The Debut

A few weeks ago Lizzie and Lillie came over to take photos of baby David. I love them so much--the girls and the photos. They are both very talented and really captured the essence of my little Zen-like boy. They also snuck in a few of my herding cats-like girls that couldn't be more precious.

The Name

From the moment I found out I was having a boy, I wanted to name him David. I was so convinced that David was my boy's name that I never even mulled over or proposed another name. Dave was a little ambivalent about this as he thought naming a child after him was a bit assuming, but I always loved it. He advocated pretty strongly for a family name, Hezekiah. While Hezekiah is a great, strong name, it is quite a mouthful. Ultimately, mama won out and entered David Hezekiah.

There is significance to both names, both biblically and personally. In the scriptures, David is characterized as a youth as being a man after the Lord’s “own heart” (1 Samuel 13:14). His name is fact means "beloved" in Hebrew. From obscurity, David rises to become a great unifying leader of Israel. His life is marred by a series of bad choices, but ultimately he shows true contrition and a love for the Lord that is unfeigned. I have always liked the biblical David's story and have a soft spot for flawed prophets. They just seem real and genuine to me and David's unquestioning remorse for his sins I find remarkable.

Hezekiah was a biblical king of Judah. He hated idolatry and loved the temple. He recognized Isaiah as a prophet and was guided by him. Hezekiah in Hebrew means "God gives strength".

On a personal level, David is meaningful to me because my first David is the greatest man I know. Dave is good to the core. He is kind and even tempered. He is funny and true. He is sincere and doesn't try to be anyone he isn't. He makes people comfortable and at ease. He is hard-working and earnest. And to top it all off he is genuinely good company. There is no one I want my little man to be more like than his dad and that is why I knew he had to carry his name.

Dave's great, great, great grandfather who was born on the same day of Dave—August 25th—in 1809 was also a great man. He was the first member of the church is his line and readily and fully accepted the gospel despite a shyness about outward displays of religion that he maintained throughout his life. He was a natural pioneer and inured to hardships. He was driven out of Illinois with the Saints, crossed the plains to Utah and later at the behest of his lifelong friend, Brigham Young, was one of the first settlers in Sacramento and then Logan, Utah. He was an extremely hard worker and was able to become quite prosperous, while showing perseverance through some very meager years.

He was intuitive about the needs of others and showed his love for God by serving others willingly and generously throughout his life. His biographer, Edward W. Tullidge, states "In ordinary matters Father Thatcher was an ordinary man, but it emergencies, he never failed to display the characteristics of greatness." He goes on to say that he was "Modest and unassuming as a child, yet was he positive and firm. Being quick to comprehend the thing needful to be done, he usually acted first and thought about it afterward." Further, he notes, "If the hungry came to him he never sought for reasons why they should not be fed, or if naked why they should not be clothed. The cry of pain or the moans of anguish never touched his ear, without awakening a responsive cord in his sympathetic heart."

Despite the fact that he knew personally people of great influence and wealth, from the leaders of the Mormon faith to Abraham Lincoln, he was nonplussed by titles and regarded the honest laborer as superior to a king. Tullidge notes that "So little of the aristocrat was there in his composition that to enjoy a meal without sitting at the same table with his hired help was impossible."

He was a man of few words, but was often clever and straight to the point. In public he prayed little and preached not at all. As Tullidge expounds, Father Thatcher sat in one meeting where "he listened with interest to the profuse apologies of one of the speakers who feelingly declared that his frequent non-attendance at the Sunday gathering of the Saints was due to his lack of decent apparel in which to appear in public. Whereupon Father Thatcher from his chosen seat in a remote corner cried out: "Brother McN., I’ll furnish the clothing if you will do my preaching." It was a bargain quickly closed, and the next day Brother McN. appeared in a completely new outfit from "top to toe" and one, in those days, of no mean value; and thereafter preached many an excellent proxy sermon—sometimes taking for a text, "Those who give to the poor, lend to the Lord."

Hezekiah was a proud father who raised many fine children and his legacy is still spoken of in the Thatcher family today. His best characteristics are evident in his great, great, great grandchildren. We hope our little Kai's (pronounced Kye) namesake will inspire him and he will carry on his example.

