A nighttime conversation

A friend and I have been teaching our almost 3-yr-olds preschool in our homes. It's been awesome. It's little more than structured playtime, but every so often we see a light bulb go on, so we press forward. Lessons are based on one letter per day.

Usually on the nights before school mornings, we try to prep Tessa. She loves school, so the prep is totally enjoyable, like last night's conversation:

Me: Tessa, guess what tomorrow is!
Tessa: [eyes widening and grin slowly uncurling] Schoooool??
Me: Yes! And do you know what letter you're learning tomorrow? "R"!
Tessa: R. rrrr...rrrrr...
Me: That's right. "R" makes the "rrr" sound. What word starts with "R"?
Tessa: rrrrrr.......rrrrrr..........rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....rrrrrrrrrrockettes!

Happy Easter 2011

This Easter was graced with flamingos instead of baby chicks. Easiest dress ever to make (and wear). The hairpiece is handmade, but was outsourced.

There was a swarm/herd/cache/litter/gaggle/den/covey/army/colony/flock/school/rabble/company of caterpillars that the girls could NOT keep their little paws away from. Poor critters. Notice Tessa's bare feet? We bought a new pair of shoes (sandals) a size bigger than she normally wears to accommodate her "tall" foot problem and the girl made it to the car, but not out of it. So she went through all of church with no shoes. Lucky girl.

It was such a lovely day, full of the things that Easter should be full of: music, hallelujahs, gratitude, and lemon cupcakes with phyllo nests and Cadbury eggs. Hope yours was grand as well!

"Just something I whipped up"

Yeah right. This dress took me 2 1/2 tries. I love the outcome, however. I had to make the sleeve ruffles a little wider since my daughter's arms are, well, a little wider and I wasn't adding the long sleeves that go right underneath.

Thanks to The Train to Crazy for making the pattern free, thanks to Annee for hosting sewing soirees at her house so that when I screw up (and I've done it every time) there are people to sympathize and encourage me to fix it instead of scrapping it and throwing up my arms in angst, and thanks to Tessa for making it cute.

I have so much to learn, but thankfully, my kid's not picky (yet). Though more often than not these days, I'll be getting ready to put clothes on her and she'll say, "Dress?" I'll respond, "You want to wear a dress?" and in a voice that sounds consigned to a mediocre fate, she'll answer, "okaaay...." It just occurred to me that she's probably saying "dress" the verb and not "dress" the noun. Duh!

Creation: Bellbottom Pants

We've been getting groovy over here. Remember that story I told long ago about choosing pajama pants as my first ever sewing project, having them turn out completely unwearable, throwing them out, then being intimidated by sewing machines for years?

Well, I'm back.

I have conquered my nemesis, thanks to Dana's tutorial. I'll have to tweak a couple things here and there next time, but overall, I love the outcome. I'll let you judge for yourselves.

I'm most proud of the perfect lining up of the fabric pattern. It's 100% polyester, baby. Dreamy to work with, and screaming to be made into granny style bellbottoms. She looks adorable in them.

Yeah, baby, YEAH!!

Big Girl/Little Girl Birthday Tea Party

I've been building up for this one. Years ago I started a teacup and saucer collection. Thanks to ebay and Anthropologie, it got big enough to host a full party.

Well, it wasn't a full party, as in "number of guests". A full party for me constitutes attendance in the dozens. :) This wasn't that kind of party. We could only fit so many people at the big girl table, and only 4 at the little girl table, so what we lacked in numbers, we made up for in decorations and food.

Tessa turned 2 last week, and I turned....into an old hag. Time to celebrate!

My friend Melissa was at our house (as she often is, bless her soul) when I pulled the teacup boxes out of storage to show off and clean up for the day. She helped me unwrap them and I think I heard her exclaim more than once how it felt like Christmas morning. I told her my plan and she immediately asked if she could decorate. Since I have absolutely no talent in that arena, I gave her full discretion. So she turned our living room into a dainty little wonderland.

We were particularly fond of the party favors for the little girls. M&Ms and felt cupcake stickers with monogrammed notepads? Come on.... The big girl favors were even tastier though - homemade toffee (recipe and photos coming!) bagged and sealed with a shabby chic fridge magnet.

The food:

• Chocolate cinnamon tea cakes
• To-die-for (seriously) lemon bars (or triangles, in this case)

• Chocolate-dipped animal crackers with peppermint
• Chocolate almond mousse balls
• Masala naan with garlic hummus
• Cucumber lemon water (it's so refreshing! try it!) for those who didn't prefer tea

• Fruit and cream puff kebabs with caramel sauce
• Blueberry bran muffins with lemon curd (I had to try to be healthy somewhere)

• Curry and garlic chicken salad in mini croissants
• Wheat rounds with pesto, tomato and parmesan
• Individual baked pepper jack and cheddar macaroni and cheese
• Bittersweet chocolate torte with chocolate ganache and raspberry sauce

Yes, there was a lot of chocolate, but I didn't hear anyone complaining.

I see the notepads were a big hit.

And the birthday girl looked smashing in her ruffles and pearls.

Recently I reunited with an old friend from high school. She moved right into our ward, we saw each other on their first Sunday here, and we promptly freaked out. We've been in every made-up club together ever since. She and her twin girls came, and gave this sweet little dress to Tessa:

I don't have a decent picture of the adorable zippered (with an inside pocket!) clutch she made for me (which happily contained....more chocolate), but I've already used it. And I have two kids in diapers, so small bags aren't my thing currently. But it's awesome.

Happy Birthday to us! And thanks so much to Melissa for making two girls' dreams come true!

Halloween '10: Costumes

This year's pumpkin patch: the neighborhood grocery store. Tessa picked us out a fine one.

