What I'd Save . . .

New pics, from 2008

2008-07-09T21:14:00.006Z

Here are some photos of Jae, mostly from March–Jun 2008. These aren't necessarily in chronological order, but I have tried to group similar pictures together.
My parents' dog, Chance. These two used to be mortal enemies. But two things have brought these two together. (a) Chance's arthritis has gotten to the point where he can't get up and run from her very quickly; and (b) Janelle can walk. So he's resigned to his fate as Jae's buddy. Poor dog.
Janelle and her cousin, Toni Beth, sitting in Kim's lap. Toni is about 16 mos. older than Jae, so naturally she looks up to her big cousin and loves playing with her.

Janelle in her pretty dress; I'm not exactly sure why she's so dressed up. This is at her Abuelo and Grandma Ché's house, almost certainly from around Easter, but this isn't the dress she wore on Easter (see below).
Our family on Easter. Jae looks happy, but if memory serves, this was temporary. After an Easter sermon Janelle was ready to get home and bite the ears off of all the chocolate bunnies. (And, now that I've looked a bit closer, it seems this was the dress Janelle wore on Easter. Silly me.)
Jae and her mama. You can see why all my family and friends still tell me I married above myself. At my height, that was always going to be likely.
Her Highness, Janelle I, self-proclaimed "Queen of the Mountain" and unchallenged stander-upon-the rock (at the Knoxville Zoo, perhaps not inappropriately!).
Still at the Knoxville Zoo. Besides lions, tigers, and bears (and elephants and zebras . . .), we find to fine specimens of homo adorabilius. The blonde on the left is Jae's friend, Abby, the twenty-first century's improvement on Shirley Temple.
Janelle, sitting in my seat. I don't remember exactly what she was saying as Andrea snapped this pic, but from the look on her face it must have been something like, "I'm a very safe driver, Papa; very safe . . ."
In mid-June we had a mini-family reunion at Andrea's cousin's house in Cincinnati. They have a pool. After Andrea and I put all the safety flotation devices on her that we could find, she could almost walk on the water!
Thankfully I didn't have to get into the pool, since Andrea was already there. The goggles complete the outfit, I think.
If they make a sequel to Little Rascals, and if they're willing to admit a girl into the club, I nominate this one in the role of Alfalfa.

Here's my girl, the next Mia Hamm! She kicks the ball like Favre throws it. Unfortunately, professional soccer players (especially females) don't make enough for me to count on her as my retirement plan. I guess I'll still have to steer her into law or medical school.

Even the sun conspires to shine upon my daughter and make plain for all to see the beauty that she inherited from her mother's end of the gene pool. (My end of said pool, by the way, is the genetic equivalent of the kiddie pool: shallow and a bit too yellow.)
I'm the luckiest man in the world, in part because this girl loves me and smiles at me.
These dandelions will be the most beautiful weeds on campus.

Family Visit from Ohio

2007-12-10T00:48:00.000Z

He talks big, but the truth is my Papa, whom we call Abuelo, has never been so proud in his life as he is when he's around Jae. And Jae . . . well, so does a good job tolerating him.

Here's Jae teaching her Abuelo to swing. It looks like he's getting the hang of it. After this she taught him how to use sidewalk chalk. We were really proud of him.

Here's Jae's Gram, helping her blow her very own bubbles. If Gram keeps to tradition, she'll be the most loving source of moral corruption for my baby girl.

I know it doesn't look like it, but these two lovely ladies have TWO WHOLE GENERATIONS between them. The women in my family stay young for decades!

Jae definitely loves her Grandma Ché. It helps that Grandma always brings her presents, I guess. It might also be that Grandma Ché makes AWESOME cookies. Jae gets her love of cookies from me.

Every once in a while Grandma Ché brings presents for the adults, too. This was a week or so after my wife's [CENSORED] birthday. My mom brought her some Fiesta Ware, which apparently all the women in my family love. Me . . . well, if you have to clean it instead of throwing it away after you eat on it, I don't see the point.

Words fail me.

We took a trip to the Smoky Mountains, and we stopped in a quiet little town called Townsend. There were five rocking chairs, which means I got to stand and take the pictures. Again.

Across the parking lot from the rocking chairs there were some flowers buzzing with butterflies. Well, not buzzing, really. But they were swarming. Jae's pointing one out for you. Can you see it?

Can you see it here? Which of these two do you think is wrapped around the other's little finger?

Chillin' on a cool Saturday afternoon, talkin' about the fellas.

Doesn't Jae look deep in thought? She probably isn't, but she looks it. If you look carefully, you can see the semi-stale piece of licorice in her right hand. That's how we like 'em in our family: almost crispy.

Nothing makes an afternoon brighter than eating Twizzlers on Gram's lap.

Here's a great illustration of my family. You can see quite clearly in my Papa's smirk how cool he thinks he is. And you can see quite clearly in my mother's resignation how cool he actually is.

The cabin in the background is from the mid-1800s in Cades Cove, not too far from Gatlinburg. It was a pretty day, and shortly after this picture it began to rain. So we spent the rest of the afternoon in the car. We don't do rain.

Four generations of my family's women doing their best Reservoir Dogs impression. It might look like Jae's following the older women, but in her mind she's just supervising, making sure they don't stray to the left or to the right.

All the cool girls stand like this now. I don't get it, but I'm not supposed to. I'm not cool.

Someone tell Jae that her sippy cup is up-side-down. I don't care what it says on the label, those stupid cups are NOT leak-proof.

Halloween 2007

2007-12-08T13:06:00.001Z

Some autumnal pics of my family. Although Jae hasn't turned two yet, she understood very clearly that holding her bag open and whispering, "Trick or treat," would get her lots of free chocolate and suckers. Too bad her mother hid (and subsequently ate) all the Reece's Peanut Butter Cups!

My little environmentalist. Jae has developed a love for hugging trees. I'm scared to let her see that "Loosely based on a true story" movie, "An Inconvenient Truth." But darn it if she doesn't look gorgeous saving the planet one evergreen at a time.

I told you she was gorgeous . . .

Jae has recently developed a love for pumpkins. She loves to touch them, sit next to them, carry them around, and roll them down the hallway. Maybe next year we'll build a pumpkin catapult together and rain down some autumnal terror.

"Hey," Jae is thinking to herself. "Where'd my pumpkin go? I just saw it around here somewhere."

There's so much for a toddler to discover on a cool autumnal day. Here's Jae learning about the crinkly krackle of dry leaves. Later her Mama will teach her about the sweetness of homemade pumpkin pies that aren't from a can. We are currently fattening up this particular pumpkin for a family feast; until then, it's Jae's pet pumpkin. We call it "Gourdy."

One day we went to Dollywood after church for their Gospel and Harvest Celebration. We had a great afternoon walking around and riding rides. Jae found some fall decorations and sat down with them. We had to take pictures.

So Jae's Mama sits down next to her by the pumpkins. Later she tells me that we have to teach the idiot behind the camera to stop cutting off the top of her head. Like it's my fault she's so tall!

The whole family.

Jae is learning how to fake smile. Pretty soon she'll be able to roll her eyes, too.

So here I am with my other daughter, Helga, who comes from a long line of Viking marauders. When she's of age we'll add horns to her helmet.

Jae with her friend Abby. We went to a pumpkin patch where we got to pick our very own pumpkins and go for a hayride! Jae also got to play in a cornbox (like a sandbox but with . . . well, corn). We had a great time.

At the pumpkin patch there were so many pumpkins to choose from, but in the end we found the one that was just perfect. Well . . . actually, we found four or five that were just perfect. Like her Mama, Jae likes to change her mind.

Besides the cornbox, Jae also got to play in a big pile of hay. We paid an admission fee for this . . .

Jae enjoyed helping clean out the pumpkins for all of about fifteen seconds. Then she went to send her doll careening down the slide. Jae nervously touched the pumpkin guts. No matter how hard we tried, though, we couldn't get her to put her hand down into the open pumpkin. Besides the delicate knife work, I was also charged with the photo-journalistic responsibilities.

Our first attempts at carving a Jack-O-Lantern since we were married. I'm pretty impressed with these. Perhaps next year we'll try to carve DaVinci's Last Supper on a pumpkin.

Here we're on our way to the girls' dorm on campus, where every year they have a Fall Festival and arrange games and activities for the kids and pass out candy. Jae's got her bag open and ready. I'm struggling to keep up.

One meets a lot of strange folk on All Hallow's Eve.

Why did the chicken cross the road? To get away from the spray-happy skunk.

Jae was a bit wary of getting her face painted, especially since Amanda (seen here with Jae) was apparently in the throws of adult-onset Chicken Pox. But then we thought it might be a Sign from Above, what with Jae being a chicken and all.

