After having us wait as long as we possibly could, Desmond Matthew Horst arrived at 2:20 AM on August 21. He weighed 9 pounds 11 ounces and was 22 inches long.
To respect those of you who might, for whatever reason, not be fascinated with videos of Des with hiccups or pictures of every new development, we have started another blog – Smorgasbaby.wordpress.com. We look forward to seeing some of you there!
When our pregnancy was revealed mid-December I wondered if the timing would allow me to engage in Advent to a deeper degree. Sure, we had our pregnancy revealed by six blue lines (2 positive lines x 3 tests = 6) instead of Gabriel, but something was clearly binding me to the emotion of Advent in a new way. While this may have happened to a small degree, I underestimated the way in which my pregnancy would bind my heart to my students and neighbors.
The spring was filled with moments in my classroom that I will always cherish (“Your baby is going to turn out so cute and I know you’re not going to have a miscarriage because you are healthy and clean”) and others that were truly humbling (“Ms Horst, today you don’t look pregnant at all! You just look fat!”). A month after the big announcement was made, this interaction occurred:
Me: You guys are going to have to make more room for this pregnant woman to sit down.
Feliciano: I didn’t know you were pregnant!
Me: Feliciano, you know I’m pregnant… we’ve been talking about it for the last month.
Feliciano: Well, I knew you were going to have a baby, but I thought you were going to be pregnant this summer.
I knew I was beginning to think like a teacher when I was able to appreciate the logical explanation of inferring on Juan’s assessment despite its brutal honesty:
“Inferring is like predicting what is going to happen. You use your prior knowledge and your beliefs. For example, I believe my teacher is having a baby. My evidence is that her tummy is getting fat.”
At Joshua Station, we’ve had a few gut wrenching conversations similar to this one with Fanta:
Fanta: Is your boyfriend going to marry you now?
Me: Chris? We’re already married.
Fanta: But now that you’re pregnant… is he going to marry you?
Me: He already married me before we were pregnant.
Feliciano: Do you have a ring?
Chris and I didn’t fit Fanta’s five-year-old understanding of marriage, so the fact checking continued: Did he get down on a knee? Did he say “Will you marry me?” Are you still wearing the ring? Do you live together?
Now, less than two weeks away from 8.9.10, I’m beginning to infer like Juan… Using my prior knowledge (everyone I know has always stopped being pregnant at some point, usually around that 40th week) and my beliefs (that jab to my ribs felt like a baby is inside of me), I am going to infer that our life is about to get pretty dang sweet.
My dear Papa passed away at the beginning of May. This was a man we absolutely adored. His quick wit, fabulous stories, servant’s heart, and blueberry pancakes made him a gift to his family. The service was tremendous as it celebrated his life and honored his service to the country. I had an opportunity to share and I’ve included my reflection below:
Papa knew how to run errands. I learned this at a young age and, as a result, I clamored to be apart of as many errand runs with Papa as I could.
When Papa ran an errand, he took it as an opportunity to serve… to love extravagantly. For him, it wasn’t enough to simply be at the store helping, he took it one step further. I can recall being informed by Papa that we would venture into the dreaded frozen food section of the grocery store so that Gege could avoid getting chilled. He wasn’t content to browse the cereal aisle or pick out produce. He took the worst of the worst. He knew Gege’s dislike for the temperature of that section and so that’s the first place he went.
While at the store, he was guaranteed to be making friends. No store clerk, postal worker, or fellow shopper left an interaction with Papa without feeling uplifted. He had a way of creating instant friends, he knew no stranger, and treated individuals with dignity no matter their job. He didn’t step up to the register to simply purchase – he went there to brighten someone’s day, to connect with another human being.
I was always so proud to be standing by the side of this man. He was witty, intelligent, and fun. I was sure that when we exited the store they’d be talking about how he was absolutely their favorite customer they had ever encountered.
I first met Chris, who I later married, at a grocery store with a group of mutual friends. I watched him interact with one store worker using her name, making jokes, and carrying on like they were good friends. And I thought, “He reminds me of my grandpa.” That doesn’t sound like a compliment to many young men… Oh, but it was. A compliment of the highest regard.
Papa knew how to run errands. It wasn’t an insignificant part of the day. Errands were a demonstration of his character, his faith, and his love. These errands mattered – to his family and to those he had only just met.
(Alli)
Two weeks ago my grandma, Gaye, passed away. She lived a powerful 93 years with days that were full until the very end. Her website (yes, she has her own website, and yes, her funeral was streamed throughout the world) is proof that she touched and loved many. Last week I had the honor of giving a tribute at her funeral along with other family members. Below I’ve posted my tribute.
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I could feel the dirty looks coming at me from across the table. I learned to expect them when we sat down for a meal at Gaye’s house. Because once again… Gaye had remembered.
While the smell seemed to indicate that dinner was going to be a typical meal of Brunswick stew – a delicious, hearty soup the taste of which made the presence of lima beans bearable for most… I knew better.
