Tanner Times Op-Ed

Not Politics as Usual

2012-01-15T17:19:00.014-07:00

Once again, months have pasted since my last post. Sorry. To use a strange word used by my children to describe a really large quantity of something, I have agoogle things to write about. So much has happened over the last four months, it is impossible to recap anything--should have sent out Christmas letters. Sufficeth to say, everyone is happy an healthy. Doug is enjoying school, I'm in good spirits, we enjoy living by family, and time is flying by.

With the start of a new political season, I'm reminded once again why I disengage myself from the computer, news, and other media bombardments. I feel so incapable and powerless when it comes to the issues, I'd much rather shove my nose into a period romance novel.

I seem to do that quite a bit, actually--disengage myself, I mean, not read romance novels. I tune into the world, get myself all fired up over this and that, write a few incendiary letters in my mind or heaven help me, in an actual and awful place like Facebook. I make resolutions to take up my sword alongside my brave brothers and sisters in the cause of justice (think Arab Spring). I will do my part. I will shout it from the hilltops. I will make bumper stickers.

Yes. Bumper stickers. Every issue can be summed up in ten words or less and everyone will know who I am and what I am by the car I drive!

Vote Conscience Not Party

Kermit the Frog for the Republican Nomination

Pro Life Liberal is not an Oxymoron

Just call it what it is--Eugenics

I falter, however, when I remember I have no desire or inclination to learn InDesign or Illustrator and a handwritten note taped to my minivan just won't have the same pizazz.

I slink back to my world of diapering and housewiffery to mull over the probable reality that what I say and do outside my little home doesn't make much difference in the largess of the issues.

Cynicism is an awful, awful thing I struggle against and why I must make an effort to refer you to these two blogs for my most recent brush with a cause worth drawing a sword for.

From Bird on the Street: Quantify This

From Wolfhirschhorn.org: Brick-Walls

Please read these posts. Forward them to family and friends. Talk about it. Be angry and disgusted and make people aware that this sentiment is alive and thriving in the United State and all over the world. Ponder it, discuss it, research it, write about it, so maybe someday when you inadvertently find yourself in a position to speak out, you will know what to say.

Officially Oregonians

2011-08-29T22:03:00.002-06:00

In case you were wondering, we did manage to pack up and move to Oregon. It was terribly sad to turn in my Montana drivers licence for an Oregon licence but my Montana friends will be happy to know that at Doug's white coat ceremony (an overly long event where the docs-to-be get their white coats--hence the white coat name-and swear some important oath), Doug introduced himself as from Missoula, Montana. His attending parents, however, did question the legitimacy of the claim. They wondered if it was more appropriate to claim Utah as his home state....

Anyway, it really doesn't matter all that much but I am trying to hold on dearly to my Montana ties.

But besides growing up here, possessing an Oregon driver's licence and sporting a new Crater Lake plate, attending an Oregon medical school, and having all my mail order catalogues, requested and otherwise follow me here, we have taken a considerable step that ensures our ties to Oregon. Come September we will be paying property taxes.

Yes and yes. We bought a home and we are crazy.

I'm excited enough, however, to want to show it off.

Can you guess which house it is? You'll never guess.

1.

2.

3.

While We're on the Subject...

2011-05-26T20:21:00.012-06:00

Have you ever wondered if your children were dogs what breed they would be? (Yes, yes, I'm still wasting precious moments of packing time.)

James the Border Collie--energetic, intelligent, keen, alert, responsive, an intense worker, and affectionate towards friends.

Daphne the West Highland Terrier--friendly, strong-willed personality, spunky, determined, devoted, alert, gay, courageous, and self-reliant.

Nathan the Golden Retriever--friendly, reliable, trustworthy, intelligent, and eager to please.

Stewart the English Springer Spaniel--friendly, playful, quick to learn, enthusiastic, poised, attentive, and a bit mischievous.

What kind of breeds do you have at your house?

Puppies vs. Babies

2011-05-25T12:40:00.006-06:00

Because I should be packing up my house for our move next week, instead, I've been perusing the ever-so useful world-wide-web for dogs. Yes, that's right, dogs. I'm stressed out AND I have the baby-hungries. Stewart is almost 15 months old, the magic number that indicates to the female reproductive system, it is an optimal time to procreate.

Only it's not.

Oh, the irony. This body cannot have anymore babies, YET, its innards scream to nurture life in its womb. Torture for my mothering heart. How many more years of "fertility"(i.e. hormone driven madness) do I have left--20? Great.

All this, of course, brings me to my time consuming search for a dog. I want a dog not a baby. Puppies and babies are very similar, like both words end in y or ies, BUT only one needs my body.

So a dog it is...though the dogs I want cost nearly as much as a hospital delivery.

Goldendoodle

Giant Schnoodle

Scottish Deerhound

Eh, eh? Dogs can be as cool as kids, right.

Campaign Against the R- word

2011-05-24T09:31:00.005-06:00

I suppose that until you know a person whose development has, by literal definition, been retarded, for example, by a chromosomal anomaly or by brain damage, the term retarded may not seem like an offensive word to use casually in conversation.

“It was a retarded movie.” or “Oops, that was retarded of me.”

But for those of us who know individuals with disabilities, the word retarded is offensive. I haven’t made it my personal crusade to eliminate the R-word from mainstream vocabulary but I follow a few blogs that recently posted about what happens when you ask people to stop using the R-word. It’s quite shocking actually. Take a look:

http://www.lovethatmax.com/2011/03/if-you-ask-people-to-not-use-word.html

http://www.lovethatmax.com/2011/03/if-you-tick-off-lot-of-people-by-asking.html

http://birdonthestreet.com/2011/03/just-stop-it/

Today Love that Max posted this video of a Public Service Announcement that will be shown on the season finale if Glee and also aired by TNT, CNN, MTV and Fox.

Since I’ve let other moms do the dirty work for me in regards to this sensitive issue, I am hoping to make a small contribution to this worthwhile campaign by posting this video on my blog as well. Hopefully people will get the message.

Spread the word.

Packing Things Up

2011-05-16T10:46:00.003-06:00

Well, we’re moving in a little over two weeks—packing up our little family, saying goodbye to our beloved Missoula, and movin’ to Oregon. We’re sad to be leaving but excited just the same. Doug is making a career change that will launch us on new adventure for several years to come. He’s starting medical school officially this Fall in Oregon but will be taking an intensive anatomy course this summer in California. We won’t be going with him so the kids and I will live with my parents for the summer. I think it will be a fun time for the kids and me. We’ll see if my parents and Annie say the same when the summer is over, the Tanners can be a rowdy bunch.

The prospect of starting another round of graduate school is a bit daunting but the great thing is, DOUG IS EXCITED. The other night I came home to find him reading his anatomy book for the fun of it. It’s encouraging for me to see him enthusiastic. Medical school will be a challenge for both of us, and the kids too. Not very many people start med school with four children in tow. We feel good about it though. We’re more ready than ever before, and we have the comfort that we are in the right place at the right time.

Wish us luck...we'll need it.

Confession...Please, don't shoot me.

2011-05-04T11:44:00.005-06:00

I have a confession. Are you ready?

I really like President Obama.

Are we still friends?

Regardless of whether or not you like his politics, you should watch this video of President Obama's speech at the White House Correspondent's Dinner. You have to admit, he has a sense of humor.

Here's the link to the Huffington Post. There are two video because it runs about 18 minutes.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/05/09/full-video-obamas-white-h_n_201264.html

Enjoy!

Fries and a High Chair Give-Away

2011-05-03T12:41:00.007-06:00

I follow a blog about a little boy who had a stoke at birth called Love that Max. Ellen, his mother, writes daily about special needs parenting and also has some great giveaways, this time for an adjustable high chair. To enter we are suppose to comment about our child's favorite food and if available, share the Give-Away link on our blog. So, here's the link to Love that Max and the comment I posted about Nate's favorite food for her blog:

http://www.lovethatmax.com

What is your child's favorite food?

Fries! or eye, as Nate pronounces. Fry was actually his first recognizable sign. I was blown away when from the rear-view mirror I noticed Nate doing something with his hand and grinning ear to ear. Everything registered in an instant when I realized we were passing McDonald's (we'd driven though twice in his life) and the modified sign he was making was for fries. Needless to say, we frequent McDonald's quite often now for fries. How can I not reward such awesome communication?

Frustrated Perfectionist

2011-05-01T21:21:00.005-06:00

Gahhh! I've been trying to give my blog a new look. Quite literally I have spent hours tinkering with color and text, background and layout and STILL I haven't found anything that I like. So this new color scheme will have to due for at least the next week until I can afford to throw away several more perfectly good hours doing, well, nothing. Curse it.

So this night is not a total waste I will at least post a picture of something--not sure what just now but I'll throw something out for all my many followers out there;).
Stewart, doing what he does best--Making mischief and getting into messes.

Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

2011-04-21T22:04:00.005-06:00

I had my first of many IEP meetings today. Nathan turns three years old next Monday and qualifies for special education preschool. He starts school the following day so I met with some lovely ladies to discuss his Individual Education Plan (IEP). I’ve dreaded the whole IEP thing for a while now. No mother or father who has a child with an IEP ever speaks very positively about goals or meetings or quite frankly, special education and the school system in general.

My meeting today, however, was very positive—bittersweet, but positive. The teachers and administrator are very excited to have him in preschool even if it is just until the end of the school year. They were so complementary about Nate’s strengths and very encouraging about his potential. It was hard to hear the quantitative results his speech, physical, and cognitive evaluations but the words severely, significantly, or, considerably below were far out numbered by the words delightful, ability, determination and desire. It was a good meeting that I hope will be the start to a positive and rewarding relationship with the public school system.

By the way, did you know the movie line?

Casablanca.

Ode to Stew--Belated

2011-04-20T12:24:00.006-06:00

This post is a belated Ode to Stew for his 1st birthday. Yes, my little baby whose birth was announced only three or four posts ago is now thirteen, almost fourteen months old. Holy Smokes, it been a crazy and busy year.

Last March our family changed forever with the arrival of Stewart. Delivery was far different than we expected. I was rushed into an emergency c-section when my placenta abrupted (again) and I began to hemorrhage. Without exaggeration, thanks to Heavenly Father and an amazing doctor and delivery team, my life and Stewart’s life were saved. It was actually quite a traumatic experience. Recovery was much rougher than a normal vaginal delivery and even a typical c-section due to an unusually large incision and some manhandling necessitated by the urgency to get StewBoy out and to stop the bleeding.

The OB told us that if we didn’t have a middle name picked yet, “Trouble” would be an appropriate choice. It seems my 9.1 lb baby suddenly turned footling breech without me feeling it, which most likely caused the abruption. From that time until present day Stewart has been true to form and still gets himself into tricky situations. He’s a busybody and also very affectionate and charming. Even during a difficult postpartum period, Stewart’s smile and cuddliness had a soothing affect on me. He’s ever so patient with his parents and siblings and is turning out to be a great little buddy to his older brother Nathan.

So Happy Birthday, Stewart "Trouble" Tanner. We love you.

Salt in a Wound and the Costco Food Court

2011-03-16T00:29:00.012-06:00

After completing our shopping today I took the kids into the Costco food court for some lunch. Not the healthiest but fast, good, and cheap. It was actually a pleasant outing, no meltdowns or relentless pestering for this or that. But I let something get to me that I’m having trouble shaking. Maybe it’s because I didn’t retaliate or maybe it's because the wound in my heart that hasn’t been bothering me too much lately was torn opened today. Either way, I’m feeling tender and sore, and I wonder if this is just part of the cycle for mothers with children with disabilities.

At the end of our lunch I held Stewy in one arm and dutifully cleaned up the napkins and foil littering our table. Nathan was happy to be down from the bench and began to galumph around a few of the tables in the not too crowded food court. I say galumphing because Nathan has a particular gait that distinguishes him from other kids. It actually sounds like ga-lumph, a short then heavy footfall. We always know when Nathan wakes up by the sound of the galumphing on the floor. Nathan also has a way of expressing his happiness that’s a little different from his peers as well. He has some speech delay so instead of saying “This is great. I love hot dogs and soda and galumphing around the table at Costco,” he offers a high-pitched but not shrill, screams of excitement. In fact, your two almost three-year-old children probably do the same thing.

For a not-so-gentle man just beginning to dine at a table near us, Nathan’s noise, drooling, and movement was intolerable. He stood up from the table with his hot dog, soda and wife and announced to the food court with a loud voice and a gesture that he…” could not sit by that child…that child shouldn’t be making those noises…that child needs to be quieted…. where is that child’s mother.”

I was livid to say the least but the man had turned his back to us so instead, I stared down his wife who finally stammered that he was tired from a long drive before scurrying away. I calmly collected my kids into the cart and headed out into the parking lot. Twenty feet from the building I turned around. I couldn’t let that man go unchecked. I parked my cart, went back into the food court and approached the table where that man and his wife now sat.

I knew exactly what I was going to say: Sir, how is it that my three year old son with developmental disabilities has more emotional self control than you, a seventy-five year old a**hole?

But I didn’t say it.

