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Whipping Cream

2012-01-27T19:25:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, whipped cream came in a little plastic tub. And contained no actual cream. Maybe your childhood contained CoolWhip too, and maybe it didn't. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really matter. Or so I thought.

But then, when Hugh and I had been married for about a month, one of his brothers invited us over for breakfast. Hugh informed me that we had been asked to bring "whipping cream." I asked if that really meant whipping cream, or if we were actually supposed to bring whipped cream because sometimes people say "whipping cream," but that's not what they really mean. Hugh wasn't sure, so we called his brother back to check. We were informed that in this family, we did not eat things like store-bought whipped topping. (You'd think that Hugh would've known, but as it turns out, I married the black sheep--the only member of his family who doesn't cook.)

That was just fine. I could handle whipping my own cream. It's not like it's complicated or anything. Cream. Sugar. Vanilla. Whip. Tada!

Until I burned through all five of the hand-held electric mixers that we received as wedding presents in two years and decided not to bother getting a new one. 'Cause the pioneers could mix stuff by hand, so why couldn't I? And that theory worked for everything except whipped cream. I just couldn't do it. Every time I tried, I successfully got a great arm workout, but my cream was still soupy. Maybe I gave up too early. Maybe there's some secret that people raised on CoolWhip miss out on. Maybe I just have a wimpy arm. In any case, I threw in the towel, and, since by then I was ruined and could never enjoy the pre-fabricated stuff again, for years, there was no whipped topping in our house--either dairy or non-.

But tonight I decided to try again. Because today is Friday, the night when we all watch a movie together and Asher gets to pick a treat for us to eat. And what should he request? A strawberry short cake. So I made him one, but although I whipped the egg whites into stiff, frothy peaks with no problems, when the cake was baked I could not whip the cream to go on top.

So, in a fit of frustration, I poured my cream-and-sugar soup into a jar. And I shook, and shook, and shook, like a kindergartener making butter. Except that I stopped short of that, and there it was: perfect whipped cream. Finally.

And Asher and Simon asked for more of it after their cake was gone. And I let them have some because I was so proud of myself. And I'm so proud, that if you come over, I'll make some for you too. You might have to take a turn shaking, though, because unfortunately neither of my kids is interested in helping. (Although Asher did ask if I was done yet about a thousand times and Simon helpfully said, "shake, shake, shake!" while I shook.)

And there you have it. I intend to submit my application for official family membership immediately. Maybe an attached sample jar of shaken cream will make the admissions board feel more generous.

Things Burritos Love

2012-01-24T20:04:00.000-07:00

Asher loves to help me cook. He especially loves to help me bake. He does all of the dumping of filled measuring spoons and cups into the bowl and the majority of the mixing. He knows the names of all of our normal baking ingredients by sight, and sometimes he makes up recipes (just verbally, thank goodness) and they often actually sound like combinations that would be edible. For Christmas, I made him an apron with a matching chef hat. They are very cute--navy and white houndstooth--and he refuses to wear them. But then, I almost never wear an apron myself, so I can't really blame him.

This morning, he woke up, and the first words out of his mouth were, "I want to make some scones!" We couldn't make my fallback scone recipe (I substitute whole-wheat flour for half of the all-purpose because I just can't help myself.) because we were fresh out of cream, so we did a little search and made some different ones instead. Simon obligingly slept in until they were almost in the oven, and when they came out everyone happily devoured them. If I had followed through with my breakfast plan, we'd have been eating toast. Thank goodness for Asher, the little baker.

And lest this blog become all about Asher, let me tell you about a couple of things that Simon loves: toilets and toilet paper. Toilet paper is one of Simon's very favorite toys. He likes to tear off a piece, wipe his nose with it, and then throw it in the garbage can. Even more than that, though, he loves to unroll an entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet bowl. And Simon is fascinated with toilets. He likes to lift up the lids and let them drop, then giggle at the loud sound. He likes to put things in them. And he loves to flush them. Especially if somebody is busy sitting on them. (As a side note, Asher does not love having the toilet flushed while he is sitting on it.) Luckily, we have not yet had an incident of unrolling an entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet and then flushing it. Knock on wood.

Simon does not have any interest in using toilets for their intended purpose, which is a shame, since he often poops three or four times a day. An unfortunate side effect of this is that he poops in the bathtub with some frequency. I'm pretty sure Asher pooped in the tub twice. Ever. And both times, I thought it was an utter tragedy. Simon has me pretty desensitized. In fact, poop in the tub can be helpful in decision-making, like this morning, when I was trying to decide what part of the house to scrub today, and then Simon pooped in the bath, so I scrubbed the bathrooms. Then I re-filled the tub and plunked Simon back down in it, and he pooped again. But let's be honest: poop in the tub is definitely better than poop on the carpet.

"I wanted to color."

2012-01-11T19:30:00.002-07:00

Today in the car, I had the following conversation with Asher:

Asher: Mom, when I was a baby in your tummy, I couldn't wait to come out.
Me: Why couldn't you wait? What did you want to do?
Asher: I wanted to color. That's why I couldn't wait to come out.

Coloring seems like a random answer to that question, but for Asher it might not be. He really, really loves to color. And draw. And paint. He spends some part of every day using crayons, markers, colored pencils, chalk, or paint, and his creations are even starting to look like what he intends them to be.

Today, he chose a different medium to express his creativity: Legos. Here is his masterpiece:

It's an excavator. He didn't have any instructions. He just made it. He did, however, base his work on the following:

But, hey, even the great artists used models.

Sticker Charts

2011-12-30T14:03:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned that we're working on potty-training Asher? Our latest strategy is continuous sticker charts. It goes like this: I divide a piece of construction paper into squares. Every time Asher uses the toilet successfully and his underwear is clean at the time, he puts a sticker in a square. When all of the squares on the paper are full he gets a reward and we make a new chart. I made a sticker chart for Asher sometime in early October. He filled it up on Tuesday night. It had 30 squares on it.

So, on Wednesday, we went out for ice cream. And, as unimpressive as it may seem for a few-months-short-of-four-year-old to successfully use the toilet thirty times in two and a half months, he was ridiculously proud of himself. So proud that he brought the chart with him to the store and showed it to all of the people working there so that they could see how responsible he had been. (Also, he would like all of you to know that the name of the restaurant was Michael's Frozen Custard and that he filled up all of the squares!!!)

And I've been thinking ever since about accomplishments and how maybe some of them really are bigger than they might seem.

And I made Asher a new chart. When he fills is up, we are going out for burritos. It has fifty-six squares. I'll let you know when it's full.

Mimicry

2011-12-22T19:12:00.001-07:00

This evening after dinner, I bathed the burritos and put their pajamas on. Then I sent Asher to get a comb for their hair. I was busy doing something else and didn't notice that he was taking an inordinate amount of time retrieving one. When he did come back, he was still comb-less and, despite the copious amounts of lavender scented baby lotion I had slathered on him, he brought with him the unmistakable aroma of Old Spice.

"Asher, did you put Daddy's deodorant on?"
"Yeah!"
"Where did you put it?"
"back in the drawer, with the lid on"
"I mean where did you put it on you?"
Asher lifted up his pajama top and pointed to his armpits. "I put it in the right spot!"

Since he did, in fact, put it in the right spot, and since he put it away so responsibly when he was done, I decided that there was no reason to give him any lectures about it. But then I realized that Simon had also been absent for some time, so Asher and I went up to investigate. It turned out that he, too, had delved into Mommy and Daddy's bathroom drawers. He was holding an open tube of mascara and he looked like this:

Not quite in the right spot, Simon, but close.

2011-12-11T15:11:00.000-07:00

Simon says more and more words every day. His current greatest hits include:

booboo! : computer
mamamamama: more please
mammmmm: Mom
dyaaaaa: dad
AP-po: food (extrapolated from apple)
buh-ket: blanket (this sounds like bucket every time)
buh-co: buckle (in his car seat and in his high chair)
buh-to: bottle
nao: no
baooon: balloon (this used to be bobo, after Spanish's "globo")
awa: agua (spanish victory!)
uh ah: something fell down / I have thrown something
boo-k: book
hello!: this is his word for telephone
mahhh-ine: mine
bop bop: beep beep (this often refers to cars and microwaves)
mon mon: snowman
up!: help
up!: pick me up!
whoah

Any minute now he'll start saying it's time to get out of bed, given that he's been asleep for over two hours.

Of Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax

2011-11-24T19:01:00.001-07:00

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a woman in possession of two wild and vigorous boys, must be in want of a girl. Upon hearing that I was expecting, nearly everyone I know said something to the effect of, "Oooh! Maybe you'll finally get a girl this time!" I was even asked if we were "trying for our girl" in a way that suggested that no woman in her right mind would intentionally have three children for any other reason.

Shocking as it may be, however, I have really been hoping for another boy. I love my boys. I love the way they play. I love their clothes. I love their toys. I love their wrestling, and their wild running, and their obsession with cars and trains and sticks and dirt. And how could more of that not be a great idea?

Plus, I felt like having a girl would mean a big identity change for me--from a mother of boys to a mother of boys and girls. And I really just tend to prefer the familiar.

As it turns out, however, all of my well-intentioned well-wishers got their wish. This spring, Asher and Simon will become the proud owners of a little sister. To console myself after my ultrasound, I went out and bought some thick, fuzzy, blanket sleepers that were girly, but not baby pink. Since then, I've spent a fair amount of time thinking about ruffles and tiny cardigans and little warm tights. I'm feeling much better already. And maybe, with two older brothers, this little girly burrito will like trains and sticks and wrestling too.

Not So Bad

2011-11-22T12:41:00.001-07:00

This pregnancy is melting my brain. It just can't seem to hold onto anything and it's easily thrown off. On Sunday, I was supposed to be at church early to run through a musical number for Sacrament meeting. I told Hugh that I needed to be there at 9:35. At 9:20 we were in the car, headed in the direction of our building. Just before we got there, Hugh asked where we would be rehearsing, seeing as how another ward would still be using the chapel when we got there. It was at that moment that I remembered that our ward meets at 11:00, not at 10:00, and that my rehearsal was actually at 10:35.

So we turned around and went back home. I was feeling thrown off and a little grouchy. I unloaded the dishwasher in an attempt to purge my frustration. Then, just as I was wondering in which direction to aim my angst next, I looked out the window. It was perfect picture-taking weather. And the boys were even already dressed up. So we took a snack outside and played and snapped some photos, and I decided that maybe being ready for church an hour early wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Motivation

2011-11-13T19:12:00.001-07:00

For several months now, I have been trying to teach Asher 1 Nephi 3:7. Despite all of my efforts, any time I asked him to tell me "what Nephi says" he only seemed able to remember the first few words. Last week, frustrated at his lack of progress, I resorted to bribery. For weeks, Asher had been asking me for a "block car," by which he meant a set of legos with which to build Lightning McQueen (from the movie Cars). I told him that if he could memorize the whole scripture, I would buy him the car. Miraculously, he had the whole thing down by the next day.

Asher is in love with his new toy, carries it with him everywhere, and doesn't seem in the least upset about all of the pieces that he has already lost. I discovered, however, that I could probably have bought him off much more cheaply. A couple of days later he consented to recite the verse to Grandma in exchange for a chocolate chip. You live and you learn.

Vegetables

2011-10-17T12:26:00.000-06:00

The other night I made broccoli with cheese sauce. Hugh's mom has taught me how to make her cheese sauce several times, and it always turns out perfectly in her pot, on her stove top, with her watching over my shoulder as I stir, but for some reason, it has never seemed to work out quite right in my own kitchen. But the other night it was perfect. And it is so simple that I honestly have no idea how I've destroyed it so many times before.

At dinner time, I set the broccoli proudly on the table. I thought it tasted divine. Unfortunately, I was the only one. (Although Hugh informed me the next morning that he also enjoyed it when he got home later that night.) Simon refused to even touch it. Asher put one little bite in his mouth, made a disgusted face, and spit it out on the table. So much for my amazing success.

At least they fought over the green beans at lunch the next day. I didn't get a single one. But that's okay. I ate broccoli.

The Announcement

2011-10-09T15:15:00.000-06:00

Dear universe,

I am pregnant.

I was going to write a very clever post to subtly proclaim my news to the world. I even had a couple of different ones all planned out in my head. ("Look! I scrubbed my whole house and did all of the laundry and ironing and solved world hunger! I must be ready for another baby!" or "Look at this marvelous sewing project I did for my children. Wait, did I make an extra one? No, I didn't!") But, as it turns out, being pregnant makes you tired. And sick. And I have had a more difficult time than I hoped mustering the energy to save the world one wrinkled shirt or crafty project at a time.

I am feeling much better now. Thank you for asking. But as I emerge from the "morning" sickness fog, I am realizing that I've gotten just a little bit behind in a few areas. Amazing feats of cleaning, sewing, and the like might have to be put off while I pull it all back together, and you really didn't want to wait that long to hear about it, did you?

I didn't think so.

Love,
Me

Because Sometimes Moms Just Know

2011-10-04T19:07:00.000-06:00

I took Simon to the doctor today because he had an ear infection. I knew he had an ear infection. Unfortunately, we just changed heath insurance providers, and consequently I had to go to a new clinic, which meant that I couldn't see our old pediatrician whom I love dearly, and who is familiar with Simon's history of ear infections. My conversation with the new nurse went thus:

Nurse: So Simon had a fever yesterday, but this morning his temperature was normal?

Me: Yes.

Nurse: And he hasn't been pulling at or rubbing his ears?

Me: No.

Nurse: So you just think he has an ear infection because he's crying a lot?

Me: Yes.

(Nurse looks a little skeptical, but is too polite to say anything.)

