New Year in the Holy Land

Mount of the Beatitudes

I'm sorry to not have posted for a while. We went to Galilee for a few days and didn't have internet access. I think I gave my wonderful babysitter back in Arizona a near heart attack by leaving her with only the reports on CNN and no contact from us for several days. No doubt she wondered if she'd just inherited two orphans. Thankfully, we have felt very safe since returning from Galilee, and were able to visit the Garden of Gethsemane today, which was one of the crowning events of this entire trip for me.

The BYU administration is still planning on going ahead with next semester's program, to the great relief of two of my sisters who are enrolled for next semester, and the Jerusalem Center has allowed us to follow through with all of our travel plans. Yesterday we toured the Masada and floated in the Dead Sea! It's more than comforting to know that the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles is behind all of the important decisions about the Jerusalem Center and its students.

It's been very sad for us to read the news reports of Israel's refusal to cease fire. I don't know when the Israelis decided that the "Eye for an eye" commandment allows 390 Palestinian lives to atone for 4 Israelis [source].

Given the recent events in Israel, it wasn't hard for me to think of a New Year's Resolution.

Where there's smoke there's fire

I was mostly joking before when I blogged about how we almost made CNN news, but after today's events I guess that's less of a joke. This evening while we were outside the Jerusalem Center looking at the olive press we watched thick black smoke trickle over a nearby hill and pollute the Jerusalem sky. CNN confirmed what we had heard--that Israel had launched air strikes on Palestinians in the Gaza area, which resulted in the deaths of at least 205 people today.

We worried that we might not be able to go pick up Mark and my brother-in-law, who were waiting at the airport when we saw the smoke. The administration at the Jerusalem Center gave my dad clearance to go, and he hit the streets, which were full of police and some ambulances.

The events of today were such a stark contrast to the experience we had yesterday, as we were finally able to tour the famous "Garden Tomb" site. It was one of the most beautiful and peaceful places we had been to in all of Jerusalem, and the overcast day left us as almost alone in the lush garden area. We got a chance to talk of Christ and the miraculous Resurrection. My dad reminded us of President Hinckley who, when touring the Garden Tomb site, read a small sign located in the garden "Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem" and affirmed "I do. I do."


May we all pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

Christmas in Jerusalem

This is awesome architecture (The Dome of the Rock)

This is called happy, happy, happy Janel (6 days after I checked my bags into the SL airport)

This is the definition of jet-lag (May Danielle's baggage arrive soon)

This is an amazing place to spend Christmas Eve (The Shepherds' Fields outside of Bethlehem)

Hope you have a very merry Christmas season.

Give me back my bacon bits

Today Danielle finally arrived (5 days and 2 missed flights after her original departure date)! Unfortunately, her bags were not as lucky. It makes me feel better to think that maybe her bags are having a party with my bags somewhere in the Rome airport.

Just in case any Rome airport employees read this blog (ha ha), just know that I'm getting a little tiny bit sick of wearing one of two purple striped shirts in my possession.



And I want that bulk package of bacon bits back that are in my luggage. (Don't you know that my parents here in Jerusalem can't get bacon, and I tried to mail it to them, just to find out it was ILLEGAL? Whoops. Call me a terrorist.)

All I want for Christmas is my big black bag. And Danielle's two bags. And preferably much sooner than the 4-6 weeks that your website says it might take. How about 4-6 minutes?

Here are a few pics of our tour of Hezekiah's tunnel.

Blessings from Bethlehem

Today we had the chance to tour Bethlehem. We started out in The Church of the Nativity, a cathedral built over the location of Jesus's birthplace. Similar to The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, (the place where Jesus's body was laid after the crucifixion), the Church of the Nativity was a huge cathedral built over the holy location of the most famous stable in all history.

Prepared by traditional Christmas carols such as "O Little Town of Bethlehem" and "Silent Night," I anticipated a simple monument dedicated to those who wanted to imagine and give thanks for the humble beginning of the life of the Savior. Well, the Church of the Nativity was anything but simple. To begin with, it is owned by three different churches, who fight over rights to give tours and hold services and determine how maintenance and repairs will be conducted. (Their inability to work together has left them at a standstill in the fight over repair of a dangerously rotting roof in the Church of the Nativity.) The large cathedral built directly over the site of the stable was adorned with hundreds of lamps and incense balls as well as paintings, silk hangings, and the extravagantly decorated iconostasis.

