So, Levi. He is starting to talk for reals. Not like this time, but actually using his little mouth to make sounds that have meaning.
His favorites? "Mama" and "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO".
See, you have to say "no" like "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" when you are almost one. I am not sure why.
Also, we never say "Mama" around here. We say "MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA!" until someone (could be me. could be Isaac. Levi's not too fussy usually) takes care of whatever problem prompted the MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA! in the first place.
Problem is, since we only have 2 words so far, whomever is responding to the call of MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA! frequently guesses Tiny Man's needs incorrectly. And then we hear:
"MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMMA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
It is awesome to be scolded by an almost 1 year old. Awesome, I tell you.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Epic Fail
When we left Utah to come to the great state of Alabama, we left behind a great many people. One such person was Bailee the Wonder Colorist (sidenote: there are a lot of people named Bailee in Utah. A lot. And they all spell their names differently. Once, I had a student who spelled her name BayLeah. The first time I read her name I thought it said "BayLeaf" and I almost asked, outloud, why her parents named her after an herb. Luckily, I caught myself, but everytime I talked to her after that I had to consiously remind myself that her name was BayLeah not "BayLeaf". True story.) and, having now gone approximately an eternity without coloring my hair and, having been told by no less than EVERY member of my immediate family that when I do not color my hair I look like a 50 year old grandmother (apparently this was all said "out of love". Whatever.) and, having been repeatedly assured by my myriad and sundry sisters who also look like 50 year old grandmothers if they don't color their hair that coloring ones hair by ones self is "So easy!" and, because I have not yet had a chance to find a replacement for Bailee the Wonder Colorist, I decided to take the plunge and attempt to color my hair my very ownself. "12 year olds at slumber parties do this all the time!" I thought. "What could go wrong with a product that goes so far as to proclaim itself "Nice" and "Easy"?", I thought. "If your mother and sisters can do this, so can you!" I thought. "You have a master's degree! How hard can this be?!" I thought. I should have ignored all those thoughts and listened to the very quiet, nagging voice in the back of my mind which said "There is a reason you are not a cosmotologist YOU IDIOT!"
You see, I managed to dye a great many things; the bathroom counter, 2 towels, the toilet seat, one of our bath mats, my left arm, both ears, the back of my neck, the bottom of my right foot, every single one of my fingernails, my hairbrush, my shampoo bottle, the shower curtain, 2 barretts and the door to the bathroom but did not,as luck would have it, successfully manage to dye the one thing I was actually interested in turning a "dark auburn": my gray hair. I followed the directions exactly. I even timed the shaking of the bottle because the little instruction sheet said "shake for at least 20 seconds." So, I timed myself shaking for 30 seconds. Which is, as anyone knows, at least 20 seconds. I set a little kitchen timer for 10 minutes I "started at the roots" and saturated my hair "all the way to the ends". I rinsed until the water ran clear. I conditioned with the little tube of conditioner. I now have brown hair with, in addition to the grey streaks, orangish brown streaks. It is not an improvement. Not to mention the fact that the roots of my hair are at least 2 shades different than the rest of my hair. EPIC FAIL.
Clearly, hair coloring needs to join espionage and brain surgery on my list of tasks best left to the professionals. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go make an appointment to have someone much more talented than I fix my hair.
You see, I managed to dye a great many things; the bathroom counter, 2 towels, the toilet seat, one of our bath mats, my left arm, both ears, the back of my neck, the bottom of my right foot, every single one of my fingernails, my hairbrush, my shampoo bottle, the shower curtain, 2 barretts and the door to the bathroom but did not,as luck would have it, successfully manage to dye the one thing I was actually interested in turning a "dark auburn": my gray hair. I followed the directions exactly. I even timed the shaking of the bottle because the little instruction sheet said "shake for at least 20 seconds." So, I timed myself shaking for 30 seconds. Which is, as anyone knows, at least 20 seconds. I set a little kitchen timer for 10 minutes I "started at the roots" and saturated my hair "all the way to the ends". I rinsed until the water ran clear. I conditioned with the little tube of conditioner. I now have brown hair with, in addition to the grey streaks, orangish brown streaks. It is not an improvement. Not to mention the fact that the roots of my hair are at least 2 shades different than the rest of my hair. EPIC FAIL.
