Halloween Done Right

More Fun Than Candy

Q: What's better than trick-or-treating a day early?
A: Playing outside in your costume, of course!

He Has a VERY Good Excuse

If my baby screams at your baby for approaching a toy that Grant was thinking of claiming for his own, he has a very good excuse ...

If my baby throws himself to the ground in a fit of rage because you helped him unwrap his Halloween candy, he has a very good excuse ...

If my baby wants to crawl down the stairs at a very slow pace, instead of being carried down quickly, he has a very good excuse ...

If my baby tells you all of the food you fix for dinner is yucky, he has a very good excuse ...

If my baby won't leave the house without clenching his own tube of toothpaste, he has a very good excuse ...

... he's TWO! Well, almost. But as I've said before, my babies reach two way before the calendar says it's time. So, if Grant pulls one of his stunts, and you are blessed to be in his presence at the time, don't blame him. Just take a look at his poor mother who is shaking her head in despair and realize this, too, shall pass. In six months. Or more. Oh, and sorry.

Jack-O-Lantern

Nicole designed.
Dad carved.
Grant watched.
I cleaned.

Charity

Once or twice a year (and always before Christmas), I ask Nicole to sift out toys that she doesn't play with anymore, and that still work, to send to children "who don't have any toys." I don't know if there really are kids without any toys at all, but surely kids exist who have less toys than my kids. This little project helps Nicole not feel so bad about giving away some of her "treasures."

The other day in the car, Nicole said to me, "Mom, that's sad some kids don't have any toys." Pause. Deep introspective examination. "Good thing I'm not one of those kids."

Mormons in New England

I haven't written many (if any at all) "Mormon posts," but our out-of-Utah visit was so shocking, in some aspects, that I decided it's time.

For example, I asked one of the Mormons I met about the private schools in the area. When she told me about one where her children were enrolled, I asked her if it was academic or religious-based (I refuse to send my kids to religious-based schools. My kids get all the church information they need at home and on Sunday; no sense bombarding them with more all day, all week long. But that's another discussion.). To my astonishment, she replied, "Oh it's academic, of course. The religious schools in the area do not accept Mormons."

Back up. What year is this? Living in Utah, where Mormons are inevitable, and in the year 2007, I have never experienced any form of prejudice. Such a shocking experience.

My acquaintance continued to say that the schools claim Mormons' beliefs are inconsistent with their religious beliefs.

I know many people who cross religions for church and school -- and the attitude has always been, "We're all Christian, so what does it matter?" This has prompted me to wonder what sort of notions they have about Mormons ... So if you're not Mormon, here are some things you may not have known.

First of all, the official name of the church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Sometimes people refer to its members as LDS or Mormon. ("Saints" means member.)

Did you know that there are more than 13 million members in 176 countries and territories? About 6 million of these are in the United States, making Mormons the fourth largest Christian denomination in America.

As per specific beliefs, here are some of the basic:

Our canon of scripture includes the Bible (both the Old and New Testaments), the Book of Mormon, and other books of scripture which support and authenticate the Bible and testify of the ministry and divinity of Christ and of God’s ongoing revelation to man. As a side note, our gorgeous Marriott hotel room in New Hampshire had a Bible and a Book of Mormon in the nightstands next to the bed. There's a new one for me.

We believe in a three person Godhead, namely, God the Father, his son Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost.

Here's one I don't fully understand, but that people wonder about ... Polygamy, a limited practice in the early pioneer days of the Church (I think it was to support the large number of widows who were caring for young children), was discontinued in 1890 -- 117 years ago. So, no matter what you might hear, Mormon men only have one wife!

Here's one that might be more well-known ... Mormons abstain from coffee, tea, alcohol, tobacco, and other substances that are addictive (except chocolate, thank heavens!) or harmful to the body.

And just for laughs ... Mormons don't have horns. (Seriously, where does this stuff come from?!)

Alright, if I tell you any more, you might just morph into a Mormon, but I will show you some Mormon pictures from New England (including never-before released prego pictures).

All of these were taken in Sharon, Vermont, which is the birthplace of the prophet Joseph Smith. This property actually belonged to his family two hundred years ago.
This is the LDS chapel in Sharon.
Here we are standing in front of a granite monument that commemorates the life of Joseph Smith. It stands 39 1/2 feet tall, one foot for each year of his life.

