Fat Geese and Crafternoons

Christmas is coming. The goose is looking like it could really lose a few. Please to put a penny in the old man's... okay, okay.

Christmas makes me nauseous. In a good way. I mean, Christmas makes me feel like I'm going to throw-up, but from excitement, and not revoltion. It's kind of like falling in love once every year. But the past few days, I've felt kind of slumpy. Yesterday, I had this bizarre chain of thoughts: I love Christmas. I am so excited. I have so much to do. So much to make. What am I going to do when it's all over? I'll have nothing to do. Nothing to make. Nothing to be excited for. What will I live for? What will I look forward to? I hate Christmas. You fall in love, and than your lover leaves you. Every year it's the same. But aside from these few and embarrassing bouts of stupidity and drama, I really love this magical season. Really.

I've been meaning to post these pictures for ages, but haven't gotten around to it. Was too busy watching Pride and Prejudice multiple times. And crafting. Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy. Sorry, what?

Fat Geese and Crafternoons

Christmas is coming. The goose is looking like it could really lose a few. Please to put a penny in the old man's... okay, okay.

Christmas makes me nauseous. In a good way. I mean, Christmas makes me feel like I'm going to throw-up, but from excitement, and not revoltion. It's kind of like falling in love once every year. But the past few days, I've felt kind of slumpy. Yesterday, I had this bizarre chain of thoughts: I love Christmas. I am so excited. I have so much to do. So much to make. What am I going to do when it's all over? I'll have nothing to do. Nothing to make. Nothing to be excited for. What will I live for? What will I look forward to? I hate Christmas. You fall in love, and than your lover leaves you. Every year it's the same. But aside from these few and embarrassing bouts of stupidity and drama, I really love this magical season. Really.

I've been meaning to post these pictures for ages, but haven't gotten around to it. Was too busy watching Pride and Prejudice multiple times. And crafting. Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy. Sorry, what?

I VOTED

Ah, election season. Warm greetings in your mailbox, a cup of hot cocoa or wassail shared with a friend, rosy cheeked children singing carols of hope in the street. Wait a doggon second! Wrong season, right? Actually no. Not if you elect "write-in" candidate Howard Stone for Provo City Council! Let me share a few favorite selections from his flier. (Please note that the quotation marks and the bolding are "Not" added, but appear in the original document)

Hello, I'm Howard Stone. I'm really no one of "Consequence," but an average citizen just like you... In an act of "Faith" I've made myself available to "Work" for "Our Community"...we are not communicating. I think we feel "Divided and Conquered"...We must make our community a "Refuge" We must not let attitudes of "Apathy" and "Complacency" overwhelm us. I believe "Service" should not be undertaken for fame or notoriety. but as a "Stewardship" not to be taken lightly or "Trifled" with... I'm "Willing" to do this work us all... "Together" we will not "Fail".

End quote. Only one "Thing" could make this "Quote" more "Enjoyable" to... sorry. Only one thing could make this quote more enjoyable to read. Get your fingers involved with the quotation marks. Seriously. Try it. Its hilarious. While investigating which candidate to vote for, I perused Howard Stone's website, I couldn't find a blessed idea the man had concerning Provo, or its future, but I was personally invited to come share a cup of cocoa or wassail with Howard and the wifey. While driving to the elementary school to cast my vote, I passed the man himself under a big canopy, electric heaters blazing, water coolers filled with hot water for your choice of beverage, and a gaggle of little girls singing patriotic songs.

But, I voted for Sherrie Hall Everett. Stone had too much "Fluff" and not enough "Stuff". Advice to City Council hopefuls everywhere: If you want to win, you've got to talk about the issues. And if Flight of the Conchords would run, they'd have my vote.

Death by Crafts II

Last night, Eirene's creativity pushed me right out of bed. No joke.

Death by Crafts

Let's be honest: I am a creative genius. Now, before you assume that I could use a slice of humble pie, know this: in a way, this is my my greatest fault (along with working too hard, and caring too much, and cooking too well, and looking too good in red). Don't believe me? Last night, I was up until 12:30 crafting. When I finally exerted self control enough to put myself into bed, I lay awake for who knows how much longer, crafting in my mind. I tried to drive the creative thoughts back, I tried humming my favorite hymn, I tried reciting the Articles of Faith, but the fiery darts of genius would not be blighted. This horrible curse! I forget to eat, forget to drink, forget sometimes, to go to the bathroom. My dishes, my laundry, they hold no urgency. They are only more loathsome than they would be were I not a creative genius. Do not envy me. Indeed, pity me, poor soul that I am. Completely helpless against the slave driver that is my own creativity.

