adventures in home-making

Homebodies and tummy bugs.

In the pantry today, I discovered a forgotten batch of organic black beans left by Nick after his visit this summer and decided to invent a black bean soup worthy of the cold weather and the warm fire. Truthfully, pregnancy suits my home-loving soul. And the weather offers us added excuses for refusing to venture out into our mall-laced world. And then there is the stomach flu which keeps appearing and disappearing. Nothing serious, of course... just that tummyache which magically disappears when the clock strikes 24 hours. 

In fact, I can't remember the last year in which the stomach bug did not pay a visit to our family. In the meantime, I've become well enough acquainted with this harmless but disruptive sickness to have advice to share with friends.

• When the first person in your family gets sick, start giving everyone powder acidophilus (available for kids at Manna Grocery or a local health food store). So far, I did this with Max and Micah. Max's bout with the tummy bug was fairly mild, while Micah has yet to meet the tummy bug up close and personal. Adding it to milk is easiest.
• Popsicles, popsicles, popsicles. Don't buy natural fruit popsicles though, as the natural acidity of fruit is not tummy-friendly.
• Little sips and little bits at a time. Trying to drink large amounts of anything will only stimulate the gag reflex.
• Don't eat dairy. This includes yogurt.
• Rent lots of good movies and borrow some good books to share. While tummy bugs are usually uncomfortable, they generally aren't so bad that you can't enjoy the company of others or entertainment.
• Rest. The upside to the tummy bug? I got more relaxation time during that one day than I have in the entire past month. 

Caveat- When Max and I lived in Virginia, he contracted rotavirus at his daycare facility. It was horrible. We had to go to the ER for IV fluids two nights in a row. Every single drop of Pedialyte came back up. When he started crying without tears, I knew he needed fluids right away, so we went to the hospital. Thankfully, he never became badly dehydrated. But rotavirus lasted for a week. Unlike the usual calicivirus responsible for most tummy bugs, rotavirus sticks around and wreaks havoc for longer periods of time. That is why the risk of dehydration is so great.

Rotavirus is the leading cause of vomiting and diarrhea among children 3 to 15 months old and the most common cause of diarrhea in children under the age of 5 years. Symptoms of rotavirus infection appear 1 to 2 days after exposure. Rotavirus typically causes vomiting and watery diarrhea for 3 to 8 days, along with fever and abdominal pain. Rotavirus can also infect adults who are in close contact with infected children, but the symptoms in adults are milder. In the United States, rotavirus infections are most common from November to April. If your child attends daycare or church nursery, the chances of contracting rotavirus are MUCH greater, especially given shared snack times, diaper changing stations, and toys. The good news is that contracting the virus helps develop immunity and reduce symptoms of future infections.

An old playground near Huntsville.

 

 

If I were an alien, this would be my space-ship. And I would land it in Alabama.

 

One way in which I disagree with Islamists.

This is not to suggest that there is only one way in which I disagree with Islamists but, rather, to outline one way in particular which came to mind this afternoon when learning about the murder of a young girl at a Metallica concert. 

Unlike the Afghani Taliban, I do not believe that women are responsible for a man's decision to find them sexually desirable. Sexual desire remains, after all, a choice. 

Granted, our culture often suggests to men that sexual desire is something thrust upon them as opposed to something chosen, but I fear we do men a great disservice in casting them as hapless victims of an all-powerful mini-skirt. For it is these very same men which we rely upon to lead our families. It is these same men which we trust to protect and honor their wives and their homes. Ultimately, this trust is well-founded.

I do my best to hide my (meager) cleavage or try not to dress provocatively when in public. This is because I love and respect my husband and because my body belongs to him and to him alone. I don't guard the way in which I dress for fear of turning men into helpless victims of lust; there is nothing utilitarian in the decision to honor and respect the sacredness of your own body. It is a deeply-held principle or it is mere moral meteorology, but not both. 

It seems ridiculous to believe men can be helpless victims of any thought and then agree to follow them to the ends of the earth. On this view, men have the cognitive status of children- they can't be allowed to make decisions because their desires still overrun their common sense. But we know that men are not children, that we must trust them again and again (even when they fail) to try harder, to do better. It is precisely because we KNOW our men can overcome these thoughts and temptations that we encourage (or even plead with) spouses who suffer from porn addictions. 

Micah is stirring, and these thoughts have started to resemble a curly-q. How to finish? Perhaps by saying that I love being a woman, and I have so much respect for all my fellow women who have chosen to share their lives, hearts, and journeys with one man whom they trust to rise above his base thoughts. If we are all animals, then men are not more "animal" than women. Let's hold them to the high standard they deserve and stop treating them like cripples.

