A Tribute to Emily and Adam

It all started on September 3, 2010, when my daughter Emily gave birth to a fraternal set of triplets.  This event came after bearing a daughter Elizabeth some two years earlier.  The two boys and a girl came very unexpectedly; Emily had not taken fertility drugs nor was there any history of multiple births on the Davis side of the family,  She and Adam had planned to have a second child and make a decision about future children afterwards.  But they went from one to four children in one day, and this young couple's life was forever changed.

My wife had traveled to Brooklyn, New York, some three weeks before the planned "c-section" to help Emily in the last stages of her pregnancy.  I went to help out a couple of weeks after their births which came off without a glitch, all three near 6 lbs., and all healthy.  We went from the Pacific Coast to the Atlantic Coast because there was only Adam's mother and little sister in the area, some five hours or so north in upstate New York.  Adam and Emily had moved east from Utah after both of them had graduated from Brigham Young University where they had met.  He worked at the time and still works for a large international book publisher based in Manhattan, and as such were living some miles away in a second story, 700 square foot apartment.  

They quickly outgrew this two-bedroom apartment with no air conditioning, dishwasher, washer or dryer,  parking, or elevator to get the newborns from the second floor to the first floor.  If Adam wasn't there because of work, it was a major production for Emily to get four kids down to the first floor, much less to get them to their mini-van they had been forced to buy which was parked where ever they could finagle a parking spot. They fashioned a special stroller/wagon that allowed older sister Elizabeth to stand to the rear while the three babies sat in front of her.  They hired a mother's helper after the church members finally stopped helping, allowing Emily to go to the laundromat, go grocery shopping, or do a chore. 

In those early days, life was a perpetual round of diaper changing (approximately 6 changes X 3 kids per day), bottles (about that many also), sleep deprivation, and just trying to cope with everyday challenges.  That grind continued for well over a year, including two months when they came to California for Christmas and stayed.  (For a taste of this insanity, please read my posting of "Eddie's 24-Hour Diary,")  Through it all, Emily and Adam managed to keep their physical and mental health, coping with incredible challenges that would exhaust less committed parents.

They needed to move, and did so when the triplets were a few months short of the age of two.  It was a nice rented home in Rutherford, New Jersey, which made their lives easier--but not easy.  It had off-street parking, a fenced side yard with grass,  dishwasher, washer and dryer, a nice kitchen, and space to run around in.  It was a little bit farther for Adam to commute to Midtown Manhattan, but it was well worth the additional time.  During these better days, Emily managed to toilet train the triplets all at once, no small feat by any stretch.  She and Adam also got them into the routine of family time together, family prayer and scripture time -- such as it was, weekly church attendance, setting the table for the kids, among others.  

Their local church congregations had proved to be a godsend because of the young couples that also attended with similar-aged children.  Emily particularly made some good friends that made her life somewhat more bearable.  Adam faithfully fielded calls at work when Emily needed him, and after work hit the ground running when he arrived home, changing diapers, bathing kids, occasionally cooking, and always doing the dishwashing chore.  Adam asked for received a sizable raise to better support his family of six, but without a second income, their wants and needs were always modest.  

Regrettably, the woman who had rented out this nice home in a nice New Jersey suburb decided that she wanted to re-occupy the home, and gave them just a short time to vacate and find a new place.  As they have done all along in their capacities as parents, they put their game faces on and found another place to rent.  This place, some 15 or so minutes away from the previous place (but not much longer of a commute into the City for Adam), was not as nice with as many amenities.  It is at this three-story, four-bedroom lodging where I find myself at this Christmas season.

The older sister is five but missed the kindergarten age cutoff by less than a month and as such is home much of the daytime.  The triplets are three years old.  All four children are all incredibly strong willed.  All four children are all talkative and full of energy.  All four children behave as children do at their age, playing, roughhousing, fighting, sometimes refusing to eat, needing their bottoms wiped, wanting their own ways, crying and sometimes screaming, and testing Adam and Emily's parenting skills to the extreme.  Their home is in perpetual entropy, and it is all Emily and Adam can do to keep up with the kids and keep the house somewhat organized (which they do a great job in accomplishing).  Imagine being a stay-at-home mother of these four children five years of age and younger.  Pure daily exhaustion!

So at this moment, the din of the day has subsided.  My wife and Emily are wrapping the last of the Christmas presents, the live Christmas tree is sparkling in the reflection of the window that has lights around it, and our energies are spent having kept the home fires burning (and having taken the four energy packets to see Santa Claus at the library), I wanted share with my blog readers the difficult life these two have, and to pay tribute to my wonderful daughter and her wonderful husband.  I simply could not do what they do day in and day out, much less when I was their age.  I am amazed that these two thirty-somethings have the patience to deal with such energetic children.  And while neither of them would say that they are doing a great job as parents, or as spouses (the pressure that the kids put on their marriage is indescribable), they are managing well enough.  I would challenge any couple to deal with the non-stop challenges that this little family of six experiences every day.  

