Monthly Archives: March 2010

Today was the day I’ve been dreaming of for months and months – all winter long, and even last summer when my big belly made it impossible (or at least uncomfortable) to bend over the earth.

My daydream was this: me working in the yard, the warm sun on my back; the kids playing on the playset, calling me to inspect a worm or watch them in a climbing feat, and the baby happy on a blanket, rolling over, this way and that, finally falling asleep in the warm afternoon.

Today that daydream was my reality.

Later, when I had gone inside, the kids still outside happily running from one activity to the next, inside, then outside then inside again, Calvin said to me: “Mom, we’re best friends!”

“What?” I turned from the veggies I was dicing for dinner. I heard what he said, but wanted to hear it again. This time Olivia came around the corner, and putting her arm around Calvin’s shoulders, said:

“We’re best friends.”

Mmm . . . wanna melt a mamma’s heart?! Oh how I hope to hear those same sentiments in twenty years.

Best friends are the best!

This is Calvin, asleep after a joyful afternoon of mischief.

Sweet boy Calvin – he whines, he cries, he doesn’t understand, he’s sad . . . he’s two.

But then, at the first sign of distress in my voice, all that emotion immediately melts away from him, his eyes get big and round, and he says, most softly: “What’s wrong mommy?”

And then he climbs up to give cuddles and kisses until we are both happy again.

Sweet boy Calvin.

Everett was given the green light for solid foods at his checkup last week. It’s a good thing too. Whenever I am eating something, he flails his arms and body, wanting so deperatley to pull it to his mouth. He’s not that way with other things I might be holding. Just food. He’s gluttonous in the most adorable way.

So we gave him smooshed nannas. Mmmm. Nannas.

Loves them. Now for formula

Olivia wanted a pet. She’s wanted a pet for months and months now. At first it was deep sighs and desperate pleadings for a kitty {and why not? Lyssy and ‘Azanah have at least seventeen!) And then it was gentle recollections: “remember when we had a doggie, Mom?” One day a few weeks ago Olivia asked me first thing: “Mom, can we go visit Cowboy today?”

An explanation of why that was not possible was followed with the statement, emphasized with all the feeling of a four year old heart: “I want a pet so bad.”

And so on Monday Wyatt surprised us all, saying: “Tonight for family home evening we will go to the store and get some pet fish.”

That evening, kids in tow, we visited our local PetSmart. We looked at the brightly colored canaries in their cages, we oohed at the bright tree frogs, and awed at the ginormous gilla monsters. Then we looked at the fish: Gold Fish were only 13¢ per. But the Betas: 30x more in cost, were 50x more hearty. So we were told by the acne-prone teenager with his pants cinched too high. I’m partial to Beta’s myself. Our 26¢ excursion turned into $11.79 with food.

As we climbed into the car, balancing plastic tuperwares of fish and water, we asked each elated child: what will you name your fish.

Olivia said emphatically: Cursey. I don’t know where she came up with the name.

And Cal said, as if he had thought over the “coolness” implications long and hard: “Fish, the Dawg!”

Saturday was the culminating celebration of many months preparation.

This girl and this boy were wedded.

The whole day I kept remembering when Leslee was just 18 years old – my family had just moved away from Salt Lake. Leslee and I were the only one’s left here. I lived downtown with my hubby as a newly wed. Leslee would come over three-four-five times a week to have dinner and hang out. I remember I would make Wyatt walk her to her car when it was late – we lived across the street from the homeless shelter. As I remembered that time, I felt a sort of emptiness: I should have done more, should have been more for her. She needed more, in ways I’ve only come to realize in the past few months, and I feel like I failed her.

And now she is starting a new life, with a new family. I am grateful Jason seems to want the best for her, and will support her and put her first in ways that the rest of us did not.

I love you Leslee. Congratulations, Happiness, Love.

In my home growing up, if one was sick, my mom would set you up in front of the TV – tissues, popsicles, sprite . . . everything one needed to be comfy for an afternoon. Sometimes my mom would just hand us the remote, but sometimes, if we were really sick, she’d turn on a musical -

And so I grew up watching: Camelot, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Oklahoma, My Fair Lady, Fiddler on the Roof, West Side Story, and The Sound of Music.

Each has become very much a part of my movie-personality. I like musicals. Wyatt does not. Wyatt’s mom didn’t put them on when he was sick. Wyatt didn’t know color TV was invented until 1989. That’s beside the point.

When I was expecting Calvin, Olivia and I watched My Fair Lady every day. I had a small tv with a vhs player built in. I set it up on the nightstand of my bed, and Olivia and I would lay in bed, nausea abated by dreams of dancing all night.

When I was expecting Everett, Fiddler on the Roof and West Side Story helped me cope with long nights of house-under-construction and wyatt-working-late.

But for a long time I’ve been wanting to watch The Sound of Music.

I know what you’re going to say: then just watch it.

It’s not that easy for me. I don’t watch tv very often. No, it’s not that I’m so on top of my life that I never squander time. But if I’m going to squander time, I prefer to do it on the computer, not the boobtube.

And when the kids are in bed and I could watch tv without worry of them being in and out and all the complications that brings . . . well, then Wyatt is home, and he’s still so fascinated with color tv that he has a hard time relenquishing his control to my musical desires.

This explanation just got WAY TOO LONG.

