We're Moving!

No, we're not moving houses. We had a family meeting and reviewed our site statistics. Despite the fact that we have very low commenters on this blog (three), we have quite a large readership. We don't mind that you all don't comment. We have an understanding - we provide material, you read. Our relationship to each other is understood. However, we did feel the need to move to a site that we control and we own, so, web developer husband bought us our own domain name for Christmas. You'll now be able to find us at www.fromnorthofhere.com A lot like our current address, just without blogger.

The new site has some new features: a calendar (so you can see how often we post, or you can figure out what today is...), a photo album (so we can put baby photos up), a search feature, a catagories section, and - my own favorite - the posts have the title and then a small description. This way you'll see something like "Not Exactly a Transportation Strike" and the description "We do a 30 minute mile". If that looks like a post you want to read, you click the "more" button. If you think "I really don't care if they are the slowest people in the world" then you don't have to read it.

Some of you may not like the change. Change is good. You will get used to the change. We've moved all posts over and will soon be bringing up the photo album. We hope you will come visit us at our new home and we hope you will invite your friends and family members. Remember to reset your bookmarks to www.fromnorthofhere.com If the blog doesn't work out for us, we can always sell northern-themed knick knacks off the site. We can do what we want, it's a room of our own.

Hope to see you all soon.

Chris, Jolene, Wilson, Reagan & animals.

Christmas Songs by Wilson, Part 2

Tonight at dinner he wanted to sing us a song between the main course and dessert:

"I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year" (so far, so good) "Diamonds we bring for you and your skin, diamonds for Christmas and a Happy New Year!"

Well, he can come wish us a Merry Christmas anytime, as long as he's bringing diamonds!

The Waiting Game

Today we had our last sonogram for Reagan. Guess what - still don't know what he/she is. However, Reagan is healthy and that's all we needed to know.

I know some of you think we secretly know and just aren't saying anything. Truly and honestly, we don't have any idea. It really doesn't make any difference. You either get a boy or a girl. If Reagan is a boy we've got all the boy stuff. If Reagan is a girl then we have a boy and a girl at home. What would really be impressive is an ultrasound that would tell me things like sleep patterns, temperment, what kind of teenager Reagan will be... Those things I would love to find out now, but gender doesn't matter so much. Knowing if this kid will be a picky eater, that would be worth finding out.

So we'll all just play the waiting game together. It's just a few more weeks. Reagan will be here before you know it. Then we'll know.

Not Exactly a Transportation Strike...

Chris took Kenneth, Lesley, and kids to the airport this morning for their trip. He left the house before anyone else was up. I woke up, got Wilson up, got us dressed. We watched the news - the coverage of the transportation strike in NYC. I was impressed with the commuters' fortitude. They were walking. "You gotta do what you gotta do" one pedestrian said. That's right I thought.

I was impressed, because we left the house at 7:50. Plenty of time to leisurely drive to work. We stepped out the front door, I shut it behind me and then I noticed there was no car in the driveway. No car on the street either. No transportation. There was a car, tucked safely in the garage, but here's the thing - we have 2 keys to our house, Chris has one (on his way to DFW airport) and Lesley has the other because she used it to feed the pets while we were gone (also on the way to DFW airport). I have a cell phone, I just never carry it with me. So... Weighing our options here:

1. Break in.
2. Go next door and wake up the neighbors.
3. Sit down and hope Chris eventually comes home.
4. Live like the New Yorkers and hoof it.

We start walking. It's not too far and, remembering the news from the day "You gotta do what you gotta do." It's one mile from our house to work. It takes 3 minutes to drive, so, I figure it should only take us 10 to walk it...

My calculations were a little, well, off. The thing is that none of the people featured on the news are in week 33 of a 40 week pregnancy. None of these people had a three year old in tow. He's been sick. I bundle him tight in his coat so all you can see are his dark eyes. In his left hand he is clutching his beloved "doggy with spots" and he's holding my hand with his right. He's doing ok - until we get to the end of our street.

"Let's go home and get the car."

"Can't. It's in the garage and I don't have a key."

"Daddy has a key."

"Daddy's at the airport and he doesn't know we need in. Besides, this is fun. Walking. This is healthy exercise."

"I hate exercise."

We make it to another block.

"You can carry me."

"No, I can't. This is fun. People are doing the same thing in New York right now."

"I need to sit down."

"Just keep going."

We turn north and trudge on.

"That's just great! Now there's mud!"

"It's not mud. That's dirt."

"Mud IS dirt, Mom."

"It's fine. Keep walking."

We head east.

"I'm sick. I should be in bed."

"No, you have allergies. I gave you medicine. It will start working. Besides, walking is healthy. It will keep you from getting sick so much."

"It's just too far. It keeps going and going."

"This is a fun adventure. Just like the people in New York are having."

"I'm going to wait here. You go on ahead."

"I can't leave you here!"

"You go on ahead." He's whining now. He has stopped. He walks to the curb.

"You're coming with me. Let's get going."

"I'm just going to wait here."

"For what?! You're coming with me. You never leave a man behind."

"I can't make it."

We keep going. I distract him by mentioning his class Christmas party. Stewart will be waiting for him. Lucy will be waiting for him. He can't let Stewart and Lucy down - they are waiting for him. We have to keep going.

"Look, I can see the big dome. We're almost there."

"I think we should go home."

"No, we shouldn't. It's farther to go home than go on to school."

