Snow! Snow! Snow! and Ho! Ho! Ho!

Mostly this post is here to remind people that I'm still here, and writing.  That is, when I'm not writing briefs or presenting or appearing for oral arguments.  Seems like that's all I've been doing the last few months, and after an almost-all-nighter last night (finally got to sleep close to 4 a.m.) working on our summary-judgment motion in this case, I'm officially home for the holidays.

Home for the holidays.  It's what we're doing this year, for the second year in a row, though this year we've been graced by the presence of Alex and Ella-Anne's Papou, my Dad, who has been here since December 2. Even though I've had a nuttier-than-usual schedule, it's been a joy to have him here and to allow Alex and Ella-Anne the gift of unlimited, unrushed time around him.  Alex and Dad (Papou) share a love of lemonade, and they each now have a glass at dinner; it's such a heart-gladdening moment every night when the Lemonade Twins "cheers" their glasses -- Dad his glass tumbler of lemonade, and Alex her Cinderella drinking cup of lemonade.  They're like conspirators, those two.

A Home for the Holidays.  That's the musical holiday special that is on CBS right now.  It's lots of big musical stars (Faith Hill, Carrie Underwood, Mary J. Blige, Reba McEntire, Shakira, etc.).  The CBS Press Release says it is "an entertainment special celerating the joys of adoption," and the Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption is one of the sponsors/producers.  (Dave Thomas, the late founder of Wendy's, was himself adopted, and was quite the adoption activist all of his life; his eponymous Foundation carries on that work.)

Home for the weekend.  That's what we were, this past weekend, when we were blanketed with over 20 inches of snow, and (briefly) under a blizzard warning. 

Here's our back deck, towards the end of the snowfall -- to give you a sense of the quantity of snow that fell Friday night and Saturday.

And here are some cute photos from Alex's and Mommy's frolic in the snow.  (Ella-Anne was decidedly not interested in being out in the snow and cold; her sense of panic completely devoured any sense of wonder she might otherwise have had.)

Getting out of the home for the holidays.  After being stranded for about three days thanks to this snow, I suggested to Jane that we take Alex and Ella-Anne out to see Santa Claus, and to have lunch at the mall.  Surprisingly, the lines to see Santa were not terrible (not like last year's just-walk-on-up-and-sit-on-Santa's-lap experience, however), though the mall traffic was pretty bad since the last weekend of Christmas shopping had been snowed out for most of us.  More importantly, Alex did not cry or shrink from Santa this year; she walked right on up, sat on his lap, talked to him, wished him "Merry Christmas," and gave him a hug.  And she gave us all a sweet smile for the photos (instead of making a twisted face for the camera); I attribute that to my promise that if she gave Santa a "sweet smile," she and I could make silly faces at lunch at Lebanese Taverna.  Photographic evidence of all of that appears below.

Now for a bit about Ella-Anne:  As of her last doctor's check up about 10 days ago, she is 12 pounds.  She's still a bit smaller than Alex was -- the blog archives tell us that Alex was 12 lbs., 11 oz., and a bit over 24 inches long as of December 18, 2006.  Just for grins, here's a picture of Alex and Jane from December 2006:

And here's one of Ella-Anne at about the same age, three years later:

If I didn't understand genetics, from thse photos I'd swear these two were biologically related.  As it is, they're definitely related -- similar demeanors at their early ages being the most striking similarity (other than the appearance thing).

Since I was going back through the old blogs, let's just preview some of the likely highlights and estimated dates for the next few months, if Alex's experiences are any predictors of Ella-Anne's:

• January 16, 2010:  First cereal (rice?).
• January 26, 2010:  First vegetables (sweet potatoes?).
• Mid-February, 2010:  Adoption finalization in Ft. Worth.
• March 1, 2010:  First tooth.
• March 27, 2010:  First Indian food.

Last word for now:  Alex can make Ella-Anne laugh like nobody's business.  This evening, Alex was kneeling in front of her, bouncing up and down, and this made Ella-Anne belly laugh.  Big chortles.  Out of control, like the first time you saw Jonathan Winters or Robin Williams on TV.  I don't have that power, Mommy doesn't have that power.  Only Big Sister can do it.

Happy Thanksgiving!

