Clever me!

I'm proud of my creative cleverness.

Now that we're a real family, with a dad, a mom, and a baby, I really wanted to own a framed copy of the The Family - A Proclamation To The World.  That's not a problem for someone living right next to Deseret Book. (It's literally a block from our front door.) So I walked over there one day to buy one. I was too cheap to pay for the framed version, so I bought the naked paper version and we ordered a frame for it from Amazon. That's not the clever part yet.

We waited and waited for that frame to arrive, and when it finally did, we were disappointed to discover the frame was about 2 inches too wide all the way around! We thought of returning it for a smaller frame, but I was too impatient and decided to surround the border of the paper with pictures of our family.

I meant to print the pictures in sepia, but oh well. Black and white works too. I think it turned out rather nicely, don't you?

Two years!

I was supposed to post this yesterday, but oh well.

I've been married to my best friend for two years! That's as long as a young man's full-time mission. And let me tell you, I have the best companion ever! So here are some pictures to commemorate the occasion.

This was taken at an air show in August 2008. We had been dating for about three months.


Almost a year later, this happened:


About a year after that...


And this year!


It just gets better and better every year!

Paul's first crush.

I love hearing Paul's senseless babbling. It makes me feel so loved to see him focus his eyes on my face, then watch him break into big, smiley gurgles of happy noises. That must be how babies express their "love", right? Well, if that's the case, I'm starting to feel a little cheated.

Meet Aveeno. He's a bottle of lotion that sits on our bathroom counter (i.e. Paul's changing table). I started to get suspicious when Paul wasn't babbling to Blair and I quite as much as he used to. Then I started to really pay attention to Paul's eyes during diaper changes and I began to notice a pattern. Whenever he looked at Aveeno, he became extremely happy and started talking and talking. I was thinking that he has seen it so many times, it must be just as familiar to him as mommy and daddy's faces. 

We've even tested this theory. While I was changing his diaper at my parents' house, Blair found an identical Aveeno bottle and placed it on the counter next to Paul's head. Immediately, Paul went from being kind of fussy, to super happy and he let out an excited gurgle as if to say, "Oh, there you are! I've missed you!"

Yes, it's sad that I find myself feeling a little jealous of Aveeno, but it isn't all bad. In fact, Aveeno was the first object Paul felt motivated enough to reach out and touch with his hand. That led to his feeling the basket right next to it with his chubby little fingers. So I guess I have Aveeno to thank for Paul's new discovery: his hands.

If you've never heard Paul "talk", here's a little video of him babbling... until I ask him a question that renders him speechless. Maybe that's why he prefers talking to Aveeno. Aveeno is a an excellent listener and doesn't judge him at all. 

Spontaneous Summer Fun

It's labor day morning and we've just gotten out of bed.

Blair: "Let's go to the beach!"
Me: "Uh... okay!"
Blair: "Does Paul need to eat?"
Me: "I just fed him"
Blair: "Then let's go!"

These pictures were taken about two hours later. See! who said you can't be spontaneous with a small baby? Well, our baby isn't so small. (See Fat Baby) Maybe that has something to do with it...?

We went to Ecola State Park just North of Cannon beach. There's a special little trail you have to hike to get to a more private beach than the ones surrounding it. The weather was beautiful, as I'm sure all of you know, since 3/4ths of all Oregonians were at the beach on Labor day. But not on our special private beach!

Now those are some hansom faces!


I think he liked the little fifteen minute hike, which is good, 'cause we'd love to take him real hiking some time!


Proof that all three of us were at the beach together. (That round peach fuzz is Paul.)


Blair was brave and asked a stranger to take our picture. (I never do that.)


I found a whole sand dollar! A whole one!


But then I found a cleaner broken one and it made my sand dollar look dirty and not that special. I left them together like that on the beach.


We also ate at the Wayfarer, which has the most delicious food you'll find on the beach. (Moe's has nothing on this restaurant, trust me.)
 
Then we walked along the shops downtown in Cannon. (That's when we discovered 3/4ths of Oregon had the same idea as us.) The only place we actually stopped was a Chocolate shop. We munched on some melt-in-your-mouth, gourmet chocolate treats on the drive back home. The next time you're at Cannon, go to the Chocolate Cafe. Just do it.

 

These next two were random summer pictures that I wanted to share, but didn't want to make a separate blog post for.


One of my favorite things to eat in the summer is fresh fruit. One of my favorite things to eat all year round are cookies. Especially if they're giant enough to cut like a pizza! Put them together and you get the most delicious summer dessert of all time! Fruit pizza! Yes, I made that all by myself. Thank you, thank you.

Fat baby

When I think of large babies I think of the huge, curly-haired, one-toothed baby I once babysat. She was screaming and arching her back the entire time. Her red face was a mystery of shiny mucous, with a wide mouth, eyelashes glued in lumps and body ridged. The only way I could console her was by holding her a very particular way and bouncing her in a clockwise circle. (Reversing the circle, or even slowing the rhythm would start the screaming again.) My poor arms endured that  for almost an hour until she fell asleep, leaving me feeling permanently lopsided and sore. I vowed then and there that I would never have big babies. (Like I had a choice.)