And he did have an ear infection--two, in fact, if you count each ear. And I knew, because I've seen him with enough ear infections to know exactly how he cries when he has one, and that he never pulls or rubs his ears, or does any of the things that are generally listed as ear infection symptoms except cry.

And tonight, as I think back on the whole experience, I am grateful that I have the opportunity to be at home with my children, so that I can be there when they cry in just that certain way and recognize that cry for what it is. And I am grateful for a husband who works all day so that I can have that opportunity. And I am grateful for antibiotics, and for pediatricians. And for nurses. Even the ones who take a little convincing.

Bugs

2011-09-18T20:30:00.001-06:00

This summer, Asher learned about fireflies. He got to stay up past bedtime. We chased the fireflies all around the back yard. We caught one in a jar and brought it in to show to Daddy. Then we went back out and watched our little captive fly off into the night.

He also learned about hornets. He climbed up a tall wooden play structure and found a nest. One of its residents stung him on the eyebrow. A knowledgeable friend rubbed some plantain herbs on it and it didn't even swell. But Asher still screamed. A lot.

He eventually learned about flies. I spent the rest of the summer after the hornet episode trying to convince Asher that flies are not bees and that they cannot, in fact, sting us. It took a few months, but he finally transitioned from screaming to swatting and saying "shoo" at the sight of one.

He learned about honey bees, and if you ask him, he can tell you that they gather nectar from flowers, which they then take to their hives and fan to make honey. I've tried explaining pollination a few times, but so far that part doesn't seem to be sticking.

He learned about ants. (Thank you, Magic School Bus.) He knows that there are different kinds of ants that do different things and he is sure that every really big ant he sees is a queen. Which they might be, but I'm less confident in my ant knowledge than my preschooler is in his.

He learned about butterflies. We went to a butterfly exhibit at the local botanical garden and he saw all varieties of butterflies and moths, both living and, er... dead. We also saw a monarch hatchery, but Asher still doesn't believe that caterpillars turn into butterflies. In fact, he is a little upset by my insistence that they do.

Now summer is over. We'll see what lessons fall has in store.

Nothing in Particular

2011-08-15T12:37:00.001-06:00

I haven't said anything here for quite some time. That's because I haven't had much of anything exciting to say. Our month has mostly been taken up by babysitting:

(Asher "reading" books to our little friend Betsy)

and goofing around:

I gave Simon his first real haircut:

Not so obvious from the pictures perhaps, but I promise, he's about a thousand times cuter. Have I ever mentioned that I hate fluffy, wispy, messy baby hair? Yuck. If I ever have a girl, I don't know what I'll do. Probably keep her hair short until it thickens up and smile and nod at all of the strangers telling me what a cute little boy I have.

I've also done a handful of little sewing projects. Here's Asher wearing his new apron (for preschool, because he's so mature now):

And I've decided that it's time to get serious about decorating my house, now that we've been living here for more than a year. If I ever manage to complete any single room, I'll post pictures, but don't hold your breath.

Oh, and we've re-started potty-training. We quit for a while after trying the pull-ups because Asher actually had more accidents while wearing them and I was tired of being mad at him. We're mostly doing the remind-Asher-to-use-the-toilet-often-and-let-everything-slide method. So far we're pretty consistently dealing with two or three accidents per day, but at least they're only wet ones. And there are still two more years until Kindergarten, so I figure we've got time, right?

More coherent posts to come. Maybe. If I feel like it.

The Plague

2011-07-07T22:55:00.000-06:00

This last week, we had a reunion with Hugh's family. We started out at a beachside resort on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, and then spent a few days at a charming hotel in historic Charleston. We ate delicious food, had wonderful company, and saw beautiful things. We swam, toured, played, laughed and cooked. It was the perfect vacation. Except for The Plague.

Unfortunately, in addition to spending time with family, we also got intimately acquainted with a nasty stomach flu. Even more unfortunately, our uninvited guest managed to extend its stay over our entire vacation by infecting all eighteen of us one or two at a time. Asher, Hugh and I all came down with it in fairly quick succession, and it seemed for a few days like Simon might be spared, but it turned out that he was just waiting for the ideal moment to succumb.

We were sitting in an upscale restaurant in Charleston, waiting for our dinner to be served. Simon seemed restless, so Hugh took him outside for a walk. Then I took him outside for a walk. Then we came back and handed him to Grandma. Simon waited until he was seated securely in Grandma's arms at the restaurant table. Then he let everything out. And I mean, everything. I'm still not sure how so much (excuse me) vomit could come out of such a tiny body.

I don't know if I've ever been so mortified. (Okay, so I probably have, but I've blocked all of those memories in an attempt at self-preservation.) Then, just as Grandma was taking Simon home so that they could both get cleaned up, I realized that Asher, always trying to do his part, had scribbled all over his seat with a crayon. The rest of my dinner didn't taste very good.

I already miss everyone and am looking forward to our next reunion in two years (in Canada!) but I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who would appreciate it if all of the germs stayed home next time.

Because Daddy Worked Late

2011-06-14T19:55:00.000-06:00

Tonight's dinner menu:

homemade granola bars
cheddar cheese
strawberries
green beans

served al fresco

Warming Up

2011-06-09T19:38:00.000-06:00

So, don't tell Hugh, but I think that maybe I could get used to the Midwest. Maybe. The air just doesn't feel as sticky this summer (although Hugh assures me that it is) and my skin seems to agree with me, seeing as how my face has not yet entered the Endless Breakout of Summer like it has the last couple of years. And even though I still know that the humidity sometimes turns my hair into one big frizzball, it just isn't bothering me much this year. I'm kind of embracing it.

And when it is overcast for the third day in a row, I think things like, "Hey! Great day to take outdoor portraits!" and "Oh, good! The kids won't get sunburned on our walk!" instead of, "Ugh. How depressing."

And there are just so many animals here. We've seen several of the usual rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, robins, hawks, geese, ducks, and redwing blackbirds, plus our backyard cardinals and the bluejay who lives in the cemetery nearby. There was even a raccoon on our back porch last week and we drove by a huge turtle recently.

And if my inability to sense humidity continues, I might be able to really enjoy fall instead of just being horribly homesick for crisp air.

Plus, I'm pretty excited about the fireflies.

Today

2011-06-06T20:12:00.001-06:00

Today, Asher slept until 9:30, (My kids usually get up at 7:00.) so my pal Simon and I played all morning. Simon is a snuggly little sweetheart who hugs, kisses and cuddles, wraps himself up in blankets, and wriggles into soft things of all descriptions wearing a very satisfied smile. It's very cute. He is also easily set off and likes to throw tantrums, flinging his head backward and then pushing his freshly recumbent form into walls, bookshelves, and the like with his legs while screaming inconsolably. It is almost sort of cute... for now. This morning, he went back and forth between the two modes all morning long. But oh, how I love him.

Today, Asher was still eating breakfast in his pajamas when his friends, Katherine and Ellie came over to play. As soon as he was done and dressed, he spent the next couple of hours being bossed around by Katherine, who is five. He was in heaven. I must not be as cool as Katherine because when I ask him to do things, Asher lets me know that obeying is totally for squares.

Today, Asher spent a significant portion of his "quiet time" (the cardinal rule of which is normally to stay either in his bedroom or in the basement and leave me alone) in the kitchen or my bedroom talking to me while I sewed and tidied and read. And I let him, because I kind of liked it. He's pretty cute, after all.

Today, for our afternoon snack, we had whole-wheat cinnamon bread that had been freshly baked by yours truly. I figure that the cinnamon and sugar rolled up inside made up for all of the whole wheat flour. Or vice versa. Or something.

Today, Asher managed to get ahold of my hair scissors and gave Simon a little trim. Simon now has a medium-sized bald spot on the top of his head. But at least we had family pictures taken last week, right?

Today, I went to Target to get some new lightbulbs for our mismatched master bedroom table lamps. I couldn't find the right size (Type B 25 watt, in case you were actually wondering). I have had the same problem a handful of times, seeing as how our lamps go through lightbulbs like toddlers go through goldfish, and stores often manage to be out of the kind we need. I bought new lamps instead.

Today, we found a half-grown robin learning to fly in our front yard. Asher and Simon weren't too bothered, but I was fascinated.

Today, I put both sets of Simon's summer pajamas in the washing machine. Then I forgot to put them in the dryer. We had to improvise a little at bedtime.

Today, I let Asher stay up an extra 15 minutes so that he and I could clean his room together. I figure if he's anything like me he'll sleep much better now and that'll make up for the lost time. Plus, he slept until 9:30 this morning.

Freedom

2011-05-26T14:14:00.000-06:00

Let's all pause for a second and savor this moment:

Today, nobody is deriving nourishment from my body except me.
I have been able to stay fully dressed all day long.
On Sunday, when I go to church, I can choose my attire with no regard for the accessibility of my chest.

Happy birthday to me! I mean Simon.

I would just like to take a moment

2011-05-18T16:00:00.001-06:00

to complain about potty-training.

In the months before Asher turned two, he suddenly started to show an interest in the toilet. At first, he wanted to come in when we used the restroom, and then he wanted to sit on the toilet himself. Since he had already fulfilled the requirements of telling us when he was filling his diaper and then telling us when he was about to fill his diaper, we decided that this was a sign that he might be ready for us to start thinking about potty-training. There were still a few months before we would have a new baby in the house, so we figured if we got started right away, we might be able to make a decent amount of progress before there was another little person competing for my attention. (Those of you who have potty-trained a child can start laughing now... unless, of course, you were blessed with the sort of child with whom you actually could make some progress in just a few months, in which case, just know that there is someone here in balmy Wisconsin glaring in your general direction.)

I went out and bought a potty seat. When I showed it to Asher he was delighted. He wanted to sit on it right away. After a few days, however, we made the mistake of suggesting that he sit on it without a diaper on. Asher's response was something like:

No! Nonononono!! NOOOOOO!!!!!!

if I remember correctly.

Our little cherub continued to refuse to sit on the potty sans diaper until we moved and then had a baby (five days apart, 'cause we're that good at planning) at which point, the potty seat got put away while I focused on other things.

In the fall, when Asher was two-and-a-half, we decided, for some reason that I do not recall, that it was time to try again. Actually, the reason might simply have been that he was two-and-a-half, which, as we all know, is practically three, and of course, if you haven't at least made some kind of effort to potty-train your child by three, then what kind of parent are you, anyway? or something.

So, we pulled out the potty seat again. We talked to Asher about using it and he responded very positively. I took him to the store and he picked out some underwear, which he was very excited about wearing. Before too long, he had managed to keep some trainer underwear completely clean for a couple of days straight and I let him wear the super-cool Lightning McQueen underwear he had picked out at the store. For several days or maybe even a week, things continued to go superbly. Then it all fell apart.

I put Asher back in the trainer underwear and made him earn the other underwear back, but again, once he had earned his reward the motivation disappeared. We tried a sticker chart, giving Asher a new toy of his choice when he had done well at potty-training for two weeks. He kept his underwear dry while he was filling up the chart, and for a week or so after he got the toy, but then we were back to multiple accidents per day.

Six months, a second sticker chart, several timeouts, revoked privileges, cookies, chocolates, and marshmallows later, I felt that we had made very little progress. In exasperation, I put Asher back in diapers, decreeing that he would not get to wear underwear again for "a long time." Only then did I realize that we actually had accomplished something, namely, that Asher at least consistently pooped in the toilet. Not having had to change poop-filled diapers for months, I had become unwilling to do so, and so we went back to the underwear, with me enforcing very frequent bathroom visits.

Despite all my efforts, however, Asher was still managing to have an accident or two most days (by which I do not mean a small wet area on his underwear, but rather soaked underwear, pants and socks, often accompanied by a large puddle on the floor). A friend of mine suggested that I give Asher a cold shower when he peed in his pants. This sounded like a great idea, and the next day I told Asher that if he didn't keep his underwear dry, that would be the consequence. When Asher had his accident, we tried it. He screamed in the shower, and when we pulled him out five seconds later, he informed me that he would "never pee in his underwear, ever, ever, again!" For the rest of that day and all of the next, he kept his word, and we were feeling pretty good about ourselves, but the day after that he had another accident. He had four cold showers in six days, and there were a couple of other accidents that I excused because we were out of the house.

That brings us to yesterday, when I put Asher back in diapers again. After most of a day of diapering and un-diapering Asher multiple times so that he could use the toilet, Hugh wondered if there might be some other kind of diaper--one that could be pulled up and down and would allow a child to continue to use the toilet as if he were wearing underwear. As it turns out, there is just such a product on the market these days, and this morning, Asher and I went out and bought some pull-ups. Who knows? Maybe they will be the magical ingredient that turns this whole potty-training business around. (They do have special designs that fade when wet, after all.) Or maybe we'll just scrap the whole thing and try again when Asher is five. I'll let you know how it goes--unless the whole potty-training process sends me to an early grave. In either case, I think we'll wait until later--like maybe thirty--with the next kid.

Happy New Year

2011-04-30T14:23:00.000-06:00

I bet you didn't know it was a new year. Well maybe it isn't for you, but for me it is a new year of motherhood. And this year, in the year that my son is three, I resolve to be a better example of living with joy, of celebrating small moments and big ones, of consistent prayer and scripture study, of heartfelt service, of gentleness, and patience, and of choosing the better things.

Happy new year of life, Asher.

Day of Rest

2011-04-10T15:20:00.001-06:00

Today, when we arrived at church, we suddenly realized that what had looked like something possibly going on with Simon's eye had turned into something definitely going on. His eyelid, which had been slightly pink and puffy, was now red and very puffy, and these symptoms had thrown a party and invited red eyeball and overactive tear production. So, I stepped out into the foyer after the Sacrament to make him an appointment at the urgent care clinic. Then I took Simon to the nursing lounge for some lunch.

