bits of December

Goodbye, 2015! You were exhausting and hard but quite educational. Among other valuable things, I learned that my life is better without Facebook. That the second baby is a completely different proposition from the first. That I'm not parenting from a higher moral plane than my children, just a redeemed one. That we should only plant one tomato bush next year. That snuggles trump laundry. That it's smart to keep art and music in your life when kids come along. That Amazon Prime is worth all the pennies. That I need to be outdoors, go to bed on time, and take the dang cod liver oil. That my momiform of Jeans and Black T-Shirt simplifies life beautifully.  That I should embrace my introversion. And that I don't have to feel guilty about eating cheese, forgetting to blog, or letting Ellie watch Netflix every afternoon.

Huzzah, merry holidays, and bottoms up to old lang syne! 

Pat Sajak has a funny Twitter feed.

Cockatoo dances to Elvis.

One man, six photographers, wholly different perspectives: the power of expectations to shape our opinion of someone.

Map of Europe, according to its culinary horrors.

"5 Wine Myths That Should Be Put to Rest."

"That's Not Autism, It's Simply a Brainy Introverted Boy."

On the other hand, discovering Aspberger's three years into marriage.

"Motherhood: The Highest Ordinary Calling."

a November report

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him.
-Ephesians 1:3-4

November's post count threatens to stay at 1. That would be an all-time low, so here, let's bring it up to a respectable pair with a haphazard dump of thoughts.

Mothering Ellie is hard now. Not because she is a terrible person. It's just that . . . she is a person. She has all the frustrations, and complexity, and forceful opinions of a real live human being. Furthermore, she fully believes that the world is her own private kingdom. We both lose our tempers. Ellie flops onto the floor. I flop onto the couch and fume for a while, and then I pray as hard as I can to Jesus. I apologize for my impatience, and she gives me a peck on the cheek and goes to find some salt to dump on the table.

Oh, I love her. I think of the love God has for me, and how tiny my love for Ellie must seem in comparison to His! But I love her up and down and all around: her hilarity and intelligence, sprightly imagination, ridiculous mood swings and jaw-dropping moxie. (She calls me honey. Jared calls her a sassball.) I can't figure out if she is very much like me, but she is very much herself. And I like herself.

Zoe has fully arrived on the scene and is here to PARTY, ya'll. What's that Mother Goose rhyme? "Upstairs and downstairs and in my lady's chamber?" Add "munching dirt, collecting bruises, and constantly in danger," and you have Zoe. Half the time she wants to be glued to me, and the other half of the time she is an absolute hoyden. She climbs everything and crawls at lightning speed, and these days she has enough strength and wit to satisfy her curiosity: what's in this cupboard? oh goody! I can open it! oh look, a bottle of hairspray and a toothbrush, such fun I will have! Of course, she then puts on a convincing show of innocence, what with her blonde wisps and round eyes and joyous grin.

This Thanksgiving, I gave thanks mostly for the "spiritual blessings in the heavenly places." My material blessings are wonderful, and I do pray that I'd have a clearer vision of them each year, so as not to fall into discontentment. But I'm most struck by the riches of Christ's love. By the fact that he never abandons me, even when I cannot see Him or or muster an authentic hallelujah. By the fact that he understands me, every tightly wrapped rose-petal layer of my heart, even when I cannot begin to understand myself. By the finality of justification, the permanence of my inheritance, and the unstinting abundance of his grace that meets me in my native poverty.

Confession: I always thought it sounded a bit hokey and self-serving to say "Oh, don't congratulate me! I'm so weak! These good things I did were only by the grace of God! " This year, though, I came to that point: I realized that it is all through Him. Really. I failed enough this year that I came to see that failure is my default state, or would be, outside of God's enabling-- left to myself I fall. I just don't have anything good that I ginned up on my own, and I never have. My supposed triumphs are Christ in me, and each gives one more reason to marvel at Him.

In quietness and in trust is still my strength.

then she said

"Does the sky have a belly button?"
-working on anatomy facts

 "I close the curtains so we can fall Zoe asleep!"
-helping her sister take a nap

"I want to work with Daddy in the garage. And I want a pink hammer and pink nails and pink screws."
-big plans for her home improvement career

"Can you draw a blue elephant?"
"Can you draw your toothbrush?"
"Can you draw Daddy's swimsuit?"
"Can you draw a sad egg?"
 -commissioning crayon art from her mother

Jared: Do you like your lollipop?
Ellie: No, it's a CANDY.

Me: Ellie, I am in charge because I am the mommy. You are not the mommy.
Ellie: I'm the Ellie?
Me: Yes.
Ellie: You can be the Ellie. I will be the grandma.

Jared: What did you do today?
Ellie: Grocery store!
Jared: And what did you get there?
Ellie: Oh, just some things.

Ellie: I want my cantaloupe!
Me: Your what?
Ellie: My cantaloupe!
[I look around and then realize]
Me: You mean your envelope!
Ellie: Yep. My cantaloupe.

Jared: Ellie, do you want to run an errand with me?
Ellie: Ooh! What we gonna pick out?
Jared: We're going to get some tools.
Ellie: Shoes?! 

[as she assists me in the kitchen]
Me: Good job stirring!
Ellie: Good job tasting!

Jared: Hey, where's my knife?
Ellie: I take it! [displays proudly]
Jared: And where's my fork?
Ellie: Oh, it's all gone! You can use your hand.

Ellie: Can we go to grandma's house?
Me: We don't have a car today, so we can't go anywhere.
Ellie: Yeah, our car blow up.

Family snippets

To begin, I'll point out that this is only the second post I've written all month. Draw your own conclusions about my busyness level. Sitting down at the computer with the adorable monsters munchkins both awake is a joke: Ellie wants to sit on my lap and type, or share my tea, or watch Little Einsteins, while Zoe makes a beeline for a trash can or a bookcase or a set of electrical outlets. She is a troublesome monkey, as we tell her ten times a day (she responds with a brilliant five-toothed grin and crawls off to find something else to destroy). I'm fine with that now. I fought it for months, but just this week, reached the blindingly obvious conclusion that I no longer live in the Writing Frequently chapter of my life, and I shan't live there again for years. Forcibly wedging my blog into the current chapter-- which we might title Loving My Babies and Not Doing Much Else-- is a terrible idea. I will not live under that self-imposed burden anymore.

It's remarkably freeing. Without realizing it, I had come to believe that if I wasn't maintaining my wee space on the internet, I was letting myself down. Maybe I was even letting God down by wasting my gifts. And-- I think due partly to my generation's congenital compulsion to Change the World and Make a Difference-- wasn't I supposed to be aiming high? If I contented myself with ordinary life, life without an interesting internet presence and a significant project, I could fail to achieve my full potential (which may be the fate we millennials fear above all else).