So here we are in beautiful Wichita, Kansas, at the Hutchinson ranch, with three cousins and Alex slowing down after dinner, trying to watch "The Princess Bride" despite several skips in the DVD.  The kids are winding down enough that it isn't as big a deal to them as it is to the adults, who are profoundly disappointed every time the DVD stalls out on us.

This is a week of rest for me, or as close to rest as I'm allowed to get these days.  I do have several projects in my briefcase, including a couple of briefs and an oral argument I've got to get ready for, but I catch a few hours of work here and there before everyone else gets up, or while Alex and Ella-Anne are having their naps.  Other than that, it's family time here in the 'Ta. 

And because it's family time, Ella-Anne doesn't lack for laps to sit in, or grandparents to hold her while she's having a "ba-ba" (bottle of formula).  Alex is in perpetual motion, chasing or being chased by her cousins Sam, Noah, and Jill or -- when the cousins are at their home -- walking around the house going "Where are the cousins?  Where did they go?"

Jill and Alex, who are about the same age (Jill was four months old, I think, when Alex was born), were playing a hysterical game earlier today.  Jill would chase Alex into the living room, and Alex would shake a finger at Jill and say "Go away, Mommy!" They both would squeal with laughter, and then reverse roles -- Alex would chase Jill from the living room into Papa's office, and Jill would turn around and say to Alex, "Go away, Mommy!"  Repeat until bored.  This was minutes of fun for the girls.

Last night, Alex played another game of her own making with Jane.  Jane was sitting in a wing-back chair in the living room, and Alex placed a wooden box that holds blocks at her feet.  Alex would kneel behind the box, in somewhat of a penitent pose, and ask, "What should I do now, Teacher Mommy?"  Mommy would say something like "I think you should give Nana a hug and a kiss," and Alex would follow instructions, giving Nana a hug and a kiss, and then returning to the box of penitence, where she would repeat, "What should I do now, Teacher Mommy?" 

Jane loved this game.  She was very sorry when it ended, because it was the only time Alex followed instructions 100%.  I believe we will be playing "Teacher Mommy" when we get back home.

Since it is the season, there are many things to be thankful for.  Jane and I are thankful most of all for each other, and the fact that we were in the right places at the right times ten and a half years ago.  We are thankful for our families, and their extended circles of loved ones.  We are grateful for our own surprisingly vast circle of friends, hundreds of whom are evidenced on our Facebook accounts alone.  We are grateful for our own health, and for that of our two daughters.  We are grateful as anything for those two little girls, Alex and Ella-Anne, who have made our lives richer with every ba-ba and every diaper.  We are thankful for the Gladney Adoption Agency, for Mamaw Peggy and Donna, the women who took such wonderful care of our daughters before we could arrive to pick them up and bring them into our lives.  Personally, I am grateful for Jane, and the wonderful mother and wife that she is.

And I am grateful that a bunch of insane comedy writers in the 1970s decided that the Pinedale Shopping Mall should be bombed with live turkeys.  On that note:  Happy Thanksgiving.

Mommy and Daddy go to dinner

One of the unintended advantages of having a six-year delay in starting our family was that Jane and I had many opportunities to discuss, and learn how much we agreed on, our values and theories of parenting.  For example:

• We are not short-order cooks.  After you're out of the baby-food phase, you'll eat what the entire family is having.
• We won't talk "baby talk" to you.  We'll use real words and expect you to learn them and use them, too.
• Mommy and Daddy will have regular "date nights."  This means that you will see, on a weekly basis, tangible evidence that Mommy and Daddy -- not you -- are the centerpiece of this family, and that our relationship is a rock on which you can rely.

This last one is what I want to write about today.  Saturday was Jane's birthday, and we managed to get one of the hardest dinner reservations in town -- a table at Komi in Washington, D.C.  In case you're interested, here's a review of Komi, which ranked as one of the few four-star places in the DC area this past year.  While another of our credos is that our children will be exposed to nice restaurants and learn how to dine like little ladies, it does not follow that they get to go along with us on every restaurant visit.

