Say Cheese!

This is the most we see of his eyes most of the time. He is such a great baby, but he sleeps so much. I guess that is par for the course and the eventful journey to the world that he has just experienced. Whenever we get a full round eyed glimpse of his optical orbits we get so excited! One time he woke up long enough to give Alaina a wide eyed once over. She declared, "Look he just looked at me and said, 'Hey, that's my beautiful sister Alaina!'"

He is the spitting image of his daddy if you ask me! Handsome little devil. He passed his second hearing screening, impressed the nurses with his surprising strength, despite his tenderness of age, and has turned a nice fleshy color - a relieving development considering his early tendency to yellow.

Matt was a bit unsure about how close he really wanted to get to Damon. He still sometimes waffles between overwhelming desires to love and kiss him, and annoyance. But overall he is a good big brother.Alaina was on board right away. And is still the best helper with her little brother. She was very worried about what the nurses were doing with him, and how her mom was doing. She didn't like that I couldn't move around much, confined to my ice packs and my less than comfortable bed. She walks around with a proud glow, knowing that she is the luckiest and best big sister around.

4 Plus 1 Equals 5

And Damon Michael has arrived. He was born at 11:06 pm May 23rd at 8lbs 6 ozs and 20 3/4 inches long. I went into the hopital at 4pm, they started the drugs at 5:30pm, broke the water at 9ish pm, had the joke of an epidural at 10:15pm, and had a baby boy at not much more than 45 min. later.

While we tried to convince Alaina that hers was not the privelage of naming our third born, ultimately her choice was the winner, and Damon is happily at home! Snoozing most of the time, eating the rest of the time. He has so proven to be very laid back and geniunely sweet. But can they be anyting other than that at 5 days old? We have to have some addt.'l tests on his hearing and his bilirubin counts. Should know by Friday at the latest if there is anything real to worry about in either case. I am not sure if it is experience or apathy, but I am not losing any sleep over any of it. The Lord seems to work things out in his own way.

Alaina is a super helper. Constantly reminding me to feed Damon, telling him she loves him and that he is so cute! She also has proven to be sensitive to my own misgivings and lack of confidence as she is frequently and spontaneously reminding me that she loves me, and that she thinks I am beautiful.

Matthew was eager to have a new playmate, asking Damon "Damon, do you want to play football with me?" the night we brought him home. He has made a few more similar heartwarming, and pre-mature requests of his younger brother, but has ultimately given up on him and decided we need to take him back to the hospital. I am sure his emotional roller coaster will be as intense and real as mine will be in the next several weeks.

My mother in law has been in town and leaves on Thursday. I am so greatful for her willingness to travel and be with us so often. She is awesome! She has been a great help. And Mom, Dad, brothers, sisters and respective significant others have been a great source of love and support as well. I am so lucky to have my family so close. I am sure they wish sometimes that there was bit more distance between us, but I wouldn't have it any other way. My kids and our family in general are greatly blessed by their willingness to love and serve us so selflessly. I am healing well, despite the fact the dr. didn't prescribe me one single pain killer. Just extra strength tylenol for me.

Kids are asleep, so I am going to catch some shut eye while I can. Love to all. And for those interested, we should be blessing the baby the first Sunday of July. You are all more than welcome!

TULIPS! I LOVE TULIPS! TULIPS!

So I don't think I need more than two fingers to count how many times I have had flowers delivered to me. At first when my friend knocked on the door and I saw her standing there with flowers, I wondered if perhaps my husband felt a bit bad for not wanting to take me out of town for the weekend for our anniversary. But upon opening the box to find beautiful tulips inside I KNEW it wasn't him. My Faye and Floyd I love you!



My favorite flower is the tulip. I loved springtime and temple square with all the beautiful tulips this time of year when we lived in Utah. Every now and again I splurge and buy a little boquet at the grocery store to liven up my kitchen table. They just make me so so so happy!

So thank you thank you thank you! I love them. I love you!

