and he's good to us

It must be said that Slice adores his baby girl.
(We all knew he would.)
He is wrapped around her beautiful, tiny fingers and she gets whatever she wants from him.
To hold her all day?  Sure.
To sleep in bed with us?  Fine.
I have to put my foot down every once in a while, because I don't want to deal with a spoiled baby.

And speaking of spoiled....
I got a new kitchen table!  Again!

See, our other table was lovely, but it just didn't work with my breakfast nook.  The legs were on the edge of the table, and we had to push it out and back in anytime we wanted to use the bench.  No Good.

After stewing about it for a few weeks, I listed the table on KSL classifieds (without telling Slice first....) just to see if there would be any interest.
It was sold in 3 days.

By Thursday night we had no kitchen table, and family coming to stay with us Friday.  I didn't think we would find anything I liked for a decent price anywhere around here.  There's not a great selection, you know?

Friday we went to Vernal, and in the first place we stopped at we found this table:

which is now sitting in my kitchen - obviously.  And I LOVE LOVE LOVE it.
It works perfectly with my breakfast nook.

Thanks Slice!

... and then he came home with a gun.

Yesterday we canned applesauce.  Sort of on a whim, but sort of not, seeing as I've had a box of apples sitting on my counter for a month.  (Not Fuji apples; therefore, not the kind that Slice will eat.)

I had borrowed a strainer, jars, and steam canner from my mother ahead of time.  I even started boiling the apples.  But when we pulled out the strainer, there was a very important piece missing.
I sent Slice up to my parents' empty house to search through the storeroom for the missing part.  Or the other strainer that my mom has.  He found neither.
I called my sister, my aunt, my neighbor - nobody had a strainer.  By then I'd been chopping and boiling apples for almost three hours.  Slice left again, this time to the store to buy one.

An hour later I called him, wondering where he was.
(But not really wondering because 1 - he had just gotten a fat paycheck and 2 - every time he goes to the store he spends time at the gun counter.)
Which brings me to the real point of this post.  A question, really.

Do any of you live with a person who gets fixated on certain things?  And if so, how do you deal with it?
I like to think of them as phases: the remote-control airplane phase, the iPod touch phase, the dog phase, the new phone phase, the Modern Warfare 3 phase (AHEM).  But this gun one has lasted so long that I'm afraid it isn't just a phase.

I finally got so sick of hearing Slice talk about this gun or that one, watching (and making me watch) YouTube videos of shooting ranges and explosives, checking Basin Sports/Stewart's every time we were in the vicinity - that I told him he BETTER buy a gun after this paycheck OR ELSE.
Right or wrong, that's what I said, and that's what he did.
And then we made applesauce.

You better believe I am encouraging this.

I'm not the biggest Harry Potter fan around, I know.  But perhaps I did re-read the entire series right before the 7th book came out (while I was taking summer classes and had thousands of pages to read for them ... ahem.), and perhaps I attended a midnight movie showing or two, and perhaps I bought the 7th book at midnight the day it came out, read it all along a cross-country road trip, and perhaps I BAWLED at the end of the book when Harry walked into the woods.

Perhaps I even read the last book twice without emerging from my room.  (Sorry, roommates!)

Anyway.  I have been telling Slice to finish the dang series for three years now.  He read the first few, moved to Japan, and never picked them up again.  Until yesterday.

We finally watched Part One of the Deathly Hallows a couple weeks ago, and part of the Goblet of Fire Saturday.  I guess that was the catalyst - he picked up the 7th book yesterday afternoon, and he's been basically useless to me since.

I'm okay with that.

And the Tax Return goes to....

the downstairs bathroom!

I know you've all been DYING to hear the updates about this.  Well, we have a plumber here for the fourth time in as many days.  While digging into and below the foundation of our house, we ran into some mishaps, like Slice putting a hole through a pipe that we weren't planning on replacing, and other stuff like that.  That's home improvement for ya.

FYI: 70-year-old cast iron pipes are very brittle!

