Finish Line!

Two big finishes this week.

Big Finish Number 1: I held my last class for Winter semester on Thursday, with a "final" much like the finals I took in creative writing workshops during my MFA: instead of having a big scary final exam with essay questions and multiple choice bubble sheets, we had a reading and "celebration" where those of us who wanted to brought food. So we clapped for each other, ate cookies and veggies and dip, and had an altogether lovely evening. This doesn't mean, of course, that the students didn't work their butts off. They did. They wrote and wrote and wrote and read and read and read and revised and revised and revised. So the celebration was well deserved.

I've really loved this group of students--good people all, and a few of them are truly talented. And besides, they brought me presents. Really! Presents. First time in my college teaching career. I got a DVD of the movie Vantage Point, which I haven't seen, and which they bought as an homage to my obsession with point of view, and a really lovely card that everybody signed and that contained a $25 gift card to Barnes & Noble. It was really so sweet. (Although now that I think about it, I wonder if it's a no-no to accept gifst? But what was I supposed to do? Since the gift was from everybody, then there's nobody in particular for me to play favorites with. Right? Because I really won't.)

We'll see if my Spring class even happens, though. Since Spring term isn't part of the "official" academic year for BYU, enrollment, especially at the SL Center, is really low. For a while I had three students signed up, but as of right now I only have one. I need (I think) four or five for the class to carry. And although it would be nice not to have the stress of the Tues/Thurs compressed schedule, we could (um) use the money. So here's hoping.

And I do love teaching. Even when it stresses me out. Grading can be a grind sometimes, but time in the classroom? Love it. I still feel so lucky that I got this job.

Big Finish Number 2: Forrest finished the Salt Lake Half Marathon (13.1 miles) this morning! He did fantastic. His final time was 1:45, a full ten minutes better than last year, representing a 8 minute mile pace. He looked good when he came running toward the finish line, too. It was fun to take the kids there and cheer. Forrest ran it with his sister Mindy--her first half marathon, and she did great as well. I always get energized at races like this, seeing these masses of humanity who've decided to do something hard and see it through to the end. Really inspiring. I'm undeniably proud to be related to some of those people :-).

Forrest giving us the "Hey, I see you!" wave.

Forrest running over to give the kids high fives.

Forrest and his sister Mindy. (D'ya think they're related??)

Forrest and the kids. Jonas was doing what I call "puppy hands" when I tried to take this picture (see last year's Easter picture in my previous post for a perfect example of the "puppy hands" pose)--so squinty-eyed Joe is better than squinty-eyed, puppy-handed Joe.

Elise and her cousins, Bella and Ayva.

Oh! And before I forget. Two funny things Jonas has said in the last week or so:

Funny Thing #1:

Jonas: Dad, Who would you choose? The first black millionaire or Helen Keller? (The implications of this is, "Both represent pretty awesome accomplishments. But which one wins in a head to head?")

Dad: I don't know Jonas, who would you choose?

Jonas: (Thoughtful contemplation). Helen Keller. Yeah. Hellen Keller.

Funny Thing #2:

(Context: the kids were all in the car talking about what they wanted to be when they grew up.)

Jonas: We all have the things we're good at. Ethan has animals. I can't remember what Elise's is. And I don't know mine.

Wise words, Joe.

Spring! (And pictures)

It's finally been bright and sunny outside and I've been able to take some good outside pics with the new Christmas camera. So now for your Spring-ish enjoyment, a compilation.

Cute Wyatt, one spring morning (post-haircut):



Studly Ethan, playing baseball. In this particular game he had two great hits and was awarded the game ball. And yep, that's Forrest in the background, standing in as 3rd base coach:




Studly Jonas, also playing baseball (same night, different field):





Wyatt at our neighborhood spring party:



Elise, also at our neighborhood spring party (looking fetching):



And last but not least, what always happens when we try to take an Easter picture with all the kids in the frame at the same time. See last year's picture, beneath it, for proof. (There are some issues not even a new camera can solve):




Here's to spring, new cameras, ridiculous attempts at group photography, sunlight, and Easter!

Mmmmm . . . conference

I love Conference weekend. Not quite as much as I did when I was Primary President in Minnesota (oh, the relief!) but right now it's 9:45 a.m., I'm sitting on the couch in my U of U sweatpants and Johnny Cupid's Bar & Grill t-shirt, ready to chill and listen. Chilling and listening are good things.

And can you believe all the snow in Utah over the last couple of weeks? Although it was a big fat pain in lots of ways, I was selfishly glad for it last week because two of our three baseball games were canceled and so was soccer yesterday morning. Forrest was out of town from Sun to Fri, so it was Nice with a capital N not to have to chase Wyatt around in the biting wind. I'd wake up and pray for snow. Prayers ANSWERED!

I am not a good sports mother. I'm trying.

Elise's cute friends across the street, "the twins" McKenzie and Taylor, moved yesterday. Elise is sad. They were good kids. There are new residents in the house to our East, too, but I haven't met them yet. Forrest has though. Forrest always seems to meet everybody. (It helped that he was outside breaking up a section of our driveway with a sledgehammer--the concrete was all pitted and icky and he's going to replace it. Good first impressions? BANG BANG BANG! Hi There! BANG BANG BANG!)

