Lift Up Your Hearts!

Yesterday I had a dentist appointment, and while I was there I had a revelation in their restroom.

Sitting on the counter was a mug full of disposable, single-use toothbrushes, individually wrapped and pre-loaded with toothpaste.

When I spoke with our dentist, she said that she had gotten the idea from orthodontists, whose patients often come to the office without having had the opportunity to brush their teeth.  But I saw quite a different use for them.

One of the most annoying aspects of overseas airplane travel (after the expense, lack of sleep, and forced minimal movement for hours on end) is the difficulty of brushing one's teeth.  It's bad enough to have to negotiate the tiny lavatory, hoping the plane doesn't lurch as you attempt to spit into the diminutive sink.  But schlepping a travel toothbrush in your carry-on luggage, and toothpaste in the TSA-approved clear, plastic, quart-sized, zip-lock bag, and negotiating their interaction within the confines of the aforementioned lavatory—well, let's just say it's enough to make many people forego dental hygiene on long flights.

Enter the single-use, preloaded toothbrush:  Light.  Individually wrapped.  No hassle from the TSA.  Brush and toss.  Brilliant.

There's only one problem.  You can order these NiceTouch toothbrushes from practicon.com.  However, since they expect you to be a dentist, the minimum order is 144.  (I so wanted to say "gross!" but that doesn't fit with toothbrushes, unless you drop yours on the lavatory floor while trying to brush your teeth on an airplane.) So either you must plan a lot of travel, or go in with a lot of travelling friends, or have a nice, friendly dentist who will get some for you.

If you succeed, remember this caveat from our own nice, friendly dentist:  they really are for one use only.  They're not made well enough to stand up under repeated use, and have been know to fall apart in very uncomfortable ways.

I'm looking forward to brushing my teeth on my next trip to Switzerland.

Here in Hillsboro we sleep in an apartment-like section of the house that is separated from the kitchen by two doors and a flight of four stairs.  Dad-o usually works here, though due to the poor Internet signal, he will periodically wander through the better-connected part of the house on a "download break."

Except for one delightful morning when Noah knocked on the door to announce, "Jonathan and I have made eggs for you and they are ready," the other kids generally stay in the main part of the house. Joy, however, will periodically toddle up the steps, open the door, and question plaintively, "Dad-o?"  Much to his delight, of course.

During the first two weeks, when Heather was either ill or recovering from childbirth, I was Joy's favorite person.  She came to me when she needed something, and when she didn't; she clung to me when she was sad, she turned to me for everything she would normally have turned to Mom for.  But for two weeks I had no name.

Thanks to this nasty flu-or-whatever-it-is, I've been spending a lot of time in bed in the apartment, and one day I was rewarded with the pitter-patter of feet on the stairs, the slowly-opening door, and a plaintive, "Damma?  Damma?"

Now that Heather and Jon are more available, I'm no longer the favorite go-to adult.  But I am still Damma!

Tomorrow our choir will be singing as the Presiding Bishop of the American Episcopal Church comes to our church.  Unfortunately, we will not be with them, as we are currently some 1300 miles away and are too sick to sing anyway.

It's true that the circumstances save me from the potential of actually meeting the PB and having to say, something like, "Pleased to meet you." I have some serious quarrels with this particular Presiding Bishop, thanks not only to her opinions and policies but to specific offenses given to dear people we know.

Still, I have problems with President Obama, too, and yet would consider it an honor to be asked to sing at the White House.  It's a matter of "saluting the uniform, not the man."

Resurrection Choir friends, we miss you, are sorry we're not with you, and wish you the best tomorrow!

Tomorrow, Joy will turn two years old.  (I almost said, "will celebrate her second birthday," but with so many sick folks around here, I suspect the celebration will occur a bit later.)

Except for her size, you wouldn't guess her age.  Trying to keep up with three older siblings is a powerful incentive to tackle projects beyond what most people expect of you.  I've written before about her unusual physical coordination at fourteen months; she continues to excel in both large- and small-motor skills.  She dresses herself completely with no difficulty, though it must be admitted that she hasn't figured out the matching socks thing yet.

