He's a keeper!!

That's right, my friends: HE. It looks like we're having ourselves a little boy. And an adorable one, at that:


Isn't he precious? First of all, can I just say that 4D ultrasounds are the coolest! Wow. Not only can you actually tell it's a baby you're looking at, but you can see distinct physical features.

For example, this little fellow. He has Blake's pouty lips, and his cute round face. And, best of all, he has Blake's cleft chin. I'm not sure yet how much Lindsay this baby has, but I'm sure we'll find that out in July.


I'm excited. There's just something about an ultrasound that makes it seem more real. And a little boy! I don't know about you, but I think dump trucks and building blocks are much cooler to play with than pretty-pretty-princess.

So there you go, all my eager-to-know friends. We have ourselves a boy. (And the technician and doctor who did the scan both agreed that this baby is 100% boy, no doubt about it.) An adorable, perfectly healthy, little boy.

And for those of you wondering what this kid is making me look like, we snapped a photo.

24 Weeks: Look at me from the side...do I look different to you?

L-M-N-O-P

So, I'm reading a most creative and fascinating book. It's called Ella Minnow Pea: A Progressively Lipogrammatic Epistolary Fable, written by Mark Dunn. (And if there are certain words in the subtitle that leave you scratching your head, I'm going to make you do what I did: go look them up.)

From amazon.com:

The story takes place in the present day on the fictional island of Nollop off the coast of South Carolina, where over a century earlier, the great Nevin Nollop invented a 35-letter pangram (a phrase, sentence or verse containing every letter in the alphabet). As the creator of "the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog," Nollop was deified for his achievement. The island's inhabitants live an anachronistic existence, with letter-writing remaining the principal form of communication. Life seems almost utopian in its simplicity until letters of the alphabet start falling from the inscription on the statue erected in Nollop's honor, and the island's governing council decrees that as each letter falls, it must be extirpated from both spoken and written language. Forced to choose from a gradually shrinking pool of words, the novel's protagonists a family of islanders seek ways to communicate without employing the forbidden letters. A band of intrepid islanders forms an underground resistance movement; their goal is to create a shorter pangram than Nollop's original, thereby rescinding the council's draconian diktat. The entire novel consists of their letters to each other, and the messages grow progressively quirkier and more inventive as alternative spellings ("yesters" for "yesterday") and word clusters ("yellow sphere" for "sun") come to dominate the language. Dunn obviously relishes the challenge of telling a story with a contracting alphabet. Though frequently choppy and bizarre, the content of the letters can easily be deciphered, a neat trick that elicits smiles. Wordsmiths of every stripe will appreciate this whimsical fable, in which Dunn brilliantly demonstrates his ability to delight and captivate.

Like most of you, I've never stopped to wonder what would happen if suddenly certain letters of the alphabet were banished from use. But after reading the first 50 pages, I've come to realize that it would be pretty traumatic. First of all, not only would you not be able to speak or write words using the forbidden letters, but all books which use them (i.e. all books period) would have to be destroyed. That's pretty sad.

The first letter to go is Z. Like perhaps many of you, my first thought was, "Oh, Z, we could survive without the letter Z." But I quickly came to realize that without the letter Z, we'd lose such words as "realize," for one, as well as breeze, zipper, zoo, squeeze, and bizarre. I don't think I could part with those words. And if I couldn't live without the letter Z, I also probably couldn't live without the letters X or Q either, because then I wouldn't be able to exit off the freeway and I couldn't tell my bass-loving neighbors to be quiet.

Anyway, it's something to think about. I guess. If you like to think about these sorts of things. Which you might. Because language is cool like that. So go check it out from your library.

And speaking of checking out peas, tomorrow is The Ultrasound. At last! In less than 24 hours, I will be sitting in the perinatal center checking out the little sweet pea growing inside me. I'm so So SO excited. (Did I mention I was excited? Because I am. Really.) If this center is as technologically advanced as they claim to be, I will hopefully have digital pictures to share with you all, so if you're one for images of tiny transparent people, stay tuned.

Lost & Found

Back in late November, when our fellow ward members all started to receive their December Ensigns, we started to look forward to the arrival of ours as well. After a few weeks of not finding ours in our mailbox, we started to give up hope of seeing it. Because maybe the mailman put it in someone else's mailbox by mistake, which would have been fine -- maybe someone needed it more, someone who was particularly needing the spiritual boost that comes from reading the First Presidency's Christmas message. When it wasn't in the pile of mail being held for us while we were away for Christmas, we assumed that, no, we'd never see that issue.

