The Crib

MG is eight months old today.  And how about this - I just finished her crib bedding.  Today.

Nine months ago I was pondering on cribs in my nesting frenzy.  We ended up buying a mini crib, and in case you're wondering, I am now going to recommend it to everyone that I know.  The mini crib is perfect.  Perfect, I tell you!  We simply loooooove it.

I never bought a bumper for the mini crib, because 1) I'm cheap, 2) I never found one that I loved and could use again, and 3) They apparently increase the risk of SIDS.  I looked into the breathable ones, just couldn't commit.  We probably would have gone bumper-free if MG hadn't gotten her limbs stuck in the crib slats more than once.

Enter: Pinterest.  I pinned this months ago, and when I saw my friend's take on it, I finally got to work.  The green suede fabric came from Home Fabrics in Orem, the grosgrain ribbon from Walmart (because there is NOWHERE IN ROOSEVELT where one can buy wide white ribbon, trust me on this).  I actually threaded the ribbon through the fabric strips for just a little more padding.

Et ... voila!  I love the crib even more now.
I'm gushing.

the 5k

Let's talk about running.

Let's talk about how some people love running, and other people hate it.  Some are naturally gifted to run, some aren't.  Some people are out of their minds .... the rest of us aren't.

Let's talk about how in 10th grade I tried to run a mile in 15 minutes - twice - and failed.  And since it was a requirement to pass the class, in order to save my grade I had to "walk" three miles in 45 minutes instead, while the rest of the class (including my running-gifted best friend, who passed the first try) played softball.

Let's talk about all the years in high school and college when I tried to jog, but never really got into a groove.   I haven't gone jogging more than a few times in the past three years, despite the gifts of workout clothes, shoes, iPod shuffle, etc. from my husband who tries very hard to encourage me to exercise.

Let's talk about how you can TALK ME INTO ANYTHING, even if it's a 5k race and I've never even run 5 consecutive kilometers in my life, and I haven't trained because the one time I tried two weeks ago I got shin splints right before Aspen Grove.

Let's talk about how I woke up 6:00 yesterday morning and did a 5k with all my sisters and my Aunt Lana.
I had to stop and walk a few times, but Heather jogged the whole way and we finished it together.
(And we weren't last.)

Angie and Lana look identical in this picture??

Let's talk about how I kinda want to do it again, although it hurts to even move my legs right now.

Prodigal

One of my favorite Bible stories is the parable of the prodigal son.  
The younger son demands his inheritance and squanders it in riotous living.  Then it all catches up with him.* Far from home, starving, having "spent all", he finds himself wishing he could eat the husks he's feeding to pigs.


Luke 15:17 And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father’s have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!


There are so many wonderful lessons to learn from this parable, but one line that I keep coming back to lately is this: he came to himself.
Has that ever happened to you?

I can think of several times in my life when I've had to "come to myself."  When I've started losing perspective and making bad decisions; gotten caught up in various wars of words and opinions and emotions; forgotten to do some of the things that make me ME.   From the life-changing awakenings to the trivial triggers, I've been reminded and awakened and recommitted.

Most recently this happened while I was hiking with Slice, my two older sisters and their husbands at Aspen Grove.  As we trekked through some of my favorite scenery in this world, I wondered HOW it's been over four years since I've even been on a hike. Four years! I'm no crazy outdoorswoman (you know who you are), but I spent my first 20 years going on multiple hikes every summer - why haven't Slice and I ever hiked together?

I don't know, but I'll tell you, it won't happen again.  
Until we're old and tired and need hip replacements, that is.

*This is why I love the Bible.  Real consequences for real jerks.

Aspen Grove 2012

It sounds cliché  but is true anyway: some of my happiest childhood memories are from Aspen Grove.

My gradeschool friends can all vouch for this; I've been talking about the place for years.  We started going as a family every other summer when I was but a spring chick.  My dad's sister's family comes too (pretty much our favorite cousins), and it has always been a much-anticipated event.

I missed several years as a college student, newlywed, and young mother, so when I realized we could actually go for the week this time, I did everything possible to make it happen.
Starting February 1st I called the Aspen Grove Office almost daily.  I checked for openings, called family members, sent emails, called the office some more.  I asked everyone to switch to a family lodge so we could come.  Two lodges opened and filled before I could get us in.  Finally it all worked out.  We were booked.

