Another Idea

Virginia's new plan to become an only child again:
"Put Thomas away, back inside Mommy's tummy!"

No thanks.

Blue-eyed Boy

Be Jealous

Today we've had not one,

but TWO excavators digging up our courtyard.

Scout has been watching them from the comfort of her very own couch all morning. There's even a skid steer out of the frame.

This may be the happiest day of her life.

Distractions

I don't always get as much done as I'd like to these days. I don't even do a great job of taking pictures of my kids. This baby is just so easy to admire that I get busy enjoying him and forget to take out my camera. Today, I thought I'd let you share in the distraction.

We'll start with baby feet. Irresistible.



Then there are the friendly faces he puts on to let me know that it's really not time to sleep at all (these are particularly prevalent around 3:00 a.m.).

And even when he is asleep, there's plenty to love. He'll start to whine, so I pick him up to feed him and he cuddles right up and goes back to sleep. It's hard to want to disturb this.

Baby ear hair. At no other time in life is hair on the ears attractive, gotta live it up while he can.

Finally, there are the clothes. I know most people prefer dressing girls. However, I enjoy the color palette of boy clothes much more. Boys are especially fun when you find mint-condition baby sized penny loafers at the thrift store.

On the Proper Place for Siblings

Every time we drive past the hospital where Thomas was born, Virginia points it out as "where Thomas lives." I've tried to explain that he lives with us now. It hasn't quite sunk in.

I've always suspected that, while she does like Thomas, she wishes his parents would come pick him up so she can have her parents all to herself again. My suspicions were confirmed today.

Scout had an appointment at the Children's Hospital for a hearing test and I told her we'd be going to the hospital today. At first, she seemed to think she'd be getting yet another baby brother. She wasn't exactly thrilled. Nope, I cleared that one up fairly easily. After that, when I said we were going to the hospital, she would excitedly add, "with Thomas." I figured it was sweet that she wanted her little brother to come along. Not so. When it came time to put on her coat she informed me that we were on the way to the hospital to take Thomas back.

Sorry kiddo, not today.

Tummy Time

What's good for the goose is good for the gander, right?

Expressions

Surprised

Skeptical

Peaceful

Unimpressed

 Bored

Perturbed

Sick

I'm really not sure but it had to be documented.

Tired

Relaxed

Unexpected

Today we took Thomas to be fitted for hearing aids. They will be blue. Yes, hearing aids come in blue, and a variety of other fun colors, and you can put stickers on them. I went for blue for several reasons. As James pointed out, they will be easier to find if dropped. They might also help people resolve the ever-present "which gender is this infant?" dilemma. He may enjoy having something besides taupe. But, possibly most significantly, it's my way of embracing the situation. I don't want the hearing aids to feel like something to be ashamed of, something he should try to hide or something that makes him inferior. They may make him different, but don't we all have something unique? Mostly, I hope Thomas's hearing loss won't define him. It will be just one aspect of the many that will make up our wonderful boy. And yes, he is already wonderful, very very sweet and rather a good sleeper.

Thomas did not pass his newborn hearing screen. The nurses wouldn't say that he "failed," just that he "referred," meaning they referred us to the audiology department at the children's hospital for another test because, honestly, after nine months submerged in liquid, it's a miracle anyone comes out without fluid behind their eardrums. Thomas, however, did not have fluid in his inner ears. After a few trips to the hospital and several more hours of tests, we learned that he has a mild hearing loss. Although he can hear many things, particularly at close range, his hearing is such that he may have a speech impediment or learning delays without the help of a hearing aid. Of course we want our son to have as much opportunity for success as possible, so he is getting hearing aids.

People's response thus far has typically been to say "I'm sorry." I think that's a normal and fine response, but for some reason I bristle at it. I guess it's because I'm not sorry, mostly because I don't look at the situation that way. We already have one imperfect child (aren't they all?), so it's not too upsetting to get another. When I think about it I feel a little overwhelmed, a little scared, but primarily I feel profoundly grateful.

I'm grateful that we caught the impairment so early. I'm grateful for the technology that allows newborns' hearing to be tested so comprehensively. I'm grateful for the technology that will help him hear more like the average person. Twenty-five years ago, that technology wasn't available to all children. I am grateful that Thomas is in a home with parents who will do all we can to love him, get him the necessary help and do what is necessary to maximize on his ability to communicate. And, having spent several weeks not knowing the extent of his impairment and reading about cochlear implants, sign language, and severe hearing loss; I'm profoundly grateful that the impairment is only mild. When you've been worrying about severe, mild is a wonderful place to be. I am grateful for the profound sense of peace I feel about it all and that I know our little boy is going to be just fine.