Here we have either a well-fortified chicken coup or an inflatable bouncy castle outside the dorm. Jae loves jumping around in these, as long as she can hold onto the outside.

Jae and Mama with their faces painted.

Jae made it through the whole girls' dorm and has a full bag of candy to show for it. If it wasn't for her elevated blood sugar, she would be exhausted by now!

After a hard night's graft, Jae stops to enjoy the spoils of her labor. Besides chocolate, suckers are her favorite candy. She especially loves Tootsie Pops (I don't think she knows you're supposed to lick them), but Dum-Dums will do in a pinch.

So the girls' dorm wasn't the only place we took Jae to get free candy. We also took her "trunk or treating," which is trick or treating out of the back of people's cars. (I'd never heard of this before we moved to Knoxville; it must be a Southern thing.) We had a great time, but we avoided the creepy guy in the trench coat selling watches.

Here's Jae trunk or treating in front of a UT Volunteers fan's car. Knoxvillians (that probably isn't the correct label) are nuts about UT, so much so that it looks like hunting season year round here, what with all the people wearing hunter orange shirts, hats, coats, and so on.

Every self-respecting Jack-O-Lantern has to have a candle inside. Janelle loves these! We hope you enjoyed our pictures and that you had a great Halloween.

Fifteen months later . . .

2007-09-02T18:32:00.000Z

Obviously a lot has changed in the fifteen months since my last post. Jae started walking at 10 mos. (last September), and lately she's been talking a lot (despite not having much to say; she gets that from her Papa). Here's a short video of one or two of her newest words; see if you can make them out.

Vistas of a Little Girl

2006-05-26T21:33:00.000Z

It is amazing how quickly kids grow up. Not that I know a lot about 'kids'; perhaps I should limit my statement to: It is amazing how quickly my kid is growing up. In the last six months Janelle has begun to develop her own independent, idiosyncratic personality distinct from her both mother's and mine. Thankfully, unlike her Papa, Janelle is showing signs of being a happy, pleasant, agreeable individual. The following pictures illustrate this (I think) fairly well. In order to properly understand how much of a development this 'agreeable' personality really is, compare (and, indeed, contrast) her temperament as evinced in the last three or four photographs taken upon our arrival back in the USA.

The Papa in me needs to start with this picture, dated 25 February 2006. I have to confess right off the bat: Being a Papa is very confusing for me. Being a husband is difficult enough: despite the facts that (a) my wife is a very intelligent woman (b) whose thoughts and actions are (generally) coherent and (generally) consistent, I still have no idea most of the time what she's thinking, what she wants, or (most importantly) what I'm supposed to do. My little girl, however, is neither coherent nor consistent (though a convincing case for her intelligence is being built daily); thus the needs and desires of my little girl are, for me, surrounded by a blacker darkness than are my wife's. Still, there are moments that ring clear as a bell to me. When all is said and done, and Janelle has fallen asleep on my chest, and as I think about how the rhythm of her breathing is in absolutely no way related to my own, I know exactly what I'm supposed to do. In the abstract, I'm supposed to love, cherish, protect, and provide for this little girl as she grows into her own free-willed, independently-minded woman. More concretely (and in this Janelle is just like her mother), I'm just supposed to do whatever I'm told.

The next two pictures are both dated 8 March. In early March Janelle began the adventure that is eating 'solid' foods. The word 'solid' is, of course, being used euphemistically; there is very little — if anyting — 'solid' about what Janelle eats. Still, it is a milestone in her development, and from day one Janelle was keen to explore food other than that which is exclusively 'mama-fed'. She has also started drinking water; as you can tell from this picture, she's developing a taste for bottled water — Evian, if it's available. She doesn't yet turn up her nose at tap water, but certainly it's more fun to play with plastic water bottles than with chrome and plastic water taps. And, the water bottles fit better in Janelle's diaper bag than does the kitchen sink. The concentration that she exhibits as she tries to get her tiny four-month-old hands around that water bottle is amazing. By now, of course, Janelle is much more proficient at grabbing anything (and everything) we leave within her reach, even if (especially if) we didn't mean to leave them at baby-level. It's scary.

Still, she has always been much better at grasping for things that actually fit into her hands, especially thumbs. And hair. And (unfortunately for our dog and two cats) tails. Judging by the look on Janelle's face, you would think that water had just magically squirted out of the end of my thumb and into her eye (reminding us of the incident in which Tom Cruise was similarly squirted with water). The compassionate reader can rest assured, however, that I have not done such a heinous (if humorous) deed. Yet. I'm as stumped as you are as to what could be inspiring such interest in one of my two opposable digits (that's right . . . I have two!); all I can say is that I am, indeed, a very interesting person, and it's somewhat gratifying to finally have someone else (other than myself and my mother) recognize that most recognizable of facts. Thank you, Janelle.

Shortly after she started on solid foods and began exhibiting intense interest in los dedos pulgares (or perhaps shortly before; I can't remember), Janelle was the object of a very lovely baby shower. [For our readers in the UK: a 'shower' is an American tradition in which gifts are given to a woman just prior to, but sometimes immediately following, a momentous occasion, primarily a wedding or the birth of a child. At no time, however, are gifts to be given to the man responsible for the above-mentioned 'momentous occasion', despite the claims sometimes made; I speak from experience.] Janelle's cousin, Olivia (who's approximately six months older than Janelle) was there, and the two hit it off really well. I don't know why, but this picture reminds me of a Peanuts cartoon. Not any particular Peanuts cartoon, mind you; just Peanuts in general. It's almost like Charlie Brown talking to himself in a mirror. Don't you think?

Yeah . . . this is definitely the cutest daughter I've ever had. [Disclaimer: If, in the future, I should ever father another daughter, the previous comment was made prior to your birth; now, of course, you and your sister(s) are all equally cute.] Notice here the especially jubilant smile; you can almost hear her laughing at something just off-camera, eh? I told you she was developing into a happy, agreeable little girl. She doesn't actually know how to laugh properly yet, but it's hilarious when she tries to. The neatest thing, at least for me, is her eyes. In adults you can tell when someone's genuinely laughing with you because they laugh with their eyes. If you look closely, you'll see that Janelle is here laughing with her eyes. Maybe she does know how to laugh properly. Whatever . . . I just know I love it when she does.

Here's Janelle cracking up as her mother holds her. Andrea is very good at coaxing a smile and a laugh out of her; Andrea makes me laugh, too. . . . This is actually particularly relevant: Janelle started crawling on Mother's Day (Sunday, 14 May 2006), and the next Sunday she crawled over to some piece of furniture in her grandparents' living room and pulled herself into a standing position. It seems a bit early for that, really; she's only six months old! But it isn't up to me. As my own Papa said, when I asked him if it was normal for a six-month-old to be doing such things: 'If she's doing it, it's normal'. Though she's now crawling all about the house without any care whatsoever about the dangers awaiting her — dangers that exist primarily, perhaps, in my imagination — she is, thankfully, waiting a while before she works in earnest to master the art of pulling herself up.

Okay . . . so Janelle is generally a happy girl now. But that doesn't mean that situations don't arise in which a small bit of concern is visible on her face. One such situation was when her cousin, Toni Beth, tried to hold her in her lap. Toni Beth is only a year-and-a-half older than Janelle; even so, she did very well. And though Toni Beth is, apparently, not in the least bit apprehensive about assuming the responsibility concomitant with holding her five-month-old cousin, Janelle is only too willing to voice her concerns regarding the developing situation. Needless to say, things worked out well in the end, and perhaps Janelle learned a positive lesson about taking risks. Hopefully, that lesson wasn't 'Go along with any crazy idea your cousin may have come up with'.

This is the same day as the previous picture. Having successfully endured the challenge of being held by her (only just) older cousin, Janelle decided to try her hand at driving. Fortunately she hasn't yet figured out what the big black wheel in front of her is for; she was mostly content just to sit there and have her Papa push the car via the purple lever attached to her rear bumper. In the end, everyone was just thankful that there were no mirrors to distract her; the last thing we need is another driver paying more attention to her make-up rather than the road. [I don't intend this to be sexist; I voice the same complaint against men who fidget with the car radio, dial their cell phone, or even [!!!] read maps (or other literature) as they careen down the Interstate.]

