Ready to Pop

Just a little post-Christmas photo to show you how READY I am for this baby to be born. Holiday blessings to all of you!

Merry Christmas, BoBo

Next year we'll have an infant to tear open packages and enjoy the wrapping paper more than the presents. This year, we have a two year old - a two year old Lab named Jack. He really loves Christmas. Even if it's just for a few moments of destructive bliss, this dog knows the meaning of joy!

Objects in Motion Remain in Motion...

Here's a little video of Jesse and Jack exploring physics. Jesse got the LandRoller roller blades for Christmas (as seen on the Dog Whisperer), and these are their first attempts at trying them out. Enjoy!

It's Good to Have a Brother

Dustin is here! He arrived a week ago and we're keeping him until January 5th! It's been nearly a year since I've seen him, and I'm so glad to have him around. Apparently Jack is too - here's Jackie Boy snuggling up to his Uncle Dustin this morning. Hopefully Jacks will be as happy when his own little brother arrives!

Children, Fools, and Pregnant Women

A week ago, I did something stupid. I'd like to blame my lack of common sense on the fact that most of my blood is being rerouted to my uterus, so perhaps my brain is a bit short on the necessary nutrients to think clearly. All I know is that I had a problem and came up with a solution, even if, in hindsight, it was a really dumb solution.

Jesse's grandmother was in the hospital and we weren't sure what time we would be getting home, so we asked our faithful dog-buddy, Josh, to swing by and let Jack out in the afternoon. I left my housekey for Josh and headed out. By four o'clock, it was time for my pregnant body to rest, so I headed home, leaving Jesse at the hospital, planning to ride home with his parents later that evening. Of course, when I got home, I realized that we'd not specified where Josh should leave my key when he was done. Now, understand - I was tired, needed to pee, and had my to-go dinner with me.

And I was key-less. Jack peered at me through the miniblinds, wondering what was taking me so long. It was getting dark and Jesse (who had his own key) was about a two hour drive away when you factored in traffic. I didn't have Josh's number, but I was pretty sure he'd left the key on the kitchen table as he'd done in the past (I was wrong, but that's irrelevant to my story). I checked under the mat in back. I checked under the mat in the front. I tried to talk Jackie into opening the door. And then I did what made perfect sense to me at the time: I looked for a window to crawl in.

I'd done it before when I'd locked myself out. And then we'd realized how easy it had been to get into our apartment, so I'd made Jesse put nails in all the windows. But I was standing there, tired, hungry, and increasingly irritable, and I started praying that maybe we'd left a window unlocked. Maybe there was a way I could get in. Sure enough, I discovered that the window I often open for Jack's benefit was unlatched. It was even located over the airconditioning unit, which I figured would make a handy seat as I hoisted my new heaviness up and in.

I got the screen off and then I pushed the window as far as I could get it to open. The dog tried to climb out, but I persuaded him that he'd be more help on the inside. I tried leaning in and unlocking the front door, but it was too far. There seemed no other solution at the time than to find a way to wiggle my big belly through that small opening. And I did. I sat on the air conditioner and put my head in. I will admit that at this moment, I had second thoughts. It felt a bit like being under a guillotine, which is not a good feeling. But I thought, "I am an able woman. I will solve this for myself." (Dumb, I know, but at the time it seemed very empowering.) Sure enough, I summoned super pregnant strength, pushed the window open a few more inches, and made it through. I was in! I ate my dinner rather proud of myself, although looking back I realize that was one of my stupider moments. Who knows what could have happened?

My mom's response was "Thank God that He watches out for children and fools, and perhaps we need to add pregnant women." Or maybe just childishly foolish pregnant women?

Counting Down the Weeks

It's amazing how quickly time is passing these days! This is the last week of normal classes at Maranatha, and next week is final exam time. On Saturday, Dustin arrives and will be spending nearly three weeks with us. Soon Christmas and New Year will be upon us, and all that is left is Little Malott's arrival.