Joy is a willing and able helper.  She can help set the table.  If she's thirsty, she can get a cup and fill it at the kid-sized sink in the kitchen—though at the moment she can only reach the hot water tap.  She can clear off her place at the table and put her dishes in the dishwasher.  If the dishwasher is full of clean dishes, she can unload all but the items in the middle of the top shelf, which she can't reach, and put them away (with the help of a chair for the higher shelves of the hutch).  When it's time to fold laundry, she's quite good at knowing whose clothes are whose, and very competently folds the cloth napkins and puts them away.

She doesn't talk much yet.  No, that's not true; she talks plenty, but we're not so great at understanding her yet.  She understands a lot, however, including such complicated instructions as, "Please put the dirty napkins in the basket in the laundry room."

Having been the baby of the family for almost two years, she needs to learn a bit more about self-control when her will is thwarted, a process that will no doubt come quickly now that she is a big sister.  She has adjusted amazingly well to her new rank, no doubt in part thanks to having a couple of extra adults to fill the gap in parental attention.  She's happy to let Grandma attend to her, even when sick, and has Dad-o wrapped around her little finger.  When she gets a chance she slips out of the kitchen and climbs the stairs to the apartment where he sits with his three computers.  "Dad-o?  Dad-o?  [Read] book?"

When she can't find an adult or a sibling to play with, Joy will entertain herself for hours:  looking at books, playing with dolls, building with Legos, "cooking" in her play kitchen, writing in her "school" notebooks.

No, she's not perfect.  She has a temper, and does not take well to being shut out of her siblings' play, which happens sometimes, as she's not gentle with her sister's cards and would rather take apart Legos than build, especially if the Legos in question are her brothers' special creations.  But she's very sweet, amazing, a true delight, and well worthy of her name.

Happy second birthday, Joy!

We seem to be going in the wrong direction.  The sick list now includes:  Jon, Heather, Porter, Jonathan, and Joy (relapse, though not as bad as the first time).  Jeremiah still has a snuffly nose, but unlike the others has not had a fever.  This is a Very Good Thing, because at his age the standard procedure for a fever is hospitalization.

Noah, Faith, and I are still more or less healthy, and they are a help well beyond their ages of six and four.  I'm not sure how I would have managed without Noah.  Faith keeps asking me to take her temperature, and each time I assure her she is still fine.  It think she may be feeling a little left out....

I slept reasonably well last night, considering that Porter was coughing next to me for most of it.  This morning I found Noah in a sleeping bag on the living room floor, where he had moved to get away from Jonathan's constant coughing.

I'm thankful for good weather, because I finally had to make a grocery store run.  I had not planned to drive in a New Hampshire winter, but someone had to, and even in the live-free-or-die state they don't issue driver's licenses to six-year-olds.  But the roads were completely clear, and it was not much different from going to the grocery store in Florida—except for the narrow streets and the piles of cold white stuff all around.

Later, my chief assistant and I lugged a pile of books to the library, and returned with a pile almost as large.  Small towns (and small libraries) do have their drawbacks, but I must say it's great to walk in the door and have the librarian greet Noah with, "Did you come to get these books [on reserve] for your brother?"

On the way home, we stopped by the "penny" candy store for a few chocolate-covered gummy bears: Something about kine and grain....

Jeremiah is such a pleasant baby!  I don't know how much is personality and how much is Heather's calm confidence in going through the newborn stage for the fifth time, but he sleeps well, eats well, and fusses just a little to say he's hungry or needs a change.  None of those long sessions of, "I've fed you, burped you, changed you, walked you, rocked you, sung to you, talked to you ... why are you still crying???"  He sometimes even gives Heather three hours of sleep straight.  (Note that only a new mother would be ecstatic over three hours of sleep.)  He has picked up a bit of a cold; it doesn't seem to bother him much, but we are watching him carefully, praying he will avoid the fevers that both Jon and Joy had.

On the negative side, for days I've been the only fully-functioning adult in this homeschooling household of nine.  Until last night, when she came down for dinner, Heather has stayed upstairs for her week of "babymoon." On Sunday morning, Jon got sick and has mostly been passed out on the couch or the bed, except for slowing his recovery by performing the most necessary duties, like keeping his business running, keeping the woodstove—which is responsible for most of the heat in the house—burning, and taking the boys to their final skiing lesson.  Not to mention taking care of all his own needs, which is a huge help.  Porter was healthy until yesterday, but was hit early on by a sudden crisis at work that has kept him working long hours and sometimes needing as much care as Heather. (Before the week officially started on Monday, he had already put in 23 official hours.)  I don't expect having to stay up all night last night for an installation to help his recovery any, and being mostly awake from 3:30 till now is not the best thing for me, either.  (The first time this happened was soon after Jeremiah's birth, and I was so exhausted I slept despite the fact that he works in our bedroom; this time that didn't work out so well.)

