Beginnings

2016: Year in Review

2018-05-06T16:48:00.001-05:00

I wrote this in January of 2017. I remember having Jay read through it, and his response was, "Well, it's honest." 2016 was a difficult year but a beautiful one, too. Pretty much my only accomplishment was gestating a human which, while it's special and a big deal and yada yada, is somewhat miserable and robs productivity from every other part of life.

I never posted it because I never felt it was "done," but here we are. All pictures taken March 2017 by Katie Harris of The Jadeite Shutter.

One year and one week ago, I was celebrating New Year's in Texas, feeling queasy and wondering why I wasn't getting better. One year ago this week, I finally thought to take a pregnancy test.

I stared at the positive result for a long time.

2016 was the Year of Drew. Pregnancy was much more difficult for me this time around, and while the work was ultimately worth it, it was hard on all of us. I'm not a good mom (or wife) when I'm pregnant, and the four of us bobbed along in survival mode for at least 11 of the past 12 months.

We learned to be okay with bare minimums. Things I'd been on top of after our move in 2015--cooking and taking the girls on outings and running errands and keeping things relatively clean--fell completely apart. Jay and I have a pretty egalitarian marriage, but he went from pulling his own weight to pulling his and mine, and it was taxing for both of us. He didn't complain, and we ate a lot of pizza and Cafe Rio on the nights Jay was too tired to cook.

At the end of 2015, Jayne, to me, was perfect and adorable and could do no wrong. I couldn't get enough of her. I still have so much guilt about this, but once I got pregnant, everything about her grossed me out. Her smell, her runny nose, her messy face and hands after eating, her constant need to be snuggled up and pressed against me. The only times I dry heaved and threw up were when I changed her diapers. I recognized the shift and felt awful about it and tried to compensate in other ways. A month or so after Drew was born, Jayne was once again the most adorable child in the world to me. She bullies Kate sometimes and throws fits like any other kid, but she is precocious and seriously the cutest kid you will ever meet. Her laugh is infectious.

Kate took the brunt of my lack of patience but loved me through it anyway. She was helpful and the best big sister to Jaynie. Kate would get up before me and play by herself until she heard Jayne wake up. She'd come to me and whisper, "Mom, can I go play with Jayne? She's awake; I heard her." And I'd grunt unintelligibly and she'd say "Can I, Mom?" until I could form a distinct "yes." Then she'd go in Jayne's room (they'd both usually squeal in joy to see each other), climb into her crib, and they'd play. Often, Kate would bring toys and books and pile them in Jayne's crib. Sometimes, Kate would drag a stool around in the kitchen downstairs and find food and bring it up to Jayne and they'd sit in the crib together, eating their clandestine snacks. I'd get to steal another 30+ minutes of sleep because the girls were such good little friends. I couldn't have made it through this pregnancy without Kate.

Time felt warped in 2016. I never did feel ready or adjusted to the idea of having a baby, but Drew came all the same. I remember after Kate was born, every week felt like a month and I noticed every little change. I could tell you how many weeks old she was up to twelve weeks and beyond. Time with Drew has been slippery. It's been harder to appreciate all his little milestones, and he's suddenly four months old and I don't know how it happened. He sleeps through the night on the regular now which means I'm slowly feeling more functional. His sisters dote on him. I take a moment every day to make sure we stare into each other's eyes and smile while he coos at me.

I feel lucky every day that I married Jay. He is my favorite, my anchor, my perfect match. I trust him with my whole self. The years we have babies are never easiest on our marriage, but even during the harder years, we're so happy to have each other.

Here are some milestones, events, and accomplishments from this year:

We paid off our student loans in November, which is a huge achievement and something we've been working toward for the past several years.
We went on a trip to NYC with our kids!
We've owned our own business for two years next month and have experienced modest but steady growth both years.
We tackled our first home renovation project due to a water leak (and by tackled, I mean we hired a contractor). We have a new dining room ceiling, and both of our upstairs bathrooms have tile now instead of laminate, and they look great.
We've been in our home for over a year, and we love having space!
Kate finished preschool and started pre-K two days a week.
I wrote and put together our church's musical Christmas program.
We visited Jay's sister Amy in L.A., went to the Boulder and Brian Head cabins, visited Jay's parents in Dallas, took many weekend trips to visit my family in St. George, and hosted many family and friends in our home.
Kate turned 4 and Jayne turned 2.
I voted for a democratic presidential nominee for the first time ever and cried when she lost to someone who, to me, embodies the worst aspects of humanity.
We tried our hands at a "real" garden this year and had some successes and some epic fails. The girls ate cherry tomatoes off the vines like candy. The peppers didn't produce until late fall, the zucchini plants didn't produce and died early, and the larger tomatoes produced, but not like we envisioned. We're excited to try again this year.
We ate fruit off our fruit trees this year and were so, so pleased at how amazing our peaches were--three of the trees were heavy laden with fruit. We only got about 20 apricots off one of our apricot trees and none off the other, but they were tasty. The pomegranates and grapes didn't really produce, and we only got one tiny lime off our new lime tree, but we have an abundance of lemons this winter.

Two Years Later: The Exclusion Policy

2017-11-13T16:40:00.000-06:00

Believe it or not, I hate writing about religion on my own blog. The cost is just too high. But every time I do, someone (often, multiple someones) reaches out to me. "I thought I was the only one who felt this way," they might say. "I don't have anyone else I can talk to about this." So here's my PSA: if you need someone to talk to about church stuff, I will listen without pushing an agenda and without judging you. Your confidence is safe with me.

Two years ago this month, my church's new policy regarding LGBT families was leaked. In essence, it says that same sex couples who marry are apostates and must be subjected to a church disciplinary hearing. It further states that the children of homosexual parent[s] in a same-sex relationship (or even who were previously in a same-sex relationship) cannot be baptized, cannot be ordained to the priesthood (just boys--girls aren't ordained), until they are 18 and "specifically disavow the practice of same-gender cohabitation and marriage." These children are also not permitted to receive a baby blessing (the Mormon equivalent of a Christening).

I stand behind what I wrote here one year ago: I think this policy is deeply harmful, needlessly inflexible, and fundamentally unchristian.

Why am I writing this? Because this policy is so obviously wrong. Because silence feels complicit. Because I don't want people to forget. The policy may not be making headlines anymore, but it's still affecting lives and harming families.

I'm straight, and most of my LDS friends and family are, too, so this policy doesn't affect me on a deep personal level. Here are the words of an acquaintance of mine that poignantly express his experience:

"Pain. November 5, 2015. It's still there everyday, even after two years of settling in with "The Policy" and working on healing within my LGBTQ community of Affirmation. Perhaps I'm more resolute and not expecting any changes anytime soon, but the pain and devastation I see still goes on in my circles. It's like a bad dream playing out and not getting resolved or getting any better. How to deal with the grief I feel of being part of the tremendous loss of human resource the church has experienced and continues to lose among LGBTQ Mormons, their friends and families. I'm sad because I loved and contributed to the Church for over 40 years of my life and it was a huge part of my identity. Now my life has become that of Mormon Refugee. I still attend occasionally, but my whole experience has changed, and feels surreal. I'm definitely one of those coals taken out of the fire, set on the hearth and am feeling the effects of cooling. And yet my deep love of the gospel still remains. Perhaps the pain will go away? I don't know."

I feel his sense of loss, of pain, of bewilderment, of resignation. It shouldn't be this way. It doesn't have to be this way.

I don't have any local or general administrative authority in my church with which to effect change. But I can raise awareness, model empathy, and sit with the marginalized. This post is one small attempt to do just that.

Vegas Strong

2017-10-07T21:26:00.000-05:00

I'd never donated blood before (for various health and/or convenience reasons). But then my city was viciously attacked. I felt helpless. Useless. My feelings surrounding this tragedy are complicated: I was not harmed; my loved ones were not harmed; I don't feel anxious about my safety. But this loss feels so personal: I was just on the strip for a concert a week previous; I or my children have been admitted to three hospitals here over the years, and all three (plus others I've visited) took in victims; the gunman is from a sleepy town 45 minutes away from where I grew up; I personally know people who were there and who are in mental and spiritual anguish. When it comes to traumatic events like this, we all feel the horror of it whether we live close by or halfway around the world, but the setting of this one is the setting of my daily life. I haven't gone to the strip much in the five years I've lived here, but I see its skyline often in the distance on my drives around town. I have a perverse sort of affection for it and its blatant excesses (like, thanks to drunk tourists, I don't have to pay state income tax! But I digress...). Vegas, for better or for worse, is my home.

So on Monday morning, shaky with shock but determined, my friend and I drove around for an hour to try and find a place to donate blood. At the largest location, traffic was at a standstill as people tried to find parking and join the throng of willing donors. The line weaved around the parking lot of the blood services center, around the parking lot of an apartment complex, and down the sidewalk of the city block. We then drove to a mobile unit by the level one trauma hospital, and though there were fewer people, they turned us away. We looked almost jealously at people with telltale gauze bandages around their elbows.

But people weren't just donating blood. I saw many creative ways people reached out to help. People offered childcare so I and others could serve. While we were at the mobile blood unit, we saw large SUVs full of food and water drop off supplies. Massage therapists set up massage chairs and offered their services to people waiting; as we watched, an exhausted looking policeman gratefully accepted an offer for a massage. My facebook blew up with professionals offering free services to those affected: counselors offering therapy, lawyers offering probate services, surgeons offering hand care, airlines offering flights, hotels offering rooms, restaurants offering food. In five days, people from Vegas and across the world raised over ten million dollars for the victims. The police stations and the American Red Cross became so inundated with donations they had to stop accepting them and redirected donors to Catholic Charities and Three Square.

Telling my children what had happened was difficult, but I didn't want Kate to hear about it at school. The next day, I took her to the end of a candlelight vigil after her music class. We stood and listened to the music and watched the lighting of candles for a few minutes.

"Mom, why are we here?" she asked.

"Because when people are hurting, we show up," I said. "We do what we can to help them know that we care and that they are not alone."

A couple days ago, another friend and I bought a bunch of bagels, snacks, and drinks (partially subsidized by a faraway friend who wanted to give something) and dropped them off at a local fire station (where I got to thank a fireman who was on duty when my neighbor's house burned down), tried to drop some off at a police station but were kindly turned away because they were already overwhelmed with donations from the community, and dropped off the rest at the mobile blood donation unit across the street from University Medical Center. (We'd wanted to drop them off at UMC for the doctors and nurses working overtime, but the area was blockaded because President Trump was visiting victims in the hospital.)

