It's a Festivus Miracle!

So Dad (also known as Baba, when Miss Boo is in the conversation) and I were talking over Christmas about miracles, mostly in the context of Cinderella and Snow White.

(Amusing side note: for some unknown reason Miss Boo's cousin, who is 17 months old, calls Snow White "Whitey". {Obviously we do not call people "whitey."} Since she is possibly the most Caucasian baby I've ever seen, this is hilarious. Her mother's trying to get her to stop, though, much to the chagrin of those of us who don't have to deal with a child shouting "WHITEY!" in the grocery store when she sees Snow White cups.)

Anyhow, I was reading Miss Boo a Snow White/Cinderella book and I said, "What is it with all these girls marrying guys they met seven minutes ago? And Snow White's husband apparently goes around kissing girls he thinks are dead. That's not creepy or anything." To which Dad replied, "You weren't listening during the movies, were you? They're in love with the princes. It's a miracle." (Or something to that effect, Dad, I'm just reporting the basics of the conversation here.)

Which prompted me to say, among other things, that princesses falling in love with an unlikely person is NOT the definition of a miracle, which prompted Dad to say I should blog on miracles. (Very long intro done.)

Why did it bother me so much to define ill-advised marriage with a possible necrophiliac as a miracle? (Aside from the obvious?) Well, because we tend to define "miracle" much too loosely. Most of us in modern America define "miracle" as "an unlikely happy event that is nevertheless explainable through natural events". Not to pick on Dickens again, but "a Christmas miracle" might be "Scrooge, a habitually selfish person, becomes uncharacteristically generous on Christmas". I'm sure you'll agree that this is hardly in the same ballpark as "A Baby is conceived and born to a woman who is a virgin." A true miracle is impossible to explain within the confines of nature. In order to explain it, you have to say "God did it."

Scrooge's conversion, while unlikely, is perfectly possible and not even particularly difficult to explain. People who've had very scary experiences (like a dream where someone kicks you into your grave for refusing to eat turkey with your nephew) will sometimes change their habits. But babies just don't do these things; except for the Incarnation, we have no other experience with a baby being born without any fatherly DNA. We have to say, "God did that." In fact, that was Mary's entire explanation of her glorious problem-- "God did it. It's a miracle. There is no reasonable explanation." Joseph had all the difficulty believing her that most of us have in believing miracles that happen to other people.

Of course, Christians think God does miracles all the time. From great big flashy miracles like raising the dead, to quieter miracles like making an empty gas tank get a praying mama and her bleeding child to the emergency room, Christians point to many things in everyday life and say "God did that."

Some of these quieter miracles might be explainable through natural events, and if we have previously disqualified God from intervening in nature, we'll always explain them away: "Well, the coolness of the tomb revived a very ill Christ and then four hundred people had identical mass hallucinations." (He was only mostly dead.) "Well, your gas gauge was obviously off and the mechanic who checked it as valid was lying and the fact that your car wouldn't start afterward was a coincidence."

If, however, we believe that God can and does intervene in nature whenever He wants, the simplest explanation to cover all the facts will often be "God did that." If we want to strain credulity and come up with very complex explanations that are still technically possible, we can; but the Bible squarely says that lack of faith is a choice. And honestly, if you are a person who believes Neil Armstrong walked on the moon vs. walking around on a secret government soundstage, then you should understand the kind of choice involved. Why is it easy to have faith in the veracity of NASA, but hard to have faith in God?

When we begin to look at miracles this way, it becomes silly how often we attribute miracles to chance, or worse, ourselves. Ultimately Scripture teaches us that every good and perfect gift comes from God. Even the ordinary grace in nature comes from Him; how is it that we attribute our extraordinary circumstances to ourselves?

So I'm going to make a resolution this new year to avoid saying "miracle" except when I mean "God did that." Maybe this will help me notice all the quiet miracles He does when I'm too busy with myself to see. Maybe I'll be a little less like Scrooge ("I did it!"), and a little more like Mary ("God did it!").

