The babies are here!

For anyone who has ever complained about pregnancy or life in general (myself definitely included), I would like to introduce you to my dear friend Ginger.

I met Ginger at the University of Idaho years and years ago. She was the sassiest person I had ever met, and I pride myself in my ability to attract sass. Ginger might reach 5 foot, but I doubt it. She’s the tiniest little Texan fireball in the world.

Ginger and her wonderful husband Jade (great name, eh?) are the absolute models of patience and positive attitude. This morning they became the proud first-time parents of not one baby, but three.

Remember how I said she was tiny? I mean it. She’s really, really tiny. And her tiny little body was able to expand and spread and provide a comfortable home for her triplets for the last 30 weeks. She’s been on bed rest since February. She’s been in the hospital since March. The hospital was an hour away from her home, so her hardworking husband has trekked back and forth as often as possible, and Ginger has gone it alone the majority of the time.

Through it all, they’ve expressed nothing but praises for their healthcare providers, gratitude for their blessings, and excitement for their growing babies.

I woke up this morning aching from my spreading hips, groggy from a mostly sleepless night and already plotting out my monologue to Ben about how much work pregnancy is.

I think I’ll save it.

Congrats, Ginger and Jade! Thanks for the great example. We’ll keep the triplets in our prayers as they continue their growth and development.

Ben ISNA bomb

The thing is, my husband is just awesome.

Recently Ben was elected to a state office for the Idaho Student Nurses’ Association. ISNA is the Idaho chapter of a national organization for nursing students. It pulls its officers from all over the state – at least wherever there are nursing students to pull from. Ben had long planned on getting involved with the LCSC chapter of ISNA once he started nursing school. When he heard there were state offices open, he thought, “Why not?” And he was elected.

He’s a director-at-large, which means he’s there to help out the state presidency members in any way they need. Already he’s been given the job of putting together a summer newsletter (guess who’s going to be helping out with that). And he’s got a big, fancy training retreat in McCall this summer.

Let’s just put another feather in his already impressive cap, shall we? I’m so proud of my Benjamin.

Temporary setback

I know everyone is on the edge of their seats to find out how our family's bowel and bladder functions are going.

We had a bit of a setback today. Tonnelle wet her pants six times before noon. To be fair, I wet my pants once before noon. (Ben, by the way, didn't wet himself at all ... to my knowledge.)

By afternoon we were all back on track and the floor remained urine-free.

So I guess if you want to come visit us ever, shoot for later in the day when the carpet has had time to dry. And don't mind the smell. I'm still claiming it's leftover from when Ben's brother Adam lived with us nearly three years go. (Hey, certain stenches never die.)

Fun at the park

Sigh. I love Moscow. Saturday I got to grab my favorite treat (a slushy - closest thing to a snow cone I can get here) and head to my favorite park with my favorite people.












Life is so good.

The second time around

My friend Sage pointed out my sad neglect (already) of our expected child. I'm a second child. I know the sting of a few random Polaroids to my older sister's album after album of baby pictures. I had always intended on turning the tables and spoiling the crap out of my second child at the expense of the others.

So far not so good.

We took LOTS of pictures of my bulging tummy last time around. This time ... um ... turns out we haven't taken any pictures of me in the last six months.

We've been working on remedying that. We haven't been doing so hot.

Even after a conscious effort, this is the closest thing to a body shot we have. Check out those white legs. Ick.


This is a great one that shows the weight I've gained in my face. Impressive.


And this. OK, so it's really a picture of my cute little Nelly dressed as a bear, and not a shot of the baby-to-come at all. But come on. She's so cute.


Sigh. Any paparazzi out there willing to stalk me and take some pictures, since I'm clearly incapable of doing it myself?

So proud

She never ceases to amaze me.

We haven't been too serious about this potty training business, but Nelly has been all about it. In two days she's only wet her pants once, and that was my fault for not believing she had to go. We wondered how much of a fluke it's all been.

Well, tonight I was off grocery shopping and Ben was home doing school work. He heard a shout from the bedroom.

"Daddy? Daaaaaddy. Daddy, potty. Daddy, potty. Waa-waa."

