Lift Up Your Hearts!

Yesterday, Porter saw a male American redstart, in our backyard.  He was on his way to the West Indies, no doubt—they don't live here, only migrate through. I've never seen one—nor had I heard of one before yesterday, for that matter.  Roger Tory Peterson calls it the most butterfly-like of all birds, which is what caught Porter's eye from his office.

I know that's not earth-shattering news, but I'm finding this blog to be the best place to document things I'd like to be able to find again.  To save me from, "Um, what was that new bird you saw in the backyard a few years (months, days) ago?"

I've started a new category, Music.  For now, it's a place for me to keep track of music we sing in choir, and other music that interests me.  I'll add YouTube videos when I can—almost never of us, but just so that we (and anyone else who is interested) can hear and remember the work.

For example, this past Sunday we sang My Eternal King (Jane M. Marshall, Carl Fischer #CM6752).

I'm writing this post to remind myself how easy it is to order books from amazon.de—the German version of amazon.com—and for anyone else who might be considering such an order.

When you first go to amazon.de, the page can look intimidating, being mostly in German.  This is not a problem, for three reasons:

1. It's still Amazon.  You'll be able to guess most of the important words simply because they correspond in position on the page to what you're accustomed to from amazon.com.
2. If you're uncertain, Google Translate is a great help.
3. On the top left of the amazon.de page, you'll see "Hilfe".  This is "help" and will take you to a page where (on the left side) you can click on Information for English speaking customers.  This section is—surprise!—all in English.

The company clearly expects some very nervous English-speaking customers, because the Step-by-Step Guide to Ordering is excellent.

From the English guide you can also learn about the Amazon Currency Converter.  This is an option you can turn on or off in "Mein Konto" ("My Account"), from the main amazon.de page.  Prices at amazon.de are given in euros.  One payment option is to pay in euros with your credit card, letting the credit card company handle the exchange.  But if you enable the Amazon Currency Converter, which stays on or off until you change it, Amazon will make the exchange.  The primary advantage of this is that you know at the time of purchase exactly what charge will show up on your credit card bill.

If you're sending the order to Switzerland, you're in for two pleasant surprises:

1. Shipping is free, with no minimum order.
2. The price will be less than you expect, since the EU's VAT will have been subtracted.

More good news:

1. I don't know the legal technicalities of the connection between amazon.de and amazon.com, but it uses the same account information (passwords and such) and address books.
2. If you have an Amazon credit card, buying from amazon.de is just as 'way too easy as buying from amazon.com.

"Okay, so what's the down side?" I hear you ask.  There is one:  I've found books to be generally more expensive on amazon.de.  Even so, buying from them is cheaper, and a whole lot faster, than having amazon.com ship overseas.  And since the USPS got rid of its International Media Mail rate (Boo! Hiss!), buying from amazon.de is much cheaper (and again, faster) than buying from amazon.com and shipping the books yourself.

All my e-mails are sorted and ordered and I know what needs to be done in a timely manner and what can wait.  The former have been sorted into "Action" folders, and I know to give them top priority.  But all the e-mails that now reside in various Project and Someday folders no longer trouble me, as I know there is no hurry, and I can get to them whenever I feel I have the time and energy to tackle them.  What's more, they are organized, so that if I decide to work on accumulated reading, or educational materials, or computer enhancements, I can navigate immediately to the relevant material.

I wrote that a week ago.  It's still true.  (It's still amazing.)  What's more, I have reduced an e-mail backlog of more than 600 to 64, and not by declaring e-mail bankruptcy, but by dealing with each one.  I don't expect the number to get much lower:  the point of e-mail is to use it, after all.  But what remains is in useable form, filed and easy to access.  If I keep it under 100, I'll be thrilled.

However, there's a downside.  Frankly, taking care of e-mail has become an obsession.  I can't stand to have anything in my inbox, which is a good thing because if I can deal with it quickly I do, and if I can't, I file it appropriately.  In addition, I've obviously spent a lot of time slashing my backlog by 90%.  That, too, was a very good thing.  But as I said, I'm obsessing.  I'm spending too much time checking e-mail, just so I can deal with it.  If I'm working on something else and notice that mail has arrived, I immediately drop what I'm doing to take care of it.

