(We're not allowed to use the word "stupid" in our house, but this is my Grown-Up Blog, so I can do whatever I want.)
Overhead car lights that can be easily clicked on by a five-year-old finger...and then left on until the car battery dies.
Not realizing the deadness of the car battery until one minute before kindergarten starts. On a snowy, rainy day.
Walking over to the car parts store in the rain with all four children in tow to buy a car battery charger. The young lady manning the car parts store doesn't seem to know anything about car parts, or, indeed, to communicate in more than monosyllables.
(Changing the subject from car batteries) Shopping for men's dress shirts. First of all, yikes on the prices. Of course, if you want quality, you have to pay for it. But a good many more years will have to pass away before I spent $99.89 on ONE shirt. For him or for me. Good grief.
We've had some luck with Jos A. Banks' Clearance Center, where (if you are lucky), you can get regularly priced $79 shirts for $29, or even sometimes $23. (These shirts are REALLY nice.) But if you are looking for typical sizes, these finds are few and far between in the clearance center, and I have never, in more than two years of looking, found a plain white shirt. Which is what I am looking for right now.
And we have specific requirements for a white shirt, none of which seem to be popular right now in the JCPenney/Sears type stores. So the hunt continues. If you have any good suggestions, let me know! Especially if they carry 100% cotton twill no-wrinkle white spread collar dress shirts in a 17 neck and 36 sleeve.
Not to be overly-specific, or anything.
And now for one non-stupid thing: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MEMA. I love you tons.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
The Disintegration of Civilization
(A catalog advertising this on the front page came in the mail today.)
I'm trying to imagine accompanying my son to a birthday party to be greeted by this:
Wow. I'm nearly speechless.
(Not completely speechless. But you knew that.)
First, the mere visual impact of walking into a room with countless images of your child's face? Of the exact same image of your child's face? It would feel a little like a really boring shrine.
Second, can you imagine serving a slice of cake and a scoop of ice cream on an image of your child's face? Why, for the love of little green apples, would that be appealing?
Third, and very most important, why in the WORLD would you spend almost $100 on plates, cups, and a cheap tablecloth? (Seriously, $93 not including tax for all the stuff pictured above.) And that is for EIGHT place settings.
And, honestly, doesn't this mean little Mikey only gets to invite three friends? Because 3 friends + 3 parents + mom + Mikey = 8. Isn't the point of all this outpouring of Mikey-love for the benefit of the other parents? Because what seven-year-old boy (or girl) cares about having his/her picture on every plate and invitation and thank you note?
I'm starting to feel sorry for little Mikey.
(It should be noted that I am the mother who is going to give her children three friends-invited birthday parties: 8, 12, and 16. So I am clearly not the target audience for this catalog of horrors.)
I'm trying to imagine accompanying my son to a birthday party to be greeted by this:
(Not completely speechless. But you knew that.)
First, the mere visual impact of walking into a room with countless images of your child's face? Of the exact same image of your child's face? It would feel a little like a really boring shrine.
Second, can you imagine serving a slice of cake and a scoop of ice cream on an image of your child's face? Why, for the love of little green apples, would that be appealing?
Third, and very most important, why in the WORLD would you spend almost $100 on plates, cups, and a cheap tablecloth? (Seriously, $93 not including tax for all the stuff pictured above.) And that is for EIGHT place settings.
And, honestly, doesn't this mean little Mikey only gets to invite three friends? Because 3 friends + 3 parents + mom + Mikey = 8. Isn't the point of all this outpouring of Mikey-love for the benefit of the other parents? Because what seven-year-old boy (or girl) cares about having his/her picture on every plate and invitation and thank you note?
I'm starting to feel sorry for little Mikey.
(It should be noted that I am the mother who is going to give her children three friends-invited birthday parties: 8, 12, and 16. So I am clearly not the target audience for this catalog of horrors.)
Monday, March 29, 2010
Seven minutes
Why does seem so impossible to get off the couch and spend seven minutes tidying up a room?
I'm not talking about my children (although getting them to clean the playroom is seemingly impossible sometimes), I'm talking about me.
All day I've been bugged about how messy the living room and dining room looked. It's not that they were super dirty or horrible, just messy: untidy pile of school papers on the couch, next to one baby sock (dirty), one baby shirt (mostly clean), and the diaper wipe container. A few random toys--stuffed soccer ball, two toy cars, etc--scattered around the floor. A string cheese wrapper, some junk mail envelopes, a pile of spilled goldfish crackers littered the dining room floor, and on the table the dishes from lunch still sat.
All of this made the house look much worse than it actually was. And I let it all sit there for most of the day.
A couple of minutes ago I got up to get something for a child, and decided that before I sat back down on the couch and let the internet mesmerize me again, I would take fifteen minutes and just clean up what I could. It took me less than seven minutes to get the living/dining rooms into a state I would be unembarrassed by a surprise visitor. Seven minutes. That is all.
So I hereby announce a new resolution for myself (hey, it's almost April, why not a Spring Resolution?): I will spend at least seven minutes a day, tidying the house. (Dishes and laundry don't count. They have to happen anyway.) And if all I manage is seven minutes, at least my house is seven minutes cleaner than it was previously, right?
So next time you come over, compliment me on my seven-minute-clean house. Heh.
________________________
What I did with the other 23 hours and 53 minutes today (so far): grocery shopping, grocery putting-away (a task of its own, to be sure), child-dressing, child-feeding, child-nuturing/rearing/listening to the plot of the latest "Arthur" episode, Em to the dentist, and making little Easter baskets for some people who have helped us a ton. (Want a tip? Take treats to your doctor's office staff every so often. It's always good to be on their best side, for timely same-day appointments and help with immunization records.)
I was absurdly pleased with how cute they ended up being:
I bought the baskets on clearance last year (or maybe the year before), and then I cut out cardboard to fit halfway down in the baskets. Zee and Em carefully washed and dried all the strawberries, and I dipped them in chocolate. We punched holes into the cardboard with the skewers, and hid the cardboard with Easter grass and jellybeans and Peeps. All told, with such able helpers (and I'm not being sarcastic, they really were helpful), it only took us an hour to do everything. Cheap, simple, and fun. (Except delivery and cleanup took longer than that. But isn't it always that way?)
I'm not talking about my children (although getting them to clean the playroom is seemingly impossible sometimes), I'm talking about me.
All day I've been bugged about how messy the living room and dining room looked. It's not that they were super dirty or horrible, just messy: untidy pile of school papers on the couch, next to one baby sock (dirty), one baby shirt (mostly clean), and the diaper wipe container. A few random toys--stuffed soccer ball, two toy cars, etc--scattered around the floor. A string cheese wrapper, some junk mail envelopes, a pile of spilled goldfish crackers littered the dining room floor, and on the table the dishes from lunch still sat.
All of this made the house look much worse than it actually was. And I let it all sit there for most of the day.
A couple of minutes ago I got up to get something for a child, and decided that before I sat back down on the couch and let the internet mesmerize me again, I would take fifteen minutes and just clean up what I could. It took me less than seven minutes to get the living/dining rooms into a state I would be unembarrassed by a surprise visitor. Seven minutes. That is all.
