Great American Adventure

Today is day 2 of our Great American Adventure. We're taking the train from Atlanta to Los Angeles. It wasn't our original plan. We were to fly back to LA early enough to give us a few days to clean house (now that Jackson is crawling) before the New Year and the return to work. But I had a little mishap on the flight to Atlanta. Somewhere over Los Angeles, my eardrum tore. Apparently high pressure and congestion don't mix. The doctor I saw in Atlanta said it would be quite risky to fly again. My eardrum was healing well, but would be very susceptible to a repeat injury. So we're spending three days seeing America from the window of a train. I've always wanted to do this (once retired, and not with an infant). So we're making the best of it. Jackson's been great. He's making friends with everyone. Hopefully, we'll have some tales to tell and pictures to show when we return on New Year's Eve.

Clarice

Jackson Crawls!

This was from two weeks ago. It's like he was getting himself positioned in the starting blocks. Last week he started crawling and there's no stopping him. I think he's just so excited to be able to move himself to objects of interest. Now we REALLY have to safety proof the home....and get him that helmet.

Clarice

Updates

I posted a while back about entering Jackson in the BabyGap Casting Call. Well, he wasn't chosen as one of the top 10 finalists. We were a bit disappointed. We thought his chances were pretty good. After all, there were only 360,000 entries...

I also posted an entry entitled Catching the Cheese. I was kind of getting used to Jackson's little spit-up events and was thinking that perhaps my unnatural phobia of being near people who are vomiting (or giving any indication that they might vomit) had dissipated. Well just a week after writing that, Jackson came down with some kind of stomach bug (so glad Ian and I didn't catch it). Needless to say, his little spit-up events were just that - little. This was definitely different - on an entirely magnified scale. His first explosion resulted in me and him in the bathtub wringing out what surely had to be gallons of..uh...fluid of foodlike origin. How can one little baby produce so much stuff? I spent the evening unwillingly reliving the event. All night I could smell the stench in my mind's nose. Ugh! Gave me the heebie jeebies every time I thought of it. Funny thing is, I was just wondering at what level the expulsion of his abdominal contents would start to bother me. Well that was it. I think the key factor was smell. Now I'm wondering when HE will start getting grossed out. Apparently, it doesn't bother him at all. He unloaded his stomach contents the day after our experience at daycare. His teacher told me they had just laid him down for some tummy time. When they looked back to see what he was doing, he had covered the playmat with the remnants of butternut squash and Enfamil. When I asked if he seemed distressed, she replied in her happy, sing-songly, infant-care voice, "Oh no! He just squeaked and started finger-painting with it." Doesn't sound like it grosses him out.

Way back in July I wrote about an opportunity we had to go to Syria. Well, we were supposed to have gone two weeks ago. We didn't have to make the decision. The sponsoring organization decided to cancel the conference due to the conflict. But they left a standing invitation for future events. I hope to have another opportunity to go at just the right time.

Clarice

Being Thankful

I have a bad habit. I pick at my fingernails. Some Freudian types might suggest that it's transferance of the thumb-sucking habit I had to give up when I turned 3 years old. I don't know much about Freud. I just pick at my fingernails. Sometimes I focus on pushing up my cuticles. Sometimes I clean under the nails themselves. Most of the time, I pull at the little tags that form when my cuticles crack. 98% of the time, it's a bad result. I'll start pulling at the dead skin, hoping to separate it cleanly. But 98% of the time, I rip off a substantial chunk of my flesh, resulting in the spurt of fresh blood.

Sunday afternoon, I noticed another little crack in the cuticle on my right middle finger. I was able to resist for a about 20 minutes, but it kept bugging me. So I started to pull. I was smart enough to stop when I first saw the flush of blood. I actually contemplated walking the 12 steps to our bathroom where we keep the nail clipper, but I thought it would be too much work to walk. So I gambled on the 2% chance that it might be a clean separation of the epidermis from the dermal layer. Once again, I was wrong. This particular lesion was quite significant for a cuticle pull. It actually throbbed and I had to stop the flow with a tissue. I was a bit annoyed all afternoon. Function was a bit limited as I was trying to protect the now-exposed dermal layer of my right middle finger.

I was standing there in the bathroom, cleaning up my mortal flesh wound for the second time (I knocked off the plasma crusty layer washing my hands after a particularly productive diaper change) when my dad called on the phone, interrupting my self-pitying moment. He called to tell me that my aunt and uncle, who were visiting for Thanksgiving, had been in a car accident. They had just left my parents' home and were driving on the freeway when another car darted across the lanes of traffic and hit them on the passenger side. Their car flipped several times and landed upright, facing oncoming traffic. My uncle had some lacerations and heavy bruising, but was not in serious condition. My aunt was also in stable condition, but seriously injured her hand. According to my father, her right middle finger had been crushed and essentially filleted. The bone was shattered and her fingernail was gone. It was bad enough that the resident on call at the ER didn't quite know what to do. My dad called to tell me that he and mom were going to take my aunt, who is a nurse, up to her own hospital so she could see a hand specialist.

I felt like such a fool in that moment. Here I was bemoaning a little cuticle pull when at that very same moment my aunt, whose work requires dextrous hands, was facing possible compromise in the use of the very same finger. And I was finally able to look at my little booboo and be thankful that it was so insignificant. It's interesting what a little perspective can do. Hearing of my aunt's injury made me thankful that mine was so....nothing. Yet in her perspective, her serious injury, next to the possibility of lost lives, must also have paled in comparison. I do think much of it is about perspective. I sometimes choose to dwell on the little suffering I have rather than the great suffering that I don't have. And I sometimes forget about the blessings I already have as I think of the other blessings I want. So now I want to choose to do more than just give thanks on occasion. I want to choose to be thankful always.

Clarice

PS Please pray for my aunt's recovery. She had surgery Tuesday morning.

Little Girlfriends

Jackson and I spent the afternoon at the beach with Mikayla and her mom (yes, sometimes in SoCal we can go to the beach the Sunday before Thanksgiving). Being that Jackson is much older than Mikayla (at a whopping 5 weeks ahead), he spent a lot of time telling her what she could expect from life in the next month or so. To me, it just sounded like "meh, meh, meeeeeehhh" and "ah-bah, ah-bah," but she looked pretty intrigued with what he had to say. It reminded me that a few months ago, Mikayla's mom and I had been discussing how when we were young we thought the idea of arranged marriages was completely atrocious, but now we were coming around to the idea. I mean, how great would that be? You would know whether or not you could hang out with your future in-laws way before spending lots of money on a wedding. And you could get an idea of what your grandkids might look like. Plus, Jackson's got some great options.

Harper's been making googly eyes at him at least half his life and we really like her parents.

And he really enjoyed hanging out with Karis, even though she didn't have much to say to him. I think she's going through her "boys have cooties" stage a bit early. Problem is, I think our boy wants to pick his own little girlfriend.

Since the very first day of school, Jackson's had a thing for his little school friend, Lena. Last Friday, when I dropped him off at day care, he ended up right next to her. He patted her shoulder and she turned her cheek toward him. I saw him move in, but his motor control isn't quite developed yet. They ended up cheek to cheek for a moment before he started falling. If infant life is any predictor, it looks like his social life is going to be much more complicated than that of his parents.

Clarice

So much to blog about....

....so little time.

Possible future post titles:

More than just cheese
Cousins (in honor of Jackson's upcoming boy cousin, Junior Shih)
Fernald Friends
Syria
The beginning of campaign season
Fly in a bottle
Clee's Engaged!!
Action Jackson 2

The Ouch Report

All the little "friends" (cause that's what the babies are called) at Jackson's daycare have little clipboards where their activities for each day are recorded. We find out when they went down for naps (to the minute) and when they awoke. We find out what they ate and drank (to the ounce). We find out when they had diaper changes and whether the changes were W or BM (W=wet, BM=well...you know).

Well last week, there was a new sheet attached to Jackson's clipboard. It was an "Ouch" Report. Next to the injury type, there was a large check next to "bite." "Poor baby," I thought as I read. It was his left big toe. Then I got to the description part and cracked up. It said:

J. was playing on his back when another came close. In the "closeness," mouth and foot met

See for yourself


I love his daycare!

