Daniel's Birthday, revisited

On January 3, 1997, a Friday, I wrote: “The baby is really moving around right now. It must be time for me to go to bed. Two times I can count on lots of movement are in the morning and when I go to bed.”

Tuesday, January 21, 1997: “Tomorrow I’ve got an appointment with Dr. David.” It is interesting to note that Dr. David Wilson was the doctor who delivered Sydney, Dan’s daughter, when Liz Travis, who helped us with Laura’s birth, thought that Lyn, Sydney’s mother, was not progressing sufficiently to warrant a homebirth. He had divorced, moved to Utah, remarried, and moved back to Scott Valley. He and his wife, Renee, who was an RN almost ready to sit for her midwifery exams, attended homebirths.

Two days later, “Tomorrow I guess I ought to begin my before-the-baby-comes projects. The biggest project is diapers.”

Friday, February 6, 1997: “Just before Salem [Oregon] the baby got tired of sitting still and started stretching rather painfully.”

Friday, February 28, 1997: “Our baby’s quilt is almost done—all I need to do is finish sewing on the binding.”

Monday, March 3, 1997: “Well, this is an odd time [3:05 am] to be writing but the baby appears to be on the way. Therefore, I thought it best to write while I have the time and it’s quiet.

“So far, there isn’t much to tell. . . . I [am] up. My mom is up but she’s at her house still. I had a gush of water a little more than an hour ago and dribblings since then. I’ve had only four really good contractions but lots of little ones.” Renee Wilson was hoping Daniel would be born on the 3^rd because it was her birthday. That was not to be.

Tuesday, March 4, 1997: “This morning at 12:20 a little baby boy was born. . . I broke the mold and had a boy. He hasn’t a name yet—we have trouble with the naming.

“Labor was long—he wasn’t in any hurry to get here I guess but once hard labor began he came more quickly. I don’t know how big his head was but it was bigger than any of my other babies. It took two pushes to deliver his head and then I had to push harder to get his shoulders and the rest of his body out.

“He weighed 7# 12 oz and was 20 ½” long. He has dark hair that will probably get lighter because his eyebrows and lashes are light.

“He is a beautiful baby. He nursed like there was no tomorrow this morning. He fell asleep around 3:30 and has been awake long enough to have his diaper changed and his clothes changed but not to eat. I hope he decides he’s hungry soon.”

Three days later: “. . . baby finally has a name. . . Daniel Brent.”

Labor was long. The Wilson’s came and they left. They came again later and had to bring their 2-year-old because their older children all had previous commitments and couldn’t babysit. That wasn’t a problem. I don’t remember if she was put to bed in the girls’ room or in the little hall by the bathroom. Either way, she, like our girls, slept. My mother was there for much of the labor; I don’t remember if Becky was or not.

At one point in time, I was in the bedroom alone, getting through contractions as best as I could. While they weren’t comfortable, they weren’t painful either but I was alone. I could hear everyone in the livingroom talking and I wondered why. Wasn’t I the one doing the work? Weren’t they here to support me? Why were they out there seemingly oblivious to what I was doing? After my previous three births, I was not used to being alone. I’d had someone with me constantly during each of them so this was something completely new. I did not like it.

In spite of the fact that I have been criticized for voicing this, I do not see what the purpose is of letting a woman labor alone. I believe that part of a good midwives strength is the fact that she is with the woman. During a time the woman may not be able to voice concerns, she needs to have someone with her. In a hospital perhaps it is not as critical as it seems that most women who labor and birth in a hospital are connected to monitors which may alert staff to potential problems. At home, there are no mechanical monitors; the monitors are the people—midwives, family, friends—and they should be with her.

I don’t know when it was, but Dr. Wilson came in to do an exam and when he was done he told me that I was not ready to push. Oh yeah? I thought. How do you know I’m not ready to push? I was so ready I could barely contain myself. I am not sure if I actually started pushing on the sly then or not; I wouldn’t be surprised if I did.

Much of my labor was on all fours as it was the most comfortable. Either Dr. Wilson or Renee had to remind me to get my front up more because I was sagging and by being more upright, I would be getting extra help from gravity. I do not remember much from the actual birth; I do believe that I was still on all fours. I do remember hearing that the baby was a boy—how exciting that was! I know that I had some tears because I remember being stitched up. It was such a relief to have a baby out that the stitching didn’t seem like a big deal. I had a boy! 

March 17, 1997 at Shakleford Falls.
Alisha, Laura, me with Daniel, Sydney and Joanna.

March 18, 1997. Joanna giving two-week-old baby Daniel lots of lovin'.

April 2, 1997.

April 8, 1997.
Daniel 5 weeks old.

April 15, 1997.
Daniel 6 weeks old.

