Belina Blue Eyes

DIY: Fruit Fly Trap of DEATH

2011-10-26T20:36:00.000-07:00

Fruit flies!

Ack!

Everywhere!

Sound familiar? Today I'm going to show you a great trick for catching and killing fruit flies. You only need three items.

-Dish soap (any kind)

-Cider Vinegar

-a small dish

Pour one or two tablespoons of cider vinegar in the dish.

Then pour about a teaspoon of dish soap into the cider vinegar.

Set the dish out wherever you see the most fruit flies and let the bloodbath begin!

MWAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa cough cough.

rockin' chair redo

2011-10-21T16:07:00.000-07:00

In the land of blogging and Pinterest, the transformation of ugly, unwanted things into treasured beauties is what inspires me most. After reading several amazing blogs about refinishing furniture, I decided to give it a try myself. For several days, I hunted for just the right project to start with; something small but useful. Finally, I found an old child's rocking chair at the Goodwill for $14.99, and the rest is history!

BEFORE

AFTER

HERE'S THE SCOOP:

The first thing I did was make repairs. One of the legs had been damaged and the previous owner had tried to fix it with some witch's brew of sawdust, glue and hair. For all I know there were bat's eyes in there, too. See the hair? GRODY. I sanded that crap off with glee.

Then I painted. I used Behr Plus which is paint and primer combined. The color is 'Silver Sage' which is a nice grey/green. I sanded some weird parts of the chair down before painting but I didn't do the whole thing. I didn't strip or stain it prior to painting either, because I was happy with the color of the stain already on the chair. Oh, and I just used a cheapo sponge brush! The pros use a paint gun but guess who's not a pro? ME!

THE ROCKIN' CHAIR AFTER PAINT (TWO COATS)

After the paint was dry I distressed the whole thing using a 60 grit sanding block. This was one of the more fun and creative parts of the process. I imagined where little hands would rest, where feet would rub, and where the chair would get banged into walls, and these were the areas where I sanded. I even put wear marks on the seat to make it look like little bums have been scooting in and out of it for years.

AFTER DISTRESSING

The last step was glazing. This stressed me OUT! I really liked how the chair looked after distressing and wasn't sure I wanted to risk messing it up by glazing it. But I wanted to try it out so I went ahead and did it. Just slap your glaze mix on and wipe it off with a rag. It gets in all the nicks and nooks and looks like a million very old bucks when it's done.

I mixed three parts Behr Faux Glaze with one part Minwax Wood Finish in Ebony. I would NOT recommend using the Behr Faux Glaze. It mixed poorly with the wood finish and over time morphed into a gelatinous, chemical snot ball. Did I mention I'm not a pro? The insanely talented Sausha from The Show And Tell Blog recommends using Clear Mixing Glaze by Valspar from Lowe's. See her very helpful post on glazing furniture here.

GLAZING

Then I let it dry for a day or so, tied a big bow on it with some muslin fabric I had, and that's it!

Sigh. I just LOVE happy endings.

No-Sew Oilcloth Chair Protector

2011-10-13T23:07:00.000-07:00

I saw on a blog a while ago (that I don't even remember now, sorry!) where a mom had actually upholstered her bar stools with oilcloth so she could clean them easily.

When Lydia switched from a high chair to a booster, my mom mentioned I should put something under the booster to protect the chair it was sitting on. I remembered the blog with the oilcloth chairs and a light bulb went off!

I measured my chair and made a pattern of it on wide freezer paper. I also measured how much oilcloth I would need to wrap around the seat of the chair and attach to the bottom of it (sorry I didn't take any pictures of this part!)

Then I cut out the pattern from the freezer paper and tested it on my chair to make sure it fit and covered all the parts I wanted it to. Then I laid the pattern on my oilcloth and traced. In this case, it doesn't really matter if you trace on the right or the wrong side of the oilcloth, but I would recommend tracing on the wrong side so you don't see your trace marks.

I then cut the pattern from the oilcloth. On the bottom of the chair where I wanted the oilcloth to wrap and attach, I put one-ish inch pieces of sticky Velcro. Leave both pieces of Velcro sticking to each other so that when you wrap your oilcloth under the chair it will automatically stick to the exposed adhesive. Like so:

And that's it!

And whenever I want to remove the oilcloth, I just separate the Velcro, like this, and nobody would ever know that that chair is the one that gets doused with milk, yogurt, fruit, and mac and cheese!

I ordered my oilcloth from Oilcloth Addict on Etsy, which has a great selection.

pumpkins and simmering spice pots

2011-10-10T22:43:00.000-07:00

My mom used to simmer spices in her old pots to make the house smell good. I loved the aroma of the clove and cinnamon wafting through the house as the mixture bubbled away on the stove. I had forgotten about this handy and resourceful trick until the other day when I was going through my fall candles. Instead of burning one, I went through my spice cupboard. Into the pot went a handful of cinnamon sticks, some star anise (smells like licorice), whole cloves, a dash of vanilla, and a few leftover apple slices from lunch. I added a few cups of water, brought the mixture to a boil and then set it to a low simmer. Away it happily bubbled for hours and the smell was divine!

Here is a list of things you could throw into your own spice pot:

Fruit juices (don't throw away your expired juice! just throw it in the pot!)

Lemon, Orange, or Lime peels

Apple slices or peels

Cinnamon

Cloves

Vanilla

Anise

Evergreen sprigs

Nutmeg

Bay Leaves

Lavender

Rosemary

Experiment with different combinations. Just don't forget to check the pot every once in a while. If the water or juice gets low, just put more in and keep it simmering. As with candles, please don't forget about it and leave the house with it still simmering on the stove!

Last Saturday we went to a farm near our home where we could pick our own pumpkins. Our dear friends, the Jones, invited us. Their son is Lydia's best friend.

We all quite enjoyed ourselves and Lydia picked herself a perfectly petite pumpkin. I think, though, that I've gotten more than my money's worth out of those pink leggings and can now feel good about retiring them.

P.S. Are you proud of my photo editing skills? I'm just learning. I think photo editing is swell.

a cookie of considerable superiosity

2011-09-02T14:02:00.000-07:00

If you're like me, you want cookies.

Right now.

Let me help you with that.

Round up the following:

1 box of cake mix (any flavor)

1/4 cup vegetable oil

1/4 cup water

1 egg

1 cup of anything you want to throw in (candy bits, fruit, nuts, chocolate chips, etc.)

Throw all that in a bowl.

Stir.

Form into balls and place on a greased cookie sheet. I rolled mine in powdered sugar after balling.

Bake at 350 for 10-11 minutes.

Give them to your kids.

They will be happy you did.

And so will you.

Need some variations? Try yellow cake mix with white chocolate chips and macadamia nuts; cherry cake mix with chocolate chips; devil's food cake mix with mint chocolate chips; red velvet cake mix with crushed candy canes. Frost 'em, dip 'em, sandwich 'em. Love 'em.

Like I love you.

After Dinner

2011-04-09T21:47:00.000-07:00

Her hair was messed.

She wasn't wearing a shirt.

The kitchen was a wreck.

But man, we had fun.

A Few Words; A Few Photos

2011-04-01T21:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday this little baby said "no" for the first time.

And then she said it 900 times.

The first thing on her docket this morning was to thoroughly inspect her wardrobe...

by pulling everything out...

...and trying everything on.

It kind of made a mess, but I let her do it because she put everything back.

And because she has these little honey colored curls...

that could charm the socks off a snake.

For The Mamas And The Papas, Y'all.

2011-03-08T13:24:00.000-08:00

Since 100% of our family and 60% of our friends live outside the state of Oregon, I do need to occasionally indulge in a Lydia post. Ya know what I'm sayin'?
The mamas and the papas need to see their grand baby. So, if babies make you gag, if you find their rolls of fat revolting, or if you have adverse reactions to sweetness, you should leave this blog post now. Go to people.com and read about Charlie Sheen or something.

Lydia is now 13 1/2 months old. Her vocabulary list is growing almost as fast as she is. She can say hi, uh-oh, dog, night-night and go, and I'm beginning to think that the word 'dee dee' is what she means for binky. She waves hi and bye, and signs for food, more, and all done.

She has 7 teeth and one more just about to poke through.

She still usually takes two naps a day, but she has been changing up her schedule, pushing her morning nap later. I think this is her trying to transition from two naps to one. She sleeps through the night (Hallelujah!) from about 7 p.m. to about 7:45 a.m. It took her 10 months to sleep through the night and I am still catching up, often taking a nap when she does. I don't feel guilty about it, either.

Yesterday Lydia was playing around the kitchen while I was cleaning up breakfast. When I turned around I saw this:

She had pulled down the bread, pulled nearly the entire loaf out of the bag, and was shoving as much as she could in her mouth. Please also note the floor of my pantry behind her. Yes, that's the dog food bowl.

She has a playroom now, which is great for a number of reasons. First, her toys aren't scattered all over the house. Second, she loves it. My mom and I set it all up when she was visiting a few weeks ago.

Lydia seems to have no interest in walking. She occasionally stands on her own for a few seconds, but doesn't really seem to have any desire to do that, either. Just within the last couple of days she started to let us hold her hands and walk her up and down the room. She does, however, walk along the furniture, the walls, etc.

She also climbs. On everything. EVERYTHING. See?

And once she's on top of whatever she was climbing, she holds her hands out to you to be put on the ground so she can climb up all over again.

Lydia loves going outside. She loves rocks, but hates grass.

Yesterday we were outside playing and accidentally brought a ladybug in the house with us. Thinking I could have one of those sweet moments where the baby sits there and watches the ladybug/caterpillar/butterfly crawl around her pudgy baby hand, I showed her the critter. And before I could do anything, she picked it up and squished it between her fingers with a gag-inducing CRUNCH.

It was gross.

Finally, she can spoon feed herself and insists upon doing so. It's been a long, messy road to get to this point. Brian and I have often put the food on her tray and turned our backs because it drives us so crazy to see her take a big spoonful of yogurt, get it almost to her mouth, and then put it in her hair. Or spill it in her lap. Or feed it to the dog. But she is getting better, as you can see. And hey, they've gotta learn sometime.

Shucks. I'm just bustin' with pride.

Your Assistance, Please

2011-02-23T12:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I finished the last central square on my latest quilt project and could not figure out how I wanted the layout to look. My mom helped me arrange one when she was here visiting, but I tried a couple of others just to see what they looked like, and now I can't decide which one I like best. So, what do you think?

At random?

Semi-random?

Or The Rainbow Effect?

I have a little poll set up on the right side of the blog, so go vote, would ya?

I have had so much fun working on this. There are two outer borders yet to be made; one has applique vines and flowers and the other is a sawtooth pattern. I am piecing and quilting this by hand, and have plans to enter it in the County Fair this summer. I'm so dang domestic I can hardly stand it.

Can't wait to see what you all vote on. Thanks for your help!

Oh, and did I mention that a certain someone turned ONE last month?

Well, she did.

The Big Embrace

2011-01-23T14:37:00.000-08:00

Let's face it, ladies. Our bodies aren't the same bodies after we put them through the rigors of pregnancy, childbirth, and breastfeeding. We're a little wider. A little looser. A little more womanly. So why then, pray tell, do I hold on to my pre-pregnancy, NAY! pre-WEDDING clothing?

But it' not just that I keep them.

Why do I try to WEAR these things? Oh, it brings me much shame to admit this to you, dear reader. There is a part of my brain that thinks if I try to wear that size zero skirt that I got on clearance at a Banana Republic with Kim that winter we went to Florida that I will be a size zero.

But we all know (pity me) that this just isn't so.

I am a different woman. I am more woman. And it's bittersweet to say goodbye to memories (that is what my clothes are to me!) but wise to embrace the new. So to my closet I march, to fill a garbage bag with too old, too small, too warn and too faded clothing. Never to be worn by this lady again. So long to that silk top from J. Crew that I wore to a luau in Hawaii and a Dave Matthews Band concert the summer after I graduated High School. Farewell.

Auf wiedersehen.

Adieu.

Adieu, Adeu. To yieu, and yieu, and yieu.

Next Time: The Adventures of Mom Hair

There's a First for Everything

2010-10-31T21:55:00.000-07:00

Today was Lydia's first Halloween. It was also the first Halloween that Brian and I shut off all the outside lights and pretended like we weren't home. It didn't start out like that, with us all old and crotchety and holed up in our den (which is also the living room, family room, dining room, and front room. I just used the word 'den' because it sounded more, you know, dennish). It actually started out with us walking our tall, blonde, Oregon State cheerleader around to meet the neighbors. We took her home when she started to get a little chilly. We gave her candy and asked her to pose for our cameras, but she gave us the cold shoulder.

Typical cheerleader behavior.

She wanted to go to bed early tonight because church just really takes it out of her. Missing that morning beauty rest is not awesome, she tells me in not so many words. So I put her down, sound asleep, and rag doll-esque about 6:30.

And that's when the goblins and ghosties came out in numbers. This is how it would go: There would be a loud knock (or the doorbell would ring repeatedly because of one particularly naughty button-pushing little fairy who, apparently, couldn't read my big orange 'please knock' sign), which would set the dog to barking, and then the kids would yell "Trick or treat!" And then the baby would wake up, screaming as if to say "Why does this keep happening?!" And, just like missing that morning nap, it was not awesome.

I would have just stopped giving out candy, but I had a huge bowl of it with even more in the pantry. I was desperate to get rid of it.

I started noticing Brian getting agitated; i.e. he would walk around aimlessly and sigh heavily every once in a while. I asked him if he was okay. "Are you stressed about the week coming up?" I asked. "A little," he said. A few moments passed. Then he said, "Actually, the thing that's stressing me out the most right now is that the baby keeps getting woken up by trick or treaters. I feel really bad for her."

And my little heart went out to him.

So we shut off all the lights and acted like we weren't home. But we so were. And we sat on the couch watching football with an enormous, enormous bowl of candy all to ourselves.

Happy Halloween.

Did I Hear A Niner In There?

2010-10-29T15:47:00.000-07:00

Hey there. Remember when I looked like this?

Me neither. Boy. What a whopper. That shirt is like, "Must...hold...on! Must...not...rip!"

It feels like that was a lifetime ago. And indeed it was. A nine-month-long lifetime. I was reflecting today on how my limited experience with motherhood has changed me, and I was pleased to conclude that I am not the worse for wear.

I'm more responsible. (Except for one vehicular homicide. Sorry, cat.)

I'm more organized,

I'm more disciplined.

I'm more empathetic. (I felt super bad about killng you, cat.)

I'm more neat and tidy.

I'm more spiritual.

I'm just...more. More than I was nine months ago, that's for certain. Things that used to be of great importance to me have fallen by the wayside; Dave Matthews Band, for example. Things that never used to cross my mind have become front and center in my conciousness; the price and durability of any number of baby items, top of stairs baby gates, food storage, a high quality kitchen table and chairs that will become the stage for many family meals to come. Sleep.

But perhaps most importantly, there is this other. This small person. This child. This nine month old.

And I'll tell you what the very best part of it all is:

I think she likes me.

Halloween Wreath!

2010-10-21T17:25:00.000-07:00

My friend Chelsea posted a cute wreath she made for fall (or really any holiday at all) and Lydia totally LOVED IT, so she was like, "Hey, Ma! Make one of those things!"

I made a Halloween version since I'm short on spooky decor. I bought a regular grapevine wreath and then spraypainted it white to contrast the black roses. I think I went a little lopsided on the left side there...oopsy!

And, of course, a craft just isn't a craft without GLITTER.

Check Chelsea's out on her crafting blog, It's Good For the Heart. And find the tutorial to make your own here at The Pretty Poppy!

And I just have to share these earrings I bought today at Kohls. So spooky! So awesome! So...owly? I might just have to wear these all year round.

The Incident, A Bad Case of the Moms

2010-10-16T21:46:00.000-07:00

When Brian and I first bought this house, the furniture that we had to fill it with consisted of a bed, a TV, a couch, a love seat, and a desk.

We ate on the floor for awhile and then decided that was for the birds. Or some other creature that sits on the floor to eat.

We were poor. And we were cheap. So we bought the cheapest, for-poor-people table and chairs we could find.

And they are cheap.

The chairs are poorly designed, being incredibly top heavy. The table top is glass. I knew it was only just a matter of time before there was an 'incident'.

