That's right. I heart Handy Manny.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
That's right. I heart Handy Manny.
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?
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
It must have had something to do with the fact that we had our home visit yesterday. (P.S. I think it went well but we have to wait about three weeks to find out for sure.) I had the most intense dream about our future child. It was the first time I've ever dreamt about adoption. I woke up several times during the course of the night and, surprisingly, each time that I fell back asleep I fell right back into the dream. When I woke up this morning and it was light out I wanted to sleep the day away, just for the chance to stay in that dream.
I was in a room much like the Department of Motor Vehicles. I was waiting. And waiting. Couples around me were called, in no particular order, and a baby was handed to them. I don't remember the dream beginning, just that I had always been waiting. At first Troy was with me but we determined that I might be there for months--we actually had a conversation about that--and so he left to take care of our son. I kept waiting. Finally they brought me this baby. It was wrapped in a yellow blanket with a yellow hat on. In the dream I could feel my heart swelling and thumping crazily. I didn't know if it was a boy or a girl and it was really bothering me. I had to fill out paperwork and, after signing all the documents I considered my options. I could either take the baby out to the car and strip it of all its clothing to determine the gender or I could simply ask.
Me: Um, excuse me, just one last thing...
DMV Worker: Yes?
Me: Is this a girl or a boy?
DMV Worker: (Without looking up. As though it was a menial detail.) Girl.
Me: Thank you.
And then I looked at her and of course she was a girl. She was beautiful. She looked nothing like us but she was gorgeous. Her eyes were crystal blue and it gave me pause. I've always wanted a brown eyed daughter. But they were the most fantastic shade of blue I have ever seen and I gasped at how wonderful they were. I loved her entirely in that one glance.
Then I went crazy. I drove to work--my old job at Fast Radiator. I haven't worked there since before Garrett was born. I left her in the car and I started entering numbers into my computer. I knew I couldn't breast feed her but I didn't know what to do instead. This makes no sense because Garrett took bottles whenever I was teaching. Very few of them were pumped breast milk so I know how to do the formula thing. My mom came in and I asked her if she would go figure out what to feed the baby. I kept entering numbers. At the end of the day she came back. "Did you feed her?" I asked. "Not yet," my mom replied. I knew that she needed to be fed but there wasn't a sense of urgency. "I should probably feed her," I told my mom. "Maybe," my mom answered*.
I think I woke up at this point and had some kind of conversation with my dream self about how I'd better go back to sleep and feed that baby because I remember taking care of business after that. I'll spare all the details but my family was so cute. I somehow knew that it wasn't real. I knew I'd wake up and I wouldn't have her. And so I didn't want to wake up. I wanted her. When I finally woke up, my heart was heavy.
I don't know if we'll adopt a Caucasian female or an African-American male or an Asian baby. I don't know if it will be a boy or a girl or if it will have blue eyes or brown eyes or green eyes. But if my dream can be relied on for anything, I know that I will love that child immensely. It'll be strange to bottle feed exclusively. It will be different not to look for signs of my own self in his or her nose or mouth or ears. I think I will miss seeing the resemblance but, perhaps, not as much as he or she will. Things will be different. But things will be the same. Snuggle time will be just as sweet. Nights will be just as sleepless--probably more so given the fact that Garrett was Angel Sleeper. Baths will be just as fun, milestones just as monumental, diapers just as stinky. I will be just as much in love. My dream showed me that.
Now we wait. And I've never been very good at waiting.
*My mom is also quite smart when it comes to babies. She's not a total moron. It makes no sense that the two of us together could not figure out how to feed a small child.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
I must say that having him come down the stairs in tattered clothing with dirt smudges streaking his face has crossed my mind. I've also entertained thoughts of wearing the teeth just to see what might happen. I'm surprisingly less nervous and stressed than I thought I would be but when the apprehension creeps up on me I imagine outlandish conversations in my head.
Caseworker: Why do you want to adopt?
Troy: We don't like cleaning the house.
Lori: We need at least a few more to adequately keep this place clean.
Caseworker: Uh huh. So, what is your method for punishment?