Slice got to use a jackhammer for the first time and he felt very manly about it.

Speaking of manly......

I baked a German chocolate cake from scratch yesterday, at Slice's birthday cake request.  I also made the frosting (of course).  Not a big deal to most of you, likely, but it was a pretty big deal to me!  And it turned out deliciously.

My husband really loves it when I wear an apron.  

(Too bad it doesn't happen very often.) 

I love him, I do

I was just looking for pictures of Slice that I could add to this sappy blog post about how much I love this guy, and for so many reasons.

But here's the deal.

Life's a little crazy right now.

And it's days like today that I am especially grateful to have him by my side.

He's the one who will go teach a Primary class after driving 12 hours through the night, while I am dead on the couch.

He puts the baby to bed most nights - and gets him up in the morning. 

He makes delicious meals, especially of the Japanese variety, and often.

He encourages me to do the things I love.  He makes me want to be better.

He is a wonderful father.

And always, forever and always, he makes me laugh.

Happy 24th, darling.

And now it's time for us to host a Luau. Or something.

Slice is really picky about his rice.

I mean, really picky.

I learned early on in our relationship that you ALWAYS wash rice before you cook it, and also, that not all rice is created equal.

(If you ever say "rice is rice" in his company, he may not correct you, but he will give you a Look.  Because in Japan, rice is not rice.  There are different varieties in different areas, and some are better than others, and sticky rice is the only edible kind.)

SO.  For two years now, we've been on the hunt for a good rice cooker.  I've learned how to cook it pretty well by myself, even on an electric stove, but it's tricky and messy and sometimes time-consuming.
The special rice cookers that Slice is partial to have all kinds of options - but are generally in the $100+ range.  Ahem.  Hence, the rice cooker purchase has been on the back burner (so to speak) for quite a while.

Last weekend Slice worked in Vernal for a few days.  He came home from Wal-Mart with "a housewarming gift," he called it; I got nervous.  But then he pulled out one of these and, turns out, it cost only $39.

Last night was the trial run.  Hawaiian haystacks were on the dinner menu (well that's a lie, we never ever have a dinner menu), and Slice returned from the grocery store all in a dither.  He opened the lid: WONDER OF WONDERS.
Beautiful rice!  Cooked to the perfect sticky-ness!
I am not joking, he did a big victory dance right here in the kitchen.

This rice cooker is changing our lives.

Just to make me appreciate it

Two things.

One: The other night (morning) I woke up around 3:30, and could not get back to sleep.   Toss, turn, curl up, cuddle, turn again, you know the drill.  The baby fussed a little bit at about 4:30, and although he promptly went back to sleep, I nudged Slice.
"Babe.  I'm worried he might be cold."
"Huh?"
"Well, I've been awake for an hour now, and I haven't heard the heater go on once."
"Uhhh..."
Slice climbed out of bed, and came back to report.

(Slice:)"Did you turn the space heater on in his room?"
"No."
"And I made sure to turn it off after I put him in bed....."
"I never turned it on."
"Hmm. Well, it's been on in there all night, so his room is warm.  But the thermostat says 50, so I better go downstairs and check on it."

He left and came back again, having simply flipped the switch on the furnace and flipping it back on.  The heater turned on, I finally fell asleep, and the baby stayed warm all night.  We still have no idea what happened.....

Two:  Since I am me, and if you are me things never go the way you plan them to,
and since money is needed for eating and living and other such things, (LAME)
-also maybe so I gain a new appreciation for working mothers-
I am (you guessed it!) gaining a new appreciation for working mothers.

It's not that awesome, in case you're wondering.

But since Slice is wonderful and NOT ONLY entertains our son for hours every day,
but also cooks, cleans, does laundry, hangs coat racks, and still offers me footrubs at night if I want them,
I can't really complain.
I love that guy.

(Have I mentioned that?)

something like 400

Blogger says this is my 400th post, but I have quite a few sitting in drafts.  So yeah.  If you count them out you won't come up with that number.
(I wouldn't really recommend that anyway.)