Somewhere Gaye had found out that I not only loved Brunswick Stew, but that those lima beans, the very ones that other cousins and siblings were trying to pick around, were my favorite part. She discovered that I was a lover of lima beans and perhaps even suspected that I had experienced a slight depravity of lima beans at home.
So as visits went by, Gaye gradually began increasing the proportion of lima beans in the stew until it became a bowl of lima beans with a little Brunswick stew on the side.
When we sat at the table our bowls confirmed what I had hoped and my family dreaded. This meant much more to me than a delicious dinner. It meant I was remembered. Known.
Somehow though I lived hundreds of miles away, had 19 cousins to contend with, and grew up seventy years after her own childhood. She made the effort, took the time, to know, to celebrate, to remember. This wasn’t an exception in the life of Grace Wolgemuth. I’ve heard stories from countless individuals this week – though your moments with her may have been few you felt as if you had a true friend, a deep relationship. She knew, celebrated, and remembered you as well.
She did what it took to know others. Conversations were intentional and her attention was fully yours. Beyond phone calls and visits as a 93 year old woman, she was able to keep up with e-mails and follow blogs. I think given another year, she probably would have tweeted.
When I called to tell her I was engaged. She said, “We’re kindred spirits. We both found our soul mates in Lancaster.”
I desperately want to be a kindred spirit with her. But I’m afraid it’ll take a lot more than marrying a Lancaster boy. Today, I reflect on a life spent knowing, celebrating, and remembering. And it begs the questions. Do I know? Do I take the time? When the moment comes, will I know whose bowl to put extra lima beans in?
(Alli)
Anyone who is or has been pregnant is familiar with the popular book for new parents-to-be, What to Expect When You’re Expecting. But, we’d like to propose the sequel: What to Expect When You’re Not Expecting to be Expecting. Here would be our suggested chapter outline:
And yes, we are expecting!
Two years ago I tasted my first batch of Whirley-Pop popcorn. Crisp, airy, fresh, natural–delicious. My life changed in profound ways that day. It’s hard to look back on what life was like when my only popcorn option was the buttery, artificially-flavored and salt-saturated “popcorn product” birthed out of a microwavable bag. It should have made sense to me a long time ago. Why should I expect a prepackaged handful of kernels coated in artificial butter and zapped by high frequency radio waves to produce a quality product?
I try not to beat myself up over the countless microwaved bags of popcorn I ate before my introduction (i.e., conversion) to Whirley Pop. Microwavable popcorn is convenient…and it doesn’t taste terrible. I guess, in a sense, my rocky popcorn past is comparable to my friends who are committed Cubs’ fans. They’ve never tasted the joy of being a Phillies fan so why should I expect them to understand how completely inferior their fanhood truly is? Allow yourself to savor this kernel of truth: Once you taste a fresh-made batch of stovetop popcorn, you will never, ever go back.
Reasons we love our Whirley Pop enough to spend the time to blog about it…it is:
(Chris)
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For those that don’t know how it works, it’s a very simple process:
Dear Davey,
Welcome to the family. This new baby thing does not get old. We’re delighted to have you join us. And since your sister’s delighted-ness is by far cuter than ours, here’s a picture representing just how thrilled we are:
Someday you’ll have to let us know if we’re right, but we’re calling for a conspiracy theory. There’s just no way that you and your mom could be that cute only one hour after you’ve been born. Something is going on, because after seeing you/Chrissy and Graham/Kendal we’re convinced that someone’s doing some baby growing elsewhere.
We’re glad to see you confidently pull off your own unique style this early in life. Although the faux hawk have normally adorned urbanite males, you really brought something new to the style. And we agree, baby faux hawks should be the next thing. You clearly proved that it’s unbelievably cute.
Finally, we want to thank you. Thank you for making us feel like baby pros. Somehow, no matter how awkwardly we may be holding you, you mold to the position. And whenever we try to comfort you it always works, like what we’re doing was the exact thing you were asking for. Maybe you’re just trying to be nice, but we really appreciate it. You’ve been a tremendous boost to our self-esteem.
We love you, Davey Baby.
Aunt Alli and Uncle C
It would be inappropriate to kick off this series (“We love…”) with anything other than Southwest Airlines. Alli and I hold a deep, perhaps excessive, love of Southwest Airlines. But really, what’s not to love?
We both fly often. A few years ago we began recognizing that our flight experiences with Southwest were markedly different, in a good way, than our flights with other airlines. The whole process, from purchase to deplaning, was smoother–and even enjoyable. Our lauding should not come as a surprise. There is a reason SWA has posted a profit for 36 consecutive years (in a deeply struggling industry) and has hosted more customers than any other US airline since 2006. A recent poll (Oct 16, 2009) by Consumer Traveler echoed our feelings:
Here are a few reasons why Southwest has become like family:
*This has not yet been verified, but we’re hopeful.
This Thursday we welcomed Graham Marc Wolgemuth into the world. His dad and champ-of-a-mom , my brother and sister-in-law, have entered in the parenting world beautifully (as you can tell).
And this proud aunt might have already started planning the camping trip we’re going to take him on someday. I should probably hold off until he can talk… and walk… and sleep through the night.
(Alli)