I am SO PROUD of these two kids.  I love this little New Jersey family.    

Challenging Myself

When Ann went away to be a grandmother for a time, I knew that I would be spending time alone.   I challenged myself to keep busy and accomplish some tasks that I had been putting off, but also, to do accomplish some things that were best accomplished without her being at home.  Such was my decision to hike a nearby mountain.

                Ann likes hiking more than I do.  I accompany her, and occasionally I will really enjoy doing it, such as our hike on a shore excursion in Juneau, Alaska during our cruise last year.  But for the most part, I don’t enjoy putting my body through the rigors of hiking, preferring much more to sit in front of a screen or driving somewhere.   I force myself to go because I know that the exercise is good for me and my heart, because I enjoy nature in its splendor, but more importantly because I want to spend time with her.

                So the decision to climb a mountain on a trail in the middle of summer that had a 2800 foot elevation increase was definitely NOT because I wanted to.   I really didn’t particularly want to.  But since I had told people that I was going to do it, on the 4^th of July no less, and because of wanting to challenge myself, I woke up and parked my car at the trail head at 6:30am, wanting to take advantage of some cooler temperatures and some early morning fog.

                I had made a peanut butter and jam sandwich the night before.  I likewise had filled my water bottle and belt, had prepared a bag of cherries, found some sunscreen (which I regretfully only applied to my face and part of my neck), and went to sleep determined to conquer Mt. Lukens the next morning.

                I started out with great determination and at a good clip.  I had made an announcement in the men’s meeting of my church congregation the previous Sunday with the hope of engaging a hiking companion.  But when a prospect had asked what pace I was going to keep, I informed him that I was going to keep a brisk pace, and I’m sure that scared away his wife and him.  In fact, not only did I want to walk briskly, I wanted to not take many “breathing” breaks that Ann feels obligated to take when we hike together.

                After about a half hour, I had gotten to the beginning of the true ascent, a series of switchbacks, a point in the hike that had taken Ann and me some 45 minutes or so to reach on a previous hike earlier in the spring.  And after about 50 minutes, I had gotten to a place where we had turned around on another hike earlier in the spring.  I was quite pleased with my speed and that I had not stopped to rest.  I hadn’t even stopped to drink, and when I finally did access the water bottle a little later, I barely slowed down.  I even took out my sandwich a little farther up and kept walking while I ate.

                Until the trail took me to the south to where I could overlook the town of La Crescenta, the path was quite boring.  There are no conifers, only chaparral, and the prolific flowers that had graced the trail a couple of months previously had all wilted and died.  The higher I got, the greater the mountain vistas were, but it really is a rather unexciting hike—at least at this time of year.  Still I kept the steady pace on the trail that had plenty of rocks under foot and that never had more than a few twenty-foot stretches of level ground.  The problem was that when the fog burned away, it was because the sun was out in a cloudless sky, and the temperature rose.

                I occasionally caught glimpses of the towers at the top which served to animate and motivate me to keep the pace.  However, the warmth and the relentless uphill nature of the trail began to take their toll.  The last mile or so is constantly uphill and I realized that I was beginning to tire.  Some 300 yards from the summit I ran into hikers descending from the top, and when they asked me how I was doing, my response was, “I’m tired,” to which they replied, “you’re just about there.”  I only saw five other crazy hikers the entire time I was on the trail.

                Some two hours and twenty-five minutes after I began this endeavor I reached the top.  I learned that Mt. Lukens is not a specific point or geological outcropping.  Rather, it’s just a flattened top of a mountain (I wonder if originally it was flat before the towers were erected and the helicopter pad placed).  I felt satisfaction that I had accomplished this goal that I had set for myself.  I found a shady place to sit, interestingly on the wheel well of a trailer upon which a rather large compressor had been placed.  I took a picture of the towers.   I explored the summit, sat for a total of twenty minutes, and then decided to begin my descent.

Towers Atop Mt. Lukens

                As I stated down from the top, I realized just how tired I was but noticed that I still had energy.  I found a rock from the top to commemorate the hike to place in my collection of other rocks from other hikes, and found another quite spectacular one another couple of hundred feet down the trail.  I carried them in my hands all the way to the bottom.  About that time, I took a picture of what lies north of where I was.  It is a rugged, foreboding, chaparral-covered series of mediocre peaks and canyons, and actually quite beautiful in its starkness.  I took a picture of this vista to help me remember it.  At the base of these minor peaks was Big Tujunga Canyon Road upon which I have walked and which eventually merges with the Angeles Crest Highway, which can barely be seen in the picture.