Winter around here -and by "around here," I mean "at my house"- means certain things.  Like, it's so cold outside I don't leave my house for days at a time, even to take out the trash or get the mail.  (Slice does.)
It means I stare at my walls and windows and furniture, trying to decide what to do with it all.  It means I am thankful for the Internets which bring me news and entertainment and decorating advice (and jobs), so I don't go stir crazy with these three boys under my roof.
Oh, I haven't mentioned that yet?
Yep, you read right - three boys.  My younger brother Al moved in with us a week ago.  We are still adjusting.

Anyway,
Winter also means that Slice is home at least as much as I am, and just in case you're wondering, this is what he does with his time:

1. Duct tape all tools, etc. (and his CELL PHONE) with digital camo duct tape
2. Play Modern Warfare on his Xbox

3. Practice putting with Liam

and ... that's pretty much it.

Stir crazy, anyone?

the pressure, the pressure

Slice wants me to post a post right now, so here I am.  Gosh he is demanding.  Did you know that?

For example: for my birthday in August he bought me a bunch of workout clothes - and proceeded to pressure me to go "work out" all the time.  That was after three months of asking things like "So...do you want a jogging stroller?" and signing me up for a year's membership at a gym.
I don't even believe in gyms.
(Really, you pay money to go sweat?  Can't you find more useful ways to do that at home/work/the neighbor widow's house? If not, your life must be lacking.)

Anyway.

Now for Christmas Slice bought me a real water bottle and an iPod nano with a workout mix already on it.  You see why I'm feeling it?

(And lest you think I am just delighting in postpartum fatness, let me tell you that I lost most of my baby weight within six weeks of childbirth.  There were a couple extra pounds -namely, three- which multiplied during the stress of October/November, but they're going away now.  So it's not a weight issue.)

Demanding, I tell you.
There's your post.

Adventures in Left-handedness

Hey guys ... breaking a limb as important as a wrist is going to have life-changing consequences.  Some of them I predicted; more have surfaced along the way.  But I can never feel too sorry for myself because, as I recall, many pioneers (and other people!) have raised families/lived their lives without the limbs that I still have use of.  Also, a sister in my ward had a cast up to her shoulder when she had a two-month old to take care of.  Oy.
Anyway, here is a little list of things that have happened, predicted or not.

Foreseen: eating simpler meals to save time and cleanup
Unforeseen: the great hospitality of people I barely know, bringing wonderful meals in when we had little time to fix it for ourselves

Foreseen: holding my baby only to feed him ... even that can be painful
Unforeseen: taking him from Slice in church, only to have him immediately start rooting around and shrieking like he just realized he is STARVING TO DEATH, just because Mom is now holding him (insert: quick exit from Sunday School)

Foreseen: Slice getting up at night to get Liam, change his diaper, rock him to sleep, etc.
Unforeseen: me getting so used to it that I don't even wake up when he cries anymore

Foreseen: not being able to fix my own hair
Unforeseen: not even being able to convince Slice to try to fix it.  I thought I could get him to practice braiding or something; I was wrong.  He flat-out refuses.

Foreseen: taking longer to do just about everything
Unforeseen: a new bout of clumsiness wherein I drop everything, bump into things, and lose balance on a regular basis

Foreseen: a messier house than I would like
Unforeseen: going without staples like milk, eggs and bread for days on end because I'm too lazy (and it's too much of a pain, too many other things to do, or whatever other excuses I pull out) to go to the grocery store

Foreseen: being unable to put Liam in his carseat or get him out
Unforeseen: being unable to go anywhere without Slice, because I can't get Liam in or out of the car, period.

