Miter & Chopper...I Don't Think So

So I was on the Geo Trax website and, apparently, they already have names. Or, at least, most of them do. We already knew Will's name. "Daisy" and "Starbuck/Biss Guy" are listed simply as passengers but the rest of them...

Choo-Choo's given name is Eric. This may devastate my son. McFly is apparently named Opie and, as we were watching the Geo Trax DVD this morning, we discovered that he speaks with a serious southern accent and doesn't act like he's stepped out of Back to the Future at all. Tree Guy and Axe are known as Miter and Chopper.

I think we'll stick to the names we've given them.

What's In A Name?

Garrett loves and adores his Geo Trax. If I wanted to hoist them up into his bed every night, I'm sure they would replace his beloved blankie as his most favorite thing to cuddle with. Currently, we have seven of the little people that go with the different Geo Trax sets. They are tiny and Garrett often plays with them with various other toys so they go missing quite often. We've given them all names so that, when we're looking for them, we can ask Garrett if he's seen specific Geo Trax "guys". Garrett named some of them and I gave the others their names. They are as follows:

Daisy: The only female. She is holding flowers.
Will: The actual name (on the box) of the burly mountain man.
Starbuck/Biss Guy: I refer to him as Starbuck because he's holding a coffee cup. Garrett thinks he is holding juice and refers to him as Juice Guy.
Axe: He's holding an axe. Don't worry. He came with a logger type set and is not, in fact, an axe murderer play thing.
McFly: He looks like he stepped right out of Back to the Future.
Choo-Choo: Garrett named this one because he is the driver of the main train.
Tree Guy: Garrett also named this one. Apparently Troy referred to him as Tree Guy once or twice because he's holding a tree. I tried to get him to name him something else but he was dead set on Tree Guy. He happens to be Garrett's most favorite Geo Trax figure.

Last night we were talking to Garrett about how maybe, one day, he just might, possibly, get a baby brother or sister. We have a girl name picked out but only have our boy name narrowed down to three. We gave him his options.

Me: Garrett do you want to name a baby brother Thaddeus*?
Garrett: No.
Troy: How about Wolfgang*?
Garrett: NO!
Me: Moon Unit*?
Garrett: No.
Troy: Well what do you want to name your possible, one day, maybe, baby brother?
Garrett: (emphatically) Tree Guy!

"Hi, it's so nice to meet you. These are my sons, Garrett and Tree Guy."

*Not actual possibilities for our maybe, possibly, one day, son.

Onesies

Last night we were blessed by the church secretary, known, when she comments on this blog, as "J", and her husband who, to carry on tradition, will be referred to as "K". Whenever one of J and K's children announces that they are pregnant, they get them a gift. J explained this to me as she handed me a gift bag.

A few minutes later Troy and I pulled a package of Onesies out of the bag.

Despite my post about how I feel pregnant, there is a huge part of me that feels very unpregnant. We certainly haven't yet been chosen and the pessimist in me wonders if we ever will be. Even if we are chosen, the birth mother could change her mind. Something could go wrong. These reservations help me to hold my excitement at bay.

But then I get a package of Onesies and it's as though the child leaps inside my heart. Then I start thinking about how we could be chosen. The birth mother could decide not to back out. We could get a baby soon. We could have one in the next few months even. This line of thinking is extremely unlike me. I like to prepare for the worst. I like to think it will be seven or eight years before we're picked. But then I hold a package of teeny Onesies in my hands and I feel like I might just be able to will someone to choose me. I feel a level of excitement that couldn't be more real than if I had an actual due date.

"Pick Me," I scream on the inside. Choose this family. We have Onesies!

Those Dreams

Do you ever have dreams where you've gotten out of bed and are getting ready and it all seems to be happening in real time and then, when you actually wake up, you're bummed because you feel like you have to do it all over again?

This morning I got out of bed, got dressed, did my hair, had a phone conversation with my mom and then built a theatre set. And then I woke up and realized none of it had actually happened. You would have thought that the phone conversation I "had" with my mom would have tipped me off.

