Ah, Spring

I think it may have finally stopped snowing. (It snowed last week. LAST WEEK.)

These are some of the results of my attempt to take cute pictures of the girls in their matching shirts that Auntie Brook gave them. I have lots of mom friends who have photography businesses. They stay my friends because, wisely, they do not fear competition from me.

Evie has two favorite games.

One is called "Try and pull up on everything." This is played just like it sounds.

The other is called "Mommy puts things in a box and Evie takes or dumps them out." It's very complex, and I don't have room to describe the rules here. But be assured, it does not matter what box is involved, or what the contents are. Evangeline is very versatile in her amusements.

And despite the fact that the nearest volcano is 150 miles away, not to mention extinct, the floor is still lava.

Evie Takes a Stand

Last night, Evangeline pulled herself up on Abby's wagon 'o blocks. She stood there for perhaps ten minutes and was absolutely delighted with herself.

Spring/Easter

Some Hatchings Hurt

I remember throwing a fit when I was a child, for some reason I can't recall, when my mother was helping me write in my journal and committed the heinous sin of writing the date on the page. I have no way of knowing why that was so upsetting, but I know I screamed and cried and scrubbed out the ink with an eraser before I was done. (I'm anticipating with delight similar episodes with my own children. Poor Mom.)

I'm feeling appallingly mediocre tonight. It seems like I can't do anything really well. (Please don't compliment me; this isn't a fishing trip.) I tried to explain this to Regis, and jumped down his throat when he tried to make me feel better, so I get to add "wife" to that list too. Earlier we talked about why so many great painters, writers, etc. were depressed, and I theorized that content people rarely try to change things. I'm hoping that this means my brain is gearing up to do something great. Like come up with the magic answer for potty training, perhaps.

Sunny Side Up

The highlight of my day was when I went into the girls' room this morning. We shut their door to block noise (from both sides) and Abby hasn't yet mastered opening it, so when I hear either child in the morning, I go in. Today Abby greeted me at the door, saying, "Evie's awake and she's singing to me!" Sure enough, Evie was happily cooing away. What a nice way to start the day.

Don't Nominate Me

I really won't be winning Mom of the Year in 2010.

Last week, I walked a couple of steps out the door in order to clean out our vacuum filter. Abby, who like many toddlers loves routine, shut the door behind me and locked it. Not just the knob lock, the deadbolt. She has obviously picked up on our family's incessant door-locking. I stared through the window at Evangeline lying on the floor, and hollered, "ABBY! OPEN THE DOOR!" Her response was, of course, "Why?"

"Because if you don't, I'm going to spank your bottom!" (Yes, I know that wouldn't work. I was a little frantic.)

She did eventually get the deadbolt unlocked, with help from a stool and despite her mother's raucous wrath and muttered imprecations. I was still really mad when I finally got in, and she got a lecture (but not a spanking). It's hard to explain to a two and a half year old child why she shouldn't lock the door when Mommy leaves.

Later that day, I was emptying our paper shredder, which Abby loves to help with. I got all the shreds into a plastic bag, and as she grabbed it, told Abby to "go put it by the front door." She took off down the hallway to our bedroom instead. Frustrated, I yelled that she had three seconds to put the bag by the front door, or (there's a theme here) I would swat her bottom.

"One! . . . Two! . . ."

Abby cheerfully yelled back, "Three!"

Obviously, that method is not effective. I stomped down the hall and administered the swat. She cried. I started to explain why I was angry, when a little voice in the back of my head pondered, "Does she know where the front door is?" Guess what? She didn't. We played a fun game of Run to the Door (Where's Abby's door? Where's the closet door?), and now she knows.

This is the main reason I'm not winning. If I've talked to you lately, I've probably moaned and groaned about how Evangeline doesn't sleep through the night and is generally a grouch. Every night, she would wake up at least once and scream for at least an hour before going back to sleep. This did not make for a happy Mommy. Talking to a friend a few days ago, she mentioned that her son gets cold in their 68 degree apartment at night, so she puts socks and a onesie on under his pajamas. Our apartment is kept colder than that. I decided to dress Evie warmer that evening. When Regis got home, however, I learned another important lesson. Evangeline screamed and screamed and would not be comforted, so Regis decided to try and feed her. She ate about twice what we normally feed her at night before she finally stopped yelling. That night, she slept like an angel. The next day, I consciously tried to feed her more than I usually do, and guess what? She was an angel baby ALL DAY. So no, it wasn't just that she was teething, although she does now have two sharp ones. Evangeline was grouchy and sleepless because she was tired of living on a mere subsistence diet. Guess how that makes me feel? In a word: STUPID.

