Composting

A few people have asked me about composting, so I thought I'd enlighten the world about how we compost, Ball style.

First you get a tub like this:

Then you drill lots of holes in it. The holes are about the size of my pinkie, maybe a little smaller. Make them in all the sides, the top, and the bottom too.

This is the stuff I put out this morning. There are all kinds of lists people have posted about what is and what is not compostable. Mostly, it's all organic matter that isn't dairy or meat.


To have successful compost, you need to have about equal parts brown matter and green matter. You can think of it like this: the stuff from your kitchen is green matter, the stuff from trees is brown matter. Some examples of brown matter are: sawdust, shredded bills (this is very satisfying), torn up newspaper, dead leaves, etc.


I keep the small tub of sawdust next to the compost and pour in a couple handfuls every time I add stuff from the kitchen.


Then you shake it all up. Air is very important to the compost, as well as water. You may have heard that Tucson is a desert, so I wet down the compost about once a week. It should be as wet as a wrung-out sponge. If you live in a place that is more humid, you may not need to wet it down.

Your compost will have arthropods in it, this is a good thing. If you can't handle that, composting is not for you. It doesn't smell if you're doing it right. I did have a period where mine was attracting a lot of flies, but I don't think I was putting in enough brown matter, and it was right after I made jam, so the compost was like 80% strawberry tops and hulls. I haven't had much of a problem since then.

Also, notice at the bottom of the last picture, I put a sun chips bag in there almost 2 months ago, and it's still fully intact, crinkling as loudly as ever.

Garage Update

My parents came to town for a little over a week in August to help out with the new baby. Well, actually my mom came with my niece Courtney to help with the baby, while my dad came to play with me. So I took the week off work and most of the time was spend working on this:

It may not look like it to those with untrained eyes, but this took most of the week (in the garage in AZ in Aug mind you). I'd estimate we made at least 10 trips to home depot and drank at least 20 gallons of water each.

Last weekend I was trying to do something in the garage and I decided it was a little cluttered so I utilized some empty space in the garage like so:

So maybe I put a few extra things on those hooks, but it sure did open up the garage. It even had Amanda saying, "Awww, its like we have a grown-up person garage!". Finally, I have a proper place to shed my blood, sweat and tears. Thanks dad.

When you sit down

If you sit down to feed the baby, your toddler will start throwing herself bodily against the refrigerator to alert you to the fact that she's hungry.

So, for fear of injury, you'll put the baby down and get the toddler some yogurt. (This interruption will cause your baby to scream.)

After you sit back down to finish feeding the baby, your toddler will eat approximately 10% of the yogurt, and apply the remaining 90% to her body and hair.

As you take the toddler to the sink to rinse her off, the running water will remind you that you've had to go to the bathroom for the last hour.

So, you'll walk into the bathroom only to be greeted with the smell of cleaner, and you'll remember you tried to scrub the toilet earlier that morning but got no farther than putting the cleaner in the bowl.

As you're scrubbing the toilet, your oldest child will materialize and inform you that she has to go to the bathroom RIGHT NOW and needs to use the toilet you are presently cleaning and she is NOT going upstairs because it's an emergency. You leave her to it and try (unsuccessfully) to get your toddler to put her shirt back on.

She'll climb up onto the toilet, but will perch on the very edge even though she's been fully potty trained for over a year and knows not to do this and knows that it will make you very angry when she pees all over the ground.

As you are cleaning up the pee, your baby will start screaming because it's been 30 minutes, and he's hungry. Again. And if you sit down to feed the baby...

Spectacle

Tyler asked me once why I always insist on making a spectacle out of myself. I maintain that it happens organically without any help from me.

Take, for example, what just happened. I woke up at 6:30 and actually got dressed in real clothes. Lillian and Nora woke up about 7:30 and I brought them downstairs and got them set up for breakfast. Nora got Cheerios with yogurt instead of milk, with which she made quite a mess. She had it all over her, and proceeded to rub her yogurty face all over my shorts. I got her cleaned up, and then decided to put a load of laundry in, so I just took off my shorts and threw them in.

I went downstairs and sat on the couch with a book - the couch that's right in front of the front door, and blinds on the little window right next to the door were open. Right then, my neighbor John knocked on the door. I could see it was him due to the open blinds. I couldn't run past the door to go upstairs to get some shorts real quick, because he'd see. I looked around in vain for some sort of cover up, and then just decided to open the door a crack, and hide. I was so flustered, I'm afraid I was a little rude as I took the flash drive that Tyler left at his house, awkwardly explained that I wasn't wearing any pants, and then shut the door as soon as possible. John, being super nice, just laughed it off, but it was awkward.

See how this wasn't really my fault?

Monsoon Birthday

Untitled from Amanda Ball on Vimeo.

Mother Nature was kind enough to give me a pretty rockin' monsoon for my birthday.

Idle Prattle

Antlers

Lillian has reached the age of idle prattle. She's been here for a while, but it seems to be reaching some sort of fever pitch.

Last night, I was trying to watch the last 5 minutes of Plain Jane, a show I had not so much as heard of 30 minutes prior, where they take shy, plain women and teach them how to flirt and be assertive and pluck their eyebrows in order to help them get the guy. We were at the getting the guy part: the exciting, dramatic part, and Lillian starts up with her chatter.

"Lillian, be quiet for just a minute, I'm trying to watch this."
"I have to be quiet, or Nora?"
"You, be quiet for just a second."
"You're watching this?"
"Yes, I'm watching this and you keep talking. Be quiet."
"What is this show?"
"It's my show. Shhhhhh."
"It's a quiet show?"
"Lillian, stop talking."
"Can I use a whisper voice?"
"Sure, how about you whisper in the other room?"

She did this for the last five dramatic, guy getting minutes. Solid. No let up.

Actually, she does this all day long. Solid. No let up. My mom pointed out that it's not so much that she talks and talks and talks. It's that she expects you to answer. Every. Time. And there is much distress if you ignore her, or, heaven forbid, you're in the bathroom, or trying to sleep, or on the phone.

I like her though. Don't let my irritation fool you.

Look down, now look up. Your kids are now in a sandbox.

One of my projects I had while away from work when Ethan was born was to build a sandbox. Lillian and I bought all of the materials and sand and cut and assembled it in most of one day. Lillian spent most of her time playing with my hand tools, but she did hand me a screwdriver every now and then. It just so happened that I found a smokin' deal on a plunge router a day or two before I built the box, so I decided to make good use of it and put the kids names on the side: "See Amanda, we did need a router." Hopefully I don't have to have another child before I have time to build something again.

SMACK

See more pictures of Ethan, and ogle my friend Phil's super photography skills here.

Things are going at our house. Where they are going, or what they are going to do when they get there is to be decided as soon as I can remember what day it is and/or when I get more than 3.5 hours of sleep in a row. We're going on day 17 here, not that I'm counting.

