WIC: A Story of Redemption

Our little family has received WIC assistance since my 8th month of pregnancy with Natalie. My experience at Vons today compelled me to share a bit about the program. To catch some of you up to speed:

"WIC is the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children, a 100% federally funded program providing nutritious food (via prescriptive checks), individual counseling and nutrition education, breastfeeding promotion and support, and referrals to other needed services to at-risk, low- to moderate-income (up to 185% of the federal poverty level) women and children up to the age of five."

It's kind of misunderstood, a bit labor intensive to sustain and a huge tax commitment. Now, admission to being a recipient of public subsidies comes with a certain risk of posing a secretly-discussed question among your family and friends: why them? Isn't that for the perennially unemployed, The Welfare class, some "hidden econom[y] in the world of the low-wage worker"? I don't pretend that I understand poverty or the life-long experience of hand-to-mouth living that roughly 30% of the working, American public experiences. Don't fear! This won't be an editorial titled "My Life Relating to the Lower Class". It's just meant to be informative because the help to our family that WIC has given has been tremendous.
I had no idea about the program beyond seeing signs posted in the local corner markets I frequented while living in Minneapolis: "WIC Accepted Here". Nate's Aunt Betty, a former public health nurse in Wisconsin, brought it to my attention when I was 8 months pregnant with Natalie. It was our combined income and my pregnancy status (which poses a nutritional need that WIC can meet) that made me eligible for the program. I met with a wonderful representative, Jan, in the county office where my mom now works, who kindly and, very explicitly, explained to me the process of redeeming food with WIC coupons. I would qualify for 'pregnant mom' food for the duration of my pregnancy, and then for 'full-breastfeeding' food until the baby was 6 months, which is when its assumed you introduce solid food. I continued to qualify until Natalie was 1 year. She qualifies until she's 5 (repeated with Micah). I commit to infrequent consultations with the WIC staff (now in San Diego) about pregnancy nutrition, breastfeeding (including an at-home inservice complete with prosthetic boobie), and infant/child nutrition. In return I receive 'coupons' with items listed that I may redeem, free of charge, at the grocery store.
Here's a rough sketch to illustrate WIC Redemption at the grocery store. I decide how much of the cashier's time I feel like requiring at check out and pick out coupons accordingly (Part I of labor-intensive Redemption). "Well, we need cheese and eggs, not necessarily another gallon of milk yet, but use it or lose it. So, that's one coupon. I'm already here, so I'll get the black beans and peanut butter. Cereal is about the only thing I'm truly hungry for (in my 4-6th months) so I can't wait to get those. Three coupons. I hope there's no big line behind me." I spend several minutes in front of each item (brands and sizes down to the ounce outlined in a pamphlet) to make sure I am abiding by the fairly strict product guidelines (juice has to say '120% Vitamin C' on the front label, or the bread can only say 100% whole wheat, or the peanut butter can't have added sugar). I usually pick out a few more non-WIC groceries because I just can't bring myself to go for a out-of-pocket-free trip to the grocery store. But, I usually get things in bulk at another store because its cheaper. What to get here? I better make it look a bit healthy. Whole wheat crackers? Cottage cheese? That's should take their eyes off of the diet Cherry Pepsi that is my Achilles heel, especially when I need a quick comfort food as I head out the door for work at 7:30pm. Oh, and Nate and I love those Vlasic Kosher dills. Okay, I'm ready. My heart pounds as I think of getting in line with those coupons (Part II of labor-intensive Redemption) because a) many cashiers abhor the Redemption process, b) people who get in line behind me with 2 items seem to sigh (which I doubt they are) with every beep of the scan, which often requires a glance at a three-ring binder, and c) I just feel weird about getting food for free (relatively speaking, but for the sake of this post I'll leave it at that). If I've made a mistake, which seems to happen each trip despite my meticulous efforts to the contrary, some cashiers will silently but, still efficiently, continue to check out the goods and rectify my error. Some will tell me, in a word-for-word expository from the WIC pamphlet, exactly what I do and don't 'get', and some are kind and understanding. This brings me to the impetus for this post in the first place.
I have redeemed WIC coupons in many locations. Most of them have been chain grocery stores, but among those I have found one, a drive 14 miles round trip and out of my way, for the service of the cashiers: the Vons in Clairemont. Despite my coupons, my baffling repetition of errors, and their requirements to check out my groceries, I have almost never been met with unkindness, judgmental eyes, silent treatment, or even fake courtesy. People who work at this massive store are always friendly and understanding. Again, I don't pretend to have scoured the depths of humiliation that most 'have nots' survive because they always seem to be required to grovel, but this collective countenance of acceptance and understanding makes an astounding difference in this experience of Redemption. I often leave trying to hold back tears of relief at being treated with some freaking slack. I find myself making some self-deprecating comment about the work I'm adding to their already-busy job, orI go overboard with my gratitude (not really possible with cashiers), but will come to find that many cashiers were WIC recipients themselves, and not always as adults but as children. So imagine how gripped my heart was to hear today's cashier (after leaving the till to go retrieve the correct 64oz. bottle of juice for me) recall her foster mom shopping for food, for 5 kids, with WIC coupons and being made to cry by a cashier (in front of at least one kid, obviously), for whatever way the mom tripped up that person's day. Here she is with a steady job, a great attitude and compassion to dole out. I felt for the first time in a long time what this program truly is: more then just picking up free groceries it's temporary assistance that ensures that some of my kids' food will be healthy and accessible. It has provided more information about nutrition and more encouragement about breast feeding than all providers I've seen, for both kids, combined.
So, if you're a cashier keep the smiles and the positive energy. If you get behind some coupon-wielding mom who may feel even a fraction of the way I do when in line, read the tabloids for a few more minutes as you wait to pay for your (probably melting) ice cream. By the way, WIC coupons now include a cash stipend towards fresh fruits and veggies, organic included. I think many of us can appreciate that on a certain, let's say familial, level.

