When in Egypt...

Rachel is afraid of hats. She doesn't like baseball caps or sunbonnets, mortar boards or tuques.

Since many men in Egypt will be wearing keffiyehs and even more of the women will be wearing headscarves, Rachel will simply have to get used to the idea that hats are not actually scary.

We know that she certainly doesn't like keffiyehs! Grandpa wore one in Grover and Rachel just about had a panic attack! (I will post a picture of this later. Andrew was supposed to write about it and Calf Creek, but he didn't...) So instead I started her off a little slower by wearing a headscarf in front of her. She didn't react too negatively until I tried to put one on her!


She won't have to wear one, so I suppose it's alright that she doesn't like them. Just as long as she's comfortable seeing other people in them. We still have to work on that keffiyeh thing, though.

Farewell Party

Last Tuesday Karen hosted a dual purpose party--a farewell party for us and a graduation party for Reid. She decorated with a desert/palm tree/blue and white theme. There were helium balloons, a desert scape, homemade root beer, and hundreds of homemade cookies. Most of the guests were people in Andrew's home ward, but we also had some family members come.

Before many guests arrived we took some family pictures. Unfortunately neither picture is perfectly complete. Instead they're more like "family pictures with the kids that still live at home, plus us" pictures.

Andrew's family

My family

Patrick even posed for the camera. Yes, the infamous camera-hater actually posed and let us take his picture. We decided we had better take one before he changed his mind.

Rachel loved all the attention food she got from everybody. She would wander around with her mouth open just hoping someone would pop something in her mouth--and I think almost everyone did. She got her first real exposure to peanut butter by stealing a cookie off Matthew Claypool's plate. Apparently she's not allergic.

She had a fun time visiting with her cousin, Kayl, and with her friends Amy Parks, and Matthew and Kelsi Claypool. We had fun visiting with Aunt Dorothy and Michelle, Grandma Pat and Dave, Aunt Nicki and Emma, Auntie Judy, Uncle Wally, Carlie and Andrew, as well as our friends, the Claypools and Parks, and many other friends and family. Far too many came to be able to name them all!

Rachel with Kayl and Grandpa

We had a great evening and stayed out well past Rachel's bedtime--we didn't get home until around 10:30--but Rachel was happy the whole time. Her best buddy, Phillip, showed up around 9:00 (three hours after the party started and a half hour after it ended) looking for his parents.


Oh, how we wish we could take Phillip to Egypt with us! Rachel adores him. Given the late hour, I'm quite sure that she would have lost all patience and gotten grumpy had he not shown up.

The minute she saw him she started squealing and ran right into his arms. Keep in mind that she hasn't really seen him since we went camping in Grover and she still loves him more than anyone! Here she is stroking his face...she carressed it for about a full minute, just holding his cheek and staring into his eyes. (He's too old for you, Rachel).


It was nice to be able to see so many of our friends and family all at once!

PS. Congratulations on finishing up your MPA, Reid! He got like a 3.9 something...smarts just run in the family!

The Playground Incident (x2)

Here it is Friday already and I've hardly updated the blog since Sunday. We've been busy. What else can I say? We had some old friends over on Monday--my roommate Holly and her husband--that I haven't seen for a number of years. Rachel didn't go to bed until around 9:00. On Tuesday we had our farewell party at Andrew's parents' house (pictures forthcoming). Rachel didn't get to bed until 10:30. On Wednesday we went to the temple and Rachel actually got to bed on time. Today we moved our furniture and Rachel, again, didn't get to bed until after 10:00.

We're just trying to adjust her to an Arab schedule. Stay up late, sleep in the afternoon.

In addition to turning her into a night owl (at least, more of one than she was before) the playground has decided to curse us with bad experiences so that Rachel won't want to return to a playground ever again. Parks are few and far between in Cairo, so this may end up being a blessing in disguise, although I would like to enjoy the park while we still can.

On Tuesday we went out to the park early in the morning, right after daddy left for work. Rachel was happily playing, going up and down the stairs, braving the slide, and doing a little swinging, when she saw some dogs.

As I mentioned, Rachel likes dogs...from a distance. So she got all excited and pointed at the dogs, and made what I think was a barking noise.