Don't go outside without your keys. Make sure she knows what you're talking about before you punish her. And maybe try feeding the baby once in a while.

Motherhood is meant to make me humble, I guess.

Production Floor

Let's start determining productivity by how messy the house is. That way my day has already been amazingly successful.

I love you. Now let go.

Evangeline is in a very frustrating stage. She's driving me absolutely bonkers. She has this misconception that she is my only child, as well as the only thing I have to pay attention to all day.

So here's me, bumbling along, trying to get Abby potty trained, the house clean, my calling done, the dishes put away, and all my other little ducks in a row. I carry Evangeline around, tucked in one arm, until I run out of things I can do with only one hand. Then I attempt to set her down, on a comfy blanket, with lots of diverting toys.

Evie: "WAH! MOM! I AM SO ANGRY! PICK ME UP IMMEDIATELY!"

Me: "Look, Evie, what I'm doing isn't really thrilling for you, and I need both hands to-"

Evie: "WAAAAAH! THE FLOOR IS LAVA AND IT BURNS!"

Me: "Oh, for heaven's sake!"

Abby: "Oh, fow 'eaven sake!"

Abby's stage is a bit less frustrating. She likes to repeat what I say, and to ask why. And she at least sleeps through the night.

Babies!

This is Evangeline with her cousin Alice, in their Christmas outfits. We love Alice. Her eyes always make her look like she's fascinated by you, which is of course very flattering. Yet another example of someone we love who we wish lived closer. :)

Once there was a snowcave, snowcave, snowcave . . .

After Abby and Evangeline each had some turns on the sled, we repurposed it as a snow shovel and built ourselves a lovely snowcave. It was probably the most fun I've had in the snow as an adult. I guess it's not all bad. :)

Miriam

This is my friend Miriam, and I think she should write a book about herself because I would love to read it. In fact, I would love to pre-order that sucker right now. She used to be my neighbor, and if it weren't for the increasingly evident fact that we're outgrowing this apartment, I would try to convince her to move back.

. . . Gimme an "N"! What does it spell? Extortion!

Dear Grandpa,

Abby really needs a cheerleading outfit.

Compliments to the Chef

This morning I was delighted to hear Abby, unprompted, remark, "Yummy french toast, Mommy. Thank you, Mommy!" I'm pretty sure that means we're doing something right.

Even if that something is just the way I cook the toast.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

My new assignment in church is to "edit" the newsletter for the Relief Society, the women's organization. The RS president encouraged me to "put [my] personality into it."

Bless their hearts. I think they will be glad that I didn't.

Christmas

I hope you had a wonderful, merry Christmas. It was wonderful to be with my family.

Unfortunately, there was a terrible tragedy in my extended family on Christmas Day. My cousin's baby son passed away. Please please remember not to leave any baby unattended on a soft surface, especially with pillows or other soft items around, even if he or she has never moved around or rolled before.

Snowmen

Here are Abby and Regis with their "'nowmens," as Abby calls them.

See PROFESSIONAL, A5

Our local paper recently reported that "the economy sucks." On the front page. Another reporter referred to women whose "hair is always perfectly quaffed." The second I find amusing; the first is reprehensible. If this is the quality of writing we can expect from newspapers, perhaps their demise is not as tragic as I've been led to believe.

Brrrr!

I got stuck in the snow for the first time on Sunday night. It was an interesting experience. I felt pretty embarrassed, and more than a little helpless. Luckily, I was in a neighborhood where probably 75% of the residents are in my ward. A couple of nice brothers pushed me out. When I got home and told the story to Regis, Abby was listening and had a good time repeating "Mommy 'tuck inna 'now!"

I'm ready to go to California for Christmas. It's supposed to get up to 60 degrees there tomorrow. The high for Provo today is lower than the low for my hometown.

Kids these days!