Last week my mom was in town (Hurrah!) and she watched The Sound of Music with me. Calvin and Everett took naps during, so I didn’t have to worry about the destruction taking place while I watched Frauline Maria sing about frolicking goat love. And what’s even better? My mom sewed while we watched. It truly had the feel of sick days past, only I didn’t have that self gratifying thought that I was missing school for this.

Olivia even watched – three generations listening to the Von Trapp family – a future musical-lover in training – it was a good day.

This was the week. I felt it. It had to be this week. There were pressing issues.

It started on Monday and didn’t go well. Tuesday and Wednessday didn’t fare any better. When I awoke on Thursday I resolved: This is the day! I must win the battle of the bottle.

A month ago I began my bottle battle with little eJo. I had some tell-tale signs of losing my milk, and decided I had better: 1) Pump to find out just how much the little dude was getting; and 2) Get Ev to take a bottle, just in case.

The day did not go well, I pumped, but then the little guy wouldn’t eat the fresh milk from the bottle, spitting, squirming and screaming instead. All day passed . . . with nary a drop digested.

I have sporatically retried the “bottle thing” over the past month, but last week reality hit hard when I had to go do a photo shoot. Wyatt took Ev down to grandma’s house and an full four and a half hours passed before I saw him again. I made it in the nic of time, but realized such situations were unfair to other care givers.

This weekend I had my sisters wedding, and I knew if I wanted to really enjoy the day, little eJo would have to take a bottle. Plus, I reasoned, with my mom in town to take turns with the tearful babe, the whole process might be easier.

Um, wrong.

Like I said, each day involved screaming, tears and tantrums (and that was just me!) and always ended with a breast to soothe the trouble.

And then Thursday, with time running out, I steeled myself against what I knew would be a miserable day. Ev got a morning breakfast . . . and then no more.

A bottle was offered at each of his regular feeding times, and often inbetween. I cuddled, bounced, patted, and rocked, trying to coo the little guy into giving it a try. He would have none of it.

Finally at five o’clock in the evening, after holding the bottle into his screaming mouth for a few minutes, he finally nuzzled and nursed. And then my belly-full-happy-little-guy returned.

For a few hours.

That night he again refused bottles. All through the night I tried again and again. He went fourteen hours, until seven am the next morning before taking the bottle again.

And then the rest of Friday he did fine.

And Saturday he did well too.

Today (Sunday) he has had a hard time. I actually nursed him last night and this morning, reasoning that it had been enough days – he knew how to take a bottle.

But when I tried to return to the bottle this afternoon, he threw a fit.

I guess we still have a few kinks to work out.

Next battle: Formula.

Calvin sent daddy a postcard today.

Daddy sent one back.

And he sent one to Olivia for good measure.

No one sent me a post card.

PS – Notice that Calvin used proper punctuation.

Last night I had a dream that I took THE coolest jumping picture ever, and I got into all the jumping photo clubs on Flickr, and everyone LOVED my photo, and I had all sorts of external validation.

And when I woke up I decided: I should learn how to take Jumping Pictures.

And so I called the best jump-picture-person in Utah, who also lives on my street – Rick.

We conned a few people to jump for us.

And I learned lots.

NEATO, I say.

Last weekend I did a couple photo shoots -

1) Another Bridal session with my sister, Leslee. It was: FUN to hang out with Les for an afternoon, AWESOME to practice my photography NICE to have a captive and willing model and a GREAT memory with my sis.

2) A Newborn photo shoot with my neighbor, Tiffiny and her newborn, JACE. He is darling.

You can see more pics at Green Orchid Photo

Family Photos 8

Don’t let the sailor dress fool you.

I wasn’t a sweet child. And Larry (little dude in ivy league esque sweater) wasn’t mellow either.

When we were little (circa second grade for me, first for him) we set up shop in our neighbor’s barn. “Dead Horse Man’s Cave” we called it. We threatened violence on any and all neighbor children to even try to get into our clubhouse. And in spite of years (years I tell you!) of the owners of the barn complaining to my parents, we wouldn’t stay out of it. We were those children in the neighborhood. The ones that were always ALWAYS on neighbors roofs. The one’s that figured if we could climb it, it was our domain. Larry was a first rate climber/adventurer. It was only by the sheer grace of the Lord that we are still alive today. Together we roamed the neighborhood on our bikes. We had clubs and forts all over – from “Bratty Boys” (I can’t believe I’m admitting to this – on the internet no less!) down by the cottonwood mall, an empty field full of bike trails and a tree under which random collection of scrapwood was formed to create shade from the summer sun — to “the Wolverine Woods “. . . with a teepee built of fallen tree branches, and a rope swing to carry you out over the creek on hot summer days, our forts and adventures ended only with the call of mom to come home.

It was in second grade that I became aware of a story . . . Tom Sawyer. Someone must’ve read it to me. Probably my second grade teacher. It was probably her fault.

But that was the first time “skipping school” ever occurred to me.

And so, during Lunch recess, Larry and I decided to give it a try. We went all the way down to the far corner of the school yard, where the lunch lady wouldn’t see, hopped the fence, and off we went.

After an afternoon of playing down at the creek, mom found us hiding in the dining room wrapped up in the curtains, helping ourselves to some snacks.

She returned us to school to receive a sound scolding by the principal and a return to class for the last few minutes of the school day.

Seriously, it was the teacher’s fault.

Happy Birthday Larry!

The other day Olivia came up to me.

“Mommy,” she said “I’m going to stop brushing my teeth.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. That way all my teeth will fall out and the tooth fairy will come and give me a surprise!”