That was okay for the first week, but it's time to move on.

The point of e-mail control is not to get rid of all e-mails as soon as they come in; it's to deal with them effectively and efficiently, in a timely manner, and not allowing the important to get lost because of a poor signal-to-noise ratio.  What I need now is to let go my Death Grip of Control a little.  To acknowledge that

• the last 10% of my e-mails will take a lot longer to dismiss than the first 90%
• their numbers will continue to ebb and flow somewhat

And that's fine, because as long as

• I review them regularly so that I know I'm not neglecting something that can't wait
• I keep on top of them so that the flow doesn't overwhelm the ebb

all will be well.

My e-mail system, after all, is much like a Tickler File/Next Action Lists/Project Folder GTD system.  There's no point in an empty Tickler, and no need to check it obsessively.  Each day you check it once, deal with what you find, and then forget about it until the next.

My plan it to try to force myself to "check my E-mail Tickler" once each day, and do what needs to be done.  That doesn't mean I'll only read e-mail once a day.  I'll never be a Tim Ferriss and check e-mail once a week or less, because I've chosen e-mail as my primary form of communication.  I might be able to manage his recommendation to check e-mail only twice a day, but I don't think so:  I wouldn't want to miss the e-mail that says our grandchildren are asking to Skype!  (Though of course that will happen anyway, unless I get a phone smart enough to nudge me when an e-mail arrives, and I'm in no hurry for that.)

What it does mean is that while I may clear my Inbox more frequently, unless the e-mail is  one that (1) I can take care of in less than two minutes, (2) I would particularly enjoy answering right away, or (3) urgent, I will file it in the appropriate folder and forget about it until "Check E-mail Tickler" comes up again the following day.  (Actually, I may not forget about it completely, because several of my e-mails are parts of ongoing discussions, or for other reasons will provoke long, thoughtful responses.  In such cases, Li'l Writer Guy will always be busy in the background.  But that's pleasure, not guilt.)

And in case you're wondering why I haven't answered the e-mail you sent, checking my e-mail tickler means making sure I know what can wait and what can't, and dealing with the latter.  And then, if I have time, some of the former.  If you think I've misclassified your e-mail, feel free to nudge me with another.

This is not going to be easy.  There's always the fear that—as has happened with so many other of my efforts—letting go of iron-fisted control will cause the system to implode.  But a system that requires so much maintenance is of no use at all.  So it's time to take a risk, pry my clenched fingers off the reins, and let the system do what it's designed for.

Back in September of last year, our toaster over gave up the ghost.  As in, it started smoking in all the wrong places.  Since we all know that smoking is a health hazard, we decided to replace it.

(We replaced it within the month; I'm just slow in getting around to writing about it.  Granted, this post is somewhat ironic coming after the previous post on too much stuff, but it's hard to make a decent piece of toast by roasting bread like marshmallows over a glowing stove burner.  At least we followed the one in, one out rule.)

After much deliberation, I chose the Cuisinart Custom Classic.  It was $80 minus 20% at Bed Bath and Beyond.  Of course all online reviews vary from "worst toaster I ever bought" to "best toaster I ever bought," but this one seemed to do reasonably well.  I considered the convection combination, but I had space constraints -- this one is at the upper edge of what fits into the designated space.

Much to my surprise, I really like it.  Here are some reasons:

1. It hasn't actually burst into flames yet.    I still have it on a switched outlet so I can turn off power when I feel insecure, especially on long trips, but I've mostly stopped doing that since it has behaved well for six months.
2. It has a dial for setting toast darkness and a pushbutton start (albeit electronic, like most pushbuttons these days).  I like this much better than the tick-tick-tick timer, and for the first time in years I can make toast without watching it like a hawk.
3. The quality is a little better than that of the $25 toaster we bought five years ago.  Not $75 worth better, but the best I could do for a reasonable price.  The less expensive toaster ovens seemed really junky, as if they might be lucky to last five weeks, rather than five years.  If this one gives us the same use/price ratio, it should last more than 12 years.  Not that I'm counting on it.
4. It has two elements on top and two on the bottom.  Again, unlike our previous toaster, the cheaper ones had only one top and one bottom element.
5. The crumb tray is easy to remove and clean.
6. I haven't checked the accuracy of the temperature dial for baking, but it seems to work well.
7. There's a "bagel" setting that toasts the top more than the bottom.  I haven't actually used this yet, but I like the idea.
8. As I said, the oven is bigger than our previous one, but the larger footprint is worth it because it really does hold four pieces of toast well.  I think that whoever decides for advertising purposes how many slices a toaster oven can handle must use smaller bread than I do.