Well. The time came two days ago. I was doing the dishes (again) and Lydia was over by the sliding glass door (which is near the table) babbling away to herself. I peaked over at her and she was busy smashing her mouth and nose up against the glass door, so I went back to my suds.

Then, CRASH! BLAM! POW! SCREECH!

I ran over to my screaming baby and HORROR!

She was flat on her back, pinned to the floor with a toppled over chair RIGHT ON HER FACE.

I couldn't believe the GUILT I felt. I moped around the house all day after it happened, replaying the events that led up to the 'incident'. Why wasn't I watching her more closely? Why did I let her play over by the table and chairs? Should I take her to the doctor? What if she's concussed and I let her go to sleep!? And on and on. I mean, really getting a little irrational, here. Then I happened to run into my neighbor just as he was getting back from the library with his two year old son.

I poured it all out to him. The incident. How bad I felt. "Just look at these bruises on her face!" I lamented. He looked at me with a knowing but sympathetic smile and said the following:

"Get used to it. Because it won't be the last time. Not by a long shot."

And that's when I realized:

I was in for it.

What If This Is As Gross As It Gets?

2010-10-12T21:55:00.000-07:00

The scene was a familiar one.

I was at the kitchen sink doing the dishes. Lydia was on the floor behind me playing with measuring cups, spoons, spatulas and the potato masher. She was babbling away with her usual, questionlike, "Ah? Ah? Ah?" Then she started crawling away. I thought she was going down the hall, which is what she usually does, so I didn't turn around.

A few moments passed.

Then I heard the familiar clink clinking of Cookie's food and water bowls. It didn't register for awhile that maybe JUST MAYBE it wasn't the dog making those dishes clink together. But when it did, it SURE DID, yaknowwhati'msayin?

I rounded the corner just in time to see my precious baby girl take a handful of dog food and stuff it in her mouth.

Then she looked at me.

She was smiling, and she was very, very proud of herself.

The end.

The Three Bears

2010-10-10T23:28:00.000-07:00

It wasn't a big deal.

Well, it shouldn't have been.

I was just going around the house after putting the baby to bed last night, picking up a stuffed bunny here, wiping fingerprints off the table there, and doing a little quilting in between.

Then I went to hang up Lydia's new winter coat. Her very first coat. I set it on the stairs, thinking it would go in her closet. But then I thought better of it. It was a coat, after all, even if it was just itty bitty.

To the coat closet it would go, with all the other coats.

I opened the closet and hung the little coat. I went to shut the door and go on to my next task, but I looked up just in time to see a beautiful sight, one that, as I said before, shouldn't have been a big deal.

But it brought tears to my eyes, I tell you.

There before me was a daddy coat, a mommy coat, and a baby coat.

Suddenly that old coat closet was no longer the place where I hastily threw my bags, scarfs, and hats, where Brian's dusty binoculars hung from a peg, and where my bent umbrella quietly stood at the ready. I saw it as a symbol. I wondered how many more itty bitty coats I will be able to hang in our closet over the years. I wondered how many would be girly, and how many would be blue.

I wondered how it would feel to watch the coats get bigger and bigger until they disappeared altogether.

But for now, there are the three. A daddy coat, a mommy coat, and a baby coat.

And they are all just right.

Sometimes I Get A Great Notion...

2010-09-27T19:53:00.000-07:00

Here is a photo montage I made for Lydia's 8 month birthday today. Click anywhere on the image to play the movie.

I hope you enjoy it.

Gushing Forth

2010-09-24T22:30:00.000-07:00

I am always annoyed by women who blog about how wonderful and amazing their husbands are.

I don't finish reading those posts usually.

And I never comment on them.

But I, my friend, am also a hypocrite. A hypocrite with a story.

Last night I ate something gnarly. Okay, it was several crackers that, unbeknownst to me, had expired December 10th of 2009. I don't check the expiration date on things like crackers because I usually eat them before they go bad.

Anyway, there was some definite funk going on with these crackers. Shortly after eating a few, I stood up to get a drink. My back itched, so I scratched it. Then my neck itched, so I scratched that. Then my whole body was engulfed in one. big. itch. My ears began to swell, my throat felt thick and weird, and there were hives. Oh, were there hives!

After the initial shock wore off and I realized that I was not in fact dying, Brian and I retired for the evening.

The baby woke up to eat at about 1:45 and I came back to bed around two, but not before going into the bathroom and giving myself a look over. Now my lips were swollen, the hives had connected themselves to one another and were now just one giant raised and angry red rash over my entire torso, but oddly enough, the itch was going away. When I got in bed Brian popped up off his pillow like a jack-in-the-box.

I thought he was asleep.

It scared me a little.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes, I think I'm fine."

"I'm going to go out and buy you some Benadryl. I can tell you need some."

"No. It's 2 am."

"I'm going." (Throwing the covers back and getting out of bed.) "Safeway's open all night, right?"

And that's the guy I'm married too. And I don't think I need to say any more about that.

P.S. Don't eat crackers with funk on them.

More Happiness? Why Yes, I'll Take Some

2010-09-23T14:54:00.000-07:00

I want to explore my thoughts on a certain couple of words that I read last night, and figured my blog was as good a place as any to do it.

The words were some that I've heard countless times before, but last night the words got me thinking.

The words were "Let your hearts rejoice."

Before I always thought this just meant I should 'be happy'. But now I think it goes much deeper than that. That word 'let' is what gets me. It implies that my heart wants to rejoice, that it is my heart's inherent nature to rejoice, and that it would rejoice, if only I would let it.

This also implies that my own rejoicing, my own heartfelt happiness, is my responsibility, not that of anyone else's.

This is easy to say, but difficult to exercise. Like faith. Ugh! So hard!

So how then? How do I/we/you let my/our/your heart(s) rejoice?

Like a kid begging for candy, my heart is begging for happiness.

Isn't yours?

------------------------------------

Disclaimer: I am fascinated by the challenge that this verse of scripture presents and, like any other human, am constantly seeking ways to improve myself. This post is in no way meant to present myself as a person in the midst of a crisis, because, thank Heaven, I am not. However, this post IS meant to (hopefully) stimulate a conversation and a thought process in us all that will lead to (yes!) MORE happiness.

Q & A

2010-08-17T21:52:00.000-07:00

There's this part in Zoolander where he asks, "Who am I?" while gazing into the gutter. His reflection looks back and replies, "I don't know."

I've been feeling a little Zoolander-ish lately.

Let me tell you why.

Today I drug my child to seven different grocery stores looking for Non Ultra Dawn Original Scent.

And why did I do that?

Because I'm using it to blow The Biggest Bubble Known to Man. We're talking a
small-child- swallowing, has-it's-own-weather-system, could-carry-away-a-Shih Tzu sized bubble. And Non Ultra Dawn Original Scent is a must-have ingredient in the Biggest Bubble Known to Man Recipe.

What am I blowing this bubble for?

(wait for it)

Play. Group. Yeah, that sort-of mommy sorority that I swore I would take no part in. But when I was asked to join, my pride got puffed up, I went all Greek on myself, and suddenly, play group was cool.

Another ingredient in The Biggest Bubble Known to Man recipe?

Astroglide.

Please don't tell the other moms. They might kick me out.

The Bee's Knees

2010-07-16T21:04:00.000-07:00

Let's start here.

This is a picture of my kid's knees.

Ahem.

Moving right along.

I was in Utah for...like...ever. Before we left for Utah I thought, I don't have anything to hurry back for, and Brian is all busy-like in the bishopric now, so heck sakes, says I, why don't I just stay an extra week?

And then I got there, and I was having so much fun on this hike with my parents,

that as I walked along and gazed at those mountains of home, I said, "Fetch yo's. I'm stayin' an extra, extra week!"

And there was much rejoicing in the land.

Well, by me, at least.

Lydia and I flew home a week or so ago. Here we are at the airport even.

But I'm still catching up from all the trippin' I did on my trip.

So here's another picture of my kid's knees. With her face attached. That's pretty much all there is these days. Knees and a fat, grinning, giggling, face.

And whoa, Nelly, do I love those knees and that face. A bushel and a peck and a barrel and a heap.

Saturday Is a Special Day

2010-06-09T19:39:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday there was a break in the monotonous rain. Oregonians know that if the sun is out, you'd better get your little behind out, too, because it might not last long and it might not come again for days.

So, we loaded up the truck, the frisbee golf discs, the dog, grabbed some sandwiches, and headed to the park.

Only to find this:

Yeah. It was flooded. The picnic tables were bobbing around like corks and the frisbee golf cages were just poking out above the surface. That photo is of one of the shelters (courtesy of the Democrat Herald).

So we headed to another park, where things looked a little less wet. We got set up on our quilt and

we played,

we ate our sandwiches very dramatically while wearing our lucky tshirt from junior high,

Cookie dined on fresh greens,

and then Brian went off to throw a couple of shots, only to return moments later to inform me that the frisbee golf course was flooded, too.

Oh, Oregon!

But we still had fun...

The Chick's Got Self Esteem

2010-06-07T21:44:00.000-07:00

I think that if we could all follow Lydia's example, and give ourselves a huge grin or even laugh whenever we saw ourselves in the mirror, this world would be a better place.

Don't you?

Also, fatter thighs.

I Know This Much Is True

2010-06-04T13:15:00.000-07:00

that Calmoseptine is the best diaper rash ointment available,

that the sound of a binky with a little bit of water in it is on a level of adorableness on par with baby kittens,

that labor kicked my trash,

that when I was pregnant, I was a little bit crazy, but didn't know it,

that I've got a snuggle bug on my hands,

that I've got a finicky eater on my hands,

that good pediatricians don't grow on trees,

that I had a bout of baby blues, but didn't know it till it was over,

that Lydia is a hat hater, even if this picture might tell you otherwise,

that the scriptures take on a new meaning when you become a mother,

that you come to understand every facet of the word 'tender' when you become a mother,

that it's vital to swallow your pride and ask for help,

that "The Happiest Baby On The Block" was the best baby book I read, hands down,

that the love of God is, truly, man's greatest joy, and that it is evident in the face of a child,

that simple toys make the best toys,

that if it weren't for Kim, my mom, and Brian's mom, I might have jumped off a bridge during the first weeks of motherhood,

that I can't stand boogers in my kid's nose, and must dispatch them on site,

that Lydia is at her very cutest after her bath,

that Old Navy socks are the only socks that will stay on her feet,

that 'Tummy Time' totally blows,

that the baby monitor makes me a little jumpy,

that if I didn't know I married the right dude before, I certainly know it now,

that the dog loves the baby, and the baby loves the dog,

and that alien green poop comes and goes as it pleases.

"In Two Weeks, You Would Have A Diamond"

2010-06-02T21:07:00.000-07:00

I'll be the first to admit that as a new parent, I've been a little uptight about things.

For instance, when Lydia was first born, I kept a log of her feedings, documenting exactly what time she began eating, on what side she was nursing from, and for how long. I also documented the size and color of every dirty or wet diaper.

This went on for about a week, until I said to my mom, "I think we're a little over the top with the list thing." She looked at me, her exasperation thinly veiled, and blurted, "Ya think?!"

Another example: Since before Lydia came home from the hospital, there has been a sign by our doorbell asking visitors to "Please knock, baby sleeping." When the original sign got blown away, instead of just letting it go, I made a new one, bright orange this time, and made sure to add extra strips of tape to ensure its permanence.

For a long time, we didn't even dare flush the toilets when Lydia was sleeping. We are still terrified of getting ice out of the ice machine, running the garbage disposal, or starting a load of laundry while our angel dozes. If we watch TV while she's sleeping, we have it turned down so low that we have to ask each other what House just said, what Booth just whispered to Bones.

When we were in Utah, I so vehemently defended her sleep that I probably almost got myself booted out of my husband's family. My poor in-law's couldn't even shut a door without receiving a glare from my blood shot, sleep deprived eyes and hearing me hiss "Shhhhh!" like a dadgum snake.

As we left her four month checkup, I was scheduling Lydia's next visit and the nurse gave me several available times. "No," I said. "None of those are good. They are exactly during her morning and afternoon naps." The nurse looked at me, incredulous.

"I know," I replied. "I'm the Nap Nazi."

And she didn't respond.

On Sunday I went to a friend's house to help her with a quilt she was making for her fifth baby, a boy who was born one week after Lydia. When I got there, the baby was in his swing. The other kids were in and out of the house, doors were slamming, and there was a general hubbub that you would imagine in any house with five kids. I'll be darned if I didn't look over in the middle of it all and that kid was sound asleep. No blanket. No dark, silent bedroom.

Sleeping. Like a baby.

And I thought it was super weird.

Why? Because I'm new at this. And I don't know what I'm doing.

And I am desperate to do everything "right".

Whatever that means.

How Old Are You, My Pretty Little Miss? How Old Are You, My Honey?

2010-05-29T20:46:00.001-07:00

Four months have passed since little Liddy Bug entered our lives. It went by so fast, yet I don't remember life before her. Strange, this thing they call parenthood.

I took her to the doctor for her four month checkup and learned that she is in the 95th percentile for height. At her two month appointment she was in the 75th percentile. I mentioned to the doctor that she has been waking up to eat more and more in the night and he said that he wasn't surprised since she's been growing so much, and that we should try giving her some rice cereal. I know he was telling me to give her more calories, but in my mind flashes were going off and bright signs were blinking "SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT! SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT!"

You'd better believe I went straight to the grocery store from the doctor's to buy her first box of rice cereal. And...

she LOVED it. She ate one serving and still wanted more so I gave her a whole other serving. Well, she didn't sleep through the night, but she sure slept better than she has in weeks. And so did I. I'll take it.

Funny thing though, she hasn't wanted it again since. I'll wait a few more days and try again. Thoughts?

The poor little dear also got her shots. A necessary evil, in my opinion. She was a brave little soul though, and only cried for a few seconds. Then the nurse put a pretty band aid on her chubby baby thigh.
It's so fun to see her personality emerging. She is such a happy baby. I spend most of her (and my) waking hours trying to make her laugh. Oh, the sound of that chunky baby chuckle makes everything right in the world.

She also loves to dress like a bug for bath time.

And then there's the snuggling. She loves to snuggle when she first wakes up, and will love on anyone who is lucky enough to pick her up. She especially loves to snuggle with her Grandpa K.

I have to admit, I have been trying to think of things to post on that aren't all about my baby. But, funny thing, she's pretty much all I think about right now. So this is what you get.

You got a problem with that?

Another Conversation With A Husband

2010-05-22T16:39:00.001-07:00

"Hey Honey, do you like the bread I bought for dinner?"

"Yeah."

"It's rosemary and olive oil. I thought it would be a nice change."

"Yeah."

"Because I usually buy the other kind."

"What other kind?"

"Pugliese."

"Bless you."

Rock A Bye

2010-05-18T20:51:00.000-07:00

Today when Lydia woke up from her nap, we rocked in the big brown chair.

We looked at the irises out the window.

They are yellow and white.

I smelled her hair,

I buried my nose in her neck,

and I missed her.

Missed her because I know there will come a time when she will have to go to play, to school, to work, to get married, to rock her own sweet smelling babies.

The irises in the sun got a little blurry then.

Strange to think that I could miss the little soul that was right there in my arms, laying her head on my shoulder and sucking her fingers.

Motherhood is kind of (heart breaking) funny like that.

First Time Mother Seeks Advice, Understanding Through Blog

2010-05-15T16:09:00.000-07:00

There are several common questions that you get when you take your new baby out in public. The first is usually "How old is she?" This is followed by "What's her name?" And then they hit the homer with "How is she sleeping?" or, phrased more annoyingly, "Is she sleeping for you?"

Is she sleeping for me? For me?

What does that even mean? "Gee, mommy. You look like you could use a shower/nap/change of clothes/walk around the block. I think I'll just go lie down and drift off to sleep for you."

I suppose the answer is yes. What baby doesn't sleep? The real question is: Does she sleep through the night yet? And the answer to that is a big, fat NO. Every night Brian and I say to each other, "Tonight is the night." We even sing "I Gotta Feeling''" by the Black Eyed Peas during bath time.

Maybe it's jinxing us.

Darn those Peas.

The little darling still wakes up two, sometimes three times a night. Every once in a while she'll only wake up once a night, but I don't know how to make that a consistent thing. We swaddle her tightly because she pulls her binky out and then gets mad, or yanks on her ears or scratches herself.

