Goodbye Comfort Zone, It's Been Swell

The mother's room at church is a happening place. One woman told me that there were 38 babies born in the ward last year. That's a lot of babies that need to nurse. In fact, I've been more successful meeting people in the mother's room than I have anywhere else in the ward.

This Sunday it was a little calmer than usual. It was just me and one other mom. We started talking and discovered that her son was just a few weeks younger than Cooper. We both finished up at the same time. As I was gathering my stuff together I did something that I don't usually do. I invited her family over for a playdate for yesterday. This is the first time that I've invited someone over that I don't really know. I think she tried to decline, but I just acted naive and asked what time was good for her.

And then I worried about it all week. Some of those worries included: Was she just being polite? Is it going to be awkward? Will the kids play well together? Will they even care? Do I come off as weird for inviting over a family that I don't know? Should I call and cancel?

Yesterday morning we were ready to go at the designated time. And we waited. After ten minutes I told Peter that I didn't think they were coming. It's much harder to think that your child is being rejected than it is to be rejected yourself. He was okay, although he did ask if I was sad.

But then there was a knock on the door. I should remember that it takes me forever to get anywhere with two kids and that it probably takes other people a long time as well. So we weren't stood up after all. Which was nice. The visit was pleasant, although Peter gets a little (read: majorly) intense when other kids are over. We're working on it.

Anyway, toward the end the mom told me how she and a few other moms in the ward get together three mornings a week at the complex clubhouse to exercise. I made some comment about how that must be nice. And then she asked if I wanted to join them. Now this is tough for me. I really want to make friends in the ward and have been having kind of a ridiculously hard time (hold on one minute while I hold a mini pity party for myself...okay, done). And I haven't been getting any kind of physical activity, except for our dancing parties, so the exercise would be really good for me. But I've never been a gym-going girl. And I don't have any workout clothes that fit. (I do have some old dance pants that I insisted on wearing when I was pregnant, thus stretching them way out, that might work if I could rig them so they won't fall off.)

But I said yes. I'm supposed to be down at the clubhouse with the boys at 9:30.

Wish me luck.

Crocodile Dog

Good Eats

I'm a sucker a for recipes. Cookbooks, cooking shows, recipe emails, I love them all. Part of it is that I need to come up with dinner every night. The other part is that I discovered recently that I like to cook. Those of you that have eaten my food (mostly any former roommates that had to suffer through experimental noodle dishes) may be surprised by this. I'm still at the stage where I need to use a recipe. I can't just taste a dish and know what it's missing. Bryan can do this. It's kind of intimidating cooking for such a natural.

The Food Network is one of two channels that Peter knows. (The other is PBS.) There were a few times when Cooper was new that I needed to feed him and sit still and not worry about Peter destroying things. My solution? Yeah, we'd watch 20 minutes of the Food Network. Peter often conducts his own cooking show in his room. Anyway, I dig the Food Network.


That brings me to my favorite cooking show. Good Eats. It appeals to my desire for comedy and entertainment and Bryan's penchant for science. And we both like food. Alton Brown brings the funny while explaining the chemistry and the history behind whatever food he's focusing on for the day. For instance, we learned that my least favorite food, lentils, is a nutritional wunderkind, and that Bryan's least favorite food, eggplant, has almost no nutritional value whatsoever. Which is probably part of why Bryan likes the show so much.

It happens to be on while we're waiting for Cooper to go to sleep. Which is why I'm writing a whole post about it. And also because it's awesome.

Does He Know Something I Don't?

*Peter's been telling me about his sister. He's mentioned her a number of times recently. I keep asking what her name is, but he hasn't told me. I've tried to convince him that he doesn't have a sister, he has a brother. Today he told me that after he's a missionary and gets married, he's going to have a sister.

"You mean a daughter, " I told him.
"No, a sister."

I don't know where that sister is going to come from, considering that by that time I'll be 44, and I'd really like to be done having kids by that time.

I've been asked by a number of people recently how many kids we're going to have. My answer is that we don't have a set number in mind. That doesn't mean that we're going to follow the path of the Duggars (the thought alone is exhausting), we just don't want to say a number and announce that that is all and there will be no more.

I'll be honest, I think I'm a mom of boys. Maybe I'll get a girl, but I'm not holding my breath. I love having boys. But apparently Peter thinks he'll have a sister someday.

Just not any day soon.

* After I wrote this I realized it came across as kind of judgmental. Please know that this is just what our family has decided to do. I fully respect the right of parents to decide how many kids they will have, whether it's one child or ten children.