When I got back to the chapel, I noticed that Asher had wet through his pants. Unfortunately, this was the one Sunday on which I neglected to bring him an extra pair, so Asher and I headed home for a change of clothes. On the way, Asher hummed a little hum, and it went something like this:

Oh, I peed in my paaaaants and my underweaaaar,
So we're going hooooome to get some new ooooooones,
'Cause we have to do that every time I pee in the Sacrameeeeeent.

He obviously has a gift.

I changed Asher's clothes, then drove back to church, handed Asher off to Hugh, collected Simon, and headed to the urgent care clinic. While we were waiting for the doctor, I let Simon look out the window. Simon loves looking out the window. An ambulance passed by and Simon imitated it: "bwooooooo" with his voice rising and then falling again. Previously, all we'd gotten was high-pitched barking noises at dogs in the park, so I was pretty excited. (Due to the frequency and severity of Simon's ear infections, anything that suggests that his hearing might be normal really excites me.) "Yes! That's right! Bwoooooo!" And I had suddenly gone from being an apparently mentally sound adult to somebody who makes ambulance noises in the doctor's office.

As it turns out, Simon didn't have an eye infection. He had another (another!) ear infection that was now irritating his eye. (Those clever bacteriums! They totally had me!) Oh, good. It's always nice to have something familiar.

Simon and I snagged some antibiotics and headed back to church just in time to pick Hugh and Asher up. After talking to several people and chasing Asher around the church a few times, we all headed home for a late lunch and a very late nap time. And now, Simon is napping, Hugh is napping, and Asher is lying in bed while kicking the wall and singing to himself.

Unfortunately, this time I can't hear the words.

The Burritos Lately

2011-04-05T21:58:00.001-06:00

Time marches on, and in the meantime, the Burritos are blossoming like spring flowers, which have yet to appear around here. Not that I'm whining. Okay, I am.

Asher is obsessed with coloring. Any medium will do, although he is partial to pudding finger painting. He generally just scribbles either up and down or left and right, but recently, he has started to draw two specific things:

He informs me that these are jump ropes. (They used to be whole, but, alas, the artist defaced his own work with stickers, which didn't come off well.) Asher has never actually seen a jump rope in real life, but there are pictures of jump ropes in a couple of his books. Apparently he found these illustrations very meaningful. Or at least easy to imitate.

These, as you may have surmised, are various renditions of the letter "A." A few days ago, he asked me to come look at his "A." I looked over, expecting to see some inadvertent creation resembling either a pointed peak or a pointed valley (Asher will sometimes say that a V is like an A.), but lo, and behold, there it was: an actual intentional grapheme. Asher has been writing them everywhere ever since.

Potty-training is very up-and-down. Mostly down. But then up enough that I decide not to give up after all. And then down again. I'm thinking of waiting to start with Simon until he's seven or eight.

Asher has become interested in time. He often asks what time it is, or at what time we will do a certain activity, and how long it is until then. He also wants to know what letter everything starts with, and what letters "say." I have always loved the quirkiness of the English spelling system, but I suddenly find myself a little frustrated with it on occasion, like when I explain that "E" and "R" together at the end of "Asher" are for /r/, but that at the beginning of other words, "R" says /r/ by itself. It has suddenly struck me as quite unsurprising that many children have a hard time learning to read.

Asher continues to talk more and more, which is usually pretty fun. Here are a few things he has said to me in the last couple of days:

In the midst of playing quietly with his toys: "I'm not food."

"Mommy, I like you, but I love Daddy."

Asher: Don't do lots of things.

Me: What would you like me to do?

Asher: I want you to snuggle with me.

"I was just realizing that I need to go to the bathroom."

Simon has taken a step once or twice. Soon we will enter the phase in which he is old enough to walk, but too young for nursery, during which I will wonder each Sunday why on earth I bother going to church.

Simon is also becoming very verbal. He babbles endlessly and even says "mama" when he wants me... or maybe just when he's upset. But really, those are generally the same thing, so I think we can count that as a "word."

Today, Simon had his first mouthful of dirt. Actually he had two mouthfuls. This event raised two very important questions: first, why is there no place set aside in his baby book for me to record this important developmental milestone? and, second, (especially considering the sandiness of this particular dirt and the very yucky face Simon made after the first bite) why on earth do they always go back for seconds?!?

And, last, but certainly not least, Simon has delved into the very subtle art of pretending to cry:

I'm thinking he'd make a great Hamlet.

Variations on a Theme of Goldfish: Part Two

2011-03-26T19:40:00.000-06:00

And here it is: Version Mini Burrito

To answer a couple of questions, I cut the pieces of felt out by hand and sewed them on using my sewing machine. The embroidery is done by hand and it's free-handed due to some irreconcilable differences between my embroidery marker and me. There was a whole lot of eyeballing and making-it-up-as-I-went-along involved. But I figured that the burritos probably wouldn't ever hold still long enough for anybody to notice.

Speaking of Goldfish crackers, this afternoon Asher and I tried our hands at baking our own. We went to our local baking shop and I let him pick out a few mini cookie cutters to make them with. He chose a car, a train, and a duck. Okay, so I kinda' talked him into the duck. But he left the store gleefully certain that it was his idea, which is all that really matters. We used this recipe and the resultant crackers were tasty, and pretty cute too, if I do say so myself.

Perfect for spring, which I'm still pretending is here despite the flurries outside my window.

Variations on a Theme of Goldfish: Part One

2011-03-25T20:51:00.000-06:00

Both of my little guys are in love with Goldfish crackers-- the cheesiness, the crunch, those cute little smiles, what's not to love? After much deliberation, I decided that they needed a way to display their devotion. A couple of cheap, plain tees, some felt and embroidery floss, and voila: the Goldfish shirt:

Stay tuned for Part Two: The Mini Burrito. Happy snacking!

Sure Signs

2011-03-18T21:11:00.001-06:00

Despite the stubborn piles of snirt (you know, snow + dirt) that litter my neighborhood and the fact that the official first day of spring isn't until next week, I have decided based on some pretty solid evidence that the blessed season is upon us. Our backyard is once again brimming with squirrels, rabbits and birds, including the pair of cardinals that nest in a tree near our window. We have gone on long walks or to the park (or both!) every day but one this week wearing shocking things like sweaters and jackets while our heavy winter coats collect dust in the closet. And, in case you needed further convincing, I saw the first two mosquitos of the season buzzing around my back door yesterday.

Finally released from his indoor prison of the last three and a half months, Asher has been running around on the very soggy grass like a wild man, shrieking with laughter, and Simon has been happily watching birds fly overhead and getting his first real tastes of sticks and bark. I, with the help of the spring breeze coming in through my open windows, have actually managed to find the motivation to get dressed every day.

Bless you spring! And down with long, cold midwestern winters! I feel like I finally understand how my mother, who grew up in southern California, must have felt living in Utah during the winter. When I was a kid, I never understood how she could detest the winter months with such enthusiasm, but oh, how much sense it makes now. But enough of that. Winter is ending and I fully intend not to think about it again until November, which is far, far, far away.

Does "Spoonula" sound a little like "Dracula?" or is it just me?

2011-03-01T21:41:00.001-07:00

I realized today how totally dependent I am on my wooden spoon. I don't have any kind of electric mixing device because even though I received three handheld electric mixers for my wedding, I managed to burn the last one out years ago. (What can I say? I bake a lot of cookies.) When my last electric mixer whirred to it's chocolate-chippy death, I decided not to replace it (because, you see, they all kept burning out) and I went out and bought myself a nice wooden spoon instead.

Since then, my wooden spoon and I have become very close. We've mixed up all kinds of things together and that spoon has never failed me. But this morning it went AWOL. I dumped some butter and brown sugar into a bowl, all ready to make bran muffins for breakfast, but when I looked in the usual drawer, my wooden spoon wasn't there. So I looked in all of my other drawers, and in my cupboards, and under the living room couch, but I couldn't find it anywhere. So I mixed up my muffins with a medium-sized metal serving spoon. Which was a low-level nightmare. But the muffins were good--Hugh's mom's recipe. (She can bake and pick out great ties.)

This afternoon, I went to Target and picked up a spare wooden spoon. And a pink spoonula, just for good measure. ('Cause who doesn't need a spoonula?) (Actually, I just like to say "spoonula.") But neither of those can ever truly replace my original wooden spoon, and when I find that spoon it will be just like the return of the Prodigal Son--except my new back-up wooden spoon probably won't be jealous when I slay the fatted calf.

Good Taste

2011-02-27T21:37:00.002-07:00

This is just to say that Hugh has this tie (given to him by his mother who obviously has great taste in men's neckwear).

It Is What It Is

2011-02-24T17:38:00.000-07:00

Do you ever read over your friends' blogs and come to the inescapable conclusion that you are seriously boring? Of course you don't, because your blogs are the ones from which I've drawn that conclusion about myself, so you are all obviously way too busy being interesting to feel that way. Despite the fact that I can't seem to come up with any amazingly exciting stories to tell, I thought I'd better write something, as run-of-the-mill as it may be, lest you all think that I have fallen off the face of the planet and taken the burritos with me.

Asher is obsessed with colors. His favorite colors are red (like Lightning McQueen), blue (like the King), and green (like Chick Hicks, of course), but he is excited about all colors and loves to categorize things by color. He asks to eat blackberries out of a black bowl. He enjoys dividing my felt stash up by color and piling toys onto the felt squares that they match (yes, he uses the word match). He wants to sit on my lap because he and I have blue eyes and have Simon sit on Hugh's lap because the two of them have brown eyes. (He also walks up to strangers and asks them what color their eyes are: "What kind of eyes do you have?") He even divides things by "light" and "dark" versions of colors and has started asking me what the names of more specific colors are, such as,

Asher: Mom, what kind of purple is this?
Me: That's lavender.
Asher: Oh, lavender!

Here he is cutting up yellow play dough with all of our yellow cookie cutters, possibly inspired by his yellow shirt.

I made the mistake of showing Asher how to cut shapes out of cheese. He may never be able to eat a square slice of cheese again.

Asher also loves to hide. Here he is hiding in the couch.

And, finally, Asher loves to "show me fun games." This generally means that we have an exchange like this:

Asher: Mom, watch me!

Me: Okay, I'm watching.

Asher jumps off of something.

Me: Wow!
Asher: Mom, did you watch me?
Me: Yes, I watched you.
Asher: Why did you watch me?
Me: Because you asked me to.
Asher: But why did I ask you?
Me: I don't know. Why did you ask me?
Asher: Mom, watch me!

repeated approximately seventeen (billion) times.

Simon is starting to cruise along the furniture. He has also cut three teeth this week, bringing him to a total of five. He loves to shake his head, then wait for you to shake your head, and then shake his again. He also loves to stick out his tongue and has figured out how to climb up the stairs (although he generally seems to think it isn't worth the effort). In the last few weeks since his ears have cleared up, he has become quite playful, and occasionally even giggly. He has also started babbling like a maniac. I am still shocked sometimes by how happy this new, not-in-pain Simon is. Unfortunately, he's had some cold symptoms for the last couple of days and today he suddenly became a little fussier and started rubbing his ear, so it looks like we're probably headed back to the doctor's office. But at least winter is almost over, right? (ha!)

Thanks to ear infection version 5.0 (or maybe it's just all those teeth. right? maybe?), Simon isn't in the mood to demonstrate his babbling today but here's a video from a week and a half ago of his monkey impersonation.

And, since you asked last time, I really did make a movie of Asher after I was done making one of Simon. And yes, he is almost always that good at waiting for things (almost). He's pretty much my angel child. Er, but don't tell Simon I said that. He also almost always has to do whatever anybody else is doing, so since Simon got to be the star of an animal-sound movie, Asher wanted his moment in the spotlight as well.

And there you have it: a snapshot into my life brought to you by the burritos. This moment of idyllic repose is now over. You may now return to your regularly scheduled super-exciting life.

Sweet Simon

2011-01-29T18:54:00.001-07:00

In my mom's response to my last post, she asked what Simon was up to these days and if he was crawling yet. I guess I haven't said much about what Simon is doing. That's because for the last three and a half months, Simon has mostly been crying or being held by me. He's had a bit of a rough winter-- almost-constant ear infections with some teething, several colds, and a bad bout of roseola mixed in. The other day, Simon had his gazillionth ear check of the season and his pediatrician proclaimed his ears officially cleared. I didn't really need her to tell me, though, because on Sunday, Simon suddenly woke up a different baby. He was happy and playful. He smiled at people. He played independently. He giggled. I felt like he was saying, "Hey. We got off on the wrong foot, here. Why don't we start over?" It's amazing what not being in pain all the time can do for an infant.

Here's Simon doing his mixed real crawl/army crawl. (Listen to what Asher is saying in the background.)

Simon also loves to clap, wrestle with Asher, climb over short objects, and chew on everything (including me). In the last couple of days, he has also mastered the skill of pulling himself up to stand. Here he is showing off his two new skills: standing and big, cheesy grins.

The Man Test

2011-01-20T22:18:00.000-07:00

burrito + girly hat

(sad face)

- girly hat

(happy face)

burrito + truck

(sound effects)

burrito + girly hat + truck?

wait for it....

(Hey! What's this?)

I guess he's all boy.

But at least he's proper.

(Pinkies up!)

Becoming a Man

2011-01-15T21:48:00.000-07:00

Simon has recently mastered the skill of picking up small objects and putting them into his mouth. This means that he has suddenly transitioned from mostly being fed by me to mostly being fed by himself. Asher didn't make that transition until much older because during his first year of life his main source of sustenance (besides nursing) was baby food. In fact, Asher kept eating baby food vegetables until he was almost 18 months old. I am at a loss to explain why I sat there meal after meal, spooning Asher's veggies into his mouth. Seriously, what was I thinking?!?