Clarice

The Land of the Definitely Maybes

I had a flashback to my youth a few months ago. I was remembering a trip I took with some family friends and relatives when I was about 12 or 13. It was the last day of our camping trip to Mexico. We were all packed and ready to go. We just had to make one last stop at the beach so our dads could clean the fish they caught before we started our long drive back home. So all of us kids poured out of our station wagons and motor homes to while away some time. I don't know who spotted it, but there was this great sand bar just off shore. The water was slightly more than ankle deep so a few of us kicked off our shoes and waded across. One side of the sand bar had a nice, steep incline so we started building not just a sand castle, but a sand community. After a while, my cousin Daphne (who is a far better writer than I and blogs here) decided that the community must have a name. So we called it the Land of the Definitely Maybes and began inventing stories about the people who lived in the community. I don't know why Definitely Maybes. Probably something about the indecisiveness marking our tweener years. Anyway, I guess we must have gotten carried away with our little kingdom (and the dads must have gotten carried away with fish-cleaning) because when we heard our mothers calling, we looked up to see that the cute ankle-deep channel we waded across to get to the sand bar had grown with the rising tide to become a waist-deep channel. No way about it. We all had to swim fully clothed across to the beach. Boy were the moms mad. All of our clothes were packed already so we all had to begin the journey back home in sopping wet clothes.

I don't blame the moms for getting mad. It wasn't the first time that I had dragged my younger cousins into some kind of trouble. I hide it pretty well now, but when I was younger, I had a habit of doing things without thinking about the consequences. Funny thing is, so many of those crazy events involved Daphne. There was the time we thought it would be fun to create "igloos" out of soap bubbles to house the little caterpillars that occasionally tracked across their back porch. A few hours later, we realized that caterpillars and soap bubbles are not compatible and that if you let caterpillars keep moving across the porch unharmed, you don't end up with dozens and dozens of foaming and exploding caterpillar carcasses on your aunt's back porch. Then there was the time Daphne's mom took me to visit a friend of hers. They had two daughters about our age. They had just had their house painted and it kinda reeked. One of the girls had been showing off her new felt-tip markers, which had lovely fruit scents associated with them. I thought it might reduce the stink of the room if I waved the most fragrant of the markers around (I think it was the grape and the blueberry). We noticed the improvement in the odor about the same time that we noticed the growing number of purple and blue dots on the freshly-painted walls of the room. That's when I learned that markers and centrifugal force aren't really compatible either.

So most of my thoughtless adventures weren't harmful. But there were other poorly thought out decisions that resulted in someone getting hurt. Like the time my brother and I "built" a "go-kart" out of a scooter, a skateboard, a piece of wood, and some rope. My poor 6-year old cousin had nothing to hold onto but the bottom of the board as we cruised down the street. And when the scooter and the skateboard went in opposite directions, her own weight brought the board smashing down on her fingers. Or the time I created a seesaw out of a sawhorse and a plank and challenged my neighbor to hold on while I tried to bounce her off. Since I was heavier and stronger, she did indeed bounce off...actually, she flew off, folding over on her stomach on the sawhorse. Or the time I created a slip-and-slide on the plastic sheet covering our backyard slope, not thinking about the fact that we might slide into the wooden stakes holding the plastic down (I still have a scar from that paticular adventure). Foolish choices, poorly thought out.

This week, I started thinking about the Land of the Definitely Maybes again. Something I received in the mail prompted my memories. It was a voter's information guide about Proposition 85, which "requires that a physician notify in writing a parent or guardian at least 48 hours before performing an abortion on a minor girl." I remember this Proposition not passing in the Special Election last year and it really grieved me. See, I can think back on my childhood and remember stupid decisions that I made. Some of them caused no harm, but others did result in someone getting hurt. And honestly, sometimes I had an inkling that there may be bad consequences. But the moment mattered more than the consequences. And I think about young girls who make decisions in the heat of the moment and don't think about the consequences. I do believe that they need to have the wisdom and guidance of their parents to help them deal with the consequences. Because sometimes it's like my experience in the Land of the Definitely Maybes. So caught up in their worlds of uncertainty, so wrapped up in fantasy that they don't see the tide coming in, don't understand the consequences.

So if you can vote, please vote yes on Prop 85 this coming Tuesday.

Clarice

Stage Parents

Yup. We're entering our little man. I first read about the contest in the newspaper column a friend of mine wrote, then our downstairs neighbor said they were entering their daughter, then a friend from church told me she was getting in on the action. Might as well join the fun. The odds are probably not great, but might as well. If (by some chance) we do win, he gets:
-Participation in a professional babyGap photo shoot
-Featured in our local Gap store window and Child Magazine
-$5000 college fund
-A year supply of babyGap clothing
-And more (with an exclamation point).

We have to pick 5 photos that we've taken to submit. Judging criteria:
-34% overall appearance of the baby as shown in the photo
-33% overall personality of the baby as expressed through the photo
-33% quality of the photograph.

So, dear friends, we need help picking some winning photos. We're going to make our final decision on Thursday (Nov 2).

Click on over to our family website, here, to view, then vote in the comments section of this post.

And if he doesn't win...well, we have some inspired photographs of him to keep forever and we've gotten a taste of what it's like to be stage parents.

Thanks!

Clarice

Catching the Cheese

Jackson has a weak esophageal sphincter. That's the band of muscle between the esophagus and the stomach. Its job is basically to keep the contents of the stomach from squirting up the esophagus (and out the mouth). Apparently weak esphageal sphincters are rather common in babies and tend to get stronger when they start sitting up more often. I sure hope that's soon. We're getting a bit tired of spitup. It wasn't so bad when he was a newborn. Just little trickles of fluid that still looked and smelled like what went down. By 2 or 3 months it started to smell a bit more sour. Ian and I started calling it "cheese" because it was like fermented milk. "Cheese" has become such a common occurrence in our life, we've starting using it as a verb as well as a noun (and sometimes even an adjective). For example, "Honey, what's that spot on your shoulder? Oh, looks like he cheesed on you again. Yuck! That's a particularly cheesy glob of cheese." See that - verb, adjective, and noun in one conversation.

Well, Jackson's cheese habit has changed my life. For decades, I've had a pathological aversion to...uh...the v-word. I myself have not tossed my cookies since I was 9 years old - not even when I was pregnant (I know, I'm to be reviled among women for an unusually easy pregnancy). And any hint that any person within 50 feet of me is about to lose their lunch and I'm out of there. It's a bad phobia. Check under the bathroom stalls to make sure everyone's shoes are pointed away from the toilets. If it happens - close my eyes so I can't see, cover my ears and sing out loud so I can't hear, bury my nose in my armpits (which usually don't stink) so I can't smell... Serious heebie jeebies. But with Jackson, it's been a mild introduction. Like I said, it was fairly innocuous at first and came without any sounds. But now that he's on solid foods, it's starting to have that smell...and that look...and it's often prefaced with that sound.

So last Friday I took Jackson to visit a former student and her baby (one of Jackson's future girlfriends) in their very well-appointed apartment (I don't know how two dental students can afford real furniture). I set Jackson down on the sofa, which was one of those lovely overstuffed comfy things. We were chatting nicely and watching the babies stare each other down, when I heard the sound. It was the little errrp that precedes the gush of cheese. My first thought was "Oh no! Not on the sofa!" And before I could think of what to do, I cupped my hands under his mouth and ended up catching the cheese. It was a rather disgusting experience. I would have preferred to have had a burp cloth. Or maybe even a bowl. But I suppose I should be somewhat grateful. After all, it seems as if I'm on my way to being cured of my vomitophobia.

Clarice

Political Minority

I had lunch today with a bunch of ladies I really admire. They are all incredibly accomplished, each with one or two doctorates, and all senior to me in the ranks of the dental school. But what I like about them is that they care about the things that I care about in the realm of the University. They all appreciate the value of research and discovery, but what really matters to them is that students grow and learn. That's the core value of these women that makes me really respect them.

So we sat together at lunch celebrating the submission of a grant on which we all collaborated. And, as is common these days, talk soon turned to the political. And this is where it got interesting. See, I'm a registered Republican. I'm sometimes embarrassed to say that because it makes me a complete, unrespected minority in the University setting. Plus, I'm really not too happy with what's happening with the party right now. What I really am is a conservative, and the Republican Party best represents what I value. Anywho, talk around the table turned to the political and I quickly learned that 5 of the 6 women were quite clearly Democrats (the last one was very quiet). And, as is common in conversations in my work world when politics comes up, they kept talking as if everyone was on the same page (which I wasn't). See, that's one thing I find interesting. I try really hard not to speak out of assumptions about people. I don't assume that all Christians are Republicans, because I've found that some are not. I don't even assume that all people who go to church are Christians, because I've found that some are not. I try to talk to people at a neutral level until I know where they stand. But I seldom have that same respect afforded to me by many of my clearly Democrat colleagues, who expect that I'll enjoy joining them in either a pro-abortion, or anti-war, or anti-free speech (I'm talking about truly free speech here), or anti-Bush, or anti-American, or anti-hetersexual marriage rant. And it sometimes just bugs me. See, here's the thing. Much of the time, I have the same core values as my friends in the University. I just have a difference of opinion on how to approach it.

