We have one of those sun shield's in our back window to keep Caleb from having to squint continually. It has 3 little pictures - one of a baby on his back, one sitting and one standing. I remember putting that shield up in our window the first time, when Caleb spent the majority of his time on his back like the first baby. Then it was hard to imagine he'd soon be sitting up and the standing on his own. Now of course it's hard to remember what it was like back then.
Caleb is the first baby I've really spent any time with - first newborn I ever held, first dirty diaper I ever changed, first little head I ever held steady - and it's funny how that experience grows you in people's eyes - just thinking of how one friend is trusting me to take care of her baby and another handed me her hours old son to change his diaper. No, I didn't spent much time around babies before my world revolved around one.
In fact, growing up, I spent much more time around old people than babies - sometimes very old people. And it is interersting to me how Caleb's first steps - more like shuffles than steps - remind me of how a very old, very frail person walks. Even more interesting is that the rapid progression from always laying to always sitting to always walking is the exact opposite of the regression the elderly experience as they near the end of their life. Caleb's brightly colored push toy isn't that different functionally from a walker - and I'd been around plenty of those growing up in the country with many elderly neighbors at church and in my family.
Watching a baby master new skills is like watching a miracle unfold. Watching an old person lose those skills is not an easy or enjoyable thing to see, but it is a part of the same thing babies go through. These skills allow baby to move up to independence. As the elderly lose them, they become more dependent. And while we as Americans enjoy and love our independence, there is a lot of joy in the love you shower on your baby when he is so dependent on you. There is no reason why that relationship with an older relative or friend has to be any less full of joy and love.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
The Original Mean Puppy
Why mean puppies? Because of the original "mean puppy" - our dog Mako. When Mako was a puppy he had a colicky hour every night when he'd run around the house as fast as he could. Fortunately he was a little pup back then and not the 50lbs of canine he is now. Also we're thankful he outgrew those tendancies!
People always ask me what kind of dog Mako is - and as you can tell - he's a black dog. He's also a very smart dog. He knows several words (such as kitty cat, hot dog, and meat). We discovered that it really helps for your not-small, occasionally hyper dog to know an assortment of tricks. Mako can sit, lay down, roll over, chase his tail, wave, high five, and beg (sort of).
Mako has also taught me the value of non-verbal communication. He has some strange way of communicating with us that I'm not sure I understand. Sometimes he just comes and looks at me or Rob and you can tell he needs to go outside, or he might give a look that says, "Did you realize that you picked up my dish to keep the baby out of my food yesterday and I haven't eaten in 36 hours?"
I'm also impressed and surprised with the relationship Mako seems to be building with Caleb. He lets Caleb jingle the tags on his collar and sometimes use him as furniture to cruise around. Caleb laughs and smiles when he sees Mako. I think they have some sort of secret pact - I catch Caleb slipping him cheerios from time to time.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
The Bloggers
Did you know we're famous? Not only famous, but influencing public opinion. I found out not too long ago on the evening news. They reported a story and made references to what "The Bloggers" are saying.
Before I go on, I would like to say that even as a child I watched the evening news. I believed it to be a credible source of information. In this present age, however, I feel very confused by a 30 minute news blitz. A television program showing a very small number of news stories of varying degrees of relavance does not seem very informative anymore. Not that I trust cable news much more, but cable news's vastness shows me how the network news trys to make me feel like their "most important" story should also be my "most important" story. I digress.
Back to "The Bloggers", I wonder who thinks that bloggers are credible sources of information. Don't they know that anyone can get a blog? Don't they know that millions of people have them, millions of people - like me - who have no particular right to influence public opinion? Do they just assume that their viewers think "The Bloggers" are political insiders or movers and shakers? They may as well refer to "The Hotmail Account Users".
In a way, I do think "The Bloggers" influence America - even the world - but not everyone...and influence is a very tricky word. Millions of bloggers write on millions of blogs about millions of topics. To suggest that they all agree or can be refered to as a group of similar thinkers is ridiculous.
