Lift Up Your Hearts!

Joy Ellen Daley
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
8 lbs. 1 oz., 19 3/4 in. 

  (click to enlarge)

There are many joys and privileges in life, and I count being present at a grandchild’s birth one of the highest.  But if I’d blinked, I’d have missed this one.

Joy Ellen has already asserted her independence, coming three days early; her siblings were all late.  Except for one friend from church, who prophetically nailed the date exactly, none of us were expecting this to be a February baby.

Perhaps Heather had a subconscious inkling, as she insisted that Jonathan, Noah, and Faith pack their own “birth bags” (toys to play with and special treats) on Tuesday.  (Her own preparations had been made earlier.)  She had been having unusual contractions for several days, pretty hard for Braxton-Hicks but not “real labor.”  They’d happen when she was sitting down and always stopped when she stood up.  My theory was that they were special “baby turning” contractions, since the baby had been in the posterior position.  Whether I was right or not I don’t know, but she had indeed turned the right way by the time she was born.

Even though I had packed most of my own supplies before going to bed, I was not at all prepared for the knock on my bedroom door less than two hours later.  “I’m in labor, Mom!”  I felt little sense of urgency, but continued to throw more items into my bag as I thought of them while dressing—such as a flashlight in case this turned into a car birth.  Then I saw Heather on all fours during a contraction….

We bundled the three sleepy siblings into the car and settled Heather in the rear middle seat next to Faith, getting underway about 1:20 a.m.  Since Dad-o was not with us this time—he was in Connecticut with his dad—Jon did the driving.  I was so grateful that it was he and not I that I steadfastly held my tongue as I watched the speedometer.  I really wanted to say, “Jon, I appreciate your law-abiding nature, but there are times when it’s okay to exceed the speed limit, and I think this is one of them!”  But perhaps he was right—getting pulled over by the police would probably have cost us more in time.  I did pay careful attention to the mile markers, however, in case I needed to call 911 and whisper, “My daughter’s giving birth on the side of the road,” hoping all the while they could understand me and not think it was a joke call because I had laryngitis and couldn’t croak out a syllable.

Fortunately, no such measures were needed.  We all sighed with relief as we pulled into the birth center’s parking lot.  Well, I did, at least.  Heather was much too busy moaning.

Jon helped her into the cottage, and I pointed the sleepy boys in the right general direction, then unbuckled Faith and carried her in.  Once in the birth room I realized that Jonathan was nowhere to be seen, so I set Faith down in a chair and went on a search mission.  I finally found him on a couch in the waiting room—I’d missed him the first time because he was totally covered, curled up under his coat.  He said he was comfortable and wanted to stay there.

So I made a trip to the car to bring in supplies.  Thus I apparently missed the loud scream as the midwife checked and discovered Heather at 10 cm and the baby ready to be born.  (Though later, when we were talking about it and I explained to Jon that I must have been at the car at the time, he still replied, “And you didn’t hear it?”)  Arriving back at the birth room, I picked up Faith again, heard the midwife say Heather’s water had just broken, and realized I needed to get Jonathan, pronto!  This is the second birth in a row I’ve had to go chasing down the hall for Jonathan—this time because I had no voice to call, but had to run to him and whisper!  We arrived just in time to see Joy’s head emerge, and after the midwife removed the single loop of cord from her neck, the rest of her slid out smoothly.

The midwife, forgetting that the plan had Noah assigned the task of determining whether the baby was a boy or girl, made the joyful announcement as she placed the baby on Heather’s chest.  Fortunately, Noah didn’t seem to be bothered.  We had decided earlier that either Jonathan or I would cut the cord, depending on how we felt at the time, but Jonathan declined and I was both holding Faith and concerned about my cold germs, so the midwife did the job.

All the kids were very excited about the birth, and about having a new sister.  Even two-year-old Faith was fine throughout the process, after being reminded that Mommy would be making funny noises but that she was all right.  She did put her hands over her ears now and then, however.  Noah especially was interested, showing much more curiosity than he had two and a half years ago when Faith was born.

