Mr. Baby No More

So when we decided to go ahead and have another baby . . . even though we'd just gotten each of the first three in school . . . even though we were old(er) and tired(er) . . . even though we'd started to enjoy sleeping in on Saturday and car seatless road trips and spontaneous family outings to the movie theater, we told ourselves this:

It will go by so fast. And this time, at least, we'll be wise enough to enjoy it. (Mostly). And we were right. Can you believe it's been two years since this guy made his appearance?





There were screaming fits (his, not ours . . . remember how I said we'd matured??) and sleepless nights, for sure (see here and here for proof). But wouldn't you know it? The blue-haired ladies at church are right: life speeds by pretty quick and if you forget to enjoy it--whoops!--it's all gone. To me, the definition of joy is having the wisdom to stop, really look, and see the goodness all around you before it disappears. And having Wyatt in our lives has been a true joy.

This week, he turned two. Here he is, in all his beautiful blondness, on the very day of his birth:





He loves dinosaurs, giraffes and trucks. He used to love Little Einsteins, but this week he made a quick 180, moved on, and now demands Caillou. (I know! The WASPiest, whiniest, liberal elitiest show on PBS . . . and that's saying something.) He loves salsa ("Salsa and Hops!" he says, meaning chips, of course), chocolate milk (addict) and cookies. He eats chili better than any of his siblings. He loves his blue blanket ("warm beebee") and goes to nursery and childcare at the gym with nary a complaint. He loves his Dad best of all (sniff) but I'm in second place, followed closely by Grandma Sweat and his cousin Eli, whom he's at constant pains to impress. When he went to the pediatrician for his 2 year check up, he jumped and jumped and said "Jump! Jump!" for the pediatrician, without being asked. How did Wyatt know jumping was on that doctor's questionnaire? Baby genius? Clairvoyance? He loves to read books, he takes a good nap everyday (praise be), and a couple of days ago, he told his first joke. "Pee pee!" he said to Jonas. "Poo poo!" Then he laughed hysterically.

We couldn't ask for a better boy.

Now here are some pictures from his birthday bash. Family only, since one of the things I've learned in my mature motherhood is that two year olds don't need friend parties. (Friend parties, music classes, flash cards, fortified baby cereals and/or special parenting methods gleaned from special parenting books. All unnecessary. Oh, and toddler beds. Don't let anyone talk you into a toddler bed.)









Mr. Toddler doesn't have quite the same ring a Mr. Baby did. But you can be our Mr. Man, our Mr. Dean, our Wy-Wy, our Wy-dog, our Super-Wy. We love you!

Because I'm a Mormon, This is What I Did This Week

1. I went to the dry pack cannery for the very first time. For my two non-Mormon readers, this is a place where you can put dry food like flour, rice, beans etc. in cans and seal 'em up tight with this cool spinny machine so they'll last for 30 years. That way, when the zombies attack (see previous post), you'll at least have some rice to make you feel better. Lots of people can things like hard red wheat, but since I've never made bread from scratch in my entire life, I focused on canning things like dried apples. No cooking required. And yum!


Bring it on, zombies. Bring it on.
(To clarify, of course Mormons don't really believe in zombies. If we did, would I be tauting them like that? Don't think so.)

2. I sent Ethan on his first winter camp for Scouts this weekend. He held his own. I kept thinking about him that night, all huddled up, teeth chattering, but he assured me that he stayed nice and warm in his double sleeping bag. A friend of his apparently "almost" got his toes frost-bit (according to Ethan, of course, so take this with a grain of rice. I have plenty.)


I've gotta admit, there are some things about Boy Scouts that I just don't understand, but I'd better get my head around it because I'm going to have a Boy Scout pretty much continuously for the next 16 years. For my two non-Mormon readers, the Church's youth program for boys from 12-18 is connected with the Boy Scout program. It's a great program. It's also a lot of work and pressure, complete with papers that need signatures and camps that require tinfoil dinners and badges that necessitate sewing. (I accidentally typed "swearing." Freudian?). Did I mention it's a great program?