Before I go on, I would like to say that even as a child I watched the evening news. I believed it to be a credible source of information. In this present age, however, I feel very confused by a 30 minute news blitz. A television program showing a very small number of news stories of varying degrees of relavance does not seem very informative anymore. Not that I trust cable news much more, but cable news's vastness shows me how the network news trys to make me feel like their "most important" story should also be my "most important" story. I digress.
Back to "The Bloggers", I wonder who thinks that bloggers are credible sources of information. Don't they know that anyone can get a blog? Don't they know that millions of people have them, millions of people - like me - who have no particular right to influence public opinion? Do they just assume that their viewers think "The Bloggers" are political insiders or movers and shakers? They may as well refer to "The Hotmail Account Users".
In a way, I do think "The Bloggers" influence America - even the world - but not everyone...and influence is a very tricky word. Millions of bloggers write on millions of blogs about millions of topics. To suggest that they all agree or can be refered to as a group of similar thinkers is ridiculous.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Evolution Smevolution
A few years ago I had a crisis of faith. Nevermind God’s faithfulness in the past, suddenly my mind was muddled by evolution. I don’t know what kicked it off, but the theory randomly made sense to me. And then I went to the zoo and was standing in a primates exhibit by a Plexiglas wall watching the gorillas. One came right up to the wall and pressed his hand into the wall. It looked like a man’s hand.
You would think that being married to a scientist, I’d have instant access to the answers of all my scientific questions and doubts. But Rob has always been a “look it up” sort of guy, so instead of telling me why he thought evolution was wrong he pointed me to a book called Evolution: A Theory in Crisis by Michael Denton.
Denton was not writing from a Christian perspective; he was writing from a scientist’s perspective. In short he had become convinced of evolutions total improbability because of two things: 1 – missing links in the fossil record and 2 – the complexity of DNA. Sure, humans and apes share some DNA, but when we see outside similarities, we are still not seeing the vast chasms of difference in genetic material. If Evolutionists insist that changes happened at random, they shoot themselves in the foot – it is mathematically impossible.
The following story, which I found recently, illustrates it more colorfully:
If a million monkeys typed on a million typewriters for a million years would they produce a work of Shakespeare by chance? Well not according to this experiment:
This notion has been used to explain how over the vastness of time complex creations may arise from chance. Well, researchers at Plymouth University in England have carried out a small scale experiment by placing a computer in an enclosure with six macaques (short tailed monkeys). After pounding on it with a rock, defecating on it, and urinating on it, some of the monkeys did hit a few keystrokes, producing mostly a lot of S’s. Theoretically the hypothesis defies statistics. The odds of striking the correct sequence is so small that you’d have to have a million monkeys typing at a rate of 31,000,000 strokes a year (1 per second) each for a million years, and then multiply that amount by itself almost 200 times. We think there are better odds at winning the Powerball jackpot.*
I’d like to say that it was my mustard seed faith that quashed evolution in my mind, but statistics like this really helped.
*mental_floss: Instant Knowledge, edited by Will Pearson and Mangesh Hattikudur. HarperCollins, New York, 2005. Pg. 179
You would think that being married to a scientist, I’d have instant access to the answers of all my scientific questions and doubts. But Rob has always been a “look it up” sort of guy, so instead of telling me why he thought evolution was wrong he pointed me to a book called Evolution: A Theory in Crisis by Michael Denton.
Denton was not writing from a Christian perspective; he was writing from a scientist’s perspective. In short he had become convinced of evolutions total improbability because of two things: 1 – missing links in the fossil record and 2 – the complexity of DNA. Sure, humans and apes share some DNA, but when we see outside similarities, we are still not seeing the vast chasms of difference in genetic material. If Evolutionists insist that changes happened at random, they shoot themselves in the foot – it is mathematically impossible.
