"Dear God Please Help Me" - morrissey

It looks like Paisley's prayers have been answered as today marks the one week anniversary since she came home from the hospital. That means that we have somehow managed to keep her alive outside of the watchful eyes of the nursing staff. Forgive us for patting ourselves on the back for a moment.

Since we haven't been able to keep up on the blog for the last 2 weeks or so, we thought we'd hit some of the highlights. We ended up going to the hospital at about 2 am on the morning of the 11th. They got us settled into a delivery room and by about 4 am, we were finally able to try and get some sleep. They had hooked Brandi up to a pitocin drip to try and initiate contractions but we really weren't able to make much progress until they decided to break her water at about 9am. It was at about this time that Brandi was able to answer a long nagging question: How do labor contractions differ from Braxton Hicks contractions? It wasn't long after that where we were introduced to the modern miracle of epidurals. For the next several hours everything seemed to progress smoothly and before we knew it, they were telling us that Brandi was dilated to the magic number of ten. It seemed that the only issue was that Paisley was face up and so in attempting to turn her face down, they kept Brandi rotating from laying on her left and right side. Which was pretty tricky since the anesthesiologist gave her so much extra juice to compensate for her extra height (5'10" isn't really that tall, but Brandi wasn't objecting) that she was a virtual paraplegic. Not so good for lower limb management, pretty great for labor. The rest was just like the movies. A little "push, push, push" followed by the supportive "You're doing great, Breathe!" There was a little concern when they had Brandi start pushing before the doctor showed up and Paisley's heart rate would drop to half its normal rate but would recover fairly quickly after the contraction. The doctor finally showed up and thought it was an issue of the cord being around Paisley's neck but didn't seem too concerned and so we pushed on.
















As previously reported Paisley made her world debut at 2:49pm weighing in at 7 lbs 1 oz and stretching out to 19 inches. In a follow up visit, they've shrunk that to 18 1/4 inches which was surprising but she's got arms, hands, and feet that give us faith that she will soon enough grow into her full potential. For those who don't know, Tim is 6'6" tall. But for now, she's so cute and little that even her smallest outfits drown her. We stopped into Baby Gap the other day to pick her up a few preemie onesies. As also suspected, she came out with a full head of hair.

Mom and baby were released from the hospital last Friday morning and we've been hanging out at the house reading, making progress and a few mistakes but really enjoying the time that we've had to get to know each other. We've had some family visit from both sides which was nice and helpful while Tim has been able to take time off work to help a little as well.

Paisley has been such a good baby. She sleeps quite a bit and very seldomly cries. The feeding sessions have been the cause of a little frustration but not nearly as bad as the ones in the hospital with the nursery staff and their very hands-on, over-the-shoulder approach. Even though she's been working us over with her diaper situation, we're just so in love with this bundle and are excited for all the time that we'll be able to spend together while she grows up.

Day 3

Hiccups 1 day old

Paisley Sage

Paisley Sage entered the world on July 11, 2007 at 2:49pm. She weighed in at 7 lbs. 1 oz. and measured 19 inches although she refused to stretch her legs, so we're pretty sure she's longer. Mom and baby are doing great and everyone was released from the hospital Friday just after noon. We think she's really cute and here's a picture of her leaving the hospital just to prove it. Of course we're just getting started and there will be plenty more pictures, stories, and movies once everyone gets settled. Thanks for all your congratulations and comments.

Lucky? Sevens

This post has been percolating for a few days now but we just haven't had the time to sit down and relax long enough to put the words together. It started on Saturday with the alignment of July 7, 2007. 7.7.07. There's been a whole hoopla about the date and it was supposed to be a great day for a major life event. The event getting the most coverage seemed to be weddings, due to the fact that it's one of the easier ones to plan around. Anyone take the plunge?

We ended up choosing the date September 6, 2006 when we got married. 9.6.06 had a sort of sing songy ring to it and so we thought it would be an easy date for others (read: Tim) could remember. The actual number combination though didn't play any role in our decision since we were just trying to find a date that would work well for family members coming from out of town but mostly in reserving Red Butte Garden for the reception. (Turns out reserving the Salt Lake temple wasn't difficult at all.) In the end, we've heard several accounts of people trying to show up on the 9th while we were already in Mexico. Oh well.