Lori: Well, after my husband got out of jail we decided that we didn't want to raise a little thug. In order to curb any behavior that might be genetic, we make him go outside and get his own switch from the tree. Then there is a minimum of twenty lashes.
Caseworker: Um...okay. (To Troy) I wasn't aware that you were ever in prison.
Troy: Oh yeah. I escaped. Now I'm pretty much running from the law and hiding out as a pastor.
Caseworker: Alrighty. So, can you show me your son's room and tell me about your plans for where you'd put another child?
Troy: Our son doesn't have a room.
Caseworker: Excuse me?
Lori: Yeah, we use all the extra rooms for our drug business. The kid sleeps down here on the dog bed.
Troy: When the adopted child is an infant we'll get it a cat box and put it down in the basement so we can't hear it crying. When it gets a little older, we'll get it its very own dog bed.
Caseworker: I see. Look at the time. I really must be going.
Lori: But we haven't even had one of my special brownies yet.
I don't know why my mind goes to these places. I'd like to blame the theatre degree. In all honesty I don't think you can get much more clean cut than Troy and me without being downright weird. Our kid needs for nothing. I say needs instead of wants because he certainly wants more than he gets. He wants every single toy he sees. He wants ice cream for breakfast. He does not get these things. He has his own room and his own toy room. He has his own cabinet of children's movies and a whole bookcase full of kiddie reading material. He has basic language skills and a sweet disposition. He reminded me, just this morning, that we hadn't prayed for breakfast. He is my whole heart walking around in Lightning McQueen crocs.
Why do I want to adopt? Because next to accepting Christ as my personal Savior and marrying my husband, my boy is the best thing that I have ever done and the best thing that has ever happened to me. But I can feel in my soul that this family is not yet complete. I know that we have the capacity to love a child born not of my own body but of our hearts alone. I want a brother or a sister for the boy. I want a daughter or another son for myself.
I want another one so badly that I even thought about getting the germs off of the sponge. That's right. In case, you know, he tested it for bacteria. I read in the Parade magazine that if you wet your sponge all the way through and then microwave it for four minutes, all the living bacteria will die. After three minutes my sponge had a very dark spot in the middle and was smoking. I threw it away but that doesn't negate the fact that my house smells like a campfire.
Caseworker: Do I smell smoke?
Me: Oh. Yeah, probably just some residual smell from our ritual cat sacrifice. It couldn't have anything to do with the fact that I actually thought the bacteria on my sponge might keep me from getting another kid.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
This afternoon I did a load of laundry and when I pulled Troy's shirt out I discovered that, even with stain remover, the mark was still there. It actually looked worse than before. I decided to use the trick that I implement when my khakis get a stain that won't come out. I simply dip a Q-tip into bleach and dab the mark. Usually the bleach won't take the khaki color out but, even if it does, the spot is so small against so much khaki that it's never noticeable. So I gently dabbed at the yellow stain. I hadn't taken into consideration that the bleach would spread from the off-white section to the colored section. The yellow stain remained. I have no idea what it was but it sure had a mind to stay put. The nearest brown stripe, however, began turning bright red. Now the shirt that previously had a tiny yellow stain has a two inch section of red stripe smack dab in the center. I might have swore. I can't remember. I know I wanted to.
I had ruined what might have been my husband's favorite shirt. I know for sure that it was in his top five. Not only did I destroy his clothing, I destroyed the clothing he was supposed to wear in our pictures tomorrow. I ran to the Internet and searched for it, but with no luck. Both Troy and Garrett were taking afternoon naps so I turned on the baby monitor in our bedroom, left Troy a note on the back of the toilet that read, "Had to run an errand. Be home soon." I figured he'd probably visit the commode after waking from his nap and he needed to know that he was in charge of the boy and I hadn't been abducted. I shut his broken shirt in the laundry room and closed the door. Then I hightailed it to The District, the retail center by my house. I went to Ross, Target, Aeropostale, American Eagle and JC Penney. The only store that sells clothing that I didn't visit was Buckle because Buckle shirts are like 65 dollars and my money doesn't work on shirts that cost that much. I was desperately looking for a shirt that might replace the ruined one both in practice and in Troy's heart. Eventually I found a similar shirt at JC Penney and also bought a polo shirt because they were having a mad crazy sale. I'd already bought Garrett a solid blue shirt at Target because he has no solid colored shirts and it's hard to match our adult wardrobe to his toddler one. I got all three shirts for 22 dollars.