Last photo from the property.
I don't know if these people are Mormon, and given the small percentage of New Englanders who are, it's highly likely that these folk aren't, but I found it quaint how they live a simple country life and hang their laundry on their front porch to dry. (I don't know that I could fit in here.)
If you still want to learn more about your Mormon neighbors (everyone knows at least one), you can ask them your questions, visit www.mormon.org for a general overview, or go to www.lds.org for more resources.

May we all co-exist peacefully, regardless of which state we call home.

City Girl Unexpectedly Meets Small Eurpean Town

Historic Church Street in Burlington, Vermont reminds me of a typical European rue, replete with cobblestones and all.

We ate dinner on the street, from one of the portable vendors. We didn't eat from this one because the iron wasn't hot when we stopped by, but doesn't it sound so ... je ne sais quoi ... Quebecois? By the way, we sat by a Quebecois on the plane to Vermont and he told us that he spoke French exclusively until four years ago when he started traveling within the U.S. for work and leisure. Who knew?

Since the weather is atypically warm for this time of year, most of the cafes offered patrons the luxury of eating out on the patio (this must not be a very good restaurant because the one down the street didn't have any open seats -- indoor or out).
I shouldn't have been surprised to see the street acts. Most of them performed for money (such as this young troubadour), but this Nader clown was just in it for the free publicity. I'm not sure if he was referencing Ralph Nader, but it made for an interesting spectacle.













We passed street artists, alley ways, and adorable mom-and-pop shops. But I suppose the thing that makes this street so appealing is that it's really not unique at all for this neck of the woods. In fact, to find a Walmart (or other underpriced, oversized commercial development) is tricky, if not impossible. So, if you're in need of a European fix, save yourself some money and head to Vermont instead.

The Cleanest Legos in Town

So maybe they're not the cleanest, but at least they're the driest.

When Grant happened upon an open dryer door (just as he was toting the Lego wagon down the hall), it proved too much temptation to resist.

He loaded all of his jumbo Legos into the dryer, one by one (causing me to fret about getting them all out), but then unloaded the dryer without being asked.

He sure is getting domestic.

I Support School Vouchers

Not only do we have a child in a private school, but I am generally in favor of laws that give the public choice. If you haven't seen this commercial on TV yet, take a look at it here. It's brief, but may answer a few questions you have regarding vouchers.

Don't forget to vote Nov. 6th!

Call Me Clingy

The whole drop-your-kid-off-at-school concept feels counterintuitive to me. Today, when I took Nicole to school, I was the one who experienced a mini panic attack at parting. I crossed the threshold into her classroom (normally we say our goodbyes at the door) and hung her backpack and sweater while she washed her hands.

She proceeded as normal and found a seat on the giant rug with her classmates who were already engaged in calendar and weather discussion. I, who should have been long gone, couldn't move. I stared and watched, and at one point, thought about getting more comfortable in a chair. I finally decided I needed to leave the room -- for her sake. I didn't want her to think something was wrong or that I would be staying for the entire class period. But I wasn't ready to completely leave; so I retired to the observation room. Perfect, I thought, now I can watch her and she doesn't have to know.

Every time the teacher asked the class a question, Nicole's hand shot up in the air to answer. She wasn't picked today, at least not while I was watching, but she didn't seem to mind either. She appeared neither disappointed nor discouraged from trying again on the next question. Question after question, hand after hand -- I just wanted to go hold her tight and ask her for all of her thoughts and opinions.

As 2:00 approached, the thought crossed my mind that Clint might begin to worry what has taken me so long and I begrudgingly left the building for the car. Once home, I occupied myself with addressing Grant's nose issue, so I didn't have to focus on how much I missed Nicole and how much I wished she didn't have to be at school today.

Today's the day the novelty of kindergarten wore off for me. And to think, this is just the beginning.

Sophistication

Not sophisticated: Chewing a blue eraser off a pencil and stuffing it in your nose.

Sophisticated: Threading a small catheter past the eraser, inflating the end of the tube and dislodging the eraser.

Inauguration, initiation, hazing, whatever you like to call it, I have now joined the ranks of mommies whose sons have visited the emergency room to have an item removed from the nasal cavity. I'll tell you, my credentials are multiplying daily. Give me one more year and I'll be a colonel!

A Monkey Was Born

Grant has recently refined his climbing skills, and he is starting to employ tools.

