Meet Claire.

I'm the ideal incubator.

I have generally easy pregnancies, I don't experience morning sickness, and I'm a dang cute pregnant woman, if I do say so myself.  When it comes to the actual delivery, my labors are uneventful and with both boys, I had the babies out in two pushes.  The only area in which my body ranks less-than-satisfactory is labor-readiness.  I make so little progress on my own that elective inductions tend to be my best option (and I was two weeks overdue with Jonah with zero progress, so I'm not exaggerating...for once).

For child #3, my induction was scheduled for August 27th at 8:00 AM.  I was up at 5:30 AM to place my confirmation phone call with Labor & Delivery, and within a matter of hours, the hospital postponed and then reinstated my induction, totally throwing off my meticulously planned morning.  Not good.  As soon as I received the go-ahead from L&D, I quickly called my Dad -- Jonah's ride to school and Sam's caregiver for the morning -- who then got stuck in traffic. Tyler left to take Jonah to school himself and I stayed home to wait for Grandpa with Sam...and watch the clock as my induction appointment time came and went.  We were finally en route to the hospital at 8:30 AM, and the impatient phone calls from the hospital began soon after.  "Your doctor and nurse are standing here waiting for you!  Do you realize you were supposed to be here 30 minutes ago???"  Of course I realize that!  This is why I wanted to schedule my induction for a weekend!  I knew this would happen!!!  Anxiety attaaaaack!

I'm never late.  For anything.  Well, anything except for church and the birth of my children, apparently.  Tyler dropped me off at the front of the Women's Center at 9:00 AM and sped off to look for a parking spot.  I blasted my way through registration (seriously -- why, oh WHY do you have to register 20 thousand times when you're being hospitalized?!) and ran into L&D, sweating like a pig and apologizing profusely for our tardiness.  They rushed us into our room and I threw on my gown.  (SIDE NOTE:  For those that requested I take a photo of my pregnant belly, I'm sorry.  While I don't quite understand why you want to see me 27 pounds overweight, I had planned on snapping a pic prior to putting on my gown.  Unfortunately, the circumstances prevented me from feeling like I had time to do so since I was already an hour late to my own induction.  My bad for procrastinating!)  My doctor had long since returned to her clinic, so the nurse immediately hooked me up and started the pitossin. 

The contractions started off hard and fast.  Within minutes, I was contracting 2 minutes apart, steadily.  I had a personal goal to have this baby born by 3:00 PM so I could be cleaned up and walking by the time the boys came to visit.  Lame, I know, but I do those kinds of things.  My doctor came down and broke my water at about 10:15 AM and predicted we'd be done by lunch.  I typically give birth 45 minutes after my water is broken, so I texted my mom to let her know she should be on her way.  Mom showed up just in time for my epidural, which was done around 11:30 AM.  For the next couple hours, nothing happened other than I began to question the effectiveness of the $1600 epidural I had been given.  My legs were tingly, but I could move and feel them, and I was feeling an increasing amount of pressure on my right side.  My previous epidurals had rendered me completely numb so I let the nurse know I was feeling more than I wanted to.  She assured me that was the mark of a great epidural because it gave me more control over my pushing.  (But I only push twice!  Who needs control over two pushes?!  I want to be numb!)  The pressure quickly evolved into what most people would consider pain.  I say "most people" because I operate on a completely different pain scale.  A "10" for the general public is more like a "5" or "6" for me, which makes situations like these a little tricky.  By 2:30 PM, when a contraction would come on, I'd squint and say, "Ow," which I guess is hard to take seriously.  I called the nurse again (who was probably rolling her eyes at this point).  She gave me an extra "boost" in my IV after rolling me on to my side in hopes that gravity would assist the epidural.

While she was there, she decided to check my progress: "Goodness!  You're at a 10!  I'm going to go call your doctor.  DON'T PUSH!"  I assured her, "I don't even feel the urge to push.  I'm good." (...except for the fact that I'm paying for this swear-word-of-an-epidural that is not working!)  She left and the three of us resumed our conversation.  At the next contraction (now remember, I'm still lying on my side at this point), I literally felt something "bubble" out of me.  I didn't know what it was, but it didn't feel right.

This is where it gets crazy.

"Tyler, something's wrong.  Call the nurse. Now."

Tyler presses the button.  Another contraction.  Thanks to my failed epidural, I feel more movement between my legs.

The nurse finally walks in with a medical student and I explain that something isn't right, so she lifts up my blanket and gasps, "OHMYGOSH!  THERE'S A BABY!"

The baby had literally slipped out.

I look over at my Mom who has the most horrified look on her face I have ever seen.  (Comforting.  Real comforting.)  I then look up at the nurse who -- get this -- turns around and RUNS OUT OF THE ROOM!  And the medical student follows her!  Tyler yells after them, "UM, we have a BABY here!" and as if on cue, the baby starts to cry.  The door closes behind them and we all look at each other, completely unsure of what to do.  We can hear the nurse out in the hall yelling frantically for a doctor - any doctor.  A minute passes...or maybe it was 15 seconds?  The door flies open, 8 people rush in yelling and complete chaos ensues.  I get flipped over onto my back and the nurse nearest to me yells, "I'm going in without gloves!"  She scoops up the baby and begins to suction her mouth while an OB Fellow clamps her cord.  Tyler cuts the cord and they hand me to her for a minute before the other nurses move her over to the bassinet so they can examine her.  The whole time I'm exclaiming, "I didn't push!  I swear I didn't push!!! Not even once!"  I think they believed me...I swear, I didn't.

When my doctor finally came in, there was very little for her to do other than a few icky things.  The baby was 100% fine.  Better than fine, actually.  She had the nicest head out of any of my kids...no pushing can do that.  Once the crowd began to dissipate and I thanked an awful lot of nurses, I finally got a chance to really hold her and take it all in.  She was perfect.  Very Eves-looking except for a Crocker-esque nose.  At 6 lbs, 1 oz., 19 1/2 inches long, she was the exact same birth size as my sister Rachel, who happened to be born the exact same way -- in a delivery room, sans medical staff.  There was a tender feeling in the room as we remembered her and thought about the fact that those two spirits were so recently together.

