Hair's the Thing

At the adoptive families' gathering a dad watching Anna said to me, "Her hair's cute. Is it easy to do?"

"No!" I laughed. "Not for me!" Then I noted that it is getting easier for me, and the difficulty has everything to do with my general girly beauty incompetence and much less to do with her hair. Her hair's not bad—I'm bad at hair.

Anna just had soft baby hair when she came home, and then a lot of that fell out, then grew back in and gradually got thicker and curlier. It was amazing watching the straight baby hair start to curl up away from her head and then spiral. One of those changes you can kind of watch happen and yet it sneaks up on you until one day you look back at old photos and realize how much she's changed.

So she didn't have enough hair for me to start doing anything with (besides spray and comb) until spring, and then her parts took me for . . . ev . . . errrrr to make and still looked drunk and disorderly as often as not. But I tried to keep practicing so she'd get used to me doing her hair, even though I could still get away with leaving it loose.

By June I was getting better and tried dividing it into more sections (though it was still too short in back for this to stay—wow, she has a lot more hair now):


Then I was able to try making teeny tiny braids and finishing them with snaps:


I have to say that although I usually don't do beads, I love that if I want to, I can easily change the whole look of her hair with different styles and snaps and beads. I had fun with it on the 4th of July. Voila, fully accessorized patriotism!


(Okay, not fully accessorized: no flag pin.)

Anna definitely has hair that's the exact opposite of mine. I think it's pretty high on the scale of thick and curly. And it grows up/out. Don't get me wrong—I love her loose curls, especially right after a bath when they are incredible tight spirals (I will try to get a picture soon). But they don't stay defined well for too long, and now her hair is so long and thick that if I don't put at least some of it in puffs or braids, combing it out becomes difficult enough to well exceed a 19-month-old's attention span. And I need to save as much of that attention span as possible for getting the ponytails sectioned off before she starts, in an apparent attempt at humor, shaking her head no no no no no no no. You try doing that to your hairstylist sometime and see how well she does.

But my braiding is getting better and it's getting easier with a little more length to grab. My parts go a lot faster and are straighter. I can even get a couple days out of a style before redoing it, or just keep the parts and redo the puffs or braids.

So I'm partly just noting my progress and partly surveying for tips here: How are the rest of you who are new to handling this kind of hair doing? Those of you whose girls rock the cool headbands, what kind works best and how do you get your kid to leave it on (for the love of pete!)? Any product you'd recommend that might help me be able to leave Anna's free? Is Carol's Daughter all it's cracked up to be, for this kind of hair? What product? (And can you get Brad to come over and give me a demo?)

Morning Giggle with a Side of Silly

I have found the perfect T-shirt for our friend Gus:

Donuts and Bacon: Taste We Can Believe In

You have to click the link to see the image. Do it, because the words alone don't capture it.

That is, ahem, deliciously ridiculous.

Ketching Up

On the child front, the next tooth has finally broken through. It's a whopper. She did wake up at 2:00 a.m. and refuse to go back to sleep the other night, though. How is it that when you plan to get up early and be productive, that's when they keep you up half the night? They know. I don't know how, but they know.

Anna's been quite successfully eating all table food too, although I have to use up the mystery cubes that are in the freezer somehow. Fortunately she doesn't know that toast isn't usually spread with mushed veggies. I think I really just needed to get some more kid-friendly foods on hand—well, I had to get any food on hand, because we were down to no cereal, bread, mac and cheese, or toilet paper, and that is NOT COOL. If she only eats a couple kinds of veggies right now, so be it. It'd be nice if she'd eat more of our meats, but there are enough others she eats. I got some frozen chicken nuggets and she likes those and pretty much anything with ketchup.

Did you know they say ketchup is one of the things you should buy organic because it's where many people, especially kids, get a large portion of their veggies and organic has 57 percent more lycopene? True story. Not that I do it.

Tonight a friend who knows the new-ish neighbors we've only caught glimpses of is introducing us to them. What can I say, we need to be set up because we're not very good at meeting our neighbors although we're still desperate stalkers of anyone who looks like they might be under 35 and able to hold a job other than a certain kind of illegal distribution. So I've been busy today making iced tea and brownies and pico de gallo—or as my husband adorably calls it, pico de mayo—and decluttering toys and chasing down dust bunnies. Because if you can't keep up with the Joneses, you can at least offer them a place to sit that's not covered in cat hair.

Wordless Wednesday: Boxcar Cowgirls

Don't SAHMBOSS Me(me) Around

This is Porter’s fault.

She tagged me with this meme/award which is now known as The Super Awesome Hot Mama Blogger or some [edit:] shizzle (SAHMBOSS) meme/award. So you can blame her for the introduction of naughty language to this blog (oh, you know you say it too), the ensuing waste of your time, and in the case of some of you, your being tagged too.

Below are my answers to some scintillating (or not) questions. I have tried to incorporate “ice cream” into as many as possible. Then I will “tag” some more of you SAHMBOSS chicas to post your answers, tag your friends, yada yada yada, we’ll all know way too much about each other.

Let the SAHMBOSSing around begin!

A. Attached or single? Attached via wedding ring.

B. Best friend? My husband. (It can be both true and a cop-out, right?)

C. Cake or pie? Pie. Or whatever comes with ice cream.

D. Day of choice? Friday.

E. Essential item? Laptop with wireless. Camera. Toothbrush.

F. Favorite color? Yellow.

G. Gummy bears or worms? Not a fan of either, but the worms have an extra ick factor.

H. Hometown? Rockpile, MI.

I. Indulgence? Staying up way too late eating Chinese food and ice cream and watching mindless TV.

J. January or July? Clearly someone in the desert wrote this meme. July!

K. Kids? One and only.

L. Life isn’t complete without? Purpose. Community. Food. The great outdoors. Ice cream.

M. Marriage date? No, we don't go on dates; we're married. Oh, when did we get married? June 21 (the longest day . . . insert joke here) of 1997.

N. Number of brothers & sisters? 1 older brother.

O. Oranges or apples? Apples – they equal fall.

P. Phobias? Uh . . . pregnancy? Ice cream shortage? Four more years? Losing health insurance.

Q. Quotes? “Assemble in your imagination all the friends that you enjoy being with most, the companions that evoke the deepest joy, your most stimulating relationships, the most delightful of shared experiences, the people with whom you feel completely alive—that is a hint of heaven.” —Eugene Peterson, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction

R. Reasons to smile? My daughter’s smile. My husband’s laugh. Hints of heaven. Ice cream in the freezer.

S. Season of choice? Fall (aka football season).

T. Tag seven peeps! (see below)

U. Unknown fact about me? In first grade I wrote stories about two guys named “Something and Nothing” which were apparently ripped off for Dumb and Dumber, except mine were funnier.