The following story, which I found recently, illustrates it more colorfully:
If a million monkeys typed on a million typewriters for a million years would they produce a work of Shakespeare by chance? Well not according to this experiment:
This notion has been used to explain how over the vastness of time complex creations may arise from chance. Well, researchers at Plymouth University in England have carried out a small scale experiment by placing a computer in an enclosure with six macaques (short tailed monkeys). After pounding on it with a rock, defecating on it, and urinating on it, some of the monkeys did hit a few keystrokes, producing mostly a lot of S’s. Theoretically the hypothesis defies statistics. The odds of striking the correct sequence is so small that you’d have to have a million monkeys typing at a rate of 31,000,000 strokes a year (1 per second) each for a million years, and then multiply that amount by itself almost 200 times. We think there are better odds at winning the Powerball jackpot.*
I’d like to say that it was my mustard seed faith that quashed evolution in my mind, but statistics like this really helped.
*mental_floss: Instant Knowledge, edited by Will Pearson and Mangesh Hattikudur. HarperCollins, New York, 2005. Pg. 179
Monday, July 17, 2006
House of Meats Strikes Again!
Ah, nothing like a picture of a giant raw turkey wing. Well when you buy meat in bulk you get great prices, but not always the cuts you desire. Rob and I made a mini Thanksgiving style dinner with two enormous turkey wings courtesy House of Meats.Buying meat at House of Meats is only one way I am saving money in the kitchen. I also put our food budget on a strict diet. I do this by creating a meal plan for a two week period and making the plan fit the amount of money budgeted for food. In fact, I've started gaining a reputation for knowing how to eat on the cheap and people often ask me for cheap recipes. Since saving money in the kitchen is a lifestyle, not a cookbook, I've set up a separate blog called Leah's Kitchen. I'm not suggesting I'm a good cook - I've made plenty of meals that are completely inedible. But I am a thrifty cook. Feel free to eat along with us - I'm posting our meal plans on the blog along with some of my favorite recipes and tips I use to cut corners.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Not So Light Reading
You ask me to sing you a song of the plains,
Of the wide treeless wastes where the free winds blow.
Shall I tell of their beauties when green in the spring,
Or sing of their terrors when swept by the snow?
Shall I tell of their cold, their heat and their storms,
Of their warm, bright days and their dusty weather,
Of how they are loved and hated at once,
For their kindness and cruelty blended together?
Oh, yes, I will sing you a song of the plains
I love them and hate them and fear them, but still,
I will sing you of their beauty and charm
While I rest safe in the lee of a hill.
-Laura Ingalls Wilder 1
So far as I can tell, my mother has always been a fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder. I didn’t bother reading her books until I was an adult. I thought they were just for kids and would be uninteresting. But I was wrong. I find it hard to truly explain how Wilder’s Little House series really impacted the way I think about my country, my heritage, and even my present lifestyle.
There is no arguing that the Little House books are written for children. They are written simply, have engaging pictures, and have short chapters. However the themes of the Little House books are very heavy. There is a strong love and faith in family. The family struggles and suffers. The family laughs and rejoices. Ma and Pa are examples of untiring hard work. Laura and her sisters have to learn respect and restraint.
I was proud reading the Little House books. Proud to see how kind and giving the American pioneers were. Proud to see how hard they worked. Proud to see how they survived.
I felt some strange identity with them. These 19th century Americans are my ancestors. I can’t point to a particular country or a particular year when my great great greats crossed the Atlantic. These hardy, happy people are my people.
Finally I felt convicted by their joy. They had so little - oftentimes they had nothing. They endured sickness, they battled the unpredictable weather, they took risks and lost. It made me notice all the times I felt self-pity, while my situation was so easy compared to them.
Can you even imagine going west in a covered wagon – the kind of uncertainty about what you would find in your travels? The kind of trust it must have taken for Laura’s mother to take her 3 tiny daughters into that wagon and go west with only her husband to protect them. No insurance, no hotels, no police officers, no rest stops, no restaurants.