As you might expect, I'm finding this season of Advent especially meaningful, being "Great with Child" myself. I've been thinking about that summons to Bethlehem, how Mary must have felt - so insignificant and pawn-like, moved about by imperial decrees made half of a world away. I find it difficult to accomplish simple tasks like grading essays or washing laundry, all of which pales in comparison to riding a long ways on a donkey to a town I've never known without even the assurance of a warm bath at the end of the journey. And then, to arrive and give birth in a smelly stable with little help and no epidural! Truly, I've come to appreciate Mary's strength and courage more and more as the days of December slip by and move me closer to my own son's birth. No doubt, the coming years will increase my appreciation for Mary's worries and loss as well!

Merry Christmas to you all.

An Experimental Tour of the Baby's Room

Hello! I thought I'd try out the new camcorder tonight. Here is my first attempt, which seems to me a little blurry, but at least you'll get a glimpse of the new, organized baby room. Hopefully I won't make you seasick - I'm sure filming on these things is a skill to be learned - one we're sure to become proficient in once the baby arrives. Much love and blessings - M

Showered with Love

In the last couple weeks, we've had two showers - one at the church and another at my grandmother's house. Jess and I have just been overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support that we've received. And the stuff. Wow - this baby will be better dressed in his first few months of life than he ever will afterwards! Here are a few photos of all the fun:

Here are Dani and Perrie - my beautiful students whom I've taught since they were in the sixth grade (six years ago!). I was so happy they could be a part of this fun event.

Here are three of my good friends: Jeanne, Hannah, and Sarah.

Here is Jesse and I, seated with my San Diego Mom, Pam Paganini, at the family shower hosted by my grandparents.

Finally, here are my cousin Chelsie and I with the delicious cake that she made for the event. We really are so lucky to have such an amazing group of friends and family!

Make Room for Baby

We've been working on the "second bedroom" for a few weeks now...well - Jesse has been working on it while I make periodic visits and frequent suggestions. Luckily, he's had help from Jackie Boy and our friends, Micah and Hannah. Here are a few photos to enjoy along the way - it's nearly finished now, just the wallpaper border to put up and the valance to hang!

Chronicles of the Dog

When Marilee and I first got our dog Jack as a new pup, we were so excited. Not only was this a long-time wish of ours to have a dog, but because this was one step closer to having a child. I think Jack always knew that he was the John the Baptist, paving the way for someone who would usurp his place and authority. His life has always been devoted to one thing, "postpone the kid." For instance, when we got him we told ourselves that if we could keep a dog alive we could probably handle having a kid. So what does Jack do, a week after he arrived - concocted a life-threatening Pneumonia, costing us thousands of dollars. His strategy was two-fold - not only had he set us back financially, he caused us to doubt our readiness for child-raising - GENIOUS! He had indeed cemented his role as "our child."

Every time Jones (that's my name for Marilee) and I would gain a spine and lay down the law, he would develop some illness and give us those big ol' sad eyes. We were jello. He sleeps in the bed with us, has his favorite spot on the couch, prefers Breyers to Dreyers, and throws a fit if he is told no (really, he has a conniption). Just a couple of weeks ago I went into the kitchen to slice myself some cheese. I went to go answer the phone and 2 seconds later Jack runs into the living room with the whole block of cheese imprisoned in his mouth. You see, he loves cheese. This was a triumph.

What will we do when little Malott arrives in January and Jack is no longer mister numero uno? Already he can tell something is up. He seems to be regressing some in his behavior. But everytime we have little ones over he loves them. He just wants to keep licking them. It's us I'm worried about, not junior. Little Malott will just have to get used to being soaked with puppy drool every day. Oh well, some kids do have it worse - there are starving kids in China still.

