For quite some time (months and months) after Lizzy moved from a crib to a bed, she still hadn't grasped the concept that she could get in and out of bed by herself. We would put her there and she would stay there until we got her out.
It also took her a long time to figure out that she could open the door to her room by herself. We heard friends tell tales of their toddlers climbing out of cribs and opening doors and wandering around outside while parents slept. We looked at our little bed-bound child and smiled with gratitude.
How I miss those days.
Since Lizzy awakened to her God-given bed- and room-escaping ability, she has become very hard to keep in bed, and it takes her forever to fall asleep. Each night she frequently gets out of bed and comes to ask us a question or tell us something or complain that she isn't ready for sleep.
Our recent attempt to curb this behavior has been to take away a toy each time she gets out of bed. This appears to work pretty well, although last night after I had firmly restated the law of toy-removal and left the room, she got out of bed and came out of her room to protest the hard-line stance we have taken with this decree. There should be more flexibility, she demanded (though in different words—something like, "I don't think that's a good idea"). The current wording of the regulation stipulates that to be legal, bed-time wandering must lead the wanderer directly to the bathroom to take care of business—and then directly back.
Lizzy proposed another authorized excursion last night: the reporting of nightmares. If she is scared, she said, she needs to be able to come tell us.
I agreed but insisted that nightmares don't come right after we put her to bed and she'd better get back there now.
For a while there, nightmares were the favored excuse for bed escapes. She would have several "nightmares" each evening and would get out of bed to come tell us about them—often within minutes of us leaving her in her room.
The best reason for getting out of bed, however, came when Lizzy got out of bed one night and, in response to my demand that she return, said, "But I have to tell you something."
"What is it?" I asked, trying to be patient.
"Um, um, um, um.... um, um, um," she said, her brain working hard to come up with something as we stood at the door to her room. "Um, um... I'm tired."
As I laughed and pointed out the irony of her statement, she realized her mistake, smiled, and headed back to bed.
By the way, last night when I removed a toy (Mr. Potato Head) in consequence of her unauthorized wandering, Lizzy said, "That's OK. You can take him." So much for consequences that hurt.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Monday, June 19, 2006
Fancy Drinks
I rush into the kitchen carrying my shoes and socks and join Christine, Caroline, and Lizzy at the table. Lizzy has not made much progress on her breakfast since I left 20 minutes earlier to take a shower. Christine is pouring Caroline's breakfast into her tube. "Let's have family devotional in here," I suggest, pulling on my socks. "I've got to leave. Lizzy will you choose a song?"
"Um, guys? Guys?" Lizzy says, "I've got to tell you something."
I take a breath and say, "OK, but it's got to be fast." I am not as patient as I should be with Lizzy's speed these days. Always something else to tell us or show us, always some reason she can't do this or that just yet.
Lizzy grabs the plastic Fazoli's cup (saved from a one-time kids meal) with the pink straw and moves it around her bowl so I can see inside. "This cup is for fancy drinks," she announces.
I peer down into the cup and see four or five Grape Nut Os floating in about an inch of milk. I smile and share my observation with Christine.
"I put some orange juice in it too," says Lizzy.
She may not be terribly quick, but she is creative.
We sing Lizzy's song of choice ("I Am like a Star") and Lizzy takes a sip of her fancy drink. "Ugh," she says with a grimace. Another sip. "Yuck." So much for fancy drinks.
But Lizzy is not deterred. After we read our three verses in the Book of Mormon, we make our way to the living room for prayer. On the way, she tries to convince Christine she should have some of Lizzy's fancy drink—with about the same zeal that she goes after my chocolate aversion. As we're kneeling down, Lizzy tries one more argument: "It's really yummy," she says, and Christine and I lose it, delaying the prayer with uncontrollable laughter.
Funny kid.
"Um, guys? Guys?" Lizzy says, "I've got to tell you something."
I take a breath and say, "OK, but it's got to be fast." I am not as patient as I should be with Lizzy's speed these days. Always something else to tell us or show us, always some reason she can't do this or that just yet.
Lizzy grabs the plastic Fazoli's cup (saved from a one-time kids meal) with the pink straw and moves it around her bowl so I can see inside. "This cup is for fancy drinks," she announces.