We named her Claire Marie.  Claire, because we could agree on it, and Marie after a few very cherished family and friends who share that middle name.  Claire also shares her birthday with one of my dear cousins, a wonderful aunt, and a childhood best friend.  You just can't come into the world on better terms than that, I think. 

So now I have a daughter, and I no longer have to get the boys a puppy.  Its been 3 1/2 weeks and we are all completely in love with her.  She has strawberry blonde hair and very blue eyes which I still find quite puzzling considering I have one child with eyes the color of "chocolate" and one with eyes the color of "mud."  I suppose it was only fair that Tyler have one blue-eyed child.  But I think she's beautiful...and my heart is full.

And, in case you were wondering, she was born at 2:43 PM.  17 minutes ahead of my goal.  Is that a good kid, or what?

The Gender Reveal

Ultrasound today. Aside from the placenta previa they'll be keeping an eye on, it all looked good. Tyler couldn't wait to spread the news and stole my thunder by texting our immediate family with the gender announcement. I was at least able to surprise Jonah when he got home from school today. And let's face it -- his reaction was really the only one I cared about anyway!

It was exactly what he wanted. :)

Valentine's Surpise!

As part of our Valentine's Day celebration this year, we put together a treasure hunt for the boys with a grand finale! I recorded the very last clue. You may have to turn up the volume on your computer to hear what Jonah is reading -- he's speaking pretty quiet and the echo doesn't help (I know, I know...art on the walls would help that!). If you still can't make it out, just scroll down and read the text below.


(written by Tyler...that man can rhyme!)

Once upon a time in a house that was small,
There lived a little brother who wasn't yet tall.
Inside his white pillow is said to be found
A treasure so tasty...
Go look around! (...candy for Sam, Vanilla flavored Carnation Instant Breakfast for Jonah...he's a weirdo!)

Now that you know that you're part of this tale
You must find a treasure that you can set sail
Up with the clouds this treasure can fly
But only with help from your Mother and I.
To find the next treasure, hurry and see,
What you can find behind the love tree. (...kites...)

To find your next fortune you must start to think
Where we get water (and I don't mean the sink).
A place that we lather, we rinse, and we scrub,
Hurry and go there! Its down in Mom's tub! (...bubbles...)

For your last and your final treasure today
Go to the room where together we pray
Go into the room where you'll find a warm flame
Sit in the chair where you find your name
Sit there and listen to mom and to me
We have something exciting to tell to you three?

Your Mommy has something inside of her tummy
Not last night's dessert that tasted so yummy
But a brother or sister to be part of our team
Someone to help you to scrub and to clean
A small little baby to love and to cuddle
To teach and to care for and keep out of trouble.
Go tell Mom you're happy and you just can't wait
And tell that darn baby not to be late!



Happy Valentine's Day!

The end of the year...and the beginning of a new one.

Time for a holiday report. So what if its a week late? That just means I've been doing what all self-respecting moms-with-kids-on-break should be doing: Rolling out of bed at 8:30 AM (...okay, 9:00 AM...don't judge me!) and spending the better part of the day in my pajamas. That's what school winter vacation is for, right? Cleaning up the aftermath of Christmas, assembling new toys, and breaking up fights. And there's been quite a bit of all of that around here! Now on to business...


Santa Claus plays a rather small role in our family. In a cast of characters, he definitely wouldn't be the leading man -- he'd be more like "the storekeeper" with a few poignant but fleeting lines. We don't discourage the presence of Santa in our home -- in fact, we do try to maintain a sense of Christmas magic in our celebrations, and Santa is a good contributor to that -- he just doesn't seem to make it into our conversations all that much. Instead, we try to focus more of our holiday effort onto discussing the birth and ministry of Christ and looking for ways to serve and show our love for others. We don't ask for Christmas lists from our boys and we keep our gifts rather humble, both in quantity and monetary value. Santa leaves no presents, but only fills the stockings with small, inexpensive treats. For this reason, when the boys have the opportunity to meet Santa, you'll never find them asking for a new bike or Playstation because they know something of that caliber won't fit in a stocking. I joke that I work hard to keep my kids' expectations low, but I guess in all honesty, there's some truth to that. I know some parents may disagree with that practice, but taking this type of give-not-receive-and-work-hard-for-what-you-do-get stance takes a lot of the pressure and stress out of the holidays and is a sentiment that lasts well beyond the Christmas season.

This year, Santa visited our church Christmas breakfast. We mentioned to the boys that morning that Santa was going to ask them what they wanted him to bring them for Christmas, and that they needed to have an answer prepared so as to not clog the line. (You don't want to mess with Jonah's indecisiveness. Trust me.) Jonah had wanted a wristwatch more than anything since the start of the school year, but he wasn't sure if that was a wish Santa might fulfill. I told him to ask for it anyway (having already purchased one on Amazon, but intending to take the credit myself). He was instantly concerned, however, about Santa's follow-through:

"But I want a digital watch, not an analog watch. What if I tell him I want a digital watch but he forgets and brings me an analog watch? That would be disastrous!"

"I think you can trust him to remember you want a digital watch -- besides, just because you ask for it, doesn't mean you're going to get it."

"Nope. I just don't want to risk it. I'm going to tell him I want something else. Something I know he can handle."


Once the boys hit the front of the line, Sam decided to go first.

Santa: "...and what do you want for Christmas?"

Sam: "A bell."

Santa: "A bell?"

Sam: "Yes. A bell."

A very puzzled Santa: "What kind of bell?"

Sam: "A small one."

Santa: "But--what are you planning to do with it?"

Sam: "Ring it, of course."

Well, DUH, Santa. What ELSE would you do with a BELL?!

Then it was Jonah's turn. In the end, Jonah asked for Legos. "Any Legos are fine," he said. It was quick and to the point...no risk whatsoever. And it provided additional evidence that cautiousness is genetic. (Santa did seem relieved that Jonah's request was a little more mainstream than Sam's!)



