Had ourselves a merry little Christmas

We spent Christmas this year with Regis' family up in Logan. It was really fun, and went better than I expected: normally I don't sleep well there, what with the air mattress and tons of people in the house with early morning paper routes. But this time I slept well, Abby slept well, and Regis slept well (what a shock), and our special Asian food dinner was tasty and almost all ready at the same time.

We all got lots of nifty presents. I've been enjoying my new clock/iPod player. Regis has already done significant work on the mound of chocolate Santa brought him. Abby's been enjoying her new toys and toothbrush, and I'm excited about her cute new clothes. She already needs a new Sunday dress, which boggles my mind since we just bought her two new ones a couple of months ago. As Regis said, we've been spoiled. She used to wear things for six months or so, but the way she's eating these days we suspect some serious growth is coming.

State Hunting

As I said to Regis a couple days ago, I really don't think I can stand living in Utah much longer. It's just too cold. There are lots of good things about this state, but I can't handle being trapped in my house for at least four months of the year. The problem is, where to go?

So You Think You Can . . .

We did not teach her this. I love it when she comes up with things on her own.

Snow Baby

Abby got really excited when she saw the snow blowing around outside the window today. She and Regis had fun looking out at it, and even stepped outside for a closer look. She seemed so thrilled that we took off her jammies, put her into her brand-new snowsuit, and bounced out the door. The enthusiasm quickly waned: I don't think she was prepared for the chilly wind.

Behold, and believe whaaaat you see . . . Behold how my lover loves me! :)

That's all the text I was going to have, but Regis didn't know the reference (The King and I) so I thought I might explain a little more. This is yarn. Lovely yarn. I'm very excited to make things out of it. Regis bought it for me. Therefore, these are photographs that describe how my husband loves me: he, he himself . . . the GRINCH . . . er, Regis, drove with me ALLLLL the way up to Salt Lake IN THE SNOW just to let me walk around yarn stores and salivate. And then, because he loves me even more than that, he let me buy some expensive yarn made of sheepy wool. He's a good man, that Regis. I love him lots.

Philistine

I don't think Regis appreciates blogging as a productive form of housework. I asked him what I should blog about briefly, to make up for the last two hugely long posts, and he said "Beer." And then he suggested that I go empty the dish rack so he could finish doing the dishes.

I feel so unappreciated.

Waiting for Results

So, there's this commandment that I really struggle with.

I like to think that I'm good with most of the big ten. I mean, I'm not usually really tempted to steal, or adulterate, or covet my neighbor's wife. The commandment I'm talking about is one of those that Jesus thought was really important. I'm still working on "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind," and I like to think I'm getting better. But my real trouble is with the one like unto it: "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." Because if I actually do have that one down, my amour propre is in serious danger.

To be fair, I don't hate all of my neighbors. I wouldn't even say that I hate most of my neighbors. But there is one who smokes. And I can't stand him. If he died, my uppermost emotion would be delight.

It's probably not entirely his fault that I feel this way. I think I'm mostly frustrated by my helplessness in this situation. See, I live in an apartment complex. This complex is tyrannized by its homeowner's association (HOA), which so far has proved itself aggravatingly and belligerently inept. We pay a large fee every month for them to flounder around and ignore requests and complaints. Unfortunately, we really don't have any power to change the situation. (Not having to deal with an HOA will be a big selling point wherever I live next.)

So here's the sad tale. The rule is that there is no smoking within 25 feet of any complex structure, including parking structures. I've called to complain probably 15 times since this guy moved in about him smoking by our apartment, in front of our apartment, and next to our parking area. No response. No change. We tried asking him not to smoke near our place, which resulted in us being insulted and sworn at. A real charmer, that one. I've contacted all three members of the HOA presidency and griped. Nothing. This is the point at which I started daydreaming about sniper rifles and "accidentally" running this jerk over. Regis tried again to ask him to stop smoking, and was told that one of the HOA presidency actually said it was ok for the guy to smoke in the complex as long as he kept walking and didn't smoke by any open windows. Yes. I was not pleased.

This morning, I decided to try again. I called the member of the presidency that I'd contacted least, and actually got him on the phone. I checked with him to make sure the rule was actually what I thought it was, and asked why nothing had been done about this guy. He actually listened, was polite, and explained the actions he would take, including fining the smoker and talking to him about it. I was impressed in spite of myself. Poor guy--he probably doesn't realize that he just nominated himself as Complaints Department. Now I'm waiting to see if anything actually happens.

Thoughts on a dead guy

I picked up my copy of Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals the other day and started reading the first section, which is entitled "Transition from common rational to philosophic moral cognition." It's a funny book. Not intentionally, of course, but Immanuel Kant's writings are amusing because when you read a sentence, you can understand the meaning of every single word he put down, but when you string them all together, they're incomprehensible. Or, you start out reading and totally get it, but by the time you get to the end of the sentence you no longer have any idea what Kant was talking about. For instance: "We have, then, to explicate the concept of a will that is to be esteemed in itself and that is good apart from any further purpose, as it already dwells in natural sound understanding and needs not so much to be taught as only to be clarified--this concept that always takes first place in estimating the total worth of our actions and constitutes the condition of all the rest."