And once they settled in De Smet, South Dakota 2, their life was still not idyllic. I guess reading old books makes old times seem romantic. But reading the above poem shows me that Laura suffered greatly from want and from fear in her childhood, and while she had amazing experiences and beautiful memories, she keenly felt how easy it would have been for her whole family to have died at many times in her childhood. It shocked me at first to see that, according to the poem, she hated the prairie. She did not feel safe there. She didn’t feel safe until she and her husband Almanzo were “in the lee of the hill” – obviously on their mountainous farm in Missouri.
My parents just returned from a weekend trip to Missouri where they toured Laura’s farmhouse where the Little House books were written. Mom delighted me by giving all the little details about the house and the pictures and items in the museum. My dad wasn’t as impressed. To him, the houseful of everyday things was not much different from other everyday things used 70 years ago. But to mom and me, they were Laura’s things and somehow infused with her determined spirit.
1The World of Little House, Carolyn S. Collins and Christina W. Ericksson. Scholastic, Inc., New York, 1996. Pg. 130.
2If you are familiar with the television version of LHOTP, you’ll remember that the family settled in Walnut Grove, Minnesota. They DID live in Walnut Grove, but most of the events depicted in the TV show were in De Smet. Actually MOST of the events in the TV show are completely fabricated, along with a lot of the characters.
Of the wide treeless wastes where the free winds blow.
Shall I tell of their beauties when green in the spring,
Or sing of their terrors when swept by the snow?
Shall I tell of their cold, their heat and their storms,
Of their warm, bright days and their dusty weather,
Of how they are loved and hated at once,
For their kindness and cruelty blended together?
Oh, yes, I will sing you a song of the plains
I love them and hate them and fear them, but still,
I will sing you of their beauty and charm
While I rest safe in the lee of a hill.
-Laura Ingalls Wilder 1
So far as I can tell, my mother has always been a fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder. I didn’t bother reading her books until I was an adult. I thought they were just for kids and would be uninteresting. But I was wrong. I find it hard to truly explain how Wilder’s Little House series really impacted the way I think about my country, my heritage, and even my present lifestyle.
There is no arguing that the Little House books are written for children. They are written simply, have engaging pictures, and have short chapters. However the themes of the Little House books are very heavy. There is a strong love and faith in family. The family struggles and suffers. The family laughs and rejoices. Ma and Pa are examples of untiring hard work. Laura and her sisters have to learn respect and restraint.
I was proud reading the Little House books. Proud to see how kind and giving the American pioneers were. Proud to see how hard they worked. Proud to see how they survived.
I felt some strange identity with them. These 19th century Americans are my ancestors. I can’t point to a particular country or a particular year when my great great greats crossed the Atlantic. These hardy, happy people are my people.
Finally I felt convicted by their joy. They had so little - oftentimes they had nothing. They endured sickness, they battled the unpredictable weather, they took risks and lost. It made me notice all the times I felt self-pity, while my situation was so easy compared to them.
Can you even imagine going west in a covered wagon – the kind of uncertainty about what you would find in your travels? The kind of trust it must have taken for Laura’s mother to take her 3 tiny daughters into that wagon and go west with only her husband to protect them. No insurance, no hotels, no police officers, no rest stops, no restaurants.
And once they settled in De Smet, South Dakota 2, their life was still not idyllic. I guess reading old books makes old times seem romantic. But reading the above poem shows me that Laura suffered greatly from want and from fear in her childhood, and while she had amazing experiences and beautiful memories, she keenly felt how easy it would have been for her whole family to have died at many times in her childhood. It shocked me at first to see that, according to the poem, she hated the prairie. She did not feel safe there. She didn’t feel safe until she and her husband Almanzo were “in the lee of the hill” – obviously on their mountainous farm in Missouri.