"It's too cold out here. I'm sick. I think I'm going to throw up."

"You're not. You're fine. You have allergies."

I coax him the rest of the way, wondering where on earth a three year old learns to be such a quitter. I make a note that we're going to have to work on his disaster and problem solving skills.

I march his royal pessimist into school. I tell him we should be proud. We didn't use any gasoline. We are prepared for any transportation strikes. We are doing what we gotta do. We are survivors. Lucy and Stewart will be proud. There will be cheering and hugs because he has made it, walking to school from our house.

His teacher meets us at the door - "Lucy and Stewart have strep throat. Since Wilson plays with them all the time, you might want to keep an eye on him..." He looks up at me. Only his eyes are showing through the small opening in the coat hood. The eyes are glaring at me. It is 8:15. The three minute, one mile trip has taken this very pregnant woman and sick preschooler nearly thirty minutes... So I waddle and he drags a 30 minute mile.

"I told you I was sick and you didn't listen to me. You made me walk. This is Texas."

He lets me take his coat off and he staggers away to the couch. No hug. No goodbye. No "thanks for not leaving me on the sidewalk." No "thanks for keeping me going and pushing me to the goal"... As I get to my office, Chris calls. If we had just waited at home for 5 minutes, we would have gotten a ride, and we would have gotten to school faster than we actually did. "You gotta do what you gotta do" and sometimes what you gotta do is sit on your rear and wait for the calvary to arrive.

Christmas Songs by Wilson

9 pm - Bathtime. Mom and Boy.

"Mom, I want to sing my favorite Christmas song."
"What's your favorite song?"
"The one about the ducks."
"The Twelve Days of Christmas?"
"No." Frustration building for Boy, "The one about the ducks."
"How does it go?"
"Release all the ducks."
"There's not a Christmas song about ducks getting released."
More frustration - he has a dumb Mom and that would frustrate anyone. He sighs and starts singing:
"Release all the ducks. Release all the ducks. Release all the ducks. Expresso for fifty bucks."

I finally figure out what Christmas song this is (after a long, long time) and I decide to see if my family can figure it out. I call my Mom. I tell her Wilson's favorite Christmas song is "Release All the Ducks." Mom says "Oh, Feliz Navidad?"

Apparently being a dumb mom is not hereditary. Where was she while I was trying to figure out that song for a half hour?!

Because of Fyodor Dostoevsky

8:00 pm December 18, 1999. Baylor University, Miller Chapel. Six years ago. That's sort of the beginning and the ending to the entire story.

I will bring you up on the preface to December 18, 1999. I was to have graduated in December 1998, but I withdrew my name from the graduation list a month before graduation. No, I wasn't failing anything. I took my name off the graduation list because there was a green flyer posted just outside Miller Chapel that said "The Problem of Evil - Spring 1999" and a list of the works to be covered in the class. I saw it - The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky. As a high school student I read the book and it's what had set my mind to majoring in English. I couldn't leave college without reading it in a seminar and my grad school application wasn't going to be reviewed for another semester - my only option was to put graduation off for a year. I ran to the Dean's office and removed my name. The Administrative Assistant asked me why. "They're reading Dostoevsky next semester." She looked at me. The woman asked if I were sure. Yes. Absolutely. Because sometimes you can't let graduation get in the way of your education. "It's your money..." She said as she crossed my name out of the line up.

In addition to Dostoevsky I had to sign up for three other classes to maintain full time status. I will tell you that he was two seats down from me in the only class left open during late registration. I will tell you that I am not a romantic, but he smiled at me and I knew. I never spoke to him. He smiled and I knew. He says I didn't smile back. He says I looked at him and then started talking to some other guy. Maybe. I don't remember that part I just remember a kind, friendly smile and kind eyes.

A few months later we met in the library over a stack of books piled high on a shared table. He was wearing khaki pants and a plaid shirt. It was the last day of February. He asked what I would do after graduation which was a scant 11 weeks off. Grad school. PhD in English Literature. He seemed genuinely interested in my overview an analysis of The Brothers Karamazov.

Long story short - no graduate school for me. No MA. No MFA. No PhD. No dissertation on the correspondence between the works of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Paul Tillich, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and R.S. Thomas. If he hadn't smiled at me that day, if he hadn't seemed so interested in Dostoevsky, if he hadn't signed up for the same class because it was the only other one still open during late registration, there would have been no whirlwind wedding in the chapel where a year earlier a green flyer caught my eye four weeks before graduating. No tiny first apartment. No Wilson. No Reagan. No rental house with unpredictable water and utilities. No mutt dogs who actually validate my compulsion to vacuum everyday. No messes. No excitement. No family of my own. I would have gone on with academia and I wouldn't have known all about Batman, Superman, mutt dogs, Star Wars, seafood, and I would have earned a wall full of framed parchment, but I would have missed out on love and a full, rich life.

The first gift I bought him was a copy of Dostoevsky book in May of 1999. He hasn't read it, but he knows I never really expected him to. It's there on the shelf for Wilson and Reagan to discover one day. They will read the letter I wrote to a young college student who, just 11 weeks before I gave him the book was a stranger at a shared table on the last day of February, 1999. They owe their existences to God and an 1880 book by Russian author whose book ends:
"Well, let's go! And we go like this now, hand in hand."
"And eternally so, all our lives hand in hand!"

Hand in hand. Wouldn't have done it any other way.