Category Archives: EverettBaby Everett had his first birthday. Mmm . . . baby yum. For his birthday I made him two cakes – one for eating, and one for SMASHING!
We had a little party for him, and enjoyed the sweetness that is our littlest guy.
Happy Birthday Everett, I LOVE YOU!
DearEST, Today Olivia learned about dinosaurs at pre-school. She came home with a pill that “grew” into a dinosaur in water. She brought one home for Calvin too. That’s just like her to think of her brother and share with him. In the meantime Calvin, Everett and I built the awesomEST blanket fort ever. It will be headquarters for our week o’ fun. After we picked up Baby Sunshine from school we hit the Post Office and mailed those rebates (told you I’d do it
 We made Place Mats like these - paper towels & contact paper This afternoon we played outside and made place mats a’la these. Frescas Frijoles I say. They turned out pretty good, and Olivia was all too thrilled to color on them. Then I fed the missionaries. I know, can I be any more on top of it? Lemon Chicken Pasta and Boston Cream Pie. Did you know that Boston Cream Pie is really good? I don’t think I’ve ever had it before. But alas I sent the leftovers home with the mish’s. BECAUSE . . . we got mo’ junk at the store today – chocolate chips were on sale, so cookies it is for the week! And ice cream and bananas for banana splits. I stopped short of giant marshmallows to “roast” in the tent. We’re going to Par-Tay Calvin style. Oh, and I daydreamed about Christmas . . . of course you’re not surprised by that. Speaking of which, off to do some internet searches for Christmas gifts. I’m thinking Mickey for SuperCal. Love you, Miss you, You miss us ‘cuz we’re having mo’ fun. And yes, that was a little jab since you’re off on an international adventure, and I’m here watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse for the kajillionth time. -Anj PS – In other exciting domestic news, it must be said: My new vacuum came today. I am the happiEST and the cleanEST, except that other than straightening up for the mish’s tonight, cleaning is not on my agenda this week. Ah, little Everett, I LOVE YOU! Thursday night Carrie and I sat up talking, when suddenly we heard Everett crying from his room. Not just crying – screaming in a panicked sort of way. We jumped up to go to him. Poor boy, when I walked in his face was covered with something white. When I picked him up I smelled it. Vomit. Baby boy had thrown up all over himself. He then proceeded to vomit on me. Several hours later he finally settled down back to sleep. The next morning we were supposed to drive out with the Smith’s to Manti. In light of Everett’s condition we slept in, then debated the trip. But then, how could we disappoint Calvin, who had been crying for three day’s straight waiting for the day we would “go to Manti.” Besides, we reasoned, we hadn’t really been anywhere all summer. We loaded up, and headed down.
Day one was spent in the shade of the Cottonwood next to the garden, talking about nothing important, letting the kids have run of the yard (and tractor, as was the case with Calvin). We ate pizza and watched TV and Olivia and I colored. Everett seemed better. No fever, no other symptoms to give alarm to illness. He was happy and content playing with each of us. Of course that night the regurgitation returned. We cleaned him up, and put him back to bed. He did better the rest of the night.
The next morning Rick washed the lawn mower, I washed Cal’s bike; all in reaction to Calvin, who had tried to wash both with tire shine found off the back porch. Tire shine is goopy stuff. Still, Rick was gracious, and both came clean.
Later we all packed up for an afternoon drive in the mountains, and a picnic at the lake. Poor little Cal was so tired, he just begged to be carried everywhere. The weather was perfect, the views incredible. And Wyatt and Cal did a good job of not completely melting down.
That night Mike and Bret came down. Dinner was everything Labor Day weekend should be: Burgers and fresh veggies from the garden. Rootbeer floats and movies, and bed early for me because I had been up the night before with Everett. Sunday really was a day of rest. A little R&R, a walk, a few pictures, and more movies. Little Ev had a rough night Sunday night though. He threw up a couple times, and generally had a hard time sleeping. He survived, and I did too, though by Monday I was really dragging from the several sleepless nights.
Monday morning we didn’t do much. We packed and cleaned – the five of us can sure make a mess fast – and then headed North and back to real life. The weekend was lovely. Thank you to the Smiths for the accommodations, entertainment, delectable cuisine, and general graciousness of us and our vomitous/mischievous children.
Dear, and sweet Everett, You are so close to walking. So close! You stand in the middle of the room, no crutch of support near you. You don’t even notice. When something is out of reach, you lean – closer, closer, closer . . . and then plop – onto your (usually) wet bum and off you crawl to the object of your desire.
You are so bald. Like a baby bird. Your big eyes, dark like Christmas chocolates, on your small, impish face. You smile, and those eyes wrinkle up and disappear into the folds of your so soft baby skin. And you laugh – the laugh of sucking in air, squealing in delight of some trick of your siblings.
You are growing and smiling and being everything that you should. I just want you to know how much fun you are, and that we are so excited to watch you reach for the things just beyond. This is a life of constant growth, just remember: baby steps. It was the day! First, four wheeling up at Beaver Springs. Then, dinner at the diner. Then, drumroll please . . . Everett’s first Rodeo! It was a lovely evening. *Sigh.* Leslee & Jason, Jared, and Beth & Alex all came along this year.
Calvin playing with Everett: This little piggy played inside This was me: 6:22 am . . . really? REALLY? REALLY? Walk in from working out. Come around the corner to catch Cal doing this.
