Helmet Hair.

Mr. M & I have a new word in our vocabulary, and Little Mister is sporting a new accessory.

The word is plagiocephaly. There's a big technical definition I could quote you, but in plain English, it basically means that Little Mister's head isn't symmetrical. Since birth, he's had a flat spot on the back of his head from his breech intrauterine positioning. (His head was wedged up under my ribs, and it didn't allow his head to fully round out.)

For months now, the doctor has been keeping a careful eye on it, and even though it's rounded out quite a bit from where it started, the progress just wasn't complete enough. Two weeks ago, we went in for a neurological consult, and the specialist agreed--Little Mister would need to wear a special cranial molding helmet.

The helmet doesn't "push" his head into shape using force. Rather, it applies static pressure to the areas of his head that are already filled out, which encourages growth toward to the areas that need to fill out--i.e., the flat spot.

Given that his plagiocephaly is only moderate, he should only have to wear the helmet for three to five months. This first week is (thankfully) the gradual "getting used to the helmet" week, where he only wears it an hour or two at a time, with the sessions getting incrementally longer each day. At the end of the week, he'll begin wearing it 23 hours a day. We're hoping he'll be out of it before his first birthday, but if not--no biggie. We're just taking it a day at a time.

Of course we're kind of biased, but we think he looks pretty cute in his new helmet--helmet hair and all.

Mennonite in a Little Black Dress

Brief note: In a previous life, before marriage and kids, I was an English major. It seemed a good idea at the time to major in something I loved rather than something that would provide, oh, stable and profitable employment opportunities.

My love of literature only grew during my years of study; I devoured books and savored the opportunity to write and to create. So now, in my spare and stolen moments, I read. And when I'm truly blessed, I take a few moments to jot down my thoughts.

So every once in a while, I'll probably feature a brief review of some of my latest reading here on our blog--just for old time's sake.

Mennonite in a Little Black Dress (A Memoir of Going Home), by Rhoda Janzen.

So much has already been written about this little gem that pretty much anything I would add would just be redundant. But I do want to quickly summarize the book and scribble down my reflection on the book as a whole.

As the title points out, this is a memoir written by a one-time Mennonite, after her marriage of 15 years has fallen apart and as she is recovering from a debilitating automobile accident. Having no one to help her at home, she spends her recovery with her parents back in the Mennonite community of her childhood.

The book (humorously and achingly in turns) guides the reader through her life from childhood to the present--her Mennonite roots, her failed marriage, her life as a secular academic--and it's written cathartically, as she struggles to heal, emotionally and physically.

Her wry and intensely clever writing creates the literary equivalent of a talented stand-up comedian, who keeps your sides aching for over 200 pages, and yet laughter turned to tears as I grieved with her and her heartache. In the last half of the book, she turns introspective, struggling to understand faith and virtue as they relate to Christianity and to the greater religious experience. Even in introspection, though, her writing maintains its lighthearted vibe. And while no one is safe from her humorous revelations, not even her own mother, she writes with a loving and respectful attitude, which I found honest and refreshing.

Although I disagree with some of her conclusions, specifically as they pertain to my view of truth and Christianity, I wholeheartedly believe her memoir is more than worth the several hours it takes to read. It's a beautiful, almost poetic, exploration of life, love, loss, and finding out all over again what really matters.

The oldsters were singing and smiling and shivering in the breeze that had picked up, heavy now with the scent of lavender. Harmony rose like a prayer in the cool of the late afternoon, and the music was gentle as a hand on the small of my back, nudging me forward--the sound of my heritage, my future.

It's called being resourceful.

When it approaches mid-July in Texas, it's hot--really hot. Blisteringly hot. Too hot to take a baby outside to play between the hours of 11 & 4 for more than a few minutes at a time. So what's a mommy with cabin-fever supposed to do with a very active eight month-old?

That's the problem I faced yesterdayafternoon. Going to a park was out of the question, and Little Mister is really too young to appreciate any of the air-conditioned museums in the area. We could have gone to the pool, but frankly, I didn't have the energy--yes, I admit--sometimes I'm lazy.

So I gathered up all the "free" pillows lying around the house--a lot of our pillows have been repurposed as baby-proofing-barriers (see exhibit A), so our stash was somewhat limited.

(Exhibit A)

Oh, and did I mention we're getting ready to move? That's why there are boxes everywhere and why my living room looks like a war zone.

So anyway, after the pillows were all gathered, I dumped them in the floor and created a pillow pile. The concept is simple: a pile of pillows is soft--soft enough to fall on, roll around on, and attack mommy on.

It's safe to say this simple, cheap, and resourceful afternoon activity was a hit.

Oh, and then there's always the trusty cardboard box, which has entertained toddlers since its creation.

It's called being resourceful. It's called being a mom.

Coffee Mug Genius

Our blog title was inspired by a quote on a coffee mug I received several years ago--"Live imperfectly with great delight." The other side says, "Life is tough. I recommend getting a manicure and a really cute helmet." While that might be good advice, it was the first phrase that stuck with me.

Life isn't perfect. Real life--marriage, parenthood, friendships--is messy. It's hard. It's saying "I'm sorry" and "I love you" and "It's your turn to change the poopy diaper." It's laughing when you want to scream and sticking it out when you want to leave. It's beautiful despite its imperfections.

The Family "M" has been through a lot of changes since its inauguration three years ago, and we will only continue to change and grow. Living life one day at a time helps keep things in perspective. There's joy in the journey.

Since I shut down my previous public blog (that I started as a college student), I'd been itching to start a new project to reflect my new stage of life. Today, I bit the bullet. Welcome to the family.