The drain of creation

Does this space seem to have the disturbing stillness you would expect in an abandoned ghost town? It certainly feels that way lately.

I wish I could tell you that it is the result of an intentional move to keep my life more private. Or a decision to spend more time participating in constructive activities with little P. Or a million other morally upright and justifiable rationales.

Don't get me wrong: things have been good. Life keeps chugging along. Jesse amazes me with his hard work. Pen astounds (and at times frightens) me with her new skills, knowledge and talents.




But at the same time, things have just been a wee bit pathetic. The blog has been silent because I assumed no one would want to hear the thrilling tales of what episode of Friends I watched on syndicated television. Or maybe you don't want to know that I woke up from an unplanned, hour-long nap to find Pen marching around the house with Jesse's swimming suit on her head. Or perhaps I am just not proud to admit how many times my husband makes dinner, bathes the baby and puts her to bed because I just can't get off the couch. Did you really want to know about my latest vitamin regimen? I didn't think so.

But you see, it isn't so lame. I am just growing a new baby. And as my awesome husband is quick to remind me, "it takes a lot of energy to jumpstart a human life." So don't give up on me. We will make it through yet another blogging slump. Even if it takes until my due date in early May to get there...

(how we told the family à la Conan's "if they mated.")

In her pack

Pen and I are gearing up for a ladies' trip tomorrow, which means I have spent the last two days doing laundry (can't leave the husband without a drawer full of clean underwear), packing and mentally preparing for a road trip with a toddler.

An essential part of every trip is Pen's little backpack with odds and ends to entertain her during the drive. I was going over what I packed for her with Jesse to ensure I hadn't left anything important, when he informed me that I needed to record this list for posterity.


So, we have:

Story books
Flap books
Books with pictures of things she is learning the words for
A tiny Teddy bear that she won't leave the house without
The burping Shrek toy she loves from a McDonald's happy meal circa 2008
A flashing music toy
A Pez dispenser
A mini football


So she has to be entertained for four hours, right?

My sounding board

I was whining to Jesse about some silly "mean girls" stuff that has been bugging me lately.

"I don't even know why this bothers me so much," I said.

"It bothers you because you're a girl," he said. "And a nice one at that."

This made me feel better for a while. A few hours later, I got in bed with something else on my mind.

"Since you understand that I'm a girl, I have something else that is really bothering me lately that I need to get off my chest," I said.

He put down his iPhone, got very serious, and said, "OK, what is it?"

I breathed a heavy sigh.

"Colored denim is coming back."

"And?" He asks, waiting for more.

"And I kind of like it."

And just like the first time, getting it off my chest made me feel much better.

Photobooth with Dummies

Penelope really likes to see herself on camera. It's one of her favorite things. So every now and then, I try to see if we can get a good photo of the two of us chumming around.

It's not as easy as you might think to get a photo of her smiling and me not looking like an idiot when the camera goes off.

But I think we might have gotten close to a good one.

Sometimes he changes my mind.

It's been a perfect storm of mushy feelings for my husband lately.

First there was Father's Day, and Mr. Jones really deserved some appreciation for his awesome work as a daddy.

Then the wee one and I took off for a week while he finished up his first rotation (and we got to miss him like crazy).

Then he pulled yet another 15-hour day today. And I am yet again missing him like crazy.

Then that one doo-dad I have that lets me listen to my iPod in my car broke (ok, it broke a while ago, so this isn't quite in chronological order), so I was listening to this classic song that has sadly become a cliche.

And really, I have to tell you: When my heart was in the lost and found, this guy came to claim it. I will thank the Lord for that every day for the rest of my life.

Jesse was a real friend to me for years before we started really dating. He listened. He gave good advice -- even when it didn't benefit him. He let me cry on his shoulder. He cracked really great (and terrible) jokes at all the right times. And he never let me believe I was worth anything less than I really was. Then we started dating, and he's only gotten better.

I often tell Jesse that I want all girls. (Honestly, I kind of do.) But today I keep thinking about how great the world would be with another man like Jesse. A real man who loves God, is loyal to his family, and makes some lucky woman feel like the most loved creature on the planet every day.