But apparently we were wrong. Because our December 2006 Ensign came in the mail yesterday. Who knew?

It makes me wonder what happened...was this the fault of the postal service? Was our magazine just lost in the mail for a few weeks? Did it fall into some dark corner at church headquarters only to be suddenly discovered, dusted off, and belatedly delivered? I guess we'll never know.

But there's nothing like a Christmas message to warm you heart and soul in spring-blossoming March.

And speaking of, if you ever find yourself able to come to Muncie during the warmer months, and, when packing your suitcase, you find yourself debating whether to bring with you equipment for a gentle game of soft-/baseball or ultimate frisbee, I suggest you bring your mitt and ball. Because playing catch is what people here spread out on the grassy fields for. Not sure why this is...maybe the ultimate frisbee craze that was all the rage on the grassy fields at BYU has yet to move this far east. People here, I guess, just haven't yet moved beyond 1989 and their Midwestern Field of Dreams.

Poems for a Tuesday

I have this growing collection of poems that I love, and for the last, oh, while, I've been trying to gather then into something more organized than scraps of paper and random notebooks. In doing so, I've come across a few ("few" = "roughly 200") gems. I thought maybe today I'd share a few ("few" = "3") with you. I didn't pick these three for any special reason other than I liked them, though not necessarily more than any others. All the poems I have in my collection I have because I like them. So it was hard to pick just three. But I had to draw the line somewhere. Enjoy!

Messenger
by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

i thank You God for most this amazing
by e e cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Monet
by Howard Nemerov

Unable to get into the Monet show,
Too many people there, too many cars,
We spent the Sunday morning at the Bowl Pond
A mile from the Museum, where no one was,
And walked an hour or so around the rim
Beside five acres of flowering waterlilies
Lifting three feet above their floating pads
Huge yellow flowers heavy on bending stems
In various phases of array and disarray
Of Petals packed, unfolded, opening to show
The meaty orange centers that become,
When the ruined flags fall away, green shower heads
Spilling their wealth of seed at summer’s end
Into the filthy water among small fish
Mud-colored and duck moving explorative
Through jungle pathways opened among the fronds
Upon whose surface water drops behave
Like mercury, collecting in heavy silver coins
Instead of bubbles; some few redwinged blackbirds
Whistling above all this once in a while,
The silence else unbroken all about.

"Optimism:

The doctrine that everything is beautiful, including what is ugly, everything good, especially the bad, and everything right that is wrong... It is hereditary, but fortunately not contagious."

-- Ambrose Bierce

On Friday, some feisty cardinals got in an argument with a couple of sparrows and finches on our birdfeeder, and in the fight that ensued, they broke the cute little house-shaped feeder beyond repair.

But on the bright side…we finally had the justification we needed to purchase a finch feeder (i.e. a mesh sock with seed inside), and all weekend we’ve enjoyed watching flocks of tiny, adorable finches eating outside our living room window.

On Saturday night, my glasses broke for no apparent reason. And we’re not talking just your quick-fix lost screw. So I had Blake drive me over to the mall optical where we bought them to see what could be done. Unfortunately, because my warranty only just expired, the only thing that could be done was hope that style of frame was still available and fork over $150 to get them to switch the lenses.

But on the bright side…they still carry my frames, and I figured that since I had to spend the money anyway, I might as well pick a different color. So now my glasses are now brown instead of black, and I like them much better.

I woke up last night at 1:00, and tossed and turned with an upset stomach until 3:00, at which point I decided to just get up and go read on the couch. I stayed there still 4:20, and finally fell asleep at 5:00. I feel kind of yucky today.

But on the bright side…while I was awake with my book, the baby kept kicking me – and hard – but it was comforting to realize I wasn’t out there on the couch all by myself. Also, I’m still functioning enough to be at work and have the option, if I need it, to take the afternoon off and go home and lie down.

He Passed!!!

It's over! Blake's thesis is all defended and done with (well, nearly -- he has a couple of minor changes to make, and then he has to print a few copies of it on fancy schmancy 100% cotton paper, get it bound, and distribute appropriately...but this is nothing compared to writing and defending the sucker).

I'm so happy! All of his hard work has paid off and now he can graduate! Hooray! The question now, is, how shall we celebrate?