3. I started marshalling troops for our Relief Society's upcoming production of Women at the Well in March. For my two non-Mormon readers (and my Mormon readers who tend to stay away from Mormon pop/inspirational music), Women at the Well is a production (not really a play) with narration and music about women during the time of Christ. Although Mormon pop/inspirational music has an undeniably high cheese factor, this particular production is actually pretty good. And somehow--miraculously, amazingly--all seven of the women I asked to sing (and SOLOS, no less) said yes. Enthusiastically. A few even thanked me for asking. It's probably going to be a lot of work, but I'm strangely okay with that. Grumpy about merit badge paperwork, okay about organizing slightly cheesy Mormon pop/inspirational productions. There you go.

4. Went out to lunch yesterday with the editors of the Mormon magazines represented at The Red Brick Store, our newborn Mormon Pubs blog. So I headed out with Kathy, my dearest compadre and editor of Segullah (of course!), to Thaifoon and ate Pad Thai and lettuce wraps with the editors of Sunstone and Dialogue. It was a ton of fun . . . except I forgot to turn my phone on vibrate and found after dropping Kathy off (3 minutes from my house) that apparently Wyatt had decided to stage a nap strike, today of all days, and my kids (happy MLK Day kids! It's babysitting time!) were calling me every twenty minutes wailing, "He won't go to sleep! Please come home! Pleeeaaaaaassse!" Everyone survived, though, even if Wyatt's diaper was on all skiwompus. It's good for the older kids to deal with stressful situations without mom around, right? Builds character? Thought so!

Now it's time to get the kids out the door for school. Jonas just said, "Hey Mom, aren't you going to do something for me?" "Like what?" I asked. (He's already been breakfasted up.) "I don't know," he replied. "Tell me to go upstairs and put on my socks."

See? A little character building is entirely appropriate.

Slug(ish)

Great news! My metabolism is about as efficient as a mid-level government bureaucrat.

After a year and a half of relatively diligent exercise with no discernible results, I decided to shell out a few dollars for metabolic testing at our friendly neighborhood Lifetime Fitness. So this morning I strapped on a super sexy blue face mask and treaded the mill for 15 minutes or so, and through a magical process that I still don't quite understand (it has something to do with oxygen and carbon dioxide and lactic acid and my heart rate and, quite possibly, the length of my fingernails) I received the following pronouncements:

1-I burn a measly 2 fat calories per minute during my PEAK of working out. Folks with good metabolisms burn 6 or 7 fat calories per minute.

2-(And this one is really a kicker). Most of the working out I've been doing over the last year and a half has been probably making things worse (mysteriously?) because I burn fat most effectively (my awesome 2 calories a minute!) when my heart rate is about 125. But when I'm working out hard--like in my spin class or other group fitness--my heart rate is between 155-170, and I'm burning nothing but sugar, which apparently is a terrible terrible mistake. Unless you're Lance Armstrong and/or Forrest Hallstrom, and then it's okay. Also, because I went from not much exercise to really intense exercise, my "baseline" (again, mysteriously??) is all out of whack and apparently causing my body to hang onto it's "fat stores" for dear life.

But there is some good news:

1-Although it will be boring, the hope is if I work out at a low intensity consistently, 4-5 times a week, my metabolism will change and become more effective. (Mysteriously??). So I suppose more "This American Life" podcasts on the elliptical trainer and fewer push-it-till-you-almost-puke Total Conditioning classes. Although I'm skeptical--it still seems so counterintuitive to me--they tell me that if I work out at this pace I'll start losing weight. It's worth a shot, I suppose.

2-Since it's apparently the end of the world (just ask all the people at the Southtowne Expo gun show), when our family is holed up in the basement, fending off the zombie looters, I'll keep on keepin on a lot longer than those with the super zippy, fancy dancy, extra awesome metabolisms. But come to think of it, that ISN'T good news because it means Forrest will die long before me and his zombie killing skills are far superior to mine. Me and my metabolism, kickin it throughout Armageddon, lonely and hungry and scared. Perfect.

