View from the Prairie Box

I thought the Internet should enjoy this photo as much as I do.

Jeremy had to dress up in order to get into his office’s Halloween party on Monday. And me? Well, I look like this everyday.

I awoke with hunger pains this morning and, instead of feeding Livia first, I shut the baby in the bathroom with Jeremy and ran downstairs for bowl of cereal. Halfway through the Grapenut O’s, I heard, “Rebecca, come up here, please!” Something about Jeremy’s tone of voice, and the fact he was using my full name to address me, made me run for the stairs.

What I found in the bathroom was hysterical. My husband, only partially bathed (our old house doesn’t have a shower), standing and holding on to a dripping wet, fully-clothed Livia. My mind needed a few seconds to decipher this picture: Baby still dressed, sopping wet… Okaaaay.

Apparently Livia’s love of walking along the bath’s edge while patting Mommy or Daddy with soapy hands resulted in a full-on bathtub dive. Jeremy tried to stay calm as he described what she looked like under water, eyes and mouth closed, hair waving about her head. All I can say is that I’m glad I wasn’t on duty when the Diving Baby Act took place!

We’re addicts. Thanks to our friendly neighborhood supplier, we’re hopelessly hooked on LOST.

Can’t. stop. watching.

1. This one is for Lincolnites: What do you think of Dish, the restaurant located downtown? I’ve eaten there twice some time ago and both times I thought the entrees were pathetic considering their prices. However, I’ve heard some positive reviews recently, so perhaps management has shifted hands…?

2. How do YOU save money? Any and all tips are appreciated. I’ve discovered that I’m better at spending than saving. Alas, things must change for this stay-at-home mama.

Today, as we left the Sunken Gardens and I began to strap my daughter into her carseat, Livia became fussy and started crying. The first thing that came to my mind almost came out my mouth: Now, don’t get all crabby and ruin our lovely time, Livia. Fortunately, my father’s advice (Think first, then speak, then act) is finally taking hold and I pondered the patronizing words I had wanted to say. Why did I expect anything other than tears out of my 17 month old child? Here I was, taking her from the fresh air and beauty of the gardens, from the paths where she did her Favorite Activity Ever (aka Walking), from the stone wall where she had been handed turkey and cheese and Sun Chips—and now I was strapping her back down in a stuffy car. Of course she didn’t want to leave! Her behavior was normal and it was silly of me to expect anything else.

I’m amazed sometimes at the words coming from my mouth. I am not simply regurgitating phrases my mother and grandmother used; all of a sudden, for better or for worse, I am tempted to use phrases I’ve heard ANY mother use! Think, speak, act. Hopefully this filter will be present throughout the rest of my life… And then I won’t be tempted to reply to crocodile tears with a shrill, “Now Livia, don’t ruin our lovely time!” : p Who talks like that anyways?!

I’m posting links to the following commercials so that I can quit quoting lines to people and simply point them to my blog instead. Watch this one and the fifth and twelfth ones here. Read Jason’s post on how Bob Ebel, the commercials’ director, gets his amazing results.

Identical twins are the most fascinating people ever—and I think the Helman twins are perhaps the cutest ever. Last weekend Mom2 (a.k.a. Jeremy’s mom) and her twin were together after more than a year apart. At a family dinner Sunday I waited patiently to use the bathroom. Lo and behold, the door opened and out popped Carol (Twin #1) and then Karen (Twin #2). Apparently, when they’re together they are really together. Not even a bathroom break can separate these two! *smile*

Some of you may be wondering what happened to my monthly letters to Livia. Well, I decided that these updates were too personal to be posted on the wonderful world of the internet every month. I started feeling like Livia deserves something to call her own someday, some memento that friends and strangers alike haven’t seen. Posting them on the blog was a nice way to keep myself accountable to writing on a monthly basis, but all good things come to an end right? I’ll continue to post pictures and writings about Punkins, I’m sure. But for now the letters themselves are treasures to hold a little closer to our hearts.

As for the present comings and goings of our beloved 17 month old? As you can see in the picture, she’s a toothy one. She’s now the proud owner of four molars and one canine. I can tell you from personal experience that her teeth are very sharp. Baby Vamp laid one on my neck yesterday, and boy, was I NOT a happy mama. The need for discipline has quickly entered our universe and Jeremy and I are talking about it on a regular basis now… How do we best discipline her when she bites and hits? How long do we leave her on her naughty mat? What if she scoots off of it? When is a spanking called for? And so on. The great thing about the whole need for discipline is that it simply means Livia is becoming more independent. And a natural byproduct of that is her increased interest in movement. Right now she’s cruising the furniture and taking more risks. She also does a mean butt-scootch around the house—a habit our early intervention team sternly looks down upon. I’m not sweating it anymore though. This child is going to walk when she wants to and not a moment before. When the walking finally comes, I’m in big trouble. Right now she can only reach yea high from a seated position, so I can’t imagine what life will be like when her sticky fingers can reach up and over the computer desk and up and into high drawers. Ah, motherhood! As my dad said yesterday, there’s a reason why people become parents when they’re young.

Aren’t these kids beautiful? And Christie, of course, holding the cotton candy… She’s beautiful, too. : )

Wow. I’ve been reading this book on pain (The Gift of Pain, Dr. Paul Brand & Philip Yancey), and over and over it has impressed me. I find myself repeatedly bookmarking my page then immediately sharing what I’ve read with Jeremy or I’ll lay in bed at night and consider the amazing way God has created our bodies. It’s all I can do to complete the book before doing Internet research on the chief author, Dr. Brand, and his lifelong work with leprosy patients.

Currently I’m halfway through the book and I can’t wait any longer to share some of this fascinating knowledge in Blogland. The following paragraphs reveal why Brand’s discourse on pain is so very interesting:

It took many years of research to put together a full picture, but at last I understood. Pain employs a wide tonal range of conversation. It whispers to us in the early stages: at a subconscious level we sense a slight discomfort and change position in bed, or adjust a jogging stride. It speaks louder as danger increases: a hand grows tender after a long stint at ranking leaves, or a foot grows sore in new shoes. And pain shouts when the danger becomes severe: it forces a person to limp or even to hop or else quit running altogether…

Once, back at the leprosarium, I had an abrupt encounter with a loud “shout” of pain. I was walking along the sidewalk with my eyes lifted high, searching the treetops for the source of a lovely birdsong, when crash, the next thing I knew I was lying face down on the path. I felt an instant flush of embarrassment and looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen me fall. I felt irritated, even angry. But then, as I rose to my feet and checked myself for injuries, I realized what had happened. As my eyes gazed upward toward the bird, my foot had wandered over to the edge of the sidewalk. I was in the process of putting all my weight on the foot, which hung precipitously over the concrete edge. My ankle began to twist until the tiny collateral ligament of the angle sensed itself being stretched to the breaking point. Without consulting me, that little ligament set in motion a powerful pain message that forced the immediate slackening of the major muscles of my thigh. In the more peremptory fashion, that action deprived the knee of its muscular support and it collapsed. In short, I fell…

Without this chorus of pain, a leprosy patient lives in constant peril. He will wear too-tight shoes all day. He will walk five, ten, fifteen miles without changing gait or shifting weight. And, as I had seen so often in India, even if sores break open inside his shoe, he will not limp… He [lacks] the indispensable protection of pain.

**Sarah B, I don’t know if you have internet access anymore, but I hope you get a chance to read this book. You, of all people, will understand why I find it so intriguing. Three cheers for A&P in high school. ; ) By the way, I miss you! xoxoxo