Here's To Silly!

Boldy Going . . .

2011-10-03T22:09:00.000-07:00

As Bean gets older, she is constantly discovering new things.

Isn't if funny how nostrils are so finger shaped and sized?

Conclusion: Discovering new territory is exciting, no matter where it is found.

It's Almost Fake

2011-09-22T20:17:00.000-07:00

This isn't a real post. I promise there's one out there that's coming. Until then, there are just two things I had to share.

1 - You know it's time to shave when you are laying (lying? this is one grammar rule I never got a handle on - don't worry I know everything else about grammar) in bed with your almost-one-year-old (good heck, how did she get that old that fast?) with your arms behind your head and she reaches up and pets your armpit as though it were one of her "touch and feel" board books.

2 - I really liked this picture/quote, so I thought I'd share (it's sort of been a theme in my life lately):

Conclusion: Laughter is real, real good for the soul.

Extremist

2011-08-04T18:24:00.000-07:00

You know it's quite a day when I take pictures of Bean both because she's so cute when she's actually in clothes at home (let's be honest, that hardly ever happens, the being clothed part, not the being cute part):

Yes, I am starting Bean out with a chore list. Sweeping everything in her reach is her daily job. She's still learning, but I think it's best to start early.

and because she's so cute when she's hanging out naked (she's had a bit of a chappy bum, and there's no better cure than simple fresh air, right?):

Conclusion: It's been a good day.

Cancer

2011-08-03T16:00:00.000-07:00

So, my advice is to never get cancer.

Good. Now that that's taken care of, here's a link to a comic that kind of sums up how I feel about The Big C. I am posting a link rather than embedding said comic because there is some foul language (and we're not talking chickens here, folks). This is your official F-bomb warning. Still, it's apt.

Conclusion: Don't get cancer. The end.

Embracing the Double Standard

2011-07-24T18:35:00.000-07:00

We're bad parents. I'm coming to terms with that. But at least we're not terrible parents. We're good about some things. I still won't give Bean cookies. They're pure sugar, right? But somehow we've decided it's ok to give her ice cream.

And she loves it. Surprising, I know. I've never really cared for the stuff myself (lies, all lies). It's rare, though. She mostly eats fruit and veggies with varied protein sources. It works out in the end. I think she'll make it. Sure hope so. I really like this kid. I'd like to keep her.

Conclusion: Moderation in all things includes ice cream, for sure. And good parenting is for people without an imagination.

Not My Smartest Move Today

2011-07-15T16:26:00.000-07:00

Wearing a white shirt and standing directly in front of a baby feeding herself baked beans and sausage did not turn out as well as I would have hoped.

Yup. All five fingers on display.

Conclusion: One can get away with so much more when one is cute and tiny.

There Just Isn't Much That Is Cuter

2011-07-15T16:12:00.000-07:00

Than little baby socks hanging next to gigantic daddy socks.

Conclusion: Sometimes it gets overwhelming, dealing with the overload of cuteness at our house.

A Valid Point

2011-07-15T16:04:00.000-07:00

Conclusion: You never know. You just never know.

It's Like Grass

2011-07-05T17:47:00.000-07:00

Bean has recently had her first experience sitting outside. We don't have a lawn, but there is moss on the sidewalk, so it's pretty much the same thing.

I took her outside with me while I put laundry on the line. She wasn't too sure of it at first, but seemed ok when I distracted her with a leaf from the ground nearby.

Conclusion: Outside time is golden, but we look forward to lawn.

Baby In The Lead

2011-07-03T19:42:00.000-07:00

You probably guessed that Bean is eating solid foods by now. What you may not know is the journey she has taken to get here. LONG ago (ok, so in the past year, but it feels like forever), I read a blog post about a woman who, instead of going through the "rice cereal, then purees, then finger foods" process, just gave her baby a piece of green pepper when he wanted it and went from there, with the baby eating real food along with the family the whole time. "I'm totally going to do that," I said to me. I still bought some spoons and purees of foods not available here on the island (which I know doesn't make sense if my plan was to avoid purees), but I was fully intending to go with her philosophy, because it made sense to me. She mentioned a book "Baby-Led Weaning," but books are hard to come by here and it seemed silly to send it when we're only here for such a short while, so I was sure I could go it alone. I was wrong.

The first food I offered Bean was mango, which seemed a delightful option to me. It was very slippery and, while she seemed to enjoy the flavor, she could not get a hold of it to eat it no matter what she tried. It was a mess. So I mashed it and fed it to her with a spoon. Then I did the same with bananas. And then I blended up some green beans (Bean eating beans - classic, right?) and some spinach with pumpkin. And all of a sudden, I was all caught up in spoon-feeding my baby all kinds of purees - exactly what I didn't want to do. I even fed her a jar of store-bought sweet potatoes. Sigh. ;) We tried rice cereal, but for some reason she was zero interested in its blandness.

Enter my birthday. My sweet mom sent me the book. I devoured it. I ceased and desisted with the purees. I gave her finger-shaped and sized bits of food and watched her go for it. She LOVED it.

Here's a video of her, just a couple weeks into her "learning to eat solid food" process:

She now eats all kinds of food, and she's getting all kinds of fast and efficient. She has also made some glorious messes. I love watching her explore food this way. She has become a first-rate beggar, too. Anytime there is food being eaten anywhere in the house, she gets very quiet and alert, like a predator sneaking up on an innocent . . . small helpless thing. She watches us every moment there is any kind of food in our hands. She smacks her lips. And if the food is not offered to her in a prompt manner, she gets the most sad/demanding look on her face that you can imagine. It awesome/frustrating. It has cut down on my open cookie intake (of course the hidden cookie intake remains intact).

Even without teeth (still, not a single one), she is a force of nature. Bananas? Easy. Gone in mere moments. Melon? That's a snap. Broccoli? A little more challenging, but still delicious and worth the effort. Star fruit is a new favorite. Crackers and cheese and ham and chicken and pasta and all kinds of delicious things are all a part of this new life. It has definitely made me more aware of my own dietary habits, this sharing with a tiny person. It's friggin' awesome. Here, I'll show you:

We quickly learned that bibs are over-rated.

But avocado is not.

It's important to have vision and determination.

Only suckers need teeth to eat apples.

Spoons are harder than they look.

And yes, you can get awesome fat rolls from eating prunes.

We are pretty excited to see how much she will enjoy teeth. Just think of the things she'll be able to do. I mean, if she can eat pizza now (yes, yes she can), steak isn't that far off, right? Also, we look forward to getting to Utah in the season of corn on the cob - oh, how I'm sure she'll love it.

Conclusion: Independence begins early in this house. Happy Independence Day, all.

Who Planned This?

2011-06-07T17:05:00.000-07:00

When a battery in a smoke detector is low, it just goes off every ten seconds or so. You know, smoke detector loud. And shrill. And scary. I may have known that. I probably knew that. It's a good idea. Unless The Universe decides the battery is low an hour after the baby goes to bed. In her room. Right above her crib. And the ceiling the detector is attached to is so high that your 6'6" husband can't reach it standing on a chair (And, let's be honest, every pillow in the room, which is many. Safe, right?). Then it's a terrible idea. Just sayin'.

Conclusion: Whoever said to change the batteries every six months may have had a point. And/or a once sleeping baby.

Attached At The Hip

2011-05-20T19:26:00.000-07:00

So, here's the low-down on the ho-down (I really feel like putting a "w" after "ho," just to make it match, but then it would spell "how" and that wouldn't make any sense). Apparently I'm sort of an attachment-parenting type. This is not something I planned on. I remember discussing birth plans with a friend of mine, waaaaay before Bean was twinkling in my eye, and being completely flummoxed when she asked me what parenting methods I planned to use. Um, how should I know? That was, like, light years away. I had spent years deciding just how I wanted my birth experience to be (sort of like little girls who plan their weddings for decades but fail to consider the realities of a real-life marriage). Turns out, it was just as important, if not more so, as considering choices like epidural? hypnobirthing? midwife? hospital? and t'ings o' dat sort.

While pregnant, I did start to sort of investigate stuff like that. One website had a particularly strong impact - Hathor certainly has a forceful way of putting things. Most certainly an attachment-parenting advocate, she renders all other ideas as essentially ridiculous, at the very least disdainable. I specifically remember her pointing out all kinds of "detachment-parenting," which included strollers. Well, when you put it like that, of course I don't want any part of it. She did get to be a little much for me and I had to unsubscribe to her feed before Bean came on the scene, if only to save us both from the intense scrutiny I felt like it put me under (Sure, sure, it's just a website so the scrutiny was self-inflicted. No matter, it had to stop). Still, the phrase "detachment-parenting" has stuck with me. I didn't start out looking to use a sling to make a statement or to fulfill any hippie fantasy. It just made more sense to me and fit in with my style and ideals. And I have loved it. So has Bean.

Then I got the heat-rash-from-hell and had to reconsider. After some to-do, we gratefully received a stroller two weeks ago from Wonderman's ever-generous sister. I thought that I was being so pragmatic and was neatly eating my humble pie, when I realized that I had actually been quite selfish. I got the stroller just for me and assumed Bean would love it since she used to love the car - same concept, sort of, right? I honestly barely considered how she would feel about it. It just seemed like an alternative mode of transport. No biggie.

Alas, turns out that after six-plus months of this attachment-parenting mumbo-jumbo, it actually works and babies get attached. Also, it seems that right around six months is when many babies begin to deal with separation anxiety, even babies who have been "detachment" parented all along. Needless to say, there were many, many tears when we introduced the stroller, only partially abated when Wonderman danced in front of the stroller making silly noises and pulling funny faces (Have I told you what awesome buddies they are? I love it).

So, my fear of blending in with all the other mommies with strollers? Not a concern. I became the mommy wearing my baby in a sling, pushing an empty stroller. You know how I love to embrace the ridiculous, right? Yup, nothing like a crazy white woman to make the Dominicans stare. So, we've tried to break Bean in slowly. Some trips in the stroller, some in the sling. Sometimes managing half a trip in the stroller and coming home in the sling (Um, how grateful am I for a sling that packs small? Uber for sure). Every day Bean gets a little bit better about the concept of strolling. Today she did A-MA-ZING. She was so calm the whole way. Two trips to campus and back. Instead of crying, she just made that little extended "uh" sound that so nicely exhibits the bumps in the road (of which there are many around these parts). When she did get a little tired and hungry (do I have to confess to my negligence here and tell you how I kept her out way longer than I should have and naps weren't really on the radar, nor was nursing for quite a bit of the time we were out [for all my rantings about public nursing, you'd think I'd make it a point to do it when I had the chance!]?), she just whimpered lightly and then fell fast asleep. It was glorious. I gave thanks for the relatively quick adjustment period and began to make all kinds of future strolling plans.

And then tonight I realized a few things about heat rash (Well, the realizations have been building, but the final and most important was tonight at bath time). 1 - Mine did not even come close to disappearing with the introduction of the stroller. 2 - Now that Bean can sit up and so I sling her on my hip, instead of belly-to-belly, none of her body-heat is touching where my gross rash even is. 3 - The heat rash that I've been noticing on her back (right above her diaper so it kinda looks like diaper rash but it actually stops where the diaper begins so I've been pretty confused by it), IS CAUSED BY THE GOSH-DARN STROLLER. Seriously, on what planet is this fair? She gets warm in there, but I didn't think it was that warm. But that is the only thing that has changed within the time frame of her rash development. So, now I'm torn. Do I sling it despite the heat, except for when I want to go grocery shopping or to the pool? Or do I just try to pack an ice back wrapped in a blanket behind her and maintain our strolling success? Will the rash that I have (Which is only dissipating a bit now with loads of steroid cream) re-rear it's horrendous head? Whose rash takes precedence?

Conclusion: There is no "Easy-Parenting" style.

You Never Know

2011-05-19T20:01:00.000-07:00

Last night as I got into bed, I noticed the moon glowing so-brightly-it-was-almost-eery through our window, and I commented on said glowing to Wonderman. His response:

"Yeah, I was just thinking that tonight we'll find out if Bean is really a werewolf."

A pause of bemused silence lay pregnant between us.

"It would be cute, but terrifying," he said.

It would indeed.

Conclusion: She's probably not a monster, but she's bound to be funny with genes like his.

