Occidentally West

we're glad you were born

2011-12-30T10:01:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday to this guy:

From the two girls who love you more than anyone else in the world:

We hope you know—especially today—how grateful we are to share this life with you.

something geeky and gorgeous about traditions

2011-12-23T23:48:00.000-07:00

(photo by the lovely J. Lanae)

I make pizza on the same days I bake bread because it's easy that way.

After punching down the dough and dividing it into loaves, I roll the extra flat and bake it on a pizza stone. When I did that yesterday, my little 21-month helper stood on a kitchen chair and insisted on assisting with the cheese (by putting it on the pizza, and then off the pizza and into her mouth).

Watching her, I wondered if some day, when Claire and her future siblings come inside from playing and smell bread baking, they'll know it's pizza night.

Maybe this new rhythm—that I'm creating out of ease—will feel comfortable and reliable to them by then. Maybe it will become tradition. Maybe not.

But traditions. Get me thinking about a word and I'll head to the geekiest dictionary I can find. Definition number one...

tradition: act of delivering into the hands of another

Yes, traditions include a fair amount of repetition and festivity (definition #6). But I love the idea that tradition might first be about giving something, delivering a sort of gift—a gift that passes on a recurring message: "This is what life means. This is how much you mean to me. This is what to rely on when things feel shaky." I hope she gets the message that I mean to send.

a brief guide to unemployment

2011-12-19T08:00:00.008-07:00

Don't panic.

If you find yourself jobless on an unexpected Monday afternoon, it's a good idea not to worry about a thing.

The wound is so fresh and startling that you probably don't even need this advice. You'll feel confident that a job will be had by early next week. If it isn't, don't panic then, either.

Remember: there is no way that you can stay unemployed forever, as long as you're looking. A few weeks, months, or even a year are not forever—no matter how they may feel like it.

Do what needs doing.

You might want to say things. No. Your wife may want to say certain things: to your former employer, to (dangerously) the internet. If you married someone with common sense (or an anxiety complex about self-disclosure), she will hold her tongue in the face of frustration... Although she may write some strongly worded letters she will never send.

It's okay—wise, even—to step back, to let some things slide. You don't need to feel guilty for neglecting the blog. You don't need to tell everyone every sad setback. Choose where and when you tell those stories.

But never stop talking to each other.

If you take care of your little girl during the day so your wife's part-time hours can cover some of the bills, "Daddy" will soon be the first word out of that girl's mouth every morning when she wakes up. She may also ask for bubbles. Or doggie. Which means you are very important indeed.

Ok, panic. But take turns.

The down days will come. The credit card bills will arrive. It will be at least 3 months before your old boss tells you he made a mistake and wishes he hadn't let you go—if he tells you at all. Some days, you'll feel bummed, frustrated, rejected.

How nice if there are two of you. You'll ride different waves at different times. When you're up, say kind words that are true. When you're down, listen to the words that come your way.

You will end up living what you already trusted about each other—that you're in this together, come what may.

If the job search goes on longer than you thought possible, figure out a way to make potatoes taste delicious. They're cheap.

Trust that things will show up.

Stop trying to wrap your mind around the way everything will work out. There are too many variables to juggle, and you're not in control of nearly as many as you think.

Your neighbors will invite you to dinner (thanks, Kenworthys). You might letter-press for an afternoon (thanks, Leland). Your wife might become an audition pianist for a day, a job she was grateful for, but in hindsight, also terribly underqualified for (thanks Tara and Bethany). Someone may order handmade crafts (thanks, Adrienne). The arrival of those checks will be more timely than their senders know.

And then some nameless do-gooder will leave a box of food at your doorstep just when you're wondering if potatoes and rice could possibly go together for dinner. It's okay that you don't know who should get a thank-you note. Things will show up for them, too.

Don't try to figure out how you made it this long. Just be grateful for everything that got you through.

And then take a deep breath, even more grateful for what comes next.

Today is Monday, and you're on your way to work at a new job.

This baby needs your (Halloween) advice

2011-10-19T21:03:00.003-06:00

We need your vote.

Last year's Halloween was fun. We finished our costumes in advance. Our cutie girl was a little airbender. And her parents...well, we were really big nerds.

But this year, we're not so sure. Do we go lazy? Or do we go cute? Or are they not mutually exclusive?

See, my awesome neighbor gave me this random pink bunny suit (that a friend randomly gave her). If pink, plus bunny, plus suit makes you think of this, you're right on the money:

Hilarious, right?

But I had kind of hoped to dress her up as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Why?

Claire's first word was doggie (and as Dorothy, she'd get to carry a cute little stuffed one around in a basket).

Us two grown-ups would have plenty of costume options (witches, munchkins, flying monkeys) to choose from in case we want to make this an ensemble Halloween production.

AND I almost don't want to pass up an excuse to buy glittery red toddler shoes (partly because I know she'll love them as much as I do—that girl loves her shoes).

Her Dorothy costume would be amazing. But it would also take some time, creativity, work, cash. And here's the thing: I already have a pink bunny suit. Not something I've ever been able to say before.

But are we starting an odd tradition by dressing her up as a boy two years in a row?

Are we giving her future issues by dressing her up as a boy who will clearly have future issues because his parents dressed him up in a pink bunny suit?

Or is she just too cute like this for me to waste my time on anything else?

letting go of my 30 before 30 list

2011-10-09T18:49:00.001-06:00

I copied the internet. I made a 30 before 30 list.

And, boy, did I cross things off that list. I did 30 for-real push-ups in a row, bound a photo book for my baby, wrote a love song for my husband, and was well on my way to planning a scuba-diving trip and learning a nerdy amount of Latin verbs.

But last month—I threw out the list.

I'll tell you why. I read an article that I've thought about probably every day for a month now. I let myself imagine: What would life look like if I nixed my list and went with just ONE goal? What would that goal be?

Easy. Number One on my 30 before 30 list.

It's always been at the top of the list. But #7 seemed easier to measure and #15 was more fun. And all the rest were awesome projects and plans, but they took enough time that Number One was not gonna get done.

So the list is gone. I tore it out of the front of my planner where I've checked in pretty consistently over the last several months. And I replaced it with a note to myself:

And I'm not saying here what it is until it's finished. But you can guess...

Everything beyond Goal #1 is fluid. That doesn't mean I'm being lazy. I'm actually accomplishing more than I was before—and feeling more peace when I pursue something that's not on my list.

Because there is no list.

I'm not saying everyone should get rid of their bucket list. Or goals. I'm not saying this is the best idea for everyone, all the time. After all, some of the 30 before 30 lists I've seen out there seriously kick butt. And my friends' lists impress and delight me.

I'm just saying that I'm happier. And feeling a little more free these days.

I'm also saying that this article is worth a read. If you don't read the whole list, make sure you read numbers 1 and 3. Life-changers. No, seriously—stop procrastinating and go read them.

Chocolate: A Self-Help Guide

2011-09-12T21:48:00.000-06:00

Starting week three of being unemployed.

I didn't know what to do with myself today. I've applied for dozens of jobs, and I'm sure a fitting position will open for me soon. But it was weird. I couldn't relax, or do things that I wanted to do, because I felt like I needed to get a job. But a job isn't something you can just reach out and grab. You have to wait for it. I have a hard time waiting.

I felt like a waste of space.

Then I read this Thomas Jefferson quote (I keep a Jefferson quote blog):

"I have sometimes asked myself whether my country is the better for my having lived at all? I do not know that it is. I have been the instrument of doing the following things; but they would have been done by others; some of them, perhaps a little better."

He then goes on to list his accomplishments.

"The Declaration of Independence."
"I proposed the demolition of the church establishment, and the freedom of religion."
"The act prohibiting the importation of slaves."

If it's ok for Jefferson to feel like a waste of space, then it's ok for me to have blah days as well

A wise man told me that depression is a healthy, normal, and necessary time for reflection.

And I'd add to that: chocolate. Depression is a time for chocolate. The cause, and cure, of my current predicament.

Shoes and Mommy

2011-09-11T16:21:00.000-06:00

I found my shoe. In the garbage. Thanks Claire.

Claire loves shoes now. She'll walk around in our shoes. She has learned how to say it and sign it.

She's also been saying and signing "daddy" for a few months now. Kathy thought she heard Claire say "mommy" today.

"You hear that," Kathy said, "I think she she said mommy!"

Claire said it again, gesturing toward a magnet on the fridge. A magnet of Ron Paul.

It kind of sounded like mommy.

some things are hard to photograph

2011-09-08T16:28:00.000-06:00

This is the only picture from our tiny roadtrip last weekend, and it wasn't technically taken until we got home:

We needed a break—even from taking pictures, I guess.

As some of you already know, Christopher lost his job last week. The chocolate factory was his dream job of sorts, which made the lay-off that much more disappointing.

So we drove to southern Utah and walked around in the hills.

We came back without a single picture from our change of scenery. No photo of our baby girl toddling up the trail, holding her daddy's hand high above her head. No footage of her screaming in delight at the riverbank, with sand between her fingers. No photo of the seriously kick-A food and generous hosts at my sister-in-law's house.

I lamented my lack of documentation, but I think it was enough just to be there together for a minute.

We up and moved here for this job. We settled into some ideas and dreams for this job. We even had a monthly chocolate budget because of this job. It was like, wait a minute, this isn't the plan—we haven't taken any pictures yet.

I don't think a picture would do anything justice anyway. There's something inspiring (and impossible to photograph) about watching your best friend be gracious and tactful and brave—especially when you feel like you wouldn't be if it were you. I don't know how to take a picture of that.

I'm appreciating being in this space together for a minute, this unplanned moment when the world's wide open and we're not sure yet how the scenery will change.

Vote for Peace

2011-09-07T23:58:00.000-06:00

I usually save politics for my other blog. But this one was too good not to share:

It hit home with me, because I voted for Obama in 2008. I thought he would bring the troops home, shut down Guantanamo, and stop wire-tapping us.

Toilet Water

2011-09-06T17:24:00.003-06:00

When Claire drank from the toilet, it made me wonder: when was the last time I cleaned the toilet? Also, whose kid is that?

free art and writing workshops. you're invited...

2011-08-27T13:56:00.002-06:00

I know this girl who just does things.

What things? Like, anything you can think of. And when I hear about her newest project, I look around and think, Can you do that?

You can, apparently. Although I usually don't. Here's what she cooked up recently: The Billboard Poetry Project.

She was sick of billboards for laser surgery and boob jobs cluttering up the freeway. So she held a contest and the winning poem is going up on a series of billboards here in Provo.

The whole idea is very cool, so you should check it out—especially the free workshops. I'm not sure how I fell in with such brilliant people, but they're gold, every one of 'em.

And, lest you suspect this is a personal plug, I want you to know that you shouldn't necessarily sign up for my workshop (although you'd be most welcome—we'll explore the outdoors, read some things, probably eat some food and you'll leave with a finished little piece of prose).

If you're not sure which class to sign up for, holler and I'll give you my two cents for free.

Everyone's welcome—to the workshops, to the reception and the art show. Just come create and celebrate.

A Corny Love Song

2011-08-19T22:30:00.001-06:00

Yesterday was our 4th anniversary. We ate at Pizzeria 712 (HIGHLY RECOMMENDED). The food tasted like exactly what I wanted to eat, and left me feeling like I'd eaten the equivalent of a salad made of rainbows, because I felt so healthy afterwards. And they treated us like guests, honored guests. When we got home, Kathy sang me a corny love song she wrote on the guitar.

