Baaaaaaaa

Thanks for all your kind words yesterday--they mean the world to me. I know I will get over this in an absurdly short amount of time, given how tragic it feels right now, and I am grateful that none of you said Buck up, Buttercup! Instead, you were kind and sweet and wonderful. And I am very grateful, and feeling more than a smidgen better about it.
__________________________

Last night I took Zee and Em to their first play, ever. It was a Young Company production of "Babe, The Sheep Pig". (The Young Company is a BYU program that specializes in plays that are appropriate for elementary school age children, and performs them up and down the Wasatch Front in schools. They also have a run at the Margetts Theater in the Round at BYU, which is where we saw it.)

I was somewhat apprehensive about the play, quite aside from it being our first time in a live theater. After all, the story is about a talking pig, who is adopted by a sheep dog, and who saves himself from the frying pan by making friends with the sheep and herding them. How, exactly, does one do that on the stage?

By not trying. For one tiny scene at the beginning, the actor (dressed in old-Wales-country clothes) who played Babe used a pig puppet, and from then on, he was simply Babe. The actress who played Fly--the momma dog--was simply dressed in an old-fashioned shirt, skirt, and vest; the other actors wore similar clothing. They didn't crawl around on all fours, but so many of their mannerisms were a perfect blend of animal and personality--dog and protective, proud momma, for example, or pig and eager, anxious boy. I was amazed.

My very favorite part, however, was the way the children got to be a part of the play. The moment we walked into the theater, the interaction began. Farmer Hoggett invited Zee and Em to sit on the floor, within a taped box, right in the middle of the action. They chatted with various cast members as the theater slowly began to fill.

Then Em was asked to be a sheep in the beginning act. They took her off to the side with three other kids, put hats and vests on them, and gave them little sheep puppets to hold. When the play began, one of the actors, also a sheep, helped the "sheep dog" (another actor) herd the "sheep" around a course. The kids BAAAAAAAA'd obediently, a little shyly at first, but then with increasing enthusiasm. Then they had the kids sit back down.

Zee got to guess the weight of the pig (he guessed 10 pounds). We got to clap, and cheer, and even help Babe remember the password to let the sheep know he was their friend. (Zee and Em still remember it this morning: "I may be a ewe, I may be a ram, I may be mutton, I may be a lamb. But on the hoof or on the hook, I ain't as stupid as I look!" Apparently I remember it as well!) Throughout the play, children were picked to be puppies or more sheep. At the end, for the "Grand Finale", Zee got to be a sheep, just like Em had at the beginning. In fact, every child there got to participate.

It was remarkable how the cast incorporated these children--with no prior warning, and sometimes right in the middle of the action--into the play without disturbing the flow. They were truly expert at dealing with the situation. I was so impressed!

We had a marvelous time! The play itself was wonderfully fun, but I was blown away by how much fun my kids had, and how well they did. We capped off the evening by buying some candy at the CougarEat, and we are already planning next year's expedition. We'll get to take Gee next year, too!

MOMS Findings

Yesterday there was some very marvelous news (PDF) on the spina bifida medical front. A decade-long study shows that prenatal surgery reduces the rate of disability for children with myelomeningocele (the most serious kind of spina bifida, the kind Gee has). Children who had the prenatal surgery had less nerve damage and less need for a shunt. There was an increased risk of preterm birth, as well (unsurprisingly).

So why do I have mixed feelings about it?

We had the option of joining the study. It was completely randomized, meaning a computer randomly determined whether they did the back-closing surgery at around 22 weeks gestation or right after birth. There were several significant hurdles to participating, including the fact that only three hospitals in the US would do the surgery--and the closest one to us was in San Francisco. If I was chosen for the surgery, I would have had to fly out to California almost immediately, have the prenatal surgery, and stay out there until after the baby was born. I wouldn't be allowed to have my two older children (Zee was not yet three, and Em was only 18 months at the time) with me, and I would need to have an adult "helper" at the California hospital with me. Because it was a study, because there was no proof yet that it did any good, because it came with significant risks, because we had the other two children to consider...we choose not to participate.

And now I have regrets.