In other news, it's raining pretty darn hard here. And when I say "pretty darn hard," what I really mean is "buckets" or "cats and dogs" or "whathaveyou, but man, it just doesn't know when to quit!" Some rather large storm system decided to stop here, put up its feet, and wring out or something. And now the streets of Muncie are getting difficult to drive down, they're so flooded. Blake and I couldn't get to our car this morning without having to hike up our pants and wade through monstrous puddles. Good times, it was.

Because my biological clock is completely out of whack these days, I woke up for no apparent reason around 1:30 last night. All was quiet -- well, except for that rain. Suddenly, there was a bolt of lightning and a loud crack of thunder... and a 1-2 punch in my gut. I think the baby's hearing is developed enough to react to sounds in my world. Which is pretty cool, except for when it's 1:30 in the morning and now you can't get back to sleep because the baby decided that now would be a fantastic time to start doing flips.

Anyway, yay for Blake passing his thesis defense! Yay for living in a part of the country that doesn't have to worry about a drought! Yay for Baby's developed hearing! And yay for the weekend nap I'm planning to take!

Happy Birthday, Scott!

Today is my brother, Scott's, 16th birthday. I can't believe he's getting so old! I remember when he was born -- not like it was yesterday because, come on, sixteen years ago I was 9, but I remember pretty well just the same. He was born sometime during the wee hours of the morning on March 22, 1991. When we woke up that morning, my parents were gone, and my Uncle Barry was sitting on our couch. This was a little curious, and when we asked him why he was there, he told us that if we hurried and got ready for school, we could stop by the hospital on our way and meet our new little brother. This was terribly exciting, and I don't think I've ever gotten ready for school that fast before. He was an adorable newborn. I remember holding my sister, Katie, up to the nursery window to see him. We both just stared at this new little brother of ours, and wide-eyed Katie, who was nearly two at the time, kept pointing and repeating over and over, "Bee-bee, bee-bee."

Because he's 16 now, here are 16 factoids about Scott:

1. He was a thumb sucker when he was little and it was nearly impossible to get him to stop. The dentist insisted, though, so we tried everything from that anti-thumb sucking nail polish to socks duct-taped to his hands at night. He finally gave up the habit, and then had to wear braces to re-shape the roof of his mouth.
2. He collected Pokemon cards like nobody's business.
3. He also plays X-Box like nobody's business.
   
4. He just earned his Eagle Scout award and will be honored at an Eagle Court of Honor in May right after my other brother's wedding dinner. (You've got to take advantage of family in from out of town, right?)
5. He has played the cello since 4th or 5th grade and is now in the Provo High Philharmonic Orchestra.
6. And from what I understand, he's trying to teach himself how to play the piano.
7. Scott's comfort toys when he was little included BunBun (a stuffed bunny), and Dolly&Dolly (two cheap, star-shaped cloth dolls with plastic heads and silky collars).
   
8. He's become quite the avid reader in the last few years. His favorite genre is science fiction/fantasy. And in his spare time, he tackles classics like Atlas Shrugged.
9. When he was younger, and people asked him when his birthday was, he'd say, "When the daffodils come up." (Now you can't tell me that's not precious!)
   
10. From what I understand, Scott's gotten quite tall -- nearly 6 feet, if I'm correctly interpreting the tidbits of info I get from phone calls home.
11. His voice has also gotten very deep. He sounds just like my other brothers, and when he answers the phone when I call, I have to think carefully about who I'm talking to before I proceed.
12. School has often been a struggle for Scott, but I happen to know of three classes he's really enjoyed: architectural rendering, photography, and psychology.
13. At our Minnesota family reunion, Scott took quite a liking to fishing, and he'd sit for hours at the edge of the dock, quietly holding his fishing pole.
    
14. When he was little he'd watch the same movie over and over -- like five times a day for several days in a row. He'd watch it, rewind it, then watch it again. We all now have memorized such favorites as The Land Before Time, Aladdin, and The Lion King.
15. For a while there, we all thought he'd do great in a career in cartoon voice-overs. He has a knack for doing good impressions. I think our family's personal favorite is his impersonation of Heimlich from A Bugs Life.
16. Though he is old enough, he's apparently not incredibly interested in driving. In that regard, he is such this sister's little brother.

Anyway, happy birthday, Scott! I hope you have a fabulous day! And eat a piece of cake for me, will you?
(This picture does not do Scott justice. And it's a little over a year old. But it's the only one I had of him that was digital. So it'll have to do.)