I stressed myself out this Halloween. In recent past years, I couldn't give a rat's p'tootie for Halloween. As a kid, I dressed up, sure. Went and got myself a load of free candy, you bet. I might have gotten turned off to it, though, during my freshman year in college. I was told everyone on BYU campus dresses up for Halloween. So I went to my History of Civ class all decked out. I should have reported that person to the Honor Code office because HE LIED. The only other person dressed up was the mega-dorky T.A. It was a very awkward Mitch-in-Modern-Family moment. That night, however, I redeemed myself and dressed as Mrs Roper from Three's Company and trick-or-treated in the freshman dorms, and by then, everyone was in costume. I recall that being very fun.

However, since then, I haven't been as into it.

And then I had my first kid, which changed the fun factor as far as dressing up because, c'mon, babies in costume?? Can't deny that adorable-ness. Ted and I played it mellow last year, but for this year, my wheels have been turning since last Feb or March when I went to an out-of-town fabric store with a friend and saw the fabric that was destined to become a disco dress for Tessa. Then the rest of our costumes kinda came together after that. I've been on a family-themed costume kick the last couple years, and I already have a spark of an idea for next. Why do I do this to myself?

The theme was "Disco is dead", though you know I don't believe that. It was just a good theme to pull off, so I went with it. I had it in mind to make all 4 of our costumes but misjudged the speed at which I'm able to sew. Sew.....I only got the kids' costumes done, but I was pleased with how they turned out. Observe.

Tessa displayed our records (B side: Hot Stuff) and Dean was our reflecting disco ball. I danced the night away in an afro wig which I've always wanted to wear, and the "dead" part was Ted as the grim reaper. It was nice to put that PhD robe to use again. And my "costume"....well...consisted of clothes I already own and wear on a normal basis. Does that mean I'm stuck back in the 70s? Oh well.

Dean's disco ball really was a ball. It's squished in the picture because he weighs almost 50 pounds and he couldn't keep it out of his mouth (I found a sequin or two on his chin at various times. You'd think I didn't feed the kid). I found a great tutorial for a soccer ball and just used a different fabric and lined it so it wouldn't get all wonky (the sequin fabric had some stretch to it). I sewed straps and elastic into the seams so it wouldn't come off, then stuck him in his black felted car seat for a better dance floor contrast. Of the four of us, Dean was the biggest hit. No surprise. A 2-month old wearing a shiny disco ball? There was no hope for the rest of us. :)

I worked all week on getting her to do this pose. I don't know if I'm more proud of that or her dress.

It was the first time I made up a pattern, so it's not perfect, but yeah, I'll admit, I was pretty dang excited about that little number.

She was uncharacteristically shy during this video, but you get the idea:

Proof

Being pregnant is a pretty incredible thing. After the initial excitement, fear, or possible apprehension wears off, even if it took a while to get to that point, lots of women (myself included) tend to move into moments of complaining. Y'know, constant queasiness, loosening joints, back pain, getting your bladder kicked by your fetus. You feel like you have every right to complain, so you do, and then you feel bad for complaining because you realize what a miracle it is that you can grow an entire human being in your body, and that sometimes, for some women, it's not so easy to do. So you stop complaining. For, like, an hour. Then the process starts all over again.

At least that's how pregnancy goes for me. In all of my pregnified experience.

Several times during the nine (plus) months I also start to wonder about our little offspring's character and personality. Will s/he be mellow and pleasant, spawn of Satan, or something in between? What about sports? Music? Gardening? Chocolate or vanilla? Boxers or briefs? As a former student and subsequent teacher of biology, I'm well aware that the gene recombination combinations are limitless, so I find pleasure in all the speculation permutations. The thought of this little person possibly ending up with some of my better traits is pretty exciting. The thought of him/her ending up with my not-so-good ones (I have fears of Tessa trying to outdo her mom with how many guys she makes out with) conversely scares the pants off me. Either way, as kids grow up, they begin to show little glimpses of what their parents gave them.

Recently, there have been a couple of instances that have evidenced my children and I have come from the same gene pool.

First, Tessa. She is sooo affectionate and playful now. She loves to grab a book and come sit on one of our laps to have us read it. She entertains herself easily with a toy or puzzle, and loves the almost daily dance parties we have in our living room. And she has learned a lot of new words. The important ones. One afternoon, we were playing on the floor while dinner was finishing cooking. Tessa was happy as a clam, giggling and playing with us, sitting in between the two of us with a favorite toy in her hands. I asked, "Tessa, do you want to eat?" She immediately dropped the toy, dropped her smile, and got up on her feet and headed to the kitchen without a word. Except that once she got to her high chair, she turned around and repeated, "EEE!" (Eat.) That is one single-minded 20-month old.

Next up, Dean. A while ago, Ted and I watched that "Happiest Baby on the Block" DVD about the 5 S's, which ended up being pretty helpful, but the way it was presented made us giggle in some spots. The pediatrician who came up with all the hoo-ha on the DVD called the first few months of the baby's life "essentially the fourth trimester" because there are so many adjustments a newborn has to go through, and while s/he is figuring out this crazy new body, Mom and Dad are trying to figure out the baby figuring himself out.

Dean totally fit into this description. He is still kind of in this stage. A month or so ago, he was crying and squirming and getting mad no matter what position I put him in, no matter if he was eating from bottle or boob, no matter if he was being swaddled or swung or sound-machined. The fussing went on for half an hour with no relief for him or me. And then. His butt exploded. His body completely relaxed, but the best part was that his head rolled back and he had a HUGE smile on his face. I witnessed my first infant poophoria. And I gotta say, I've had that feeling he was feeling soooooo many times.

Yup. Those are my kids. I love them.