So I hereby announce a new resolution for myself (hey, it's almost April, why not a Spring Resolution?): I will spend at least seven minutes a day, tidying the house. (Dishes and laundry don't count. They have to happen anyway.) And if all I manage is seven minutes, at least my house is seven minutes cleaner than it was previously, right?
So next time you come over, compliment me on my seven-minute-clean house. Heh.
________________________
What I did with the other 23 hours and 53 minutes today (so far): grocery shopping, grocery putting-away (a task of its own, to be sure), child-dressing, child-feeding, child-nuturing/rearing/listening to the plot of the latest "Arthur" episode, Em to the dentist, and making little Easter baskets for some people who have helped us a ton. (Want a tip? Take treats to your doctor's office staff every so often. It's always good to be on their best side, for timely same-day appointments and help with immunization records.)
I was absurdly pleased with how cute they ended up being:
I bought the baskets on clearance last year (or maybe the year before), and then I cut out cardboard to fit halfway down in the baskets. Zee and Em carefully washed and dried all the strawberries, and I dipped them in chocolate. We punched holes into the cardboard with the skewers, and hid the cardboard with Easter grass and jellybeans and Peeps. All told, with such able helpers (and I'm not being sarcastic, they really were helpful), it only took us an hour to do everything. Cheap, simple, and fun. (Except delivery and cleanup took longer than that. But isn't it always that way?)
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Fabulous Five
My beautiful and independent girlie was born in the spring, right before Easter. For bringing you home on Easter Sunday, my little Marsupial, I packed pastels: a pale purple sleeper, a pale yellow onesie, a pale green receiving blanket. (A far cry from the bold dark blues and greens I packed for your older brother. You were a GIRL, and by golly I was going to proclaim it to the world!)
The week you were born, Grandma Tobler was in town. My brother's wife was very pregnant with your cousin Kip, and both of us were scheduled for induction on the following Monday. Feeling distraught at another three days of being pregnant, we all decided to go to the mall. Ostensibly the reason was to find a dress for my mother to wear to my little sister's wedding in May, but the trip was mostly so Caren and I could walk and walk and walk and walk and maybe, just maybe get things started so we didn't have to wait until Monday to bring the babies into the world. So, pushing the soon-to-be-big-brothers in the strollers, we walked.
At one point in time, Caren and I had to go to the bathroom, and while my mother stayed in the hallway with the boys, we entered the mall bathrooms and did our business. The only problem came when Caren tried to exit the stall--the door was stuck! It was so funny--these two HUGELY pregnant ladies, laughing hysterically, one on the outside and one on the inside, as Caren--good thing that even when she IS pregnant, she's not that big--shimmies out from under the door.
If life was fair, Caren would have been the one to go into labor that night, but life isn't fair, and it was me who started having contractions at the mall. Although they weren't too bad, they were constant, and finally I called Bradley to tell him that he might want to be aware of the bus schedules. I wasn't calling him home quite yet, but just giving him some warning. Fortunately, he jumped on the next bus, because not 20 minutes later I called him again to tell him to come home NOW.
The contractions started to become more painful around 4:30 pm, and we went to the hospital in Payson, almost expecting to be sent home. By the time we got to hospital at 5:15, I couldn't speak through the pain, and it was obvious we were ready to have a baby. And almost before we knew it--almost before I was completely registered at the hospital--you arrived!
And you have done things your own way ever since. You, my darling girlie, have an independent streak that I barely know what to do with, but I am forever fascinated by. You are your own person: you love the things YOU love, not the things you "should" love. Princesses and baby dolls are nice and all, but animals have captured your heart. Instead of carrying around the dolly you got for your birthday last year, you carry around stuffed cats and dogs. You love art--for your birthday you got two books by Ed Emberly, one that shows how to draw cars, people, trees, etc, and one that shows you how to make people, animals, insects, and monsters out of thumbprints. I was a little concerned that these books were too big for you, but I needn't have worried. You went to town on the thumbprint book, and have been creating amazing masterpieces ever since.
You are my foodie child, and I am SO GRATEFUL to have one. It makes cooking dinner a little less painful, when at least one of my children actually actively enjoys what I offer, rather than complaining, eating exactly the requisite number of bites (one for each year), and filling up on rolls and/or bread. You love "leaves" (fresh spinach), ham sandwiches with mustard, provolone cheese, and lettuce, and even fish with lemon sauce. It is a pleasure to cook for you, because you are so vocal and happy about the meal.
Kindergarten starts this fall, and you could not be more excited. You already know all your letters, and can draw (upper case) the entire alphabet in order. You love to have your big brother read to you, and are intensely curious about the simple "Sam" books he sometimes brings home. Already you are staring to read little words, and it constantly surprises me to watch you blossom into a reader right before my eyes.
Em, you are sweet and compassionate and kind. I love the way you try to comfort your brothers when they are sad. You try to sing to them and help them feel better. (It doesn't always work, but I hope you keep trying.) I love the way you give me hugs and kisses and tell me you love me.
Because I love you, too! Happy birthday, darling daughter.
(And I am a bad mother, because I left the camera at home when we went up to Grandma's to celebrate your birthday. Fortunately Daddy took some pictures with his cell phone, but unfortunately they are about as crisp as you'd expect from a cell phone. But Grandma took some pictures, and as soon as I get them from her I'll put them up.)
Friday, March 26, 2010
I didn't do it
The next year I flew in, solo (and pregnant with Hebs), and it rained practically the entire Spring Break. I was seriously morning sick, and LaDale had a tooth bothering her; we watched a lot of movies and ate a lot of Pei Wei's (me) and sushi (her).
Last year, we trekked to Colorado Springs for spring break. The pass over Vail was closed for 4 hours, and we arrived right after they closed it. So we spent some time in the (playland-less) McDonalds, and then hung out in our van (fortunately equipped with DVD player). Just as we were deciding to get a hotel room for the night (at about 8:30pm), they reopened the pass. Then there was another harrowing drive through the mountains, going 25 mph through a blinding snowstorm. Really, really fun. (I made Bradley drive.) We arrived in Colorado Springs 18 hours after leaving Spanish Fork.
We had two pretty good weather days (and spent one of them up at the
Between work, school, sicknesses, and all, we chose not to go this year. LaDale's roommate, when hearing that everytime we came it blizzard-ed, said, "Please thank them for not coming this year."
But look! It's not my fault! The Front Range has been hit by a series of storms, and it's not over yet. Sorry, Shauna. I think Spring Break in Colorado is just cursed.
(And not by me!)
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The Vowel Song
Zee’s Vowel Sound Song
A is a wonderful letter,
It is part of the vowel group
It’s a beautiful letter
While we look at the magic part
E is magical
You know it’s in the alphabet group
I is a wonderful shining heart
You might want to look at it
It’s in the vowel group just like A
Now let’s move on to the magical letter O
It’s as round as a circle; you've got to like it
Now let’s think about our nice friend U
He is a wonderful ricket* too
And you don’t have to worry about him
You don’t see him that often
Let’s give him a clap
Now let’s not forget about poor little Y
People don’t think about it as a vowel
The end
---------------
*No, I don't know what is a "ricket" is. Neither does Zee, I asked.
