I've Said It Before and I'll Say It Again

Ryan-Rubio 2012.

Still on Cloud Nine

Today you are three weeks old. I can't believe time goes by so fast. When we were waiting for you to come, three weeks seemed like a long time but now it has gone by so fast. You are getting bigger and chunkier every day and you have already outgrown your newborn diapers and just barely fit into your newborn clothes. Your brothers and sisters still fight over whose turn it is to hold you. We love to sit and watch all the faces you make when you are sleeping. Your dad and I both talk about how we don't ever want to forget the day you were born -- we want to remember and always appreciate what a gift you are to us. We feel the same way about all of your brothers and sisters, of course, but we realize more than ever how precious life is.

Three weeks ago we were holding you and looking at how beautiful you were (and texting photographs of you far and wide):





Three weeks later, we are still holding at you and looking at how beautiful you are:



We love all the faces that you make:

Photo credits: Oliver's grandpa

Langston Has Bigger Problems than Goat Fences

State Rep. Mike Shelton is defending some government waste at Langston University, and I suspect it really gets his goat that a black man is calling him on it.

But for my money, the real waste is in continuing to subsidize a four-year school where only 13 percent of the students graduate in four years -- and paying someone a quarter-million bucks to oversee the thing.

Unhinged-Homeschool-Uncle Demographic Ruins Yet Another Proposal

Last week the Hamilton County (Tenn.) school board voted to prohibit homeschooled athletes from trying out for public-school sports teams. Which is probably just as well, for as school-board member Joe Galloway wisely cautioned, "What if a homeschool athlete has a crazy uncle who shows up at the games and throws a scene?"

Oliver's First Bath

We gave Oliver his first bath this weekend. As Brandon continued to ladle warm water on the boy, he grew increasingly drowsy. Until finally he was out.

Point Taken

So I'm sitting in my air-conditioned living room this afternoon reading The Sovereignty of God by Arthur W. Pink. "God governs inanimate matter," Pink reminds us.

Earth and air, fire and water, hail and snow, stormy winds and angry seas, all perform the word of His power and fulfill His sovereign pleasure. Therefore, when we complain about the weather, we are, in reality, murmuring against God.

He Who Has Ears to Hear, Let Him Hear

I've been doing a lot of staring at Oliver, pondering. Often when I look at his ear I’m reminded of a passage in the book Witness in which Whittaker Chambers recalls a scene in his apartment on St. Paul Street in Baltimore.

It was shortly before we moved to Alger Hiss's apartment in Washington. My daughter was in her high chair. I was watching her eat. She was the most miraculous thing that had ever happened in my life. I liked to watch her even when she smeared porridge on her face or dropped it meditatively on the floor. My eye came to rest on the delicate convolutions of her ear—those intricate, perfect ears. The thought passed through my mind: "No, those ears were not created by any chance coming together of atoms in nature (the Communist view). They could have been created only by immense design." The thought was involuntary and unwanted. I crowded it out of my mind. But I never wholly forgot it or the occasion. I had to crowd it out of my mind. If I had completed it, I should have had to say: Design presupposes God. I did not then know that, at that moment, the finger of God was first laid upon my forehead.

Chambers had to "crowd it out of [his] mind" that day on St. Paul Street—to "suppress the truth," as St. Paul himself phrased it. Indeed, Paul said, "what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse."

Savoring This Gift

Today you are two weeks old. We hold you and stare at you and still can't believe you are here in our arms. You are calm and peaceful and you hardly ever cry. Some of your siblings call you "little diva" because as soon as you cry you are picked up and fed or rocked or soothed. I tell them that they too were "little divas" and were picked up and held as soon as they made a peep. (I never took the advice of letting babies "cry it out.") You sleep and eat almost constantly, but there are times when you are bright-eyed and stare into our eyes and every once in a while give us a little smile. One of your siblings tells me it's an involuntary smile, but I don't believe that. I say it's the real thing.

