crazy hair

Remember when she had crazy hair all the time? It's been a while now that her long hair lays down. But we have now entered the bed head phase apparently, and I couldn't be happier.

We never left the always smiling phase, but it hasn't gotten old yet.

four years

Four years ago this morning, I sat on a good friend's couch and told her that I wasn't sure if I was pregnant or not (turns out, I was). I left a bit earlier than I'd planned because she mentioned the weather might get bad and it would be good to make the 20-minute drive before any rain. I went home and made bread, but I opened a weather-tracking website just in case.  Not too long before this, Josh and I had debated the merits of various parts of our house for bunkering down during a tornado warning. We'd had this conversation with some new friends. Just a week or so before, a small tornado had touched down a few miles from our house. I'd gone to campus to wait out the warning with Josh in a basement classroom and he was so mad at me for taking the time to pay for parking. (I worked at a parking office, remember? I don't take parking regulations lightly.) Actually, as I was paying for parking, one of my dollars was too wrinkled and the machine kept spitting it back out. Eventually the student behind me got out of his car and paid for me with his id card. That time, Jonah and I had run across campus in pouring rain to meet Josh. There were tornado sirens wailing and the whole thing was rather eerie.

Four years ago this afternoon, we left long before the sirens. When James Spann* said the storms were approaching Tuscaloosa, I turned off the oven (annoyed, I might add. I hate it when something interrupts bread-making.) and packed up a bag of toys and treats for Jonah. When we left home, there were no sirens and no rain. It was Josh who ran across campus in the rain this time. We waited it out in the basement with the families of quite a few other students and faculty. We watched Finding Nemo.** When that was over, we watched the weather report as the tornado crept closer to our house until the power and internet went out. At the house where I'd been that morning, Noel was listening to the radio and started crying when she heard Krispy Kreme had been hit. She was due to deliver her fourth baby any day, and her husband assumed she was sad about the donuts. (We lived adjacent to the store.)

Four years ago this evening, we drove in the slowest traffic of my life the two miles back to our home. We called our parents. The storm hadn't made national news yet, so they hadn't had time to worry before they heard us say that we were all safe. I don't think it stopped them from worrying after we hung up, though. We called the bishop's house, but he wasn't home. His wife said he'd left as soon as the weather cleared to come and find us (and others, I'm sure). I don't get very emotional about the whole thing anymore, but remembering that still makes me cry. We walked/ran the rest of the way because no cars were allowed in our neighborhood. We were both filled with an unmistakable feeling of peace: we were safe. Things could be replaced or lived without. At the same time we found our house (harder to do than you'd think when the house next door is pushed off its foundation), so did our new friends. Aaron and Aly had no idea how bad it was when they left home, but they didn't make it where they were going. More streets were closed. They ran into our bishop who couldn't find our house because the mailboxes and house numbers were all missing. "We know where they are," our new friends said. They remembered the conversation we'd had about bunkering out the storm in the hallway vs. the bathroom. (For the record: Josh was right. The bathroom would have been the best, even though it was an exterior room.)

Four years ago tonight, we ate vanilla pudding and canned soup for dinner and tucked Jonah in at Aaron and Aly's. We would spend the next three months living in their spare room until we found our perfect, beautiful, healing house. Josh and Aaron left to go find some way to help. While they waited behind yet another traffic barricade, they looked out the window and saw a mutual friend working to clear a downed tree that was blocking ambulances from getting to the hospital. He had extra chain saws in his truck (who doesn't?), so they joined him. Aly cleared off a shelf in the pantry for us to use. Josh's dad jumped on a plane.

Later tonight, Josh and I will probably laugh about how a few months later, someone sat at our dinner table and told us that God only destroyed the homes of wicked people who deserved what they got (in his meager defense, he didn't know about our house). I will probably text my brave niece because today is her sweet boy's birthday and although she loves his adopted family, I bet she misses him today. But this morning, I am invoking my yearly right of indulgence and telling the same story again. I will probably continue to do so for the rest of my life. This is also the day when I am extra thankful for my safe and healthy children, particularly Caroline***, and when I think of all those who helped us in our time of need, but the sister missionaries who cleaned off every page of Jonah's books before packing them back up for me, and the Wyatt and Richards families especially. Roll Tide.


*James Spann fanclub for life
**Maybe coincidence rather than causation, but Jonah has never liked Finding Nemo.
***She was undoubtedly exposed to all kinds of asbestos and heightened levels of stress in-utero. I wonder sometimes if her tenacity is a result.

