Go where we may, rest where we will

Eternal London haunts us still

-Thomas Moore

The Salamander Is on the Move; Repeat: The Salamander Is on the Move

School Uniforms

Walking to school - James's first day of Reception (or so we thought - this was a Monday and he actually started on that Thursday)

James really likes his school. It is a state school, and like at about 100% of the primary schools in Britain, the children there wear uniforms to school. I LOVE how he looks in his school uniform. I feel that there are so many pros and almost no cons to having kids wear them. It simplifies getting ready in the morning, it is an equaliser (no "poor" or "rich" clothes; no trendy or immodest clothes - everyone dresses the same way), and it helps the kids get in the mindset for school. Plus, the kids look so smart! (I mean this in the British sense of the word.) Cons - um... the uniform can be expensive (but really no more so than regular clothes, and is often cheaper than ordinary play clothes). Some people may say that it curbs individualism or freedom of expression in children. And I reply to this, "really? So we want to convey that the best or most important way for our children to express themselves is through fashion?"

So, can we start a movement in the U.S. for uniforms in public schools? Who's with me?

Alexander is Zero

The title is a paraphrase of James's reply to my "Alex is six months old today."

At age 0.5, Alexander weighs 17 pounds, 13 ounces; his length is 29 inches; and his head circumference is 44.5 centimetres. In other words, he is average for his age for weight, and well above average for length and noggin size. This obviously means that I am a better mother than people with puny children.

Here are some recent videos of Alex:

Photopalooza

Things have been busy lately. Thus, little blogging. But have no fear! You can still see a lot of what we've been up to the past couple of months. I just posted a boatload of photos to my Facebook account. Enjoy!

Teaching and Learning

I feel that I am preparing to leave London (we have about three months left) just as I am getting adept at living here. I have, for example, just barely figured out the best way to navigate Liverpool Street station with a buggy - where all the lifts are, where the street exits closest to the buses are, etc. I know all the best places to take James now - his favourite parks, the most kid-friendly museums, the restaurants where the servers don't roll their eyes when he knocks his silverware on the floor for the third time. I have online food shopping down cold.

As I was contemplating these things a few days ago, I realised it has been true of many stages of my life - I get good at doing something just as things are drawing to a close and it's time to move on. It is no different with parenting. In the 4+ years that James and I have lived together, it seems that each

time I feel I finally understand how to interact with him, he enters a different stage of development, and I have to learn everything afresh. The tactics that worked so well (okay, worked sometimes) yesterday are rendered obsolete by the swift and unrelenting passage of time. James is a drastically different person than he was six months ago, and by

extension, I am a different mother than I was then.

One of the ways I've changed my strategy is to let go of the outcome of my labours, or acknowledge that I never had true control over it in the first place. James is not a puppy I am housebreaking, but a human being for whom I have stewardship. Not all his successes will be attributable to my efforts, nor will his mistakes be laid at my feet. This is both comforting and bewildering. It would be simpler to have a straightforward cause-and-effect sort of evaluation system for my work; in its place there is intuition and hope that your best will be good enough.

I guess the point is not to be a perfect mother, or even a great mother, from the get-go, though. I did not expect James to be comfortable and capable with his mortal experience from day one; I should not expect myself to be so in my experience as his guardian. It is difficult, though, for someone with my obsessive personality and my desire to do everything "right" to fully embrace the idea that the process of becoming, the journey, is the objective. James and I are teaching each other how to be children of God and to do His will. And while that journey isn't easy, I appreciate the company.

I know that I'm not the first person to articulate these concepts, but I thought at least many of my readers would be able to relate. It is a thrilling adventure, being a mother. I'm always adjusting, recalibrating, discovering new ways to communicate, discipline, and teach. And new ways to learn. Maybe by the time they move out of the house, I'll feel sure-footed and confident. Maybe.

Windsor Castle

We went to Windsor Castle a couple of weeks ago. It was a fun trip, and I'm glad my niece, Cathy, suggested it! The castle is one of the residences of Her Majesty the Queen, and apparently she spends most weekends there. It is the largest and oldest continually inhabited castle in the world.