I just heard the following on the radio:

"Getting into the single digits now--it's supposed to be 11 degrees tonight!"

Someone needs to find that man's parents and elementary school teachers and slap them.

Fun with Fire Alarms

As I was cooking dinner this evening, I set off the fire alarm. Because I'm that good.

The fire alarm is situated right between the two rooms where Abigail and Evangeline were napping.

NEITHER OF THEM WOKE UP.

Should I be worried, or just feel really really blessed? :)

Hazards of Parenthood

If you are a fervent admirer of my brother, Court, you've probably already read about his dumpster diving experience. For the benefit of the rest of you, I'll summarize: My mom entrusted to Court the Christmas stocking she had painstakingly designed, sewn, beaded, and embroidered for Evangeline, adjuring him to take good care of it and deliver it safely to me. You can imagine his horror when, on his way to our place for his birthday dinner, he couldn't find the stocking anywhere. After an exhaustive search, he was forced to conclude that someone had thrown it away. Disregarding his distaste, he dared the depths of the dumpster, digging through the discarded detritus until he discovered, despite delay, the decked out decoration. And it wasn't even dirty.

Well. This evening, on my way to go grocery shopping, I looked around for my phone. Considering we had given the apartment a thorough cleaning earlier in the day, it should have been easy to find. It wasn't. I searched, Regis searched. We checked the car, the creases of the couch, all pockets, Abby's room . . . . Nope. Finally, Regis wondered if it could have fallen into one of the storage totes he'd taken to our storage unit. As he went out the door to check, I half-jokingly suggested he call my phone and stand outside the dumpster, too, with Court's experience in mind. If you have any prescience at all, you know the rest. Evidently Abby, who has something of a passion for boxes, had dropped my phone into the empty box of baby wipes, which she then helped Regis carry out to the dumpster with the rest of the garbage.

So, as a warning to the rest of my family: If you can't find it anywhere, you know where to look.

It's in the Blood

Abby's paternal grandfather farmed for many years. (We designate him as Grandpapa, as opposed to her maternal grandfather, Grandmapa. Regis' grandmother is therefore Grandpapama to Abby, which we love.) His mother, Grandpapama, still herds cows on her property. Well, I don't think she actually does the herding, although it puts a smile on my face to imagine this fiesty, 80-something-year-old woman smacking a few cows around.

Last week, we took the girls to the Thanksgiving Point Farm Country, and Abby just had a BLAST. Stupidly, we forgot to bring the camera, so all we have to remember it by are some fuzzy pictures on Regis' phone. (If you know how we can download those, let me know.) However, we didn't repeat the error on Saturday when we took her to see my uncle Glenn's chickens, and she was similarly delighted to feed them bread and even collect the eggs. She got a little nervous inside the henhouse, what with the chickens clucking and sneaking around and the roosters chasing the hens, but she had a good time.

With that kind of influence from both sides, we expect her to be a full-fledged farmer in a few years.

Abigail and Evangeline

My Little Gourmand

So you think your child has strange eating habits? You've already heard about the bamboo shoots, but try these on for size: raw cubes of butternut squash, and plain fresh cilantro.

Yum yum!

I hate it when I have to eat my words. Unless, of course, those words are these: "Evangeline doesn't take naps!" "She doesn't put herself to sleep!" "And she doesn't sleep through the night! Waaaaaaah!"

In that case, every syllable is deeee-licious.

Shake Your Tail Feather

Duck and Goose and Abby

Sorry my videotaping skills aren't too hot, but the sound is what's most important anyway. Happy Halloween!

Your Mama Don't Dance

Abby makes me laugh. I listen to the radio a lot whether I'm at home or in the car, and my favorite stations are classic rock and oldies. Abby has apparently been listening along with me: when Loggins and Messina came on singing about her mama and daddy the other day, she picked up on the important part. She turned to me and said, "Rock 'n roll! Rock 'n roll!" And because Mommy thought it was so funny the first time, she's repeated the performance any time it's mentioned in a song.

