Bootsky

A Letter to Dawson

2009-12-30T18:40:00.004-07:00

My sweet Dawson,

Hello my darling son. I am at work right now thinking about how much I miss you and how wonderful my life is with you and your daddy in it. At this moment you are 8 months, 4 days, and (approximately) 6 ½ hours old. I am biased, but I think you are a remarkable creature. How can one so small know so much and get into so much trouble?

People always say that kids are the funnest when they are around 2 years old because they start to show their personality. You must be precocious, and I must be lucky, because you have already shown me so many character traits. You are a wild boy. There is no arguing this. Today you broke Grandma Cindy's Christmas decoration by banging it unflinchingly on the counter-top, but you are also tender. I know you can sense people's feelings and it makes you sad when there is tension. You have also shown that you are smart. You understand that what you see in a mirror is a reflection. When Daddy hides his cell phone you aren't tricked, and you know how to make a basket on the little hoop Grandma and Grandpa Heiner got you for Christmas.

You are also contemplative. When a new person enters your life you just stare at them. You warm up faster towards women and tend to gawk longer at men. Something you are struggling with right now is eating baby food. You still love your bottle, but have decided you hate the pureed fruits and vegetables Gerber dares to call food. I think you are just too advanced. This afternoon I had a ham sandwich for lunch. I was holding you on my hip while I ate it and the first bite I took, you leaned in at the same time and took a big bite out of the side of my bun. This isn't shocking to me since you only like to eat “normal” food. You also prefer drinking water from a glass instead of a plastic cup. When you see someone drinking from a glass you immediately begin waving your arms wildly out to the side (your Aunt Sami affectionately calls it your “octopus arms”). There is nothing as cute and irresistible as your octopus arms and grunting noises. Naturally, you get whatever you want. We always procure a drink and smile at the sound of your tiny teeth clinking on the glass and water spilling from the corners of your mouth.

You say “baba,” “dada,” and “mama.” I don't believe you are correlating your babble with objects yet, but every time you say, “mama” my heart skips a beat and all I want to do is hold you, mesmerized that you are mine. I am a selfish woman and I adore when you prefer me over anyone else.

When you are sleepy or get hurt you want your mommy, and I want you, too. I envelop you in the rocking chair, cuddle your cherubic face against my chest, and sing primary songs until your pink eyelids begin to droop and your breathing turns heavy. I relish that moment knowing you love me as much as I love you. I know the years will pass and you'll be bigger than me, and I won't get to cuddle you as you slumber (even though I'll want to). So, I will savor every moment I get with you as my little sweetheart, and forever cherish each step of this wondrous journey together. I love you, Dawson.

Love,
Mommy

50 Things that Trump a Shower

2009-07-11T11:15:00.005-06:00

Folks, I am alive.

I just wanted to clear that up since I haven't updated my blog since Pre-Baby Life.

Its interesting how I can now split my life into three sections. Pre-Marriage, Pre-baby, and Motherhood. This third phase could also be called "The Dirty House Era" or "Never Done Hair Phase." Unfortunately, neither of those sounds as melodic and appealing as "Motherhood." Plus, this phase is unending. It will be overlapped with "Grandmotherhood" and hopefully "Great-grandmotherhood," but "Motherhood" is here to stay. With that in mind, it would be a shame to title it the "Never Done Hair Phase." Some miracle may occur in the future where I get enough personal time to primp, and then the title would be irrelevant!

As much as I hate not knowing if my hair will be done by nightfall, I was prepared for that probability before baby came. Some experiences are so constantly talked about by mothers that it was ingrained in me that both me and my house would be a wreck, I would change lots of diapers, and I would wake up all night long. I like to look and smell nice, but there are things that eclipse my hygiene desires. Here are a few:

1: Smelling my clean, lotioned baby.
2: Bathing with baby before bedtime.
3: Playing peek-a-boo
4: Walking with baby around the neighborhood in the evening
5: Watching hip-hop music videos to soothe baby.
6: Taking 30 mins to change a diaper because I'm having too much fun making goo-goo sounds and making baby smile.
7: Rocking for hours while baby sleeps.
8: Laying with baby next to me kicking me in his sleep.
9: Having tummy time and practicing rolling over.
10: Reading animal books with baby
11: Cuddling with my husband while he feeds the baby
12: Cuddling with my husband after baby is in bed.
13: Pulling inch long boogers out of baby's nose (weird, I know, but its strangely rewarding.)
14: Waking up with baby watching me sleep.
15: Getting a big burp out of baby without even trying.
16: Kissing baby's tummy over and over.
17: Tickling his head while he drifts to sleep.
18: Singing primary songs to soothe him.
19: Hearing huge baby farts that are bigger than a grown man's.
20: Remembering and reciting nursery rhymes I knew as a child.
21: Talking about poop color and consistencies with other moms.
22: Finding out the weight and height of my baby.
23: Dressing baby in cheesy, yet adorably, baby clothes.
24: Dressing baby in miniature-man clothes (jeans, button up shirts, polos, etc.)
25: Watching baby play with his tongue.
26: Watching baby suck on his hands.
27: Playing with my baby's "finger-toes".
28: Listening to baby's heart beat.
29: Having a conversation with baby ("how was your night, Dawson?" "goo ga" "Oh really?" "oooo ooo aaah")
30: Wrapping baby up in a hooded towel and cuddling him after a bath.
31: Watching him play under a play gym and swing at toys above him.
32: Feeding him a warm bottle and dozing off in the rocking chair.
33: Being tickled by baby on my hands and arms while I feed him.
34: Watching baby kick his legs everywhere while he tries to fart/poop.
35: Having my cheek and shoulders sucked on when baby isn't getting a bottle fast enough.
36: Watching all my family love baby.
37: Eating a bowl of cereal while baby entertains himself with toys.
38: Watching baby smile in his sleep.
39: Seeing baby's first smile
40: Hearing baby's first giggles.
41: Bouncing baby on my knee for hours while watching TV
42: Talking "baby stuff" with my mom, sister, mother-in-law, husband, and friends.
43: Letting baby pick which diaper he wants (Do you want Elmo? {no smile} How about Zoe? {no smile} Big Bird? {smile} Big Bird it is!)
44: Helping baby feel textures of objects.
45: Showing baby the "other baby" in the mirror.
46: Taking baby on walks with my husband
47: Sitting next to the carseat on long drives.
48: Calming down baby when no one else can.
49: Sitting outside on a blanket with baby and toys.
50: Rocking my baby to sleep everynight knowing I get to do it all again in the morning.

On the Job Training

2009-04-07T22:14:00.002-06:00

I have worked at this hotel for 3 years now and feel like I have learned a lot of important lessons. Since not everyone has the joy of working in the hospitality industry I thought I should pass on the vital knowledge I have attained.

1) Native Americans don't use credit cards.
2) Old people who can't open a hotel door with a key card should be removed from society.
3) Old people who can't turn the lamps on in their room should be removed from society.
4) Old people who request an extra pillow for every joint in their body need to stay away from me, for I WILL NOT enable their dependence. (Bring your own collection of pillows if you're that far gone!)
5) Everyone gets wasted the night before big bike races (LOTOJA, MS-150, etc.) I can't say I'd enjoy being hungover riding the hundreds of miles from Logan to Jackson, but whatever floats your boat!
6) Some businessmen are lonely enough they'll hit on even the largest of pregnant women. Unfortunately, some of us pregnant women are still gettin' some and don't need their pathetic company. Tough luck fellas.
7) Truckers make the best customers. After sleeping at truck stops anything seems luxurious. Check them in, and they never reappear.
8) Indian men are not afraid to call the front desk and ask for a romp in the hay.
9) 1 pool towel is never enough. One must use three: Hair, torso, and legs. Fat people tend to double those numbers.
10) Rich soccer/dance moms raise hell about EVERYTHING. "Its cold outside. I want to speak to a manager. My spoiled-little-brat wanted hot weather!"
11) Ice machines are harder to use than any computer.
12) NO PETS ALLOWED = "Please bring your filthy mutt and hide him in the room. Also feel free to take him in the pool with you! The health department doesn't mind one bit."
13) NO SMOKING = "We would love you to smoke in this non-smoking room, just prop that door open. Maybe you could spit some tobacco on the carpet while you're at it?"
14) No, you don't get a discount for only staying in the room for 1 hour. Do you really think the room is uncontaminated after a quickie with your mistress? (Yes, I know what you are up to...)
15) It is always appropriate to throw keys at the hotel employee when you are angry. It solves all of your problems.
16) The customer is almost always wrong (I would say 99% of the time). For example: "The drawers on the TV stand are locked! They won't open! FIX IT!" "Sir, they are FAKE drawers. CHILL OUT. And no, you don't get a discount."

Pathetic, I Know...

2009-03-05T17:20:00.001-07:00

So, it has been 4 or 5 months since I've posted ANYTHING. Am I pathetic? Could be. My lack of posting is even sadder when you consider that I sit on my butt and play Atomica and do jigsaw puzzles for hours at work.

Today I hit the 31 weeks pregnant mark. ("Congratulations, Celia!") With only 9 weeks until D-day it is dawning on me how soon this experience is going to be over, and motherhood will begin. According to the books I've read and my Prepared Childbirth Class, its normal to be totally freaked out about the delivery and caring for a new baby. As it turns out, neither one is making my knees shake. The most disquieting question on my mind is: "what the devil am I supposed to have when I bring home this little wiggle worm?" I've read stranger's opinions online, talked to women with kids and no one agrees on anything except a car seat. Like that isn't obvious! I doubt the hospital would let me take the baby home in a wheel-barrow.

In prepping for our new arrival Jeff and I hit up Target yesterday to do some baby gift registering. After aimlessly wandering the baby section forever, we started randomly scanning things that might be useful. Who knows, maybe I will actually use 4 pairs of baby mittens!

Here is a sampling of things we registered for:

My sister is actually lending us her swing, but I couldn't help but tack this on to our registry. The pattern is to die for.