For example, one of his favorite things to do is move Nicole's stool from the bathroom to somewhere else in the house -- such as the foot of Nicole's bed so he can get into her special things that were previously out of his reach; or in the kitchen, to stand at the counter and open the unlocked drawers full of silverware and kitchen utensils (sometimes he even empties them into the dishwasher -- ughh!).

But Grant's newest trick proves he truly is a monkey after all. I am sad to report that Grant has learned to climb out of his crib. And while he doesn't do it very often, I have a feeling things are about to change. This morning, at 6:00, Grant let out a little yelp to indicate he was ready to get up. Choosing to override Grant's will, I left him in bed, in hopes that he would go back to sleep. And sure enough, a couple of minutes later, all fell silent. Until I heard the pitter patter of baby steps trotting down the hallway and rolled over in bed to find Grant at my side. Guess he showed me!

It's a Sad Day for Medicine

A recent dark and stormy night, Clint and the kids waited in the car while I ran into Smith's to buy a bottle of liquid pseudoephedrine HCl for the kids. They had just started in with a sniffle and I wanted to be prepared in case it developed into a more miserable cold. Unable to find the product I wanted, I asked the desolate pharmacy for help. They pointed to a stack of bottles behind their counter, and it was only then that I remembered they keep them there as a drug control attempt (to prevent mass purchases to be used in making meth). I guess I hadn't bought this in a while, since I had forgotten about that policy. As I proceeded to pay, the man told me that I had to fill out a form with my name, address, driver's license number, social security number, secret ID code embedded into my skin, etc. before leaving. Not wanting to repeat this hassle at a later time, I asked him to throw in a box of adult Sudafed also. He eyed me over and then accusingly asked, "Sheesh, is your whole family sick?" Mind you, I was not doing anything illegal or even excessive. (By the way, I was informed that you have to fill out the 30-page application for each bottle/box you purchase -- even if you buy them at the same time. So I didn't save myself any hassle or time.)

I responded that I was simply stocking up for the winter. Then the student-pharmacist tried to discourage me from buying anything at all and pointed out that it is "now recommended that expectant mothers take no medication at all (not even Tylenol). They should try to endure their symptoms until they pass."

Excuse me, Mr. First-Year-Pharmacy-Student, but I have access to personal medical advice as often as I would like it and will purchase my two packages of pseudoephedrine, regardless of your unwanted opinion, thank you very much. (If you can't tell, I loathe unsolicited and unqualified "medical advice.")

Little did I know that in the following weeks, both of the kids would nearly exhaust this 4 oz. solution and that I would, once again, be begging a pharmacist to pass me an over-the-counter (can that be emphasized enough?!) drug. At Walmart this time, I patiently waited in line for an available pharmacist tech, who said to me, "We don't carry that anymore because it hurts kids." (Boy, that was eloquent.)

The pharmacist came running (that's not an exaggeration) and showed me where they keep the children's "pseudoephedrine." He handed me a bottle of Triaminic, as if I could be so easily pacified. I pointed out that I didn't want phenylephrine, but pseudoephedrine. Realizing that I wanted answers, he relayed the unfortunate news that liquid pseudoephedrine has, indeed, been pulled from their shelves. His reason was different from the tech's: It's too big of a pain for people to retrieve it from behind the pharmacist's counter, so they (and supposedly no other pharmacies) will no longer be selling it. Yeah, um, I'm not really buying that line.

So, the bad news is, I unknowingly bought my last liquid pseudoephedrine a few weeks back and now it's almost gone. The good news is I can still get a prescription of it from my doctor (see, I told you they know best).

All in all, it's a sad day for medicine when drugs get pulled from the shelves. Such a very sad day.

PS: Even the brand name Sudafed doesn't offer pseudoephedrine as an active ingredient in liquid form.

More Bang for Your Buck

It's not materialistic, it's practicality.

For slightly more than $300,000 in SLC, you could be the proud owner of this 1923 masterpiece (take notice of how previous owners have sacrificed comfort in order to preserve the historical integrity of the building by forfeiting a post-hoc garage):

And for just under $300,000 in Anytown, Middle America, your family and your dog could call this lovely rambler home sweet home:
But there's more to relocation than home prices. Nicole said to me the other day, "We have to start praying to Jesus to see where we're going to go ... like Portugal, or Arizona ... or that place Dad wants to go (Minnesota). Let's see if Jesus picks Arizona."

I hope it's that easy.