In the evenings we all sit together in the living room and watch old Andy Griffith episodes. Your brothers and sisters fight over who gets to hold you next. Sometimes I don't want to let go of you so they have to wait.

As always during these times when we are all together as I family, I think about Anne Marie, your sister you will only know through our stories. I picture her here with us, patting you and also begging to hold you. My joy and my sadness coexist, but mostly I am grateful -- for you our unexpected gift, for Anne Marie, for your brothers and sisters, and for your daddy.

What Shall We Transmit?

"The main fact about education," Chesterton observed, "is that there is no such thing."

"Education is a word like 'transmission' or 'inheritance,'" he said. "It is not an object, but a method."

So the next time you ponder "early childhood education," for example, think instead of "early childhood transmission." And ask yourself: What exactly is it we wish to transmit?

 In their book NurtureShock, Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman cite studies which show that

four-year-olds will lie once every two hours, while a six-year-old will lie about once every hour. Few kids are an exception. In these same studies, 96% of all kids offer up lies. ...

In longitudinal studies, a six-year-old who lies frequently could just as simply grow out of it. But if lying has become a successful strategy for handling difficult social situations, she'll stick with it. About one-third of kids do -- and if they're still lying at seven, then it seems likely to continue. They're hooked.

Hmmm. This could be a problem. What shall we do, transmission-wise, to address this situation? There are many different options; let's look at two vastly different ones.

Some parents may want to put their preschooler in a public-school classroom equipped with mental-health therapists. That's one option.

Other parents may opt for a private school or a home school wherein the child is taught:

Johnny, I want you to listen to me very carefully. God loves you and I love you, but you told a lie. And the reason you told a lie is that you're a sinner. God made you and he loves you, but because of sin your heart has lots of bad and ugly stuff in it. That's why you sometimes lie or cheat or take other kids' toys. Sin is very serious and it deserves punishment, punishment even worse than a spanking. But the good news is that Jesus died on the cross to take away all of your sins. If you apologize to him and trust him to forgive you, he will wipe away your sins. And he won't be mad at you. In fact, he loves you more than even your mom and dad love you! And he will change your heart to help you tell the truth.

Early childhood "education"? There's no such thing. Content is everything. The question is, what content are we going to transmit?

Different parents -- agnostic, Christian, Jewish, and so on -- will answer that question differently. Public policy should ensure a level playing field so that parents have the freedom and the ability to make the choice that is best for them.

As Nobel Prize-winning economist James Heckman said a couple of years ago in Oklahoma City, a child's early years are "a delicate time of life, when cognition and self-control [are] established." If school-choice policies are in place, "religious groups can pick for themselves" how to meet those needs in development of a child's cognition and self-control. Dr. Heckman rightly said such programs can and should accommodate the interests of "Orthodox Jews, Mormons, Southern Baptists, you name it."

Weekend Pictures

Holding daddy's hand:


A little smile:


Oliver with his brothers:



Lillie left for church camp in Colorado the Sunday after Oliver was born and just returned late Saturday night:




My brother and his family and my aunt came to meet Oliver on Sunday:


More visits from friends:


Oliver, you are so beautiful!

Remembering Oliver's Arrival

On Thursday, July 7, I woke up pretty early with contractions that seemed to be stronger than usual. I didn't think Oliver would come early so I really didn't think I was in the early stages of labor. Later that morning, I took Jack Henry and his friend to golf camp, took Mary Margaret on a quick errand, and then came home for the day. Mary Margaret and her friend went to the pool and the other kids and I had things to do at home.