It's true, I totally put in a gratuitous Bean-shot. It's to show off her good genes and to celebrate that we now have a camera and to show that she has enough hair for little clips (they are mine from back in the day right after I was bald, remember?). Hooray!

The end.

Stroller, Take One

2011-05-09T17:04:00.000-07:00

Well, there are probably lots of things to say in some long post that I'll write later, but tonight I am just going to say that right at 6.5 months, when Bean is really starting up on her separation anxiety, is maybe not the best time to switch from a sling to a stroller. It's been a long day.

The end.

A Warning

2011-04-20T19:14:00.000-07:00

Today I woke up to a severed horse's head in my bed. Speaking figuratively, of course. You may recall my discussion of courage a while back. I have continued to wear large and dangley earrings, and Wonderman has continued to, well, wonder at my brazenness.

After my shower today, I put in a pair of large plastic hoops - you know the kind, it was the type that made me wish I had pierced ears in the 80s. They are not just large, but also zebra-striped, which just adds to their awesomeness. As I put the soft plastic back on the post I thought out loud to myself, "Bean will probably think these are great toys, placed in reach just for her," and then continued on to put the second earring in. I had been wearing them for perhaps ten minutes before her grabby little hands reached upwards. I knew her intentions when I both felt and heard her warm breath in my ear. Luckily the back was so soft it was super easy for her to pull out and start chewing on. No harm, no foul. So I switched earrings.

I put in a pair that was not small, but not garish by any standard. They were on fish hooks. I've worn them lots and lots of time since Bean came on the scene. They were my safe choice. Then, while I leaned over Bean this afternoon, the term "safe" was erased from their description. She caught hold and pulled mightily very, very quickly (before this she's always been a fairly slow, gentle, and exploratory grabber of earrings). She pulled the jewelry quite out of my ear. It hurt a little, but nothing serious. That is, until I saw the earring. The hook was completely bent in a very un-fishhook like manner. I realized at that moment that her strength is ever increasing, and it was sheer chance of angle that allowed her to merely bend the hook rather than tearing my earlobe clear through. Sigh. I surrender. Looks like it's a decade (depending on the number of children and their spacing, of course) of dowdy earring for me, coming up.

Conclusion: David is not the only little person to face off with a giant and win.

The Baby in the Mirror

2011-04-17T20:31:00.000-07:00

This has nothing to do with my hippie card.

At least once a day, Bean and I look in the mirror and I say some version of this: "Do you see the baby in the mirror? Look at the baby in the mirror. That's such a cute baby in the mirror, huh? Can you say 'hi' to the baby in the mirror?" After repeating the phrase "baby in the mirror" that many times, about 98% of the time I end up with the chorus from this song in my head:

It's not a bad song. In fact, it's kind of a good song. It's inspiring and all. I still don't love having it in my head all day, every day. I'm not exactly sure how to acquaint Bean with her mirror self without getting it in my head, however. And so it continues.

Conclusion: The King of Pop continue to reign.

Strollin'

2011-04-16T19:23:00.000-07:00

First off - strollers. We bought an umbrella stroller from some friends who were leaving the island so we would have "something," just in case. I tried it out a few weeks back. Bean loved it. Until she got absolutely sun-fried. I wisely saw some pros and some cons (the decision to use it came about because I needed to go to campus and help out with a fundraiser and needed more movement than the sling would give me but wouldn't have anywhere to put Bean, so I figured it would work to just have her hang out sitting in the stroller for a while. That part of it worked like a charm. So did the quietly strolling her to sleep while we waited for Wonderman to finish his business up on campus so he could walk home with us). Still, the flaming red skin kept at bay all further thoughts of strolling. Until I got the heat rash from hell all down my front after wearing her in the sling through a long, hot day (I mean, everyone with boobs gets at least a little boob sweat, right? The sling takes that to the Nth degree and then gets it running all down my belly and then holds it there). I realized that another semester (in the summer) here without a stroller might not go well. I contacted my sister-in-law who had offered us her jogging stroller clear back in December (I turned it down, holding firmly to my hippie ideals and thinking I didn't want to "deal with" a stroller), who told me she had kept it, just waiting for me to want it. Ooooh, that made me feel angry? sheepish? GRATEFUL. Anyway, it's on its way (with a camera in its pocket - hooray!!!). It's big and bulky and folds down to a very small size (i.e. about equivalent to the size of Rhode Island). It's exactly what I imagined I would never own. But it's exactly what I need (just today as I walked home with a sleeping baby in the sling and about 30 pounds of groceries in my hands I thought, I really need a stroller, even if it's just to put the groceries in - they can make the 20 min. walk home seem so much longer).

I'm already having separation anxiety, just thinking about putting Bean in a stroller instead of a sling (this has made me wonder if attachment parenting in my case is more about me not being able to be separated from Bean that about her needing me). I can't imagine having her that far away from me for that long, that often. I am, quite literally, very attached to her. I also have a strange sense of pride when I get asked "You don't have a stroller, do you? I've never seen you use one." I also know that I get recognized because of my beautiful sling and the adorable baby with the aqua-colored sunhat walking all over town, if not for my own stunning beauty. Once I get a stroller, I'll just blend in with all the other mommies. The American mommies, anyway. Very few Dominicans use prams, as they call them. They don't wear their babies, either. They just carry them. That seems difficult and wildly impractical to me, but it is the way of things. Anyway, I'll only have my own good looks to set me apart, and in the tropics in the summer time, even those get muddled a bit. Sigh. Here's to the ladies who stroll!

Conclusion: Humble Pie isn't nearly as good as dutch apple or lemon meringue, but apparently it's quite nutritious.

Cause and Effect

2011-04-09T17:39:00.000-07:00

Guess what? It turns out that I only have time to keep up with reading all the blogs I've added to my reader or to post on my own blog. Should you be someone who notices when something shows up here, you are aware of what my choice has been lately. Sigh. Can I blame part of that on my lack of a camera with which to take adorable pictures of my sweet love, Bean? She is my inspiration and all. That's at least part of the problem. The other part is just me being swamped with reading other people's stuff. Not only do I do it for educational purposes, but I also have a group of imaginary virtual friends, see. They're real people, but I like to imagine they're my friends. They are awesome. My sister says to comment on their blogs and we can become real friends, but I am not very good at that yet. I've made a few forays out of my lurking corner, but no fast friendships of eternal consequence have emerged. Still, I feel obligated (wildly curious?) to know how things are going on their side of the world. Plus I have to know what my sister/cousin/aunt/college roommate is posting. It's all pretty important. Anyway, here I am. And I'm having a bit of a crisis. Wonderman says I'm going to have to turn in my hippie card. There are a few issues at hand. Updates coming soon. Probably.

Bean Ts, Live!

2011-03-07T18:40:00.000-08:00

Bean has grown enough to fit and fill her Bean Ts that my sister made. It's a pretty adorable combination, if I do say so myself.

I had to post so many pictures for two reasons. 1 - They're too adorable to choose just one. 2 - These are the last pictures that got taken before my camera broke and so may be the last pictures of Bean or of anything for quite a while. Sigh. So, now my posts will just be silly rants and descriptions and no cute pictures. Like, I have more to say about cloth diapers. I'll say it soon, but when it's not accompanied by a photo of a sweet baby with cloth on her bum it's not nearly as appealing. Alas, it is all I can do.

The end.

Don't Eat Angry

2011-03-07T18:29:00.000-08:00

Have I ever told you how . . . um . . . active Bean is? She is always moving. The bigger she gets, the harder she is to hold on to. Especially since with bigger comes stronger. Bath time wrangling has become a serious sport.

Strangely, so has nursing. Sometimes she is calm and it is the sweet, quiet, relaxing time that you read about, well, I don't know where. I've read about it on a whole variety of blogs. There's probably books and stuff that talk about it, too. Maybe reading about breastfeeding isn't really all that common. It has become so for me. Anyway, sometimes it's all sweet like that. Other times it's an adventure. She talks and growls while she eats. She flaps her available arm and leg about (This is one reason that covers and I are not friends. The waving material acts like a flag and actually draws more attention to us. Bean has yet to comprehend modesty and discretion). Often it's not her flapping limbs about, but using them to try to climb up me. She's even hit my collarbone with such force that's she's bruised me (just barely and just once, but still)!

Also, notice the gripping of the shirt. That is the hand Wonderman and I used to call "The Modesty Hand" because she would put it up over her face while she ate, which also covered up any part of me that could possibly be showing. Now it gets called "The Immodesty Hand" because she uses it to grab my shirt and pull it as far out and down as she can.

Not related to wrangling of any kind, I would just like to make sure you notice the awesome difference in skin color between the two of us. I know she's mine because I was there when I birthed her, but she isn't quite as obviously (to the untrained eye) mine as she is her father's. When I had my hair in braids, a friend of mine described my appearance as "ethnically vague." As much as I identify myself as "white," Bean and I definitely appear to be of not entirely the same ethnicity. Weird.

Conclusion: True love is much more than skin deep.

Goal-Making

2011-03-05T18:28:00.000-08:00

Remember how I told you I wasn't really into the whole resolution thing? Yeah, still not. Let's be honest, I'm not even great with setting goals for myself (which may be a reason for my general appearance of laziness and undisciplined nature). However, I have set a goal which I thought was going to be a breeze, but is turning out to be a tad challenging. It has to do with hair.

Hair? Really? I can hear you now. Don't judge me. Hair is a big deal in my world. First off, let's just say that for someone who has lost all of her hair - twice - and who understood, at least intellectually, that she would lose some hair postpartum, I had no idea how hard it would be to see my lovely locks abandoning ship. Seriously, there is hair everywhere. Bean has at least one hair on her onesie somewhere or in her fist pretty much all the time. I try to get them off her and keep them all in one place, namely the round file, but those hairs, they are tricksy. Anyway, the losing of my hair has caused me some minor trauma.

Still, before the trauma really hit, I was already making a hair plan. It's been a delight to have hair again, really it has. This minor trauma has been nothing compared to the complete baldness I experienced not-really-all-that-long-ago. So, I certainly revel in my ponytails. However, I also have not had a specific style since, um, I'm not sure. I think when we got married it was in a specific-ish style. That's almost three years. Right now, it's just been growing for two years. It's lovely, but untamed to say the least. While I live in paradise, that is no matter. It is in a ponytailer of some kind essentially all the time. I have been planning a post-island trip to the salon almost since we got to the island. Originally I was going to make it a postpartum trip (don't all new mommies need new hair?).

This is my postpartum hair. I am very very good looking, no?

Since I got the chance to come back to the island I decided to postpone. With the postponing came a plan. I want to donate it. This may be the only time I have such long hair that is completely untouched by chemicals of any kind. My sister donated her hair, and I've tried to do everything she's done pretty much since I was born. It's the curse and the blessing of the little sister, I suppose.

Here's the thing. It's not long enough yet. I don't know how long it will take to get long enough. I already have started having visions of cutting my own hair into a cute, tousled short style. I actually think I could do a decent job of it (I've cut my own hair before, you know). There's a chance we'll leave the island in five weeks. There's a chance we'll leave in five months (cross your fingers for the months option, really, hair aside it will be SO MUCH better for us).

Here's how long it was just over a year ago, right after I found out Bean was coming:

Here's how long it is now:

Can I survive the wait? Did it grow extra fast with Bean brewing, or did it just seem thicker since it wasn't falling out? Will it actually grow faster now since I'm not supporting another life form, or slower since technically I guess I still am with breastfeeding and all.

Update: I thought I had to have 14 inches to donate. Turns out I just need 10. That makes it seem a little more do-able. Still, if I'm within walking distance of an American salon in the next month or two, heaven only knows how strong I will be.

Conclusion: I've been right all along. Goals are lame.

It Takes Courage

2011-03-05T17:54:00.000-08:00

Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.

~Ambrose Redmoon

Wonderman thinks I am brave. I suppose I am. See, Bean developed a very strong grip quite some time ago. Often, when I am holding her, she grips my hair and pulls down on it. I think it gives her a sense of security. Here in Dominica, my hair is not nearly so available, as it is almost always pulled up and back. You would think that would leave Bean with no security. This is not true. She is content to grip my earring and pull down to gain her sense of well-being. An easy solution would be to forgo grip-able earrings, but they're not nearly as cute or fun. Beyond cute and fun, big earring have sort of defined me for most of my pierced life. If I'm not quite ready to give that up, does that mean I have not fully transitioned to "Mommy" yet? If I give up earrings, do I give up on me? Heh. What started as a light-hearted post now seems all tortured and angst-ridden. Meh. I just like me some bling. Is that so wrong?

