Junior Birdman

I once described my dad as "Outdoorsman of the Year." "Really? Was he nominated by Hunting and Fishing magazine or something?" my boss asked in amazement. No, John, it's just the most succinct way to explain his fascination with all things creepy, crawly, living and breathing. He photographs the cactus blossoms each spring, sneaks up on owlets and ravens in their nests, and if we are lucky, even brings one home for a pet. (We all have fond memories of a certain black bird named Cobber - "friend" in Australian slang, where my dad served his mission - calling our dog, Spot, in my dad's exact tone of voice, or stealing neighboring construction workers' tools, or pecking at our toes, and chasing us off of the trampoline with a menacing glare.) There is no end to the tales of my dad destinking skunks, or tormenting horny toads to get them to shoot blood out of their eyes, or rescuing baby rabbits abandoned by their mother, or carrying tiny chipmunks around in his shirt pocket. Not quite the animal charmer, Dickon from the Secret Garden was, but close.

So, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised by what happened two weeks ago. My parents and youngest sister had stopped by to drop off a belated Valentine's treat. As they were leaving, they startled a pigeon who had apparently been preparing to bed down next to our front door for the night. (That's what the droppings indicated anyway.) My dad decided to catch the poor thing. "Leave him alone!" my sister and I pled. But off he went, deaf to our cries, and scooped the bird up in one fell swoop.


I have to say, I was amazed at how easily the bird was captured, until my dad pointed out the broken wing.


"Why don't I just put him in here?" my dad said, trying to throw the bird into my living room.

"Uh, I don't think so. You're the nature lover. You should take him home with you and nurse him back to health. Mom's biology class would love to have another pet."

After five minutes of arguing, wrestling, and teasing, the bird was finally laid down under the rosemary bush out front. We had probably scared him to death, but at least he wasn't sleeping under my roof! Oh the joys of being related to a man that has yet to grow up. Here's to you, Junior Birdman - it's always an adventure, but I love you anyway!

"Up in the air Junior Birdman, Up in the air upside down..."

S-C-A-R-Y-!-!-!

Whew! I have officially survived my first high fever convulsion as a mother. (In medical lingo they are referred to as Febrile Seizures.) My youngest sister had one when I was about twelve but that's a story for another day.

It all began with my two snotty nose, coughing kids enjoying their evening bath. I had gone to the sink to fetch toothbrushes when I noticed Addison face first in the water. Sometimes he lays on his tummy, but he almost never puts his face in. "Are you swimming Addison?" I asked. No response. I went back to the tub calling his name, only to find him wildly convulsing.

A million thoughts run through your head at a moment like that. A few of mine were, "Never leave your child alone in the bath, even for a minute;" "A child can drown in an inch of water;" "I am a lifeguard and my own son is going to drown in the bath." Not very positive or helpful.

Thankfully, sometimes your body acts independently of your brain. I flipped him over, held his head and called repeatedly for my husband to come quick. Addison's eyes were rolled back in his head, he wasn't breathing and had turned blue. I figured he might have water in his lungs so I began rescue breathing. Not the pretty form that you learn in CPR/First Aid class, just me leaning over the tub blowing air in his mouth so water would come out. I might have mumbled a few panicked "What am I supposed to do's?" as well. Keith came to rescue Charlotte and I ordered him to call 911. By the time he had Charlotte in a towel and had brought an extra one for Addison, Addison had come out of it.

He coughed, vomited up some water and then fell forward, limp in my arms. He was completely out of it but at least he was breathing. I remembered the high fever convulsion my sister had had, a condition which runs pretty heavily in my family history, but I didn't recall the passing out after it was over. Freaked that it might be something crazy, I had Keith help me lift Addison's dead weight out of the tub, determined to go to the ER once he was dressed. In the meantime Keith had called his mom, the nurse, who agreed that a trip to the ER was a good idea.

We couldn't get Addison to stay awake, but were afraid to let him sleep. I then called my mom, the expert on high fever convulsions, and she reassured me that it was fine to let him sleep. His body was just worn out from being so tense. She told me to give him Tylenol, put a cool cloth on his head and get the fever down as fast as possible. If the fever lasted until morning, then I could worry about seeing a doctor. All good news, only...we didn't have any Tylenol in the house! What kind of prepared mother doesn't keep any pain killer/fever reducer on hand?!?! Not infant Tylenol, not Children's liquid or chewable tablets, not even Adult pills! (Are my kids going to survive to adulthood? Sometimes I wonder.) So off to the store Keith went. Addison was sleeping restlessly so I managed to get Charlotte nursed and off to bed.