Andrea and I are incapable of agreeing about a surprising number of things, one of which is the necessity of sunglasses for Janelle. I have my doubts about their efficacy for blocking harmful UV rays, and, besides, scores of generations have raised their children under the sun's warming if somewhat carcinogenic rays; I don't see the need. Andrea, for whatever reason (she has her reasons, I just don't know what they are), insists that they are necessary for protecting her eyes, which are (apparently) more sensitive to the sun. Still, I'm glad I didn't press my own point, because — as you can see — she looks hilarious (. . . I mean, 'very cute') when she wears them. At first she didn't like them on her face. But less than a week after Andrea started putting them on her, she got used to having them on. Now she loves them; so much, in fact, that I'm beginning to worry that her first words may be, 'Papa, don't I look fa-a-a-bulous in these glasses? Can I have a Chardonnay? Thanks, darling; you're fa-a-a-bulous, too.' At that I'd have to draw the line.

What better way could there be to draw this post to a close than with this picture? I must admit that I forgot completely about this photo until it was brought to my attention by Janelle's cousin, Emily, who has made cameo appearances in previous posts. Once again she's laughing with her eyes; this picture proves you don't need teeth to have a gorgeous smile! We're six-and-a-half months into raising this wonderful little girl, and I can't but admit that I am absolutely, one hundred percent smitten with her. I can't imagine my life without her, and, despite the myriad complications that have been introduced into my life on her account, I look back on mine and Andrea's decision to try for a baby as the single most intelligent, far-sighted decision we've ever made. Perhaps I'll never know what I could have done had we not had Janelle when we did; I guess it doesn't matter. But one thing I'm sure of: everything I've sacrificed for Janelle fails to measure up with the joy I get from one day with her.

When Andrea first told me she wanted to have a baby, I panicked and called a good friend of mine, Lewis, father of nine (9!!!) children. When I asked him for his opinion/advice regarding having children, all I really needed was one moment's hesitation on his part; I was ready to tell Andrea I wasn't ready. Instead, he said almost immediately, 'Go for it. It's the single best thing you'll ever do.' What an understatement.

My family's closet

2006-05-02T23:02:00.000Z

As an attempt to make up for the lacuna stretching from January to May 2006, I'll try to post a few things (with photos) from our family life during that time.

In mid-January Andrea, Janelle, and I drove to Johnson Bible College for a job interview (which was successful; I start as a "Full-time Lecturer" in mid-summer). As we settled into the more-than-adequate accommodation the school provided for us, I decided to hang up our coats (it was, after all, mid-January) in the closet near the front door. First mine, then Andrea's, and finally Janelle's. (I know, I know; this is one of the more suspensefully told tales you've heard in a while.) As I stepped back I was amused by the sight of our three coats (and nothing else) hanging in the closet; it seemed to encapsulate visually many of the emotions I'd been feeling as I adjusted to my recently expanded family.

So I share the sight here with you. It may be a bit of nothing, and this post may be OTT in terms of sappiness. But it was an important moment for me. Maybe my inability to explain it adequately expresses something of the impact this image had on me.

God sure is confusing, even to a six-month old!

2006-05-02T22:17:00.000Z

I apologize for the arid, desert-like stretch of non-posting that has been the last four months; for those faithful readers who still check out this site, here is your long-awaited oasis of Janelle-related posting.

Andrea felt the need to take this picture after Janelle and I returned home from an hour-long walk this afternoon. (As an aside: no wonder Americans are getting fat and lazy at an amazing and unprecedented rate. Despite being a mere one-mile from our house, the route from here to the nearest Wal-mart is considerably without sidewalk ['pavement' for our friends in the UK]. When our town and city planning makes it so difficult to walk about the community, how can we be surprised when no one does it!) I was "wearing" Janelle in a baby sling (if you don't know what this is, here is the site from which we bought ours), and during the last quarter-mile Janelle was falling asleep with her face adjacent to my chest. As she drifted off to Neverland her nursing reflex kicked in, and thus the wet spot on my shirt. Just to be clear, this is not the result of male lactation. (I know, I know . . . I, too, was surprised that there was a link for this! If you think that link was strange, check out how many hits there are here! You really can find anything on the net.)

But that's not all. When we were about three blocks from home, as I was walking across a particular residential intersection, Janelle's instincts utterly took over, and my teething baby girl bit my left nipple! I almost fell down laughing as I thought to myself, "I guess it would be confusing to a six-month-old for God to put useless nipples on a Papa". Then I realized, it was confusing to a 29-year-old.

So while I still do not know why God saw fit to equip fathers with nipples, I do have an increased appreciation for the plight of nursing mothers with teething children. And if all that comes out of this experience is some resumed posting on my family's blog, then that's enough for me.

New appreciations (1.3)

2006-01-09T22:57:00.000Z

It has been nearly three weeks since I last updated this blog; I apologize to all our faithful readers who check WIS regularly in order to postpone attending to whatever work they ought to be doing. That said, I present to you the First Post of 2006.

I know for a fact that our readership comprises astute minds from a broad spectrum of political perspectives, ranging from those who would support President Bush in invading the Vatican, if such an invasion were deemed necessary in the fight against terror, to those who would oppose a presidential edict denouncing cannabalism on the basis that even those with alternative dietary preferences must have their civil rights protected. Nevermind, though; all are welcome.

All this leads up to my new appreciation for the phrase "Axis of Evil" (for more, if sometimes contentious, discussion, see here). Though I fully appreciate that 21-century American usage demands that an axis comprise three entities, the two items pictured immediately to the left ought to be included in any responsible understanding of the term. These items are, from right to left, the Zantac that I have been instructed to coerce into my baby girl twice daily, and the odious implement by which said coercion takes place.

Though I have as yet been able to refrain from uttering the loathsome words, "This will hurt me more than it hurts you," sympathetic readers will appreciate that only my precious daughter's screams of displeasure compete with the overwhelming sense of angst I feel at having to inject such a wretched substance into what is otherwise a very lovely and contented little angel. As if you needed the photographic evidence, this picture gives some clue as to the drama that takes place in the Rodriguez family with each completed journey of the hour hand. Still . . . if it helps ease the discomfort of her Gastroesophageal reflux, I will persist in the administration of this most vile of Devil's Concoctions.

Sad, but true

2005-12-20T11:39:00.000Z

Last night Andrea, her father, and I had a brief disagreement about how Janelle's name is spelled. Relatively unexceptional, to say the least, except that in the end we agreed on a spelling that, upon inspection of her birth certificate, proved wrong. How sad is that?! So, in a preemptive attempt to stave off future debate (and, alas, error), my daughter's first name has two "l's", while her middle name has only one. Hence, Janelle Helena. There is, we are happy to report, no controversy regarding her surname, except perhaps to note the accent that properly appears over the "i" in Rodríguez.

Reception history

2005-12-18T15:04:00.000Z

The title of this post will mean something very different to my colleagues who read this blog, but what is meant here is simply the account (historia) of our reception at Port Columbus International Airport. I apologize in advance for any confustion my choice of title may have caused.

Our plane was scheduled to land in Columbus at about 16:00, and as it was only about thirty minutes late I would consider that we landed, pretty much, on time. Our families, however, eager to not miss a thing, arrived at the airport in plenty of time to ensure that we didn't arrive before them. That is to say, they arrived sometime between 14:00 and 15:00. They were fairly stir-crazy by the time we emerged, which didn't mix particularly well with the normal kind of crazy with which they are normally afflicted. Here my Mum and Papa (the older people in the middle of the photo) wait with (from right) my brother Miguel, sister Danielle, and Danielle's "special friend", PJ. In the background is visible representatives of my wife's family, but we'll get to them in just a bit.

At this point some of our more astute readers are scratching their collective heads and asking themselves, "How did Rafael and/or Andrea take pictures of people waiting at the airport before they arrived?!" At which point I smile and touch my nose; some secrets must be kept. But moving swiftly on, here my grandmother Carolyn (on the left) waits with Andrea's aunt, Karen. I think in total we had fourteen people waiting for us, and Andrea's cousin and her boyfriend met us for dinner. All in all it was an impressive welcoming party, as you'll see. I wish I could affirm with confidence that this is how much our family loves us, that their excitement to see us is fairly typical of them. But I have a nagging suspicion that Janelle was the big draw. Like Ringo Starr touring with Sir Paul McCartney, we were just the opening act.

Well, needless to say, we did eventually arrive. Seated as we were in row 5, we should have been nearly first off the plane. But because we boarded our plane so late (that story is embedded in the much longer account of our Coming to America) our carry-on luggage was much further back on the plane. So we were a bit late disembarking the plane. But here Andrea is reunited with her father and my mother for the first time. Two things ought to be pointed out: first, Barry hasn't seen his daughter in well over a year, and yet in these first few moments of reunion his gaze is already diverted toward his four-week-old granddaughter. Second, I am nowhere to be seen in this photo, and neither are the two heavy bags and guitar we had on the plane with us. That's because I am lumbering up behind Andrea and Janelle, heavy-laiden with our remaining luggage, somewhat like Shrek's donkey. [Note: m-w.com defines lumbering as "to move ponderously," which strikes me as a fantastic definition, even if it isn't necessarily the most helpful.]