Jonas is sick. He threw up at my mom's house last night into a large cast iron pot we brought for the express purpose of containing his vomit. It was my cousin Meghan's bridal shower--and oh, she looked so pretty and happy, the quintessential glowing bride--and all the men were at Priesthood session, so Joe had to buck up and come. He's a very good sick person. Takes care of things, etc. He's doing a little better this morning but is still a little green. (Around the gills. Where in the world did that expression come from??)

Wyatt likes to dance to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. He kills me. He also just got a haircut and looks like a little thug. A cute little thug who loves the MoTab.

Ethan is now on Facebook and just threw a sheep at me using SuperPoke. It is a new day.

And last but not least, HAVE YOU SEEN MY BROTHER'S COMMERCIAL???? It's on right this very minute. Right before conference. It's SO VERY COOL! You can see it on the Why? Facebook page here.

Eight is Great! (And so is 38).

Jonas turns eight tomorrow.

Is it cliched to say how it seems like only yesterday that we were driving to the hospital in Maplewood, Minnesota during a March snowstorm? It couldn't have been eight whole years ago that the nurse wouldn't let me have an epidural until--whoopsie!--I was eight centimeters dilated and the mean sixty-ish Asian female anesthesiologist couldn't get the needle in the right spot on my back and during her fourth attempt yelled at me, "Stop crying!" while I was balled up on the edge of the bed in the middle of a killer transition contraction and Forrest said, "She can cry if she wants to!" and I would have kissed him right there if I wasn't so sure I might pass out any second?

And the little baby boy who joined our family that day--the 8 lb. 3 oz. kid with the Hallstrom nostrils who didn't cry after he was born but instead looked around quietly (which freaked me out, but of course I always need at least a half dozen things to worry over and then Google and then wish I hadn't Googled for the first two months after giving birth)--has grown into this:



The kid loves a good chocolate cupcake. And doesn't he look handsome with a nice short haircut?

We had a party for him on Friday. A smallish party where we invited a few friends from the neighborhood, ate pizza, had cupcakes, then headed out to the Nickelcade--a total dive, but the kids love it and lots of the games are still only a nickel. And I figure if the kids are going to run around screaming they might as well do it where their screams are muffled by the sounds of electronic "Deal or No Deal," ski-ball, and 14 year olds banging their palms against violent first-person military shooter games.

And can I say that after recently having a party for my dear 11-year-old daughter that the differences between males and females are starkly clear once you gather them together in a room and let them loose?

Girls (sitting quietly watching Elise open presents, one by one, murmuring approval):



Boys (in the one and only picture I have of all of them together, because in the other shots I attempted somebody either skidded across the floor and fell down, or put his hands over another kid's eyes, etc etc.)



That's not to say the girls weren't silly as all get out at their party. Oh, there was all kinds of silliness. But in the car on the way to Elise's movie the girls were talking about Twilight and school and whether or not they should go to Claire's to buy earrings afterward. Here's some of the dialogue I remember from the trip the the Nickelcade:

"I wonder what would happen if I put my butt in a time machine?"

"What if I chopped of your head and threw it out the window?" (This was not meant as an insult).

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Spell I-Cup! Spell I-Cup!" [speller spells I-Cup] [raucous laughter].

Etc.

They're all good boys--they even decided, on their own, to pool all the tickets they earned at the Nickelcade and split the total six ways so everybody would get a good prize, which I thought was impressive. But man! Boys are boys. (And woman! Girls are girls.)

On a related birthday note, today was Forrest's 38th birthday. He told me not to buy him anything. This is one evidence of how the recession is ravaging our household, as is Forrest's recent purchase of Electrosol dishwashing detergent (Cascade?? Hello?? What is this, the Great Depression?) and Western Family brand everything. Western Family cooking spray (oh, Pam, where art thou?), Western Family cream cheese, Western Family dryer sheets, Western Family cream of chicken soup.

When he starts buying me Western Family Diet Cola, the end is near.

At any rate, he insisted that he didn't want anything for his birthday but to not be in debt anymore--oh, how I wish I could get him THAT--so I didn't get him anything. I wrote him a card (I'm not heartless, now) but didn't buy him a present, and now I feel like the lamest wife ever. He keeps saying that he really really didn't want anything, but now I'm convinced that no matter what he says I'm going to always have to get him a birthday present because I can't stand feeling like such a slacker.

Cause it's all about me, you know. Ah, I'm a joy to be married to, I'm sure. Don't buy you anything AND subject you to wheedling questions about whether or not you really really REALLY didn't want anything for your birthday in order to assuage my guilt.

Love you, though. Hopefully that helps. (It does, right??)

Random Synaptic Firings

-I have a crush on Barack Obama.

I try to be levelheaded and circumspect, especially in light of how much money he's spending, but every time I hear him speak in person I can't help trusting every word that comes out of his mouth. I realize this is evidence of my own personal preference (e.g. if Bush had made the Special Olympics gaffe on Leno I would have thought he was such a BOOR, but I mainly felt sorry for Obama and his slip of the tongue) and that it's not a good idea to trust ANYONE, especially a politician. But I do think the guy's the bees knees.