(Is it mind-boggling to anyone else how such a gorgeous child can have such a silly picture taken of her?)

Conclusion: Some things are worth risk, and only the risk-taker can make that judgment.

Playing

2011-02-22T10:20:00.000-08:00

So, since you know me so well, you know that I love to play with stuff. Words, mostly (I was lamenting just the other day to Wonderman that I'll probably be that mom the Bean rolls her eyes at with some regularity because I make so many lame puns and think I'm hilarious. Sad, but not sad enough to stop. Poor Bean). Parody also makes me smile. Here's two fun things that do just that.

1 - You know how I was talking about me becoming an activist? Turns out there's a better word for it. I'm a LACTIVIST. Awesome. I think I need a t-shirt.

2 - You know I love my sling? I know Beyonce' is a little over-parodied, but I couldn't help myself. It made me laugh. Maybe it will make you laugh, too.

Conclusion: As serious as I am, I can't take myself too seriously. Nor can you. Unless I'm threatening to punch you, then maybe I'm serious.

Belated

2011-02-16T17:47:00.000-08:00

I'm a little late for National Breastfeeding Month - it was in August. I guess I was just occupied with gestating and surviving the heat. Still, I'd like to revisit one of my favorite moments from the celebration. I saw this video on a few different blogs. Now it's on mine.

Conclusion: To everything (turn, turn, turn), there is a season (turn, turn, turn) and a time to every purpose . . . under heaven.

Why I Love Wonderman, Revisited

2011-02-13T17:27:00.000-08:00

Tonight as he was holding Bean, he looked at her and said, "She has more chins than a Chinese phone book."

(Can you hear me laughing where you are? Cuz I still am.)

And just to share a random photo from tonight that makes me smile:

I love that they already are buddies, aka partners in crime (I don't love that Bean seems to love TV, but what can you do?).

Conclusion: I can't imagine my life without these doses of belly-laughing.

Hair Care

2011-02-13T16:50:00.000-08:00

Combing and brushing are WAY overrated. Because sometimes when you do it, you look sillier than when you started. And maybe you look like Adolf Hitler:

It's a risk you run.

Conclusion: It's best not to tame a wild thing.

Modesty

2011-02-11T19:32:00.000-08:00

So, a friend of mine (mid-sentence aside that has nothing to do with anything, but I just realized that I start a lot of posts, sentences, emails, and all kinds of semi-important things with the word "so." It might be annoying, but I'm not sure I'm ready to stop) recently posted on her blog about her experience with high school PE. It, of course, made me think of my own experiences, some good, some bad. With the good came thoughts of Miss Buckley (a former weight lifter and Miss Universe [or something equally exciting] contestant, if the stories are true) and water aerobics. It was my first introduction to the pursuit, so I had no idea of its connection to little old ladies. Miss Buckley was anything but. The seventeen girls in the class (and one lone boy who we all thought was strange until we realized maybe he was more wily than strange) were anything but. The music we aerobic-ed to was for those who were anything but. I loved me some water aerobics. I still would, were they an option in my current situation, but there are no instructors here and I don't quite feel up to doing it myself (the instructing or just the aerobics).

Anyway . . . as I pondered nostalgically the days of the water aerobic, I remembered my awkward attempt at taking a social/political stance. We all wore swimsuits. We all showered after class. Not being in individual stalls, we all wore swimsuits in the shower. I remember thinking to myself, "Self, this is silliness. For certain boys don't shower in anything but the nude when in a locker room. No one here is going to look or care if we just shower how showers are meant to be taken. This is less comfortable and less effective. Why are girls so silly?" The next day in the shower, I proceeded to take my suit off and really shower. My goodness, the stares of shock and horror were sharp. I never did it again. I'd like to think today I'd be stronger in my stance against such silliness (which is strange, since in general I support all kinds of silliness; the principle is different, I'm sure). However, I also realize now that in fighting the silliness, I was making 16 other girls uncomfortable. At what point would value of their discomfort outweigh my own (as well as the importance of what was actually logical)?

As I navigate my life now (my goodness, could that have really been half a lifetime ago?), I realize that I have always had a strange relationship with modesty. I'm all for covering up what should be covered, except for when it's silly. Back then is was a swimsuit, now it's a nursing cover. I'll tell you what, the nursing cover (or lack thereof) is an issue that deals with a lot less skin, but seems to provoke even more social dander. Still, my reasoning is the same. It's less comfortable, more difficult, and less effective for me to nurse with everything, including Bean, covered up. The social ire, of course, ruffles my feathers. Turns out, instead of a nice, obedient (oppositional defiance aside), sweet and appropriate girl, I was meant to be a political activist. It probably was my life's calling, but I missed it to be a mommy. Putting it that way, I'm glad I did. That's not to say a little activism won't creep up now and then, especially as it relates to being a mommy.

Conclusion: Standing up for what you believe in takes more than gumption. It takes diplomacy.

Daddy's Girl

2011-02-11T18:41:00.000-08:00

Have I ever mentioned to you how much I adore my husband? It's a lot. And the reasons to adore him just keep adding up.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Conclusion: Nice guys don't just make great husbands, they're good dads, too.

On being discreet

2011-02-04T17:05:00.000-08:00

This blog post has been on my mind quite a bit the past few days.

Conclusion: Sometimes what gets labeled "progress" isn't actually progress at all.

Blow-out!

2011-02-01T20:05:00.000-08:00

Tonight seems like a good time to discuss my experience thus far with cloth diapers. Why tonight, you ask? Well, tonight was my first experience with a true blow out. I mean, there was poop everywhere. From what I hear, waiting three months to get one of those is nothing short of a miracle. A miracle that I have attributed to my use of fancy-pants (really).

She does look fancy, right?

Anyway, I don't even remember when I decided to use cloth diapers. It was probably around 9th grade, when my favorite t-shirt said: "If you hurt the trees, the birdies won't have anywhere to sit" and I thought I was all kinds of environmentally aware. Basically, the thought of all the waste that comes with disposables was hard for my little hippie heart to handle. Of course, I didn't focus on the details (i.e. poop), because that would make it too real.

I got older and my friends had babies. Some of them used cloth diapers and shared some information regarding both the benefits of cloth diapering and the modernization of the cloth diaper. I was hooked. Once I knew Bean was on her way, I started researching for real. I chose the Rumparooz One-size pocket diaper and spent what felt like a small fortune on a starter set. They came and I oohed and ahhed over the cuteness and convenience. I pre-washed, stuffed, and stored them, and then waited anxiously to have a baby to put them on. Then the "anxious" took another turn. I was nervous to use them. What if they didn't work? What if I couldn't handle the poop? What if I had wasted all that money (even more than most folks, we really don't have money to waste)? What if . . . .?

I didn't take the diapers to the hospital. I figured meconium was a great reason to use disposables. Then I realized that Bean had a tender little stump that the cloth diapers would cover. I had just been worried about irritation, but I learned that keeping it dry was paramount, not easy to do when cover with damp cloth. The first night home, Wonderman and my mom went to buy a pack of disposables. I felt defeated, as though I had abandoned my ideals. Would anyone know? If they knew, would they judge me after I had ranted and raved about the importance of cloth diapers? I felt like such a failure (over-emotional much? especially just one day after giving birth?). That package of diapers was my first experience with diaper-changing of any kind in literally decades (Wonderman did all the hospital diapering and my baby experience was almost non-existent). It was so easy. Just wipe and toss. I felt guilty, but I loved (as much as you can love anything related to diapering) it. Plus, the diapers were so tiny, I wasn't coming anywhere near the huge garbage cans full of just diapers that I had seen my neighbors putting out on the curb. I was in a good place. Bean's stub continued to hold on. We bought another pack of disposables. Part of me cringed, the other breathed a sigh of relief.

The day her stub fell off, I was nearing the end of a pack of diapers, and I realized that my moment of truth had come. I was tired and stressed and she wasn't sleeping well and I missed my husband and I was by that time terrified of what the switch to cloth would entail (more work on changing and more laundry that had to be done). My mommy (remember, I was staying with my mom and Bill while Wonderman went back to the island for school?) reassured me that it would be ok if I waited a while. Another package of disposables entered my life. I honestly don't even know how many we went through before I decided I was ready to jump in and try cloth. I told my mom, and she bought me another pack of disposables - I could sense her lack of faith. She said it was because there was a big storm coming and it was better to have them than not. How wise her words were.

I remember the first cloth diaper I put on Bean. It was purple. And soft. And so cute. And it leaked within twenty minutes of me putting it on her. She was laying on her side to nurse and urine just poured right out onto my lap as though the diaper had been a spigot and not absorbent at all. Not what I'd call an auspicious beginning. I switched it for another. It also leaked, this time in back. Again I tried. Again it leaked. 100% of the tries ended in leakage. I was grateful to retreat to the Pampers (I must say, if disposables must be in the mix, I prefer Pampers to Huggies. Huggies left gel balls on Bean's bum. No good. Target's store brand also worked quite well for us).

I did more internet research. Rumparooz had rave reviews all around, that's part of why I bought them. I contacted the company and got some good advice. More importantly, I reviewed the sizing info and realized that while Bean was a newborn, she wasn't technically newborn size. I increased the size, which allowed for an increase in insert absorption power. I still remember the sense of accomplishment I felt after using solely cloth diapers for a week. I have had essentially zero problems since. Once in a while there will be a tiny bit of leakage because I, in my negligence, have left Bean in a diaper for too long and it just can't hold any more. When she wore tights to church, they wicked the moisture nicely so I always had to toss tights in the wash. Nothing serious. The diapers were miraculous. I had none of the blow-outs that my new-mommy peers were experiencing. I had a baby with such a cutely-clad bum. All was well.

Until tonight. I heard her working on it, as I often do. I teasingly talked to her about the good job she was doing and the hard work it was taking. I was also doing this while reading my email and not looking at the baby beside me. When I did glance over, I saw that she was literally soaked. It threw off my whole night. I'm not experienced in the emergency bath. I forgot half of her bathing supplies. I got poop everywhere as I undressed her. The washing machine leaked water all over the floor during the emergency load (this is not because of my bumbling, but it did add to my sense of bewilderment). I'm just grateful beyond words that none of it got on the couch she was on (thank heaven for the boppy).

Still, she is now clean and sleeping soundly while just on the other side of the room colorful fluff laundry dries, ready to wrap her bum in cloth (I do love the colorful part of the endeavor, both on her and on the line). I've never been so worried about her diapers before. I certainly hope this was a one-time deal and that the cloth diapers will step back up and guard me from all such things in the future (I checked the sizing - technically she's still on the right setting for her weight. Maybe that's what needs to change. Maybe this was just bad chance). That's not too much to ask, right? Anyway, I am all in, as we're now in a foreign land where good disposables are difficult to find and more than pricey to purchase. It has to work. However, I may be more aware about taking emergency supplies with me. And about putting even more of her bathing supplies all in one spot. Or maybe now that I've been through it, it won't seem like such a big deal ever again. Time will tell.

Conclusion: Pride goeth before the fall. Also, if it's worth doing, it's worth doing again. And again. Even with setbacks.

The Bean Ts

2011-01-29T18:41:00.000-08:00

So, I don't know if you know, but I have an amazingly talented crafty seamstress sister. She made the funnest present for Bean's Christmas. All Bean-themed. Can I just show you?

Ok, let's get closer so you can see how not-just-adorable they are, but also witty. My sister is the greatest. Can you guess what these are?

Cool Beans.

Beanie Baby.

Bean Bag.

Magic Beans

Jumping Beans.

Oh my goodness. These little onesies are going to make me smile every single time she wears them. I love inside jokes that are just inside me. I have a smile all the time and no one really knows why. These will be like that. It's like when I spent a year going by a completely fake name (mostly just because I could) and every time I told someone my fake name, I smiled. I knew it was funny, but they had no idea. Heh! Is that weird? Heh!

