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.

Dr. Who?

According to my pregnancy information emails, this is what my doctor thinks my baby looks like this week:

And this is what I think my baby looks like:
The emails I get (from babycenter.com) always compare the baby's size to a fruit or vegetable, which I find pretty hilarious. Anyone who has shopped for produce in California and Utah knows that oranges, for example, come in very different sizes.

But the real point here is that the doc and I disagree about when my estimated due date is. I say it's July 19th. He says it's July 31st, based on the size of the baby at my ultrasound. What? My baby is measuring under normal size? Well, take a look at me, Doc. Do I look like a large woman? How about Regis? Not a real big guy, is he? How about Abby? A little on the chunky side, you think? I mean, the fact that my first child was 6 lb. 10 oz. at birth when she was supposedly a week late and is still BELOW the 5th percentile in weight and height doesn't tell you anything?

I know, I know, he's just playing it safe, can't always trust patient's memory, due dates are only an estimate. That doesn't mean I have to like it.

Um, no.

I heard a car commercial on the radio today that included something like this:

"Prices for 2009 models have only gone up about $300! That's like a whole year of driving, FREE!"

Right! In the same way that . . . uh . . . kissing an alligator is like playing drums in a boy band!

Commercials like these make me want to track down the people who wrote them and sharpen my teeth on their faces.

Anyone else have any great comparisons to make?

Random delights

Try saying "blue-bummed baboon" five times, fast. And thank Regis if you get the giggles.

Take Note

We're having another girl! Our home is full of sugar and spice and everything nice, with Regis thrown in for variety. :) He's excited. I'm excited. Abby likes her new baby doll and enjoys poking my belly. We hope this baby will be just as charming.

Retro--or Not?

This last weekend, Regis, Abby and I drove up to Logan for his little sister's wedding. We stayed with my in-law's in-laws, who have a lovely home complete with the Little People sets of my childhood! Abby and her cousin Elsie had a great time playing with the house, the construction workers, and all the rest. Regis' sister and I chatted about how great those toys are, and what a bummer it is that they don't make them like that anymore. Imagine, then, my delight when I opened the Sunday paper and saw an advertisement in the Toys 'R Us flyer for--Retro Little People sets! The barn! The school! THE JOY! I rushed to show them to Regis (who, incidentally, was using the facilities and was rather startled when I came bounding in) and insisted firmly that I NEEDED these excellent retro toys. For the children, of course. Regis was, as I mentioned, a bit taken aback, but he readily agreed.

So Abby and I packed up the stroller bright and early this morning, ready to go and find these delightful toys. After a failed attempt to find them on my own, I broke down and asked a customer service person, who directed me straight to a huge disappointment. These "retro" sets are not the toys of my childhood. Sure, the barn set has a sheep and some fence pieces, but they are in the new fat style, and even worse, the "barn" is a commemorative TIN. Like a lunchpail. They basically just took a few pieces from the old sets, replicated them in the fat style (apparently so kids won't choke on them. I never heard of that happening, but I guess the old ones could slide through a toilet paper roll), threw in a crummy printed tin and called it good. My disappointment knows no bounds. Poor Abby will have to wait until we make it back to Grandma and Grandpa's house to revel in true retro style.

Life's Little Lessons

I made Amish Friendship Bread last night, and after tasting it, decided it was not worth the time and effort.

There's a deeper meaning in there somewhere, but I'm not sure I want to look for it.

Flashback

It disturbs me to see shoes that I wore in the 'eighties on sale for $60. Particularly if those shoes are moccasins of a virulent hue. Like these.

Ummm . . .

Yesterday we received two wedding invitations in the mail. To the same wedding. From the handwriting on the envelopes, we're guessing that one was written by the groom and one written by the bride. My name was spelled wrong on BOTH of them. But differently.

At the end of last year, we attended a wedding reception and, of course, brought a gift. Several weeks later, we received a thank you note addressed to "Regis & ______ ".

I'm feeling a little hurt.

I come to bury the week, not to praise it

Friends, Romans, countrypersons, this week has not been a good one. Any suggestions on how to make it better would be appreciated.

Stylin'

Abby has decided to wear a long-sleeved shirt, no pants, two pairs of socks, and her mittens today.

Gabby Abby Returns

Those who find fault with the title on the grounds that they "saw a lot of Abigail and heard not much talking" are cordially invited to bite a brick.

