and then you were ten....months

Dear Garrett,

What a trooper you are! This month has been a hard one, riddled with illness and the painful sprouting of your first two teeth. We both have been saved countless times by the beautiful spring weather that has come to Brooklyn which has allowed us to go on sunshine-filled walks around the neighborhood. You love to sit in your stroller and soak in your lively surroundings, and you get excited when we stop at the park to ride in the swings and blow bubbles.

At the beginning of the month, you fell prey to a nasty bout of bronchitis which resulted in prodding visits to the doctor and medicine you didn't much care for. It was hard for me to see you so feverish and uncomfortable as your voice turned from sweet to squeaky. You fully recovered, thank goodness, and arrived on the other side with your very first tooth! After a few more weeks of teething crankiness, sprinkled with several sleepless nights, your bottom left incisor had a next-door neighbor and suddenly your world became more edible.

You eat table foods now, and your pincer grasp has become so fine tuned that you can pick up just about anything you set out to. Your favorite foods to feed yourself include Cheerios and bits of bread and jam. Your two new teeth also have a sweet side for treats like New York cheesecake (only the best for you!).

You are as clingy as you are eager for independence. From your seat on the floor, surrounded by toys, you beg to be picked up, though once you have been, you scramble to explore something else. You've learned to pull yourself up to stand, a trick which you usually showcase as you climb from my lap up to my shoulders, as well as in the crib. You are growing more and more wiggly and mobile, and, while you're still not crawling, you're giving more signs that you're interested in soon trying it out: you make more of an effort to reach for things, and you love expressing your anger when you can't quite get to what you're aiming for (and you probably don't appreciate it when I giggle as you clench your fists and grunt in frustration). Soon -- hopefully during this coming month -- everything will click and you will be on the go.

Exploring your world is something you spend most of your time doing. With your pointed index finger at the ready, you reach and touch things to check them out. If an item passes your touch test, it usually then gets inspected inside your mouth. (Of course, it first must pass through your tongue, which is always dangling over your bottom lip.) You recently learned, however, about the usefulness of another of your senses: the day I put a scratch and sniff sticker on the back of your hand, you spent the majority of the day smelling it.

You love to play, especially with your stacking toys, and Dad and I love to play with you. The little boy in you has already learned how to play catch: when we roll a ball to you, you roll it back. Dad's yo-yo sends you into hysterical laughter, and you keep us all entertained by your endless games of Peek-a-Boo.

You are growing so big! Your blond hair has grown long enough to warrant your first haircut, and your baby face is melting into that of a little boy. Your big smile is, as always, incredibly contagious and sends shivers through me as I think about how much I love you. Please stay the sweet boy you are.

Love,
Mama

sweet bloomin' ducklings!

It's been raining here for the last few days and I've been using my cooped-up time to get a few tasks done around the house. So while I'm shredding old documents and finding better homes for the stray objects strewn in less desirable locations, I'll let you watch a few web videos I've enjoyed from other blogs I browse.

The first is about wood ducklings:

Wasn't that amazing? Ducks have always had a special place in my heart, but this just about did me in.

This one I saw today on a local blog. It's a time lapse video of the Brooklyn Botanic Garden's cherry blossoms.

So beautiful, n'est-ce pas? No, I haven't seen the cherry blossoms in person. I'd like to. The Cherry Blossom Festival, Sakura Matsuri, is scheduled for this weekend. So if it ever stops raining (assuming the rain hasn't destroyed the blossoms), maybe we'll trek to Prospect Park for a gander.

teeth

Today I would like to talk briefly about teeth. Garrett has been busy growing his lately, and, to be frank, it's made for some pretty miserable days (and nights) at our house. But today, finally, he cut his second tooth. His first tooth (bottom left incisor) now has a next-door neighbor.

Now that I've witnessed the sprouting of two of his teeth, I'm starting to more confidently know my son's teething process. For some children, it's quick and relatively painless. For Garrett, it's long and miserably drawn out and includes not only waterfalls of drool, the anxious tendency to bite and gnaw on anything handy, and the typical pained crankiness, but also a drippy nose, a cough, and more sneezes than I care to count. The cold symptoms brought on by the appearance of his first tooth ultimately developed into bronchitis. We've been lucky so far with this second tooth and have only had to deal with snot and phlegm, which, while still not fun, is sure a lot less expensive than multiple visits to the doctor and prescriptions for everything the pharmacy has to offer.

I'm really hoping that as cultivating teeth becomes more recognized as a normality in Garrett's life, he'll simultaneously learn how to manage the pain better so as not to be so sleeplessly irritable and prone to getting sick. Because doesn't he have like 18 more baby teeth to grow over the next year or two? Someone please tell me that teething improves over time! Anyway, stay tuned for photos which showcase bottom teeth crowding out Garrett's gummy grin.

Also, in other tooth-related news, I finally made myself a dentist appointment. I haven't gone in for a cleaning in about a year, so it's high time I got my pearly whites checked on again. The dentist I called came so highly recommended that their first available appointment isn't until the end of June. But I suppose that only gives me more time to continue my sparkling track record for daily flossing. Seriously, this coming appointment will probably (no, make that definitely) be the first time in my life where I will be able to look my dentist in the eye and tell him that, yes, I floss every day. I've been going strong since early February when Blake and I decided we wouldn't let the other go to bed until he/she flossed as well as brushed their teeth. It really is amazing what the buddy system can help you accomplish.

food for friday

You want to see what I've been working on for the last several weeks?