On Thursday I'm doing the second part of the testing where they take a look at my resting heart rate and tell me the baseline number of calories I burn every day. Should be interesting. And if they tell me I must stop drinking Diet Coke I will nod and agree--it's an awful habit, and most certainly indicative of all sorts of failures of will on my part. And then I will ignore them.

No Diet Coke during Armageddon either, I'm sure. And Forrest and his metabolism will already be in heaven, where I'm sure Coke Zero will be abundantly available. Not fair all around.

Glitter on the Front Porch (And this does make sense if you know your 80s lyrics)

A picture of my Mom and Dad, singing "Love Shack" by the B-52s, 11:30 p.m., New Year's Eve. My mom did the Fred part. Rapped it.



And if you look closely, you'll see my sister-in-law asleep on the floor, and her 7 month old baby sent straight from heaven to grace us with her presence staring contentedly at a puzzle piece. At 11:30 at night. She'd been at it for an hour, smiling, cooing, grabbing her toes. Where do these babies come from??? (Oh, yes. Heaven. I guess I already answered that.)

Happy New Year, all y'all! (Okay, yes, a few days late.)

(and p.s., for my Mom's sake, yes I realize a posted a picture of you with your hair standing up on the back of your head . . . but I'll make sure everyone knows that you'd been lying on the ground and you smoothed it back down a few seconds after taking the picture. Lest they get the wrong impression of your impeccable grooming. :-).

(and another p.s., speaking of 80s lyrics, Forrest and I took this 80s lyrics quiz a few days ago, during a snowed-in day last week, and our score was deemed "scarily good" at 109. Can you beat us??)

Christmastime--A Photo Spread

Mama got a brand new camera for Christmas--a Nikon D40, a lovely digital SLR. Hooray! I'm still trying to figure it out and have lots to learn, but I'm already excited about having the ability to press a button and, click, take the picture I want. I can't tell you how many good shots I missed on my old digital cameras because of the infuriating lag time. The quality of the shots with the new camera is lots better too (as it should be!), especially in low light.

So here are some photos from Christmas '08. Not all of them are taken with the new camera, though. Can you tell which ones are which?

Christmas Eve shepherds (and the shepherd that lives in my house kept the get-up on just long enough to snap a picture):

Three Girls in a Tub. Although not specifically Christmassy, any time you get three nieces born within months of each other together, you have to strip them down to their diapers, put them in a tin washtub, and have a photo shoot. (Well, if they're under the age of one, silly):


The Nativity! (And a terrible picture. Sorry. I'm tipping my hand on this one):



Christmas Eve dinner at Grandma's:


The Annual Kids-At-The-Top-Of-The-Stairs photo. (Can we go now? Now? Now? Yess!)

Guess who got a cell phone? Sigh.:

And guess who caused Santa's elves to hunt high and low for specific Bakugan-related items? And yes, we are Bakugan-ed UP!

Much of the morning was spent with hand held electronics:


And plastic animals (we loooooove the plastic animals):



And we especially love our cute blue-eyed boy:




And cozy, snowy (super extra snowy) Christmas Day:

Our niece Lillian and her Uncle Forrest on Christmas Day (and note the black Utah shirt I searched hither and thither to obtain):


And more darling shots of the other three nieces at the extended family Christmas party later that week. (Because if cousins aren't be-diapered in a tub, they should be dressed in identical Christmas finery, under the tree):

The aforementioned extended family Christmas party:

Ethan, during the talent portion of the night, performing a few magic tricks to the astonishment of the crowd:


And that's all the photos I have the wherewithal to upload. Merry Christmas, and on to 2009!

Almost Here . . .

I still get so excited about Christmas. I just do. It's 7:45 on Christmas Eve day and I should probably be doing something productive . . . but instead I want to post some pictures (and a video! I'm so high techie today) of the fun we've had this week.

Wyatt playing in the snow:


Holiday decorations, courtesy of Jonas. (And photo courtesy of Jonas. He also took the next one. Then he made me take the one after that.)