Simon doesn't eat baby food. This is partly because I am too lazy to feed it to him, partly because baby food is expensive (and I'm too lazy to make it myself), and partly because Simon takes offense at any offering of food that does not require chewing. For the first couple of weeks after Simon started on solid foods, he obediently ate blended up mush. Then, one morning, I gave him some cut-up banana and didn't bother smashing it up. Not only did Simon have no trouble downing the banana, he loved it. He had experienced real food and there was no going back.

That banana was a springboard to all kids of things--zucchini, spinach, artichoke hearts, pizza, peanut butter sandwiches--that I never offered to Asher until later because I was afraid he would choke (he doesn't have any teeth!!!). And now Simon can stuff it all into his own mouth. He's finally become a man.

And here, for your listening pleasure, is some manly communication:

The Plan

2011-01-13T12:56:00.000-07:00

Me: How about we go home and have lunch? Does that sound like a good plan?

Asher: A plan? Heavenly Father has a plan!

Me: You're right! What is Heavenly Father's plan?

Asher: Um...

Me: What does Heavenly Father want us to do?

Asher: to be quiet.

Saying Yes

2011-01-11T19:15:00.001-07:00

Simon is a typical second child in that his favorite form of entertainment is his older sibling. Most of the time, this is nice. The mere privilege of watching Asher goof around makes Simon smile and sometimes even laugh. Simply having Asher in the room can make Simon happier. Once in a while, however, it encourages Asher's bad behavior. If Asher does something he shouldn't and laughs about it, Simon smiles too, convincing Asher that he's an epic comedian. When Asher pushes Simon, smashes him, or grabs his toys, Simon will often repay the brutality with a grin, delighted by the attention from his favorite celebrity, regardless of the form it takes.

I've spent a fair amount of time over the last several months telling Asher to stop ________ing Simon, be more gentle, or something else along those lines. Recently, however, I feel like I've figured out Simon's... uh... Asher abuse threshold, and I've been letting anything that doesn't make him cry slide (except the toy snatching). As often seems to be the case, a little chilling out on my part makes for better days all around. This past while, I've been spending a lot less time saying "no" to Asher and a lot more time watching moments like this:

Musings of a Two-and-a-Half-Year-Old

2011-01-02T20:35:00.035-07:00

"How about I don't whine, okay Mommy?"

(During a recounting of Goldilocks and thee Three Bears, when Goldilocks goes to sleep in Baby Bear's bed) "But who can sing Goldilocks a lullaby?"

Me: If you eat five more noodles, you can have more applesauce.

Asher (who knows perfectly well how to count): Here's one! (chomps a noodle) Here's two! (chomps another one) And this is five! (chomps a third)

Asher: Can I call you 'Kristi'?

Me: No, you can just call me 'Mommy'

Asher: How about I just call you 'Kristi' one time?

Me: Okay, one time.

Asher: Kristi! Hahaha!!! Mommy, I called you 'Kristi!' Hahahahaha!!!

"Goodnight Simon! I love you! One day, when Simon is bigger, he can say, 'I love you too' to me."

(During a telling of The Three Little Pigs, when the straw house gets blown down) Sigh "Now they will have to build it again."

(Holding up a potato) "Daddy, you are a papá, just like this papa." (laughs at his own joke)

Asher: Hey, Mommy, do you remember when we watched Cars?

Me: Yes, I remember.
Asher: Do you remember when we ate ice cream?
Me: Yep.
Asher: Do you remember Simon?
Me: Yes.
Asher: Do you remember me?

Me: If you bang your fork on the table, I will have to take it away.

Asher: We don't take things away from people. That is not kind.

Marshmallows

2010-12-22T13:24:00.004-07:00

I bought some marshmallows yesterday. I think this is the third time in my married life (five years now--happy anniversary to me! I mean us...) that I have purchased marshmallows. The other two times were for a chocolate fondue recipe, and both times most of the bag ended up turning into a huge crusty white mass because after one night of chocolatey revelry we didn't touch it for months. I finally bought some again because I read on my favorite craft blog that marshmallows made good paint brushes for polka dots and I had a plain lamp shade for Simon's room that needed some dressing up. But the problem was that after I did this:

I still had a whole lot of marshmallows left.

Enter the edible Christmas toddler craft: painting marshmallow snowmen with Nutella (because Nutella tastes so much better than icing). Here is Asher with his creation.

Unfortunately, all of his artwork is on the side facing him. I couldn't get him to hold it the other way, and have it by his face, and look pleasant, all in the 30 seconds he was willing to wait before eating it. But at least it still tasted good.

And we can make it a tradition! Because next year we'll probably still have some of those marshmallows left.

One day, I want...

2010-12-03T18:40:00.006-07:00

Asher wants a lot of things. I know, because he has told me once or twice. Or a maybe a few more times than that. He isn't even aware yet of any sort of connection between Christmas and stuff-getting, and his wish-list is already much longer than his receive-list will be. We don't talk about Santa Clause at our house. We don't have a TV, so he hasn't seen any toy commercials. But Asher has friends who possess toys that he does not. And let me tell you, he's a pro at coveting his neighbors' die-cast cars.

And sometimes, while Asher's listing off the things he'd like to have "one day" for the millionth time, I find myself inwardly grumbling about how greedy he is and vowing never to buy him another toy. And then it occurs to me that the list of things I would like to have one day is a whole lot longer than his, and the things on it harder to come by. And then I have to wonder how my list looks to my Heavenly Parents, and I decide that Asher's probably isn't so bad after all.

Dear Hugh, Please Do Not Come Home Without Chocolate

2010-11-29T15:58:00.004-07:00

Things we have at our house today:

a teething baby
a toddler who refused to nap
a very tired mommy

Things we do not have at our house today:

a car
sunshine
chocolate

Un Himno

2010-11-22T09:42:00.005-07:00

Every night, before we put the boys in bed, we say a prayer, read or talk about a few verses of scripture, and then sing a song. Whenever we ask Asher what song he would like to sing, he says, "un himno." (a hymn) When we ask him which hymn he would like, he always requests "We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet." (Most times that we don't ask him what he wants to sing, it results in frantic cries of, "No, no, no! 'We Thank Thee, O God for a Prophet'!!!" competing with the the first few lines of our alternate song choice.) I'm pretty sure that I've sung that particular song about a billion times in the last month alone. But recently, the repetition suddenly became significantly less annoying because Asher started singing along.

One hymn down, 340 to go.

For information about modern-day prophets and the other blessings Asher loves to sing about, go here.

Two Little Words that Fill My Heart With Joy

2010-11-16T12:40:00.004-07:00

ear infection

Because now that this

has a label, I can give Simon the antibiotics that will magically make him look like this

again.

Genetic Disorder

2010-11-03T14:37:00.003-06:00

There is something seriously wrong with Hugh. He thinks that the winter here "isn't that bad." In fact he really enjoys the numb, stinging sensation of icy wind ripping around his nose. He uses the word "fun" to describe fishtailing on snowy roads. And the smell of old car heater makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. I thought these might all be symptoms of some breed of insanity brought on by growing up in the frozen tundra of the Midwest. However, as we headed out to the park this morning, clad in sweaters and jackets, Asher announced, "I love the cold!" So I'm thinking the disorder might actually be genetic. I think it passed over Simon, though. This is how he feels about the cold weather approaching: I guess he and I can shiver together.

Superburritos

2010-10-31T19:58:00.003-06:00

Our ward's Halloween party was on Friday. I was looking forward to going. I made costumes. I signed up to bring chili. Then, Asher woke up in the middle of the night Thursday night with a nasty cough. As in, we-almost-took-him-to-the-emergency-room-because-he-couldn't-breathe nasty. So the party was out. All day long on Saturday I kept thinking, "Wasn't I looking forward to something? Wasn't something fun supposed to be happening?" Then I would remember that it was already over, and that we had stayed home with coughing burritos. The good news is, I still got some pictures. Behold, The Burrito and his sidekick Mini Burrito:

The bad news is that I set the candy that I bought for the party out on our porch and nobody came to take any, so I still have a bucket full of candy. Smarties, anyone?

Because, Seriously, Who Doesn't Need More Cute Baby Clothes?

2010-10-25T23:19:00.002-06:00

Hello, my devoted fans! Okay, you're probably much more devoted to the burritos than to me. But that's just all the more reason for you to head on over here and here to tell the world that you think that Asher and Simon are the cutest kids in the universe (not counting your own children, of course). And you don't even have to choose one! You can vote for both of them. Every day. From now until November 14. So go! Hurry! And help them win an enormous gift certificate to the Baby Gap so that I can dress them up and make them even cuter. Because if cute is good, then cuter is obviously better. Right?

Betrayal

2010-10-21T22:00:00.000-06:00

When I was a kid (maybe ten or twelve), I remember realizing that my mother did most of the work taking care of us and yet nobody acted particularly pleased by her presence. However, as in many homes, I'm sure, at the first creak of the garage door there was a mad rush to be the first to greet my dad. While I realized that my dad was also doing something important by providing for us (I liked having a house to live in and clothes to wear as much as the next kid.), it struck me as unfair that he got all the hype while my mom mostly got griped and whined at. When Asher got old enough to join the daily mass of evening daddy celebrators across the nation(It turns out that isn't very old.), I discovered that it didn't make me sad at all. I was tired of dealing with him and Hugh could have him all evening if he wanted. Since Hugh has been home more during the last couple of months, though, Asher has become more and more attached to him, rather than less. He started out just wanting to know where Daddy was every second. Then he whined when Daddy had to go do something other than play with him. Now it seems like he is trying to phase interaction with Mommy out of his life altogether.

The other day, he bumped his head. When I asked if he was okay, he said, "NO! I don't want to talk to you about it. I want to talk to Daddy!"

Today when I went in to let him up from his nap, he started crying, insisting that Daddy come and get him instead.

All day long, he is insisting that I go away, stop talking, or not touch him and his belongings, wanting Hugh to do everything for and with him instead. While I don't give in to all of these silly demands, it's still rather disheartening.

I wonder how long it would take the little stinker to miss me if I really left. Maybe forever.... in which case, maybe I shouldn't try it.

At least Simon still likes me.

Why Asher is No Longer Allowed to Go to the Craft Store

2010-10-20T20:45:00.003-06:00

This afternoon, I took my children to the craft store to look for some things to finish up a home decor project. This turned out to be an egregious mistake. For a while, I strolled leisurely up and down the aisles, looking for whatever should happen to strike me. Both children were behaving very well. Simon sat quietly in his car seat in the shopping cart, playing with a toy. Asher walked alongside me, pointing out objects he liked, such as trees and balls and airplanes. After a while, Simon started to get restless, so I strapped Asher into the shopping cart and picked Simon up. Asher wanted to look at some wooden bird houses, so I set the shopping cart near them and glanced around the corner at some promising-looking craft-related objects. In a few seconds, I heard, "Mommy, I spilled on myself." While I hear these words often, and they are generally nothing to fear, I found them very disturbing at this moment because I had not given Asher anything that he could potentially spill. I turned around to see him holding an open bottle of acrylic paint which he had managed to reach from the cart, and then pour down his front. His shirt and pants were covered in paint. More paint was splashed onto the seat of the shopping cart and was dripping onto the floor. After staring at Asher for a few moments in utter shock, I strapped Simon back into his car seat, took the paint away and set it in a safe place, moved the shopping cart out of reach of any merchandise (dripping all the way), wiped Asher's hands with baby wipes, placed them on either side of the cart, forbade him to move them, and then went to find a store employee to alert them to the mess. The two ladies who came to take care of the mess were very kind. They told me not to worry about anything, brought me a plastic bag for Asher's clothes, tried to soothe Simon (who was screaming by now, angry to be stuck in a stationary car seat for so long), and apologized several times (as if their store had somehow attacked my toddler rather than the other way around). Not too much later we left the store with Asher stripped down to his diaper and his socks and shoes (which were miraculously spared) and headed home for a wardrobe change. I actually managed to get most of the paint out of his shirt.Now our friend the Jack-o-lantern just looks like he has Halloween candy stuck in his teeth. The pants, on the other hand, are toast. Any idea what I should do with these? If Asher had just chosen a manlier color, he could have worn these and gone for that whole "distressed" look.

On Extended Vacation

2010-10-09T14:30:00.007-06:00

I haven't posted anything here for quite some time because we have been on vacation. For the last month. You may be wondering how anybody could possibly get so much time off from work. I will tell you: It turns out you get unlimited vacation days when you're unemployed. A couple of months ago, Hugh and his employer came to a mutual agreement that it was time to see other people. We decided to take advantage of this break in income.... I mean, time constraints... to visit our families. So we flew out to Florida to visit Hugh's parents, and then to Utah to visit my family. We did a handful of things, like go to Seaworld, the zoo, and BYU, but mostly we just hung out. And it was glorious.

Everyone seems to think I should be worried about the fact that we currently have no source of income, but I'm not. Hugh was working ridiculous hours at a job he hated, and now he's not. I'm convinced that's a positive change.

Plus, if we don't find another job soon, we can always go on another extended vacation to Grandma's house.

*******

(Caution: The following pictures are completely unrelated to this post and are for your viewing pleasure only.)

(The sign says that children who are allowed to touch things in the store will be fed to the dragon in the cellar.)

