hall performances only $5 for students, and Pioneer Theater performances are free to students plus one guest! Woo hoo!

The first play of the season was Next to Normal, a musical I had never seen before. I've seen a lot of musicals, because I am a nerd that way, but even when I do see a musical I haven't seen before, I usually recognize a lot of the music because I am a nerd who listens to show tunes. All of the music from Next to Normal was new to me. That was kind of fun. And it was a fascinating plot, too. It is about a woman with bipolar disorder and the play was shown from her perspective, so you see what she is seeing. Very cool.

Biking in a Skirt

2011-10-17T21:55:00.000-06:00

Missionary Biking Attire

For about a year and a half, I regularly went mountain biking while wearing a skirt. Why would I wear such an inappropriate costume for biking? I was a Mormon missionary.

Modesty was a problem for me during my missionary days. Skirts flap around Marilyn Monroe-style on a bike.

Skirt damage was another issue. I shopped for skirts carefully: not so straight that I couldn’t pedal, but not so wide that the fabric would get caught in the gears—at least, not usually. Eventually, there would come the day when I would hit a pothole and my skirt would fly into the gears anyway, which would shred it to pieces or hopelessly stain it with oil.

To avoid exposing myself or destroying my clothes, sometimes I applied the adult diaper method to my skirts, wrapping them around my legs and pinning them. I’ll bet that was the dignified look Church Headquarters was going for when they set up the dress code. Anyhow, it wasn’t a full-proof solution.

I never wanted to give up my missionary bike. Bikes are good for missionary work; they get you from place to place faster than walking but keep you outdoors where you can meet people. As a bonus, biking creates a refreshing breeze that feels so good when the weather is hot.

However, bikes and skirts are clearly a bad combination, so what is a woman to do? Fortunately, just recently (in the late 1800′s), our foremothers discovered a brilliant new technology to address this problem: ladies’ pants.

Hurray! With pants, a woman can look modest, professional and even conservative, yet she can ride her bike with ease. We should get some of these wonder garments for our beloved sister missionaries.

As an added bonus, dressing sister missionaries in pants would help clear up the common misconception that Mormonism is a repressive fundamentalist sect that requires women to wear dresses all the time. We Mormons have plenty of real female repression issues; we don’t need to advertise others that don’t exist.
But isn’t there some sort of commandment about how missionaries must wear dresses? Wouldn’t it require a revelation from God to change the missionary dress code?

In Doctrine and Covenants 42:6 we read: “And ye shall go forth in the power of my Spirit, preaching my gospel, two by two, whilst wearing pretty skirts.”

Just kidding. There actually isn’t any doctrinal mandate that requires missionaries to wear skirts. (I bet you elders are relieved. Most of you wouldn’t look good in skirts.)

It appears that God decided to let us use some agency on this one…or common sense.

What would it take for common sense to prevail over the missionary dress code? Perhaps Church Headquarters just needs an opportunity to walk a mile in a sister missionary’s shoes, or rather, bike a mile in a sister missionary’s skirt. There are some beautiful biking trails in the foothills surrounding Church Headquarters. I would invite everyone there, especially the brethren, to put on a skirt and go for a bike ride.

When you get back, let’s chat about the missionary dress code.

Utah Republican Leadership Hates Democracy

2011-10-04T06:44:00.001-06:00

One might look at the title of my post and say, "That is just a resentful, whiny insult from a Utah Democrat." Yes, it is both resentful and whiny, no doubt in reflection of my current mood. However, Utah Republicans themselves first declared their hatred for democracy. Earlier this year, the Republican majority legislatively micromanaged Utah school curricula, requiring schools to indoctrinate children by teaching them that our country is a "republic," and not a "democracy." (In their defense, they did not go so far as forbidding former American presidents from using the D-word, so people like George W. Bush, whose rhetoric indicates that he is under the impression that we live in a democracy and that he believes that is a good thing, can feel free to continue to say so.)

Still, actions say more than words. Are Utah Republicans doing anything now to demonstrate the disdain for democracy they bragged about while passing that ridiculous bill? Merriam Webster defines democracy as, "government by the people, especially rule of the majority."

The majority of Utahns, about 3/4 of us, live in urban areas. However, Utah Republican leadership has proposed a redistricting plan that makes urban Utah residents a minority in every district except one. They say they are doing this to ensure that all Congresspersons consider rural issues. "Rural" is simply code for "Republican," because rural Utah consistently votes Republican. Only urban Salt Lake County, which is chopped into 3 different districts by the proposed map, has competitive races occasionally won by Democrats instead of Republicans.

In spite of all the talk about the importance of including rural areas in all districts, they did make one all-urban district. It is dominated by Utah County, where Republicans are safe.

Are Republicans in Utah county really the only urban Utahns who deserve representation? It is obvious that the need to keep rural Utahns dominant in all other districts is an effort to make sure urban Utahns, the majority of our state population, are ruled by rural, Republican Utahns. That is rule of the minority, which is clearly not democracy.

Shortest Trip Ever to D.C./Baltimore

2011-10-01T23:48:00.001-06:00

I went to Maryland last week for one whole night. I spent many, many hours on airplanes and trains and about eight at a dull business meeting.
I had one evening for free time. I used it to meet up with some blogging friends in person. We had dinner at a restaurant that had the best brussels sprouts in the world. I was pretty skeptical about even ordering brussels sprouts. I told my friend that I had no idea how our hunter/gatherer ancestors ever recognized brussels sprouts as food, forgetting that she happens to be a medical anthropologist who knew many worse "foods" consumed by hunter/gatherers. So I tried the brussels sprouts and they were amazing.

My daughter asked me to send her a picture from my trip. It was so foggy that day that I couldn't capture anything with my phone camera but this stupid picture of the inside of my hotel room. Outdoor photos came out all white. If any of you have ever seen the U.S. Capital Building, just picture what it looked like the last time you saw it, add a bunch of fog to your mental picture, and you'll be looking at what I saw. It still looks the same as every other time I have seen it.

I love the big, fluffy beds and the pretty lobbies at these fancy conference hotels but otherwise, I find this kind of hotel a bit exasperating. I would never stay at one of these hotels for personal travel. I don't understand why hotels with such higher-than-average room prices find it necessary to nickle and dime guests for every little thing. Outrageous fees for local phone calls and continental breakfasts and wi-fi annoy me. That stuff is all included in the much lower price of a night's stay at an economy hotel.

Gilgal Gardens

2011-09-29T12:28:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I think I have seen every possible tourist attraction from my hometown already. That is too bad because I love sightseeing, even when I am close to home. This summer, I discovered a site quite near my home that I had never heard of before: Gilgal Gardens. This public park used to be the backyard of Thomas Battersby Child, Jr, a Mormon folk artist who liked to carve religious sculptures and engrave his favorite hymns and scriptures into stone.

I found it when looking up date ideas on a city event calendar. I linked through to the Gilgal Gardens website, which begged donors to fix up the property. Apparently, the website operators found the funds. When we went there, we found a beautifully landscaped park.

Gilgal Gardens is located across the street from Trolley Square. You have to look for the sign on the fence; the sculpture garden is not visible from the street.

Shortly after my husband and I visited Gilgal Gardens for the first time, I happened across this discussion of the site at a Mormon blog, where many people were carrying on about how weird and fanatical it is to express your religiosity through sculpture, especially such strange sculptures as a sphinx with Mormon church founder Joseph Smith's face (one of the most dominant sculptures in the garden). I thought that was kind of funny--because blogging could also be considered a weird and fanatical way to express religiosity. I loved exploring the unique ways this artist viewed and expressed his religion. The quirkiness just makes the garden more interesting.

A Decade of Family Vacations with my Parents and Sibs

2011-09-10T13:56:00.002-06:00

My parents have always been committed to regular family vacations. As we have grown up and had our own families, they continue to invite us to vacation with them, making us quite a large (and fun) traveling party. I love family vacations, so I decided to honor this tradition by assembling a collage of all of these vacations from the past ten years (at least, all the ones I could find documented by camera). I arranged them geographically, instead of chronologically. I think it is fun to see photos of much younger versions of us side by side with more recent photos.

Why I'll Vaccinate My Daughter against Cervical Cancer

2011-09-03T17:53:00.005-06:00

Note: In my last post, I talked about how my toddler son unintentionally started a brawl at church. Like mother, like son. I recently posted the following at a group blog I participate in and unintentionally made a whole bunch of people mad. I had no idea that several participants in the group were anti-vaccine advocates. I sure know now. Yet, I am masochistically posting the same thing to my personal site because I think it is an important public health issue. Go ahead and disagree if you would like, but please, be gentle with me.

The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) report that children are less likely to receive cervical cancer vaccine than any other recommended childhood vaccine. A CDC spokesperson suggests that the problem might be related to the fact that it is newer and therefore less familiar than other vaccines. Also, it is administered during the teen years and teens tend to have fewer medical check-ups than infants.

In my dealings as a public health professional, I have heard people bring up another barrier that the CDC spokesperson did not mention. Cervical cancer is caused by human papillomavirus (HPV), a sexually transmitted disease. Some people would prefer not to protect teens from the consequences of sexual activity.
I believe in natural, behavioral prevention strategies. I will teach my daughter that she can help prevent many health and emotional issues by compliance with the law of chastity. However, I will also vaccinate her to help prevent her from getting HPV and cervical cancer. Here is why I have made this choice:

I will try to keep my daughter safe, but someday she might be raped. I cannot prevent the physical and emotional pain that would result from such a violation but I can help protect her from getting cervical cancer as a result of that rape.

I will encourage her to look for a mate who promises to be faithful to her, but her husband could cheat on her anyway. I can’t save her from heartbreak but I can help prevent her husband from causing her to get cervical cancer.

I will teach her to be abstinent from sexual activity until she marries, but in a passionate moment, she might make a mistake. I believe that sincere repentance will be enough penance for her sins; she does not need to pay for the sins of youth by suffering with cervical cancer.

I will teach her my values, but she may choose a different path. I cannot take away her agency to make her own choices about her sexuality. No matter what choices she makes, I will never stop loving her and never wish her harm. I could never be sorry that I helped protect her from cervical cancer.

Reference: http://yourlife.usatoday.com/health/story/2011/08/Many-teens-miss-out-on-life-saving-vaccines/49868088/1

Church Meeting Brawl Instigated by My Toddler

2011-08-31T17:25:00.000-06:00

At church on Sunday, while other people where being quiet and reverent, my sweet little toddler unintentionally started a bit of a brawl. It began when he tried to make friends with a two-year-old sitting across the aisle. She was holding a cute little purse and proudly described the purse as, "Mine."

My little boy is at that stage of development where he likes to learn new words by repeating words he hears other people say, so he parroted back, "Mine."

The little girl was shocked at this apparent challenge for her beloved purse. She clutched the purse more tightly and repeated, this time with greater vehemence, "Mine!" My son repeated the word again, absolutely delighted with himself for successfully articulating the word a second time.

The exchange continued in this fashion for a few more rounds. My son was becoming more and more excited that someone was willing to chat with him during this annoyingly quiet and somber meeting, and the little girl was also becoming excited, but in a different way. She started throwing in some other words like "no," and "bad," and my son was happy to practice pronouncing these words, too. Finally, she couldn't take it any longer and threw herself into a full force, screaming, kicking, temper tantrum.

This is when her father intervened and removed her from the premises. My son sadly watched his new friend leave, appearing completely befuddled about her unexpected and sudden exit.

Progress Report: My Child Development Projects

2011-08-28T21:32:00.000-06:00

The One-Year-Old
My one-year-old has developed an interest in "helping" which makes it even more challenging for me to do any household work. I am sure he will lose interest in helping before he is old enough to be useful. My husband and I spent the last week building a patio, so my one-year-old was constantly digging gravel with his little plastic shovel and placing tiny fragments of flagstone, announcing that he was "helping." He also said his first sentence during our patio project. He saw my husband in the bobcat and said, "Dad helping." He has wanted to join the nursery at church ever since we walked past it once just as the door opened and he got a peek at all the age-appropriate fun going on in there. His dreams to attend nursery have finally come true.

The Three-Year-Old

My three-year-old is at an adorable, affectionate stage where he frequently comes to me to say, "Mommy, I very love you." (He tells Dad that, too.) He has recently developed a passion for the color orange, preferring to dig a dirty orange shirt out of the laundry hamper over wearing a fresh, clean shirt of some other, inferior color. He loves to play piano, probably because we have the electric keyboard hooked to a laptop with cool, cartoon-filled piano instruction software. He also likes playing outside on the swings and the trampoline and is fascinated by the sunflowers that have recently appeared by his tire swing.

The Six-Year-Old
My six-year-old begins first grade tomorrow. She is transferring to a new school to do Spanish Immersion. At first, she was not pleased about going to a new school, but she has been excited about it ever since we took her to visit the school last spring and she verified that it was an adequate facility with a good playground, plants growing in the Science classroom, and acceptibly normal teachers. She has practiced her dozen or so Spanish words all summer. She enjoys being the ringleader, and lucky for her, her little brothers like following her lead. When it comes to parent/child relations, she is going through a whiney phase right now, which seems particularly annoying in comparison to her younger brother's current affectionate stage, but I am crossing my fingers that it will pass soon (her whiney phase, not her younger sib's affectionate phase).

Gymnastics Attire

2011-08-23T16:40:00.000-06:00

I had no car today, so I put all three children in a bike trailer and pulled them to gymnastics. Apparently, the ride was bumpy. My three-year-old became motion sick and threw up. His pants were soaked. I am not a fast enough biker to go home and get other clothes and get back in time for him to make any use of them at his class, so I asked the staff if the gym sold any children's shorts: soccer shorts, maybe, or swim trunks. The best they could do was an extra large swim diaper. My three-year-old loves his new outfit.

Help Us Pass a Bill to Fix the Utah Work Week Law

2011-08-23T13:33:00.001-06:00

I met with my state senator today, Aaron Osmond, R-West Jordan, to discuss the Utah work week law. (For more info, see my previous posts here and here.) He is willing to sponsor a bill to offer employees more flexibility, such as either removing the work week law or changing it to match the wording Governor Herbert included in his executive order, which limits the requirement to critical, public-facing services and allows these services to be offered either by Internet, phone or in-person. He also supports removing the definition of "agency" that makes small units including "offices" subject to this law.

He asked for my help in finding state employees who are willing to contact him and describe the hardships the work week law imposes on their organizations so that he can use this information to support his bill. He is willing to accept anonymous feedback if necessary.

I would appreciate anyone who would be willing to share this information with other state employees. Feel free to share this post with others.

Senator Osmond's contact information is here. If you would like to leave comments here, I could also share that information with Sen. Osmond. (Please let me know whether it is okay to use your name or if you would prefer to be anonymous.)

Turning State Employees into Outlaws (and other side effects of the new Utah Work Week law)

2011-08-18T22:31:00.002-06:00

I have prepared these talking points for a meeting this week with my local state senator, Aaron Osmond, who has kindly and responsively agreed to meet with me about the new work week law (explained previously here). Did I miss anything in my talking points? (My local state representative, Merlynn Newbold, has so far ignored my emails and voice mail.)