8 unmarried musings on the baby and this particular pregnancy.

1. The little one is rolling, tumbling, and kicking as we speak- she loves to move.
2. We are due on June 21st.
3. I can still lie on my stomach to read, doodle, and homeschool. Micah perches on my back while I type.
4. It looks like we will be having a little lady after all.
5. Max told us that he prayed for a little sister. 
6. Since midwife-assisted home-births are illegal in the state of Alabama, I probably won't be able to plan on a home birth. However, home births may be unplanned as well.
7. Every time I am pregnant, I am reminded that every baby born to every mother (no matter how "skanky" or "ignorant" or irresponsible she may be) is a gift from God. And God gives babies to mothers because He is wiser than we. I want to respect every mother I meet- not on the basis of her parenting style or efficiency but on the basis of God's love for her and trust in her.
8. My husband almost seems to adore me more when I am pregnant.

When moments turn to memories.

I love sneaking into my mother's photo albums on her computer as there is always something new to discover or something old tinged colored by nostalgia. After dinner the other night, I came upon a few beautiful, unremembered moments which I decided to steal and share. It's always the little things...

Like Max's childhood curls in this photo from a dinner last spring or fall with Carla, Jeremy, and Jeremy's mother at Carla's quaint Homewood cottage. I know that one day the curls will be gone, but for now they are still in full bloom.

 

Ice cream sundaes and wine glasses on the amazing porch designed and built by Carla's man, Jeremy, and meeting his mother, the woman who raised him, the first woman he loved.

 

 

Patrick and I joking about money and the days when we will have enough of it to travel a bit at Max's birthday party, the little touches that compose a marriage and add color to the darker corners.

One of those nights when Prince Honored and Princess Magnolia couldn't stop giggling and rolling and tickling. Much as the family bed sometimes challenges the conventional aspects of our marriage, there is nothing that warms my heart as much as falling asleep together after a tickle-fest, watching their little eyes flutter as they fight the sleep that gradually beguiles them. I know I will miss this when they are grown, so I thank God for it now. For my family, for my children, for the little spaces we share so well.

That time when the spring weather begged for a swim but we didn't have a baby pool, so we made do with something else. 

The time when Matt came to stay for the weekend and we went to jump off the cliffs at Lake Nichol. I think I was pregnant then, but did not know it. Those two leaps distinguish Micah from other infants we meet.

Then, of course, there is the last time that the wives of the Coryell brothers were all pregnant. This time, we are in reverse order with Ashley and I due in late June and Aja due in August. Only Mallory is skipping out on this one...

 

 

Max and the leaves.

Max enjoys dropping leaves from the bridge and watching them float downstream and slip over the lip of the waterfall. 

Bama Art House Film Series.

 The wikipedia entry on Duncan Jones' feature debut film, Moon (2009), slated to open the Bama Art House Film Series this week, describes it as a "science fiction/psychological drama film about a solitary lunar employee who experiences a personal crisis as the end of his three-year stint nears". The film opens tonight; tickets for the entire series of 6 films cost only $30 a head. 

Other films will include:

 

• Bright Star (2009) directed by Jane Campion
• Black Dynamite (2009) 
• Still Walking (2009) by Japanese director Kore-Eda Hirokazu
• You, The Living (2009) directed by Roy Andersson
• In the Loop (2009) directed by Armado Ianucci

 

In the land of Oz.

During my dad's recent visit, we fooled around with Photo Booth for a little while. The special effects impressed dad and sometimes perturbed The Little Dragon. A few select picks below. Notice the look of horror on Micah's face.

 

The finale was a happy one when the wizard was revealed to be just Bunicu.

 

Almost halfway through the pregnancy....

Patrick took these photos at Monte Sano on Friday; the first one reflects the mother hen in me, the hen who gets hot and clucky when she sees her little ones scampering towards moving vehicles... Motherhood has made me less cool, but warmth seems preferable to me these days, and far more appropriate where love is concerned.

Speaking of worries, concerns, and the passionate love that is marriage + motherhood, II admit to being relieved and thrilled when Patrick felt the baby move the other night. So much seems to twitter and whir through our lives lately that stopping to breathe and appreciate this pregnancy has been more challenging than usual.

Watching His Girl Friday last night with absolutely nothing better in the world to do than enjoy each other, Patrick and I caught up on all the foreign moments and sign language that had come between us. My other half still mystifies me, and I am grateful for this love that I cannot digest, prove, or understand. 