-One of the reasons Forrest and I like going to the movies together is so we can feel superior to all the people who 1-like a really bad movie they shouldn't like or 2-don't like a good movie that they should like. I realize this is an annoying quality on both of our parts, but at least we have each other, no? We just went and saw Duplicity with Julia Roberts and Clive Owen and it was quite good. Not great, but good--stylishly directed, well-acted, kept you thinking, had some humor. On the way out we were both talking about liking it and then overheard a guy behind us say to his date, "Well that was a waste of two hours." Then Forrest and I got to look at each other knowingly and congratulate ourselves that we got it and the people behind us didn't. We're insufferable! No wonder we like Barack Obama.



Oh, and can I just say that it does my heart good that Julia Roberts' waist is thickening up a bit, and that she has some wrinkles on her forehead? She's still gorgeous, but looks real. Go Julia!

-There *is* something about The King of Queens, though. Highbrow it's not, but it's like sit com comfort food. It's on right now (it's always on at 9:30, when Forrest and I are sitting on the couch with our respective lap tops), and I'm not sick of Doug and Carrie yet. Sick of Jerry Seinfeld and Rachel Green and Ray Romano. Not yet sick of the Heffernens.



-My official least favorite season is "Winter-After-Spring." It's those days (like today) when spring has teased you outside, led you to don your short sleeved shirts, manipulated you into putting the puffy coats in the big closet, and then BAM! You wake up to snow. And not just a sprinkling. An honest-to-goodness, bone-chilling, snow-blowing-in-the-street-like-its-January winter storm. Ugh! The betrayal!!

-My right ear got clogged with water and has yet to unclog itself. Tried q-tips, murine, warm water in the baby nose syringe thingie--all to no avail. Double uggh!

-My kids are funny. I mean funny-on-purpose funny. I like having funny kids.

-Forrest has (inexplicably) started pushing out our bedtime from 10:30 to 11:00 (or even later!). Whaa??? This is the man who's been my go-to-bed go-to guy, and here it is, 10:11, and we're both just sitting at our computers, no indication of wrapping things up and heading to bed. Doesn't he realize I'll stay up until 1:00 a.m. if he lets me?? Maybe it's a test . . .

Serenity Now!

*warning--this blog post is way too long*

The clock is ticking, Forrest is napping on the couch, warm sun is coming in through the windows, Wyatt is sleeping, the kids are in the basement and

ah . . .

peace. I don't get enough of it.

Have you noticed a recurring theme on my blog? Basically the one that enumerates the busyness of my life and the craziness of my days? I forgive you if you're sick of it, because, frankly, I'm sick of it too. I'm sick of being so busy; I'm sick of talking about how busy I am; I'm sick of dropped balls and cut corners and weighing the good and the better and the best and still being unable to clearly see what's gotta give in my life. Things aren't totally out of control, but the last couple of weeks I've been walking a knife's edge, teetering toward chaos--and my friends, it's not much fun.

But, but, but. The problem is I feel like so much of what's making me crazy is either things I couldn't give up if I wanted to . . . or things I don't want to give up even though I could. I've made some small steps toward reigning in the insanity (not doing much PTA this year, I just sent out a plea to members of our ward book club to see if someone else would be willing to be in charge) but as of right now I'm still doing my best to be a good mom and wife and Mormon without giving up some of the other aspects of my life that are so important to me (writing, teaching, editing Irreantum, etc.) I know some people who have busier lives than I do who seem to manage to pull it off quite gracefully, too--but many of these people get up every morning at 5:00 a.m. and/or have given up watching television altogether, two concessions which I'm apparently too lazy and/or obstinate to consider.

So there you have it. I suppose I'll just keep blundering along and occasionally have a tantrum on my blog.

And now after listening to me whine, you get to enjoy the run down of my crazy week! Here goes.

Saturday March 7th: Forrest finally home after being gone since Sunday (hooray!--that he was home, silly, not that he was gone since Sunday). Elise & Jonas participated in "Encore Festival," an adjudicated piano competition where their pieces had to be memorized. Somehow (prayer? begging? both?) we managed to whip the pieces into shape after both of them had been sick for weeks, and they both did great. Poised, confident, no major slip ups. Women at the Well dress rehearsal. Stake leadership training in conjunction w/ Stake conference (all RS Presidencies were invited to attend) and Stake adult session (4 hours combined sitting time = screaming tailbone).

Sunday March 8th: Actually a pretty nice day. Stake conference, but Forrest stayed home with Wyatt and Ethan, as both were sick. I went with Jonas and Elise, heard some good speakers, more tailbone pain. Mindy and Pete and their kids came over for dinner. (Mmmm, good roast, hon). Finished reading the essays for a contest I'd agreed to read. (I know, I know, but hey--they paid me!) (And I know, I know, it was Sunday. Sigh.)

Monday, March 9th: Took my Grandma Ranquist out for lunch. Wyatt was adorable and held her hand in the parking lot. Picked the kids up early from school so we could drive through a March snow storm to the Draper temple open house. Met my mom and dad and Grandma and Grandpa Hiatt there and were lucky enough to get right in--not a lot of waiting--and to somehow keep Wyatt under a moderate amount of control throughout the whole experience. Which was beautiful, by the way. Then we went to La Frontera and ate some excellent smothered burritos and had just enough time to scoot on over to Riverton Music for the actual piano recital (same music as Saturday, just for families this time). Jonas and Elise, once again, performed with aplomb. Forgot my camera. (Did I mention ball dropping??). Got home that night to discover a few loose ends and minor emergencies re: Women at the Well the next day, but all was resolved before bedtime (hooray).