Gabby Abby

Brook demanded more videos of Abby talking. Never let it be said that I am not an obliging sister.

Lost, Lost, Lost

Has anybody seen Abby's little gray plastic Fisher Price horse?

Nothing but the Truth

Regis thinks I win all our arguments because I majored in philosophy.

Actually, it's because I'm always right.

News to You?

I was caught out at church today. I was forced to admit, right there in front of the ward librarians, that my protuberant tummy is not merely my attempt to add personal insulation against the winter cold. I'm grateful that the lady who asked insisted that my due date couldn't possibly be in July, since I still look "so tiny," but as I pointed out, I must not be THAT tiny, since she did notice. I must be doing better on that insulation than I thought. :)

At any rate, here are a few things you should know.

1. Do not ever refer to my condition as "preggers." EVER. "In the family way" is fine. "Knocked up" is humorous. "A bun in the oven" is okay. Take note and tread carefully.

2. I reserve the right to be irrational. If randomness is justifiable at no other time in my life, it is now.

3. My nose is very sensitive these days, more so than I remember the first time around. I will always think there is something bad in the fridge. I will gag seemingly without provocation. If you have a Snickers bar in your pocket, I WILL smell it. You'd better just give it to me.

4. I forget.

Eat It or Wear It

Abby likes my cooking. It's delicious and fashionable.

Apparently clam chowder doubles as shampoo.

I love this picture. Maybe because I'm relieved she's not allergic to peanuts.

Winter Reading

I just finished reading Bare Branches: The Security Implications of Asia's Surplus Male Population (which seems an appropriate title to occupy me in the winter). It is probably the most interesting and depressing book I've read in a long time. I think I've written before about my preference for light reads, especially those with happy endings, but I found my local library's "Request a Book" feature and thought this would be a good addition. I was a little surprised when it showed up on my account as a reserved book a few weeks later; apparently if you tell them it's good, they give you first dibs. Anyway, Bare Branches discusses the huge problems caused by India and China's overwhelming scarcity of females due to sex-selective abortions, infanticide, and neglect. The title refers to the resulting men who are left without wives and families, and therefore tend to congregate in groups that engage in dangerous behaviors like drug use, violent crime, fighting, and rebellion against the government. These bands of unattached men become particularly dangerous when driven to desperation by a failing economy. (Did you hear something? Oh, that was just the bell tolling DOOM.) So, an interesting read, and it made me want to find out more about how China has changed their family planning policy and whether India has become aware of the problem.

Y'know, Valentine's Day is coming . . .

I love Jelly Bellies. If you are ever at a loss for what to buy me, rest assured that I find Jelly Belly Jelly Beans perfectly acceptable. And I'm not snobby: I'll take Belly Flops. I like fruit flavors and the sour ones best. And now I'm drooling.

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny

One of these girls is seven months older than the other one.

For more pictures, see Heidi's blog.

I have birthed a midget.

Xenophobic

Regis (to Abby): Are you playing with the Zesty Italian?

Crystal: Abby! Do NOT play with zesty Italians!

Afraid of Momma Bear

I'm sorry to say that I lost my temper at Cub Scouts today. Despite that, it was a good meeting. The boys, including one who's new, worked on making board games and learning to play marbles, then we went to the kitchen and they helped me make Muddy Buddies. A lot of the boys didn't know what these delicious chocolatey-peanut-buttery treats are, but everybody was excited about helping, and everybody was definitely excited about eating them. Oddly enough, not one of the boys was excited about helping to clean up. Why should this be? It's a mystery.

Being a Den Leader is kind of tough at times. I don't think I'm old enough for them to respect as a "mom-lady," but I'm not young enough to be a peer. Cub Scouts is not like school: I can't send them to detention or the principal's office if they don't behave. Plus, it's voluntary and we want them to like coming, so we never want to exclude boys from activities.

However, I like order and I like to be listened to. There are two boys in particular who have problems with obeying directions, though all the boys slip now and then. Today I was washing out the dishes from the Muddy Buddies at one sink, while these two boys were tease fighting about who got to wash his hands at the next sink. The water in the sink was really hot and hurting my hands, Abby was shoving her head between my knees (her preferred method of getting my attention when she feels ignored), and I was very ready to go home. The boys were shoving and running into me, so I said, "Billy and Bobby, you need to stop." No response, of course (and not because those aren't their real names; I'm protecting myself. See title).
"Billy. Bobby."
Nothing.
So I yelled. "BILLY! STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"
I definitely got his attention, anyway. I think I actually scared the poor kid. Sister Lefler (me) is normally such a calm, low-key person. Now he knows what happens when she doesn't get any Muddy Buddies.

