Not Quite the Trip I Had in Mind...

A couple of months ago, Scott told me I needed to get the girls out of his hair so he could tackle remodeling the bathroom.

Ahem. Finishing the remodeling that started a year ago. Possibly two. With things like this, it's best for the marriage if I don't really keep track. (For the record, he is even more kind. He never keeps track of how much laundry or cleaning he does. That's how I know I married up.)

So, I pack up the girls and our clothes and a bunch of car snacks and prepare to go see Memaw and Poppa. It's only a 1o or 12 hour drive. And I so have never done anything remotely like this. But whatev.

Just before leaving, Scott asks me to drive him to his work truck, which was parked in Springville. So he hops in the car too, and I figure we'll just say our goodbyes in a couple of miles when I drop him off.

And that's when the coolest thing ever happened. A surprise vacation. That sweet man got a week off work, had made crazy intense arrangements, extra packing, purchased necessary foodstuffs (Larabar, how I love thee) and managed to have absolutely everyone in on the secret. And we were heading down together. To go to Disneyland. Well, and other places. But what else matters? Disneyland is everything.

P.S. Surprise vacations rock.

Waiting for a show at Sea World. Which was totally created by tired parents who just wanted to sit down for 30 minutes and recover.

When we went last February, we found this awesome Indiana Jones hat and decided to pimp it out with ears. I'm crazy about it. So is he. (Scott. Indiana Jones is busy.)

Check out that castle!

Waiting for Small World

All decked out for Halloween!

The girls' hats are simple and matching. No frills. I think it's actually their vintage style circa maybe 1960s? I love seeing them!

Holding his girls. Or at least the little ones.

I think we all know how cute this is.

Betsy feeding the goat.

Avie shows warranted caution about the sheep.

Oh, let's NEVER do that again.

When the girls were sent home from the ER on April 5, I thought it meant everything must be more or less okay. By that evening, my natropath took one look at them and insisted we travel immediately to Primary Children's Hospital. Even though we'd pass easily half a dozen other hospitals on our way, he said that's where they'd need to be. He was right.

Within an hour of our arrival, Avie was sedated and intubated, then wheeled up to a crib in room 2325 of the pediatric intensive care unit. I pumped every 3-5 hours, slept either by her side or in the hospital's PICU parent dorms, survived on snacks in the PICU nutrition room, and rushed between the third floor and the second as I tried to keep up with both girls' needs. (And just because a child is in a state of chemically induced sedation does not mean she doesn't need her Momma!)

She maintained her looooooong nap for a week, during which time her nurses dolled her up with cute accessories (blankets and bows.) Only in retrospect can I talk about an event as traumatic as intubation with any cheery words like accessories and long naps. I have never been so busy, so sleep deprived, so full of we-will-do-this-thing-drive. I watched Avie's PIP and PEEP numbers incessantly, monitored each breath with her machines, sobbed when the PEEP went up and tried not to get too elated when it went down. You just couldn't trust that it would stay down. One would think there's nothing like losing your power, your role, your duties as a parent, and handing them over to a nurse.

And they would be right. But during that intubation, it was I who spoke to her. And miraculously, she heard me. Then she spoke to me, and I heard her. And that dialogue is a mother's job more than anything else. We kept each other going. She learned things in that PICU, things about truth and light and discernment. And me! I did too! Truth is truth, so there's no point in getting yourself in a dither if you know everything will be all right in the end. You just might have to remind yourself of that fact from moment to anguishing moment.

When they extubated her, the joy I felt was almost like giving birth again. Seeing those eyes -- open, aware, and anxiously looking for me -- I was Momma again! It would be my hands changing her diapers, my arms holding her, my breasts feeding her, and once again my shirt sleeves stained with baby food. Hallelujah!

Betsy was taken to the children's ward, where she would spend the next 6 days watching every Disney movie known to man, rejecting disgusting hospital food (except ice cream) every few hours, and coloring, coloring, coloring. And screaming every time the nurses came for her albuteral treatment. She's a Daddy's girl, and Avie can't live without her Momma, so I'm afraid I didn't get to spend much time with Betsy to begin with. Only when Avie was in a pretty stable place, and Daddy was back at work, did I really venture down to Betsy's room with short trips to the PICU instead of the other way around.

Betsy's trip ended up being a week, and Avie's was 11 days, 8 of which were in the PICU. I'm still decompressing and trying to learn all the lessons I believe I can from this experience. Primary Children's was the perfect place. Our nurses were the kind that were truly called to their profession. What a blessing it was to be in such nurturing, capable, skilled hands.