His First Story

Now that I have two nights of decent sleep the kind that you think a ten-pounder would afford you, I wanted to write down baby David's first story (at least the first one that has happened here). Baby David was due on Tuesday, March 1st. I know I told everyone Monday, February 28th. That was my original due date and when they changed it later on in my pregnancy if I would tell people the March date they would say it seemed so far away and if I used the February date everyone thought it was just around the corner, so I stuck with that one. The doctor thought Baby David would be early though because he was measuring big on my last ultrasound and things were progressing. The last week of pregnancy, I had contractions every night and they were so strong and went on for so long one night that I got up, showered, packed my bag and was prepared to go to the hospital. Then they fizzled. Unlike my girls, I was getting impatient with the waiting. I felt it was his time to come.

The doctor had mentioned breaking my water to get the ball rolling earlier, but I didn't take him up on the offer. I tried the usual suspects (long walks, spin, pedicures and yada, yada, yada) to make it happen on my own but nothing. My mom arrived and we just sat around waiting. I called the doctor and said I was ready for plan B on my due date. He told me to come into the hospital the next morning at 6am so he could break my water. At 4:30am that day, the hospital called and told me not to come as there were too many delivering moms. Later, my doctor rescheduled me for the next day at the same time. Again, they canceled on me citing being short-staffed (scary). I visited the doctor that day and was dilated to a five. He told me to meet him at the hospital at 5:30pm that night.

My mom, Dave and I loaded up and we dropped off the girls off at Aunt Shari's and Uncle Mark's house on the way. We registered and the doctor arrived and broke my water at 7:30pm. When they tested me at the hospital it turned out I was having contractions all along. After my water broke things started slowly, not like Kennedy. So slowly in fact that Dave and my mom ordered Indian food. Somewhere between their Saag Paneer and Tikki Marsala, things started moving.

I decided, like I had with the girls, that I wasn't going to have an epidural, but this time it was different. The idea of the epidural never even entered my mind. With the girls I always thought, "If things get bad enough, I can...", but with Baby David I was really focused. Dave and I had practiced our breathing techniques and I had been quietly preparing mentally and spiritually for a few weeks. I felt competent, quiet and focused. I just knew I could do it this time. Dave came and got in on the action to help me breathe when things started getting rough and my mom was on hand to offer support and perfectly predict the labor and its duration. We all worked pretty hard over the next few hours and when my contractions were about a minute a part, Dave went and got the nurse to check me. She came in and said I was at an eight or nine. I wrapped my mind around laboring another 30 to 60 minutes and knew I could do it. She then left the room and, as my mom predicted, she came right back with the doctor. He told me I could start pushing as soon as he checked me.

I feel like the laboring part of labor is all about me, Dave and my mom. I never remember the doctor or the nursing staff being a part of this, but the pushing part, by then I can't remember my name and I really look to them for guidance. My doctor is a great guy but not very forceful so this time, my focus went on my nurse, Dana, who gave me some great instructions to help me remember how to push. Honestly, it is crazy how you can't remember anything when the pain gets to that level. It takes everything to stay in control while contracting and pushing just seems impossible. I also remembered the mantra my neighbor, Rose, passed on to me before Kennedy was born. She told me to repeat to myself over and over "Perfect love casteth out fear" (1 John 4:18). In this moment I used it before every push. It really helped me pull my courage together to muster up more work. After five or six good pushes, my little man was coming on the scene and before I knew it he was in my arms, all ten pounds eleven ounces of him.

The gratitude, the peace after the fight, the stillness even amid the bustling hospital room was really overwhelming. Checking every finger and toe and comparing his looks to his big sisters while holding him close was perfect, not to mention looking into his father's proud eyes. Before I had kids, I always marveled that mom's could remember every detail of their birth story, but I get it now. I get that these moments make and indelible mark on your soul. His first never forget moment.

And then this is what we got to stare at all the next day.

Welcome to the World

David Hezekiah Thatcher joined us March 3rd, 2011 at 9:56pm weighing in at 10 pounds 11 ounces and was 21 inches long. We are so grateful he is here and can't wait to get to know him more. He is healthy, has dark hair, blue eyes and looks like Dad and Claire for now. We brought him home last night and right now we are all just trying to catch up on some sleep in between some pretty intense admiration sessions.

Book Club Calendar 2011

Just in case you want some good reading ideas, here is my book club calendar for the year.