Clearly, hair coloring needs to join espionage and brain surgery on my list of tasks best left to the professionals. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go make an appointment to have someone much more talented than I fix my hair.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
My Favorite Room
So. I have this post I've been working on, complete with a million pictures of the house, the baby and our Alabama adventures. It's taking me a while to get it all done, so in the meantime I thought I'd share a picture of my favorite room in our new little house.
Are you ready?
Here it is:
Yes, it is true. My favorite "room" is not a room at all, but the closet in our office. I love it. So. Much. In every place we've lived previous to this little house, my sewing stuff has been migratory, moving where ever it would fit and then moving again to be "out of the way" when we needed the space it occupied for something else. I have longed for a permanent place to keep my sewing machine and all my many sewing books, tools and other things. When we started to organize our things, it became apparent that this little closet wasn't needed for actual storage and so I commandeered it and it became my sewing room. I have all my books, my patterns, my tools and projects IN ONE PLACE. The only things that don't fit in this tiny little closet are my giant bins of fabric, but they are just outside the door in the hall closet. It is AWESOME.
On one wall, I can hang my rulers. Observe:
On the other, I have an organizer for my bobbins, little tools of various kinds and scissors ( I have a lot of scissors):
The little lamp down at the bottom of that picture is sitting on a little table upon which also sits various things I am using for my current project. A little table. With a lamp. That doesn't have to move every time I need to use the dining room table. AWESOME, I tell you.
Sometimes, I come into the office just to look at the little closet and all my things neatly stowed away in their permanent home. Because it is so awesome.
And that is all for this Tuesday.
Are you ready?
Here it is:
Yes, it is true. My favorite "room" is not a room at all, but the closet in our office. I love it. So. Much. In every place we've lived previous to this little house, my sewing stuff has been migratory, moving where ever it would fit and then moving again to be "out of the way" when we needed the space it occupied for something else. I have longed for a permanent place to keep my sewing machine and all my many sewing books, tools and other things. When we started to organize our things, it became apparent that this little closet wasn't needed for actual storage and so I commandeered it and it became my sewing room. I have all my books, my patterns, my tools and projects IN ONE PLACE. The only things that don't fit in this tiny little closet are my giant bins of fabric, but they are just outside the door in the hall closet. It is AWESOME.
On one wall, I can hang my rulers. Observe:
Sometimes, I come into the office just to look at the little closet and all my things neatly stowed away in their permanent home. Because it is so awesome.
And that is all for this Tuesday.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
I Stand Corrected
So. As anyone who knows me knows I don't often admit that I am wrong (this is largely due to how rarely I actually am wrong, but that is beside the point). However, I have recently come to the conclusion that I was wrong about one very important issue and I am now admitting this fact. Publicly. Well, as publicly as my little blog which is read by approximately 10 people, can be considered "public". Anyway. I was wrong and I can admit it.
You see, almost 2 years ago Isaac got this brilliant idea that he was going to be a Warrant Officer Aviator. Brilliant, except for the little detail that becoming a Warrant Officer Aviator would require him and us to live in Alabama for an extended period of time. This little detail made me feel more than a little bit queasy. I have lived in many places in my life and have managed to never, ever spend a significant amount of time in the "Deep South". Since discovering that I would likely have to spend almost 2 years living in the "Deep South", I have loudly, frequently and with great passion decried the weather, the culture, the people, the politics, the craziness etc... and, well, I was wrong. About almost everything.
Yes, it is incredibly hot and humid here. But, it is also beautiful, with amazing, huge trees and plants and flowers and lakes and the ocean just an hour away. It's lovely. Aside from one unfortunate encounter with a snake and a squirrel (shudder) I've spent a great deal of time in absolute awe at how pretty everything is here.
Yes, there are some very interesting people here. But, I have never met people who are, as a whole, more kind, considerate and loving. I am not, as a general rule, a "people person" and yet I cannot help but chat and visit with people wherever we go. This is, of course, partly due to Levi being adorable and the world's biggest flirt, but people are also just genuinely friendly. I'm learning to adapt. I have been asked with absolute sincerity, more times than I can count(by complete strangers no less), if Levi is okay and, often, if there is anything they can do to help. Some days, this happens more than once. Almost always our short conversations about Levi and his helmet end with promises to pray for us. Sincere promises.