Conclusion: Laughter is good for my soul. And my belly muscles, and heaven knows they need all the help they can get these days.

Slingin' in the Rain

2011-01-29T18:28:00.000-08:00

So, I mentioned earlier (this is normally where I would post a link to the "earlier," but it was just the post before this, so I'm just not) that I love my sling. Now I have pictures to show you how great it is:

I know that kind of looks like a boobie-shot, but it's also representative of how cozy it is for Bean. She falls asleep on walks ALL THE TIME. It's sweet. And sometimes a godsend since she's not a great napper. If all else fails, go for a walk. This is basically the Dominican equivalent of taking a fussy baby for a car ride. I am the family car.

Can you see what beautiful material it's made out of? It makes me feel kind of fancy just wearing it. And the long tail part that you can't see is lovely and feels like a totally chic scarf/accessory of some kind as it floats gently in the breeze. It also works wonders as protection from the rain (for Bean, not so much me) and extra sun protection. The site where I found it said the tail can be used as a nursing cover, but we all know I've sworn off those. Meh. So far, so good.

And this one had to be included because I feel almost exactly how I did when I was taking belly shots of my pregnant self. She already is so big I cannot imagine how she ever fit inside me. She is also a lot of fun and I am glad she is outside me.

All this being said, I have to confess, I have already wondered if I made a huge mistake by not bringing a stroller with me. One of my favorite moments recently came when I mentioned to a friend (and mother of a small baby) down here that I didn't have a stroller. She just looked at me in silence for a few moments, with a look of what I always imagined a stupor of thought to be, then it turned to a slightly horrified brow-wrinkle.

"You don't have a stroller?"

I laughed at her mainstream reaction to my crazy hippie ways. But inside, I wondered what I had gotten myself into. Bean (as mentioned before) got a burn her first day out. She has gotten heat rash a few different times on her face and chest. You know, where she is pressed against me and we both sweat and sweat. And sweat. She is a very effective heater. I learned this when she was inside; turns out she also warms me well from the outside (and, like I keep telling myself, it's not even hot yet - eeek!). She is no light-weight (Wonderman and I, both being good-sized, solid people, have made a solid baby). Carrying her makes it oh-my-goodness so much more difficult to carry anything else. Grocery shopping was tough before, with all the walking and no-car-having. Now? It's an adventure, to say the least.

Still, when I talked to another friend, and avid stroller-user, about all the places she can't get to with her stroller, I felt great (and maybe a little superior, because I'm lame like that) about being able to strap Bean to my chest and go wherever I want. I haven't yet gone on any of the hikes or island adventures, but I am pretty sure I could, and I like that. Turns out, I'm not positive that all the baby-wearing hippies imagined said baby-wearing in such a warm place. A stroller may come in handy sometimes. Meh. I still figure strollers are for sissies (I can say this because we've looked at our finances and there is no way we'll be able to get a stroller down here anytime soon [because, ps, a stroller that can handle our "off-roading" situation would cost a fortune], so it will be a trial by fire, I'll be wearing Bean no matter what). Good thing I love my sling.

Conclusion: All roads have their challenges. Embrace your choices and move on.

Baby stuff

2011-01-12T18:10:00.000-08:00

So, I got no pictures so far. I'll work on that. Still, I just wanted to report on a few things.

1 - I know I'm 12 days late, but everyone seems to be posting about their New Year's resolutions. I don't really make those, and if I did, I think that September is a good time to do it. I read that somewhere, and it made sense to me, what with school starting and the seasons changing and all. Still, I feel a little bit like making some change for good. My goal is to floss my teeth daily. That's been my goal for 12 days now and I have yet to do it once. Nevertheless, the goal remains. I thought maybe if I shared it with the internets, it'd give me some accountability. I used to be good at getting my floss on every day, but I've lost it and I blame it fully on marriage. I love Wonderman and all, but he put a serious crimp in my hygiene style. This is the year to conquer that. I hope.

2 - Can I just write a glowing, rose-colored glasses bit about nursing? First I will say that I haven't yet experienced the chapped nipples or mastitis or all the things that make nursing hard (although pumping is definitely not my friend). I'm sure I'll get my turn. That being said (recognizing that my experience is limited): I love being able to feed Bean with just me, the way we were built to do it. It's beautiful and incredible and I can't imagine why anyone would say formula is easier because I can't tell you how many times Bean has started to get a little crazy and I just whip out a boob and she's fine (too crass? sorry). Love it. Don't love nursing pads, but I'll take it. Also, I think I am officially the dirty hippie who nurses sans cover. Even at church, where I was sure I would always use the cover. My cousin made me an amazing cover that I used at first, as I was getting the hang of things. I am grateful for it. I haven't used it in weeks. It's so much easier this way. I think I'm pretty modest and no one sees anything too exciting and it just feels so natural. Sigh. Dirty hippie.

3 - On another hippie note, I have been wearing Bean as we walk around the island. The Baby Bjorn is good, but she seems a little contorted or something. Plus, she got a wicked sunburn after just one trip to campus (don't tell my mother-in-law). I switched it out for this sling that my sister gave me. Oh. My. Goodness. I love it. More comfortable. More cute. More Bean sleeping sweetly. More better all around. Ok, I still love the Bjorn and I know it has its place, but it's going to the back of the closet for a while.

4 - I love my cloth diapers. I bought these and they work great. After using disposables for all our travels, I am glad to be back to cloth. They never come nearly as close to the blowouts or leakage as do the plastic diapers. I have done a couple diaper laundry loads here on the island and they still work great. I was worried about our washer being lame or the detergent not being good enough or them not drying or something else I hadn't yet imagined. All is well. And this has kept rash at bay so far (I know we're just beginning, but still, I think it's good stuff)

The end of me reporting on stuff today.

Daily

2010-12-12T22:52:00.000-08:00

So, I have all kinds of plans to document my foray into motherhood, with deep thoughts and insights right alongside funny stories. Turns out, blogging hasn't been a priority. Meh. Still, I have just a few short tidbits for today.

Nursing. I'm a big fan. Hooray for breastmilk and all its goodness. However, as I told Wonderman tonight, it's beginning to feel like every day has a different funny/humiliating story related to nursing. When my friend told me that I was entering the stage of bodily fluids, I had no idea how real that was. Yesterday I was so pleased with myself. I topped last week's big nursing accomplishment (I nursed in public [a hidden corner in the back of a Kohl's store] without a nursing cover, and was totally modest yet unashamed) by nursing in public (this time with the cover) while walking around Costco. That may not sound like a big deal to those of you who have mastered the sling and the nursing that can accompany it. I, however, simply held Bean in just the right position for almost a half an hour while we shopped because my sling experiences thus far have been far from successful. My arm, shoulder, and elbow were sore as I buckled Bean into her carseat, but I was so content with my accomplishment. That is until I looked down and saw that my entire other side (you know, the side that she wasn't nursing on) was quite literally soaked. Sigh. I still have so much to learn.

On another hippie note - Today marks one full week of nothing but cloth diapers. There is much to say regarding, however today I will simply celebrate. You may infer that I did, in fact, use some disposable diapers. Alas, for all my big plans and ideals, I did. I think that all is well and figured out and we are on our way. Thank goodness, since we leave the country soon and I don't want all my baggage (and budget) to go to support a diaper habit.

The end. For tonight.

Success!

2010-12-01T23:19:00.000-08:00

So, my doula really was magic! Bean came, and without my amazing doula it would have been a much more difficult experience. More on that later. Probably. For now, here's the obligatory baby picture:

Bean is more fun and more challenging than I could have ever imagined. I've learned so much already and I somehow imagined I'd be blogging about my journey into motherhood. However, I spend my days focusing on feeding Bean and sometimes me and doing my best to see that we both get enough sleep. That pretty much takes what I've got (I already worry about what I'll do when it's time for Bean's sequel. Sigh). We'll see if I write more as her night sleeps continue to lengthen (Don't laugh. It could happen. Wait, are you laughing at the thought of me blogging more or her sleeping more? Seriously, both are legitimately possible. I swear [but a little less now that there's a little one around. you never know when they start to pick up on things]!)

Doula Magic

2010-08-16T09:00:00.000-07:00

As I am approaching my birth experience, my blog will probably begin to revolve more and more around my crazy hippie ideas and philosophies. I have a lot to say as I have spent much time pondering and studying (in fact, Wonderman has multiple times expressed bewilderment at how much thought I have put into this process, as he can't imagine doing so himself. I told him that is why I am having the baby and not him). We've talked a lot about doulas. I have a lot to say on the subject, and I haven't even hired a doula yet (let's all pray that I have time to find a great match in between my rush home and Bean's rush appearance). I only wish I had seen this post (I have to confess, it's a link from another blog I read, but I don't remember which one. I just open links that seem interesting and then have a bunch of tabs open and sometimes have no idea why when I get around to looking at them) earlier, as I think it may have convinced Wonderman a little sooner about the benefits of having a doula. She describes my thoughts quite succinctly, although I do not think that Wonderman is a lame tard.

Conclusion: Who wouldn't want a doula? It seems crazy to do this without one. And I may be crazy, but not like that.

On Being Cute

2010-08-13T08:03:00.000-07:00

Last night I had an interesting experience. A friend of mine told me that I look really cute pregnant, followed with the clarification: "I know you never feel cute pregnant, but you really look cute pregnant." I smiled and said thank you, as my mommy trained me to do. Still, it kind of took me aback. I realized that even though I often feel that I am in extreme discomfort with the heat and humidity and crazy shooting muscle pains and general fatigue, I don't feel that different than I did before. Sometimes I still get surprised when I look in the mirror, because I look exactly the same - only with a HUGE belly. It's like I haven't changed at all and this whole pregnancy thing is all a figment of my imagination. Anyway . . . back to the cute thing. I didn't like being told how I felt. I actually still feel cute. Call me crazy. Acknowledge that I have a way over-developed sense of vanity. Whatever. I almost always feel generally cute. I also assume that most people can tell that I'm cute (ok, "cute" may not be the word choice I would generally go for. I'd probably choose something like "wildly attractive," but that's just my sense of hyperbole coming into play again). I figure being pregnant is kind of like being bald:

I still felt cute (mostly). I was definitely glad to not be bald anymore when that stage passed, but the lack of hair didn't detract from my cuteness. Being pregnant, I am fully looking forward to wearing real clothes again and being able to slip through a crowded room without bumping people, completely unaware of the actual size of my bod. Still, I'm cute. And you can't take that away from me. I'm not sure if that's weird, annoying, or good. Hopefully I can successfully transfer that to the rest of my life, just like Amy is in the process of doing. Although, sometimes my lack of caring what other people think about me has actually caused more problems than it has solved. Meh. I'm sure I'll find the balance somewhere. Or not. Who needs balance, when you're cute like me? Exactly.

Roar

2010-08-13T08:02:00.000-07:00

My last visit to the doctor was quite empowering. I said "no" to something routine. And I'm fine. So is Bean.

So, I read a lot of what I call (especially in conversations with Wonderman) my "crazy hippie blogs." Lately most of these have to do with childbirth or child-rearing. There is a lot of talk about empowering women to take back the choices regarding their pregnancies and births. Discussions range from the mild to the extreme - from how to have a conscientious hospital birth to the at-home, unassisted birth. The common thread seems to be essentially like proselyting to let women know that they are in charge of what happens to them and they can choose what care to seek or accept. So much of my experience has been hypothetical, as the doctor I've been seeing for seven months is not the doctor that will be around when Bean is born. I have all kinds of things to ask my US doc and all kinds of ideas about how my natural hospital birth will be, but none of it seemed particularly relevant just yet. I just go in monthly, pee in a cup, stand on a scale, and tell the doc I feel fine.