Among Janelle's most excited admirers were Andrea's sister, Kim, and her oldest kids, Emily and Matthew. This is Janelle's first experience with her cousins, relationships I hope get stronger as she grows older. I'm beginning to notice something of a pattern that suggests my little angel is . . . well, sneaky. You, our faithful readers, have seen overwhelming photographic evidence that Janelle is not always placid, but whenever she meets someone new she slips into "Cute Sleepy Girl" mode. This, of course, makes her Papa look like a grumpy old git for telling people she can be a pain in the butt. So, after nearly two hours of fussing and yelling from Newark to Columbus, my little girl has, all of a sudden, turned on the charm. And it works. Even on me.

This photo is probably best entitled, "Dueling Grandmas." Susan is Andrea's mom and so is properly Janelle's grandmother; Carolyn (left) is my grandmother, so she's actually Janelle's great grandmother. But due to a trip to the cinema when I was eight with my grandmother, I have a hard time using the words "great" and "grandmother" so closely together. So we're trying to get everyone accustomed to "granny," a word about which Carolyn is somewhat less than excited. And yet I have a feeling that, whatever we end up calling these two ladies, they will be an important part of Janelle's awareness of being loved, and that greatly.

There's something about a baby that gets the women in our families to circle round like wagons on a prairie. The equivalent for the men in our families is a television, particularly if it's on, particularly if a football (not soccer) game is on, particularly if it's an OSU game. At any rate, we're beginning to get a sense that Janelle's public loves her, and yes, Janelle loves her public. I'm chuffed with how our families have taken to her, of course. But I'm also a bit concerned that the high level of spoiling that will take place will make any discipline that must occur difficult. Not that I'll be involved in any discipline; I'm already wrapped around her finger. But still, things could get difficult for her mother.

Personally, this is one of my favorite pictures from our arrival in Columbus. Here's Janelle with one of her aunts, Andrea's sister Kim. I'm not sure who's more impressed with whom, but this particular aunt-niece relationship seems to be starting off swimmingly (a word I don't use often enough). Kim is a professional baby whisperer (okay, so the link isn't exactly relevant; but you know what I'm getting at), and as her home is a scant 25-30 minutes from where we'll be settling down, I predict Andrea and I will be "delivering" Janelle to her aunt for babysitting . . . er, privileges . . . fairly regularly in the near future.

After she had her baby fix, Kim handed Janelle off to her eldest offspring and baby-whisperer-in-training, Emily. Emily is my favorite niece (well, also my only niece). The first time Emily held her cousin she (Janelle) started crying, and she (Emily) handed her back fairly quickly. But when we spent three days in Dayton the following week, Emily was not only able to handle Janelle when she was crying, but she was even becoming fairly expert at settling her and making her happy. One final note: as you can see from this photo, Emily is as tall as her mother. The last time I saw her this was not the case, and I am just amazed at how quickly she has grown/is growing up. This will not be the case with Janelle, also known as Our Lady of Perpetual Youth. The Papa has spoken.

Astute readers may have noticed Barry lurking in the background of the last photo, somewhat like the Hamburglar at a McD's grand opening. Unable to resist his puppy-like whimpering any longer, we handed Janelle over to her Papaw. The expression on her face is not the result of any social faux pas on Barry's part; this was Janelle's reaction to a number of people (you'll see this borne out in the following photos). Nevertheless, despite all the fussing she managed to grab hold of my father-in-law's spine and twist it round her finger, bending his mind to her will almost without effort. Atta-girl.

I'm not so sure anything needs to be said about this picture. It's just a cute shot of a gorgeous girl. Really, I shouldn't be all that surprised that my daughter takes great pictures. Still, it's worth a brief moment of silence . . . just to appreciate the awesome beauty that is Janelle Helena.

[shhhhhh . . . I said "moment of silence!"]

As promised earlier, here's another shot of Janelle in full-scream. Indiscriminating readers may be tempted to comment that this is obviously my Papa, Janelle's Abuelo, as they detect more than a passing resemblance between him and me. Do not yield to this temptation. Everyone's opinions to the contrary, we are not that alike, we do not look alike, and, as he will confirm, we do not have the same sense of humor. Our readers may also sense some level of defensiveness in my tone. But you're wrong. You're ALL wrong. Every one of you.

[Breathing deeply and counting to ten. . . . 9 . . . and 10.] Okay, moving swiftly on. Here's another photo of Janelle screaming, this time in the arms of her cousin, Matthew, eldest son of the famous baby-whisperer mentioned above. Matthew's is a gentle spirit that promises to make him a wonderful cousin (as, indeed, all of Janelle's cousins will be), though his somewhat overly cheeky grin in this picture makes me just a bit worried about what he may be thinking. As the only son in a family that includes three daughters, it is probably something along the lines of, "Girls are a pain in the bottom." (This, actually, is consistent with Matthew's reaction when he found out Andrea and I were having a girl: he threw a fit. I was sympathetic, though I have to admit that I've since adjusted quite well to being a Papa with a beautiful daughter. In fairness to Matthew, he's adjusted quite well to having a female cousin.)

That will have to suffice for pictures and commentary about our arrival and reception in Ohio. There are plenty of other things to say, and lots of pictures for illustration. There are pics of Janelle with her Granny (okay, okay; her great grandmother), with her Grandma Ché, as well as of her uncle Mitch (as elusive as pictures of the ill-named cat-fox animal), and many, many more. But it will have to wait for another time. Until then, I hope you've enjoyed my offerings so far.

Silly updates only a Papa would appreciate (1.2)

2005-12-17T00:26:00.000Z

This one concerns primarily Janelle's parents. I just thought you'd all like to know that five weeks after Janelle's birth both Mama and Papa report being back to their pre-pregnancy weight. For Andrea this is obviously quite a feat (though, it must be said, she only weighed 137lbs. the week she went into labor). For Rafael this news is not so great, as he had lost weight during the course of the first two trimesters. Andrea credits her return to 110lbs. to a steady regiment of breast feeding and carrying Janelle halfway round the world. Rafael credits his return to [weight censured to protect the innocence of the children] to a steady diet in keeping with Western holiday traditions.

Something about piggies and markets

2005-12-16T20:33:00.000Z

With an appreciative nod toward Anne Geddes and her brilliantly creative photos of babies, Andrea took this picture of me and Janelle. No prizes for guessing who is who. All that needs saying at this point, I suppose, is that Janelle is in the unfortunate circumstance of having inherited my toes and her mother’s feet. Still, somehow she manages to make it all work together.

Coming to America [an update]

2005-12-16T20:23:00.000Z

The ever-observant duo Alison and Gill have written the following:

Glad to hear you got back sort of safely. Did your luggage ever reach you - was it completely ruined? Do let us know. Have a great Christmas!

I apologize for not completing the story of our luggage; here is how that tale progresses:

I was told in Columbus that our bags had been isolated from the rest of the luggage and should’ve been on our plane, but it had somehow not made our flight. So on Friday afternoon a representative from Continental Airlines delivered my six bags to my father’s house in Canton, OH. Four of our bags were fairly ruined, with the contents of three of those likewise violated by the offending oily substance. Somehow the other two suitcases seemed to have escaped relatively unscathed. Continental has given us two small, very nice rolling suitcases and two large rolling duffel bags to replace our damaged luggage. There is yet another bag that requires replacing. As for the items contained therein, Andrea and I will spend the rest of this afternoon going through the damaged bags, salvaging what can be saved and finding replacement values for each item that was irreparably soiled. Continental is being fantastically gracious in dealing with this problem (as illustrated by the four nice bags they’ve already given us to replace the ones we’ve lost). It is, nevertheless, a hassle to have to go through this at all.

A word should be made here about WIS's content and the subject matter of the posts that find themselves published on this site. The rationale behind WIS is to provide a forum for me (and Andrea) to ponder out loud about what matters most to us. This post, then, is a bit out of place. At the end of our flight, when we landed in Columbus, it was a relief to find myself safe with my beautiful wife and daughter and greeted by our loving families. Sure, it’s nice to have all our items replaced by the airline with whom we entrusted them. But (and this will definitely sound a bit cheesy) if I were left poor and hungry and yet still had my family with me, I would be more blessed than I deserve.

Saying good-bye to a fantastic department

2005-12-16T12:04:00.000Z

This post properly belongs somewhere between the account of Janelle's thanksgiving service at Christ Church and the account of our journey to Strange Lands. But the updates on this site are like ancient Christian accounts of Jesus' life and teaching: they make no pretensions toward chronological accuracy as we would understand the term. That said, the Department of Biblical Studies, of the University of Sheffield (I refuse to capitalize 'the' or 'of', and I absolutely will not include the newly inaugurated full-stop; click here for an explanation), has been much more than my place of work for the last two years. So here are a few vignettes of our leaving do, which took place on Monday, 28 November 2005.