V. Vegetable? Corn on the cob fresh from the garden, or really anything fresh from the garden.

W. Worst habits? Potty mouth, wasting time on the Internet, procrastination, staying up too late.

X. X-ray or ultrasound? Uh, who wants either?

Y. Your favorite food? Ice cream.

Z. Zodiac sign? Leo, not that I understand what that constellation has to do with my 1/12th of the population. But I do like lions.

I’m tagging:

RMM, Cat, Amy, Gretchen, Ren, Jenny, Carrie, and anyone else (mama or not!) who wants to join the fun. Get on it, you SAHMBOSSes!

A Gathering Worth Getting To

Just the girls went to the Ethiopian adoptive families' gathering on Friday because Aaron's back has been giving him heck and six hours in the car would have given him even more painful misery. I know this because I was feeling mild misery myself by the time I got home at midnight, and as I was leaving home in the afternoon I did think This is insane—but it was worth it.

Anna is not a great car traveler, probably because most of our trips around this small town last about four minutes. A long ride is thirty. This was three hours. She slept one hour, whined forty-five minutes (didn't help that the sun was hot on her), then I stopped for a little bit to eat and to break it up before the last forty-five.

Inquiring moms want to know: How does a brand stinking new Burger King have faux granite tile but not have a baby changing station? Eh, my van's cleaner anyway. Okay, it's filthy, but at least I know whose residue it is on that floor.

The party was wonderfully delightful chaos with all the kids running around. I only knew a couple people coming in but got to meet too many to keep straight—let alone match with their kids and husbands. There were more people than I expected and over twenty kids, mostly under age four. Anna didn't know what to think or do at first! But she got brave and found some slightly bigger kids to follow around and smaller babies to steal toys from and pour water on (er, "share" her water with). And she is never shy about approaching someone with food she wants!

I find it interesting to watch families in a setting like this. Who hovers? Who plays? Who gives their baby cake? Who's responsible for this child seeking buried treasure in the dirt behind the bushes? I probably hovered more than I normally would since I'd never been there or met these people and didn't want my child to be the one diving off the rocks onto the pavement and requiring an ambulance. And believe me, she tried.

We really are blessed to have such a great network of families so close by, even though it usually seems like such a long trip to go see them. I know we could have called on them had we had more bumps on our adoption road or when Anna first came home and know they will be a great support for other issues we may face more in the future as a transracial family. And there's just something awesome about seeing that many gorgeous little ones with the same roots running around. I do hope we can make more area/agency gatherings in the future. But I may just spring for a hotel.

Did you seriously think I was going to share?

Quick links, stolen from Habesha Child:
If you want to track the Ethiopian athletes during the Beijing Olympic Games, this site is a good resource.
And here is the schedule of all the events in which Team Ethiopia is competing. (Warning: this page has Olympic spoilers—the Latest Olympic News ticker will tell you how many medals Michael Phelps has won. If it can keep up.)

Sunday: Falling

The grass withers and the flowers fall,
but the word of our God stands forever.

Isaiah 40:8

Work Hard, Play Hard

Crazy days. This week is looking to be divided into the categories work hard (last few days) and socialize hard (next few days). I finished a project, am starting a new one, and have another lined up for after that with possibly another to follow. I would say "The Universe" received all my positive vibes and sent me the work I so desire, except that—here's a Secret for ya—I think that's a bunch of baloney since people who talk this way can't seem to decide whether "The Universe" is a person, place, or thing.

The universe also failed to provide my true desire, which was for my daughter to go back to sleep after she woke up at 5:35 a.m.

Today is the first preseason game for the Lions. We plan to watch via a series of tubes (Internet) before moving on to the important task of going to friends' house for dinner and to steal play with their Wii.

The other day Aaron put Anna in her Detroit Lions pajamas that were way too big for last year. I came downstairs to say goodnight and she showed me all the lions, pointing and whispering Raaar. Raaar. Her lions always whisper. Insert your own Detroit Kittens meow joke here.

As for Brett Favre, I can't believe he's a Jet now. Even more sad is that now the NFL Network will stop playing that footage of him working out in Mississippi. Where it's hot. Very, very hot. And sweaty . . . and tan. . . . Sorry, you were saying? Oh, right. Jets. Whatever.

Tomorrow we are going up to Portland for an Ethiopian adoption shindig organized around the presence of the lovely Paige, Chou of Habesha Child, and others who are gathering to work on the foundation they started called Ethiopian Orphan Relief. We never make it up to these kinds of gatherings, so this will be our first time meeting some of my online friends (and people I just stalk, ha) from Portland as well as the esteemed visitors. But some of our kids go way back, of course, to their Toukoul orphanage days. Doesn't that just blow your mind?

Please do hop over to the Ethiopian Orphan Relief site and see what they're working on. The funds they raise will help the various organizations in Ethiopia that they have partnered with provide the kids they serve with the things they need and complete projects such as playgrounds and water filtration. I'm eager to hear about it firsthand. And that means you're going to keep hearing about it!

Saturday we are slated for dinner with friends in late celebration of my birthday. I guess if I can't have a Wii, I get to pick the place. (This is our running joke now: "Look at that yacht! You can get me one of those, but if I can't have that, I want a Wii.") Hmm . . . in lieu of Wii, Chinese food or seafood?

Wordless Wednesday

My So-Called Work Life

I don't write much about my freelance work here since (1) it's largely me sitting at my computer reading, how much is there to say? and (2) obviously I can't identify projects or clients, though some authors say the darndest things which would make for entertaining blogging.

I'm pleased to report that despite being without Aaron and then our long slacking-off vacation period, I actually did some work and earned some money in July. Some years it seems like the publishing world grinds to a halt in July and I've ended up twiddling my thumbs. This time I had the work and simply took a break from it, but I've already made up for a lot of that and hope to keeping pushing through August and beyond.

For too long I've been the World's Laziest Freelancer. After I left my publishing job and starting working freelance for them, when we moved to Oregon, I didn't even bother finding any other clients for about three years because hey, they kept me busy enough and I earned enough to get by. I didn't treat it like a business—more like something I did a little bit of in between important youth ministry work and frivolous walking on the beach (and the important work of walking on the beach with frivolous youth).