All the excitement of 7.7.07 has got us thinking about dates and astrology and such. Unless this becomes a tortuously long labor for mom and baby, little Paisley should emerge from the womb at some point on July 11th. This would make her a Cancer. We did a little research the other night and it sounds like Cancer is a healthy mix of our Pisces and Virgo personalities. And if triple sevens is the luckiest day in history, 7.11.07 has got to be worth something. We were thinking that maybe she should be sponsored by 7-Eleven, aka The Sev. Slurpees for life! Just as soon as we dreamt this up, the whole franchise goes off on some Simpsons publicity stunt and changes their name to Kwik-E-Mart. Lame.

But after all is said and done, for a pregnancy that had zero planning behind it, one can't help but feel extremely lucky when Paternity Leave and the Tour de France happen at the same time. Viva la Tour!

But It's A Dry Heat

This is a cell phone picture of the rear view mirror on Tim's car this afternoon. It's hot throughout the West. Here in Vegas, it's nothing short of hooves, horns, and pitchforks. Granted, the thermometer tends to be more affected by the pavement and notches up a few degrees when traffic slows, but the official high was still 116. The National Weather Advisory has issued something called an Excessive Heat Warning.

Running around the office today, Tim was asked several times, "Do anything fun for the 4th?" Typical polite office conversation where no one really expects a real answer, but still, let's use a little judgement. Brandi is a week away from giving birth and it's an absolute sweatfest, when you're not pregnant. But when you've got a full sized Easy Bake Oven strapped to your chest, it becomes a major health concern. There aren't exactly a lot of options for us on such a traditionally outside holiday. We couldn't even come up with the patriotism to spark up the barbecue for a couple all American burgers and ended up ordering a pizza. Something "fun" for us these days consists of a single word: surviving. Each day we don't end up in the E.R. with heat stroke IS a holiday. Happy Birthday America!

Green Means Go

The last week can only be described as physically and emotionally exhausting but there are a few pieces that are worth mentioning here.

The first story is just the absolute irony of life. Last Tuesday we were racing from Las Vegas to Salt Lake to catch Tim's ailing father in time but only made it half way before the dreaded phone call. As we pulled off at the next exit to have a cry and collect ourselves, Brandi noticed where we were. Cedar City. The exact exit of the fateful event that started this whole blog. Practically under the shadow of Applebee's and Walmart. This place must be our Bermuda Triangle where life appears and disappears.

Had we not been so close to the beginning of one life, we would have easily made the end of the other. Tim's mom had informed us Sunday afternoon that his dad had been admitted to the hospital early that morning because of some shoulder discomfort. This development wasn't too unusual and he was scheduled for several tests the next few days to get a better idea of his recent lack of energy. By Monday morning the situation had deteriorated greatly and a tearful call from Tim's aunt signalled the decision to head to Salt Lake as soon as possible. Being so close to Brandi's due date on top of an already high risk pregnancy, neither of us felt comfortable making the trip without an okay from the doctor first. The doctor's office wasn't able to fit us in on Monday so we were forced to wait out for Brandi's previously scheduled appointment Tuesday morning.

After the appointment Tuesday morning, we received two exciting pieces of news. The first was, after giving us a copy of Brandi's chart, we got clearance to make the drive to Salt Lake. The second piece of news was that the doctor wanted to schedule a date to induce Brandi. I hope everyone is ready for this, because it appears that Paisley Sage will be joining our little family on July 11. So yeah, in like a week. As described previously, we have a history of performing well with deadlines, but this might be a little too tight. With all of the excitement we lost 2 weeks of our growing "To Do" list. Tick tock. Tick tock.

"It's not goodbye; it's goodnight."

