budding genius

It seems like we've had a disproportionate number of pictures of Evelyn recently (not so surprising, since she's the "baby" and she's so darn cute). But we do have another child, so this week's blog is something by way of compensation. So, we're not going to talk much about what we did the end of this week (go sledding, get the kids pictures taken, etc.). Instead, we're going to talk about Andrew.

I'm sure every parent thinks their child is a budding genius--somehow special and marked out. I don't know if any of my kids will actually turn out to be exceptional (I think we'll settle for decent human beings), but we like to think that Andrew is a pretty smart kid. (We have parent teacher conferences at his preschool later this week, so stay tuned for a more official report). Here is some of our evidence:

First, he's exceptionally good looking (he gets that from his dad). Oh, wait, that's not really evidence of intelligence, is it? (Except maybe of mine, for having the sense to marry into good genes).

He's recently started counting to one hundred (with no pauses). I didn't think much of this (after all, once you get the ten, twenty, thirty thing down, the rest of it's pretty straight-forward) until one of his preschool teachers stopped me when I came to pick him up to tell me how smart he was. And his babysitter (one day when Bubby couldn't make it) told me the same thing (for the same reason).

He's also started reading. We posted about the "Duh-kwah" (DQ) thing recently, but now it's a little more official--he can sound out most basic words: big, pig, fat, cat, rat, moon, sun, hop, pop, etc. He still gets tripped up by words with letters that aren't pronounced the way they're supposed to be. I'd forgotten what a weird language English is. Although, if any of you are interested, there is an explanation for the pronunciation issues--English spelling became codified shortly after the emergence of type, somewhere in the fifteenth century I believe. But the English language underwent the Great Vowel shift, where the pronunciation of the vowels changed--I don't think anyone really knows why--around the same time, and by the time that ended (somewhere around the end of the sixteenth or seventeenth century, depending on what source you go with), the spelling was already set in keeping with an older pronunciation.

And our final exhibit--Andrew has a real knack for thinking creatively and constructively. Grandma gave him a trio set for Christmas, and, having mastered all of the designs in the little booklets that accompanied his trios, Andrew has moved on to create his own designs. I was particularly impressed by the little menagerie he created this afternoon: the animals are (in order) a family of giraffes, an elephant, and two big cats (a tiger and a lion, I think). I especially like the elephant--I don't know if those particular ears would have occurred to me! At least the trios keep him busy.





Who knows, maybe all this stuff is common to all just-turned-four-year-olds. But since we've never had a four-year-old before, it's all new and exciting to us.

dancing queen

It snowed all day yesterday. The snowfall, in its own way, had a kind of dignity (I was out, briefly, after dark and couldn't help but enjoy the deep, deep quiet of evening snow). Today, in the cold, gray aftermath, things just feel tired.

I thought, since I'm trying to put off work and the kids are asleep, that I might as well update my blog. Yesterday, despite the snow (actually, possibly because of the snow) was a long day. We'd received notice a week ago that the power might be turned off between 8 am and 2 pm, so I tried to plan activities that would take us out of our theoretically heatless home. Our original plan was to go south; however, as you may have noticed, it snowed all day, so that was out. Instead, we went to Walmart to look at the toys and then to the local library. When we got home a couple of hours later, it was clear that the power wasn't yet out--nor, in the event, did it go off at all during the specified time period. I'm guessing the weather botched the power company's plans as well. All that stress for nothing.

On Monday, we experienced for the first time the local wonder that is Funtime Inflatables--a local company that rents out inflatable playhouses and slides during the summer months, but in between times keeps them inflated in an indoor playground. Monday mornings they offer discounted rates for kids and the parents get in free. Andrew was in heaven the entire time (well, aside for the two minutes he spent crying with a split lip after conking heads with another little boy), but Evelyn eventually wore out and we went home. But I'm sure we'll be back.

And finally, for your viewing pleasure, a peek at what happens when our kids discover my shoes. We think Evelyn might have a future in tap dancing--what do you think?








