A Valentines Song for You

Since both my babes were born (and even when I was a baby), my Mom has sung this song to us and her Grandkids. My Grandma would sing it as well.

The other night Holden and I were laying in bed (thus why it's video but only sound available -- we're in the dark). Anyway, he started singing it...

I love you, my puchen

My little tiny puchen

I dream of you

The whole night through

My puchen I love you

I don't know what a "puchen" is, or how one would even spell it...perhaps some Russian or Slavic term of endearment? Feel free to shed some light if you know. But it melts my heart every time he sings this song... also, sometimes he replaces Zoë's name or "transformer" for puchen. If he sees his sis and Optimus Prime as equals I am convinced more than ever he adores her.

Happy Valentines from the Mangums.

Things That Matter -or- A Pretty Dang Perfect Rainy Day

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."
--Martin Luther King Jr.

Dear Mr. Holden,

I'd like to tell you about some things that matter to me. Sure you may think of the obvious -- you, your father, family in the smaller and larger sense; healthcare as a right - not a luxury; freedom of speech, education, and clean water and air. But I'd like to get a little more basic...

See today Mr. Holden, we had a pretty amazing day.

From the outside, it wouldn't seem like anything big. We both slept until around 8 am, and then played in bed. I straightened the room while you practiced sitting up like a big boy, and continued to work on your two-scoot crawling.

I pumped (yawner -- what's new?!?). And then you had breakfast -- organic red potatoes and local peaches from Brigham City you and Daddy purchased from a street vendor last week.

You went down for a nap and I taught *yoga in the sun room. You woke and finished out savasana with us, and then we played. I made eggplant and squash lasagna, and you plotted to eat my flip-flop. (I'm not going to report on how successful you were).

Another nap for you -- I search recipes on the internet (what am I going to do with all these plums form our fruit trees?!?!?); and I clean up our messes.

The second part of the day? That was my favorite. I put you in the outside swing Daddy hung from the Elephant heart plum tree (Ganesh is Fresh!)

(spoiler alert/warning - this next part includes bodily functions - Skip over if you don't want to hear another 'mormon mommy blog' talking about her kid's 'potty stuff').

You ate a homemade honeydew Popsicle through a sock (seriously, one of my favorite 'mommy' tricks) and then you made 'the face.' It's your pooping face -- and I always feel like I should give you a little privacy when you make it. And please forgive me if some day you're running for office -- or worse, in junior high -- and someone pulls this up... but you really have a face. And even though we've given a weak attempt at EC-ing ('diaper free' time usually ends in me washing your toys and the blankets your own) and I wasn't sure if it was going to work for us... I grabbed you and stuck you on the toilet. And you did it... at 7 1/2 months -- you went "poops in the potty." And I cheered, and you smiled; and I decided that it doesn't matter if you're EC'd or not, because that was one less poopy diaper I had to worry about -- so Huzzah for you kid! So I figure we'll try it again -- when it's convenient and if you're up to it, no complaints from me. I would just like to point out, I am NOT about to attempt potty training a 7-month old. I just figure 'who wants to sit in their crap?'

So with the day's achievement (I mean, we were soooo productive today!!!) I decided it would be a good time to introduce you to the drums. Yes the drums that were once proudly played in my past-life that included garage band jam sessions and a stint at St. George arts fest in which I took more time setting up my instrument than actually playing the set. But no matter -- I have high hopes for you Mr. Holden -- that is if you're interested in the 8-piece set and rocking the casbah.

You banged - I smiled. We'll stay with your hands for a bit as you seem to be more interested in eating the drumsticks than using them to make music. But no worries -- you'll get it in time. Thankfully we've got eternity to spend together, so we'll just take it one day at a time.

Tuesdays with Sabrena

Random thoughts for today’s entry. . . .

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If you don’t like the movie The Royal Tennenbaums, you are either:
a) Really spiritual and therefore cannot connect with the humor
-or-
b) Just need to watch it a few more times to see it for its true genius

post script. If you answered “a,” you’re obviously not very humble, and therefore not as spiritually sound as you think. That said, YOU SHOULD REPENT . . . but first watch Royal Tennenbaums because it’s rated-R, and you’ll have to repent for watching it eventually anyway. Might as well get all those sins wiped away at once.

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I noticed last night at the Gold’s Gym pool that all the people who lap swim are pretty much a bunch of fatties. All of the skinny bikini bods hang out in the adjacent Jacuzzi where they can show off their bangin’ figures – they do not spend time water-waddling. Unfortunately, I do not hang out in the Jacuzzi – ever. When it comes to water and the gym, I am always in the pool -- exercising with the other fatties. I don’t know exactly what I ought to glean from this observation . . . but I’m pretty sure it’s the same conclusion I come to after getting on the scale or shopping for a swim suit some place wretched with fluorescent lighting like the former Copper Rivet.

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Have you ever noticed that people who say “titles don’t matter” are usually people with titles that DO matter? Like, when was the last time you heard a $10-an-hour employee say, “Man, titles don’t mean a thing to me. I just want the right person in the right job. It’s all about finding the right fit.” (this comment is much funnier if you say it with an accdent like Cheech and Chong) Exactly my point. . .

post script. Although Brandi Honey may be the exception to this rule . . . she really doesn’t think titles matter – to her everyone is equal. My theory on this one stems from the Enneagram . . . . if no-one has a title, than no-one is officially in charge. And if no one is officially in charge, the playing field is leveled and there are opportunities aplenty.

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I can’t hear the phrase “internal relations” with out cracking a smile.

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Ordering a cran-apple juice from the flight attendant on a turbulent flight from Saint George to Salt Lake when you’re wearing a white shirt is like unto the war in Iraq. . . a selfish leadership decision with no exit strategy that you’re going to regret even if it looks like there might be an end in sight. (I’m just saying, maybe Dub-ya should’ve ordered water.)

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Songs with Odd Titles
• I wanna be your Joey Ramone. (Now defunct indie riot grrrrl outfit “Sleater-Kinney”
• I wanna be your Yoko Ono. (I think this was that Canadian band Bear Naked Ladies)

Which leads me to my last point . . . when I’ve said the phrase “Bear Naked Ladies” in the past, images of pin-up dolls have never crossed my mind. . .. but a bear in the wilderness attacking a Mounty (Mountie?sp?) has.

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And with that I leave you to ponder and respond. . . . Have I mentioned I friggin love “comments?”


Until next when ever,

Sabrena Mangum (nee Suite)