Family outing: Mapleview Farms

We ventured about 15 miles from our house to indulge in some fabulous ice cream out in the bonafide countryside, made on site from North Carolinian cows. The dairy farm has a quaint country store where you can turn in your empty glass milk bottles and pick up more of their fresh, creamy milk. I hear tell their skim tastes like whole, but who gives a crap about milk when there's small-batch-produced ice cream to be had?

I introduced my mom to the many wonders while she was here. She got coconut, I got banana pudding. I know what you're thinking: "But there's no chocolate in banana pudding ice cream, dummy!" I realize this, and to that rude affront, I reply that to balance out my diet, I occasionally dabble in non-chocolate dessert items and still manage to find them quite delicious. Besides, one of life's greatest pleasures is a fresh banana milkshake, so I figured my flavor choice wouldn't stray too far from the mark. I was totally right, as usual.

The other thing I love about this place is the porch they provide, on which to enjoy said fab s'cream. There are no less than 20 rockers, all lined up. So feasibly I could invite my whole family and only half of them would have to sit on the floor. tee hee.

Last year, I came with Tessa shortly after our NC arrival and got this shot:

I decided to reprise the staging, so here's the 2010 version:

And since it looks like we started a tradition, here's Dean's first (he couldn't sit up well enough in the chair yet, so Grandma's helping him out 'til he can get more starch in him):

Now there's one dessert who's even MORE tasty than chocolate. Big servings of him are TOTALLY on my diet.

Creation: Dress for Tess

About a month ago, my friend Melanie and I were discussing all our shortcomings in the sewing department. We each have a sewing machine, lots of desire, very little time, and several half-begun projects. It was a few days before she left NC for good (her husband recently graduated from Duke Law) and we were making our attempts to prolong the inevitable goodbyes.

So on that Friday night, I promised to her that I would finish this dress I'd started back in January. I had been scared of it because I was working with a stretchy fabric, a non-stretchy lining (and I've NEVER done lining before, of any kind), and the fluffy ball trim that kept getting caught in places where I didn't want it (isn't that always the case?). But Sunday would be the last day I'd see her. And it was Friday night. So I hunched over my sewing machine a good part of Friday night and Saturday night after Tessa was in bed and just did it. "Hunching over" has a whole new meaning when there's a nine-month pregnant belly to contend with.

Here's the result:

I'm not showing any pictures any closer because there are details I'm not proud of (like the fabric puckering along one side of the zipper in the back). When you're working against a deadline, things have to be sacrificed. Of course, now I see that zipper and just cringe, but I keep telling myself I'm chalking up this dress to a learning experience.

She's my little chocolate covered raspberry in it.

The day has come!

I was going to chop off the last second where she clunks into me, but let's be honest. It's pretty amusing.

Sorry about the lack of pants. She had just leaked into them. But this way, you get to see those glorious thighs!

Orange Dream

I swear, I should be in a commercial. Advertisers need to know how much I fawn over some of the food they come up with. The latest, or should I say, one of the earliest num-nums I just had the pleasure of pleasuring over was a simple Creamsicle. The standard orange and cream goodness on a stick. I bought a box of 12 a few weeks ago for $1.88 (I love a good sale) and I've been parceling them out slowly ever since. Today, I shared one with Tessa - her first. Watching her eat it, with eyes growing wide and little-kid "mmmm"s allowed me to remember how much I loved eating them as a kid (and why I'm such a sucker for them even now). The best part was that she got a little cream on her fingers, so rather than getting my growing belly off the couch to get a napkin, I just stuck her fat fingers in my mouth and sucked them clean. Don't gag. You've all done it. Anyway, she just giggled and laughed and giggled some more, and I was taken back to my own summer childhood treats. I think I still have 5 left in the freezer...

Does it make you want to go get a box? I'm not stopping you. You're welcome, Popsicle brand, for the shameless free advertising.

Being a mom kicks butt

Last year's breakfast by Ted: crepes and bacon. That's what I'm talkin' about.



I know there are women out there who hate Mother's Day for whatever their reasons (my own mother doesn't like it because she's never handled unbridled and insincere affection very well), but I tell ya, I love it.

We did a little revamping of Mother's and Father's Days this year because of money constraints and to change the focus from feeling like "I gave you a gift - what more do you want?" to "You mean so much to me and I don't just want to tell you, I want to show you." To be fair, we have never been so callous to each other as to have the "what more do you want?" attitude, but I really just wanted the day to focus on service and appreciation more than material things.

Ted did not disappoint.

I consider Mother's Day as spanning the weekend, so Saturday we spent at home together. We had company coming into town (not our own company - the father and brother of a friend in the ward needed a place to crash for the night before his graduation), so I had a loooooooong to-do list written out and after I made a breakfast of bacony eggs and seasoned hash browns (which I finally got right) we started to tackle it. I knew Ted had a Sunday night deadline for future job prospect interviews that he had to focus on, but instead, he took a look at my list and started in on it as well. He took the hardest jobs/projects - cleaning the entire guest bathroom on hands and knees because he knew I'd get major heartburn and poisonous fume effects if I attempted it myself, and tackling the bookshelf in the guest room that had become overrun with all the "stuff" you put someplace because there's nowhere else to put it.

He organized it, then went a step further by putting pictures in books, finding old postcards to put into empty frames, finding nails, hammer and measuring tape in order to hang said frames, putting all dangerous stab-a-kid's-eye-out objects one shelf higher, reorganized all the sewing tools that had accumulated onto the sewing table and moved all computer-related accoutrements to where we keep the computer (usually - it is a laptop, after all). Meanwhile, I switched out all the clothes Tessa's too fat for, put those into bins, and brought out the next batch. No one ever told me about that part of being a mom. I guess I knew babies grow and therefore, their wardrobes must change, but I didn't connect the two with the fact that I would have to do the changing. I think it's my least favorite part of being a mom because every article of clothing requires a decision, which is a pain. But I did it. For Mother's Day.

