Monday, November 10, 2008

Ok, I really am a Dork

Um, so, It's been a long time since I've posted, or visited my friends' blogs, so I've been busily reading for 3 hours. (I started at my bed time. Why? Because I'm a dork.) One friend had a lot of posts I hadn't read. So many that when I finally got back to the ones that I had read I had to check the comments to see if I had posted on it to make sure to myself that I had actually read it before. And then what do I do? I spend more time reading the posts that I made previously on her blog and thinking to myself, "Yeah. I really do like the way I write." Does anyone else do that? Not necessarily their own comments on other's blogs, but re-reading things they have written in the past that they stumble across that have absolutely no bearing on their current life just because they really like their own writing voice? I'm really not trying to brag, I have no idea what other people think of what I write, and it doesn't really matter (except that secretly I want everyone to like the way I write because I like it--that's why I wrote it that way--and so they should if they have good taste because obviously good taste=my taste). Basically I'm just wondering if I am the only dork out there who secretly revels in the perception of their own greatness but would never tell anyone else about it because that would be pride. Except now I am telling everyone else about it and I think the biggest dork that I am is that this is what I am writing about even after all the weeks of things that I have been writing in my head and meaning to post but not having gotten to. Maybe someday I will stop being so prideful and write because it might be interesting to others, not only to get an itchy thought out of my mind.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Stupid Things

Have you ever done something stupid, but realized that doing it probably just saved you doing something else stupid, just not immediately stupid and so you would have let yourself do it and only regreted it afterward? This is what I did today:

I needed to take a shower. I had just finished talking to my sister (who lives upstairs) and called up, "I'm going to take a shower now," collected my clothes, and headed to the bathroom. While there, getting ready for the shower, I opened the Reader's Digest that lives on the back of the toilet to entertain me. Somehow in the brief minutes it took me to be ready to actually step into the shower, I let myself slip from the mindset of, "I have lots to do, including washing my hair, so I am going to be quick and not soak in the tub," to "I think it would be OK if I just kept reading this article while I step into the tub and get the water to the right temperature and maybe sit down and warm up for a while before actually showering," which inevitably leads to an extended soak in the tub, occasionally accompanied by an impromptu and unintended nap, which accomplishes so much less refreshment than an official nap on the couch or in bed because my subconsious knows the whole time I must keep the most uncomfortable position in order to prevent total relaxation and hence, drowning. While I was just resigning myself to this fate because I am very weak when I am reading, I felt the water temperature coming out of the faucet and my hand involuntarily closed around the shower-diverting lever and pulled it. So there I was, standing under the shower head with a magazine in my hand and the shower curtain wide open as the water unexpectedly cascaded down from above me. I got the paper out of the way with only a few drops and the curtain closed before too much flooded the room and began to berate myself until I realized that at least that moment of supidity had saved me from the stupidity of an indolence induced soak and the attendant dissatisfaction with myself at the wasted time and lack of fulfilment occasioned by poor sleep and an inferior cleanliness (because I took all my time relaxing, I had none left to scrub...). LIfe's little quirks....

The other stupidity: I knew my sister had a couple of loads of laundry to do today and that she had put one in a little while earlier, but I thought that it had been long enough that it was probably washed and I could shower without sharing water (we have a rather feeble water heater). I also knew that my sister would be wanting to shower this afternoon because we had worked out together earlier and both of us had finally just put our babies down for a nap. However, I forged ahead. I love to stand under a torrent of scalding hot water and bask in the near burning of it as it heats me through to the point that I finally want to turn it off, so when the water temperature started to fade even though I had it turned straight-hot, I turned it off to give it a few minutes to re-charge before I continued. That was when I heard the shower on upstairs. Hmm. Perhaps I should have made sure Neoma actually heard me when I called up that I would be showering. A moment later I heard the washing machine in the garage start to agitate. Hmm. Perhaps I should have made sure that the load of laundry was actually done, too. Stupidity, stupidity. I chalked it all up to my own stupidity.

I finished the shower quickly (and unsatisfactorily--no hot water left to surfeit my craving). It was luck I did cut it short because I exited to bathroom to find Willow wailing lustily from her room where she had awakened (entirely to early, in my opinion) from her afternoon nap. Shortly after I got her up, Neoma came downstairs with dripping hair and I asked if she realized that we were showering at the same time. Her response was, "Yeah, um, so...I realized after I got in the shower that probably when you said, 'I'm getting in the shower now,' you really meant, 'Now would be a bad time for you to put in another load of laundry and get in the shower, too.'" It is nice to know I am not the only one in the family who suffers from temporary stupidity.

My future life

A couple friends of mine just posted their life plans (or at least one did and the other, in response, posted his male attempt at detailed life planning). In all fairness to him, I don't think detailed life planning is an exclusively female trait, or at least not a universal female trait. This is my life plan as of now:
1) Kevin comes home.
2) Kevin is officially hired by this new company so we don't have to wonder how long our savings will last anymore.
3) We live happily ever after.