In an effort to keep our meals interesting while working in a tight budget*, I decided it would be smart to make my recipe collection more user-friendly. This required a major overhaul of the dinner (and, of course, dessert) ideas I'd been gathering since I was a teenager. When I began, my recipe box was a mess, with countless duplicates, meals I couldn't remember if I'd tried/liked, recipes I'd clipped from heaven knows where. The collection seriously needed to be weeded out and, essentially, completely replanted.

First I sorted the recipes into three piles: tried and true, wanted to try, and pretty sure I'd never try. I set the third group aside and focused on the daunting task of re-copying almost every single other recipe. I chose to do this because I figured that if I was going to totally re-do my collection, I'd want it to look clean. This also gave me an opportunity to update recipes I'd altered. On the back of every main course dish that we'd tried, I listed several suggestions for sides. This way, when I'm planning out my meals, I can look at the card and get ideas of side dishes that go well with that particular main course, thus making meal planning and grocery shopping a little simpler. I also created a card listing no-recipe main/side dishes consisting of meals like canned soup and sandwiches and such which I can also consult as I plan out my meals.

The next task was to find a good way to organize it all in my box. After looking at every single one of my recipes, I sorted them into categories that I'd find useful. I purchased some small tab dividers which I attached to index cards and labeled them as follows:

• main dish
• chicken
• beef
• fish/pork
• pasta
• sandwich
• casseroles
• sides
• soup/salad
• breakfast
• appetizers
• beverages
• breads
• misc.
• cookies
• brownies/bars
• pies/cakes/frostings
• other desserts

I put the tried and true recipes at the front of each category and, just behind them, separated by a colored index card, the collection of those waiting to be tried.

My hope is that, come meal planning time, I can sit with my recipe box, thumb through the collection, and come up with ideas that are well-balanced, call for items that I already have in my pantry or can get on sale, and finally be able to work in some of the recipes I've been wanting to try for ages.

As an addition to this project, I am also going through my cookbooks and marking the recipes I'm interested in trying. Maybe someday I'll copy these ones onto index cards so that I can pare down my cookbook collection. I'm also interested in one day investing in some recipe software -- something that will allow me to search my own, tried and true recipe collection by ingredient. I know technology like this is available at a variety of recipe websites, but I'd like something that can sift though things my family is used to eating.

So it's been quite the project, but I've already been reaping the rewards. We have found several new meals this week that we've thoroughly enjoyed and we will most definitely prepare again. In fact, we liked a couple of them so much, that I've decided to share them with you here:

Chicken Fingers and Honey Mustard Sauce
(this one is super easy)

Chicken Fingers:
1 cup seasoned breadcrumbs, crushed croutons, or Wheatsworth crackers
1 cup Parmesan cheese

Blend together and place in a shallow dish. In another shallow dish, pour a fair amount of oil (can use beaten egg). Dip 8-10 chicken tenders in oil, then in crumb mixture. Place on foil-lined sheet pan and bake 30 minutes at 350.

Honey Mustard Sauce:
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1/8 - 1/4 cup each honey and mustard, to taste

Blend together and serve with chicken fingers.

Suggested Sides: fresh fruit, green salad, mashed potatoes

Baked Macaroni and Cheese
(also super easy)

1 can (10.75 oz) Campbell's Condensed Cheddar Cheese Soup
1/2 soup can milk
1/8 tsp pepper
2 cups hot cooked corkscrew or medium shell macaroni (about 1.5 cups uncooked)
1 tbsp dry bread crumbs
2 tsp margarine or butter, melted

In a 1-quart casserole dish, mix soup, milk, pepper, and macaroni. Mix bread crumbs with margarine and sprinkle over macaroni mixture. Bake at 400 for 20 minutes or until hot. (To double recipe, double all ingredients, except increase margarine to 1 tbsp, use 2-quart casserole dish, and increase baking time to 25 minutes.)

Suggested Sides: cooked vegetable, green salad

Do enjoy!


*Our food budget, by the way, was raised in April to $175/month. $150/month was great to try and served as a fantastic kick in the pants to be more budget conscious, but it soon became clear that it wasn't a realistic goal for every month. We're still keeping it tight, though.

sticklers unite!

A few months ago, I laughed and learned my way through Eats, Shoots & Leaves, a clever little book on punctuation by Lynne Truss. I consider grammar to be not only a tool, but an art form, and even though I know I'm often guilty of making grammatical errors myself, I can't help but let the stickler in me point my nose in the air over signs and menus littered with typos and improper uses of the apostrophe.

Take this sign in my neighborhood, for example. It's not a punctuation mistake, but rather one from its close relative, spelling:


While launder does mean "to wash clothes," I'm pretty sure they meant Laundromat. Every time I pass by this little laundry facility, I can't help but wonder if it's actually a money laundering joint using washers and dryers as a cover up. I mean, this is Brooklyn, the city where some friends of ours spent a period of time renting an apartment over a funeral home from members of the Italian mafia who were apparently using said funeral home as a cover up for a few questionable activities of their own, if you catch my drift.