Our marriage is clearly bigger than Us. Sometimes it devours Us to make way for something more sacred. I love my Lord for the many ways in which he brings my heart back to the fire.

Interpretation is divine. As is marriage. As are baby bellies touched by the same firm, loving, slightly calloused and very nail-bitten hands which massaged your back when the last baby made her way out of the womb. 

Is it wrong to anticipate labor and delivery? To think it somehow romantic and intense, like a train wreck which everyone survives and leads to fireworks.

Another puppy for Max.

Bunicu took Max to the toy store and told him to pick a toy. Rather than select a new swing set, Max meandered over to the stuffed animals aisle and chose yet another puppy to add to his puppy zoo. This puppy is a battery-powered genius which goes to sleep, rolls over, and makes interesting, robotic sounds meant to resemble something like affection. Max seems charmed by "Cutie", and Micah enjoys petting and kissing the robot pup, though I can't help giggling when Cutie "barks". 

 

 

Monte Sano State Park cabin #7 alert: The toilet flooded and our weekend escape became a return.

Patrick had a few days off work, so we thought we'd run away to Monte Sano State Park and stay in an old stone cabin with a fireplace. So we packed our little Fit, whose weight limit we will soon exceed, and hit the road. The one-room cabin was perfect. We settled in and started consuming mass quantities of clementines and wheat bread. Below, you can see Max and Micah exploring their surroundings - Max via bird-watching glasses and Micah by emptying the kitchen drawers.

The sun shone our way on Friday morning, when we woke to a room baked in red and amber sunrise hues. Everyone put a hat or sock on his/her head and ventured outdoors to explore.

 

 Max collected kindling for our fire....

 Max lies in his little bed thinking about what we just read about in Alice in Wonderland. Sharing this book with him brings back fond memories from Dr. Kelley Jolley's philosophy courses at Auburn. 

No one keeps The Little Dragon from keeping her hands clean in the great outdoors. She could teach her mom a few lessons on how to be a lady. I think the grandmothers have subliminally programmed her to be self-conscious and ladylike.... Which is a delight, since I am not the best model for this sort of behavior.

 

Papier mache inspirations.

 

 

 
A few pretty inspirations from papier mache magazine, which you can view online for free.   
 

 

More New Year's day-ing.

We hiked around the Arboretum (which provided us with yet another application for Max's Latin lesson on "arbores") before meandering over to the Children's Garden.

The long, gangly tree limbs tangled to keep away the cold.

  

 

New Year's day at IHOP.

Enjoying a delicious breakfast thanks to Uncle Tom, Aunt Ginny, and Mal. Max's lower lip was a little chapped, thanks to all the pondering he's been doing lately....

 

 
 

An ichat with Suebee and Josiah the other day.

Notice how Susan and Patrick have the exact same nose! It's uncanny. Maybe the new baby will match them.

 

 

I don't remember what Suebee and Josiah were looking at that was so gross, but Patrick seems befuddled and I have my usual pregnant dazed look....

Micah, the placemat DJ.

 
 

A few baby names we're courting right now....

The first ones are the most likely, but, of course, anything can happen. 

Wren

Milla

Noel

Immanuel / Immanuelle

Mandolin

My apologies to all dear family members who find themselves horrified by these names. The truth is that we're not very concerned about whether people will make fun of the baby for his or her name, and even if we were, it would set a bad example to actually pass up on a name we liked for fear of what strangers, bratty children, or the masses might say. The wisdom of crowds only reaches so far. I think it's better to give a child their own special name than to try to find a harmless name that will please every class bully.

Back when we were friends in Virginia, Patrick and I made a $500 bet that has come back to haunt us. Patrick bet $500 that I wouldn't name my next baby boy "Banjo". I bet him $500 that I would. The problem is that we never expected my next child to be OUR next child. (You couldn't have kept us from laughing like maniacs had anyone suggested that we would one day be married!) If it's a boy, the Banjo battle will begin....

Our wedding arbor rests in peace.

 

It reminds me of the sad tale about the Christmas tree which always makes me cry- the moment of glory followed by banishment to the trash heap. What was left of our wedding arbor has now gone up in smoke and a warm heat from the fireplace, fogging our windows with mist for little fingers to carve. As the Romantic poets used to say, its "light burned too brightly for this world".

A tribute to our dear arbor in its better days... Beth crowns the arbor and master mason, Josh, stands in the foreground.

 

 

 

On a side trail, I loved Patrick's hair in that pouf. It was almost effervescent- like an Orangina on a rainy day. I wish RBC Bank weren't so, well, bank-like so he could sprout another pouf.