I could have. I had sufficient control of my indignation and the articulation to match it.

But I didn’t say it.

Something inside wouldn’t let me. Damn the Sunday school lesson I’d just taught on The Beatitudes. So instead, I said meekly: Sir, I’m sorry my son bothered you. He’s three and he doesn’t speak very well so when he’s happy, noise is how he shows it.”

The wife quickly said, “I just told my husband I thought your boy was different. Didn’t I?” The man nodded, still chewing his hot dog and refusing to look at me. “We have a 55 year old boy who is different. If my husband would have known…he was just tired from driving….”

I left them then and returned to my children in the cart. As I walked across the Costco parking lot I began to cry. I cried all the way home. I cried again when Doug came home. I started crying in bed again, which is why I’m up writing this when I should be sleeping…and I’m still crying.

There must be something more to it then. Maybe it’s because I didn’t tell the man where he could really put his hot dog. Maybe I’m hormonal and just too sensitive. Maybe I really should have shut Nathan up. Maybe my perspective is skewed. Had the man directed his comments to any of my other children I would have laughed and remarked how obnoxious kids are but hey, it goes with the culinary territory so go to the Ritz if you want a quiet meal.

I think the “more to it” is grief. Grief that my son struggles and will struggle with asses his entire life. Grief that I love him so much but still fail to protect him. I thought this wound was healing lately. I’ve been better at saying to myself life is what it is and being okay with it. But all it took was one grouchy old man at the Costco food court to open up that wound created by that... dear, dear, wonderful child.

I have a friend who swears by rubbing salt paste into a wound to mend it. No need for bandaids, durmabond, or stitches. Just plain old salt, mixed with water, then pressed into a wound. The salt stings a little bit but given a chance, it stops the bleeding and aids in forming a sturdy scab so the wound can heal. Perhaps my encounter with the salty old man, mixed with my tears, and given thought and time might actually facilitate in the healing of my heart. Just a thought, a needed epiphany.

I just noticed. I’m not crying anymore.

Sunday movie

2010-11-14T15:53:00.003-07:00

This is just a quick video to see the kids.

A Little Chinese Influence

2010-08-15T21:02:00.006-06:00

James is an aspiring army hero/ pilot/ explorer/ rescue hero and needless to say, very into weaponry and basically anything that hints of violence. Karate is a newer interest and just the other morning he karate chopped the armoire and seemed surprised when it didn't splinter. It could have been sitcom-like except for the tears of pain that welled up in his eyes. Today was another humorous moment. While drawing one of his “pistols” James noticed some very small lettering on the butt of the gun. He hurried over to me and asked what it read.

“Made in China 145-45b,” I read aloud.

Oh, the look on his face, the awe in his eyes.

Running to his sister, James exclaimed, “Daphne, this was made in CHINA! I can’t believe this is from China! Daphne, Kung Foo is from China too! China, I can’t believe it!”

Innocence is wonderful.

Stewart Lisle Tanner and clan

2010-03-24T12:02:00.007-06:00

Ta dah!

Our Big Boy

2010-03-05T12:06:00.004-07:00

9.15 pounds

It's a boy!

2010-03-04T11:34:00.002-07:00

We have been very busy with baby stuff since yesterday, and probably won't fill in the details until later. We have a healthy happy 9.1 lb boy with great stats! We had a scare that involved a lot of blood and an emergency C-section, but mom's ok and so is Stewart Lisle Tanner. Pics and details later.

No Baby, Yet

2010-03-01T14:46:00.004-07:00

I just had to post something so Heather's dirty picture would be moved down the page a little.

Since I've got your attention, I'll mention that I get to go to the Ribosome conference in Orvieto, Italy this summer. A week in Italy with all expenses paid, boy the riboosme has been good to me!
See a snapshot of the place at this link:

http://www.ribosomes2010.de/index.php?id=3

Follow Up at the OB's Office

2010-02-02T15:32:00.003-07:00

I had my 35-week appointment today and everything looks great. I’m too lazy to find a baby sitter so as usual I took Nathan and Daphne to the appointment. This particular appointment varied slightly from the routine as it was time for the Strep B swab and while he was down there, the doctor wanted to check my cervix. (FYI: Nothing, Nada, Nunca in the softening and dilation department). The entire interaction was quick and modest for all persons present. After the doctor removed his glove and left the room so I could get dressed I noticed Daphne standing quietly at the end of the examining table. She looked up at me with a crinkled her nose and asked in disbelief, “Did he just stick his hand in your bum?”

“Um, yeah.” I fumbled for what to say. I hadn’t considered that Daphne would see anything or actually feel concern if she did. “Uh, yeah, he was checking to see if the baby is ready to come out…. Uh, only doctors are allowed to stick their hands up your bum, okay”

“Okay,” Daphne said, shrugging. With my daughter watching me intently, I hurried to put my pants back on and the interchange ended there.

Needless to say, it was a really lame mommy moment for me. I tried to bring it up in the car so I could explain with more polish what exactly she had witnessed. But the moment had passed and Daphne didn’t seem remotely interested anymore. If there is a next time, hopefully I’ll be a bit more articulate and educational in my response.

Jet-Packed Holidays

2009-12-11T16:46:00.008-07:00

My, how time flies. Winter hit us with full force around October 9th and since then the leisure of Indian summer vanished and was replaced by the mad hustle of the winter holidays. I managed to get the kids outfitted for Halloween--Will someone please remind me to buy costumes next year instead of killing myself doing the “homemade” thing-- and while catching my breath James had a birthday, Thanksgiving came and went and now Christmas is well on its way.Daphne's preschool trip to the orchard, only the first week of October coincided with the first snowfall and temperatures below 20 degrees.

So here are a few pictures of Halloween, James birthday, and Thanksgiving. Hopefully at Easter time I won’t be finally posting Christmas pictures….

Or BABY pictures.

Okay, quick pregnancy update in case that grotesque baby counter isn’t enough. I’m almost 28 weeks. Thanks to the jet-packed holidays, the pregnancy drag seems to be moving along a bit faster than normal. We did not find out the sex of the baby. While I wavered at the ultrasound wanting to find out, Doug held fast and was actually insistent we not find out. Insistence is a rare thing for Doug. Consequently he won a devious victory on two major fronts. First, we don’t play the name game because coming up with names for two genders is much too difficult even for me. And second, dash it all, the motivation to shop for clothes and baby items without knowing the sex is just about nil. No shopping for this expectant mama. Oh, well, there’s always next time.

I’m totally kidding. Now for pictures.

Nathan was a clown, Daphne a princess, and James, a policeman. It was a very busy party week. Why I spend so much time on one of my least favorite events, I've no idea.

For a birthday surprise, Doug took James to his first football game. Go Griz!

The novelty lasted for about 10 minutes then James was asking when it would be over.

Amid rabid Griz fans, much to Doug's horror James asked if the Griz would win by scoring a basket. Have we neglected a vital part of James' education?

This is for the sake of showing my very pregnant tummy.

While the kids played the adults played a few vicious games, including Scrabble. We had a lovely Thanksgiving.

In case I don’t get to a post before Christmas, HAPPY CHRISTMAS, FRIENDS!

Daphne's Fourth Birthday

2009-11-08T21:22:00.005-07:00

She looks cute here, but you should have seen her transformation at bedtime!

Daphne sporting some of the girly things she got for her birthday last month.

Take note, this is probably the first and last picture of Heather you will ever see on this blog.

The Trouble With Drool

2009-11-01T22:56:00.006-07:00

Today was Nathan’s second week in nursery and his first time without Doug. Nathan had a rough go of it and he cried most of the time. This is understandable as transition into nursery is hard for most 18 month olds. The transition has been a little rough on me too. Nate is still so little. Not only is he a bit small for his age and much smaller than most kids in nursery but he doesn’t walk and he’s completely non-verbal. He’s also more shy and sensitive to changes than James and Daphne were at his age. He’s still such a baby to me, not a toddler. I worry about putting him in a situation where he will require additional assistance in an already understaffed and often stressful environment.

But we are putting him in nursery anyway, partly out of necessity so Doug and I can fulfill our callings and partly because Nate is 18 months and it’s healthy for him to interact with people other than his siblings and parents.

Today, however, I caught a glimpse of my future with a child that’s a little different from the “norm” and rethought my choice to put Nathan in the nursery. It was mostly due to all the crying but when Doug picked Nathan up, the nursery worker asked that we put a bib on him next time because of his excessive drool. He had drooled all over her and all over the toys. She said this as she sprayed disinfectant on anything Nathan touched.

I know I’m being over-sensitive about the bib request. It’s not an unreasonable thing to ask and it is perfectly appropriate to disinfect toys covered with kid-spit. Yet, I find myself defensive of Nathan’s drool—Was she disinfecting anyone else’s toys? What makes my kid’s drool any germier than that other kid’s hands?

I must come to her defense to save myself from offense: She doesn’t know Nathan’s drooling is part of his cerebral palsy. She doesn’t know Nathan has a pediatric speech/oral motor therapist to help with his drooling issues. She doesn’t know Nathan’s mother worries for him because while drooling 18 months isn’t a huge social problem, by age four or five, when peers start commenting on his puddles, it is a social problem; one that he will most likely struggle with his entire life.

I’ve thought about never taking my child to nursery again. Whisking him away so I won’t burden anyone with his drool. But this won’t help anyone, not now or in the future, especially not Nathan who gives us daily assurances he’s just a normal little kid who wants to do normal kid things.

Oh, by the way, Nate's CP also comes with perfect piano posture. Who can say "prodigy."

Bella Bunna

2009-11-01T22:50:00.008-07:00

I don't particularly care for this rodent (though technically, it isn't a rodent according to our Animal Planet rabbit book). I could go on and on about how frustrating this whole thing has been. My biggest disappointment so far is that although it has chewed through three cords, it has yet to be zapped. Grrrr. Is there no justice in this world?

Anyway, here is a pic of the critter. The only consolation about this thing is that it lets Nathan play with it; she's a very patient animal. It would have been long gone if Heather hadn't solved the potty problem. Who knew that cutting the reproductive organs out of an animal would make it want to go to the bathroom in a litter box?!

This post is partially intended to lighten your emotional burden after reading the blog Heather has just posted.

This is rabbit licking itself.

This is rabbit licking my face 30 seconds later. Lovely

Swine Whine

2009-10-23T22:13:00.006-06:00

I took Nathan and Daphne to get the H1N1 vaccine today. The health department commandeered an old clinic to administer vaccinations for children 6 months-4 years from 12pm to 5pm while supplies lasted. So after picking Daphne and her friend up from preschool we headed downtown to get a quick shot. We arrived at 11:30am and although we found an awesome parking spot, we had to take our place at the back of a line extending three blocks. We had food and the kids had warm coats so I figured after the doors opened at noon the line would move along.

Two and half hours later we were still an hour and a half away from even seeing a needle. But after waiting that long I couldn't leave even though I was beginning to have contractions, Nathan was getting fussy and the cold was seeping through our coats. However, about 15 minutes before we would have reached the front doors Daphne disappeared. After running up and down the three blocks crammed with moms and strollers, calling her name and on the verge of hysteria, Daphne was finally found and I was done. Losing Daphne purged me of all emotional and physical stamina, so after all that, I gathered up the kids, walked back to our awesome parking spot, and went home for some hot chocolate and a nap.

The Name Game--Blah.

2009-10-18T20:36:00.006-06:00

I'm sure you've all played this one before. I play as a hostage. It seems like a daily ritual that Heather says: "I'm not letting you go to sleep until you give me five names." I grumble and throw out a few like Herkemer, Lafawnduh, and Lothar. Then quickly roll over with my back to her. In response I am subjected to a barrage of flower names for the next twenty minutes. I admit I am not wholly against flower names. Daisy, for example is a great flower name, and a great name for a... Cow! It also brings back fond memories of the ever cool Daisy from the Dukes of Hazzard with her 1" long Levi cutoffs. "Of course we should name her Daisy," I end up saying sarcastically at the end of each round.

http://assets.nydailynews.com/img/2009/01/30/alg_cows.jpg

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/0/0f/Daisy_Dukes.jpg

Deep down I'm starting to get nervous. I think she's really serious. It doesn't help that relatives are now reinforcing Daisy. Uuuuuuuggggghhhhh. Please, all those who have names to share, that are good alternatives to flower names and Graham, send them now. Heather is starting to get more stingy about the five name requirement. I need sleep, and she demands legitimate names.

By the way, we are trying to decide if we should find out if it's a boy or girl at the 20 week ultrasound. I think we will wait. That will keep the name pressure off for a while.

This is probably a terrible abuse of my blogging privileges...

Trying to Shed the Gloom

2009-10-08T17:07:00.005-06:00

I read a book last week and I've been a basketcase ever since. After many, many recommendations I finally read The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. Set amidst the brutality of WWII, the book was a bittersweet story of humanity. Despite its utterly redeeming characters I found myself down in the dumps and continue to sit there. Maybe it's pregnancy related. I cried throughout the book and feel like sobbing at every little thing now. I watched the dumb movie Ghosts of Girlfriends Past and pitifully cried through more than a few scenes.