Apparently Zee was inspired by the poster Em got today at kindergarten registration. The poster (now hanging in on the wall in their bedroom) has the alphabet with letters and pictures (A is for apple, etc), and the vowels have a colored background. I asked Zee why some letters were different, and he felt inspired to make up a song about vowels. And then asked me to write it down.
When I told Em we were going to go to Zee's school to register for kindergarten for her, she was SO excited. "But, Momma, I don't have a backpack. I need a backpack!" When I told her that this wasn't actually kindergarten, but just getting ready for it, she cried. "After summer is so far away! I can't wait that long!"
A is a wonderful letter,
It is part of the vowel group
It’s a beautiful letter
While we look at the magic part
E is magical
You know it’s in the alphabet group
I is a wonderful shining heart
You might want to look at it
It’s in the vowel group just like A
Now let’s move on to the magical letter O
It’s as round as a circle; you've got to like it
Now let’s think about our nice friend U
He is a wonderful ricket* too
And you don’t have to worry about him
You don’t see him that often
Let’s give him a clap
Now let’s not forget about poor little Y
People don’t think about it as a vowel
The end
---------------
*No, I don't know what is a "ricket" is. Neither does Zee, I asked.
Apparently Zee was inspired by the poster Em got today at kindergarten registration. The poster (now hanging in on the wall in their bedroom) has the alphabet with letters and pictures (A is for apple, etc), and the vowels have a colored background. I asked Zee why some letters were different, and he felt inspired to make up a song about vowels. And then asked me to write it down.
When I told Em we were going to go to Zee's school to register for kindergarten for her, she was SO excited. "But, Momma, I don't have a backpack. I need a backpack!" When I told her that this wasn't actually kindergarten, but just getting ready for it, she cried. "After summer is so far away! I can't wait that long!"
Friday, March 19, 2010
Miscellany
I have a few toy-related observations:
Jenga blocks are amazing. I thought my kids were too young for Jenga-the-game, and they basically are, but Jenga blocks are so much more than precarious tower-building. Three-year-old Gee has been playing quietly for at least 30 minutes now, with only a "Look, Momma, I build a bridge!" (or airplane, or stairs, or door) to remind me he is in the same room as I. And today he has been especially whiny, so this is a minor miracle.
Legos are amazing, too. I make the kids play with the standard size Legos on the dining room table, because otherwise the baby will try to eat them. (They can play with the Duplo blocks on the floor of the playroom.) A couple of evenings ago, as Bradley was at church meetings late, the three older children played with Legos for at least an hour with nary an argument. That, too, is a minor miracle. And since they have to be at the table, clean up is pretty easy!
In baby news, yesterday Hebs and I were laying down on the couch together. We had been quietly cuddling, nothing unusual, when Hebs sat up, squirmed around, and made himself comfortable with his head on my (still fairly flat) stomach. He then started babbling, as he often does. Only this time, he was talking right into my belly And boy, did that wake the baby up! She immediately started kicking and wiggling around, as if to say, "Hi, Hebs! Hi! I'm in here! I'm coming soon, are you excited?" It made me laugh (and cry a little). I'm so excited to add her personality to our family.
And finally, Em is growing up so fast. She can write the entire alphabet (in capital letters) without help, and all the letters face the correct way. She can write to 13 without help. She draws the best cats and dogs (you can actually tell they are animals), and she loves to color.
Yesterday, she was trying to explain something to me, and Gee kept speaking over her. Frustrated, she finally said, "Gee, you're interrupting my communications!"
Ooookay, then. What a great girl!
Jenga blocks are amazing. I thought my kids were too young for Jenga-the-game, and they basically are, but Jenga blocks are so much more than precarious tower-building. Three-year-old Gee has been playing quietly for at least 30 minutes now, with only a "Look, Momma, I build a bridge!" (or airplane, or stairs, or door) to remind me he is in the same room as I. And today he has been especially whiny, so this is a minor miracle.
Legos are amazing, too. I make the kids play with the standard size Legos on the dining room table, because otherwise the baby will try to eat them. (They can play with the Duplo blocks on the floor of the playroom.) A couple of evenings ago, as Bradley was at church meetings late, the three older children played with Legos for at least an hour with nary an argument. That, too, is a minor miracle. And since they have to be at the table, clean up is pretty easy!
In baby news, yesterday Hebs and I were laying down on the couch together. We had been quietly cuddling, nothing unusual, when Hebs sat up, squirmed around, and made himself comfortable with his head on my (still fairly flat) stomach. He then started babbling, as he often does. Only this time, he was talking right into my belly And boy, did that wake the baby up! She immediately started kicking and wiggling around, as if to say, "Hi, Hebs! Hi! I'm in here! I'm coming soon, are you excited?" It made me laugh (and cry a little). I'm so excited to add her personality to our family.
And finally, Em is growing up so fast. She can write the entire alphabet (in capital letters) without help, and all the letters face the correct way. She can write to 13 without help. She draws the best cats and dogs (you can actually tell they are animals), and she loves to color.
Yesterday, she was trying to explain something to me, and Gee kept speaking over her. Frustrated, she finally said, "Gee, you're interrupting my communications!"
Ooookay, then. What a great girl!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Parent-Teacher Conferences (or, A Chance to Brag)
It's the end of the third term (insert trite but true comment about how time flies), and today we had parent-teacher conferences. (Except they call them "SEP" (Student-Educator-Parent) conferences, here. I don't remember ever going to with my mom to parent-teacher conferences when I was in elementary school, so I didn't know if I was supposed to take Zee with me. Once the whole "SEP" thing was explained, it became self-explanatory.)
Zee is loving school (especially recess, he claims), and his teacher is loving him. (He is a charmer, especially with adults. Not unlike his mother at this age.) He excels in two of the three "R's": reading (already at a late first grade level) and 'rithmatic. (Does it ever disturb you that two of the three "R's" don't even start with "R"?)
Writing is his big downfall. Anything fine motor, actually. Apparently the school's occupational therapist was helping another kid in Zee's class, and noticed his pencil grip. She thinks that his hand muscles aren't completely developed yet, and that's why his handwriting is so poor, his coloring indifferent at best, and his cutting is not great. Zee's teacher found some cool "rocket pencils" that help and correct his grip, and so he uses those. We're going to work on strengthening his hand muscles (and making his handwriting legible) at home, too. (And don't think I won't latch onto the whole "it's a physical problem" thing to make myself feel better about his lack of progress in this area, because I WILL.)
Zee has been noticed by the other kindergarten teachers as good at befriending kids who are a little different--physically or mentally. This makes me so happy--happy that he has friends, happy that he wants to help. And he seems to be understanding that the teacher is in charge of the classroom, and that he doesn't need to boss his classmates around. (Something I was a little worried about, because--well, again he is not unlike his mother at this age. And I struggled with that.)
Apparently, Gee's teacher holds SEPs, too, but for the two since Gee has been in school, she hasn't been able to. This wasn't a concern for last January's, because Gee had been a student for all of two weeks. But I've been quite concerned about the lack of information about Gee's school experience. I know he loves the bus, because he makes that perfectly clear every school day. But on his actual school experience, I get no information. Every month they send home a calendar telling us what the centers will be each week, but even if I use that little information, Gee is completely uncommunicative about his day. After all, he's three. I have no idea what is going on, and I'm just not okay with that. Did I mention he's only three? ("Did you read about a bear today?" "Ummmm...yeah!" "Did you play with rice today at school?" "Ummmm...yeah!" "Did you trap a vicious alligator today? "Ummm...yeah!")
