Goosebumps

Tuesday night basketball practice is over, and I'm going to miss it.  Freestone and I were developing a little routine.  Basketball practice ends at 8:45, so we just had time to race to the library and check out a new stack of Goosebumps or Horrorland books before we picked up Ruby from ballet at 9:00.  Freestone's favorite was the time we got to the library with just 30 seconds left before they closed.    Phew!  If Freestone doesn't have a book to read, it's a nightmare worthy of R.L. Stine.  He could write a horrorland book about a ghost kid who wanders around with his head hung down, groaning about not being able to sleep because he doesn't have a book.  I'll have to mention that to Freestone.  Maybe HE could write a book about it.

I think I'll still have to take Freestone to the library on Tuesdays, even without basketball practice, it's so much fun.  He checked out eight books last night and was already through the first one by morning.  Honestly, I have no idea how late that kid stays up.  Yes, I should check, but I know exactly how he feels about reading at night, and I don't want to put a stop to that.  Although, if I have to keep hearing Free talk about the plots to the various Goosebumps books, I might have to get him reading something else.  I did read one, Piano Lessons Can Be Murder, and it was surprisingly good.  Free says I have to read Monster Blood next.  I'm on it...I'm up late anyway.  I just hope I don't get too scared, Freestone!

Texting Poe

Got a text from Ruby this morning:

I forgot about the poem!  I need two copies of a poem and an object to go with it.

Oh goodie!  It was my big chance to choose Ruby's poem for English.  She hadn't liked any of my suggestions, but now she didn't have a choice.  (Insert evil laugh.)  Except that I didn't have a lot of time and getting the poem and object to the school involved numerous quick diaper changes and carseat buckles, hopefully in that order.  I googled "famous poems," found a favorite of mine that started with "A" in the alphabetical list, printed it off and grabbed a seashell to go with it.

After dropping it off in the school office, I texted Ruby:

Poem in office.  Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe.  Guy is in love, girl dies of a chill.  Seplechre means tomb.  Seashell to represent the kingdom by the sea.  Poor Annabel Lee! :(

And that's one of Poe's most famous poems in a nutshell...or a seashell, as the case may be.  Here's the complete text, just because I love it...

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love,
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me,
Yes!, that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we,
Of many far wiser than we,
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Heartbreaking.  I hope you liked it, Ruby. :) 

The Field Is White

Sunday was a wonderful day for the Dopp family.  Grandma and Grandpa got set apart as missionaries!  They will be serving a three-year service mission as ushers at the conference center and Temple Square.  They will be very busy with their calling, and we are so proud of them. 


At their house Sunday, the bishop asked Grandma to bear her testimony.  She told the grandchildren that she prays for them each by name every day, and expressed how much she loves them.  She is a strong and faithful woman with a deep and abiding faith in the gospel.  She and Grandpa gave each child a pillowcase for Christmas that says in Grandma's handwriting, "Heavenly Father is watching over you.  We know because we asked Him to."  I think that is such a special thing to tell the kids.


After the bishop said the prayer to set them apart, Grandpa bore his testimony.  He said how much he loves each of us and how he hoped that we continue the traditions of gathering for Conference breakfast and the boys going to the priesthood session together and dinner afterward, even though he and Grandma will be spending those events in their calling for awhile.


Looking around the room at our stalwart parents, the brothers and sisters who stay friends through thick and thin and the beautiful children who are our legacy, I was proud, grateful and humbled to be part of such a great family.  We love Grandma and Grandpa, and we are excited to see what fantastic adventures the mission brings.

Tziporah

Six little pounds of innocence

Curled up on my chest

Brave heart, translucent eyelids

Prepared for your earthly test.

Six little pounds of glory

Downy hair that glows

Valentine baby, do you recall

Heaven as you doze?

Six little pounds of wisdom

Searching eyes that see

Through the veil, through angels

Into eternity.

Six little pounds of promise

Slender fingers, peaceful soul

Messenger of our Father's love

Baby, you made us whole.

Snapshot of a Saturday Morning

Scott and Golda had just left for flute lessons in a breathless rush.  I had sent Xanthe and Ptolemy on an excursion through the back yard to Coco and Bill's house, bundled up against the wind.  Freestone was getting ready for basketball, Ruby practicing.  Araceli was at dance, doing what I always tell her to do when she gets out of the car:  "Dance your little heart out!"