Ben thought she might be faking -- she does that to get out of bed. Or he thought maybe she had wet herself and wanted a clean diaper. He figured he might as well check it out.

There she was, standing in her crib completely naked with her legs tightly crossed and a bit of desperation in her eyes. Ben scooped her up and escorted her to the potty where she promptly filled it almost to the rim.

She really gets it. Are we spoiled or what?

UPDATE on school newspaper

My friend Andrea from back when and over yonder reports that tonight at a school board meeting, Bonneville High announced it will keep the newspaper for at least one more year with a part-time teacher as adviser and will launch a search for a full-time teacher for future years.

Phew.

Mr Holland’s Opus … but different

I often don’t concern myself with too many going-ons back in my hometown. But there’s something greatly amok at my old high school that I just can’t sit back and take without comment.

Bonneville High School in Idaho Falls is cutting its school newspaper. It’s not about lack of interest. It’s not about lack of room for the class or lack of computers for production – all of that has been around for ages. From the information I’ve been able to glean, it seems the only issue is that the teacher who was advising the school paper was let go due to budget cuts, and the newspaper was let go with him.

I get budget cuts. I get that resources at schools are spread so thin that teachers – not the school district – but teachers (who are already grotesquely underpaid) are often the ones who stock the school’s coffers with such basic items as tissues and copy paper and chalk/dry erase markers. I get that teachers are teaching larger classes and more of them for the same or less compensation. I understand that, when it comes to running a school, I have no expertise, no experience and no room to talk.

But I can’t stomach the idea that there’s no way to save the journalism program.

Bonneville has a rich tradition of journalism. It has produced some amazing talents over the years. I won’t pretend to be one, but I certainly can claim to be one of thousands who was impacted for good through the opportunity to work on the school newspaper. I had the opportunity, along with my dear old friend Jim Steele, to serve as the editor-in-chief of “The Buzz” for two-and-a-half years. My experiences at the newspaper gave me a direction, which lead me to both colleges that I attended as well as provided the means for me to attend through jobs and scholarships.

I’ll admit, I look back at the newspapers I produced as a teen and it’s a little embarrassing. My knowledge was so primitive, my scope so narrow. I made so many mistakes, and I made them in a laboratory that was published for the entire world to see on a monthly basis. But how else does a young journalist learn? What better way for any teenager, whether he or she ends up in the field or not, to grow and learn and develop skills?

I was involved in many programs in high school – athletics, student council, even the occasional drama production. I was a member of many clubs and took advantage of the services of many organizations. None impacted me so greatly as the newspaper program.

I know the percentage of students who participate in the newspaper program is small compared to the whole. But I also believe that it’s one of the programs that enhances the high school experience even for those who do not participate.

The school newspaper wasn’t always popular – in fact, it wasn’t always good. But it was always an open forum, a place where any one could express their opinions and have a voice. Students could recommend topics to be explored, write strongly worded letters to the editor, share their take on issues by being interviewed. It didn’t always live up to its role (and every newspaper’s role) of watchdog of society. But as long as it existed it always had the potential to be just that when the need arose.

As newspapers everywhere are shutting down and good people – many talented people I have had the honor of working with over the years – are losing their jobs, the closure of a county high school’s monthly publication doesn’t exactly seem like the end of the world.

But I promise you, it’s the end of something. Something pretty great. And it’s a damn shame.

Just like Mommy

For the last two days, Tonnelle has refused to change into clothes. She’ll let us change her diaper. She’ll even change into a different pair of pajamas. But she insists on staying in her pajamas.

I’ve tried everything to entice her.

“Nelly, you can wear your new big girl panties if you’ll wear this outfit, too.”

“NO, PJs.”

“Nelly, you can wear your pretty, pretty church dress.”

“NO, PJs.”

“Nelly, you can eat whatever you want, watch whatever you want and do whatever you want if you’ll just let me dress you in something else.”

So she nods, walks to her dresser, and pulls out … another pair of PJs.

I guess she’s learned a bit too much about comfort from her mostly stay-at-home mom.

Just like Daddy II

We'd write it off as coincidence, but it happened twice. Twice. In 20 minutes.