I've been stewing over this for about three weeks, and decided to wait until the SEPs to bring it up. Except then Mrs. M sent home a letter that she wouldn't be holding SEPs, but if we needed to talk to her, we could email or set up a separate time. She also sent home some forms about the last term--what days Gee saw the physical therapist, what skills they had worked on, etc. These forms were only somewhat helpful, because I didn't have a clue what all the highlighting and checkmarks meant. (Does he have mastery of that skill? Still working on it? Turns out that I guess exactly opposite to the actual meaning, which is good, I guess. Otherwise it meant that my child is a whole lot more behind that I thought!)
So I emailed Mrs. M, asking for more information, and setting forth some of my concerns. She wrote me right back, and deciphered the papers for me, apologizing because she usually does that during SEPs for new parents. She told me that Gee is settling in wonderfully--he participates well, follows the routine, and expresses himself with words (rather than screaming). She explained that she has too many students to write out a weekly report, but that she would be happy to write a little note in a notebook if we wanted to sent one with Gee everyday. (Which was a suggestion I included in my email: Thank you to Jenafer, Paula, and Bradley for suggesting it to me!)
Awesome! And we finally heard from the physical therapist on Friday. I was most thrilled to be told he is walking everywhere, and barely using his crutches. In fact, he'll walk with his arms up high while carrying his crutches, not letting them touch the ground. Soon, they would like us not to send the crutches to school at all, and see how that goes. (YAY! Gee and I both cordially hate the crutches--they slow him down to a snail's pace, and he is much much faster on his own.)
So...all is well on the school front. I have to say I'm completely unconvinced that there are too many students to write up a little weekly progress report, even to just circle the appropriate response on a form. (Simple stuff: Participated all the time, most of the time, some of the time; played outside, inside, with alligators; general behavior: good, bad, plotting to overthrow the school and/or nation.) If I understand this properly, there are approximately 7-8 students in each class. There are four classes, and each class is held for 2.5 hours two days a week. And she has two classroom technicians in the class at all times. So, yeah, not so convinced on that front. But it doesn't matter, because we've worked it out to my satisfaction. (And I'm the only who matters, right?)
(And yes, I did end every paragraph with a parentheses. Just because.)
Zee is loving school (especially recess, he claims), and his teacher is loving him. (He is a charmer, especially with adults. Not unlike his mother at this age.) He excels in two of the three "R's": reading (already at a late first grade level) and 'rithmatic. (Does it ever disturb you that two of the three "R's" don't even start with "R"?)
Writing is his big downfall. Anything fine motor, actually. Apparently the school's occupational therapist was helping another kid in Zee's class, and noticed his pencil grip. She thinks that his hand muscles aren't completely developed yet, and that's why his handwriting is so poor, his coloring indifferent at best, and his cutting is not great. Zee's teacher found some cool "rocket pencils" that help and correct his grip, and so he uses those. We're going to work on strengthening his hand muscles (and making his handwriting legible) at home, too. (And don't think I won't latch onto the whole "it's a physical problem" thing to make myself feel better about his lack of progress in this area, because I WILL.)
Zee has been noticed by the other kindergarten teachers as good at befriending kids who are a little different--physically or mentally. This makes me so happy--happy that he has friends, happy that he wants to help. And he seems to be understanding that the teacher is in charge of the classroom, and that he doesn't need to boss his classmates around. (Something I was a little worried about, because--well, again he is not unlike his mother at this age. And I struggled with that.)
Apparently, Gee's teacher holds SEPs, too, but for the two since Gee has been in school, she hasn't been able to. This wasn't a concern for last January's, because Gee had been a student for all of two weeks. But I've been quite concerned about the lack of information about Gee's school experience. I know he loves the bus, because he makes that perfectly clear every school day. But on his actual school experience, I get no information. Every month they send home a calendar telling us what the centers will be each week, but even if I use that little information, Gee is completely uncommunicative about his day. After all, he's three. I have no idea what is going on, and I'm just not okay with that. Did I mention he's only three? ("Did you read about a bear today?" "Ummmm...yeah!" "Did you play with rice today at school?" "Ummmm...yeah!" "Did you trap a vicious alligator today? "Ummm...yeah!")
I've been stewing over this for about three weeks, and decided to wait until the SEPs to bring it up. Except then Mrs. M sent home a letter that she wouldn't be holding SEPs, but if we needed to talk to her, we could email or set up a separate time. She also sent home some forms about the last term--what days Gee saw the physical therapist, what skills they had worked on, etc. These forms were only somewhat helpful, because I didn't have a clue what all the highlighting and checkmarks meant. (Does he have mastery of that skill? Still working on it? Turns out that I guess exactly opposite to the actual meaning, which is good, I guess. Otherwise it meant that my child is a whole lot more behind that I thought!)
So I emailed Mrs. M, asking for more information, and setting forth some of my concerns. She wrote me right back, and deciphered the papers for me, apologizing because she usually does that during SEPs for new parents. She told me that Gee is settling in wonderfully--he participates well, follows the routine, and expresses himself with words (rather than screaming). She explained that she has too many students to write out a weekly report, but that she would be happy to write a little note in a notebook if we wanted to sent one with Gee everyday. (Which was a suggestion I included in my email: Thank you to Jenafer, Paula, and Bradley for suggesting it to me!)
Awesome! And we finally heard from the physical therapist on Friday. I was most thrilled to be told he is walking everywhere, and barely using his crutches. In fact, he'll walk with his arms up high while carrying his crutches, not letting them touch the ground. Soon, they would like us not to send the crutches to school at all, and see how that goes. (YAY! Gee and I both cordially hate the crutches--they slow him down to a snail's pace, and he is much much faster on his own.)
So...all is well on the school front. I have to say I'm completely unconvinced that there are too many students to write up a little weekly progress report, even to just circle the appropriate response on a form. (Simple stuff: Participated all the time, most of the time, some of the time; played outside, inside, with alligators; general behavior: good, bad, plotting to overthrow the school and/or nation.) If I understand this properly, there are approximately 7-8 students in each class. There are four classes, and each class is held for 2.5 hours two days a week. And she has two classroom technicians in the class at all times. So, yeah, not so convinced on that front. But it doesn't matter, because we've worked it out to my satisfaction. (And I'm the only who matters, right?)
(And yes, I did end every paragraph with a parentheses. Just because.)
Monday, March 15, 2010
Mark McKell's Memories
Tonight we spent Family Home Evening with a wonderful older gentleman in our neighborhood. Brother Mark McKell is 94 years old, and he is a most wonderful and enjoyable host. He invited us into his home to get to know us better, and (despite less-than-well-behaved children) we had a marvelous evening.
Brother McKell was born in a little house on Center Street, and has lived here in Spanish Fork just about his entire life--he was three years in the army during World War II, and then he and his wife lived in Provo for several years as he finished his education at BYU. They bought a piece of land for $1000 in the mid-1940s, and then built a house and moved in 1947, and he has lived there ever since.