Ethan isn't colicky, most days, which I am very thankful for. He just does the usual baby things like not sleeping very much and needing to eat every 5 minutes, which is not very restful, especially when you have Nora the Destructor alternately destroying everything in our house, as her name would suggest, and needing more water. That girl is thirsty.

I had a little bit of the new-mom-crazies this past week and I felt like yelling and crying and hugging/hitting everybody. Saturday night, Ethan was awake from 2:30 until 6. I may have admitted that I was having some buyer's remorse and maybe said that I wanted to take him back. We went to church and I had Ehan in the wrap. A gaggle of kids ran up and asked if they could see the baby. I bent down and up ran Joey, he's 4, I think. Joey's mother had a baby last month, but the umbilical cord tore during labor causing extensive damage from blood loss. The baby died a week later.

"Your baby is beautiful, our baby died."

And then he scampered off as if he hadn't just blown me away.

Dear Nora

Dear Nora,

I understand you are having kind of a hard time with Ethan. Pretty much, as you see it, he's a devil baby that has come into your life as some sort of punishment for some unknown crime. He's stolen me, your mother: my lap space, my time, my energy, and my love. I feel unexpectedly guilty about this. You are so small and so cute and it breaks my heart for you to feel thusly abandoned.

However, as I thought on this, I realized that I was you once. My mom had a baby 18 months after she had me. I was that older baby: abandoned by her mother for someone smaller and more helpless than myself. And, you know what? In my conscious memory, I cannot think of a time when I felt it. I don't remember thinking that my younger brother was a devil baby. I don't remember ever feeling like I didn't have access to my mother's love or time.

This gives me hope that this phase will be short-lived, or at least, that you won't remember it.

With love,
Mom

Ethan's Heart: Everything is Fine

In case you heard through the grapevine about Ethan's heart:

By the way, we named him Ethan Tyler. In the end, the deciding factor was that I liked the sound of Ethan Tyler better than Levi Tyler after saying them about 20 times each.

Anyway, the first day he was born, the doctor gave him a clean bill of health. Then, he started breathing really fast. It's my understanding that babies should breathe about 60 times per minute, but Ethan was up to 80. This, plus the fact that the doctor heard a murmur earned Ethan his first echocardiogram, which showed he had a murmur (tricuspid valve regurgitation), patent ductus artriosus (pictured above) and a patent foramen ovale (pictured below). You probably all know that babies hearts have a physiology before they're born than after and it's supposed to switch over when they take their first breath.


But, sometimes it doesn't. Like with Ethan.

They did a follow-up echo the next day and the PDA was closed but the PFO was still, well, patent. He doctor wasn't really worried, so I wasn't worried and they let us go home.

Today, we saw the pediatrician and he couldn't hear a murmur. We'll follow up with the cardiologist in a month. Other than that, we're doing great, except for the fact that he was up every hour an a half between the hours of 11 and 4:30 and was under the impression that he was STARVING every time.

We'll have to work on that.

Baby Ball 3.0

As we all know, I've been in labor since May. But, last night around 7, I started thinking maybe these contractions were stronger. Maybe. Then I had a little bleeding, but really nothing to get excited over, especially since I had been to the doctor earlier that day and she'd checked me (I was 3 cm). I sent Tyler to the pool with the kids and set about packing my hospital bag, just in case we were going to go.

I debated back and forth about calling someone to come over because I was pretty sure that if we went to the hospital, we'd get sent home because my contractions were strong, but I wasn't screaming, as Tyler kept pointing out. I decided that I'd call my friend Rachel and we'd go because night was approaching and I didn't want to have to call her at 3 AM.

On the ride there, the contractions slowed down to every 8 minutes, and I was sure they were going to send us home. We got to the hospital at about 10, and they were really full, so we waited in the waiting room for about an hour, during which time, the contractions picked up in intensity and frequency, but I still wasn't quite sure that they'd keep me.

By the time we got hooked up to the monitor, I was having to hee hee hoo it through, AND I was dilated to 4 cm, which is the benchmark for admission. We got into the L/D unit at around 1 AM, and Tyler and I were a little goofy from staying up so late. My nurse was pretty funny and was cracking jokes left and right. I had an epidural at around 2, (I think I told the anesthesiologist that I loved her), and we tried to get some sleep. Between the beepy machines and them coming in every 30 seconds to ask me questions and/or poke at me, it wasn't terribly restful. My doctor showed up shortly after and recommended some Pitocin as the baby wasn't coming down properly. At 4 AM, she did an exam and my water broke. By 4:15, I was seriously considering pushing. With both girls, I didn't feel anything with the epidurals, but this one was "less dense" and I could actually feel quite a bit. They made me wait until 4:30 to start pushing and Baby Boy Ball was born at 4:53.

7 lbs, 9 oz
20 3/4 inches

The doctor said I had a "small tear" and let the resident sew it up. I'm not entirely sure how many closings the resident had done previously, but I'm going to bet it was maybe only one ever before. So, that took a long time, and it seemed like they did 5,000 stitches, which I'm fine with, because my doctor kept saying, "take your time, do it right."

The baby and I are both doing great, just chilling out here in the recovery room. He was really gaggy and was having a little trouble getting out all that mucus in his system, so they took him and suctioned out his stomach, which I'm sure he hated, but I didn't see it.

We took more pictures, but didn't bring the cord to upload them onto the computer, so you'll have to wait until I get home tomorrow.

Mostly for my family

I went to the doctor this morning. I'm "a good 3 cm." This plus the facts that I feel like the baby is dropping, my hips are all loosey goosey, and my feet are the size of footballs all make the doctor think I'm going to have the baby sometime within a week.

"Don't make an appointment for next week," she said. "If you're still pregnant by Thursday, just go to the hospital."

Job Update

We're breathing a big sigh of relief: yesterday, right when he was leaving work, Tyler's boss came around his desk and told him that they were finished with the lay offs. I think about 12 people were let go.

So, for now, Tyler still has a job, I'm still going to go to nursing school, we're not going to move, and Lillian is still going to ask 5,000 times a day if she can watch another movie. But, that last one has nothing to do with our employment status, she'd do that anyway.

Depressing Marco Polo

My family was having a family reunion last week. We had already decided not to go because I'm hugely pregnant, and contracting, and hoping that I go into labor any second. Then things happened at Tyler's work. They asked us to be discrete, so I can't go into any details, but they asked him to take some furlough time and rather than sit around the house for almost a week, we decided to go catch the tail end of the reunion.

My family was, as always, super fun to hang around. I took only one picture the whole trip: when we crossed the Colorado river into California, Lillian wanted me to take her picture in California because you never know, you might look different. My sister-in-law took a whole bunch, so I'll probably steal some from her. Actually, she was quite dedicated. She followed Nora around for a good 20 minutes in order to get a picture of her smiling. Mission accomplished.

We lounged around the pool at two separate pool parties. Lillian had fun forcing her cousin Soren to play Snow White and dance with her. There was brownies and food and catching up and texas sheet cake and all manner of salads and nothing even close to triple digit temperatures.