It was just Tziporah and me, snuggled up, and she was drifting off to sleep.  I wrapped her in blankets, laid her down and tiptoed into the kitchen to make a steaming cup of hot chocolate and steal a few minutes of silent solitude.  Not one minute later, Freestone carefully carried Tziporah into the kitchen.  Cradling her in his arms, he said, "Mom, she's hungry."  For one second, I was annoyed.  How had he acted so quickly to interrupt my quiet time?  Then I looked at Freestone's fresh little face and my heart surged with adoration.  An eight-year-old boy holding a baby is irresistible.

When a moment seems to become sanctified, you have to stop and take the gift life is offering you.  I got my steaming cup of chocolate and curled up on the couch, watching Freestone give Tizzy her bottle.  We talked about whether things would cost three thousand dollars a thousand years in the future and what I would do if I put on a mask and it was an old man's mask and it only had one tooth and it became my real face.  Important stuff.

Thanks for the gift, Freestone.

How Big is the Rose Parade?

So the Davis High band is invited to march in the Rose Parade next year.  The question is, should Golda do it?  Or, more specifically, should she attempt to do marching band, knowing that inevitably, there will be some horrendous scheduling conflicts between two things she cannot miss that will completely stress everyone out?  (i.e.: a repeat of this year.)  Is the Rose Parade worth it?  I mean, isn't it the granddaddy of all parades or something?  Hate to miss out on something like that, but...

Let's take a vote.

My Son, February

This is a permission slip for...something.  (Don't know why the picture is upside-down.)  I signed it this morning, giving "February" permission to go on a field trip.  I think I meant "Freestone."  He's the one who caught the mistake.  Clearly, I am not equipped to get five kids off to school and still have two kids and a dog left over.  I've lowered my standards, but I can only go so low before the health department calls me on complaints that Xanthe has had the same ribbon in her hair for two weeks.  I can't do hair with one arm and I rarely have two anymore.  That's also why, when Xanthe came to me wearing components of at least four different outfits this morning, I sighed and said, "OK."  What else could I say after she chirped, "Don't I look adoooorable?!"  She kindof did look adorable, after all.  I hope some of those clothes were clean.  I know her teeth were, at least.  Xanthe brought home a tooth chart to fill in.  If she brushes and flosses at least four times a day for a week and turns in the chart, she gets a small prize.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME??  And you know how Xanthe is about religiously filling in charts.  So now, in addition to, oh, roughly 58 hours of various packets and books each night, Xanthe is constantly brushing her teeth.  Hey, is this why she's not learning to read at school?  Because they learn about oral hygiene about 12 times a year?!?!

I'm not complaining.  I'm just freaking out.  I'll be fine in five minutes.  But I'll be freaking out again in ten.  But then I'll be fine.  So don't worry.  I'm just in shock that I am THIS person again:

Dang, it's been so long since I was the person with spit-up on her shirt whose toddler is watching his third episode of Barney and eating corn dogs.  I have got to get this gig under control!  I am so, so grateful to be right here, right now, with Scott and each of these precious kids.  This is exactly who I am, who I was always meant to be.  Scott and I were laughing at ourselves, carrying a carseat and doing the diaper bag thing.  I said, "I can't believe we're in this phase again!"  Scott said, "I know.  But we're really not.  It seems like it's just something we're doing for fun, but we're really in the older-kid stage."  So denial is working for him, and I'm totally willing to buy into it. :) Now I just have to find a way to do this with grace and without spit-up on my shirt.  And preferably without Barney.  And without signing any permission slips that put poor little February in danger.  I should maybe start reading those before I sign them.

Snickerdoodles

This cute little girl hijacked my blog, I see.  Her ruse worked, and she got lots of comments.  Thank you, friends.  Every ten-year-old could use some extra attention at times, especially with a new baby in the house. 

I promised Ari some stories about when I was in fourth grade.  It's been a tough year socially for Ari, learning to navigate more mature social waters and keep friendships afloat.  I remember fourth grade being quite tumultuous.  I've already told you this story. Here's another one...