Ready or Not

Ready:
I woke up the other night, indigestion broiling sweating like swollen pig, and decided to attempt to find sleep on the couch in the front room. Here I can turn the fan on full speed and sleep with out the burn in my chest and throat. I woke up, however, at least 4 times, thinking I was awakening from one of those weird late-term pregnancy dreams, huffing and puffing for air. Upon the 5th such arousal from my less than restful sleep I realized that it wasn't a bad dream, it was my body naturally awakening me to ensure that I was breathing. I think I had actually stopped breathing! Probably due to the way I was situated on the couch. It was kind of scary once I realized that was what was going on!
Not Ready:
Where are the baby clothes again? Oh yeah, up in the attic - way back in the attic. Bottles, nipples, pacifiers? I know I put them neatly way somewhere in a nice brown box. Out of sight, out of mind, and now, probably out of time.
Ready:
My son is cramped for space. This miserable state he is enduring obviously affects me as well. But he will be liberated soon enough. I have learned a little about him through witnessing and feeling the fight he puts up inside of me. He is just that, a fighter. He is persistent, and sometimes not very gentle. (Perhaps I should give him the benefit of the doubt and attribute his not so gentle jabbings to his lack of coordination). I want to meet this son of mine. Give him kisses and tell him I love him.
Not Ready:
I struggle with the 2 I already have. Not struggle as in "I can't stand being their mommy", but struggle as in "Am I doing this right?. . . Nope not most of the time" But the Lord trusts me apparently, with two I have, and the one on the way. Can I do 3? We'll see!
Ready:
Milk: 2.99 a gallon at least. And I can drink 2 gallons in 2 1/2 days myself. Isn't that crazy. Some weird craving that also serves as a deterrent to the indegestion. And Matt can go through a fair share on his own as well. Maybe I should invest in a dairy cow. (But I believe that the end is near, for on occasion I do get a bit sick from the milk, perhaps because of the amazingly high consumption rate I have put my body through, but most likely because my body is ready to have this child).
Not Ready:
Swollen bosoms and my own milk. (Ouch!)
Ready:
Swollen bosoms and my own milk. (Hee hee!)
Swollen ankles, face, belly . . . you get the picture.
Not Ready:
I know he is safe where he is. Free of bugs, and colds, scrapes and cuts. Free of the obvious and not so obvious buffetings of the world and those who would hold him down and keep him back. Untouched by the confusing and misleading voices of the world.
Ready:
To help him see how strong he is. I think that the truth of the matter is that he is ready. Ready to enter this life, the one he has been training for with his Father in Heaven. I think he is ready to stretch out, and test the waters, willing to take the risks that this earth life presents, and turn them into opportunities for growth, and progress in this journey we are all on. Eager to prove himself worthy and prepared for the challenge. Anxious to move forward and reach onward to our ulimate goal of eternal life and exaltation.

So I guess whether I am ready or not, he is. So whenever God says "Go. . . . "

MAAAAAHHHHHHHM!

Ok, I KNOW I am not alone in this aggravating situation. But how much more can I really take? What mother hasn't endured that nerve grating sensation as her offspring let out a call worse than that of the wild, beckoning, demanding her attention. For fear that legs have been crushed under falling dressers, or heads have been disconnected from the major portion of the body, we rush across the house - pantyhose half hiked up or dizzy from the exhertion lifting a 9month pregnant body off the couch in such a frenzie - we can't help it, it's inborn, a natural (although vexatious) instinct. And when we arrive in record breaking time to save our dearly beloved children from unimaginable horrors, we are greeted by an insulting, galling request to hand a child the book lying next to them, but a fingertip out of reach. Sometimes the demand proves a bit more urgent - - perhaps they need help turning the volume up on the t.v, or some guidance on which pair of underwear should be worn with a particular outfit (the last example may not apply to many mothers, but alas I am Alaina's mommy and this is a critical component of fashion sense in her book).
Maaaaaammm! Oh release me.
So then I attempt to drown out the interminable bellowing, but it just gets louder. Is it really possible? I have often been reminded nothing is impossible. Apparently my daughter is converted to this belief! The louder, the longer, surely the quicker I will appear to create a world of ease and leisure for her. All the while I desperately fight the urge to let my head spin on an axis of uncomprehensible speed, the fury building within. (Now I am fully aware that I am most likely only proving my lack of composure, patience and all things divine in motherhood, more than illustrating my point that children can be so demanding sometimes. But I am totally fine with this less than pleasant revelation about my damaged personality and character.)
My husband has this built in 'mute' button that he turns on almost as soon as he enters the house. I don't get how that passed the list of acceptable manuevers for him, but didn't make it onto the list of "How to Survive Things all Motherhood". So even when he attempts to set an example for me on how to ignore the pestering vociferating originating from my dainty damsel in 'distress', it just bugs me even more. Instead of standing in wonder at his patience, I stand in ready pose to pounce on the helpless male of the herd - survival requires the contribution of all the members - and at times like these I rely on him to quiet the noise that threatens to unleash the horrible beast within - which we have already establised is 'your's truly'.
Eventually I succumb. I bow my head in defeat, walk sullenly - sometimes stomping - away from my counterpart who is somehow impervious to the hollering from the hall, and go to inquire after the needs of my darling, although exacting daughter.
And as I ponder upon my 'predicament', I realize my Father in Heaven probably feels the exact same way, without all the less-than-divine temper tantrums, and sub-heavenly head spinning. How many times have I cried out, bellowed, even screamed on occasion, for help, for comfort, for answers, that weren't more than a fingertip, or less, away from my grasp. If only I would excercise a smidgen of self mastery, or initiative. So perhaps that in itself is the answer to the "Maaaaahhhm" mayhem of my life.
Your thoughts?