Something to think about, anyhoo. So there's your post on miracles, Baba. :)

Bye for now,

Breanna

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

Um, we're going to bed early on New Year's Eve. Miss Boo has had her sleep schedule re-arranged by the holidays, but it was worth it... :D
Here are the Christmas pics:
Candy canes... Miss Boo hasn't figured out they're for eating yet.

Miss Boo and Grammy... (Miss Boo a little annoyed that she wasn't allowed to ride the dogs, run the computer, and climb the Christmas tree.)

Doing some important diaper-changing reading...

Don't bother me, Mom.

Bundled up to go look at Christmas lights and luminaria with Auntie...

Playing Christmas games with Daddy...

Tuckered out after all the fun and games...
It snowed a lot at Grandma & Opa's house, and the deer came down to eat out of the bird feeders...

Playing piano in our Christmas dress!

That's it for the picture post; you can have a philosophical one later sometime when Miss Boo isn't quite so awake and busy. :)

Happy New Year,

Breanna

Christmastime is Here...

...and we are not. :)

Pictures to be posted post-Christmas. (A lot of Ps in that line right there.)

Merry Christmas,

Breanna

Eating Everything

Seriously, Mama, I can't even eat-- what is with you and that camera?

I mean it, I'm trying to eat here.

Miss Boo DOES eat everything these days. Everything the Husband and I eat, that is, which can get inconvenient when we have something like chili or steaks. (Although she's getting better at steak, if you shred it up into little threads first.) We are going out to dinner on Friday, and I actually caught myself saying for the first time, "maybe we can order a side dish for her". As in, I now have a child old enough to order for in a restaurant, instead of just needing to 1) find a quiet nook for nursing or 2) throw a few Cheerios in my purse. How time flies.

We had a heat wave here today and it got up to 9. You wouldn't think 9 would be that much warmer than 0, or -9, but it is, trust me. The metal strip at the bottom of our door has lost its frozen coating.

Padraig is trying, very hard, to understand why he can't take the ball that Miss Boo is trying to bonk him on the nose with, so I'd better go and help them. I know the blog posts have been short lately, but we are also wrapped up in Christmas prep. We'll be leaving Saturday and be gone until after the holiday, so unless I get inspired ya'll will just have to experience me later. :) I will try to post something cheery and Christmassy (Christmasy?) tomorrow.

Happy Yule,

Breanna

A Quiz!

I'm a Grace.

I stole this quiz from a blog on the sidebar. I am curious how my male readers (reader? no, wait, Dad and Steve both read this... and the Husband occasionally) would come out, since all the personality descriptors are girl's names. :D

Take the Quiz.

(At least I got one of the prettiest ones...)

That's all from freezing fingers today,

Breanna

Still Cold

As you can see, we're still fascinated with the tree.

And try to touch it all day long. :)

It's been below zero for about four days now, without raising above zero, and things at the Husband's workplace are starting to break because of the cold. (Nothing major, but it makes extra work for him.) It's deadly cold-- seems like it seeps in through all the joints of the house. Miss Boo and Patty the Wonder Dog and I are all downstairs hugging the woodstove this afternoon. I've discovered, incidentally, that a 2006 phonebook and a seed catalogue make better toys than...er, actual toys. Thank goodness she understands the concept of woodstove = hot.

She does not, however, seem to understand "don't pull books off that shelf" so I had better sign out for now.

Hoping you all are in sunnier climes,

Breanna

P.S.

Sometimes, do you ever want to take the people who are trying to make you use recycled toilet paper because of "global warming" and make them stand in your backyard in their underpants for ten minutes? No? Must be just me then. :)

Dang Cold

Here is what the thermometer says right now: This is not, obviously, the coldest it's been all day; it was -13 when I woke up. There's a wind chill of something insane but I've not been outside today, so I can't attest what it "feels" like except that the blasts when the dog had to go in and out were arctic. Here is a picture of my front yard (through the window, I'm not crazy):

And a series of Miss Boo pics:

Where's my good ball?

