Soft and Squishy

Hooray! I finished a pillow. And I think it's quite lovely. We actually threw away the old pillows that went with our couch, because they were pretty nasty. The couch used to be Regis's grandma's, and it saw a good amount of service, which is why it's got a slipcover. We decided the pillows were too gross to just cover up, though, so I chopped up an old pillow and here's the finished product!

Foiled.

My sister is the muse of domesticity. Having spent many years in her company, I have developed certain of the domestic arts: I cook, I knit, I sew, I quilt*. I made an egregious mistake a couple years ago. My mother asked if I thought I would need a sewing machine, because she'd found a great deal and was buying one for herself and for Amber. I said no, I didn't think I had a place to put it. This was a stupid move of epic proportions. Those machines are awesome. Instead, now that I have need of a sewing machine, I have inherited Mom's old machine, which, as I recall, stutters and shivers when it is used. I have to reach back in my memory, because although I possess the machine, I do not possess its power cord, and therefore cannot ascertain whether it still shivers, or even if it still works. This is depressing, because a few weeks ago I paid an enormous sum for some gorgeous fabric, thread, and fluff in order to create drapes and a quilt for Abby's room, and pillow covers for our couch. All that good stuff is now sitting on various pieces of furniture, being clutter instead of couture. So now I must wait for the cord to arrive in the mail, and then I must plead for the muse's indulgence so that I can finish my crafts.

*This reminds me of Spanish classes. Cocino, cocinas, cocinamos . . . :)

The Frumious Bandersnatch

Well, this is a little embarrassing. Not long after I wrote the previous post, I opened up the Word file with my story in it, just to look it over. To say goodbye, maybe. I should have been on my guard, but thinking of it as I did, as a terminally weakened and feeble creature, I blithely clicked on the file. It pounced. With all the indignation of a jilted prom date, it gnashed its teeth on my feeble excuses. Declaring its place as a legitimate child of my brain, it insisted that if I couldn't place it in its proper seat in the pantheon, I at least had the obligation to shape it with enough strength and suppleness to allow it to claw its way up as best it could.

I babbled agreement and retreated, shaken, leaving it to prowl filepaths and snarl at the occasional typo. Every time I opened my laptop, it would slink in the background and make sly, suggestive gestures. Whenever I gave in to temptation and tentatively typed a snatch of dialogue or a dribble of description, I felt better knowing that I hadn't yet consigned my story to the limbo of unfinished tales. It's coming together better than before. Maybe all I needed was a break.

A Deferential Dream

I love playing with words. I used to think I should major in English, but then I had to read and evaluate The Scarlet Letter for a high school English class. I'll bet that book has turned off more English majors than anything else. It's not that I hated the book. It wasn't my favorite, but the thing I hate hate HATED was having to analyze the so-called symbolism. I don't hate symbolism. I DO hate being forced to extract it from a place where I don't think it exists. What does the door symbolize? Well, heck, I'd guess it symbolizes a door. And the rose? Well, I think by that the author intended to make us think of a rose. Maybe I'm just a shallow reader.

My revulsion for English classes only intensified when I took AP English my junior year. I hated reading "The Garden Party" by Katherine Mansfield, and I've refused to read anything she's written ever since, even though I like short stories and New Zealand.

I took a creative writing class at BYU near the end of my college education. My teacher seemed to really like my writing. She left comments like "You're a great writer--don't stop!" on my papers, and I did very well on all the assignments. That's why I was so surprised when my grade showed up as a C-. Turns out I'd misunderstood her instructions on ONE assignment at the end of the semester. She was going to bump it up to an A-, but decided all she could do for me was a B+.

So when I think of "A Dream Deferred," I think about being an author. I think I've wanted to be a famous author all my life. I love to read, and I read fast. I can't even begin to estimate how many books I've read in my lifetime. I remember what I read fairly well, but I love to go back and read books again, even when I remember the ending (which Regis can't understand at all). I constantly make up stories in my head, too, and like to imagine "What would happen if I said X right now, or did Y?" I would like to think that I would make a good writer.

I started writing a book at the beginning of this year. I loved it. It felt great. I had a wonderful time envisioning the denouement, creating characters, inserting jokes and playful conversations. I think I told every member of my family that I was writing a book.