All false, and absurdly so. I've got a billion things to do. They're extremely ordinary but God gave them to me, which makes them quite precious. They concern the physical needs of my family, the care of our lovely home, the kindness I can show to friends and neighbors. And it turns out that they are essential things, even when I'm not telling the internet about them. Shock! Amazement!

So I'm going to march along my noisy little road of mothering and home-keeping, without a keyboard hanging round my neck like a millstone, and without trying to measure up to the movers and shakers. Or anyone else, for that matter. I believe that God is calling me to do something significant, but I no longer think that "significant" means "affecting lots of people and accompanied by beautifully composed pictures." He sees. He cares. He blesses. That is sufficient.

Two children feels like a lot of children, these days. They're gorgeous and smart and loving them is a full time occupation.

Weekend linkage

I just discovered the blog Coffee + Crumbs, and this essay moved me so deeply that I absolutely must share it: I suspect many of you will relate. "Dream House."

Houses tell a story. Somewhere between no kids then two, I started to believe my house could tell one about me where I am astonishingly pulled together, and everything from the floors to my toe nails is marvelously shiny, and nothing smells funny. I want my house to tell the story of how awesome I am. One problem: I am not awesome. Not by a long shot.

Another great piece, much shorter (this one from Jess Connolly's "No Filter" weekly email): "You're Asking the Wrong Question, Sister."

So if you have any of that in your heart today - if you wonder: Am I doing this right? The answer is: He is.

At The Economist, a fun reflection on Jeeves and Wooster, to celebrate their centennial: "Jeeves and the vital oolong." Many are the J&W volumes I have borrowed from the library, and many are the side-splitting cackles they have caused.

"Motherhood Screened Off."

My husband thinks no amount of narration will change the way our kids feel about the phone. The problem, he says, is that whenever I grab it, they know that I am also holding a portal, as magical as the one in Narnia’s wardrobe and with the same potential to transport me to another world or to infinite worlds. I am always milliseconds away from news of a horrific mass stampede near Mecca or images of great medieval art or a Twitter dissection of the pope’s visit. How far am I going, they might reasonably worry, and how soon will I be back?

"Christianity in Kenya: Faithful in the Midst of Frauds."

Goodness, look at these beautiful bags.

This is funny! The truth behind cool Instagram photos.

jealous of grace

I have often been tempted to envy other women's possessions, appearance, or travel opportunities. But not till now have I found myself envying their time.

I can literally spend the whole day attempting to transfer a load of laundry into the dryer, and by evening it's still in the washer. Our flowerbeds are tangled with overgrown marigolds and lavender, because I haven't had a moment to trim them back all summer. I can't find the time to make one simple phone call.  love having two children but am floored by how busy they've made my life! (Should I have been this surprised? No. Yet here I am.)

Meanwhile, I hear of friends accomplishing so much that I would love to do. I see pictures and read stories of all the time they have for crafting and studying, for making music and blogging.

Sure, what we see on the internet does not always correspond to reality, but many times it does, and these women really do have time for their photogenic pursuits. They really are able to get all these lovely things done. I can feel inadequate in contrast, and a bit guilty. They have children too. They're taking care of a house too. They are faithful in their small things just as I am trying to be faithful in mine. So on top of all that how can they possibly run Etsy shops, repaint furniture, and get to Crossfit three times a week, while I twist my dirty hair into a flyaway braid and congratulate myself if I get a single carpet vacuumed?

It's because God is allowing them that grace. How could I be jealous of that? God has looked at each of us and said, here little daughter, this is what I have for you. And here is the grace to get it done. I know, certainly, that He is dishing out grace for me every day. It looks different from my friends' portions. (And often I don't even see my own portion as grace: I take what I do for granted. Of course I'm canning applesauce this fall! Of course I visit the library with my kids! Maybe for other women those things, my everyday things, are their impossible dreams.)

and then she said

"I got it! I got the sun!"
-jumping into an early morning sunbeam on the floor

"Mommy, are you sick?! Are you taking a nap?"
-because I was still asleep when she got up and clearly that is only attributable to illness

"Bye! See ya! I going to the work! Have fun! I love you! Have a good day!"
-riding away on her tricycle

"I need to put wotion on my crash."
-requesting lotion for a nonexistent rash

"Are you making an order?"
or
"Are you checking your wist?"
-whenever I look at my phone (which, yes, I do use to place Amazon orders and make grocery lists)

"Mommy!!! You awake???"
-while we were stopped at a red light

"Goodbye water! Sleep tight!"
-bidding farewell to her bedtime bath

"No Zoe, dat is NOT a good idea."
-whenever Zoe does something of which she disapproves

"Mommy, are you pretty?"
-I don't know where that question came from

Me: We're going to the chiropractor later today.
Ellie: Ooh! The pyro-tractor?

Ellie: Where's Kenzie?
Me: At her house.
Ellie: Where's Kyle?
Me: At his house. You'll actually get to see them tomorrow.
Ellie: THEY get to see ME!

clueless but pretty much okay

"Then I replied to them, 'The God of heaven will make us prosper, and we his servants will arise and build . . .'"
-Nehemiah 2:20

I have no clue what I'm doing with my kids. Well, fine, I do know a few things about babies. I also have some broad ideas about what my girls should learn as they grow, and about how our home life should look, and I think they're good ideas. Other than that I'm flyin' by the seat of my skinny jeans every single day. In fact, each time I think I found a solid handle on motherhood and start patting myself on the back, we shift into the next gear and I'm back to the blackboard. Not to mix metaphors or anything. 
 

When my mommy abilities-- to be patient, to speak wise words, to keep these two blessed munchkins a little bit clean-- sputter to a stop, and that's usually by 9AM, the Holy Spirit keeps plowing ahead. He tirelessly accomplishes the work He has in mind for us. I see the fruit of His tending all the time. It is good to rest in Him. (Or "just rewax!" as Ellie likes to say.) When I confess my insufficiency, I am only recognizing what has been true all along.

And you know, from moment to moment, even my bumbling efforts work out. I may not have a comprehensive theory of motherhood, but in each miniature crisis of the day I find that I know what to do. With God's help-- and often I don't recognize that He is helping, not until later-- my flawed instincts and incomplete knowledge suffice for our children's needs. The God of heaven will make us prosper.

Weekend linkage

"The Coddling of the American Mind: How Trigger Warnings are Harming Mental Health."

The ultimate aim, it seems, is to turn campuses into “safe spaces” where young adults are shielded from words and ideas that make some uncomfortable. And . . . this movement seeks to punish anyone who interferes with that aim, even accidentally. You might call this impulse vindictive protectiveness. It is creating a culture in which everyone must think twice before speaking up, lest they face charges of insensitivity, aggression, or worse.

