Two Lines

Just two lines on a home pregnancy test, but they mean everything.
Yes, you're pregnant.
Yes, Landon may get a sibling.
Yes, the adventure begins again.
Yes, yes, yes.

Until it doesn't mean any of those things.
I told Bill I was pregnant and we sat in awe at the wonder that a new life was forming in my body.

And then I got a nagging feeling that the two lines on the test didn't look exactly how I had remembered from before.  I don't know how long it took us to use Google images to check our results against hundreds of  pictures delivered in .25 seconds.  I do know it took quite a bit longer for it to sink in that I was, in fact, not pregnant.

Unfortunately for us, we have used two different kinds of pregnancy tests.  Two lines meant pregnant on one, THREE lines would have meant pregnant on this one. (In a decluttering kick I had long since thrown out the box and instructions for my last little test)

I felt like I had just gotten off a very unsatisfying roller coaster ride: the nervous anticipation, followed by the ecstatic bliss, and then..nothing. Like the ride ended mid "wheee!" and we felt ridiculous for even being so happy.

The day hung heavy around us and we didn't feel like saying much or doing much.  We realized more keenly how much we want another baby. We felt a flare up of fear that maybe our baby-making days are done.  We felt a flare up of guilt that maybe we had never been grateful enough for how easily Landon had been conceived.  We felt a flare up of irrational thoughts that are probably too silly to mention here.  Irrational things just never make sense out of context.

But they were just flare-ups.  It's not like we really believed any of it.  Mostly, we were disappointed.

In the end, I had to remember that we had prayed about trying to have another baby.  We had put the fear aside (the fear that has only ever become a part of it since my miscarriage) and said we were putting the outcome in God's hands.  All of it: boy or girl, single or multiples, now or later.

I sat there realizing that even after our concerted, and supposedly well-timed efforts, the outcome is quite certainly: later.

Or maybe: Never.

I had to remind myself, we put the outcome in God's hands.  If that is more than lip service, then I have to be grateful for what he gives, and what he withholds. I can't write the script and then ask him to come in and produce my show.

THIS is my family.  Right now.  Bill, me and Landon.  I don't want to be sitting on the edge of contentment, waiting for it to be something else, something more.  I don't want to miss one moment to cherish and appreciate the people God has already given me while I'm waiting to see if we get any more.

Maybe we will.  Maybe we won't.  It's not an outcome I can control.

You can bet I'll know what kind of pregnancy test I'm using before I ask myself that question again, though!

Trains, bus and stroller: rollin' downtown

During Bill's Spring Break, we wanted to have another family adventure.  Outings with Landon always make us so happy, because he is discovering things anew, and that makes us look with new eyes, too.

This time, we took the light rail train to downtown Denver.  Bill won some free tickets for filling out a survey.  Landon was so excited to be getting on a train.  He wanted to name everything he saw from the window.




On the train



Lunch at Mad Greens: the BEST restaurant for fresh, delicious salads!

We browsed the Denver Art Museum gift shop.  (You can go in that part for free)



Coming back around with 22-month-old Landon



7 months pregnant with Landon



We rode the 16th Street free shuttle.  I bought Denver postcards for my postcrossing hobby.  We just mingled with the crowds of people who were all going somewhere, and doing something. 



Then home again, home again, jiggety jig...with a little boy who was asleep before I even got him to his crib.  We're all a little worn-out from our big city adventure, but I can't wait to hear what his take will be on it all when he gets up from his nap!   

Happiness on the Cheap and Free

We thought about the zoo.  It was a gorgeous day and animals would be memorable and fun.  But when we considered the $26 admission fee we knew there must be something else we could do that would still be a family adventure.  As it turns out, we got both: the animals and memorable fun, at The Littleton Historic Museum--for free.

At this functional 1890's farm we saw cows, horses, turkey and sheep.  Including new Spring lambs!

After touring only part of the farm with promises to ourselves to come back (because my favorite part I could repeat any number of times was watching Landon take it all in), we headed to the grocery store.