In all likelihood, though, this Laundromat's probably just owned and operated by immigrants who were still learning English at the time this sign was made. But it's still fun to wonder, don't you think?

Just as poor punctuation is fun to poke fun at, good punctuation is fun to praise. Not too long ago, the NYC Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) started running an anti-littering ad on the city's subways and buses. It read:

Bad news!

It doesn't matter what paper you read, its language or viewpoints.
Please put it in the trash can; that's good news for everyone.

The clever use of of the semicolon in this ad was noticed by the New York Times, which ran a fantastic article praising that minute piece of punctuation and the MTA employee who penned it. According to the article:

Semicolon sightings in the city are unusual, period, much less in exhortations drafted by committees of civil servants. In literature and journalism, not to mention in advertising, the semicolon has been largely jettisoned as a pretentious anachronism.

So it really should be no wonder why the stickler in me smiles smugly to myself every time I see the ad.

And speaking of grammar, last night I received a much-anticipated phone call from my brother with post-ultrasound news. We now know that their baby will be addressed by the pronouns he and him. While I'd have been thrilled for them no matter what the gender, I have to admit I'm pretty excited that Garrett's first-ever cousin will be a little boy. They can be buddies!

three years

Three lovely, adventure-filled years.

April 23, 2005
Manti, Utah

Three years and three states later, we're now a threesome:


And I'm happy to say that this magnetic equation, which was computed by my then-11-year-old sister, Chelsea, shortly after we returned from our honeymoon and which has been living on our various refrigerators ever since, still holds quite true:

Happy Anniversary, Blake!
I love you!

earth shaking fears

As you may have heard in the news recently, a 5.2 magnitude earthquake (with a subsequent 4.6 magnitude aftershock) hit the Midwest last Friday. Even though it was centered in Eastern Illinois, my friends in Muncie, Indiana (well, some of them anyway) felt their ground move. While the quake didn't cause any major damage and was apparently more oddly sensational than scary, I am so glad I wasn't there to experience it myself.

I do not like earthquakes. Growing up I lived in constant fear of "the big one." Earthquake drills at school, with their awful sound recordings of glass shattering and barn animals going wild played in warning over the PA system, horrified me. I was so scared of being caught unawares as buildings crumbled on top of me that I got into the habit of never getting comfortable in a room without knowing first where there was strong wood to curl up under or a sturdy wall to pin myself against in case the ground started to shake. I would also routinely check for earthquakes by holding my breath and staying very still -- just to make sure nothing was moving that shouldn't be.

One evening when I was probably about 10 years old, my family was all gathered in the living room watching Ghostbusters on TV. The movie extended past our bedtime, but my parents assured us as they tucked us in during a commercial break that they were recording it and we could finish watching it the next day. In my dark, quiet bedroom, before I curled up under my covers, I performed my routine earthquake check. I held my breath and stayed very still -- and this time there was movement.

It wasn't much, but the blinds were shaking and I could feel my bunk bed sway ever so slightly. I jumped out of bed and rushed to the living room and warned my parents that I had just felt an earthquake. Knowing of my tendencies to get freaked out over nothing, they told me I was probably just imagining things and sent me back to bed.

In the morning I learned that I wasn't crazy (paranoid, yes; crazy, no) -- there had been an earthquake the night before, and our recording of Ghostbusters was proof. Shortly after it happened, the news of it flashed across the bottom of television screen. I can't remember what the magnitude was, but I can assure you that it was only noticed by seismologists and paranoid freaks like me. That it actually happened during one of my routine earthquake checks was more shocking than the movement itself, and, sadly, only fed my paranoia.

I no longer perform my routine earthquake checks, but I still do not like earthquakes. Not even tiny ones. So even though the one felt in Muncie wasn't anything to get worked up over, I'm still glad I wasn't there.

While we're on the topic of frightening things, I suppose that now would be a good time to update you on Garrett's growing list of fears. It has been previously established that Garrett is afraid of vacuums, blenders, and styrofoam. I'm happy to report that he's overcome his aversion to the vacuum, but unfortunately blenders and styrofoam still freak him out. We've learned recently, too, of a few other items that work him into worried frenzy. They are, in no particular order: his new popcorn push toy, the slinky dog, and elevators. It looks like it's gonna be one step forward, two steps back with this kid.

Oh well. He's still adorable. And somehow that seems to make up for it.

going greek, east village style

This Wednesday Blake and I will have been married for three years, and to celebrate, we spent Saturday evening together, sans Garrett, in the city.

After gathering some recommendations from co-workers, Blake made reservations at Pylos (pronounced pee-lohs), a Greek restaurant bedecked with clay pots in the East Village.

Have you ever eaten Greek food? Because if you haven't, I highly suggest you drop everything and go try some. For an appetizer we ate saganaki tou merakli (or, three Greek cheeses melted in a clay pot) served with the most delicious slices of pita bread and hummus. It being a Greek restaurant, I'd wanted to order a lamb dish for dinner, but eventually settled on papia psiti me thymarisio meli kai xinomila (or, pan-seared breast of duck glazed with Greek thyme honey and served with homemade garlic mashed potatoes). I don't think I could have made a better choice. I'm still salivating over the savory tenderness of that sweetened bird. Blake ate klassito kotopoulo stifado (or, freerange chicken, braised in spiced red wine and onions, served over old fashioned Greek pasta). He loved it, and, based on the few bites I tasted, I can understand why.

