Sympathy Tears

Tonight, the boys took their second ride in the new bathtub. As the most exciting piece of the new master bathroom, it's really a grown-up tub, equipped with "chromatherapy" lights that change color and 46 tiny, but powerful, jets. But since we stole the space for the tub from the formerly pink bathroom in the hall, the boys now get to bathe in our master bathroom until they are ready for daily showers. The punk skipped to the bathroom and the basher ran as fast as his skinny little legs could carry him; we love tub time! As the punk did his business on the other end of the bathroom, I disrobed the basher and set him gently into the warm water. Since the boys so enjoyed the colored lights last time, I thought I would turn them on again. I grabbed the remote control (I know, it's ridiculous, right? A waterproof, floating remote control) and pressed the power button. Suddenly, the bathtub was a tempest of raging waves and giant bubbles! I didn't realize that I couldn't turn on the control panel without immediately starting the jets. The poor basher boy screamed bloody murder and pulled himself up to cling to the side of the tub. With the frequency level of his shrieks, he must have been sure of his eminent demise. Then I heard a yell and a frightened cry from the punk on the toilet. Sympathy tears. I reached over the tub and pressed the power button on the control panel on the wall above the tub. (Yes, I know. Ridiculous.) Then I pulled the basher out of the death trap and wrapped him in a towel to comfort him, then comforted his big brother too.

Finally, with the tears stanched, the jets off, and the colored lights set to scan slowly and therapeutically through the colors of the rainbow, I placed both boys into the luxuriously warm water. The basher was still a bit touchy though, and before I could wash his hair, he was scrambling to get out again. I told the punk that I would be back in 2 minutes, and took the basher to his room to get dressed into his adorable tight-fitting pajamas that make his diapered bum look like an apple with two toothpicks sticking down as legs. As soon as I got him zipped up, I heard the loud whoosh! of the jets and a terrified scream from the punk. I hurriedly followed the shrieks of "Mama! Mama!" to find the punk crying in the middle of what looked like a witch's cauldron of clear, bubbling liquid. As I again grabbed the remote control, the basher joined his brother in a return of very loud sympathy tears.

Oh, the perils of modern technology.

365 Days of the Basher

I feel as though he has always been in my life, but it was only 1 year ago that he joined our family. We started the day by baking in our pajamas: 4 round cakes and 12 cupcakes.

Then we went shopping for a birthday present and last-minute supplies, but the punk decided that a birthday celebration did not provide enough excitement for one day, so he concussed himself on the hard floor of the grocery store. Or so I thought. He hit hard and he cried quite a bit, asking me to carry him (and push the cart containing the basher and our groceries, and carry a dozen helium balloons). He was soon very sleepy and lethargic, and he fell fast asleep on the way home. I called his pediatrician in the car; the nurse told me I could let him sleep, but to wake him in 15 minutes to make sure I could rouse him. I couldn't. So with the basher in bed, I loaded the punk back into the car and headed for the ER. Fortunately, we were able to bypass the estimated 4-hour wait at the ER and visit the punk's grandpa in Radiology. After asking the punk some simple questions ("Q: What's the name of the state fish of Hawaii?" "A: Humuhumunukunukuapuaa."), he pronounced him fine and we returned home. Thankfully, the punk felt better after a nap and a spontaneous and sugar-sweet hug from the birthday boy.

I tried to capture a commemorative photo...

But after taking a face full of dirt, he was done.

We celebrated with cake and ice cream and family.

Happy 1st Birthday, Basher Boy!

12of12: March (Monday)

[Click on the block of photos to enlarge.]

1. Two cuties. 2. Brother love. 3. Lots of tears today. I think the time change is throwing him off. 4. Grocery shopping. 5. It felt like spring today! We spent every possible minute outside. 6. The punk found a friend at the park, and together, they found a pile of ants. 7. Our friend and contractor. He's working hard on our upstairs bathrooms, and we are so excited with the progress he's making! 8. A drunk fly on a fermented apple. 9. Linguine with lemon cream sauce, garden salad, and berries with lemon curd and whipped cream. 10. Family Home Evening and "Popcorn Popping On The Apricot Tree." 11. Punching balloons. 12. The boys took their new shower for a spin. (There's no toilet or sink, but the shower has now been christened!)

Solo Date: Downtown

The second hour of my solo date was spent in a tiny sushi restaurant with two books and a notepad. I'm trying to write more. This here blog gives me a nice outlet when I want to share and receive feedback (Is anyone out there?), but I find something almost luxurious in writing just for me. It's not a journal. It's not a novel. It's not a status update. It's just a notebook. There's no pressure for me to record events for my posterity, or to be funny or insightful. My notebook is my safe place where I can write truth or lies and I am the only one with the burden of judging my work.

I spent the first hour on foot with my camera. After I left my boys at the home of a friend (where the legos sucked them in like a tractor beam and they didn't even glance my way as I walked out the door), I was drawn downtown; I wanted to sneak a peek at the new City Creek, which will open later this month.

I was so happy to see that the McIntyre Building is still intact. I was studying math and working in this historic building for a law firm when I met my man. The architect of this building also designed the Utah State Capitol.

When I grow up, I want to be an architect.

It's cold, but there are a few flowers that are trying hard to usher in the next season.

I'm experimenting with different exposures. Obviously, I still have a lot to learn.

I'm glad I wore a scarf. Brrrrr!

In preparing for this solo date, I had considered inviting a friend to join me for dinner or a walk or a pedicure. There are so many friends that I would like to see more often. Uninterrupted adult conversation is so rare these days. But sometimes a girl just needs to be alone with her camera.

Magic

"What is that stuff under the lights?" asked the punk as we drove through the blizzard. He was looking at the streetlights over the freeway.

I answered, "It's snow!"

Incredulous, he responded, "Snow is falling from the lights?"

As I explained that it's snowing everywhere, but that we can only see it under the lights, I thought how beautiful and magical the world must be through the eyes of a three year-old.

Thank you, punk, for inviting me into your world.

My Loving Husband

At church today, the first thing my man said to me was, "You have something on your neck."

"Yeah," I replied. "A giant zit." Yes, I made the cardinal mistake of trying to pop a neck zit minutes before leaving for church, which just made it angry. Very angry.

As we sang the opening hymn, I noticed that my voice is finally starting to return. I lost it over two weeks ago on the drive to Las Vegas, and although my talking voice has (mostly) been back for about a week, my singing voice always takes longer to resurface. I did note, however, that my voice completely gave out on the top note of the melody, a treble D. When I pointed out to my man that I still can't reach that note, he immediately responded, "I'll bet the zit can."

I burst out laughing and couldn't sing the rest of the hymn. This is how we show our affection to each other. He teases me relentlessly about my flaws and I laugh at his jokes made at my expense. I think I'd rather have a foot rub.