A Conversation with Roxanna

My delightful and precocious daughter, Roxanna, recently turned six. I adore Roxanna. She doesn’t have much of an internal censor. There are no red lights or even a yield sign between her thoughts and her voice. I used to think it was strictly her age, and that is why she did things like tell complete strangers that they “smelled like rice pudding.” (We’re still not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment. Neither was the person she said it to.)

The other day I was sitting on the couch reading, and Roxanna climbed up next to me. It was uncommonly quiet as the other kids were playing in the backyard. Roxanna picked up my right hand and started playing with my fingers. She seemed content to just be sitting by her dad. I watched her and loved this quiet moment. It was almost emotional.

“Roxanna,” I said, trying not to interrupt the moment. “Will we always be friends?”

“Yes,” she answered, without looking up from my hand.

“What about when you’re 16?” I asked, thinking about the teenage-daughter/father dynamic.

“DAD!” she responded, laughing as if I’d made a “pull-my-finger” joke, and then quietly going back to concentrate on my hand, calmly said, “When I’m 16 you won’t be alive anymore.”

“I won’t?! That’s only in ten years, sweetheart.”

“Well… You’ll be a grandpa for sure by then.”

Evidently in addition to missing a censor, her internal clock is busted. Although I suppose 16 is an entire lifetime away for a 6 year old. It’s two and half times the short amount of living they’ve done. To her it seems like she will never be 16. For me, it breaks my heart how quickly she will be.

But by then, I should have my new product out: Eau Rice Pudding Cologne for Men.

The Craig Bunch: Our Christmas Card

THE CRAIG BUNCH Episode Guide for Season 13

This is brief listing of some of the episodes from 2008.  Each is a mix of hectic and calm, laughter and tears, desperation and inspiration.  And of course, every episode teaches a very valuable lesson!

The Florida Episode: The Craigs fly across the continental United States to Florida and pack in as much Disney, seashore, and scenic alligator sightings as they can. Take Home Message: Family togetherness is important. Cramming three different amusement parks into three consecutive days? Less important. Spread it out, folks.

The Child Development Episode: Garren (age 9) plays club baseball, involving many weekend trips up to St. George. Connor (age 7) can usually get out of trouble by saying something funny. Roxanna (age 5) has no filter and says whatever comes to her mind. Take Home Message: Garren won’t be playing club baseball anymore, Connor will continue to work on new material, and the family agrees that Roxanna’s comment “You smell like rice pudding” must be a compliment.

The Theatrical Episode: The entire Craig Family performs in the Stake Play: A musical review called “We Go Together.” Their ditty? As 7-month pregnant Katie belts out the Oklahoma classic, “I’m Just a Girl Who Cain’t Say No”, Ken and the kids dance around on stage.  Tanner (age 2) steals the show as he shakes what his momma gave him.  Take Home Message: What’s a stake play without a little harmless innuendo?

The Birth Episode: (Originally aired during "Sweeps," of course.) Katie delivers 10-pound Rebecca Craig…at home…unassisted by anyone but Ken.  Take Home Message: Immediately calling your midwife when you are in labor is important. So is keeping a clean guest bathroom. We’re just sayin’.

The Church Service Episode: Ken completes his first year as The Ward Bishop and loves the members of the Elk Ridge Ward. Take Home Message: Sometimes bishops are forced to feign amusement each time someone comments on his rapidly graying hair. Bishops have feelings too.

The Family Reunion Episode: The Craigs join The Entire Craig Family and then the Fillmore Family for a summer of family reunions in Utah. Take Home Message: During the summer months, the Craigs will leave Las Vegas at the drop of a hat.

The Bakery Episode: Abbie (age 11) starts her own bakery business out of our home, supplying a variety of homemade breads to a burgeoning clientele list. Take Home Message: Man cannot live on bread alone…unless it is Abbie’s homemade bread, because then, yes you can, people. Yes you can.

The Music Episode: The Craig kids are tapped as musical prodigies as they masterfully play the piano, trumpet, flute, drums, and cowbell. Take Home Message: The kids take after their mom. Dad is useless unless you are interested in “music appreciation.”

The Holiday Special: Katie directs a group of home schoolers in a Christmas play and produces it at a homeless shelter and two retirement homes. Take Home Message: Putting 30 kids in costumes on a stage is entertainment, no matter what happens. Everybody loves them.

The Christmas Episode: After surviving the biggest Las Vegas snowfall since 1979, the Craigs take time to express all their love and gratitude to their family and friends. Take Home Message: They recognize how truly, truly blessed they are to know such wonderful people and such wonderful doctrine as the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Merry Christmas from The Craig Bunch!

With An Eye on the Future

Apart from my insistence that there be at least one carton of ice cream in the freezer at all times, I don’t ever really take the occasion to spoil myself. Not even in the world of technology, which is perpetually producing gadgets in which I am most intrigued. Alas, I don’t own an iPod, a plasma TV, or a cell phone that takes pictures, browses the Internet, or performs lipo after a heavy meal. But this year, for my birthday, I spoiled myself.