Paul and Minna, the two people with whom I spent the most time in the department, invited the rest of the faculty and staff and postgrads to Paul's flat for an informal send-off. I apologize for not having a good picture of Paul and Minna; but here's a good one of Minna holding Janelle. The occasion was well catered by the tireless Jen, who seemed to be always circulating about the room with a tray of something or other that had only just emerged from the oven. In fact, I can't remember a time when anyone was without something to chew on or something to sip on. It was such a wonderful time that, afterwards, Andrea commented that we should leave Sheffield more often just for the social occasions.

Minna and Jen have formed something of a special relationship over the last year or so, as both have undertaken (and successfully completed, it must be said) the insane task of running a distance which belongs more appropriately to the category 'Distances that Ought to be Driven in a Motorised Vehicle'. Here they are ostensibly joining in the gaity of the event, but my suspicion is that they are actually looking down at all of us unmotivated folk who couldn't walk 26.2 miles in a week. Okay, okay; I'm probably projecting my own feelings of inadequacy on these two lovely women. But it seems to me that much of the history of the world is probably the result of similar insecurities. But I digress . . .

One of the things that really impressed me about this leaving do was the calibre of guests involved. Besides internationally known scholars such as Loveday Alexander, James Crossley, Hugh Pyper, Barry Matlock, and Diana Edelman, we were also graced by the presence of (from left) Richard, Paul, Steve, and Matthew, all of whom are fellow postgrads and toilers on the field of Biblical Studies. (The adjoining picture has not been doctored in any way; Matthew really is about twice as tall as Richard.) Undoubtedly the conversation in this picture was concerned with the dating of some prominent potsherd - whether it should be assigned to 454 BCE or 424 BCE and whether it supports or undermines the account in this or that biblical text. No . . . wait just a second . . . I seem to remember these four gentlemen arguing about whether Merry or Pippin was the better hobbit. Thankfully, we managed to break up the argument before things turned to violence.

In the end I must give a heart-felt thanks to Minna and Paul for a wonderful evening. I will always remember fondly our time in Sheffield, including people who haven't been mentioned here. There may be many places in the United Kingdom where one can pursue a PhD in biblical studies, but I will always be of the opinion that Sheffield is one of the very best. Minna has commented elsewhere on WIS:

It's great to observe the warm tone with which you remember your stay in
Sheffield.

It's true, Minna; Andrea and I will always remember Sheffield warmly. Thank you to everyone who helped us feel at home in a foreign land.

Coming to America

2005-12-11T16:18:00.000Z

We’ve known today was coming for a while now, but that hasn’t made it any easier. As with our experiences moving to the UK, moving back to the USA has been dramatic, eventful, emotional, etc. Apart from being awake for the last thirty-one hours and rushing about doing all of the last-minute errands that require doing before an international move, saying good-bye to all our friends and the people that have become important to us during the course of the last two and a half years has been physically and emotionally draining. But the apprehension and sense of loss that has accompanied our leaving Sheffield has been complemented by the anticipation of moving home, seeing our families and introducing them to Janelle, and seeing the friends we left behind over two years ago. At any rate, here’s a (relatively) brief account of the last forty-eight or so hours, or, How Janelle was Ripped from the Only Home She’s Ever Known.

T minus 29 hours [04:10, Wednesday, 7 December 2005]:
Of course we have been preparing for our move overseas before now: we’ve shipped about 80% of our things from the UK, followed the necessary administrative procedures with the University and with Andrea’s work, prepared our flat to be empty, and so on. But now things kick into a higher gear. Janelle has apparently been waking Andrea up for over half an hour, and Andrea decides that 4:10 is an appropriate time to get me up out of bed. Well . . . I say ‘bed’; I’d fallen asleep on the living room floor. Still, after about five minutes I realize that I’m surprisingly alert for being awake at such a pagan hour, and it is then that Andrea and I figure out that Janelle has actually (for the first time) slept for about five hours straight. So with our new-found rest we get up and begin packing the things we hadn’t packed up to this point (which is to say we started packing just about everything). I had forgotten what it felt like to have had so much sleep in one go.

T minus 24.5 hours [about 09:00, Wednesday, 7 December 2005]:
We’ve made considerable progress on stuffing most of our remaining earthly possessions into six (hopefully) well-constructed suitcases. Andrea has taken some time to attend to herself (a rare treat for her these days, what with two people expecting her to take of them) and even bathe Janelle, and I am feeling satisfied that we’ll actually be ready to leave Sheffield tomorrow morning. I’m getting ready to get about an hour’s kip as I know I have a lot in front of me today.

T minus 21 hours [12:30, Wednesday, 7 December 2005]:
I'm off to the city, really for the last time. As I walk out the door toward the bus stop my mobile phone rings, and it's my Mom and Papa calling and excited that they get to meet their granddaughter in 36 hours. We talk until the bus comes, and I head into the department in order to get some last-minute errands done before my 14:30 meeting with my supervisor. I had about 25 books to return to the library before we left the country (don't tell anyone, but I still have one with me! It's okay, though; you can renew them online), and I had some hours to turn in and a lot of good-byes to say. I left the deparment for the last time as a resident of Sheffield at about 16:30; perhaps the strangest part of this journey is that I don't have the key to the postgrad room that's been a mainstay on my keyring for the last two years. But I'm off to return a bag I'd bought but didn't need, to pick up some beer and chocolate for homegroup tonight, and to see Paul and Jen, who've featured elsewhere on this blog. There was a lot to do at Paul and Jen's, most of which doesn't merit discussion here. Paul and I messed around with computers and enjoyed a bottle of Leffe together while Jen made some dinner whose main ingredient was stinky cheese.

T minus 12.5 hours [21:00, Wednesday, 7 December 2005]:
I arrive an hour late at my last homegroup meeting. It is definitely good to see everyone again before we go, though saying good-bye was difficult and a little strange. We enjoy the beer and chocolate mentioned earlier, amongst other things, and we also share a bottle of pink champaigne which our friends Mike and Becky bought for us. Only with truly good friends can you enjoy Thornton's chocolate bars and pink champaigne in plastic cups, so this night was very special for us. Afterwards we went to Greg and Julie's house to have one last beer together and say good-bye a little more intimately. Greg will be working in the morning, so this will be the last time we see each other for a while. This is one of the most difficult good-byes I've had to go through . . . and that, perhaps, will have to suffice in this most public of fora. Except to say that I was proud as I watched my friend hold my daughter for the last time (for a while, anyway); as he would say to her quite often: "Who's your god-daddy?"

T minus 4.5 hours [just before 05:00, Thursday, 8 December 2005]:
Julie brought us home a few hours ago, and the three of us set ourselves about watching Janelle, packing our remaining things, and cleaning our flat. Rich joined us just before 05:00 to pack our luggage in his People Carrier (which, when translated, means mini-van). We shut the door on our flat for the last time at about 05:10, and Rich and I followed Julie, Andrea, and Janelle down the A-57 toward Manchester. Rich and I were largely quiet along the way, partly because I hadn't slept in the last twenty-five hours and partly because neither of us were looking forward to saying good-bye to each other. Rich has been a good friend over the last two years, not simply for bringing me a burger and chips whilst my wife was in the throes of labor (that story can be found here), but for innumerable reasons which are best left unspoken. Though I suspect he would disagree, I can assure you, faithful readers, that Rich (and his family) has been a blessing to me and my family more than I could ever hope to have been a blessing to him. And he continues to be.

At any rate, we arrived at the airport, and Rich dropped us off at departures. After an emotional farewell he drove off, and Julie, Andrea, and Janelle joined me in the airport for check-in. We did the normal queueing for security, entrusted our six very heavy pieces of luggage to Continental Airlines (aka "the Satan"), and went to enjoy a light breakfast before we had to say our final good-bye (to Julie). As we walked through security on our own - all our friends left behind - I hoped I had done enough to let them know how much I love and appreciate them. If I haven't, I pray for the opportunity to rectify the shortfall. While we may never live in the UK again, I trust we will see our British friends again, and I look forward to that reunion.

