Bath Time

Giant Ducky you're the one...you make bathtime lots of fun. It even quacks if you press his beak. It's a little creepy if you ask me, but she really likes it. Ani can't be in the room when you do or she freaks out looking for the ducks- which only eggs us on. Poor dog.


As she gets older and more interested in what's going on around her it gets harder and harder to get her to look at the camera. Gone are the days when she was fascinated only by glowing lights.


The lighting is total crap in these pics (and my hand is shaky), but oh well. Our bathroom is not exactly set up for a photo shoot. I couldn't let some of these expressions go to waste and I wanted to show you her robe.





And we're done. It's not fun anymore Mom. You're interrupting my fun with that dumb flash again. But holy crap does this kid have big feet (And I don't want to hear anything about them compared to mine.) My grandma says, "Big feet, big pup." Yeah, I'm aware. The little Amazon girl gets a new carseat this week since she's too tall for the infant one.


OK Jess is that better? Happy now? Jerks. I could write random mis-spelled crap all day long and nobody would care as long as I had pictures of The Baby. Can't say as I blame you much, though.

Dumb-da Dumb Dumb

Just in case you live under a rock and didn't know- practically half of California has been on fire the last few weeks at one time or another. So when I was driving yesterday the last thing I expected from the person in front of me is to flick her cigarette out the window. Are people really that stupid?

Modest is Hottest

I seriously have to try really hard to not roll my eyes when I hear this. How many times have I heard it? A zillion? Well, ok maybe not that many, but a million at least. Did you know you can even get lip gloss with that phrase on it? Perfect for those of you suckered lucky enough to get to go to Girl's Camp. (ha,ha)

But is it important that we imprint this in the minds of young girls and all women for that matter? Personally, I think so. But I think it is easier said than done. I was not a slut, hoochie, skank or any other version of the above, but I did try and get away with wearing short shorts and tank tops in the summer. And there are times when I still wish I could get a way with it. Does that make me a sinner? I don't think so. But I do think it can lead to getting attention from the opposite sex which can get you into trouble.

I used to think 'who cares'? It's not my responsibility what the guy next to me is thinking. And then I got married. My husband and I took a class together at the local community college one summer, and here I am sitting feeling all frumpy and overdressed in jeans and a tee in the 100 plus degree weather while the girl in front of me took the time to match her thong to her tube top. I was ticked. It was then that I realized it wasn't about what the guys were thinking- it was disrespectful. It's not about whether or not a woman should have the ability/right to dress as she pleases, because obviously she does. It's about respect. Not just respecting yourself, but respecting others around you.

So, now we have a daughter. And long before she came along Handsome Husband and I talked about it. How strict are we going to be when it comes to dress? When is it okay? At what age do we enforce it? (See all the things you get to discuss when you have a few years to prepare for it?) There wasn't much of a debate about it. My husband is a stickler. Not okay. Ever. From the beginning. Not even as a baby. The end. Which is fine by me. I get to say, "What would your father say?" which gets me out of being the Enforcer and I get to buy more yarn. Yarn? What does yarn have to do with it? Well, I have to have yarn if I'm going to make her shrugs to wear with her sleeveless dresses. Like this one for the Fourth of July.

I made the pattern up myself. Lots easier than I thought it would be- after I remembered how to crochet. And even though it looks a little funky in the picture, I promise it's way cuter in person. The hanger just doesn't do it justice. Little Miss is in bed and not really in the mood to play dress up. The bow goes in her hair not on her shoulder. And yes, I put her outfits out like this a few days in advance. I'm pathetic like that. She will in no doubt roll her eyes at her wacky mother from a very young age. It will just make it easier for me to spout eye-rolling phrases like "Modest is Hottest Dearie".

Oh Crap I'm Gonna Be Late!

I am linked over at Change of Shift. If you are here due to that link welcome. This is my personal blog where I occasionally talk about what I do for my day job. As I am currently working per-diem and only on the occasional basis (due to the cuteness of the little person referred to as Little Miss pasted all over my blog) the nursing posts are not as frequent as they used to be. And due to the failure of e-mail and some flakiness on my part, I did not type up a formal article. Sorry about that. I will provide a list of my nursing post links here for your convenience. I will add that if I have to work and not be independently wealthy, then nursing is the job for me. Check back in the next few days if you're bored and I will tell you why home health nursing rocks and why it is not for tired, burnt out, 'old' nurses as some of the stereotypes occasionally make it out to be.

For the Last Time!!

My husband likes to give me a hard time about some things. Most recently it is about our daughter being bald. As I have said before, you cannot be bald and have a part. I know he only says it to get a reaction out of me, which it does. I have resorted to telling him that they have the same haircut. But of course, he doesn't react. For the last time...MY BABY IS NOT BALD!!! To prove a point I used his expensive hair gel to spike her hair. (The flower is just so nobody mistakes her for a boy). If you're asking 'don't you have anything better to do than to mess around with your kid's hair and pose her for pictures'? Uh, not really.


