Golden

I've had this song stuck in my head for a few days. This is probably why.

Doting Daddy

As a big sister, it's very sweet watching my little brother as a dad. Can't you tell how much he loves his little girl?

The Laura Books

We did it. After almost two years, Peter and I finished reading the Little House on the Prairie books. I think it's quite an accomplishment. He was seventeen months old when we started reading Little House in the Big Woods. We would read a few pages here and there at first. Our reading really took off when I was pregnant with Cooper and too tired to do much more than sit and read. Peter and I would hang out in his room while he played and I read aloud. As his language skills improved he began asking questions about what we were reading. He knew the names of the characters and would tell me things he was learning from "the Laura books."

I read them as a child and remembered thinking how fun their lives sounded. Now, reading them as an adult, it does not sound fun. But there is something oddly appealing about knowing how to gather your own sap for maple syrup. I think the reason that I make so much food from scratch now is that I read about Ma and Laura making simple meals from the few ingredients they had. I don't want to go hunt down a panther or make my hand-twisted firewood stretch through a seven-month blizzard, but I would love to know how to grow my own food or sew my own tailored dress.

I think Peter and I are both a little sad that we're done. We've learned a lot from reading these books. We'll miss Laura and Pa with his fiddle.

I haven't decided what we'll read next. Here are the books I picked up from the library today that we're going to try out:


We'll see which one catches our imaginations. Do you have any good book recommendations for us to read next?

Watch Me, I'm Amazing

Don't one-uppers drive you crazy? You know those people that always caught the bigger fish or had the higher SAT score? It seems they can't wait to prove that whatever they did was better than what you did, right?

I've come to a sobering realization: I'm a one-upper.

On Friday at Melinda's graduation Bryan commented that he liked her earrings. They were cute, and they reminded me that I recently discovered that my ears hadn't closed up as I had previously thought and that I could still wear earrings. Not only that, but I happened to be wearing a pair of earrings that Bryan had gotten for me with Cooper's birthstone, aquamarine, in them. (He also got me a pair of blue topaz earrings, Peter's birthstone. I'm shooting for May or July next, because I'd like a pair of emerald or ruby earrings.) Now, this is what went through my head before I spoke (including the parenthetical reference) but what I actually said was, "Oh, I'm wearing earrings too!"

When I launch into a story it's not because I'm trying to prove I'm better or more awesome. No, the reason is that I want to share some experience that I've had that I think will correlate with something else I've just heard. In my own way I'm trying to connect with those around me. Unfortunately, I often don't realize that what I'm saying is heading in the one-upper direction until I'm halfway through and can't think of a way out of it.

This is one of my more obnoxious habits. I'd say it's right up there with interrupting people when they speak or eating all of my food into circles. Try as I might, I'm having a hard time breaking myself of it. I could just keep my mouth shut, but then the person I'm talking with would never know that we have this fabulous whatever-it-is in common. It's a problem.

Pomp and Circumstance

Bryan's sister Melinda graduated from BYU yesterday. (Wahoo, Melinda!) We all went down to celebrate her mad graduating skills. Cooper's facial expression is my favorite.


And here's the graduate with her ridiculously cute nephews. This is Cooper's "I'm being soooo cute" smile. He flashes this at total strangers and almost always gets a great big smile in return.

Savor the Small Things

Say the Magic Word

I often forget that Cooper doesn't talk yet. I'm so used to reading his grunts and squeals that I'm sure we carry on full conversations everyday.

To be honest, he does talk a little. He can say mama, dada, baba (brother), ba (ball, something round, or that thing that he needs right this second), and recently added pe (Peter) and pa (play) to the mix. It's very exciting to watch him figure out how to express himself. Add to the list the signs that he uses daily (more, food, please, and the occasional appearances of all done and thank you) and he can communicate fairly well.

A few weeks ago we were playing his favorite game of rolling a ball back and forth between us. We've been encouraging him to say please when he asks for something at the dinner table. These lessons are having an effect on him.

Me: Cooper, roll the ball to me.

Cooper: (Signed) More please. (Waits for me to respond.)

Me: You want me to say please?

Cooper: (Smiles)

Me: Please roll the ball to me.

Cooper: (Rolls the ball)

I've been told that I'm too polite, but could it be possible that my son is even more polite than I am?

They Come Bearing Gifts

Grandparents bring the best goodies. Bryan's family is here now and came bearing all kinds of educational swag. Peter and Cooper are both enjoying their new toys.

Cooper's favorite:

A pile of handcrafted beanbags from Nana Shari

Peter's favorite:

Capsela, also known as "My three-year-old will soon know more about science than I do."