When Keith returned, we gave Addison his dose of Tylenol, got him into his PJs and told a few stories. By now he was conscious enough to know something was going on and was kind of freaked out. So I held him on my lap and we watched old family movies until he fell asleep. It was a restless but uneventful night after that. I woke up every few hours to check on Addison, just to make sure he didn't have another seizure without my knowing it, and to force another dose of Tylenol into him. By morning his temperature was still 104+ so we went in to see the doctor.

Wonderful woman that she is, the doctor assured me that I had done everything perfectly. There would have been no use in calling the Paramedics or going to ER, as there is nothing anyone can do to treat or prevent a high fever convulsion. You just have to wait them out. Apparently there are two types and Addison experienced the milder version. The complex version can last for up to 15 minutes! What are you supposed to do if your child isn't breathing for 15 minutes?!?! He will be dead, even with rescue breathing! The good ol' doc never really answered that question, saying I didn't need to worry about it. Kids either have simple or complex seizures, not a combination of both; there is no chance of Addison ever having a complex seizure now that he has had a simple one. Let's hope she is right! The doctor also informed me that these Febrile Seizures usually occur right at the beginning of an illness and then do not repeat themselves throughout the rest of the illness. So it was pointless for me to wake up all night and check on him. Better safe than sorry I say!

Anyhow, it turns out Addison has a raging ear infection, which most likely caused the fever. Now that he is on antibiotics, we should see marked improvement soon. I hope so...that was definitely enough excitement for me. At least the first one is over though and now I'll know what to do in the future. Because I am planning to experience more of these. Lots more.

And if you have any Peterson genes in you, BEWARE! You or your child could be next!

Books: Check 'em out!

Does anybody remember that commercial from the early 1990s with the California Raisins singing praises to literacy? It ended with the oft repeated phrase (at least in my childhood home) "Books: check 'em out...at your local library." Well, in homage to the California Raisins and my love of repeating lines from commercials, TV shows, and horrible movies, I have decided to dub all of my book reviews with the title, "Books: Check 'em out!" So now that I have finally finished a book...here is the first installation.

Since becoming a parent almost three years ago, I have also become subject to lots and lots of junk mail containing thousands of baby related coupons and dozens of parenting networking classes within the community. I usually toss them all out automatically, but for whatever reason I cracked one open and saw this book featured. I guess it caught my eye because real baby research was being done here in Arizona. (I thought it was Tucson at the time, but since reading the book, it turns out all the studies were done at ASU.) Anyhow, after twelve weeks, the maximum number of renewals from the public library, and a substantial late fee, I am officially done with the book. Not that it was hard reading, I was just more often interested in other things.

Most of the advice offered was commonsense. Things I have read over and over in every parenting publication out there. "Breastfeeding is best," "No TV before age 2," "Read to your child 15 minutes a day." What was fascinating, to me at least, were the reasons behind these rules; the ways these behaviors affect brain growth and thus your baby's ability to learn new information. For example, breastfeeding has commonly been recommended as the best choice for nutrition because of the content of the milk. But modern science has so improved commercial formulas that there is virtually no difference between the ingredients of store bought formula and breastmilk. Yet breastfed babies continue to outperform formula fed babies. Dr. Stamm asserts that the method in which nursing mothers feed their babies is actually what makes the difference. Breastfed babies are switched from side to side at each feeding. This enables the brain to develop on both hemispheres. Bottle fed babies, on the other hand, are usually fed on whichever side is most comfortable for their caregiver and stay in that position the whole feeding. Nursing mothers also have one hand free, which permits them to interact with their babies more than those mothers with one hand on the baby and the other on the bottle. So the lesson learned is, if you choose to bottle feed, switch sides during the feeding and interact with your child as much as possible.

Dr. Stamm's whole premise for the book is that babies 0-3 years of age need three basic things for optimal brain development. The ABC's of healthy brain growth are Attention, Bonding, and Communication. I think she does a great job of laying out the science behind her claims in a way that the average parent can understand. You don't have to be a genius to raise one! She then follows up the information with simple "exercises" you can do at home, in each developmental stage of your baby's first years, to increase their learning abilities. Whenever I found myself becoming overwhelmed with the dozens of things I should be doing each day, wanting to photocopy pages of the book and hang them on my mirror for constant reference to make sure I was getting everything right, there was an encouraging word from Dr. Stamm. Being a parent, of a severly brain damaged child no less (there are lots of "Jenny Stories" throughout), I felt like she totally understood the sometimes daunting task that is parenting and was playing the part of cheerleader just as much as medical professional.

Overall, I think most conscientious parents are probably doing a majority of the things recommended in this book already, but if you are concerned about your child's intellectual future and want to make sure they succeed (or exceed), aka you are an overachiever yourself, (or, I guess if you are simply fascinated with brain growth), go ahead and pick up Bright from the Start.

