I dreamed about you last night

Is it just me, or is everyone fascinated by neurobiology, or the study of the brain? Thanks to magnetic imaging and other technologies, scientists can monitor living brains in real time. The result is that old questions are getting fresh answers, and one of the oldest has to do with dreams.

Why do we dream? Is there any meaning to the show between our ears? Do animals dream like we do? All of these questions have eluded evidential research for years—until now.

Radio Lab, one of my favorite podcasts, recently did a show on sleep, and a Harvard professor named Robert Stickgold featured into the last third of it. Dr. Stickgold walks patients through certain activities while awake—most notably the video game Tetris—and then wakes them up at various intervals in a sleep lab to get the skinny on how their dreams are going.

Turns out, there are two activities going on while you are asleep. The first activity is that the brain bathes all the synapses formed during the previous day’s experiences. This weakens them, so that only the most prominent connections stay in the memory. Think of every experience you have like noise. Sleep turns the volume down, so that only the loudest noises remain. I don’t remember eating breakfast last week, for example, but I do remember the plot to Thomas Hardy’s Jude the Obscure, which I finished at the same time. The second activity is problem solving. During the day, the brain marks any activities which peaked your emotions, good or bad, with a tag that says something like, “Could be a problem. Work it out later.” While you are asleep, it gathers up all the tagged material and starts figuring it all out. At first it is very literal. You see the social gaffe or the details of the financial decision. But then it begins to free associate, plugging in other stored memories that sort of match the initial situation.

Both activities mean that your brain is not a static entity. Every experience that you have during the day creates new synaptic connections, and some of these remain over the course of time. They also explain why learning occurs so much easier in the mornings: you have less noise, less synaptic clutter, in the brain, all of it having been cleaned out while you were sleeping the night before.

Now where am I going with this? Well, my wife and I have very different dream lives, and I am wondering whether this new information might actually help me understand her and myself a little better. I almost never remember my dreams. I hurtle into sleep, but once there I drift around aimlessly. When I wake up and stumble into the bathroom for the morning pee, I hardly ever think about the dream life I left behind. My wife, on the other hand, has terrifically vivid dreams, full of complicated situations and emotions. She enjoys and even cultivates her dreams like a dedicated hobbyist, and enjoys regaling a listener with them upon waking. Her worlds are populated with the same people, primarily her mom and people from high school. I and the kids make an appearance on occasion and, just recently, some church friends have shown up. Her dream life is very important to her. My dream life doesn’t get a nod.

Now based on this science, can we learn anything from this? And how do we know what is an important brain-tag and what is just detritus? Might someone say that the inconsequence of my dream life means I’m not emotionally engaged in the world? Might someone ask whether my wife is still trying to work out some issues left over from high school? (Who doesn’t have those? And she had a fantastic high school experience; mine was the reject.) What does this mean for marriages? If the daily experiences of man and wife are very different, doesn’t that mean that, over time, the synaptic outline of their brains becomes radically different? Is there a neurological reason why husbands should take their wives out on occasion: to build a few synapses in common? Could a dream diary help you understand what your brain thinks are the most important issues in your life? What if someone you know never shows up in your dreams? Is your brain trying to say they are a wet fish, though good manners calls for reciprocal hospitality ad infinitum? And instead of thinking it is creepy if someone says, “I dreamed about you last night,” it may just be that their brain finally included you in the contacts list.

Stretch out thy rod over the waters

Two mornings ago, we awoke to the sound of our maintenance man, Charlie, banging on our door. A water main in the neighboring apartment had gone during the morning, and, as Charlie said, “I waited as long as I could before waking you.” It was an inch deep in the kitchen, and already seeping into the carpet around the entrance to the hallway. Six hours later, the plumber had come and gone, leaving a three-foot hole in the back wall of the pantry. After him was the carpet guy. He left a giant dehumidifier blowing with instructions not to turn it off for forty-eight hours. L’s parents graciously allowed us the use of their guestrooms.

Go-go seems to be weathering the disruptions with a turtle’s patience, unflustered endurance. I noticed this morning that I’d left her light on all night, and I switched it off. Turtles need sleep, just as humans do.

Emotionally, however, the rest of us aren’t doing as well. It isn’t exactly a vacation, but it is a few nights sleepover. They aren’t sure what to do, and they certainly aren’t sure why they need to go to bed at night. (At least Kara pulled three tests in the eighties this week.)

L is barely holding it together, what with the apartment shoved back into the bedrooms to clear space and the damage to the carpet itself. To peel back the carpet and remove the damaged padding, for example, the carpet guy had to cut right across the entrance to our hallway. If he is planning to fix it, no one has said.

I remember how, at our last place in Massachusetts, we moved in with all this alteration enthusiasm. Let’s paint this. Let’s repair that. Then came the first flood with, water two feet high in the basement. Gone were those dreams of do-it-yourself to be replaced by a sober renter’s pragmatism.

This plumber’s flood has had a similarly cold effect. And it could mean we buy a house that much sooner.

Excavation

There are duties that are common to every job. Architects design buildings and write in BOLD letters. Doctors diagnose and prescribe remedies. Lawyers charge ridiculous amounts of money by the hour to think and speak and know the law better than the common citizen.

Similarly wives and mothers have common duties. Some of these duties are really just an extension of being a person. Clothes and dishes need cleaning. Food needs to be purchased and prepared. Floors need vacuuming. Beds need making. Etc. Etc. These sorts of things have little to do with motherhood, despite the amount of time mothers spend doing them. These are merely basic standard of living issues.

So, duties of motherhood. Well, there was one defining moment in Kara's childhood that comes to mind. She was not feeling well. She had a stomach ache. She had diarrhea. Then she began puking Orange Pedialyte and I caught it with my hand. Without even thinking twice. That is a duty of motherhood.

Caleb, a year ago, decided to decorate the room with the contents of his diaper. While not for the faint of heart or those with a quick gag-reflex, it was the duty of a mom to know what type of cleanser not only removes, but disinfects.

Well...today I can add to this -- excavation. No, not the type archeologists are comfortable with. No sand or dirt could compete with the excavations required in motherhood. Excavations in motherhood usually involve gross bodily secretions. This morning I calmly removed a little green rubber man and an oddly shaped rock from ... you guessed it --- the contents of Caleb's diaper! Lord only knows how long these have been in his system, but they are there no longer. What's worse --- they weren't what we were looking for in there!! We were looking for the small prongs that hold up the shelf on his bookshelf. Hopefully more excavations will be successful.

Silly me, I thought that was all of the excavating I'd do today, but no, Kara got a splinter today and still won't let me remove it from her hand. So, tomorrow the duties of motherhood shall continue ... I'm sure excavation will be on the things to do list, but only tomorrow will tell what other duties might appear.

"All Gone"

You never know what a day might bring. Today was relatively uneventful, oh, up until about two hours ago. We ate a fun family dinner at a great all-you-can eat pizza place we love and came home to enjoy a nice Family Game Night after putting Caleb to bed. So, there we were, most of us two properties into having our first monopolies when we heard Caleb stirring in his room. We figured we’d been too loud and we had woken him – probably true. After a few minutes I went in to check on him after hearing him sneeze a couple of times. He had his finger in his nose and I commented sweetly, half-jokingly -–“did you put something up your nose ?” He replied “All gone.” Since I wasn’t sure if that meant yes or no, I decided to let it go. I noticed he had a pink plastic ear to a Mr. Potato Head with him and thought briefly about taking it from him, but realized it was really too big to pose any kind of choking hazard. I tucked him in, him still holding the Mr. Potato Head ear and I left the room and went back to the game. A few minutes later I heard a weird noise from his room and hushed all of us. Then we heard Caleb was crying and obviously in pain. Thom immediately rushed in to see what was wrong and I followed. Well – I’m learning – evidently “All gone” means “ Yes Mommy I put something up my nose.” And the crying that followed meant that the pointy, stick part on the pink Mr. Potato Head ear was not an appropriate tool for retrieving whatever was up there!! With a crying, drippy little boy in Thom’s arms we frantically searched for a flashlight to shine up his nose, remembering briefly that it was last seen somewhere in Kara’s room --- Lord only knows what nook, cranny, box, or drawer it’s been shoved it by now. So, Kara grabs one of these cool magnetized flashlights from Thom’s mom and sure enough Caleb has something bright green and plastic shoved in his left nostril! I vaguely recognized it as something I had seen yesterday in his room and had designated as trash but neglected to obviously throw away.

Ok, shoes on everyone, we’re going to the ER.