Today Kathy woke at 5:30am, got ready, and left. I told her it felt like the middle of the night. She's spending the weekend at a work conference.

We don't spend nights apart often. The last time I recall was a few years ago, when she went to Chicago to write.

Today I stayed home and took care of the baby. When Kathy called in the afternoon, I hadn't yet showered, and I told her that I felt like I hadn't gotten anything done. When she called this evening, I had showered, but still had not gotten anything done. I hadn't wasted my day, but I had spent the majority of it watching baby girl.

Kathy has a wonderful way of telling me I'm not worthless. And the way she says it, I believe it.

Kathy had a boyfriend in high school. I think we've now been married longer than they dated. And Kathy wasn't my first girlfriend.

But she feels like my first love. And I'm sure she'd feel the same. We had feelings when we dated our firsts, and heartache. But it wasn't as real as what we have now. It feels like a corny line from The Princess Bride. But what could this be called if not true love?

Before any of you start swooning and envying the wonderful thing Kathy and I have going, I'll give you a little bit of perspective.

I didn't date anyone until after my mission (mostly because I was awkward, but I told myself I was following the prophet). That's the equivalent of binding someone's feet to their butt for the first two decades of their life, and then untying them just in time to run the Boston marathon.

My college girlfriends could tell you stories that you would think they had made up.

I'll tell you one now.

My first girlfriend left for a study abroad. We had dated for a semester, and she would be gone for a semester. We emailed each other. I tended to notice how often she mentioned other boys. I was insecure enough back then that I let it get to me. So I broke up with her. You know. Over email.

Email is wonderful, but it is inadequate at clearly expressing the whole range of human emotions. And I guess it's a really jerky way to dump someone.

So a few phone calls, and many tears later (mostly mine), I found myself on the phone with my mom. Now, I don't know how she talked me into letting her do what she did.

My mom thinks I'm wonderful. I think I'm pretty wonderful too. She couldn't believe that someone would be so rude to me. Getting email dumped aside, you'd have to be an idiot to let me go. There are many fish in the sea. But I'm a like a magic narwhal, not a stinky fish. So when my mom asked if she could call my ex. I gave her the number.

I can only imagine how that conversation went down. My ex called me about twenty minutes later. By the tone of her voice, I got the impression that she thought I was mentally disturbed.

"You had your mom call me? Your mom?"
"More let than had."
Click.

So that was awkward.

Did you know BYU offers free therapy to students? Yeah. I'm really glad I discovered that before I met Kathy. Turns out I had a few crinkles to smooth out before I was perfect. Regardless of what my mother thinks.

you can't make this stuff up

2011-08-12T18:40:00.000-06:00

You need to know something before I tell this story:

Our little girl loves dogs. LOVES dogs. Doggy was her first word. And almost her first ASL sign. When we're outside, she'll spot a dog from a mile away and wave her arms and shout.

Story time:

We go on a walk pretty much every day. Baby girl rides in the stroller on the way out. And she's not much of a baby anymore because she walks and pushes the stroller on the way back.

On one particular return trip this week, she was exploring every interesting little thing on the sidewalk—when she saw an ant.

She dropped to her knees and tried to touch it, but he was pretty speedy. She kept following the ant with her finger, trying to touch it. She looked up at me. She looked back at the ant. And she whispered, "Doggy."

It sounds like such a simple mix-up. And it is. She has neither the experience nor the language to name the ant correctly. But it was more than that. When she said doggy, she sounded so reverent, or in love. I just don't look at ants the same anymore.

I also don't look at strawberries the same. They make the perfect party hats...

The Future Is Now

2011-08-07T16:03:00.000-06:00

Kathy said I needed to blog more, in response to something I said after seeing Claire do this:

She's been walking a lot, and pushing her little cart around. I said, "She's preparing for her future career of pushing a shopping cart along the side of the road."

Speaking of future careers, I've been working at a chocolate factory. Whenever I tell people I work at a chocolate factory, I can't help but say it "CHOCOLATE FACTORY!!!" with several exclamation points.

Then they ask me how I like it, and what I do. I explain it's a small company, so I do a little bit of everything. Shipping, QA, janitorial, customer service, marketing, and production all in one.

But how do I like it?

It's work. I'd rather EAT chocolate, while sitting on my couch, reading a book, and snuggling with my girls.

It's a great job. I like it, but I like being home with my family most.

A plug for my company:

Amano is awesome. We pay our farmers two, three, even four times Fair Trade. That way, we get the best beans, and our farmers are able to stay in business and keep producing the best beans.

We have won awards nationally and internationally. We make the best chocolate the U.S. has ever made.

Our bars taste like lemons, blackberries, nuts, marshmallows, grapefruit, and bergamot; but we add no flavors. The cocoa beans flavor our bars. We preserve those flavors by using single-origin beans.

why i heart provo: an update

2011-07-10T11:55:00.001-06:00

People generally have strong feelings about Provo.

I've never seen anyone shrug and say, "Provo. Meh. Whatevs." Unless, of course, it's too small a town for them to have heard of before.

There are people who grew up here with some pretty amazing Provo pride. Others moved here for college and have opinions connected to their grades or how many dates they got. Others have never lived here, but know the stereotypes and roll their eyes. And more—some love, some hate.

I can see where they're all coming from. I hated Provo the first time I lived here. And I was a little nervous to move back.

But put me down as one who loves Provo. Loves it.

Our house? Old, kind of quirky—and absolutely made for us. We store our bikes in a cute entryway. The baby's room is the coziest, prettiest little space. And she sleeps better here than any of the 3 places we've lived since she was born.

Neighborhood? Just seems so neighborly and adorable. And we live close to everything, but on a quiet street. So I can go anywhere with my bike and the baby trailer without getting nervous. Also, the first time I went riding, I actually thought, "Wow! The trees are greener here!" Then I realized I was wearing sunglasses that make trees look greener.

Food? Awesome. We cruised over to Bombay House with just a stroller and our feet a few weeks back. When we finally go to Communal, we'll just walk down the street. And have you ever eaten honey bran muffins from the Provo Bakery? Well, don't. Because they're always sold out by the time I get over there.

Job? Awesome. I mean, Christopher works in a chocolate factory. Also, I got a writing gig that I do from home that I absolutely love. Our commutes rock.

Not being students? Provo's a different place now that we don't have homework hanging over our heads. It's easy to find fun stuff to do—on the cheap. One particular outing included welcoming the first non-stop commercial flight from Denver landing at the Provo Airport, with all its accompanying small-town fanfare.

People? I saved the best for last. I've heard all about Provo being a hot spot for self-righteousness and poor driving. But some of the loveliest people live here. I would tell you all their names, but you don't have time to read a blog post quite that long.

Say what you will. And then come visit us.
I love this town.

christopher is a dad

2011-06-19T23:57:00.001-06:00

And he's a good one.

The other day, I was putting baby girl in her car seat so we could go to Christopher's work. She complained and arched her back and made sure I knew she didn't like it.

I said, "You need to sit in your seat so we can go see your daddy."

She relaxed, turned to me, smiled, and said one of the four words she says: "Daddy." She only says words for things that she's totally in love with: doggy, chocolate (caw-coe), agua, baby—and daddy.

Our baby says out loud who's her favorite parent every day: "Daddy."

I can see why she loves him. He tickles her, he swings her around, he got her her own computer keyboard that she can pound on, rather than just telling her no when she tries to get her hands on ours. She knows, without doubt, that she's his favorite kid. At least so far.

I think he's pretty great myself. He switches off parent duty with me every other night, just in case our sweet girl gets up at 2 in the morning. He'll change the poopiest of diapers. He's protective of her in ways that I know will be important later in her life. And he makes life just plain fun when the three of us are hanging out together.

The other day, he said something about it being weird that we're just living our lives, doing our thing while this other tiny person is supposed to be getting a childhood. She's got Christopher as a dad, so I think her childhood is going to turn out just great.

a thank you note. you know who you are (i hope).

2011-06-03T16:56:00.000-06:00

I made the baby write her own birthday thank-you notes.

I kind of suck at writing thank-you-notes. Not because I'm not thankful—just the opposite.

I always feel super grateful for and almost surprised by people's generosity. And, even though I love to write, I never feel like I convey exactly how appreciative I am. Maybe I should just do what my coolest sister-in-law did for me once and slip in some cash.

I would, but we just paid first and last month's rent on a new place to live. We're out of here this weekend. It happened much faster (read: 6 months faster) than I thought it would.

I'm grateful that Christopher found his dream job, that we get to live closer to it, and that we always find a place to live that's better than the last in some way (in this case, it's bigger).

But I've cried a few times this week. And I need to say thanks:

1. To the people who gave us wedding presents. Seriously.

While packing, I found a list of unfinished wedding thank-you's (which I thought my husband had conveniently "lost"). There are people on it who don't know how grateful I am on a daily basis, when we use our dinner plates, or our salad tongs, or our towels.

Thank you—almost 4 years late. I'm going to stop feeling guilty now that you never got a note.

2. To the people around here. I take a minute to feel comfortable in a new place. And the minute here took a lot less time than it usually does. I don't think it was really anything I did.

Like I said, I often fail at conveying the extent of my appreciation. Please know that's especially true this time for every single person I've met here since we moved in last November. You made this feel like home in one second.

Thanks. For every little thing. It matters. We're going down the road a ways, but I will always consider you friends.

3. To the people around there. I sure hope you're as cool as the people around here.
I'm going to say thanks in advance and just assume you are.

Kathy is a mom

2011-05-08T21:55:00.000-06:00

Kathy put together a lovely brunch for our moms this year. She gave each mom a bouquet of chocolate-dipped strawberries (she's amazing). I told everyone that today Kathy cleaned the house and slaved in the kitchen, so it was just like any other day. I almost got booed out of the room.

She rocks my world. She keeps our house standing. She teaches Claire Portuguese and ASL and sometimes English. Claire can say "here" in Portuguese (aqui), "more" in ASL, and "doggie" in baby-English.

She's signing that we're "losers" because we haven't given her a nap.

It's just amazing that Kathy trusted me enough to take half of my DNA and make a little copy of the two of us. I'm glad we chose each other.

Did you know that a woman can carry a child for nine months, suffer an excruciating labor for hours on end, deliver a perfectly healthy baby, and still feel like she hasn't done anything worthwhile? Women are so weird. But I love them, especially my two girls.

We need to celebrate the wonderful women in our lives, because they don't get paid for doing their jobs. They don't get medals or honors for wiping snotty faces, potty-training, cleaning, and teaching. They just get tired.

I feel like that guy who stands at the pulpit on fast Sunday, and tells his wife that he loves her. What a lame-o. Tell her, not the congregation.

I'll have Neal A. Maxwell finish this up:
"When the real history of mankind is fully disclosed, will it feature the echoes of gunfire or the shaping sound of lullabies? The great armistices made by military men or the peacemaking of women in homes and in neighborhoods? Will what happened in cradles and kitchens prove to be more controlling than what happened in congresses? When the surf of the centuries has made the great pyramids so much sand, the everlasting family will still be standing, because it is a celestial institution, formed outside telestial time. The women of God know this."