There were fireworks, which Lillian almost missed. After we had waited in line for a good 3o minutes to use the questionable port-a-potty and walked all the way back to our blanket, she told me she had to go again. Kyle suggested we walk over to the Von's and use their bathroom because there was no line. It was Tyler's turn, so he took off 15 minutes before the fireworks were supposed to start. Ten minutes went by, they still weren't back. The fireworks started, they still weren't back. Ten more minutes went by, and they walked up; Lillian had picked that exact moment to have some bowel difficulties. I was preemptively stressed out about how much crying and whining was going to happen from Lillian upon learning that she missed the fireworks, but the show was about 30 minutes long, so she didn't realize that she missed anything. Whew.

Also, Grandma Marti put Lillian's hair in braids like Jesse on Toy Story, and then this morning, Lillian wanted ME to do it. Turns out, I'm still really, really awful at french braiding hair. There was a lot of "OUCH! YOU'RE HURTING ME," and "I DON'T WANT YOU TO DO IT ANYMORE." Maybe I can get one of those beauty school heads to practice on.

One word about Tyler's job. Yes, he might lose it. About 10 people in his office of 50 have gone so far, and it's not over. We won't know for sure for a while. He said it's like some depressing game of marco polo where he's sitting at his desk with his eyes closed calling out "marco," except if you catch the people calling out "polo," you get fired.

If it does happen, we'll figure it out.

Super Ultrasonic

I was actually a little disappointed by the news we got at our ultrasound yesterday: the baby is perfectly normal. Maybe a little part of me was hoping that they'd find something that meant we'd have to get that baby out RIGHT NOW.

This is the misery that is the final weeks of pregnancy- wishing birth defects or complications on your unborn child just to make. it. stop.

The baby is measuring at only 7 lbs 3 oz, and my doctor tells me that late-pregnancy ultrasounds tend to predict a few ounces on the big side, so we'll go with 7 pounds for convenience sake. At this stage, babies gain about a half a pound a week, so even if I went all the way to 40 weeks (Lord, help me), the baby would only be 9 pounds, which is not that big of a deal. I mean, it's still a huge baby, but nothing that would require me and this baby to part ways early, unfortunately.

Instead of listening to everyone who's predicting that I'm going to go early, I'm just going to accept the fact that I'm going to be pregnant and sweaty for 4(!) more weeks.

Applesauce Brain

We don't have cable, so I have to get my World Cup (Copa Mundial) fix via Univision. This works out most of the time, except for when there's when there's a weird call like in the US vs Slovenia game, and it's not totally obvious what's happening. And, it goes without saying, the Spanish announcers are WAY more interesting to listen to than the stiff-upper-lip English ones.

Anyway, I put the kids down for a nap yesterday, and sat down to watch the game. On the score graphic, it was ESP vs CHI. The ESP team's uniforms were black, red, and yellow so I caught on pretty quick that it was Spain. The CHI team's uniforms were bright red, so I immediately concluded that it was China. Our TV isn't that big, so it took me a while before I started seeing that the CHI players didn't really look Chinese... they looked Hispanic. A Hispanic country that starts with CHI....? Is there one? Does it start with CHI in Spanish and not English?

I won't tell you how long it took me to figure this one out because anything longer than 3 seconds is just embarrassing.

Pregnancy progression

32 weeks

34 weeks

Almost 36 weeks, today

The 35-week picture almost looks bigger, but I think it's just the shirt I'm wearing. My sister Allison pointed out that she was bigger and I'm a cry baby and I need to suck it up. Actually, she didn't say that last part. Her baby was 11 lbs.

I have a doctor's appointment today and another ultrasound on Tuesday to figure out how big this baby is and/or what the heck is going on in there. The most frequently asked question is: So, if you find out the baby is 10 lbs, are you going to get a C-section? (Or it's close cousin: are you going to get induced early?)

The first person that asked me, I was just confused. "No...? Why...?" Then 3 people asked. Then 5 people. Then 10 people.

Is this common? Are we women so wimpy that 10 lbs is beyond anything we're willing to try? I could see if you were a really petite Asian woman who was married to a tall, strong Prussian type and the doctor told you that no way was this going to work out naturally (it's called CPD), but 10 lb babies are no new thing. My sister did it. My mom did it. I'm a pioneer woman. I can do it.

And, as far as getting induced early, it's far more important to me (and probably to the doctor) that the baby is fully cooked than my extra two weeks of discomfort. But, ask me in two weeks if I still feel the same way.

My babies!

For school, we had to create an application packet for a job that we would theoretically want to apply for upon graduation. Considering I've had this assignment about 5 times before, it wasn't too difficult to modify my existing résumé and cover letter to fit this newest job. The only difference was as I was doing it, I started FREAKING OUT.

For ever since I started nursing school, before I had children, I knew that I did not want to work full time. I have very fond memories of my mother being home and eating dinner as a family and learning things at her knee and all of the other adventures that come with having a stay-at-home mother. I felt very strongly that this was the sort of atmosphere I wanted to recreate for my children. But, I wanted to work a little. I felt like nursing would be the perfect career: you can work as much or as little as you want: down to one shift every other week if you want. This sounded good to me, so I went with it.

Then, once I graduated and was attempting to get one of these types of jobs, I found out that the hospitals want you to work full time for a year before moving down to part time. I made my peace with it back then, but then no one would hire me.

As I was typing up how my clinical experience in nursing school prepared me for a job on the floor, I started thinking. Now I'm going back to school in order to get a job. A job that will take me away from my babies. For a year. MY babies. The ones that I birthed, and soothed, and fed, and rocked, and held, and laughed with, and cried over. I started to cry.

I suppose this violent emotional reaction took me completely by surprise (must be the hormones). I mean, I was ready to deal with feeling guilty over going to work, but not ready to not want to do it. Maybe a few more tantrums will change my mind... I think I hear one brewing over the Mr. Potato head.

Lillian turned 4!

Shhhh, don't tell her that her actual birthday isn't for another month. It's just than in another month, I'll have some kind of really small infant and won't be up for birthday parties.

For being thrown together at the last minute (a few of her friends left this week for 2 week vacations), I think it turned out really nice.

Tyler drew a Woody for "Pin the Star on Woody." The kids didn't really get this one, and I think that some of the older ones could see through the blindfold.

We also played Toy Story bingo, which was a little bit of a disaster because I had them marking their cards with mini marshmallows. You can probably guess that the game too for-ev-er because the kids kept eating the marshmallows instead of putting them on "Hamm-4." Also, I think the kids had never played any version of bingo before, so the whole concept was totally lost on them.


Number one game, which Tyler made up on the spot: see how many balloons you can get to stick to you.


Lillian had lots of help opening her presents.


And we ate alien cupcakes.


Nora was way into hers.

It wasn't very cutsie-pie or slick, but that's not my style. The kids had fun and Lillian hasn't stopped talking about it ever since.