So I was eight when I started fourth grade.  I have a late birthday.  For my ninth birthday, I decided to bring cookies to school.  Snickerdoodles were my favorite, and I had made them lots of times with my mom.  This was before school treats had to be store-bought and peanut-, gluten- and lactose-free.  Our school has banned birthday treats altogether, which is brilliant, I say.  It prevents my kids from consuming a grossly sugary, over-processed lump of lard on an almost weekly basis.  And for better of for worse, it prevents things like this from happening...

The night before my birthday, I mixed up a batch of snickerdoodles and baked them.  When they were all out of the oven, golden-brown and cinnamon-coated, I counted them and there weren't enough!  I was short maybe seven or eight cookies.  I must have eaten a loooot of cookie dough!  Some of the cookies were bigger than others, so I cut the big ones in half, put them in a tupperware and went to bed.

The next day at school when it was time for the birthday girl to shine, I pulled out my tupperware and carefully handed out a snickerdoodle to each of my classmates.  I fervently, but ridiculously, hoped that nobody would notice that some of the cookies had a straight side instead of being round.  What I should have done was give the half-cookies to my best friends, the girls who might understand.  But fourth grade is not a time of understanding, and I gave the ugly cookies to the children I didn't necessarily like.  The boy who once pointed out in front of the whole class that I had dog poop on my shoe, for example.  I think it was that same boy who, as I magnanimously and benevolently bestowed one of my home made masterpieces on each child, said loudly, "Thanks for HALF a COOKIE!"

Under my new, pink corduroy and fleece pant suit, my skin turned hot as I blushed to the core.  In my fourth grade microcosm, it seemed as if everything was lost.  Of course it wasn't.  In fact, even if I didn't know it then, things could get much worse.  Example:  Lip Gloss-gate.

Looking back, I am grateful that I had the chance to fail.  All my best stories are based on disasters.  I don't think my parents consciously watched me make snickerdoodles by myself, peeking around the corner and whispering to each other that, gee, they hoped I'd have enough.  They didn't purposefully hold back their assistance in order to teach me the "valuable life lesson" of humiliation.   They probably just saw that I was making treats for my class and said, "Oh. OK."  End of story.

I daresay there is too much engineering of children's lives, experiences and environments these days, and I'm just as guilty as the next well-meaning parent, probably.  I laughed the other day, though, when Ari complained that her leg hurt.  Simultaneously, Golda said, "It's growing pains," and Ruby said, "Drink more water."  I felt in that moment like I might be doing something right:  teaching a lesson just as valuable as public humiliation:  Bucking Up.  Ya gotta be tough, kids, because in life, sometimes you run out of snickerdoodles.

please

If you would please look at ari's blog,(artful araceli) that would be great.

                                                      She hasn't gotten any comments.

Linsanity

How could I not root for the first ABC (American-born Chinese) in the NBA?  How could I not want a t-shirt?  I love this guy.  Here's a funny article written by a fellow Asian, in which his tiger mom delivers a zinger at the end.

The scary thing about all this hype is, hours after I mentioned to Scott that I wanted a Linsanity t-shirt, I got a friend request from Jeremy Lin on Facebook.  Big Brother is watching! 

Tziporah and Rolayne and Their Big Sisters

Xanthe says, "The babies are cute.  And we're cute too.  We like the babies.  The babies are best friends, just like Esmae and me.  They both have blankets on them.  We are kind to our little sisters.  When they get bigger, we'll play nicely with them.  We'll do crafts and art and hide and seek.  We love our little sisters!

One Week Old

Another fun photo shoot by Lexie Faith.  Tziporah was a willing subject, sleeping through the whole thing.  Thanks, Lexie!  Check out her blog.  Her prices are so low, it doesn't make sense not to have her take your pictures. 

Today at Chevron...

Getting back in the groove, I made a couple of stops after I took Ruby to ballet today.  As I was putting gas in my car, I made a horrifying realization.  I forgot my bobsled.  And anyone who so much as glanced in my direction would know it because I was wearing white pants.  (At this point in the year, I don't know if it's before or after Labor Day, but the white pants are the only ones I can fit both legs into right now, so that's what I was wearing.)  I'm sure those industrial strength paper towels they have at the gas station are for wiping your windshield, but I now know they can have other applications too.