My sister says she loved it for her babies. I love how it feels on my lips. I figure it would feel just as nice on my baby's bottom!

I will be honest here: half the stuff in this kit is alien to me. The other half seemed important enough that we registered for the whole shebang.

I wish texture could be felt over a computer monitor. This baby blanket is stylish and oh-so-cuddly.

This little book is too adorable. Its gummy for teething, and you can slip pictures into the pages. Love It.

Ducks+Trees=Pictures

2008-10-22T10:03:00.000-06:00

This past Sunday my cousin Sami and her husband Brandon came with us to our church. Afterwards we grabbed some nasty ol' bread and headed to 1st Dam to feed some ducks. Usually there are swarms of ducks and fiesty geese attacking from every angle. This particular day all the birds were across the small lake exactly where no people can access. Either they were extremely full, or totally stupid. We eventually found a small flock of ducks hiding under tree branches and were able to use all our bread. This cute tree was very distracting during the duck feeding and we ended up snapping tons of pictures in it.

Here's the video...

2008-10-15T23:03:00.001-06:00

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It's Time for Some Campaignin'!

2008-10-15T22:57:00.001-06:00

Jeff just showed me this video, and I was laughing so hard. I wish I would have watched it before tonight's debate so I could have pictured Obama riding a unicorn and McCain running him over in a tank while they bored me to death.

ENJOY!

Grandma, please don't jump on me!

2008-10-14T17:02:00.000-06:00

Okay, so I know I've already posted once today (and it was a dandy), but I took this picture tonight and wanted to show it to the world (not because its excellent work, but because it proves that I am lucid.)

Since mid-July I've spent the majority of my time alone at our house entertaining myself since Jeff works and lives down in SLC all week. Over the past few months I've begun to mildly question my sanity. My situation began under normal circumstances. I came home, noticed grasshoppers on the porch, and tried to move cautiously to avoid any erratic jumping from them. Now that same scenario happens every day.

I have two HUGE grasshoppers that sit contently on my front porch all day, every day. They face away from the door as if awaiting my arrival. Strangely enough, as the weeks have passed I've grown to expect them as well. My neighbors probably suspect I'm an entomologist or loony because I often catch myself waving hello and speaking to my insect friends.

Our relationship is so strong that the grasshoppers feel no fear around me. I can swat my hand right by them and they just stare at me. One was sitting on my welcome mat when I came home. I tried to gently coax the thing off, but he wouldn't budge. I shook and shook and shook the mat, and the grasshopper held firm. I finally had to flick it into the bushes! Another day, one of them was wandering around my door frame. I opened the door, the grasshopper continued its vertical adventure, and I shut the door. Rather than jumping inside my house like I expected, the grasshopper got his back leg stuck in the door and couldn't move! (yes, the grasshopper is really that big.) Well, decent people don't leave their friends in such a precarious position. So, I reopened the door, the grasshopper pulled its leg out, and still didn't jump off the door frame. These things are not normal!

The reason for my self mental evaluation is that these grasshoppers disappear when there is someone else to witness their existence. The weekend comes, Jeff arrives home, and POOF my grasshoppers are no where to be seen. Am I so far gone that I have created imaginary friends?

I've told my mom about my two new friends, and its become our inside joke that the two grasshoppers are actually my deceased Great-Grandma Bob (her real name is Emma) and Great-Grandma Fern living secretly as insects in order to act as my guardian angels while my husband is away. (I'll give my mom the credit for this imaginative explanation; it makes me seem less wacky.)

When I left my house this afternoon, I was armed with my camera. Though it may be unhealthy to converse with insects, at least I can prove that their existence is not only in my head.

P.S. Grandma, sorry for smashing your leg.

P.S.S. I hope you guys are saving me a sweet cloud (or mansion, whatever the Jones' have will be fine.) Oh, and I may need you to pull some strings for me up there. I'd really like the Jazz to make it to the top this year!

Amy made me do it!

2008-10-14T09:38:00.000-06:00

This is the text message I received yesterday, "You should start a blog. All the cool people are doing it." Needless to say, I quickly created this lovely page to prevent myself from falling into that hopeless realm of the "uncool." Amy knows how important it is to be hip. That is why in years past Amy, Megan, Larisa and I chose to wrap ourselves in masking tape and hobble around like tree stumps, dress up like Barbies (not even for Halloween), make Barbie movies, and masquerade as gay men for a home-made 'Johnny are you Queer?' music video. Perhaps this silliness can be attributed to our lack of transportation.
Proof that we became ultra awesome the moment driving privileges were ours is found in our high school daily ritual. Two crushes living on one street? How can you not drive by multiple times a day, occasionally toting a video camera?! With both the drive-by-stalking and the crumbled, rock solid, peanut butter cookies (yes, I believe that is the time we asked to see Andrew's mom to verify her hotness), it is no wonder Andrew's parents joined our fan club that year.
As you can see, with such an elite background of coolness, it is imperative that I create a blog. To not, would be equal to sitting on the couch WATCHING while the others topple face-first bound in tape. So, it is official. Amy, I have joined your ranks. I, too, am cool.