I can't believe she's four already.

The other day, we were on a walk, and some teenagers were being rowdy nearby. "Are those grownups?" Lillian asked.
"No, honey. Those are teenagers."
"Am I going to be a teenager?"
"I sure hope not sweetie."

She will one day, probably. I'm already irritated about that. But, I'm glad that, for now, she's still my sweet, whimsical little girl who pretends that her feet are friends with each other.

Labor Strike

I was trying really hard to put myself into labor yesterday. My sister Amy thinks that this is just a matter of walking "a good mile." I think she's the only one for which this works. I walked that good mile, and then I did all the dishes, and then I played hide-and-seek and I got my contractions to come pretty strong every 3 minutes. Then I sat down to play bubbles with Nora and they stopped. Like that. Lame.

It would have been really convenient to have the baby last night. I have a paper due on Friday, but it's mostly already written, so it would be almost a week before I have anything due. I was also ignoring the fact that the doctor thinks I'm only 34 weeks and would probably try to stop my labor if I went in. (According to my ultrasound, I'm 36 weeks, but the doctor somehow doesn't believe in changing my date. Thirty-six weeks sounds much better and I just pretend that that's how it is.)

Anyway, as I was planning how this was all going to go yesterday, I realized that the baby still has no name. Of course, I knew this, but the full weight of it hit me as I was scrubbing the pans.

The baby has NO NAME. I pictured the L/D nurse standing there with the little card, looking at me over the rim of her glasses with her sharpie poised and me saying, "I don't know... um... I haven't had enough time to think about it...?" (Incidentally, Lillian calls them "pointies" which I find unbearably cute.)

The problem is that when we named the girls, I had a gut feeling about the names. Lillian came right off the bat. I KNEW that was her name. Nora took a little while longer, but I could FEEL that her name was Nora.

This baby... there's names that I like, and names that Tyler likes, and a few names that we both sort of like... but none of them are THE name. I tried the the Nymbler again this morning, but after suggestions like Alpin and Tiernan, I gave up.

I feel like we're looking for a house all over again. When we were going around with our real estate agent, he kept asking me what I was looking for so he could help narrow down the options without us having to look at every single one. I couldn't tell him because the list of things I wanted was so undefinable and certainly googleable: I wanted all the bedrooms to be on the same floor so I wouldn't have to trudge up and down the stairs in the middle of the night. I wanted the bathroom to be far away from the living room because no one wants to hear you doing your business. I didn't want to be able to see the TV from the front door. I wanted the kids' bedrooms to be far away from the play area.

See what I mean? I want a name that's common, but not too common. A name that sounds fresh, and yet everyone will have heard of it before, but that doesn't sound too dated. And, most important of all, I want it to be THE name. Is this too much to ask?

So far, my front runners are Brigham and Collin (although, I'm souring on Collin), Tyler likes Ethan but since he decided he liked Ethan in 2006 when I was pregnant with Lillian, EVERYONE has named their son Ethan. This isn't a problem for him, but I can't get on board with it.

Kids that are kids.

I kid you not, I put these books away, went to the bathroom, came back and found this. I'd be much more inclined to clean if there weren't little hands following me around, undoing everything I did literally seconds after I do it.


Lillian came into my room like this and said "FLOUR POWER, ACTIVATE!" Actually, that didn't happen. What actually happened is I heard this flour bag crinkle for 3 or 4 minutes, then Tyler said, "Nora, come here. Put your arms up." At which point, she started screaming. I wandered out of my room to see what was going on and encountered a red-faced Nora with the flour bag on.

Turns out, she hated the flour bag outfit. Lillian, however, was way into it.

Applesauce

Lillian watches Sid, the Science Kid in the mornings sometimes. I really dislike this show, but it is very educational and if she got to watch something, I'd rather it be that than Bokugon or whatever those round ball things are that the kids play with incessantly in primary. Bakugon? Anyway.

The other day on Science Kid, they were talking about how heat changes food and cooks it. To illustrate the point, they made applesauce.

So, Lillian decided she wanted to make applesauce.

Neither of my kids have ever liked applesauce, but I was thinking maybe the peer pressure from Sid combined with the excitement of making it herself might sway Lillian. I mean, she decided she liked bananas after years of hating them just because she watched a Blue's Clues episode where Steve talked about how great they were.

Turns out no, she still hates applesauce. Also, notice in the above picture, she's taken to dressing herself. If you see her, there's a a 99% chance that she not only won't match, but she'll be wearing something so alarmingly mis-matching that you'll have to blink a couple times before you can focus on her. As long as it's weather appropriate (the other day, I had to draw the line at the opaque red tights under her pink skirt with purple polka-dots and light blue and yellow shirt), I really don't care.



Allison asked me what Nora was up to, and I'd have to say that it's a lot of this: mischief. Here, she found Lillian's box of crayons and ate a few before I found her. The other day, I called poison control for the first time because of her. She ate the cake of dishwasher soap that didn't fully dissolve during the cycle. (She was fine.)

She can walk really well and run a little. She says a few words and uses a few signs (mostly just more and milk). She can use a spoon to feed herself, sort of, and follow one-step directions pretty well (throw this in the trash, put this in the sink, bring me your shoes, take this to daddy). When she's not doing those things, she does a pretty good job at getting into everything and tormenting her sister. Lillian is not very physical and as such has no idea what to do when Nora steals toys from her, or tackles her. She just lays down and whines, "Moooommmmmm... Nora's on meeeeeeeeeeee." I'd be lying if I didn't admit that sometimes I say, "You're bigger than her! Push her off!"

Which is not to say that Lillian doesn't dish it out sometimes. The other day, she came and found me while I was in the shower and told me that I should go see Nora. "Oh yeah, what's she up to?"

"I made her into a tape ball."

After trying to clarify what, exactly, a tape ball was, I saw first hand: Nora walked in covered head to toe in scotch tape. Sadly, I didn't have my blogger brain on and failed to get a picture of the blessed event. The funniest part was that Nora was way into it like, "check out the awesomeness of this tape!"

The other question you all want to ask is: how are you feeling? "Pretty much, awful" is the answer. I seriously debated about whether or not I should go to the hospital yesterday, but I decided they would just want to keep me there for 6 hours to decide that I wasn't in labor, which is a waste of everyone's time, so I just stayed home and forced my kids to watch 4 movies in a row.

Tyler thinks that the baby is working out in utero, which is what is taking up all my spare energy and oxygen. This actually would explain why my pulse races and I'm out of breath all the time. Not like, normal pregnancy out of breath, like, I'll have to sit down while brushing my teeth because I'm too tired to stand and hold my arm up.

Baby steps to mid-July.

To my new neighbors

Dear Neighbors,

I know you just moved in, and I want us to be friends, but there are a few things you should know about us.