Crystal's Thursday Three

Top Three LEAST Favorite Songs:

1. Maggie May by Rod Stewart
2. The Reason by Hoobastank
3. It Wasn't Me by Shaggy

I can recognize the first two by the initial 3 beats or so, along with the impending feeling of doom I always get seconds before they're played. I've skillfully avoided hearing either of them for years with my quick-draw channel changin' fingers. The third one never gets played on any station I actually listen to, so I don't worry about it.

2009

Happy new year! I hope you all have some lovely and promising resolutions for 2009.

I don't. Because I'm already practically perfect in every way.

Okay, okay, I don't have any because I'm a procrastinator, but I refuse to make that the subject of a resolution. We'll probably start resolving tomorrow, for family home evening, but if you have any suggestions feel free to leave them in the comments.

Decisions, decisions

It's hard to believe that tomorrow is the last day of 2008. We have several options for ringing in the new year:

• Sashay up to Sundance's Tree Room restaurant for their fancy five course New Year's Eve meal at only $110 per person;
• Trip over to Tucano's Brazilian Grill for "an evening of fun, food, music and dancing Brazilian-Style" for just $49.95 per person;
• Visit Village Inn, which will be open all night and features yucky pies and decent food; or
  
• Hold the fort at home, drink Martinelli's till we puke and go to bed at 10.

Hmmmmm.

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.

Extend and Retract

Heidi brought to my attention that what I saw at Barnes and Noble was actually an advertisement for this. Go take a look. It's funny, certainly, and I think if I'd been introduced to it a different way, my initial reaction would definitely have been laughter. So I take back all the mean nasty things I said or thought about Barnes and Noble. But they need to rethink their advertising strategy.

Thanks, Heidi, for setting me straight.

Read this too

I've written over 100 posts now, which sounded like a lot to me until I looked back and realized I've been blogging since March of 2006. Two and a half years, 106 posts . . . that's about one per week. Except that I haven't posted anywhere near that regularly until probably the last six months.

I've been wondering lately about the influence of blogs on the world, and on literature in particular. Since the advent of the internet, it seems like we're swamped with words, but not the kind on paper. I've heard predictions of doom for newspapers, which makes sense to me, but lately I've been curious about what effect technology is having on books. For example, I own a dictionary that is less than ten years old, but generally if I need to look up the definition of a word, I look online. Oprah, who I cannot stand but must allow to have significant influence in the world, particularly among women, recently enthused about Amazon's Kindle, the hand-held reading device that lets you download thousands of books into one little (disputably) handy electronic gadget. Is that what we're heading towards? Will our kids be instructed to scroll to page 35 on their Kindles, and be able to store notes and textbooks in the same little chunk of plastic and wires? That would probably be healthier for their poor strained little backs, but it sure takes the romance out of carrying someone's books for them.

Anyway, what I've really been thinking about is whether there is any money in writing fiction nowadays. There are probably thousands of new books being published every single day, and since they're easier to produce, they are widely available. We're getting better at preserving older books, so classics aren't being lost, even if they get a little harder to find. With soooooo many books to choose from, what are the chances that an author's book will get picked up by someone who will enjoy it and recommend it? I've come across great books that I'd never heard of before and wondered why they aren't all the rage instead of twaddle like the Twilight series. (Sorry to Dulcie and anyone else who likes those books; there are just too many inconsistencies for me to accept.)

So that's my latest puzzlement. I myself am writing a novel (not a three-volume novel, in deference to Cecily's sensibilities) and have been surprised by the amount of research that goes into making it have a plot and making that plot at least mildly believable. I think part of the reason I've been pondering on technology and books is that I'm trying to decide if it's worth the effort to make my story palatable to an audience besides myself, or if I should just keep rollicking along and tossing whatever I feel like writing into the pot. And then I think of some books I've read from the NY Times Bestseller list and think maybe those aren't opposing goals.

Inquiring Minds and all that

What are you going to be for Halloween?

I've got our costumes all picked out. And pictures will be posted. Last year's Halloween was really lame, complete with lame costumes, so I'm trying to make up for it this year.