There's no way of knowing if the surgery would have made a difference for Gee. Maybe he would have had to have a shunt anyway. Maybe I wouldn't have been picked for the surgery anyway. Maybe there would have been complications. Maybe the surgery would have made it harder/riskier for me to have more children later. Maybe...

But there is a little part of me that feels guilty for not doing it anyway. Now that we know it helps, if I was presented with the same situation NOW, I would probably go for the surgery. We could have figured something out with the kids. A chance for a less-disabled life...

It's a silly emotion. We made the decision with the best knowledge we had, and we are incredibly blessed. I'm trying to accept this information happily, knowing it will make a difference for future children and parents. We can't live our lives in the past, we can only go forward.

But I am a little sad.

Rollin' rollin' rollin'...

That silly little girl. Just after I wrote a lovely little tribute post about her, she goes and rolls over for the first time* yesterday, thereby forcing me to post about my baby two days in a row!

She's sneaky like that.

Now that she has figured the trick out, Mimi rolls over from her back to her stomach a lot. And then gets ticked off, because she doesn't exactly love tummy time. She hasn't quite realized that she can roll back.

*She has rolled over before, but never all by herself and never on purpose.

Adorably Damp

I have a moist baby.

Seriously. Mimi drools SO MUCH. She can soak through a bib, a shirt, and an undershirt in less than an hour. No wonder she wants to eat all the time--she probably is dehydrated from all the SLOBBER.

Despite all that, I love this baby right down to my toes. I love her happy gurgles. I love her cheerful coos when I walk into her bedroom in the morning. I love her wiggles and leg thumps. I love her slow-motion break-dance-style back spins. I love the way she perks up when a sibling pays attention to her. I even love the way she frets when I carry her into her bedroom for a nap. (She's pretty darn smart for a baby!)

Happy almost six months, baby girlie!

Almost time for DragonTales...

It's a little lowering to realize...

...you are relieved to see that Zac and Wheezy can magically separate, so that when they are grown up they don't have to be a two-headed dragon anymore. (If you don't know who Zac and Wheezy are, congratulations.)

...you look forward to your two-year-old's turn to pick the TV show, because then you can pick "Backyardigans" for him. (As long as he doesn't override you with "Der PETS, Momma!")

...you find yourself explaining to your son that, yes, Rescue Heroes is very exciting, but you don't think they could actually stop a train from falling off a cliff with a fire truck and a few electric winches.

...you perk up when a new "Ruff Ruffman" comes on.

Send help. Or spring. Children's programming is rotting my brain.

Groundhog's Day

Phil: I'll give you a winter prediction: It's gonna be cold, it's gonna be grey, and it's gonna last you for the rest of your life.

I am Cursed

When Em started kindergarten, I signed up to become a mother helper once a month. My friend and I arranged to swap babysitting once a month, so we could both go in and volunteer for our kids' teachers. In September, Em's teacher sent home a schedule--I was supposed to come in from 9-9:30 on the first Tuesday of the month. No problem!

Except the first Tuesday in October we were out of town, in Durango. I let her teacher know, and all was well. In November I went in and had a great time, helping the kids journal about Halloween in Writers' Workshop.

The first Tuesday in December, Hebs' broken leg was still uncasted, in the splint. I didn't leave him with anyone that week, so I had to cancel.

The first Tuesday in January, my car wouldn't start.

This Tuesday I thought I had under complete control. Then on Saturday my friend had to cancel babysitting. On Sunday I found another babysitter. She called me this morning at 7:15, with the sad news that her three-year-old has a raging fever.

For a couple of minutes, I contemplated giving up. Obviously, I wasn't meant to be a mother helper this year in kindergarten.

But then I rallied. Nothing was going to stop me from being a mother helper today! I made several phone calls--person A was already babysitting three extra children. Person B had an exercise class with person C. Person D had an appointment. And then--just as I was losing faith in all humanity, at least as relates to mother-helper-ing--person E, nine months pregnant, said she could watch Hebs and Mimi.

And the clouds parted and the sun shone and probably little birdies were singing.

Thank you, Lindsay. You saved my bacon, my faith, my day, and my daughter's morning. You rock.