Yesterday we tried keeping her up for a super long time (two and a half hours), and she did sleep for six hours straight after that, but I tell you, she was absolutely miserable while we were keeping her up and so were we. We won't be doing that again.

And then there's the napping. She will usually only nap for 35 minutes to an hour at a time and then gets tired within an hour or so of waking up. My days consist of getting her up and putting her down for naps. Again, I've tried keeping her up longer, but she just cries and cries until I put her down for her nap, and it has'nt lengthened her naps so I consider this option neither helpful nor worth the struggle.

I have noticed that she's started staying up slightly longer in between naps over the last week or so, but the naps are still short.

One thing I will say for this little angel is that she is extremely easy to put down. I swaddle her, give her her binky, put her in her crib awake, and she's usually out in less than a minute.

Also? She looks like this:

So. You know. Things aren't all bad.

I'm more concerned about her daytime sleep than her night waking. Has this happened to anyone else? We're talking five short naps a day, people. I don't feel like I can even leave the house when she's awake because I know she will get tired very quickly and I will have to rush back home.

I would call the pediatrician but the nurses would probably just laugh at me again.

Help? Anyone?

Oh, and here's one for the road, taken on her first patronage to Ray's Fruit Stand.

The Short Bus

2010-05-13T20:22:00.000-07:00

Five years ago, Brian surprised me with a little weekend getaway to the coast. He booked a room at a romantic bed and breakfast and made plans for an activity the following day.

The bed and breakfast was wonderful. We walked on the beach in the moonlight, and the wonderful host told us to sleep with the windows open so we could hear the waves crashing on the rocks, but to keep the fire roaring so we wouldn't get cold.

That was the best sleep I've ever gotten, I tell you.

The next morning we dined with the other guests and enjoyed hearing where everyone was from and what their plans for the weekend were.

Then it was our turn to share our plans.

"We're going to a medieval festival today," Brian explained.

Everyone at the table oohed and aahed. It sounded really fun, they thought. Heck, another couple even decided that they would go, too.

The festival was on top of a wooded hill that overlooked the sea, and there was no parking, so all guests had to be bussed in.

As Brian and I patiently waited for the bus to come and pick us up, we silently observed the people that were showing up for this thing.

There were those that were like Brian and me. The curious.

And then there were...the rest.

Remember how your friend had that one weird brother who played alot of Magic and Warcraft, had kinda greasy hair, and had a collection of those ceramic dragons that hold marbles in their talons and have half naked maidens on their backs?

Well, this was his festival.

And there were hundreds of others just like him.

It wasn't like people in costume who do this to entertain the tourists. It was like these people thought they WERE medieval and this was some kind of odd, Lord-Of-The-Rings-meets-Robin-Hood alternate reality.

So there we were, realizing that this was going to be an event for the record books, when the bus pulled up. We got on and settled in.

The girl in front of us was wearing some getup that looked fairly elvish and I think she may have even had elven ears stuck on. One of the fellow revelers saw her and, being similarly attired, said, "Tis a lovely dress, m'lady. Didst thou make it thyself?"

Brian and I looked at each other, each of us slightly terrified. But by then, it was too late, the bus was already rolling.

And that was how we spent our first anniversary.

Congratu-freakin-lations.

2010-05-03T20:28:00.000-07:00

Look out your window.

Look at the grass, the green, green grass.

Think of it's beauty. Think of the spring time, and how green things are popping up everywhere.

Think of the leaves on the trees. They too, are green.

Think of a beautiful deep river, flowing through the land with it's emerald green hues.

Got it? Got the image?

-----------------------------------

Now imagine poo.

Poo that is green as the green, green grass in the spring. Green as the new leaves on the trees. Green as that deep, flowing river.

Fever? Negative.

Diarrhea? Negative.

Vomitting? Negative.

Sick or otherwise afflicted? Negative.

Those were the four questions and the four answers that resulted from the frantic phone call I put in to Lydia's pediatrician last week after I opened her diaper and feasted my eyes on that horrible color.

In my opinion, poop should not be green. But Brian looked it up online after he heard screaming coming from the nursery (that was me) and assured me it was normal. I didn't believe him, so I called the doctor.

Sheepishly, I later told Brian about it.

"I called them," I said. "About the poop."

"Oh yeah?" Brian replied. "What did they say, congratulations?"

And the nurses were even laughing in the background.

Without Words

2010-04-18T14:14:00.000-07:00

I've been wondering lately about love.

More specifically, I've been wondering how we feel love.

Lydia doesn't understand what I'm saying to her. I could talk to her about politics and she would smile and gurgle and coo.

I could talk to her about cancer. Or taxes. Or the joys of grocery shopping. Still she would smile.

So when I tell her I love her, does it mean anything to her?

Can she feel love?

The other night I asked Brian about this. "Does Lydia know we love her?" I said.

He said that her spirit can feel and recognize love, that it's something her spirit knew even before she came to this earth. He said that when I feel love from her or when she feels love from me, it's our spirits communicating.

Maybe that's why babies are so special. Because we feel it deep down, without words.

And of all the senses, I think feeling is best.

My Worst Nightmare

2010-04-12T17:29:00.000-07:00

I don't like to be alone.

Brian's responsibilities for our church, however, take him away from home from time to time.

And I hate it.

It's not that I begrudge the responsibility, it's just like I said in the beginning: I don't like to be alone.

Last Friday night was one of those nights that he was gone. I gave myself pep talks all night. "You're doing great. You are safe at home. The baby is safe. Cookie will bark if anyone tries to break in. There are no ghosties lurking about."

After bathing the baby and putting her to bed, I checked every closet, every cupboard, every shower, and even the washer and dryer to make sure no psycho killers were hiding. Then I gathered up every phone in the house, Brian's Louisville Slugger, a few knives, and headed to bed.

No, I'm not kidding.

It was around 12:50 that the nightmare started.

I was driving through a town with my mom. We were trying to get out because everyone had turned into zombies. They wanted to eat us.

Alarmed by this dream, I began to wake up. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times.

Then the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

There was something next to the bed and it was very, very close to me. And somehow I knew that it was going to be getting closer.

And then it was on me. It laid on top of me and squeezed and squeezed. I couldn't move. I couldn't breath. I couldn't even swallow. My heart was pounding and it felt like my chest would burst. All I could do was sit there and think "God will protect me." over and over again.

I don't know how long I laid there like that. After a while though, the thing seemed to evaporate and I could breath again. I was hysterical. I tried calling Brian, I tried texting, but he was camping and his phone wasn't on. I texted a few of my brothers, frantic for someone to talk to.

Luckily, my brother in New York was up. I called him and he talked me down. I spent the rest of that night with all the lights on.

Saturday morning I got up and Googled 'something laying on you in the night'. I didn't know what it was, but I knew that it wasn't just in my mind.

This 'thing' was real. And it was absolutely terrifying.

The Google search came up with something called sleep paralysis. It's when you're either falling asleep or just waking up and you literally become paralyzed. You also can hallucinate like I did, thinking some 'presence' was on me. Sleep paralysis can happen to totally healthy individuals, but can be caused by interrupted sleep schedules like, oh, I dunno, when you have a baby.

This has been happening to people for thousands of years, and has different names in different cultures. It's commonly known as 'the witch on your back' or 'The Hag Phenomena" because people, like me, think they are really being visited by some ghoulish creature. Look, Henry Fuseli even painted a picture in 1781 called 'The Nightmare' of a woman believed to be experiencing sleep paralysis.
I'd say that looks about right.

Researches have found that people who think they have been abducted by aliens experience sleep paralysis, and believe it is during these episodes that the individuals hallucinate their abductions. Now that I've experienced sleep paralysis, I can totally see how someone could believe they've been probed.

So, if this ever happens to you, just know that it's not a ghosty or a witch or an alien or anything like that. It's just your crazy brain. And you will eventually be able to move your arms and legs again.

Now go get some sleep.

My War On Awesomeness

2010-04-07T15:50:00.001-07:00

Today I came across two great blogs.

You know the kind. A mom with multiple kids comes up with the cleverest, cutest, shmoopydoopydest stuff around and posts it all on a blog with about a billion followers and 900 comments on every post.

It's the kind of blog that makes you go, "Her life looks nice. I want a nice life too." And in the meantime, you forget that your life is pretty damn fine just the way it is.

So, I came across these blogs and the more time I spent reading them, basking in other people's awesomeness, the more I felt, well...

like crap.

And I thought, "What did I do today? What Super Saturday worthy idea did I come up with? Am I even wearing clean underwear? Do I smell like spit up?"

(i am and i do.)

So to make myself feel better, I am writing this anti-clever post. Because I didn't do anything clever today. And I probably won't do anything clever tomorrow, either.

What I anti-cleverly did do today was:

change diapers,

clean the bathroom sink with a baby wipe,
squish my kid's face with my face until she was like, "Get off me, Ma.",

brush my teeth,

stared at the dishes and thought about washing them, but didn't,

stared at the stove and thought about cooking, but didn't,

and stared at the vacuum and thought about vacuuming,

but didn't.

And that's anti-clever enough for me.

Nursery Decorating Final Episode Or, Old Stuff Made New Again

2010-04-04T20:19:00.000-07:00

For some nursery inspiration I turned again to my Great Aunt Mary's sewing basket. It's full of little odds and ends of tatting, crochet, and embroidery. I fancy these bits are her practice pieces.

On some of the embroidery pieces, she did a lovely little lazy daisy and french knot combo over ric rac. I'm kind of a freak for ric rac, so I decided to use her idea on the crib skirt. These photos are of the pieces from her basket. That pink edging on the bottom of the ric rac is embroidery floss that she crocheted. Yeah. I know.

And here is the crib skirt I did for Lydia. Not as fancy, but still fun to do.

In keeping with my love of old stuff, I collected some pieces of hobnail glassware over the course of my pregnancy. I found the vase and the candy dish at the Goodwill, and the (working!) lamp I bought on eBay for $8.99.

A friend of mine, Tanya, who is amazing at everything, had done some fun projects refinishing old furniture using spray paint. I absolutely wanted to do this for the dresser, so I scoured Craigslist and the Goodwill for weeks on end looking for the perfect piece to refinish. Finally, I found it in Oregon City, an hour away, and it only cost $75.00.

I was going to do a post about the refinishing project and so took pictures of it as it sat in my garage awaiting a new coat of white paint.

But then I looked at the pictures...

and decided it was perfect just the way it was.

So here it sits in the nursery, the old dresser with the old hobnail glass and the books of old children's poetry for my baby with the old fashioned name.

And old is made new again.

Shame

2010-03-24T16:39:00.000-07:00

I had an uncle with a googly eye.

I was always afraid of him. You were never sure if he was talking to you because when you would look at him that eye was looking at the wall. Or the lamp. Or the dog.

His name was Herold.

I was too little to know to always look at the good eye. That way you would know who he was talking to. No, I was too little to figure that out. So when I looked at him, no matter how hard I tried to look elsewhere, I zoned in on that eye. It was hypnotizing.

One day, Uncle Herold was snow blowing his driveway. His snow blower got jammed with a rock or a chunk of ice or something and he reached in to grab it. Only he didn't turn off the snow blower.

And the snow blower lobbed off a couple of his fingers.

He scooped them up off the driveway and carried them into the kitchen. It all gave Aunt Merle quite a start, Herold standing there holding his fingers and all.

The doctor sewed his fingers back on.

And then he did it again.

It was an accident.

Both times.

We went to visit him in the hospital and I didn't know where to look then. I didn't want to be rude and stare at the reattached fingers. I didn't want to be rude and stare at the eye. I felt it would be polite to pretend neither existed, so I think I stared at my shoes. Maybe shuffled them around a little, too.

I feel kind of bad about all that now. Like maybe I should have been more accommodating to that eye. And not so weird about the fingers. But heck, I was just a kid then.

And I didn't know any better.

Questions Begat Questions

2010-03-22T10:45:00.000-07:00

Two thoughts seem to run through my mind like a broken record.

#1. Is it enough?

Is it enough patience, strength, and love that I give to you?

Why do I miss you when you're sleeping? Do I shove a binky in your mouth too much? Do I bathe you, change your diaper, wipe your face, bite your nails, pick your nose too much? Or not enough?

Would you like more nose picking? Because I can make that happen.

Is it enough time?

#2. Am I doing this right?

Is this how I hold you? Is this how I kiss your cheek? Is this how I love you? Is this how we play?

Is this how I read to you? Is this how I sing? Can you hear me? Do you see me, my darling?

Do you know I am yours?

Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers to the Right, Here I Am, Stuck At The WalMart With You.

2010-03-18T13:00:00.000-07:00

So I'm checking out of Walmart the other night and I'm hoping to make it quick. Brian is swinging Lydia in her car seat because she's fussing pretty badly and has been for awhile. I'm buying more Mylecon because we're out.

There is a haggard looking woman and her son in line in front of me, buying mounds of clothing.

"We've just come in to some money," she tells the checker.

"Oh really?" the checker replies. "The lotto? You rob a bank?"

No response.

"Your husband die?"

"That man'll probly never die," the haggard woman says. "The way my luck goes, he'll probably live to be a hundred."

Huh, I think to myself. Because Walmart isn't the first place I'd go to blow my windfall. And because I feel bad for that lady's husband.

Just then, a young woman with a Walmart badge comes walking up to the counter. Her tattoos begin at her wrists and go up into her sleeves and they end who knows where.

In a sing-songy voice she says, "Oh, mother of mine, look what I just did!"

Well, I'm certainly not her mother, so I look around.

The checker answers. "Oh, what did you just do, darling daughter of mine?"

"I broke a nail."

Huh, I think to myself. Because it's a Walmart mother-daughter duo. And because that manicure looks super weird next to all those tattoos.

Now it's my turn at the checkout.

"Hi, how are ya?" I say to the lady.

"Dentist," she says.

I blink.

She stares.

"Dentist," she says again.

"I don't unders-"

"Your dad is a dentist. Let me see your teeth."

"No, he's not a dentist."

"Well, anybody with teeth like that either has a daddy for a dentist or works for one."

Huh, I think to myself. Because I guess at Walmart, my regular old teeth look pretty fancy.

And because that's really sad.

A Bit O Blarney

2010-03-17T12:01:00.000-07:00

A happy St. Patty's Day to you from us and our bonny wee lass.

A Big Let Down

2010-03-11T11:19:00.000-08:00

This is a post about breastfeeding.

You've been warned.

Breastfeeding has been a struggle from the beginning.

First we had problems with latch, and as soon as we figured latch out my milk came in and it was not messin' around, which made it impossible for Lydia to latch no matter how hard she tried and no matter how hard I tried to make her. I tried hot compresses, a hot bath, anything to ease the pressure and get some milk out. Nothing worked. And the more time that passed without nursing, the worse it got. A friend of mine had given me a pump, guaranteeing that it would come in handy. At the time, I really doubted her. Why would I need that?

And then I pumped 11 ounces in 15 minutes. That's a lot in boob world. It's like a can of pop, people.

Thinking I had solved the problem (and feeling much better) I tried nursing again, only it was as though Lydia had forgotten how to latch. I called the lactation line at the hospital and the Godmother of Breastfeeding answered. She told me to pump for 15 minutes every 3 hours and give the baby bottles of expressed milk until we could come in and have her looked at. Again, that pump thing...

So there I was, setting my alarm for every three hours, pumping, warming bottles, giving bottles, washing bottles, pumping again. It was a nightmare, but Lydia was eating.

When we went into the lactation clinic the nurse got Lydia to breastfeed like she'd been doing it for years, but gave me a nipple shield to help with latch anyway. It was a huge relief, and worked pretty well.

Things went okay with those shields for about two weeks and then I realized that Lydia didn't really need them anymore. She could latch just fine without them.

Thinking I was scot-free I happily went about my mothering thing.

But I was wrong.

Lydia started to swallow a lot of air while she was nursing, something I had heard shouldn't happen with breastfed babies. She would also choke and cough and get so upset she would be screaming and I couldn't get her calmed down enough to continue. This was happening at every feeding and I was pretty frazzled.

I dreaded feeding her.

I didn't want to be alone with her.

I felt like every time I held her, she cried.

I felt like every time I fed her, I cried.

I kind of wanted to put her in her crib and run away from home a couple of times.

Yesterday, in tears and with a red-as-the-devil, screaming-bloody-murder baby in my arms, I called the lactation nurse again and told her what was going on. She said, "Oh, I know what the problem is. You have a forceful let down and the baby is too little to handle it right now. Nurse her lying flat on your back."