Growing Wider

At our doctor appointment yesterday, I received the good news that I do not have Gestational Diabetes. My first glucose test had come back with high scores (what can I say? I've always wanted high scores before!), so I'd had to take a more extensive test that included fasting for twelve hours, drinking 100 mg of a terribly sweet substance called "glucola", and then have my blood tested four times over three hours. We pregnant people need to eat, so I'll just say that by noon (by then, no food for 16 hours) it's good that I was alone - I was pretty cranky!

Anyhow, that's over and I'm grateful that my test results came back normal - it seemed a bit cruel to have to give up ice cream so abruptly, when I'd waited so long to indulge. :) We've switched over to sugar-free ice cream, pudding, and cookies just to slow down the rapid weight gain, but I still get to eat carbs! (Thank goodness - Panera just opened up down the street!) Speaking of weight gain, I can officially say that for the first time since our freshman year in college, Jess and I weigh the same. Wow, I'm still processing that fact.

Kid Nation

As some of you may have heard, child abuse is running rampant on the television network CBS. Or, at least that is what we are told. Adding to my ginormous list of regularly watched shows, the new controversial hit Kid Nation has begun to climb the rankings.

The gyst of the show is a modified "Lord of the Flies" scenario in which 40 children, ages 8 to 15 are dropped off in the middle of the desert with the mandate to build a town of their own. They are given a ghost town, a warm, yet hands-off adult host, and daily tips as to how to coordinate this new civilization.

I have no idea how the producers pulled off such a bold legal maneuvering, but they somehow got the courts to agree to let them make millions off a social experiment with minors. And the television it has produced is, in a word, awesome.

In the first couple of days, life was chaos. The kids ran wild, soon succombing to the pressures of starvation and thusly beginning their work.

What has fascinated me about this show is the way that these kids have semingly replicated adult society. They chip in to wash dishes, create new recipes. Kids with certain gifts rise to challenge and cover for the inadequacies of the others. In fact, now that I think about it, they function better than adults.

One episode shocked me and in some ways rang quite true. Every three days the kids are brought togther in their teams and compete with each other for a better class rank than the others. If all the teams complete the challenge within a given amount of time, the whole town is given a choice of two rewards. Needless to say, when you bring a bunch of starving who are desparate for a bit of fun - they work hard. In this particular challenge, the choice of the two rewards were either to turn the town into a giant miniature golf course (hey, an accidental oxymoron - yeah!) or a small collection of religious texts. Almost to a kid, they chose the library.

Why do you think this is?

Behold - The End is Nigh

Well, there is no doubt that Jesse is correct when he highlights how differently we approach deadlines. This is not news to either of us (we were, after all, friends long before we were spouses), and it can't be too suprising to any of our good friends or (especially!) our families. After all, these penchants for neurotically preparing for stressful events (that would be me) or cavalierly procrastinating to acknowledge said event (that would Jess) developed long ago. In my parents' boxes of photos, there's a picture I particularly love. It's taken in the kitchen of our Garden Grove house on the morning I would attend first grade for the very first time. My hair is curled, my dress is on (which had been chosen carefully the night before), and my shoes are tied. I am sitting on a kitchen chair, feet dangling because they don't quite reach the floor. I am concentrating intently - on the clock mounted above the door to the garage. Willing that second hand to move a little quicker. Everything is ready. Just waiting for the time to be right. I was seven.

Now I am thirty-one and feeling the impulse to behave according to my nature. Is this the biological clock everyone speaks of? This instinct to begin the (sometimes painful) transition from adolescent to adult? That is the conversation that sparked Jesse's eschatalogical musings below - I looked around at the soda cans and discarded Taco Bell bags on the coffee table and thought, "If my son had walked away and left this here, he'd be in big trouble. Maybe it's time that we start living out the rules we intend to teach this kid." Of course, because I'm six months pregnant and the mood swings are like riding the Dragon Swing at Knott's Berry Farm, this very rational and mature idea came out in a combination of righteous indignation and snivelling tears. I'd feel bad for Jesse, except that this potent combination seems to be awfully effective in driving home my point to someone so inclined towards a laissez faire attitude. Needless to say, communication was had, plans were inacted, and our house has never been so orderly!

