Can You Buttle?

A short plug for an enjoyable old movie to watch. This movie had funny physical comedy (Carlo!) and funny dialogue (Five children!). Now you'll have to watch it to get the insider references. It took my mind off of a crying, teething baby, which is a hard thing to do. Granted, it's not Thor: The God of Thunder, but it's still fairly fast-paced and definitely less predictable.

Call Me Ishmael

Privacy on the internet...I'm all for it. But let's be honest, if someone wants to steal my identity they won't scroll through my blog posts collecting nuggets of information in order to do it. (Although I should probably post some vital pieces of misinformation, like "my mother's maiden name was Jensen," and, "all my passwords start with the number 2," just in case.) If someone wants to steal my identity, they'll find me on Facebook. It's the risk I take for the ability to find my college roommates and send them a Christmas card every 5 years.
Anyway, this post is about pseudonyms. I think blogging with pseudonyms can be tastefully done, but if your blog name is something like "I Love Chocolate" and your husband's name is "Snickers," your kids are "Skittles," "Reeses," etc., then you should really tone it down. A lot.
Today my husband asked what his fake name would be if I blogged using fake names. I thought about it for about 15 seconds while I put my baby to bed and came up with "Ahab." For those who love themed names, that would make me the "Great White Whale" that Captain Ahab relentlessly pursues/annoys until the whale bites his leg off. Seeing unexpected parallels, no? I really prefer "Ishmael" though, since I am the narrator of our family life. Then we have our children "Starbuck" and "Stubb." If we ever have an annoying child we will stick him/her with the name Queequeg. And no one will ever ever know who we really are...kind of like Ishmael.

Is it Heredity or Environment?

I'm the normal one, just so you know.

Fun House vs. Cute House

I remember when we were growing up Mom would let us build huge blanket forts. It was super fun. When I got older and stopped making forts and started having to clean the house I would complain to her about what a mess the boys were making building their forts. (Getting older=becoming not fun)

Anyway, based on this and other life experiences, I've realized that you can have a cute and clean house, or you can have a fun house. I don't think you can have both with kids.

My recent example is the bunk bed I put up yesterday in Sammy's room. (All by myself! With 4 small kids running/crawling around!) I was all set to do a cute, girly room for her and Cici with a cute white bunk bed in it, when we found this chunkamunka slide bed in the online classifieds. A slide bed! We knew Sammy would freak out in joy. I knew it wouldn't look cute. Oh well. Sammy loves it. I'm kind of in favor of the "cute and clean" house, but for the rest of her life Sammy will probably remember her fun slide bed that was way too big for her room.

The Anti-Social Book Club

I know, I know...anti-social people don't join clubs, but hear me out.

You know how some people have things? For example, they are awesome cooks, or write science fiction books, or live on a ranch, or homeschool, or take cool pictures, or save the environment? Well, my thing is that I read books. Super amazing, right? But get this. I don't just read books, I read books super fast. Even cooler, I know.

Since my thing is reading, (super fast) it seems logical that I should join a book club. But from listening to other women talk about book clubs, it kind of seems like "Book Club" equals "Excuse for a bunch of women to get together and compare clothes, houses, and refreshments, while inserting something about the book of the month into the conversation if it lags." In short, I would have to be social. And let other people tell me what to read. And feel guilty if I didn't have time to read the book. (Which obviously would never happen since I read super fast.) Anyway, who needs that?

So I'm starting the Anti-Social Book Club. The first book to be read is "The Upside of Irrationality" by Dan Ariely. Why? 1.) My husband wants to read it, and I've always been pleasantly surprised by his book choices. 2.) I've looked at Ariely's blog and he seems like a smart, funny guy. I'm considering adding his blog to my sidebar. 3.) Despite loving the study of English literature, I've always been strangely drawn to behavioral economics. Seriously.

If you don't read it, I'll never know. (The beauty of the Anti-Social Book Club) If you do want to read it, I'm going to post some thoughts on it in a couple weeks and I would love your input. I know you just can't wait!

Crazy Politics

I've found that if headlines have words like "Crazy," "Confessions," or "Crispy" in them, I'm much more likely to read the article. Actually, on further reflection, I think I learned that from Newsies. Anyway, this post is about my political views. My political views are:

...???...

Yep, you read that right. I attribute my strong political views and my ability to freely and intelligently converse about politics to my parents. It's easy to go overboard with the whole "blame the parents for all my weirdness and life problems" thing, but in this case, I think they might agree with me in my assertion that they are to blame for my lack of interest in politics. For some reason, Mom and Dad thought who you voted for was supposed to be a big secret. (Um...isn't the whole point of politics to try to get other people to see things your way?) So we don't really talk about politics in our family. Perhaps because politics = open arguing, and we are more the passive-agressive types.

Now, if you're with my extended family, you can enjoy vigorous arguing with super conservatives and people who are liberal just to annoy the conservatives and independents who annoy everybody, because everybody knows that voting for an independent is the same thing as fence-sitting.

Have I annoyed someone reading this? Good. I think I'm ready to venture into politics.