Last week at church some lady made the comment "Oh, she looks just like her daddy." Totally cracked me up. If you know anything about her race/ethnic background the last person on the planet you'd expect her to look like is John. Does she look like Handsome Husband? I don't know. Maybe. Sometimes. But she definitely smells like him. It's the gel.

Dedicated to Sister Carlson

This post is dedicated to Sister Carlson. The mother of one my oldest friends, (as in she's known me a really long time, not that she herself is old.) And one of my most faithful readers. She posted this comment only a few minutes ago and rather than post a comment back, I'm lazy and going to do it from here.

"Yannette. I have dabbled with knitting and I find it to be very relaxing. Do you have any good tips about making socks? I made a Christmas sock for Clint to Match the machine knitted sock I have for Natalie. I want to start a new one for Duncan. When it gets to the bottom I get stucK. Any advice?"

My advice on knitting is as follows...

Are you sure you want to ask me? I taught myself to knit from a book. I still don't know if I'm doing it right. But if you really want to ask me, I will gladly tell you what I know. As far as socks are concerned, I'm not a huge fan of knitting them. I've only actually completed a stocking, but I'm familiar with the techniques involved.

My advice to just about everyone about everything is Google. Try these tutorials (listed in order of what I think will be most helpful.) Here, here, and here.

When Google fails me, I turn to Youtube.



There are several parts to this video and I'm not going to post all of them.

Now you've got me thinking I need to do a pair of socks too. I think I will make these. Erica, meet your Christmas present. If you hate them, speak now or forever hold your peace. I'm going to pick colors I like- just in case I decide to keep these too.

Understatement and my very first cable

Was describing her as the 'cutest baby in the universe' an exaggeration? Nah, didn't think so. Just ask her Papa, he'd tell you it was an understatement.


Her eyes are red because when she gets sleepy she actually balls up her fists and rubs them. So freakin' cute. His eyes are red because he works too hard.

Where am I? Taking the pic and knitting of course.

Baby Alpaca Grande Fingerless Gloves

Cast On- Last week
Finished- June 27, 08 (That's today if you're not alert and orient x4. Technically I still have to finish part of the second glove.)
Yarn- Baby Alpaca Grande Colorway 1708
Needles- Size 10 double points

It's my first basic cable rib! Sweeeet. They were going to be a Christmas present, but I sort of decided that I like them and want to keep them. I'm a brat like that. Plus fingerless gloves are perfect for still being able to attach leashes and button up jackets when it gets cold.

Smackaroo!

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

I finally got it on tape. She's mimicking a kissing smack sound. Which of course makes her the cutest baby in the universe!!!!!!

Blogging Bugs

My sister has been patiently awaiting the return of a certain missionary serving in Mexico. It is only natural that her blogs recently (actually the entire history of her blog) have been related in some way to this certain someone. As he will be home in a matter of days now, her excitement is not only being expressed on her blog, but it is also spilling over into the comments on mine. It is so contagious she's even got me blogging now about Him. May July 16 come quickly. For her sake, and the sake of the sanity of those she lives with.

But back to what I wanted to say...The story of the first time I met Jordan. We were living up at BYU (in married housing no less- don't even get me started) and he came over with Jess.

Our conversation verbatim: (Keep in mind that this is the first time I'm meeting him, and I am the older wiser sister whose approval he is going to need. I will be the one reporting back to my parents on whether or not this kid passes.)

Me: "Hi, I'm Yannette."
Jordan: "Hi. I'm Jordan." He looks down. "I hate your shoes."
Me: (wearing bright orange Crocs)- "That's okay. You don't have to wear them."

And that was it. That was the end of it. He doesn't like my shoes. We agree to disagree. I was not offended. I don't hate him. And I still wear those shoes. We get along so well in fact that if he decides he doesn't like Jess, I've got two other sisters who are available that he can pick from. (Just kidding Jess. Don't start crying. I really like the kid. But if you decide that you don't that's okay, I can just as easily hate him.)

The point...we agree to disagree. I was not "offended". He had a different opinion on something than I did. The end.

I bring this up because it is one of the things that bugs me most about blogging. I blog. A lot. I like it. It is my therapy. It is also a hobby and a time waster. What can I say? We don't have t.v. So what bugs about blogging...

Chances are if you haven't "offended" somebody yet with your blog either you haven't been at it long, nobody reads it, or your blog is boring. Even the most benign comments can be taken and twisted and manipulated into "offending" someone. Give me a break.

Offense is not the same as being irritated, annoyed, ticked off, or even being damn pissed. Those are different. And having your feelings hurt or dismissed is also different. But people who turn and twist every little thing ever written so that they can be "offended", well- it just seriously bugs. Can't we just agree to disagree? You do not have to like my shoes.

He who takes offense when none is intended is a fool. He who takes offense when offense is intended is a bigger fool.- Confucius

There are other things about blogs that bug...(and I don't hate you if you do this and don't hate me because it bugs me.)