Cross(road) Reference

The books of California and Minnesota written for the Weaver Olsons were pretty well researched by the time our little family arrived in San Diego in 2008. Though the Minnesota Trail has survived primarily as a hepcat foot path, the ruts become much more established when we throw in the journeys of the Olson family. Preachers, students and nomads alike have volleyed between the forces of the Midwest and West coast poles.
Our little family grew into a bigger little family after we moved. Micah is 100% Californian for all intent and purpose (though he doesn't know it yet). We've grown very attached to our little apartment, have found places we like to buy food and parks where we like to play. Nate has gotten to know his colleagues in Latin American Studies as well as the history department. He can bike to school and be home within 20 minutes. Our church is 4 blocks away, and our Ethie (Blue Car) is 12 miles (on a Sunday). We become journeymen despite the transient nature of our lives.
Nate will finish his Master's degree in Latin American Studies this June. He has applied for Ph.D. studies in history with a Latin American Studies emphasis for the fall of 2010. He was accepted at the University of Minnesota, was not admitted to UW Madison (his first choice), and we suspect will be admitted to the history program at UC San Diego. (We have yet to hear officially.) Now that the door has opened for us to return to Minnesota (nullifying most aspects of anything the University of Iowa would have to offer, from which we have yet to hear), it seems that we will once again be deciding to extend our time in California another half decade, or make a move to Minnesota that, as far as we can tell, would be the beginnings of establishing roots in a place we long to be, for a long time. Would it be that simple.
We've done the following on several scales: made pro/con lists, made the decision based on sentiment, logic, prayers (past and current), money, made the decision about the kid's futures, made it based on family, on friends, on spiritual, emotional and physical needs, what would be best for Nathan, best for Kimberly, best for our little family, best for our big family, best for our careers, best for our vision of what we would like our lives to look like, best for what we think God has designed us to do, made the decision based on housing costs, moving costs, access to fresh produce all year, where we can hear free outdoor concerts, which place has the most trees, and the fewest mean people.
When we decide (or when it is decided for us) on which place affords us all these things equally we'll probably buy some furniture and then buy a cat so we can name that cat.