Now that I look at that, though, it's not such a good example. If you understood that on the first try, raise your hand. Hmmm. That's what I thought. Here's a better one: "No subtle reflection is required to make the following remark, and one may assume that the commonest understanding can make it, though in its own way, by an obscure discrimination of judgment which it calls feeling: that all representations which come to us involuntarily (as do those of the senses) enable us to cognize objects only as they affect us and we remain ignorant of what they may be in themselves so that, as regards representations of this kind, even with the most strenuous attentiveness and distinctness that the understanding can ever bring to them we can achieve only cognition of appearances, never of things in themselves." HA! I defy you, even with the most strenuous attentiveness and distinctness that the understanding can ever bring to you, to fully comprehend that sentence on the first try. Did your eyes start to glaze over?

Anyway, so I picked up this book and started reading it again, and wondered, wow, did I actually understand this back then? My transcript says I did. My diploma agrees. My brain balks. I hate to think that I'm getting dumber as I get older, but that's sure what it looks like. I can only hope it's because I passed significant portions of intelligence on to Abby. But if that's true, I better not have any more kids, or I may not even be left with two brain cells to rub together.

Commentary

A well-thought-out article about some of the happenings in California.

http://www.lonsberry.com/writings.cfm?story=2504

Snatched from Miriam again.

Fourthwith

I've been tagged by Miriam to post the fourth photo from my fourth folder. Here it is:
This is Regis in his old apartment. I think this is from the week of Thanksgiving vacation the year before we got married, when I went home and Regis stayed behind to grow out his facial hair. I think I specifically asked him to take pictures for me, so I could see what he looked like with a fuzzy face.

I'll tag Rebe, if she ever reads this, and Brook.

Frankly, my dear . . .

I am a hopeless romantic.

I love love stories. I can't stand unhappy endings, except for Gone With the Wind. You know that part in The Runaway Bride, where Richard Gere says, "You want a guy who will wake you up at dawn, just bursting to talk to you, can't wait another minute to find out what you'll say"? Richare Gere makes me gag ever since I watched First Knight, but I still sigh wistfully at that part. So. A romantic.

I'm a hopeless romantic because I married a man who thinks my desires for cut flowers (they wilt and die), spontaneous dates (wouldn't you rather help pick where we go?), and sappy sentiments (. . . yeah) are inexplicable.

Despite my best efforts, I have to concede that Regis is just not a romantic guy. As far as I can tell, that gene got booted out of the family line generations ago.

However: Regis is also a smart man. He well knows that "Le coeur a ses raisons, que la raison ne connaît point," usually translated as "If Mamma ain't happy, aint nobody happy."* So he asked me to explain romance to him. I invite you to try explaining romance sometime. It's challenging. But I think something clicked, because last week, when he called on his way home from work and heard that I was having a hard day, he stopped by the store to buy me a pretty bouquet of roses and lilies. He explained, "I was going to just hurry home to help you out, but then I realized that was the logical thing to do. So I stopped and got flowers instead!"

Is it possible to be logically illogical? At any rate, he works hard to keep me happy. And what's more romantic than that?



*Blaise Pascal is turning in his grave. So sorry.

No, really!

I pulled a booger the size of Texas out of Abby's nose this morning. Seriously. It should have tipped me off when she actually brought the booger-sucker (okay, nasal aspirator. Whatever) over and handed it to me. That thing was nasty.

Another creepy ad

Look at this woman.

Is this an ad for a department store or for the Twilight movie?

Well, that makes sense.

Yesterday I noticed that Abby was sneezing a lot and had a runny nose. Last night she was sweet and jolly while we had people over for dinner, but as soon as they left and we tried to put her to bed she got very upset. We figure she probably had a sore throat and headache as well as a snotty nose, because this morning Regis woke up with it. :) When she woke up after about an hour, he went and rocked her back to sleep, even offering to sleep in the chair holding her if he needed to. Such sacrifice! I offered to let him stay home today and to coddle him so he could get over his cold quicker, but he opted to go to work since they'll be busy today. Abby is much more cheerful this morning, so hopefully Regis will recover quickly too.

Anyway, that's probably part of the reason Abby was noticeably twittier than usual. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking. But I did want to relate my favorite of her cute tricks: If you ask, "Can I give you lots of kisses?" she will lean her head towards you to receive them.

Sigh.

It's obvious around here that we were due for some serious twitiness. Abby was SUCH a good baby that I suppose it was inevitable that we should be hit with a regular tsunami of bad behavior. And all those with children above the age of two are probably laughing right now, but yes, we realize that it's only a beginning. It's just a rude awakening after our blissful stroll through early parenthood.

Haunting thoughts

I realized yesterday that if I die anytime soon, I'll be back to haunt my place. I'll have to stay as a spirit and linger fretfully over all the projects I haven't finished, until Regis summons my mother and sisters to perform an exorcism by crafting. In fact, I'm guessing that's how the tradition of having a wake started: everyone gathered around to finish off Grandma's knitting projects so she'd be able to rest in peace.

I am making progress, though. Last night I finished off the knitted cap for Regis that had been hibernating in my closet. Next in line is a much more complicated and girly one for Abby. I'm trying to free-hand knit it from a picture of a beanie sold by Gymboree or Children's Place or one of those other pricey places. If it turns out well I'll post a picture. It's kind of funny--the yarn I picked out turns into girly camouflage when knitted.

Subtle. Very subtle.

I think Abby's trying to tell me she's got cabin fever. She keeps going over to her car seat and climbing in and just sitting there. Yes? Did you have a destination in mind, my dear?

Advertising gone wrong

Doesn't this just make you want to run to the fabric store? You could look just like them!!!

Strange days

I don't feel like blogging. I'm going to go mop my kitchen floor instead.

I feel odd.

Hallowed Eve

Hope you had fun.