I'm sorry for the graphic nature of this information, but if there is anything I've learned from being in a book club for 15 years, it's how to over-share.  Men, you may or may not know this, but anytime you get a group of women together, the conversation will eventually turn to childbirth and/or breastfeeding.  Every time.  So we all have to have our arsenal of horror stories, and I can definitely add this one to my list.  The fact that other women have their horror stories too is reassuring for times like these when I think, "I'm 40 years old.  Is getting my act together just never going to happen for me?!"  Maybe not, but what kind of boring addition would I be to book club if I never hemorrhaged at the gas pump?

What about you?  What's your book-club-worthy-labor-and-delivery/breastfeeding anecdote?  Men, you can play your own version of this game, but Scott will beat you.  You know he will.

Enjoying Perfection

People who know me think I'm lying.  I'm telling you, I'm resting, taking it easy, doing nothing but admiring Tziporah and eating delicious food.  Really.  I even had Scott take Tizzy to the doctor while I stayed home and crashed for a couple of hours.  I ask you, how many dads do you know that would take a newborn baby to her first doctor's appointment all by themselves?  It was a fun little outing for the daddy-daughter duo.  Scott got a lot of attention from strangers for having such a precious little babe.  He's good with babies and great with showing them off, so the doctor's appointment was a perfect job for him.

She got a good report from Dr. Hoagland.  She has lost weight and is down to 5 pounds, six oz., but losing weight is normal for newborns, I guess.  And here I thought she was growing when she's actually been shrinking.  She's in the 3 percentile for weight and head circumference and the 20 percentile for height.  The doctor confirmed what we already knew:  Tziporah is perfect. :)

Scott is pretty perfect, too.  Having him home all week made me realize that a house is much easier to manage when there are two people working on it full-time!  I wish I had a permanent assistant.  Imagine getting twice as much done all the time and still having ample time to relax.  Oh, and we would also need someone to bring in dinner every night, warm and ready to plate if we were to maintain perfection.  We really have had a perfect week.  I feel so relieved and grateful that Tizzy is here to complete our family.  Thanks to everyone who has helped us so that we can enjoy the heavenly new arrival while she's so tiny. 

A Thing of Beauty

 I know I've told you about Women's Shelter, my Wednesday lunches with high school friends.  Since the baby shower at Sarah's, I've gotten in the habit of taking pictures of the table every week, when I remember.  Jennie and I joked that we're going to have to serve corn dogs out of a paper bag next time to bring the level of expectation down a notch.  As much as I like a good corn dog, I love the elegant tables, and I think we all love setting them.  Tiffany has quoted Dostoyevsky as saying, "Beauty will save the world."  I'm a believer.  Just looking at something beautiful lifts my spirits.

Jennie's post today captures so many good things about friendship, motherhood and beauty.  I just love it, especially her "Women's Shelter version" of the Constitution.  It's perfect.

Whether we lunch together or not, I do admire all the women around me who create beauty and give me an example to strive for.    

Lies 'n' Love

There are lies on the internet.  Yes, lies.  I googled "how long does breastfeeding hurt" and do you know what the internet said?  It said that it doesn't hurt.  Who ARE these people who spread lies like this?  Of course it hurts!  I can confidently say that it hurts like a lobster clamping on for a good 7 to 10 business days after the baby is born.  Just so you know.  Have the La Leche crazies been breastfeeding for so long that they have forgotten what it was like when their nursing kids were newborns, as opposed to first graders?  Memory loss.  It's a strong argument for not breastfeeding past school age, you crazy internet whackos.

I'm just documenting these facts in case I have memory loss later. 

In other news, I have discovered the secret to reading with Xanthe.  Lortab.  (Not for her, for me.)  It makes her a much better reader.  If I can just refill my prescription long enough to get her through first grade, I think she'll be a successful learner for life.  Do you think my doctor will go with my reasoning?  "If I'm not on drugs, my daughter won't learn to read."  Actually, she is doing really well.  I'm proud of her.  I'm proud of all my sweet kids.  It might be the Lortab talking, but all of them are sweethearts who work hard, try to be kind, and fill my life with joy.  Thanks, you sweet little valentines. *<:+)

 P.S.  The hospital does an amazing photography option now instead of the old mug shot of the baby with goop in its eyes.  Check out Tizzy's photo shoot.  Click on View Photos.  Password is 0210tziporahdopp.

 Ari and Freestone had to look through the window to see the baby at the hospital.  They couldn't wait until she got home!