More seriously, last night as Doug and I were getting ready for bed he told me that after a casual mention of Michael Shepard in a workplace conversation, he looked the name up on Wikkipedia to find out the details. What he found were details so graphic and horrifying, he was desperate to unload the burden.

"Why are you telling me this?" I finally asked unable to take anymore.

"I don't know. It was just so disturbing."

"Well, please stop. I'm not in a good place right now." It was taking all my strength not to throw myself on bed and sob my guts out at the inhumanity all around me and beg Doug to just end my life on this miserable planet.

So here I am today, gloomy and grouchy as ever. The world is a freakin' mean place.

But...

I'm going to list 10 things that bring me joy in hopes that my gloom will dispel.

1. My children singing.
2. Doug wrestling with the kids.
3. Bella, our new bunny, doing the "happy bunny dance."
4. Daphne's facial and verbal expressions.
5. James' developing artistic ability.
6. Nathan's enormous smile.
7. The horses running in the field out front.
8. Friends.
9. My new download of nostalgic tunes from Trio, an 80's album featuring Dolly Parton, Linda Rondstad, and Emmilou Harris.
10. The radio program Wait, Wait Don't Tell.

I'm feeling better already.

Blogging Coolness

2009-10-04T18:58:00.003-06:00

Two things regarding blogging have recently come to my attention and I'm wondering if I should care or try to be blogging cool.

The first question is about posting comments. I tend to leave long descriptive comments on other peoples' blogs. Is this a blogging fauxpaux? Sometimes I wonder if leaving long winded comments is considered annoying or if I should strive harder to leave snappy or clever one-liners.

The second question is about the baby ticker. Apparently, baby tickers and other such blog paraphernalia are the butt of Mormon Mommy jokes. Heaven forbid that I come across as a Mormon Mommy blogger. (Although yes, I am a Mormon, a Mommy, and I have a blog.) I just considered the ticker encouragement that "this too shall pass, here's a picture to prove it."

Watta ya think? Am I that person in the blogging world that wears tapered acid washed jeans and sprays her bangs in true rainbow form?

DMV Zone

2009-10-01T15:26:00.005-06:00

Today I went to the DMV to get a Montana drivers license. I will not publicly disclose how long my Utah drivers license has been expired. Needless to say, I need to take a written and driving test in order to become a legal driver. After numerous attempts to call the office that exclusively handles the written and driving test--let me say that again, the office that is the designated site for ONLY written and driving tests-- and after two hours of busy signals, Doug finally took me across town (we had to show up legally) and dropped me off to take the test.

When I entered the DMV I found myself standing in the middle of the room rotating in a circle trying to make sense of the twenty different homemade signs taped between the fake flower wreaths arranged on the the walls. We will be closed, We will be opened, Do this, Do Not do that, Fill out an Application, Take a number.

Take a number. I understood that sign. But where were the numbers. I poked my head around a dividing wall and spied three unoccupied ladies sitting behind their desks. "Do you have a number?" one gray haired lady asked.

"No, I'm not sure where to get it."

"At the door, when you come in."

"Thanks." I said and headed back to the door. I plucked a number ticket from the machine hiding behind the open door in the building's foyer. Number 31.

I quickly filled out my application, glanced at the electronic sign indicating #30 was being served, and again stepped around the dividing wall. There sat the three ladies still unoccupied. "Are you #30?"

"No." I replied. "I'm #31."

"Well, we're on #30."

I looked from side to side. The office was completely empty. I stood there like a dummy wondering if it would be rude to point out there was no #30. After what seemed like a minute one lady finally said, "I suppose I can help you." and she leaned over, pushed a button, and changed the electronic board to #31.

Now granted permission I sat down in the chair in front of the desk. "I need to take a written and driving test for a new license."

"Oh, yes. I see you are expired. But we are not giving written or driving tests at all this week. Didn't you see the sign?" she said pointing to the walls in the waiting room.

"Uh, no. I must have missed it." I said trying to recall that particular sign amid the plethora of signs and eucalyptus arrangements gracing the walls.

"Well, yes. We're not doing the tests this week but be sure to come back tomorrow and we can get you set. Thanks for coming in, come back Tuesday morning when we're not so busy."

I walked back through the empty waiting room, reminding myself today was Thursday and as far as I knew, state offices don't consider Friday the start of a new work week. As I waited for Doug to pick me up I also wondered what an office that ONLY handles the written and driving tests does for a week if they aren't doing written and driving tests. Who knows?

Doo-doo Doo-doo Doo Twilight Zone at the DMV.

Friends and Finally, Some Pictures

2009-09-29T20:58:00.012-06:00

I must be feeling better because here I am writing instead of hanging my head in the toilet which is what I usually do at this time of night. A wonderful friend came over this morning and cleaned my whole house so it has actually been a very relaxing day. I played and read stories with the kids today and I was able to put everyone to bed peacefully. Thank you Charity for the boost. Side note: I have a new friend here in Missoula. She and her family are here from Ireland staying at the Ronald McDonald House while her six year old daughter sees a world famous neuro-feedback guy in Missoula, Montana of all places. What amazes me is that she has a daughter with demanding disabilities and instead of hitting the town or taking a nap while her kids are in school, she comes over to my house to clean up my messes. I realize I'm pretty self absorbed at times and I hope I can be more like her. The name, Charity, is quite appropriate for her.

I have to say though, I am blessed with amazing friends some who live close and others who are now far away. I will never be able to repay the selflessness they've shown me but I'm trying to do the same for others to show my gratitude.

I really wasn't planning on posting anything more than pictures but a Thank you and God bless you all is probably long overdue.

Anyway, here are some pictures taken over the summer.

James' first day of kindergarten. I took him the first day but Doug and James leave the house together every other day. James likes to be just like his dad riding to work. He even puts on his "biking gloves" (Sponge Bob garden gloves) just like Doug. One of these days Doug is going to have a real rival for speed.

Happy kids after a refreshing float down the Bitterroot River. The rivers here are awesome!

I should have named her Eve.
But does anything get more natural than this?

It has been a lot of work to upkeep but having a big, shady yard has been wonderful. The kids spent the summer out here especially in the irrigation ditch.

Our back yard is like a park. Our garden was enormous, not for variety of vegetables but for literal size of the plants. It gave copious amounts of veggies, particulary zuccini and crook necks. After a gazillion hours of weeding we finally started hauling our grass clippings to the garden to fend off the radically proliferating weeds. We discovered that irrigation water coming straight from the river and though miles of neighborhood irrigation ditches spreads weed seeds so efficiently it was nearly impossible to keep up.

A lesson about Journal writing

2009-09-13T21:40:00.002-06:00

Last night I was preparing a lesson for the deacons about journal writing. I wanted to find something meaningful that I had written in one of my old journals. I came across this entry and laughed out loud. I guess this happened at a time when I was very diligent about writing in my journal every day. I thought it might be fun for you to read.

March 27, 2006

It is Tuesday, and I didn't write on Monday because I learned (or relearned) an important lesson about Heather. I made the mistake of jumping out from behind the recliner, in the dark, and scaring Heather. I got a great laugh out of it, but she screamed then yelled at me, ran to the bedroom and threw my pillow and journal out into the hall and slammed the door.

The only way I was able to redeem myself (at her suggestion, of course) was to giver her a foot massage with the "Toe the Line" nutty, gritty, lotion stuff. I saw that she was going to forgive me (after I promised I would never do it again-unless I forget and do it "ignorantly") so I made her read the scriptures to me as I worked on her feet.

All is well now. Moral of the story: The way to (or back into) a woman's heart is through her feet.

Uh, Surprise! We Are.

2009-08-27T14:18:00.004-06:00

Well, the time has come to let the cat out of the bag. We are expecting Baby #4, March 8, 2010. Surprised? We certainly were. Although we wanted one more child eventually, it happened a bit sooner than we anticipated. Oh, well. At least all my children will be out of the house by the time I'm 50...I hope.

Anyway, you can be happy for us. So far this pregnancy is much the same as my other ones. Yes, I'm sick and at 12 weeks I actually thought I had a contraction. But on the upside, I have a doctor whom I trust completely (unfortunately, I'm not a candidate for a home birth) and I'm determined to visit a chiropractor BEFORE I can't walk. I'm also taking a water aerobics class for expecting moms at the hospital rehab center. I'm hoping that will keep my innards and ligaments intact. Keigels, Keigels, Keigels is my new mantra.

Truthfully, I have great deal of anxiety about this pregnancy. I worry about having to carry Nathan during the pregnancy and also the struggle of having TWO non-walking and non-verbal children after pregnancy. More than that, I'm worrying a bit too much about something going wrong. Part of me wonders if God isn't through with me yet and at the 20 week ultrasound we'll find out the baby has anancephaly or something crazy scary like that.

Still, I feel like I'm in very capable hands with the OB I've chosen. I take comfort that this is the last time I will ever have to do this--My sacrifice is complete so to speak. (I actually told my doctor in the event of a C-section, just tie me up while I'm open.) It's a good feeling to be almost done with the childbearing part of my life and to know that our little family is complete when this babe arrives.

I'm hoping that when I stop puking and can hold myself in a vertical position for longer than 15 minutes I'll return to the blogging world. I have some really great pictures to post. I'd do it now but that would require effort to go get the memory card. Too much, too much. So, till next time, whenever that may be.

Nathan's Spider

2009-07-19T19:20:00.004-06:00

So tonight when I was getting Nathan ready for bed I took off is shirt and noticed amidst crumbs, rice, broccoli and other yummy stuff, a squashed black blob. My first thought was that Nate had a bean under his chin. Wait. We didn't have beans for dinner tonight...the day before...or the day before. (I know it's gross, but it's not uncommon to have several days worth of food stored under Mr. Nathan's chin. Show him a washcloth and unleash a beast.) Bean or no bean, deep in the dark recesses of my mind I knew what it was and as I plucked it out of Nate's neck fold my suspicion was confirmed. It was a spider.

I tried to examine Nathan for bites but couldn't compete with my screaming, writhing son. Instead, I put the spider in a wiper and assumed since Nate displayed no immediate bite symptoms--screaming and writhing are not bite symptoms, I was safe to put him to bed. After tossing Nathan in his crib (and checking for critters)I headed for the computer to look up "Montana Spider Identification." For the next 20 minutes I succeeded in freaking myself out. Lucky for us we don't have too many "Lethal" or "Highly Venomous" spiders that require "immediate medical transportation (ambulance) and intervention particularly for young children and the elderly" but we do have a few. After a thorough examination and comparison of my specimen to diagrams and photos on the web, I concluded that Nathan was transporting under his chin a non-aggressive, low venom Orb Spider, probably picked up from the grass this afternoon. I did, however, positively identify an Aggressive House Spider whose bite is necrotic like the brown recluse that Doug smashed on our bed earlier today. GACK!

You can imagine my surprise when writing this post I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Nathan's little orb spider was not dead but slowly recovering its wits. He seems to be missing a leg or two so my benevolent nature dictates that I put the poor thing outside. Quite a different attitude now that I know he was a beneficial garden spider. I mean really, how would you like to be squashed in the stinky milk folds of a drooly baby?

Poop.

2009-07-16T23:36:00.007-06:00

Nathan successfully freed himself from the shackles of his diaper the other morning. What summoned us to his room were his desperate screams for attention, then for help.

Heather got to him first and calmly called to me, "Doug, you should come see this." Then in a funny tone she said, "Nathan has learned how to take off his diaper."

My heart skipped a beat at that announcement. Somewhat hesitantly I climbed the stairs, crossed the landing and pushed open Nathan's bedroom door to assess the damage. As the door disturbed the air in the room, a great blast of humid sour odor escaped past me into the hallway. All my senses told me, “Run!”

I confess I would have run, leaving the whole mess to Heather if not for my curiosity. I didn't want to "experience" this milestone, but I did want to see what my son had done with his newfound freedom from loinal bondage.

The first thing I noticed after the smell was that Nathan had stopped crying and had begun laughing. He was standing up grasping the bars of the crib, a little T-shirt, not quite long enough to cover his little penis and bottom, was all he was wearing. He had a strange look in his eye and I swear he was reveling in the glory of the moment. “I’ll show you not to come get me when I call,” he seemed to say with his drunken laugh. What most supported that impression was the smear of poop on his face dangerously close to his devilish little grin and his evil eye.

If this experience is any indication of Nathan's nature, never in his life will he be heard to say, "I wish I had..." or "I should have..." Oh no, Nate is definitely going to be a Carpe Diem kind of guy. In the approximately 3 minutes of uncharacteristic silence, which we knew better than to ignore, between the end of his "come get me" cries and the beginning of his intense "HELP ME!!” cries, Nathan had created a masterpiece. Using his still warm earthtone fingerpaints he had gone to work.

There was poop smeared all over the bars of the crib as well as on Nate’s face body and fingers (Interestingly, there really wasn’t any on his bottom or his diaper). The dark Picasso-like strokes were expertly applied to everything: the light wood bars, his red and white checkered sheets, the cute bumper pads with the little animals on them, and his soft fluffy pillow. What was most impressive (or disgusting), though, was the canvas-mattress under his feet.