Guilty as Charged

2010-08-25T20:51:00.006-06:00

People always used to tell me that I wouldn't take as many pictures and videos of subsequent children as I did of Asher. It's turned out to be true. As far as the pictures go, I think it's probably a good thing. I have gone back through our pictures from Asher's first few months of life and deleted hundreds of almost-identical pictures in which he is doing absolutely nothing--not even looking cute. I was a little dismayed recently, however, when I realized that I had collected almost zero video footage since Simon's birth--of either of my children. Today we decided to rectify this problem by taking gobs and gobs of video. Here are some of our fruits: This activity kept Asher entertained for some time... much longer than it would entertain you... I think. Asher knows the order of all of the letters, but for some reason he skips "W, X, Y and Z" about 90% of the time. Maybe he's just eager to get to the part where I say, "Good job!" Or maybe he thinks the letters at the end of the alphabet are unimportant.

Simon loves this chair. He will sit there quite contentedly for a surprisingly long time, just batting, and grabbing, and letting go again. Once, when we had a party at our house, he sat there for more than an hour. I would almost feel negligent, except that he liked it so much.

Asher actually does know the right words at the end ("Make the world a better place by smiling all the while.") but he must have lost his train of thought. You can see the moment when his smile fades as he realizes that something has gone amok.

I just intended to capture a little of Simon talking, but it just so happens that the little chuckle at the end is his first real laugh. (Hugh said he heard one before, but it sure sounded a lot like a cough to me.)

There! Just look at me being a good mother and documenting the stages of my children's lives! And now for a nap.

Shameless Bribery

2010-08-09T15:46:00.005-06:00

The older Asher gets, the less cooperative he is when I want to take his picture. Usually this isn't too big of a deal because I just take the camera outside, let Asher run around and play, and quietly snap away. This doesn't work so well, however, when I want a picture of both of my children together. For this reason, I didn't manage to take many pictures of the two of them for quite a while, and none of the dual-burrito pictures I had taken are very pretty. Yesterday afternoon, however, I finally broke down and purchased Asher's cooperation. with chocolate chips. Me: Asher, if you sit here by Simon and let me take your picture, I'll give you a chocolate chip. Asher: OK!!Too bad he won't be bought off so cheaply forever.

Roar!

2010-07-27T19:35:00.003-06:00

I have a baby lion costume. My mother-in-law gave it to me when Asher was a baby. Unfortunately, it was too small for him by the time Halloween came around, and it will be waaaaay too small for Simon by this Halloween since Simon is enormous. (I could write an entire gripe post about how Simon's insistence on being in the 90th percentile for both height and weight for his age is really messing up my autumn wardrobe plans.) Conveniently enough, however, I am decorating Simon's room with African animals and I decided that a nice shot of Simon the Lion would go nicely with that theme.

Anyone with a dainty, little infant want to borrow a lion costume this Halloween?

For Posterity's Sake

2010-07-13T18:49:00.009-06:00

I honestly didn't think Asher would go through the "terrible twos" because he was just so sweet and adorable. Unfortunately, the second-birthday Grouch Fairy is impartial. So, in my attempt to love the two-year-old I have, rather than hoping to go into his room and find the 18-month-old I used to have, I've been trying to pay more attention to the things I enjoy about him and less attention to the things I don't. Here are a few of the things I've been savoring: Asher is pretty good at sharing. He likes to share his crackers with his toy cars. He likes to share his toy cars with Simon. He will sometimes even share things with other kids who are actually mobile. It's very sweet... except for when he tries to share his cashews with Simon by putting them directly into Simon's mouth. He loves to lie next to Simon. Whenever I'm changing Simon's diaper or getting him dressed, Asher will say, "I want to lie down by Simon," and scooch right on in. Asher is becoming very linguistically aware. He runs up to me multiple times a day to let me know how to say something in Spanish. "Pulpo. That's octopus in Spanish." or, while holding his toy airplane and an A-shaped cookie cutter, "A for avión. That's Spanish." He currently loves the word "fantastic" and if he likes something he will say, "That was fantastic!" or "That's fantastico!" He has started putting a lot more things together from different contexts. For example, the other day, I brought him a drink of water and he said, "thank you, thank you, Sam I Am." Another day, he saw an arrow painted on the ground and told me it was "just like Robin Hood shoots arrows!" He has started to say, "May I have _____ please?" all by himself some of the time. He loves to sing to himself, but doesn't actually sing the notes. He just says all of the words to the songs he likes while he's looking at books or playing with his toys. He likes to "help" me do things, and while he does he will declare, "I'm helping us!" Today, while listening to The Nutcracker, I had the following conversation with Asher: Asher: The violins are plucking. (My mom told him that when she was here a couple of weeks ago.)
Me: That's right. When they pluck, it's called pizzicato. Can you say pizzicato?
Asher: Pizzicato! That's what an avocado does.

Maybe two isn't so bad.

Burritos at the Park

2010-07-04T19:15:00.003-06:00

Mealtime Math

2010-06-21T16:56:00.004-06:00

My mother-in-law told me that children sometimes have to be introduced to new foods up to twenty times before they will eat them. I guess it must be true, because after about that many times of spitting out green beans Asher has suddenly decided that he likes them. He asks for them. And then he asks for more. Ah, life's little triumphs. One night last week we had chili for dinner. Asher only wanted to eat the kidney beans. This might be genetic, since, when Hugh was a kid, he turned up his nose at all chili ingredients except meat. I wasn't interested in wasting the rest of Asher's dinner, but I didn't want the battle of trying to force him to eat either, so I had to come up with something. I had two weapons at my disposal, both already part of the planned menu: cheddar cheese and olives. Over and over, I asked Asher to eat a certain amount of the rest of his chili, after which he could have an olive or a small piece of cheese. I did all different numbers of things, just to keep things interesting--four pinto beans, two pieces of meat, a pinto bean and a tomato, etc--and I counted the bites out loud, telling Asher how many he had left if he paused. Effective? Yes. Pathetic? Maybe. But maybe it will help Asher learn some math, doncha think? In other news, this past weekend, I managed to scrub my whole house and bake something, both for the first time since Simon was born. So, at the moment, I'm feeling pretty good about myself, even if my success was mostly a result of Simon doing lots and lots of this:

And We Officially Have Children

2010-06-03T14:13:00.004-06:00

So, we have two kids. At the moment, I'm convinced that I will only ever want two. But then, when Asher was Simon's age I was convinced that I wanted zero, so we're making progress. Despite my thoughts of toddlercide during the first few days at home, I think we're all doing pretty well. In fact, these last couple of weeks have served to further convince me of what a sweet little kiddo Asher is. Asher loves his little brother and enjoys copying us by holding Simon and saying things like "Hi, Simon. How are you?" and "Hey little dude," to him in a soft, high-pitched voice. We'll see what happens when the "little dude" is big enough to snatch toys, but for now everyone is getting along just swimmingly.

Since You're Dying to Know

2010-05-17T19:46:00.002-06:00

A Few Random Things: First, since I know you can't wait any longer to find out, we have named the new addition Simon Tyler. Second, I already know he likes me because when I change his diaper, I have no trouble, but everyone else, doctors, nurses, and daddies alike, seems to get pooped or peed on. Third, is it a bad sign if I have already wanted to kill my toddler multiple times since coming home from the hospital?

Hold the Elevator

2010-05-15T11:34:00.012-06:00

So, you know how in the movies people have babies in places like elevators and the back-seats of cars? Well, apparently it happens in real life too. Because it happened to me... sort of. Actually only the head came out in the elevator. I managed to wait on the rest until we got into an actual room. I blame my lack of promptness in arriving at the hospital on two things: 1. My labor with Asher was ridiculously long and this one was, well, not. 2. Having had a partially working epidural with Asher, I imagined that each of the stages of labor was nastier than it actually was (not that the whole thing wasn't plenty painful and nasty), leading me to believe that I was less far along in the process than I actually was.

I woke up at 2:00 AM or thereabouts with some pretty strong contractions. I'd been having some very unpleasant Braxton Hicks contractions for the last while, though, so I just tried to go back to sleep. I dozed in and out until about 4:00 when things had gotten bad enough to convince me that this was the real thing. I got up and took a warm shower (with my blown-dry and straightened hair carefully tucked into a shower cap so that I wouldn't look like Medusa in the look-at-me-I-just-had-a-baby pictures) and packed my hospital bag. Yes: I waited to pack my bag until I was already in labor. At 4:00 AM. This I blame on stupidity... or maybe denial since I was determined not to have a baby until I was ready, which meant not yet. That done, I climbed back into bed and tried to get some more rest since I figured I still had plenty of time, so there was no reason to wake everybody up. I did alright resting between contractions for a while. I tried several things to take my mind off the pain, including relaxing all of the muscles in my body and thinking about something pleasant, like was suggested in my natural childbirth readings. The only thing I could come up with that actually seemed pleasant was the idea that sometime later in the day I would be in a hospital bed, lying on my back, doing nothing. (Do you have any idea how delicious it is to lie on your back?)

Around 6:00, I entered what I now realize was the transition phase. Before long, I was making enough noise to wake Hugh up. I was convinced I was going to die. The worst part was that I was also convinced that it was going to get much, much worse. I asked Hugh to fill up the tub for me. Getting in the tub did not make me feel any better. It did ruin my hair, which I managed to be sad about in the midst of it all, which I figure either means that I was remarkably with it, or that I am horribly vain. It also provided a relatively non-messy place for my water to break, after which I was very suddenly struck with the urge to push. This led me to the marvelous realization that this whole labor thing would be over soon... and the less marvelous realization that it might be better to finish it at home. After a moment's consideration, I decided that I was uncomfortable with that idea, so I forced myself to get up and put the clothes back on that I severely regretted having removed in the first place. I didn't tell Hugh how quickly things were moving because I figured it wouldn't help the situation. He gathered enough, however, to get Asher out of bed, call a friend to come get him, and get our stuff out to the car as quickly as possible while I dragged myself out to the car, clinging to my pillow in an attempt not to give birth in the driveway.

I did all I could not to push the baby out in the car, intermittently moaning and screaming into my pillow in an attempt to fight the urge. I felt badly about the noise I was making because I was sure it was distressing Hugh, but I was pretty certain that if I stopped I would either explode or give birth on the highway, so I kept it up. After approximately an eternity, Hugh informed me that we were halfway to the hospital. I did not find this reassuring, especially a few minutes later when I started to feel the baby's head moving down.

Miraculously, however, we eventually arrived at the hospital. Hugh gave the car keys to the valet while I got into a wheelchair and we headed up to labor and delivery. As we were moving down the hall, I realized that I could feel the top of the baby's head with my hand. In what I hoped was a calm, but urgent voice, I said that I thought the baby was coming right now. It must have at least sounded urgent, because Hugh and the nurse directing us started to run. We got into the elevator with some nurses and started up. One of the nurses asked if I was wanting to push yet. (Haha!) I could not wait any longer. I said that the head was going to come out and the nurses hurriedly moved my pants out of the way. I let go long enough for the head to come out. I had never felt such relief in my life. I felt better enough to wait until we got to a room for the rest, and to start feeling guilty for making a mess in the elevator. Once we got to the room, I relaxed and let the rest out.

The nurses were afraid that I might be traumatized by my experience, or embarrassed about the fact that between the elevator and the room I was not, technically, wearing any pants, but I was way too busy feeling relieved about not being at war with my body anymore. So, we all survived, but all things considered, I wouldn't recommend doing it like that. I think the results were pretty good, though:
8lb, 7oz, 20 1/2 inches long. (pictured here with the little giraffe given to him by the ER nurse who held his head from the elevator to the room) Now all he needs is a name.

Open to Interpretation

2010-02-20T12:23:00.001-07:00

Last Sunday, after church, Asher's nursery teacher told me that they had played a follow-the-leader game during class. At one point in the game, the instruction was given to "tap your toes." So far as I know, nobody has ever asked Asher to tap his toes before, so he doesn't really know what that means. Apparently he understood the words, however, because he started hitting his shoes with his fingers. A few days ago, Asher cut his finger. It wasn't a bad cut, and he didn't seem to be in pain, but he was very upset about the "strawberry jam" on his finger. Yesterday, as Asher and I were driving to the grocery store, I rounded a corner and moaning ensued from the backseat. I asked Asher what was wrong and he informed me that the sun was shining on his nose. I talked to my mom on the phone a few days ago and she asked if it had been any warmer here. I told her that it had been up into the upper 20's. While Asher and I have been taking advantage of the warmer weather by spending more time outdoors, my mom didn't seem to think that a high of 26 was very exciting. I realized that, a few months ago, I wouldn't have either. I guess, given some time, even adults can learn to interpret the world a little differently.

Music Calms the Savage Beast

2010-02-09T14:42:00.001-07:00

Asher is on a food strike. It's not that he doesn't like food. It's just that he likes his toys better. This, however, doesn't change the fact that getting him to eat much has been a struggle lately. During the last couple of weeks, many mealtimes have gone something like this: I ask Asher if he wants something to eat. He says "NO!" and runs away, hoarding an armful of his toys next to his chest. I follow him to his bedroom and offer him specific things to eat that I know he loves. He runs away again shouting "Nonononono!" I pick him up, take his toys out of his hands, and place him in his highchair. He concedes defeat and allows me to put his bib on. He eats about half of what he normally would, and then starts spitting food out and throwing things on the floor declaring, "don't like it!" (unless what I am serving him happens to be blackberries, which he would eat non-stop until the Second Coming if I let him) I take him out of his highchair and clean him up, then have him help me clean up the food-throwing mess. He runs off happily to play with his toys, which is what he wanted to be doing in the first place. Sigh. Today, after I had Asher strapped into his highchair for lunch and he had his food on his tray, I got out my flute. I figured it would be a good time to play--not for Asher's sake, but for mine, since he was stuck in his chair and couldn't grab my expensive and delicate toy. But he really seemed to like it, and, except for the occasional request for a favorite primary song and some intermittent delighted giggling, he ate steadily and quietly. The little stinker ate a bunch of strawberries and carrots and two bowls each of whole-wheat pasta and cottage cheese. I'm not sure what I think of a permanent role as Asher's dinner music, and it might have just been a fluke anyway, but I might have found a way to get my little savage through this toys-are-way-better-than-food phase. Maybe.