I peer down into the cup and see four or five Grape Nut Os floating in about an inch of milk. I smile and share my observation with Christine.
"I put some orange juice in it too," says Lizzy.
She may not be terribly quick, but she is creative.
We sing Lizzy's song of choice ("I Am like a Star") and Lizzy takes a sip of her fancy drink. "Ugh," she says with a grimace. Another sip. "Yuck." So much for fancy drinks.
But Lizzy is not deterred. After we read our three verses in the Book of Mormon, we make our way to the living room for prayer. On the way, she tries to convince Christine she should have some of Lizzy's fancy drink—with about the same zeal that she goes after my chocolate aversion. As we're kneeling down, Lizzy tries one more argument: "It's really yummy," she says, and Christine and I lose it, delaying the prayer with uncontrollable laughter.
Funny kid.
Friday, June 16, 2006
My Mountain Home
I love my commute. The 17-minute drive to work takes me first east, within a mile of the foothills of Timpanogos, the mountain itself walling off the sky to the north. Ahead Provo Canyon's V joins Timp and Cascade, a similarly massive mountain which marks the eastern border of our valley.
As the road begins to climb to the foothills, I turn south and descend again, looking across the valley to ward Mount Loafer and Mount Nebo in the distance. That short leg is followed by another eastern jaunt leading me to the mouth of Provo Canyon, with Cascade full in my view. Then I turn south and run along the base of Squaw Peak (Cascade's foothill) until I get to work.
All along the route, the views ahead and to my left draw my eyes upward and provide me no end of visual feasting. I am continually studying cliff faces, trees, mountain contours, and the interaction of cloud and mountain. Sometimes I suddenly recognize my distraction by the view and I get nervous about the last 10 minutes of driving, in which I wonder how much attention I paid to the road.
This morning I was particularly captivated by Cascade, as grey clouds stretched across its ridge, leaving remnants among the trees on the upper slopes like cotton batting pulled thin by gentle, steady hands. In the shade beneath the clouds, the mountain's brown cliffs and green slopes were punctuated by snowfields wedged into ravines down the mountain face. Some of them likely hundreds of feet long, the patches of snow caused me to check my mental calendar and glance at Timp for comparison. Here it is, mid-June, and the top third of both mountains are decorated with abundant stripes and splotches of snow.
I've been regularly monitoring Timp's snow (it dominates my drive home each day), but somehow I'd failed to register the scattered snow on Cascade until this morning.
As the road begins to climb to the foothills, I turn south and descend again, looking across the valley to ward Mount Loafer and Mount Nebo in the distance. That short leg is followed by another eastern jaunt leading me to the mouth of Provo Canyon, with Cascade full in my view. Then I turn south and run along the base of Squaw Peak (Cascade's foothill) until I get to work.
All along the route, the views ahead and to my left draw my eyes upward and provide me no end of visual feasting. I am continually studying cliff faces, trees, mountain contours, and the interaction of cloud and mountain. Sometimes I suddenly recognize my distraction by the view and I get nervous about the last 10 minutes of driving, in which I wonder how much attention I paid to the road.
This morning I was particularly captivated by Cascade, as grey clouds stretched across its ridge, leaving remnants among the trees on the upper slopes like cotton batting pulled thin by gentle, steady hands. In the shade beneath the clouds, the mountain's brown cliffs and green slopes were punctuated by snowfields wedged into ravines down the mountain face. Some of them likely hundreds of feet long, the patches of snow caused me to check my mental calendar and glance at Timp for comparison. Here it is, mid-June, and the top third of both mountains are decorated with abundant stripes and splotches of snow.
I've been regularly monitoring Timp's snow (it dominates my drive home each day), but somehow I'd failed to register the scattered snow on Cascade until this morning.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
A Desert Downpour
A week ago I was hiking through the rain in the canyon created by Calf Creek in southern Utah.