Because we are at the beginning of what, I suspect, will be a very long journey, we were handed an extremely thick notebook of resources at our appointment today. It may weigh as much as Thomas. Nevertheless, I know we are in good hands because this is what we found in the front of the notebook. It expresses perfectly how I have felt.

Welcome to Holland

by Emily Perl Kingsley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever ,ever go away...because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But...if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things...about Holland.

Basil for Scout

You've read Blueberries for Sal? It's a favorite of ours these days. In September, we got to do a somewhat similar task. Instead of collecting blueberries, however, we were picking basil.

 Instead of Blueberry Hill, we were at Vermont Valley Community Farm, from whence comes our weekly CSA box in the summer.

There was plenty of wandering off by herself, though no inadvertent following of bears. And, of course, just like Sal, Scout plopped herself in the middle of a patch of basil to fill her bag.

Too bad basil doesn't quite make a keplink, kerplank, kerplunk like blueberries in a pail. Daddy was typically close at hand, doing the real work in terms of basil picking.

At seven month pregnant, Mom was mostly relegated to chasing down the wandering Scout and taking pictures.

The discovery of a fuzzy caterpillar on one of the basil leaves was probably the most exciting part of the day. Helping Scout not inadvertently smash said caterpillar was the most challenging.

And now we have plenty of  tasty basil and pesto stored up for the long, cold winter.

When is a Camping Trip Not a Camping Trip?

Early this summer, we bought a tent. It was on sale, we wanted to camp, and it is big enough for our expanding family, even taking a pack n' play into account. Once the tent was bought, we set a date to camp. It was really the only weekend that would work for us, so we set it in stone. Our friends invited us over that night, but we turned them down. The weekend was set aside for camping. Period.

We also figured going by ourselves once would be a good warm up for the upcoming ward camping trip. This way we could always come home if it got to be two or three in the morning and no one was sleeping. We picked a spot not too far from home, planned our meals, packed our car and were ready to go.

Upon arrival we found that camping in Wisconsin is not quite camping in Utah and Arizona. Some of the spots felt more like a nicely groomed park than a campground.

And they looked out over fields, which isn't exactly rustic or wild.

Still, it was much more wilderness-ish than Madison. And we weren't going to complain about the playground equipment that was a quick favorite of the youngest member of our family.

So, we found the most wooded spot we could and set up our tent. Scout loved the tent. We mostly wanted her to build good associations with "camping", so the trip was going well.

We built a fire and threw in our tinfoil dinners.

It was then that the problem came. Truthfully, the problem wasn't really unexpected. I had looked at the weather forecast Thursday and noticed that Friday night called for thunderstorms. Seventy percent chance. The rest of the week was completely clear, but of course Friday it was supposed to storm. We'd kept an eye on things all day Friday, with no hope in sight. Still, we decided to risk it.

Just as James really got the fire going, it started pouring. The other two families at the campsite packed up and left. Scout and I hung out in the tent (good thing she loved the tent so much, eh?).

When the rain let up, we decided to seize the day and roast marshmallows for s'mores while the dinner was cooking. It seemed prudent to make dessert between downpours, make hay while the sun shines, if you will.

James makes wonderful s'mores. He melts the chocolate on the grill just a bit and roasts the marshmallows to perfection. Scout was a little unsure at first, but in the end she liked them.

James was extremely enthusiastic about what he labeled possibly the best s'more of his life.

Virginia was really more interested in playing in her camping chair.

And drinking the punch, most of which ended up spilled down the front of her clothes.

As we were finishing our (delicious) dinner, it started raining again. And we started to worry. After all, it's not a great idea to hang out in the tallest trees around during a thunderstorm, particularly if they're sitting on top of the tallest hill around and you live in tornado territory. So, we called it a good try, packed everything up and headed home before the sun set.

At least Virginia had fun and thinks "camping" is great. Someday we'll see how she does with sleeping in a tent. But apparently it won't be this year. James ended up at a conference in Germany the weekend of the ward campout, and I just wasn't feeling brave enough to do it alone. So, camping will have to wait until next year. We've decided that it just wasn't meant to be this time. Why else would we have been scared off the hill (can't really be called a mountain) by a thunderstorm only to return home? And, of course, as we drove back to Madison, the clouds parted and it didn't rain another drop all night.