I'm not writing it any more. I had fun writing the fun parts, and slowed down when I realized I'd have to trudge through filling in all the details. Regis got tired of having ideas bounced off him and analyzing potential scenes. I let my sister read what I'd written so far, and felt disheartened by her criticisms and intimidated by her questions. I don't think I'm cut out to be a writer--I need to have somebody care about what I'm doing before it's done, and that, I think, is even harder with a story than with any other project. Stories are to a large extent superfluous. I believe mine will die a fairly natural death. You could say I'm neglecting it, but since it hasn't even the dignity of humanity, I don't think I can be held responsible for its passing if it doesn't have enough ambition to be self-sufficient.

A Dream Deferred

By Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over--

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

We're Back!

Boo-hoo, we're back from Jamaica. (This was originally "Hooray! We're back from Jamaica" but I rethought that one reeeeeeal quick.) What? You didn't know we went?

We had a funtastical time, meeting up with my sister Brook and her husband Jake and staying at a snazzy all-inclusive resort. There was a nice beach, swimming pools, water slide, restaurants, free drinks (we stuck to the virgin daiquiris, although Regis was suspicious when I got pretty giddy one afternoon), and other good stuff. It was lovely to stay in such a lush, warm, sunny place. It was not so lovely to come back to snow.

Abby was very well-behaved throughout, even during the flights. She was a scandalous flirt at the resort, and bestowed come-hither glances liberally. I'm frequently amazed at how bold strangers are about touching other peoples' children, but she sure asked for it that week. I'm sorry that she won't remember how much fun we had, but we did take a lot of pictures. And Regis and I enjoyed the heck out of it, which is why we went anyway. Our favorite parts were probably climbing a waterfall and eating yummy food. It was always funny after the meal when we'd all sit there and wait for the check until someone remembered that we wouldn't get one--all-inclusive, guys!

My least favorite part (besides coming home) was probably when Brook dragged me into the gym and proceeded to beat my muscles to a jiggly pulp. :) Okay, that wasn't so bad. The smokers were worse.

Thanks a whole lot, Brook and Jake, for a fun vacation!

(Pictures to be added later)

*&#^%$ it!

Things that make me want to swear:

Bad drivers
Trying to get Abby's car seat out of the car
Realizing that I have to "unstitch" nearly a whole row of my knitting
Having to get out of bed on freezing cold Utah mornings

But I only swear inside my head. That makes it better, right?

Where does the time go?

Abby will be seven months old tomorrow. Has it really been that long?

I keep looking at her and thinking how big she's gotten. Her head is bigger, her hair is much fuller, her legs are so much longer . . . and her feet are still tiny. Ha! It's awfully cute, but kind of disappointing, since I bought a bunch of really cheap, cutesy wutesy baby shoes that I was excited to put on her. She has yet to fit into the smallest pair. Heck, I can probably send these shoes to college with her.

In a lot of ways, I love that she is so much like her dad. She sleeps beautifully. She's very "chill" generally; really willing to try new things. She has yet to exhibit any stranger anxiety. On the other hand, it makes me a little sad that I can't see much of me in her yet. She even looks like Regis. She's got his skin tone, his eyelashes. Regis has tried to convince me that she must have my body type by claiming that he was a real fatty when he was a baby, but I've seen the pictures and I don't believe him.

At least she's got my style.

Now what?

Regis is graduating in April. We're very excited.

We're also scared. What the heck do we do now? He likes his job well enough, and it has a lot of great potential, but he doesn't know if he wants to stay there. He's applied to a lot of places, but nothing has panned out. I'm not sure what that means.

Part of the reason for being scared is that there are too many options. The company Regis works for is all over the place, so technically we could move anywhere. So where do we go? I've said for so long that I don't want to live in Utah that I'm not sure I really mean it any more. As Mom says, anywhere is livable unless it's Mojave or Barstow. :) But I'm not sure I can handle year after year of Utah winters. Every time it starts to turn truly cold, I slink back into myself and howl.