I kept trying to tell Slice how awesome this vacation would be, but he didn't believe me, or really understand.  He made sarcastic comments about BYU Alumni (of which I AM ONE, remember) while I patiently waited for the time to come.

The time came, and went.  And we played until we just couldn't play any more.  We hiked and swam every day and stuffed ourselves every meal, played dodgeball and shuffleboard and ping pong and badminton and volleyball and basketball.  We conquered the ropes course.  We did relay races.  We mini golfed.  We danced.  We played Reverse Charades and laughed until we cried.
We dropped our kids off for 5-6 hours every day.

We didn't use computers or TV for a week.
We didn't sleep.

And not only did Slice buy that little BYU shirt the last night we were there, he also said on the way home, 

"I think we could do that next year......"

Unpacking

Right now, at this very moment, I am procrastinating a bunch of post-vacation chores.  You know the drill: clean out the car, unpack, wash/fold/put away laundry, do dishes, run a kitchen inventory (a week is a long time to leave food!), clean and reorganize the entire house, feed the dog, water the flowers, mow the lawn.

There are few things in life I hate more than unpacking.  I've been known to let my luggage (minus the dirty clothes) sit for weeks as I gradually picked out the items I needed.  A girls camp backpack sat in my room until the only things left were the waterproof matches and compass.  In fact, my wallet still contains a €5 bill ... from six years ago.

Packing has never been a problem for me; after a few months in Europe I could pack for a weekend in another country in a half hour or less.  Kids make the job trickier, sure, but it's a happy task for me.  One of anticipation.

The unpacking gets me, though.  It's so final.  Unpacking means the vacation is over; it's time to take stock of what I have and put it back in its place.  Unpacking means it's time to move on.

And so, I think, it is with my life.  I have a lifelong habit of holding on to things too long.  Jealousies, insecurities. Hurts. Pride. Love lost.  I hold on to things I have packed in my past and, occasionally, neglect the uncluttered future.

So much unpacking to do.

(Then I can tell you about the vacation.)

sup, dude*

I guess I need to start blogging in the late hours before I fall asleep, because that's when I do my best writing.
(In my head.)
I've had a ton of post ideas rolling around up there but now that I have a few quiet minutes, they're completely gone.

Instead, I'll tell you what I've been doing lately.

Vernal trip.  Thinking the bounce house opened at 10:00 (because that's what the website SAID), we arrived with over an hour to spare.  So we walked through the dinosaur museum across the road.

"MAMMOTH!!!"

Then we got to the bounce house, where Liam didn't want to bounce on anything, because he only wanted to do the things that cost extra money.

fifth time on the carousel...

Then we did a horrible thing and took a Hot-n-Ready pizza to Sonic, where we ordered drinks and ate at the outdoor table.  It was a fantastic meal, not gonna lie.

Friday night we made a quick trip to Heber to collect a playset, which we now call "the slides."

our jungle

Unfortunately Liam doesn't love as much as I thought he would, and I'm not sure what to do about that.  


Killing flowers.  This flower:                                           used to look like this:



and I am trying to revive it.

Last but not least, we're always playing:

And dancing:

*this is what Liam said to me yesterday.  without prompting.

Spatula

I don't know why, but I'm pretty sure that kitchen utensils are better entertainment than any toy on the market.

And the winner is...

...the Birkenstocks.
Here's why.


Yesterday Slice and I went to Lagoon.  I've been wanting to go since 9th Grade Lagoon Day, and let me tell you, that is a long time. (A decade.)  We had an anniversary almost three weeks ago but didn't really celebrate ON our anniversary, because if you recall, that's how we do things around here.


So Sunday night we put the kids to bed before heading out of town.  We slept in Ogden, ate breakfast at Denny's, 

Slice's breakfast of choice

stopped at Costco (diapers), and made our way to Lagoon.  By the time we parked I was as giddy as a schoolgirl.


We did the usual loop: Roller Coaster, Wild Mouse, Colossus, Spider, Wicked.  We watched a guy lose his hat on Wicked, so when we got on, Slice sat on his hat and - no access to pockets - stuck his glasses down his shirt.


BIG MISTAKE.


