For You

For the world to admire

For my own amusement

For Daddy

For Grandpa and Grandma Great (thank you so much for the Easter money!)

For Uncle Reed

For Auntie Rachel

For Grandma Cheryl (Che' Ryl Brown)

For Sloppy Jay

Averi's Got...

...your nose.

Thank-you Note

Dear PBS:

I would be remiss if I did not write a note lauding a certain "documentary" I had the privilege to lose an hour of my life to the other night. After years and years of cut-rate productions ("A Night At The Metropolitan Opera?" "Josh Groban and Friends?" What kind of non-profit are you running here??), you finally hit gold with "The Natural History of the Chicken." I'd like to highlight a few favorite moments here, re-living and savoring every juicy- er, poignant moment.

Let me begin with Irma, the chicken farmer who saved a poor, frozen bird with her cat-like reflexes and quick thinking.

Irma lives a charmed life somewhere in the Midwest. Each morning she takes her headscarf- and apron-clad self outside to feed her brood of hens and give them some much-needed TLC. On one particularly cold, frozen and snowy morning, a normally obedient free-ranging hen wandered underneath the porch where she could not be seen by Irma. Concerned for her welfare, Irma sent her trusty hen dog (?) to locate the poor bird. When the hen was found, she was frozen solid; so solid, in fact, that you, PBS, chose to use an incredibly hilarious representation of a rock-solid hen in the reenactment. Good form. But I digress.

Irma's tender heart just couldn't take the thought of losing such a beloved bird, and so she brought it in her house and sat down to think about her options. She didn't have to think long, though: as she cradled the hen in her arms, she felt (could it be?) a faint heartbeat! Thinking quickly, she gathered blankets and started to rub the hen to increase blood circulation. The hen was not breathing, however, so Irma made a fateful decision and began mouth-to-beak resuscitation. That's right, PBS - you managed to capture the magic of bird-love with a poignant scene involving an anxious Irma attempting to revive a frozen hen by placing her mouth on its beak and blowing precious air into frozen lungs. Incredible. I held back tears as the hen jumped to life and spent the next week in a crib in Irma's living room, recovering and enjoying some quality television programming. Sure, I held back tears then, but I really had to break out the tissues when the hen was finally reunited with the other hens, and after clucking around for a few moments, Irma presented the following:

"She just ran right into the pen, telling all her friends about the experience. I'm just glad Valerie is doing okay. Yes, Valerie - that's what her name is. It just came to me and seemed to fit."

Here's to you, Valerie, and your headline-making story.

Honorable mention goes to Frances in Florida for this next story, whose house dresses and red velvet decor hinted that she might just have an alternative lifestyle. Her BFF, a white, fluffy chicken resembling a feather boa with legs and no beak nor eyes even visible, was more domesticated than my husband. He rode in the car with her on a raised, velvet pillow; she carried him around with a bejeweled collar and bathed him in her sink daily, and she showered kisses upon him that any grandchild would have been thanking his lucky stars to have avoided. But the clincher?

She kept the chicken in a modified diaper of sorts and just changed the diaper every so often. Not an outdoor pet.

(Important side note: "Irma" and "Frances" appear to be single old maids. No significant other was in sight.)

I loved these stories, PBS, but I just have to shout out loud about this last one.

Roy, a simple pastor and farmer, kept many free-ranging chickens on his small farm in rural Iowa. He watched and completely over-analyzed the behavior of one chicken in particular he called "Liza." The bird was smaller than the others and was unable to find a place in the hen house to nest because she was constantly kicked out by the larger hens. She seemed, according to Roy, just frantic to be able to participate in life's greatest blessing: motherhood.

Taking pity on poor Liza, Roy built a special house just for her. Liza was finally able to lay eggs and take great care of her six little chicks. PBS, I loved the close-up shots of Roy's weathered, contented face as he watched Liza fulfill her dream. I quote from what was apparently a memoir Roy had written about this incident:

"She was the epitome of motherhood. She showed her chicks the very best places to dig for bugs and how pick the juiciest berries. Motherhood looked wonderful on Liza."

But Roy's contented expression was about to change (to one of nearly imperceptible concern, I might add. Maybe using the actual people for the reenactment wasn't the best creative decision.).