We carved pumpkins last night after Abby was asleep. They turned out really very charming. Pictures will be posted, ideally before they start rotting. Are jack-o'lanterns a weird tradition or what? Just imagine what would happen if we all stopped carving them. Those poor, poor, pumpkin farmers.

Comment or die, as the Hollywood Flakes say. I really want to know what you'll be wearing. Especially you wild Montanans.

Boycott

I was astonished, while browsing through my local Barnes and Noble bookstore, to find a display table covered in pamphlets and books titled "Porn for Women." I am not sure what exactly they were advertising, since I didn't look too closely, but I can't think of anything called by that name that I would have any desire to study. Part of my disgust stems from the fact that this table was located by the mystery and fiction shelves, where I usually pass in order to reach the children's section of the store.

Now, I recognize that bookstores want to appeal to a wide audience. I also recognize that censorship is a difficult topic, and many books that I consider inappropriate and even disgusting are heralded as classics. However, pornography is such a pernicious, demoralizing, and destructive evil that I cannot bring myself to shop anywhere it is advertised as a desirable thing. I have expressed my feelings to the company in words, and I intend to further express them by my actions. If you should come across a similar display, I strongly encourage you to let the management know that you do not approve. I have concluded my last transaction with Barnes and Noble.

Open Captioning

What does this face say to you?

Excel-lent

I've decided that Excel is pretty much the coolest program ever. As Regis says, "If you can think of something you want to do, Excel can probably do it." Allllll right, I want to ski in the Olympics in 2011. Go go Excel!

Chilly

It is a very windy day today, and just looking out the window, I'm guessing it's cold out there. Which reminds me of my freezer.

This is my freezer just the way I like it. Over there on the right is our 1/16th of a cow. Seriously. Regis' grandma raises the cows, which, if you know her, makes a pretty funny mental image.

And if you're good, you can find two packages each of two of my favorite foods. First to find and identify them correctly in the comments gets glory.

Ewww.

Yes, I know it's gross. Yes, I know you didn't ask to see it. No, I won't be offended if you don't watch. But if you do, keep in mind that it's grosser in person. They snap.

Relative Love

My grandfather's funeral was held last week. It was very sweet. There was a lot said about how he loved the gospel and shared it with everyone he could. A story was also told of how following a prompting from the Holy Ghost saved his life. I remember my grandpa being a cheerful man, and even in the past few months when he was feeling crummy, he always seemed upbeat and hopeful. We will miss him.

I think members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have a very interesting perspective when it comes to death. The few times someone I've known has died, I've wondered if I'm a terribly callous person, because I don't feel very sad. That is probably in part because I've never lost a young friend or relative, but I think it's largely because I believe that when we die, we go somewhere better. It will be difficult to be separated from people that we love who are still on earth, but I'm sure we don't just sit around and wait for them to finish up so we can be together again. As my dad put it, we move on to the next stage of life, and I'm willing to bet that Grandpa is glad to be free of pain and frailty, and to be put to work.

Progress

Abby took her first real steps today, I'm proud to report. She toddled between Regis and I for a good five minutes.

Even more exciting news: she imagined with me! It was very cute. She pretended to pick up something off the floor and hand it to me. I took it, said "thank you," and pretended to blow it out of my hand like a blowdart. She thought it was hilaaaarious and giggled with glee. So we did that for about 15 minutes. She was done with it before I was.

Indo-Californians

Here's my brother, Glenn, with Abigail and Regis. They're all wearing Indonesian clothes that my brother Court brought back from his mission.

I'm it

I got tagged by Heidi to tell five "unspectacular" quirks I have. So you'll just have to wonder what those spectacular quirks would have been.

1. I hate touching paper of any kind right after I wash my hands. It's like scraping fingernails on a chalkboard to me.

2. My big toes do this weird double-jointed snap thing. I can't really explain it, but I can wiggle them up and down in a way that really grosses people out. Maybe I'll post a video just to make you all sick.

3. I don't like having my food mixed together. Even if it's some kind of sauce on rice, I don't like it to be all mushed. I know it will get mixed in my stomach. That argument does not persuade me.

4. When I get nervous, I bite the skin around my fingernails instead of my fingernails.

5. I kind of like giving talks in church. I think this is a family trait. We like to teach and explain.

I'll tag Miriam and Dulcie, and anyone who doesn't have a middle name.

Costume vs. Therapy

Would it scar my child forever if I dressed her as Peter Pan instead of Tinkerbell for Halloween? Discuss.