It seems strange to adorn in gold and jewels a simple cave (as historians agree the "stable" really was) that marked the most humble birthplace of the baby Jesus. It seems out of place to think of donkeys and sheep and a manger full of straw in such an extravagant place.

We descended down under the main floor to the cave room containing the birthplace of Jesus. Once again, I found myself struggling to picture a baby being born to a poor young couple here:

During our tour guide's explanations, Lily decided to scoff at the line in our popular carol "Away in a manger...no crying he makes" and she let loose with a small screaming session. Although I didn't feel particularly overwhlemed by the Spirit yet, the holiness of the setting, and some prodding from my mom helped me realize that this was not the place to let Lily cry it out. After a few minutes to trying to calm her down, I finally gave up modest methods and retreated to a far corner of the "cave" and sat down on the marble tiled floor and began to nurse Lily.

From that unconventional seat, with my tiny little newborn sucking away, I suddenly got a different view of the place we were visiting. This was not just the site of Jesus's birth, but also the site of Mary's first attempts to nurse her newborn baby. And of their first night spent together. And Jesus' first dirty diaper (swaddling clothes). Because Jesus was a mortal baby, born to a mortal mother, Mary. And there's nothing like nursing to make you feel especially vulnerable and mortal. And awed by the human female body's ability to feed her child and to conceive, carry, and birth a child. And awed by the responsibility and gift it is to be a parent.

And so it was, in the decorated corner near the Birthplace of Jesus, I shed a tear or two of happiness. For motherhood. For Mary. But most especially for Jesus, the Savior of the World. And for my own sweet little newborn.

For more Bethlehem details, go here.

Jerusalem sight seeing

This morning Dad played tour guide and showed us some of Jerusalem's sites.

Our short-lived taxi ride followed by a lot of walking around hilly Jerusalem

The Family von Trapp, I mean, von Wilson, on the way to see an olive wood shop

One of the most popular olive wood shops for Mormons in Jerusalem, run by Jimmy.

The carvings were amazing. Jimmy showed us a model he had spent 6 months on of Herod's Temple, which was going to cost $22,000. He also showed us extremely old coins with stamps of Ceasar and Alexander the Great.

The baby carriers
(After holding Lily in the airport and on airplanes for almost 48 hours my back was dying. Thanks to Jordan for being a gentleman and carting Lily around all day. Amy and Lily obviously enjoyed the rides. We sure paid a lot for a passport for Lily so that she could stare at Jordan's chest.)

An amazing mosaic at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre
(Don't be blinded by Lily's sling that apparently was trying to double as a light saber.)

The Dome of the Rock
(Notice the thousands of ashuaries (boxes for bones of deceased) in front. Apparently these can cost as much as $50,000 to purchase. Also notice the funeral ceremony going on in the bottom left corner with the Hasidic Jews.)

(Becca caught this picture of someone sneaking out a trap door!)

The Muslim Quarter of Jerusalem
(the towers with green domes are minarets, which loudly play the prayer calls multiple times a day)

A tired group heading home with fresh pitas, strawberries and wood carvings

International traveling woes

"Flightplan" is not a movie that anyone should ever watch if they are planning on traveling internationally with a baby. And "Meet the Parents" is a movie that everyone should watch before they ever check a bag. And after the last 48 hours of my life, I feel a little like both Jodie Foster and Ben Stiller.

The short story of my 48 hours of traveling is that the airline lost my bag and the Rome airport is the most inefficient airport I have ever been in, which caused us to miss our third flight (Rome to Tel Aviv). Then we spent the next 16 hours in the Rome airport, not knowing if the bankrupted Alitalia was going to cancel the flight to Israel that cost me $900, or if my luggage would ever show up. Things got a little stressful when my bank canceled all my credit and debit cards (after I made one phone call from Rome to Jerusalem), and when I wondered if we would make it to Israel before I ran out of diapers for Lily or sanity for myself. One small blessing of our long stay in the boring Rome airport was it gave me the chance to notice that on our return trip, I'm scheduled to flight from Rome to Chicago, and Lily is scheduled to fly from Rome to New York. Interesting.