The art medium he was using was the perfect consistency for finger painting and just as fingerpaints would be slippery under your feet, so was Nathan’s “paint.”
As we stood in shock--Nathan laughing nervously now--we couldn’t help but join him as we watched his chubby little feet slowly sliding out from under him across the canvas; moving towards the lower center of the worn mattress. In a strange vacuum of time, we watched as Nathan, in frustration, repeated several times the act of spreading his paint with his foot, slowly losing his center of balance then struggling to get his foot back under himself. Then we noticed Nathan’s subtle signature: There was a line of wet carpet perfectly perpendicular to the crib, nearly three feet from the bars—Brilliant!

What is so ironic about the whole experience is that just before putting Nathan in bed the previous night he had actually tried to take his diaper off. We couldn’t find any clean pajamas or onesies, so we just put him in a T-shirt and tossed him in bed anyway. Who could have imagined what he would create when given the opportunity to shine!

Weigh-In Wednesday on Thursday

2009-07-16T14:19:00.003-06:00

This week was an abnormal week. We spent some time with Doug’s family at Island Park, Idaho about 25 from West Yellowstone, Montana. Things were crazy but I managed to move my legs several times this week. Although we never actually “hiked” we did mosey around various tourist attractions that I would consider equal to or more than a walk around the block with my kids. As for the Pilates, I only did one day but let me tell you, blowing up the ball with a hand pump was pretty good exercise in and of its self.

Perhaps the holiday and vacation junk food caught up with me because today I weighed in at 190 lbs. What the crap! I just need to remind myself that it’s better to be fat and active than skinny and sedentary.

This weeks goals are:

A daily walk with or without children
Pilates 3 times/week for 30 minutes
One soccer game
One bubble bath

Exercise Program, Take Three.

P.S. Can I just say, sometimes it's a little uncomfortable being the fattest person in my family and in Doug's family. I can now understand why some overweight people become antisocial and reclusive. It takes a lot of something, I'm not sure what, to hang out with people when you feel so crappy about your physical appearance. As my good friend Jenny would say, BLAH.

A Note...

2009-07-08T10:19:00.003-06:00

I won't be able to post the second installment of The Manuscript for Frivolous Friday Fiction as I will be internet-less. Stay tuned, however. It will come and it will be worth the wait.

Also expect a post about the joys of vacationing with a special needs baby. Auughhhhh! Will I ever take a family vacation again? After this last week at a family reunion, I'm not so sure. Maybe my growing reservations will be blown away at the vacation we leave for tomorrow. I'm trying to be optimistic but I'm not holding my breath.
Brace yourself, Tanner, this "vacation" is for the children, not for you.

Weigh-In Wednesday

2009-07-08T10:05:00.004-06:00

Maybe the week of the 4th of July wasn't the best time to start a weight loss regimen. Although I made several sprints, dodges, and hurdles through Costco, I only accomplish one of my goals this week. I played a game of soccer. We lost 3-2 but I did score a goal and have a shot bounce of the bar.

I'm trying not to think of this week as a colossal failure, I'm determined to think positive. Every day is a new day and a opportunity to do better. I'm going out of town this week but there will be chances for physical activity. I'm not exactly sure what my goals should be but we'll be in the Yellowstone area so a couple of hikes should be reasonable. I'll keep you posted....On to a new week. BOOYAH!

Frivolous Fiction Friday

2009-07-03T10:30:00.003-06:00

Okay, girls, here is the first installment of The Manuscript. Very rough but it's just for fun. I'm going to give weekly installments, kinda Dickenesque style. Hopefully the final result will be a cool piece of frivolous fiction that was worth five minutes of your precious blogging time.

The Manuscript

Chapter 1

Callyn resented every moment she was awake. At 2:23 in the morning she wanted nothing more to be in a dreamless sleep. It was the dreams that forced her awake just now and the night before and the night before that. These dreams were similar in content and varied only slightly in circumstance. Images of women with grotesquely full lips, pert noses that early disappeared into overly rouged faces and geometric bodies that gyrated across the black backdrop of Callyn’s eyelids. Men in seat splittingly tight breaches ravaged and tore at the plunging dresses of the women. Instead of screams of terror the women began to sing and the men began to dance. The picture was obscene and convoluted reminiscent of Picasso’s The Demoiselles D’Avignon. Callyn awoke out of sheer desperation of escape the whir of noise and dancing.

The microwave beeped and Callyn removed the mug of warm milk. Something had to change. Her inner Joseph tore apart the details of her dream searching for answers to its meaning. “I need to quit.” She told herself aloud. For the last two years she’d been attempting to climb the corporate ladder in the publishing world. During her senior year of college she had interned at a notable publishing company and knew it was the industry for her. After completing her Masters degree in English Literature she took a job with a well-known company reviewing and editing manuscripts. It wasn’t an area of her first love but experience was necessary to advance in any profession. So, for the last two years, 16 hours a day, 6 days a week, Callyn read and edited manuscripts for Romance novels.

Initially it seemed like a position of power. She had always enjoyed a good historical romance. But in reality, it was her boss, Helen Marsh, who held the power and above her, the market ruled. When Callyn first started reading the drafts she had taken a red pen and gone crazy. Descriptions like undulating member and cranberry sized received a bleeding mark through the type. Plots whose heroes essentially raped the heroine and then plead reformation and were incredulously forgiven, were given a big fat rejection stamp then passed on to the higher publishing powers for final dismissal.

Every so often she received a manuscript that drew her into its pages. Heroines with charisma and character, plots that kept her guessing, dialog that moved, Heroes worth winning. The romantic suspense let butterflies loose in her stomach and when the heroine and hero finally kissed she would audibly exhale the breath she’d been holding.

Much to Callyn’s surprise, however, her rejections were rejected, her edits overwritten. The promising authors that held her audience were sent trite and unapologetic letters of rejection. Six months into her job Callyn received an invitation to lunch with Helen. After small talk over appetizer salads and downing two martinis Helen was ready to get to the point. “I’m not sure we’re on the same page, Callyn. You are bright and detail oriented but you just don’t seem to understand the work your in. You need to know the market or find another job.”

“Know the market?” Callyn parroted back feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.

“Yes, the market—Women are the market and they want to read the kind of novels you are rejecting. They want predictability, heated love scenes and happy endings.”

Callyn tried to recover. “I thought I was reading and editing for women. I think I represent women fairly well. I read books--well, use to read books, to escape. And I do understand the desire for a happy ending. Some of my favorite novels are predictable and romantic. You know, Jane Austin, Elizabeth Gaskell. Even the Bronte sisters have happy endings in their own dark way.”

“Jane Austin is dead, Callyn. If you gave an Austin manuscript to any publisher, let alone a trailer park dweller, it would be rejected flat out. Too wordy, not to the point, not scintillating enough. Women want the touching, the lovemaking, the sex they don’t get at home. They want verbal and physical sparring that ends in bed not in divorce or a restraining order. Life is miserable for most women, has been throughout history and its no different now. Women want chateaus, not mortgages. They want to ride bareback across the moors, not sit in a minivan waiting for the light to change. When babies come, women to read that pregnancy and nursing drives a man wild with lust. She wants to her heroine to feel that even knocked up or lactating, she reciprocates his desire. Woman don’t want emotionally anal men like Mr. Darcy, or psychos like Heathcliff.”

“And,” Helen said, adding the final nail in her argument, “they want it wrapped up in 70,000 words or less.”

Callyn looked primly at her salad then stirred her club soda. In her mind she vehemently defended Mr. Darcy and even spared Heathcliff some defense.

“As one classic reader to another, I understand what you’re feeling. Over the years the general public has developed ADD when it comes to literature. But publishing is a business and we publish what sells. I need you to remember that when you edit; this is business not English 420.”

Helen paused waiting for Callyn to look up from her soda. Callyn looked up to meet her boss’ pointed look but again didn’t answer. “Callyn, you have three months to turn it around.”

Callyn stared at Helen. After graduating top of her class from Northwestern University seven months ago, here she sat with an ultimatum: sell garbage or find another job. “Okay, I’ll sell…I’ll try harder to read for the market.”

“Good for you. That’s what I wanted to hear. Now where is our waitress?”

So for the last 18 months Callyn had been he model romance editor. She put periods in run on sentences, inserted commas, took out endless to-be verbs and redundant adjectives and generally tried to ignore the plot of 98% of the manuscripts that crossed her desk. Callyn had never been a more valued employee. Lately in review meetings Helen even ventured to solicit Callyn’s opinion about this writer or that manuscript. Yes, she was climbing the publishing ladder and loathing every step.

“Maybe this is what happens when you sell your soul to the publishing devils.” thought Callyn as she fingered the black circles under her eyes. “ You’re haunted by romance characters on meth until you turn into a hag.” She gathered her thick brown curls into a clip, sprayed on some anti-frizz hair product and began a futile attempt to banish the black circles with over-priced concealer. Lip gloss, blush, mascara, pumps, satchel, 15 minutes later, Callyn locked her studio apartment door and headed down to the subway. She braced herself for another day at the office.

Weigh-In Wednesday

2009-07-01T08:59:00.002-06:00

I know none of you want to read about someone else’s weight loss strategies but I’m desperate. I’m good at keeping weight loss goals for about two weeks and then I flake out. My most recent venture was a nifty application for the iTouch called Lose It and believe it or not, I did lose a couple pounds. My problem, however, is accountability. I can’t be accountable to Doug because I just get witchy with him and begin the I bore your three children, stay at home all day, make dinner, and NO I wouldn’t rather take a walk, I’d rather watch Monk reruns and eat dark chocolate” rant. So,I thought maybe it would work to be accountable to my friends in the blogging world. You don’t see me everyday and it’s most unlikely any of you will tempt me with late night ice cream runs.

Here’s the plan: Every Wednesday is Weigh-In Wednesday. It’s the day I report on the blog how active I was in the week. There won’t be much about food or eating other than perhaps a tasty lower calorie recipes I discover. I have a simple “diet” philosophy. INPUT vs. OUTPUT. It has never worked for me to restrict certain foods or only eat this or that. Freaky restrictions unleash the rebel (or control freak) in me and I find myself eating the whole bag of Oreos in one sitting because I know I shouldn’t. I want to avoid some B&P urges that occasionally surface, if you know what I mean.

As I rediscovered on the iTouch application, Lose It, if I want to lose weight I have to cut down on the caloric input. For my height and weight, in order for me to lose 2 pounds a week I can input around 1260 calories per day. Not too horrible but for every pound I lose, in order to maintain that rate of weight loss, my calories per day drops in proportion. A heavier person burns more calories in everyday living than a lighter person. Does that make sense? So basically by the time I’m nearing my ideal weight, I’d only be a able to eat like 500 calories a day. Not possible.

Woman cannot live by lettuce and hummus alone. She must have chocolate…and occasionally Oreos dipped in milk.

That being the case, I must increase my OUTPUT. In other words, I must increase my exercise. (Hah! What a novel idea! I should write a book on that concept. I’d make millions.)

Fortunately, I actually really like to exercise. Until motherhood exhaustion and preoccupation, I was quite athletically inclined. I’m also a social exerciser. Running in solitude, not my favorite. Slapping bums and high fiving with a team, much more fun. Since social exercising is greater motivation for me, perhaps social weight loss will motivate me too. Wait—Won’t that make me a social loser?

Oh, well, who cares. Here are the specs and my goals of which I will be accountable to all my blog friends to accomplish.

Current height: 5’7”
Current weight: 185 lbs (11 lbs for James, 11 lbs for Daphne, 13 lbs for Nathan, 15 for Doug’s dissertation.)

Goal height: 5’ 9 3/4”
Goal weight: 135 lbs

Exercise Goal for this week:
1. Take children for a walk around the block everyday. (One block in our neighborhood is just under a mile.)
2. Play one awesome game of soccer (I’m on a city league team. Sooo nice to feel like a washed-up has-been.)
3. Lift hand weights and do Pilates for 30 minutes three times.

YOU MUST CHECK ON ME!
YOU MUST CHIDE ME, DERIDE ME, OR ENCOURAGE ME IF I FAIL TO FOLLOW-UP ON THESE GOALS!
IT MAY NOT BE PERFECT BUT I MUST MAKE AN ACCOUNTING!

Okay. Ready. Set. GO!

Hold Your Breath

2009-06-29T17:24:00.005-06:00

Okay, so my last two posts were kind of heavy. I'm feeling the need to lighten up and add some more oh-so-stimulating topics. I've seen Wordless Wednesday and Fun Fact Friday but I'm not sure I should be a total copycat. I do have a couple of ideas which I'm planning to post in addition to more cerebral palsy stuff. I'm thingking Weigh-in Wednesday and Frivoulous Fiction Friday. Eh, eh are you intrigued? I'll explain in more detail Wednesday and Friday.

Till then, here's a self-portait of James. He filled up an entire card with pictures like these while he should have been taking a quiet time. Charming child.

