Today, I Celebrate My Love For You....

I love those old songs who's choruses work so well as one-liners, especially the ones you can just happen upon, you know, like, "I just called to say I love you...." Or, "That's the way it has to be cause that's the way I like it!" Or, "Some say love, is like a river...blah blah, blahblah, blahblah.."

Anyway, that's not the point of this post. And be warned. It's longer than I meant it to be.

Today Spencer and I celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary! Okay, five years doesn't seem that long to some of you. It really doesn't sound like that much time, but when I think back at all the memories, all the adventures and experiences and not to mention kids we've had, that's plenty of time to build something substantial.

From the first night we met, it was like we were best friends. We met on a blind date (thanks, Jeanne-Marie). That night we went to India Fest at the Hari Krishna Temple only a few miles from my home in Salem, Utah. After the fun was over there (where he announced, as a total surprise to me, and in my home town, on a stage with chanting, dancing, drum beating Hari Krishnas, that "the woman of his dreams--Mardee Rae Orton--had just accepted his proposal of marriage"!) and after we had had ice cream at my parents home and I had introduced him to my dad, the night seemed to be over for the others in our group.
It hadn't occurred to me that I was falling in love, but I certainly wasn't ready for the fun to end. After spending nearly an hour trying to round up some more people to drive up Provo Canyon and watch Back to the Future with us on a laptop, we grabbed some blankets and jumped into my (gorgeous, plum-colored, red plush interior) LeBaron and drove up the canyon together, just the two of us.
Like we had known eachother for years, we bundled up in blankets and laughed our heads off at our commentary through the whole movie. Then the movie ended, and, like we had been friends forever, we talked talked talked. We finally decided to post-pone the rest of the date when it reached 5 am and we were just about frozen through, inspite of all the blankets I brought. (We weren't snuggling or anything--lest you get any ideas).
I drove him back to his King Henry apartment and we tried to finish off our conversation and end the date. An hour later, he left my car, and I drove home with a huge smile on my face. It was only then that I realized what was happening.
As I often did when I was out late, so as not to disturb my slumbering Elisabeth, I wrapped myself in the blankets and fell asleep on the couch. Then next morning (two hours later) at 8:00, I sat up and noticed I was still smiling.
"Elisabeth! Elisabeth!!" I shouted. Why didn't I just go into our room and not make her come to me? I don't know. I do know I was very very cozy.
"I am going to marry that man, Elisabeth. You mark my words." And then I told her some of the hilarious stories he had told me the night before. In her ever-sweet way, she was just as excited and giddy as I was. I tried to keep it from Jeanne-Marie that I had fallen for him, but it didn't take long for the whole world to see. We saw eachother nearly every day after that. And the longest days are still the days that I don't get to see him.

I hadn't meant for that to be a full summary, whoops.

Our courtship.

There are a thousand stories from our first years together. A million ways he made me smile, made me think, made me better, made me stronger, and happier.

Okay, one more, kiddos. Our first kiss.

As I mentioned, we spent a lot of time together, right from the beginning. Saturday night: first date, Sunday: went to his house to pick up pet turtles that I would be babysitting (that was an excuse to see him, yes), then spent over an hour on the phone after I made up some question about the turtles so that I could call him, Monday: date 2--ice cream and long-boarding with Adam and Reina, Tuesday: date 3--dinner and "Bend it Like Beckham" with my cousins and dates--held hands, Wednesday: watched Back to the Future 2 with friends at my place, then went outside to sit on my big orange couch and talk some more-just the two of us.
And now you are up to date. Spencer feels this information is important because he felt that we had spent an awful lot of time together thus far.
Wednesday night we sat in the moonlight (porchlights) at Roman(ce) Gardens and enjoyed one another's company. We sat close and maybe-sorta-kinda cuddled oh-so-slightly. He told me the story of "Big Gay James", who hung out with some of Spencer's friends. One night Spencer decided to cash in on their friendship and get some answers, so he started asking him questions about being gay...sorry I'm going into too much detail. Let's just say Spencer opened a can of worms that ended with BG James facing Spencer and saying, "Oh, I wish either I were a girl or you were gay, so that you would kiss me right now!"
I laughed my head off at this, and then when I turned to face Spencer, he said, "Mardee, I wish either you were a lesbian and I were a girl, or I were your boyfriend so you would kiss me right now!"
Ahahhaha, what a funny guy. What a funny and brave thing to say. Ha ha, what a...wait, is he moving in? Ah! [my finger goes to his lips, stops him where he is, only moments away from my own lips]
"Do you know what Saturday was?"
"Uh, what?"
"The first time we EVER met!"
"Yeah, okay."
Apparently, in Spencer's defense, he hadn't known me for long enough to know that I really do apply my chapstick that often (still do).
Don't worry, a couple weeks later (okay, week and a half), we kissed. I was surprised at how non-awkward it was, considering that I was his first kiss off his mission, and his response to that was, "I play the trumpet!"