Bittersweet

2011-05-08T21:19:00.000-06:00

Claire started walking (with some assistance). SWEET

I'm leaving my job, and the friends I've made there. BITTER

I found a golden ticket (got a job at a chocolate factory). SWEET

We're looking for places to rent in Provo. BITTERSWEET

it was a good friday

2011-04-23T09:57:00.000-06:00

All Fridays are good, in my opinion. But Christopher got off work early yesterday and we went downtown for a capital-Good Friday choral meditation at the Cathedral of the Madeleine.

We arrived early enough to watch the choir walk in before they disappeared behind the screen up front. I had missed the memo that it was a children's choir. Like small children.

Also missed the memo that they would sound perfect and other-worldly. Third graders are not supposed to sound like that. In third grade, I learned to play "Hot Cross Buns" on the recorder.

Our own little one wanted to join them. As soon as the singing began, she started her own little croon. And the acoustics in there are just as amazing for the congregation as they are for the choir. Her goos weren't particularly loud, but I knew that as soon as she realized the echo going on in there, she would let loose.

Also, I worried about her noise when I didn't hear a single peep from any other kid in there (besides the angels up front). Do Catholics know a secret for keeping their kids quiet that Mormons don't?

She didn't make it through the whole thing and we had to leave early. But we didn't mind. There was just something Good about walking around downtown on a spring afternoon with a one-year-old who wasn't embarrassed or nervous for one second about reaching her arms up to a vaulted cathedral ceiling and singing, "Oooh, oooooooh."

we're all growing up: an update

2011-04-20T23:22:00.000-06:00

I swear baby girl grew up during her nap today—like she was a baby when I tucked her in and two hours later, she was taller, older: a little girl.

I'm not nostalgic (she's not THAT grown up: she doesn't walk yet and hasn't yet mastered the physics of spoons). I'm just realizing that every day is a serious gift.

We're trying to take advantage of those gifts in our own ways. A quick update:

Our not-so-baby girl recently conquered an ear infection and her fear of strangers while expanding her sign language vocabulary and capacity for at-home destruction.

Her dad sold his Xbox and used his freed-up time to start two new blogs, study for the GRE, and take up Arabic classes again.

Her mom wrote drafts of two new stories, read six books this month, and had a tickle-fest this afternoon with a certain baby who grew up so much during her nap that she can now put on her own sunglasses, thank you very much.

We're excited she's growing. We just hope she doesn't grow up so fast that she's a teenager by tomorrow morning.

sometimes i'm a lazy copycat

2011-04-01T23:37:00.000-06:00

Between ear infections (baby girl's) and laziness (mine), our little blog has been neglected. Lots of things are going on, but I'm not sure how much or how little you want to hear, as I'm now one of those people who thinks too often about the regularity and consistency of someone else's poop.

While I think on that and figure out what I'm doing, I'll leave you with this great idea I copy-catted from my cousin: a 52-photo book.

It's easy to take lots of baby pictures, but mom and dad sometimes don't make it into the frame. So, for the last year, I've made sure we take at least one picture of our baby girl with her mom or dad—ideally, some photos of both—every single week. I printed out my favorites (ended up as 200, not 52) and put them in a book that documents her first year with all three of us together. And now I'm in the habit of taking pictures of the family, not just her. Instead of posting all 200 here, I'll opt for two favorites:

Yeah, I'll probably just keep blogging about that girl. Even her poop is the cutest.

beware the ides of march

2011-03-15T16:12:00.000-06:00

You might just die from a whole year's worth of cuteness:

Happy March 15th, everyone. And to you, sweetie baby, happy birthday.

a mom hangover

2011-02-16T22:03:00.000-07:00

Baby girl and I got sick last week (simultaneously gross and wonderful: baby girl barfed everywhere and then just wanted to snuggle in my lap while I watched tv).

The stomach flu messed with our sleep schedule. Baby girl's back to waking up every two hours—just like a newborn. How on Earth did we function back then? I get up in the morning with a thrumming head and burning eyes. And everything that Christopher does while he's getting ready for work is SO LOUD. He says I have a mom hangover.

Which is fine. I so expected lack of sleep to be part of parenthood that I even wrote an essay about insomnia and mothers while I was pregnant (during which I discovered an incurable form of insomnia that's only made worse by sleeping pills, for real).

A lot of other things have happened around here—I had a birthday, we went snowshoeing for Valentine's Day, Christopher downloaded every free book he's ever wanted onto his new Kindle—and maybe I'll blog about them. But right now, I'll leave you with a picture of the cutest girl I've ever met and then I'm going to bed early. It's the best plan on a day you go to get your hair cut and fall asleep while your hair is being shampooed.

dinosaur burritos and parenthood

2011-02-01T10:33:00.000-07:00

This might look like another braggy felting post. I'll own it—it kind of is. A three-year-old we know was having a dinosaur birthday party and how could I NOT make him a little brontosaurus with purple dots on the bum?

But I've been thinking about more than just bragging: After I finished making the dinosaurs and their lake and berry bushes, I rolled them up in their felty home like a burrito and wrapped the whole thing in tissue paper.

A few days later, I heard that instead of giving the dinosaurs drinks from the lake, or making them fight each other, or any other thing I imagined he might do with them, this adorable kid kept rolling up the dinosaurs and unrolling them—like, what else would you do with them, really? I think that's adorable. And it's one more tiny image I can tuck away in my brain to remind myself of something I keep needing to learn. . .

I don't feel like I adjusted to motherhood very gracefully (and if you ask my husband about our conversation on Sunday, you might get him to admit that I still haven't). I love it, but I keep forgetting that kids put a spin on life that you wouldn't have thought up on your own.

Which is awesome sometimes. Like last night, I made my baby girl laugh so hard she snorted and fell over just because I turned my face every time she touched my cheek. I'm not funny, so it was weird to make someone laugh so hard by doing basically nothing.

Other times, it's not so awesome. Life is a bit confusing for people whose teeth are just coming in, or just falling out, who haven't yet figured out how to walk or read or use the toilet. Babies want to suck on batteries when they have a pile of toys (how on EARTH did she find one when all the batteries are locked away?). Or kids do things mine isn't even old enough to think of yet—like draw with rocks on cars, or microwave their barbies.

I'm not so good at rolling with punches, but turns out, neither are they! They fall down and do dumb things and don't know how to fix them. Parenthood involves witnessing and assisting in that learning curve—and hopefully doing both with kindness and a semblance of composure. Maybe this won't sound helpful or even make sense to you, but I the next time I feel baffled and all my plans thwarted by the littlest person in my life, I'll try to remind myself to think of things a little differently—to just roll me up some dinosaurs.

One of those days

2011-01-22T20:05:00.005-07:00

The used book section of the Sugar House DI is amazing. But wait a week or two for the books to be replenished, because we bought everything.

While we were there, a lady in a pink cowboy hat threw into the garbage half of the writings of every great western thinker since Socrates, because one book in the beautiful series had a little water damage. She said she was afraid that black mold had spread to the other books. I told her that black mold is black, and visible, and cannot be conjured into existence by someone in a pink hat who is scared of books [paraphrased]. She stopped at Milton.

I thought that this is what it must have felt like to watch the first monkey fly into space—look at that primate, with the collective effort and intelligence of all ages combined under her fingertips—who gave her access to that?

When we got home today I had to decide if I should drink out of the blender or a baby bottle. We have a hard time justifying doing dishes on the weekend. Perhaps an outside observer would consider my habits too, to be a bit primitive.

Stand up in SLC

2011-01-08T23:58:00.004-07:00

Left Field Stand Up Comedy has some shows in SLC next weekend. It's my buddy Bryson's team of comics. I've heard some of them in the past, and they're worth your bucks if you like to laugh at stuff.

Among them is the guy who did the Old Spice spoof for BYU:

The show costs $15. See here for more.

Their website has a promo code for half off.

Good people are for reals

2011-01-07T23:14:00.003-07:00

You guys heard of the hobo with a golden voice? Kathy and I watched these videos, and cried happy tears.

Businesses discovered him on the internet and gave him a job right away.

I loves you, teh internets.

ringing it in with a brand new tooth

2011-01-06T13:25:00.000-07:00

We rang in the new year with a teething, feverish baby. Instead of partying, we took her home, put her to bed, and looked at pictures on the internet of Nic Cage as Everyone (go here!) and watched Spy Kids, which had randomly turned up in our netflix queue (it was a lot better than I thought it would be).

Later, long after our new year's bedtime, I got up to rock her while she bawled in her sleep.

And the day after that, we tried watching a movie with Christopher's sisters before they left town. But baby girl didn't want to, so she screamed nonstop for half an hour until we just gave up and went home.

Conclusion: Teething is a terrible idea.

I know lots of you have great advice (which you're welcome to leave in the comments). In return, I'll pass on the best advice I've ever received, which my sister-in-law's boyfriend said teasingly, and which helped me not take myself so seriously: "You know that every time a baby cries, it reflects poor parenting. You should take her screaming very personally."

Oh, I had. I had even worried we had ruined her somehow. I asked Christopher, "Is she normal? What did we do to make her scream like this all day long?"

We didn't do anything. Her tooth did—at least for a few days. And now that it's popped through the top gum, she's back to her adorable self. She even woke up from a nap happy yesterday instead of screaming—a thing she had not done for at least a week.

A happy new year, indeed.

Big and little devils

2010-12-28T17:18:00.004-07:00

I've noticed a universal trend: All parents force their kids to eat vegetables.

I should say "try" to force. Kids are notoriously resistant to force, and will sneak, fight, or throw a fit to avoid it, like the cake story from hyperbole and a half.

I have seen this disturbing trend (even among awesome parents that Kathy and I admire and try to emulate) often enough to realize something was wonky. Then Elder Bednar spoke at stake conference a couple weeks ago, and his wife told a story about, you guessed it, forcing her kids to eat vegetables (It goes all the way to the top!). The prophet had come to eat at their house, and, it turned out, he didn't eat his vegetables either.

if you can name the game this picture came from, we can be friends

This reminded me of an article I read in college by Melinda Sothern, Ph.D. Here's her ten steps to getting your children to eat healthy. My favorite are:

1. Don't restrict food.

3. Don't label foods "good" and "bad."

5. Don't nag.

6. Don't use food as a reward or punishment.

7. Eat family dinner.

9. Give your kids some control.

We may think our kids are little devils for disobeying us. But when we use force to compel people, even children, to do as we want, then we use Satan's tactics. And really, his tactics suck. So when your kids disobey your sucky tactics, they're really acting like little angels, or, more appropriately, warrior-angels who wield the sword of whining and throwing-fits to fight their demon-possessed parents.

Next time at dinner, when you feel like you're fighting a battle with your children, you are, and it began in heaven.

If you want to win the battle, use God's tactics. Allow your children to choose, have healthy foods available, and your children will develop a healthy relationship towards food.

would you like one, too?

2010-12-08T09:39:00.000-07:00

When I learned how to needle felt last year, I made a little Joseph, Mary, and baby Jesus for Christmas. I set the nativity up on a shelf and made Christopher admire it with me over the span of several days.

I almost posted a picture of that first attempt here, but got kind of embarrassed, both about how it looked and how much it impressed me last year. I've learned a lot since then. Here's one of this year's nativities:

Remember this contest a while back? Jenny won. And this nativity is hers.

But you can have one, too, if you'd like. I've been told by enough people, "You should sell those," that I am.

