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