All about sacrifice

Today I took the girls to a Mardi Gras/Lent potluck party at Mark's work. We binged on "sinful" food (I brought these) and participated in a little activity where we all wrote down a possible Lent goal. When I told Sage that Lent was about making a goal to not do something, she said, "I think I will say that I won’t watch more than three movies a day.” We are all about sacrifice around here.

As for my own Lent sacrifices, I should probably give up chocolate and sweets since Lily could stand to have the percent of my breast milk lowered from the “cream” level to “half and half.” Today Lily's physical therapist laughed and noted that "Lily even has rolls on the back of her neck!" The therapist isn't the only one who noticed our little butterball. After watching Madagascar 2, Sage has been heard to lean in to Lily lovingly and whisper "I like ‘em big; I like ‘em chunky...” (And Eliza has been heard to sing "I like 'em lumpy," possibly with respect to (and for) her mother?)

My Lent goal for Mark is to stop changing the words in Evita songs. “Don’t cry for me, little dogger…”

As for Lily's Lent ambitions, I generously suggested at the party that it might behoove her to sacrifice her nighttime feedings. Like I said, we’re all about sacrifice around here.

Happy lent.

Spreading the love

I hope the husband doesn't mind, but on Valentines Day I had to ask this irresistible little chunker to "be mine." I tell you, it is hard to abstain from nibbling on her sometimes. Apparently someone else wanted to make Lily their Valentine, too, because when I went to get her up from her nap, I found her adorned with a big red glittery heart sticker right on her forehead. (No wonder Eliza never fell asleep during naptime, what with her sneaking around to dole out holiday cheer.)

And I hope Mark also doesn't mind last year when I accidentally asked his boss to "be mine." It wasn't my fault, though. I bought some Dove chocolates (dark, of course) and inserted my own special Valentines messages, which may have erred a little..okay, a lot...on the scandalous side. I slipped them in with Mark's lunch. When he came home I asked how he liked his chocolates, only to hear that he had given them to his boss, a fellow dark chocolate lover, who had been having a bad day. I couldn't get to the phone fast enough, and I demanded that he call her and ask if she'd eaten them (she hadn't...phew!), and would she mind exchanging them for different ones the next day.

This year I got Mark something that he would be hard pressed to give away casually, even if someone were having a really bad day. Don't be deceived by its potting soil-like appearance. Good things come in potting-soil-like packages. At least this good 10 pound package of chocolate chips does. (Bless you, Costco). That should get us through at least until Easter.

For the love of (stuffed) animals

I didn't realize love of animals was a genetic trait, but it obviously is. Mark is a cat lover, even though he sometimes denies it. And Eliza has clearly followed suit with the love of animals. But since her mom is an animal crank (Mark read this line and said "More like an animal killer"), Eliza is forced to dole out her animal love at the zoo and by hoarding stuffed animals and treating them like children.

Eliza's crib usually has 15-20 stuffed animals at any given time. She has a monopoly on dogs and sheep--four each. The sheep were handed down by Sage. The four lambs, named by Sage long ago, are all called "lamby." (Eliza later renamed them Mommy Lamby, Daddy Lamby, Sister Lamby and Baby Lamby--and don't even try to call one of them Brother Lamby, or mix up Sister and Mommy. Eliza won't have it.)


The dogs are Eliza's real true loves. They range in size from super humongous (obviously not purchased by her mother) to tiny (also not purchased by her mother). Even though I never buy stuffed animals, I'm not above exploiting Eliza's love for them. On each trip to Sam's Club, I immediately head for the toy aisle, where we borrow one of the huge plush dogs (they always have one). This guarantees a happy, distracted two year old throughout the entire trip, and a sobbing two year old (sans dog) on the way out the door.

Since the stuffed dogs at our house all originated with Eliza, she took the opportunity to lovingly name each one.

Now when I was young and in love with stuffed animals (since my mom was also an animal crank), I also named my stuffed animals. I think there was a Sandy and a Midnight and a Brown-y and a Blacky. (There may have been a Chevrolet amongst them for a little Ramona Quimby variation.)

Eliza has shown herself to be much more creative in her animal naming--not bound to colors, or any other predictable method, for that matter.

This dog is Lincoln.