One of the women was telling a story of how she became (as she put it) "such a flaming socialist Democrat." She grew up in a military family (which generally does not lean toward the flaming socialist Democrat mindsent). She recalled that when she was in the third grade she moved to the South. This was during the period of segregation. She said that one day at school she noticed that the girl who sat next to her in class was wearing an outfit that her family had given away to charity a few weeks before - her outfit. She said that realization changed her life. You know, I was so with her. I hate injustice. I hate racism. I hate the effects of poverty. But then she said something that separated me from her. She said "That's when I realized that there was something wrong with our government." I don't quite see it that way. I think the Bible is quite clear that humans were created to reflect the glory of our Creator, and that we are uniquely gifted and capable of generating good. And we are very valuable to that Creator. To me, that's why injustice, racism, and poverty are wrong. These are evils that violate our value in God's eyes. But at the same time, I believe that the same beauty placed within us is the key to addressing the world's ills. And I think relying on government to take care of the world's problems stifles the ability of people to step into the heroic. And this is what I found interesting at lunch today. The political view I choose to adhere to earns such disdain from those with whom I actually share the same foundational values.

Clarice

Beach Baby

We just got back from 8 days in Hawaii. 5 in Oahu, 3 in Kauai. Supposedly for an orthodontic meeting. I did go to some lectures, but spent plenty of time NOT in lectures. It was so nice...but also busy. Traveling with an infant when your other travel partners are single can be a challenge. But it was so fun watching Jackson enjoy new experiences. I think we have a beach baby on our hands.





Clarice

Fertility

I've been feeling a bit queasy for the past week or so. Just a low grade nausea accompanied by a slight headache and some generalized fatigue. The last time I felt like this was when I was pregnant with Jackson. And just like last year, I spent the first week living in denial. I mean, with Jackson, I didn't think it could be possible. We had only been married 5 months and I'm...uh...of advanced age. But it happened. The best little surprise of my life. This time around, I had a longer period of denial. After all, I've only recently showed biological signs of a return to fertility. Who on earth has babies 14 months apart? Certainly not in Los Angeles. So on Sunday, Jackson's 7 month birthday, I decided to end the denial. I dusted off my EPT (early pregnancy test, for those of you not in the know) and put it to work again. Ian was compelled to sit in the bathroom with me. I didn't want to face reality so Ian had to look for me....

Whew! Much as we would love to have another child, we'd sure like to wait a little while longer.

Clarice

Westside Babies

Jackson and his little church friends. There are so many babies at Mosaic Beverly Hills. I'm so glad that our son has a cohort of friends he can grow up with.

Clarice

Temper Tantrums

When I was a teenager, I was prone to irrational little temper tantrums. Quite a few of them were in response to things my parents said or did. I remember that my mom once told me that she thought I looked sloppy during one stage of my life. I was deeply offended and angry, despite the fact that I truly was going through a sloppy stage of fashion choices. My response..."Mom thinks I'm sloppy. I'll show her sloppy." So I chose to be even sloppier for a short time. Once my dad was offering me some feedback on my sweeping technique. I wasn't being strategic in my sweeping, brushing dirt over areas that I had already swept. He was suggesting that I start at one side of the room and collect all the dirt on the other. It was pretty good advice. I think I even recognized it. But there was no way I was going to acknowlege that and change my ways. I kept doing it my way. The dumbest tantrum I had was when I turned 16. I wanted to get my driver's license, but my parents said they wanted me to wait because the insurance rates would be too high. I was pretty ticked off. So I showed them. I told them I wasn't going to drive with them until they agreed to let me get my license. That showed them....NOT. But I've made some progress since then. I still have an occasional adolescent flare when my parents suggest something (pride, you know), but for the most part, I make an effort to understand where they're coming from and filter out what's useful.

I was reminded of my teen self when I heard how the fundamentalist Muslim world responded to Pope Benedict's comments about the importance of reason in faith. As you may know, the Pope was quoting a 14th century dialogue between Byzantine Emperor Manuel II Paleologus and “an educated Persian.”

In the seventh conversation…the emperor touches on the theme of the holy war. The emperor must have known that surah 2, 256 reads: “There is no compulsion in religion”. According to the experts, this is one of the suras of the early period, when Mohammed was still powerless and under threat. But naturally the emperor also knew the instructions, developed later and recorded in the Qur’an, concerning holy war. Without descending to details, such as the difference in treatment accorded to those who have the “Book” and the “infidels”, he addresses his interlocutor with a startling brusqueness on the central question about the relationship between religion and violence in general, saying: “Show me just what Mohammed brought that was new, and there you will find things only evil and inhuman, such as his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached.” The emperor, after having expressed himself so forcefully, goes on to explain in detail the reasons why spreading the faith through violence is something unreasonable. Violence is incompatible with the nature of God and the nature of the soul. “God”, he says, “is not pleased by blood - and not acting reasonably is contrary to God’s nature. Faith is born of the soul, not the body. Whoever would lead someone to faith needs the ability to speak well and to reason properly, without violence and threats… To convince a reasonable soul, one does not need a strong arm, or weapons of any kind, or any other means of threatening a person with death…”.

What happens?
This
This
This
This

I don't know. It just seems so juvenile. "What, Pope? You say Islam is violent? I'm offended. You better say sorry or I'll end up getting violent with you." I have such mixed feelings on how to respond. Part of me is annoyed and says, "Oh come on, just grow up!!" Part of me is frustrated with the political forces that would try to appease an ideology that has been returning to this kind of behavior for centuries. Part of me is sad that so many people are being manipulated by religious leaders who really don't care about them. And part of me is thinking that those of us who are followers of Jesus, who claims to be "the way, the truth, and the life," need to figure out how He wants us to slow the metastasizing movement of Islam by advancing the kingdom of God.

Clarice

Blink

Blink. My silly boyboy. He started making this face about two weeks ago. At first it was in response to the antibiotics we had to give to him to fight his first ear infection. Then last week, he started doing it at random when interacting with us. We're not quite sure what he's doing. He certainly knows how to smile at us.

Blink. In a blink of an eye he's showing signs of growing up. Not only is he trying to interact with us by making this face, he's growing up physically. Look at his little snowdrops. That's what MumIvy, my mother-in-law, calls baby teeth. It was a big day in the dentist's household when the first little toothy erupted.

Clarice

Five years ago today

September 11, 2001 was a significant event in my life. It was an unexpected violation. I was in dental school in the 90's when the Gulf War began. I remember talking to friends about how our generation hadn't lived in a time of war. But even that experience was rather removed - like it didn't realy happen. Acts of aggression were things that happened "over there." Not on our soil. The attacks of September 11 hit closer to home. So even though New York and Pennsylvania and DC are still "over there" with respect to Los Angeles, it still felt very invasive when the jets all hit.

The events of that day are rather surreal in my memory. I remember this undescribable dull roar of background noise like machine hum that I now associate with that day. I woke up that day to the ring of the telephone. Our friend Aaron caught the news and was calling people from our church community to alert them. Clee was the one who answered the phone at about 6:30 AM. I vaguely recall hearing her say "hello," then "WHAT" then "OK," before hanging up the phone. She tersely told me that something happened and we ran out to the TV to find out what. We squatted there in our PJs, not bothering to sit normally. Then we went to wake Lena and Cal up. It was such a strange morning. The four of us sat morosely in front of the TV all morning, not even considering going to work. We knew there was something big going on. By afternoon, we rallied ourselves to shower and eat. By evening, we moved to action. We opened our house to our community and whoever else wanted to come by. Over a three hour time period we had some 40 people come through to mourn with us, weep, and groan and pray for our city, our country, our world.

September 11 was the beginning of a new chapter for me. My life feels different now. One positive thing. I can see the value and the beauty of community. I was so amazed at how the country rallied in support under duress. And I was amazed at how the community I am a part of came together so quickly to pray. But another change lingers. Like many others, I have a sense that there's something happening now that we don't quite understand. It's happening at a profound spiritual level, requiring that I be vigilant and prayerful. And it makes me all the more compassionate for those who don't know the marvel of following Jesus Christ.

So I pray for the families who suffered loss on September 11, 2001 and I pray for this country and this world. And I pray that God would give us more glimpses of the beauty He has brought and will bring out of the ashes of that event.

Clarice

Content

Tonight I got a special treat. I got to hang out with a very good friend. We arranged to meet at a coffee shop. I thought maybe it would be like nights we used to have when we shared a room - just after turning off the lights and just before falling asleep - when one of us would blurt out some philosophical question that we couldn't answer, but would spend the next hour or so pondering, only to awaken the next morning cranky for lack of sleep. We never cared that much about the answer; we just liked the process of thinking about the question. But tonight, we just looked at magazines and compared notes on the fall TV season. We talked about everything and nothing. And I loved it. So wonderful to have friends with whom you can go deep or wide and not have it matter because you're together.