January—The Bridge at Andau by James Michener

February—Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout

March—Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay

April—Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese

May—Abundance by Sena Jeter Naslund

June—Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

July—The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman

August—I Still Dream of You by Fannie Flagg

September—The Wednesday Wars by Gary Schmidt

October—Kill the Clock by Sunny Kreis Collins

November—Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card

Four-year old fears

In case you have ever wondered what a four-year old fears, I will give you a snap shot. Sharks in the toilet. Getting locked in a hot car. Getting married and having kids and having to move out of mom and dad's home. Someone behind the shower curtain when you are sitting on the toilet. Lest you think that this is stranger phobia, I'll explain, when I asked Ceece for clarification she said that she is worried that the person behind the curtain can smell it when things get stinky and it is a little embarrassing for her. In dreams the fears get a little bigger. Last night Ceece came into my room and said she had a bad dream that she was at an amusement park and there was a statue of T-Rex there. Next to it was a red button that said "Don't touch". Claire said she pushed the button and T-Rex came alive and started eating people. Now that is scary.

So what do mom's of a four-year old fear? The end of naps. Painful insults from other children. Growing up too fast. Getting lost or worse snatched. I faced this fear on Friday while we were at Seaworld. We were with a large group of cousins and aunts and uncles so the kids kind of walked en masse everywhere. At one point we left the indoor aquarium and walked to the tide pool. I thought for sure that Ceece was with the kid group that went to the tide pool, but when I got there she was no where to be seen. I internally panicked, left Kens with the group and ran back to the aquarium. The aquarium wasn't well lit and I couldn't see much when I got inside. I ran frantically to the tanks we had just visited and then across the dark room I saw a sole spotlight on the floor, much like one you would see on a stage, illuminating my Claire who was performing some grand pirouettes and then some pretty impressive leaps. I watched her for a few seconds, saved the mental image, ran to her, picked her up and gave her a big hug.

I didn't even bother to tell her she was lost or how worried I was because in a second I realized that sometimes fears are just that, fears. We get worried about a lot of things that are POSSIBLE, but not many that are probable. Watching Claire twirl I realized that most the time things do go right, accidents don't happen, we're healthy and surrounded by people we love and life turns out pretty good.

***Right after I posted this, Dave read it and said, "Tara, don't jinx us."***

Visiting Grandpa Arlie

This week I got a phone call from my dad saying that my 92-year-old grandpa's health was failing and that his hospice worker recommended that people start coming to say their last goodbyes. We packed up the next morning and my brother Aaron, his wife, kids, Claire and I drove to Mesa to go see him. My dad and my step-mom met us there.

My dad wasn't raised by his father and although I always knew my grandpa I haven't seen him often over the past few years, but I really wanted to see him now. He has dementia and isn't very lucid most of the time so I wasn't sure how meaningful it would be for him to see us, but it turned out to be such a great experience to spend a few hours with him. When we walked in he turned immediately to my dad, extended his hand and said, "Jackie Lee, my eldest son." He wasn't so clear on who the rest of us were, but his warmth of greeting was wonderful.

I reminded him shortly after arriving that when I was a kid, starting about the time I was 13 each time I would see or talk with him that he would ask, "Are you pregnant yet?" I thought it was pretty funny as a straight-laced Mormon girl. So this time I told him that I could finally answer "yes" to his question. His quick quip back was, "Well do you know who the father is?" It was astonishing to me that, although he didn't even know where we were, his humor was intact.

We sat with him for several hours, talked to him, reminded him of things in the past, held his hand and smoothed his hair. He fell asleep after about 30 minutes, but it was so serene we couldn't leave. I kept thinking about childhood memories of grandpa Arlie, from the ever present aroma of pipe smoke and that sheriff's Stetson hat tipped to the side to the actual jail cells and guns in the basement of his house in Kansas. As a child, and even an adult, I loved hearing stories of his adventures from his years as a mounted sheriff (who'd even chased down a train on horse to catch a criminal) and as a soldier in WWII to whispered stories of his pre-war bootlegging and card playing days and marrying my grandma Jane when was she was still a teen without her parent's consent. Mostly, I always remember him telling me that he loved and respected my mother, even many years after my parents divorced.

I marveled that being with someone preparing to go home, is so similar with being with someone who just left home. It's quiet. There is not much to say, except to express love and gratitude. It is peaceful. And touching seems like a natural thing to do. I can't imagine holding my grandpa's hand and caressing his face if he wasn't in such a weak condition, but I kept unconsciously putting my hand from him to my stomach where I would pat my own baby. It made me happy to think that without my grandpa Arlie and my baby-to-be ever sharing earthly space that they are part of each other and my baby could inherit his card sharp skills or his keen sense of humor and hopefully, hopefully, his genuineness.