About a year ago I decided to start putting aside some money for laser eye surgery. I am slightly nearsighted, and my vision isn’t so awful that I need to constantly wear glasses, but it is bad enough that I need to always have them with me, just in case somebody says, “Hey, that guy 15 to 20 feet in front of you is pointing a gun at you;” thus, giving me time to take my glasses out of my pocket and observe said gun-toting man. Imagine my embarrassment if I never noticed and actually walked into the guy! (You can see already my dire need for laser eye surgery. It was becoming a matter of life and death, people!)

I had seen many promotional ads throughout the valley for laser eye surgery, with prices ranging from the thousands to one place that offered a free Justin Timberlake CD with each surgery. (“Help Justin bring sexy back, with a new pair of eyes!”) I finally decided on one particular eye surgery center, and it was my surgery center of choice for one simple reason: They seemed like they were from the future. So advanced are they, that their slogan genuinely reads, “Where tomorrow’s technology is here today!”

When I walked into the fancy waiting room, I felt like I was in the future. (Like, 2010, at least.) (And you won’t believe this, but The View is still on in 2010, playing on waiting room televisions all across the nation.) The décor was futuristic, and even their speech seemed slightly futuristic. I was expecting a robot to bring me some sort of mango-colored liquid refreshment while I sat in the waiting room perusing an eye surgery menu that included such options as x-ray vision and digital zoom, and watching a still-very-butch Rosie O’Donnell.

After a consultation where they ran several tests to determine if I was a “good candidate” for laser eye surgery (“good candidate” = “willing to pay”), we set up an appointment for the procedure. And that procedure took place last Wednesday afternoon.

The Lasik center makes it perfectly clear that you need to bring somebody else with you to the procedure, as you will not be able to drive yourself home. So I went by the house to pick up Katie and say goodbye to the kids. I have never had surgery, and although this was supposed to be no big whoop, as far as surgery goes, my mind started to wonder.

Katie asked me to read a book to Roxanna and lay her down for her nap before we left, and as I started to walk out of the bedroom, I turned to look at her. She has the bluest eyes and the cutest smile, and she happened to have her hair up in what I affectionately refer to as a “big girl bun.” And suddenly, uninvited, the thought actually crossed my mind, “What if this is the last time you see your daughter’s face?” “What if things go horribly wrong and you completely lose your vision?” “What if the last book you ever read in this lifetime is Pirates Don’t Change Diapers?”

I felt a little pierce of panic as I kissed the other kids goodbye and told them we’d be right back. I don’t know if it’s okay to pray over elective surgery (“…and please bless me in my vanity that my non-obligatory surgery will go well. Amen”), but I did anyway.

We arrived at the center and I was taken back to the prep room. This is where they medicate you so you are completely relaxed and enjoy a pain-free procedure. Now, keep in mind that I don’t even take aspirin for headaches, so I my tolerance level for medication is pretty low. It doesn’t take much. Nevertheless, they gave me 5 mg of a sedative called Diazepam, and two tablets of Xanax. (Xanax slogan: Have a nice ride!)

They took me to the procedure room and had me climb up on the table. I could see Katie outside the room, looking through the observatory glass. And that’s about the last coherent memory I have for the day. The rest is somewhat sketchy.

I do remember the laser machine being pulled over my face, and the restraints that pulled my eyes open and held them in place. It was uncomfortable, but not at all painful. Apparently they then had me go into another room and did some more work, then took me into another, dark room, where they had Katie come in and they reviewed all the different drops I should be using over the next week to keep my eyes infection-free and well lubricated. I say “apparently” because I remember none of this.

I recall the doctor’s assistant who walked me out to the car. I remember I was just alert enough to wonder to myself, “Who does this guy think he is, helping me out to the car? I’m fine.” But clearly, I was not. I don’t remember getting in the car, I don’t remember the drive home, I don’t remember Katie going into Walgreens to fill one of my eye-drop prescriptions, I don’t remember getting out of the car and walking into the house.

Katie was taking the kids to a birthday party, so she was trying to get me set up on the couch before leaving. I do remember her helping me out of my clothes and into my pajamas in the most unromantic way – we were in the kitchen, I think, and I had the nerdiest protective goggles taped to my face. I grabbed some chips and juice and meandered to the couch. Before Katie left I asked her to turn the TV on so I could just listen to it (since I couldn’t watch anything yet). She humored me and turned it on as she left, but I don’t recall one, single line of dialogue. I don’t remember eating any chips either, but according to Katie and the vacuum, when she got home, I had unsuccessfully attempted to eat a number of them.

I didn’t wake up until the next morning. And since then, I have been putting about 23 different drops in my eyes on about 18 different cycles. I feel like I am crying all the time. But other than fighting dryness, my eyes are not in any pain. They say it takes 4 to 6 weeks to completely heal and adjust and already I’ve noticed a difference in my sight. Still, there are times when things are clear and there are times when things are hazy, and at night, I see these halos around everything. It’s like I’m in some 1970’s R&B video. They say all of this is normal and part of the healing phase. And I believe them. After all, they already know I’ll be fine. They’re from the future.