My parents just returned from a weekend trip to Missouri where they toured Laura’s farmhouse where the Little House books were written. Mom delighted me by giving all the little details about the house and the pictures and items in the museum. My dad wasn’t as impressed. To him, the houseful of everyday things was not much different from other everyday things used 70 years ago. But to mom and me, they were Laura’s things and somehow infused with her determined spirit.
1The World of Little House, Carolyn S. Collins and Christina W. Ericksson. Scholastic, Inc., New York, 1996. Pg. 130.
2If you are familiar with the television version of LHOTP, you’ll remember that the family settled in Walnut Grove, Minnesota. They DID live in Walnut Grove, but most of the events depicted in the TV show were in De Smet. Actually MOST of the events in the TV show are completely fabricated, along with a lot of the characters.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Babyhood Paradox
I cringed when one of the volunteers commented that the rowdy behavior of one of the little boys in the church nursury was "not like Caleb." I'm sure she meant it as a compliment, but at the time he was barely 5 months old and hadn't begun teething or dealing with separation anxiety. I didn't want to think about how she would begin comparing him with the other babies (at that time not yet born) who would be content to be passed from person to person when he would be hitting those not so pleasant miles stones in a few months.
That time has come and I do wonder what the volunteers are saying about my now clingy, constantly teething baby, but I really don't care. I'm keeping busy being amazed at how he's changing.
I think it is kind of ironic how just as baby begins to gain some independence, he begins to feel afraid. On one hand, if I leave the room to go to the bathroom, Caleb cries and tries to follow me. On the other he wants to do things on his own. He is perfectly content to play by himself on the living room floor - crusing around furniture and frustrating the dog, but if he looks up and I'm not nearby, he is terrified.
I know this is totally normal for a baby his age, but I find myself constantly apologizing for him being like this. Yes he's teething (working on tooth #5 and #6 in 3 months), but that's really not it. It's that he's taking the first step on the road to independence, to growing up and that's scary - even for a grown up.
That time has come and I do wonder what the volunteers are saying about my now clingy, constantly teething baby, but I really don't care. I'm keeping busy being amazed at how he's changing.
I think it is kind of ironic how just as baby begins to gain some independence, he begins to feel afraid. On one hand, if I leave the room to go to the bathroom, Caleb cries and tries to follow me. On the other he wants to do things on his own. He is perfectly content to play by himself on the living room floor - crusing around furniture and frustrating the dog, but if he looks up and I'm not nearby, he is terrified.
I know this is totally normal for a baby his age, but I find myself constantly apologizing for him being like this. Yes he's teething (working on tooth #5 and #6 in 3 months), but that's really not it. It's that he's taking the first step on the road to independence, to growing up and that's scary - even for a grown up.
"I can feed myself!"
Monday, July 10, 2006
Twins
I'm finding out what it's like to have twins. From now until who knows when, two days a week, two weeks a month I'm babysitting for my friend who is a NICU nurse. Her schedule is unusual and her mother-in-law sits the kids occassionally, but there are 2 days every other week that she needs a fill in and that's me.
I'm thankful for the work, but today was exhausting! Her youngest daughter is 2 days older than Caleb, so for all practical purposes (except nursing) it's like having twins. Thankfully she's a good 4lbs lighter than Caleb, which made a big difference when I ended up having to pick them both up at the same time. Somehow I managed to get them both down for afternoon naps simultaneously (however they both missed their morning nap).
For Caleb it's just a place with a bunch of toys he hasn't mouthed yet. He had a great time. My friend has two older kids - 3 & 5. They got along well and played relatively quietly. Once the 5 year old goes to school next month, I think I might even persuade the 3 year old to take a nap and actually have a break somewhere in the day. For now...I guess I'll just go to bed early.
I'm thankful for the work, but today was exhausting! Her youngest daughter is 2 days older than Caleb, so for all practical purposes (except nursing) it's like having twins. Thankfully she's a good 4lbs lighter than Caleb, which made a big difference when I ended up having to pick them both up at the same time. Somehow I managed to get them both down for afternoon naps simultaneously (however they both missed their morning nap).