James in one of the gateways within the castle walls

The lovely moat garden

Moat garden view #2

James outside St. George's chapel

There was so much to see at the castle - amazing art, ranging from Leonardo da Vinci pencil drawings to van Dyck portraits to silver and china and arms and armor; a bed that Napoleon and the Empress Eugenie slept in during their visit to the castle; an 85-year-old dollhouse, complete with working electricity and servants' quarters; and beautiful St. George's chapel, which also had a marble sculpture of Princess Charlotte, only child to King George IV. She died at age 21 after giving birth to a stillborn son. The sculpture of her was breathtaking. It depicted her corpse under a shroud, surrounded by mourners, all shrouded. Above these were Charlotte's soul, rising heavenwards, flanked by winged angels, one of whom was holding the baby boy. All the figures were carved from white marble. Gorgeous. I tried in vain to find a picture of the sculpture on the internet. You'll just have to see it in person someday!

The Inscription inside the Statue of Motherhood

The Colossal Mom*

Not like the cover model of Vogue or Elle,

With skinny limbs draped with designer clothes,

Here, in the ankle-high filth shall stand

A tired woman with a diaper bag, the murky depths

Of which no one wants to plumb, and her name

Mother. Just Mother. From her dishpan hand

Flow everlasting snacks; her wild eyes command

The cramped dwelling that children and husband inhabit.

"Keep, orderly homes, your fabled peace!" cries she

With chapped lips. "Give me your tired, your cranky,

Your frantic toddlers longing to scale walls,

The pitiful savages I call my children.

Send these, the crazy, reason-impaired to me,

I open my arms beside the pile of dirty laundry!"

*All rights reserved. May only be copied with the author's (my) permission.

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There haven't been any comments* on my post about James's birthday party. Did everyone miss it?

*I need almost constant validation.

Searching for Service

Saturday I took Alex in his pushchair to Helping Hands, a UK-wide day of community service projects by Mormons. I was one of a couple dozen people cleaning up Brent Park in north London. I exited the Brent Cross tube station, Google map in hand, thinking it would be easy and quick to find my way to the park. Thirty minutes later, I found myself in this comically narrow footpath connecting one residential area to another. I could barely get the buggy through. But before long, I found an entrance to the park and lent my helping hands to the work. A couple of hours later, some iron railings were scraped and given a fresh coat of green paint, by yours truly. Who says I'm not leaving my mark on London?

Happy Birthday, Micah!

My husband is hot.

I Saw Maggie Smith in Marylebone Today!

Happy Father's Day

This is my great-great-grandfather, John Neely Bryan, Jr., pictured with his wife, Sarah Jane Thompson Bryan. He was a Texan wagoner, born in Dallas in 1846; he died in Wichita Falls in 1926. I thank him for marrying Grandma Sarah, who, despite having died before I was born, is very special to me.

Here is my great-great-grandfather, John Hyrum Anderson, whom I thank for having written his life history, which provided several weeks' worth reading and discussion material for family home evenings. He was born in Logan, Utah in 1864 of Swedish immigrants who had come to America as Mormon converts.

My great-grandfather, Al Roueché, eloped with my great-grandmother, Bernice Stokes when they were teenagers. They celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary in 2006. I thank him for teaching my grandmother to be a woman of faith. I thank him for bringing me a doll from Brazil when I was a little girl. I thank him for visiting me in New York when I was in college. I thank him for recently sending us cards celebrating my sons' birthdays. Al and Bernice are still living in Kennewick, Washington.

My grandfather, John Neely Bryan III, was a man of few words. He did, however, once tell me I was pretty, and he taught me, among other things, that the sense of touch is more important than sight when clean dishes is the objective. He learned the importance of tactile exploration as a USDA meat inspector, a post which he held for 25 years. He died while I was on my mission, and the next night, I dreamed of him laughing.

My grandfather, Loran C. Anderson, is a swell guy. I lived under his roof from age five through age twelve. He was the giver of priesthood blessings, the imparter of facts - he was a botany professor - and the purveyor of silly jokes and puns. I thank him for the financial help he has so willingly and generously given through the years, and I thank him for the moral and emotional guidance he has offered me, sometimes unknowingly. He has been my rock and my beacon, and always my PaPa.

My father-in-law, Tony Christensen, pictured here with my mother-in-law, Lynda Davis Christensen, is a tireless provider. He works very hard to give his family (and in many cases, extended family, friends, and acquaintances) the necessities of life. I thank him for my Mickey Mouse watch, for his kind counsel, for his part in raising my husband, and for his many kindnesses towards my sons.