There it is. I like this ball.

A lot.

:)

Keep warm!

Breanna

Christian Cliches - 'Tis the Season

... and in passing, what other time of the year do we say "'tis"? I suppose I am a nasty person. I hate Christian cliches. You know the sort of thing-- little sayings that were innovative and a helpful mnemonic sometime 30-50 years ago ("grace is God's Riches At Christ's Expense", "Jesus is the Reason for the Season"), but now are buttons worn by little old ladies with reindeer earrings. (I got nothing against buttons or reindeer earrings.)

I don't mind the cliches because they're uncool (see reindeer earrings note above), but because the familiarity of them blunts any meaning they might actually have. I have met people for whom the meaning is still fresh, but most of us--and certainly the people we're trying to reach with the cliches--have heard them so many times that they inspire about the same amount of meditation and reflection as "I'll Be Home for Christmas".

For instance, "Keep Christ in Christmas". This is a very well-meaning phrase that sprang up first in reaction to stores writing "Xmas" on their windows, and which has continued as a reaction to the "Happy Holidays" trend of our own time. There is a very nice and elderly sign to this effect in our neighborhood, presumably dating from the Xmas era. The folks who say this wish to counteract the secular holiday and promote the Christian one.

The thing is, pushing that everybody call what they're celebrating "Christmas" might accomplish just the opposite. It's my conviction that you ought to be able to look at a group of people celebrating Christmas and tell whether or not they're Christians. In this way, there might be three versions of "Christmas," two of which should not be called Christmas at all.

The first version is the one that most folks think of when they think of "false" Christmas-- the commercial extravaganza that involves fancy parties, decorating, and many shiny objects you can't afford. (And possibly getting mildly sloshed.) If anything this version is Solstice, but it's not celebrated that way by anyone except Druids and probably it should be called Winter Holiday and should get the same amount of attention from Christians as President's Day. Even secular people, however, understand they are supposed to act as though there is a deeper meaning to all of this, which brings us to the second version.

The second false version is what you might call Modern Pagan Christmas-- exemplified by "A Christmas Carol". Here, as C.S. Lewis pointed out, is a Christmas story that has nothing whatever to do with Christ. This is what most people have in mind when they talk about "the true meaning of Christmas"; a vague idea that you should be nicer to people at this time of year and more generous, that everything this time of year should be designed to provide a sentimental uplift before the grimness of facing the new year of work and worry.

The second false version of Christmas is by far the deadlier, for the simple reason that when secular people hear Christians talking about the meaning of Christmas, they assume that what we say is to be taken the same way as Scrooge buying a turkey for the Cratchits or the sacred duty of everyone to sit through children's singing programs and nibble at indifferent sweets. Very nice, makes one feel good, but does not affect one's life for the rest of the year.

The third version of Christmas is the real one-- the Christian feast that celebrates the invasion of humanity by God, the life-changing idea that being nice is not enough to gain God's approval... the revalation that, in fact, we are not nice, even at Christmas, when we think we are at our nicest. The Christian feast of Christmas is one more time during the year when we are reminded of our sinfulness and God's grace; that our reaction, upon the birth of the Divine Christ, was largely "eh."

In short, Christmas should be a prime opportunity for sharing the gospel, which brings this back to my fuss about Christian cliches. They can become seasonal cliches, and in allowing people to categorize them as recognizable cliches, they can blur the difference between Christian Christmas and Dickensian Christmas.

So I say, down with the buttons and rhyming phrases. Allow store clerks to wish you Happy Holidays-- how do you know which season they're celebrating otherwise? In the same way that only Muslims fast during Ramadan, if it became known that real Christians are the only ones who say "Merry Christmas", people might begin to wonder what it is about the grace of God that makes Christians truly merry. Instead of automatically saying "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" this year, why not try explaining to someone what He's done for you?

To the other versions of Christmas I say, "bah, humbug",

Breanna

A Conspiracy

Mom, it's not my fault. The baby made me do it.