More animal fun!

For just one penny I could watch my little guy experience surprise, and then delight.
We went all out and bought three rides.

A day we enjoyed.  A day I hope we'll remember.  So far, Landon's sharpest memories were expressed over dinner to our neighbor when he said, "Tow--poopy.  Poopy tow," multiple times for emphasis. (I don't think I  need to detail what he got an up-close and personal view of at the farm.)

My sharpest memories?  Little snapshots of my family enjoying an outing--with a few cents and a lot of wonder.

How Well Do You Know Roy?

Roy G. Biv
Presumably, that reminds you of the colors in the rainbow.  If it doesn't, well--bonus for you: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet.  That little name may help you remember them sometime.

But without googling it, would you be able to say if the red starts on the inside of a rainbow arc or on the outside?

As we approach St. Patrick's day, one starts giving more thought to rainbows.  When this question popped into my head, I couldn't decide what the answer was.

I was rescued by this beautiful array of images.

What are the little things that have snagged you up?
You probably have the visual memory for rainbows, but maybe you can't remember if an avocado is a fruit or veggie.  (Ok, I can't decide that, either)
Maybe you have forgotten if a kilometer is shorter or longer than a mile. 
Maybe you know that this symbol ~ has a name, but the name presently escapes you.

How did we ever satisfy our curiosity, win disagreements with our dearests, calculate, translate, convert or cite before Google?

Were we more or less curious when the answers were not .23 seconds away from our inquiry?

I'm kind of wondering if I googled that question if anyone has been writing on that topic.....

Around the World With a 5x7

The happy anticipation of a little piece of the world finding its way back to my mailbox--

This is what I am feeling.

This is where I gained it: Postcrossing's Homepage

Postcrossing is an online service that allows you to put your name in the hat, and then it will randomly choose someone, from somewhere on the globe, who would like a postcard sent their way.  A real, live paper postcard.  After they get your card, you become eligible to receive a card.

I couldn't resist.  You might know how much I love randomness  and the unexpected, and what could be more random and unexpected than getting a postcard from a stranger in Belize on a Tuesday??  And maybe you know how I am always so delighted when I get international visitors to this blog. So of course I'd love to get mail from people around the world, too.

I sat down and wrote four postcards.  You can have five going at any time, but I want to purchase some truly worthy ones tomorrow.  I mean, my little card could be the bright spot in someone's day...might as well try to make it worth their visit to the mailbox.

I think I hear the theme song for "It's a Small World" playing in my head right now....
Will the world feel smaller when I can share post cards with people thousands of miles away?
Or maybe this will be remarkably horizon-expanding.

Either way, I'm in.
With the climbing price of gas, I think I'll pay for my vacations with a postage stamp.

Three Scenarios

Last night as I got into bed Bill said seriously, "Ok, I've come up with three scenarios."
"Three scenarios for what?"
"Three scenarios in which you could get your sanity back."

I started to laugh.  Not a courtesy laugh, but a genuine, oh-my-it-has-been-too-long laugh.

My sanity? Just how crazy does he think I am?

As I lay there enjoying the smile the laugh had faded into, something rustled above my head.  Apparently I had gotten into bed with my sunglasses still on my head.

"I guess most people don't go to bed with sunglasses," I say good-naturedly.
"Yeah, most people don't keep wearing them well after dark, either," he replies.

Maybe I'm a little crazier than I thought.
Surely I'm not the only one who uses sunglasses as a hair accessory? 

The ironic thing is, the sunglasses weren't even what prompted this conversation!

As it stands, Bill continues to devise optimistic plans for me and my missing sanity.

Little Monkey/Little Fish

Little Monkey.  We've said it affectionately about Landon for most of his mobile life.  I guess it doesn't hurt that I like most representations of monkeys, and didn't mind transferring those fond feelings to Landon.  (Not "like" as in I collect them fiendishly and have a monkey-themed kitchen--just "like" as in I might buy a notepad with monkeys on it before I'd buy one with penguins)

Tonight, my Little Monkey started earning a new nickname: Little Fish.