I have really tried recently to serve people in the way they want to be served, not in the way that I might want to serve them, but when the need isn't clearly defined, sometimes you have to make the choice between potentially self-serving service and not serving at all.

I had tried to make an appointment to donate blood, but every location was completely booked out at least 2-3 weeks. When we dropped off supplies at the mobile donation unit, however, they said there was only about an hour wait for walk ins, and they allowed me to sign up for an appointment for later in the day.

I was a little bit nervous, honestly, because my veins are really small, but I drank ridiculous amounts of water beforehand, and it all worked out. My flow apparently had some stops and slows at the end, but with a little babysitting of my line, we got the job done. I was once again grateful that I'm not squeamish around needles. And I know it's stupid, but I felt like a freaking superhero. I was ridiculously proud of my body for being able to bleed for others. It felt like I was actually doing something.

I feel weird about writing all this publicly. I've done other things--some probably helpful, some probably not. I just wanted to try and capture how it feels to be here, to capture the disconcerting juxtaposition of normal daily routines and a pervading sense of uneasy impotence, to capture what it's like to be so close to ground zero for a tragedy. There will still be much to do in the coming days and weeks, and I hope all of us, me included, can remember feeling this intense drive to help wherever needed.

I've heard a lot of talk about God in the aftermath of this and other tragedies. Personally, I don't see God in the event, either in who survived or in who died or was injured. I can't get behind the idea of a capricious God who spares some but not others. I have seen God, however, in the people helping others to safety, in the actions of first responders and medical personnel, and in everyone trying to help in all the spheres they can. I see God in people, and in the goodness of people, God is magnificent.

Drew: A Birth Story, Part IV

2017-09-07T12:32:00.000-05:00

It's become a tradition for me to publish my babies' birth stories on their first birthdays. I'm an all-the-gory-details kind of writer, so feel free to skip this series if words like "placenta" aren't your jam. I've broken this into four parts, and I'll be posting them over the next few days.

Part I
Part II
Part III

My mom drove down to Las Vegas once she finished work for the day and took over watching the girls from Marlene and Emily. Since it was so late by the time we were ready for visitors, we had her leave the girls home and come by the hospital on her own. I tried to call several friends who'd offered help to ask if they'd watch the girls so my mom could come by, but I couldn't catch anyone on the phone. Jay finally called one of his employees, and she was kind enough to help out.

Kate and Jayne were so excited to meet their brother the next morning. Seeing them interact with each other and with him is a family highlight I'll treasure. Jaynie reached out her little hands for the baby, but once he was in her lap, she retracted her arms and refused to touch him. Kate brought a little toy for him and tried to play with her new brother.

I spent two nights in the hospital when I had Kate and just 24 hours when I had Jayne. I loved that I got to come home quickly the second time since I wasn't scared to death of my new baby like I'd been the first time around. With Drew, I felt like I had the newborn thing pretty well under control and was ready to get out of there, but we had to stay in the hospital for two days because I'd tested positive for group B strep.

Jay stayed with me for most of the day Wednesday. That night, the hospital provided a fancy celebration dinner in our room. I was freshly showered, wearing my own pajamas, and feeling pretty good, so it felt like we were on a date.

That night, Drew would not sleep. He would nurse, doze off, and wake up screaming five minutes after I'd put him down.

I'd promised myself that I'd be a more chill mom the third time around. That if nursing wasn't working for me, I'd switch to (or supplement with) formula. I had to put that to the test just 24 hours in. It caused me a bit of angst, but we called in the nurse and she provided us with 30 mLs of formula. Drew sucked it right down, had a good burp, and finally slept.

Jay went back to work Thursday (#businessowners), so I was alone with Drew in the hospital. My mom had taken the girls to St. George, and I was getting so antsy to get home. We were finally released from the hospital that afternoon.

Drew joining our family was unexpected. I did not feel ready to have another child so soon, and I especially was worried about having a son. Generally speaking, I tend to interact better with young girl children than young boy children, and I was afraid it would be hard for me to love a son like I'd loved my daughters.

There is something about a helpless baby, though, that is impossible to resist, and Drew snuggled his way into our hearts. From the moment he was born, there was no question that he was known and loved. All of my months long denial hardened into resolve, and I have loved my boy fiercely ever since.

Drew: A Birth Story, Part III

2017-08-25T19:24:00.002-05:00

Part I
Part II
Part IV

*

Jen, my seriously awesome nurse, pulled some strings and got me upgraded from my cramped, ugly, out-of-the-way hospital room to a seriously spacious and beautifully decorated corner suite.

Hunger began to gnaw at my insides around 2:00, despite my sneaking occasional snacks from Jay. I finally told Jen about my deal with my doctor and asked if she would be comfortable bringing me food and a drink of water. I was already on pitocin, my contractions gaining strength and speed at 2-3 minutes apart, so I was nervous she'd say no, but she brought me snacks and water refills without complaint or censure.

"Your doctor said you can have an epidural after you're dilated to a four," she said. "You're still at a three, though your cervix is thinning out considerably. I'm going to increase the pitocin a bit, and I'll check you in a couple hours."

The contractions grew stronger, and I finally started to feel them in my back and thighs. We turned on the TV and watched Everybody Loves Raymond reruns. I'd never watched that show before, but it helped distract me a little from my growing discomfort. By 4:00, I clenched my eyes shut and focused on breathing through each contraction, releasing each breath with a series of blows.

The baby was so active the entire time I was in labor that Jen was having a hard time keeping him on the monitor. I had nurses coming in my room several times an hour to adjust the sensors on my stomach, sometimes staying and fiddling with them for 20-30 minutes as Drew performed acrobatics inside of me.

At 4:30, Jen came in and checked me again.

"You're at a four," she said. "You can have an epidural now. Do you want me to get the anesthesiologist?"

I was hesitant. I didn't want the epidural to slow me down, and the pain was still manageable. Jen understood.

"You can wait as long as you want, but the anesthesiologist has a C-section at 6:00 and won't be available again until 7:00. If you want the epidural before that, you'll need to have it done by 5:30."

I was okay with waiting the hour to see how things progressed, but at that moment, as Jen turned to talk to a nurse who had just walked into the room, the baby gave an almighty thrash. There was an audible pop and a gush, and I yelped.

"Something just happened," I said to the startled nurses. The feeling was so intense and so weird that I couldn't immediately put words to it.

"Your water broke?" Jen asked, then confirmed. "I think I'd better get the ball rolling on this epidural right now; what do you think?"

I agreed, knowing how much more painful and accelerated labor would soon become.

The anesthesiologist had me lie on my side while he did his work. He was kind and talked me through it all. I hate getting epidurals--to me, it's the worst part of the labor process. The painful discomfort of it feels wrong somehow; the heavy pressure on the nerves in my lower half as the anesthetic is injected is unnatural.

I'd told him that my last epidural hadn't been strong enough, but I wish I hadn't because he gave me a high enough dose that after 15 minutes, I couldn't feel anything below my chest.

Jen checked me again as the epidural began to take hold. "You're at an 8," she said. "I'm going to call your doctor and tell him to get over here."

It was an eerie feeling, knowing that my body was laboring but being so detached from it. With both of my previous epidurals, I'd still felt the hard contracting in my abdomen enough to know when to push.

I was at a 10 as my doctor came in and gowned up. "I know you can't feel anything," he said. "Let's try a couple practice pushes, and then we can wait until some of the numbness wears off."

Jay and the new nurse (Jen had just left) held my legs. They may as well have been someone else's legs for all I could feel. My previous deliveries, I'd been able to wiggle my feet and even move my legs, but not this time.

"You're having a contraction," the doctor said. "Go ahead and push."

And I tried, but I felt nothing: no tightening of my abdominal wall, no clenching of my diaphragm. "Am I even doing it?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "Keep going."

In the middle of the third contraction, he told me to stop pushing. "Do you want to feel your baby's head?" he asked.

I was surprised--I hadn't realized I was almost done. I'd refused the offer in my previous deliveries: with Kate it was too weird, and with Jayne I'd been in too much pain. This time, I reached down and felt, to my shock, not the tip of the baby's crowning scalp, but his whole head. It was surreal.

One more contraction and push, and Drew was born. They plopped him on my chest, Jay cut the cord, and my baby started squalling. He calmed after he warmed up, his skin pressed against mine.

The doctor delivered the placenta ("I think this is one of the biggest I've ever seen! It's enormous!") and showed it to me and Jay. I got one stitch--my first ever--and watched as Drew weighed in at nine pounds even.

Drew: A Birth Story, Part II

2017-08-24T22:31:00.001-05:00

Part I
Part III

Part IV

Jay's awesome aunt and cousin offered to stay with our girls for the day until my mom could get there that evening, so after eating one last meal and packing a bag, I drove myself to the hospital around 10:30.

I checked into Labor and Delivery at Mountainview Hospital. My nurse, Jen, led me to what has to be the redheaded stepchild of delivery rooms--it was small and cramped. I changed into an ugly hospital gown (there's no such thing as a "cute" hospital gown, but these garishly pink tent-like monstrosities with awkward cutouts for breastfeeding deserve the qualifier "ugly." For any of you entrepreneurial types out there, consider designing a line of, if not cute, at least inoffensive maternity gowns), filled out a bunch of paperwork, and then lay back uncomfortably as Jen checked me to see if this was the real deal or not.

"I'm keeping you!" she said. "There's fluid pooling, so your waters definitely ruptured. You're dilated to a three, but your baby is high and you're not very effaced. Your contractions are six minutes apart. If they don't start picking up soon, we'll start you on pitocin."

I'm convinced shock is a denial hangover. I was suddenly glad I'd packed my hospital bags, though I'd left everything in the car.

Jen got my IV started (one of my least favorite parts of this whole process--that catheter hurts like hell the whole time it's in) and began the antibiotic drip. At one point, she increased the dosage concentration, and my whole arm seized up in pain. It was agonizing for a couple minutes until she adjusted the dosage again.

The hospital's laborist came in to do a quick ultrasound to make sure the baby was head-down since he was so high up Jen couldn't tell. The quirky doctor confirmed the baby was in position. "Do you have an estimate of how big he is?" I asked. I hadn't had a late-term ultrasound this time, so I wasn't sure what to expect.

