So It's Probably the Craziest Thing I've Ever Done

...okay, let me backtrack. Between 1993 and 2004, we lived in a town called Mt. Vernon, 60 miles north of Seattle. During our time there, I had a friend named Joanne who made baby quilts. All the time. Dozens and dozens of them. She made quilts for every baby she knew and some she didn't. Not kidding. She would just happen to meet someone with a baby and think to herself, "That baby needs a quilt." Then she'd go home and make one. These quilts were seriously beautiful, absolute works of art. I watched her make them, one after the other, the entire process from start to finish, over and over. I was forever in awe of her talent.

Here is a picture of Seth holding the quilt she made for him 12 years ago when he was born:

Fast forward 12 years, and Shulamith is pregnant with Baby Swen. And I think to myself, "This baby will need a 'Joanne' quilt." But how? Okay, you guys know me pretty well. You know that my skill set is woefully limited. In fact, it takes only very basic math to count the number of things I can do. There are just three:

1. I can give talks in church.
2. I can teach English classes or Gospel Doctrine lessons.
3. I can write blog posts or edit text for others.

Yep that's it. I can't do anything else, and I am positively clueless about all things domestic. Sewing? Making a quilt? You've got to be kidding! But I'm also rather OCD, and for some reason I got this bee in my bonnet about Shulamith's baby having one of these quilts, so much so I decided that against all odds, I was going to make him one. Crazy? Absolutely. I mean come on....I've never so much as sewn on a button or made a hem. Never.

The first step was going to a fabric store to buy all the stuff. This was the nightmare experience I lovingly refer to as The Twilight Zone. You can read about it here if you like. After that it was a matter of remembering exactly what Joanne did and in what order. First, she would lay out the bottom piece and then put the white fuzzy stuff on top. Then she would put the top piece over the fuzzy stuff sort of like a sandwich and then pin the whole thing together. So that's what I did. Now it was time to begin the actual stitching. Sigh. Heavy sigh. Stitching is hard. I'm so not good at it. Even harder is threading the stupid needle, which seems to come apart about ever two minutes. Then there's the constant finger poking. Ouch! "Why do people do this?" I asked myself time and time again. It gives new meaning to the term "masochism."

My goal was to have the thing done by the time Swen was born, but as you know, he insisted that his mother deliver him a full month early, so alas, it wasn't done. By the time he was born, the actual stitching of the front was done, but I was utterly baffled by how to bind the edges. For the life of me, I couldn't remember how Joanne did it, and I still can't. I have some wonderful sewing friends, but sadly, they don't live nearby. One is in San Antonio, TX; one is in The Dalles, OR; and one is in Vancouver, WA. All of them offered advice from afar, and both Celeste (Texas) and Lorrie (Washington) offered to bind the quilt for me if I just mailed it to them. I considered both offers fairly seriously, but something held me back. I didn't know exactly what it was until Shulamith articulated it: "Are you sure you want to give up now?" she asked. No! I don't. I don't want to give up. This is the hardest thing I've ever done, and I want to finish it myself, but how? Oh how I wished that just one of those friends, Celeste, Diane, or Lorrie, were here to guide me through this final step.

Lorrie suggested that I buy something called "wide bias tape" for the edges. I thought that was a funny name: bias tape. It sounds like tape that is prejudiced! Anyway, I got some, and sure enough, it fit perfectly around the edges of the quilt. All three friends suggested that I find a sewing machine to sew one side of the bias tape to the quilt and then hand-stitch the other side. Now I know Joanne did not use a machine. I know she didn't, and I obviously don't own one or have the slightest idea how to operate one. But after trying every other possible way I could think of and having zero luck, I decided I would need to follow my friends' advice and find someone with a machine. But who?

Keep in mind that I have no friends in the Salt Lake area. Well, except Shulamith, who knows exactly as much about sewing as I do. So I did the bravest thing ever. Really, you are going to be so impressed. I called up a lady from the ward who lives down the street from us. I barely know her. We are not friends or anything close to it, but I know she's one of those people who can do anything. She's what I call a "Celeste." Everything she touches turns to beautiful! So I called her up, told her who I was, and asked her if she owned a sewing machine. "I do," she replied. In fact, she apparently has two of them, one for regular sewing and one for something she called "searching"? Anyway, she said she would be more than happy to sew the bias tape on one side of the quilt edge and that it would take her maybe ten minutes. It took five.