Mom: Are you going to do a church play for the Fourth of July?
Me: I have no idea. That's a really long ways away.
Mom: Well, are you?
Me: I've never done a Fourth of July play before. Why would I start now?
Mom: I'm just wondering.
Me: Why?
Mom: Because I want to see it but I want to go on vacation in July.
Me: Go ahead and plan a vacation.
Mom: Does Garrett like Gears?
Me: What?
Mom: Does he like those gears toy thingies?
Me: I...well...he doesn't have any so...I...don't...know.
Mom: So, what kind of play would it be? You know, so I can plan my vacation.

It made no sense. None. And then after that I constructed an entire set. I sure was sad to wake up and discover that I'd actually been extremely unproductive.

Fears

My child is deathly afraid of smoke detectors. It certainly doesn't help that ours go off all the time. If I so much as open my oven door when it's turned on, the alarm starts screaming.

Last night it went off while he was asleep and it took his daddy sleeping on his floor to make him fall back asleep. This afternoon it went off for about a half hour straight. Let's just say I got a good long cuddle session out of his fears.

And when it was all over, the brownies were burnt.

Please Note

I have an announcement to make.

Early this afternoon I went to the post office. I put our three letters of recommendation, the remaining $2450.00 of our listing fee, our pages and pages of paperwork, our "Dear birth mother" letter, our picture collages and a copy of our home study in the mail. I have a feeling the postal worker thought I was slightly crazy because, as I stood in line, I closed my eyes, laid my open palms on the top of the envelope and prayed silently for that one woman who might see it and feel a leading to place her child into our lives.

There are things I can do. I can do an addendum to our home study once we're settled in the new house. I can research lawyers. I can pray. For the most part, however, it's completely out of our hands.

I feel pregnant.

I know how crazy that sounds and it isn't like I'm heaving my guts up or experiencing searing round ligament pain or craving chocolate covered pickles. But when I was pregnant with Garrett it was all I thought about. I wanted to talk about the baby all the time. I worried that people were getting annoyed with how often I discussed the child within me. I feel that way now. The difference is that, this time, I don't have a due date. Someone could choose us in two months or someone could never choose us. It's as open ended as that. But I feel completely wrapped up in this child within--even if it's only, technically, on paper. Even if it's only within my heart. There is a small part of me that feels sorrow over the lack of maternity clothing and the glow that people speak so fondly about. But only because, now that the packet is on its way, I want to shout from the rooftops that we're having a baby...someday.

I am pleased to announce, however, that we are, indeed, Paper Pregnant: Adoption In Progress. And now we wait...

You Have Got To Be Kidding Me

It's almost two in the afternoon. I just took this picture from my front porch. Believe me when I tell you that this morning, there was a lot more.

Dear Utah,
You're kidding me, right? I give you a compliment on my blog, I tell you how much I like your fall, and then you behave like a defiant little two-year-old and you turn fall into winter. Trust me, I know two-year-olds and that is exactly how you are behaving. If you don't wise up, I promise that I will stop talking nice about you. Oh it's not that I didn't enjoy many of the snowy days last winter. It's not even that I didn't like having a white Christmas because (gasp!) I did. But I most certainly did not like having snow from the day I moved until the 1st of May. And I am not entertaining the idea of having snow from November until May this year. I don't care if this is just what you do. It's unacceptable behavior. If this is the way you feel you need to behave, pack up and head to Anchorage. Or Iceland. Oh sure, I'm not the premier voice on the four seasons but I'm fairly certain that they should be divided evenly between the twelve months of the year. If you are choosing to enter into an agreement with winter, let it be stated that the arrangement will be terminated on February 5, 2009. If you'd like to snow into March, you'd probably better back off. It's not that I don't think you're attractive--beautiful, even--because I do. It's just that I went through a very painful separation from sunny, 78 degree, San Diego weather. You went and waved these gorgeous fall days in my face and I feel as though you pulled off the bait and switch quite well. Kudos to you, Utah, for bathing me in autumn and then throwing snowballs at me. I will wait here for your apology.