Why You Shouldn't Tell Your Burritos to Smile for the Camera

2010-02-02T13:33:00.004-07:00

I never tell Asher to smile for pictures. I feel strongly that doing so would cause him to not only stop doing whatever photo-worthy thing he was doing in the first place, but also plaster a fake, weird-looking grin on his face. I generally try to draw as little attention to the camera as possible, pulling it sneakily out while he's already making a face, or, if I want a smiley picture, after I've already got him giggling. Sometime in the course of the last few months, however, somebody (and I'm not sure who, but if it was you, you're in trouble) thwarted my efforts and tainted him with the smile-for-the-camera mentality while I wasn't looking. Here is the result: If every picture you ever see of Asher from now on looks like a cross between a toddler and a squinty fish, it's not my fault.

Heels

2010-01-25T12:13:00.003-07:00

Everybody in our house hates the heels of whole wheat bread. This makes perfect sense because the heels (or ends, or whatever term suits your fancy) of whole wheat bread are yucky. However, it poses some problems. Okay, so mostly just one problem, namely, that nobody will ever eat them. Our typical bread scenario plays out as follows: Hugh eats the last slice of non-heel bread in a loaf. He leaves the heel nicely wrapped up in the bag in the refrigerator and opens a new loaf, skipping over the front heel to take the second slice of bread. I come in later to make some toast and see that Hugh has left all the heels and grumble to myself about how if he isn't going to eat any of them, then I don't want to be the one stuck eating them all. I consider feeding the heels to Asher, and then laugh because I know that would simply result in torn up bread all over the floor. I skip over the heel in the new loaf also and take the third slice. Two months later I clean out the fridge and throw away approximately a million stale heels. Although this process has worked tolerably well for us in the past, I can't help feeling that it's somewhat wasteful. So, assuming I don't figure out how to make Hugh eat all of the heels using hypnosis sometime soon, I think I have two options: 1. Eat all of the heels myself, or 2. Figure out a different way to use them up working around the slight problem that I detest anything that resembles soggy bread (stuffing, bread pudding, etc.) because soggy bread is even yuckier than whole-wheat heels.

Five Little Monkeys

2010-01-21T12:28:00.006-07:00

Asher loves being sung to and will choose two or three songs as his favorites for a while, asking for them over and over and over, and then move on to something new. Hugh was quite relieved when the "Deck the Halls" phase came to an end. Asher's three current favorites are "Follow the Prophet," "Nephi's Courage," and "Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed." I must say that while "Follow the Prophet" is a perfectly nice song, it was definitely not designed to be sung more than once in a day. Ugh.

Daddy to the Rescue

2010-01-20T18:36:00.005-07:00

Yesterday morning I had a doctor appointment. I headed out to the car forty-five minutes before it started so that I would have plenty of time to get Asher in the car, drop him off at a friend's house, and arrive at the clinic early. I turned on the car to get the defrosters warmed up and then put Asher in the driver's seat so that he could "drive" while I scraped the windows. When I was done scraping, I went back to move Asher, only to discover that he had locked the doors. And, since I had turned the car on, the keys were inside. After a few fruitless minutes of trying to get Asher to unlock the doors, I gave up and called Hugh who had the other set of keys with him at work. (Thank goodness my phone was in my pocket, and not in the diaper bag which was, of course, in the car.)

Hugh had gotten a ride to work with a friend since I needed the car to get to my appointment. He called the friend, who suggested that he check to see if a locksmith could get to me faster for a reasonable fare. They concluded that one could not, so this generous friend lent Hugh his car so that he could come and let my baby out.

That might not seem like a lot of time, but when all was said and done, Asher spent forty minutes stuck inside that car, which he seemed to think was about the same as eternity. During that time, I alternately attempted to soothe my screaming toddler and tried to convince him to unlock the door (both utterly futile) in between calling the clinic to reschedule my appointment and calling my babysitter to let her know that we would no longer be coming.

When we finally got Asher out, he calmed down for three seconds while Hugh was hugging him, and then immediately began screaming for Daddy as soon as Hugh headed back to work. It must have seemed to the poor kid like mean Mommy was right there the whole time and wouldn't let him out. Hopefully his memory still isn't so great. I thought of taking him somewhere fun to help him feel better, like a friend's house or the library, but I decided that the last thing he probably wanted to do was spend one more second in the car. So, we went inside and played with Playdoh and read books until all was right in the world.

Decisions, Decisions

2010-01-17T18:38:00.002-07:00

I had been thinking for some time about cutting my hair. This thinking was motivated by the fact that after spending more time than I wanted to doing it, I generally felt that the result was less than exciting. Over Christmas, the announcement that we would be taking family pictures pushed me over the edge. I ended up going to a salon late in the evening the night before the photography session, and, since I was in a hurry, I left with my hair wet. This turned out to be a mistake, because once I had it dried and straightened the next day, I realized that not only had the stylist not done what I wanted, she had also cut the layers on one side of my head significantly higher than on the other side. It was too late to fix it for the pictures, however, and we were so busy with various Christmas frivolities that there wasn't a great chance to go back later either.

So, I came back home without ever going in to demand that they fix my retarded haircut, and now I am left with the decision: should I go have my hair re-cut shorter, but better, or should I just wait it out for a few months and then go get the haircut I wanted in the first place? It's times like these when it would be nice to be a boy.

Frozen Wasteland

2010-01-16T18:43:00.005-07:00

There is a playground near our apartment. It's just a couple of swings and a slide--nothing fancy--but Asher loves it. Since our return from sunny Florida, he has been asking to go to it on a daily basis. The other day I finally walked him over to it, just to see if it was even accessible. Unfortunately for Asher, the toddler swing was not only packed with snow, but also hovering just two or three inches above a two-foot-deep snowdrift. The slide, Asher's favorite part of the playground, was definitely a no-go. The entire bottom quarter of it was buried and it led straight into the six-foot snow mountain that had been plowed off of the adjacent parking lot. Asher took the disappointment pretty well, and we simply took our customary afternoon walk around the neighborhood. Don't worry, Asher. Here in Frozen Wasteland, I mean, Wisconsin, spring should be in full swing in just five short months. You can go down the slide then... if you even remember what it is by then.

Surprise

2010-01-15T13:39:00.005-07:00

These are the flowers that Hugh brought home for me last night...

...right before he took me out on a surprise dinner date for which he had secretly arranged a babysitter.

Manly.... like a Lumberjack

2010-01-14T12:41:00.006-07:00

This is Asher's current favorite shirt: I had thought that when he started developing an opinion about his clothes he would prefer shirts with animals or construction equipment on them, but no, this is the shirt of choice. I have asked him a few times over the last couple of weeks things like, "Do you want to wear the green shirt, or the one with the moose and the soccer ball?" Invariably, the answer is, "Green!" In the midst of our Christmas vacationing, Asher suddenly had a color revelation. I had spent a significant amount of time reading color books to Asher on the couch at home with no discernible affect whatsoever. After painstakingly pointing out every object of a particular color on a page, I would go back to one of the objects and ask, "What color is the ___?" To this, Asher would reply either, "huh?" or "blue!" Except that he was equally likely to say blue regardless of the actual color of the object. Then, when we were in Florida, in the middle of the Sea World parking lot, and I hadn't even brought up the subject of colors for at least a week, Asher suddenly pointed to a car and said, "Green!" And it was. Since then, he has mastered a variety of colors, but green still seems to cause him the most excitement. Of course, there's a chance that Asher is simply drawn to this particular shirt by genetics. Hugh informed me once that in his family manliness can be measured by the number of plaid, button-up shirts a person owns. I'll admit that I'm not really sure what the connection is, but in any case, Hugh's closet is just brimming with machismo. Unfortunately, it usually stays there because we're both too lazy to iron it.

Learning to Count

2010-01-13T08:00:00.000-07:00

Asher has started counting things lately. He knows all of the numbers from 1 to 10, but he likes to use different parts of his number repertoire each time he counts-- keep things interesting, you know? I did happen to hear him go all the way from 1 to 10 once while he was talking to himself, so I think he knows how it's supposed to work. Maybe he just has a non-conformist streak.

Grocery Lists

2010-01-12T11:59:00.003-07:00

Hugh does most of our grocery shopping. That wasn't always the case. When we lived in Utah, I bought all of the groceries, but sometime after we moved here (maybe when our old car broke down and our replacement was a stick-shift, which meant that I didn't technically know how to drive it) it evolved into Hugh's job. I told my friend Andrea this and she said that if she sent her husband, Austin, to the grocery store for more than just milk and bread he would probably have a melt-down, but Hugh does a pretty good job.

The only problem is that sometimes Hugh brings something home that, while technically fitting the description of one of the items on my grocery list, is not actually what I wanted. This is partly because I have a lot more experience with grocery shopping, and with food in general, than Hugh does (Hugh's favorite kind of food is the kind that appears magically in front of him), but it's partly also because what I think is "normal" and what he thinks is "normal" are not always the same thing.

Sometimes the discrepancy between what I meant for him to get and what he actually got is relatively insignificant, like when he brought home a tiny bag of flour (I guess we'll just get some more in a couple of weeks), or when he bought an enormous container of feta (looks like we'll be having lots of Greek salads this week). Sometimes it's a little more frustrating, like when I sent him for a can of black olives for Asher and he brought home a can of whole black olives (as in, still containing pits) because he didn't realize that people actually sold canned black olives that hadn't been pitted, so he didn't read the label very thoroughly. (We broke them up and used them on pizza instead.)

This week, one of the things on my grocery list was cornmeal because we were almost out and Hugh had requested that we have cornbread for dinner.

Hugh: Could we have cornbread for dinner sometime this week?

Me: Sure. Do you want it with chili?

Hugh: No, just cornbread... like for the main dish.

Me: Um... I guess so.

As Hugh was heading out the door, I almost told him to make sure that the cornmeal was stone-ground, but sometimes he has a harder time navigating the grocery store than I would, so I decided not to make it any more difficult for him. It turns out that I didn't need to make this request anyway. Hugh bought stone-ground cornmeal all on his own. However, it was also white cornmeal. Not that there's anything inherently wrong with white cornmeal. I just wanted yellow. I assumed that "cornmeal" meant yellow--the "normal" kind, and that if somebody wanted white or blue, they would specify. Still, pale cornbread is a small price to pay for not having to go grocery shopping.

Outnumbered

2010-01-11T13:31:00.005-07:00

Well, we had the revelatory ultrasound, and it turns out that in a few months I am going to be seriously outnumbered around here. I figure that the only solution is to be girly enough for all four of us. Luckily, my mom gave me a head start on this by sending me some fabulous sparkly pink sweats with these matching fuzzy socks for Christmas.

The Abominable Snow Burrito

2009-12-14T10:30:00.004-07:00

Today I went through the mild but prolonged torture of getting Asher into all of his snow gear. It took approximately a century just to get those little thumbs into the evasive thumb holes in his gloves, and by the time we were both ready to go outside Asher was already hot, tired and grouchy. At least it was all worth it once we got outside.....

What do you get

2009-12-13T20:32:00.004-07:00

when you let a 1 1/2 year old boy "decorate" his own gingerbread cookies? They're not that pretty, but he sure had a great time.

Tasting

2009-12-07T19:02:00.004-07:00

My mom used to tell me that nobody would want to eat my cookies if I tasted the dough while I was making them. In that case, I guess Asher will have to eat this batch by himself.

Wild Animals

2009-12-01T15:59:00.004-07:00

This morning, my friend Andrea and I took our kiddos to the zoo. This afternoon, Asher and I had the following conversation about the experience: Me: Asher, did you see a lion at the zoo today? Asher: Uh-huh. Me: What other animals did you see at the zoo? Asher: Anda (Andrea). Yes, Asher. We did see Andrea at the zoo.

Moses Supposes

2009-11-24T15:58:00.005-07:00

Asher loves looking at pictures of people. This, of course, includes pictures of friends, family members and himself, but it also includes pictures of Christ, Mary and Joseph, and the members of the first presidency of our church. Understandably, Asher has a rough time pronouncing President Uchtdorf's name (which comes out sounding more like "Uforf"), but for some reason President Monson's name also seems to give him trouble. This afternoon, as we browsed through the most recent edition of the Ensign, I tried--to no avail--to work on his elocution.

Me: Asher, say "mmmmmmmm"

Asher: mmmmmmmm

Me: Mmmmmmmonson

Asher: mmmmmm Conson

Oh well.

And here, for your viewing pleasure, is one happy burrito:

Natural Eye-Shadow

2009-11-19T14:58:00.004-07:00

When Asher and I go out together, he almost always looks better than I do. This is partly because all of his clothes are really cute, whereas a great many of mine are not. However, it is also partly due to the fact that Asher is so cute that everything looks good on him. Even nasty bruises.

On an unrelated note, just in case you thought I was a mean mommy who never let my baby eat anything but lettuce, here is Asher drinking some hot chocolate. And it's Stephen's, and I made it with milk, so it's really yummy hot chocolate.

On an even less related note, I am currently in love with the movie Penelope. I have watched it three times in the last week and a half. There is a chance that I may also have watched the second-to-last scene an additional six or seven times. Watch it and you'll see why.... or you might not because there's a decent chance that it's just the second-trimester hormones talking.

Teething Bites

2009-11-06T12:12:00.003-07:00

You may remember that I love Halloween. I also love baby clothes. At the beginning of October, I wandered into the Baby Gap to discover that my two loves had converged into this adorable shirt:

(And may I just take a moment to say that teething really does bite. Asher is currently getting molars. Blech.)