-Pink or orange font on a lighter background. Yes ,I know. I have this and it totally bugs me. It is hard to read, but I get that it is the only color that really matches.
- Playlists. It's a cool idea but it's not so cool when you're in a public place- say like the library or work, and someone's version of what they think is music comes blasting through the speakers that you didn't even realize were on. It bugs me even more when I'm lurking as I feed my infant and just as she's just about to close her eyes and then "BLAAAAH!" Again, someone's version of what they think is music.
- Private blogs. It's dumb, but it totally bugs. I get it if you are in the witness protection program or if you have a really, really good reason. Like a stalker- that's a good reason. Or even a job where you can't talk about certain things or want certain people to be able to find you. Again a good reason. If you want it kept private so that you can bash your in-laws or your ex- fine then go ahead. But if its just that you're so enamored with yourself that you think everyone is Googling you and your family then get over yourself, quit talking about your address, and give yourself an alias.

Now that I have officially "offended" everyone out there, I will put on my bright orange shoes and get on with my life.

Man's Best Friend

Most people have better things to do at 4:47 AM. Like I dunno... Sleep. Well, if I have to be up (nothing to do with Little Miss) then at least half the rest of the family needs to be too. And I'm going to take pics to prove it. And you will be subjected to my reminiscing.

You couldn't blast Ani off her spot on the couch right now with a stick-o dynamite. Jedi on the other hand... Oh, my loyal and faithful Jedi. He can be counted on to spring up out of bed at the slightest hint of action. Even if that action is changing a didee. He's not picky.

Jedi is about the gentlest giant around. Kind of useless as a watchdog or so I thought. At only a few months old he demonstrated that he was very protective when it came to his mama. I was working nights and was sleeping one afternoon when I woke up to him standing over me and growling. I of course pushed him away and told him to quiet. But he didn't stop. There were people playing at the pool below our window. He knew better than that and I again told him to knock it off. I tried to go back to sleep but Jedi insisted on standing above me and continue growling. Finally I took a hint and stood up to see what was there. Sure enough a man was on our side of the fence just below my window. (Probably some meter reader). Jedi had known the difference between what people were okay and someone who was a little too close for comfort. Like many boys, nobody messes with his mama.

When Little Miss was only a few weeks old, we were on our usual morning walk. I was walking ahead and Handsome Husband had both beasts on their leashes. As we got closer to a field I could see that there was a dog off leash. His owner was close by, but that didn't stop the dog from breaking into a dead run headed straight for me. He wasn't aggressive, just a little over eager. I was dumb and not thinking and I rushed towards the dog to intimidate him and keep him away. Dumb me because I had our Miss in the sling. Never in a million years did I expect Jed's next move. As the dog got closer and I came forward Jedi crouched down. At the same moment I stepped forward Jedi jumped full force and weight on the dog scrambling and growling to get him down on the ground. I don't know who was more surprised, me or Ani. He would have laid dead in the road before anyone was going to get too close to HIS baby and HIS mama without asking HIS permission first. Much less that mangy mutt.

I had often joked that if Jedi could talk and play soccer I wouldn't need to have a son. Well, not quite. But he really is a good boy. Little Miss LOVES her puppies. She doesn't have the slightest fear of these 90 plus-pound beasts. They adore her as much as she loves them. Wonder where she gets that from? My first babysitter was a German Shepherd mix named Bucky. But I could go on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on. Not quite as long as I can go on about Little Miss and how cute/smart/beautiful/sweet/loving/happy/did I mention cute? she is, but very close. I love my pet pals. They are man's best friend. And mine and Little Miss' too.

What Puppy Love Looks Like

Geez Mom. Why do you always flash that dumb thing in my face? Do you have any idea what time it is?

Jedi! You are hogging the blanket!!!!



Random pic to prove that life really is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get. Is her hair looking red to you or is just me and the fact that I haven't gotten enough sleep?

Clarification

I'm on the phone last week and mentioned something about nursing. The person on the other end stops and says, "Wait. Are we talking boobs or your occupation?" Um, yeah. So for clarification... today it is my occupation. I actually have to work today.

The Meanest Mom

She might be a little nuts and we remind her of it on a regular basis, but my mom is pretty cool. She raised four girls who were all VERY close in age and we all turned out pretty okay, but only because she prided herself on being the "MEANEST MOM IN THE WORLD!" She was pretty easy going growing up and there weren't TOO many rules, but then I turned 13. And then she became the meanest mom in the world. She wouldn't let me do certain things, go certain places, hang out with certain people and I reminded her over the next few years (on a regular basis) that she was the meanest mom in the world.

I thought about that a few weeks ago while going shopping with some friends. It was hot and as we drove by a youth sponsored car wash, I was shocked at what I saw. VERY scantily clad young girls beckoning to passersby in the most provocative manners to get their car washed. Now I'm no prude, but even I was a little shocked and uncomfortable. These girls weren't even old enough to drive. Then I remembered what it was like to be that age. I probably would have tried to get away with wearing certain things and acting a certain way during some rebellious years, but I had the meanest mom in the world. I just shook my head as we drove past and said, "how am I going to teach my daughter that THAT is not okay?" That's when my friend piped up and said "You're going to be the meanest mom in the world." Yup. That's exactly what I want to hear from my Little Miss between the ages of 13 and 17. YOU ARE THE MEANEST MOM IN THE WOLRD! And then I'll know I'm doing my job.