Christmas day itself was a whirlwind of family and togetherness. Jonah was extremely generous with his gift-giving this year. In addition to draining his piggy bank to buy gifts for Sam, he also rooted through his own prized possessions to find items he knew his brother coveted and carefully wrapped and stashed them under the tree. He kept whispering, "Mom -- can't you just imagine the JOY we'll see on Sam's face when he opens this???" It was so heartfelt. We had to keep reminding Jonah to open his own gifts because he was so preoccupied with watching Sam. In addition to the DIGITAL (not analog!) watch, Jonah also received our hand-me-down 8-year old Sony digital camera. He was thrilled. By the end of the day, he had filled two memory cards and completely drained the battery. Both boys were extremely grateful for each gift they opened, and we got lots of hugs and thank-yous. And nobody impaled themselves on Sam's new cactus (courtesy of Santa), which was also a success.

We attended church that morning with Tyler's grandparents and aunt, followed by lunch at our house. A quick stop at my parent's house (we spend Christmas Eve with them) was followed by an evening with Tyler's parents and siblings, where we are always sufficiently spoiled by my generous in-laws. Late into the night I made my annual stop at the home of my best friend's parents where we meet up to exchange gifts, sit in a dark room, and laugh until we start to question the effectiveness of our aging bladders. Its always the perfect way to end the long Christmas day.

New Year's Eve came and went as well. I'm not usually one to make resolutions, but I have been taking stock of this past year and the things I'd like to reevaluate and change in 2012 (more on that later). I sat down with the boys to fill out an end-of-year worksheet to help them bring 2011 to a close and start thinking about their goals for the upcoming year. Jonah's answers were enlightening -- his only goal for 2012 is to learn to get along with his brother. Let's hope he makes some progress in that direction (although, for that to happen, perhaps I should have convinced Sam to list "stop picking on my big brother" as his 2012 goal).









We spent the evening together at home, eating their favorite dinner, getting haircuts, playing computer games, watching Winnie the Pooh, and then ushering in the New Year with party hats, noise-makers, sparklers, and sparkling apple cider...at 12:00 AM EST. That's 10:00 PM MST. I try to be a fun mom, but I'm not a crazy person! Tyler and I turned in soon after. Because we're old like that.





In case you didn't get a Christmas card from us this year, here's our year-end family recap:

TYLER entered his 7th year at Myriad Genetics, only put 2,000 miles on his car, probably logged the same on his bike, spent many evenings tinkering with the sprinkler system, broke a rib or two mountain biking, reluctantly planted new sod in both yards, put in countless hours serving in the Elder’s Quorum presidency, built a home theater PC, and now plans to temporarily abandon Liz for the ski slopes.

LIZ put down the floral clippers indefinitely after one last busy wedding season, purchased a fancy new sewing machine, took a trip to CA with her sister, became the Den Leader for a Cub Scout troop of 17 eight year-olds, helped Jonah master 2nd grade math in six weeks, got the best tan of her life hanging out at the park (which isn’t saying much), and enjoyed every second spent with the kiddos...almost.

JONAH started the 2nd grade at a new school after testing into the district’s accelerated magnet program, made good use of his library card, built amazing things with Legos, spent time with live penguins at the local aquarium, joined the Chess Club, became a Cub Scout, was baptized, knee-boarded for the first time at Lake Powell, savored evening bike rides with his dad, and never, ever stopped talking.

SAM graduated from Joy School and moved on to Preschool, made friends with countless strangers, tried his hand at swimming lessons, developed a fondness for the Peanuts gang, ate more than a 14-year old boy, enjoyed scaling rocks at Moab, kept a very busy social calendar with his best buddies, lost his cherished doggie but learned to love a new one, realized he can beat up his older brother...and did.

Wishing you a lovely 2011 Christmas!
Tyler, Elizabeth, Jonah (8) & Sam (4) Eves




...And a very Happy New Year, too.

Birthdays, Baptisms, and Halloween - oh my!

Tyler and I are probably two of the most calculated, practical people you will ever meet. We research. We deliberate. We weigh the options, the pros, the cons. When we make a decision, you can be sure the issue was first beat to death, reincarnated, and then murdered a second time. Once we make a decision, we plan, we prepare, and make sure to dot and cross all our letters. Its a neat and tidy (and admittedly obnoxious) little life.

Such was the case when we decided I should become pregnant for the first time. I loved Autumn and knew that at the point the baby was born we would have sufficient savings to allow me to quit my job while Tyler continued his studies full-time. It seemed to fit into our naive 10-year plan. Jonah was born October 15th -- 20 days after my own birthday (September 25). Years later when we were considering baby #2, we determined that delivering in October would be ideal for my work schedule and so Sam was born October 5th -- 10 days after my birthday, and 10 days before Jonah's.

Its funny that in all the talk and planning, we never considered what a feat it was going to be every year to celebrate three birthdays in so many weeks, not to mention tacking Halloween onto the tail end of it. This year we spent the month wondering what in the WORLD we had been thinking, deliberately having kids so close in birth date. It was a whirlwind few weeks, to put it lightly. Here's how it all played out:





Sam turned 4 this year. Unlike Jonah who is just now starting to find his social footing, Sam makes friends everywhere he goes. Even at this young age, he runs with his own little posse, so I figured a small birthday party in the form of a glorified play-date couldn't hurt – super-hero style. He invited his best buds and his cousin, 5 boys in all. The boys decorated superhero masks and then played two games which were a complete failure by my standards, but the kids had fun. First, we had booby-trapped the family room with black streamers and then threw glow sticks all over the floor. The object of the game was for the kids to crawl on their bellies to retrieve the glow sticks, treating the streamers like lasers. After I said, "GO," Sam opened his arms wide and ran straight into the streamers, instantaneously ripping every last streamer from the wall and clearing the way for the glow sticks to be grabbed by little hands. My mom had predicted the game would last 30 seconds -- it was closer to 7. For the second game, my brother, David, dressed up as a super-villain. The kids were all given cans of silly spray and were told to use it to "vaporize the villain". I had envisioned them tearing through the yard, attacking Sam's uncle with silly string, but what I hadn't anticipated was that the triggers on the cans were too hard for little fingers to press. This resulted in David standing still on the driveway while the adults tried to help the kids operate the silly string cans. I suppose in this situation, I got what I paid for. (Thanks for nothing, Dollar Store!) With that behind us we moved on to cake and presents. I thought I'd be clever and place lit sparklers on the cake -- very POW-BOOM-ZAP like, right? It took forever to light the darned things, and then when I placed the cake in front of Sam, he burst into tears because he thought his mother was trying to light him on fire. Shall we call that strike 3? Luckily he's very forgiving. After we covered the entire kitchen with cake crumbs and blue frosting, we retreated to the family room to play with toys -- for the remaining HOUR. It really did end up being a play-date! The boys all went home with a superhero cape. Surprisingly, Sam had a fabulous time. I think in the end, he was just happy to have his friends over to play.





