Camera Vs. Wild

Our darling daughter made a command decision last week. She was tired of hearing her parents complain about the family camera. "The flash is rubbish," "The pictures always come out pixelated," "It turns everything blue..." So, she took matters into her own hands. I found the camera on the bathroom floor. No one knows how it came to be there, and Mae, who has a very limited vocabulary, has not disclosed any details of her uncanny act. But this we know: somehow, she was able to get the camera out of its case, off of a very high shelf, drag it into the bathroom, install a very long crack down the middle of the screen, and arrange the possession of the camera by demons... or water. When you turn the camera on now, the lense, of its own accord, zooms in, and then out, and then in, and then out, about four times, and then closes, and a little message displays on the screen that says "Please turn camera off, and then on again." And if you follow these instructions, you enjoy a repeat performance. And yes, while we indeed hated our camera, it was better than a finger in the eye. And Mae's timing was quit bad, because now we have no visual evidence that she has started to walk, and has had her first camping trip, where she tore open her first birthday presents by campfire light, and then squealed with delight as her pyromaniac cousins Avery and Parker tossed the wrapping paper and ribbon into the flames with vigor. We have no way to express how truly filthy she became over the weekend, stumbling about in the dirt and rocks of the Uinta Mountains, or how happy she was to eat dirt for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I have no visual reminder of how attractive a husband is when he is fishing, or chopping wood, or plugging the daylights out of beer bottles from no trivial distance with a .44, or how excellent he looks with a few days of facial hair. The one relief to all of you, is that there is also no evidence of how truly unburdened I was over the weekend by social customs, such as showering, tooth brushing, leg shaving, or even clothing changing. I really embraced mother nature, out there in the wild, and I'm glad none of you have to see that side of me. It is my one solace for having no camera over Memorial Day weekend.

Maebe, Maebe not

Lately, I have been a little addicted to sewing, and Mae has reaped all the benefits:

This little number shows off nicely my newly discovered skill of shirring. (Translation, the bunchy elastic stitchery around the waist and sleeves. It adds a bit of boho to anything!) Please note my adorable model's little pigtail. Sure, it looks a little post-nap, but hey, that is a pigtail, friends!These little green pants were supposed to be capris. I guess I over-estimated the length of Mae's legs. And at this point, my model was really starting to lose her patience, and so I indulged her a little, and let her maul the camera. This was ample payment for her sufferings.


Ruffly Amy Butler samari pants never hurt anyone. I think I'll wait until she can walk to put these ones on her. And maybe until she grows three inches taller, too. (Yes, Mae is kissing her reflection passionately in that photo. She's a little Narcissistic, I'm afraid.)

And Mae has two teeth. Count 'em and weep! Plus, she's cute.


And, truly, what blog can be called complete without some spaghetti footage? I didn't make anything in these last three pictures... except for Mae. And the Spaghetti. So... I guess I'm pretty talented and stuff.

bloggy cheerios

This morning, I felt certain that Mae had been kidnapped. I woke up at 8:30, and immediately, the fear overcame me. The monitor was on, the sun was well up, and I heard nothing. This was frightening, because the wake-up process usually begins around 6:45. I knew it didn't make any sense, because if a bad guy wanted into the house, he would have to break a window, or shoot off the locks with a revolver, and exhausted and pregnant as I am, I couldn't have slept through that. I lay in bed rationalizing, and feeling sick with worry as the minutes ticked away, waiting for a peep-- one of her large variety of wake-up sounds. The peep is nice. It says: "I'm 30% awake, and you have approximately 15 minutes before I stand up in my crib, throw Welby on the floor, and start the squeal." (Welby is Mae's stuffed giraffe. Morbidly matted, grey in color, and named after our stake Patriarch, Welby Ricks.) The squeal is another wake-up sound. It is not as bad as it may sound. It's not a "Eeeeee!" squeal, but more of a "oooOOOooh!" squeal. A sound you might make if truly impressed by someone's fabric selection, or gymnastic skills. The squeal says "I am standing up in my crib, and I have thrown Welby on the floor. I am not out of sorts, but you have about 5 minutes before I start the fuss." The fuss is not my favorite. It says, "I have been awake for about fifteen minutes now, and I know that you can hear me, and are clinging with futility to the last few threads of sleep, but it's over mom. Face it. I'm not going to fall back to sleep. And neither are you. Come and get me, woman." I try not to let it get this far, if I can possibly embrace my fate sooner, and roll out of bed at ungodly hours. That's why this morning was so alarming. To sleep in until 8:30! While it may seem like a blessing, it more likely means that your child has been kidnapped. I lay there, experimenting with the criminal mind, developing quieter strategies for baby snatching. Digging an entrance into the house, but leaving the carpet over the hole, using lasers to remove a section from the wall, sneaking in during the day, and hiding in the cellar until night. This roused me. I threw back the blankets, raised myself up on my elbow, and was rubbing my eyes with an urgency appropriate to the situation, when finally, I heard it-- to my sweeping relief. The peep. I smiled, and stretched, said a prayer of gratitude, and then got into the shower. I'm pleased to announce that I got to Mae before even Welby hit the floor.

mi casa es tu casa

Finally, I'm getting around to blogging about my new (old) beautiful house. There were so many pictures I wanted to post, but I'm just gonna throw on some of my very favorite parts. We'll start with the living room:




And now, moving onto the master bedroom:
The kitchen:The nursery:
and the front porch:

It's a...

