Category Archives: Calvin

For Calvin I made a Hobbes.

You have to understand, I’ve wanted to make a Hobbes for Cal since before Calvin came to be.

People sometimes ask: “Did you name Calvin after Calvin and Hobbes?” To which I frown and think inwardly “that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” and outwardly say: “no, I just like the name Calvin for what it is” which is the truth.

But it doesn’t hurt that Calvin in C&H is adorable.

And so before Cal came I searched high and wide for a perfect orange cozy terrycloth with which to make a tiger.

Do you know how hard it is to find orange terrycloth at the fabric store?!

I finally got some orange towels at Walmart.

And then it was a disaster.

And Wyatt was annoyed.

And the cut up orange terrycloth towels sat in my basement for almost two years . . . reminding Wyatt every time he went down that he was annoyed. And reminding me every time I went down that Cal still didn’t have his Hobbes.

And then this Christmas rolled around.

And the idea of sock monkeys came to me.

And then the idea of a Hobbes using the sock monkey pattern came to me.

And then the perfect fuzzy orange chenille socks from Old Navy came to me.

And then the perfect fuzzy orange chenille socks from Old Navy came to me on sale.

And Hobbes came to be.

And Calvin came to have his Hobbes.

Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas

let your heart be light

From now on our troubles will be out of sight

Through the years we all will be together if the fates allow

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

and have yourself a Merry Little Christmas now.

This morning Wyatt finally came up to our room after sleeping on the couch all night. “What is that?” he asked? I didn’t even open my eyes. “Spit up.” I told him. “Go get a towel.”

Wyatt put a towel over the puddle of spit up, laid down and went back to sleep. I was already sleeping on a towel of my own. Everett projectiled on both sides of the bed last night.

Two nights ago I was rocking baby Everett in my chair, Wyatt was wrapping up a diaper to take outside. “When did this become our life?” he wondered. “Diapers and spit up . . . I mean, look, you have spit up on the shoulder of your brand new sweatshirt.”

I decided that wasn’t the best moment to tell him how Everett had peed all over me earlier that day . . . when I was wearing his pajamas.

Last week Calvin came into the bed in the middle of the night. I didn’t think anything of it, and cuddled him close through the night. Then at some point he started to dry heave, a sound that sends alarms through my body. From the dead of sleep I jumped up, grabbed him, and ran in the blind dark to the toilet. There was vomit on his jammies, and my shirt, but I thought I had rescued my bed. When I returned to inspect the sheets, I found no vomit on them or the pillow Cal was sleeping on. But I did find two fist sized spots . . . on the pillow I had been sleeping on. They were already crusty, giving evidence to the fact that they were from earlier in the night. Who knows how long I had been sleeping on it.

So yes. This is our life. Spit up and vomit and diapers and body fluid. And cuddles and sleepy babies and lovies.

We made cookies with our friend Braydon. Awesome.

We took rides on the four wheeler.

We discovered our phone camera and used it to take lots of random fun pictures when we were out playing racquettball with the Enghs.

We watched the first heavy snowfall of the year.

We went to see Hello Dolly at the high school for my birthday. It was so much fun.

“Children are an heritage of the Lord” (Psalms 127:3). Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs, to teach them to love and serve one another, to observe the commandments of God and to be law-abiding citizens wherever they live.

-The Family: A Proclamation to the World

If motherhood has taught me one thing, it has taught me to recognize the taste of my own foot. It’s kinda mismatched-stripe-sockey-tasting, with a few fuzzies  between the toes.

I have put my foot in my mouth so many times in the four years since I became a mother. Actually, perhaps that’s not the best phrase to use. But it’s all I can think of right now.

What I’m trying to say is that every time I say something snotty in my head (I know, me, snotty?) at some point it comes back to bite me in the butt. Or foot. Now I can’t keep my cliche’s strait.

For example, I remember thinking about some unsuspecting mother in years past: “You know, if you just wipe the back of your chairs off every day, they won’t get grimy.” (I know, snotty.)

Now, I do wipe my chairs down – and daily just isn’t a reality – but it seems like I do it constantly. And you know what, no matter how diligent I try to be, when someone comes over, there’s always dried raspberry jam or some other sticky nonsense on the back of my seats. I don’t know what’s so hard about keeping the food on the table. But it seems it winds up anywhere but.

And what about tantrums? Those heartfelt manipulations produced by two year olds to get a scoop of ice cream, when they didn’t eat their dinner. Well, on this, I am as I always thought I would be: heartless. Let them cry all they want. Those crocodile tears won’t move me.

But somehow this isn’t something I’m proud of. I feel like a mean mommy. I mean, gosh, I don’t want to be one of those moms with kids that are totally out of control, but would it hurt me to give in every once in a while? I’ve come to appreciate the soft voices of mothers who concede, striving to develop that tenderness in my own persona. Motherhood is a life of self doubt and second guessing.

I went to a friend’s Girls Night Out, where we celebrated the fabulousness of womanhood. We discussed what it meant to be a mom, and each woman at the table voiced their own self doubts and who they looked to as an example of strength in their perceived weakness. It was interesting to listen to women who felt those same fears . . . or different ones. It made me realize that parenthood is hard. Judgments are easy to pass in short, careless moments. But the reality is that we’re all struggling to find our own paths.

Wyatt was telling me about a Tony Robbins speech he read once (Tony=Awesome) about the dichotomy of our lives: most people tend to be focused on the achievements of life: the quantitative outward accolades of the world. But once a person gets past the focus of achievement, they will find an empty shell if they don’t also concern themselves with a life of fulfillment: the inner joy and satisfaction found solely from within from various aspects of life.

I thought about this as it relates to the Proclamation, or even the Gospel as a broader topic. I think Heavenly Father is trying to tell us something. I think He knows where we can find our greatest fulfillment, in our families. But it takes work. (Wow, I talk about work in the gospel a lot. Am I pessimistic?) But for me it’s kinda like the whole iron rod thing . . . if we just hold on to what He’s told us, that families are central to His plan of happiness – if we believe that, then our joy will be found in that family.

And so for me, children are work, but they are also a promise, from Heavenly Father, for me to have a life that has meaning, and peace, and joy, and hope, and all the things I want my life to be. It won’t be disappointing or hard or heart breaking (although I won’t escape those times) because when it’s all done, there will be this glowy-pink-ness over everything in my life because it was shared with my family. That’s what I cling to on days when Olivia won’t eat her dinner.

Today I overheard Olivia say to Calvin, when he had finished his dinner:

“Calvin! I’m so proud of you!”

It made me happy. It made me feel like I was doing something good; she got that phrase from me. I try to tell my babies that I’m proud of them and that I notice their small accomplishments – like not having “accidents” or telling the truth or doing something hard.

It seems Olivia has picked up on that.

And that is a good thing. Motherhood is a life of second-guessing oneself.

This week brought the many happy returns of old friends.

Wyatt’s friend Sarah from high school was in town. We got together with her one evening.

Andi called last Saturday and said she and Jeff would be passing through on their way to Yellowstone. My dog Yellow loves to roam . . . By Tuesday she had made it to Salt Lake. We spent time in the afternoon just hanging out, and that night went to dinner with her parents, Cheryl and Chris.

Then on Friday we got a very exciting call from Anna. I had heard through the grapevine that she was moving back but didn’t know when. Friday she was here.

What a great thing it is to have friends.

Above photo courtesy of Rick Smith

Above photo courtesy of Rick Smith

Above photo courtesy of Rick Smith

Above photo courtesy of Rick Smith

Above photo courtesy of Rick Smith

Above photo courtesy of Rick Smith

We love July.

This is another reason why.