Jonah's birthday was a different story. I was terrified when he announced he was ready for his first friend party. As far as I knew, he didn't have any friends. Since he's new to his school this year, I couldn't imagine whom he would invite, and I certainly didn't know that anyone would respond to the invitation. We invited 12 kids with the hope that 6 would show up. Since people in Utah do not RSVP (Seriously – not to parties, not to weddings, not to graduations…I can’t help but wonder if people here just don’t know what those letters stand for), I figured I'd plan for 12 even though 12 surely wouldn't show. When 11 kids showed up to the party that day, I was flabbergasted! I honestly could have burst into tears -- not only because I was so excited that Jonah had found some great little friends, but because for once my obsessive over-planning paid off! No surprise, he had insisted on a penguin theme. Our main activity was a craft: I made penguin bodies out of fleece and gathered items for the kids to create faces on their penguins. They then stuffed their penguins and stitched them shut. After that, we built igloos out of sugar cubes and then rushed through a fishing game, a musical iceberg game, a pinata, cake and presents. Where I had too little planned for Sam's party, I had way too much planned for Jonah's. But it was so much fun! The kids were courteous and hilarious, and the screaming -- oh, the screaming! Who knew girls screamed so much?! I can only imagine what a slumber party must sound like! It was a good day.





On to Halloween. Being the cheapskate I am, I took Sam to Target after Halloween last year to find a costume on clearance. He already knew he wanted to be Darth Vader (aka "Darf Vater"), but the only one left on the rack was a size 12-14. I tried to talk him out of it, but how do you talk a 3 year old out of ANYTHING??? I figured the $5.00 was worth the mask if nothing else, so I relented. He wore that costume around the house all year, and the day before he was scheduled to wear it to school for Halloween, I decided to alter it to fit him better (because in its original state, the costume fit ME). I raised the waistband by 6 inches, and chopped who-knows-how-much off the legs, arms and cape. After throwing on some snow boots and grabbing his light saber, he was good to go. Adorable.

And guess what Jonah wanted to be? Must you ask? I tried so hard to talk that kid into being a zookeeper or penguin researcher -- anything that got me out of making a penguin suit -- but to no avail. So I gave in, bought a lot of black and white felt and fleece, and got to work. For most of the design and fitting process (based on this tutorial), he just looked like a big tootsie roll. He is so tall and skinny, that no matter what I did, he didn't look very penguin-like. Once I got the wings and hat on him, you could at least tell what he was supposed to be. It was a boiling-hot costume with all that fabric and stuffing, but he didn't complain. The boy was living his dream.





A couple weeks later came the high point of the entire month of festivities. Because this was his 8th birthday, Jonah was able to be baptized and confirmed a member of our church on Saturday, November 5, 2011 by his Dad. He came home from school the day before his baptism feeling rotten (Sam had been sick the previous week). We considered rescheduling, but since baptisms are only done once a month in our Stake and we had friends and family coming from all over the valley, we decided instead to have Tyler give Jonah a priesthood blessing that evening and hope for the best. We woke up to snow the next morning which was funny in itself. You see, the weekend Jonah was to receive his blessing as a newborn (Jan. 2004), we were hit with a terrible snow storm. We found out shortly before it was to take place – with guests already in route and family visiting from out-of-state -- that our Sunday service was canceled because there was no power in our Ward building. A last minute scramble sent a bishopric member to our home which allowed us to bless Jonah in our living room, surrounded by those we loved. The fact that Tyler had to shovel the driveway before we left for the baptism was a sweet reminder of that morning. As it was all those years ago, many cherished friends and family were in attendance, and it was a day filled with excitement, anticipation, love and support. Driving home after the service, I asked Jonah how he felt. “I feel warm inside. And happy…and not very sick!” was his reply. I was a proud and grateful mother -- proud to be the mom of such a special kid, and grateful to my Heavenly Father for His eternal plan. Its a day I'll never forget, and one I hope Jonah remembers as well.


And that was our month from October 5th-November 5th. Its over, my kitchen is finally clean, and all I want to do now is take a nap. Wake me up when its Thanksgiving...

Creepy Moustache Family

The boys went to a new pediatric dentist last week. Jonah loves the dentist (and by "love," I mean gets crazy-hyper like a little poodle when we walk through the door), Sam, not so much. Sam has been to the dentist twice before, and each time he was asked to hop up on the chair, he would suddenly become possessed by some devil and it would take two to three adults to restrain him long enough to "kind of" get his teeth counted. No instruments were allowed. I always thought my insurance company was getting ripped off after those failed appointments.

Since we moved, I decided to find somewhere a little bit closer (even though the old office is only 5 miles away...I prefer less than 2. Have you SEEN the gas prices these days???), and boy am I glad I did. I swear the gals in this new office are "boy whisperers". Not only did they do a thorough cleaning and fluoride treatment without any tears, they got a full set of x-rays to boot. Cue the Hallelujah chorus and descending cherubs! I was relieved, because I swear the last guy (who spent way too much time with the self-tanner and teeth bleaching trays...and that unnerved me) had an asterisk on our chart that said, "DIFFICULT PATIENTS - PROCEED WITH CAUTION." Our new dentist ("Jeff" -- no self-tanner whatsoever) probably noted that my boys were very-well behaved, and that their mother has beautiful teeth. (Because I do. And I showed him.) And aside from that, he most likely threw a couple $$$'s in there for reference because Jonah will require a trip to the orthodontist in the next year for a braces consult which means a happier Christmas for all practitioners involved, and a much more meager Christmas for us.