My Grandma is Cooler Than Your Grandma

My Grandma Bonnie at Adham-Ondi-Ahman in 2007.

No offense, your grandma might be really fun, but mine is cooler. Need proof?

1. My Grandma writes. She's been keeping a journal, writing poems and short stories for years. Last year she started a blog. That's right, my grandma has a blog. You should read it. Here.
2. My grandma has always been an athlete. Sadly, none of her skills passed on to me, but we're hoping that the boys get something. Anyway, she taught PE and coached for 30 years. She's still active. Not only does she go to the gym, but she also plays ping-pong with (and beats) the missionaries that live in the apartment behind her house.
3. She stays active in another way: she has a Wii. And she plays it. And she invites her friends over and they play the Wii too. What's more, she's good. Apparently she's a formidable tennis opponent.
4. In 2007 she and my sister decided on a Thursday to take a road trip. They left the following Monday. They started in southern California, went all the way up to Maine, down to Georgia, stopped at a number of church history sites, drove through Manhattan (which was crazy), visited National Parks, and monuments, and even stayed with me for two weeks. My grandma road tripped across the whole country! I think that's awesome.
5. Speaking of traveling, she leaves for a mini-cruise today. She travels by land and by sea.

I could go on and talk about her paintings, her cooking, her mad thrift-store-shopping skills, but I'll end by saying that the best thing about my grandma is how much she loves her family.

The Lights Are On, But Nobody's Home

I made a sad realization this week. When Bryan starts explaining how things work (which is often) I automatically stop listening. I also tune out scientific explanations. This is bad for a number of reasons:

1. I'm severely limiting my ability to learn
2. I'm not giving Bryan the courtesy of listening when he talks about things that are important to him
3. He's probably giving me the answer to something Peter will ask tomorrow
4. I want him to listen when I talk, so I should listen to him
5. Guilt

He was telling me something as I opened the window to write this post. I stopped what I was doing and looked at him. He thought I was telling him to hurry up so I could write. Actually, I was wondering whether or not I had been paying attention. Turns out I had.

Now, I love learning news things and Bryan is a fountain of little known facts, so it makes sense that I would want to soak in everything he says. How can I get my brain to stay focused?

Good Morning Mr. President

The boys and I watched the inauguration on Tuesday. I told Peter that while I don't agree with much of what Obama says (gee, I think that's the first time I've shared that on here, I may have just lost some friends) I think it's important to support the office of the President of the United States of America. I also told him that not everyone lives in a country where the people can elect a president. So we watched Joe Biden get sworn in as VP, listened to a gorgeous arrangement of Tis a Gift, saw Barrack Obama take the oath of office, and listened to his speech. Then I turned off the TV because it had been on way longer than usual, so I missed what I hear was a rather exciting Benediction.

I tried to do other patriotic things throughout the day. We read:



and:



and we talked a little bit about the what the President does.

That night I helped Peter say his personal prayers. He's at the point in learning to pray that he still needs some help, but he also says some things on his own. This is how it went on Tuesday:

Me:(prompting) Please help me to be kind.
Peter: Please help me to be kind.
Me:(prompting) Please help me to obey.
Peter: Please help me to obey.
Me:(prompting) Please help-
Peter: Please help me to be President.

Huh. That's not actually what I was going to prompt him to say next, but it's good to know what you want.

Where Oh Where Has My Little Bar Gone?

Question: Is anyone missing the little bar just above the large, new-post text window in blogger that lets you change the size of your text and add pictures? Is it just me? Does anyone know how to get it back? Is it blogger, or did I break something?

I had a better post planned but, darn it, I want to add pictures without going through Picasa. I love Picasa, I just don't want to use it for every post.

That is all.

I Enjoy Being a Girl

Usually when I get my haircut I explain a few things to the hairstylist. The first is that I have very fine hair and I want to look like I don't. The second is that I spend little to no time doing my hair in the mornings. I blow-dry it when I'm being fancy. That's all. Then the stylist proceeds to cut my hair. Very quickly.

This time I told her that I wanted a change. My hair was just long. It didn't have much shape and I wanted something new. I failed to mention the whole low maintenance thing, although I did talk about how fine it is. I also mentioned that I'd been thinking about bangs for a long time. She got all excited when I said I wanted something new. And then she started cutting. And cutting. And cutting. It was the longest haircut I've ever had. In my mind I kept thinking, "Wow, this is taking way longer than usual. It's like she cares about the outcome. Gee, that's kind of nice."