Micah-Moo

Our Little Bear. I wanted to start this post by calling him our miracle baby, but then reflected that there are miraculous things about both of the kids (there's that parent-of-two equity). But I will say he's our beat-the-odds kid, hands down. He made it to 42 weeks' gestation and was born on the day that my dad, his Dawdi, would have turned 70 years old, August 11, 2009. Micah lost weight so quickly in the hospital that the NPs wanted us to supplement my milk with formula (which we kindly declined, with the promise of a next-day clinic visit), and is now off the charts for weight, height and noggin size (good thing we're not trying to get him on private insurance). A trip to the clinic, the day after we got home from the hospital, revealed to our pediatric NP, Raechelle, that he hadn't voided except for a sprinkle that morning, nor had he pooped since he was delivered. She also measured his heart rate at 92 bpm, extremely low for a newborn (120 and higher is better). She said we should put a tissue over the area on the diaper where he pees (because the disposables are so absorbent we could miss any moisture), and then asked that we call her as soon as we saw evidence of urination. When she called us at 9:45pm (on a Friday) to say that she would like us to take him in to the emergency room, Nate checked his diaper one more time (while I was on the phone with her) and it was soaked. Whew. The next day (2nd day home from the hospital) we took him back to the clinic to see the pediatrician for his heart, and she wanted a blood sample to test for certain antigens that can sometimes lower a newborn's heart rate. Nate took Micah to have that done (being that it had to be a venipuncture on a 6-day-old baby, I wouldn't have been able to stand it). His 7th day home, we went back to the clinic (by now he was peeing and pooping normally) Raechelle checked his HR: 130 bpm. She checked it again. 130 bpm! She went and got another stethoscope. 130 bpm! Barely a week old. As his Mama, I think he needed about 2-3 more days to finish whatever it is babies do in the womb. Due dates are not an exact science. When I went in for the induction, my body wasn't even close to being labor ready. I guess Micah isn't interested in being forced to do anything. Right now, that's endearing. We're just thankful he's so healthy.
He is now 2 1/2 months old, confident and cool. He knew how to latch and drink milk the first time they put him to my breast. When he fusses, it's because something needs to be different, and when the need is met he's back to his cool self. He loves to watch Natalie dance around, will smile and sing if you engage him and is just starting to laugh.
Because I made the herculean effort of training him to be content in the Moby-wrap sling we use, it is now the best way to lull him to sleep. I love it, of course, because it's like a 30-minute hug between baby and Mama. He also sleeps so well at night. There are always a few sleep exceptions (like his tag-teaming with Natalie during nap time), but Nate and I, due to experience and/or having a better sleeper in Micah, have very few sleep complaints (except for "not enough").
Slowly, the experience of having two children is turning from being simply busy to an engagement of 4 people as a family. We all sit at the table when 3 of us eat, we often are traveling in the car together or as a mobile unit with the stroller, and have started incorporating everyone in household routines (Micah's job is to sit in his chair and coo).
Our kids are great companions and we love the new dynamic of being a family of 4.

The Learning Curve

I write this entry with the quiet delight of someone who knows very well that they should be doing one of several decidedly more responsible activities at the moment, but isn't. Kimberly and Ann (who generously agreed to spend the week in a two-bedroom apartment in late August with two other adults, a toddler, and a newborn babe) have gone out to get us a bigger backpack so that we can accommodate the gear of two children. They have done this in part because it needed doing, and partly to leave me in peace to get some other work done. Instead, I find myself rereading favorite sections from A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson, which I was only reading for a moment while someone else was on the computer, but continued reading long after the aforementioned person had vacated the computer and, in fact, had already left the apartment. Just moments ago I got up with a sigh, determined to get to work, but secretly wondering if the Pacific Crest Trail had a website, when I hooked a sudden detour through my children's rooms. My children. Both of them are napping, stripped down to their diaper covers. Natalie is on her belly with her bangkick tucked just enough around her legs to satisfy her. Micah's little belly is heaving away, and his flailing arms are finally trapped and swaddled just enough to keep them quiet, but to leave the rest of him bare. Fans wurr.

I'm somewhat amazed at my moment of quiet, because I never imagined I would find such a space again for quite some time, certainly not so soon. Admittedly, I owe it mostly to Kimberly and Ann's generosity, and upon the pleasantly surprising realization that both kids will sometimes sleep at the same time, like the conjunction of planets. But I also think it is because we are already starting to figure out how to do this, how to parent two children and still take care of ourselves. Sure, lots of folks have figured all of this out before us, but it feels good that we are figuring it out for ourselves.

Negotiations

Natalie has always eaten well. For the most part, she's able to eat the food we prepare for ourselves. She still probably eats better than we do, given our intentions to try and diversify her diet a bit. There are some foods, though, that take some coercion. For example, getting her to eat food higher in iron (meat) isn't the tastiest in her opinion, so we try to mix it with things that hide a bit of the taste (yogurt, avocado). Our tactic is to feed her the mix while simultaneously giving her a tasty food (fruit, pasta, cheese) to eat with her hands as a means of distraction. She's put up with it well, but we have learned where we need to extend to her the same respect. The other day her finger food consisted of pasta shells and blueberries. As I waited with a spoonful of protein-dense blah, she tenaciously put the blueberry inside the pasta shell and lifted the shell to her mouth to eat the whole ensemble. Doing this one handed, she had amazing dexterity. Blueberries fell, pasta was dropped, but each time she succeeded. Mama simply had to wait. Between. Every. Bite.