Each boy was given a coin to use in the toy machine on the way out (like a gumball machine, filled with stuff that will either jam my washing machine or will be found months from now, half-melted under their car seats). Sam was smart and had scoped out the goods prior to his appointment. It was an easy decision -- the faux moustache -- very debonair. When the appointment was over and we went out to redeem his coin, the guy who has the job of replenishing the dental toy machines had been there and was packing up to leave. The moustaches were gone. All the pent up fear and anxiety that Sam had been holding back that morning was suddenly unleashed like a tsunami. Since crying at that decibel level can not be ignored, the toy guy ran up and asked what it was that Sam had wanted. He then proceeded to give Sam not one, but FOUR moustaches. All he had left in his box. Jack pot.

And now we are the Creepy Moustache Family. Who knew facial hair could be so much fun?

Before there were dryers...(or how Eve did her laundry)

One of the things that made Tyler swoon when we first toured this house was it's ridiculously enormous utility room. Its huge. Like, the size of two large bedrooms combined, huge. Personally, I think I'd rather have an extra two bedrooms, but I've found even I am enjoying the huge space that affords us way more storage than the average single family home (which almost makes up for the fact that our entire garage is committed to Whimsy's inventory...if only we could park a car in the utility room).

On one end of the room is both our furnaces and humidifier, the water heater, the washer dryer, Tyler's server/network area, and loads of storage. The other end of the room currently houses three large closets dedicated to food storage, shelving for "stuff," Tyler's tools, Tyler's table saw, a second fridge, and more cubbies for storage. In the middle is a wide open expanse I try not to use as a dumping ground.

A month or so ago, Tyler strung two clotheslines that reach across the room. I {{{LOVE}}} them! I didn't realize how much I'd use them until they were there...and I do. I really do use them. This is something we did not have at the last house (downside of having the washer/dryer in a hall closet), so anything that couldn't go in the dryer ended up being flung over the backsides of chairs and couches. It made the long process of laundry seem even longer and more arduous. Now, I get to hang my air-dry laundry and walk away, closing the door behind me. Who knew such a time-honored practice would feel like such a luxury?

So --

The other day I was cleaning the bathroom downstairs, listening to the boys wander through the house together. They eventually ended up in the utility room. And this is what I heard (coming from a very wise 7-year old voice):

Jonah: "Sam, do you see the rope up there? That's how they used to do laundry in the olden days. Its very old fashioned, you know. A long, long time ago, back when Adam and Eve were still alive, they didn't have dryers, so they had to hang up their clothes on strings. They'd wash their clothes in the washing machine but then they'd have to pull them out and hang them up to dry like that. Can you believe that??? We're really lucky that we have dryers now because if we didn't, it would take so long to dry all our laundry, we'd never have clean underwear to wear! Adam and Eve had a lot of kids so I bet Eve wished she had a dryer like Mom, instead of some string..."

Sam agreed emphatically.


I don't know, though. Seems like a dryer would be pretty far down on Eve's wish list.

Honestly, I bet she would have been happy with toilet paper.

2010 year-in-review

I don't think of myself as being particularly voyeuristic, but I do love hearing about the lives of my family and friends. For this reason, one of my favorite parts about the holidays are the Christmas cards, and more so, the family newsletters/updates that accompany many of them. It seems however, that with our busy lives these days, fewer families are sending out these newsletters. I'm guilty of this myself. This year I felt like I was lucky just to get the stamps on the envelopes (and I thought my head was going to explode waiting for Jonah to lick each envelope...one after another, after another...). There was no way I could muster a family update. But now the holidays are well over, and while you didn't find it in your envelopes this Christmas, you can read our year-in-review right here.

I thought about going through month-by-month so I opened up my trusty calendar, thinking it would be easy to pull out all the brilliant things we did as a family...

Ha.

The first 5 months of the year consisted of nothing more than battling contractors, pulling all-nighters at the D Street house, and for me, working on the weekends. At the beginning of May, we decided that come hell-or-high-water, we WOULD BE MOVING in June. We went so far as to set a date. The date was to be almost 18 months from the day we closed on the house. It was a busy, emotional few weeks as we scrambled to get the house livable. My sweet sister came out to help finish last-minute projects and somehow we were able to pull it together in time. But then we had to pack.

Oh.my.word.

I had been trying to pack unnecessary things here and there, but really, I was spending about 20 hours a week working at the house in addition to my 20-40 hours a week working for my clients, so I hadn't been able to accomplish as much in advance as I would have hoped. I had my last wedding on June 8th and we were scheduled to move on June 12th (and by scheduled, I mean the truck was reserved and the Elders Quorum had us on the calendar). Oh -- and Jonah's last day of kindergarten was on the 8th as well, which meant I had two kids that I needed to pawn off on wonderful friends. So I had three days to pack an entire house PLUS a business. On the 10th, it was pretty obvious I wasn't going to make it. This was tragic since half our work-force (Tyler's family) was only available that weekend. We told his family that we were throwing in the towel, at which point they rallied together and told us we were going to move on Saturday, and they were going to help. My sister-in-law, Maren, was at the house bright and early on Friday, and lo and behold, together we got the entire house packed that day. That evening, Clayton, Kylie, Jordan, Ashley, and Randy showed up to move Whimsy's inventory and coolers. They packed the moving truck to the brim and had it unpacked at the house a couple hours later. The boys were staying the night with my in-laws, and by 3:00 AM, Tyler and I had all the furniture taken apart and we collapsed in our sleeping bags. Everything was ready to go. The next morning, the guys from the ward showed up at 8:30 AM. I decided to take a load of personal stuff to the house at 9:00 AM, and by the time I got back, the truck was loaded. Amazing. We all drove to the house to unload the truck, and I think we had the Elders Quorum done and on their way by 11:30 AM? (One of the wives later told me that her husband said it was the most organized, painless move he's ever been a part of. Best compliment ever!) Our families stuck around to make beds and unpack the bathrooms, kitchen, and pantry, and we had a nice lunch and then sent everyone off around 1:00 PM. I couldn't believe how smoothly it all went. I was able to spend the afternoon unpacking, and even had time to drop off thank-you cards and loaves of bread from the bakery to our moving helpers.