The work week law will cost Utah taxpayers at least $800,000 annually, in energy, janitorial, overtime and transportation expenses (Reference 1). Of course, this number was derived by comparing costs of the 4-day work week to previous costs under the non-mandated 5-day system. I predict the overtime costs will be even higher because of new demands on employees to work overtime to maintain legal compliance.

The work week law adds at least 10,000 annual metric tons of pollution to Utah air, by requiring buildings to operate heating and cooling systems on Fridays and requiring employees to commute 20% more often (Reference 1). Again, I predict that the effect on pollution will be even greater, since my agency is helping to pay for the extra workload by eliminating employee public transit passes.

The work week law turns state employees into outlaws. Here is the text of a letter I recently wrote to the Deseret News describing the ludicrous difficulties of complying with this law:

Here's another side effect of the new five-day work week law, besides the annual $800,000 price and the 10,000 annual tons of new pollution. This legislative management requires state agencies, including "offices," to operate in at least one physical location nine hours per day, Monday through Friday.

My office employs two and a half full-time employees and does research and web design. We do not do any customer service like issuing licenses, accepting applications or collecting fines. However, this new law forces us to guarantee an employee is present at the office every day, all day, all week.

Here are just a few ways our tiny office could break this new law:

Two employees could eat lunch together, leaving the office empty for an hour.

One employee could get sick on a day when another employee is on vacation.

One employee could quit or go on maternity leave. The remaining employee could continue to take her required lunch break (Reference 2).

Of course, I only spoke to my personal situation in the letter. Other state "offices" have only one employee. They will always be out of compliance with this law, unless that one employee works overtime every day and never gets sick or takes a vacation.

The work week law prevents state employees from doing their jobs. The legislators who wrote the law were apparently under the impression that all state employees are receptionists; people whose top work function is to be available at their desks to greet visitors. In fact, the state employs about 17,000 people, very few of whom do direct customer service. The vast majority of state employees need flexibility to conduct business away from their desks, just like any other business person. During the nine years I have worked for the state, I have frequently worked late or on weekends to meet with people in different areas of the state, participate in special events or meet pressing deadlines. I avoided unnecessary overtime by taking time off on a different day of the pay period. Now that I am legally required to man my desk from 8 to 5 every day, I do not have these options.

The work week law is anti-progress. Who really wants to travel to a state building to pay a fee or process an application in person? Instead of forcing state employees to be available in person for such tasks, legislators should be encouraging employees to make services available online or by phone, so people can conduct state business in the privacy of their own homes at any hour of the day.

The work week law prevents state agencies from fulfilling their missions. Take this example. I have been invited by a national organization to travel to Washington, DC at their expense to participate in a policy planning meeting with important implications for my agency and the state of Utah. However, the meeting coincides with another employee's previously scheduled annual leave in which she will be traveling out of the country. The only remaining employee in the office has been coerced to work 45 hours that week to keep us in compliance with the work week law. Next time, I will think twice before accepting such an invitation, no matter how beneficial to our agency mission.

The work week law is anti-family. The co-worker I just mentioned, who is being required to work a 45 hour work week to comply with this law, is a mother who will have to make special arrangements for her children so she can work overtime.

The work week law is bad for customer service. In a survey of Utah citizens, only 20% wanted to return to the 5-day schedule and lose the extended hours Monday-Thursday (Reference 1). I have spoken with state employees who actually do work in customer service and they have said that their busiest time of day is after 4:OO pm until 6:00 pm. People like to be able to do state business after they finish working at their own job.

The work week law makes Utah look bad. Legislators recently “normalized” Utah liquor laws so Utah could stop being so weird, just to turn around and become possibly the only state to legislate employee work hours and legally glue state employees to their desks. The 4-day work week experiment had been generating good PR for Utah, with flattering articles in such national venues as Time (Reference 3) and the New York Times (Reference 4). But just when the founder of the successful program, Jon Huntsman, began officially running for president, the Utah legislature scrapped his program.

References

Amusement Park Fun

2011-08-03T12:27:00.001-06:00

My parents gave us and our sibs' families season passes to the local amusement park for Christmas. Here are some photos of us enjoying them.

My niece makes an impassioned case for my mom to try out a certain roller coaster.

Cousins ready to play

Hubby and Baby

My kids love reading amusement park maps, possibly because they are such Dora fans. I think their cousins have less interest in the maps, but humor them.

Whee!

Maybe I watch too many musicals, because this photo looked choreographed to me. I picture my son singing, "Out there, there's a world outside this hick town, Barnaby..." or "O-o-o-klahoma..." or, with a bit of a costume change, "I can show you the world..."

My baby loves to watch the rides. He is not such a fan of riding them, and since I believe that the sole purpose of amusement park rides is amusement, I don't make him ride any if he doesn't want to. His actual riding repertoire is only three rides, since most of the few rides he has tried he hated. He loves the Wild Kingdom Train, where he points out every animal he finds. He also likes the kiddies cars (but refuses to try the baby boats). His first ride on the carousel got mixed reviews, but the second time he liked it, and the third time and ever since, he gets angry when the ride ends and he has to get off.

Childhood Pets and Death

2011-07-28T22:08:00.000-06:00

Four-Year-Old Me and My First Pet

My sister and her family recently moved across the country, just a few days after their pet cat gave birth to four kittens. When my sister’s family arrived in their new state of residence, they stayed with a friend of a friend while they looked for a new home. These hospitable strangers owned a dog.

A couple days into their stay as houseguests, my sister and her husband heard their three-year-old daughter screaming. They ran to her aid but they were too late. The dog had killed all four kittens and my tiny little niece had witnessed the tragedy.

My niece was naturally traumatized. Her reactions varied from anger, manifested by attacking her baby brother; denial, such as requesting to play with the deceased kittens; to spiritual questioning about what happened to the kittens after the dog bit them and made them stop crying. Her parents used the classic Mormon glove example to explain to her about death. Her dad offered her a priesthood blessing. “Heavenly Father wants you to know that He is holding your kitties right now,” he told my niece as he blessed her. He also counseled her to share all the love that she wanted to give to the kittens with her baby brother.

My first memory of death was also the death of a pet. My first pet died when I was twelve. She was a cat that had resided with my family since I was four. My entire family grieved. We held a special family home evening style memorial service in honor of our deceased pet. We all talked about our favorite memories of the deceased cat. The death of this furry loved one must have been an unusually teachable moment for me, because I still remember details of that lesson. My parents shared a quote from former LDS church president Joseph Fielding Smith about how animals have souls and will be resurrected. They talked about how they believed our cat had fulfilled her mission in life very well—she had made our family happy, which is the primary purpose of a pet.

With a quick search, I found what may have been that very quote at the church website, “So we see that the Lord intends to save, not only the earth and the heavens, not only man who dwells upon the earth, but all things which he has created. The animals, the fishes of the sea, the fowls of the air, as well as man, are to be recreated, or renewed, through the resurrection, for they too are living souls.” (Joseph Fielding Smith, Conference Report, October 1928)

I have heard it said that a pet is a story with an unhappy ending. Children and grown-ups grow close to these creatures, but the relatively short lifespan of most pets almost guarantees that their human caretakers will watch them die. Perhaps this sad truth is actually another benefit of pet ownership. These animal/human bonds help us appreciate the sanctity of life and learn how to process our grief. They also give us opportunities to comfort each other. Such lessons will be invaluable as we suffer much greater losses in the future. My little niece is going through her first primer in human mortality—even though her teachers were not human.

However, even as I reflect so philosophically on the benefits of loving and losing pets, I wish my niece’s kittens were still alive. I am so sorry, sweetie.

The Breastfeeding Doll Controversy

2011-07-21T11:22:00.001-06:00

A Spanish toy company will start marketing a doll called "Breast Milk Baby" to American retailers in a few weeks. The silly controversy surrounding this cute children's toy is yet another symptom of the perverted way American society views breastfeeding.

What makes a doll that nurses so much more offensive than a doll that drinks a play bottle? According to detractors, pretending to feed a doll naturally could encourage perversion, hyper-sexuality and teen pregnancy. Exposing children to such shameful practices as breastfeeding should be avoided until the child is older, these detractors argue.

Yikes! Shame on me, because I recklessly expose my own children to breastfeeding every day as I nurse my own, real life baby. I can tell that this sinister practice is taking its toll because even without the aid of a fancy toy, I have witnessed my daughter pretending to breastfeed her dolls.

Don't worry, Breastfeeding Shame Committee, I am sure that my daughter's youthful, innocent enthusiasm about breastfeeding will fade. By the time she is my age, people like you will help her feel so embarrassed about feeding her children naturally that she will consider less healthy alternatives.

Cousins and Tires

2011-07-19T20:03:00.000-06:00

Two of my husband's siblings have visited us this summer with their families. For some reason, all of the pictures I got of these visits involved playing with tire toys. We actually do have other things in our yard besides tires.

Kid Poetry

2011-07-14T10:28:00.001-06:00

Sometimes, my daughter uses words in ways that strike me as pure poetic genius. My all-time favorite was when my husband flattered her with a compliment and she blushed and giggled and said, "Daddy, you tickle my dreams."

The other day, she turned a rather prosaic statement into poetry with a simple one-word substitution. She noticed that the baby had cut a tooth and announced that his tooth had "bloomed."

Baby Fashion Sense

2011-07-10T10:27:00.000-06:00

My one year-old has developed an opinion about shoes. Not his shoes, mine. He follows me to the closet when I go to get my shoes. If I happen to choose something appropriate to my everyday life, like tennis shoes or flip-flops or practical business shoes, he protests vehemently in baby talk. Then he grabs one of my red high heels and tries to shove it onto my foot.

Honk if you love smog and hate state employees

2011-07-06T22:27:00.001-06:00

During his tenure as Utah governor, Jon Huntsman changed state government office hours to ten hours per day, four days per week. This simple change saved tax payers about $800,000 annually by reducing energy, janitorial, overtime and transportation expenses. Additionally, the 4-day workweek eliminated over 10,000 metric tons of greenhouse gas emissions by eliminating one weekly commute for 18,000 state employees and reducing heating and cooling of state buildings on Fridays. Surveys revealed that both employees and the general public preferred the new schedule.

The Utah state legislature recently passed a law, overriding the Governor's veto, which will eliminate the 4-day workweek and force all state offices to open on Fridays beginning this September.

Many Utah legislators will proudly boast that they don't care one particulate about air pollution. The disgusting smog around here is evidence of our leadership's indifference to the pollution problem. So it is not terribly surprising that the state legislature likes the idea of increasing carbon emissions by state-employed commuters by 20%.

However, these same legislators claim to care deeply about saving money and reducing taxes. Opening state offices on Fridays will cost taxpayers an additional $800,000 annually. How many Utah taxpayers want to front that check just so they can visit state offices on Friday instead of some other day of the week?

The Utah Department of Health told its employees last week that it will eliminate employee bus passes in an effort to save money. Employees who never contributed to Utah traffic congestion or air pollution while commuting in the past will now be forced to get into cars and emit some carbon. And they will do that five days a week instead of four.

The clear losers here, besides state employees, are Utahns who suffer from heart or lung disease like my husband, who becomes sick whenever the air quality gets bad (which is often). If you live in or visit Utah and like to breathe, you're being punished, too.

I have a great idea that will save a lot more money than cutting bus passes for state employees. Legislators, how about voting again on the state workweek? This time, why don't you vote to save money by keeping state offices closed on Fridays.

I promise not to mention the good you would be doing for the environment. It would be our little secret.

http://www.dhrm.utah.gov/Working4Utah_FinalReport_Dec2009.pdf

Puttin' Around Pittsburgh (by myself)

2011-07-01T13:51:00.002-06:00

Pittsburgh and Me

I went to a conference in Pittsburgh a couple weeks ago. I can't honestly say that I had ever yearned to see Pittsburgh, but I liked it. Pittsburgh is all about museums and rivers, so what's not to like? The opening "networking event" was hors d'oeuvres at the Andy Warhol Museum, which was a big improvement over the usual networking event at these sorts of conferences, hors d'oeuvres in a boring hotel lobby. The bold narcissism of Andy Warhol inspired me to document my post-workday tourism with a series of self-portraits.

Andy Warhol Museum
When I took the first self-portrait, I hadn't exactly gotten the knack of it yet. Still, you can see part of me and part of the the boring facade of the Warhol museum in the background. The museum is much more interesting from the inside, but photographs aren't allowed in there.

Market Square
Old cobblestone squares are virtually absent from my hometown, so I had to get a photo here.

Fort Pitt
Remember all that exciting info about the French and Indian War from high school history? I didn't, either.

Point Park
Fort Pitt resides in a pretty park located where two rivers meet, hence the name. The day before I arrived in town, there was a big festival there. The fish sculpture made of aluminum cans was left over from the festival.

Duquesne Incline
Okay, this one isn't actually a self-portrait. I figured, "Were' trapped in a tiny box, ascending a very steep cliff, so what is the likelihood that the kind stranger offering to take my photo is going to run off with my camera?"

Top of the Lift
People go up the Duquesne Lift for this view and the opportunity to bask in the ambiance of 1877 travel. As far as I can tell, there isn't any other reason to go up there.

Duquesne University Colloquium
On the bus from the airport, all of my fellow passengers were musically-gifted Catholics on their way to a colloquium. The person sitting across from me was apparently some sort of rock star in the colloquium world, and everyone was thrilled to meet him and peppered him with questions. The other passengers invited me to attend a mass, so after the conference, I stopped in and listened for half an hour. It was pretty. Chants lack harmony of course, but the way the sound bounced around the cathedral it seemed to harmonize with itself.

"Ye will not suffer your children that they go naked."

2011-06-23T21:47:00.001-06:00

Dressing my three year-old has become a full-time job. Yet, in spite of the excessive amount of time I spend dressing him, he is always naked. Searching the house and yard for discarded, size T3 clothing is another time-consuming new hobby of mine.

Part of the problem is that summer has finally arrived and nudity just makes sense to a three year-old suffering in hot weather. Potty training is another issue. My son believes he cannot use the potty without removing all of his clothing, and once he has shedded it, he sees no reason to put it back on.

A few weeks ago, he disappeared at the library. I frantically searched for him until he reappeared, in the nude, at this extremely public venue. He had gone to use the restroom by himself and left his clothing behind when he finished. I cracked the door open and loudly announced that I was coming in before searching the men's restroom for my son's clothes.

Long ago, when I was a naive 21 year-old missionary in the extremely hot and humid island nation of the Dominican Republic, I once suggested to a new convert that she should start dressing her sons, who ranged in age from 1 to 8 and rarely wore clothes. Later, I regretted my ethnocentric imposition of the modesty standards of my colder and wealthier homeland on this poor Dominican family. Now my regret is even greater, as I realize how challenging keeping one's children dressed can be.

I'm sorry, people of the universe. I don't care anymore if your kids are naked. Mine is.