Able Abby

Abigail has changed a lot while we've been in California. She can stand on her own now, and does. She's more aware of what's going on, and wants to be a part of it. She gives hugs (which may be my favorite change). She drinks out of a sippy cup without help. I think she recognizes that things have names, and a couple of times it's seemed like she's trying to repeat them when I say them. Her hair is out of control. She's definitely bigger.

Where did the baby go?

You probably think this post is about you, don't you? Don't you?

Well, it's not. It's about me, as usual. We are home from California, and after we'd parked the car and stepped out, I realized two things: first, that I had missed my little apartment more than I'd expected, and second, that I'd like to transplant it somewhere else. It was freakin' cold, and coming from 82 degree weather to 48 degree weather was not pleasant.

Anyway, I had a really good time at my parents' house. It was really fun to have all the family there for a while, despite the cramped conditions and the intermittent periods of screaming children. I enjoyed weeding the garden and mowing the lawn, things I haven't been able to do for a long time. But it's nice to be back. I'd forgotten how white our apartment is, and how easy to clean. My parents have a very large house on the outskirts of town, which means lots of room to move, which both people and bugs enjoy. I won't miss the spiders.

We also had a great time visiting with Miriam and Ryan, our old neighbors. They live in a charming house in southern California, where you consider putting on a sweater and decide to turn off the air conditioner instead. I'm wildly jealous. They live less than an hour from the beach.

Riiiiing

One thing I do NOT like about living in my parents' house is the phone. You would think that because they are not even here, fewer people would be calling for them. You would be wrong. Maybe it's because it's such a switch from my home, where I guard the phone number like a dragon with indigestion, but it seems like the phone rings at least 15 times a day. Good grief, people! This is why we have email!*

*Edited to add: This last sentence seemed funny last night when I wrote it. It isn't. I'm sorry.

I used to love her, but it's all over now

Disenchantment is a terrible thing.

About a year ago, I came across a new book series that enthralled me. (Heck no, it was not Twilight.) I'd never heard of it before, but the books had everything I love: mystery, romance, culture, and wit. I read what I could off of Amazon, borrowed the books from the library, and sniveled to Regis until he agreed to let me buy them. I devoured them happily multiple times, went back and reread all my favorite parts, and tried to anticipate what the third book will bring. I marked its release date on my calendar and kept my eyes glued to the author's blog, hoping for some hints of what was to come. Deliciously tortuous anticipation.

A few months later, I've fallen out of infatuation. I've read and thought about the books so many times that small problems that I merely noted earlier have grown and begun to spread their roots throughout the stories. The author's blog is no longer quaint and charming, but obnoxious and contrived. I'm disgusted by the inappropriate covers chosen for the third book and the reprinting of the second.

So, what's going on here? I have bought many books, and while the first glow always fades, I've never experienced such a marked turnaround before. I'm wondering if it's just overexposure. I'm going to try putting the books away somewhere, taking the author's blog off my reader, and ignoring it all for a while. The new book comes out in March--we'll see how I feel then.

Erm . . . yes.

Uh, well, this is kind of throwing myself out there, but I would like to ask for some help. I'd like to know what you want to read about. This blog is all about me, for the most part, with occasional generous appearances of Abby and Regis, and at times it's kind of stream-of-consciousness format. I'm trying to decide if I'd like to change that a little. So from now until Halloween, if there is something you'd like me to write about, leave me a comment or send me an email and I'll do my best. It can be personal, like anything from my latest knitting project to how I decided when to have kids, or weird, like why I regret never having seen a banana slug or where I keep my bellydancing outfit. Serious or whimsical, your topic is my topic. And if no one has any suggestions, I'll keep bumbling along merrily. Just remember you have the option.

Skills

Abby has learned how to drink from a sippy cup all by herself. She likes to make me hold it, but if I insist she can get a drink without my help. What a big girl.

She's also figured out that when she's tired and grumpy, getting into bed is a good thing that will make her feel better. Mmmmm. How nice.

Feeling Sore

I'm reminded today that it has been a loooong time since I mowed a lawn. As I mentioned earlier, my parents have a large yard. Luckily for me, they also have a riding lawnmower. Unluckily, their yard has some weird-shaped patches that are inaccessible with the John Deere mower. Enter the push mower.