The doctor placed his hands on my abdomen and kneaded around the baby. "Nine or ten pounds," he said, and I couldn't tell if he was joking.

"You really think so?" I asked.

"Ten percent chance he's over ten pounds," he said as he backed out of the room with the ultrasound machine. "One percent chance he's less than nine."

"So..." said Jen, "Do you have anyone coming to be with you?"

I told her Jay would arrive around noon, and he did, snacks in hand.

*

I wrote out a birth plan before this delivery, the first time I've done so. I reviewed it with my doctor at my last appointment, and he was on board with all of my requests except for my desire to eat and drink during labor, at least until I received an epidural.

"I'll give you ice chips and IV fluids with electrolytes," he said.

One of my biggest anxieties about delivery is not being allowed to eat or drink if I'm hungry or thirsty. I know that seems like a trivial thing to get worked up about, but how on earth am I supposed to summon the energy to birth a baby if I'm shaking from hunger or dry mouthed with thirst? I explained this to my doctor and acknowledged that I doubted it would even be an issue since I was planning on laboring at home as long as I could and expected a relatively short labor, but I still needed to know I had the option to eat if needed.

He finally said that he couldn't give me permission to eat or drink for liability reasons, but that if I was willing to assume the risks, he wouldn't stop me.

I happily assumed all risks.

Drew: A Birth Story, Part I

2017-08-23T21:57:00.000-05:00

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Kate's birth story
Jayne's birth story

When we told my parents way back in January that we were expecting a baby and the due date was August 26, my mom said, "I know exactly when you're going to have that baby: August 23, because that's when classes start and the one day I can't come."

*

In my previous pregnancies, no matter how anxious or unprepared I felt in the lead-up to birth, I hit a point around 38 weeks where "better in than out" became "anything is better than this--better out than in!"

I never hit that psychological wall this time around. Every week brought a level-up of pain and discomfort, but I still didn't feel ready. I was anxious about birth--anxious about having a newborn--anxious about not having everything ready.

When my OB checked me for the first time at my last appointment--one day shy of 39 weeks--he sounded almost disappointed that I was only dilated one centimeter and not effaced at all. "I can't even feel the baby's head," he said. "He's way high up in there."

So we talked about potential induction dates "just in case" and agreed on Wednesday, August 31st--five days past my due date.

*

My only real goal with my delivery date was to not have this baby on Jayne's birthday--I didn't want them to have to share. When her August 19th birthday came and went with no baby, I felt a sense of relief.

*

Monday, August 22, was rough. I felt out of sorts and uncomfortable and anxious. We went to Costco that night, and as we walked, I had strong contractions. Not labor contractions, but intense abdominal clenchings that were difficult to walk through.

As we stood in the checkout line, a woman went out of her way to approach me.

"You're totally having twins," she said. "Aren't you." It wasn't a question. Certainty was written on her face.

"Uh," I said, and I adopted my cheerful honesty voice, the one I use every time someone puts their foot in their mouth when they comment on my body, "Nope. Just one."

The woman looked a bit shocked--she had been so sure--and tried to backpedal. "Oh! It's just that I looked exactly like that when I was pregnant with my twins."

I gave her a half-smile. "I was even bigger with my last one."

She clearly had no idea how to respond and slowly backed away.

I slept fitfully that night. Every positional shift brought short, gasping breaths as I tried to manage both my bulk and my pain. I woke up at 2:30 in the morning to the sensation of small, wet gushes. The feeling and the volume was pretty much identical to what happened when I went into labor with Jayne. I was group B strep positive this time, so I knew if my water broke I needed to go to the hospital relatively soon so I could get started on antibiotics, but I was hesitant because when I'd gone in with Jayne, they'd sent me home and said my water hadn't actually broken.

I went back to bed with some mild nausea and a strong sense of denial.

*

"Denial" is the word that best sums up this pregnancy:

I dealt with flu-like symptoms for over two weeks before I even considered I could be pregnant.

I couldn't believe we were having a boy.

I didn't think the day would come when I'd ever actually give birth, or that if it did, I'd at least feel ready.

And in the wee morning hours on August 23, still three days before my due date, I knew I couldn't possibly be in labor. I was certain I'd have more time.

Denial.

I lay in bed with Jay and insomnia, my other frequent nighttime companion, for about an hour before drifting back to sleep. I got up again around 4:00 with another bathroom urge and a tiny bit more fluid.

"Do you think you're in labor?" Jay asked.

"No," I said. "I don't think so." And both of us slept just a little bit more before we got up around 6:00.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked. "Should I cancel my patients?"

"I don't know," I said. "I don't feel like I'm in labor, but clearly something is happening: I can't sleep, I'm losing small quantities of fluid, and I feel restless and strange. My contractions aren't super regular, and I don't feel them in my back or my thighs like I normally do when I'm in labor."

We'd had this same conversation at least four times since 4:00. We'd have it at least another three before Jay left for work.

I couldn't tell him to cancel his patients for a baby that may or may not arrive that day. It was a lot of pressure, and I didn't feel like I could make that call without knowing for sure that I was in labor. So Jay left for work at 7:15, and I timed my contractions and took a shower and finally called my doctor's office at 8:30. The nurse urged me to go to the hospital to be checked, just in case. I finally told Jay to cancel his afternoon.

Kate Goes to School

2017-08-14T16:49:00.001-05:00

{First day of Kindergarten, just a couple weeks shy of five and a half years old}

I have some authority and control issues. I know this about myself. And when I found out two years ago that the Nevada legislature had mandated full-day kindergarten, I was irate. Not that I have anything against full-day kindergarten: I think there are some kids who need it and some parents who want it, so I believe everyone should have the option to choose which option works best for them. But Kate doesn't need it academically, and I didn't want her to be away from me for an extra four hours a day when it wasn't necessary, so over the past year I have called dozens of charter and private schools and spent many hours trying to find a place that would allow Kate to do half day kinder.

{Kate wanted her hair in one braid "like Elsa," so I tried my hand at a little french braid. I had flashbacks to living with my cousins in fifth grade when we all got our hair tightly braided most mornings. You can't see it, but she has a batman lunchbox in her backpack. She likes what she likes, and I love it.}

And I found one: the perfect private school. It felt like an amazing fit and meshed with all my educational philosophies (can I just get an "amen" for how crazy it is that public schools are forced to follow protocols (for testing, recess, homework, etc.) that, in many cases, aren't evidence-based and actually go against what research recommends?). But in the end, I couldn't justify it. Because I think Kate will be okay in full-day, even if it's not ideal, and I think it will be fun for her to be in the same school with the kids in our neighborhood. Plus, she got a fantastic teacher, and one of her best buds is in her class.

Kate has been so excited. Last week she was a little nervous, but after we met her teacher at back to school night, I asked her how she was feeling about going to kindergarten. "I'm feeling wonderful!" she said.

{Jayne wanted to be in the picture, too. Not sure what she's going to do with herself while Kate's at school--they are the best little friends.}

I took her school shopping last week and let her try on clothes in the dressing room for the first time. She likes her two outfits so much that she told me her wardrobe plan for the school year: "I'll wear this dress today, and that outfit tomorrow, and then this dress again (you can wash it while I'm at school, Mom), and then that outfit again, and then this dress again. Like a pattern." #trendsetter

This morning we were a bit late getting out the door (gotta take those first day pictures), and she said, "Mom, I hope we're not late. I don't want to miss anything." It was adorable. We made it just in time to line up with her class. She was so excited to troop into her classroom that we just had time for the briefest goodbye.

Kate is friendly, social, and bright. She can write all her uppercase letters and is sounding out basic short words. Her drawings are getting more creative and decipherable. She's articulate and fun, has a great imagination and can entertain herself for hours. We're so excited to see the progress she makes this year.

In Which I'm Thankful for Firefighters

2017-07-24T00:58:00.002-05:00

Today, our neighbor's house caught fire when a barbecue exploded next to her house. Flames traveled up a vent and spread to the attic. We had no idea anything was wrong until we were loading the kids in the car to go to Jay's aunt's house for Sunday dinner and saw the firetrucks. As we watched, thick yellow smoke began billowing from the house and more and more firetrucks raced, sirens blaring, up our street.

Our house is literally ten feet away from our neighbor's and isn't separated by anything but a spit of gravel that runs nearly the whole length of our houses. From the backyard, we saw firefighters battling flames on the roof. The winds shifted slightly, and our yard filled with acrid smoke. After a brief consult with the fire captain, we decided to leave as we'd planned so we could escape the smoke. He told us they hoped to have the blaze under control soon.

It was eerie to run through the house as the kids waited in the car. It felt like a dream where an impending threat draws nearer and time moves in slow motion. If you had five minutes to leave your house for what could be the last time, what would you save? What would you do?

Turns out I get panicky when there's a crisis, so my thoughts weren't the clearest, but I changed from my dress into jeans and a shirt. I grabbed my wallet, laptop, camera bag, and the girls' monkey and leopard comfort objects. Jay grabbed a file of our important papers. I unlocked the doors in case the firefighters needed access. And then we left.

(If I could do it again? I'd have moved Jay's car out of the garage and parked it down the street and grabbed a change of clothes for the kids and work clothes for Jay. Maybe the quilts I made and a box of my journals if felt the need for more. But everything else seemed replaceable.)

We squeezed the minivan between the two firetrucks blocking our driveway and counted eight firetrucks on the scene as we drove away.

We had our car, we had our kids, we had each other. "We have what matters," Jay said. And he was right, but I was still afraid. The thought of "home" didn't feel safe at the moment, and I wasn't sure how to handle the insecurity.

Kate said a prayer on our drive, and though I felt agitated during dinner, several neighbors texted awhile later letting us know the flames had subsided and our house was safe.

I feel so grateful to the firefighters who put their safety on the line to protect our neighborhood in general and my home in particular (three were actually injured on the job). My neighbor's house sustained an estimated $300K in damage. She has been in our thoughts; I can't imagine the grief and shock she's experiencing. My relief that our house was spared is tempered by the knowledge that hers was not.

-------------------------------

In other news, Drewby is 11 months old today, and this is the only picture I took:

He is the sweetest, happiest little nugget. We love him dearly.

Kate Turns Five

2017-03-01T16:29:00.000-06:00

Kate had her fifth birthday last month. I can't believe it's already been five years since she joined our family.