We washed sheets, made the bed, tidied up the room, brought out towels, stashed the stuff we didn't have time for into Tessa's room, hid the R-rated movies and yarn pile (equally sinful to some), and I finally got to making dinner at around 7pm. The only problem is that I had started brining a turkey boob the night before and HAD to cook it, but since it had to roast about 2 hours, I feared we were going to be eating as the company walked in the door.

I was right.

Thankfully, they were as low-maintenance and kind as can be, so all my anxiety and stress was for naught. Ted is a wonderful sounding board to my stress levels (aka "bitching"), so he heard his share of earfuls yesterday. It didn't help that I was pretty darn grumpy and Tessa had developed a fever and rash from her vaccines the day before.

Ted made breakfast this morning. It's pictured below. It has "Ted's doing" written all over it: orchid that he's kept alive since my birthday (Feb), 10 orange segments all in perfect rows, his mom's fabulous German pancake recipe baked to perfection on his very first solo try, every available sauce in our fridge to put on said pancakes (homemade strawberry jam and chocolate sauce not pictured), BACON (wasn't off the stove quite yet, and actually, that has ME written all over it rather than Ted, but it is my day after all, right?) our fancy silverware, and goblets for the OJ. Oh, but there's more....

See the level of liquid in the goblets? The one closest to you with the overexposed flash is Ted's. The man loves his OJ. Mine looks like it's been half drunk already. This is not because he drank it before I could come downstairs or because he "ran out" after he'd poured himself a hefty glass already. He is fully aware that the one food that gives me heartburn (even when not pregnant) is any volume of orange juice greater than 4 oz. He didn't want to plague my morning, so 4 oz it was. Sooooo sweet.

German pancakes with some homemade strawberry jam and lemon curd was, in a word, heaven. And bacon and chocolate in the same meal? How can you go wrong? I was moaning in deep pleasure with pretty much every bite (what is it about meals you don't have to think about or make that cause them to taste even better?), and before ya know it, we hear Tessa in the kitchen (who was having a smaller version of our meal) moaning with the same intensity and intonation as her mom. Just that alone would have made my day.

But then we went to church. Both talks in Sacrament meeting were fantastic, with special attention given to women who have been dealt sour cards in life situations, and I appreciated the sensitivity that both men used in addressing their remarks. The primary sang (Tessa was riveted) which is always a treat, and my gift from Tessa (other than the moaning) was being fed tiny bites of a PBJ during the rest of sacrament meeting, just like I've done to her oodles of times. And then giving me a very wet kiss after almost every bite.

I taught in Young Women about how we strengthen our testimony through obedience to the commandments. The insight that these 13- and 14-yr old girls have is incredible. They get it - better than I ever did at that age. I related my experience of gaining my own testimony as a teenager and how much strength I've drawn from that experience ever since then, but we talked about how laziness and disobedience can take us farther from what we know or have known is most important. I fall into that category so often. I don't ever intend to flagrantly disobey; I just get lazy. I get discouraged, too, but more often, it's laziness. Building a testimony requires doing, even if that doing is just a desire to do (Alma 32). "Strengthening" denotes an action, so it's only appropriate that our greatest insights and "golden nuggets" (I like to call them) are solely gained by getting off our butts and getting to it. It was a wonderful discussion, and the Spirit was so strong, that it was a shame to see our time together was over for the day.

The rest of the day was just as great. Tessa napped, we ate courtesy of Ted again, and once we stuffed our gullets, we started making phone rounds. My first stop was my "other mother" - the mother of one of my best friends whom I've known since I was 8 and who really has been the main part of the village who had to raise me. She and her family are going through an incredibly difficult time right now, and I've been thinking about her and praying for her every day for over a month, but because of the regular reports I was getting from her blog, from my friend, and from my mom (who is best friends with her as well), I never just picked up the phone and called her myself. Well, today I did, and even though she's the one going through a "rough patch" (and that's putting it soooooooo mildly), she made me so happy. We laughed and cried and talked about boobies. Basically, a standard wonderful phone conversation for me.

And then, my own dear mother. I waited for Tessa to wake up even though she just wants to eat the phone and press the buttons instead of blabber into it, but it was fun to have her there anyway. I talk to my mom all the time, so this was not an out-of-the-blue call for us. We just kind of picked up where we left off (from yesterday) and for the second time, she wished me a Happy Mother's Day, which is an incredible feeling.

Dear Mom,

I understand so much more fully what kinds of worries you were up against, what kind of love you felt for us, and how much we must have driven you crazy. I get why you streamlined your cooking, had a salad at every dinner, and switched to disposable diapers the second they were invented. I never knew about all the behind-the-scenes praying you must have done to keep your sanity, but I know now why you were either reading your scriptures or on your knees whenever I barged into your room at bedtime, why you cling so mightily to wise words and funny moments, and I am honored that you now turn to your own children for advice and a listening ear, even when, to us, you seem to have all your ducks in a row just fine. You've never claimed or given any indication that you think you're perfect, but to me, you are, and I'm so happy that I get to have you as my friend forever.

Love,

Allison

Dear Tessa,

Your Grandma D is quite a woman. She has raised me to be strong for you. She definitely taught me to be better than I am, but luckily, life is a process and God very mercifully gives us a little time to work out our kinks. I have a lot of kinks, but you don't seem to mind. The one thing I've got in spades (besides kinks) is an undying affection for you. I see little fun parts of your personality coming out, and I see some parts of my own personality that I can only assume will drive me as crazy as I drove Grandma D for so many years. But watching you watch me prompts me to be doing the things that are best, not just "good", because no one can ever expect someone to "do as I say, not as I do." Thank you for keeping me on my toes and for being so easy to love, you sassy little vixen.

