While we don’t boast snow (or anything close to it), this week our temperatures swung from mid-90s (Wes melted) to upper and mid-50s (I freeze). The pleasant chill days bring out the sweaters and scarves in the Texans, but don’t keep us away from the park. Hurrah for autumn!

Keller sleeps peacefully in the crib while I write. This little one is a world of emotions. He practices big, full mouth grins that have nothing to do with gas. He discovered his pouty lip, a furrowed brow, squinching his cheeks and mouth into a tight O, and (his favorite) raising his eyebrows as if mildly surprised or thoughtfully interested. The swelling in his eyes went down all week; now he looks around, follows our voices, and seems cheerfully unperturbed by the noise and hubbub around him. He snuggles in and enjoys life. On Monday, we went to a newborn follow-up with the pediatrician. Keller weighed an ounce over birth weight. Dr. Holmes: “That is just insane. Great. That’s where we hope they’ll be. But insane!” Keller does not struggle eating or bubbling or keeping the diaper assembly line in business. He came to earth willing to say in all action, “I am a fully functioning young man!” And so he is.

Despite the fact that we’re all adjusting to our new and wonderful life in different ways, the boys adore their brother. Keller screams during sponge baths; Lincoln runs in to push me away, “No, Mommy! Keller cry!” Lincoln spends a lot of time trying to climb into the crib for a better look. He loves to help burp the baby (“we pat his back, not his head, buddy…”). Lincoln squeals and claps just because Keller is here. I’m so relieved. I wasn’t sure how Lincoln would respond. Thankfully, he’s happy to share with another musketeer, kissing him all over. Levi wants to know all about nursing, bathing, and caring for the baby. I think he’s planning on taking over soon. He’s learned an interesting amount on circumcision and nursing; who knows what he’ll divulge in nursery today? Levi’s newest pretend is going to the hospital (complete with a bed made of white pillows and white blankets). “Peter is in my tummy. He is my baby and needs to come out.” So Levi prepares, rests on the bed, tells me where the shower in his room is, asks nurses about what doors his family can come in to visit during the night, and then suddenly—Peter is born! He can repeat step by step everything that he saw when they visited me. Let’s just be glad he didn’t see more of my laboring! I’m glad that Peter remains potty trained.

Did I mention that Wesley is a ward missionary and I’m compassionate service leader? (A fun parallel to our time in Provo.) Wes attended a baptism this week. Levi went with him. Lincoln worried about going to bed without Levi there, but he did okay clutching his “dog, pig, mom penguin, and dad penguin” tiny figurines that Grandma Stacy brought for him. He also pulled his baseball cap on his head. Levi came home concerned that he missed Lincoln, “I need give Lincoln a kiss!” he wailed. When we put Levi in bed an hour or so later, Lincoln popped up: head still in hat and animals in hand, “LEVI! Home!” Ah, it’s nice to have brothers. The boys continue to baptize their toys and themselves in the tub and in imaginary fonts. It’s pretty darling. Serious business.

In addition to maintaining sanity in the home, playing with the boys, heading up bath and bedtime, this week Wesley gave a presentation with one of his committee professors. He revamped slides and prepared material—he’s been prepared for a while, but we’ve been running on happy adrenaline and he almost forgot about the presentation! Being tired makes us all the more entertaining. Kudos to Wes for plugging on consistently and without complaint anyway. He graded a bunch of tests, worked on his research, and even played tennis (a much needed release). Watching him and thinking about all he does for us makes me feel that much more swoony.

I received a call from a sweet, apologetic professor representing BYU Independent Study on Thursday. He informed me of a new policy: all IS instructors must now reside in Utah. This means that I will no longer be teaching my creative writing class after November 15. Administratively, I can understand this. The policy makes sense. I’ve been a little surprised they hired me in the first place. But I’m still slightly heartbroken. I love my students. I love teaching (even online!). I love the writing community and feeling like I can still participate, peripherally, in it. This has been a miracle job; it gave us added income just when we started to worry, it provided a wonderful balance to my brain, and the two years I’ve taught has been perfect timing. The timing of this policy is probably another miracle. We have three kiddos! Now I never need to make the decision that I am unable to do it (which would be painful to admit, although realistic). And someone else probably needs this miracle job at this time. I don’t want to be selfish and wish I could hoard it. I dedicated so much of the last year, especially summer, to rewriting to the course (I’ve been finalizing revisions in the last weeks). I’m sad that I won’t implement my lessons and work here. Wes is convinced they’ll come in handy and I’ll use them in another venue. If nothing else, writing them out benefitted me. Perhaps I’ll never formally teach creative writing again: perhaps I will. I know that this is really a blessing, so I can’t feel that bad over it.

My mom has been holding down the fort. She’s been performing the extra hard task of reminding me to sit down, rest, don’t lift that, etc. “Recovery and healing” makes me feel a little twitchy even though I need it. Our neighbors brought us soup. When I returned the dish, she exclaimed, “What are you doing! Go sit down!” Wesley and my mom have kept me reasonably immobile while giving me opportunity to stretch and get out as the days progress. The boys love Grandma Stacy; I love hearing them patter after her calling, “Stacy! Stacy!” (she didn’t choose her own grandma title, which makes it even more entertaining). They color, build with Legos, fold clothes. They try to convince her of new rules on mopping and bathing. I’m starting to hear phrases like, “Grandma Stacy says…” which makes me laugh. We love having family around and wish you could all be here to bask in the wonder of this handsome little boyo.