Days 2017

Days 2017

Thursday, September 26, 2013

One is Fun

Luke turned one the day after he started saying his second word:  "Yay!"  Very appropriate!  His birthday was just the right speed.  That morning I babysat for my babysitting co-op (I take a shift one morning a month) and pretended all the kids were there to play with Luke for his birthday, haha.  He loved watching everyone and was very good.  Hmm.  Maybe I'll start letting him go to co-op with the other babies... Then that afternoon he had a good nap while Macy was at preschool, and I baked his cake.  The kids were super excited for him to "open" his presents, which consisted of our sure-fire winner one-year-old gift that I've been saving since Boston, Cooper, and Macy grew out of it, successively.  Also a "new" car seat.  (Cheap birthdays are one fringe benefit of having five kids...if you plan ahead and hide toys well.)  For our birthday family adventure we tried out the new car seat by taking a trip to the pet store, just to look around at all the fishies and birdies.  (We also did this for Macy's first birthday and it was great.)  I didn't take any pictures there, but the funny thing was that Luke was just as excited to ride in the cart like a big kid as he was to point at all the little critters.  Then we came back for cake--and a bath!

Luke is one.  He has four and a half teeth.  Still drools a lot.

Luke loved his basketball toy.  (So did everyone else.  "I remember this!")

The funny thing was, just that morning he noticed the glowing red numbers on Mark's alarm clock and really wanted it bad.  Now he has his own blinky red numbers.  And they even cheer for him.

I love the dropped-jaw in this shot.  Whoaaa.

Luke's hilarious shivery face (not as cool in a still shot, I caught it in the video) whenever he encounters something kinda weird.

Cake, schmake.  I want a banana.
One is fun, especially when my babies start crawling, talking, and digging in all the drawers.

Yup.  He got his Dad's bed head, too.

 Luke says dada (for about everything), a funny little phrase that sounds like "I diddit!"  all the time, smacks his lips for "I want a bite" (starts doing this as soon as I carry him into the pantry), and recently "yay!".  Luke is sleeping somewhat better at night, off of formula, starting to pull up (the first thing he pulled himself up on was the open dishwasher...ooooh!), and LOVES grown up food, mashed or ground or chopped to his consistency.  This is a huge about-face because for the longest time he wouldn't go for anything but bottles and cheerios.  It has been so funny, the last week or two, every single grown-up dinner I have made has been a huge hit, especially ground up in his baby mill, to the point of What About Bob?'s famous dinner scene.  He yells and hoots like an mad, excited orangutan, kicking his feet against the chair and bobbing his head for more, mouth wide open, gulping it down.  What a racket!  I scrape the bowl every night, and forget about me getting a bite in edgewise.  I promise I feed him the rest of the day, too, but that grown-up dinner food.  Wow!

He doesn't like sweets (yet).  Won't touch bread, pancakes and waffles, or even zucchini bread.  Or birthday cake.  Here is what happened:

Incidentallly, I also had a birthday.  Hence the new camera.  A cool coincidence is that Leslie is working on a project for Young Women's that involves cooking dinner EVERY NIGHT for TWO WEEKS In a ROW!  She told me about it on my birthday so I am considering it my present.  Last night she made a flawless pot of cheese soup while I worked on this blog and answered the occasional, "Mom, what's 'saute'?"  She has the menu already planned and I have the groceries ready to go.  I feel like Golda's persona on Tevye's song "If I Were a Rich Man"--strutting like a peacock and supervising meals to her heart's delight.  I actually was strutting like a peacock late last night (late because she had been busy cooking earlier) helping Leslie decipher some Algebra.  At one point I frightened her by jumping up from the table, waving my arms in the air and celebrating.  (Picture grandma LaVonne winning at a game of Shanghai).  I was shouting something like, "My brain's NOT fried!  Now I know why I did all that calculus at college!  Woohoo!  You have one SMART mama.  And I haven't done math for 15 years at least.  Ask the teacher?  Pah."

Hope we did them right...she didn't find out the answers today and all of her answers were completely different from her friend's.  Well, she has to learn that her mom doesn't know everything someday.

I'm still learning, ya know.  I'm wrapped up in a super cool research project right now involving my ancestors that witnessed the Battle of Gettysburg.  I found out that Lee's headquarters were in my Grandpa's apple orchard and also came across his list of items stolen by the rebs.  One of the stolen items listed was "1 Scap Bees".  Huh?  Looked it up and couldn't find "scap".  Looked up bees in the dictionary and found the term
"bee-skep".  Do any of you know what a skep of bees is?  My Utah friends see one a dozen times a day.  It's our state symbol.  A straw, traditionally shaped beehive.  I told Leslie she should stump her Utah History teacher and see if he knew what it was, haha. I didn't even take Utah History.  What's the nerdy equivalent of a peacock?