No, not dead. Not even maimed.

Yes, yes, yes. We're still alive. If this blog is pretty much your only source of Shea news, you're in sorry shape. (That is why I own a phone. Blogs are all about time wasting.)

I hardly know where to begin. Scott began his real-life career more than a little while back -- when Avie was just a few weeks old. That's right, he's a real-life transportation engineer! He loves driving his sporty, brand new work truck around, and gets a special thrill as he throws on his emergency lights and drives "off road" to observe construction progress. I can't say I'm thrilled we worked so hard to get a master's degree just so he can wear a steel-toed boots and a hard hat, but he assures me it's a white hard hat. That means he's a white-collar worker, he says. It's a pretty good life for a man's man, and I know more about transportation engineering than I ever thought I'd care to.

He's actually still working at the Home Depot. This means he's spent the last 8 months usually working at least 60 hours a week, and often tops off a little over 70. It's pretty painful, I won't lie. I always knew I married an optimistic man -- someone's got to balance me out, right? -- but I really don't know how he does it. He spent much of the year leaving at 6 am and not arriving home until 10 pm. We get this little half-hour window to throw food at his face before he takes off for the Depot, and he is positively lively. Energetic beyond reason. So, apparently, when I said it was painful, I meant for me.


I really miss adults. In the absence of real conversations with people my height, I've had time to perfect the art of preparing homemade broth, cultured vegetables, and other forays into healthy cooking. Then there's sugar-free living, cloth diapering, and Book of Mormon storytelling. Not so much decluttering, but I keep trying. At any rate, I've cut down on my bon-bon eating considerably.

Avie is getting big. Well, older. Big might not describe her for quite a while yet. She is our delight, and I just don't know how I'll ever cope with her growing up on me. The first year of a child's life is simultaneously the quickest and the slowest of a parent's life, meaning some days do feel really long; some night do feel endless; every month does feel like a blink. She is a dream. She radiates the sweetest smile and giggle and happily shares it with the world. That little soul is the embodiment of contentment, and considering what a tough time we had with her pregnancy, I consider it a special gift from a loving Father in Heaven. Like a small assurance that he took care of her when, for all my efforts, I couldn't.


Betsy is our singer, our reader, our cook, and our singer. She is thoroughly two-and-a-half; always unexpected. Usually, it's a delightful kind of unexpectedness that creeps from her mouth. Sometimes it's an unexpected misery with considerable volume. Some of our most recent surprises include these:

(Betsy) "N-O, N-O, N-O, N-O..."
(Momma) "What are you spelling, honey?
(Betsy) "Daddy."

(Momma) "King Noah did not go to church. He didn't share. He didn't believe in Heavenly Father."
(Betsy) "Him need a time out."

...Well, I'd love to wait and post once I can find pictures on our old computer's hard drive (buried somewhere in the depths of our new computer) but I'm just not that handy. I really do set a new year's goal to write in here more often, and get back in the habit of reading the blogs of those I love so hopefully you'll see more of me on here in the future. Assuming there's anyone left who reads this. (Let me know you're out there, won't you?)

My Break Today

4 minutes 29 seconds that will leave you laughing for the next 24 hours.

As Told In FB Status Updates

Perhaps I will finish her baby blanket before Avie goes to college. Assuming I ever get a working sewing machine.

Wore long pants on Memorial Day. In Utah. What the heck?!?

Whenever Betsy gets a time-out she now insists on "loves and kisses." I cannot fathom that someday when she's in trouble all she'll want is a quick retort.

Collard Greens: Nobody cooks 'em, 'cause nobody eats 'em.

Avie does NOT need any more blankets or silkies draped over her head. Thank you, Betsy.

Watching the video monitor while Betsy pretends to sleep. Why is she repeatedly telling herself she has a stomachache (a word I've never heard her use) and why is it being said so cheerfully?

Organized Betsy's dresser. Or one drawer thereof. Is that enough to call it a productive day?

Avie will take only one kind of pacifier: the kind we lost. Go us.

Are there any diet plans out there that mandate living off of Cheerios? I could do that.

Singing "The Memaws on the Bus" is getting a little old, yo.

Dinner, make thyself.

How long should baby acne stay around for? And how do I avoid ending this sentence with the word "for" without sounding uppity?

Betsy can now open the bathroom door. Goodbye, privacy.

I liked it better when Betsy's toys were her toys, instead of my cooking, cleaning, sewing, and organizing supplies being her toys.