He has so many memories and information about Spanish Fork, the First Ward, and how things used to be. It is a treat to talk to him. He was the Bishop of the First Ward for six years, and only missed church twice. On one of the two sacrament meetings he missed, an older brother got up to bear his testimony. "I don't know why the Lord still has me here on Earth," the brother said. After he finished his testimony, he sat back down on the pew and...promptly died. What a week to miss!
Brother McKell showed us a Jex family picture taken in the City Park, up against the east side of the old City Office Building, in the mid-1920s. They tore that building down a long time ago, but it is funny to think about the young Brother McKell, looking out over the City Park, to where my house now stands.
Brother and Sister McKell (she died in October 2007) had their wedding reception at the old dance pavilion or ballroom--apparently this used to stand on the corner of the park directly across my house. He told us they used to go dancing there weekly. He remembers all the old songs, and plays them on his massive Lowrey Organ, every night before he goes to bed.
Oh, that organ. Brother McKell never played a note in his life before his late 70s, when he and his wife decided to get an organ. Now it is his pride and joy. He takes organ lessons down in Payson, and loves every minute of it. He played at least four different songs for us, all very sweet and beautiful. We sang along with some of them. And there is an applause button that he pushes after every song. Hebs especially enjoyed that, and made sure to clap along every time.
We ate ice cream cones on the front porch near the end of the evening, and he talked about his farm down in Leland (just south of Spanish Fork proper), and the cattle he had for years and years. (In fact, he just got rid of his cattle last winter, after one mean cow kicked him and broke his hip (or his back, I can't remember). Remember, this was when he was 92 years old, still going out most every winter morning to feed those silly creatures. Amazing.)
But amazing is just what Brother McKell is. He started and ended the evening by showing us pictures of his family when the kids were very young, and then the big picture taken a few years ago with all the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. He has a mighty posterity, and he wanted to impress on us how important is it to stay close to the gospel, to teach the children how important families are, and how quickly they will grow and become parents of their own children. And how wonderful that is.
I hope, when I grow up, I can be as amazing as he is.
Brother McKell was born in a little house on Center Street, and has lived here in Spanish Fork just about his entire life--he was three years in the army during World War II, and then he and his wife lived in Provo for several years as he finished his education at BYU. They bought a piece of land for $1000 in the mid-1940s, and then built a house and moved in 1947, and he has lived there ever since.
He has so many memories and information about Spanish Fork, the First Ward, and how things used to be. It is a treat to talk to him. He was the Bishop of the First Ward for six years, and only missed church twice. On one of the two sacrament meetings he missed, an older brother got up to bear his testimony. "I don't know why the Lord still has me here on Earth," the brother said. After he finished his testimony, he sat back down on the pew and...promptly died. What a week to miss!
Brother McKell showed us a Jex family picture taken in the City Park, up against the east side of the old City Office Building, in the mid-1920s. They tore that building down a long time ago, but it is funny to think about the young Brother McKell, looking out over the City Park, to where my house now stands.
Brother and Sister McKell (she died in October 2007) had their wedding reception at the old dance pavilion or ballroom--apparently this used to stand on the corner of the park directly across my house. He told us they used to go dancing there weekly. He remembers all the old songs, and plays them on his massive Lowrey Organ, every night before he goes to bed.
Oh, that organ. Brother McKell never played a note in his life before his late 70s, when he and his wife decided to get an organ. Now it is his pride and joy. He takes organ lessons down in Payson, and loves every minute of it. He played at least four different songs for us, all very sweet and beautiful. We sang along with some of them. And there is an applause button that he pushes after every song. Hebs especially enjoyed that, and made sure to clap along every time.
We ate ice cream cones on the front porch near the end of the evening, and he talked about his farm down in Leland (just south of Spanish Fork proper), and the cattle he had for years and years. (In fact, he just got rid of his cattle last winter, after one mean cow kicked him and broke his hip (or his back, I can't remember). Remember, this was when he was 92 years old, still going out most every winter morning to feed those silly creatures. Amazing.)
But amazing is just what Brother McKell is. He started and ended the evening by showing us pictures of his family when the kids were very young, and then the big picture taken a few years ago with all the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. He has a mighty posterity, and he wanted to impress on us how important is it to stay close to the gospel, to teach the children how important families are, and how quickly they will grow and become parents of their own children. And how wonderful that is.
I hope, when I grow up, I can be as amazing as he is.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Take My Brother!
Overheard this evening:
Zee, striding into the playroom, speaking in an impressively gravely monster voice: "Who do I eat first?"
Em, immediately: "Hebs!"
It reminds me of the way my mother tried to convince us to sleep next to the big, dark "crack".
(To understand the situation, let me explain our sleeping arrangement: We had a modified bunk bed, but instead of a single bed on the bottom, there was a double bed. The top bunk wasn't tall enough to allow sleeping on the full double bed when it was pushed under, so to sleep on the bottom bunk, the bed had to be pulled out from under the top bunk, trundle-style. Every night, the three of us older girls would fight over who had to sleep in the middle, next to the dark underside of the bunk.)
So my mother told us a story: If the boogeyman came into our room at night, he would grab whichever girl was on the edges--so the middle spot was the safest spot of all! The middle (and other edge) girl would hear the screams of the first girl, and we could get away! (I'm not joking. She really told us this. And because we got different bunkbeds when I was in first grade, this means she told a pre-SIX-YEAR-OLD this.)
We didn't believe her. Everyone knew that the boogeyman would come from under the bed, so of course he would grab the middle girl first. Duh.
Zee, striding into the playroom, speaking in an impressively gravely monster voice: "Who do I eat first?"
Em, immediately: "Hebs!"
It reminds me of the way my mother tried to convince us to sleep next to the big, dark "crack".
(To understand the situation, let me explain our sleeping arrangement: We had a modified bunk bed, but instead of a single bed on the bottom, there was a double bed. The top bunk wasn't tall enough to allow sleeping on the full double bed when it was pushed under, so to sleep on the bottom bunk, the bed had to be pulled out from under the top bunk, trundle-style. Every night, the three of us older girls would fight over who had to sleep in the middle, next to the dark underside of the bunk.)
So my mother told us a story: If the boogeyman came into our room at night, he would grab whichever girl was on the edges--so the middle spot was the safest spot of all! The middle (and other edge) girl would hear the screams of the first girl, and we could get away! (I'm not joking. She really told us this. And because we got different bunkbeds when I was in first grade, this means she told a pre-SIX-YEAR-OLD this.)
We didn't believe her. Everyone knew that the boogeyman would come from under the bed, so of course he would grab the middle girl first. Duh.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Because geologists are so wealthy!
(I just wrote and erased an entire post, because it was whining, and I got bored even writing, much less reading it. Goodness, can't I do anything but whine right now? Long story short: Em has another ear infection; she did not poke her ear, it was the start of the infection. And, despite five days of antibiotics, I still have a sinus headache. Doctor said it could last up to three weeks. Loverly.)
So let's talk about my fabulous new idea for a book: I'm going to write a geology guidebook for the Lord of the Rings movie locations!
It will be terribly profitable, I'm telling you. As soon as this post gets published, I expect to be contacted by innumerable publishers offering me advances to write this book for them. The subset of Lord of the Rings fans and geologists surely is vast and wealthy, right?