"A Living Sacrifice: The Beauty of a Body Broken for Others." The ideas expressed here are helping me come to terms with the changes wrought on my own body-- not to wish time backwards-- and to see motherhood's marks as good (because of what they signify), even if they are not objectively beautiful.

We want, it seems, to accumulate life experiences without aging, without damage, without evidence. We want our bodies to operate invisibly, to be emblems of near perfection rather than vessels of service. The fact remains, however, that without tremendous intervention, bodies absorb stress and trauma . . . Our created bodies are meant to serve spiritual purposes, and those purposes often initiate or exacerbate physical deterioration.

Three IG accounts that are objectively beautiful, from Norwegian landscapes to gorgeously fresh food to perfect braided buns: Marte Marie Forsberg, Honestly Nourished, and Twist Me Pretty.

Have you ever heard of the Bulwer-Lytton fiction contest? A competition to write the worst ever opening sentence for a novel. It's dreadful. By which I mean, you must read all the entries NOW.

This made me laugh.

This too.

And this one very much.

Ooh, this dress. Come to mama.

and then she said

"I making a zooming car. Zoe DON'T gonna knock it over."
-surrounded by Duplos and keeping a suspicious eye on her sidekick

"Look, I draw a circle for you! Are you very happy?"
-displaying a recent study in crayon

"Daddy am a boy, you a mommy girl, Zoe is a little sissy girl."
-figuring out the basics of life

"Bye-bye! I going to the outer space!"
-from inside her cardboard box rocketship

"I want rice, and hummus, and chicken, and cheese. And green peppers. And red peppers. Oh my goodness . . . dat's a lot of food!"
-planning what we should eat for dinner

Me: Tonight we're going to see friends, and they have a puppy.
Ellie: Oh! Can I touch him?
Me: Sure.
Ellie: Can I chase him?
Me: I guess so.
Ellie: Can I eat him?
Me: . . .

Me: Time for bed.
Ellie: Not today!

Jared: Time for bed.
Ellie: You go to bed! Mommy go to bed! Zoe go to bed!

Jared: Ellie, can you help me clean up these toys?
Ellie: Hmm . . . no thank you.

Family snippets

Zoe decided it was time to crawl. So she did. Merrily we roll along, at not-even-seven-months old, forsooth. Since Ellie still believes that all the toys belong to her, she's greatly offended when Zoe crawls over to the basket and helps herself to matchbox cars without Her Royal Highness's permission. ("No Zoe! It's mine! You no touch it!") But they are often sweet together. Ellie will plop a bowl on Zoe's head, announce "you have a hat!" and they'll both giggle. They play peek-a-boo. Ellie asks for Zoe to ride along on her tricycle, so I put Zoe on the back and hold her there as Ellie speeds around the dining room.
 

Zoe grew a couple of teeth this month, which was an ordeal for everyone. She's still teething, in fact . . . to judge from her utter abandonment of routine, bellows of panic every time I leave her line of sight, and refusal to nap in the crib. (If you try to make her, she'll just pull herself up, drape her arms over the top of the crib side, and wail like a heartbroken little jailbird. And she won't give up, no matter how long you leave her alone.)

Anyway, getting chompers means that we have started to give her pieces of our food, mostly fruit. Baby-led weaning worked very well with Ellie, and Zoe is just as excited as her sister was to find hunks of peach, banana, and broccoli on her tray. It's all incredibly messy but it keeps her entertained, and I will sacrifice much for the sake of Infant Entertainment.

putting on my big girl pants

Today is my twenty-eighth birthday. I don't know if that merits excitement anywhere else in the world. It doesn't around here. But even on pedestrian birthdays I like to take a little bit of time to muse on has what happened in the last year: what life brought to me, what I did and became.

This past year was the first that I didn't teach English, after eight years of doing it. I sorely missed teaching last fall and early winter, before Zoe was born. Once she came, I didn't have time to miss it anymore. :) My mind is still hungry for academics, though, so I'm continuing my education mom-style-- which is to say, in an eclectic and haphazard fashion. I take advantage of lots of podcasts and blogs, and am challenging myself to read more non-fiction, in addition to the fiction I more easily gravitate towards. A couple non-fic volumes I have especially liked are Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking, 1492: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus, and Merchants of Despair: Radical Environmentalists, Criminal Pseudo-Scientists, and the Fatal Cult of Antihumanism.

I have a thing for long titles, perhaps?

Young Mother and Two Children, Mary Cassatt

I was stretched in my mothering this year. Ellie has always been my buddy, and still is. But she does her own stuff now. She invents narratives to act out and songs to sing. She is starting to piece together her own interpretation of the world. That all means more brain-work for me. I still have to do plenty of physical tasks for her, like pouring her juice and buttoning her dress, but I also need to explain things. Why we need to buckle up in the car, and why we don't pull basil plants out of the garden, and why thunder isn't scary after all, and why there are consequences for disobeying, and why Jesus loves her so much.

Meanwhile, as one mini-me grew up, I got a new one. Having this baby changed my vision of God. During the ultra-vulnerable weeks after Zoe's birth, when I was tired, lonely, second-guessing myself, and apt to break down in tears at any moment, God baptized me in a new awareness of His unconditional love. I am not just one justified saint in a faceless crowd, but a beloved little child, with an affectionate Father who's interested in me specifically. That sunrise moment (which, talk about breaking down in tears) has firmed the ground beneath my feet. Life currently holds a lot of unknowns, and I suppose it always will. But I keep coming back to the fact that God loves me so decidedly, so generously. And then I sleep in peace.

The other truth I realized this year is that, hey, I'm an adult now. I have my own house, and marriage, and children. Other people are free to express opinions and I often benefit from that, but just as often I shrug and make a different decision. I will potty train my toddler when I feel like it. I will let the baby sleep in our bed. I will prioritize husband time over girl time. I will eat ice cream, and not eat bread. I will be quiet in large groups instead of wearing myself out trying to be "sociable." I will buy the clothes I actually like instead of the ones fawned over by every fashion blogger (who wears Ace & Jig anyway? sad bohemian schoolmarms?).

In other situations, awareness of adulthood provides the kick I need to get moving. Jared says I'm capable of far more than I ever give myself credit for, and when I actually try, instead of assuming "this is impossible" from the start, I find out he's right.

Family snippets // Thursday linkage

Once, when Ellie was still tiny and her personality unknown, I worried that I wouldn't find her interesting. Would she have a sense of humor? Would she be creative? Would I like having her around?