I heart baby belches.

I think it has finally hit me that Scott has a real job. Too bad it's taken NEVER SEEING HIM to hit the point home.

Betsy just "taco"-ed her baby doll. Man, that was cute.

Betsy and I just watched our first movie together: the old R&H Cinderella with Lesley Ann Warren. She loved it. I loved that she loved it.

Definitively, there is nothing more delightful than the way baby feet stay scrunched in so close to the body.

It doesn't matter how delightful the day has been; bedtime seldom comes too soon.

Having two kids means a bit less time with your spouse than before. But the moments, now scarcer, are more treasured, more intimate, more sacred.

Hmmm. I think Avie is a pacifier baby. I've never had one of those before.

Drumroll please: Gospel Doctrine teachers... for the third time in our marriage.

Scott worked 70 hours this week. Hopefully someone will re-introduce us on his next day off. (Which, I think, is the Sunday after next.)

Baby Avie

It's a Saturday night and Scott is getting anxious. He'd like his wife back, and I have every intention of complying. Just ...not yet. I've been wanting to post these pictures all afternoon. The house is finally quiet -- me typing away and the baby rocker are the only sounds to be heard -- and I'm not going to give up the opportunity.

Avie has become a super-smiley baby -- like, looks you straight-in-the-eyes-and-smiles kind of baby. I have a hard time believing it's all accidental, you know? Whether they are or not, dang the sweet little expressions she gives are priceless.

A Happy Family: Welcome Avielle!

She's here! In all her tiny IUGR glory, our little girl has arrived! Determining her status as a high-risk baby and the ultrasounds, NSTs, prayers, fasts, and eventual induction that followed afterward is probably another post for another day. It can be summed up by saying we assumed she was already an awful lot like her mother -- maybe a bit high maintenance?

Turns out she's just as delightful and easygoing as a babe can be! Although, she's only a week old today, so I could be jumping the gun. Nothing like posting a sentence like that to jinx things, eh?

After endless deliberations, we chose the name Avielle just a few days before her arrival. I can't say why, but this time around it felt very important to have it mean just the right thing. There were names I fell head over heels for, but we just couldn't do it -- the meaning was too dorky. Like Charlotte (a feminine version of Charles, which means "full grown, a man") or Cecelia (a feminine version of Cecil, which means "blind, dim-sighted"). It just wasn't working. We came across Avielle, and I knew the meaning was perfect. It's Hebrew (note the -iel and -el endings all over the OT: Israel, Michael, Ezekiel, Daniel, etc.) and translates as "God is my father."

I'm not crazy about the fact that this name is 100% obscure, but it is who my girl is. It fits. Also in its favor is that it ends -elle, just like mine. That's kind of nice, right? I think so.

Betsy is utterly entranced by her sister. Although it might seem redundant, I wanted to list all the cute little things Betsy has said about Avielle. (And whenever she starts in on one of these, it gets repeated about 10 times before she allows the dialogue to move on.) "I love her. I love that baby Avie!" "I love love you." "Baby Avie is so cute!" "I like you, baby Avie!" "I love my baby Avie's head" She adores giving hugs and kisses and holding Avie, holding her fingers and talking about how tiny they are, can say Avie's full name (Avielle Hope Shea) and is generally her ridiculously cute self.

But the sweetest of all our new-family moments is when Betsy tries to wrap us all up in a giant group hug whilst declaring , "We are a happy family! A happy family!" This is often followed up by a round of repeating"I love us," or "I love you, Momma; I love you Daddy; I love you baby Avie!" or some other sweet little statement of affection. It is precious, and while I'm not naieve enough to think it will be this way every day, I'm optimistic enough to hope they will always cherish each other.

Oh -- and no worries about Avielle's health. She weighed in at 5 lbs. 4 oz. and was an absolute trooper during birthing. Her heart rate never dropped, and she arrived in record time. She was thoroughly examined in the nursery and only given an IV for saline to thin out her red blood cell count. She's putting on weight well, nursing quite nicely, and snuggles up into such a tiny little soul I could happily nap the day away with her on my chest. Apart from her time with the biliblanket at home, nothing would ever clue you in to any complications.

I am so grateful to my midwives, whose incredible care of Avie and me made a difficult situation so much easier. They were patient beyond patient, and truly inspired. I'd also have totally lost it without my doula; okay, maybe I lost it anyway. I am now just trying to figure out how to show them my appreciation. I think chocolate is always applicable in situations like these, don't you?