A final thought. A friend of mine introduced me to a relatively new website, The Mormon Women Project, that features interviews with Mormon women from a variety of backgrounds. (Side note: I've actually met the woman who edits the site and conducts most of the interviews--she interviewed for the presidential scholarship at BYU when I did but ended up going somewhere Ivy League instead. Though I doubt she'd remember me!) The interviews that I read were paradoxically both inspiring and depressing--inspiring because they showcased women doing so many interesting things with their lives and their families; depressing once I realized that these women were MY AGE and I was doing nothing nearly as interesting. (I keep thinking, "I'm still young--I have lots of time later to do X or Y." Maybe I'm not as young any more as I'd like to think.) At any rate, after reading some of the interviews, I started thinking about my role as a mother. I feel like I have made a conscious choice to put a career (such as it may be) on the backburner for right now for the sake of my children, but I had to think, what do I do for my children that a professional child care person couldn't do? Granted, for the kind of quality we could afford, I'm probably doing much better. But if money were no issue and we could afford someone who was well trained, attentive, provided the children nutritious meals as well as mental stimulation? (Someone who wouldn't spend time occasionally online or reading a book when she could be playing with her children). Someone with a background in childhood education could probably do a much better job at mothering than I do. Luckily, just as I was about to get truly depressed, I had a moment of epiphany. Someone else might be able to do the physical tasks better, but no one (except perhaps Dan) is better qualified than I am to love my children. And love, I believe, makes up for a lot of other shortcomings.

a hazy shade of winter

Because this week has been fairly cold and snowy, the theme for the week has been finding occupation for our children without going insane ourselves . . .

Monday (my birthday), we had thought about going down south so that Dan could help Bubby and Poppy paint the condo. However, on the strength of bad weather forecasts, we stayed here. Although there's not a lot for little kids to do here during the winter months, we still had a nice day together as a family (although naturally the details of that escape me now). We did go to Dairy Queen for family home evening, though--a highlight for all concerned. Andrew, with his dawning print awareness, looked up at the bright red "D" and "Q" on the outside of the building and, sounding out the letters as he's been taught, came to the conclusion that we were going to "Duh Kwah." I wonder why they never thought of that name?

Those of you who are also fans of the children's clothing store known as Gymboree (probably known by other names by the long-suffering husbands of those of us who are fans) will know that they recently ran their Gymbucks promotion. Of course, since I had some to spend but nowhere close to spend them, this meant that we received an exciting package in the mail earlier this week. Everything in the package was for Andrew (but don't feel too bad for Miss E--her grandma more than compensated in her own order): new pirate rainboots (his beloved penguin rainboots were actually coming apart in multiple places, he'd worn them so much), cowboy boots, and a pirate shirt. We ordered everything at least a size big, so Andrew can grow into it, but of course he insisted on putting it all on immediately--you can see that we had to roll the shirt sleeves up a few inches to make it fit.


In default of her own clothes, Evelyn got Andrew's castoffs--the shirt he was wearing, and the cowboy boots that came all the way up her thighs. She thought she was pretty hot stuff. (Side note: I get endless entertainment out of Evelyn and the full length mirror in our entry way--she spends hours of her time there, babbling away happily to her reflection).


Since Evelyn's hair is finally getting some appreciable length, others in the family (who shall remain nameless) have been encouraging me to actually do her hair, so that she can get used to the feel of stuff in her hair and leave her hair alone. I have to admit that, not having done this for little girls before, it takes some getting used to. And her hair is so straight and fine that even if I can get her to hold still enough long enough to put a pony in, it stands straight up on her head. Not the best look, I'm afraid. (And I've caught her daddy surreptitiously removing the hairbands from her hair because he likes the look even less than I do). but I persist in the hope that someday she will really have enough hair to deal with. I had a serious case of hair envy in nursery today--one of the little girls in our ward came to nursery for the first time (she happens to be the university president's daughter). Her blonde hair hangs in a lovely little cut, just shy of her shoulders, and is so thick that most grown-ups would envy it. I think she had more hair than any other kid in the nursery. And she's only just 18 months. Poor Evelyn, your turn will come! (I hope.)