Sincerely,
Miss California

Election/Anniversary Day

I voted by absentee ballot and I just want to state, for the record, that I did not vote for my husband as was previously contemplated on this blog. I certainly considered it but, in the end, I decided that this is too important of an election to throw my vote away. Let me also state, for the record, that I do believe a third party vote during this particular election is ignorant. You can go ahead and vote third party if you want to. We can even still be friends. You can disagree with me entirely. But I really feel like this is one election where a third party vote is a very silly vote. And this is where I climb down off of my soap box and let the ballots do what they will. Oh, who am I kidding. This is where I step down off my soap box and let the electoral college do what they will.
***********************************************

Dear Mom & Dad,
Happy 30th Anniversary. Thanks for getting married and thanks for deciding to have me and thanks for doing it in that order. You've been a fantastic example of what it means to dedicate your life to someone until death separates you. Thank you for arguing on occasion, so that I didn't have incorrect views of marriage. But thanks for never throwing things at each other or leaving or threatening divorce. Thank you for agreeing on how to raise a family and for growing, all the time, in the Lord. Thank you for all the sacrifices you made on my behalf. I know it would have been easier to forget children altogether and spend your extra money on lavish vacations to the Swiss Alps and Barbados. Thank you for choosing to raise a family and go on camping trips instead. Thank you for the legacy you are creating. Thank you for keeping your vows--those same vows that starting breathing with Jon and me and now Garrett. I hope that you have a wonderful anniversary and I love you very much.

Sincerely,
The Oldest

The Move

I've received several questions about our move. I figured now would be as good a time as any to address them.

Where are you moving? And when?
We are moving to Hawaii. Kauai to be specific. We've decided to become professional surfers. Given the fact that I've never even been on a surfboard, it might be a problem. Seriously, we are moving north. We will still be in Salt Lake County but we'll be closer to the church. The house is just a little smaller. We will lose almost all of our storage space though. Our rent, however, will drop. We will be moving between the 15th & 20th of this month.

Did you buy a house?
I wish. Unfortunately we still own the albatross in Ramona and are in absolutely no position to purchase a home here.

Why are you moving?
We love the home that we are in and we love our neighborhood. However, our rental company (at the wishes of the home owner) was not willing to extend our lease and we were on a month to month basis. Not only were we uncomfortable with the fact that the owner was considering moving back in at some point in the future or putting the property on the market, we were also worried that we might be told to vacate during a particularly busy ministry month--say, December. All of that on top of the fact that we needed to find something that was a little cheaper (because of the fact that our California home never sold) led us to look for another home. We decided to look closer to the church. Our new home will be about 10-15 minutes from the church depending on traffic whereas the one we are in now is 18-25.

Are you excited?
Um. I hate moving. I love this house and this neighborhood and I love living near a particular family in my church. I love my WalMart and my Dollar Tree and I don't want to get new ones. But it does feel a bit like college where I moved every year and got to decorate and get ready for a new chapter in my life. I'm really hoping that we will be blessed with a second child while we're living in this new house and that we won't have to move for awhile. In that regard I am excited. I am also excited that my new basement will actually have heat.

I'm a little stressed because of adoption/children's play rehearsals/packing/having Thanksgiving at my house for the FIRST TIME EVER FOUR DAYS AFTER I MOVE/moving but I'll survive. Thanks for asking.

Fall

I love fall.

Who knew?

I certainly didn't because, in Ramona, fall is summer and winter is fall. In the final months of the year, leaves do let go of their trees and dance to the ground but the weather is still warm and the word brisk doesn't really come into play until December. But here in Utah, the days are comfortable and the nights are chilly. I wear jeans and I turn on the gas fireplace in the mornings and evenings. Children can still play outside and the trees are alive with reds and oranges and yellows.

Before we move, we have quite a bit to get done around here. There will be a hefty amount of stress in the next couple of weeks. But I'm feeling cozy and I know that there is still time to sit and watch the leaves fall before we rake them up and say goodbye to this house.