By the time it occurred to me that we really should have one of those mythical emergency funds I'd heard tell of, life started coming after us to show me why. Travel to see family got expensive. We got a house and the siding ate our savings. I found out just how much eye surgery, MRIs, and heart surgery cost, and even though we have decent insurance, the copays, labs, and prescriptions started to add up. The church budget tanked. We took on adoption and travel to Ethiopia and the budget-buster that is baby formula. And, of course, our beloved human distraction, whose limited command of the English language is so far holding her back from being much help in the family business, has been teaching me the difference between working at home and being a work-at-home mom (it's kind of like the difference between one job and two jobs three jobs one job with seventeen thousand tasks per day).

Yet I've been trying a bit harder to think of my work as a business and expand my "client list" and it's been starting to pay off. I've also had some conversations about work or jobs come to me on someone else's initiative, which is great for the self-esteem even if no work comes from them. Maybe I could really do this thing.

Still, I have to remind myself when it gets slow and/or I don't get any feedback on my work and I wonder, as every freelancer does, did they figure out I'm a fraud and cross me off their list? that they like me, they really like me!, or they wouldn't keep saying so or sending me work. And the nightmare I had about being made to take an editing test when I dropped by my old workplace didn't come true. Maybe I should really do this thing.

Time to push harder and find out how far I can go.

Everybody needs an editor, and yes, today I can say with great some temporary confidence—I'm a good one. Tomorrow? Tomorrow I may well feel like an unwanted, bankrupt incompetent again. Such is the freelance, writing, and creative life.

If I weren't so alone and afraid
They might pay me what I'm worth

Mark Heard, "Nod Over Coffee"

Eat Your Heart Out: Food Input Requested!

Yesterday a friend said in an email that her 16-month-old has 17 teeth. I replied that wow, she must be able to chew even rocks and tires, while I still have to blend them for Ms. Anna Eight-Tooth. And she said Don't tell me you're still blending food?

And I knew I'd been outed: I am clueless about kid food.

Really, the formula was brutally expensive, but at least it was simple. Now it's all "2 1-ounces servings of this, 4 2-ounce or 2 4-ounce servings of that..." I had a good system worked out with the blended veggie cubes, but my friend is right: it's time for the girl to start chewing more and eating more table food.

She will eat quite a few things we eat, but she is funny about textures. Too chewy or too much of a skin and at least some of it comes back out. So I cop out and feed her the blended slop so I know she's getting her veggies. For example, usually (non-pureed) green beans are rejected although, go figure, peas are fine. Cooked carrots and sweet potatoes, she could eat all day; corn, broccoli, forget it. Lunchmeat, yes; chicken, no (unless it's a McD's Chicken MushNugget--sorry to say that I even know that). She will eat ground beef in spaghetti or Mexican but not in hamburger form. She likes chili beans and the like as well as baked beans (we don't call her Fartypants for nothing). She loves fruit, cheese, crackers, bread any time, any where.

I think perhaps I have been worrying a bit too much about "following the rules," getting her the exact number of servings and such, but obviously she does need her protein and it would be good if she did continue to eat vegetables, not just fruit, and maybe even something other than the ever-popular sweet potato. So my questions to you are:

• What does/did your toddler eat? (Anna is 18 months.)
• What do you suggest for meat and veggies in particular? Cooking tips?
• What are some favorite easy things you give your kid when what you're eating won't work, or a couple favorites for breakfast, lunch, dinner?

And for bonus points:

• Why is a zucchini a fruit, not a vegetable?
• Which one is an avocado, anyway?

Thanks for playing, and stay tuned for future episodes: taking away the nap time bottle and potty training!

Wordless Wednesday

On the Vacay

Tooth #9 seems to be migrating to make its grand entrance into Anna's mouth, since she had us up in the night and up early with that lovely UNNNNNNNNNGH sound which persists until you haul yourself out of bed and downstairs, ceases when you are present, and resumes upon your attempting to leave her room and/or your head touching your pillow. She also has me singing everyone's favorite hymn, O Thou Fount of Grody Snotness. Who wants to bet when diaper rash adds to the fun?

Given that this kickoff to the day finds me just having finished her hair at just before lunchtime, it seems like a good time to reflect on our vacation. Was that just days ago?

Things we did not do on our vacation:

• appreciate high humidity
• pack light enough
• get up early
• go to bed early enough to make sleeping in count
• work
• see enough people
• spend enough time without people

Things we did on our vacation:

• wedding festivities
• birthday festivities
• go boating on Lake Michigan
• stop by old workplaces
• visit the zoo
• coo at my nephew
• blow bubbles
• wading pool
• slide and swing set
• sandbox
• remove sand from hair
• moo at cows
• donate blood to mosquitoes
• dodge orange construction barrels
• smell the flowers
• enjoy the sun
• eat a lot at every meal
• eat ice cream late at night
• do a lot of dishes
• see some friends
• miss some friends
• take a lot of pictures
  

Now Reverse

All good things come to an end.

So do family visits. (Ba-dum bum! Rim shot!)

We successfully reversed course across the U.S. yesterday. We got up and out on time (early) and had a relatively short flight to Minneapolis. Anna was squirrelly but it was just our two seats in our row so let her wiggle, it's only an hour. Short layover before the long flight, but filed under Epistemology we found our Free Miracle! card and redeemed it for an extra seat in our row and a comatose-for-three-hours baby.

However, this nap did simply defer all the protesting about being confined (and I don't just mean Aaron's opinions on coach legroom) to the three-hour drive home. At least our fellow plane passengers were spared Anna's insanity-inducing pitch. It would have made that little carry-on dog someone had howl in pain. Like we did.

We all went to bed early, by Pacific time standards, but today Anna almost fell asleep on the 1.1 mile drive home from church and between bites of lunch. No naps for us grownups, though--duty calls.

I will try to get some of the four billion pictures taken last week up here and emailed to those of you who need them soon, so just hang on, they're coming. But in order of importance I first have to (1) pay bills and (2) get some other papers out of the way so I can (3) work like a mad fool to make up for lost time. Don't be fooled: the freelancer's vacation is really only work deferred to a late-night purgatory of procrastination payback the next week!

Wordless Wednesday: Birthday Gift 2007

All Play

We have been enjoying our time in Michigan. My brother and his wife arrived with their four-month-old boy "Tobo" the night after we did, so there has been lots of playing with and staring at the little ones. Anna is having the time of her life here with the small slide/swing set, kiddie pool, sandbox (aka hair nemesis...I was not home when this occurred...), deck steps, music table, five billion toys, and cows (bmoooooo!). My favorite game is her rocking me while I'm on the hammock!

We arrived just in time to be reminded that: (1) it's stinking hot here and (2) it's FREAKING HUMID here. However, Aaron loves the heat anyway and my dad wisely and mercifully got an air conditioner for upstairs where we kids and our kids sleep. After a couple days of extreme heat it has found the perfect spot--warm and sunny but not humid. And we spent Sunday afternoon on Aaron's parents' boat on Lake Michigan. Ahhh, summer!