Cha-kick

Wednesday is the day we usually shop for groceries at Henry's. As we made our list for the most recent trip, Natalie went to the kitchen, pointed and said, "Cha-kick." I've learned this word for chocolate often means anything that comes out of the freezer. I said, "What chocolate?" It would have been impossible for her to have learned of the chocolate Mochi Nate just bought. So, she repeats herself, and much slower so that Mama can catch up. "Chaaa-kiiiick." "Sweetie, there's no chocolate." Probably a blatant lie. Natalie proceeds to walk over to me, point at my lap where our growing list is, and says, again, "Cha-kick." I gave a look to Nate, who mirrored my "Is this for real?" eyes. So, I wrote down 'chocolate' on our list. Natalie reaches for the pen, so I showed her the list and I asked her if what I wrote was correct. She tapped 'chocolate' a couple of times with the pen, and seemed to be satisfied.

Familymoon

For our honeymoon, Nate and I went to the west coast of British Columbia. It seemed to usher in a time of hibernation that following winter where we spent a lot of time learning how to start being married, and we loved it. Before Natalie was born (the weekend of her due date, in fact) Nate and I traveled through a snow storm to the quaint little town of Stokholm, WI, where we spent the day browsing stores, sang carols with a Santa that had trouble staying warm, and stayed at a lovely bed and breakfast during the town's Christmas celebration weekend (a Babymooon, as it were). Natalie's birth rang in the Christmas season and we once again settled in for a long, winter's hiding as we learned about being a family. Boy, did we need it.
The time between Nate returning from Bolivia and the still-pending birth of our newest baby didn't seem promising for any such get-away, especially one involving a toddler. But, we have been pleasantly surprised and quick to embrace opportunities close to home that have kept the three of us enjoyably busy and together. Many of our daily activities involve errands for things we feel will help the baby feel at home, help Natalie feel included, and that will help Mama get through labor and post partum recovery. (I think Nate prides himself on just needing a change of underwear and a toothbrush for the hospital stay; these are things he, of course, already has.) We have also taken advantage of free passes to the Birch Aquarium at Scripps, took a morning at the beach, and celebrated Ethan's birthday in L.A. (which included babysitting so both Nate and I could go to a show with Ethan, Erin and Ian). We are all getting a lot of rest, love strolling to the park here at Mesa where Mama and Papa get to visit as much as Natalie does, and we enjoy time in our apartment watching Natalie T.V. In the evenings Nate and I have re-discovered a few luxuries that come with extra time and a spirit of celebration, including (but not limited to) eating Chinese take-out while watching a favorite show online, reading aloud to each other (Bill Bryson is often a good choice for this), or just finishing up baby-prep tasks that are more difficult to do with a curious little girl around to help. Nate even made it to join Ethan for Quiz Night at Shakespeare's (Ethan's favorite state-side pub).
All these things have brought more growth and bonding to our 3-person family on the eve of this new baby's birth. We've learned again and again that these changes don't mean the other things disappear forever. The are simply made better for it.

Day to Day

When I met Ethan at the airport to await Nate's arrival from Bolivia, I couldn't fathom the fact of having made it 3 weeks without him. When he descended the staircase with his hat, sweatshirt and jeans, and charango sticking out of his backpack I felt not only relief but immense nostalgia. Here he was after having visited Bolivia, where we lived for three years, having walked the same paths we trekked together and supped with our old friends in the places we called home. It was comforting to have him home, and I was anxious to hear the stories.
We took about a week to heal from colds, rest up from separation anxiety and get used to each other again before Nate needed to begin a part-time summer job that a CILAS associate helped him secure before his departure. It didn't take long for anybody. We were most preoccupied with the adjustment Natalie would have to make, but she remembered Papa immediately and their special connection was soon alive with all its affection and intimacy and without a hint of affectation on her part. ¡Qué milagro!
I'm in my 39th week of pregnancy, meaning there is officially one week left before the doctors start pressuring you with all the ways to induce labor. As of today's appointment, not much is indicating imminent labor, but things are starting to change. There are a few observable changes in our apartment that a new baby will arrive soon, but the changes mostly have to do with the pre- and post-natal care of Mama. We'll initially have the baby sleep in our room, with plans to eventually have him in where Natalie sleeps. I guess that comes when we are either sick of sharing our room or feel life isn't wild enough and want to step it up a notch. It could be awhile.
In the meantime, as I move slower and with more effort, Nate is balancing Natalie cares with household and job-related duties. I don't know how he would answer, but most people, when they ask me how I feel, assume my answer will be, "I can't wait to not be pregnant anymore!" In fact, most answer their own question. But for me, though there are times when I grow weary of pregnancy-related body changes, the end of this time doesn't simply mean "not being pregnant" any more. It means the advent of many life changes that are more difficult to handle: less sleep, a change in our family's demographic, a revisiting of all those first-year worries and simply the fact of learning to be a new kind of parent. The spike of a learning curve during crisis is only appreciated in retrospect. That time seems distant on the horizon. So it is with mixed emotions we move forward to this new phase of life. It is also with much anticipation and growing excitement that we look forward to meeting this little guy, guessing where all his features came from, and discovering his personality. We feel confident that Natalie knows there is some being about to be presented to her, that she will do outstanding as an older sister, and that one more Weaver Olson will only make this world a better place.