Before my parents left, they emailed Amber and I long emails explaining all the things they wanted us to do, where keys were, what to do with the dog, etc. My dad included an explanation of how to start the riding lawnmower. I chuckled a little at that, since I've used such machinery before and it's not that hard. I chuckled even more when I got on the mower and saw that the instructions are printed on it. His anxiety is excusable, I guess, since it's a new mower and he's had bad experiences with his kids and the lawnmower before (cough cough COURT). So I mowed the parts of the lawn I could get to while Abby napped, and that was my hard work for the day.

The next day, I traipsed confidently out to get the push mower and finish the job. There was a sinister creak as I opened the door to the shed where it's kept, and a grim spider eyed me with black humor. I sidled up to the mower, and was confronted by levers, a pull cord, several screw-on caps, a yellow button, and a set of handlebar controls. Good heavens, I thought. Who would have believed that the push mower would be more complicated than the riding mower? And where the other mower had directions printed, the push mower mocked me with a panel advertising all the special features that I couldn't figure out how to use. Determined to finish what I'd started, I dragged it out into the sunlight, depressed a few levers, and pulled the starter cord. To my surprise, it started up, and I finished mowing the first section with little trouble, although the engine seemed tired, as did my arms. When I went to start it again at the next section, though, I tugged the starter cord in vain. Little did I know that my parents had bought the prima donna of lawn mowers, which requires a significant rest period in a shady spot before it consents to perform again. Silly me. I think I bruised the bones in my hand pulling on the cord. I was so determined to start it that I even summoned my pregnant sister from the house to give it a whirl. The mower admired her guts (ha ha), but refused to go on without its beauty sleep.

While the mower was a bit of a snot, it does have its good points. After a bit more tentative tinkering, I discovered that it is not, after all, a push mower. It's a barrel organ! Just kidding. It's a power mower. The lever that I thought was the blade height adjuster actually sets the forward speed, if one pushes buttons and depresses levers in the correct secret combination. So my brain got a workout yesterday, but it's passed the soreness to my legs, shoulders, back, and hand. What a prima donna.

Safe!

All right, we made it! The plane ride was not bad, but it may have been the first flight where I've nearly lost my lunch. Normally I LOVE plane rides, but this time I had to deal with a squirrelly baby all by myself, and the guy in back of us was woofing his cookies the whole time. Ick.

But we're here and it's nice to be back. I know at least one of my siblings and many other people I grew up with have less than fond feelings about this town, but I'm always glad to come and visit. It's even been fairly cool, relatively speaking: eighties and low nineties instead of 110 degrees or so. Abby and I went out earlier and weeded and watered the garden a bit, which reminded me that I would love love love to have a garden. Or at least a yard. Even though my parents' land is a bit overwhelming, it makes me jealous. (Abby had mixed feelings about the gardening, and a love/hate relationship with the water hose.)

My parents have somehow gotten this funny idea that I know all about plants because I have a lot of them inside my apartment and keep most of them alive. Maybe I gave them the wrong impression by blabbing too much. However it happened, they want me to fix a bunch of plant-related problems around the house. I'm interested to see what, if anything, I can get done before they get back. Maybe I should start by mowing the lawn. :)

Help!

Quick, what am I forgetting to pack???

I go through this every time I take a trip anywhere. You'd think I was taking off for the jungles of Azerbaijan, or somewhere where they have jungles if they don't have them in Azerbaijan. Is Azerbaijan a real place? Anyway, I'm NOT going to Azerbaijan, I'm going to California, where they are reasonable civilized. But I'm still worried that I will forget something very very important and the entire trip will be a flop. When I was younger, I solved this problem by trying to fit everything I owned into my suitcase, which caused my parents a lot of grief. Well, actually it caused my parents to cause ME a lot of grief. I don't think I was as bad as Coral, my little sister, though. She's the one who opted to bring an ice cream scoop instead of her toothbrush on a trip to my older brother's house. Because you know, regular spoons just won't cut it when you're on vacation and need a brain freeze.

Anyway, I'm trying to pack for me and Abby, which is even more difficult because Regis isn't coming, so I need to fit everything in a suitcase that I can lug around while I'm lugging Abby. And I'm sick, so I have to periodically pause and press my hands against my temples, partly because my hands are always cold so they feel nice on my fevered brow, and partly to keep my head from splitting open and depositing my brain in the suitcase. Although since Abby is also sick and will doubtless be a squirmy twit on the airplane ride, checking my brain might not be such a bad idea.

