Daydreaming...

The Battle of Wills

We opted not to find out with this pregnancy the gender of the baby. And when I say "we", I actually mean "I". Matt was wholeheartedly against gender non-disclosure. I didn't disagree with him, necessarily. I can and have actually made a very strong case over the years for the belief that parents should learn the gender of their baby prenatally. 

I'll admit my motivation was primarily selfish. I just didn't really want to share my pregnancy this time. Leaving some details known to only Heaven above seemed appropriate.

Maybe I'll blog sometime about why I think, in general parents should learn their baby's gender, and the pros and cons of either decision, but I'm not up to it today. It's a hot-button issue, and one that I'd have to address sensitively. People have very strong views one way or the other on this, for some reason. I just don't feel like mustering that kind of tact right now. 

So, for a variety of reasons, we didn't find out this baby's gender

Are you hoping for a girl?

One advantage is that Matt & I have had the entertainment of naming not one, but two babies this time: a boy and a girl, one of whom, will of course, turn out to be imaginary. I'm sure we'll mourn the loss of which ever imaginary child we don't give birth to, and therein lies the converse disadvantage.

But, assuming this baby is another boy, we may never have another chance to name a daughter, even if she does turn out to have existed only in our imaginations.

We already have two boys, and so many people I talk to assume, and quite naturally so, I suppose, that we are hoping for a girl this time. And, I suppose we are. But we are also wholeheartedly hoping for a boy. Since we know I'm not carrying twins, we'll be disappointed and delighted either way.

Only Heaven Knows

Early on, I hoped sincerely for a girl, and prayed for a girl. Then, I seemed to hear God telling me I needed to make peace with having another boy, and then I started to truly want a third boy. Really, when I look at the two absolutely adorable boys I already have, it's impossible for me not to want a third little boy. And then I look at the mountain of little boy toys in my parlor, their bedroom, my waiting room, and my yard, and I break out in a cold sweat at the thought of adding yet more toys (girl toys: barbies, baby dolls, etc.) to the chaos.

So, I spent several weeks expecting a boy, and now I go back and forth; as I said earlier: only Heaven knows.

So, now for your guessing enjoyment, I'll share with you the babies' names in our daydreams. No, I'm not going to tell you the names we have have settled on. I'm going to give you the lists (in alphabetical order) we've considered and let you guess what we've chosen. Feel free to offer your input, knowing we're firmly resolved and it won't make any difference in our choice. Feel free, also to share your own favorites. It's fun to have imaginary babies, after all.

You'll notice our taste tends toward the traditional, familial, and maybe even obscure. Please don't make fun of the choices...they're our real imaginary children, after all.

Also, I would ask, if you DO know the names we have chosen, please do not spoil our fun by disclosing it here in cyberspace. Thank you.

Imaginary Girl Babies

Adelaide, Caroline, Diane, Grace, Lottie, Lucy, Mabel, Nora, Olive, Ruby, Viola, Violet, Zoe

Imaginary Boy Babies

Allen, Charlie, Daniel, Isidore, Isaac, Luke, Nathan, Noah, Oliver, Perry, Theodore, Timothy, Zeke

John's Picks

Donald & Shirley (after we convinced him that you can't name a baby "Grandma Diane")

Things you might not know about my Grandma

My grandmother, Elizabeth Bradley died Monday morning. You probably already know that by now. We miss her now, but the truth is, we've actually been missing her for years. Sometimes suddenly, and sometimes gradually over my grandmother's last several years, she has left us a little at a time. So profound is the difference between the "Grandma Elizabeth" of my childhood and the "Old Ma" of these last several years,  I offer the following in tribute to the sturdy, vibrant woman whose life of nearly 88 years we will celebrate tomorrow.


http://www.dossfuneralhome.com/obit2.html 

The following are some things I'd like to share about my grandma; things you may not know, or things you may have forgotten.