Fast forward about ten years and I give birth to my eight pounds, one ounce baby boy. I think to myself,  wonderful! that's a healthy size without being considered "large". Fast forward another two months and that little baby has ballooned to sixteen pounds! He's in the ninety-ninth percentile for his weight! People don't believe me when I tell them he's only two months old. The pediatrician had told us you cannot over feed your baby with breast milk. Really? Okay! I guess we're going with it!


Now you may be wondering how I've been taking all this, knowing my original feelings about fat babies. I'll tell you. I love it! He only gets cuter with each added roll and dimple! Obviously, he's my baby and he's a happy baby, so I think that helps. However, he's also way cuter, for sure. :)









The other great part? The extra weight doesn't stop him from flying around our apartment on a regular basis. See for yourself.

The Wardrobe Limbo

Why do clothes have to tell so much about a person? Right now I'm wearing a bright orange Running for Risa T-shirt and some floral, maternity, pajama bottoms.

You heard me correctly. Maternity bottoms. No no, I'm not pregnant again -thank goodness . I'm just not fully recovered from the actual pregnancy. I'm stuck between my pre-pregnancy wardrobe and my maternity wardrobe. The fact is I'm too hopeful (or too full of denial) to go shopping for some clothes that fit. Not to mention, I really don't enjoy clothes shopping.

Maybe I'm still in love with the comfort of maternity pants. No zippers. No buttons. No restricting waistband cutting into your love handles creating that oh so lovely muffin-top. Just a simple, soft stretchy fabric gently hugging your waist. Hugging you as if to say, "I love you with all your flabby faults!"

It's only when I actually think about it out loud, "I'm still wearing maternity pants" that it sounds tacky. Why can't we all wear maternity pants all the time? The world would be a much happier place!

It's funny how right after you have a baby, you feel so small and light. I remember thinking, "Hey, I think I can probably wear my normal clothes now!" Then I went home and reality sunk in. The first 25 lbs practically fell off in the first two weeks! But, those last 15 lbs are like the Grape Nuts cereal that stay in your pantry and never go away!

So here I am two months later, sporting baggy T-shirts and maternity pants day after day, wishing, hoping, dreaming that the clothes of my smaller self will magically fit one morning.

Well, I'm off to go for my morning run with the jogging stroller!

Quite the catch!

Have you ever known someone who has zero hand-eye coordination, can't aim to save there life and ducks when someone tosses them a ball? That would be me. On the other hand, have you ever known someone who was raised playing catch, is somehow good at anything and everything involving a ball and can juggle in their sleep? That would be my husband.

 I grew up with almost no exposure to sports of any kind. Not even PE dodge ball. During mutual nights the young men thought it was funny to throw a basket ball at one of the Whitaker girls and watch her cover her head and scream. Yes, I'm afraid it was that bad.

It's been said opposites attract, but I highly doubt my pathetic attempt at baseball that one night for a single adult activity is what attracted Blair to me. In fact, I'm sure if there were ever any doubts in his mind about our compatibility, my sporting retardation would have been the cause. I knew enough to know that I should be embarrassed by my inabilities, but the more I learned of his family and the intensely athletic and competitive people he was raised with, the more humiliating my condition became. I remember his six-year-old brother begging to play ping pong with me, only to realize I wasn't even good enough for him to have fun. He'd say, "No, you're supposed to hit the ball with the paddle!" As far as sports are concerned, Blair's and my upbringings could not have been more contrasting.

Well, last summer I decided to face my fears and have Blair cure me of my illness. We bought me a baseball mitt, headed to the park and got to work. The lesson began with the first analysis. In other words, have me throw something so he could laugh and know just how bad the situation really is. The conclusion of his first analysis: I throw like a girl. No surprise there.

I knew I married a patient man, but it wasn't until the evening of throwing the baseball over and over as I fumbled and gesticulated uselessly that I realized the extent of his endurance. He would gently toss the ball in perfect range for me to catch, and I would miss it... incredibly. I would pick it up and awkwardly chuck it towards Blair... at least I always intended for it to go towards Blair. I felt better about my girly tosses since Blair was usually able to somehow catch them... incredibly. He acted as if I was totally capable and never laughed at me, just gave me subtle suggestions and tips. Slowly my confidence started to build.

You couldn't quite call it a game of catch in the beginning, but by the end of our first lesson, we were able to throw and catch the ball back and forth rather successfully, I thought. I was actually having fun! So much so, that all throughout  the winter I thought of the night we played catch and I suggested we do it again this summer.

That's just what we did last Saturday while Paul slept at grandma and grandpa's house. I was extremely rusty, but again, by the end of our time at the park, I was able to play catch again. If I keep this up, I'll soon be ready to raise a little boy. And it's about time too! ;)