Today I'm settled on it. What the world needs now is more men like mine. I guess I'd be OK if that meant that we had to have a few boys running around our house in the future.

The jury's still out

One burning question in the Jones house tonight:

Who wore it better...






Mother






Or daughter?

You can't really blame me.

Some days I have about a dozen things I want to blog about. And none of them involve the baby (yes yes, I know it gets old). But then we have dance parties when Jesse gets home from work.

Daddy picks the song.

Mom takes the bad video footage.

Penny busts a move.

And I completely forget that I had something else to say.

Video time: 11 seconds. She gets quite camera shy.

(These toddler dance moves are dedicated to my dear DEAR friend Bitty, with whom I have shared many a dance party.)

The three faces of Pen

Growing up, whenever we would start to "ooh" and "ahh" over a sweet baby, my dad would always kill the mood by cooing, "They're false advertising..." And while I would always have a really intelligent response along the lines of "duh, Dad, I know babies are lots of work," there was still that portion of me that refused to believe that I would ever share such a cynical perspective of little ones.

Well, let's move forward about 15 years. We attend a church that is full of couples just like us: married and trying to get through school. I love it, I really do, and we make such great friends there. But often, when these newlyweds look at Penelope all dewy-eyed and swoon over what a beautiful, sweet child she is, I feel like I have a responsibility to clear up one major misconception: Life is not always this sweet with a 15-month-old.

You see, Penelope has three states of being.

She is very often delightful. This is the most common state for her -- cheerful, silly, curious. She is a complete ham, and people fall in love with it (myself included!).

And you may also find her being docile. Content to amuse or read to herself. These moments are treasured and increasingly rare.

But then there is the rest of the time. I often call it her demon-child state, but I suppose defiant is a more politically correct term. These are the times that I just dread what life will be like when she is actually two...

I couldn't bear to actually post a video of her having a meltdown, but here is a clip that cuts off right before she devolves into one.

Trying to bang(s) it out

(such a lame title. please forgive. the rest of the post doesn't get much better.)

My hair has needed love. For (easily) weeks. Here is the conundrum: My bangs have really sucked. I've had an inner monologue focused around this every time I look in the mirror:

"Man, my hair looks haggard. I really need a haircut. Maybe just my bangs. Maybe I could call my friend XXX to see if she could just do my bangs. No, that's lame. If I'm going to get a haircut, I'm going to get a hair cut. But I'm style-lazy and growing my hair out, so that just seems like a waste of money. Just the bangs, then. But Jesse hates bangs. But I love bangs. Gah! I was 15 minutes behind when I started this monologue, what am I doing? Just do your makeup. Your hair will look better when your makeup is done... Nope, still crap. Just pin the bangs back."

Anyway (if you are still reading after that lengthy detour), I convinced myself that it wasn't so bad and went about my business. I was wrong.

Today I went to Target to pick up a few items, and the sweetest woman in the world was ringing me up when she kept mentioning the weather. I finally said something generic but polite like, "yeah, it sure is warm, but it is windy out there!"

She jumped on the chance and said, "I bet you wish you were a man with short hair today -- they sure don't have to worry about how bad the wind makes their hair look!"

She was sweet, so I brushed it off until I got out to the car and could look at my reflection in the window (yes, this is about the extent of my beauty routine these days). I couldn't blame her for the comment. My hair really looked awful. So I came home, realized that I own a pair of scissors and cut the bangs myself. (Unfortunately, I do this a lot. Like when I blogged about it four years ago.)

I have now added some new items to the list of things I want to do when Jesse graduates and starts working:

1. Cash his first check in quarters and build a reserve for a swimming pool built out of quarters à la Duck Tales.

2. Use said quarters to pay off student loans (it's going to be an Olympic-sized pool).

3. Yeah, yeah, house/cars/grown-up stuff.

4. Get a real hair style.

5. Take a class on how to take good photos of yourself (I believe Paris Hilton might be teaching one by that time).

I think that about covers it. (I don't dare share the 90 bajillion totally shallow, selfish things I think about wanting.) Until then, I might want to invest in some scissors that were purchased after 1996 and don't live in my home office...

Mommy, "Wow! You're a big girl now?"

