There's six packs of butter in my fridge

Tonight begins the baking frenzy…

Friday is Charlie’s 3rd birthday, and Caitlyn’s birthday is next week, so we are having a joint party for them this Saturday. A birthday boy and a birthday girl means two cakes (well, an airplane cake and strawberry cupcakes to be exact) plus cookies shaped like ‘1’s and ‘3’s. And a dark dark chocolate cakes for the grown-ups.

But there’s other baking to be done around here – a strategy meeting with my boss tomorrow will be accompanied by brownies. Another batch of brownies for the hotel room of the Territorial Commander who is in Dublin this weekend. Cookies for the coffee time after the Sunday service the TC is leading. Another cake for next Tuesday’s mother and baby group (that’s a weekly bake I do). Probably cupcakes again for Caitlyn’s actual birthday next Wednesday. And then Brunch Church muffins next week…

I like baking. It’s my spiritual gift.

I used to think spiritual gifts were only things like evangelism or teaching or wisdom. I used to think the ministry God was calling me to involved preaching and teaching and saving poor sinners. But now I reach out to the world around me with a baby on my hip and a plate of cake in my hand.

‘I was thinking about you last night, knowing we were going to meet. I stirred with you in mind, hoping to bring a smile to your face. Here is a little treat for you, and tell me, how are you doing?’

Babies

'It's Caitlyn's birthday soon' I said at dinner tonight, and made a sad face.

'What's wrong Mommy? Why do you look like that?'

'Well, Caitlyn is getting bigger. And although I like it when you guys get bigger, I'm sad that she won't be a baby anymore. Because I like babies.'

'Don't worry Mommy,' says my four-year-old. 'I'll have a baby. Then I can be a Mommy too!'

That will be nice sweetheart. I'm already looking forward to it.

Farewell, faithful companion. You will be sorely missed.

After weeks (maybe even months) of denying it, I must face facts.

(no, I'm no pregnant)

The afternoon nap is no more. Moment of silence please.

No really, could I get at least a MOMENT of even near-silence in a day?

Caitlyn still naps, of course. And Alannah hasn't for a while now, but she can easily be pawned off with 10 minutes of Mommy time followed by time on her own to make up stories with her ponies or something.

But now Charlie, who is nearly 3, has definitely stopped needing an afternoon sleep. And with 2 kids up, there is just no way around it. Entertaining must occur. And I really don't know what to do. I can think of activities, but everything just feels like a big effort. Just don't feel like dragging out craft supplies or the sandbox or the playdough or whatever. Mostly because then I would have to clean it up, and I already feel annoyed by all the cleaning I have to do (and while I'm cleaning something up, they are dumping the car box or dressing up chest or books all over the floor in another room).

I'm feeling rotten about not wanting to do anything with them. Bleh.

In other news, I fed Charlie tons of apple juice, dried apricots, grapes, and pears over the weekend to get past his refusal to poo on the toilet (he hadn't been for a few days and I was worried). It backfired. Or, fired out the back. A new rug is necessary.

Charlie just came in and told me I smell nice. He is a sweetheart, in spite of everything.

Sleeeeeeeeeeeeep.................

So Caitlyn and I seemed to have made an uneasy truce…after a week of controlled crying (Marcus calls it ‘controlled cruelty’) we have agreed on 6 am as a wake-up time. She has been requesting a 3am transfer to our bed, and til now it has been granted. But it was time to put my foot down. And it has been a nightmare. Except you have to be asleep to have a nightmare.

At first, when the cry came at 3 am, I would go in and hold her until she fell asleep. Gently, slowly I would lower her back into the cot – as soon as her back touched the mattress, she would scream.

I switched to stroking her head – she played with my hand. I tried stroking her head, then doing ‘gradual withdrawal’. A minute by the side of the cot. Step towards the door. A minute later, another step towards the door. Another minute, another step. But as soon as the door creaked on its hinges to announce my departure, she was wailing again.

I had to do it, the full-on unpleasant way. She cried – I went in, patted her tummy and whispered ‘Mommy loves you but it’s time to sleep now’ (who do you think that little mantra was meant to soothe?) then I left the room. She cried. I went in a minute later, and patted her again, and left. This time I waited 2 minutes. The next time, 3 minutes. And so on.

The first few nights she screamed fairly solidly from 3 until 6, except for the brief moments I came in and patted her. Then she decided to play a trick of her own. She would cry, I would go in and pat her then leave. She would cry a bit, but quiet down. I waited 1 minute, 2 minutes, 5 minutes, 10 minutes. Smug, I climbed back into my bed. Just, just as I started to drop off to sleep, she would wail. The timing was impeccable.