In the bath he discovered that he can float on his back.  Have you SEEN anything cuter than a sweet baby face framed in bubbles with the look of pure satisfaction at having discovered a new ability?

Of course I wanted Bill to see it.  We clapped.  And praised.  And all three of us shared huge grins.  Bill went back to cleaning the kitchen. (sweet man)  Maybe more endearing than his first discovery, was Landon wanting Daddy to come back and keep watching him try to master it.

He stuck his soapy head out of the bath and shouted his loudest, "Daddy!"  When Bill didn't come back, he wanted me to know he was hoping Daddy knew what he was working on. 
"Daddy, bubbles.  Daddy wah-er."  He would show me his float again and keep talking about Daddy.

I know he was happy to soak up my praise for floating.  He was absolutely thrilled to show Daddy.  Any which way, I'm just happy we got our "something better" so quickly.

I think I know a Little Fish who might get swim lessons for his birthday. 

Something Better Tomorrow

Terrible Twos.  I've heard that phrase so many times, and applied to a whole range of toddler ages.  I think Landon may be coming into his own more difficult phase at 22 months.  He has so many more things he wants to try, a will he is constantly trying to assert (without the language to clearly specify his plan) and not many skills for coping when things don't go his way.

He's developing more, apparently.  But most of the time, his experiments toward this end feel so unproductive.  I mean, how do you tell a toddler that screaming and thrashing about is not an effective way to get what he wants?  Especially, when sometimes, if this mama walks in the door at 7:00 pm after a long day's work and wants peace for the 30 minutes we'll get to see each other, it is.

Today was one of those long days.  Maybe it was for Landon, too, because he seemed out-of-sorts and particularly cranky.  Watching tears stream down his face as he cried about nothing and everything has the power to reduce Bill and I to two quietly resigned, teeth-grinding adults who must make every effort to not take out our frustation in snappiness with each other.  It's a helpless feeling to watch your son have a meltdown and have exhausted all ideas to improve the situation and none worked.

But bedtime finally came.  And while I would have loved for the lead-up to have been peaceful and snuggly, and following our comforting routine, I was grateful all the same.  Grateful that Landon was so worn out that he would only sob for five minutes before conceding to much-needed sleep.  Grateful that he could go to bed and we could try for something better tomorrow.

Two Wild Beads

Yesterday afternoon I had this conversation:

Kid library patron: I'm looking for a book about Maracca.

Me: Morocco?

Patron: Yes, that's it.  It's for a report I'm doing.  I don't even know where that is.

Me: It's in Northern Africa. Let's see what we can find.

So we found three sources.  Lots of pictures, lots of maps.  One little girl well on her way to knowing a thing or two about Morocco.  Including how to say it.

But that isn't an unusual exchange.  I work at a library after all.

THIS is the strange part:

 When I looked in on this blog the next day, what country showed up as having someone from there visit in the last 24 hours?

Morocco.

~ ~ ~

Last night I posted to my dad's blog: "I miss being able to check in with you."

Within two minutes of hitting "post" the phone rang.
It was my dad.
Calling from the Philippines.  Calling from the following day, noon.
With no idea that I had just read and commented on his latest blog post.

We checked in.  

~ ~ ~

The events of our lives string together to make reasonably predictable patterns.  Or unreasonably unpredictable chaos.  But either way, we kind of get used to seeing what we see.

I love the wild little beads that get thrown in now and then that make me wonder, "How did that get there?"

For Unexpected Detours

I think I have seen this piece a long time ago, but it is such a beautiful way to think about many, many things that don't go the way we hope for or expect. 

"Welcome to Holland"


By Emily Perl Kingsley, 1987. All rights reserved.


I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......


When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.


After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."


"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."


But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.


The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.


So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.


It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.


But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."