There's No Place Like Gnome

I mean, home. Sorry, I just had to use this picture of our cute little Travelocity gnome. Our Costco gnome got stolen from the yard of our Montana home...or did he leave for a gnome convention somewhere? We'll never know.

So I was really excited about grad school but I never felt peaceful about it. You know when you feel good about something and everything just comes together? Well it wasn't happening. Which is sad, because I really wanted to feel good about it--it makes so much sense to go to grad school now. I also explored my other options, such as online school, night school, part-time school, community college, etc. Not happening. I guess my babies need me. Not Cool Degree Mom, but just plain old Awesome Mom.

Was there a point to all this soul-searching anguish that I went through? I think so. I was planning on putting all this work, energy, and time into getting ready for grad school and then dominating it once I got in. Do I put even a fifth of that effort into nurturing and teaching my kids and making my home a house of God? Sadly, no. But now that I've realized that I can do better I can work on it. I kept hearing all these quotes that applied to my situation (God: Helloooo?) but this one from Women's Conference was one of my favorites:

"Sister Beck also said that women often ask her questions about whether to work outside the home. In many places, she pointed out, if women don’t work, they don’t eat. So that question may be the wrong one. A more appropriate question, she said, is this: 'Am I aligned with the Lord’s vision of me and what He needs me to become?'"

Catch the vision, Noni. Live up to your potential. Be more creative in the ways you find fulfillment as a person and a mother.

Well, I've managed to work in a picture of a gnome, pep-talked myself, and put words in God's mouth. Another successful blog post.

She Hath More Hair than Wit

Ah, Shakespeare. Thou art so quotable. This past week or two I've been very distracted with thoughts of going to graduate school. On our insurance I was listed as "homemaker/house person." House person? I don't want to be a plain old house person. I'm smart! I'm talented! I have a lot to offer the world! !!!

The exclamation mark is highly overused these days ---Love, Your Smart and Slightly Pretentious English Major

Pros: I love to learn, I would become more employable, gain teaching experience, have a better fallback if something should happen to Austin, become a more interesting person, take advantage of having a grad school close and my parents to help out.

Cons: A lot less time with hubby, an incredible amount of work, stress stress stress, it would be a while before we had more kids, I would have less time at home with the kids.

Looking at this list, it kind of seems like Grad school would be good for me, bad for my family. But then I tell myself, what if I need to get a job someday? Then my previously-acquired education would be good for my family.

I try not to go overboard on the poetry. But this is one of my favorites:

"The Choosing" by Liz Lochhead

We were first equal Mary and I
with the same coloured ribbons in mouse-coloured hair
and with equal shyness
we curtseyed to the lady councillor
for copies of Collins’s Children Classics.
First equal, equally proud.

Best friends too Mary and I
a common bond in being cleverest (equal)
in our small school’s small class.
I remember
the competition for top desk
or to read aloud the lesson
at school service.
And my terrible fear
of her superiority at sums.

I remember the housing scheme
Where we both stayed.
The same house, different homes,
where the choices were made.

I don’t know exactly why they moved,
but anyway they went.
Something about a three-apartment
and a cheaper rent.
But from the top deck of the high school bus
I’d glimpse among the others on the corner
Mary’s father, mufflered, contrasting strangely
with the elegant greyhounds by his side.
He didn’t believe in high school education,
especially for girls,
or in forking out for uniforms.

Ten years later on a Saturday —
I am coming home from the library —
sitting near me on the bus,
Mary
with a husband who is tall,
curly haired, has eyes
for no one else but Mary.
Her arms are round the full-shaped vase
that is her body.
Oh, you can see where the attraction lies
in Mary’s life —
not that I envy her, really.

And I am coming from the library
with my arms full of books.
I think of the prizes that were ours for the taking
and wonder when the choices got made
we don’t remember making.

The Ceiling

Our garage ceiling is leaking under the upstairs bathroom. I know it's going to be a big fix.

Need stress relief for your problems?

The Sistine Chapel

Guardians of Wisdom

I'm beginning to realize that librarians don't like people. In fact, I strongly suspect that most librarians devoutly wish that the hoi polloi who insist on checking out books would depart and leave them in peace to enjoy their perfectly organized shelving system. But, if pressed, they will patiently bear with the ugsome public. (As long as they can keep the self check out machines to avoid actual interaction with the philistines.)

Can you tell that I was involved in an altercation at the library the other day? For a while I have been mildly annoyed by the library signs that imply that we patrons, like the bronze chickens that for some mysterious reason are scattered about the library, have no idea what we're doing in a public building. "We Cannot Hear You Through the Glass. Please Go to the Counter for Assistance." "Please Do Not Pull Your Reciept Out Too Quickly." "Please Don't Check Out Any Books--We Hate Reshelving Them."

Despite taking a dim view of our general intelligence, librarians seem to think that there are a few evil geniuses among us. For example, to get back my lost library card I need an I.D. Some criminal mastermind might deduce that I lost my library card and then impersonate me to get it back. Really? Come on, people. The only reason I would be asking for my lost library card would be if I was the person that had lost it!