This Week's Lesson

Going to a new ward is always fun. Yeah, not so much.

I don't want new friends. I like my old ones. I'm not the outgoing social butterfly type. I like meeting new, interesting, fun and exciting people. Not because I am. I'm totally not. But it makes up for the lack thereof. The only problem is wading through all the ones that aren't. OK, that wasn't nice. I'm sorry. Except sorry implies change. So, I'm not sorry I just have to work on keeping my mouth shut more.

I'm sure the new ward is very nice. Nothing against them, I just really, really, really loved our old ward. We actually would have moved sooner but didn't want to leave the ward. Then we thought. This is dumb. The church is true wherever you go. We need to move. So we did. Now I'm not so sure. What are the chances of me again meeting gals like the 'old ward'? They don't think I've completely gone off my rocker when I ask them which celebrity couple they would want to swing with. Without even missing a beat they reply with "Brangelina." Oh how I will miss ditching Sunday School to gab in the parking lot! I know we sound like a bunch of irreverent teenagers, but honestly we aren't. Some of my most faith promoting "buck up- you can get through this" talks have been in the parking lot.

I was relieved though after my Relief Society President came to visit me this week and welcomed me to the ward. This is what she said straight out..."I've only been the Relief Society President for a month, but I want you to know my feelings on it. Relief Society is not for cliques. It is for everyone. I don't care if you are single, married, with our without children, working, in school whatever. Relief Society is where we help build each other's testimonies and faith in Christ no matter where we are at in life." I immediately liked her. Guess that means I will be making a regular appearance at Relief Society. What would it take to get me to read the lesson ahead of time?

Speaking of lessons. I don't know how it came up but my sister (who happens to be single and have hair like Catherine Zeta Jones), told me this week that when there is a sale at Victoria's Secret she and another single friend go and buy lingerie. Apparently they've got quite the supply packed away in plastic bins with the tags still on. You know... for the future. They actually call it their 'food storage'. Interesting perspective on “prepare every needful thing.”

Mom- if you read this, you've raised a bunch of hooligans. We might ditch class and twist certain doctrines to feed our shopping habits, but we would never, no NEVER run in the chapel. Promise.

Just when I thought the news could not get more depressing...

Where is that bottle of Valium I had for my root canal? Dang it! I can't find it. But I've got Chevy's (the psychotic pissed off cat) homeopathic anti-anxiety elixir. How much of this stuff am I going to have to drink to prevent my stroke? Read this story. The blood pressure is through the roof. NOT OKAY PEOPLE! As one of my favorite shock jock radio personalities says, "We are headed to hell in a handbasket on a rocket ship!" And if I don't do something to mellow out (and quick), I'm going to beat you all there.

I'm outta here. I'm going to get a pedicure. That will help. Except that since this morning's post all I can picture is my cute little Thai pedicure pal in a Speedo. Ugh!

Still in a mood

Sorry. I'm still in a mood. In keeping with my ranting style of the last few days I have to tell you...I do not like Utah. Sorry. There are some fabulous people who live there, and some amazing views but I am so, so, so glad I am perceived by some as being a "California Jack-Mormon." Which is so, so, so funny to me.

Let me clarify. I love my Utah friends. I love hiking in Utah. I do not like attitudes that are sometimes found in Utah. You know... people who think that Utah is the only place that you can really live and be righteous. Attitudes that see it as God's 'chosen' country so they don't feel like they need to discuss sex- teenage and otherwise or drugs with their kids. Because that stuff NEVER happens in Utah. Ghastly thought. I hate to burst your delusional bubble but I saw more pot in a relatively small town Jr. High in Utah than I did in three years of high school in LA County. And I was considered a "good kid" with good friends. What? Smoke pot? In Utah? No way.

I will never forget sitting in a restaurant talking to a woman who I had just recently met. I can't remember the subject, but she was a friend of my Grandma's so it was probably a little out there. Somewhere along the line she asks, "Yannette, you're Mormon?"And I tell her, "I'm a card carrying member." And she responds with, "But you're so open minded." Ouch. Now do you get the attitude I'm talking about?

So when I found out about Bikini Cuts, I laughed. I was horrified, found it inappropriate and awful, disrespectful and demeaning towards women, but funny still the same. If you haven't heard- Bikini Cuts is a salon that caters to a male clientele in which the hair stylists do their jobs while wearing bikinis. As you can imagine, it has created quite the stir. They haven't been run out with pitch forks just yet. And their business is actually doing quite well. Hmmm. That's interesting. A business like that couldn't survive without its customers.

So, while I'm out here in California condemning myself to hell in 345 days a year of sunshine you might want to find out why your husband is getting his hair cut every three weeks and your teenage boy has a peaked interest in pedicures.