The owner, trying to be nice, thought that she'd let Rachel meet the dogs. I tried to explain that Rachel is actually rather frightened of dogs and that she just enjoys looking at them from a distance.

This dog owner, though, is one of those dog owners who thinks that her dogs are the nicest, sweetest things and that everyone should love them as much as she does. So she opened the gate to the park and let her dogs inside to run around.

Rachel stood there, almost hyperventilating, so I picked her up, all the while telling the lady that my baby really doesn't like dogs.

"Oh, but she looked so excited to see them," she said.

Does she look excited now, lady, now that she's clinging to me for dear life and hiding her face on my shoulder?

"They're really nice dogs," she continued, "Just let her down to pet them."

Right. By this point the dogs are running around in circles and Rachel is superglued to my hip--I was probably not helping her hysteria any since I was on the verge of a panic attack, myself.

I tried to politely decline when one of the dogs started barking, which started Rachel screaming. Tears were streaming down her face and she kept moving her hands to alternatively cover her mouth and her ears.

"I didn't mean to scare her," the lady apologized, "I just thought she'd like to meet my dogs..."

The lady took her dogs inside and I tried to get Rachel to continue playing. She wouldn't let me put her down, though. She kept screaming and wiping her nose on my shirt. She was a complete mess. Shaking and tear-stained she kept pointing towards home. I had no choice but to follow her little index finger and head for home.

She's never actually wanted to go home before and she didn't ask to go outside again that day. If I had any hope of raising her to not be afraid of dogs before, I certainly don't have any now!

But by the next day, she was ready to brave the world again. So I took her to the park. It was deserted off all animals--canine and human--so Rachel and I could do whatever we wanted.

She was just in the middle of climbing up the stairs for the umpteenth time when a little boy, about three, and his older sister, who was old enough to have lost a few baby teeth, joined us.

Rachel had just made it to the top of the platform and was clapping for herself when the little boy ran up the stairs and pinched her, hard, on the neck.

"Oh, let's be nice," I said in my nicest I'm-reprimanding-you voice.

The little boy pinched her again, quite maliciously. Rachel was unsure about what to do.

"Leave my baby alone," I said, firmly.

He grabbed her around the neck. My mother-bear instincts kicked in and I actually snarled at this child that I had never before seen in my life.

"HEY! You leave my baby alone!"

He backed away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said.

"That's okay," I said, switching back to good cop, "She's just a little baby, though. You have to play nice with her."

And he did. For about five minutes. They walked around on the platform together and he showed her how to go down the slide and walk across the bridge. And then, for absolutely no reason at all, he walked up to Rachel and shoved her.

Seriously, she was just standing there, minding her own business, holding onto the pole and walking around in circle. This boy walked up to her, put both of his arms out and shoved her in the chest.

She flew backwards and landed on her back and immediately started howling.

"That's it!" I said, once again in my mother-bear voice, "We're going home! You're not being nice!"

I ran up the stairs, scooped up my baby, and headed off for home. Rachel and I were both covered in her snot by the time we got in the door. She, once again, cried the whole way home.

I hope that that is an appropriate way to deal with a playground bully. It's the way I've been dealing with bullies my whole life.

Get an adequate distance away, tell them that their behavior is inappropriate, and then hightail it out of there.

I even used this tactic with my grade four teacher!

Still, I don't know if it's the best way to deal with a bully. How would you deal with a playground bully? Or better still, how would you teach your child to deal with a playground bully without becoming a bully themselves?

Lovies held hostage

Auntie Em picked Rachel up from Bonnie's house yesterday after she got off work. Rachel's bedtime has been ignored this past week, which is probably alright considering we will be completely throwing her off her schedule in the next few days. Still, since she had been up until 10:30 the night before, we figured that it would be nice for her to get to bed on time for once.

So Emily shows up at the Parks' door.

"How is it that you're related to Andrew?" asked Matt.

"I'm Andrew's brother," answered Emily.

She was quite embarrassed. She was thinking of two answers at once--I'm Andrew's sister and Andrew's my brother--and they kind of got squished together. An easy mistake to make.

Even though she made this blatant error of her identity, Matt and Bonnie gave Rachel to Emily anyway, along with the diaper bag.