I don't do detailed life plans very well, at least not that are very large in scope. I have ways I want specific events to occur, but they don't all entwine in one comprehensive whole. I was planning in deep detail my dream house for a while, really trying to design something that would practically meet all our needs and desires, for both of us, so that someday when we are rich, we would actually have the plan of what we wanted to build, but then during one of the discussions of design, Kevin decided that actually he would like to build a castle, and trying to design a modernly convenient and structurally sound castle with as much historical intergrity as possible (the only way I can justify the extravagence of a personal castle is if it is designed also as a teaching tool for the betterment of my community) while keeping it within the range of financial possibility entirely overwhelmed me. So I gave up.

The end.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Now an International Unsuccess!!!

So I was just looking at my google analytics, which I obsess over, even though it doesn't really tell me much different day to day and I never do anything different in response to the information it gives me, and noticed that on the "map overlay," which shows where people who view my blog are viewing it from, has 3 countries besides the united states highlighted (albeit in a very, very faint green). This is amazing. This is increadible. This is fantastic! Then I noted that each of the 3 (one from Canada, one from the UK, and one from Sweden), individually and collectively, had an average time on site of 0.0 seconds. Do you realize how significant this is? Not only am I now an internationally viewed blog, I am unsuccessfully internationally viewed blog! I am rising in the world!

And now to consumate the failure of this post, here is Willow unsuccessfully performing "Daddy's Homecoming":

I still haven't gotten her to stand still and do the actions for the camera yet. Now she just runs away for a good game whenever I turn it on. We are working on this one for when Daddy really does come home in a couple of weeks. (Enjoy the preview, Kevin!)

Hey, here's a question: If Kevin accesses my blog from off the coast of Trinidad, how come the Atlantic Ocean isn't highlighted? Maybe it knows he is secretly American....

Sunday, September 28, 2008


What are these magical objects that so enthrall our little ones? Their powers exceed that of food, drink, soft words, and motherly cuddling. The mere mention is enough to send a child into a fit of hysterics until it is produced or many minutes of distraction have passed. Both my sister and I have the rule for our 1 1/2 year olds that they only get it in bed or other places where they are supposed to sit quietly and/or be asleep (the carseat, stroller, sacrament meeting). Generally the babies are OK with this, and it is amazing how agreeable Willow is about going to bed when it means she gets a binky.

Anyway, the whole reason for this post is just to share a funny anecdote: Yesterday I got Willow up in the morning and, as usual, her binky had disappeared from her mouth sometime during the night. I didn't think about it, planning to scrounge under the bed for it later. As I was carrying her upstairs she started grabbing at her crotch and saying "bee-kee, bee-kee." I felt around her diaper, and sure enough, inside the body of her still-zipped up one piece pajamas was the binky she went to bed with. I don't know how she managed that one, especially since I have been putting her to bed with a one piece sleeper on and a shirt over the top of it so she won't unzip it, take it off, and freeze the night away. She can't zip them back up once they are unzipped. The funny duck. I love my babe.

The other binky funny--My nephew has his own vocal excaimation point that he adds on to things he is very emphatic about. If he is really excited or insistent on something, he will tack "da-da-da-da" on the end of it. It is really funny when he is anxiously insisting on a binky, or "bee-da" as he calls it. "Bee-da-da-da-da-da! Bee-da-da-da-da!" It was just today that his dad learned that he wasn't actually saying "Please Daddy" with that phrase. He was never able to give him what he wanted, because he only heard "please, please, please" but never please what.

I am a Good Mom

Tonight when I went to change Willow's second poopy diaper in half an hour, I noticed that she was even redder than the first time, begining to develop diaper rash. At the first touch of a wet wipe she started screaming and writhing in pain. So I stopped trying to wipe her off, stripped her down and ran a warm sinkful of water to let her sit in and clean her up instead of using wipes. She loved it.

No, there's no funny punch line tonight, I just needed to get credit for my extra effort that Willow won't remember and no one else knows about. Yay! Mommy Brownie Points for me!

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Some random things and Willow

Willow has started occasionally using a potty. She doesn' tactually ask to use it when she needs to go, but she will sometimes go pee in it when I let her sit on it during a diaper change. I would also let her sit on it while I was going to the bathroom but discovered the other evening that that is a very bad idea. Although her body is capable of relieving itself, she is not yet disciplined enough not to play in it afterward. And when I am otherwise occupied, this causes big problems. So, from now on, she has to wait until I am done! Once, while I was washing my hands, she pulled the hand towel off the rack and started wiping herself with it. That one went into the laundry. Then there is the facination with toilet paper. She is having a hard time understanding that it is not a toy so you don't get it when you go pretend peepee. And she is very particular about where it goes after she uses it--her little potty, the big potty, or the garbage can (for when she gets some while she is dry). Each place is OK occasionally, but if it gets put in what she thinks is the wrong one for the occasion, she will try to fish it out. Oh, the joys.

Willow has almost all her teeth in, and she will show them to you here:

This is a picture Willow took of me. I had to be close enough to help her finger find the right button and press it hard enough, so I looks pretty much like a self-portrait.