My Papacito, Blair Clawson, has been an example to me of Christian charity. I thank him for teaching me how to drive at midnight in the Governor Square Mall parking lot. I thank him for his patience with my teenage pride/arrogance/vanity/general egocentrism. I thank him for wandering around the garden with James. Most of all, I thank him for making my mother happy.

Here is my father, dancing with me at my brother's wedding. I thank him for taking care of me when a cinder from a Shriner's train hit my face during a birthday party. I thank him for sitting me down before my fifth birthday to teach me about how seriously I should take going to Kindergarten. I thank him for giving me the Chronicles of Narnia series for Christmas 1984. I thank him for showing us his emotion when our summer visits were over and he put us back on the plane to our mother's. I thank him for his consistent honesty and openness, for moving me into my first dorm room (not to mention paying for that first semester at college), and for being a fun grandad to my sons. I thank him for being my Daddy.

I thank my husband, Micah, for being such a wonderful father to our boys. I thank him for the constant, uncomplaining care I received from him through both my pregnancies. I thank him for all the diapers he has changed, books he has read to them at bedtime, and pillow fights he's waged with James. I thank him for the trips to the zoo, bowls of noodles proferred, hugs given, songs taught, and walks to school. I thank him for the drawings, the church halls paced with a noisy baby, and the trips to Instacare or the A&E. I love the father of my children.

{Happy Father's Day}

James' Birthday Party

At our dinosaur-themed party in the park this year, I realized that it was the first time James realized the actual significance of having a birthday party - even if he's still a little fuzzy on the details. He has no idea how long he will be four years old, as evidenced by the fact that he asks me every day, "Am I still four?" Anyway, he and the two friends roughly his age who were able to attend, along with several assorted parents and additional children, had a great time.

12:49 a.m. London time

I should really get to bed to minimize whatever jet-lag brick I'm going to be hit with tomorrow morning. So the posts about our trip to Arkansas, Missouri, and Utah will have to wait until later. Just know that they're coming.

Some Pictures James Took Recently

Brothers

8-week Checkup

Alexander had his 8-week checkup today, including that classic of parental betrayal, his first immunizations. He's doing well. For the two or three of you who care, he is in the 91st percentile for weight (13.4 pounds), 75th for head circumference (40.2 centimeters), and 50th for length (22.4 inches).
And he's smiling a lot now. It's really cute when James says "He's smiling at me!" (James has often said this when Alex was clearly not smiling at him.)

Weekend with Hanna, Dan, Henry, and Arthur

While Micah was in Spain, my dear friend Hanna invited me and the boys to stay with her for the weekend. I enthusiastically accepted. I only had to pack clothes for myself because Hanna and Dan have two boys, Henry and Arthur, who are conveniently the same sizes as James and Alex, respectively. So I loaded up a roller bag, put Alex in the sling, took James by the hand, and took the train up to Hertfordshire. For the Americans who read the blog, it's only about 20 minutes from central London.

It was the best vacation a person could have without her husband and without spending (much) money (I did have to buy train fare, after all). James and Henry played together, bathed together, took naps in the car together... it was lovely. Hanna and I sat inside and held our babies mostly, and Dan played graciously with the older boys. It was heaven! Thank you, Hanna and Dan!

The Kentish Town City Farm

We took a trip to the farm with James's nursery school class last week. It was quite an adventure getting 25 or so three- and four-year-olds with their chaperones to the farm on public transport, but that's another story. We saw chickens, turkeys, goats, sheep, horses, pigs, and cows... all nestled between the rail tracks and row houses of London. James inexplicably kept asking where the wolves were. And incorrectly recalled the next day that we had actually seen wolves at the farm.


{a three-day-old lamb with its mother}

Heaven

Because Sometimes in London You Ride on the Bus across from a Guy with a Didgeridoo

By Popular Demand

More pictures of Alex, who is one month old today.* Hopefully I'll get some newer ones soon.






I hold this baby most of the day. Meanwhile, James has become basically feral. I'm really glad he goes back to school tomorrow morning! Two weeks off has nearly done us in.



*Why is the time going by so quickly? Someone please make it stand still - while I hold my baby.