Forget the Fluff

I always do that. I say I'm going to write warm fuzzy happy stuff for a day and then BAM! I wake up. If you can't already tell I'm seriously hormonal, anemic, and down right b-i-t-c-h-y. With a capital B. Talked to my sister today. Yeah, the one with hair like Catherine Zeta-Jones. She called me a comment whore. I asked for clarification. She said I would write anything if I thought it would provoke a comment out of someone. I laughed. You ain't seen nothin' yet. I don't write a fraction of the stuff that bounces around in my head or the crazyness that I sometimes find myself in. Helloooo!!! I'm the Mayor of Crazytown, remember? Consider yourself warned.

So this morning my Handsome Husband invites me to lunch with him. Which was very nice and sweet and gave me reason to get out of bed and shower today. We go. It's great. They serve shrimp. I love shrimp. And we leave and I'm thinking, "I haven't bled to death yet." I think I'm gonna make it. Let's go shopping. Shopping always makes me feel better. And while I'm shopping I only have to stop and find a restroom twice. Things are good. I find a cute shirt. Then, Oh crap! Not again. I DO NOT under any circumstance EVER want to use the bathroom at T.J. Maxx. But I clearly don't have a choice. Fabulous. And then we go from fabulous to craptastic. I reach for the needed supplies. How long have we been gone? Oh, chit. I'm out of supplies. And I'm wearing new khaki shorts. Explitive. Explitive. Explitive.

Which is why my sister got the call in which the first words out of my mouth were "I'M WEARING A FREAKIN' DIAPER!!!"

Friday Fluff

I stole the title from another blogger and liked the idea of it. Yesterday's post was a little heavy, but between that and lunch with one of my favorite people in the whole world, I feel like I got a lot of things out of me. There was a definite releasing of spewage going on. There is something cathartic about blogging something very personal to you and then spending almost three hours at Macaroni Grill discussing everything and anything (and agreeing with each other almost 100% of the time). I love that I can start a statement with "Am I crazy or..." And I will almost always get "No way! You're not crazy." What a relief.

For my Friday fluff I have a few pics to share...

Even her cranky faces are cute. She's not a cranky child but we're going on tooth number two in one week.

I took this outside just for fluff.

Not fluff- the blog roll I've added. These will make you stop and think. Love that.

Breast May Be Best But Bottle Ain't Bad

I know this is VERY long post, but I promise there is a point if only to kill some of your precious time.

For some reason when you adopt, often well-meaning but ignorant people instill this fear in you that adopted children have "issues." Or that they have attachment disorders or never really connect and have meaningful or strong relationships with their parents. To them I say- do your research somewhere other than a 20/20 special. PEOPLE have issues. And yes certain things get to be addressed when you adopt, but that's a post for another day.

My point is... I was totally scared by the thought of not "bonding" with my child. I wanted to do everything possible within the first few weeks to establish a 'connection' and relationship with her. I was dumb in thinking that because I wouldn't be pushing her through the chute, I wouldn't feel the same "mama bear" protective instinct and would live, kill, or die to protect her. I've learned a lot.

I was never too terribly disappointed in not being pregnant. I dunno... nausea, vomiting, bloating, fluid retention, and varicose veins just never really did it for me. What I was sorry about missing out on was breast feeding. I had this idea of it being the ultimate mothering experience where baby and mother bond in a way not capable with anybody else. Isn't that what we public health officials preach? Breast is best, blahtey-blah. You're only a good mother if you breast feed, blahtey-blah.

As soon as our adoption paperwork was in, I began researching adoptive breastfeeding. I had heard of people doing it and knew it could be done, and I was hell bent that I was going to be part of that crowd. I met with a Lactation Educator, a midwife, I even called La Leche League. People I talked to thought I was totally nuts. But hey, it gave me something to do.

Early on in my research it became apparent that I would not able to induce a milk supply by taking hormone injections and pumping. Dang. No pumping four times a day with a commercial breast pump with nothing to pump. So I would need to supplement. And I would be using an SNS or suplemental nursing system. (Little spaghetti looking tube that gets taped in place, connected to a bottle and the baby actually nurses at the breast.) I bought the gyzmo, watched the video, even bought a nursing bra. I was set. I was going to be what Mary Cassat herself envisioned when painting her infamous portrait.

So the day comes. We're home from the hospital the midwife is coming to help and all the tubes and dohickies have been boiled. I thought...this is going to be perfect. My baby and I are going to bond and I'm going to breastfeed and life is going to be perfect. Not exactly. Sparing the details for the sake of you having something better to do than read all of this, not only was it not that easy but it got to the point where I was sobbing, my perfect little STARVING angel baby is screaming, and the midwife is tearing up. At one point I was sitting on the bed bawling, "I just want my baby to know I'm her mommy." It was awful. But like I said, come hell or high water I was going to breastfeed.

The midwife left, and I committed to continue trying and practicing. Over the next week my perception of the ultimate experience of womanhood changed. There was nothing glorious and maternal about it. It was stressful (for me AND my baby). It was hard. And it hurt. Does that lady look like she has road rash on her bosom? Because that's what it feels like. I had a choice to make. Give up my ideals of what defined me as a mom and just go with the flow, or keep beating a dead horse. I decided to let it go. She was getting formula anyway and I knew from the moment I saw her that we would have bonded and had a connection had she been dropped off in a space ship.