The new baby is kicking and kicking, and I realized something about the arbitrary gender my mind assigns to the baby I am growing (as I'm sure happens in the mind of all other pregnant women who don't know what they are having). I did the same thing with Willow--although I know I don't know, when I am first pregnant, I just feel like it is a girl, and those are the gender pronouns that come out of my mouth when I am talking about it. But as soon as it starts kicking regularly, it becomes a boy, and without any conscious shift of thought, male pronouns entirely replace the female ones. Somehow Willow transformed back into a girl for the ultrasound and stayed that way until she was born. But for now, this new baby is a boy.
I am waffling between wanting to find out about this one and not. With Willow we didn't necessarily want to find out, but our reasoning was that if the technician who did the ultrasound knew, then we wanted to know. We didn't want someone else to know what our baby was and not us. However, if the technician wasn't 100% positive about the gender identification, then we didn't want to know their guess. It would be worse, I think, to think you know what it is and be wrong--Any imput on that thought, Travis and Heather? However, my sister is also pregnant, and definitely wants to find out what hers is, so I feel like I will be unduely swayed by feelings of not wanting to be left out of her club of pregnant women who know what they are having. But for myself, I really don't want to know. Usually I have such strong convictions and no problem sticking to them, but I am entirely at sea with this, and Kevin is entirely at sea in South America. There are some conversations it is just better to have in person, like constant whining and flipflopping about a decision that doesn't really make a huge difference about anything anyway. sigh.

Saturday, September 20, 2008


This is my first knitting project. It is a little loose and floppy, especially on Willow. I have since knitted Willow a hat of the same yarn, Kevin a hat (of different yarn), and one mitten for Willow. I was going to knit two mittens, but I put the first one on her and then on Sam and they were running around playing with it, and now I can't find it to make sure that the other one is made with the same measurements. I think, perhaps I will just knit two new mittens, and then if we find the old one we can just have three in the set in case she loses one....

Willow is official

This is my 18-month old girl. Do you know what that means? Willow goes to nursery (at church--the youngest children's class)! It is wonderful. Since I have had callings at church in the primary (3-11 year olds' classes) for most of her life, Kevin has had charge of her for the two class hours in general. However, since his being away, my sister has taken charge of her for those hours. In a stroke of luck, her little boy (a month older than my girl) started nursery just the week before Kevin left, so she didn't have to wrangle 2 toddlers and try to attend to class as well. But now that Willow is in nursery, we are both off the hook.

Willow would not sit up straight for this series of pictures for more than a few moments. Most of the pictures are of her laying down next to Eeyore or with Eeyore on top of her. I sure do love her.

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Because Sometimes I Leave Out Important Things

So, someone commented and I realized maybe I never said--Kevin is out of the country right now. He is working off the coast of Trinidad/Tobego, which is an island northwest of Venesuela. He is on a trial run with a company that runs Remotely Operated (Submarine) Vehicles--ROV's. They are about the size of a loveseat and weight around 600 lbs. They are connected to the ship with a tethering cord which transfers power as well as the controlling and sensory information to/from the control room on the ship. It's like playing an enormous video game--only a lot more expensive if you lose.

Apparently everyone thinks Kevin is amazing (I could have told you that!), so it is looking really good that they will want to hire him fulltime after this job is through. "Full time" means that they will pay him a retainer and benefits all year round and he agrees to go out on jobs for them periodically, for which they will pay him lots and lots more. Seeing as the monthly retainer plus benefits is about equal to what he makes in a single month at his previous job, we didn't feel we had much to lose. The nice thing is that he is free to refuse any specific job, so he can be home for important events (like, oh, say, a baby being born).

He left on the 10th of August and is slated to be back the end of September. That is slated as in erasable--he could possibly be out 2-3 weeks longer. No one really knows at this point. There are too many variables including weather, equipment (mal)functioning, and budget, among others.

The work they are doing is inspecting oil rigs/platforms for BP. They are on a special boat that has water jets and fans build into the stem and stern that are hooked up to a GPS to keep them in exactly the same place constantly. This enables them to sit very close to, but not touching the rigs they are inspecting and also not drift to a degree that impairs the mobility of the ROV tethered to them. So there were big problems when one of the ROV's got wedged between the ocean floor and a pipe from the rig, and the ships positioning equipment started malfunctioning. They were trying to figure out whether they had time to get the ROV out or whether they needed to just cut the cord and get away before they drifted into the platform when the cord got caught on a submerged I-beam and snapped. Question answered. They had to leave the ROV there and head back to port for a week of waiting for repair parts. They are finally out again and in position to recover the ROV using the second one that they have, but have not yet had favorable enough currents in the area of the lost sub. At least they know it is still where they left it.

Kevin has had a good time using his various talents and skills to help with not just the job he was sent to do, but also random things around the ship. He has repaired a washer and drier and was called upon to help the chief engineer find out what was making the walk-in refridgerator in the galley suddenly start warming up. The temperature in the fridge was in the 50s when he stepped into it and guess what he found--the thermostat had been turned up to 60. The engineer felt pretty dumb about needing help on that one and he and Kevin had a good laugh togther. Kevin has also made himself useful adjusting lights, scraping and re-painting rusted bits of the deck, repairing air conditioners, setting up computer networking systems, and troubleshooting computer problems. He can't bear to be idle when he's on the clock, even when conditions completely out of his control have made it impossible to do the work they are there for. This is why everyone loves him, except maybe some of the others on his crew who feel shamed by his work ethic. But Kevin is entirely too genial to really dislike personally, even for them.