When the ride stopped, the glasses were gone.  The $460 Nike glasses that took up two years' worth of vision insurance and then some.  I asked Slice why he even wore glasses in the park, I mean, why would you do that?! You don't need them! I learned years ago not to wear my glasses at Lagoon.


Alas, they were lost, and chiding would not find them.  The ride attendant told us to come back at 3:00, when they stop the ride to do a hat check.  So we left.
Swings, Tidal Wave, chance meeting with Slice's old boss, Rattlesnake Rapids, Jet Star 2, The Rocket and Samurai.  Sky Ride back to Wicked.

Pretty sure I was saying something right then. 

The hat check came and went - no glasses found.  In the meantime, I was feeling old, because I had started to wonder how our bodies even handle amusement parks.
Seriously.
I was feeling it from the start, from that rickety, jerky Roller Coaster (formerly known as White).  My headache ebbed and flowed as the forces whipped around, started and stopped.  At the bottom of the first Colossus loop, I almost blacked out.  It was ridiculous.

Hindsight tells me it was probably a combination of the intense heat, lack of water/food, and hypothyroidism in addition to the thrills which I am unaccustomed to.  Anyway, we were having fun.


We went on the Rapids again (got drenched), then Air Race, Hydro Luge and the Rocket one more time.  Then we walked back to Wicked, trying to decide what to do.  They do two more hat checks at 7 and 10 but we were pretty much done with the park (my fault) and didn't want to sit around and wait.

We left Lagoon around 6:00 and ate at Olive Garden before driving home.  Four years of marriage, and Slice has lost his wedding ring and his super-good-looking, super-expensive glasses.

At least MY FEET FEEL GREAT.

Second Firsts

MG hasn't had nearly as much blogtime as Liam did by this age, but just so you know, we love her too.

This little girl is just the sweetest thing in the world.  She is my tender heart, my sunshine, and I feel so lucky to have her.  (Especially now that she sleeps through the night!)  My mom says she's my reward for having Liam.  Ha.

In the last few weeks she got her first tooth, stopped nursing, started sitting up on her own, and was the best travel companion ever.  She went from 3rd percentile in height & weight to 10th, and now 25th. At almost seven months, she just hit 15 lbs.

She loves applesauce, jewelry, and most of all, her dad.

Naptime

I'm just waiting for MG to fall asleep before I go crash on my own bed because I got like four hours of sleep last night.  The beauty of my babies' schedule is that they usually nap from 1-3 p.m. AT THE SAME TIME, which also means that every day at 1:00 I have the decision to make: sleep or clean? Or watch The Office on Netflix? Unfortunately, the answer is usually Netflix.

It's business as usual in these parts.  Slice is on the fourth day of his eight-day workweek; last week he had an incident at work which burned his left hand and forearm pretty severely.  Several hours later he made it home, at which time I had to remain overly calm to compensate for his excessive freaking out.  I found this website and convinced Slice to try the aluminum foil.  Yo, it worked.  I love the internet.

Speaking of the workweek, sometimes I have people (women) ask me if it drives me crazy to have Slice home for six days at a time.  They say that having husbands home just ruins their "routine," and they couldn't handle more than a few days of it in a row.
I can see where they're coming from.  Slice was unemployed for eight months last year, and we definitely drove each other crazy at times (although I'm certain that was partly because of other stress factors).  It gets even harder with kids, who get used to things really quickly.  But I love having him home, and six days always goes by too fast.  We still joke all the time about how Slice should be the one staying at home with the kids while I go to work.
(Alas, money.)

Last weekend I took MG and spent the night in Utah Valley.  I visited Lu and Shawna and Jennie and their babes, I missed Jane and her babe.  I got thinking about my favorite people (again) and how much I loved and learned in my three years of college.
There's something different about college friends.  They like you for being you.  Not because of your toys or parents or Primary class, not because of your house or husband or kids or boat.  College is a difficult, transitory time, and everyone is figuring out who they are - at the expense of others, sometimes.  Jennie and I talked about wishing we could go back and do things differently with certain people.  I feel that way about some of my high school friends.


Anyway, we all grow up and go different ways, and Facebook stalk each other now, I guess.  Life lessons learned.  People loved and lost.  Compassion gained.
(Hopefully.)

Also, bad photos taken.