Love,

Mama

Mother's Day 2009. Three months post-partum. Notice bags under eyes (both sets).


Mother's Day 2010. Main differences: we both have more hair (thank you, pregnancy hormones), her head is bigger but hair accessories are smaller, and lactating breasts turned into pregnancy rack. That necklace is following its path just like a river meandering through unmovable mountains...

Dear Undercooked Son,
I apologize in advance. But I promise I'll do my best.
Love,
Future Mama

On the cooling rack: Burnt soup. Yup. I'll tell you allll about it.

I don't remember all the reasons why Alexander's day was terrible, horrible, no good, and/or very bad. But just considering the title alone, I hear ya, bro.

It began with a lack of sleep last night - all of which was my fault. I'm a night owl, it's my reading time, so before lights out I read and read and read. Multiple books even. But then Tessa woke up earlier than I had planned (you can laugh). Usually, when she wakes up from the night or from a nap, she'll talk to herself, play with her animals, perhaps sing, maybe whine a little, but when one of us goes into her room to get her out of bed, she stops everything, breaks out into a huge grin, and says, "Hiiiiiii!!!!!" Not today. Full on whining from the get-go. Through the pick-up, through the morning kisses, through the diaper change, bath, and clothes. And the whining didn't stop ALL DAY LONG. In fact, as I'm writing this, I can hear her upstairs in her crib, trying to fall asleep, and whining.

Before I go any further, let me just say that God sent us an angel in giving us Tessa. She is always cheery, friendly, sweet, hungry, and very kissable. I have no problem loving this girl, I adore being with her and watching her grow, and her natural sweet temper makes me look like I'm a great mom.

Let me put in another aside. I can't stand whining. I know there are moms out there who are nodding their heads like "yeah" (can't get THAT song out of my head to save my life) but this is to a debilitating degree. I hear whining, even from a kid I don't know - say, in Target or something - and I just want to march right over there and give her something to whine ABOUT! As soon as the pitch goes up in the voice, I go into bristle mode. If I were a porcupine, this is where quills would shoot out of my body quite forcibly. When I was a teacher, I would often hear students whine. Granted, I didn't hear it as much in my classroom as elsewhere in the school, for I was somewhat known as the Anti-Whine. When a student sent me into bristle mode, and before I got into full attack mode, I countered whatever they were saying in their whiny voice in a MUCH more whiny voice, then took it to the next level, just to show them how childish and dumb they sounded because I'm really mature like that. The following conversation is an example of how a typical whining interaction would have taken place:

me: ...so with each level, or "orbital", the energy of the atom's electrons actually increases. Let me draw what it might-

student: (without raising hand or otherwise asking for help) But miiissss... I don't geeeeett iiiiitt..

me: (obviously bristled) WELL MAAAAAAYBE IF YOU WAAAAAAIITED HALF A SEHHH-COND I COULD HEEEELP YOU UNDERSTAAAAAAAAAND WITH THIS PIIIIICTURE I WAS ABOUT TO DRAAAAAAW VERY POOOOOORLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

other students: hahahahahahaha. She told you!

me: (haven't yet cracked a smile because, well, it's just not funny to me) Would you like to get my attention in a manner more fitting to an 8th grader and not a 2-yr old?

student: Sorry, miss. (student never whines again in my class, but I can't speak for his others)

And that's how the whining issues in my classroom were usually solved. Can't do that with a 14-month old, I've learned.

I have tolerated kids' whining before - it's just a natural occurrence as they develop because they can't form words or signs and can't always walk over and show you what they want (esp if it's our kid). Thus the whine begins before toddling, but the sin of it gets washed away at baptism when they're 8, thank goodness, and then they're supposed to stop whining altogether. Unfortunately, I've known many an adult who's got some repenting to do. Tessa has done her fair share of whining, and I have taken it in stride - I realize she's hungry or tired or in need of a change of pace. I've almost always been able to take care of any particular need relatively easily. As I mentioned before, she's an angel, and we know we got lucky.

But today.... Today, no amount of sweet-talking, cajoling, flattery, enticements, empty promises, or animal crackers could satisfy her any longer than a few minutes. And then it was right back where we started. I knew she was tired, but the girl refused to sleep. So I let her stay up and get under the table where I was sewing (something for her, ungrateful thing). That was a mistake. I then let her play by herself in her room with her new hand-me-down (thanks, Debbi!) blocks. She loves the things, and she loves throwing them, crawling toward them, and then destroying any order whatsoever in her toys, books, and clothing just to get to them. I found her in the closet, banging pieces of my music stand together. I'll chalk that up to another mistake on my part. By the time I'd gotten fed up with that (and after I finished the small sewing project and hairclip I'd done in the meantime), it was - surprise! - time to eat again. So....she was whining. Okay, so, lunch. No prob. Do it every day. Mind you, I'm still not out of my underwear by this time, I'm starting to sweat a little hefting a 30-lb child who can't walk yet while 24 weeks pregnant, and the only thing I can be grateful for at this point is that I remembered to close the blinds the night before.

She whines for more food. Then throws it on the floor. Drinks water. Whines. Throws it on the floor - and thinks it's quite funny. Time to get out of the high chair. Crawls to the bathroom and whines when I don't let her pull up on the toilet seat. Whines when I don't let her break a frame. Whines when I pull her away from the carbon monoxide detector that has that deafening test button (why did they install that huge enticing thing in the hallway outlet???). Gets scissors taken away. More whining. Mama closes the laptop so she'll stop deleting my stuff. More whining. New soccer ball occupies her for about 4 minutes, then it's back to the whining. And I'm approaching bristle mode...