It's not my fault, Mom, Padraig made me do it.

Psst, Pat, act innocent and she might just take pictures and post them instead of actually coming over here and making me stop sitting on you.

See, Mom, I don't even touch him. Whoosh! I just like to hold my hands like this!

There, I don't think she's looking anymore-- how about that ride we talked about?

On a side note, I found an article today that mostly was a rant about the auto bailout, but that had the gem of referring to President-Elect Barack Obama as PEBO. Whee! I love it and I think I will call him PEBO from now on. Easier to say. :D

Here's to acronyms,

Breanna

Killing Them Softly With Cheerios?

As you can see, we all love our Cheerios. Or the generic equivalent. I mean, hey, I AM still cheap. :)

The title comes from reading I've been doing on other blogs, all of whom seem to be (the Husband would say SEEM to be is the key phrase here) much more diet-conscious than I am. In other words, they think cold cereal is of the devil because of the processing it goes through. I agree that Sugar Sparkles are probably not categorized as health food, but Cheerios? They're just oats that have been made into a slurry and then shaped into happy little O's. Can't be that bad for you.

In case ya'll haven't heard of the Nourishing Traditions trend, Nourishing Traditions is a part cookbook, part diatribe written by a lady named Sally Fallon. She's not a dietitian, just a concerned citizen who can use exclamation points with the best of 'em. I bought the book mainly because I wanted a sauerkraut recipe and also because I wondered why in old books they were forever soaking their oatmeal overnight. (It cooks quicker that way in the morning.) I read it, beyond the recipes, because I felt I should be fair and a lot of very nice bloggers like her work.

I... thought it was a bit thin. I find Dr. Dean Ornish relatively more plausible and I'm not an Ornish fan-- although the Sally Fallon way of eating would be a lot more fun than Ornish, because you get to eat a lot of butter. (They both, however, don't let you eat pork.) Pretty much it boils down to: Fallon thinks saturated fat is the necessity of life, Ornish thinks it will kill you. Take your choice. :D (I will cook more of Fallon's recipes I think, because I like butter. Sue me.) The problem with both styles of eating is that they cut out entire swaths of foods, and think that thereby everyone will be enabled to live to be 100. (Or more. Fallon points out that in Bulgaria or some such place they live to be very, very old, like 120, and they eat tons of saturated fat and have great teeth.)

Ornish thinks saturated fat is poison. Fallon thinks that unfermented (unsoaked) grains are poison. Which begs the question, was God having an off day when He made eggs or grains respectively?

(The answer to that rhetorical question is "clearly no" in case you had your doubts.)

So what's a healthy way of eating? Well, the only time the Lord ever spoke on the issue it also banned pork, shellfish, and several other things so I suppose one could eat (Biblically, not talmudically) kosher and feel good about that. However the Lord also made me a Gentile and put some explicit thoughts about Gentiles keeping kosher in the New Testament, so perhaps we might take His word for it and regard all food (even Cheerios) as clean.

Whew. I feel much better now. :D

I have to go grocery shopping today and get some bananas and other things, so it's good to have that cleared up.

Happy cold snap,

Breanna

(Can you tell it's snapping here?)

If I Don't Get Anything Done, How Can I Be Busy All Day?

Give me the phone, mom. I know how to use it, you'll just break it.

See, I CAN reach it! What were you thinking, that I couldn't?

Pat makes a nice cosy chair.

All these pictures beg the question; I've been busy all day following her around, so why is it that the dishes still aren't done and I just now made the bed? Hmm? Some women have eighteen children like that woman on the Discovery channel. I'm not even sure what I'm going to do with two. Yikes.

More tomorrow,

Breanna

P.S. Belly pic update: the camera ate the belly pic and I can't find it. The Husband will have to take another one. :)

Cleaning with a Packback

This is horrible. It appears Elmo needs a liver transplant or he may not live through the night.

Wait, am I sure about my sources? I wouldn't want to get burned again, like when I trusted that guy who had worked for the New York Times.

