Why We Became Parents

{One month before Jane's birthday}

We tease it's because we wanted to gain admittance to Chuck E. Cheese's, but something I read recently begged the question, What were our reasons for becoming parents?

Last week's New Yorker featured an article "The Case Against Kids," by Elizabeth Kolbert.  In it, Kolbert presents the yays and the nays of reproduction from a global perspective; in other words, how what people decide to do, or not do, with their reproductive systems can bear an impact on the world's populace.

It is a smart, well-rounded article.  Whether you're praising the Duggars or planning a vasectomy, Kolbert isn't out to change your mind; she evenly provides research and reasoning as to why people do or don't become parents.  Most interestingly, the angle of her research shines a light on how whatever you do decide to do, "The size of your family helps determine how the world of the future will look."

It's intriguing: what in the world does the world have to do with your very personal decision to have or not to have children?  Ultimately, none.  There is no global policing of population levels (barring regulations imposed by certain nations).  No one will slap you with a lawsuit if you have more children than natural resources can allow, and you won't be in trouble if you have none and deprive the world of the next greatest mind.  Whether or not you have children is a personal choice.

It made me wonder: What were our reasons to become parents?

I remember early dates where Jack said having kids was a non-negotiable.  Either on our own or through adoption, he wanted to be a parent.  This was all very fine by me.  We were healthy, financially stable, medically insured, and our dog was house-broken.  We didn't weigh our options.  We didn't consider an alternative.  We had no external influences.  We just wanted children.  It was a feeling that becoming parents was our next step in life.

Verbalizing that feeling is tricky; it almost boils down to the You'll just know reasoning people say you'll have when you fall in love.  Having or not having kids is a decision based on a number of diverse, valid, and important reasons; these were mine: I believe the world is turned by love and that becoming a parent was one way I could contribute more love to the world; being a parent, I figured, would be an enriching experience; it would make me focus less on myself and more on the people around me; part of me was really curious to see what our child would look and sound and be like; and I thought it would be fun.  I was right.

And in case you're wondering, Elizabeth Kolbert has three sons.

Little Thing No.3

{At dusk}

It takes special conditions: warm weather; open windows; sun set.

When all of these things happen, something magical happens to the upstairs of our house.

It smells like nothing else in this world.

It smells like what I imagine heaven must smell like.

You climb the stairs and when you hit the top, that smell is there.

It's fresh and sweet and muggy; a little like laundry and a little like rain.

Why the upstairs and not the downstairs, I'll never know, but it's been this way since I was little.

It's what life smelled like when I was 8.

It's me sitting in the garage with my Dad, not talking, just watching thunderstorms.

It's waking up early in the summertime, just before the sun did, when it was foggy and quiet and I would read in bed before going downstairs for breakfast.

It's summer vacation, when I didn't know or care what day of the week it was.

It's my Mom getting home from work and talking with her while she made dinner.

But more than anything else, it's home.

Starring Kevin Costner As Rufus

{Jane and her bodyguard.}

Little Thing No.2

Sometimes when I carry Jane,

when she's holding on and looking over my shoulder,

she breathes right into my ear.
At that moment, all I can hear is Jane breathing.
I wonder what secret she's trying to tell me.

Little Thing No.1

 

I'm not always so sappy, but...

Our house faces the north.

On a clear morning, this lets the sunlight pour into our living room and bedroom and Jane's room.

It catches the curtains and casts an orange glow.

It turns our house into the loveliest place I can imagine.

When I used to leave every morning to go to work,

I would say goodbye to Rufus, lying in a pool of light,

and be so sad to leave this sunny house.

Now I get to work from home.

I get to spend my days with Jane.

I get to enjoy this lovely little thing of sun shining through the windows.

Bad Habits

This is a table full of projects I've started but never finished.

They're not completely abandoned.  

I will pick up one project or another from time to time and work on it a bit more.

But these productive times are growing farther and farther apart.