It’s been a hard few days, with tiredness making me grumpy and impatient. A busy working week hasn’t helped, with my fuzzy sleep deprived brain. Today (after a good, but busy Palm Sunday service) we all sat down for Sunday afternoon. I desperately wanted a nap but Alannah came up to me.

Poor older sister. She shares a room with the baby and has been woken up every night, too. And she doesn’t even drink coffee to help her stay awake during the day. She brought me one of her little sylvanian family figures. ‘Can you make her a scarf Mommy?’

I did it. With bleary eyes, while the baby slept, I knit a teeny tiny scarf and hat for a little cat. And tonight, and tomorrow, and tomorrow night, the mothering marches on…

Happy St Patrick's Day!

A different perspective

So I went today for a certain 'uncomfortable test' that is just part of every woman's life. To my shame, I haven't had this done since we moved to Ireland nearly 6 years ago. But a recent ad campaign and the picture of a certain reality-show star's sad children about to lose their mother sent me off to the GP.

Oh, don't you love cultural differences? The last time I had this particular test done was in America. At a specialist lady doctor's office (I'm not embarrassed to write it, just can't be bothered to think of the spelling). White office, crisp white coats, nurse to take details and doctor to do the actual unpleasant bit in a clean sterile office.

Today I was at the GP, who has a practice set up in a house. Cozy light, carpeted floor, fireplace. Bit more relaxing, I think, not just for today but anytime any of us have to go in.

But the biggest difference was during the actual test (which, by the way, if you know what I'm talking about and are putting off getting one done, just do it. It's not a big deal). The nurse was chatting to me the whole time. About the weather, the kids, the upcoming St Patrick's Day. As I got undressed, as she did her bit, as I got dressed again, chat chat chat.

The Irish love the craic! (pronounced 'crack', meaning fun.)

A few bits and pieces

Like always, I've been mentally drafting blog entries, not posting them, and falling behind. SO here are the condensed versions:

• Caitlyn was crying the other night and I standing next to the cot holding her. I was so tired/half-asleep I honestly thought I was just going to fall down. But she screamed if I even started to bend my legs towards sitting down. Her Highness insists we stand in her presence.

• I noticed the crocuses are coming up and some trees are beginning to bloom, and wondered: why is Lent during Spring? Just when life starts to get a bit better after winter, we're supposed to deprive ourselves of something enjoyable? (I know, it's because of Easter). Oh, and people with ashes on their heads for Ash Wednesday still always make me do a double-take.

• I didn't give anything up for Lent, but I'm going to try to go for a walk every day. Not easy when it's too dark after the kids go to bed to go then, and there's always at least 1 non-buggy-riding child with me all day. Walking with children is not exercise, it's just annoying.

• Alannah is learning Irish at nursery, but I can't tell what are real irish words and what are just the made up words of a four year old. They sound strikingly similar.

• The other night I was making dinner and all was quiet, so of course I went to check it out. The older two were indeed playing nicely with each other when I went into the room. I left them to their game, but I had broken the spell..the fighting broke out as soon as I left, and they remembered they wanted to vie for my attention.

• I was lying down with Charlie at bedtime yesterday and we were talking about rugby. I looked at those big blue eyes, soft little cheeks, and kissed him. And said 'Even when you are a big boy who plays rugby, I will still kiss you, because that's what Mommies do.'

Motivation

With my driving license still shiny-new (I passed the test just a few weeks ago) I finally got the chance to drive in another country – Northern Ireland. It wasn’t until I actually crossed the border that I realized I wasn’t sure of all the different road signs up there, what the whole traffic light sequence is all about (green-yellow-red-yellow?), and how to convert the speed limit signs (in mph) to what my speedometer read (in kph).

I was on day-release from my little (still breastfeeding) warden, who insisted I be back in time for bedtime, so I didn’t even get a chance to stop and take advantage of the good exchange rate. Just went up to a training day and back home again. The training was dull, but I was quite frankly giddy at the opportunity to be with adults, think about work things, and even ask questions and have discussions without being interrupted by small children.

Even better was the drive home – two hours by myself to just listen to the radio and think. I was energized by being around people, excited about some new ideas, resolved to begin to put them into action and see our ministry grow. I felt my world expanding – soon I will stop breastfeeding Caitlyn, Alannah will go to primary school, Charlie will go to nursery. I will be able to think and work again.