This was Bryan's when he was young. He was almost as excited about getting this toy as Peter was.

Thank you Nana Shari and Grandpa Ron. These will provide entertainment for a least a week.

I've Got My Eye on You

Peter was eating a Tootsie Pop from his Easter candy stash a few days ago. I had told him that he needed to stay in his seat at the table while he ate it. At the same time I needed to go change Cooper's diaper, which meant I had to walk into my bedroom and around the corner to get a diaper.

Peter: Mommy, you need to stay where I can see you.

Me: Peter, I'm just in my closet getting a diaper.

Peter: Mommy, I need to keep my eye on you. One eye on you, and one eye on this tootsie pop.

Those wily Tootsie Pops...

Mr. Clean

After breakfast yesterday morning I sent Peter into the bathroom to wash his hands. I listened to the water run while Cooper and I finished eating. Peter does a pretty good job washing up, so I usually leave him to it.

About five minutes later I realized the water was still running.

I walked into the bathroom and found Peter lying on the counter, dropping his toothbrushes (he has two, I can't remember why), Cooper's toothbrush, the soap dish, and a drinking cup into the full sink of water. I removed him from his perch and asked what he was doing. Apparently his bathroom was messy, so he was helping me by cleaning it.

Peter loves to help. He's quick to offer aid when I'm emptying the dishwasher, sweeping the dining room, or putting away groceries. He always wants to help with dinner and has even been known to fold laundry. I am truly thankful that he is such a good helper.

Most of the time.

Peter, helping me with the laundry by jumping into the pile of clean clothes.

Something I'm trying to learn is how to accept his help graciously. Often his assistance creates more work. His cleaning of the bathroom, for instance, prompted a complete wipe-down of the counter-top. I know that it will benefit both of us in the long run if he helps me clean. That's what I tell myself when he walks through my freshly swept pile of crumbs while he sweeps up his own or throws newly folded dishcloths into a drawer.

So to his future roommates, mission companions, and wife, I say you're welcome. By the time he gets to you, he will be helpful. And I mean really helpful, not clean-up-after-he-helps helpful.

So What Do April Snowstorms Bring?

When Peter saw that it was snowing today, he asked if it was Christmas. Nope.

Dear Spring, please come back, we miss you.

This Is Your Wake-Up Call

I had a migraine on Sunday morning.

I woke up at 3AM in intense pain. Both boys have been sick so I had spent most of the night holding Cooper. I roused enough to hand Cooper to Bryan, go take some Tylenol, and fall back into bed crying. I paint a pretty miserable picture, huh?

I've had enough migraines that I know my triggers and I can usually catch them as they're starting. The moment I feel one begin I medicate myself: two acetaminophen and one piece of chocolate. But this last migraine started while I was asleep, so I missed my vision flattening and flashes of light invading my line of sight. If I don't stop it early then I just have to ride it out.

Speaking of riding it out, I did just that once. Rode out a migraine, I mean. First I rode it out on a plane. Then when we were taxiing around for forty minutes waiting for a gate and I freaked out because the combination of pain, claustrophobia, and recycled air was too much for me to take, I got to ride it out in an ambulance. Things calmed down once I was at the ER and hooked up to blessed pain medication.

The thing that I can't figure out about this last one is that it didn't follow my normal pattern. There are three things I have to do to avoid migraines: eat regularly, sleep regularly, and exercise regularly. If I don't do two of those, then I have a migraine. I never sleep enough so I work hard to make sure I eat all the time and exercise enough. When I woke up, aside from the blinding pain, I was starving. What the heck? I ate just before I went to sleep. Am I going to have to set-up an IV before I go to bed just so I don't get a migraine?

The only lingering side-effect is screwy vision. Everything looks blurry and I have to will my eyes to focus in order to read. So I hope what I've written the last few days has made sense, because I can't really see it.

Serenity Now

I have a pleasant face. Wait, that doesn't mean the way it sounds. I mean I have a specific "pleasant" facial expression. I hold it in reserve for situations that are not particularly enjoyable. For many years I thought that my ruse was working. No one could tell that I wasn't enjoying myself because I had mastered the art of the serene look.

I remember sitting in church one Sunday listening to a speaker that had veered so far off topic I couldn't remember what they had started with. I was praying (literally) that they would wrap up their talk and sit down and I had my patented look of calm when Bryan nudged me. I gave him a silently questioning look.

He mouthed the words, "Are you okay?"

Me, just as quietly, "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Because you look like you're in pain."

Wait, what? But I was wearing my look of serenity, how could I look like I was in pain?

And that's when it struck me: my pleasant look wasn't all that pleasant.

