Lordy day am I bored.

Asher has entered a new phase. Some call it "development," but today I am ready to call it "hell." Tomorrow I'll say that's too strong a word, but today it fits just fine. The days of putting him to bed and going on with life are over; now, suddenly, he is easily awakened by noise. Which is all fine and good, except that we live in 800 square feet. There is no such thing as putting him down in the back of the house - there is NO "back of the house." We have exactly as many rooms as we need, and we use every square inch of this little place every single day.

Except not anymore. Now I put Asher down for a nap, tiptoe away, and hope for the best. Then I go and sit in the recliner (which is the farthest seat from his room) and try not to make any noise whatsoever until he wakes up. Which means - no t.v. Nothing in the kitchen, because the kitchen is too close to his room (EVERYTHING is directly across or beside his room. We live in a square!). Can't use the desktop, because the chair squeaks and it is positioned - yep - across from his room. So. Today I sat in the recliner with the laptop and checked my email then checked it again just in case someone emailed me in the time it took me to close out the window. Then I checked every single blog I have ever read, and I checked all the blogs that were linked from those blogs until I got a headache from staring at a little screen for an INHUMANE period of time. Usually when I spend this much time in front of a computer screen I have a research paper to show for it. Today I just have the headache.

Finally - hooray! - Asher woke up naturally. And I began frantically attempting to do everything I normally do when he's asleep, plus all of the things that I do when he's awake, PLUS trying to keep him from chewing on the blinds/cords/DVDs/dog food. Hurryquickfast all the way until ... his next nap. When time stopped, and I was relegated back to the recliner.

Don't worry; this is a short-lived problem. I just realized on Wednesday how much better he sleeps in silence, so tomorrow I have a date with destiny. Destiny and I are buying a sound machine. But I just wanted you to know that I am DONE with that stupid recliner. And you all should update your blogs more regularly.

Three posts in one day. I wasn't kidding about being bored.

Good night all.

friends

I overheard a conversation between Asher and Taylor today. It went something like this:

Asher: I think I've decided my favorite toy is that big red ball I find on the floor sometimes ...
Taylor: Balls? I like balls! I've been gnawing on that red one for a long time.
Asher: ... and things with wheels.
Taylor: I like wheels TOO!
Asher: ... and knocking over the dog's food bowl.
Taylor: OOOH I LOVE knocking over the food bowl.
Asher: ... and rolling on the floor.
Taylor: I LOVE rolling on the floor!
Asher: ... but my favorite FAVORITE toy is chasing your tail.
Taylor: Have you seen my tail? Because I've been looking for it all day.
Asher: But I hate the vacuum cleaner. It gives me the heebies.
Taylor: Dude, watch your back with the vacuum cleaner. I don't know why she keeps following me around with it, but it's like it's, I don't know, after my HAIR or something.


They don't understand what toy belongs to whom. I spend all day telling Taylor to "Drop It" in my most threatening voice, and telling Asher as gently as possible that the disgusting ball that I try my hardest not to touch is not a teething toy for a baby. Alas. At least they get along.

Are you ready for some football?

I am not big on TV posts, so I'll make this quick. Lest you thought I had abandoned the best show on television, Friday Night Lights is having a marathon Saturday night. Yay!

dinner tonight

I had dinner tonight with one of my best friends. Really, "best" is not the right term, but tonight it is the word that comes to mind, because that's the word I used for her when I was eight. I had dinner tonight with the girl who lived across the street from me in elementary school, who sang the same songs and sold the same lemonade as I did. We played in each other's yards and ate each other's snacks. And we were allowed to ride our bikes anywhere, as long as we went together. I had dinner with her tonight, and I swear I could have been six years old again, sitting on the roots of a plum tree, acting out whatever book one of us was reading. Or fifteen, legs swung over the edge of a ditch, full of angst and jelly beans. She is in every single memory - and many of my pictures - of grade school. We had dinner tonight for the first time since we left home, and I nearly told her every secret I know out of habit. It was the strangest, sweetest feeling, to be so connected to someone I barely know anymore, to see pictures of her children and ask about her family. I wish you all a dinner like this, when you can sit until the restaurant clears and tell all of your stories and remember what it's like to be eight years old and have a best friend.

rambling thoughts on education

In response to Julie's Hump Day Hmmm ...