Komi is amazing.  No menu.  Just twenty-one courses, leisurely paced one after the other.  I probably can't recall every single course, but I'll describe a few of them.  We started with a perfect little rectangle (smaller and thinner than a domino) of raw kampachi, served with a little turbot broth.  Then a similar-sized pice of fluke, which looked similar but was a contrast to the kampachi in flavor and texture.  Then a silver-dollar-sized slice of a huge scallop, served in the scallop shell with a tangy cream (Greek yogurt-based?) on the bottom and a couple of slices of black truffle on top.  At some point later was the chef's one experiment with "molecular gastronomy," a "Caesar salad" which was a warm, but not-quite-crisp ball that looked like a hush puppy, but when bitten into released a warm explosion of flavor -- but for the temperature of the liquid inside, the flavor was unmistakably Romaine lettuce, Parmesan cheese, a bit of anchovy, etc. 

One of the earlier courses deserves special treatment, even by the standards that Komi had already set for itself by the first several courses.  A warm Medjool date, hollowed out and stuffed with Marscapone cheese, and sprinkled with a few grains of sea salt.  I am having trouble finding the words to express just how good this was.   It was sweet and chewy (the date), rich and creamy (the cheese), and salty and crunchy (the sea salt), all at once. 

The main event also deserves a paragraph of its own.  A slow-roasted goat shoulder, topped with sea salt that had been infused with fresh oregano so that the salt itself was green.  Served with homemade and griddled pita bread wedges, and a series of accompaniments -- tsaziki, pickled cabbage, eggplant puree, a habanero sauce, and more of the oregano salt.  Unlike most of the courses that had gone before, this was not a single bite, or a few bites, but a hearty counterpoint to what had gone before.  Not every table got the goat; some got suckling pig.  I'm glad that we got the goat shoulder; the next time we go -- and there will be a next time -- we'll make a request for the suckling pig.

So after three-plus hours at dinner, we headed back home, where we found our big little girl STILL AWAKE, long past her bedtime.  Another good visible reminder for Alex:  We may go have our Mommy-Daddy dinners, but we always come home.

"The inefficiency of the fork": More pictures

A couple of new ones of Ella-Anne, including some big smiles, and a few from Sunday's NOT "High" Tea at the Ritz-Carlton, including Alex's effort to face-plant into a chocolate dessert to avoid the inefficiency of the fork, and Two Daddies Dancing.

"Perfectly Floppy Bacon and Other Impressive Feats"

Jane's dear friend Lori Heagler has started a blog, which she's dubbed Perfectly Floppy Bacon and Other Impressive Feats.  (Lori's my dear friend, too, but Jane brought her to the marriage, and so I think of her more like "dowry."  It's a good thing I like Lori, too, because Jane's dowry didn't contain any actual cash.) 

I'm creating a separate blog entry here to tell all of my three or four readers about it, because Lori is wicked funny.  She's also the mom to Ben (8) and Lucy (6), and she is the ringleader of a pack of women she calls the "Boozey Mommies."

This is Lucy, Lori, and Ben.

And this is what Lori is going to be writing about (in her own words):

Perfectly Floppy Bacon and Other Impressive Feats will be a glimpse of Heagler Family life – a place where I don’t have to reduce my musings to a Facebook status containing 420 characters or less or a Note that can only be viewed by my Facebook friends. To those of you who encouraged me to do this, I hope I won’t let you down and I hope you’ll never be sorry you said this was a good idea. Be careful what you wish for!

If there’s anyone out there reading who doesn’t know us, read on and come back often. You’ll know the Heaglers before you know it.

Perfectly Floppy Bacon and Other Impressive Feats will be about messages written in the dust on my end-tables, raising kids and drinking (a lot of) wine. About “going Southern”, my beloved Boozey Mommies, the horrors of dating as a 40+-year-old single mom, trying on hats, the rocks in my pockets, pick-me-up hugs and never-minding. It will be about tough love, hope, lots and lots of laughter and maybe a little inspiration along the way. And it will sometimes be about autism and its impact on our family.

If you like reading this blog, you'll love Lori's.

Oh, and as for news from our house, on Saturday the four of us went to the local telecast of the Monon Bell game between Wabash and DePauw (the righteous triumphed, 32-19, and the Bell resumes its appropriate place of honor on the Wabash campus).  Alex repeatedly yelled "Let's Go Wabash!" at the top of her teeny lungs, and lots of our Wabash friends got to meet Ella-Anne for the first time. 