Grandma Knows Best

I have a near-perfect mother. It is therefore unsurprising that my boys have an unbelievably awesome grandma. A grandma who was prescient enough to arrive in London from Florida on the very day her grandson, Alex, was born. She arrived bearing gifts, including a quiet book for James and two baby blankets for Alex of her own making (one of which is in the above photo of Grandma and Alex).

In the ten short days of her visit, she was able to do no less than the following:

• wash, dry, fold, and put away approximately 17, 259 loads of laundry
• cook several yummy dinners
• hold baby Alex for hours (while pacifying him more quickly and effectively than I could)
• watch James while Micah and I were at the hospital
  
• take James to the movies
• take James to the dinosaur museum (a.k.a. the Museum of Natural History)
• win James' heart and capture his imagination by tirelessly playing make-believe with him
  
• teach me my first knitting lesson
• visit a few tourist sites, like the British Museum, the National Gallery, and the London Eye

I talk to my mom a lot on the phone, but it took a visit to remind me just how lucky I am to have her and how much I still have to learn about being a mother. A day or two after she flew home, James asked Micah wistfully, "Did Grandma Cindy come back?" We all wish she would.

No One Is Going to Believe Me

On Tuesday, when Alex was 18 days old, I left him sleeping on his back on my bed for a few minutes. When I came back into the room, he was on his stomach.

!!?!

Is it even possible for a two-and-a-half-week old baby to roll over? Anybody have a precedent for this? Not in our family - James was three-and-a-half MONTHS old when he rolled over for the first time. I looked it up.

James was in the room with him at the time, and I asked him (James) if he had touched him (Alex). He said no. I will concede that it is possible that James did it, but I think that would have been strange behavior, even for James. He usually just likes to kiss and hug Alex and bring him toys.

Alexander Anthony

We welcomed our family's newest member into the world on Friday, March 20, 2009 at 9:09 p.m. GMT. We arrived at the hospital at about 8:10 p.m., and less than an hour later, we had a 9-pound, 6-ounce baby measuring a little over 21 inches.

On the way out the door to the hospital

Mommy and Alex (looking a little splotchy, bless him)

Many thanks to all who offered prayers on our behalf. As his parents, we feel his birth was miraculous.

I'm sure there will be more photos coming soon...

Some People Came to Visit

Our dear friends, Boad and Kevin, came to visit last week. We had a fabulous time, despite decreased mobility in half our party - due to my advanced stage of pregnancy and Boad's gnarly mountain-bike mishap the morning of his departure from SoCal. The question was not "What did they do and see?" but "What did they not do and see?" Micah was (per usual) an impeccable host and tour guide, and I enjoyed stepping out with my boyz. It was a very welcome distraction from my pregnancy-induced ennui. They went back home (to their respective wives and kids) on Sunday, and James is still asking for them. (This morning it was the declaration as he came downstairs, "I want Boad and Kevin.")

If you want the full story, Micah posted all 317 photos he took of their visit on flickr.

She Fancies Him

James has a little friend at preschool. I met her (we'll call her M) and her mother as I picked up James Monday morning. M's mother tells me that M tells her that James is very funny. And that he tells her jokes at school. Micah says that he has seen M follow James around in the classroom, obviously smitten. Well. Aren't we all?

On the Tube Last Week

I was flipping through the January Ensign, the LDS Church magazine, showing James pictures and talking about them with him to pass the time. Here's our conversation about the cover:


Tat: "This is Joseph Smith, the prophet. What do you think he's doing?
James: "He's talking to the letter S."

Foop!

James has spent a lot of time lately pretending to be some animal or other. The title of the post is the sound he makes when he magically turns into the animal. He loves being a dog, a frog (that says "libbit, libbit"), a cat, or a monkey. He has also tried out a new "baby" impression - that sounds more like a wounded pteradactyl to Micah and me than a human infant. I love to see his imagination at work, though.

Hail to the Chief

He makes me want to be a better person.

An Apology

Faithful reader, if you're wondering where I've gone, just remember that wherever I go, I'll always be right there, in your heart.

Seriously, though, I have been feeling icky and can barely keep it together. I have things to blog about, but no blog energy. Bloggergy. So I ask your patience as this pregnancy winds down. (Only 8 weeks and 6 days to the due date!!!) Once I feel better, I will be entertaining you all again with my witty repartee.