1.            My grandma did a lot of fun things with us when we were kids. She and my grandpa took us fishing. And she dressed the fish; I can remember plainly the thud of the hammer against the fish's head on the picnic table as she gave the fish a good sturdy whack before cutting into it behind the gills. She took Ben and Jonathan to the gun & dog auction, and she happily got up at the crack of dawn to go yard-saling with my mom, Aunt Myrna, Jessy and me.

2.            She read us stories when we stayed with her on sick days, and she made us jello and tapioca pudding. She also introduced me to that fabulous breakfast treat: peaches & cream Quaker instant oatmeal...with oreos crumbled on top. Yum! Cornbread, Tang drink mix, popcorn, homemade noodles cut with the noodle disker, and of course, there was the special RED birthday cake. These were her special treats for us.

3.            She was my grandpa's most faithful farmhand, even after they were "retired" and living in town. He still needed someone to open the gates.

4.            She did not add enough sugar to her iced tea or pies, and she only allowed a tiny sliver of cool whip with a slice of pumpkin pie (or any other dessert that required a garnish of cool whip). So, Dad and Uncle Duane would bring their own tea and cool whip to Christmas, Thanksgiving, etc. My parents had conflicting opinions as to why my grandma, who was certainly a good cook, used sugar/cool whip so sparingly. My mom's opinion was that grandma was convinced excessive sugar in one's diet brought on diabetes; my dad's take was that she was "too cheap" to buy sugar.

5.            My dad had only recently learned (when he took over her grocery shopping for her) of her daily addiction to the above-referenced "fruit and cream" variety pack of Quaker instant oatmeal (though she didn't add the oreos daily...or at any time except when entertaining grandchildren). My dad was shocked/awed/appalled/betrayed to learn that this woman whom he knew to be the most frugal of the frugal purchased this product. He would have been surprised to learn she even knew such a product existed and purchased it as an occasional luxury splurge. To learn that she consumed it as a DAILY INDULGENCE...wow...let's just say that's not how he claims she raised him.

6.            She never owned a TV with a remote control. She never bought a converter box, and she never bought a digital TV.

7.            She also never threw anything away.

8.            She loved clothes. And shoes. And purses. And costume jewelry. All secondhand, or homemade, of course. It's one personality trait that left years ago, as evidenced by the fact that she completely wore out her last purse. She used to switch purses multiple times per season. She gleefully dug through piles at yard sales and racks at secondhand stores, often remarking how hard it was to find good stuff "these days" at yard sales.

9.            She carried my grandpa's wallet in her purse from the time he died until she did. She told me she kept an "emergency $20 bill" in it, "just in case" so Grandpa could help her out if she ran short at Aldi's or KFC or wherever. I checked her purse recently. His wallet was still in there, but the $20 had long since been spent. I wondered at that point if she even remembered why she carried that wallet with her anymore. I also wondered why on earth she insisted on lugging that heavy purse around with her everywhere, when she could barely even lug herself around anymore.

10.       Her middle name was Adelaide, and she didn't particularly care for it.

11.    My grandma was a practical pessimist. And why wouldn't she be? The fifth of 8 children, she lost her dad when she was about 10 years old. She lost her firstborn in infancy. A daughter, Janet Faye. Nearly 20 years ago, she lost her husband, my Grandpa Pearl. Almost 12 years ago, she buried a son, Duane, and a little over a year ago, she lost her daugher-in-law, my mother, Diane. She survived all but one of her seven siblings.

She often made comments, such as, "I just don't see why I'm still here. Why hasn't He taken me home yet?" That was the sort of comment she would make regarding death. In response to one such comment she made at the visitation of one of her siblings, my dad replied, "You're not dead yet because He's waiting on your attitude to improve."

Toward the very end, she sometimes wouldn't even comment. We would ask her how she was doing, and she would often just turn her hands, palms up and shrug in a helpless, frustrated gesture that said it all.

When I was a child, she was often quoted saying, "Life's a bitch, and then you die." Now, please understand, my grandmother didn't swear. Except for when she would say "Life's a bitch, and then you die." So, yes, she had a generally pessimistic attitude. But it was because she was looking forward to going home; not because she was looking back and dwelling on all the heartache she had endured. So, maybe we could say she was very optimistic about her pessimism.