Close, but No Cigar

To all of the women who wanted to name their babies Scott, this one's for you! I have recently been inundated with stories of how Scott was a runner-up name on the baby list for many friends and family members. Unlike many of them, we have no family connection to the name, had never thought of the name before and actually didn't even consider it when we sped through the S section in the 15,000 Baby Names book. It would appear that Scott's name randomly popped into our heads. And since neither one of us had any major aversions to the name, we agreed with a, "Hey, why not?"

I am glad to see that Scott's name is so warmly welcomed and hope that it is a token of good things to come.

I Solemnly Pledge to Consecrate My Life ...

Each medical school crafts their own version of The Hippocratic Oath, but here is the one that Clint has pledged. I find it endearing that physicians today vow to uphold the standards that were defined by their progenitors.

Just a Tip

One of the only useful things I remember from my communications law course was a Latin phrase meaning "let the buyer beware." A few years later, I saw a news story about restaurant servers (is that the PC term for both male and female?) who adjust the tip amount to charge your credit card. For example, say you leave a $5 tip, they might add a "1" in front to make the tip $15. Although I never thought it would happen to us, Clint and I have casually compared our receipts with our bank statements ever since.

Last weekend, when Clint was in San Francisco for the American Society of Anesthesiologists' conference, he and his colleagues ate at one of the hotel restaurants that was sponsoring the event. To our grave disappointment, Clint's waiter doubled his 20% tip. When I called the restaurant (twice), the employees gave me the run-around, claiming to be unable to locate the manager.

I don't consider myself one to complain much, but when I do, I don't like to spend all day about it. So, having wasted enough time over the matter, I called the hotel concierge, who rectified the situation immediately. He was miraculously able to "meet with" (those were his words) the restaurant manager within five minutes of our phone call and said that they send their sincerest apologies and will take measures to ensure this doesn't happen to future guests. I hope that means they fired the guy.

Caveat emptor!

I Guess We'll Keep Him

In an effort to compensate for his shortcomings, Grant has taken up vacuuming. He fared so well I'm considering giving him a weekly allowance to assist me in cleaning the house. Very thorough, like his dad.

If only all of Grant's messes could be vacuumed away ...

More Naughty Than I've Ever Experienced

So this is motherhood -- cleaning up after destructive babies.

What would ever possess a baby to mix Ajax with Jet Dry in a glass bowl on a dark rug? (Sorry, Mom. Would now be a bad time to tell you that I never liked that rug much anyway? It was such an odd color.) I know lots of moms deal with much worse than this, but this is new for me. Seriously, before the terrible two's (which technically haven't started yet) are over, either Grant or me may need to be locked up -- him in the dungeon or me in the loony bin.

Nicole said to Grant, "Oooh. You're soakin', soakin' in trouble and I'm so glad you're in time out."

I asked Nicole why that made her happy and she replied, "Because now I can enjoy some peace and quiet."

She also added, "It's hard work to take care of two kids, isn't it mom? It's hard without Dad to help, huh."

Yes and yes.

Best and Worst of Wheeler Farm

The best.The worst is that Grant fell and scraped his nose and Nicole got a sliver (still needs to be removed, not surprisingly). Ouch!

Explain Yourself

There's a little game of tag circulating the blogs (see here and here) and I suppose I've been caught. Writing this reminds me that once upon a time, I used to have a life outside my family (weird). So, if you didn't already know ...

Places I've Lived
Only Utah -- I lead a very dynamic life. However, I foresee this changing soon (only five more months until the match).

Previous Occupations (there aren't so many)
1. Academic advisor (first job and oh-so-not-thrilling)
2. DJ
3. French teacher at Brigham Young University (loved it; would have done it for free -- 'course I never told them that)
4. Talk radio producer at KSL
5. Communication teacher at Weber State University
6. Editor for an IRB
7. Stay-at-home mama (favorite one to-date)

Most Loved Vacations
1. Portugal with my husband for our first anniversary. My parents also came and we traveled all over in a tiny rental car. I bought a gorgeous wool scarf in a typical European town as a momento.

2. Arizona. This is a staple in our yearly planning. It's close, it's fun, and it's by far the most beautiful of the states.