My 17-year-old traveling companion (also headed to the Jerusalem Center to spend Christmas with her boyfriend's family) was helpful in some ways (watching Lily and our bags while I used the bathroom and made phone calls, and being my source of money when my bank cards were canceled and I was out of cash) and a source of stress in other ways. (She was rather anxious to be reunited with her boyfriend. When we realized the soonest we could get out of Rome would be 16 hours later, she was convinced that we should find a bus or a train to take us to Jerusalem.)

When we finally got to Israel I was on a high. A sleep-deprived, anxiety-and hunger-induced high. I have never been happier to see my dad (the blessed source of the eventual clearing of my bank cards) than when I walked out the door of the Tel Aviv airport and saw him waiting by the car. It was with a huge sense of relief that I gave up the crushing role of "responsible adult" and climbed into my dad's car, as his daughter. No food has ever tasted better than the pitas, cheese and yogurt that he brought. After those 48 hours of traveling, I could have happily stayed in the car with my dad for hours. I was home. And what cooler place to call "home" for two weeks than the BYU Jerusalem Center, located a few blocks from the Dome of the Rock, and a few hours from the Pool of Bethesda (on our itinerary today), Bethlehem, Galilee, the Garden of Gethsemane, and more. Shalom, Israel. My happiness will be complete if I can just scrounge up an extra pair of underwear.

Holiday cheer for a scrooge

This morning was one of those that are likely to make a Scrooge out of anyone. It began with a clogged disposal in the kitchen. Followed by 100 phone calls to locate a medical office that had the immunizations Lily needs before leaving the country tomorrow. Then I packed up the three kids and headed over to “Reproductive Education Class for Toddlers”—otherwise known as “Come sit through Mommy’s 6-week vaginal exam, pap smear, and blood draw.”

This was preceded by the dreadful weigh-in, where I was interested (that's a euphemism for ticked) to find that I have lost a grand total of NINE measley pounds since I was 39 weeks pregnant. (Lily weighed 7 pounds 8 ounces. Don't do the math. It's embarrassing.) I didn't have the guts to tell the doctor that I chopped more than ten inches off my hair last week, which undoubtedly weighed around a pound or two. I'm pretty sure Locks of Love is going to take one look at my Christmas package (10 inches of split ends) and promptly toss it in the fireplace. Almost as good as chestnuts roasting.

Following "Reproductive Ed" and "Crush Janel's Self Esteem at the Scale" came a trip to the pediatrician and four shots for Lily. And since I was still scrooge-ish about my weight, I headed straight to McDonald's and ordered myself up a double cheeseburger special.

The rest of the day was filled with typing emails one-handed while feeding Lily, packing, sewing the last few Christmas projects on my list, and changing my and Eliza's clothes after her blowout and attempt to set the world record for number of spit ups. Baby puke is not a very attractive scent. Especially not down the cleavage.

Lucky for us, most days this month haven't been like today. We've been loving the crafts from Make and Takes. We've been reading lots of Christmas books and singing tons of Christmas songs (Sage laughs hilariously at "I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus" and Eliza can sing every word of "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas"--not my doing). We love our LIVE Christmas tree. Oh, and the hot chocolate--a daily necessity at this time of year. (Admit it, you just thought "Nine pounds, didn't you?" You Grinch.)

Some people may just want their two front teeth for Christmas, but Lily (and I) are wishing for a bit more hair for her this year. And maybe more burp rags for me. And maybe baby-sized and mommy-sized sleeping pills for the plane flights tomorrow. Okay, we'll stick with the hair wish.

And the presents. I took Sage and Eliza to the dollar store, and gave them each a dollar to get a present for each other and for Daddy. After thirty minutes I had to drag them out of the store and admit failure. Sage spent the whole time not finding a present for Mark and trying to convince Eliza to use her dollar to get Sage this or that. Eliza mostly ignored Sage and busied herself with trying to snuggle with every stuffed animal in the store. She left howling after I had to rip the hot pink dog out of her hands at the door. Luckily we got home and found a package from Aunt Liz's family, and all thoughts of pink dogs were replaced by visions of packing peanuts dancing in their heads.

Last week I broke out the nativity scenes at our house, and Sage was unhappy with their lack of animals, which are apparently more important to her than the people. I'll have to remember that when I go to Jerusalem TOMORROW!--capital of the olive wood nativity sets. Let's just hope they make the doves and donkeys and camels and lambs and chickens.

Speaking of Jerusalem, I better hit the hay. Next post in Jerusalem. Next post in the Holy Land.