Rachel and Emily made a stop a the park and Rachel completely played herself out before they headed home. She was so tired! So, after a quick (ha, ha!) bum change and brushing of her teeth, Rachel was off to bed.

I had written out a page of instructions for Emily, telling her where to find everything and little tips on how to make Rachel a happy girl. The bedtime tips were to give her her favorite blankey and her baby doll, turn on her Primary songs, rock her for a few minutes, and lay her down.

Rachel is kind of like I was as a child and she needs her blankey before she can go to bed.

Unfortunately for Emily, the blankey was no where to be found. She hunted all around the house, while Rachel screamed, trying to find the blankey. Eventually she braved the chaos of our bedroom and found what she was looking for: a pink crocheted thing.

She gave that to Rachel, along with the doll that Rachel got for Christmas. Rachel snuggled right down in her crib and immediately went to sleep. Emily didn't hear a peep from her.

Emily was lucky. I suppose we're all lucky.

You see, Emily didn't actually find Rachel's baby doll or her favorite blanket. What she found were counterfeits. The real baby doll and blankey were being held hostage at the Parks'--they had forgotten to give them to Emily.

However, since receiving her "favorite" baby doll from Grandma Sharon and Grandpa Frank, Rachel has also accepted her other baby doll as a baby doll. Beforehand she didn't really like it, but now that she knows how much fun it is to carry a dolly around she'll take either one.

The blanket Auntie Em found was actually a blanket I was working on when I lived in Russia. It's one of those eternally unfinished projects that I have going on. It's bright, cotton candy pink--I fell in love with the color when I was living in Russia, perhaps because it was so bright and cheerful and I felt surrounded by dull gray. Don't go to Russia in the winter. Spring is beautiful. Winter is horrible. To make a long story short, I found this blanket while packing and put it in a pile of things to be packed Rachel found it in said pile, pulled it out and snuggled with it. I decided then that it could be the backup blanket.

My friend Emily, who lived in Voronezh with me and taught me how to crochet and watched me labor over my cotton candy pink blanket for months, made Rachel a blanket that exact same color and brought it up to us, all the way from Arizona, before Rachel was born. This is Rachel's beloved blankey.

I can only imagine what Auntie Em's night with Rachel would have been like had she not stumbled across the backup blanket--I hadn't thought to tell her that we even had a backup blanket.

Not many people do, but since I was such a difficult child about my blankey and since I've read horror stories of people trying to recover "lovies," we decided that having a backup blanket was quite a good idea, and if Rachel would take the counterfiet version, no psychological scars would be rendered by a swap.

She survived last night alright, although we did go over to visit with Amy and Bonnie this afternoon to retrieve the blanket and dolly just to make things a little easier tonight!

Salt Lake Temple Trip

One of our farewell wishes was to visit the Salt Lake temple. Andrew hadn't been to a session since before his mission and I have never been at all. I have, of course, been to Temple Square several times, just not inside the temple. I've always wanted to go, though, because it's one of the few temples that still uses live actors instead of the film. It also has beautiful murals on the walls.

We left Rachel in the care of Bonnie. She was happy enough to play with Amy and only cried on and off for the first hour she was there. From then on she was a good little girl, from what I hear, and even folded her arms for prayer at dinner time. It's always nice to hear that your children were on their best behavior!

After swinging by to pick up Reid from work, we headed onto Temple Square, parking under the Conference Center. You can park there for free if you're going to the temple--they'll give you a token when you leave and you just feed that to the machines and you're let out for free.

We walked from the Conference Center to the Church Office Building, where Uncle Matt works, after we made it up the elevator. Reid had to stop to wonder whether to push the up or down button. Since we were already underground we all made fun of him before telling him to push the up button. We got a little lost in the lobby of the Church Office Building because we went in the north doors and there was a scary reception desk and a bunch of official looking metal detectors and things that we had to walk past, but we eventually made it to the east lobby and found Uncle Matt waiting for us, eating his lunch.

He took us down into the tunnels and gave us the grand tour.

"This yellow brick road leads straight to administration," he said.

"And that door leads to the Lion House. And this is where the Twelve park...Oh, hello," he said.