Por los Valles y los Cerros

Our family is well into our adventure of being separated from Nate while he pursues is summer fieldwork in Bolivia. He will be gone a total of three weeks, and we have one week down. Natalie and I are in San Diego, running the house and staying distracted. So far some of those distractions have been in the form of visits from Oma and the Batstones and visits to the France and Portacio homes. It's been great to be able to visit like that with just a phone call.
I feel that Nate and I are falling into an established pattern during crisis: one of us is able to remain a bit more objective if the other seems to have more immediate needs (read: I'm the objective one in this case). #568 on the list of reasons why marriage longevity suits an immense change such as this. I feel Nate's work has taken great leaps in the short time he's been there. The implications of that are tough to think about, but there are some indisputable directions his work can go whether he pursues it or not. He's made a herculean (I seem to love that adjective on this blog) effort to connect with many historians and archivists since his arrival in Bolivia and much of it has had immediate returns. A lot of it has highlighted the need to spend more time there in the future but has also raised some concerns of his about how his work will be received in a community of folks we considered our neighbors while we lived there. During the last quarter of the school year he completed a paper (more like a "down payment on my thesis", he said) that he's using as the basis for most of the information he's trying to obtain in these three short weeks. Specifically, he is doing a study of a population of people he believes to have been integral in the founding of the town of Vallegrande, a town in a province of the same name situated in the valleys of Bolivia. Current scholarship doesn't recognize their existence in the area, though other records and works by Bolivian historians wrote of their presence during the founding of the town of Vallegrande. Nate's work seeks to address the validity of their presence, how they were effectively written out of Vallegrande's history, and the implications for their contribution to the cultural and ancestral roots in the town and province. These folks were of black African ancestry, which potentially poses issues of rejection and dispute in Nate's pursuit of primary resources in Bolivia with local historians, parish archives and the general acceptance of the province's denizens.
Emotionally it's been a trip through the more figurative Valley and I think Nate is struggling to see how far he has come. Already raw from end-of-school year burnout, this trip, just one week after finals, has been almost more than he can bear. He's ready to be full-time Papa and hubby the way he wants to be and not how it's been dictated to him by the constraints of academic time and responsibility.
Natalie and I are doing fine, despite the new challenges we're facing in his absence. These things will change us all but the loneliness and struggle to get through each day are only temporary. I'm one month from being full-term with this pregnancy and my challenges are pretty base and visceral: parenting a toddler amidst constant fatigue. I'm also coming to the end of my work time pre-delivery with only two weekends left. In that respect I am feeling physical limits as well. But I don't see this time as a negative: our daytime routine is much like it was during the school year, we have awesome opportunities to connect with family, and I am not afraid of the solitude during the evenings. In a sense our path to this point was by choice, but I wouldn't say I chose this role during this time. But I do it willingly, maybe not always gladly, because I love the guy. This is so far from any martyr sentiment that I have been close to on other occasions that I was ready to jump right in, big belly and all. He would do the same.
So, we are reserving the right to live even more isolated lives when he returns and we get ready to welcome our new baby. You don't need to remind us of the transition issues, just politely listen when we start complaining about it during our bi-monthly phone calls. Maybe, if you can't resist sending advice our way you could at least put it in the form of a song or haiku.
Advice and all, we could never do this on our own. The contribution of all is not lost on us, so here is my one-line thanks that inadequately reflects the gratitude in my heart.

It is Finished....For Now.