You're my best friend, Spencer. Still.

#@*#$@##&*^@!

Subtitle: STOP STABBING MY BABIES!

Before I say anything, let me make it clear that I don't like to cottle my kids. When they fall, I say, "Get up, shake it off". But we're not talking about scraped knees here.

Oh, and one more little disclaimer: I'm not trying to badmouth any medical professionals. Melissa or Aunt Sarah, for example, I'm sure that you are very empathetic to your babies.

Let's start with two little vignettes:
#1: About two years ago exactly, Cadence was 10 months old. I changed her diaper and found blood in it. Bright, undiluted blood that was near the front of her diaper. It totally freaked me out. It was just about 6:00 pm, too late to be seen by her pediatrician, so to the ER we marched. Five 1/2 hours later we were finally seen by somebody, who said, "Well, I don't know why they didn't just order a urinalysis when you first got here, but since it's been so long, we'll have to do a catheter to get a pure sample". So the doctor left and three nurses came in. The looked at us and said, "Don't worry, she'll never remember this." And laughed. We didn't laugh. Then two of the nurses held her little legs, Spencer and I held her arms/upper body, and one nurse jammed that catheter up my little baby's most tender spot over and over until she got a urine sample. I'm not exaggerating. And it literally took all of our strength to hold her down against that pain. Of course I cried. I wanted to smack those doctors. Spencer too. That was an awful experience, and I counted the minutes, hoping that as soon as she slept she would forget.

Story #2: A few weeks ago Campbell had her 9 month well child check up. Because Chicago is an old industrial city, and most of us live in very old apartments, there is a lot of lead kickin' around our lives out here. So starting at nine months, it's routine to draw blood to check lead levels. I've been very concerned about lead levels in my kids since we got here, so I was anxious to get this done. I hate getting my blood drawn, but it doesn't hurt as much as injections/vaccinations do, so I hadn't really emotionally prepared myself for it. We sat down in the lab and the nurse called Cam a handsome little man and then tied a tourniquet on her chubby little arm. Well, that was already aggrevating enough for Campbell. Then the nurse swabbed her arm with alcohol and inserted the needle. I watched as the needle was swayed back and forth across my baby's arm. Back and forth, back and forth. I could tell that it was hurting Campbell. A mama knows the "that hurts" cry. I had to hold her so tight, I was so afraid that she would move and it would hurt worse or damage something... The nurse tried again and failed again, after much syringe-swaying. She called another nurse in and they let me calm the baby and went for her other arm. I felt so cruel, allowing this to happen to my baby. They finally got the blood they needed, of course. I never once thought to ask about pain management for my babies. If there were options, why wouldn't the doctors and nurses offer?

I recently read and reread an article in Parents Magazine called "Pain-Relief Secrets" by Darshak Sanghavi, MD. Did you read this? Possibly the most important article I've ever read in the magazine.

Did you know that until the '80s, the medical field "believed babies didn't feel pain, based on flawed studies showing that sleeping infants didn't respond to light pinpricks". AAH! The article goes on to say, (maybe my friends who have heart babies shouldn't read this part) "In fact, until the 1980's, many newborns who had heart surgery received no pain medication--they were only given paralytic drugs that forced them to lie completely still, though fully aware, as their chests were opened." AAAAAHHH!!!