1. We sort of hate small yapper-type dogs, of which you have three. That's fine for you, but when you let them out to yap for 30 minutes at 5 am, it's a little bit much.
2. We have a shotgun in our room, there is a clear view from our room into your backyard, and my husband is a very good shot.
3. I have a reputation for being a little bit irrational when I am woken up at irrational times.
4. My husband is pretty suggestible when he is woken up at irrational times. Anything to make the noise stop, if you catch my meaning.

I'm just trying to be up front about this, and I hope you still feel comfortable borrowing eggs from us.

Sincerely,
Your neighbors

My first school assignment

I just wrote my first school assignment in two years. Pretty much the only thing I'm freaking out about is the fact that I have to do 16 weeks' worth of work in 4, but other than that, this thing should be cake, right?

The assignment was 300-600 words on "Who are you and why are you in this class?" (the instructor might have phrased it a little nicer than that). Here it is:

My name is Amanda and I am trained as a nurse, but I currently stay at home with my two little girls and little boy on the way. We moved from the central coast of California down to Tucson almost two years ago which, honestly, broke my heart. But, I’m learning to see the beauty of the desert and appreciate all the things that Arizona has to offer.

Since the day that I brought my first baby home from the hospital, there has been a growing disparity between the things that I like to do, and the things that I actually do, but such is the reality of having small children. Gone are the days of week-long backpacking trips, body surfing at the beach, and wandering around just to see what there is to see. Here to stay are the days of wiping noses, reading Where is the Green Sheep? 5,000 times, and making peanut butter sandwiches. Of course, to frame the trade off like that is not fair: along with the peanut butter sandwiches, I get to raise two incredibly cute girls that fill my life with laughter and love and a sense of completeness that I never got from even the most majestic mountain in the Sierra Nevadas.

I’m taking this class as a prerequisite to the RN to BSN program. I became an RN while in California, but between moving to Arizona and having baby number two, I never worked. By the time I was ready to go back to work, the economy crashed and there were no jobs for new grads. The fact that I couldn’t find work was disappointing, but not catastrophic as my husband had a steady job working in the aerospace industry on the Orion project. Then, a few months ago, President Obama announced that the Orion project would be cut from the budget and the steady job looked not so steady. So, we decided I would go back and get a little more education in order to open more job opportunities in case of the worst case scenario.

I love writing and I’m excited that this class will help me learn how to be better at it.

Wacky Baby Dreams

I walked into stake choir practice last night, and several old women, independently of each other, joked that they didn't think I was going to make it to stake conference in two weeks. Ha ha. Ho Ho. I still have 8 weeks. Thanks.

Even my own mother, in that delicate-mother way that they have asked if maybe the doctor had said something about maybe I was a little big... maybe...? But, no, she hasn't said anything. And that's the thing about OB/GYNs when you're pregnant. Most EVERYTHING is normal during pregnancy and it only gets worse until the baby comes. So you go and complain about the fact that sometimes, your right leg goes dead for a few seconds and you can't walk, then comes back to life like nothing and she says, "yeah... your baby is pinching your nerves, that's pretty common, just try to sit down." Or you complain about how you see stars every time you stand up. Or that you have pretty much been in labor for 2 months and still have 2 months to go. Or that you have heartburn that makes you cry it's so painful. And, she says, "yeah... that's pretty common. Try to sit down and drink a lot of water."

Another thing that is totally normal: crazy-vivid dreams. They are long and super realistic. And, I'll have slightly different versions of the same dream 4 or 5 times in one night. Last night, in the beginning of the night, I dreamed that my friend Mandy and I trained and participated in a triathlon (probably because the big city-sponsored triathlon is today). I went through the cycle of us discussing the possibility of doing it, meeting at the pool to swim, her helping me pick out a bike and practicing putting my feet in the clips, and a lot of running. I had this dream at least 3 times, one right after another with only slight variations. Fairly innocuous.

But, far more common for me is to dream about something awful over, and over, and over again. This morning, after the (insert expletive) birds woke me up at 5, I drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming 3 or 4 times that Nora drowned in the bathtub. I put her in the tub, but then I had to leave the bathroom for something: the doorbell, Lillian needed help, the phone. All the time I had anxiety and I strained to hear her chattering or splashing. I don't hear her, so I run back upstairs to find a blue baby, face down in the tub. I pull her out and start CPR and yell at Lillian to go get the phone but she's too scared to move. In one variation, I had the phone in my pocket; in another, I forgot how to do CPR.

All the time, I dream stuff like this and it's most always horrible things happening to my kids. I've dreamed that Lillian was kidnapped and sold into the sex trade, or that she fell of the jungle gym and broke her neck, or that Nora wandered into the crossfire of a gang fight in South Tucson and got shot. I stopped watching any sort of crime drama in hopes that it would help this problem, but it hasn't. I guess, I know it's a dream, so it's a little less stressful, but not really by much.

My sister told me that she dreams that she gets shot and has to call 9-1-1, but can't get through. Does this happen to anyone else besides us?

Top 5 worst night's sleeps

Our house has been a den of sickness this past week. On Saturday, Nora felt a little warm, but was acting fine, so we loaded up to drive into town and run a bunch of errands. Twenty minutes into our trip, we weren't quite at Destination #1 yet, and Nora threw up all over herself. We weren't equipped to handle that particular disaster, so we gave up and went home. She proceeded to have several instances of what I would chart (if I were her nurse) as N/V/D (nausea/vomiting/diarrhea). Sunday she felt fine, and so did everyone else, so I thought it was a one time incident. Not so. Tuesday, Lillian started throwing up. A lot. I felt like an old-timey nurse because I was just running around changing sheets and mopping. I think I did 4 or 5 loads of laundry. Yesterday, she had less of the N/V and more of the D problem. Also gross. Plus a temp of 103 that came down to 101 with Tylenol.

Then, I started feeling sick in the afternoon. Plus, I had heartburn really bad. I called my mom in tears, and I think I sounded sufficiently pathetic that she's decided to drop everything and fly out here. I heart her.

Anyway, last night was I think the last stand of Lillian's sickness. I felt really bad for her, she was so weak and tired and sad and feverish, so I agreed to let her sleep in our bed. This has never happened before. I think I got about 2 hours of sleep.

My friend Carrie pointed out once that it's not a lack of sleep that makes a bad night. I've stayed up all night writing papers or that one time I watched all 6 hours of North & South, and sure you're tired the next day, but it's not so bad. No, a bad night is one where the promise of sleep is constantly being made and broken. Last night, I think, was my 4th worst night sleep.

#5: 2001. Both my roommates were out of town and I was by myself in my apartment. In the dead of night, I could have sworn that a man opened my front door, talked loudly for a few seconds, then left. It's probable that I forgot to lock the door and some person (probably drunk, I mean, this was Santa Barbara) accidentally came inside, realized it wasn't his house and left. But I was so freaked out. It being the middle of the night, I started coming up with all sorts of crazy theories like the drunk guy was just an excuse for one of his friends to slip in and hide in the shadows until I fell back asleep, at which time he would murder me in my bed. There was a young married couple who lived down the street and I called them and made them come get me and I went to sleep at their apartment, where I slept soundly for the rest of the night.

