Happy Birth Day to Me...

There's a weird sense of nostalgia -- looking back at where you were a year ago. (Granted, this blog makes it especially easy for moi).. I laugh that I was so worried about what we'd need for Mr. Holden -- crib? changing table? pack and play? car seat, swing, high chair, rocker, fluffy chair, diaper genie, swaddle me suits, exesaucer (sp?)?!?!? (I didn't even know what that was), etc etc etc.

Granted, if I had known I was going to embrace this whole "Attachment Parenting" thing so easily, I would've just invested in a sling, a car seat (safety first!) and a breast pump up front and called it good. :)

My dear friend Erin (yes mother to Baby Jonah, you) basically told me that all they (the babies) really need is you -- and I didn't think she was serious. But it's true. If Holden and I were stranded on an island together (hopefully Danny would be with us); we'd find a way to make it with out all the baby 'stuff.'

Hopefully they'd have mangoes and honeydew on that island. Holden likes the green melon. . .

But back to my point -- if there is one. The more I try to pay attention to Holden's cues and signals and what he's communicating to me (and trusting my instincts), it seems like the more flow we find... and finding a groove as a mother is the greatest birthday present I can think of.

(Though, I'm keeping my fingers crossed for more cloth diapers and an Ergo Baby!)

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.

If diamonds are a girl's best friend...

Marilyn Monroe, in all her infamous tumult and splendor, spoke for millions with her 'diamonds are a girl's best friend.' And granted, "getting" my man and my rock were two of life's blessed moments. But I will never look at my diamond the same...

This evening, late afternoon actually, with NPR's "All Thing's Considered" playing in the background as Little Bits and I lay on my bed, I sang to him and tried to calm him and help him recover from a nine-hour travel day on Wednesday (his nap schedule today played out in limited shut-eye of 25 minute increments -- here and there --spread through out the day, on and off, trying to get adjusted to 'mountain time'). But there we lay, and I sang...He smiled, open mouthed like Charlie Brown -- I love how his bottom lip is the one that moves when he's really delighted about something.

His scent was delicious -- a mix of clean baby, fresh from the Bathtub greased down in Burt's Bee's Baby Lotion and his heavenly baby's breath (which today smelled like warm vanilla creamsicle .)

He grabbed my left hand, found my fingers and began to play with my engagement ring -- working on his pincher mobility, trying to handle the precious stone in his chubby little fingers. I stopped singing and just watched him fixate on the object. And as he fixated and grasped, his eyes grew heavy, and his breath slowed; and I knew that next to the moment his father gave me that significant piece of jewelry, I'd never experience a more intimate moment with both of my precious jewels.

This Little Piggy (from an alternative perspective)

So I've been working on a new nursery rhyme with Holden (sung in Mothereese to the tune of 'This Little Piggy"-- you know the little toe game?):



This Little Piggy went to Farmer's Market,
This Little Piggy reduced his carbon footprint and stayed home,
This Little Piggy had grass fed, free-range organic beef,
This Little Piggy's vegetarian and had none,
And this Little piggy had High Fructose Corn Syrup and CRIED all the way home.

What do you think? Holden thinks it's brilliant.


PS. Danny, we love you and miss you something fierce.

Greetings from Erie or a Non-Rev's Prayer

Greetings friends,

Holden is taking a nap in Cicely's basement, and the house is pretty quiet excepting the white-noise from the de-humidifier (weird concept for a Utah girl) and the tumbling of clothes in the dryer -- so I thought I'd drop you all a line.

Before I get to far into this, I want to make note of some things I need to tell you about that will not make it in this post:

• Chinese food in Erie
• Room of Requirement and the Airport
• Something else I can't remember
  

Wed morning, I was up at four (not on purpose) and Holden decided to join me. So that's how our travel day started.

We were fortunate to make the SLC-DTW (Detroit) flight (yes, airline employee and using those travel 'bennies')... even my mom got on! The agent found seats together for Mr. Holden and me; and then some stunning Indian girl (maybe 24?) who looked like a cross between Divya from 'Royal Pains' and that chick on ER that was the main character in Bend It Like Beckham... she gave up her aisle seat to my mom to sit in a middle seat just so our party could all be together.

Talk about karma - the guy sitting next to her ends up moving to sit across the isle in a middle seat by his wife, so she gets two seats to herself... good goes around, eh?

We really thought the travel gods were on our side.

Not so fast...

I could go on and on about our travel woes, and the bright spots (Agent Hunter from Mesaba decided she would be our own personal travel agent -- what a delight!) and got us listed for a Cleveland flight after we took last-place in the standby contest for two Erie flights (we really have no business traveling on a Holiday weekend - but the flights looked decent.)

Long story short? I approach the counter to ask if I should get a tag for my stroller -- eventhough we're on stand-by to save time in the long run -- she asks who is in our party... looks at the list and says 'I don't think you're going to make it."

• Danny pulls up the flights - shows that there's still an open seat...
• She never asks if we want to split our party.
• Plane goes out with one seat open (which would've been perfect for my mom) and her supervisor is watching the whole thing go down and says nothing. . .Except, "I'll let her deal with you, I mean 'handle' you."
  

So needless to say - by 6 pm at night with a 7 month old who had been up since 4 with limited naps excepting his car seat and about 20 minutes in the 'pack' I was passed patience.

We went to the Marriott to regroup for the night.

The next morning I had to deal with the TSA (pretty sure anyone who's ever traveled with me knows I have a loathe-hate relationship with the TSA -- except my cousin who works for them and the nice folks at St. George.) As a BODY, a collective, I really can't handle them...

Anyway, I have to deal with Bertha Big Enforcer who is CONVINCED I can't take dry-ice on the plane (for my frozen breast milk) even though I've checked with the airline and printed the document from online...

Her reasoning? Well, you couldn't a year ago...

Which makes sense because anyone who has traveled in the past year KNOWS that ALL travel regulations and security directives have been the EXACT same in the last year... I mean, there have not been ANY changes in policy for carrying of liquids or gels or where you put your shoes (I can think of a place or two I'd like to put them, but I kept it to myself...)

So of course she looks up the directive with her Sup, and of course I'm right... and grasping at air she said that 9 out of 10 times the airlines are wrong... and I had to set her straight of course... and so I rattled off something about every airport being different and it's been that way since Tom Ridge was first put in charge of the joke that Bush's Homeland Security is, etc. (But I'm sure I was much nicer about it.)

So my mood was not the best. And it was obvious what I needed to pray for:

God to take away the incompetence around me...

I mean, I thought about asking for patience and not being so quick to judge and trying to understand where other people were coming from; but it seemed WAY easier to just take away the stupidity around me.
******

Yes I've since repented.