Kissy kissy bye bye hubby. Baby Sunshine comes down, wild haired. Carry her back upstairs, pour breakfast for her and her brother. Make the bottle for Everett. Go in to greet him. He stinks. Blow out. Awesome. Nakie baby and I take a shower. Kids are done with breakfast. Time to change bums. One, two, three. Time to get dressed. Wrestle Calvin into his selected outfit (why are you wearing that winter jacket again?) – while holding baby Everett on my lap. He’s suddenly turned clingy. Clothes on, shoes on, walk down the hall. Suddenly, Calvin is wailing!! He wet himself (in the misadventures of potty training). He does not like the wet. This time I put Everett down with another bottle, back down the hall to Cal’s room, strip him, dress him again. Everett must have finished the Bah. He’s crying, and crawling, down the hall towards me. “Olivia, go get the hair brush.” I eye her tangled locks. I pick up Everett. Olivia has already begun to whine about having her hair brushed. French braid/pony tail thing is not so neat or so cute. Raise my eyebrows in defeat. Pick up Everett (still crying) again, down the hall. Now we’re really on our way. Everett regurgitates all over himself and ME! No way we’re getting changed. Spit up is a fashion accessory in my life. Wipe us down as best I can. Outside. Dig out bikes, helmets, and wagon. Ready for a walk.
Round the corner to Kellie’s, not home. We play in her abandoned back yard, alone. Home again, into the car. Gotta run some errands. Bank, Credit Union, in-laws for Calvin’s long lost – not urinated on – shoes. A visit to Daddy’s office. The sight of him makes all the children wail. They want to play with daddy. Maybe an afternoon visit was not such a good idea. Home again. Lunch. Bananas? All gone. Remember this morning? Corn dogs? Sure. With ketchup please. Fold the laundry. Change the laundry. Curse the laundry. Dinner? Oh yeah. Sigh with over whelming underwhelmedness. Dinner, Baths, Bedtime. Please bedtime. TV, computer, ready to start again?
We went on an evening hike with our friends, the Fletchers & Sparks. I’ve never heard of this waterfall before, but it was a mo’ easy hike:
Afterwards:
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
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. Everett sprouted two teeth. TWO TEETH. 3 months is a little young. He just grabbed my finger and pulled it to his mouth . . . I was mostly asleep when he did it. But suddenly I was wide awake. Did I just feel what I thought I felt? Upon a double, and triple check it was confirmed. Everett has TWO new baby teeth. At 3 months and 16 days old he has teeth. This year I tackled quite a few home-made gifts. Every couple years I do a lot of home-made stuff, and then I remember not to do it again! While the projects are fun, it’s hard to work under a deadline.
For Everett this year I made him a sock monkey.
December 31, 2009
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.
Today I was walking up the stairs after changing the laundry (HATE LAUNDRY) and I looked across the room at the stockings. “We should take a picture of Everett in a stocking” I said aloud. “Let’s do it!” Carrie said. I think she was bored. I was startled by her enthusiasm. And motivated. So we did. We took Everett’s stocking down and stuffed him in it. Then we photographed him against the last little section of blank wall left in my living room.
I also took a few pics of the fireplace mantle. Obviously he’s too heavy to just hang on the hooks. I knew I’d have to photoshop him back into place. Then tonight I sat down and went to work. First I cropped and straightened the mantle. Then I masked it and created a new gradient layer using sampled colors from the wall behind to create a smooth new wall without funky shadows. I then slid the opacity of that layer down a little bit to allow some shadows to create a more realistic feel.
Then I cut out little dude from his picture, and pasted him in to the mantle picture already underway. I resized him to what I thought looked good, copied the hook from another stocking and added it to him, and then added a drop shadow to the whole layer.
Then he was too bright so I did a new layer based on his selection and filled it with a shade of middle grey. I set that layer to multiply and slid the opacity down till it looked right to tone down his overall color.
Next I added a fire in the fireplace following this tutorial.
And I added a picture above the mantle place, taken off the internet, adding a drop shadow to it as well.
Then things really started getting fun. I did a gausian blur overlay to give it that glowy happy look. Then did a little highlight correction because you tend to over do highlights when you do that.
Next I selected my edges and blurred them out. I added a vignette effect, again, corrected my highlights, and burned my edges even more.
Next I decided it needed to be warmer – you know, have that sit by the fire, drink hot chocolate feeling.
Then I added an even stronger vignette by copying all layers and pasted them into one layer, setting that layer to multiply, and sliding the opacity down to where I wanted it, then creating a square selection and feathering it at 150, and deleting the center.
Almost done now. Next I burned Everett just a little more to make his tones more consistent with the rest of the image, but added a little highlighting to his face to make him pop out.
Last, but not least, I increased the canvas size setting the background to black to give him a framed look.
And that’s about as much photoshopping as I ever do. But it was fun. I wonder what quality the print would be. I always worry about that when I mess around in Photoshop too much. But I printed this picture last week, and it turned out great. So maybe I should print this up and use it as my Christmas card. What do you think?
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.
I made these a few weeks ago (actually started them two nights before Everett was born). They are just little bibs and burp rags. I made the front out of fun blue and brown flannel that I found, and the back I lined with a striped minky white fabric. On the burp rags I added brown ribbon ties to tie them closed. They were super simple and easy, but after the whole project was done, I decided it’s probably easier to just buy them.
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) as well as a few pictures for my new internet friend Cindy. I should have more internet friends. Problem is my unfriendliness in real life translates in magnificitude (ha ha, I love that word. I totally just made that up. I know, I’m the coolEST) on the internet.