No coincidence. She meant to do it.

Ben was hiding from her under a blanket. She found him, crawled under with him, and then ... she let it rip. That's right, a covered wagon.

He hid again. She found again. She passed gas again.

Ben says he's not going to play hide and seek anymore. I can't say I blame him.

Just like Daddy

This little girl idolizes her daddy.

She watches movies like her daddy.


She reads the paper like her daddy.


And someday, if she wants to, she will become the world's cutest healthcare professional, just like her daddy.


(Clearly she also drools like her daddy, but that's another topic for another day.)

Why daddy’s post-1980 love their children

I’m not saying men who became fathers before 1980 don’t love their children. I’m just saying I know why men who became fathers in or after 1980 do.

Babies are a lot of work and a lot of late nights. It’s human nature to shy away from lots of work. But with the right bit of entertainment, late nights aren’t all that bad. In fact, before we had children, didn’t we stay up late all the time? Don’t most individuals without children burn the midnight oil on purpose? And enjoy it?

According to my father, 1980 was the year ESPN came out. (I’m too lazy to check Wikipedia.) I was born that blessed first year of 24-hour television sports programming.

When I was a fussy, fussy baby who refused to sleep, my daddy would get up with me and watch the game. It didn’t matter much what game. Chances were good, whatever it was, he’d missed it during the day. But my infantile insomnia gave him the opportunity to catch it late at night. During bachelors’ hour. Eating whatever he bloody well pleased from the fridge because no one else was up to tell him not to, and who in their right mind would care as long as he was taking the brunt of night duty?

I think that’s why my father likes me so much. I’m sure he likes my older sister, too. But he didn’t have ESPN with her. So he probably doesn’t like her as much.

We don’t have cable and Ben (gasp) doesn’t like sports. But he does have Lego Batman and Halo. That must be why he likes our daughter so much.

I think I'll get him a new video game for his birthday this summer. Insurance to make sure I get to sleep through the night after this new baby arrives.

Three embarrassing bathroom stories

You all know that no story, including a bathroom story, is immune from blogging opportunities. Don’t worry, they’re not as bad as you are imagining.

Bathroom Story No. 1:

Yesterday was a terrible, rotten day. I just needed to purge myself. So Ben took charge of the kids all afternoon (while miraculously still studying – it can be done) and I spent four hours cleaning the bathroom. I do not enjoy cleaning the bathroom. But it felt good. Especially when I discovered that the large dark spot that covered most of the bathroom floor wasn’t, as we’d thought for the last 3 ½ years of living here, an uncleanable stain. We’d taken bleach and a toothbrush to it years ago with no avail, so forever it just sat there. Yesterday on a whim I tried the magic eraser (not even the Mr. Clean one, but the generic brand) and within 40 minutes the black coating on the floor was gone.

Thrilled that it’s gone. Embarrassed at how many people have set foot in my bathroom with that there (now that I know there WAS something I could do about it).

Bathroom Story No. 2: (see, they’re not so bad)

After dinner yesterday, Ben got up and asked me if he could use the bathroom, then with my permission excused himself to do his thing. A few minutes later it struck me: “Did my husband just ask PERMISSION to use the bathroom?” A moment’s reflection revealed that not only had he indeed asked permission, but it didn’t strike me as odd right away because he ALWAYS asks me if it’s OK for him to use the bathroom.

I wonder what he does on campus when I’m not reachable by phone? Just hold it?

Bathroom Story No. 3: (warning: this one involves urine)

Way too early this morning (we’re talking 3:30 a.m.) some cheerful folks out in the parking lot woke us all up. I took advantage of the chance to do what most pregnant women do 10 times a night anyhow – pee. While in the process I dazed off, and came to with the realization that I had just dropped my unused wad of toilet paper into the already-used toilet. I panicked as I tried to figure out ways I could possibly get it out so I could wipe and get back to bed. Just as I was about to call to Ben for help, my arm brushed against the full roll of toilet paper at my side. Ah. No need to retrieve the now soaked wad. Just start over.

I don’t really remember making my way back to bed after that.