"Hello," we all mimicked politely before asking, "Who was that?"

"Elder Condie," he answered.

We got to the temple doors. Surprisingly they looked just like every other door in the tunnel--just like an underground parking lot. Still, it was fun to get to walk through.

I was glad to have Karen with me. There were so many doors everywhere--even with all the temple workers to help show the way I would have been hopelessly lost. Karen was just there a couple of weeks ago with her sisters so she was a little more familiar with the layout of the dressing rooms.

It was obvious that the temple was designed a few hundred years ago. I stepped on several creaky floorboards along my way and the decor is "dated." Karen said that some of it seems rather French, and I do have to agree. The architecture and murals were very interesting to look at.

And, of course, I loved feeling the spirit there. The Salt Lake temple has always been special to me. When I was a little girl we would visit the temple so rarely. In Vancouver we had to drive across the border to Seattle to visit the temple, and in Calgary the nearest temple was in Cardston. To get to either temple required quite a bit of planning. I remember doing some all-day temple trips with the youth in High River to do baptisms for the dead. And I remember babysitting well into the night to allow some parents to attend a session or two.

We always made sure to visit Temple Square whenever we came down to visit my Grandma and Grandpa Layton--which I think was about as often as we ever made trips to Seattle or Cardston--and I was always amazed by the grandeur of the square. I loved the gardens and the Tabernacle and all the historic houses. There is just something special about it to me.

I've heard people talking about it like it isn't a big deal. When you live here, they say, it's just normal. For me, though, it's still special. I love going to Temple Square and seeing all the missionaries and people milling about. I love the spirit that is present there--it evokes reverence and awe in everyone around.

Actually getting to go inside the temple was a wonderful experience. It made me reflect on the sacrifices that the saints made to cross the plains, settle the valley, and build the temple--an amazing feat; no doubt the hand of the Lord was in it.

Perhaps I risk being labeled nostalgic, but the Salt Lake Valley will always hold a special place in my heart. I will never tire of seeing the temple spires reach toward heaven. I love to see the temple.

Animal walk

We stayed far too long at my parent's house last night, but we couldn't really resist. It was our last Sunday dinner at their house in who knows how long! We have only 9 days left before we get on the plane; I'm kind of nervous.

We had a yummy dinner, a short FHE, dessert, and then played LIFE: Pirates of the Caribbean.

At around 8:30 I finally finished. I think I lost. Patrick won big time, and Rachel was being difficult so I didn't even count up my money.

Not only was Rachel tired, but she really wanted to go outside, so we went on a walk.

When we left the house, Rachel saw Winter, the mean kitty at my parents' house.

Usually when she sees an animal, she'll point at it and say, "Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh!" This time she just looked at it with her angry eyes and when she noticed that we weren't stopping for her to pet it dissolved into a fit of rage. It was definitely past bedtime.

"That's the mean kitty," I told her, "She eats little girls for breakfast,"

It didn't matter. Rachel wanted to pet the kitty.

We made Josie grab Lahki out from under the car so that Rachel could pet her. Lahki is a nice kitty--she just closes her eyes and lets Rachel do whatever she wants. Rachel gave her a few hugs and kisses and some nice pats. As soon as Josie let go of Lahki she made a break for it, which Rachel was fine with because she had gotten her way.

Having gotten her kitty-petting out of the way, Rachel allowed us to contine on our walk.

We walked past the Rytting's house--they were out on their front porch. We waved and exchanged a few niceties before continuing on our way.

"That's Marin Rytting?" Andrew asked.

"The older girl is," I said.

"Wow!" he said, "I remember when I was older than her!"

"You still are," said my mom.

"Oh, yeah," said Andrew, "What I meant was, I remember when she was still in Primary!"

Just then a family with a little dachshund walked by. Rachel, now in a better mood, pointed and said, "Ooh!" instead of dissolving into tears. Then she started running as fast as her little legs would carry her in order to catch up with the dog, even braving a street crossing by herself. We had to hurry and catch up with her ourselves before she got too far into the street!

She tripped on the curb, but there was nothing stopping her. Without crying, she got up onto the sidewalk and was after the dog again in no time, using Grammy for extra balance. Still, she just wasn't fast enough.