Stupid policies irk me. I complained to two different people, going as far to say I was getting a "TSA vibe" from them. I got my own back when the tight-lipped supervisor (How dare you question my stupid policy, you plebian worm!) told me that most people drove to the library and therefore had a driver's licence on them so it wasn't a big deal to show it. I think she missed the point. It's not that it's a hard policy to follow, it's a stupid policy to follow! Librarians are supposed to be smart!

And yet, like the bronze chickens, I enjoy hanging out at the library. I also enjoy checking things out from the library. So I humbly went back out to the car to get my I.D. Criminal activity successfully thwarted. Huzzah!

"Sylvester, or the Wicked Uncle"

When I'm not busy reading thrilling news stories about Kate Middleton's face on a jellybean, I like to pick up a Georgette Heyer novel. She writes smart, clean romances a la Jane Austin, set in the Regency Period. Yesterday Austin sent Sammy to get him some reading material for the bathroom, and she came back with "Sylvester, or the Wicked Uncle." He started to read it, because really he had no other choice, and ended up "caught in a book." This is a phrase I use to describe what happens when you start reading a book and can't stop. You neglect your duties and ignore your significant others and stay up way too late to finish it. Austin stayed up until 3:30 when he most likely remembered that our children wake up at 6 a.m. and he was scheduled to leave for St. George in four hours. Poor guy. I know he wanted to finish the book last night--he'll probably be trying to read and drive at the same time.

I usually find Georgette Heyer books at thrift stores since many are old and out of print, but recently Harlequin has picked them up and started republishing them. I am grateful more people are starting to appreciate them--but let's be honest, the name Harlequin does give them a lurid air. Librarians have started moving them from the fiction section to the romance section in the library, which is kind of an embarassing section to be getting books from. Also, Harlequin has best-selling authors write forewords for Heyer's books, which consist of a recap of the whole book. Way to ruin the story! Don't read the forewords if you find newer editions of her books.

"The Grand Sophy" is still my favorite of her novels, but "Sylvester" is quite the hilarious read as well. If you get tired of reading about famous people's faces being found in weird places, brave the romance section and take a chance on Georgette Heyer.

Family Reunion Fun

This year my mom's family is doing a handcart trek in Wyoming for their reunion. In a culture where people like to bring up cool stories about their pioneer ancestry, perhaps there is a certain cachet to reinacting the Martin Handcart Company's well-known tale of tragedy, starvation, and exposure. But for a family reunion? Please can't we bond over a beach barbeque instead of grueling hardship for once? Please?

A Day Out for the Ladies

The other day I got to hang out with 2 of my favorite cousins, KR and Moe. Though in the past we have participated in various exploits such as secret-fort building, skinny-dipping, and skydiving, we decided to tone it down a bit and wander around the local expo center signing up for as many free things and prize drawings as humanly possible. (And yet we managed not to win anything...)

A Few of My Favorite Things:

KR angering people by not buying their stuff. First was the ill-mannered blonde hairdresser who only straightened half of KR's hair because she wouldn't buy a $125 hair straightener. Also the massage man who (jokingly?) threatened to call security after KR likened his massage tool to a sander. (Well it did look like one.) And let's not forget the eyeliner lady who was giving out "free samples" which turned out to be her drawing on KR's arm with various colors of eyeliner. She looked a bit miffed when KR wouldn't buy her $30 eyeliner.

Free facials by a beauty school set up on-site. Mine involved an LED light being run over my face and various lotions with fancy environmental names being applied after that.

The Trendy Announcer who announced that "Mandy has been coming to the What a Women Wants Show for 38 years and has never won anything, so today she gets an Ambush Makeover!" After we all looked at Mandy and realized that she was only around 30 years old, Ms. Trendy Announcer realized her gaffe and started making up an elaborate story about how "Mandy" was a 300-year-old vampire and didn't look like she could possibly be over thirty, ha ha, etc. Deliciously awkward.

Catching up on gossip.

Yak Saks

The Ugliest Phone

http://shopping.yahoo.com/articles/yshoppingarticles/576/13-ugliest-phones-of-the-mobile-era/

According to this article, I have one of the 13 ugliest phones out there. (I own the Kin on the right) I admit, the touch screen/keyboard thing is awkward, it isn't very intuitive to use, and it sucks battery like no one's business. But come on! It folds up into a cute little square! Little=cute. Everybody knows that.

Decorating Dilemma

Someone out there help me....I want to decorate Sammy's room but I'm not sure what to do with it. It gets super cold when it's cold outside and super warm when the sun's out. So what color to paint it? You can't tell from the pics but it's a peachy brown right now. I want it to be girly but not painted pink. Maybe yellow with lots of white, lacy, pearly accessories. Following are some pics. Cool alcove... Keeping white dresser... Bed won't fit where crib is... Closet in way of putting bed there...

" I'm cute, hold me!!!"

I've measured the room and I'm not sure where to put a bed. A twin bed will not fit down in the alcove or where the crib is. Sammy and Felicity will be sharing this room for a while, so perhaps a bunk bed or a trundle turned parallel to the window? I found someone who makes bed frames for cheaper than you can buy them, so I could customize it pretty easily.