It's nice to make a purchase and still be satisfied with it half a year later.  That's true of our refrigerator, dishwasher, and washing machine, too.  (The last two years have been tough on the appliance budget.)  I'll write about them in upcoming posts.

Upfront admission:  This is a First World problem, and I know there are millions in the Third World who would love to have it.  But we are First World people, and it is a problem.

Janet, our (almost) Swiss daughter, has a refrigerator about half the size of the one I had in my college dorm.  It is, understandably, uncomfortably full.  Heather, our New Hampshire daughter, and I each have what I'd call a normal-sized refrigerator.  Each is uncomfortably full.  My sister has a large refrigerator.  You guessed it:  her refrigerator is also uncomfortably full.  (Maybe that's only because I usually see it at Thanksgiving.  But I doubt it.)

Janet has a small cubicle in their apartment basement for storage, stuffed full.  Heather has a good-sized basement, and the only reason it's not yet stuffed full is that they just removed the large furnace and chimney that were taking up a good deal of the space.  My sister's basement is wonderfully large, but it has the same problem.  We don't have a basement, but I know what it would be like if we did.

Janet doesn't have a garage.  Heather has a one-car garage that is crammed with stuff.  We have a two-car garage, ditto.  My sister's three-car garage is in similar shape.

Janet's apartment is very small, with no closets and little cupboard space:  it's overcrowded.  Our four-bedroom house has decent cupboard and closet space:  it's overcrowded.  Heather just moved into a large Victorian monstrosity of a house, and their newly-renovated kitchen alone has awesome cupboard space.  But even after making allowances for temporary construction equipment and materials, it's clear that the house is well on its way to filling up.  Thanks to a taste for clean lines and an eye for beauty, my sister's very large house doesn't feel crowded (except at Thanksgiving), but her closets and cupboards are as full as the rest of ours.

I could go on:  Attics.  Bookcases.  Drawers.  Filing cabinets.  Even boxes.  I'm seeing a pattern here, and it's not good.

No matter how much or how little space we have, our possessions expand to fill it to the point of discomfort.  I wouldn't want to limit the food I have in our refrigerator to what would fit in Janet's.  But if she can manage, why can't I keep ours at the point where there's still wiggle room?  Why do our bookshelves hold books behind books, and books on top of books?  If we had fewer bookshelves we would have the same problem—but with a quantity of books that would fit comfortably on the shelves we do have.

I've come to believe that the problem is actually a mental miscalculation, similar to the one that results in my having almost-but-not-quite enough time to meet any deadline.  If I could have 30 more minutes before guests come for dinner, I would be relaxed and well-prepared.  If I could have one more day to prepare for our vacation, I would step onto the plane well-rested and confident.  If I had left home ten minutes earlier, I wouldn't be fretting about traffic and red lights.  What I want to do always fills up the time available—plus a little bit more.  Likewise, what I want to store always fills up the space available, plus a little bit more.

Solving this problem has become one of my Foundations 2013 goals.  Inspired by Janet's organizational and deluttering efforts, encouraged by some modest successes of my own, and cheered on by friends and family who are tackling similar projects, I hope to recalibrate my mental vision, or at least figure out how to compensate for its known errors.

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.

That was Tuesday, February 12.  Perhaps Jon's story will end up on their blog; I can only tell ours.  I do know he had work to complete and a continent to cross.

