little miss blue eyes

Vesper is ten months old, so I guess I'd better post her eight-month and nine-month pictures. And then TAKE the ten-month pictures.

She's healthy as can be, eating lots of baby food (still not QUITE happy about things with too much texture - she just gags) that I am making by the gallon (seriously, I made seven different varieties for her yesterday, at LEAST a quart of each), and finally sprouted tooth number two next to her first. She's very close to crawling, mostly because she gets so distressed if we walk away from her without, you know, taking her with us. We also have a friend with a baby that's about six weeks younger who has been crawling for a while now, zipping around Vesper like nobody's business.

 Eight months old, in a smock that Reese made for her! This also marks the last time she'll really sit still for these portraits.

Nine months. Every time I would arrange EB (Easter Bunny) and sit back to take the picture, V would move the bunny.

 As in, "Get this thing out of here. I'M A STAR!"

 "Seriously. Just try to stop me."

So I called in extra help:

And the look on her face makes me laugh every time. She loves being upside down!

has it only been four years?

Well, they've been some of the sweetest four years I've ever known. I can't believe how small Blake was when Rob found us, picked us up, and put us in his pocket to keep forever and ever. Vesper's so small you can't even SEE her in these pics. Amazing.

This is so typical of my family: a hot mess of people that are never looking the same place at the same time!

I suppose when I put it in the context of "It's been four years AND I HAVEN'T SEEN MY WEDDING VIDEO YET," it seems like a lot longer. Rob's been sternly told that he must charge steeply for all video editing that isn't of our own wedding... which means he doesn't do any editing at all. Sigh. One of these days years!

a little good news? yes, please!

My little friend has done pretty well this last week! Her second round of chemotherapy (part of a clinical trial) is done, and there hasn't been a recurrence of immature leukemic cells (blasts) in her blood. Praise God! She's also been cheerful, has been eating more, and has gained a little weight. Take a look at this sweet face and just try not to fall in love!

Unfortunately, she has RSV again, which involves an unpleasant anti-viral treatment that she loathes. Please pray for peace and effective healing, so that she can move into the transplant phase. There is still no end in sight, so while I'm rejoicing in the recent news, I'm still praying for miracles; for healing; for strength and comfort for the whole family; for God's will, grace, and love to shine over and above everything.

Our own small piece of good news that we hope will have big blessings for our family: tonight is Rob's last evening shift. This week, he starts with a new division at Oracle, one that both makes him more marketable in the long run AND has him working "normal" hours. I think both Blake and I will be most affected. Blake, because he'll get to see his dad for more than just a quick meal on Mon/Tues/Wed, and me, because I'll get to begin and end the day with my husband. Rob's schedule since marriage has been thus: freelance videographer (that is, unemployed), 50-60 hours/week at Vann's (making a pittance if sales were down), nights and weekends at RightNow/Oracle (we almost never get up or go to bed together, because his body's timetable is 4-5 hours later than mine). Unfortunately, this change comes with a significant pay cut - hopefully just short term - but we're confident that God will provide.

b's ski lessons

We gave Blake ski lessons for his birthday. He was not very excited about this gift, but I told him if he didn't like it after five lessons, he never had to go again as far as I was concerned. Still, to honor big Blake and to at least ACT like we live in a location where the vast majority of the population are here because of the ski hills, he had to try it. When I was doing the paperwork to sign him up, I could only very lightly skim the disclaimer before signing it, because while I knew that his risks on the Snowflake run were minimal, they HAD to warn me about the very real dangers that can exist on the ski hill. It felt like a really big effing deal that I was even letting him put skis on, and that I WAS THE ONE BEING BRAVE, not him.

I got over it.

On the drive up, I answered questions and allayed fears. His primary worry was the chair lift: he'd never done it before, and he wasn't sure he could. I reminded him about our "practice" in the living room: sticking your butt out to let the chair scoop you up, then standing up to let the chair push you away from itself. We may have devolved from faux scooping into pinching each others' biscuits, because you just have to.

A big thumbs up on his first day!

By the end of his first day, the lift went from his most anxiety-producing aspect to his FAVORITE aspect, and MOM, NEXT WEEK, WE GET TO GO ON A BIGGER ONE! My heart almost burst to see my little man riding the lift alone. The pride was mixed with a wistfulness that wasn't helped by turning to see a man who looked remarkably by big Blake walking by. Course, everyone looks like everyone else with that many layers on.

Blake (right) and one of his very best friends, Gunnar.