I'm keeping the little white dresser, but the changing table can go out of the room since I don't use it much upstairs. I want this chandelier and maybe curtains for the alcove to create a little secret area.

So, any suggestions? Want to come to my house?

Spa Time With Hubby

We just moved a mountain of boxes and I decided it was time to use our spa certificate for a couples massage to soothe our aching muscles! When I called to set up the appointment, I learned that "Stephen and Deana" would be giving us our massages. Hmm, that sounds like a guy and a girl. I wonder if I should tell Austin. I wonder who should have the guy and who should have the girl. ??? Well, this will only be weird if we make it weird.

The thing about guy massage therapists, (masseurs? masseuses? We'll stick with massage therapist.) is that one tends to wonder what their motives were for going to massage school and becoming massage therapists. I know it's probably unfair to them, since we don't really think about such things with female massage therapists. But really.... Also, one tends to wonder strange things about male massage therapists as they give therapy to your back, such as, I wonder if he shaves his arm hair off?

Anyway, I digress. When we got there, after waiting for several minutes next to the most bored looking six-year-old boy I've ever seen, our massage therapists came to get us and "Stephen" introduced himself as my massage therapist and "Deana" introduced herself as Austin's. One potentially awkward choice avoided. It was relaxing, we both enjoyed it. I think we should go to therapy more often.

Kraken Child

This is my beautiful, sweet, mellow baby who likes to smile and giggle all day long, just hang out with the rest of the family, and even fall asleep for Mom in her car seat every once in a while.

Recently though, whenever she has a poopy diaper or is ready for a nap, she turns into KRAKEN CHILD and starts emitting a sound which I can only compare to what I *imagine* the shrieks of a dying kraken might sound like.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaakkKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!

Total silence for a few seconds.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiAAAAAAAAWWWWWWKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!

We got a few good glares out of the librarians yesterday.

The View From Here

The Outside View

The Inside View

Note to Self

Note to Self: ALWAYS LOOK IN THE MIRROR BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE. That way you will avoid looking in the mirror when you get home and seeing a huge splotch of zit cream on your chin that you forgot to remove. Yeah, all those friendly people at the grocery store, I think they were laughing at me, not with me.

Be Still My Beating Heart

I love Costco. It's not that the goods are super cheap or the employees are super nice, (although they do hand out lots of samples--yum!) the fact is, we shop at Costco because it's fun! It's always fun to see what random things they will have for sale, you know they will be good quality because it's Costco, and there are never too many options to choose from.

When we stayed in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho for a month or so (due to Austin's job) we rented a vacation home where I first met the glass bowls pictured above. My love for them grew as I used them over the next few weeks. You can store food in them easily because of the lids. You can see what's in them in the fridge without opening them. You can microwave in them and not worry about getting cancer from Tupperware. There are lots of cute little bowls for all the random little leftovers from meals and BEST OF ALL when you cook with them you feel like you are on a cooking show!

For example, when I would make soup for dinner I would chop up all my veggies earlier in the day, put each veggie pile in its classy glass bowl, and then assemble the meal in a quick 5 minutes with the help of my admiring assistant Sammy, all the while keeping up a steady stream of pleasing and witty small talk. And the fans went wild!

It was pretty fun. Since everything else in the house came from Costco I assumed the bowls did too, so I've been keeping my eyes open for these sweet babies on our various Costco runs. Once they had them with puke green lids instead of vibrant red ones. Pass. Would Rachael Ray cook with those? Anyway, I dodged down the cookware aisle in Costco on Monday to avoid making eye contact with Air Duct Demonstration Man and there they were! Manna from heaven, Luminarc glass bowls. You too could be a star. Buy the bowls.

Packing Up

I love getting rid of stuff. I love sorting through my things and finding something that 1.) I never use/wear and 2.) I never will. Swoosh! Into the give-away box. I love being able to think of something I own and know exactly where it is at any given time. Living in a small apartment for the past 5 months has been annoying because all our stuff doesn't have a place to go, but it's also been good because I've gotten rid of stuff we didn't need.

This past week, I've realized that I could take my sorting a step further. Why don't I just get rid of all my stuff? All the kitchen stuff I need to survive for one week is on one shelf in the pantry. All the clothes and bathroom stuff I need to survive for one week is in one black suitcase. If I can survive for one week with these things, why not two weeks? Why not a year? My house is super easy to clean. My life is ordered. "Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." -Leonardo D.

Okay, Mr. DaVinci and Hyper-Nona, calm down. Packing a bunch of boxes for the move may be a huge pain, but it doesn't mean you should donate everything to the local Goodwill. It's not really convenient to cook with only one pan and one pot. What if I want to make eggs and hashbrowns and pancakes all at the same time? It's not really fun to own only one dress. Look, this is the 76th Sunday in a row she's worn that outfit! Maybe I will need an extra pillow for when family comes to visit. Maybe I'm just not the sophisticated type.