She FINALLY falls asleep and I think this is the end of the satanic drama and I can put my quills away. I get a shower in - yay me - and take 20 min for myself to crochet a flower. But I didn't finish. Because I hear it - and it's not a sweet pitter patter of anything tiny or feety. At this point I'm feeling like the Grinch when he grumbles, "all the noise, noise, NOISE, NOOISE!!!!"

Okay, I have to stop the story here and also say, I know there are moms out there who deal with this on a daily basis. This is nothing to them. In fact, this is a GOOD day! To you moms, I applaud you and have never judged you for keeping it to just one kid. I get it.

Back to the noise. Too short a nap - whiny. Third poop diaper. Whiny. Wants to crawl right off the changing table and I won't let her - whiny. To get back at me, she throws anything within reach off the table, including the large bottle of baby powder. Whines. Yanks brand new handmade-with-whatever-love-and-affection-I-was-feeling-toward-my-sweet-pea hairclip out of hair and throws that across the room, too. Grrr.

Time to fold laundry. She wants to be near whatever I'm doing. I let her. For every item I fold, she has unfolded two (well, until the math doesn't work out anymore), and has strewn them around the hallway. I'm getting serious bouts of heartburn with all the bending over and retrieving I'm doing. Laundry load gets folded in only three times as long as normal. I go take it upstairs to put away, and you can guess what I hear. I give her my phone to play with. She calls Europe. I take it away. Whine. I sequester her in the pack n play with her favorite toys while I fold same load and put it away. Two minutes......and there it is. I know! Let's feed her! That always solves everything!

Only temporarily today.

While she's somewhat occupied and in one spot, I take the time to get tonight's dinner ready. I've got my ham hock all ready (and hocked), even thought ahead and bought celery yesterday for today, got the split peas a-soakin', onions peeled and ready to chop, carrots - check. Sweet! Wait, whine. Ohhh, poop diaper. The fourth today (total for today = 6). I decide we need to take our frazzled selves outside for a little stroll and get some air and look at some pretty green trees. Half a minute in, and, yup, there's the drizzle. Going anyway. To the recycling bin on one side of the complex, mailboxes on the other side, while getting our mail Tessa and I notice a teenager who's walking his dog near the fowl/foul lake (both apply right now) and then watch him KICK THE GEESE! Repeatedly! They weren't even doing anything, but getting kicked sure pissed them off, so flap their wings they did, only to get kicked again. Made me so mad. On the way back, I then notice two more teenagers sneaking between our townhome and the next one, smoking pot (great), which they try to hide when they see I see them. Had a small debate in my head over whether I should call cops or not. Normally I wouldn't bother, but it's right next to our place, they're underage, and we have a little girl who will, (one day) be walking around the premises and considering her knack of finding and eating things I can't even see, well, you can understand my concern.

I decided to let it go for today. But I so badly wanted to be that responsible adult who gets on kids' cases and ends up saving the world. One day.

Walk in the house, time to boil the peas and ham hock, so I turn on the heat, and....whine. At this point, I completely lost it. I got on the floor where she was and had her face me. I told her to stop it in a very loud voice - something I've never done. In fact, I have since tried to recall any other time I've raised my voice at her other than fake laughing and jabbering to get her to talk and giggle, and I can't. I was angry. And I lost my patience. So then I got angry at myself. I put her into bed, hoping that even though it was late in the day, she'd at least get a snooze in and I could protect her from further Mommy Wrath. In taking her upstairs and getting frustrated for getting so frustrated, I...left the soup pot on high and the thing boiled over. That was when I started crying. And I hadn't even started chopping the onions yet.

Time got away from me in order to have dinner somewhat ready or almost ready by the time Ted came home from studying all day in the library, so to cut time, I uncovered the pot and let everything boil longer instead of allowing it to simmer an hour and a half or so. I'd been crying so hard over everything that all holes in my head were clogged and I didn't smell the damage until it was too late. Note: split peas are denser than water and therefore sink. When high heat is applied, there's no water there to buffer the temperature rising, so those peas are gonna burn, gonna burn. And...they did. Allll on the bottom of the pot. My beautiful hunk of pork product! Ruined!

Ted had made it home by then and had been sympathetic to my tears, had asked if I needed anything, but I was too flustered and upset to first, think of any way he could help me, and second, explain why I was crying in the first place except to say "ALL THE WHINING!" I couldn't put into words that I'd just reached my first day of yelling at my innocent child, and then going a step further and wondering what the heck I was going to do if #2 does this every day. That made the tears flow even more, then somehow I smelled the soup, and I almost lost control of my bladder I was so upset. I mean, honestly... Who burns soup??

So that is most of the story. I'm reserving the rest of the story for my journal's eyes only. (Piqued your interest, didn't I? Too bad.) Let's just say it's a good thing Wendy's is so close, because a Jr Bacon Cheeseburger can cure just about any ill.

And just so I don't end this on too sour a note, I've included pictures of the very small projects I finagled while she destroyed three rooms and I was still in my oh-Tessa-you-little-rascal stage.

I bought the purple shorts at the dollar store a couple days ago. Just attached the ruffly trim (which I got from a scrap store) to dress them up a bit. Much cuter.



And I finally summoned up enough courage to try making a felt hairclip after spending an hour on the phone last week with Laura, who has mastered the art. She gave me some tips, then told me to just go for it, even if I make a mistake (you'd think I was auditioning for Broadway or something). It's the experience that teaches you. So, it's not perfect, but it was at least fulfilling and I learned how to do it better next time.