She wanted to celebrate her birthday by playing in the snow, so we went up to the cabin for the weekend. She loved being outside in the frigid temps and happily made snow angels and clambered up snow piles.

Jay sledded down the hill with Kate, which she liked, and helped her trek back up the hill, which she didn't like as much.

Jay let Kate pick out her birthday cake mix and frosting at the store: funfetti cake and super-pink frosting with pink sprinkles.

Everyone cringed at the finished product; the frosting was so lurid that several of us didn't even try a piece (these pictures don't do it justice). Even Kate had just one bite of cake and then ate around the rest of it to finish her ice cream.

{I have no idea what is up with Jayne's face in this picture. There were three other similar pictures, and she looked the same in all of them, so it's not like I caught her mid-blink.}

The next morning, my brother Steve looked at the barely touched cake still sitting on the counter and said, "Is it just me, or did that thing get pinker overnight?"

Drew got really excited about Kate's presents and wrapping paper.

He scrunched the paper and tried to eat Kate's presents. Typical.

And check out Jayne. I don't think I've ever seen a cuter snow-suited-up kid.

She went sledding with her daddy and loved it.

Within a five day period, Jayne turned two and a half, Drew turned six months, and Kate turned 5. It was a week of age milestones.

On Kate's actual birthday several days later, we had a very small gathering of some of her friends.

Event planning gives me hives, so I was hoping to not have to do a friend party for another year or two, but Jay promised her one, so I threw something together.

It was super casual and chaotic, but Kate seemed to have a great time. Ultimately, it was a pleasure to do something for her because she was so grateful and pleased with everything.

She said she wanted chocolate cupcakes with yellow frosting. I borrowed a friend's frosting bags/tips and piped some frosting for the first time in my life. It was far from professional, but Kate looked at the finished product and said, "Mom, these look perfect! This is exactly what I wanted!" My party-Grinch heart may have grown three sizes that day.

Drew's double chin is everything.

Happy birthday, dear Kate!

One Year Later: The Exclusion Policy

2016-11-05T18:19:00.000-05:00

One year ago today, my church's new policy regarding LGBT families was leaked. In essence, it says that same sex couples who marry are apostates and must be subjected to a church disciplinary hearing. It further states that the children of homosexual parent[s] in a same-sex relationship (or even who were previously in a same-sex relationship) cannot be baptized, cannot be ordained to the priesthood (just boys, obvs--girls aren't ordained), until they are 18 and "specifically disavow the practice of same-gender cohabitation and marriage." These children are also not permitted to receive a name and a baby blessing (the Mormon equivalent of a Christening).

I cringed even just typing that out; it's so embarrassingly draconian. I remember the night of November 5th a year ago: an article about the leaked policy popped up on Facebook and I read it to Jay as we drove to Costco. I was shocked, disbelieving. In the weeks and months since, I spent hours upon hours reading articles, listening to podcasts, and trying to understand. While I feel I've been able to grasp the apologetics and reasons behind this policy, the fact remains that the gut-punch sensation I felt when I first read it has never gone away.

I'm not looking to have a discussion about the ins and outs of the policy. I don't feel qualified to say too much about its effects because it hasn't affected me directly. But I will say that I think it is deeply harmful, needlessly inflexible, and fundamentally unchristian, and I do not condone, agree with, or support it.

As I've looked into some of the sketchy parts of church history, I have viewed controversial (and now repudiated) quotes and practices through the lens that these early church leaders were products of their time. Indeed, the church itself acknowledges this in regards to the former priesthood/temple ban for black members, among other things. Looking at our current leaders through the same lens, however--that they are men influenced by their culture and preconceived notions about the world--seems to be discouraged. Yes, I believe in revelation. I even believe in a living prophet. But I don't believe in infallibility. I think the church can (and does) make mistakes. I believe this policy is one of them.

In the past, I turned my moral authority over to the leaders of my church: "If the prophet/apostles say it, it must be right." If I did question, I did it under the assumption that I was the one in the wrong. It was easy, in a way, to let the church decide things for me: what God wanted me to do, what my stance was on select political issues, what is right and what is wrong. And while I do still align with the church on many issues, I don't take it for granted anymore that they're always right, especially if it doesn't feel right to me.

I've reclaimed my moral authority, and I am at peace.

Happy Birthday, Drew

2016-09-14T00:15:00.000-05:00

Andrew Jayson

Born Tuesday, August 23, 2016 at 7:22 PM

9 lbs, 21 inches long

Kate calls him "The Baby Brother." As in, "Can I hold the baby brother?" She and Jayne both love helping with anything he needs. Currently, Drew's "bed" is a swing just outside our bedroom, and sometimes when I'm sleeping in the morning or taking a nap, Drew will wake up and start to fuss. I often hear Kate's sweet little voice talking to him, followed by silence from Drew. When I get up, Drew is asleep, covered by a fresh blanket, sucking on a pacifier. The small ottoman is pulled over close to the baby swing, and I know Kate sat there, offering the pacifier and watching her brother until he fell asleep.

Jayne calls him "Baby Jew." She loves touching him: "Can I touch a head? Can I touch a ear? Can I touch a hand?"

Jay was talking to a friend and said, "I'm not going to lie: it's pretty great to have a son."

As for me, I'm just trying to memorize the heavy weight of him curled up on my chest, his small, downy head cradled against my neck, his whole hand clenched around my finger.

And Drew? He really is a little sweetheart: snuggly, easily calmed, and a good sleeper. His skin is covered in peach fuzz and his hair is strawberry blonde. He has scrawny little legs, a flat tush, and a double chin. He's three weeks old today, and it feels like he's been here forever. We love our little guy.

The Ghost of Eternal Polygamy: A Review

2016-08-11T00:54:00.000-05:00

I recently read The Ghost of Eternal Polygamy: Haunting the Hearts and Heaven of Mormon Women and Men by Carol Lynn Pearson, and a couple of friends expressed interest and asked me to let them know what I thought of it. I'm not much of one for writing coherent reviews, but I will record some of my thoughts because this topic, and this book, are important.

In full disclosure: I do not believe polygamy is or ever was ordained, sanctioned, or commanded by God. It's taken me years to come to that conclusion, and I won't go into my reasons here (there are a great many). Carol Lynn Pearson shares this view, and this book is written through that lens. However, she never criticizes or condemns anyone, past or present, who may feel differently, and she treats historical figures (particularly Joseph Smith) with compassion and respect. This is not an angry book or an expose of the salacious details of polygamy, though you may feel angry or scandalized at times while reading it.

This is a book that explores how the practice of polygamy, while officially abandoned (but never repudiated) by the church over 100 years ago, still affects us today. Earthly polygamy may be a thing of the past in the LDS church, but eternal polygamy, or the understanding that in heaven, men will be able to have multiple wives, is very much part of our present. The influence of this harmful doctrine is seen in our sealing practices and church policies and felt in our marriage relationships.

The history of polygamy is complex and thorny, and the author dips into it only enough to give context to current practice. (If you are interested in learning in more detail about the history of polygamy, I highly recommend Lindsay Hansen Park's Year of Polygamy podcast--I'm nearly through it and have learned so much. It is incredibly well done.) Pearson's writing is smooth and lyrical, her voice calming and wise. At the end of each chapter, she shares dozens of collected experiences from anonymous, average Mormons about the ways the "ghost of eternal polygamy" has affected and is affecting their lives. The stories are all somewhat different, but they are all connected by threads of pain, of anger, of grief. After reading story after story after story they all run together, and it becomes impossible to assert that "polygamy was a long time ago and doesn't affect us anymore."

This book is for all Mormons: it's for those, like me, who have experienced grief or pain or bewilderment over polygamy, and it's also for those who aren't personally impacted by polygamy but would like to understand how it continues to shape our present culture and remains a very real issue for many of their fellow saints.

Pearson deftly weaves vivid stories with insightful compassion. She lays out a gentle but compelling case for why polygamy is harmful, offers rebuttals for common explanations and rationalizations for it, and, ultimately, presents a way the church can choose to be rid of it, once and for all. It's more than wishful thinking: she explains precedent for her conclusions and makes renouncing polygamy and moving "from patriarchy to partnership" seem not only perfectly rational and desirable, but also completely doable.

Before purchasing the book, I listened to this podcast interview in which Carol Lynn Pearson discusses and reads extended excerpts from it. Her words and her voice are powerful. At the end, she reads a couple pages from the end of her book that talk about her vision for our future: what life could be like if the church formally renounces polygamy for time and eternity. I listened to her as I ironed a pieced quilt top I'm making, an activity during which I feel close to my Mormon grandmothers and great-great-great grandmothers--including those who lived polygamy--and somewhere between the puffs of steam and the sliding sounds of the iron I became lost in Carol Lynn's vision and I melted into crumple faced sobs. The words were rich and strong and so hopeful, and I cried in hope and grief and desperate longing.

I left this comment on the page after I finished the podcast:

"I am, even still, even not believing that polygamy is God-ordained, haunted by this principle. I cannot see past it in the temple. If I were to die first, I would be happy to see my husband remarry…but not if it means he is sealed to another woman. We’ve talked about it, he understands, but my fear is still there. Polygamy and temple inequities between the sexes drive a wedge between me and God. I cannot hope to understand a God who forever subjugates women to men. I have always known I, as a woman, am just as capable/intelligent/valuable as any man, and to not see that reflected in our holiest spaces is devastating to me.

"I cried when Carol Lynn read the excerpt from the end of her book of her vision of what the future could be if we let go of the notion that polygamy is or ever was the will of God. I want to wrap my arms around her for expressing so beautifully the pain and the hope in my heart."

In conclusion, yes, you should read this book. It may create new wounds or uncover some you weren't aware you had, but the pain is productive, the way she tells the story is cathartic, and the resolution she proposes is healing balm.

------------------------

Here is an excerpt that was particularly meaningful to me. The words are Carol Lynn's, but many of them have been sitting in my heart, unuttered, for a long time:

"When heaven has an earthquake you fall to your knees and feel through the rubble to find the pieces of God. When my eternal, temple-blessed marriage shattered and everything that had been meaningful lay in jumbled shards around me, I had to slowly and carefully pick up every single piece and examine it, turning it over and over, to see if it was worthy to keep and to use in building a new house of meaning. As I gathered the broken pieces of God, I used only my own authority, only my own relationship with the divine, and the good, small voice that speaks inside me, to appraise them. I threw away many, and I kept many, assembling the bright pieces into One Great Thought. I asked only, "Do I see God's fingerprints on this? Does this little piece feel godly? Does it speak of love?" That made it easy. I was forever finished with the insane attempt to love a God who hurts me. When I picked up the little piece of God-ordained polygamy, I smiled because there was no question. I thanked the God of Love, and I threw that piece away.