But if we don't stay here, where do we go? My sisters have each recommended that we come live near them, one in L.A. and one near Houston. I love living near family, and it would certainly mean more visits from Abby's doting grandparents, plus babysitting exchanges. But I have no idea whether we'd like it in those places or not. I think that's part of what scares me: I've only made one significant move in my life, from hometown to college town. Obviously SOME people enjoy living in other places, or they wouldn't be populated, but then some people apparently enjoy living in Utah.

Toothy

Abby has got to be the best baby ever. She has two little teeth now, and despite all the dire warnings about teething troubles, it was really not bad. She did wake up a few times during the night, but I thought it was because it's so dry here. MY nose and throat are painfully dry when I wake up, so I figured maybe hers were too. Sneaky baby, or clueless mommy? Well, it pretty much amounts to the same thing. I'm in pretty sad shape if I can be outfoxed by a six-month-old.

I found out a few days ago that my grandpa is probably dying. It feels strange. He is the only great-grandpa Abby has still living, and hearing that he is not doing well made me wonder what Abby will feel when she eventually learns that her grandpa is not well. I wonder a lot about whether she will feel the same things I have felt growing up. I hope she will escape some of them.

Progress

Yay! I have 7381 words written in my story. I'll probably delete about 300 of them, but that's a good start, don't you think? It's been fun. I really, really like bouncing ideas off of Regis. He doesn't enjoy it quite as much, but he's still supportive. What a nice husband I have.

Nothin' to Report

I like to box. How I like to box! So, every day, I box a Gox. In yellow socks I box my Gox. I box in yellow Gox box socks.

Thank you, Dr. Seuss.

Roly Poly

My baby rolled over yesterday all by herself. Twice. I'm so proud. sniffle

The Latest

I am writing the Great American Novel.

Don't laugh. I really am.

Okay, so maybe it's more like the Lesser American Novel. Who cares. I've always wanted to write a book, and now I am. Except I don't feel like I'm writing a book, because I'm not writing it on paper in between covers; I'm just typing it on my laptop. And quite frankly, it doesn't have much of a plot yet, which I don't think will surprise Amber. She used to have me tell her bedtime stories, because my voice is so soooooooothing. She carefully didn't mention that it's also because my stories were sooooo boring, and it only took me a few years to figure it out. But I'm getting better. This one has a plot. I just haven't written it yet. I'm having fun "developing" my characters and thinking about what I could put in there, but probably won't.

I like it because I'm always making up a story in my head anyway; now I'm just writing it down. I feel like I'm doing something worthwhile, because suuuuuure, it could get published someday and make lots of money, and Regis has approved my project, which makes me think he thinks I'm not wasting my time. And Regis likes it because it means we don't have to go to the library quite as often as he was anticipating.

I wonder what kids think of their parents' books. I wonder what Abby would think of my book.

Booked Face

Hrm. I just opened an account on Facebook, and I think I made a mistake by doing so. It's depressing to see how many people are in contact with people that I know, because I've wanted to get in touch with some of them for a long time. It makes me think that they must not have wanted to get in touch with me, since they could have . . . . But oh well. Mom always meets my complaints about not having any friends by saying that I need to make more of an effort. But how much effort am I supposed to put out? Is there a point where I say, okay, Sally's not investing anything in this relationship, so it's over?

A Holly Jolly Christmas

What a fun Christmas we had! I'm really really glad that we decided to drive down through the night, so that Abby's sleep schedule wouldn't be messed up. She slept pretty much the entire way. Of course, it wreaked havoc with our sleep schedules, but since there were plenty of people to pawn Abby off on, we got to take a nice nap once we got there. And then she slept through the night every night. And took good naps during the day. We have the most amazing baby ever.

I was really bummed when Regis told me that we'd have to take off the day after Christmas, since his mean ol' boss wouldn't give him any more time off. I LOVE going back to my parents' house, especially when all my siblings (sans missionaries, although we did get to have a chat with Court) will be there. It was great to laugh with everyone, to play Mah Jong together, and to eat clam chowder in a bread bowl. Oddly enough, we didn't watch any of our traditional Christmas movies. No Scrooge, no It's a Wonderful Life. We did snicker while the little girls watched the Barbie version of the princess and the pauper. Gag me with a fork.