I was still concerned though about her growth and nutrition. But my concern didn't last long. Our Little Amazon baby is in the 100% percentile for height. I don't care how tall my daughter is, I really don't. As totally lame-ass as it sounds, her growing was an answered prayer and another testament to me that God is not a jerk that sits up in heaven screwing with our lives for the fun of it. What matters to us, matters to Him. I also learned that “Like all parents, my husband and I just do the best we can, hold our breath and hope we've set aside enough money for our kid's therapy” OK, that's not really all I learned.

We all have these ideals and pictures in our head of how life should look or things are going to turn out. Whether it's parenting, school, marriage, our careers- whatever. But often times they don't. It's crappy, annoying, stressful and sometimes not fun AT ALL. What I really learned is that mostly in life we just do the best we can with what we've got at the time and God makes up the rest.

One Down, Too Many More to Go

Block one of Lizard Ridge has been cast off. Hallelujah! I only frogged it twice. But third time's a charm, right? Right.

Meet Block 4 of row 3. Noro Kureyon Colorway 182C
Cast on: First attempt over the weekend. Actual block: two days ago.
Completed: Thursday June 19 at 1:27AM after watching P.S. I Love You for about the hundredth time.

I only have twenty-three of these little suckers more to go. And a chit load of seaming and blocking to do.

The Chair

This is what six yards of fabric and removing what seemed like a thousand staples will get you. Introducing...The Chair.

Before and After

I only impaled my hand on a broken upholstery staple twice. After using a butter knife for half of it, I remembered that I had a surgical steel staple remover in my car. Perk of being a home health nurse. It definitely sped the process along. Now I just have to find another fabric that I love so I can do the second chair for the family room. I'm thinking something along the lines of this.

And since I know the only reason most of my readers check my blog is for pics of Little Miss and to nag me about how you're her favorite aunt and how she wants to come and see you, I thought I better post some pictures today.

My child actually LIKES to sleep. If she is not ready to get up yet she does what we call "Playing Possum" and squints her eyes and holds as still as she can. It cracks me up. But then I'm easily amused.

Random Thoughts

Basically I've got nothing exciting to write about. No one has ticked me off this week and I haven't discovered any new pet peeves. I must be losing my edge.

Here are some random thoughts/stuff that's been up with me and my little "Roo-baby." She's been hanging out in her sling (which is a lot like a mama kangaroo pouch) since the whole teething/cuddling thing started. And BTW, occasionally we do call her by her real name.

I woke up with this song in my head...and not to sound like a brat, but a million would not cut it. Don't get me wrong, I'd take twenty bucks over my craft budget. That's a new skein of yarn, but after taxes, a million isn't even going to buy me a house. Much less a nice Chesterfield or an ottoman. How about ten million? Tax free. Now we're talking. I'd keep the Llama and trade the Emu for a Cockatoo.

I turned the air conditioner WAY down or rather WAY up so that Little Miss can wear some of the cold weather clothes that she'll be too big for when the cold weather comes. Pathetic, I know. But you don't collect infant clothes for three years and have her not wear them.

Little Miss thinks bananas aren't any better than avocados. My dad has brainwashed her into anticipating bacon. She likes Popcicles though.

I went to the Korean Market yesterday and came home with an amazing rice cooker, some pretty painted rice bowls (which probably contain lead), and five pounds of Kimchi. It's spicy pickled cabbage and on the list of my favorite foods. I think I could eat it every day. Angela doesn't think so. She actually did eat it everyday while in Korea last year, but she hasn't known me too long. In high school I induced an allergy to citric acid by eating only grapes and nectarines for an entire summer and then in college I went for months on green beans and tuna fish for lunch. I'm not an obsessed eater. I just like what I like.

Pretty much all I got. But later today I will be watching a highly controversial movie on birthing practices in the US, reading an article on Jenny McCarthy and autism, and an article in the Ensign on "Being Sensitive to Others." One of those should get me all fired up and with something to rant about. But if I don't get back to it, I am a total supporter of spacing /delaying immunizations- just in case you were wondering.


****UPDATE**** After reading these articles and watching The Business of Being Born all I can say is two words. "Pha-nomenal." (I almost peed my pants when I watched Paula Abdul say that on American Idol.) Anyway, I will spare you the rant but #1. I totally support home birth. If you think "what's this crazy chick talking about? She's never given birth." You got me there. But I've watched/seen more births than most people. And have you ever seen a home birth? #2. I never in a million years thought I'd have anything in common with the big boobed hottie Jenny McCarthy, but I totally support the spacing/delay of immunizations. #3. The church is true, the gospel is perfect, and people in it aren't. Nothing in my perspective changed there but I loved, loved, loved this article.

Vacaciones!

During the car ride this weekend we were talking about how we never go on vacation. We don't need to. We live in a place where within a two hour's drive in almost any direction, you're on vacation. On our list of major hot spots we hit this weekend were Salt Point, Bodega Bay, Napa, Jackson, and California's Gold Country. Had we gone just fifteen more minutes out of the way we could have stopped in San Francisco and Lake Tahoe.