Tuesday, March 10th: Women at the Well decorating (9 am) final rehearsal (10 am) and then typing up and copying of programs and writing of thank you cards for participants and putting together of my own costume. Loaded up my car and headed to the church dressed as an Isrealite.

Found the microphones no longer operable. Five minutes before the program was to begin, some inspired genius (and I still don't know who this person is, but whomever you are, bless you) figured out that since we'd closed off one side of the gym with the accordion doors the microphones were automatically cut off. Don't know how (or why) the building is wired to do that, but there you have it. So we opened the doors with much relief and began the program. Here's a shot of all of the wonderful women in my ward who participated (and me), singing our hearts out:



And another shot of the beautiful cakes (and cake table). Since it was our official Relief Society Birthday celebration, we figured we ought to do something birthdayish:



The night really turned out great, though. So many talented women (singing, reading, decorating, making cakes), the attendance was high, the spirit was strong. This kind of event is the perfect example of something that I decided to do that I didn't necessarily *have* to do. (It was my idea originally, although I did get lots of help, especially from the committee and from Corinne, the enrichment leader and pianist extraordinaire)--and many times leading up to it I wondered if we were crazy to tackle such a complicated undertaking for a Relief Society activity. But when all was said and done, it was a meaningful experience for me and lots of other people, and I'm so glad we did it.

Wednesday, March 11th: Forrest left for Idaho. I took the morning slow, did some much needed cleaning and laundry, went to the gym, graded an essay for class, got my head around the next day's lesson plan. But then things kicked into high gear for chauffeur-mom as both Ethan and Jonas had their first baseball practices of the season and I also had to get myself and Elise to a special assembly for all 5th grade girls that evening (you can figure it what it was :-). One practice went from 4:30-6:00 with a parent meeting afterward, the other from 5:30-7:00, so I ended up feeding my kids chicken nuggets in the car while driving from one practice to the other, speeding home at 6:17 (the babysitter had arrived at 6:15 and was waiting for me), left with Elise for the assembly, had a neighbor bring Ethan home by 7:00 so he could go to Scouts where he was to give a speech he'd prepared for a merit badge (and he had to avoid contact with the babysitter who was, of course, female, and embarrassingly close to his age), went out for ice cream with some moms and daughters from our neighborhood, got home a few minutes after Ethan, who was waiting upstairs and out of babysitter's visual range, paid babysitter, helped with some homework, got kids to bed, and . . .

Here's where things got a little off kilter. I had 12 major essays plus a bunch of shorter assignments to grade for my Thursday night class and had told them I'd get them done that week. My plan was to grade 4 on Wed and 8 on Thurs. (It takes me a long time to grade essays. I comment a lot. I try not to but I don't know how else to go about things.) Anyway, I'd only graded ONE. And I was so tired that night. My head hurt. So what did I do instead?? I watched my TiVoed America's Next Top Model, answered emails, fiddled around on the Segullah editorial staff message board, went to bed too late. (Oh, and I also ate half a bag of Brach's Chicks & Rabbits, my great Easter weakness which I NEVER SHOULD HAVE BOUGHT knowing that I would, well, eat them.)


Thursday, March 12th: Woke up determined to grade, grade, grade. Get 'er done. Seemed doable. But . . . the phone kept ringing. Wyatt needed me. Etc, etc. So I finally gave up and took some of my papers with me and went to McDonald's where I figured Wyatt could at least play in the germ-infested jungle gym thing while I graded and ate my chicken salad. I did get a good amount of grading done (although it was funny when four women from my ward came in, all chatty and happy, hanging out, and all I could do was say, "Hey! Good to see ya!" then get back down to biting on my pen and speed reading.)

Got home, put Wyatt down for a nap, kept grading. But then I got the call. A call I don't get very often, considering. Forrest's plane had been delayed. I'd been planning on his being home in time to do some of the baseball practice chauffeuring, kid feeding, etc., but there had been a mechanical malfunction and he had no idea when his plane would be leaving. Long story short (and this has been a really long story--this whole blog post--sorry), having to take and pick up from baseball practices and make dinner and all that normal-Mom jazz was just enough to send the rest of the afternoon spinning. I didn't have enough time to finish grading all my papers. I sent an email to my students telling them I had to pick up my son at 6:45 and I would book it as fast as I could to campus, but might be 5 minutes late. I yelled at Ethan for not being able to find his baseball pants (in front of my daughter's friend, who looked at me slightly aghast. And sorry, Ethan). I zipped over to practice, picked up Ethan, dropped him off and left Wyatt in his charge and the house a disaster.

I was making pretty good time until I realized that I'd left my BYU badge at home, and I needed it to get into the parking. I looked down to rummage through my pile-o-stuff that had accumulated between my seats, hoping I'd left it there, but while I was doing that I accidentally got off on the wrong exit. Yes. Perfect. So after a five minute detour, I found myself finally downtown but in a pay lot--luckily they took checks. I dashed inside the building and burst into my class room six minutes late, just then realizing that I'd left the magazines and newspapers I was planning to use for an in-class writing activity in my car.

Blast! Drat! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

(I didn't actually say that, of course. I smiled, smoothed my hair, started talking about how "only conflict is interesting" in the short story . . . unlike in life :-).