My Favorite Books

2011-06-19T21:03:00.001-06:00

I am always looking for a good book. I ride public transit to work so I can have a wee bit of leisurely reading time on the way. (It also makes me feel good about my eco-friendliness.) I love it when friends suggest good reading material to me. In that spirit, I have added a "bookshelf" to my blog to share some of my favorite books with my friends. My all-time favorite book is Pride and Prejudice, which isn't very original of me. Who doesn't like that book? But I have also included some more obscure choices. For example:

Autobiographies about people I admire, like A Child Called It and Two Little Girls
Fiction about exotic places I would like to visit, like The Bonesetter's Daughter and the Marriage Bureau for Rich People
References that I actually use regularly, like Dr. Sears Baby Book and the Western Garden Book
Nonfiction that is both fun and educational, like the Coming Plague and Why Beautiful People Have More Daughters
Favorites from childhood, like Ballet Shoes and the Ramona series (We recently listened to the first two Ramona books on CD with our kids during a long car ride to Las Vegas. They loved them.)
Satires that are hilarious to me, but not even remotely funny to my husband, like Dave Barry's Guide to Guys and Politically Correct Fairy Tales.

At present, my virtual shelf is pretty weak compared to my real bookshelf, but I will keep adding to it. You can see it at:

http://aprilreigns.blogspot.com/#books

I would love for you to suggest more books I should read and add to my shelf.

My Husband, the Nurturer

2011-06-19T06:00:00.003-06:00

"Would it hurt the kids if I went to work full-time? Do they need me at home? Should I wait until they are older? Would I miss them too much if I went to work everyday?" I've heard these words so many times, but this time it sounded different because the voice was lower. This was my husband speaking.

Women fret over this issue all the time. Most men don't. My husband isn't most men.

When my oldest daughter was born, I stopped working full-time so I could raise her. My husband did, too. For six years we have shared breadwinning and childrearing duties. The kids have their "Mommy days" (Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays) and their "Daddy Days" (Tuesdays and Thursdays).

The division hasn't been perfectly equal. He's better at breadwinning than I am, bringing in about two-thirds of our household income. However, while his wages are better, it's my job that comes with the benefits. I work at one of those extremely rare part-time benefitted positions.

That fact has made our lifestyle possible. I think more families would like to try an arrangement like ours, but our healthcare system forces most families to depend on employer-sponsored insurance and most employers are unwilling to insure part-time employees. I hope that as healthcare reform is implemented families will have more flexible options.

Another barrier to this lifestyle is the limited roles men have placed on them by our society. Yes, I said men. As women's rights have progressed, there are still conservative factions fighting to keep women at home, but most of society is moving towards a greater acceptance of letting women be whomever they want to be. Women might work full-time, part-time or devote all their time to their homes. Not all, but many people will applaud their decision. It seems that society at large still hasn't considered offering such options to men. I struggle to think of male role models who have made any choice other than full-time employment in mainstream media, with the exception of movies like "Mr. Mom" which just make fun of men for their supposed incompetence at household duties.

I think that is sad, because our shared child-rearing experience has had many advantages. My children have tight bonds with both parents because we both have dedicated a large portion of our time to being with them. They are also unusually flexible, adaptive and open to new experiences. Maybe that's a natural personality trait, but I suspect that a lifetime (so far) of spending every other day with a person whose approach to daily activities is different than the person who was in charge the day before may be contributing to that. My husband can truly empathize with me about the less rewarding aspects of staying at home with the children (cleaning, potty-training, searching for missing shoes, etc.) because he also devotes much of his time to these tasks. Every other day, we both get the opportunity to leave housework aside and pursue our other interests.

As much as we have liked both working part-time, it may be coming to an end now. Work has been getting busier for my husband, and his employer is considering changing his position to full-time. My husband has been looking at other part-time options, but in this economy, these other options could be riskier than staying where he is.

Regardless of what happens with his career now, he will always be a wonderful dad. I am grateful for his bravery in spending the last six years on a road less traveled (at least, less traveled by people of his own gender). Even if he does go back to the traditional fatherly role of full-time work, I know he will never become one of those dads who doesn't know the name of his daughter's kindergarten teacher or where his wife keeps the cleanser. Love you, honey. Happy Father's Day.

Originally Posted At http://www.the-exponent.com/2011/06/16/guest-post-my-husband-the-nurturer/

Picking the Flowers

2011-06-16T20:38:00.002-06:00

The first season after I planted my perennial flower garden, my oldest child, who was three at the time, presented me with a bouquet of daffodils. She had picked every single flower from my infant garden. I thanked her anyway. After all, she had created a beautiful gift for me. Then I told her how much I love dandelion bouquets. She took the hint and spent the rest of the summer picking dandelions.

This season, history repeated itself when I found my daffodils in a vase courtesy of my second child, who is three years-old now. I tried the same tactic, but he seemed a bit more savvy about the desirability of various flower species. He boldly proclaimed his distaste for "lion flowers".

In many ways, my garden has been a labor of love. In others, it has just been labor. Lots of labor. When I began planting three years ago, my entire yard was dead. I have spent countless hours coaxing it to life. I thrill when I see my efforts rewarded with healthy, blooming plants and cringe when my flowers are sentenced to death by picking.

While I cringe, another part of me is gratified that someone else loves my garden as much as I do. My children squeal with delight when they find new flowers in bloom. They examine the shapes and colors. My baby lies down and puts his whole face into the plants, opening his mouth to breathe in the fragrance.
The curb appeal of my garden suffers from the incessant picking, but joggers who glance at my yard as they go past couldn't possibly appreciate my flowers as much as the children who keep picking them.

Even if my son had left them alone, the daffodils would have been dead by now anyway, replaced by irises and the newest bloomers to my garden, the poppies. I spotted my first poppy of the season a couple days ago, just a few moments before my son saw it too and plucked it. I found out later that it hadn't actually been the first poppy anyway. My son had already picked that one the day before.

Yesterday, when my son brought me a daisy, I put it in my hair and wore it. Then I let my daughter pick one for her hair, too. The flowers will come back again next season. My children will never be this young again.

Defending Our Territory

2011-05-30T10:33:00.002-06:00

A few days ago, I bought this nice parcel of land at a county auction.

Some of you might look at the photo and say, "April, isn't that your own backyard?"

You have a valid point. In fact, my husband and I brought up the same point to the county when we received a letter announcing that the county would be auctioning it off.

After extensive research, we learned that the title company made a mistake when we acquired our property four years ago and excluded a bit of our yard from our title. Oops. The previous owner stopped paying taxes on the land because he had sold it to us, so the county appropriated the land and sold it to someone else at a county auction a few years back.

Blissfully ignorant of all of this, we went about treating our backyard as if it were our own. In the section that legally belonged to some stranger, we installed a flagstone patio, a grape arbor, a raised herb garden, and a perennial flower bed. It was hard work! When I first tried to plant in this area, the ground was so compacted I couldn't get a shovel into it. We literally had to drill holes into the ground to get plants in. On my first try, everything I planted died. After three years of layering manure and wood chips, I was thrilled to find worms in this soil for the first time this spring; it is finally an ecosystem capable of supporting life. After all that effort, I was a bit peeved to learn that I technically did not own this parcel.

Lucky for us, the person who bought my backyard the last time the county auctioned it off didn't pay his/her taxes, either, so the county sent us a letter saying that if he/she hadn't paid by last Thursday, they would confiscate it and auction it off again. They helpfully sent the letter to us because they thought we might be interested in this property, since it happens to be right behind our house, in front of our fence.

When we contacted them, the county told us that since the parcel is not accessible to a street--it is, after all, a backyard--they would only sell it to us or the owner of the property behind ours. We decided the easiest way to deal with the situation was to cross our fingers that the current owner wouldn't pay and our neighbor wouldn't show up to compete for our backyard. Fortunately, that is how things played out and we did not have to resort to Plan B: Painful Legal Battle. After a stressful month of waiting, we showed up at the auction and bought our backyard for $390.

On the bright side, since it was apparently not part of our title when we got our mortgage, we own our backyard free and clear. If anything should ever happen and the bank forecloses on us, we could always set up a tent on the patio by the grape arbor and live there.

Blog Makeover

2011-05-28T23:47:00.000-06:00

This is pretty irrelevant, because no one actually reads my blog until it auto-feeds to Facebook, but I gave my blog a new look. So if you ever happen to read my posts at their original site, they will look different now. (Oh wait. I forgot that one of my little brothers reads my blog. Hey bro! )

By the way, do any of you Facebook friends have blogs that I don't know about? I know that blogs are infinitely less cool than Facebook, but I like them and I would love to read yours. It would be fabulous to know more about your lives than can be reported in a teeny little status update.

The Mommy Track

2011-05-24T19:11:00.000-06:00

A few days ago, every single one of my office coworkers was promoted. Except me.

It's okay. I don't have that many coworkers in my office (3) and I was not expecting a promotion. I have been working part-time since my 6 year-old daughter was born. In some ways, it is the best of both worlds. I have lots of time to devote to my kids, but I earn some money and continue to build my job skills. On the downside, no matter how fabulous your job skills are, your job mobility is severely crippled if you aren't willing to work full-time. Sometimes it is hard to watch as people with less experience or education pass me up on the career ladder.

And of course, I'll never be a domestic goddess at the rate I'm going, either. But who are we kidding? It would take more than full-time housekeeping to make me over into one of those.

New Utah Flag: More Accurate, Equally Ugly

2011-05-13T14:28:00.003-06:00

During the most recent legislative session, our lawmakers changed the Utah state flag, correcting a mistake on it that has been wrong for the last eighty-eight years.

Unfortunately, they left the rest of the flag alone. Our flag is still the state seal copied and pasted onto a navy blue background. Or perhaps I should say cut and sewn, since our pioneer forbearers put that ugly thing together without the aid of computers.

I do not blame the pioneers. Pioneers had rough lives. They had to walk across the plains, grow their own food, and defecate outdoors. As if all of that weren't bad enough, they also had to design a state flag without the aid of Photoshop. It's perfectly understandable that when flag design was added to their long list of chores, they did a rather shoddy job of it and ignored basic design principles.

I have been thinking about design principles a lot this week. During that same recent legislative session, Utah lawmakers decided to change the name of the state office I work for, so I have been madly building a new logo, with a new web template and graphics to match.

It is coming along pretty well. If they had ordered me to make them a new Utah state flag too, I'll bet I could have pulled off something better than the current flag. I'm not boasting when I say that. I also believe that any 13 year-old could make a better flag. In fact, a 13 year-old did design the Alaskan flag, and it is a thousand times better than Utah's.

I worked for a summer at the United States Capitol, where I frequently traveled through a hall which proudly displays a flag from each state. Actually, flags like Alaska wave proudly. Utah hangs there like wallflower. Why would such a beautiful state choose such a drab rag to represent it?

Next session, I think our state legislature should focus its efforts on flag design. It would be a fun project and might distract them from more damaging legislative endeavors. Maybe they could be inspired by some of our better state symbols. The beehive, representing our state slogan of industry, is already incorporated into our current, awful flag, but it is too tiny to see and is surrounded by a busy mess of other items, including pictures of flags, raising two questions:

1.) Didn’t the pioneers anticipate that the flag might be raised aloft and therefore need to have a simple pattern large enough to see from the ground?

2.) Why would you decorate a flag with pictures of flags?

So one solution might be to erase all that other junk and have one large beehive on the flag, with no other distractions. Or maybe take the bee idea one step further, and just go with a black and yellow striped flag. In addition to bees, Utahns like sea gulls, our state bird. How about a nice bird sillouette? Or what about inspiration from some of our natural wonders? You can choose a Utah license plate promoting either Delicate Arch or the Greatest Snow on Earth. A big, red arch or white dots representing snowflakes could look great on a flag, too.

Of course, not all state symbols are equally inspired. Also during the most recent legislative session, our delightful lawmakers made Utah the first state to designate an official state gun. How would that look on a flag?

About a Rather Stupid Facebook Chain-Post

2011-05-03T08:09:00.001-06:00

Okay, I just have to respond to the silly (and admit it, childish) status update my Republican friends have been copying and reposting on Facebook urging everyone to credit the military, and not President Obama, for the successful mission on Sunday. Of course the military deserves credit, including its commander-in-chief Pres. Obama, who made the executive decision authorizing the mission.

I'm a Democrat, but I have no problem also crediting former Pres. Bush for groundwork that led to this successful conclusion. If any of you are listening to the news, you will note that Bush himself congratulated Obama.

I understand that you are naturally jealous that a Democrat was in power at the time of this victory, but please try not to be so petty.

My Baby Is One

2011-05-02T22:39:00.000-06:00

The Loves of His Life

Me
My two older children were socialites from birth, but my last baby is a Momma's boy. I am his favorite person and if he had his way, I would hold him all the time. (Honestly, he does have his way a great deal of the time.)

The Great Outdoors
Lots of babies resist walking on grass when they are first introduced to it. Not mine. He always loved to crawl or walk in grass. He also likes to pick grass, and find things like pine cones and rocks and flowers. When the doorbell rings, he hurries to the door and escapes through my legs. Even when the weather is bad.

The Cat
Since his birth, he has had a special relationship with our cat, who seems to think of my baby as her own kitten. Sometimes, I am impressed with how sweetly he pets the cat. More often, he gets over excited and smacks the cat or climbs on top of her, but she puts up with it.

His Greatest Life Challenges (so far)

Eczema
He has been cursed with lousy skin, which is now under control with powerful steroid creams. When he was about three months old, his skin became so nasty that he couldn't sleep. He just stayed awake scratching and screaming. I took him to the doctor and another mother at the doctor's office confused me by complimenting me on my beautiful baby. He looked like a troll.

His Teeth
Or rather, the lack thereof. The poor child wants to try everything he sees or smells others eating, but we can't share most non-puree foods with him because he still doesn't have a single tooth to chew them.

The Music Lady Retires

2011-04-17T12:33:00.001-06:00

After four years of service as the church primary chorister, I was released last Sunday. I love music, teaching and art (primary choristers makes lots of visual aids) so this has been a good experience for me and I will miss it.

For those of you not of my faith, allow me to explain all that jargon. In my church (I'm LDS), the primary chorister spends every Sunday teaching songs to children ages 3-11. Many of these songs are sung just for fun or to help teach some gospel principle, but some are performed for the congregation on various holidays or during a torturous annual event called the "Primary Program." (Think of a recital, but more religious.)

The church is operated by volunteers, in the sense that we do not get paid. However, in most circumstances, we do not volunteer. We get "called." In my case, shortly after getting a house in the neighborhood, I was invited to speak to the congregation. (This is another task that we are frequently called to do, since we do not have professional clergy.) My talk caught the attention of the primary president, who was looking for a new primary chorister. She told me that she talked to her counselors and said that she thought the new girl who spoke that day would make an excellent new primary chorister, if she happened to sing. Well, I do happen to sing, and tend to sing congregational hymns loudly, so her counselors had heard me. They affirmed that I sing and I was called.

Many people of my faith believe that "callings" always come from God. I believe that callings occasionally come from God. I also believe that sometimes, God requires leaders to use their own brains and figure out who to call on their own.

I have only been involved in calling people once, when I was a teenager. I was called to be president of my youth group and I had to choose my own counselors. I prayed about my selection and received a clear answer: God didn't care who my counselors were. Any of my classmates would do just fine. I could choose whomever I wanted to.

I do not know if my calling to primary chorister was inspired or just expedient, but it did give me opportunities to improve my talents and grow closer to my children and other children in my neighborhood, so I am grateful for it.