Because it's Friday

I usually don't post things like this...but this video was just so "interesting" and "informative." (Thursday comes before Friday)

Note: People think that since I majored in English I'm a stickler for grammar, but I'm really not. Language constantly changes and evolves--what was grammatically and linguistically (look, I'm a cool English major, I can use big words!) correct in Shakespeare's time would be really hard to understand now. But other than emails that start with "I usually don't forward things like this" (An ironic sentance, considering my opener) I do get annoyed when people put quotation marks around things that don't really need them. This all boils down to, watch the video below at your own risk. My quotation marks are there for a reason.

Now do you understand why we shouldn't forward those emails or post these videos?!?

"Red Flags or Red Herrings?" by Susan Engel

I grabbed this book at the library on an impulse. Who doesn't want a magic ball for their child's future? I read it in a couple days--it was well-written with lots of stories, just the way I like it. The premise is: there are some things you can change about your kids and some you can't. Like if your kid is shy or has lots of energy, you can't change that aspect of their personality although it may shift as they grow older.

Unfortunately, after I got done reading this book I was confused as to what things are problematic and what things I should just roll with. It sounds like they are different for each child. Am I missing the little problematic behaviors that will add up to Sammy being a troubled teen? This one story is stuck in my head of a boy who was popular, happy, smart, etc., but grew up to be a loser adult because his mom ignored things like him stealing a quarter off the dresser and denying it.

Also, I don't think the author meant for me to get this from the book, but one message I got loud and clear was: If I am a normal, sane, middle-class American, my kids have a good chance of growing up to be okay. Think normal and sane, Anona, normal and sane. Normal and sane, normal and sane...

Calling 911

A few days ago I looked out my front window and saw a tall, skinny white guy dressed in black with a black knit hat loping across my lawn. For those who have not been to my house, my lawn is in the back of a house and off a private drive surrounded by backyards of other people and a large gravel patch. In short, it's not on the way to anywhere. I stepped outside to get a good look at this guy/yell at him (How dare you walk across my lawn!) at which point he started running, jumped my neighbor's fence, and hid on their porch, peeking out to see if I noticed him. When he realized that I was indeed watching him his head disappeared.

What to do? Calling 911 seemed a bit drastic, but there are a lot of break-ins in my neighborhood and this guy definitely seemed good for it, so I called. When you're a little kid this number is drilled into your head. But do you ever get to call it? No. So I called, gave the operator a description of this guy, the location of my neighbor, etc. I don't know if she even sent someone to check it out, but she got my phone number in case the police wanted to talk to me. (!) It was a rather flat end to what promised to be a thrilling afternoon.

To Pee, or Not to Pee

Yesterday evening we went on a field trip to the library the next city over to pick up some travel books. All was going well until we got to the self check out machines, when I looked down and observed two small puddles forming around Sammy's shoes. I stood there in shock (My child? Have an accident? I didn't know such a thing could happen!) and Austin quickly commandeered the situation. "Quick, run to the bathroom!" I remember wondering why exactly we were supposed to do that, since Sammy had obviously just done her business on the library carpet, but in a crisis, you just follow the first voice of authority you hear. So we ran.

The bathroom was mercifully empty--but unfortunately environmentally friendly. No paper towels! Curse you, eco-friendly library! We walked out to find Austin gone, having checked out our books and fled to the safety of the car. His devious ploy to distance himself from us became suddenly clear. "Those puddles, Miss Librarian? No, I have no idea how they got there." I glanced at the puddles, then at the door. I could do the responsible, adult thing and tell the librarians that there were now two puddles of pee on their carpet, and could they please clean it up for me, since I didn't have any paper towels thanks to their accursedly liberal environmentally-conscious paper towel policy. Or we could run.

The wind felt good in our hair as we fled to freedom. "Faster, Sammy, faster!"

Anona's Skin Care Regimen

Makes you feel smart to say "regimen," doesn't it? Anyway, after a couple bad face days I decided it was time to update my skin care regimen. I did some research so I wasn't just pulling things off the shelf.

Old regimen: splash water on my face at night every once in a while.

New regimen:

1.) Wash with this every night. It doesn't dry my face out and it takes off eye makeup too, so I don't have to use seperate makeup remover.

2.) Lotionize with this every morning. It has sunscreen in it, keeps my face moisturized ALL DAY (drying out is a big problem here in the West) and feels lightweight. Perfect to go under my non-exsistent makeup.

3.) Scrub with this once a week. The internet said one can also use a mixture of brown sugar and olive oil, but what with doing the baking soda shampoo every once in a while, my bathroom and pantry are starting to look alike, so I just bought the scrub. I admit: I haven't actually used this one yet. Felicity has given me like 15 total hours of sleep all week. Exfoliating is not number one on my "To Do in My Spare Time" list. But I like that you can leave it on as a mask as well as scrub with it. Apparently, a deep exfoliate once a week will get rid of gross dead skin cells, which is why I bought it.