I was home in no time and ready to hand-stitch the other side of the tape. That was two weeks ago, and finally, last night, at about 10:30, it was done. Totally done. You can't even imagine the relief that flowed through my body. Now be cautioned: You won't want to look too closely at any of it. The stitching is crappy. Like really, really crappy. But I figure Swen is a baby, so he won't know the difference, and Shulamith doesn't care at all about crappy stitching, so it's all good.

So here it is:

Probably the craziest thing I've ever done.

If It's Not Cancer, It's Rattlesnakes

What's a girl with anxiety to do? Seriously, every time I turn around, someone is talking about cancer. Ads for the Cancer Treatment Centers of America are on TV constantly. Every other day, someone on Facebook posts about a relative battling the disease. Billboards everywhere encourage people to get mammograms and colonoscopies.  And that's a good thing. Really it is. Preventative medical care saves lives. But for someone like me, even the suggestion of cancer causes the mind to wander to places irrational and horrible.

And if it's not cancer, it's rattlesnakes! I'm not kidding. Just yesterday, the news reported that here in Utah, wildfires are forcing rattlesnakes into neighborhoods. What? I live in a neighborhood. One lady up in Ogden (just 44 miles from my house) saw four in her backyard. This is not good for me, not good at all. I've struggled with a variety of anxiety disorders, but agoraphobia has never been one of them. I do need to leave my house. After hearing that news report yesterday, I opened my front door slowly and with definite trepidation. And for just a moment, the way the garden hose was lying in the grass filled me with such terror that I slammed the door and ran back inside. I had to get Gerald to go move it, just to feel comfortable going back out to my car. Ugh!

How am I supposed to walk if I'm terrified I'll run into a rattlesnake? My walking regimen has taken a serious hit already since Swen was born six weeks ago. You may remember my goal of walking 1,200 miles in 2012. I was exactly on track right through May, even a little ahead. Then, on May 26th, Swen arrived five weeks early, and everything changed. I didn't walk a single step the four days we were at the hospital and not much more our first two weeks home. I've been trying to get back on track, but there are obstacles for sure. One of those is my compulsive (part of OCD) tendency, the need to do everything 100% or not at all. I'm seriously the most "all or nothing" person you've ever met. The saying "It's better than nothing" has never made a bit of sense to me.

Nope, I like things to be 100%, and I'm not a good faker. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, as the saying goes, and I'm not one to ignore the proverbial elephant in the room, or (in the words of a dear friend) to sweep it under the rug and then be shocked when someone trips over it. But in this case, compulsive personality or not, I need to move forward with my walking routine. I need to do it whether I can accomplish my original goal or not. I need to, and I will. I need to adjust both my ultimate goal and my daily goals and to somehow be okay with that. While I used to walk 4-5 miles a day, I need to be happy with whatever I'm able to fit in, even if it's just a mile here and a mile there.

Most important, I need to be able to do that without the fear of freaking rattlesnakes.

Happy July 2012, Everyone!

Eli sent us a snail mail letter this week. It was an unexpected surprise because usually, we only receive one weekly correspondence, his Monday (P-day) email. It was a typically joyous letter, filled with a voice that is only Eli's. I am constantly delighted by how eloquently he writes. The joy of his mission poured through every line. He loves his mission so much that I worry he might never come back! The mission secretary has reassured me that President Petersen will make him go home when his time is up. Thank you, Sister Kenworthy.

One section from this letter gave me pause. He wrote, "Mom, time is just flying by. I have been in the mission field three months now, and it feels like only a day. Where did the past year go? Didn't I just graduate from high school? Didn't I just go on Pioneer Trek? Weren't we just living in that basement apartment in Shepherd, waiting to move to Utah?" If he were here, I would attempt to answer these questions. The feeling that time is racing by uncontrollably means you are growing up, Eli. It means you are a child no more.

Remember when summer vacation seemed to go on forever? Those long, lazy days filled with sprinklers, popsicles, bug collections, and the ice cream man seemed to last 100 years. By the time the new school year approached, it felt as though a lifetime had passed. That was childhood. Age and the passage of time work together to play tricks on us. The older we get, the faster time passes. I wonder if this phenomenon is related to the experience of any trip, short or long. Whether we travel 500 miles or just 5, it always seems to take much longer to get there than to return. Gerald explained his theory about this. It has to do with the percentage of time spent "getting there" compared with the entire trip. The trip to one's destination is 100% of the whole experience, but the return trip is less than 50%. So it seems much faster. Is it the same with this "trip" through life? Perhaps.