Forceful let down, huh? I knew this must have been part of the problem, those things are like Super Soaker 500's. But still, I was dubious. The solution to all my problems was as simple as lying down with my baby?

I tried it.

It worked.

And last night Lydia only woke up once to eat. And today she's all smiles and kicks and bubbles and has hardly cried at all.

She even had the biggest blowout of all time in her bouncy chair and I was so happy about it I almost took a picture.

And I hope that's the end of my breastfeeding story unless there's a prologue that goes something like this:

Lydia got bigger and was finally able to handle her mom's crazy boobs. Although Lydia occasionally wakes up with nightmares that a giant breast is suffocating and drowning her at the same time, she had this to say about the experience: "Blurb ee goo aaa dibberplll."

Nipple Confusion and Other Myths of Motherhood

2010-03-09T13:13:00.000-08:00

When I was pregnant with Lydia I wanted to be super prepared. For everything.

I read this one baby book from cover to cover about three times, making notes in the margins, underlining, and even attempting to read the entire thing to Brian (which didn't work out so well).

I somehow had it in my mind that everything would go 'by the book'.

I am living proof that it does not, my friends.

I swore I would never let my baby sleep in my bed with me, not under any circumstances, because if I did, she would most assuredly die of SIDS. I swore I would put her in her crib from day one, because if I didn't, she would never sleep in there for the rest of her life. I swore I would never give her a binky, because if I did, she would get 'nipple confusion' and not be able to nurse. I swore I would never let my baby cry, because if I did, it meant she hated me. I thought nursing would be a piece of cake, and if it wasn't, that it would be my own fault. I thought I would have her on a schedule, and if I didn't, it was because I didn't try hard enough.

Well, let me tell you something. Babies like to snuggle. Babies like to sleep. Babies like to suck. Babies need to cry sometimes. Babies learn to nurse and sometimes it takes a little while. And finally, babies think schedules are LAME-O.

It's all very simple, really.

I mean, how many babies do you know of that starved to death because their mothers gave them binkies?

If I were to write a book on babies, this is what it would say:

Do. What. Works.

The end.

And maybe somewhere in the lengthy introduction I would tell parents not to worry so freaking much about every single solitary little thing like I did. Because it just sucks the fun right out of having a baby.

I'm only sorry that it took me so long to figure that out.

The best part about it is that through all the trials and bumps in the road, my kid continues to love me.

So thanks, Lyddie Bug. I love you, too.

God Has a Sense of Humor

2010-02-25T17:39:00.000-08:00

I've always thought that loud burps and farts were really funny. I know it's not polite.

But still...

I think that's why the good Lord sent me this little gas factory.

Because who doesn't love a good laugh at 2:44 am?

And heck, if you're gonna be up, you might as well be smiling.

Nursery Decorating Episode 2

2010-02-18T15:39:00.000-08:00

Last summer I was looking for a little nursery inspiration. I was browsing through one of my House Beautiful magazines when I lighted upon these curtains by Pine Cone Hill:

There was only one thing I wasn't loving about them. They cost $128.oo.

Ridonculous, I says.

I can make those myself, says I.

So I went to Target, bought some sheers for ten bucks, then went to JoAnn's where I bought white pom pom trim. I had a half off coupon so that cost $12.75. I snatched a rod from Ross for fifteen more bones and I was golden.

I took my trim

and my sheers which I don't have a picture of,

and waved my magic wand (aka: the sewing machine) which I also don't have a picture of,

and these were born:

For cheap knock offs, I don't think they turned out so bad.

One hundred and twenty eight dollars my foot.

The Return Triumphant

2010-02-14T20:29:00.000-08:00

Okay. I admit it. Those first few weeks of motherhood are...what's the word. Bleary. And weird. In fact, here is a picture of bleary weirdness. Yes, I set up a bed on the floor of her nursery and I slept there for several nights until I felt comfortable enough to let her sleep there on her own. Yes, I am wearing sweats because the crazy night sweats that you have after having a baby give you the chills. And no, I don't know what day or time it is in this picture, or how long I had been sitting there rocking that little bundle of joy, or how long it had been since I had showered. Or whether I am sitting on a doughnut shaped blow up pillow or a bag of ice.

Things are going more smoothly now, though I can't seem to let go of some intense feelings of anxiety. I worry constantly that something is going to happen to Lydia; SIDS, that someone will drop her, that she's not eating often enough, that she's sleeping too much. I don't know. Name something, and I'll worry about it.

But I'm getting better. And I am able to blame my anxiety on the hormones, which is helpful.

Lydia is a chunk, people. She has put on over a pound since her birth. Her chin has doubled and she's working on some nice thigh rolls...just like mommy, though in sort of a different direction.

Her favorite games include, but are not limited to, the following:

Raggedy Anne (in which she stares at her Raggedy Anne doll from Kim)

Cow (in which she stares at her cow blanket)

Dad (in which she stares at her dad)

She also enjoys the occasional round of Window, Light, and Tissue Box.

And she loves bum ruffles just as much as her mom does (pay no attention to the laundry all around me).

Lydia

2010-02-03T17:37:00.000-08:00

In exactly four hours, my baby will be one week old.

I have thought so many times over the past week of what I could possibly say to describe this experience. The facts? The feelings? The emotions? The joys? The struggles?

And it all boils down to this: I don't have the words to describe it.

So for now, I'll simply let Charles Dickens do the talking and I'll leave you with a few pictures.

"It is not a slight thing when they, who are so fresh from God, love us."

Lydia Lorene

Born 1/27

at 10:47 p.m.
7 pounds
20 inches

We love you, Lydee Bug.

Pregnancy Ponderings

2010-01-25T09:42:00.001-08:00

In this edition of Pregnancy Ponderings:

-Anatomy of a Play Date
-Droppin' it Like it's Hot (even though it's kind of not)
-Roll the Credits

Anatomy of a Play Date

Can we just talk about play dates for a second?

When I was a kid, I would call up a friend and say, "Can you come play?" The friend would say, "Let me ask my mom," and would then scream, "MO-OM!!! Can I go play at Abby's house?!" The mom would say, "After you clean your room." Then the friend would say to me, "My mom says I can after I clean my room."

And I would say, "Okay. We can bounce bouncy balls."

Then the friend would say, "Okay."

And that was that.

But now there is this new thing.

The play date.

As I understand it, the play date is when the moms arrange for their children to play together WITH THE MOMS. A mom calls up another mom and says, "How's about a play date Tuesday at 10?" And the other mom says, "Let me check my schedule," then screams, "Johnny! Come hang your coat up!" Then she gets back on the phone and says, "I can after soccer practice, at 10:30."

And the first mom says, "Okay. We can eat bundt cake and drink Bloody Marys."

And then the second mom says, "Okay."

And that's that.

I don't like play dates. I think they are stupid. Plus, I don't think I would like a Bloody Mary at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning. With or without the bundt cake.

So if you know me, or my kids eventually know your kids, just know that my kids are going to call your kids and ask them to come over to play. And here's the best part...

YOU. AREN'T. INVITED.

Just think...you can do the laundry, take a bubble bath, or read a book. And heck, my kids will probably come to your house to play, too, and then I can do my laundry, take a bubble bath, and read a book...at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning.

And our kids can bounce bouncy balls without mommies (soused or otherwise) hovering all over the place.

Droppin' it Like It's Hot (Even Though It's Kind of Not)

For the life of me, I can't get a good picture of this number:
Maybe that's because at this stage, there is no good picture to be got. This little lady is hangin' out so low that I swear at any moment I'm either going to pee my pants or have some other, less attractive than peeing, sort of outburst.

Don't think about that too much.

To turn over at night is an immense undertaking, one which requires something akin to a five point turn, and I am keeping the Charmin toilet paper company afloat and the water bill high.

I finally found a nursing bra after going to five different places in two different towns. I tried it on in the shop and liked it then, and I happily forked over the $55.00 that it costs to give my kid free food. But when I took it home and put it on with another particularly lovely nursing item that I had just bought seven of, I burst into tears.

"I'm a...MILK MACHINE!" I cried. "I just bought fifty five dollars of ugly!"

Brian was sweet. But I could tell he was trying not to laugh.

I am, in short, an emotional train wreck and kind of sort of ready to be done being pregnant. I appreciate and am very thankful for this opportunity. But let's face it. The ending there is a little rough.

So come on baby, let's drop it like it's hot.

Roll The Credits

Today is my due date, and I do believe that this will be my last Pregnancy Ponderings post (until next time, if we're lucky). So I find it appropriate to give credit where credit is due.

This pregnancy was made possible by the following:

Heavenly Father, a man and a woman who love each other very much, matter, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cherries, water, fries, tomatoes, carrots, ice cream, broccoli, whole milk, celery, apples, oranges, toast, honey, and cherry coke.

Any resemblance of the baby to any person, living or dead, is genetic and entirely intentional.

Quilt Update: QUILT COMPLETE!

2010-01-23T11:22:00.000-08:00

Yesterday at 4:58 p.m., I put the last stitch into the quilt. It felt so good to finally finish it! It took me about 15 months from start to finish. I can't wait to give it to Brian's mom! Thanks to all those who helped me with it.

(this photo shows the colors better)

(this photo shows the quilting better)

I already have plans for my next quilt, which I will be documenting on this blog. I can't wait. Stay tuned!

Nursery Decorating Episode 1 and a Baby Name!

2010-01-21T11:10:00.000-08:00

Oh, hi there.

A while ago I purchased a couple of lots of old embroidery hoops on eBay. I knew I wanted to use them to decorate the nursery, but I wasn't sure how. So I himmed and hawed, thought of this idea and that. In the end, this is what I came up with...

I took my old embroidery hoops,

and some (not random) letters and traced them (backwards) onto some double stick fusible web.

I stuck the web to some fabric and cut out the letters along the trace lines.

Then I placed the letters on a background fabric and ironed them on.

Next, I framed the letters in the embroidery hoops,

And embroidered a simple backstitch around each for a more finished look.

I had four 3" embroidery hoops left, so I put some background fabric in those and sewed on clusters of buttons,

and tied a velvet ribbon around them.

Finally, I hung them all up in the nursery and took a bad picture of them.

Just in case you can't read that, we have chosen to name our little girl

Lydia

after my father's mother, the sweet lover of all things that bloom and grow, poetry, and sun warmed strawberries dipped in sugar.

(she also liked to drink Tab)

In Which I Reveal The State of My Mind: BIG B, little b, What Begins With B?

2010-01-15T18:10:00.000-08:00

BIG B, little b, what begins with B?

Baby, bunting, bumper, Boppy.

B...b....B

Binky, board book, bootie, bag.

B...b...B

Boob cream, burp cloth, basinette,

bottle, blanket, bonnet, bath.

B...b...B!

Shh, The Garden is Sleeping

2010-01-13T14:44:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, sick of rolling about on the rug all day, I looked out the window. What I saw made me heartsick. Sure I'd seen it over and over again over the last few months, but on that grey Oregon day, it was particularly sad.

It was the garden.

And everything was dead.

The worst part was that it was a sign of my neglect. After the first frost I didn't go out and clean it all up like I should have. I let it fester.

So, realizing I would not have many more opportunities, I grabbed my gardening gloves and marched (read: waddled) out. I began with zeal to fill an entire garbage can with mouldering tomatoes, peppers, cantaloupes, squash, carrots, beans, and flowers.

I was pretty depressed about all the deadness surrounding me until I caught a glimpse of something red and shiny perched on one of the slimy old tomato branches that was about to go into the trash.

She was waving a white flag, and she wasn't dead at all.

We greeted each other warmly and she did some calisthenics on my glove before moseying over to a pile of corn husks, where I hope she has a mate and is having gillions of babies.

As I rooted around in the dirt I began to see a little movement, and then more and more until there in front of me were a bunch of pink, wriggling things.

That's right. Worms. Hundreds of them. Long ones, short ones, fat ones, skinny ones. All happy. All fed. All on the lookout for worm love.

If dogs are man's best friend, then worms are the gardener's.

So I took heart. The garden isn't dead. It's just sleeping.

And it's going to be a good year.

Before and After

2010-01-11T14:38:00.000-08:00

Before...

and after.

Oh, what a difference a year makes.

Overheard

2010-01-09T11:45:00.000-08:00

"Get in there, you little fetcher."

Time: 1 AM. The speaker: my mom. The task at hand: threading a needle.

Quilt Update

2010-01-07T12:55:00.000-08:00

So....I didn't finish by Christmas, like I had planned. But I am very near the finish line, thanks to my mom who was here for a week with my dad.

Last night, my mom and I stayed up till 2 AM quilting and talking about childbirth. This will always be a precious memory to me. Come to think of it, working on this quilt has given me many precious memories: quilting with my two sisters and eating Robintino's pizza and Coke (not near the quilt though!), giving the quilt to my dear mother-in-law and seeing the look on her face (though I was only to take it away again), and working on it on my own over the past year as I have graduated from college and planned and hoped for this little baby of mine.

It's been a lot of work, a lot of fun, and even though it's for someone else, I think this quilt has given me alot, too.

How's that for being sentimental...

Alright, I'm off to quilt the last few diamonds and (hopefully) start putting on the binding!

The Good, The Bad, And The (Not) Ugly

2010-01-05T14:30:00.001-08:00

Let's start with the bad, just get it out of the way. Yes, it's another primary kid story.

So I'm at church on Sunday, the first Sunday of the new year, the craziest Sunday for primaries 'round the globe. The new Sunbeams are scared and want to go back to nursery (imagine 5 or so crying youngens, and in between sobs they say, "But I don't want to be a Sunbeam!"), the old Sunbeams don't want to go to CTR 5 and cry that they still want to be Sunbeams, the older kids forget who their new teachers are and run around like baby chicks while their frazzled teachers try to gather them under wing and usher them to the quietude of the classrooms...

Got the scene? Good.

It was in the midst of this chaos that two five year old girls approached me. "Is there a baby in there?" they asked, patting my incredible growing belly. "Yup," I say, "a little girl baby." I expected them to ooh and aah. To sigh. To smile. To act like sweet little girls.

The reality was that one of them said, "That's why you're sooooooo fat!" And on the word "fat" she jumped in the air and threw her arms out, big as the whole wide world, big as 'i-love-you-this-much'.

Then she asked me how my baby was going to come out.

It was almost as good as the time I was sitting at the piano, minding my own business, when a guy came up to me and said, "Well, you don't look like you'll blow away in a windstorm anymore. Har, Har, Har."

Now onto the good. Relieved, right?

I know, me too.

There is a darling little family that lives kitty corner to us. A mom, a dad, and four pretty girls. Last night, Brian was helping them with something and when he came back, he brought this:

Just in case you can't read that, it says across the top "Conratragalations on the coming soon baby girl!"

On the bottom it says:

A wesome

B eautiful

B rilliant

Y oung

My favorite? Young.

And who doesn't love a sunset and mountains scene made entirely out of Bendaroos?

And now for the not ugly. No, not very ugly at all. I am, let's say, fond of antiques. I don't buy tons of them, but I have bought more than my fair share for the nursery. The hobnail hurricane lamp, the hobnail vase, the hobnail candy dish, the dresser, and the embroidery hoops I'm using to decorate the walls are all antique. And then last Saturday, whilst antiquing with Brian and my parents, I found this:

And I am smitten. I am in deep smit.

-Belina

pardonnez moi

2009-12-30T14:41:00.000-08:00

Please forgive me my absence from the blogging world. It's just that I've been so busy

painting this,

putting this together,

packing this,

washing these,

and growing this,

that I've had little time for much else.

So pardonnez-moi, s'il vout plais.

The Great Christmas Tree Project

2009-12-22T14:13:00.001-08:00

So why do we use Christmas trees, anyway? Well, I gave it a google and found this quick explanation which I liked. And, because it's my blog, I'm using that answer here. Apparently, a monk from Devonshire went to Germany in the 7th century to teach Christianity. He used the triangular shape of the fir tree to explain the Trinity of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Apparently from there, people started displaying Fir trees in their homes to remind them of the Trinity. Kinda cool, no?

Now, let me just say I loved recieving all the photos of your Christmas trees. They are all so pretty and fun. I wish I could have seen each in person,

because i've kind of got a thing for Christmas trees.

Now, without further ado...

Michelle's tree, including her baby boy, Nixon.