Tonight I got an even more special treat. My dear husband cooked me dinner, washed the dishes, did 3 loads of laundry, fed the baby, then went to the pharmacy because the baby has an ear infection and is VERY fussy and clingy. He shooed me off to go and enjoy time with my dear friend. And I loved it also. So wonderful to have a husband who is so attentive to my needs.

I am content...and very blessed.

Clarice

With a rebel yell...

Apparently, Jackson likes water.

Jackson wants....

...milk!!

Pathetic looking face, isn't it. As if it was the end of the world. In fact, we call this the "end of the world" cry. I saw this look 6-8 times a day his first 3 months and 4-6 times a day since then. It's the face Jackson makes when Ian stops feeding him for a moment to help him burp before inhaling the rest of his formula (so he doesn't lose it on the front of his onesie) and the face I see when switching him from one "milk container" to the other.

There was one nice thing about this cry. We knew exactly what it meant and we knew what we had to do to appease it. In general, "cry interpretation" has been fairly straightforward. Jackson usually only cries to have three basic needs met - when he's hungry, when he's sleepy, and when he's tired with his current environment. And the signs are usually fairly clear which of the three events must be occurring.

But something interesting happened last week. My family was visiting. My dad had Jackson on his lap and they were watching my brother and sister-in-law's dogs run around. My dad sat Jackson back on the couch and he started crying. We couldn't figure out what happened until my dad lifted him up...in sight of the dogs again. We experimented a bit, and sure enough, every time the dogs were out of sight, Jackson cried. When they were in view he was happy again. It was a sobering moment. The little boyboy is beginning to express more than just his needs. He's actually expressing his wants. And that's not the end of it. After 2 months of pretty easy bedtimes, he's taken to crying at the top of his lungs when we put him down in his crib.

Wants to look at the dogs. Doesn't want to go to bed. Wants to be held. Doesn't want to sit in his carseat. Suddenly parenting is getting difficult. Now we have to discern what it is that he wants and decide if he really needs it. I'm realizing what a fine line this is. After all, I want him to feel significant in our eyes, but not as if he's the center of the universe. At the same time I know I am wiser than he is at this point in time and I need to help him learn to make good choices. But I also need to learn to choose my battles so that I don't crush him when it would be no big deal to acquiesce to his wants. Oh boy. Just when you think you're getting the hang of parenting they go and mature a bit more on you, changing the whole dynamic.

Clarice

Bathtime for Jackson

A vignette captured by Grandpa Law, with special appearances by Grandma Law and Uncle Randy

Empty Nest

Last weekend I went to a party where the infant set swarmed. At one point, there were 3 nursing babies on the sofa. I would have been there with them too, if Jackson weren't at home being cared for by his Uncle Bob and Auntie Melanie. And the day before, I saw 3 friends who are all due in the next 3 weeks. The week before, a couple I've mentored for years had a baby and two weeks prior Ian's best friend and his wife (the friend's wife, not Ian's wife) also had a baby. Babies all around. Pregnancies abound. All this activity has made me feel rather nostalgic. I'm suffering from a variation of empty nest syndrome.

It's kind of funny. When I was pregnant, most of the time I couldn't wait for Jackson to come out. Part of it was exasperation at the discomfort of the pregnant condition. In my third trimester, one of the women I work with would regularly ask me how I was feeling. I'd usually complain about the weight gain, the annoyance of Jackson's hiccups 5-6 times a day (and late at night), and the discomfort of his favorite position, with his foot shoved up against my last rib. And she would always beam and say, "Don't you love it? Isn't it all so dear?" Well, no, I thought. It was uncomfortable. And I wanted to know what he would be like. I was eagerly anticipating the opportunity to find out what he would be like.

But now my pregnancy is over. So I've been reminiscing with these new and expectant moms about the last and first few weeks of pregnancy. And I've realized that there are times when I miss aspects of being pregnant. Now that it's over, I realized that it was dear to enfold his entire being within mine, right next to my heart (literally). I remember watching him when he was first born and realizing that the cute little head tilt he would do when crying was the same head tilt that applied enough pressure to my bladder to make me go running. The little kick that he made against my bottom right rib is the same kick that he now uses to rock himself in his carseat. Now, as he was in utero, he's a mostly mellow kid, who only gets really fussy when he's hungry or sleepy. I'm realizing that he was giving me hints about his personality even before exiting that world for this one. And I marvel that there are people who are confident that life begins at birth rather than in utero. I marvel that he's the same person he was before he was born. I do miss the breathless anticipation of waiting to see how those in utero hints about personality will bear forth. But I am so thankful that I have the rest of my life to watch how what I see now, ex utero, blooms as he grows to manhood.

Clarice

Jackson Pollack

Today Jackson explored painting by using his body. He was moving his arms up and down.

That's the note that was on today's pink sheet, our daily report of Jackson's activities. And this is the picture we were given.


I went to pick up Jackson for the first time on Tuesday. His teacher sat down with me to report on his day. "We finger painted today," she said. I had to stifle a laugh. I mean...really! He's not even 6 months old. What's he going to paint? She continued on. "Here are some pictures." Then I laughed out loud. This time because it was so darn cute. But now that I'm looking at his works, perhaps I laughed too soon. His style is somewhat reminiscent of Jackson Pollack's. Not so angst-ridden, but look at how he chooses to blend his colors. I think we have a budding artiste here.


Clarice

Washing dishes...

...before Jackson


...and after Jackson.


'Nuff said.

Immunity

Jackson got sick last week after his 3rd day at day-care, we think. He got a mild fever which kept him up Monday night. Then he was congested and couldn't breathe Tuesday night. Then he just didn't want to sleep Wednesday night. He finally slept through the night like usual Thursday night. Not so bad for a first illness...

When we interviewed for the day-care, we were warned that Jackson would get sick in the first two weeks, but that by the time he left day-care in a few years, he would be so much stronger. The children experiment with new toys, then share them and diseases are transmitted. But that's okay, because it makes their immune systems stronger than children who are not in group settings.

So they say.

So why is it that I just got Jackson's illness? I'm 35 years old! I've been working on my immune system in group settings a whole lot longer than Jackson's five months and I'm not stronger!

It's all a big lie.

I think I'm going to be getting sick a whole lot now and I'm very disappointed in my immune system. Come to think of it, though, I never went to day-care myself, unless you count the nursery at church. Maybe he will be stronger.

-Ian

Second Day of School

So this is how Jackson was dressed for his second day of school today.


For his second day of mingling with the children of UCLA's finest young professors, my son was dressed in what's pretty much considered the baby version of a wife beater. When I came home from work today, I was rather puzzled to find him wearing this particular outfit. After all, I had pulled that "emergency onesie" out of our diaper bag late last night at a car dealership (story to come later) because Jackson released his version of yogurt all over the front of his cute "first day of school outfit." Surely Ian didn't forget to find another special outfit for his second day of school. When I diplomatically said to Ian, "You let him go to school dressed in that!!!" He just shrugged and said "It was clean." Sigh. I guess moms and dads have different perspectives on school wardrobes. Then again, Ian was the kid wearing plaid pants with striped shirts to school when everyone else had jeans and white sneakers. Fortunately, Jackson wasn't snubbed for his fashion choices. Here he is making a move on one of the two girls in his class. Go, baby!!


Clarice

First Day of School

Yesterday was Jackson's first day at day care. We were so blessed to have been offered a position at one of UCLA's day care centers. We had heard it was very difficult to get a position. One of my colleagues who put her daughter on the waiting list when she was just a few months pregnant is still waiting. Her daughter is almost 2 now and she's expecting her second child. We were starting to think that one of us would have to stay home with Jackson. So we were very surprised to be offered a position just one month earlier than Ian was planning on going back to work. When I tell my colleagues that Jackson got in, they all ask who I paid off to get in. Didn't do any such thing. We just kept praying for some kind of solution for the problem of two working parents. Who knows what went on in the "boardroom" to make this possible. I did hear that they work hard at creating diversity and that they try hard to represent the whole campus. I guess we were just the right people at the right time.

We have mixed feelings about the whole thing. On the one hand, we'd both like to just hang out at home with him all day long. But someone has to make it possible for us to live. And neither of us has a strong sense that we need to leave the opportunities we have in our work. On the other hand, he's in a good place with a great reputation. This also means he's in the pipeline for UCLA preschool and possibly the elementary school. And Ian and I always wanted for him to be used to being around a lot of people so that he could get accustomed to developing relationships with others.