And it's a good thing, too, because our latest trip to the doctor for an echo cardiogram (clean bill of health on little Malott's heart! hooray!) brought the...interesting? information that "this kid has a huuuge head. No, really. Like Sputnik - spherical yet pointy in parts." Joking aside, his head (which is how they measure a baby's development in the womb) is like two weeks ahead of schedule. Yikes! Our January 17th due date might be closer to January 4th, according to the specialist we saw. So, maybe these little preparations, transitioning us slowly into honest-to-goodness-adults, are a good idea - the end of adolescence might be closer than we thought!

Last Days

Those of you who have kids have already experienced the eschatological nature of pre-childbirth. As most of you know, I am a theo-nerd from way back and have a particular penchant for "last days" theology.

Usually, at night Marilee and I have the chance to debrief the day (you know, the boring stuff) and digest what new tidbits have developed in our winsome little lives. A couple of nights ago, the tiny tidbits morphed into a huge huddle on the topic of "pre-child preparatory philosophy." That of course is the pretentious phrase I created for grandness sake, but it essentially boils down to this: Marilee believes that she needs these last few months to establish routines and disciplines in her life so that she is properly prepared and ready for motherhood. Jesse sees these last few months as a hoorah to the days when you could still go to movies, go out with friends and most especially play Halo into all hours of the night. These philosophies have really followed us throughout our lives. Marilee has always been the responsible one - running home immediately after the first day of class just to get a start on that exciting "build-a-molecule" project. Jesse spent the first day in class calculating the latest possible time when he would have to turn in assignments. Marilee attended all her classes in college. Jesse went to take the tests. Marilee planned out their wedding months in advance with an "all-possible-scenarios" approach. Jesse helped plan the wedding... but still asked if Vegas wasn't perhaps a wiser option.

So as you can see, we have different philosophies about responsibility and preparation. So, here we sit in the "last days" before the coming of the child and attempt to grasp the apocalyptic nature of the event. We've been told that the literal emerging of the child is something from the Book of Revelation and that after this annunciation we can expect great transformation in our lives to come. So when Marilee asks me if I am really ready for all this transformation, I responded with the same phrase I have used for my entire life, "Desperation produces inspiration." She has a plan of attack. She has studied, researched, established her schedule, even begun practicing good family procedures without the family. She is ready and knows from experience that preparation is the best way to not fail. I, however, have gotten by on sheer luck (code for God had grace on my sorry butt).

I must admit to you all that I am afraid - afraid that I will never figure out how to comfort Jude (that's his name this week) when he's upset. I'm terrified that all my foibles will somehow manifest themselves into the personality of this little person. Will he be as reckless and irresponsible as me? Will he never learn from advice and only from mistakes? Will he have a secret addiction to Wienerschnitzel chili-cheese dogs? These are all questions that can only be answered through experience.

I prayed this morning that like my eschatology, I would place my faith for Jude in the fact that God will have the final say and his grace will overwhelm the errors of the many.

Still, I look forward to late night chili-dog runs (not in the bathroom way) with the boy.

Little Chucks

Many of you know that Jesse and I met thirteen years ago (wow!), when he chose my blue Converse tennis shoe from a box of shoes on the first evening of our freshman year at Whitworth College. I'd left one of my suitcases at home, and ended up tying on my old navy chucks (complete with Micky Mouse bow-biters) with the hope that no one at the semi-formal dinner would notice my very casual footwear. Of course, as soon as I reached the first-floor lounge, I was told to put my shoe in a box. The boys upstairs would choose a shoe and come, like Prince Charming I suppose, seeking its match. While I'll admit to preferring even this dirty pair of tennis shoes to the stuffy pumps, how lucky am I that Jesse did too?

To propose, Jesse recreated that first meeting, so it seemed only fitting that for our wedding, my mom and grandmother decorated a white pair of Con's, and I eschewed the typical, blister-inducing formal wear most brides suffer. Somehow those quirky shoes summed up so much for us and our journey from friends to soul-mates.

