No Coincidences

Tag: Father

  • Wren Sonora Quackenbush 1/20/2025

    Wren Sonora Quackenbush 1/20/2025

    It’s interesting considering what you can glean about a soul in the signs they give before their arrival.

    On Monday 1/20/25, someone asked me if I wanted to play basketball that night, I said I probably shouldn’t because Beth wouldn’t appreciate that. He asked when the baby was coming. I said, “Any day now. She’s being stubborn.”

    Maybe because Ivy and Sage both came a week early, maybe because Beth was extremely done with this pregnancy, maybe a combination of factors, but for 14 days leading up to Monday 1/20 we were thinking it would be any day.

    That led to a lot of anticipation. WHY AREN’T WE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL?

    Friday 1/17 Beth and I spent the night on the couch as she was having irregular contractions most of the night. We were ready at any moment to pack up and leave.

    Flash forward to 1/20 and I was at basketball practice when Beth called. She thought it was really happening this time. I told the team and was off, not super optimistic that it was actually happening. Once I arrived at the house, I knew it was happening.

    We quickly gathered our bags and were out the door. Ivy and Sage waved with Grandma and Aunt Jane from the front door. I’ll probably always remember that image. My two girls, my world, not fully realizing how their worlds were about to change – in challenging but amazing ways.

    I’m writing this from the hospital and I’m so excited for them to meet their new sister.

    What Wren lacked in initiative pushing us to the hospital she made up for once we arrived. We got to the hospital around 5:00pm and she was born at 6:05pm.

    Ivy and Sage’s births were fast and felt whirlwind-like. This had a whirlwind feel given the pace, but it really didn’t feel frantic at all. It felt very under control. Of course, who am I to say? Beth would probably say it was a complete whirlwind of chaos.

    When Beth and I were planning to get married our Bishop at the time had a sit down with us. I remember him commenting on how Beth came from a family of five children and I came from a family of six. He made a statement that I’ve remembered ever since. It was something like, “You two will have no problem having children.”

    I’m not sure how he meant it at the time, but with how Ivy, Sage, and now Wren have come, I can’t help but feel like it was a Bishop’s blessing. That’s how I’ve taken it ever since.

    Wren’s coming could not have gone any more smoothly.

    It felt like a blessed and sanctified process.

    It felt guided and protected.

    Again, Beth might not agree, I’m ultimately just a bystander to the process. I think she would agree though. Maybe we should ask her.

    This isn’t to say that difficult pregnancies or deliveries are any less special. On the contrary, challenges sometimes make the blessings more powerful. We all have our own experiences with this miracle. And that’s what each and every birth is: A miracle.

    I am grateful for a strong and capable wife that can do this unimaginable thing. We are blessed that this process has gone well for us three times. I do not take this for granted.

    So Wren arrived with a lot more hair at 6:05pm.

    I’ve described this process before. See Ivy and Sage’s welcome to life posts. I’ll try to put it into words for a third time.

    My heart didn’t split, it expanded. As I looked at Wren, Ivy and Sage flashed before my eyes. I thought about how I loved each of them so powerfully. I can’t remember if I was brought to tears immediately with the other two. Maybe I should go back and read their posts. I wanted to write this before reading Ivy or Sage’s so this could be completely original.

    But as I looked at Wren I had to hold back tears. Not sure why the third hit me so hard. Maybe it was the pace of things. Maybe three is a special number, and when your heart expands that third time, something special happens.

    I don’t know.

    All I know is I love her so much.

    It’s crazy, you know. I can’t believe I’m here, on earth. I can’t believe I’ve been given the power and ability to create life. The greatest gift of all existence, the power to create life, and it’s been entrusted to me. I can’t believe I have three daughters. I can’t believe I have a wife that is so special and such a great mother. I can’t believe I’ll get to be with them forever, for the rest of this life, and beyond. I can’t believe Wren was born into a covenant, ensuring that as long as I do my part she will be mine forever. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I often think about what I did to deserve all this. And I can’t for the life of me figure it out.

    But I’m anxious to say thank you one day.