For Caleb it's just a place with a bunch of toys he hasn't mouthed yet. He had a great time. My friend has two older kids - 3 & 5. They got along well and played relatively quietly. Once the 5 year old goes to school next month, I think I might even persuade the 3 year old to take a nap and actually have a break somewhere in the day. For now...I guess I'll just go to bed early.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Goodbye Grandpa
My grandpa on my mother's side died yesterday. He was 89, almost 90 - his birthday was in August. He was the last tier of his generation to leave us, grandma died a few years ago, so I don't know what all his passing will mean for the family.
It's always sad when someone dies, but it hard not to be glad he'll no longer be stuck in a dingy hospital room, hooked up to tubes and machines. But what really makes me sad is not that he died (he said many times he was ready), but that he was not able to die at home. Surely he would have died much sooner there, but home is where he longed to be. But in the end he could not eat. He could not drink. He could not swallow. He had no choice.
My mom's family has 8 children and the family farm will be divided among them evenly. It was grandpa's wish that the farm be kept in the family. But only one of the children even farms now and he has his own farm. It was never a prosperous place, just a field with a couple of barns, a few cows, an ancient farmhouse, and a big tree with a swing in it.
We always went to his house in the hottest part of the summer or the coldest part of the winter, so my memories of Illinois are very extreme - biting bugs or biting wind. I remember those sore eyed kittens grandma couldn't help but feed (and the one summer my mom, an aunt, and I gathered many of them up to take to the pound - I didn't see her, but I'm sure grandma cried). I remember that macrame owl that hung by the out-of-tune piano, the 8x10 of my cousin who died as a child, the painting of Jesus in the living room, the old blue sofa, the rusty toy tractor hidden under the benches, the dusty stacks of Reader's Digests, the smell of musty pipes in the bathroom, the antique (but still used) clothes washer in the back hall, the old well that "Aunt Josephine" jumped in (and drowned), the aluminum cups, the sweat bees, the stinky pigs, old Princess - the pony, the squeak of the front door, and great grandma Webb's trailer.
Grandpa always shook your hand - shook it like he would shake it off - and laugh at you as you let your hand go limp in his big one. He wasn't the kind of grandpa who took you fishing. He had 26 grandkids, I'm suprised he knew my name. Honestly, besides the handshaking, I don't have a lot of personal memories of him. But my mom told me that he would often do farmwork for his neighbors - and often enough they would neglect to pay him. "Hall," someone asked (his name was Hall), "Why don't you ask them for your money?" And momma says he would always say, "If they can live with it (cheating him), then I can live without it."
I suppose there are times we should not follow my grandpa's example. Sometimes justice must be done. But there are other times when no justice is needed. I guess we all have to choose when those times will be in our own lives.
Grandpa was born in 1916. He my grandma in high school and they got married at 18. They lived in the same house he was born in...the same house my mother was born in. They had 9 children - Don, Nancy, Peggy, Stanley, Patty, Philip, Randy, Michael, and Danny. Michael had severe downs syndrome and died as a toddler. Grandma died in 1998.
It's always sad when someone dies, but it hard not to be glad he'll no longer be stuck in a dingy hospital room, hooked up to tubes and machines. But what really makes me sad is not that he died (he said many times he was ready), but that he was not able to die at home. Surely he would have died much sooner there, but home is where he longed to be. But in the end he could not eat. He could not drink. He could not swallow. He had no choice.
My mom's family has 8 children and the family farm will be divided among them evenly. It was grandpa's wish that the farm be kept in the family. But only one of the children even farms now and he has his own farm. It was never a prosperous place, just a field with a couple of barns, a few cows, an ancient farmhouse, and a big tree with a swing in it.