Wyatt's vision of the nativity:


Christmas Baking Extravaganza (with closeup shot of Forrest's chocolate crinkles. So pretty. And yes, the kitchen was a ridiculous mess):




Elise's elementary school choir performance. She's the fifth one from the right on the top row. I'll include a close-up picture, too, so you can see how cute she is.





The Original Handmade Amazing Murial W. Christmas village--under the tree! We figured Wyatt could handle it this year--last year it was on top of the piano. He's done pretty well with it, but we have a few horses missing tails and trees missing tips.


The Dining-Room-Table-Full-o-Gifts. Although Wyatt does okay with the village, I don't trust him with wrapped presents. So for now, this is where all my wrapped presents go. Who says a formal dining room doesn't get used??


And now it's onward and upward to Christmas Eve! I finished grading yesterday (hooray!), the presents are all purchased (but not all wrapped), and it's time to have some fun.

Ten Things I Miss About the 90s

1. Pants with zippers longer than two inches high. You could wear them and not look like a dork because, well, those were the only pants available. And your pants stayed up! And you didn't show anybody your underwear!



2. Looking forward to the next episode of The X-Files

3. My creaseless forehead

4. Truly believing that one could eat as many mini marshmallows, gummy candies, Hot Tamales, bagels, and platters of spaghetti with red sauce as one wanted because they were low fat and therefore ABSOLUTELY HARMLESS

5. Commercials for the Health Rider on TV



6. Our convertible Jeep Wrangler

7. Kurt Cobain


(I still blame Courtney.)

8. Owning a house that cost less than $100,000

9. Being blissfully unaware that I was supposed to pluck my eyebrows.
(Once you go down that road, friends, there's no turning back.)

10. Sleeping in (circa 1990-1996)

What do YOU miss about the 90s?

Things That Make Me Happy

1. Getting Christmas cards in the mail. Four today!

2. "Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. I have it on a mix CD in my car and no matter how many times I hear it it makes me want to sing loooouuuud. There is most assuredly a highly emotional Goth teenager somewhere deep inside me.

3. Wyatt putting a tiger sticker from the grocery store on my nose, saying "Mama's nose!" and laughing hysterically.

4. Christmas.




Wyatt didn't cry, not one little bit. Weird.

5. Being done with my Relief Society Christmas party. (Went swimmingly, my newish Enrichment Committee ROCKS, and my brother, our speaker for the night and spiritual black belt extraordinaire whom I called "Anthony" in his intro, also ROCKS.)

**Is it dorky that I say things rock? Yes? Ah, well.**

6. Wyatt's naptime. Whatever will I do when he grows out of it?

7. The fact that my students found short stories IN ACTUAL LITERARY MAGAZINES all by themselves and read them and liked them, and that last night, during their presentations to the class, could speak intelligently about elements of the craft. I have not molded any literary geniuses from quivering lumps of clay, but I do feel like they've learned something & grown.

8. Ethan playing the trumpet. We went to his band concert last night (and since I was rushing from teaching in SLC in order to screech into the parking lot at 7:03, the camera was forgotten)--and the band did a great job. Major props to the SJ Middle School band teacher for her dedication to one of the most difficult jobs in the universe.

9. Forgiveness.

10. Bed.

Oh What Fun It Is To Ride

We had a lesson a couple weeks back in church on enjoying life--a really good lesson. And even though I consider myself to be pretty content (usually) and mostly grateful (trying), it's important to remind yourself to stop and smell the apple cinnamon holiday candles every once in a while. Or in the immortal words of Bon Jovi, "It's my life / it's now or never / I ain't gonna live forever / I just wanna live while I'm alive."

Although, technically, I AM gonna live forever, but we understand the sentiment, right?