I admit that I have had other callings I did not appreciate as much. For example, when I was in graduate school, I was called as a "ward missionary." At the time, my local bishop was trying to get as many people involved in callings as possible, and there is no limit to the number of ward missionaries, so he called several. Then the stake president (the leader over bishops) challenged all bishops to improve missionary efforts by doubling their number of ward missionaries. The other bishops only had two to four missionaries already, so doubling bumped them up to four to eight. My bishop had eight already and went up to sixteen. There was not enough work for sixteen people, so I spent most of the time feeling guilty for not doing anything in my calling and wishing I could be released.

"Released" is LDS jargon for when your calling ends. Like being called, being released usually comes as a surprise.

Four years is an unusually long gig for a primary chorister, but I do have a history of long callings; once I was a Relief Society (women's organization) teacher and I outlasted four different Relief Society presidents before finally being released. That was another calling I liked, so I was fine with the long term of service. I wouldn't have minded continuing as primary chorister, either, but after four years, I was wondering if those poor children weren't sick of me and ready for a change.

The current primary president pulled me aside a few weeks ago and asked me if I would like to be released, observing that my "hands were full" during primary time. My husband was recovering from surgery so I was on my own to deal with my toddler, who is still a few months too young to play in the church nursery, and my three year-old, who just started primary and refuses to remain in his seat.

A friend of mine expressed her frustration with her three year-old who also doesn't sit still for primary. In confidentiality, I told her that I would probably be released soon so I could focus my attention on my own naughty three year-old. We were both surprised when that same friend was called as my replacement, in spite of her naughty kid.

Family-Friendly Fun in Vegas

2011-04-15T17:57:00.000-06:00

Fremont Street
Someone offered to take our photo.
This is the only evidence I was there,
because I took all the other photos.

Lied Children's Museum
My baby loved the crawl zone.

We enjoyed a fabulous week in Las Vegas for our family vacation. We visited in March, when we could enjoy off-season hotel rates and mild weather. We stayed at Circus Circus. It had a great room and all-day buffet special going on. The kids loved the circus acts. (So did I.) Usually, I only spend a day or two in Vegas and don't have time to get off the strip. Since we were there for almost a whole week, we had time to visit some attractions I had never seen before. Some of our favorites were the Lied Children's Museum and the Ethel M Chocolate Factory/Cactus Garden. On the strip, the kids especially loved the lion habitat at MGM. My 3 year-old had not wanted to go. "I'm scared of lions," he told me, but as soon as we arrived he was enthralled. He did not feel the same way about the volcano at the Mirage. He assures me that he is still very much afraid of volcanoes.

Circus Buffet...yum.
No cooking or dishes all week=Happiness

A Walk in the Park
For me.
We didn't find out about my husband's
leg surgery until after we booked the trip.
I worked off all my buffet calories by
pushing my husband in a wheelchair,
with my 3-year old on his lap,
while wearing my baby in a backpack.

Ethel M Chocolate Factory and Cactus Garden

Adventuredome at Circus Circus

Midway games

Las Vegas Mormon Fort

Scipio, UT
My kids loved stopping here en route to enjoy the petting zoo.

My Future Bilingual Kid

2011-03-17T15:29:00.000-06:00

My daughter got into the Spanish immersion program!

They started immersion programs last year in our district, and my niece, a current 1st grader, is one of the children in the first cohort. My niece is learning Chinese. My niece has taught me some cool phrases in Chinese, all of which I have already forgotten.

The program goes from 1st to 6th grade. They do half of their schoolday in English and the other half in the foreign language.

We will have to send our daughter to a different elementary school than the one she attended for kindergarten, one mile farther away from our home, but I think it is worth it for the opportunity for her to be bilingual by the time she is 12.

I speak Spanish as a second language. I learned while spending a year and a half as a missionary in the Dominican Republic. I tried to teach my daughter Spanish myself when she was a toddler. Back then she had a fairly impressive Spanish vocabulary, mostly consisting of the Spanish words for different kinds of toys and animals. But she quickly learned that her English words were more useful and stopped using the Spanish ones.

I recently talked to a co-worker whose husband is a native Spanish speaker, and they didn't manage to teach their kids Spanish, either, so I don't feel so bad that I couldn't do it. She wishes an immersion program had been available when her children were in elementary school.

I told my daughter that the two of us could share secrets in Spanish after she learns it, because Daddy doesn't speak it, but she nobly offered to teach him Spanish as well.

The Failed Foot Rub Compatibility Test

2011-03-06T00:24:00.000-07:00

"Please, please, rub my feet."

"Yuck!"

"Don't you love me?"

"I don't love your disgusting feet!"

"You think all feet are disgusting."

"They are."

"I'm in pain. I need you. Why won't you do this little thing for me?"

"Fine. You owe me."

"Sure. I'll rub yours after you rub mine."

"Don't you dare touch my feet."

"You are the only person on the planet that doesn't love foot rubs."

"That's impossible. There are millions of people on this planet. Surely, at least some of them would agree that feet are gross. I'll get on the computer and start a poll."

"No. Stay here and rub my feet!"

"What is wrong with these feet anyway?"

"You know what is wrong. I just had surgery."

"I'm not talking about that. Why are they so dry and chapped and flaky?"

"These are boy feet."

"If I gave you a pumice stone, would you use it?"

"If I used a pumice stone, would you be willing to give me foot rubs?"

"No."

"Then, no, I won't use a pumice stone. And you're doing this wrong. You need to rub harder. And twist the toes....No, twist harder."

"I am twisting hard!"

"Harder! Unscrew them like lids!"

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"You can't hurt me. You're too much of a wimp. Just twist them."

"Will you not be satisfied until I've broken all of your toes off?"

"Give me your foot. I'll show you how it is done."

"Don't touch my foot!"

"See, this way. It feels good."

"Ouch! Stop! Give me my foot back!"

Trouble with Tumors

2011-02-28T12:34:00.002-07:00

My husband had some suspicious tumors removed from his leg this past week at Hunstman Cancer Center. He has since been released from the hospital. He checked into the hospital looking normal, came out of surgery looking like he had been mugged (and suspiciously resembling a cancer patient), and he is now still bedridden but improving daily.

I am on family medical leave from work to take care of him and the household while he recovers.

We have not received the biopsy results back yet to find out if the tumors were malignant, but during the operation the oncologist said that based on what he saw during surgery, he can tell that even if it is cancer, it is not aggressive/high-grade, so that is good news.

He was born with neurofibromatosis (NF), which causes painful but usually benign tumors to grow all over his body. We are fortunate to live in a location where we can get excellent quality care for him. He goes to one of the only NF clinics in the country for care, which happens to be at the U of U. This clinic is affiliated with an oncologist (cancer doctor) at Huntsman Cancer Center who specializes in NF patients.

(By the way, here is a note to all you people who hate healthcare reform and want to return to the status quo. Even though we live near all of these specialists, the only reason we can access them is because I am a state employee with a public employee health insurance plan. My husband is a small business owner, and until health reform goes into full effect, he is ineligible to buy insurance for himself because of his preexisting conditions. If I ever lose my state job, it could kill my husband, who is less healthy than some of you tea-party-jerks through no fault of his own.)

Okay, moving away from politics, for those of you who missed the Facebook play-by-play during surgery, here it is:

2/23/11

7:33 am
I'm at Huntsman Cancer today, where my husband is getting surgery on a suspicious tumor. Not fun, but it is comforting to have such experts helping him and to be in such a beautiful facility. I love this building.

7:51 am
Now we're in the hospital room. That gorgeous lobby was a ruse. This room is tiny and painted dingy off-white floor to ceiling. Who likes this color?

8:14 am
They are so flexible and spontaneous here. Maybe they'll do a biopsy, maybe they'll do a complete resection. Maybe they'll send him home after surgery, maybe they'll keep him here. They will decide after they cut into him. Unless they change their minds.

8:18 am
He is wondering if he can ask to keep his nasty little tumor after they chop it out of him, after all, he grew it all by himself. Should he ask? Would they say yes? If they did say yes, how would we incorporate it into our decorating scheme?

8:41 am
The doctor has just presented his plan. He is going to cut out pieces of the tumor at a time and biopsy them. If he finds aggressive cancer, he will stop proceeding today. If not, he will keep going. So cross your fingers that I am here for a long time.

9:43 am
My sisters just joined me in the lobby of the cancer center. They brought tunes to combat the melancholy. (There is lots of crying in a cancer center lobby.) Cool discovery: the chairs here are in his and her sizes.

10:45 am
The nurse called to update me. They don't have any biopsy results yet, but he is doing well in surgery.

1:04 pm
He is out of surgery. The doc says they have not completely finished labs, but things look good. They did not see anything too scary.

1:57 pm
We're not going to keep the tumor after all. Another doctor just called and begged us to let her have it for science. It is just as well. I haven't seen it, but I doubt it would have matched the living room furniture.

3:20 pm
Out of surgery. Hard to see, but he has two black eyes. He looked much better this morning.

5:45 pm
Upright! Not dancing yet...

Iceskating

2011-01-27T12:51:00.000-07:00

Christmas Skates

We gave our kids ice skates for Christmas. My daughter shrieked with glee when she opened the box, but I was anxious that her enthusiasm would disappear when she tried to balance on them. She had a pair of double-blade skates when she was younger (no balancing required) and I worried that it would be a rude awakening when she tried a single blade skate. (According to the Internet research I had done, kids who skate on double blades learn nothing about real skating.) Apparently, I had no reason to fear. My daughter stepped onto the ice in her new skates like she had been skating for years. No balance problems at all.

Skating

My 3 year old son had never skated at all, so I had no idea how he would take to it. I got him double-blade skates. I wanted him to enjoy himself and have fun without constantly falling over. I don't care if the double blade is poor preparation for future Olympic skating. My son held my hand for about 2 minutes his first time on the ice. Then he saw a teenager doing a spin and let go of my hand so he could try spinning himself. By the end of our first day on the rink, he was trying other tricks as well--skating on one foot, jumping into the air, and jumping off of the outer wall onto the rink. (I did not encourage that last trick.)

Skating Tricks with Grandpa

How to Walk the Baby in the Winter

There is an outdoor, free public rink near our home, so we have been skating regularly during the past month. We only skate when the skate rental shop is closed, so the rink is often empty when we're there. Both kids occasionally fall over, but they just laugh and get up again. I push the baby in a stroller while I skate. He likes that, but he loves it when I just leave the stroller in one place on the ice and skate towards him. He thinks that is hilarious.

Fascinating Stuff (if you are a nerd like me)

2011-01-26T08:25:00.001-07:00

I am doing a fascinating research project at work. It's a randomized telephone survey-a very unique, challenging survey to collect public health data about a population that we have little knowledge about nationwide.

If you haven't closed this browser window yet, its probably because you fell asleep shortly after you read the word, "survey". I considered blogging in detail about this exciting project, before I remembered that only nerds are interested in such projects.

Anyway, at work, where there are lots of nerds like me, this project is generating all kinds of buzz. Its really cool there. Believe me.

Brotherly Love

2011-01-13T13:20:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, my daughter (age 5) asked me if I thought she would marry her brother (age 3) when she grew up. "No," I said. "People don't marry their brothers."

She came to me about a week later with a follow-up question. "What if you marry a bad person?"

I said something about how that could happen, so it is important to be careful and find a nice person.

"Like you did when you married Daddy?" she probed.

I concurred. She sighed and said, "The only really nice person I know is [my brother]!"

Albuquerque Girls' Trip

2011-01-02T23:32:00.001-07:00

I am finally posting pictures from my fall trip with my mom and sisters to New Mexico.

Here we are in beautiful Santa Fe. In the slings, my son and nephew seemed to be the only children in the whole city. Sightseers frequently stopped to admire them.

This was the prettiest alley I can recall. Unfortunately, it was gated.

Self Portrait at Albuquerque

After spending a couple days together, the baby cousins finally noticed each other.

We took a lot of pictures while dining at this pretty patio. For some reason that I don't remember now, this was quite funny.

Stopping for chocolate during the ride home and very happy to be free of the car seat.

Rating the Christmas Festivities

2011-01-02T18:41:00.002-07:00

Trees of Diversity Exhibit at the Cultural Celebration Center
Rating: 3 Christmas Ornaments

My kids enjoyed seeing Christmas trees, gingerbread houses and nativities decorated in the styles of other places. My daughter's favorite tree was the Hawaiian tree, decorated with big flowers, but my three-year-old refused to be photographed in front of that tree. This photo is of his favorite, the Chinese tree.


Dickens Festival Rating: 1 Christmas Ornament I have fond memories of attending this festival as a child, but it was my least favorite event this year. We first attended a mini-version of the musical, A Christmas Carol, at a stage with a completely inadequate number of chairs. Like the majority of the audience, we had to watch standing up, or rather, listen, since we couldn't see much of anything. Then we tried to take the kids to see Father Christmas, who left for a 3-hour break as soon as we arrived at his quarters. Finally, we tried to catch a band, and even landed ourselves seats, but long after the act should have begun, I found a staff person who admitted that the band had canceled.

Meeting Santa

My oldest was enchanted, my middle child didn't particularly like him, and my youngest didn't care.

Taking the Train
My five-year-old shot this picture of my husband and I en route to see the Christmas lights at Temple Square.

Temple Square

Rating: 3 Christmas Ornaments

The lights, nativities and displays at Temple Square are always beautiful and overall, this was a great evening. I did deduct one ornament though because the crowds were claustrophobia-inducing in spite of the fact that we toured well before Christmas. Also, the high school choir performing that night was not very talented.

Arena Sing-Along
Rating: 4 Christmas Ornaments

This was one of my favorite Christmas activities this year. I got to enjoy an excellent orchestra with no worries about quieting my wiggly little children. My eldest sang along with gusto whenever the song was familiar. At first, I thought my three-year-old was bored and tired because he spent most of the time lying down in his dad's lap. But when I suggested we leave early, he was vehemently opposed. I looked more closely after that and noticed a little smile on his face. He was just relaxing and enjoying the sing-along lullaby-style. I don't know why the sponsors felt the need to bribe people to attend this incredible free event, but just for showing up, we all came home with a number of free gifts such as tickets to upcoming basketball and baseball games.

Thanksgiving Point
Rating: 3 Christmas Ornaments


Reindeer at Thanksgiving Point I brought the kids here one night to meet the reindeer and then on Christmas Eve, we went here again with my parents, siblings, nieces and nephews to see the drive-through Christmas lights. It is a much warmer, if less spiritual, way to see a fantastic Christmas light display comparable to Temple Square.


Christmas Cookies and fudge and other goodies. Yum! My three-year-old found one design he liked--a dab of frosting in the middle with three red candies in it--and stuck with it, decorating every cookie exactly the same way.

Cousin Photo Shoot

2010-12-14T18:55:00.000-07:00

During a recent baby shower, my kids and their cousins borrowed my camera while I was busy hosting. I just found the results in my archive. I think they are a bunch of future photographers and models.

Here are the oldest and youngest cousins. The youngest was the guest of honor at this baby shower. We recently hired the oldest as our regular babysitter. Her little cousins love her!

My Daughter's First Blog (plus commentary by mommy)

2010-11-11T21:44:00.000-07:00

My daughter has been keeping a journal at kindergarten. It is such an accurate depiction of the happenings in our household, I thought I would use it as my blog entry and save myself some personal effort.