Leslie's tree. Love the whimsical feel of this one.

Camille's tree, including her dog, Poppy. How tall IS that thing, Camille?

My tree

and Chris and Martha's tree (that's my niece in her belly!)

Viola Diva and Piano Man's tree. I'm itching to get my grubby little fingers on that piano...

Merry Christmas everyone, and thanks to all who participated. If you would still like to show us your tree, I wouldn't mind doing a round 2. Send photos to belinablueeyes@hotmail.com.

Getting Your Make On: Part Two (Neighbor Gifts)

2009-12-16T09:25:00.000-08:00

Not sure what to give your neighbors/coworkers/kid's teachers/yoga instructors this year?

Here is a small compilation of mighty fine ideas from around the web and blogging world that I hope will give you some inspiration.

~Fabric artist Betz White posted the most amazing tutorial yesterday on this felted 3D snowflake ornament. She makes the felt herself, but of course, you could venture to the fabric store and purchase felt in nicely manageable sheets if you're running short on time.

~My friend Tanya did a great post a few days ago on a simple candy idea. The thing I love most about it? No mixing, no major mess in your kitchen. Just stick Rolos on pretzels, melt them in the oven, and while they're all nice and soft, stick a pecan on top. I'm definitely making some of these bad boys...but maybe for myself. Her site is out of this world, with amazing tutorials along the right hand side. You'll be thanking me later.

~Lion Brand Yarn has a great site for yarn crafters. If you enjoy crochet, here are two adorable ornament ideas that would work up pretty quickly. I think these could be a great little gift by themselves, or equally pretty on top of a gift.

Click here for the instructions for the icicle ornament. The site may make you set up an account to view the pattern, but shoot, it's free, and like I said, the site is great.Click here for the instructions for the snowflake ornament.

~Sewing Republic has a pretty great site with free tutorials. I just love these "Roller Coasters" (click the link and then download the free pdf file for the tutorial). The woman who came up with this funky little pattern has her own great blog, too. You can check her out at Chickpea Studio.

~The cooking site that I'm a part of, The Saltbox House Cooking Exchange, just had a post put up on these gorgeous almond balls. They look like they would be pretty easy to make, too.

~As for me? I'm giving out jams, jellies, salsas and sauces that I did this last summer and fall. But if you didn't make your own, don't worry. Here's one idea: a favorite holiday treat in our family is jalapeno jelly over cream cheese and served on crackers. You could make a little gift basket with the cheese, crackers, and jelly in it, all from the store. Or why not chips and salsa? Who doesn't love that?

Happy making...and giving!

-Belina

Dear Brian,

2009-12-15T13:36:00.000-08:00

Today when I started to cry it wasn't your fault.

I was just so hungry. And I had been looking forward to that teriyaki burger, fries, and a drink for hours.

How could you have known the debit machine at Carl's Jr. would be broken and you would have to scrape together what you had in the truck just to get me the burger?

And then, when you went back a second time because you could see there would be major problems if I didn't have fries, and I started to cry again...well, that wasn't your fault, either.

It's just that I really love you. Alot. And sometimes it makes me cry like I'm mad or something.

But I'm not.

Love,

Your Very Pregnant Wife

Getting Your Make On: Part One

2009-12-14T16:01:00.000-08:00

Well, I find myself giving more and more handmade gifts every year. My heart kind of thrills at the notion, I admit it. As the season for giving approaches (which should be all year round, but I digress), my mind is abuzz with things to make, fabrics and yarns to buy, and sweets to eat.

Now, when I'm working on a project, I enjoy having a good flick or show on in the background to keep me entertained. It must be one that I've seen before, so that I can putt putt along on my project and not miss any parts of the show without feeling guilty. So, my darling readers, whom I am ever so fond of, I thought I would share with you my top five favorite movies to get my make on to:

#5: Gone With The Wind: Yes it's a little on the longish side, but heck, it's perfect for a longish craft. And it's oh, so romantic.

Notable lines: "But Miss Scarlet! I don't know nothin' about birthin' no babies!"

#4: Oklahoma: Because the lines are just so memorizable and you can sing along to all the great music.

Notable lines (from the song Jud Fry is Daid) :

"Poor Jud is dead
A candle lights his head
He's lookin' oh so purty and so nice
He looks like he's asleep
It's a shame that he won't keep
But it's summer and we're runnin' out a' ice"

#3: So I Married An Axe Murderer: Because it's hilarious and oh so '90's.

Notable lines: "Pregnant Man Gives Birth'. That's a fact."

#2: Any seasons of Arrested Development: Because it never, ever gets old. Just the music from the opening sequence puts me in a good mood.

Notable lines: "I blue myself."

#1: You've Got Mail: I know, I know, it's a romantic comedy. But I can honestly say I've seen this movie more times than any other, and it also never gets old.

Notable lines:
"1-5-2. The number of people who think he looks like Clark Gable."
"Oh ho! Yeah! The number of people who think he looks like a Clark bar..."

There you have it. Now go pop in a flick and get your make on. Make a mess, have fun, and don't forget the glitter.

Love,
Belina

The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

2009-12-09T10:47:00.000-08:00

Last night I dreamt:

1) That I was in Utah. A huge tidal wave hundreds of feet tall was travelling to Utah from the Gulf Coast. I had my baby, and was frantically trying to pack up everything I would need for her so we could make a run for it. Only, the carseat wasn't installed yet, I had never changed a diaper, didn't know how to feed her, and forgot both her blankets and her diapers. When I finally put her in her carseat, I put her in sideways.

2) That I was at a fair with my dad and my brothers and we were having a beer drinking contest. I was pregnant, as I am now, and didn't think twice about pounding a few forties with the menfolk. When a stranger walked by and said, "You shouldn't be drinking that!" I asked why not. When he informed me that I was pregnant and my baby would come out messed up, I was filled with inconsolable guilt and quit the contest. My dad finished my beer for me.

I've never had beer before, but in my dreams it tastes like maple syrup.

3) That I put my baby to sleep one night and never went back to check on her until five the next evening. I had forgotten about her. And it was a terrible feeling.

4) That I was the Duchess of Devonshire.

No wonder I wake up exhausted.

Pregnancy Ponderings

2009-12-07T15:28:00.001-08:00

In this edition of Pregnancy Ponderings:

-T.M.I.

-Baby Shower Bonanza

-Pardon Me, But Is That An Owl On Your Shirt?

T.M.I.

Brian is going to be a good daddy. He signed himself up, without me even knowing about it or telling him to, to receive weekly updates via email on our pregnancy from Baby Center. Every Sunday, he hunts me down and reads every word to me, fascinated with how much our baby weighs (4 pounds), how long she is (17 inches), and that she is currently the size of a pineapple.

I find this all quite charming.

Several weeks ago, he updated some software on his telephone that would make it so every time he got an email, his phone would audibly tell him who the email was from and what the subject was. This way, he could be driving and not need to pick up his phone to know who had emailed him.

The day after he uploaded this software, we were sitting in church. We were in the back row, mind you, because the place was packed. It was a homecoming/baby blessing kind of a day. Just after a song had been sung and the place was dead silent, Brian's phone went crazy. And it was crazy loud.

"ALERT! NEW EMAIL FROM: BABY CENTER.

SUBJECT: YOUR PREGNANCY. YOU ARE CURRENTLY 28 WEEKS PREGNANT."

Every physically able body in that chapel turned to look at us. Chairs squeaked, babies stopped crying, toddlers froze mid Cheerio chew, and the 1st counselor, who was standing at the pulpit, looked down over his glasses. You know the look. And it's never good. Brian, mortified nearly to tears, had to stand up and leave for a good twenty minutes till he had gathered his wits about him. Poor thing said it was the most embarrassing moment of his life.

Me? I thought it was hilarious. But then again, I've got a bit of an irreverent bent.

Baby Shower Bonanza

I have had some wonderful baby showers. First from my church friends, then from Brian's family, and finally, from my mom and Kim. Each was absolutely lovely. Unfortunately, I only have good photos from the last one, and I must say, Kim and my mom (and even my dad) completely outdid themselves.

Observe:

My darling dad (watch me puddle up as I write this) deemed himself the D.R.O. aka the Dining Room Orderly. He was in the kitchen cooking mini quiches and spinach pastries, refilling the fruit trays, and making sure everything on the food table was just right throughout the entire shower.

I know he wanted to go fishing that day. Instead he was here, waiting for the spanakopita to come out of the oven. You are a good dad, dad. Sniffle.

Here am I with the darling hostesses, Kim and mom:

Just some of the beautiful guests (I'm telling you, this thing was quite the event):

(in this one we are admiring the gorgeous quilt my mom made for my daughter, it was displayed behind me. also note the darling sweater and bonnet on the mantle, hand knitted by Brian's mom, Lorene. better pictures of these treasures in a future post...)

From left to right: Below, the back of Susan's head, the back of Kjersti's head, the back of Katie's head. Above, Jessica, Cory holding Lola, Liz, Kim, me

L to R: babies: Ruby and Lola, Jessica, the Anderson gals, whose gift included a particularly enjoyable battery powered snot sucker, Amber, Lauren, and Kathleen, and EvonneL to R: Evonne, Kim, me, Lorene, Vicki, and Vicki's mom.L to R: Amy, Meghan, Kiaya, Shawn'a, Roz, Kami
Lastly, the decorations (photos, cookies, cupcakes, and shower theme provided by Kim; beautiful home, food, and lots of love provided by mom and dad):

Pardon Me, But Is That An Owl On Your Shirt?

Why, yes. Yes it is.

How to Make A Swag: Fast, Cheap, Easy, and Pretty to Boot

2009-12-04T13:44:00.000-08:00

A swag is a beautiful, quick, and easy way to decorate your house or front door for the holidays. I describe a swag as a bouquet of evergreen boughs hung upside down. Here is how to make one:

First, obtain evergreen boughs/branches. It really doesn't take much to make a swag, because you layer them on top of one another. I had Brian set aside the lower boughs he had trimmed off our Christmas tree. Let the stems sit in water overnight.

Next, trim and arrange the boughs how you like them. I staggered them, cutting some longer than others, to add length to the swag. I bound these tightly with .22 guage floral wire, because that's what I had on hand. If you have some nice twine or heavier duty wire, use that if you like.Then, peruse your yard to see what else you could add to your swag. Ornamental grasses? Pretty twigs? Or you could hang ornaments on it, as well. In my case, I found rosemary branches and dried spanish lavender. Arrange them in a way you think looks nice and wire them to the boughs.Next, make a bow. Of course, you don't need to put a bow on if you don't want to, but if you do, I learned to make these by watching bow making tutorials on YouTube. Finally, add the bow to your swag, then hang it.

And there you have it; a nice, inexpensive, and beautifully fragrant holiday swag for your front door. But why stop there? Make some more for the rest of the house, too! Happy decorating!Oh, and if you make one, I'd love to see it! Send a photo to belinablueeyes@hotmail.com.

The Great Christmas Tree Project

2009-11-30T09:21:00.000-08:00

This morning I awoke
with a goal set in place

To put Christmas decor up,
and I was on the case.

Then another idea
popped into my mind.

It would require your help,
if you would be so kind.

So what was this idea
that my brain had in store?

To see all the trees
of my blog friends, I swore.

Now send me your photos,
your snapshots, your clips

Of your Christmas trees, darlings,
adorned to the tips.

(This is no competition,
of that you can be sure.

Just a time for enjoying
jolly traditions of yore.)

You have till the twentieth
of December to share

Photos of your trees.
(And I hope they won't be bare.)

Anyone can join in,
even your mom.

Now send entries to
belinablueeyes@hotmail.com.

(Belina and Brian's Christmas tree in 2005 and with quite a humble little star on top.)

Reality Check

2009-11-19T14:36:00.000-08:00

I love to read your blogs.

Yesterday, I was reading a post by my old dancing buddy, Camille (who has a private blog, otherwise I would link her here). She was talking about a baby shower she had just attended for her friend and her little baby boy.

The baby's dad is in Iraq. He was in Iraq when his son was born, and watched the birth on Skype. He gets a short vacation in February to come home and meet his baby for the first time. Then he has to go back and he doesn't get to come home again until August.

Tearjerker? Umm, yeah.

After reading that post, I'm pretty sure I can deal with my husband going for a short business trip to Vegas after our baby is born.

And I won't complain about it, either.

How's That Quilt Coming?

2009-11-16T04:01:00.000-08:00

Fifteen months ago, I get this bright idea. I'm going to make a quilt for my mother-in-law for Christmas. And not only am I going to make it for her, I'm going to quilt that puppy by hand, yessir. Because it would be easy, right? And it would only take me four months from start to finish, right? Wrong. So, so wrong.

I finished piecing the quilt top the night before we were supposed to drive to Utah for Christmas 08', and I was frantically putting basting stitches through all three layers late into the night, thinking that I would get all the hand quilting done on the 14 hour car ride. (Let's not overlook the fact that I had never hand quilted anything in my life, and thought I could figure it out from one of my quilting books and watching a few YouTube videos.)

Oh, ho, ho, ho. It's all laughable now.

Not only was I completely unable to quilt in the car, it wasn't until several days later when my sisters came to help me that I realized I'd bitten off more than I could chew, swallow, and digest before Christmas. My sister Meghan ever so gently said that there was no way on God's green earth that I was going to get that quilt quilted by Christmas, mere days away.

But we gave it heck anyway.

She was right, though, that sister of mine. I had to give the quilt to my dear mother-in-law unquilted and un binded. It was just a quilt top, wool batting, and backing held together with a few hastily sewn basting stitches.

And then I took it away from her, because who wants an unfinished quilt? (This makes me sad.) So, over the last year, I have worked on the quilt. I have quilted when I've had the time, and those who have seen it always ask me, "How's that quilt coming?"

Here's the answer. It's still not finished. Why? Because quilts done by hand don't get done with stress and hurry. But they do get done with love. I've had to learn this lesson. And I am thankful for it.

I am almost there though, and I'll be darned if another Christmas comes and goes without my mother-in-law having her quilt. So keep on asking. Keep on pestering. And I will finish the quilt so Lorene can wrap her first little grand baby in it and rock her till she falls asleep.

A Conversation With A Husband

2009-11-13T16:59:00.000-08:00

"Abby, I'm going to have to go to Las Vegas in February on business."

"No."

"If you're not comfortable with it, I won't go."

"I'm not comfortable with it."

"We'll play it by ear."

Pregnancy Ponderings

2009-11-09T13:17:00.000-08:00

In this edition of Pregnancy Ponderings:

-Hee Hee Hoo

-Out of the Mouths of Babes

Hee Hee Hoo

Last week Brian and I began to take part in that ceremonial rite known as Lamaze Class.

Here are some stats for you:

Number of pregnant women in the class: 9

Number of married pregnant women in the class: 3

Number of couples older than Brian and me (28 and 25): 1

Number of pregnant women who are 15 years old: 2

Age of the mother of one of those pregnant 15 year olds, who is also her Lamaze partner: 39

Call me old fashioned, but these stats make me very sad.

During a break in the class, we were given a packet with a Lamaze magazine, some coupons, and some samples. While waiting for class to resume, I read the magazine. These people are serious about birthin' those babies, and birthin' em natural like, too. Now, I have no problem with natural childbirth. I dare say I'd like to give it a go myself, but heck, I've never done this before, what the crap do I know? I won't be surprised if one contraction hits me like a ton of bricks and I'm begging for death.

Anyway, back to the magazine. The article I was reading was about taking charge of your birthing experience and not letting anyone push you into making decisions or getting medication you're not comfortable with.

After all, the magazine said, "Childbirth is an experience that is not to be missed."

Well, I'll be sure and mark my calendar then. I sure wouldn't want to be absent for the birth of my child.

Thank you, Lamaze magazine. Your genius astounds me.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Those durned primary kids sure do come up with some doozies. Last night as I lay in bed, desperately (and I do mean desperately) trying to fall asleep, I compiled a mental list of all the gnarly things those little people have said or done over the course of my pregnancy.

Unfortunately, doing this did not have the soporific effect I was hoping for. Instead, I began giggling, and had to put my head under a pillow so I wouldn't wake Brian.