And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away...because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss. But...if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

Backseat Back-Up Singer

We had an eight-track player when I was a kid.  With only a few 8-track cassette tapes to play in it.  One of them was the soundtrack for The Sound of Music.

So it was with a great deal of nostalgia that I put the cd in my car player on the commute home tonight.  I found myself singing with all the wholesome gusto of my ten-year-old self those classic tunes like Do-Re-Mi and Favorite Things. 

In between songs a little voice piped up from the back, "More sawns?" Landon was with me and I could hear additions of "Do!"  and "Ray!" being sung with such sweet, unsyncopated enthusiasm, I couldn't help but get caught up in a new wave of "Man-I-love-that-little-boy" : a sentence Bill and I pass back and forth like the baton of our shared parenthood.

A few of my favorite things?

It's a long, long list and Landon sparkles throughout. 

Little Monkey



Always worth investigating...














thoroughly!





Goin' Commando

My world shrinks when Landon is sick.  Though I know that he is not in grave danger, it still exacts a higher toll of emotional and physical energy to care for a toddler who suffers.  This week, it started with vomiting, and has carried on to dramatic exits from the other end.  For an extreme diaper rash that wasn't improving, the nurse prescribed a list of things to do to promote his recovery.

Most effective, but also perhaps most difficult to carry out, was the advice to let Landon go diaperless for as much as possible.  Now my little guy is reminding me of an untrained puppy, making little cleaning projects for us at irregular intervals.  The washing machine and dryer have been running for two days straight!

Landon was crabby, and clingy, and always uncertain about what would make him happy, but adamant that by crying and wordlessly pointing to something just beyond, relief would come.  There's only so long I can wander about my house looking for that elusive "something" that would make Landon stop crying in my ear.

In a last ditch effort for some peace, I rolled the tv out of the closet.  It is the second time we've used it this year, so I hoped its novelty would be enough for Landon.  It was.  And for me, too.  We snuggled on the couch and watched nothing in particular while pointing out nouns to each other.

But when I saw an ad for the season premiere of The Amazing Race starting Sunday, I made a plan.  I love how that show allows you to not only see all over the world, but is also an interesting study of people under tremendous pressure.  I've seen a few scattered seasons online.  I had no idea our tv could even get that channel.

We had an early dinner, I got Landon to bed on time, and had the icecream served up in bowls.  I was ready.  Bill rolled the tv out of the closet again.  At five til "showtime" I turned on the tv to begin flipping through channels since I had no idea where it would be.

I ended up seeing the last five minutes of the show.

What a goofball that I didn't even know how to translate "8/7 central" as the start time to mean 7:00.  I picked 8.

My first attempt at network television in years and I catch five minutes of the show.

I wanted to "travel" the world.  Instead, the biggest thought I ended up with was wondering if it would be worth changing Landon's diaper in the middle of the night.

Yes, my world truly does shrink when he is sick.

Oh, well....I have my own 12-hour race to run tomorrow.
No million dollar prize, but I'll have two boys very happy to see me when I check-in tomorrow evening.

And hopefully one of them will be back in diapers.

The 100 Pages Club

That's what these stacks of books on my dresser are likely to become members of.

It's new.  I just created it. I'm the president and the secret password to get in is: Uncompelling.

I mentioned that I'm working on creating a list of the best children/teen books for 2010/11.  It is a huge task (I'm actually on a large committee) and of course I'm behind schedule for how many books I would be proud to recommend.

So--new tactic.  I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner.  I'll give a chapter book 100 pages.  If, by then, I don't care enough about the story or characters to want to keep going, the book gets added to the club.

Unfinished.

Midthought, I will abandon these books to their own company and move on to the next hopeful.

The piles of unread books are tall, and some are precarious.  For my own safety I have got to make more headway on this project.

But still, it feels so strange to be tossing them out before they get to prove that they really redeem themselves with a great ending.   

I'm grateful this is not the approach we take with people.

I Never Know What I'll Hear

Random and I go way back.  I've loved Random for so long, I stopped noticing how random, Random is, sometimes.  But if I find myself unexpectedly smiling, it's often because of Random. 