Looking Down Upon the Big Tujunga Canyon Road

                By this time, it was starting to get warm—it was about 9:30.  I hoped that my ball cap would help keep my face and neck in shade.  As I would walk away and towards the sun I would turn the hat’s beak to face the sun.  I must have changed it a couple of dozen times, but I still got sunburned a bit.  

                As I descended, I noticed just how unrelenting the downhill of the trail was.  As difficult as it was to hike up, it was likewise difficult to hike down, especially as I realized just how many smaller rocks littered the trail and would occasionally cause me to stumble. 

                Because I am kind of analytic and because I hear about old people purposefully trying to walk 10,000 steps a day to maintain good health , I decided to approximate how many steps this hike was going to take for this middle-aged guy.  I counted the steps in a five minute period—440—and calculated that I was going to take over 20,000 steps.  I guess that if I measured the approximate length of my stride, I could calculate just how far I was hiking (I couldn't calculate that in my head.)  An online map of the hike I took shows that the round trip was about 11 miles.  I guess I'm trying to avoid the transition to old age!

                I purposefully did not stop but just plowed on, turning the beak of my ball cap back and forth and eating the last of the cherries I had brought.  I noticed that my feet and calves and hips were starting to ache, and realized that I was really feeling tired.  In a shady place some 1-1¼ miles from the car, I stopped for a couple of minutes, but then trudged on.  That last little bit was not so downhill but had numerous rocks on the trail, and one time I stumbled and almost fell.  I realized just how tired I was.  I imagine that my foot path kind of meandered a bit there at the end, but because I knew this part of the trail fairly well having taken it a few times with Ann, I knew that I was getting close to my car.

                I finally reached the pavement and walked resolutely the last 100 or so yards to my car.  I took off my fanny pack and water bottle belt, threw them on the floor in the back along with the two rocks I had brought as souvenirs, and sat my tired butt in my car seat.  Ahhhhhhh.  A short five minute drive and I was home. 

                I look with pride at Mt. Lukens as I drive by it on the freeway and look up to the towers.  I set out to do something hard, and in five hours total, and I did both.  Yay for me!

What A Journey

As I am wont to do, I become philosophical when confronting challenges and trials.  I look at what is occurring, what I am experiencing and feeling, and then postulate ideas based upon them.  It is probably only normal and to be expected that as I near the end of a two-month journey with my daughter, son-in-law, and four grand children, I try to figure out the “takeaway” of it all.

In speaking with people, I have been told how wonderful it is and how blessed it must be to have them stay with us.  To be sure, it has been a great and memorable experience, but as with most life situations, it occasionally has involved some “rough sledding.”  My intent is not to pass judgment on the past two months, but merely to comment on what it has been like.  I hope that came through as well in the last posting I did as seen through the eyes of one of the triplets.  There have been some wonderful, touching moments, and there have been others when I left home with children screaming and crying and feeling grateful that I was able to leave.

Much of societal change and invention in this day and age has to do with self-satisfaction and finding meaning in one’s life.  The mantra seems to be that if one feels stress, boredom, anxiety, challenge, sadness or pain, that person should do whatever it takes to simplify life, to ease up on the gas pedal, so to speak, and to do whatever it takes to reduce the difficulties of life.  It seems to be a societal belief that having these “negatives” in one’s life is unacceptable and to be avoided.  If you doubt what I am saying, you need to go no farther than to the television and look at the substance of the commercials.

Not that one should deliberately look for difficulties to steer through in life, but what has been my life experience has been that I have grown the most in my character in those moments when I have found myself in the crucible, those very difficult circumstances.  Obviously, my challenges compared to those of others might very well be considered light weight or barely registering on the difficulty scale, but nonetheless they have been difficult for me.  I see them as divinely given/allowed for specific purposes and for my exact needs.

I have written previously about the experience of the decision and then attending graduate school in an effort to effect a career change while serving as a lay ecclesiastical leader of a congregation of 200. I did this while working full time and being a full-time husband and father.  These were times of extremity, times of frustration, times of extreme weariness, times of self-doubt, times of non-stop intensity.  I think about other times in my life when obstacles were numerous, feelings were intense, circumstances were challenging, and I have lived through them all. 