By Monday my resolve was disappearing. The oppressive fog of broken sleep (we are on week 3 of a nasty cold being passed around the family, with at least one child feverish/coughing/crying for a stretch in the middle of the night), the slow leak of ideas and concentration as the baby literally drains me of energy, my seaweed children clinging to me, slowing down everything I do. My world, my motivation, my mood, shrunk.

I want to do my work, to do ministry in our community. I want to reach out to people and build relationships. What I DON’T want to do is the laundry. The dishes. The constant soothing of tantrums and bickering. I get so unmotivated doing those things on my home days (like Monday) that I get down, and that makes it hard to be motivated to do the work things. Lack of motivation plus lack of time/freedom means I can’t do all the exciting things I was planning to do. I get even more down, and now start to blame myself for being lazy.

And it’s February, and grey, and I have to go to the dentist.

BUT, this time last year I was going to a different training day, that one in London. I flew over, it was a windy, bumpy flight, I was 7 months pregnant, and I threw up all over myself. So at least that’s not all going on, too.

The Potty Train Has Left The Station Without Us

o, okay I should have known better. Our first child was a disaster to toilet train, there was way too much drama involved (and the bribery just got out of control!). Second child – a boy this time, and I know boys take longer to ‘get it’. But he showed some signs he was ready at 2 and 4 months, so why not go for it?

Potty training stories (especially failures) are disgusting and not that interesting, so I will sum up: it was messy, it was annoying, I got cross with him and that just made things worse. After 4 months we have given up, and Charlie is back in nappies.

Which means we once again have two children in nappies. Here is a photo:

Okay, I have to admit, this is from 2 years ago, when Charlie was a baby and he and Alannah were in nappies. Soon after, I decided that I could only manage saving the planet one child at a time. Although wearing a bulky cloth nappy might inspire Charlie to use the toilet, I just couldn’t keep up with all the washing and drying. So he is in disposables at the moment.

But here is a blog post that has been running through my mind for at least 2 ½ years now, ever since I started blogging. Cloth nappies: the good, the bad, the unexpected.

The good

• Saves money. Especially now we’re on the third user.
• The money we save goes towards a weekly DVD and pizza night, and valuable ‘couple time.’
• Lesser environmental impact. Some studies have said that washing cloth nappies is just as bad for the environment as ‘sposies, just in a different way. But those studies were washing nappies at a very high water temperature (not necessary) with lots of washing powder (not necessary, and makes them less absorbent) and tumble-drying (also makes them less absorbent). Absorbency is important!
• It’s not like it used to be – there are no pins or fancy folds involved, you just put them in a waterproof cover with Velcro fasteners. And there’s a paper liner which makes changing poo-ey ones not so bad.
• It’s not all or nothing – we use disposables at night, and if we’re going out for the day, or we are on vacation.

The bad

• We put them in a bucket and wash them every three days. When that bucket is emptied, hold your nose! (and may I add, Marcus has emptied every single nappy bucket we have filled. He’s incredible).
• The washing, hanging up to dry, taking down again, folding, putting them away does take up a lot of time.
• They have to be changed much more frequently, especially as the baby becomes a toddler who guzzles juice.
• Some particularly messy nappies have to be dunked in the toilet. And in the winter that water is cooooooooooooooold!
• They are much more bulky under clothes and some things just won’t fit over them.

The unexpected

• It makes me feel better about running the dishwasher and having just bought a new TV.
• The extra bulk makes learning-to-walk bottom bumps more cushioned. And going down the slide is faster, too (really!).
• When the stubborn, reluctant, physically unready 2 ½ year old poos in his underpants for the 4th time that day, I don’t have to throw them in the regular wash or run a separate load, they just go in the nappy bucket.
• You can take a vacation! Most mothering tasks don’t stop when you go on holiday – feeding, bathing, putting to bed – and that includes changing nappies. But when we go on vacation, we have to change that baby’s bottom half as often, and don’t have to deal with the bucket/washing/drying/folding thing.

Cloth nappies have good and bad points, but it basically boils down to: they are kind of a pain, but we feel good for using them. But when we finally get that boy (and his baby sister) out of all nappies, cloth or disposable, that will be even better!

The latest thing to think about when I can't sleep

So there is a ’25 interesting facts about me’ thing going around facebook. And some people don’t want to do it. Other people can’t come up with 25 things. What??? I was dropping not-subtle hints for someone to ask me to do it, and then I had to keep revising my list to get it down to 25. Are other people not as interesting as me? Or do I just think too much of myself?