My face feels awesome. All of these are in the face care aisle at Target. Next move, save up money and buy make up.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Ay, there's the rub. Felicity's been going through a growth spurt (or teething? Or messing with Mom) and has been up every two or three hours for the past week. Back into survival mode for me! The weird thing is, a lot of times when I don't get enough sleep I start having dreams about...homework. The other night (in my dream) Austin and I both had papers due--I checked his and it wasn't long enough and wasn't very well organized. Mine involved a three-part thesis followed by a sequential explanation, etc. I didn't actually have time to finish my paper, because Felicity woke up. Drat! It would have been an A paper for sure!

I think my sleep deprived brain dreams up homework for me because it thinks I'm back in college when I never got any sleep. That's my theory anyway. Maybe I should write a paper on that...

Not a Clue

Austin and I decided to be social and signed up for our church dinner party, even though we don't know anyone in our ward. This was a highly coordinated event where each table had a host and hostess, different theme, assigned dishes, assigned tables, etc. Sort of like a Mormon Mission Impossible. Austin had been recieving phone calls from our hostess, Sister Allred, (Stake President's wife) all week to prepare us.

When we got there, I peeked in the kitchen to find a homeless woman helping the Relief Society President prepare food. "Hi?" I ventured. "Oh hi!" she exclaimed, coming out to greet us. Even with dirty smudges all over her faces, crazy hair, and a raggedy skirt, she seemed likeable and friendly. "You're not dressed like hobos?!" Okay, and a little crazy.

Austin and I looked at each other. "Ummm...we must not have gotten that message." Could this be the mysterious Sister Allred? She glanced at my decadent German Chocolate Cheesecake atop my Martha Stewart cake stand. "Oooh, it looks so fancy! It'll put the rest of the hobo food to shame." She glanced at our dressy clothes one more time. I hung my head and shuffled along behind her as she led us to a gathering of hobos; I felt like we had been caught trying to out-class the rest of the table as she set our cheesecake next to a bunch of tinfoil dishes.

Just then, an impeccably groomed woman in her 60s came over with a smile. "Hi, our table is right over here!" I stared dumbly at her. I looked confusedly at Hobo Lady standing next to us. I glanced helplessly at my husband, then back at Impeccable Lady. "Ummm, are you Sister Allred?"

I have a suspicion that that is why when the Bishop asked what the theme of our table was, the Stake President's wife said, "We're the Clue table--no, the Not-a Clue table!"

Vegetarian Day

In an effort to simplify our lives, Austin and I have a weekly pattern that we create our menu around:

Monday=Mexican Day

Tuesday=Italian Day

Wednesday=Soup Day

Thursday=Asian Day

Friday=Pizza

Saturday=Breakfast for Supper

Sunday=Crockpot Day

I was toying with the idea of making Thursday Vegetarian Day, but I don't really know how to make vegetarian food, and most of my meat-free meals fall under different categories, e.g., Mexican day.

Anyway, Austin and I have been watching the DVD series Planet Earth, and I realized that humans are the only species that care about 1.) not eating other species and 2.) humanely killing what they eat. (This revelation came after the fruit-eating chimps deviated from their fruitivore ways and ripped the face off another chimp and ate it.) Humans also uniquely worry about eating too much of any one species, rendering it open to extinction. (This based on the cute Artic fox trying to fit as many cute ducklings as possible in its mouth when the parents weren't watching.)

Nature is not really a touchy-feely sort of place. Animals just eat what their bodies tell them to eat and that is the end of it. Whales, for example, don't organize their week into Krill day and Plankton day and Kelp day. Nope, animals live the simple life and eat what comes their way. And if nothing comes their way, they die.

The Wake Up Call

Through a vague haze of sleep I dimly sensed a dark presence hovering silently next to our bed. "Austin!" I nudged my husband. A strangled groan was my only response; I resigned myself to my fate. "Come on, Sammy, let's go back to bed." 4:30 a.m. is just a bit too early to let your children stay up.

Yesterday I came up with the ingenious idea of plugging Christmas lights into a timer in Sammy's room and telling her she couldn't get up unless the lights were on. It worked out pretty well this morning. Yes, I was feeling pretty crafty until I read my sister's blog.... making homemade chocolates with all the neighbor kids, treasure hunts with the family, crafts and murals and field trips with the kids--how can I compete? The answer is, I can't. I'm not getting enough sleep at night, I'm lazy, and I think I lost my imagination somewhere around age 12.

I can see it now--the family reunion where my kids realize that they got the boring parents. "Can we go live with Aunty Anna?" "No! Now go watch some tv or something."

On a more serious note, I am a bit worried about having lost my imagination, so I'm working on the book again. Just to prove that I still can tell a story.

"My life is dedicated to the people of Naboo..."

This is a picture of the nursing pillow that my sister-in-law passed down to me. Interestingly enough, this nursing pillow has never actually been used for nursing. Felicity loves to lay on it and look around and has been practicing sitting up the past few days. (Not quite ready yet.)

Recently, my husband has discovered the joys of the nursing pillow as well. It is used primarily as a laptop rest, occasionally as a Queen Amidala-style headdress, (still trying to get a picture of that) and once or twice as a neck rest. (Um, hon, you know that's a nursing pillow, right?)