Enough drama. Saturday, the night before Benny's birthday, we went to a Kirkmount concert. This is the same Celtic trio whose reels and jigs accompanied me through high school, and who have been dear to me ever since. So devoted was I to Kirkmount, that I would have married any one of the three brothers, but I had in particular set my cap at the middle boy, the fiddler. Ben foiled that plan by entering the picture before I had gotten my chance to woo this musician, and so I attended the concert with innocent intentions. We arrived late. And unfortunately, the fiddler had grown a beard since his boyhood, and I couldn't resist... examining this alteration to his appearances. Ben leaned over to me during the first song, and this conversation commenced
Ben: "I like watching the harp guy best."
Eirene: "I like to watch the fiddler best. I won't say why..." (a pause.)"You are aware that in high school, I was planning to marry him?" (Ben glares at the fiddler.)

The song ends, and the fiddler stands to give a blurb about Nova Scotia or something, and it becomes immediately apparent, to my horror, and Ben's delight, that he is obviously, and overwhelmingly, gay. To frost the bitter cake, he was wearing a black wife-beater under his white Sunday shirt. Goo.

Ben: "I'm glad you could get some closure on this."

Other than that, I had a toe-tapping good time with my wonderful, kind, handsome, thoughtful, and very straight husband.

Eirene

Late night musings

In my days (and there have been some 7,750 of them), I have learned a few very wise things. Don't yield at stop signs, even when it's midnight, and there is clearly no other traffic, because there might be a car, one single car, and if there is, it is probably a cop. Also, don't accept jobs at Montessori schools when your stomach feels like you have ingested a bucket of paint thinner, or a Costco sized container of mayonnaise. Also, forest green does not look well with turquoise, no matter how free spirited you are. Most recently, this profundity has entered my canon of wisdom: it is a very foolish thing to eat breakfast cereal in the vicinity of expensive computer hardware. It was Mae who proved this prudent. I was eating my Corn Chex, checking my email, nursing my child, and minding my own business, when Mae, with one of those quick and efficient baby jabs, upset my bowl right onto the keyboard. Milk went everywhere. All between the keys, beneath the mouse, under the printer, down my shirt front, down Mae's cheek, and into her ear. (There were multiple sorts of milk involved in that summary.) In short, the majority of our keyboard was debilitated. (7890-=,uiop[jkl;',./the arrow keys, the enter button, and the space bar, to be specific.) Would you guess that the pendulum of function for our entire lives hung in the hands of a keyboard? A seemingly benign and clickity bit of plastic gone wrong turned the pleasant order of our lives into sheer chaos and down right inconvenience! Our bank accounting and bills were out of our control, certain important emails were inaccessible, we couldn't plan our budget, we were Googless, helpless, hopeless. I have taken the keyboard for granted quite foolishly in the past. Those days are over. As I haunted D.I. for days, hoping to find an emergency replacement keyboard, I became fairly well acquainted with two truths: one, if you are in need of a Halloween costume, D.I. has an endless supply of ugly dresses with shoulder pads in stock right now, and two, the only kind of keyboards they have at D.I. are the kind with the wrong cord and grimy keys. These have their purpose. You can give them to small children to play with, or you can dangle them from your porch to terrify your germ conscious friends and neighbors this Halloween season. But you cannot plug them into an iMac, and return to happiness and normality.

But, due to certain miraculous circumstances, we were able, at last, to buy a new keyboard. The newest and sexiest model of keyboard on the Apple market today. It is flat, (I've made thicker pancakes, I tell you) and metallic, and smooth, and according to a sincere promise from a guy with a lisp at the BYU bookstore who was apparently eager to make the sale, it will be absolutely fine if, perchance, milk were to spill all over it. (I thay, nobody could promith any thuch thing.) It is ironic, I thought, as our debit card passed into our thinthere friend's hands, that Ben and my underwear is grey and decrepit, our pants have holes in the knees, our cabinets are full of ramen noodles, and our vehicles are loitering outside with expired registrations, because we can't afford to do anything about it, and yet, the instant we can't use the computer, we go out and make a weighty purchase to set things right.

In my days, I have learned a few very wise things. And one of them is this: in some cases, dear friends and associates, it is alright to cry over spilled milk.