Monday, September 9, 2013


Boston had a eight-is-great birthday.  We were smart and filled his birthday request of going to Seven Peaks before it closed a few days before his birthday just in case the weather was bad.  His actual birthday was pretty low key with lots of yummy food (crepes with nutella and whip cream for breakfast, leftover pizza for lunch, spaghetti for dinner, and of course, sunbeam bundt cake, also Martha Stewart's watermelon raspberry jumble on vanilla ice cream for the non-chocolate folk among my inlaws).  I even made him clean his room on his birthday, making the case that he only got to have part of the day for his birthday since the earlier trip to Seven Peaks "counted".  He got legos, scout stuff, Skip-bo, gum, books and moolah.  What item caused the most envy?  Gum of course.  I think he shared.  The books have also been more of a hit than I expected.  My most favorite daily sentence out of him lately is, "Can't I just read one more page, Mom?" Yesssss!
 Once again, sorry folks.  My birthday is also on its way...

He is excited to be eight because that is when he is allowed to get baptized, being old enough to understand what kind of commitment he is making --the age of accountability.  His baptism date is planned for the end of the month but we don't know if it will be morning or afternoon yet.

Eight is also a big deal because he got to start Cub Scouts.  Mark was awesome to pick up all his gear and sit with him and pass off his first rank of Bobcat.  His den leaders came and met with us and told us what to expect.  He was super excited to go to his first after school den meeting.  I walked him over to the church in full uniform--shirt tucked in (by specific request of the leaders) belt on, neckerchief cinched up tight.  Super cute.  I was a little worried though, when we got there, ALL of the boys had flung their uniform shirts over their T shirts and they weren't even buttoned up.  Boston kept looking at them, and at himself, and at me.  I waited for the dirty look.  Finally he said, "Mom, those guys must be the Bears."  Good for you, my little wolf!  Much to my relief, when I came to pick him up, there were two other little fellas in full buttoned up regalia.  I told Mark that night, maybe this is weird, but I SOOO want my boys to be the buttoned-up types--the example setters, the leaders, the ones that others can count on to do what's right.  I want them to be the 12 year old deacons that actually pull out the hymn books and sing!  Please boys, do it for your mama!

Boston has always been super independent and full of initiative.  The other night while Mark was watching the football game at the neighbors' and the kids were kind of bored, and I was doing the dishes, he came up to me with his scout book open and declared, "Mom, I'm going to make invisible ink."  Okay.  Go for it.  Here's the lemon juice.  Knock yourself out.  He wrote his name in lemon juice and kept watching for it to turn invisible (haha).  I told him that once it dried it would be invisible, just kind of wrinkly, and that you'd have to heat it up on a lightbulb to be able to read it--that was what was so cool about it and why the spies used it in George Washington's time, etc.  He liked that slightly better.  Finally, after watching him hold it up to the chandelier and wondering why nothing was happening, I lit a candle and scorched it for him.  Awesome.  He had written his name and now it is his new sign on his bedroom door.  (Mark is worried that I have planted some pyromaniac seeds, but really, he didn't even want to get close to the candle.)

Then he came downstairs with his Sunday belt, folded it in half and cracked it a few times.  "Mom, I think I just did this one."  He pointed at a page in his scout book.  I looked it over and explained that he was supposed to put on a skit using the following sound effects--there were several--so off he went to collect the remaining listed items.  A few minutes later we were seated on the couch, listening to his "radio broadcast" from the next room.  That kid knew exactly what he was doing.
"It was a dark and stormy night!"  Thunder, thunder, rain rain.
"The phone rang!"  Ring ring.  "The secret agent answered the phone.  It was an eeeeevil bad guy.  He said (in a menacing voice) 'come to the Shangri La Hotel!'"  (?!)
"So, the secret agent got on his horse (I snickered at this point) and rode to the hotel."  Clop, clop. (The clopping continued for about two straight minutes.  I don't know if Boston was visualizing the ride and trying to make it a realistic travel time, or if he was trying to figure out what would happen once the secret agent got off of his horse.)
"He opened the door.  Then..."  Bang! Bang! Bang! "went the bad guy's pistol.  The secret agent pulled out his gun."  Bang bang bang bang .....etc. for a long time.  "Then, the phone rang."  Ring, ring. "It was another secret agent.  He was coming to the Shangri La hotel."  Clop, clopping, bang banging.  "He shot the bad guy.  The end." 
Of course, Cooper and Macy also had to try it out, and my house became a vaudeville act for the rest of the evening.  I signed it off in his book because, at home, Mom is the akela.