Who's dumb idea was that? Did they never see a newborn's foot get pricked? It's pretty obvious to me that they DO feel pain. Anyway, Dr. Kanwaljeet Anand, MD thought that was pretty disturbing (ya think?) and so he did studies to show that babies showed signs of intense stress when operated on in that way (heart rate, blood pressure) and that survival rates were better for babies who were properly anesthetized. Phew. You are a warrior poet, Dr. Anand.

However, it seems to still pervade the clinics and hospitals today: "In 2006, a survey of newborn intesive care units found that doctors only checked for pain in 10 percent of newborns after major surgery, and many children received no pain medications to comfort them. Babies in intensive care had an average of 14 painful procedures per day."

Now, you may not be a believer in medicating babies, and drugging a child is a decision that needs to be considered carefully. But if the procedure is going to cause trauma, I'm going to do whatever can be safely done to manage pain in my babies.

Having said that, I am not hoping to ever have to decide what to do with my babies in that situation. However, I learned two very applicable lessons from this article:

1. Ask. Be your child's advocate. If you are in the ER and they are going to do something that will be uncomfortable or miserable for your child, ask what the pain management options are. The author suggests asking for the "pediatric sedation team". If your child has an infection that is causing intense pain, you may only be given the antibiotics, and no pain management. Ask.

Unbeknown to us, Cadence had a viral infection the weekend of Melanie and Jake's wedding. She has this sad/tired look on her face in most every picture. Poor thing. She was in so much pain. It took us too long to figure it out. The cuties are as follows: Cadence, Avery (5), Zavian (10 mos at the time), Melanie, Campbell (6mos), Lauren (nearly 8 at the time), Reese (1 1/2).

2. For small things, like getting blood drawn, you have options. Did you know there is a topical pediatric numbing cream that costs about $2 a dose that can be applied to the spot where the needle with go? You have to apply it about an hour before. Yeah, I had been at the doctor's office for at least an hour at this point. Would I have minded putting it on when we first got there? Not at all. There are also a few other similar options. AND, by the way, did you know that dipping a pacifier in sugar water and giving it to them a minute or two before is almost as effective as drugs for small infants? You know, when we get vaccines, the nurses just walk in with the needles and say, "Hold 'er, Mom." And then after they've successfully made the child scream, they say, "Now give that baby some love!" As if I were to blame. Next time, I'm doing my homework first.

It's hard, when you are in the clinic, or hospital, or office, to take charge, for most of us. We are immediately put in a position of compliance and subordinance. The doctor comes in wearing a white coat and holding a clipboard, you are sitting on an uncomfortable weird bed/table thing, and procedure is that Doctor says, We listen. It's natural for us to not want to overstep our bounds. Next time, I'm going to be more forthright when it is my children in question. I'm going to ask if they have any less invasive way of accomplishing this, or if there is any way to make it more comfortable.

From now on, I will not assume that they wouldn't hurt my child on purpose.

Too Much

Oh, these pictures were just burning a hole in my picture file. They were just too cute not to share. My friend Lisa took these at a couple of different playgroup meetings. Also, you all deserve a quick, light-on-the-text post from me. I've been wordy lately.

Ask me if the photo above is going to be blown up, framed, and hung. Yup.

Are you dying yet? Can you handle this cuteness?

More of those blessed thighs. Oh, and a little something special from Cadence, too:

Thanks for viewing. The park is to moms as the mall is to 14-year-old girls. I love you, park.

I Can Do Hard Things

In different stages of my life I have imagined different applicable mantras stenciled into the walls of my home. Since I've been renting my entire adult life, these mantra-stencils remain imaginary. On the walls of my current home are imaginary-stenciled the words:

I Can Do Hard Things.

Living in the city is not convenient. In order to enjoy it all and finally adjust, I had to realize that just because simple things like getting in the car or grocery shopping aren't easy, it doesn't mean I can't do it. It just means it's hard. This mantra has opened up a lot of doors for me.

Today I think I'll share some personal thoughts from my journal. Some of you may think this is being a little too "open", but I'm a believer in being candid and not pretending that everything is always perfect. You will find, in the end, that everything, is, indeed, wonderful.