Foreseen: having a hard time keeping any secrets from Slice while I am so dependent on him
Unforeseen: having NOTHING for him on Christmas morning (besides the pistachios and toothbrush in his stocking) because all my other Christmas present plans, some of which involved sewing, fell through

___________________________________________________________________________

I believe in Equal Opportunity Parenting, and Slice is doing a great job. He never complains but is always asking what else he can do for me.  And while I miss being the primary soother, etc., I have also really enjoyed watching Slice build his relationship with Liam.  That kid loves his dad more than anything.
(And vice versa.)
We're in good hands.

offering some sour grapes

So the awesome thing about working in a publicly-funded position is that everyone’s watching you, all the time.  And wanting to know where your money is coming from.

For instance:

Apparently some people think that Slice is getting paid double for coaching the boys’ golf team.  As in, paycheck from the school district and paycheck from the city for the same hours he puts in.

Newsflash!

He’s not getting paid from either.

My husband coaches 3 hours a day on school days (not to mention summer practices) and all day on many Thursdays, volunteering his time, out of the goodness of his heart.  For the love of the game.  Whatever.

And half of those punks don’t even care.  They fool around, wasting their time and his (and mine!) because they’ve never worked a day in their lives.  Their parents buy them trucks and Ipods and clubs and carts - and college educations.  Their mothers call and make excuses for them when they're late for practice.  They haven’t a clue what a precious commodity TIME is for some people.

You sense my frustration, yes?

(I was having a hard enough time with this before I heard of the accusations...)

The injustice of it all, I guess, is that so many people don’t see my husband for what he really is.  I’m sure this is true for everyone to a certain extent, regardless of profession.  Spouses see it and lament over it and bear the burden of it.  Which is why I try to give people the benefit of the doubt, every time.

Oh, I wish they all would!

Rant over.

PS This has nothing to do with my post from last week, although I do seem to be agitated lately, don't I?
PPS Slice will probably want me to take this down so if it disappears, you'll know why.  He's like that.

He knows me so well.

One:

The other day Slice came home from a tournament in Preston, Idaho, a bit earlier than I expected.  Liam was almost as excited to see him as I was.  Then he said, "I brought you back some presents."

"Ooh, really?"  I started thinking of the possibilities.  Clothes? Jewelry? 

"Yep.  Look on the table first."

It was a giant cinnamon roll.  Like, bigger than my head.  "Now look out the back door."

A box of Brigham City peaches.

(Guess I shouldn't have told him now my mom used to bribe me to babysit - with ravioli or shells & cheese.)

Two, coming back from the Park City Outlets:

"...So I was telling one of the other coaches, 'If I don't go shopping with her, she won't buy anything,' and he was like, 'Dude. Do you know how lucky you are?!' And I said, 'Yeah, but I want her to have nice things!  If you want a purse, buy a purse!  Don't make do or just buy what's on sale --'"

Laughter.

"What?"  

"You want me to have nice things - ?"

"Yes!" (Exasperated.) "What? What's so funny?"

"You are, dear.  And you're exactly right.  I only buy stuff because you want me to."

"I KNOW." 

Open Sesame

This weekend Slice is playing in this:

and you can watch the live scoring (if you so wish) here.

I'll be heading down today to watch a bit -he'll play at least three 18-hole rounds-

 take some pics, visit with Lu, and possibly do some shopping.

(Vehicle shopping?)

Good luck Slice baby!

I tried the single parent thing.

It was about like I predicted it would be.

Okay, not really.

Slice flew to Texarkana for five days, where he stayed and took lessons from a famous golf teacher. It was the longest we've been apart in two years. (I think.)

Liam missed him a lot. We texted and Skyped, and to my surprise, Liam liked the Skyping. See:

I was also wondering if Liam would punish Slice when he got home. Babies do that, you know? But no - he was SO HAPPY to have his dad back that he smiled for like two hours straight.

I never get that kind of treatment.

I guess mothers never do.

II

Two years ago, I married this guy.

He doesn't know that I found these self-portraits on a memory card from months ago, fell in love with them, and was just waiting to post a couple. Here's another look at the man of the house. (For the first one, see here.)

Slice

>remembers everything I say and repeats it back to me (that is the woman's job, no?), and
>makes me laugh just when I am determined to be angry with him.