This is Eliza riding on the back of "Riding on the back."
Nope, that is NOT a typo. "Riding on the back" is the poor dog's name. Almost as bad as Tikki Tikki Tembo... Mark was the one that first realized "Riding on the back" was the dog's name, and not a sentence fragment from one of Cowgirl Eliza's daydreams.





This panda is "Rudolph."

And these are Sage's two dogs, "Peers and Flats." (Don't ask about the puzzle pieces. I don't know either.)

What with this rampant naming creativity in our family, you'd never guess that Eliza went thirty days as Female Williams. Clearly the next generation has got the naming thing figured out. Although I think I'd rather be "Female" than "Peers."


I'm pretty sure Eliza's dream job would be to be the head "namer" at a Beanie Baby or Cabbage Patch factory. So if anyone has any connections to these places, please let me know. Until then, we might as well be our own stuffed animal factory, for all the inventory we've got. And don't try to tell me to hide a few and get rid of them after she forgets them, because Eliza never forgets. She will leave the 99 to inquire after the 1.

My aunt recently published a biography of my grandma which she titled "She never stopped loving." If I were to write a biography of Eliza right now, I might just have to title it "She never stopped loving stuffed animals." Or maybe "She never stopped trying to grab stuffed animals off the shelves at stores." Because that's the truth.

Civil Rights Day

I wish I could report that our family spent Civil Rights Day watching the history channel, reading library books on African Americans, and knitting leprosy bandages. Would you believe me if I did? If so, stop reading now.

Instead, we put Mark’s day off to use by completing our move to a new apartment. A few days after the fact I attempted to right my wrongs of having overlooked Civil Rights Day by explaining the purpose to Sage. I told her the reason Daddy got work off was because it’s a special day when we want to remember to be nice to everyone. I told her there was a time in our country when people didn’t treat dark-skinned people very well because some people didn’t think these black people were as good as the people with white skin. I gave her a [very brief] description of the Civil War, anti-segregation efforts, and concluded with how MLK Jr. taught that dark skinned people are just as good as people with white skin.

At the end of my story, Sage’s eyes got very wide and she said, “Mom, I have the darkest skin in our family!” Then she reached out and grabbed my arm and said with wonder, “And I have the longest hair in our family, so I’m different, too!” I saw those little wheels turning in her head, and placing her—the dark skinned, long-haired anomaly of our family—in the same category as Martin Luther King, Jr.

I wondered if I had done MLK Jr. and Civil Rights Day a disservice by causing a 4-year-old white girl from a middle-class family to view herself as a minority. But since then I’ve wondered if maybe our whole world would be a little more compassionate if everyone had a chance to feel like a minority for a while. So if being the least pale in our family helps Sage recognize the worth of African Americans, elderly, Hispanics, and disabled people, I’ll take it.

Our little minority

Why exercise?

It’s hard for me to make the inevitable dieting/exercise New Year’s resolutions in January, because I’m still busy doing my duty to the stash of Christmas candy in the cupboard. Now that it’s February, and I’ve long since exhausted Santa’s chocolate hand-outs, it’s time for me to get that sugar out of my blood and get my body back into shape.

Mark recently put up a sign in the corner of the bathroom mirror that says:

Why Exercise?

1. Reduce depression and anxiety
2. Increase bone density
3. Have more energy
4. Improve digestion
5. Strengthen cardiovascular system
6. Sleep better
7. Lose weight
8. Decrease cholesterol level
9. Build muscle
10. Decrease blood pressure
11. Improve glucose tolerance
12. Decrease insulin resistance
13. Increase flexibility
14. Improve posture
15. increase mental focus
16. reduce stress
17. Improve appetite for healthy foods
18. Enhance immune system
19. Alleviate varicose veins
20. Decrease IBS symptoms
21. Decrease risk of colon cancer

Almost inspired by our new bathroom decor, I added “Her List” next to “His List." It was a little shorter.

Why Exercise?

1. Lose Weight

Call me shallow, but at least I'm honest.

Speaking of honesty, there’s nothing like the brutal honesty of kids to motivate a little dieting in adults. Last week Sage approached me and innocently commented, "Your tummy’s humungous.” It took some effort to neither laugh nor cry, and I tried to look nonchalant as I squeaked out an "Oh.”