Take off [09:20, Thursday, 8 December 2005]:
Our flight left promptly on time. We sat in seats 8B and 8C, bulkhead seats which were fitted to accommodate a bassinet for Janelle. Additionally, seat 8A was empty, so we had plenty of space on our emigration. The flight attendants were fantastic, and across from us (in seats 8D, 8E, and 8F) were three British women, one of whom had a baby four days older than Janelle. Janelle was absolutely brilliant on this flight, though at one point she did start screaming while she was in her bassinet. Unfortunately, Andrea was in the lav at this point, and I had fallen asleep. For some reason Janelle's crying doesn't wake me up, so when I finally did come to one of the flight attendants was trying to comfort Janelle without waking me. We landed safely and smoothly enough in Newark, NJ, where our pleasant little tale of international travel takes a dark turn.

8 hours after take off [12:30, Thursday, 8 December 2005]:
[note: all times are local, so 12:30 EST is just over eight hours after 9:20 GMT] We've finally landed on American soil. I'm not scared of flying, but I hate doing it. It's like someone ties your legs up with duct [gaffer] tape for a few hours and lays you in a seat that reclines back about 1.5 degrees. How is that helpful? But still, the plane has safely delivered us to Newark, NJ, and it's time to see if our luggage has had an equally successful journey. As we waited round carousel 13 for our bags, watching other passengers collect their suitcases and wander off through customs, it began to appear unlikely. 30 minutes. Then 60 minutes. No bags. This is enfuriating enough, but to add insult to injury there are also no Continental representatives immediately available. After a while I notice a rotund latina woman (let's call her 'Gordita') yelling at other passengers from my flight, and I realized that this is the customer service rep. I make my way over to the developing fray, and it turns out that about a dozen of us on flight CO 021 have had 'an oily substance' spill onto our luggage. I notice that the other passengers in this situation all have some of their suitcases, but not one of my six bags has materialized from beneath the plane. After yelling at some British passengers on their way to a cruise leaving from NYC, Gordita tells us that if our bags haven't appeared by now, then they've been ruined. If New York is our final destination we're to make a claim with Continental. If we're going on to somewhere else we're to make our connecting flights and file a claim at our final destination. Of course, it's now been over ninety minutes since our flight landed, so some of us have missed our connecting flights.

Andrea, Janelle and I make a mad dash to gate C-70 (I say 'mad dash'; I mean we waited for another forty minutes in a queue to go through security, then we took out our computers, took off our shoes, and walked through a metal detector to make sure we weren't carrying any dangerous materials or weapons, such as fingernail clippers, nose hair trimmers, an excess of paperclips, or any other items that would give us the upper hand in a bid to take over the plane. Sheepishly, I was carrying some wire cutters, and these were confiscated and added to some security worker's personal tool collection) in the hopes that we hadn't missed our flight. We were almost the last three to board our plane, so we just barely made it. The head flight attendant, Jennifer, was absolutely fabulous; at first I levelled some acerbic comment at her because I was in such a bad mood. Within two minutes she had treated me so well I was apologizing for my bad mood. Sometimes, just sometimes, Americans hit customer service on the head.

So anyway, now we're less than two hours away from seeing our families, and we have the added bonus of not having to worry about collecting any of our checked luggage when we get there. Janelle was less than impressed with this flight, so she screamed most of the way. We sat next to a saint of a man from Cincinnati who didn't seem to notice that he was sitting next to a screaming four-week-old baby for two hours. When the flight attendants offered him an exit-row seat with extra leg room and, perhaps crucially, no screaming babies immediately adjacent, he smiled and said he was okay. When I asked if I could have the exit row seat, Andrea flashed me a look that froze me where I was. So I just sat there.

12.5 hours after take off [17:00, Thursday, 8 December 2005]:
We've finally reached Columbus, OH, and our families are all there to meet us just beyond the security checkpoints. They are noticeably excited to see us and to meet Janelle. Hugs and kisses are exchanged. The typical reunion, I suppose. My Papa and brother go with me to file a claim about my luggage; it should be said that the Columbus baggage people, Aaron and Mike, have been great as I've tried to sort this out. In fact, other than Gordita and her two cronies in Newark, the Continental staff were all without exception absolutely fantastic. The appropriate letter will be written, probably in the new year.

At any rate, we eventually make our way to Hometown Buffet, perhaps a strange choice for our first meal in the USA, but the food was actually surprisingly good. And anyway, we were tired, hungry, and we just wanted to be able to talk to everyone who had come to see us at the airport. It's been an experience, and after dinner I just want to get home and go to bed. Our journey is over, and so ends our experiences as residents of Sheffield, England. As the end of a phase in our lives, all of this saddens me terribly. But as the beginning of another phase, I'm terribly excited. Though it may no longer be international, the adventure of our lives continues. This is most immediately evident in the epic snow storm that fell as we were eating all we could eat. But this story has gone on long enough. Maybe we'll talk of the snow storm some other time.

. . . and the home of the brave!

2005-12-11T12:20:00.000Z

After just half a week back in the USA I find myself bursting with pride and sighing to myself, "It is good to be home." Case in point: yesterday Andrea and I were paying homage to that greatest of American pastimes (shopping at Wal-mart) and looking for a remedy for nappy rash, which Janelle is just starting to develop. (For the visual thinkers amongst our readers: I guess I wipe just a touch too vigorously!) Amongst the various products Wal-mart stocks on their shelves was a product entitled (I kid you not) Butt Paste. The best part of all of this, however, is that I went to google.com and typed "butt paste" (quotation marks included), and it turns out that this product has its own website. It ought to be mentioned, in a more sombre tone of voice, that Butt Paste was apparently another unfortunate victim of Hurricane Katrina, so those of you beyond the commercial reaches of Sam Walton (which may or may not include ASDA, a company owned by Wal-mart) will not be able to submit your order via the internet.

A Thanksgiving service at Christ Church Fulwood

2005-12-03T17:54:00.000Z

Okay, okay. This may be a bit confusing, especially as the previous post concerned itself with Thanksgiving, the American holiday that falls on the fourth Thursday of every November. This post is not a repeat of the previous subject matter; it is, rather, concerned with the church service that took place on the following Sunday.

As many of you will already be aware, it is important for me and Andrea that we not take the decision to be baptized (Christened, really, as baptism does have some specific references that are mysteriously absent at most Christenings) away from Janelle. Though Christ Church Fulwood does baptize infants, they (especially our associate vicar, Jason Clarke) are incredibly gracious people who understand and allow us to uphold our convictions. Thus the Thanksgiving service at Fulwood, in which we gave thanks for Janelle's arrival, made commitments to raise her in the knowledge and experience of the gospel of God's love, and received commitments from the church to be a part of her faith development.

In addition, we were blessed to be able to have a joint Thanksgiving service with Rich and Helen, who were doing the same for their son, Thomas. Thomas was born exactly six weeks prior to Janelle. We were glad for the opportunity to be able to share this moment with Rich and Helen. It was, admittedly, a bit strange having a congregation pledge themselves to play an active role in her upbringing when we knew we were moving a quarter-way round the world in less than two weeks. But, as a local representative of the world-wide church, it was important for us to have the church commit itself to be a part of our efforts to raise her.

Here Andrea and I are holding Janelle and waiting for Jason to take our little girl and present her to the church. Yes, I am wearing a suit coat and shirt with a pair of jeans. Yes, I do look good in them. And yes, I did take the coat off immediately after the thanksgiving and spent the rest of the service in the shirt and jeans. I was playing my guitar in the worship band this particular Sunday (in fact, it was my last time playing with the band; perhaps a post about this will find its way onto WIS . . .), and it is quite uncomfortable for me to play my guitar with a suit coat on. It's too bad, though; as I so humbly pointed out immediately above, I do look good.

Here are Greg and Julie, both of whom are regular topics of conversation on this blog (and elsewhere, if I'm honest, but don't tell them that). Back in June Andrea and I asked Greg and Julie to be Janelle's godparents, which they agreed to do. I would like to take a moment to express my gratitude to them for the commitment they've made to be a part of Janelle's life as she grows up. I'd also like to acknowledge the rest of the Crookes-Walkley homegroup, who stood with us and with Rich and Helen as we presented our children to the church and continue to play an important role in our lives. Geraldine stood next to Greg and Julie (unfortunately, she's hidden behind the music stand in the first picture, above), and Jen is on the opposite end of the line (next to Becca and Chris, who are close friends of Rich and Helen). Martyn was on holiday in Barcelona, and Mike and Becky were in Surrey. But all of them are dear to me and Andrea, and we continue to pray for them as we start this next phase of our friendship, the one marked conspicuously by 3,756 miles (or 6,045 km) of separation. (I'm indebted to Ask Jeeves for this information, which was measured from Columbus, OH to Sheffield, England.)

