...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.)
this calls for a celebration...
remember ducktales? he'll talk about that, too.
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
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...
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
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
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
I've been having this discussion with a friend recently:
Though our conversation wasn't nearly as cool.