A friend recently posted as her Facebook status: "Where has June 2012 gone?" That one was easy for me. My June 2012 was spent rocking a baby---countless, glorious hours of rocking! And what could possibly be any more important or worthwhile than that? Nothing. I know exactly where my June went, but the previous 11 months? I really have no idea. Yes, Eli, you just graduated from high school. You just had your senior piano recital, senior prom, and yes, you just went on Pioneer Trek.

And we just moved to Utah. Just the other day. The other day that was actually a full year ago. Once again, time deceives us. Since it's not likely time will slow down, may I include a couple photos to document some precious memories, just in case, down the road, in this speed race through life, we would forget.

Happy July 2012, everyone!

A Glimpse, and I Didn't Much Like It

All my life, I have had health insurance. My dad was a fire fighter for the City of Portland, so growing up I was covered under his policy. Then I got married, and Gerald's jobs have always provided basic health insurance. At times the coverage was better than at other times, but I always had insurance.

Until I didn't.

Last fall, Gerald took a voluntary severance package from his employer in Montana, so he could move to Utah where the rest of us were already living. When his job ended, so did our insurance. For the first time in my life, I was uninsured. I had a glimpse of what 50,000,000 Americans live with day after day, and I didn't much like it. I was scared all the time. I would lie awake at night, worrying about what would happen if one of us got into a serious car accident or developed a chronic illness. With the high cost of healthcare, it would mean financial ruin. We are fortunate for sure; we are all extremely healthy. None of us is under the regular care of  physician, and no one in our family takes any prescription medication. But what if we did? What if that suddenly changed? The stress of this situation practically consumed me. We are still providing the major support for four of our five children. What would we do if an unexpected medical emergency left us bankrupt?

Ultimately, Gerald's temporary seasonal job at Backcountry.com became a permanent, full time position, which provides benefits, but those benefits didn't begin until June 1st. That means for seven months, our family lived without insurance. No, it didn't affect us terribly, other than taking a toll on my mental health. We had to forgo our regular dental checkups. That was too bad, especially for Seth, who inherited his dad's bad teeth. I lived with a UTI for several weeks until it got so painful that I was forced to pay the $120 fee at the InstaCare plus $50 for the script, because I could no longer function. We were lucky compared to many. And I am grateful.

Shortly after Swen was born, Gerald and I went to the immunization clinic to get Tdap booster shots. With a newborn preemie in the house, we didn't want to risk exposing him to anything bad, especially whooping cough, which is making a comeback as more and more parents are opting to postpone or forgo their children's immunizations. As we registered at the front desk, the receptionist asked, "Do you have insurance?" My heart skipped a beat before I could answer. "Yes, yes we do," and I pulled out my brand new insurance card. Until that moment when I felt that utter relief, I don't think I fully realized the extent of my anxiety during those seven months we didn't have coverage.

Yesterday, as Gerald and I, along with Baby Swen, sat together watching CNN report the U.S. Supreme Court decision on Obamacare, I was elated. This is a monumental step forward for human rights. Thank you, President Obama, and thank you, to the five justices. Finally, a positive step to correct the atrocity of the healthcare system in this country. The Clintons tried for eight years to make progress but were shut down by the opposition at every turn. Now we go forward in faith that positive reform will continue. Because decent, affordable healthcare should not be a luxury of the rich. It is a basic human right of all. It's no secret that I am not fond of the politics of the presumed Republican presidential nominee, but he has one thing exactly right: If we want to protect and preserve the Affordable Healthcare Act, we MUST reelect the President. Here in Utah, my vote won't count at all, but those of you who live in states that could make a difference need to do all you possibly can for this cause.

I had a glimpse of what it feels like to be uninsured, and let me tell you what: I didn't much like it.

It's All About Shopping

Yesterday was Swen's one month birthday. It was also one day after his due date, but since he basically told his mother "Get me out of here, or I'll kill you," he was born 4-1/2 weeks early. (Okay, that was a "Matt" line, but I couldn't resist.) Since he was a preemie, and because that nasty RSV is still around even in summer, his doctor advised Shulamith not to take him out of the house for the first month, other than for doctor visits. He was also not to be around children, and even contact with adults should be limited. More people = more germ potential! Consequently, Shulamith was experiencing a bit of cabin fever, having stayed in the house with him for an entire month. So on his one month birthday, we decided to take him out to celebrate. We told him he could go anywhere he wanted, and guess what? He chose the mall! The kid obviously has his priorities straight.