All Hallows Eve

When I was a kid, I loved Halloween. Call it the future theatre major in me, always happy to take on a new role. Call it the future sugar junkie in me, always happy to overdose on sweets. Call it what you will but I loved Halloween. Then I grew up and was too big to go door to door and too cool for playing dress up unless a stage was involved. And then I had a kid.

First, at three months, Garrett was the sweetest little lion you ever did see. Then, at 15 months, he was the most adorable pudgy dragon. This year, at 27 months, he was a pirate. He borrowed a costume that my brother wore some 21 years ago. Complete with a stippled scruffy beard complements of my make up kit leftover from my theatrical college days. He was a very grumpy pirate because his mother woke him from his nap. He didn't want the hat on. Or the eye patch. Or the pants. And I forced them upon him, uttering something along the lines of, "You'll be a pirate and you'll like it. And when you're sixteen you will put on tights and star as Romeo because I'm going to push you into show business if it's the only thing I ever do!" Alright so, that's not what I said. I said something about it being fun and oh how I promise you'll like it and you'll get candy and, hey, do you want to wear make up? This piqued his interest. Unfortunately, despite the extreme cuteness of the beard, it photographs as though my child was just insanely dirty.

We went over to Jordan Landing with some friends. Despite the fact that all the other children were girls, Garrett insisted on referring to them as Da Boys. I think, being that I am the only girl in this house, Garrett is a little misinformed on gender. In any case, we had fun collecting candy from the businesses. He got many a compliment about what a good looking pirate he was. Any time he could choose a specific piece of candy he took forever contemplating which one he would choose. In the end, every candy that he chose was pink. At one establishment he dug deep into the bowl and retrieved a pink Tootsie Pop. Without my consent he peeled the wrapper off, stuck it in his mouth, and went to town sucking that delicious ball of sugar. When we finished up at Jordan Landing, I took my little pirate through the drive-thru at McDonald's and headed over to the church for the Harvest Festival. He had a blast playing games and hanging out with other kids. I think he ended up enjoying his pirate costume and he ungrumped rather nicely.

There is just something magical about being a kid on Halloween. And something magical about having a kid on Halloween. And something magical about the fact that he can't eat all the candy...but I can.

Check Back Tomorrow

What is it with me and moving during the month of November while trying to blog every day? I'm going to try my hand at NaBloPoMo again this year because last year the Starbucks gift card that I won was so totally worth every minute of blogging.

Check back tomorrow. I'm sure there will be some Halloween treats. I am trying to get Garrett to take a short nap before we head over to Jordan Landing with some friends to trick-or-treat. Then we're off to the church Harvest Festival. For now, I'm off to pack a box or two and wonder if my little guy is stripping off his diaper once again...

My Kid Really Cracks Me Up

Garrett's nap today was cut a bit short. After hearing him stir, I checked the video monitor to make sure he had repositioned and gone back to sleep. He had but I noticed a suspicious crack where a diaper should have been.



I contemplated whether or not to let him sleep and deal with the waste repercussions later. In fact, this is the exact decision I landed on but I just couldn't let the moment pass me by. I had to try to take a picture of it. And, as I snuck out with my camera in hand, he stirred, saw me, and that was the end of that.


But I really feel like the picture is worth a thousand words and maybe, even, a thousand naps. Okay so no, nothing is worth a thousand naps.


So, in honor of the fact that I have posted twice today, I think you should all leave a comment with a caption for this photo. It will certainly be making an appearance in my son's scrapbook. You never know, your caption could grace the pages of his album.


Additionally, if we could keep the knowledge of this picture to ourselves when my son hits his teenage years, I'd really appreciate it.

Quiet Time & Crib Attacks

A few years ago I heard a woman speak on tithing your time to the Lord. I'll be honest, some months it is difficult for me to tithe my money to the Lord. I do it faithfully but 10% of my time? Well, that's another story. That's almost two and a half hours a day. But this particular woman gets up in the morning and offers her first fruits to the Lord. For TWO & A HALF HOURS. It's not that I couldn't spend that much time in quiet time with my Savior but I don't think it is logistically possible. Unless, of course, I wake up hours before my toddler in which case I'd be so tired I'd probably put his clothes on backward and forget that he needs his diaper changed regularly.