Class went well, but my head was buzzing on the way home. Partially because I hadn't eaten any dinner, true, but also because I was so aware how precarious my life is sometimes. How when one domino falls, the whole set-up comes crashing down.

But can I say how glad and grateful I was that Forrest had cleaned up the house after finally getting home that night? Coming home to a tidy living room and a loaded dishwasher was bliss.

Friday, March 13th: Nothing on the calendar. Nothing!! Did some yoga. Cleaned. Puttered. Went to Tony and Cindy's house that night to see Tone's new book--which is just amazing and I'm so proud of him I want to cry. (BTW, Tony is finishing his basement by himself, getting a PhD, writing books, painting, serving as Elder's Quorum President, holding down a full time job, and parenting five kids, so I think he's got me beat. Could all this be genetic? Oh, and if you haven't seen T's website, you should check it out at www.ldswhy.com. Deseret Book says the book should be out by April 1st, if it gets here in time on the slow boat to China it's literally sailing on as we speak.) Cindy made us brownies and ice cream and the kids played. I love my family.

Saturday, March 14th: Elise's birthday party! We had eleven giggly girls in the house for pizza and cake and ice cream. Then we headed over to the theater to see "Race to Witch Mountain," which wasn't half bad (granted, expectations not too high). Although I did fall asleep during the culminating action sequence. I did the same thing at the James Bond movie. Getting beyond the fact that I'm now falling asleep at movie theaters, isn't it weird that I tend to fall asleep during the loudest parts? I think it's my brain's way of saying, "Stop! I just can't take it any more!"

Here are some pics of the party and my cute 11 year old girl:






Then that night we went to dinner with Darrin & Katie. (At Marie Callendar's. Long story as to why we ended up there, but needless to say Marie Callendar's is no longer the epitome of fine dining it represented in my youth). We visited Muriel in Magna and spent some time outside in the cool evening and watched some quail bursting out of her trees. Muriel's house is always so peaceful.

And now it's today. Slept in a little (hooray 11:00 church!), went to 11:00 church, had some late lunch, blogged for an hour. Man, this is a realllly long post. So sorry. If you've come to the end of it, congratulations.

Next week shouldn't be nearly as bananas. I'm sure my blog post will be short and to the point as well. And now, we're going to wake up Wyatt and go for a nice walk. Blue sky, cool air. Ahhh.

How could anyone like Jack better?

I mean, seriously??
Even clean shaven, and with the nerd glasses and the 70s clothes, his Sawyerness is so compelling, n'est-ce pas?

I love Lost.

When it rains, you know . . .

Just when everything Bound on Earthy had settled down some, we (meaning the book and me) have gotten a little busier of late. There was the lascivious Deseret News review and the Whitney noms, and this last week I had three days of being Angela the Author (instead of what I really am the vast majority of the time: Angie the Diaper Changer, Enrichment Organizer, Carpool Shuttler, Cat Throwup Remover, Homework Helper, etc. etc.).

Wednesday I attended a Mormon lit class at UVU. They'd read my book and we had a nice discussion. Well, 3/4 of the class and I had a good discussion. There were a couple of what I like to call the "disgruntled." One girl in particular was kind of unnerving, staring at me all slitty-eyed, not saying a word. I wanted to ask "Do I offend?" a la Duckie from Pretty in Pink, but it probably would have made matters worse. The other students were enthusiastic and kind, though, and we had a great discussion. I'm always surprised which stories people want to talk about ("Thanksgiving," "Accusation," and--this is so weird to me because it's one of my least favorite chapters, one I even considered getting rid of-- "Helping," the short one when Beth's a little girl and tries to make dinner). Nobody ever--EVER--mentions, for example, "Mission Call," a story I quite like, thank you very much. Anyhoo, just interesting.

Then Friday I was invited to participate in BYU's Reader Series, which was very cool. They'd even made some slick-looking posters advertising the event, and it was a little disconcerting to come to campus and see myself smiling out from the library window. I was worried that I'd have a grand total of seven people at the reading--including my dear Segullah friends and my students whom I'd bribed with extra credit--but apparently other English teachers had bribed students with extra credit as well, because there were at least 30-40 people in attendance, I'd say. (Although it's hard for me to say for sure because once the lights dimmed and I was standing there reading I entered the zone-of-nerves and in such a state my math skills are seriously diminished.)

There was a reception and signing afterward. Didn't sign many books--five or six maybe?--but hey, students are poor, you know? I was glad to see that the trays of food that had been provided were immediately devoured. Seriously, in like three minutes all the food was gone. Students are poor AND hungry. At least they got some free cookies. Then the creative writing faculty took me to lunch, as is customary with these readings, I've been told. Due to some scheduling conflicts, only two of the professors were able to make it to lunch and they wanted to take me to a Thai place just off campus. Last minute, we decided it would be better if I drove . . . so that's how a celebrated poet ended up sitting on a pair of vampire teeth in the front seat of my Dodge Grand Caravan, and a highly respected fiction writer and scholar folded himself up next to my car seat, keeping his knees clear from the two empty Diet Coke cans I'd put in the center seat cup holders because I hadn't gotten around to throwing them away.