Last night (or this morning, depending on who was in which phase of sleep) Nate handed in the last paper he had pending for the quarter, thus the school year. I'm so proud of him, completing this first year of graduate school with some outstanding work and success. I used to think graduate school was just 30-somethings writing papers and having more difficulty because they had been out of practice, but was I wrong. Nate's class of 9 students is by no means a microcosm of all graduate departments, but the work load was grueling for everyone. For us, the only family with a child (and one on the way), it was a team effort: we all shouldered part of the burden. I am amazed at what is expected of students above and beyond class, homework and work schedules. Conferences, meetings, and department-wide participation in other students' events are recommended with a knowing look that communicates much more than "your presence is requested...". Nate made herculean efforts to be known by various faculty in the history department, foresight that I find extraordinary when he was so bogged down with the daily details of student life. Because he plans on applying this fall for various PhD programs in 2010, these connections were necessary.
Our family only has one week's rest before our next journey into uncharted territory: Nate's departure for three weeks to Bolivia to do archival research. Research-wise it is hardly any time at all. Family-wise it feels like an eternity to be apart. With the hands-on help of both Natalie's grandmas we will have some great visitors and help while I keep my work schedule on the weekends. It is also a momentous occasion because he will be returning to a land we both called home, and visiting people who became our family while we lived in Bolivia. I'm sad not to make this journey with him. His return to the US will coincide with the advent of our birth month (the two weeks before and after the proposed due date of July 29), another journey into uncharted territory. The two months before classes start next fall will be a special time for all of us, an insular time as we get used to the new shape of our family. Thank you all for taking this journey with us--we will need you on the road ahead.

Honesty

Natalie, after having most of her breakfast sees Nate getting our breakfast together, which she will share with us.
Natalie: "Bag-o!" (bagel)
Nate: "Well, how about some egg?"
Natalie: "Eeek!" (egg)
Nate sits down, gives Natalie some egg.
Natalie: "Bag-o!"
She gets a piece of bagel with jelly on it, delightedly licks of the jelly then eats the bagel piece.
Natalie: "Mo? Mo bag-o?"
I said, "Don't you mean more jelly with bagel?"
Natalie, to Nate: "Mo? Mo chuh-wee (jelly)?"

Conversations with Natalie

I'm taking some inspiration from friend and fellow blogger Melissa to start documenting conversations with our daughter that seem particularly memorable. Though she is just at the cusp of putting words together to form verbal ideas and sentences, we found out this morning that they aren't necessary when needing to get her point across. This was before breakfast this morning:
Natalie (sort of fussy) to Nate: "Up? Up?"
Nate picks her up.
Natalie, a bit authoritatively points to the refrigerator, "Open?"
Nate opens the 'fridge.
With a big smile, Natalie says, "Boo-babies?" (blueberries)

What Wondrous Love Is This

For all the reasons this pregnancy is different from the first, we are thankful. Though we wish our concentrated efforts to document the pregnancy were more fruitful, we still try to get pictures of Baby BG while he's still in the belly. Here is the most recent.
As Natalie learns more and more words it seems that some days she wakes up and simply experiments with her own thoughts and dreams. The juxtaposition of little baby and little girl brings so much joy to us. This video was from breakfast the other day.




Dad has been on my mind a lot lately. The song, Wondrous Love, reminds me so much of him because of the a cappella, bluegrass style, but also for the lines, "And when from death I'm free I'll sing on...and through eternity I'll sing on." And we have no doubt that he is.

Pregnancy, Pressure and Parking

Pardon the alliteration. It's my attempt at being clever and witty. You see, I have pregnancy brain and it has rendered out my creativity to a thin myelin on my general humor. Mommy medulla, if you will. I'm 26 weeks along and look 35 weeks. The nose dive in attention given to consecutive pregnancies has not been lost on our family. Journals, pictures, sound diet, and general contemplation are all fond memories of a time and place called Pregnancyland. Though my brain seems to have gone there on holiday, I'm living in Toddleropolis and it's quite a disparate existence. Our little guy is healthy in all the ways we can tell from prenatal tests (thanks, state of Cali) and general mommy well-being. We call him Baby BG and, when the few moments of contemplation come, we wonder wonder wonder about him.
Nate is well into his third quarter of school in the Latin American Studies department. His prospectus to an all-Grad symposium was accepted, so he'll be giving a talk this Thursday that will connect an area of his research on a community from the area of Bolivia we lived to the symposium's key focus topic, memory. Nate is also waiting for word, more like an official verification, of a research grant he applied for to study in Bolivia. He is working again at 50% time, still as a graduate student researcher, and as the primary translator for a book written in Spanish, authored by a visiting scholar from Peru. Prioritizing all of that with being a dad and husband has required a herculean effort, not without its drawbacks. The pressure is tremendous.
Speaking of. We have used a pressure cooker on a weekly basis for almost a decade, but two weeks ago as I was just about to turn down the heat after the cooker reached full steam the overpressure plug completely blew out. Our wall is now stained a pale blue and I just paid $2 s/h for a $3 replacement part. It was also very loud.
I think parking is going to be an issue for me, here in California. Not for lack of it, but for the tiny, parallel spaces provided. In most parking situations, I can't open Natalie's door all the way so, while trying not to scratch the neighbor car, squeeze one arm inside to unbuckle (or buckle) and pull her out. A one-armed pull is much easier than the replacement scenario. There are more than a few reasons for moms not leaving the house with the kiddos.