On Saturday I took Peter to a neighborhood Easter egg hunt while Bryan and Cooper napped at home. As we watched children surge around us scrambling for brightly colored plastic eggs, Peter and I just stood there. I had to prod him forward to grab the four eggs that he was able to pick up and put in his cowboy-hat-basket. I thought four was enough so we spent the rest of the hunt watching the other kids. It soon dawned on me that most of the other kids had more than four eggs. Way more.

As I was inwardly whistling at the sheer number of eggs these kids were toting around I had the thought that I should make sure I wasn't leering judgmentally. So I adopted my pleasant look.

And at least one person looked at me like I was in pain.

Maybe I should get a new face...

Rub-a-Dub-Dub

Bryan had to be very careful taking this photo because I am strongly against taking pictures of our kids when they're in the tub. I think he did a fine job keeping Cooper modest and documenting his gravity-defying hairstyle. I suspect that Bryan wishes Cooper's hair would do this all the time.

Tess and Her D'Urbervilles

Book Club was last night. I had the same problem that I had last month, however I was able to overcome it, barely. This time I finished the chosen book, Tess of the D'Urbervilles, and I did it with a whole 45 minutes to spare. This was an amazing feat considering I started it on Wednesday. My secret? I listened to it. All day. For two days.

One of my Christmas presents last year was a Sansa Clip. (It sounds like I'm doing one of those weird product placement ads that they do on the Biggest Loser. Love the show, but I can't stand the staged "you'll lose weight if you use Ziploc storage containers" ads.) At the time I thought it was nice but I didn't think I needed an MP3 player. The last two days I have been so thankful for it. I downloaded the seventeen-hour audio book onto the player, clipped it on my shirt collar, and tried my best to listen to the book with one ear and to my children with the other. Truth be told the last two days have been pretty calm, probably because I wasn't hovering over the boys as much as I usually do.

I was agitated and my stomach was twisted into knots when I finally finished the book. I came close to stopping several times because it was so depressing, but kept going hoping that something positive would happen. Alas, my hope was in vain. Do any of you like that book? Could you tell me why? Seriously? The discussion at book club was great, and for that reason I'm glad that I finished listening to it. But this book will not be going on my birthday list.

The Sisterhood Award

I have always wanted on Oscar. When I worked at the library at BYU we were taken on a tour of the Special Collections Department which houses all kinds of cool stuff. At one point the guide pulled a box from a shelf and removed the lid. He reached in and took out an actual Academy Award. It was beautiful. I almost cried when I saw it. My fingers were itching to hold it. Alas, I had to be content with gazing at it adoringly. (When I asked if I could hold it, the tour guide said no. You can't blame a girl for trying.)

While I have come to the conclusion that my current career path is not leading me toward Oscar fame, I am not out of the running for all awards. My friend Krystal nominated me for the Sisterhood Award. It's not an Oscar, but I love it anyway.


And now, per my instructions, it is my opportunity to pass this award on to five fabulous women.

1. Gretel, for being just as quirky as me, which makes you one of my favorite people.
2. Elisa, for writing about your children so sweetly. Your posts inspire me to be calmer and gentler with my own children.
3. Kendra, for showing me that it's possible to be about to have your fourth boy and still be sane. I have a feeling I'll be following in your footsteps someday, so it's good to see that's it's possible.
4. LeMira, for being real. I love the down-to-earth way that you approach everything, good or bad.
5. Melanie, for taking a stand and letting your voice be heard. I want to be as brave as you.

I'm not going to hold you to this, but just in case you want to pass this on:

1. Put the logo on your blog or post.

2. Nominate 5-10 blogs which show great Attitude and/or Gratitude!

3. Be sure to link to your nominees within your post.

4. Let them know that they have received this award by commenting on their blog.

5. Share the love; link to this post and to the person from whom you received your award.

The Genetic Lottery

Before the boys were born Bryan and I would share our wish list for what traits our kids would inherit. I wanted them to have Bryan's olive complexion and thick hair and my strong teeth and cheerful disposition. Okay, so maybe it was my wish list. I joked that because we had specific traits we wanted them to have they would get the opposite.

I can see the future, did you know?

On Monday Peter, Cooper and I spent about an hour outside. It snowed all last week and we were in need of some Vitamin D. (Well, not ALL week, but it did snow every other day. I know we need the moisture and all that, but we also need sunshine and warmth. And by 'we', I mean 'I.') So we went to the playground with some of the other kids in our neighborhood. Because I can learn from my mistakes, I grabbed the sunscreen on our way out and made sure that Cooper and I were appropriately slathered. Peter, however, wouldn't get off of his bike so I could sunscreen him. I realize that I should have put it on him before we left the house, but I didn't.