Hot off the presses

My brother just sent me this link from The Daily Universe, BYU's student newspaper.

And would you look at that -- a whole article about my mom and her beautiful knack for beautiful writing! It's about time she got some published recognition (because fame by word of mouth can only go so far, even if it spreads like wildfire). But seriously -- she's incredibly talented. It's too bad that, as the daughter who looks like her twin, the calligraphy genes didn't get passed down to me. But even though they didn't, I still audited both her beginning and advanced classes and had a lot of fun (because not only can she teach you how to make a pen do amazing things, she's also hilarious and entertaining). So, if you're still a student at BYU, I highly recommend you consider taking her calligraphy classes.

PS: That strapping fellow in the photo is my cousin, Zac. I guess he's famous now, too. Or else just privileged to be featured photographically because he's a favorite nephew taking his favorite aunt's course.

Fun Times in Mascoutah

So, our trip to Mascoutah was relaxing and wonderful -- a much needed break for both Blake and I. George and Clark still think Blake's the coolest guy they've ever met, what with the "magic" tricks he does, and William is quickly following suit. In fact, it would seem that adorable little curly-haired William likes Blake more than he likes me, the blood relative. Every time I'd try to coax him over to come play with me, he'd run away either to his mother or to Blake. Oh well -- I'm convinced it's just a phase...he'll like me more next time we visit...right?

Anyway, we arrived Friday afternoon in time to cheer Clark on at his basketball game. I'm a big fan of watching teams of 5-year-olds play any kind of sports. Every kid on his team knew of the great importance to keep their hands up in the air, but they had a difficult time remembering to dribble. Here is Clark posing for a post-game picture:


When it was suggested that we head to downtown St. Louis for the St. Patrick's Day parade on Saturday morning, George pretty adamantly said he'd rather just stay home. It was actually pretty cold outside, so though we all initially didn't want to, we ended up taking his side. We spent the day instead catching up on some Scarlet Pimpernel viewing, and playing the A-Maze-ing Labyrinth board game. Clark is a wiz at that game and pretty much kicked our trashes every time. We also took a brisk walk to the library where George was able to pick up the latest from Lemony Snicket. Here's George on his favorite reading pillow pile:


Saturday was also spent playing a bit of Lego Star Wars on the X-Box. George and Clark actually played...


...and William thought was he was actually playing:


And speaking of William, isn't he adorable?

How can you not love that face? And that curly blond hair? In the three times we've been able to visit the Mascoutah branch of the family since we moved to Indiana, we've watched William go from a month-old infant to a nearly walking 9-month-old, to this strapping 20-month-old talker. He has a word for just about every necessary person or item in his world. He even learned to say "Lindsay" ("N-Dee") and "Blake" ("Bach") just for us!

Bethany happily lended me some maternity clothes, and loaded me up with some other baby items that were initially used by my brothers and then passed on to the the cousins. We got my youngest brother, Scott's, old baby swing, a few outfits and blankets that belonged to my siblings, and the accessory my mom couldn't live without, yea even the Snugli. With the exception of the tray on the swing and a few time-worn spots on the Snugli, everything looks to be in good condition, which is amazing when you think of how many children used these things. It's nice to be getting stocked up.

Though they handled our departure much better than last time, George and Clark really didn't want us to go. In fact, George kept asking if we'd be back for Easter and when we told him probably not, he stated that, well, he'd just have to come to our house then.


Thanks, Dwight, Bethany, George, Clark, and William, for a fabulous visit! Hope to see you again soon!

Disappointment

In a perfect world, I would be having an ultrasound today. Because in a perfect world, doctor's schedules would not change at the last minute. So in a perfect world, I wouldn't have to wait two more weeks to see images of my baby.

Sigh.

I'm a little disappointed. Or a lot disappointed.

But I'm getting over it. Because who knows -- maybe the extra two weeks will give the baby that much more time to develop, making it that much more interesting to look at on the monitor. And who knows -- maybe if I went in today, the baby would have been crossing its legs, making it rather difficult to know whether I should spend my time browsing through pink clothes or blue clothes. So maybe this is better....? At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

(And by the way, we're back from Mascoutah. It was a lovely, lovely weekend, and I have a few (incredibly adorable) pictures to post later. So stay tuned.)