Lest you misinterpret this picture, what Evelyn is protesting here is not her haircut, but the fact that I just took her binkie away from her. Although I imagine the pony doesn't help.

I call this one, "I dream of Jeannie." Notice the lovely little pony on top of her head and the pointy shoes?

The other day (Friday? I'm having a hard time distinguishing days), I decided to make some edible playdough for Andrew and Evelyn, mostly so Evelyn could join in the fun. The recipe called for a mix of peanut butter, honey, and powdered syrup, so it was almost unbearable sweet and really sticky to mix, but worked into a surprisingly nice textured dough.

This picture cracks me up--look at Evelyn hamming it up for the camera.

Yesterday, after the second large snowfall of the week, we decided to take advantage of the sunshine and went out and played in the snow as a family. It's been a while since we've done that. I had some happy flashbacks of Montana winters as a child, and all of the cool snow forts and caves we built. Dan, as it turns out, had never built a snow fort, even as a child, so we spent a little time educating him. Our fort won't win any awards for beauty or engineering, but it kept Andrew and me happily occupied for some time. Dan helped Andrew make bricks, and made a stockpile of snowballs that kept Evelyn busy (she liked throwing them and transporting them into the fort).



The only problems with playing in the snow, of course, are the fact that Evelyn never could pick herself up when she fell down, and the vast amounts of dirty snow that seem to get tracked in the house after all.

On a somewhat random side note, I was looking at this picture Dan took of me (another view of my new shorter crop) and had reconfirmed to me the idea that my hair is not actually curly. (Before you start to protest, hear me out). I found a website some time ago called Naturally Curly, which categorizes curly hair into three types: wavy, curly, and kinky. The site suggests that wavy hair tends to be somewhat coarse, lays flat against the head, and the hair follows a definite "s-pattern" (notice the S-pattern in the picture?). Strangely enough, wavy hair tends to get curlier as it gets longer. Truly curly hair, on the other hand, is actually quite fine, stands away from the head, and gets curlier when it's shorter. I've noticed since my hair cut that my hair actually doesn't have as much curl as it did before (it used to hang in ringlets on occasion when it was past my shoulders), and no one could every claim that my hair was fine. So, I guess that means my hair is wavy, not curly. I suppose this isn't a topic that interests anyone but me, but for some reason I found the distinction fascinating. (I could go on on the topic of hair obsessions, but I should probably stop here before I embarrass myself or anyone else).

One year older and wiser too . . . ?

I suppose I'm a little ahead of myself, since there are still approximately 18 hours until the official anniversary of my birth, X many years ago. (Those of you who need to know how old I am, already know--the rest of you probably don't need to know). This year, my birthday coincides with a federal holiday, so I get the day off. More importantly, Dan gets the day off (otherwise, it would look just like any other Monday for me). It's nice to have an occasion to celebrate, even if I don't feel appreciably wiser or more mature than I did at this time last year.

You already know something about our week from my midweek post--we started sleep training again, and Andrew got sick. That about sums up our week, although I have to admit that, aside from that first horrible night, the sleep training hasn't been too bad. The next night she slept mostly through the night, waking up a few times, but only to cry for less than a minute before going back to sleep. Friday night she woke around 10 and cried on and off until 11:30, but she didn't cry for long at a time. This morning, she did the same around 4, but, on the whole, she seems to be making progress toward sleeping through the whole night. Andrew, also, is improving. I could tell he was quite sick on Thursday, since he's never that quiet unless something's wrong. He spent most of the day laying on a couch or in bed (voluntarily!) and took two or three naps--in fact, he was so tired before lunch that he decided to lay down on his bed and fell asleep without taking any lunch. Fortunately (or unfortunately?), this unnatural lethargy didn't last more than 24 hours. By Friday he was back to bouncing off the walls again.