I'm late in the game and you may have already done your decorating and planned your Christmas purchases. But just in case you're late, too, I want to say that you're welcome to order one. They're $40 and I need about 5 days' notice.*

And if you're all done with your Christmas shopping, I envy you. I also wish you a very Merry Christmas.

*If you know my real life email or phone number, you can contact me there to order. If you don't, you can still order by emailing me (here: kpetey [at] gmail [dot] com) to work out all the details.

Angry shoes

2010-12-07T19:57:00.001-07:00

I got so angry today that I bought a pair of shoes.

the year i lived on fort street

2010-11-28T14:43:00.000-07:00

Before baby girl was born, we painted her room yellow and hung birds from the ceiling. We arranged blankets and books and planned for her to settle in there for a couple of years. She didn't get to stay as long as we planned, but she was happy while it lasted.

We went back there yesterday to clear out the last few things and paint the walls back to their original (boring) beige. But I'll remember her room this way (even though baby girl won't remember it at all):

I kind of loved bringing her home to this space. I love even more that our new place is already feeling like home.

a change of scenery

2010-11-23T09:10:00.000-07:00

We have news:

A new place. Boxes are still piled in our bedroom. We can't find floss, or our phone charger, or the can opener. And the path to the coat closet is an obstacle course of unpacked books. But we already love our new apartment. It's roomier and cheaper than our last place AND somebody else shoveled the walk and washed the outside of our windows yesterday.

A new blog. I started it a few weeks ago as an encouraging self reminder. Any of you creative (or not-so-creative) souls can visit it here.

A new season—and I don't mean just the crazy amounts of snow that showed up two weeks after the sunny picture above was taken. But also, it's a new season for our little eight-month-old. She's discovered forward movement and she's taken to scooting around like an inchworm: up on her hands and feet, butt in the air, and then straightening out and pushing off. This certainly changes the landscape of parenthood around here.

Help us out part deux

2010-11-04T22:19:00.003-06:00

We found a place!

In Murray, close to my work, and cheaper.

If you know someone looking for a place, there's a lovely little two-bedroom in Draper with reasonable rent, a great view, and respectful landlords. Available December 1st.

the geekiest halloween

2010-10-31T22:00:00.002-06:00

If you've talked to us recently, you've probably rolled your eyes as we've tried to convince you that there's a Nickelodeon cartoon you really should watch—Avatar: The Last Airbender. NOT the blue-people Avatar (although the color of our costumes might mislead you). And NOT the Shyamalan movie (I'll never get those 2 hours of my life back). The cartoon is just a fabulous story about interesting characters, even if you think its medium is suspect.

And if you haven't talked to us recently, roll your eyes right now because I'm about to tell you to watch it.

(Any of you netflixers can watch it on instant play. And if you don't have netflix, come to my house and I'll watch it with you. Seriously. I've made rice krispie treats for friends who have taken me up on this.)

Anyway, we joked that we should dress up baby girl as the show's main character for Halloween. And then her still-bald head and my sister's power of suggestion convinced us that the idea was no joke:

She turned out to be the cutest little Aang. The only thing missing from her costume: teeth.

Christopher dressed up as what you might think is a giant, cheesy, anime monster. But when you watch the show, you'll be so invested in the characters that this will be awesome. Plus, it will probably remind you of us.

I wasn't sure at first about wearing a Halloween costume that a larper might use on any normal weekday. But when I realized I could be the moon princess, I pulled out my blue shoes.

We had fun this Halloween. And we're well on our way to geekifying our daughter. Please go watch our favorite cartoon, or we might just let her unleash some wicked airbending moves on you.

little help?

2010-10-23T13:22:00.001-06:00

We need to move. We thought we would stay put for a few years. But every year, we seem to contract amnesia about how much we hate packing up all our books. This time, we're looking for somewhere cheaper and closer to Christopher's work—we're gonna get these student loans paid off.

But finding an apartment is harder than I thought, especially since we're trying to do it on the cheap. Yesterday, I went to look at a promising option—tiled bathroom, lovely neighborhood. But I didn't feel good the baby being on the floor there. And it had this awkward-looking fireplace. One of the stones just below the mantel was cut in the shape of a wolf, howling at the moon.

I know you get what you pay for and this apartment was seriously cheap. But I just feel like I shouldn't live in a place where somebody thought a howling-coyote fireplace was a good idea.

So do any of you Utahn readers know of a good place to rent?

We're looking for a 1-bedroom (or 2) apartment or basement with a washer/dryer (or at least access to one), as well as a place to store our two bikes. Somewhere north of Draper and south of Salt Lake. Maybe Murray?

I love our place now and I'm dreading the process of gathering all our things and leaving. Kind of nice to know that this little girl will be happy wherever we end up.

oh, dear. am i turning into one of those people?

2010-10-08T14:13:00.000-06:00

You know the kind. They only blog about their kids and how adorable and perfect they are?

Sure, our baby girl spits up when we're going somewhere, and she screams when we wipe her snotty nose, and her poop is gross. But I can see how I might forget all that when I'm blogging. I forget it in real life all the time because she's so cute that I almost can't stand it:

we love our farmer. you should too.

2010-10-05T21:20:00.001-06:00

When I went to our veggie pickup today, I passed on basil and peppers, since we've already had so many all summer. So Jill asked me if I wanted broccoli instead. I said yes, she left for a second, walked back to the garden, and cut some for me. It's not even my favorite vegetable, but I'm excited to cook up the freshest broccoli I've ever eaten.

Our CSA is another casualty of summer's end. We only have one more pickup. I'm excited enough for it to start again that we've already ordered our farm share for next year.

If you do the same before October 15th, you can get next year's veggies for 20% off. I highly recommend it: getting all those veggies cut our food budget in half this summer (which is weird, right? I didn't think we ate that many vegetables), we tried things we never would have bought on our own, and when we weren't sure how to prepare something, we just checked the Bells' blog for a recipe using that week's pickings.

Click here for an explanation of the discount. Click here to place an order. And click here to see a picture of one of the Bells' adorable kids who entertained my baby while I waited for my broccoli.

5 things (we have a winner)

2010-09-18T23:35:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, the only way to make disparate things go together is a numbered list. Today's number is 5:

1. Today's the 18th. But I really DID draw a name out of the internet's hat with that random number generator three days ago. The 5th commenter is Jenny! She's one smart lady with some adorable kids and a vegan diet. Jenny, I'll email you soon so we can figure out what you prefer to receive.

2. I just found out that this was my husband's music collection when he was a kid: Genesis (Phil Collins' old band), a Weird Al tape, and DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. Awesome.

3. I'm not a big fan of early-morning church, but I'm excited to go tomorrow because the 5-year-olds I teach are becoming more talkative with me. They say things like, "We're so hungry that we can't pay attention to your lesson anymore,"or, "You should have another baby soon. Then you can hold one and your husband can hold one. It would be so EASY!" I'll let you know if tomorrow yields any highlights.

4. Someone we know is in the 13th percentile for weight, but 88th percentile for head circumference. Like an orange on a toothpick.

5. And here—just because she's so cute—is baby girl, acting like she's not paying attention to me taking yet another picture of her in yet another onesie that I've spiffed up with some fabric and a button.

we're sad to see the summer end

2010-09-14T15:23:00.001-06:00

The geese who have a loud, wild layover party in the cornfield behind our house every morning are saying that summer's ending. I usually enjoy the change in season, but this year, I want to say no, no, no!

I've spent a decent part of the summer on the bicycle of my dreams. With my baby sweetie in tow, I've gone everywhere on it: to the park, to the library, to visit friends. This afternoon, I'll hook up the baby trailer again and we'll ride up the street to our farmer's house to pick up fresh vegetables. It's nearly as idyllic as it sounds.

This summer's been good, not just for biking, but for a bit of self-discovery and delight that baby girl giggles and wonders at the world: my growing wistfulness for summer is just a regular case of wishing a happy moment won't end. I have a feeling that things will just keep getting better as this cute kid grows. But knowing me, I'll still be out there pedaling long after the snow flies.

(Speaking of time passing: tomorrow's the last day to comment on my previous post for a chance to win a custom handmade gift.)

this calls for a celebration...

2010-09-03T22:00:00.002-06:00

...but of what, I'm not entirely sure—our ability to talk about ourselves? This is our blog's 200th post. Big, round numbers seem to ask for recognition.

What have we done between posts 1 and 200? We've lived in 3 different apartments, finished 2 degrees (one apiece), had 1 baby, and succeeded in paying zero dollars for every TV we've owned.

These days, I'm in a making mood. I baked bread once a week in August. I've typed away on a novel. I've felted (coasters for a contest) and sewed (a baby-sized Halloween costume and some silk-tie onesies for a friend).

Here's where you come in, faithful readers (and lurkers, too):

Leave a comment on this post, wishing us a happy 200 (or saying whatever else you'd like) and I'll throw your name in the ring* for a handmade present from me. I can't promise that it will be big or amazing, but it WILL be 100% custom-made just for you. Thanks for reading. Celebrate away.

*(I'll draw a random name out of a hat—or something like unto it—on September 15th. Baby girl turns 6 months old that day. One more reason to celebrate.)

some kids don't like to eat their veggies

2010-08-29T17:35:00.006-06:00

But this girl does.

remember ducktales? he'll talk about that, too.

2010-08-25T22:30:00.005-06:00

I voted Obama in '08. But I would feel better about myself now if I had voted for Ron Paul—even if he still hadn't won. But I didn't know then.

My husband's going say some interesting things about that at a presentation he's giving/discussion he's leading tomorrow (Thurs, Aug 26th) at the library in Murray at 6pm. If you're interested, you should definitely come. You can even sit on the front row if you want—that's where I'll be.

i'm not sure we've cleaned out our car in three years

2010-08-19T21:43:00.006-06:00

After the baby came and I started feeling overwhelmed with my unrealistic expectations of myself, we made an Everything List—a list of everything that needs to happen (daily, weekly, monthly) to keep our lives in order—and split things up.

We had already gravitated to certain tasks. I like taking care of the laundry. He takes out the garbage because I never, ever remember. He's good at making sure bills are paid. I'm good at calling the insurance company.

We divided up the ignored duties and devised a plan to jointly tackle cleaning the bathroom, a dreaded chore for each of us.

Then we got to the last unclaimed item: clean the car.

I looked at him. He looked at me. And because we knew neither of us would do it, we just crossed it off the list.

I'm delighted for a few reasons. First, it's like we're real grown-ups; we'll decide, not when, but IF we'll clean our car. And second, I knew (again) in that moment that I'd married the right guy. Sure, we disagree at times, but not about fundamentals—like who's going to waste their Saturday afternoon vacuuming floor mats.

Three years ago yesterday, we drove away from a big party in this car, that we may or may not have cleaned since then, and that we don't plan to anytime soon.

(Thanks for marrying me, love.)

meanwhile, back at the ranch...

2010-08-06T11:30:00.001-06:00

My last post sounded a bit glum. And although I'm a fan of embracing sadness (we all need a good cry sometimes), I can't stay too gloomy with a giggly four-month-(almost-five!)-old in the house.

Baby girl certainly has some reasons to be happy this summer:

#1. Her reflux is gone! Mostly, anyway. For a while, she wouldn't nap in any position but upright. And she cried while she was a awake with a why-does-being-alive-hurt-so-much-and-can't-you-do-something-about-it-for-me-Mom sort of cry. But these days, she eats like a champ and doesn't spit up so much that we have to use a receiving blanket to catch all of it.