I called my parents regarding Kara to see if they could somehow watch her – there place, our place, the ER waiting room, I don’t care – just let me focus on the one in pain for the moment. So, they chose here. I go to the ER with Caleb while Thom waits with Kara for Grandma and Papa to arrive. He sends us off and says “I’ll meet you at the ER.” I go ahead. Caleb had a grand time in the thankfully empty waiting room. He ran about 10 laps around the very large room while I wondered when Thom might arrive, keeping an eye on the door. We were ushered into an exam room and quickly seen by a very efficient female doctor from Bavaria, Germany. In a matter of moments she had Caleb easily restrained thanks to Man Nurse and myself and had relieved him of the foreign body in his nose. Where is Thom? Hmm. So, now I’m waiting for the discharge nurse. Will Daddy get here before we’re discharged? Do I wait in the waiting room? What might the hold up be? So, I’m at the “here’s-where-the-rubber-meets-the-road, what’s-your-insurance” desk when in walks Thom.

And now his side of the story --- so Lynn-nore leaves with Caleb and about ten minutes later L’s parents arrived. That was good cause it gave Kara and I a few minutes to get our bearings. Kara was very calm. She was VERY concerned about Caleb and is wise beyond her years when she finds herself in emergency mode. When L’s parents arrived I handed Kara off to them, which was very difficult because she really wanted to be with her brother. She wanted to comfort him and help him. She offered the pillow she had been given at her last hospital visit as something that would make him feel better, so I took it with me. I got out to the truck and headed for the ER. Right away I noticed the truck was running really rough, but I thought I could make it. Then the engine light came on and I smelled something strange. I pulled over and called my father-in-law. Jack came to get me and drove me to the ER, dropping me off just in time to chase Caleb down the hall while L answered the “how-will-you-be-paying-for-this-tonight” lady.

We came home, exhausted. The whole way home we told Caleb – “No. No. No. Do not put things in your nose. No toys. Nothing. Never!” We’re pretty sure all he heard was “brum, brum, brum, no nose.” We got home and caught everyone up and put both kids to bed. Thom got on the phone with USAA to find a towing company to get the truck out of the median on the road. He then had to go out and meet the guy with the tow truck and now --- at 12:15 we’re finally all at home.

Did I metioned that I was already exhausted when we were playing monopoly.

This was Go-Go shortly after we got her...

 

Go-Go Now

 

Caleb in Grandma & Papa's Backyard

 

The Last Warm Day at the Pool

 

Kara's New Glasses!

 

My chair reclines

What a day!! Some woman was screaming at her kids in the parking lot at 6 a.m. One thing she said was so close, I woke up, alert, thinking that she was in our bedroom. There was nothing but the blue light of morning, the awareness of every second left on the alarm clock, the sound of some kids slamming a car door. I made the best of the forty minutes that remained, and then got up.

Kara was asleep when I stumbled into her room. I sat on her bed, and she rolled over and groaned. "I'll give you a few more minutes," I said, mostly to give myself a moment. Couch time. Time to wake up, have some cereal, catch a few minutes of news. I go through periods of watching the news obsessively and not caring. When I watch it obsessively, it is because of the future. I'm trying to assemble some kind of now which will suggest then. And that future is usually about money: the housing market, the DOW, the Fed. I think a lot about money these days.

Caleb gets up happy. I hear him thumping around in his room, and so I open the door. If he gets up early, he will sit against his door and talk himself awake, usually ending with a variation on "Daddy." (One of the best sounds on earth.) Today I caught him early enough so that he was just sliding out of bed. He stumbled around like a cold boy scout and then picked up a toy car. I open his shade and morning light fills up the space.

The rest of any morning is just getting things done. Changing a diaper--sometimes the first thing I do in the morning--or fixing some breakfast. L. and I have the system worked out. I get the beds made. She dresses Kara and does her hair. Everything was going okay, though slow, this morning until we discovered that the holes in Kara's earlobes had grown together a bit during the night. It took fifteen minutes of screaming, crying, cooing, ice cubes, rubbing alcohol, and pain to get new earrings in there. I felt terrible for Kara, and so did L.

Dropping Kara off at school everyday feels like an apology. I'm sorry I can't go with you. I'm sorry we can't play at a park today or go and have breakfast together and make faces over pancakes. I'm sorry that I drive off and if you need to call me or miss me you can't just open your mouth and call me. I'm twenty miles away most of the day, and, trust me, there are times in the day I'd like to pick up the phone and call you. "Say, how's music going for you today? How's that spelling? When are you taking your test. Gotta go? Okay, I'll see you later. Hugs and kisses."

My chair at work has gotten progressively lazy. When I first snatched it after a co-worker left, it was habitually vertical. Sitting in it was a reminder that one slip and some horrible error, like an egregious typo or a bleeding running head, could occur, permanently scarring the work and effort of half a dozen people and more than that number of months. Now, however, it has relaxed, tilting back and back until it comfortably reclines like an off school adolescent working the kinks out of Halo 3.

Well, 11:44 p.m. I posted. Goodnight.

L talking about "the weekend of no house"

The following longer quotations are taken from some e-mail L wrote in the last few days talking about "the weekend of no house." The plot is quite simple. We looked at a house that was almost what we were looking for. And, in the course of a weekend, we went from talking ourselves into it to talking ourselves (quite rightly) out of it.

"Thom and I have continued looking for a house and we are going back today to look at one again that we are pretty serious about. It’s a older home (by regular standards, not New England standards – meaning it was built in 1967 – not 1867! ), but VERY well kept up. It’s in a very established neighborhood where everyone seems to keep their homes and yards very nicely taken care of. It’s a 3BR, 1.5 bath – not our favorite plan, but it would work for our family. It’s a ranch style house where the garage has been nicely converted into a den and utility room. The biggest selling point for me is that it has a beautiful deck and a fenced yard where the kids could play safely and I could sit on the deck. The deck is so large it would be great for entertaining – having my parents and my brother and sister in law over and the yard is the perfect size. For car coverage it has a two-car carport that is also well-maintained and not tacky-looking – you see a lot of car ports down here and some are better than others. The house is very livable and yet there are some areas where we could make upgrades over time – bathroom could be updated, kitchen, etc. but it’s all cosmetic, not structural. So, we’re praying about it and thinking about it and talking about it. It’s in our price range, which seems amazing to us, since our range is pretty small and this house has been so well kept up and is in such a nice neighborhood. So, please pray with us about this, it is a huge decision and we want to be sure we make a wise choice. I’d tell you the list price, but you’d drop over dead when you compared it to house prices in New England!"

The funny thing about this house was that portions of it resembled our grandparent's houses. The flat white ceilings, the 50s colors, the way the rooms opened into the straight hallway like independent compartments. Moving around in it, I passed through different ages: six, twelve, sixteen. It has been a long time since I thought about my grandparents homes. About how they felt as a boy, and I wanted to go back to each one and spend a moment there just for a little longer.

The kitchen is all knotty pine paneling with really ugly 1980s wallpaper and the bathrooms also need to be updated – one has aqua/torquise blue tile and the other is more hideous 1980s wall-paper – bold strips plus floral. The layout was a nice ranch style and the home had been very well kept up. There’s a deck out back and a fenced backyard.

At one point we went into the bathroom and L started to tell me, "The linen closet is behind the door." But, thanks to my grandmother's house, I already knew. As I told L. later, being there it was hard to think about purchasing the house. We were children intruding into the strange space of adults. They know the past which we will never know, and we could very well see the future which they will not see. In us, those two poles stare across a divide at each other and hardly know what to do.

By Sunday night, we were coming out of the reverie.

Here’s the catch – lead paint. Homes built before 1978 generally have lead paint on the interior and exterior surfaces. With the remodeling projects we were imagining it would kick up the lead-paint and cause lead-paint dust – which in turn becomes lead poisoning in children and seriously affects intelligence. It wouldn’t be a problem to live there, just to do any of the updates we would want to eventually do. So, after two days of hemming and hawing and not being sure what we thought we finally got a sense of peace when we decided it wasn’t the right house for us. My parents, who had visited the home with us on Sunday, think we’re making a wise decision to wait. It would have been livable and nice enough, but not really wonderful."

Try as I might, I can't see myself owning a home. It is like seeing oneself living in a foreign city or being one of those successful guys in the movies, hurring to cross the street with the cell phone wearing a four thousand dollar suit. I grow up slow. I can't help it. My corneas opened too wide one day and they can't close again. Nevertheless, when the time comes, we will.

Otherwise forgotten Sept. 5, '07

L. sent me this in an e-mail this morning. It was too precious a scene, so ordinary and fragile, and yet so sweet that I couldn't just consign it to the recycle bin.