Aaack, paparratzi! Mom, quit taking pictures of me all the time!

No, the pictures had nothing to do with the title of the post, but they were so cute I had to put them first. :) A packback, for those of you who weren't around when we last moved, is a word coined by one of the people from the moving company who packed up all our stuff. They packed and labeled everything and some of the labels were... well, creative. For instance, we have a baby backpack that was in a box with paper and a vase, labeled "packback". So, although Miss Boo wasn't in the Official Baby Backpack today (because I can't get the safety strap around my belly anymore) she was in a thing called a mei-tai (not to be confused with a mai tai) or blanket carrier that I CAN still tie around me. It's like a blanket with straps-- you do a complicated series of twists with the straps, and voila! the baby is tied to your back like a happy possum.

Today the house was at a state where I can't even eat breakfast because everything is screaming "CLEAN ME! PLEAAAASE! FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, CLEAN ME!" Also, the diaper pail wouldn't close after Miss Boo's--ahem-- morning constitutional. And it's not easy to wash diapers if you also have to wrangle a Miss Boo who thinks it would be fun to climb the laundry room shelves. So the packback became a necessity this morning, and I am listening to Trans-Siberian Orchestra Christmas tunes as insipiration, and have got most of the very horrid jobs done. Now I just have to wait until Miss Boo decides to take a nap in order to swish out the bathroom, and we'll be done.

(You think washing diapers with Miss Boo is hard? Try cleaning a bathroom with someone who has no concept of "yucky" and can open a toilet lid. I don't even try it when she's tied to my back, because she has a longer reach than you'd think.)

In an exercise in humility, I had the Husband take some belly pics of me last night but I have to fuss to get them out of the camera, so you can't see them until later. Until then,

Happy Winter Holiday,

Breanna

P.S. You DID hear that all the cool kids are celebrating the bland Winter Holiday instead of Christmas this year, didn't you? :P

Comments

Ok, since nobody has been able to leave a comment except Steve and once Kenny, I have fixed it (I think) so that comments are friendlier. Comment away!

Breanna

No Friday Post Because...

...nothing happened today except Miss Boo bit me and I made meatballs. What, you want to read about my meatballs? :D

I don't want to turn into one of THOSE blogs.

See you all on the Monday side,

Breanna

Elfing II: The Tree Pics

OK, a blurry one but cute:
You'll notice the Husband is trying to keep her from actually handling (and eating) the ornaments.

This is Miss Boo in her jammas trying to convince ME that it would be all right for her to eat the ornaments. They're red and shiny, just like apples. I bet they taste like apples, too. What is with my fear of trying new things?

This is the Husband trying again to teach Miss Boo to look at the pretty tree, but not eat it or climb it. She gives him polite attention, but...

...mostly she just wants the "Bretty bretty brrrretty" tree. (That's "pretty pretty pretty", for those of you who don't speak Booian.)

Today we did a little elfing at the store as well, and got gifts for folks... don't worry, I didn't buy anyone a bag of flour for Christmas. (Although how do you all feel about canned peaches? :D I kid, I kid...)

It was 10 F outside when we left this morning, or as we like to say technically, dang cold. Miss Boo was wearing a long jumpsuit-thing, a sweater, two pairs of socks, a hat, and a coat with hood. I was outfitted similarly. It was still dang cold. Makes one very thankful for that nice clicky woodstove and all the wood the Husband chops. I occasionally picture myself as an intrepid pioneer woman and speculate what it would be like to haul my pregnant self out to the woodpile and chop my own firewood...when I wasn't running to an outhouse that is... and quickly come to the conclusion that it is a mercy I was born in this day and age, when if worst comes to worst I can always use the natural gas.

Well, I don't know how much longer Miss Boo will stay asleep on my lap (baby on lap, laptop balanced precariously on knees, put up footrest of recliner, laptop balanced on shins, type without waking baby) so I will end this now-- a relief after yesterday's rant, I know. Enjoy the baby Christmas pics, and maybe I will find some more entertaining philosophical thing to blather about tomorrow. :)

Cheers,

Breanna

Green Christmas

Have you noticed that it's less cool to be "green" this year with your Christmas shopping? Apparently having elected a "green" president is enough for our national psyche.