Now Isaiah tried to dissuade him. "Don't do it, Swen! Don't sell out to these two. I swear they will have you in shopping malls for the rest of your natural life. Dude, seriously, stay home with me and play video games." Did all this peer pressure work? Nope. Swen is definitely his own baby. He opted to go to the mall with us. Ha! And did we take him to just one? Oh no! There were stores we wanted at both malls, so we took him to South Town Center AND Fashion Place.

And he did great. What a little shopping trooper. He's going to be just fine. He was especially impressed that both malls have mothers' lounges perfect for diaper changing and nursing. With rocking chairs, even! W00T! And he thought his stroller was a way cool means of transportation (that is, as long as his mom or I kept it in constant motion). We were able to get so much accomplished: make-up brushes, $5 Gap shirts (nice, huh!), and bras for both of us. TMI, you say? Whatever. Best of all, Swen found an infant-wear store that spotlights one of its cutest outfits every Tuesday and sells it for 40% off. We bought that for him to wear for his first time at church this Sunday, and Swen plans to go back every Tuesday to take advantage of that weekly special.

Video games? Are you kidding, Isaiah? Swen knows how to have fun. It's all about shopping.

A Week to Remember

When we moved from Billings nearly a year ago, we left behind some treasured friends. One of those was Seth's best friend, Ethan. Here they are just before we moved. That was the last day they spent together.

A whole year went by. Both boys continued on with their lives, Ethan with his friends in Billings, and Seth with his new friends here in Utah. They kept in touch to some extent though not all that much. Then last week, the opportunity arose for Ethan to come and spend a whole week with us while his older sister attended EFY. Everyone was excited for sure; still, I found myself wondering how it would be after a whole year. Would it be awkward? Would they still get along as well as they always did? Would they have changed and grown in different directions?

The answers to these questions became clear the second they saw each other when we drove up to Ogden to pick up Ethan at his aunt's house. It was as though the year never happened, and their friendship picked up right where if left off. On the drive back to Sandy, they sat in the backseat of the car and escaped into their own world, which consisted of trying to find "yogurt" (yellow?) cars, listening to their favorite music, and plotting out what was sure to be a week to remember.

I know from experience that one thing they like to do is stay up all night eating junk food and playing the card game Killer Bunnies (pictured above). And I do mean all night. So I warned them that first night that, because Seth's 12th birthday was the following day, I had plans that would require them to be up and ready to leave the house by 10:00. "Consider this, when you organize your sleep schedule," I admonished. They did. Gerald said they were actually in bed by 1:00 am, definitely an early record for the two of them.

Because little Swen was born just three weeks before Ethan arrived, I was less able to be away from home for long periods of time, so I enlisted the help of the guys in the family to make this a fun week for Ethan and Seth. Brenda (Ethan's mom) and I had plotted a surprise birthday trip to Lagoon, a huge and super fun amusement park north of here. This became Isaiah's contribution to the week. He took the boys for nine straight hours of rides. Though I gave them money for food, apparently all they ate was a quick pretzel in between rides. By the time they got home at nearly 9:00 pm with a pizza to sate their hunger, Isaiah was thoroughly exhausted. Those little boys wore him right out. All three reported an awesome day, and Seth's gratitude for the birthday surprise was indeed heartfelt. I told Ethan I was sorry that the best activity of the week happened to be his first day with us, but he said he didn't mind.

And I believe him. The remainder of the week was filled with one fun thing after another. On Saturday, Gerald took the boys hiking in the High Uintas Wilderness Area, where Ethan taught Seth to fish. How crazy is that? Our family is not exactly "into" such things, but Ethan brought his fishing pole, and the two of them managed to catch six fish! That night, in case they weren't tired enough from a six-mile hike in the mountains, Matt took them rock-climbing. This is Matt's favorite hobby, and Seth has gone with him many times, but it was Ethan's first experience. From what I hear, both boys were able to successfully climb something; I'm not sure what...but something. When I asked Ethan if he liked rock-climbing, he recounted a story of falling off a boulder and Matt catching him and catapulting him onto the crash pad. I didn't ask any more questions. On another day, Matt took them to Nickelcade, a big arcade where all the games cost just a nickel. Ten dollars entertained them for several hours.