There are times one has to simply suck it up and roll with it, you know?? But lunch was good. Amiable chatting, tasty Pad Thai. It was a thrilling, nerve wracking, "Angela the Writer" kind of day, and although it was a lot of fun, I was also relieved when it was over. Being "Angela the Writer" kind of wears me out.

(An aside: Does this revelation make me sound like I'm a big fat faker? I feel like I'm always myself--at least as much myself as any of us can be--but depending on the circumstance I'm a slightly different version of myself. Mom the Clothes Washer and Homework Pusher. Sister Hallstrom the Relief Society Lady. Angie the Fun Girl from High School. Ang the Wife and the Friend. And, yes, Angela the Writer and Professor and Editor and Attender of Conferences. None of these sides of myself seem false to me--in fact, I think they're all essential facets of my personality--but is it wrong that I'm not my exact same self 100% of the time, all day long?? Ah well. This is a philosophical question for another day. Or, actually, never, since it makes my head hurt to think about it too much.)

So on Saturday I attended the Association for Mormon Letters conference. I try to attend every year if I can. See some friends, learn some new vocabulary words (this year it was "ontological," which turned up in no less than THREE of the sessions I attended, including the fantastic keynote address by Terryl Givens, author of People of Paradox: A History of Mormon Culture.) This year my lunch was free, though, because I received the AML award for the novel. I was tremendously honored, and it was great to touch base with old friends and get better acquainted with some new ones.

So! That's been the latter half of my last week. This week we have baseball tryouts and Women at the Well dress rehearsals and today I'm going to welfare square for five hours to do some dairy-related service, which I'm kind of looking forward to. Standing among a bunch of other Mormons in a hair net, no posters in sight, can be a beautiful thing.

Sickikins

Our bodies are betryaing us. Wyatt's had a cough. Elise has had the flu--sick since Tuesday, feverish, achy, moaning on the couch, the whole nine yards. Forrest is all plugged up and has post-nasal drip and is determined to beat the cold by drinking orange juice and standing in hot showers (not simultaneously). Jonas woke up yesterday feverish, too, and has a greenish cast to his complexion (poor kid). Ethan woke up this morning and announced that he was also sick--although he doesn't have a fever and his complexion always looks pasty white--but then I feel guilty because of all my kids I'm always most suspicious that he's faking it.

Sorry, Ethan, if you really are sick and I'm suspicious. I'm sure you really did want to go to church :-).

I don't have the goop, but my body's betraying me in other ways. Besides the omnipresent tailbone pain that serves to remind me of my body's rapid descent into middle age, I now have a skiing injury that I'm quite certain will start acting up whenever the weather's about to change for the rest of my life.

I neglected to mention last week that we took the kids skiing. (Well, we took Elise and Jonas skiing, since Ethan was at school and Wyatt doesn't ski.) I try to be a good sport about snow skiing--I really do. Healthy, active, super-fun people with names like "Pikabo Street" like snow skiing, and I want nothing more than to be healthy, active, and super-fun. Forrest loves snowboarding and I wish I could be one of those hard core outdoorsy chicks who likes to "push it to the limit" and "live dangerously" and "participate in sports of any kind."

Alas, I am not.

Well, okay, I'll waterski. That's kinda fun, sometimes. I also like yoga, but I don't think that counts because although it's technically "active," it's done inside, to introspective instrumental music, and at the end you get to lay on the floor and listen to people say soothing things and meditate.

So I decided to try and be sporting and go skiing with my family. Elise and I spent some time on the bunny hill and actually enjoyed ourselves. Swoosh, swoosh, giggle, giggle, look at the pretty trees! etc. No falling down. No terror. I was having a good time but knew it would be short lived because the bunny hill at Brighton is way too short. Even I was getting bored. (It seems to me the Chickadee at Snow Bird is the perfect bunny hill--just challenging enough, and not over in 90 seconds.) But Jonas and Forrest had been on the "big hill"--and yes, it's probably not even a "big hill" as far as legitimate skiing is concerned, but it's big enough, alright??

Anyway, both Elise and I needed to man up and go join them. So we did and for the first half I was doing okay. Snow plowing, cutting back and forth to reduce speed, looking cooly competent instead of mildly panicked, and so forth. But then we cut around these trees and the powder was really deep and--oh no, oh no, ohnoohnoohno--I started going too fast and the tree was zooming up to meet me and CRASH. I crashed.

The worst part is that not only am I not the best skiier, but I'm an even worse faller. I fell with my knees splayed out in the way little kids to when they're sitting on the floor and the powder was so deep that my skis were completely stuck. No WAY I could move those things. So I had to yell for Forrest to come help me while my knees screamed in pain. He pulled me out and I tried to be tough about it. I even went down the hill one more time. But I knew I'd be paying for it.

So now, a week and a half later, I'm limping up and down the stairs. They feel better today than yesterday (which is weird, since yesterday I was wearing a brace) and my left knee is a lot better than my right, but I still feel like a hobbly old lady.

Dumb bodies.

Hopefully we'll all be healed here soon.

But hey! The Academy Awards are on tonight! So there's that. Do you think Kate Winslet skis? I'd feel lots better about myself if she didn't.

Gong!! It's Valentine's Day!

V-Day kind of sneaked (snuck?? I'm always so tempted to say snuck) up on me. Luckily I'm married to an understanding man who's happy with a gourmet caramel apple and a card from the grocery store (lovingly inscribed). He, on the other hand, outdid himself this year.