13-Month Party

I used to be one of those people that rolled her eyes every time a parent, when asked how old their child was, would give the child's age in months. If it wasn't divisible by 2, I had no idea how old the kid really was, but honestly didn't care. It was a question for the sake of conversation. Now, I find myself as one of the Ones Whom I Scorned. I rationalize it by saying, "Well, 13 months is very different from 12 and 14, don't you see?" And, for the most part, it's true. On Natalie's first birthday she took her first step. Since then, her mobility, verbalization, continual grasp of cause and effect, dexterity and nighttime sleep habits have changed exponentially. Now she's 13 months (just over 1 year) and we're wondering how much more 'little girl' she'll become before next month's birthday.
We had a little party (a bit late) on the 20th (her 13th month was January 17th). Ethan came up and made us a stellar batch of blueberry scones, and accompanied by eggs and coffee we had a great mid-week celebration.
Oh, the new president's inauguration just happened to be on the same day and at the same time we were celebrating with Natalie.

Winterness

I've been musing about winter lately. Understandable, as San Diego's seems the antithesis of Minnesota's, something for which I'm told daily I should thank my lucky snowshoes. Sure, I'm a Minnesotan who has grown tired of the long winters, it seems, the older I get. It was less about snow days and holidays and more about slipping on ice, gaining weight and long-night burnout. And the cold got to me, made me a little grouchier at the Target clerk or the driver ahead of me. But, these should not be the things of native-deep sentiment, right?
I found some parallels in these musings, strangely enough (strange as in the way thoughts come to you just before going to sleep or waking up), in some syntactical characteristics of the Quechua language. (Bear with me, it will be beautiful.) Quechua is one of three official indigenous languages spoken in Bolivia, in addition to Spanish, and is spoken throughout the Andean region of South America. Nate took a keen interest in the study of Quechua, something he's still pursuing in his graduate studies, from its influence on the Spanish we learned while living in Bolivia. In Quechua, when a word appears singularly, its definition, as I assume it is in most languages, is simply that of its own meaning: nina = fire, for example. If the word appears twice, it doesn't mean its plural but almost the quintessence of the singular definition; the essence of the thing. Again: nina nina = fiery. Or firey. Very fire, if we could.
So it was a deep nostalgia that a poem by Cristina Rosetti stirred up in me, written as a Christmas poem. It is also the basis for one of my favorite books of Natalie's, one from which I will momentarily borrow. The poem is called In the Bleak Midwinter. My favorite passage follows:

"In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago."

For San Diegans this would conjure up images of a gulag labor camp. But for me, Minnesotan as winter wheat, and with a shred of knowledge of a language spoken in a different celestial hemisphere that yields a moment of poetic license, it made me miss winterness. Not so much the snow, but the snow on snow, snow on snow. What big flakes, shovelling and weather reports all mean together. The essence of winter, cultivated from a lifetime of seeking comfort from the bleakness and the stone-hard winter blues. What winter tires, rosy cheeks and wearing boots to church mean. The heaviness of the clothes on clothes, blankets on blankets. I miss the collective, cultural descent from the high heat of the summer with its mad rush to get a year's worth of outsideness done in three months, through the gradual slowing of time and changing of leaves, to the viscous pace of the winter. It was rhythmic and dependable. It was living the paradox of being rooted yet in perpetual expectation, because it never lasted forever.
For now, I'm happy to do without the street-side parking chaos for plowing, bluer office lights and atmospheric treachery lurking in the darkness. I won't be quick, though, to mindlessly forget it simply because I live in sunny California. They were the things of winter that made me more glad to always be going home home.