"Caleb and I played under the kitchen table for a while. He is such a sweetie! It’s funny how we think alike sometime. We were sitting under the table. I was trying to think of what to do under the table. So we counted things for a while and then moved the chairs around. At one point, Caleb brought all of the chairs in close, and then he bent forward to give me a kiss--it was so sweet. Like it occurred to him that the space felt cuddly. Then he looked at me, and said “book,” and tried to get out and get one from a box he had seen me put them in yesterday, but I had since put them away."

Ever Herded Cats??

I have!!! Well, not really, but it sure feels like it every time we try to get Kara to do her homework! I suppose any metaphor would do ... like pulling teeth or maybe something about gouging your own eyes out slowly because it would be more fun!

When Kara was four we often joked that she lived in Rainbow Land. We haven't heard from the residents of Rainbow Land in a while, but they have been replaced lately by the distraction of the moment. Presently it's a bleeding paper cut on the back side of her right elbow. Sometimes it's a shadow on the wall, sometimes it's an itch on her foot, back, neck, leg, ear, or whatever. As I'm typing this on one corner of the table, Thom is attempting to get Kara to read about 20 pages out of her reading book while she is complaining that she's bleeding from a paper cut! A PAPER CUT! We're thinking if it's not a puddle of blood on the floor, we don't care --- just read!!! Please!!! PLEASE just read!! No. Ok. Would a bandaid put you back on track? FINE! So, now she has a bandaid on a paper cut on her elbow and she's ALMOST done!

Did I mention we've been at this homework thing for nearly an hour already!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!

Admittedly this is only on reading nights that it feels as if the teacher hates us and wants us all to cry all night. Math nights!! Oh how I love math nights. She actually does her homework herself without anyone hovering over her and making her keep her eyes on the paper. Ah, math. We love math. The only thing better than math is art -- who doesn't love art. Ah, art.

Maybe someday they'll give homework in recess!

Here's To You...

Mrs. Robinson -- that tune has been playing over and over again in our minds lately as Kara has begun the 2nd Grade. Every time we tell someone her teacher's name we get the same amused look of recognition or the pleasant sound of friend and family breaking into song! So, 2nd Grade is upon us! So far so good. Kara started school on Monday. She had her first 2nd Grade spelling test on Thursday - 25 words! School's in session!! Kara is quite happy about her teacher and seeing her friends. The shy and sometimes awkward or hyper Kindergartener and 1st Grader has been replaced by a happy and confident 2nd Grader! She still doesn't delight in doing homework, but she is happy about school in general and enjoying her friends and her teacher.

The Friday before school started Kara had another big event. She got her ears pierced! We were down at the mall and I asked, as I often have, if she'd like to get her ears pierced. Out of nowhere, she unexpectedly said "Yes. I'm ready today!" So, we hopped into Claires and a few minutes later Kara came out with two 3mm gold studs! She was so brave and they look so cute! I'll post a picture soon.

Meanwhile, the house is quieter -- well except for Caleb yelling "Bo-Box" which means "there's a problem" or "Daddy" which means "hey, I need a grown-up in here!" or "TT" which means "TV." His current favorite toys are a couple of Matchbox (or Hotwheels, depending on what you call them!) cars from Grandma and a little toy Monster that sings a Happy Birthday song from Grandmommie. He runs in circles and dances to the Happy Birthday tune about 100 times a day!

Spider Trappers on the Loose

From the great land of make-believe known only in childhood Kara came to me this afternoon and announced - "Caleb and I are going to solve a mystery!" I said, "Ok sweetie, have fun." She returned in a few moments with a pink feather boa drapped around her and a few odds and ends in her arms and the words "Mama, just call us "Spider Trappers on the Loose!" She went into Caleb's room - where they often play together because all of the toys there are safe for Caleb and she called out - "Mama come and see, us." Obliging, I stepped into the doorway to discover my son walking in circles in the middle of his room wearing an old brown hat and a carrying binoculars -- evidently these were the uniforms of Spider Trappers. If you've seen or read "The Rescuers" -- this was Bianca and Bernard in human form in Caleb's room. I returned the living room and enjoyed the pleasant sounds of make-believe. After a few moments I heard "Oh no, Go-Go's in trouble, we have to save him." This, of course, was not the real Go-Go, but the stuffed animal turtle from Grandma that lives in Caleb's room -- what good is make-believe if the family pet doesn't get involved somehow?! Clearly, Go-Go was in trouble -- stuck beneath Caleb's bed and requiring a Spider Trapper to save him. Soon after a few clues to the mystery were revealed-- a piece of string and a feather. Ah-ha! Then someone got thirsty and the phone rang and the game was over, only to be revisited another day.

Yet another answer to the question : if you have a kid, why have another kid? Make believe is better with a younger sibling to follow instructions!

kara heart art

I think it is official: Kara LOVES her art class! What? You didn't hear? Yeah, Kara is taking art lessons for two weeks this summer. She is one of about six other girls being taught by a middle-school art teacher named Ms. Rita. The class meets in a plantation house in an upstairs room that is altogether art. Ms. Rita has schooled her pupils in landscape, in warm and cool colors, and in the difference between fore-, middle-, and background. I'm sure they've covered more, but it isn't always easy to pull information from Kara by the time I get home. You can already see the effects in the drawing and coloring she is doing at home in her room.

Caleb is screetching. You know that stage that kids go through where they just screetch? Awful, isn't it? L. calls me at work and I can barely hear her over the squeek, shreik, eeek.

L and I sat up last night until midnight. She was scrapbooking and I played guitar for awhile and then just talked. Kara has been listening to an instrumental CD of acoustic Christmas music lately. It seems strange, I guess, but it is really very pretty. Hearing snatches of it gets those advent hymns going in my head, and I was thinking last night about the value of "owned" hymnody.

How many hymns can you sing full out? I can stumble through a few. With the change to the Anglican tradition, the hymn tradition changed as well. Gone are many of the "Would you be free of your burden of sin?" camp-meeting era songs of the second great awakening. They've been replaced by a, frankly, richer fare--some of the hymns going back as far as the Church Fathers. But, though of better quality, it is still a strange soup.

I pulled the guitar out last night just to pick my way through a number of the hymns set aside for use during vespers, and discovered a nice setting of "O Glorious Light." The problem with hymns is, in many cases, they are set in the most boring quarter note common time sort of way. Or they have no time setting or key signature and resemble open-ended medieval plainchant. How does one make sense of that?

Chattanooga girl slow routed to a blue dog

Kara came home today. She's been away with her Grandparents visiting the sights in Chattanooga, TN. She rode the incline to the summit of Lookout Mountain. She wandered the warrens of Rock City. She gazed on the over-hyped-but-yet-still-pretty Ruby Falls. And she did lots of other things, such as the aquarium and the children's museum. She came back buzzing and brown as a nut. She and I sorted through the stack of brochures she brought home, and, at 10:49 p.m., she still isn't sleeping. L. says she's older. "She's been away from Mommy and Daddy. She's seen things we didn't see." She does seem taller, I suppose.

Caleb could watch Blue's Clues every minute of the day. And, strangely enough, he actually learns something from watching. To be honest, I thought that whole thing about children's television being educational was a load of crap to make parents feel better. Yet, Caleb truly picks things up from this show, words and shapes. The other day, he pointed at a circle and said "serkul!" (He talks like his mom: fast!) And now "cookie!" And when he says, "I-doo" when you ask him if he wants something . . . well, its is pretty darn sweet.

L. and I have been fighting the computer wars. First, our e-machines motherboard fried, and it took the power suppply with it. And then our router freaked out. Routers, despite their ubiquity, are still like black boxes. A friend said to me, "They are like printers. When something goes wrong, you don't fix it. You just throw them away and buy another one." (How American.) Determined--and poor--I swore at it for two nights and managed to get the thing working. Turns out, it was working fine, I just hadn't read the manual closely enough. And finally, the laptop started working as if we'd poured Vermont maple syrup in through the UBS ports. The problem has something to do with the router. Yeah, better not get going on that one.

Finally, two changes for me this week: a new pair of glasses, and a gleaming silver iPod Nano. I'm a 24/7 lecture-listening machine now; hear me learn! (I also put some Hendrix, Cash, and Bach on there.) By the way, I saw this cool video on CNet today about mashups, the future is looking cooler than ever. Almost makes me want to learn C++.

Behold, the Caleb of myth and legend

It finally happened. This morning I opened his door to find him standing in the middle of his Little People toys. He was holding something black between his fingers. "What do you have there sweet boy?" I asked him. My glasses have had some serious problems recently. A few weeks ago, Kara asked if she could tighten the little screws that hold it together and, for some "Dad" reason, I said yes. We fished the tiny screwdriver from my toolbox and, after a quick refresher on the "righty-tighty" rule, I set her loose. Thing is, she didn't quite get the rule. Next thing I know, my glasses are in pieces. And, further than that, somehow I lost one of the earpieces. Think of a three-legged stool, or a three-legged cat. That's what my glasses look like now. I kind of stick-slash-balance them on my nose when I'm driving, and otherwise they live in my pocket. Anyway, I certainly didn't have them on this morning when I was squinting to see what Caleb had pinched between his fingers.