3. I will always have a dear spot in my heart reserved for Omaha.

4. Monnieres, France. I really love all of France, but the cottage where I stayed in Monnieres is one of the most enchanting places I have ever been. When I was 15 and had been in France for a couple of weeks sans my family, I made the trip to Monnieres, which is a small country place close to Nantes in the Northwest. The drive there felt like going home. If ever you've seen My Father's Glory (an adorable French film), Monnieres slightly resembles their vacation spot (even though it's a completely different region). Ask me and I'll sing you their town song.

5. Clint and I once took Nicole and my niece on a three-week road trip. It's safe to assume that we have now traveled nearly every major highway, freeway and frontage road west, north and south of Utah. All of it was amazing (except the part where we wandered through Death Valley's vast nothingness). The most intriguing part was when we passed the windmill farms in Palm Springs, CA.

Lifetime aspirations (if I only had to name a few ...)
1. Learn to speak Italian so I can travel to where my ancestors lived and be able to communicate somewhat without asking, "Parla inglese?" every couple hundred yards.

2. Go back to school to get my nursing degree so I can travel with Clint on medical missions. Then, when he says something like, "Please pass me a 14-gauge needle," I will pick up the right one.

3. Publish a book (not the self-publishing kind, but the kind where I am courted by some fancy NY-based corporation for my intellectual property). Sounds flattering, doesn't it?

4. Lead a healthy life (no marathons here, just active) so I can live as long of lives as my grandparents. I want to grow old gracefully and enjoy my married children and their children and their children -- OK, maybe I don't want to live that long, but you get the idea.

5. Relocate my family to the perfect spot. A place close to relatives, where time passes slowly and where problems and snow don't exist (starting to sound a lot like Arizona, isn't it? Either that or Heaven -- but, hey, what's the difference?).

Best advice I've ever received: Choose who you love, love who you choose.

Your Turn (if you don't have a blog, it's time to hop on the band wagon):
1. Sarah
2. Ruth
3. Carrie
4. Shari
5. Tracy

Three is My Number

There's a mom at Nicole's school who has a daughter not quite yet five and two babies under the age of two. Every day, I haul Grant in my arms (sometimes asleep) to Kindergarten, while Nicole walks along side and I see this mom with one child on each hip with her four-year-old trailing. Many a time I have looked at her and thought, That's going to be me in a few months. If she can do it, I can do it!

And one day I told her so. She laughed and replied, "Three is my number. I'm one of those people that needs to be busy all of the time and until I had this last baby, I didn't really even feel like a mom."

Strange, I thought, since I felt like a mom my first night home from the hospital when Nicole started her little bird yelp for food and no one responded to her plea except me. (In fact, I don't think anyone else even heard her plea.) At any rate, it's safe to say that I have managed to keep myself adequately occupied with two children, but with any luck, perhaps three will become my new number, too!

A Day in Pictures

158 poses. Two final pictures. What a kid.

Baby Space

It's early, but we're ready!

No Rest for the Wicked

It wouldn't take a stranger long to correctly guess the number of years Grant has been roaming the earth. I don't know what I've done to deserve it, but my kids turn two six months earlier than the rest of the human population.

For the past two weeks, Grant has been waking up happier than I have ever seen him and ready to start his day off right -- at 5:30 a.m. Sure, he wants to go to bed earlier now, too, but that doesn't compensate for the early rising. I keep hoping that "tomorrow" I will see the sun rise before Grant ... optimistic, I know.

As if a decrease in sleep wasn't enough, tonight I was robbed of another baby-free period. While Grant and Nicole took a bath, I relished in the moment and caught up on blogs. I heard Nicole laugh hilariously and wondered what could be so funny. I was about to check when Grant rounded the corner in his birthday best running as fast as he could (also laughing). It was so cute that I couldn't be upset.

But it might not be so charming if he does it again tomorrow.

If You're in the Mood for Subtitles

French cinema, in my book, is famous for tragic endings, lack of background music, and reality-style filming. And, of course, if you don't speak French, then there are also subtitles in the mix.

If you aren't embarrassed to cry in a movie, and you need a good watch on a late night, Ponette is the movie for you. Ponette, played convincingly by Victoire Thivisol, is a young child of four or five years who loses her mother in a car accident. Her father is unable to care for Ponette full-time and sends her a Catholic boarding school for the summer.

And here it is that Ponette struggles to cope with death and learns about God for the first time. Her friends desperately try to explain Catholicism to her and together they try all sorts of charms and practices to bring Ponette's mother back.