#4: 2010. Last night. I had a fever, heartburn, big baby belly, kept having to get up to go to the bathroom, and I was being muscled out of my bed by Lillian, who was really hot because she had a fever too.

#3: 2006. My dad was going to come visit and spend two nights at the Madonna Inn. My memory is kind of sketchy about what happened, I think Jeri got sick, so he ended up not being able to come. For some reason he couldn't cancel his reservation, so Tyler and I went to spend the night there. I was pregnant with Lillian, but I'm pretty sure that had nothing to do with the awful sleep we got. It was the most uncomfortable bed I've ever been in with the firmest, tallest pillows ever. At about 3 AM, I looked over and saw Tyler was awake too, so we turned on the TV and watched that movie with Jimmy Fallon where he really likes the Red Sox.

#2: 2006. The night I was in labor with Lillian. I had been having serious contractions all the previous night and day and by the time we went to the hospital that night at around 8, I think, I was zero dilated. I cried. Because the doctor felt my contractions were pretty strong and that I was in a lot of pain she gave me a shot of morphine. I remember them asking if I wanted it, and me being like, "YES PLEASE," but now it seems a bizarre thing to offer. It made me hallucinate and get even more wacky. Then, I remember swallowing a pill, which Tyler told me later was Ambien. So all that night, I was SUPER tired from the sleeping pill plus not having slept in 36 hours, hallucinating, and contracting every 5 minutes. Tyler told me I'd be dead asleep, wake up and scream for a minute, then fall dead asleep again. I sort of remember the doctor breaking my water and I vaguely remember the anesthesiologist coming in to give me an epidural. Mostly I remember he asked if I had ever had surgery before, and I told him that I couldn't keep my eyes open. And Tyler fainted when the doc stuck the needle into my back. After the epidural, we slept for about 5 hours until they woke me up and told me it was time to push, so I was rested for the actual birth part, which was nice. This night would be #1 worst, but I was so out of it, I don't really remember a lot of it.

#1: 2008. We had just moved to Tucson and in an effort to make friends, we decided to go on the ward campout. I was pregnant with Nora and we only had a 2-man tent. I suppose that counts as the first time Lillian slept with us. She was so fascinated by the novelty of sleeping in the tent, outside, on the ground, in between Mom and Dad that she didn't sleep all night. She talked, she wiggled, she played with her stuffed animals, she wanted to touch all the zippers. At one point, Tyler took her stuffed bunny and threw it to the bottom of the tent in an effort to get her to stop going 'boing! boing! boing!' on his head, which was very distressing to her, and needed it back RIGHT NOW but I couldn't find it in the dark. Plus, there was someone snoring really loudly nearby. Plus, I was pregnant sleeping on the ground. We couldn't just pack it in and leave because we had given our neighbors a ride, so we had to stick it out.

In the morning, I tried to be optimistic and say maybe if we got another tent, or a bigger tent it would be better but Tyler announced that we'd never go camping EVER AGAIN.

Am I the only one who keeps track of this sort of thing?

Secret revealed!

What Nora did while Claire helped me write my application essays

I have a secret that so many people know about, it's not really a secret anymore: starting in August, right after the baby is born, I'll be going back to school.

I'm crazy. I know.

This being my third baby, I also know one other thing: from birth, they only get harder and more work until they're about 3, and then it starts going back down. And, babies sleep a lot.

The program is 12 months long and is all online.

You may be thinking, "but Amanda, you're already an RN." This is true, but I only have an associate's degree, even though it took me 4 years to get. As an RN, you are pretty much confined to staff nursing, which is fine and something I want to do until I'm not afraid I'm going to kill someone, but I don't want to do it forever. We're thinking that by the time I'm good and ready to go to work, I'll have my bachelor's degree and (hopefully) that means I'll get paid more so I'll (hopefully) be able to afford to work less. Get it?

I still have yet to be accepted into the actual program, but I'm working on it. Wish me luck.

Hostage Crisis

On Sunday, I was feeling really tired. Not sleepy so much, but like I was moving around in tar. I couldn't stand up for very long and I had no energy to move around, or chase after my kids, or walk up the stairs. Lucky for me, it was Mother's Day, so I could just lie around and not feel guilty about bossing everyone around. I thought maybe I was dehydrated, so I tried to drink and drink and drink.

Monday morning, I was going about the business of getting ready and I walked up the stairs. When I got to the top, I felt a little dizzy and short of breath and I thought, "man, it feels like my heart is beating really fast." It was: 120 bpm. "That seems like kind of high for just walking up the stairs," I said to myself, so I did something entirely uncharacteristic of me: I called the doctor.

I never call the doctor because I know what they are going to say. They always say the same thing, the thing they said to me yesterday, "COME IN RIGHT AWAY! RIGHT THIS SECOND!" So I did. My friend (personal saint/super hero) Emily watched my kids and I headed up to the hospital.

By the time I got there, my heart rate had come down to 87, and I felt fine. They hooked me up to the monitor, did an EKG, and drew blood. The EKG looked fine and while they were waiting for the lab results to come back, they noticed I was contracting regularly, something I told them, on arrival, has been happening to me for at least a month, maybe more. I was in the triage room behind a curtain and I could hear them calling the doctor about me, "Mrs. Ball is preterm and is contracting regularly... yes... I see... fFN... OK." Bah! The fFN test takes like 2 hours for the results!

The nurse came in wheeling her little cart and I tried to explain to her that I've been having regular contractions for a month, like I said before, and I'm not in labor and I don't really need a fetal fibronectin test and if they would just call MY doctor, she would tell them all this. Maybe they don't believe me when I tell them that I am a nurse and that I know what I'm talking about, but my nurse was not to be deterred. I rolled my eyes and said, "OK."

Then they wanted to check me every hour to make sure my labor wasn't progressing, but the baby was laying funny, or something and made it very difficult to tell. So, my nurse called in another nurse. Then an hour later, they both came back to check, but they couldn't be sure. So, they wanted the doctor to come in, but she was off doing her doctor stuff, so I had to wait some more. "Wow, you're baby is laying funny and I can't really tell... here... maybe if I jam down as hard as I can on your belly. No... no.. maybe if you sit up a little bit. Um... can you roll over a little?" It was like getting your school picture taken, except 5,000 times more painful and awkward.

The whole time, they kept coming back and asking me about my heart, but I told them it only happened when I was walking up the stairs, and for the last 5 hours, I have been in bed, so no, I feel fine.

When they f i n a l l y let me go, the nurse gave me her discharge instructions: come back if you feel any contractions. Yeah. Right.

Thanks Mom

Things I did today that I learned from my Mom:

1. Woke up early and read in bed. My mom is an avid reader and taught me not only to read, but to LOVE reading. I was re-reading Guernsey Literary and Potato-Peel Pie Society for bookclub. I love that book.
   