Seriously, though, I think I will see if something like this has been done. Or could be done (although as a series of blog posts, not as a book). I love the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and I adore the movies (and their extras, too!), and I love geology. So, really, why not?
So let's talk about my fabulous new idea for a book: I'm going to write a geology guidebook for the Lord of the Rings movie locations!
It will be terribly profitable, I'm telling you. As soon as this post gets published, I expect to be contacted by innumerable publishers offering me advances to write this book for them. The subset of Lord of the Rings fans and geologists surely is vast and wealthy, right?
Seriously, though, I think I will see if something like this has been done. Or could be done (although as a series of blog posts, not as a book). I love the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and I adore the movies (and their extras, too!), and I love geology. So, really, why not?
Friday, March 5, 2010
Movers and Shakers
There's not much about pregnancy that I love, much less like. Yes, it's nice to have the excuse to eat just about anything I want (especially since, here at week 18-19?, I'm still at ten pounds below my pre-pregnancy weight), but the constant nausea and heartburn kinda puts a damper on that particular fun. It's glorious to know that we're going to have another baby, but I hate pregnancy, and just about everything involved with it. Except one thing.
Feeling the baby move.
I remember the first time I knew I was feeling Zee move, and not just imagining it (or mistaking gas for baby movement). It was at the ultrasound, and I felt it as the image of the baby kicked out those wee little skeleton legs. I cherished every movement, even when he sat on a nerve. It made the pregnancy feel real, made the baby feel real.
I've felt that way with each of my pregnancies--when the baby starts to really move, then it starts to be an exciting event, not quite as much a burden. Gee's movements were especially precious to me, because he was so extremely active, and we didn't know what the future held for his mobility. (I remember, even while feeling black-and-blue inside, loving every kick.)
All of this is to say: Ralphette is moving nowadays. I felt her move very early on (14-15 weeks), but only late at night, when I would shift from one side to the other, and she would readjust. But now I'm starting to feel her move more often.
And it is such a joy.
Feeling the baby move.
I remember the first time I knew I was feeling Zee move, and not just imagining it (or mistaking gas for baby movement). It was at the ultrasound, and I felt it as the image of the baby kicked out those wee little skeleton legs. I cherished every movement, even when he sat on a nerve. It made the pregnancy feel real, made the baby feel real.
I've felt that way with each of my pregnancies--when the baby starts to really move, then it starts to be an exciting event, not quite as much a burden. Gee's movements were especially precious to me, because he was so extremely active, and we didn't know what the future held for his mobility. (I remember, even while feeling black-and-blue inside, loving every kick.)
All of this is to say: Ralphette is moving nowadays. I felt her move very early on (14-15 weeks), but only late at night, when I would shift from one side to the other, and she would readjust. But now I'm starting to feel her move more often.
And it is such a joy.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Missing: Patience (or, A Fine Whine)
(The title to this post was originally "Lost: Patience", but then I decided that looked too much like I was discussing the latest Lost episode, and I'm two weeks behind on Lost. So no spoilers!)
I'm on day 22 of being sick (in addition to being pregnant-sick), and my patience is completely, utterly, 100% gone. This particular brand of sickness has been a bad upper-respiratory infection, complete with cough, sore throat, aches, headache, drainage--you know, the normal late winter cold. The cold turned into a sinus infection, and I hate taking antibiotics, so I was just hoping it would take care of itself. But a two-week headache just can't be borne much longer.
All in the family got the cold, and most managed to get over it in a week (a miserable week, but a week all the same). Em got an ear infection, so she was on antibiotics for 10 days. She loves the bright pink amoxicillin, and was very very sad when the last dose was taken on Tuesday night.
On Wednesday morning, as I was preparing to get to the doctor (yes, I'm finally on antibiotics), Em complained that her ear hurt. I chalked it up to wanting more medicine, and told her she was fine. But she kept at it all day long. At one point, I walked into the play room, and she was lying lethargically on the floor, cradling her ear and looking very sad indeed. So I called the doctor and we went in.
Apparently her ear infection is cleared up, but there is a bruise on the ear drum. The doctor thinks she put something in her ear and hurt it. She says she didn't, and I didn't see her do anything, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen. It's not permanent damage, and it should heal in the next two days. I'm supposed to give her
ibuprofen for the pain.
I have no idea how much she hurts, but she be-bops around, playing and laughing and being a four-year-old, and then suddenly she's whining and crying (loudly) about how bad her ears hurts. I'm trying to have patience, but I'm thinking that I may or may not go crazy before two days are over.
I'm on day 22 of being sick (in addition to being pregnant-sick), and my patience is completely, utterly, 100% gone. This particular brand of sickness has been a bad upper-respiratory infection, complete with cough, sore throat, aches, headache, drainage--you know, the normal late winter cold. The cold turned into a sinus infection, and I hate taking antibiotics, so I was just hoping it would take care of itself. But a two-week headache just can't be borne much longer.
All in the family got the cold, and most managed to get over it in a week (a miserable week, but a week all the same). Em got an ear infection, so she was on antibiotics for 10 days. She loves the bright pink amoxicillin, and was very very sad when the last dose was taken on Tuesday night.
On Wednesday morning, as I was preparing to get to the doctor (yes, I'm finally on antibiotics), Em complained that her ear hurt. I chalked it up to wanting more medicine, and told her she was fine. But she kept at it all day long. At one point, I walked into the play room, and she was lying lethargically on the floor, cradling her ear and looking very sad indeed. So I called the doctor and we went in.
Apparently her ear infection is cleared up, but there is a bruise on the ear drum. The doctor thinks she put something in her ear and hurt it. She says she didn't, and I didn't see her do anything, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen. It's not permanent damage, and it should heal in the next two days. I'm supposed to give her
ibuprofen for the pain.
I have no idea how much she hurts, but she be-bops around, playing and laughing and being a four-year-old, and then suddenly she's whining and crying (loudly) about how bad her ears hurts. I'm trying to have patience, but I'm thinking that I may or may not go crazy before two days are over.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
The Naming
Bradley and I are really, really slow at choosing names for our children. (Not as slow as some, like the mother and baby I visited a week after he was born. "What is his name?" "Oh, we haven't chosen yet.") But my brothers and sisters tend to pick out names as soon as the sex of the baby is known, and we spent the entire last half of the pregnancy talking about baby B. or baby K. or whatever.
Not in my little family. From the beginning, with Zee, we decided that we wouldn't tell anyone our baby's name until AFTER he was named. This way, nobody can mock the name, because the baby is already named. (It works, too. Well, nobody can mock the name to our faces, which is all that matters.)
Instead, we gave our babies womb names. Zee was Kronk (after the lovably stupid bad/good guy in The Emperor's New Groove); Em was Yzma (after the marvelously over-the-top bad lady in the same Disney movie); Gee was Dulé (after the actor Dulé Hill, from the West Wing and more recently Psych); and Hebs was Baby Awesome (after Captain Awesome from Chuck). And of course Ralphette, who is named after the fact that Bradley wants to name a baby Ralph and Keryn won't let him.
