Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear

This is our birthday present to my mother. Happy Birthday Mom/Grandma.



We really did practice all week. And if the video looks orange, it's because the walls are orange.

Funny Dream. Ha ha.

Last night I dreamt that Micah was appointed President of the United States. It seemed very arbitrary for "them" to choose him and yet it made absolute sense as well. Soon after we were informed of his new position we got on a plane. Micah sat across the aisle from me and I sat next to . . . Hillary Clinton. Her first question: "So, what does your husband do?" It was an awkward moment to say the least.

Sketchbooks

Dad's

Mom's

Baby's

It's a Go

Apparently all it took was a little group therapy via the blog for me to push through the wall. I sat down and finished the pitch that had been going through my head since June, sent it in and within a few hours got a positive response. I'd been telling myself for months that they would be foolish to reject my pitch, and now I feel a little silly that it took my so long to actually do it. I'll let you know if/when my story actually runs.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps

I've had a brain cloud for the past few days. I'm blaming it on the end of summer. Not that I am sad to see the summer go, because I'm not. I am really excited for the cooler weather, the changing leaves, and more importantly for my last semester of school to start so that it can, 14 weeks later, end. (Not that I'm counting down or anything. I love school. I do.) But it is the end of summer and I had some goals for myself that have not really been fulfilled, and the fact that I still have a week left to do them is of little comfort to me.

My plan this summer was to take a class, find a new apartment, move, visit my family, spend some time relaxing and learning how to be a mom, and get my freelancing going a bit more by pitching stories and working on my website. I did take a class, we moved, I went to Utah, and I know more about being a mom to a 16-month-old than I did three months ago. I worked on my website a little bit and it is coming along, but I haven't pitched any stories and I don't know why. I don't think I am afraid to do it, and I know I have some good stories that I could make some money off of, but whenever I sit down to actually make it happen I am hit with a wave of . . . something. Something that makes me think it isn't important to do that right now. Something that makes me think that planning meals and making a shopping list is what I really need to be doing (even though, as I've said before, it pains me to do such things). Perhaps I just get distracted whenever I sit down at the computer. Perhaps I am out of the writing/reporting groove and in a rut. Or perhaps it really isn't the time for me to be doing this right now. Perhaps I need to focus on my family and my education right now and not worry so much about launching my writing career. Perhaps I am trying too hard to live my life all at once.

I don't know what the deal is, but this week I am going to make one more effort to get some stories pitched. Hold me to it. I'll report back later.

"It was a dark and stormy night."

Four years ago today it was my dad's birthday, the Athens Olympics were in full swing, and Micah asked me to marry him. So, Happy Birthday Dad, way to go Michael Phelps, and please indulge me while I take a trip down memory lane.

When we met, Micah had plans to move back to Ohio at the end of the summer and then go on to New York City to find a job. But that didn't happen. Obviously. I threw a wrench in his plans (he was kind enough to reciprocate -- which is why I did not serve a mission). We started dating with the express understanding that we had a limited amount of time. In two months Micah was moving away, and I would get my mission papers. Within a few weeks we began to reconsider the break-up plan and started considering other options. I bought a plane ticket to Ohio and we decided that we would enjoy ourselves as much as we could until our time ran out. And then we would choose either to go our separate ways or buy some more time together.

The moment of engagement was a rather quiet affair. No roses, no ring, nobody in the bushes waiting to serenade us. I'd spent the week with Micah's family in Ohio and the two of us had decided on Thursday night as the big night. We went to dinner at P.F. Chang's, and then started walking around town, as was our habit. I don't remember exactly, but I'm almost certain we would have been barefoot, both carrying our sandals in our free hands. I also don't remember what we talked about as we walked, but we walked for a long time. It had looked like it might rain, but by the time it got dark we still hadn't felt a drop, so we just kept walking and talking. Then, as we were passing the library, it started to rain. We ducked under a tree and got right down to business. What were our options again? Micah would go to New York and get a job. I'd go on a mission. It would be over between us. Or we could stay together. We'd probably get married. I believe Micah's exact words were, "Hypothetically speaking, what would you say if I asked you to marry me?" I gushed about how I thought we'd be great together, how I felt more myself when I was with him than I ever had before, how I would say yes. And so, having ever so subtly ascertained my opinion on the subject, he proceeded to his next question: "Well, then will you marry me?"

We savored the moment until the rain stopped, then went to Graeter's to get some of the most delicious ice cream in the world (I got raspberry with chocolate chips). Micah called my dad to give him the news (You're going to have a son-in-law!) and to ask him if he would agree to such a thing.