Before and after our meal, we wandered (hand-in-hand, of course) throughout the East Village. What a fun part of the city! The residents are mostly young and all funky and you literally can find just about anything there, from witches to wedding boutiques. We enjoyed walking in and around a fun little children's shop, as well as a few bookstores. As we passed by the Ukrainian Catholic church, we were tickled by the lovely sticks of pussy willows the elderly Eastern European congregation were holding as they wrapped up what we presumed to be a religious ceremony perhaps involving the Orthodox Easter season. Back at home, we completed the evening with a bowl of black raspberry ice cream and Juno (which is a fabulous movie, by the way).

It was a fantastic evening -- one that could only have been made better by a glowing report from Garrett's babysitters. Unfortunately, because our baby decided he'd dink around in the crib instead of take a solid afternoon nap, we didn't get that glowing report. What a stinker! Luckily Emily and Adam are resilient and aren't letting our cranky child question their current pregnant state -- at least not for too long. (Thanks again, guys...we owe you.)

city music

This is the poem I wrote this month for my writing group. I thought I'd share it here today to celebrate the beautifully warm weather Brooklyn's been privy to these last few days. The sunshine has somehow turned up the volume here in the city, and everything is noisy and alive. I'm loving it! I'm still not completely in love with the poem, however, but I suppose that's what first drafts are for.

City Music

The city has a song to sing,
and from my perch on the sill of
my fire escape window
I can hear the harmony
of the choir below.

It starts with the shuffling
of feet on sidewalks,
followed closely by
strollers and carts rolling
and bumping over concrete ridges.
On the corner, the voices of
two old men blend as they
converse in their foreign tongue.
Church bells peal, children laugh
as they walk in groups to school,
a dozen brooms swish storefront pavements.
Cars whir,
buses hiss,
and the engines of delivery trucks
sigh.

Suddenly a siren urgently wails
and, as if on cue, a car alarm
joins in the emergency.
An anxious driver honks at a
just-green light with vicious impatience.
Jackhammers violently chip away a square of road
while underground the train rumbles by,
shaking the avenue above.

The breeze picks up as it
tunnels down narrow streets;
all stop to listen.
From the peace that has developed
creeps a strain that both
is fitting
but does not fit:

the soprano of an
operatic aria,
wafting on the wind,
finds its way through my open window.
Over the hush below,
her voice
increases in
intensity.
The choir holds its breath
as the prima donna holds her final note.
And when the count is reached,
the unseen conductor
lowers his baton
and the musical voice of the city
again becomes
one.

scratch and sniff

Apparently you're never too young to find endless pleasure from a scratch and sniff sticker.




Garrett's been smelling the back of his hand all day. It's freaking hilarious.

seconds

I gave Garrett his first haircut a little over a week ago. I only snipped above his ears, but as I've never been much of a hairstylist, I did a less than fabulous job. Someone better experienced with haircutting scissors needed to straighten things out, so yesterday I let a professional give him his second haircut. Not only did she fix my crooked behind-the-ear job, but she also trimmed along his neckline. He's such a sharp-looking little boy now! No more straggles! Now, if you are thinking, "he had enough hair for straggles?" let me assure you that yes, he did. He has hair; it's just blond. Here's proof:

before

after

Garrett has known for quite some time that he can pull himself up to a stand if, while sitting on my lap, he grabs my fingers for support. But until a short time ago, he'd never used furniture to brace himself for this maneuver. Sometime last week, he pulled himself up on the railing of his crib. You can be sure I was impressed, but, seeing as he doesn't know yet how to roll himself from a completely horizontal position to a full sit, I had my doubts that he'd do this little trick again any time soon. Last night, he proved me wrong. And this time I had the camera:

spring comes to brooklyn

wow

Okay, so I was not expecting such a huge response to my last post. I was a little overwhelmed, to be honest (and, to be even more honest, was incredibly flattered by the nice things you said both about my writing and my cute baby). Thanks, guys, for playing my Peek-a-Boo game! I wish I could respond to each comment individually, but have you seen how many of you commented? Good heavens! Please know, though, that I was absolutely thrilled to hear from so many of you, and I was even more tickled that a few of my lurkers chimed in. I hope you all know that you're more than welcome to speak up whenever you want...I love to hear from you.

I've spent the last few days weighing my options as I've gone back and forth on the public vs private debate. It's a tough call, it really is. One of the things I love about blogging is its social aspect. I've found so many friends, old and new, as I've cultivated my talent for writing. A lot of that would be lost if I went private. On the other hand, this blog is used to keep in touch with my family, all branches of which live too many miles away to make just dropping by possible. They want to know what's up with That Cute Baby as much I want share him with them, which means pictures and videos and talking about our everyday life. And that can be a scary thing on a medium as vast and public as the world wide web. I have decided, though, that for now I will keep Adventures with Lindsay public. I think that switching to private might be inevitable one day down the road, but not right now.