On Sunday, a bunch of Jane's friends hosted an afternoon tea in Ella-Anne's honor at the Ritz-Carlton at Tysons Corner -- perfectly elegant with a single huge exception noted by Mr. Language Person:  The menu for their afternoon tea service (classical English tea service with dainty finger sandwiches and lots of pastries) repeatedly referred to these as "High Tea Selections."  WRONG!  "High Tea" is not like "High Church," marked by formalities.  High tea is a singularly inelegant event -- a workingman's dinner eaten (with tea) in the very late afternoons.  It is sometimes referred to as "meat tea."  It is not what they are serving in the afternoons at the Ritz-Carlton.

To wit, this is from the UK Tea Council website:

While tea was part of the staple diet of the poor, among the rich tea-drinking was evolving into an elaborate social occasion. Afternoon teas probably had their roots in the ladies tea-parties of the seventeenth centuries, but evolved during the eighteenth century into something of a national institution. Tradition has it that afternoon tea was 'invented' by Anna Maria, the wife of the seventh Duke of Bedford, who in 1841 started drinking tea and having a bite to eat in the mid-afternoon, to tide her over during the long gap between lunch (eaten at about 1 o'clock) and dinner (eaten at around 7 o'clock). This swiftly developed into a social occasion, and soon the Duchess was inviting guests to join her for afternoon tea at 5 o'clock. It did not become instantly popular elsewhere though, partly because in fashionable circles dinner was eaten earlier, leaving less of a gap to be filled by afternoon tea. But by the 1860s the fashion for afternoon tea had become widespread. Such teas were elegant affairs, with tea drunk from the best china and small amounts of food presented perfectly on little china plates. On offer might be bread and butter, scones and cakes, and sandwiches with the crusts cut off.

Contemporary manuals on etiquette and good housekeeping are full of advice on how to conduct a correct afternoon tea. The idea of needing an instruction book in order to enjoy a cup of tea and a biscuit with some friends seems rather alarming these days, but although nineteenth century afternoon teas were elaborate affairs from our point of view, in those days they were considered relatively informal occasions. Invitations were issued verbally or by note, and rather than attending for the entire duration guests were free to pop in when it suited them and likewise leave when they wanted to. The hostess would pour the tea, but it was the responsibility of the men to hand the cups round. If there were no men present, this job fell to the daughters of the hostess or other young women present (goodness know what happened if there were no men and no daughters available!). There was a fashion for women to wear tea gowns, but these were softer and less restrictive than evening gowns, and it was not always deemed necessary for women to wear gloves. Nonetheless many did, and the author of The Etiquette of Modern Society points out that a thoughtful hostess should always provide biscuits with tea, since these can be eaten more easily than sandwiches without removing one's gloves.

Some poorer households also adopted the practice of afternoon tea, and in some areas women pooled their resources and equipment in order to make such occasions affordable. But more common among the working classes was 'high tea'. During the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, when most people worked in agriculture, the working classes tended to have the main meal of their day at midday, with a much lighter supper late in the evening. But after the industrial revolution, more and more people were employed for long shifts in factories or mines, and hot midday meals were thus less convenient. They were also not appropriate for the increasing numbers of children who were at school during the day. The custom developed of having a high tea in the late afternoon, at the end of the working day, consisting of strong tea, and hearty, hot food. Unlike afternoon tea, high tea was the main meal of the day, rather than a stop-gap between lunch and dinner.

Get it, Ritz-Carlton?  You're better than that.

"Where you been, boy?"

Been busy, sir!

Since my last post, I've had another oral argument in the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Federal Circuit (it was a complex case, involving a lot of preparation time, so I haven't written since October 17), we had a Hallowe'en party at our house, Alex was presumptively quarantined from trick-or-treating because of suspected swine flu, and Ella-Anne keeps on keeping on, calmly and easily.

So, without further ado, some more photos.  The first three are photos of Ella-Anne I took this morning (the most smiley one is where Alex was making faces at her -- big sister has the power to coax smiles out of Ella-Anne like nobody's business); the next seven are "Swine Flu Halloween"; and the last three are some professional pictures Jane had taken of the girls.