According to the records, we had arrived at the birth center at 2:40 a.m.  Heather’s water broke at 2:44, and Joy was born at 2:45!

Everything else seemed to move quickly as well.  Joy was named much sooner than her siblings had been.  The necessary paperwork was done, and we were on our way.  Heather was feeling fine, and much prefers to recover at home.  We arrived as dawn was breaking, about 6:30 a.m.

The next day Baby Joy—affectionately known as “Baby Oy” by Noah and Faith—had her first visit with the pediatrician, who pronounced her a fine baby girl.  Life here is rather short on sleep, as you might imagine.  And I still have no voice.  But other than that, everyone is fine, happy, and very grateful!

Total times
Labor (hindsight guess):  slightly over 4 hours
Driving, 2 hours, 40 minutes
Birthing:  5 minutes

For more information, and a more intimate perspective, Heather's version of the events will soon be has now been posted on Daley Ponderings.

Baby Pool Results:  Except for the date, which as I said was nailed by a friend from church, Stephan is the clear winner in every category.  Not only did he come closest, but closest by far—and incredibly near the actual numbers.  He was only 1 hour and 45 minutes off on the time, 2 ounces off on weight, and 1/4 inch off in length!

It's not generally considered the best treatment for a cold and severe laryngitis to play in the snow, but the sky was so blue and the sun so inviting and the snow so perfectly white and perfect for making snowballs and snow men that when the rest of the family went out to enjoy it I couldn't resist accompanying them.  I had planned merely to watch, but as I said, the snow was perfect.

At least I never had a chance to get cold; the grandsons saw to that.  We made a lovely snowman with a carrot nose, and then engaged in a wild battle.  I don't know what the effort did for my cold, but the experience was exhilarating.  We Florida girls don't get much opportunity for that kind of fun.

And my voice is no worse, not that it can get much further gone than completely.  I'm learning a lot about how much I chatter when given the opportunity.  :(

Faith's two older brothers are off helping Daddy work on the car, so she had luxury of playing with Dad-o's gift all by herself.  The three wine corks will no doubt eventually become part of some craft project, but for now they are building blocks.  She carefully set down her baby doll—lovingly wrapped in a warm purple blanket—and made a tower, standing the corks all on end (no problems with this two-year-old's coordination).  Then she piled them like a woodpile (her family heats with wood), then stood them side by side to make a fence.  Next she laid them down, like sleeping people.  Then end-to-end to make a snake.  Finally, she arranged the corks in an L-shape.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Dat mine dun (gun).  Mine OWN dun!"

What shopping at your standard grocery store, with its standardized food, won't tell you:

The fruit on the left is a lemon, and on the right is a grapefruit.  All natural, from local (Central Florida) trees, healthy (as well as healthful), and absolutely delicious!

I should have put something recognizable in the picture for sizing; the grapefruit is about the size of a baseball.

Jennifer Fulweiler, who blogs at Conversion Diary, asked her worldwide audience to comment on the religious climate in their countries.  It's not a scientific poll: for one thing, it has a self-selected Catholic bias.  But it is eye-opening nonetheless.  Here is what she asked:

If you live (or have recently lived) outside the U.S., we want to hear from you! Some questions:

1. Where do you live? (Or, if you’re not currently living there, what part of the world is it that you’re familiar with?)
2. What is church attendance like in your area? Are there many churches? Do they seem to have active memberships?
3. At a typical social event, how appropriate would it be if a person were to explicitly acknowledge in casual conversation that he or she is a believing Christian? For example, if someone at a party made a passing comment like, “We’ve been praying about that” or “I was reading the Bible the other day, and…”, would that seem normal or odd?
4. What belief system do the politicians in your area claim to practice? For example,  here in Texas almost all politicians at least claim to have some kind of belief in God, regardless of what they may think in private — to openly admit to being an atheist would be political suicide in most parts of the state. Is this the case in your area?
5. How many families do you know who have more than two children? If a family with four children moved to your area, would their family size seem unusual? What about a family with six children?
6. What seems to be the dominant belief system of the people in your area?
   