Friday morning was also a big day for me: I got my haircut. For the first time since Evelyn was quite small (I think it's been 16 months since my last haircut). I thought about getting it cut fairly short, but then, predictably, when I got to the hairdresser's I chickened out. Instead, it's a nice mediumish cut (as you can see below).


Yesterday we decided to launch into our birthday festivities a bit early by heading down south. Dan and I were able to attend the temple together, thanks to Bubby's babysitting offer. Afterwards, we went to Costco and then met Bubby and Poppy at Red Robin for lunch. By the time we were done, both kids were visibly drooping, although Evelyn was the only one that actually slept that afternoon.

Last night we had our first real date (where we paid a real babysitter) in I don't know how long. We went to a movie (Leap Year--a truly charming rom/com for all you fans out there) and then our plan was to get dessert, but our first choice closed too early so we went to Chili's. Two restaurants in one day has to be a record for us, except for when we've been out of town. So we splurged and had a nice time, but I don't imagine we'll be able to replicate this anytime soon. So thank goodness for birthdays and good excuses!

Sleep training

After enduring a couple of weeks of horrible sleeping by Evelyn (waking up typically 2-3 times a night, sometimes up for an hour or two at a time), we've finally decided she's healthy enough to start sleep training again. (She's been sick since before Christmas; when we took her to the doctor last week the dr said she had bronchitis). Anyway, last night was the first night. Not surprisingly, when she woke up, she cried when she discovered no one was going to rock her to sleep again. Then she proceeded to make little noises in her crib on and off for THREE hours (why is it that all the books make it sound like they may cry for 20-40 minutes, and then cry themselves to sleep?). The only thing that made this endurable was that my sister loaned me her copy of the Hunger Games, so at least I had something interesting to read instead of just listening to my baby. And after she went to sleep she did sleep until morning.

However, our sleep training schedule took an unexpected twist for the worse around 4 a.m., when Andrew woke up complaining about stomach pains. He then proceeded to throw up, an exercise that he repeated again just after 5. So, between one kid keeping us awake in the earlier part of the evening (10-1ish) and Andrew waking up when he did, we had a pretty interesting night. The worst part of it all is, that if Andrew is sick (and it doesn't seem to be food poisoning, since no one else is sick), he's likely to pass it on to Evelyn, which means that we we may not be able to finish what we started last night . . . . at least not until everyone is better again. Sigh.

Ring out, wild bells

Is it too late in the new year to start with a nod to Tennyson's In Memoriam? We sang "Ring Out, Wild Bells" in church last Sunday because, as the chorister said, we only have one chance a year to sing it. But I love the song, with its dark, mournful tone, and I love Tennyson--even if it's out of vogue to admit a fondness for Victorians in academic circles. I'm not even being ironic in my appreciation--there is something beautiful in Tennyson's lyrics, even if not everything he wrote is politically correct by current standards. And In Memoriam is a profound piece of poetry, written by Tennyson in memory of his Cambridge friend, Arthur Henry Hallam, who was engaged to Tennyson's sister but died before they could be married. Tennyson spent 17 years working on the poem, and it became not just an elegy to grief, but a meditation on faith and life after death, grappling with newly emerging ideas about evolution, doubt, and ultimately, affirming Tennyson's own faith. The section that we sing comes toward the end of the poem, as Tennyson begins to emerge from his meditation:

CVI
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

I like the idea of affirming hope even in dark and difficult times--and the new year, when the dark of winter begins to turn slowly towards spring, seems to be a good time for remembering this idea. Particularly now, when we hear about so many dark and discouraging things. In the past couple of days I've read a few discouraging things myself: a post (almost a year old now) on the grim reality of post-graduate school jobs in the humanities, a post about the potential costs of taking "time-out" of a career (not that I have a career, exactly, but I do think that at some point, when my kids are older, I would like to teach more--and although this particular article is hopeful about some strategies companies can take to minimize the costs of time out, the fact still remains that those costs are real, and they are part of my conscious choice to stay home with my children), and still another post about some of the inevitable challenges facing women who are also mothers (sleepness, for one, but also continued societal expectations that place the bulk of domestic tasks on women, even for women who are supporting their family). Not that this last post is grim, exactly, but coming on top of two weeks of little sleep (courtesy of my daughter who thinks she needs to wake up a couple of times every night--and sometimes she's up for 1-2 hours at a time!) was just another reminder of the kinds of struggles many of us face on a regular basis. All of these kinds of things make it tempting to face the future with a kind of grim resignation, but I don't think that's what the gospel calls on us to do--instead, we are asked to face the future with hope, recognizing that even in the midst of challenges God will uphold us and strengthen us.

Yesterday, I was walking into a store with Evelyn clinging tightly to my hand, and I realized, as I looked down at her, that all my comments about postponing old ambitions in favor of motherhood weren't entirely honest. In college, I did have lofty ambitions, in part because there was a part of me that was thought I would never get married and so I had better make other plans for my life. But if I had been honest with myself then, I would have recognized that really what I wanted to be most of all was a wife and a mother. Those other ambitions are still there, but they are more like icing on a cake, not the cake itself. Holding Evelyn's hand reminded me that this was what I really wanted, that I wouldn't trade my husband or my children for any of those splendid, glittering opportunities. Some of those may come later, but even if they don't, what I have right now is what, in the long term, will matter the most.

At any rate, this week, despite the sleep deprivation, has been a good one. We survived the first week of classes and readjustment to a schedule; my sister came to visit us with her family enroute to Disneyland (have I mentioned before that I really want to take my kids to Disneyland? Not just yet, because I recognize Evelyn is still a little young to enjoy it, but someday, hopefully sooner than later. And yes, I know that Disneyland is highly commercialized, but for me there is still something magical about the experience, especially when I see it through a child's eyes). They stopped by again today, briefly, on their way back north.

On Friday I took both kids in for their well-child check-ups; Andrew for turning four, Evelyn for her 18 month appointment (two months late; apparently we missed her 15 month one when we moved last summer). Both kids are healthy and well: Andrew is shorter than he is heavy (65th percentile for height and 94th percentile for weight, coming in at a good 44 lbs. But if you've been around him, you know that he's not fat--he's solid.) Evelyn is taller than I expected, 69th percentile for height (33 inches) and 45th percentile for weight (24 lbs). She has started out-eating Andrew on occasion recently, so her weight may change. But of course, since she is a member of the Collings clan, Evelyn also has a big head--99th percentile for her head circumference. The doctor had to ask me if she had always had a big head, which, of course, she has had.

Oh, and the kids have been enjoying their Christmas presents. Here are several pictures of Andrew and Evelyn riding their horses. Evelyn, clearly, doesn't get the concept as well as Andrew does.

Addendum

I've gathered from some of the reactions to my last post that it came across a bit stark, and, after the immediate emotional drive behind that post has faded, I realized I should probably clarify a few things.

First, the feelings I described, while real, are not feelings that I feel all of the time--only on occasion. I hope none of you think that I feel that discouraged on a daily basis--I don't. Most of the time (when I'm sane and well-rested--or at least somewhat well rested) I recognize that I have been very blessed with healthy children and a supportive husband. I also recognize that women, in particular, experience their lives in stages--and that not all the stages in my life will be so fully consumed by childcare.

Second, I find writing particularly cathartic--if I'm in the grips of a powerful emotional response to something, or even in a particularly overwhelming mood, I find that writing out my response helps me both understand what I'm feeling and to diffuse the feeling. By the time I had finished writing that last post, I felt considerably more positive about myself and my life--I'm sorry if that didn't translate well and if anyone was unnecessarily worried about me!