One Sunday, obscenely early in the pregnancy, one of the kids came up to me as I was standing in a circle of chatting adults. "Are you pregnant?" he asked, all innocence and big brown eyes. Well, that adult conversation ended very quickly, I can assure you. And heck, I couldn't lie to the little tyke. With his suspicions confirmed, he ran through the halls, running up to any adult that would pay attention to him, "Sister Roberts is having a BABY! Sister Roberts is having a BABY!" Finally, he reached my poor, unsuspecting husband. "Brother Roberts, did you know your wife is pregnant?!"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Another day, another child. Months later, I was passing out papers to the primary kids. A mother was in with her little girl that day and as I got close to them the mother said, "Hailee wants to know if you're only halfway pregnant because you don't look all the way pregnant yet." Hailee, apparently, was too shy to ask me herself.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When my grandmother passed away in August I went to Utah and spent the month there. I came back looking noticeably more pregnant. Upon my return, I was in the primary getting ready to teach Sharing Time. A hand was raised. "Did you go away to have your baby in Utah?"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Yesterday after church, I was talking with a parent as her little girl, McKenna, hovered close by. She was staring intently at my bulging belly during the conversation and finally, not being able to resist the urge any longer, she reached out and patted it. "Is there a little baby in there?", she asked. I told her that yes, there was. Then she leaned in a little closer, got a very stern look in her eye and asked, "Did you marry someone?" I had to try not to laugh, but I told her yes, I did. Then, with that same stern look on her little face, she said, "That's good. I was just making sure."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In closing, because of my propensity to sit around and take the most unflattering pictures of myself possible, here is one that will really make you feel good about yourself.

Operation Sewing Basket

2009-11-04T15:41:00.000-08:00

My Great Aunt Mary left a few things to me when she passed away. One was a cedar hope chest, the other was her sewing basket and everything in it. I was just a kid when it fell into my hands, and couldn't have really appreciated all the treasures inside. Now, thankfully, things are a little different.

As of late, I've had an intense urge to learn the art of embroidery. I knew Aunt Mary had excelled at this, as she had in all things crafty, so I pulled out her sewing basket. Inside I found all the things I needed to get started: a hoop, embroidery needles, and an abundance of embroidery floss. I have yards and yards of muslin that I bought sometime in junior high, back when I was determined to teach myself to quilt (it didn't go over so well the first time), so I cut a 24 by 18 inch piece, found a drawing of a flower that I liked, traced it onto the muslin, and commenced embroidering.

And a tea towel was born.
It was easier than I thought, and oh, so very fun.

I found the how to page over at Sublime Stitching very helpful. I also enjoyed looking through this: Just another treasure from Aunt Mary's sewing basket.

Pregnancy Ponderings

2009-10-28T20:48:00.000-07:00

In this edition of Pregnancy Ponderings:

-Sleeping Arrangements

-On Being a World

Sleeping Arrangements

The thought that preoccupies my mind is this: where is the best place for my child to sleep?

And seriously. Where SHOULD she sleep?

My two options are as follows:

1. In a bassinet near our bed.
2. In her crib in her nursery.

I know people are going to say I should go with my instincts and do what feels right, which is excellent advise, but in the end, I'm not getting a whole lot of information. I suppose what I'm looking for is someone to tell me what they think of me putting my days-old, precious angel down the hall in her own crib to sleep. We're talking alone. In her own room. With her own stuff. What have you moms done? What has worked best for you, your partner, and your baby?

I want to get her started off in her own room. There will be less transitioning for her and for all of us. Not to mention more sleep for the dad who gets to pay for all the diapers.

Call me a mean mom if you must, and then, when you are done, tell me what you think of my decision.

I'm tough. Because mean moms have to be.

On Being A World (or something like one)

It occurred to me the other day that I am a small planet, maybe a bio dome, perhaps a greenhouse. It hit me that if I don't live, neither does my baby.

If I don't breath, have a beating heart, have neurons transmitting and myelin sheaths shooting, my baby doesn't make it. How many small miracles are happening every second to keep me alive, I wonder. And now they are happening for two.

I am a world. A big dumb, blundering, world. I don't control the science of it. I don't tell my body to work, to pump, to build or create.

My body is a house, a house for two souls and a house for miracles.

And I do believe I know where these miracles come from:

He gave me my eyes that I might see

The color of butterfly wings.

He gave my my ears that I might hear

The magical sound of things.

He gave me my life, my mind, my heart;

I thank Him reverently

For all his creations,

Of which I'm a part.

Yes,

I know Heavenly Father loves me.

And that goes for all y'all.

If you'd like to hear the whole song, this is a beautiful video with music by Amy Gileadi.

Operation Pantry

2009-10-25T19:56:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, I had a really teeny tiny pantry. Despite my organizing attempts, it still looked like a big messy blob. I didn't even know what I had in there. On Saturday, that came to an end when Brian took his only real day off and built me a new pantry.

First he placed some brackets. He also concentrated very, very hard.

Next, he built some shelves. He even ate lunch in there because he's just that dedicated to his craft (yes, that is a turkey sandwich in his hand).

Then he built even more shelves (this was his reaction when I told him to smile).

And I organized.

Finally, I saw that it was good. (I also saw that, at 27 weeks, I am enormous.) We're talkin' huge.

Operation Front Porch

2009-10-22T17:44:00.001-07:00

The front porch was looking a little plain.
So I says to myself, "No front porch a mine is gonna be plain, no sir!"
I took some little green tables I had hangin' out in a closet...

and I painted them cappuccino.I took some plain yellow pumpkins... I Mod Podged some with craft paper...

And glittered the crap out of the rest. Then I made some pillows...

And now my front porch aint so plain no mo.

And that's what I've been up to.

Pregnancy Ponderings

2009-10-15T19:36:00.001-07:00

In this edition of Pregnancy Ponderings:

-She's Gone And Done It

-Brooching the Subject

She's Gone and Done It

The day I found out our little bairn was a sheila I went straight to Gap.com and loaded up my virtual shopping cart. When I showed Brian my pending purchases he put the breaks on.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said. "Let's hold off a bit."

I think the big daddy was in shock. Be it a combination of baby shock, girl shock, or sticker shock, he needed some time to process. Let's not forget that he saw a half-crazed look in my wee beady eyes, either.

But if I'm fully disclosing information here, I can't put all the blame on Brian. I have to say that buying things for someone you've never seen, never known, someone who has not even taken a breath of air before is at the very least a little bit strange.

So I've been a good girl. Waiting until I felt I needed to buy something for my child. I've been patiently biding my time.

Until today.

When I went to Carter's.

And they were having a sale.

We're talking about bum ruffles people. Bum. Ruffles.

Brooching the Subject

A few months ago my friend Bridgette invited me to teach a class for her Enrichment Night down in San Jose. Since I was coming down anyway to hang with her and Kim I gladly said yes. The project I decided to do was felted wool brooches.

And they just turned out pretty stinkin' cute if you ask me.

My table.

Here's one I made today, a poinsettia for the holidays.

And last but not least, here is the big, fat pregnant lady getting ready to teach the brooch making class.

Book Review and a New Blog

2009-10-06T15:07:00.000-07:00

Book Review

Two nights ago, I finished reading A Tree Grows In Brooklyn by Betty Smith. I read this book because I remember my good friend, Heather Carlile, telling me that it was one of her favorites. Plus, I guess I just always thought it was one of those books you had to read.

Well, I do think it is a must read. It's a wonderful, brutal, funny, and sad book about a little girl growing up in Brooklyn in the early 20th century. Her family is poor, and instead of perpetuating the sad way of life of her family, Francie Nolan decides to make something of herself.

The ending was, I felt, written in a rush, the author trying new techniques and styles and slapping them all into the end. I also felt a little sad at the mother's moral advice to her daughter in the end, but all in all, I think this book is valuable and worth reading, if not for the storyline, at least for the opportunity to catch a glimpse at what life was like at that time.

I enjoy books about life in America at the turn of the century, the immigrant experience, or life in the lower classes. If you do too, here are some books I have read and highly recommend:

Hungry Hearts by Anzia Yezierska
Angela's Ashes and 'Tis by Frank McCourt
Maggie: A Girl Of The Streets by Stephen Crane

New Blog

I am very excited to tell you that I've been asked to be an author on a cooking blog. My friend, Madeline, started The Saltbox House Cooking Exchange a while ago and just recently decided to expand by asking some of her cooking friends to participate. I was overjoyed, since I think Madeline's blogs are just pretty freakin' awesome. Head on over there to peruse the sight, get some fantastic recipes, and check out my first posted recipe!

The Dumbest Thing I've Ever Seen: Why I'm Not A Democrat

2009-10-04T20:26:00.000-07:00

I was casually flipping through the channels the other day when I stopped on a show (which I can't even remember now). During the commercial break I witnessed the dumbest. thing. ever.

No, this commercial is not from Saturday Night Live, or Mad TV. These people are serious. Dead serious. How do I know? Because I went to Fred Meyer last night and right inside the doors was THIS:

Show my pride indeed.

Pregnancy Ponderings

2009-09-30T15:32:00.000-07:00

In this edition of Pregnancy Ponderings:

-mom jeans
-sleepless nights

Mom Jeans

So I'm 23 1/2 weeks along now. My wardrobe has dried up like a seasonal watering hole in Africa over the last several weeks, and now there is nothing save a few dying fish flopping around in the mud, holding on for dear life. I have stretched (and I do mean
s t r e t c h e d) my jean supply up till now, using hair elastics and belts to hold my pants on. The other day I pulled a pair of jeans out of the dryer, put them on, and found I could neither zip them up or fasten them with a hair elastic.

No matter, I went to The Home Depot with Brian anyway, my pants completely unzipped and unbuttoned.

It was time to face facts. It was the end of an era. It was time for mom jeans.

Everyone told me to go to the Gap and get the Long and Lean Maternity jeans. So I grabbed my good friend Terah and off we went to Woodburn, about a 60 minute drive and yes, the closest Gap to my house. I walked in with excitement, ready for a life changing pant experience. I asked to be directed to the maternity clothes. I held my breath in anticipation.

And then, and then, oh horror of horrors. They told me something awful. They had done away with their maternity section. I nearly wept, I tell you.

The guy told me to go to Old Navy instead. Well, I had tried that and the Old Navy in my town had eighty sixed their maternity, too. I nearly stamped my foot. But Terah came through. We can go to Salem, she said. There's a big Old Navy there, she said.

And we went. Yes we did. Maternity pants were tried on, yes they were. There was applause when I walked out of the dressing room. Applause and cheers and confetti and cash registers clicking and plastic cards flashing and oh, it was wonderful. Goodbye hair elastic. Goodbye muffin top. Hello comfort. Hello panel.

Sleepless Nights

I cannot sleep. At all. I don't know why. And that's about all I can think of to say about that.

(The author models her new 'mom jeans' by Old Navy in what will be the nursery. Cookie the Dog stands by, waiting for her walk.)

Boycotting the Idiom

2009-09-28T11:16:00.000-07:00

Several months ago Brian and I were driving up to Portland with a group of friends. An accident occurred about a half mile ahead of us on the freeway when we were almost to our destination and the following came out of my mouth: "Well, I hope it isn't anyone we know."

And then I sat there and thought good and hard about what I had said.

It wasn't very nice.

I hoped it wasn't anyone I knew so that I could simply save myself the trouble of mourning the injury or possible loss of a friend. But whoever was in that wreck was somebody's friend, somebody's kid, somebody's parent. And how would that somebody feel to hear me express my obvious relief that I didn't know their loved one (lucky me)?

My dad pointed out another dumb thing we humans say. I'll be honest with you. Oh, REALLY? Will you? I am so happy and lucky that I would be the one you would decide to be honest with, just for this one instance. I now realize that you have been dishonest with me ever since I have known you (you scoundrel), but since you have prequalified your next statement with this common phrase I will now believe every blessed gem that falls from your lips.

This phrase is particularly dubious when uttered by politicians.

Next, one that is an actual idiom. A revolting phrase that I can't believe civilized people utter. But I say it, you say it, and the Queen of England has probably said it without realizing we were actually calling someone a poop face. The idiom is brown nosing. Think about it. This phrase quite literally means that you've gotten poop on your nose while you were kissing somebody's bottom.

Are you disgusted? You should be.

The saying is not only unflattering for the supposed 'bum kisser' but for the bum kissee as well, especially since we all now know that they didn't do a very good job wiping. And another thing. If someone tried to kiss my derriere I would slap their little shmoozing face. I wouldn't be nicer to them.

I'll be honest with you, I hope the person in that wreck wasn't anyone I know because he must have totally been trying to brown nose the car in front of him.

Confessions of a Housewife: A Case Of The Lazies

2009-09-25T12:28:00.000-07:00

I think I'm a lazy person.

And possibly a hermit.

Sometimes I stand at the kitchen sink in my underwear (at noon) and watch the shadow of the house creep across the grass in the backyard. I probably look like a statue, though not a statuesque one. Fragments of thoughts run through my mind. "Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. Not that I mind. Should probably sweep the floor. Brian needs to eat the lunch meat. Quilt."

Sometimes I sit in bed for hours at a time (starting at 12:42). I watch my belly. Sometimes it jumps. I think things during this time, too. "She is asleep. Maybe she is sucking her thumb. I hope that she will be happy and gentle. I think I will eat another candy pumpkin."

I am not bored.

I have not washed my hair in three days.

Yesterday I omitted makeup. (People were still nice.)

I feel extremely calm. And very, very quiet.

All I do is think, watch, and make. I make thoughts, breakfast, sentences, rhymes, lunch, visions of the future, stories, clean stacks of folded laundry, baby afghans and quilts for soon to be first time grandmothers.

Oh, and this little munchkin that is my little girl. I'm making her, too.

So maybe I am busy. But I don't think it looks like it.

It's a Condition Called 'New Baby', It's Rare, But It Does Happen

2009-09-25T11:08:00.000-07:00

You may recall a few posts back when I shared a super gnarly dream that I had. In that dream, I found that I was pregnant with a new baby. As in, I got pregnant while I was pregnant.

Well, come to find out, this crazy business doesn't just happen in my dreams.

There have been 10 documented cases of this happening in humans and it's technical term is called superfetation.

And, lucky for us, there is a couple who is going through this right now (it's not me and Brian, thank Heavens to Betsy).

(Thanks to Liv for sharing this news clip with me.)

Are You Ready For Some F-Ball? Warning: Post Contains Non Swearing Swearing

2009-09-23T16:43:00.000-07:00

That's what I like to call it when my team loses.

I, along with Brian and our friend, C.J., sat third row at the infamous Oregon/Utah game. I was feeling pretty confidant in my team (and my shirt) until I got up to go to the bathroom and some Duck fan got in my face and said to me, " Cheah, it's gonna be a little loser. Guffaw. Guffaw." What, pray tell, was he talking about? Oh, just my unborn baby girl, that's all. Why? Because my shirt said this:

And because he had no decency.

That guy can go duck himself. With a capital D. Or an O. Whatever.

Yet my confidence sank even lower when, standing in line at the bathroom, a man walked up to my pregnant self, put his disgusting Duckface in my personal bubble and screamed, "Utah SUCKS!", spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. That may be. But you, sir, were ugly. And there's just no excuse for that.

The Ducks sitting behind us in the fourth row couldn't believe that we, UTES, had such good seats. They dared say to Brian, "How did YOU get seats like THIS?" Later in the game, when one of them was good and drunk, he grabbed C.J. and whispered some incoherent, slobbery sentence in his ear that consisted of no less than three F bombs and something about putting C.J. on a bus.

But you know what? We still had fun at the F-Ball game. And hey, all you Duck holes, our seats were way better than yours.

Things That Bring Me Exceeding Great Joy

2009-09-21T19:43:00.001-07:00

hobnail glass

hobnail glass filled with candy pumpkins

hobnail glass filled with nasturtiums

and this big lug

Pregnancy Ponderings

2009-09-16T20:25:00.000-07:00

In this edition of pregnancy ponderings:

-Gnarly Dreams

Last night I dreamt that my sister was my obstetrician.

I was at an appointment and when she was done examining me she said, "You're pregnant."

"I know," I told her, "isn't it obvious?"

"No, you're pregnant again. With a new baby."

"A new baby? I...I don't understand."

"Yes, it's a condition called 'new baby'. It's rare, but it does happen. You will continue to carry the baby you've been carrying, but you will also be carrying this new baby, who is only a few weeks gestational age."

"Well, will 'new baby' be alright?"

"In 50% of the cases, the new baby has heart defects. The only way we can know if 'new baby' is alright is by testing your husband's sperm."