This one goes to eleven

Eleven weeks, that is.  That's how old Ella-Anne became on Tuesday.  And as I browse back through the blog of three years ago to see what parallel experiences we had with Alex, I can only observe this:  We have been bestowed with two very easygoing infants.  If anything, Ella-Anne is even more low-key than Alex was at that age.  They're both beautiful little girls, they both slept through the night, and their fussy times were pretty well limited to an hour at night (Alex's was from six to seven p.m.; Ella-Anne's is usually from eight to nine or so).  No colic, general happiness -- can't ask for much more than that.

On another subject.  One of our friends (no names) posted this on Facebook earlier this week:

"A Mother is supposed to do everything with LOVE . . . but I am not sure if cleaning the dirty cooler on Friday night to bring the juice boxes to the soccer game can be done with love . . . how about changing a poopy diaper for the 5th time in a day?  Scrubbing the oodles of toothpaste out of the sink?  The definition of LOVE sure changes after you have children."

This made me think more than a little bit.  Poets and philosophers have been trying to define "love" for thousands of years, without any particular universal or agreed-upon success.  But I wonder if this doesn't really capture the essence of "love" -- the willingness to do (just about) anything for another person, especially when that other person can't do for themselves. 

Strangely enough, the first thing this made me think about was not my own daughters' poopy diapers -- though those do come to mind several times a day.  (Well, they don't exactly come "to mind" -- maybe "to butt."  But I digress.)  No, what this post made me think about was my own Mother and Father, and in particular the way my Dad cared for my Mother toward the end of her life.  As my Mother's brain tumors, the ones that would take her life seven months later, progressed, she lost the use of her legs.  When the weakness of her legs got beyond the point where she could use a walker to move about the house, and she was effectively confined to her bed, my father purchased a portable hospital toilet.  Despite the fact that he was approaching 80 at the time and had a biventricular pacemaker and defibrillator in his chest, he would pick up my Mother from her bed and place her on this portable toilet multiple times a day.  He told no one that he was doing this -- and particularly not me, because I was just astonished when I visited home in May 2003, after several months' absence, and saw this going on.  (To protect my Dad's health, and to ensure that Mom was cared for in the best way possible, we moved her to a nursing facility shortly thereafter, though my Dad would never have allowed that on his own motion.)

What I witnessed there, though, was about the purest expression of love that I can imagine. And as I think about that today, over six years later, it is a good reminder to me about what love is, and that I can always be a better Dad, and a better husband, than I am now. 

It's not the stuff of romance novels, but all of it -- changing diapers, scrubbing coolers, going to work every day, or silently caring for another -- it is love. 

Pictures from an exhibition

Pictures from last weekend's trip to Kansas City, and this week's Hallowe'en decorating.  There's a reason there's a spider hanging from the doorway of my home office, and it's not because the cleaning people did a lousy job this week.

Alex is a GOOD witch:

Alex holding her baby sister.  One is smiling, one is demonstrating abject fear -- you match the girl to the description:

Nana and the girls:

Ella-Anne making eyes at Papa:

Sometimes, only a Papa hug can cure the blues:

"Nana, baba.  Baba, Nana."

A few blurry pictures

Ella-Anne comes to visit Daddy's office:

When she comes to my office, Alex is mesmerized by watching "I'm Only a Bill" on YouTube -- she can see the U.S. Capitol from my window, and she always says, "Is that where the Bill lives?"

Ella-Anne just before bedtime:

A close-up of Ella-Anne's jammies.  I'm trying to teach her, as I did with Alex, to answer the question "What is that squirrel saying?" with "He's saying 'Don't touch my nuts!'"

"Tot Pocket!"  Ella-Anne wrapped up in the Miracle Blanket (the giant dessicated foot underneath her is mine):

Rock Chalk Jayhawk

Friday through Sunday, we spent a too-quick weekend in Kansas City, Missouri and Lawrence, Kansas for Jane's 20th college reunion.  The trip also allowed Alex to see -- and Ella-Anne to meet -- her cousins Libby, Megan, and Johnny, her Uncle John and Aunt Pam, and her Aunt Katie and Katie's boyfriend Daryl.  Nana and Papa also made the three-hour drive from Wichita (which Uncle John calls "The 'Ta," and others refer to as "Doo-Dah" -- I know not why).  Herewith, some observations.