We're talking years.

It's getting a little ridiculous.

I have not one, but two, Cathedral Window Quilts going.

This is a waffled knit blanket I started almost a year ago.

I set it down one day and never picked it back up.

My Mother tells a similar story about us girls; how one day she set us down and never picked us back up.  Isn't that sad?  I don't want to think about setting down Jane one day and having that be the last time I ever carry her.  I don't want to think that, one morning, she won't need me to come pick her up out of her crib.  

We have this baby and do everything we can to make her grow to be big and strong and self-sufficient while it kills us to think of the day she won't need us.

Way to think it through, Jack and Joey.

This is a checkered quilt, patched together with scraps.

I started this quilt right around the same time the Indians were in the World Series.

And Dane Cook was in the World Series commercials they ran on TBS.

That's how long ago I started this quilt; Dane Cook was funny.

What better way to teach your child the alphabet than to cross-stitch it on gingham-layered muslin and then patch it together into a quilt?

Jane is going to be able to spell Ba and Ab like nobody's business.

A basket of yarn.  See those two skeins at the bottom?

Those are for a house-warming blanket I'm knitting for my sister.

They just moved into their house eight years ago.

There's enough fabric to make a quilt with these yellow and white squares, but perhaps I'll stop here and swear I meant to make a placemat the whole time.

I remember starting this project.

Stars! I thought.  Stars from bright fabric!  Yes!  I'm doing it this time!  I'm making this blanket!

Or maybe I'll just cut them all out and let them sit in a basket in my spare room closet for three years where they get smushed and dusty, and then, finally, one day, I'll throw them away because looking at them is just a reminder of how I can't seem to finish anything I ever start.

There must be a term for people like me.  Lazy comes to mind, but I don't think I'm lazy.  A lazy person would start one project and never finish, whereas I haven't finished a dozen projects; that takes energy.  No, I think sporadically motivated is more accurate.

But this is bad.

Along with cleaning up my cursing, putting the phone away when I drive, and dropping words like stupid from my vocabulary, this is another habit I want to clear up before Jane catches on.

Old-fashioned Hermit Cookies (reduced-fat)

Jack and I enjoy sweets, but we enjoy healthy sweets the most.

Those are the ones we can eat and enjoy and never regret.

Bitter regret doesn't go at all with sweet cookies.

{The cookie jar is almost empty.}

Usually, I make Citrus Biscotti, but today I just felt like baking something different.  

I found a recipe for Old-fashioned Hermit Cookies that are only 90 calories each, and after swapping some ingredients, they could be even healthier.

{Why is baking soda in the picture when it's not in the recipe?  Because I'm losing it.}

 Pre-heat the oven to 375 degrees.

Pull all your ingredients together, including flour, prunes, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking powder, salt, molasses, oil, vanilla extract, and one egg white.  

Whisk together the flour, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and baking powder.

Chop up your prunes and add them to the mix.

In another bowl, blend the egg white, molasses, oil, and vanilla extract.

Pour your molasses mixture into your flour mixture.

At this point you may get the theme song to The Beverly Hillbillies stuck in your head.  Blame it on the molasses mixture looking like oil.  There can be no other explanation.

Stir the mixture together until combined.  The dough will be pliable and moist.

Divide the dough and shape into two 12" x 2" logs on a greased cookie sheet.

Bake for 10 minutes or until just browned; take into consideration your oven's personality.  We, for instance, have a hot oven, which is a nice way of saying it burns everything.  That's right, my oven burns things - not me.  We also have a hot coffee pot and a hot toaster.  I don't know why all our appliances do this; it's freaky.

Set the cookies out to cool slightly and cut into 1/2" bars.

These are warm.

These are spicy.

These are chewy.

These are, no joke, my new favorite cookie.

Enjoy!

Old-fashioned Hermit Cookies

• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/3 cup brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/3 cup prunes, chopped
• 1/4 cup molasses
• 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 large egg white