#2. Summer=outdoors. This girl would spend every minute outside if she could. While we wrangled reflux, she only calmed down when we took her out on the porch to look at trees. So, we've taken her on bike rides and hikes and walks. And when we've actually had to get something done around the house, we've just opened the door and set her in front of it.

#3. Trees are her favorite things to look at. Books are her second. (And—I feel like a horrible parent—I think the TV might come in third. She stares and stares when we turn it on. I think her favorite show might be Glee.)

#4. Being a baby is just plain fun (aside from the spitting up, lack of motor control, and crapping yourself a few times a day). I've told her a hundred times that she's fun to play with, that she has a cute face and a tasty thumb. But she just needed a summer to figure those things out for herself.

april is supposed to be the cruelest month

2010-08-03T11:11:00.001-06:00

But this year, I think it may be July.

I know a bunch of people who've had it rough the last few weeks—emotionally, financially, et ceterally. I don't know how many of those people read this blog, but for the ones who do: know that we're thinking of and rooting for you. And if we could make an uh-oh face for you as cute as this girl's, we would.

A new month arrived just days ago. Here's hoping it's a lovely one.

Bicycle/Handcart to Kolob

2010-07-30T22:14:00.003-06:00

I rode my bike over 140 miles this week. If I keep this up, I'll be in Nauvoo by October. That is, if I weren't riding in circles.

I've just been riding to and from work. If I were riding across the country it might be newsworthy. So it is with many of our actions. What we do may garner no attention from thronging sweaty teenage fans, but it matters.

Especially with our children. My wife works 8 hours a day for our kid, then I come home, and she works another 8 hours for me and the kid. I make sure to talk to her during commercial breaks.
Seriously, though, that's a lot of work. And it may appear to be no more than a freezer full of pumped milk and a garbage can full of poopy diapers, but it will result in a child equipped with all that is necessary to inherit the throne of God and to reign for the rest of eternity over worlds without end. Pretty damn important.

Economics

2010-07-27T20:38:00.001-06:00

I've been having this discussion with a friend recently:

Though our conversation wasn't nearly as cool.

happy 4th, ya'll

2010-07-04T10:52:00.002-06:00

pictures!

2010-06-11T16:05:00.004-06:00

(many, many thanks, nick.)
(catch you next time, singapore.)

oh, singapore

2010-05-27T08:00:00.001-06:00

Here I am, looking very excited that my camera battery charger has finally arrived from the other side of the world:

And here are all the pictures I've been able to take because of how well the charger replenishes the battery:

Not too pleased with the results, I emailed Singapore to tell them I'm returning the charger and expect a refund. I figured I'd just suck it up and pay the extra money for a charger that actually works.

I didn't expect the email they sent back. After addressing me as "dear friend" and making some seriously profuse apologies (I feel so sorry, so sorry for the item .), they said this:

can I give you my opinion for this matter?
in my opinion,I want to resend you a new one.and we will test one for a long time and resend it to you,then you don't have to buy another one.
and also I just don't want you feel dissappointed with us,
so can you give us the second chance?

please contact with us,if you have any good idea.
good day!

Normally, I would be seriously bugged (still kind of am: I've been without a camera now for a few weeks and my baby is growing!). But I can't help but smile about this effusive email's grammar. Almost makes me want to give them "the second chance."

And now for a picture taken by laptop:

to do

2010-05-19T08:20:00.000-06:00

A few things on my list for the summer:

finally finish reading Moby Dick
take pictures of baby girl in the grass while picnicking in the park
come up with a title for the novel I'm writing
sew a baby-sized dress
eat watermelon on the back porch while the sun sets

speaking of firsts

2010-05-13T16:28:00.003-06:00

Last week, I got my first haircut (a trim) since the baby came. I feel like I should be a grown-up now that I'm a mom, but I found out that I still stink at salon small talk.

In an attempt to make conversation, I often end up asking stylists how long they've been cutting hair--not a question you can repeat at every visit. So, I've had my hair cut at lots of different places.

I really liked this last stylist, though; she cut my hair EXACTLY the way I wanted it done. But she had zero to say, even when I asked her about her kid and her summer plans. I left with questions: Am I not hip enough? Could she smell my conversational fear? And should I have her cut my hair again? Or just go back to cutting my own bangs and shaking my fist at the mirror when I cut them uneven and too short?

everything's new

2010-05-12T14:40:00.000-06:00

Baby girl is still new, so everything we do is a first, either for her (first smile, first hike, first trip to Ikea) or for us (first time we've felt okay about another person throwing up her dinner on us). A few highlights:

First day at church. We dressed her in the gorgeous blessing dress my mother made 16 years ago when my little sister was born. And when baby girl's diaper could not contain her poop, I somehow saved the dress.

We took baby gummi to her first craft fair to check out pretty pillows and paintings made by two of the loveliest ladies I know. She got a sweet nap in the stroller. And I got a belt made out of ties that makes my post-pregnant self feel skinny (it wraps around me twice!).

My first Mother's Day. My brother (who just got back from India) gave the best Mother's Day talk I've ever heard. I had little tears in my eyes. And the other speaker? I couldn't tell whether or not he was trying to make women in the congregation feel like maternal failures for not raising ten children on the frontier as second wives.

First time I've been without a camera for this long. Apparently, ordering a battery charger from Singapore is a bad idea, regardless of how much money it will save you. Ever since our camera battery died for good two weeks ago, we've taken lots of pictures with my laptop. How did I manage to snap a picture of baby girl's smile with Photobooth? Let's just say it's the first time she has ever heard me sound quite so goofy.

magic numbers

2010-05-10T19:40:00.005-06:00

More than one veteran mother told me that six is a magic number: six weeks of new baby and then life will start to feel normal again. We must be slow learners at our house because today marks eight weeks since baby girl joined us. But regardless of the exact number, those mothers were right. Today I feel like I'm finally catching my breath. Today I feel more like myself. Today I'm loving this motherhood thing.

we did it for the photo op

2010-04-28T15:07:00.006-06:00

We almost didn't go to graduation. Reasons?

We technically graduated 4 months ago, before Christmas break, when there were no graduation ceremonies.
Cap and gown rental fees seem like a racket after you've already paid your four years' tuition.
My husband often scoffs at pomp and authority (and so also, possibly, at "Pomp and Circumstance"). He initially didn't look forward to the fancy hats, color-coded tassles, and terrible parking.

But one of my favorite pictures of myself as a little girl was taken on my dad's graduation day. I wanted a picture like that for our baby girl. Possibly for tradition's sake. Or possibly to have proof to show her when she's a teenager (and thinks she knows everything) that she has smart parents. Caps and gowns make us look like we know something.

Which is probably why I didn't take some of the other, non-smarty-pants pictures that I should have that afternoon:

The mess I made when I didn't put the lid on the bottle correctly so all the milk we brought spilled in the diaper bag
The spot where I would have gotten lost (on a campus I've known for years) if other people hadn't insisted I was going the wrong way
Or the moment we had to break into the car because I'd locked the keys inside

I opted for the photo that makes us look smart, that we'll put in a baby book—which might be an unfair representation of everything we did that day, but reason enough to go to graduation.

last night, when I sat down to feed the baby again...

2010-04-12T15:03:00.006-06:00

Him: Didn't you just barely feed her?

Me: More or less. She ate two-and-a-half hours ago.

Him: Wow. That went fast.

I couldn't agree with him more. I feel like I've entered a zone where time is accelerated—no, not accelerated, just radically altered.

For instance, I know exactly how many days this baby has been alive (29), and exactly how many days until my brother comes home from a two-year mission in India (only 2 now!). But my mom has often had to tell me what day it is when she's come to see how I'm doing. And I failed to wish some important people happy birthday—not because I forgot their birthdays, but because I failed to really grasp that it was April until 3:30 this morning. Hello, folks—we're almost halfway through the month.

She looks so harmless. Who knew she was capable of bending time?

someone's nesting. and it isn't me.

2010-04-10T17:10:00.005-06:00

She's a bird. I've named her Molly. And she wants to build a nest in my dryer vent.

We hear her scratching around in there some mornings and then she leaves, which means she isn't trapped. Molly's smart: our dryer vent is the perfect place to build a nest. It's two stories up, with a little hood over it on the outside that would protect baby birdies from rain or sun. It's completely enclosed—and, I imagine, very warm.

Unfortunately, it's also our dryer vent, which means we need to clear it out.

But I feel a delusional sort of sympathy for her. I did some nesting of my own not that long ago. And I probably would have attacked anyone who barged into my little nest and destroyed my hard work. Poor Molly.

Perhaps it's a fitting tribute to her that we decorated baby girl's room in birds.

Pooped On

2010-04-04T16:00:00.004-06:00

I've been pooped on. This week. So has K, twice. Changing diapers can be dangerous.

Our little bundle of joy has earned the nickname "squirtle" or "torpedo-girl."
I call this her Calvin and Hobbes face.
Compare:

the physicality of motherhood

2010-03-30T11:00:00.001-06:00

I think I'm going to say something about the universe collapsing because I don't know a better way to write about the birth of our gummi bear.

I could give you a play-by-play chronology: labor started Sunday morning at 10:30, water broke at 1am on Monday (10 minutes after we finished watching the episode of The Office when Pam has her baby), and baby girl arrived 7 hours later. But that feels insufficient somehow.

Anything I say will feel insufficient. People I love and trust tried to prepare me with good advice (and I took most of it), but some things, I had no way to know. Some things aren't easily described.

I prepared mentally for labor: we went to a lamaze class, I practiced some breathing techniques and visualizations. I thought I would distract myself from pain, go somewhere else in my mind when the time came. But once we arrived at the hospital and the contractions stepped up, I realized the whole experience would be a bit more physical than I imagined.

I'm a girl who lives in her own head—enough that I occasionally forget that the rest of me exists. I often run into doors and counter corners. I trip over things I don't notice (including my own feet). Before I got pregnant, I sometimes forgot to eat.

But I could not ignore any part of my body the closer I got to delivery. I needed things I didn't expect to. Christopher's physical presence became the most important thing in the world to me. I needed his hand on my cheek. I asked him to sing, which made him promptly forget every song he's ever known, so he made up his own words. He was a champ.

To cope for those last few hours, I squeezed his other hand, closed my eyes and thought of body parts. I imagined my baby's fingers and toes, one at a time, that I would get to see soon. I pictured her eyes, her elbows, her belly, her bum.

Normally, I can sense the space around me when I close my eyes, which is what I sensed during most contractions that night. I could sense the size of the room and hear people moving around in it. But that changed during the last push, a few seconds before our little girl came out to meet us.

I had been told about the "ring of fire," and that I should be grateful for it if I didn't have an epidural because it meant the end was coming. I wanted to process it like that—to recognize it by its name and description. But words skipped town at that point.

When I closed my eyes during those interminable seconds, I felt like the space around me shrank. The universe collapsed to a single point that contained me and two opposites: dark, burning pain and the hopeful, encouraging sound of my husband's voice. I have zero memory of what that voice said, but I know I needed it.

And then, there she was, with her eyes wide open, like that whole 21-hour process surprised her just as much as it had surprised me. Like she was surprised that our bodies had just gone through all that.

When they whisked her away to Apgar her, I figured that was it: we did it! I wasn't entirely prepared to discover that the physicality of being a mother didn't end there.