And then I saw on my friend’s Mylestones blog this adaptation: 25 things about your baby. I nearly wrote it about my 4 year old or 2 year old, who would be much easier to think of 25 things about. But it was nice to have to think about the little one: what of her little self is shining through already?

She is 9 months old today, and such an easy baby. I’m often asked if going from 2 to 3 children was harder than 1 to 2, and I say no, but only because my 3rd baby has been the best behaved one (so far, long may it remain so!). My little babykins, here is her story:

1. My name is Caitlyn Aoife Mylechreest
2. Caitlyn means ‘pure’ and Aoife (which is an Irish name pronounced Ee-fa) means ‘beautiful’
3. I was born on 6 May, 2008 – 2 weeks later than Mommy expected, and 5 days after my brother’s birthday. I get my lateness from my daddy.
4. My Mommy is American and my Daddy is English, but I’m Irish because I was born in Dublin. I have an Irish birth certificate, and Irish passport, and Irish citizenship.
5. I like to suck my thumb and first finger.
6. I do like having a bit of milk, but if there’s anything interesting going on in the room at the same time I’ll turn my head to see what’s going on. I don’t know why that’s a problem.
7. I really, really, really hate being on my tummy.
8. Seriously, I hate it, so don’t make me do it. I can roll over, I just get so annoyed about being on my tummy that I don’t want to.
9. I used to not like solid food, but now I think they’re great. Gimme more!
10. Toast. Have you had toast? It’s delicious and fun to wave around.
11. I have to suck the toast because I don’t have any teeth.
12. I like to eat so much my mommy is afraid one day I’ll pop!
13. I love my mommy best out of anything in the whole world.
14. When my mommy puts me down I cry.
15. When I am playing on the floor, if I look up and see my mommy and she isn’t holding me, I cry.
16. If someone else is holding me and I’m crying so they give me back to my mommy, I put my hand on her mouth so I know it’s her.
17. When I cry in the middle of the night, Daddy tries to help me stop, but I really just want mommy.
18. When I came home from the hospital my mommy and daddy put me in their bed the first night. Now I mainly sleep in my cot, but sometimes in the middle of the night I come into their bed. I like to look back and forth from mommy to daddy, and it’s so exciting to be between them I wiggle and laugh and can’t get back to sleep.
19. I try to wake up every morning at exactly 6:10 am. Sometimes I’m one or two minutes off, but never more than that.
20. I like it when my daddy kisses me with his scratchy beard.
21. I like it when my big sister dances and jumps up and down.
22. I don’t like it so much when my big brother does his cars on my head.
23. I like it when my mommy plays the guitar.
24. My favorite toy is a stuffed lollipop that is good to suck and wave around (kind of like the toast, but less mushy).
25. I like to say ‘Ma-ma-ma’ and I think my mommy likes it too.

Fixed

A certain someone (who shares my last name but not my DNA) recently made a BIG mistake.

The kind of mistake that carries with it a sizable fine. And requires attendance at a meeting on a day when we happen to be on vacation in another country. Which means while he returns to Ireland to deal with the problem, I am left to entertain 3 kids by myself. And by the way, it's the day we have to be out of our cabin by 10 am, meaning the kids and I have to find stuff to do in a public place until probably after 7 pm. Grrrrr.

BUT, he sorted it out! Fine paid, meeting cancelled, everything okay now, he remains with us on holiday. Oh, happy relief.

Except.... I was already thinking of ways he could make it up to me. Gifts. Days to myself. Multiple apologies.

I had the power, and the balance has shifted back to the middle. And that makes me a bit grumpy. Shallow, isn't it?

Other reasons I can't sleep

It's not just my thoughts that keep me awake. It's also:

1. The baby is still sleeping in our room, with her sniffling, snorting, sighing, squirming, and 'thwuck thwup thwup nm nm nm' thumb sucking. Not only noisy, but I hve to lie very still so she doesn't open her eyes, see me, and want a bit of attention.

2. The two year old often wakes up and comes to our room to get in our bed. He stands by my head and stage-whispers 'Mommy, I brought my blanket. I wuv yu Mommy.' Aww, climb on in, then.

3. And probably the most likely culprit, my husband got a new espresso machine for Christmas and our afternoon tea break has been replaced with an afternoon cappucino break!

Me and my thoughts

I struggle to fall asleep. No matter how tired I am (even when the kids were newborns) it takes me a while to shut off my brain, relax and go to sleep.

