I wrote and posted a first 48 hour update when Ivy was born. At the time I wrote some ramblings from the hospital. I never posted but wanted to share, even though it’s been a couple years since this was written. It’s funny to read back on the simplicity of a newborn. Oh how life has changed with two little ones. Here are those ramblings followed by a thought about my grandparents at the end:
36 hours in the hospital.
Swaddling and diapers.
Resting and food.
That seems to be the cycle of the last 36 hours. Beth feeds Ivy, change diaper, swaddle, Beth feeds Ivy, breakfast. Repeat before lunch. Repeat before dinner. In between that is rest.
I’ve never spent this much time in a hospital. I know many have. It’s an interesting existence. I can’t say I dislike it too much. I have writing, reading, tv. What else could I need? Oh, my wife and baby.
Ivy has been so great. She only sleeps and eats. Those are her two modes so far.
I’m told this won’t last long. My fingers are still crossed.
We’ve joked that thus far she has my demeanor (calm?) I’m hopeful it continues.
I can’t say enough about how kind the nurses have been here. They have been so helpful, attentive, patient. All the good things.
In the morning soon before the 24-hour mark we mentioned we would like to go home if that was a possibility. Within an hour it felt like 5 nurses came in to do this check or that, this test, that test. I guess they’re fine with us leaving if we’d like to. We live near the hospital so it’s not a worry to us to leave.
My grandfather, Frank Leach, called me while in the hospital. We had a great discussion about life, parenthood, and faith. With this new life, Ivy James, in my life, and this call from one of my progenitors, it got me thinking about the Circle of Life.
Disney’s song gives a touchingly accurate portrayal of the Father’s Plan for us here. What would I be without my grandparents? Love has afforded me much.
What would I be without the foundation they laid? Three of my grandparents are converts to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. My prayers are often filled with gratitude to my Heavenly Father for faith-filled grandparents who did really difficult things, made difficult life choices, made difficult changes, so that I could enjoy the fruits of the Gospel of Jesus Christ today.
My grandparents on both sides are spiritual giants and I have been extraordinarily blessed by them and the lives they lived.
Thank you, Virginia Quackenbush, Stan Quackenbush, Sandra Leach, and Frank Leach. How blessed I am to forever have you and thank you for all you’ve afforded me.
Re-reading this and now thinking about my Ivy and my Sage. How different Sage is from Ivy. More on that another day. How lucky I am to have this little family.
My parents and younger brother Easton were in town for the weekend. We went swimming and came back to the condo before they left. I said my goodbyes and got in the shower with Ivy to rinse off, as we always do after the pool. My family was packing up to leave.
As usual, I cleaned Ivy up and then yelled for Beth to come and grab Ivy from me. Beth didn’t come so I yelled again. After a couple minutes Beth still hadn’t come so I opened the shower door to make sure the maximum amount of sound waves would travel and yelled again.
I don’t like yelling. It was something I worried about when I started coaching basketball. Yelling feels inherently mean and unkind to me. I try not to raise my voice for almost any reason.
After the third yell I started to feel like a jerk. I wasn’t being a jerk; I was simply trying to make sure Beth heard me. After the third yell she came quickly into the bathroom. I apologized for yelling and said I wasn’t sure if she could hear me. Beth told me she heard me, but my family was just leaving, and she was saying goodbye.
For a split second I thought how my family heard me yelling also and felt ashamed for a moment before I reminded myself my yelling wasn’t malicious in any way. This was practical yelling; it served a purpose. I had to remind myself this because of my aversion to yelling. It wasn’t mean, I was trying to make sure Beth heard me.
This led me to a thought. I hope my parents know they raised me so that they never have to worry about how I speak to or treat others, especially my wife and daughters. I hope my parents know there are certain ways I would never speak to my wife and daughters. I hope they know I would never speak to anyone a certain way. I think they know that.
I hope to raise Ivy so that when she’s a grown up (can’t believe that’s going to happen) I’ll know how she speaks to people. I’ll know there’s certain ways she would never speak to anyone. I’ll know if she’s yelling there’s a purpose for it.