Birthday lovin'

Lily gave me a great birthday present. 7 1/2 hours of uninterrupted sleep for both of us. I felt like a new woman. Bless her heart.

And Mark gave me the gift of not complaining when Lily had the biggest blowout of her entire life (all 4 weeks of it) on his shift. And he gave me the gift of a dentist appointment which he had set up for me. Because after two birthdays this week, and the kind of cakes I like to make, I will DEFINITELY need an appointment. And he gave me a few great house presents and coupons for backrubs, "dates with just yourself," and a haircut. 6 1/2 years of marriage has taught him to speak my love language fluently.

Sage drew me the cutest picture of a cake ever, which was the artwork that accompanied the tray of breakfast in bed that she, Mark and Eliza brought me after letting me sleep in!!!

And Eliza was happy to help me polish off the real cake. That girl is a giver after her mother's own heart.

And Krista and Bryce gave me my cell phone (after I left mine and ran off with hers the night before...oops!) and Bryce watched four kids for two hours while Krista and I shopped and went out to eat.

And there were nice phone calls and emails. And the compliments were wonderful.

I am loved. And spoiled. And I have a big head.

And now to contribute to Mark's big (birthday) head. Here is part of a little list I compiled for him that Danielle insisted on me posting. (You have Danielle to thank for half of the posts I put up.) It's kind of a lengthy list, so feel free to skip down to the pictures at the bottom.

Reasons I love Mark
(including but not limited to the following)

--He always tries to buy me clothes. And get me to buy clothes for myself. And is genuinely disappointed when I don’t come back with $150+ worth of new clothes after a shopping trip.

--He packaged the extra fajita meat from dinner and labeled it “fajita guts.”

--He never gets irritated with my obsession with Jimmy John’s. And he lets me rave about how “healthy” (my BLT--ha!) is every time.

--No one appreciates a killer chocolate cake like he does (besides me).

--He’s always on a quest to help me perfect the method of cooking beans. He asks many Latins for their secrets to legume success and passes them on to me. And when asking for advice by reporting my failure to cook beans without having them split, he uses the plural “We can never cook them just right…”

--He always takes care of Sage and Eliza in the mornings so I can sleep.

--He takes baths with the kids. They love it, and I am grateful to not have to be the one to get yelled at for scrubbing Sage’s hair too hard, getting water in her eyes, or disciplining Eliza for drinking more than 2 cups of bathwater each time.

--He teaches our kids all kinds of songs—from Broadway (Wicked, The Sound of Music) to Disney to Abba to Spanish Children’s Songbook Songs to Annoying (I Want a Hippopotamus). Sage and Eliza know the lyrics to so many songs; I never cease to be amazed.

--He keeps up the Spanish with Sage and Eliza in spite of occasional rebelliousness (S) and disinterest (E).

--He is willing to watch any movie I want (including Chick Flicks), pretend not to see when I shed a tear or two at sad parts, and give me total control of the remote—in spite of my excessive use of the fast forward button.

--He bought me a Pregnancy Pilates video for me because I expressed interest. Even though I never actually used it. Because I am lame.

--He has never gotten mad at me for adopting, overusing and stretching out his Notre Dame sweatshirt. (He’s probably just happy I’m not wearing the bright orange “Becca” one.)

--He sings funny songs by inserting his own favorite words into familiar tunes (usually “Scranz” or “Dogger[man]” or “Shnooks” or “Pooch”). My favorite this week was hearing him sing “Who’s got skin that’s pasty white? Eliza’s got skin that’s pasty white” to the tune of “Must be Santa.”

--He values good literature, serious scripture studying [and is uncompromising in his determination to do this every night], revisiting general conference talks, and good logic and writing.

--To me he is the ultimate example of the scripture “Before ye seek for riches, seek ye first the kingdom of God” in his pursuit of a law degree and the line of work he chose to pursue after obtaining it.

--He is a great father. He recognizes the need to spend quality time with his kids, and makes it a priority. He reads to the girls, takes them to the library, plays with them outside, plans activities they will like (swimming), and patiently allows them to participate in adult activities with him such as refilling his pill case each week.

--He makes sure we have family prayer every morning and night, and conducts scripture time each night.

I am one lucky birthday girl.

Loving Lily

Being a newborn must be an incredibly confusing experience. To leave the comfort of the warm, wet womb and enter the outside world of noises, lights, drafts, and--in Lily’s case--wet kisses, head patting, loud greetings and snuggles from the two little girls that love her more than anything.