So annoying.

>Is obsessed with wax. Especially candle wax.
>Still obsessed with Youtube.
>And his iPod Touch.

>Has two things on his playlist: Phantom of the Opera and Glee.

>Says things like
"What if our kid comes out Asian??"
then tells me not to repeat them to anyone.
(Yeah right.)

>LOVES Lawry's Season Salt. It's a family thing.

>Loves his baby.

(And while we're on the subject, I hoped the baby would inherit his:
>hair

>nose
>dimples

>cooking skills

>excellent taste in women.

Time will tell.)

Happy Anniversary/ Father's Day love!

Name Game

I don't know why (besides the hormones) but I get a leetle irritated when people ask me if we've picked a name. Kind of like the people who ask every day "How are you feeling?" or "When are you due again?" or "Do you know what you're having?"
Oh, I think I figured it out.
It's annoying only when I don't think they want to hear the real answer.

All well-meaning people, for sure. But they want to hear
"David"
"I'm feeling great!"
"June 3"
or "boy"
when it's all so much more complicated than that.

I don't really believe in due dates; I feel differently every 10 minutes; and this boy/girl/name thing is borderline ridiculous. Slice is STILL convinced we're having a girl!

So yeah, a long time ago we pretty much had a name picked out, tentatively of course, because I think it's weird to name children before you see them. But then we didn't talk about it for months and now we are having serious issues.
One night Slice randomly asked "What do you think about the name Paul? Or Timothy?"
"Paul is all right ... Timothy, no. Not with Morgan. Where did these come from?"
He'd been reading in the New Testament or something.

Then a few weeks ago we were discussing names with my aunt and uncle, and again out of the blue Slice says, "Do you like the name Taylor?"
I thought about it. "Taylor is fine. Sure."
"With the middle name 'Made'?"
......
"Taylor Made."
"Or Cal?"
"WE ARE NOT NAMING OUR CHILD TAYLORMADE OR CALLAWAY. CRAZY GOLFERS."

The latest? He won't even discuss it with me, because now he's thinking of girl names.

This child is going to have identity issues.

looking up

Let's get some of these blog drafts published, shall we? Maybe I'll just combine them all into one?

I've mentioned here before that I've been trying to find ways to get Slice to read - for fun. But all I've had to go on is that he likes Dan Brown and golf. (Go figure.)
(ALSO: HE THINKS LDS HISTORICAL FICTION IS "PRIESTCRAFT." THIS HAS CAUSED NO SMALL ARGUMENT.)

So a couple weeks ago I cataloged a bunch of new books and took three of them home. The first I read in an afternoon, the second is gonna take me a while to get through, the third I thought Slice might actually like. I asked him if I could read it aloud while we drove to Provo.
And ... BINGO!
I have created a monster. Since I couldn't help much with the priming/painting in the bedroom last week, I read to the husband while he worked. And if I ever stopped for more than ten seconds he said "Keep going! Keep reading!!" Like a slave driver. Sheesh.
(Chuckle chuckle.)
He wants me to read all hours of the day and night, even when I am so exhausted I can't keep my eyes open. Finally I refuse and go to bed, and he stays up and reads ahead of me. The book is strange, I'll tell you that; I've never read anything like it. But I am on to something here.


So yeah, the painting is done and most of the furniture is moved back in. But we don't have baseboards yet and I'm still trying to decide just how I want it configured. I've spent hours online looking at drapes and bedskirts and sheets and lamp shades, without buying any of course, because I have to see everything before I will buy anything. That's just how I shop. Doesn't that make you love me.
(I'll post some pictures later.)


Last Saturday Slice and I went to a wedding reception -BH style!- and then to Prom to take students' tickets. Weird for four reasons:

1. WAY WAY WAYYY too much skin. Not even pretty skin. Look, you shouldn't really be that immodest in the first place, but especially if you can't pull it off. Please be considerate of my gag reflexes.
   