Barbeque (BrB)

All summer we searched unsuccessfully for a deal on decking so we could put a floor on the skeleton of an unfinished deck in our backyard. I desperately wanted to use composite decking instead of wood because we have already exceeded my lifetime quota of painting/staining projects around here for this neverending remodel. The thought of sentancing ourselves to an annual backyard deck painting or staining project made me feel ill. One day I noticed a stack of used composite decking sitting in our next-door neighbor's driveway. He makes decks for a living and had removed the old decking from a client's house to replace it with new stuff. I asked if we could buy it and our kind neighbors gave it to us! My ever hardworking, talented husband made us a beautiful deck that is much larger than the original skeleton. It's made of previously used decking made of post-consumer recycled materials. How earth-friendly! And no painting or staining is required. When he finished the deck, we celebrated by buying patio tables and umbrellas on fall clearance and buying a used grill and having a barbeque.

Cookies (CooE)

My kids love to help us make cookies. Its a fun activity for them and my husband says he likes it, too. Don't tell my kids, but I secretly hate cooking with the kids. It is chaotic and messy.

Curious George Costume

My daughter planned to wear this costume since last year. Last Halloween, she would have worn it but my husband, who was going with her as the Man in the Yellow Hat, ended up quarantined with flu over Halloween. My daughter saved Curious George for this year, instead. Apparently, she was still planning on Curious George when she drew her Halloween costume in her journal. The day of the Halloween parade, however, she changed her mind last minute and insisted on wearing her princess costume from two years ago. "If I dress like a monkey, the kids will laugh at me. So I am going to be a princess instead," she explained. I was kind of repulsed by her lack of bravery and individuality, but in the end I decided to wait to encourage her to defy the crowd until some time when rising above peer pressure would actually mean something.

Balance Beam (BAL)

My daughter has been taking gymnastics since the beginning of the school year. I am not sure she is learning anything. After her most recent lesson, she reported that she can "almost do a cartwheel," a feat the class has worked on since day one. So I doubt that she is destined for the Olympics, but she is having fun so we are sticking with it.

Reuniting

2010-11-07T18:01:00.000-07:00

Both sides of my husband's family held family reunions in Utah on the same weekend this summer. Here are some highlights:

My Mother-in-law's Side of the Family

This was the first reunion I have experienced for this side of my husband's family, who I mostly know through weddings and funerals, since the family lives all across the country. It was great fun. We spent a day swimming at Cherry Hills, had a family talent show, and created an extended family scrapbook.

My Father-in-law's Side of the Family

My husband's dad's family gets together once every summer at his uncle's camping property in Weber County, Utah. Since we reside in Utah, we attend this reunion every year, but it was nice to be able to bring my husband's mom and siblings with us this year, who all live in other states. The highlight of this reunion is always a delicious picnic, including dutch oven cooking, home-made root beer, and fresh produce. (This family includes some excellent gardeners.)

A Visit from My In-Laws

2010-11-07T17:34:00.001-07:00

This summer, both sides of my husband's family coincidentally had family reunions in Utah in the same weekend, so his mom and three of his four siblings (with our nieces and nephews) came to visit us for the occasion. Here are pics of us at some of the places we visited while they were here.

Classic Skating

Museum of Ancient Life

County Fair

Fun Fall Outings

2010-10-13T08:57:00.001-06:00

Speed Art Contest at Thanksgiving Point
Several artists were outside with two hours to paint, draw or sculpt something. This was a great way to expose the kids to art. They got to see the process, instead of just finished works. My five year-old daughter boldly introduced herself to several artists and complimented their work. Actually, maybe it wasn't so much boldness as that she considered these adult, professional artists to be peers. "I paint too," she informed most of them.

Dirt Bike Party
My brother invited us to attend his company party, featuring an elaborate dirt bike stunt show. The kids were impressed. "Motorcycles bounced and bounced that sky," reports my two year-old.

The Zoo
Although they thought the animals were fine, my two bigger kids liked the "Asian Room" best of all, an exhibit with Asian instruments, costumes and tools, but no animals. Maybe they have more potential in anthropology than zoology. The baby was most impressed by some flags. (Those are what he is smiling at in the photo.)

Kite Festival at Antelope Island
My two year-old boy loved seeing the enormous kites in the air. He was so impatient to join in with his own kite that we had a hard time getting him to wait until after our picnic lunch. Unfortunately, right when we finished eating, the wind got so strong they pulled down all the kites and we didn't get to fly our own that day.

Thanksgiving Point Art Festival

Zoo Asian Room

Zoo, under flags

Antelope Island Kite Festival

Antelope Island

Before and After

2010-10-11T15:31:00.000-06:00

A good friend living in Virginia had a baby the same week I did. She came to visit and they got to meet each other.

Seven Months Pregnant

Seven Months Postpartum

Baby Milestones

2010-09-20T11:48:00.000-06:00

Any moment now I should be able to post footage of my baby's first crawl. He has been working hard at figuring it out and he is getting close. Meanwhile, here are some other "first's" to look back on.

First Smile

I have better pictures of his smile now that he is older, but when he first started smiling, the smiles were hard to capture on film because they passed by faster than the delay flash on my camera.

First Laughter

My daughter wanted to play choir director. She asked me to sing high or low depending on where she waved her spoon. I was holding the baby in my lap at the time and he laughed more than he ever had before. Seeing the video, I know why. I do sound ridiculous.

First Solid Food

Like his siblings before him, he grabbed the spoon and tried to feed himself during his first solid meal.

A Great Big Fire Teaches Me a Lesson About Self-Pity

2010-09-20T00:39:00.000-06:00

I was feeling pretty sorry for myself earlier this evening. My stove is broken. My husband tried to fix it yesterday without success. He was going to try to fix it again today, but he kept being called in to see patients at the hospital and had no time.

Then the car broke while he was on his way to answer yet another page at the hospital. A kind bystander pulled him into the hospital parking lot but then I had to drag our sleeping children out of bed, drive the truck over to the hospital and tow the broken car back home.

I would rather have oral surgery than tow a car. And it wasn't fair that we should have two such important belongings break in the same weekend.

When I arrived at the hospital, I opened the truck door and an overwhelming burning smell engulfed me. That is how I found out about the fire that is currently eating up much of Herriman, Utah, where my sister's family resides. I immediately phoned my sister. They are fine.

It puts things into perspective. That broken stove is dang annoying, but its not like we're starving around here. We still have a microwave, a crockpot, an electric skillet, a rice maker and a toaster oven. There are plenty of ways we can cook until we get this figured out. Towing the car did feel like torture to me, but it's over now and I have an amazing, ingenious husband who is confident he can fix the car. In the meantime, we still have the truck.

Not too far away in Herriman, some peoples' homes burned down tonight. Our stove and car troubles pale in comparison. My loved ones are okay, and according to news reports, this fire has not taken any lives. I am grateful. I'm going to stop whining about the stove and the car.

Get $300 to make your worksite nursing mom-friendly

2010-09-10T17:09:00.002-06:00

The Utah Breastfeeding Coalition is offering Utah worksites up to $300 to set up rooms for breastfeeding employees to pump milk. The funds can be used to buy the pump, a fridge, a door lock, or furniture for the room. Just fill out and return this simple application. The deadline is Sept. 30, but apply ASAP because the funding is awarded on a first-come, first-serve basis.

This funding comes at an ideal time to help employers comply with one of the lesser-known components of the new health care reform law, requiring most employers to accommodate the lactation needs of the nursing moms they employ by allowing them reasonable time to pump in a private, non-bathroom environment. You can learn more about the new federal law and about state laws protecting nursing moms at http://www.usbreastfeeding.org/Workplace/WorkplaceSupport/WorkplaceSupportinHealthCareReform/tabid/175/Default.aspx. (When I went to this website, I learned that the jerks in Flagstaff who kicked me out of a movie theater for nursing were in violation of Arizona law. It is good to know your rights.)

I am a nursing mom, now nursing my third child, and I work for the health department, a very enlightened place about the merits of breastfeeding. At my worksite, private rooms, heavy duty community pumps, and paid pumping breaks are available to me to facilitate a healthy environment for me and my baby.

However, every now and then, I spend a workday away from my office for a conference or training or something and experience a glimpse of the less-enlightened outside world. I pack my not-so-heavy-duty personal pump and must seek out accommodations for this important ritual.

Such was the case this past week when I spent a day at a computer training facility. I did a training at the same place about two years ago, when I was breastfeeding my second child. During that first visit, I sheepishly asked the woman at the front desk where I could pump. She looked at me like I had just vomited on her and ordered me to go to the restroom. "Isn't there any other room I could use?" I blushingly whispered. "This is a computer training facility," she informed me, in case I hadn't noticed. "We keep computers in all the rooms." I meekly reported to the restroom. The only electrical outlet there was located directly over the only sink. I stood there with my exposed breasts reflecting in the mirror and I tried to duck whenever someone needed to wash their hands.

A few weeks later, I attended a conference at a different location, where I received a similar response from another receptionist. This time, however, another health department employee, who happens to be one of the state's greatest breastfeeding advocates, was also in attendance. When she heard about my banishment to the restroom, she took matters into her own hands and politely but firmly insisted on access to a room with a lock other than the restroom for nursing mothers at the conference.

Since that time, my approach towards seeking accommodation for nursing or pumping has changed. I am no longer embarrassed. I am proud that I am protecting both my own and my child's health. It doesn't even bother me to ask men about a place to pump any more. It is good for men to know what female breasts are actually for. I see myself as an advocate. I am not ashamed that I lactate and anyone else who is embarrassed by that or thinks I should pump in a restroom stall needs education.

As my confidence has improved, the response has improved, too. Now that the sheepishness is missing from my requests, it is very rare that they are dismissed by grouchy receptionists. When I do get such a response, I just politely ask to speak to their manager instead.

At that same computer training center last week, I confidently requested a private room for pumping and while they had to check around to find an available room, they did find one and I was spared from another bathroom pumping experience. I noticed that the employee who helped me happened to be pregnant, so I am sending them notice of this funding opportunity. Maybe someday, as more employers set up designated nursing/pumping areas in compliance with the new law, and more moms gain confidence about educating the world about the need to accommodate nursing and pumping, no such scrambling will be necessary.

Our Kindergartener and Her Marketable Skills

2010-09-01T09:50:00.002-06:00

First Day of Kindergarten

Our little girl has started kindergarten. As we expected, it has been a hit. She reports lots of new friends, playground adventures, fun bus rides, and occasionally even learning something.

Starting Gymnastics

Also, she has begun gymnastics. Her kindergarten teacher freaked us out a little bit when she sent home a letter saying that each child in the class would have a turn teaching the rest of the class about something they knew how to do well, such as speaking a foreign language or playing a sport. Yikes! Our kid had no skills. My sister suggested long ago that I put my kids into tumbling, because they lack rational fear and are always climbing and jumping off things, so we went with that idea. So far, gymnastics is a hit, too.

Scissors for Good Causes

2010-08-29T09:09:00.000-06:00

It started with the lettuce in our garden. We grew a lot of it. We cut a bunch off with scissors and ate salad several times, but the stuff grew right back. We offered to share it with friends and family. Some did take us up on it but not nearly often enough to deplete the supply.

Then I was reading a book that recommended sharing excess home-grown produce with your local food pantry. That had never occurred to me. I guess I have seen so many canned food drives for the Utah Food Bank that I just assumed that canned food was all they took. I checked the Utah Food Bank website and found out that home-grown produce was welcome. Moreover, I learned that the "Food Bank" actually consists of several food pantry locations, so it was easy to find one near my home.

That very day, my five year-old daughter and I delivered several bags of lettuce to a local food pantry. ("Mom, why did you say we were giving the lettuce to people without food, when they had tons of food in there?" she asked as we left.)

I took this self-portrait before the cut.
I had to use a mirror to get all the hair in the shot.

Here is the "after" picture.

Putting the excess lettuce to good use inspired me to think about other things I was growing in excess--namely, my hair. I usually wear it long and like it that way, but lately it has been insanely long and driving me crazy. Pregnancy is very good for hair growth and since my baby has been born, I have had trouble finding free time to go to the salon when my husband was also available to watch the kids. The result has been a Rapunzelesque look that works best for fairy tale princesses locked in towers, not real people.

I researched Locks of Love, a charity that uses donated hair to make wigs for cancer patients and others with medical hair loss, and found that they require at least 10 inches of length, cut off without dropping to the floor, for a donation. My hair was so long that I could spare 10 inches and still have enough left over to wear a ponytail. I told my husband about my plan and he was so supportive that he took a one-hour break from work in between patients to come home and watch the kids while I went to the salon.

I went to the local Great Clips and was pleasantly surprised to learn that when you donate your hair to Locks of Love, the cut is free and Great Clips ships the donation for you, so you don't even have to cover postage.

The cut has been a hit in my household. My hubby thinks it is sexy. My daughter is excited that I have the same haircut she does. (My daughter did not inherit my rapid hair-growing gene. It took the first three years of her life to get hair to her shoulders. Just in time for her third birthday, she gave herself a haircut at the scalp and had to start over. Now she is back at the shoulders again.) I questioned my two year-old for his opinion. "Mommy hair pretty," he replied. My six month-old can still pull it, which is probably all he cares about.

I like it fine. I definitely prefer it over the Rapunzel look I was sporting before. If I had not been donating it, I probably would have cut it a little longer than it is now, but with my hair-growing capacity, it will be at my ideal length in no time.

I am certainly happier than the last time I cut it short, which is when I was a freshman in college. Yes, that long ago. I had a sadistic roommate who lobbied everyday to cut my hair beginning with the day we met. After about two or three weeks of incessant speeches from her about how stupid my long hair looked, I finally caved, arguing to myself that my hair grows fast and that wearing it long wasn't important enough to me to merit listening to these self-esteem-threatening speeches daily for two full semesters. This line of reasoning didn't stop my tear ducts from overflowing after the first snip and after that I was inconsolable. Helpful people either assured me that my short hair looked great, which felt to me like they were siding with the nasty roommate, or that it would surely grow back soon, which reminded me of the logic I had used against myself and reinforced my self-reproof for sacrificing my hair to please a sociopath. Over a decade later, I am happy to report that I have finally dared to cut again, and this time, I have suffered no psychological repercussions.

Summer Photos

2010-08-09T09:02:00.001-06:00

Buying plants for our new herb garden

Graduating from preschool

Sleeping over with cousins

Swimming with uncle

Going for a ride

Watching a parade

Gardening in the nude (No, actually just stripping. We do try to encourage our two year-old to stay dressed, but the hot weather works against us.)

Just resting

A Dispassionate Discourse

2010-07-28T00:38:00.000-06:00

I usually write blogs about issues I am passionate about. Today, I thought I would deviate from that pattern and write about topics I couldn't care less about.

Sports
Who won the game? I don't know. I didn't know there was a game.

Cars
What kind of car do you drive? It doesn't matter, really. Even if you tell me the make and model, I am going to have a hard time picking it out in a parking lot. And I have no idea whether your car is cool or not. But I do congratulate you if it is environmentally friendly. My car runs on CNG. I can talk about the virtues of CNG for almost five minutes before I get bored. But that is about the extent of my interest in cars.