2. Sang to myself and my kids while getting ready. My mom knows a song for everything and taught them all to us. Lillian's current favorite is The Playmate Song, as she calls it. (That version is annoying, sorry. Lillian likes it when you get really dramatic in the "She couldn't come out and play, it was a rainy day part" and actually pretend to cry. Also, my mom didn't say ain't. I think it hurt her ears. She taught me to sing, "Don't have a rain barrel..." instead. Also, my mom taught me how to sing this song in pig latin.
   
3. Taught 100 kids under 12 how to perform the chorus of "Follow the Prophet" in sign language. I love my job as singtime leader in Primary, which I would not have had my mother not taught me how to play piano and/or sing and/or passed on at least some of her teacher genes to me and/or taught me how to sign a little.
   
4. Laughed at and was silly with my kids. Mom was always ready with something fun.
5. Whisked up some gravy from pan drippings. (I was barefoot and pregnant (obviously) at the time, which adds a little something, don't you think?) In fact, I just read a book called, How to Sew a Button, and I would say I already knew how to do 98% of the things in there because of my mother.
   

That's all I can think of for today, it's been kind of slow, but things happen all the time that I can trace to my mother. For example: my friend Candie came to visit for a few days and we made brownies. I had Lillian up on the counter next to the mixer because she takes her job of dumping in ingredients and turning on and off the mixer very seriously. I was counting eggs and pulled out three and asked Lillian to help me figure out how to get to four. I kept counting wrong and Lillian told me I was being silly. The whole time, Candie was sort of watching and when we were done mixing it all, she said, "you know, you're a really great mom!"

I said thank you, but really I thought, 'isn't this what moms do?' I have very strong memories of sitting on the counter, counting cups of flour to go into cookies; or my mom teaching me how to do algebra while waiting for my dentist appointment when I was 10; or washing my hair and braiding it when I was sick; or taking me to the Huntington Library; or a bazillion other things that I hope I can replicate for my kids.

Thanks mom, for being awesome.

Mommy's Helper

We had some friends (FRIENDS! I know! I lured them with strawberry shortcakes) over the other night, and as one of them was indulging Nora in her extensive cuddling habit, she said, "Oh, it must be so nice to have a cuddly baby!!"


While it is nice sometimes that Nora wants to cuddle, it's not nice that she needs to be plastered to me ALL THE TIME. I think I was trying to cook dinner when I took the above pictures.

As I type this, she's at my side, pulling at my arms. And, I've already paused 3 times to play patty-cake.


I realize this is every mom's lament (well, every mom of a toddler), but does she really have to follow me around and undo everything I've done 1 second after I do it? This is what it looks like when I try to hurry and load some dishes in the dishwasher.

Dance Party

As a part of our One Hour Till Bedtime series, I thought I'd include: Dance Party. Dance Party and it's close cousin Freeze Dance are great because I don't actually have to participate, which I can't really do anyway because by the end of the day, I'm all swollen and puffy and tired and contracting and irritable, and no one really wants me at their dance party anyway.


Apparently, no dance party is complete unless you have a food storage bin on your head.


I made the mistake of asking Lillian whether or not she wanted to take a gymnastics class or a dance class. She chose dance, and she's really excited about it, but it doesn't start until June, which doesn't translate into 3-year-old speak.

Long suffering and long toiling

Tyler is a hard worker. Having watched him go through 4 years of school, I knew this, but I haven't really seen him work so hard on one project since then, so I think I forgot a little. On Saturday, he was out in our backyard working for probably about 10 hours. I'd bet he's put in about 30 hours total: digging, shoveling, hauling, raking, more shoveling, leveling, measuring, measuring again, staking, mortaring, and the like.

I probably complained somewhere along the way that he was spending a lot of time in the backyard and not enough time waiting on me hand and foot, but it's going to be soooooo nice to have a place where the kids can go outside and spend some energy without getting incredibly dirty and/or attacked by ants.


Don't mind Lillian's crazy hair. I put it in Chun-Li buns for church which she promptly took out when we got home. Also, she dressed herself.


I think he's going to mortar in the backside just for aesthetics, finish laying the bricks (which is the easy part), and then sweep sand over all the cracks. (And then we have to actually buy patio furniture... but first things first.)


Lillian was fascinated and a little upset that a pigeon walked over daddy's sand, especially after I'd been telling her for a week not to do it. The little footprints are Nora's. In Lillian's words, she's a stinker who doesn't listen.

Tyler thought this picture looked like those vinyl decals people put on the back of their cars. Check out that belly... yeah, I still have 2.5 more months.

To finish the backyard, Tyler has to dig for and install a sprinkler system, I think he's decided to lay sod instead of seed, and do something about maybe making me a planter to have my garden that I will probably kill.

I need some sleep

For the last three days or so, I've felt really tired. Not just normal carrying-around-a-bowling-ball-in-your-uterus tired, but really tired. Like I have the flu, except I don't. I've been very good about taking my iron supplements AND my pre-natal vitamins, so I'm going to go ahead and go with African Sleeping Sickness.

Last night was kind of a low point.

On Wednesdays, Tyler has Cub Scouts until 7:30, and then (sometimes) a soccer game right after. I totally forgot about the soccer game. I put Nora to bed around 7:15 and turned on some cartoons for Lillian, thinking Tyler would be home in about a half an hour. I laid down on the couch and fell dead asleep, except for once when Lillian woke me up, insisting we switch pillows.

Two hours later, Tyler came home. Maybe because I usually don't let her watch that many cartoons that the novelty of all that TV kept her riveted.

I'm also glad that Lillian is old enough to know that running off into the night by yourself is a bad idea.

The final word on Lillian's head

As most of you long-time readers know, Lillian has a little head. Not just a little bit little. Currently, her head is the size of your average one-year old. A little head, or microcephaly, comes along for one of 3 reasons: 1. Your sutures fused prematurely. Lillian had a CT scan when she was like 9 months old to rule this out. 2. Your brain is not growing. Lillian has hit all of her milestones mostly on time and as anyone who talks to her would testify, her brain is fine. Which means that she falls into category number 3. You just have a little head.

Because the consequences of not finding categories 1 and 2 heads can be so dire, Lillian has been subjected to multiple pediatric neurologists over her short life. She had her final appointment today and again received a clean bill of health.

Mostly.

The doctor commented that she had less-than-average muscle tone, which could be responsible for her overall clumsiness and awkwardness in movement, the fact that she W-sits, her pickiness with food (as some foods are easier to eat with a lazy tongue), and the fact that she pronounces L and R like W.

She is really clumsy. She falls out of her chair almost ever night at dinner.

The funniest part of the visit was when Lillian and the doctor were on the floor doing puzzles and I had to remind Lillian to sit criss-cross, which she did. As she was correcting her position, she looked at the doctor who was wearing a pencil skirt and thus kneeling on the ground and in a stern voice, Lillian said, "Sit criss-cross!" The doctor was a good sport and laughed while doing her best to sit criss-cross while beskirtted.