"Shy of My Talk"

That's what Alaina said. "But I'm shy of my talk". I know what she meant was that despite all the practicing, and the fact that she wrote (and colored her own talk), she was too afraid to approach the small child-sized pulpit, look up at that huge congregation of scary primary children, and vocalize her testimony. I should have known that would happen, given on most occasions she is too gun-shy to even pray vocally in family prayer. She is much more content to wait til the quiet of her room and do it there. I guess I am ok with that. The part of me that isn't is the proud mamma part. And it isn't so important how that part of me feels as how she feels.

So we made her give her talk in Family Home evening at Mom and Dad's house. She was the star of the show there. She even drilled her audience with questions to ascertain whether they were listening as attentively as they should have been. Baby steps. For all intents and purposes she is still a baby isn't she?

Bedknobs and Broomsticks

I have been trying to figure out a way to ease Matthew into his own bed for a while now. Alaina has grown tired of his tossing and turning, his legs draped over her body as she tries to slumber. She has even acquiesced her own bed in favor of a purple inflatable "Dora" bed, into which she zips herself up each night on the floor to escape the nightly torture her brother puts her through. I often find her pinned up against the wall, cheek plastered to the wall with some help from her drool, and Matthew sprawled out horizontally on the bed. It is rather incredulous how much space his little body can actually cover.



So, knowing of my son's ardent love for "Cars" the movie and all things Lightening McQueen and Mator I purchased a Cars Toddler bed set, complete with a large plush Lightening Pillow. He waffled on the level of excitement he was willing to display about it. But Alaina, knowing the impending freedom and good night sleep that lay ahead of her if we pulled this slieght of hand off, was on board. She is a great little coach, and before long, after several blunt hints at how tired she was, and generous offers to read him a bedtime story, and after I had to pull her out of his bed to let him in, she had her little brother nestled into his new bunk. She decided she would be his roommate for one more night and dragged her raft of a bed into his room next him. They only got out of bed one time. . . . well make that two times for Matt. Because when I went in to check on them I found him on his floor, head nestled in the crook of her arm, and monkey faithfully by his side.

For about two weeks this routine has continued. But somewhere between here and there Matthew is now in Alaina's bed again. This time Alaina has insisted he occupy the space nearest the wall. She usually reaches the land of nod long before he, clinging to the edge of her bed. I was reminded of my torturous existance when Matt was occupying my bed. I thought I would find greater joy in witnessing another deprived of space, but my poor daughter's plight is almost enough to break my heart. I did say ALMOST. Until she starts complaining again, I will let them enjoy that mischevious fun that always accompanies a shared dorm, a disregarded bed-time, and brother and sister's love for late night giggles. And I will try my best to let them enjoy the bedknobs while keeping my broomstick in the closet by trying to keep my cool and endure the constant reminders to keep it down, and go to sleep.