"My choice is not between either honoring our founding prophet or acknowledging that he made a significant error. I choose both. I can love King David for "The Lord is my shepherd..." even though this is the same man who arranged the death of Uriah after taking his wife Bathsheba in adultery. Quantum physics has proven light to be at once both wave and particle. Like David, Joseph was at once both a man of God and a man of earth, and he never claimed to be perfect.

"But this is the thing. No one today weeps in the night because in 1837 Joseph Smith made the monumental error of establishing the "Kirtland Safety Society," an underfunded bank that promised riches, failed within weeks, and caused financial ruin and loss of faith for a large number of his followers. Yet thousands and thousands, perhaps a number larger than we can even imagine--women and men in today's LDS Church--still live with sadness or fear, or anger and confusion, some weeping into the night because of the Ghost of Eternal Polygamy. Something went terribly wrong, and I believe that God insists, and insists very loudly, that we Latter-day Saints do everything we can to put it right. We will not leave the pain unattended. We are better than that.

"And now I wonder. Those who have lived very large lives, who have left legacies beyond their deaths--do they continue to feel both the positive and the negative effects those legacies have on those who are now taking their own turn on earth? None of us wants to be remembered for our errors. None of us wants to see hurt and know that it has come from our actions. I believe that seeing Joseph's polygamy as an error is the kindest way to evaluate it. And the surest way to correct it.

"Brother Joseph said that "Friendship" is a "grand fundamental principle of Mormonism." True friendship, I believe, is described in that lovely thought I have read more than once from writer Dina Craik, who lived in England during Joseph Smith's lifetime:

"'Oh, the comfort--the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person--having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.'

"I count myself as a friend to Brother Joseph, and I wish to honor him like this. I hold the fullness of his life in the palm of my hand, chaff and grain together. I keep the many kernels worth keeping, and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away."

- Carol Lynn Pearson, The Ghost of Eternal Polygamy, pages 69-71

That One Time We Took Our Kids to NYC, Day 2: Broadway Baby

2016-08-08T14:24:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning, we headed to Grand Central Station. It was historical site meets indoor mall meets public transit--sort of like an airport, but prettier and with a grocery store. The vaulted blue ceiling in the main hall, spangled with golden constellations, was spectacular.

{In the Main Concourse of Grand Central--check out our crew in the bottom right corner}

What I most remember, though, is that Jayne had a diaper blow out and there was no changing table in the men's bathroom, so I had to change her (because of course there was one in the women's restroom). #whyweneedfeminism

Jay bought a block of New York cheddar cheese in the market-like grocery, and Kiyomi took us downstairs to Magnolia Bakery where we ordered a slice of icebox cake and dug in with five forks and no shame. It was probably up there with the richest cakes I've ever had: imagine dense, decadent chocolate cookies layered with thickly whipped cream. Divine.

To say that Kate and Jayne were enthusiastic fans would be a bit of an understatement.

We jetted back to Alex and Kiyomi's to feed the girls lunch and meet up with a babysitter so we could go have some grown up fun. The sitter was late (darn public transit delays), so Kiyomi and I took off first, speed walking our way from tram to subway. Apparently, this pregnant body can still be motivated to move if the enticement is great enough.

We'd wanted to see a Broadway show and decided on Les Mis because, in a twist of fate that turned out to be too good to be true, my very favorite stage actor, John Owen Jones, was playing Jean Valjean.

When my sister and I studied abroad in London a year before Jay and I got married, we basically went without food so we could see as many half-price West End shows as possible, and our favorite by far was Les Mis because John Owen Jones was knock-your-socks-off, change-your-life amazing. We saw it twice--the second time front row center on Sara's birthday--and it was unreal. Exhibit A:

Kiyomi and I arrived at the theatre about 5 minutes late, so we missed the very beginning of the show. I'll admit that when I saw Valjean was being played by an understudy, I was disappointed. But that only lasted for about ten minutes because I quickly reminded myself that I was watching Les Mis on Broadway for the second time in my life, and how many people can say that? And even though I'm a bit of a Les Mis snob since I've seen it so many times, and even though I thought Valjean was mediocre and Marius was a whiney pretty boy with a pinched voice that was entirely unsuited for the role, Eponine was by far the best I've ever seen. She brought the house down with On My Own--I've never heard such power. The Innkeeper's Wife was also fantastic, as was her smarmy husband, and Enjolras was absolutely phenomenal. Cosette's character is probably my least favorite because she's written so weak and one-dimensional, but the actress playing her had a pure, clear tone with floating high notes. Javert and Fantine were also enjoyable to watch. In the end, it was well worth my time to see those performances alone. The production itself was good, but very different from others I've seen: they did away with the rotating stage, and whole thing was much, much darker than any other rendition. (The version I saw at the Utah Shakespearean Festival a few years ago, by contrast, was hilarious and light in places--this version was moody and had darker themes even though the music and lines were all exactly the same.)

Anyway. Forgive my nerdy rant.

Jay and Alex made it about ten minutes after we did after the sitter finally arrived. They rode the tram to Manhattan and then decided to take Citi Bikes to Times Square. Even now, I try not to imagine them zipping in and out of busy Times Square traffic.

Once our matinee let out, we returned to the bustle of Times Square. The theater next door was showing sold-out Hamilton, and there was an insane crowd around the side entrance. I heard that they were waiting for Lin Manuel Miranda to come out--he basically has rockstar status now. We paused for a couple pictures on Times Square before Alex and Kiyomi started getting too twitchy--turns out that Times Square is to New Yorkers what the Strip is to Las Vegans: people who actually live there avoid those congested tourist traps at all costs.

Kiyomi and Alex took us to one of their favorite restaurants: Up Thai. It was delicious, and Jay is still raving about the yellow curry he had there that was unlike anywhere else we've tried. It was nice to have some time away from our kids (understatement). After dinner, we half walked, half rolled ourselves to Insomnia Cookies, Kiyomi's favorite. The cookies were insanely rich and gooey. Afterward, we hopped on a bus and headed back home.

{Jay's curry}

We were pretty bushed that night, but Jay and I did make it up to the roof of Alex and Kiyomi's high rise so Jay could capture a panoramic of the skyline.

Ah, NYC.

That One Time We Took Our Kids to NYC, Day 1: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

2016-06-23T00:11:00.001-05:00

{Kate and Elli looking at the Statue of Liberty}

I've had an itch to visit the Big Apple for several years now. Chalk it up to nostalgia and the fact that half the shows and movies I love are set there. I've been once before, almost exactly 15 years ago, and every other city I've been to has paled in comparison with the history, the architecture, the bustle, the culture, and the density of The City That Never Sleeps (except London. Ah, London!).

Our dear friends who we've been meaning to visit for ages moved to Manhattan a few months ago and graciously acted excited when we announced we'd like to crash in their two bedroom apartment for a few days. Bless them.

We flew out of Vegas crazy early on Friday, 5/27. Despite the fact we'd woken them up at 4:00 AM, the girls actually fared pretty well on our flight. We barely made it to the gate on time--I think we were the last ones on the plane--but everything went smoothly. We broke down and bought a couple tablets specifically for this trip (five hour plane ride with a four year old and 21 month old!), and we brought an obscene amount of snacks, and we made it through mostly happy even with the four of us crammed into three seats since we were too cheap to buy Jayne a ticket.

{Jayne with Kiyomi and Alex}

Kiyomi met us at the airport and helped us navigate the subway system and our luggage to her apartment (yes, she's a saint). We grabbed some delicious NY-style pizza and decided that since our kids were still kinda holding it together, we'd drag them out on the town.

{Manhattan skyline. One World Trade Center is the highest building with the antenna}

While I'd have loved to go to the Ellis Island museum and see the Statue of Liberty up close again, we opted for the more kid-friendly route of taking the Staten Island Ferry: it's free, it passes close by Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, and you get a gorgeous view of Manhattan. We sat on the side deck of the ferry, luxuriating in the perfect breeze, and watched the sun spill a trail of orange light over the water as it set across the bay. Kate had recently learned The Star Spangled Banner for her preschool graduation (her teacher is ambitious), and I got her to sing most of it with me as we slowly cruised past the Statue of Liberty.

{It took Kiyomi exactly 30 seconds to completely win Jayne over. Both of the girls absolutely loved her.}

Wrestling three exhausted, cranky kids + two strollers through the subway system and back home was a bit of an ordeal, but we managed.

To recap: here are the various modes of transportation we used on this day:

Car
Airport tram
Airplane
Train
Subway
Aerial tram
Ferry

Before our trip was over, we'd also take a cab and a bus.

{Ellis Island}

Pregnancy, Take Three

2016-06-09T16:36:00.000-05:00

{Photo by Katie, beginning of May 2016}

I'm right in the thick of the uncomfortable stage of pregnancy. My belly seems to brush up against everything, I'm constantly winded, and bending over to pick things up is the worst thing in the world. Sleep is fitful, and this man-child keeps me awake with his aquatic gymnastics. As I type this, I can see my abdomen ripple as he ricochets around in there. His antics are fireworks inside me.

This pregnancy has been different; though at 28 weeks, I'm finally feeling about the same as I did with my first two pregnancies: ungainly, easily fatigued, but mostly human.

The week after Christmas, Jay came down with a mild flu: malaise, some intestinal distress, exhaustion. He felt better after a couple days. A day or so later, I caught what he'd had just in time to travel to Texas to visit Jay's parents for New Year. It was a relaxed, easy visit, which was perfect because I spent most of my time huddled under blankets with chills and feeling exhausted and vaguely nauseous. We watched movies and played games and ate a lot of food.

We came home, and I didn't feel much better. After having malaise for nearly two weeks, I started to wonder if the illness would ever pass. One morning after Jay had gone to work, I decided I should take a pregnancy test. I was certain I wasn't pregnant, but I needed to rule it out all the same.

Ten minutes, two pregnancy tests, and four pink lines later, there was no denying it. I did some quick calculations and determined I was seven weeks pregnant.