Nevertheless, several months ago, I talked about this in Sunday school. I didn't say that we ought to be tithing our time, I simply explained it in principle. And I talked about how, when at all possible, it should be our first fruits, not the last thing we think about before we turn the lamp off at night. Then I promptly forgot my own advice. For awhile I became the person who scurried through a few verses in between brushing my teeth and falling fast asleep.

Until about a month ago. I have begun getting up before the rest of my family. It's still dark and it's chilly and I really, really like my sleep. But I can't help but see the value in dedicating my day to the Lord. My son usually wakes up around the same time in the mornings. This is helpful. I set my alarm for 45 minutes before he typically wakes up. I've been blessed with a kid who is happy to entertain himself in his crib for awhile in the mornings so even if he wakes up before I'm done, I have no problem finishing. I spend about 20 minutes in prayer. Then I read through a chapter of the Bible. Then I go back through the chapter I just read and I pick out key verses and write these down in my prayer journal. If I still have time when all of that is said and done, I read a few pages or a chapter in one of the many nonfiction Christian books I have lying around here.

And I am loving this time. Don't get me wrong. I do not love it when the alarm goes off. In fact, I do not love it so much that last Saturday I turned it off and went back to sleep. But once I am awake, well, then I love it. Since the installation of this new way of studying my Bible I have made it through Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians and Colossians--one chapter at a time. I take Sundays off. Well, I mean, I don't actually take them off. Right now we get to church at 9:00 and I leave at approximately 2:45 after my rehearsal is finished. But I take them off from getting up early and having a quiet time.

I didn't know how much I would enjoy a quiet home and 45 uninterrupted minutes with the Lord. And oh how I recommend it.
*************************************************
Yesterday Garrett managed to get his legs stuck between the rungs of his crib. He's done this once before, when he was a tiny little guy. This time, I truly thought I was going to have to saw through the rungs to free his right leg. Or lather it with butter. Or call the fire department. He was screaming bloody murder and I was trying everything. Eventually I managed to communicate that he needed to lay on his side so that I could try it from a different angle. After painstakingly wiggling his chubby leg and making a millimeter at a time of progress, his leg popped free. And there were the biggest red marks on that poor thigh. The crying stopped and a look flickered across his face. It was a look that said, "Mommy, you are my hero. I will never disobey you ever again because you have saved my precious little life."

I intend to remind him of this for years to come.

"Garrett, you'd better listen to me. Remember that one time that I saved you from the horrible baby eating crib monster?"

And he will nod and say, "Yes, Mommy. I remember. Please accept my humble apology."

And I will. Because that's just how mother's are supposed to be.

Humble Is My New Middle Name

Last night we went out with a couple for the first time. It was their first time meeting Garrett and, wouldn't you know, he had refused to take a nap. He was in pretty good spirits but he got bored quickly. After we'd finished eating, I let him sit on my lap. He wanted ice out of my water cup and sticking his hands in my cup to fish out cubes was keeping him entertained. I was a little horrified at what these people might be thinking about my parenting skills but I figured that was better than having to leave because our two-year-old had had enough of Chili's.

Then he spilled the water in my lap. Let me tell you that the glass was more than half full--and that's not just an optimistic view of the situation. There also happened to be a whole lot of ice and it just so happened to pool in a not so ice friendly area. I felt like I was slowly dying, from the lowest point of my torso up. When we were finally able to shift Garrett from my lap to Troy's I stood up. The woman we were with commented, "Now see, the cool part about that is it really does look like you wet your pants."

It was freezing. And cold. And wet. And to top it all off I looked like I'd wet my pants. It was super special. The best part was when I got to walk out of the restaurant several minutes later. If only I'd been wearing the Special Sunglasses. Then, truly, the ensemble would have been complete.