Convenient unless you're a cheapskate

I owe Kohl's an apology. Before we went there to find Regis a new coat for work, I pulled an old pair of shoes out of storage and slipped them on. While Rege and Abby perused the menswear section, I strolled with Evangeline through the shoe section, looking for some cute winter shoes. Regis called me over a couple of times to ask my opinion. On my way back from one of these viewings, I noticed what looked like dirt on the floor. "How rude," I thought, "someone is tracking a lot of dirt all through the store." Oddly enough, I kept seeing more and more of it. And looking behind me, it seemed to be following me. I pulled my foot up to see if my shoes were somehow dirty--and discovered that they were disintegrating. Observe:Poor shoes. Doesn't it seem like Fate was trying to hand me a free pass? Especially since Regis said, "Do you want to just buy some new ones so you don't have to walk around in those anymore?" But I am a disgusting cheapskate and instead walked all around the store and ended up buying not shoes for me, but pants for my daughters. I left a Hansel-and-Gretel style trail all through Kohl's, and no joke, the cleaning lady passed by me going back towards the shoe section. The rest of the time she must have followed me at a discreet distance. I feel bad. Because I liked those shoes.

Because

The life of a stay-at-home mom is strange. Today Abby took a nap because I was tired. Sometimes I think she eats because I am hungry. Eventually I expect her to start yawning because I am bored.

Evangeline slept straight through the night last night. It was lovely.

Topics of Conversation

Abby made what I think was her first unprompted sentence the other day, an important developmental milestone. It was "Bees . . . attack . . . you."

Evangeline has been smiling socially for about 3 weeks now. I'd forgotten how devastatingly cute toothless grins are.

Sometimes I feel like a mean wife. Like when I ask Regis, "What do you want for dinner? White chili, salad and sausages, tacos, stir-fry, or omelettes?" and he says "How about stir-fry?" and I say "Let's have tacos." And now you know what's on our menu for this week.

Stop Drop and Roll

My current music crush is "I'm On Fire" by Bruce Springsteen. I feel like that should be funny, for some reason--I really never thought of myself as a Springsteen fan. But the song is nice and sultry-sounding. And guess what? I just got it for free!

Amazon.com is giving away a free MP3 download to a million people, one of which could be you. How exciting. I found out about it here. Go find your own song.

Update: Hilariously, Regis misheard me when he called to chat on his way home, and listened in some confusion as I explained what I'd gotten and that I thought he should get one too. This was only cleared up after he arrived home and I clarified, between giggles, that Amazon is not giving out free thongs.

Looked out the window and what did I see?

Children are funny.

Today as I was cleaning out the linen cupboard (a lofty title for the closet where we shove our 9,765,354 blankets) I pulled out a gray plaid blanket, which holds no particular associations for me, and continued through the pile. Abby snatched up the blanket and started to drag it towards the living room. She paused partway, and dropped it to free her hands so she could say "Pop! Pop!" and do the motions for "Popcorn Popping," one of her favorite songs. I obliged her with the song while returning the blanket to the pile. She ran to the living room and bent down, smacking the carpet while saying "Ugguhguh!" which is what she says when she doesn't know the words for what she wants.

For a while, all this triggered in me was a vague irritation, since Ugguhguh is usually said in a whiny voice. It was several moments before I made the connection. About two months ago, Abby and I had an impromptu picnic on the living room floor, the menu of which had only one item: popcorn. We'd sat on that very gray blanket. Once the lightbulb went on, I asked Abby if popcorn was what she wanted. I'm so glad she's not old enough to say "DUH!"

So we had another enjoyable popcorn picnic, and I mused on two important points: these little moments of fun with just the two of us are apparently meaningful and memorable for Abby--and we have too many blankets.

Grrrr

I love to read books. Fiction books, and mysteries in particular are my favorites.

I HATE reading books in which the main character or characters are stupid.

For example, there is a series in which the protagonist, Sebastian St. Cyr, is supposed to be this brilliant detective. His lover, an actress, is also supposed to be clever. Despite the author's continual harping on the facts that Sebastian has strange eyes, that his "father" has never liked him, and that his mother was notoriously promiscuous, the detective and his honey somehow don't realize (presumably until the last book, which I haven't read) that Sebastian is a bastard child, which forces them to part because Kat turns out to be the child of his "father." This would be tragic, if I wasn't so disgusted with their stupidity that I didn't care what happened to either of them anymore. The real tragedy is that I can't bring myself to finish the series, which leaves me feeling slightly guilty.

