It's Official, Jake's a Mormon.

Wow, it did not take long for me to be humbled from my last post which pontificated on my vast mothering knowledge. Within 24 hours of that post, I was presented with one my most mystifying mothering challenges so far. Jake stopped going to school. He's getting old enough that I feel like I need to protect his privacy and not give the play by play of his life, but let's just say it has brought me to my knees, reduced me to tears, and confounded me in way that I haven't been, well since he was two weeks old and wouldn't stop crying.

It was touch and go on whether he would be well enough to be in attendance at his own baptism, but he came through and it was a beautiful day for him and us. Jake amazes me with his maturity and his goodness. I'm admittedly biased, but he is a great kid, despite the headaches and heartburn he caused me this week.
Jake watches the font fill up, hoping for warm water.

The official pre-baptism picture. If anyone can pull off white jump suits, these two can.
Jake makes his way around the confirmation circle.
Grandma and Grandpa with Jake.
Jake and his proud family.

What could be more appropriate for a baptism gift than nasty teeth? Thanks James and Tiffany for the comic relief.

The newest and cutest member of the Vista Peaks Ward. Thanks to Kacee for the his first "real" tie.The Fuddrucker's after party.It did not take long for temptation to get the best of Jake. He couldn't resist the urge to write his cursive name in Sharpie on DB's back. There's always repentance.

Motherhood 101

January 18th, 2002 - My first look at Baby Jake.

I celebrate my eighth anniversary of motherhood today, and I'm quite certain there is a lot more that I don't know than what I do.

I don't recall so fondly that cold overcast day in January 2002. As I walked the halls of Good Samaritan Hospital, I stopped every few minutes to crouch down in utter misery, waiting for the contraction to pass. The irony of the fact that I was at Good Samaritan Hospital and NO ONE with a badge would help me for Pete's sake! I remember being surprised that a person could experience that level of pain and still be alive. It completely blindsided me. Having gone through this a couple more times since, I still get irritated knowing that I did not have to feel any of that. Had I chosen a less busy day for child birth, I would have been resting comfortably, maybe even sleeping with the world's best invention - the epidural. There simply were no beds for me that day. Fifteen hours later, when I finally sufficiently had convinced triage that delivery was imminent, the day of misery turned to fear as Jake's heart rate slowed to a dangerously low rate. It still makes my head spin at how quickly he was delivered after that. For all that they weren't leading up to that moment, they came through for me when Jake's life literally was hanging in the balance. I will always be grateful for my amazing and steady handed doctor who prevented a C-section while keeping Jake safe. It's a fine line, and he walked it as closely as you can and still have a great outcome.

There aren't words to describe what you feel when they lay that infant on your chest for the first time. The weight of the mantle of motherhood is real and palatable. There has been a steep learning curve since then. I thought I knew it all, but I was so unprepared and probably still am.

Here are few things that I have learned along the way.

-It doesn't make you a bad mom if you can't calm your colicky newborn. The seemingly endless hours of screaming do end at some point. And, don't assume that subsequent children will be that way. Dylan wasn't. Sophie was, but not to the same degree.

-Teaching your children how to sleep is an invaluable skill that will pay immeasurable dividends later on, no matter how cruel it seems to make them cry it out. I was so offended by Ferber when I first read his book. Turns out he was right.

-Don't be so quick to judge other moms. Their experience isn't the same as your experience. I don't care if you have the same age, gender, or genetics of kids - it's not the same.

-Trust your instincts. They are usually right.

-Don't compare. Ok, we all do it, but try not to let it show and for sure don't let your kids hear it.

-I don't care how young they are, they are paying attention to what you watch, what you say, and how you treat other people. There really is no grace period.

-Less is more with birthday parties. Invite who they want, not who you want.

-Don't give up on healthy food choices. They might reject it 100 times before deciding they love it.

-You can't force them to be something they are not. You had your childhood. Let them have theirs.

-Even if you don't care if your kids run all over you, don't let them. Other adults won't like your kids and that will be a huge disadvantage to them and you.

-Let them fail. Don't catch every fall and buffer every consequence. They can't grow without those experiences.

-Don't spend too much time patting yourself on the back or stressing over your kids milestones. These things tend to level out and you probably have less to do with it than you think.

-Accept that you will make mistakes (in my case, constantly) and don't be afraid to admit that to your kids.

What have you learned along the way?

200,000 and Counting

Wes and I hold on to cars a long time. We are approaching our 40s and between the two of us we have only owned four cars. In Wes' case, he takes care of stuff. He understands cars and knows how to fix them. In my case, I like to spend thousands on transmissions and other high dollar repairs for the right to drive a junky car.

I'm just wondering as he passed 200,000 miles on his truck yesterday, if there is a point where it becomes cool to own a car that lasted that long. Is it a point of pride, or just plain embarrassing? I don't know but he was proud enough to record the changing of the odometer, while driving of course. (Not advisable.) I'm not generally all that sentimental, but we went on our first dates in that truck. I think I might be a little sad to see it go. But then again I felt the same pang of sadness when I walked away from the car that we brought Jake home from the hospital in. I didn't spend another second after that one thinking about though, so I trust I would get over it quickly. So here's a not so subtle nudge for Wes to replace that no a/c, clutch about to die, hunk of junk truck that fits only one third of our family.

Grandchild Update

I grant you that it may be slightly premature to be thinking about grandchildren, since my oldest is not quite eight but regardless, I am happy to announce Sophie's intentions.