    So, welcome to this life Wren. It’s hard but rewarding. It’s scary, but if you know why you’re here, there is peace. It is overwhelming, but you’ve been given a family to help with that.

    I love you baby girl and look so forward to seeing how your personality shapes and develops to add to our family. Thank you for coming to join us. We love you so.

  • Ivy Thougts Part 3

    Ivy Thougts Part 3

    It’s time for one of my favorite posts to write – Ivy thoughts!

    This is a good one.

    One of the funnest things about being a parent is watching your child start to mimic you. It’s in those moments that I get a snapshot into how closely she is watching me. The other day Beth texted me and said, “I can tell when there’s a habit you do because Ivy does it. Like tapping your toothbrush on the edge of the sink. I said, ‘Does Daddy do that?’ And she said, ‘Yeah Daddy like tap tap tap.’”

    Other examples are the words she copies. The other day she said to her grandpa, “Papa, come hang out.” Another time they were playing a game and she said, “You give it a try.” My favorite example showing Ivy paying attention and learning, she was standing at the kitchen counter while her grandpa cut vegetables. He set the knife down and she, unprompted, said, “Ivy no touch knives.” Ivy helps me put the dishes away. I’ll hand her cups, plastic bowls, plastic plates, forks, spoons and she’ll put them in the dishwasher. Early on I would start to hand her a knife and then pause and say, “Does Ivy touch knives.” Of course, in the beginning, she would say, “Yes,” and I would say, “No, no, Ivy doesn’t touch knives,” and she’d quickly say, “No, no, Ivy no touch knives.” So we’d continue and if I started to hand her a knife to test her she would quickly say, “No, no, Ivy no touch knives.” Glad to see the things I’m teaching her are travelling.

    I had Ivy for an hour while I worked one day. She sat on the couch and watched Curious George by herself for 30 minutes. 30 minutes in she wanted to work with me. I tell her she can sit on my lap as long as she doesn’t touch anything. She proceeds to touch everything and say, “Can I touch this.” This I accept, having played this game before, as long as she doesn’t touch my keyboard. Then she starts throwing things. I gently set her aside and tell her it’s back to Curious George. This whole time she hasn’t said a word about the bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs on the right side of my desk. I’m amazed until… 2 minutes later she comes back. She walks up to my right arm which is on my chair’s arm rest. She gives my arm a huge hug and says, “Daddy, I’m so proud of you.” She gives it a good squeeze. I say, “Aw Ivy, thank you, I love you,” and give her a kiss. She promptly reaches over for the bag of chocolates and starts to walk away. I grab them just before she is out of reach. I tell her she can have one. I unwrap it and give it to her. As she walks out she says, “Thank you Daddy, I love you.” Is this what being wrapped around a finger feels like?

    Ivy and I were cuddling in bed after a nap and totally out of nowhere Ivy looks up at me and says, “You have sharks on your water bottle, Dad?” I looked over at my water bottle and said, “No, my water bottle is just green.” Ivy said, “It OK Dada, one day when you’re bigger you’ll get sharks on your water bottle TOO.”

    The other day Beth asked Ivy if she tooted and she said, very seriously, “No. There’s just a bobcat in my bum.” The same day, after I left for work, Ivy asked Beth, “Where Daddy going?” Beth responded that I went to work and Ivy said, “Again?!?!” You and me both sweet girl. She had a lot of personality that day.

    This was one of those equally heartbreaking and also wonderful parenting moments. I took Ivy with me to an open gym for basketball a couple months back. I expected it to go well. It went as poorly as it could have. I had to leave early and it was the last time I took Ivy to open gym. In my frustration, after Ivy was upset and throwing a fit and crying, I told her I’d hoped I could take her with me to basketball more this season but that I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Like I said, I hadn’t taken her back with me since. Recently, I was at basketball. Ivy saw me leave with my bag and ball. “Where you goin Daddy?” “I have to go to basketball sweetie, I’ll see you when I get back.” She just looked at me with the most beautiful eyes and content face. But it wasn’t the normal – ‘see ya later’ face. While I was at practice Beth texted me, “Ivy’s been packing a bag and saying ‘I’m packing because I have to go to basketball soon. I know you will miss me when I’m at basketball. I come back though.’” I realized I need to give her another shot.