This week we had a wonderful visit with our dear friend Marshall, who brought with him a wonderful gift for Baby Malott - a little pair of chucks. How cute are these? How appropriate that this child begin thus decked out? So little...so cute.

Belly Update - Look Out Below!

I am very popular these days at work. All the students run up to hug me and tell me how cute it is...that I look like a balloon. They don't say that, but it's what they mean. And who doesn't like balloons, after all? I know I associate them with parties - especially birthday parties, and (as many of you know so well) I adore birthdays.

Balloons are usually bright, festive colors. As a child, I always looked with longing at the large mylar balloons that float happily over the check-out at the grocery store. It didn't matter that it wasn't my birthday or I didn't need to 'Get Well' - they were balloons, and I would have happily left the store with one. Balloon animals are good, too. Somehow talented clowns at carnivals or waiters at restaurants have the talent to make those long, skinny balloons screech their way into unexpectedly familiar shapes. On my first date (which was my sixteenth birthday), my date and I ate dinner across the table from one another with a huge heart-shaped balloon-hat bridging the table, linking our heads. Embarassing, but fun. Two years ago, my roommates at Bread Loaf covered my bed with balloons for my birthday - balloons that miraculously lasted the rest of the summer, tangible reminders of friendship and love.

Becoming a walking balloon is somehow different. Still festive, I suppose, as my growing belly is a constant reminder that our family too is growing. But it's rather disconcerting to see a bit less of one's feet each day. My students have to carefully stowe their backpacks behind their chairs - no chance to trip over what I can't see, that way. As someone who's never really had to work at being slim, it's mostly my sense of self that is in flux. Not as a matter of vanity, really - I don't find my new, balloon shape hideous! It's just one's sense of self in space that must be reconsidered - the very sense that Gnarls Malott (just kidding!) is developing about this time, as he starts to find his cozy home a bit more snug.

Jess and I recently oohed and aahed through "In the Womb" (a show on the Discovery Channel), which explained that as the baby enters the third trimester, he begins to develop a sense of himself in space. Without sight, he starts to understand where he sits in relation to the walls of the placenta. Plus, about now his senses become linked to his brain, allowing him to become more aware of the world around him: hearing and feeling with me as I go through my day. So my sense of how much space I take up seems to grow as my son's does. It seems that part of the joys of motherhood is making space in the world for one's child, beginning with the balloon-like expansion of one's waist-line. This is one balloon that won't be floating anywhere!

Faith & Culture... In My Dreams?

I am a dreamer... literally. Since childhood I have experienced the wildest dreams while sleeping and at times lived them out. My poor wife has been the unwilling victim of these wild dreams. One time while living at Fuller Seminary, I experienced a very vivid "waking nightmare". Somehow, I imagined that the point of a laser scope was targeting our bed. I immediately grabbed Marilee, threw her off the bed while madly yelling, "Sniper, sniper, 10 o' clock!" I leapt on top of her body to protect her from the ensuing sniper fire, all the while oblivious to her yelling, "Get off me, you're asleep."

So, as you can see, my dreams play very active roles in my life and my life in them.

Last night, I had another dream. Many times, in order to shut off my brain, I will fall asleep to an old television episode or movie that I have seen many times. This time I dreamt that I had fallen asleep to an old Jesus film. Yet somehow, I entered the life of the movie and became Jesus' 13th disciple. We would walk around and heal people and cast out demons - you know, regular everyday stuff.

Here's the twist: Jesus and the disciples were played by the cast members of "The Office". Steve Carrell played Jesus - he had a beard in this movie. And the personality of each disciple was characterized by who they played on "The Office". I think I remember Peter being Dwight Schrute, pompous, outspoken, and obnoxious. John was played by Jim Halpert, easygoing and providing a running commentary on the rest of the group. Unlike real life, I remained pretty silent through the whole movie.