7. Do you notice any trends? Do people seem to be becoming more or less religious?

You can read all the comments (currently there are over 100) to the original post, or for a shorter (but not short) version, you can check out Jennifer's summary.

Responses came from six continents (no prizes for guessing which one was left out) and show a pretty consistent pattern.  It reminds me of two stories, the first from about twenty years ago, and the other more recent.

• A missionary speaking at our church told us how difficult it was to raise support for his family's work in France, on the grounds that missionaries should be spending their time in the dark, difficult countries of the world.  What people don't realize is that Europe may be wealthy and comfortable, but spiritually much of it is darker than the more traditional mission fields.
• In the midst of the uproar over the American Episcopal Church's ordination of an uncelibate homosexual bishop, an African bishop said to one of his American colleagues, in effect, "What?  You people brought the Bible to my country, and now you tell us we shouldn't believe it?"

It's a wise parent who is willing to learn from his children.

Ya gotta love our church.  I've changed the names rather than seek permission to publish, but the story is true.  From our church bulletin:

LENTEN QUIET DAY IN MARCH led by Pastor Dale at her farm on Saturday, March 12^th ... offers two meditations on Elijah's desert journey and meeting God in the quiet - 1 Kings 19 & one on the Lord's Prayer - Matthew 6.  A simple lunch will be provided, plus music, prayers, a walking meditation in the pasture (wear comfortable walking shoes), and a closing Eucharist.

GUNS @ DALE'S:  SHOOTING SKEET & KILLING CANS  The spring time shootout is Saturday, March 12. ... For Guys & Gals.  Bring your friends, kids, & grandkids.  If you've got a gun, bring it.  If you don't have a gun, there will be several to use (WITH instruction and supervision)....  LIMITED TO THE 1^ST 25 FOR SAFETY'S SAKE.

Contrary to appearances, these two popular events, though on the same day, are not on the same property.  "Dale" does not refer to the same person in both cases.  But the juxtaposition does capture quite nicely the diversity represented in our church.

What You Think Is What You Get:  An Introductory Textbook for the Study of the Alexander Technique, by Donald L. Weed (Third Edition, ITM Publications, Bristol, UK, 2004)

I wish I understood this book well enough to review it.  The Wikipedia article on Alexander Technique is currently flagged, “This article may be confusing or unclear to readers.”  Much the same could be said for the book, though I have to say that having read the book makes the article, if not clear, at least familiar.

What You Think Is What You Get is a keeper; it’s just not for beginners, despite the word “introductory” in the title.  I would not have read very far if I had not already seen the Alexander Technique in action.  However, not only do I know how much it helped Janet with her overuse injuries, but I’ve observed several classes and even had a few short lessons myself.  Janet’s Alexander Technique teacher studied under Donald Weed, and her classes are nothing less than remarkable.  Who would have thought that a gentle touch and the suggestion that the student relax a certain shoulder muscle would suddenly make his singing voice deeper and richer?  Or that an almost imperceptible postural change would make a pianist’s music come alive?  Or that being asked, “Do you really need to contract that arm muscle to help you walk across the room?” would visibly improve my walking as well as relieve arm pain I’ve had for years?

There’s no question that the Alexander Technique can have an amazing effect; the problem is hanging onto the changes, and being able to initiate them outside of class.  Hence my desire for the book.  But it’s not a how-to manual, at least not in any form I can fathom.