However, about three weeks ago was the time I was supposed to have the glucose tolerance test done. I didn't want it done here, mostly because I have had BAD experiences with the nurses here drawing my blood. I really didn't think about it past that. I was planning on going back to Utah, so I told Dr. Dominica that I would do it there. Then I stayed. It didn't come up in conversation for a while and I "forgot" about it. Then this week, Dr. Dominica got a worried look and said "You were supposed to do that at 28 weeks. I'm going to call and see if you can still do it." I inwardly rolled my eyes. I knew it was on the list of "optional" tests (at least according to the crazy hippies). I didn't have any concerns or reasons to be concerned. I didn't want to do it. Dr. D. came back with a relieved look. "You can still do it." Like a three-year-old I said, "But why?" She tried to explain that it would determine if I had gestational diabetes (duh) and that it was just part of the prenatal testing that was done. "But what would happen if we found out I had gestational diabetes?" She explained that I would be put on insulin and marked as high-risk. Since I'm fine and I feel fine and I definitely want to avoid any unnecessary risk labels, I said "I don't think I want to do it." Dr. D. was great and didn't try to convince me of anything. She just smiled and said it was my choice. Then she told me that if I had done it, I would have had to take the one hour (each way) bus ride to Roseau and spend a couple hours at the lab, because it wasn't a test they could do here. For that reason alone I was glad I said no.

It was a small thing. I really am glad to avoid the blood draws, the gross orange drink, and the travel time, but it wouldn't have been a big deal to do it. I am confident it would've come back negative. Still, I felt elated to recognize that I had been able to be in touch enough with my body, my baby, and my Heavenly Father to make a wise decision for us even if it didn't go along with the generally accepted norm. I also think this was an important step in helping me realize the power I have to make decisions for what is best for me and for Bean. As long as I can remain in tune, we're gonna be all right. And I may be a crazy hippie yet.

Belly Bean's Latest

2010-07-28T19:09:00.000-07:00

We are now entering the third trimester (you have to know, that as I typed that, I heard "Twilight Zone" in my head. I know they're not really connected, but sometimes this whole thing seems so strange that it sort of fits. But maybe just in my head).

The belly at 29+ weeks:

And me giving Bean a little hug:

And as much fun as I've had playing around with Picnik, I had to leave this one un-edited. I can't explain the face. Please don't ask.

Is it inappropriate to say that the three balls in that photo (two boobs and a belly) kind of look like a Simpsons character or something to me? Or maybe a muppet. Try it, it's not that hard to picture a silly face on there. I probably need to design a t-shirt that does just that. It would be awesome.

Added bonus photo, with a quiz question. Can you guess which side of the bed is mine and which one is Wonderman's?

Conclusion: Pregnancy is definitely changing things, but it is a delight despite the discomfort. Still, I can't wait for two things (listed very much in order of importance): to meet Bean already and to sleep on my stomach again.

Belly Laughs

2010-07-16T18:27:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. I should post photos of my belly. Maybe even write some stuff. And I probably will soon. But until then, I just want to share my new favorite website with you. Of all the things that I enjoy and that make me smile as I peruse my Google Reader every day, only one makes me literally Laugh Out Loud just about every time there's a new entry. And these days my belly laughs are more impactful than ever, me having so much more belly and all.

http://criggo.com/

Go there. Read it. Laugh out loud. And remember their motto: "Newspapers are going away. That's too bad."

And I'll write more soon. Promise. Probably. Soon is relative. The end.

Milestone

2010-06-27T16:22:00.000-07:00

I hit a new milestone this morning. I think I reached the "Diva" level of being a princess. Now, don't get me wrong, I value being a princess and I know that all girls are princesses. I know I deserve to be treated as such. Bryan taught me well. However, maybe there should be limits?

Lemme 'splain.

As I put on my dress this morning, getting ready for church, Wonderman was still reclining half-asleep in bed (he doesn't require nearly as much time to get pretty as I do. Must be something about being a princess). Anyways, I pulled my dress down over my head and felt something tickle my leg. At first I assumed it was simply the tie that hangs down, but it continued too far down my leg to be that. Then I saw the roach that had apparently been spending quality time IN my dress skuttle down my ankle and across the floor. Of course I yelped. And then stood there, expectantly. I told Wonderman what happened and then pointed, waiting for him to get up and kill the damn bug. He performed expertly, jumping out of bed, grabbing one of my shoes, and killing the damn bug. It wasn't until later that I realized how selfish that was. I am most capable of killing damn bugs. I've done it my whole life. I'm not usually super squeamish in relation to crawling things. However, the roaches really get to me. And it was IN my dress. And I'm pregnant (I"m not sure how that relates, but it seems like it works as a good excuse to get what I want in MANY situations. Don't judge me for taking advantage of that). Still, I think today the standing and pointing put me on either toddler or diva level. I prefer diva.

Gratuituous Belly Pictures

2010-06-11T18:02:00.000-07:00

I haven't been very good at taking (ok, having Wonderman take) pictures of my expanding abdomen. I just have two:

This is me at two months, before I was showing anything at all. It shows my pearl, that lovely little rounded spot that makes me a woman, but no baby. When the picture was taken, I found it a little depressing. Seeing where I am now, I think I looked quite slender:

This is five months. I'm actually starting to look like a cute pregnant lady. Cool.

From the front, I just look wide, but happy:

Bean spends plenty of time kicking around and making life exciting. I can't wait to meet her. I know, I know, she'll come when she's ready. I'm not ready yet, either. I do worry a little about how big I'm going to get. This is already awkward sometimes, and it's just a little belly. We'll see how it goes.

Primary Moment

2010-06-09T20:23:00.000-07:00

This past Sunday, I had one of those Primary moments that you never forget and just hold in your heart, cherishing it forever.

One of our Sunbeams (an adorable three and a half year old) is always anxious to participate in our group discussions and activities. She is lucky enough to have her mom as Primary music leader. She is not blessed with natural reverence. Her mom was asking for volunteers, emphasizing all along that she was only calling on people who were quiet. So she promptly starting calling out, with her hand duly raised, "Mom! I'm being quiet! I'm being quiet!"

Oh What a Night

2010-06-09T20:15:00.000-07:00

I came to the conclusion this evening that if there are too many things going on to describe humorously in one Facebook status, it must be time for a blog post. Ah, how social technology changes things.

First - it came to my attention today that all the time I spend watching my belly, waiting to see if it will bounce again with Bean's antics, is an entirely new kind of navel-gazing. I quite like it. It is definitely difficult to combine with reading, however. Alas, navel-gazing has always been a consuming endeavor, right?

Second - I most certainly felt like a damsel in distress this evening. Not long after Wonderman left to attend to his evening studies, I looked across the room to see a dark shadow moving across my cupboard door. It was not a small shadow, mind you. I considered that it could be a lizard, which generally doesn't bother me, but those are usually essentially small if they're crawling around walls and cupboards. Then I, illogically of course, since they can't scurry across doors, thought that perhaps it could be a mouse (we have had rodent issues in the past). Goodness, for all I knew, the size and speed could very have indicated it was Spiderman himself scurrying across the cupboard door with such speed (I keep wanting to say alacrity, but Dictionary.com says it's something done cheerfully, which I don't want to imagine this shadow doing. Still, know that speed was absolutely not my first choice with regards to wording). As I got up and walked a little closer, I could easily see that I wished it was Spiderman. Instead, it was the largest roach I have ever seen. I dashed back to the other side of the room (as much as I can dash these days) to grab a shoe which is, as everyone knows, the best weapon against roaches of all kinds. Upon my quick return, I saw the giant roach somehow get around the edge of the closed door and go into my cupboard (shudder). This is where the girlish shrieking began. I gingerly tried to move the pasta packages to see where he was, but my tip-toes were not quite enough to put him in my line of vision. Then he magically appeared on the wall above the cupboard. With another shriek (Ok, let's be honest, it wasn't just one more. They were more or less continuous.), I launched my turquoise plastic flip-flop at the wall, missing him entirely, but landing my shoe on the top of the cupboard. At this point I had to climb up on the counter to retrieve my shoe, which is no longer as easy as it sounds (it was one of the first times I have felt really pregnant). Then I just watched him bustle up the wall and onto the ceiling, traversing first one beam and then another. When I felt he was in a viable position, I lobbed my shoe at him once more. That time I hit him squarely (yesssss!) and my shoe fell nicely to the floor, but the roach DISAPPEARED. Now I feel even more creeped out than before. I don't know where the giant roach is, but he can't be far. He should be dead. I really wish that Wonderman were here to take care of these all important issues. Isn't that in the husband contract somewher? Disgusting. Shiver. (I promise, this could have been a Facebook status, it would simply have been uber-truncated and not nearly as descriptive and fun).

Third - After watching the season finale of Glee, I have decided that Queen should be my soundtrack for labor. Especially if it can make it all go that fast. I'm in. And shouldn't all life decisions be based on Glee, anyway?

Why I Love Wonderman III

2010-05-28T19:29:00.000-07:00

Tonight, while discussing possible names for Bean, he said:

"See, it's a shame we can't go with 'Wolverine.'"

How can you not have a good belly laugh and adore a man who says, and means, things like that?

Why didn't anyone tell me?

2010-05-17T18:34:00.000-07:00

i can read

Pink!

2010-05-04T18:42:00.000-07:00

Now is the time for the buying of tiny frilly dresses. Or pink things with bugs and frogs on them. Either way, we're all excited over here.

Miraculous Thunder

2010-04-13T19:05:00.000-07:00

Today Wonderman and I went to see the doctor. It was just a regular visit, making sure I'm still alive and well. I am. And then she brought out this tiny little wand that she pushed into my gut. I knew it was time to hear Baby Bean's heartbeat and I anxiously waited. And waited. My paranoia kicked in as she looked for it all over my little belly area. I was terrified that she wouldn't find it. But find it she did. Phew. It was the sweetest sound in the world, that gorgeous thudding at 150 thuds a minute (Is that fast enough for you to tell me it must be a girl, because apparently they have faster heartbeats? That is still up for debate. 150 is right in the middle of normal, "they" say). I looked over at Wonderman and smiled. He kind of nodded and smiled a little bit back with a look on his face that said, "Right. Of course. You're pregnant. What did you expect?" I almost felt like I was being overly gooshy. I wasn't, right? I guess he meant it when he said he probably wouldn't get too emotionally involved until the kid was out. Sigh. Still, I was both relieved and thrilled. Apparently there really is a baby in there. Sweet.

1 in 4

2010-04-06T06:11:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen the commercial that claims that 1 in 4 American women can misread a pregnancy test? Do you get as offended as I do? I mean really, there's a line or there isn't, right? Who needs their silly expensive digital test? However, I must confess. I've done it. I am your 25%. I fulfill the stupid part of that statistic. In my defense, I took two tests of two different brands within a somewhat small time period and sillily (this is a hard word to say) assumed that the store-brand version of the test would show results in the same way that the name brand it imitates does. Alas, I was wrong. Therefore, many moons ago, I nervously told Wonderman he was going to be a daddy WAY before we were ready for that. It was a good time to have read the test wrong. However, the most recent time I took such a test, I carefully read the instructions that came with the test while I waited for it to . . . develop(?-I'm not sure the appropriate term for a stick I just peed on). This time I'm sure. It's for real. Now I've got a whole new slew of statistics to worry about.

2010-02-25T17:10:00.000-08:00

So, I know it's bad when I don't post anything for weeks and weeks and then just re-post something from someone else's tumblr, but still. . . . This quite aptly describes how I feel lately:

Baby Steps

2010-02-01T17:53:00.000-08:00

I know it doesn't look like much, and perhaps there is more hair out than in, but still . . . IT'S A PONY-FRIC KIN'-TAIL. It just feels momentous and I wanted share. That's all.

PS - Do you notice Wonderman's awesome Chaco tan in the background? Sexy, right?
PPS - Mom, this is at least a beginning of my interior shots. This is our living room. See all the chairs? Lovely.
PPPS - Is it strange to actually write more in the post script than in the actual body? I do it all the time. :-|

Opposites Attract

2010-01-23T13:17:00.000-08:00

The other night I laid in bed awake, completely unable to sleep. Wonderman and I had just had a discussion that I found deeply troubling. He, on the other hand, was beginning to softly snore.

Randomly and for no particular reason, we had been talking about names for our future children. Don't get excited, the babies are still just twinkles in our eyes, nothing cooking anywhere else. However, it is kind of a fun future-planning, castles-in-the-air kind of activity. At all the names I suggested, Wonderman laughed a little. I, of course, cannot give examples here because, like every self-respecting woman, I am certain that my names are the best ever and I can't have anyone stealing my ideas. Still, for purposes of general description, I will simply say that I find old-fashioned and unique names appealing. I'm not quite as uniqueness-bound as TAMN, but I definitely don't want my kids to have to be known by First Name Last Name, because there are three others with that First Name. That is kind of lame. They should be alone in their classes, as far as names go. He told me it sounded like I wanted to set my kids up for a lifetime of teasing. I tried to explain the generation of made-up ridiculous names they would be born into, but he didn't seem to comprehend that. Sigh.