We have had some relatives and friends here to visit, and Aaron successfully officiated Sami's wedding Friday night. Now we're relaxing a bit more and as a day early birthday event for me, I guess, planning to all go to the zoo tomorrow to show Anna the lions (raar!) and tigers (kitty!) and bears (baba!), oh my!

Wordless Wednesday: July 16, 2007

July 15, 2007

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Moments so dear.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

How about love?
How about love?
How about love? Measure in love

"Seasons of Love" from the musical Rent

On Our Way!

Bags are officially stuffed dangerously close to the overweight fee zone. House is ready for housesitters (the bummer about that is that you can't leave it a disaster zone). Must balance checkbook, check fridge for nasties, bring in rest of laundry, and then load up!

See some of you soon in our favorite mitten state!

Survivor: Airplane

Aaron and the kids made it home from YL camp safe and tired. They arrived early enough that Aaron could throw Anna around giggling for an hour or so before bed. They both slept in today.

I will soon commence the art of packing to survive 271 minutes of flight plus X minutes on runway with an 18-month-old, 23-pound wiggle worm on my lap. For the airports we got her a cute bear backpack with a long tail. Yeah, it's a leash. Cruel, demeaning us. But she loves her "baba," and isn't it actually more freedom than five-point harnessing her to things the entire time? I'm over it.

Some things I have in mind for in-flight entertainment: mini magnadoodle; a couple books (lift-the-flaps are good, I figure, to take as long as possible on each page...); her toy camera with the animal pictures; plastic bead necklace she's enthralled with; snacks like Cheerios, Goldfish crackers, string cheese, yogurt-covered raisins. And Aaron can play VeggieTales and Muppets shows on his Palm Pilot. For me, of course.

Then there is all the other stuff: diapers, wipes, cup, bib, spoon, milk, other food, change of clothes...

And my stuff: laptop (probably), camera, wallet, toothbrush, book I'll never even open, copious amounts of Dramamine...

So what am I forgetting? And the flip side: how can I lighten my load? (Answer: make it your husband's load!)

Aaron says she's going to be on my lap the whole time. But he also takes the aisle seat, so God help the poor soul on my left. I feel more sorry for them than me.

Meanwhile, here on the blog, as you can see I've finally done a little housekeeping. If your blog is not on my blogroll but you know I stalk you and you'd like it to be, let me know. (And if it's on there but you don't want it to be, that's cool too.)

Twenty Twenty Twenty-Four Hours to Go...

I WANNA BE SEDATED.

Just kidding. This week with Aaron gone has not been that bad--but I am ready to have him back. Anna was very good until today when she had some inexplicable crying/crankypantsness. She apparently was quite freaked out by the sight of me dusting--perhaps I haven't done it in a year?--and was shocked by my timely removal of Easter decorations. As in, WHERE ARE YOU TAKING THOSE BUNNIES? NOOOOOOOO!

But tonight we had a wonderful dinner at friends' gorgeous house and rolled on their amazing lawn. Few things are better in life than rolling on thick green grass. Strawberry pie may be one of them.

We will go to Portland Monday night to fly to Michigan early Tuesday. That leaves little over 48 hours after Aaron gets home to deal with all his sweaty laundry, pack, prep for the housesitters, make sure bills are paid and cloth diapers are all clean, make a bank and Dramamine run, etc.

Just get me to the airport, put me on a plane
Hurry hurry hurry, before I go insane . . .

. . . and agree to go paintballing Friday afternoon. Yes, freshman and sophomore girls are going to shoot balls of paint at me in the middle of the woods. And you know I'm a target since I'm old, though I have the advantage over Bubbles for being (1) not as old as him and (2) not their eighth grade media teacher upon whom they'd like to exact revenge. Still, what was I thinking?

I can't control my fingers, I can't control my brain
Oh no no no no no

I'll let you know how the bruises look and if I can still walk.

Just put me in a wheelchair, get me to the show . . .
I wanna be sedated!

Wordless Wednesday

Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

“Let’s just do it, and be done, and get on with our lives, and then it will all be just a memory.”

Four hundred and something days ago we made that decision, one of the hardest ones of our life.

Three hundred ninety-eight days ago they cut open my husband’s chest and let a machine breathe for him and pump his blood. My husband was Darth Vader for six hours.

It seems so much longer ago than a year. It feels like it happened in some other dimension, a fuzzy place we can barely bring before our minds’ eyes, a place called not June but Before Anna. A barely perceptible speck in life’s rear-view mirror.

I think of it every day, of course, and yet give it little thought at all. I thought this anniversary would feel more significant—though I’m glad it didn’t since that’s a sign that all’s well and we made the right decision.

Still, I thought about it as the dates passed and as we walked around doing the things he struggled to do last year. I remembered how it felt last year to have to cajole him into going, reminding him it would be good for him to get out of the house, and how it felt to walk as slowly as he had to and try not to show I was keeping a nervous eye on how hard he was breathing. What a contrast between that and how now he says, “I’ll get the little girl!” and swoops her up to his shoulders, carrying her proudly to greet people and point at dogs, skipping to make her laugh.

Like the physical scars, the memories and feelings of the June lost to surgery are hidden most of the time. They are a new feature of our history that we don’t examine much now that they’re healed over. You have to pull back some layers to see the scars. But once in a while they catch my eye. They surface in the dull ache in his chest some days, the tick of his mechanical valve at an unexpected moment, the familiarity of hospital waiting rooms, the taunting what-ifs of concerns over health insurance. But they are covered most days by the proof we reached the other side—the joy that was set before us, in a picture on a bedside tray, that got him up and out of bed and all the way to Ethiopia—the living, running, giggling proof of life beyond surgery, beyond Marfan’s, beyond ourselves.

Even though they have faded, those scar-memories are with us. And they are good. They have changed us and taught us much. So it is good to remember.

But it is better to go out and live.

Freedom Fog

Home alone (with Anna) again. Aaron left for Young Life camp early this morning. Since I'm not swamped with work this time, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself so far. Maybe it's just that I'm tired and this blah marine layer of clouds, but I can't quite get myself going on any of the many small tasks and decluttering projects I'd like to tackle. Need to find the zone.

We have had a busy couple of days. Aaron had a lot to get done before camp and it seemed like kids were being extra flakey about not committing, then telling someone else they wanted to go, then not doing anything at all to make that happen. You might think we could just ask their parents to make a decision and stick with it but around here a lot of parents are just as flakey and some of them don't have working phones (and I do mean at home or anywhere, not just not having cell phones) so getting ahold of them and getting signed health forms to them and back was a headache (not that said forms include any information anyway since there is often no health insurance).