I guess I don't own a lot of unnecessary baby gear after all.

Sucker...

A few days after the Cinderella Sucker episode I made a run to the grocery store with my two girls to pick up some kleenex and juice for my sick husband. Sammy sat in the back of the cart and Felicity's car seat was up front. That car seat in front makes it a little hard to see around her to steer, but I made it through the store with no problems and even rarer--no impulse buys!

Anyway, while checking out, the cashier lady asked me if my girls could have a sucker. Not wanting to be the anal mom that won't let her kid have a sucker, I said, "Sure, just one though--this one's too small." (Gesturing to Felicity in her car seat.)

"Oh, no, the baby will feel sad if she doesn't get a sucker too!" The kind lady exclaimed, and then proceeded to hand two suckers to my two-year-old child. (Presumably, one was for Felicity?) Not just any suckers though. These were the EXACT SAME SUCKERS the ballerinas at Cinderella gave us. Red. Big. Messy. And now Sammy was holding two of them.

I just stood there with my mouth open. You can never think of the right thing to say when these things happen to you, such as: "My baby is 4 months old, lady! The only thing she likes to suck on are my boobs!" No, you think of those zingers on the long car ride home as you try to trick your ecstatic two-year-old into handing over her suckers.

The Special Date

Austin had the great idea of taking Sammy to the ballet performance of Cinderella. We told her we were taking her on a Special Date. BYU was having a matinee and especially inviting kids to come. Sammy got to dress up in her princess outfit and we got to meet the beautiful ballet dancers beforehand. (We stayed away from Prince Charming--he looked a little sketch.) I was a little nervous about how Sammy would do watching the performance but she really liked it and asked a ton of questions about the dancers. (Mom: Quiet voice! Quiet voice!)

The only downside was that some ding-dong decided it would be a good idea to give all the kids big red heart suckers for the perforance. Two sticky hands, three stains on her white turtleneck, fifteen queries after her sucker's whereabouts, and fifty-six (Mom: Quiet Voice!)'s later, we decided to leave during the second! intermission. (It was a little long.)

Sammy didn't mind leaving--probably since she knows the story of Cinderella by heart (and frequently asks me to co-star as the Wicked Step-Sister ripping her dress and the Fairy Godmother singing Bibbiti-Bobbiti-Boo to fix it).

Hopefully she will have fond memories of our Special Date. Probably not, since she's only two, but at least we have the pictures to prove we went.

Good Thing They're Cute...

I went into the bathroom to *ahem* do my business yesterday and Sammy followed me in, bringing her step stool with her. I didn't realize what she was doing until she sat down across from me and started reading me books. So nice of her to entertain Mom while she sits on the toilet--I guess all my potty training has been good for something!

Felicity has started trying to suck both of her thumbs at the same time--I love seeing her with one thumb stuck up in each corner of her big grin!

Sammy has been calling me "hon" for the past two days. "Hon, I need a cookie!" "Read me a book, hon!" Not sure whether to be charmed or annoyed...

Adam's Rib

Austin and I watched this the other night--I really enjoyed it. It's a man vs. woman theme and since Austin and I had been bickering the past couple of days we could really relate. I like both the lead actors, and the dialogue was funny and smart.
I watched commercials for movies during the Super Bowl and all of them seemed like they were a mixture of constant action and stupidity. It's nice to get done watching a movie and feel like not only were you entertained, but you gained some life insight as well. So if you are looking for something to watch on a free night, this is a good one.

Skinny Jeans

I bought skinny jeans. Yes, I know--the only people who look good in them have the body of a 14-year-old and no hips. However, thanks to the miracle of breastfeeding, I now weigh the same as I did when I was 14. Unfortunately, thanks to the miracle of childbirth, my hips are a lot wider than when I was 14. So they aren't great for my body shape, but they look great with my boots. I've started looking around me and realizing that I'm going to have to move out of my comfort zone of flare and boot-cut. All the cool people are wearing skinny jeans.

One of my favorite poems I found in college:

(Lest you should think that I don't love my hips)
homage to my hips
by Lucille Clifton

these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they don't fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don't like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!

The Quiet Conclusion

Potty training week trickled to a close. Sammy got sick, like throw-up sick, and Amari was certainly not performing without Sammy sitting there with her, so that was that. I don't believe that kids with diarrhea should wear anything but diapers, but once things are back to normal we will carry on.

"Does Anybody Else Look Like Me? A Parent's Guide to Raising Multiracial Children" by Donna Jackson Nakazama

The topic of racial identity has been on my mind lately. Partly because we are now living in a very white area and I want my kids to not be racist, or think that white is the norm and every other color of skin is abnormal; and partly because my little niece and nephew are biracial being raised in a white family. I've been reading lots of blogs dealing with the issue of racial identity and I just finished reading this book about it--I just picked it out at random from the library catalog but it was good. I just wanted to share a few things:

I'm not going to raise my kids "color-blind;" to teach them that color and race don't matter. In our society, race does make a difference in how people are treated. Don't believe me? Ask someone who's not white or in a interracial marriage if race has made a difference to them. It could be an insightful conversation.