Here's a telling exchange that takes place between Ponette and a schoolmate:
Ponette: I'm waiting for my mommy.
Matiaz: Dead people don't come back.
Ponette: Jesus did it for his friends. I'm more than a friend. I'm my mommy's daughter.
Matiaz: Grandpa never came back.
Ponette: That's because no one was waiting for him.

Ponette was nominated for tons of awards and won Best Foreign Film all over the globe. Victoire Thivisol also won Best Young Performer in a Foreign Film. I first saw this movie at BYU's International Cinéma, so I 'm pretty sure it's a family-safe movie. It's available at Blockbuster -- go get it and you won't be disappointed!

Here's To My Man

It's not his birthday; nor our anniversary. But when Dr. Laura read this article on the air the other day, I smiled as I thought of my MAN.

The "Retro-Man" Code -- We Are Men That "Deal With It"

Author unknown

A Retroman opens doors for a lady. Even for the ones that fit that term only because they are female.

A Retroman DEALS with IT, be it a flat tire, break-in into your home, or a natural disaster, you DEAL WITH IT.

A Retroman not only eats red meat, he often kills it himself.

A Retroman does not dress in clothes from Hot Topic when he's 30 years old.

A Retroman should know how to properly kill stuff (or people), if need be. This falls under the "Dealing with IT" portion of The Code.

A Retroman does not let neighbors screw up rooms in his house on national TV.

A Retroman is allowed to seek professional help for major mental stress such as drug/alcohol addiction, death of your entire family in a freak tree chipper accident, favorite sports team being moved to a different city, favorite bird dog expiring, etc. You are NOT allowed to see a shrink because Daddy didn't pay you enough attention. Daddy was busy DEALING WITH IT. When you screwed up, he DEALT with you.

A Retroman will have at least one outfit in his wardrobe designed to conceal himself from prey.

A Retroman should have at least one good wound he can brag about getting.

A Retroman knows how to use a basic set of tools. If you can't hammer a nail, or drill a straight hole, practice in secret until you can - or be rightfully ridiculed for the wuss you be.

A Retroman knows that owning a gun is not a sign that your are riddled with fear, guns are TOOLS and are often essential to DEAL WITH IT. Plus it's just plain fun to shoot.

Crying. There are very few reason that a Retroman may cry, and none of them have to do with TV commercials, movies, or soap operas. Sports teams are sometimes a reason to cry, but the preferred method of release is swearing or throwing the remote control. Some reasons a Retroman can cry include (but are not limited to) death of a loved one, death of a pet (fish do NOT count as pets in this case), loss of a major body part.

When a Retroman is on a crowded bus and or a commuter train, and a pregnant woman, heck, any woman gets on, that Retroman stands up and offers his seat to that woman, then looks around at the other so-called men still in their seats with a disgusted "you punks" look on his face. In addition, he will give up his seat to any elderly person or person in military dress (except officers above 2nd Lt). NOTE: The person in military dress may turn down the offer but the Retroman man will ALWAYS make the offer to them and thank them for serving their country.

A Retroman knows how to say the Pledge properly, and with the correct emphasis and pronunciation. He also knows the words to the Star Spangled Banner.

A Retroman will have hobbies and habits his wife and mother do not understand, but that are essential to his manliness, i.e., hunting, boxing, shot putting, shooting, car maintenance.

A Retroman man can drive in snow (or better, a blizzard) without sliding all over or driving under 20 mph, without anxiety, and without high-centering his ride on a plow berm. A Retroman man doesn't need a contract -- a handshake is good enough. He will always stand by his word even if circumstances change or the other person deceived him.

A Retroman man doesn't immediately look to sue someone when he does something stupid and hurts himself. We understand that sometimes in the process of doing things we get hurt and we just DEAL WITH IT.

The Value of Time

A couple of weeks ago, I saw the most beautiful receiving blanket I have ever laid eyes upon. It was a double layer white knit with small sailboats embroidered in one corner and a soft blue crochet finish around the edges. And since I was at Babinski's, I shan't have been surprised at the price tag: $56. Outrageous! I proclaimed in my head.

Then in my mind, I fast-forwarded 15 years and thought, Even if I had ample money in store, I could not bring myself to spend that much money for such a thing. (I like to hope that one day, you know when we're no longer in school and Clint has a real job in the real world, I will be able to keep my wits about me and still recognize a rip off when I see one.)