I have a friend whose nine-month-old daughter is already registered for private school. Early registration helps get her in, you know. Another friend who is moving from a house that she loves because of the school district. In another area, a friend has had to make decisions about three-year-old preschool that will affect what kindergarten will accept her child later, which of course affects the elementary school, which affects, which affects -- in short, her child's entire school career is heavily influenced by her preschool. Three-year-old preschool, mind you, where going potty and the letter "R" are the goals of the week. I'm not criticizing my friends by mentioning them - I'm saying, as soon as a baby is born, his parents start thinking about his academic future. And, as you already know, we're looking at houses, which means we're also looking at schools. So I often end up in conversations about Asher's education.

My response is, meh.

I feel completely unprepared to answer the question. Not knowing what kind of kid he's going to be, I have no idea what decision will be best for him. I believe in public school, I graduated from public high school and attended a public university, and like the idea of him learning to be around people who are not just like him. However, the truth is that Montgomery is not integrated. Schools are segregated now by real estate. It's not right, but it is reality. How much should that affect my decisions about a house? About his education? I don't know. There's a good magnet program here; if it seems like a good fit for him, that's my first choice. But some five-year-old boys are physiologically incapable of staying in one room for eight hours, and I don't see that as a fault. I don't want him to learn to hate school because he couldn't sit still when he was five and stayed in trouble for it. I can foresee scenarios where I would use any of my options - public, private, or homeschooling - depending on my child's temperament and personality.

The larger question is, what do I really want school to do? What am I hoping he will learn there? More than anything, I want him to learn to love learning. I'm not trying to create a superkid, and I honestly don't care about Ivy League futures. But if you enjoy learning, it will serve you well for the rest of your life, whether you are a plumber or a doctor or an extremely well-educated mom. Regardless of what school system we choose, in my opinion these overarching goals of education are my responsibility. And, honestly, because his mom loves to learn, Asher already has one foot in the door. So I don't feel the pressure to find (or pay for) the perfect school so that he can have the perfect future. I just feel the pressure to be the perfect parent. I'm kidding, of course, but not much.

In the meantime, he's eight months old. He just learned to crawl and clap his hands. I have no idea what life will be like when he's five, but I do know that by the time it gets here, I'll know what is best for him. I also know that every attempt I have ever made to make plans five years in advance were eventually thwarted. So I'm going to take it as it comes. We have a lot to look forward to - first steps, first birthday, first words, learning to play, learning to ride a bike, learning to color. All of that will probably happen before he sets foot in a classroom. Into which classroom his little foot will land, well, that remains to be seen.

the story of Bob and Flo

It seems we have a decision to make. We have found two houses we love - we'll call them Bob and Flo ("A" and "B" is so predictable, don't you think?). Bob is on a picturesque street in a historic district. He's a sweet little brick house with a side porch and a picket fence (yes, they still exist). Bob has huge bedrooms and an updated kitchen. Seriously, Bob is CUTE. He's two blocks from the park and coffee shop, and Montgomery can't boast many parks and coffee shops. But he also has the price tag of a historic district. We can technically afford Bob, but thinking of a budget with Bob's mortgage included makes me need to take a deep breath. Even so, there's no question of resale with Bob. Not that we'll move anytime soon, but eventually we'll want more house than we intend to buy this time around. And Bob will always do well, because of his location and his undeniable charm.

On the other side of the road we have Flo. Flo, she's a doll. She has a great backyard with a brick stove, a sun porch with built-in bookshelves (I LOVE built-in bookshelves), a newly remodeled kitchen, and a great lay-out. She also has a working fireplace and is clean enough to perform emergency surgery in the living room. In terms of layout and usefulness for a family, Flo is our gal. She's just as historic and just as maintained as Bob, but she's on the other side of the road. The side that is just as stable, but doesn't sell or appreciate quite as readily. She isn't Cool, but she's adjacent to it. Cool Adjacent Flo.

Truthfully, Flo has my heart. And Flo has a pricetag that makes me want to throw a party. But Flo is a little riskier when it's time to sell. Bob won't let us down later, but he stresses me out now. Flo is SWEET for now, but she could stress me out later.

If you think of it, say a prayer for us today. We can always decide not to take Bob or Flo, of course. But we'll probably pick one. If it were you, which risk would you take?

in honor of

... Asher perfecting his crawling skills today, a picture:




... church picnic tomorrow (I LOVE church picnics. Lane I will eat fried chicken in honor of you), and Cindy's habit of sharing cooking tips - a recipe:

Snicker Salad
(I can't be sure, but I think this is my sister-in-law's recipe. It definitely isn't mine, originally. I want to give credit where it's due.)