So you see that the fact that Heather can handle all of Jeremiah's needs with almost no help is a great blessing!  We are also thankful for the people who have provided some of our dinners, and that Jon had made a grocery run before getting sick.  Meals, if erratic, have been going on.  It's also important to mention how wonderful it is that the kids are so competent and independent.  But that's another post.

But things are looking up.  Joy still has cold symptoms, but only threw up once, and the fever that kept her down and needing extra attention only lasted a day.  Heather's doing great and will be taking over the organization of school time as her first after-babymoon duty, which will help enormously.  Jon looks to be on the mend, if he didn't set himself back by taking his parents to the airport at 4:15 this morning.  Porter occasionally manages to break loose to spent some time with the kids, or to get some work done around the house.  He, Jon, and Noah got the upstairs dryer working, which will make life easier, too.

And I have made good use of this time by getting an update written.  It's now officially past time to get up.

(photo taken shortly after birth) 

Jeremiah Patrick Daley
Born 13 February 2013, 3 a.m.
Weight: 8 pounds, 2 ounces
Length: 20.5 inches

Having given birth five times, Heather could call herself an old hand at the whole pregnancy-birth-newborn process.  It's lovely to see the calm, matter-of-fact confidence that experience brings.  Sometimes, however, we get a gentle reminder that nothing should be taken for granted when it comes to babies.

Heather "always" goes into labor late.  Isaac came two days past his due date, and he was followed by Jonathan, Noah, and Faith, every single one of whom came exactly five days late.  True, Joy was then three days early, but there was some uncertainty about her due date that led Heather to believe that she was probably late as well.

Hence the confidence with which we scheduled our flights to New Hampshire a mere six days before the due date for the next baby.  Hence Heather's comfort when plans outside of their control had Jon returning from Seattle only a week before the date.  Hence a great deal of scrambling when Heather called, a full nine days early, to announce the early signs of labor. (More)

If I'd known, I'd have mailed a package to Switzerland last week.

The cost of mailing packages overseas has gone up—a lot.  The Priority Mail Large Video Box (O-1096L), about which I raved in Great News for Those with Family Overseas, is now a whopping $23.95.  How can the government keep pretending inflation is low when the price for this governmental service has nearly doubled in two years?

It's still cheaper than a flight overseas, but not nearly so much fun.  Good thing Vivienne's birthday isn't a week later!

The bathroom itself is still under construction, but the shower was finished and functional in time for Christmas.  Porter and our neighbor did the construction, and if you have any questions about building a shower, Porter can tell you plenty that he wished he'd known before starting.

But isn't it gorgeous?  We put the seat and grab bars in with an eye to the future (and specifically for Porter's father's Christmas visit), but we find them helpful even now.  I love the handheld showerhead, and am lobbying for one in the other bathroom, too.  (Click on pictures to enlarge.)

In the midst.  Not pretty.  That worm-like thing in the second picture is a root.

The result!

Sometimes guilelessness can be cluelessness.  Sometimes it can be hurtful, too:  the art of the polite compliment is not one of my husband's strengths, and he is consititutionally unable to "throw" a game, even if his opponent is a small child.  But in a world of deception, the honesty is refreshing and reassuring.  If he says something nice to you, you know he means it; and if you beat him in a game—well, that's quite an accomplishment, much cherished by the more competitive members of our family.  At Thanksgiving, when much of his time is spent playing games with our nephews, I believe their goal is never so much to win as to "beat Uncle Porter."

And this is (one of the reasons) why I love him:  My brother came for a visit during the time our bathroom was radically torn up, with all but the necessary accoutrements removed.  We cleaned up before he arrived, but put only the minimal, essential articles back, since there was more work to be done after he left.  I noticed that Porter had included among the "necessary items" a clock that my brother had given us.  "That was thoughtful," I commended him, "remembering to put back D's clock for his visit."  Puzzled, he replied, "For his visit?  I put it out because I use it."

I often puzzle about what makes me happy.  What do I enjoy, what do I find to be fun, what conditions make me stop and think, almost with a start, "I am happy"?