Not to fear. This child is so many things but dull is certainly not one of them. Her way of living is whole-hearted, over-the-top, and frequently hilarious, whether jumping ("like frog! ribbit, ribbit, ribbit!" through the flower garden) or singing ("doo da doo! bacon and cheese! I really LOUD!" in the middle of the grocery store) or coloring ("uh oh, purple marker on arm, I wash it off!" as she runs to get a kitchen towel). She greets everyone she sees with a bellow of "Hi! How doin'?" and then proceeds to tell them her name, how old she is (if she can remember), and all about her mommy and daddy and baby Zoe and how we're going to the pool tomorrow and she saw a trash truck this morning and the sky is blue and can I touch your dog?

So it figures that her current favorite word is very. The first thing I hear in the morning is "Hi Mommy! I very awake! Mommy very awake too?" And thus it continues throughout the day. "I very need a drink! I very go outside! I very eating tuna!"

Meanwhile my peaceful Zoe-bug has learned how to roll over and scoot backwards on her belly, takes regular morning and afternoon naps, likes to lick celery sticks, drinks milk from a bottle if I go out in the evening, and can sit up mostly without falling on her head. She will be six months old on Tuesday, which is unbelievable, but I guess I have to believe it. She weighs almost 18 pounds and still has the appetite of Almanzo Wilder.

Hmm, bacon-wrapped cinnamon apples seem like a good idea.

I would wear this necklace. (I couldn't spring for the "birthstone of each child" idea yet, though, because we are not done adding kids to the collection.)

This post on Apartment Therapy made me smile; I love how the author describes getting married and merging your home cultures, learning from your spouse as you observe how he goes about his everyday routine. I have certainly adopted some of Jared's habits in the past five years. (Setting a separate bowl for salad, drinking coffee instead of tea in the morning, using dishcloths instead of sponges . . .)

Speaking of home, I KNOW some of you will love this: How To Get the Jane-Austen Inspired Room of Your Dreams.

This is truly one of those "oh duh, why didn't I think of that?" kitchen tips.

This week's excellent Instagram account: Desiree De Leon, making clever drawings out of tiny objects.

according to knowledge

Likewise, husbands, live with your wives in an understanding way, showing honor to the woman as the weaker vessel, since they are heirs with you of the grace of life, so that your prayers may not be hindered.
-1 Peter 3:7

Obviously there's a lot to say about that. But this post isn't about husbands or wives or vessels of any kind. It's about that idea of living in an understanding way. We had a good sermon on this passage a while back, and our pastor observed that in some translations, that phrase is rendered "according to knowledge." The "understanding" that Peter has in mind is not a generic niceness: it's specific. It demands personal knowledge. It demands that you know the other person's background, beliefs, weaknesses and strengths. To overcome ignorance, to get out of our selfish surface-level acquaintance, we need to invest a lot of time, listen patiently, and remember what we have heard.
 

I think that this is quite applicable to parenting. We all like quick fixes: "If Child does X, Parent does or says Y, and all shall be well." However, people don't often operate well on quick fixes. If your child does X on a particular day because of a particular reason, you might want to do Y. But maybe not. Think about it first. Try to understand what is really going on. Don't act like a visitor with your own children. You aren't! You are their mom or dad. You have eyes to observe them, ears to hear them, a mind to process who they are and to inquire of God for wisdom. Don't parent them according to lifeless, inflexible rules; live with them, and parent them according to knowledge.

Weekend linkage

"Beauty and Darkness."

Dostoyevsky famously wrote that “Beauty will save the world,” and I desperately want to believe him, because it is a deeply nice thing to believe. But it didn’t. It won’t. Standing atop the misty mountains in Berchtesgaden, I was reminded of that. Truth will, Christ will, and sometimes it seems far from beautiful in the moment. But truth always leads to something far more beautiful than anything we could imagine.

"I Made the Pea Guacamole."

First, I made a much smaller batch, because I don't believe in wasting avocados on an abomination. Second, I didn't have time to roast my jalapeno, though I doubt that would have improved things. Finally, I did not sprinkle any sunflower seeds over the top; I don't have those on hand because I'm not some kind of socialist. 

"We Have Reached Peak Problematic."

Because academic progressivism is intellectually exhausted and out of ideas, it had to invest in a kind of catch-all word that would serve as a useful vilification device. “Problematic” was that word. Now, instead of thinking about and discussing mildly complex issues, you can just call things “problematic” and act as if you’ve said something intelligent.

"Stop Trying to Convince Me I'm Beautiful." (EXCEPT IF YOU'RE MY HUSBAND IN WHICH CASE NEVER STOP.)

I don’t have low self esteem, or harbour a pocket of self loathing. I love myself, my life, my body, and my face—but I’m not a beauty. I’m a really nice, smart, kind woman who has a lot of great qualities that I’m recognised for everyday. Because of all those things I’m also unbelievably lucky. But again, I’m not a delicate willow, an amazon, a starlet, or anything in between. I’m not bad looking, but that’s about as far as I’d go. I’m a happy average.

"What I Wish I'd Known" before having kids. This is part III of the series, and my favorite installment, but you really ought to read them all.

People always ask how I do it all with three kids and I always say it's because I have three kids. I am more driven, more productive, more organized and happier as a mom of three kids than I would be if it were just me. I can't imagine having all of my time to myself- I would waste so much!

A super interesting podcast, which both appeals to my Hillsdaler's love of core curriculum and raises the hackles of my homeschooled lone ranger sensibilities: "What Every American Needs to Know" with Milt Rosenberg and E.D. Hirsch. Milt Rosenberg is adorable btw and I want to adopt him as my granddaddy.

This week's delighful Instagram account: Benjamin Hole, a farmer on the Isle of Purbeck. SHEEP.

Weekend linkage

Scripture, flowers, critter friends

"University of Cambridge to hire Professor of Lego." Indeed.

Oh my goodness, now I want to buy a million terracotta pots.

Because such things are vital to life: the best way to grill sausages.

Why those final five weeks of pregnancy are critical. Clearly, some babies need to be hurried along for their own well-being! But some babies are not most babies. Chances are, your mini-me will arrive exactly when he is ready. Be patient, mamas!

And after he does arrive, here is a truly great thing to keep in mind: "My Number One Parenting Tip." 

 
This made me laugh (and cringe, remembering some of the misguided but incredibly confident advice my writing students used to give one another): "If Jane Austen Got Feedback From Some Guy in a Writing Workshop."

A few other concerns: Mrs. Bennett is annoying, and you don’t have any people of color. Also, there aren’t a lot of men in this book. Only about the same number as there are women. I was thinking that what you could do is have Mrs. Bennett be dying, but give her a black best friend. Like Othello? (Have you read it? It’s also by Shakespeare, fwiw.) The Othello character could be her butler, maybe? There you go: three problems solved. You’re welcome!