Janelle's first Thanksgiving feast

2005-12-03T17:49:00.000Z

This post is something along the lines of two weeks late; I apologise [. . . I mean apologize] to all our faithful readers for the long hiatus from updating you about what matters most in my family, and specifically it seems about Janelle Helena. But, as you may have guessed from the 'apologise/apologize' confusion, my family and I have just recently emigrated back to Ohio from Sheffield, and that, as you may well appreciate, has been rather chaotic. At any rate, that's enough of the apologizing; here's the story of my baby girl's first Thanksgiving.

Obviously, Thanksgiving as a celebration of some nearly specific events in Colonial American history is not as rigorously observed in the United Kingdom as they are in the good ol' US of A. Nevertheless, like missionaries venturing to far-flung heathen lands, Andrea and I have made it a point to celebrate this tradition with our British friends, and this year we focused on friends from our church, Christ Church Fulwood. At this point special thanks ought to be given to Janet and John (pictured here). They hosted our holiday feast, and everything was perfect. In addition, Janet prepared the turkey (kind of the centerpiece of any Thanksgiving meal, eh?), which was wonderful.

Here you can see what an enjoyable spread was put before us. In somewhat less-than-traditional (but much-more-affordable) style, everybody contributed something to the meal. Not that I can speak authoritatively on the subject, but I suppose this is probably just a bit more faithful to the original Thanksgiving meal (if such a mythical event actually happened). Personally, I think my favorite items were the sweet potatoes (brought by John and Valerie) and the pumpkin pie (which Andrea made), but that's probably because I have a bit of a sweet tooth. Everything was very good, though; even the cranberry sauce, which I normally give a miss, was homemade by Rich and Helen and was fabulous. We even took the leftovers home with us.

In the end the entire celebration was somewhat bitter-sweet. Everyone was lovely, and, as I've already said, Janet and John provided an amazing setting for a holiday tradition that was admittedly more important to me and Andrea than to them. The work they put into the day as a whole made it fantastic, a Thanksgiving truly worthy to be my lovely daughter's first. But in the back of my mind I could not (and still can not) get away from the thought that this was the last Thanksgiving I would celebrate with these, the best of friends for which two (or three) American sojourners could ask. I will miss everyone from Sheffield next Thanksgiving, and I like to imagine that perhaps some of these people will continue to observe this un-British festivity in honor (or, better, honour) of three Americans they once knew a long, long time ago.

[update: I just downloaded some pictures taken by Rich and Helen of our Thanksgiving feast, so I post them online for your perusal. I will, for once, spare you the running commentary.]

The dark side of Papa-hood

2005-11-30T15:24:00.000Z

Sorry, but there are no pictures to accompany this post. The thoughts expressed here have been stewing (festering?) in my head for a few days, which mostly means that they're starting to get crammed together. But, let me first say, the reason for this somewhat-less-than-upbeat post is that I wanted to prevent WIS from becoming a place where the reality of raising a three-week old is censured and only sugar-coated fuzzy thougths are permitted. So here we go . . . a dose of brutal honesty.

I've been discovering that, as Janelle really only has one way to indicate her interaction with the world around her (she cries . . . really, really loudly), my response to that single-response varies from moment to moment. There are a number of times when I can take it, breathe just a bit more deeply, and talk to Janelle in an effort to calm her. There are other times when I feel like she's thrusting a screwdriver into my brain. This is particularly the case at 2:00 am, which seems to be the time she wakes up each night just to be awake. When all I want to do is to get some sleep, it seems then she is most determined to scream and cry and demand that one of us get up and spend ninety minutes or so dancing with her or singing to her or whatever.

I suppose all of this was to be expected. Certainly I can picture that knowing smile across my own parents' faces as they think to themselves, 'We told you'. (Luckily for everyone involved, they would never actually say those words aloud, but kids can always tell when their parents are thinking them.) What is a surprise to me, however, is how quickly all the amazing, overwhelming feelings of Papa-hood, which I have expressed elsewhere on this blog, dissipate and leave just one, very ugly thought in their place: 'I wanna chuck this screaming baby across the room!' It brings tears to my eyes admitting to everyone that I feel this way (and that my tenderness to my beautiful little girl vanishes as I'm feeling like this). Of course I would never ever throw Janelle across the room, but I have handed her to her mother with less care than she deserves, and to me that's just as bad.

All of this is just a bit abstract, I suppose. To be specific, last Saturday morning (at 2:00 am) I was overwhelmed by the desire to get as far away from Janelle as quickly as I could. Andrea had to take her away from me because I was not as careful with her as I should have been, and I stormed out of our bedroom and slammed my fists up against the linen closet door. I then slumped down in our hallway in the dark and wondered how I let myself lose control of my thoughts and feelings as quickly as I did. I'd always said I wouldn't be 'that type of father' (the one with the temper, I suppose), and yet, to my terror, this is the person I sometimes feel I'm becoming. Janelle deserves better than this. Andrea deserves better than this.

Here, I guess, is the point of my thoughts on 'the dark side of Papa-hood': when I let these feelings fester inside me, afraid of what might happen if I express them in public (for example, on a blog available for all the world to see), the sense of guilt and frustration and helplessness and hopelessness start to become intolerable. I can see how family life has driven better men than me to do things I find unimagineable (we'll leave these for you to imagine). But by releasing these feelings — owning them and then letting them go — I find myself broken and without confidence in my own abilities and instincts as a Papa. And in that moment, when my only thought is, 'I can't do this anymore', I find a Gentle Hand encouraging me onward to hold the child that is much too precious to be entrusted into my hands. I hear a Comforting Voice calling me to trust in a strength that is not my own. And I find myself standing up under the conviction that the True Father loves my daughter more than I could ever love her, and he loves me just as much.

Fast forward twenty-four hours: now it is 2:00 am on Sunday morning. Janelle, once again, is wide awake and crying, demanding to be cosseted when all I want to do is sleep. But this night I put on Somewhere Over the Rainbow by Israel Kamakawiwo Ole' and spent the better part of an hour singing softly to my little girl. It calmed her down and she eventually fell asleep, but it also showed me something of what being a Papa was going to demand of me for the rest of my life. Janelle may need me to show her that I love her at times when I'd rather be doing something else. But an important part of what it means to love someone is the willingness to lay aside what I'd rather be doing in order to tend to the needs of the person being loved.

I suppose that this, in the end, isn't very 'dark-side-y'; you'd be justified in suspecting that reality has been ushered out the back door as the sugar-coated niceties are welcomed in through the front. But I actually find this very scary. I am not a great enough man to lay myself aside for the sake of my daughter. And I have my doubts whether I ever will be. But I trust in Andrea and the rest of my family, and in my friends, and especially in my God, that the gap between who Janelle needs me to be and who I am will be bridged by the work of his grace in Janelle's life. I suspect, as she gets older, that my own Dark Side will require me to ask my little girl's forgiveness on numerous occassions. She's too young to appreciate it now, but at only three weeks old I already find myself begging her to overlook my faults as a human being. And as I own my weaknesses as a Papa, I pray that the good times my daughter and I share together are sufficient for her to know that I love her, regardless of how bad I am at showing it.

Silly updates only a Papa would appreciate (1.1)

2005-11-24T15:34:00.000Z

On Sunday, 20 November 2005, at the age of eleven days, what was left of Janelle's umbilical cord fell off to reveal a brand-new belly button. Pictures, I'm sure, will be following shortly.

Grand godparents? God grandparents?

2005-11-23T14:16:00.000Z

Though my parents do not yet know this, in my senior year of high school I failed first-semester English. This fact becomes relevant because I am about to try my unskilled hand at crafting a poem in thanks of Chris and June, parents of Janelle’s godparents, Greg and Julie. The former gave us shelter last Sunday night so that we could make Janelle’s Monday morning appointment in London to report her birth abroad and get her first passport. The following has rhyme (kind of) and metre (of a sorts), but it still lacks a certain something something. You’ll see what I mean. Feel free to leave your comments, suggestions, and/or rude remarks, but please also realise the heart-felt thanks I am intending to convey.

An Ode to Chris and June:

A lovely wee woman from Scotland
(The mum of a mis’rable git)
Extended a kind, helpful hand
To me and my wife and my kid.

Her soup was quite warm in our bellies;
Her bread was quite nice in our mouths.
She treated us like we were rellies;
Her kindness is rare in the South.

And Chris — I can scarcely forget this —
Withheld not one smidget of care:
Through Google and AA he gave us
The d’rections we needed to get there.

His ’structions were clear and precise;
He even covered our parking.
His spare room was spacious and nice;
We heard neigh a dog rarely barking.

A writer once tried to exhort us:
Hosp’tality ought always be shown,
For, though it is not always told us,
We might welcome angels unknown.