Pictures will have to wait until I talk to Kevin again and he can help me get them, but they will also come soon.

Monday, September 1, 2008

Time for a new post

I have to keep this up so I can maintain my button on Travis' blog. Maybe someday I'll get around to linking all my friends' blogs from here, too.

Anyway, life continues as usual (at least the usual of being Kevin-less for the time being). I've decided to learn to knit. Actually, re-learn to knit. I knitted a barbie scarf once when I was about 10. It was a barbie scarf because that was the only thing it was big enough to be at the point I decided I was done. Actually, I don' t think I even ever took it off the needles. So I decided to take up knitting again and actually learn how to make things a couple of weeks ago. I've crocheted for a long time and can do lots of things with it, but there are some things that are just better done with knitting needles (i.e. hats, socks, anything you want to be stretchy). I hadn't gotten around to looking for needles at a fabric store yet, however, when I went to a neighbor's garage sale and found a whole bag with 7 to 10 sets of knitting needles as well as some basic patterns, yarn, and even a few crochet hooks (Yes! you can never have enough of those!) the whole caboodle for about what I could buy one set of needles for. I snatched it up and have been knitting and purling away for a couple hours a day this week. I'll let you know when I have something.

This weekend we were supposed to go camping out on the Washington coast with a bunch of our family that is in the area. However, rain threatened and we quailed. It has been extremely wet this August. Usually August is our one dry month. So we ended up inviting everyone to camp out here in our house. We had about 20-ish people from Thursday to Saturday including a slew of little kids who camped in a tent in our living room and roasted marshmallows at the gas fireplace.

We went to the beach on Friday and the sun came out just long enough to get in the water. Willow loved it, even though the water was freezing and she got a scrape on the back of her leg from sitting on a barnacle. She would stand and let the waves crash into her legs and then all of a sudden be very very done and need to be picked up. But it didn't take long before she wanted to get down again and feel the water crash into her. That day she started saying "wadi" instead of "wa-wa" for water. This feels like a very significant linguistic advancement to me.
I love my Kevin. He keeps promising me pictures from Trinidad, but I haven't gotten any yet, so you get some pictures from when he was still home. Isn't he hot? In any case, he seems to be having a marvelous time, really enjoying his work. I am excited for him to have this opportunity and I am excited for him to be home when he gets home. He's pretty much the most amazing man I know. And he's also incredibly attractive. I'm pretty much the luckiest woman I know.

My sister just came downstairs and wanted the babies to come back up with her. She put both of her hands near her face and crooked her forefingers at them to say, "Come here." Willow must have thought she was waving at first because she put her hand right next to her face and did an overhand wave, but when she saw that Neoma's fingers were different, she closed all her fingers but her pointer and just waved with it instead. It was hilariously adorable. I tried to get a video of her doing it again, but she had her own new take on it this time. Before that in the video is her "happy dance." She does this spontaneously whenever she is really excited about something. Usually this is when I come to get her out of her crib or in between bites of an exceedingly delicious treat.

I pretty much love my family. And my life. And M & M's. (That is because a bag of them is sitting right next to me.)

I think I must be in love with Kevin. This is why: I write him letters. I can't send them to him, but I write them, and I will give them to him when he gets back. I also write him e-mails, which he can get, but for the first time in my life I feel compelled to write down what I think and feel to a person that I am not with with a real pen on real, pretty stationery. I have tried to be a good letter writer before, but have never been very successful at it. I have multiple letters that I wrote and never finished and so never sent, all the way back from when my older siblings were on missions. I was never compelled enough to do it and finish it, no matter how much I wanted to be. But now I am. It is very easy and I don't have to battle my own desires to write and write and finish the letters. I lay in bed at night and write to him instead of going to sleep. They are love letters. Some of them are mushy, but not all of them. And if this is Kevin reading, yes, this is what I was alluding to keeping me up at night.

The end for today.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Screaming and shushing fits

Willow, when she is faced with something she does not want, in any form, has started screaming, "Ow, Ow, Ooooooowwwwww!" This happens when she gets something taken away, when she has to put on her diaper instead of continuing to sit on the potty she has never successfully used, when she is repremanded for hitting Samuel, when thinks you are going to put her to bed, all the time.

