Deuteronomy

Abigail is mobile. Dangerously so. This message was driven home to us when she found Delores' scriptures. The tale is a good one to tell. Delores had turned to the computer for a moment to e-mail her thesis to herself. This is her method for backing up her work. In the time it took to submit the email, Abigail traversed enough of the room to get to the scriptures and spell their doom.

If mom likes them so much, then I think I will, too. She began to playfully tear out pages and fist them into her mouth. I suppose you might say she was "feasting on the word" (2 Ne. 31:20). Really, it is a heartache to see such a well-loved set of scriptures in such a state, but I cannot seem to suppress a smile.

It has been a remarkable perspective shift for us. We placed furniture in front of the bike, vacuumed, rearranged end tables, vacuumed again. She has taken interest in the power button on our little server. It glows, so why wouldn't she? She is so very curious, and we are very unchild-proof. I have a feeling that there is a great adventure only barely around the corner.

O Give Me Back My Prophet Dear

O give me back my prophet dear, And Patriarch, O give them back;

The Saints of latter days to cheer, And lead them on the gospel track.

But ah! They're gone from my embrace, From earthly scenes their spirits fled;

Those two, the best of Adam's race, Now lie entombed among the dead.

These words repeat themselves in my mind sind my dear prophet passed away on Sunday. Gordon B. Hinckley is a man unlike any alive, and had a tremendous influence on my life. He was my prophet most of my natural life. From him, I learned much about living a truly Christian life. I miss him tremendously. I am glad that, at last, he can be with his wonderful wife again and rest from the labors of this life. He was very good to her, and they seemed very much in love.

Farewell, my dear prophet. May we meet again in happier times in the home of our Lord.

First Try at Solids

Abigail is over five months old now (Hurray!). She has discovered that she can roll to the nearest plant and wreak havoc, that she can vary the pitch of her voice, and that things like telephones and keyboards have buttons for pushing. It's really quite a delight.

We are also pressing ever deeper into the question, When do we feed her solids? I had no idea this was a controversial battle-ground well worth avoiding, but we're here anyway. We sat at the table, Abigail taking an interest in the food on our plates. I suggested we let her taste some. Delores was doubtful.

We tried giving Abigail a taste of a few foods that we were eating. The first was the avacado. I knew the instant she got the flavor in her mouth that I should have had the camera ready. Her face was wrenched up in nauseous shock with an expression that seemed to scream "That's not MILK!" It was only moments before I caught it all in a handy cloth.

Then, thought I, something milder should do the trick. We had warm mashed potatoes handy, and a put a little on the spoon and into her mouth. That's when the gagging started. "I said, that's not MILK!!!" The gagging throes were so intense I traded the cloth for a bowl in case she succeeded in vomiting her whole last meal.

Delores looked at me with an I told you so look which, in fact, she had. I suppose we shall be content with breastfeeding for a while longer.

Creative Writing

Yesterday, we spent the evening together as a family. The game of the evening was a travelling story. The idea was that we would take turns adding a sentence or two to the story without looking back to remember what we had written. Both stories turned out quite funny. This one was my favorite:

Green: Keith. Red: Delores.

There was once a princess named Abigail.

She loved to sing, laugh, and flirt with the cute princes.

There was one prince that was extra nice, named Martin.

Martin lived in a big castle with lots of fast and pretty hourses.

An hourse is a horse that lives for only one hour, from foal to adult.

They came from a land that few had ever visited, and those who had spoke about it in whispers.

Abigail once said to Martin, "Would you take me to the Whispered Lands on a mighty hourse?"

Martin refused, for there were many dangers and some of the bravest knights had been killed or lost on adventures to this land.

Not to mention, it took at least two hours to get there.

So Abigail and Martin dated in their land and are still dating to this day; their parents really hope they'll get married soon! 

My Winter Angel

It is hard to express how much I love being my child's father. Today, we were listening to the speakers at church. Abigail was nestled in my lap, looking attentively forward, with her arm wrapped snugly around my tie. I felt like she wanted me around. I felt wanted and needed.

She is such a delightful child. When we are playing, she laughs musically. May I never forget how freely she smiles when she presses her hands on Delores's lips, or when she finds something amusing about the way something is, or when she has yet another small victory of growing up.

This has been a memorable winter, one that revitalized the wonder of Christmas, the pleasure of snow, and the thrill of life. That is what my little girl is to me. Pure, thrill of life.

Her Mother's Daughter

There is little doubt but that my sweet little girl is my lovely wife's daughter. They look so sweet together. I saw the photograph of Delores and thought, for a moment, that I was looking at Abigail.

A Matter of Priorities

I asked Delores to help me focus on my priorities this weekend. I am working on my thesis, and needed plenty of quiet time to read articles and whatnot despite the holiday languor that seeped into my bones.

I came home from work, and Delores was away. I sat beside my laptop and saw this note scrawled on the top.

Then, to my wonderment, another note was inside the laptop. This note, printed on a full sheet of paper in large letters with a vigorous exclamation point to boot, said: Keith! Read Your Book!

I suppose I will take the subtle hint seriously.