On the way back we drove during the day, and Abby slept nearly the whole way again. I was worried that this meant she'd be awake all night, but she slept most of the night as well. I'm glad she did, because (surprise surprise) a lot of germs got passed around at our Christmas gathering, and she and I are both a little sick. She is just so amazingly good, though. Still cheerful even though her little schnozz is all stuffed up.

Yesterday I was struck by how intelligent she is. Yeah, I know, she's only 4 and a half months old, but it's amazing to me how much she seems to understand. I put her on her stomach to give her some tummy time on her new playmat that Grandm--er, Santa gave her, and rolled her onto her back when it seemed like she was done. (She loves her new playmat. It's got tons of jungle-y toys on it, and even I think they're cool.) I guess she wasn't actually finished, because she kept trying to roll back over. She's SOOOO close to getting it, and after a few tries she starting fussing because she couldn't quite make it. That might not sound extremely smart, but going from being a lump to understanding that she can roll herself over is pretty impressive to me.

And Abby must have been at the top of Santa's "Nice" list this year, because she cleaned up on Christmas morning. Even though she wasn't awake to see it. :)

Morning Giggles

This morning, I handed Abby a toy to play with and turned away for a minute to sort through some stuff. I heard a little "uh!" and turned back to find:

I burst out laughing. She wasn't upset at all, just confused. Probably wondering why Mommy was laughing so hard.

She's been so fun lately, giggling when we blow on her belly and when I do my famed walrus impression.

Bucket of Blood

So, what do you do when your infant starts spitting up blood?

Always a delightful experience, I'm sure. Bucket decided I needed that particular experience the other night (of course, it would be on Sunday, at 9 pm). At first, I figured she had just scraped the roof of her mouth a little with her thumbnail, since she's started sucking her thumb. However, when she spit up quite a bit a few minutes later, I decided it was time to call the doctor. We headed over to the hospital, where the after-hours pediatrician's office is. I was worried, but very nice and calm up until we actually got into the office, where I promptly started bawling. I wonder if they could tell I was a first time mom?

Happily, Napoleon's sanguinity was justified, as it usually is. Since Bucket appeared fat and happy (11 lbs 9 oz--wabba dooba!), and was in fact having a great time sitting on Daddy's lap, the doctor suggested it was probably a problem with me, not her. I do remember a weird pain when she was eating earlier in the day, so we think she probably just got a little something extra with her milk. I guess we should have dressed her differently for Halloween: she's a vampire!

Algo Nuevo

As you may have noticed, I've changed the names on my blog. I'm not sure exactly why, but in deference to the Society for the Prevention of Abuse of Me (SPAM), I thought I should probably not put our real names out there for everyone to see. I read a few blog posts recently that warned of the dangers of using real names and allowing people to see pictures of your kids, since there are so many sickos out there. I've changed the names, but I'm not taking the pictures off. I don't want anyone using the pictures of my baby for anything disgusting, but I'm not that worried about it for the same reason I'm too ashamed to put up a visit counter: I really don't think there are too many people who come to this blog. I'm pretty sure that everyone who does is someone I know or someone whose blog I visit, and I'm not too concerned about you guys.

So enjoy reading about the adventures of Napoleon and Josephine, and our daughter Bucket. We really do call her Bucket, usually prefaced by things like Fuss and Snuggle. If you don't like the pseudonyms, take comfort in the fact that they may be temporary. I might not like them either.

Slingin' Baby

In honor of Court's birthday yesterday, Bucket and I put on the spiffy authentic Indonesian sling he gave us for Christmas and took a walk. I had tried it a couple of times before and she was definitely not happy being slung, but she took to it pretty well yesterday, I'm sure in consideration of her dear uncle. We did it again today and she fell asleep, so it's apparently pretty comfortable. It's nice because I can carry her around and still have my hands free, although I'm still not entirely convinced that she's not going to fall out, so I am frequently readjusting the fabric and reassuring myself.

We walked over to JoAnn's to grab some cutesy wutesy stickers as promised, so Amber and Glade, here are your choices:

Let me know which one you want. (The one in the middle is glittery too, just not as much as the two side ones.)