When I got home they were still asleep. The boy soon awoke and Troy was not far behind. I was folding laundry and the door to the laundry room was open. Troy's dead shirt was on top of the washing machine.
T: My shirt is on the washing machine.
T: I dry that shirt.
L: Yes. I know.
Apparently I sounded weird because he responded with
T: Did something happen to my shirt?
L: Yes. Yes it did.
T: Did you ruin my shirt?
He looked at me skeptically because I tease him so much he doesn't know whether to believe me anymore. It's a problem. I'm kind of like the girl who cried "We didn't bring the camera and they didn't use the dental burqa and whoa look at that giant bald spot you have suddenly and by the way I ruined your shirt."
L: I know what you're thinking but I promise that I am not joking this time. I really did ruin your shirt.
And I proceeded to explain. Troy was sad. I apologized profusely. And then I presented the new shirts. It was kind of like if your dog died and you got a new puppy that very day. He liked the new puppy but he really missed the dead dog. He told me that he forgave me though, and that I made up for it by trying really hard to replace the old shirt. I married a darn good one. In fact, I think I might go as far as to say that I married the best one. If he'd ruined one of my favorite pieces of clothing there would have been a funeral and possibly a good ten minutes of the silent treatment. Although, truthfully, I suppose Troy would have to do laundry in order for that to happen.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
In San Diego county, all consumer fireworks or "safe and sane" fireworks are illegal. Obviously, certain companies and organizations are granted permission to have fireworks displays and thus, we don't miss out on Fourth of July festivities. But the use of consumer fireworks is strictly forbidden. The San Diego Country Sheriff's Department has the authority to seize the fireworks and cite or arrest those bearing them. In Utah the following are legal for personal use: Cylindrical and cone fountains, wheels with no more than 6 drivers, ground spinners, flitter sparklers, smoke devices, wire sparklers under 12” in length, party poppers, trick noisemakers, ground chasers that do not travel more than 10 feet laterally, snakes, and glow worms. The dog has just survived two of the three "fireworks" holidays and now, I hope, we don't have to worry about him committing sparkler related suicide again until New Year's when we start these shenanigans all over again.
But the thunder is another issue. I quite like the thunder. If it weren't for the fact that I am the proud owner of a big hairy baby I would welcome the afternoon storms. But it's hard to get excited about a particularly loud clap when it sends your canine into cardiac arrest. This afternoon was no different. My dog was so inconsolable that all I could do was hold his head in between my legs, place my hands over his ears in hopes that I was at least muffling the sound, and let him shake. For real. He was shaking so violently it was as though he was experiencing a gran mal seizure. I kept speaking to him in the most soothing voice I could muster which wasn't much since all I wanted to do was ask him how, exactly, he could possibly come from the same order as the seemingly fearless wolf. My tone, to the trained ear, may have sounded slightly condescending. He continued to shake. I moved my hands from his ears and tried to calm him by petting his back. I could feel his heart thundering (Ha!) around in his chest and I wondered if it might, actually, explode. So then I got the brilliant idea to try to take his mind off of the noise by brushing his teeth. I realize that this seems like a pretty stupid thing to do. I'll admit that it wasn't the best laid plan but our dog is the sweetest fur ball on earth. He wouldn't try to bite a fly if it attempted to make residence in his mouth. He never snarls. Ever. Even if you cover his food with gravy, let him eat a bite or two and then take it away. I mean, we don't do that because that would be incredibly mean but that's just to say he is not possessive of his food at all. And he allows a two year old to clobber him, pounce on him, yank his tail, pull his ears, and grab his teeth with nothing more than a slight roll of the eye. Try brushing his teeth in the middle of a thunderstorm, however, and the dog goes berserk. He started out fine, laying his head in my lap, licking at the toothbrush when all of the sudden a clap of thunder erupted just outside. He clamped down on a couple of my fingers. It didn't hurt and it didn't break the skin and he wasn't mad at me, he was just very, very, thundiferously agitated. I decided that, really, it wasn't necessary to brush his teeth right that minute. He opened his mouth right after he'd closed it. And then he licked me with crazed eyes and proceeded to bury his head in my lap and shake with wild abandon.