Nonetheless, I’m making progress.  One idea that Weed stresses repeatedly is the importance of experimentation, observation, and evaluation, and that, on top of my experiences with Janet’s teacher, has let me to a much greater awareness of what my body is doing, and how my mind can affect my muscles.  I can relieve some of my neck and shoulder tension merely be remembering the teacher’s admonition, “There are seven bones in your neck; don’t move as if they were fused.”  I used to think it required heavy massage to get a tight muscle to relax; now I can sometimes achieve the same effect with a mere touch—more a reminder—and some mental effort.

The question of what muscles are really needed to perform an action turns out to be one of the more significant ideas:  many of our muscles were designed in pairs, so that contraction of one pulls an arm (say) one way, and contraction of the opposing muscle pulls it back the other way.  All too often—and I see this in myself—we are actually firing both muscles at once, so that in order to move in one direction we must work twice as hard, first to overcome the opposing muscle and then to achieve the intended motion.  Even when we’re standing still we often engage muscles that are totally unnecessary.  I would hope that all this extra work would at least burn more calories, but apparently the more significant effect is to make us stiff, restrict our motion, and inhibit a ready and reasonable response to the environment.

My greatest take-aways from What You Think Is What You Get:  Increased awareness of how my body is working, knowledge that the conscious mind can correct unconscious habits, and a willingness to experiment and to attempt to improve situations that I thought were merely “the way things are.”

This week an Orlando man was arrested for smuggling cockroaches into Florida.  What was he thinking?

Apparently, bugs are a big business, and officers said he had them illegally shipped into Orlando from California....Local reptile experts said the roaches are a good food source for lizards. They have more meat and more nutrients than crickets. They're also quieter and easier to handle, and once you have some good breeding roaches, you won't have to buy more.

Right.  That's why we encourage lizards here, and don't even mind when they come indoors.  But breeding roaches?  On purpose?  <shudder>.

Florida has been hit by unusually cold weather lately, it is true.  But many here who complain were not around in mid-1980's, which produced the bitter cold winters which, along with developers greedy for new land, destroyed the Central Florida citrus industry.

That was not all that icy weather and poor human judgement destroyed in those years.

Twenty-five years ago today, we were eager to share with visiting friends one of the blessings of living here:  the view, from our front yard, of a space shuttle launch.

Discovery, March 8, 2001

Due to the cold morning temperatures, however, when Challenger lifted off we elected to keep our small children (and ourselves) indoors, for the view was nearly as good from our large front window.  But this time, the sight was different.  We took no pictures, but thanks to YouTube you can share the experience, albeit from a different angle,

Did I say you could share the experience?  You can see it, but you can't share it.  That those who weren't here could not understand was made obvious in the ensuing days as jokes and unfeeling comments came forth from other parts of the country.  The loss of Challenger and her crew left a mark on Central Floridians similar to that left on the rest of the country twenty years earlier by the assassination of President Kennedy, and twenty years later by the destruction of the Twin Towers.

We still remember.

In his response to the disaster, President Ronald Reagan quoted from this poem by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.  It, too, has stayed with me these 25 years.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air....
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark or even eagle flew —
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

I've broken fillings, chipped teeth, and done other costly damage while eating sandwiches, popcorn, grapes, yoghurt, soup, and other items that I reasonably expected to be bone-, stone-, pit- and kernel-free.  And yet it never once occurred to me that the suffering and expense should be blamed on someone, preferably someone other than me, and with deep pockets.  Accidents happen.  Life is not pain free, and I believe that when something bad happens it doesn't always need to be someone's fault.

Unlike Dennis Kucinich, eight-term Representative from Ohio, who is suing the House cafeteria for $150,000 in damages incurred three years ago when he bit into a sandwhich and had an unpleasant encounter with an olive pit.

What was Kucinich thinking?  Like a spoiled toddler or delinquent teen, does he believe negative publicity is better than none?  Could $150,000 possibly make up for being remembered as the politician who sued a sandwich-maker over an olive pit?  He should have learned a lesson from Stella Liebeck, whose name became synonymous with frivolous lawsuits after she filed suit against McDonald's over hot coffee.