Celebrity Gossip
Did I hear about that celebrity that divorced that other celebrity? No. Nor was I aware of their marriage last week. Or the births of their twins the week before that. In fact, I probably can't even remember their names, even if I like their movies or songs or whatever. That is why I am such a failure at Trivial Pursuit.

Video Games
(Yawn.)

Well, this blog post has not been the most intellectually stimulating or emotionally appealing bit of prose I have ever read. On the bright side, it sure is benign and uncontroversial.

Mountain Cabin Vacation

2010-07-25T23:09:00.004-06:00

We spent a long weekend with my family in a "cabin" in the mountains "near" Park City. (I put "cabin" in quotes because, while the place was made of wood, it was nicer and more modern than my home. It was "near" Park City in the sense that it was closer to Park City than anything else, but really it was quite remote.) We had a wonderful time. The cabin was surrounded by wildlife and amazing scenery and we enjoyed the family fun.

Roastin' Marshmallows
Can you go to the mountains without doing this at least once?

A Very Happy Baby
He loved the attention from all of his extended family fans.

Family Olympics
The Frisbee event, Pre-school division

My Pregnant Sis
Sitting out the Frisbee event

The Only Time This Happened
The two year-old boys are both calm and quiet.

Two Seconds Later
That calm moment is almost over.

Family Olympics
Bean Bag Toss Event

Rock Band
Yeah, we're rugged outdoorsy types.

Park City Excursion

The Only Ones Not on the Mountain Slide
A cripple, a grandma, a pregnant lady, and a baby


Squint at the Area by the Tree Trunk A nest full of baby birds was located right next to the cabin. It proved very difficult to photograph.

Even Better than Wildlife
The cabin had an arcade.
As it turns out, my two year-old really likes arcades.

Speaking of Wildlife
I spotted these two in the trees.

McCarthy Tactics in Our Modern Times

2010-07-16T10:09:00.004-06:00

I thought it was bad enough that some hyper-conservative Utah lawmakers, who crave negative attention like toddlers, started screaming, "We can be fascist, too! We'll do the same thing!" as soon as Arizona stole the spotlight from them by creating their immigrant round-up law. Why would anyone want to copy a move that immediately created so many legal, financial and ethical problems? Are they so afraid of people who are completely powerless in comparison to themselves that they can't rationally look at the bad consequences presently unfolding in Arizona? Even if you do believe, as they apparently do, that poor, brown-skinned, Spanish-speakers who build or clean houses are the root of all societal problems, it seems that it would still be obvious that copying tactics that are causing so many new problems in the state next-door is not the solution.

But this week, the anti-immigrant people stepped it up and copied a tactic that has been universally vilified since the 1950's: McCarthy-style blacklisting. While this person or group of people had no problem sharing the names and personal information of 1,300 of their neighbors, he/she/they wimped out when it came time to sign his/her/their own name(s), and instead signed the letter, "Concerned Citizens of the United States." So for blogging purposes, I'll just call him/her/them, "Paranoid, Unethical List-maker(s) whose Citizenship Status Cannot be Verified because the Coward(s) Failed to Identify Him/Her/Themselves" or "Cowards" for short.

The Cowards, who are probably state employees like myself, pulled the names from a state database of applicants for various social services such as Medicaid and CHIP and claimed that they were illegal immigrants. They sent the list to political leaders, news organizations and probably their equally bigoted friends and demanded that the people listed be run out of the state. News organizations have interviewed people on the list and some do admit to being here without visas but others are legal residents targeted because of their Spanish surnames.

To his credit, the misleading headlines such as "Utah Governor Herbert Investigates List" actually refer to the fact that the governor is investigating who created the list, not the victims whose names are on it. Kudos to the governor for doing the right thing (not that I recommend doing anything drastic like voting for Herbert in the upcoming election).

In the meantime, I will send my message to the Cowards through cyberspace, since they failed to leave their own mailing address (unlike the addresses of all the other people on their list, which were clearly printed). Cowards, I am one of your colleagues in state employment. (Also, I should mention that I am a white person with an English surname born in the United States, since I know that sort of thing is important to you Cowards). My job is to gather data about Utah minority health so that it can be used to address health problems, bring grant funding to Utah, and save healthcare dollars. How am I supposed to get accurate data when people are too scared to share information with the state government because we employ criminals like yourselves? I hope you Cowards get caught, fired, and prosecuted. But fortunately for you, Cowards, I am too big a person to wish for you to be blacklisted.

Has she seen too many Disney princess movies?

2010-07-05T13:00:00.001-06:00

My daughter has suddenly become a silly, boy-crazy romantic. I would suspect that she was beginning puberty, if she weren't only five years-old.

First, she begged her daddy to take her on a "date". He took her to a buffet and reported that she hugged, kissed and cuddled him throughout. After dinner, she asked him if they could just sit down and talk. She used the chat time to daydream out loud about marrying Daddy when she grew up. I don't think he clarified that such a wedding would not work out at first because he was flattered and then because he was suffering the effects of food poisoning from the buffet.

My daughter clearly chose her dishes more wisely than her father, because she escaped any gastrointestinal upset and was ready for more romantic adventures. A week or two later, she told me that she had an exciting dream. In the dream, she went to a birthday party at her cousin's house and met a boy in a blue-striped shirt. She giggled, blushed and covered her face when she told me that she and the dreamboy "fell in love" so they "played and played" and when they grew up, they got married.

Yesterday, a couple of 12 year-old boys stopped by our house collecting donations for our church. While I searched for the check my husband had written for that purpose, my daughter flew in behind me announcing, "I can't believe I did that! I just gave a flower to a boy! I couldn't help myself!" I returned with the check to see her forcing another gift into the reluctant boy's hand--this time a rock that she had speedily decorated herself with bubblegum or something equally icky.

I think she needs a break from Disney fairy tales. Do they make action films for five year-olds?.

Asking Parents about Asking Teens about Sex

2010-06-08T18:59:00.001-06:00

Utah is the only state that chooses to skip all the sex questions on its youth health surveys.

Of course, even without asking them, we already know Utah teens are having sex. Barring an immaculate conception epidemic, the skyrocketing teen pregnancy rate here is pretty strong evidence to that effect. But if we asked questions, we might learn information to help us combat this problem.

Some people argue that asking teens if they have had intercourse puts ideas into their heads. They're wrong, of course. Numerous scientific studies have confirmed that asking teens if they have sex does nothing to motivate them to start.

This is one case where common sense supports the literature. Surveys have included questions asking teens about tobacco and alcohol use for years without motivating teens to use these substances. Disappointingly, our persistent inclusion of survey questions about eating fruits and vegetables has not motivated teens to use these substances, either. Many people have had similar experiences asking teens questions about their behavior in day-to-day life, with equally little effect:
"Did you clean your room?"
"Did you finish your homework?"
"If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you?"

Health Department workers are not afraid that they will motivate teen sex by administering uncensored health surveys. Nearly all of us know what the literature says about that and a fair proportion of us also have a reasonable degree of common sense. However, we are afraid of the people who are afraid of the questions. Every year at the annual health surveys advisory meeting, someone points out how lame it is that we omit such an important part of the survey. Then someone else argues that we have to skip the sex questions or we'll "endanger the whole survey," meaning that a nasty parents' rights group will get some law passed forbidding teen health surveys.

This year, some innovative colleagues of mine have proposed a clever plan. They want to add questions to the adult survey asking parents if they oppose or support sex questions on teen surveys.

We may learn that Utah parents really do hate such questions. Even if we learn that the vast majority of Utah parents want youth surveys to include questions about sex, we still may not be able to make it happen--it wouldn't be the first time a loud and powerful minority squashed the will of a more complacent majority. But either way, at least we would be informing our decisions about our survey questions with actual data instead of frightened speculations.

I like data. That is why I like surveys (the uncensored ones).

Blessing Baby

2010-05-18T23:35:00.002-06:00

We recently had our new son blessed at church by my husband. Following the baby blessings of our two older children, we celebrated with extended family and friends. This time, we had a smaller event. We invited only immediate family because we were hoping to celebrate in our new family room and we weren't perfectly confident we could finish it in time. I didn't invite a large crowd for fear that we would not get the room done and have no place to seat our guests. However, I hope I can share some of the spirit of the occasion here.

He blessed our baby with faith in God, that he would know that he is a son of God and that he would nurture and cherish his relationship with God.

He blessed him with meekness, that he would be a kind and gentle man who would love the people he would come in contact with.

Then he blessed him with desires to serve in the church, become a missionary and marry in the temple.

Finally, he blessed him that he would look up to and follow the example of his mother.

That last one made me a bit nervous; it could be a blessing or a curse, depending on how well I turn out. Of course, I always stay out of trouble, so I can rest assured that if he follows in my footsteps I won't have to bail him out of jail or check him into rehab. But I would also like my children to be more inspired, more thoughtful and less petty than me--just altogether better. What parent doesn't want that?

In my church we don't baptize or christen babies, the blessing is just an optional but beautiful tradition welcoming and celebrating the new child. It is an opportunity to extend some spiritual gifts in addition to the darling new outfits and toys.

I don't believe God withholds gifts from children whose parents don't choose to participate in a formal blessing ceremony like this one. All children have spiritual gifts; the great joy of the baby blessing is just hearing those gifts described out loud. Perhaps the most important aspect of the blessing is the gentle reminder it provides to the baby's loved ones, especially the parents, that this new child is a unique and special person, a person with unlimited potential that we are honored and privileged to care for and love.

This baby comes to us already as Someone. He is not clay to be molded by me. In some ways, he is already destined to be somewhat different from me through his own unique spirit and biology. Yet, as one of his parents, I will be one of the most influential people in his life. I wield great power to teach and love and educate and motivate him, as well as possibly damage him. I can only do my best, but I pray that someday I can look back and be confident that, in spite of the mistakes I am sure to make, overall my son was blessed by my example. That is how I feel about my own loving parents.

In my faith, we always talk about parenthood as a stewardship. Our children are not given to us; they are entrusted to us. The author of this poem was not of my faith, but I love the way he describes this principle.

On Children by Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Thank you, Senator Bennett

2010-05-12T15:53:00.003-06:00

I would like to acknowledge and thank Senator Bob Bennett for his years of service to our country. I am not related to him in any way, but I did work as an intern for him ten years ago, when I was single and fresh out of college. At the time, I was undecided about my political persuasion. I have since come to the certain conclusion that I prefer the values of the Democratic party, but that does not prevent me from respecting Senator Bennett for his intelligence, diligence and patriotism.

While I was working in his office, I had to hold my tongue when my coworkers sang praises to the likes of Charlton Heston. However, the Senator was also involved in many efforts that can be admired from either side of the aisle. At that time, cyber terrorism was a new and emerging issue, and his colleagues relied on Senator Bennett to develop legislation to address this new kind of crime.

He is extremely intelligent. Occasionally, he would gather his staff and we would pepper him with questions. Without prior preparation, he would answer with details from history and economic theory.

Not too long ago, his fellow Utah Republicans bashed the Senator for agreeing with President Obama that Sarah Palin’s “death panels” comment was an irresponsible lie. He should be more loyal to his party, they argued. His voting record is loyal to his party (too loyal, from my perspective as a Democrat) but he believes that the people should get accurate information, even about bills he does not support.

His party voted him out of office last weekend. Many Utah Republicans claimed that he is too liberal. I am a registered Democrat and I assure you that he is in no way liberal enough for my taste. However, the “tea party” heretics who are now dominating Utah politics accuse people of socialism whenever they exercise common civility, are willing to compromise to get things done, or make choices based on the needs of the country rather than ideology.

These dominant Republicans want someone more like them: less effective, less smart, but louder, meaner, and even more right-wing (as if Bennett wasn’t right-wing enough!) Since most Utahns vote straight Republican ticket in the general election, I am sorry to say that the heretics will probably get their way.

A Strange Public Health Agency Rivalry Thing

2010-05-11T23:23:00.000-06:00

Why is it that so many local health department directors can’t seem to give a speech without throwing in a few insults directed at their counterparts at the state health department?

Could they be jealous? After all, their agencies are smaller than the state agency.

No, jealousy doesn’t seem likely; they may be smaller, but it is common knowledge that local health departments are more powerful. During my first year in state employment, I once unintentionally offended a receptionist at a local health department. The subsequent backlash demonstrated how the power wielded by a receptionist at a local health department dwarfs that of a mere state employee, regardless of rank.

I think it is more plausible that they feel unappreciated for all the important work they do. After all, as several of them pointed out after taking a few jabs at the state health department during the public health conference I attended today, local health departments work on the front lines of public health. They are the closest public health workers to their constituents, provide most face-to-face services and know their local communities best.

As one teeny, tiny, little piece of the agency they so obviously resent, I would like to do my part to heal this rift by expressing my heartfelt appreciation to local health departments across the state. I agree with your directors that you do very important work.

I wouldn’t even mind working for a local health department someday myself, as long as I would not be required to make speeches belittling my colleagues employed by the state.

That being said, would it be okay for me to point out that there are also some important public health efforts that are most effectively completed at the state level, and we are fortunate to have equally competent people employed at the state health department to complete those tasks? At risk of sounding like a socialist, aren’t there even other public health roles best taken on by the federal government?

Writing an Unwritten Rule

2010-04-29T12:44:00.001-06:00

I thought this went without saying, but apparently not, so I am saying it: If you don't like the name I chose for my child, don't tell me! Please spare my feelings. If you need an outlet, I give you permission to talk about how weird or nerdy or whatever it is behind my back.

For those wondering, the first name comes from a Biblical figure and the middle name from a historical figure. Both namesakes initiated sweeping reforms in their nations. Combined, this name represents the courage, patriotism, creativity, integrity and intelligence of the role models who previously bore these names.

We wanted to choose a name that would make our son proud and serve him well throughout his life. I hope we succeeded, but even if we didn't, negative feedback isn't going to do much good now that his birth certificate is recorded.

Once, while I was pregnant with her new little brother, I discussed my four-year-old daughter's name with her. I told her she was named for her grandmothers and that her name meant "clever" or "curly-haired," which are both apt descriptions of her. She giggled, beamed and shouted, "I love my name!" I hoped I could get the same reaction from this new baby someday.

My husband and I put a lot of effort into choosing this name for our son.We perused many books and websites about name definitions, connotations, popularity, nicknames and namesakes. We checked family histories. We wrote lists. We sought a few key opinions. We tried calling our baby different names in utero to see what sounded right.

This particular decision was so difficult that we were still deliberating until the moment we filled out the birth certificate. I admit that we weren't completely confident in our choice, but we certainly gave it our full consideration. So, if you think his name is beautiful or meaningful or charming, we need your affirmation. If you think otherwise, please offer your silence.

My Very Important Five Year-old

2010-04-18T22:19:00.002-06:00

During your birthday month at my daughter's preschool, you are the "VIP" and must bring a photo poster to display. Here it is. (In my usual paranoid fashion, I removed her name and other names from the poster before posting it on the Internet.)