Jay came home for lunch that day and told me he thought his receptionist had whatever it was I had because she wasn't feeling well. I had my arms wrapped around him when I said, "I'm pretty sure she doesn't have what I have. At least, I hope she doesn't." And then I gave him a meaningful look, and a broad smile spread across Jay's face.

"Really?" he said. "You're sure?"

"Pretty sure," I said.

He laughed and squeezed me. "You're happy?" I asked.

"Of course! Aren't you?"

"I don't really know what to feel," I said. "I think I'm in denial."

Five months later, and I'm still not completely over the denial.

It took over a year to conceive both Kate and Jayne; with Kate, we finally hit on the right drug cocktail of fertility meds; with Jayne, the previous drugs didn't work, so we were scheduled to begin expensive and extensive testing when we found out we were expecting--she was planned, but not expected quite yet. But this time, it was truly a surprise. I never thought I'd experience a surprise pregnancy--for better or for worse--and it threw me for a loop.

The first trimester was rough and unlike anything I'd previously experienced. I constantly felt like I had a fever (though my temperature was normal or only slightly elevated): chills, aching/sensitive skin, metallic taste in my mouth, exhaustion, nausea. Some nights, I'd lie in bed and shake with chills. I basically sat on the couch all day, feeling like I had the flu. The girls played together and entertained themselves, and Jay picked up my slack without complaining.

I gradually started feeling better starting at around 16 weeks. Around 24 weeks, I realized I no longer had a hyper-sensitive gag reflex and could even change diapers without dry heaving. Every day, I'm grateful I'm feeling better.

I still don't get much done, but it is amazing to feel mostly like myself again, even if I am lower-functioning. This may well be our last baby--though never say never!--and it is weird to view this pregnancy through that lens. While there is much about pregnancy that awes me, and while I'm incredibly grateful I've been able to have the experience, it's not a condition I'll miss.

It's true that I wasn't ready for another baby so soon (Jayne and this boy will be darn-near exactly two years apart--closer than I'd prefer), but my brushes with infertility have given me some hard-earned perspective. "Whenever they come," I used to say when people asked when we were going to have babies, and I still feel the same way.

Thoughts on Mother's Day: Autonomy vs. Privacy

2016-05-08T23:22:00.001-05:00

I wrote this two and a half years ago when Kate was about the age Jayne is now (20 months). Reading through it, it struck me how much things have changed and how much they are still the same.

Happy Mother's Day!

Kate begging to be held or given something. This view is a familiar one to most parents of toddlers.

Kate is currently really into belly buttons. She likes to lift her shirt, put her finger in her navel, and say, "Beh buh!" She also likes finding other people's beh buhs. This generally involves me sitting on the couch and attempting to fight her off but ultimately caving as she wrestles the hem of my shirt up my rib cage. I then sit there while she touches my belly button and says "beh buh! beh buh!" until I acknowledge that I do, indeed, have a belly button. This usually culminates with her stroking the loose skin of my stomach and saying "Sah. Sah." (Soft). Thanks, Kate.

I can't help but think, every time I see her cute little tummy with its sweet little dimple, that she will forever be marked by the time we shared my body. Nothing can erase that--we are both forever changed. And while birth was liberating, in a way, for both of us, and the physical tie that bound us was severed, we were still connected through nursing and feeding and changing and all of the work that goes into caring for an infant. While I loved most of those things most of the time, it was overwhelming to have someone so dependent on me.

As time has gone on, Kate and I have both gained autonomy in the form of her small, bittersweet victories. She gains independence and I regain pieces of myself I'd forgotten I'd lost. We are not two pieces of the same being anymore; she is increasingly becoming her own person, and I am thrilled for us and a bit sad for me that she doesn't need me like she used to.

Autonomy is great for both of us--it allows us each our own space in which to stretch and grow. I have discovered, though, that autonomy is not the same thing as privacy. I wonder sometimes if privacy is something I will ever experience again.

From the time Kate could crawl and pull herself up to things, she would make her way over to the shower, wedge her little fingers around the door, slide it open, then stand there and watch me. If I tried closing the door, screams would erupt. The magical bathroom acoustics amplified them exponentially, and I quickly learned to just let her watch. Once she was a little steadier on her feet, she insisted on stepping into the shower herself. Once she got comfortable with that, she would walk to the front of the shower and stand underneath the leaky handle, which meant I had to strip her down and share my shower time with a wet, naked little baby running around me who occasionally fell over backward and hated it when I rinsed her hair.

Thankfully, the shower phase has mostly passed, meaning I get my ten minutes of "me time" back (YES!).

Bathroom breaks, though, are another story. Yes, we leave the bathroom doors open pretty much at all times (except when we have people over; we do have SOME boundaries), and Kate can join us or not, as she pleases (she usually joins us). Closing Kate out generally results in a stressful (and loud) bathroom experience. There are some battles that just aren't worth fighting, and I decided long ago this is one of them. (I'm hoping it will make potty training a breeze. (Ha.))

Kate's new favorite thing is handing me my clothes as I'm getting dressed after I get out of the shower. She knows the word "bra" and sometimes runs around my room holding it to her chest ("ba! ba!").

So while I'm sometimes a little icked out by how open we are in our house with our child, we do what works for us. And I do miss my privacy (sometimes desperately), but I love our growing autonomy.

That One Time a Lady was Super Mean to Me at the Grocery Store

2016-04-22T18:25:00.000-05:00

{All photos by Katie; Jaynie at 19 months}

It's easy to pass judgments about people when we see them for a handful of moments: the mom yelling at her toddler in the parking lot, the man in dirty clothes in the checkout line, the six year old throwing a tantrum at the park. We may feel a little concerned, a little uncomfortable, a little superior. Hopefully, most of the time, we recognize that there have been days when we've been THAT person--the one in dirty clothes, the one with no patience, the one with screaming kids. Maybe we remember the circumstances that led to these situations, maybe we don't, but there's always a backstory.

Remembering this--that behavior doesn't happen in a vacuum--can help us to feel empathy rather than scorn, can lead us to extend help rather than judgment, can cause us to show love rather than disapproval.

1/21/16
I was nine weeks pregnant and had been feeling sick for weeks (both with a cold and with pregnancy-related misery). We had been in survival mode since Christmas, and I spent most of my days curled up on the couch or in bed. The house was a wreck, and my personal maintenance amounted to getting dressed and showering every two to three days. Other than Jay dragging me out occasionally on weekends, literally the only time I'd left the house in nearly a month was to take Kate to and from preschool twice a week. It was a rough time for us, but the girls were doing well and Jay didn't complain about having to pick up my slack. We were making it.

Jayne had recently stopped taking morning naps, so after dropping Kate off at preschool one day, I decided to take a much-needed trip to the grocery store (I'd been trying to get the energy to go for a couple weeks without success). I was feeling okay that morning, though we both looked a little worse for wear. Jaynie's hair was a bit crunchy from her habit of twirling it in her fingers while she ate, and she had bare feet since I couldn't find one of her little moccasins before we hurriedly left our house. I wore baggy clothes and no makeup, but I wasn't concerned about my appearance. I parked the car at the store and sat there listening to the radio for ten minutes, just trying to gather the energy to go inside.

The outing started out successfully enough. I loaded the cart with items from the produce section and Jaynie got excited about the apples. I had just grabbed some onions--letting Jayne touch their smooth, papery skin before placing them in a bag--when I stopped pushing my cart to consult the grocery list on my phone.

Jayne extended her finger toward my face and then laughed as I tickled her neck. We were playing like that, Jaynie giggling, when I felt someone behind me watching us. The woman came up beside me, and I assumed that she, like any other person with a pulse, was admiring my happy and adorable baby.

"Where are your baby's socks? You need to put socks on her," the woman said, gesturing at Jayne's wiggling toes.

I gave her a half smile. "She's fine," I said. I turned back to Jayne and the list on my phone, but the woman behind me kept muttering about socks and how it was winter and cold.

"I don't have socks on, either," I said, irritated. And it was true: I was wearing loafers but no socks because finding a matching pair had been more effort than it was worth that morning.

But the woman wouldn't let it go. "It's abuse!" she said. "It's child abuse!"

Shocked and angry, I said, "We're doing the best we can."

But the woman got increasingly worked up. "Please stop talking to me," I said, and I pushed Jayne away from her. We took up residence near the potatoes where I once again tried to consult my phone.

"You are abusing your child!" she called after me. "I feel sorry for that baby!"

I did not look back at her and pushed my cart as fast as I could past the donut case as her words followed me: "I feel sorry for any child that has you as a mother! You are not capable of caring for your children!"

I made it a few feet further to the deli counter before I had to stop, clutching my chest, as an anxiety attack overcame me. I gasped for breath and tried to hold back tears. I pressed a hand over my mouth and attempted to rein in my panic. The employees and patrons who passed me determinedly avoided eye contact, and I couldn't decide if I was grateful or if I needed help.

I started having anxiety attacks about five years ago (they usually happen at church or church activities since those are very triggering places for me). It is a helpless feeling to hyperventilate--to feel your breath come in huge, deep gasps, your chest spasming like a fish out of water--and not be able to control it. I have no shame when I'm in the throes of an attack--I don't care who sees. But when it passed a moment later, I made my way toward the refrigerated meats and stood there, my cheeks and chin quivering with barely-suppressed emotion.

I was a mess for the next 20 minutes or so and wandered aimlessly through the store, my thoughts too scrambled to function. Even as panic had coiled around me, I knew that this lady was ridiculous--she was obviously from another country and probably had very different cultural norms. I knew I was not an abusive mother. I knew it was fine that Jayne's feet were bare (we live in Las Vegas, not Minnesota, for crying out loud, and it was a sunny 53 degrees, and I carried her the whole time we were outside). Her words didn't pierce my confidence in my ability to care for my children. But my body's reaction was visceral, partly because I've rarely if ever been so blatantly harassed, and partly because I was barely keeping it together anyway and this simple shopping trip was such a monumental effort for me. That this woman, who did not know me, who did not know what I was going through at that moment, thought it was appropriate to publicly shame me for not putting socks on my child simply floored me.

I eventually regained my sense of self, and my on-edge emotions calmed. I completed my shopping trip with my posture erect and my gaze unflinching. I made a plan for if the woman approached me again (firmly tell her to leave me alone and start yelling for security if necessary), and I was no longer afraid of her.

