My Bouche Was NOT Amused

Have you ever been to a nice French restaurant, been seated, and then been left completely alone for half an hour?

Have you ever, once your actual presence in said restaurant was acknowledged, been provided with a tiny shot glass of gazpacho, then had to wait ten to fifteen minutes between each of the following: water, a small roll and butter, and then a menu?

Have you ever had to wait twenty minutes after receiving your menu to have someone take your order? (From a menu which had a total of seven items on it: two starters, three main dishes and two desserts)

Have you then had to wait a further thirty minutes to receive your starter? (Which could either have been French onion soup or a small slice of foie gras with greens and cornbread, neither of which required any immediate cooking, just plating)

Have you ever had to wait for all of these things and ask a server three times for water, with absolutely no results?

Have you ever dined at a restaurant where the serving staff never once asked you how your meal was, or if you needed anything?

Have you ever sat listening to other diners in the restaurant complain about how long their meal was taking?

Have you ever seen you extremely non-confrontational mom accost the server, explain in kind but firm tones that you had been in this restaurant for two hours, and had just finished your starters, and that your party included a starving pregnant woman and a woman who wasn't feeling well, and that your party either needed to get the rest of the meal now, or it needed to leave now?

Have you ever had a server tell you he would check on the status of your main course, and then never come back?

(You're still waiting for your water glasses to be refilled.)

Have you ever walked out of a restaurant after spending two and a half hours waiting for your meal, after explaining to the head waiter that while he might have two of your party's three main courses in his hands, unfortunately, after waiting so long to eat, none of you were hungry anymore and that you didn't even want to see the rest of your meal, let alone have it boxed up to take home?

Have you ever been told after all of this that you would not be required to pay for a meal which would have cost $50 per person ($81 per person with wine) and told the head waiter basically "Dang skippy I'm not paying!"?

Well, my mom and sister and I have, at a restaurant called Amuse Bouche in Simi Valley, just this last Friday. It was the first time I have ever walked out of a restaurant without eating or paying. It was the worst dining experience of my life, and at least I got to share it with two women who share my sense of humor and the ridiculous.

I had a Payday for dinner that night, and it only took me two minutes to eat. It was delicious.

Greer vs. Jaws

Lately Greer has taken to telling me stories that begin with "When I was a baby..." I can only assume this has been brought on by the impending arrival of Sleeping Beauty/Prince Phillip. (Incidentally, I have begun acclimating Greer to the idea that I am pretty sure this baby is a boy, and that she shouldn't be sad if it is. Granted, I will not know for sure till January, but I knew almost immediately with the first two.)

Anyway, today we were driving home from Target, and she began to spin yet another yarn. I love hearing about her exploits from when she was a baby. Apparently she was endowed with baby super-powers, because she performed acts that no infant on earth has ever had the capability to accomplish.

Today, however, took the cake.

"Mom, when I was a baby, I went swimming in our ocean at our beach and I got eaten by a shark."

Really. Apparently Baby Greer had amazing self-restorative powers as well, because I have never seen a single scar from her encounter with Jaws, nor does she display any lingering mental trauma or post-traumatic stress issues.

I wish I could crawl inside her brain for a day and see her as she sees herself. I remember how I saw myself when I was three (yes, I actually do), and I imagine it was pretty similar. And I was a pretty important person in my own mind, let me tell you.

Good thing Greer's pretty important in my mind, too.

Just FYI...

If you used to be on my blogroll, and suddenly aren't anymore, it's because Blogger says you haven't updated your blog in over five months. It was making me sad to see all those names with no new updates, so I cleaned house a little.

Nothing personal, really. I just assumed you'd left your blog to become involved in a passionate facebook addiction. If I have removed you in error, and you are still blogging, PLEASE let me know and I will add you back to my list!

First

Yesterday was our first ultrasound, where we found out that we are having only one baby. Not that we were hoping for more than one, or had any reason to expect more than one, but you never know. We can breathe easier in our two bedroom house now.

Well, Justin can breathe easier. I have had severe pain under the right side of my ribcage since Friday and two weeks ago for a few days, which makes it very difficult to breathe at all, actually. I figured it was just some really unpleasant new part of pregnancy, but apparently not. My OB/GYN said she thought it was gallstones, or gallbladder disease. Lovely. She also said they strongly prefer to do a colicystectomy in the second trimester, which for me is in three weeks. Even lovelier. I have an ultrasound tomorrow to confirm, and maybe, hopefully, it's something else, something much easier to get rid of. I miss being able to fully expand my lungs, and I like being able to sleep for more than an hour at a time. I'm odd that way.

Justin and I have names pretty much picked out, and so does Greer, but we thought we would apply to the blogosphere for names, just to see what comes up. Remember our existing children have slightly weird names, and we like to coordinate.

What do you think Hambly Baby #3 should be named?

Dancing King

Greer had her second dance class today. I tried to video it, but sadly, the battery was running down and I only got a few minutes of her tapping. We'll try again next week. She is adorable and not at all light-footed and she loves her dance box and her leotards and the gummy bear she gets after each class.

Greer and her darling self are not the reason for this post.

The first week we walked into the studio, got Greer's tap shoes on and sent her forth to dance. There were 8 little girls in her class. Well, I assumed they were all girls. I have, after all, only lived in Santa Cruz for four years. It soon became clear to me that one of these girls was not like the others. The only, and I repeat, ONLY, way I knew this was because the mother of the non-girl was talking about her son, right behind me. This boy was wearing a black leotard, black shorts (which I had initially thought were a skirt), black tights, girl tap shoes, and a long chain with a locket or cameo-type pendant around his neck. He had long, curling hair, in a bob style. I regret that I snapped no photos of him. I will endeavor to procure one at next week's class.