It was a spider.

I smacked it down from his hands--he cried, of course, so I picked him up to console him and give him kisses. Then I fished the carcass, its legs folded in on itself, from the carpet and put it in the toilet.

You may remember that Hercules also had a tangle with a nasty when he was a baby. Several snakes--it could have been one, but I think it was several, slithered into the crib of the young hero during the night. He grabbed the snakes and killed them. So I guess that's it, then, my son is a mythical hero. Aaaaawwww.

Pet's-a-Go Go

Papa found it in the filter of his swimming pool. Who knows how it got there. I think a bird dropped it. It could have come from a nearby creek. Either way, L and the kids took one look at it, Caleb said, "Gogo!," and we had a new pet, a chrysemys scripta elegans, a red-eared slider . . . a turtle. It has completely altered the daily habits of our home.

First of all, it gets L. out of bed. Or at least it did. The first few days Gogo was with us, L. was worried he (or she) might die. A few times when Gogo was settling in to sleep submerged safely in the watery corner of his tank, she tapped on the glass until he--annoyed--opened one eye or both. "Whew, he's not dead." she'd say. This anxiety motivated her to get up in the morning and check him. "I see he's okay," she'd say, and then watch him for awhile. That leads to the second change.

We watch Gogo constantly. Gogo's tank is positioned strategically in what amounts to the most-observed square foot plot in our entire apartment, believe it or not right above the kitchen sink (a respectable distance for those of you who think "What if we drop a plate into the tank?" or for those of you with a dark side, "What if Gogo should fall into the garbage disposal?"). What that means is that watching Gogo is an activity that requires merely a flick of the eyes or a turn of the head from almost any position. The result is that you always know what he's doing. He could be swimming on the left. He could be swimming on the right. Gogo might be putting his nose out of the water, exploring his rocky beach head, or even sleeping. Whatever it is, you know it. It is vitally important that you know it. I caught myself getting up out of a chair and turning full around yesterday just to update the Gogo-Twitter in my head.

I should also mention the intense desire to give Gogo things. He hasn't been in his tank a week, and I want to put some live plants in there. L. bought him some different kinds of food. One of these are live meal worms in a little white cup with a lid. We keep it in the fridge. It is only a matter of hours before we purchase a filter and spend a few more hours moving everything around to accomodate it. Our whole world has gone a-go-go. And, you know, it is kind of fun.

Let's call it "outpatient dental"

Unlike most of us who are content with laughing gas and happy dental sedation, Kara always does things in a big way :-) Anybody out there remember the ER-Splinter Visit of 2004? Well, you might recall Kara had a bit of a breathing issue after being sedated for splinter-removal. Thom and I were convinced we lost years off our lives that evening worrying about her. She came through, but the end-result came this year with cavities needing to be filled under the supervision of an anesthesiologist, multiple nurses and a trip to Outpatient Surgery at a local hospital.

This brings you to today! Or what appeared to be today... it was so dark when we had to wake up, I generally refer to that hour as "the middle of the night." At any rate, my parents were wonderful enough to actually show up at our house at this ridiculously early hour and stay with Caleb for the day so that Thom and I could both be with Kara from start to finish through her procedure. We planned ahead and put Kara to sleep clean and fresh in softy-pants and a T-shirt with the plan to pretty much lift her from her bed and put her in the car. To our delighted surprise she was SO SWEET this morning. She woke up sweetly asking about the possibility of using a candy vending machine she had seen last week at her pre-op appointment. With all of her questions answered we thanked Mom & Dad and headed to the hospital.

Once there we quickly passed through registration and followed Kara, toting her Granny Karen blanket like Linus from Peanuts, into a room. According to hospital procedure they had us there, in all likeliness, before the dentist who did her procedure was even out of his bed! So, lots of waiting. To pass the time we alternated between individual trips to the bathroom and pretend naps. At one point Kara was happily draping her blanket over Thom and me as we both caught moments of rest. She was so sweet!

Around 8am they wheeled Kara, in her bed, to the pre-op sedation room. While there Thom enjoyed wheeling around on a doctor's stool and Kara colored a couple of really pretty pictures for the nurses. Everyone there was quite taken by our little girl. And she was quite the sweetheart. We met with an anesthesiologist who was great in addressing our concerns and decided on a plan for Kara. She was given loopy juice! Technically it was oral Versed in a small dose, but in all practicality it transformed her from a cognizant 1st Grader who was charming the ward to the silly urchin we see between dinner and bedtime. Within a few minutes her silliness turned mental and she became fascinated with her own hand and convinced we all had two heads. The drugs were doing their job. At the appropriate level of sleepiness they wheeled her away and ushered us back to the waiting room.


Her procedure started around 9:40 and lasted a little over an hour. When she awoke the dentist reported back to us that all was well with her teeth and gave us some instructions for her recovery. Shortly thereafter we were able to go back and sit with her as she came out of the sedation. This part went a lot differently than I had expected.

The last time Kara was sedated like this she was three and came to very slowly and without many words and without much difficulty. Today it was clear that Kara was experiencing a lot of pain from the tube that had provided her air during the procedure. In fact, she was convinced that the tube was still down her throat. She looked tired and pitiful. Her eyes were dark and her lips looked dry and the corners of her mouth looked red from being stretched by the work the dentist had done. Poor thing! She also still had an IV in her arm and she really didn't like that and I can't say that I blame her. At one point Thom and I were just overcome with the need to be closer to her and we both figured out how to lower the rails on the bed and stand nearer to her. Thom stroked her hair and I sat on a chair and stroked her arm. We both just wanted to give her kisses and make her feel better. The nurse brought her a popsicle, but Kara had a hard time swallowing it and was gagging a lot. She also kept coughing in a way that reminded us of a pterodactyl or some other kind of bird. Poor thing. Eventually we found a children's program on TV and she rested as she woke up. Again she was seeing double, convinced she had two popsicles, there were two TVs and Daddy had two heads. Eventually her vision cleared up and her gagging stopped. Around 12:45 we were able to leave the hospital and head home. We were tired, but pleased. The procedure had finished and Kara was well.

Later when we were actually able to see inside Kara's mouth, we were amazed at the new technology of fillings! They're white, who knew?!

Now if we can just survive braces in a few years...

Easter Egg Hunt #3 Living Room Easter Morning

We had four easter egg hunts this Easter, and even at number four Caleb didn't quite trust that when he put an egg in the bag he was going to actually see it again. The first was at our church, which has a strange tradition. Instead of of hiding the eggs, two rectangular areas are roped off in an open field. One is for older kids, and the other for toddlers. The colored eggs are then scattered openly over the grass in each area. When the pastor says "Go!" the kids wade in and simply begin stuffing their bags. We have never really seen it done like this before. May it is an episcopal thing. This one, number three, was held Easter morning.

We've been doing this Easter morning thing since Kara was a toddler. This year, however, we nearly forgot and I had to keep the kids busy for a little while during which time L hid the contraband. Again, Caleb got so excited he forgot to really look for eggs. Kara made up the difference (and she shared the spoils later like a good big sis.) Kara says that the eggs were harder to find this year--but it didn't seem so to me.

Easter always seems to me like the holiday that needs the most reform. We evangelicals always take a serious stand every year for Christmas--darker days make for sober and serious attitudes. Spring, however, seems to cloud our minds. N. T. Wright, in his book The Meal Jesus Gave Us encourages his readers to live it up. Throw resurrection parties, he says. Be loud and festive until the rest of the world says, "What do these people have to celebrate?" I so want to do that, to make a kind of family liturgy of food, songs, games, habits and other family rituals that reflects the season of the church calendar. We forget, though. We sleep in. And I wind up having to keep the kids busy again while L. makes up the difference.

Caleb gets stuck climbing

So Caleb got stuck climbing the other day; Halfway up his dresser. L heard this whimpering sound. She went in to investigate, and there he was. She apologizes for turning the Camera sideways. (Perhaps someone out there knows how to rotate videos?)

Caleb started climing with gusto a few weeks ago. He climbs on the table. He climbs chairs. He climbs the couch. He will even climb you, if you are sitting still and he gets it in his mind so to do.

left by love seat

It may have been the design show we were watching, but L. and I finally decided to toss the love seat. Oh, it has been broken for weeks--the demise begun seven years ago by sagging beam resulting finally in a full-on break. "But where will we sit?" asked L (I was sitting on said seat at the time). On the floor, I said. And there is quite a bit of floor there, now. As a matter of fact, after our initial cleanup, Kara, L., and I did a ceremonial barrel-role across it. Caleb instantly discovered he could get up a higher head of steam when rushing in to shoot up onto the couch.