A friendly cashier scanned and bagged my groceries, and I walked out to my car. I pulled Jaynie out of the cart and walked over to put her in her car seat. I rested my cheek on her hair, and she snuggled her head into my shoulder, her body relaxed into mine, her hands gripping my sleeves. We held on to each other long enough that the car doors automatically re-locked. I remember thinking how grateful I was to be her mother and how glad I was that she isn't abused. I buckled her into her seat in the sun-heated car and touched her toes.

They were warm.

Soon to be Three

2016-04-12T18:15:00.001-05:00

{All photos by Katie of The Jadeite Shutter}

Mom is a bit apprehensive.

Dad and big sister Kate are ecstatic.

As for soon-to-be big sister Jaynie the photoshoot photo bomber...

She has absolutely no idea what's coming.

...Baby boy arriving late August 2016...

The Life I Choose

2016-03-08T20:52:00.000-06:00

I'm not really feeling resolutions this year, so I thought I'd post some life choices instead.

I'm well aware that life doesn't always turn out the way we hope. Sometimes our plans are derailed by circumstances beyond our control, and sometimes plans change because we change. But patterns emerge in the way we navigate our everyday lives, and these are the choices, like strokes on a canvas, that make up the broader picture of the lives we carve out for ourselves.

I've had some experiences lately that have made me recommit to living purposefully and to owning my life rather than being defined by my circumstances. My life, choices, and opportunities will look different than yours, and that's okay.

For where I am and what I have right now, this is the life I choose:

I choose to have an awesome marriage. Marrying Jay is the best choice I've ever made. We complement each other well, and we're committed to a relationship of equals. We support each other, we consult each other, and we co-parent. We are both the head of our household. We choose to make financial, business, and family decisions together. We aren't perfect, but we forgive each other.

I choose to have as many or as few children as we want/are able to have, regardless of anyone else's opinions or advice. There's weird stigmas in my church culture for families with fewer kids and there's weird stigmas in the broader culture for families with many kids. I refuse to let that influence me when we decide what's right for our family.

I choose to be a good parent. This will look different for me than it does for other people, and that's fine. There's no one right way.

I choose to be home with my children while they are small. Not everyone has this choice, and I'm grateful I do. It's a decision I feel conflicted about often, and it's one I've given myself permission to change when it doesn't feel right anymore.

I choose to be Mormon. Despite the fact that my faith is no longer orthodox, despite the fact that church is very often painful for me, I choose to stay because I want to. It's my tribe. Making this choice intentionally has been very liberating for me. I choose to be as open and authentic as I can about where I am and what I believe while maintaining respect for others and my own sense of safety. There is no one way to be Mormon, and I choose to take the pieces that work for me and leave the rest behind.

I choose to put myself and my family first. I choose to say no to things that are too much of a drain on my physical/emotional resources or my family relationships, regardless of whether it's a business opportunity, a church calling, a service request, or a social event. I will redraw and maintain my boundaries as needed.

I choose to be an advocate for people and causes that are important to me. I will pick my battles and stand my ground and change the world.

I choose to love people as they are, not as I think they should be. I'm not great at this one. I'm working on it.

I choose to be responsible financially. This may look different for us than it does for you. For us right now, it means paying down our loans as quickly as possible, having a solid emergency fund, saving for retirement, never carrying a balance on a credit card, and paying cash for our cars. It means filing taxes honestly and on time. It means not taking anything for granted and being generous with what we have.

I choose to share my gifts with others. Will there always be someone who could do it better than me? Yes. But I'll do it anyway, and hopefully without apology.

I choose to love my body as it is now, not as it was or as it "should" be. On days I struggle with how my body looks, I choose to close my eyes and focus on how it feels to be alive--sometimes good, sometimes not great, but always rich and sensual and so much bigger than my perceived attractiveness. I choose to be in pictures without a fuss. I choose to not say much at all about my appearance in front of my daughters but to frequently express gratitude and wonder for my body.

"There is no better time in all the world to make important choices than at the beginning of a...new year, for we literally become the product of our choices. Our choices determine our destiny." - Thomas S. Monson

Kate at Three and a Half-ish

2016-01-10T22:41:00.003-06:00

{Taken at Calico Basin, 11-11-15, age 3 years 8 months}

Kate has several animals and dolls that she keeps on her bed. She calls them her "kids." Her [always naked] baby doll and her leopard are the two most important, but she's also got three little bunnies (one named Bella, after her friend), a small pink bear she named Jayson, and a dog she named Ruffy. She often totes them around the house and then makes us scramble to find them at bedtime. If we forget, she'll get out of bed and call from the top of the stairs that she needs to get her "kids."

Jaynie and Kate play well together--they are fast friends. Unfortunately for Kate, however, Jayne is no longer easy-going when Kate tries to take away whatever she's playing with. She makes some pretty awesome "that's not fair!" noises until I make Kate give back whatever it is she had.

Kate is patient and kind. Her default setting is cheerful. She likes to observe before diving into experiences, but she's also friendly and outgoing. She is articulate and is learning to negotiate, which leaves me half annoyed and half secretly delighted.

Semantics are big right now in our house, and it's exhausting. Usually manifested like this:
Me: "Kate, don't dump out all Jayne's drawers."
Kate: "I didn't dump them out."
Me: "Yes, you did. Look at this huge mess you made."
Kate: "I didn't make a mess."
Me: "Look at all the stuff you dumped in Jayne's bed!"
Kate: "I made a pile."
*
Me: Kate, I don't want you playing with that pin. Please put it on the table.
Kate: I'm not playing with it.
Me: I don't want you to touch it. Please put it on the table.
Kate: I'm not touching it.
Me, exasperated: Then what are you doing?
Kate: I'm holding it.
*
Me: Kate! Don't draw on the couch with crayons.
Kate: I wasn't drawing. I was writing.
*
Me: Kate, if you keep biting your nails, I'm going to stop snuggling with you.
Kate: I'm not biting my nails.
Me: Okay, stop putting your fingers in your mouth.
Kate: I'm not putting my fingers in my mouth.
Me: What are you doing, then?
Kate: I'm licking my fingers.
*
With her aptitude for finding loopholes, she'll probably be a lawyer.

Lately there's been a lot of, "Mom, you aren't listening. Mom, you're taking too long." And then she turns my reinforcement strategies right back on me: "Mom, I really like it when you listen to me. I really like it when you do what I ask you to." She's also pretty good with her manners: "Excuse me, Mom. Excuse me, can I talk to you?" Though sometimes it's more like, "Excuse me, Mom; Excuse me, Mom; Excuse me, Mom; Excuse me, Mom; Excuse me, Mom..." starting at a low volume and gradually getting louder.

Kate stopped taking naps a couple months ago, and I finally conceded she was old enough I didn't need to force her to sleep anymore. But I still needed some sanity, so I told her she had to have quiet time while Jayne was asleep. After a week or so of playing quietly in her room, I told her it was time for quiet time and she said, "I don't want to have quiet time! I want to take a nap!" And sure enough, she's taken a nap about 80% of the time since. If I'd known that all I had to do to get her to nap was remove the sleep mandate, I would have done it a long time ago.

She's always talking about her friends and her cousins, even the ones she doesn't see often. The other day she was singing a song "for Jeremy and Morgan;" she often confirms that she's still older than her cousins Sam and Levi; and she uses her second cousin, Brooke, as proof that she's still little at least once a week ("Mom, I still get a sippy cup because I'm littler than Brooke."). She knows where all her cousins and aunts and uncles live, and she asks me to point to "Was Begas," Colorado, St. George, Wyoming, Salt Lake, "Canifornia," and Texas all the time on our map wall upstairs.

Recently Kate was chattering away about the things she learned in preschool ("Joy means happiness!"), and I was half paying attention when she said, "Happiness is better than penist."

"What was that, Kate?"
"Happiness is better than penist, huh Mom?"
"What's penist?" I asked.

"You know, it's what boys have."

"That's a penis," I said, and then we moved on to other topics.

I couldn't figure out what she was talking about until a few minutes later I realized that to her, it must sound like hapenis, not happyness, and I thought that was so funny.

She loves preschool and her teacher, Ms. Shannon. One [non-preschool] day out of nowhere, Kate said, "Mommy, I want to change mommies."
"Who do you want to be your mommy?" I asked.
"Um, Shannon."
I said, "I know you love Shannon. How about she will be your teacher and I will be your mommy?"
She seemed okay with that. Phew.

She calls The Incredibles "The Increbiboes."

She's a deep sleeper, and sometimes on the days she does nap, I have to wake her up when she sleeps too long. A few weeks ago, I went into her room and curled up next to her on her bed and snuggled her and cried because I love her so much and she's growing so fast and I want to appreciate her more. I still do that sometimes--lie next to her and hold her when it's time for her to wake up--and I realized that sometimes I don't see her; I don't always look at her little face when she talks to me or give my full attention to her endless chattering. I don't sit down and play with her as much as I should. I know of a couple people who lost their sweet babies this year, and it has really been a wake up call to me for how important it is to be present and appreciate everyday moments. And when she eventually wakes up, she throws out her arms in a stretch and then turns her head to face mine on the pillow. She gives me a sleepy smile, eyes half-lidded, and says, "I wuv you, Mom."

Kate and Jayne Meet Santa

2015-12-28T21:05:00.001-06:00

Kate got to meet Santa at our church Christmas party. She was all business when she told him what she wanted for Christmas: a candy cane and presents. After she received her candy cane (which she remembered from last year), she left with us and then said, a few minutes later, "Santa forgot to give me presents!" We had to explain that the presents would come on Christmas.

Jayne isn't a big fan of strangers, and I knew Santa would be no exception. I let Kate have some solo Santa time first, then I apologized in advance to Santa and the photographer and plunked Jaynie on his lap.

Jayne's feeling of betrayal was immediate and complete. She did not whimper. She did not well up with pouty tears. My little girl full-on screamed, body rigid and trembling. She looked back, once, at Santa's bearded face, then leaned as far away from him as she could.

I rescued her after about ten seconds and felt a moderate amount of guilt until I remembered I did the same thing to Kate. I decided it's just a rite of passage.

A week or so before Christmas, we went to a local Orchard and took a hay ride. We made a dinner out of hotdogs, chili, cider, and doughnuts and went into a barn to see Santa.