So Ian took him in yesterday for his transition period. My mom was so cute about it. She went "back to school" shopping and bought a few cute outfits for him. After all, she said, it was his first day of "school." I had to laugh a the idea of the little boyboy going to "school." It's just day care after all. And he's only 5 months old. But the folks at the center take it pretty seriously. There are 3 full-time teachers for the 10 kids. And the truth is, he's not just there biding time waiting for us to come get him for the few hours before he goes to bed. He is in a period of exploration and discovery.

When I started thinking about it from that perspective, I started realizing what we were getting into with education. Really, his monthly tuition is what I paid for a year at UC Irvine. Of course, my college days were way back in the last millenium. They've raised tuition significantly since then. It's still quite an expensive monthly bill we're facing. The Center doesn't like us to think that. They have a motto: Early education isn't expensive. It's priceless. So this is the path we're starting him on. Ugh! On the academic track at 5 months! Although I don't intend to abdicate responsibility for his future success to others, I certainly want to see him in environments that can position him to be equipped to pursue with passion a future that will maximize his talents. So I look forward to seeing how he grows as this day care center partners with us in educating our little man.

Clarice

Jackson can sit!

Well, actually, we have to prop him on his arms and he usually falls over after about 5 seconds. But ain't he cute?


Clarice

Conflicted about the conflict

Probably won't be written with much flair. I just need to throw this out to the blogosphere for input. I feel a bit conflicted about this Middle East conflict. I was recently invited to go to Damascus, Syria. The Syrian Society of Pediatric Dentists wants me to give a few lectures. They haven't specified what they want me to talk about, but I'm not going to worry about whether or not I can pull it off because they offered to pay my airfare and house me. Ian and I were so excited. I mean, how often do you get the chance to go to the city Saul/Paul was traveling to when he encountered Jesus? On someone else's dime?

Up until a week ago, the only conflict was how well Jackson would take to a >25 hour flight. But my parents solved that by offering to watch Jackson for us so we wouldn't have to worry. But now there's more to ponder. It's obviously not the safest place to be. I read that Israeli planes were buzzing over the President/Prime Minister's house a couple of weeks ago. Now there's the word that folks suspect that Syria's a serious backer or Hezbollah. So what to do? I'd almost like to withdraw in a show of support for Israel. I understand that God's got a tender spot for that people group. And I definitely want to support the one valid democracy in the Middle East. And now that I have a little kid to care for, I don't want to take any more risks than I have to. But, man, the chance to travel to that region of the world. And to bring the presence of God, which lives within me, to this area which very much needs His truth... What to do?

Clarice

Being vs. Doing

When I observe Jackson, he doesn’t do anything. Yet. He just is.

Jackson likes to wake up and stare, coo and suck his thumb. He loves smiling at people and studying faces. Later in the day he giggles at himself in the mirror, shadow boxes his piano, shrieks and squawks in joy and boredom, lifts his legs, lowers them, etc. At the end of each waking period, he slows down, puts on his “duh” face and drools. He isn’t productive. He isn’t efficient. He doesn’t appear to be making the most of the day that God has made, like we adults strive for. He is just a little being who simply enjoys “being.”

Me, on the other hand, can’t stand just "being" for too long. Life is too short. I’ve got bills to pay, dreams to fulfill. There are a few times when I can veg out. When I’ve worked several weeks on a project at breakneck pace, I have a hard time relaxing. I’m still in "do" mode for a few days. Unless I’m burnt out and then I may lounge for a week. But before long, I’m back on task again. I think God calls me to be productive and proactive, wise with the use of my time.

But God also calls us to "be" and stop trying so hard to do our own thing. That’s why the Beattitudes in Matthew 5 and Luke 6 are not the do-attitudes. That’s why Jesus chided Martha who complained of having to work while her sister Mary sat at Jesus’ feet. Mary was a doer, but Jesus said it was better for Martha to spend time with him. That’s also why He said we should become like little children. We are called to be people of character and to enjoy our God.

Guys actually have the ability to “be” in a way that is special to guys - and gals seem to have trouble comprehending this ability. As Dana Evans confirmed on Sunday in the food court, guys actually have the ability to think about nothing. When I was dating Clarice, she once asked me what I was thinking about. I must have had a blank “duh” stare on my face, although I prefer to think of it as a pleasant, contemplative complexion. I actually was thinking about nothing, but “nothing” is an unacceptable response and she must have thought I had something to hide. This is one of those arguments that you can never win because if you plead your case too hard that you were actually thinking of nothing at all for a moment, just vegging out in a relaxive state, then it has negative character and mental health connotations. I suppose even simply thinking of “nothing” has mental health connotations. When Dana mentioned that the ability guys have to think about nothing is the last thing in the world that makes sense to a woman, I felt vindicated. Perhaps this is our way of “being” in a world full of “doing.” Perhaps it’s a guy thing and gals wouldn’t understand.

Apparently, it’s also a baby thing. At least a baby-boy thing. I’m just glad to know that Jackson is like his father. And I'm grateful I don't drool like my son. At the end of a long, fulfilling day of doing, we can just “be” for a moment.

Sending off LenaKim

My former roommate, LenaKim, got married a few weeks ago. It was such a lovely celebration. She cried during the vows, which made me a bit misty. Neither of us really like to cry in public. So now she's LenaKim Robinson. I can't wait to find out how she settles into married life. See, I've lived in 16 different housing arrangements since graduating from high school. Two of those were life changing. Of the 6 other women who shared those times with me, I'm the first to get married. And now Lena. I believe that living the way I did in those two households prepared me for marriage. Now I get to find out how it prepared Lena.

These are the women of my two households on the day I was sent off into the wild world of marriage.


Don't they just radiate peace and joy? The two on the bottom right are Hannah and Julie. I only lived with them for six months, but it was such an amazing time. We met when our church decided to start a summer day camp for the middle school kids in Boston's Chinatown. The summer impacted us so much we decided to move into Chinatown. We thought we could have a bigger impact on the lives of these urban kids if we lived where they did instead of commuting in from the more comfortable areas of the city. We also thought that if we wanted kids to know that God loved them, we should be demonstrating that same love. So an "open door" policy evolved. Kids would just come over after school to hang out... and eat ice cream. And now, eleven years later, when I go back to visit my old church in Boston, I'm known as one of the first residents of 5B. And the response is the same..."ahhhh, yes, 5B (nod of approval)." Hannah still lives there, continuing to serve the kids of Chinatown, and Julie has moved to Thailand to serve the people there. Beyond demonstrating love by creating an inviting home, I experienced love from the other two in the form of generosity. Hannah and Julie believed in my place in that household so strongly that they paid my rent one month when I couldn't afford it and for repayment only asked that I pass on the blessing. They also paid for me to join them for a roommates trip down to Florida over Spring Break. I aspire to embrace that kind of generosity for my life and my marriage.

The other 4 women who stood beside me for my wedding are from my days in the House on 6th. Clee, M, LenaKim, and Cal. I lived there for nearly 4 years. The idea for this household started toward the end of a 2-year period of living alone. I was starting to understand the importance of having a community of people to serve and serve with. I was inspired by how the people of the early church lived and wanted to see if it was possible to live like that today. It turned out that the other "original gangsters" were on the same page. We set out to create a household where we could demonstrate the kind of love that would draw others - where people could feel a sense of community. There was a period of time when we had people over every Sunday to play Settlers of Catan or watch Alias. We had two small groups meeting weekly and one large party per month. It was crazy, but it was such a blessed time of loving people and being loved in return. We also had a few mantras to remind us to take on a mentality of servanthood. "Sacrifice is the context for miracle." That's something our pastor always says. If we want to see miracles, we have to be willing to make sacrifices. "Everyone should try to outserve the other." We didn't have chores. Instead, our goal was to outserve everyone else. It was a win-win situation. Either someone outserved me, and whatever had to be done to maintain the home was done, or I outserved someone else, in which case, I "won" the goal of outserving. We also had an unspoken agreement to right wrongs. Not just to clear the air from conflict, but also that both the "offended" and the "offender" would have opportunities to grow in character. I aspire to expand that kind of servanthood and sacrifice in my life and my marriage.

So now when I go to weddings, I remember my own marriage vows and the women who were a part of preparing me to make those promises. I am thankful to my sisters and I pray that my part in these amazing households could be a part of preparing them for the same lifelong commitment. And I pray for LenaKim Robinson in this amazing time in her life.