According to our conversation today, she wants to be a mom....and a soccer player. And she will marry a boy (great news), and wants five kids and one pet. Upon further questioning, I learned that all female offspring is preferred, but a "couple" of boys would be acceptable as well. And the pet...a puppy.

Just for the record...

Boxers, Not Briefs

Jake has decided for whatever reason that he will no longer wear briefs. It is exclusively boxers for him now. So tonight when he got out of the shower he could not find any suitable underwear so I directed him to the huge, and I mean huge pile of clean laundry in my bedroom, and pointed out a pair of not so gently used briefs. (Don't judge me. I said they are clean.) He picked the frayed and stained pair up in disgust and said in completely serious tone,

"You can go ahead and sell these. I don't need them anymore."

So here's how I figure the Craigslist Ad should read:

Boys Size 6 briefs, grayish white - two years old. Will deliver to highest bidder.

You can go ahead and contact me if you are interested.

Threshold of Entertainment

I decided that my life must be pretty mundane, because I am so entertained by the little things. It's kind of like in General Conference when a speaker cracks a joke, the place erupts in laughter. You are at such a low threshold of entertainment that something that wouldn't even be remotely amusing in any other setting is suddenly the epitome of hilarity.

So Wes and I are in the process of ditching our over priced do nothing insurance, for some lower priced do nothing health insurance. Over the course of the hour interview where in the insurance underwriter asks all the questions I already answered in the application, there were some interesting and entertaining (to me anyway) questions. I thought I would share.

I didn't know this, but there is apparently a rap sheet out there in the universe that has all your medical ailments and prescriptions listed. I quickly found out that it is far from accurate.

Underwriter: "I see here Mrs. Whittaker that you gave birth in June of 2006 and July of 2006. Is that correct?"

Me: Silence, as I had been warned that saying too much could adversely affect my eligibility. (don't be sarcastic, don't be sarcastic, don't be sarcastic.)

Underwriter: "I see here that you were give a prescription for Tylenol with Codeine in July of 2006 (the same date of Sophie's birth). What was that for?" (in a very accusing and suspicious tone)

Me: "I gave birth that day, and that prescription was issued for post partem pain."

Underwriter: "So you had post partem depression?"

Me: "No, dipstick it freakin hurts to give birth and regular Tylenol wasn't cutting it, besides since according to your records I had given birth a month earlier so imagine the extra pain I was in. AND I can assure you that if narcotics were given for depression, there would be a lot more depressed people out there. " Just kidding. I just thought that. I actually said, "No. I did not."

Underwriter: "Now I see here that you have a history of lower back pain and sciatica as I see for three separate doctor visits you were seen for this in a three week period in 2006. "(In reality, I merely mentioned to my OB in the final weekly visits before Sophie was born, that she was pressing against my spine and causing discomfort.)

Underwriter: "I see that your child had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck at birth. Has that situation resolved?"

Me: Resisting with every fiber of my being from saying, "No she still has the cord around her neck and it's a real hassle! "

Underwriter: "I see here that Dylan had a diagnosis of contact dermatitis in 2005. Has that been resolved?

Me: "I have no idea what contact dermatitis is, but since it was five years ago, I'm going out on a limb to say it has resolved."

Underwriter: "I have no idea what contact dermatitis is either. Let's move on."

Indeed. Let's move on. That's all the personal medical information I'm going to provide for the sake of entertainment.

Empty Nest

Well, two mornings a week anyway. Sophie started primary on Sunday and preschool on Monday. It's been quite a monumental week for her, but she didn't seem to notice. It's great to have independent and adaptable children, but sometimes it's hard to not let it hurt your feelings. I found a little home preschool in the neighborhood and at the recommendation of a friend, decided it was time to enroll Sophie. Both the boys went to preschool when they were three. I have held back on Sophie a bit longer- partly because she has quite the social calendar, but maybe because I am having a hard time letting go of my baby. I took Sophie to her first day of the new school this morning. I thought I would come in to help her get comfortable. It was quickly apparent that was cramping her style and that I needed to get gone already. She didn't even respond when I said good bye, and gave not so much as a sideways glance when I walked out the door. When I returned three hours later to pick her up, the the teacher said she was now best friends with her daughter. Sophie had a great time and talked and talked about all the things she did, complete with a laundry list of offenses committed by the "boy kids" in the class.

Sophie, today's BFF, and one of those "boy kids" at her first day at preschool.

Speaking of boy kids, I had the privilege of sitting with Jake while we waited for his turn for his baptismal interview during church on Sunday. (Yes, he is turning EIGHT! I'm afraid to blink again. I might find myself at the door of the MTC.) I thought about coaching him a bit on the answers to the possible questions, but resisted the temptation. He spends more waking hours at the Bishop's house than ours most days, so I knew he was in good hands. He is all set and will be baptized on January 23. Come one, come all!

Sometimes More IS More

I've been contemplating a thought provoking look back at the past decade with low lights, highlights, and newsworthy items with my analysis, but then it started to make my head hurt so I'm going with this instead for my New Year's post:

Sophie is very self sufficient of late, and wants to do everything for herself (except fall asleep). When I dared question her on the amount of Vaseline used in this photo, she told me that her lips hurt "really, really, bad." She didn't end it with "duh!" but I could tell she wanted to. Fair enough. I may have considered doing the same if it was more socially acceptable. Besides, that's what my face looked like all through high school anyway.

I love Arizona and never want to live in a cold place. DB will help me illustrate why I feel this way:
Summer wardrobe.
Winter wardrobe.