At the end of his third week, there was a miscommunication that had him ride a new lift, expecting to see friends waiting for him at the top. They were not there, and the adult and child (from class) he asked to help him down left him. His last run of the day was marked by largely rolling down the hill, after my friend had called in ski patrol and tried to help stem my mounting terror. Blake finally appeared, covered in flecks of snow, in tears, and exhausted. We called off the patrol, I burst into tears, and we talked about his circle of safety, how he had gone outside it, and covered some rules for skiing alone and with friends. At the end of his fourth week, when the class went up that same lift and found a safe and easy route down, he proudly announced to me, "Mom! I had so much fun! I think my circle of safety got bigger!"

That's him in the orange, center.

And, for Poppa Cec, video proof:

core strength and tippy toes

chess, cheeks, and cheer

Tummy time! V is still mostly immobile, but she's finally started making moves towards scooting and rolling. At this point, she pivots around her belly button and gets angrier and angrier as she goes. You can see her carotene glow these days, as she's a big fan of carrots, sweet potatoes, and squash.

Grammie's gotta lapful of love!

I don't really know what's going on here, but there was a moment, and I had my camera handy. I love these guys.

"Mom, can you put Vesper to play on the floor so I can read next to her?" (Yes, he reads Calvin & Hobbes. Trying to explain the ones he doesn't understand can be tricky, but his vocabulary is growing by leaps and bounds!)

Blake is teaching her well: she's already turning a regular household object into a gun...

... and turning it on him.

That enormous child on the left used to have a profile very like that wee baby on the right. He's grown lean and tall, with big awkward teeth that don't quite fit his mouth yet, feet that seem outsized, and cheeks that aren't chubby and round any longer. But, and I love this more than I can say, he still walks alongside me and gladly holds my hand.

A neighbor taught Blake to play chess, and Blake then taught Grammie. While it's painfully easy to beat him, it's darn near impossible to LOSE to him. He's got the rules down, but strategy is something else entirely!

Little miss contented: we keep her Pack-n-Play in the kitchen area, stocked with toys, so she can be nearby but not underfoot. Blake wanted to move everything right where she could reach it very easily, which meant it was all practically on top of her.

 She's talking more and more, and has finally said her first identifiable and deliberate word: Uh-oh!

Babbling of "dadadada" and "mamamama" continues, with Blake gunning hard for "babababa" to make it into her rotation.

Silly happy girl is very drooly, because another tooth is hoping to join her first.

We took a walk to feed the ducks. She studied them closely, but was quiet as a mouse until I started quacking at her, too, which she found hilarious.

an update, and before/after pics

My tiny friend, Allistaire, is still not doing well. She's on a clinical trial now, and my prayer is that this treatment would prove extremely effective against her cancer, paving the way and giving hope for future patients diagnosed with AML (acute myeloid leukemia). I'm in the process of signing up to be a marrow donor, because, as I told Jai, A's mother, I want to break off a piece of their burden and bear it myself, but I can't. All I do is pray and cry, and while prayer has power, it does not always feel that way. Bone marrow donation can, in a very real, tangible way, save lives and help others. I love tangibles.

*****

I'm in Billings, editing photos after catching up with my folks before B's vision therapy tomorrow. V is full-on crying in the room she's sharing with B, and I've already nursed her, so I'm not sure what comfort she's hoping for. Thought I'd share some of the photos that have accumulated over the past months.

Vesper's room, before I got my act together:

Vesper's room, after Christmas money and a solid dose of self-loathing for putting her in that mess finally whipped me into shape:

Changing table: free (a friend potty-trained her youngest)

Noah's Ark cross-stitch kit: $39.99 (I made it for Blake back in the day - think I finished around the time he turned two)

Other needlecrafts: $1.98 (Black Friday find at the CdA Goodwill)

Ladder: free (a boyfriend made it for me back in college)

Boxes & baskets: free (scrounged from around the house)

Curtains: $67.50/pair (Overstock for the win - they are nice, drapey, blackout panels)

Rocker: $700 (JC Penney, and it's tall enough to be comfy with my long legs)

Prints: $20/each (zulily, and they are delightful - I really should have gotten a close-up!)

Garland: freeish (I made it from fabric scraps - I think the binding tape was $2.50)

Crib, mobile: I can't remember - got both for little Blake

Bedding: $35 (eBay, and I wish I would have just made my own)

Pooh & Christopher Robin print: a gift from Aunt Ernie to Blake

Violet (the puppy in the corner): a gift from Aunt Lane & Uncle Bing to V

Apple-cheeked baby: priceless (though I can put a dollar amount on our medical care, which we're still paying off!)

a season of no

My friend told me a story. A young man she knows called his parents and thanked them for setting boundaries for him. Now that he was at college, he understood better and appreciated all the times they told him "No." When that same young man was stricken with cancer and died very shortly after his diagnosis, his mother simply recounted that God said "No" to their desperate prayers for a miracle to save him.

