Church

We attend church from 10:00-1:00. The punk usually takes his morning nap from 10:00-12:00. This is potentially problematic. But we have just had to figure out a way to make it work. This means that my man and I take turns sitting out of sacrament meeting every week. We arrive at church, and one of us takes a seat in the chapel while the other heads straight to the "mother's lounge" to give the little guy his bottle and let him sleep. There have been days when I resented this process because I wanted to enjoy the spiritual lesson along with everyone else.

But yesterday...

Yesterday I realized there was no where else I'd rather be than holding my baby, who will turn one year old in 6 days and quit being a baby, and smell his head and watch his eyelids flutter and feel him breathe. When else can I just sit for an hour with the punk in my arms, snuggled in his blanket? So for now, I am thanking my lucky stars that naptime coincides with church, and that I get to spend an hour holding my little guy while he sleeps. There's nothing better.

Christmas Greed

In order to kill an hour this afternoon, the punk and I ran some errands. We returned some shoes to Old Navy because he informed me he wouldn't be caught dead in them. And then we went to Target to search for an oval picture frame (which they didn't have; I bought a boring rectangle frame instead), and to peruse the toy aisle. He quickly found the toys that light up and make noise, and entertained the Friday crowds by dancing and bouncing in the aisle. He dances like Elaine from Seinfeld, except instead of sticking out his thumbs, he displays his pointer fingers and shakes his booty.

He chose the most expensive toy as his favorite, and we spent several minutes hanging out and shaking our stuff. Then, when it was time to go, this is how he felt about it.

Thank you, Target, for entertaining us this afternoon. And for housing a Starbucks.

Little Boys

Boogers and bruises and underwear heads...

That's what little boys are made of.

My Thanksgiving Story

Yesterday, as a tear trickled down my cheek while I watched Big Bird and the Sesame Street crew singing Sing A Song during the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (a song I used to sing with my youth singing group, Star Sounds, pictured below), I reminisced about my childhood Thanksgivings. It was always a holiday spent with family. Lots and lots of family. And I loved every minute of it. Bulging plates, piled high with the good stuff... and by the good stuff, I mean mounds of stuffing, piles of black olives, beets, and pickes, and maybe a small piece of turkey if it wasn't during the time right after my dad took me to visit the slaughter house filled with grotesque, hanging, skinless carcasses. I became a pseudo-vegetarian for a couple years after I realized meat was actually dead animals.

Anyway, Thanksgiving has always been a lovely, cheerful holiday... except for one year. I was young enough to still have baby teeth. My dad and I were watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. When the Rockettes appeared, I was mesmerized. They kicked so high! Their legs pointed vertically to the heavens! Wow! So when Dad asked me if I thought I could kick as high as the Rockettes, I thought, "I am the most talented girl I know. Of course I can!" So I stood up to show Dad how skilled his oldest daughter was.

I took a deep breath in preparation. Easy as pie. Just kick that leg straight up into the air. And I heaved my leg upward, just like the Rockettes! And then I felt something bash into my face. It was my own knee! I had kicked so brilliantly that my knee hit my mouth, and I felt something small and hard land on my tongue. Yes friends, I had kicked out my own front tooth.

When I showed my dad the tooth, he burst out laughing. Then he called for my mom and they howled together at my horrible misfortune. I couldn't believe how uncaring my own parents were! I was humiliated and embarrassed. I thought I was going to look like the Rockettes with their long, straight legs, and instead I looked like a one-girl incarnation of The Three Stooges. So I went to my room and slammed the door.

The end.

P.S. That's me on the top row, left, with the side half-pony and thick bangs. I think the bow tie really brings the look together.

Mama Needs a Massage

I didn't appreciate how easy I had it before the punk started walking. Among the many phrases I've (calmly and sweetly) uttered this morning:

"No, little boys don't belong in the dishwasher!"

"No, we don't climb into the fireplace!"

"Ewwww! We don't eat apples out of the garbage!"

And, the classic, "I'm gonna get you... raaaarrr!"

A First for Mama

I'm not a big jewelry person. The two pieces that I regularly wear are my wedding ring and a silver Tiffany necklace my man gave me about an hour after bringing the punk into the world. When I dress to impress, I almost always wear these two pieces; however, I don't wear my ring around the house, which is where I am most of the time. So when I left the house to go grocery shopping today, I forgot to don my diamond.

While we were out, the punk and I enjoyed lunch at Cafe Rio. And may I just say, I love Tuesdays at the Rio because the special is coconut shrimp tacos. I feel like I'm cheating the system because I ask for the coconut shrimp in a salad instead of tacos, and every time I do, the person taking my order always looks quizzically at me for a moment before saying, "yeah, okay." And oooh boy, cheating is oh so yummy. Today, I felt like I had won the lottery because, not only did I get the best dish at Cafe Rio just by asking for an exception, I had a full punch card so I got it for free!

Anyway, after nom-nom-noming my coconut shrimp salad and watching the punk gum his quesadilla, we walked out to the car. There in the parking lot, as I buckled the little guy into his car seat, I heard someone say, "Hi!" When I looked up, I saw two men walking out from the restaurant, and I smiled in greeting. The man with a fauxhawk continued, "Are you married?" When I said yes, he said, "Well, you're really pretty. I didn't see a ring." I told him that I had forgotten to put it on. He said, "If you weren't married, I would totally ask you out. Your kid is beautiful too." I've gotta say, this was a totally new experience for me. Being hit on when I'm with the punk? I guess it could have been awkward and irritating, but I was actually kind of flattered. I guess it's nice to know that if my man's plane goes down in a fiery crash of twisted metal and flying body parts, I'll have some options. Or at least one option, if I like guys with fauxhawks.

These Socks Were Made For Walking

The punk took his first steps with his papa on Halloween Eve while I was tutoring math in the other room. That night, he was so excited that he kept trying and trying to hone his new skill, but failed to remain upright for too long. I think he discovered that falling hurts a bit, so he became more timid in the days following. But now he's got his groove back. Look at him go!

P.S. His Jazz jersey was given to him yesterday by his Uncle Michael. Thanks bro!