4 large Granny Smith apples, cut into chunks and put in a largish serving bowl
1 can crushed pineapple, drained
1 cup dry roasted peanuts
3-4 large Snickers bars, cut into pieces (it's easier to cut the fun-size)
1 large tub Cool Whip

Mix together. Chill at least six hours (it tastes best if made the night before). By the way, please don't count this as a fruit serving on your plate. Your body thanks you.

PS - One more -

... Laurie, Janet, Starr, and Carrie - all originally EUMC youth group girls - have a birthday in the same week. So I never know whose birthday is on what day. In honor of your collective birthday -

thoughts on rhythm

The theme in my life right now seems to be rhythm. In both concrete and abstract ways, I'm struggling to find a rhythm. Or maybe I'm struggling against it. Asher has gotten out of his routine, his little daily rhythm, which makes for a more difficult baby. So we're jumping cold turkey back into a routine. It translates into a SAD few days for Asher, (and, by extension, a tiring few days for me), but the fruit of it will be good. By next week, we'll all be happier if we push through this now. He needs a sense of rhythm as much as anyone else.

The rhythm of my marriage calms me. God bless Brian's soul for having a better sense of perspective than I do right now. Because it's never, never about the laundry, and my life would be lonely if I was married to someone who thought it was.

It's the larger rhythms of life, the unseen forces of nature and God, that trouble me. I have a friend who can't ask this question without crying - "Why is there ... anything?" Asking "why" is like asking about the tides or the color of the sky. You can do your best to reason through it, but reason does not quench the aching expressed in the question. It just is. When I'm feeling melodramatic I start quoting Stephen Crane, but it's a lie, he was wrong, there is no cosmic force messing with me. There is only a loving God and things that can't be explained.

Whenever I'm struggling against rhythm, religious talk irritates me. I was told earlier this week that the Scriptures make no provision for "why." I know that, I know that, don't you think I know that? How does such knowledge change the question or the answer? It's a comfort to know that Jesus never gave philosophical answers to emotional questions. He isn't expecting me to buck up or toe the party line. His command to me is to rest. There is a rhythm to life. Questions and answers rise and fall, like the tide, like the color of the sky. "Why" won't be answered, but in time, it won't matter as much.

So I'll do my best to do what Jesus said. I will rest in Him, which is to say, I'll stop denying questions and scraping for answers. I'll wait for the rhythm to move us forward, bringing us around to a happier time. It always does.

I mean, really.

written last night

Here's something strange. Tonight I'm sitting in front of a blank screen, wanting to clear my head, wanting to wish and shove my way through this moment, rather than just letting it be what it is. But nothing is working, verbally or otherwise, so here I sit, staring at the screen, with no coherent thought for miles. Out of pure - something, I went back through some old journals and found an entry dated 8-21-05. Two years ago exactly. Feeling the same then as I do now, I'd wanted to write, but didn't know what to say. Same night, same experience. Again.

I have given up trying to make every thing in life make sense, but this is more than I can stand. WHY is the timing the exact same? Does that mean on September 18 I'm going to decide to move across the country? And on October 2 (or so) we'll leave our church in a terrific implosion that everyone else will watch in morbid fascination? I really hope not. I love our church, and traveling with a baby isn't fun. The whole thing is just - odd. I should find more poetry in the moment, but I've got nothing pretty to offer. Instead, I have the line from a Jars of Clay song running through my head. Sometimes when I lose my grip, I wonder what to make of Heaven. Me too.

transition

It’s been so long since I’ve written anything more than a variation on stream of consciousness during naptime that I’m a little afraid to try. I don’t know how you do it, you who are writing weighty essays while parenting toddlers. My mind seems to be wholly occupied by Pedialyte and diaper cream. I admire your ability to multithink. Even so, I have a few thoughts banging around, and with any luck they might find their way to paper. So stay tuned - there’s more to this blog than meets the eye.

the week in pictures

Elizabeth came to visit this week. While she was here, Asher was busy working on a couple of milestones. Such as -
* He clapped his hands yesterday for the first time. This is one of those things that child development people care about much more than parents, usually. It is the first time both sides of his brain have worked together to coordinate a movement. It's a really important cognitive skill. So we threw a little party yesterday morning, which mostly included the three of us singing, "Your brain is great! Yay!" while Asher laughed at his parents and clapped his hands.
* He woke up yesterday morning saying, "Aah." It's not a sound I can spell correctly - you need the inflection. It's like a "huh?" or "what?" It's SUPERCUTE. And, according to Asher, it fits almost any conversation.