That said, though, I would ask for your help with a few safety precautions I've been attempting to make. I'm sure you've noticed that, while I'm fine with you knowing our first names, I don't use our last name here and I don't tell you where my husband works. I also don't tell you too many specifics about where exactly we live (sure, you know I'm in Brooklyn, but the last time I checked, Brooklyn was so crammed full of people that if it was its own city, and not just a borough of NYC, it would be the 4th largest city in the country so unless you know details, finding me here is like looking for a needle in a very crowded haystack). What I would appreciate from you is that if you have me linked, you do not use our last name (or my maiden last name, for that matter). Also, if you know details about our lives which would be safer left off a public website, please leave them out of your comments. I'm sure you understand my reasons for this request, and I thank you in advance for your help.

So, now that we got that stack of laundry washed, folded, and ironed, let's move on to something more fun, shall we? Yesterday, while couch shopping on the furniture floor at Macy's (yes, THE Macy's), I had my first New York City celebrity sighting. While testing out one particular couch, I looked over to the set next to us and saw the guy who plays the minor character, Josh, on 30 Rock. He and his lady friend were apparently also couch shopping, and at one point he walked over to the couch I was sitting on, picked up the fabric sample draped over the back of it, had a debate with said lady friend over what exactly that color was (it was truffle), and then walked back to his couch. And, in case you were wondering, he appears to have a very similar personality to the one he portrays on the show.

Okay, okay, so maybe celebrity isn't quite the right word, but the guy's on TV, and Blake and I were slightly starstruck, so I say it counts.

peek-a-boo

My blog turned 2 this week and to celebrate I thought we'd play a little party game. It's called Peek-a-Boo. Here's how you play:

If you read this post and, in a larger sense, this blog, please leave a comment. That's it. Simple, right?

This way I can keep at bay my urge to turn my blog private (which, you should know, I've been seriously considering lately) while still generally getting a pretty good sense of who my regular readers are. (So, yes, infrequent commenters/lurkers -- it's time to come out. Don't worry; I won't bite. In fact, I'd love to hear from you.) I'd like to keep my blog public, but would feel safer doing so if those who were reading chimed in every once in a while.

If you're not sure what you would say in your comment, here are a few ideas:

• Wish my blog a happy 2nd birthday
• Tell me how you found the blog
• Share why you keep reading the blog
• Confirm once more how adorable you think my baby is (because you know I totally eat that up)
  
• Tell me why I should keep the blog public
• Tell me why I should switch the blog to private
  

So, Peek-a-Boo. It'll be fun. Here, Garrett and I will start:

( Feel free to ignore my obnoxious, high-pitched baby voice. Oh, and pardon Garrett for that fabulous burp he lets out.)

name game

A friend of mine recently posted about the whereabouts of her children's names. I liked this idea and thought I'd do something similar.


"And how are we feeling today?" the post-delivery nurse asked the morning after the birth of our first child. She peeked into the bassinet where, after a very wakeful night of feedings and diaper changes, our baby boy was sleeping peacefully. "Oh, he is precious. Congratulations," she said.

"Thank you," I managed to proudly beam despite the fact that my exhausted body ached.

After performing her routine blood pressure and temperature checks, she whipped out a folder brimming with the paperwork required to validate the existence of new life.

"Here are the applications for his birth certificate and his social security number," she said, handing me the forms. "Just fill them out and give them to the nurse on duty before you check out. Oh, and don't forget these," she said, dangling a blue pair of knit booties and a knit cap. "The volunteers downstairs like to make sure our newborns leave the hospital warm and cozy."

And with that she left the room, leaving my husband and I looking gravely at each other. The time had come to officially name our just-born baby.

"So, is he Garrett?" asked Blake, taking the paperwork off my lap.

I bit my lip.

"Or is he Owen?" he continued.

My jaw moved nervously back and forth and I started twiddling my fingers.

"Nathan? Forrest? Holden?" he went on. Suddenly the corners of his mouth turned up and his eyes smiled. "Linus?"

We had spent nine long months bouncing name ideas, both silly and serious, back and forth. Actually, the name game had begun long before our baby was even conceived. Naming our unborn children was a topic we liked to discuss while we were engaged. It was then that we picked out the name Garrett -- one of the few boy names we mutually liked. Garrett was a sturdy name, worked with the last name, and had the added familial benefit of being similar to Blake's father's name (Gary) and the same as one of my fantastic cousins. Plus, it worked well alongside the name Blake, which I adamantly requested serve as the middle name of our first-born son.

Though the name Garrett remained at the top of our list throughout the pregnancy, and especially so once we learned we'd be having a boy, we never used it to refer to our baby. Our baby was known simply as Baby. We wanted to use this time to play devil's advocate with ourselves, to look at all of the possibilities, before setting anything in stone. I wanted to be able to meet my baby boy, to look at his tiny, precious face, before officially deciding what he should be called. After all, naming a baby is no light task. It should be a name befitting both a child and an adult, it should be traditional as well as unique, it should fit in the family and, perhaps most importantly, it should fit the child himself.

I peeked into the bassinet where my son, less than a day old, lay quietly asleep. Did he look like a Garrett? An Owen? A Forrest? I couldn't be sure. He still just looked like a Baby.

"Well?" Blake asked again.

"Garrett?" I said, wincing.