The cute thing she has started doing is hiding under a blanket, and when you join her there she will immediately put her finger to her lips and say, "Shhhh. Shhhh," continuously. It is very adorable. However, it does not prevent her from echoing the last words of whoever is looking for her. She hears, "Where is she?" and from under the blanket (or under the tablecloth) comes "issee?" or "Where did she go?" prompts, "Go?" What can I say, I think she is a genius at adorable.
When I was helping Neoma plan a bridal shower, we decided we couldn't imagine anything cuter than two little babies dressed like a bride and groom, and since we just happend to have a little girl baby and a little boy baby, we did it. I still don't have all the pictures on my computer, so you may get more later.
Then we took family pictures.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Echos and other yelling fits

Willow discovered echos yesterday. It came in the form of her yelling at the top of her lungs toward the exercise ball on a high shelf near our computer. The ball creates a strange tinny echo when spoken into or yelled at, and Willow has been fascinated by this. I don't think she has pinpointed the source of the sound, but she really enjoys yelling at the ceiling right now.
Another favorite yelling place is on the deck upstairs. There is a deck off the dining room and it has a couple of plastic patio chairs stacked in one corner. The babies have learned to open the sliding glass door and screen if they are not locked and love playing in the fallen leaves and occasional apple that is to be found out there. As there is no way off the deck we let them play out there with only audio supervision. The funniest thing is when I suddenly hear Willow bellowing wordlessly with a husky man-voice and worry that she is berating Sam for something, only to go check on them and find that she has clambered onto the patio chairs and is leaning against the railing calling out her dominance to the empty yard. I think she learned this from the bassett hound that used to live next door.
On another echoing note, Willow, in exercising and expanding her budding vocabulary, has started echoing the last word of most everyting I say to her. It is very adorable. And now it is half an hour past bed time. So I will stop being a blogger and go be a good mom.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Google Analytics

I remember a friend of mine talking about being able to see how many people visited her blog and where they were from and things like that. Knowing that she used the same blogging program as I did, I was at a loss as to how she did that. (I am not ashamed to add, I was also a little jealous.) Then the other day she brought it up again and I noted that she discussed it as Google Analytics, which I googled, and *ding* found exactly what she had been using. I hastened to set up my own account, and it has been running for about 1 week. I am very happy to report that 6 entirely discrete individuals have viewed this page in the last week, which means 5 of them were not me! This is very exciting, because I was a little bit worried that no one would ever look at it again since it has experienced a 2 1/2 month dearth of fresh posting.
And now you know and I know the secret pattern of my blogging style--extreme feast or famine. 3 or 5 posts in one day, and then nothing for months. I just like to keep you guessing, randomly rewarding the blog checking behavior. That's what makes gambling so addictive, isn't it?
This one I am a little embarassed to admit: On an Analytics report, it shows a world map with places highlighted in green from whence visitors visited. When I looked at it today, I got very excited to see Alaska highlighted as well as the contiguous states. I briefly wracked my brain to determine who might care about me in Alaska, and it wasn't even until sometime after I gave up on that that I suddenly realized that Alaska was highlighted simply because it is a part of the United States. The other states were not highlighted individually, so it was only counting by countries. Then I felt a little silly. But who knows? Maybe someone from Alaska did visit my blog. If you did, please comment and justify me.

My Baby is Sad

and I'm letting her cry. Normally this would not bother me, but today I am feeling like a bad mom. This is why:
I was just gone for the last 5 days as a councilor for our church's girls' camp. This is the first time Willow has not seen me for an entire day, let alone 5.
Her daddy is also out of town, so she was watched alternatly by her uncle and a stranger.
I promised myself that I would give her all the extra cuddling she needed over the next several days until she got back to normal in the not feeling abandoned department.
I never got around to putting her down for a nap this morning, therefore her overtiredness is entirely my fault.
I never put her down for a nap this afternoon and so she is still overtired and doesn't know whether she is supposed to be napping or sleeping for the night, and I don't either, so I am not sure how long to let her cry.
I want to be hanging out online instead of hanging out with her because I have not been able to contact my husband since I got home yesterday afternoon and this is my only method of communication with him.
Instead of doing anything about feeling like a bad mom, I am just telling the world about it.

Why I love and hate Abreva

So apparently I have herpes. Who knew. I've probably had it for a long time. I probably got it as a child from my mother. To clarify--I do mean oral herpes, i.e. cold sores, fever blisters, crusty lips of death, whatever you prefer to call them. Apparently herpes is often contracted as a child and remains dormant until adulthood. I am now officially an adult, because I had my first outbreak earlier this year. They have been frequent and ferocious. OK, the first one was ferocious, the others, though frequent, much less ferocious.
And I believe that is all thanks to a wonderful product called Abreva. I love it. I am assuming it is working because my outbreaks are much shorter (2-4 days instead of 12). I really mostly only love it. However, I do have a gripe against the company that makes it.
I misplaced my first tube of Abreva, which is smaller than a baby carrot stick. Although puny looking, it contains enough of the stuff to last for probably a year. As I felt another cold sore coming on and was unable to find it, I went to the store to buy a new tube. When I found it on the aisle, I saw not only the original tiny tube, but also a "new and improved pump-action" dispenser. This is roughly the size of a tube of chapstick--not quite as easy to lose. It contained the same amount of product as the tube and cost only 10 cents more. I debated the merits of this new option, and finally got it because it would be more difficult to misplace, and hey, it must be significantly better if it was new and more expensive (it was also on sale, or it would have been even more more expensive).
This is my gripe. There is nothing good about a pump-action dispenser. It takes several pumps to prime, and so you never know which pump it will actually start coming out on, and when it does come, one pump dispenses about 3 times as much as you need, and there is no way to put it back. It is just wasted. And mostly I hate that I fell for the "newer must be better" without having any problem with what I already had. I have finally mastered the "controlled pump," which is particularly difficult with this little thing, and can usually dispense a half-pump with reasonably consistent success.
Otherwise, I love it entirely. The End.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Ha Ha!