This time, we spared Jayne the trauma of Santa's lap. Kate got her candy cane and informed Santa he forgot to bring her presents. We explained to Kate and the confused Santa that the gifts would be coming soon.

Jay asked me a couple days ago if I feel any guilt about telling the girls Santa brings their gifts when they believe us so implicitly. I don't. I love the magic and wonder of childhood--where Santa and microwave ovens and the change of seasons and any number of other things are equally mysterious and inexplicable. I love my girls, their excitement and their goodness, and that Kate feels our love in a host of ways, including through Santa, candy canes and presents.

Jaynie at 14 months

2015-12-15T00:23:00.000-06:00

{Jayne at the cabin; October 2015}

At 14 months, Jaynie is full of spunk.

Her first word, at 13 months, was "Mama," and she said it often, much to my delight. There is nothing sweeter than seeing her chubby little cheeks pooch out as she forms her sounds.

Her favorite thing is her little comfort object; a pink minky monkey. (Kate has one, a leopard, and she called this one "Jayne's wepard" for a long time.) She totes it all around the house, and one of her first words was monkey (buh-kee). She asks for it constantly.

Since being weaned at 12 months, she loves drinking water from her sippy cups. She frequently asks for a drink (doo). Sometimes I forget that her speech has meaning, and she'll sit in her highchair chanting "Doo!" with increasing urgency and volume until I realize what she wants and scramble to get it.

When she uses a word to ask for something, like a drink or her monkey, and then sees someone get it and bring it to her, she gets so excited. She loves that she can communicate with us.

{December 2015}

For Halloween, Kate wanted to be Elsa. As much as I'd have loved dressing Jayne in the Little Red Riding Hood cape (used for the fourth year in a row), the idea of having her be Anna to Kate's Elsa (their hair! Their ages! They're sisters!) was too cute to pass up. We dressed them in their costumes for our church's trunk or treat and then briefly when my parents visited. On the day of Kate's preschool Halloween party, however, she wanted to be Snow White. And then on Halloween, she wanted to be Snow White again, not Elsa. So I dressed her in her blue and yellow dress and put Jayne to bed--because she was tired, and without the Frozen theme it just wasn't as cute... And the reason I'm going into all this detail is to explain why I didn't take pictures of my girls in their costumes on Halloween. But I dressed them up in December and they were super uncooperative, but we had fun anyway. It wasn't until the next day I realized I'd missed putting on a piece of Jayne's costume. Oh well.

{You could try and tell me you've seen something cuter than Jayne in pigtails, but I wouldn't believe you.}

Jayne started walking at 13 months, and she still staggers around with splayed legs like she hasn't quite committed to life as a biped. Her only pair of shoes are soft little leather moccasins, and she loves them. She'd only worn them a couple times when I set them on the counter by the garage door. The next few times we left the house, she'd see them and yell "Shee! Shee!" It took me a minute to realize what she was asking for. When I put them on her, she holds up her little feet and points her toes to aid in the process. It's adorable.

She also says Boo (buh), balloon (bah), Mommy, Daddy (datty), all done ("ah duh" while making the sign), backpack (ba puh), bye bye, up (ubbuh), hi, banana (nana)

She can identify her belly button and loves sticking her little finger in it. Sometimes she'll lift up one of our shirts so she can poke our belly buttons, too. She has the sweetest little mischievous laugh.

Jaynie got her two bottom teeth right on time when she was six months old. In the ensuing months, other than those two slowly elongating teeth, she remained edentulous. I was only half joking when I told Jay (several times) he should take an x-ray to make sure she had more teeth coming. She finally cut her top centrals at 12 months, and she's now working on her top laterals. Thanks to her Dad's instruction, she can identify and say "teeth" (tee).

We now have a backyard, and it's so fun to send the girls back there to play. Even when Jayne is fussy or tired from teething, she gets so excited to toddle around outside with Kate.

I'm not normally one to use nicknames, but I can't help it with Jayne. I started calling her Jayners when she was tiny (Kate used to get mad: "She's not Jayners! She's Jayne!"), and it eventually shortened to Jayner. Sometimes I called her Jaynerton. Now, I mostly call her Jaynie since Jay and Jayne sound so similar. Sometimes I'll call her "the Jayne" when talking to Jay (as in, "did you change the Jayne?" "Will you get the Jayne?").

We recently bought a house, and it has a lot of stairs, including small sets of 1-3 steps dividing some of the rooms. When we first moved in, Jayne, at 13 months old, was too scared to go up them. She would crawl up one step, put her hands at the top of the three stairs and cry to be picked up. She eventually figured out how to go up, but then couldn't get down. She luckily never fell down stairs at our house, but there was a lot of frustrated crying when she couldn't follow her sister. We taught her how to scoot down stairs backward, but she couldn't figure out how to get into position herself. She's finally got it down, and it's hilarious to watch her move four feet away from the top of the stairs, turn around, get on her tummy, and scoot backward until she hits the stairs. Sometimes her aim is off, her little feet run into a wall, and she has to recalibrate.

Jaynie's hair is red red red and her eyes are blue blue blue. I absolutely love it. Literally everywhere we go someone stops and comments on her hair. The only downside is her skin is so sensitive--she has a true redhead complexion. Any time the weather changes, her cheeks get red and chapped. We wage a constant battle against diaper rash.

Kate and Jayne absolutely love each other and play together well. At least half the time, when I hear Jayne wake up in the morning or from a nap, I send Kate in there to play with her. Kate will climb into Jayne's bed and they'll play and laugh for as long as I let them. Once, I went into Jayne's room to find her bed filled with the contents of all the pull out totes in her dresser. I chastised Kate for dumping out all Jayne's clothes and diapers, and her reply was, "I didn't dump! I made a pile!" Jayne stood on top of the pile (luckily not buried beneath it) and thought it was the greatest thing ever.

Starting at around 8 months, Jaynie was the snuggliest little baby. Any time I put her down or got her up from her bed, she'd practically throw her little head on my shoulder and press her torso against mine. She'd just snuggle there, her body relaxed and heavy, for minutes at a time. I'd soak her in, my nose near her neck, my head on hers, swaying back and forth. Now that she's older, she doesn't do that as much, but sometimes I'll luck out when she's extra tired or shy.

15 month update since I'm slow in getting this posted:

Says "ossuh" for outside
Drink is now "dookie"--still one of her most-used words
Book is "bookie"
She still loves saying "boo!"
Says baby, "see" for cereal, and "See-ee" for Sadie, my Dad's dog.
Jaynie loves being tickled--she has the best little giggle.
Oftentimes when we're driving somewhere as a family, Jaynie will get in a "Mommy" loop (you know what I'm talking about: "Mommy...Mommy?...Mommy..."), and there's no getting her out of it since she can't really tell me what she wants. Just to make sure Jay doesn't feel left out, Kate will start on a "Daddy" loop. That's usually about the time that Jay and I make eye contact and wonder what on earth we got ourselves into with this whole parenting thing.

Flattery and Sales

2015-12-03T19:04:00.001-06:00

"Life is pain, Highness! Anyone who says differently is selling something." - The Princess Bride

A few weeks ago, we went to a furniture store to look at couches. Our sales lady was nice and clearly wanted to close a deal, but we weren't in buying mode. Jay took the girls out to the car while I waited for a printout.

"Your girls are so cute," she said as we stood there.

"Thanks," I smiled.

Then, as she handed me the paper and I moved to walk away, she said, "Your face structure is so beautiful. Have you done print work?"

I usually try to be gracious when someone offers me a compliment, but I was so caught off guard I let out a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a guffaw.

"Thanks," I said, waving the paper at her and leaving.

I laughed to Jay later that if she'd really wanted to flatter me in an over the top attempt to win my business, she should have asked if my children were models, because heaven knows I can't imagine anything cuter than their little mugs plastered on cereal boxes.

Needless to say, we didn't feel compelled to return and buy that particular couch.

--------------------

A couple years ago, I was shopping at Kohl's when a woman approached me.

"I just had to come over and tell you how beautiful you are. Do you mind if I asked what skin care regimen you use?"

"Um, Dove soap and Curelle lotion?" I said.

She gushed at me for a few more minutes before handing me her Mary Kay business card and a coupon for free product.

...which I did not redeem.

--------------------

Today the doorbell rang, and since it's that time of year when packages arrive in a steady flow, I answered it.

Salesman: Hi, there; is one of your parents home?

Me, startled: ...No.

Salesman: Do you mind if I leave a couple pamphlets?

Me: That would be fine.

Salesman, riffling through pamplets, looks up: ...I didn't make a mistake, did I? Are you the homeowner?

Me: I am.

Salesman, flustered, mutters: I do that sometimes. I've made the mistake both ways. You look very young.

Me: Thanks.

He quickly gave me a description of his services, handed me the pamphlet, and practically ran off my stoop.

I almost felt bad for him, especially since most of the homeowners on my street really are about my parents' age, but I was so pleased to not be stuck talking to another salesman for a fruitless ten minutes that I was glad for his blunder.

It's probably the only time I've believed anything a salesperson told me.

Things I Think are Gross or Otherwise Ick Me Out, Part IV

2015-10-21T16:35:00.000-05:00

Just for fun, I made a list of 100 things that ick me out on some level. This is meant to be funny, so if you see your favorite food/activity/object/word on here, don't be offended--I'm sure there's something I eat/do/own/say that totally icks you out, too.

76. Cottage cheese
77. Blue cheese
78. Cream cheese
79. Velveeta "cheese" and "American" cheese (Kraft singles)
80. Cloth diapers, reusable wipes, and the machines they're washed in
81. Eye goop
82. Spiders, earwigs, and cockroaches
83. Liposuction

84. Strapless clothing
85. Touching arms with strangers (like on airplanes)
86. Yogurt (and its tangy flavor thanks to its live cultures)
87. My fingernails catching on anything
88. The sound of anyone else's fingernails catching on anything, including during back scratches
89. Raisins
90. Dog slobber
91. Finding a worm while shucking corn
92. The "stuf" in double stuf Oreo's (particularly when it's dyed)
93. Meat that's cooked in the microwave
94. Hair on shower walls
95. Leggings, particularly with loud prints, when worn as pants (instead of, say, under a dress or long shirt)
96. When people swallow toothpaste
97. The words "so" and "very" when used together (as in, "I love him so very much")
98. Mold
99. Shortening/trans fat
100. Typos in professional publications

Okay, you've read 100 of mine. What are some of yours?