"Does he look like a Garrett to you?" Blake asked.

"Maybe?" My eyes closed. "Yes?"

"Yes?" Blake said, looking for confirmation.

"Yes." I said again, trying my best to sound more resolute, but apparently not succeeding.

"Not Owen? You're sure?"

"Well, I was until you said that." I couldn't decide whether I'd find my reassurance from my husband or my baby, and my eyes twitched between the two. "What do you think, Blake?" I asked.

"You're the mother, this is your decision," he said, pleased he'd avoided the agonizing pressure I was currently being crushed under.

"Garrett," I said. "Garrett Blake. Write that on the forms. We'll name him Garrett Blake."

Blake did as he was told and suddenly our baby boy had a name.

In the days and weeks that followed, I tried to get used to a name other than Baby. I purposefully practiced calling him Garrett, but frequently found myself falling back into my pregnant habit of referring to him in a more neutral way. Calling him Garrett sounded so foreign and too official. I wasn't sure if I was convinced that we'd made the right decision. He looked to me as much like a Garrett as he did an Owen. This worried me, especially when, during her visit to play grandma that first week, my mother, with absolutely no malicious intent, said to me after scrutinizing his round baby face, "He could have just as easily been an Owen."

It wasn't until he was three months old that I really came to associate the name Garrett with the adorable baby boy I'd given birth to. I think moving to Brooklyn helped to solidify it in my head; Garrett pronounced with the drawn-out Brooklyn a definitely sounds more distinctly delightful than the way it was pronounced in Muncie. And now, nine months after he entered my life, he couldn't be anything else.

waxing controversial

What follows below is my take on a controversial and ethical issue which has been itching to get out of my head and into a post for some time now. It is my opinion, my thoughts, and it may not coincide with your own way of thinking. That is fine. However, if you choose to comment, please keep in mind that we are all entitled to our own various opinions and share your thoughts accordingly. Thanks.


In the past few months I've heard several news reports of outbreaks of measles, including a few right here in Brooklyn. A disease which, in the United States, has the potential, through proper vaccination of children, to be completely eradicated, appears to be making a bit of a comeback. As a tax-paying, immunized adult, this is disheartening. As the mother of a child who is still going through the process of receiving his own vaccination, this is frightening.

The majority of those afflicted with the diseases during these various and isolated outbreaks had either not yet been vaccinated because they were still too young, or had never been vaccinated because of a choice not to be made by the parents. Reasons a parent might have for choosing to refrain from letting their child be inoculated are many, ranging from religious observances to fears that the vaccines will do more harm than good (for example, the speculation of a link between certain vaccines and autism). While as far as I'm aware all states have laws requiring proof of vaccination before a child can enter the public school system, some states provide lenient exemptions which more and more parents are falling back on as they choose not to vaccinate their children.

I believe that unless the case is extreme, exemptions from state vaccination mandates should not be allowed. What begins as a personal matter quickly broadens to a public health issue as years of costly effort to eradicate a disease begins to trickle down the drain. Choosing not to vaccinate a child is not only putting that child at risk of contracting a preventable disease, it also puts others at risk. And that is what frightens me: while on the one had, choosing to refrain from being inoculated is a personal choice, on the other it has very public consequences.

According to one New York Times article,

The exemptions [to state vaccine mandates] have been growing since the early 1990s at a rate that many epidemiologists, public health officials and physicians find disturbing.

Children who are not vaccinated are unnecessarily susceptible to serious illnesses, they say, but also present a danger to children who have had their shots — the measles vaccine, for instance, is only 95 percent effective — and to those children too young to receive certain vaccines.

[...]

It is the absence, or close to it, of some illnesses in the United States that keep some parents from opting for the shots. Worldwide, 242,000 children a year die from measles, but it used to be near one million. The deaths have dropped because of vaccination, a 68 percent decrease from 2000 to 2006.

“The very success of immunizations has turned out to be an Achilles’ heel,” said Dr. Mark Sawyer, a pediatrician and infectious disease specialist at Rady Children’s Hospital in San Diego. “Most of these parents have never seen measles, and don’t realize it could be a bad disease so they turn their concerns to unfounded risks. They do not perceive risk of the disease but perceive risk of the vaccine.”

Dr. Sawyer and the vast majority of pediatricians believe strongly that vaccinations are the cornerstone of sound public health. Many doctors view the so-called exempters as parasites, of a sort, benefiting from the otherwise inoculated majority.

Is it right for some parents to, in an effort to protect their own child, put the health of other children at risk? It's a controversial question, there's no doubt. And while I can see and understand both viewpoints, I tend to think that no, it's not right. I am vaccinated, my husband is vaccinated, my child is currently going through the process of being vaccinated, and all of our subsequent children will be vaccinated as well. I want my family to be protected, and feel that my efforts to do so by receiving vaccinations are being thwarted by those who choose not to.