The Day I Saw Cerebral Palsy

2009-06-18T11:43:00.003-06:00

We went to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City the week of Easter for an MRI and a consultation with pediatric neurologist. It was the nearest area of coverage for our lousy student insurance so we made the nine-hour drive hoping to save some money. James and Daphne stayed with family in the Salt Lake area so Doug and I could both be with Nathan. We arrived at Imaging at 6:30am, the first patients of the day. We followed the tech into a back room where a sedation team waited. Everything went smoothly and Doug was soon rocking Nathan in a rocking chair that sat incongruously next to the enormous MRI machine. As he rocked, the nurse quietly injected the drugs into an IV line. Nate fell asleep within 30 seconds and Doug and I where ushered to a parent waiting room.

Hungry and nervous we opted to grab some breakfast at the cafeteria. Over pancakes I observed all the people casually getting breakfast too. Some had ID tags on, others did not. For those others, parents I assumed, I wondered what brought them to the hospital at 7:30 am. Some parents looked like me, nervous and unfamiliar with the surroundings. Many more, however, looked as familiar and comfortable in the hospital cafeteria as they would in their own kitchen. I thought about those parents the most.

When we returned to Imaging, it seemed to be a whole new place. The second, third, fourth, fifth patients of the day, plus some, were in waiting room and recovery area. I wondered when they arrived and why I hadn’t noticed them. We were only at the cafeteria for 20 minutes. A people-watcher anyway, I hung on the verge of sensory overload. As I sat with Nathan waiting for him to wake up I couldn’t help but observe the hospital patrons. This cute little girl, what was she here for? That tiny new baby, why was he here? I was humbled and overwhelmed by the worry and questions and unknown hanging ominously in the air. Nathan would be fine.

As we prepared to leave the pediatric radiologist indicated he wanted to talk to us. He had ordered an additional CT scan and wanted to explain why. He took us back into his office and for the first time I saw my son’s brain and the markings of cerebral palsy. I didn’t expect to feel so emotional when I saw the areas of damage. Scarring, calcification, abnormal pockets of fluid. It was real. Nathan had damage to his brain.

The radiologist decided to do a CT scan when he saw calcification patterning that would be more visible with CT scan than with an MRI. “This is a very typical of the “footprint” cytomegalovirus leaves on the brain.” he said pointing to the calcifications.

“Cytomegalovirus?”

“ Yes, a virus that is the most common cause of brain damage in developing fetus than any other event or fetal anomaly.”

My mind whirled. Had I been sick? Had I given Nathan a virus in utero and that caused this damage? No, this wasn’t my fault; please say it wasn’t my fault. I walked out of the hospital nauseous with guilt.

The next day we met with the pediatric neurologist. He had a calling to work with children whether he knew it or not. His demeanor was gentle and Nathan, Doug and I were immediately put at ease. He started with my history- pre-term labor, separated pubic symphasis, bed rest, gestational diabetes, a seizure at 28, possible torn placenta, no fetal movement, normal vaginal delivery. He pulled up the images taken the day before and began to examine them. I couldn’t contain myself and blurted out had been consuming my insides for the last 24 hours. Was this the result of Cytomegalovirus?

The doctor thought for a moment then asked more questions about Nathan’s health at delivery. “No.” he said shaking his head. “This damage was done very late in pregnancy. If there was an infection so close before birth, Nathan would have shown signs--enlarged spleen, poor apgars, and a host of other problems.”

“What about the seizure I had at 28 weeks? It was at the doctor’s office and I was monitored the whole time. The baby’s heart rate was good and he never stopped moving.”

“ No.” he said again looking at the pictures. “ Look at all this healthy structure. The brain is still developing at 28 weeks. This brain was developed when the damage occurred. Probably during the time you felt too little movement. The patterning is consistent with lack of oxygen or blood flow to the brain.”

What was done to Nathan’s brain was done, regardless of whether or not I “caused” it. Even if a seizure or a case of cytomegalovirus was responsible for the damage, both of which would have been out of my control, I felt enormous relief. For some reason the guilt of having “caused” Nathan’s brain damage absolved without bothering to discriminate that a torn placenta was part of my body too. Irrational equations but whatever soothes I suppose.

“So,” the neurologist summarized, “about 5-10% of Nathan’s brain is affected but I’m optimistic about how much healthy structure he has.” He went on about the brains plasticity. “ He has a 50/50 chance of having seizures but since he hasn’t had any within his first year, that’s a great sign. Cognitively things look really good but his left leg, right leg, right arm and face seem to be primarily affected. They can do amazing things with therapy. Just make sure he doesn’t become any more stiff.”

“So this is considered cerebral palsy?”

He paused. “Yes, this is cerebral palsy, what I would consider ‘mildly affected.’ Unless you want to follow-up with me, I don’t think you need to make the trip again.”

"Great. Okay. Thank you."

And that was it. That was our trip to the pediatric neurologist. Nathan had an official diagnosis; I had for sure a section to go to in the library and a one-way ticket to a frontier I wasn’t packed for.

The Day Cerebral Palsy Entered Our Life

2009-06-16T23:15:00.004-06:00

I sat professionally in the exam room. I had in my mind a list of concerns I intended to smartly address. I was prepared to give dates, times and specific details. I sat alert and attentive but inwardly nervous as our new pediatrician played with, then held Nathan. Was he seeing what I saw? Was he going to tell me Nathan was developing just fine, don’t worry? I liked this pediatrician. He played and interacted with Nate. He wasn’t in a hurry.

He chuckled as Nathan grabbed at his mustache. “You can get him dressed now.” he said handing Nate back to me. I looked at the doctor expectantly as I snapped the Onesie. “I think we are looking at cerebral palsy here. It could be ten other things but it really looks to me like cerebral palsy.”

“Oh, okay.” I said as if someone had just told me a play date had been cancelled.

He kept talking, validating my own observations. No need to go into my rehearsed list of concerns. The next step was to contact Early Intervention to schedule an evaluation. Check. I’d already scheduled an evaluation for my own curiosity. Regardless of their evaluation he wanted Nathan to have an MRI and visit with a pediatric neurologist.

“Can you recommend a specialist? What does an MRI on an infant entail?”

I pragmatically asked all the relevant questions. But somewhere in the back of my mind, pushing it’s way forward, was hysteria. Cerebral Palsy.

By the time I left the office and had Nathan buckled into his car seat I was in a stupor. This was not what I expected.

**************************************************

Knowing we were moving in January I had resolved in my mind to take Nathan to see a chiropractor in our new city. At nine months he wasn’t sitting and was stiff to the point where I thought he might be in pain. I wondered if something in his little body was kinked during his fast and furious delivery and that was why he only used the left side of his body. I opened the phone book and thumbed through the chiropractic listings. Choosing from a sea of unfamiliar names was impossible so in an Indigo like gesture I made a silent petition not unlike “Guide my sword.” My finger landed on a simple and tasteful advertisement. She was the one I had to trust with my baby.

My petition was granted when we met Traci. She was great with Nathan and wanted to see him again. As we left she encouraged me to follow-up with his primary care doctor. I was puzzled and worried by her advice. How many chiropractors encourage following up with an allopathic doctor?

Somewhere in vague recollection cerebral palsy had once come to my mind but left in a hurry. It came and went so fast I never even bothered to sit down at the computer to Google the possibility. Now driving home from the pediatrician the panic of what I didn’t know rose with suffocating intensity.

When I pulled up to the house the kids and my friend Amy who was babysitting, were playing outside. “How did it go?” my friend asked.

“Well, the doctor thinks Nathan has cerebral palsy.” I laughed without much humor when I said it out loud. It seemed laughable, right?

Amy didn’t laugh. “Oh.” she replied eyes wide.

“Yeah, we’ll see what Early Intervention has to say and then schedule an MRI.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, I just thought the doctor would just recommend physical therapy or something. Wasn’t expecting to this one.” I laughed the same humorless laugh and went inside to put Nathan down for a nap.

I put on a movie for James and Daphne and I sat down to the computer to educate myself as much as possible with Internet blips about this new presence, cerebral palsy. I founnd law firms specializing in birth injuries sponsored the most comprehensive sites. I tried not to think about it but my pregnancy and every detail leading up to labor and delivery flooded my mind and with it, anger and the dawning realization that it was quite possible Nathan could have acquired a brain injury.

***************************************************

I told them and they sent me home. I told them about the incredible and sudden pain that radiated from my abdomen and nearly left me in heap on the bathroom floor less than an hour ago. I screamed for Doug and we left for the hospital immediately. Something had happened to my placenta, I needed my baby checked. They didn’t feel my urgency. “Honey,” the older nurse said, “what you felt was probably round ligament pain.” An hour of monitoring produced evidence of a steady heart rate. The baby was fine, I was fine, sign the discharge papers.

Three days later, exactly my 39 week date, when I showed up a the hospital for the second time that week and a sixth time that pregnancy, if anyone called me “Honey” again I’d go ballistic. My baby wasn’t meeting his kick counts despite my best efforts to rouse him. I was demoralized, utterly untrusting of my feelings but inwardly driven to make sure my baby was all right. Paranoid, mental, hypochondriac, nut case or not, I needed to have him checked.

I didn’t understand what exactly it meant when the nurse wrinkled her brow over the fetal monitor strips. “His decelerations aren’t what we typically like to see. I’ll go ahead an send the readings to the midwife on call.” But I felt a sense of relief and vindication. I wasn’t overreacting.

Three hours later a midwife I only recognized from her photo on the office wall came to check on me. “We typically don’t induce on Fridays but since I’m here anyway, I can get you started. What would you like to do?”

I began to cry. What would I like to do? You are asking me what I want to do? I wanted a baby...but I wanted him to come on his own...but I wanted him to be born now...but I wanted an interference free delivery...but I wanted him to be okay....What do I want to do? You are asking a woman who’s been on bed rest for four months, who’s been vomiting and in pain nine months, who’s in the hospital for the second time this week and the sixth time this pregnancy what she wants to do? What do you think you should do? What do you think is best for the baby? I stifled the scream that rose in my throat.

“It’s okay to be induced.”

“I won’t be ruining your Friday night?” I asked in all seriousness, my insecurity brimming over.

“No, I’m here already.”

“Okay, I want to have him tonight.” I said watching her face to make sure she approved of my decision.

She checked me and with surprise pleasantly informed me I was already dilated to a 5. Although I was having regular contractions, they still weren’t very intense. The midwife placed me in care of another nurse and left. As the nurse started an IV line, I told her I didn’t need Pitocin to get me started. My other two deliveries progressed rapidly after breaking the bag of waters. Within two hours of my water breaking I tend to have a baby. But, the nurse said, Pitocin was procedure. I knew most hospital policy is to have an IV line started so in the event of a retained placenta, Pitocin can be immediately administered to induce contractions. I let it go. The midwife had just returned to break my water.

She looked worried as she discreetly instructed the nurse to obtain samples of the amniotic fluid. There was maconium and blood in the fluid and they needed to do an amniotic transfusion. Didn’t maconium possibly mean a baby under stress? No, not always. More questions came to mind but the pace and activity in the room quickened and intensified. Pitocin was started; the respiratory team and nurse anesthetist were called. The contractions were coming hard and fast. The nurse anesthetist paused several times to let a contraction finish. He heard the Rice Krispy snap, crackle and pop as he inserted the needle. I felt the sound but as the injection pressed into my nerves, I knew it wouldn’t work. The concoction flowed down the left side of my lower back and pooled my buttock cheek.

“How’s it feelin?” the anesthetist asked. “I’ll be back to check on you.” And with that he left.

The epidural wasn’t taking. My left leg was slightly dulled to the pain of the ever-increasing contractions. The major intensity focused in the inguinal area on the right side. I was on fire.

“I’ll call the anesthetist back to see if he can redirect the medication,” one nurse said.

It was too late though. I was in full-blown labor. I could only concentrate on not panicking. Breathe, breathe. An hour passed and my husband and sister began to talk between themselves. “The contractions aren’t ending. She doesn’t need Pitocin. They need to turn the Pitocin off.” A nurse watched the monitor intensely.

“She’s not resting between contractions.” the nurse informed the midwife. No response.
“She’s in one straight contraction, we need to turn the Pitocin off.”

Finally the midwife looked over. “Turn it down to six.”

Flood lights, people and nurses everywhere. Breathe, breathe. Don’t panic. Push, push. Breathe, breathe. Push. Pause. The respiratory team suctioned. Another push, and there he was, the baby I worked so hard to make. He was finally here. Only an hour and a half ago I was sobbing about whether or not to have him tonight. Now I was sobbing because he was here. Here and perfect. The midwife finished stitching me up then came to the side of the hospital bed. “It is such a good thing that we didn’t wait to have this baby. Had we waited, the outcome would have been much different.”

Even in the post-delivery euphoria I wanted to know what she meant. She briefly described the placenta as torn and deteriorating. I felt that twinge of vindication return. I received baby Nathan in my arms again with the words “Had we waited, the outcome would have been much different” lingering in my mind.

***************************************************

“Well, he’s kind of shaky.” the nurse explained as she took him from me. “We need to check his blood sugar and probably feed him a bottle.”