So, the apple cinnamon goodness of this last week is as follows:

Sunday night, Elise performed with the Riverton Children's Choir at the Assembly Hall at Temple Square. It's a darn good little choir and Elise was just beaming up there on the risers. My *$#)@ camera only took blurry pictures inside (the lighting was weird and the camera couldn't figure it out) but the overall red-and-goldishness of the photo at least hints at the flavor of the evening:



And here's a much better closeup photo of my loverly daughter:



The weather that night was downright balmy--a change from last year when it was so cold and slushy that I feared we might lose Jonas's toes to frostbite. Grandma and Grandpa Sweat and the cousins joined us and the kids had a ball looking at the lights. Wyatt was quite impressed by the big Jesus in the visitors' center (and even more impressed by the outer space mural on the wall as you wind your way up that classic ramp--he kept pointing and saying "Moon! Moon!"). It was a most pleasant Christmassy evening. Oh, and one more cool picture, just because it's cool:



Monday night, I met up with some high school friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in years. We went to Tepanyaki, one of those Japanese places where they cook the food in front of you, and I felt a little bad for our poor Japanese chef because we weren't paying him much attention, even when he was catching a raw egg in his chef hat and tossing his knives in the air. Too much talking. But SO GOOD to see them all again and chat away. I'm a girlfriend girl, you know? Some girls are meant for girlfriends (example: Jennifer Aniston); some are not (example: Angelina Jolie). I am most definitely a girlfriend girl. Here we are, posing in the Tepanyaki entryway in all of our 36-year-old girlfriendiness:

And for family members who might remember some of these faces from back in the day: Tamra, moi (even though the hair is darker, you do recognize me, right??), Tamie, Dana, Natalie, Sylvia, Tracy.

Everyone seemed happy and settled and themselves--and by that I mean we're all old enough to have sloughed off some of the insecurities of early adulthood, the worrying about being judged, falling short, all that exhausting jazz. There's a lot to like about getting older, and I really mean that. But I do love my old friends and I'm glad we had the chance to get together and gossip and laugh and ignore our cleaver-wielding Japanese chef.

Then Tuesday night I had our ward book club over to my house four our Christmas party (I know, I know, but I hadn't hosted in a while and it DID force me to get my decorations up and I cleaned and cleaned, even washed the cabinets down, which was satisfying). People started arriving at 7:30 on the nose and I needed until 7:36 to be entirely prepared, but nobody seemed to mind that I was still putting chocolates on a tray and queuing up the CD player after they'd arrived, although I'm sure Martha Stewart would not have approved. We had a great turnout and exchanged a bunch of beautiful Christmas books. Another fun girlfriendy evening.

I've also spent some time this week on Irreantum related stuff. As you all know, the journal's out, but we had a few printing issues that took some wind out of my sails. The pages are a little misaligned and one subscriber got a copy that was bound upside down (egads). I also get a little bit of post-partum blechishness (weirdly??) after doing an issue of Irreantum. Happened with the poetry issue too. There's all this work, all this time, then you put the dang thing out and receive a few complaints (founded complaints--nobody wants to read an upside down magazine), a few nice comments from well meaning friends, and then silence. And I know to expect that--we have a very small circulation, really, and what do I think is going to happen? Cymbals crashing? Confetti? No--you do your work and hope it's good and hope people like it and there you go. Maybe that's why I think it would be so cool to be a dancer, though. You do your thing and there are all these people trapped in a room who feel what you're feeling when you feel it, experience it while you experience it, and when you're done, they clap.

Ah, though, now I sound like a big baby. And like I'm fishing. I'm so not. Just trying to explain how altogether weird the whole publishing thing can sometimes be. Even after everything, though, being involved with Irreantum was (and remains) a pleasure.

Then yesterday. Cycling class with Forrest; serving lunch for a funeral in our ward (RS Presidency thing--and the gentleman who died was ready to go, so it wasn't really a tragedy); Dr. appointment (basically healthy, tailbone pain remains inexplicable); teaching class (fiction workshop--and I really love my students, an altogether earnest and charming lot); coming home at 8:00 p.m. and walking right out the door again to go make eighty gratitude journals with the Enrichment committee, gifts for the RS ladies at the Christmas dinner next Tues. We thought we could whip them out faster than we did--isn't that how it always goes?--and we were up past MIDNIGHT. Came home tired and with modge podge in my fingernails, but it was fun to hang out with those ladies, too.

Lots of girlfriendiness this week. Lots of good stuff. Lots to enjoy in this life, no?