It was the first full day of a three-day camping trip with the young men in our Scout group. In the morning, the crowds at the Lower Calf Creek Falls trailhead had persuaded us to first explore Upper Calf Creek Falls, where we found ourselves alone at a lush desert grotto fed by a small creek that careened over a 90-foot drop into a deep, green pool. Warmed by the sun, many of us had entered the chilling waters for a brisk swim. Doing a leisurely backstroke across the pool, I had gazed up past cream-colored canyon walls to white clouds moving across a blue sky.
As we hiked up and out of the canyon, however, our trail over the slickrock became gradually darkened by a gathering storm. By the time we reached the top and began making our sandwiches, black, low clouds filled the sky, rain could be seen to the north, and occasional claps of thunder reached our ears.
Undeterred, we drove back down to the lower trailhead, hoping the crowds had dispersed. There was at least room in the parking lot this time, and as we commenced on the trail, with the dark clouds sprinkling upon us, streams of hikers flowed by on the outward leg of their hike. Before long, however, the sprinkle had increased to a steady rain, and within a mile, we were in the midst of a drenching downpour and spectacular lightning show.
By the halfway point of our hike (about a mile and a half), the group (10 boys, four adults) had become stretched out along the trail, and our radio crackled as the lead group called back for guidance. “Are we going to turn back?” a teenage voice queried hopefully.
The cold rain had soaked most clothes (especially those of young men who had neglected to bring the rain gear itemized on the packing list—“I didn’t even look at that list,” one boy remarked), and as they saw hiker after hiker heading for the parking lot, they longed to return to warm cars.
But we in the rear were having the time of our lives. Sure, it was wet, but how often do you witness a desert downpour? The lightning crackling above our heads, the thunder echoing off surrounding canyon walls, and the spontaneous waterfalls spewing forth from precipices above to hurtle hundreds of feet to the canyon floor kept our minds off the damp chill, and the promise of petroglyphs and Anasazi cliff dwellings kept us interested. [^^In the photo above you can see one of the spontaneous waterfalls as well as the petroglyphs (lower left corner).]
“Keep on keeping on” was the message sent back to the lead group (a message met with not a little complaining).
Gradually the rain lessened to a drizzle, but it didn’t stop completely. As we neared the end, we met the lead group going back on the run. They had seen the falls—if briefly—and had determined to get out of the cold as soon as they could.
Moving forward, we soon saw the 125-foot falls above the trees, and in a moment we were walking under the final grove at the edge of the sandy beach that surrounds the pool. Swollen by the rain, Lower Calf Creek Falls—normally a mild flow tumbling peacefully down a cliff—thundered over the canyon rim in a torrent that sent mist hurtling toward us, propelled by the wind that whipped down through the narrow passage. My glasses, hitherto protected from the rain by my wide-rimmed leather hat, were suddenly covered in drops from the spray. Directed by the boys who had reached the spot just before me, I moved to the side, out of the wind and spray, and I searched for a dry spot on my shirt with which I could wipe my glasses to more fully appreciate the scene. [vv The photos below illustrate the contrast between the normal falls (left) and what we encountered (right).]
For several minutes we admired the falls. We took pictures, we shared statements of incredulity, we stood again in the center of the canyon to test the strength of the wind and feel the force of the spray, awed at the power and majesty of God displayed through His creations.
As we left the falls and hiked out, the rain continued, but more lightly now. Birds began to sing, and the spontaneous waterfalls we had observed earlier had vanished. In their place were glistening ribbons of damp, darkened rock down the face of the cliffs, giving us direct evidence that water is the source of those black streaks on sandstone canyon walls.
When we reached the cars, I noted with some amazement the differing attitudes toward the experience. We had all taken the same hike in the same weather, but some of the young men complained that it ranked among the worst hikes they’d done, while others of us raved about it as one of the most incredible things we had witnessed.
Later I wondered if the difference in attitude lay in the focus. Many of those in the lead group were in the lead group because they wanted to go fast. Their purpose was to get to the end of the hike and see the falls. It was all about the destination for them. And although most of them acknowledged that the destination was truly magnificent, some of them insisted that it wasn’t worth the cold, wet hike.