    Apparently when I was gone for work an entire day Ivy kept saying, “Say what’s wrong Hero Boy.” So Beth replies and asks what’s wrong with Hero Boy. “I lost my daddy.” Heart. Broken.

    We’ve had a few days of complete toddler turmoil. I love Ivy. She’s been a monster. She’s in the stage where if you ask her not to do something it’s instantly the next thing she does. Not kidding. We’ve been letting her play Battleship. You know, like the old school board game. She sits and puts the ships and pegs in and plays Battleship with herself. On occasion, the little pegs drop and I had to emphasize to her that it was important those didn’t drop because we didn’t want to lose pieces and Sage could choke on them. Ivy got out of her chair, walked across the room to where Sage was, and started to hand her one of the little pegs. It wasn’t like the temptation was even there. Sage wasn’t right next to her. She had to get out of her seat (a lot of work) and walk across the room to find Sage and willfully disobey what I just said. It was like she was possessed by some irrepressible urge to do exactly what I just told her not to do. These are the parenting moments that are teaching us patience, I guess.

    On that note of Ivy being difficult and us trying to be patient – I was leaving for basketball the other day and it had been a particularly stressful day for Beth. I went to Ivy before I left and quietly talked to her. I asked her to be my best girl. To help her mom, to take care of her sister, and to be my best, sweetest girl. “Can you do that for me?” “Yes, Daddy.” Beth texted me while I was at basketball: “We finally had a quiet moment to sit down after a walk and crafts. I’m trying so hard and yet she’s being so difficult! Ivy has a cold drink and Sage is eating her dinner. Ivy looks up at me and says in a sweet little voice, ‘Mom, I am doing my best.’ I have no idea where she heard that or if she even knows what that means but it was so sweet and probably true so I told her, ‘I know, my sweet Ivy’ and felt a little calmer. The student becomes the teacher yet again.” Ivy knows what that means. And she’s amazing. And she’s teaching us so much, while we try to teach her just enough to survive and not choke her sister.

  • Ivy Thoughts Part 2

    Ivy Thoughts Part 2

    There’s this book Ivy loves called “Icarus.” We learned there are a series of these books that take Greek legends and makes them into children’s stories with a lesson. Icarus, for example, flies his kite too high until it hits trees, similar to the Greek legend of Icarus flying too close to the sun. Anyways, we learned about the series, and ordered a few of them. We got one about Odysseus. Remember how Ivy often wants to be called “teacher”? That’s been replaced by “Ivydysseus.” Beth and I never said that. She came up with that on her own.

    It’s not the only nickname Ivy has come up with either. We read a book about Baby Beluga. Ivy, on her own, started calling Sage “Sagey Beluga.” My family loves giving nicknames. I’m never referred to as “Brayden” by my parents. I am either Lewis or Fly. Adie is Sassafrass, Garrick is Dude, Dresdan is Jiggles, Cambria is Barbara, and Easton is Goose. Ivy apparently has the Quackenbush gene of giving nicknames.

    I’ve mentioned Ivy teaching Sage how to pray. Ivy says her prayer every night before bedtime. Last night she said her normal prayer, “Thank you for Jesus, thank you for Mudder (she learned she could call Beth “mother”), thank you for Daddy, thank you for blankie, thank you for super cozy (code for being comfortable in bed), thank you for water. Amen.” Then she says, “Billy’s turn.” Billy is her stuffed bobcat. I get Billy from the floor and hand him to her. Ivy gets back into kneeling position on her bed and says, “Thank you for Ivy. Amen.” Of course, Billy has to say his prayer and the only thing he’s grateful for is Ivy.

    We dog-sit a dog named Chicago. Ivy LOVES Chicago. Today Ivy “called” Chicago’s owner on the phone during her lunch. Here was what she had to update Chicago’s owner on: “Yeah Mommy’s with Sage. Chicago’s just sleeping. Yeah Chicago…Chicago…Chicago…okay bye.”