“Were you taking any medications during your pregnancy?” the pediatrician making the rounds asked. “He’s pretty shaky but his blood sugar is fine.”

“He’s really shaky.” the after-hours doctor commented two months later. “Have you talked to your pediatrician about this?”

Yes, but the jitteriness is an immature nervous system, as is the projectile vomiting. The colic is from an over-production of foremilk. His small head circumference is not a concern, nor his left-handedness, nor his irritability, nor stiffness. I’m just an over-tired, stressed-out mom who wants all of the inconveniences having a newborn and being post-partum taken away with a diagnosis from a doctor.

But “yes” is all I say.

***************************************************

Now it’s time to call Doug. He’s 600 miles away finishing some last experiments for his dissertation. He’s been gone for nearly two month and I hardly know how to talk to him anymore. I call him at the lab. “Hi, is Doug available?” My voice has a tremor. Get control.

“Hello?”

Breathe. “Hey. So I took Nate to see his new pediatrician today. He thinks Nathan has cerebral palsy.” I say it all in that one breath. There’s silence on the other end and I lose my fragile control. I start to cry and don’t stop for the next three days.

Re-Introducing Tanner Times Op-Ed

2009-06-14T22:19:00.002-06:00

I’ve wanted to blog about Nathan for several months now but for many reasons I haven’t been able to. I wondered if my other kids would resent it at some point if I dedicated a blog just to Nathan and his disability. Part of me also wondered if the women whose blogs about their children with disabilities, and whose life and words I’ve come to rely on, if they read my blog, might scoff because my thoughts, worries, and experiences seem so trite compared to the mountains they climb everyday. Still, I ache to talk. Although it has been five months since Nathan’s diagnosis, I’m admitting I’m still raw inside. I need to clear my brain and hopefully find acceptance and peace with Nate’s condition. So from now on the Tanner Times Op-ed may be grittier and more uncomfortable. Hope you stay tuned.

Mosquitoes For Sale

2009-06-14T19:24:00.007-06:00

If I had a dime for every mosquito I killed on myself or my kids yesterday...

Alfred Hitchock's movie The Bird's is the closest thing I can think of to describe what we have been experiencing the last few days here in Missoula, Montana. Just as the birds were hell-bent on entering the old house in the movie, the swarms of mosquitoes seem determined to invade our sanctuary and drink our blood. (Like Edward?) Every time we open the garage door or the front door they come pouring in. I swear they must have been squeezing through the spaces in the screens on our windows too. According to Wikipedia, Mosquitos are adept at infiltration and have been known to find their way into residences via deactivated air conditioning units." If their little proboscises were stronger they would probably be pulling the shingles off the roof at this very moment. A dead squirrel James spotted on the side of the road was not even immune from this plaque. "Look Dad, the mosquitoes are sucking his blood, too!" he observantly pointed out to me while on a walk.

As I mowed the lawn yesterday I was horrified to see swarms of mosquitoes rising up out of the grass, quickly engulfing both the mower and me. I resisted the urge to run for my life because, well, I'm tough. Although I did knocked my glasses to the driveway in an attempt to swat one from my face. Stupid bugs.

Daphne's sense of touch must be lacking because she had about 40 bites on her arms and legs after playing outside yesterday. I never once saw her swat one, though.

Heather even has some on her lower back where she was showing an inch of skin for a few minutes while collecting yard clippings.

Despite the mosquitoes, we love Missoula. It is fun to have deer running through the yard (don't worry Brad, they were actually in the neighbor's yard) and beautiful mountain views from our kitchen window. Anyone who would like to come collect some mosquitoes (or larvae) for science projects, lizard food, wierd exotic dishes, or whatever else you can come up with, we've got lots and they're cheap. In fact, we'll give you a free night in our lodge if you want to come witness for yourselves this place we may start calling Mosquoulla.

Quandry--Please Advise

2009-06-06T21:55:00.005-06:00

I need some advise on something really dumb. I bought a new swimsuit from Lands End this week as I have grown out of my old one. (Bummer.) I'm pleased with the tummy control bottoms but it is the top I'm stuck on. I can't decide which top I'm going to keep. Both tops are quite cute but Top A is a halter top and more flattering. Top A, however,is a V neck and happens to show some cleavage--not too hard considering my line of cleavage starts 1 1/2 inches from the base of my throat. Sigh.

Anyway, Top B is an adorable pattern, has a higher scoop neck, and more coverage on the front and back. I won't be flashing anything. Problem is, Top B isn't as as flattering and seems to enhance my bust. Neither Top A or Top B is extreme in any way. I'm not talking Pamela Anderson with either of them.

Most of you reading this post probably more conservative fashionwise--few of you are sporting string bikinis. But is it hoochy to bare a little cleavage for the sake of an overall more flattering and slimming appearance? Or, should I go with the totally modest swimsuit that will enable me to hang out with my in-laws this summer without them having to avert their eyes?

What would you do? What should I do?

And, NO, I'm not going to post pictures for you to compare the options.

New Callings in Missoula 2nd

2009-05-24T21:46:00.004-06:00

Who actually likes Enrichment? Heather has her new calling. Although the Primary was clamoring for her (and she wanted to go there) she has been sent to add a youthful zip to the PF&H Enrichment program.

Doug has been charged with not letting any Deacons squeak by without getting through their Duty to God requirements. I'm the YM secretary. Someone has gotten the wrong impression of "Dr. Tanner." I might be able to hold my own with a class of college students but Deacons are a whole different ball of wax.

We are writing this on the back porch swing as we listen to the rain falling gently on the deck. It was very pleasant until Daphne realized we couldn't hear her screaming "HUG AND A KISS!!" It's a cool 56 degrees and all we can hear are the raindrops and a few wet crickets.

Tomorrow, Heather thinks we will be planting a garden (In the mud, probably).

It's good to be a whole family again. We're sure thankful for everyone who has helped out with the kids and stuff since we moved.

The Bucket is Mending

2009-05-16T16:58:00.004-06:00

Ahhhhhhhh. It's so wonderful to just do nothing and not even feel guilty about it! Doug took James and Daphne to Utah with him on Thursday and they won't return until Tuesday. The kids are enjoying a visit with their Munga and Grandpa while Doug defends his thesis on Monday. When they return, Doug will be Dr. Tanner. Yeah!

In the meantime, it's just Nate and me. Nate still takes two naps so I have a bit of free time. I decided NOT to make curtains, put away winter clothes, plant the garden, or mow the lawn. Those tasks can wait a few days. I do, however, make simple meals--toast, fruit, and a cheese stick--and surf the Internet guilt free. Actually, we’ve done a few things. Yesterday, Nate and I ventured out to an antique store and to the mall (Circle of Friends, 30% off your purchase, at Gymboree this weekend). Today, we ventured to a home decorating store and to Costco for some raspberries and strawberries and bread. I've done one load of laundry, unloaded the dishwasher once, and taken out the trash once. Other than those not-so-bad-with-one-child outings, we've pretty much stayed home, slept and played. I finally opened the book about CP I bought four weeks ago and opened the DVD of Wives and Daughters I’ve owned for three months.

My song lately has been There's a Hole in my Bucket. It goes like this and you all know the tune:

There's a hole in my Bucket, dear Douglas, dear Douglas.
There's a hole in my bucket, dear Douglas, a hole.

Then why don't you mend it, dear Heather, dear Heather?
Then why don't you mend it, dear Heather, the hole?

With what shall I mend it, dear Husband, dear Husband?
With what shall I mend it, dear Husband, with what?!

With some chocolate and ice cream, dear Heather, dear Heather.
With some chocolate and ice cream, dear Heather, with food.

I’ve done that, dear Douglas, dear Douglas, dear Douglas.
I’ve done that dear Douglas, dear Douglas—Now look!

So how can I help you dear Heather, dear Heather?
So how can I help you dear Heather, my love?

A vacation, dear Douglas, dear Douglas, dear Douglas.
A vacation, dear Douglas, a vacation ALONE.

Although I’m not entirely alone and this isn’t my first choice vacation destination, this is sooo nice. Thanks Doug. Thanks Munga and Grandpa. I’m having a wonderful time.

I'm in the Club

2009-05-11T14:22:00.003-06:00

James and I watched this from a friend's blog. After watching it, Jamers chuckled and said, "Mom, you should get some of those." I couldn't explain to him that his mom had too much"muffin top" to ever button those hot pants around what's left of her waistline. Thanks though, James, for the fashion tip. I'm gratified to be recognized by my children in the special mom catagory now.

Video Recaps | Full Episodes | Webisodes

Blog Help, Please.

2009-04-28T12:29:00.004-06:00

So you may have noticed my blog colors are frequently changing....I'm not doing it for the fun of it. I actually hate it, it's a colossal waste of time. But, I continue to waste my time because I can't find anything I like. How do you do it? Where do you find the backgrounds and title stuff? I want my blog to reflect my personality but so far it's not happenin'. Any helpful tips?

Happy Birthday, Little Boy!

2009-04-25T22:56:00.006-06:00

Nathan turned one year old today. Life this past year hasn't been easy. Nathan hasn't had the same experience as my other two children. I know James never heard me shout or freak out before he was one. Daphne too had a quiet more composed mother. Nathan is a real trooper for putting up with the stress and strain of a tired mom and dad, and two rambunctious siblings. I haven't always understood Nathan. I've had a hard time feeling like an intuitive mother with him. Nathan is his own person and we are slowly but surely figuring each other out.

All of my children are willful but Nathan possesses a determination that at times has driven me nuts. As I come to understand him better, I'm convinced he needed that extra determination to help him overcome a few of the challenges he faces. One of these days I'm going to video record Nathan pulling himself up on something. I'm in absolute awe of his strength and determination to move. It's amazing and I appreciate and respect him all the more because it's so challenging for him. At times I feel sorry that Nate is more of spectator than a participant at this point in his life. But those thoughts are fleeting and everyday when Nathan does something new I want to shout, "Bring it on Cerebral Palsy, we'll show you!"

Here's to a Happy First Birthday, my Boy, with more good times to follow!

Mischief & Mayhem

2009-04-05T22:29:00.003-06:00

a.k.a. JAMES AND DAPHNE

Mischief & Mayhem Part I

2009-04-05T22:25:00.002-06:00

I woke up early Friday morning to the smell of smoke. I jumped out of bed, heart pounding, and literally ran down the stairs in two steps. Smoke filled the kitchen but fortunately there were no flames to be seen. Closer examination revealed the source of the pungent aroma. It emanated from a watery black lump in a pink Ikea bowl. The doused blob looked to be biscotti.

Sensing a little somebody behind me I spun around and demanded, “Did you do this James?” Of course he did it. He’s been fascinated by the microwave and the open flame of our gas stove for several weeks now. (Listen closely to the second video on Saturday’s post.)

“I was just trying to warm it up in the microw…”

“How many times have I told you not to play with the microwave?”

Shrug.

“Too many. Go to time out.”

Not the best mothering but seriously I don’t know how to get through to this kid. It was 7:16am and not a soul was awake. If we die in our beds someday, you’ll know why. It was kind of scary but at least we now know our smoke detectors aren’t working.

P.S.
Dear McMullins, (our landlords)

Please do not worry on behalf of your home or dry summer acreage. James will be locked in the basement if necessary to purge this fascination with heat out of his body.

Most vigilantly your tenent,

Heather Tanner

Mischief & Mayhem Part II

2009-04-05T22:19:00.004-06:00

"You can tell a lot about a woman by what she carries in her purse." –Mr. Incredible

This is what Daphne carries in her purse. Jewelry swiped from Mom’s jewelry box, make-up also heisted, drug paraphernalia, and, yes, you see correctly, Crayola scissors and lockes of her hair. Daphne has a brilliant future as a CIA operative.

Nate's First Buzz

2009-04-05T19:40:00.005-06:00

Nathan received his first hair cut on Saturday. My intention was to trim things up a bit but in the end, after multiple attempts to correct the multiplicity of mistakes, a buzz was the only decent solution. He seemed to enjoy the vibration of the clippers much more than me poking around his head with scissors. Isn’t he adorable? Doesn’t he just look like he’s humoring me?

Before. (Okay, so he's not humoring me.)

After.

A Shout-Out to the Goodrich Gang!

2009-04-03T20:48:00.008-06:00

We have the loveliest friends who I dedicate this post to. Cindy Goodrich was the most wonderful visiting teacher became a dear friend while we lived in Orem. I spent 4 months on bedrest during my pregnancy with Nathan and she and her beautiful daughters Kayla, MarLynn and Jenae were instrumental in my family's survival. They took care of our kids, brought us dinner, Cindy let me cry on her shoulder, and they still loved us even at our worst. We miss them and wanted to say Hello on a video so you won't forget our (Daphne's) voices or our (James') antics. We took this video with our camera so it's pretty lousy. But enjoy what you can...maybe you'll be glad we're 600 miles away.

Okay, so the video/audio quality was terrible, not to mention filming, content, and lighting. The point is WE LOVE YOU CINDY, JAN, KAYLA, TYLER, MARLYNN, JENAE AND JANSON TOO!!

Another monster movie to scare my kids.