"Homeschooling and Christian Duty."

The idea of sending a child daily into a hostile environment—if not actively hostile, as in bullying, then certainly philosophically hostile—expecting him not only to withstand assaults on everything his parents have told him is true but also to transform the entire system by his presence, seems sadly misguided to me. There may be many valid arguments for sending a child to school, but that one doesn’t wash.

things we never thought we'd have to say

"Ellie, carrots do not belong in shoes."

"Ellie, stop decorating your water bottle with zucchini."

"Ellie, please don't draw on the computer."

"Ellie, your stroller doesn't go on the couch."

"Ellie, do not put your hair clip into the coffee grinder."

"Ellie, don't eat rocks."

"Ellie, you may not step on other people's heads."

Parenting! You gotta tell these toddlers everything.

I know that full well

Been thinking a lot. It's surprising, even when you have two young daughters-- one of whom puts the Energizer Bunny to shame, the other of whom is a mellow melon of a baby-- even when you have a house and garden to tend, and friends to see and errands to run and emails to answer, even when you never come close to being bored, how much you can still think. Deleting my Facebook account helped a lot with that. I stopped trying to think about everybody else's life, and like magic, discovered that I had time (and brain space) to reflect on my own.

One truth weaving its way through my head is my girls' beauty and intricacy. I don't have in mind their inward intricacy, though of course I could spend years writing about that: about how Ellie drinks up reality like a milkshake, how Zoe concentrates her entire self on understanding the world, Ellie's comedy and creativity, Zoe's startlingly deep emotions. I just mean their physical being. They are made perfectly. They know it, too. You can see the innocent delight they take in their own meticulously crafted bodies. Zoe rolls over, flaps her arms joyously, and stuffs her toes into her mouth: "Look, I have a foot! And I can grab it! Isn't that marvelous?" Ellie learns new things about her body every day: "Look, I can kick the ball! I can jump like a frog! Isn't that marvelous?"

You created my inmost being;
You knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; 
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
-Psalm 139:14

I would like to be as grateful for my own body as I am for theirs. Usually, if I think about my body, it's in negative terms. When I pray with Ellie before bedtime I thank God for creating her, but I don't often thank Him for creating me. I am more prone to complain. I grumble about my wide face (not feminine enough), my eczema (it's unfair that I have to deal with this), the gap in my abdominal muscles (a souvenir from my giant offspring).

God did create me, though! Not only that, he was so kind as to make almost everything work correctly. I hardly ever get sick. I have plenty of energy for life. I recovered really well from my pregnancies. In fact, I'm pretty dang healthy, and that is not as common as I assume. So when I scoop Zoe up from her crib, I'd like to take a moment before rushing on with my day, and think Look, my hands can grab my baby securely, my arms can lift her, we can spin around and laugh together and make big silly grins in the mirror. Isn't that marvelous?

and then she said

"Good morning, box!"
-after finding an Amazon package in the living room

"Is MILKMAN!"
-on spotting the mailman climbing our porch steps

"I picka weeds!"
-showing me a fistful of lavender blossoms

Me: It's nap time, Ellie.
E: No nap!
Me: Honey, you need to rest.
E: No rest!
Me: Yes. You just have to lie down for a while, because you're growing all the time, right?
E: NO GROWING!!!

E: Want snack!
Me: No.
E: Raisins?
Me: No.
E: Yogurt?
Me: No.
E: Pepperoni?
Me: Ellie, we are not eating now. You need to respect what Mommy says and stop asking.
E: *dramatic sigh* I sad.
Me: Well, I'm sorry that you're sad. Why don't you find something that will make you happy while you wait.
[E considers this, then perks up]
. . . applesauce?

Weekend linkage

Being kind to your spouse when you have small kids.

Pixar is clever.

Beautiful succulents. They look like a mini forest.

Finding your "home style" with joy.

I want to buy a print of this comic and hang it in the kitchen.

"Do Mothers Matter? "

Stupid questions aren’t always easy to answer. Sometimes the most fundamental things are hardest to explain, precisely because they are fundamental . . . We find ourselves babbling about Band-Aids and oatmeal cookies, as though those couldn’t be supplied by a social worker or a school nurse. Nevertheless, reasonable people do not dismiss the deep intuition that yes, mothers constitute a unique and vitally important part of a child’s moral universe.

For a somewhat different take on the subject: "The Trouble With Mother's Day." 

In no other holiday do we spend so much time acknowledging and apologizing to the people whose hurt is extra pronounced because of that special day. The other holidays—Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, New Year’s, Forth of July, you name it—aren’t about us. Those holidays are broader. They’re about something beyond us. We are invited to enter in, but we aren’t the reason for the celebration.

Family snippets

Zoe is growing up, in baby terms. No more silent staring; she likes to practice gurgling, squawking, and singing. Loudly. And she sleeps all night, most of the time. She loves it when I smooch her cheeks or when Ellie plays peek-a-boo with her, and dishes out grins right and left. Ellie is overjoyed by this, and usually starts shouting "She smile! She happy! Zo-Bear smile!" to make sure we all notice.

We are just starting to glimpse the fun they'll have as sisters so close in age. Ellie has totally accepted that Zoe is here to stay, that Zoe is her playmate, and that she should include Zoe in everything.

The Madewell shirts got sent back. They were cute, but in the end I really need a petite cut, which Madewell does not carry. The fabric also seemed flimsy for a $30 piece. So instead I ordered yet another one of these perfect shirts. In black, because just about everything I own is black, blue, or gray . . . with a bit of purple tossed in for fun.

Look, at this point in my life I know what flatters and what doesn't. I am short and curvy, with what might charitably be described as strong features. Were I a character in an Austen novel, you would find me filed under "rather plain, but with a handsome profile." (I would also dance enthusiastically at every country ball and bear a flock of children à la Isabella Woodhouse Knightley.) Pastels, complex patterns, and fussy details overwhelm me; simple silhouettes, feminine tailoring, and saturated jewel tones are my jam. You say boring, I say French editor. I may have a small closet but I love wearing everything in it.

Family snippets

I placed my first Madewell order this week. We'll see if it lives up to the hype. Since I only bought one thing (in three different colors and sizes) this is not a thorough test, but according to the internet I should adore everything Madewell produces.

In other unexciting news: our garden is filling up with vegetables and flowers, Zoe has figured out how to grab and play with toys, Ellie is obsessed with smoke detectors, and I started a ridiculous new diet in an attempt to address some health issues. Jared gamely offered to do it with me. One week in, we're loving maple breakfast sausage, baked plantain chips, and these coconut bars (but with less maple syrup and more coconut oil, because as written, they are insanely sweet). On the down side, I miss eggs, I am tired of sweet potatoes, and my eczema has not budged yet.