For instance, people warned me about the baby blues. I understood what they said in the abstract, like any weepiness I might experience would be purely hormonal or emotional, which in large part it is.

But there's something much more physical behind the emotions I've felt for the last two weeks. I was torn in half and sewn back up again. I ache and cramp and sag in places I didn't before and hadn't really realized that I would. Healing is more painful and takes a bit longer than I anticipated. I'll never sleep as much as I want to again.

At the same time, though, happiness feels more tangible than it ever has in my entire life. It's physically manifest in this tiny person who didn't even exist at this time last year, in the little grunts she makes while she sleeps, in the hand she wraps around my finger and won't let go, in the way she quiets right down when her daddy (who is enamored with her) scoops her up and rocks her. Everything she needs is so concrete: feeding and diapering and bathing and kissing and snuggling. These last two weeks, it's like our universe has shrunk a second time and she's become the lovely center of it. We wouldn't have it any other way.

everything feels different

2010-03-18T18:20:00.007-06:00

Before:

After:

Monday, March 15th
7:59 am
7 lb 5 oz
20 inches

So happy.

motherhood will teach me this again, won't it

2010-03-05T15:30:00.000-07:00

I made a long list of things I needed (read: wanted) to accomplish before the baby came.

Then the universe laughed at me. No, our gummi bear did not come early. I just got super sick. I've spent the last week moving from my bed to my couch and back again, with detours to the bathroom for more tissues and throat lozenges.

And the list?

Maybe it was a bit ambitious—even for a healthy pregnant lady. Looks like I planned on sewing, cooking, cleaning, writing, and decorating everything in the universe until the second the baby crowned. I'm working on deleting some items from the list.

I do this often: make plans too big for any person and then feel disappointed when I find out I'm not superhuman. Kind of like this little frustration:

I took on a project I wasn't prepared for, with instructions that were difficult to follow, and expected myself to finish in an afternoon. It eventually turned out, but only after weeks of tearing out seams and sewing them back up again crooked. I probably should have re-evaluated my progress halfway through and just gone to the store to buy a stupid diaper bag like a normal person.

I have a feeling that motherhood will demand that I re-evaluate and abandon overblown plans more often than I currently do. Just like this week's virus made me chuck my list, my little gummi bear will do the same when she throws up or falls down or just wants me to put down the to-do list to cuddle with her. I hope I figure it out.

i went home nearly speechless

2010-02-23T14:28:00.008-07:00

I cry when I read the news—and not just when I'm pregnant.

I read stories of horrible things people do to one another and I grieve and worry for them. Sometimes, I even let myself get a little pessimistic. I think: the world has always been this way and will continue to be this way until we blow each other up.

But.

Then the people around me snap me out of it and give me a weekend like last Saturday. People like good friends who made a long drive to see me. People like my in-laws' extended family, several of whom I've done a horrible job of staying in touch with. People like the loveliest women in a ward I moved out of two months ago.

They came together to celebrate a baby girl they've never met, to help me prepare for the arrival of a complete stranger—a little person who didn't even exist on this earth until 8 months ago. They brought her truly generous gifts and wished me well in a way that made me think I might actually be able to do this whole motherhood gig.

This world is filled with good and thoughtful people. Welcoming a baby into this crazy world feels hopeful because of the ones I know.

Greener grass

2010-02-20T21:07:00.006-07:00

I no longer have a job that allows me to blog. I've missed you guys.

But graduation has its perks. I'm glad I went to BYU, and I miss everyone that I met there, but I'm so happy with our new situation.

I learned my name in Arabic today. It's گرستوفر (Christopher) وييست (West). Is that not the coolest thing you've ever seen? It looks a lot like my actual signature (next time someone makes fun of your sloppy handwriting, tell them it's Arabic).

An Iraqi refugee named Refat is teaching me Arabic. Anyone is invited to come. We meet on Saturdays at 10am. I pay him a little for his time, because he has a wife and daughter to take care of, and because he's a refugee from freaking Iraq. Give me a call if you're interested.

I've also helped an organic farmer start his seeds this week, and I'll be helping brother Rasmussen with his corn crop when the weather gets a little warmer. So I'm on my way to becoming a farmer.

Dirt brownies
-

Along those lines, my landlord and neighbor Gregg says I'm a real cowboy now. I had just finished filing my taxes (arrgh) when I looked out the window and saw a cow in the neighbor's yard. This is not very unusual in Draper. Our other neighbor has horses. But this neighbor owns dogs, not cows. I recognized the cow as that of my landlord, and I ran outside and called my landlord up on the phone.

"It looks like the grass is greener on the otherside," I said to his voicemail, "because your cow has escaped."

The fugitives
-

Gregg had not answered, so I was on my own. I chased the cow around for a while, and opened up the gate to steer him inside. But after I opened the gate, the other cow also escaped.

I chased them around our yard for about ten minutes. They did not want to go back to their already-chewed and trampled grass, they wanted the fresh green mouthfuls our yard had to offer.

They ran away from me like naughty little kids. They really are full of personality. I finally shooed them inside, and that's how I became a real cowboy.

We still have no idea how the first one got out.

If you're not sure what you're going to do when you graduate, or with your life in general, I welcome you to Draper, where you can chase cows, learn Arabic, and play in the dirt.

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

2010-02-09T16:07:00.000-07:00

Up until now, I feel like we've been pretending a little bit. We went to school and had our not-quite-real jobs. We sent in our pretend tax returns (pretend because we filled them out but were too poor for the government to charge us much). We played house very nicely in a little basement that we filled with too many toys—books, in our case.

But I feel like we're almost grown-ups now: we pay for our own internet (not sure why this seems like a serious step toward adulthood for me), my pregnant tummy's big enough that parenthood feels like a reality, and my husband has a real-live job. Legally, we've been adults for quite some time now; I just took my time adjusting to the change.

And the real-live job? C. now works at a fancy medical lab where he tests medical devices for cytotoxicity and biocompatibility. You'll have to ask him to explain what that means. It's very grown-up of him.

i'm glad my dreams don't often come true

2010-02-03T11:44:00.006-07:00

The night before we flew to Texas for my brother's wedding, I had a dream that I went into labor on the plane. We circled above the Houston airport, but the pilot refused to land because my brother had decided to change venues to hold the wedding on the airport runway. We couldn't land the plane because we would interrupt.

Fortunately, my dream and the reality of the trip didn't match up. I think my brain was just trying to make sense of the way our family is changing. I now have a beautiful sister-in-law who's fabulous for my brother. And in 6 weeks or so, we'll meet a beautiful baby girl who will be fabulous for us. Nothing's better than getting new family members you adore—even better if they don't join your family on an airport runway.

the perils of moving: in three parts

2010-01-21T01:00:00.000-07:00

One.

Even though our laptops picked up wireless internet in our new place, we shouldn't have used it—not even to tide us over until our bonafide, paid-in-full internet got set up.* We just might have been stealing it from our next-door neighbor, who is also our landlord. And the bandwidth we used for hulu just might have kicked him off the internet on his work computer. Oops.

Two.

You always lose something when you move, right? Since we expertly packed up our undie/sock drawers in a large, black, plastic garbage bag, we wondered for a week or so if the something-we-lost was our underwear, taken out with the trash.

Three.

Fortunately, our undiminished undie supply suggested that we did not throw them out after all; we might have just washed them, so they were super clean. What we DID lose was half our bed, since we failed to protect the box springs we put in storage from a cat who lived nearby and liked to mark his territory. **

We're not too worried, though. We've unpacked most of our boxes, arranged most of our books on shelves, put up some pictures, and we want you all to come visit us very soon.

* Folks, we're getting the internet shortly. Sorry if you've emailed or facebooked and your message has gone unanswered. How am I publishing this blog post, you ask? Um, it's a secret.

** If you know where to find queen-sized box springs for less than a hundred bucks, send info our way. It might sound fun to camp out on a mattress on the floor, but this third trimestered lady might disagree.

january's fault

2010-01-11T21:00:00.003-07:00

I've had so much to blog about (graduating, moving, feeling the baby get hiccups for the first time), but so little to say.

I think it might be January's fault. Winter-after-Christmas is tough and ugly. Even this January, when I feel particularly pleased and optimistic about my life, I've noticed that so many people are going through rough times. I know people who are terribly lonely or sick or discouraged or heartbroken.

Knowing all those people, I feel silly saying Yay! Look! My new house is so pretty! And I got to spend the longest Christmas break with my perfect husband! And look what I've made to decorate the baby's nursery!

I get like this sometimes—feeling guilty for being happy amidst sorrow. I think it's counterproductive. Walking around with a mopey face doesn't make the sorrowful feel better. When I'm sad, the best thing my husband can do is hug me and crack a joke.

I wish I could hug the world. I wish I were funny.

Oh, my poor baby girl. If she's half as emotional as her mother, we might have to put her in time-out for melodrama.

A chance for Provoites to eat locally

2010-01-10T10:29:00.005-07:00

Our farmers have expanded into the Provo area. They grow their crops in Draper and Sandy.

You can sign up by visiting the Bell Organics web site.

Here's Jill's announcement:

"Hello,
David and I were able to meet with the owner of Pizzeria Seven Twelve in Orem today for lunch and he has agreed to host a CSA pick up for the Utah County area.

We will be adding this location to our program on Wednesdays from 4-6 pm. Their address is 320 South State Street #185, Orem Utah.

If you are not familiar with this locally driven business you can visit their website at www.pizzeria712.com where their blog does a nice job of explaining their vision.
—Jill"

To join the CSA, you pay Jill and David up front, and then you get a new box of vegetables each week once the season begins — from June 14th to October 13th.

David in the garden

You'll eat more vegetables than you ever have, making yourself and your community healthier.

You can also order local eggs, cheese, fruit, and beef through their website.

They have additional pick-up locations in Draper, Salt Lake, Millcreek, and Park City.

ready for a new list

2010-01-01T10:37:00.004-07:00

I don't think I've ever been as excited to make my list of New Year's goals as I am this year. I think my excitement has much to do with the fact that I wrote last year's goals in the front of my planner and then referred back to them nearly once a week during 2009, if I got bored in church. So my goals actually meant something all year long AND kept me entertained in sacrament meeting.

The weekly review kept me on track: here I am at the end of the year with a completed master's thesis, a large number of lit journal rejection slips, and a stack of family history papers completely updated.

Weekly review also helped me revise some goals along the way: in July, after we found out I was pregnant, I had to cross out "lose 25 pounds" and replace it with "have a baby."

In some cases, weekly goal review didn't help me much: turns out, I'm still an inconsistent blogger and a crappy visiting teacher. If you've got any tips on how to get better at either of these, I'm open for suggestions.

Until then, I'm off to finish making my list for 2010. By this time next year, you'll be surprised by how many push-ups I can do.

it's this guy's birthday

2009-12-30T18:10:00.004-07:00

I don't even know how to say how happy I am that he was born.

the 12 days of christmas, truncated and backwards (or, some christmas #'s that make us happy):

2009-12-25T10:55:00.012-07:00

3. Our third Christmas as the Wests. (Also, our last Christmas before the Wests become a family of 3 and not 2.)

2. The second annual Christmas Eve family variety show.

Instead of drawing names to give presents to cousins, we put together a little talent show on Christmas Eve. I like this new tradition; instead of thinking about what everybody wants and what we have to buy, we get to appreciate who everybody is and what's been important to them in the last year.