Yes, the ward is tiny. But, they have welcomed us like no where else I have ever been.We, quite literally, had a dinner invitation for every night of our first week here. When people at church found out we were still waiting for our furniture to arrive, several families offered to loan us furniture they were using (like the couch from their living room-"Take it! We're never home! It just sits there!") just so we'd have the things we needed. I took Levi to his first 'play group' just 3 days after arriving here because the women at Church wouldn't take "no" for an answer when they invited us to join them ("You have no furniture! You must be so bored! Levi needs friends! You must come. I'll be over at 10:30 and we can go together!" And she was. And we did). It was a little overwhelming, but also kind of amazing that complete strangers would take such an interest in our well being.
For nearly all of the past 2 years I have felt quite certain that living here would mean gritting my teeth and "enduring to the end". But, I was wrong. I've lived a lot of places, and very few have felt like "home". Our tiny house, on a tiny Army post, without family or friends nearby, in Alabama of all places, feels like home. I was wrong and I am glad I was.
You see, almost 2 years ago Isaac got this brilliant idea that he was going to be a Warrant Officer Aviator. Brilliant, except for the little detail that becoming a Warrant Officer Aviator would require him and us to live in Alabama for an extended period of time. This little detail made me feel more than a little bit queasy. I have lived in many places in my life and have managed to never, ever spend a significant amount of time in the "Deep South". Since discovering that I would likely have to spend almost 2 years living in the "Deep South", I have loudly, frequently and with great passion decried the weather, the culture, the people, the politics, the craziness etc... and, well, I was wrong. About almost everything.
Yes, it is incredibly hot and humid here. But, it is also beautiful, with amazing, huge trees and plants and flowers and lakes and the ocean just an hour away. It's lovely. Aside from one unfortunate encounter with a snake and a squirrel (shudder) I've spent a great deal of time in absolute awe at how pretty everything is here.
Yes, there are some very interesting people here. But, I have never met people who are, as a whole, more kind, considerate and loving. I am not, as a general rule, a "people person" and yet I cannot help but chat and visit with people wherever we go. This is, of course, partly due to Levi being adorable and the world's biggest flirt, but people are also just genuinely friendly. I'm learning to adapt. I have been asked with absolute sincerity, more times than I can count(by complete strangers no less), if Levi is okay and, often, if there is anything they can do to help. Some days, this happens more than once. Almost always our short conversations about Levi and his helmet end with promises to pray for us. Sincere promises.
Yes, the ward is tiny. But, they have welcomed us like no where else I have ever been.We, quite literally, had a dinner invitation for every night of our first week here. When people at church found out we were still waiting for our furniture to arrive, several families offered to loan us furniture they were using (like the couch from their living room-"Take it! We're never home! It just sits there!") just so we'd have the things we needed. I took Levi to his first 'play group' just 3 days after arriving here because the women at Church wouldn't take "no" for an answer when they invited us to join them ("You have no furniture! You must be so bored! Levi needs friends! You must come. I'll be over at 10:30 and we can go together!" And she was. And we did). It was a little overwhelming, but also kind of amazing that complete strangers would take such an interest in our well being.
For nearly all of the past 2 years I have felt quite certain that living here would mean gritting my teeth and "enduring to the end". But, I was wrong. I've lived a lot of places, and very few have felt like "home". Our tiny house, on a tiny Army post, without family or friends nearby, in Alabama of all places, feels like home. I was wrong and I am glad I was.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Operation: Birthday Surprise!
Mission Accomplished!
We (Levi and I) flew into Alabama last night so we could surprise Isaac today. It was a great day and we loved getting to spend the day with him. Just 2 more days and we'll all be in the same house again!
Happy Birthday Isaac!
P.S. Remember that Friends episode where they all go the Bahamas? And Monica's hair explodes? Yeah. That's why there are no pictures of me. We're going to need to invest in some industrial strength gel. Or, go the Monica route and embrace the cornrow...
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