Author's note: Dad (that would be you, Bart), you don't want to read this. Trust me. There's nothing bad in here, but knowing your sensitivity to the mere mention of feminine products (code word: Rumplestiltskin), this post will be completely abhorrent to you.

There are tampons all over my house. Right now, there is an opened tampon on the desk next to me. There are a few wrappers at my feet. This is just a day in the life of a mom working from home with an incredibly active toddler left to do whatever keeps her from screaming and pulling at my shirt all day.

The tampon thing started innocently enough. Jesse and I were getting ready for the day at my parents' house, and Pen was curiously going through the drawers. Then she saw them. Brightly colored wrappers. Perfectly sized for her chubby fists. Plus daddy laughed when she showed him her new treasure. This is what 15-month-olds' dreams are made of.

One of the first things she discovered when we got back to our own home is that we have a much larger stash of these exciting items in our bathroom. And they are right where she can reach them! They are so easy to open, easy to cart around, and easy to stick in her mouth. I figured, "Well, what's the harm? I bought a lifetime supply at Costco, so it's not like a couple missing from the box will upset the balance of things."

But now I worry that her fascination may have reached a critical point. She wedged a box full of tampons into her diaper bag the other day. (Why? To share with others? To show all her friends that she is super mature? Because she is trying to be thoughtful for mommy?) And now you know that she really likes you if she kindly bestows you with one of the unwrapped gems.

Again, I worry I may not be preparing her for real-life social experiences. But they keep her occupied during a crazy part of the day, so I am willing to be a bit flexible on this whole "normal" social behavior.

I just ask that if you come to our house, please overlook the feminine products scattered about. And if some giggly little toddler hands you an unexpected tampon, I hope you know that it is a sign of affection. Unless you are my father. Then I just ask that you try not to let the experience scar you.

(But remember that you think she is really cute, too.)

Befuddlingly gregarious

Today Penelope befriended our neighbor's dog. This isn't really a rare occurrence. Lately she is into making friends with everyone and everything. A child riding her bike down the street. A sweet old man in the grocery store. The waitress at the greasy truck stop diner we patronized yesterday. Her stuffed animals. Her reflection in the mirror. All are subject to the same sweet - if not overly enthusiastic - "HIIIIII!"

Generally she gets a chuckle, or an obligatory "hi" back in her direction. But every time it happens, she expresses such genuine delight in having made a new connection.

The other day, she took a break from making fish faces at the aquarium in the pediatricians' waiting room to engage in a spontaneous kiss-blowing session with another baby. It lasted for a solid five minutes.

At first I used to worry about teaching her to not bother other people and (more importantly) to be safe with strangers. But today, as I watched her chubby fingers flex back and forth in her awkward baby wave at our neighbor's pug, I didn't want any of that.

I guess the world will teach her soon enough to distrust. Right now I like that she is teaching me how to assume there is a friend in everyone.



(unrelated photo of this social butterfly earlier today. Has anyone ever had success with these strawberry planters? Things aren't looking very good so far...)

Overheard at our house

(while making dinner with the TV on in the background)

Me: Ooh, they're doing a couples' edition of Wheel of Fortune! We would KILL at that!

Jesse: Yeah I would!

Stream of consciousness [OR] On BFFs

I was wondering tonight, is it normal for a kitchen to exude the aroma of Clorox after cleaning up a standard chicken dinner? Or is this just something I do to appease the germaphobe I live with?

It doesn't really matter, I suppose, because I'll keep doing it. I guess that's just how we speak true love in these parts.

It's the kind of thing you do for a best friend. But now Jesse has a new best friend.

I like her, too, though. Tonight's epiphany: the bigger our family gets, the more best friends I develop.

I wouldn't change a thing about it.

There is a 'corporate ladder'

And I am nowhere near it. But I did just get an office with a big window.

And a pack 'n play.

And onsite daycare. But I am also the daycare, so I guess it's not a huge perk. Except that I get to be a mom (and employee) all day. That part is thrilling (and exhausting...)

On the first day in my new work digs (aka my home), Penelope split her lip open because she insists on playing in this bizarre little basket for her toys, and I didn't have the time to focus on her as much as I should have. It wasn't a great omen.