Now what have I forgotten?

Camping Pictures

Abby liked the fire all right, as long as Daddy didn't put too much fuel on at once. Her very favorite part about camping, though, was the getting dirty. She had a great time picking up rocks, sitting in the dirt, and kicking her feet in the water.

You may not want to read Part 2

Things I'll Miss About Breastfeeding:

• Eating whatever I want without gaining weight
• Having an excuse to leave Relief Society for long periods of time
• The coolness of producing all the nutrients my child needs from my own body
• Mandatory snuggle time
• Having something only I can do for my child
• Always having at least something I can feed the baby
  

WARNING: This post may contain stuff you don't want to read about.

My daughter has weaned herself.

I was not expecting it to be hard for me. Like most things to do with babies, I've read a lot of different opinions and mused on the experiences of other moms. Like many baby-related things, my experience has not been what I expected.

I'm frequently struck by what an easy baby Abigail is. We didn't have to deal with colic; she started sleeping through the night reliably before she hit three months; she's never yet had stranger anxiety; she caught on to eating solids quickly and rarely rejects food; teething was barely noticeably; etc. One thing I love especially is how affectionate she is. Particularly now that she's not nursing anymore, she needs lots of cuddles before I put her down to sleep. I guess that knowing how easily she has jumped the hurdles of babyhood so far should have prepared me for weaning.

Because she's such a good baby, we had few qualms about taking her camping early this week. We went up to Strawberry Reservoir and had a great time fishing, roasting hot dogs, looking at the aspens, and pointing out a fox, a doe and fawn, and other wildlife. We got the tent set up and prepared for bed. Up to this point, Abby had nursed once first thing in the morning and once right before bed every day. For some reason, she refused her nightcap that night. I was surprised, but figured it was a temporary thing caused by the weirdness of camping.

We slept well until about 3am, when Abby woke up because she was cold. We tucked her in with us, and she and Regis slept pretty well, while I mostly tossed and turned. It's a good thing I have such a sweet and understanding husband, because I was already tired, and being rejected again by Abby in the morning hit me hard. I didn't cry, but I sulked. Regis, wise man, sent me fishing, which perked me up considerably.

And that's pretty much the end of the story. Abby nursed one more time, before a much-needed nap the next day, but since then she hasn't been interested, and I've stopped offering. I think it was hard because it was so unexpected. I'd toyed with cutting down to one feeding a day, but Abby seemed distraught, so I put it off. But she is over 13 months now, and does fine drinking cow milk, so even if there was something I could do about it, there's really nothing I ought to do. It's just a natural result of her growing independence, I suppose, and in some ways it makes things easier. She seems to have felt the change a lot less than I have. It's nice that she has considerately made it clear that she isn't rejecting ME: as I said, she still likes her cuddles, and in fact bawls if Regis tries to put her to bed. Nice to know there are still some things that only Mommy can do.

Puppy Love

Abby has become enamored of the blue velvet rocking chair we keep in her room. Old Blue is the reason she learned how to climb up, which was fortunately followed closely by climbing down. It took a while for us to realize that she actually knew how to get down, since once she is in the rocker she never wants to get out. Not only that, but now she's jealous, too: I am no longer allowed to accompany her in the chair. If she's feeling particularly magnanimous, I'm allowed to perch on the edge and assist her in rocking. Apparently my swaying skills are lacking, because she prefers to rock herself by smacking against the back of the chair. Although she loves the chair, she must not trust it completely, because even when she wants some alone time with it, I'm not allowed to leave the room. I'm supposed to stand a few feet away and watch her rock herself. Wait: I'm having an epiphany! It's not the chair she doesn't trust, it's me. She's trying to teach me to rock.

She must think I haven't grasped it yet, because whenever I try to remove her from the chair to put her to bed, she screams like a banshee and clings like a limpet. I'm tempted to throw her off by replacing the rocker with a glider. THEN we'll see who is in charge!

Thoughts on the Mall

I get such a buzz out of buying clothes for Abby. I hate shopping for myself, but Regis has to drag me away from Gymboree and The Children's Place and the baby sections of other stores. I can't decide if it's because I feel guilty about spending money on me, or because I can never find anything cute and modest in my size.

Does it seem to anyone else like there is a sudden preponderance of punk clothing stores? I guess that explains why all our neighbor kids look like druggie hookers. Or maybe it's the neighborhood. Hmmm.