The Lie I'm Apparently Telling Myself

Because yesterday was Pi Day, and because we’ve realized that our days of spontaneity are numbered, Blake and I went to Bob Evans late last night for some slices of pie. We hadn’t ever considered even venturing inside a Bob Evans before because the whole concept behind this overly-available, overly-countrified restaurant always came across as rather hokey to us. But a trusted informant (i.e. the hostess at IHOP who said their dessert menu did not include pie) told us that Bob Evans makes great pies, so we decided to try them out.

We ordered a slice of apple pie (for Blake) and a slice of French silk pie (for me) as carry-out, and as we were in the process of paying for our goodies, my slowly stretching belly got incredibly itchy (who knew stretching skin could be the cause for such abominable irritation?). I started to scratch it lightly, not thinking much of it, when suddenly the cashier said to me, “You’re not going into labor, are you?”

Okay, so, I’m only just beginning to show enough for total strangers to recognize I’m pregnant. I’m nowhere near looking to be ready to give birth. “Ummmm, no,” I answered her, “I’ve got a ways to go.”

“Oh, when are you due?”

“Not ‘til July,” I said. And then to emphasize the ridiculousness of her initial question, I added, “So, I’m a little over half-way.”

Because she obviously needed some sort of validation, she concluded with, “Well, it’ll be here before you know it.”

I’m sure it will, ma’am, I’m sure it will.

But honestly, have I been telling myself lies for the last few weeks? Do I look bigger than I think I do? Or should I chalk this incident up to the fact that she assumed I was just some random pregnant woman giving in to a craving for pie and toss this comment into the growing pile of Strange Things People Say To Me Because I’m Pregnant?

Anyhow, in other news: We’ve decided, now that Blake’s spring break is nearly over, to make some good use of it. So we’re heading out tomorrow to spend the weekend with my aunt, uncle, and three adorable little cousins in the sprawling metropolis of Mascoutah, Illinois. …Okay, so actually, there’s nothing sprawling or metropolitan about Mascoutah; however, it is a charming little community in the rural outskirts of St. Louis, and we’re thrilled to be heading in the direction of family for a weekend. Most Hoosiers like to spend their spring breaks basking in the peninsula of complete and utter sunshine that is Florida, but apparently we’re not foolhardy enough to join them. I’m sure we’ll snap a few photos while we’re there, so you can vicariously and after-the-fact enjoy spring break with us.

And maybe there will also be one or two pieces of photographic proof I can post to prove that the Bob Evans cashier doesn't know the visual difference between 22 weeks pregnant and 40 weeks pregnant.

3.14

This is totally nerdy, but I just couldn't resist wishing you all a

HAPPY PI DAY!

And now for a few slices of pi:

• I do not fully grasp the concept of pi. On the other hand, I do fully grasp the concept of pie.
• But my brother, Tyler, loves pi. And I really mean LOVES it. In fact, my knowledge of Pi Day would not be had he not introduced me to it a few years ago. So, Tyler -- this post is for you.
• Tyler can recite from memory the first 100 digits of pi.
• He can also recite them backwards.
• And in Spanish.
• If learning to recite the first 100 digits of pi backwards does not interest you, you can take the following shortcut and just recite "Pi" backwards, as follows: "Ip."
  
• Pi Day is a good day to sing songs about pi.
• And just because Pi Day isn't the sort of holiday you can skip work for, it doesn't mean you can't celebrate. Just follow these steps.
• Today, March 14th (i.e., 3.14) is also Albert Einstein's birthday. Coincidence? I think not.
• Pi Day is a fabulous day to eat pie in a dish like this. Eat up, my friends -- apple, pumpkin, lemon meringue, chocolate mousse, key lime. Have at it.

So, happy Pi Day everybody. Now go thank 3.14 math teachers for introducing you to the mysterious world of pi.

Who are the people in your neighborhood?

Picture with me, if you will:

A man lounging comfortably in an old lawn chair at the corner of a not-incredibly-busy intersection about a block away from a nearby elementary school. He sports a peppered mustache and a cheap, stiff ball cap that makes you wonder if he’s a frequent visitor to the local bowling alley and that maybe he won the hat in a tournament. He wears glasses, but still squints to see, and several lumberjack-style layers of warm clothing. He keeps a presumably hot, portable mug of coffee on the sidewalk by his feet, nestled comfortably beside the big red stop sign that makes his purpose there apparent. Also, he waves and smiles to every car passing by as if perhaps in a former life he instructed small-town parade participants in how to please their adoring public.