It's surprisingly difficult to discern.  So what I'm going to try to do this year is make a note of those moments, and the circumstances under which they occurred.  It goes without saying that many, more fundamental factors undergird this happiness, but what I'm seeking at this point is the extras that bring the joy bubbling to the surface.

Today, for example, I felt the surge of joy for "no particular reason"  My father-in-law was reading contentedly in his recliner chair; my husband working away in his office (perhaps not so contentedly, but without obvious signs of discontent); I was unhurriedly working ("labor without perturbation") on bringing order to the house and organization to the New Year (activities I always find quietly satisfying if I am not under time pressure); there was good music playing in the background, including recently (thanks to the random selection of our music player) a selection from the soundtrack to Local Hero, which always makes me smile, because it makes me think of my brother and how blessed I am to have such a wonderful family (even though it's a bittersweet joy as I grieve once again that we are so far apart); and I smiled again at the memory of a three-way phone call with our children.

A full cup of quiet happiness is hard to beat.

Three years ago, I took a look at my reading habits and discovered to my shock that—avid bookworm though I am—my reading was disproportionately of blogs, news stories, online articles, and magazines, rather than of more substantial literature.  Therefore my first resolution of 2010 was to read more books.  Looking back at the end of that year, I pronounced the effort an unqualified success:  I had completed sixty-five books of great variety.

The next year, however, showed a different story.  Without a deliberate and conscious effort, my reading list for 2011 had shrunk to a mere thirty-three books.  I then resolved to do better in 2012, setting my goal at a moderate fifty-two, one for each week of the year.

Well, 2012 had its ups and downs, as the reading habit went.  When I realized in mid-December that I was still two months' worth of reading short, I nearly despaired.  But by searching out the shortest books on the shelves I was able to reach the goal.  I don't count it cheating, as they were genuinely on my "To Read" list, but I hope to pay more attention next year and not have to scramble at the end.

One book per week seems both reasonable and attainable, so that is my goal for 2013 as well.

Inspired by my sister-in-law (whose book total for this year is a mind-blowing 71), I've picked out my favorite books from 2012 (in alphabetical order); the following are the thirteen I gave five-star ratings.  I have no idea what the selection says about me.

• The Bone House by Stephen Lawhead
• Drive by Daniel H. Pink
• The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin
• Happier at Home by Gretchen Rubin
• How to Have a 48-Hour Day by Don Aslett
• The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot
• Leaving Microsoft to Change the World by John Wood
• Let the Baby Drive by Lu Hanessian
• Life Is So Good by George Dawson and Richard Glaubman
• Made to Stick by Chip Heath and Dan Heath
• Manalive by G. K. Chesterton
• Summer at Fairacre by Miss Read  
• Switch by Chip Heath and Dan Heath

Here's the whole list, sorted alphabetically.  A chronological listing, with links, is here.