These photos were taken between sessions of whining.



Don't play so innocent, little girl.... I heard you tonight, even when you had fries in front of you!

Charleston: Fantasy trees

We spent four beautiful days in Charleston over Ted's Spring Break. It was a break he sorely needed, and this time (as opposed to his Fall Break when we went to Hershey), everything was due before the break, so he could actually relax. We went with two other families, stayed in the same hotel, ate at the same joints, toured the same sights and everything. It was such a gas! We had a ball, even though the other couples left a day earlier than we did. On our last day, we visited an outdoor market with vendors who sold much of the same thing (so of course it reminded me of downtown L.A.). Some was kitschy, some was quite pretty, and some of it belonged in the garbage.

We looked through some photographed prints at one stand, and stopped at one incredible image of a tree. We asked the vendor what it was, and he said it was an oak that was 1500 years old, called the "Angel Oak Tree", and it lived on St John's Island, which was about 20 minutes away. After grabbing lunch and driving through the Citadel, we headed over there, not knowing exactly where it was, but hoping our GPS could give us some info. It did, and we found it, and we were SO GLAD we did. It was even more incredible than the pictures showed, because this thing was so huge, there's no way it could be captured in just one shot. The branches actually spanned almost two acres and had to be propped up off the ground. Keep in mind these next four shots are all one tree. By my calculations, the seed must have taken root only one lifetime after Moroni buried the plates in the hillside. So cool! ;)

Our last day together, all three families went to visit the Boone Plantation, made famous by the movie The Notebook. The house, Boone Hall, was grand, but the grounds were what was really impressive. There were fields galore for strawberries, pumpkins, green beans, melons (the kind you eat), eggplant, grapes, and all sorts of other things. They even made their own honey on the plantation. The whole place used to grow indigo, but once cotton became "king", the Boone Plantation (and most others) switched to cotton.


And my favorite, these oak trees that were just dripping with Spanish moss were glorious. On a whim, we popped the kids up into the branches and got them giddy with laughter.

Couldn't you just EAT THEM UP???

Another milestone

Today I had to purchase our first baby gate, and in doing so, realized those things don't fit inside a Target cart ("buggy", if in the South) very well. Tessa gnawed on the box while we were shopping, so it looks like a keeper.

She has moved out of the army scoot and into actual crawling. We realize she's behind the norm, but I haven't minded as it has meant I've only had to have one eye on her instead of two. Those days are quickly diminishing. Case in point: the other night she thought our kitchen garbage receptacle would be strong enough to anchor her 30 pound (no joke) frame, and only pulled up on it because she could see from the overflow that there were strawberry tops and a chicken carcass, and that girl will go to any lengths for a bite (yesterday I pulled a dead ladybug out of her mouth, bitten perfectly in half - jury is still out on whether it was alive or not when it went in). Alas, the garbage toppled over onto her stunned and chubby body, and Ted had to mop up the floor because I said it would make a pregnant woman gag (I'm very good at lying).

At this point, I'm reconsidering having baby #2, but since I'm 20 weeks, it's not likely I can go back on that decision. We made it when #1 was still immobile, and my naive brain figured I could handle one, even if it was crazy, since Tessa was so good-natured. Note to self: children grow up and get into everything. Occasionally they break some things, and in our case, eat most things. Be advised whenever you revisit another "having another child" conversation.

Oh, and tomorrow will be "pulling out the maternity clothes" day. I can't stuff my lower gut into my regular jeans anymore, even though they do have stretch (and thank the fashion gods for that!). Poor kid's going to come out with a zipper impression across its backside.

What's in this?

Ted and I agreed that neither of us like Blueberry Jelly Bellies (do you write it "Bellies" because it's the plural of "Belly" or do you write it "Bellys" because "Jelly Belly" is trademarked? I couldn't find the answer to that in Eats, Shoots & Leaves). They kinda taste like soap and not like delicate, pop-in-your-mouth, slightly sweet but slightly tangy blueberries. Most flavors they just nail, and I loved seeing the process when I visited there some time ago, but Blueberry....sorry guys.

Then there's the color - and that's where today's story begins. They're a deep blue, not navy, but a little darker than royal. Kinda like a Duke blue. More reason to want to love them, but we just can't. So we decided to give the few that we had to our resident garbage disposal. She doesn't care about the nuances and notes of flavors so much, for she has yet to gain sophisticated palates like her parents (said tongue-in-cheek, but right now I wish I was saying it donut-in-mouth). She gobbled them up, and though she slapped Daddy's thigh for more, we were strong. She wasn't getting our root beer ones.

But these tiny beans! They must be made up completely of dye and sugar (not that I'm against those things)! I can understand these effects directly afterward:





But I was not prepared for the next day. Her diaper manifested that she had eaten very concentrated color pills. Though the output stank to high heaven (which is coincidental, since I was changing said diaper during church), I still got a few giggles out of it because I was reminded of when one of my mission companions and I bought blue dye for fish tanks and put them in some brownies and Kool-Aid for the elders. We nabbed the whole zone, and had a dozen or so of them calling the mission office with some "serious medical issues" because they were suddenly peeing green. You can understand why I number it among my greatest mission success stories.

My Mount Everest (well, one of 'em)

Like many of you, I grew up as the daughter of a very talented mother. She could sing, dance, cook, bake, play multiple instruments, sew clothes for her family, earn money from home, chauffeur, direct a choir, teach little kids, and my siblings and I were particularly proud that she could eat breakfast AND nurse a baby while driving the kids to early morning seminary... in a stickshift.