Those of us in the rear group, however, were interested in the end goal, to be sure, but early on we began looking around and taking in the sights as we went. When we got to the end and saw the swollen falls, the sight was the perfect climax to a fantastic series of observations along the way. We had seen the desert in the middle of a massive thunderstorm—not a common occurrence. We had witnessed the forces of nature at work and had seen much more than the one waterfall we had anticipated at the beginning of the hike.
The message, for me, is to enjoy our journeys in life. We shouldn't be so focused on the end goal (be it an eternal objective or a long-term temporal one) that we can't find beauty and wonder along the way. When blinders focus our attention so narrowly on one point in the distance, we not only miss much, we also become more easily wearied by the trials of the trail and we question whether it is all worth the effort. But when we take time to appreciate the beauties around us, the challenges we face seem less burdensome, and the ultimate objective, when we achieve it, is enriched by the good we gathered along the way.
It was the first full day of a three-day camping trip with the young men in our Scout group. In the morning, the crowds at the Lower Calf Creek Falls trailhead had persuaded us to first explore Upper Calf Creek Falls, where we found ourselves alone at a lush desert grotto fed by a small creek that careened over a 90-foot drop into a deep, green pool. Warmed by the sun, many of us had entered the chilling waters for a brisk swim. Doing a leisurely backstroke across the pool, I had gazed up past cream-colored canyon walls to white clouds moving across a blue sky.
As we hiked up and out of the canyon, however, our trail over the slickrock became gradually darkened by a gathering storm. By the time we reached the top and began making our sandwiches, black, low clouds filled the sky, rain could be seen to the north, and occasional claps of thunder reached our ears.
Undeterred, we drove back down to the lower trailhead, hoping the crowds had dispersed. There was at least room in the parking lot this time, and as we commenced on the trail, with the dark clouds sprinkling upon us, streams of hikers flowed by on the outward leg of their hike. Before long, however, the sprinkle had increased to a steady rain, and within a mile, we were in the midst of a drenching downpour and spectacular lightning show.
By the halfway point of our hike (about a mile and a half), the group (10 boys, four adults) had become stretched out along the trail, and our radio crackled as the lead group called back for guidance. “Are we going to turn back?” a teenage voice queried hopefully.The cold rain had soaked most clothes (especially those of young men who had neglected to bring the rain gear itemized on the packing list—“I didn’t even look at that list,” one boy remarked), and as they saw hiker after hiker heading for the parking lot, they longed to return to warm cars.
But we in the rear were having the time of our lives. Sure, it was wet, but how often do you witness a desert downpour? The lightning crackling above our heads, the thunder echoing off surrounding canyon walls, and the spontaneous waterfalls spewing forth from precipices above to hurtle hundreds of feet to the canyon floor kept our minds off the damp chill, and the promise of petroglyphs and Anasazi cliff dwellings kept us interested. [^^In the photo above you can see one of the spontaneous waterfalls as well as the petroglyphs (lower left corner).]
“Keep on keeping on” was the message sent back to the lead group (a message met with not a little complaining).
Gradually the rain lessened to a drizzle, but it didn’t stop completely. As we neared the end, we met the lead group going back on the run. They had seen the falls—if briefly—and had determined to get out of the cold as soon as they could.
Moving forward, we soon saw the 125-foot falls above the trees, and in a moment we were walking under the final grove at the edge of the sandy beach that surrounds the pool. Swollen by the rain, Lower Calf Creek Falls—normally a mild flow tumbling peacefully down a cliff—thundered over the canyon rim in a torrent that sent mist hurtling toward us, propelled by the wind that whipped down through the narrow passage. My glasses, hitherto protected from the rain by my wide-rimmed leather hat, were suddenly covered in drops from the spray. Directed by the boys who had reached the spot just before me, I moved to the side, out of the wind and spray, and I searched for a dry spot on my shirt with which I could wipe my glasses to more fully appreciate the scene. [vv The photos below illustrate the contrast between the normal falls (left) and what we encountered (right).]
For several minutes we admired the falls. We took pictures, we shared statements of incredulity, we stood again in the center of the canyon to test the strength of the wind and feel the force of the spray, awed at the power and majesty of God displayed through His creations.As we left the falls and hiked out, the rain continued, but more lightly now. Birds began to sing, and the spontaneous waterfalls we had observed earlier had vanished. In their place were glistening ribbons of damp, darkened rock down the face of the cliffs, giving us direct evidence that water is the source of those black streaks on sandstone canyon walls.