(almost) 11 months

Miriam is getting older. Shocking, I know. With that, she is eating more person food and nursing less often. Some of this is great: she is more a part of family meals (the hilarious part), I can leave her for longer stretches of time, and I'm getting more sleep (hallelujah!). But right now, as I'm feeding her and rocking her to sleep for her afternoon nap, this chair is really comfortable. The lights are off and it's quiet and this is as much a comfort for me as it is for her. I know I can still rock her and read books and take a minute to sit down once she's fully weaned, but I won't. At least not as often. There is something about needing to feed a baby that forces me to sit down and put my feet up. Literally. My feet are propped up on the side of the chair because I apparently can't just sit in this chair like a normal person.

In the time it took me to write this, she has fallen asleep. The older kids know I'm feeding her, so I can probably shut my own eyes for at least 3 1/2 minutes before they come looking for me. Did I mention I will miss this?

surrender: just what I needed today

This was just what I needed to read this morning. Of course, I didn't read it until tonight, but I'm sure I will have another chance to practice the concept.

we are so proud

If he was a little more conniving, I would think Jonah had figured out how to work his parents. First, my proud moment from a few days ago:

"I wish that I had a friend that likes Legos as much as I do. Then when I go over to his or her house, we would play with Legos every time."

For the record, I try to contain my loathing of "they" as a singular, gender-neutral pronoun. I get that it's pretty well-established. There are even times when I use it. I just think it's lazy to use it all the time, though, when there are often better ways to phrase a sentence. To my knowledge, however, I have never corrected one of the children for using it. Nor do I really say "his or her" often. I think it's clunky. Someone around here must say it sometimes, though, for the boy to pick up on it.

Then, this morning, something that will delight Josh to no end: The kids saw a strange fly when they were playing outside. Jonah came straight inside and drew a picture of it. He then said, "I saw this fly on a tree outside. I want to know what it is. We need a dichotomous key."

(Don't worry. I didn't know what a dichotomous key was until Josh was almost done with his Bachelor's program. If anyone out there is curious, here are a few examples: a video explaining how to key birds, an interactive fish key, and a basic key for conifers.)

My boy

Years from now, when I think of Jonah as a child, I think I will always remember him like this:

I love his freckles and his little grin. I will probably also remember the way he digs his hand underneath whoever is sleeping next to him, but this makes a much better picture. 

Dear Dad,

I went to the Marriage & Family Relationship class yesterday during church. I've always liked the optional Sunday School classes, so of course I went to check this one out. During class introductions, it became apparent that a large portion of the class members were starting out blending families. One relatively seasoned second marriage (19 years!) was a couple who met at a single adult dance in California. I thought of you and the work you put into SAM. I thought of how the program has blessed lives and filled a niche and I'm so proud of you. I wanted to tell everyone that my parents made second marriages work (and beautifully) and to keep working at it. I wanted to tell that couple that they had my dad to thank somewhat (I probably wouldn't have said "somewhat") for the dance where they met. I wanted to tell them all about you, but I guess that will have to wait for another week. I wonder how many pieces of advice I can share from your relationship before I become "that person."

repeat parakeet

Caroline says: "I'm teaching Miriam to say, 'Caroline is the best girl in the world and my sister and I love her and to play the Star Wars game.' I am teaching her to say those things."

the egg dipper

As we prepared to dye eggs yesterday (You mean they're supposed to get colored before Easter? Don't tell my kids.), I mentioned that I was nervous about Caroline's ability to get the egg out of the dye without knocking over the whole cup.

"Just make her a wire egg dipper," Josh said.
"Those things are useless," I said.
"Then I'll make her a better one," he replied.

And then he did. This thing is awesome! I'm not really one to save things for once-a-year use, but I am seriously considering tucking away all three of the egg dippers he made for next Easter.

role reversal

Jonah: What's for breakfast?
Me (feeling like the best mom ever): We're going to have CHOCOLATE CHIP pancakes!!
Jonah: Chocolate chip?
Me: YES!
Jonah: Can we have blueberry instead?
Caroline: YAAAAAY! BLUEBERRY PANCAKES!

In case you were wondering, the kids are having blueberry pancakes and I am having chocolate chip pancakes. I've never cared for blueberries and chocolate is (obviously) better. To be perfectly honest, though, I am having banana chocolate chip pancakes with peanut butter syrup, but I didn't want to sound ridiculous.

Try not to be jealous

...but I'm wearing a custom finger radio that allows me to communicate with the owner of the matching radio (Jonah).