As the 6th of 10 kids, I didn't get to benefit from any of my mom's signature hand-made clothing (showers and laundry were more of a priority), so I really didn't have any idea about how good she is with a sewing machine. I spent many a Saturday over at my friend Shannon's house, whose mother is an interior designer and decorator and therefore had a workroom with a half dozen different sewing machines that rivaled the local downtown LA sweatshop. Shannon, being the fearless talent that she is, learned to sew on them from a young age and intimidated me with her mad scrunchy-making skillz. I remember being crazy jealous at the time, but didn't act positively to my jealousy until I was about 14. I told my mom I wanted to make a pair of pajama pants - a project I decided on because I figured if they didn't turn out well, I was only wearing them to bed anyway. So we bought a pattern and thread and she helped me begin. In my naivete, however, I didn't realize how difficult it would be to begin sewing on a knit, and to begin with a pair of pants, even if they did have an elastic waist. The result before I even got to the waistband was a pair of "pants" that MAYBE a human-sized penguin could wear, but would probably be very embarrassed. I didn't know what happened! But in my frustration and embarrassment, I threw the whole thing away and didn't look at another sewing machine until I was much older.

Fast forward to a post-mission love affair and suddenly I wanted to make a sassy patchwork quilt for a boy. Love makes you do crazy things. Like revisit a black spot from your past. Well, by golly, the quilt turned out just like I wanted it, so I started to teach myself how to make pillows to match it - with my own piping! I had no idea at the time that I was making progress because I sure did break a lot of needles.

Rather than jumping off from that point, the boy and I broke up before I had a chance to give him the goods, so I kept them for myself and to this day, they adorn our guest bed in what Ted likes to call my "boudoir". With the boy gone, and me back at college and without access to Mom's machine (and never thinking to ever ask or save for one), sewing went by the wayside, and after several years, I began to be in awe of others' talents and claim I didn't have any sewing know-how to speak of. Yes, I am the epitome of burying one's talents.

Then our move to NC with a 6 month-old meant I became a stay-at-home mom, and I spent her naptimes (and much of what should have been my own sleep time) FINALLY reading one of the several thousand crafty blogs out in cyberworld. This particular one belonged to a girl I knew in my old ward but was afraid to get to know better because I was so intimidated by her many talents and personality traits. At the time, I remember wanting to be just like her (a common feeling for me regarding many people who excel in areas I don't...yet) but didn't know where to start. It took me a few weeks, but I read that blog from beginning to end, and with such a concentration of creativity and goodness, I was inspired to get over my sewing fears, stop telling myself I didn't know how, and deal with any discouragement or disappointment along the way.

It all began when we were having a meeting with all the leaders of our church's girls' group. We were planning a Halloween activity that required some "gunny sacks" to be sewn out of thick fabric, and none of the four leaders piped up. I sheepishly volunteered, but said I didn't have a machine (thinking that would get me off the hook). No dice. Another leader had a machine, but didn't know how to use it. Turns out the other three had less experience with a sewing machine than I did, and that ain't sayin' much.

I made six gunny sacks, showed up with them all cute and what-not to the activity, then during the first race, two of them popped open at the bottom, allowing huge feet to sprout forth. I was SO disappointed. I wouldn't allow them to go into storage at the end of the activity until I fixed them, so I took them home and reinforced the bottoms of ALL the sacks. We'll see if they work next year.

After that debacle and the fixing of it (I hope), I decided to revisit this sewing business for good. Basically, I told myself "there's absolutely NO reason why I can't do this. It's a learnable skill, I am a learned person, and I even taught others how to learn, so I can teach myself this." I borrowed books from the library on the subject, visited a fabric store or two, found a pattern I loved for Tessa and made sure it had the word "Easy!" plastered somewhere on it, and proceeded. I laugh at myself when I think I brought the pattern and pieces of the dress to various church activities over the next few weeks to try and corner anyone I knew who could interpret the hieroglyphics that is a sewing pattern. Pockets, bias tape, zippers - what the F? But I did it. I didn't give up - I conquered my mountain. And here is the fruit of my labors.

Tessa opened it up on Christmas morning in front of my family, and the people who were most proud were my mom and my used-to-make-a-living-as-a-seamstress sister-in-law. I'm going to pretend it's Tessa's favorite thing to wear.

First Birthday, pt 2

I finally got my gloms on Ted's camera and therefore present to you the aftermath of the cake frenzy. I think the video is my favorite. Had she taken a more substantial nap before the festivities began, I'm sure we would have seen it in her hair and such, but even so, she ate that whole piece. She's my chubby love-bug.

A quick picture and a quick whisk into the tub. Note to self: chocolate cake looks like poo.

We gave her a present after she got all cleaned up. This was my first attempt at applique.

She woke up later that night with a serious sugar high, but I don't think she cared. Happy Birthday!

One year old today

I pulled out dessert stops for the birthday girl. We invited a few friends over to our place for chocolate chunk raspberry cake and ice cream. As planned, we stripped Tessa down to her skivvies so she could go as crazy as she wanted on her first whole piece of cake (which, mind you, was bigger than her mama's). I admit, I thought she would show a little more excitement at the sight of a fat load of chocolate than she did, but she was running on empty from lack of a nap. Still, she managed to gag it all down.

The light is bad in this next one, but it shows the goo of the cake. LOVE the goo.

Oops! Doesn't look like cake anymore...

Meh. Still edible. I used to think we were raising a bit of a foodie until I caught her one day, picking up milk curds she had regurgitated and shoving them back in her mouth. Maybe I shouldn't take her pleasure in my cake too much to heart...




I have to swipe Ted's camera so I can show the aftermath, but you get the general idea. Perhaps not piranhas on a whale carcass, but still frenzical enough for her parents' entertainment. Happy birthday, sweet puddin' pumpkin pie!