A hawk, way off in the distance, suddenly caused the collective farm animals to freeze and then run for cover. Liza's little brood was too far away to run to the hen house, and when she noticed the hawk, Roy states that he saw her expression change "to one of anxious concern? Fear? What?"

Liza and her chicks ran for cover, but she knew it was too late. With one signal to her chicks, they all run underneath her and she sheltered them with her wings right as the hawk nose-dived. With a small explosion of feathers, the hawk flew back up and away.

Roy, watching from the window with a sad expression, reminisced: "I watched what is ordinarily referred to as a 'dumb animal' make an incredibly selfless and complex decision and sacrifice to protect her chicks." He slowly opened the door and walked over to the mound of white feathers lying in his yard.

As he squatted down to assess the situation, "Liza suddenly moved! The hawk had missed!"

I alternately cried with sorrow and then joy as I realized, PBS, that you hadn't taken Liza from me.

This story is far better told by my dear friend Erin, who had seen parts of this program years ago. I must admit that whenever she told the story, a small piece of me envied her for having seen such miraculous self-sacrifice in the form of poultry.

Yes, PBS, this story gets to the heart of all of us. I join my voice with Roy's when he states: "From now on, I will be honored when someone calls me 'chicken.'"

I hope to see more quality programming in the future, PBS, possibly about goats.

Sincerely,

BJ

When German/Yugoslavian Eyes Are Smiling

She smiles! It is amazing how elusive those first smiles can be, but we think we've captured a few of the early ones. Technically, her first smile was February 17, but she hasn't gotten good at it until now.

A few things we have learned already about this added layer of cuteness:

1) She is a Daddy's girl. Not surprising. Gavin is his Daddy's boy. I might take up raising carrier pigeons, just so I feel better when they are trained to fly back to ME. Averi smiles the most often and the biggest for Daddy.

2) She thinks that by flashing a cute smile, she can get away with anything, like when she is being ridiculous about nursing (i.e. bobbing her head around, clenching her jaw shut and refusing to latch on, looking around, playing with it...). She looks up at me and smiles her best as she's being naughty just so that the choice words I had in store for her deflate rapidly and turn to a feeble "You...better behave...you cute baby ooo ahhh." Not that effective. She's good at cleaning up a would-be potty mouth.

This last reason is also why I nurse in the dark in the middle of the night. I want to be as furious at her as possible when I am super tired - none of this cuteness for me, thank you very much. Allow me some sense of control!

Knowing the preceding facts about her at only 9 weeks old makes me nervous for what the future holds. If she manipulates us already, what will happen in 3-4 years when she wants a pony? I better get this under control before she hits the teenage years...

This one's just cute

Pass the Cheetos, Please

An unfortunate side effect of parenthood is its tendency to introduce character flaws you never knew you possessed. Averi has given me insight into a peculiar flaw that rather disturbs me: I found out recently that I am prejudiced against weird people. Oh sorry - let me be more politically correct: I am prejudiced against people who are a little "off."

A situation will illustrate.

I am one of the Laurel assistants in my ward and am supposed to attend Mutual every Wednesday. Since Averi is so little and there are horrible sicknesses running rampant around members of my ward and community, I forbade any non-mothers to hold her until she at least gets her first round of shots. (At least, that's what I told the young women. I fully intend to wait until summer...or longer...for them to even breathe within a 5-foot radius of her.) On a particular Wednesday as we met for opening exercises with all of the youth, I sat down in the front row and held Averi close to me to prevent the mob from mauling her. Behind me, a redheaded Beehive (a 12 or 13-year-old girl) leaned in towards my back and squealed, "Oh, she's so cute." I smiled and pulled my baby closer.

Awkward pause.

Baby voice: "SOOO cute."

Me: "Thanks!"

Redhead with large glasses and European side satchel: "I want to hold your baby."

Surprised by this bluntness, I said, "Oh no, sweetheart, I can't let anyone hold her. I need to make sure she stays healthy!"

Redhead, leaning back into her chair: "Okay." HACK, HACK, COUGH, SPUTTER, BLECH.