SmallPort always has fireworks on the 3rd, and nearby Hippieville has them on the 4th, so you can get a double dose if you want. On Thursday, the 3rd, we parked our friend's truck down by the bay and planned to car pool from our house to that base point. It was a really nice day until about 5:30 when a horror-movie-esque fog swallowed the town. (I really like using my horror movie voice: "It's . . . THE FOG . . . Nooooooo!") Here is the scene at 9:00 p.m.:


And here is where they shoot off the fireworks. See it? It's right there, in THE FOG.


A little less summery than last year.

When the fireworks started you could only see the bottom half of them. They were half-circles instead of full circles. But five minutes into the show, a little breeze kicked up, just enough to blow away THE FOG enough for a nice show. Chilly though!

Anna quickly learned to say "Oooooooooh" with us, although she probably didn't know why (are there owls?). She liked watching the fireworks and dogs ("Whoof!") and kids ("Babyyyy!") and was not freaked out at all by the fireworks. Not even the cannon sounds of the can't-be-legal ones somebody set off by us on the beach. Of course the real fireworks aren't very loud since they're set off basically over the ocean and we were across the bay.

We opted out of the Hippieville parade and fireworks display on the 4th, but in the afternoon I did go with a friend and Anna down to Hippieville to see one of our students/friends sing. Now that town is a display. A public display of affection . . . for tie-dye. And long skirts. And beads. And hemp, in all its many forms. We saw:

(1) A cool chick grooving on the guitar. Yay Jul!


(2) Pirate hippies and (3) Marge Simpson?


(4) Colonial pirates? and of course (5) fairies! (Duh, where do you think the La De Da Parade came from?)


Ah, Hippieville, USA--home of the fashion free and brave!

Yaaaaay, freedom!

The Incredible Non-Sleeping Baby

We jinxed it.

Monday night remarked how lucky we are that we can just put our kid in her crib, say goodnight, and let her put herself to sleep. We smiled as we listened to our daughter softly recite her growing vocabulary in her crib before drifting off for twelve straight hours of sleep. Mama. Dada. Diddie. Baba. Baby. Baby! Babeeeeey! Whoooooo.

Tuesday she fought me a bit for naptime and vigorously battled nighttime sleep. After a couple rounds of crying for us, I had to hold her until she was essentially out.

Wednesday night—an epic battle for the ages. She had slept in late and napped a little late and probably too long (things I allowed because I was trying to hammer out a project). We usually have her up until at least 9:00 anyway (hey, it keeps her cribbed past the 8:00 a.m. hour), but this night, 9:30 was just the beginning.

Aaron did a couple rounds with her and then tried letting her cry. We’re not big cry-it-out people, but sometimes we’ll let her cry a bit if it seems she just wants to try to get you back in there. She usually gives it up in a couple minutes anyway. Well, after a good ten minutes of her crying, screaming bloody murder, and hacking (from crying so hard, plus she’s had an allergies cough), my brain was splitting open and I couldn’t possibly get any work done anyway, so I went in there. She seemed truly beyond the point of calming herself down.

Oh yeah. You would be too if you had that puke stench on you.

She’d only thrown up a little bit of milk, but it was nasty. So it necessitated lights on, wiping up, a change of clothes. And . . . let the cycle begin again. I went upstairs and heard Aaron reading to her. Rocking her. Singing to her. And the pitter-patter of tiny, hyperactive feet escaping from her room.

Eventually my turn again and I wasn’t taking any chances trying to put her down half asleep. I mean, don’t be a hero. I had to get this girl into her usual semicomatose state before I could so much as think about shifting her horizontal or taking a breath in the middle of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I thought I’d ruined it when I put her down and she started grabbing at blankets, but the kid is like a T-Rex: she can’t see you if you don’t move. I froze until I was sure she didn’t know I was still there and was just getting comfortable to sleep like she usually does, you know, two and a half hours earlier.

So we all went to bed close to midnight, and only one of us woke up before 6:00 to get some work done. We should all be up late again tonight for fireworks over the bay—but a huge fog bank is enveloping our town as we speak. In case our night reverts to a quiet night at home, I need to get the once-again-late napper up now to avert a potential repeat!

Wordless Wednesday: Safe

Diverse TV Follow-Up

I said I'd give my own favorite diverse TV shows at the end of my post on Why Is TV So White?

Just a note to clarify the population statistics: you will sometimes see stats that whites make up almost 80 percent of the U.S. population, but that's because being any race and "of Hispanic origin" is not counted separately. If you break it out, Hispanic or Latino makes up 14.4 percent. Black or African American, 12.8 percent; Asian, 4.3 percent; and so on according to this census chart. As the article on TV said, 1 in 3 Americans is now a minority, but TV is not even close to mirroring that. And then there's the issue of how the minorities are represented--if all the Arabs are terrorists, that's not really the diverse role models we were looking for...

You guys mentioned three shows I don't watch: The Unit, Grey's Anatomy, Dancing with the Stars. I do think a lot of the so-called reality shows are diverse (sometimes naturally, sometimes due to producers' manipulation? but hey, it's TV, it's not that real). I always love that American Idol gives us singers of all races and backgrounds, immigrant families, interracial families, you name it (although there has yet to be a black country western singer to make everyone's minds explode). I have to say I'm a sucker for any black girl rocking natural hair. Then they straighten it. Sigh.

I also agree with Heroes. Loved season one especially; love Hiro and Ando. Seen any other heroic Japanese main characters lately ever? However, there's a danger of stereotyping here (such as the nameless Haitian magical Negro), as sometimes observed in interesting episode recaps on the site Racialious.

Everybody Hates Chris--These are piling up on my TiVo because I never have time to watch, but I think the cast is superb and it works on the level of family sitcom (strong solid black family) while the setting/narration also lets Chris Rock give a little subtle commentary on black/white relations and cultural differences (in 1980's Brooklyn but tied into today). One the kids can watch fairly young.

Ugly Betty--What I like about the diversity here is that it is both incidental (characters whose race isn't important) and intentionally culturally specific (Betty's Mexican family traditions, etc.). Characters also represent differences in nationality, sexuality, class, and obviously values and ethical standards! And to go along with the point of the article, a show like this probably wouldn't have been possible, or the same anyway, without minority producers like Salma Hayek and Silvio Horta guiding it. (This one's sure beyond PG sometimes, though, so the kids will have to wait a while to watch, but "hasn't had a welcome mat since the nineties"?!--oh my word, it cracks me up!)