    More on nicknames. You can get in big trouble for not being aware of Ivy’s current persona. At this moment in time, there are many. At any given moment she can be a completely different attitude depending on her name. “Ivydysseus,” as mentioned, indicates she’s feeling adventurous. Ivy teacher means she’s teaching you something, or potentially cooking you some food. There’s Ivy, which obviously means she’s not in character. There is Ivy James. I’m not sure what Ivy James indicates. But DON’T get caught calling her by the wrong name. If you call her Ivydysseus while she’s clearly reading you a book, you will get a firm, “No, I Ivy teacher.” When you reply, “Oh, sorry, Ivy teacher” she will reply, “Good job.”

    There are things Beth isn’t allowed to say, but I am. We haven’t figured out why that is or any sort of pattern yet. But if Beth says something like, “Oh, sorry Ivy.” It’s common for Ivy to reply, “No, no, no, you no say ‘sorry Ivy.’ Dada say ‘sorry Ivy.’” This goes for all sorts of things. “No, no, no, you no say ‘OK’, Dada say ‘OK’”. That one really puts Beth in a tough spot because the natural reaction to that statement is to reply “OK” again. Beth’s really got to watch herself because if she says “OK” again… man is she going to hear about it.

    Those Mini Myths books, mentioned earlier, are awesome. I already talked about the Icarus and Odysseus ones. We have a couple others. But one of those books has been causing problems. It is the Hercules version. In the Hercules version, Hercules has a little sister. At one point Hercules’s father (Zeus? Doesn’t look like him in the book but whatever) says, “Hercules, are you playing nice?” Hercules responds, “I’m strong, I’m not nice.” Hercules proceeds to destroy his sister’s tower. The book has a happy ending, of course. Hercules learns to be strong and nice. He reconstructs his sister’s tower. Ivy, unfortunately, has forgotten the ending. All day she is picking up stuff and saying, “I so strong. I not nice.” I told Beth we need to start skipping that page.

    On this same note, Ivy is super susceptible to messages from books or TV. The most well-intentioned media, like the Hercules book or the show Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood (which does a ton of good) can have a negative impact. If Ivy sees anger in a show, she goes through it herself.

    There is a Daniel Tiger episode where he learns how to handle anger. He pauses, takes a deep breath, and counts to four, with a little jingle attached. This is awesome. Ivy does this deep breath and counting pretty much every day. What’s crazy is that when Ivy watches the show she goes through the full emotional roller coaster Daniel Tiger goes through in the show. When he gets angry, she gets angry. It’s kind of fake anger on Ivy’s part, kind of not. I’ve seen that anger carry on after the episode is finished.

    Ivy
    Mad

    One night I was reading Ivy a book called I was so Mad before bedtime. I altered the entire book to “I was so happy” because I knew if I read “I was so mad” over and over while Ivy was in bed, she’d actually get mad. It’s interesting how much those little minds are impacted by external influences.

    This wraps another “Ivy Thoughts.” Part 3 is already in full swing. Stay tuned for more.

  • The Lesser Talked about Sacrifice of the Atonement

    The Lesser Talked about Sacrifice of the Atonement

    One of the tragedies the trinitarian belief (that God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit are one being) has taken away is appreciation and understanding of God’s part of the sacrifice in the Atonement.

    “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son.”

    Doesn’t mean much if there isn’t actually a God giving up his Only Begotten Son, right?

    We talk so much about the sacrifice that Jesus Christ did for us, for good reason. His Atonement paved the way for us to return home. He suffered, bled, felt the crushing pain of a universe of sickness, pain, and sin, and died for us. He did that. There’s reason we talk about Him. He is the only way to God, our Heavenly Father.

    Speaking of God’s part in that sacrifice shouldn’t diminish what Christ Himself did for us.

    I’m a father.

    The other day Ivy was on the top of the couch and fell backward to the cushion. She wasn’t hurt at all. She was fine, but try telling her that. She was scared, and she was screaming and freaking out. She was fine, but she was still upset.

    Now, if Ivy was really hurt, if she fell from the cushion down to the floor, I would have moved so fast. I would have been there. As it was, I stayed in my seat and tried to tell her how awesome a fall that was.