The thunder has been gone for awhile now. I keep reassuring him that the world is, most likely, not going to end today. He's watching me with skeptical eyes, knowing that it's only a matter of time before the loud noises strike again.
Friday, July 25, 2008
I live in a house with an extremely neurotic dog. It would be endearing if it weren't so annoying. Apparently July 24 is a major holiday. I didn't know this until I moved to Utah but even my bank was closed in honor of Pioneer Day--the date that Brigham Young discovered the valley, or something like that. So, Utahns set off fireworks in honor of this holiday. Our dog is deathly afraid of fireworks and we'd gone out to dinner with friends and left him alone in the yard. If I had known that the entire valley was going to set off fireworks while I was gone, I would have come up with a better idea. When we got home I opened the back door and called for him. The house directly behind us was having their own show right in their front yard. I knew that the dog would be panicked. I called and called. Then I looked in all the bushes and under the deck. Then I very nearly burst into tears as I came back in the house, looked at Troy and declared, "He's gone. I can't find him anywhere." We're talking about my very first baby here. That dog took naps on my lap every afternoon when he was a puppy. He was basically my child until my son was born and he had to become The Dog. When I was in labor I worried about him because he'd been left outside alone all night and all morning. I managed to sleep for about a half hour after I'd been given the Epidural and I dreamed that I tried to leave the hospital to go check on him but kept falling over because I had no feeling in my legs. I think most of that had to do with all the emotions of being in labor but it doesn't change the fact that I am head over heels in love with that dog. The idea of him running frantically around Salt Lake City turned my stomach. We also live close to a major road and finding doggie guts is not my idea of a good time. Troy told me that he'd get in the car and look for him. I ran back outside and started screaming his name. Suddenly I heard the rattle of a collar. I called again. Rattle. I followed the noise. Beck was on the other side of our fence, running parallel to it, trying to get back in. The gates weren't open, there was no sign of any digging. This led us to the assumption that he'd jumped the fence. Our fence is quite short and we've been wondering why he hasn't ever tried to jump it before. We had chalked it up to a content animal who has no need to check and see if the grass is greener on the other side. Apparently, however, he did want to know if the noises were less scary on the other side. I have no clue where he went but he was close enough to hear my hollering. Now I'm afraid he'll hop it anytime he feels like it. I so hope that doesn't happen because one day he might disappear for good and I just don't think I'd handle that very well.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
At some point I told Troy about the episode and he also loved the idea. I decided that, instead of waiting until Garrett's first birthday, I would take the first picture when he was just a few days old. Two years ago today I snapped the first shot of my little guy. Troy wanted to use his Seahawks jersey because it has our last name on the back and it's really big. So even if Garrett grows to be bigger than his pygmy father, it will still fit. You can see part of the name in one of the shots so it is evident that our last name is not actually Doozleberry. I've been lying to you all. It's actually Badoozleberry but we drop the first syllable out of convenience. Here is my tiny little man two years ago:
One year ago:
And a few days ago:
He was so easy to photograph during those first few days. Unless you tried to move his arms, that is. Those little arms were always thrown up over his head. If you moved them they just popped right back up. We also didn't realize for another couple of weeks that his head always fell to the right. Apparently it was bent in the womb and the tendons were too tight. We had to do little baby exercises to get him to look the other way. I know that he is mine and I held him and nursed him and bathed him but I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that he used to be that small.
He was an extremely happy one year old. If you held a camera up and made any kind of a funny noise the kid giggled and flashed a huge smile. We took about ten pictures of him with the jersey last year and he's grinning in all of them. Except when he's crawling away. He did that a lot.