I've always liked The Scarlet Pimpernel, although recently I've noticed how cheesy parts of it are. I guess a lot of things I like are cheesy, like nachos. But right now I'm reading El Dorado, a further adventure of the Pimpernel, which has precipitated this rant. Armand is an idiot. The plot of this book better be darn good, because the main character is irritating the heck out of me.

Ouch

"An executive for an anti-animal cruelty group says her 16-year-old blind and deaf dog died after she accidentally left him in her hot car for four hours."

Well, if she belongs to a cruelty group that is anti-animal, that makes sense, doesn't it?


http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/32569213/ns/us_news-life?gt1=43001

Guess What?

I showered today.



(enthusiastic applause)

A Nice Surprise

A few minutes ago, as I tried to convince Abby to lay down and take a nap, I had a Motherhood Moment. Simultaneously, Evie started screaming, the phone started ringing, and someone pushed the doorbell and knocked, and I thought to myself, What a wonderful wooooorld!* I'm sure I looked the picture of overwhelmed young motherhood as I skirted two carseats to open the door to my laundry- and toy-strewn apartment, hair askew, wearing stretchy exercise pants, with my infant wailing on the floor behind me. I think the delivery guy was smirking while I signed for my box. After several attempts, I finally got both girls down for a nap and snuck back into the living room to see what I'd been sent.

For the moment, all is well with the world.



I have thirty pounds of sleeping children and four pounds of Jelly Bellies.

I love my Brook.

*That's not really what I thought, but it's much more suitable for publication.

Moooooo

Evie had her first doctor's appointment today. After checking out her chart, the doc observed, "You must be making full cream." Normally, they look for babies to be back to their birth weights by the two week mark. Evie was 7 lb 2 oz at birth--she's now 8 lb even.

Hooray for Grandma

My mom is here visiting and taking care of me while I get used to taking care of two little girls. Abby is having a blast with her, and it's been SOOOO nice to have another pair of arms to rock Evie. :) We're all very glad she is willing and able to come.

Hey, hey baby!

I am overwhelmed.

I am overwhelmed by lots of different feelings. I have a deep feeling of love for my sweet little girls, and my loving, wonderful husband. I am amazed by how much bigger and more mature Abby seems now that I have Evie to compare her with. I am terrified of the future.


Evangeline was born on July 29th at 1:24 am. She was 7 lbs 2 oz and 19 inches.

Going the Distance

My mom went square dancing the night before my eldest sister was born. In that spirit, Regis suggested that we spend this late afternoon and evening doing this:

If you've spent any significant time in Provo, you should recognize our surroundings. Here is what Wikipedia says about it. We all had lots of fun and got very tired. I got lots of smiles, a few funny looks, and some compliments, but so far not the result we were aiming for.

In case you were wondering

I hope none of you have been waiting with bated breath, or especially baited breath, since trying to catch something with bait in your mouth has got to be unpleasant. My current bodymate has declined to become my housemate thus far, and while I can understand being cautious in the current economic climate, I sure wish I had the authority, as landlady, to evict her. This translates to: the baby isn't born yet. I wish she was. Rocky Mountain Wingshak spicy wings and a long walk have failed to dislodge her. So has cleaning the house thus far. Any other suggestions?

Yoink!

I've graduated from maternity to paternity clothes: My own tops no longer fit over my belly, so I'm wearing Regis' shirts. Some of them are surprisingly flattering. That doesn't mean I want to keep wearing them for long.

Last Place

I had an appointment this week to check on how the baby is cooking, and my doctor commented, "I've delivered all the babies due this month except for yours." Way to make me feel like I'm holding up the line, Doc.

My big sister had her first baby last week, and she has sweet tiny baby legs and a droll little mouth all drawn up like a bow.

I think the real reason women get tired of being pregnant in the ninth month is because people keep asking them if they are.

Keep on Rockin'

Last week, while Regis had his time off, we went up to Bridal Veil Falls. Regis and I enjoyed the scenery, while Abby enjoyed dropping rocks in the water. We were there for probably an hour, and the whole time she wanted us to provide continuous handfuls of rocks for her to drop, one by one, into the stream. I have no idea why it was so thrilling, but she enjoyed it a lot.

