Category Archives: Me

Barry’s back to work

and so I feel like a failure of a mother. He is just so capable. The man can do anything, or should I say everything–all at one time. And I love him for it. I have the easiest life. I don’t have to do anything and it gets done anyway, and he showers me with aprreciation as if I did do it (you know, whatever “it” is at the moment– laundry or dishes or super-human acts of calming the screaming Jonah etc. etc. etc.).

So, last night he went to the temple and I was left in charge of bedtime. Which I’m sure any decent mother is expert at, but me? No. Brenna and Jonah were running wildly, flipping lightswitches while I chased them and stuffed toothbrushes into their mouths, all the while being serenaded by the blood curdling screams of a hungry baby. I didn’t read the stories right, or sing the songs right, or fill the sippy cups up with the right temperature of water… It took me over an hour to do what Barry does in 15 minutes. But the kids were asleep when he got home. And Jonah was miraculously asleep in bed, even though he spent about 20 minutes screaming on the floor by the door because he wanted the little pink cup–which Brenna asked for first.

So Barry came home from work early today so that I could take a nap because I was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder from being left alone with my own children for ONE NIGHT.

I’m blaming the headaches on the horrible metal contraptions and rubber bands in my mouth.

Teeth

I had a friend studying to be an orthodontist that said pure-bred people have the best teeth. Our problem here in America is that we’re a bunch of muts, which has led to our need for torturing-teeth-straighteners (aka. orthodontists). See, what happens is that we get English teeth in a Swedish body, or worse yet, Swiss teeth in a French skull. Nordic teeth in a Japanese frame is especially bad. But, when you’re Native American or Chinese or Tongan through and through way back to Adam–it’s really unlikely that your mouth will be full of teeth sticking out every which way with unsightly gaps and overlaps. I think the logic holds true. When was the last time you looked through a National Geographic magazine featuring native Aftrican tribes and saw a bunch of people in loin cloths with horribly crooked teeth? Never!! They smile big beautiful smiles, not only because they are only wearing loin cloths, but because they have perfect white pure-bred teeth.

Well, I’m not pure-bred. Which is okay. I’m pretty happy with the Danish, English, German etc. etc. mixture I got…except for the teeth.

I went to the teeth-straightening-torturer today.

A Wool Gathering

A year ago I walked through the tents on the grounds of Young’s Dairy longing for a spinning wheel so that I could do the magic of turning fluff into yarn. Well, I couldn’t afford a spinning wheel, but when I got home I figured out how to make a drop spindle out of a wooden car wheel and a dowell, got some wool off of ebay and went to town. Two rabbits, a monthly fiber group get-together, and many skeins of yarn later, I’m a happy spinner who had a booth in a tent at the Wool Gathering on the grounds of Young’s Dairy and sold every single spindle I made to sell!! I put Logan in the “pod” under the table while he slept and helped other people learn how to spin. It was a great time and I’m excited that it went so well. Barry did so much to help me. I wish everyone in the world could have a husband like him and feel so loved–he puts his all into something if he knows it means a lot to me. Thank you Barry…

So, it’s August

well, for a couple more days.

The time has gone by so fast. Logan is 6 weeks old. His cheeks are chubby, he smiles and coos, he’s in 3-6 month clothes. With my first baby I was so excited for her to do the next thing– to reach the next milestone, but this time I want to freeze time. I want to sit in my rocking chair nursing my baby, stroking his cheek, hearing his sounds, feeling him close, holding him up on my shoulder, pressing his soft sticky cheek against mine, smelling his hair, hearing his breath, with all of him fitting in my arms and molding to my body in perfect tininess– forever. Well, maybe not forever, but for a month or two more. I just sit and look at him trying to memorize how he looks at that moment and how it feels to hold him and smell him. I try and try, but I know that tomorrow he’ll look different. He’ll gradually change until he’s so heavey I can’t carry him up the stairs and he talks and runs and plays. Those days will be magical too, but in a different way. When he’s small I know he’s mine. As he grows, he starts to become his own.