Any more we missed?

Some Kind of Regular

(No, this isn't a poop post. In my head it's sung to "Some Kind of Wonderful," okay?)

Aaron made it back Saturday evening in an exhausted heap. We're getting back into a regular life groove again. In summer he's home more evenings, which is nice except that he kind of likes to eat dinner and is here to notice that there's no food parts that make a whole meal. I think I'm going to have to hit the store today.

Sunday afternoon's bed races were the usual SmallPort spectacle. This is such a funky little town. This year there were four entries and a new champion was awarded the coveted Golden Pillow. (Crowd favorite The Bed Wetters retained the Golden Bedpan yet again.)

Our "neighbor" (a few streets up and over) recently adopted her little girl from Ethiopia. We swung by their welcome home party last week to see her and they stopped by Saturday morning to drop off things they'd borrowed and things she brought me from Ethiopia, including a traditional outfit for Anna and some jewelry that's different from what I'd bought. Let me tell you this girl is beautiful. Did you think Anna has big eyes? No--this girl has incredible eyes! All this has left me missing Ethiopia again. I will try to get back to blogging about our trip soon.

I also have to get going on those readoption papers. I know, I know--you've procrastinated this long?! Of course. I realized, however, that I don't have any government ID with the name I told the airlines she's flying under. I called NWA and it's no problem for July, but I think United might be more picky.

I know I shouldn't be intimidated by this stack of papers because it's supposedly an easy process, but I am. I don't know if it's mommybrain or what, but sometimes I feel like I've lost the ability to tackle such things. I think it's partly a symptom of a cluttered desk and office. I need to dig out.

On with the show day, this is it!

Anniversary Parade Day

Happy 11th Anniversary to us! The town is throwing us a parade. Okay, not really; it's Beachcomber Days.

It's the kind of weekend when it's great to live in a small town. We can go to the parade, see lots of people we know (in it and watching), and hopefully have an elephant ear, yet not have to deal with huge crowds. Tomorrow there are the sandcastle contest and the wonderfully silly bed races.

I'm meeting friends for the parade and I'm excited to zip Anna around in the stroller and see how she likes her first parade (though I suspect fire truck sirens may not be a hit). And yet I'm a little sad that Aaron's not here for it, especially since it is our anniversary.

It's not that we're big mushy-gushy anniversary-celebrators; we're usually really low-key. But last year was our 10th and what did we do? I don't even specifically remember, but I think that's because the answer is NOTHING. Aaron had only been home from his heart surgery a week. He was still drugged up and tired. I was charting his drugs and holding my breath for adoption travel plans. I do know that last year I went to the parade with my mother-in-law, who was out here for the surgery, and everyone was asking about Aaron.

So it's kind of a bummer that he's not here today, but he returns tonight and will be happy he at least won't miss the bed races tomorrow. I will just be happy he's here! But Anna has been great for me, really, and we've gotten out and done a lot--walks, beach, playground, trying a friend's Wii Fit (I shalt covet!).

Okay, enough whining--time for a parade!

Why Is TV So White?

Here's an interesting article I ran into a few days ago:

Diversity in Entertainment: Why Is TV So White?

I think this does a good job of showing why it's not necessarily as easy as saying "TV should be more diverse" (although it should be). It's storytelling, so the actors have to fit the roles. And if you want the roles to represent cultural diversity, you need writers, directors, and producers who can make a good show where those cultural nuances are believable and not stereotypical--and get the show pitched, sold, made, and put on a time when more than seven people will see it. And where are you going to find the minority power players to make that happen if you don't have so much as a minority intern you can train up in the craft?

This reminds me, actually, of the age-old question at my old employ, "Why is this Christian publishing house so white?" Short answer: Because Dutch people are white. (Ha ha.) Longer answer: Because people who apply for Christian publishing jobs mostly come from local Christian colleges (or other Christian companies), and people at local Christian colleges are mostly white, because people who apply for local Christian colleges are mostly white and often from private Christian high schools, which are--you guessed it--mostly white. (And this, my friends, is reason #273 why I think public education is the great democratizer which Christians should overwhelmingly take part in. But I digress.) So it's not so much racial prejudice but racial separation that keeps an industry (or a niche of an industry, or a subculture) looking virtually the same even as the rest of the world around it changes.

That's my thesis for tonight, anyway.

What TV shows do you like that represent a different cultural group or mix (than the typical white bread sitcom) or that have a diverse cast? Y'all start and I'll chime in.

Sand in Our Shoes

Here I Go Again On My Own

Aaron’s off to Michigan again, this time for his grandmother’s funeral. He didn’t want to go but he wants and needs to be there. So off he goes.

Nobody here but us girls. And you know us; we just want to have fun.

You and me, babe, how about it?

I hope to get as much work done as I did last time he was gone. I actually did more than usual, probably aided by having no life and a tight deadline. Right now I have a loose deadline, which is very bad for me. I am much faster under pressure.

“Never mind creativity, man. Just give me a deadline.” —Louis Armstrong

Also please give me some more Chinese take-out. It has magical properties.

We had a very nice Father’s Day. Aaron’s sermon went very well—except for him saying “sucks” and then drawing extra attention to it by talking about how he tries not to say that kind of thing up there—and for whatever reason there was a whole lunch’s worth of food after church. Then, in a kind of throwback to the ’80s/pre-kid life afternoon, we went to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Who Cares If It Makes Sense, Harrison Ford Is Still Hot.

By the way, are we sure this Shia LeBouf kid is not John Cusack’s love child?

The girl sleeps - work I must!

For Anna on Father’s Day

Dear Anna,

Do you know how much your Daddy loves you? You can’t possibly. You don’t hear him whisper “She is so adorable!” when you’re chattering away to yourself or see the goofy grin on his face when you hug him after he’s been gone. He loves you more than anyone and anything. And you think he’s the greatest thing in the world.

You had another father too, in Ethiopia. Even though it’s easier for me to imagine your mother, I try to picture you with your father, and I can’t help but wonder if you’d be a Daddy’s Girl with him too. I think so. Even though we don’t know anything about him, I’m sure he loved you too. I’m sure that if he could see you now, he’d be awestruck at how much you’ve grown and how beautiful you are. If he could carry you on his shoulders and teach you new things, his chest would swell and his face would beam with pride. If you could come running to him, his face would light up and his worries would fade away.

If he were here with you, he’d make you laugh like no one else can, and you’d bring the biggest smile to his face. You’d be your daddy’s little girl . . . just as you are, here, screaming at tickles and running for hugs, your daddy’s precious, treasured girl.