Eve over again

Now the serpent was more crafty than any other beast of the field that the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God actually say, ‘You shall not eat of any tree in the garden’?”-Genesis 3:1

New mothers frequently stand in Eve's shoes. We hold fragile young life in our arms, often rejoicing, but just as often-- on the long restless afternoons, in the dark wakeful nights-- facing down the serpent and his questions. Did God actually say? 

Did God really promise to walk with us? Did he really say that He would be our strength and did He really pronounce children a blessing? Or perhaps does He not care as much as we'd hoped? Has he forgotten us and these children?

He really did promise.

The man called his wife's name Eve, because she was the mother of all living.
-Genesis 3:20

We inherit Eve's task to birth new physical life, but more than that, we are heirs of spiritual life ourselves. Our heavenly father is always upholding us, just as we hold our tiny ones. The things of the grave (whether actual death, or its everyday relatives, pain and toil and disappointment) don't have power over us anymore. He really did promise.

Family snippets

Ellie turned two last month. Her personality, much like her mother's, tends toward extremes, and so she vacillates between showering Zoe with tenderness and treating her like a rag doll. One minute she's stroking her head and cooing "Baby Zoe! Oh sweetie!" but the next minute she's stealing her socks, yanking her thumb out of her mouth, or in particularly wild moments, scratching her dear little face. Zoe goggles at Ellie's acrobatics (she goggles at almost everything) and objects strongly to the rag doll treatment.

I'm pretty sure they love each other.

 

Unfortunately, Zoe has also begun teething, and that is very traumatic for everybody, with much crying and finger-gnawing. I don't think it is fair to make a mere three-month-old sprout teeth. I am thankful that she still sleeps well at night. The difference between Getting Up Thrice and Getting Up Once is staggering.

Back to the newly minted two-year-old: she is giving my patience a run for its money but she is so much fun. She frequently asks to "pray Jesus?", snuggles on my lap to read book after book, and adores all of our relatives-- she hopefully suggests "grandma's house?" even when we have no plans to go anywhere. She has a strong personality and decided opinions. She likes to figure things out, and likes to help us with our work: she has learned to work the salad spinner, enthusiastically imitates Jared's running stretches, and hands me clothespins when I do laundry. She knows all her colors and is learning to count (not always accurately: "one two fee, five nine ten!")

Weekend linkage

I love the Grand Duke.

I guess this would convince me to come camping.

Scientifically speaking, could you actually walk and dance in Cinderella's glass slippers?

Hidden pocket scarf!

Texts from the Dashwoods, and even more good ones in the comments. (The Toast is an oddity to me. I laugh myself to tears over every humor piece they publish, yet completely disagree with everything else on their ultra-feminist, ultra-PC site. Whatever.)

"Yelp Reviews of Newborn Babies." Hee.

Speaking of which, a new approach to caring for preemies in the NICU: get the parents involved, and see markedly improved results. This is great. I am all about giving parents more agency in their children's medical care.

Homeschooling parents are not a special breed. I like this post, because I've heard tons of people say "Oh, I could never homeschool, I'm just too impatient/not smart enough/can't deal with my kids all day." 99% of the time that is not true: this is a matter of choice, not of temperament. Impatient non-geniuses can totally homeschool. So if you just don't want to, that is fine. No need to make self-deprecating excuses.

Sometimes I feel that people think homeschooling parents have different blood—or a different genetic code—that allows them to live with their children during the day. Like maybe they're picturing all homeschooling parents as gentle, patient, generous, encouraging, soft-spoken introspective introverts who like to hang out with their kids. Which is too bad for me because I am a demanding, impatient, and aggressively-selfish extrovert.

"Did You Mean to Have All These Kids?"

I don’t know why God gave me children effortlessly and withholds them from others who would make fantastic parents. But I know this: fertility is not a curse, it is a gift. It is a scandalous miracle.

harder and easier

Having a second baby is harder because now you have two tiny people to interrupt your shower, distract you from your book, and spill things on your clothes. So every day you have to share just a little more of your time. Your patience is stretched just a little bit more. After a while, that seems like a lot. Even basic tasks seem daunting with a drooling baby in your arms and a sleepy headache that's begging for more coffee. My unfinished to-do list looks more than a mile long (not to mention the theoretical to-do list that I don't bother making because I can't even complete the real one . . . can you believe I used to clean the fridge on a regular basis?). Frankly, I often feel like a failure at the end of the day.

Life is way too full. I can't get my arms around it.

Having a second baby is easier because now you have two tiny people to make you laugh, accompany you on walks, and look at you adoringly. Babies love you no matter how grungy you look, and don't particularly care if you forgot to thaw the chicken for dinner. And even though I battle discouragement about household tasks, I am too busy to even notice most of the things that fall thorough the cracks . . . and therefore, I am not stressed about them to begin with! Watching the two girls together melts even my unsentimental heart. Love multiplies as people do.

I know I did this whole newborn thing before, only two years ago in fact. I'm far more relaxed. Even though the specifics will look different with each child I know that I can be a mom, I can take care of a baby, and everybody will get through this stage with sanity relatively intact.

Life is full but it definitely isn't boring. My little ladies are precious.

Family snippets // Weekend linkage

Ellie is constantly adding to her store of knowledge. She asks "is it?" a thousand times every day, and you absolutely must answer (it's a laundry basket, it's a bobby pin, it's a banana) or she will stand there repeating "is it is it is it" till kingdom come.

Funny thing is, sometimes she is asking to gain information and other times she's just testing you.

Ellie: Is it?
Me: That's toothpaste.
Ellie: Yeah! (Translation: Good job Mommy, you got it right!)

---

"What Is Quick?"

This weekend, I finally decided to conduct an experiment. I say finally because I’ve been meaning to write this post for about two months now, and I could just never seem to find the… time. What I wanted to do was to time myself, from a standing start, and see what took longer: a weeknight dinner made mostly with pre-made ingredients, or a dinner made with all real stuff.

"How Ikea Took Over the World."

Ikea printed 217 million copies of its most recent annual [catalog]—which the company claims is the biggest run of any publication of its kind in the world—producing them in a studio in Älmhult, Sweden. For every room setup, there is an Ikea employee standing by responsible for tracking any element that needs to be switched out—making sure that glass products produced in mainland China don’t show up in Taiwan’s catalogue and removing Persian rugs from the one that gets mailed to Israelis.

"Man Does Not Live by Man Skills Alone."