When I woke this morning two thoughts presented themselves to me. First, "Wow, I watch a lot of T.V." and second, "Can I ever escape the struggle between faith and culture?"

I'll finish this tomorrow after I get some sleep - maybe I'll have a sequel tonight.

Tinsel Town - Pt. 2

Now that I have copies of some of the photos we took while in the Big Apple, I thought I'd update the blog and tell you a bit more about my trip. The idea for the trip came when Mom and I were chatting about our enjoyment of the cheesy reality-TV show "Grease: You're the One that I Want". Each week, Jesse would go practice his guitar and I would sing along to the fifties tunes, voting for Max and Laura. When they won, I half-jokingly said to my mom, "We should go to New York and see the show. Just us girls!" What began as more of a "wouldn't that be fun?" became a reality, and we planned to visit NY, seeing a couple shows on Broadway.

We did see Grease (with Max and Laura), and it was a really fun show. It was different from the John Travolta movie, with songs in a different order and a lot more songs for the supporting cast. The addition of several fifties songs and an outstanding Frankie Avalon-like guardian angel for the "Beauty School Drop-Out" number (he descended from a giant soft-serve ice cream cone!) added to the fun. The audience was very enthusiastic, and the theater was pretty intimate, so there were many factors contributing to our enjoyment of the program. Max did well - though the more humorous guys in the cast tended to steal the audience's attention, but Laura did an excellent job and really showed that she'd deserved the part. All around, a fun time!

The next night we went to the Lion King. I'd heard so many people tell me that they'd loved this show - I had pretty high expectations. Carin had gotten us some great seats in the eighth row on the orchestra floor, and just before the show began the usher ran through, telling me to keep my elbows out of the aisle. No wonder - a giant rhinoceros manned by at least two people came lumbering down the aisle as the music began and the "animals" of Pride Rock welcomed the sunrise. It was truly a magical show - so beautiful in an artistic way that I'd not seen in other Broadway shows. The inclusion of so much African dance and music really made it something more than the Disney film. As we said when we came out of the theater that night: it was like nothing else we'd ever seen.

Well, of course, we did a lot more than see musicals, but if it were up to me and money was no object, I could have stayed for two more weeks and seen all the shows that were playing. Well - maybe not Legally Blonde: The Musical. Even I have my limits. But The Color Purple, Wicked, The Drowsey Chaperone, and many more looked so good, it was hard to walk by. It's probably a good thing that I don't live anywhere near to Broadway - I'd end up spending all my money and time on theater. Truly - this was a vacation to remember!

Strange Encounters

I picked up Marilee from the airport last week; she was returning from Noo Yawk. As we were walking out of the airport, some guy kicked a soccer ball into my pregnant wife's head. Not hard, mind you - merely a glance. She was frustrated and kept walking without any comment. The guy turned around and apologized. Unlike my wife, I recognized this guy from two of my all-time favorite places: Lord of the Rings and the TV show, LOST. It was Dominic Monaghan who played Merry in LOTR and Charlie in LOST. This was the closest I had been to a star that I actually liked (very few fit this list). Star struck as I was, in response to his apology I stammered out, "Anytime!" What an idiot. Of course, when I told Marilee who it was, she completely echoed my response. What a great day, especially for Marilee.

That strange encounter was followed by another one last night as Marilee and I were laying in bed debriefing the day. I always like to keep my hand on her belly just believing that little Malott might know that I was involved in his life too. I mentioned to Marilee that we had not yet felt any kicks and I was beginning to think this little guy was quite the slug bug. Just then under my hand I felt him kick the belly as if to let me know I had overstepped the mark. Great, it looks like I may have a son just like myself - sassy! Lord, help us!