Why do we speak to people a certain way? Because Christ taught us that we’re all brothers and sisters and He showed the way. I hope I would never disappoint my parents or my heavenly parents with my behavior towards others. Of course, we slip sometimes. We aren’t perfect. But the Gospel of Jesus Christ teaches me why I should treat others the way I want to be treated. I hope to instill that in Ivy and Sage the same way my parents instilled it in me, so that I never have to wonder where her values lie and how she treats those she interacts with.
After a discouraging post last week, and on this Thanksgiving day when there’s so much to be grateful for, it’s time for another happy installment of Ivy Thoughts. Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 for reference.
We had a bit of a fly infestation in our area for a couple weeks. Flies were in our home. We talked to neighbors and learned it was everyone. This led to a couple weeks of me constantly swatting flies. It became a fun recreational activity for me. Make lemonade out of lemons kind of thing. Now, Beth says if Ivy hears her make any loud sound in the kitchen, Ivy will yell, “You killin a fly mommy?”
All these dead flies have led to another interesting development. We were on a trip to the Grand Canyon and Ivy started talking about how someone died. I looked at Beth questioningly. I hadn’t heard Ivy talk about death before. Beth asked me if I knew where this discussion on death was coming from. I started scouring my memory for books we’d read, shows we’d watched, movies we’d seen, discussions we’d had in front of her. I couldn’t come up with anything. Beth informed me that Ivy’s interest (or knowledge in?) death started after all the dead flies she’d been seeing. It’s crazy what these kids pick up and how they learn things.
We went to an NBA Finals party at a friend’s house. Ivy and Sage were the only two kids invited. They’re cool like that. But it was basically a bunch of guys I play basketball with, a couple wives/girlfriends, then Beth and I with our two girls. The hosts got Ivy a box of Barbies to play with. This was Ivy’s first experience with Barbies and boy did she take to them. The next day Beth reported an exchange Ivy had with her Fisher Price Little People (her old favorite toys). It was a reenactment that went something like this, “People say, ‘What you want for Christmas?’ And I say ‘ummm I want Barbies like at the party’ and they say, ‘okay we tell Santa.’”
SageSage
I was reading Ivy a bedtime book. Somehow, this night, she got ahold of Beth’s phone during bedtime and was scrolling through Beth’s pictures, which are almost all Ivy and Sage, obviously. Ivy wasn’t paying much attention to the book. I thought about giving up, but reading to her at night is one of my favorite parts of any day. It wasn’t the first time I was reading to an un-captivated audience. In an attempt to get Ivy’s attention, I said, “Look! A fireman!” Pointing to a fireman in the book. Ivy, without looking up from the phone, said, “That’s right, Dad.” It was a terrifying look into my future.
The very next morning Ivy and I were sitting on the couch eating fruit and watching the only movie that was allowed in our home while Ivy’s awake for 6 months, the Polar Express. She was entranced by Polar Express, despite it being her (twice a day for ~6 months, let’s go with) 360th viewing. I said to her, “These strawberries are really good.” Without looking away from her movie she replied, “That’s right, Dad.”
Proud moments are one of the best parts of being a parent. Proud moments happen about as often as “not proud” moments. We try our best to laugh at the not proud moments and dwell on the proud moments. A “not proud” moment is every time Ivy throws food on the floor. I had a recent proud moment. It was just her and I hanging out in the living room. Beth and Sage were napping. Ivy and I were trying to decide what we wanted to do. Options included playing a game, building a tower, or playing with her Little People.
Then Ivy caught me off guard. She said, “We clean?”
I responded, “You want to clean the room?”
Ivy said, “We clean. Mommy be so proud?”
I told Ivy that Mom would be so proud if we cleaned the room. Instead of playing a game, we spent the next 30 minutes cleaning the room. It was awesome.
I don’t know how Beth will feel about me sharing this story but it’s too funny. Also, it’s not true, so it’s fine. For whatever reason, Ivy got obsessed with the idea of stinky breath. For other random obsessions see other Ivy Thougts posts for mentions of Zach, fried rice, and puppets. I believe this obsession originated from Beth telling Ivy she needed to brush her teeth, or her breath would stink. The other day, Beth was cuddling with Ivy on the couch. Ivy was sitting with her head on Beth’s shoulder. Beth looked down at Ivy and said, “I love you. I’m so glad I get to be with you.” Ivy looked up at Beth and said, “Your breath stink.”