Clarice

More pictures of the wedding here

Explosive 4th of July

Ian and I took Jackson to Orlando, FL over the long 4th of July weekend. As we were planning the trip, people kept asking us if we would be taking him to Disney World or Universal. We didn't expect to do any of those things. In fact, we figured we'd probably just hang out at home. We were celebrating Independence Day with an Eyre clan gathering. Ian's brother and his family live in Orlando. His sister and parents live in Atlanta. We all met up in Orlando so the 3 generations could spend time together. Until Independence Day, the most exciting thing we did (besides stay up until midnight playing Settlers of Catan) was go visit the Visitor's Center at Roy's workplace, Wycliffe Bible Translators. It really was exciting hearing about their dreams to make sure that every people group who needed it would have a translation of the Bible in their heart language.

But on Independence Day, we got to see something semi-historical. We saw the launch of the space shuttle, Discovery.


And it's probably a good thing that we didn't plan to take Jackson anywhere touristy that would have cost a lot of money. Here's his reaction to the history going on behind him.



In the evening, we celebrated with fireworks. Legal ones, of course.




Altogether a wonderful celebration of family and country.

Clarice

Announcing EyreFilms

Ian bought a .mac account last week. We've been having some fun pretending to be web designers. I've decided that I'll keep my day job. Not much there now, but we hope to add more as time goes by. Ian has one of his short films there as well as his stunt reel. We also have a link there to our family site, where we have a little music video I made from Jackson's first 7 weeks of life. Just click the title bar above to get there. It's at http://web.mac.com/eyrefilms. Enjoy!

Clarice

VERY advanced

I think our baby is learning how to whistle...

How are YOU?

I overheard an interesting exchange yesterday when I was paying for purchases at the student store. It went like this:

Cashier - "Hey! How are you doing? What's new with you?"
Customer (whom she obviously knew) - "Oh, not much. How about yourself?"
Cashier - "Oh, I'm fine. And you?"
Customer - "Great. How are you doing?"
Cashier - "Uh...that'll be $6.98. Do you need a bag for that?"

I started laughing a bit. I wondered if they realized that they had each asked the other how they were doing twice and answered the other about how they were doing twice. And I realized that I do the same thing myself. How often do I ask someone how they're doing without listening to (...or maybe even caring) about the response? And how often do I just toss out "fine" as a response without really thinking about if I'm really fine at that moment? I think I want to make it a goal to listen to the answers of others when I ask how they're doing and answer honestly when asked. So test me out next time I see you.

Clarice

Fun with cherries

The other day I was driving home and I stopped next to one of the folks you see in the medians of the roads selling fruit. It was a particularly hot day. She was looking forlorn, and I was craving fruit, so I bought a bag of cherries. It turned out to be a rather unique bag of cherries. There were at least a dozen "special ones" in the bag. Makes you wonder what kind of chemicals the cherries got. We ended up turning it into a Rorshach test of sorts. It was more fun than looking for shapes in the clouds.


We thought the upper left one looked like a cherry with a cucumber...or perhaps a person with a nose like a muppet. The upper middle one looked like it had a jalapeno pepper attached. We also thought the whole thing looked like a bird of some sort. The upper right one was a cherry with a heart on the outside. The lower left was just siamese twin cherries...or a butt. And then there was the one on the lower right.... What do you see?

Clarice

Growing up

Jackson slept through the night last night. Actually, that makes it 4 nights in a row. We put him in his crib between 8:30 and 9:00 PM, turned off the light, and walked away. No crying, no fussing. Just the sound of a thumb being sucked, followed by silent slumber until 7:00 AM, when he woke us up with his morning call and morning smile. I was ecstatic at first. Thank you Babywise!! Continous sleep!!! But now I'm a little sad. Feeding time was my special time with him. And it used to happen 7-9 times a day. Don't get me wrong. I'm not asking for middle of the night awakenings any more, but now he's down to 4-5 feedings. And because I'm back at work now, more than half of those feedings are with a bottle...with Ian. Meanwhile, I feed "the pump." I think I'm also sad because I'm struck with the reality that my baby's growing up. Next thing you know, I'll be doing the mother-son dance with him at his wedding. He's only 3.5 months old and he's already outgrown some of his endearing newborn behaviors. No more mildly squeaking monkey. Now he's a screaming banshee. No more endearingly dependent floppy head. Now he's a bobble head. No more burrowing into our necks to sleep. Now he wants to crane his head around to look at everything. No more pacifier checks every 5 minutes. Now he finds his own thumb. No more startling assplosions to let us know when to change his diaper. Now he stealthily unloads his bowels right before we enter public places, or worse...closed quarters. Everyone talks about how fast they grow up. I just didn't expect to be agreeing with the fact so soon.

Clarice

Jealous Cousin

Jackson met his "cousins" Peanut and Olivia for the first time a few weeks ago. Peanut and Olivia are my brother Randy and sister-in-law Amy's chihuahuas. It was such a fun thing to witness. Jackson has been demonstrating an interest in seeing new things. I don't know what he thought of the dogs, but he kept staring at them.



I think they were rather intrigued with him also. Peanut's always mellow, so he plopped down next to Jackson. Olivia's more hyper, but she paused for a few minutes in her usual romping around to stare at him for a spell.

Peanut and Olivia came back to visit again last week. We couldn't wait to see how Jackson would react again. Turns out Olivia's reaction was more interesting. You see, Olivia's always been a significant center of attention. Randy adopted Peanut from Amy's parents when he was already 9 or 10 years old and slowing down a bit. But Olivia was born into the family and has always been such a comic figure that we've enjoyed countless hours petting her and vying for her attention.

Then came Jackson... The first human grandchild. On this visit last week, Olivia pranced in as she always does, running around in circles, greeting everyone. But not long into the visit, she ran to Amy and hid her face in Amy's neck. Every time we brought Jackson around to get a better view of her, she turned away, refusing to make eye contact with him. Apparently she pouts like this whenever she's not the center of attention. Who knew dogs were like this too. Well at least we've had a preview of sibling rivalry.

Clarice

Spring Onion Squash

I had a really weird dream the other day. I usually don't remember dreams, but this one stayed in my memory after I woke up. The dream started with me somehow being in charge of a bunch of prisoners. Apparently they were low risk prisoners, because the prison looked like a barn, with each inmate housed in a stall in the barn. They were all dressed in street clothes instead of prison garb, so don't ask me how I knew they were prisoners. Then for some reason, I took off all my jewelry and left it on the windowsill of one of the stall/cells because I had to go hang out with the actress Clare Danes, who was working at some kind of cosmetics store. Huh? After hanging out with her, I went back to the barn/prison to check on the inmates and I realized that although my necklace and watch were still there, my engagement and wedding rings were missing. So I yelled at all of the inmates and threatened to feed them food that would make them gassy as punishment (perhaps my subconscious mind sympathizing with my poor little boy boy, who screams as if tortured when he has gas). After interrogating each prisoner, I find my rings, which have simply dropped out of sight near where I originally left them. Then at the end of my shift, I go home and find Ian feeding Jackson his first meal of baby food. I'm a little peeved in my dream, because Jackson is 3 months old and I've read that most parents wait until their babies are 6 months old before starting with semi-solid food. Then I ask Ian what kind of baby food he's feeding the baby. He says that it's spring onion squash. First of all, what is spring onion squash? Does it even exist? Second, who would put onions in baby food? And third, why in the world would I actually remember that? So that's my weird dream. Any dream interpreters out there who can tell me what kind of madness my sleeping mind has cooked up?

Clarice

Grandfathers

Jackson has 4 living grandparents and 1 great-grandmother. We've been trying to figure out what he should call them. We're still trying to figure out the grandmothers, but I think we have some good ideas for the grandfathers.

Ian's dad, John, is from England. Apparently, the preferred name among the Brits is Granda. That didn't stick so well with his 2 other grandsons (who can talk). I started calling him Papa John when Ian and I got married. I think Papa John will stick for Jackson as well.

My dad, Timothy, is from Hong Kong. In Cantonese, the maternal grandfather is called gung-gung (as opposed to yeh-yeh for the paternal grandfather). It works sometimes. But since my father has been so very, very, very active in capturing Jackson's every move in digital form, we think maybe we'll have Jackson call him Papa Razzi.

Clarice

Vegas with infant

Just got back from a 5-day trip to Las Vegas. It was for business, not pleasure. I went to attend an Orthodontist's convention. Since Ian could only come for the weekend, my parents joined me to share in the care of Jackson while I was in lectures. Going to Vegas was a rude awakening for me. I really, truly realized that I'm not single anymore.