    If Ivy or Sage are in real pain, I’m there.

    I can’t imagine the torment, the suffering, the heart-wrenching anguish of watching my children suffer. I can’t imagine it.

    God can.

    God watched His Son be spit upon, scourged, beaten, slapped, ridiculed, and finally nailed to a cross to die a slow, painful, and seemingly humiliating death.

    Words from Jeffery R. Holland in a 1999 talk:

    “I am a father, inadequate to be sure, but I cannot comprehend the burden it must have been for God in His heaven to witness the deep suffering and Crucifixion of His Beloved Son in such a manner. His every impulse and instinct must have been to stop it, to send angels to intervene-but He did not intervene. He endured what He saw because it was the only way that a saving, vicarious payment could be made for the sins of all His other children from Adam and Eve to the end of the world. I am eternally grateful for a perfect Father and His perfect Son, neither of whom shrank from the bitter cup nor forsook the rest of us who are imperfect, who fall short and stumble, who too often miss the mark” (“The Hands of the Fathers,” Ensign, May 1999, 14).

    What I realize is that God knew His Son. He knew Jesus Christ was going to fulfill His destiny. He knew what His Son, Jesus Christ, would do on the cross. LIke me on the couch, knowing Ivy was ultimately going to be OK, God knew Jesus Christ would be OK. He knew that Christ so loved us, that He would suffer it all for us. Why did God do it though? Why didn’t He send angels to intervene? Wouldn’t that be what a loving Father would do? He didn’t intervene because He so loved the world. The world is us. He loves us so much that He was willing to suffer this pain of watching His Son suffer. The ultimate sacrifice, of Father and Son.

    If that doesn’t bring you to tears, I don’t know what will.

    God loves you.

    I don’t know how it all works. I don’t know how the celestial kingdom, heaven, a place of infinite joy and peace, can also have weeping. But I know that my God weeps.

    Don’t let us forget that God suffered that day too. He suffered an anguish hardly imaginable. The anguish of watching His only begotten in pain.

    In the case of the suffering of Jesus Christ, the payment had to be made to save us. In some grand cosmic mystery that I don’t yet understand, we can’t return home until we are perfected through the blood of Christ. God allowed that sacrifice, and contributed His sacrifice, because he loves the world. He loves us.

    I believe God does weep over the evil, heartache, pain, suffering, and sadness in this world. He weeps over sin. He weeps over us.

    But ultimately, we have fallen to a soft cushion. We are safe. We are secure. We are secure in the blood of Jesus Christ. We are secure only because of Jesus Christ and what He did for us.

    While God wants to come comfort us, He doesn’t stop suffering because we’re still on the couch cushion. And if it helps us grow, does that make it any easier for Him to watch us suffer? Maybe. I knew Ivy wasn’t really suffering. I knew it was temporary fear she felt. I was always there for her.

    This is my reminder to you: God is there for you. He will never leave you. He is always aware of your hardships. In addition to God, Jesus Christ isn’t only there with your hardships, He already felt your hardships. He understands it all, because He felt it all.

    God loves you. Jesus Christ loves you. They love you so much that they sacrificed for you. Don’t forget that. It will give you strength.

  • Ivy Thoughts Part 1

    Ivy Thoughts Part 1

    As a parent, you can’t remember a fraction of the funny things your toddler says. Here’s a list of things I’ve remembered from the past few months. Any parent will love and relate to this. And I imagine non-parents will find at least one of these things pretty funny.

    List of fun things Ivy has said recently:

    Ivy with a puppet

    She has an obsession with puppets. Everything is a puppet. Feet, books, toys, real puppets, waffles. You name it, I promise it can be a puppet.

    She hands me a real puppet, that can be put on my hand, and says, “Here, say, ‘me a puppet.’”

    Later I ask, “Oh, did you make me some food?” She replies, “No. It’s for puppet.”

    The other day I was writing in my journal and Ivy was hovering over my shoulder.

    Ivy doing a puppet show

    “Do you want a sticker?” She asked.

    “Sure, I’ll take a sticker,” I replied without looking up. I continued writing.

    “Do you want a sticker?”

