Tuesday, April 26, 2011

April the 24th 2011

Sunday was Easter here just like it was every place else. We played it super low key this year. It was nice.
The fact that Enz is long torso-ed and long armed was realized/reinforced in my brain when he donned his new shirt and it's poor fit was discovered. It's just fine through the neck and shoulders but in over all and sleeve length, it falls short. I guess I should have had him try it on before that morning.

Somebody had a lady bug on her arm. Then she ate it.

I always thought using food coloring for eggs must be really difficult, or ineffective or something. Otherwise why does everybody use the color tablets? Turns out food coloring is just as easy and more effective than the tablets. Who knew? (she did)

One egg stood out above the rest. This look was achieved when a small boy came to the end of his egg allotment and found that he could prolong his egg dying experience by dipping and re-dipping his remaining egg repeatedly in each of the six dye baths and then dropping the fruit of his labors as he deposited it in the drying area.
The spiderweb effect wasn't visible until the next morning. He was so proud to realize the webbed egg was his.

Monday, April 18, 2011

"A sailor's not a sailor till a sailors been tattooed" (name that movie)

A week(ish) ago our back yard was found to be teeming with lady bugs. The 2-6 year old set went out to pass the time while I cooked diner and discovered bug after bug. At one point they found a little bitty one riding on a bigger bug's back. Oh, what joyful reports we heard of the mama and baby lady bugs. Does anybody know, do lady bugs actually care for their young?

Moo-face has been talking about lady bugs ever since. At least once a day she brings it up, "be-bug a arm, be-bug a arm, Mom," she says and will continue to say until I take notice and respond affirming that she did indeed have a lady bug on her arm.

The incident of the bold and adventurous bug who ventured to explore the interior of Enzo's pant leg is all but forgotten, while the memory of Moo's arm encounter lives on. I never would have guessed.

She's still so enraptured with the memory of six tiny tickling feet crawling up her forearm I've come to expect that when she's grown, if she takes any interest in ink, she'll come home one day with a lady bug tattooed mid-way between elbow and wrist.

What's that book with the kid who dreams of getting a potato on his ankle when he grows up? Anybody know what I'm talking about?

I once recommended to my brother that he should get a sofa on his forehead...he did not take my advice.

I love to think of random and ridiculous subject matter for tats, I don't really think the lady bug fits into the random and ridiculous category. In fact if the memory of the bug stuck with her long enough and had that kind of influence, I think it would be a more solid reason to go under the needle than some I've heard.


The top of the stairs is a common landing place for me. I start down, and after a few steps if I find myself lacking energy there's a hand rail right there to steady me as I let my legs go slack and ease down to sit. After I've recouped, the handrail is still there to help me regain my feet.

The stairs are also a great location for snuggling small boys, and for helping various children to put their shoes on.

Yesterday I took advantage of the location to fasten Enzo's church shoes. When I was finished, he lay down and slid on his back to the landing, then he invited me to join him. "Come on mom," He said "You can do this too because you don't have a puff on your back. Right?"

A puff.

It's true I do not have a puff on my back. My puff, containing a baby estimated last Thursday (at 36 weeks gestation) to weigh in the neighborhood of six pounds, is most definitely on my front. Still I don't plan to join him in sliding down the stairs anytime in the immediate future.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

The hippie in me

Somewhere inside me lives a hippie. Her name is Star Song, or Rainbow...Dash...ok I'm actually thinking of My little ponies right now but it's not a My little pony that dwells in my psyche, that is a hippie. For the record though, Scootaloo is my pony of choice. I like her because she's Orange with a pink mane and tail and I'm a sucker for the combination of ornage and pink. Anyway, the hippie.

She whispers things to me. Some of her hippie ideas I embrace, some I do not. I think she tried whispering something about not shaving my legs once. That one didn't go over. In fact it sort of back fired on her. I'm so committed to smooth legs that I go ahead and take care of my arm hair as well. Also, any influence she's tried to have over make-up wearing has not taken effect. Sephora is my happy place. She has gained some footing in the realm of hair product. The longer my hair gets, the less likely I am to use any product. Why? It's the hippie.

Probably the most evidence of the hippie influence in my persona is found my birthing philosophies. Epidural? No thanks, never had one, don't want one. Not only do I embrace natural childbirth I use hypnosis. I am a hypnobirther. Now, I think the Bradley Method is actually a bit more typically hippie than Hypnobirthing but they're pretty closely related. Both are based on the work of Dr. Grantley Dick Read, actually I think Lamaze was as well but let's get back to the matter at hand.

At one of my prenatal appointments with Zizza I brought along my copy of Childbirth Without Fear to read. When the Dr came in he was amazed "You are not the patient I'd expect to be reading that book," he exclaimed. He then went on to say "Usually the ones who read that are closer to forty, and hippies" Ok, that's not a direct quote. I don't remember what he actually said besides the forty part, but he meant hippie. (By the way, that's a great book I recommended it to anyone preparing for childbirth. Hippie or otherwise)

I've been thinking a lot about my inner hippie lately. Probably because she and I talk every day when I'm practicing my hypnosis in preparation for baby Duke. That, combined with my ever strengthening desire to cloth diaper led me to a realization earlier this week. The realization was "Hey, I am an environmentalist" but that's another story for another time.

Impulse buy

I was shopping online for baby items, observing how soft and snuggly all the various organic Egyptian cotton layette offerings look and thinking I'd might be a lot more inclined to pay twentyish bucks for a onesie if I was actually feeling how soft they looked.

Eventually, I found the things I actually needed (unfortunately none of them were organic Egyptian cotton) and did one more sweep of the web site, because if that site held anything else on my list it would likely be in my best interest to add it to my shopping cart and avoid extra shipping costs. That's when I saw it the Puj tub for $39.99.

WHAT?? I said to myself. I learned of the puj tub years ago when it was a brand new product only available through the manufacturer. I was smitten with it, but really, it was like $100 so I moved on.

A quick Google search showed me that puj tubs have caught on and are now available through many a retailer. Also, $39.99 is the current going rate. Fantastic! It's a supa-cool product I am glad it's doing well.

Then I bought one.

It wasn't until an hour later that I stopped to think "I just spent $40 on a baby bath tub."

I already have a baby bath tub it was gifted to me filled with useful this and thats from some of my aunts and cousins when I had my first baby. Granted it takes up a lot of room on the bathroom counter and on more than one occasion a helpful somebody or other has come along while I was dressing the fresh clean baby and unplugged the stopper without sliding it over the sink first, but it gets the job done.

Still, for all that, I haven't regretted the purchase. I've realized it's imprudence but mostly when I think about it I'm just really excited. I hope it lives up to my expectations.

If anybody needs a conventional counter top baby tub let me know. I've got one that needs a home.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

The first weekend in April

It's conference weekend. What does that mean?
It means that this morning I didn't find myself standing dismally in the middle of my closet wishing for something creative to wear before begrudgingly donning yet another black skirt and nondescript maternity top ensemble the way I've been doing every Sunday for weeks and weeks now.
It means that instead of fighting the good fight for reverence in the pew by myself while the Mr looks on sympathetically from the stand (He's a part of the leadership of our ward, (local congregation) which requires him to sit at the front) I got to co-parent from the comfort of my family room.
It also means that yesterday I made some excellent progress on operation "transform my bedroom into a cocoon of relaxation for postpartum recovery purposes" while I listened to the afternoon session. There's nothing like mindless work to keep me focused on what I'm listening to during Saturday afternoon session.
It also means that I have some things to think about, some things to work on, and some things to be thankful for.

How was your weekend?