In case you missed it, we finally took the plunge into Flickr over the weekend. I've been thinking about using a web-based photo sharing site like Flickr for years, but this sidebar badge hooked me in.

Tonight was the final night for the Lenten book-study Father Chris and I have been coteaching at St. Francis. It was a packed house. The group that was with us the first night and subsequently dwindled decided to make a final show of it. Wright's book, Evil and the Justice of God (IVP, 2006) wasn't the easiest book to teach. It is very abstract, and there is a quality to Wright's prose that is sometimes too prosaic. He did uncover some interesting nuggets of truth, however, and especially in seeing the biblical answer to the problem of evil in the context of God's meta-intervention in the world itself.

We are seriously considering finding Kara some kind of art class for the Summer. Her artistic interests are beyond question. She has an eye for color and design, and is always coloring, cutting, glueing, or drawing things.

weekend away with Wright part two

Before I get going on a sequel to yesterday's interrupted blogpost, I'd like to tell you that, it being Springtime, I have embarked on this year's weight loss program.

Now last year, if you recall, I made a bet with a few other coworkers to lose more than anyone else in three month's time. I lost. This year the goal is much more reasonable. I've decided to lose one pound. That's it. Just one pound. Not even worth noticing. Just cut back a little here, trim a little there, and one pound of me just slides off into--nevermind.

Questions at these conferences were handled in a slipshod manner. We were asked to write our questions on cards and give them to select individuals. At the larger event, these, at least, were reviewed by a panel who knew something about the subject. Saturday's talk was dominated by a young pastor type who read questions of his own choosing from his own personal scrap of paper. Instead of good theological questions, most of them were the standard pastoral bits: "What do you believe about hell?" "Where do you see things going for the Anglican communion?" "Should Christians swear off cremation?" This would have been intolerable had Wright himself not, as Dad said later, made much more of those questions than they deserved. Theology can begin anywhere and end up everywhere, and so Wright made you forget that the initial question was so trite by pulling nuggets of biblical insight from nowhere right before your very eyes. Second, Wright honestly spent loads of time personally with people. Though the line stretched out the door, he took each question seriously, and, indeed, pastorally. Pastors, not pastor types, but pastors do theology better than anyone because they have to. Real faces and situations dog their minds and their pens. They don't speak to their careers but to congregations. That is what makes Wright such a unique scholar. He does well enough to live and die an academic, but submits all of that to the task of Bishop. And that's why I called him "Bishop Wright" when I addressed him this Saturday. Bishop, properly used, is a far-higher standard than "Doctor." I took ten pages of notes, and will need to begin the process of typing them soon before I forget the context of everything.

Dad and I drove back Saturday afternoon. He went on to Chattanooga, while I stopped to see John and Tina, and get two sweet kisses from their darling little girl. One was for Kara, and I passed it on dutifully when I got home.

weekend away with Wright, part one

I went away this last weekend . . . did I mention that? My dad and I have really gotten into biblical theologian and British Bishop N. T. Wright over the last year. I downloaded some mp3 lectures on Jesus from ntwrightpage.com and passed them on. Next thing you know, we are looking up his worldwide itinerary in hopes that he might find himself, knowingly or unknowingly, on the east coast. To our boyish glee, he was. This past weekend. In Roanoke Virginia. For free.

Hearing that I was going to be out of town, L’s well-meaning parents extended the invitation to have L. and family stay at their house for the weekend. Kara was very excited about it, and L and I agreed that it was so nice of them to ask. But then, somehow, my brother and sister-in-law, with their dog, also showed up for the weekend. Recall, if you will, that opening nine-squared montage from the television show “The Brady Bunch”—that’s the image that came to my mind when L told me what was about to happen. And, the Wednesday or Thursday before, Caleb learned how to climb. On Friday morning when I headed for Virginia, I knew I had the better deal.

Dad and I met in Kingsport and drove the rest of the way to Roanoke, chatting about SharePoint, about corporate environments, about health care, my new boss, financial prudence, and the bathroom he and Karen are remodeling. Once you get above Bristol, I-81N enters kind of a middle earth. The hills and valleys stretch and roll away from you on either side, and farms and houses clump and spread out again with no visible pattern. What these people do. Why they elected to live here next to nothing, close to nothing, known by no-one, I do not know, but there are a good many of them. It is like leaving the grid itself in the forty miles or so divided by the Tennessee-Virginia border.

Roanoke exists because eventually some place has to get bigger than a farmyard. Pennsylvania shows up soon enough, so Virginia has to do something before someone driving through mistakes its own soil for that of its even-larger next-in-line. All the usual chain stores and restaurants that make up the faux culture of these United States are represented, and there are lots of churches. Thanks to its being the only town around, Roanoke has a number of hotels too. And Roanoke College is there. A Lutheran institution (though, really, what does that mean these days?) We parked and followed tons of mostly elderly people into a crowded auditorium. Dad and I scored some nice bleacher seats, and had an uninterrupted audience with the right reverend for about two hours. Wright, a genuinely swell chap, shook hands and signed books afterward. His eyes said jet lag, but he smiled and tried his best. He genuinely brightened when I said I’d seen him before at Harvard (years go now), and Dad and I bought a few books from the “we didn’t mark this down a whit” book table. The next day would be even better.

The next day, Wright spoke at brick-and-glass Episcopal church which sat atop a hill overlooking the valley and, beyond that, a giant block of a mountainside. Getting there, the roads were so winding and narrow. Finding a world-class theologian in a place like this, I said, is simply incredible. And getting seats as we did, front row right in front of the podium, was just as incredible. Wright seemed better rested. He answered questions and signed books. This time, I got a smile and an enthusiastic explanation from him when I asked him about the doctrine of theosis. If I’m every trapped in an elevator or sharing a taxi with him, I think we should pick up the conversation, because he seemed pleased I’d asked, but had to address the zillion people in line behind me.

Ooops. I’ve run out of time. Going to have to finish this tomorrow.

Kara’s tap shoes are still in the hall

I stay up too late. That’s the truth. 11:26 p.m. at the end of a day that began with no sleep and I’m up and awake again. And why? I don’t really know. I try to write, and little gets said. I try to read and just fall asleep. I update my computer, check out friends’ blogs, and maybe even their friends’ blogs—revisit in Real Audio a story I caught the end of on NPR during the day’s commute. Tonight, for example, I’m listening to some tracks from Winton Marsalis’s latest release “From the Planatation to the Penitentiary.” Its dissonant title track, mixed straight up against the absolute monochrome vocals of Jennifer Sanon, is perfect.

Tomorrow is a two-and-a-half-hour discussion at work on “the publication process.” A glance a the syllabus says it is to be a team exercise, followed up by a five-minute presentation. And after that: a meeting with my acquisition editors to discuss that curious little borderland between science and faith. Work is a kind of life. It is never your own voice, but God made us social beings. I think we need to work with others, just biologically, and as people mildly acquainted with the Kingdom of God, we want to see human freedom maximized in our working structures.

Yesterday, L and I attended the third installment of a book discussion of N. T. Wright’s book Evil and the Justice of God. Chapter three: the crucified God. My priest, Fr. Chris, is always amazingly patient with me—as L. said later, “When you speak, you always have three points. They are good points, but you never make just one.” We talk for an hour-and-a-half about choice, motivation, and the slippery origin of that kink in each one of us and in the patterns, actions, and templates of life.

I catch myself sleeping in front of something on the Food channel. Have you caught any of those shows about cake decorating. It is crazy what you can do with sugar and a blowtorch! Or, I realize I’m reading cnn.com just to be reading. Kara’s tap shoes are still in the hall. That blown light needs replacing. Windows takes forever to shut down. Dark, I slide into bed. The ceiling creaks from our upstairs neighbors. A car drives by.

Caleb loves the toddler bed

This is a bit dated, but here's some video we took the first day we put the toddler bed in Caleb's room. I think he mistook it for a trampoline, but, nevertheless, he was pretty excited.

blah blah Wednesday

I don't suppose I've written much about this, but about two months ago my publisher decided to reorganize itself around SPU's or "spews" if you like: strategic publishing units. Gone is the comfortable fireside glow of the word "imprint" to be replaced by this term only modernity could love. My imprint, W Publishing Group, was split in two, one side becoming practical theology or "practical living" and the other side systematic theology or "spiritual growth." This term spiritual growth is amusing. We publish Hank Hanegraaff, Brian Maclaren, Mike Erre--authors that investigate spiritual themes (some books, lets face it, are really extended sermons), but rather than call us something like "ideas and issues" we get the postmodern-lite spiritual growth. At first it seemed like, aside from some book shuffling, nothing much was changing. A few added responsibilities. Some new skills. But then my boss turned in his resignation, and now the forces of opportunity and chaos have switched into a much higher gear.