1. The American Adventure #8: Smallpox Strikes by Norma Jean Lutz
2. The American Adventure #9: Maggie's Choice by Norma Jean Lutz
3. The American Adventure #14: Earthquake in Cincinnati by Bonnie Hinman  
4. The American Adventure #16: Escape from Slavery by Norma Jean Lutz  
5. The American Adventure #17: Cincinnati Epidemic by Veda Boyd Jones  
6. The American Adventure #37: The Flu Epidemic by JoAnn A. Grote  
7. The American Adventure #38: Women Win the Vote by JoAnn A. Grote 
8. The Bone House by Stephen Lawhead
9. A Boy's War by David Michell
10. Drive by Daniel H. Pink  
11. Earthen Vessels by Matthew Lee Anderson  
12. Everybody's Normal Till You Get to Know Them by John Ortberg  
13. Except the Dying by Maureen Jennings
14. Favorite Celtic Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs
15. The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew by Margaret Sidney
16. From Pearl Harbor to Calvary by Mitsuo Fuchida (audio book)  
17. The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin
18. Haiku, Origami, and More by Judith May Newton and Mayumi Tabuchi  
19. Half the Sky by Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn Rubin  
20. Happier at Home by Gretchen Rubin  
21. Hoi: Your Swiss German Survival Guide by Sergio J. Lievano and Nocole Egger
22. How to Have a 48-Hour Day by Don Aslett  
23. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot
24. In the Name of Jesus by Henri Nouwen
25. The Introvert Advantage by Marti Olsen Laney
26. Irish Fairy Tales by Philip Smith
27. Leaving Microsoft to Change the World by John Wood 
28. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip van Winkle by Washington Irving
29. Let the Baby Drive by Lu Hanessian  
30. Life Is So Good by George Dawson and Richard Glaubman  
31. Luke's Story by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins  
32. Made to Stick by Chip Heath and Dan Heath  
33. Manalive by G. K. Chesterton
34. Mark's Story by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins
35. A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller
36. Miracles by Tim Stafford  
37. No, We Can't by Robert Stearns  
38. Quiet by Susan Cain  
39. Scaling Down by Judi Culbertson and Marj Decker
40. Scottish Fairy Tales by Donald A. Mackenzie 
41. The Skin Map by Stephen Lawhead (audio book)  
42. Sink Reflections by Marla Cilley  
43. Spiritual Formation by Henri Nouwen  
44. Summer at Fairacre by Miss Read  
45. The Stories of Emmy by Doris Smith Naundorf  
46. Switch by Chip Heath and Dan Heath  
47. When to Speak Up and When to Shut Up by Michael D. Sedler  
48. Wonderful Fool by Shusaku Endo  
49. The Xenophobe's Guide to the Americans by Stephanie Faul  
50. The Xenophobe's Guide to the Canadians by Vaughn Roste  
51. The Xenophobe's Guide to the Japanese by Sahoko Kaji, Noriki Hama, and Jonathan Rice  
52. The Xenophobe's Guide to the Swiss by Paul Bilton

No, not that Christmas Miracle.

It was The Christmas Without Stress.  Or at least a whole lot less.

The day before was stressful enough, if fun, with a last-minute change of plans that resulted in our spending a full day at Sea World with our guests, followed by a late-night Christmas Eve service and a going-to-bed time of well after midnight.  The last's enough to stress me out all by itself.  But the service was beautiful and relaxed, because our big Christmas choir event had been Lessons and Carols earlier in the month, and the next morning was peaceful.  The youngest child being 20, it was even quiet—and we had a leisurely day with rounds of opening presents punctuated by eating and highlighted by communications with family on two continents.  (Skype is God's gift to grandparents who can't be with their grandchildren on Christmas.)

I'm slowly learning to lower the pressure on myself.  Christmas cards are appreciated even if they arrive after December 25^th.  Guests are happy to visit even if the kitchen floor doesn't get mopped until after they arrive.  A good meal is not ruined by Pillsbury rolls instead of homemade bread.  And if some things don't get done, well, as our choir director—as calm and Christlike a man as I know—often says, "It is what it is."  Surprisingly often, that's okay.

Christmas dinner is often stressful, but I'm getting more relaxed about that, too, and this Christmas the kitchen elves pitched in at just right time with just the right help.  It didn't hurt that the roast beef came out beautifully, evenly rare.

Labor without perturbation, readiness without hurry, no haste and no hesitation (George MacDonald) is still my goal.  The miracle is that this year I came a little closer.

I don't deny that the world might end today; it's going to end sometime.  I knew one guy who would occasionally look up at an impressive looking sky and say, "That would be a good cloud for the Lord to return on!"  But he knew better than to predict a specific day.  What floors me is the number of people who scorn those who have listened to other "end of the world" predictions in the past, yet seriously think it might end today.  Oh, the power of rumor in the Internet Age!  Children have been calling NASA to ask the best way to euthanize their pets so they don't have to suffer through the end!  Where are these kids' parents, and what Kool-Aid have they been feeding their children?

Figuring the best way to counter nonsense is often to ignore it, that's what I'd planned to do, until my nephew came up with the best take on the situation, which he posted yesterday:

The end of the world is tomorrow.  I got my drivers permit today.  Does anyone else see a connection here?

Last year, my Christmas Eve post included the following comment.  It seems appropriate to offer a reprise today.

Nine Christmases ago, while the world was singing blithely of joyous birth, we were mourning the death of our first grandchild, whose last breath came but two days after his first.  The haunting Coventry Carol spoke to me then as none other.  This reminder that the First Christmas was not a facile Peace on Earth and Joy to the World, and that the first Christian martyrs were Jewish children, is for all who mourn this Christmas, especially those who have suffered the loss of a child.