People ask me if Sage and Eliza are jealous of their new sister. The answer is no way! What they’re jealous of is their mom--for getting to be the only true mother to Lily. And for having the final say on whether or not they can hold her while walking around like I do, show her their best trampoline moves a few inches from her resting place on my bed, try to get her to suck the pacifier she dislikes, and take her for a ride in their doll stroller. (I fear I may have overused my vetoing power in the last month.)

Sage and Eliza’s love for their new sister is so sweet and sometimes so stifling (for both Lily and me)! But mostly sweet.

I can’t help but smile when Sage calls Lily her little “sweetie heart.” And when she snuggles up next to a crying Lily, offers her a finger to hold, and sings the words of the lullaby from Tarzan, “Come, stop your crying…” This week Sage found my neck pillow, which she took to be a mini Boppy nursing pillow. She plunked herself down with her baby doll on the couch near where I was feeding Lily, fitted the neck pillow around her waist, and proceeded to lift up her shirt and nurse her doll with a proud smile on her face.

Eliza, aka The Stifler, always has to greet Lily after a long absence (two minutes or more) by running to her side and calling out loudly, “Baby! Little Sister!” I overheard Eliza encouraging Lily this week “Do you want to get down and crawl?” And while I was nursing Lily, Eliza beelined over (do newborns have magnetic power?), pulled her shirt up, and said, “I want Lily to drink one of mine.”

I’m sure that Lily’s waking moments contain an overwhelming quantity of noises, lights and jolts from little hands and bodies. But sometime in the future I think she’ll realize that all those pats on her head, giggling voices, and offerings of stuffed animals (as big as she is) are how we spell love around here.

Lily's first game of Old Maid

Perfecting the passport photo

During this past month, the photogenicity (or lack thereof) of our family has been put to the test. I'm not sure we all passed.

It began with passport pictures for our trip to Jerusalem over Christmas.

Mark's passport was still valid, so he was spared the white-wall photo shoot. Mine expired this year, so I had my mom take my picture before she left for Jerusalem. What is it about a big photo shoot--where the resulting picture will be used for the next ten years--that encourages every possible blackhead and zit to surface? And that encourages major water retention in the facial area? (Erma Bombeck said, "There is nothing more miserable in the world than to arrive in paradise and look like your passport photo.") I was too lazy to try again, so I printed the picture, paid my dues and sent it in. Unfortunately for me, the U.S. Passport Agency accepted my mug shot, and thus ensured the photographic preservation of Jack Sprat's wife (who could eat no lean) for the next ten years.

Check out the happy Sprat couple, aka Mark and Janel.

Lily's passport picture required two separate photo shoots, three outfits, and three adults all trying to mop up spit up and get her to face the camera with open eyes. Our window of opportunity for catching a 1-week-old baby with open eyes, but not screaming mouth (i.e. not nursing), was very small.

The bloopers:

Licking the flower / 1-eyed Statue of Liberty

Not-so-happy baby

And the final cut:

Getting a newborn's picture for a passport is a joke in and of itself. But the application was even more amusing. Height? 19 inches (for two more weeks). Eye color? Gray (for two more months). Identifying characteristics: uh...Usually can be found sucking on a pacifier.

We didn't need passports for Sage and Eliza, because (here's my guilty confession) we're not taking them with us to Jerusalem. My good friend, Amy, who is making the sacrifice of the century, has very, very, very generously agreed to take Sage and Eliza for a week. And that deserves a gushing post of thanks in and of itself.

But Eliza, perhaps not wanting to miss out in all this passport photo fun, arranged for her own photo shoot. One corner of Mark's office is set up with a white sheet and a special camera for taking passport-like pictures for his clients' applications. During a visit, Eliza made herself at home in that corner, and Sage accidentally snapped her picture. Unfortunately for Eliza, I don't think the U.S. Passport Agency will accept her mug shot.

Lest you worry that Sage may feel left out of all this photographic excitement, let me assure you that she got her own limelight when I took her to the mall for a photo shoot before we cut her long hair for the first time. If only I had thought to ask them to whip out their white background--maybe we could have had at least one family member with a great passport picture (and nowhere to go with it). Here's a few of the (many) pictures I let myself be talked into buying.

Now with all the passport photos done I can relax a little. And enjoy a laugh at other people's picture problems. Like this one.