2. Chocolate fountains and all the stuff to go IN chocolate fountains - but no toothpicks. Just finger foods in runny, drippy milk chocolate. Who thought that was a good idea? For Prom?
3. I am very pregnant and have developed elephantine feet. This is a shame because a) I have beautiful feet normally and b) now I don't fit into any of my shoes, even sandals and c) I wanted to dance! It was a dance! But Slice said no.
4. I am very pregnant (also married) and five years ago I was AT THIS SAME PROM in this same building, and boy did I think I would be back now?
   

The answer is no.


Today is Library Snapshot Day, and once upon a time I was surprised by how many kids came into this place, considering how I never ever came here except to make copies for band. And maybe you still think I'm exaggerating about how CRAZY the LMC is before school and during lunch, but look! I have stats! I've been keeping them all day.
Between the time I opened the doors and the time the bell rang to start school (7:55-8:20), about 140 kids came in. During lunch we had 120.
You probably don't care but I do, because I like statistics and I want to be a demographer someday. Demography. Yummy.


Oh hey, did you know that two incomes means more money than one? AWESOME. Spring/summer means we are out of the great money-sucking pit of winter (that traveling to Japan caused) in the Slice of Jean household ....
... for two more months, that is.

Some things about which I am ignorant

Firstly,
having never been 7 months pregnant before, I am unaware if this is "normal" or not. My baby is moving approximately 22 hours out of the day.
I hear/read people say "husband felt the baby!" And I think, "husband gets kicked if he comes anywhere near the baby!"
We started this game where Slice pokes my stomach to see if he'll get kicked back. He does, oh he does. Pretty much every time, unless baby is sleeping.
I had a real scare Saturday when (amidst 5-min-apart contractions) I didn't feel him for several consecutive hours. A few punches would have been welcome....
which is what I'm trying to remember this morning as my ribs and lungs are being assailed.


Secondly,
Girls (girl's? girls'?) golf season. New team members. Precocious freshmen.
Charming coach.
They are "working really hard" at practice, staying afterward so the Coach can work with them. Last Thursday Slice ate lunch here in the LMC, stayed to type some stuff on my computer, and I watched from the back room as the freshmen girls swarmed him. They chatted, checked out books, returned them, moved to MY SIDE of the desk, etc. When I came out, they scattered.
Saturday we went to see our local Oklahoma! production. We sat in an empty row and -you guessed it!- the three freshmen girls came and sat in the row with us. After intermission they moved CLOSER. To the seat right next to Slice.
I thought it was funny, Slice not so much.

Should I be doing something here?

Like this?

Top of the Third

(trimester, that is)

Last Wednesday after work we headed out to AZ and drove through the night. We got to Heather's around 5:30 and crashed for a couple hours before getting up for the day.

Thursday and Saturday Slice golfed with his brother. Technically, that's why we went in the first place.

Friday we all went to a Baseball Spring Training game - Angels v. Indians - and it was H.O.T. Seriously, the 70s felt like 90s to me, I was sweating and sunburning and stuff. It was fabulous.

Right as he took this picture, our cameraman asked "Are you two newlyweds or something?"
Please note my BLACK shirt + totally awesome hair.

Saturday, Slice turned 23. We celebrated with "giant candy!" gifts and carrot cake (cream cheese frosting, rolled in sliced almonds). You should have been there.

Also Saturday, my brother Alex came home from his mission in Nebraska. I was sad to miss it.

Sunday we drove home and Laurel made us some fab lava cake. She didn't even KNOW I'd been wanting lava cake for at least six weeks. (You'd think I would just make it for myself. But no.)

We didn't get home until midnight.

Yesterday the Roosy golf course opened ... which means Slice is dead to me.

Still contracting. Frequently. They are starting to hurt.

I would like to add that he is a STUDENT right now, first and foremost.

Slice would like me to announce to my readers that he is a painter.

I said, "You want me to say...that you like to paint?"

He said, "No. I am a painter. Put that on the blog. And they can contact me for rates anytime."

So ... you can contact him for rates anytime.