Our intention was to camp on Saturday, but then it got cold- like forty-six degrees cold, and Ani found the bunnies in the camp. I don't do cold and try telling a Coonhound, "don't bark at the bunnies." Know what the definition of insanity is? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I could ask her not to bark, I could command her don't bark, I could yell at her not to bark, I could probably attempt to beat the bark out of her, but for a bunny a Coonhound is going to bark. In order to save my mental health and that of the other campers, we decided to bag it and come home. John only got to see his tent up for about an hour, but we found a really great HEATED Mexican food place in Petaluma.

The next morning we took an U.C.H. (Unofficial Church Holiday), and went to Moaning Caverns. Little Miss (and I have to say myself), were troopers this weekend hiking three miles with her in her wrap. (Yup, I'm feelin' the burn.)

But I drew the line at climbing the 234 steps down into the largest open cavern in California. About fifteen steps down into the blackness, I remembered I'm clostrophobic. About the same time, Little Miss realized Mommy had stopped breathing and it was dark. I chickened out and used her as an excuse. While Papa went on the tour, Kensley and I watched the Moluccan Cockatoo they had on the property, and for a ways home Little Miss practiced her best bird calls.

We'll be going back again with a third wheel (i.e. one of my sisters) so we can both do the 1500 foot Zip Line down the mountain. After raiding the pamphlets at the visitor's center, the rest of our summer is pretty much booked with mini-vacations in our backyard.

I could learn a few things from this kid. Even when I know she's not feeling 100%, she doesn't complain. She just wants to be held and cuddle. She was super cuddly this weekend and this morning I discovered why. She officially has a tooth- bottom right. It's not going to be long before she's talking back and wanting to shave her legs.

Happy Father's Day!

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Wish Us Luck

We're going to go get lost for a couple of days to test out Papa's Father's Day present (a new tent). No electricity and no plumbing with two pampered pooches and a four month old Princess. This should be interesting.


In case we don't make it back to civilization, Happy Dad's Day!

Flashback Friday

I'm sure I'm not the only person this has happened to. I have a few minutes so I'm lurking and clicking through a friends blog list, when I come to a page and think, "Man, that chick looks familiar." Then I read her latest entry, which happens to be a response to a tag. Yeah, that chick is familiar. We went to the same Jr. High. And she was "going out" with the boy I had a crush on for three years. She was a cheerleader. I was not. He called me "Yanerd." I hated her without knowing her. That was ten years ago. Ah, those were the days.

It was the summer between eighth and ninth grade. We were having sleepovers AT LEAST weekly and falling in love with Patrick Swayze and Shauna's high school brother. Can you guess which movie?


I was over Peaches by President's of the United States being my favorite song. O.K. I never really got over that. I still LOVE that song.

Tickle Me Elmo turned two and was still a novelty. And I still didn't have one. That's since been corrected by a sister who knows me all too well.


Mrs. Nussum hadn't brought me to her office to measure the length of my shorts for a few years now. Not since my mom cussed her out and told her "this school has worse problems than my honor student's shorts!" She checked-me out for the day, cementing herself a place as the coolest Mom ever in my friend's eyes. Looks like I may be facing the problem with my own daughter. I still maintain that the shorts are long enough, it's just our legs are longer.


And I started cutting up Pottery Barn and Pottery Barn Kids magazines for "some day."


I'm still waiting for the day that I can move in to that house they take pictures of and I drool over. In the mean time, I create my own Pottery Barn Kids knock-offs with a little paint, some fabric scraps, and some hot glue.


I've got a bigger project currently underway involving six yards of this fabric and a staple gun. Hopefully soon I will be posting pictures of Little Miss' completed nursery. No pressure Dad, but it'd be really cool to have a nursery with a crib.

I was kidding about those being the days. It was fun, but I'd never want to go back to days of sobbing hysterically about who I'm sitting next to in Geography and "does he like me?" Now, if that 'certain someone' doesn't call, I know he'll be home by six-thirty for dinner. And I get to have sleepovers on a daily basis.

Flavor of the Day

Do all kids grow up? Where do I get a baby that will stay my little girl forever? Mine doesn't want to do that. She insists on getting closer to being "A big girl" every day. I've been reluctant to start solid foods with Little Miss, even though she's been ready for a couple of weeks. Maybe it's because to her I'm still a gourmet cook. Even I can add formula to water.

Since she insists on growing up and there's nothing I can do about it, this morning we took the plunge. But not until after a significant amount of preparation.

- Baby is at least 4 months old, at least 13 lbs., and eating more than 32 oz. of formula per day. Check.
- Medical clearance from pediatrician. Check.
- Read Super Baby Food cover to cover. (Or at least skim most of the pages.) Check.
- Appliqué bibs. Check.


-Purchase high chair, cute colored bowls, brighter colored spoons, and a fresh supply of locally grown organic produce. Check.


- Make husband wake up to take pictures. Check. (Sorry about the lighting. Breakfast comes early around here.)

Are we ready? No one is more ready than Jedi.


And the flavor of the day- Avocado.


I guess without the tomatoes, cilantro, onion, jalapeños, lime, and salt, guacamole isn't that great.