L. is continuing her transformation into a successful freelance writer. She just picked up another gig a week or so ago for wcities.com, and she's probably going to pick up more before Summertime. This is what she went to school for, and I'm glad to see her doing it. When we were dating, she wrote editorial pieces for The Elizabethton Star, and shortly after we moved to Massachusetts she wrote for a Christian rag based in the North Shore. Words make you aware of things. You start writing, you start coming aware. Our conversations around the house are made that much more interesting with every new piece she's doing. I like it.

God gave Kara a math brain. She's bringing home tests--yes they test you in first grade now because, you know, life is so urgent for us here in the twenty-first century--of eighty or so math problems and she's doing well on them. The other night for fun I substituted an x for a number in an equation and gave it to her. So, I said, what do you think the x stands for? She barely looked over from her coloring: five. What about this? Two. Her spelling is getting better also. Really, whatever funk Kara was in last year, she seems to be pulling out of it now.

Caleb finally sleeps in the truck

Shhhhh! Caleb is sleeping in his toddler bed for the first time! Don't wake him. L. found him curled up with blankets around his little people airport. She would have taken his photograph, flash and everything, if the batteries hadn't run out. As it was, I took some night-vision Hi8 video of the sleeping lad--who knows if that will ever be converted into something available to the twenty-first century.

But wait . . . did you know about the recent addition of the toddler bed? Have I mentioned it in all of its amazingly adorable fire-engine sweetness? Did I say something about the real working light on top of the plastic cab?

I'm on day three of a neck cramp. I got these a few times in Junior High, and then again when I was writing my thesis, and then suddenly Friday morning I woke up with it. Not a thing you can do, really, just find a place to put your head and wait it out. I have taken a zillion milligrams of Ibuprofen in the last 52 hours, applied that marvelous chemical substance Icy Hot quite liberally to my neck and shoulders, and alternated cold and hot presses. Nothing really works. See, it is exciting things like this that keep you coming back to this blog.

Several large organizational projects have been put into the past tense in recent weeks. We got rid of a lot of stuff. The Pampered Chef stuff has been weeded like tares at the last judgment. Caleb's clothes were picked through, and my bookshelves migrated into the living room. (It is not commonly known, but bookshelves do slowly move around a house in the manner of subject-specific ents.) Besides completing household projects, L is also between writing assignments, though she has picked up a travel-writing gig. We'll blog more on that later. The resulting hiatus means that L is scrapbooking again.

I always like it when she does this. People really love the scrapbooks she has made over the years--we have a whole shelf of them. People love flipping through them, and their thematic quality provides a lot more narrative shape to what they are looking at than if we'd just thrust a pack of four-by-sixes at them. Plus it is always interesting to see the crafty stuff that she adds to it. Like just now she is scrapping our visit to the aquarium in Gatlinburg last summer. Funky scissors and multicolored paper come together and next thing you know she's made all this interesting coral with fish swimming around it as a frame for the lower portion of each page.

Finally, I've been reading the final draft of a new book coming out by Bible Answer Man Hank Hanegraaff (my neck was stuck in a downward position, may as well put that to good use.) It is amazing to me that dispensationalism even exists. Once you expose the silliness that God has a separate soteriological track for Jews and Gentiles--an error patently obvious for anyone even casually reading the New Testament without reference to eisegetical "here's how to think" notes--the whole of its nineteenth century architecture crumbles.

stuff we got for cheap and some Greek

Some of you may remember that I have often mentioned doing this. Well, it is done. I was just going to by the wireless card ($40), but the router was there, and you know that bit about how it is better to ask forgiveness than permission? I haven’t installed the router yet, and for those of you who don’t know what a router is: a router takes the internet connection that is in a cable and broadcasts it like a radio station. You password encrypt your station broadcast, your router, and then you tune your wireless receivers—in this case the wireless card plugged into the laptop—to your personal router’s signal. The rush of internet- available freedom was palpable. Even L had to admit the real benefits. See, our computer is in Kara’s room, so unless Kara is at school it is off limits. If you are on the computer while Kara is at home, give it up, because she’ll want to play solitaire or go to the Barbie website or something, and will bug you the whole time until you give in. Now, however, L can research her essays from the comfort of the living room couch. She was able to get a jump on her essay-crunch right away after the kids were in bed. And I was able to work on my Greek without the annoyance of the TV being on. I’m hoping now that we have Internet access from the living room that we will see a lot less mindless TV and a lot more other things like reading, flipping vocab cards, and even, who knows, talking. Maybe we will even blog (gasp!)

Yeah, I worked on Greek for about two hours last night and discovered, much to my surprise, that I may only be one hundred to one hundred fifty words away from Basics of Biblical Greek vocabulary wholeness. From years of just splashing around in it, making sorties here and there, I know a great deal more Greek than I thought. Where I lose it is in the ability to quickly parse verbal forms and in truly understanding how participles are operating in the syntax of a given pericope. Anyway, here’s to a new horizon for intellectual pursuits.

In other news,

This weekend, L discovered that we had a slow leak coming from the dining room wall that was beginning to soak the carpet padding—that was Saturday night. An hour later, the maintenance guy had carved a six-by-six inch hole in the drywall. You could feel droplets of water spit-raining down from the floor above inside the wall. Turned out to be a busted washing machine valve upstairs. Thank God L caught it early, because it could have been worse than it was. As it is, we have this gigantic blower drying out the carpet next to the dining room wall. This thing is loud, but not annoying with a smooth, rushing sound. You could sleep to it, but it drowns out other noises like phone calls and such. And why not make it louder?

Sunday afternoon, for example, we were trying to watch the football game, and Kara and Caleb were in full-on scream mode, playing hard together in Caleb’s room. I couldn’t hear what L was saying to me from one couch to the other. L called this afternoon and told me they had taken away the blower, but the hole is going to remain another day or so.

Because of potential flooding, we transported my bookshelves into the living room, and, you know, they actually look better there. We re-sorted so that (as L says) “pretty books” are on the outside and paperbacks and cheap dented stuff is on the inside. It really looks good, and adds a great deal of comfort to the space. I feel better just lounging next to my bookshelves—there’s something about it that just jazzes the mind. Who cares where the remote is when you can pick up Aquinas, Moltmann, Pannenberg, or Barth simply by extending your arm!

Finally, we were selling some things at a consignment shop this weekend and discovered Caleb’s toddler bed. I connected the minute I saw it: there it is! Sure, he’s a little young, but this thing is perfect. It is a big, plastic, red fire engine with a real fire engine light on the top. I pretty much wanted to throw it in the truck the minute I saw it, but we restrained ourselves until L could take her mom to the shop this morning. Now all three of us just want to throw it in the truck—and, here’s the best part, thanks to our selling stuff to the shop, the bed is pretty much free. You know, maybe Caleb would like our bed and I, um, we can have the fire engine. Kara’s going to stick to that thing like a six-year-old, gangly barnacle. “Kara, it is time to go to bed. L, hon, can you get the pry-bar?”

sweet arrogance

Listening this afternoon to the BBC4's The Daily Service (I'm quite partial to Anglican services in streaming audio) it occurs to me that apologies are in order. I am sorry for the absolute lack of anything here for long periods of time. Blogging may seem like something you do in your pajamas with coffee, but it actually take a lot of work--and time. And I heard someone say today, "Blogging is arrogant. Like everyone wants to hear what you think." Well, actually, I want to hear what my friends think far more than I care what, say, Tom Cruise or Channel 4 news thinks. My father-in-law is always fond of saying, "Soldiers don't fight because of the cause. They fight because of their buddy. They fight because they don't want to let their buddy down. They fight to defend those next to them." Exactly.

As you can see, L. and I have begun experimenting with some streaming video. And, you can also see that Caleb can walk on walls. It is a little something he picked up over the holiday season. Actually, we took some video of him carting around his forty-eight hour heart monitor. He didn't even seem to notice it. Until, of course, we took if off of him. When we lifted his shirt up to reveal all those sensors stuck to his chest, his expression was the picture of stunned. We have some photos; perhaps L. will post them soon.