How do YOU weigh in on this issue?

back from the dying

After a weekend of heavy medication, Garrett, by all accounts, is definitely on his way to a full recovery. We seem to have averted a hospital stay, which I know I'm grateful for. I just wanted to say thank you for all of your kind comments in my last post. It's comforting to know that I have so many friends, met and un-met, who care deeply about me and my family. So, again, thank you, from us, including Squeaky-Voiced Garrett:

Like many of you, we watched General Conference this weekend. Well, we watched as much of it as we could, anyway. Children - even just one child - makes it a little harder to focus. But we tried. We streamed the sessions online, very glad that we didn't have to drag a sick baby to the chapel in order to hear any of the talks. I really enjoyed Elder Holland's on continuing revelation, Elder Bednar's on prayer, and Elder Ballard's on motherhood. (Any guesses as to which session Garrett took a nap through?)

We spring cleaned on Saturday. Because we want to avoid as much as possible receiving house calls from certain unwanted visitors come summer, we deep cleaned behind and underneath the stove. We wanted to also pull the fridge out and clean behind there, but apparently this apartment was built around the refrigerator because that appliance will not budge. But we did get the floors all spic and span, the house dusted, and things in general nicely straightened up. We put our new bed together and are enjoying the satisfying feeling that comes from sleeping in a bed whose frame doesn't roll around on the wood floors.

Our new, pretty bed
(The baby came separately)

When we weren't cleaning, watching Conference, or enjoying a much-needed walk outside in some lovely Saturday spring weather, we were medicating Garrett: antibiotics twice a day, nebulizer treatments four times a day, a dose of probiotic once a day, Tylenol as necessary, twice daily doses of reflux medicine (this one isn't new...he's been on antacids since he was 3 months old), and regular snot sucking sessions (which, yes, he passionately hates) with the saline and bulb syringe. It's weekends like this that make we wonder if maybe perhaps I should have just cut to the chase and been a pharmacist.

Garrett getting nebulized.
These treatments usually result in fierce fits of fury on Garrett's part, which induces the parent not doing the nebulizing to attempt to distract him away from paying attention to the injustice of it all. During this round, the camera served as a rather mesmerizing distraction.

Before I go I just wanted to share one more video of Garrett. In this one you'll notice a few things, one being that his voice is starting to come back, as well as proof of his latest trick of shaking his head. Feel free to chuckle at the faces he pulls and fact that his tongue these days spends most of its time dangling out. We certainly do.

the last few days at our house

Has it really only been a few days since I last posted? Because it sure feels like it’s been a lot longer. Here’s how they’ve stacked up at our house:

*Sometime on Wednesday, Garrett’s runny nose decided to take on the unfortunate side effect of a raging temperature. During that sleepless night it peaked at around 104.3. Blake gave him a Priesthood blessing, but by morning, it hadn’t gone down much. His congestion was making it hard for him to breathe, not to mention making his sweet voice sadly squeaky, so I made an appointment for him to see the doctor.

*He woke up Thursday morning burning hot and feverishly sweaty, so I put him right in the bathtub. Just like the day before, he started making his pooping faces. Not wanting to have to scrub the tub again, I whipped him out and put him over the toilet…and just in the nick of time, too. And now, at age 9 months, Garrett has gone like a big boy.

*A little later, while giving him his reflux medicine and another dose of Tylenol, I felt something noticeably sharp sticking out of his lower gums. Yes, everyone, Garrett has (finally) taken his first steps into the world of chewing, tearing, and dentist appointments. His bottom left incisor is here, and by the looks of things, will be getting a neighbor before too long.

*At his appointment, Garrett was checked by a doctor at the practice who we hadn’t yet been seen by. After a thorough examination, it was determined that yes, Garrett was very congested. He suspected bronchiolitis, and sent us home with a nebulizer and a prescription for antibiotics, a hydrochloride solution (to be inhaled through the nebulizer), and a probiotic to counteract the diarrhea the antibiotics might cause. Because he wanted to rule out pneumonia, he also sent us to a local imaging lab with a referral for a chest x-ray.

*Turns out this new doctor is really and truly fabulous. After I was essentially turned away at the imaging lab because I didn’t have a male with me to hold Garrett on the x-ray table (apparently it’s against the law (though, more likely, just a company policy) for mothers, even if they are wearing a protective shield, to hold their own children in the event that they end up being pregnant while exposed to the radiation), I called the doctor back and asked him what he wanted me to do. He said he’d call the lab and talk to them himself, and a few minutes later I was being told by the receptionist that he was on his way over – he was going to hold Garrett himself. Can you believe this? Because I couldn’t. This doctor is currently ranking very high on my People I Love list. Garrett screamed through the x-ray, which broke my heart as I stood helpless out in the hallway. But happily, the x-rays looked good: no pneumonia. The doctor seemed relieved, but warned me that if Garrett doesn’t start to improve soon, he would likely end up being admitted to the hospital. He told me to come in the next morning for a follow-up appointment.

*I stopped by Rite Aid on my way home from the lab to pick up the prescriptions I’d dropped off right after the appointment. After spending a small fortune, my sick, cranky son and I headed home, toting with us what felt like the entire contents of the pharmacy. For the record, Garrett does not like being nebulized, nor does he find amoxicillin very tasty.

*The rest of Thursday is a daze. We spent most of the day wiping noses, dishing out medication, checking his temperature, and waiting, trying hard not to let my heart break into a thousand tiny pieces over the pathetic sounds of his sick little cries.