Wayne Ricks
1943 ~ 2007
Ernest Wayne Ricks died June 26, 2007, after a courageous 16 year battle with cancer. He was born in Ammon, Idaho, September 10, 1943, to Lawrence and Zola Ricks who taught him on the family farm a work ethic that served him throughout his life. Wayne graduated from Bonneville High School and then served an LDS mission in North Germany. His marriage to Sue Ann Yospe on June 14, 1968, in the Salt Lake Temple was the beginning of a wonderful, eternal life together. He later earned an MA in Architecture from the U of U and became an accomplished architect and partner in the firm NJRA Architects. He belonged to the Sugarhouse Kiwanis Club where he had served as president and Division Lieutenant Governor. Wayne loved the Savior and faithfully served in many church callings including Bishop of the Stratford Ward, President of the SL Highland Stake singles branch, scout leader, teacher, and nursery leader, but his favorite callings were Dad and Grandpa. He attended Woodbadge and was recognized with the Silver Beaver Scouting Award and District Award of Merit. He enjoyed cheering for the Utes, golfing, fishing, and being with his family. He was a kind, compassionate man with a quiet sense of humor who was loved by all those who were privileged to be associated with him. Survived by his sweetheart Sue Ann, children Christine, Rebekah (Gabe) Turcsanski, Tim (Brandi), Deborah, Rachelle (Nate) Jeppson, grandchildren Ashlin, Jonah, Natalie, Taylor, and Kennedy, all who love and will miss him dearly. Two more sweet spirits will soon join his posterity. We thank all those who served his medical needs over the years and helped lengthen his time with us. Services will be held Saturday, June 30, at ll:00 a.m. at the Stratford Ward 2605 S 1500 E. Viewings will be held Friday, June 29, from 6-8 p.m. at Wasatch Lawn Mortuary 3401 S Highland Dr, and Saturday from 9:45 to l0:45 a.m. prior to services at the church.

The Final Countdown

Amongst our differences, the two of us have always had one very strong trait in common. A short attention span with a touch of procrastination. A fabulous combination for completing major projects. Fortunately, we both have much respect for hard deadlines. Take our moving into the new house for example. We closed in mid-March and finished unloading the last box at the end of that same month. It's now June. We've had some neighborhood visitors and therefore had made most of our progress downstairs. The upstairs on the other hand, was still a bit of an obstacle course. Of course one of those rooms was the nursery that we've been working on. But it was mostly just an excuse. Enter Tim's parents. A short notice visit was just the kick in the pants that we needed. It was amazing just how "settled" we could become in a few days. We take no responsibility for the den.

We're hoping that this will be a precursor to the upcoming birth. We've been trying to distract ourselves with painting the nursery, buying many cute outfits and pieces of furniture. Anything to postponing the reality of child birth. We were getting really excited about taking an instructional parenting class offered by the hospital that would teach us all of the important care taking details. How to swaddle, change diapers, and the art of burping. We finally made the reservation call a few weeks before the scheduled class only to discover that these sorts of things tend to fill up. No room in the inn. We've got nothing. Tim doesn't even know the difference between a normal blanket and a receiving blanket (but let's be honest, neither does Brandi). Sure we're reading books and conducting serious online research, but just like the pain of labor, it's hard to think that any written description can adequately prepare for the first (or one thousandth) messy diaper.

Luckily for us, child birth comes with a pretty hard deadline (more or less - we do realize that it could happen a little sooner, but Brandi insists it won't be later). For us it's exactly four weeks from now. 28 days. Is that the Sandra Bullock movie or the one about the zombies? The closer we get to July 19, the easier it is to focus on. Sort of. We really don't know what we're doing. The problem of procrastination. A trait that's complimented by our open mindedness. So all you parents out there, feel free to throw your best advice at us. Wanna ride bikes?

Tim Tries to Make Brandi Feel Like He Won't Murder Her

According to Nancy Grace, murder is the number one cause of death among pregnant women. This is a staggering statistic, especially if it's true. She didn't really take the next step, but the inference is that it's a result of domestic violence. Don't worry sweet ones, the only domestic violence in our home is limited to tiny feet into Brandi's ribs and the occasional cat claw. This post is pure Tim. I'm letting Brandi sit this one out. Given that this weekend was Father's day, I want to try and express some building thoughts concerning fatherhood. A topic that I don't know much about but hopefully I'm learning.

A few weeks ago I was introduced at work as, The Office Comedian. Under other circumstances, I'm sure that this would be rather flattering but that day it only caused me worry. Is this really how I come across? Not that there's anything wrong with being loose and jovial to break up the monotony. But when introduced, I want to hear the title Environmental Biologist. I didn't spend six years in school to be a comedian. I'm a biologist and take my job extremely seriously, so excuse me for thinking that I'm pretty good at what I do. I feel the same way about fatherhood. I tend to joke about my incapability all the time, but the truth is, I'm completely dedicated to and excited for the arrival of this perfect little person.