Birthday and Nesting

Today is Regis' birthday. To celebrate his senescence, we bought him a rocking chair yesterday. Well, to be truthful, we bought the rocker as a combination Father's Day, birthday, and anniversary gift, so I guess that means Regis gets to sit in it 3/4 of the time. June is an eventful month for us.

This weekend has been a lot of fun. Regis took a couple of days off from work so that we could get to some big projects we've been meaning to do before the baby comes. Our carpets are now cleaned, our bedroom is organized, our bathtub is re-caulked. My brother Glenn and his family came for a visit which was too short, but tons of fun. We also had a lot of time to relax and enjoy just being together as a family. We've decided Regis definitely needs to take days off more often, although we suspect it will be VERY hard for him to go back to work on Monday. Abby and I will certainly miss having Daddy around during the day.

I haven't been very good about blogging lately, so I'll try to make up for it with some fun pictures later this week.

Oh yes?

Ripped from the back of a crouton box:
"Just like the finest restaurants, each crouton is prepared slightly larger to capture more flavor."

And now you know the secret to fine dining: a bigger restaurant.

Free stuff! Ooooo!

My friend Heidi is doing a free photo session giveaway on her blog. I entered, but I'm not sure I want pictures of my great big belly at this stage. So if you're in the area, you should enter to win some free family pictures to decrease my chances! Samples are found on her blog and on my living room wall. :)

http://heidis-photography.blogspot.com/

Fending for Herself

Look closely at that label there. Maybe we should have named her Ling-Ling.

How I Spent My Spring Vacation

This is how my family likes to spend our vacations:

All right, so we didn't do TOO much of that. We also went to the beach:

And to Sea World:

We had a great time visiting with Mom and Dad and Coral, Brook and Jake, Tyrus and Jen and Elena, and Miriam, Ryan, Ava, and Seth. The weather was gorgeous; the traffic was not. We had Afghani food for the first time, and learned why we don't shop at Nordstrom and why GPSs are so popular. Abby developed a love for airplanes and a hatred for sand. We ate a farmer's market full of strawberries and cherries, and played a great game of Twit. I'll save the rest of the details for Abby's journal, but I hope it's clear that we really enjoyed ourselves.

The Prisoner

"Bread and water AGAIN? Can't we jazz up the meals a little more, Mom?"

Apparently I need to try harder.

Win Fame and Glory!

Who knows where this picture was taken? Extra points if you love both people in it.

Close, Miriam, but not quite! Here's clue #2:

Clearing my Conscience

This doesn't apply to most of you, but it's drifted to the surface of my mind often enough that I want to address it. I have, on the side of my blog site, a listing of blogs that I keep track of, with the title "I've Got My Eye On You . . .". If you have checked that listing for your own blog and felt wounded by its absence, consider the following: I do not list blogs that require permission. I hate clicking on links on someone else's blog only to be told that I'm "not invited." It is also possible that I am simply not aware of your blog. Several choices here: either leave a comment on my blog (I usually check to see if you have a blog to follow back to), email me and tell me I should read your blog, email and insist that I add your blog to the list, or sit on your hands and wait until I find it myself.

Or I may have read your blog and decided it was boring, in which case, I'm sorry.

Puzzled at the Park

Abby and I went to the park a few days ago to feed the ingrate ducks all the stale pretzels, Cheerios, and other bread-ish food that collects around small children. They are never very appreciative, which sometimes leads to my chucking cereal AT the ducks instead of TO them. Don't tell the animal protection people.

Anyway, at the park we ran into another mom and her kids, and while we swung our respective children, she initiated a conversation. I hate smalltalk, but it does provide amusement. For example, she asked when my baby is due, and then what I "do." I replied that I stay at home, and she said "Good for you! Good." A little later in the conversation, she asked how many kids Regis and I want to have. (Again, I hate smalltalk.) I joked that while my mom only had 7 kids, Regis' mom had 11, so we're just trying to beat her--then we'll be satisfied. She said, "Oh, I admire anyone who can have 7 kids." I agreed, and mentioned that Mom also graduated from law school while raising them, took the bar exam a few days after my sister's birth, and is basically amazing. She asked, "What kind of law does she practice?"