But I remain optimistic that this new situation is the answer to many prayers. Did you know that sometimes the answers to my prayers might be good, but they're not easy? I'm still working out that second part with the big guy upstairs.

Wish me luck...

How to avoid being a bad parent

Volume One.

Don't get sick. Don't get so sick that you let your child watch whatever captivates her on TV. Certainly don't let that thing she watches be Jurassic Park. Don't let her get comfortable in front of the tube.

Don't let her get a snack out of the diaper bag and say "wooooaahhh!!!" as she watches dinosaurs roaring, running and eating human beings off of toilets.

Don't let her practice new clawing skills on daddy's face when he volunteers to feed her.

Volume Two.

Don't let your toddler take a late nap. Don't forget to change her diaper before the nap. Don't let her sleep so late that she wakes up within minutes of when you need to leave the house for a birthday party. Don't even think about cursing under your breath as you realize you need to change her entire outfit because you forgot to do the diaper thing before the nap thing. Don't rush her through dinner because you spent so much time getting her dressed and then promise that she can "fill up on cupcakes at the birthday party to make up for this."

Don't let her attack her cupcake with the direct force equal to a jackhammer. Don't encourage the bad behavior so she goes on to steal her cousin's cupcake. And definitely don't laugh when she does something naughty (like pilfering cupcakes).

Got it?

OK but really, don't judge the awkward mom laugh and bad filming in this video.

Because it just seems wrong not to acknowledge it

Cameron, if they let you read my blog in heaven (I’m sure they do), know that we love you so. After eight years, we miss you as much as ever. And we are looking forward to seeing you again.

Maybe all babies look alike, but I see a whole lot of Penelope in this photo. It could be that he is about her age in this picture. I think it's that mischievous little smile. And yes, my mom is a total babe.

The classic crazy eyes photo. Nice. (this photo has been cropped to protect those who may look particularly emaciated... like me.)

And, yet again, I resolve to get some new photos of you on my computer. I think I've been saying that on this blog for, what, three years now?

Yeah, you're going to want to make this sometime

Really, you are going to want to make this for dinner sometime. It's simple. It requires very few ingredients. It's pretty quick. It's homey and delicious.

And I'm not really a meatball sandwich kind of girl.

You can thank me later. (You will want to thank Pioneer Woman first.)

Wishing and hoping

Do you know any mythical creatures that grant you a new wardrobe when Spring finally decides to poke its head around Boise? Maybe the Easter Bunny?

No, he's obviously not concerned with fashion.

Lately, I can't stop drooling over the idea of a new wardrobe. Maybe it's because my body has comfortably settled into its non-pregnant state, but my pre-pregnancy clothes didn't get the memo. They're a bit stretched out and overworked. I got a new outfit for Christmas that I think I have worn about twice a week since then. It is also starting to look overworked at this point.

So I keep dreaming that maybe -- just maybe -- something like this will show up at my house when the sun starts shining.

(Maybe I will be able to tie a big knot on my head like this, too.)

But then again, maybe not.

I blame her father

Most of the time, my baby (also known as my entire life, if you couldn't tell by this blog in the last year) is perfectly sweet. Seriously adorable.

four-second proof of sweetness.

But then she will have a night like tonight. Where she screams during her diaper change. Screams in her high chair through all of dinner and refuses to eat her food. Pees on the floor while I am getting her ready for the bath. Screams through the whole bath. Pees in my face (how is that physically possible?!?) while I'm trying to get her dressed. Screams through story time. Burps so hard she throws up her antibiotics all over me.

Then she calms down just enough to give me a cute kiss good night. (I think that's her evolutionary survival mechanism kicking in.)

And on nights like this, I am left wondering: Where did this sometimes-curly-haired little beast come from?

For all the naysayers...

She had her cake

and then she ate it, too.

And then she was one

Well, in her first year, this little darling had three homes, two crazy parents, and one sweet and silly personality to show off. I don't know how we ever felt anything close to complete without her. This was truly the most challenging, most frustrating, most exhausting and best year of my life.

Happy birthday, little one. Let's try celebrating without your miserable head cold this weekend, eh?