Wonderman did not offer any of his own suggestions. I guess he hasn't been planning all the details of child-raising for most of his life, quite like I have. (PS, this is secret, ok? I usually try to maintain the persona of that woman who is super cool and super intelligent and has all kinds of mad goals connected to education and career who will probably eventually have children, but is in no way basing any part of her life on it or planning around it. Ok? Pinkie swear? Good.)

Anyways (wink), I realized as we talked that Wonderman and I are driven by completely opposite incentives. Where I find value in standing out and being different, he generally just wants to blend in. I am mostly aware of this in how we dress. It really hit home when I bought him a purple dress shirt last year for Christmas, and with his bright blues eyes I knew it would make him look HOT. I think he wore it once, just to make me happy. I, on the other hand, wear all kinds of things that are not . . . shall we say, entirely conventional. I consider it major progress that I no longer consider it a threat to my individuality to shop somewhere like Old Navy.

I promise, this connects to baby names. I don't think Wonderman would mind if our children share their names with half their classmates. Perhaps it's because his name is not wildly unique and he turned out great. I don't even have any idea when these kids will show up, but I'm already concerned about the rounds we'll be going before we can fill out the birth certificates.

Conclusion: Opposites attracting is a romantic notion, but it definitely has it's pitfalls. But maybe if he can sleep on it, it means that I will eventually win this fight. I'm going to count on that.

Resolutely

2010-01-23T12:45:00.000-08:00

I haven't been super social, thus rendering one of my ideas about resolutions mostly null and void. Meh. Maybe February will be better.

PS - This really is one of my favorite sites.

Today's Classic Primary Moment

2010-01-17T17:46:00.000-08:00

Brought to you by the number 9 and the letter "G."

Junior.: Paige was opening her eyes during the prayer.
Me: And how do you know that, Junior?
Jr: (looking down at his hands) . . . .
Me: (giggle)

Why I Love Wonderman, Episode II

2010-01-14T17:21:00.000-08:00

As I was making dinner tonight (French toast, YUM!), Wonderman looked up from his studying and said:

"This morning in the shower I was thinking up Star Wars trivia."

Before he could continue, I had to toss in some belly laughs and let him know how much I appreciate being married to someone who can start a conversation that way without thinking it's a joke.

Why I Love Wonderman

2010-01-14T17:18:00.000-08:00

Today I went down to the capital. While there, I found the library. I had heard rumor of its existence, but had yet to confirm before today. As soon as I walked in, something in my soul sighed in relief. I love being surrounded by books.

Tonight, as I was telling Wonderman about my day, I described my trip to the library and my joy in its discovery. My last sentence to him described how I love being surrounded by books. After waiting a few minutes, he turned to me and said:

"You know how you were talking about books?"
"Yeah. . . . ?"
"Now you know why guys like Hooters."

I had a hard time stopping laughing.

2009-12-28T17:23:00.001-08:00

Maybe it doesn't say much for my mental state that I just don't feel that I have much worth writing about, or I don't have time to write about it for a month, and then I feel that a comic filled with angst fits my mood perfectly. Meh.

Anyways (I always giggle in my head when I add the "s" to "anyway." It feels deliciously wicked and probably funny only to me), Wonderman has been talking about New Year's resolutions. I generally avoid them. Not that I think goals aren't wonderful and important. I guess I just think I'm too good to make goals. No, not really. Sheesh. I just . . . . oh I don't know. There's no good excuse, is there? Maybe I feel too lost in my own inadequacies to focus on just a few areas in which to improve? Maybe I my Adult Onset Attention Deficit Disorder keeps me from focusing on anything at all for very long? Maybe I'm just content to be that lame person that basically wallows in my weaknesses, eating popcorn with parmesan cheese and watching movies while I do it? That's probably it.

My dear Aunt Nina, however, has inspired me. She is going to throw more parties. I could do that. Or something like it. Despite my big smile, I find myself often being dreadfully socially awkward and kind of lonely. I can make social goals, right? I don't have to just lose weight like everyone else?

Conclusion: Goals are very personal and don't have to meet anyone's expectations except my own, thank goodness. Thanks for the reminder, Auntie.

Are You Kidding Me?

2009-11-30T16:50:00.000-08:00

This post comes with a confession: if there is a book in front of me that looks even remotely interesting, I'll probably read it. It's like Americans in general are with food. If it's there, it's devoured. Sigh.

My weakness brought me to the point of reading yet another ridiculous romance novel. I was at work, things were slow, my co-worker was reading. What's a girl to do? There was a book there that I had passed over in stronger times, but I was approaching boredom, and I pride myself on not indulging in such things.

I read the book. I took it home to finish it. It turned out to be two short novels in one book. The first was wildly passionate, and wildly predictable. The second promised to be the same. However, as I read blithely along, nearing the end (as I could tell as much by the cookie-cutter plot development as by the number of pages left), I read this at the bottom of page 480:

"She held a gurgling Mac over her shoulder."

That made sense. I went to 481, to continue in my self-indulgence, and found this at the top of the page:

"for some safe topic."

It simply didn't make sense. I read it again. And again. I wrinkled my brow. I checked the page numbers. Everything seemed to be aligned, but IT WAS A DIFFERENT STORY FROM A DIFFERENT BOOK. Apparently Nora Roberts' books are printed in such haste that the mix-up went without notice. Her titles are at the top of the page, and 480's title was NOT the same as 481's title.

This is odd, and a little funny. It shouldn't be annoying, because I know exactly what's going to happen in the last twenty pages of this formulaic romance. HOWEVER. . . .

I know that she left in a classic huff, whirling away from him when he told her their worlds were just too different and they couldn't be together, holding herself erect until she had driven out of sight, then disintegrating in the solitude of her car. After her spending two weeks at her cousin's casino, of course someone will make contact, offer an olive branch, and they will live happily and passionately ever after. BUT WHO? WHAT IS THE CONTACT? HOW IS THE CONFLICT IN THEIR LIFESTYLES RESOLVED? HOW DOES HE APOLOGIZE?

It bothers me. I find it hard to believe that no one noticed this before it went to print. It is very bothersome, very bothersome indeed.

Mysterious Ways

2009-11-30T16:40:00.000-08:00

Funny story: Yesterday was our Primary Program. It's been a source of much discussion, planning, and practice for quite some time now. In addition to my other ties to the program, I also have been acting as the Primary pianist. I'm not very good. Usually it doesn't matter. The kids don't seem to complain much when I hit horribly wrong notes or when I get a little lost in things and barely maintain the melody as they sing. That's nice. However, with the program looming, I thought it would be a good idea to practice a bit, so practice I did.

The unfortunate part about my practicing is that I somehow got worse with each run-through. Even the easy songs sounded horrible. So much for practice making perfect. Rather, it seemed to be making horrendously imperfect, a regrettable switch. Needless to say, yesterday morning I offered a very sincere prayer before we left for church. I asked God to please bless my fingers, to help them to find the right notes, so that I could play well and not distract from the sweet spirit of the program. I left with only minor trepidation, mostly faith.

Not twenty minutes into our church meeting, the power went out. What does that matter, you may ask. Well, our only source of music is an electric keyboard. The power did not come back on. We sang the entire program a capella. Really, was I that far beyond help? I hate to admit, that it must be true. The kids were amazing, of course. I still have to laugh at how God works sometimes. I wonder if he thinks it's funny, too. I can only hope.

Truth Wealth, revisited

2009-11-25T09:34:00.000-08:00

My dad and my sister measure wealth in food. That is all well and good, and I definitely enjoy being on the receiving end of them sharing their food-wealth. However, I am learning that Wonderman and I have a different measurement of wealth: Chairs. We have two of them, which is generally fine, since there are two of us. It's perfect, right? If someone visits, they get the chairs, Wonderman and I sit on our bed. Recently one of our chairs broke and that left us with a single, solitary chair (see how good I am at word problems? I really should have been a math teacher). That made meal time a bit of an adventure, a bit of a hassle (and a bit of a challenge/battle between me and the ants - YUCK). During the time that we were without the chair, we discussed the possibility of stealing chairs from the pool, other apartments, or the beach. Thankfully, the chair was returned in better condition than ever and we avoided a life of crime (although we were discussing the other day the existence of jails in Dominica. No one has seen any evidence of them though they must exist, mustn't they? Wonderman proposed that perhaps this is a society of lashings, not jailings. Shiver. I'm glad we didn't steal).

Yesterday I overhead a friend talking about Thanksgiving plans, counting how many people they could invite by how many chairs they had. They have ten chairs. Another friend chipped in to tell me they had nine. Both of these friends are halves of couples sans childs. Just like us. Such excess. Sigh. I will know we have arrived at a place of status and wealth when we have more chairs.

*photo found on flickr

Making a House a Home

2009-11-23T17:51:00.000-08:00

Life here is kind of like being a hermit crab. I wasn't born to this place (the shell, see?), and I'll probably change it eventually for a new one (in about 12 months), but it's a lovely place to be for now, even if it doesn't always feel like a natural fit.

Exchange

2009-10-31T19:02:00.000-07:00

Tonight I saw fireflies. I remember the first time I saw fireflies at a gas station in upstate New York (Funny aside: as I typed this I asked Wonderman if "upstate" should be capitalized. He laughed and looked at me, saying "You're asking me about English? That's not a good idea. The good thing is, if you do it, it's probably right." It's nice that he has such confidence in my skills). I was a little scared. In all my twenty years living in a desert, I'd never seen one. Tonight I knew just what they were, and the little flying flecks of light that followed the most beautiful sunset I've seen in Dominica were magical rather than startling. There are so many small delights to make up for the small frustrations of living here. This is merely the most recent.

Happy Halloween

2009-10-31T06:16:00.001-07:00

Having no kids and living in a country that doesn't celebrate Halloween makes my own festivities minimal. Meh.

Big Hair

2009-10-29T17:14:00.000-07:00

Do you remember sitting in ninth grade biology class, watching the time-lapse video of a flower growing? Where in just a matter of minutes you saw it go from a seed to seedling to bright flower to withering flower to seeds blowing in the wind? Yeah, yeah, I know. You probably fell asleep or passed notes through the whole thing because it was phenomenally boring. However, I would like to see a video like that, but of my hair. I swear, when I got on the plane in Utah (I think it was even fairly normal when I got on the plane in Puerto Rico) it was basically straight, with perhaps a slight wave. By the time I got off the plane in Dominica, it was HUGE and curly. I just want to see the time-lapse video of it curling up so tightly in a matter of hours. That would be kind of cool, wouldn't it? Wouldn't it? Oh come on, just humor me and say it would. Thanks.

At least my hypothesis is being proven right. My hair is not getting longer, but bigger. Sigh.

Le sigh

2009-10-28T11:42:00.000-07:00

This is exactly how I feel. Today I am sitting in my house, feeling sorry for myself. I just feel icky. Don't tell Wonderman how lame I'm being. He's working so hard, it just makes me feel ickier to compare us. Bleh. Tomorrow will be better. I'll just decide not to feel icky. That always works.

Oi! Ze monies! So queeckly zey go.

2009-10-26T11:23:00.001-07:00

Wonderman and I are trying to learn about budgeting. Some days are better than others. I think our next family meeting may go something like this (I will play Rat in this scenario):

Conclusion: Teamwork is definitely required for budgeting.

Lonely

2009-10-22T08:30:00.001-07:00

I've been away from Wonderman for WAAAAAY too long. Just as I'm getting ready to come home, I found the perfect description of how I've been feeling:

me, without you, is like an ipone with no apps.

I can't wait to get home.

Just after turning out the light, as we lay in bed. . . .

2009-09-19T17:52:00.000-07:00

Wonderman: I think I'm genetically pre-disposed to make charts.

(pause)

Me: ??!!??? (that indicates a bit of brow-wrinkling thought) Bwahahahaha. You are the funniest man I know.

Conclusion: The funnest thing ever is being married to the funniest man I know. How lucky am I? LUCKY.

Ah, the ironing!