When we reached the cars, I noted with some amazement the differing attitudes toward the experience. We had all taken the same hike in the same weather, but some of the young men complained that it ranked among the worst hikes they’d done, while others of us raved about it as one of the most incredible things we had witnessed.
Later I wondered if the difference in attitude lay in the focus. Many of those in the lead group were in the lead group because they wanted to go fast. Their purpose was to get to the end of the hike and see the falls. It was all about the destination for them. And although most of them acknowledged that the destination was truly magnificent, some of them insisted that it wasn’t worth the cold, wet hike.
Those of us in the rear group, however, were interested in the end goal, to be sure, but early on we began looking around and taking in the sights as we went. When we got to the end and saw the swollen falls, the sight was the perfect climax to a fantastic series of observations along the way. We had seen the desert in the middle of a massive thunderstorm—not a common occurrence. We had witnessed the forces of nature at work and had seen much more than the one waterfall we had anticipated at the beginning of the hike.
The message, for me, is to enjoy our journeys in life. We shouldn't be so focused on the end goal (be it an eternal objective or a long-term temporal one) that we can't find beauty and wonder along the way. When blinders focus our attention so narrowly on one point in the distance, we not only miss much, we also become more easily wearied by the trials of the trail and we question whether it is all worth the effort. But when we take time to appreciate the beauties around us, the challenges we face seem less burdensome, and the ultimate objective, when we achieve it, is enriched by the good we gathered along the way.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Uphold Marriage as a Sacred Union
Yesterday Senator Harry Reid indicated that he agreed that marriage should only be between a man and a woman, but he stated that he did not think such a restriction should receive the strength of a Constitutional amendment. I disagree.
As the fundamental unit of societal organization, the family merits all the protection we can offer it. If the family structure is weakened, society is weakened and the entire fabric of our nation is strained. We see such strains all around us resulting from divorce, neglected children, sexual promiscuity, and unwed parents. Increasingly our society is devaluing families, but it is doing so at its own peril.
Passing the marriage amendment will send a clear message that our nation values traditional families and sees them as essential to the formation of a strong community. It will not only prevent harmful contortions of familial definitions, but it will also make the institution of marriage more prominent and more sacred. It will help hold marriage up as an ideal to which we should all aspire, a prestigious union that is not subject to individual whim or cultural trends but that must be entered into in accordance with specific guidelines and with careful thought and consideration. This amendment will serve to shore up traditional marriage and family and place these units of society on the pillar they deserve—as a model for citizens of our nation to follow.
As the fundamental unit of societal organization, the family merits all the protection we can offer it. If the family structure is weakened, society is weakened and the entire fabric of our nation is strained. We see such strains all around us resulting from divorce, neglected children, sexual promiscuity, and unwed parents. Increasingly our society is devaluing families, but it is doing so at its own peril.
Passing the marriage amendment will send a clear message that our nation values traditional families and sees them as essential to the formation of a strong community. It will not only prevent harmful contortions of familial definitions, but it will also make the institution of marriage more prominent and more sacred. It will help hold marriage up as an ideal to which we should all aspire, a prestigious union that is not subject to individual whim or cultural trends but that must be entered into in accordance with specific guidelines and with careful thought and consideration. This amendment will serve to shore up traditional marriage and family and place these units of society on the pillar they deserve—as a model for citizens of our nation to follow.
Monday, June 05, 2006
The Weekend’s Project
While Christine was away at a retreat for young mothers this weekend, a new circle patio grew in our yard. Last year a larger one appeared in our back yard, and this spring I realized that I had enough bricks left over to make a smaller sibling in the front/side yard. Now we need to find a couple of benches to put with the patios . . . where do you get inexpensive concrete benches?
Friday, June 02, 2006
And You Think I'm Wordy
Just reading this NYTimes article about the Army's report on the failure of the New Orleans levees during Katrina. The report is 6,113 pages . . .
I'm so glad I write for something simple like a magazine.
I'm so glad I write for something simple like a magazine.
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