NYC Part 1: Stay Puff

This last weekend I had an amazing opportunity to travel to New York City for four days. My mom, her best friend Pam, Pam's daughter Amanda, our family friend Carin, and her friend Angie, and myself all flew to NY and spent four days on the town. Rather than giving a quick overview of the fun times we had, I think I'll share my experiences in little excerpts - there's too much to say to condense it down to one entry. So, here's my first little story:

Although I've dodged morning sickness and am reveling in the joys of dairy products, I have recently developed a common symptom of pregnancy: swollen feet. My feet are normally very narrow. Long, but thin. My mom told me over the weekend that my feet were so long when I was born that I skipped right over the first newborn size of booties! When I was starting school as a child, I remember being so sad because all the girls wore these black, patent leather slip-on shoes, but my heel was so narrow that they refused to do more than slip-off. Luckily, the Mary Jane style has staying power, and I could wear shiny black shoes that buckled my long, skinny feet in. Tap shoes always have buckles, and I went through a phase where I went everywhere in my black tap shoes.

Recently, however, straps that buckle have proven to be a menace. Throughout the day my feet seem to be built a bit like Ballpark Franks - plumping up to three times their normal size. This growth has systematically diminished my shoe selection (with Jack's help, of course). At home, I'm pretty good about propping them up, and I spend much of my teaching time seated at the podium now. But in NYC, there was so much to see, so much to do! We walked and walked, traversing nearly every neighborhood on the island of Manhattan. When we got back to the hotel room each night, my mom, Pam, and Amanda were kind enough to fill zip lock bags with ice and pile up a mountain of feather pillows so that we could coax my feet into normal, human shape - you know, where there are ankle bones visible and your toes don't have dimples. Pretty much I looked (and felt at times) like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man clomping my way down the streets of NY. It was worth it, though! Definitely worth it. :) Stay tuned for more stories from the Big Apple...

The Big Fish

Saturday, the Men's Ministry at our church decided to do a deep sea fishing trip. 40 of us adventured out into the open sea with nothing to guide us except a highly sophisticated GPS system, perfect weather, and an expert crew of fish gurus. After my early morning funk had worn off and the 5th cup of coffee settled nicely into my veins, I began to take in the fresh ocean breeze and that great primordial sense that I had become the hunter. I, along with my fraternity would conquer these giant Marlins that I had read about in Hemingway.

And then I stepped onto the boat. Minutes later, I was curled into a fetal position on the deck of that "vessel from Hell" as I attempted to keep the 5 cups of coffee from returning to the fresh ocean air. I prayed hard, asking God to calm the rough waters (the deck hand later told me that the water was the calmest it has been in weeks). After spending some time hanging limply over the side of the boat I crawled down into the hull to see if I might be able to forget the agony with some sleep. And so I slept.

Soon, above me, I could hear the shouts of excitement from those who had caught the "big one". Again and again fish were being caught without me. So I dragged myself up to the deck, grabbed my rod (with quite the panache I might say) and hefted my bait over the side to attempt to regain my manly hunter self. Over and over, my attempts were for not as one particular family who shall remain nameless (Schramms) kept bringing in enormous fish from the sea.

And then, as I had almost given up, I noticed that half my line had been taken out to sea. I got so excited I shouted out "I got one... [under breath - "Thank you, Jesus"] ... I got one." I looked around to make sure everyone knew that I got one. My attention was pulled back to the fish when one of the deck hands grabbed me and said, "Well you gotta reel it in first." Oh!

So I cranked and cranked, pulling Moby in. He walked me around the entirety of the boat, working me, faking me out, draining my resources. I fought as no man before me had. I was fighting for my manhood. I was fighting for men everywhere.

Finally, I began to pull him closer, reeling him out of the water. Oh, what a beauty - must be the biggest fish yet. The deck hand grabbed him and then handed me my prize. I held it aloft with such prize, showing it to all around me. I even found myself asking for someone to take my picture.

The deck hand asked me, "Do you want to keep him, he's not very big." In my head I'm thinking, "Is this guy daft? This thing is huge." But, I acted very cooly and responded, "Yeah, I'm sure I could do something with it." I was so proud. Of course, in this whole process I had missed 4 other catches by others, whose fish were twice the size of mine. Heck, I could have caught a minnow and I would have been in Heaven.