*The TV has been on quite a bit over the last few days in an attempt to distract me from getting inconsolably worried over Garrett’s health. Here are a few highlights:

• Our turn came to check Enchanted out from the library, so we watched that Wednesday night. I’d wanted to see this, even though I was pretty sure it would be stupid, because everyone kept giving it such rave reviews. Turns out it was pretty funny.
• I caught a little snippet of the Today show yesterday where they talked briefly about safety in NYC. The reporter was talking about the radical change this city has undergone over the last 30 years, citing that, “One recent statistical survey places New York right at the top of the list of the safest American cities – right up there with Provo, Utah.” That gave me a good chuckle.

*Our new bed was delivered yesterday morning. I was too drained and exhausted to help Blake set it up last night, so that will be a project for the weekend. I’m excited, though, to have a pretty bed to sleep in!

*Garrett woke up this morning a changed baby (thank heavens!). His fever broke while he slept, and his babbling (though still squeaky) smile has come back. We went to our follow-up appointment and the doctor was as pleased as I that Garrett is looking better. We’ll continue with the nebulizer and the medicine for the next ten days, at which point the antibiotics should be all consumed, and then we’ll head back to the doctor for another follow-up (to make sure that it was, in fact, antibiotic-curing bronchiolitis and not RSV or something else awful).

Garrett’s still a sick, sick little boy, and I’m completely worn out, but I think we both seem to be on the mend – or at least headed in that direction. Hopefully by the next time I post, we’ll be doing even better.

the annotated charlotte's web

Everyone should read Charlotte's Web, preferably as a child. And then once they grow up, they should read this book:

The Annotated Charlotte's Web
by E. B. White
with introduction and notes by Peter F. Neumeyer

I have never had so much fun re-reading the children's classic I first plowed through as a second-grader. This story of friendship, of the pastoral beauty of the farm, of miracles and salvation, and of the circle of birth, life, and death is only made more beautiful and more striking by the comments poignantly and intelligently made by Neumeyer. His annotations allow readers to "obtain insights into the craftsmanship of a highly conscious and self-aware artist, and gain an appreciation for the difficulties of writing beautiful prose fiction."

E. B. White is my kind of writer. His "sense of style [is] demanding." He went to great lengths to see that no paragraph, no sentence, no word, no minute piece of punctuation was wasted. And just like his words, every character, too, was molded with great care and precision. How fun it was to sneak a peek into the world of White's drafts and revisions, to read his notes and see his sketches, to be witness to his writing process. It was refreshingly pleasant to see that my own painstaking way of writing is in very good company.

And speaking of writing, reading this book rekindled that desire deep inside me to write and publish for children. Not an easy task, and certainly not one to be taken lightly. An accomplished author in the adult world, White obviously also excelled at writing for young readers. He once wrote that, "anyone who writes down to children is simply wasting his time. You have to write up, not down. Children are demanding. They are the most attentive, curious, eager, observant, sensitive, quick, and generally congenial readers on earth. They accept, almost without question, anything you present them with, as long it is presented honestly, fearlessly, and clearly." With a focus like this, White (and, it could also be said, Charlotte, his literary spider) is certainly one whose example I'd like to emulate.

I will be honest: I cried while reading again this story of a pig and a spider. What a triumph it is -- for White, for Wilber, for Charlotte. While simple in appearance, the tale is instead deeply profound and moving. It truly was White's magnum opus. It truly was "terrific."

"Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both."
-- final paragraph in Charlotte's Web

worse

I have found something worse than a snot nosed child:

A snot nosed child who poops in the tub.

So, so gross.

snot nosed children

I have never enjoyed witnessing the runny nosed side of childhood. Drool? Meh. It's part of babyhood. Spit up? Just an annoyance. Poopy diapers? Smelly, yet surprisingly manageable. But a waterfall of sticky, mucousy snot cascading out of the nose (and into the mouth) of an otherwise adorable child? I'm sorry, but that's just downright disgusting. I could never understand why mothers didn't exert more effort to keep their darling's noses clean.

Only now I'm seeing things from their point of view. And boy do I feel their pain. The change in seasons has turned a faucet on somewhere inside of Garrett and no matter how many times I wipe his face, I can't seem to shut it off. It's gross. And it gets everywhere: his cheeks, his hands, his hair...me. Add to this mucous fountain the sneezes, coughs, and screaming involved in the cleaning up after them, and it's almost more than I can keep up with. No matter how hard I tried, his little post-bath body stayed squeaky clean for all of three seconds. It's exhausting!

Ah, springtime.

(Or maybe that should be Ahhhh-choooo!! [sniff, sniff]. Springtime.)

ars poetica

April is National Poetry Month, and in honor of that fact, I've decided to start you off with a bit of ars poetica, or, poems about poetry.


from "Song of Myself"
by Walt Whitman

Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much?
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres on books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.


"Because You Asked about the Line between Prose and Poetry"
by Howard Nemerov

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisibe
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.

There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.


"Ars Poetica"
by Archibald MacLeish

A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,

Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,

Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown --

A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.

*

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,

Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind --

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.

*

A poem should be equal to:
Not true.

For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.

For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea --

A poem should not mean
But be.

In honor of this month of poetry, I've completely revamped my Because Words Matter blog. Please feel free to visit every day during the month of April where I will share a poem (or two, or three...) that I love.