But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that lies within you. --I Peter 3:15

Home Decor, Aunt Lucille Style

What I Learned from Aunt Lucille (a small sample)

“Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.”—William Morris

As clutter encroaches when cabinets and closets abound with things I might use, I seek Mr. Morris’s advice to find inspiration to purge my reserve supply of stuff. Morris was a British writer and artist of the 1800s, instrumental in English Arts & Crafts Movement. He was also a socialist, but I’ll have to forgive him for that I suppose.

In matters of home décor, this is my guiding principle.

I really think too that the second part of this bit of advice…the “believe to be beautiful” part must have been the cornerstone of Aunt Lucille’s decorating philosophy. Her home was filled with beautiful items passed down to her and collected over her lifetime. To a young girl, I can imagine no place more magical. China dolls, lacy Victorian-era dresses and parasols, delicate dishes and tea sets. Window sills jam-packed with all things adorable and angelic. Bibles, crosses, and scripture verses on coffee tables, walls, and beside beds.

And then there was her powder room. Far too fancy to be called a bathroom, if I’m remembering correctly the carpet was purple. In my mind’s eye, something in there is purple velvet, but I really don’t remember. I know there were beautiful combs, brushes, and mirrors, and fancy soaps.

She was a gifted pianist. Aunt Lucille, seated under the soft glow of the sun through the purple windows of the Plevna Christian Church, played the familiar hymns of my childhood year after year. Of course, one couldn’t really see her behind the piano, and I don’t know how she reached the pedals. “In the Garden” comes to mind now.

The way she spoke made the ordinary beautiful too. As I child, I remember her giving me a dainty Japanese parasol, which I treasured for years. Calling an umbrella a parasol makes it seem about one hundred times prettier. After mom died, I found she had saved it in her cedar chest. And Aunt Lucille didn’t sit on a couch or a sofa. Nay! She (just like my Grandpa Jim, her brother) she entertained company on her davenport. Yes, I think I’d rather have a davenport than a couch.

I don’t mean to suggest that Aunt Lucille was impractical.  It may seem to the un-schooled in the school of Aunt Lucille that this abundance, even excess of what some would blithely refer to as “knickknacks” is not useful. But such a person would be missing the point. Perhaps the use for these items was simply to be beautiful. Beauty in and of itself…beauty for the sake of beauty…is indeed practical.

Perhaps I would amend Mr. Morris’s musing to say “Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful or believe to be useful for the use of being beautiful.”

Having spent over 93 years on earth perfecting the art of appreciating beauty, I can only imagine her thrill as she arrived in Heaven, greeted by not only by Jesus, but also by many adoring fans who earned the privilege of walking with Him ahead of her.

In the Garden

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

Words: Charles Austin Miles (1912)

Thank you, Aunt Lucille, for teaching me what you taught me. You probably didn’t even know you did.

Let Them Eat Cake!

We wish you many happy returns of the day.
May sunshine and gladness be given.
And may the Dear Father prepare you on earth
For a beautiful birthday in heaven.

Today, as we celebrated our baby’s first birthday on earth, Aunt Lucille celebrated her beautiful birth day in Heaven after 93 birthdays on earth.

Lucille Montague was my great-aunt. My mom’s aunt, my Grandpa Jim’s big sister. Though she was short in stature, she was long on grace. She was one of the most influential people in my mom’s life. My mom’s favorite aunt joined her in Heaven this morning. It seems so like Aunt Lucille to die on a Sunday. It just seems the ladylike thing to do.

There's cake in heaven, right? (just indulge me...you don't need to criticize my theology)

As I mentioned above, today was Patrick’s FIRST birthday party. I cooked a turkey. That’s right. A chicken last month, a turkey today. My culinary repertoire is vastly expanding. Fortunately, my family pitched in with hot rolls, noodles, mashed potatoes, and a shamrock birthday cake. And, of course, my specialty, homemade super-duper chocolate ice cream, made with a quart-and-a-half of heavy whipping cream, 9 egg yolks, and an insane amount of chocolate. (it was good)…John watched me crack the eggs. He said I was hatching them.