Only my dramatic self could have turned this into an existential battle. In a day, I gained, lost, and gained again my manhood (whatever that is). By the way, I'm now changing my name to Ahab.

A Name

As I read the Old Testament I am always astounded by how important naming a child was to a parent and a community. And they made sure that name fit and pigeon-holed them for life. Names like "Caused much pain" or "Sadness overflowing" in the Hebrew. These parents seemed to place their hopes, dreams, and a bit of vindication in their childrens' names.

Now Marilee and I are stuck with the demanding task of choosing a name for our little boy, soon to arrive. Both of us love literature so we have tried anything of from Keats to Owen to Lewis. We love theology so Calvin, William, and Wesley have tempted our minds. From the Bible, Aaron and Jude. But do we want to pigeon-hole our child to follow our love of these things (well he better love the Bible!) Pretty much any of these names is going to get him at least a couple of black-eyes on the playground. Perhaps a John or a James would suit better. Maybe we should name him after the dog, Jack (Jack, jr. does sound good). With names like these he could fit in, maybe even navigate life under the radar.

Nah! Marilee and I are self-proclaimed geeks and are infinitely proud of that. I desire a child who is independent, strong, and ok with being different. Lets face it, just by being a Christian he will have plenty of that. I want a son who desires goodness over happiness, who chooses what is right over what is easy. If anyone has found a name that reflects all that and doesn't require clicks to pronounce it let me know. But lets face it, like all children, his name really should be "embarrased by his parents" (in the Hebrew, of course).

Part of a Team

Ever since I found out I was pregnant, I have found this strange affinity for other pregnant women. So far, I've held in check the impulse to accost them in the street, at the mall, or in the grocery store just to say "I'm pregnant, too!" So far, I just pause in what I'm doing and think good thoughts their way. Little prayers for their safety and wellness. It's this odd feeling that we're somehow on the same team. Some sisterhood that I'd never realized existed before. It's not a nasty, exclusive club that looks down on other women -- most of my friends do not have children and won't for some time, and I feel very comfortable talking about how I'm doing or how I'm feeling with them. It's just this feeling that I could accost them in public places and they would know and understand how I'm feeling at that very moment.

Not that every pregnant woman goes through the same thing -- I feel very fortunate to have slipped through the first trimester without any morning sickness. I talk to other women who have been pregnant, and they often have terrible stories of pulling over the car just to vomit. At moments like those, Jesse and I look at one another with wonder and confusion -- I mean, I have had digestive issues my WHOLE life -- how is it possible that I've made it through pregnancy so far with nary a belly problem?

Not only that -- I've somehow left my lactose intollerance in the dust -- as if God thought "Hey, not only am I going to give you a kid, I'm going to give you nine months to eat ice cream, pizza, ranch dressing, and peanut M&M's, just as a bonus." And you'd better believe that I am living as though this reprieve will end, though some tell me that I may be fine with dairy from here on out. I figure, it's a bit like having someone tell you that you have only nine months to live -- if they're wrong, and you have more time, great, but if they're right, you'd better make the most of the time you have. And be grateful. So I do, because I am.

Not Yet Amish

Many who know me (Jesse) know that I am fond of exaggerations and the frequent use of hyperbole when telling stories. This is not one of those cases. As I have been consistently burned by the countless computers, PDA's, cell phones, and overall technology in my life, I am now tempted to become Amish (or at least some variety of sect that will still allow me to watch The Office every Thursday night - not much to ask considering the beard I plan to grow). I feel that the life would at least provide me with some peace from the war that the Techno-Kingdom has launched against me. Yet, here I am again tapping into another area of technology - "the blog". Eeesh!

My primary purpose for starting this blog is to solve our lack of communication with friends and family, especially as our baby arrives. I believe this blog will also serve to fulfill my Southern California need to display all our drama for the world to see. So here goes.