Evenings are when I tend to get overly emotional. In fact, my husband and I have a no-fighting-after-10 pm rule. If I start to pick an argument, he’ll point out the time and tell me to go to bed instead of getting worked up (do I sometimes still go ahead and arue until I get worked up? Yes. Does he sometimes deserve it? Yes.) But even though I can avoid fighting with him late at night, I still lie in bed and fight with myself.

My top themes include: I’m not being a good mother -- I was too mean /impatient /shouty /unimaginative with the kids today (I always resolve that tomorrow we will build the couch fort, bake cookies, get out of the house and go to the park). Or, I’m not doing a good job with my ministry – I’m not working hard enough, I’m putting things off instead of getting them done on time, I’m not praying hard enough, the reason there’s not more people coming to church is entirely my fault. Or I wasn’t a good friend today – I talked when I should have listened, I told stupid stories that no one cares about, I should have offered to help, I should have called…hey, why isn’t anyone calling me? I don’t have any friends, no one likes me, that’s why this ministry thing will never work, because I’m unlikebale and I don’t pray enough and I shout at my kids…

So, you can see why Marcus has to stop me from fighting with him, right? Because my thoughts snowball so rapidly I might as well build a fort and invite the neighborhood over for a snowball fight.

Now, don’t worry, these are late at night thoughts, not all the time thoughts. There is some truth to these self-criticisms, but in the light of day I can give myself much more of a break.
I have had this problem of over –self-evaluating at night for a long time, so I have a few strategies to help me relax and go to sleep. Trying to remember every detail of the walk I used to take to school each morning. Remembering all the names of people in the high school band. Assigning each letter a numerical value and adding up the numbers in each family members’ names (that’s for when my thoughts are really down and I need something big to occupy my mind).

But lately I have taken to composing blog entries in my head. Sometimes they are sharing my frustrations with the day, sometimes a funny story that happened. The thing is, I start to obsess over the wording I want. And then, because it’s late and I’m not in a good emotional place, I think ‘Why would anyone want to read this anyway? I’ll bore the whole of the internet with my sad-sack tales, which is just as bad as talking too much and not listening to my friends). And the thing that was supposed to help me calm down and go to sleep has me all wound up again.
And the worst part? I don’t even then write it on my blog. So the next night I either re-compose it in my head, or beat myself up over the fact that I don’t keep up with my blog! Sheesh. Would you just give yourself a break, woman?

So, I am going to try to write some of these blog entries down, because I do want to write, and that will take away some of the blog guilt. And I do think they help me get a perspective on my life – even as I wrote this, I can see how ridiculous some of my thinking is, and that makes me feel better. The thing is, it’s not like monopolising the conversation. No one has to read this if they don’t want to. But if you are reading this, don’t worry. Life is always better in the morning than I think it is late at night.

And by the way, my name adds up to 234.

I'm looking for a doctor...

who will surgically implant a magnetic chip in the baby's hand. Then I will go around putting metal strips on everything, and when I hand her a toy, cup, spoon, etc. she won't automatically drop it on the floor. And I won't have to spend half my day bending over to pick stuff up, handing it to her, and then repeating the process over and over again.

Especially in a cafe, where I feel the disapproving eyes looking at me: 'That mother is giving the cup back to the child? After it's been on the floor?' So when the 2 1/2 year old drops his muffin on the floor, I let the disapproving eyes get to me and tell him not to eat it because it's yucky. And he cries.

Then the 4 year old chimes in with 'We CAN'T waste food Mommy, or you will smack our bottoms!' Yes, my sweetheart, that only applies when I have cooked a nice delicious meal (that until today was your absolute favorite) which you refuse to even taste, and the thought of scraping it all into the bin (that's the trash, my American friends) is really irritating me. Attention, disapproving eyes: I don't smack her bottom every time she doesn't clear her plate, really I don't.

So a magnetic chip for the baby: invisible so the disapproving eyes don't see. A snack for the boy that he won't drop and then pick up and eat. A volume control for the girl who likes to broadcast my predilection to adminster discipline over seemingly minor matters.

And for myself, a strong nerve that doesn't think everyone is looking at me disapprovingly. They have their own things to worry about, after all. Why would they even notice me?

Until I bundle everyone up to leave and notice every one of my children is going out to face the winter's day with a bare head and bare hands because I forgot hats and mittens. And then the boy picks up my coffee cup to finish off the dregs of cappucino foam...