2009-09-19T17:32:00.000-07:00

For a while now, I have been thinking to myself how funny it would be to have something that was funny with the play on words of "ah, the ironing!" in a situation which was also ironic and the exasperated claim would be saying that somehow the ironing was ironic. I have yet to come up with the perfect comedic sketch, but I was lucky enough to experience an ironic ironing moment. And yes, I was exasperated.

As mentioned elsewhere, Wonderman recently had a white coat ceremony. I hadn't thought twice about my role in said ceremony until another spouse mentioned, with exasperation, mind you, that she had spent a good amount of time ironing her partner's white coat. "What?" I thought. "I have to iron that? But we don't even have an iron! Alas, I already am a failure as a homemaker."

Near tears (not really, that just sounds more dramatic, and thus more exciting) a mere hours before the ceremony, I frantically called exactly one person who lives approximately 30 seconds walk from my house to see if she had an iron I could borrow. She did. It wasn't pretty.
I realized I not only had no ironing board, but also no great table close to an outlet (they are few and FAR between in our home) to use as an improvised ironing board. I used the stove, as it has a great, and flat, cover. I put a towel over it. It still wasn't pretty.

The irony comes in with the yuckiness on the iron. I was using a cloth to separate the pristine white coat from the yuckiness (see, I do have some skill). The iron was leaving no marks whaaatsoever on the separator cloth, which was cream. I quickly decided it wasn't worth the bother and, immediately upon removing the separator cloth, left a large black mark directly on the collar of Wonderman's snowy white coat. "Are you kidding me?" thought I. It wasn't kidding me. It stood out just a little. In desperation, I dove toward the sink and began to scrub (lucky I was in the kitchen, eh?). I was able to remove most of the mark, but the coat was quite unlike things that are dry. Alas.

Never fear, I was able to iron-steam out most of the moisture and Wonderman couldn't even tell where the ginormous mark of coal had been. Still, I'm not sure that there will be much ironing (never can tell about the irony, though) in my life down here. Meh, who really cares anyway, right? Not Wonderman, thank goodness.

Dinner Conversation

2009-09-10T19:17:00.000-07:00

Wonderman: Sounds like you two are becoming tight friends.

Me: Yeah, I think we were sent here for each other.

Wonderman: Aw, cue the music.

Conclusion: He's funny. I'm glad I married him, even when he makes fun of me a little.

Hairy

2009-09-10T18:47:00.000-07:00

So, I knew that the humidity would make my hair curlier, but seriously? Who ordered this? When I got here I had no hair products whaaaat-soever (Irma, can you here to headmaster from the Monty Python sketch saying "He seems to take no interest in school life whaaaat-soever"? cuz, that's exactly how I want that to sound). They all got tossed in the frantic, early-morning weight-reduction scramble the morning we flew out. My head very closely resembled a cotton ball or a little old lady (nothing against little old ladies, mind you [and not that my head looked like the entire lady, because that would be really strange. My head simply looked like it belonged on a little old lady]) for the first few days we were here. The only hair products here are for "African" hair (it's interesting, I don't really consider myself European, but I guess I'm just as European as the locals here are African, still I was a little taken aback when I saw an ad for a stylist who specializes in European hair and was approached specifically with their flyer. Weird.). I needed something, so I bought a bottle of hair gloss/shine/hold stuff for African hair and it's been working great. Hooray! Some days it still looks like this, though:

That bit is the radiation hair, which might begin to explain it, but still. It's insane. Maybe there's something somewhere in my heritage that someone should tell me about. Where does this come from? I'm beginning to get the feeling that in the next sixteen months, my hair will not get longer, it will only get bigger. Sigh.

ps - Irma, if you ever get the hankering to make more of those super-cute headbands as pictured above, I know a hot and sweaty girl down here who would LOVE to have one to match every shirt she owns. Just so you know.

Precious Life

2009-09-10T17:52:00.000-07:00

My internet usage has been, for the past two months, limited to say the least. So, when I see things like this: icanread

instead of thinking of how wise it may be, I just sort of wish that I could. Sigh.

Upon being called as the new Primary President in the Portsmouth Branch

2009-09-06T10:28:00.000-07:00

Me: (groaning a little, laughing a little) Doesn't Heavenly Father know that I have absolutely no idea how to deal with small children?

Wonderman: (laughing a lot) Actually, I think it's quite clear that He has a very good idea of that.

Me: (laughing) Sigh. I guess so.

Conclusion: It's going to be quite a ride.

Broken bone, the first

2009-08-30T18:21:00.000-07:00

Me at Raging Waters:

Everyone else at Raging Waters:

Whose idea was that?

Peas in a pod

2009-07-21T10:43:00.000-07:00

Me: Do you think it's ironic at all that we're sitting here, eating the junk food we just bought at Walgreen's at [an insane hour of night/morning], watching an episode of King of the Hill where Bill learns he has adult-onset diabetes?

Wonderman: God bless the universe and its sense of humor.

The Fox Hawk

2009-07-15T18:12:00.000-07:00

Almost exactly a year ago, when my hair was long and flowing, I saw a delightful girl with short dark hair in a faux hawk. (For those who aren't familiar with the term, it is a fake mohawk, meaning that the hair is formed into the spiky ridge without shaving off all the sides.) Generally I consider this to be one of the silliest and tackiest hairstyles ever. In fact, I distinctly remember laughing at one of the most eligible bachelors of Cache Valley because he had a carefully coiffed faux hawk and we sighed into our tortilla soup, because we knew that meant he was probably gay. However, this girl was cute. Really cute (it was an awesome off-center faux hawk amidst tousled waves, something I was sure I could probably maybe do). Cute enough that I wanted to be just like her. Mostly. Well, it made me want to cut my hair so I could have a cute faux hawk, too. I did tell myself to wait until after the wedding because it seemed appropriate to have long flowing hair in all the wedding pictures. I did, however, make a plan to cut my hair soon (ish) after the wedding, so that I could be cute like her. Little did I know. Sigh.

However, now my hair has finally grown to a long and flowing enough state that I could attempt a faux hawk (ironic, isn't it, the things we have to wait for and how we don't get what we expect?) I did my hair in a faux hawk just two nights ago. In the process, I laughed at myself repeatedly. When I completed the task, I couldn't decide if I looked more like a circus clown (especially with the pink cheeks I'm still getting used to) or an angry teenager trying to fit in by standing out. Either way, I certainly didn't pull it off as well as that cute girl from yesteryear (this is such a fun word to use, don't you think?). Still, if I've learned anything about hair in all my travails, I've learned that no matter what it is, if you walk out of the door with confidence you generally get a better response. That I did. Then I tried on clothes at Target. My poor little faux hawk did suffer, but perhaps it was better for the softening. Shall I try again? Heaven only knows. Here are the results of my first attempt:

Common Enemy

2009-07-15T17:54:00.000-07:00

Wonderman and I have an enemy. It is this guy:

We live in Arizona, a land not known for its shade trees. In fact, Wonderman and I were just discussing the other day how back when I lived in Paradise, ahem, I mean Logan, UT, I never would have considered them shade trees at all. In fact, I laughed and said I didn't even know if I'd call them trees. Still, they're all we've got and we will park farther from wherever it is that we are going, just to be able to park under one of these "shade trees." There is one (yes, ONE) spot in our parking lot that actually is almost entirely covered with shade. When the car is parked there, the risk of burning yourself on the seatbelt buckle is relatively low. It's delightful. We try to park there whenever we can. However, that is never because this guy parks his stupid little "I want to be an SUV, but I'm too much of a pansy" car there AND LEAVES IT. I swear to you, that car never goes anywhere. Ever. Once, it left for Spring Break and the spot was shared evenly amongst the rest of us poor folk who don't pay the extra monthly bill just to have covered parking. Then it came back, took the spot, and NEVER left again. The shade is wasted, wasted I tell you. If you never use the car, what is the added value of not being afraid of getting burnt on the seatbelt buckle, I ask you? Exactly, there is no benefit. So, this guy (I'm simply assuming it's a guy because I saw a guy standing next to it with a Disneyland bag in his hand at the end of Spring Break, I'm not really THAT sexist. Usually.) just parks there, keeps the goods to himself, but gets no benefit other than making everyone else mad. Ooooh, it is working. Sometimes we talk about writing mean notes and leaving them on his windshield. Other times, as I'm parking in the glaring sun, I consider treating our cars like bumper cars, just to teach him a lesson. So far we've kept on our nice faces. It may be good that we are leaving in ten days, because I really don't know how long this can last. Stupid guy. Now, just for review:

My car in the hot, hot sun/ Stupid guy's car completely covered in shade.

Grrr.

Conclusion: It is probably best for me to not live in Arizona. It has a bad effect on my anger management issues.

2009-07-14T01:38:00.000-07:00

I really want to see this movie. Wonderman watched the trailer with me and just said, "For the love of God, at least put a ninja in there or something." I love him anyway.

Logan mudslide

2009-07-13T15:50:00.001-07:00

This is my old neighborhood. It makes me feel sad and strangely anxious to be back to see if I could maybe help out or do something. At least just be there for the mourning. Alas, prayers are all I've got. My poor Island. It's so weird, this is exactly where I used to go jogging and bike riding all the time.

ksl.com - Logan mudslide recovery efforts intensify

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The only thing that counts

2009-07-11T17:18:00.000-07:00

This is a quote that I wrote down from the movie "The Last Kiss" when I watched it, approximately seventeen ages ago. It's been on my fridge ever since. I don't think I'll be hauling it across the ocean to hang on my new fridge, so I thought I'd post it here:

Domestic Goddess

2009-07-11T16:53:00.000-07:00

Here's the conundrum: I love to cook. Like, a lot. I really love it. It's in my blood. However, I HATE (no, I don't suppose I HATE it, that is rather too strong of a word, I just feel completely incompetent at it, which leads to a certain disdain) planning regular meals, especially healthy ones (Yes, Ms. Woodward, I know that "ones" is not actually a word, but sometimes it's the only way to describe exactly what I'm saying [yes, I think almost that exact thought every time I use "ones," which is often]). When I was single, I didn't so much succumb to fast food (very often), but there was a lot of yogurt and graham crackers going on. Now I am married, which automatically turned me into a domestic goddess, of course. Right? Wait, wasn't that supposed to come in the mail with the marriage certificate, the domestic goddess certificate? Sigh. Mine must've gotten lost in transit. All I know is, I felt particularly proud of myself for not only cooking a delicious meal, but cooking it FOR ME when I was the only one home. It doesn't happen often folks, but it does happen.

Teamwork

2009-07-08T12:50:00.000-07:00

One of the best parts of being married is having someone else to pick up the slack and do those things I can't do alone. For example, Wonderman just got out of the shower and is looking mighty fine and I bemoaned out loud the fact that I can't whistle (never have been able to; I've tried and tried), because it's times like these I wish I could, so he whistled for me. I then laughed and thanked him for whistling at himself when I couldn't. Isn't marriage great?

Game Face

2009-07-06T02:19:00.000-07:00

Makeup and I have an interesting relationship. I love trying new things and a new eyeshadow or lipgloss can pretty much always make my day better (me? buy three new lipglosses the day before going on a date with a boy that I really liked, just because somehow it gave me more confidence? maybe.). However, I'd like to imagine that I'm that totally awesomely gorgeous granola who needs no makeup to show the world her gloriousness. I used to go through stages. Once, dating a very pretty boy who always wore cologne and matchy clothes, I warned him that the daily makeup stage was bound to end soon. I'd like to believe that's not why he dumped me, but I may never know. That was seven years ago and I've been wearing daily makeup ever since. Not sure why. But I am sure that I recently made some drastic changes to my routine, which are DELIGHTFUL!
First was reading a friend's blog (to which I would provide a link, but I can't find it becaused it's been a while and she doesn't have a search option on her blog) about red lipstick. I remembered the glory days when a friend of mine described me as the girl who wore dark lipstick to church. Much time had passed since then and I wanted to return. Enter a sale on Maybelline's new lipgloss, which is basically eternal. I had to try it. What a delight! Bright red lips forever. The forever part lost some of its appeal when I had to use a sandblaster to get it off my face at night. Once I was introduced to an effective remover however, I augmented my collection with another shade and moved on to the next connundrum - ze cheeks.