The second funniest was when Lillian noticed that there were words printed underneath the shapes of one of the puzzles and confidently started "reading them." "This says oval," she would proclaim. She correctly read off most of the names but the jig was up when she announced it said 'diamond' when, in reality, it said, 'rhombus.' Someone once told me I was really good at making other people think I knew what I was talking about. I think Lillian may have inherited this talent.

The cure to low muscle tone and coordination? Some sort of movement class that will challenge her: dance class, tumbling, swim lessons. And, more tricycle riding.

Tuesday Reminiscences slash Paper Heart

Tyler and I watched Paper Heart last night. Well, more like, I watched it while Tyler sat next to me and read a book, but I think it mostly counts.

It's a documentary about comedienne Charlene Yi and her quest to figure out what love is and/or find it, as she believes she's never been in love. Throughout the movie, she interviews people who have been or are currently in love, and somewhere along the way, she meets Michael Cera at a party and... yadda, yadda, yadda.

The movie, I felt, was generally just OK, but I thought it was pretty interesting hearing people talk about falling in love, and what that was like. A few people mentioned the "lightening bolt" aspect of falling in love. The crazy, euphoric high of being with another person.

This did not happen for me (sorry honey). So, for today's Tuesday Reminiscence (I know, you're thinking, 'does she still do that?'), I thought I'd tell a story of something that dramatically shaped my views on love.

When I was a freshman at UCSB, I knew that living in the dorms would be my own personal hell, so I asked my brother (who was attending UCSB at the time) to ask around and find me a roommate. Through an amazing stroke of magical-ness, one for which I will be forever grateful, he (or his wife) hooked me up with Vivian. I don't think she could have a better name, because living with her was so fun and lively and vibrant and exciting. Vivian comes from a family of 6 sisters (Claire, trusty friend and neighbor and also one-time roommate being among them), and grew up in a rural town outside Fresno. That year, she invited me home for Easter.

On their property, they have a little concrete patio-like area among the trees by the creek, and we were all sitting around, chatting. Vivian's older sister, Beth, was there with her husband and small children. Someone called Beth's name and asked her to do something, but she didn't hear. She was just sitting there, staring at her husband with the most contented, happy, peaceful look on her face. "Beth! What are you doing?"

"I was just... admiring my husband," came her answer. He was also just sitting there, not doing anything particularly manly, or impressive. (Although, my memory is not particularly reliable. He could have been chopping wood with his shirt off, or something... but I don't think so.)

At first, I thought this was bizarre. I didn't have much experience with love; my parents got divorced when I was 16 and I don't remember them ever staring at each other.

I soon forgot this small encounter. A few years later, I met Tyler and we started dating. As we moved toward that 'are we, aren't we' moment, I caught myself just looking at him and smiling. In a flash, I remembered Beth and Tim and the patio. And, I knew.

How does love work for you?

To feminist or not to feminist

I have an odd relationship with feminism. Do I believe that women are equal to men? Yes. Different, but equal. I think that, due to my gender, I'm better at certain things than my husband, and he, due to his gender, is better than me at other things. I want to be able to work outside the home (one day) in my choice of profession (and get paid as much as a comparable man), but at the same time, I want men to open the door for me. Is that having your cake and eating it too? I don't think so. I think it's just being polite. Also, I think a lot of the posters on Feminist Mormon Housewives are crazy.

Maybe you could consider me a lukewarm feminist. I didn't find the "stripling warrior's girlfriends" comment so offensive, but these Disney Fairy cards piss me off. Lillian got these as a gift from one of her preschool friends and played with them by herself for a long time before I took a good look at the actual pictures, and I noticed that the fairies are actually pin-up girls. Seriously? I realize that Lillian is 3 and has no idea what "alluring" means, but come on.

Meatloaf

I remember the day well: I was pregnant with Lillian and Tyler had requested meatloaf for dinner. That's fine, I like meatloaf as well as the next person. So, I mustered up what I remembered from making meatloaf from my mother, put all the ingredients into a bowl, and went to mix the thing up with my hands. I couldn't touch it. All that raw, red meat. I called Claire, trusty neighbor and friend, and she came and mixed up my meatloaf for me. That's really the definition of friendship, right there: mixing up your pregnant friend's meatloaf. The meatloaf was OK, I guess. Maybe I just didn't remember really well how to make it.

Ever since that day, I've been on a quest to find a recipe for a meatloaf I love. I've probably made at least 10 different variations, and tonight, I think I hit the jackpot.

It's a synthesis of many different recipes, and it was really good. Even Lillian ate it.

Here's how I did it:

1. Tear up a piece of bread and soak it in a couple splashes of milk. Meanwhile, mince up half an onion and a few cloves of garlic. Sauté until soft.

2. Mix up the bread, onions, garlic, 1 lb ground beef, one egg, two big handfuls of chopped up spinach (you could probably use frozen, I just happened to have fresh on hand), a few splashes of worcestershire sauce, 1/2 tsp Lawry's, 1/2 tsp salt, and a couple dashes of pepper. Form into a loaf and place on top of a broiler pan.

3. Wrap loaf in several slices of bacon. Make sauce* (3/4 c ketchup, 2 T brown sugar, and 1/2 tsp mustard powder), and slather about 1/3 of it all over the loaf.

4. Bake at 350˚ for 40 minutes. Slather another round of sauce on top and bake for another 15 or 20 minutes until done.

5. Serve with left over sauce for dipping.

*The sauce I stole from Pioneer Woman. Verbatim. It's delicious.

Sleepytime

Sleepytime from Amanda Ball on Vimeo.

Sticking it to the man

Really, I don't have many hobbies. I'm not that crafty and I'm am living proof that not all Mormon women like scrap booking. But, one of the things I do like to do is find ways to stick it to the man.


My MIL taught me how to make my own spreadable butter. She's been doing this for years and the butter industry totally copied her and they now sell this stuff for like $3.50 for a little tub. She should have patented it.

What you do is mix equal parts just-softened butter with canola oil. To fill a little tub like this, I use a cup of butter and a cup of oil. It's pretty liquidy when you mix it, but it sets up in the fridge. Soft even when cold. She uses unsalted butter and adds in her own salt. I just use salted butter and save myself the trouble.


Another way I stick it to the man is my obsession with patching and mending. When we were in school and Tyler rode his bike all over San Luis Obispo, his inseams wore out really fast. I must have sewed up each pair of pants at least 4 or 5 times and added a patch or two before he would buy new ones. His favorite pajama pants are getting to be quite comical. I tried to buy new ones, but The Perfect Pair is hard to find: somehow, the garment industry doesn't think that tall, skinny people want loungewear for their bottom halfs.

This pad got a rip in it the last time I ran it through the wash, and then with us sitting on it, it got a little frayed. Now, it's the lucky chair.