Scenario Number Two:

A “crosswalk” intersection (with a traffic light controlling east-west drivers while letting north-south pedestrians cross the street), this time in front of the middle school. Two ladies, who look older than they probably really are, stand chatting with each other on the south side of the street. They are always bundled up, whether the temperature outside is -13 or 63: one wears her coat completely buttoned and zippered and hooded and sports a scarf and gloves to boot while the other, in an obviously aged, dirty windbreaker, sans scarf, hat, and gloves, just curls her hands up inside her sleeves and rotates regularly between her apparently large wardrobe of sweatpants. Both women are of the heavy variety and both look like my stereotypical version of a WalMart frequenter. Unlike The Waver, these two biddies actually have regular pedestrians that they serve, and it’s always a Grand Moment when they get to push their special button to make the traffic light turn red. They proudly waddle, albeit extreeeeeemely slowly, out into the middle of the crosswalk, stop signs at the ready, as their clientele, if you will, saunter across the street listening to their iPods while trying to keep their lowriding pants on. Student safely across, they waddle – again, very, very slowly – back to the sidewalk where they happily push the special button again, this time turning the light green, and brush their hands together, smiling – another job well done.

So these are the people in my neighborhood...the people that I meet when I'm driving down the street. We haven’t actually seen The Waver since last school year, but my two favorite ladies are out every morning. Even though I have to chuckle in spite of myself every time I see my Favorite Crossing Guards, it is kind of nice to know that Midwesterners – and Hoosiers in particular – are always genuine, pleasant people. Until, as my boss, Elaine, puts it, they start sharing their life story with you and before you know it, you’ve been enlightened on such details as unavoidable alcoholism and Klan membership. But hey – nobody’s perfect, right?

The Masterpiece...it is finished.

Wahoo!!! It's FINISHED!!! Blake has finished writing his thesis, and it has been submitted to his committee!

It's called "The Logic-Desire-Belief Structure of Intentionality," and it's 98 pages long (101 pages if you include the title page, table of contents, and abstract).

And speaking of the abstract....care for a glimpse into what's been consuming my husband's life for the last, oh, two years? All right, you asked for it. So here it is, The Abstract:

Intentionality is the concept of how mental states and their content relate to each other. Although intentionality was re-introduced to philosophy by the psychologist Franz Brentano, psychology has not empirically researched much into the concept. The present study reviews the history of intentionality, as it relates to psychology, and argues that people recognize their own and other people’s intentionality through a logic-desire-belief structure. The logic-desire-belief structure was tested by having participants in an experiment read situations containing the structure and an intentional state. The results demonstrate that people are sensitive to the logic-desire-belief structure, and the structure may allow people to recognize intentionality.

Yeah, I don't really get it either. (No offense, Blake.)

But, yay! This is exciting!

Now just for the defense....March 23rd, here we come.

Math Curse

I am math deficient. Numbers just don't click with me, though I truly often wish they did. I've been reminded a lot recently of this sad fact of my character, and every time I am, I find myself bothered by it.

I didn't always despise math. In 3rd grade I was a wiz at my multiplication tables, and in 4th grade I pretty easily grasped the concept of fractions. But I must have missed the day in 5th grade when doing long division with "big" numbers was taught because after that things started going downhill.

I must have still tested well at the end of that year because in 6th grade I was placed in the advanced math class where I started to embark on that discipline called "Pre-Algebra." Man, though -- that was a miserable year. My poor teacher, kind Mrs. Hickman, worked hard with me, as did my dad almost every evening as I cried over my homework. Somehow, though, I survived the year well enough to be allowed to move onto Algebra 1 in 7th grade.

I lasted in 7th grade Algebra 1 approximately three-fourths of a semester before I begged my teacher to let me go back to Pre-Algebra. She let me, and by the end of that year I felt much more confident and ready to try Algebra 1 again in 8th grade.

I did fairly well in 8th grade Algebra 1. Maybe that was because my teacher looked like Abraham Lincoln and was consequently inspirational -- I'm not sure. Or, more likely, it was because we moved slower through the book -- so slowly, unfortunately, that we didn't finish the book by the end of the year so my teacher wouldn't let any of us move on to the next class, Geometry.