This year he was not impressed. He's still a very happy kid and our house is filled with squeals and giggles for most of his waking hours. On occasion, however, it is filled with crying and toddler choruses of, "No. No." Two days ago, when I took the pictures, Garrett was demanding his blanket and his pacifier. I was not granting him Paci permission and had taken the Blankie away in order to take a picture where he did not look like Linus Van Pelt. So not joking. It's blue, even. He is usually very good with statements such as, "If you eat a bite of zucchini you can have another bite of jello." Side note: He actually likes zucchini which is great since the garden is producing them in mass. However, he was having none of, "If you smile in this picture I will give you your Blankie back." When I finally did get him to take some without sobbing, he made the cheesiest ham face. The final posted product was one in which he was trying desperately to maintain his pout face while not smiling at his dork mother behind the camera.
But oh what a difference two years makes. 24 months ago his goal in life was to soil his diaper moments after I'd put a fresh one on and keep me awake in between feedings with his constant, peculiar and disconcerting grunt. A year ago his goal in life was to learn how get from that crab crawl to an actual upright and walking position--a feat he mastered two weeks later. Now it seems that his goal in life is to take the world by storm. Just yesterday I found him climbing the outside of the staircase. Luckily he was only three steps up when I discovered him. I shudder to think about what I would have done if I'd found him hanging from the second floor landing which, I'm sure, was his ultimate destination.
I like this picture series. I enjoy watching him growing, ever so slowly, into his father's jersey. As long as, in the end, he's still a Charger fan.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Garrett John is here! He was born on Thursday evening (July 20) at 7:30. He weighed 6 pounds, 10 ounces and was 20 inches long. He's a pretty good baby...so far. It took him a full 24 hours to really find his lungs. I mean, he had them when the pediatric nurse was assessing him but then he forgot about them. Now he knows where they are and how to use them...so much so that he is hoarse. But actually, he doesn't cry often and when he does it's during the day which is great. If he continues to be as great as he has been at night I won't have much to complain about.
Labor was...fun. Alright so, I was induced on Wednesday night at 6:30 because an ultrasound showed that he was possibly a little IUGR (growth restricted) and that maybe we should have him come and eat something. Because my body was NOT ready to be in labor I had to have a medication that would start things moving. So...for the first TWELVE hours I pretty much just laid there in mild pain. At 8:30 am on Thursday morning they broke my water. At noon I was still only dilated to 2. And at this point I'd been laboring for almost 18 hours and about five of those had been no fun at all. So they decided to give me pitocin to make me dilate faster. But praise the Lord and the maker of the epidural...they allowed me to have that first even though I was only at 2. The pitocin worked its magic and I felt fine. It was actually kind of fun to watch the contractions raging on the machine and laugh at them. At 6:30 I was at 10 and the baby was ready to be born. I pushed for an hour and though it was really exhausting it was also really awesome because it was fairly pain free and it's just really cool to see your child being born.
When he was born they laid him on me and it was just so amazing. Troy was a champion too because it took a long time...25 hours is a long time...and he was tired but when it came time to get Garrett out, he was as helpful as any husband could be. I think he'd say I did pretty well too since I only snapped at him once. And that had something to do with my oxygen mask (at one point Garrett's heart rate dropped slightly and they put me on oxygen) getting caught on my ear or something or other. I don't remember exactly but I apologized so he can't hold it against me. Not that he would since I was actively bringing our firstborn into the world.
Alright...I could talk about it forever. I could talk about our very nice roommates in postpartum who we liked but who snored in alternating breaths and whose baby had a fever and shrieked often. I could talk about how said snoring Dad sang the baby a little ditty that never varied and went like this, "Daddy loves his Abby. Daddy loves his little Abigail. Daddy's baby. Yes. Daddy's little Abby," over and over and over and over. No but really, we liked them. I could talk about how awesome it was to have my doctor for the first part of my labor and the most awesome midwife for the second part and the delivery. I could talk about how my nurses were great but the nurse who was there when he was born was just the greatest nurse I could have asked for. I could talk about how amazing it was to have this little boy laying on my chest, staring at me with these huge eyes like he's known me forever and yet doesn't know me at all. Oh wait...I am talking about all of this. And I should be sleeping. I should be sleeping because Garrett is sleeping. More to come because I will never...ever...shut up about this child.
P.S. Maybe you should delete me from your blog subscriptions. Trust me...you're going to get very, very sick of me.