Photo Tag

I was tagged by my ex-roommate, Eliza, to post the sixth picture in the sixth folder on my computer. Guess what? The sixth folder is completely empty! So I guess I can't participate...sorry everyone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just kidding, don't have a heart attack. I'll pick a different folder. The seventh folder doesn't even have six pictures so here is the funniest one. (I know that's not really fair of me to pick my favorite, but who wants to look at a boring picture?)



This is my younger brother, Preston, trying to be the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. The summer after I got married (that would be 2004 for anyone who cares) my family took a trip to Nauvoo to see all of the cool Church history sites. We actually flew in and out of St. Louis so we had to do a few touristy things there too. Voila!

The next picture is the sixth one out of the fifth folder. This is a professional pic from Target, so hopefully they don't sue me for posting it. Addison is six months old which means pre-solid food, which means pre-skinny mini. Enjoy the chub because it's the last you'll ever see on him.



Okay, I tag Niki and Melanie, because I think you two are the only ones besides Eliza who actually read my blog. (Bridget might read it occasionally, but as I recall, she's already had this tag and who likes tag backs?)

Not a Box

Have you ever read this picture book? It was only published in 2006, but I think it should be considered a classic. It is quintessential childhood in a few short sentences and line drawings. For me, the dedication page says it all: "To children everywhere sitting in cardboard boxes."

What is it about sitting in a box that is so great anyway? I don't think my kids have quite developed the imagination to make a box something more than it is, so why the excitement? How can eating chips in a box be so much cooler than sitting up to the table or even on the floor for that matter?

Is it just that a box defines your own personal space? Does it give kids a sense of control to know their limits and boundaries? Or is it something more subconscious, something that has to do with being squished in the womb, that makes a box feel secure? I'm not sure, but Antoinette Portis has the right idea. Children everywhere are sitting in cardboard boxes.

Scrubbing Bubbles

What supplies do you need to clean a bathroom? A rag/sponge and some cleanser, right? Well, if you are my husband, it's just not that simple.


Now, without looking back at the picture, tell me ten things Keith uses when scrubbing the bathroom. Old toothbrush, good. Comet with bleach, excellent. But, did you get the screwdriver with multiple bits, the rotary tool with numberless attachments, two different sized wrenches, or the WD-40? What can I say, the guy is very thorough!


I have to admit that while his methods are a little exasperating at times, WD-40 does leave a sparkle that's hard to beat. And who doesn't love a man who will clean all the hair out of the drain for you? I'm just grateful that this time he was able to put the sink back together. Last time he scrubbed the bathroom we ended up at Home Depot buying a new faucet!

PS- Does anybody else have a husband who finds unconventional ways to use his tools?

Of all things...

Of all the things that have ended up in our backyard: the chip bags and soda cups blown in by the wind; the errant baseballs, soccer balls and Frisbees of neighborhood boys; the broken beer bottles and cigarette butts after late night college parties; even the street sign uprooted and dumped over the wall during one particularly riotous event; of all these things, none was so odd as what we found last week.

Let it be known that we don't often venture out into the backyard. It's a barren wasteland of dirt and weeds. But we've been hoping to change that. We have plans to add on a porch and patio, perhaps plant a few trees and a garden, maybe even put a lawn in someday. So we decided to tackle the weeds. Not ordinary weeds, mind you. Round, stickery weeds that break off and tumble just like you see in the Westerns. Bermuda grass growing unchecked, taller than my children, and full of leaping grasshoppers. These are the types of weeds we are talking about. Anyhow...it was a big project and there is no telling what we could have found in the jungle out there. But of all the things we might have expected, we never thought we'd find what we did.

And what was this mysterious object? Would anyone like to hazard a guess before I reveal our disturbing discovery? No? Alright, out with it already!

Twenty pounds of spoiled Jennie-O turkey!
What the heck?!?!

My last encounter with a raw turkey - Thanksgiving 2001 at BYU.
Despite the face, this venture turned out much tastier than the present one.

How did a rotten turkey end up in the backyard? And how long had it been there? It smelled foul, no pun intended. Maybe it hadn't been expired when it first came to it's final resting place. Perhaps the next door neighbor left it to thaw on the three inch thick wall separating our homes and a gentle breeze upset it. Or maybe the man in the house on the corner was planning a feast for his wife, but lost his nerve after she chased him down the street with a baseball bat screaming expletives. (True story, by the way.) Or were we just random victims of senseless Southside crime? We may never know. But at least now the yard is cleared so if anything like this should happen in the future, we can take care of it more quickly and may be able to avoid the stench.