So, hopefully I've told everyone that wants to hear it in person because here goes: I'm pregnant! Ta-da!! Baby will be due Jan-Feb-ish next year. I waited until the first trimester was over last time, and I don't feel any need to do that this time. I'll just have to post if anything adverse happens as well. My older sister, Elizabeth decided not to tell anyone until after the first trimester with her first pregnancy, just in case anything happened. And it did. She miscarried and she said it was even worse to go through a miscarriage and not to have anyone know why you are so upset than to have to tell people that you are no longer pregnant. I think I would probably feel the same way. So here is the announcement. Happy days!

Monday, May 12, 2008

Mother's Day

I love my husband. Yesterday morning he made me breadfast in bed, which is probably fairly standard for most husbands on Mother's day. It included milk, orange juice, and hot chocolate, as well as a flower picked from the front yard in a vase. What was suprising and wonderful was that while I was eating, he seranaded me while playing the guitar. This was probably one of the most romantic things he has ever done for me. Oh, he can be very romantic when he tries, but it is not common.

I love my husband's singing voice. We sing in the ward (church) choir together, and he'll sing silly songs sometimes, but he doesn't ever sing to me. I asked him at one point if he would ever sing love songs to me, and as an example requested Annie's Song, by John Denver (You Fill Up My Senses). He said he wouldn't mind doing that, but didn't know all the words. So I found the lyrics and printed them for him. That was over a year ago, probably over two.

Then out of the blue for Mother's day, while our baby was still sleeping, he floored me with not only the complete song, but guitar accompanyment. Kevin doesn't really play the guitar. The only reason we have one around is because we are babysitting it for my brother on a mission. He had secretly pulled it out and taught himself this song. It thoroughly melted me.

The other thing Kevin gave me for mother's day was the oportunity to sit and write blog entries. That takes time, which I usually don't have. He didn't bother me, and he took care of Willow, and it was wonderful. *sigh* contented wife.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Some Willow pics

Because someone admired my baby garb, pride compelled me to post a few more complete pictures of it:

And here is the best picture of the curls I got:


I have recently read several disparaging opinions about the word blog. (For the record, not one of the 8 entries returned by a search on [where else would you look up the definition of blog?] rendered the spelling 'blog, although each did cite its origin as a shortened from of weblog.) I would like to state for the record that I like the word blog. I find it satisfyingly suitable and even onomatopoetic. What else would you call a repository for any and all to disgorge the half-digested ruminations of the mind. The place where they go, "Blaugh." and up it all comes. It is, of course, a blog. So I also enjoy all variants of the word: blogger, blogging, blogical. This is good. This is a good thing.

Promptings and Testimonies

Inspired by Thora's blog and Fast and Testimony meeting last Sunday, I wanted to sare some of my own recent thoughts.

The Holy spirit speaks to and prompts every person in a way that they can recognize. It does not feel the same to everyone. I know what the urging of the Spirit feels like to me. It is sort of an insistent hollowness in the pit of my stomach that reaches a strangle hold up through my chest as it gets stronger until I finally figure out what it is asking me to do and do it. The most frequent circumstance in which I know that I have felt such promptings is during Fast and Testimony meeting at church.

For those of you unfamiliar with the practices of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (the LDS Church), the first Sunday of every month is set aside as a day of fasting for its members, and time is given during the worship services that day for members of the congregation to rise and share their testimonies, or spiritual witnesses, of the things of the gospel they know to be true.

Often, during this meeting, I will feel the familiar niggling that suggests that I, too should share what I know. Sometimes I would feel a little afraid of standing in front of some hundred people or worry that I had nothing of value to say (no recent edifying experiences or intelligent insights or amusing anecdotes to share). Unfortunately I was often successful at staying in my seat. However, I don't think I can actually call that success of any sort. Though I succeeded at doing the thing I was trying to do, the thing I was trying to do was in itself a failure at what I should do.

I have since come to realize that I actually like standing and talking in front of large groups of people, and through counsel from church leaders I have realized that the most important thing that can be shared in a testimony is simple declaration of faith in the fundamentals of the Gospel: The divinity of Jesus Christ and His Atonement, the divine calling and direction of the leaders of the church, The truth of the Book of Mormon and Bible, the validity of the restoration of the fullness of the Gospel and the Priesthood in the latter days. Since I always know these, I always have something to say if I feel moved to share my testimony.

I have had one rational objection--that if I took time, it would mean someone else would not get to speak--that was often valid in wards I have been in previously (especially at BYU, where there is a mass uprising as soon as time is turned over to the congregation and people pour down to the front, to the seats reserved for those wanting to speak. If you don't get up and move in the first two minutes, all hope is lost, and not even everyone who went up to the front will be able to be accomodated in the time allowed--ususally more than 30 minutes). However, since leaving the Y, I have not been in a testimony meeting where we did not, at some point, sit for at least an entire minute in silence wondering who would get up next. As soon as we hit one of those points, I know my "I'm taking time from someone else" argument is entirely invalid.