It’s certainly useful to know how to keep a journal, survive in the wilderness, keep yourself fit, plan a date, cook a steak, and do home repairs. But mastering these arts doesn’t make you a real man in the deepest sense. My father taught me how to polish my shoes, tie a tie, and match a shirt to a suit. He taught me how to shave and impressed upon me the importance of deodorant and cologne. He taught me how to look a person in the eye when you shake hands, how to safely handle and shoot a gun, how to look for a job, and how to keep the job you have. But ultimately, he lived a double life, and he left me unprepared for the weightier responsibilities of manhood.

no frigate like a book #6

Today, two for the grown-ups and two for the babies.

Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Bernieres

I was actually angry when this book ended, because I wanted it to continue forever. I initially borrowed it from the library but proceeded to purchase my own copy, which-- in these days of responsibility and reduced pocket change-- is an honor reserved for the books I truly love.

It follows a widowed doctor, his sprightly daughter, and the colorful inhabitants of their tiny village through World War II, specifically through the Italian occupation of the Greek island of Cephallonia. The chapters are narrated from a variety of perspectives within the story, so that you get a well-rounded view of what happens.

Bernieres is a marvelous writer, I think, and this book seems to have everything: romance and history, heroism and tragedy, humor and philosophy. I laughed out loud quite often, and mused on serious themes just as often.

Can it be a tad raunchy? Yes. Did that diminish my enjoyment? Alas, not in the least. I grow lenient in my old age.

"I am sorry, Koritsimou," he confided to the corpse, "if we had not been here, you would have lived." He was exhausted, long past the point of fear, and his weariness had made him philosophical. Little girls as innocent and sweet as this had died for nothing in Malta, in London, in Hamburg, in Warsaw. But they were statistical little girls, children he had never seen himself. He thought of Lemoni, and then of Pelagia.

The unspeakable enormity of this war suddenly broke his heart, so that he gasped and fought for breath, and at the identical moment he also knew with absolute certainty that nothing was more necessary than to win it.

One Light Still Shines by Marie Monville

This is a memoir written by the wife of Charlie Roberts, who in 2006 took eight Amish girls hostage in their own schoolhouse, then shot them and committed suicide. (This happened just twenty minutes from my parents' home, in the tiny town where my current midwife practice is located.)

I was away at college when the schoolhouse shooting occurred, so it didn't have as much an impact on me as it might have. The story affected me much more this time around, as I read about it through Marie's eyes and sympathized with her shock, betrayal, and spiritual turmoil. She relates how God sustained her and her children in the immediate aftermath, protected her from bitterness, and demonstrated His love to the world through the responses of the Amish community. It's quite a remarkable story of redemption.

I've read more than my usual share of nonfiction in the past couple months, largely due to my book club. This was January's pick. I don't think I would have chosen this on my own, as it looked too much like "inspirational material" for my tastes. However, I enjoyed it (if enjoyment is at all appropriate for such a topic) and was deeply impressed by Monville's clear and sincere faith. The writing can be a bit repetitive and sappy, I'd say, but a good read overall.

I Love My Daddy and I Love My Mommy by Laurel Porter-Gaylord and Ashley Wolff

I've mentioned the mommy version before on the blog . . . we got the daddy one soon afterwards. I love this pair of sweet board books. They both have beautiful illustrations, right up animal-crazy Ellie's alley. They express a child's affection for his parents with perfect simplicity.

I also take a wicked delight in the non-politically correct portrayals of each parent. ("I love my daddy because he watches over me at night. I love my mommy because she feeds me when I'm hungry.") I even found a review that praises them for originality and realism, but concludes that "Unfortunately, the tendency here to emphasize Mommy as caretaker and Daddy as protector may reinforce sex-role stereotypes." Well, boo hoo.

Family snippets

At six weeks old, Zoe has decided to be a sleeping champion. Thank you Jesus and glory hallelujah. She usually wakes up twice per night, and that is excellent, giving me several looong blocks of uninterrupted sleep. Thanks to her better sleeping patterns, I feel like I've emerged from the "survival mode" period and am entering normal life again. Sometimes, when my lucky stars are perfectly aligned, she only wakes up once. Then I feel like Wonder Woman in the morning.

Not this morning, though. We're all sick, sniffling and sneezing our way around the house. It is a pajama day full of echinacea tea, Vitamin C, and cod liver oil-- which Ellie believes is a great treat, ha. (It actually doesn't taste bad at all, even though swallowing a teaspoon of oil is weird.)

Ellie loves to talk. I mean, absolutely loves it. She narrates her life almost without pause, whether or not she can correctly pronounce the words. She points out when Zoe is finished nursing ("baby done!") and names everything we eat ("peppers! olives! meat!") and tells you what the weather is like ("snow! raining! sunshine!") and talks about what she's doing ("upstairs! downstairs! box empty! orange car!").

It's really funny to see what she finds important, or what she notices about our daily routine. For example, right now she's standing at the front door saying "No package." I had opened the main door to let in more light through the glass on the screen door; Ellie was evidently hoping to find a box on the step. Clearly, I order a lot of stuff from Amazon.

Family snippets // Weekend linkage

February is over (we survived!) and spring is coming down the pike. I am tired of staying inside, tired of the sameness, tired of the cold. We have a park just down the street and the first warm day, the girls and I will BE THERE.

We are gradually discovering Zoe's personality. In addition to being a snuggle bug, she is less amenable to routine than Ellie was. You never know what the next several hours will look like. The sweetest thing about her, right now, is how tightly she clings to my shirt while she nurses. I think she realizes This is Mommy. This is safe and wants to make sure I don't drift away.

Ellie has added several useful phrases to her vocabulary. "Is mine!" "Did it!" and "Is empty!" for example. She loves to talk and gets so excited when she figures out a new word, especially a complicated one like "breakfast" or "schoolbus."

. . . thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel,

"In returning and rest you shall be saved;

in quietness and in trust shall be your strength."
-Isaiah 30:15

Here's an interesting post (and comments) on letting your kids talk to strangers. I've always thought that my policy will be "go right ahead and talk to people, just don't go anywhere with them."

A Plea for Innocence. "It can be dangerous to assume that we need to have a deep understanding of error in order to hold fast to what is true."

This guy is smart: selling Boston's snow!

All these recipes look great.

This is such a weird story: two babies switched at birth.

Family snippets // Weekend linkage

"So, how rich do you want to be if I croak?"
-Jared gets some life insurance

I'm listening to music (mostly via Amazon Prime) almost nonstop this week. This, this, and this have been represented heavily in the rotation. Also, I've decided that Bon Jovi must have written "Livin' On a Prayer" specifically for the mothers of newborns.

"No unbelief made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised."
-Romans 4:20-21 

Want some links? I got links.

Absolutely beautiful wedding pictures.

This seems appropriate: "Three Truths for the Tired Mother." Good comments too.

Giggles from xkcd: "Apollo Speeches."