I am going to help my kids process racial differences. At this age, it will be by checking out books from the library about mixed families and books that feature children of more than one race.

I'm not going to stare at multiracial families in the grocery store and try to figure out "what" they are. Or ask them, "What are you?" Apparently this is a big problem--people see families that don't fit into racial categories in their mind and just have to figure them out. Then they ask intrusive questions.

I'm not going to make jokes or broad categorizations about people of other races.

I have more, but my child's awake so I'll cut it short there.

Double Trouble: The Thrilling Saga Continues

Day 2: Sammy impresses by peeing 3 times in the toilet, with 0 accidents. The downside: she spends most of the day sitting on the potty with Mom (me) entertaining her. And she pooped right after she went to bed. The main reason I'm potty training is so I don't have to change gross adult-poop diapers from my 2 1/2 year old. The first day we were about ready to give up on Cousin Amari, but then she peed twice in the toilet on the morning of Day 2. Success! The day went downhill for her from there though, with 3 accidents and a newfound fear of pooping on the toilet.

This day reminds me of a journal entry from right after Sammy was born: "Being a mom means dealing with poop." I never thought that as an intelligent adult I would end up so involved in my child's bodily functions: cleaning up, planning for, talking about, etc. But the sad fact is, Sammy doesn't care about my English degree; she cares about how many books I read to her on the toilet.

Double Trouble

This week I'm potty training Sammy (2 1/2) and my niece, who is two. First, we bought lots of salty snacks at Target to make them thirsty. Next, we bought lots of kool-aid for them to drink so they would have to go frequently. Also cool panties to wear and a timer. Then Eeyore put on a pair of panties and showed them how to use the potty, wipe, and flush. Mom (me) got to make pee noises. There was laughter all around.

They spent the entire morning sitting on the potty or sitting on special waterproof mats. Result: One pee accident from each child, (neither one was on the waterproof mat) two cold showers, three pairs of panties down (one from a spilled juice cup), and a nice little tantrum from my child.

But am I discouraged? No. I have figured out that Amari does the classic leg cross when she has to go and Sammy freaks out. So we'll see how this afternoon goes.

"Parenting, Inc." by Pamela Paul

This is the book I'm in the middle of reading right now. The basic premise is that parenting has turned into an industry that is trying to sell us a lot of crap that we don't need and that we should just let our kids go back to playing with pots and pans. It's always nice to read a book that gives you a self-righteous glow of satisfaction that your own viewpoints have been validated.

I mean, it's really true that my kids don't need most of the stuff that's out there to buy. That laundry basket full of small toys that I gathered up from the living room this morning? I could throw all of them away and Sammy wouldn't even notice they were gone. And she has a lot less toys than some of her little friends. You know, maybe I could keep playing "Princess" with her in her favorite Sunday dress instead of buying (another) official Disney Princess dress. I could keep letting her play with her bucket and cup in the tub instead of buying her all those foam letters and numbers that have been on my Amazon wish list. I could keep checking out books from the library instead of buying her those great LeapFrog movies. But the average American kid gets 40 new toys a year. I don't want my child to fall behind! So I'm off to Target. Right after we watch this educational tv show that will teach her to love reading...

The Absence

I was reading the few blog posts I had before I decided that blogging was too much work and too much like writing in my journal. It was kind of fun. So now I'm going to start blogging again. And the topic of the day is: Cafe Rio Pork Salad. I made a copycat recipe last night. It tasted amazing but I spent most of the afternoon doing prep work for it and we didn't end up eating until 6:30. I think that just for two people, it would have been cheaper to just go to Cafe Rio. Sammy doesn't eat Cafe Rio but when we are out and about and we ask Sammy where she wants to go eat, she will always shout "Cafe Rio, Cafe Rio!" So someday, she will actually want to eat it, and when that day comes, I will try the homemade version agian.

The Painting

I've just been full of creative endeavors for the past couple of months. Writing a novel, (storyline problem, so it's slightly stalled) scrapbooking, and now acrylic painting. The idea is to paint a close up of banners floating in the wind, based on Poe's balled, "The Haunted Palace."

"Banners yellow, glorious, golden / On its roof did float and flow." I like the imagery there. I am about halfway done...my husband guessed that I was painting "a whale? No, an island? What did you say it was?" Maybe painting will be my secret hobby.

The Frog Hopper

I can always tell when people don't have kids themselves. These people would often give my 6-month-old crayons when we went out to eat (wax...yummy!) and guess the gender of my hairless 12-month-old without bothering to look at the color of her clothes.

Recently I was offered the chance to scar Sammy for life in the name of fun. We went on a family outing the other night to the local fun center. A well-meaning teenage employee suggested that Sammy might enjoy Kidopolis (unfortunately she hates tunnels and doesn't know how to climb) or the Frog Hopper.

The Frog Hopper is a ride that takes kids high into the air and shakes them up and down until they A.) Scream with excitement, B.) Puke, or C.), Both of the above. Keep in mind that Sammy is 18 months old. Does she look old enough to enjoy this ride?