    “Yes, Ivy, I’ll take a sticker.” I don’t look up and continue to write.

    “Do you want a sticker?”

    “Yes,” I say and finally look up. She’s staring at the journal. “Oh.” I shake the journal like it’s talking, “Yes, I’ll take a sticker.” She looks pleased and starts putting stickers on my journal while I write. She was just going to sit there and talk to my journal until I got it through my thick skull that she wasn’t talking to me, apparently.

    She then said, “Foot want a sticker, puppet?”

    The journal has to shake and say, “Yes, of course foot wants a sticker.”

    She then puts multiple stickers on my foot and says, “That’s better.”

    On the “ignoring me” note. Sometimes I’ll say stuff to her, and she’ll just stare straight ahead and ignore me.

    The other day Beth said, “She doesn’t do that with me. She only ignores you like that.”

    It wasn’t twenty minutes prior that Ivy was saying something repeatedly over and over and I ignored her and said, “I can play the ignore game indefinitely.” I wasn’t being mean. She was just talking nonsense over and over in my direction and I wasn’t paying attention. If you’re a parent of a toddler, you understand.

    Like I said, it was 20 minutes later that I was asking a question straight to her face and she ignored me like a pro. Deadpan. Stared straight ahead. Like she couldn’t even hear me. I said to her, “Learned behavior, I respect it.”

    Ivy ignoring me like a pro

    The other day she woke up from a night’s sleep. I walked into her room and said, “good morning, how are you?” She looked up at me from her pillow, sat up, and said, “I want to cook. Anyone want food?”

    She also wants to be referred to as a teacher pretty constantly. Throughout the day if you call her Ivy she’ll reply, “me a teacher.” You then have to call her teacher to get a response.

    Ivy Teacher

    Toddler hack that I don’t know will work on any other toddler. Like I said, she loves puppets for some reason. Her love goes so far as to be respect, apparently. Ivy is pretty good about bedtime: brushing teeth, putting on diaper, putting on pajamas, and getting into bed. But, if we do have trouble with any of those steps, if a puppet gets involved and asks for the teeth to get brushed, she’s immediately compliant. I don’t know if she loves, respects, or fears puppets more.

    We are on the tail end of potty training, she’s pretty much there. The other day I put her on the potty and told her to let us know if she needed anything. I left her stool at her feet and walked out. This wasn’t the first time I’d done this. What made this time unique was Beth and I, from the couch, could hear her in the bathroom singing. Then suddenly *clapping. “Is she clapping?” We said to each other.

    She walked out, shut the door behind her, and said, “me pooped.” She gave herself a round of applause, shut the door, then came out to exclaim that she had pooped.

    The other day she started teaching Sage how to pray. She grabbed Sage’s arms and folded them and whispered, “Heavenly Father. Thank you. Amen.” Then she said, “Good job Sagey!”

    I was at a restaurant with Ivy after a basketball game and the person I was with was asking if she wanted brown or white rice in the bowl Ivy and I would be sharing. I thought about it and said brown. He said he thought kids preferred white rice. I said that was probably true, but I was being selfish. That was it. End of discussion about brown rice. For the past 4 months Ivy, every single day and night, when in her room and she’s playing with her kitchen, asks us if we want brown rice. She’ll come up and put her hand on your knee or shoulder and say, “You want brown rice Daddy?” I almost never get my brown rice, for the record.

    On the topic of somehow picking up on something and never letting it go. I had this book I was reading that Ivy got ahold of and drew all over the cover with black sharpy. You’d be amazed at how calmly I took this. Anyway, one day I had the book and I said to Ivy, “Ivy, this book is so good. I might give it to my friend Zach. What do you think he’ll think of your additions?”

    The destruction

    I don’t remember her response. What I do remember is every time she’s seen that book since she’s asked, “Daddy give to Zach?” Zach then became somewhat of a celebrity in our house. She’ll just randomly be like, “Does Zach have knees?” (Real thing she asked). Along with tons of other random statements and questions about Zach.

    This is just the beginning of Ivy Thoughts. I’m already well into Part 2. More to come. Hope you enjoyed!