We had reservations to fly out on Friday the 15th, and by Tuesday I was feeling reasonably confident—though by no means certain—that I could accomplish most of what I needed to do before then.  It was going to be a busy week, with Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday commitments.  To leaver earlier, we would have to desert our choir, which is small enough to notice two missing voices, for the singing of Fauré's beautiful Cantique do Jean Racine.  My brother was in town, and had originally planned to stay an extra day so that we could get together for dinner Thursday.  Sadly, we were unable to make that work out, which as things turned out was a good thing.

We wrestled awhile with the possibilities:  Changing reservations would be expensive, if not impossible, and early signs of labor can come days before the baby is born.  Should we keep our Friday plans?  Could we possibly get ready in time to leave early?  Should both of us go, or just me, with Porter following on the original schedule?  The only available flight would get us in after 9:30 p.m.  Would that be too late?

I called Southwest.  There were three seats left on the flight, exactly two of which could be used with their old-style "standard awards," of which we had two.  (For various reasons we decided this was a better option than paying cash to reschedule the original flights.)  Porter made the reservations and we flew into high gear.  Fortunately, I had already begun the thinking part of packing; otherwise I doubt I could have made it.  As it was we brought more than we needed, not having time to weigh the options), and forgot a few things, but nothing critical that I know of.

Never before have I decided at 11 a.m. to fly out of town at 7 p.m.  How we managed to get three days' worth of work done in five hours I still don't know—thought part of the secret lay in deciding that some things simply were not going to get done, and that would be okay.  At least I had put the final stitch into my traditional baby quilt gift the night before!  Another part is having good neighbors who will take books back to the library for you and check on your house when you're sure you've forgotten to do something important.

The friends who had planned to drive us to the airport could not do so at the new time.  Few people can during the work day.  So Porter arranged to rent a car for the one-way trip to the airport.  (It's much less expensive than a taxi ride.)  Having had a previous bad experience with that particular Hertz office before, he made a point of asking if someone would be at the desk, for sure, at the stated time, because he didn't have time to wait around.  "Absolutely," he was reassured.

I guess he didn't hear the whispered, "not."  No one was at the desk.  When he finally found the clerk, they had no car for him.  Scrambling, they came up with something (after a long wait) ... only to discover that there was almost no gas in the tank.  "Almost no" as in "about 1/14 of a tank."  Would it get us to the airport?  We could only try.

It did, though not without some worry:  the gauge was solidly in the red zone as we pulled up the final hill at the airport.  We grabbed our suitcases (two large bags, two small bags, two computer bags, and two violins) and flew to the terminal.  Due to the lateness of our reservations, we had not been able to print our boarding passes, but instead were given documents that would get us through security and had been told we'd have to get our boarding passes at the gate.  However, when we checked our bags, the attendant said we had everything we needed.  She handed me a little folder, and I asked if the boarding pass was in there; she replied affirmatively.

On to security!  The good news is that we both have Clear, so there was no line for us.  The bad news is that when I opened my folder, there was no boarding pass, only baggage claim tickets.  At that point, Porter said, "The boarding pass prints out at the kiosk; you were supposed to pick it up there.  So I dashed back—and I can't help thinking of O. J. Simpson every time I run through the airport—and to my surprised delight, the boarding pass was still there.  The attendant said she'd have been happy to print a new one if it had not been.  She also told me to relax, as I had plenty of time before the flight.

That's easy for her to say.  Little did she know that as we started to unload onto the security belt—all four computers in separate bins, shoes off, coats in bins ... what?  coats?  what coats???  We'd left our coats in the back seat of the rental car!  It being about 87 degrees when we left Orlando, their absence hadn't even registered in our somewhat addled brains.

Now it was Porter's turn to run through the airport, while I waited at security with all the luggage.  After a while, during a lull in the proceedings, two very helpful TSA workers offered, "Let's get everything through so all he needs to worry about is the coats, and he can meet you on the other side," then whisked me (and the four computers and two violins) through.  By the time I had myself put back together, there was Porter coming through the scanner.  He'd had some trouble finding the coats, but had succeeded at last.

We made it to the gate just before boarding.  I've often wondered who the poor souls are who get "C" boarding passes on Southwest, and now I know:  I was the last of the line at C-69, and Porter wasn't much ahead of me.  So we didn't have seats together, but we had seats!  After that I began to relax.  Not enough to fall asleep, however.  I rotated among looking out the window, trying to read, praying, and wondering if we'd be greeted with the news, "It's a boy!" (That was a pure guess; no one knew the sex at that point.)