May 4, 1997.
Daniel two months old.

March 9, 1997.
Daniel five days old.
(Picture is slightly out of sequence.)

May 18, 1997.

August 5, 1997.
Mr. HappyPants at five months, one day.

Daniel's 16th Birthday Party

Honestly, it wasn't much of a party. It probably never is when the person of honor is physically absent and not able to add his persona to the occasion. Still, we did a pretty good job, I think. 

We had pepperoni pizza, which was Daniel's favorite while he was physically with us. He probably could have eaten a whole one by himself by now. What his favorite is now, I don't know but someday I'll find out.

We had cake, chocolate with chocolate frosting, and ice-cream, chocolate. We even had candles. 

We also sang Happy Birthday. It was pretty weak because I think most of us wanted to cry but we did it.

Last night when I made the cake, I probably could have salted it with my tears. And maybe some snot since our bodies make so much of it when we cry. Gross, you may think, but I swear while I was thinking it I could hear Daniel say, "Yeah, Mom, DO IT!" Maybe you have to know us well enough to understand our humor.

Anyway, this is the cake, with candles (they were, get this, in the FREEZER--go figure):

Here it is lit. We're going to have a forest fire soon, I tell you.

It was a group effort blowing out the blaze. 

And there you have it. I don't know what other families do, but this is one thing we will keep doing.

We love you, Daniel, from long ago in a galaxy far, far away to infinity and beyond.

King Buffet by Cedric

I hope to go to the Chinese King Buffet. I can't wait to go. We're going to go. I've gone before. Their raw squid is SO GOOD!!! My sister won't want to go. She'll throw up when she sees the squid.

Dwarf Hat

This is the pictorial journey of the making of a Dwarf Hat.

At the end of Day One.

At the end of Day Two.

Day Three.

Day Three again.

Day Three yet again.

Check back, day four is taken but not loaded to the computer yet. Day Five will hopefully see the completion of the 'hat' part and then we must add the BEARD.

End of Day Four.

Day Five. 

Another view of Day Five.

This is what I have for the ear/side flaps. I would either have the other one done or have this one taken out but I haven't been able to ask Nick what he thinks. Once I know, I will proceed.

The end of Day Six.

Another view of Day Six.

I needed somewhere to store the helmet while working on the beard. Since Stan's head was cold, I thought that would be as good a place as any.

This is the base for the beard.
Doesn't look like much at the moment.

So, the beard was Day Seven. After the base, there was much measuring and cutting of yarn. It was a good day for telling yarns.

This worked for the sides.

But for the middle, something more was needed.

Stan's face is still cold. For some reason, it seems to work better if there is a little more substance to the wearer's face.

And here we are at the end of Day Eight. All done--we just need a picture of the person wearing it.

Birthday Presents

Isn't this cute? Joseph made it for me for my birthday. He patterned it after some penguins he made at school.

An up close view of the guys on the back.

Another view.

And Amena gave me this puzzle. We finally put it together last weekend. I guess she did a report of some kind about the artist at school and really likes his drawings. I like this one. It even glows in the dark.

Worth Noting

Have you ever walked out of the theater after watching a movie and felt absolutely invincible? I can’t speak for everyone and say that everyone has but I know that I have and from talking to Laura, I know she has also. I’m guessing that others have felt that way as well. It is an interesting feeling; somewhat similar to how I felt when I was driving from our home in New Mexico to the hospital in Farmington when Amena was three days old. It is somewhat similar to how I feel after experiencing or witnessing a birth or a death. You want to shout out to the world to witness what you have just witnessed; to become a better person because of what has just happened.

In two days we will be at eighteen months since Daniel’s death. I do not know why I am feeling it so much now but I am. I want to stand up and shout to the world. “Look at my boy! Look at his life! Behold the wonderful example he was. Take note!” Surely Daniel is one of the Great Ones.

Realistically, I know that there have been many multitudes of people born into this world and about as many leave it through death. The whole world cannot stop to take note of each and every birth and each and every death because they both surround us. Birth and death are both fairly common, everyday occurrences. According to Wikipedia, which I realize isn’t the most accurate source in the world, there are on average 353,015 babies born each day. That is about 14,709 each hour or 245 each minute. A lot. It seems a bit harder to figure out how many die each day but the number appears to be over 150,000. That is more than 6,000 each hour or 104 each minute. A lot.

However, to each of us individually, physical birth happens but once and a final physical death occurs but once. Surely that is worth noting.

Real Life

You're sound asleep when you hear a thump outside your bedroom door. Half-awake, and nearly paralyzed with fear, you hear muffled whispers.

At least two people have broken into your house and are moving your way. With your heart pumping, you reach down beside your bed and pick up your shotgun. You rack a shell into the chamber, then inch toward the door and open it...