Luckily for Rachel, the family turned around at the corner and started coming back up our way. She couldn't have been happier. She stopped walking and just stood pointing at the dog going, "Ooh, ooh, ooh!"

"She's been trying to catch up with you so that she could see your dog," my mom explained.

The family stopped so that Rachel could visit with the puppy. She took a few steps closer to the dog and then ran back into Grammy's arms. She reached out her arm to touch the dog, but just when she was about to touch it, she pulled it back in and cuddled with Grammy. I held her hand and she got really close to the dog, but then ran away.

She really wanted to visit with the puppy, but was just too scared to do it.

After several more failed attempts, we thanked the family and continued on our walk.

I really don't know why Rachel is so afraid of all dogs. I mean, I know that I am afraid of dogs but not all dogs. I don't even know how Rachel knows that a dog is a dog. Dogs come in such different shapes and sizes that sometimes it's hard to know if they are even dogs (at least, my friend Becca's baby has a hard time with it).

Cats just look like cats, whether they are long-haired or short-haired and no matter their color, they just look like cats. Rachel loves cats.

She really would like to love dogs, too. She just can't bring herself to. Whether the dog is big or small, she'll love it from a distance and cower from it at close range.

The only theory I have is that dogs' mouths are perpetually open, showing off their teeth, while cats mouths are usually closed, hiding theirs. In Rachel's world, anything with teeth growls--lions, sharks, alligators, etc. Teeth are a little scary, and dogs always seem to be baring theirs.

I wish that Rachel wouldn't be afraid of dogs--it's a little debilitating at times--but I totally understand why she is!

She speaks

I made the mistake of packing a squishy, heart-shaped toy in the diaper bag yesterday. When Rachel found it she immediately lifted it up into ball-throwing position: arm up directly above her head, cocked and ready to fire.



We were in church, so I tried desperately to convince her that it wasn't a ball.

"It's not a ball, Rachel. It's a squishy thing. See? You just squish it, like this," I showed her how to squish it.

She would not be swayed. She took it back and raised it above her head again, threatening to lob it across the room. Eventually I stopped trying telling her that it wasn't a ball and moved onto my next tactic to keep her on good behavior--telling her not to throw the ball.

"Don't throw the ball, Rachel," I whispered, shaking my head.

Not only had I failed in convincing her that it wasn't a ball, she now had me calling it a ball. Obviously she is more strong-willed than I.

Rachel continued to hold the ball up in the air while shaking her head. She's an excellent copycat.

"Don't throw it," I whispered again, snatching at it.

She moved it away from my reach, then turned to face the rest of the Sunday School.

We were sitting near the back and Rachel had the full attention of several grandparents. She loves a good audience.

She held the ball up as high as she could and yelled,

"BALL!"

Then she threw it. Several stiffled snickers came from nearby seats.

At least that gave me time to retrieve it before she could get to it again. We spent the rest of Sunday School hiding the ball from Rachel. It was nice that she wanted to entertain herself by entertaining half the grandparents in the ward, but I just don't think that balls need to be thrown all over the Relief Society room.

What was more exciting, though, is that she said ball. She's starting to associated sounds with objects, so for a few weeks she's been saying, "B, B, B," for books and balls. We were happily shocked that she had said ball so clearly!

That's not the first word she's said, though. She can say 'mama,' 'dada,' 'bye-bye,' 'hi,' 'no,' 'yes,' and now 'ball' in English, although she never uses them consistently, and never on demand. She is also working on her Arabic.

She has a bunch of little board books that we picked up when we were living in Jordan and she likes to read them a lot. They're just the right size for her tiny little hands. Her favorite one is the one about families because there is a picture of a baby in the back. We've read it so many times that she doesn't even try to compensate for the backwardness of Arabic by flipping the book upside down (she used to find reading right to left rather distressing); she knows exactly which way this book is supposed to be read and will open it "backwards" without hesitation.

"Jid," I'll read. She'll give the Grandpa a kiss.

"Jidda," she'll kiss the Grandma.

She kisses each family member as they are introduced: ab (father), um (mother), ack (brother), ucht (sister), ana (me). Then we get to her favorite page--the one with the baby.

