Obedience, Black Bikers, and My Blogatical

Stairscream is gone.

Henry has now gotten the drill of coming down the steps on his own. He even re-latches the gate. (The fact that Henry can both unlatch and re-latch the gate, as well as figure out any anti-finger in socket device makes me think that any efforts to baby proof against him are futile.)

He also now knows to bring his diaper and lay on the floor for diaper changes.

He no longer throws his empty cup every time it is empty. About half the time, he hands it to me, say "Mommy" and then sign, "More, please." And even says thank you without being prompted when it is handed back to him. I can certainly tell that people (myself included) have been praying for him to have an obedient and humble heart. Thank you, Jesus. Now could you please give me one?

He has, however, not understood that "George is a monkey so he can do things you can't do." (This is the little legal jargon they say every Curious George episode.) And apparently, Henry CAN do the things George can. Like climb up out of his bed onto the top of his dresser to look at books and change his CD in his CD player. So now his bed is in the middle of the room.

Jenny (holding Henry who just loves looking Gray), Shannon (holding Gray), and me.

It has also helped that my dear friends Jenny and Shannon came over Wednesday to bring lunch, do chores, and "crazysit" me. (Does anyone else find it odd that no one in this picture is holding their own child and that Shannon left her 2 boys with Sugie?) Henry is very sweet with Gray. He giggles and runs around in circles for him and gently rocks his car seat. He also really likes Gray's froggy shoes.

We are very excited to take him to the beach. I have learned that it is supposed to rain all week. So we've looked up the Children's Museum, Aquarium, and various other child friendly activities. I've also learned that grizzly is an equal opportunity offender. As in, next week is Black Bike Week in Myrtle Beach. I was unaware Bike week was segregated. And let me be clear, it is all bike weeks that frustrate me. I merely find it both sad and comical that there is Black Bike week. (Sad because it is the 21st century and there are still groups that segregate and comical because Black Bike Week has a funny alliteration quality to it, particularly when my mom said, "Well, you know the blacks are coming on their bikes next week." "What?" I said. "All of them?") The bikes are noisy, the restaurants are full, and for the most part, the Phillips family has different grooming standards than bikers. Of course, I've only been at the beach during white bike week. When in front of the bar "Suck, Bang, Blow" there was a large construction sign signaling "Body found here Thursday night. Call 911 with info." So maybe black bike week will be entirely different. Maybe the first family will be there to classy the place up.

But as to next week. I will not be blogging. I will be taking a blogatical. I know this puts some of y'all's panties in a wad as I'll be finding out whether or not I'm pregnant next week. But I want to give my family some space. I want to leave my options open and not feel like I have to blog about every little thing. I want to simply feel and not parse my feelings for some greater truth. I will be in contact with some people in Richmond, so I'm sure were you to do some snooping, you'd be able to find out what is going on with Q and Tenderoni.

When trying for Henry, the first round was a bust. So I binged on wine, cigarettes and a giant bag of flaming hot cheetos. My friend Shannon had just met me and was on the church staff at the time when I emailed our pastor my plans. She says she was very concerned. Apparently, our dear pastor, knowing me, said," Nope. No need to worry. For her, this is the appropriate response."

The second round, we conceived but knew we would lose the baby. I didn't want to talk about it. To anyone. I was pretty much silent for a couple of weeks. Sloan says this is the most afraid for me he's ever been.

And then the third time, you know, the one they say that is the charm? Well I was sounding my barbaric yawp across the mountaintops.

I will be writing. Even though I said I didn't want to parse my feelings, just feel them, the truth is--I don't really get what I'm going through until I write about it. Hemingway once wrote that "The writer must write what he has to say. Not speak it." So I'm taking my laptop and my journal. And you may or may not get glimpses of it when I return after Memorial Day.

I will be reminding myself that no matter what happens, it is part of God's good plan for our family. That He will grow our family. In His perfect way and His perfect time. I've seen Him do it in the past and He will continue to be faithful. He can't not be faithful. He's a lot better at parenting than I am.

Have no fear, upon return, I'm sure you'll see some pictures of the pickle being cute on the beach. And I promise, should I see a road sign that says "Body Found" I will take a picture.