Through the morning, and on and off all day, I kept having more contractions but I really just tried to ignore them. Finally in the early evening I decided to time them and see how regular they were. I remember when I was in labor with Lincoln -- I wrote down my contractions in the back of my What to Expect When You're Expecting book. Now they have apps for timing contractions so I got my phone and started timing. The books and doctors typically say to follow the 5-1-1 rule: Come to the hospital when your contractions are 5 minutes apart, lasting 1 minute, for 1 hour. Well, mine were about 4 minutes apart, lasting about 45 seconds and had been this way for about 2 hours. I decided to lie down and rest for a while to see if they might go away -- I didn't want to go the the hospital and have it be a false alarm. So after resting for a while they seemed to go away.

When I got up I just did things around the house -- last-minute things that might need to be done-- and then told Brandon we should go to the grocery store. If I really was in labor I needed to get some groceries so the kitchen would be stocked. As we walked through the store I kept having contractions, but again they weren't very strong, just really regular. We got home, put everything away, and then I just sat on the couch with my laptop trying to decide if this was the real thing. Finally at about midnight, Brandon thought we should go ahead and go to the hospital. The boys were both asleep, but the girls had their friend Haley over and they were watching a movie. The girls were surprised when Brandon walked into their room with my hospital bags. And I'll never forget Lillie's comment: "I don't think this is real. You're too calm." Turns out she was right (sort of).

At the hospital, they don't take you directly to a labor room. First you go to a triage room to see if you are really in labor. After some monitoring, they said my contractions were really regular and that I was dialated to a 4. The nurse said I could either stay or go home and come back when I was further along. She also said that sometimes people walk around for a week or more at this stage. I still had my doubts about whether this was "it" or not -- I had never had a baby come early and I also thought I might get more rest at home, so we decided to go back home. We got home around 3 and both tried to get some sleep. I actually went right to sleep as soon as I got in bed.

The next morning I woke up at about 7:00 with more contractions. I got up and did some things around the house, took a shower, double-checked my hospital bags to make sure I had everything, and kept timing my contractions. They were still regular, just not very strong. Brandon and I went to Panera to get some coffee and a bagel and I was still not sure if this was "it." I had been texting/calling my friend Carol (a former labor nurse) asking her questions -- you would have thought this was my first labor. I spent the rest of the day doing laundry and making sure everything was done around the house in case I would be going to the hospital. Finally around 3:30 we decided to go to the mall and walk around to see if my contractions got stronger. We put my hospital bags in the car just in case. When we were about halfway there I told Brandon that maybe we should just go ahead and go to the hospital -- it felt like my contractions were a little stronger and I was too tired to walk around the mall.

So we did the same routine as the night before: checked in at labor and delivery, told the nurse that I might be in labor, and went to the triage room so they could monitor me. As soon as I lay down it seemed like my contractions went away, but as it turns out I was dilated to a 7 -- this was the real thing. By around 4:30 or 5:00 I was moved to a real labor and delivery room and went through all the usual preliminaries -- lots of paperwork, signing things, etc. My doctor had already OK'd my request for no IV and for intermittent monitoring, so I was able to walk around. Mostly I walked around the labor room (which was really big) and we walked up and down the halls. The baby had to be monitored for 15 minutes out of every hour, and every time I got in bed for monitoring my contractions seemed to really slow down. I'm not sure but I think that's why my labor seemed to take longer than my other ones. Looking back, if I had had an epidural I wouldn't have been able to get up and walk and my labor might have gone much slower.

Throughout my labor Brandon and I were both thinking about Anne Marie, remembering the day she was born. It was unavoidable. We couldn't wait for Oliver to finally arrive and yet there was a sadness, remembering our baby girl. So many things about the labor were different and we both knew the actual birth would be different.

At around 9:15 the doctor broke my water and Oliver was born at 9:29. One thing that stands out in my mind is the loud cry he made when he was born. I don't think I will ever forget that cry. I think it stands out so much because Anne Marie didn't (couldn't) make a peep. When she was born it was eerily silent. Oliver was born wailing and crying. I started crying when I heard that sound, so thankful and yet so sad that Anne Marie hadn't been able to make any sounds at all. We were able to hold Oliver right away and I remember thinking that I just couldn't believe he was here in my arms.