And now Peter has a sunburn. When he was getting dressed yesterday morning he looked down at his arms and said, "Oh! There's something on my arms." I told him that it was a sunburn and asked if it hurt. After touching his arm he answered, "That's warm!" Yup, it's warm.

So Peter has my burn-in-15-minutes complexion, or at least a burn-in-an-hour complexion.

Sorry Peter, that's the way the genetic cookie crumbles. Or something like that...

You Have Received a Friend Request

I only add people on Facebook that I've actually met in real life. But I would make an exception if I got a friend request from this guy.

Someday My Sis Will Come

Last week the boys and I were reading and Peter pointed to a picture of a family of five, a mom, a dad, two boys, and a girl. You probably know what's coming:

Peter: Mommy, that's us.

Me: Well, we do have a mom and a dad and two boys, don't we?

Peter: And we will have a sister.

Me: Really? And where is she now?

Peter: In your tummy.

Me: No, she's not.

Peter: Mommy, I want a sister.

Me: I'll keep that in mind.

Peter: Mommy, I think it's time to get a new baby. She will be a girl. Then I will be a big brother and Cooper will be a big brother and she will be the little sister.

Me: And what's her name?

Peter: Blab.

I did that whole cover-your-mouth-and-don't-let-them-know-you're-laughing thing, just in case he caught on that I thought Blab was a funny name. I called Bryan and my mom to report that particular Peter-ism, and I thought it might make an amusing blog entry. Then last night at dinner:

Peter: When is Blab going to be born?

Bryan: We are not naming any of our children Blab.

Peter: But that's her name.

Bryan: No, it's not.

I'm not making any kind of announcement here (because there is no announcement to make), I just think it's interesting that Peter seems so insistent that he needs a sister.

Named Blab...

Just In the Nick of Time. Always.

The year that I applied to BYU the applications were due February 15, which happened to fall on a Sunday. How do I remember this small detail with such clarity? Because I mailed my application the last possible day it could have gone out, February 13.

When it came time to apply for scholarships I played the same game. Essays were finished, printed, and mailed with minutes to spare. My poor mom spent way too much time waiting in long, closing-time lines at the post office that year.

Lucky me, I got a scholarship and into BYU. Did I realize that my deadline-hugging ways were far too stressful and that I should be a better manager of my time? Nope. Why would I? I had achieved positive results from putting everything off to the last minute.

Sadly, I didn't change my stripes once I got to college. I remember sitting in a computer lab trying to write a research paper for English 115 the day it was due. It didn't go well. After some less than stellar grades that first year (Harvard and Yale don't add freshman year grades into the college GPA equation, why does BYU? Not that I can substantiate that. I think I read it. Somewhere.) I wised up. A bit. I started using a planner and writing all of my assignments so that I could work on them in advance.

But I still wasn't great at it. My last semester of classes before I student taught was crazy busy. I adapted and directed my own one-act as well as stage managed, costumed, and sound designed other one acts for my classmates. I assistant stage-managed a main stage show, had a full class load, and worked twenty hours a week. This might not sound like much (in case you don't know, stage managing is a ridiculous time-sucker) but it kept me going from early morning till late every night. I had to be on top of all of my homework, and I was. Mostly.

As finals loomed that semester I mapped out my plan to get everything done. I discovered that I had two large projects due at my last scheduled final. Since it was the last final it got stuck on the bottom of my list of priorities. After the other tests. After the other projects. After The Return of the King. Yup. This final was scheduled for the day that the final Lord of the Rings movie came out, and of course we had tickets to the midnight showing. I took my laptop to the theatre that night and worked on my still unfinished projects while waiting in line for the film. I ended up staying awake all night trying to pull everything together. When I walked into the final I went up to the teacher and said something to the effect of "I didn't go to sleep last night, so if I pass out, would just make sure I don't hit my head? Thanks."

Pesky procrastination. I still struggle with it. I think it's part of the reason we're late for EVERYTHING. I look at the clock and think, "No, we've still got time, we don't need to leave yet."

I'm doing it again with my calling. I'm a Visiting Teaching District Supervisor, which means that I need to gather the reports from the sisters in my district by today. Notice how I wrote need and not needed, meaning that it's still not done. I have a few numbers, but not because I've actually called anyone. Of course, we know how I feel about making phone calls, although I'm trying not to use it as an excuse. But seriously, why haven't I called these women yet? What am I waiting for?

The deadline, apparently.

This Is Me

Not the saleswoman. The other one. Well, not really me, but this is what I do when I see appliances in this particular color. Or anything in this color. I love this color.

Adding to His Bag of Tricks