As you can guess, the remainder of our year has been consumed by settling into this house. In addition to our continuing cosmetic projects, we've had some major headaches as well (like the time we were told we needed to replace our main sewer line...a week after we moved in!). But all the same, we love this charming little house, and this quiet little neighborhood.

Other 2010 happenings:

Tyler was promoted to "Clinical Scientist" this year, and shortly after we moved, he also started supervising his lab's evening shift. Can you say awesome?! I live in a world where my husband gets my son ready in the morning, takes him to school, chaperone's every field trip, gladly accompanies me grocery shopping, has time to tinker around the house and work on projects, and allows me to take off at a moment's notice -- child-free. I've been a lucky gal. In September, Tyler crashed his mountain bike on a rocky trail and consequently broke his elbow. He was banged up pretty bad, but that didn't keep him from ripping out and replanting the entire front yard landscaping before he even got the green-light from the doctor to remove his sling. What a [stubborn] stud.

I, on the other hand, remained a slave to my work for the better part of the year. I had an epiphany-inducing experience at the start of the year that really got me thinking about my priorities. I finished out the 2010 commitments to my clients and then chose not to renew all but one of my advertising outlets for 2011. After so many years running this business, its my desire to be more accessible to my children that has prompted me to pull back professionally. We're putting a lot of faith in the Lord that we'll be able to swing this financially. I'll still take a handful of weddings in 2011, but hopefully, Whimsy will now take its rightful backseat to the family. (That's not to say I'm not constantly thinking about new, less time consuming projects to bring in some additional income!) Other not-so-noteworthy things I did: cut my bangs (something I said I'd never do), joined a neighborhood "Joy School" group for Sam (something everyone else said I'd never do), and learned how to make a semi-decent dinner roll (something I never thought I'd do, but I'm still working on that one).

True to the previous 6 years of his life, Jonah's year was an eventful one. He finished kindergarten, learned to ride a bike, shared a room for the first time, kept the Tooth-Fairy in business, started the first grade, turned 7, became obsessed with all things Pokemon, finished the first five volumes in the Harry Potter series, upgraded from his Gameboy to a Nintendo DS, and won his grade's "Reflections" art contest. He's reading from the fifth/sixth-grade reading list at school, and he claims he plays basketball during recess. (What?!) He was diagnosed in early-fall as having ADHD, and we've spent the last part of the year trying to get his medications all squared away. As always, he's been a champ and has maintained a great attitude through it all.

Sam...What to say about this little monkey? He's adorable. Just adorable. And sweet. But stubborn. And hilarious. And exasperating. (Three year olds!) In 2010 he conquered potty-training and started Joy School, developed a fondness for Darth Vader and other villains, and devoted the majority of his time to terrorizing his older brother. He's always dressing up in some costume or another, he loves any and all forms of music, he prefers to always be on the go, and his favorite thing to do (outside of teasing Jonah) is eat. Breakfast, first lunch, snack, second lunch, snack, early-late snack, after-school snack, grazing, dinner, dessert, midnight snack. For Christmas he only asked for an Easy Bake Oven, which he received. He's a crack-up. And thank goodness, Sam is still a squishy little dude, which makes me want to cuddle him constantly...if only he wouldn't squirm so much.


So in 2010 we stayed close to home, but as it turns out, that's exactly where we wanted to be. It was a fun, adventure-filled year, spent in here in SLC. The kind that makes you look forward to years to come.

The Day After

Christmas was glorious this year.

I remember being a child, feeling such pity for my parents who seemed to receive so little by way of gifts. I could never understand how they could be so cheerful when their haul was so small. I totally get it, though. Watching my boys' fulfilled anticipation was better than any gift I have ever received in the past. My only wish was that Christmas came more than once a year (and that I could afford it!).

Missing from our celebration was snow. We did not have a "white Christmas" here in Utah this year. At our home in Salt Lake, it was dry as a bone -- reminiscent of northern California holidays, with a slightly lower temperature. This afternoon the flakes finally started falling, and as a result, we've found a renewed Christmas spirit which we'd like to share with you.

I told the boys I'd give them a quarter if they sung really loud.

I think I may owe them 50 cents instead.

Ghost of Christmas Past

I have friends who dutifully record their children's memories in a journal every week.
I wish I was one of those moms.
I am so not.

To be honest, I don't know what my boys' first words were, when they cut their first teeth, or when they took their first steps. I think in my heart, I wanted to write down every moment, but life is so much more busy and complicated than that for me. I'm sure that after enough therapy, they'll learn to forgive me for the fact that their childhood is a fuzzy, very distant blur, filled with whatever embellished, half-truth stories I can conjure up. Oh well.

Every once and a while, however, I sat down to detail a moment purely for the benefit of the relatives that couldn't be present.

Four years ago this month, Jonah had his first meet-and-greet with good ol' San-ty Claus. It was a highly anticipated event, and one that did not disappoint. I found it amusing, so I wrote down the experience and emailed it (along with some photos) to some extended family.

A few weeks ago we took the boys to visit with Kris Kringle at a church function. Jonah was all business and got right to the point. Sam (who had already had a run-in with Santa at the grocery store) wanted nothing to do with him. I got to thinking about how similar that was to Jonah when he was the same age and went looking for the email. Luckily, one of their great-aunts had held onto and graciously sent it my way.

So now I'll share it with all of you.
Merry Christmas!

************************************

Originally emailed on 12/12/06

This past Saturday was our ward Christmas party. Among our festive activities was a scheduled appearance from Santa Claus. This is the first year Jonah has been aware of Santa, thanks to unrelenting commercialism and media brainwashing. He didn't know much about the big red man, but enough to know he was good -- he jingles when he walks, and he brings presents.