He's been a little out of sorts since Thursday, though. Not sleeping well, bad diapers, etc. This morning, staring at Pedialyte options in the grocery store, I called Georgia and Sawyer's mom. She wasn't home, but her husband Steve was extremely helpful. It was his idea to do something fun! with the drink, to make it more enticing. Yay for Steve - you were right. It totally worked.

So, that's that. We had so much fun with Elizabeth, but that is stating the obvious. Now Asher's all partied out and needs a little normal life. Normal life. Imagine that.

on my mind

You all know this prayer, I'm sure. And I don't have rights to copy it here, but I'm guessing? hoping? it's public domain by now.

From St. Francis of Assissi-

Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where the is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

as seen today on Freecycle

FREE chester drawers to a good home. White. Nothing wrong with it. 0000 Winona Ave. You pick up.

Hey Chester - missing some drawers? Don't worry; they're on the curb at Winona. But I'd hurry up if I were you. They're going fast.

why i don't care about the war. well, i do care. just not as much.

I was in the car this morning, driving ever-so-carefully to avoid the zero tolerance policy for speeding in Alabama this week (as in, if you're going 72 in a 70, you're going to get a ticket, pal), listening to the Vehement Protesting in the backseat (the carseat has become a blight on Asher's otherwise happy babyhood. He's hot and bored and old enough to complain. If anyone has any insight on how to placate a child in 106* heat in a car with no rear AC, I would love to hear it. But I digress) ... ANYWAY, I was driving this morning, and out of nowhere I had a coherent thought.

I don't have a strong opinion on the war anymore.

I used to rail against it. A few years ago, a friend left my house in the middle of a social gathering because the conversation got so heated. But lately - I can't even remember the last conversation in which I offered an opinion about it. That's odd, don't you think?

I see two reasons for my recent lack of protest. The first is that the situation has become more complex. It's an unstable society now. Do we just leave it in chaos? But all of our attempts to help establish order haven't worked so far. And who cares if we should or should not have gone - we're there now, we've been there a long time, so the argument for or against it is moot. Also, I know very little about the history of the region, and the alliances and enemies that have formed over time. So I can't speak intelligently about it, and if I can't speak intelligently, it's probably better for me to say nothing at all.

The other is much less philosophical. In the past few years, my dad has retired from the military, and my friend who was in the military at the start of the war has finished her time and gotten out. In short, I don't have as much at stake. Which makes me wonder - did I ever care about war as a concept? Did I really have such a strong opinion in the first place? Or was my "principle" that I love my dad and my friend and I didn't want them harmed? Maybe I'm not as political as I think I am.

Which makes me like most people, I think. This is just my opinion - I have no data to back me up - but don't people typically care about issues that affect their lives, and care less about issues that don't? I know there are selfless Shane What's-his-name's, who make their own clothes in protest of sweatshops. But most of us don't. Most of us say "Amen!" to his argument, then go to Target.

Jesus said that there is no greater love than to lay down your life for your friends. Why did he specify who to love? (I know there are other Scriptures that talk about enemies and brothers. Even so - He always specifies, doesn't He?) Did he know how hard it would be for us to empathize with strangers? Or how big the world is, and how much suffering we would see in our lifetime?

In the face of suffering, our choices are straight forward. We can become calloused, overwhelmed, or respond with peace. I always thought I was responding - but maybe I'm not. Maybe, just like everyone else, I care about those who care about me. When the human element is removed, my philosophy wavers.

Huh.

verrry random

!. My friend Jessica has a friend in Indiana who just had QUADRUPLETS last week. I've been praying for these little ones for 7 months now, so I feel like I know them. They have a blog at www.thequadsquad.blogspot.com if you are interested in following their story. Also, one of the babies is named after Jessica's husband (Baron). How fun is that?

@. Today I was on the phone with Carrie, who was telling me how her cat died (so sad), when Asher decided to pull up to stand for the first time. It was a comical moment - I couldn't react verbally because of Carrie's story, but I got all excited. He promptly sat down and hasn't done it again. He's also really close to crawling. He's rocking on all fours and lunging forward at his toys.