I actually wrote that last part too. Two years later and how true is that statement!?!?!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Think back on the last 15 years of your life. What would you tell someone that you haven’t seen or talked to for 15 years? How would you sum up your life? You get 10 bullet points. A list of 10 things to summarize about you. At the end of your list, tag 5 more people and send on the love…
Fifteen years ago I was nearing the age of twelve. I was a month and a half shy of starting 7th grade. I guess a lot has happened in those years...
- I continued to swim competitively for six more years. I decided not to swim at the collegiate level which is good because I blew out my shoulder in high school. It still hurts. The only time I regret the decision not to swim in college is during the Olympics. What can I say, I'm still that little girl who wants a gold medal.
- As I transitioned away from swimming, I took up drama. After several supporting roles and one lead in high school, I majored in Theatre at Point Loma Nazarene University. I've directed many church productions and taught drama at the high school level.
- I've been engaged twice, married once and divorced zero times. My ex fiance can best be described as a toad and my husband as Prince Charming. Troy doesn't ride a white stallion but he certainly swept me off my feet. We were married in August of 2003.
- We have a son who just turned two.
- Yes, we are thinking about number two. In fact, we've been thinking about it for so long that we've decided to adopt. Our home visit is next week.
- I live in Utah. After spending the first 26 years of my life in San Diego county, my pastor husband took a position in the Salt Lake area.
- I am not currently employed outside the home. Instead I spend my days chasing my toddler. In my "spare" time I enjoy reading and writing. I've written a children's book about adoption that I would love to have published but, so far, haven't put an ounce of effort into actually publishing it.
- I went to Israel in 2005 and, despite dreading the trip, had a wonderful time. I spent about ten days there and would love the opportunity to go back some day.
- I went to Hawaii for the first time last September. After spending a week and a half there, Troy and I have decided that we'd love to live there some day. Even if it's only for a year.
- I've developed an affinity for lighthouses and much of my house is decorated with them. I've also developed an addiction for pita chips and cheddar cheese. I'm still addicted to ice cream.
And now I tag the following:
We had a great time and Aunt Heather was able to take us back to see a newborn dolphin and a tiny baby sea lion. I'm a nut for dolphins but it was actually the sea lion that I wanted to take home with me. What? I have a big bathtub and a kiddie pool. Garrett rode two of the new rides in Captain Kid's World, I mean Shamu's Happy Harbor, I mean Bay of Play. Whatever, it will always be Captain Kid's to me. He saw Pets Rule along with the sea stars, manatees, penguins, flamingos, and bat rays which he referred to as turtles.
On Wednesday I had an appointment and we had a down day with a long nap for Garrett and a visit from my brother. Thursday morning we headed to Disneyland!
Here's Garrett and my parents on what might have been his most favorite of rides, Autopia. Troy and I were behind the three of them but we could hear our boy cackling for most of the ride. We were there for two days and had a park hopper. We took him on all sorts of rides including Pirates of the Caribbean, Haunted Mansion, Winnie the Pooh, the Ferris Wheel, the carousel, the rides in Bug's Land, Finding Nemo and The Matterhorn. You have to be 35 inches to ride the Matterhorn (which is ridiculous because all the other thrill rides are at least 40 inches) and I was just dying to take him on it. He's about 34.9 inches long but he never stands up perfectly straight. We took him on it at night and they never questioned whether he was tall enough. He sat on my lap and I pulled his seat belt tight and put my legs in between his. Then I pretty much vice gripped him with my right arm and held his head with my left hand. This meant that I slid and banged around for the duration of the ride, but Garrett was safe. I would have guessed that he would either sob the entire way or laugh hysterically. He did neither. He simply looked around as though he was thoroughly unimpressed. It was quite humorous. We waited for about an hour for Nemo and about an hour for the Toy Story ride in California Adventure. Other than that we waited an average of ten minutes for the other rides. It was crowded but the lines weren't bad. Of course it's better to go in the winter but all I have to say to everyone who "warned" me not to go in the summer is, "HA!" We all had a blast.
On Saturday Troy took Garrett to his sister's house (well, it's actually our house but she lives in it. Again, anyone want a house in Ramona?) to play with his cousins and aunts and grandparents while my mom and I went to get all the food for Garrett's party. That night Garrett went to the park with all four of his grandparents and had a picnic and played while Troy and I went to my friend's wedding.