Fresh from Heaven

2010-04-18T22:07:00.001-06:00

I made this collage of my parents with my three kids as infants as a gift for my mom:

Happy 90th Birthday, Grandma

2010-04-18T22:02:00.001-06:00

We attended my husband's grandma's 90th birthday celebration yesterday. We contributed these pages to a family scrapbook in honor of this good woman:

Of Barn Wood and Water Valves: A Cautionary Tale with a Happy Ending

2010-04-11T23:42:00.065-06:00

We finished another room in our remodel: the kids' play room.
This Room's Pre-Play Room History

The previous owners of the house thought gluing barn wood to the walls of the room would be so rustic. It was. And like a decrepit old barn, the woody walls of this room decayed and molded.
We got the moldy wood off the walls, but the globs of glue left behind would not budge.
The ice-maker in the fridge upstairs broke. We raced to shut off the main water valve before the house flooded. The previous owners made this challenging for us because they sheet-rocked the main water valve into a wall inside this room. We had to attack the walls with a mallet in order to locate and excavate the main water valve and end the deluge. Note to homeowners everywhere: Valves should not be inside walls. You are supposed to be able to turn them on and off.
We added a lovely office space onto the side of our house. (See the 2/16/2010 post.) Construction workers blasted through the foundation of the old house (specifically, through this room) to create an entryway connecting the old house to the new addition.
My husband and brother-in-law made fabulous improvements to the heating and cooling and electrical systems in the house. This involved further damage to what was left of the sheet rock in this room.
Fast forwarding to much more recently, my amazing husband performed major reconstructive surgery on what was left of the room, using leftover bits and pieces of sheet rock from previous household projects. He also revamped the closet into a built-in entertainment center/toy box. I followed up with paint and striped wallpaper (50 cents/roll from the old West Jordan Lowe's that closed and liquidated its inventory a while back).

A room that has survived such past abuse is ideally qualified to deal with the atrocities my none-too-gentle kids are sure to lavish upon it. Let the games begin.

The kids celebrated the grand opening of their new play room by playing dress-up.

The Birth: Big Sister Reports

2010-03-21T20:14:00.000-06:00

From the beginning of this pregnancy, my husband thought it would be wonderful to include my four year-old daughter at the birthing room. What a great experience for her to share with her peers and remember forever! I imagined trying to give birth while shouting things like, "Don't touch! Get down! Stop that!" and was not nearly as enthusiastic about the idea.

I was relieved when the hospitals forbade visitors under 12 due to flu season. Too bad that my kids would have to wait to meet the new baby until I came home, but well worth it so I would not have to consider having a four year-old present at the birth.

Surprise! Just days before my new arrival arrived, the policy was revoked because the flu was vanishing. The debate returned and continued right up until during my labor. In the end, I gave in and said she could come, but only if Grandma and Grandpa waited to bring her to the hospital until I was pushing the baby out and if they would remove her if she distracted me.

As it turned out, this labor involved only five minutes of pushing--an ideal match to my daughter's attention span. She was surprisingly interested and well-behaved through the whole proceedings. The doctor was impressed; he had never met a child with so many intelligent questions about the placenta. Most are scared by the blood. (I hadn't worried about her being scared; she never is.) Afterward, she did describe the birth to her peers and it was adorable. I caught it on this audio recording.

Giving Birth in a Typical 8-Hour Work Day

2010-03-07T21:51:00.001-07:00

We finally got the timing right! Instead of being born much too slowly, like my firstborn, or almost too quickly, like my second child, baby number three came out after a reasonable eight hours of labor.

I woke up at 3 AM for no apparent reason and got up to check my email, where I woefully encountered yet another set of revisions on a work project that never ends (but really needs to so I can go maternity leave). I set to work at the computer and noticed the first contraction at about 4.

I continued working until about 5:30 in spite of contractions. The contractions were fairly spread out, but eventually they hurt enough to make continued office work impossible and I decided that I should bathe and dress just in case I needed to leave for the hospital later.

I woke my husband and gave him a heads up: we were probably having a baby later that morning so he might want to get up early to get ready, but no rush. Then I went to start the bathwater.

While it was running, contractions started coming only two minutes apart, so I told my husband to forget the "no rush" part of my previous message.

Now that we were rushing, contractions seemed to spread out, but I couldn't really tell because I was too distracted to time them. I asked my husband to handle that and the results were completely random. What happened to that textbook rhythm I experienced during my last two labors?

We spent the morning debating how much time we had and whether I was even really in labor or not. Given the deluge of car-birth dreams I had been having, I wanted to go the better-safe-than-sorry route and get to the hospital just in case. I could handle it if they sent me home. My husband thought it necessary to jostle the car as much as possible during the drive over anyway; he was hoping my water would break to guarantee us a hospital bed. He is lucky I don't carry a gun.

When the nurse checked my cervix at about 7:00, I was dilated to a 6. Yeah! I was really in labor in spite of my failure to contract on beat or spontaneously rupture my bag of membranes. I went ahead with the epidural right away--that morning (especially the part involving bouncing around in a car with a baby head lodged in my pelvis and a contracting uterus) had been a good enough sample to remind me how much I disliked the intense pain of labor. Besides, my previous two babies had been born with epidurals and no complications.

This time was not quite as smooth at first. Shortly after the epidural, my eyes started watering and I couldn't stop yawning. I pointed this out to the nurse and anesthesiologist, one of which asked me if I felt like I would vomit. "No, I'm not nauseated. I'm just sleepy...Wait...I take that back; could I have something to throw up into?" And they got me a barf bucket and an oxygen mask, which I had to take turns using, and a few minutes later I felt fine. That was weird. My husband told me later that my blood pressure had dropped to about 60 over 30. That explains it! But after that things were splendid, except that I couldn't feel any contractions at all, so I was nervous about whether I would be able to push. With my first two, I had never felt the pain go away completely. The nurse was not at all concerned about that and she was right. By the time I got to the point of pushing, I could feel the contractions easily. Apparently, I had just been a lot further along in the "pain scale" at the times of my epidurals previously.

It took several hours and having the doctor rupture the membranes to get to the point of pushing, but I didn't mind because I was relieved to be checked in at the hospital and on drugs. I used the time to browse the web and almost finalize the baby's name with my husband. (Yes, we cut it very close on the naming project deadline.) At about 11:30, I was almost completely dilated except for a bit on my left side, so they turned me onto my right for a few minutes to drain the meds away from that side and finish things up over there. It worked like a charm; a few minutes later I was ready to go. (However, my right foot was nearly comatose for a whole day. When I went to stand on it, I thought the tile floor was made of jello. It was kind of funny.)

Pushing was easy; within five minutes, I had pushed out an 8 lb 11 oz baby. This future linebacker was much larger than the two 7 1/2 pounders I had before, but apparently that didn't matter. He forgot to cry, other than the occasional, matter-of-fact little "Wah." I guess five minutes of pushing just wasn't enough to traumatize him, because he is perfectly healthy. I didn't really get to hear his cry until after I fed him for the first time. Then he realized what he had been missing and cried because he wasn't feeding any more.

When I first saw him, I was surprised that he looked so little like his two clone older siblings. But now that I am more used to him, I can see the family resemblance. Anyway, he is beautiful and fabulous too and a very welcome addition to our family.

We got licensed!

2010-02-16T22:17:00.002-07:00

We finally have a home business license so my husband, a speech pathologist, can start seeing clients inside our very own house. It was hard to pull this off. We are relieved. We had a number of barriers along the way.

The Faux Floor Fiasco
I stained the floors myself, when I was eight months pregnant with my last child. This involved crouching over my enormous belly and attacking the floor with three different colors of die in spray bottles. If I had to do it again, I would buy airbrushes. The final effect of the cheap spray bottles was fine, but my hands ached for days afterward and the bottles kept breaking, so I used several (although even several cheap bottles was probably less expensive than buying three airbrushes.) Oh, and my back hurt for days, too. I don't think you're supposed to spend hours crawling when you are that pregnant. (It was a harmless, water-based die, though, so no inhalation problems. The kid was not born with an extra arm or anything.)

Twenty-four hours later, after the die was supposed to have set, according to the instructions on the can, we examined my work. The die seemed to have turned into chalk and it rubbed right off when you stepped on it. I was mortified. We concluded that the unusually frigid fall temperatures may have sabotaged my project. We didn't have heat in that part of the house yet, and with only colder weather on its way, we covered the whole floor with plastic and decided to revisit this project in the spring.

Restroom: Hard to see, but my talented hubby crafted curved shelves that wrap around the path of the open mirror cabinet. The cat is not a permanent fixture; she just wanted to pose for the photo.

Lobby

The hills are a chalkboard for the kids.

Cool shelves behind the desk camouflage a plumbing area in the corner.

My husband and brother-in-law threw in a shower at the last minute in the corner of the restroom. Completely unnecessary for the office, but not an expensive change and why not have a 3/4 bath instead of a 1/2?

Come spring, my benevolent parents came to help us try to establish that office. We pulled off the plastic and started washing the floors to try again. To our shock, the chalk washed off--and stained floors were discovered underneath it! It had worked, after all, and all we had to do was clean the floors and add the sealer! Hurray!

Note: If you ever want the option of staining concrete at your house, warn the construction workers to only use pencil or chalk, no permanent markers, for measuring marks. Believe it or not, you also have to tell them to do this on your walls, even those that are already painted.

The Concrete Barrier
Our office is in the basement, but has a ramp leading down to it to accommodate the many clients with disabilities that my husband treats. When the addition to the house that includes the office was under construction, my clever hubby suggested that the construction team deviate from the original plan and extend the roof over the ramp, adding columns matching those on our front porch, in order to prevent snow from building up in the ramp. The end result is very cool--it looks like our porch wraps around the house, instead of leaving an ugly exposed ramp.

The ramp wraps halfway around the house before it reaches ground level, so we needed to add a sidewalk to get to the ramp from the driveway. Actually, we needed to add the driveway, itself, since the new addition was located where the old driveway used to be. It was November when we finally got a concrete crew out. They finished the driveway, and most of the walkway, but left two squares of concrete undone, the two that would have connected the sidewalk to the ramp. Then it was too cold to finish the job, so entering the office involved going down a sidewalk to a mud trap that you had to somehow survive before you reached the concrete ramp that took you the rest of the way there. Not exactly ADA compliant.

Contractors generally turn their noses up at such tiny projects and so we were stuck with the mud trap until almost a year later when my husband worked up the nerve to try to pour it himself. My dad helped him and they did a great job; the sidewalk turned out beautifully and the mud trap is no more.

The First Attempt
We tried to apply for our license for the first time last spring. We still didn't have those missing squares in the walkway, but I temporarily filled in the gap with pavers and crossed my fingers that would suffice for the time. My husband and brother-in-law got the heat working and my family came over and helped us finish up painting.

The city denied our application due to unfinished landscaping. We knew you had to comply with city code to get the license, but our unfinished yard was not considered illegal because the house was being remodeled. Apparently, you have to finish remodeling before you can get the license.

This failed attempt made us a little wary of trying again. We were very detail-oriented on our second try. We even had "no smoking" and "restroom" signage, art, and magazine rack with magazines in place. As for that yard...I have tried, hard, to grow things in that lousy soil and sometimes the results even looked nice...but not consistently. I was always scared that the inspector would show up on one of those not-so-pretty days, so after the snow started falling, it occurred to us that we should get that application in now, while the yard was covered.

Even though we reapplied in December, I was still feeling a little paranoid, so I did quite a bit of winter yard work to make sure things were spiffy enough out there. A concerned neighbor asked me if he couldn't send over his sons to do whatever crazy project I was trying to do out in the snow while in my third trimester of pregnancy. (Hey, at least being pregnant keeps you warmer.)

We didn't hear from the city for a long time and finally called to inquire. We had learned last time, when we didn't find out we were denied until we called and asked, that no news is bad news. However, this time all was in order--except for the code compliance officer signature. He or she had not yet checked out our yard. And it was February and the snow had melted! I was scared. But the very next day, they called back and said the license was in the mail. Hurray!

Planning an unplanned home birth

2010-01-26T22:54:00.006-07:00

Now that I have reached that stage of pregnancy where I am much too large and uncomfortable to sleep, I have lots of late-night hours available to ponder the upcoming birth.

A few days ago, the paper carried a story about a woman who gave birth on University Parkway, a local road. "Are we going to do that?" I asked my husband.

"No," he reassured me. "We'll have our baby on 104th, or Redwood Rd., or 90th."

With roadside deliveries so rare, why do I even worry about this? I have two children, and in most ways their births were similar. They were each born a few days after their due dates, healthy and weighing 7 1/2 pounds. Other than gender, they even looked exactly the same. There was one important difference. My daughter, the first-born, had a "prolonged" labor and my son had a "precipitous" labor.

So, if I maintain this pattern, I will have this:
Baby 1: three days labor
Baby 2: three hours labor
Baby 3: three minutes labor

Of course, births are unique and may not follow predictable patterns, but I read the section on "emergency home delivery" aloud to my husband, just in case.

My First Labor

I started having regular contractions on Monday, one day after my due date. I reported to my husband that I thought I was in labor. He was dubious. "You don't appear to be in pain," he pointed out.

"I'm in pain," I countered. "I'm just happy that I might get this baby out."

That night, those irritating and painful (in a menstrual cramps kind of way) contractions kept me up all night. I timed them. They were rhythmic, coming less than 4 minutes apart and lasting almost a minute a piece, all the criteria of real childbirth contractions worthy of hospital admittance, according to my childbirth education class.

Halfway through 4 Hours of Pushing

and looking as miserable as I was.

There was one criterion the class failed to cover. "You don't sound like you're in pain," noted the nurse on the phone when I called the next morning. That stupid pain thing again! It hurt! Ouch already! However, she agreed that my symptoms sounded promising and told me to stay in the neighborhood of the hospital until I managed to achieve more pain, as it did sound like I would have a baby later that day.

So I stayed in the neighborhood. I skipped work, painted the changing table and went out to eat. The day dragged on. My pain was consistent, but never worse. We had heard that sex can hurry things up, so we tried that. It didn't. We had heard that exercise helps, so I took a very long walk across the college campus and visited my husband's office on the thirteenth floor of his building--using the stairs, not the elevator. Nope. During my walk, I saw my neighbor, whose wife was due the same day I was, dashing off towards the hospital with a balloon bouquet. Sigh.

At about nine at night, my mom called to see if anything was happening. I moaned about my inability to feel more pain and she suggested I call my cousin, who taught childbirth classes, for advice. I hung up the phone and was walking toward the computer to get her phone number when I doubled over in what was definitely Much More Pain.

As soon as I could manage it, I informed my husband that I was ready. He stalled. He needed a shower. He wanted me to wait! So I did. I turned on the TV to distract myself while I puffed and panted and paced through the contractions, which were definitely much worse than menstrual cramps. Unfortunately, the only thing I found on TV was an episode of Rosanne that deviated from its usual sit-com format to explore a more serious theme in which one of Rosanne's daughters has a complicated childbirth. Great choice for the circumstances.

We finally arrived at the hospital at about 11 at night. The nurse examined me and determined that I was dilated to 3 ½ cm. According to my childbirth education class, that meant that I was in active labor and admittable to the hospital. However, since I had been dilated to a 3 at my last prenatal exam, the midwife was not impressed. She sent me to walk the halls.

During the walk, I advanced from “much more pain,” to “much, much, much, more pain.” In an effort to distract myself again, we went to visit my neighbor, the lucky one who had already delivered her baby. She was very gracious about accepting guests in the middle of the night. My husband complimented her on her cute baby, she complimented me on the excellent way I was breathing through my contractions, and I was pretty much incapable of contributing to the conversation in any way.