"Uh...okay."

"And we have a conjugal flying volkswagon for that. So here is a cup and the keys."

I Recently Read a Book Called Siddhartha

2009-09-12T19:35:00.000-07:00

by Herman Hesse. The novel has long been on my list of 'to reads' and I was glad to get my hands on it a few weeks ago.

Sometimes we have ideas germinating in our minds and it seems to me that, even when we aren't looking for assistance, the world will help us along in our idea development. I should explain. A few weeks ago, I did a post about how my baby's physical body is growing as a result the earth's natural processes. I briefly mentioned a soil science class I had taken in college where I learned how rocks are formed by the earth and eventually broken down to make soil, which then feeds the plants that we eat and so on. I felt that in my post I was a little vague, but I didn't know how to explain it any better. That is, until I read Siddhartha, and found a passage that better expressed the idea that was in my mind about the radness of stones:

"Siddhartha bent down, lifted a stone from the ground and held it in his hand. 'This,' he said, handling it, 'is a stone, and within a certain length of time it will perhaps be soil and from the soil it will become plant, animal or man. Previously I should have said: this stone is just a stone; it has no value, it belongs to the world of Maya, but perhaps because within the cycle of change it can also become man and spirit, it is also of importance. This is what I should have thought. But now I think: this stone is stone; is it also animal, God and Buddha. I do not respect and love it because it was one thing and will become something else, but because it has already long been everything and always is everything. I love it just because it is a stone, because today and now it appears to me a stone. I see value and meaning in each one of its fine markings and cavities, in the yellow, in the gray, in the hardness and the sound of it when I knock it, in the dryness or dampness of its surface. There are stones that feel like oil or soap, that look like leaves or sand, and each one is different and worships Om in its own way; each one is Brahman. At the same time it is very much stone, oily or soapy, and that is just what pleases me and seems wonderful and worthy of worship. But I will say nor more about it. Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish. And yet it also pleases me and seems right that what is of value and wisdom to one man seems nonsense to another.'"

But see, even when Siddhartha tries to explain it to his friend, he stops because he thinks that to the outside world, his words are nonsense.

So true.

With this said: read this book with your powers of discernment in tune. I had a professor who said that the stupidest thing a reader can ever do is try to identify with a character in a book. And it was good advice.

Pregnancy Ponderings

2009-09-09T17:14:00.000-07:00

In this edition of pregnancy ponderings:

-Girl Talk

There have been many times throughout my life when I have heard women say that they 'just knew' that they were going to have a boy or a girl, that they felt 'close' to their children while they were in utero, and that they even knew things about their kid's personalities before they were born.

Well, I'm here to tell you, I've got nothin'.

Or do I? I talked to a sister about this, a sister who swears she knew her kids before they were born. I asked her how this was possible. She said it was through journaling. She journaled her thoughts and experiences throughout her pregnancies, and when the kids were born, she was right on the money. She encouraged me to journal throughout my pregnancy as well.

So I gave it a shot.

My first entry was penned a night or two after my grandmother passed away, and I wrote to my unborn babe about that incredible woman. I wrote about the legacy she left behind and the wonderful things she did in her life. I wrote that I thought maybe my grandma was looking after my future kids up there in heaven. And as I wrote, I felt a strong kinship with the women in my family; not only my Grandma Kathleen, but my Grandma Lydia as well, along with their mothers, grandmothers, and their sisters, and my own mother, mother-in-law, sisters and on. I thought of the wonderful women I could teach this little babe of mine about. I thought of our family of women, woven into the fabric of a beautiful quilt.

And as I have dreamed those strange pregnant dreams throughout these past 20 weeks, my baby has always been a girl. This is recorded as well.

But do I know my child? Know she is a girl?

I didn't until today, when I lay there on an exam table, covered with blankets, and watched my little girl wriggle across the TV screen before me.

Yes, it's true. Our little one is no longer a 'one' or an 'it' or a 'Leon'. She is our little girl, and one who will grow into a woman and join the ranks of all those who have gone before.

Did I know it all along without knowing I knew?

Maybe.

On Fall

2009-09-05T20:53:00.001-07:00

I've been trying to find a good poem about Fall to describe how much I love the thing, but haven't really been able to find one. I decided to write one myself, and although it may not be 'good', I wanted to share it with you.

One Of The Things

I remember once going to a Utah sweet corn
stand with Dad
and sitting on a bail of hay in the parking lot,
wedged between two blazing orange suns
of pumpkindom,
my arms around them like they were my brothers
and we were getting along.
It was in some Autumn
when I decided that the moon would be
my friend,
that I would be thankful
and would give thanks mostly for that weird
tilty light of the sun,
that yes, I would love to sit on the porch
and seek out the hot colors of the Rockies.

Dupity Duped

2009-09-01T00:04:00.000-07:00

Hey, remember the other night when I lost my dog and found an owl instead?

Yeah? I remember it, too. I thought it was pretty freakin' sweet, actually.

Well, my dad snuck back into that stupid dark backyard and looked in that stupid dark tree and that owl is a stupid fake owl.

I really hate that stupid dark backyard.

The Great Mac n' Cheese Recipe Contest

2009-08-27T10:12:00.000-07:00

Introduction

First, I didn't know what I was getting myself into.

I got what I wanted though: great recipes for mac n' cheese. Six recipes were submitted, well, seven really, but one was rescinded by it's submitter after she made it herself, was appalled at how awful it was, and then spent a sleepless night worrying that she was too late to stop me from making it for the contest (she wasn't).

I didn't realize how time consuming it would be to compile a grocery list, convert measurements where needed, and acquire the needed supplies. Aside from all the work though, the whole family pitched in to help and that, along with one very serious family discussion on who should be the winner, was the most fun of all.

How the Recipes Were Prepared and Graded

So that none of us would know the names of the people who submitted recipes, I assigned a number to each recipe as I received them, and kept the identifying information on a file on my computer. Each recipe was prepared on it's own, and baked in it's own container that was labeled with its appropriate number. For ease, the recipes were halved. Each taste tester was given a plate with the numbers 1 thru 6 on it. Each tester took a sampling of each recipe and placed the sample next to the corresponding number. As the recipes were sampled, individual questionnaires were filled out and submitted back to me. Each recipe was graded 1 thru 5 in the areas of taste, texture, and appearance, with 1 being bad and 5 being good. The scores were tabulated, which revealed the winner...sort of.

Unforeseen Complications

The recipe that came out the winner by points alone was a nontraditional recipe for mac n' cheese. Call it gourmet mac n' cheese if you would like. It calls for three different types of cheese, bacon, and was also the most difficult and expensive to make. In addition, it used penne pasta instead of good old elbow mac. Some might (and some did) argue that this is not mac n' cheese at all, but an incredibly delicious pasta dish. However, it beat out one of the traditional mac n' cheeses by only one point. This was the hinge on which the serious family debate swung. If one of the traditional mac n' cheese recipes was nearly as good as the nontraditional one, was less expensive AND easier to make, some argued that the traditional recipe should be the winner. So what's a judge to do with two amazing recipes?

The Results

The answer was to announce both these recipes a winner. One would offer readers a fancy, restaurant-quality pasta dish, while the other would offer a simply delicious, family and kid friendly recipe for good old mac n' cheese. So my congratulations go to Tara Nelson and Leslie Hansen, the winners of The Great Mac n' Cheese Recipe Contest.

Leslie's submission is below, Tara's, above.

The Recipes

(The Non Traditional) Submitted by Tara Nelson

Tara had this to say about her recipe:

Here is a recipe I found on the blog Lottie + Doof and I LOVE IT. I know this may sound picky but the topping for the recipe is ten times better if made with the Panko bread crumbs and not generic ones--they add more crunch than most toppings do! This recipe does make a lot of mac n' cheese but it re-heats very well. I love anything with cheese and pasta and this one hit the spot. I try to make it at least every other month! :)
-Tara

Mac + Cheese (Lottie + Doof Style)

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
3 slices bacon, diced
1 cup of finely chopped yellow onion
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes (or less if you would like this with less spice)
2 small garlic cloves, minced
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
3 cups whole milk
3 cups coarsely grated sharp cheddar cheese, divided
1 cup Parmesan cheese, grated
4 ounces Mascarpone or cream cheese
3/4 cup panko (Japanese Breadcrumbs)
1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley
1 pound Penne

Melt 1 tablespoon of butter in large deep skillet over medium-high heat. Add bacon and cook until crisp. Use a slotted spoon to remove bacon to paper towels to drain. Remove all but about 3 tablespoons of fat from the pan. Add onion and saute until tender, about 5 minutes. Add red pepper flakes and garlic, stir for 1 minute. Stir in 2 tablespoons butter, allow to melt, and then add the flour and stir for a minute. Gradually whisk in 3 cups of milk; simmer until thick enough to coat a spoon, stirring frequently, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and whisk in 2 1/4 cups of cheddar and all of the Parmesan cheese and marscapone. Return bacon to sauce and season with salt and pepper.

Melt 3 tablespoons butter in large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add panko and stir until light golden brown, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat, stir in parsley.

Preheat oven to 375 F. Lighly butter a 13×9x2 inch glass baking dish or similarly sized gratin dish. Cook pasta in large pot of boiling water until very al dente. Drain well. Toss pasta and cheese sauce and season again with salt and pepper, if needed. Transfer mixture to prepared baking dish and top with remaining cheese and breadcrumbs. Bake until hot and topping is golden brown, about 30 minutes. Let sit for 5 minutes before serving.

(The Traditional) Submitted by Leslie Hansen

Leslie had this to say about her recipe:

Ok, here is my submission. I'll be honest, I haven't made it in a while since if it doesn't come out of a blue box with Kraft written on it, my kids won't eat it! The little stinkers! My VERY favorite mac and cheese is from Noodles and Company. This recipe is just a bit fancier. Good stuff. Now I am craving it! Too bad, kiddos. Mac and Cheese for dinner tomorrow.
Leslie

Fancy Macaroni and Cheese From InStyle Magazine

2 tbsp. all-purpose flour
1 tsp. salt
½ tsp. dry mustard
½ tsp. pepper
Pinch of ground cayenne pepper
2 tbsp. butter
¼ cup chopped scallions
1 ½ cups milk
1 ¾ cups shredded cheddar cheese, divided
½ cup sour cream (optional, I usually put in a couple spoonfuls)
2 cups elbow macaroni, cooked
½ cups unseasoned bread crumbs

Heat oven to 350 degrees. In small bowl, combine flour, salt, mustard, pepper and cayenne. Melt butter in medium skillet over medium heat. Add scallions and sauté 2 minutes, until slightly softened. Add flour mixture and cook for 3 minutes. Gradually whisk in milk. Cook 10 minutes, stirring constantly until thickened. Remove from heat. Stir in 1 ½ cups cheese, and sour cream, if using. Add macaroni. Pour into greased 1 ½ qt. baking dish. Top with remaining cheese and sprinkle with bread crumbs. Bake 25-30 minutes or until bread crumbs are lightly browned. Let sit 5 minutes before serving.

Acknowledgements

A big thank you to my mom, the Mel Mel, for her help in the kitchen, and to my bro bro, Chris, for helping with labeling, photography, and math. And additional acknowledgments go to all the taste testers: Mom, Dad, Chris, Martha, Joey, Samantha, and Connor. Special thanks to all that submitted recipes, this mac n' cheese mayhem wouldn't have happened without you.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

2009-08-24T21:10:00.000-07:00

After spending a wonderful evening with one of my best friends, Bridgette, my mom and I returned home to Bountiful to find my dad walking around outside with a flashlight.

"Cookie's gone," he said.

Cookie as in Cookie the Dog:

She is a good little dog. And she always comes when she is called.

"It was the strangest thing," my dad continued. "The dogs and I were out on the deck listening to the bug zapper and I went in to take a shower. When I came out, I couldn't find Cookie anywhere."

A fruitless search ensued. Dad theorized that Cookie had jumped onto the back-door neighbor's garage and off into their yard (my parent's home is on a mountainside, so this is a real possibility). Incredulous, I walked into the backyard and called to my little dog.

And there she was, right in the backyard where my dad had left her.

We all chuckled a bit about how silly she is sometimes and stood on the back deck and listened to the bug zapper for a while. But then we realized something.

Cookie was missing again.

I called out to her, but this time she didn't magically appear out of the dark night like she had before. We thought maybe she had gone into the house, so we searched every room, all three of us calling out her name. We ventured into the front yard with more flashlights, but she was not there. Finally, we took to our cars and slowly combed the neighborhood. Some wonderful neighbors joined in the search, hopping in their own car to look around.

As my dad and I drove down the street at ten miles an hour, yelling for the dog and shining lights into people's yards, I remembered something that had happened to a friend's dog when I was young. Her family had gone on vacation and when they returned, they found their dog dead in the backyard, hanging from it's own collar. It had jumped off a little wall and gotten it's collar hooked on a low branch and had hung itself. As I thought about my dad's theory of Cookie jumping off the back neighbor's garage, this story also became a horrifying possibility. I told my dad to drive to that house.

I got out of the car and snuck into the back neighbor's yard. Telling myself I would need to be prepared for whatever I might find, I marched into the dark. I whispered Cookie's name and softly whistled, but saw and heard nothing for a moment. Suddenly I saw one lone scrub oak with what appeared to be my dog's chest hanging inside of it. The thing was white and speckled with dots just like my dog, and it looked fuzzy, like fur. My heart was racing. I was scared out of my mind. I wanted to scream out to my dad to come help me get my poor dead dog out of this stupid dark tree in this stupid dark backyard.

I crept closer.

But when I got up to the tree and shined my flashlight into it, it wasn't my dog at all. It was a bird. A big, big bird. It was, in fact...

an owl.

It held stock still, staring back at me. To be honest, it held so still that I thought it was fake. But it had real feathers, and I don't know why anyone would have a real stuffed owl in their backyard.

If I hadn't been frantic over my dog, this moment would have been a smidgen more incredible.

So it wasn't my dead dog in a stupid dark tree in a stupid dark backyard. So we circled the neighborhood several more times and I finally told my dad to take me home, I wanted to retrace what I thought would be Cookie's steps off the garage. As soon as I walked through the front door, Cookie came running. I said, "Where on earth have you been, you naughty girl!" and thinking she was in trouble she ran away again. Only this time I followed her to her secret hiding place.

The only thing I can figure is that both times we thought she was missing, someone was yelling out for her and she thought she was in trouble. When she thinks she's in trouble she hides.

We adopted Cookie two years ago from an organization who had rescued her from an abusive home. She is, to this day, a very sensitive little dog. When things like this happen, I can't help but wonder what happened to her before we got her. I'd like to find the person who abused her and smack 'em around for awhile. Make them afraid of stairs and cars and big people and men and loud noises and being yelled at. Make them very, very afraid.

One thing is for certain, though: I love our Cookie Monster. And I'm glad she is safe and sound, curled up in a little ball and dreaming her doggy dreams.

A Quick Explanation and Some Weekend Words

2009-08-22T23:25:00.000-07:00

So I haven't been blogging because I am in Utah with my parents right now. I've been here for over two weeks and I will be here for another week and a half. As those of you who live away from family know, when you come home, you get busy. Very busy. So that's why I haven't been blogging.

I am here because my dear grandmother passed away on the 4th of August at the ripe old age of 93, bless her heart. We came home for her funeral, and I stayed here because Brian has been away at scout camp and has a business trip to Kentucky coming up. It's better to be at my parent's house without Brian than in Oregon, all alone, without Brian. So here am I. And here I will be.

I will post more about my wonderful grandmother and my time spent in Utah later.

As for the Mac n' Cheese Recipe contest, it took place last Tuesday. It was a huge job, as is posting about it. It was a lot of fun though and I definitely got what I wanted out of it, which was great recipes for Mac n' Cheese! I have been working on the post for a few days now, and expect it to be up sometime next week, so be sure and check back to see if you are the winner! For a teaser, I will throw this out: The panel of taste testers chose two very clear winners, so two of you, not one, will be receiving a $10.00 gift card to Sur la Table.

Exciting? Oh, I think so.

In the baby world, Leon is (still) getting larger. I have been feeling swishy swishers for the last couple of weeks and a few days ago was even able to catch two good kicks with my hand. I can't wait for Brian to feel his little one kickin' it old school in my woomba.

Speaking of that Brian: I. miss. my. husband.