Another day, just after I finished exercising, Eliza joined me on the couch, and she slipped her arm around my back, which left her tiny little hand resting on a big conspicuous love handle. Eliza giggled, then squeezed my side and said “That’s your toushee, Mommy.” I don't know about you, but I give myself all kinds of pep talks about how "No one notices this big tummy hanging off the front end of my body. I’m the only one who knows it's under there.” When your love handles are big enough to be mistaken for a bum, that’s when you have to do stop avoiding those New Year's Resolutions.

And please, do not try to console me with the "At least you're nursing" line. In my book, breastfeeding NEVER corresponds with weight loss. How do people think that eating four major meals a day and at least four more snacks help a mom do anything more than get a complex about feeling like a cow? I don’t know how I could possibly weigh more than I do now if I stopped eating for two. There you have the conclusions to my observational study of one breastfeeding mother. I'm pretty sure La Leche League will be knocking at my door to hear my findings soon. I'll tell them. Or maybe it would suffice to just show them my "toushee" and "humungous stomach."

Or maybe it is time to start some New Month of the New Year's Resolutions.

A name and a blessing

It appears our blessing of Lily last week was a success amongst the little people in our house, because a few days ago Sage announced to me that she would be blessing one of her dolls in church on Sunday! Luckily she forgot to bring the doll to church, and I “forgot” to remind her.

In an attempt to prepare Sage and Eliza for the significance of Lily’s naming and blessing, I sat Eliza down and told her we were going to give Lily a variation of the name of her late grandma, who we still love and remember. Then I asked Eliza what her own middle name was. When she looked at me in confusion I prompted, “Eliza….” and motioned for her to fill in the blank. Recognition dawned in her eyes and she answered, “Lulu, Eliza Lulu!” (her nickname). “What about Sage?” I asked, then prompted, “Sage…” “Erooni! Sagerooni!”

The blessing day was nice. We had family come up to share some eats as well as memories and pictures of Mark’s mom with us before church began.

I took the opportunity to schedule myself and Becca (my oboe-playing-genius sister…who just birthed a darn cute baby this evening!) to play a musical number in church, since she was visiting. In addition to wanting to see if having seven pounds of baby resting on her diaphragm affected her ability to play for 60 seconds without breathing, I also wanted our ward to see me standing next to the source of beautiful music and see how much credit I could get for her talents! My scheme worked. Becca played at least 30ish seconds without breathing, and I racked up 30ish compliments without actually being very good at the flute anymore.

Other good things of note:

--A friend made Lily a cute bow for her big, bald head the night before her blessing.

--Mark’s hair must have responded to my fervent prayers and seemed to have grown a quarter of an inch overnight.

--Lily did not cry during the blessing (although there was a moment where her silky dress began to slide down the arms of the men who were participating in the blessing).

--Lily waited to spit up on her dress until after our photo shoot.

It was a special moment for me to watch Lily being surrounded by faithful elders of Israel who, as family members and priesthood holders, gathered with Mark to give her a name and her first blessing. We don’t practice infant baptism in our church, but we follow the precedent set by the Savior himself in blessing little children. [Click here for more info.] The name and blessing ordinance provides an opportunity to welcome a baby into the church in what will hopefully be a foreshadowing of their participation in other important saving ordinances, such as baptism, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands, and being sealed for eternity in a holy temple.

Lily’s got a lot to look forward to. And I look forward to getting to know her sweet little personality better. And seeing what color hair she has when it finally decides to come in. And when she'll pass up Eliza in weight, and be able to defend herself against all those loving eye pokes. And if she'll sing as much as her sisters. And if she'll love chocolate as much as her parents. And if she'll serve a mission.

I am honored and humbled to be Lily, Eliza and Sage's mom.

Hair history repeats itself

One reason we have history books and cameras is so we can learn from the past. Apparently I did not learn from my past when I decided to cut Mark's hair tonight, on the eve of the blessing of our baby in church.

On the bright side, maybe we don't need to take pictures of Mark tomorrow because we already know what he will look like (from 2004).


Hopefully Mark's still got that yellow tie around, but my gut feeling is that my pink skirt is going to be a little tighter on my hips these days (four years and two kids later).

Cross your fingers that history doesn't repeat itself like this, though.

Opposites

Whoever said that opposites don't attract has never seen a four year old in action in the morning.