I know it may seem a bit belated that this past weekend was when the alarming reality hit the hardest. Yes, I've been married 15 months now. But the first few months were the honeymoon period, the next few were dealing with the shock of getting pregnant, and the rest of the time was focused on preparing for Jackson's arrival and tying up loose ends with work so that both of us could make time to be at home with him. Neither of us really made major changes in how we lived our lives with so many other things to distract us. We were like two single people living together. And, yes, I've been a parent for nearly 3 months now. But since I'm on maternity leave, I haven't yet re-entered the world I'm familiar with. It's like I'm in vacation mode without it being a vacation. Having Jackson to care for is a pleasant, but surreal existence right now.

Going to Las Vegas reminded me that I'm not single anymore. I've been there many times since coming of age. It's familiar, with activities and a lifestyle that seems distinctly associated with my single life in my mind. In Vegas, you can stay up all night, lounge around the pool, and sleep until the sun goes down again. There's the surfeit of buffets to indulge in (and I like eating), a wide range of shows for entertainment, and bright lights and loud sounds to engage the senses. In Vegas, alcohol flows freely and clouds of smoke pervade the environment. And of course there's the allure of gambling (I'm a sucker for video poker and craps). And I missed just about all of it. One buffet and one show in 4 days. I don't really count the 9 hours of orthodontic lectures I attended among the fun things. My friends invited me out, Ian had some ideas for a date night (which we did), and even my parents made some suggestions that I enjoy myself. But there was someone I was with who needed me every 3-4 hours for nourishment and needed a nap at just the right time and wasn't allowed in the casinos and got fussy when out too long and was at a developmental stage where he couldn't take all the smoke and noise and needed diaper changes every so often and... who I love. So this time I didn't experience Las Vegas as I have in the past. Don't get me wrong. I don't actually need to do all that happens in Vegas. And most of the time, I don't even like to do all that happens in Vegas. But I think I like having the freedom to choose to do some of what happens in Vegas. And that came and went with my single life. Because now I have not just one, but two other people I have committed to serve.

So for just a moment while holed up in a timeshare in Vegas, I mourned the loss of the freedom that came with my single life. But then I thought about the way Ian greets me when I come home, the way he offers to do the things I don't like to do (like going grocery shopping and taking out the trash and lifting heavy things), the way he warms up my side of the bed for me when it's cold, the way he laughs at my dumb jokes, the way he doesn't get mad at me when I get mad at him. And then I thought about the way Jackson stretches when he wakes up, the way he looks at me out of the corner of his eyes when I bend over his crib because his head's too big to hold in any position but off to the side, the way the top of his head smells, the way he hyperventilates and windmills his arms in excitement when he realizes that I have a load of milk to feed him, the way he coos and smiles in response to my smile. And it is all so worth losing the life I had before.

Clarice

Cutest baby in the world

Yep, another Jackson post. We just can't help ourselves. Could you resist with such a blessing?

I was recently reminded by my friend Amy about a conversation we had about 5 years ago, when her first child, Zane, was born. I was admiring him (I think), when she gushingly proclaimed, "Isn't he the cutest baby in the world?" I was a bit flummoxed regarding a correct response, as I recall. I did indeed think he was a very cute baby, but I wasn't sure if I could confidently agree that he was the cutest baby in the world. After all, I hadn't actually seen all the babies in the world to know if it was true. If I said yes, I would be lying (because I'm certain that among all of the kids who were babies at the time, there would have been at least one to rival Zane's cuteness). If I said no, she might take it the wrong way and think that I thought Zane wasn't cute (which wasn't the case). Apparently I replied, "I'm sure that all parents think their babies are the cutest in the world." When I look at that response in text, I can see how it might have seemed cruel or sarcastic. Pretty dumb response at any rate. But Amy reassures me that I said it in the most diplomatic of ways. I'm certain that I must have meant it in a way that confirmed Zane's cuteness.

Well Jackson and I took a trip to the Grove on Saturday. We were on a mission. We had exactly 72 minutes to buy birthday presents for his Grandma and his Auntie Cal and get back home before he would have a hunger meltdown. But all these people kept hindering our mission because they wanted to coo at him and tell me how cute he was. I was happy to agree (in spite of our rush), because Ian and I happen to think he's quite cute. In fact, we make sure we declare it to each other at least a few times a day just in case the other forgets this fact. Back to the Grove... After the 894th person (perhaps an exaggeration) stopped us to comment on his cuteness, I thought to myself, "Do all babies get this kind of response? Could I possibly have the cutest baby in the world?" Then I was horrified. My fear was only partly because I had joined the ranks of those parents who think their babies are the cutest in the world (which would actually put me in pretty good company). Actually, I was quite fearful about the idea of actually having the cutest baby in the world. Well... not really (because I'm sure there's at least one other baby who may be cuter), but I was a bit dismayed about the idea of possibly seeing my cute little boy turn into a knockout of a man.

It probably sounds ridiculous that the idea that this child might grow up to be attractive puts me in a pensive mood. It's just that I've been thinking about what kind of values I want to instill in my son. I really want him to be concerned above all else about the content of his soul. I want him to pursue the character of Jesus. But living in Los Angeles is so counter to this idea at times. There are beautiful people all over the place who place such high value on being beautiful. And people seem to treat the attractive differently. I sometimes wonder if growing up with the kind of special treatment afforded to those with outer beauty does something to the mind. Neither Ian nor I had this problem. I was rather average looking as a baby, gawky as a child, and surly as a tweener. Not much on the outside to draw positive attention. Ian was a cute baby and child, but had dreadful fashion sense to tone down his cuteness. Adolescence was an entirely different story for him. Let's just say I'm glad I met him when he was done with puberty. But neither of us really had to deal with people responding positively to us based only on our external appearance. We basically had to merit any good will. So I'm spending a few minutes thinking about this for our son. How can I teach him to value internal beauty over external beauty? Well, I guess I have a few years before I have to worry about this. Or...he may lose his cuteness and I won't have to worry about it at all. In the meantime, I'm sure I'll think of other weird things to obsess about regarding his future.

Clarice

Happy Birthday, Little Man!

Monday was Jackson's 2 month birthday. I don't usually celebrate such landmarks. In fact, I sometimes forget the yearly birthdays of family members, let alone friends. But Monday was one remarkable day.

It started with a visit to the pediatrician. Jackson's gone from his birth weight of 6 lb, 4 oz to 10 lb, 8 oz. That takes him from the 10th percentile to the 25th. We have a good eater. His "height" (if you still call it that while they're still vertical) went from 18.5" to 22". He's stayed in the 10th percentile, but the pediatrician said she's not worried about his height considering his parental height. And she was impressed with his developmental landmarks. He can hold his head up quite well and has turned over from belly to back 5 times. We swear the little sounds that come out when he smiles are signs of laughter. Ian and I are convinced that he is (in the words of the proud mama of Zane and Audrey) quite "advanced."

After the pediatrician, Jackson and I went to visit our friend McCall, who is expecting one of Jackson's future girlfriends any day now. It was fun to compare pregnancy notes and to hear that baby Harper does a lot of the same things Jackson did when he was in my womb. I'll have to blog about that some other time.

Then that evening, Jackson slept from midnight to 7:00 AM. That means Ian got 7 hours of sleep. Me, I woke up at 5:00 AM expecting to feed him. Instead I was elated that he didn't need to be fed, and bummed that I had wasted a possible 7 hour stretch of sleep by getting up. FYI, I think he was teasing us that night. He's since gone back to waking up at 4:00 AM and resisting going back to sleep.

Overall, I'm absolutely amazed at how fast babies develop. Just over 2 months ago, he existed in a waterly world, with an umbilical lifeline to feed him 24/7. Now he knows when he's hungry and knows how to alert us of the fact. He can interact with us after living almost 5 times as long quite happily in isolation. Since he's no longer the eating, sleeping, pooping creature that he was when he was first born, I am amazed at how he's becoming a little person. And I am amazed at the signs he demonstrates of what kind of person he will be. It's utterly fascinating to me that this little person came from one cell that I contributed and one cell that Ian contributed. All testifying to the amazing abilities of the Creator!

Clarice

I'm Popeye

Just like his Eyre cousins, Jackson has a blocked tear duct, resulting in the worst eye poop imaginable. We have to clean his eyes every couple of hours. He also has long eyelashes, which trap the eye poop and paste his poor little eye shut. But it sure has a cute result, doesn't it?


Clarice

First Pair of Pants

Jackson's outgrowing his newborn sleepers. So we washed some of the pants we had received at his baby shower (thanks, Aunt Sharon and Aunt Helen and anyone else I may have forgotten!!). Apparently, there are waistline issues when you have to pull pants over diapers. We thought this was rather entertaining. He looks like a little old man with his bald head and his pants pulled up so high.