I hope it's an acquired taste because we can't try something different for at least four more days. And one of mommy's favorite foods is guacamole.

Reason #326 why moving closer to Husband's work was a good idea.

#1 Guy

My husband is a #1 Guy. Not to brag, but...okay to brag a lot...he's the best husband a girl could wish for. As far as the marital good husband point scales go, they are definitely tipped in his favor. Take yesterday for example.

I was getting dinner ready and I realized that I didn't have all of the ingredients I needed. Dang it. Just after work is not the time to run to Trader Joe's, but it had to be done. Husband walks in the door as I say, "Here. Hold this." passing Little Miss to him before he can set his stuff down and I run out the door as I call back "Oh yeah, and could you feed the dogs." Fifteen minutes later I'm back home unloading my bag and trying not to bag making dinner all together. My language has now progressed to Damn it. I totally forgot the entire reason I went to Trader Joe's in the first place. But I got Popsicles! I was a little disoriented going in the store having just being missed by mere centimeters by a 4x4 racing for a parking spot. Jerk. Now I'm really done with the concept of dinner. I'm starving. I know husband is starving and there is no substitution for milk. This is one and only time where having powdered milk in food storage might have come in handy. I'm about to go for the car seat so we can have Baja Fresh for dinner when John says, "I'll go." Not ten minutes later he comes back with the missing ingredient- Ranch dressing and a bouquet of flowers. How nice is that?

He's #1 in my book. And now that Little Miss has ditched Louie (what we named her pacifier), he's #1 in her book too. Just kidding. He was always at least tied for #1 with the pacifier. Okay, just kidding again. This picture proves that her Papa will always be #1.

All For Love and Love For All

A new cheesy family motto? Perhaps. It came from thinking of a title for this post and it works surprising well. Anyway...

I love blogging. I really do. I was reluctant at first but it has become part of my morning rituals. And afternoon and even evening. Not only does it get me out of folding laundry :), it is my therapy. But it has also led me to meet some amazing individuals. Like Mrs. R.

Her blog is mostly all adoption, all the time so she might not be as interesting to some as she is to me. But she is a fabulous resource. She says things that I've thought and felt in a way that is dead-on most of the time. In a recent post she addressed the issue- Can you love and be loved by a child born by somebody else? You just have to read it.

I think anyone involved in the process has thought this. How could you not? There are times where you think maybe God doesn't want you to parent. Maybe you just shouldn't. He does. Just not in the way you thought.

I wasn't really ever afraid I wouldn't love my baby enough/or differently/ or the same. I knew I could and I would. To me, it was the same way I knew that I could love my husband, God, or in my case even my Dad. Genetics had very little to do with it. I was more afraid she wouldn't love/bond/connect to me. Almost to ease the fears that only God knew about, our Birthmom's adoption plan included me being present for the birth. We would bond from the beginning. I was and always will be so incredibly thankful for that experience.

Nothing makes me happier than when a close friend recently said, "Wow, Yannette! She totally knows who her mommy is." She had been talking to Little Miss in her car seat and I came up behind her, and my Miss smiled. I already knew that she recognizes me. She's been smiling for a long time now an she consistently blows bubbles at me, but it was nice to know that it's not my imagination.

This morning (the event that prompted this post), after a very early morning breakfast, Little Miss was lying in bed next to me and jabbering away. We were just hanging out and talking. I rolled to my side facing her when she placed her long skinny hand and just rested it on my cheek. Almost to say, "I love you, Mommy." It was one of the greatest moments of my life.

I thought of Mrs. R's post. And if there was ever any question as to "Can you love and be loved by a child born by somebody else?" There is no doubt. Kensley is not my 'adopted daughter'. She is my daughter...and she happens to be adopted.

Motivated Shmotivated

Is it bad to put -Get showered and dressed on your to-do list for the day? I just want to have something that I might actually get done today on there.

I cast on Lizard Ridge this week which means two things. Somewhere someone should be cutting up Kaffe Fassett fabrics for me in return, and it is all I want to do. I never want to fold laundry and I only sometimes want to clean the bathroom. Right now it's neither. All I want to do is is K9, WT, P8, WT, K7, WT and on and on and on...till it's finished. This is supposed to be a gift, but I'm falling in love. And falling hard. And actually it's more of a trade than a gift. In return for this...

I'll be getting this...

It's a win/win situation, I'd say.

The only thing that is making my laundry today seem tolerable is that I've discovered books on CD. I can put my book on and fold laundry. I could almost enjoy it. It's like a twofer, or killing two birds with one stone. Except that according to this definition, the only way something like that would happen is to either 1) Wait until two birds are in close proximity and fire the stone from a bazooka. or 4)Meteorite collision with Earth. Not likely to happen. But I love the thought of blowing up my laundry with a bazooka. My bedroom has often looked like the Gap exploded. Unfortunately, I do not know where one comes across such a thing. If you do, don't tell me. I don't even want to know. I guess I will just have to except folding laundry as a fact of life, only made better by listening to Marley and Me and by the prospect of SOMEDAY finishing it so I can get back to the real fun.