This year, we listened to musical performances and written thoughts, saw artwork and fancy cupcakes, watched a yo-yo show, etc. I showed off some needle-felted crafts I made and C. showed off his muscles by doing push-ups.

1. One move, 35 miles up the road.

If you must move, I recommend doing so at Christmas time. We have boxes and boxes of books to open once we finally set up our bookshelves. We like the books we have, so opening them up later will feel like opening presents.

Also, if you must move at Christmas time, I recommend setting up decorations first—before unpacking anything else. Now, if I could only find some socks.

wish him luck on his toughest final

2009-12-14T22:23:00.005-07:00

My finals this semester seem a little more reasonable than my husband's. I'll hand in a written portfolio at the end of the week while he'll have to regurgitate massive chunks of information—one of which is this little instruction I encountered on his study guide while quizzing him for his chemistry final:

"Know what hormones are and in general terms how they act."

Really? I can't help but feel that the study guide's a little vague. And absurd. Surely it can't mean ALL hormones? Especially when that's just a single bullet point on a three-page study guide. Right?

Personally, I think C. should receive 100% for that section of the test before he even shows up for the final tomorrow. I mean, he lives with a pregnant woman. He certainly knows what hormones are and EXACTLY how they act.

making peace with provo

2009-12-13T18:13:00.005-07:00

Six years ago, I thought I was moving away from Provo for good. I couldn't WAIT. I packed up fast and by the time I hit the freeway entrance, I was flying. I almost shouted out the window: see ya', suckas! And I was never coming back.

Then the universe laughed at me and sent me to Provo again two years later.

Good thing it did, too. When I lived here the first time, I worked and spent most of my free time in a different city, while spending the rest of my time rolling my eyes at Provo stereotypes.

Not until the second time around did I discover that this supposedly boring, stifling city is home to some of the most interesting, intelligent, wonderful people I've ever met. I know they didn't hide from me before; I just never bothered to look for them back in the day.

On Saturday, I'll move away from Provo again—this time, in a very different mood. I'm thrilled about our new place for so many reasons (can we say washer and dryer?). But I now know that I'll miss the apartment and the streets and the campus and especially the people who have made me feel so at home here.

Goodbye, Provo. Goodbye, little house under the stairs.

And to all you suckers who ARE sticking around this good little town: you can't get rid of me that easily. I'm not saying goodbye for good. I've made my peace with Provo and she says I can come to visit.

Tomato Christmas

2009-12-10T21:04:00.005-07:00

We have drinken (drunk. K goes crazy when I use that word) a lot of eggnog lately. I even put it on my cereal.
School ends next week. I haven't posted lately because of the craziness. But I want to wish you all a merry Christmas. Here is a card that I made from tomatoes from our farmer.

Today I had a Christmas Miracle. I accidentally deleted all of my iTunes music, because I'm kind of an idiot. I was making a picture in photoshop, and it said that I needed more room on my hard drive. So I started deleting things like crazy. The next time I turned on iTunes, all of my songs had !'s next to them.

I wrote Apple and begged for forgiveness. A girl named Sarah wrote back an hour later and said that I could download everything again. Hooray!

Which brings me to a thought: I think once you buy a song or a movie, you should own it forever. If a new form of holding the song or movie develops (blu-ray, laserdisk, etc.), then you shouldn't have to buy it again, you should just get it for free. Okay, maybe the company wouldn't be required to send you a brand new dvd, but you should forever have rights to the data, so you could burn a new copy on whatever newly developed format. A lot of companies keep track of your purchases for a long time, so if your kid decides to put your dvds in the oven, you should be able to just download it again. That would be a real Christmas miracle.
Well, that's enough for utopian dreams. Merry Christmas.
p.s., I made a Christmas playlist, you can find it on the sidebar.

you may now call me Master Nerd

2009-11-18T10:16:00.004-07:00

Last night, I sat at a big conference table with three of my amazing professors and talked about the classes I've taken and the stories I've written.

Of course, they didn't ask any of the questions I thought they might. And I didn't get to say most of the things I had hoped I would be able to. And when they asked how my reading influenced my writing, the mental list I'd made of books I wanted to talk about went entirely blank. But we had an interesting conversation, and they didn't hesitate to tell me that I passed my thesis defense. Perhaps they were swayed by the muhammara that I made them.

the depth of our gratitude equals the depth of our understanding

2009-11-15T11:25:00.001-07:00

All growing up, I knew my dad was a good guy. He encouraged my writing, came to my ballet recitals, and on and on. But I don't think I really appreciated who he was until I grew up enough to move to another hemisphere by myself for a while.

For the first 21 years of my life, my dad was just my dad. He was just a guy who dropped anything to help me with my math and Spanish homework. And after high school, he was just a guy willing to stay up half the night to talk me out of marrying boys who weren't good for me (without letting on that he was doing just that).

Before I went away, I didn't know that so few men are as smart and dedicated and thoughtful as my dad. All the distance I got when I left helped me to understand.

Sometimes, after we leave my parents' house, C. teases me: "It really took you 21 years?" Yeah, I think it did. I'm glad I finally figured it out. Thanks, Dad, for being born and for being so much better than I understood you were for so long.

Fortune Cookie

2009-11-14T08:55:00.004-07:00

We can't wait for our little girl to come. With baby on the brain, guess how we interpreted this fortune cookie—
K is well, though she worries whether she's doing anything wrong. I asked her if she was drinking, smoking, or shooting up heroin.

"No." She said.

"Then you're probably not doing anything wrong."
Here's to 22 weeks.

out of the woods

2009-11-07T14:04:00.003-07:00

Whew! Gummi Bear gave us a little scare this past week—appropriately timed for Halloween. We got a little worried that she was already trying to join us, and it's far too soon.

I went to the doctor, took my medicine, stayed in bed, flaked out on my classes, and told my students to not even think about asking me when I would finish grading their papers. I talked Baby Gummi into waiting until March. She seems cool with it.

I think she's just excited to get here. Let's hope she's equally excited to embrace sleeping through the night and potty training.

Classical Music ROCKS

2009-11-05T21:09:00.002-07:00

After reading about the ignored violinist, I decided to dedicate some of my time to show my appreciation for those who devote their lives to music. I made this:
It's sad that our system respects money over art. As Thomas Geoghegan of Harper's wrote:
"It's chilling to think that some young woman is putting down her viola and enrolling as a student trader even as I sip my Starbucks and listen to Vivaldi."

Sacralicious

2009-11-01T23:17:00.001-07:00

Our house doesn't have art on the walls typical of Mormon homes. There's a picture of me picking my nose next to K. There's a photo of two cupie dolls crossing the street, holding hands. I've printed some melancholy poetry and excerpts from anti-war essays to tack up next to engagement pictures and a map of Hawaii. And today this joined the collection:
Feel free to print one out for your kitchen.

I've thought that since "the sabbath was made for man," it is a great time for dusting off my atrophied creativity muscles.

Though the things I create will not likely end up in the Louvre, I sure do enjoy it. I hope K soon posts some of the things she's created lately. She's incroyable.

Happy Halloween

2009-11-01T16:23:00.004-07:00

K sewed my costume. Our awesome cousin sent K hers.
I took my nephew trick-or-treating. His pa had to work :(
The Potters showed up to our party.

dear boy in the library,

2009-10-22T12:53:00.003-06:00

If you really felt as ill as you said you did to the person on the other end of your cell phone, while you walked up and down the literature section on the 5th floor (where I was), why didn't you stay home for a few days? Don't sniffle your way around the books anymore. Stop wiping your runny nose with the back of your hand and then running that hand along the shelf.

Your eyes looked so swollen and your nose so red. I'm sure some sleep and some soup would have done you good. It sure would have helped out the library patrons, too. Some of us are pregnant around here and really not looking forward to flu season.

Take care.

Sincerely,
A pregnant lady who is NOT happy to be home with a sore throat and burny eyes today

The gods of good sleep mock me.

2009-10-19T08:07:00.006-06:00

I thought I woke up inside a vacuum cleaner last night. I looked at the clock, it was 1am. A vacuum cleaner roared upstairs, in the room right above us. K woke and said, "Are you serious."

I went upstairs to talk to the guy. The vacuum was actually louder in our room than it was up here. The guy apologized quickly and turned off the vacuum.

I went back downstairs and lay down to sleep.
The floorboards kept creaking overhead. I think he would search for a creaky floorboard, and when he found one, he'd step all around it until all of the squeaks were out of it. I let him do this for about a half an hour.

Why did I wait so long? I thought it would end in just another minute. I thought I'd be able to sleep through it. I didn't want to be a bothersome neighbor.

I went back upstairs. I thought about going in my undies to make a greater impression, but I dressed first.

He apologized quickly. "Oh, is that loud?"

I went back downstairs and lay down to sleep. About a half-block away a car alarm went off.

oh. my. cute.

2009-10-15T17:35:00.004-06:00

I know a brilliant, multi-talented woman who shared one of her secrets with me yesterday. Because of her expert instruction, I made his adorable bear (and C. made the halloween pumpkin in his hand).

I'm addicted. After we went home, I spent an hour—which I SHOULD have spent creating a lesson plan—looking on the internet for ideas of more cute, little felted things I could make. I'm pretty sure that's all I want to do for the next two months (thesis defense? pshaw!).

I'm not going to tell you how incredibly simple this is to do. I want you to be amazed. Isn't he cute?

it's a halloween miracle!

2009-10-13T14:45:00.005-06:00

In the neighborhood where I grew up, the "Great Pumpkin" would deliver Halloween treats to people's porches, with a poem that told them to put a pumpkin in their window and then pass the favor on by anonymously delivering treats to other neighbors.

I think my neighborhood now must have a Great Pumpkin, too—just a different kind—because a good deed showed up anonymously on my porch: yesterday, someone swept the stairs in front of my apartment. I thanked my husband, but he wouldn't claim responsibility.

So, dear pumpkin, if you read my blog, thanks for sweeping my porch. I think I'll pass a good deed along to another neighbor.

The Ultra Sound

2009-10-12T21:27:00.003-06:00

I edited the ultrasound down to one minute and added a song that K sings to her tummy.

I was going to make a dance club version, or do one with Black Sabbath's "Embryo." But I have homework to do.

Grandparents will get a DVD copy.

This video popped up as a related alternative to watch afterward.

meet our gummi bear

2009-10-10T16:05:00.013-06:00

A few months ago, we went to the emergency room (nothing major—just pain that made our midwife nervous, but turned out to be nothing). The visit was a joke. We waited 3 hours to talk to a goober of a doctor, who charged our insurance over 300 bucks for the 9 minutes he spent reciting to us everything he remembered from medical school about the third trimester of pregnancy (I was only 10 weeks along).

BUT. I'm not writing this post about him. I actually think the visit was worth every minute and penny spent. When I had an ultrasound that day, we saw a teeny, tiny little baby on the screen. The lab tech said it looked like a gummi bear.

picture from moist production dot com

So true!

And the name stuck. Maybe because of the accuracy of the description. Maybe because my relief that the ultrasound was our last step out of the ER made it sound cuter than it was. Or maybe because it made the baby feel more real. Whatever the reason, I've been calling the baby by my favorite gender-neutral name these last few weeks: Gummi Bear.

We took another look yesterday. And, wow. Little Gummi has grown quite a bit since that ER visit. Her (her!) head, brain, spine, heart, arms, legs, feet, and hands are all accounted for. She (she!) swats away ultrasound transducers when they get poked in her face. She (a little gummi girl!) is excited to meet all of you.

