When he's in his own bed at our house, my boy sleeps until 8:00--on average. Sometimes he's up around 7:45 and other times he sleeps until 8:30. This morning, courtesy of the machinery thudding around and beeping up a storm in the lot behind us, he was up at 6:30. Let's just say that the result was not a chipper morning. They've been building a school beyond the fence in our backyard and it's supposed to open in August. It has become quite apparent that they are behind schedule. Yesterday my house shook for over four hours as they laid asphalt. They worked until after eight last night and were at it again just after six this morning. Blatant disregard for anyone with children under the age of 32, I tell you. Oh I know they have to be ready to open and they're behind schedule but maybe if they didn't call it quits for the day every time it rains for five seconds they wouldn't be. I'm not kidding. You hear the thunder roll in the distance and they're all, "Oh heavens to Betsy, Chuck, storms a comin'! We'd better go hunker down with the children and the women folk this one's high and likely to be a doozy." Okay so, um, they don't actually talk like that but they really do run for their trucks the moment a drop of rain plops from the sky.
Speaking of things Utahns don't say (i.e. Heavens to Betsy) I've only heard the phrase "Oh my heck" TWICE since moving here. For those of you who aren't keeping track, I've lived here for eight months. (Oh my heck, where did the time go?) Oh my heck is supposedly something that is said here in abundance. So it is either a ridiculous saying that someone once made up and then blamed the Utahns for or it's said in other, less civilized portions of the state. By the way, I still hate the word Utahn and am thankful that, for the next 25 years, I can call myself a Californian based purely on the amount of time I lived there. If I have to start referring to myself as a Utahn I will boycott the word entirely and say that I am a Utahnian or a Utite. Oh. Yes. I will.
I am not the biggest fan of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. On occasion I like peanut butter on toast or jelly on toast or, very rarely, both at the same time on toast. Every once in a while I'll eat a peanut butter cookie. Typically though, we go through a jar at turtle speed. So would anyone like to wonder with me why today I suddenly wanted to take a spoon and go at the jar? I read the nutrition label to see if I was lacking an important vitamin but the only things my brand of butter has are niacin, iron and vitamin E, all of which are found in larger doses in my daily prenatal vitamin--you know, on the off chance that I'll ever really need those again. So then, maybe for the protein, right? But I had eggs and yogurt yesterday, both of which have a decent amount of protein. For those of you who are thinking, "Hmmm, maybe you're pregnant." The answer to that is a resounding NO. So let's brush right by that thought and not go rubbing salt in my metaphorical wounds. As far as the peanut butter goes, I'm certainly glad that it was a strong desire to consume it and not a package of dryer sheets or a piece of lumber but still...
Did I mention that Garrett says mustache now? His Mr. Potato Head has one and so he learned how to say it. He also says Nemo. On the faith front he says a-en (amen), chich (church) and Esis (Jesus--which he says while running to get the Children's Bible that we read him every night) . Biss, on occasion, is turning into juss and my heart is breaking a little each time I hear it. Of course I want my son to master the pronunciation of the letter J but man if my ovaries don't shriek for a newborn when he proudly utters a real word where baby talk used to suffice.
And finally, if I pack and load the car for our trip to Tahoe will our week at the lake get here any sooner?