We ran into a very sweet lady from our ward at Macy's: Sister Smith (yes, that really IS her last name). She is one of those people who is so nice that it makes me want to be extra nice right back. I hope everyone meets up with a Sister Smith this week.

Hot Fun in the Summertime

Boy, it's really feast or famine around here, isn't it? I guess that's my tendency with a lot of things, not just blog posts.

I'm really excited, because in less than two weeks now I'm heading out to California! Abby and I will join my sister Amber and her daughter Olivia to babysit my little sister Coral at my parents' house. I love California and I love the old homestead. I'm looking forward to hanging out with my sisters and watching the little ones chew on the bones-oh. It's been getting cooler and cooler here, so it will be nice to extend the summer by a few weeks. More time in the pool! :)

I was bemoaning the coming of winter to Regis the other day, pointing out that in California, at least where I grew up, the weather stays summery until the end of summer, and then some! Essentially, it stays summer until fall, which begins in late October, and fall lasts until the spring, which starts in March and lasts about a month. Some people, particularly Utahns, are aghast at this mutating of the seasons. I think it's maaaaaarvelous.

I concede that the turning of the leaves in the canyons is gorgeous.

So are postcards.

I love to watch snow falling, and one of the most melancholically beautiful things I've ever seen is a naked tree layered with snow.

A week later, it's a grimy pile of nuisance, like a soggy mountain of ratty old newspaper.

So when we drive back home in a few weeks, I'll be keeping Regis awake by choking out the words to "I Left My Heart in San Francisco." I won't have, but the name of my hometown doesn't fit.

Salsa and Other Recipes

I made my own salsa yesterday with tomatoes and jalapenos from the garden of my sister-in-law, Tisha. The salsa is terrific. To comprehend the import of that statement, you need to understand that I don't like tomatoes. Regis eats them like apples, and it grosses me out. I'll eat them on sandwiches, but they have to be sliced reeeeeally thin. But man, do I like this salsa.

I think I learned to like fresh salsa when I lived in the GlenHood with my sisters, so it's fitting that Amber should have asked for my salsa recipe when I told her how nummy this batch was. It's likewise fitting that this recipe is actually a blend of two other recipes, since I learned in part from my sisters that cooking is not an exact science.

I used to find cooking slightly terrifying. My mom would ask me to help out with dinner, and I'd kind of freeze up and have to ask her for directions every step of the way. I'm sure it was annoying, but I was afraid of messing things up because I usually had to help when the meal was something I'd asked for eagerly.

I can't pinpoint when I made the change from timid taster to bold baker, but it I think it began with a visit from the Cookie Nazi. The Cookie Nazi and I met my freshman year of college, and quickly realized we were meant for each other in a totally platonic BYU-appropriate way. :) Kristi earned her appellation when we decided to make dessert with our dates at my sister's apartment before a dance: Never on Sundays, hot-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies with scoops of ice cream on top. Mmmm. The rest of us were content to slap the ingredients together and get to the eatin', but Kristi insisted on carefully measuring--and leveling--the flour, the sugar, and so on. We all knew you were supposed to do that, but I don't think any of us had ever seen it done. Nevertheless, we bowed to the Cookie Nazi's superior experience and simply looked forward to the results.

The cookies, as you've probably anticipated, didn't turn out perfect. They were the kind that spread too much, so the chocolate chips didn't have a chance to melt before the dough was cooked all the way through. They tasted just fine, of course, especially with ice cream on top, but you can imagine how funny it was to a bunch of college twits.

I look back at that experience with fondness, in part because of the fun memories, and in part because it illustrates an important principle for cooking, among other things: getting caught up in the details won't always make the end result perfect.

All that for a simple recipe!

Salsa:

5 medium tomatoes, seeded and chopped
1 onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 jalapenos, seeded and minced
1/2 C cilantro, chopped
2 T lemon or lime juice
1/2 t sugar
1/4 t salt

Combine ingredients and serve with salty tortilla chips.

Note: My salsa is made from perhaps 10 small tomatoes. I had about 4/5 of an onion left over, so I used that. I passionately love garlic, so I'm not telling how many cloves I put in. Regis can't handle too much heat, so I only used one jalapeno. I never measure cilantro. My sugar was clumpy, so I threw in one clump and called it good. Salt was liberally sprinkled. In other words, the odds of your salsa tasting exactly like mine are not good. :)