So thank-you, Janelle’s grand godparents
(Or ‘god grandparents’ should you be famed?).
God-bless as your children ’come parents;
To you, love and joy in His name.

an original poem by R Rodríguez

Janelle Rodríguez, International Traveller

2005-11-23T14:15:00.000Z

I find myself once again bombarded with requests for photos of my lovely daughter to appear online, and I know I'm only making things worse for myself by giving in to your incessant call for more pictures. But alas, here I am succumbing to your demands: here are more photos of Janelle and her beautiful mother. We spent last Saturday night with Greg and Julie; Greg and I went out for a curry while the girls had pizza brought in. (I say 'brought in'; Julie went out and got it and then . . . well, brought it in.) Here's a lovely picture of Andrea holding Janelle and laughing at something (undoubtedly yet another humourous story that I told with inpeccable timing and delivery).

I was quite glad I got evidence of this shot. You've all seen pictures of the well-spoken Dr Greg Brown, a House Officer at the Royal Hallamshire Hospital and named 2005's most influential Sheffieldian (the award is, alas, quite dubious, but we can testify that Dr Brown is, ahem, quite influential in certain, if somewhat miniscule, circles). But here he is caught red-handed with my precious little girl in one hand and a bottle of finely brewed Marston's Pedigree in the other. Some of you can instantly identify why the good Doctor and I were instant friends. We are, you could say, a concrete example of the UK's and America's much-touted 'special relationship'.

At any rate, on Sunday night Andrea and I drove our little girl down to High Wycombe, where we were graciously given shelter by Greg and Julie's parents, Chris and June (cf. the next post). Here June is lovingly holding Janelle. There was another picture I could have posted here, in which Janelle is much more settled, but I am a bit concerned not to portray her to you, our gentle readers, as a docile and sweet baby girl. As much as I love my daughter, you should be aware that she is a royal pain the butt. 'How can you say that and claim to love her?', you may be asking. 'Easy,' I would answer, 'I also love her mother . . .' (At this point I realise I've probably crossed some sort of line, but we'll let the truth stand uncensored.)

Moving swiftly on, we drove to High Wycombe on Sunday because we needed to be in Central London by 9:00 Monday morning. I had wanted to schedule Janelle's appointment at the US Embassy (so that we could report her birth and apply for her passport) for Wednesday, 30 November. Unfortunately, when I went online to make the appointment, I found that the next available appointment wasn't until January. Obviously that was going to complicate our plans for flying out of the UK in December, so the Embassy graciously agreed to see us on Monday, 21 November. It was quite last minute, of course, but we were glad to be able to be seen in time to ensure we didn't have to leave the UK without Janelle. (Of course we wouldn't have left her in England . . . most likely.) As a relatively quick aside: did you know that there are some legal complications in the instance that my baby girl would choose to run for President of the United States of America? There is some legal debate about whether she is a 'natural born citizen' (I think that's the right term), and the Supreme Court has never ruled on the issue. As far as I can understand it, on the one hand both of her parents are American citizens, but on the other she wasn't born on American soil. She is free to run for Congress or the Senate (though, the flyer is quick to point out, residential requirements still apply), but there's a piece of legislation slowly oozing through Congress that would declare her (not specifically her, but natural American citizens born abroad more generally) eligible for the White House. If you have the time, might I suggest you contact your local representative on this important issue?

So after we reported Janelle's birth and arranged for her passport to be mailed to us, we realised we still had half a day in Central London to do anything we'd like. We walked around Grosvenor Square (where the US Embassy is located) and came across Maze, a Gordon Ramsey restaurant. We toyed with the idea of eating here, but Janelle wasn't very impressed. While it would have been something to say we've eaten in one of Gordon Ramsey's restaurants, we had our doubts that they would have been very keen to welcome two weary American travellers and their twelve-day-old baby. So we gave it a miss.

So we walked along Oxford Street a bit, visiting a few of the shops and smelling the roasting chestnuts as an unending stream of red busses passed by. Eventually we left Oxford Street to find somewhere else to eat, and we found Il Pizzaiolo, a lovely Italian restaurant where one can overhear the staff talking amongst themselves, oddly enough, in Spanish. But nevermind, the food was nice.

So this, then, represents the first time Andrea and I have been able to go out together since Janelle was born. Overall it was a good experience (and at £21.00 it was a very reasonable lunch, especially considering that we were in Central London), but as we were leaving Janelle decided to kick off and scream a bit. Andrea and I, of course, are fairly used to it by now. But the rest of Il Pizzaiolo's patrons were somewhat less amused and showed just a bit too much enthusiasm as we left the restaurant. Certainly the clapping was unnecessary. Nevermind, though; Andrea and I had a really lovely lunch.

Needless to say, the whole trip was exhausting. It took us a little over an hour to get out of Central London and back to our car, which was waiting at a train station just outside the M25 loop. It took us just over four hours to make the drive back to Sheffield, partly because we had to stop and feed Janelle after about ninety minutes on the road and partly because it took over an hour to drive the last two miles into Sheffield. Apparently there was an accident involving a bus just at the end of the parkway leading into the city centre. Janelle, like her papa, hates sitting in traffic and spent most of the time indicating her displeasure by screaming. I was sympathetic. But we did make it home, and this picture indicates the exhaustion we felt afterwards. I know I've said this before, but aren't my girls just lovely?!

PSA from WIS's Board of Publications

2005-11-19T12:52:00.000Z

Astute readers will notice that the last photograph of 'Back by popular demand' has been changed. This has been done at the request of the wife of our chief editor, also known as The Decision-maker, who decided that our crack editorial staff quite obviously chose the wrong photo to share with the rest of the world. The person responsible for this mistake has been . . . shall we say, 'taken care of'. For those of you who missed the original picture, we regret to say that all evidence of the previous mistake has also been 'taken care of'.

That's my girl . . .

2005-11-19T12:27:00.000Z

For all of you sending me e-mails telling my how cute my baby girl is, I thought you should see this. This is a picture of a girl who has just peed all over her papa as he was changing a previously dirtied nappy. Cf. my previous thoughts concerning the word ‘patience’.

Back by popular demand

2005-11-18T14:47:00.000Z

The barrage of e-mails in my in-box requesting (nay, demanding) more pictures of my beautiful girl has succeeded. Here are more pictures of her for you to coo at. [BTW: for those of you who have e-mailed me over the last week or so but haven't received any response, please know that I plan on writing each of you eventually. Please don't wait breathlessly by the computer, though; my response may take as long as it took Ringo Starr to respond to Marge Simpson, which, I believe, was somewhere on the order of twenty-five years. Nevertheless, I am extremely grateful for all the kind words and the encouragement; I will be printing off all the appropriate e-mails for a scrapbook for Janelle to read when she's older.] Without further ado (indeed, without much ado at all): my daughter.

I know that a lot of these pictures feature Janelle peacefully asleep in her Moses basket. Aaawwwwwww . . . isn't she just precious?! But please, do not allow yourselves to be fooled. Janelle is only just beginning to sleep in her basket; she still usually requires either her mummy or her papa to hold her and comfort her to sleep. Even here she was placed in her basket only after she fell asleep, and, in fact, the reason that so many of these pictures show her sleeping so peacefully where she belongs is because I rushed to grab the camera just to remind myself later that she really can sleep here. But alas, she still refuses to sleep in her basket at night, so we still end up holding her, for the most part, while we try to catch up on our own sleep. [Note: the word 'we' in the previous sentence is meant to refer primarily, if not exclusively, to Andrea.]

As I said, a lot of these pictures show her in her Moses basket. Here you can see the toy dog given her by (I believe) her American Godmother Joni Miller. (I would've referred to this toy as her 'stuffed dog', but in the Boyer family any animal described as 'stuffed' was probably eaten and is now a living room decoration. This, fortunately, was not the case with Janelle's dog.)

I think this might be a picture taken when we first brought Janelle home from the hospital. Do her sleeves look just a bit long?

For some reason Janelle usually sleeps with her arms up above her head. Maybe all babies do this; I don't know. But this has become one of the things I love about her, so I took her picture. Unlike her mother, Janelle wasn't mad at me when she awoke to find I'd taken her picture while she was asleep.

When she gets older, this will be one
of the pictures Janelle will be most glad to know that I posted on the world wide web. This is just proof - for all of you who needed it - that I change dirty nappies. And trust me, my gorgeous little girl makes some dirty nappies!

Just in case you needed a second photo to actually believe it. This really must be true love.

I thought I'd end with the cutest picture I have of my baby girl. Yesterday (Thursday, 17 November 2005) Andrea was cuddling Janelle as she slept, and Janelle accidently found her thumb and started sucking it. She started sucking her hand as soon as she was born (and perhaps earlier, I suppose), but this is the first time her thumb found its way into her mouth. Isn't she gorgeous?! I didn't think it was possible, but I love my little girl even more now than I did when we first brought her home!