Rellies

When Mom and Dad moved east some 35 years ago they probably didn't see how difficult. getting family to traverse that same distance would be. Whether it was climate, cost or time it was simply a tough journey to make, either direction. Nate and I have had the experience of being close to the family in Minnesota, but not the extended France family or immediate Olson/Batstone family in Cali. So it is with new geographic privilege that we are a phone call away from drop-in visitors. At the increasingly pleasant prospect of seeing extended family on collective vacation days or simply during a visit while attending a function we also face the challenge of being stretched thin. Not a terrible conundrum to be in, but challenging in its resolution.
Natalie and I have had the chance to visit with my cousins at the zoo and wild animal park, stay a couple of nights with her cousins in Compton, get visits from parents/grandparents and feel a closer presence to all the rest.
It brings a measure of repose to have that as we draw closer to the holidays, the first without Dad. I don't think any of us relish any of the newness that his absence will mean in these coming days, regardless of where we will find ourselves. Change and comfort are rarely great bedfellows but I think the effort to insert newness, such as, for us, California during Christmas, is a dramatic but relevant occasion that may help to assist us through these especially difficult times. Dad wouldn't have sacrificed the Holiday season in Minnesota for one in California just to tip the scale of familial duty but would have traveled to the ends of the earth if it meant being with family. It seems strange,though, that the place he so dearly loved, the home, the snow, the fireplace and everything that meant contentment to him will sit empty this Christmas while the rest of us scratch our heads at how to deal.
I guess like the visits with extended family that bring the newness of the interim since the previous visit, our immediate family will bring new holiday experiences to our next gathering. Dad will stay in our memories of holidays old, but no doubt anxious to hear the new stories. He always loved a good story.

Not to be confused with a grisly scene from at least two movies Ethan was happy to compare, this was Natalie Saturday night after dinner. Beets, they are. Since she's started solid food we've prepared it all at home. It's the cheapest monetarily but a very time-consuming venture. It requires baking/steaming and then pureeing, then freezing said puree in the ice cube trays. Natalie is slowly learning to eat more textured foods and enjoys eating several things on her own but she's definitely got an issue with some textures. I thought, egregiously, that this night I would try and curb some time and effort by simply putting the beets through the food mill instead of the blender. Well, haste makes waste. Her unwillingness to 'chew' certain food is strangely absent of defiance. She simply spits it out, looks at it, then promptly rubs her eyes. Ethan was visiting and thought it an outstanding opportunity (check his Facebook page). I think we're on our way to one-meal preparation for the three of us as we see Natalie point to our plates, or climb on us as we eat our breakfast while sitting on the floor, a habit we want to change (not eating at the table, that is).

Officially official

I thought for awhile about a blog that would delve into the costly consequences of having to depend on the services of someone who does not like their job. Maybe they like it, but are indifferent to their work which, I believe, is more insidious. Then I thought that could lead into another blog about how that's made me work even harder to earn institutional services that we have found available, thus negating the stereotype of public service recipients being lazy, tax-sucking slobs. As much as I love to preach and fly in the face of convention, I got tired just having that whole conversation in my head.
Suffice it to say, I finally received my Cal driver's license. I applied for it the first week of September. Make no mistake, though. My gripe, well, bafflement is better said, is not with the DMV. I followed their exact instructions, honored their request for more information regarding my seizure history (a delay I expected), and found the clerk I spoke to very professional and courteous. What happened was that the DMV sent it to my p.o. box and it wasn't delivered but sent back to the DMV. Why would the post office do this? Because some min-wage high-school lackey looked at our change of address form, filled out in Lanesboro (so we're talking mid-August), and decided one of our last names would be sufficient instead of both. As a result, we were getting mom's mail and some of ours. She was still getting some of our mail back in Lanesboro. I called the post office and they told me to fill out new change of address forms, but one for each member of the household and that mom should do the same, including one for Dad. (Insert rhetorical question here.) We did. The license must have been caught in that transition, therefore not delivered to "Weaver". I didn't understand this until my temporary license was a week from expiring. I called the DMV and they told me simply that it was returned. I asked if I could go pick it up, just to be safe, and I was told No, the local DMV doesn't distribute the hard copies and that I'll have to have my name put on a list for the hard copy to be re-sent. Then she said, "We'll send you a temporary one in the mean time." (Insert rhetorical question here.) I thought she was joking. She wasn't. Having not received anything after a week I called again and a different clerk said she didn't see any record that the license was sent, not even a temporary one and I should go to the DMV, wait in line to get a number, and apply for another temporary one. Well, there's a happy ending to all of this: on Wednesday I received a handwritten, temporary license good for 60 days, which was a relief since my present temporary license was to expire yesterday. Lo and behold, the hard copy arrived yesterday, just in time. But I love the irony: I suddenly was licensed in triplicate, if only for one day.

Dancing Queen