It was as close to a perfect night as I could have hoped for.

Running and screaming down the middle of the road

That is what we did on Saturday. Micah and I did the running and Simon did the screaming. (There were many moments when I felt like screaming but realized that it was probably best if I conserved my breath.) We ran across the Brooklyn Bridge, up the West Side Highway to 72nd Street, through Central Park and then down Park Avenue, which the city had conveniently closed to vehicular traffic all the way down to Brooklyn Bridge so that our way home was relatively unimpeded. It was slightly under 20 miles and I'm not going to record how long it took us because that is something that I don't want to dwell on as I think about running 26.2 in a month and a half.

The casualties of the run included one of Simon's snack bowls (hence the screaming), our creamy white complexions (that'll teach us not to run in the middle of the day again), my right knee (which, after two days of sort of taking it easy is feeling much better), and my ego. Funny how last week's 17-miler was a piece of cake and just adding a few measly miles brought me back down to earth. It's good to be humbled.

Let's talk about something else

Simon still wears a size 3 diaper (at least until this package runs out) and some of the clothes that he wore when he was 4 months old. He is in (approximately) the 5th percentile in weight and 10th for height. He's closer to the 90th in head circumference which may influence people's perception of his size, but I still have a hard time fathoming how we can have so many people who take one look at him and say, "He's a big boy." And I don't always know how to respond. I'm sure they are just making conversation, but what am I supposed to say? What are they really saying? Sometimes I ignore the comment or say something about how he's starting to stretch out (although he's been "stretching out" for about half his life now). More and more I correct them and tell them that he's actually rather small for his age and perhaps that we are under doctor's orders to fatten him up because he hasn't gained much weight in the past 10 months.

Honestly, I am bothered that so often the first thing people comment on is his size. I know, it's an easy thing to see and comment on if you are looking for something to talk about, but it is also kind of an uncomfortable subject for me. I don't want to think about how big he is more than I have to. I am worried about becoming obsessed with weight and size and driving myself and my children to unhealthy habits. I am worried about having unhealthy expectations for our bodies. I am worried about equating thinness with healthiness and drawing the conclusion that thinner is healthier. I know this is a weakness that I am subject to and it scares me to think of the pain I could inflict on my child by worrying about how big he is when he is still so young and has so much growing to do. Besides, aren't there more interesting things to talk about, like what words he is (not) saying or how many teeth he has?

PB x 40 and other things

The grocery store in our neighborhood has 40 different choices for peanut butter (I think our old grocery might have had 40 jars on the shelf, but probably not). There are several different brands, several varieties of each brand (honey nut, chunky, creamy, reduced fat), and various sizes of each brand as well. I ended up going with Skippy Natural because it was on sale, although in the past I've been buying organic peanut butter from Costco, even though stirring in the oil makes it a little messy and I can never get it all the way down to the bottom.

We have come to the realization that we were very attached to our subway lines, even though one of them was just reported to be the slowest line in the system. Our new line has a station really close to our new place, but even so I find myself thinking that walking would be just as fast. It is going to take a while for the new line to earn my trust.

Simon has proven capable of climbing a 6-foot ladder (in nothing but a diaper, which is why I am not posting the pictures), of climbing onto a chair and from there onto the table (nothing is safe), of walking up the slide at the park (he's not nearly has fond of going down it as he is going up), and of helping us unpack by putting back things we have been taking out and taking out things we have been putting back. His most helpful behavior has been to take long naps, during which I have been able to prime and paint our bedroom.

And a final thought from Micah's Engrish collection that he started on his mission in Japan: "You can dance the dream with your body on."

His very own room

We've spent the last several days painting. Simon's bedroom and the bathroom are pretty much done. The living room is more than halfway there. And our room and the kitchen have a long way to go. But here is a picture of Simon's room as it is. Micah designed the stenciling on the wall. Each room will have something different stenciled in it.
I admit I was a little bit worried about Simon having his own room, but he seems to be transitioning to it just fine. The first few nights were a little rough, but I think that had more to do with adjusting from going to bed at 10:00 Utah time to 8:30-9:00 New York time. And I have to say that even though it was really sad to hear him crying one night, it was also nice to be able to hear him calm down a few minutes later without having to go in and try to get him to go back to sleep.

Out with the old, in with the new

Simon and I are back in New York and we are busy getting into our new apartment. Thanks to some kind friends and missionaries, we were able to get everything moved without too much trouble and with minimal cost. Our apartment is a mess and likely to stay that way for quite some time as we finish painting and settling in. Some day, some time I'll post some pictures or a video of our new place, but that day seems very far away right now.