And I'm sure you want to meet her. So, here she is. Our little gummi bear:

Santa, are you there?

2009-10-07T08:32:00.005-06:00

K and I have been debating whether or not should teach our kid about Santa. We still have some time to think about it. K is about five months along. We find out the gender this Friday.

Here's a list of pros and cons. So far the cons outweigh.

Pros:
It's fun.

You get to eat cookies on Christmas Eve.

Our kid won't be the jerk kid who tells all the other kids that "Santa ain't real."

You can use him as a boogey-man to scare your kids into being good.

BOO-ze

And the best argument I've heard for Santa:
". . .has belief in Santa Claus ever closed the door to knowledge as loyalty to a scientific credo so often has? Is it better for a child to believe in Santa Claus with the understanding that someday he is going to revise his views than for him to be taught what is scientifically correct . . . from infancy, so that he will never, never have to revise his views on anything and thus go through life always right about everything? Which course is more liable to lead to disaster, the open-ended Santa Claus, or the ingrained illusion of infallibility?" —Hugh Nibley. "Sophic and Mantic," CWHN 10:332
Cons:
When K was a child, she was so grateful for her Christmas presents that she looked up and said, "Santa, wherever you are, THANK YOU!"

Her mother was rather put off. She had stayed up most of the night wrapping and setting everything just so, after countless hours of shopping, after months of working at the ER so that she could afford everything. After all that her kids thought she had just gotten them a couple of things, but that Santa, what a guy.

Santa can cause your child to lose their faith in God. (That's right, I just used "their" as a third-person neuter. Take that, grammar Nazi).

from Threadless

For example, a friend of ours wrote recently:
"Last night when J was helping the kids with personal prayers he started with [our 3-year-old daughter], who looked up [at] him, thought for a minute, then said "Dad, Heavenly Father's not really real anyway." Oh man. Darn Santa Claus. Darn the Easter Bunny and curse the Tooth Fairy."

K knew a family who didn't celebrate Santa, because Santa is an anagram of Satan. Of course that line of logic can get you into trouble. For example:

Abraham Lincoln is an anagram of Banal Charm Loin. So apparently that great president was some sort of boring yet hypnotic sexual deviant. Better not teach your kids about him.

Latter-day Saints = A Startled Sanity. Therefore Mormons are crazy.

Anywho. Let us know what you think we should do. Otherwise we'll probably teach our children this. (on youtube)

More fun anagrams (I got carried away on the website):
Thomas S Monson = Most Hansom Son
George Bush = Be Gore's Ugh (Just ask Al Gore)

am i a wimp...

2009-09-30T19:02:00.003-06:00

...if my favorite part of yoga is the part at the end, when we lie on the floor?

I like to think that I'm learning how to better appreciate the resting part of hard work. I mean, lying on the floor after my body works hard is more than just lying on the floor. It feels earned and lovely and necessary.

Or. It could just mean I'm a wimp.

surprises

2009-09-25T09:54:00.009-06:00

I went on a bloggie fast this week (easier said than done). And when I opened up google reader today, I found a little surprise—584 new posts waiting for me to read. Feels like a fitting end to a week of some other surprises:

I, um, really liked relief society enrichment this week. I have generally maintained my prejudice against it, due to a long line of awkward-bordering-on-catastrophic enrichment moments in a long line of awkward single adult wards. Thanks for converting me, Misti.
I survived the week. Monday looked a little daunting with a 350-page book to read, two workshop pieces to finish writing and submit, 20 student papers to read, 20 student conferences to hold, the introduction to my thesis still unrevised, etc., etc., etc. It's Friday. I'm still here.
A funny little feeling in my tummy. Yep. There's really a baby in there.

sometimes i cry: a map

2009-09-16T22:52:00.004-06:00

In the first week of this semester, my professor asked us to create an autobiographical map. He gave vague instructions about how we might construct one, and then asked us to bring whatever we came up with to class in a few days. When I mentioned my task to Christopher, he asked if my map would contain a river of tears (I was crying at the time—NOT because of the assignment).

When I considered his question, I imagined I might be more accurate if I just colored the paper blue, left off any hint of continent or island and handed in my map as a vast ocean.

I cry. Often, okay.

My map ended up looking less like a road (or ocean) map and more like a page of text—sort of in the spirit of John D'Agata's "Flat Earth Map," only shorter and less clever. I outlined some points of interest in the country of myself. And apparently, I charted them on a sad day because my map drew attention to my consistent experience of being talked over in large groups of people, moments in which my story trails off in the middle and nobody notices. That put a damper on the class-time show-and-tell.

But I included no river. And today, while thinking about maps yet again, I realized that my omission may have been a mistake. The river flows at a pretty constant rate around here. I might be sad. I might be happy. But the tear count remains steady. It is a permanent landmark.

I read the news today and noticed how many different ways people hurt or attempt to hurt one another: I cried.

I watched a video on my friend's blog of her wedding and remembered how good people can be to each other (and how fabulous her taste is): I cried.

I'm not going to create another map of me, but if I did, it might look something like this one, of the changes in the Mississippi River's course over time. The route or the reason might shift (can we say pregnancy?), but this river won't dry up anytime soon.

(Found this map at http://strangemaps.wordpress.com/)

my husband reminds me to be patient with myself

2009-09-05T22:10:00.000-06:00

Me: I tried so hard, but I didn't get everything done today.

Him: Everything? Even God didn't finish everything in one day.

My sister's new blog

2009-09-05T08:07:00.001-06:00

My sister changed the address of her blog without telling anyone. So here it is for any of you who read it:

http://stalexia.blogspot.com/

you know what sounds good right now?

2009-09-03T17:13:00.005-06:00

These days, my tummy feels a bit willing to re-open its culinary horizons. So, I baked some salmon, made some rice and took them to campus with me today.

I thought I'd have plenty of time in my office to eat lunch, but I didn't. So I pulled the food out of the microwave and ate it while I walked in the crowd of students that moves en masse across campus between classes.

I would tell you about the two guys walking right behind me, and how they must have been really hungry, because I heard one say to the other, "You know what sounds good right now? Chicken curry with couscous." And I would tell you that the other one said, "No," and offered some other protein/pasta variation as the ideal meal. And I would tell you that I almost felt guilty that my lunch smelled REALLY GOOD.

But I realized before I wrote it what a pointless story that would be. So I'll just say this: I was thinking today of how much cooler my lunch would be if I had a Remains of the Day lunchbox. Does anyone know where I might find one?

marriage is a papa murphy's pizza

2009-08-27T19:23:00.012-06:00

In the 3 weeks that our blog sat dormant, we've had plenty to write about—most importantly, our anniversary. We've been married for 730+ days, which simultaneously seems like no time at all and our whole lives.

Time does weird stuff. I've tried to reflect on the previous year, to bring images and moments together into some sort of conclusive statement about what the 2nd year of marriage is like. But I can only think of rather current moments. Most of them involve food. I don't know if I should go with food as a 2nd-year-of-marriage metaphor or not.

Here are a few happy, recent, marriage-defining moments that stand out in my mind (which should not stand in for a mushier and more endearing post, but will anyway):

My husband has boosted Papa Murphy's profits this quarter because he buys me their gourmet chicken garlic pizza nearly once a week. He hopes not to maintain this habit. But for now, he values the pizza for its unique property of remaining in my queasy tummy after eating.

He told me to buy the maternity dress of my dreams, even though it was full price (which I am opposed to) and I haven't started sporting a poochy tummy yet.

When our car was in the shop, he walked to the grocery store to buy milk, which I just HAD to have. And when I insisted on going with him, he stopped to hug me for ages when I cried on the side of the road, because I imagined that our children might like him more and think I was the boring, ugly parent of the pair. What a trip to the store THAT was.

Another anniversary from now, some of our most important moments these days (preparing for our last semester of school, hearing our baby's heartbeat at the midwife's office, picking out names, looking for real-person jobs) won't be quite so present, and we'll be on to different projects and seasons of life.

Something tells me that, while the scenery might change and some additional children will pop in for a visit, we'll still do what we always do: read lots of books, work on projects, spend time together. He'll consistently take out the garbage and water the plants. I'll be as erratic as ever with laundry and vacuuming (though I'll continue to claim that keeping up dependably on both are important to me).

And we'll eat. Maybe I'll cook up something better for us than Papa Murphy's.

God smote me today

2009-08-06T12:12:00.005-06:00

Last night our car broke down on the Provo exit. We called our amazing neighbor who came and towed our car home with his truck.

When we got home our neighbor found out that I had to get to work by 8 am. He helped me fix my bike so that I could ride it in the next day. He fixed the brakes, the tires, and the handlebars, then he greased the chain and wiped it down. I kept on expecting him to say "That will be $29.99," but he apparently works for saint points.

The next morning I woke up an hour and a half late because my alarm didn't go off (or didn't wake me). I dressed and hopped on the bike, and tucked my pant leg into my sock so it wouldn't get stuck in the bike chain.

it didn't take me quite an hour and a half to get here

I got to work and didn't notice, until I had walked down two hallways, that my pant leg was still tucked into my sock and my fly was down.

So it's been an amazing day.

On the bright side, we found out that our neighbors are still awesome. And I got to ride my bike to work - which I've planned on doing for a while - to get into shape, save on gas, help the environment, and prevent foreign wars.

two thoughts on billions of people

2009-08-04T15:51:00.004-06:00

1. HOW does the world contain SO MANY people? The number of people driving around my little city or walking around in the grocery store blows me away. How many women had to throw up for months at a time just to make enough people to populate this single town? And how many of those women volunteered for this process multiple times? That's a lot of barf, people.

2. Why on EARTH does war even exist? If all those women had to barf up their guts and then go through labor and spend years and years putting care and love into little people until those people got big enough to defend themselves, doesn't it seem an immense waste to blow said people up?

If women ruled the world (and in order to become president or queen of any country, a woman was required to bear at least one child), I'm pretty sure we'd get rid of war altogether. The women in charge would know what sort of energy (and endless nausea) their population required to create and bear. And if anyone so much as whispered war from the other side of an ocean, the rest of the presidents would say, "No way, sister. We know what your women went through to make those people. We've been there. We're not about to blow anybody up."

More ta da

2009-07-29T00:16:00.004-06:00

This is Christopher, I'd like to add something to Kathy's last post.

The night we found out, Kathy came out of the bathroom and said "I know why I've been acting crazy."

We laughed and celebrated and looked up names in the Oxford English Dictionary, which shows what kind of nerds we are. We've had over a year to think of names, because we've been trying for a while. If we have a girl, we'll name her Ermenie, and if a boy, Truman.

Ermenie is my grandmother's name and etymologically related (in my mind, at least) to Hermes, the god of writing. We'd call her Emmie.

The Greek Hermes is the Egyptian Thoth

Truman was a U.S. president, but we won't name our baby after him because he was a war criminal. Truman has the simple meaning of "true man" but is also next to "trumeau" in the dictionary. Trumeau is "a pillar supporting the middle of the tympanum of a church doorway." This brings to mind the pillars Boaz and Jachin that adorned Solomon's temple.

So it's like naming your kid "The Rock" in nerd-tongue.

If you steal our names, I'll curse you (with cuss words, not voodoo).

I still can't believe it's true, but Kathy throws up a lot to prove it to me.