#. My dog is shedding. I thought, you know, working full-time, going to graduate school, and having a husband living out of town was a busy life, way back when. I had NO IDEA how busy a shedding dog and a mobile baby would be. I need one of those robots that roams around the house vacuuming. Maybe I could just program it to follow behind Taylor permanently.

$. Yesterday was our one-year anniversary at our church. Can you believe we've been there a year? We've also been in our apartment a year, and Brian has been working for the state for six months. Stability flies while chaos drags its feet.

^. My trip to Nashville was so fun. It was exactly what I needed. I have pictures up on the photo website, if you haven't seen them yet. And, of course, the self-portrait below. While there, I got my hair cut. Yay for shorter hair. Yay for no longer feeling like I look like somebody's mom.

self-portrait in Nashville

It took awhile, but we finally got a picture we liked. Third time was the charm.

The thing is, I get very nervous about criticizing other believers. Because everyone - EVERY ONE - thinks whatever they are doing is the right way to live out their faith. Also, the only people who genuinely pissed Jesus off were the Pharisees. And the measure I use for others will be used in measuring my own life. I take the implications of that very seriously.

With that in mind - Brian reads theology forums, right? When he's not ridding the world of sweatshops or leading a rehearsal somewhere or leaping tall buildings in a single bound, that is. The forums are mostly ridiculous, and many of our dinnertime conversations involve some strange thing Brian read on a theology forum that day. Most of the time I roll my eyes and move on. But the Derek Webb forum hit a nerve a few days ago with wife spanking (termed "christian domestic discipline" http://blog.christiandomesticdiscipline.com/ - I'm at the laptop or I'd link it). It's too unbelievable to ignore.

The only truly dangerous aspect of the Internet is that it is as big and bright and dark and treacherous as the human imagination. "Domestic discipline" (otherwise known as BEATING YOUR WIFE) is an example of just how wrong we can be in the name of God.

where is my award?

I conquered the computer (again), and I can now post pictures from the desktop. Now if only I can figure out how to get the laptop to let me post links...

By the way, I'm going to Nashville tomorrow. Nashville, the land of milk and honey, where nobody ever cries ... not really, but it is a little like that in my mind. With any luck, I'll have a clearer head and more interesting thoughts after my trip. Someday soon I'm also going to post an Ode to Mikkee; I've been thinking about it since May but it hasn't quite made it to paper yet. Soon, though.

In the meantime - here is evidence to prove that a. I fought the computer and I won; and b. Asher is indeed growing at warp speed.

Exhibit A: Look at that smile.



Exhibit B: No toy in the world is as interesting as the blinds.



Exhibit C: Very, very soon, the couch is no longer going to be a reliable place for Taylor to escape.

i promise this is not morphing into a purely "mommy" blog

But I'm doing well to focus on the next thing right now, and babies are perfect for creating a tyranny of the urgent. So. For now, baby stories and miscellany are all I can offer. I'll come back around to weightier topics eventually.

Having said that -

The last two weeks have been a blur of doctors appointments, phone calls, waiting, and medication. Asher spent a lot of time with his grandparents (praise God for grandparents), and, even when he was home, a lot of time out of his normal routine. I feel like I was in a fog for ten days. I woke up, looked down, and had a completely different baby. Somewhere in those ten days, Asher became a mover. He's no longer content to sit and talk with me. If he's in my lap, he's crawling over me to get the remote, my water, my book, whatever. He's also chosen this time to go on a Formula Strike. I didn't name it, by the way - the phone nurse at his pediatrician's office acted as though this were part of normal life for a baby. "Oh honey," she said in the older-Southern-I've-been-there voice that I LOVE, "That's just a formula strike. Keep him hydrated with water, give him yogurt for the calcium, and wait it out. He'll get over it." Now I ask you - were it not for Sweet Old Southern Phone Nurses, how in the WORLD would I ever have known that Formula Strikes exist, are temporary, and are nothing to worry about? Babies are such a mystery to me.

He's also on a napping strike, of sorts. He acts sleepy in the morning, but when I put him down, it takes him over an hour to go to sleep. I'm not arbitrarily putting him down. He's yawning, getting still, rubbing his eyes - all of Asher's cues that he is ready for bed. So why won't he sleep once he gets there? He's too young to drop his morning nap, right? (RIGHT, moms?) So what's that about?

Here's my theory - I think my baby has picked up on the stress in the house.