This is the part that puzzled me. I have one young child and one on the way. She showed no surprise that I am a stay-at-home mom; in fact, she heartily approved it (or faked as much). So why would she expect that a woman with 7 children would work outside the home in a field known for its intensity and long hours? I guess she could have assumed that we are all grown and out of the nest, but since I never mentioned where I fall in line, for all she knew, Mom still has kids under 10 at home.

Does that seem weird to you?

Raising a Panda

My daughter disdains strawberry yogurt, choosing instead to snack on sliced bamboo shoots. Why are toddlers so weird?

Friday Five

Happy Friday! It's time for a list.

Five Things that Make Me Happy:

1. Bacon.

2. Abby's dimple.

3. Listening to oldies.

4. Knitting.

5. Tickling Regis.

If "Being tickled" was only on Regis' list, my life would be so much happier.

Scaling back

I don't know why, but Regis always feels like he has to argue with me about buying butter.

Yesterday I said, "Oooo, butter is $1.79! Let's get some. Write it on the list."
He says, "You do realize that we already have a ton of butter?"
I say, "That's just silly. Our whole fridge/freezer setup doesn't weigh a ton. It doesn't even weigh half a ton."

And then we carried on for about ten minutes trying to decide what fraction of a ton our fridge weighs, based on my belief that I could move it myself if I had to.

Isn't marriage fun?

Dumb Joke

Y'know, it's kind of too bad that Al Gore didn't win the presidency that time, because then when the media started plastering pictures of the First Lady's clothes everywhere, we could have called it "Tipperwear!" Ha! Ha! Y'know, like Tupperware? Only Tipperwear? Haha?

Seriously, why do we care what the First Lady is wearing? Or what the First Children dress in? Or that the First Dog likes to bite its own paws? Why are people being paid to write about these things?

Reflections of an Old Geezer

I've been reflecting recently on the fact that I'm 24 years old now. (Eeek! How did that happen?) I was married at 20, had my first child at 22, and will have my second this year. It makes me wonder if people are ever tempted to tell me to "act my age." It's not the norm these days to do that so young; in fact, it's not the norm to get married at all.

Seeing our younger siblings contemplating marriage has been stressful for me. I want to tell them to back up and think about this more deeply: marriage affects so much of your life! I want to ask lots of nosy questions that they won't know the answers to yet, because they've never been in a situation like marriage before. I want to tell them to grow up more before they even think about making that commitment.

But on the other hand, I recognize that I probably shouldn't. For one thing, it won't do any good. For another, they would probably be justified in thinking it a little hypocritical of me. I sometimes look at my marriage and think, "Wow, I sure lucked out, because I didn't even think about whether Regis would be X or do Y. It's a good thing he is/does." And then sometimes I think that marriage is really a craps shoot, anyway: there's no way you can know everything about the person you marry or how their character and behaviors will affect your union, so you might as well pick your numbers as best you can and roll the dice.

I think marriage makes you grow up a lot. But I don't advise doing it that way.

Big Old Jet Airliner

I bought plane tickets to California today. What? I can hear you all gasping incredulously. What could possibly induce Crystal to leave the Beehive State, the land of her pioneer forefathers, the birthplace of her darling daughter?

Well, how about this?

That's right, Utah, I've had quite enough of your nonsense. Dumping several inches of snow in APRIL is unnacceptable behavior, and I won't put up with it any longer.

Except that I will have to, because we don't fly out until May. By which time the weather will probably be gorgeous. I hate this place.

Happy Easter

Abby really enjoyed her egg hunt this morning. She was absolutely ecstatic about the candy she discovered inside the eggs, but she was more than willing to share with both Daddy and Mommy. We loved how she would find an egg, then go back to her stash to refresh herself with a jelly bean before continuing the search. Apparently Easter egg hunts are taxing.

The Easter Bunny has discovered that he has an alarming tendency to buy way too much candy for one little girl. Luckily, Mommy and Daddy are willing to sacrifice to make up the difference.

Nom Nom Nom

Here we see the lone survivor of the terrible Caramel Massacre of April 2009. The carnage was terrible. Worst of all, our sources indicate that this is not the first time this group has been targeted, and that similar acts of brutality occur at least twice a year.

Caramel Sticky Rolls. Our traditional General Conference treat. Mmmmm.