Most importantly, in my extremity, I have grown the most and learned lessons that I would have missed had I chosen/been given an easier path.  I have become what I am today, and while there could be a discussion as to exactly what that is and to my value in the pool of humanity, I am comfortable and accepting of where I am.  That does not mean that I will rest on my laurels or whatever other metaphor comes to mind.  It means that I will not be afraid to put myself/be put in challenging positions in the future because I know they will be for my best good now and in eternity.  It means that having my New York family here was a difficult, wonderful experience.

Every tear, every scream, every child crying jag, every toy picked up, every diaper changed (especially the poopy ones), every dish and utensil washed, every dollar spent on additional food, every child buckled into a car seat, every wiggling child held during a church meeting, every door slammed, every window dirtied by sticky hands, every piece of furniture moved to accommodate cribs and pack and plays, every email not sent from my office that now serves as a child’s bedroom, every light globe broken, every peanut butter sandwich made, every piece of cheese and grape cut in half for the kids’ snack, every piece of food swept off the kitchen floor or picked off the floor and pew at church, every room vacuumed, every night’s sleep awakened by a crying child, every towel wrapped around the wiggly body of a just-bathed, wet child, every spill dried up, every child pushed in a stroller, every child swept off their feet because they were where they shouldn’t be, every fly taken out of a baby’s mouth (yes I did that once, and luckily it was dead…but so gross!), every bottle warmed up in my bleary-eyed state at 6:30am, every plastic latch opened and shut purchased to prevent kids from getting into a cabinet or drawer and emptying its contents, every face washed over the sink because of food or dirt, every toy on the floor that becomes an obstacle course for me, every ladder or chair that is in my front yard to stop kids from going where they shouldn’t go or from eating dirt, every leaf pulled and shredded into pieces in the house, every Christmas ornament yanked off the tree, every child crying because they’ve gotten themselves stuck, every bib put on and taken off covered with food, every attempt by a little hand to turn on the disposal or to reach something on the dining room table, other furniture or Christmas tree, and every hand print or pen/pencil mark on a wall or closet door, will have its opposite, endearing, smile-producing (and maybe tear producing) memory. 

I want to remember the contentedness I felt and they felt as I held one in my arms while they drank their warmed morning bottle.  I want to remember their delight in the bubbles I blew on the front lawn, their laughs as I sprayed them with a hose and played catch with them on the lawn, their “wan-wan” sounds when they heard dogs, their utter amazement and delight as they looked skyward to see a helicopter or on the ground to see a flower, their giggles as I pushed them in the swings at the nearby park, their giggles as I played “Eye Winker, Tom Tinker, Nose Dropper, Mouth Eater, Chin Chopper and Gollywhopper,”  their looks as I fed them grapes, pieces of cheese and crackers, or snuck in a piece of banana with their oatmeal, their imitating my animal sounds while sitting on my lap and reading countless books to them, their playing and giggling with their cousin Daniel when he came over, their wide-open eyes gazing upon the Christmas tree, their imitation of placing a toy on their heads because I placed one on mine, their dancing to “Hold Still…Wiggle, Wiggle, Wiggle, Wiggle” and “At the Hop” and “Pumpa’s favorite” Chantilly Lace, or “Put Down the Duckie,” their joy at watching “Yo Gabba Gabba,” their trying to make adult words like “thank you” and “I love you,” their lying still while I changed their diaper and put the legs to their sleepers back on them, the joy in their voices when they talked with their Daddy on the phone or watched him on the I-Phone or Skype, their tiny hands in mine as we walked, their waiting in line for me to play “Patty Cake, Patty Cake, Baker Man” with them, their dancing to the sounds of dueling toys, their giggles as I threw them in the air, over my shoulder, swung them in front of me, or played with them on their beds, and their quietness and stillness (at least for a short time) as I sang a lullaby to them before putting them down for a nap or for the day.

All of the challenges and difficulties and accommodations will melt away in the future as I think of Emily’s grateful, if wan, smile and heartfelt thank you for helping her and giving her support at this time of her extremity.  They will melt away when I remember Elizabeth’s inquiring face then charming, full-face smile as she looks at her Pumpa and wonders if he is just being silly or is he saying the truth.  They will melt away when I remember Charlie, the boy everyone says looks like me, looking at me and imploring me to hold him while I read him a book while he sucks on his binky and holds his blanket.  They will melt away when I remember little chubby Lucy looking at me through those slits of eyes and saying quite articulately, “I love you.”  And they will melt away when I think of Eddie constantly holding out/up his arms for his Pumpa to hold him and hug him.

This has been a difficult, demanding experience, but the transition from a full, noise-filled nest to a quiet, empty one for Pumpa and Geema will likewise be a new, if wistful, one.