Those of you who know me know that I don't believe in global warming (you can think I'm koo-koo nutty if you want to) but you also know that we sort of actually do a lot of "green" things accidentally. We limit our driving, hang laundry, reuse containers, use cloth diapers, etc. I don't do these things because I think they'll stave off global warming, I do them because I'm cheap. Really, really cheap. And I don't like the "green" solutions that actually cost more in resources, time, and money than regular options. Like a entryway mat made of recycled waterbottles. Only in these enlightened times is buying new crap the way to justify having bought stupid old crap.

Anyway, this comes up as an intro for a quote I read today from Greg Gutfeld, who comments in the opinion section on Fox News (you may think I'm koo-koo nutty for reading them if you like). I don't agree with everything Gutfeld writes by a loooooong shot, and he has an abrasive, sarcastic style, but I thought this quote captured one reason why I'm so turned off by global warming, particularly this time of year:

"Faced with imminent destruction of the planet due to global warming, farmers are now forced to turn crops into fuel. Ethanol, that is. This has forced farmers to raise their prices, which they don’t mind - and reduce supplies of food. And here’s the heart of global warming theology - and it is a theology: a
fundamental self-loathing for the human race, knitted into an overpowering sense of self-importance. The selfish, all-consuming human is what’s wrong with the world — and hooray for me! — the sensitive, intelligent Prius driver, for pointing it out. Which means –with a reduction in food and rising prices — we’re approaching what the Gores of the world really want — the sacrifice of humanity for a false god: global warming."

For the record, all of the real people I know who are worried about global warming are not Prius drivers nor are they know-it-all jerks. And I don't think Al Gore really wants to sacrifice the whole race, although I've never met him; personally I think he's just into making money out of the global warming thing. But many of the professional doomsayers about global warming do have a very distorted view of humanity, to the point of advocating almost any strategy to ensure that there will be less of us in the future. I agree that humans haven't done their job on this planet, but fixing the sin of greed with the sin of murder -- even indirect murder-- makes very little sense.

So, at Christmas, when we are being reminded of the Incarnation and the fact that God hid Himself in human flesh, a "Green" Christmas that ends in thinking about how much better it would be to get rid of a few billion people is inappropriate.

However, a Christmas that endeavors to not spend beyond our means and, with a small celebration, to focus on the Incarnation, is immensely appropriate. As C.S. Lewis pointed out, Christmas is properly either a pagan holiday (solstice) or a Christian feast. What it has never been until recent years is a commercial exercise; it's foolish to do buying in December that you would never do in February. And if you seek, as I am, to spend rationally this year, you will find that you, like me, are accidentally "green." You'll end up giving things like food or homemade sweaters. (No one's getting a sweater, sorry.) Or you'll choose one well-made item instead of ten flimsy plastic items from China. You certainly won't get someone a mat made of recycled water bottles.

So I can wish you a Green Christmas after all-- just the right kind of green.

Don't worry, no more philosophy tomorrow-- just babies. Until then,

Ciao bella,

Breanna

Elfing

So no, the Baby Eye Candy today isn't new, it's from last Christmas when Miss Boo was only a month old, but the camera battery was dead this morning, so I couldn't get a picture of Miss Boo goggling at the lit Christmas tree. It's charging right now, so we should have pictures tomorrow. Anyway, isn't it amazing how much she's changed in a year?

We are elfing today-- that is, we're trying to make the house all Christmasy. All my decorations are in the garage, but when the Husband comes home for lunch I might make him haul them out. I am not going out in the snow to get them with Miss Boo on my hip and Boychild throwing my hips out of whack, so right now I am doing Christmasy laundry (that's laundry while listening to the Barry Manilow Christmas album, for those of you who don't know). It has occurred to me I need more than three Christmas CDs, so I think when I hit Target later for... well, any number of things, based on my survey of decorations... I will grab some of those 2/$5 CDs that have instrumental Christmas songs on them.