Last week at the dinner table, Brandi found herself having to listen to me discuss those at the office that I felt that I could beat up. (Funny enough, this sizing up had nothing to do with the aforementioned experience. As a legal disclaimer, this discussion occurred before the obligatory Workplace Violence training and there isn't anyone at work that I could beat up.) Brandi diagnosed the aggressive behavior as pregnancy related hormones, specifically high testosterone levels. She is far and beyond smarter than I am, especially when it comes to the workings of the body, but on this occasion, I disagreed. In fact, I think that I'm guilty of the opposite. Not aggression, but protection. If women go through "nesting," I think it's totally acceptable for a guy to go through "defending the nest."

For the first time in my life, I've become territorial. Growing up with all sisters, I've had my fair share of being protective. Despite the instinct, my sisters have been independent, so there wasn't a lot of opportunity for me. Being a husband and a soon-to-be father, just like Brandi, I've felt something growing inside of me. Unlike Brandi, mine won't show up on an ultrasound. I know it's there, so the challenge has been trying to come up with a way to adequately describe what it feels like. I think I'm finally getting my fingers around it.

As a biologist, I've had the opportunity to work with and fight for many threatened and endangered species. I absolutely love what I do and take pride in working towards the greater good. It seems to me that people equate the title "biologist" with the visual of hippies running through the forests, tree-hugging, and saving all the fluffy little creatures. This idea usually gets expressed with questions wondering if I eat meat or ever go fishing. Let me assure you that the job isn't all flowers and sausages. The hard reality is that in order to do our jobs - the passionate fight towards the survival of a thing - in most cases, comes at the expense of some other thing. This is the day in which we live. A struggle to reclaim resources and habitats against invasive, exotic species. As a result, my fights have come at the cost of literally hundreds of thousands of other lives. Without hesitation, without regret.

Lately, that hesitation and regret have begun to change. We've been conducting a bioassessment study at work lately to try and quantify the bioaccumulation of contaminants into the environment. In order to accomplish this, we've been collecting stands of vegetation and...bird eggs. We've been targeting two species: killdeer and American coot. Not the prettiest birds in the world, but this activity has created a pretty obvious conflict of interest for me. One that I've felt in my guts. For weeks, I've been hunting down nests only to then force a mother off her clutch in order to steal one of her babies. Coot and killdeer tend to express quite different behaviors during this process. Upon approach, killdeer will come off the eggs and exhibit what's known as "broken wing" where the mother flails about while holding one wing at some unsightly angle trying to sell you (the predator) on the injury, to lure you away from her offspring. As you squat at the nest and the mother realizes that her theatrics fell short, she'll just stand there and stare at you from 20 feet, for the most part, without making a noise. But once in awhile, without breaking eye contact, she gives this high bleat - which if you want it too, sounds very much like "Please?" Coot have a different strategy. They'll stay committed to the nest until you practically have to push them off. Once off, they'll retreat and then rush towards you slapping their wings on the water and making a curdling squawk that peaks at desperation and then tumbles towards resignation. Either way, the result is the same as they are no match for my stoic determination as they can only watch me walk off with a precious little part of them. Now I know what you're thinking, and trust me, I'm usually the first to call someone out on anthropomorphism. But even though I watched from a distance as each mother settled down and returned to the remaining eggs in her nest, I can't help but feel that she felt the loss. Defending ones' offspring is innately biological. I made the mistake of watching her, watch me and I'm convinced more than ever that parenthood, in some form, crosses all boundaries. There's no more science, no more job, no more species. There's only violation and sorrow.

Finally, if there is a point, the point is this: as I type this, I can't say that I'm totally ready to be a father but I can say that I've never felt more ready to defend the women in my life at all cost. Being a pacifist, IE skinny, I've had my fair share of being pushed around, but in the last few years, I've never been more willing to come to someone's defense than that of Brandi's, and now Paisley's. So when I find myself sizing up my coworkers - or anyone else whose life my day crosses, it's not about egomania, it's about protection. The truth comes in the uncertainty of a messed up world and knowing that in the end, I can only do so much. When I let my mind go, I see myself trying to protect the two things that matter most and I'm only a bird. Tragedy takes nothing more than a single determined someone or something to walk into your pond and threaten what you have and challenge what you are. Eventually, this beautiful little girl who I will soon enough get to hold in my arms will grow up and walk out of my front door all by herself. I just hope that when that day comes that I will have been able to give her everything she needs and that I'll have offered her real protection, not just a bunch of noise and a faked injury. That day really scares the hell out of me.