All too soon, the week was over, and it was time to drive south to meet up with Ethan's aunt and cousins, who would take Ethan with them for the following week. I could sense the boys' growing angst at their final day together came to an end. When would they see each other again? Would they have to wait a whole year? If I could figure out a way to teleport Seth to Billings in July or August, I would do it. Seth is not very demonstrative with his feelings, but as they said goodbye, Ethan hugged him, and they both tried to smile.

I'm impressed with the maturity of this friendship in two kids so young. I wonder if they will always be friends. I think so. Will they one day go to the same college? Be roommates? Will they keep in touch through their missions? Will they attend each other's weddings? One of my closest friends is a girl I have known since I was 12, so exactly Ethan and Seth's age. She lives in Vancouver, WA, but we still correspond by email several times a week and see each other whenever possible. I am thankful for Ethan and for the good and steady friend he is to Seth. I am thankful for his wonderful parents who have taught him so well.

And I'm thankful for this past week, most definitely a week to remember.

It's Just Different with Preemies

Yesterday, I was having a conversation with Matt's mom, who had stopped by to visit Shulamith and Matt and Swen. The two new parents were downstairs catching some desperately-needed sleep, and I had Swen upstairs, so Dawn sat down for a while to visit. It's always nice to talk with her. As we talked, our focus turned from making strawberry freezer jam together (Yum!) to how life is going with Baby Swen. In our conversation, it occurred to me how very different the experience of Swen's birth and homecoming has been from that of my own five children. I never had a premature baby. All my kids took their own sweet time making an appearance; all were a week late, and averaging 9 pounds, they were half grown by the time they were born. They never wore newborn clothes or diapers. They never had to struggle to gain weight. I didn't know how easy I had it.

I never had to worry about many of the things Shulamith does. It's just different with preemies. With premature infants, weight gain is always the first and foremost issue. All newborns needs to gain weight, of course, but with preemies, it's critical. Full term babies have sufficient stores that they can afford to lose a little weight as they wait for their mother's milk to come in; preemies don't have that luxury. And getting them to gain is no easy task. First, their little mouths are often so tiny that they struggle to latch on correctly and suck effectively. Every time she nurses, I hear Shulamith encouraging her little one: "Big mouth, Swen. Come on, open wide. You can do it!"

In addition, there is the issue of calories consumed versus calories burned. With my babes, I didn't have to worry about conserving energy. No, I didn't let my babies cry; I don't believe in leaving babies to cry regardless of the situation. Still, if they happened to cry for half a second while I put down whatever I was doing to go to them, I didn't have to fear they were burning too many calories. It takes lots of energy to cry. Preemies, therefore, need to be kept calm. And warm. Because calm, warm babies grow. On the other hand, if they are too calm and warm, they tend to want to sleep rather than wake up and feed. Gracious, it's complicated! How do you win?

The answer is through commitment, perseverance, and unwavering determination. Shulamith and Swen are winning the feeding game because of her constant attention and concern for his unusual needs as a preemie. Though still recovering from HELLP Syndrome, a dangerous complication of preeclampsia, not to mention the normal recovery that goes with any C-section and the sleep deprivation that comes with any newborn, she continues to make Swen's feeding needs her constant priority, even when it's hard. It has taught her that she can do hard things. It's not easy to wake a sleeping newborn in the middle of the night when you are so very, very tired, yourself. But Swen needs to eat at a minimum every 3 hours, and if he doesn't wake up himself, she needs to wake him. And she does.

She and I took him to the doctor today for a weigh-in, just to reassure ourselves, and I'm thrilled to report that he now weights a whopping 6 lbs. 5 ozs. He has gained 5 ounces in just 4 days, which is positively fabulous. We celebrated with drive-thru McDonald's ice-cream cones and Diet Cokes on our way home. We will both sleep easier tonight. Well, I should probably say I will sleep easier because Shulamith doesn't actually get to sleep much. But she will rest easier knowing all her effort is paying off. Through her incredible commitment, she will be able to give her little baby what she believes is the best start possible, exclusively breast milk for the first year.

I have always been proud of my daughter. So many occasions have made me proud. When she called me from a friend's house and asked me to come get her because the girls at the middle school party were going to watch an R-rated movie, I was proud. When she rose above the endless drama and led her cheer squad to accomplish great things, I was proud. When she walked across the stage and received her bachelor's degree from Westminster College, I was proud. When she entered the temple with her wonderful husband-to-be, I was proud. But I'm pretty sure I have never been as proud of her as I have been these past three weeks as I've witnessed her unyielding and relentless love and care for her little son. It's just different with preemies. And this precious preemie is so very lucky to have the mom he does.