These are excerpts from Monday, April 6, 2009:

I'll never forget the moment I got a positive pregnancy test for the first time. In the Briar Ave bathroom, Spencer close behind me. I checked the little stick... The line was barely there, but it was there. I remember the feeling of relief and pure, new excitement and joy. There were no feelings of confusion or fear, just joy and yearning for all that was to soon be.

Then the second time: it had been a long 6 months. Month after month we had failed. Month after month the anxiety had built and expectations had solidified and each time it all crashed down with the knowledge that it would be at least another 28 days of anxiety. By the time this month had rolled along, I had finally overdosed on anxiety and had no expectations... [When the test showed positive] we smiled and kissed and felt that all was finally right. We cheered that the next addition to our family was finally on her way, and so welcome, too. We felt thankful that I hadn't gotten pregnant when I wanted to, as I would have been nearly full-term at a time that just didn't make sense. We could see that, now.

Today: Spencer came to me this morning in the kitchen and suggested I take a test before he goes to school, since today was the day that he had to submit a $1000.00 deposit for our South African travel abroad program we had happily been accepted to for next winter semester (which would mean we would get there in December). Since we knew that [a pregnancy] would be the one thing that would change those plans without doubt, we thought we'd better be sure. I watched the lines [on the pregnancy test] form. I saw one form in the first window and one in the second window. I ordered Spencer to grab the box so I could check what the results meant.

Positive? What? That wasn't supposed to happen! I said to Spencer over and over, "Is this a joke? This has got to be a joke." And then I laughed uncontrollably. Spencer had a very happily surprised look on his face and he grabbed my face and buried his face in the crook of my neck and told me he was happy about it. I began to feel feverish. I began to shake and feel faint. I fell to my knees. I believe I was literally in shock, now that I think about it. Spencer came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. "You can do hard things," He reminded me .... I was so grateful for his calming influence and his general excitement about our news.

I told him to get me another test immediately. I must have done something wrong, I thought. I knew that was completely ridiculous and yet I believed it. I called Robyn and asked to borrow one (as I know that, like me, she keeps them on hand :) ). She agreed to trade me for two packages of Ramen [you can see how casual an occurrence it is for me to call and ask for a pregnancy test!] and Spencer returned home with a test quickly. Meanwhile I drank and drank and drank and drank so that I could take the test. Of course it was positive. I knew it would be...

I was sad that my body was not mine like I had planned for it to be this year. I was shocked that Campbell would only be about 16 1/2 months old on my due date. Cadence herself would only be 3 1/2 and not as much help as I had expected she would be the third time around. We wouldn't get to go to South Africa.

But we would have a baby! Another amazing little spirit joining our family. Another little being for me to love with all my heart and to nurture and learn from and to see Spencer do the same with. Another little reason to laugh, smile, another thing to hug and kiss all day and night. It would be hard, but we're not talking about a challenge at work or school here, we're talking about a baby, and it will be worth it. Although my pregnancies are difficult, I've come to appreciate that the sacrifices I make in pregnancy: from the nausea and fatigue to the fatness and backaches, each little discomfort brings me closer to my babies and teaches me to forget myself for the good of the one who is coming forth from me.

I can't wait to get to know the little spirit that just couldn't wait to join our family and to see what kind of new ingredients he or she adds to our mix. You shocked me nearly to death, my little surprise, but you are as welcome as can be.

So there you have it. I'm ten weeks pregnant today as I post this. I am definitely feeling it, but I'm happy to report that so far this pregnancy hasn't been quite as bad (sick-wise) as the last. In fact, I suspect that for the first time I will actually gain weight in my first half of the pregnancy.

Spencer has made every effort to be around to help as much as possible, and Trevor provides some valuable help, too (Spencer does floors, Trevor does dishes, etc.). My friends in my ward are bringing us meals twice a week, and friends in and out of the ward have offered to take my kids whenever I need some time to rest. I'm so grateful for all the help I've had. It takes a village. Seriously.

Oh, I guess I should mention that the due date is Dec. 9.

Oh, and you should know that we are not going to find out the sex of this baby until he/she is born. We just thought we'd go along with the theme: SURPRISE!

Shoes are to Women as _____ is to Men.