I was horrified at the sounds emitted from this barely teenage girl and even more horrified that she wanted to hold Averi only to hack all over her. Great. I realized shortly after I got over the noises that I was holding Averi so close that I was probably suffocating her.

Some might chalk this up to a normal 12-year-old social interaction since they are still learning proper social skills, but you would have had to see this girl interact on several different occasions as I have to form an opinion that she is a little "off." Sweet, I'm sure, but "off." See? Prejudiced. I'm horrible.

Carrying this experience with me, I attended a Cub Scouts Blue and Gold dinner with my family because Casey was a scout leader in charge. At one point, I needed to take care of Gavin and prevent him from running up to Casey as he handed out awards and conducted ceremonies, and as some of you know, that kid is SOLID and it took basically my whole physical strength to hold him on my lap. Unfortunately, Casey had been holding Averi because she was getting a bit fussy, and when his part suddenly came up in the program he hastily looked around and handed her to a woman I didn't know. Knowing how I would feel about this, he looked at me quickly as he walked to the front of the room and mouthed, "It's Sister Sprunt. I trust her."

I was only slightly relieved, but trying to be less uptight about oh, just about everything, I consented. For sure, the woman was enamored with my baby (but let's be honest - who isn't?) and was obviously a mom herself and probably a grandma.

Okay, Brittny - breathe. It's okay. She probably doesn't have ebola. SARS? No.

About a minute later, a large noise made by the 11-year-old scouts collectively startled Averi to the point that she started to cry, and Sister Sprunt abruptly took her into the hall. I appreciated the gesture and didn't think much more about it.

Soon it was time for me to gather my babies and go home because the events of the evening were lasting quite a bit longer than we anticipated. I told Gavin to stay sitting in the chair and went out into the hall to retrieve Averi.

To my absolute horror, the following scene met my good eye: the redhead girl was holding Averi, surrounded by a crowd of admirers who were ready at any moment to poke and prod with snotty, germ-infested fingers. Sister Sprunt was there "supervising," but who in the name of Willie Wonka gave her permission to pass my baby around like a bag of Cheetos??

With my arms outstretched in zombie fashion, I literally grabbed my baby from the arms of strangeness and turned around, nearly deaf to the "ooohs" and "ahhs" and "your baby is so cute" comments. I put Averi in the car seat, grabbed Gavin, and shakily headed for the car.

Why was I particularly sensitive about this girl holding my baby? Was it because I didn't really know her? Was it due to the hacking and coughing of a few days earlier that may indicate she wasn't completely healthy? Could it have something to do with my preference that more experienced individuals hold such a tiny baby? Maybe. The biggest reason, though, is this: I didn't want her to hold Averi because she is WEIRD. I mean, "OFF."

I feel just awful about the way I think about this girl. I plan to spend a lot of time in study, prayer, introspection, and conversation with this girl so that I can get over what is clearly the most ridiculous and horrid prejudice. She's probably a lovely girl with innocent intentions and a few social flaws that I have no business judging her for.

The next time she asks to hold Averi, I will still say no, but I'll do it with more understanding. And a lot more hand sanitizer.

Meet Averi

I know I promised updates about Thanksgiving and Christmas 2009 (do those revered holidays seem like they were forever ago to anyone else?), but I am a bold-faced liar. I chose to have a baby and let the blog go to pot instead. For the abbreviated version of holiday updates, give me a call - until then...

Meet Averi!

Averi Lauryl Jacobs
Born January 7, 2010 at 12:21 pm 6 lbs 15.2 oz. 19 inches

We don't get much sleep, but looking at that face at 3 am (until 5 am, often) softens the blow. Gavin can't stop kissing his baby sister and is so concerned when she cries. We are very blessed to have a healthy, beautiful baby and a healthy, handsome big brother!

Christmas Joy

I'm at 35 weeks today, actually, but I thought I better capture this gem (taken at 34 weeks) for posterity's sake. Most people smile in these photos, but I thought it would be hypocritical to smile while being forced to hold up my belly so I can at least manage a waddle. Not exactly smiling material. 5 weeks to go? We'll see what the doctor says next week...and if she thinks it would be wise to induce earlier (keep your fingers crossed!). More posts to follow re: Thanksgiving and other fun stuff. At least you know we are alive!