The Lord of the Rings:  The Fellowship of the Ring (2001, PG-13)

Rarely do we spare the time, effort, and expense to watch a movie in the theater, but back in 2001 we ventured into the cold of a Massachusetts winter, in my eagerness to see what the filmmakers had made of one of my all-time favorite books (and Porter's eagerness to see New Zealand, one of his all-time favorite countries, the setting for the film).

I was prepared to be disappointed, as I've yet to find a movie more appealing than the book on which it is based.  I was not prepared to be bored.  I don't bore easily, but this film succeeded:  I couldn't wait for the three hours to be over.

Nine years later I decided it was time to give the film another chance.  Whether I like it or not, this version has entered the popular consciousness, and for most people, The Lord of the Rings IS the movie.  Having recently re-read the book, I ordered the first of the trilogy from Netflix, determined to watch with a more open mind.

This time I was able to see a few elements in the movie's favor.  The artists are better visualizers than I am:  I'm usually eager to get on with the story and don't spend the time necessary to get a good picture of the scene, no matter how well described; for the same reason, I don't bother, when reading silently, to figure out the pronunciation of difficult words and names.  In this sense, the movie made the setting more real to me, and from my (more careful) recent reading of the book I think they did a fair job.  I know they tried to be true to the story.

I've also begun to give movie-makers more slack when it comes to faithfulness to the book.  I've come to realize that the movie medium simply is not good at producing the kind of depth and completeness that a book can, and very often events must be telescoped or otherwise changed to tell the story on film.  For this reason I was willing to put up with at least some of the many deleted and altered scenes.

On the other hand, it's not right to change the very nature of the characters.  The most grievous offense I noted in 2001 was what the movie did to the character of Aragorn, and his relationship with Arwen.  The second viewing only strengthened that conviction.  Frankly, the movie’s Aragorn is a wimp, with none of the power, strength of character, and knowledge of his heritage and destiny so clearly portrayed in the book.  And Arwen, though in the book she is both ancient and wise, is not a warrior, and does not rescue Frodo and bring him to Rivendell, peculiar and unnecessary additions made in the movie.

Goodness is extraordinarily difficult to show on film.  I have yet, for example, to see a movie that portrays Jesus as anyone one might care to listen to, let alone follow or die for.  In fact, he mostly seems to be played a lot like Aragorn.  The Fellowship of the Ring’s effort results in making the characters appear more stoned than spiritual.  If the expression can be forgiven when talking about hobbits and elves, the characters don’t seem human enough:  they are so other-worldly as to be unreal.

So I was disappointed, but why was I bored?  I find The Lord of the Rings so exciting and compelling that I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve read the book.  Each time I pick it up, I find something new, inspiring, or simply delightful.  Why was the movie boring?  Primarily because it was 90% battles and chase scenes.  Substitute cars for horses, and guns or light sabers for swords, and it is the same as hundreds of other movies and television shows.  Oftentimes I felt caught in the middle of the kind of video game I don’t even like watching.

My tolerance for fights and chases is extremely low:  I’m always thinking, “Can we get this over with and go on to the real action, please?”  And, no, I don’t mean romance and the “chick flick” kind of action, which I find at least as dull.  Conversations, reflections, revelations, mysteries, character development, growth and discovery—that’s what makes a story interesting for me.  The Fellowship of the Ring has it all aplenty, but the movie does not.  Therein lies the problem.

But hey, the scenery was great.

Would I recommend the movie to anyone?  I don't know.  If it leads people to read The Lord of the Rings who otherwise would not, that would be a good thing.  In my opinion it's one of the greatest books written in recent history—maybe even ever, but I'm not qualified to make that sweeping a judgement.  Another reason to promote the film may be that it tells a much better story than most films now available, and therefore deserves credit by default.