I paused a moment to drool in appreciation, but my excitement was not enough to induce me to pay $12.50 for 1 1/2 square feet of fabric. Imagine my joy, then, when a few days ago I once again entered the Baby Gap to find exactly one of these shirts left on the clearance rack in size 3-6 months. And why is that so perfect? Because that's the size that Asher's little sibling will be wearing next Halloween.

Apples and Tootsie-pops

2009-10-31T21:40:00.007-06:00

Friday night was our wards Trunk-or-Treat because on Saturday night we had stake conference. Really. We had stake conference on Halloween. It's okay. I'm over it. Hugh, Asher and I all went dressed as characters from the children's book The Paperbag Princess, which you should read if you haven't because it's fantastic. Here I am as Princess Elizabeth:

Here's Hugh as Prince Ronald:

And, as you saw in the previous post, Asher was the dragon:

Of all the treats that Asher got at the Trunk-or-Treat, he was most excited about the miniature glow stick and the apple--probably just because he doesn't actually know what's in all those wrappers, which I'm sure will not be the case for long. In the meantime, we took him to an orchard to indulge his possibly fleeting love affair with apples. He thought pulling apples off the trees was a blast. Here he is in action:

And, Saturday evening, we took him Trick-or-Treating for about half an hour. He went out with his two favorite friends, Spencer (the cowboy), and Chase (the chimney sweep).

Everybody on the one street that we covered melted at the sight of them. I can't really blame them. I mean, imagine this:

except multiplied by three.

Of all the treats Asher collected, I was most excited about the Tootsie-pops. Somebody even gave us a pomegranate-flavored one. It was divine. I even made it almost all of the way to the Tootsie Roll center before crunching.

Sincerest Apologies

2009-10-27T14:12:00.006-06:00

Please forgive my ridiculously long posting hiatus. I blame it on the fact that we haven't had internet access, which I think is a pretty decent excuse. Now that we're back, first things first: I know that you've all been wondering how you could possibly survive any longer without a glimpse of the Burrito, so here you go:

Asher has become a talking maniac. He recently had a checkup and the pediatrician asked how many words he says. My response was, "uhhh....." "So more than twenty?" she asked. Yes, I would definitely say more than twenty. He is also becoming fairly bilingual and will say things in English to me but in Spanish to Hugh.

He also loves looking at pictures of people--friends, aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents, and, of course, himself. When he sees a picture, he will gleefully name all of the people in it. Often when he is doing something else, he will suddenly say, "picture? Uncle Ben?" or "picture? Candice?"

Asher is enamored of vehicles of all descriptions, but his very favorite kind is school buses. His favorite toy is a little plastic school bus and he loves the song, "The Wheels on the Bus." For some time his favorite verse was, of course, the horn, but he now seems to like the mommies verse and will throw "mommies, bus, sh, sh, sh" into conversations whenever he can.

Asher loves fallen leaves, pumpkins, and Christmas trees. He likes looking at pictures of Jesus, temples, and President Monson. He will sometimes keep his arms folded for most of a prayer if it's short. He loves fruit, avocadoes, olives, homemade pizza, and pasta of all kinds. He runs almost everywhere, likes pretending to be a tiger, gives and requests kisses, and likes to talk to Daddy on the phone. Some days he drives me crazy, but he sure is cute.

Selflessness

2009-08-19T13:28:00.002-06:00

So, if I refuse to allow Asher to eat junk food, but then I have chocolate chip cookies for lunch (Don't worry. I didn't just have cookies. I also had some cookie dough.), does that mean that I'm a hypocrite, or just that I selflessly value the health of my child far more than my own?

For Your Own Safety, Please Keep Drawers and Cupboards Closed.

2009-08-18T10:00:00.000-06:00

A week ago, I was scrubbing my kitchen. I had just finished wiping the last spot off the floor and I stood up to marvel at my triumph... only to hit my head on the door of a cupboard that I had left open and then bleed all over my freshly cleaned floor. Despite the mess, the cut really wasn't that bad, and after Hugh consulted Doctor Grandpa, I took some tylenol, iced the sore area, and called it a night.

That should have been enough to teach me to beware of open drawers and cupboards, but apparently it wasn't, and, yesterday morning, Asher cut his forehead on the corner of his open toy drawer. I would tell you how it happened but I honestly can't remember. All I remember is screaming and blood... lots of blood.

Luckily, Asher's cut turned out to be pretty minor too, and even though I took him to Urgent Care to have it looked at, I was actually a little embarrassed to have come at all once the nurse had cleaned it up really well and it was obvious that it was small and not very deep. Better safe than sorry, I suppose.

Despite the fact that we managed to escape both cases of cabinetry attacks with no lasting damage to ourselves or our belongings (I can recommend a good laundry stain remover, if you're in the market.), I urge you to be cautious because drawers and cupboards can be quite vicious if left open.

He Speaks

2009-08-17T13:01:00.004-06:00

Over the last couple of weeks, Asher has suddenly started talking up a storm. He says a myriad of words including truck, duck, vroom, shoes, teeth, eye, nose, mouth, on, up, hat, please, and, of course, NO. He also says some things in Spanish like agua (water), ven (come), pan (bread), and baila (dance). Granted, some of these words sound much more like the actual word than others, but it's a work in progress. Here he is saying a couple of his favorites:

This is both exciting and adorable, but sometimes it can also start to grate on your ears, like when he says, "ball? ball? ball? ball?" over and over throughout an entire twenty-minute car ride no matter how many times you say, "Yep. That's right. That was a ball." In all fairness, other mommies did warn me that once he started talking I wouldn't be able to get him to stop. Still, he and his budding verbal skills are pretty cute, and it's fun to watch people melt when they greet him and he grins and says "hi" right back.

Have Toddler, Will Launder

2009-08-06T20:26:00.002-06:00

Before Asher was born, laundry stain remover used to last a really long time. Every second or third laundry load had something in it that needed a little spray. Now I need a new bottle every couple of months and half of the articles of clothing that pass through my washer are practically drenched in the stuff.

This state of affairs begs the question:

Once you figure in the cost of stain-treating products, are baby clothes really that much cheaper than their grown-up counterparts?

Victory

2009-07-24T12:40:00.003-06:00

Over the last few weeks, I have been steadily noticing that more and more of Asher's clothes are just a little too small. Last night we came home from the evening's revelries and took a good look at Asher. Hugh and I agreed that the shirt he was wearing, which had fit him just fine a week ago, was definitely too small. I decided that it was finally time to go through his clothes and pull out all of the smaller ones to add to the too-small-burrito-clothes box for Asher's little brother (or, if we never have a boy again, one of his cousins) to wear someday. So, I lugged out the too-small-clothes box and the too-big-clothes box and the giant basket that I use as Asher's clothes dresser, and after the Burrito himself was in bed, I set forth to wash everything and re-organize it all.

I, the amazing mother that I am, was ready for this moment because I had spent the last several months collecting various articles of clothing in the next size up from a multiplicity of clearance sales. When I decided that I had garnered enough 18-month-sized vestments to last Asher though the fall and into the winter, I surveyed my spoils and noticed that almost the entire wardrobe was either blue or brown based. I thought this was convenient because everything would go well with brown shoes. And I bought some little brown shoes (also on sale) to square off the toddler trousseau.

I was feeling quite pleased with myself until I ran into one little snag. I now had brown pants, to be worn with brown shoes, but I could not find brown socks anywhere. Besides Old Navy, Target, Wal-mart, Shopko, and Kohls, I had searched every store in the mall that sold baby clothes of any description. Everyone had black and white and tan and grey and red, and even weird colors like lime green and fuchsia, but the only place that sold brown baby socks was the Gap. Maybe you are asking yourself at this very moment why, when I saw that the Gap sold the item that I had been seeking for so long, did I not snatch it up? The answer is that I have some serious moral qualms about paying three dollars a pair for baby socks.

So, after grumbling for a while about the cruelty of it all, I said to myself, "Self, brown is a fall color. If you just wait until fall is a little closer, maybe some other stores will get brown socks." This satisfied me for the moment, and in the meantime I managed to find a couple of very cute pairs of brown striped socks, but I still really wanted one or two pairs of plain brown socks--possibly just out of obstinacy.

This morning, while I was out for a walk with Asher, I wandered into Old Navy (which I will take this moment to mention is my favorite baby sock provider). They had put a variety of new fall things out since the last time that I was there. After I had glanced over the sweaters and long-sleeved blouses, I flitted back to the baby section. And, what should I find there but dark brown baby socks. The choir in my head struck up a rousing rendition of the last line of "Behold! A Royal Army." "Victory, victory, victory!"

Size Inflation

2009-07-17T07:15:00.005-06:00

Every pair of jeans that I own has holes in the knees. Literally every pair. Except that one pair that's splattered with green paint from the time that I helped a friend paint her nursery, which I sincerely regret doing in that particular pair of pants because they're the only ones I have from the era before stretch denim took over the universe. Remember when you could buy jeans that were more-or-less the same size after you wore them as before? Sigh...

In any case, if Hugh's mom had seen my jean collection, she would have thrown every pair away... and then subsequently found me three new pairs of high-quality designer jeans for four dollars apiece at one of her favorite stores. But, since she wasn't around, I decided it was time to rectify the situation on my own.

The other night, after Asher went to bed, I headed off to the mall. I went straight to American Eagle, my preferred jean provider, only to discover that every pair of jeans that didn't cost fifty dollars was already full of holes. I already owned several pairs of holey jeans--that was why I was at the mall--so I moved on. After going to a few other places, I was starting to feel rather dismayed. In desperation, I walked into the Gap, knowing full well that I would never pay what jeans there cost for blue cotton twill, regardless of the name on the tag.

As I entered the store, I noticed a large pile of jeans marked "clearance." That being one of my favorite words, I headed over. The only problem with clearance racks is that they are always full of the stuff that most other people didn't want to buy. This means that if there is something really cute there, it is probably either something that would only fit my thirteen-year-old sister, or something that you could fit two of my thirteen-year-old sister into. (Incidentally, have you ever noticed that every adorable clearance shoe in existence is a size six? I don't know who has size six feet, but I sincerely envy their shoe collection.) I happen to wear a fairly common jean size, so of course, there were no pants on the shelf in my size. In my riflings, however, I happened to unfold a pair of jeans in the size down from mine and notice that they didn't look very small. I stole off to the dressing room with them, and it turned out that they fit perfectly. So I bought two pairs. Because what's better than cute, cheap jeans, if not cute, cheap jeans that tell you you're skinnier than you actually are?

So, if you're in need of some pleasantly dishonest denim, head to the Gap. They believe in size inflation over there. Check the clearance rack.

How to Reclaim a Little of Your Pre-Burrito Life

2009-07-06T13:36:00.003-06:00

As anyone and everyone will tell you when you are pregnant with your first child, life after you have a baby will never be the same. This last week, however, I have found two ways in which to reclaim just a little of the freedom that I once took for granted.

On Friday, my new friend, Andrea, and I took our kiddos to the splash park near here. While we were watching them play everywhere but in the water, she asked me if Hugh and I wanted to come over that night and watch fireworks at her house. We could, she said, simply put Asher down at his normal bedtime at her house, and then, when we were done with our revels, we could pick him up and transplant him into his own bed at home. This idea was appealing, but also made me a little nervous. After all, Asher's sleep schedule is basically what holds me together. I don't know how to function without it, and if something messes it up Asher and I can both become rather cantankerous. After a few hours of thinking it over, however, I decided to risk it.

That evening at Andrea's house, Asher went down without a peep. We talked, ate, watched a firework show from the balcony and played an entire game of Phase 10. Then, at 12:30 AM, we decided that it was time for the moment of truth. I picked Asher up, and, after a few minutes of staring around at us bleary-eyed, he was quite jolly all the way home. He happily looked out the car windows at the night sky that he normally doesn't get to see, pointing at things and smiling at me.

When we got home, we sang him a verse of a very short song, and put him in his bed. He grabbed ahold of his gigantic teddy bear, rolled over, and closed his eyes. I walked out, closed the door and waited for the wailing to commence. But it didn't. That little burrito just went right back to sleep without a single squeak. We went out at night with no babysitter, and Asher just went right along with it all. It was just like pre-baby times... well, except that we didn't get to sleep in on Saturday morning, but one day, like in 15 years or something, I figure that all of my kids will be old enough to make themselves a bowl of cereal, and then maybe I can sleep in on Saturdays. And in the meantime, we've discovered a way to party like kidless people into the wee hours of the morning.

Every morning, Asher gets up at 7:00 AM. This means that 7:00 AM is also when I generally get up. I hear him start making noise, look groggily at the clock, and drag my weary self out of bed to pick him up. From then until 1:00 PM when he goes down for a nap, I play mommy. Sometimes I can get a few things done while he is awake, and sometimes I can't. Sometimes I don't get much in the way of breakfast until it's about time for lunch. (No matter how much I have just fed Asher, if he sees me start to eat something, he immediately decides that if he doesn't get to eat it too, he will without doubt shrivel up and die on the spot.)

So, today, I forced myself to get up 20 minutes early. I schlumped into the kitchen for some breakfast and then got dressed. Then, because Asher decided to sleep in for 15 minutes, I also made sure that house was cleaned up and checked my e-mail. I have to say, that when I heard that first morning squeak today, it was significantly less distressing, with the added bonus that when Asher was fed, bathed, dressed, and dying to go outside, I was ready. Which means I didn't have to let him destroy the house for ten minutes while I threw some clothes on and put my hair in a ponytail.

So, if you have a burrito and fear that you will never get your carefree, babyfree life back, well, you're right. But you can catch little glimpses of it if you try.... and if you're willing to lose a little sleep.