So in 9th grade I took Algebra 1. Again. I had a horrible teacher, though. Mr. Maenner (who, I might add, had features which were remarkably similar to those of a housefly), and I nearly failed his class. At the semester I transferred into sweet Mrs. Spangler's class and discovered that Algebra 1 didn't have to be so horrible.

In 10th grade I finally moved onto Geometry. (You should realize here, that if I'd stayed on track, I would have been taking Calculus.) Mrs. Spangler was my teacher again. I loved Geometry. I actually understood it, and I had fun -- which was a new concept. I think my first A's in math were in Geometry.

It was required at my high school to take at least 2 years of math to graduate. But because I was on the "university-bound" track, I needed 3-4 years. So my junior year I took Algebra 2. My teacher was so-so, as was my understanding of the concepts taught, but I didn't enjoy it. In fact, I turned one of my favorite novels into a screenplay during class that year. I just wanted to maintain B's in class, and I did, and that was that. And then I decided that 3 years of high school math was enough for me.

I took the ACT at the end of my junior year and scored a 24 on the math section -- surprisingly well for someone of my ability. But it was enough to exempt me from the math requirement at Ricks College. So I graduated with my associates degree without taking math. (Oddly, though, my campus job while I was a student there was to help two teachers in the math department.)

I then transferred to BYU where I discovered that I only needed one more French class to exempt me from the higher math requirement. So of course I took that route. And it was great. I completed my bachelor's degree (in the two very non-math-y subjects of History and English teaching) without having taken a math class since my junior year of high school.

I can't boast, though, that I am incredibly proud of this feat -- amazed, yes, but not proud. It is sometimes very embarrassing to be so math deficient . In the book Reviving Ophelia, author Mary Pipher brings forth a good excuse that I could always fall back on -- that adolescent girls often lose their confidence as they struggle through puberty and a loss of the ability to do math well and enjoy it seems to fall first. However easy to do, I don't really want to lay the blame for my math deficiency on my difficult (i.e. normal) adolescence.

I would, however, like to start over. I want to "get" math, I really do. I guess it's good, then, that I married someone who "gets" it -- and has patience with me. I hoping that one of these days, once his thesis is turned in (this weekend!!) and he's secured a post-grad job, that he'll sit down with me and teach me. And then, perhaps, we will be able to rule the world!

This post brought to you by the fabulously hilarious book, Math Curse, by Jon Scieszka and Lane Smith. You would all be wise to read this book over the weekend. Trust me.

Miracles

How many miracles have you personally experienced in your life? In the last year? Today?

A recent post by Silly Marie has brought to my mind again just how many miracles I have been privileged to be witness to and personally experience over the course of my life. Here is how I might answer the questions I asked above, remembering, of course, that my human brain can't recall, or even comprehend, every miracle:

In my lifetime:

• that I am a part of a loving family who sincerely cares for me and my well-being;
• that I have received a wonderful and (almost) well-rounded education (I sadly did my best to avoid math at all costs, and for the most part truly succeeded);
• that I -- shy, timid, afraid-of-boys-in-general Lindsay -- actually got married.

In the last year:

• that I've adjusted so well to a move so far away from home;
• that the time has come, and circumstances are right, for Blake and I to finally get to start our family;
• that I have found several good friends and one incredibly good friend here in Muncie.

Today:

• that despite the fact that my work-day has dragged on extremely slowly, the hour between 2:00 and 3:00 passed by surprisingly quick making it more bearable;
• that out of the kindness of people I don't even know very well, I was lent several lovely items of maternity clothes;
• that my latest work project has helped me to jump a hurdle in my "fear of the telephone."
  

I have been blessed with big miracles, like the time I got a job just before our entire savings was depleted, or the time we learned that my miscarriage wasn't in fact viable. I have also been blessed with little miracles, like the fact that the sun came out today for the first time in a while, or that the city filled that nasty pothole on Tillotson Avenue.

The Lord works in His own time, and I've come to clearly recognize that. I've also come to learn that He requires faith which is both constant and as unwavering as possible. I do my best to give Him both, though it is not always easy. Sometimes I just want to throw my hands up into the air and ask, "Why must I keep waiting?" even though I know the answer to that question: that waiting helps me to grow, waiting helps me to be able to recognize the miracles when they come.

I agree with Silly Marie when she says that the Lord presents us with miracles when we most need to be reminded that He loves us and wants what's best for us, even if that means waiting on His time schedule. But such is indeed the nature of a miracle.

So apparently I'm starting to waddle.