Bradley came into the marriage with some fairly strict criteria for baby names. They have to be unusual (nothing in the top 200 most popular baby names--the Baby Name Wizard is a really fun site to play with!), pronounceable (as my name is not), and spellable (as my name is not). That meant no fiddling with the spelling to make it unique, which wiped out most of my adolescent choices. (Which is okay. Some of them...shiver.) We didn't mean to embark on a "theme", but after we named our first three, we feel sort of obliged to keep it going. (Don't worry, they don't all start with J or H or M or something like that. Not that kind of theme.)
Oh! And we wanted their names to mean something--to be named after someone great and good, or some other kind of meaning.
We didn't settle on Zee's name until about three hours before he was born. We took the baby name book into the hospital with us, and spent some of the time between blissful epidural and actual birth deciding on his name.
Em's name took us the longest. She was born really really fast (45 minutes after we arrived at the hospital), and we weren't expecting her for a few more days. She was 12-18 hours old before she actually got named.
Gee's name was picked out seven days before his arrival. For logical (although somewhat grim) reasons, I wanted to know what his name was going to be before I went into labor. If he needed an emergency blessing or something, right after birth, he needed a name, by golly. So he is the baby with the most lead time on his name.
Hebs was named about three hours after he was born. We had two names, we liked both of them a lot, and finally Bradley had me choose the one I liked best.
Ralphette? I have some ideas, but it's hard to try to decide on a girl's name when you are more than half convinced that it is a boy. It's going to be a fun couple of months. (This is why we have to know if it is a girl or a boy. Otherwise, our children would be nameless for four to six months after birth!)
Whatever it is, you can be sure that we won't tell you beforehand. (Or technically, afterward, either, since we are all about the child-anonymity on this blog. Sorry.)
Not in my little family. From the beginning, with Zee, we decided that we wouldn't tell anyone our baby's name until AFTER he was named. This way, nobody can mock the name, because the baby is already named. (It works, too. Well, nobody can mock the name to our faces, which is all that matters.)
Instead, we gave our babies womb names. Zee was Kronk (after the lovably stupid bad/good guy in The Emperor's New Groove); Em was Yzma (after the marvelously over-the-top bad lady in the same Disney movie); Gee was Dulé (after the actor Dulé Hill, from the West Wing and more recently Psych); and Hebs was Baby Awesome (after Captain Awesome from Chuck). And of course Ralphette, who is named after the fact that Bradley wants to name a baby Ralph and Keryn won't let him.
Bradley came into the marriage with some fairly strict criteria for baby names. They have to be unusual (nothing in the top 200 most popular baby names--the Baby Name Wizard is a really fun site to play with!), pronounceable (as my name is not), and spellable (as my name is not). That meant no fiddling with the spelling to make it unique, which wiped out most of my adolescent choices. (Which is okay. Some of them...shiver.) We didn't mean to embark on a "theme", but after we named our first three, we feel sort of obliged to keep it going. (Don't worry, they don't all start with J or H or M or something like that. Not that kind of theme.)
Oh! And we wanted their names to mean something--to be named after someone great and good, or some other kind of meaning.
We didn't settle on Zee's name until about three hours before he was born. We took the baby name book into the hospital with us, and spent some of the time between blissful epidural and actual birth deciding on his name.
Em's name took us the longest. She was born really really fast (45 minutes after we arrived at the hospital), and we weren't expecting her for a few more days. She was 12-18 hours old before she actually got named.
Gee's name was picked out seven days before his arrival. For logical (although somewhat grim) reasons, I wanted to know what his name was going to be before I went into labor. If he needed an emergency blessing or something, right after birth, he needed a name, by golly. So he is the baby with the most lead time on his name.
Hebs was named about three hours after he was born. We had two names, we liked both of them a lot, and finally Bradley had me choose the one I liked best.
Ralphette? I have some ideas, but it's hard to try to decide on a girl's name when you are more than half convinced that it is a boy. It's going to be a fun couple of months. (This is why we have to know if it is a girl or a boy. Otherwise, our children would be nameless for four to six months after birth!)
Whatever it is, you can be sure that we won't tell you beforehand. (Or technically, afterward, either, since we are all about the child-anonymity on this blog. Sorry.)
Monday, March 1, 2010
Details on Ralphette's Ultrasound
(It's okay if you want to skip this post. It's full of boring details that are probably exactly like every other ultrasound every other person has ever had.)
I was so nervous waiting for the ultrasound technician to call us back. I mostly dealt with it by talking about anything and everything that came to mind, which I'm sure was fun for Bradley. But fortunately Jay was right on schedule, so the babbling only lasted eight minutes or so.
Jay was just as abrupt and non-communicative as I remembered from the beginning of Gee's ultrasound. But when I mentioned the spina bifida in our family, and how he was the one who had discovered it, it was like he was a different person. He apologized for having had to give us bad news those three years ago, and we chatted about Gee's progress and good health. After that, he was totally warm and personable. It's funny, but I remember the same switch when we discovered Gee's spina bifida. Maybe he does so many ultrasounds, he's a little bored of them. But anything a little different (not that he looks forward to this or anything dark like that), and he sort of wakes up. Who knows?
Nearly the first thing he did was take a quick look at the brain. "I'll just tell you this: I don't see anything to worry about here. I'll bet the first sign I had last time was in the brain." And that is true: he totally saw something in Gee's brain before we even got to the spine. The "lemon sign" ("The lemon sign refers to an abnormally shaped fetal head seen at antenatal US performed during the second trimester...a marker for open spina bifida") is apparently quite obvious, and so was the placement of the cerebellum. So, first deep breath.
Then he went down to Ralphette's spine. She spent most of the ultrasound curled up in the fetal position (what a surprise, given her essential fetal-ness), and turning her back on us, so while everything else was hard to get at and measure, the spine was exposed in all its well-formed glory. It got to be a running joke during the scan: Jay would go to measure something or want a picture of something, and there would be Ralphette's spine again. It was like she was saying, "Here you go, Momma and Daddy. Nothing to worry about here!"
Jay counted her little back vertebrae, pointed out several times (because we saw them so often) all the correct placement and colors, and reassured us time and again that there was nothing to be concerned about. I get a little teary just thinking about it. I know that anything can happen, but to get over this hurdle has been such a relief.
Because of her contrary nature, Jay had quite the time getting al the other measurements. He'd work on her arms and hands for a little while, and then she'd pull them back behind her head. He'd try to get a look at her lips, checking for a cleft, and she'd hide behind her hands. He'd try to peek between her legs, and she was as modest as any mother of a teenage girl could want. (Not so much what the mother of the fetus, eagerly awaiting the verdict on girl or boy, wants, but still.) She'd uncross her legs, but whip that little hand down there to modestly cover all her parts. I spent most of the ultrasound convinced that we weren't going to get an answer on sex at all.
At one point, Jay thought maybe he'd gotten a glimpse, but it wasn't enough to really tell, so he moved on to the abdomen. Up till now, he'd mostly referred to the baby as it, although I was shifting between "he" and "she". At the abdomen, he referred to the baby as "he" twice. Aha! I thought to myself. He saw enough to convince him it's a boy, no big surprise there, and he slipped into using the proper pronoun. (Later, Bradley told me the same thing had occurred to him.)