Daddy Long Legs

Marcus and the kids are still gone, so today Caitlyn and I went to the mall. Amongst other bits and pieces we picked up, I had to get Alannah some new jeans.
I haven't started taking her in to try clothes on yet (when do you start doing that?) but I did measure her the other day. The kids clothes (shirts, dresses, trousers) go by age and list the height, so I checked to see how tall she is. She's 111 cm (we're metric! It's Europe!) tall.
I went to buy her jeans, and size 5 (which I think is for ages 4-5) went up to 110 cm, so I bought size 6. Size 6! The child won't even be 4 1/2 until next month!
It sent me into a panic -- is she too big for her age? Am I feeding her too much? Not getting enough exercise? Will she be picked on at school (she'll already be ne of the oldest, so wll she be absolutely huge compared ot the others)?
Breathe, jane. Calm down. The child is not skin and bone, but she is on the lanky side of normal, not the chubby side. She is in size 6 jeans because she is tall, not overweight. And she is tall because of her 6'1 father (he's English so doesn't believe in metric) who has incredibly long legs.
She's got my eyes, my freckles, my stubborness and my clumsiness, but those legs are from Daddy!

So here's what happened...

In my last post, I talked about giving my baby boy his first taste of solid food. Well, that boy is now 2 and 8 months, eats everything you put in front of him, anbd is now the middle child with a baby sister added to the family.

I had started blogging on Blogger, then switched to Xanga because I knew more people on there, and was getting more comments. But I have been meaning to come back to blogger for let me think now...oh, about 2 years. Somehow blogging is something that I want to do but never get around to writing posts. But I will spend tons of time on the computer reading other people's posts. And lie in bed composing posts about things that have happened to us recently.

So I am going to try to be better. First of all, I will try to move some of the 'vintage' xanga posts over here so if you are reading this but not that, you can get an idea of what life has been like around here. And I wll try to be a regular contributer to the blogosphere. And I will exercise, eat right, never shout at my kids again, always make healthy delicious meals and fruit for snacks, keep my husband in iron shirts and never nag him again.

You hold me to that!

Rice, carrot, pear, and banana...

What do these things have in common? They are foods we are going to give the Boyo very soon, because we have just started him on solids!

My mother thought we should do it weeks ago. She also thinks we should use formula and Pampers because they're 'so cheap' (breastfeeding and cloth nappies are cheaper!)

The WHO (World Health Organization) thinks we should wait until he's 6 months old. I don't see the WHO 'round here in the middle of the night offering to feed him. He'll be 5 months on Sunday, I think that's pretty good.

I think it's the right time -- he's been waking up earlier and earlier, and sometimes cries when he's done feeding (I think he's hoping I'll whip out a third one).

The Boyo thinks it's the right time. When I'm eating and holding him, he watches every bite go into my mouth, and tries to grab the fork.

So with a teeny tiny twinge of sadness that my little guy isn't wholly dependent on me (have to keep reminding myself that's a good thing) we have begun. Yesterday was his first bit of rice cereal and milk. He ate up happily, spit most of it up shortly after, and had a terrible night. But hopefully tonight will be better. And tomorrow he gets carrot!

Pictures

It has been great to re-connect with some people in my past lately. I had been looking for some Christian fellowship. Who knew it would come (via computer) from Ohio...

Here are some pictures of my kids for you to enjoy. Check out that blond hair and those dimples!

Prayer Request

For all my millions of readers out there...

Please pray for Baby Rory, a little guy born in May who was 10 weeks early. He is due to have heart surgery tomorrow. It's already been cancelled once due to lack of beds in the ICU at the Children's Hospital. I can only imagine how stressful the whole situation must be for his family, and then to have it be put off. Pray for his parents, too.

Three Men

Surprisingly, since I usually only have room in my head for baby things (and a small corner somewhere for minstry) this week in our household we've been talking about 3 men and the influential week this has been for them. They are Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, who tragically died this week; Tony Blair, the Prime Minister of the UK who announced his resignation in May, and a leader in our movement who annonced his resignation in October.

Although all three of these men had loyal followers and people who disagreed with them, I am somewhere in the middle with my opinion of all of them. But this is certain: all 3 took risks, some of which were foolish, some of which were extraordinairely brave, and some of which lost them a great deal of their popularity. And that is what I want to congratulate them for -- taking risks even when other people didn't always understand.

I want to try in my life to take unpopular (but not foolish) risks. As the poster in our office says "If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always gotten." (I don't particualrly agree with the grammar of the statement, just the concept).

And may God bless their wives and families who stood by them while they were taking risks, and are most certainly hurting now.