I'm not convincing myself.  So much of what is great about the book is simply not there in the movie at all.  There's a deep, strong, spiritual dimension to the book—wrestling with issues of good, evil, temptation, free will, responsibility, duty, friendship, honor, faithfulness, love, joy—that the movie lacks.  Is there any point in getting a mere surface—and therefore false—view of the story?

I'd love to hear from those of you who enjoy the movie version.  What do you like?  What makes it a good movie for you?  Do you see the spiritual qualities that I find absent in the film?  If you've also read the book, how would you compare the two versions?

Reading old newspapers is always eye-opening, even when they are from years I myself lived through.  While researching for another project, I came upon an old Ann Landers column, published in 1967.  What a difference 40 years makes.  Would Ann have given the advice in this excerpt even 10 years later?

Dear Ann Landers:   I feel like I am living in the dark ages.  My husband refuses to allow me to wear shorts in the summer or stretch pants in the winter. — Texas Woman

Dear Woman:  I say if a husband is opposed to shorts and stretch pants for ANY reason, a wife should respect his wishes.  There are plenty of attractive skirts you can wear, and I hope you will.

First I fumed, then I laughed.  All the emotions you would expect.  He “refuses to allow” her to choose her own clothing?  As if she were a child under three?  (Or maybe under two—I believe Faith has a lot of say in what she wears.  And opinions, as well.)  These days “controlling what you wear” makes the list of traits of an abusive relationship.  These days an advice columnist would be more likely to excoriate the man and maybe suggest the woman ignore him, or even leave.

And therein lies the bit of sorrow I feel that we have left those days behind.  How often in the 21^st century do we get advice to respect someone else’s wishes over our own?  To think less selfishly?  I’m reminded of Ann Landers’ own (later) advice to women unhappy in a relationship:  Ask yourself:  “Am I better off with him, or without him?”  Always, “What is best for me?” and rarely, “What is best for others?”^*

We have lost as well as gained.

Confessions and Reflections of a Traveler, by Brett R. McLean (Iona Press, Vancouver, 200)

If you can't judge a book by its cover, you can't judge it by random samples, either.

Both of our book-loving girls married book-loving men, so a visit to the grandchildren often leads to picking up random books, which might be found anywhere in the house.  This particular book was on the bathroom reading shelf, and I found myself picking it up several times a day.  In this manner I read many small samplings of the book, taken randomly from the middle.

McLean and a college companion decided one summer to travel across the United States on half a shoestring.  Since this is what Porter did some 20 years earlier, I thought the book might be a good gift for some upcoming occasion.  To be certain, I decided to borrow the book and begin at the beginning.

Whoa.  Nothing I had read in the bathroom had prepared me for what the book was really about:  philosophy.  That's not McLean's fault; he says so up front.  But I'd never read the front, nor, amazingly, encountered any of his dissertation on the history of philosophy, for which the travelogue is merely a series of examples.

I'm not sure this deserves to be called a review, since I was borrowing a borrowed book and reading on a very tight deadline.  I ready very quickly over the philosophy, and I'm sure that if I'd had time to be interested in the history of philosophy, I'd have gotten more out of it.  But as a book about travelling across America—and therefore appropriate as the gift I was looking for—Confessions and Reflections of a Traveler fails.

What still amazes me is that I missed the main point of the book in all my bathroom reading.  My eyes must have unconsciously selected the parts I'd find most interesting, which in the main was the travel stories.

There was one exception:  One time I found myself in the middle of the story of a plane crash, in which the survivors found themselves on an island.  Still thinking I was reading the story of McLean's journey, I became more and more confused as details emerged.  I didn't remember news of that particular crash, but even though I'm not always up on current events, surely I couldn't have avoided hearing about this bizarre story as it unfolded.

Reading the entire book made the puzzle clear:  McLean uses not only his own experiences to explain various philosophies in action, but also two examples from pop culture:  The Lord of the Rings, and an American television show called Lost.  The latter was the source of the plane crash adventure.