Did you read my last blog? It was fascinating. If you read it, you know the answer.

Pie, baby.

Make your man a homemade pie. He will feel so loved. Let him see you with flour on your face and apron. Let him see that you have used a rolling pin. Serve it to him with vanilla ice cream. You will have earned yourself a pair of shoes. Trust me.

Mama's little helper.

Don't be afraid. (I'm not talking to you, Emily.) I consider myself an Amelia Bedelia: Can't quite get most of this home-making stuff down. But put "Make Pie" on my to do list, and you'll be glad I'm around. If I can, you can.

And now, my two favorite pie recipes:

Georgia Peach Pie
This recipe was given to me by my friend Trista. She has always been a natural in the kitchen (we're talking making family meals at age 14). She took pity on my plight of being kitchen-stupid, and taught me to make this pie while we were in high school.

10 inch double crust (I use the crust recipe at my cousin Emily's recipe blog)
(also, she has many delicious-looking, fancier-than-mine pie recipes. I'm scared to try them, in spite of the claim I just made about being able to make pies.)

Filling:
1 can (29 0z) yellow cling peaches in heavy syrup
3 tablespoons reserve peach syrup
3 tablespoons cornstarch
1 cup sugar, divided
3 eggs
1/3 cup buttermilk (1 capful of lemon juice or vinegar and then fill the rest with milk until it equals 1/3 cup. Mix and let sit for about 10 minutes).
1/2 cup melted butter
1 tsp vanilla

Glaze
2 tablespoons melted butter
Sugar

1. Make crust, put one crust into the bottom of the pie plate but do not bake. Preheat: 400.

2. Filling: drain peaches, reserving 3 tablespoons syrup. Set aside. Cut peaches into small pieces. Place in large bowl. Combine cornstarch and 2 to 3 tablespoons sugar. Add 3 tablespoons reserved peach syrup. Add remaining sugar, eggs and buttermilk. Mix well. Stir in 1/2 cup melted butter and vanilla. Pour over peaches. Stir until peaches are coated. Pour filling into unbaked pie crust. Moisten pastry edge with water.

3. Cover pie with top crust. Cut slits or designs into top crust to allow steam to escape.

4. For glaze, brush with 2 tablespoons melted butter. Sprinkle with sugar. Bake at 400 for 45 minutes or until filling in center is bubbly and crust is golden brown. Cool to room temperature before serving. Refrigerate leftovers.

Grandma Ople's Apple Pie

I got this one from Allrecipes. I love that site. If apple pie doesn’t appeal to you because of the gelatinous cinnamon glaze, this recipe is worth a shot. A unique sauce bakes with the apples and carmelizes the crust…trust me, it’s good. I read a review that suggested adding a couple of tsp.s cinnamon to the apples, not the sauce, and I thought that was good, too.

1 recipe pastry for a 9 inch double crust pie (again, visit Emily)

1/2 cup unsalted butter

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1/2 cup white sugar

1/2 cup packed brown sugar

1/4 cup water

8 Granny Smith apples - peeled, cored and sliced

1. Melt butter in a sauce pan. Stir in flour to form a paste. Add white sugar, brown sugar and water; bring to a boil. Reduce temperature, and simmer 5 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, place the bottom crust in your pan. Fill with apples, mounded slightly. Cover with a lattice work of crust. Gently pour the sugar and butter liquid over the crust. Pour slowly so that it does not run off.

Bake 15 minutes at 425 degrees F. Reduce the temp to 350 and continue baking for 35 to 45 minutes.

Make one for your husband. Then go out an buy yourself a new pair of shoes and see if he complains. I dare you.

Shoe Fetish

The blessed boots that loved me throughout the cold, cold winter. They fold down at the top over jeans and look oh-so-cool. By the way, if you've been living somewhere with a real winter, I really hope you wear boots. I never wore boots in Utah. And I hated winter because my feet were always cold and my pant-legs were always soaking and freezing the rest of me. Boots. Boots. Boots.

Most females that I know love shoes.