Allow Me to Introduce Roxanna

It was two years ago this morning that my youngest, Roxanna, was born. In her honor (but mostly in the honor of Katie) I wanted to post what I wrote that day about the experience. I sent this out to a few of you, so some of you may have read this previously.

***

Katie woke me up this morning at 4:45 a.m. My first thought was that Katie was waking me up for "That's Cat," but then I realized it was 2003. That stupid VH1's "I Love the 70s" episode from last night was messing with my mind. Katie told me she had been awake for about an hour with some contractions that weren't horrible, but were strong enough they had woken her up. We called Margie the Midwife. Margie asked if we wanted her to come over to our house immediately. I looked up and saw Katie walking around the room. She was casual and witty and not burdened by the contractions. We decided Margie didn't need to come yet, but we wanted to let her know that something was starting.

We crawled back into bed, and actually fell back asleep. And when I say "we," I totally mean "me." Katie feel asleep, then woke up to contractions, then went back to sleep, then woke up for contractions, then went back to sleep. You see the pattern. At about 7:00 a.m. we got out of bed. My mom was making breakfast for the kids, and we were hanging out in the bedroom, working through contractions with Katie breathing, and me holding her, or rubbing her back, or letting her hang on me. I was also breathing, by the way, but it was more just out of habit. It wasn't necessarily benefiting Katie.

We worked through the contractions for a while - I would help Katie work through one, then run to get something done, then come running back for the next one, then run to get something done. You see the pattern. I started to notice my time for getting things done grew shorter and shorter, until Katie was leaving me practically no time to do anything, which is extremely rude and I mean to bring this up to her later, once our routine is back to normal.

I decided I'd time Katie's contractions to see if they were as close as I was thinking. And they were. A minute and a half long, only two minutes apart. They were right on top of each other. This usually means the Transition Stage has arrived, and then you start pushing. (And by "you," I totally mean "the mother.") So I told Katie how long her contractions were. Her comment was, "That's impossible. Look at me - I'm too chipper. I'm happy, I'm fine, I'm even a little bit sassy." She had a point, to be sure. But I called Margie anyway. "Margie," says I, "Why don't you come on over for the party. Katie's contractions, though not really hard yet, are pretty close, and I'm sure we're on our way." "Okay," she said, "I'm going to throw some clothes on and I'll jump in the car." I appreciated knowing she would be dressed when she arrived.

Katie had decided to go to the bathroom, and then she would venture out for some breakfast. I hung up the phone to go check on Katie, and as I did, I heard, "Keeeeeennnnn!" This was a familiar sounding yell. I had heard it at least three times before, with the birth of each of our children. I went running in. Katie looked up at me and in full confidence said, "I have to push."

Ah, nuts. I called Margie back and said, "Katie needs to push." I suppose I was hoping that Margie had a "Back to the Future" type car and would be able to arrive immediately, if not five minutes ago. Margie shot back, "Oh, tell her not to push." Thanks, Margie. Katie's on the brink of delivering, and I'm going back in with "Margie says not to push."

"Margie says not to push," I told Katie. Katie looked up at me like she was wondering when I had started drinking in the mornings. Then there was a large gush of water. Her water had broken. The expression on Katie's face was telling me this was IT. I had seen it before and I knew this was it. I knelt down and had Katie scoot to the edge of the toilet and lean back. There was the baby's head. Not just a sliver of it, but the entire top of the head. At this point, it seemed it didn't matter if Katie pushed or not, the baby was coming out.

Katie seemed calm, and I think more than anything, that is what helped me be calm. I told Katie I was ready and that she could push when she was ready. She pushed once and the head came right out, no problem. I put my hand on it to guide it out, and waited for Katie to push again. Katie kind of panted and re-evaluated the situation. I told Katie that it seemed the baby's shoulders might be a bit stuck. Katie stood up and hunched over my shoulder, and pushed again. The baby came right out into my arms.

Katie's mom stepped in with a towel and we wrapped up the baby and handed it to Katie, still sitting on the potty. I peeked under the towel and announced, "It's a girl!" Katie echoed, "It's a girl!" smiling and sighing. Katie looked beautiful and powerful and kind. She looked incredible. I had the camera right there, so I took a photo of her. It may be my most favorite photo of Katie ever.

I handed the baby to Katie's mom and helped Katie over to the bed. I set out some pads on the bed and she sat down. Katie's mom cleaned off the baby, and brought her over to the bed. She nursed right away, perfectly.

Margie called from the road, stuck behind a car accident, and asked if everything was okay and when I said we were great, she told me to go ahead and cut the cord. I clamped it, an inch from the belly button, then cut it. We cleaned everything up, got Katie something to drink, and sat in complete amazement at what we had just done on our own.

Margie arrived. She weighed the baby and checked Katie to make sure she was okay. Everything was fine. To me, everything was more than fine.