We were reading it earlier this week and Rachel was going through her usual kissing routine--we have to wipe the book off before we can put it away.

"Tifla," I read when we got to the baby page. The baby is in pink, so we think it's a girl baby. Thus tifla and not tifl.

Usually Rachel just kisses the baby and then opens the book up at the beginning again, but this time around she paused before kissing the baby.

"Tifla," she repeated tenderly, pointing to the baby. Then she gave it a big, wet kiss.

It will be interesting to see how she develops her language skills.

Quirky Quirks

My sister Abra tagged me. This one is about quirks: you disclose 6 "unspectacular" quirks about yourself and then tag 6 other bloggers to do the same. I never tag anyone, though, so if you want to, go ahead, but I'm not tagging you.

Here are my quirks:

1) I love brushing my teeth. I can't stand aftertastes, especially of the "milk and cereal" variety, so I usually brush my teeth after every meal. When my dad was in the hospital getting an emergency triple bypass I was freaking out because I hadn't brushed my teeth since that morning and it was like midnight. Sister Wright went out and bought a toothbrush for me so that I could get a grip on life. That was probably a defense mechansim of sorts.

2) I see life through my blog. I think about writing all the time and am always thinking about how I can turn a situation, conversation, or picture into an entertaining story. I'm a little obsessive, perhaps.

3) I sort through Rachel's toys and put them away "properly." I hate it when she loses pieces to her toys and hunt through the house for them until I can "put it together again." We've been missing the red oval for her shape sorter and it's been driving me nuts. I look for it on a daily basis. Andrew suggested that Rachel probably put it in the trash and that it is now in Garbage City. I am still looking for it.

4) I can't go to sleep without checking on Rachel. And I have to touch her when I check on her. I can't just peek in and see that she's still snug in bed and that she's still breathing. I actually have to put my hand on her chest to feel it rise and fall. You would think that after 14 months I'd be pretty confident of her ability to survive on her own through the night, but I'm not. I think it stems from all the worrying I did for the last 20 weeks of my pregnancy. I still think that she's fragile somehow...or maybe it's because I just like to worry. I have to check the door two or three times before going to bed as well.

5) I have worn a CTR ring virtually every day since I turned 8 and got my first one. I had several of those cheap-o rings and they would always turn my finger green. Then I got one with a purple shield from my grandparents one year for Christmas...it was lost in a sharing-a-room-with-Josie incident. Then I got a small one with a black shield. Somehow it got run over by the vacuum cleaner and was completely mangled. My current CTR ring is David's old one. He gave it to me before he left on his mission after mine was run over by the vacuum cleaner. It's rather chunky and masculine and I've tried to not wear it but my finger is so used to it that I can't take it off for long. One day I'll try to get a cute ring...but for now I'm stuck with David's...

6) I'm a dainty eater; I only eat one kernel of popcorn at a time. Or one chip. Or one fruit snack. Or one grape. Whatever it is I'm eating I only eat one at a time. Andrew grabs a whole handful and shoves it into his mouth. He thinks it's funny that I eat so cleanly.

My greatest quirk though is probably that I married Andrew. Need I say more? He has enough quirks for the both of us. Let me highlight a few:

• He won't touch washcloths. He thinks they're gross. He won't wash dishes if he has to use a cloth--he'll use a sponge or anything else, but not a washcloth. If there is a washcloth sitting out and it needs to be washed, I have to pick it up. He prefers if they sit in the diaper pail than in the regular laundry basket.
• He organizes his clothes. And sometimes he organizes mine for me. It annoys him to no end that I don't have a "system" for my side of the closet. Sometimes I'll go to the closet and will find that my dresses have been organized by length or that my shirts have been organized by color.
• He is absolutely addicted to the news. The only way he's been surviving without the internet for this long is because we get CNN and Al-Jazeera on television. Before he goes to bed he has to "see if the world is still alive."
• He gets into my nice-smelling things. For someone so opposed to the color pink (the boy won't use a pink toothbrush or sponge), he sure is fond of pink soaps. He sometimes comes out of the shower smelling like Japanese Rose or some other scent and was recently really excited that we found "Red Berry" soap. It's pink, so it must smell good...
• He says that he doesn't have any quirks. He just has little attributes that makes him more endearing. He also says that I don't have any quirks. Seriously, nothing I do bothers him...except maybe cutting my nails on the bed or using the same cloth to wash the dishes and the counter or the fact that I don't organize my clothes.
  