We'll post some pictures after we get our elfing done. It's kind of exciting-- this is a bigger house than I was in for any of my previous married Christmases. (My first I was in an extremely tiny house and the decorating consisted of one table.)

More cheer tomorrow,

Breanna

Pink vs. Blue

They make you wait until 20 weeks into the pregnancy to get your ultrasound so you have to go through the obligatory parental purgatory of hearing well-meaning people ask, "what do you want? a boy or a girl?" (or another winner, "did you mean to get pregnant?"). I'm not sure what it is about gestation that makes people who barely know you think they can ask questions that they wouldn't ask their own parents, but there you are. (My stock answers are, incidentally, "someone with human DNA" and "whoops, am I pregnant?")

(This leaves out of course the random old ladies who accost you in the grocery store once you start showing, to tell you 1) you shouldn't eat that 2) you shouldn't lift that 3) if you reach over your head the umbilical cord will wrap around the baby's neck or 4) if you eat that, your baby will have lots of hair.)

Anyhoo, strange people aside, today we finally got an answer for all the folks who ask "are you going to find out what you're having?" and also, "do you know if you're having a boy or a girl?"

Drumroll:

Introducing the Boychild, who is pointing in this fuzzy reproduction of the ultrasound snapshot. He had his chin tucked down to his chest like that during the whole ultrasound, and kept sticking his hand in front of the camera. Either he was waving at us, or telling us to go away and quit bothering him. I suspect the latter. He is already a more mellow child than Miss Boo was at this age.

Everything we looked at seemed to be developing beautifully, brain, spine, heart, kidneys, etc. He was shy and kept squirming his bottom away from the camera, but in the end we were too quick for him. He has perfect hands and feet. We couldn't see Miss Boo's on her ultrasound, since she punched and kicked the camera, but Boychild had very clearly distinguishable fingers and toes.

Well, Miss Boo just woke up from her nap and since she is about to have to become Co-Grand Poobah of the Universe, I will go comfort her. :)

Have a great day,

Breanna

Home Again

The first thing the dog did when we got home was lay down on his carpet and sigh a huge sigh of relief:"My own house... smells like me." I agree, Patrick; it's good to be home.

We spent a great five days split between the grandparents's houses. (Wow, that's a lot of S's in one sentence.) Miss Boo and her cousin ate a lot of turkey, sweet potatoes, and tried on elf hats:


Here is Cousin with the hat, both children fighting naps, Baba trying to fool them into sleeping. They knew that game. Silly Baba.

And here is the ultimate nap warrior, refusing to close her eyes. The magic elf hat wasn't helping. You can see her lunging desperately forward, afraid to lay back lest she be tricked into resting.

But, when all is said and done, home is a wonderful place to be. Believe it or not I missed doing housework, and to be sitting at my laptop with my wheezy crockpot chugging away on a pot roast for dinner, the woodstove clicking happily in the basement as it heats up, and my dishes done, makes me feel very good.

In other news, Miss Boo had a doctor's appointment today for her one-year-old checkup. She is 14 pounds, 8 ounces (only up 8 ounces from last time) but is 26 inches long (up 2 inches from last time). The doctor explained that she has been putting her growth into height. Who knew babies could decide that sort of thing? :) There were vaccinations, of course... which are never fun, but Miss Boo has also been teething for three days. Blech. The Husband looked at us with sympathy as he left for work this morning, secretly glad I suspect that he didn't have to be the one to hold Miss Boo's legs for the nurse to jab. He never does manage to make it to the vaccination appointments-- not his fault, but convienent for a tender-hearted daddy.

Apparently Miss Boo is ahead on language development and knows more words than a one-year-old has any right to. So, brag away grandparents.

Miss Boo is fussy again now so looks like we have some rocking chair business to attend to.

Happy December,

Breanna