Two kids keep us very, very busy. Looking around, I think this is one of the busiest times of life, raising kids. There are quiet moments too. Last night, near midnight, Caleb woke up for one reason or another. He was standing up against the side of his crib, holding on, and jumping up and down. We went in to check on him, fearing he'd be cold, and he wasn't as much cold as lonely. I picked him up and, handing him a sippy cup, put him on my lap. I turned on the TV--we like to watch those educational shows about engineering and big machines--and he settled his head against my shoulder, and we just sat together for a good fifteeen minutes. I've had months go by which couldn't boast that much intense satisfaction.

Caleb Playing in his Room

Here's a video of Caleb playing in his room while he was still wearing his heart monitor. He was having such a good time. He loves to jump up and down!

Trial video of Caleb

This should be some video of Caleb on the day of his birth taken by L's mom on her phone. We'll see.

Mama Got a New Camera! Thanks Dad & Karen!! 

Kara and some friends on a tire at the park 

Here it is! 

Soccer Fun 

Soccer With Grandpa 

A little Static! 

With Caleb on the Big Slide 

Doing the Caleb Dance! 

THERE'S the slide!! 

Aliens Hate Carrots!

Yesterday morning around 5am Kara showed up in our room having had a nightmare and needing the safety of Mama and Daddy. Yesterday afternoon Kara shared with me what had frightened her. In a nightmare she had Sunday night she and Thom were coming home from somewhere when a white eagle appeared with a letter telling her an alien would be living outside her bedroom window for a year. Evidently the dream ended with her running down the hall in our house trying to get away from the people-eating alien monster. This was very upsetting for Kara. Despite my best efforts to assure her that we know of no other life forms in the universe and particularly no people-eating monsters, she was still quite upset. While I was cooking something for dinner she was curled up on the couch hiding under her favorite lovey blanket not even watching the video I had put on for her and Caleb.

As I was peeling a carrot and wondering if she wanted a piece, I was struck by a moment of Mommy Genius. I walked into the living room with a small piece of carrot and said to Kara "Honey, I have a secret weapon for you. Imaginary aliens hate carrots! Would you like this?" She grabbed it right out of my hand and starting eating it, asking "What else do they hate, Mama?" "Well," I went on "they hate all healthy foods. Meat. Vegetables. Anything good for you. They can sense that it's in your body and they stay away!"

Either she bought it or she enjoyed the make-believe -- either way she scarfed down a banana, a carrot and an apple within the hour! On they way to her ballet lesson she asked what the aliens thought about ballet and tap. To which I replied "They hate it! Don't want anything to do with it. Too loud!"

Over the course of the evening we learned that aliens hate ballet, tap, healthy food and children who do their homework. They are especially repelled by imagination-oriented pretend play such as playing with Legos or Barbies, but they are attracted to the playing of video games, the watching of too much television and the eating of Halloween candy! So, one must be very careful to ward off imaginary aliens by eating lots of good healthy food, doing lots of homework and playing with actual toys.

At one point she asked what kills them? I said eating healthy food. To this she replied "Mama, We're going to have dead aliens all around." I answered - Nope. They disappear when they die!

Tonight I'm going to tell her what happens to aliens when children READ! I think it might involve shrieking, running away and never, EVER coming back!

Our Purple Princess... 

And Our Little Green Dragon! 

The High Price of Gas

We all know what it was like going to school and dealing with social pressures. Not drugs and alcohol, just all the mundane irritations of staying "cool" and keeping friends. I'm starting to think it's harder even to be the parent than to be the child.

Sure, childhood has lots of wonderful things about it. You make "best friends." You have wild adventures on the playground. You get some great grades, like a 100 on a spelling test. You read your first book. Childhood is packed full of those kinds of memories. But childhood also has its fair share of trama ~ usually in the form of being teased for something, often times out of your control. For me, the memory is actually still so full of embarrassment, I don't even want to share it today. And I'm certainly not going to share Thom's for the same reason.

Well, Kara had one of those days this week. While walking silently down the hall with the rest of her class, Kara did not remember the social rule - "we don't pass gas at school". Her sad little words to me were "It was so loud, Mama." Evidently, everyone heard it and no one could stop talking about it. Later in the day Kara even overheard two of her friends, girls, talking about it. A day later, two of the boys are still talking about it.

Last night we talked about this and reminded her that EVERYONE passes gas, but we all try not to do it in front of others (well, MOST of us try not to do it in front of others, anyway ;-). At one point in the conversation, I posed the question, "what do you think most kids do when this happens?" The answer I was thinking of was "lie about it." No, Kara says "Never go back to that school ever again and find a different school?!" She said this with such hope and conviction, I couldn't help but feel badly for her. We talked some more and ultimately concluded that the kids would eventually stop talking about this and she should just move on. Tell them it wasn't a big deal and keep right on playing and being herself. So far so good, she hasn't been nicknamed "Farty Girl" and the kids are still playing with her.

The sad truth is... the idea of buying a house in a different school zone had actually crossed my mind!! Anything to keep her from feeling that awful feeling of being stuck with kids who don't like you for no decent reason. That was 4th through 7th grade for me. My big mistake -- moving to a small town where the clicks were already set in stone. And, this because my parents moved to the GOOD school district. As for Kara's issue, come on --Kids pass gas. People pass gas. We hide it while we're dating and then announce it once we're married. Why does it have to be so tramatic?

So, here I go just wanting her to be happy and have good days at school with positive experiences and relatively little embarrassment. Unfortunately, I can't safeguard her against life, no matter how much I'd love to.

~Current Events~

OK, so it's been a while since the Happy Baby post went up -- time for an update.

Let's see... THOM -- At this very moment Thom is enjoying attending a theological conference at Villanova University near Philadelphia. I think this is his third conference at Villanova. For any of you who might recall the story of Kara and I visiting the Philadelphia Zoo in the snow December of 2003 -- that was the weekend of one of the conferences Thom attended. Previous to that he attended one on St. Augustine in the Fall of '01 I believe it was. He was particularly excited about this conference as his dad was meeting him there for a sort of Father/Son weekend getaway. I'm sure they were out clubbing until the wee hours of the night -- those party animals! (Obviously -- I'm kidding!) Meanwhile, Thom has been fully accepted into the leadership training program at Thomas Nelson. He was recommended by his supervisor, but initially only accepted as an alternate. We suspect this was because of his length of service thus far at Thomas Nelson. At any rate, he was able to attend the kick-off event and the first meeting and after the first meeting he was accepted fully into the program on the merit of his involvement. I was very proud of him! We continue to hope for more job advancement at Thomas Nelson as the company is going through a restructuring that will hopefully open up more opportunities in the coming year. In other news, Thom has been doing an excellent job leading our church's adult Sunday School class through a book on the virtues. Everyone seems to be enjoying the book Thom chose and his teaching.


OK... how's KARA... well, it depends on who you ask... Ask her teacher and she is a model student doing very well in her subjects and never causing any trouble in the classroom. Ask us, and we'll tell you we love her dearly, but she's having some serious trouble around here with regard to respect. She wakes up grumpy and downshifts to crabby with occasional bursts of nasty and delightful highlights of sweetness. With Thom out of town we have tried a different morning routine, which I think has helped. Today is Wacky Clothes Day at school, so we mixed and matched and she actually enjoyed this without getting frustrated or being nasty. We did two braids in her hair and put funny little clips all over the top of her head. She has two different socks and two different shoes and two shirts that don't match. Try as she might to look wacky, she still came off looking pretty cute! In fact, had it not been wacky day, she kind of looked like a trend-setting teenager. Trouble is most of her wardrobe is colors that match, so we really didn't get too far from normal. I'm looking forward to hearing how the other kids dressed. All in all, we're making it through this difficult time with her and trying to remember love and grace and forgiveness apply to all of us - especially Mama and Daddy at times, but most often toward her. Thom will appreciate me saying it seems to be a conflict of law versus grace if ever there was one.

On to CALEB... he is just too cute these days! He's talking a bit more and LOVES to play. He says "Ma'E" for Mommy. Which is kind of funny because Kara calls me Mama, something I encouraged in her, yet with him it seems Mommy seems more fitting and I don't know why. Isn't that strange?? I think with Kara, I thought of Mama as a loving endearment and a closeness and being a mother was so new for me that I somehow projected that into encouraging her to say Mama. With him, it's sort of sappy, but Mommy seems so traditional and normal and expected and it just somehow sounds right when I say "Give this to Mommy" or "Come over here to Mommy" or "Say "Hi Mommy." I don't know... we'll see how this plays out. Truth be told, Kara calls me both Mommy and Mama, so maybe we'll never even notice. As for toys, Caleb has discovered pretend play. He likes to pretend with Kara's kitchen set and pretend to give me a cup of something to drink. He also loves musical toys like his xylophone and drumming toys. He is definitely the kind of kid who is happy making noise with a pot and wooden spoon from the kitchen. I have been snapping pictures of him with his different musical toys for the sake of a scrapbook page and this would be one without precedent -- I don't have a matching set of pictures like that from Kara at this age. Oh, the other big deal is "in" -- he loves to put something into something else. A few days ago he and Kara ran around the house chasing a soccer ball for about 30 minutes. They were having the best time!! They have a great relationship and that is the best thing about having two kids.