But then he came back, and said, "Oh, now I've got you!" and paused the picture. There was the evidence, although (this being an ultrasound) I didn't really know what I was looking at. I thought to myself, "Well, um...is that like Em or like the others? I think it's like Em, I think, I think..." And then he said, "It's a girl!" And we cheered. Throughout the rest of the ultrasound, whenever he'd get a glimpse, he'd show us again. So, pretty dang 99% sure this one's a girlie.
I am SO excited. I love love love my boys, but, as Alicia wrote in a comment on the post announcing the sex, "Every little girl needs a sister." My sisters are so important to me, I love the idea of my Em having a sister, too.
Bradley is thrilled, too. We are excited to have broken the "Ross Curse" of so few girls, and to almost even up the Tobler side of the family, too (10 boys, 8 girls now). And all those adorable girl baby clothes...yay!!
The relief (healthy baby!) and the joy (baby girl!) are pretty strong. I've got a terrible sinus infection, and yet I've been on cloud nine all day. I feel very blessed and very lucky and very, very happy.
I was so nervous waiting for the ultrasound technician to call us back. I mostly dealt with it by talking about anything and everything that came to mind, which I'm sure was fun for Bradley. But fortunately Jay was right on schedule, so the babbling only lasted eight minutes or so.
Jay was just as abrupt and non-communicative as I remembered from the beginning of Gee's ultrasound. But when I mentioned the spina bifida in our family, and how he was the one who had discovered it, it was like he was a different person. He apologized for having had to give us bad news those three years ago, and we chatted about Gee's progress and good health. After that, he was totally warm and personable. It's funny, but I remember the same switch when we discovered Gee's spina bifida. Maybe he does so many ultrasounds, he's a little bored of them. But anything a little different (not that he looks forward to this or anything dark like that), and he sort of wakes up. Who knows?
Nearly the first thing he did was take a quick look at the brain. "I'll just tell you this: I don't see anything to worry about here. I'll bet the first sign I had last time was in the brain." And that is true: he totally saw something in Gee's brain before we even got to the spine. The "lemon sign" ("The lemon sign refers to an abnormally shaped fetal head seen at antenatal US performed during the second trimester...a marker for open spina bifida") is apparently quite obvious, and so was the placement of the cerebellum. So, first deep breath.
Then he went down to Ralphette's spine. She spent most of the ultrasound curled up in the fetal position (what a surprise, given her essential fetal-ness), and turning her back on us, so while everything else was hard to get at and measure, the spine was exposed in all its well-formed glory. It got to be a running joke during the scan: Jay would go to measure something or want a picture of something, and there would be Ralphette's spine again. It was like she was saying, "Here you go, Momma and Daddy. Nothing to worry about here!"
Jay counted her little back vertebrae, pointed out several times (because we saw them so often) all the correct placement and colors, and reassured us time and again that there was nothing to be concerned about. I get a little teary just thinking about it. I know that anything can happen, but to get over this hurdle has been such a relief.
Because of her contrary nature, Jay had quite the time getting al the other measurements. He'd work on her arms and hands for a little while, and then she'd pull them back behind her head. He'd try to get a look at her lips, checking for a cleft, and she'd hide behind her hands. He'd try to peek between her legs, and she was as modest as any mother of a teenage girl could want. (Not so much what the mother of the fetus, eagerly awaiting the verdict on girl or boy, wants, but still.) She'd uncross her legs, but whip that little hand down there to modestly cover all her parts. I spent most of the ultrasound convinced that we weren't going to get an answer on sex at all.
At one point, Jay thought maybe he'd gotten a glimpse, but it wasn't enough to really tell, so he moved on to the abdomen. Up till now, he'd mostly referred to the baby as it, although I was shifting between "he" and "she". At the abdomen, he referred to the baby as "he" twice. Aha! I thought to myself. He saw enough to convince him it's a boy, no big surprise there, and he slipped into using the proper pronoun. (Later, Bradley told me the same thing had occurred to him.)
But then he came back, and said, "Oh, now I've got you!" and paused the picture. There was the evidence, although (this being an ultrasound) I didn't really know what I was looking at. I thought to myself, "Well, um...is that like Em or like the others? I think it's like Em, I think, I think..." And then he said, "It's a girl!" And we cheered. Throughout the rest of the ultrasound, whenever he'd get a glimpse, he'd show us again. So, pretty dang 99% sure this one's a girlie.
I am SO excited. I love love love my boys, but, as Alicia wrote in a comment on the post announcing the sex, "Every little girl needs a sister." My sisters are so important to me, I love the idea of my Em having a sister, too.
Bradley is thrilled, too. We are excited to have broken the "Ross Curse" of so few girls, and to almost even up the Tobler side of the family, too (10 boys, 8 girls now). And all those adorable girl baby clothes...yay!!
The relief (healthy baby!) and the joy (baby girl!) are pretty strong. I've got a terrible sinus infection, and yet I've been on cloud nine all day. I feel very blessed and very lucky and very, very happy.
The Answer
Drumroll please...
Baby Ralphette is perfectly HEALTHY, perfectly beautiful, measuring a week small (consistent with the earlier ultrasound, which means (bummer) change of due date probably to beginning of August), and...
A GIRL.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we have officially broken the Ross record of only one girl per family (or less!). Bradley's oldest two siblings have one girl and three boys each, his next two sisters have one girl and four boys, and four boys, respectively, and then there was us, with one girl and three boys and a fetus. And now we know, the fetus is a GIRL.
(I have to admit: As much as I wanted a girl, I was about 60% sure that it was a boy. Just because I wanted a girl so much.)
Yay Ralphette! Welcome to the family, little sister. (Em is curiously unexcited. I think she thought this baby was a girl all along, so why are we making a big deal of it right now?)
I am so relieved that there is no sign of birth defects--the ultrasound tech knew the family history and was very thorough. He was able to reassure us right off the top that all looked well, and then he spent a lot of time measuring and rechecking, just to be positive. (Of course, anything can happen with any pregnancy, but so far really really good.)
Thanks for voting on my silly little poll, everyone. It helped distract me in the last few days of nervousness. The final results:
Baby Ralphette is perfectly HEALTHY, perfectly beautiful, measuring a week small (consistent with the earlier ultrasound, which means (bummer) change of due date probably to beginning of August), and...
A GIRL.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we have officially broken the Ross record of only one girl per family (or less!). Bradley's oldest two siblings have one girl and three boys each, his next two sisters have one girl and four boys, and four boys, respectively, and then there was us, with one girl and three boys and a fetus. And now we know, the fetus is a GIRL.
(I have to admit: As much as I wanted a girl, I was about 60% sure that it was a boy. Just because I wanted a girl so much.)
Yay Ralphette! Welcome to the family, little sister. (Em is curiously unexcited. I think she thought this baby was a girl all along, so why are we making a big deal of it right now?)
I am so relieved that there is no sign of birth defects--the ultrasound tech knew the family history and was very thorough. He was able to reassure us right off the top that all looked well, and then he spent a lot of time measuring and rechecking, just to be positive. (Of course, anything can happen with any pregnancy, but so far really really good.)
Thanks for voting on my silly little poll, everyone. It helped distract me in the last few days of nervousness. The final results:
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