I was giving a library tour to little cub scouts the other night, and they had the opportunity to earn one of their badges by raising and lowering our flag.

The troop leader earnestly asks, "Why are there 13 stripes on the flag?"
And little guy pipes up, "For the 13 countries that were here before Columbus discovered the rest of them."

What?

 I can't help but smile because Random has popped his funny head up again, this time with a bit of convoluted non-history.  I'd want to talk to that kid all night, seeing as he and Random are probably pretty good friends, too.

Instead, they properly fold the flag.  They unfold the flag.  They raise it on the pole.  They sing a song.  And shivering, they all tumble back into the library.

 One thing I know and love about Random: his unpredictability is one of his best charms.  And he's been charming me my whole life. 

So chances are, I'll be smiling this way again soon.

More Than Just Donuts

She brought donuts for all of us at work.  Four big boxes of fresh, Krispy Creme donuts, still warm enough to weaken our resolve. 

The day ticked by, and I meant to thank her for the donuts, but kept forgetting. 
I fogot even after I decided to go ahead and have one.
I fogot after I figured I had spoiled one of my New Year's resolutions, so I might as well have a second.

And then it was too late.
A colleague came and told me that as the donut-giver had walked out the door midday, she said, "Well, today is my last day.  I put my notice in weeks ago, but asked our boss not to say anything."

I never got to say goodbye.  I was out on the floor when she left, probably helping someone find a book for their report. 

Worse, I never did say thanks. 
For the donuts.  For her work.  For being a great coworker with a consistent attitude and a great work ethic.
I'm sure I reasoned that I would have plenty of time when I saw her next.
But that was her last day and I didn't show even a little gratitude for her generosity.

Just another reminder to seize the day-- no seize the moment, because sometimes we don't get a second chance to get it right.

Bill's Poem

Well, I can't very well mention the poem and not share it, can I?  (Especially when it is about my favorite little boy) 

One Small Step for Landon

It was one small step for a boy—

one playful stride off the shoveled path,

a toddler’s shoe pressed in, pulled back,

a shoe’s imprint in light gray snow,

left to melt in the cold day’s sunshine.

He stared at it.

I stared at him staring at it.

He stepped again.

Because

unmarred surfaces call to his feet?

snow is fun to scrunch?

shoe bottoms leave intriguing patterns?

his legs have untried powers?

he loves to learn about  the world around him?

he could leave his mark?

It was one small step for a man—

one calculated hop off the ladder’s last rung,

a man’s footfall made far from home,

a boot’s gridiron in light gray lunar powder,

left to linger in the airless solar radiation.

We all stared at it.

We stared at him staring at the black and white vista.

Eleven others took that one small step.  

Because

we could finally grab the carrot from the stick?

moon dust might be as fun as snow to scrunch?

flying machines and dune buggies are a kick?

one country proved quicker than another?

we love to learn about the worlds around us?

we could leave our mark?

A little boy took a step today, close by.

A daring man took a step decades ago, far away.

I’ve stepped in snow countless times.

I’ve only dreamed of stepping in moon dust.

I wonder

Where else will Landon’s feet step?

Where will they leave their mark?

What, besides snow and moon dust, is fun to scrunch?

Creativity Sparks

Bill and I have recently wanted to allow room for creativity in our lives again.  For me, that translated to this blog.  For Bill, writing a poem.  I continue to write here; Bill is working on a short story.  Both of us notice that we really enjoy spending time on these endeavors.  Not that we have much to spare, but if we spend even a few minutes at the end of the day, we are happier. 

They say good writers must first be good readers.  I have always loved to read.  I like to read in bed, and before I was married, usually stayed up way too late reading.  Now, time to read feels like a luxury.  Or it feels a bit like homework because I am required to read so much for my job.  

If reading is like a fur coat and a glittering tiara, writing is like old-friend blue jeans and sneakers made for going somewhere.  Reading is rather passive.  I sit back and soak up a story someone else poured their heart and soul into.  Writing is more active.  It is a chance to pour a little of my own heart and soul into something.