I'm not above using stories, fiction or non-fiction, to help me understand and explain life.  In many ways that's the best part of reading.  But for some reason it really annoyed me in this book.  Less so the examples from Lost, since I knew nothing at all about the show, but I kept disagreeing with what McLean said about Tolkien's work, and that short-circuited whatever point he was trying to make.

Philosophy, like history, is not something the completely ignorant (like me) can grasp without a fair amount of effort.  I'm finally beginning to make headway in history; when I get around to putting the same effort into philosophy^*, it might be good to revisit this book.

I suppose it's cheating to make two posts in a row about someone else's post, but I can't pass up this great Conversion Diary guest post by Simcha Fisher.  Her analogy between childbirth and the Child-birth (Christmas) is an imaginative tour de force worthy of Ray Bradbury.  (If her writing is less brilliant and esoteric than Bradbury's, it is still excellent, and definitely more uplifting.)

It would be stretching "fair use" too far to quote as much as I'd need to to make her point.  Go to the original and follow her from Advent (third trimester) through Christmas (birth, and the first few weeks after) and Epiphany (the light at the end of the tunnel) to Ordinary Time (the return to normal life, with a big difference).  Enjoy!

Jon's long-time friend Sara Foss writes a newspaper column in my old home town.  Recently the family stopped by for a visit, and ended up featured in the latest Foss Forward.  Having given Jon ample time to post about it himself, I'm breaking the news here, along with some of my favorite excerpts.  :)

[M]y friend Jon; his pregnant wife, Heather; and their three young children — ages 2, 4 and 7 — visited my home in Albany.

Naturally, I was all freaked out about having a bunch of kids descend upon my one-bedroom apartment, which lacks toys, children’s books and games. I did run out and buy pretzels and graham crackers, so that they could have a snack, but for the most part I felt woefully unprepared to entertain my young visitors.

Fortunately, the New York State Museum is right around the corner, and after a brief stint in my apartment, in which the girl played with my collection of turtle knickknacks (I even filled a bowl with water so that she could watch the plastic wind-up turtle paddle around) and her brothers improvised a game of darts in the bedroom, we headed up the street. I suspected the kids would enjoy riding on the carousel, looking at gems and stuffed animals and playing on the computers in the Discovery Room, and I was right.

In truth, I never should have worried about whether I would be able to entertain Jon’s family for an afternoon.

I’ve known Jon since I was 2, and I sensed that his kids were a lot like him — curious, imaginative, friendly, eager to do new things and see new places. What I enjoyed most about them was how well they played on their own; I didn’t have to worry about entertaining them because they entertained themselves. In fact, it seemed like they had just as much fun running up and down the sidewalk and jumping in snowbanks as hanging out in the museum, and their antics reminded me a bit of how Jon and I used to play in the snow when we were kids.

The subject of the article is the habit people have of comparing children, especially babies, with their parents:  "He sure looks like his mom"; "That's Uncle Frank's nose"; "She walks just like her father."  Sara would agree with Porter's mother, who always insisted, "They look like themselves."

I'll admit to playing the game, including very recently with Joseph, who I think looks very much like his dad from the nose up and his mom from the nose down—based on baby pictures of both.

Jon’s older boy had always struck me as very Jon-like — highly verbal at a young age, interested in puzzles and games, etc. — but now I see more of his mother in him, especially in his face.

I remarked upon this, and Jon said that when they visit his hometown, everyone comments on how much the older boy looks like him — “It’s Jon!” — while Heather’s relatives and friends always note his resemblance to her.

The younger boy did look a lot like Jon, as well as Jon’s brothers, while I had a tough time figuring out exactly who the girl reminded me of, if anyone.

Here's my contribution to the debate about Jonathan.  To be fair, I need a similar photo of Jon; it's hard for those of us who didn't know him as a blond boy not to be influenced by hair color.  And I would be remiss if I did not point out that "highly verbal at a young age, interested in puzzles and games, etc." is also a fair description of Jonathan's mother.  :)