2009-03-25T21:51:00.003-06:00

Hollywood is trying to steal every last opportunity for kids to imagine things for themselves. Doesn't this one look fun?

Honey, Honey.

2009-03-18T20:03:00.005-06:00

Last night as I lay in bed, I paused in my reading to ask Doug a question. Without looking up from the catalog I was perusing I could tell he was looking at me. When Doug didn’t answer my question I turned to face him.

“It hurts my eyes to look at you,” he said grimacing.

I must be feeling insecure these days because I instantly thought of the unshed baby weight, the zits on my face, and the roots accompanying my not-so nice haircut. “Uh, thanks?” I replied slightly stunned.

“No, no.” croaked Doug. “I mean my eyes really hurt.”

I gave an inward sigh of relief. Of course that’s what he meant. He’d been quite sick for the past two days and certainly his eyes were affected. Silly for me for misunderstanding.

So, when we drifted off to sleep several minutes later and Doug moaned “It hurts me to tell you I love you,” I didn’t jump to the conclusion that our relationship pained him. Poor guy. Good thing I’m such an understanding and inert wife.

Random Pictures

2009-03-15T10:04:00.003-06:00

Here are some random pictures I thought people might enjoy....So enjoy!

A picture of I found of James on his 3rd Birthday. He is 5 now and doesn't have that baby face anymore. Sniff.

Dogs and Subarus, the sure sign you're in Missoula. (In this case, it's a Toyota but you get the point.)

Do I really need to respect her personal sense of style?

The Sunny Side

2009-03-09T21:51:00.004-06:00

I’m sick, the kids are sick and since it has been a mere two weeks from our last bug bout and a dragging two months since I’ve had a husband for myself and a father for my children, I find myself exponentially wearier by the hour. Everyday I fight the growing inclination to board a plane and fly to Pakistan or some other exotic place for a little R & R. I’m naturally optimistic but yesterday I realized how steeply my attitude has descended over the last few weeks. Positive thinking, look on the bright side, find the silver lining, the glass is half full of lemonade!

So last night as I cleaned the kitchen for the umpteenth time, while my teeth chattered from fever with chills, because who else was going to clean the kitchen, I experienced a sincere moment of PMA (positive mental attitude). There it was in the middle of my floor—color, vivid and beautiful color. My PMA went a step further. Fresh fruit, fresh vegetables, whole grain bread! I wasn’t a total failure as a mother! And look! Even though there was a Crunch bar in the pile, it hadn't been opened!
Things are definitely looking brighter.

Once upon a time...

2009-03-07T19:30:00.008-07:00

...last Saturday to be specific, the lord of the manor returned to visit his progeny and fair lady. The reunited family traveled to an enchanted forest to hike and commune with Mother Montana.
Though it took 45 minutes to put on coats, packs, shoes, and a clean diaper too, they departed in high spirits.

The children quickly embraced the beautiful surroundings. Drawn to all things that glitter and shine, Daphne quickly discovered Montana has sparkle all of her own.
It didn’t take long for James to assume his customary role as clan defender.
Nathan, however, after playing through his earlier naptime only wished to commune with his crib.
At mile .25 of 3 miles round trip, the adventurous Family Tanner made some necessary adjustments.

Though they never reached the final destination—too far, too thirsty, too cold, and too tired—the lord and his lady reflected fondly that like life, hiking with children is about the journey and not the destination.
The End

What the Heck?!

2009-02-27T11:15:00.005-07:00

It’s time I caught everyone up on where the heck we are and what the heck we’re doing. To answer the first heck, we now live in Missoula, Montana. Where the heck is that, you ask? Missoula is on the western side of the state, nearer to the Idaho border. If Montana were cut parallel through the middle, Missoula would be just above the line dividing north and south. So basically, we live in Northwestern Montana right in the middle of Lolo National Forest, with the gorgeous Bitterroot Mountains to the West and the Garnet Mountains to the East. This is beautiful country.

Though we’ve been in Missoula since early January, I still ask myself daily what the heck we are doing here. Most of you know we were preparing to move to Michigan in early summer to attend medical. Lo and behold, Divine Intervention. We’ve scrapped medical school for a post-doctoral position in a biochemistry lab at the University of Montana.

Unfortunately, Doug has yet to finish his PhD. At this moment he is frantically writing his dissertation back in Utah. He quite literally dropped me and the kids off at our new home and turned around and drove back to Utah. (Special thanks to my mother-in-law for her amazing ability to unpack boxes and put things away.)

Doug made a brief visit in early February to bring me a computer, fill his canteen’ and upset the fragile understanding I had with the kids. Mainly, if you go to bed and leave me alone by 7:30pm, you never have to pick up your toys, you can eat at McDonald’s or Wendy’s whenever you want and watch movies all day long. Yes, I am in survival mode.

Why the heck do we have this insane arrangement? As luck or Providence would have it, depending on your preference, we connected with a Missoula couple who were leaving on an LDS mission to France in early January. The McMullin's hadn’t sold their home and they were looking for someone to take care of their house happily situated on an acre of land. Surprisingly, housing is quite expensive and hard to come by in Missoula so when this opportunity to live in the McMullin's home presented itself, we felt enormously blessed and simply couldn’t pass it up even if Doug wasn’t quite finished in Provo. We love our new home. I can honestly say not a day passes without me marveling that we live such a beautiful setting and in such a lovely home.
James and Daphne with the neighbor's dog on a bike ride.

This sounds hokey but since moving here there are two random things that fill me with enormous joy. First is the two squirrels living in the pine tree just outside the back of the house. I keep my bedroom curtains open so in the early morning I might catch a glimpse of one or both squirrels bounding limb to limb outside my window. (I’m hoping the early-bird…early-squirrel? thing will rub off on me). While doing dishes at the kitchen sink I’m always delighted when I spot the happy rodents scurrying across the yard or dangling precariously from the fruit trees. The kids have named one squirrel Lightening and the other Alicia (pronounced Al-EE-see-a). Can you guess who named which squirrel? The other random thing that fills me with joy is the three horses in the pasture in front of the house. It’s interesting to observe the hierarchy and social habits of the horses. Sometimes I’ll be watching out the window and all three horses will come galloping at full speed across the pasture. I’ve no idea why they are running but I imagine it is for the simple exhilaration of feeling their legs move and for the shear joy of their life. (These are happily situated horsies.)

Okay, enough already of the sap. I’m in love with this place. I’m a country girl at heart but love the fact that Costco and Gymboree are ten minutes away. I have the best of both worlds...almost. Heck, it would be nice to have a husband to enjoy it with me but that too will come.
This is the pasture in front of our home.

Out of Town

2008-12-14T10:41:00.004-07:00

Hello from Oregon. I write from my parents’ home in Oregon. We drove here on December 3rd for some family bonding in the realest sense. December 4th my family, aunts, uncles, and cousins, some who I’ve not seen for twelve years, met at the Portland Temple to do vicarious ordinance work for my grandmother, Daphne Elizabeth Dewar Choate, known to her grandchildren and great-grandchildren as Tama, who passed away in May of 2007. We have missed our Tama but she was with us that night in the Temple. It was a holy and memorable evening and I thought I’d never stop crying for joy. I could not imagine feeling more happiness at one time without being consumed. Two days later, however, I discovered I had not yet reached my threshold. Saturday, December 6th, two days after his wife’s Temple work was performed, my 91-year-old grandfather, Forrest Toby Choate, our Boppa, was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I cannot articulate the beauty and power of those extraordinary and monumental events. I can only thank Heavenly Father for these amazing blessings.

Drugged Daphne

2008-11-10T08:20:00.007-07:00

Daphne underwent a small procedure last week at the hospital. She's had trouble with bladder infections and recently developed a double kidney infection. Not cool for a three year old. Her pediatrician ordered an ultrasound and VCUG. The VCUG is done by fluoroscopy. The nurses put a contrast into her bladder and under x-ray look to see if the contrast back flows or refluxes into her ureters and kidneys. She had to be sedated because of the catherization and length of time she needed to stay still. She was an excellent patient and the pediatric sedation team at UVRM was awesome. Here are some cute pictures of our doped up Daphne. By the way, they did find she as a slight reflux. Not sure at this point what we'll do about it.
The sedation team says every child responds to the medication differently. Daphne apparently becomes a bit silly.
Heh, heh. Look, Mom, a hand.

Taking Responsibility

2008-11-07T12:16:00.002-07:00

This whole motherhood thing has its moments of unfairness. Maybe unfairness isn’t quite right but let me explain. I have a nice couch that despite my best efforts to keep it clean and keep it from being used as a trampoline and launch pad has become dirty and threadbare in places. I’m saving pennies and little extras for its replacement. Things are tight right now financially and with the impending move to Montana, we are a little short on cash. Enough said.
Two days ago James decided to throw a rock at the landlord’s window. I’m pretty sure it’s the largest, tempered glass window of the house. My immediate reaction was to tell James we were going to sell all of his toys including the new rescue helicopter he received for his birthday to “help” offset the cost of the window replacement. He’d have to work off the nearly $450 window with extra chores around the house.
Perhaps I gave the five-year-old mind too much credit for the ability to use good judgment. As I ranted over the phone to Doug about the gross irresponsibility of our son, Doug commiserated with James and recalled when he was a few years older than James, he attempted to throw a baseball over the roof but ended up throwing it through a window….His parents paid for it and never said a word about it. Doug possesses a necessary gift of being able to tell me to lower my expectations without telling me to lower my expectations.
So, that’s where the couch money is going. I suppose if I bring a little boy into the world, I’m obligated to sacrifice more than my body, my time, and my sanity but my couch too.
Point of impact.
The beauty of tempered glass. The picture doesn't do it justice.

James' Fifth Birthday!

2008-11-07T12:02:00.006-07:00

James turned five on Saturday, November 1st. We opened presents on Saturday but as James and Daphne were still coming down from the Halloween sugar high, we postponed cake until Sunday. James requested a pumpkin cake with orange frosting and much to my delight I found the perfect cake at Costco. I figured since James likes cream cheese on his bagels and sour cream with his quesadillas, I was justified in buying a cheese cake. Hey, it was pumpkin and it had orange goo that could be considered frosting. Yum, and yum again. Perhaps it was selfish of me to choose a birthday cake that carried a high risk of rejection from a young child. Fortunately, however, he seemed to enjoy it as much as the adults. At least he ate the body of the cake instead of just licking off the frosting like he usually does.
James literally jumped up and down with excitement.
Silly faces...Sigh.
Mom's, I mean, James' birthday cake.

Crappy Halloween!

2008-11-01T23:47:00.007-06:00

I just spent the last hour writing about our Halloween, and curse it, I highlighted the text to make a copy of it, hit a wrong key, and it's gone. Aughh! All of it! Well, you won't ever know how the Tanner family's Halloween 2008 went because I'm not, blasted, going to write any more! But here are some pictures anyway.

Thrift store costumes are the way to go. For less than $20 James was a happy cowboy and Daphne was a regal Snow White.

These are the Jack-o-Lanterns carved from our garden pumpkins. James and Daphne feinged tactile dysfunction so Mom got to gut and carve all three pumpkins.

The benefits of a Trunk-or-Treat: More loot in less time.

2008-11-01T22:50:00.004-06:00

We're Keeping Him

2008-10-28T10:33:00.011-06:00

Nathan turned 6 months old on the 25th. After some consideration, we decided to keep him. The first three months of his colicky life were touch and go. When he slept, we wanted him. When he screeched, we didn't. Fortunately for us, we have a six month mandatory trial period and at three months and one week Nathan realized he was stuck with his body and decided to make the best of it. He has been a peach ever since and like I said, we've decided to keep him.

At times we wish the six month mandatory trial period could be applied to our three and four year olds but overall, we're happy with our choice to keep James and Daphne as well.

In Defense of Americans

2008-10-28T00:05:00.011-06:00

My last blog entry was not a poke at Joe the Plumber personally. It was merely an irritated referral to the number of times, 26 to be exact, that Joe the Plumber’s name was mentioned by the presidential candidates. Joe the Plumber does indeed represent all Americans and he asked a legitimate question. We are all wondering if Barak Obama will raise our taxes. It was not until the sixth or seventh mention of “My friend, Joe the Plumber” that Joe ceased to be real person and became instead a political catch phrase flung in vain with the mock sincerity so representative of politicians and politics today. As McCain continued to force Joe the Plumber to be the vehicle of his campaign to attract everyday Americans, the debate became ludicrous. Obama vocalized more diplomatically what so many of us sitting in front of the boob-tube at home thought, Oh, brother stop patronizing us! I do not deride Joe the Plumber, Joe Six-Pack or any other hard-working American. The only derision I express is toward the politician, Republican or Democrat, who supposes I seriously believe he or she will follow through on campaign pledges....Anywhoo, enough crossing swords for one night. I still love all my friends and family from across the aisle.

In a day when rhetoric is as illusive as Osama Bin Ladin, let me sign off with a quote from one of the greatest orators in American history.
Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power….I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
Patrick Henry

On a trip to Montana last week we stopped in a little place called Dell. It consisted of a Calf-A, a gas station, a handful of cowboys, and an abundance of the character of the American West.