I'm working on a calmer atmosphere. Yesterday and today I've also been spending plenty of time on the floor playing, hoping that extra time will help him calm down. Poor kid - he doesn't understand what's going on (thankfully), but he definitely knows that the past few weeks have been different. I might go on a Formula Strike, too.

I love Adrienne Rich for the same reasons I love Patty Griffin - the raw emotion disguised as beauty that can be too much, at times, for everyday life, but sometimes is all that will do. Weather abroad and weather in the heart alike come on regardless of prediction. Very nice.

So look for no hidden meaning in why I'm posting this poem today. It sounds so ominous, and I'm not feeling particularly dark this morning. I just love the poem and the poet.

Storm Warnings
Adrienne Rich

The glass has been falling all the afternoon,
And knowing better than the instrument
What winds are walking overhead, what zone
Of gray unrest is moving across the land,
I leave the book upon a pillowed chair
And walk from window to closed window, watching
Boughs strain against the sky

And think again, as often when the air
Moves inward toward a silent core of waiting,
How with a single purpose time has traveled
By secret currents of the undiscerned
Into this polar realm. Weather abroad
And weather in the heart alike come on
Regardless of prediction.

Between foreseeing and averting change
Lies all the mastery of elements
Which clocks and weatherglasses cannot alter.
Time in the hand is not control of time,
Nor shattered fragments of an instrument
A proof against the wind; the wind will rise,
We can only close the shutters.

I draw the curtains as the sky goes black
And set a match to candles sheathed in glass
Against the keyhole draught, the insistent whine
Of weather through the unsealed aperture.
This is our sole defense against the season;
These are the things we have learned to do
Who live in troubled regions.

We've moved into the most miserable month in the Deep South - August. The heat index today is somewhere around 105. I don't care if that's heat or humidity - it's obscenely HOT. It's hot when you wake up, hot when you go to sleep. Swimming water is tepid, AC's never shut off. Babies are forever sweaty, car seats are miserable. Yech.

Sorry for the drivel, but it's all I've got today. Eat a popsicle in honor of August in Alabama.

P.S. At 9 p.m. the heat index is 95.

now i know

They ARE building a Harry Potter theme park. I had two emails and one phone call from friends yesterday to tell me about it. Thanks guys - I had no idea. I'm SO going to Orlando in 2009. Well, maybe 2010. I'll let the crowd die down a little first.

Read all about it here.

8-2-07

I had to turn off the news. Everyone is talking about the bridge collapsing in Minneapolis, and all I can think about is how hard it is to get a baby out of a carseat, and nine times out of ten Asher is with me when I go somewhere and ... it's more than my nerves can take.

So. I'm changing the subject. Two things:

1. Wouldn't it be FUN if there was a Harry Potter theme park? Seriously that could be as good as Disney World. Diagon Alley, The Enchanted Forest, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, 12 Grimmauld Place, a Quidditch match ... and stuff could magically appear, and they'd serve butterbear and have rides and ... I would totally go. I've decided I prefer Books 1-4 to the last three. It seems to me that there were four episodes, followed by a trilogy. I like the episodes better. But I'm not kidding about Harry Potter World (though it would need a better name than that). If you build it, I will come.

2. It's eerie, the way that mothers know their children. Irritating to a child, magical to a parent. Remember the 4th of July in 1998 when Brian and I wrecked his truck? His mom asked us not to go to the lake that day. She had a bad feeling about it. Of course we went anyway. More recently, the weekend that my sister and her now ex-husband split up, my mom woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of my sister as a young child, standing at the foot of her bed, calling for her. She knew her daughter needed her before she knew why. Eerie.

When I was pregnant with Asher, I made two predictions about him. The first was that he was a shy kid. I don't mean shy as in socially awkward; I just mean, an observer. More withdrawn. It's been true since the day he was born. We had to run people out of the hospital after the first two days, because he had become overwhelmed with all the company. As an infant, if a stranger got in his face, he would scream. He prefers to watch before he acts; he has to make up his mind about a person before he'll squeal or laugh around them. He's a happy baby, but already a thinker.

The second was that, in utero, he was sleeping with his knees tucked under him and his bottom sticking up. As soon as I started to show, my stomach was lopsided. I swore it was his bottom, not his feet, that were poking out. This prediction was a little harder to prove than my first one, because, really, how could I know for sure? And who's going to argue with a pregnant woman about the position of her baby? I'd really forgotten about it until a few weeks ago, when Asher started sleeping like this:



Some things, moms just know.