As for me...I've gotten into a routine with my writing and I've gotten my first paycheck as a freelance writer! I am presently writing for EBSCO, where Thom and I used to work, doing some writing on an encyclopedic high school product. Last month I was doing articles on world capitals and this month I'm working on hot topics for their points of view product. The research and writing is very enjoyable and it is great to be working during the day and relaxing in the evenings. I'm liking that much better than doing evening Pampered Chef shows. I think with two kids I'm getting up earlier and tired earlier. Either that or I'm just getting old!

The best news of this month was that our close friends SWR and QE came down for a visit mid-month. We rearranged furniture and moved the kids together into Kara's room and SWR, QE and little SI all slept in Caleb's room. (Thanks Auntie Kara for loaning us the awesome Air Mattress!!) Anyway, we had a GREAT time with them! We went into Nashville for the Oktoberfest in Germantown. We ate at a fabulous Indian restaurant for a fun lunch of politic-talking with my brother. We oohed and aahhed over the little ones and stayed up WAY TOO LATE playing penny poker, watching movies, and reading. SWR enjoyed watching the History Channel, eating my cooking and reading the Sports Illustrated mags I've been saving for him (the former tenant of our apartment never bothered to get their mag forwarded so we get them!) QE enjoyed sorting through a mountain of baby clothes for SI with me and the welcomed rest from the world of boxes they've been living in since mid-August as they are in the process of moving from Massachusetts to Connecticut. We enjoyed getting to spend time together with them! Hopefully we'll be able to travel up to Connecticut sometime after the New Year to visit them and see their new home!

Well, that should catch everyone up on current events here at our house. The only real current event we're dealing with here is the election next week. Every member of my family has a different view or take on who to or not to vote for in this Senatorial election. Unfortunately, no matter what happens we'll get a politician and we'll likely be disappointed within a year! On that happy note, have a great day and make it a great weekend!

Happy Baby

Caleb found some words! His favorite is "Happy Baby" spoken again and again from his car seat as we drive around town or in the seat on the carriage at the grocery store. "Happy Baby" Happyhappyhappyhappybebe Happy Bebe Bebe Bebe HaP-E-baybee HappyBaby. happehappebebe.

He also does a sign for "More" by point one finger onto his other hand. It's not the correct sign for "more" -- but it does the trick. He does his sign and then points and sometimes even says "mapeez" which is Caleb for "More Please" or just generally used to mean "I want."

When he brings you a book he usually says "Ree peez" which is Caleb for "Read Please." He used to say "Buuuu" for "Book" but decided that "Ree peez" is more important.

When he's hungry he announces it by saying "nummy nummy nummy nummy nummy" until someone notices he's actually talking!

This week he has tried to say "car" ("ca" -- maybe he is from Boston!), Tree ("tee")and Sky ("up")... we're still working on these.

Once in a blue moon he says mama and daddy -- we're still working on that, too.

Oh yeah, he also sometimes says "gimme" for give to me. He knows what "No" means and responds most of the time to "Caleb, no." He also knows what dance means and loves to wiggle in his high chair doing "the Caleb dance."

We're happy with our happy baby talk!

Things change pretty fast...

Over the last year or two I've come to realize that things can change pretty fast, in a moment really. Now most of you probably have learned this already, either from experience or the experiences of others, but for me this has been a new thought, and in many ways, a welcome one.

Growing up I despised change. As a child change represented a disturbance in my happy little life. Often change brought loss. When I was five years old we lived down the street from my grandmother and my aunt. I saw them most every day. I went to ball games with my aunt and sat in my grandmother's kitchen while she cooked. It was perfect. My best friend, a little boy, lived next door to my grandmother. When I wasn't at her house or my own, I was at his. Star Wars toys crammed under his bed with matchbox cars and Tonka trucks in a room that never really let in any light, all the while, the feel of shag carpet all around us.

Then, one day, seemingly out of no-where, we were living five hours away in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I don't remember leaving. I don't remember getting there. I just remember being in the one place and then being in the next place... without my grandma or my aunt or my friend. I went to Kindergarten and made some friends. A few years and a hamster later, I was watching The Brady Bunch in the basement of our house and my parents called me upstairs to tell me something (in the middle of the show!) I was going to have a baby brother or sister. Can I go back to watching Brady Bunch now?

I still wasn't learning or loving the whole "things change" thing.

My brother was born a couple of weeks after I turned nine. A boy! Who knew?! And then, all at once again, we were moving. It was September and I should have been in school, but we were moving to Illinois and we were sleeping in a hotel with my mom, my dad, my screaming baby brother and our dog. We got a new house. I went to school. I didn't make friends at first. We spent four years living there and in the end I had two close friends. I had a place to eat lunch everyday in the crowded lunchroom. It was perfect. On the last day of 7th grade, I called my mom from the pay phone in the hallway to ask if one of my friends could spend the night. My mom was in tears and said tonight wasn't a good night. We were moving. This time, to Virginia and a life of my Dad with a fulltime career in the military. That was sometime in June. My birthday, at the beginning of July was at the Officer's Club on base in Ft. Lee, Virginia. I was 13. I ate a LOT of crab legs that night, but didn't make any friends all summer. School started in the Fall and suddenly I was sitting with all of the cool kids at lunch. I went to school dances and generally "had a life." I was home sick from school one day in November and my mom came in to say "How do you feel about the Netherlands?" I was 13, in 8th grade and had a crush on a boy named Jaime in my Spanish class. I had NEVER thought one thought or had one feeling about the Netherlands... yet. But, we were moving there.

I lived in the Netherlands for 4 1/2 years, I went to college in Tennessee, met Thom, got married, moved to Massachusetts and got my first real job. I still hated change. Hated it! But lived with it. New supervisors. Change in office location. Roll with it. Got pregnant with Kara -- that was a good change -- but I still struggled with every little change along the way. In 2003 when we were making decisions about moving off campus and I was trying to become a Pampered Chef director and I was finishing up my seminary program and we were trying to figure out how to pay our bills -- I hated change to the point of near panic attacks on a fairly regular basis!

In the Spring of 2004, we invited Joanna to stay with us for a few days and that became a year. In the Fall of 2004, I found myself pregnant with Caleb. A light was shifting from dim to bright somewhere in my mind... change happens. Change happens when you're not looking and there's nothing you can do about it.

In the Spring of 2005, I was about six months pregnant with Caleb when this new thinking in my mind started casting light on a variety of subjects. I began to notice that change was happening in every aspect of our lives, literally EVERY aspect -- family, school for Kara, church, jobs, our marriage, Pampered Chef, money, every area I could identify was experiencing massive shifts and changes.

Now it is the Fall of 2006 and I'm still noticing how fast changes happen. A phone call. A letter in the mail. A decision one evening or one morning that seems to come out of no where and changes the course of our lives -- last year it was the evening we said let's begin a job hunt in Nashville this year it was one morning when I said how about we pay off the credit cards like this...! That fast: life changes. When Caleb was three days old I was in the shower and the phone rang. My grandmother had suffered a heart attack. My parents were visiting to see the new baby and, like that, they were at my grandmother's bedside clear across the country. (She's fine, today, praise God.) Last week my Dad had a routine procedure and wound up spending three nights in the hospital. It wasn't on the calendar, but change happens. Somewhere in the Spring of last year, when Thom and I went to the marriage conference and I was pregnant with Caleb and Joanna was moving on to other things and things were changing with Kara's school and our pastor was leaving our church, something in my heart shifted and I realized change happens, it happens fast, its unpredictable and sometimes it's even good.

On Tuesday I got an email from our friends in Massachusetts SWR and QE (and their newborn son SI -- speaking of change!). They were supposed to have moved from Massachusetts to Connecticut last Saturday, but as it turned out from circumstances beyond their control, their plans were changed. I talked on the phone with QE for a while and got all of the details. Then, on Wednesday night I'm sitting in the living room, chatting with my parents, who had stopped by unexpectedly, and the phone rang. It was QE again.. they have some time on their hands and would like to come and see us before they move to Connecticut! When the phone rang I didn't know who it was and then bam: change. Our month that didn't have much in it, suddenly has a great big something to look forward to right there in the middle of it.

You can't fight change. It's gonna happen whether you hate it or not. May as well like it. Sometimes it's a good thing!