Not only did he get me an iPod Nano--on sale at RC Willinson's (long story, a guy Forrest worked with once upon a time called it that in all seriousness and it kinda stuck)--but friends of ours, Dana and Joel, scored 4th row tickets for Ballet West's production of Madame Butterfly so he surprised me with a stylin' night out on the town.

My mom and dad showed up right as we were getting ready to go so they could give the kids their totally-awesome-Grandparents'-bag-o-VDay-loot, and my mom took one look at Forrest and said, "You look so handsome we absolutely have to take a picture! . . . Oh, and you look nice too Angie." (I'm just giving you a bad time, Mom. I know you saw Forrest first, which totally explains it . . . right?? :-).

So my mom was going to take a picture but with my heels on I was so tall that she would have been coming at me from the bottom up angle, which is SO not the angle members of the Sweat family should employ, so I made my dad take the picture instead. And Forrest does look killer hot.



We headed downtown with Dana and Joel and, miracle of miracles, were able to get a table at the Blue Iguana for dinner in under 30 minutes. Pessimistic me was muttering under her breath that there would be NO WAY we'd get a table downtown on Valentine's without a reservation, but this was an example of a time I was happy to be wrong. Our waiter was pleasant and super fast, we scarfed down our burritos and Cokes, and we still had 30 minutes left to run across the street (okay, well, the guys ran, and I teetered along in my too-high-for-winter-downtown-running heels) (I have a feeling this post is going to set a record for parenthetical asides and humorous-adjectives-connected-with-hyphens).

The main attraction of the night was Madame Butterfly, but there was an opening act, too. An Asian-influenced contemporary ballet called "Gong."



The costumes were created by Isaac Mizrahi, which made me feel cool because SO WERE MY TOO HIGH HEELS! (Target, sale rack, $19).

I was really enjoying myself--I love contemporary dance, and I feel well qualified to say this because I watch So You Think You Can Dance faithfully every summer--but halfway through my friend Dana leaned over and whispered, "This is so not what we were expecting." And I whispered back (wondering if she was suffering from we-invited-them-so-we're-responsible-if-they-don't-like-it-itis), "I'm really enjoying it. I like contemporary dance." And she said, "Yeah, but it's so hard to follow the story. Last time we came there were costumes and sets and . . . "

And then it hit me that she and Joel didn't realize this was the opening act. This wasn't Madame Butterfly. By then a couple was doing a completely silent routine (no music--very avant-garde and super cool) and we had to stop talking, so I ran my finger under the part of the program where it said, "Also Featuring Mark Morris' Gong." Once the realization hit her she started to giggle a little and elbowed her husband, who was also as confused as all get out. During intermission, Joel kept saying, "I'm a pretty smart guy, and I'm SO not getting this! Who's the Geisha? Who's Lieutenant Pinkerton? Why does everyone else seem to be following all this?" Anyway, it was funny, in a ballet humor kind of way.

Madame Butterfly itself was just wonderful. Great costumes and set design (whew!) and the female lead was amazing. There's a 10 minute or so pas-de-deux (see, now that I go to the ballet AND watch So You Think You Can Dance, I throw around all kinds of technical dance terminology) between Butterfly and her American "husband" Pinkerton right after the marriage ceremony that's incredibly passionate and demanding--lifts and leaps and bounding all over the stage--and both leads were astonishing in their stamina and strength.

And who would have thought the ballet would make you cry? But it did. Madame Butterfly is a classic tragedy, and we read the synopsis beforehand so we'd know what to expect . . . but when Butterfly hands over her darling little blond boy to Pinkerton's "new" American wife before she kills herself?? I mean, do you have a heart of stone? Kleenexes! So she hands her beloved child over, you start crying, then she takes a giant sword and stabs herself, raises her blood covered arms in the air, dies, Pinkerton dashes in and falls in a heap on the floor and BOOM! Over. Not even enough time to recover your composure. Classic tragedy. But man, it was good.

So that was our Valentine's night, full of complimentary mothers-in-law, efficient Mexican waiters, Isaac Mizrahi design, contemporary dance misunderstandings, and lifts and leaps and betrayals and bloody suicides.

'Twas all very romantic.

Cool! (But not Funky Cool)

I have two cool Bound on Earth related bits-o-news. First, I got a surprise book review in the Deseret News! It's a really great review . . . although the caveat about gratuitous "sexual references" makes me chuckle.

The other is that the nominations for the Whitney Awards came out this morning. The Whitney Awards recognize novels by Mormon authors, and I was nominated in three categories, including Novel of the Year. So that's exciting! (Should I be practicing my "It's an honor just to be nominated?" speech?? Probably.)

So speaking of cool, here's an exchange between Jonas and me as we drove to the Dinosaur Museum last week. I was shimmying a little to Pink's "So What" (hey! It's catchy!).

Jonas: Mom, what did I tell you about funky?

Me: I don't know, Joe. What did you tell me?

Jonas: Funky's out of style. Especially for moms.

Point taken.

Betraying My First Love

It has come to my attention that I haven't been reading many novels of late, which makes me feel vaguely guilty. Not quite kiltered. Weird.