I'd read that blush should be the color I turn naturally when flushed. One day after working out, I looked in the mirror and realized that my peachy-browny blush was doing me no good. I also am now 30 and aging quickly, so I took to heart the advice to find a cream blush, as it makes one look younger. ;) I found it and I love it, I think. It's very pink and when I first put it on I felt like the seventh grade me on picture day when Mamar said to me right before stepping in front of the camera "Oh, I wish you would've told me you were going to wear makeup." Le sigh. For years after, she tried to instruct me on blush application. Sigh, I must've been a poor student. The first few times I put on my new blush, I felt like a ridiculous low-end doll that was painted by a hyperactive child forced into slave labor that had to meet a certain daily quota or certain death. It wasn't pretty. There was bright Peony-color everywhere. Then, something changed. Perhaps it's the sheer nature of my new tint, perhaps with practice my abilities are soaring. I do certainly look younger and fresher and ready for summer. Almost dewy, in fact.

Conclusion: I never meant to be that girl who wears daily makeup. Inside, I sort of make fun of her for not being able to leave the house without war paint. Still, as long as I am playing the part, I might as well look good and have fun doing it.

2009-07-02T20:26:00.000-07:00

This is a particularly beautiful baby.

However, despite being generally good with children and adorable around them, Wonderman doesn't seem quite at ease holding him (in fact, this picture makes me giggle - a lot).

Good thing the baby really belongs to them.

Blood is thick

2009-07-02T15:42:00.000-07:00

I remember once in high school, back when I was truly enigmatic, a friend of mine walked me home on a cool autumn day. He asked me if there was anyone who truly understood me (it was, of course, a deep and meaningful high school conversation that dealt with life's real issues as we struggled to define ourselves amongst our peers and our angst). I answered "Jesus. Maybe my sister. That's it." While I have grown and changed (I especially like the quote "A woman is meant to be loved, not understood" - Oscar Wilde, because it expresses my growing understanding so nicely), and in my maturity I've shed some of my mystery (I think), I don't think I had even begun to comprehend the tiniest part of how great my sister is. She is really, really great. And I know she loves me, even if she doesn't always understand me. Thanks, sister (I'm going to refer to you as Irma from here on out, because it's kind of a silly name [my apologies to anyone who has an Irma that is dear to their heart] and it's also Portuguese for "sister," except that in Portuguese there is that little worm above the "a" that makes it nasal and totally different, but you still get the idea). Thanks.

Crafter

2009-06-30T00:17:00.000-07:00

Now, I'm not a crafter. In fact, I've almost made it a goal NOT to be a crafter. I know, I know, in the world of blogging, it's nearly requisite to have some craft with which you make adorable things, have periodic give-aways, and appreciate the beauties of life. Meh.

I have, however, recently become enamored with beads. I'll be honest, I thought that my local bead store, i.e. Bead World, was a beader's paradise. On my recent trip to NYC I was informed that the city had not just a bead store, but a bead DISTRICT. Good gravy, Bead World is nothing. It is the equivalent to perhaps one fourth of one store, and there are many, many stores. It took my breath away. Then it nearly took away the breath of Irma as she laughed at me for being crafty after all and I shot her a dark look. Sadly, the only bead I bought was a glass bead that I may or may not have broken and was thrown away immediately after my paying for it. Sigh. I just didn't have time to ponder and plan a project and I couldn't simply throw my money at them. It nearly broke my heart to leave, though. Not quite as much as it broke my heart to leave Irma. Le sigh.

Conclusion (I totally am stealing the conclusion concept from Lisa, but I'm a stealer like that. I love that she ends every post that way. She's very cool. I wish we were, like, totally close friends): Creating something feels good and richly satisfying, but I will never accept the moniker "crafter."

Hyperbole

2009-06-27T12:58:00.000-07:00

Now, I know that sometimes deserts are more dangerous in terms of flooding when there is water around, not being equipped to deal with much of it and all, but I must confess, the term "inundation" did seem a little extreme to me as I saw this in a parking lot on a blistering, sunny day.

Strength in Numbers

2009-06-19T22:51:00.000-07:00

Last night I was reading a book from the library. It wasn't high literature, by any means, but it was gripping (it was also so deeply romantic and shmoopey in the most beautiful way it make me ache inside to be so far away from my dear husband). As I read late into the night (you can't easily put books like that down, you know), I came upon what I can only assume was a page marker for some other person who read that book. It made me smile, because it was the wrapper from a mini Hershey bar. In that moment, I felt a strangely intense connection to this woman (is it wrong of me to assume it was a woman, given the facts of it being a romantic-ish novel [not a romance, mind you; that is another genre altogether] combined with chocolate consumption?). It seemed to me that we were the same, she and I. Both curled up on a couch somewhere, reading this fiction and savoring (or perhaps bemoaning) our reality. Either way, I knew that her life was probably hard, but she was a strong woman nevertheless. That's just like me. Of course, I made up the stuff about her, but it certainly felt true. Anyway, I must go. I have some reading to do.

2009-06-16T10:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I have found my life's calling. It's to participate in things like this, which I found here. Seriously, the combination of Shakespeare with puppets and stuffed animals one, sounds like complete genius, and two, a ton of fun.
image found on flickr

I mean, wouldn't this guy make a great Falstaff? Yeah, I thought so too.

2009-06-14T13:56:00.000-07:00

I saw this on i can read and loved it. Plus, it made me think of my sister, who I love dearly, so that's nice, too.

Keeping things even

2009-06-13T13:52:00.000-07:00

The past two days have brought me a couple of variant experiences. Yesterday I met a strange man in a parking lot to sell him a mirror I had listed on Craigslist (an entirely different subject entirely. It's so strange to give my stuff to strangers. It's definitely a multi-leveled emotional journey. But not the topic of what I'm here to say today). He was very friendly, even invited me to his church, and was explaining to me how the mirror was for his teenage daughter. You know how teenagers are. . . . And then it came. He asked me if I had any teenagers. Wait, WHAT? I mean, I know I turned 30 recently and all, but TEENAGERS? REALLY? Of course I know it is biologically possible, but really? How could someone think I would be the parent of teenagers before I've even had one baby? Ridiculous. I tried to comfort myself with the fact that he had really only seen me from behind as I was struggling to finagle the mirror out of my car (does that mean I look wide as though I've given birth to many a child? Wo is me!) and so he really was just making conversation and not a judgment on my age. Sigh.

On the other end of the spectrum, today as Wonderman and I were getting into the car in the parking lot at Fry's, he mentioned to me that I should look up because "they" were waving at me. When I looked up, there was a minivan full of teenage boys, grinning and waving. And when I say "teenage," I don't mean 17-ish. I mean 13-14-ish. Not that that makes a huge difference. When I smiled at them, they fell into their boyish giggles and had to close the door to the minivan in embarrassment or to hide their swooning. Either they were instantly smitten by my intoxicating beauty or I had toilet paper stuck to me in some distractingly embarrassing way. As I found no toilet paper, I am forced to believe it was the first. So strange. One day being supposed the mother of multiple teenagers, the next being hit on by multiple teenagers.

ps - simply as an update to my previous post. almost immediately following the writing of said post, I went and did Jillian's 20 minutes. however, as I did it, the pain began to feel more like an injury and less like achy muscles, so I decided to take a few days off. I haven't done it since, and I feel great. I went to the gym yesterday with Wonderman and lifted weights and did my own cardio, and I'm just regular sore. You know, the kind of sore that makes it feel like slow-motion when you lift your arm to scratch your nose? That kind of sore. Anyway, Jillian may be the latest craze to sweep the nation, but I think I'll stick with being my own trainer and, as Jillian would say, phoning it in at the gym. So, if anyone wants to buy a discounted copy of Jillian's 30-Day Shred, just let me know.

That Girl

2009-06-08T11:05:00.000-07:00

Well, I think this is a post about being fat. Yes, I've become that girl. It used to be the girl who found a way to bring up in every conversation the fact that she was single. It could be a convo about broccoli and somehow it turns to singleness, lack of dating, and how men suck. I tried very hard to avoid such discussion. And then I got married, so it's a non-issue. Hooray, never again will I worry myself over becoming that girl. Alas, she has morphed and I am her. Ever convo turns to some aspect of me being fat. It's on my mind a lot. Some of it has to do with being married, right? My friend Katrina told me about her brother-in-law's idea for a new Barbie: wedding Barbie. As soon as you put a ring on her finger, she blows up like a balloon. That's sort of what I did. Although, I'd like to say that I did, of course, have a perfect storm-style convergence of events, all of which have led to my current state of fluffiness. 1 - I had surgery, which put me out of the active lifestyle for quite a while. Lethargy became the norm. 2 - Condition connected to said surgery required me taking yucky steroids, which ballooned me up quite quickly. 3 - I got married, and I'm just fulfilling the stereotype. 4 - I turned 30 and apparently that's when the metabolism goes on vacation. Still, no matter what the reason - I'M STILL FAT. I generally think I look fabulous, until I try to put on my favorite pair of capri pants and I can barely zip them up, then I want to cry. I've been reading about all kinds of people's diets and struggles, and instead of being inspired, I feel annoyed. I don't want to focus on this for the rest of my life. I think I'd rather be fat. However, I did get up the gumption to purchase the currently-wildly popular exercise video "[Effing] Jillian's [Effing] 30-Day [Effing] Shred." I sort of hate doing it. I hate Jillian, I hate all the lame things she says, I hate how sweaty I get, I hate how sore my muscles are when I'm done, I hate that she says that if I do what Natalie does, I'll look like Natalie in no time, which is complete bull because I'd have to be Natalie to begin with and even Jillian doesn't look like Natalie, I hate watching the trinkets on top of my entertainment center wobble as I bounce around the living room, apparently much like an elephant. Still, I've been doing it because I realize that I need to make some serious changes if I want my body to seriously change. I've even been pretty dedicated. Sunday aside, I've only skipped one day. My muscles don't hurt quite as bad as the first time I did it. NOTHING ELSE HAS CHANGED. Not one effing pound. I've even been eating a little (perhaps very little, but still, a little) better. Wonderman, on the other hand, has been eating a little better and TALKING a lot about the workout he's going to do. This morning, the scale told him he had lost four effing pounds. Of course I'm delighted for him, as Wonderman wants to be less fat just as much as I do, but IT'S NOT FAIR. I'm considering just tossing all my skinny clothes and embracing the current level of fatness because at least then I won't be obsessive and unhappy. Would that be so wrong? Would that solve my problem with being that girl? I'm tired of being her. Even I roll my eyes now every time I bring up my being fat. It's so lame and overdone. I think I'll go eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's while I think about it, and if you even dare giggle at my plan or raise your eyebrows at my methods, I will send a pack of ninja pirates to make you stop. So there. Because maybe I'll do Jillian afterwards. Maybe not.

Food-based vacationing

2009-06-07T19:01:00.000-07:00

So content we are.

So, let's be honest. I have two blogs. On the other blog, I'll be posting about our trip to Payson, AZ and what a delight it was. Here, I'll just be telling you about it's purpose - the Monte Cristo sandwich. I had my first taste at Christmas when Wonderman ordered one and I ate something completely unmemorable. Ever since, I've been searching for somewhere to order one of my own so that I could indulge in its sweet, deep-fried goodness. Alas, we found a few weak attempts, but none that could compare with Tiny's, so we headed back up to Payson. It was worth every minute of the drive.

The Image

2009-06-01T00:18:00.000-07:00

So, as I read everyone else's blog (and I do mean everyone, sigh), I find myself feeling at times a bit intimidated. I'm not sure if I'm crafty enough, witty enough, stylish enough, or funky enough. I have come to the realization that I probably need to wear my glasses more often and post pictures of me wearing my glasses. I'm pretty sure that will put me closer to the category of cool blogger (the first time I wrote that, it said "blooger," and, let's be honest, that is probably a great way to refer to myself, it seems like a mix between blogger and booger, which is what I am), which is where I of course want to be. Now I really am getting ready to get down to business with the whole blogging thing.

Newb

2009-05-22T00:07:00.001-07:00

Blogging is new to me. But I’d like to see how it can improve both my quality of life and general impression of myself, thus improving my quality of life. It should be delightful. I’m glad you’re here to share that with me.