It is true what the Bible says about childbirth -- that when a woman is in labor she has pain, but when she gives birth she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy that her baby is here. Yes, there were times when my labor was painful, but that pales in comparison to the joy of holding Oliver. And it was the same with Anne Marie (and our other children). The pain of labor fades when you are able to hold a baby in your arms, even if (as in Anne Marie's case) it is only for a few seconds.

There is nothing in the world like having a baby and I love almost everything about it -- the excitement and nervousness, the wondering if this is really labor, waddling into the hospital with my bags packed. I love the first night in the hospital when it's dark and quiet and your newborn baby is quietly nursing. I love the visitors and nurses coming in and out, and the first meals you eat when you are so hungry not only from delivery but also because you finally have room to eat. I love gazing at my newborn's face, seeing all the expressions and listening to all the newborn noises. I know that I've thought and said the same thing with all my babies: This is the most beautiful baby ever. I realize now more than ever what a true miracle childbirth is.

The Problem with Socialism Is that Eventually You Run Out of Other People

"From Athens to Madison, Wis.," Mark Steyn writes in the July 18 issue of National Review, "too many people have gotten used to a level of comfort and ease they haven't earned."

Since Obama took office, it's been fashionable to quote Mrs. Thatcher's great line: "The problem with socialism is that eventually you run out of other people's money." But we're way beyond that. That's a droll quip when you’re on mid-20th-century European fertility rates, but we've advanced to the next stage: We've run out of other people, period. Hyper-rationalist technocrats introduced at remarkable speed a range of transformative innovations—welfare, feminism, mass college education, abortion—whose cumulative effect a few decades on is that the developed world has developed to breaking point: Not enough people do not enough work for not enough of their lives. In the course of so doing, they have fewer children later. And the few they do have leave childhood ever later—Obamacare's much heralded "right" for a 26-year old to remain on his parents' health insurance being merely a belated attempt to catch up with the Europeans, and one sure to be bid up further.

A society of 25-year-old "children" whiling away the years till early middle age in desultory pseudo-education has no desire to fund its prolonged adolescence by any kind of physical labor, so huge numbers of unskilled Third World immigrants from the swollen favelas of Latin America or (in Europe) the shanty megalopolises of the Muslim world are imported to cook, clean, wash, build, do.

Live Video of the World's Largest Aquarium

 

We've Taken to You So Strong

Oliver was born one week ago tonight. We've had a wonderful week at home with him. We hold him and stare at him and can't believe he is here. The week has gone by fast and I already want time to slow down.

Saddling Our Children with Debt

A few months ago in Dallas, Susie, Oliver, and I had the opportunity to meet and chat for a few minutes with Texas Gov. Rick Perry. The conversation was not about politics or policy, but rather about children (ours and his). Comes now a very good article in The Washington Post in which Gov. Perry and South Carolina Gov. Nikki Haley say we really ought not run up our children's credit cards.

Photo by Shealah Craighead, http://www.shealahcraighead.com

O, Henry

Oliver and his big brother

The Winners

The winners of our weight-guessing contest were Jennifer Young and Cindy Land. Both guessed Oliver's exact weight: 8 pounds, 13 ounces. Thanks for guessing, everyone!

'Christy and You'

The Pioneer Woman has a very sweet post about my kid sister.

When Cholly Met Ollie

Our pup Charlie is extremely curious about the newest member of the household.

Admiring, Celebrating God's Gift

Later I'll have some posts reflecting on all that has been going on around here, but for now here are some pictures.

The kids' first peek at their baby brother:


I love this picture:


Grandparents:


We loved having so many friends come to see Oliver:












Brothers and sisters:

Anne Marie, you are absent from our pictures, but not from our hearts. Is it possible that I have missed you these last few days more than ever? You are a big sister now! One day, we will all be together -- I still can't wait for that day. I love you sweet girl, so, so much!!