I consider myself an inveterate novel reader, a fan of long-form fiction, a product of a childhood filled with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Secret Garden, Harriet the Spy, and Thirteen is too Young To Die. (I threw that one in lest you think my childhood novel-reading tastes were uniformly impeccable. I also loved a novel called You're a Cover Girl Now!, and another called The Launching of Linda Bell about a group of high school kids who take a--wait for it--ugly smart girl with glasses named Belinda Belinsky, get her contacts and a give her a spiral perm to make her beautiful, only to find that she ends up SUPER WITCHY once she turns hot.)

Anyway.

Being "one who reads novels" has always been a part of my identity, right along with being "one who raises her hand during lulls in Relief Society discussions" and "one who doesn't start thinking about what to make for dinner until at least 4:45." But I've noticed a precipitous dropping off in my novel habits lately. It's not that I'm not reading. I am! Just not novels.

Here's what I'm reading right now:

-Short fiction. Tons of it. Scads. Some I'm reading for enjoyment. I always buy Best American Short Stories, and this year's is pretty good, although there's a terrible short story about Mormon missionaries written by someone who apparently has never met a Mormon and didn't bother trying to find one to give his manuscript a cursory once over. And neither did the anthology's editors, either. There are Mormons in New York, Heidi Pitlor, Series Editor. I could even introduce you to some!

But most of my short story reading is in the Mormon Lit vein, because I'm editing a collection of short fiction for Zarahemla Books. The project was supposed to happen last year but got put on the back burner. Now it's building up to a slow boil, though, and I've had fun (mostly) scouring back issues of LDS magazines and writing emails to semi-famous folks like Brady Udall and Brian Evenson . (I told Forrest that the Udalls and Evensons of the literary world are roughly equivalent to the Danny Ainges of the basketball world. So just imagine writing an email to Danny Ainge, if that helps.) So far, all the writers I've contacted, semi-famous or decidedly non-famous (but talented), have been exceedingly nice.

BUT . . . this is not the point of this post.

The books I've recently finished, or are in the middle of reading right now, are:

-An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination. This memoir about Elizabeth McCracken's experience having a stillborn baby, then getting pregnant and giving birth almost exactly a year later, is harrowing and beautiful and just amazingly well written. It's not a long book, and I tore through it in a couple of days.

-The Audacity of Hope (by You Know Who!). It thrills me so to have a president who's also a writer. Maybe this is how the big game hunters felt when Teddy Roosevelt was in office? I'm only about half way through (it's intensely interesting, but not what I'd call a page turner). Thanks, Mind, for the Christmas gift!

-The Secret Life of Words: How English Became English. Another Christmas gift, this time from my mom. Also fascinating. I've only read a couple of chapters in this one, though.

-Reading Like a Writer. I read this one in preparation for teaching this semester. I figure that if I can't turn all my students into writer-geniuses, the least I can do is teach them how to read better. This book is a great tool for that, and an interesting read in its own right.

-How Fiction Works. I bought this one on a whim late last year after reading a review (in Newsweek? Can't remember). It's fascinating, and very cerebral. Kind of makes my brain hurt. I've read about 3/4 of it, but I put it down and wonder when I'll return . . .?

-Riding Shotgun: Women Write About Their Mothers. I got a copy of this one because a couple of the essays were written by professors of mine from Hamline, and also because I thought it might make a good Christmas gift. I've only read about half of it, and as is the case with essay collections, some of the essays I LOVE, and some of them are eh. Okay.

-An Unquiet Mind. My friend Kathy lent this to me and it's just fascinating. I'm also about halfway done with this one, too. (Are you sensing a pattern here??).

So where are all the novels? Is it really true (COULD it be true?) that the last novel I finished reading was Stephanie Meyer's The Host back in the summer? First, there's the shame of my non-literary choice (although I did enjoy it--liked it quite a bit better than Twilight, actually). But look how much time has gone by?? I also read Ian McEwin's On Chesil Beach around that same time (obviously much more literary, but was a little sex-ified for my taste).

The worst part is right now I'm in the middle of (hah!)Home by Marilynne Robinson. Now, Ms. Robinson is my official "favorite author" at this point in my life(Gilead? Anyone?), and I was so excited that Kathy gave me her latest book for Christmas. And it's a beautiful book. Lovely, lovely, lovely. But I've only read half of it, too! I never used to do that with novels, at least not with good ones. I know I'll finish it within the next month or so, but it still weirds me out that I'm not only betraying novels as a form, but I'm betraying MARILYNNE! I mean, it's like my Dad not watching the Jazz.

Final example. Over a year ago, I bought Middlesex, a long, sprawling, Pulitzer Prize winning tale of Greek immigration, secret intermarriage, and genetic consequences. I'd read the beginning of the book two or three times (it was starting to feel like 1st Nephi) and finally gave up. But then--a ha!--I decided to download the audio book. Historically, I've never been an audio book listener, but now that I've been relegated to the elliptical trainer I need something to keep my brain busy while I work out. And this book is 14 hours worth of brain business. And wouldn't you know it? I'm half way through this one, too, and it's helping me enjoy my treadmill time. I don't think it really counts as *reading* a novel though, you know?

So there you have it. Any theories as to why I've been ignoring the novel? Any theories as to why I'm halfway finished with a half dozen books? Any theories as to why I'm staying up until 11:23 on a school night imbedding hyperlinks to Amazon when I should be sleeping?

Good night, then.

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??)