Both your fathers have blessed me so much. I’m thankful today.

Going to Say Goodbye

Aaron’s dear grandmother passed away last night. She had been fighting cancer for months and we knew the time was close. We are thankful Aaron was able to see her a few weeks ago—she even made it to his brother’s wedding. He has an awesome picture of her wearing his sunglasses. Grandma was always so full of life and energy, so caring, so dedicated to praying every day for each of her family members, the hub and the rock of the family. She will be greatly missed. And Grandpa is struggling with changes in his life due to his failing memory as well as this loss. We appreciate your prayers for the whole family.

So Aaron will be going back to Michigan this week to join the family in saying goodbye. We are not sure of the details yet—they are trying to make sure Aaron’s cousin who is in the Marines can make it from California—although I scouted out flights today. They do still offer bereavement fares . . . but they are still really expensive. But eh, what can you do?

Aaron has to give the sermon tomorrow. Then we are going to try to get out to see Indiana Jones, I think, for a little down time . Harrison makey everything better.

Twitter-De-Do!

I'm on da Twitter! Twitter me! Twitter it up! Let's Twit it on!

I don't know why this seems like such fun to me but I love it already. I like that it's simple. Yeah, that's how it starts. Next thing you know I'll be on the MyFaceSpaceBook.

In Your FACE, United Airlines

Yesterday I went ahead and booked our flights for July: heads up, GR, we're coming at you July 15-26. Let there be gatherings and festivities and low humidity for all!

And now, in an unprecedented act of advance planning . . . I just bought our tickets for Christmastime (Dec. 26-Jan. 7). This is stunning. I won't know what to do with myself all through October and November without this purchase to debate and rage about. The Grinch part of my heart grew three sizes today.

Even more shocking is that I was actually able to get two tickets using our frequent flyer miles. They seem to make it as hard as possible. For Aaron's last trip I even transferred miles from my account to his, which costs money, so he could go using miles--but by the time the miles were in his account, no "reserved for mileage plus" tickets were available. Grr! So rather than play that game again, I bought our tickets with miles and Anna's with money (well, credit!) and will try to use what remains next time.

For some reason I feel like I'm really gaming the system even though hello, we've been flying across the country at least twice a year for five years and also flew to Africa, first class--you'd think getting one lousy trip out of it would not be that hard. Oh, but today I am victorious.

ALWAYS BE VICTORIOUS!

Just Another Schlumpadinka Monday

Six o'clock already / I was just in the middle of a dream . . .

I decided yesterday on a whim--because that's how I make all my big decisions I have no intention of following through on--that I should get up at the same time every day, and that time should be 6:30. As in starting my day at 6:30 a.m., not getting up from a nap at 6:30 p.m. (not that I do that, but it sounds dang good right now).

Someone should really clue my daughter in that this means I'd like to sleep through the night until 6:30.

The result? Well, I'm tired, and I never made it out of my, er, "exercise pants." I realized I'd probably feel better if I did, but it was rainy. And one of the secret rules of working at home is that you are allowed to stay in your schlumpadinka sweatpants all day if it is rainy.

Of course the point of all this early rising is to try to make myself more productive-- oversleeping 30 minutes a day eats up 180 hours a year!-- and yoga pants don't really compliment that goal (unless of course you're a yoga instructor). But the realization that if I can add just 30 minutes a day of productivity (work) to my life, I could contribute a lot more financially to this outfit, well, I have to give that a shot, because we've got plane tickets to buy.

Plane tickets to Michigan are currently dragging my financial plan and sanity to the brink of destruction. I cannot express to you how much I HATE HATE HATE this process EVERY SINGLE TIME I go through it. I go through all the stages of travel grief. Denial: Maybe the prices will drop. Rage: WTF do you mean we can't use our miles AGAIN? Bargaining: A 2000 Suzuki, our dog, and the red-eye for not connecting through Chicago, final offer.

Now, Mister Smart Article Guy says that to become an early riser, I should go to bed now, since I'm tired, so I can jump up like Pavlov's dog when the alarm taunts me again. Too bad I just got my blood pressure up by thinking about those flights.

The good news? We'll see you in July, Michigan friends. Now there's a sweet dream.

Our Holy Ham

When we eat dinner together we pray first, holding hands--or Anna's wrists if she has already started her messy finger food. When we're done we bounce her hands up and down as we say, "A-men! Aaaaa-men!" She thinks it's funny and has come to expect it.

Last night at the end of our small group Bible study, which meets at our house, we were praying for a few minutes. Three of us were sitting on the floor and Anna was wandering around (distracting us, as usual). Just as someone started praying for N., who has been having struggles with her daughter, Anna walked up and took hold of her fingers. That was sweet enough, but then she held N.'s hand with one hand and reached out the other to hold R.'s hand--then bent over and bowed her head! It was so cute, I started giggling. Then she came over between me and R. and did the same thing again, holding our hands and bowing her head/body. I really got the giggles then, so bad I was crying by time someone said amen. Others hadn't seen it so we said "Let's pray!" and held hands again and she did it again. What a little (holy) ham she is!

This Is the Moment

Last night was the moment: the first black nominee for President of the United States. Whether you will vote for him or not, take a minute to consider that when Barack Obama was born in 1961, he was not guaranteed the right to vote. People died so that last night could happen. I don't know nearly enough about them, but I am grateful. Because of them and many others, my daughter can live a free and equal life in America with me. Because of them my daughter can participate fully in shaping our world through the changes to come.

This is the moment I am sure this is possible.

If we are willing to work for it, and fight for it, and believe in it, then I am absolutely certain that generations from now, we will be able to look back and tell our children that this was the moment. . . . This was the moment – this was the time – when we came together to remake this great nation so that it may always reflect our very best selves, and our highest ideals.

-- Barack Obama, June 3, 2008

P.S.: Oh yeah . . . pound it, baby!

Vacation Remainders

Following Aaron's fabulously enjoyable birthday, Friday I did a little work and Aaron and Sami did a little youth pastor work--Aaron had agreed to help "judge" the "talent show" at the high school. Sami will soon be a youth pastor in Tennessee, and Aaron has been her mentor over the years, so she loved meeting our kids and seeing his work. He also made her help clean the garage. Probably less enlightening. After dinner we went to the beach where the waves crash on the rocks. Gorgeous but cold with the wind.

Saturday morning Aaron again used Sami as his own personal intern, helping at the YL car wash, while I got Anna and all our stuff ready to head out SANDBOARDING. Our friend Famous Sandboarder Matt Walton just got back in town and stopped by the other day to say hi and got us all itching to try it out. More on this later, but let's just say it was awesome rad, dude. Or whatever the cool kids who actually know what they're doing say.