Jonah had been looking forward to meeting Santa at the party -- So much so that it became a frequent topic of conversation during the days leading up to the event. He'd walk around the house bellowing, "Ho-ho-ho! Merry Christmas eddybuddy!" During one conversation, I told him that most likely he'd sit on Santa's lap and Santa would ask if he'd been a good boy at which point he should reply in the affirmative. He would then probably ask what he'd like to receive for Christmas (to which Jonah emphatically replied, "A binky!" -- I later coached him that he might want to say something a little more big-boyish like a toy car, to which Jonah agreed...). At home Jonah would dialogue with his toys, one pretending to be Santa and the other pretending to be him, with those exact questions and answers. The night before the party there was a lot of bouncing around, with constant reminders that it was almost "party time" and "Santa time."

So of course the day arrives and Jonah is a very excited boy. When we got to the church to set up, he ran through the building looking for Santa. The morning probably dragged on for him as he patiently waited for the moment he was to meet Santa. When it was finally time to trek to the Relief Society room to stand in line, Jonah was a 3-year old on speed. He was running up to random kids, yelling in their faces, jumping up and down, turning around in circles, repeating the rehearsed answers to what he thought would be asked of him ("Mommy! I will say "Yes" and "I would like a big red car, please.")... It was all I could do just to get him to keep his hands to himself. At the point we made it to the front of the line, he was so overwhelmed with excitement he was doing what one might call the "pee-pee dance." And then the moment came. It was his turn. He stepped up onto the platform and...froze. He was gently pushed forward and consented to being placed on Santa's lap, but couldn't find any words to say. He didn't crack a smile. He didn't blink. He didn't look the old man in the eye. He didn't even look ME in the eye! He was void of all emotion. He didn't even react to the uncontrollable laughter of all the other adults in the room who know how out of character silence is for Jonah.

It was all too similar to the Santa mall scene in the classic movie, "A Christmas Story." Only this Santa wasn't an alcoholic and Jonah didn't ever snap out of it long enough to place his gift request.

When he was handed back to me, it took him a few seconds to shake off the...fear? Awe? Numbness? After that, it was as if he'd just hung out with a rock star -- he was elated and ready to tell anyone who crossed his path. It'd be interesting to know what went on in his head during his 30 seconds with Santa. Probably nothing.

Kids crack me up. Enjoy the photos.

Jonah, age 3

Because "things" should be flushed...

Sam just got out of bed for the millionth time tonight to tell me that his "diaper is falling off."

Child, if you are articulate enough to tell me in plain English that you are having an issue with your diaper, you are TOO OLD to be wearing one.

When I write a parenting book, my chapter on toilet training is going to go something like this:

"Remember how you were told that its best to let your child decide when its time to potty-train? THAT'S WRONG. Kids don't know anything. That's why they eat stuff they find in the gutter."

Starting next week, we're getting serious about ditching the diaper.
No - wait - scratch that. Next week won't work. I have two weddings, and there's no way that Tyler (blesshisheart) can be trusted to enforce the rigid, Nazi-like potty schedule that leads to eventual underwear freedom. I guess starting next, NEXT week, we'll be getting serious. Serious-er than I've been able to be this summer, anyway. Any suggestions? Bribes, rewards, charts, and stickers have so far proven to be completely useless and have yielded little more than wasted money, spoiled appetites, and Hot Wheel-induced foot-pad bruises.

I bought a box of 108 diapers from Target today. I'm going to go out on a limb and pledge that it will be my last purchase of diapers for this child. (Pull-ups don't count, though. I'll be darned if this boy thinks I'm going to get up in the middle of the night to change wet sheets.) With the extra $25 I'll be saving each month, I will buy chocolate milk. Lots and lots of chocolate milk. Because after potty-training "Stubborn Sam," by golly, I am going to deserve it.

Photo credit: Target. Not my kid. But the resemblance is amazing...huh?

Shabby Apple Dress Sale!

UPDATE: The sale has been canceled. But I'm keeping this up because by posting about it, I also entered a little contest, and I want to win it!

I'm in search of a dress for a certain family wedding coming up soon. If I can swing it, I'll be attending the Shabby Apple Garden Party dress sale on Saturday. Could I possibly be so lucky as to find an eggplant or green colored dress to fulfill my soon-to-be sister-in-law's request? We shall see. Anyone care to join me?

Why I am not an ENT.

Before I needed health insurance so I could get pregnant (Tyler was a full-time student), I worked at as a Rec Therapy Tech at a "Rehabilitation Center."

That's a fancy way of saying "Nursing Home."

During my time there, I learned one very important fact about myself:

I do not have a weak stomach.

I saw stuff there. Nasty stuff. Stuff that trumped any gross or unsanitary or shouldn't-be-discussed-at-the-dinner-table experience I had had up to that point. But as with anyone who works in the health care field, you get used to it because you see it every day. Believe me, I could tell you stories that would make your toes curl...but I won't. Blech.

So once the children began invading my home and life, I felt pretty prepared for anything they could throw at me. Blow-out diapers? Piece of cake. Puke all over the couch (or down my shirt)? No problem. Cracked-open heads? Please. I'm on it. Smells, sights, residue...no effect. I'm like a machine.

EXCEPT --

...for boogers. Or boagies (rhymes with "hoagie") as well call them at our house. Nasal secretion or mucus of any kind. {Insert dry-heave} Those make my skin crawl. They make the very hairs on my neck stand up straight, cause me to feel dizzy, and illicit the desire to run and lock myself in the bathroom. I don't know what it is, but...GROSS!

These "issues" are common knowledge among those I am close to because my snot-aversion runs deep. So deep that I think I may have led my children to believe that nose picking is downright shameful. We don't do it. Not in front of mom, anyway.

This past week, however, I've learned that I've been living a pipe dream.
I have been deceived.



As time allows, I am slowly cleaning the Holladay house now that everything is moved out of it. For the most part, I've just been chasing dust bunnies...until I ended up in Jonah's old room. What I thought was just a bunch of dirty hand/foot smudges by his bed ended up being something entirely different. (You parents know what I'm talking about.) If I wasn't so aesthetically obsessive, I probably would have just reached for the Killz Primer. Instead, I spent the better part of an hour meticulously removing the evidence of Jonah's late-night nose-cleanings off the wall. Shudder.