So I have had relatively little trouble following promptings to testify recently. However, just the last couple of months, I have had a new problem doing so: Feeling like people hear too much from me and will get annoyed that I am always taking time in the meeting. It is amazing the ability of the Natural Man (a mortal's carnal and unholy tendancies) and his mentor Satan to find an argument against righteousness to adapt to any angle of action (or inaction). I know that I have felt a little embarassed sometimes for people in my ward (the congregation I worship with every Sunday) who appear at the pulpit every month to share their testimony, which often sounds exactly the same each time. I knew I would feel embarassed for myself if I were in their situation; embarassed that people would think that I am so full of myself I believe they need to hear from me every month.

But fear is the opposite of faith, and as I remember this, I realize that those doubts and demurs are a lack of faith. And I realize that I have ample faith to believe that if I am feeling prompted by the Spirit, it is what God wants me to do. Who am I to tell God that no one needs to hear from me again when he says they do? And who am I to fear offending men when I risk offending God by refusing to follow his direction? Besides, offence taken by men is entirely their problem, not mine (as long as the purpose of my actions is not to give it). With these thoughts in mind, it was suprizingly simple to stand and speak to everyone, even for the third time in a row last week.

However, as I started to feel the familiar nudge and the familiar nudge back of doubts to be conquered, I prayed within myself, "OK, Father, I will do it. But please let me know this time what I have to say that is so important." Previously, unless there was something particularly in mind accompanying the prompting to share, I would follow the councel in Doctrine and Covenants 84:85 "Neither take ye thought beforehand what ye shall say... and it shall be given you in the very hour..." and walk up to the front and wait for my mouth to be filled.

This time, I did not jump up right away (though I did pay attention to make sure I wouldn't miss my oportunity by waiting too long), but sat and pondered on my recent experiences and blessings from the Lord. I watched my 1 year old daughter, Willow, raise her water bottle to her ear and say, "Hi-i!" with exactly the same sing-song inflection I greet her every day. And I started down a path of thoughts that I eventually shared from the pulpit: I am amazed at this baby that loves so much to mimic her parents. She has recently started folding her arms when it is time to pray, just like we do. Oftentimes, we can see in her mimicry that she has no understanding of why we do the things we do. Ever since she has been old enough to notice the telephone, she will grab anything that she can heft with her little hand and hold it up to her ear and talk to it. I have seen her use everything from a tape measure to a piece of broccoli.. And thinking about it today, I was reminded of the scripture in Moses, quoting Adam when he was asked by an angel why he offered sacrifice to the Lord. He said simply, "I know not, save the Lord commanded me." Willow doesn't really know why we hold this little things up to our ear, but it is obviously very important to us, so it is very important to her. I wish that I could be more like that in my obedience to God's commandments and individual direction for my life. Never to ask "why" before being willing to comply. Don't get me wrong, I do believe it is important seek to understand everything, but comprehension should not be a precondition to submission. I am so grateful to be a mother, and for what motherhood teaches me about myself and my relationship to my Heavenly Father. I know that God loves me. I know that Jesus is the Christ. I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God and was directed by Him to restore the true church in this day. I know that Thomas S. Monson, president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is a prophet of God alive to day. I know that he recieves direction and councel from the Lord for us. I know that God has ordained families to bless and uplift us, to be a place where we can learn and be loved and children can be raised in a stable and wholesome home. I know that the Atonement of Christ is available to each of us to make up for our sins and give us the ability to be perfected. I know that the grace of the Lord is available on a daily basis to make up for our current imperfection. I love God with all my heart. I say this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Absurd Sorrows

I just wrote the title for this post, and then I thought I would check to make sure it was still true before I told you what it was. And lo and behold, it was no longer absolutely true! What it was is that every time I come to my blog, which is not very old, especially when I only get to it about once a week (and of course time doesn't pass for a blog when you aren't checking it, right?), when I come to my blog and scan down the posts, there are never any comments. And I am always sad about that, which is absurd. It is absurd because I haven't told anyone about my blog except my husband and my sister, who lives upstairs, so I tell her everything. I was sort of waiting until I had something of value said before making anouncements. I was hoping that the last post would be something of value, but I had to stop before it was very done.

But then I looked at it just now and Thora, my dear lovely new mother of 2, had found me of her own discovery (OK, I had posted a comment to her blog and it had a link to my blog, but that means she read my comment and I love her)! So now I am absurdly happy. And maybe if she was happy to find my blog, even though I had not mentaly reached the point of being ready to make it public, maybe others will want to know about it now, too. Maybe I could tell people...

But the original gist of this post was going to be something along the lines of "Aren't people so weird how they get depressed about things not happening when they never did the absolutely natural precurser to them happeneing (i.e. telling people about a blog they want to see comments on, or ever holding a conversation with a boy they want to ask them out, etc).