Well, we weren't going to find out. We woke up the day of the appointment with a firm anti-findyouty conviction. It wasn't until we were sitting in the waiting room that I began to question our decision. Kind of like when you're fasting, without a very specific purpose, and someone offers you some pizza. Ben was rather a devil to my waxing hunger.

Ben: "Let's just do paper-rock-scissors. If you win, we don't find out. If I win, we do."
Me: "Right. I mean, let's just do this the mature way."
Ben: "Best out of five."

Ben won. Rock crushes scissors. But I wasn't willing to accept the defeat. "No, no, no." They called us back. My tummy was house of butterflies. Ben gave me the one-eyebrow-up, what's-it-gonna-be? look. Before I could think, we were in the dark room, I was laying on the bed, the jelly was on my belly. The ultrasounder lady flashed past the privates region, and... "I saw that," I said. "It's a boy!" said the lady. "Oops," I said, looking over at Ben, who was too busy wetting himself to take notice of me, or my crumbled convictions.

That night, Ben pulled out his old trucks and trains and began to polish them with nostalgia in his eyes. I began sewing a pair of slippers for the baby. We're very happy. And as for the broken fast... well... there's always next fast Sunday.

Observations...

I noticed something today that I think is quite interesting to say the least. My observations of people here on the BYU campus have changed dramatically without my noticing. Its almost as if I've been away on holiday or something and only today returned to find things not the way I left them!
After a particularly good church history lesson, I left the Joseph Smith building and started the trek across campus to my Arabic class. As I walked I seemed to be surrounded by strangers...which, is absolutely normal. But today was different because of how I felt being surrounded by them. On a typical day for me on campus surrounded by strangers, all of the gentlemen seem to have spent more time on their hair than my sisters did in high school. Its usually all I can do to keep myself from pushing them to the ground just to see their reaction at getting dirt on their perfectly placed rustic-authentic-vintage-retro-prewarn (by machine or third world child only, not by actual physical labor by the owner) jeans. Normally the girls all over campus are covered from top to bottom in credit card-sized cell phones, hair extensions, layers of make-up, gargantuan sunglasses with matching hoop earrings, or furry moon boots all in an attempt to look as if they were some sort of unreachable object not in any way human at all. But today things were different. It all began when I was passed on the sidewalk by a new-made-to-look-old cruiser bike ridden by a young man who had clearly spent more time assembling his outfit than I have on homework this entire semester. After he passed, I walked into a different world. The crowd I was surrounded by wasn't the normal herd of brown and orange guys or bridezillas-to-be, they were--for lack of a more unrighteously judgmental term--math majors. Thats right, they were me in junior high school. Awkward and lanky, trying desperately to look cool, but beginning to find confidence in who they are. They are the "Sword and Quill" club occasionally seen prancing about a tent on the quad dressed in medieval attire. They are the pale of skin, the parted of hair, the unsure of step. Their paleness comes not from a cute natural genetic combination (like Eirene's), their's is the result of endless hours in a dark room lit only by a computer screen. They are products of Zelda and 9th grade orchestra. And here's the kicker, I felt perfectly comfortable in their presence. Unlike the discontent and constant mistrust felt during countless days of being surrounded by the vain "danglies" of BYU, I felt as if I didn't have to act or impress these calculus-loving Harry Potter readers. Even in my dirty old work clothes I could walk among them without thinking twice about all of the eyes glancing at my bibs. I could breath easily, walk confidently, if not proudly to my class.
I know what anyone who reads this must be thinking...he's one of them! That would only make sense, right? If I feel so comfortable, than I am obviously among mine own. Well, here is why I think that is wrong. Firstly, just as I want to throw mud on an American Eagle model, I want to hand a shovel to one of the computer science wizards. I would like to distribute calluses equally among both group's creepily soft hands. Secondly, I would effectively kill a conversation about both dungeons and dragons and lacrosse in a matter of seconds. Also, I am every bit as inept at math as I am at being mindful of how presentable I look. I think the real reason I felt comfortable today lies beyond the exterior judgments and stereotypes I've laid out. It has to do with the motivations I felt from these diverse people by the way they presented themselves. From one group I felt an air of downright wicked pride. An attitude of "you don't have and can't have what I have." Not that I am not guilty of putting out that same vibe, because I'm sure I have done or do at times. However, the other groups "vibe" was more of a "yes, I acknowledge you are wearing dirty bibs, but I realize I'm not exactly the prom king either" thing. It was almost as if even though they didn't know how to accept me, they were willing to just because they know through experience what it is like to not be accepted. Further still, they've quit trying to be accepted by others, and focus now on things and people that bring them joy. That felt good.
Again, I've just admitted to unrighteously judging pretty much everyone around me. But that only goes to show, we're all trying to figure this thing out together, and none of us are perfect.

Ben

Carryin' the Banner

Due to the fact that there are about 408 other things I should be doing right now, I have decided to post on my blog. Sorry to wax newsy, but that's what you get when you rarely update, people.
News, in no particular order of importance:
1. Mae is crawling, and pulling herself up on things.
2. We are moving into a little house of our very own.
3. Ben is crawling, and pulling himself up on things. And studying Arabic.
4. In our new house, we get to paint however we want.
5. I'm expecting another baby!
6. The new house has hard wood floors.
7. Still expectin'. Due August 14.
8. My babies will be 15 months apart!!
9. We got an iPod for Christmas.
10. I may or may not need to be baking between 10 to 30 cupcakes right now.