And now for some Weekend Words. These come from a wonderful book I just finished reading titled, Secrets of the Baby Whisperer: How to Calm, Connect, and Communicate with your Baby by Tracy Hogg with Melinda Blau. My mother-in-law, Lorene, sent this to me with the following note attached:

Dear Abby,

I got to be part of a conversation in Relief Society yesterday between a new mother & a mother with an 8 year old. The mother with the 8 year old shared that she read a lot of books on parenting when she became a mom. This book was one of her favorites. She said it was very helpful. I found 2 copies at Barnes & Noble this morning and bought both of them. Maybe there will be an idea or two that will be helpful.

I love you,

Mom

Well, I found more than two good ideas in this book, that's for sure. Let's start with this:

"...part of my job is to help parents gain perspective. I tell mums and dads right from the start: The won't last forever. You will calm down. You will become more confidant. You will be the best parent you can be. And at some point, believe it or not, your baby will sleep through the night. For now, though, you must lower your expectations."

Take care, all you new mums. I am thinking of you.

-Belina

Pregnancy Ponderings

2009-08-03T23:02:00.000-07:00

In this edition of pregnancy ponderings:

-Origins

My baby is in my fruit bowl. And, no, 'fruit bowl' is not a metaphor, as lovely as it is, for my womb.

I've been thinking lately about the origins of us all, and most especially about matter. According to LDS doctrine, matter has always existed. It was unorganized before the earth was formed, but then Christ organized it, under God's direction, in it's proper order, thereby creating the earth and all the creatures in it.

I believe this.

I've also been thinking about a soil science class I took (way back) when I was in college. Rocks of all types are made by the earth. Rocks erode over time, which makes dirt. Dirt is the medium our food grows in, provided that sunlight, air and water are present. We eat the food which our bodies use to build muscle, bones, organs, blood, etc.

The old adage is true; we are what we eat.

So my baby is in my garden and at the grocery store. My baby is on the farm. My baby is deep in the earth. My baby is in the air, in the sun, and in the water. Christ created the earth, and the earth is creating us.

My baby is in my fruit bowl.

Weekend Words

2009-08-01T14:29:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to put some excerpts from some books I've read or have been reading up on the blog, and since weekends are slow in the blogosphere, I decided that the weekends were a perfect time to do it.

I hope to spur some good conversations with people from these excerpts, so I hope you will find them interesting, too.

"Knowing the secret natural history of potatoes, melons, or asparagus gives you a leg up on detecting whether those in your market are wholesome kids from a nearby farm, or vagrants who idled away their precious youth in a boxcar. Knowing how foods grow is to know how and when to look for them; such expertise is useful for certain kinds of people, namely, the ones who eat, no matter where they live or grocery shop.
Absence of that knowledge has rendered us a nation of wary label-readers, oddly uneasy in our obligate relationship with the things we eat. We call our food animals by different names after they're dead, presumably sparing ourselves any vision of the beefs and the porks running around on actual hooves. Our words for unhealthy contamination - "soiled" or "dirty" - suggest that if we really knew the number-one ingredient of a garden, we'd all head straight into therapy. I used to take my children's friends out to the garden to warm them up to the idea of eating vegetables, but this strategy sometimes backfired: they'd back away slowly saying, "Oh man, those things touched dirt!" Adults do the same by pretending it all comes from the clean, well-lighted grocery store. We're like petulant teenagers rejecting our mother. We know we came out of her, but ee-ew."

-From Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver

The Deadline Approaches

2009-07-31T14:44:00.000-07:00

Reminder: The deadline for The Great Mac n' Cheese Recipe Contest is Saturday (tomorrow), August 1st at 11:59 PM Pacific. A $10.00 gift card to Sur la Table goes to the person who submits the tastiest recipe.

Please email submissions to me at belinablueeyes@hotmail.com.

Only one submission per person, please.

Good Luck!

DIY: I Wanna Jam It With You

2009-07-28T10:04:00.001-07:00

Oregon is a fruity place. And so I made jam. Golden Plum Rum Jam to be exact.

Making jam is easier than many people think and once you try it, I think you'll agree. So here is a little jam making tutorial to help you get started. But to make it fun let's infuse some Bob...of the Marley variety, that is.

We're jammin'

You'll need some supplies, so here is a quick list:

-boiling water canner or a big, deep pot with a lid, and a canning rack (for processing the jars)*

-jars with lids and bands. ALWAYS use new lids. You can reuse both the jars and the bands.

-large, deep saucepan (for cooking the jam)

-measuring cups

-spoons, ladles, and a funnel if you want

-I find rubber gloves extremely helpful since there's a lot of heat involved

-a good recipe (and whatever it calls for; sugar, pectin, juice or water, etc.)**

-fruit

*On the boiling water canner, if you ask around to friends, family, or church members, you are bound to find someone who will let you borrow or even have theirs. I have my grandmother's and even though it's old, it works like a charm. They don't need to be fancy, and I wouldn't under any circumstances pay the 40 bones that Fred Meyer was asking for theirs.

**There are always recipes in the packages of pectin that you buy. These are usually good to start with because they're basic and simple. If you want to get a little fancier though, you can always turn to your cookbooks or the internet. In addition, for your first time I would recommend a fruit that does not contain a pit or large seed. Unless it's a peach or something big and easy to work with, I wouldn't mess with cherries, chokecherries, japanese plums, or their ilk unless you really, REALLY want to. I know this from experience. Miserable, miserable experience. Chokecherries are the devil.

To think that jammin' was a thing of the past(!)

Now we prepare.

First wash your jars, lids, and rings in hot, soapy water or in the dishwasher. We do this because nobody likes botulism. You may set the rings aside and dry them at this point, however, your jars and lids will need to be kept HOT at all times. This is so they won't crack when you pour boiling hot jam into them. I keep mine in a sink of hot water. Some leave everything in the hot dishwasher until ready to use. Either way is fine.

Here are my cleaned jars and lids.

Here they are in hot, hot water, waiting to be filled with jam.

Prep your fruit. Wash, slice, pit, chop, puree, juice, whatever your recipe calls for. Here I used japanese plums. They're about the size of a cherry, and they're heavenly. However, they have a pit and not a lot of meat and it took me a good two hours to chop the amount I needed to make one batch of jam. Hence my above recommendation to avoid such types of fruit.

Now follow the recipe and make your jam! This tutorial, if you haven't noticed already, is for cooked jam.

Here is my jam, just a cookin' away on the stove (that's a cinnamon stick, not a twig).

While my jam is cooking, I get my canner ready by filling it about halfway with water and then I get it started simmering. This way you will be able to fill your jars and immediately put them in the canner to process, instead of waiting for a ton of water to boil.

After your jam is done cooking, it's time to fill the jars! This is where you might want to don those lovely rubber gloves. You will be handling hot jars filled with even hotter jam. Many people use a funnel for this part, and it would be handy and neat, but I don't have one so I just use a ladle.

Here I am filling the jars while my microwave gets a facial courtesy of the canner.

Only fill your jars to within a 1/4 '' of the top of the jar. Once they are all filled, wipe off any excess that might have gotten on the threads with a clean, damp washcloth. Next, set your lids on top and gently screw your bands on. Only do this till they are finger tight, not crazy tight. Otherwise, your jars may not seal.

Next, simply set them in the canner to process! There should be about an inch of water over the lids of the jars. Your recipe should tell you how long to process your jam, but I always do it for 10 minutes. Higher altitudes require longer processing times.

Jammin' till the jam is through

When the processing time is over, remove the jars from the bath and set them in a place where they will be undisturbed for 12 to 24 hours. This is always my favorite part because you can hear the occasional POP! POP! of the lids as they seal. If after 24 hours you are able to push on the lid and it goes up and down, it is not sealed. You can either refrigerate the unsealed ones and use the jam within three weeks, or you can reprocess in the canner with a new lid.

And I hope this jam is gonna last

After jam is cooled and jars are sealed, wipe off the jars, label them, and then store them in a cool, dark place. The jam is good for up to a year.

I hope you like jammin' too

Pregnancy Ponderings

2009-07-22T12:42:00.001-07:00

In this issue of Pregnancy Ponderings:

-Partners

-Getting Attached

-Progression

Partners

If pregnancy has taught me anything it is that Brian is to be adored, nurtured, loved, and cared for for the rest of eternity.

Last week while working on a gift for a friend's new baby, I was watching the show "16 and Pregnant". A young expectant mother and her boyfriend were out to lunch and she ordered some cheese fries. The boyfriend said to her "You shouldn't eat those cheese fries. You're going to get fat." The girl put up a futile offense but soon after returning to their apartment, she found herself on the bathroom floor, throwing up her lunch. The boyfriend was in the other room, settling in with his X Box. He heard her in the bathroom and yelled, "I told you not to eat those damn cheese fries!"

Last Friday night was not unlike any other night for Brian and me. We ate dinner with friends, then came home and relaxed. Before going to bed I had a little snack and took my vitamins. Late in the night, when the house was dark and the only sound was the dog breathing quietly in the corner, I got sick. Brian was sound asleep, but as soon as he heard me in the bathroom he came running. He got a wet washcloth, put it on the back of my neck, and told me everything was going to be okay. When I was done, I was so frustrated and tired that I sat there and cried. And Brian just sat there and rubbed my back. And there we both were. On the bathroom floor. In the middle of the night.

With barf in my hair.

Brian did not go play his X Box.

Brian did not yell "You shouldn't have eaten that damn sandwich! You're going to get fat!"

So thanks for that, Brian.

Getting Attached

I can honestly say that I don't know if I love my baby.

This frightens me.

There is no other relationship, other than the one between a mother and her baby, where a person is expected to love someone else upon first sight, and with the kind of love that I think only comes as the result of miracles. That's a lot of pressure.

There have been a few clues, though. A few clues that I might just love my baby.

A few weeks ago, Brian and I took the dog to the vet. While there, Brian asked her if there was anything we should be aware of with having a newborn baby and a dog. She said, "Well, the baby is like a maggot for the first six months anyway, so you don't have much to worry about there." A maggot, huh? Really. You wanna take that back, Dr. Lady? Because I think you do. Because I think if you don't I will come across this room so fast it will make your head spin.

Does this mean I love my baby?

Last week we had our first real prenatal appointment. The doctor came in with a magical device and put it on my abdomen. We heard this: Wish...Wish...Wish. "That's your heartbeat," the doctor said. A few moments passed of just my heartbeat and the doctor's face began to turn red. I thought the following:

"Whyisherfaceredcan'tshefindthebaby'sheartbeatissomethingwrongwithmybaby?!"

Then the doctor moved the magical device a little to the right and we heard this: wishwishwishwishwishwishwish. 160 beats per minute of pure...wish.

And the doctor was smiling and her face wasn't red anymore.

And I was crying.

Does this mean I love my baby?

It interests me that in both these situations my reactions came without thinking. Like a reflex. Like an instinct. Like a miracle.

Progression

On a lighter note, baby's got a nick name. Leon. Why? Because every time I look in the mirror that scene from Airplane goes through my head where the guy jumps into the frame, grabs some dude's huge belly and goes, "And Leon's getting LAAAAAAARRRRRGER!"

Here is an objectifying, headless picture of me (and Leon) at 13 weeks.

And here is my baby daddy.

(For those of you who aren't familiar with that scene from Airplane, here is the clip.)

Three Letters

2009-07-20T10:52:00.000-07:00

Letter One:

Dear Abby,

I Hope you had fun on

your birthday.

I know you like me and
everything.

I hope I didn't
ruin

your birthday by looking sad but

I wasn't okay.Well I'm going to try to make this

a fun book.

I just don't know
what you would like.

Maybe
word puzzles
mazes
something like that.

Maybe you want Barbie Hair.

Maybe a frog.

Or

stars.

Or colors (greenbrownbluepinkyellow).

Love,
Jocelyn

Letter Two:

i hope you can come to my

birthday

party

For Kjersti (Shedi)
Time 4:00-
Date 3-18-94
R.S.V.P.

this is a slumber party
at 4:00 please bring
a swimming suit, towel
and sleeping bag.

(we're going to the bubble.

Letter 3:

Dear Abby,

HOw are yoU
I'm fiNe.
I wiss yoo coold
come. A bat flew
oveR my Head!
( We haven t seen
any mice yeT.)

Se Ya!

Love,
KiM

Let's Get Competitive! The Great Mac 'n' Cheese Recipe Contest

2009-07-18T19:54:00.000-07:00

Well, since I've been pregnant I've had this insatiable craving for the most amazing, knock-my-socks-off homemade macaroni and cheese I can find. Trouble is, when I tried to make it myself, it was less than lovely (sorry Alton Brown, yours just didn't do it for me).

So I gave it a think, and I realized that my most excellent (and faithful, right?) readers probably have the recipe I'm looking for. Then I thought I should make it interesting.

That's how The Great Mac 'n' Cheese Recipe Contest came into being. I will have you, if you don't mind, submit to me your most tried and true, most delectable, most delicious recipe for mac 'n' cheese. Then I will make all the recipes, have a bunch of people over for a tasting contest, tally the votes, and announce the winner on this here blog.

What does the winner get? Oh, it's good. A $10.00 gift card to my very favorite cooking store, Sur La Table.

You hereby have until midnight on Saturday, August 1st to submit your recipes to me at belinablueeyes@hotmail.com.

P.S. As much as I love Alton Brown, please don't send in his recipe for Mac 'n' Cheese. I already tried that one. It wasn't gross, just not what I was looking for. Also, if you wouldn't mind including the story behind the recipe, where you got it, why you like it, and how often you make it (this, of course, will be just for fun). Good luck to all!

-Belina

The Lamest Post Ever

2009-07-14T14:36:00.000-07:00

This might be, like, the lamest post ever. But someone out there just might benefit from my extensive research and subsequent findings.

Allow me to introduce you to the two most helpful cleaning products I have found.

Hi, I'm a Shark Steam Mop.

When I first saw this, it was on an infomercial and I was totally sucked in. "That thing can clean CRAYONS off LINOLEUM using nothing but STEAM!" I squealed. I was tempted to buy it on the spot, but Brian said absolutely not. And then fate brought it and me to Costco at the same time. I knew better than to tempt fate a second time.

I love that thing like a single forty five year old loves Snuggies.

All it uses is water and steam, so it's easy on the pocketbook, easy on the environment, and easy on my lungs. The steam supposedly sterilizes as it cleans and my wood floors tell me it's quite enjoyable, as well.

Cookie the Dog loves to rest her little head on the window sill and watch the comings and goings of the neighborhood. Over time, though, her doggy jowls leave a big blob of gooberness on the wall. Solution? Shark Steam Mop. Really. I use it to clean my walls. Really.

So, there's that.

Yesterday I was puttering around the house in my pajamas, sucking up a dust bunny here, doing a dish there. On a whim, I opened up my oven and had a little look see. Imagine what it would look like if a large gnome exploded inside a box, and then his insides were baked over and over again into all the surfaces. And then imagine that two large loaves of banana bread exploded inside that same box, and those remains were baked over and over again into all the previously gnomed surfaces.

I thought about shutting the door and folding laundry instead.

But then I started feeling a challenge coming on. First I vacuumed out the oven (because there were gnome chunks). Then I used my secret weapon to get that oven looking spic and span, but the worst part was the glass window. Nothing that I used would get that greasy, bready, gnome off. I wanted to use the secret weapon on the glass, but I was afraid it would scratch. Desperate, I tested it in a small corner and not only did it get all the gnome off, it didn't scratch either.

The secret weapon? My number one favorite cleaning product of all time.

Kaboom Ultra Scrub will clean anything and it will do it like nothing you've ever seen. I first tried it when I was at my wits end with my bathtub. I could not find anything to get rid of the weird pink soap scum that called my bathroom home. I had tried all manner of cleaning products, including the highly toxic CLR. And nothing would polish the faucets, clean the grout, or remove stains or soap scum like Kaboom Ultra Scrub.

Just how good is this stuff? My mother-in-law told me my guest bathroom was so clean she felt like she was in a five star hotel. She just had to know what I used to get the faucets that shiny. It passed the mother-in-law test, people. That's how good.

Here are pictures of my oven adventure:

Gnome remains on the left, post Kaboom on the right.

Getting closer....

Kaboom!

And did I mention it smells like Fruit Loops?

May your faucets be shiny, your ovens be gnome free, and your banana bread be the non exploding type.

Here concludes the lamest post ever.

-Belina