I met Jayni when I was seven years old. I don't remember the circumstances of our meeting but I am ever so glad we did. She is one of just a few friends that I have had for so long. She was there when Troy and I tied the knot almost five years ago and I am so thankful that her wedding happened to be the same week that we were in San Diego--although I would have been there regardless. Jayni is so beautiful inside and out and I wish her and her new husband all the happiness in the world.
(I kind of think this picture yells, "Hey, prospective birth mother, pick us! We're happy and smiley and we promise to throw your kid birthday parties!")
Garrett got a lot of good stuff which is still begging to be put away. Thankfully we were able to fit it all into the bags we brought and fly home with it. My son is wearing a complete cheeseball grin in this picture. I have no idea where he gets his goofy personality. I mean, neither of his parents are goofy. Right? This is taken at 7:30 pm exactly two years after Garrett was born. Of course, I think I look a touch better than I did two years ago. I still believe that I was every bit as much of a mother two months before he was born as I am now because I would have done anything for that fetus. But what I didn't know was the capacity of my own heart. I never knew I could love a child this much. My husband says, "I love him so much it sometimes hurts." I am acutely aware of that feeling. For some reason, at 7:30, I wanted the whole world to disappear for one minute. I wanted to hug him tighter, love him longer, thank him for being born and praise God once again for giving him to me.
Then we went home and he promptly ran into a coffee table leg with his head. There was an instant purple egg the size of a walnut sticking out of his forehead. We iced it and my dad checked his pupils and we decided it would all be okay. It was as if he said, "I'm a boy and I'm two. Let's see what fun I can have with this combination."
Monday morning was spent with Troy's family before putting Garrett down for a nap and then heading to the airport. Our little man had his very own seat because he's a big boy now and he's no longer free. Sigh. And I am left to wonder what happened to my baby...
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
We went to the pool by my parents house and, at the very end of our time there, a bee landed on the side of his head. Being that he is four days shy of two years old, he didn't exactly know not to whack it with his hand. Needless to say, his little hand is a bit on the swollen side. But he's forgotten all about it.
And tomorrow he will come face to face with a very large mouse and discover, for the first time, The Magic Kingdom...
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Garrett is thrilled to be going on a "ane" and flying to visit his "Raraw" which, of course, is toddler speak for Grandpa. I'll try to post on occasion but given all the fun I intend to have, you may not see me for awhile. Because you may not see me for awhile, I've decided to post links to a few of the blogs I've written. The criteria was basically based on my own personal preference and blogs I felt like revisiting. I will post a link for each day I will be gone. That way the faithful can keep reading. If you pop on here and happen to see a new post, I apparently found time to blog. Cheerio and have an excellent week and a half. I know I will.
Thursday, July 10 (Happy Birthday to my very good friend, Jenni): This is a blog that originally appeared on myspace and was then transferred. The story took place in the winter of 2007 when Garrett was still quite small. http://familyfishbowl.blogspot.com/2007/07/so-in-attempt-to-switch-from-one.html
Friday, July 11: This story took place just before we moved. Awhile after this blog was posted, it was determined that the cause of all the vomit was Garrett's herniated bellybutton becoming incarcerated. It has since been operated on. http://familyfishbowl.blogspot.com/2007/10/garrett-and-great-vomiting-evacuation.html
Saturday, July 12 (Happy Anniversary to my college roommate, good friend and bridesmaid, Michelle and her husband Kevin): You will notice at the end of this post that our last name appears as the alias Nelson. That is before I decided that I needed a really awesome alias. Not that there is anything wrong with Nelson but Doozleberry is just so much more glamorous. Yeah. http://familyfishbowl.blogspot.com/2008/01/cleaning-angel.html
Sunday, July 13: http://familyfishbowl.blogspot.com/2008/01/snouter.html
Monday, July 14: A Snippet from Red Thing March
Tuesday, July 15: http://familyfishbowl.blogspot.com/2008/04/little-boy-blue-and-man-on-moon.html
Wednesday, July 16: http://familyfishbowl.blogspot.com/2007/08/how-i-married-periwinkle.html
Thursday, July 17: http://familyfishbowl.blogspot.com/2008/04/heredity.html