Eirene

Moab

The Henderson Family Reunion was quite the trip. This year it was in Moab, a Henderson family stronghold in recent years. Uncle Chuck hosted the shindig at a condominium complex he built. It seems that he owns a good chunk of Moab. The reunion was specially sweet for him, because all four of his children were together with him, something that has not happened for many years. I don't remember seeing his oldest son since I was about seven or eight years old. It did me well to witness old wounds being healed and long forgotten arguments being brushed aside. I also reflected on the differences in Chuck's family and my own. Very similar in makeup, yet different in principle. I am very thankful that my parents raised us with a firm faith that has helped our family cope through the terrible trials we have faced together.

Moab is a beautiful place with infinite places to see and experience. We didn't see many of them at all! We mostly relaxed, swam, and became reacquainted and in some cases just plain ol' acquainted with family. Eirene and I wanted to go to Arches or Canyonlands, but we figured with the Mitchells moving to Monticello, we'll have plenty of opportunity to explore. As it turns out, Monticello is going to be quite the place. It is getting not only the Mitchell Family, but George Wythe College as well. Keep an eye on that place!

Ben

Hey there!

Wow, so, um, I think the last time this thing was updated was about when Mae first started smiling at us. Now we can't get her to stop! She is definitely a happy girl, and the light of our home. She is sleeping quite well through the night, and Eirene doesn't even wake up when she feeds her! My wife is very talented, and through Mae I have learned that Eirene is even extremely talented while stone cold asleep! As stressful as work may be, and as scared as I am to go back to school in a couple of weeks, these ladies of mine keep me happier than I ever knew I could be.

Ben

Fascinating Changes

Having a baby is a very interesting, unforgettable thing. The word "interesting" here meaning "involving extreme amounts of pain, blood, sweat, and exhaustion," and the word "unforgettable" here meaning "involving a lovely tiny person who is undeniably perfect and sweet." She is amazing. I love her more and more every instant. Additionally, having a baby is surprisingly romantic! Despite many distractions, Ben and I are falling more in love. We don't have as much time or energy to express it, you see, and so we've gotten very good at these exhausted, contented little visual exchanges that say "Wow, I love you. I can't believe how much I love you. And if I didn't have this sleeping infant on my chest, and weren't too physically exhausted to clamber off this couch, I would come over there and really show you what I'm talking about." Anyway, if you've had children, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. It's very happy business. Mae and I get along swimmingly. I think she really likes me. I, too, would like someone if they carried me around all day and fed me every time I indicated my hunger. We just bond and bond all day. It's our favorite pastime together. And so, in short, everyone is falling into their rolls very well, and we're having lots of fun! (I think I might be having the most fun of all because I get to breastfeed and read books. I'm clear to the seventh book in the Series of Unfortunate Events. Those poor Baudelaire orphans. They suffer so much and I am so blessed. Life is so unfair.)
Eirene

A New Home!!!

Mae Ella is here!!! Our home is a new, much more exciting, and somewhat more cluttered place!

Mae's birth was an incredible experience for our whole family. The three of us bonded in ways we never knew possible. The births of Mae's two new cousins, Hazel Ann Balling and Josie Scout Tribe, made it all that much more exciting. Josie Scout was born in the delivery room directly above our hospital room. We arranged for the nurses to assign them to a room as close to us as possible, and so they ended up two doors down!

Life at home has been amazing too. Definitely much to adjust to! The new sleep schedule is interesting, to say the least. I've been quite lucky in the diaper department. As you may know, I have a deeply rooted fear of diapers. However, with much dedication and Eirene's loving encouragement, I have changed quite a few thus far. I say I've been lucky because the diapers I have changed have been relatively "low maintenance". Eirene hasn't been so lucky, however, as she has experienced several poo fountains immediately upon removal of the diaper! My luck has changed also, as today I experienced my first. I must say, I think I handled the situation quite well; no sooner had the first new clean diaper been attacked by a steady stream of yellowy brown seeded Maepoo, when I formed a makeshift dam out of wetwipes at the top of her bum as to protect the clean pajamas and babyback from being infiltrated. Once the aftermath of that attack was sufficiently cleaned up, a second clean diaper was soiled upon placement by an even nastier assault. Many, many wet wipes later, the third clean diaper also took heavy fire, but this time it was only your-ine.

Eirene has been amazing throughout the labor, delivery, and life here at home. I don't know how she finds the energy, but we're still tickin'!
BH