Reading asks me to enjoy. 
Writing asks me to risk.
Reading is a guaranteed pleasure.
Writing is an uncertain venture.
Reading is a familiar escape.
Writing is a road untaken.
Reading is meeting new friends.
Writing is giving birth to them.

And so it is the comforts of reading and the challenges of writing that spark a desire for more creativity in my life. 

Thanks for being around to fan the flame with your interest and encouragement!

Sleep and Caffeine: A Surprise and a Smile

I woke up this morning in a hospital.
It wasn't a surprise, really.  But it was.
Because it was 8:00 am and I was waking up for the first time after shutting down the laptop and signing off from my last post.

The post in which I shared how I was dreading the long night.

I woke up disoriented because the "long night" passed me by while I slept sounder than I would have thought possible.

They came and blew vapors in Landon's face, pounded on his chest, administered drugs, and did all the things that kept me up the first night, without my ever knowing. 

Sleep is a gift.  It can add a lot to my reserves of patience.  With it, I can keep on truckin' down the road for a few more miles.  Bumpy miles, though they are.

There was another surprise waiting for me when I woke up.  A chai latte from Bill who said, "I thought you might like this. I thought about getting you a muffin, but wasn't sure."

"Oh, you read my blog. How sweet. Thanks."

The amazing thing is, he hadn't read either post (this or this one.)  He didn't know what I was talking about.

A good night's sleep.  A best friend who still does things just to make me happy.  A hot chai as soon as I opened my eyes this morning.  I have a lot to be grateful for.

But the gift I'm most grateful for is that none of us are going to bed in a hospital.  I'm grateful that this post isn't titled "Day 3."  We are home again.  Landon still has a ways to go to recover, but we are home.

Day 2

Everyone has been kind.  Everyone has been professional.  And everyone has come bearing drugs.

Landon may hate the stethoscope; get shrill with the nebulizer treatments, act tortured with the cpt (chest pounding) exercises,

but he loves the drugs.  Every nurse remarks on it.  In an effort to find something nice to say about my crusty-nosed, whiny, crabby, crying, clinging cherub, one even said, "Wow. I've never met a toddler take to the meds like he does."

What a talent.  Note for the baby book: you really loved prescription drugs.

Nobody said anything about the side effects. 

I came back from the dinner run to find my toddler running around this small hospital room with a crazed energy that at first relieved me, but quickly wore me out. With unprecedented frenzy, he was running around, trying to climb the outside of the crib, the back of the rocker, up the wall (literally) on the couch, and then on to something else.  He would play with a toy for five seconds, try to tell me something for ten, then move on. 

The doctor kept talking to us as though his behavior was not an annoying topper to end his already very long day. (He said he had been in NICU all day)

"What's wrong with him?" I asked.
The doctor didn't even ask what I meant.
"Oh, that's just the steroids.  They can make them a little hyper."

Understatement.  But the doctor was classy.  And kind.  And not praising what a good little steroid-induced tornado my child was, so I had to be grateful.

We have such high hopes that we won't have any chance to  write a "Day 3" post. 

I wouldn't mind another chai latte from their onsite coffee cart, though.  Surprisingly good; it seemed out of place.

But then, aren't we all? 
Out of place, I mean.  Probably not surprisingly good. 
At least, I haven't surprised myself here yet.  I'm working on a functional goodness that doesn't get too sharp with the man whose sleep was as interrupted as mine, whose eardrums have been equally pained, and whose nerves are undoubtedly as frayed as mine.

Actually, I better go to sleep now (since both my boys already are) or I might let myself off the hook with it tomorrow. I can just hear me now: "I got even less sleep than you so please don't mess with me!"

Yeah, less sleep because I was up blogging about how little sleep I got.  That's classic.

Then again, spending a few minutes to process this day on paper does more to relax me than  if I simply replayed it over and over in my head.