Patrick had a fabulous time experiencing his cake and ice cream. We had practiced Tuesday with an angelfood cake topped with fluffy meringue frosting and conversation hearts, so he knew he had to pace himself, less he re-experience the sugar shakes. But I think he experienced his first brainfreeze, nonetheless. Our little daredevil missed out on blowing out his candle, though. He grabbed the flame and extinguished it before we could show him how to blow it out. We weren’t brave enough to re-light it after that.

He thoroughly enjoyed the day, and loved all his new toys, but he especially loved the birthday cards. He gets such a kick out of getting something new that is “just his” but, of course, that doesn’t last, since John is anxious for P. Dub to “share” with him. (translation: John takes all the toys, using the excuse “No, P. Dub, you’re too little. You might choke on it.) He would say that about a basketball.

I had mentioned to a client a couple weeks ago that Patrick would soon be one. She had asked me if my baby turning one made me sad. Truthfully, it did not, and still doesn’t really, even now that I’ve pondered the question a week or two. But I know it’s supposed to make me sad. You know, childhood is fleeting and so on and so forth. Is it that I haven’t taken time to think about it? No, it’s not, at least not now, because I’ve thought about it a lot since that person asked me that particular question. I think it’s a combination of a few other factors:

(1)   Though I desperately love my boys, I severely dislike the chores of motherhood. I try not to completely snap at a request to drop everything and fill a sippy cup. I have a love-hate relationship with breastfeeding (which incidentally, brings me back to Aunt Lucille, whom I remember telling me how much she “enjoyed nursing her babies.”) I have weaned Patrick, but that’s the subject of another post. Strangely enough, though, dirty diapers don’t really bother me. Probably because, given my boys’ steady dependence on MiraLax, dirty diapers are cause for a party in and of themselves. Every birthday gets my boys closer to my reward of seeing them enter adulthood as responsible, faithful, thoughtful young men. Young men, who (in this particular fantasy of mine) still say “Mom, you’re the best ever. You’re the best ever mommy.”

(2)  When John was diagnosed with cancer, I feared we would not see him celebrate his first birthday. He has celebrated not one, but three fabulous birthdays since his diagnosis. Though Patrick has never suffered a life-threatening illness, facing this with my firstborn perhaps makes me a little more aware just how much every birthday is a gift. A marker of the passage of time to be celebrated, not lamented.

(3)  Patrick will almost certainly not be our last child. Maybe it would be more bittersweet if I knew Patrick would be our last baby. I doubt it. Unless perhaps in this hypothetical situation he slept all night long consistently…

 I read once in a magazine that parents should not make a big deal out of children’s birthdays. I cannot fathom the logic involved in this advice. I enjoy reciting in my head the role call of “Lynda cakes” my boys have had: a rubber ducky, a blue M&M, Buzz Lightyear & Woody, and now, as of today, a shamrock. Now, I’ll admit in my head, the party always goes a lot more smoothly, probably because all of the children are patiently seated around a table, wearing party hats and their unspoiled Sunday best, politely awaiting their share of cake and ice cream with no objections as to a perceived shortage of frosting, or corner vs. edge vs. middle piece, position of the cake on the plate, degree of pre-cut-upness of the cake, cake touching ice cream vs. cake on completely separate plate/bowl, or fork or spoon, or color of fork of spoon.

And then, when it’s time for the presents, all the children (including siblings of the birthday boy) quietly and attentively watch said birthday boy unwrap his presents and perhaps, much later, politely ask if they may have a turn with the new toy.

And the birthday boy himself? Well, he quickly and methodically (but also patiently and reverently) opens each present, but only after opening the card and thanking the giver before opening the present, with which he is thoroughly and sincerely thrilled.

That’s why I plan every detail…just on the off chance that it might one day go how I planned.

I think that’s a good place to quit for the night.