We landed a little before 10, then picked up our baggage with no trouble.  Soon thereafter Jon's plane arrived; even better, he was on it.  (There had been some question about the connection he had to make.)  This was where I made a disturbing discovery:  My coat pocket had somehow come unsnapped, and while my hat, scarf, and hood were still there, my gloves were missing.  My good gloves that I had bought when we lived in Boston.  That was disappointing, to say the least, and I couldn't fathom how the pocket had come open, as it never had before, but it didn't take me long to conclude that if losing my gloves was the worst thing to happen on this adventure, I'd be well off indeed.  What made the situation odd was that the exact same thing had happened to Porter!  Pocket unsnapped, with the only thing missing being his nice Boston gloves.  At this point we began to suspect that perhaps someone at Hertz had checked the coats for ID and been a little too tempted by the nice gloves, but we'll never know.  Even at the cost of two pairs of gloves, we couldn't be too upset:  at least we had our coats!

Jon's mom picked us up at the airport, with no more news than that the kids were in bed and Heather trying to rest, and we were soon making the hour-long drive to Hillsboro.  While we were still en route to home, Heather called to let us know that when we arrived we'd be turning right around and heading for the birth center.  After some fast luggage-and-car shuffling, we were on our way.  About half an hour later, we pulled into the birth center, the kids—somewhat stunned from having been awakened so soon after falling asleep—settled themselves in the playroom, and Heather settled herself into a large, warm, birthing tub.  She had no plans for a water birth, but found laboring in the warm water to be soothing.

For a couple of hours, the kids played, Porter read stories, and I spend most of my time holding either Faith or Joy, and going with them between with play room and the birthing room, as they wished.

I said Heather had no plans for a water birth, but the baby had other ideas.  By the time Heather was ready to move to the bed, she realized she couldn't do it:  She gave a couple of loud cries, and Jeremiah made his appearance very soon thereafter, right around 3 a.m.  (Midnight for Jon.)

It was Faith's turn to announce the sex of the baby.  In the excitement I had lost track of which girl I was holding, and kept moving Joy closer in, wondering why she wasn't saying anything.  But soon the real Faith proclaimed the baby to be a boy, and Jeremiah settled happily on Mom's chest.  At some point all the other necessary things happened (e.g. delivering the placenta), and eventually they dried off and moved to the bed, surrounded by admiring family.

I don't know whether it was the water birth or just his nature, but Jeremiah (who didn't have a name at that point) was a very calm, happy baby.  I don't believe he needed any suctioning, and if he cried I don't remember it.  He simply looked around, breathed peacefully, and soon latched onto the breast as if he had decided that the world was a very good thing indeed.

I wouldn't dream of saying that any birth was easy, but I will say that Heather's getting good at this.  She was downright perky within minutes of the birth, and didn't even flinch when one of the kids said, "And Joy will announce the sex of the next one!"

After some recovery time, we piled back into the cars, our numbers increased by one, and arrived home before the dawn.  I warmed up some chicken soup for Heather, who had been instructed to eat something before going to bed.  Soon everyone else had crashed; I stayed up another couple of hours to send some e-mails and do some things that needed to be done before Porter's workday started in a few hours.  I crashed a bit after 8 a.m. and got in a whole two hours.  At some point I calculated that I had a total of three hours of sleep out of 40, and of course Heather and Jon had less.

But Jeremiah is still a very good baby.  He doesn't have day and night figured out yet, but of his four major life assignments so far—eating, sleeping, excreting, and looking unbearably cute—he does them all superbly.

I must say I'm still a bit stunned, and you can tell by the delay in getting this post out that life around here has been busy and chaotic.  Porter and I were not the only ones to have been counting on a few more days before Jeremiah's arrival!  But all is well, mother and baby doing very well, Joy adjusting admirably from baby to big sister, everyone pitching in to make things go—well, not smoothly, but at least keeping all the balls in the air.

I know it's Lent, but this occasion deserves an exception:

Alleluia!

Thanks be to God!

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!