Sage
Do you have a little hype person for every time you go to the bathroom? I do. We recently had a road trip back from St. George to Arizona. We stopped 4 times. Every time I took Ivy with me to the bathroom and every time she stood behind me at the urinal and said, “Go Daddy go! Go Daddy go!” She’s been doing this for months and it’s really quite encouraging.
I showed Ivy a picture of her as a baby and asked, “Do you know who that is?”
“Sage,” she responded.
I told her, no, that was baby Ivy.
She responded, “Oh… I love her.”
We should all love ourselves the way Ivy loves baby Ivy.
Growing up, I have vague memories of staying up late with my mom at a very young age. I remember sitting with her on the couch while she folded laundry watching Law and Order or CSI. While these are vague memories, they’re powerful memories.
The last few months have been a battle with Ivy. I won’t go into all the details to avoid seeming like a completely incompetent parent. To give you a tiny glimpse into it, Ivy requires us to lie next to her bed and hold her hand for her to sleep in her bed. She’ll then sleep there for a couple hours until she wakes up and realizes we’re not there, then come into our bed. That lying next to her bed phase waiting for her to fall asleep can be 10 minutes or it can be three hours.
I am completely open to suggestions on how to get your toddler to sleep.
I will maybe try suggestions but more likely laugh in the face of any suggestion that implies you can get a toddler to do anything they don’t want to do.
Beth and I have really tried to add some structure to Ivy’s life. Before she become a full-blown 2 year-old with all the personality and stubbornness of an aged mule, I think we did a good job. We still try to get her to bed between 7pm and 8pm. See the above paragraph for notes on “trying” to get her to go to bed.
Last night, I laid next to Ivy for 30 minutes while she sang, did some sort of dance lying down (I just know her feet were moving a lot), went through all her books (it was pitch black), and repeatedly re-adjusted the holding of my hand. After 30 minutes I stood up and left the room. I had a Jazz game to watch. She followed.
Beth went to bed around 9:00pm.
Ivy and I stayed up until 10:30pm watching the game. We laughed, we high-fived, we hugged, we danced, we cheered (quietly), we cried (they lost).
“Education is not about obscure facts and little test scores. Education is about the overall effect of years of slow absorption of concepts, philosophies, approaches to problem-solving. The whole process is so grand and all-encompassing that it really can’t be threatened by the occasional late-night no-hitter. It is important that a boy (or girl) spend time with his (or her) father.”
Mr. Feeny
I may remember that night for the rest of my life. It was not a no-hitter, just the sixth regular season game in an 82 game season. But I may remember that night forever because it was so great.
This led me to sending my mom a text, which read:
“I’m more and more trending toward your way of doing things. What’s the point in having a battle of contrition with a 3yo that I’ll never win? Trying to put her to sleep at 8pm and lying next to her bed for hours on end hoping she’ll fall asleep. Why? So she can sleep for 2 hours then get up and get in our bed anyway? Not to mention if she doesn’t go to sleep, she’s at her peak best behavior ever. She’s sweet, nice, and plays quietly on her own, only occasionally asking if you want to play with her. It’s all going to come back around anyway. Either she’ll nap really good today at school or she’ll go to bed early tonight because she’s actually tired (doubt it). It’s also kind of the best when she’s being so nice and we get to stay up until 1030 watching the Jazz, cheering, clapping, hugging, and crying together. Multiple times I made her jump during her quiet playing because I got loud. Every time she looked at me like, “Uhm, trying to have some peace and quiet over here.” So she gets to see what we feel like all day every day. I’m failing to see the true downside. Teaching discipline? Avoiding chaos? We’re way past that. You can’t discipline a 3yo. She does whatever she wants when she wants and dares us to do something about it. She’ll come around, I’m sure. But for now, just embrace the chaos, I think, is the way to go.”
I remember those nights with my mom.
Maybe Ivy will remember some of these nights with me.
I always hoped I’d have super well-behaved, obedient, and disciplined children. I think, on the toddler scale, Ivy is turning out to be exceptional in those categories. BUT – the idea of a disciplined toddler is like the fantasy of a well organized and controlled tornado – it really doesn’t exist.
I think the occasional late night Jazz game is way more valuable than discipline. I think.
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.
No Coincidences 