And this is a gramatical asside because I have a question perhaps someone can clarify for me--
When using parentesis, I think the proper punctuation is to put the period after the closing parenthesis if the parenthetical comment was included in the foregoing statment and not a sentence unto itself. If it comes after a complete sentence and is initself a complete sentence, then a period would go after the preceeding sentence and before the closing perenthesis at the end of the parenthetical sentence. Now this is my question: What do you do if you have a parenthetical situation of the first order, but the either the punctuation appropriate to the end of the parenthetical statement does not match that for the end of the entire sentence or you end your parenthetical statement with an abreviation or some other such thing that requires a period immediately following it? As in (etc.) or (etc.). or (etc). This perplexes me every time I run accross it. The end.

And yes, people are wierd. And I like them that way.

Sunday, May 4, 2008

This Time--With Pictures!

Contrary to all appearances, I actually started this blog to allow my friends to keep abreast of the events and emotions of my life. So here we go with the first real informational post:

My life so far:
I am married to a divine hunk of manhood (or manwiefhood), Kevin Vezzani. The foregoing description is entirely for his edification and delight. He really is my favorite person. I can't imagine a man more suited to me. I love him.

I have a heart-wrenchingly beautiful daughter, Willow Liliana, who is very good at being 1 year old. She likes to mimic her parents and is very good at melting down.

And this is all I have time for before church today.

Elusive Curls

Have you ever tried to get a good picture of the back of a small child's head? It is nearly impossible. Unless you just happen to find them utterly engrossed in something and sneak up from behind, but how often does that actually happen with a one-year-old? Especially when you have a digital camera that gives off an annoying little beep when it focusses, no matter how many settings you turn off. Willow knows that beep, and it will break her concentration on even the most all-consuming distractions. Immediately the head will whip around and spoil the darling shot of curl barely beginning to form at the nape of her neck.

I am excrucatingly fond of these curls, but can never seem to get a good picture of them. They are not very big, but they are mine, at least, they are Willow's who is mine insofar as I am her mother. But Willow doesn't even know they exist, let alone their melting power of cuteness, so they are also mine because I appreciate them. If I ever do get that shot, I'll post it.

The Smell of Yogurt

So, I just had one of those moments where I did something without really thinking about it and afterward thought, "Wow, that was an absurd thing to do that never would have happened to a non-mom."

I am sitting at the computer reading other people's blogs (hence why my first thought was to blog this) with Willow on my lap. I suddenly inhale the delicious fragrance of strawberry yogurt (I'm fasting, OK!) and look down to see that Willow has discovered the abandoned foil lid of an empty yogurt container. I remove it from her mouth asking (as if I didn't know), "What do you have?" Then I put it to my nose, inhale deeply (actually because I wanted to), and say, "Mmmmmm! Yummy!" and put the lid back in hermouth.

Shortly after, Willow dropps it on the floor. I guess things aren't as interesting when Momma approves.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Lurkers Welcome

A friend of mine recently confessed in her blog that she is a Lurker--one who surfs other's blogs and sticks around on interesting ones, checking back often for new posts, savoring the lives of strangers, and often longing to comment, but never doing so for fear of frightening the other bloggers with the knowledge that compele strangers are savoring their lives. I just want to officially make clear that I would welcome such frightening comments, or lack of comments if you are a hard-core lurker unable to overcome your fear of offence. Lurk away. That's why I have a blog. If you are able to overcome your fear, please do comment on anything to which you feel so inclined. I am excited at the prospect of opening dialog with bloggers (and lurkers) as yet unknown to me. I also welcome comments from people who are known to me. Especially my friends. I like you guys.

Complete Thoughts and Other Things I Don't Promise

You may wonder why I ended my post when the baby fussed instead of saving it to finish at a later time. So do I. But that's what I did, and I never promised complete posts. Nor do I promise coherence. Nor do I promise consistend incoherence, as that can also be something one comes to expect. But it is now tomorrow morning, and I have already forgot most of what I thought I was going to continue saying about the last thing I said so I decided not to try to keep saying it. Perhaps I do promise inconsistency, but not consistent inconsistency (see "consistent incoherence," above). I really don't plan to spend most of my time meta-blogging (blogging about blogging--though I don't promise not to), but I always feel better about new types of conversations after establishing some sort of understanding about what the converstions type entails. I think... Sometimes I also ramble emphatically and then suddenly realize I don't actually care about things I was discribing as much as I just came across as doing. Sometimes I even realize I have been explaining and arguing for something I don't actually agree with. Anyway, something I do plan on doing is breaking up posts when I have multiple topics, so you, my dear reader, can know at a glance just how much I have to say on a given topic before deciding whether you want to read it (or at least how much I was able to get said before life inturrupted), but I don't promise.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Blogging for Unsuccess

I don't actually know what the guidelines for creating a successful blog are. Actually, I don't even know what a "successful blog" means. That was what turned me off of the idea in the first place. "If I were to have a blog," I thought, "The mere fact of having it would, I think, fulfill all my purpose in creating it" (i.e. to have somewhere to post my thoughts, to have a place that people could read about me if they want to, to have a dumping ground for my 4 bazillion digital photos, etc). but aparently, simply fulfilling the purpose of creation is not enough to constitute success. And now my baby is telling me she is ready for a nap. Metabloggical ramblings must cease for the time being. Ah, such is the blogging life of a young mother.