When she was done cutting she asked if it was okay if she styled it. I agreed and she pulled out the "product". It was a root booster or something. Then she blew it dry using a round brush. While I'm not particularly adept at using them, I understand what that process is meant to achieve. But then she did something completely foreign to me.

She pulled out the flat-iron.

I have really straight hair. (Except for these two chunks right at the nape of my neck that curl into ringlets, but who's going to look there?)(That reminds me of when I was younger and we'd be getting ready to go out somewhere and my Mom would say, "Margot, just grab any socks you can find. It doesn't matter which ones, no one looks at your socks." This isn't true because I ALWAYS look at other people's socks. Just in case you were wondering.) Anyway, I never thought that I needed a flat-iron. Then the girl started using it on my hair. And when she finished it looked good. Really good. Even the bangs.

I tried to recreate the look on Sunday for church without the flat-iron. When I left for church it was okay. When I got home four hours later (Peter and I stayed for choir) it was, um, less than flattering. The biggest offender? The bangs. I think they can look good. I'm just not enough of a girly-girl to figure it out. Maybe I should go buy a flat-iron and experiment. And some of that 'product' stuff.

Any hair hints would be greatly appreciated.

Before and After

 

 

This picture doesn't even show the most exciting thing. I got - wait for it - bangs. I know, I'm living on the edge.

Today's Deadly Sin: Sloth!

You know those days where you just feel, well, blah? You don't have any energy and you know that you need to be accomplishing things, but you're not, so that leads to guilt and a bigger feeling of blah. You know that feeling? Anybody?

Yesterday was a blah day. In my defense, I think I may be coming down with something. Bryan came home from work early because he felt sick and I'm displaying decidedly achy symptoms. But I'm not certain that I'm sick. Or stick, which is how Peter says it. If I were really, honest-to-goodness, flat-on-my-back sick, then I wouldn't feel guilty about the overwhelming temptation to be slothful that is lurking just out of my field of vision. But I'm not, and frankly, I really don't want to be. I don't enjoy being sick. But I would like to have a good excuse to be a little lazy.

I decided that I needed to do something to motivate myself, so I told the boys that we were going to the library. This is usually a welcome outing. But not yesterday. Peter announced he wasn't going, he would "stay home with Daddy" while I took Cooper. Not what I had in mind. After debating with myself and deciding that my legs were feeling shaky (thus fueling the "Am I getting sick?" train of thought) I realized it wasn't worth it. Instead, I opened a few windows and let in the bitingly-cold fresh-air. It seemed to do the trick, actually. I started moving, Peter started cooperating, and Cooper was content to sit on his playmat and watch us put away the folded laundry from the night before.

I'm glad that I thought to open those windows. They stayed open until Bryan announced it was cold and turned up the heater. I took the hint.

Oh Spring, won't you come early? Apparently I need the fresh air to avoid being a lazy bum, and my heating bill can't compensate for the cold.

A Little More Cowbell

Thank you Mr. Walken. And thank you Bryan.

Pinching Pennies, Clipping Coupons, See a Brand New World Unfurled

Bryan and I were cheap before it was cool. Actually, we lived it up a bit in college by going to movies and out to dinner. Sometimes I kick myself for all the money we could have saved, but then I'm reminded that we won't be able to do that again for a LONG TIME, so it was okay for a little while. Although, not going to movies might have had us into a house by now...

Anyway, frugal is now in. And Bryan and I do frugal very well. I bought a ham for $7 on Friday, cooked it on Saturday, and have eaten it for lunch and dinner everyday since. I would say that we have enough meat left to make two more distinct dishes. And I'm going to use the ham bone to make beans. That ham has gone a long way.

I know that I still have a lot to learn about pinching pennies, but I am much better than I used to be. And I know that I'm not the only one trying to save money. Target's new batch of commercials seem to have frugality in mind as well. They talk about the "new" way of doing things. The "new commute" is a bike. The "new trip to the salon" is a bottle of hair dye. Okay, I can get behind trying to help people in their quest to live within their means. But I don't think they've gone far enough. They call the "new home addition" six throw pillows. But the pillows are $20 each! At my house that would equate to $120 dollars in very small trampolines.

No, they need to appeal to the truly miserly. Instead of a new bike, show someone climbing onto a bus, reading the target ad. Instead of the bottle of hair dye, let us see someone in severe need of a root touch-up, buying a hat. And the new home addition? Curtains made out of plastic target grocery sacks. That would be really cheap.