At least, that's what Blake told me Sunday after he saw me walking towards him in the hall at church -- all in good humor, of course. But, yikes, I'm starting to look like a misproportioned, waddling pregnant woman? This strikes me as too early. Or maybe I can chalk it up to the fact that I felt pretty crummy on Sunday. Whatever. I'll have to just keep an eye on this.

I went back to the doctor yesterday, and everything is still looking good. It was reassuring to hear him tell me that, especially in light of the miscarriage trauma that we went through back in November and December. He said everything looks right on target. I couldn't be more pleased. The baby is getting bigger, as evidenced by my slowly-but-surely expanding mid-section, and the fact that last week I had to face up to the reality of that even though they're still a little baggy, if I want to be even remotely comfortable wearing clothes, they'll have to be in maternity sizes. Oh, and it still has a beautiful and fast little heartbeat.

The most exciting news, though, is that I now have an ultrasound scheduled. My doctor got me into the perinatal center at the hospital, so not only do I get to see an ultrasound view of the baby, I get to see it in either 3- or 4-D. How cool is that?! I remember back when I was in high school and those GE commercials advertising 3-D ultrasound technology started airing, I thought to myself, "Wow, I hope that by the time I have children I'll get to see them that clearly!" And look at this -- apparently I get to. Though, I have to admit I'm rather surprised that Muncie, of all places, has this sort of technology available. So anyway, March 19th is the day. Only two more weeks of waiting to have that visual proof that that this baby is using my bladder as a trampoline. If you feel so inclined, you are more than welcome to guess what you think the gender will be, but I want you to know up front that I won't be making any promises one way or the other as to whether or not you'll be right. After all, this little piece of information was decided on a while ago, and we're just now lucky enough to be privy to it. ;)

This just ruffles my feathers

Each fall, hoards of geese fly down from Canada to spend their winters here. (Why they think they'll be any warmer here than in Canada is anyone's guess.) They're beautiful birds, and they're everywhere this time of year. But apparently they're becoming a problem. The Indiana Department of Natural Resource, in partnership with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has just made it very legal and very easy for property owners to destroy the eggs and nests of the geese to help control the population. All they have to do is apply online for a permit and they can destroy as many Canada goose eggs and nests as they want between March 1 and June 30.

Now, I'm not an extreme environmentalist by any means, but doesn't this seem a bit rash to anyone else but me? I know that geese are not by nature kind and cuddly creatures, and there are an awful lot of these surprisingly urban-loving, domesticated birds, but aren't there other ways to control where these geese lay their eggs? I just wonder if perhaps these geese-destroying measures will get out of control and before people realize it, more harm than good will have been done. And then casual bird watchers like myself won't have anything to ooh and aah over every winter.

So does this ruffle anyone else's feathers? If you want to read more than just my biased opinion, here's the article that was in the paper today.

...And in other feather ruffling news...the 5:30 news this evening reported something rather disturbing. [I'll wait for a moment whilst you glance through the article.] And now...what the heck? Why is it okay for two sixth graders (!!) to engage in illicit sexual activity in a classroom with witnesses and a teacher present (!!!) and then not do some suspending and/or firing? Or, for that matter, some official reporting of the incident? This happened months ago and school officials are still refusing to talk about it. What is wrong with this school district? This is just sick, that's what.

I think maybe I should stop reading the papers and watching the news. Good grief.

Dinner

We here at my house are all about quick, easy meals. Here is a recipe for a quick, easy (and very tasty) meal that I learned from a friend in my ward (and I suggest you listen up because everything this girl makes is amazing!):

Brown 1 lb hamburger; drain. Add 1 pkg taco seasoning, 1 can corn, 1 can black beans, 1 can chili beans, and 1 small or medium jar taco sauce. Simmer. Serve with corn chips.

(We like to eat it like a taco salad, with corn chips on the bottom, this mixture scooped on top, followed by layers of cheese, tomatoes, olives, avocado, lettuce, salsa, ranch, etc.)

I feel I must speak up for those who are afraid of beans, or corn, for that matter. As one who generally steers clear of things like beans (and sometimes corn), I think this dish is still delicious. It's like that bean blandness gets swallowed up in spicy and aromatic taco seasoning and taco sauce. So don't run from this one until you've tried it.

That is all. Now go eat.

My New Favorite Thing To Do:

Sometimes, if I sit real still and stare at my belly, I can not only feel the baby kick me, but I can see it, too.