Now, the reason I write about this hapless little boy is that I feel like he is a victim. Not because he is taking a tap and ballet class. I have no issue with that, if it's what he wants to do. I strongly object to making little boys look like little girls. I know it's cool right now for boys to let their hair grow out, and this is fine. Not my favorite thing, because I have a hard time with the sloppiness of the look, but still, fine. I know there probably isn't a whole lot of dancewear available for the preschool male tap/ballet dancer.

I know all of these things, and still, when I look at this child and his overwhelmingly hippie by way of New Age-Rastafarian mother, I feel like it goes deeper than just those things. The poor kid is wearing a necklace, for crying out loud! His name, apparently, is Rossiel, (which, she expounded last week, she named him because in Hebrew, names that end in -iel, are archangelic, like Gabriel or Uriel) for crying out even louder!

I guess I have this conservative and old-fashioned view that as parents, we need to provide as strong a foundation and start in life as we possibly can for our kids, to help them know who they are. And I hate this new idea that seems to be coming over the world that gender-confusion in early childhood doesn't have any effect on the child. It's as if people are afraid to parent, to give their kids a little send-off down the road of life by saying ok, you're a boy, you're going to play this part. Maybe this happens more where I live than other places, I don't know. I can't imagine it in Utah, somehow.

I guess it comes down to this: if you're going to put him in dance, that's great, but let him be a BOY. Give him some way to identify himself, to anchor himself. I think if Declan was taking a dance class, I'd do what I could to make him look boyish. Like a Metallica t-shirt, or something similarly unambiguous. I'd cut his hair so that the other parents wouldn't sincerely think he was a girl. I certainly wouldn't force the boy into tights.

I'm sure I've offended someone with my rant, and I don't mean to be offensive. I just hate laissez-faire parenting. And I can't get around the fact that boys are boys and girls are girls, and they have specific roles in life and society that are not only important, but necessary for society to function at an optimal level. Which society sure isn't doing now.

Poor Rossiel. I turned him into a social commentary. He's probably just a nice kid whose mom likes long hair on little boys and couldn't find any boy tap shoes in his size.

The Tale of the Fortune Cookie That Answered My Prayers

Right about the year-mark of our recent attempts to coax Baby #3 to join our family, Justin and I went to the temple. (Please go here to learn about why Mormons go to the temple. It's just too much to type here.)I made it a goal that while there, I would make a special effort to peel back the frustration, the desperation and the irritation I had been feeling about the situation. (That was a lot of -ations.) I had come to the point where all I wanted was a confirmation that our efforts were indeed going to bear fruit someday.

So all through the temple session, I sat and really concentrated and made a special effort to hear any whisperings, any promptings, any shoves in the bum that the Lord might send my way. (Since we started trying to have #3, I have felt very calm about the whole thing, even when it took far longer than I wanted it to. I think my motivation on this particular evening was the idea that maybe I was trying to do things my way and not the Lord's, and I needed to know if I was indeed going the right direction. Anyway...) Towards the end of our time in that beautiful, peaceful place that night, I felt deep down I had received an answer that came from something other than my own very stubborn self. And it was an answer I liked. I could go on with this knowledge in my heart.

After leaving the temple we went to dinner with some friends at PF Chang's in Fremont. After dinner, we were of course given fortune cookies. This was my fortune:

I thought that was a coincidence after the focus of my thoughts and prayers that night, and I found myself putting the fortune in my wallet.

That was June 12. On September 16, almost exactly three months from that date, I found out that I am indeed pregnant, and our prayers had been answered.

I realize the fortune cookie could be seen as a complete coincidence. Anyone else at our table, or in the whole restaurant could have been given that cookie, and maybe it would have been significant and maybe not. But I also think that a loving Father in Heaven saw into my heart and gave me an answer from a most unexpected quarter. I take my inspiration where I can get it, and sometimes coincidence is a miracle we are unwilling to acknowledge, or don't have strong enough faith to accept.

Silly and insignificant and cliche as this was, it gave me the strength and the faith to persevere toward my goal, and it strengthened my conviction that there is Someone up there, and He loves us more than we can ever know. He just has a bigger picture and a broader timetable.

Incidentally, I think I understand a little about the Lord's timing in this situation. In a ward where new babies are few and far between, two other women are pregnant and due within 6 weeks of me. We were all in the Primary presidency together, so a word to the wise: Avoid Primary in the Aptos Ward if you're not prepared to have a baby. It will be comforting to have these babies and eventually, kids and teenagers who are the same age as our third child, in an area where the Church is small and the spiritual and moral compass is sadly lacking.

I know our prayers are heard, and I know they're answered, and I know they are always answered in a way that is the best for us, whether or not we recognize it at the time. I certainly didn't recognize it at the time, but I do now.

My Son is Absolutely the Coolest Kid Ever...

and here's why:

We were driving to a dental appointment this afternoon, reminiscing about my cousin's wedding, at which Declan cut a serious rug. He talked about how much he had enjoyed dancing the entire time at the reception, and then he threw out the best all-time kid quote ever.

Declan: Mom, I've never wanted to be a just a regular kid. I've always wanted to be Hollywood's next big dancer. It's my dream.

To which I replied with stunned silence and painfully stifled yet adoring laughter.