Friday, July 18: http://familyfishbowl.blogspot.com/2008/03/towels-terminology-teeth.html
Saturday, July 19: http://familyfishbowl.blogspot.com/2008/02/san-francisco-treat.html
Sunday, July 20 (Happy Birthday to the best little boy a mother could ever have prayed many years for :) I just transferred this over from myspace so that you'd all have something new to read. http://familyfishbowl.blogspot.com/2006/07/my-son-is-here.html
Monday, July 21: Another poop story because, well, they are funny http://familyfishbowl.blogspot.com/2008/01/where-is-his-diaper.html
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Two years ago this was inside of my body and would be for another thirteen days. Two years ago my heart didn't understand the capacity that it could swell to. Two years ago my life was about to change forever. In my closest estimate, we've changed approximately 5,000 diapers. A good number of them have been disgusting. Garrett has learned to roll, sit, scoot, crawl, stand, walk, run and gallop. He gives hugs and kisses. He loves chicken nuggets, tilapia and PB & J. For some unknown reason, he hates pasta--except in macaroni and cheese form. Spaghetti and lasagna noodles make him shudder and gag. He loves to sweep the floor and go swimming. He has opinions about everything. At almost "doo" he is a little man. At the store today I stumbled upon some preemie clothing, the size he wore for the first four weeks of his life despite the fact that he was only one week early. I don't know how he has grown into a tiny little man, but he has. I love that dirty, sweaty toddler but oh how I long for a few more moments with that newborn. I'd inhale that baby fresh smell and kiss every inch of that tiny bald head. I'd rock him to sleep and marvel at his smallness. Two years ago I watched his elbows float across my abdomen and wondered if he'd be a girl or a boy and what he would look like. Two years ago my life hadn't changed forever.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
My first harvest.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
For those of you interested in a garden update, here ya go (please ignore the beautiful weed border surrounding my plants. It's hard enough to keep them out of the actual garden and I spend many an afternoon plucking them out.):
We have taken the Butternut Squash plant off of life support. Granted, he's quite a bit smaller than his cousins, The Zuccs, but he's growing rapidly now. The corn is getting taller. Troy tells me that there is an old saying that corn is supposed to be knee high by the fourth of July. Well, it's pretty darn close. The tomato plants have bunches of blossoms and the strawberries have little white flowers all over them. And then there are The Zuccs. They are like the mafia of my garden. They are trying to take over the other plants by sheer intimidation. There are about ten little zucchinis growing under those huge leaves. It's incredible that they started as tiny plants with five or six little leaves on them. But then, my son started out as a small little bean looking thing and he'll be two in less than three weeks. Just for effect, I took a picture of my foot on top of one of the zucchini leaves. I don't have a tiny little woman foot. A wear an 8.5 or a 9.
So that is the garden. I did not kill it. I so did not kill it. I am actually starting to think that it may kill me. I think those two zucchini plants might just team up and take over the world.
I am going to miss Olympic swimming because we'll be in Tahoe. We do not have TiVo. I'm sure no one out there in the blog world wants to record it for me. Do you? Because of this travesty I have been watching the trials each night. I know that most people do not understand the appeal of swimming back and forth. I can comprehend it, intellectually. However, my heart does not get it. I watch them and I'm twelve years old all over again. I want to throw on a suit and drive to the nearest pool. I want to have shoulder surgery and find myself a coach and do it all over again. It is simply magical.
Garrett has been watching with me. Last night the Padres were on TV here (a rarity) and I was switching between the game and the swimming. The swimming hadn't actually started yet but Garrett saw the pool. "Oool! Oool! Oool!" he screamed when I changed the channel to the game. I told him I would turn it right back. He looked at me, narrowed his eyes and shouted, "Moah!" When I flipped back to the swimming he grinned and nestled himself tighter into the couch. I glanced out of the corner of my eye at my husband and smiled.
I would never force my son to do the sport that I did. But if he chooses it there would be no complaints from this parent. I'd just hope those Doozleberry calves he inherited from his father wouldn't sink him right straight to the bottom. I grow zucchini. Doozleberry's grow prize winning leg muscles.