At my childbirth education class, where they emphasized the non-necessity of the epidural, my husband and I had agreed that I would tell him when I felt I needed one, and we would then wait twenty minutes before actually getting one on the theory that I could put up with anything for twenty minutes. I had passed those twenty minutes by far before I was actually admitted to the hospital and medication became an option.

At about one, the nurse examined me again. She admitted that I hadn’t changed much, but she said that she would tell the midwife that I had dilated to almost 3 ¾ and that I was in a lot of pain and ready for medication, in the hopes that I wouldn’t have to continue the torturous walk around the hospital.

It worked, and at about two, I was admitted. Soon, I finally had an epidural and went back to the menstrual cramp-style pain I had become so accustomed to over the past few days. Phiew.

The midwife ruptured my membranes in an attempt to speed things up, and suggested that I probably wouldn't be ready to begin pushing until about seven the next morning and should get some sleep. I tried to comply, but I was excited. I called my family, who was excited too. In fact, my sister, the only sibling with kids and therefore the only one who hadn't become an aunt or uncle yet, was so excited she arrived at the hospital for the 7 am labor at about 5.

At about seven, the next shift's midwife announced that things were still slow and put me on Pitocin. Around ten, I was finally ready to start pushing. We put on some very pleasant music, positioned a mirror so I could see the triumphant arrival of my daughter, got the cameras ready, and prepared to meet her.

Meeting her was not forthcoming. I spent four hours pushing, in fact. My epidural had eliminated some, but not all, of the contraction pain, which is good, because I had no trouble determining when to push. Epidurals do absolutely nothing for the kind of pain you feel from complete physical exhaustion and that kind of pain grew worse and worse through this ordeal. Imagine running a marathon, without training first, after two straight nights of not sleeping.

My husband, parents and siblings were there to support me. I was at a teaching hospital, and the midwife and the nurse both asked if they could bring in trainees. Sure, I said; I am not shy, and the more the merrier. And since this labor went on for so long, the pediatric team arrived hours before they could actually do their work. My delivery room was probably one of the most crowded ever seen. But that was good, because I really needed support--emotional and physical. I had people cooling me down, warming me up, moving my legs, rubbing my back, and generally cheering. Some of my family members who hold the priesthood in our church gave me a blessing. All of this was comforting, although nothing could actually make me comfortable.

As I got further on, I retained the ability to push, but sacrificed my ability to do anything else. Between contractions, I laid there nearly comatose for those short breaks. I was unable to focus well enough to even look at that mirror, where my baby's head was visible each time I pushed for what seemed like, and maybe was, hours.

I asked the midwife if they couldn't pull her out--didn't they have a vacuum or forceps or something? She said that would not be good for the baby and I was making progress without such tools. I managed to see that mirror, with that head looking just the same as always, and wondered what progress she was seeing. But I didn't wonder too much, because I was too miserable to think.

At one point the midwife brought in an Ob-Gyn for a second opinion. He agreed that I was clearly making progress, albeit slow progress, and that I would eventually be able to push that baby out. I was outnumbered, because they both thought I could do it and I was not at all convinced.

After about four hours of this, at about 2 in the afternoon, the midwife fretfully and apologetically suggested an episiotomy to make more exit room for the baby. Yes! Please! Anything that would get her out of me would be perfect! I was much less squeamish about the idea than she apparently was. And finally, that baby came out of there.

In movies, and I think, often in real life, this is where the mother, in spite of the pain and exhaustion, is overjoyed. I was not. I laid down, closed my eyes, and was hardly able to open them again. I really didn't even see the baby. As soon as she was freed from my too-tight birth canal, my husband and other family members abandoned my bedside and ran off to follow the baby, who I am sure was much cuter at that point then I was. While I wasn't sensible enough to see most of what was going on, it was still obvious that my husband was in raptures over the new child. I think she had enough attention in spite of her mother's apparent indifference. After she was examined and cleaned, the nurse brought her to me, which is when I knew I was supposed to cuddle and nurse her, but I tried to hold her and couldn't. My arms were so weak and shaky I thought I would drop her and told them to take her away. I was hungry, so I asked for food. They brought me a sack lunch and with great effort I pulled out a banana. But I couldn't peel it. I think that is when I started crying. Not the tears of joy you're supposed to shed, either.

They moved me to the maternity ward and a cheerful nurse was giving me some sort of instructions. I couldn't interpret them and I fell asleep while she was talking. I slept for hours. It wasn't until the next morning that I finally really met the baby and decided that I liked her. I was happy to report this to my husband, who was shocked. He had liked her immediately.

During labor, the medical team had kept discussing how the baby was obviously very big for my birth canal. When the head had first crowned, it appeared bald, so I imagined a bald, 10 pound infant. In fact, my baby was blond, so her hair wasn't visible until she was washed, and the biggest shocker--weighed in at exactly 7 1/2 pounds, the average baby size. That baby was not big. Apparently, my birth canal was very small. All the medical staff assured me that by getting the baby through, I had stretched out the exit path and my next delivery would be much easier. I could not imagine ever doing that again. But I did...

My Second Labor

This is a much shorter story, because it was a much shorter labor. My second baby was due on Thanksgiving day, and several relatives who lived out-of-town were anxious for the baby to arrive on Thanksgiving weekend so they could meet the baby before returning to their homes.

By now, I was experienced at giving birth and knew that it was a three-day process for me, so when nothing had happened by the end of the holiday, I let my family members know they would have to wait to meet the baby on their next visit.

The Saturday following Thanksgiving, my husband, my daughter, myself and my mother-in-law (who was staying at our house for the holiday and the birth) were up late watching "Hairspray". At about 11 at night, my husband jostled the surface I was sitting on and I felt something wet. I ran into the bathroom to see what was going on and my very curious and speedy two year-old daughter raced in after me, arriving so close on my heels that I couldn't close the door in front of her. She was there to witness myself examining the small flood I was creating.

My husband had explained the birth process to her earlier and she had wisely chosen not to believe him. It was apparent to her that Mommy did not have a hole large enough to eject a baby from her vagina.

However, seeing is believing. "Daddy, Daddy, the baby is trying to get out through Mommy's vagina and he's making lots of water!" she yelled.

Since we now had Daddy's attention, I asked him to bring me a clean pair of panties and a maxi pad.

A minute later, I asked him for another clean pair of panties and another maxi pad. This is when my mother-in-law, who had experience with this sort of thing that I lacked, suggested that my husband stop this silly maxi pad effort, get me a big towel to wrap around myself and take me to the hospital.

The towel was certainly more effective than the pads had been, but I still questioned the advice to go to the hospital. I was in no pain at all and I had learned last time that lots and lots of pain was a definite prerequisite to hospital admission.

So I called the doctor. I reached a machine, which said, "If your water has broken, report directly to the hospital."

Okay. So we grabbed the suitcase and got in the car. During the short drive, I started to feel the menstrual cramp-type pains that had plagued me for two days last time. When we arrived at the hospital, they really hurt, so I asked my husband to help me in and get the suitcase after, and if, they had admitted me.

"Your water has broken!" said the cheerful nurse at the front desk, looking at the slip of paper I had filled out specifying my reason for coming to the hospital. "Did you have a big gush?"

"Yes."

"Have contractions started?"

"A few minutes ago."

And I was suddenly and magically admitted: no cervical exam or adequate pain necessary.

As we followed another nurse to the delivery room, we asked if my husband could go home and take a nap, and if so, when he should be back to coach. (We both had agreed after the first time that it would have been better for him to have gone home and gotten a good night's rest before nearly a full day of coaching.)

The nurse stopped and stared at us for a few seconds like we were absolutely nuts, then said, "Don't go home. You're having a baby."

She quickly recovered and redoubled her efforts to get us set up quickly for delivery. It seemed like an unnecessary rush to me and I tried to reassure her that she could relax since I was so slow at giving birth. She was not convinced. Her judgment proved better than mine, because within seconds after getting into my room I had advanced to that level of much, much more pain.

The nurse was frantically, and unsuccessfully, trying to get the doctor and the anesthesiologist into the room, and it seemed that every few seconds she announced that I was dilated another centimeter wider. It hurt, and all of my comfort tools--the music, the back massager, the heating pad--were stuck in my suitcase in the car, and of course there hadn't been time to get my mom or my sister over there. I desperately glanced over at the monitor at one point to see why I couldn't feel the lull between contractions and I saw one long line spanning the top of the screen, without ever dipping down at all. The nurse saw me look and shook her head sympathetically before calling the anesthesiologist. Again. She scolded whomever she was speaking to over the phone and told them it would be too late if I did not get an epidural right now.

The anesthesiologist finally did show up and admitted that a few seconds later would have been too late. I had a spot that still hurt, but there was no time to fix it and since I felt so much better than before I was not complaining. A physician arrived--not mine, whom they hadn't been able to reach. He apologized because he did not think they would be able to get my doctor over on time. "Will you catch the baby?" I asked. He assured me that he would, and I was satisfied. As long as the poor child wasn't left to fall on the floor, I really didn't care who caught him.

No Time for Pictures During This Labor

Here I am afterward, with my daughter meeting
the baby and stealing his bink for the first time.

Now that I had a doctor, it was time to push. I braced myself for a few hours of pushing, but about twenty minutes later, I was startled when the doctor tossed the baby into my lap. "He came out already!" I exclaimed.

It was about 2 am--three hours after my water had broken. I was not even tired! I got to enjoy my little newborn. My husband, wiser from experience, checked with me to see if I needed his support before he took off to follow the baby through his bath and exam. I told him to go ahead--I felt great and I was alert enough this time to watch too, from across the room. And then they brought the baby back to me and I had no problem at all cuddling and cooing and nursing him. My parents came over shortly thereafter to meet the new grandchild and the rest of the family came in the morning, before anyone had to get out of town. I was ready and able to visit, not nearly comatose like I had been for the first 24 hours after my first child's birth.

Fast or slow, birth hurts, but fast is definitely better.

A Lifetime Dream Achieved...if the cat isn't terminally ill

2010-01-13T21:17:00.000-07:00

On one of our early dates, my husband-to-be and I discussed some of our goals in life. I planned to someday own a cat. Before you make fun, think of what it takes to own a cat that I had not achieved yet. You need to live in a stable environment (since cats do not do well with frequent moves) and you have to live in a place where you are allowed to choose a pet other than a goldfish. At the time, I was moving about two or three times a year for various semester changes and summer employment opportunities and from one no-pets-allowed apartment or dorm to another.

Getting married did not change that, since I married someone who was starting a PhD program and we promptly moved into married student campus housing. But when we did purchase our first condo, we tried to make my dream come true. We adopted a beautiful cat named Kita from the humane society, not knowing that Kita suffered from a terminal illness that would end her life soon thereafter.

We were only in the condo for a short time when we had the "opportunity" to acquire the construction project we currently reside in. Once again, I found myself in life circumstances unfitting for cat ownership. Cats do not do well in construction. (Case in point: One of my childhood pets hid from the construction workers under the unfinished tub during a bathroom remodeling project and they entombed her when they tiled it up. She did survive the incident, but ran away not long after that trauma.)

However, when my aunt needed to find a new family for her cat, Callie, and thought of us and our recently de-petted situation, we couldn't say no. Callie was a charming animal, until she took ill a few weeks later. The vet assured us that her imminent demise had nothing to do with us or even the plenitude of construction materials in the poor animal's final living quarters. Although my aunt had not known, she had been terminally ill for sometime.

So I decided that my dream would have to wait, both until the construction project became a suitable home and until I recovered from my newfound fear that a future as my pet would doom any cat to a short life expectancy.

About a month ago, my husband called from work. He works at a rest home that had a "therapy cat" (i.e. a cat whose purpose is to cheer up sick people). However, the director of physical therapy and her boss had a tiff which resulted in eviction orders for the innocent animal. My husband wanted to adopt her; after all, I still hadn't achieved that lifelong goal, the kids would love a pet, and this was one cheap way to achieve that goal, since the pet would come to us with lots of free pet supplies and all its veterinary work accomplished.

Our house is still under construction, but I made the cat her own tranquil bedroom in the closet under the stairs, like Harry Potter. Soon after adopting her, my husband forgot that the new pet was his idea and complained about her frequently, although I caught him talking baby talk to the sweet kitty when he thought no one was looking. My children, on the other hand, were exuberant pet owners from the start. My two-year-old was delighted with everything the cat did and brought me frequent, enthusiastic reports, most of which were, "Cat! Night-night! Cat!" The first time he saw the cat bathe, he grabbed my arm and dragged me over to see the big event, talking rapid jibberish the whole way. I told him the cat was bathing. "Nummy bath?" he asked, having never seen a bath that involved licking before.

The kids are such exuberant pet owners, in fact, that I am shocked that I have never heard the cat hiss and that she has not clawed either one. She's a good cat. I hope she isn't terminally ill.

Speaking of which, she came to us with the name, "Callie," just like our last doomed cat. I immediately suggested that my daughter rename her. She is now Lolly, the same name my daughter gives most of her dolls and imaginary friends.

May she have nine very long lives.

When Spousal Indiscretion Serves the Greater Good

2009-12-29T21:20:00.002-07:00

There have been many casualties in this brutal war against my unfinished house, but the one I mourned most was the loss of my daughter's baby pictures.

I hate printing. It kills trees. And it yields papers, which must be filed. I hate filing. So the first year of my daughter's life was recorded only in pixels. And we talked about backing up those electronic pictures onto a CD or something, but we didn't.

And then our computer, along with a guitar and a video camera, were gone. This happened before we ran out of money for contractors and we believe one of two things happened:

1. The construction workers left the door unlocked and a lucky thief happened to notice.

2. One of the construction workers was a lucky thief.

I cried. Several times. Have you seen those commercials where the woman who failed to back up her photos dresses her 9 year-old in his baby clothes in a mad attempt to recreate his baby pictures? On some desperate occasions, I considered dressing my son (who happens to be a clone of his big sister, if it weren't for his gender) in my daughter's baby dresses to fake some nice mementos.

Fast forward three years. A couple of weeks ago, my mother-in-law calls with news. She spent Thanksgiving at her daughter's house and guess what she found there?

Apparently, back when my daughter was a baby, she requested photos of her granddaughter from my husband. That blessedly lazy man, instead of choosing some nice ones to send her, simply copied off our whole photo album onto a CD and sent it off. She soon lost the CD, but not until after she had copied it and sent CDs to all of my in-laws. And one of those in-laws still had it! A few days later, I got my very own copy of my own photos in the mail!

I was thrilled! Until I noticed how thorough that album was, and then I was quite embarrassed to realize that all of my in-laws had been privy to these photos. My sweet hubby had not taken any time to censor the album before copying it. There were several pictures of myself in a bikini showing off my expanding pregnant belly. Worse, there were pictures of my daughter (and a not-so-flattering part of myself) as she entered the world during her vaginal delivery.

Oh well. The humiliation is worth having that lost year of photos back. Here are some recently recovered highlights from my daughter's first year of life:

Our First Family Photo (my daughter is the one in the ultrasound, 6 weeks gestation)

Within Minutes of Her Birth

My First Mother's Day

Meeting Great Grandma

With Daddy and Grandma

At Her First Parade

No First's Here, but isn't she cute?