Last, I have to confess to writing under the influence of sleep deprivation. For the last four or five nights Evelyn has been making our nights a terror by refusing to sleep well--she has been up anywhere from 1.5-2.5 hours at a time in the middle of the night (her favorite time seems to be from 10:30 to 12:30), and then waking up again around 4 or 5. Needless to say, now that school is back in session and Dan has to be up to campus fairly early, her sleeping schedule has wrecked havoc with mine. And as those of you who know me well already know, I do not function well without sleep. We're trying to figure out what to do with her. Any suggestions from the trenches?

Facing Forward

While I recognize that the whole "new year, fresh start" idea is thoroughly cliche, I do genuinely appreciate the opportunity for self (and family) evaluation that the new year brings with it. Are we where we want to be? (Not yet). What could we be doing better? (Lots of things, apparently). We had a wonderful Relief Society lesson today presented by our bishop, who offered a series of tips on small things that we can do to improve our spiritual, emotional, and financial lives. I found the ideas inspiring and energizing and I am excited to try and implement some of them in our lives.

2009 has--unusual in this down market, I know--been good to us, as we were able to find a job that Dan enjoys and buy a home for the first time. Our children are healthy and happy, Dan and I are (generally) happy (Dan more so than me, but then, I struggle with chronic pessimism), and if I occasionally find myself feeling less-than fulfilled, I should have only myself to blame, right?

I know everyone faces their own struggles. One of mine is struggling to fully understand and come to terms with my role as a woman and a mother. Once upon a time I had grand ambitions of changing the world, of sharing insights so profound that they would dazzle the beholder, of writing prose so compelling and spare that your heart would hurt to read it, of being something--someone--incredible. I think most people have those moments as young adults, that feeling of a destiny so high and majestic that you can only grasp at it. Now, as a sober adult, I struggle sometimes to reconcile that feeling of potential with the daily reality of motherhood. (A job that, in my more honest moments, I have to admit that I'm not always sure I'm qualified for, or even very good at.) I know we talk a lot in the church about the majesty of womanhood, about the innate abilities of a woman to succor and nurture those around them, but I've always felt that I must have been otherwise occupied (reading, maybe?) when those gifts were given out, since I don't feel particularly nurturing. I want to be, but some days I find my heart in an almost constant battle with my head, my emotional reactions tempered by my inevitable tendency to intellectualize and analyze.

Let me make this clear: it's not that I think being a mother is not important. I do. (If I didn't, I wouldn't be spending the majority of my time home with my children). I even believe that my role as a mother is divinely sanctioned. It's just that I don't always feel that sanction, don't always see the end result of my labors clearly, don't always know how to connect my youthful sense of potential and self worth with my current work. (Do any of us?)

And maybe, truth be told, I'm feeling just a little bit sorry for myself, as the flip side of goal-setting is the inevitable realization of how far we are from where we want to be, hence the goals. I'm trying not to set overly ambitious goals for myself, goals that beg for failure. I'd like to end 2010 with the feeling that I've done a little bit better than I have in the past, that I'm a little bit more the kind of person--and mother--that I want to be, more importantly, the kind of person God needs me to be. It strikes me, writing this last line, that maybe this, too, is part of the problem: the kind of person God needs me to be is not necessarily going to be the kind of person I think I need to be, or the kind of person the world would valorize. And if I feel conflicted about my role, maybe it's not the role that is problematic, but the expectations I bring to that role. I don't have to be a miracle mother: I don't have to publish the hottest academic research in my field; I don't have to write a prize-winning novel; I don't have to run marathons; I don't have to teach my child to read by age four (too late anyway) or have them potty trained by two; I don't have to make my children's clothes and food from scratch; I don't even have to keep my house clean all of the time in order to love my children (even if, sometimes, I think I do). While that love may be imperfect, it is real. Perhaps, with enough help (from Dan, from God, from family and friends), that love may be enough to help us turn these kids into decent human beings. That's the hope, anyway.

I had started this post with the intent to recap our trip north to grandma and grandpa's house (and the inevitable post-holiday shopping with my mom), but somehow that no longer seems to fit with the tenor of the post. (Although my mom should know that Andrew now deems our house insufficient and wants his old room under the stairs back).