Sunday was another full day/work day for Aaron. We've had a wonderful woman serving as our fill-in pastor for two months, and even though we're mad at her for not staying longer (like forever), we thought it'd be nice to have brunch on her last Sunday. So half the church took over the place with the amazing buffet. Endless fruit and sugary carbs? Anna has a new favorite place. I rushed her home for a 45-minute detox nap before I had to wake her up for Baccalaureate at church. Aaron is always in charge of this--much to his chagrin--and this year he gave the little inspiring message too. He really did a great job and it's too bad that for some reason there weren't as many people there. Previously there's been more people every year, seems to me. I always tell him if he wants to get out of doing this thing, he's going to have to do a much worse job. Ya screwed yourself again, Wetzel.

Monday we had to take Sami back to the airport, and I arranged for us to go by our adoption agency for our third and final post-placement meeting with the social worker. I can't believe it--this means it's been almost a year since we came home from Ethiopia with Anna. It's been almost a year since a lot of things . . .

All that made for a really long day in the car, since Anna stubbornly kept herself awake the whole three hours home. I think we are all still feeling the aftereffects a bit today. The party's over.

All on the Underhills' Tab

Whew. We've gone from extreme to extreme this week.

Aaron was off to Michigan from last Tuesday afternoon to Sunday evening. I worked worked worked like a mad fool, since I foolishly squandered so much work time before he left (and had some unplanned life interruptions). I pretty much planned my week around How much work can I get done while Anna's asleep? and How can I wear her out so she sleeps? We took some walks around the neighborhood and on the beach and made a shopping/Chinese food run. She was really good for me but dang, I'm glad I'm not on my own all the time.

Even when Aaron got home, no rest for wicked me--I was really really pushing for my Wednesday deadline. I worked more in three days than I usually do in a week and was staring at the computer longer in one day (Tuesday) than any non-cyborg should be. But I made my deadline and got good feedback, so I'm pleased. Imagine how rich I'd be if I worked like all the time--naw, forget it. I do need to up my hours/productivity, but not to that level. What's the saying? In all things . . . procrastination?

Aaron brought a visitor back with him: our old friend Sami, who was a youth group student of his way back when, then a student leader, now a soon-to-be-married college grad. The first couple days we pretty much used her as a nanny while we got caught up on things; Tuesday night they took some kids to a concert (I pass on heavy metal). Wednesday night as our small group was wrapping up some kids stopped by to wish Aaron happy birthday and scope out this Sam person they'd heard tell of.

Yesterday was Aaron's birthday and after our now-standard lazy morning, we drove north for a hike to a waterfall we'd never in 4 1/2 years made it to. The sun came out and the trail did not disappoint; just as you're wondering If that little thing's the creek, how big could this waterfall be? out of nowhere you come to a skinny Indiana-Jones-esque bridge where the creek drops off a 75-foot cliff! Anna was fearless on the bridge. Her dad, not so much. (Chill, Mom. It's totally safe with metal mesh fencing.) Anna loved being carried on her dad's back. And beating him with a fern to make him go faster. If he'd bounce her a little by skipping, she'd burst into giggles.

On the way back we did a couple of errands--when you live in sticksville, at $4.19 a gallon of gas, you have to make the most of your trips to semi-civilization--and hit our favorite Mexican restaurant. Anna was great through all of this despite her shortened nap and the extra excitement. I suppose being carried three miles isn't as tiring as doing the carrying.

To top off the evening Aaron chose one of his favorite movies, Fletch. For his birthday I gave him a basketball hoop, which he said he wanted. And a Bloody Mary, and a steak sandwich . . . and a steak sandwich. I put it on the Underhills' tab.

For All Who Serve

For all who serve,
past, present, and future,
near and far,
known and unknown:

Thank you.

We remember.

Friday Face: Bubblicious

For SCC and Family

I have a clear picture of the sunny summer day when I was perhaps seven or eight, with its blue sky and green grass and the grasshoppers languishing on our dusty gravel driveway. My mom came home from the store, I think, and I wandered up from playing by the barn as my dad also came out to greet her and then suddenly turned serious, trying to find the way to tell her what he'd learned that day as a fire/rescue volunteer. "Something bad happened today," he said. "Mary Anne Wilson ran over her own son in their driveway."

I remember my mother gasping and holding onto him, crying, as I shuffled around nearby, half-playing, trying not to look like I was listening in as my dad told how the boy had been riding his bike fast down their long, curvy, country driveway as she drove up. This woman was a local teacher and had three or four boys ranging from a little younger than me to around my older brother's age. Our small town knew them well and I'm sure extended much grace, and yet . . . the shadow of what happened hung over her for a long time. In a few years she returned to teaching.

I read this morning that Christian musician Steven Curtis Chapman lost a daughter in a driveway accident. And while it's strange to me in a way to be part of blogging about the tragedy of a family I don't even know--somehow feels a little borderline gossipy--I keep flashing back to that moment in my yard when I saw my mom's heart break for another mother's lost child. And we do have a connection (and I don't just mean that whole smart-aleck autograph incident) because their family helped unite ours by giving us a grant to help with adoption expenses. And so my heart and prayers go out to them, and I ask for yours too.

I Voted

In lieu of sticker . . . photographic proof!


Can I just say that I freaking love voting? It just makes me feel so stinking patriotic to take the time to go to my local polling place, see all my fellow community members, say hi to all the nice old ladies volunteering, fill out and turn in my ballot, and wear that awesome "I Voted" sticker all day. I love to see others wearing it too, no matter who they voted for--the most important thing is that we all participate. If you don't vote, you can't complain, I say.

Of course now that we live in Oregon all voting is done by mail, which works well but is not nearly so satisfying. I like to at least drop my ballot in the drop box rather than my own mailbox, since that makes me feel like it's at least a little bit more important than paying my cable bill.

Aaron is getting ready to head to Portland to fly out early for Michigan for his bro's wedding. Anna and I should have sufficient stores of whole milk and ice cream and TiVo'ed TV to get us through these five and a half days. And events have conspired to keep me away from my work, so every moment she's asleep and I can stay awake, it's nose to the red-penciled grindstone for me.

Remember the Friday movie plans? Six of us gathered and piled in a friend's gas-guzzler, drove to the theater and the power was out. Happily, the babysitter was available for a do-over the next day, and we had a great time and enjoyed the movie despite its in many ways bearing little resemblance to the book. Spoiler alert: Prince Caspian looks like young Keanu Reeves. But he never does say, "Whoaaaah."