Monday, March 30, 2009

Martin Quote

David: I wonder if I slept on my teeth funny.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Leg Warmers

Willa models her totally RAD couture. She's so ready for Dance Fever. Psych!
 
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Thursday, March 19, 2009

Martin Quote

Calvin: You a bad mommy!
Mommy: I know, it's because I practice at night when you're sleeping.
Taran: No. You watch movies with daddy.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Acting Out

What do you do Sunday afternoon?



Emma: writer, director, actor...
...lighting, sound, set design, costume, props mistress...

Emma, Taran, Enoch acting out their skit.


Emma and Taran act out
Slumber Party, part 1.
video

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Cabin Fever

Either the baby blues have set in
or
five months of winter has at last taken its toll,

but I feel the need to eat my hair. (Insert maniacal laughter here.) Hey are the walls closing in!?!!

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Home Alone

Okay, so the title of this post isn't exactly right. I haven't been Home Alone since early 1999. But I am now Home Without Help (not as snazzy a title, is it?).
For the last three WONDERFUL weeks I have had so much help.

David was with me the first week after Willa was born, then Kirsti came, and then my mommy flew out for the third week.

While Kirsti was here she scrubbed my floors...



And entertained my kidlins...

...with hers.


And went shopping, and talked to me, and listened to me, and watched movies with me, and took out the garbage, and did laundry, and did dishes, and picked up toys, and allowed us to sleep...



Then mommy came and she did the same.

She made sure the kids played outside...




And cared for Willa by bundling her--TIGHT...
Willa "burritofied."

and holding her--LOTS.


And baked cookies, and went shopping, and talked to me, and listened to me, and watched movies with me, and took out the garbage, and did laundry, and did dishes, and picked up toys, and let us sleep...



Added to all of this, we got help from some super, great, fantastic people
(David's co-workers,
the moms from Enoch's preschool,
the women from the Relief Society of our church,
neighbors,
family,
and dear, dear friends)
who combined forces to insure that for weeks would I never need to see the inside of my oven or put anything less than adorable on my baby. Many of these excellent people even included gifts for Emma, Taran, Enoch, Calvin and me.
I was so amazingly PAMPERED.

Makes me wish I could have a baby every month.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Birth Art

[This should've been posted four weeks ago. Oops.]

Our doula gave me one of the most interesting birth books--usually the books I've read talk about timing contractions and breathing patterns, all technically interesting but USELESS during child birth--Birthing from Within by Pam England. It is at times profound, helpful, and new age cheesy. I highly recommend it.
One element of the book is "Birth Art." England collects and displays art from women who will or have given birth. She inspired a Family Home Evening.

Behold, our Birth Art...

Calvin's conception of a baby sister. I've titled it "Displacement."


Enoch's rendition of baby-to-be. When asked what it represented he mentioned "tanks" and "explotions."


Taran's multi-media work, play dough on crayon. It is a portrait himself after the baby's birth.


Emma's ideal. Also can be used as a helpful instruction: Crib, insert baby from top.


My own work portraying my hope for a birth that is controlled by me and not by doctors (hence the unusual labor position) and the desired result, David holds the happy, healthy baby while I rest.


And my personal favorite, David's work of art, Father of Five...

Sunday, March 1, 2009

With Willa, We are Seven

The poem the inspired the name of our Martin blog...

WE ARE SEVEN, William Wordsworth

--------A SIMPLE Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad: 10
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
--Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea. 20

"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."

Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we; 30
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."

"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side. 40

"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

"And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay, 50
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side." 60

"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
1798.

http://www.bartleby.com/145/ww124.html.

Yes, I recognize that I do not have seven children, but we Martins do make up seven people. And I really like the eternal nature of family that is depicted in this poem. No matter what any one says, we are Martins, seven of us, Forever.