Rachel can be pretty quirky, too. For example, she has to take her shoes, pants, and underwear off to go potty--completely off. She cries if we try to convince her that it's alright to have her pants sit at her ankles. She wants it all off! She also won't go to bed without her blankey, likes to eat off of our plates even if she has the same thing in front of her, and sometimes puts her underwear on her head.

What are your quirks?

Another Shot

Before leaving the doctor's office, when we went for Rachel's 1 year check up, I asked for a photocopy of her vaccinations record. I will admit that I was very confused. On the record that I had, the nurse had written in the combined shots without writing the diseases Rachel was immunized against.

So my records showed that Rachel hadn't had any of her polio or Diphtheria/Tetanus/Pertussis shots. The nurse had also taken our immunization card from us, but hadn't written down which shots Rachel got last time. She had also written down some shots by the wrong age, for example she wrote down her 1 year MMR shot in the square for the 4 year MMR shot. Things were very out of order and very confusing.

Perhaps I'm just a worry wart, but I wanted to be sure that I fully understood what she was immunized for before we take off for Egypt. Just so that I know and can tell her doctor for sure. I don't know. Somehow I just figure that might be important.

After going over our bill from the insurance company and noting that she had received her MMR, Hep A and Chickenpox vaccinations, I phoned the doctors office to verify the rest of her record.

It was all very confusing because the doctor had written her birthdate beside the shots she just received instead of the date she came in for her 1 year checkup. I see how he got confused because she was born on 07/20/07 and we came in on 07/21/08, but his confusion caused much confusion for everyone else.

After failing to communicate over the phone, I decided to go in and show them how the information I had and the information they had just didn't match.

I first talked with a medical assistant at the front desk who agreed that the whole situation was rather confusing. She went through the computer records and the paper records and made sure they all cross referenced correctly.

She thought Rachel was missing two shots, so she asked a nurse to talk with me about getting those. The nurse went through Rachel's records again and said it looked like Rachel might have already been given one of those shots.

She wouldn't get a fourth Hib (Haemophilus influenzae type b) shot because there's a national shortage right now so they're just giving a series of three shots. That's fine with me.

The last shot she was missing (or not?) was the Pneumococcal shot. The doctor had a date written by the shot but the nurse had not filled out any lot number or dosage on Rachel's chart. The lot number and dosage had been filled out for the other three shots Rachel recieved, I remembered three shots and three bandaids, and I was only billed for three shots so we decided that we should probably give Rachel the fourth, and allegedly missing, shot.

After the nurse assured me that it wouldn't hurt Rachel to be vaccinated twice (just in case), we went into the back to find an open room. Rachel started getting nervous the minute we walked through the door and started to cry when I put her down on the table. I don't think she liked the crinkly paper.

Since our doctor wasn't in today, our nurse wasn't in, either. Instead we had a different nurse and she let me hold Rachel during the shot, which worked out a lot better than laying her down on the table. I was able to keep her arms and legs under control the whole time, unassistted, and when the needle poked her, she was able to hug me, which I think is what she is trying to do when she thrashes around on the table.

I think I'll request to hold her the next time she needs a shot , which isn't for at least 6 months.

So, after our long afternoon, Rachel's records are complete. I can finally cross that one off my list of "things to do before moving to Cairo."

Mandarin Orange Monster

For lunch today I opened a can of Mandarin oranges. Soon I had to open another can. Rachel just couldn't get enough of them!



When she was finished eating she turned her bowl upside down on the table so I quickly went to grab a wash cloth before she could make too big of a mess. In the 10 seconds it took for me to run into the kitchen, Rachel had taken her sticky hands and rubbed them through her hair.


She was one sticky mess, covered in orange juice from her head to her toes--quite literally, too! I've already sponged her off three times and she's still sticky. She might just have to hop in the tub...again. She's already had 1 bath today. How many does she need?