Troll Hunting and Mall Dancing

2009-06-29T12:25:00.005-06:00

This weekend, we went to Mount Horeb, the troll capital of the United States. Really. The self-proclaimed "village" is dotted with large carved wooden trolls, including this backpacking/mountain-man-esque troll,

this gardening troll,

this touristy troll (who obligingly shared his ice cream with me),

these slightly deranged-looking trolls,

my personal favorite, the tooth-fairy troll (who stands in front of a dentist's office :) ),

and, uh, this, whatever-it's-supposed-to-be troll.

He has a tail, if that helps.... (?)

On a completely unrelated note, Asher and I have been spending a fair amount of time at the mall lately. This is because the mall is air-conditioned. (We have an air conditioning unit in our apartment, but the air conditioning at the mall is free.) A few days ago, I just let Asher wander where're he would and followed him around. Every now and again he would hear a song playing in one of the stores that appealed to him, drift into the store entrance where he could hear it better, and start dancing. At Bath and Body Works, he meandered on in to boogie and saw another little boy about his age sitting in a stroller. Asher walked right up to him, bounced up and down a few times, and then said, "da?" (dance) When the little boy didn't respond, Asher tried again. A little more bouncing, and then "da? da?" Apparently, the other little boy wasn't interested, but Asher took the rejection of his offer in stride. Leaving the little boy to his groove-free stroller, Asher moved on to find other beats.

Ragamuffin Reclaimed

2009-06-21T00:31:00.012-06:00

One day, a mommy looked at her burrito and said, "You look like a ragamuffin." The little burrito's hair was getting long in places and was becoming very unruly. Combs had no effect. Something needed to be done.

So, the mommy put the burrito in the tub and held him still while the burrito's daddy trimmed the back of his hair with the clippers. The burrito did not like it, Sam I am. Then, the mommy trimmed the top of the burrito's hair while he watched Kipper. The burrito was pacified by the technological distraction and did not scream and wiggle. Before long, the mommy and daddy had a clean-cut burrito.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Nothing Is Safe

2009-06-18T19:28:00.004-06:00

Today, Asher climbed onto the kitchen table.

Once he had achieved this new height, he of course went directly for the food.

When I removed that temptation, he started toward the technology. Surprise, surprise.

Besides conquering the world of climbing, Asher has been adding a few other things to his bag of tricks lately. Here he is playing with his stacking toy. (We'll work on the order later.)

And here he is blowing bubbles in his bath water.

As you can see from that little salutation, he is also starting to say a few words (if you can call them words :) ). Besides "mama," "dada," and "bye," he says ball, bath, banana, (all some form of bah) dog (dah), more (muh), and done (duh).

What's more fun, in my opinion, is all of the things I can tell he understands. If you ask him to, he can (among other things) go to a certain room in the house, retrieve an object, take an object to a particular person, and point to a variety of things. He is also learning about how things are connected. If I tell him that something is hot, he will blow. If I tell him that we are going outside, he will sit and let me put his shoes on. If he sees a flower (a real one or a picture) he will put his face up to it, scrunch up his nose, and sniff. He has turned into a little learning machine. It makes me wonder how I wasn't bored out of my mind when all he did was lie there. (Okay, sometimes I was bored out of my mind, but not as often as I should have been.) It's amazing how those little "lumpy jellyfish," as Hugh calls newborns, turn into miniature human beings, and how no matter what you do to baby-proof your house, eventually, nothing is safe.

I Heart You, Google Maps

2009-06-11T10:21:00.002-06:00

I grew up in the Salt Lake Valley, which, as many of you know, is on a grid system. And when I say "grid system," I mean a real grid system. If you just went to Utah for BYU and spent all of your time in the Utah Valley, you have never experienced the joy. A real grid system means that you can go anywhere in Salt Lake County with no directions whatsoever. (None of the "Oh no! Now we're in American Fork and the numbers are all different!" business.) You just need two little numbers--the north/south coordinate and the east/west coordinate of your final destination.

I spent one summer as my dad's "personal assistant," which basically meant that I spent June through August driving all over the county delivering and picking up random items. My dad isn't exactly the best at giving directions, but he did have the addresses of the places I needed to go. Without too much trouble, I managed to find every one of them. Thank goodness for the grid. Even in Utah Valley it's not too bad. You can find what you're looking for. It might just turn out, once you cross that city line, that you're not quite as close to it as you thought.

Out here in, uh, well, not Utah, (and I know that many of you will be shocked by this) they don't believe in grids. Before Hugh started work, he asked if I would prefer to drop him off in the mornings so that I could have a car during the day. My thoughts on this were that since there was little to no chance of my being able to find my way anywhere, there wasn't really any point in having a vehicle in my possession.

So, Hugh's first week of work came, and on Monday and Tuesday he drove himself to work. While he was gone, Asher and I explored the immediate vicinity of our apartment with our trusty stroller (meaning that anywhere we went was close enough that I was sure of being able to find my way back). On Wednesday, however, the other mommies in my new ward were holding a play group, and since I had made up my mind not to be an antisocial recluse, I decided to go. I dropped Hugh off at work that morning so that I would have a car. I had the address of the park where we were supposed to meet, and the address had numbers in it, but, unfortunately, I knew that the numbers were not technically related to the physical location of the park. So, about half an hour before the play group was supposed to start I pulled Google Maps up on the computer.

Hugh showed me Google Maps a long time ago, but it mostly seemed like another technology toy that he could use to fill up his free time. I had used it once or twice when I was driving somewhere far away, but mostly, it was where Hugh went to find satellite pictures of old mission apartments or places we went in China. Now I was hoping to turn this toy into a tool in my regular arsenal. So, I typed in my start and end address, clicked the "get directions" button, and voila! I had directions to my play group. I was a little worried that the directions would not actually lead me to the place I wanted to go, but I copied them down, grabbed the diaper bag, buckled Asher into the car, and left anyway.

I know that you will be amazed to hear that I actually did get to my play group, and back home (I copied down directions for the return journey separately, just in case.), in fact, without having to turn around once. It was spectacular. The best part is, it wasn't even a fluke! This week I found my way to play group at a different park, in addition to other places. I can even get directions to places when I don't know the address, or even if I don't know the actual name of the place. Who knew?

So, what I'm trying to say is, Google Maps, I heart you. Thanks for opening up the world to me. Oh, and, Hugh, I guess you were right. It is pretty cool.

My Anti-Fashion Consultant

2009-06-07T19:06:00.002-06:00

Every girl knows how important it is to have somebody who can help you with crucial fashion decisions. It might be your mom, your sister, or a girl friend--anybody who has good taste and understands your sense of style. I grew up in a whole house full of fashion consultants. Not only did I seek confirmation of my fashion choices from my mom and my sister, but my dad even had a good eye for what made a person look good. When I went away to college, I had roommates to ask whether or not something looked good on me, and which shoes should go with it.

Then I got married.

For a while, Hugh would either declare that everything looked great on me or he would claim that he had neither any idea nor any opinion about whether or not I had made a good fashion choice. Slowly, however, Hugh's true fashion ideas began to emerge. It turns out that my husband doesn't like any article of girl clothing that is cute, fun, or in style. However, he is a big fan of anything that is boring, unflattering, or out of style (like, I've-had-it-since-middle-school out of style). After many frustrating experiences, I finally learned not to take Hugh shopping with me because a typical scenario would play out like this:

I find the most adorable article of clothing I've ever seen and it's on sale so I take it into the dressing room to try it on. When I come out to show Hugh, he says,

"It's kinda' weird."

"What about it, exactly, is weird?" I ask.

"Um, I don't know."

"But it's weird?"

"Well, is it supposed to flare at the bottom like that?"

"Yes. That's in style right now."

"Oh. Well, if you really like it then you should get it."

"But you don't like it?"

"No."

I come home empty-handed.

Now if this happened once in a while, or even half of the time, it wouldn't be a big deal, but it happens every time. Literally. So I don't take Hugh with me to buy clothes anymore. I leave him home with Asher. Then I show him the things I bought when I come home and then he tells me that they're weird, but by then, I've already decided that I love them and bought them, and I'm way to lazy to take them back just because Hugh doesn't like them.

Of course, his comments about clothing that I already own still influence me sometimes. I like to go through my clothes regularly and get rid of things that I don't wear. However, sometimes, when I'm in the process of placing something that I haven't worn for years onto the discard pile, Hugh will say, "I really like that one!" so I'll keep it. And continue not wearing it. Because it definitely doesn't look good on me. When we moved last month however, I finally got rid of everything I don't like and avoided asking Hugh his opinion.

This morning, I put on a brand new jumper for church. It's fun and bright and flowery. I was excited to wear it. But, I made the mistake of asking Hugh what he thought and got, "it looks weird like that." So I asked him what he would think if I wore it with some different things, but he still thought it would be "weird." So, in a fit of frustration, I changed into something very boring, at which point Hugh told me that he thought I looked nice. But next week I'm going to wear my jumper, and I'm not going to ask Hugh a thing about it.

So, does my sweet husband just have no sense of women's style? Well, I hope that's the case because otherwise he might be trying to make me look bad on purpose.

Greetings from Cheeseland

2009-06-01T14:39:00.008-06:00

When I was younger, I kept a journal in spurts. I would be really good at writing for a long time, and then I would get busy and a million things would happen, and I felt like I had to go back and record all of them before I could move on with my journaling. Of course, this left me feeling overwhelmed, which meant that I wouldn't write anything at all. Then, finally, I would decide that the past was a lost cause and just start writing again where I was.

In retrospect, I'm not too sad about the times that I didn't write in my journal because I have quite enough pages full of sappy mush about silly middle- and high school boys as it is, but I did learn one lesson from all this, which is that it's better to just get over the time you missed and move on from where you are. So, we'll just say that I wrote a multiplicity of strikingly witty blog posts in my head about all of the people and things that we're going to miss in Utah, how proud I am of myself for having used this move as an opportunity to completely de-junk our life and empty my parents' house of my belongings (many, many, many trips to the DI), all the people I'm grateful for who helped us move/didn't glare at me on the airplane when Asher cried, how I'm so amazing and unpacked our entire house in two days, etc, etc, etc, and get on with it.

A few days ago, we got back from vacation in Florida. After weeks of packing, moving, and then unpacking again, it was very nice to relax, have fun, and play with Hugh's parents. We went to the Museum of Science and History,

had a tour of the hospital where Hugh's dad works,

played games,

went to the beach,

the oldest fort in the Continental U.S.,

the zoo,

and on walks,

and just hung out.

I'm pretty sure that Asher's favorite part was playing with Grandpa...

...either that or all of the ceiling fans.

Unfortunately, the merrymaking eventually came to an end and we had to return to real life. But at least our new apartment has a ceiling fan. :)

All Grown Up

2009-04-27T10:52:00.005-06:00

My boys are all grown up now. This last week, Hugh graduated from BYU and he has now officially accepted a job--not a summer job, but a real grown-up job--in Wisconsin. (We'll send you all some cheese.) So, now we're headed off to the real world with spouses (not other spouses, just each other), a baby, college degrees, and a job, like real, live adults.

The Burrito has now officially turned one. He has teeth (two of them), gives stellar hugs, sleeps through the night, walks, has a sense of humor (Apparently, it's riotously funny to make Mommy say "ouch."), can get a spoon with food on it into his mouth, climbs onto things, comes when I call him ("Asher, where are you?" is followed by giggling and excited tromping in my direction.), and can entertain himself.

For those of you keeping score, Asher now weighs 18 pounds, 11 ounces and is 30.2 inches tall. He's in the 3.5th percentile for weight now, up from the 3rd percentile at his 9 month appointment. Way to pack it in, Burrito! He's still tall, coming in at the 66th percentile for height.

Yesterday, Asher demonstrated his newly achieved maturity by sitting through all three hours of church. (Although I probably shouldn't tell you that because now it will certainly turn out to be a fluke, whereas before it was only almost certain to be a fluke.) He even fell asleep at the end of Sacrament meeting, something he hasn't done since he was two months old. I'm not sure if we had the best Sacrament meeting talks I've ever heard, or if it just seemed that way because I hadn't actually been able to listen to any for so long.

Here's a shot of our little imp:

Happy birthday, Burrito. We like you lots.

Nature

2009-04-21T20:45:00.005-06:00

Asher loves to be outside. He can be suffering any ill and going outside will make it all better. If you say the word "outside" he will scamper gleefully to the door and bang on it. If you open the door for any reason other than to take him outside, he gets very upset. He would live outside if we would let him.

One of the things that Asher really loves about outside is dandelions. I figure this is a pretty good thing for him to love since most people probably won't be upset about him picking the ones in their yards. Often, as soon as I unleash Asher upon the great outdoors, he will run to the nearest clump of dandelions and start picking like mad. He likes to hold the dandelions, set them on top of things, rip them to shreds, and put them in his mouth. This last one leads to a lot of me saying "not in your mouth, please" over, and over, and over. At least he's getting pretty good at obeying that particular command, which means that I spend a lot less of my time chasing him around and physically removing dandelions, and various other objects, from his mouth.

Many other things about outside that Asher loves are rocks, sticks, dirt, leaves, and long grass. He treats these things pretty similarly to how he treats the dandelions. He is quite the egalitarian little burrito. This, of course, leads to more repetitions of "not in your mouth, please."

Becca, the six-year-old who lives on the other side of our backyard fence, and who often peers over the fence to chat with me and watch Asher's various exploits, asked me one day if Asher liked nature. I told her that, yes, he did indeed like nature, and that he particularly liked to eat it. She thought this was very funny. Becca has a baby brother, and therefore knows an awful lot about how babies work. She said her mother told her that the second rule about babies is everything goes in the mouth. I said that was certainly true.

"Do you want to know what the first rule about babies is?" she said.

"What?"

"If a baby is sleeping, leave him alone."