We always went to his house in the hottest part of the summer or the coldest part of the winter, so my memories of Illinois are very extreme - biting bugs or biting wind. I remember those sore eyed kittens grandma couldn't help but feed (and the one summer my mom, an aunt, and I gathered many of them up to take to the pound - I didn't see her, but I'm sure grandma cried). I remember that macrame owl that hung by the out-of-tune piano, the 8x10 of my cousin who died as a child, the painting of Jesus in the living room, the old blue sofa, the rusty toy tractor hidden under the benches, the dusty stacks of Reader's Digests, the smell of musty pipes in the bathroom, the antique (but still used) clothes washer in the back hall, the old well that "Aunt Josephine" jumped in (and drowned), the aluminum cups, the sweat bees, the stinky pigs, old Princess - the pony, the squeak of the front door, and great grandma Webb's trailer.
Grandpa always shook your hand - shook it like he would shake it off - and laugh at you as you let your hand go limp in his big one. He wasn't the kind of grandpa who took you fishing. He had 26 grandkids, I'm suprised he knew my name. Honestly, besides the handshaking, I don't have a lot of personal memories of him. But my mom told me that he would often do farmwork for his neighbors - and often enough they would neglect to pay him. "Hall," someone asked (his name was Hall), "Why don't you ask them for your money?" And momma says he would always say, "If they can live with it (cheating him), then I can live without it."
I suppose there are times we should not follow my grandpa's example. Sometimes justice must be done. But there are other times when no justice is needed. I guess we all have to choose when those times will be in our own lives.
Grandpa was born in 1916. He my grandma in high school and they got married at 18. They lived in the same house he was born in...the same house my mother was born in. They had 9 children - Don, Nancy, Peggy, Stanley, Patty, Philip, Randy, Michael, and Danny. Michael had severe downs syndrome and died as a toddler. Grandma died in 1998.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Obviously Delighted
I have finally figured out an ancient mystery – the fake smile. I can’t think of a single picture of me as a child that doesn’t feature an oversized forced grin or a photo of me as a teenager where I’m not trying to pull off a sly half smile. It didn’t seem to matter who was the photographer; I always heard the same thing, “Leah, that’s a fake smile!”
Frustrated, I would give my best effort to smile genuinely, but the harder I tried, the more artificial my smile would become. I was completely baffled on how to turn that phony smile into something real. But the mystery is hidden to me no longer…
Fast forward a few years…my little guy is the best smiler I’ve ever seen. His little baby mouth spreads into a beautiful, genuine smile whenever he’s happy…wait, that’s it…he’s happy. A baby can’t fake a smile to fool a photographer; his smile must be honest because he doesn’t know there can be a fake smile. So when he smiles, he really smiles!
Now before you think, “A childhood full of fake smiles, what awful things must Leah have faced,” that isn’t the case. I’m sure somewhere deep in my mother’s boxes of family photos there must be a picture of me smiling for real. And there were plenty of opportunities for pure joy in my childhood, but for some reason, cameras got a bad reputation in my little mind and just seeing one was enough to bring up the anxiety of another fake smile.
To get into the whys and hows, I’m sure it was really my own desire to see myself as pretty that got in the way of my smiles. In my college albums, I have lots of pictures of myself with great, happy smiles. I guess I got over my camera anxiety by then. Or maybe I got over my need to see myself as pretty in a picture and was just happy.
Frustrated, I would give my best effort to smile genuinely, but the harder I tried, the more artificial my smile would become. I was completely baffled on how to turn that phony smile into something real. But the mystery is hidden to me no longer…
Fast forward a few years…my little guy is the best smiler I’ve ever seen. His little baby mouth spreads into a beautiful, genuine smile whenever he’s happy…wait, that’s it…he’s happy. A baby can’t fake a smile to fool a photographer; his smile must be honest because he doesn’t know there can be a fake smile. So when he smiles, he really smiles!