It starts out young, often the first object of obsession (it sure was/is with Cadence). I, myself, have a love for footwear, although any other shoe-loving woman would probably have a hard time guessing it, with my lack of footwear-awesomeness-abundance. In spite of my average-sized mound of shoes, I remember when I first moved in to Roman Gardens Apts. in Provo some guy saw me moving my stuff in by myself and just started helping me out of good will. He laughed out loud when he took my armful of stuff and realized it was a laundry basket full of shoes.

My shoe closet, the gold-tones department. Okay, it's Mariah Carey's. But do you look at it and think, "man, too many"? I don't, I just think, "someday..." (and then the rest of that song pops into my mind..."oooh, someday, the one you gave away will be the only one you're looking for..." Mariah, you were so good back then.)

And Spencer thinks that I am a shoe glutton, by the way. My shoes fit on a couple of shelves. I don't even get credit from him for not acting on my love of shoes as often as I want (every day). In fact, over the years and over the many moves we've had, I've parted with many a pair that I've loved in days passed.

Why do we love shoes so much? They come in so many colors, shapes, sizes. A good pair of shoes can alter an outfit in any direction you choose (depending on the pair you choose). A good pair of shoes can make my legs look long and thin (which they are not), can make my style look impeccable (also not), and can make me look in control (is this an illusion?).

Jessica Simpson knows how I like it. Drool.... (I know they are old, but I still love them. And still don't own them.)

Shoes are the life-blood of an outfit, and we all know an outfit is an opportunity to paint ourselves. You know, use our own selves as a palette for our artistic expression.
At the Field Museum of Natural History here in Chicago there is an exhibit that inspires and entrances me:

(The caption above says, "women's shoes for bound feet, China, early 20th century)

This tasty number is a real test of your love for footwear. Do I love shoes enough to try walking in these? Maybe...

These are the shoes that saved my back and feet during my second pregnancy (thanks to Spencer for painting my toenails just before my delivery):

Due to the lifesaving comfort of these flips I suddenly found that they matched everything. They were worn everyday from the day I bought them until a few days after baby.

And these are the shoes that Spencer bought for me after we had a really really big fight (it was an emotional blow-out, not really about anything real) one night.

Hot, right? Everytime I wear them I remember how much that gesture meant to me. By way of mention, I made him my special homemade Georgia Peach Pie, which he loves. It's the equivalent of hot shoes, for him. And yes, Mer and Elisabeth, it did have a heart in the middle.

Cadence, as I mentioned before, loves shoes, too. She delights in picking out her own shoes each day. She loves to pick out MY shoes, too. Until recently, if we were ever in a home where there was a pile of shoes by the door, she would HAVE to try on each pair, and then she would walk around wearing the best pair. These are a pair of wedges that she picked out herself and just had to have. I loved them and was not about to say no to them. Besides, I have a pair almost exactly like them.


So, what is your shoe collection like? Is it a mound, a mountain, a mountain chain? We all deserve to have a pair to complement any outfit. At least I hope to deserve that, someday. And is it bad if I encourage a healthy shoe fetish in my daughters? I mean, it's a worthy obsession, if you ask me. :)

Quotable Cadence

Yesterday we had some friends of Spencer's over for dinner. Cadence was bouncing off the walls with excitement over somebody to show off to, and Noriko asked, "Cadence, why are you so happy?"
Cadence replied enthusiastically, even emphatically, "I'm happy because Jesus loves me!"

Sigh, what good parents we are.

Okay, we don't deserve the credit. I don't know where this came from. Spencer and I (and all who were present, actually) laughed so hard because this was not something that we taught her. At least not in the way that she could spout it off so perfectly. I mean, I have taught her that Jesus loves her. I guess I need to thank her nursery teachers?

Later while she was spinning around the living room "entertaining" our guests, Spencer asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. He expected her usual answer "A Single Lady" (if you don't remember/didn't see/just want to see again the video to explain this, click here.)

Her answer? "A FUNCH COOKER!" By which she meant a fun cooker. If you follow 30 Rock you'll get it. Thanks, uncle Trevor. The other day she blurted out for no reason, "Here comes the fun cooker!" Luckily, no action followed.
Oh, and this is how I found Trevor one morning. He had no idea that I took this picture. Nice funcooker.