A few days later Jonah and I decided to clean out the car while Sam was napping. I don't do this nearly as often as I should, so when I clean, I CLEAN. I pulled out the boys' boosters so we could get underneath them. Jonah's seat was especially dirty. Upon further inspection, however, I noticed the entire right side of the seat was covered in dried boogers. Covered!!!

"Jonah Randall! Are these boagies? Are they? ARE THEY???"

No response beyond a smirk.

"You think that's funny, huh? Its NOT funny! It's disgusting! Guess what you get to do now? Clean them all off. Every single one of them. Or you owe me $17,000."

Okay. I admit it. Threatening that a six year old is going to owe me 17 Grand is probably a little overkill. But in case I haven't made myself clear, I can not stomach the boogers!

He scrubbed, and picked, and flicked, and vacuumed, and in the end, he got the entire seat clean. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to beat a dead horse, though, so I brought it up -- a few times -- during dinner that night. And I think I made my point. Which will probably be remembered for all of two days before the boagie wiping resumes.

My crack-up (Sam) wanted in on the action, though, too.

Today we were standing in line at IKEA when he held his finger out to me and said, "Look, Mom. A boagie!"

Sure enough, there was a big wad of nastiness perched on the tip of his pointer. "Sam, that's gross. We don't pick our nose. If you have something in your nose, please ask for a tissue."

I began reaching into my purse for a proper disposal method, to which he responded by looking me straight in the eye and giving me the most devilish grin a child can muster, while slowly bringing his finger toward his mouth.

"Sam, don't you -- Don't you DARE! --- SAM! --"

Quick as lightning, he shoved his finger in his mouth and ended with an exaggerated, GULP.



I haven't had an appetite all day...

To: You, From: Me

I used to pride myself on being a decent gift-giver.

I've always tried to put a lot of thought into my gifts (or at least I did before D Street began and gift cards became my first line of defense). In the initial stages of choosing a gift, I would often think to myself, "What does this person want that they don't know they want?" I believe in leaving "needs" out of the equation completely. I may NEED a shower caddy for the downstairs bathroom, but do I really want to receive that as a gift? (The same goes for socks and underwear -- and I say that in all seriousness because I have family members who actually put said items on their Christmas lists!)

I like to give items that the recipient may otherwise not think of purchasing (or be able to justify purchasing) for themselves. Gifts should be fun! Unexpected! Met with anticipation! Not something off a checklist of mediocre household goods.

(Buy your kids their own dang underwear. I'm getting them a Barbie.)

This topic has been the source of many conversations in the Eves household. We didn't do "lists" in the Crocker home growing up, and as a result, there was a genuine element of surprise as we opened each present. Gifts my parents gave me ranged from the truly awesome (think diamond tennis bracelet as a 17 year old) to rather puzzling (like the hot-pink fanny-pack with the hydration bladder my dad gave me...when I was 8?!). The excitement that came from not knowing what to expect really increased my appreciation for the act of giving and receiving. And that's something I've tried to recreate in my own family.

Tyler's is a list-family, which has taken some getting used to. There are benefits to lists, I agree. You don't have to worry about whether or not the receiver will like the gift, you get what you need, etc. But like I said, I have problems with those very things because it squashes the element of surprise for the recipient and requires little thought/effort from the giver. The times I've strayed from the lists I've gotten some weird looks, but I keep trying. I like to think that my subtle influence helped encourage my in-laws to take a leap of faith and surprise us with non-list-dictated gifts a number of years ago. They brought out big boxes one Christmas and had the daughters-in-law open them at the same time. Under the wrapping was a set of All-Clad pots and pans. It was completely unexpected. I don't know how my SIL felt about her All Clad because I was too busy screaming and jumping up and down with joy. My father-in-law still says that was the coolest reaction to a gift he's ever seen. And that's kind of what I think we all should shoot for in the gifts we give -- but maybe with a much lower price tag!

Tyler started to catch on to this idea a few years ago. Poor guy -- can't bring me flowers (duh), can't buy me clothes (too small, nothing fits), can't take me out on the weekends (my work days) -- What's a guy to do? Somehow he remembered a bit of late-night chatter regarding luxury items that I intended to purchase someday when I'm old and comfortable, simply because I can. The two items at the top of my list were a Dooney and Burke handbag, and a Mason-Pearson hairbrush. Silly things, really, but things that seemed to signify wealth and sophistication when I was growing up. My mother actually had a Mason-Pearson hairbrush and whenever I had the opportunity, I would sneak into her bathroom and use it. I can still feel those boar bristles gliding down my hair like honey. Its the brush of celebrities. So decadent, so luxurious, so...frivolous. But when I opened up my birthday present one year to find a shiny, handmade Mason-Pearson staring back at me, I gulped. Tyler was ecstatic that he got me something I always wanted, I was reeling from the fact that he had spent over $100 on a HAIRBRUSH. A brush that actually comes with care instructions. A brush that has its own brush to clean it. A brush that doesn't do anything in particular. You can't style your hair with it. Its more of a Marsha Brady-type brush (use it before bed and admire how shiny your hair looks). It was a surprise, to say the least, but after I got over the initial sticker shock (darned joint-accounts!), I was reminded of how nice it is to be spoiled sometimes and how a well-thought gift really can make you feel like a million bucks, if only for a moment.

I was thinking about this as I was brushing my hair tonight. I really DO need a shower caddy for the downstairs bathroom (among a trillion other things!), but would I trade my little piece of well-thought indulgence for those perceived needs? I don't think so. Not just because the hairbrush makes my hair soft and shiny and perfect right before I throw it into a bedtime ponytail (and holy-mama, IT DOES!), but because of what it represents. It was the perfect type of gift, and it makes me think of the man who gave it to me each time I put it to use. So in that sense, mission accomplished.

A couple days ago it was Tyler's 34th birthday and I got him nothing. Not even a card. I jest that I bought him a house and that's good enough for a while, but really, I'm ashamed of how lax my gift-giving rituals have become. So now I need to recommit myself to the art of giving gifts and find something to do to make up for this birthday faux pas.

I haven't a clue what to do or get. It'll take some thought, for sure.





...Maybe a Dooney and Burke handbag?