A week after this incident, I dragged my sister to see the infamous blanket and help me devise a plan to make a knock-off. She knew just what to do. So, thirty-five dollars in thread and fabric, thirty-five dollars in a presser foot, and three weeks later, I finally have my baby blanket. Actually I have two and extra fabric to make as many all-white bibs as my little fingers can stand to sew.

In retrospect, the store-bought blanket and the hand-made (with a machine, duh!) blanket cost nearly the same. And the hand-made versions took me four naptimes and three after-bed periods to complete. To top it off, the hand-made version, while it was sewn with exceedingly fine craftsmanship (if I do say so myself), isn't exactly a replica of the prototype. But don't you think little Scotty will feel extra warm and extra loved in his blankets because his mommy made them for him? Maybe it was worth all the trouble after all.

A Child's Prayer

Nicole said the family prayer last night, and remembered her new little brother:

"Please bless that Scott can come out safely."

(That's what I'll be praying for, too -- just not yet!) Nicole is always telling me how much she loves her new little brother. She likes to squeeze my tummy to give him a hug. I think this little baby is going to be smothered by two mamas. What a lucky boy!

Can I Take Out a Home Equity Loan on My Apartment?

I don't often use the word need for superfluous items, such as cameras, but I feel justified today in saying that I need a new camera. My current camera, which was purchased just after Nicole was born, was my first digital camera. I never intended it to be my final camera, but now that I'm in the market for an upgrade, I'm wondering if this one will be the last one.

Back in the good old days, people could spend a respectable amount of money to purchase a camera that would last a lifetime. The technology and features only varied slightly over the years -- never necessitating a replacement. In fact, before I bought my current camera in 2002, the last time (and first time ever) buying a camera was in 1996 before going to France. My dad took me to Sam's Club and I spent my own $110 to buy what I considered a very nice camera. Clint likewise had a "nice" non-digital camera that he brought into our marriage. With great reluctance, and with no further use than when we were married, we finally disposed of our outdated film cameras just a couple of months ago. So, while I have no issues dejunking our place, I do tend to grow attachments to my cameras.

Now, back to the dilemma at hand. My new camera (it's not actually mine yet, but I hope it to be someday) is quite pricey and all of the accessories to match (e.g., amazing lenses) are almost as much as the camera itself. The thing that's ironic about this new camera is that the reason I love it so much is because it functions and feels like the old-fashioned film cameras.

If I were to wait a year or so, the prices will surely drop and the technology will improve. But if we think logically here, I have probably saved hundreds, or possibly thousands, of dollars over the years by not developing rolls of film containing doubles of mostly lame poses that would have to be thrown away. So, in essence, the money is technically available for the camera of my dreams.

Just imagine all of the pictures I can take of the kids ... See what I mean by need?!

Movie Night

Until a week ago, we had no idea that Grant had an insatiable craving for popcorn. His first exposure to the white fluff vaguely resembled a starving Ethiopian (remember the commercials?) at Chuck-a-Rama. He groped the kernals by two fistfuls at a time, stuffing it in as fast as he could inhale without choking until it was gone. Not much of a popcorn fan myself, I was caught between a feeling of disgust and awe. If ever there were a popcorn eating contest (never heard of one, but suppose ...), this kid could seriously secure the blue ribbon.

After an atypically late dinner last night, we decided to put Grant to bed before our family night activity. It's not really fair, but it was so late and he was so tired. So off he went and we headed for the kitchen to teach Nicole all about the marvels of caramel popcorn (the only kind I like). I don't know if Grant simply wanted fairness and for Nicole to go to bed at the same time, or if his dog ears heard the kernals popping. Either way, we'll never know the exact reason that Grant started protesting his bedtime. I felt so awful since I knew that he knew that we were about to indulge in his absolute favorite thing to eat.

And the rest is history.

(Raise your hand if you like popcorn.)

A Hunting We Will Go ...

With the hunting season unfortunately approaching ...

Mom: Do you know what hunting is?
Nicole: Yes, like hunting for rocks or lady bugs.
Mom: What does Dad hunt?
Nicole: Birds.
Mom: What does Dad do when he finds them?
(Nicole shrugs and I inform her. Pause.)
Nicole: So when Dad shoots a geese, does that make turkey or steak?

(She also asked if Dad could shoot "that mean goose with the sharp teeth at the park." Rude thing tried to yank the bread right out of her fingers!)