I'm sorry for the radio silence. When a friend's daughter turned three in the hospital because her leukemia relapsed (how horrifying is that? a relapse before the age of three, which means she's already HAD IT), I find it hard to say anything frivolous online. It just seems disrespectful and profane. A little girl I have rocked and comforted in the church nursery is slipping away, because God is saying no to repeated prayers for healing. For options. For chemo and radiation to work. For leukemia to go away and never come back. For protection from other illness when her immune system is down.

No.

No.

No.

I know that God is good and can be trusted, but these are the moments that batter my faith, hurt my soul, and leave me with yet another pair of ruined contacts because I cannot stop weeping and praying for my tiny friend and her family. And in the season of "No," I'm encouraged and challenged and wrestling with yet another friend's word from the Lord in the midst of her suffering: "Trust Me. If you knew the ending, you would choose this too."

We don't know the ending. It's been nearly a decade since I was abruptly left a pregnant widow, and I still don't know the ending. I can honestly say that I would never have chosen the path I am on, despite the delights and blessings I am surrounded by today. If given the option, I would have gone another way... but I still don't know the ending. And in the meantime, the "meantime" can be excruciating. Please pray for healing and strength and grace for the Anderson family. Learn more about Allistaire (pronounced al-iss-STAIR, not AL-iss-ster) here.

UPDATE:
All this is also colored by the fact that my last surviving grandparent, my mom's mom, died rather suddenly this last Wednesday. She was surrounded by her children, she leaves behind a legacy of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who love Jesus, and I'm grateful for the time I had with her. But now my mom doesn't have her mom, and death is hard no matter which way you look at it, and she would have been 77 in a few weeks and my card would have been late anyhow. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm tired of grief and I'm ready for Jesus now.

identify the movie from which the quote comes and win all the internets

I hate the word "bossy." People almost never call a man "bossy." Men are "leaders," "assertive," or "forceful." Bossy is used almost exclusively to describe women, and it's been used on me a LOT. I can be rather forcefully assertive as a leader, whether someone has asked me to be or not, but I have decided to use my mother's take on the scorned word: "I'm not bossy. I just have great ideas." Because she's been called bossy too.

By me.

*****
B: (at 4:45 am) Mom, I had a nightmare about zombies and now I'm scared to be in my room.
A: What?
B: Will you please bring blankets into your room so I can sleep on the floor next to your bed?
A: (slowly waking up) What?
B: (very close to my face) Can I sleep in here?
(this back and forth proceeds for long enough that I finally snapped, because irrational fears are impossible to reason with at FIVE IN THE MORNING)
A: LISTEN, instead of being afraid of PRETEND zombies that are in your head, you should be REALLY SCARED of the one real zombie in front of you, because THAT IS HOW I FEEL WHEN I DON'T GET ENOUGH SLEEP!
B: I don't like it when you pretend to be a zombie.
A: (muttered grimly as I closed his door) I'm not pretending.

*****
I am confident that I am an excellent dancer. I dance and dance like no one is watching, my heart full of joy and my body filled with grace.

Except...

My children ARE watching, and the looks on their faces indicate that they are not yet convinced of my excellence or grace (the joy is undeniable).

They can't get me down.

COME NADIA! LET US DANCE LIKE CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT! Expand! Contract! Expand! Contract!

"classy addie" >>> page not found

My friend Liz sent this to me recently. It's about eight years old, from when I was living in Billings. Clearly, I still have my firstborn in utero. I think she mostly wanted to show off her flat tummy, because two kids later (each), and neither of us looks the way we used to!

Blake, with his kindergarten buddy. He is ostensibly the more responsible of the two, having more years in school under his belt. I find this claim suspicious, but hey! I'll go with it!

We did mini-league basket ball again this year, and it's a funny combination of basketball and football, where the kids almost want to tuck the ball under their arm to run down the court. His skills are WAY better than last year, and it was fun to see the progression. Only six weeks long, it's perfect for me, but he was sad when it was over: "I wish we had basketball forever."

Grammie and Papaw came up for one of his games (we walked in and Mom immediately said, "Ugh, smell all those little sweaty bodies," to which Rob replied: "No, thank you."), and this is take one. Mom's apparently trying to tickle Rob so he'll smile for the camera. Dad's not sure about that, and Rob's not having any of it.

M: Don't you feel that? I'm trying to get you to smile!
R: All I feel is awkward.

I pretty much just sit back and laugh at the two of them together.

Vesper and Grammie, singing to one another. I think the odd acoustics had V engaged - she's usually pretty quiet.

Well, hello there, toothless!