1.  While it probably seemed like a good idea at one point in time to get a tent on the hilside of the KU stadium for the class of 1989 reunion, I'll bet no one thought it would be 38 degrees with a wind so strong that it caused the kickers to miss the first three extra points of the game.  It was go[sh]-da[rn]ed cold out there.

2.  It's not possible that it's been 20 years since my wife graduated from college.  She looks young and spectacular.  So do her friends.

3.  While there were a lot of great moments from the weekend, one stood out.  In the refrigerated tent, we met one of Jane's classmates, Steve, and his partner Francois.  Steve had not seen Jane for 20 years, and upon meeting me he told me what a hero my wife is.  To wit:  When they were in school, both of them served on an "AIDS task force," sponsored by the KU Student Senate, which made available "safe sex kits" -- which included condoms.  In the mid-1980s, this was a brave act indeed, particularly for a sorority member who also taught Sunday School at her local Catholic church.  Well, Jane's leadership with the AIDS task force caused her to be fired from her job as a Sunday school teacher, and resulted in a sermon being preached from that same church's pulpit -- with Jane and her parents all in attendance -- excoriating certain "student leaders" for their involvement in handing out condoms. I've always known that my bride is a woman of grace, nobility, and conviction, but it was awfully nice to hear that coming from Steve himself.  Besides, Steve and Francois are great guys -- they live in Boston these days -- and I hope we'll get to see a lot more of them now that Steve and Jane have reconnected.  Alex and Ella-Anne should hear from people other than their Daddy what an astounding woman they have as a mother.

4.  While we were all partying with the class of 1989 -- and I use the term "partying" very loosely, since I had a total of one beer and one mixed drink over the course of the weekend -- Nana and Papa took charge of our daughters.  On Saturday, they went over to John and Pam's house where, it was reported, Ella-Anne's little butt never touched the floor, because someone or another was holding her ALL THE TIME.

5.  At dinner on Saturday night, at John and Pam's house, we celebrated Papa's and John's birthdays and (as noted earlier) met Kate's boyfriend Daryl.  (Daryl had it easy -- I met the Hutchinson family at Libby's baptism, meaning that I met EVERY SINGLE MEMBER OF THE FAMILY AT ONCE.)  At one point, Daryl -- who has spent a lot of time, including college time, in Texas -- was telling us about how it was a very popular thing to attend prison rodeos, where the prisoners would compete to pull a bag of cash off of the horns of a steer.  (I saw this once in the movie "Stir Crazy" with Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder.)  I was particularly proud of my response to Daryl:  "Katie's told us a lot about you, but she neglected to mention that you had done hard time."  I'm sure he looks forward to seeing me again.

"Sleeping is the highest accomplishment of genius."

Soren Kierkegaard said it, and if he is correct, Ella-Anne is going to be the next Einstein.  With the help of the miracle blanket, of course.

Let's take a look at the tale of the tape:

Wednesday night, October 7 (last night):  To bed at 9 p.m., awake at 7:45 a.m. (10+ hours)
Tuesday night, October 6:  To bed at 9:30 p.m., awake at 7:00 a.m. (9.5 hours)
Monday night, October 5:  To bed at 9:00 p.m., awake after 7:00 a.m. (10+ hours)
Sunday night, October 4:  To bed at 9:45 p.m., awake at almost 8:00 a.m. (10+ hours)

This is a very good thing.  It is keeping her Daddy, aged though he is, sufficiently sane that he can hold down a job and be a generally cheerful parent. 

I know, I know.  We've been very lucky.  Alex was a sleeper.  Ella-Anne is a sleeper.  We haven't had the drama of colic, or fighting sleep, or general fussiness that some of our fellow enlistees in the Parent Army have had.  We're just grateful, not bragging. 

We're off to Kansas this weekend for Jane's 20th college reunion (she graduated at age 9, by the way -- just check her current photos) and some Nana, Papa, aunt, uncle, and cousin time.  More from the road.

Life is a Driveway

And, with apologies to Tom Cochrane, Alex wants to ride it all night long.  (To the point that she has awakened in the middle of the night the last two nights, crying in her sleep, "I want to go to the driveway!")