These are true cowboys. They wore muddy boots with huge spurs, handkerchieves around their necks, Carrhart dusters, and leather chaps. I got the impression eavesdropping on their conversation, they had more education than just what they learned at home on the range.

I think Montana could grow on me.

Enough Already!

2008-10-16T23:40:00.006-06:00

Will Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber, Joe the Plumber from Toledo, please come forward.

#$*@! POW!! *#@%^

Need I say more?

Daphne's Third

2008-10-12T14:10:00.011-06:00

I am dictating this to my husband, (the amazing and marvelous) Doug. I've created a darling desk, but it is not very typing friendly. I have a case of carpal tunnel in both arms. Posts may be infrequent over the next few weeks until the swelling goes down. I can only post on Sundays when my husband takes pity on me and puts the kids down to type.

Daphne turned three this week. That was our big event. I'm just going to post some pictures full of three year old attitude.

This purple cake was easy to make, but the flowers were not. Don't try flattening AirHeads with a rolling pin, it's just not worth it.

Olivia: Daphne's third child.

She's a natural!

Cheeky Monkey.

This may be the cycling wonder who will stop Lance in his mighty comeback.

VOTE FOR JOE

2008-10-02T22:50:00.007-06:00

BIDEN FOR PRESIDENT!

Joe Biden was great tonight. Sarah Palin did well too. It was the first time I'd actually heard her speak. I must admit, I was relieved when the debate was over, for her sake, as she seemed to be running out of things to say. Regardless of how I vote in November, I hate to see well intentioned people take a beating. I didn't see the Katie Couric interview but I've heard nothing but nasty things about it. The media should be careful. Sarah Palin is likeable and treating her too badly might backfire when people vote for her out of sympathy. That said, however, Joe Biden is presidential, man! I would love to see Obama and Biden switch positions on the ticket. He is awesome! And didn't you get a little teary with him? I did.

Autumn Joy

2008-10-01T14:18:00.012-06:00

When I walked into the backyard yesterday evening, the beauty of the season took my breath away. I'm no master gardener or even a decent photographer but I hope you can see a bit of the beauty too.

This is the view I saw entering the backyard.

The pumpkins will be perfect for Jack-o-lanterns.

These marigolds are volunteers. Marigolds are one of my favorite flowers. Not only are they cheery and hearty, they keep bugs away as well.

Our melons would have been perfect if they'd not been picked (I won't point fingers) too early. Even in mini-size they were beautiful and pleasant to taste.

I have an assortment of herbs which are fun for cooking. More than anything, however, I love the multitudes of honey bees they attract.

Rosemary is a beautiful plant.

This winter the bees will be feasting on oregano, basil, mint, dill, and parsley infused honey. Yum?

Economic Bailout

2008-09-29T21:32:00.008-06:00

I don't actually have an opinion about the failed economic bailout....Doug just walked by and read that first line over my shoulder. He corrected me and now I'll rephrase it. I do have an opinion about the bailout, albeit a guarded and probably uneducated one. I'm no expert but there are a couple points with the whole situation that seem fundamentally out of place.

First, how is the government planning to pay for the $700 billion bailout? The country is in an enormous amount of debt already and bailing out the economy on credit with the anticipation of profit for the "taxpayers" seems a bit like how we got into this mess in the first place. It surprises me that Congress can pull $700 billion out of thin air but they can't find enough money to fund things like NIH grants and other essential programs.

Second, shouldn't we let the consequences fall as they will? Wall Street and Main Street are reflections of each other; we've all overextended ourselves. How will we ever be truly independent financially if we never take responsibility for our spending? This is perhaps where my ignorance shows the most. There will be a trickle down effect felt by all people regardless of whether or not you have a mortgage you can afford. A large scale depression will personally affect me. But looking at it in the long term, maybe it will be good for me and you, for the nation as a whole, if we do like our Great Depression era grandparents and great-grandparents and save all our rubber bands in shoe boxes and bury gold bars in the back yard.

I've really no idea what I'm talking about. For once I'm feeling lucky that we don't have a house payment, that we drive a junky but payment free car, that we have no credit card debt, and that we have great employment potential. I say lucky but really Doug and I live very comfortably thanks to the generosity of our parents and most importantly, to the blessings of Heavenly Father.

On a less serious note, James is really catching-on to the idea of storing for emergencies. He has seen us preparing our foodstorage and has been busily picking our tomatoes, melons, raspberries, pumpkins and cucumbers in the event of a tornado, earthquake or flood. Today we received a Company Kids catalog and with all seriousness, he sat down with Daphne to pick out all the toys they would need for their "toy storage" in the event of a natural disaster.

5 months and 1000 miles BABY!

2008-09-26T22:15:00.003-06:00

George my '06 Cannondale R3000 has been with us for five months now (so has Nathan by the way), and I just turned over 1000 miles riding to work! Yes 1X10^3 miles. My max remains ~54 mph, but I will crush that before snow flies.

Trampoline Trauma

2008-09-26T12:37:00.003-06:00

I’ve always hated trampolines and felt if I wanted to maim or kill my children I’d simply buy one and let ‘em loose. No, I haven’t purchase a trampoline yet, but Doug’s parents have a tramp in their back yard. So in addition to having a run-in with the police this weekend, we also had a run-in with the Dentist.
James bounces off walls just fine without the help of anything spring-loaded. Split lips, chipped and even loosened teeth are not unfamiliar to us. On Sunday, however, the trampoline supplied enough additional momentum for James to mortally injure his front tooth on his cousin’s noggin.
The tooth was almost parallel with his palate so my mother-in-law, Jan, and I took James to a retired dentist a few houses down the street. Motherly obligation required I accompany my child but I wasn’t much support. I hate teeth. Even with my back turned I knew the loud crack! wasn’t the dentist snapping his rubber glove. The sound of bone on bone is slightly disconcerting but fortunately, the dentist was able to put the tooth back in place so James could at least close his mouth.
At the pediatric dentist a few days later the x-rays showed a grim picture. It was severely fractured and displaced. The likelihood of it healing was slim and the inflammation was indicatory of potential abscess. Thursday morning the dentist pulled the tooth. The procedure went well and his permanent tooth is healthy. Still, James may grow tired of sporting the hillbilly look for the next four years.

Busted

2008-09-25T00:10:00.013-06:00

The kids and I stayed with my in-laws in Brigham City while Doug went to San Antonio, Texas for a few days. Yesterday I was able to leave baby Nathan with Grandpa and escape to Deseret Industries, the local thrift store with James and Daphne. It’s a small store (but with lots of treasures) so I didn’t mind letting them pick through the second, third, and fourth hand toys while I did the same in the housewares, books, and furniture sections. The kids were always in sight and hearing distance. I say this to reassure you of my mothering sense, a point you will hopefully not doubt as you continue reading.
After an hour I was pushing my luck. I could have stayed for at least another thirty minutes but James and Daphne were now hungry and tired. I began to put away the strands of costume beads I was sorting through when Daphne spotted a “teeny, tiny necklace” that was a “must-have” for the toddler “season.” I showed her the faux pearl necklace I was already buying for the dress-up box but she wanted none of it. She wanted the “teeny, tiny necklace” and in a display of passion, quite possibly unprecedented until that moment, which is saying a lot, Daphne screamed for the necklace. For anyone who hasn’t heard my beautiful daughter scream, I’ll just say Daphne has a promising career in Opera, on Broadway, in a cheerleading squad, or as the female lead in B slasher movies. Short of pulling out her vocal cords, I could only take my basket to the front checkout and remove my daughter with all speed from the store. (It was not an option to leave the basket behind, I’d found some very cool stuff.)
As I walked to the front of the store I steeled myself against the barrage of Tssk, Tssks coming from perfect-parent thrift store patrons. Please, this was DI not the Met. Daphne clawed at my clothes, hung on my legs, twisted my arm but I kept my cool as I unloaded my items at the checkstand. Unfortunately the checker gal was confused by a few of the items and only spoke broken English. It was too much to understand while Daphne screamed and threw things from the checkstand to the floor. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” I said and hefted my daughter under arm and made for the parking lot.
It took about one minute to strap the flailing toddler into her carseat. I then started the car and pulled into the red no-parking zone directly in front of the open doors of Deseret Industries. I rolled down the windows of my mother-in-law’s sedan, turned off the engine, walked 15 feet through the open glass doors, swiped my debit card, pressed OK, picked up my bags, walked 15 feet back through the open glass doors to the illegally parked car, buckled James into his seat and got the hel…heck out of there.
By the time we returned to Munga’s and Grandpa’s house Daphne’s tantrum had mercifully abated. We ate some lunch and while Munga helped Daphne into her princess dress and jewels, I began to clear the kitchen counters. I was thus dutifully occupied when my father-in- law came looking for me. “There’s an officer outside looking for the parent of the little girl who was left screaming in a car.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I said following him out the door. Sure enough, there was a uniformed officer investigating the report of a little girl left screaming in a parked car for 20 minutes. I was too annoyed to be serious and flippantly explained to the officer the volume of my daughter’s voice, her rude manners, and the other particulars of the situation. As for 20 minutes of terrifying solitude in a hot locked car, it was three minutes from the time I marched out of the store with my obnoxious three year old, practically parked in the store 15 feet from the debit card reader, until I was back in the vehicle driving.
As I clarified the gross inaccuracy of my unknown accuser, Daphne made an appearance. Adorned in finery and outfitted with unconcerned confidence she presented a picture of a truly neglected and abused child. With a bit of sarcasm my father-in-law introduced Daphne to the policeman. The officer looked at her, then at me and her grandparents felt dumb and decided we didn’t look like folk not inclined to chaining children in the basement. He made a show of taking my name and spelling Daphne’s name correctly before he mumbled that sometimes people exaggerate and really, it was only 70 degrees outside so it wasn’t like she was going to bake.
Nope, my daughter wasn’t in danger of anything but strained vocal cords. Thanks for the concern.

It was an impossible situation to win. I was criticized for not silencing the child. Yet, it was impossible to reason with a three year old in tantrum. But if I coerced her into silence, it would be abusive. Apparently, however, removing Daphne from the scene was irresponsible and abusive as well. I’m sure the person who took my license plate and called the police had noble intentions, but please, it didn’t take much observation to see the only thing I stood guilty of was staying at a store too long with a tired and hungry toddler.

Position open...Position filled.

2008-09-17T14:14:00.002-06:00

I wasn't my best self last night and was reminded by my son that my position in our house was precarious at best. After returning from an evening soccer game, the whole family was teetering on the edge of a breakdown. By 9:00 everyone had been thrown in bed and Doug and I set to work picking up the disaster area we call home.

It wasn't to be, however. James, with his peanut size bladder was out of bed for the fifth time, Nathan lost his binky for the third time, and Daphne had to put on her sparkly headband, ballet slippers, and necklace also for the third time that night. In my frustration, I did something I rarely do; I yelled. No, not just raised my voice, I do that all the time. I yelled so no person in a five mile radius could ignore me. I yelled not at anyone in particular, just at life. "GO TO BED! I WANT TO GO TO BED TOO! I'M SICK OF DRIVING A STICKSHIFT! I NEED A MINIVAN! I'M SICK OF BEING SICK! I NEED A VACATION!" and so on. After a few minutes of ranting the house was completely quiet. I began cleaning once again when I heard the door creak. It was James looking very grave.

"Mom, I have to tell you something."

"What, James? Say it and get back in bed."

"I prayed to Heavenly Father that you would stop fighting."

"Hmmmm. Get to bed." I said unmoved.

"Mom, He told me that if you don't stop fighting, I'm in charge."

"Huh?" I wondered if I heard correctly.

"If you don't stop fighting Mom, I'm in charge of this basement."

James looked at me seriously and with great resolution. His eyes said he expected a challege but how could I challenge a direct revelation from Heavenly Father? I let out a long sigh. "You know James, I would love for someone else to be in charge of this basement....Now please sweetheart, go to bed."

The position of mother in the Doug Tanner Family, ULC(Unlimited Liability Company)is open. All qualified applicants are encouraged to apply.

Nathan

2008-09-16T10:47:00.005-06:00

I realized last night there are people in my family who haven't seen Nathan, not even a picture, and now he's almost five months old. These are a bit older but I'll try to get some newer ones posted.

Loyalty

2008-09-10T21:43:00.014-06:00

Nothing gives a mother more satisfaction than to see her children sticking up for each other. I always hoped my kids would develop a loyalty to the family particularly as they grew older and started school.
I am a fortunate woman. From an early age James and Daphne displayed great devotion to each other. Why, just the other day, James was sitting with a scowl against the living room wall trying hard not to listen to another lecture about jumping on the couch. Like a good sister, Daphne came to his defense saying, "Don't talk to my brother that way." I rolled my eyes and told her this was not her business. With her typical terrier like tenacity, Daphne placed her hands on her hips and corrected me. "My brother's business is my business." She punctuated it with a "humphh!", tossed her hair and joined James in a scowl against the wall. James promptly elbowed her away complaining that she was "in my space."