Peter and His Imaginary Friend...Cooper

As the oldest child I often spoke for my younger siblings. When they were asked a question, I would answer. I think Peter takes it to the next level:

Peter: (Looking at Cooper) Cooper, how are you doing?
(Pause) You're doing well?
(Pause) How am I doing?
(Pause) I'm doing great!

Me: Peter, you need to eat your dinner.
Peter: No, Cooper tells me to NOT eat my dinner.

Peter: Oh, Cooper wants eat my food.
(Looking at Cooper) No Cooper, you can't have cheese yet.

I will be glad when Cooper is big enough and verbal enough to play with Peter. And to answer for himself.

Adieu

Saying goodbye can be hard. When I visit with my family it's hard for me to leave, or to see them leave. It's even hard for me to leave Peter at Primary, even though it's temporary. On Saturday we said goodbye to my grandpa. It was a very sweet service. I learned a lot about my dad's dad. I never knew that my grandpa built the building that housed his dental practice in Long Beach California. That's interesting, but more so is that he invited his father and father-in-law to help as well. That building provided retirement funds for both. He was a hard worker. My dad shared the following story:

Related to work, I remember one project my dad undertook while I was home from college one vacation. He had a storage shed that had stood at the back of our property for some years. It was falling apart and needed to be demolished. As we took it apart, we found that under the floorboards a six-inch layer of humus had accumulated, the work, my dad said, of rats. As a result, this project consumed many hours. I was young and active. I took pride in the fact that I was tearing off more boards and moving more shovels full of dirt than my dad. At noon we took time off for lunch. Then I took a nap. Dad went back to work. At about two, I returned to the job that Dad had never left. By five, when the job was finally done, I was beat. Dad had not worked fast; he had just worked relentlessly. He never reprimanded me for slacking off. He just worked me into the ground.

While I miss my grandpa, I'm not weighed down by sadness. He lived a good life and it was his time to move on. We took Peter and Cooper to the funeral. I know that not everyone thinks it's appropriate to bring to children to a funeral, but we felt that it was important. We told Peter that Grandpa Alvin had died and that his spirit had gone to live with Heavenly Father while his body waited here for when he would be resurrected and his body and spirit would be reunited. It was a wonderful opportunity to teach him about the Plan of Salvation. Our goodbye to my grandpa is temporary. We will see him again. For the time being, he has work to do on his side on the veil, and we have work to do on ours.

This picture of me, Peter, and my grandparents was taken September of 2007.

Sleep: The Saga Continues

Cooper finally went to sleep last night. We discovered that after he's stopped crying he stays awake for a while. And checking on him starts the crying up again. At fifteen minutes after midnight I finally gathered up my courage and went in to check him. Asleep. He still sleeps in our room and I was exhausted, so I was glad that I could finally go to sleep without interrupting or distracting him. I went to tell Bryan, which is when I heard Peter wake up. Then Cooper woke up to nurse at one in the morning. So Bryan spent the night in Peter's room trying to get him back to sleep and I held Cooper all night. So much for everyone sleeping in their own bed.

We're trying it again tonight. He's quiet, but I have no idea if he's asleep. And I'm too afraid to go check. Maybe five more minutes and I'll sneak a peek.

At least it's not midnight.

The Wall

We've hit a wall. A sleep wall. Or, more accurately, a non-sleep wall. The same thing happened when Peter was about the age Cooper is now. They just. Won't. Sleep.

I always thought the "cry-it-out" method was barbaric. Why would anyone let their child cry them self to sleep? Wouldn't that intrinsic parental instinct kick in and send them running to their baby to comfort them?

This was my philosophy until Peter was 10-months old. I would nurse him to sleep and when that didn't work Bryan would hold and pat him to sleep. Sometimes he also had to rock while holding and patting. It was a rather athletic maneuver. Peter has always been tall and strong. It got to the point that Peter would fight so hard that Bryan could barely hold him, let alone lull him to sleep. And that was when we hit the wall with Peter. We agreed that we would let him go to sleep on his own. It was torture. We would do a nice little bedtime routine, say family prayers, put him down in his bed, tell him that we loved him, and walk out. Cue crying. We couldn't tell if he was just upset or if something terrible had happened in the 5 seconds since we'd left the room. Our solution was to set up a video camera in Peter's room and wire it through our apartment so that we could watch him from the living room.

