Notes from Sunday

I have been attending sacrament meeting all of my life, but it wasn't until I came to Prague that I realized I have been taking a few things for granted. For example: the ability to listen to the speakers with one ear and still keep my children (somewhat) in line. We do have the option of using headsets, where everything is translated into English. However, I have found them very impractical--either someone sitting on my lap is ripping the earphones off, I drop them when gathering a small person out of the next row, or while listening raptly, I miss the airplane-throwing going on next to me. In other words--a distinct lack of reverence ensues in our general vicinity.

So, for the last several months I have gone without headphones. I catch what little I can (hoping that I will later get a general summary from my husband.) And something marvelous happened yesterday. I UNDERSTOOD the sacrament prayer. And I UNDERSTOOD one of the talks! (It was the talk when I WASN'T holding Vilate. But I even understood a good portion of that one!) It was a small, wonderful miracle. Happy day!

"This will pretty much make your wildest dreams come true."

Napoleon Dynamite goes on a mission. Frickin' awesome.

Two brothers

Two brothers. One date. One born--one died.

To the one who lives, God bless you. Your steadfastness in pressing forward, engaging in a good work is an inspiration. You have in your life: badgered me, annoyed me, praised me, allowed me to wear your t-shirts (a great privilege, I know), pushed my buttons, and tried to make me into a better person (etcetera, etcetera, and so forth). In watching you, I have seen what it is to be never-wavering, to be patient, and to persevere despite overwhelming odds. I love you more than I can possibly express.

To the one who died, God bless us all. The hole left in our hearts and lives through your absence, though softened by time, is a reminder that this life is short, and we are all in the hands of the Master. It is a reminder that Jesus Christ is a master craftsman who specializes in mending broken hearts. It is a reminder that because of and through His atonement, all good things are possible. Like one day, putting our arms around each other again. I miss you, but I am grateful for the sometimes still-sharp edges of the hole you left. It makes me remember what is important and what is not. I love you, little brother.

We shared dinner with the missionaries today (pork carnitas and Mexican rice, in case you were wondering. Delicious? So I'm told. I spent most of dinner feeding the three-month old, so I don't know from personal experience.)

One of the missionaries in a moment of "fun" called me Mom. It's official. I'm old.

Right Brain/Left Brain Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots Edition

My right brain and my left brain are at war. Ms. Right Brain loves to create things, to paint and draw and get crazy. Ms. Left Brain totally supports that, but wants to Make a Plan, and have a Purpose and a Time Limit. Since Ms. Left Brain has all the verbal gifts of the pair, she can go off for a while on those things. And she carries a clipboard and likes to check everything off. It's probably inevitable, but most of the time Ms. Right Brain just gets bored and leaves. And then what?

Note to self: have Ms. Left Brain make a list and go buy art supplies. And then invite her to take a nap.

Why not . . .

put toy cars in the microwave?

push the couch up to the bookcase in a dastardly plot to steal the Hamster?

dump out the dual purpose stool/garbage cans in order to open any door handle that isn't quite reachable?

cover the baby's head with green I-foam?

Hurricane Vilate and I hold hands a lot these days, since she goes everywhere that I go. It's sweet to be able to hold hands and do things together. And it's safer for the baby if Vilate never leaves my sight. But I think she's on to me . . .

A Few More Details

Star date, March 2010: I visit Prague with my husband, a romantic trip with just the two of us (and the currently non-hurricane Vilate). It's idyllic. I eat something called cabbage with three meats at a restaurant (note: I do not recommend this.) and begin to feel like my insides are being turned inside out. I become intimately familiar with every public WC in Prague center. After three days of this, my nausea begins to have a familiar feel to it. I am in denial.


Star date, May 2010: We cruise from New York to Southampton. Pregnant people are not supposed to cruise without a note from their doctors. I have no such note, since my insurance has conspired against me. I could only see a doctor in the DC region, but I haven't been there since March. The nausea remains unconfirmed as anything specific, and I am happy to leave it that way for the present. There are too many other things to stress about.

Star date, June 2010: What do you know, we ARE pregnant! 17 weeks--and it's a boy! This news, for some reason, is very poignant to me.



Star date, September 2010: I become an enormous slug-like creature. Walking is difficult, since my hips are all out of joint. The only place I can comfortably move around is in the pool.



Star date, October 2010: I am enormous. The size of my stomach makes my rear end look small. Which it's not.





Star date, November 14 2010: I am resigned to being overdue by two weeks, although my due date is three days in the future. I wake up in the middle of the night with extreme heartburn and nausea, and realize that my underwear are mysteriously wet. I alert my husband, and we both go back to sleep. When I get out of bed at a decent time, water gushes all over the floor. I shower, wash my hair, finish packing, and we take the kids to church where they can participate in the primary program and meet up with their assigned families.



The branch president gives us a ride to the hospital in his Mercedes. I nicely arrange my towel on the front seat, and pray not to make a mess. At the hospital, everyone speaks Czech, so they all speak to my husband (slugs don't speak Czech) and after I am monitored (in a room with several other women, who are all dressed in skimpy long t-shirts) I am put in my own room. The contractions still haven't really started, but they're coming . . .

I note that all of the uniforms for the hospital are thin white cotton. I am not sure whether or not the dark thong that everyone seems to be wearing is part of the uniform or not.


I take a long shower, and now the contractions have started. I use some Hypnobabies techniques to get myself under control, but I have a charlie horse of some sort in the bottom right-hand part of my uterus. This is not fun.

I finally get a light epidural (I can still feel the charlie horse), take a short nap, and then it's time to push. The baby comes out with his hand over his face, screaming and hollering. His shoulders are stuck, and his feet are running back and forth under my skin. I push again, Alan cuts the cord, and at some point the newborn grabs the scissors, and we have to take them away.


He is measured metrically, but I'll translate: 8 lbs, 14 oz; 20 inches long.

His name is Ammon Matthias. He has a dimple, and I have caught a hint of a mischievous little smile that promises interesting things for the future. He is absolutely precious.