Clarice

Easter Thoughts

I was reading Hebrews chapter 12 yesterday and stopped to consider verse 4, "You have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood in your striving against sin" (NASB). Have I ever struggled so hard to defeat sin in my life that I bled? Not even close! In fact, I can’t imagine that it would be possible for me to stress that much, although it is medically possible to sweat blood under extreme circumstances. Did the author of Hebrews have first hand knowledge of striving against sin to the point of bleeding? What could this mean?

Then I remembered a passage where Jesus bled. I re-read Luke 22:39-46, where Jesus prayed before His crucifixion, asking God to “remove this cup from Me; yet not My will, but Thine be done” (verse 42). Verse 44 says; "And being in agony He was praying very fervently; and His sweat became like drops of blood, falling down to the ground." I always thought Jesus sweated blood because He was not looking forward to receiving God’s wrath for my sin and all the sins of all the people of the world. That, to me, was a stressful enough circumstance for a person to sweat blood and I’m sure that was part of it. But, the context of the passage is Jesus warning His disciples to pray against temptation. Reminds me of 1 Corinthians 10:13, “No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, that you may be able to endure it.”

The connection I made between Hebrews 12:2 and Luke 22:44 is that Jesus was also praying against His own temptation. The temptation to quit the calling the Father had given Him - to suffer and die for us that we might have access to His righteousness and therefore His heaven, among many other blessings. In verse 43 an angel strengthens Him. He could have asked God to send angels to save him from the coming death, but this would have been sin to Him – disobeying His Father. Out of his love for us He strove against this sin to the point of shedding blood. What greater temptation than to skip out on experiencing the wrath of God for the sins of the world, but He resisted for our sake! Fortunately, we don’t have to deal with the temptation that Jesus faced – we would not be able to endure it.

Jesus took God’s justice on Himself out of mercy for us (Isaiah 53:6). Amazing Love!

Ian

Thank you, Paloma Race!!

I forgot to blog about our adventure last weekend. I had read on my friend Amy's Xanga blog that there was a drive-in theater in Los Angeles that played first run movies. Last weekend, I was quite stir-crazy. After a lifetime occupied by school and work and ten years engaged in the incredibly dynamic community of people at Mosaic, I've been feeling housebound since my maternity leave began. Sure, I've been to work a few times to catch up on some can't-miss meetings, to church, and to people's homes. But we hadn't really done anything date-like since before the baby was born. OK, we did go to the movies one time while Ian's parents were here, but since the live-in grandparental assistance has left and we've been on our own as parents, we haven't done anything fun together.

So last weekend, we packed up the baby, popped some corn, threw a 2-liter bottle of Coke in the car and headed to the City of Industry. We picked up some burgers and parked the car to watch "Inside Man."

OK, so it wasn't a picture perfect date. Jackson got fussy partway through the movie and earned himself a "snack" to quiet him so we could hear the dialogue. Then he leaked through his diaper onto Ian's sweater and earned a messy diaper change in the driver's seat of our cramped Beetle. But it was sooooooo nice to be doing things that people do when they're not in the fog of caring for a newborn. And going to the drive-in was rather nostalgic. Last time I did that, I was in the back seat of my parents' Lincoln Continental with my brother, both of us wearing footies pajamas, watching a Bruce Lee movie. I think we'll be going back to the drive-in again. I highly recommend the experience. Only $7 per person for a double-feature. Can't beat that!!! You can even bring your own food without the shame of having to sneak it in inside a large purse.

Vineland Drive-in
626-961-9262
443 North Vineland Avenue
City of Industry, California

Classic Drive-in that was expanded to 4 screens,
with an overall capacity for over 1500 cars, which
still draws fantastic crowds on most weekends,
as the Los Angeles area's nearest operating Drive-in.
Open year-round, with 4 sets of double features,
and audio provided by FM stereo radio broadcast.
Admission: $7.00 (ages 12&UP); ages 11&under free.

Clarice

"Is he adopted?"

Some of my friends and family have been teasing me about my "little white kid."


I will admit that Jackson looks more like Ian than he does me, with the light hair and blue eyes.


Here's the infant evidence.


I don't mind the joking at all. I mean...he does look like a white kid. To me he doesn't have strong Chinese features. But last Sunday, I got thrown for a loop. Ian was sick so Jackson and I went to church without him. We were sitting out in the courtyard after service enjoying the sun and conversations with people I had never met before who suddenly got friendly when they saw my little cutie. Sandra was holding Jackson...Sandra, my fair-haired, fair-skinned friend...when a woman came by to look at Jackson. She said he was cute, then asked Sandra if he was her first. She looked aghast for a moment, then pointed her thumb in my direction. I replied for her that Jackson was my first. The woman looked at me for a moment, then asked, "Is he adopted?" I wasn't sure exactly what she was thinking. I saw her scan my face and my belly, so I quickly replied, "Yeah, he got all my husband's genes, then sucked all the extra weight off me." I'm guessing she either thought he was too fair to be mine or I was too skinny to have given birth 5 weeks prior. I really don't know. For the record, I'm happy Jackson looks like Ian. A boy should look like his daddy. I'm just baffled that the laws of genetics didn't play out. Oh, well. I guess things don't always go the way they teach it to you in science classes.

Clarice

Our son, the lima bean

Silent for over a week. Wasn't sure quite how to top Ian's last post. Can't top it. Happy not to try to top it. Elated that my husband has committed to fathering in such a way. Makes mothering much easier. So how about something completely different...

Ian's been talking about how Jackson looks like a lima bean. I wasn't quite sure what he was talking about. Was he referring to color? To shape? To texture? Finally, he explained that there was a Veggie Tales movie about Jonah where the Ninevites, who were (apparently) fish-slappers (I don't know what that means), were portrayed by a special cast of lima beans. So here's the photographic evidence.




I'm somewhat convinced, although reluctantly. What do you think? Jackson the fish-slapping Ninevite lima bean?

Clarice (the lima bean's mama)

Dear Jackson

Dear Jackson,

My son, I am your father. I conceived you in love with your mom and I witnessed your growth in her tummy. You brought us so much joy then as you do now, kicking and squirming and hiccuping. When you decided to leave the warmth of your cocoon I caught your head and cradled you. I witnessed your first breath and scream and tremblingly handed you to your mom, the woman who so lovingly cared for you in her womb and brought you into this world with much strain and pain.

My son, I am your provider. I will sacrifice my own needs to meet yours. I provide you with my name, which is my reputation, and I pledge to live above reproach and continue to become conformed into the image of Jesus so that you will see God in our home and desire to be like Him, too. I will hold our family together by placing God at the head and loving and serving your mom that our marriage may be strong to support you. I will pass on the wisdom that my father gave me. I will lead our family to impact the world for Christ and I dream that you will one day become a spiritual leader for you own family so that every generation to follow will seek God’s Kingdom first over all.

My son, I am your protector. As an infant you are fragile and needy. One day I may be fragile and needy and I hope you will take care of me. I will protect you from harm and from the pressures of this world. I will teach you how to think and to digest everything that goes in your eyes and ears and filter out the lies of this world using the Truth of God’s Word. I will protect my marriage so that you will seek the same and will avoid the pain of unhealthy relationships.

My son, I am your priest. I will daily intercede for you to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. I pray for your relationships, your education, your future wife and children and your opportunities to serve others with good works to the glory of God. I will pray with you that you may learn how to talk with your Creator. I pray that you will fear the Lord your God at an early age and that, with childlike faith and the intellect God has given you, you will become confident in the truth of God’s Word and share it joyfully.

My son, I am your prophet. I will teach you the difference between right and wrong and how to live with a clean conscience. I will teach you the Scriptures that you may know God’s love letter to you and I will teach you how to hear the Spirit of the Lord when he speaks that you may follow Him all the days of your life.

My son, I am your professor. I will teach you the wonders of this marvelous world that we live in. I will teach you to work hard, to play hard, to honor the sanctity of sex, to seek purity and integrity and to lead a life of selflessness and generosity, that you will not hoard your blessings but share them. We will explore the universe together and discover the wonders of science and math and art together. My fridge will display all your creations. And you will teach me again and again, through the mind of a curious, innocent, imaginative and loving child, how marvelous is our God and the world He has created.

My son, I am your pal. There will be times when my job is that of a disciplining parent, but there will be times when we can be best friends. We will go camping together, I will be at many of your ball games and I will teach you to ride a motorcycle and fly an RC glider. I will treasure the memories of the times I spend with you that we may always share and remember the life God has given us together.

As God has adopted me into His family and loved me before I was capable of loving him, I too love you before you are able to love me. While I may disappoint God at times, although He chooses to only see the best of His Son Jesus in me, and I know that you will disappoint me at times, I choose to love you unconditionally for as long as I live. You are my family and I cannot stop loving you and seeking the best for you. You are my son!

Love, Dad