Now before you think, “A childhood full of fake smiles, what awful things must Leah have faced,” that isn’t the case. I’m sure somewhere deep in my mother’s boxes of family photos there must be a picture of me smiling for real. And there were plenty of opportunities for pure joy in my childhood, but for some reason, cameras got a bad reputation in my little mind and just seeing one was enough to bring up the anxiety of another fake smile.
To get into the whys and hows, I’m sure it was really my own desire to see myself as pretty that got in the way of my smiles. In my college albums, I have lots of pictures of myself with great, happy smiles. I guess I got over my camera anxiety by then. Or maybe I got over my need to see myself as pretty in a picture and was just happy.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Thoughts on a New Vaccine
Not long ago, I saw a commercial that was more of a public service announcement. It showed several women commenting on how stunned they were to find out that cervical cancer is caused by HPV (Human Papilloma Virus). Actually they called it "a virus" as if was something akin to the flu. They were encouraging women to "tell someone you care about" so they would know that this virus causes cancer.
I found this advertisment interesting because I have known for a long time that HPV is what causes cervical cancer. I don't know where I learned it, I probably read it online or in some brochure in a doctor's office, but I'm certain no doctor told me. I also thought it was interesting because these caring women did not make it clear that HPV is also an STD. The way they talked about it you'd think you could pick it up from someone sneezing on you. When I found out HPV was an STD, I thought it was interesting that I'd never been told that at an annual exam. I began to wonder why I diligently went year after year to take a test for a disease I knew I didn't have. "Well they check for other things too," I told myself - but Human Papilloma Virus - pap as in smear - it made me think that it was the main concern.
Even more recently, a top news story announced the development of a vaccine that can prevent HPV. The recommendation is that it be given to all girls when they are 11 or 12 years old. The television news story I saw kind of danced around the fact that it's a STD, but the radio story I heard ignored that fact altogether. Now don't get me wrong, I think that any vaccine that can ultimately prevent cancer is potentially a good thing. I just feel like HPV has been a basically preventable cancer causing disease all along - and no one did anything vocal to stop it. HPV is just one on a long list of reasons sex should be kept sacred to marriage, but that idea is so rejected by the mainstream it took cancer to get that fact even mumbled. And does the vaccine erase that? Obviously the threat of STDs does not keep people from promiscuous behavior.
I'll probably continue to go in for those annual visits (after all they do check for other things), but my feeling surrounding the whole thing are not particularly positive. A brief lesson in HPV should have been standard procedure at annual exams all along.
I found this advertisment interesting because I have known for a long time that HPV is what causes cervical cancer. I don't know where I learned it, I probably read it online or in some brochure in a doctor's office, but I'm certain no doctor told me. I also thought it was interesting because these caring women did not make it clear that HPV is also an STD. The way they talked about it you'd think you could pick it up from someone sneezing on you. When I found out HPV was an STD, I thought it was interesting that I'd never been told that at an annual exam. I began to wonder why I diligently went year after year to take a test for a disease I knew I didn't have. "Well they check for other things too," I told myself - but Human Papilloma Virus - pap as in smear - it made me think that it was the main concern.
Even more recently, a top news story announced the development of a vaccine that can prevent HPV. The recommendation is that it be given to all girls when they are 11 or 12 years old. The television news story I saw kind of danced around the fact that it's a STD, but the radio story I heard ignored that fact altogether. Now don't get me wrong, I think that any vaccine that can ultimately prevent cancer is potentially a good thing. I just feel like HPV has been a basically preventable cancer causing disease all along - and no one did anything vocal to stop it. HPV is just one on a long list of reasons sex should be kept sacred to marriage, but that idea is so rejected by the mainstream it took cancer to get that fact even mumbled. And does the vaccine erase that? Obviously the threat of STDs does not keep people from promiscuous behavior.
I'll probably continue to go in for those annual visits (after all they do check for other things), but my feeling surrounding the whole thing are not particularly positive. A brief lesson in HPV should have been standard procedure at annual exams all along.
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