The first night it took him six hours to go to sleep. Six. I talked to other moms at the same time trying to get suggestions about what we could try and heard things like, "Oh, well it's hard at first. That first night he cried for fifteen minutes, but then he calmed down and settled to sleep after twenty more minutes or so." Yeah, that sounds really hard. During that six hours we discovered something. Peter can act. He would cry for a minute, then stop and wait. This went on for a while. By the end he really did just drop off to sleep. But, six hours people!

We're at that point with Cooper. Truth be told, we've been there for some time, we just didn't want to admit it. Neither of us likes this method. Bryan told me the other night that he doesn't want to damage Cooper. I asked him if Peter was damaged. He said no, but he didn't remember Peter crying it out. I reminded him. I don't want to damage him either. And Cooper's problem isn't the same as Peter's. Cooper will sleep beautifully, as long as he's being held. The minute we put him in his bed he wakes up screaming. I would hold him day and night if I could. I realize that childhood is fleeting and that before I know it he'll be too big to hold. I'm choking up a little as I type this. I want to savor being able to snuggle him. But I also know that I need to be able to function the next day. Those nights that I hold Cooper I wake up hardly able to move and my patience is not what it needs to be.

So this week we've tried letting Cooper go to sleep on his own. We do a bedtime routine, make sure he's drowsy, and lie him down. We don't even make it out the door before the screaming starts. And Cooper's screams are angry and insistent. He will have none of this. We go in to try to comfort him, but that just exacerbates the situation. I realize that some people would tell us to just soldier on, but tonight we couldn't take it anymore. Bryan has been holding him in our room the whole time I've been writing, during which he's been sound asleep. Bryan just came out, which means that Cooper is now in his bed, crying.

There has to be a better way.

What I Did on My Christmas Vacation

Bryan and Peter built a snowman.


We opened some presents...


...and began using said presents.


Peter turned three and wanted sushi for his birthday lunch. We obliged.


He opened some birthday presents...


...and enjoyed a volcano cake that Bryan made...


...and wore his new helmet far more than he actually rode his birthday bike.


The final adventure of the break was a last-minute visit from my parents and my brother Jordan. I was preoccupied with spending time with them and therefore have no photographic evidence of their stay. They came to visit with my grandpa, whose health was failing. It was a good thing that they made the trek (which involved driving through Vegas on New Year's Eve) because my grandpa passed away yesterday.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I only asked for three things for Christmas:

1. Thread and patterns for sewing. (No, I don't really sew, but I'm trying to learn.)
2. A book light*
3. A replacement photo album for an old one I have that's falling apart.

After we finished opening presents on Christmas morning Bryan apologized that I hadn't gotten any of the things I'd asked for. I said it was okay, I liked the things that I'd gotten. But he let me know that one of my presents hadn't arrived in time for Christmas and was en route. It came today.

I opened the box that arrived and found this:
And this:
My first thought was, "Oh my goodness. Did Bryan get me scrapbooks? Has he met me?!" I may be alienating a few friends here, but I don't scrapbook. At all. In fact, when I started this blog Bryan told me it was another form of scrap booking and he earned a rather vicious look from me. No offense, I'm just not into it.

Anyway, I pulled them out of the box and looked at Bryan quizzically. You know that thing you do when you've been given a gift that you really don't want, but you want to appear gracious. Picture that look on my face. He quickly said that he'd found these photo albums online and knew that I wanted to replace the one I had, so he'd gotten them. Now I'm thinking, "Okay, so they're not scrapbooks. They're photo albums. I can just slip my pictures into those handy little plastic sleeves and be done with them. That was sweet of him."

Upon further inspection however I discovered that they are actually hard covers with lots of photo paper on which you can print your pictures after you have artistically arranged them on your computer and added text and maybe fun backgrounds.

What does that sound like to you? A scrapbook? Yeah, me too.

When I (very sweetly) told Bryan what they really were he felt bad. At least it's for digital scrap booking, and that's kind of like playing around in Photoshop, which is fun, and doesn't require fancy scissors, hole-punches of various shapes and sizes, or stickers. I figure I'll use them somehow. Maybe to print my blog from last year. Hmmm...

My favorite part is that Peter was convinced that one of the albums was for him. He kept looking at the book and saying, "Oh Daddy, thank you for my photo album."

*Thanks to my Dad for my after Christmas present of a book light. I love it!

Singing, Dancing, Carpet Picking...

Yeah, it's in his blood. The singing and dancing, not the digging in the carpet for stuff.