"God as Mission, Worship as Expendable."

A Church that is always busy on mission is in a perilous position in an even more fundamental way. The Church is always, first and foremost, a group of receivers, not doers. In all our emphasis on being Christ’s hands and feet in the world, we may forget Christ’s hands and feet on the cross. We often functionally forget the gospel in our practice: that faith is God’s action, a Divine gift; that Christianity preaches Someone to receive, not something to do.

From The New Statesman: "Before We Give Doors and Toasters Sentience."

It's becoming more and more common for everyday appliances to have features we don't expect, and the implications for privacy and freedom can be surprisingly profound. We should be sure we know what we're buying into.

Weekend linkage

"Sneaky exercise." Mine is deep knee bends while cleaning up Ellie's toys . . .

Speaking of exercise, here are some Biblical dance moves. I laughed so hard. My favorite is "Lot's wife."

"If Disney princesses had realistic hair."

Paper and Salt, a delightful blog with recipes from or related to classic authors. Each post includes great stories about these writers and, of course, great food.

And now for lots of articles!

"The Jennifer Epidemic."

Beginning in 1970, Jennifer was the top female baby name in the U.S., a position it would hold for a solid 14 years. The run was mirrored in Canada and, to a lesser extent, in the U.K. All before the Internet, before there was any readily available list of popular baby names from province-to-province or state-to-state. Sure, lots of names drift in and out of popularity; but Jennifer was more than just a common baby name, it was a bona fide trend, a phenomenon.

"Henry VIII's Horticultural Manual Revealed."

Written between 1304 and 1309 by Petrus de Crescentiis, a lawyer from Bologna, the Ruralia Commoda contained advice on how to grow giant leeks, how to produce cherries without pits and growing different coloured figs on the same tree. It tells gardeners that “cucumbers shake with fear at thunder”, while a squash will bear fruit after precisely nine days if planted in the ashes of human bone and watered with oil. To get the tastiest lettuces, the manual recommends planting lettuce seed together with a radish, nasturtium and colewort inside a ball of goat manure.

"President Obama Pushes Pre-K and Free College Because He's Got Jack for K-12."

Institutionalizing children earlier and longer won’t lead to more creativity and innovation, which are the real stimulus of economic growth. Real-world experiences—whether it play when young or entry-level jobs when they’re teens—are being taken off the table while politicians mandate more isolation and testing within the confines of public school.

"No, You're Not More of a Real Mom Because Your House is Messy."

I see women encouraging each other to air their dirty laundry and share the not-so-pretty parts of their lives from time-to-time on social media and I get it. We all just want to know that we’re not alone and that other women and moms out there don’t have it all together either, but the thing is: there's always going to be someone out there who does something better than we do.

"The Passion of Pregnancy."

Privately, we can do better at validating the struggles of the pregnant women we know. Flowing from this, in our public discourse, too, we should begin to validate the difficulty of pregnancy instead of simply enumerating its merits . . . Yes, we have had awful pregnancies. Yes, there were times we wished we weren’t pregnant, but we are very glad we didn’t give up. Maybe the arsenal of pro-life bumper stickers could be fortified with a slogan as simple as “Pregnancy is worth it.”

"Love Looks Like . . . 2:07 AM."

We swore we wouldn’t become those tired ones in the middle of their life, living just a regular sort of life . . . Love would look like this for us forever. Like we were somehow above or better than the minivans and mortgages, the tub scrubbing and sheet washing, like our clock would always be made up of bright mornings and late nights. But here’s the truth: lifelong love is actually most built throughout the hours of the day, all twenty four of them, in the ordinary moments of our humanity.

"Kids, the Holocaust, and 'Inappropriate' Play."

. . . children bring the realities of their world into a fictional context, where it is safe to confront them, to experience them, and to practice ways of dealing with them. Some people fear that violent play creates violent adults, but in reality the opposite is true. Violence in the adult world leads children, quite properly, to play at violence. How else can they prepare themselves emotionally, intellectually, and physically for reality?

Family snippets

Well, I can authoritatively say that 41 weeks is a Very Long Time to incubate a baby. I am ready to see her on the outside. Ironically, waiting has gotten easier as more time passes, because I know that I have less and less time to go: no matter when she comes, I am getting closer to her delivery every day!

Jared is the nicest pregnancy companion imaginable. He cleaned all of our wooden floors for me this week, has procured hamburgers and ice cream on command, and generously supplies shoulder-and-hip rubs to his cranky wife. (He also understands that every evening I go through a "woe is us, this baby will never come" phase and therefore is not alarmed if I suddenly start to cry or mope about.) I'm grateful to have him around so often, rather than working till midnight on the house like last time. Ellie's explosive energy wears me down during the day and I need somebody to take over toddler duty after dinner!

Ellie is starting to understand the concept of color, but does not realize that colors have names unto themselves. Instead, she associates them with particular objects. So a brown crayon is "chocolate," an orange car is "clementine," and white yogurt is "snow." I love seeing how her brain works. She learns at lightning speed, and I don't know how she fits all the information she's cramming into that memory of hers.

Weekend linkage

This one is funny: "Ayn Rand Reviews Children's Movies."

“Old Yeller.” A farm animal ceases to be useful and is disposed of humanely. A valuable lesson for children. Four stars.

From The Economist: "Home of the Unbrave."

Perhaps it's better to be safe than sorry, but one wonders whether we won't become sorry to have made such a fetish of staying safe. In much the same way that dominant firms, jealous of market share, tend to become over-cautious and lose their edge, America the weak-kneed hegemon risks losing the can-do, risk-taking, innovative pioneer spirit that made it the world's dominant economic and military power. Is it worth devoting so much zeal to protecting America's young minds from brain damage if the finest among them wind up too conservative to seek anything but a sure paycheck?

From Forbes: "Architecture Continues to Implode." A sharp look at the self-congratulatory, insular world of high concept architecture and the widening disconnect between elite "experts" and real people.

Here is a neat story: "The Search for Australia's Lost Hospital Ship."

"What Happens To A Woman's Brain When She Becomes a Mother." Or, science can finally confirm what we've known all along! (No really, it's interesting, and these findings also offer the opportunity to help moms and babies who, due to brain damage or chemical imbalances, struggle with post-partum depression or attachment respectively.)

I think I need to make this pie.

Here's a great post on P.G. Wodehouse that is technically part of the LMLD Library Project (good in itself) but ends up rambling far afield, discussing how an obsession with equality or "leveling the playing field" retards children's education by wilting our expectations.

The way I knew this word, and so many others far outside my ken, was of course by reading. And a further irony is that the more energy one spends worrying about testing and whether or not it rewards privilege, the less energy is left for reading and looking up words and thereby righting any inequalities of privilege.