In the darkness, you make out two shadows. One holds something that looks like a crowbar.  When the intruder brandishes it as if to strike, you raise the shotgun and fire. The blast knocks both thugs to the floor. One writhes and screams while the second man crawls to the front door and lurches outside. As you pick up the telephone to call police, you know you're in trouble because in your country, most guns were outlawed years before, and the few that are privately owned are so stringently regulated as to make them useless. Yours was never registered. The Police arrive and inform you that the second burglar has died. They arrest you for First Degree Murder and Illegal Possession of a Firearm.

When you talk to your attorney, he tells you not to worry: authorities will probably plea the case down to manslaughter. "What kind of sentence will I get?" you ask. "Only ten-to-twelve years," he replies, as if that's nothing. "Behave yourself, and you'll be out in seven."

The next day, the shooting is the lead story in the local newspaper. Somehow, you're portrayed as an eccentric vigilante while the two men you shot are represented as choirboys. Their friends and relatives can't find an unkind word to say about them. Buried deep down in the article, authorities acknowledge that both "victims" have been arrested numerous times.

But the next day's headline says it all: "Lovable Rogue Son Didn't Deserve to Die." The thieves have been transformed from career criminals into Robin Hood-type pranksters. As the days wear on, the story takes wings. The national media picks it up, then the international media. The surviving burglar has become a folk hero. Your attorney says the thief is preparing to sue you, and he'll probably win. The media publishes reports that your home has been burglarized several times in the past and that you've been critical of local police for their lack of effort in apprehending the suspects. After the last break-in, you told your neighbor that you would be prepared next time. The District Attorney uses this to allege that you were lying in wait for the burglars.

A few months later, you go to trial. The charges haven't been reduced, as your lawyer had so confidently predicted. When you take the stand, your anger at the injustice of it all works against you. Prosecutors paint a picture of you as a mean, vengeful man. It doesn't take long for the jury to convict you of all charges.  The judge sentences you to life in prison.

This case really happened!

On August 22, 1999, Tony Martin of Emneth, Norfolk, England, killed one burglar and wounded a second.

In April, 2000, he was convicted and is now serving a life term.

How did it become a crime to defend one's own life in the once great British Empire? It started with the Pistols Act of 1903. This seemingly reasonable law forbade selling pistols to minors or felons and established that handgun sales were to be made only to those who had a license.

The Firearms Act of 1920 expanded licensing to include not only handguns but all firearms except shotguns. Later laws passed in 1953 and 1967 outlawed the carrying of any weapon by private citizens and mandated the registration of all shotguns. Momentum for total handgun confiscation began in earnest after the Hungerford mass shooting in 1987. Michael Ryan, a mentally disturbed man with a Kalashnikov rifle, walked down the street shooting everyone he saw. When the smoke cleared, 17 people were dead. The British public, already de-sensitized by eighty years of "gun control," demanded even tougher restrictions. (The seizure of all privately owned handguns was the objective even though Ryan used a rifle.)

Nine years later, at Dunblane, Scotland, Thomas Hamilton used a semi-automatic weapon to murder 16 children and a teacher at a public school.

For many years, the media had portrayed all gun owners as mentally unstable, or worse, criminals. Now the press had a real kook with which to beat up law-abiding gun owners.

Day after day, week after week, the media gave up all pretense of objectivity and demanded a total ban on all handguns. The Dunblane Inquiry, a few months later, sealed the fate of the few side arms still owned by private citizens.

During the years in which the British government incrementally took away most gun rights, the notion that a citizen had the right to armed self-defense came to be seen as vigilantism. Authorities refused to grant gun licenses to people who were threatened, claiming that self-defense was no longer considered a reason to own a gun. Citizens who shot burglars or robbers or rapists were charged while the real criminals were released.

Indeed, after the Martin shooting, a police spokesman was quoted as saying, "We cannot have people take the law into their own hands."

By the way all of Tony Martin's neighbors have been robbed numerous times, and several elderly people were severely injured in beatings by young thugs who had no fear of the consequences. Martin himself, a collector of antiques, had seen most of his collection trashed or stolen by burglars.

When the Dunblane Inquiry ended, citizens who owned handguns were given three months to turn them over to local authorities. Being good British subjects, most people obeyed the law. The few who didn't were visited by police and threatened with ten-year prison sentences if they didn't comply. Police later bragged that they'd taken nearly 200,000 handguns from private citizens.

How did the authorities know who had handguns? The guns had been registered and licensed.

Kind of like cars. Sound familiar?

WAKE UP AMERICA!

THIS IS WHY OUR FOUNDING FATHERS PUT THE SECOND AMENDMENT IN OUR CONSTITUTION.

"...It does not require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires in people's minds…”

--Samuel Adams